Casey Butler and Mistress Claw Part One 




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Life sucks. I get that now. I'm not meant to be happy, or have a life. I have
a shot at being a somebody, some bad people take it away from me. My friend
offers me a job, and uses me as bait for some bad guys. I try to find some
missing people, and I'm introduced to rock bottom.

Instead of finding comfort at the bottom of a bottle, though, I work out. A
lot. I've run, four miles so far. Four miles out of an intended sixteen. I'll
keep running until I stop, if I have to. As long as I don't have to think
about all the bad stuff.

Sweat soaks my green hoodie, and my grey sweat pants. My blonde, shag cut
hair, is tied behind my head to keep the hair out of my eyes. My white running
shoes are wearing down more and more, I can feel it. What I can't feel, are my
legs, and for someone who's in as good of shape as me, is kind of alarming.

It's starting to rain now, but I don't want to stop. I want someone to stop
me. And I get my wish. I've gotten so weak, that my head is sort of bobbing up
and down. My eyes fixed on the ground. I don't notice the woman carrying her
groceries. I can't correct my course in time to get out of the way. We go to
the ground, and produce, milk, and other foods stuff are scattered along the
sidewalk.

"I'm sorry," I say holding my head with my hands. This is embarrassing.

"It's fine. Not like I needed milk," she jokes. Or maybe she hates me. Her
voice is soft, and soothing.

She has tan skin, and light brown hair. She's wearing tight jeans, and a
zipped up leather jacket. She's about five-foot-seven, judging from the angle
of the floor. A good two inches short than me. If I was willing to throw my
hat back in the dating pool, I'd really wish this wasn't the way I made a
first impression. "I'll help you pick it up," I stammer. I reach for heads of
lettuce, and oranges, hoping to place them back into the brown paper bag, from
whence they came.

"Thank you," she said. "Name's Cybil, by the way."

"Casey Butler," I shake her hand. Light grip. Little wear and tear on the
hand. It's soft, and nice.

"You wanna help me into my brownstone, before it pours? You look exhausted
anyway. Maybe you'd like some tea?"

I'm so tired, that I might as well.

"Would you mind if I used your phone, too? Sort of left mine at home," I
wonder aloud. "Need to call myself a cab."

"Of course," she smiles at me. "But tea first."

My apartment is kind of huge. It's meant for me to have space to train. But
Cybil's is like a proper home. I always wondered what that was like. The wood
floor is a dark brown. Her coffee table isn't a foot stool. The walls are
white, instead of white with chipped paint. Hallways and staircases, that I
never got to have.

Yeah, I might have some issues.

She was insistent on having tea before I got myself a ride. She said she
hasn't had a guest in some time.

She comes back into the room, holding a tray with two cups of tea.

"You said sugar, right?" She asks, lowering the tray in front of me.

"Yes, thank you," I say, taking a sip of the horribly hot liquid. My god that
burns!

"You don't drink tea very often, do you?" She chastised me.

"Does ice tea count? Pretty sure it counts," I say, hoping she takes it as a
joke, because I honestly don't have a clue. "How long have you lived in New
York, Cybil?"

Changing the subject is a good idea, when you say thing that make you sound
dumb.

"A year," she tells me. "I move around a lot. My...profession, requires me to.
Meaning that I can't stick around very long in one place. How about you?"

"All my life," I say proudly, after gulping down more tea. "It's had some ups
and downs. Mostly downs, lately. But I don't think I'd ever leave."

"What do you do?"

"Well, I was going to be a professional MMA fighter, and I was close, too.
But, some stuff got in the way. Now I'm a courier, I guess. I deliver packages
for a living, and I just realized how lame that is," I say.

"Girl's got to eat," she exclaims.

And then I feel awkward, and even weaker than I did coming in.

"I, I think I need to leave," I murmur, getting up. "Gotta go."

"But we were just getting to know each other," she says, sadly. But, in that
way you that people who aren't actually sad, say something sadly.

I get up, and start walking, but my knees give out, and I fall to the ground.

"Not again," I moan.

"Don't worry, I'll take care of you," Cybil hushed me.

"Cybil, please..." I beg, fading into unconsciousness.

"You can call me 'Mistress,' now. 'Mistriss Claw'," and the light go out.
Hello drug induced sleep. I missed you.

I feel like I've been asleep forever. My body feels like it's rocking, ever so
slightly, as I rouse from my sleep. My head is throbbing, and, actually? My
arms and legs feel off. Like they're being pulled upward. I try to bring them
down, but something thick, rough and course keeps them in place. That same
material is keeping my wrists, and elbows, and calves, and ankles together. In
fact, I feel my fists touching the soles of my feet.

I've been hog tied. It's tight, and it aches just a little.

I open my eyes, to see what my situation is like, and things look worse. My
eyes are looking at the floor, but My body isn't not touching it. At all. They
take a minute to adjust to the light, but judging by what my eyes see, I must
be suspended four, maybe four and a half feet off the ground. The ropes have
to be wrapping around some kind of hook, or support beam. I can't really twist
my head to get a good look.

It gets worse.

My clothes are gone. My hoodie, pants, socks, and shoes are gone. She left me
with my black sports bra, and black panties. I can see my blonde hair in my
eyes. She must've let my hair down, too. And I feel more ropes pressed against
my midsection, probably acting as some sort of support, or hammock.

I try to speak, but what comes out, is unintelligible. There's something
jammed in my mouth, keeping my lips wide apart. It's not tape, or cloth. It
tastes like rubber, and I feel leather around my cheeks and fastened behind my
head.

A ball-gag. Super.

The thing about this is, it's impossibly hard to escape from without being
suspended, add that little wrinkle to it, and I don't know what to do. This is
just bad. I hear foot steps coming down the stairs, and I tilt my head up to
see the stair case I'm positioned in front of.

I see her come down, wearing black, thigh high boots, a red dress, with some
sort of Dragon pattern printed on it. She's wearing black latex gloves, and a
black domino mask. And in her hands she carries a riding crop. Which is just
all sort of bad news.

"Welcome to my parlor, bitch," she says to me. Trying to demean.

"gmmm nn."

It might be working.

"This form of bondage makes you feel vulnerable, doesn't it?" She muses aloud,
easing her riding crop across my thighs. "It should. It's supposed. You can't
escape, and if you do, I'd only snatch you back up."

She slaps my legs with the crop, and it stings. I cry out, but thanks to the
gag it's nothing but a moan. I rock, again, in the suspension, and it pulls at
my extremities.

"This isn't about attraction, or love. Or even sex. That is not my
profession," she continues. "This is about you being unworthy of freedom, like
so many. You will not be free until I decide that you are."

"mmmmmph! Plmmmph!" I moan through the ball gag.

"But you're an exquisite specimen, Casey. You can take pride in that. Your
fit, and lean. Flexible, too. I bet that tie is just irritating, though," she
circles back, and looks me in the eyes. Grasping my chin with her hand, she
makes sure I look into her eyes, as well. "You're a fighter, you said. Well,
that's good. You'll need to fight to be free of here. Look to the ground and
notice the lack of a mattress, or anything of the sort. I have no care for you
physical well-being. You can't move around too much, or risk breaking loose of
my rigging. There's no safety net here."

The room was, from the ground to the sealing, is at least twelve feet. It's
pretty spacious beyond that. Couldn't guess the rest of the measurements. It
must match the length, and width of her brownstone. It's white, marble floor
wouldn't exactly be comfortable to land on. The white walls add to it it, as
if the room is pure, or something, she says. She tells me that she has other
ties she'll try on me, and other bondage "instruments" she'll apply to me,
despite my behavior.

She starts to walk away, back up the stairs, and stops, looking back at me.

"I'll allow twenty minutes of leisure, per day, meaning for a brief period,
you won't be suspended. This is what little luxury Mistress Claw allows you."

And like that, she's gone. That was incredibly crazy. Right? Right. I guess I
know why she had moved around so much.

"Profession" my ass. She's some sort of unhinged dominatrix.

But she's right on one count. There's no escaping this. Not one way I can see.
All I can do, is wait.

Hours pass. All I do is sweat, and stay still. "Mistress Claw" must've turned
up the heat. Or it's the stress of my situation. I'd be able to tell, but my
focus isn't on what I can feel. It's on escaping. I'm a good few feet away
from the wall to my right. Most I could do is bang into anyway.

I spin myself, which is impossible to control, to get a glimpse of something I
can use. Back and to on the wall to the left of me, I see two doors, with some
sort of speaker set up. An intercom? Maybe?

The wall behind me is lined with the other "instruments" Cybil was referring
to. I could see ropes, chains, and cuff, but I couldn't single out any
specific thing. I couldn't stop myself long enough to see.

But there's nothing usable. Nothing that doesn't involve me injuring myself.
The only chance I'll have is when she lets me down for my "leisure" time. I'll
make a move then.

More time passes, and I hear the unlocking of a door, and the sound of foot
steps. I tilt my head up to see Cybil, still in that ridiculous Dragon lady
get-up. She's carrying what looks like a laptop under her arm.

"Most people I play host to, are usually screaming their head off on the first
day," she starts. "They curse, and call me awful names. It's why I started
gagging my guests. I couldn't handle the droning, and the begging, and the
tears. But, you, your not. Your watching me. Taking stock of the room, and
what you have. I see you spinning and looking for something. By now you
realize you have nothing, correct?"

She's been watching me? There must be a camera somewhere in here.

"Now I admit, you could start really struggling. You won't pull down those
rafters. You may slip out of the rope work, which I'll admit is intentionally
not my finest work, but you'll only harm yourself," she continues. "So the
only option you have, at the moment, is to try and fight me once I untie you.
It's a good idea. If I were you, I'd try it. So, let's give you a shot, yes?"

She lowers me down, the exposed parts of my skin, touching the cold marble
floor. She undid her knots and removed the rope. She let me pull the gag out
of my mouth. And then she stepped back.

I move at her. Of course I attack her. I'm angry, and I think I can take her.
I snap my fist towards her face, but she parries it, moving to my side. She
sends a punch at my ribs which makes me wince, and I stumble backwards. A bit
more cautious I move towards her as she has her hands up in a fighting stance,
an amused smile is on her face. Before I can react she snaps her fist out and
nails me in the gut. Letting out a grunt I get more angry as I can not believe
she gets the better of me. I quickly lash out with a hook but she steps
backwards and it misses her face by inches. I then bring my right leg around
for a roundhouse, and she blocks it on her forearm.

I fight her with all I got, but I'm not exactly at one hundred percent. Being
tied up all day will do that to you, I suppose. She fights defensively and
dodges and blocks all my strikes, until she suddenly starts to attack. As she
parries my punch she suddenly slaps me hard across the face.

In mere seconds she manages to sneak in two punches in my already bruised
belly and a hard kick against my inner thigh, slamming her shin against my
thigh like a trained Nak Muay.

As I stumble to keep my balance I raise my forearm to block an elbow strike
aimed for my jaw. However to late I realize it was merely a setup and she
follows up by seizing my shoulders and slamming a knee in my belly, knocking
the air out of my lungs and making my cheeks puff.

Gasping for air I then feel her sweep my legs from underneath me as she tosses
me to the floor.

I fall face first, bracing for impact. And when I hit the floor, it hurts. I
try to bounce back up, but I feel a sharp heel press against my back, and
force me down.

"Little bitch," she calls me. "Do you think i don't know how to fight? I've
been handling your kind since I was twenty. Im thirty-seven, now. I know how
to fight. I know how to take out some little wannabe."

Thirty-Seven? She looks like she's twenty. And she's so damn strong.

"Had to try," I groan knowing I am defeated.

"Now you'll only have five minutes of leisure today," she continues. "Meaning
you'll have to eat, and go to the bathroom fast."

She lets me up, knowing I couldn't take her as I am now. Pretending she's
doing me Some great favor. A courtesy, she's offering me. She grabs my arm,
guiding me to the back of the room towards the two doors I spotted before.

Cybil opens the one on the left, reaching in and producing a bottle of water,
and a granola bar.

"The other is a bathroom, so wash up quickly," she tells me. "Your mistress
shall relay further instructions through the intercom."

Eating in a bathroom is not how I saw my week going. I chew the granola bar as
fast as I can, and chug my water. I'm going to have myself another go at her,
and I need to be quick. The sick thing is, knowing she has a camera in one
part of the floor, she probably has a camera in here. She probably recorded me
going to the bathroom. I also noticed the door has a lock, only on the outside
of the door. And I'm pretty sure I heard her lock it. I'd break it down, but
it's lined with metal sheeting on both sides.

"Times up, worm," the dull echo of the intercom fills the room. I step toward
the door, only to be shouted at.

"Didn't say you were done in there," Cybil says. "I can see you through the
live feed coming from the laptop. You'll do exactly what I say, or aim the
pistol I keep in the hem of my dress, and open fire through the door. The
bullets are capable of piercing the metal sheeting of the door. Understood?"

"You're one gross bitch," I curse at her. My creepy, disgusting fear is
confirmed.

"Worse has been said about me," she counters. "Now reach into the medicine
cabinet. There will be a bottle and a clean rag. The bottle contain
chloroform. You'll lay on the floor, after soaking the rag, and press it over
you nose and mouth."

"You want me to dose myself?" I ask, furiously. This is just sick.

"Don't worry, you'll be awakened within the hour," she states calmly. "Do
this, or die. There is no other choice."

I believe her, too. I reach into the cabinet, which right above the sink, and
there they are: An unlabeled brown bottle, and a clean white hand towel. I
screw off the cap on the bottle, and pour the sweet smelling chemical on the
towel.

I lay back, scanning the room, and thinking there's another way. My back
pressed against the cold floor. There's no other option. I press the cloth
against my face, and a sweet aroma fills my senses. I feel light headed, and
my eyes are heavy. Within seconds I'm out. Again