The Stronger Girl 03

This story was originally published as "The Bound Slave".

The text has been copy-edited (with the help of HaltWhoGoesThere - who I am very grateful to for their time and input).

My intent is not to offend, but this is a d/s romance with strong themes of nonconsent and reluctance. If that's not your bag, I understand and hope you will find another story to enjoy.

As always I hope you will enjoy the story, and that if you do you will leave a comment.

XOSNS

The Bound Slave

It had been a difficult week for Annie.

Things had started well enough. Monday morning Michele had been a little distant, but not unfriendly. She had gotten back to the room late that night, but again, she'd been... cordial?

Annie had gone to sleep anxious, worried that she had crossed a line the night before. She had made Michele beg.

Tuesday had been more of the same. While the mood in the room that morning had been cool at best. Annie had run into Michele and Nancy at dinner and they had all sat together with a couple of boys from the Film Club - which was nice. Michele seemed to be in good spirits, which was also nice, but Annie couldn't help but feel she was talking to everyone else but her.

Towards the end of the meal, Michele had excused herself to go to the library, only coming back to the room after Annie had gone to bed and turned off the lights. Listening to her undress and settle into bed Annie heard the quiet sounds of her efforts and was struck by how often she sighed, huffed with impatience, and swore under her breath.

She'd sounded angry, or maybe frustrated.

But it was Wednesday when things had gone off the rails. Michele had set her alarm very early and was out the door before Annie was even out of bed. She had seen her once that day, but just from the other side of the quad. She couldn't tell if Michele had seen her or not. Either way, she hadn't acknowledged Annie.

Annie dropped her things off before dinner and could tell that Michele had been there before her. Her bag was there with her books, a pile of clothes on the floor, and her running shoes were gone. Annie found herself looking at the pile of clothes. Michele's jeans were collapsed on the floor, just where she'd stepped out of them. Nesting inside them was a pair of white panties.

She had lowered herself onto her haunches and looked on as her hand reached down for them; as her thumb and forefinger fondled the soiled gusset. Squatting over the open jeans she pictured Michele standing over her, the statuesque brunette with her feet spread and ass raised. She'd pictured her smooth tan skin, the bulge of her muscles - taught and flexing. Annie pinched hard at the dried stain, grinding her thumb into it, before raising it to her mouth.

Stopping at the Student Center for a coffee and a cheese croissant from the cafe, she'd skipped dinner, and any socializing it might require. Holing up in a secluded spot on the top floor of the library she'd studied until closing time.

Their room was dark and empty when she got back. Michele's clothes still heaped on the floor. Her panties back in the jeans, just where Annie had left them. Annie organized her papers and got herself sorted for bed, finally turning off the lights well past eleven; surprised Michele wasn't back.

It was past one when Annie woke up, hearing Michele's key fumbling at the lock. The light from the hall briefly flooded the room, blinding Annie, then darkness. There was a bang and a scrape as Michele barked her shin on the end of her bed and swore sharply.

Standing between their beds Michele kicked off her shoes and tugged at her socks. She was unsteady and caught herself on the edge of her bed before righting herself and shrugging off her windbreaker. Watching her with hooded eyes, Annie realized she must be drunk.

Michele seemed to be looking directly into Annie's eyes as she began to push down at her waistband.

She stepped out of the tangle of track pants, shorts, and panties at her feet, grabbed the hem of her tank top, and struggled to pull it and her sports bra over her head.

Freeing herself, she dropped the tops and stood for a moment above Annie, totally naked in the dark, swaying slightly. Annie had held very still, unsure of what to do. She had wanted to reach out, to touch her, but Michele had stepped away before she could overcome her own reluctance; her fear. She watched as the stronger girl sat down heavily on her bed, admiring her long calves. Michele was as tall, if not taller, than most of the boys on campus. Still staring at Annie she slowly lowered herself back, stretching out naked on her covers.

At first, Annie thought that maybe she'd passed out, but a jolt of pleasure shot through her when she saw that Michele's arm was moving; that she was masturbating. She watched jealously as Michele's strokes slowly built, becoming more insistent, listened as her breath grew raspy; waited for her orgasm. Michele began to shake and jerk, and Annie thought the moment had come, but the shaking continued, the jerking was rhythmic. With a start, Annie realized Michele was sobbing.

Sliding from beneath her covers, Annie crossed to the other bed, Michele was on her back, her hands still frantically working at her crotch. But rather than pleasure, her face was a rictus of grief, tears streaming from her eyes which were clenched closed.

Annie placed her knee on the mattress and stepped over Michele, so she was straddling her waist. She lowered herself onto her elbows placing her hands against Michele's feverish head. She placed her cheek against Michele's, feeling the hot tears. The stronger girl moaned loudly. Her breath smelling of whiskey. Annie marked how close the sounds of pleasure could be to frustration or anger. Michele sounded miserable, she sounded trapped.

"It's okay," Annie whispered into her ear.

"I don't need you," Michele shot back. Her voice sounded like a choked howl.

"I know." Annie soothed.

"I don't." She sounded plaintive.

"I know. It's okay." Annie promised, petting her. Her hand felt cold against Michele's burning furrowed brow. She kissed her cheek, tasting the tears. Even as her own eyes brimmed with sorrow she was lifting the tears off the stronger girl's cheeks with her lips.

Annie thought of a half-forgotten movie she'd watched with her mother when she was much younger. Japanese peasant women kneeling on the ground, weeping and picking up thousands of individual grains of raw rice out of the dirt with chopsticks after their village had been attacked and pillaged, their harvest stolen. She hadn't understood what was happening, why the women were doing that.

"It's because they are so poor," her mother had explained, "they're desperate."

As her tears mixed with Michele's, and she continued to eat both their sorrows with her kisses, she could feel Michele's arms still masturbating beneath her. Less frantic, but mechanical, nothing in her movements expressed pleasure.

"Let me do it," Annie begged.

"I can't."

"It's ok."

"I don't need-"

"I know," Annie whispered. "I'm nothing."

She was scared by the sound of her own voice, she could hear how true the words were, hear her own desperation. 'Because I am so poor?' she wondered.

She felt Michele's arms grow still beneath her. Raising herself up onto her knees she looked down on Michele. Her eyes still closed, she had turned her face away.

'Hiding' Annie thought.

She reached between her legs and took hold of Michele's wrists, lifting her arms up and over her head, letting them rest there. As Michele hid her eyes in the crook of her arm Annie lifted one knee over the other girl's upraised thigh, and then the other, taking her place between the stronger girl's long powerful thighs.

Standing on her knees she had studied Michele for a moment. Her torso looked sculpted in its perfection, but also its abject wretchedness; like one of Michelangelo's "Slaves", laid out before her in the dark. Annie's father had taken her to see The David on a visit to Florence. She had been very young and while she knew she'd seen the famous statue, didn't actually remember seeing it, but she very clearly remembered The Slaves. They were, she knew, "non-finito", or never completed, but as a small girl, the struggling half-buried figures had made a deep impression. She remembered having to be restrained from touching them, yelling at the stony bodies in her excitement, and being hushed by her father. She had dreamt about them for years.

She touched the smooth hairless skin of Michele's armpits. Ran the flats of her hands over the insides of those joints. The powerful muscles that emerged and met there. She thought of The Atlas Slave that, like the god it took its name from, seemed to be crushed under the weight of the very stone it was emerging from, but also the far more resolved Bearded Slave with his beautifully sculpted arm thrown over his head. Both these figures had powerfully masculine torsos, however. And as beautifully strong as Michele was, the lines and bulges of her muscles were softer, more like The Young Slave. But as she lay stretched, with her arms thrown over her head, Annie thought she most resembled The Awakening Slave.

Michele hadn't showered after her run. Her skin felt tacky from dried sweat and she smelled rank. Annie took her breasts in her hands, hardly able to hold half of what Michele had to offer. Wondered at how firm they were, how arrogant they looked rising off her chest.

She gently pinched Michele's nipples, rolling the fragile puffy domes. She listened as Michele moaned. The frustration was still there, but there was pleasure now too. She lowered her mouth to her suck. They were salty. Breathing through her nose, the sharp stink of Michele's armpits filled her lungs.

Moving her right hand down the flat hard plain of Michele's belly, across her smooth hairless mons, taking hold of her pussy. Squeezing the meaty lips possessively, her heart hammering in her chest as she did. She thought of the stained crotch of Michele's panties. Of putting her thumb in her mouth for a taste of Michele. Of kneeling over the other girl's discarded jeans, sucking her thumb like a baby while she masturbated. The memory of that longing embarrassing her, even as she gloried in the longing of the moment.

Annie sucked hard at Michele, even clamping her teeth on the sensitive teat. Michele, arms still folded across her face and over her head had let out a small yelp, but twisted and pushed upwards, forcing her breast further into Annie's mouth.

Pushing her two fingers inward, wetly parting Michele's labia, she curled her digits through the liquid body heat. A sudden image of her mother's kitchen; of dipping her fingers in a pudding. She felt her fingers press against the ruckled roof of Michele's vagina, even as her thumb began to circle the slick pearl of her clit. Michele squirmed. Annie thought again of the torso of the slave struggling to emerge from the stone.

Annie sucked and squeezed at Michele's breast hard enough to draw milk, wishing she could. Imagined feeding on Michele in that way. But her thoughts turned to how she had sucked at Nancy's clit. She had hesitated, couldn't bring herself to do it. Michele had taken her by the hair and pushed her face into Nancy's pussy, forced her mouth against the other girl's open wet lips. Annie remembered with a shock of shame that while sucking at Nancy's clit, she had mewed like an infant.

In the dark, she wondered what it would be like to suck Michele's pussy. Her mouth flooded with saliva as she wondered if Michele would make her. With her fingers buried in the channel of Michele's cunt Annie tried to imagine they were her tongue, tried to imagine what it would feel like to eat her pussy. Pictured Michele forcing her. The image shook her, breaking the last taboo between them.

As if she could see these thoughts, Annie felt Michele take hold of her hair, pulling it tight in her fist. Pushing her downwards. She released her suck, crying out at the viciousness of Michele's grip, but relishing the violence of the moment, wanting to be forced. The pain of her scalp, the roughness of the gesture. It all spoke of Michele's need, of her lust. But it also released Annie from blame. She pictured her mother's angry expression.

This was happening

to

her, she thought.

As her face raked over Michele's pussy, her unwashed scent shocking Annie's nose, she obediently pushed her tongue forward, pulling her fingers out of its way.

"NO."

Annie flashed to her mother's kitchen, to the pudding, to her mother's angry scolding. The cold fury of the word.

But it wasn't Annie's mother's voice that had scolded her, it had been Michele's voice she heard. Her grip, still viciously tight, pushed Annie past the rubicon she both feared and wanted so desperately to cross. Raising her knees to her chest and spreading them wide, Michele forced Annie's mouth against her asshole.

Humiliated by her brutally stymied desire, Annie's eyes stung. Dutifully she placed her hands on the backs of Michele's upturned thighs and pursed her lips over the hard little entrance. She puckered and suckled at the little knot. A bitter coppery taste giving way as Annie's saliva warmed and softened it. She loved it with her lips until Michele grew impatient, jerked her forcefully, eliciting and another squeak of pain; Annie began to lick and press the briny crease with her tongue.

Still holding fiercely to her hair, Michele's other hand dropped to her sex, she resumed stroking herself as Annie looked on enviously at the stronger girl's fingers, her eyes brimming with tears.

The next morning Michele had slept late. Still naked and on top of the covers, she hadn't even stirred as Annie dressed, gathered her things, and made her exit.

Nancy had found her at lunch, she and a girl named Sue from the yoga class had asked to join her. She of course agreed.

The conversation was light and fun. Annie wondered at Nancy's easy grace, comparing it to Michele's fraught ambivalence. She touched the top of her head where Michele had held her the night before. It was still tender, there was a raised lump.

"Annie? Hello." The other two girls were looking at her curiously. Nancy with a crooked grin.

"Sorry?"

"I said, do you want to go together to the house party?"

Annie blinked, confused. "House party?"

Nancy frowned. "Yeah. Tomorrow night," she sounded a little concerned now. "Michele said she was going, so I figured you were too?"

"Oh yeah, I'd love to - but I have to come later," she lied. "I made a study date at the library." That seemed enough to dispel whatever worries Nancy might have felt.

"Right on. But you're coming right?"

"It's going to be fun," Sue added.

"Yeah. Where is it again?"

Annie worked at the library until closing time that night. When she got to their room, the blinds were drawn. Michele was still up, but dressed in her old man pajamas and reading by her bedside light under the covers. Annie greeted her and got a "Hey" in reply, but she didn't look up or otherwise engage.

Annie felt hollowed out as she unpacked her things and went over her next day's schedule. Unwilling to credit herself with anything but average smarts, Annie thought of herself as a grind and was proud of her workmanly ('workwomanly?') study habits. She had grown up in the chaos of her mother's emotional dramas and wasn't allowing Michele's moods to get in the way of her classwork any more than she had allowed her mother's to.

She stripped to her panties. Pointedly displaying her little tits and puffy erect nipples, something she never would have done, even just a few days before. She turned off her desk lamp and climbed into bed. Michele switched off her light almost immediately. The two lay silently in the dark for a very long time. Annie was unsure who fell asleep first.

Her Friday schedule was relatively light, but Sue had invited her to a late afternoon pilates class, which turned out to be far more intense than the yoga class. They'd showered after at the field house and then walked with a few of the others from the class to the cafeteria for dinner. Annie finished first and excused herself for her "study date", heading off to the library all alone.

It was still early in the term, and a Friday night, so the library was almost entirely empty. All the same, Annie took her spot on the top floor. She worked uninterrupted until ten when a pimply boy had come to tell her it was closing time.

The room smelled like pot but was dark and empty when she got back. She dropped her things and got undressed. Looking at herself in the mirror. Her hair was very short. Her mother had been furious when she'd first seen how badly she had cropped her bangs. "What have you done Annie?" She'd demanded. "You've ruined your beautiful hair!"

But she'd taken Annie to the hairdressers, and the lovely young woman who had given her the pixie cut had fawned over her, telling her over and over again how pretty she was, and when she finished, she'd announced "You look like a young Mia Farrow!' Her mother had gotten caught up in the girl's enthusiasm and had bragged about the resemblance to friends afterward.

Annie recognized herself in the pictures of a young boyish Farrow, the thin angular build, the big blue eyes, even the shape of her face and mouth, but wouldn't allow herself to think she was anywhere near as pretty as the actress. She was however thankful to the hairstylist for deflecting her mother's anger; transforming it into pride. 'Like straw into gold,' she thought.

Annie touched her chest, not much bigger than a boy's, smaller than some boys. She thought of the way Michele's breasts felt in her hands, overflowing her grasp. But she also remembered clearly the hungry look Michele had given her little tits when she'd first shown them to her and Nancy.

She thought of kneeling on her bed, legs spread with Nancy naked and twitching between her knees, Michele holding her up with one arm, while her other hand was in Annie's mouth, sucking cum from her fingers.

Reaching around with her supporting arm, Michele had pinched one of her puffy little nipples. "God I love these" she'd cooed. Taking her fingers from Annie's mouth, she'd pinched wetly at the other, smearing it with Annie's saliva. Annie remembered how heated Michele had sounded as she'd whispered about sucking them and kissed her.

Annie dug through her drawers until she found what she was looking for. An ancient t-shirt she hadn't worn in years. She'd outgrown it long ago, but couldn't bear to get rid of it, or even leave it at home. It read "Philippines ~ Shakey's ~ Pizza Parlor ~ World's Greatest Pizza". She smelled it. She used to be able to tell herself it smelled like her father, smelled like distant things, exotic places, but now it just smelled like her, maybe a little like home.

She pulled it over her head and looked at herself again. It was tight, just barely covered her midriff. Her nipples stood out as if they were carved in stone. She wondered what Michele would think seeing her in it. She blushed at the thought but wasn't sure if it was because she was embarrassed or excited.

Folded in the closet she found the jeans and pulled them on. They were tight with a low-rise waistline. Much more revealing than anything she'd wear normally - much more revealing than anything her mother would have allowed her to wear at all. While she had a boyish figure, Annie still had hips. She looked at the space between her thighs; remembered Craig talking about her "thigh gap". She'd bought them for her date with him. She remembered his shiny thin erection, him coming in her hand. His anger when she accidentally got semen on his shirt.