She never could have imagined the scene laid out before her as being a possibility. After all, in her regular life he was the one in authority: her TA, there to ensure that she got through university lab work without utterly failing. To see him like this, seven years her senior and tied naked to the bed in front of her, was utterly unexpected. Although, to be fair, she'd been expecting it since the moment a month before when she'd made up her mind about what she was going to do with him.
His eyes were closed and a smile played about his lips. It was almost as though he was dreaming of what would happen to him the moment he regained consciousness and enjoying every moment of it. She hoped he was; if he ended up enjoying himself, even a little bit, then she could feel less guilty about everything she had done up to that point (not to mention everything she was going to do just as soon as he woke up). And she had done a whole lot to feel guilty for. On pretense of needing some extra help with the data sheet she had been filling out after the lab, she had convinced him to stay just a few minutes late.
A few minutes were all she had needed. Despite having been trained in self-defense, he hadn't been given enough warning to properly react when she tackled him and pressed a cloth damp with strong, sickly-sweet smelling liquid to his face. She hadn't rendered him fully unconscious, however; instead, she took full advantage of the drunkenness that occurred just before passing out, and managed to walk him out of the lab, fully docile. She tucked his arm over her shoulder and led him down some side streets and alleyways, dosing him with fumes whenever he seemed to be regaining some sense of himself, until they reached her apartment. She had sneaked him up the back stairs and let him stumble into her room. Once he'd sat down heavily on her bed, she had pushed him gently back and done exactly what she wanted the entire time: to lay the cloth delicately over his mouth and watch as his weak struggles subsided and eyes closed.
She had bound him head and foot to the bedposts with silk scarves stained a deep crimson after undressing him. Briefly, while working his arms through his shirtsleeves, she had toyed with the idea of leaving him clothed. After a few seconds, she had rejected the idea. Though waking up and having his clothes ripped off while he struggled uselessly would have turned her on more than having him wake up totally naked, she wasn't sure how much time she would have with him. In the feast of activities that were about to take place, she didn't want to waste time on the appetizers if it meant having to give up the main dish.
As she waited for him to open his eyes, she bent down and took the plastic box out from under her bed. It held all of her favourite toys: handcuffs, blindfolds, gags and straps. She had already leaned one whip, a cat-o'-nine-tails, against a wall. Next to the whip was a makeshift St. Andrew's Cross that she had never before gotten the chance to use. She took out a gag and clutched it in one hand, ready to stifle any noise he made when he came to. Thus prepared, she took a seat near his head and stroked his cheek.
