Chapter 1: College Beauty Takes Shy Loner to a Closet on a Dare, but...

She breathed through the gag, rapid little grunts completely at odds with her gorgeous, refined appearance. Her sleeveless turtleneck top was pulled taut over her chest as her hands were bound behind her with a cheap fabric belt. Her carefully sculpted blonde hair marred by a rough blindfold made from his polyester tie. Her tight, fashionable black jeans hugged her figure, her knees making scuffs in the deep layer of dust on the utility room floor. She sat there, not in the position she’d anticipated, a diamond cast into the dirt. Trembling - not scared, not quite - just off balance. And really, really confused. She could remember every single step which led to this moment, even helping to achieve it, but she couldn’t believe it had actually happened. That it had been her idea. Mostly.

In this position she couldn’t see, she couldn’t move. To compensate, her body magnified every sound and feeling. Her back & shoulders felt the coldness of the wall she was pressed up against. She could feel each tile in the floor beneath her ass and legs, as she sat uncomfortably, her hands trapped behind her. Whenever her feet shifted she could even feel the slight resistance of the thick layer of dust on the floor, and the hidden, mysterious stains beneath.

The noises of her breathing and his movement became somehow more intimate in this tiny room. She could hear the muted bass of the party leak through the door, but her focus was this room and she could hear every little sound they both made. Her eyes could make out the tiniest bit of light leaking through underneath the makeshift blindfold he’d put on her. How had she gotten in this position? And why was she feeling so...

“I hope this is everything you expected, Stacy” a male voice said, cool indifference dripping from his tone despite the interest it implied.

Humiliating, unbearable, an insult to her pride worse than a slap in the face. It wasn’t what she was expecting at all. Her heart skipped a beat for a reason she couldn’t understand.

“Well? How is it, slave?”

Her mind recoiled, no longer contemplating her situation. She was no-one’s slave - how dare he, this trumped-up geek?

“Mmmh!” she tried to reprimand him, forgetting about the gag.

But she couldn’t speak at all, her main weapon disarmed. The slightly sulphureous taste of his wool jumper covered her tastebuds, mixed with odd mango notes from her lip gloss. She felt the scratchy fibers of the cheap material pressed deep into her mouth, the odd patches slick with oil smeared from her lips. Her saliva dampened the fibers and his jumper drew more moisture from her, as if it had a mind of its own. It was perversion of a lover’s intimate kiss. Her tongue examined the invading fabric uselessly, probed its shape inside her.

She felt a surge of embarrassment as she finally understood her position. Everything suddenly became a little more real. Her heartbeat sped up as she realized she wasn’t in charge any longer. It wasn’t fear, not entirely - it was blended with something else. A feeling like anticipation and yet entirely different. She knew he could do anything to her right now, and she would never see it coming. It was incredibly different from anything she’d known before. Her heart skipped another beat, her nipples tingled, but before she could try to decode that, he spoke again.

“I believe you said you’re mine for fifteen minutes, is that right?”

How long had it been? Had it really been her idea to drag him into this utility room? Had she really helped tie herself up? It felt like it had been both seconds and hours ago.

“Is this too much for you to handle? You’re bound, speechless, confused. Didn’t I explain what was about to happen? Whatever I want, you said when you propositioned me. Or if I recall your wording correctly, ‘Yeah, freak, I’ll let you tie me up if you have the balls to do it.’”

Stacy wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of hearing her mumble into the gag again. She felt the heat of shame rush through her a second time. She remembered exactly what she’d been expecting. On a dare, she’d chosen the most harmless wallflower and taken him into a broom closet for 15 minutes, expecting to toy with him until he came in his pants, and then mock him. It was a game she’d played dozens of times back in her high school days. Sure it was juvenile and beneath her now they were in college, but it was still fun, gently humiliating her victim - a perfect way to round off the evening and burn off her excess stress. For him, Stacy imagined it would have been a bright spot in his life, something to remember, a highlight in a dull existence dedicated pointlessly to corporate accounting or programming or whatever mind-numbing shit he was majoring in. Without a doubt, this was the one and only time he’d be as close to someone as hot as her, and a little humiliation was surely a small price for him to pay for that experience. Win-win, she’d thought. How had it come to this?

Instead, she found herself blindfolded, gagged and bound on the floor, waiting for him to touch her. The worst part, the part she couldn’t get over, is that she’d let him. She’d complied every step of the way. Now she was suffering. This was demeaning, she ... hated it? She was hating it, right? Stacy didn’t really recognize the emotion inside her, didn’t have a name for it. It must be hate though, logically. She could barely keep her thoughts in order as they ran down one track after another. She’d never felt like this before, so powerless, so out of control, her heart beating so fast. Her blush intensified, her body heated, and inexplicably she felt dampness trickle down into her panties. She ... didn’t like this, right? Surely that’s what this was. She couldn’t like this, that wasn’t who she was. Sure, taking physical reactions into account people would call it arousal but...

“Didn’t you promise to blow my ... mind?” he taunted her.

“Fhh ooo!” Stacy spat with vitriol, rebelling against the feelings building in her body.

“Fuck me? So crude. So needy. Perhaps another time. You haven’t earned it, not yet. For now ... well, I wonder what I’ll do to you.”

She felt herself begin to sweat. Was it this hot in here a second ago? She unsuccessfully tried to glare at him from beneath the blindfold. No matter how she moved her head, Stacy could see nothing except for a maddeningly slim line of light right at the bottom, and she fixated on it. If she tilted her head like this, there was the floor. If she lifted her head back as far as she could, she could see most of the opposite wall, little by little. But both those positions were uncomfortable. She persevered for a second, trying to get a glimpse of him. Where the hell was he? She couldn’t find him, and gave up, slumping back against the cold wall and sitting still. For a second everything dimmed as his body blocked the overhead light, before brightening again. So he was over here now, beside her. But she wouldn’t contort herself to see him, wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. Her pride wouldn’t allow it. Except she’d just done that. Fuck. Embarrassment flooded through her again, her face hot.

At the edge of her vision, she could see the ball of her shoulders, locked in place, immobile. The edges of her outfit were slightly darkened with her sweat. Her skin emerged shockingly white from her sleeveless top, covered in goosebumps despite the heat. The rest of her arms were behind her, her wrists pressed between her and the wall, caught in a tight grip by his belt. The restraint had just enough give to mock her as she wiggled her ass trying to find a more forgiving sitting position. She could see a little of her own body, her torso. As she took little shallow breaths her chest rose and fell, like waves on the sea. Even through the layers of fabric hiding them, there were two conspicuous bumps, her erect nipples clearly hard enough to dent all the layers of fabric which should have been hiding them. Begging for attention. Why the hell were they ... She willed them to go down but her body wasn’t listening to her any more.

“Naughty girl. You didn’t answer my question. How are you feeling?”

She refused to answer. She wouldn’t. Wait - he was toying with her. She couldn’t even if she wanted to. He laughed; for a second she felt he’d heard and judged her thoughts. It was a domineering, somehow condescending sound she’d never thought this guy could make.

“Let me guess. You can barely think straight. You’re bound tight but your mind’s racing out of control. You don’t understand how you could have gotten into this position. Why you let me bind you up like this. Why you helped me do it.”

“Mmp hmm!”

She heard a rustle of cloth. What was he doing? Why wasn’t he saying anything? What was he going to do to her?

Each rustle and susurration she heard, even her own breath, set her mind off down a twisting path of wild speculation. What was he doing? What was going to happen to her next? Why wasn’t a little perv like him completely under her thumb? Why weren’t his hands all over her? Not that she wanted that, even though she’d challenged him to do it. It was sure to happen, any minute now. She was ready, anticipating his touch. A little color rose in her cheeks and a tingle raced through her nipples for the briefest moment. Could he see her reacting like this? What was he thinking, and how dare he do this to her? Why did she let him? How could this personality possibly be hiding in this nervous loner?

It was as if this bondage had allowed her mind to run free, removing it from her control. Stacy barely recognized her thoughts; who was she becoming? This was completely unlike her. Since high school people did what she told them; her way or not at all. Everything in her life up to this point had been orderly, and almost always with her pulling the strings. She had both the looks and the intellect to dominate everyone. But now she was someone else’s puppet. She couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, she could only listen and anticipate. She felt her pride wilt and shame bloom to fill the space it left within her. Shame, a foreign emotion to her. It felt oddly similar to excitement, but everyone felt like that, right? She wasn’t a freak, was she? Impossible.

What would her friends say if they saw her like this? What about the campus organizations she led, respected her? How would this change what they thought of her?

“You can deny it, but you know the truth. You want to be bound. You like this.”

“Fhh ophh!” she denied it, vehemently, even as she struggled to understand her reactions.

She denied it even as the familiar wet heat slowly built between her thighs. These new and impossible feelings were assailing her in parallel with the old and familiar one of ... arousal. Okay, she was turned on. Stacy didn’t know why, but she was getting hotter and hotter with each passing moment. What the hell was this feeling?

“Really? Well if you don’t feel that way, or are so mired in denial, you can leave at any time, Sta-cey.” he drew her name out, mockingly. “I have no use for a disobedient slave. All you have to do is shake your head, and you’re free to go.”