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Message-ID: <39231asstr$1036915805@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Crimson Dragon <dcrimsonp@nym.alias.net>
Subject: {ASSM} (Song Fest) Innocence {Crimson Dragon} (rom, bond)
Date: Sun, 10 Nov 2002 03:10:05 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

Author's supplementary note:

Revolving around, and titled after, a rather obscure song 
from deep in the 80's by a band called "Harlequin". I'll 
leave it to you to find the track. 

- Crimson
10-Nov-2002

---

I guess I needed to write something fun, something light,
and something other than reviews. I sat though an hour or
two of writer's block, and then decided that the best way
to break writer's block was to write something. So, I did.

The result is 'Innocence'. Seren laughed her way through most
of it.

With all respects to Uther, I decided not to code the
participants of the story. If you read it, you might
realise why. Sometimes, the codes have some serious liabilities.
Nevertheless, I do believe in them, and as a public service,
I give you Uther's website. This is what the story codes
*should* be.

http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Uther_Pendragon/www/code/scfr.htm

Anyway, this story does contain scenes of (marginally) erotic
content. This may or may not include light bondage, kissing,
nudity, touching, and human behaviour. If you are too young, or 
have no sense of decency, pass on by. It's easy.

Denny, his eyes better than mine, or possibly less biased,
caught a number of errors, and the story is better because of
him. The errors he didn't catch are entirely my fault.

A quick note. What is portrayed in this story isn't necessarily
safe. Bondage and its related activities should be played with
carefully. The intent of this story isn't necessarily
realism -- it may have happened but the people involved are
very unlikely to admit it. This story is supposed to be
a fun romp through the mind of a girl in an awkward situation,
not a class in Bondage 101. Play safe, okay?

This work is copyrighted in its entirety by Crimson Dragon.
Please respect this, and do not redistribute it outside of my 
original offerings via Usenet and my website(s). If you'd like to 
redistribute the story, please write to me and ask. I don't bite. 
Much.

Feedback, comments, rants or dissertations, can be forwarded
to my e-mail address that remains: dcrimson@yahoo.com.

If you are still with me, onwards to the story,
- Crimson (dcrimson@yahoo.com)

http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Crimson_Dragon/www
http://members.tripod.com/files/Authors/Dr/wwwagon_Of_Crimson


========================================================================

Innocence

[rom, bond]

========================================================================

(c) Copyright July 2002 - Crimson Dragon (dcrimson@yahoo.com)

All Rights Reserved

========================================================================

Innocence, my ass.

I squirmed on the bed, pulling at my trapped hands, my trapped
ankles. I wanted to scream, but of course, I couldn't. All I
really could do was seethe, and watch the sun slowly set,
its rays kissing my bare skin as it slipped, uncaring of my
predicament, down my thigh. Eventually, that ray of light
would touch my toes, and fall to the bed, then slowly fade
away.

I turned my eyes to the door, and closed them. No matter how
much I wished it, Stacy didn't open it and walk in.

I blamed Stacy for this, completely and utterly.

Of course, she wasn't entirely to blame. But, I blamed her anyway.

                      <---===***===--->

It had begun innocently enough, sitting in a nondescript
coffee shop. 

All right, so it had been the Heuther Hotel, girls dancing naked 
upstairs, pool tables, and locally brewed beer downstairs. I wasn't 
supposed to know about the strippers upstairs, but everyone did. 
Down here, amongst the pool tables, the air was smoky and
dense, stinging my eyes.

It could have been a coffee shop.

The guys shot eight ball, the balls clacking, rushing about the
table in complex patterns of stripes and solids. Stacy and I
had played one game with them, then settled to a stand table,
perching on stools. Catching a few stares from other tables,
I shrugged and tucked my legs together, hooking my toes over
the crossbar of the stool. I tipped my beer, the stronger locally 
brewed stuff, to my lips. The full taste slipped down my throat 
like ambrosia.

Stacy tossed her head, her blonde curls falling out of her face
with a practised motion. 

"You know what guys really go for, Danielle?" she said, her eyes 
shiny with mischief.

I knew, or at least I thought I did, but I shrugged anyway. A 
blonde girl tossing her hair out of her eyes without having any 
idea of how sexy it was, at least to the guys. Things like that.

I raised a finger. "Hold that thought," I said. I slipped
from the stool and paced over to the jukebox. It had fallen
silent a moment earlier, the room now only filled by laughter
and the clacking of pool balls. I traced my finger down the
list, sighing as I went. Only new dance music, and I'd already
taken as much of that as I could. Somewhere on the tenth page,
my eyes lit up. My fingers found a loony in my front pocket,
and I dropped it into the machine. It sighed as it swallowed 
the coin.

I punched J5, without waiting for the secret mechanism within 
to engage.

The music began, rushing towards my back, pounding through the pool 
hall. Nobody gave me a dirty look, so I had to assume that the 
eighties ballad met with some approval.

Harlequin sang about Innocence behind me, my body automatically
swaying to the music as I returned to Stacy and the guys.

                      <---===***===--->

Innocence. 

That's all you ever pleaded. 

Innocence. 

And that's all you'll ever plead.

Stacy shook her head with a laugh, and leaned in.

"That isn't what guys really want, you know."

Confused, I stopped dancing in my seat long enough to flash
her a puzzled glance.

"What isn't? Dancing?"

She grinned and I shivered. I knew that grin. Bad news, that
grin.

"Innocence," she said.

I pursed my lips, and slowed my body, reaching for my beer.
Rick and James continued to ignore us, shooting the silly balls
about the table. Stacy glanced at them, and then grinned again.

She pushed herself off her stool, and walked over to Rick.
She whispered something in his ear at which he shrugged. When 
she returned to the table, she held out her hand. Unthinking,
I took it, and she practically pulled me to my feet. My beer
sat lonely on the tabletop, sloshing.

"Where are we going?" I asked her.

"I told Rick we were going to the ladies room."

I shook my head. "I don't need to go."

She grinned again. Damn, that made me nervous.

"Neither do I. Come on."

Stacy was a bad influence. Whatever she was up to, I was quite
sure that my mother, bless her, wouldn't have approved. But of
course, Mom wasn't there, and I was a little tipsy already,
so with a shrug, and a wave to James who was watching us,
I followed Stacy to the stairs.

                      <---===***===--->

This is where I learned, far too personally, what happened 
upstairs at the Heuther Hotel.

Blindly, I followed Stacy up the stairs, watching my feet on the
worn wooden planks, one step behind her. I didn't really look up
until we entered a large room, booming bass and more cigarette
smoke surrounding me.

When I made the mistake of looking away from my feet, I found
myself at the back of a long rectangular room, a red stage with
a brass pole near one end. Tables and chairs lined the room.

It took me a moment to realise that Stacy and I were the only
girls in the room. The remainder of the clientele appeared to
be dingy, middle aged men, some of whom raised their eyes
at our entrance. I flushed, but Stacy pulled me forward towards
the bar. I could feel eyes raking in my body. Not the most
pleasant sensation in the world. Not the worst either, but
close.

"Stacy?"

She ignored me -- typical -- and I eased up to the bar, taking
a stool.

"She needs a rum and coke," Stacy glanced at me, a wry look about
her lips. "Badly," she added unnecessarily. "And I'll have a vodka 
straight up."

I began to protest, but Stacy waved me away. The bartender
raised his eyebrows, shrugged, and poured the drinks.
His demeanour wasn't because of the liquor Stacy had ordered, 
I suspected; it was the fact that we were of the wrong gender for 
this place. While he was pouring, I felt a subtle shift in the 
room; the multitude of male eyes left my back, and turned elsewhere.

I slowly spun, my own eyes tracking the men's new distraction.
A tall woman strode onto the stage, high heels, stockings, a business 
suit, and oversized tinted glasses. I swallowed, unable to take my 
eyes off her. Dimly, I was aware of Stacy behind me, paying the tab.

We all knew such girls existed -- brave enough to take their
clothes off for a bunch of horny men who paid for the privilege -- 
but how often does someone like me actually witness it? How often does 
someone like me want to witness it? Suddenly, I was sure that I didn't 
want to. While I respected the girl for her bravery, I simply
didn't want to be here.

"Stacy," I said more urgently.

She grinned. That damnable grin of hers.

"Please," I said, jerking my head towards the entrance -- exit --
whatever. Predictably, Stacy ignored me.

Instead of stepping towards the door, she laughed and grabbed
my hand. Numb, I stumbled and followed her towards the stage.
It wouldn't have surprised me if Stacy wanted to join the
bleached blonde up on the stage, me included, bumping and
grinding to overly loud music. I have no idea why, but I
had always envisioned a more subtle show -- a girl
with a boa, teasing and shy. Silly me. As we stumbled closer 
to the stage, I was relieved of my misconceptions.

She played a secretary, or a manager, I don't know, but an
office worker. She teased, but not much. Her clothes
didn't stay on her very long, falling from her like rain,
scattered about the small stage, puddles between her high
heeled feet.

I wondered idly if the girl had worn some sort of tear-away
clothing to make her job a little easier. I don't remember
her pulling her top over her head, or even pushing her
skirt down her legs. But there she stood, bare to the world,
only her stockings and her shoes between her and her birthday
suit. Odd what one notices when under stress. The girl was 
shaved. I mean completely shaved. For some reason, it struck me 
funny. Perhaps it was the drink I had already nearly 
consumed, or perhaps it was only the picture of myself up there. 
The girl spread her legs, cupped her ample breasts and the 
crowd gasped. That seemed even funnier somehow, but sad in another 
way.

My mind flashed to my mother -- not a good thing to have
happen in the middle of one's first experience in a skin
show. I flushed for a moment, hesitating. Stacy stopped,
and we stood behind the first row of chairs arranged like
a fence around the red velvet of the stage. Definitely
a bad influence. I couldn't tear my eyes off the girl
on stage. She seemed to see me staring at her, and instead
of being properly abashed at her nudity, her exposure to
the world, she winked at me. I lowered my eyes.

"Perverts Row," Stacy whispered in my ear.

"What?"

"The first row."

The fence of chairs around the stage, filled to capacity,
featured drooling men staring at the blonde and her antics. Some 
waved bills in the air towards the girl. She didn't seem ready to
accept any of them, twirling slowly around the brass pole,
a vacant look now on her face, the novelty glasses discarded
with the rest of her clothing.

A touch to my arm brought my eyes down. A middle aged man
dressed in a tweed suit peered up at me, his eyes a little
surprised, and more than a little bloodshot. His teeth were 
yellow stained, though whether that was due to cigarettes or 
coffee, or both, I don't know, but it was his eyes that registered 
a pleased surprise at our presence behind his chair. I suppose, in 
his place, I might be surprised, too. One wouldn't expect girls 
to be in this place. Hell, I didn't believe we were there, either, 
and I was one of the girls in question. The music pounded around us, 
and the girl above twirled, her nakedness almost normal now to me.

I couldn't hear his words, and I bent my ear towards him.
Stacy frantically tugged at my fingers, but I ignored her,
feeling a vague sense of justice. Let her wait. Bad move. 
This time, I should have listened to her.

"You two care for a leettle menage a trois?" he grinned, his
voice slurred enough to remind me where we were standing.
His grin seemed far more sinister than Stacy's evil cousin.
Surprised, I straightened, shaking my head vigorously, a flush
rising to my face. I might be naive, and innocent, but I knew 
what he was suggesting. Stacy laughed beside me.

"What the hell are we doing here?" I whispered in her
ear.

She motioned towards the dancer, now on her knees crawling
about the stage, like an animal.

"That's what guys want."

"What?"

"Whatever the opposite to innocence is."

She pursed her lips, her eyes laughing, and we retreated. Suddenly,
I was aware of eyes on me again -- perhaps bored with the brutal
wantonness onstage. They were probably speculating what I might look 
like onstage instead of the shaved blonde woman. I shivered.

                      <---===***===--->

The guys still played pool, a new game, balls galore scattered
across the green felt. I sat trembling beside Stacy, and we watched
them for a while in silence. The jukebox had fallen back into the
mindless dance music that had preceded Harlequin.

"You know," Stacy said, almost nonchalantly. "What guys really
want?"

"Girls dancing naked on a stage. Or two at once," I said thinking
of the middle aged creep upstairs, probably still drooling at
whatever boob enhanced female was dancing for him now, our
presence only a dim memory.

Stacy shrugged and glanced at the guys. They weren't paying us
any attention, and with the music, I doubted if they could hear
us in any case.

"What isn't innocent?" she mused. I had a bad feeling that she
knew exactly what wasn't innocent. Worse, she was going to tell
me.

"Strippers?"

She shook her head. "Not subtle enough. Anyone can take off
her clothes."

Personally, I disagreed, but I didn't say so. I mean, I took mine
off every night before I went to bed, but that's hardly the same
as parading around a velvet stage with a brass pole in the middle.
I watched Stacy for a moment, then I turned away from her. Bad influence. 
Very bad influence.

"No," she said, her voice light and airy.

"What?" I asked, knowing better.

"No. We need to tie you up or something. That," and she emphasised
the word, the grin returning full force, "wouldn't be innocent."

See why I blame her? My mother was right. Bad influence, girls
like Stacy. Very bad influence.

I laughed, a little uneasily. The pleasant buzz from the drinks
was fading fast, and I stared at her.

"I'm not letting a guy tie me up in bed. Forget it."

And it worked out that way, too. I didn't let a guy tie me up
in bed. A technicality, I suppose, but for what it's worth,
I did manage to keep to my word -- at least in a literal
sense.

I sighed, wishing that I was in a nice safe, nondescript coffee
shop where girls didn't disrobe and crawl around red stages upstairs.

                      <---===***===--->

It was a lazy Saturday afternoon, and I sat at my small desk
trying to write. Stacy melted into my bed, staring out the
window at the clouds. I gave up, and dropped my pencil to the
desk, clapping the notebook closed with a snap. Stacy
looked up.

That damn grin spread over her face, and I had an awful feeling
that I wouldn't be proud of whatever happened next. I was right,
as usual.

"Let me tie you up," Stacy said, her voice filling the small
dorm room.

"Excuse me?" I hadn't forgotten about our conversation at
the Heuther, much as I would have liked to. The stripper
haunted me sometimes, dreams where I was both on stage and 
seated in Perverts Row gripping me, waking me, flushed and hot 
in the night. But Stacy had never mentioned it again, and
I hoped that she'd forgotten -- two girls who'd had a little
too much to drink. Obviously, she hadn't forgotten.

She looked up at the ceiling, her voice far more serious than
I would have liked.

"Innocence," she said, but not to me. "It's all you ever pleaded."

"Harlequin. You're not tying me up."

"Why not?"

She lowered her face, her eyes holding mine. That grin was
back, and she tilted her head, daring me to answer. 

"You're just not."

She shrugged, and turned back to the clouds.

"I swear, you are never going to get laid," she said.

I swallowed, and opened up the notebook again, the pencil resting
against the page, but not moving.

                      <---===***===--->

"I've got rope in my room," Stacy said.

I turned back towards her.

"Stop it. You're not tying me up." I paused. "It's too -- kinky."

"The guys would salivate over you."

"So let me tie you up."

She shrugged. "Okay."

I didn't want to tie her up. My heart hammered in my chest,
my breasts rising and falling noticeably under my shirt. I
wasn't wearing a bra -- it was Saturday -- and the cloth
tickled my nipples. They rose, despite my attempts to
ignore the sensation.

"No. Nobody is tying anybody else up."

"Innocence," she whispered.

I shook my head, and turned back to my notebook. There was no
way I was going to concentrate. None. The image was in my head,
whether I liked it or not.

After a while, I turned to her.

"Fine," I whispered. She turned her head from staring out the
window, and grinned. I hated that grin.

                      <---===***===--->

She returned after a while, letting herself back into my
room with my key. I flushed. A length of rope, almost like
clothesline, swung from her right hand. It gleamed there,
a snake, a serpent. I couldn't take my eyes off it.

She stood swinging it slowly as the door closed and latched
behind her. Outside, the clouds chased each other across the
sky.

"You or me?" she said. The grin was gone now, but I still
didn't really trust her. Bad influence.

"I don't want to tie you up," I said.

She shrugged. I truly believe that she would have been willing
to do it, if I'd wanted to. It would have changed a few
things, I suspect, had I tied her up, but that's in the past now. 

I pushed myself out of my seat, and walked over to her.
I held my hands out, wrists pressed together.

"Get it over with, if you must."

She looked at my hands and laughed. "Most girls want to be tied
to the bed."

"Most girls don't do this," I reminded her. "Otherwise it would
be innocent, wouldn't it?"

She laughed again, and pushed my shoulder. Resigned, I fell
to the bed, swinging my legs.

"Do I lie down? What?"

She peered at me, her eyes sparkling.

"First you have to take off your clothes, silly."

I shook my head. "No, way. Uh. Uh."

She laughed again. "Oh, really brave. Really going to catch
a guy's eyes. Danielle tied up on a bed in her nun's habit."

Actually, I suspected it might, but I shook my head. Stacy
sighed. "If you don't want to do it right, then I'll do it."

She dropped the rope on the floor where it coiled like a cobra
near her feet. Her purple socks contrasted with the white.
She reached for the hem of her shirt, and pulled it off in
one swift motion while I stared. All I could picture at that
moment was Stacy up on the Heuther stage, ripping her clothes
off and spreading her legs for Perverts Row. Her bra shone in
the light from the window.

"Stacy ..."

She looked up, her hands reaching behind her, fumbling for
the clasp on her bra.

"What?"

"Stop stripping in my room."

"Why?"

"I'll do it. Dammit."

I shivered. Bad influence. Dangerous influence.

"Sure you will ..." she said. She made absolutely no movement
to retrieve her top. It lay on the floor between us like a
challenge.

I sighed. This was the girls' dorm -- no guys around, anyway --
and the door was locked. I reached down and pulled my shirt
off, mimicking Stacy's disdain. The air greeted my skin
like a cool breeze. My nipples crinkled. I shivered, and stood. If 
I was going that far, I may as well go for the gold.

Soon, I stood bare in front of her, my clothes littering
the floor at my feet. I grinned, somehow feeling on top
of the world. I'd stripped. Yes, only in front of Stacy,
hardly Perverts Row, but it felt good in a strange way.
I swear, I never make sense even to myself.

My mother called into my mind, warning, warning. This wasn't 
the time or place. I shoved her from my mind. I had a feeling
that I might regret my hastiness, that old Ma may have had a few
good reasons to constantly remind me of my inadequacy.
I somehow couldn't picture her quite in this situation,
though. Of course, one didn't have to be a direct participant
to recognise a bad idea. For instance, one didn't have to
be a super genius to understand that sawing through a
limb upon which one was standing, like Sylvester the
Cat, might be a poor idea, even for a cartoon.
The passing thought wormed its way into my brain, causing
ripples of unease, forcing me to think. I hate thinking.
I eventually might have regretted this foolishness, but at the 
time, it seemed to make more sense than it had any right to.

I swallowed, and lay back on the bed, face up. I calmly
stretched my arms over my head. I felt my breasts lift
upon my chest, nipples still uncertain of this.

Stacy loomed above me, and I shivered again. The evil grin
was back, and I suddenly felt a little like a fish, grasping
at the worm, completely unaware of what was about to happen to
me. In a moment, I would be gasping for air, so far out of
my element that I would think I was drowning.

                      <---===***===--->

The ropes held me securely. Nothing I could do about that, now.
Her fingers wrapped coils of the rope about my wrists, and
I shivered as she secured me to the bedposts.

I pressed my legs together, but at her urging, I eased them
apart for her, allowing her to finish the job of making me
the world's easiest sucker. The ropes wrapped my bare ankles,
tightening, and suddenly I was helpless. Naked and helpless and 
flushed. My breath rasped in and out of my lungs.

Stacy settled into my desk chair, where I should have been
plying calculus problems, or writing a philosophy essay.
The grin returned.

"All right. We know. Let me up."

I pulled at my right wrist, shaking the bed a little.

"Sort of."

"What the hell do you mean: 'Sort of'?"

She paused, and turned to look out the window. Stacy could be
maddening that way, simply ignoring the important things in
life.

"We need a guy's opinion."

My heart sank, forming a pit of lead in my belly.

"A guy's opinion?"

She grinned again. "Yes. I mean, *I* don't think it's innocent.
You look about as innocent as Satan lying there, but we need ...
Rick."

My eye's widened. "Rick?"

"Yeah. If he thinks you're still innocent, then we'll have
to try something else."

"Stacy ..."

She pushed herself to her feet. She hunted for something on
my desk, and then held it up to me. My door key. She
placed it gently on my belly where it lay, so close, but
so out of reach. It rose and fell with my laboured breathing.

"You can't do this."

She laughed. "Why not?"

"Because. You know why not."

She moved towards the door, and leaned back on it.

"You like Rick, don't you?"

I nodded. He was ... interesting. Stacy knew that. It wasn't
like we never talked. Girl stuff. Even if I'd never told her,
she was smart enough to figure it out.

"But this. No way. He'll think ..."

She laughed and stepped back towards me. Her fingers brushed
me as she gathered up the key from my belly.

"... that you're a brave girl."

"Brave? Stupid, more like. Let me out. Now."

She shook her head, and opened the door. 

"Don't go anywhere," she said lightly. Such a goddamn comedienne.

I sighed as the door clicked shut behind her. I didn't want
him to see me like this -- not the best introduction to a potential
love interest -- but I didn't see much of a choice. Much as I
blamed Stacy, I'd allowed myself to be goaded into this.
As it turned out, he wasn't much of a love interest, and
Stacy wasn't completely wrong.

                      <---===***===--->

It could have been ten minutes. It could have been an hour.
Time passes differently when one is bound naked and helpless
to a bed in the middle of the afternoon. I amused myself
by counting the dots in the ceiling tile. It isn't as
easy as one might believe. I kept losing track at about
three hundred and forty. My limbs felt a little numb,
even my relatively free fingers tingling, perhaps not used to 
being tied motionless for so long.

A noise at the door surprised me, breaking my latest
count nearer two hundred and five, than three hundred forty.
My heart began to hammer in my chest as I heard the
key slip into my lock, the handle turning as I stared
at it. I wanted to scream at her, wanted to beg her to
let me go, let me dress, cover me. Anything.

But it wasn't Stacy that stepped tentatively through
the door. Shit. She'd done it. I had no idea how,
or why, but the familiar form of Rick stumbled
through the door, hands held out in front of him
almost like a zombie. I couldn't face him. I turned
away before he could even fully step through the door.
I pulled frantically at my bonds, moaning under my breath.

He moved closer, but the exclamation of surprise never
surfaced, never flowed to brand me with derision. Given the
lack of response, I guess I expected a look of flabbergasted 
surprise, striking him dumb. Perhaps, a vain part of me 
actually wanted him to be dumbstruck by the unexpected view 
of me naked and helpless in front of him. The truth was
both relieving and surprising at the same time.

He walked slowly forward, groping, guided by the 
maddeningly smiling Stacy, her hand light upon his
shoulder. He was much taller than her, and she reached
up. I have no idea why I notice these things. I simply
do.

I sighed inwardly, relief washing over me as I saw his
face. He looked a little like a reverse Lone Ranger,
his eyes covered instead of his mouth. High-ho Silver -- oh
crap -- wait a sec. Kemosabe? Uh. You may have screwed that
up. Damn. The cloth looked dark and snug, fit about his eyes 
like a mask. I trembled as she guided him to the chair that was 
set beside the bed where she'd sat before taking off and leaving 
me.

She hadn't tied him, his hands were free, only his eyes were
covered. I suddenly realised that my innocence was only fleeting. 
He could take off the blindfold himself, at any point. I began
to pray, without much hope, that he wouldn't.

I have no idea how she got him into the dorm, still don't.
I have no idea how she managed to get him to wear that
silly reverse Lone Ranger bandanna across his eyes. Either way,
a guy in here was a decisive no-no. Stacy, and probably
me by extension, was risking expulsion by bringing him
here. Hell, Rick was probably risking far worse than
expulsion given the apparent situation. I could see all
too clearly what it might look like to the Dean, if he were
to waltz in here without warning. Bed check! Surprise!
And what a surprise.

After Rick settled into the chair, Stacy stepped away, winking at 
me. I turned my eyes to his hands which clenched and unclenched 
in some strange mimicry of stress. He was stressed?!?

Stacy stepped to the door, opening it silently. 

"Stacy, no!" I called out. But it was far too late, even if
she had ever had any intention of staying, which I seriously
doubted. Perhaps she knew what would happen, perhaps not. 
I suspect that she knew Rick better than I did. But could she
honestly have foreseen what was to happen? I doubted that.

"Stacy?" Rick called as the door snicked shut behind her.

When no answer came, he slowly rotated his head, perhaps
sensing where I was by my rapid breathing.

"Rick?" I said slowly, carefully.

He started at the sound of my voice, his hands rising almost
instinctively towards his face. I shivered, and panic rose
into my throat.

"Rick, no. Please."

He dropped his hands back to the arms of my chair, and his
fingers began that weird rhythmic clenching again. Open.
Close. Open. Close.

"Danielle, what the hell is going on here?" he asked slowly.

I swallowed. "She didn't tell you?"

"I thought," he began. Then stumbled. His hands rose to his
face, and I began to protest again, but he didn't pull off
the blinder, merely cradling his head in his hands.

"Rick. Please, don't take off that blindfold. Please."

"That's what she told me, too. Said I would never ... if I
did ..."

My head spun for a moment, but then settled. I had to tell
him. There was no other way.

"Rick. I'm sorry. I swear I am. I don't quite know what's
going on here."

"That makes two of us."

"I'm naked, Rick."

His head rose at that, and I was nearly sure that he would
take off the blindfold. Now, with a little more experience
under my belt, I know that most guys would have, especially,
after the next little conversation. But to his credit, Rick 
didn't. I never asked her, but I suspect that Stacy somehow 
knew that he wouldn't, even if she would never admit it.

"What?" he whispered. His lower face paled a little, as if I 
was a dragon or something, having told him that I was about to
kill him, or breathe fire all over him.

"I'm naked. If you take off that blindfold ..."

He nodded, understanding. If I was reading his body language
at all, he understood perfectly. I wanted to tell him the
rest, but he'd find that out soon enough. No need to rush things.
I was embarrassed enough having to tell him that I was nude.

"Get dressed then," he murmured.

I sighed.

"I can't, Rick."

He looked puzzled. "Why not?"

In retrospect, I probably should have told him a lie. Stacy
had taken all my clothes. I had some rare life-threatening
illness that would kill me if I dressed. Something. Anything.

I could see my panties lying innocently under his right
foot, crushed and trapped like a pink butterfly. I swallowed 
before I spoke, my mouth dry.

"Because I'm tied to the bed. All right?"

He paused then. I could see it upon his face, the set of his
body in the chair. His instincts rose up, clashing with whatever
was holding his impulses in check. So easy to simply reach up and 
pull the blindfold from his eyes. His hands actually shook. I don't 
know if it was because I begged him, or whether it was a sense 
of chivalry, either way, he managed to control his hands.

"Please, Rick. I'm begging you. Please, don't."

He nodded.

"Danielle, why? I don't believe you."

I don't know if it was male stupidity, or simply the male
propensity to make female's lives uncomfortable. Why the
hell would I have made up such a stupid lie for?

And it flooded into me.

A stupid prank, played to make him look foolish. How far
would us girls go to make a monkey out of a man? That's what
he thought this was: me sitting on the bed, fully clothed,
trying to get a reaction out of a desperately horny man.
He wasn't going to fall for that.

Oh, I understood. I didn't want to, but I understood.

"Stacy didn't tell you?"

He shook his head. "I thought ..."

I sighed.

"About two feet in front of you, a little to your left."

He shifted his head towards my voice.

"What?"

"Reach out, but be careful."

He missed my arm, which is where I wanted him to be, but
at least he was higher than my breasts. For a stupid
instant, I actually hoped that he missed a little further
south. I regained my senses when his fingers touched my
cheek. I forced my head to remain still under his touch.

"That's my cheek, Rick."

He nodded slowly, understanding, making the connection between
what he felt and what I'd said, gathering his bearings.

"Slowly, Rick, find my right arm, and trace up to my wrist."

I shivered as his fingers trailed over my throat, my bare 
shoulder, and up my arm, finally encountering the ropes that 
circled my wrist. I wiggled my fingers, and he withdrew as if 
he'd touched a snake or a spider.

"Oh, my God," he whispered.

"Yup," I said unnecessarily.

"Jesus. Are you all right?"

I didn't know the right answer to that, but I made one up anyway.

"As long as you leave that damn blindfold on, I'm fine."

"Holy shit. Why?"

I didn't answer him, couldn't face that particular truth myself.
Instead, I lay there helplessly, and hoped that he wouldn't
get too curious about what I looked like. He sat silently for
a while, and then shook his head, sighing.

"Danielle?"

"Uh huh?"

"I have to go."

"What?"

"I have to go."

"What? Why?"

I have no idea why I said that. Apparently, we were on the same
wavelength. He had to leave. But I didn't want him to leave. 
Something unsaid. Something that needed to be resolved. Even under
these, um, trying circumstances.

He didn't answer me, but he didn't push himself to his feet
either. I wiggled my toes. They tingled way down the other
end of the bed, almost as if they weren't a part of me any
longer.

"Do you think you could untie me?"

He looked startled.

"Untie you?"

"It's only ropes. I'd do it myself, but the whole point of
tying someone up is so they can't reach the knots."

I cursed Stacy for the millionth time. Unfortunately, she
knew the whole point, and nothing but the point. Believe me,
I had been trying to reach those damn knots for a while,
now.

"Oh," he said. He made no move towards me.

He gathered his breath, filling his lungs.

"Please?"

"I doubt if I can with the blindfold on."

I swallowed. "No. Please. Leave it on. That's okay."

He hesitated for a moment longer, and then reached
forward. In a panic, I was sure that he was reaching
for my right breast.

"Rick!"

He pulled his hand back. I let my breath out in a whoosh.

"I was just ..." he stammered.

I sighed. "Your fingers came about a millimetre from my
right breast."

He shivered for a moment, and then mumbled something unlikely.

"I'm sorry."

"What were you doing?"

"I was going to try to untie you. Like you asked."

Suddenly, it seemed like a bad idea. A really bad idea. Like
letting Stacy tie me up naked in the first place.

"It's all right. Nevermind."

"You don't want to be untied?"

"I doubt if you could do it blind either, and I'd rather be
tied than ..." My voice trailed off knowing how the
remainder of my thought would sound.

"Oh," he said. He leaned back in the chair making a familiar
squeak. He seemed a little upset. I couldn't blame him.

"I didn't mean it that way, Rick. Honestly. I like you,
and under other circumstances, without the ropes, maybe with
my clothes ..." 

Maybe if I was a little less innocent.

He shifted the chair back and away from me.

"Danielle?"

"Yes."

"You're babbling."

I thought I had a right to babble, but I didn't say so.

"Sorry."

He sighed, and fell silent for a while. Then, his head rose.
For a moment, I wished that I could see his eyes.

"I thought that she, Stacy, was bringing me up here for a
blowjob. I never ..."

I swallowed, the implications of that sinking in.

"Stacy?"

He nodded, almost miserably. I silently thanked Gods that
I wasn't sure that I still believed in that I hadn't
chased him. It wasn't too late to pull back my attraction
to the guy. It seems cold, I know, but I was cold, literally,
my body shivering, exposed. And there are more important
things on a girl's mind than whether or not she can stop
liking a guy when she's in this kind of situation.

"You and Stacy? Together?"

He nodded. "Not yet ..."

The implication was clear. Not yet, but hopefully. Together.
Blowjobs leading to ...

"Rick ..."

"I shouldn't have told you that."

"That's all right."

He paused for a moment, thinking.

"Was this all in benefit for me?"

"What?"

"You? Tied up there? Naked?"

I swallowed. I didn't know what the right answer was. I wasn't
in charge here. I doubted if I ever was.

"I was supposed to take this off, wasn't I?" He gently
touched the reverse Lone Ranger mask across his eyes.

"I think so. To prove I wasn't as innocent as I look."
I paused for a moment. "It wasn't exactly my idea," I
whispered. I knew it sounded lame as soon as I said it.
I cursed Stacy silently again. It wasn't her lying here
trying to explain the fucking impossible. Truthfully, I
couldn't believe it myself. I don't know why I expected
Rick to understand it.

"Do you want me to take it off?" He fingered it, making my
heart begin to hammer again in my chest.

I shook my head, even though I knew he couldn't see it.
The shame of it was that I did, in some remote corner of my
mind, want him to whip it off and ravage me. Even when I
knew that he wasn't interested in me. Stacy's blowjob
filled his mind, even with me lying helpless and naked
only a blindfold away.

"Rick. No. Not like this."

He sighed, and shifted back towards me. He reached out again,
and I held my breath. I thought I knew what he was doing, a last
effort at releasing me. I'd ceased being jumpy, more resigned
to my fate. Truthfully, I no longer really cared if he
removed that blindfold or not. Then again, maybe I did, I didn't
tell him to take it off, even when it meant freedom.

"Rick ..."

He halted, his fingers only a centimetre from my right nipple.
I could shift myself enough to get out of its way, or to
press myself into him. Tying a girl onto a bed so she absolutely
can't move isn't easy. Four ropes on wrists and ankles won't do
it. At least, not the ones I had. I could move a few centimetres
in some directions if I had to.

I closed my eyes and held still.

"Do you know where your hand is?"

"Almost at your wrist?"

His sense of direction, typically male, had failed him again.
I had no doubt that this was innocent, that I was innocent,
even lying here naked about to be touched intimately by
the guy I was interested in. Had been interested in.
After this, he wouldn't look at me sideways in the street.
Fuck. Then again, I got the feeling that he never really
would have. He was hung up on Stacy, and that was life.

I kept my eyes closed.

"Close enough."

Reassured, he pushed forward again. I gasped as his fingers
touched my breast, almost caressing my nipple, erect and
waiting. Figures. Well, it took a moment for the tactile
sensation to reach his head: far more soft and yielding than 
my wrist, or forearm if he'd been off by only a centimetre or
two. He hesitated a moment, confused. Tendrils of
sexuality raced through me, even this innocent touch
driving some of the maddening frustration into my groin. I 
pulled savagely against my ankles, but the rope held, as I knew 
it would. Nothing was that easy. My nipples throbbed, especially 
where he'd brushed me. My vagina pulsed without warning. Somehow,
I managed to stop myself from moaning.

"Christ," he whispered. He pulled his hand back,
cradling it as if it were wounded. "I'm sorry."

"Rick, it's all right," I said. He still didn't know
where he'd touched me, not for sure. He only knew that he'd 
touched soft skin, and it wasn't a wrist wrapped in ropes.
Who the hell am I kidding? He had to know.

He moaned, and it was then that I realised that Rick was
as innocent as I, perhaps more so. I sympathised with him.

"I tried, I'm sorry," he mumbled.

He pushed himself to his feet, swaying ungainly, robbed
of the stabilisation of sight. We don't really understand
what it feels like to try and do normal things without
our eyes. The blind live with it every day, but I think
I now understand what the white cane is for.

I didn't say anything.

He turned his head to look at me, unnervingly accurate in
locating my face. For some reason, I was sure that he would
be staring at my chest, considering my position. But of
course, even if he had, it wouldn't have been conscious.
His world was mercifully dark, where he couldn't be
blamed.

"I have to go," he said. "Stacy. I. She's. I'm sorry."

He held his hands out in front of him, and I watched as
he awkwardly moved away from me.

"Rick?"

"Danielle, please don't ... I can't ..."

"You're about to step in the trashcan."

"Shit," he murmured.

It felt like a very weird game of blindman's bluff, but we
played like desperate souls. Left. Right. Hot. Cold. Until
his fingers finally touched the door. He felt along it,
a drunk, or the blind man that he was, until he found the
knob.

He paused there, his hand still resting on the knob. My body
ached, and not only because I'd been tied down so long. Something
else. Desire. Not innocence.

His face turned again to mine, unerringly finding my
presence in his darkness. I'll never understand how he
did that, when his hands almost unerringly found my
chest instead of my wrists. If there was a being of a
higher power, she had a weird sense of humour.

"Danielle?"

"Yes, Rick?"

"I'm sorry, for what it's worth."

He wasn't sorry for touching me inappropriately, he wasn't
sorry that he was caught like a rabbit in a wolf's den,
he wasn't even sorry that Stacy had been as cruel as she
had been to him, whether she knew it or not, or that he'd been 
unable to untie me. No. He was simply sorry for things that could 
not be. I was with him on that score.

"Thanks, Rick."

He seemed to understand, and twisted the knob. I doubted if
he'd ever look at me the same way again, an innocent
university girl, out on her own, everything new. Somehow,
it no longer mattered to me. Perhaps, my innocence was
fading.

I was sure that Stacy would come in as he left, laughing
and grinning, ready to untie me from my prison. But the
door snicked shut, no feminine laugh issuing forth. Only
the running sound of heavy feet, pattering down the corridor 
and the lonely sound of a fire door slamming on the stairwell 
at the end of the hallway as he escaped. I lay my head back on 
the pillows as I realised that Stacy had assumed that something 
else was going to happen between us, and had given us privacy.
Either that, or she'd been called away.

I'd been wrong. Stacy hadn't known that he wasn't going to
ravish me, hadn't known that her offhand admonishment, or my
begging, to stay blindfolded would be so effective. She hadn't 
known, perhaps, that Rick wasn't a typical guy, or that he was
head over heels in love with the wrong girl. 

Just my freaking luck.

As I've said before. Stacy was a bad influence, but not
always as smart as she thought she was.

                      <---===***===--->

This is about the point where we began, the afternoon
slipping into night, my hands and feet numb, my stomach complaining
about my missed dinner, entire body shivering. My nipples
ached, and my clitoris fairly throbbed out a samba between
my legs. Frustration, and helplessness. That's me. Danielle,
the sucker.

In a way, Stacy was to blame for this, but that is truly
a simplification. I didn't have to strip. I didn't have
to let her tie me to this damn bed. Despite my misery, I
do understand that we, as humans, have to take responsibility
for our own stupidity sometimes.

Stacy would realise, sooner or later, what happened, or be able to
sneak away, and release me. I hoped for sooner. I watched helplessly 
as the last rays of sunlight kissed my bare toes and then faded into 
night.

                      <---===***===--->

I suppose I must have dozed off; what else did I have to do?

The soft sound of the key in the lock woke me. Disoriented,
I glanced around, confused as I realised that I couldn't
move my hands or legs. My entire body ached.

Stacy edged into the room, her back to me, probably trying
not to wake me. Her feet were bare, her hair damp, as if she'd
taken a shower. A shower sounded mighty nice to me at the time.
It was a miracle that my bladder hadn't started singing. The door 
closed with a whisper.

"Stacy?"

The girl whirled, probably expecting me to be asleep in my
bed, curled up, satiated with an afterglow of Rick. Her face 
caught the moonlight, almost like an angel. Her eyes
widened as she saw me, horror and anguish simultaneously
flooding her face.

"Danielle? Oh, God," she moaned. Her feet carried her to
the bed in a whirl of motion.

"Can we untie me now? Please?"

She swallowed; I could see the motion of her throat in the
moonlight from the window.

"He didn't ..."

"Untie me?"

She nodded, her face miserable.

"No." I paused, perhaps for effect. "Did he fuck me?"

She closed her eyes, pained.

"No. He didn't even touch me. At least, not intentionally."

Stacy sank to her knees, her fingers reaching for my face.
Surprised, I realised that I was crying a little, tears
slipping unheeded down my face.

"Danielle, I'm sorry. The girls found me, and I panicked.
They wanted to come up here, go to the movies with you.
I had to do something, had to go with them. I thought ...
I thought for sure that Rick ... oh, god, I'm so sorry."
Her fingers traced the line of my jaw, tickling as she knelt
beside me. There were tears in her eyes. She really was
sorry, of that I was certain.

"I know, Stacy."

And I did. I blame her, still do, human nature, I suppose, but 
I have to forgive her, too. There are reasons.

She looked up at me, her fingers mopping the tears from my
face. "Rick ..."

"... is in love with you. I know." I pulled at my arm, the
ropes biting in deeper. I winced, but she didn't seem to
notice. For the first time, I realised that she was crying,
her tears shedding and running down her cheeks. Ironically, I 
wanted to hug her, but that wish was doomed to failure. At least, 
then it was.

She nodded miserably. From my perspective, I thought that
her misery was simply the concern of one friend for another,
a love lost.

"I wasn't in love with him, Stacy. Not yet."

"I know. I had to show you."

Confused, I looked up at her. The damn ropes still held me down. 
I wanted to shake her. Make her make sense.

"Show me what?"

She sighed, and lifted herself to sit on the bed. Her body
dimpled the covers between my thigh and my armpit. Her hip
brushed my breast. I stifled a small gasp, unaware of how
sensitive I'd become.

"Innocence."

"Stop it, Stacy. I'm not as innocent as you think."

She was talking about something else, I think.

She nodded, acquiescing to the truth, changing tacks with me. 
I wasn't innocent. Hadn't been, even before she tied me to this 
bed. Guys liked that, didn't they? Of course, Rick had left, even 
with an available, naked, completely un-innocent girl obviously 
interested in him. But then again, I hadn't asked him to stay, 
either. I hadn't told him to tear off that damn upside down
Lone Ranger bandanna, when he hadn't done it himself.

Stacy leaned down, her hands on either side of me, above
my shoulders. I squirmed. Her breath smelled faintly of
honey, her hair, still damp, dragged on me, kissing my
collarbones. Her breasts hung under her shirt, almost
touching my bare chest.

"Stacy?"

She gathered in her breath. No grin.

"Rick likes me. I've known that for a long time," she said.
Her face pinched, brutally aware of her miscalculation.
I got the feeling that she didn't quite know the depths of
how much, else she might have chosen another tack with Rick,
when she brought him up here. I'd seen the pain there when he 
realised that he wasn't getting what he'd come up here for,
Stacy hadn't. It was more than sex, more than a promised
blowjob. Stacy, and her lips. I suppose I should have been 
angrier, but I was more tired and aching than anything else. Still, 
some anger seeped into me.

"So you promise him a blowjob, force him on me?"

Her eyes misted, and a single tear fell. The wetness
fell to my neck and trickled down.

"I'm sorry. It was stupid."

I nodded. It was. I could have been hurt. I'd trusted her.
God knew how much she'd fucked up Rick in the process.
Sudden anger welled up in me, but I think I should have
been even angrier. But I wasn't. Rick would survive. He 
hadn't touched me. Hadn't even taken off the blindfold. I 
thanked my lucky stars it had worked out without anyone, 
particularly me, getting seriously hurt. I suppose that I 
shared in that blame, but at the time, I only blamed her,
the anger hot and undeniable. If I hadn't been tied down,
I might have slapped her.

"Damn right it was stupid. Now, my wrists hurt. Untie me."

She shook her head.

"Enough of this game, Stacy. I want out."

"A moment, Danielle? Please?"

I sighed. I'd been here for hours, and even through my anger,
I realised that she was trying to tell me something. Something
important. My anger retreated like a gazelle in flight. I never
could stay angry with anyone, not in my nature, I suppose. Calm 
filled me, as calm can only fill a person that had no other option. 
My shoulders ached, and my ankles were numb, but I didn't complain.

She gazed into my eyes, and I shifted under her. Her breath
warmed my face.

"Christ, Stacy. For a second there, I thought ..."

She whispered, and then did exactly what I thought she was going
to do, but never finished saying.

"Innocence, it's all you ever pleaded."

"What?"

"Innocence. It's what guys don't want."

"Some do," I said. I had a sinking feeling that Rick was one of 
them. His interest in Stacy notwithstanding.

"I'm not a guy," she whispered, oblivious to my words.

I should have seen it coming, her posture, her demeanour,
her actions, her soft voice. But I didn't. Not until she nodded, 
and then kissed me, and the meaning of her words became crystal clear. 
Suddenly, I didn't care about being tied down. I didn't care 
that I was naked. I didn't care about Rick, or billiards, or 
strippers, or the Heuther Hotel, or nondescript, non-existent 
coffee shops. She flooded me, her lips soft, and yielding, 
banishing my anger and my indignation as a wind scatters smoke.

I heard myself moaning, as if from a great distance, and I
kissed her back, my bare body writhing under her, gasping for
air until she finally broke the kiss. Her lips continued to
kiss me, though, trailing down my throat, to my breasts,
and then down my belly, tickling and teasing, as I lay in
the ropes and moaned.

                      <---===***===--->

She found my rhythm like a long lost lover, her tongue
driving into me, across me, her fingers light on my
breasts and nipples. She lay awkwardly, half on and
half off the bed between my spread legs, licking,
stroking. My hips rocked towards her, my brain switched
off, only sensation driving me, like an animal.

And like an animal, I cried out as her tongue drove
me over the edge, into blissful free fall, my body
arching and clenching, sweet release at last.

                      <---===***===--->

She untied my ankles first, then my wrists. I lay still,
savouring each touch of her fingers on my damp skin.

When I was free, I finally gathered Stacy into my arms,
and she curled up there like a child. It was an odd
reversal, after having been bound and helpless myself for so 
long. I stroked her hair, enjoying the damp sensation of it.

"You?" I whispered.

Stacy understood, and shook her head.

"Maybe later."

Perhaps, it was a concession, retribution for what she'd
done to me earlier, a small sacrifice of her personal pleasure
as self imposed punishment. I'll never know her true reasons, 
but I didn't push the issue, even while I wanted to taste her.
I was simply too damn tired. One can't really blame me.

So, for a while, until later rolled around the next morning,
I maintained a little innocence, after all.

I still shivered from my climax. As I slipped down into
the bed, finally pulling the covers over my nakedness, revelling
in their simple warmth, I knew it was late, even if I didn't know 
the exact time. It didn't matter.

Stacy curled up, her bare skin pressed silky into mine,
purring under the covers. The bed was a little cramped, but
neither she nor I minded.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

I understood, now, and I kissed the top of her head gently.

"Next time, you don't have to tie me up, you know.
You could have just told me."

Of course, she couldn't, and I understand that. Oh, let's
go catch a flick, Danielle. And by the way, I think I want to
have sex with you. I might even love you. My heart sped up
for a moment, reliving her fingers and her tongue, and simply
her. I reminded myself of how she came to me. It was a hell 
of a way to make me realise that she existed. I wondered how 
much she did know, and realised, underneath all that bravado.

She looked up at me, a lazy smile across her face. She
shrugged. I didn't know what that meant, but that grin
was back on her face. I hated that grin. She was a bad
influence. As I lay there, I was sure that even Rick
would agree. I smiled and kissed those lips, tingling.
She curled in, and closed her eyes. I did, too. The scent
of sex and clover hung heavy, her soft skin comfortable
next to mine as the sandman rose closer.

I pictured her lips in the darkness; I didn't mind that mischievous 
smile, even after everything.

Sometimes, innocence is all we really needed.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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