Zia put her head down on the table, temple resting on her bottom arm. Surprisingly, there wasn't much going through her head at the moment. She looked at the door to the outer hall for a minute, and then closed her eyes, not to sleep, but just rested.

She wasn't like that for long when Phil came in.

"Hey," he greeted. "So, they sent me up to fetch you." He crossed to her, unsnapping the restraints from the bolt in the table and keyed open the locks on her wrists. He left the shackles on the tabletop and gently massaged her wrists as he gazed into her eyes. His intensity was making her a tad uncomfortable, and she dropped hers. He released her wrists. It was the first time since she'd woken up in this room on the first day that she didn't have some kind of bond on at least one appendage. She laughed inwardly at the absorbedly of the fact that she didn't just sprint to the door. Phil cleared his throat. "Want to freshen up? Change your shirt?" he asked.

"Umm, yeah, I guess." She shifted from one foot to the other, half expecting him to follow her to the bath as had become the norm. When he made no move, from casually leaning against the table, she turned to go, still feeling well 'off'.

Inside the bath, Zia pulled her shirt over her head and tossed it into the hamper. She went and stood in front of the sink, topless. She looked at her reflection. The tears welled in her eyes without her even recognizing that they were coming.

She was only alone for mere moments. Phil had come to check on her, once again hearing sobs.

"Zia? Zia, honey, I'm coming in. Ok?"

She sniffed. "Ok, I suppose you've already seen the bottom half," she let out a light sarcastic laugh, "minus well see the top, too."

Phil couldn't open the door fast enough.

She turned to him, tears in her eyes. He knew he should be comforting her, but his eyes dropped to her chest.

Zia might have been worried that he'd find them small, but all he saw was shapely perky boobs. She turned back to the sink and her teary-eyed reflection.

He carefully crossed the room and wrapped his arms around her waist.

"Baby, what's wrong? You're crying again."

"Yeah," she sniffed again. "Girl stress release, remember?"

"Maybe we should change your form of stress relief?" he suggested, taking the opportunity to press his growing hard-on into the cleft of her ass.

She closed her eyes, leaning back into his embrace.

"May I?" he asked, barely above a whisper into her ear.

She shook her head gently and his hands immediately moved to cover her breasts.

She actually heard him smile behind her.

He gently palmed them, one at a time, and fingered her nipples as they hardened into erect points. She giggled. "Do all men turn into adolescent boys around breasts?"

He chuckled warmly as he continued to play. "Just the ones that remember the utter joy and privilege of a good woman's body."

She sighed. "Miranda is so beautiful, absolutely stunning, and Claire is just so strikingly perfect, and I'm well, me."

Phil let out a little sigh and pushed his now straining member into her rump. "Does that feel like there's anything wrong with 'me'? Zia, you're beautiful, sexy, gorgeous. Women come in lots of varieties and I," he pumped against her, "want," and again, "you," again. "Are you feeling me?"

"Ok, stop," she put a steadying hand on the edge of the sink.

"Yeah, ok, I'm supposed to be getting you downstairs." He stepped back. "You better cover those," he made a circular motion towards her chest, "or we're not getting out of here anytime soon."

She washed her face and chest off at the sink with the provided soap and used a hand towel to dry off, while Phil watched her and tried to calm his dick.

She crossed to the back corner cabinet to pick out a shirt.

They hadn't given her bras, she figured again as she was just lounging around the room, and apparently also supposed to be readily accessible for one large teenager in a man's body, but she found a cute yellow polo shirt with a griffin embroidered emblem. It was very Harry Potterish and totally her style. The clothes were all super high quality but still things she was willing to wear. Whoever had picked them out, she assumed it was Miranda, was apparently trying to upscale her but not completely change her. She appreciated that. It was still slightly disconcerting that the clothes had likely been purchased for her well before her accidental walking in on Phil's library desk bondage session.

She pulled it on and went back to the sink to brush her teeth and run a comb through her hair. Her eyes were still a little red, but the wash up had helped.

She turned to Phil and was about to tell him she was ready when she looked down, realizing that she had been barefoot for the past few days, and of course still was. She went back to the cabinet finding a couple of pairs of socks, including a grey pair with yellow tipping. She crossed back to sit on the toilet seat to pull them on.

"Ok," she said. "No shoes, but I guess I'm ready."

"We're just going downstairs in the house, its fine," he reassured.

They went back through the main room and Phil held the door open for her to walk through.

It was a bit surreal after being in the same room for somewhere around three days. She could still feel the shackles on her ankles and wrists and the light chains around her skin. It was strange but, in a way, she almost missed them. Phil had made her feel protected, cherished, something worth holding onto. Ok, maybe she had some Stockholm syndrome, or maybe she was just ok with Phil wanting to keep her close.

He took her hand as they entered the hallway. She felt even smaller than usual next to his tall frame in her bare feet, as his boots likely gave his height another inch or so. They walked past the ornate railing that overlooked the lower hall and walked down a gorgeous, curved staircase. Zia had only been in the house a handful of times over the years, and certainly hadn't seen much of it. The library, of course, she had been in before, and once they got downstairs, she knew that's where they were headed.