Miranda Lawson had never felt so utterly helpless, nor so incredibly aroused. There were ropes cinched tight around her hands and feet and knees and elbows, and more wrapping her torso and arms, binding her, constricting her every movement, demanding her obedience. There was a cloth over her eyes, and in its sprawl of ebon darkness she could not glimpse even the slightest slimmer of light. She was blind, submerged in a black sea, but of course there was nothing she could say about her predicament either, for tightly wrapping her mouth was another cloth, leaving her to suffer her bondage in forced silence. When she tried clenching her teeth, the thick knotted fabric was there between them, keeping her quiet, and even that simple denial of being able to close her mouth was so strangely exciting, Miranda moaned against her muzzle. And all around her, hugging warmly at her like the tender arms of a lover, her own bed sheet wrapped her up in its tight cocoon. She was hot inside, her arms and legs slicked with sweat, but she was contented in her restraint too. She welcomed the seductive sensation of her restriction, and each time she even considered writhing against it, a warm tingle spread from the dampness between her legs and Miranda was momentarily lost in the brief, beautiful, ecstasy of total submission.

And then there was Jack: her voice, her hands, the sweet sound of her breathing, the warmth of it pressing through the thin sheet to tickle at Miranda's ear. When she grabbed for Miranda's legs or arms or body, and her fingers, slender and firm, closed down around her, Miranda could do nothing but focus on them. When Jack slung her over her shoulder, she bounced helplessly atop it, quietly grunting against her gag as she was carried off like some damsel in distress. When Jack pressed her lips close to Miranda's head and whispered, "You're mine now, cheerleader", Miranda squeezed her eyes shut beneath her blindfold and wished Jack was atop her, kissing her, using her, fucking her every which way she wanted. And when Jack finally lowered her again, Miranda's heart thundered so fiercely against her chest, she thought it might hammer right through her ribcage. She's got me, she thought, the dizzying disorientation of not knowing where she was making her head spin in the darkness. She's really got me. I've been captured, kidnapped, tamed.

At some point, Jack halted them, lowered her, and asked, "Are you alright in there?"

Miranda closed her lips around the knot of her gag and hummed. What more can I do? She thought, the pounding of her heart filling her ears with its intermittent drumming. I'm not permitted to speak or move. This is all I can reply with. She hummed again, straining against her cocoon to nod her head a bit.

Jack kissed her. She couldn't feel her captor's lips, but she heard the sweet sound of them as Jack took the back of her head and pressed against her face. "Just a little further," she whispered, "and I'll remove the sheet."

"Mmmph," came Miranda's muffled response. She was enjoying the sound of her own gagged nonsense more and more; it reminded her of how truly controlled she was, of how humiliatingly useless Jack had rendered her.

Jack scooped her into her arms. Miranda loved that too: the briefly held position of being cradled in Jack's arms like a bride being carried off by her groom. Then Jack was placing her on something, and wherever they were filled with a sharp hisss as the soft rocking of movement swayed the ground. As they were moved along in whatever transport Jack had found them, Miranda lay as still as stone in hopes of impressing her captor with her obedience. She didn't struggle or writhe or make a sound, only kept her head pressed against whatever she'd been laid upon and waited patiently for what Jack decided to do with her next. At a point, Jack's hand fell atop her thigh and started rubbing up and down with the subtle motion of the transport. When her fingers grazed the top of her thigh, they pressed into the sheet and squeezed, tickling at the sensitive skin down near Miranda's crotch. Miranda moaned, and that earned her a harder squeeze. When she squirmed a bit, Jack's hand slid up to her chest and pinched at her nipple.

When Jack had first started doing that, Miranda had enjoyed it in a way, but it hurt too, and left her feeling slightly uncomfortable. By now, though, she had gotten used to it, and even the anticipatory sensation of Jack cupping her breast and sliding those tattooed fingers of hers up to flank the sensitive pink skin of her tit made Miranda's legs rub together at the knees to control her excitement. She had come to love those little pinches, she supposed. They were reminders of who was who in their relationship, and now she found herself relishing them each time they came.

Jack's voice slipped softly into her ear from beyond the cocoon of sheets: "Do you have to be punished again or are you going to lay still and let me have my way with you now?"

"Mmm…"

"What was that?"

"Mmm."

"Are you giving me lip, cheerleader?"

Miranda chewed her gag and shook her head.

Jack was quiet a moment, and in that silence Miranda could practically feel her girlfriend's mischievous grin and lusty eyes trickling over her, looking for a place to squeeze or pinch or punish. "Don't squirm an inch or make a single sound for the rest of this trip or I'll flip you over, cut a hole in these sheets around that curvy butt of yours, and use one of our big, rubber toys to fuck you in the ass. Is that what you want?"

Oh, God, Miranda thought, sweat rising in her palms almost immediately. She was taken with such a strong urge to begin twisting and turning to earn her… 'punishment', she had to chew the gag again to get herself under control. She'd never had something in her asshole, and wasn't even sure she'd enjoy such a thing, but Jack threatening her with it… She knows every perfect thing to say to drive me crazy. A few choice words from her lips and I'm soaking in my panties. She obeyed; she lay still again, quiet.

Jack groped at her thighs, poking a finger down against the sheet to fondle at Miranda's crotch. It took every bit of willpower she had not to move or make noise, but Miranda managed - barely. When Jack's probing finger pressed deep enough to slide against her clit, though, Miranda had to ball her hands so tight to keep quiet, her nails dug painfully into her palm.

"Good," Jack's voice came breaching down into the dark pool that was her blindness. "You're a good girl, aren't you?"

I'm your girl, Miranda might have said if she could.

"When you're good, you deserve a reward." Jack's hands were moving over her cocoon again, sliding up, up, and laying softly atop her breasts. "When I have you stashed away somewhere safe, I'm going to eat your pussy, princess. Would you like that? My mouth closed around your sensitive little clit? My tongue inside you?"

Yes, God, yes, Jack, Miranda thought. She sunk her teeth deep into her gag to keep quiet though. This might be a game, and if she responded, if would be exactly what Jack wanted; a show of disobedience.

"You do, don't you?" Jack went on, her hands squeezing ever so softly at Miranda's chest. "You want to fill my mouth up with your come when I force an orgasm on you. You want me down between your legs. You want me on my knees, pleasuring you."

Miranda swallowed. Be still, be quiet, and she might actually go through with it when we get… wherever we're going.

Jack gave her thigh a squeeze. "You're all mine. No one knows I have you. No one knows where you are. And I can do whatever the fuck I want with you and your body. How does that make you feel, Miranda Lawson? To be my fucking property. Huh? Answer me."

Don't. Miranda kept still. She's trying to provoke you.

"You think lying there all silent is going to help you?" Jack teased. "You think you can hold out? What if I turn you over and spank your ass till its numb. You really think you can keep that pretty mouth of yours wrapped quietly around the gag I fixed it with the whole time? Do you want to find out?"

Miranda was at her breaking point, cresting the hill of her tolerance to remain quiet and teetering on the precipice of thrashing and screaming against her gag, if nothing more than just to earn the punishment Jack kept teasing her with. But her savior came with the audible hisss of whatever transport they were in grinding to a halt and the motion around them waning away to a placid stillness. In its silence, Miranda could hear her own breath scraping at the sheets above her face. She was hotter than ever… and in more ways than one.

"Stay quiet. I'll be right back."

"Mmf!" Miranda grunted with a shake of her head. True fear came then, a cold spear piercing up through her belly and chest at the idea of being left alone in her bondage.

"Shhh, it's alright, cheerleader," Jack told her with a laugh. "I'm only poking my head outside to make sure the way is clear. I'm not leaving you. I wouldn't do that." Her lips pressed to the sheet again and kissed. "Okay?"

Miranda pulled a breath and nodded. Of course she wouldn't leave me. She felt silly for assuming that was what was happening in the first place.

The heavy fall of Jack's boots thumped across metal, trailed away, paused, returned. Miranda lay still, working to get her breathing and heart rate under control. She was turned, sat up, and hoisted over Jack's shoulder, then the little space they occupied filled with the sound of her captor's boots drumming forth again. They took a turn, another, and at a third the air grew cool and crisp around Miranda's cocoon. Outside, she realized. We're going outside. And they did, but only briefly. Jack moved quickly, bouncing Miranda off her shoulder as she carried her bound-up prisoner forward and into the calm, cool night. It had to be night, Miranda supposed, because wherever they were was far too quiet to be anything else. She could hear a faint wind gusting against the ground, but it came too steady to be natural. That meant they were somewhere in the Citadel, amidst a simulated night, where generators perpetuated false winds to match a more natural climate. She knew they hadn't left the Citadel (the journey too brief, and lacking the distinct and somewhat disorienting liftof entering space) but it was a small comfort to be confirmed nonetheless.

The fall of land beneath Jack's feet must have sloped then, for Miranda felt her weight shifted slightly atop her kidnapper's shoulder. After a short trek, they leveled out again and took another turn. The winds died away, and Miranda had the distinct feeling that they'd entered some sort of hall; the tight confines of walls and ceiling pushing in on them from every side. That trek was even shorter than the first, though, and before long something along their path clicked, and Miranda Lawson was carried inside what must have been a room of sorts. Behind them, the click sounded again. The sound of my captivity. She was lowered atop something soft a moment later and Jack set about removing her from her sheet-wrap.

When it was done, Miranda sat cushioned on all sides nestled in something comfortable, the welcome coolness of wherever they were brushing against her sweaty limbs and body, freed then from the tight hug of her cocoon. Her hands and feet and torso were still bound up tight, though, her mouth still silenced, her eyes still blind. She tugged at her binds a bit, wondering what Jack was thinking of her sitting there in nothing but her bra, panties, and a great deal of rope. The carpeting was soft beneath her bare feet. The faint sound of an air-cooling system thrummed. Otherwise, there was little to feel or hear or do. She sat, she listened, she waited.

Jack's footsteps moved from place to place, the occasional sound of something sliding or being moved accompanying her where she went. When at last her boots moved to the carpeting before the chair she'd been left in, Miranda was eager to have her blindfold removed and see, exactly, what all the commotion was about. Where are we?

"Are you alright?" Jack asked as her weight lowered beside Miranda. "Do the ropes hurt?"

Her wrists and ankles were a little sore, but it wasn't that bad. She shook her head.

"Do you want your gag off?"

The knot of the cloth was damp between her lips, and Miranda would have loved a drink of water to sooth her dry throat, but she didn't think she was quite ready to be permitted to talk. She liked being kept quiet. She shook her head.

"The blindfold?"

She nodded.

"Ah, there it is," Jack teased, her hand falling to Miranda's knee and squeezing. "You want to know where you are. Is that it, cheerleader?"

Maybe I should have asked her to take the gag off. Miranda grunted and twisted at her wrists. She nodded, eager for her sight to be returned to her.

"What if I keep you blindfolded until I'm ready to move you."

Miranda raised her brow. "Move me?" She tried asking, the gag mumbling her words till they were nearly incomprehensible.

"What? You didn't think I'd keep you on the Citadel, did you? This place is temporary. I have to get you somewhere more isolated… so no one can take you away from me." Jack's hand moved to her face, her fingers softly stroking at her cheek and brushing away a strand of hair. "I worked hard to get you, Miranda, I'm not giving you up without a fight. I'll take you to the edge of the galaxy if I have to to make sure you're all mine."

"Mmm." Miranda worked her lips around her gag. Suddenly, she wanted it removed even more so than her blindfold. She wanted to tell Jack she already was hers… and she wanted to kiss her; she wanted to kiss her very badly. "Mmf. Mmmph."

"I don't know what the fuck you're trying to say, cheerleader, but I already offered to take your muzzle off, and you chose to stay shut up, so… that's how I'm keeping you. For a while."

"Mmm…"

"I'll do this for you. Be thankful for it."

And with that, Miranda's blindfold was slipped from her eyes, and light and color in all their glory returned to her in one fell swoop. She squinted, and through the narrowed drapes of her eyelashes saw beige walls, sloped and carved into a homey little room, golden domes set along the ceiling casting warm light to dapple the dark carpets and matching drapes that had been pulled shut over a solitary window. Before her bare and bound knees, a glass table floated between a ring of puffy maroon furniture, but otherwise the room was sparse and undecorated. Miranda shifted aside on the couch she'd been set in to look upon her captor. She found Jack's piercing eyes (so dark, so pretty) holding intently on her own. She looked to the young woman's little nose and her sharp cheekbones, her painted lips and the line of her jaw, and in that moment Miranda realized just how much she'd missed being able to look upon it all. Much like Jack's little pinches at her nipples, Miranda had grown fond of her partner's beautiful face.

"You're doing that staring shit again," Jack said. Her words came stern, but then she was dipping her head to conceal a little smile and a blush in her cheeks.

I like making her blush, Miranda thought as her eyes moved from Jack's red cheeks to her red lips. And I want to kiss her. She hummed around her gag again.

Jack watched her helplessly trying to communicate with a smirk. "Are you mad, you know, because I kidnapped you and shit?"

Miranda shook her head.

Jack looked her over. "You're dirty."

Miranda raised an eyebrow.

"I think I have to wash you." Jack slipped a little knife from an inner pocket of her pants, flipped it around in her hand with deft fingers, and cut the binds on Miranda's knees and ankles loose. Immediately, the pressure pinching them together fell away, and Miranda leaned back to graciously stretch her legs out till her feet were beneath the glass of the table. Jack took her by the shoulders and twisted her sideways to set about cutting the ropes wrapping her torso and chest. When she reached to pluck them away, her fingers—deliberately, Miranda thought—stroked the side of Miranda's breast, tugging a little at the edge of her bra till it snapped back and bit at her skin. When Jack finished, only her wrists and mouth remained in restraints. "Come on," Jack began without bothering to remove either, "you're filthy and sticky with sweat. I'm going to have to scrub your ass clean." She hooked an arm under Miranda's elbow and pulled, and Miranda was helpless but to lurch to her feet and fall in alongside her tattooed captor.

Jack kept Miranda close beside her as she marched her to the end of the room and beneath the curved arch of a shadowed hallway. At its end, a door opened on a small bathroom, and a shiver took Miranda's spine as her bare feet moved from the warm carpet to the cold tiling of its floor. The motion sensors activated and a soft yellow light painted the room gold as a strip of semi-opaque material above the sink came aglow. At the room's corner, a shower head protruded from the wall inside a glass enclosure; polished steel trim on the handles of slide-away doors. Jack went to them and slid, and when she turned back, curled a finger towards herself, beckoning Miranda forward. "Get over here, you filthy thing."

Is she actually going to wash me? Miranda moved forward slowly on legs that had turned to rubber. When she was close enough to grab, Jack did just that, taking her by the arm, pulling her close, and spinning her around. "Can you behave if I untie your hands, or do I have to keep you bound?" Miranda mumbled with a nod, and Jack accepted that as her promise to behave. She worked the knot loose binding Miranda's wrists. When they came free, Miranda pulled them around to her front and rubbed at the little red lines the ropes had left imprinted in her flesh. She reached for her gag, but Jack caught her wrists and tugged them back down to her sides. "Just because I freed your hands, don't think you can go grabbing whatever you want. Don't move unless I tell you to, understand?" Miranda nodded and Jack removed the gag herself, working the big knot out from between her lips carefully. When it was done, Miranda didn't dare speak a word. She'll like it if I stay quiet until she gives me permission.

Jack turned her back around, wrapped her up in a hug, and (finally) kissed at her lips. Miranda closed her eyes and kissed back, and the two of them stayed like that for either a minute or an hour; it was easy to lose track of time when Jack's lips were on her own. When her captor finally pulled away, Miranda wanted nothing more than to pull her close again, but made her arms stay obediently pressed to her sides. She kept her mouth shut and swallowed, waiting as patiently as she could for whatever instructions Jack gave her next.

It didn't take long. "Strip," Jack commanded, leaning back to fold her arms across her chest.

A warm flush crept along Miranda's skin. It was strange to think, but despite all the 'games' they'd played over the last month of their relationship, and all the things they'd done to one another, Jack had never actually seen her fully naked. Miranda never had need to be ashamed of her body. She had genetic engineering on her side, and on top of that, she kept fit and watched her diet. Still… it felt different with Jack. She wanted more than just Jack's approval. She wanted her girlfriend to lust after what she saw… but she wanted her to love what she saw, too. Jack began drumming her fingers impatiently along her arm, and Miranda had no choice but to angle her arms around her back, pop the hooks of her bra, and slip out of it. Instead of waiting for Jack's reaction, she made herself get the whole thing over with, tossing the bra aside and bending down to take the waistline of her panties to wiggle her hips out of them as she slid the things to her knees. She stepped out of one side and hooked the other over her toes to kick and send pooling to the floor beside her bra. Then Miranda Lawson stood straight, naked, and about as nervous than she'd ever been. The apartment's air cooling system thrummed on, cool air brushing along the tips of her breasts and down between her legs.

Jack looked her over; not in a scrutinizing way, just… a glance. And when her girlfriend's piercing eyes landed somewhere and held, it was not on Miranda's breasts or her hips or her crotch, it was her eyes, and in that moment she loved Jack a little for that too. It's me she wants, she realized. Not my body. Not 'perfection'. Me. Jack stepped forward, kissed her, and moved aside, gesturing her into the shower. Miranda went, turning her head a bit to hide the smile Jack had brought to her face.

A knob squeaked, a rush of liquid sounded beyond the wall, then the little glass enclosure came alive with the pattering of water raining down from the shower head to beat at the cool linoleum floor, and at Miranda Lawson's nakedness. Miranda gaped and arched her back as the water came cold, ran warm, ended hot. She tipped her head back and let the shower run lines down her hair, soaking it and sending it laying flat against her neck and shoulders. The temperature was just hot enough to steam, and soon enough the glass walls were fogging up. From beyond one, Miranda saw Jack moving before the big mirror at the end of the bathroom. Jack slipped her chest harness from her neck and shoulders and worked her way out of it. Miranda watched her, the soft golden glow of the light splashing across her girlfriend's body, accentuating her backbones and muscles as they worked. Jack stepped out of her boots, squirmed her hips around as she tugged at her pants, then stood clad only in panties before the mirror; her legs long and darkened with all the artwork of her ink. By the time she removed her panties, the shower walls were nothing more than three blurry panes of steamed glass, but Miranda could still see the hazy figure of Jack's ass as she looked herself over in the mirror. She's as nervous as I was. I've never seen her naked either.

Jack returned to her, slipping inside the shower's sliding doors and closing them up behind her, sealing the two of them inside. The steam lay thick over every inch of the enclosure then, and as Jack stalked forth, grey tendrils of it hugged to her breasts and hips, turning her into some Goddess floating through rain and fog. Her hands moved around Miranda's waist and tugged until she came forward. Her breasts, small and perky, pressed against Miranda's own as she squeezed herself close and kissed again. Miranda's eyes fell shut, and when Jack pulled away to kiss at her neck and collarbone, she leaned her head back and welcomed the hot water's gentle trickle atop her brow. Somewhere in the steam, her girlfriend was kissing lower, at her breasts and at her nipples, then at her stomach and her hipbones. Then Jack was moving lower and Miranda gasped when her thighs were pulled to widen her stance and Jack kissed her between the legs.

Miranda had resolved to remain quiet until Jack gave her permission to speak, but when the young woman's mouth closed around her clit and gave a little suck, there was no stopping her mouth from uttering, "Oh, Jack,", as she reached for the walls to support herself. Jack lifted out of the steam, water clinging to her breasts and dripping from her nipples like twin waterfalls, and kissed her neck again. "Turn around, cheerleader," she said, and Miranda obeyed. Jack took a handful of liquid soap and rubbed it between her palms. When they were sufficiently lathered, she reached for Miranda's hair and rubbed her fingers deep into her scalp. Miranda was unable to stop a moan slipping her lips as Jack washed her hair, got more soap, moved to her neck and shoulders, and massaged deep circles into her muscles as she thickly lathered every inch of her. Jack moved lower, her arms reaching around Miranda's sides to work the soap over her breasts and down her tummy. She lathered her waist and her thighs and slid her fingers around to squeeze at Miranda's ass. When she'd soaped up her legs and knees and calves and feet, she turned Miranda around, leaned close, and slid her soapy fingers in between her legs. Miranda moaned again, twice as loud as before, as Jack lathered her there too.

When it was done, Jack soaped herself up quickly—Miranda helpless but to stare as the young woman's hands rubbed at her breasts and her ass—took Miranda by the arm, and led them further beneath the shower head so that the water could rinse them clean. As it did, soapy pools forming at their feet and slipping between their toes, Jack started kissing her again like she did before, starting at her lips and moving down her neck and chest and stomach. This time, Miranda watched her shaved head fall between her legs as Jack lowered to her knees and made her widen her stance again. Jack kissed at her labia, from bottom to top, and when her lips found Miranda's clit, they closed around it again and sucked. Her mouth was so warm, Miranda could only squeeze her eyes shut and moan as a pleasurable wave coursed through her body, sending her limbs trembling. Then Jack's tongue slipped inside her, and Miranda nearly fell.

"Jack, I can't," she said breathlessly. "I can't…stand while… you're-" Jack's mouth found her clit again, and this time when she took it between her lips, a little lash of her tongue flicked against Miranda. "Jack! Oh!" Miranda leaned back against the wall of the shower and pressed her head back hard against it. When Jack did not relent and went on mercilessly sucking and kissing at her clit, Miranda's hands reached for her hair and took fistfuls, fell, groped at her own breasts, fell further and took Jack's head between them. She slid down further against the wall, heaving labored breaths that seemed impossibly heavy to pull. "Jack… Jack…" She couldn't think to say anything more; her mind had gone numb. Jack's tongue was lashing her again, her warm lips closing up and down around the sensitive skin around her clit. Miranda moaned and moaned and then moaned some more, squeezing her fingers against Jack's head, hating her, loving her, wanting her to stop, wanting her to never stop. She was on the verge of collapsing. Her heart was a wardrum, beating blood into her head and down between her legs. The water rained over her, blinding her, filling her mouth, but Miranda could no long turn her head; she'd lost all function other than moaning and squeezing Jack's head as the woman sucked and licked and sucked some more. Everything faded into a blurry haze, like the steam of the shower spreading out to permeate every last bit of space in the world, then it all came into sudden, sharp, clarity as Jack worked her into focus, and into orgasm. Her heel slipped on the slick linoleum, and Miranda would have fallen if Jack hadn't been there to catch her and support her weight. She was barely aware of that, though, barely aware of anything, really, other than the waves of pleasure blossoming up from between her legs and numbing her limbs and fingers and toes and tensing every muscle she had before loosening them all again at once. She moaned so loudly, Jack had to cover her mouth up, but Miranda simply squeezed her eyes shut and went on moaning against her girlfriend's hand. There was nothing else that mattered then but her orgasm, and the fact that Jack was beside her. Somehow, through the paralyzation of her orgasm, she worked her mouth from under Jack's hand and kissed her.

When it was over, Jack had her in her arms again. Miranda wasn't even sure how or when that had happened, but it had. She opened her eyes to find Jack cradling her naked, dripping body against her own, carrying her from the bathroom. "Jack…" she croaked, but wasn't sure why. Her hand came up limply to her girlfriend's face, her fingers stroking at her cheek. Jack carried her into the apartment's bedroom, set her briefly atop the carpet to dry her a bit with a towel, then lowered her into bed. Miranda went without struggle, and when Jack dried herself off and came climbing in shortly after, neither of them said a word as Jack draped them in covers and her arms came closing around Miranda's waist, turning her on her side to spoon and to hold. Jack kissed the back of her neck. Miranda smiled. And before long, she drifted to the deepest and best sleep she'd had since she was a teenaged girl.

She dreamed of a great Goddess in a forest of rain and fog, tattooed and beautiful, coming forth naked to scoop her up and take her away from all her worries to a place where the only thing that mattered was one another.

Later, when Miranda awoke, there was one thing she was undeniably certain of, and she turned around in bed at once to let her girlfriend know.

"Jack," she whispered in the dark, kissing at the sleeping woman's brow. "I'm in love with you."