Author's vanity note: Thanks to everyone who's reading this and those who have commented. Knowing what you think about my first story - good or bad - makes me really happy. I've also gotten some great advice which I'll incorporate into the chapters which haven't been written yet. I'm uploading this before I can get stuck in another editing rabbithole and lose all motivation. Alice caused multiple failed drafts as she bullied her way into a larger role. I blame her. I like Alice but... we will need to thoroughly discipline her in a later chapter.
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Stacy and her boyfriend Ryan were in her private room in the sorority. Ryan was sitting on her tightly-made bed, shirtless, his muscles gleaming, toying with a pair of metal handcuffs she'd gotten from a friendly campus security officer. Stacy was dressed in an oversized man's shirt, stockings and nothing else. She artfully bent over her antique desk, presenting her shapely rump and long toned legs to Ryan. He couldn't look away, just as she'd intended.
It was a scene which would have fueled a thousand male fantasies, and more than a few female ones too. She'd set the scene so it would play out this way. Ryan had just finished a week-long dry spell, so wasn't thinking clearly enough to ask why she was suddenly interested in handcuffs. She'd purchased the man's shirt she wore specifically to test if Ryan would pry (he hadn't). For her, this was a calculated risk. Everything would be solved if this worked. It was the best possible solution for her. Logic didn't make her any hornier, though. She was already having trouble getting into it and the experiment hadn't even started.
Everything about her room was calculated. Her course books were electronic, so the ones seemingly scattered around her room were arranged to give a specific impression. Her belongings stood to attention like soldiers, everything precisely where it should be. The floorplan her family had drawn up for her dictated there should be an untidy pile of clothes at the foot of her bed, but Stacy just couldn't deal with the disorder. Stacy noted that her picture frames were slightly out of position. She'd have to fix that later, but for now she tried to ignore it.
Even her teddy bear, artfully positioned just so on its markers, was carefully focus-tested to maximize the soft feminine side her family needed her to portray. It was all there in the psychological profile they'd drawn up for her to follow. The bear was new, purchased specifically for its role, but had been artificially aged through specialist techniques. Just like she had been, Stacy noted bitterly. When they'd come to replace her personality with the one they'd chosen for her, she'd had to bury her favorite bear in a tin box in the grounds of her family's house. Like her dreams and true personality.
Appearances must be kept. The family had to survive. Everyone had to make sacrifices. Stop it Stacy. If you don't stop thinking about this you're going to cry again. Why were all these emotions coming up again now? She thought she'd come to terms with her life purpose a long time ago.
The daylight tried to penetrate her thick curtains but failed, lighting the room with a colorless gray twilight. A faint halo of lively sunbeams danced around the edges of the curtain. The lamp on her nightstand blazed with light, yet was rendered feeble by the midday sun she'd attempted to banish.
Stacy bent further forward over her desk chair. She turned to look at the figure on her bed.
"You want me to what?" Ryan asked, his big bass voice rumbling.
A rumble which normally found an echo inside her but now struck a jarring tone, making her feel queasy. Eyes on the prize, she reminded herself.
"Handcuff me, please, Ryan." she said sweetly.
"Are you sure about this, babe?" he asked dumbly.
No, she really wasn't. But what other choice did she have? She'd been relieved when her hard work had paid off and Ryan had finally asked her out. He fit the profile, had been in the top ten of the list of acceptable candidates her father had handed her. She and Ryan had been exclusive for months now. Everyone thought they were the golden couple, that they'd get married and have 3 kids. She didn't want to disappoint anyone. She had a network to maintain and a family to save.
As for Tr... that thrice-cursed fucker who gave her a false cell number? Even if she swallowed her pride and crawled back to him, he didn't fit her plans or the profile she'd been given, couldn't be her boyfriend. How would a relationship with him even function for a week, let a lone a long-term? Or mesh with any of her plans?
"I literally JUST fucking asked you, Ryan." she spat.
Why wouldn't Ryan just get the hell on with it? Focus, reclaim your composure - he can't see this side of you, idiot. Ryan looked shocked. Fuck. Somebody save her from men and their eggshell egos.
"I'm sorry, babe, I'm just really stressed, yeah?" she could see that wasn't enough, so she continued, compensating. "I just found out about my... God, erm, niece. She's really sick. Mental problems. Deviant sexual needs. My family don't know. I just need to forget for a while. I would love it if you could indulge me, you big lovely man. I know it's different from what we normally do."
"I don't know, I like the normal way babe." he sulked. "Can't we just fuck quickly? I've got to go study, this is taking literally days of my time."
"Come on, honey, just attach one end to me and the other to the chair. You're my big smart guy." She encouraged. "If you can't do it, no-one can. Go on, do it before I lose my nerve."
Or before she choked on another platitude and her lies turned to ashes in her mouth.
Stacy felt Ryan grab her wrists, too roughly yet too weak at the same time. He adjusted his grip and...
"Ouch! Careful!" she exclaimed, shoving against his chest.
"Come on baby, I barely even pinched you." he complained. "Don't be such a baby, baby."
She inhaled, long and slow, and let out her rage in a shuddering breath. The cold metal of the handcuffs leeched the heat from her wrists and the certainty from her mind. What the hell was she doing? This just felt wrong. She put one hand on his stomach, feeling his sexy six-pack with just the slightest give. His body, carved out of hot muscle with barely an ounce of fat. Mmm - maybe she could give this just one more second?
"Click!" Ryan sang. "I'm feeling better about this already, babe. You look kind of hot wearing this handcuff and bending over there. I could do anything to you!"
That was the one, what she wanted to hear. Stacy's pulse leapt. Finally! Stacy tried to move her arm, testing her bonds, and... it came free without any problems. She held up the wrist he'd manacled, the other end of the metal handcuff dangling uselessly like a broken jaw, not attached to anything yet. Couldn't he finish the damn job before gloating? Her burgeoning mood shattered again. This felt more like amateur theater than sex. About as erotic as refereeing nap time at a daycare.
No, she had to think positive. She could do this. They could do this. Then she wouldn't need Tri... that nerdy asshole any more. Ryan could learn. He would pick this up, she could train him just like she'd shaved off some of his other rough edges. She could ignore some of her more... extreme new impulses, tame it. That would make it fair on both of them. If not... well, maybe the memories of the restaurant would be enough. If she continued to keep the memory fresh. Stacy wouldn't allow herself to ever stoop low enough to have an affair. She wasn't that type of woman, not for anyone, not for any reason. Still it was nice to have options, even if they taunted her with their impossibility.
Wait - how the hell did she have time to complete that long train of thought? What the hell was Ryan up to?
"Ryan?" she asked, turning around.
He was behind her, one hand frantically stroking his erection, a prurient expression on his face. She watched for a moment, he was objectively speaking, delicious. Watching him work his meaty fist up and down his rampant manhood was mesmerizing. She idly noted that Ryan's penis looked a little longer than what she'd felt in Tris... the restaurant the other day, but much thinner. It'd still do the job. Ryan noticed her looking and broke the spell.
"Sorry baby, you're just too hot." he whined as an excuse.
Pathetic. The steam building in her veins cooled to mist in an instant.
Stacy wiggled her perky ass at Ryan, trying to tempt him, the bottom of her new shirt hiding absolutely nothing with the way she was positioned. If she turned to her left she could see herself in the mirror. She was perfect, literally perfect. As she should be, given the number of times she'd practiced this. Her blonde hair streaming down in a waterfall of white, her breasts almost hanging out of the front of the shirt as it dangled, swaying as she moved her butt from side to side. That was better, she smiled to herself she began to feel little tingles of arousal again. If this had been another woman Stacy would have been all over her in seconds. Ryan, well... he had trouble knowing what she wanted. She'd tried to tell him but... she had to pick her battles. One thing at a time.
"Shouldn't you put that somewhere... more comfortable?" she said invitingly.
"Your ass?" he asked hopefully.
Stacy's undulating rhythm faltered. She grit her teeth, wondering how easy it would be to drive the end of the handcuff he'd neglected to fasten right through those beady eyes of his. She'd learned how, of course, just with a different weapon.
"No, Ryan. We're playing with handcuffs, remember?" she prodded gently, swinging them for emphasis.
"Oh, yeah, right." he muttered, disappointed.
Trist... that man wouldn't have forgotten. He'd have known what she wanted before she even knew it. If it were him, right now she'd be melting into a gooey satisfied puddle on the carpet. And he probably wouldn't even need to use more than one hand - he hadn't last time, one palm had been all he'd needed to push her to a massive climax. He had paid attention to her body, read it like a book.
Could Ryan even read a picture book, real or metaphorical? That was a little bitchy, Stacy. Stay in control. Don't think of that. Think of the plan. Think of his family, his connections, his fame, what that could do for your family. Remember what your parents are expecting of you.
Not exactly the most sexy thought, though.
"Maybe... the other handcuff?" she vocalized her thoughts.
