Chapter 3: The Punishment for Interrupting his Date

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. No, 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 when she found him, and it was driving her crazy.

If she didn’t know what she wanted then she couldn’t plan, and Stacy always had a plan in place. So she told herself she was going to rant at him, give him a piece of her mind. It didn’t fit but at least she had an objective. 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. She thought she understood herself, had herself under control, so why had her own motivations become so unfamiliar? How could a little kink 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 fetish. 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 between them. 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. Searching for weakness. Searching his pupils for any sign of that nervousness he exhibited just a few moments ago, trying to avoid being pulled under. Finding nothing. Gradually falling in. It felt like this was a different person. How could that be?

“I-I didn’t mean right now...” she whispered, wriggling a little against the wall.

Was that really her voice? How weak that complaint sounded. It humiliated her. Those words were 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, could feel her animal instinct trying to show her how. She squashed it down. She wanted to stay here for a moment. To explore this feeling for just a little 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 still he did nothing. Each wave washing away a little more of her dignity. Each wave leaving growing embers of arousal in their wake.

“Good girl.”

Her pulse had just started to relax after he’d bound her so suddenly. His words made it jump up and race even faster than before. Her body knew the drill this time, knew more about her desires than she did. She felt her blush expand from her face to her shoulders, and a delicious heat explode 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 look so surprised, it’s hard not to be insulted. That’s two, 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.

“What’s that, slave? Don’t mumble.”

“ ... don’t call me that.”

This time there was not only no force behind her words, there was no air at all. She was merely moving her lips. She felt her lips brush his as they moved. Smoothly oiled silk on rough, cracked rubber. Her entire body shivered at the contact. Her dress touched his shirt as she inhaled, those short, little gasps like last time. Her juices flowed freely, soaking her tights. They both understood what she was trying to say. And not saying.

He examined her for a moment. 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.

“I think...” he paused, a rasp in his voice.

He cleared his throat. Stacy felt a little thrill of victory, knowing it was because of her, that she’d affected him. She was pleased, she was happy. Why did she care? Never mind, ‘why’ didn’t matter, not in this moment.

“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. She said nothing.

He stepped back, away from her. Cool air rushed into the new space between their bodies. Stacy felt the chill as the wet fabric of her dress was plastered against her. The cold breeze blow past her nipples. The cool airflow on her thighs, contesting the fire in her womb.

She shuddered. No. This wasn’t what she wanted. Stacy felt a yearning, an invisible bond pulling taut as the distance increased. She could have it all back, make it right again. Yes. Just one step.

She fell forward into him - accidentally, on purpose, who cared? Her arms were trapped behind her, she couldn’t stop herself. It was, in its own way, a leap of faith. A confession. He staggered backward for a moment, then propped her back against the wall, his arms wrapped around her, the warmth of his body heating hers again. Her shoulder was pressed into the door of the cubicle uncomfortably, but she couldn’t find the will to do anything about it.

“Stacy...”

She shook her head.

“ ... n’t stop.” she mumbled into his shoulder.

“What?” his voice right next to her ear, tickling the little 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. And he was still fucking asking questions. She could barely think. Wasn’t it obvious?

“Tie me up, call me whatever you want, do whatever you fucking want to me, 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.

Fuck. This was mortifying. Her face burned. Stacy fervently hoped nobody else was in here.

Stacy almost jumped out of her skin as she felt his hand cup her sex firmly, without warning. She could feel the pressure of his palm press her sodden tights and panties against her clit. His fingers on her butt. It was awkward, but perfect for the moment.

She moaned, unable to restrain it, forgetting to even remember why she had to or where she was.

“Do with you, slave. Never to you. Don’t forget.” he growled, his voice husky.

He ground his palm against her, rubbing her clit through the layers of protective fabric. With you, with you, with you - his voice echoed in her mind as she felt herself explode. Sparks flew throughout her body and sent out little jolts of pleasure wherever they landed. The sound of moisture hitting the floor came from beneath them.

Her legs tried to fold beneath her. He caught her of course. She knew he’d always catch her.

Tristan was feeling very glad he’d been alone for so long. That and that alone had enabled him to reach this moment. Had he been in this moment through skill, or experience, he’d have failed or messed up. He was here purely because he spent most of his free time in lurid fantasies of such shocking depth and breadth that he’d actually imagined this. This situation, more or less, and he was merely living out the script on autopilot. Not because he didn’t want to be present, but because his mind had shut down several minutes back at the sheer impossibility of what was happening.

And now she was cumming on his hand, moaning, liquid flowing down the strap of his watch to the floor. Her head was buried in his neck, muffling her voice. He felt a hint of pain, somewhere, but it was trivial compared to the overwhelming sense of accomplishment. Even awe. She was completely flooded - the quantity of her cum wasn’t something he believed could be real.

He wanted more, right now.

“Stop” her voice was quiet, shaky, “No more, Ma ... Tris. It’s too sensitive.”

Tristan stopped immediately, snatching his hand away like he’d been scalded.

“Heh.” Stacy snorted in amusement. “You’re really into the whole no means no thing.”

Tristan nodded while wordlessly helping her sit on the closed toilet lid behind him. He untied her arms and watched her struggle weakly with her coat. He helped her pull it off, though as her sweat had stuck it to her it was much more difficult than it should have been. She sighed in relief, resting her chin head on her fist, her elbow on her thigh.

“That must make the whole dom bit pretty complex.”

Tristan said nothing, observing her. He had no trouble making eye contact now, and laughed out loud at that realization. That it was also a good answer for her question was pure coincidence.

Tristan spent a moment just taking her in like a painting in a strange art gallery. Her makeup was smeared all over the place, her hair a tangled nest, her body slick with their sweat. Her little black dress clung to her curves, shiny with moisture. This was the evidence of what they’d done together. She was gorgeous, more so than before.

“Beautiful.” he said, without thinking.

She tsked dismissively.

“Yeah right, I must look awful. You like my pose? I was going for Rodin’s ‘The Thinker’. A female version. Do you think I pulled it off?”

She posed, a grin on her face. He mimed taking an old-fashioned photograph. Tristan took one hell of a mental snapshot.

“Click. Yes.” he managed to reply, surprising himself.

Stacy, right here, like this, could be on the cover of a fucking magazine. What the hell is she doing here?

He tried to move back to the door, but before he got more than one step away he felt a tug on his shirt.

“Stay with me for a second. Please.” her voice was soft, vulnerable.

Where was the woman who drove fear into the hearts of everyone on campus?

Stacy pulled Tristan close so he was standing in front of her. She leaned on him, her arms around his waist, she rested her head on his stomach. Her cosmetics daubed his white shirt with hues of red and black.

“Next time don’t ask me if I want to stop. I don’t want to stop. I never wanted to stop, even the first time.” she mumbled into his abdomen, the vibrations tickling his skin.

His mind whirled in confusion. A few minutes passed like that, Tristan as immobile and responsive as a wall. Next time?

“Mmm, thanks for the aftercare Tris. Ah, it feels good to move my hands.”

She put her hands on his hips and pushed herself back upright. Or she would have, but her hands weren’t quite on his hips, they were closer to his...

“Whoa, Tris, is this all you? You’re as hard as a rock!” she exclaimed.

Stacy stroked her long dainty fingers over the bulge in Tristan’s jeans. Despite the thick fabric he felt each digit intensely as they travelled up and down the length of his manhood. He felt his mind retreat again, struck dumb by the scene. Stacy was touching his cock! Even though it was just through his jeans, he struggled to stay conscious.

She favored him with a sultry smile.

“Why don’t I thank...”

Boom.

“Hey, who’s in here?” a loud voice shouted from outside their stall. “We’ve had a complaint. This is a restroom. It is not for sex play. You are disturbing other customers, whoever you are.”

Tristan and Stacy looked at each other in panic.

“Now I’m going to go serve table 6, which will take me about 5 minutes. If you don’t want me to involve the police, be out of here by then. Get a room, kids.”

The door closed, and everything was silent again. When Tristan was sure they’d gone, he unlocked their cubicle.

“We’d better go.” He led Stacy out of the partitioned-off area.

“Yeah. I...” she passed the mirrors, and froze. “Fuck I’m such a mess.”

“Stacy?”

“I can’t go out like this. You don’t have to wait, just go. No sense us both getting caught.”

There was never any question what he’d do.

“No.”

“Tristan!” she hissed, “Now’s not the time for this!”

“I got you into this state. The least I can do is stick around and face the same consequences.”

She ran back for her bag, and took out a set of implements which mystified him, a miniaturized medieval torture kit. She began a rapid, complex ritual at the sink which made him feel vaguely uncomfortable, like a voyeur. The difference being both observer and victim would be caught any second, then punished.

“Go. I don’t want your help.” she glared at him in the mirror.

“I-I ... I didn’t offer to help you. I’m ensuring whatever happens will happen to the both of us.”

“Weirdo. What’s the point? That’s so creepy, and unwelcome. You’re like a stalker.”