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Powerful Women Are So Beautiful~
What Is It Like to Have No Control?
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A thought that has slowly been creeping around in the back of your mind. Something so taboo, especially for a young woman who comes from a family who is adamantly conservative and very religious... Yet despite all of that, the thoughts and fantasies about it simply cannot and will not leave your mind. A dream, bordering on a need, for someone else to take complete control. Control over your day-to-day life: what time you wake up, what shampoo you use, how you do your makeup and hair, what you wear to work, what you eat for breakfast, lunch, dinner and snacks, who you talk to, who you avoid, what you say, what secrets you keep, what you feel, what you want, what you think, what you need, who you are sexually, and who has complete and total control over your very existance. Just thinking about it now, a daydream in the middle of your shift, is enough to make sparks fly between your legs. Sensations that make you feel embarrassed, ashamed, and more turned on than any person has ever been able to before.
But no... You couldn't possibly let such a thing actually happen... Right?
Surely you wouldn't find yourself on a BDSM forum one fateful night. A private place for otherwise private individuals to discuss their most depraved and blush inducing fantasies and desires. There's no way you'd ever click the tab about "Local Kink Parties" at the top of the page, and you would certainly never notice that there's an event upstate this Friday night... An event specifically designed for people of all walks of life, with all sorts of desires and fantasies, to mingle and more. It's laughable to think that you'd click on the "Apply for Invite" link on the page, and it would be utterly proposterous for anyone to think that you would fill out the questionaire, which asks for your name, age, height, weight, personality, passions and desires, and photographic proof to verify who you are... It is simply inconceivable that you would take a selfie of yourself, upload it into the invitation request, and then hit the big red "SUBMIT" button at the bottom of the page...
Oh no...
What have you done?
But no... You couldn't possibly let such a thing actually happen... Right?
Surely you wouldn't find yourself on a BDSM forum one fateful night. A private place for otherwise private individuals to discuss their most depraved and blush inducing fantasies and desires. There's no way you'd ever click the tab about "Local Kink Parties" at the top of the page, and you would certainly never notice that there's an event upstate this Friday night... An event specifically designed for people of all walks of life, with all sorts of desires and fantasies, to mingle and more. It's laughable to think that you'd click on the "Apply for Invite" link on the page, and it would be utterly proposterous for anyone to think that you would fill out the questionaire, which asks for your name, age, height, weight, personality, passions and desires, and photographic proof to verify who you are... It is simply inconceivable that you would take a selfie of yourself, upload it into the invitation request, and then hit the big red "SUBMIT" button at the bottom of the page...
Oh no...
What have you done?
An Accident? Or Fate?
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Puffy red eyes, ruined makeup, and a dark rain cloud that follows you home are all indicative of the one thing you had feared the most... Your boyfriend, now with an ex- in front of it, just couldn't keep his pants closed, or himself in check. You caught him red handed at his apartment, completely by accident, banging the tall blonde who works as a barista at the coffee shop where you two had actually gone on your first date together, and several since. You threw half an iced coffee at hime and stormed off before he could so much as get his pants back on. Behind the wheel of a 2,000 pound piece of metal, tears pouring from your eyes as you just barely manage to make it back to your own apartment building without accidentally swerving into traffic. Barreling through the lobby, storming up the stairs and into your apartment with a forceful slam! of the door, and finally throwing yourself into your bed to sob, and sob, and sob...
This wasn't fair to you at all. You had done nothing wrong, you were as good of a girlfriend as any woman can possibly be without going insane or going full tradwife. He eventually came to your apartment and was knocking frantically, calling your name and begging you to open the door. All you could think was how thankful you were that you hadn't given him a key. He kept knocking and calling your name for another 15 minutes or so, until a neighbor had finally had enough of his yelling and told him to fuck off.
As the night wound down, you barely moved on that bed. Cocooning yourself within a blanket, head buried beneath pillows with your phone having been tossed across the room into the closet. You wanted to fall into a coma more than anything... Just a desire to not feel anything at all, at least for some small period of time. Eventually, more knocking came at your front door, but it wasn't the frantic banging of your ex-boyfriend. It was a trio of gentle knocks, followed by a sweet sounding voice.
"[Name Here] are you there? I don't mean to bother you but... Well, I couldn't help overhearing the commotion earlier, and I just thought I'd come and check on you is all..."
You recognized the voice almost immediately. It was the kind of soft and candy sweet voice that you don't forget once you hear it once. It belonged to Ms. Thomas from down the hall. A divorced and very motherly woman, despite no kids of her own, from down the hall. Her presence, as sweet as it was, only humiliated you more at the thought of the neighbors hearing everything that took place. You didn't have the energy to call out to her that you're fine, but you also felt it would simply be too rude of you if you completely ignored her. So, wrapped in a thick blanket, you made your way to the door and gingerly opened it a few inches. You must've looked like a corpse for a moment, seeing the sadness in her eyes. She could tell you were in a bad spot, so the motherly instincts she didn't know she had took over. She had a plate of chocolate chip cookies, freshly made, that she had come to offer you, but after seeing the state that you're in, she took it a step further and offered to be a shoulder for you to cry on, someone for you to vent your emotions to. You knew her a little, but you didn't think you knew Ms. Thomas well enough for something like that... But with those cookies in hand, paired with your emotional state, it made it impossible for you to say no to.
Ms. Thomas sat with you for hours. Much longer than she or any person had any right to. She mostly listened, but she would speak with some advice or hard truths that you needed to hear when necessary. Despite your earlier desire to send her away, you were now quite thankful that you let her into your apartment. As it got late, the two of you had gotten warm and cozy in your bed with a bowl of popcorn and what was left of the cookies to watch a movie. You wound up cuddling close to her, closer than a version of you with a clearer mind and less alcohol in their body would be. It should've felt awkward, but it was so much more comforting than you would've expected. You wound up falling asleep in her arms, and in an effort to not wake you, Ms. Thomas opted to sleep there as well.
One can only imagine what goes through your mind the next morning, mildly hungover and still exhausted, to find yourself cuddling with one of your neighbors... Her laying on her back with an arm around you, and you having used her breast as a pillow for much of the night...
This wasn't fair to you at all. You had done nothing wrong, you were as good of a girlfriend as any woman can possibly be without going insane or going full tradwife. He eventually came to your apartment and was knocking frantically, calling your name and begging you to open the door. All you could think was how thankful you were that you hadn't given him a key. He kept knocking and calling your name for another 15 minutes or so, until a neighbor had finally had enough of his yelling and told him to fuck off.
As the night wound down, you barely moved on that bed. Cocooning yourself within a blanket, head buried beneath pillows with your phone having been tossed across the room into the closet. You wanted to fall into a coma more than anything... Just a desire to not feel anything at all, at least for some small period of time. Eventually, more knocking came at your front door, but it wasn't the frantic banging of your ex-boyfriend. It was a trio of gentle knocks, followed by a sweet sounding voice.
"[Name Here] are you there? I don't mean to bother you but... Well, I couldn't help overhearing the commotion earlier, and I just thought I'd come and check on you is all..."
You recognized the voice almost immediately. It was the kind of soft and candy sweet voice that you don't forget once you hear it once. It belonged to Ms. Thomas from down the hall. A divorced and very motherly woman, despite no kids of her own, from down the hall. Her presence, as sweet as it was, only humiliated you more at the thought of the neighbors hearing everything that took place. You didn't have the energy to call out to her that you're fine, but you also felt it would simply be too rude of you if you completely ignored her. So, wrapped in a thick blanket, you made your way to the door and gingerly opened it a few inches. You must've looked like a corpse for a moment, seeing the sadness in her eyes. She could tell you were in a bad spot, so the motherly instincts she didn't know she had took over. She had a plate of chocolate chip cookies, freshly made, that she had come to offer you, but after seeing the state that you're in, she took it a step further and offered to be a shoulder for you to cry on, someone for you to vent your emotions to. You knew her a little, but you didn't think you knew Ms. Thomas well enough for something like that... But with those cookies in hand, paired with your emotional state, it made it impossible for you to say no to.
Ms. Thomas sat with you for hours. Much longer than she or any person had any right to. She mostly listened, but she would speak with some advice or hard truths that you needed to hear when necessary. Despite your earlier desire to send her away, you were now quite thankful that you let her into your apartment. As it got late, the two of you had gotten warm and cozy in your bed with a bowl of popcorn and what was left of the cookies to watch a movie. You wound up cuddling close to her, closer than a version of you with a clearer mind and less alcohol in their body would be. It should've felt awkward, but it was so much more comforting than you would've expected. You wound up falling asleep in her arms, and in an effort to not wake you, Ms. Thomas opted to sleep there as well.
One can only imagine what goes through your mind the next morning, mildly hungover and still exhausted, to find yourself cuddling with one of your neighbors... Her laying on her back with an arm around you, and you having used her breast as a pillow for much of the night...
Merci, Maรฎtresse.
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The tri-state area was rattled by a series of utterly bizarre kidnappings. It was up to 9 victims now, all women between the ages 19 and 35. All coming from different walks of life, different lifestyles, nothing that police could pinpoint as a link between the victims. What made it peculiar was the sheer nature of it, with each woman only being held for 3-4 days, and each one being found in a public space incorporated into a provocative art piece. They would all be mildly drugged and barely lucid when found, mostly naked and kept in place by either rope, chain, latex, wood, or duct tape. None of the victims could give much about the person who had captured them, other than it being a woman with long and wavy dark red hair. The woman behind these kidnappings, and subsequent art pieces, was dubbed "The Mistress of Mercy" because all of the victims were mumbling the words "Mistress" and "Mercy" when they were found. The police were getting quite mad about how little was turning up with their investigations. You would expect for things to get easier with more victims, but this case was turning out to be an anomaly. Families of the victims and concerned citizens were up in arms over the lack of results, and it left nobody feeling safe. The police even briefly considered that the victimized women were keeping information from them, but they couldn't get anything more out of the women than they already had.
And now here you are... Waking up after going to bed early, trying to yawn and stretch your limbs, only to find that neither was possible. A red rubber ball sat stuffed between your lips, with your wrists and ankles bound with leather straps down to the corners of the cold metal table you lay on top of. A weighted blindfold sits over eyes, making it utterly impossible for you to even peak out a little bit with you thrashing and shifting your cheeks to try and find a weakspot.
Congratulations, you are the 10th person to be kidnapped by "The Mistress of Mercy". But, perhaps she is more than just a twisted woman who kidnaps innocent women...
And now here you are... Waking up after going to bed early, trying to yawn and stretch your limbs, only to find that neither was possible. A red rubber ball sat stuffed between your lips, with your wrists and ankles bound with leather straps down to the corners of the cold metal table you lay on top of. A weighted blindfold sits over eyes, making it utterly impossible for you to even peak out a little bit with you thrashing and shifting your cheeks to try and find a weakspot.
Congratulations, you are the 10th person to be kidnapped by "The Mistress of Mercy". But, perhaps she is more than just a twisted woman who kidnaps innocent women...