Somebody to match her shyness

The initial path through the nightclub got progressively tighter as Amy stepped deeper into the crowd. Her skin tingled with the heat of so many bodies rhythmically moving around her. A desire oozed off of them: they subconsciously pressed forward. Occasionally, a hand would start to reach for her only to stop at the last second.

The lingering tingle of **** didn't help. It made the room undulate with the rhythm of the music. She felt herself stumble a bit, but didn't know if it was her shackles or the booze that caused it. A stranger's hand steadied her. Amy flinched away, causing her to lose her footing again, and bump into another utter stranger. Subconsciously, she curled forward, tightening her stomach and pulling her shoulders in, forming as much of a ball as her metal bindings would let her.

She didn't belong. The fact dug into her mind like a hook. There were too many people; she needed to go back to her friends. But as she twisted to look back (almost losing her balance again) Amy saw only the press of people. Her path back had evaporated. Trapped, Amy felt the beginnings of panic slither to the front of her mind. Her eyes darted about for a relief from the crowd, and settled on a quiet corner.

She shuffled desperately to the corner, whimpering slightly as she squeezed through the pulsating bodies. When she finally made it to the sanctuary it felt like a noose was being loosened from her neck; she let out a gentle sigh through her gag. Her muscles relaxed, and she leaned against the cool brickwork.

But she wasn't alone in her little alcove away from the dancing. Amy was so focused on leaving the crowd that she hadn't scrutinized her hideaway, and now she was suddenly staring into the round face of a mild-mannered college student, his expression mirroring her surprise.

"Oh sorry, I'll get out of your way." He said, and prepared to leave.

"Mamff," protested Amy through her gag. She swiped at the guy, and managed to grab his shirt. Evidently she was getting good at moving in her shackles, even drunk.

He halted, eyebrows wide. "Did I..." He stared at her for a few seconds until she tugged on his shirt again. "You want me to stay? But you're, well you."

"wwMmurff?" she asked back, wondering who else she was supposed to be.

Possibly understanding her muffled question, the guy gave an awkward shrug. "You wanted a break from the crowd too, huh?" He said, raising his voice to compete with the thrumming music that was starting up again. "Come over here. I've got a spot that's behind the speakers. It's a bit quieter."

A part of Amy's mind told her she shouldn't be following strange men into the shadows. But this guy's mellow presence was the perfect balm to the overwhelming crowd. Besides he seemed friendly, and kinda cute; if he kidnapped her, would it be so bad?

"Ta-da," he said, still raising his voice to compete with the music but not as much as now. Only the bassy tones were unfettered here, the rest reached them muffled and mewling. Amy smiled around the silk knot and giggled to herself as she heard the familiar pop song distorted. It felt forbidden, even a bit demonic. She wiggled her body, gyrating her breasts and letting her chains join the unnatural melody.

"There's a ledge where you can sit," he gestured, "I'm Will by the way."

"Mi Villl, MI'm Fammmy," replied Amy in a instinctive attempt to be polite. She felt her ears burn as she heard her words, wondering how much Will actually understood. Her gaze averted to the box cut-out in the wall that he'd pointed to. It looked cozy enough, but the hard particleboard seemed unwelcoming.

She leaned on her guide, partly to steady her tipsy steps and partly to direct him to sit with her in the secret alcove. Away from the rhythmic crowd, it was cooler for the underwear-clad student. She snuggled close to her new acquaintance, and hummed gently, savoring his warmth. It might not have been a good idea to get so friendly, but Will was so nice. With all the ****, it was easier to lean on his firm form beside her. As she laid her ear against his shoulder, she heard the soft thudding of his heart. It mingled with the bass from the house music in an asynchronous, yet hypnotic way.

While she leaned against him, her pillow made a few attempts at small talk. Amy was grateful for the silk against her tongue. She didn't want to ruin their connection with idle chatter. Words weren't needed anyway; when Will worked up the courage to stroke her hair, Amy almost melted.

Amy had no idea how much time passed before her comfy pillow slowly shifted. She looked up at him, again grateful for the gag that stopped her from saying something awkward or sappy. As he stood, she hoped her wide, longing eyes communicated her desires succinctly enough. She wanted to follow him wherever he was going.