AN: From this chapter on, you'll notice I'll stay vague about the geographical location where the action is taking place. I want to try keeping this story canon compatible, so whether C&B spend the summer in NY or are vacationing elsewhere, you can imagine them there.

7

It happens like this: Chuck takes her out for dinner, and Blair –sometime in between their reminiscing about the most pleasant aspects of their last year of high school and hypothesizing about some of their classmates' possible futures- admits she might feel like she missed out on something while she was too busy sticking religiously to her 'good girl plans' and babysitting Serena. In fact, she's almost positive she never did anything truly foolish until Serena left for Vermont. Chuck teases for the rest of the night that she made up more than enough for those years of relative inaction, but how he gets from that to conning her into trying out his best pot in his limo is a complete mystery.

The next morning, she regrets that misstep achingly. More than that, she literally panics when her brain trips in the memory of what exactly she was blubbering in his ear while she was feeling exhilarated out of her mind.

I'll tell you a secret, sometimes I think it would be great, if only I could be completely, utterly out of control. For you. I imagine that, sometimes. Being at your mercy. You fucking me breathless while I can't move.

Really, princess? Tell me more about it.

Damn her. Of course, she then went all motor-mouth on him and spilled every detail of her sick fantasy and, as if that wasn't humiliating enough, she had followed it by waxing poetic about how much she loved going down on him before actually doing so.

"Can we please forget last night ever existed?" She whines, not quite working up the backbone to look straight into his eyes, and hating herself a bit for that. She knows he will tease her to death for this, but she has a sound list of details proving how much she wasn't herself, and thus couldn't be held accountable for anything she did.

Chuck shrugs casually, feigning disinterest, but then says "Do you know me at all?"- with a stupid smirk flourishing on those treacherous lips- "I've already taken out my toy box. "

"Excuse me?!"

If humanly possible, her indignation only makes her degenerate of a boyfriend giddier.

"I thought it could be helpful, if you don't mind me adding few surprise innovations to your secret fantasy."

"I don't fantasize about things like that. Nor have I ever! I don't know why I implied differently, okay?! I was high. "

Probably, her defensive tone is giving her away, and the heat she can feel creeping up her neck to her cheeks will do nothing to help her point, but what can she do?

"Are you sure? Because I seem to recall a copious abundance of details."

"I was high," she stresses it again: it's the only detail favoring her theory, really.

Chuck huffs, shaking in his head in disapproval. "Now Blair, I know this is only the prude in you talking. Shut her up and give my girlfriend back to me, please?"

"Chuck!"

"Blair?"

"This has nothing to do with any prudish tendencies I might or might not have, is that clear?"

"So if we agreed on considering this as my idea, you won't mind ? "

"…"


Exchanging denial for sincerity, Blair can't avoid being the smallest bit touched that Chuck took so much care to bring to life the picture her guilty imagination painted for him.

She is sprawled out on the large bed, her bare back caressed by black satin sheets, the bedroom lit only by black candles - her wrists are bound to the bedpost by his St. Jude neckties, the same ones tying her ankles to the opposite poles of the bed. Her thighs are spread wide, her legs are stretched taut and she is trembling because the difference between reality and fantasy is that she is truly powerless here: he could do anything to her and she would be physically unable to stop him. It's not the reason she is terrified, anyway. It's all the years she spent trying to protect herself from other people that make her current disposition almost inacceptable. With anyone else, she suspects this would feel tantamount to rape, but with Chuck, although every instinct of hers rebels to it, there's a timorous, hesitant curiosity to see what lies behind the fear.

"I'm going take care of you," he murmurs, his voice silky as he kisses her forehead and his palm cups her jaw.

It should sound creepy, her most rational self argues, but, oddly, she believes him.

His expression has something solemn as his eyes rake over her body, slowly, with a religious and relentless intensity. She is completely naked and he is only wearing that purple shirt of his, but he is as serious she has ever seen him.

Blair is grateful for that; it reminds to her that this is more than a game for both of them. For once, it's not one of their power plays, but rather a testing of their newly traced boundaries: he treasures her trust every bit she treasures the fact she can trust him to give her this.

His mouth slides along the curve of her throat, worshipping each inch of her skin with fervent, drawn-out kisses, his hands fondling the soft flesh of her breasts.

Blair is painfully tense underneath his touch, and she has to bite her lip to not ask him to stop. Part of her wants, needs to flee from this moment – it may not be demeaning, but it still stands against all that she has built herself to be- while another part resents herself fiercely for not being able to just relax and enjoy it already.

Chuck has seen her naked before –often- but suddenly she can't bear her inability to hide herself from his keen gaze.

Knuckles brush against her nipples – they are already taut and hard, uncaring about her distress-first one and then the other, then all over again and she needs to close her eyelids against her upcoming tears.

"When you tell me to stop, it stops. " Chuck's gravelly, concerned tone comforts her.

"Go ahead." She insists, nodding jerkily.

He obeys her, his head bending to lick her tears off her cheeks, almost tenderly, and then he is down on her breasts again, his warm tongue stroking their hardened peaks gently, traveling from one to another until his lips close around a nipple finally and cruel fingers tease its twin.

The gentle suckling pressure on her skin becomes a harsh tugging, a scraping of teeth on her slick flesh, and flames dance in her belly as her discomfort grows into something more complex.

She cries out at that twisted form of pain that peaks into pleasure, and she wonders how he knows her body so well to guess it would respond better to an undeserved mistreatment than to reassuring coddling right now.

But her rising satisfaction falls to nothing as he rises above her, his body crawling up hers without hurry until they are eye to eye.

They don't kiss but he reaches for the open box on the ebony bedside table and her breath catches. His hands glide again over her rigid shoulders and her flushed tits, dragging with them their prize over her skin.

Metal clamps enclose around her nipples in the same instant – the chain connecting them dangling across her abdomen feels so cool on her warm, sticky skin- and a whimper is wrenched from the darkest depth of her. Her limbs twitch, fight against the restraints but her sex is pulsing, humming with heat of blossoming lust.

His palms skim over ribcage, her sweaty stomach, her open thighs. She arches up to the touch but obtains nothing. Chuck stills her, firmly pinning her hips to the mattress.

"You are so perfect. Every single part of you is: your tits, your arms, your back, your legs, your ass" –and he punctuates that particular affirmation by cupping her buttocks and squeezing them roughly- "even that glistening cunt. If I could, I would taste it all day long. s

"You could be tasting me right now" she purrs, because although she hates that he knows her obsessions well enough to use them to force her to melt underneath his weight, she can feel the fire between them calling, commanding to be fed.

"Not yet," he drawls, caressing her shivering thighs soothingly with one hand while pulling at the chain with the other.

The electricity that runs through her nerves is destructive, overwhelming. It feels like there's a monster inside her and it is clawing at her insides in retaliation to its cage being rattled. A lovely torment she might love or loathe but she craves anyway.

Chuck touches her leisurely, like she is Andromeda in chains: something pure and priceless , worthy of memorizing and claiming. Above her, he looks magnificent, primal, merely human and she remembers it wasn't so long ago he had disappeared from her bed in the night, like a grief-projected wraith, leaving her to worry about where he was , fantasizing about his smell and his hands, summoning in her mind this twisted mirage of submission to punish herself.

It doesn't feel much like punishment now that they are both here, and she meets the startling realization that the only person she is submitting to is herself.

Blair moans as his erect dick, leaking with pre-cum, trails over her tummy while he moves on her. She can feel his half-clothed body's warmth on her skin, although their upper halves are not quite touching, and it's an intimate, unique sensation that makes her heart heavy with a passion that is neither lust nor love, but a blend stronger than both.

"Please," she whimpers. Take me, break me, pump me full with you until we can dissolve into each other- is what she is truly begging for, but she can't say it and perhaps he knows it. Perhaps he feels the same, since his eyes snap to hers.

"Soon," he promises.

A glass in his right hand tilts, ice cubes twinkling within, and cool whiskey glides down the valley between her breasts, sliding down their undersides .

She shivers: an idle word like 'pleasure' could never fully describe the mysterious, elusive ecstasy that spreads in her blood, her soul, that madly-beating thing commonly called her heart whilst Chuck laps the liquid off her, his hands clutching at her stretched arms and at the same time pulling at the chain that torments her nipples so sweetly, his cock pulsing against her side.

Her loins burn, her breasts ache and she gives herself over to the overwhelming feeling. The shame and the self-loathing are gone now, washed away by this sweet torment coiling tight and deep inside her.

The release of all inhibition is to her so alike to an orgasm of the brain that Blair can't question the rush of rising exhilaration. She wants to laugh breathlessly, to stay pinned underneath him here forever, with this overpowering pleasure cleansing her from the inside out.

"C'mon, Charles. Isn't it time? Ride me hard and put me away wet. I know you can. "

Her intonation surprises her at first: it has nothing girly or tentative. It's a provocation wrapped in honeyed sultriness, wanton and seductive, and it could only belong to a woman.

His breath hitches at the challenge and his fingernails slowly scrape their path along her sides, to reach her waist, and then he's grinning mischievously, rising her hips off the bed so he can knead her ass in his palms.

She hums in contentment as he does so, licking her dry lips.

"You would like that, wouldn't you?"

"You know I would. Immensely. So come inside and give me my fix."

It's him shivering now. A prisoner, she is not. "Such dirty words from such pretty lips"

His thumb rubs her closed lips and her tongue darts out to taste the salty texture of his skin: she's so starved for contact that she will take anything she can get.

"I can do worse. Like last night. Would you like this, Charles? Would it please you to hear how I miss it, the feeling of you slumping on top of me while you release it all in my pussy? Could you take it? Or would it be too much for you, playboy? Would you waste it on my thighs while I talk dirty to you? "

She drinks in the sight of him as he blinks at her and gobbles down air, his throat working in a low, purring sound.

Blair doesn't look away, not even when he reaches to free her nipples and throws his toy backwards, sending it to hit the floor with a loud clang.

His fingers lovingly soothe her abused, tightened tips with morbid, lingering caresses: it's heaven and sin, victory and defeat all in once.

She has never been more helpless. But nor has she ever felt more powerful. It is addictive.

"I might."

He sighs, almost longingly, angling his stiff cock toward her slick entrance. Blair twists in his grip, not because she wants to delay it but for the very opposite reason. She wants it so much she can't bear to stay still and waiting.

"Patience," Chuck admonishes smugly, and she would answer eloquently to that if the head of his dick wasn't breaching her entrance and staying there, just an inch or so inside her aching wetness

"You always feel so good. Better than anyone and anything." He groans, sending a new wave of lust through her weak, willing body.

"Then stop babbling and fuck me good and proper," she exhales back, her voice strained and her sore limbs shaking, sticky and glistening with sweat.

"Tell me how you want it, baby." Chuck growls, propping her lower body higher. She arches up to help him, to meet his hard, struggling thrust.

"Just like that. Like this is just so right. Perfect."

It really is. Despite her lack of ability to better accommodate him, he slides easily into her wet recesses, advancing too little and retreating too soon at first, stubbornly . Delicious torture.

He proves beyond all doubt that frustrated need can be a drug, too.

And then he is just hitting her deep in one long, hard stroke, the way she longed for from beginning . It hurts a little, but it feels right, and it only increases the lust.

"Bas-bastard."

"Bitch."

Everything collapses, melts, dies and comes to life in a timeless rush of pleasure, pain, love, bliss.

They sink into each other until the fall ends and they are left on the calm, peaceful bottom that always follows up their most intense orgasmic experiences.

Blair brings her dark-haired lover back from his daze with a long, satisfied sigh that shudders through her form, so intimately entwined with his.

Kissing her neck, he disentangles from her welcoming depths with a sense of regretful necessity. He feels silly, being so reluctant to leave her warmth, when he might be crushing her with his weight.

Chuck unties her hands and her ankles, smoothing over the white marks his offending neckties left on her, almost tempted to kiss them away. He stomps down impulse: no reason to be corny after the sex, he decides.

But he does not resist when Blair opens her arms to him again, enveloping him in a bear hug before guiding him down, to lay with her.

He appreciates the feeling of her breasts pressing on his back, his fingers interlaced with hers.