Only a little

Amy moved as fast as she dared through the halls of her university. Actually, a little faster than she dared on several occasions. Two such occasions nearly resulted in her colliding with other students. She was relieved to push past the exit doors and into the crisp autumn air. For one thing, she could run across the pavement without worrying about her clomping disrupting other classes, and for another she could more easily dodge through the groups of students that seemed to be moving extra slow today. It might just be her imagination though.

Regardless, when the hurrying arts student weaved into the other building and dared to look at a wall clock, she saw she had one minute left. I'm going to make it. With that confident thought echoing through her head, Amy burst through the doors of her classroom. Her victory lap was abruptly cut short as all eyes turned to her and away from her professor who had clearly already started his lecture. "Mizz Best!" Dr. Rues's volume rising threateningly as he bellowed out her name, but he made a clear effort to calm himself before continuing. "Why 'ave you barged into my class after it 'as already begun?" he asked, his french accent sharp enough to cut cheese.

"I, you see," fumbled poor Amy, "it's only..."

"Five minutes after," barked the professor.

Amy took out her phone. Had the clock she'd checked been that slow.

"I am sorry, Mizz Best. I seem to 'ave forgotten to consult you before setting my watch zis morning." Many of his students laughed at his sarcastic comment.

Defeated, Amy slumped her shoulders and stared at her shoes. "I'll, I'll wait outside." As much as she knew she deserved it for being so impertinent, Amy would have liked to at least be tongue lashed in private.

Dr. Rues sighed and held up a hand. "Zat won't be necessary. Your disruption did 'ave a certain exuberance to it, and can be overlooked zis time. If you help me with a demonstration?"

Amy nodded, taking the opportunity. "Thank you professor."

"My pleasure. Now s'il vous plais stand beside me while I resume the lesson." Amy scuttled to her assigned mark with small but excited steps. Dress down aside, she was eager to learn. Her professor addressed the class, "Ah yes, before I was so rudely interrupted..." He game a sidelong glance to Amy, who shrunk sheepishly. "I was expressing how ze canvass is not ze only zing zat can be painted, and 'ow ze chosen media can add to ze piece."

The usually strict professor had an odd spring in his step as he walked to and opened a heavy leather bag on his desk. Inside was a device unlike any Amy had seen before. It was beautiful though, like an old piano or heirloom painting. The unknown object was made from two boards of superb quality connected by a brass hinge. The sections were carved to match and accentuate the bold grain of the wood they were made from. Tiny paintings, framed by brass circles, dotted the device's surface. The naive student easily saw the appeal of such a work of art.

"Zis is called a fiddle," explained Dr. Rues folding the device so that the two boards were parallel. "It was made in ze 1880s but clearly inspired by earlier such equipment." Amy could see a slight resemblance to the musical instrument in the general curvature of the device as well as the care in it's construction. But it actually looked a lot like those stocks they put medieval prisoners in. The straight edges of the boards fit together to leave three circular cutouts in a straight line along their seam.

When the professor had finished showing the antique, he turned his attention to his young student. "Now, please place your arms in front of you." Amy stretched her arms out, and Dr. Rues had to put the fiddle thing down to adjust her arms so they were properly in front of her face. Though a little nervous, the curious student remained perfectly still as her professor placed the fiddle around her.

Amy was right; it was a lot like those stock things. The two halves fitted together to trap her wrist and neck between them. Her professor finished affixing the device around her by locking a simple latch on the opposite side of the hinge. The whole thing was a little heavy and bulky. Fortunately, there were strips of red fur in the circles that felt soft against Amy's wrists and neck. She frowned; hopefully it wasn't fox fur.

"Nervous?" asked Dr. Rues.

Realizing she was somewhat, Amy nodded. With the sturdy device imprisoning her, the student felt odd even talking.

"You are lucky I didn't bring my spanking bench."

He was probably joking. Amy **** an awkward laugh.

"Walking around will 'elp. Why don't you model it for us?" Amy didn't quite agree but had little choice. Her professor grabbed the front of the fiddle and lead her around the room like it was a leash.

Amy could feel her classmates eyes on her as her professor guided her between them. There gaze felt... different; it wasn't bad. Maybe it was the medieval nature of her fiddle, but she felt like a captured princess being paraded in front of the common folk. Not that she thought she was better than her peers or anything. Her simple dress wasn't even princess-like. Just having all eyes on her like this made her feel both inferior and superior at the same time.

It didn't help that her professor's normal speaking voice was halfway to sounding like a barking general. "Stop 'ere," he'd say. "Lean forward. Turn around for Mizz Wood. Step closer to Mr. 'ighland."

By the time Amy made it back to the front of the class, she was half dizzy from all the spinning she'd done for her fellow students. It made her wonder how those runway models did it? Satisfied that everyone had properly seen the art piece, Dr. Rues began discussing with his students, challenging them to classify it.

Amy, however, kept getting distracted by the fiddle. There was something amazingly paradoxical about it. It was beautiful and brutish; it made her feel **** but also gave her a comfy hug; during her walk, she had been both brought low and put on a pedestal. Her fingers traced over a miniature brass frame that was just barely within reach. The metal ridges were smooth to her touch and caused an odd tingle to scamper up her arm. Inside the golden oval was a simplistic swirl of paint that seemed to depict a tangle of limbs. Or perhaps two bodies embraced? Amy blushed at her own dirty thoughts. Secretly witnessing her friends carnal acts earlier today was clearly having an effect on her. Wanting to feel the mini-paintings brush strokes, she strained her fingers and pressed her wrist into the firm edge of her binding device. The finished wood dug somewhat painfully into her pale skin, but it was hardly noticable as Amy gently caressed the picture. The barely audible scrape was all she heard: she felt a pleasurable twinge at feeling suck an old piece of artwork. Amy quietly cooed to herself.