Author's vanity note: don't try this first bit at home. Unless, you know, you want to.
~~~~
Stacy had struggled to get to this point. Finding him was trivial. Her looks alone were enough to get anyone to help her, and failing that her reputation or even just her famous family would have been enough. But with all three? People fell over themselves to spend time being her personal tour guide. Instead, Stacy's battle was internal.
She fiercely wanted to find Tristan, that was certain. She just didn't know what she was going to do with him when she found him, and that drove her crazy. If she didn't know the objective then she couldn't plan, and Stacy was someone who always had at least one plan in place. So she had told herself she was going to rant at him, give him a piece of her mind. It wasn't quite correct, didn't match her nebulous motivation, but at least she had a goal. Bring him down a peg. Maybe flex her daddy's influence and get him expelled, depending how much he begged and cried.
She didn't know what she was expecting, but it wasn't this - an intimate situation in a cubicle of a restroom in a restaurant just off campus. The dim romantic lighting. The eccentric display of dog collars mounted on the walls. Most of all she didn't comprehend her own desires. She had thought she understood herself, had herself under control.
How could a tiny little fetish so completely derail her? Why the hell did she ask him to do this to her again, and in such a public place? Anyone could walk into one of the other stalls right now! Why risk it? Her friends, her professors, anyone - everyone around here knew her! They couldn't find out about this!
He'd tied her up with her coat - her designer coat she didn't let anyone touch. It was a crappy restraint but it worked well enough in tandem with his body pressing hers against the cheap dividing wall. It wrapped her tight, holding her arms immobile like a straitjacket. The same heavy fabric she was so proud of, which had embraced her, now a participant in her disgraceful activity. He'd mercilessly stretched and twisted her coat to restrain her like cheap rope. A small part of her mourned, knowing it would never be the same after this. Would she?
It had happened so quickly, almost too quickly. It was like he'd become someone else. His arms were on either side of her head, trapping her against the wall. His face was close enough their noses were touching. She could see each pore and stray bit of stubble on his skin. She could smell his hair, and beneath that the smell of this restroom. Why were they doing this here? His face filled her world, crowding out her thoughts.
His eyes were narrowed, his pupils dilated, he looked dangerous, imposing. Her eyes scanned his restlessly, dancing from his left iris to his right as if she was compensating for the movement he'd denied the rest of her body. She was searching for weakness. Searching his pupils for any sign of that nervousness he exhibited just a few moments ago. Finding nothing. It felt like this was a different person. How could that be?
"I-I didn't mean right now..." she whispered, wriggling against the wall.
Was that really her voice? How weak that complaint sounded. How humiliating. That tone was so tentative, so needy. So unlike what she expected of herself. She blushed. She both hated and loved that he made her feel this way. She knew that in reality, if she wanted to, she could get out of this intimate tableau any second. She could even feel her animal instinct trying to show her how. She squashed it down. She wanted to stay here for a moment, explore this feeling for just a short while longer.
"Oh?" he asked, with a knowing smile that made her blush deepen, "do you want me to stop?"
Just one word from her and this would end - for some reason she trusted him on that - so she kept her mouth shut. They both knew what that meant. Stacy's pride cracked and the waves of shame rolled in second by silent second, as he still did nothing. Each wave washed away another chunk of her dignity. Each wave left growing embers of arousal in their wake.
"Good girl."
Her pulse had just started to relax from being bound so suddenly, but this made her heart skip a beat. It raced even faster than before. Her body knew the drill this time, knew more about her desires than she did. She felt her crimson blush expand from her face to her shoulders, and a delicious heat kindle between her legs. When had she gotten this wet?
"You were very naughty to interrupt us. I was on a date you know."
Her eyes widened.
"You needn't look so surprised. Yes, it was a date. It's hard for me not to feel insulted by that reaction, slave."
There's that word again. Whatever else happened, whatever she felt, she couldn't let that stand. Why was it so hot in here? She felt her sweat stick her dress to her body.
"Ca me tht." she could barely make the sounds.
"What's that, slave? Don't mumble."
This time there was no air at all.
"... don't call me that." she was merely mouthing the words.
He was so close, she felt her lips brush his as her mouth moved. Smoothly oiled silk on his rough, cracked rubber. Her entire body shivered at the contact. She licked her lips reflexively, licking his by mistake. Stacy tasted salt and a hint of something else.
Tristan examined her, looking deep into her soul. It was if he immersed her in his eyes, surrounding her with the darkness inside them. She felt herself drowning, unmade, reborn. Like he was reading all her secrets, weighing her sins. She squeezed her eyes shut, unable to bear the intimate contact any longer.
Her chest touched his as she inhaled in little panting gasps. Each breath was almost a moan.
Tristan gripped her shoulders. He slid his fingertips slowly over her body, tracing its contours. Finally, she thought. Let your hands get acquainted with my body. Hopefully they'll become very good friends.
They slipped inside her coat, touching her neck, her clavicle. Feeling her over her dress. Stroking her sides. Avoiding her breasts, but sliding repeatedly over her stomach, brushing her bra, then lower. over her panties. They embraced her, sliding into the coat with her, stroking up and down her sides, her back. Then down her hips to her legs. He teased her thighs with feather-light touches, bringing them inside and up... But he skipped her crotch entirely, despite her efforts to shift that part of herself closer to his questing digits.
His hands sneaked beneath her dress, touching her skin directly. Though her eyes were closed, she could feel him watching her intently, for the slightest sign of discomfort or refusal. She should, but she wouldn't. Not when her body was purring, telling her that this was exactly what it wanted.
She felt his hands glide over her bare skin, slick with her sweat. They explored her sides, leaving sensitive trails of fire in their wake. Circling her stomach, making it flutter. They slid up and down her back, slowly, gently, like he had all the time in the world. Her whole body quivered. Suddenly, he slid them down the whole length of her back, and plunging effortlessly below the waistband of both her panties and tights. Before she could say anything, he was groping her naked butt. His hands got a good grip of as much as he could and squeezed, hard. He cupped her ass like this for a few wonderful seconds before releasing her, taking her new friends away.
Her lubricant flowed freely, soaking her tights. Between her lust and the warmth from his body she was sweating like she'd just finished a marathon.
"I think..." he paused, a rasp in his voice.
He cleared his throat. Stacy felt a little thrill of victory, knowing that was because of her. She'd affected him, distracted him. Of course she had, but she wasn't thinking like that, not now. Not with him. She was pleased, she was happy.
"I don't think that's what you really mean, but I won't have any ambiguity here, not between us, not in this. So tell me, now, do you want me to stop?"
She frowned, looking at him again. Why was he doing this, now? She'd been feeling so good a second ago. Surely they both understood what she was trying to say. And not saying.
She said nothing.
He stepped back, away from her. She felt a sense of loss, reality starting to reassert itself.
Cool air rushed into the new space between their bodies. Stacy felt the chill of the slight breeze as it pasted the fabric of her dress to her sweaty torso. The cool airflow on her thighs, contesting the fire in her womb.
She shuddered. No. Not like this. Not again. This couldn't end like last time. Stacy felt a yearning, an invisible bond pulling taut as he increased the distance. She could have it all back, make it right again. Yes. She could do it with just one step.
She fell forward into him - accidentally, on purpose, who cared? With her arms were trapped behind her it was, in its own way, a leap of faith. A confession. He staggered backward for a moment, managing to support her weight, then propped her back against the wall. This time with his arms wrapped around her, the warmth of his body heating hers directly. Her shoulder was now pressed into the door of the cubicle uncomfortably, but she couldn't find the will to do anything about it for the moment.
"Stacy..."
She shook her head.
"...n't stop." she mumbled into his shoulder.
"What?" his voice was right next to her ear, tickling the tiny hairs there.
Her body was pressed into his. Her breasts were squashed against his chest. Her coat was pressed into her forearms. Her hands clenched invisibly in their prison. Her arousal forged a path through her tights down to her knee.
She'd literally thrown herself at him. Giftwrapped. And he was still fucking asking questions. She could barely think. Wasn't it obvious? Her anger and passion both flared, spilling out.
"Tie me up, call me whatever you want, do whatever you fucking want to me, you bastard, just don't stop!" she shouted.
Her voice echoed in the room, far too loud for a space that size. For a moment, the only sound was the dripping of a leaky faucet. The rattle of a pipe. The hum of the stylish neon lighting around the edges of the ceiling. The sound of doors closing in the distance.
Fuck. This was mortifying. Her face burned. Right, they were in public. She shouldn't have done that. She'd lost control. Stacy fervently hoped no-one else was in here. Or had been in here. Or would come in here. Fuck this was risky. Maybe they should...
Stacy almost jumped out of her skin as she felt his hand reach between her legs, under her dress and cup her sex, in a single, confident, inevitable movement. She barely had the time to feel ashamed before he started to rub her there. She heard the squish of wet fabric. She felt the pressure of his palm press her sodden tights and panties firmly against her clit and pussy lips. His fingers groped the bottom of her butt. The edges of his hand sank into her thighs on one side than the other as he massaged her back and forth. It was awkward, but perfect for this moment.
She moaned, unable to restrain herself, forgetting why she even needed to stay quiet.
"Your master will only ever do it with you, slave. With you. Never to you. Don't forget." he growled, his voice husky.
'With you, don't forget'. Tristan's words echoed in her mind.
His steady, insistent caress rubbed her pussy lips back and forth. Stoking the fires inside her. Her muscles stiffened, straining against her bonds.
'Your master. Don't forget'. She would definitely remember.
She adjusted the angle of her hips slightly so he'd hit her right... there. Oh, fuck yes, that was the spot. Jolts of pleasure ran from her clit to her brain and back. He ground his palm against her obligingly.
The pressure built inside, far more quickly than she was used to. Her lust grew to an inferno. Her moans - well she'd stopped listening. She was focused on the pleasure.
Her muscles seized; the fire roiled. He didn't stop.
She shook like a leaf. He kept moving.
A girl was screaming somewhere. He was unrelenting.
