Mistress Mysterial | slave, captive, gag | free bondage stories

Mistress Mysterial has built up a reputation over the last several years as a Dominatrix who is capable of the utmost cruelty and yet also as one who can dispense great sympathy and tender understanding.

That reputation has arisen from her dungeon deeds and doings alone because, as a matter of undeniable fact, nobody has ever seen her expressing any emotion. Her face has never been seen and therefor is entirely unknown such that she can pass anywhere without being recognised as the Dark Diva. In her role as Dominatrix she wears an exotic eastern-style costume: black baggy harem trousers with the bottoms tied just below her knees and seemingly transparent if you get her between yourself and a good light - Dungeons in which she works do not offer good lights!

Occasionally, when she moves swiftly, a pair of small feet become visible clad in eastern-style slippers with long pointed curled toes. Up top she wears a filigree bolero jacket delicately woven from many small coloured beads - perhaps they are jewels? - on gold thread. This is held closed across her bosom by a single transparent nylon thread on glass toggles and undoubtedly designed to keep one in suspended belief.

Her elaborate necklace is hard to describe for few ever get a good look at it. It is concealed beneath a double veil - a yashmak - which is the secret of her secrecy. The main head veil descends low enough to just hide her eyebrows and, thrown back over her head, falls down her back to her waist. The second veil, the face veil, is stretched across her nose to leave only the eyes visible and that falls also to her waist. When first I saw this ensemble I thought she was nuts but, I suppose, you get used to anything in time?

As far as I am aware none has ever seen her without this costume except for her slave, the Little Captive. Two men have tried to pierce her anonymity and with disastrous results. They did not realise that the "wand" she habitually carries is a cleverly disguised taser. The man who tried to jump her in the car-park awoke to find himself tethered to a stake in the Park, stark naked, his hands confined at his back because his thumbs were united by fishing line and that line extended down through his legs to terminate on a noose around his genitals. He also sported a hobble in the form of more fishing line tied between his little toes. He claimed to be the victim of a practical joke which was not too far from the truth. The other rash male chauvinist tried to take her in the dungeon; he left - on his own feet - three days later but only two people know what transpired during those three days; he never returned.

How do I know all this? Do I hold some sort of special, or intimate, relationship with this devilish kindly Domina? Well - as a matter of fact, of little-known fact in fact, the answer is yes, I hold a unique position in her affections. You see ... I AM the one known as Mistress Mysterial! Then again, I am also the one known as the Little Captive. You might also say that the Little Captive is Mistress Mysterial and that Mistress Mysterial is the Little Captive.

Mysterious? Aye, so 'tis and I have hopes that it may continue so.

But we must go back if we are to put this into proper historical perspective or, as the more scientific would prefer it, in to chronological order. I was young, late teens, deceived in love, penniless, homeless, hopeless. I was standing on a bridge parapet working myself up to make the biggest splash of my life - in fact to bore a hole in the river beneath. I had my eyes closed and was completely oblivious to the world about me when a hand clutched my coat and hurled me from my precarious stance. Winded and bewildered I lay quietly for the three seconds it took for my assailant to lock my hands behind me in handcuffs.

When a good strong pull on my immobilised fists had brought home the outrage committed on my person I rolled over and opened my mouth wide to make the scream of my life. It is a silly world this in which we live. But seconds before I had seriously been contemplating putting an end to my life; now I was screaming in an effort to save it! But save it from what?

It was a mistake; pardonable but nevertheless a mistake. A ball-shaped thing with a horrible rubber taste was thrust between my teeth, a strap was pulled about my head and hardened down to force that ball right in. My cries - intended cries - became little more than a low moan. A strap was wrapped about my ankles and, in much less time than is required to relate the incident, I found myself belly down in a hogtie and locked into the boot of a car.

Such was my involuntary introduction to Mistress Mysterial. When later she had opened the boot, loosed the hogtie and hoisted me over her shoulder in a show of surprising strength I was carried into a modest house to end up in a comfortable office - or study - wherein she sat in a comfortable office chair and I sat on the floor, woman fashion, with my bound legs to one side. I was not at all comfortable, I resented the cavalier manner in which I had been brought to this place, I objected to being bound and dumped on the floor, I objected to the gag which was making my mouth painful - in short I OBJECTED - but wasn't able to do a single thing about it. The bonds which held me seemed to be simple enough but simply refused to give an inch and I soon realised that, without her agreement, I was likely to remain in that predicament for good!

She just sat and watched as I fumed and fretted and then, after a few minutes, got up and left the room. She returned carrying a tray on which stood a coffee pot, jug of cream, a plate of biscuits and - I waxed even more furious - just a single cup and saucer! Apparently I just happened to be there and was of no consequence?

She poured some coffee and chose delicately amongst the biscuits then, zapper in hand, turned on a television set that stood somewhere behind me. She spent a few moments on the News headlines and then turned it off once more. Suddenly I got the picture; behave ... or else. My first lesson on the training road to becoming a slave.

At last she seemed to notice me: "Well, now. You seem to have settled down at last so perhaps we can talk. Yes, I know. The idea is somewhat whimsical with that ball strapped in your mouth but I could hardly allow you to shriek your head off, now could I? I'm sure that, at the moment, it's not exactly your favourite toy but you will be surprised at how quickly you can become adjusted to it."

Fit to be tied? Yes, and close to bursting too, yet ... there was sweet fanny-adams that I could do about it. Reality intruded on me and I again made an effort to cool it. Clearly it was my only chance of getting out of this because the woman was entirely in charge.

"That's better," she said in that maddeningly conversational tone: "It's so much nicer if we can keep it on a civilised level." Abruptly she held up her hand and just in time too. "Now, if we are to talk, it's quite clear that I must take that gag out of your mouth and, if nothing else, it will stop you drooling all over my carpet.

"There's little point in you continuing with that original intention of screaming your head off. This entire house - just about - is soundproofed. If I remove it ... promise to behave?"

But for the gag I would undoubtedly have said, "Get Stuffed," or words with similar effect but very much more to the point. But with my instinctive response suppressed I nodded an agreement. She rose from her chair, collected the napkin from her coffee tray then came over and unbuckled the strap at my nape. I soon appreciated the napkin because the ball seem to release a torrent of drool. While she carefully cleaned my face I worked my jaw; it was too sore and stiff for immediate speech.

She reached behind me and I felt the cuff fall away from my left hand but, swift as thought itself, she moved around me and re-cuffed them in front. I was startled and resentful but relieved enough to give thanks for small mercies.

"Now," she began, "the matter of civilised behaviour has been raised already so ... may I offer you a cup of coffee?"

"Oh, yes please," I croaked.

She turned to a small cupboard behind her and produced a sizeable cup with saucer and brought me both coffee and the plate of biscuits. "Eat them all, if the fancy takes you," she said pleasantly.

My mouth was sore but, despite the drool, I was thirsty and I had not eaten for at least thirty-six hours. I tried not to make a pig of myself but somehow those biscuits managed to vanish. Every time I raised the cup or raised a biscuit the chain between my hands jingled gently and perhaps it was the fascination with this unusual sensation that caused me to clean the plate. In dismay I looked at it: "I'm awfully sorry, but I do seem to have..."

"That's quite all right," she interrupted me. "I did give you permission. You look as though some good food would not do you any harm."

The word 'permission' seemed to jam in my mind. I was held prisoner - yes - but was that really...?

"Now," she was speaking again. "Why exactly were you standing on the parapet of that bridge?"

"To be truthful ... I was plucking up the courage to jump."

"That's what I thought. Thank you for being frank. You can't yet be twenty, you seem to be healthy enough and cleaned up and given a little care could hold your own in the world stakes ... why the hell did you wish to kill yourself?"

"It's not so much fun being cold and hungry, nowhere to live, owning nothing except the clothes on your back, wondering where you will sleep..." I trailed off.

She looked at me for a while as though considering and began to slowly nod her head. "I could use you," she continued. "You won't get paid much -if anything - but you would be fed, clothed - as necessary - kept warm and have somewhere to sleep."

"Doing what?"

"Whatever I tell you. Without question. I would require instant obedience at all times. In fact you will be my slave ... my property ... without rights of any sort."

"SLAVE? That's nonsense. We don't do that sort of thing. I'd not mind working for you - even without pay it would be more than I have now - but to become a slave..." and I dissolved into uncertain laughter.

"I'm perfectly serious," she said matter-of-factly. "You will give yourself to me for ... say ... two… no, three years. At the end of that time we can discuss a new contract in view of your experiences and newly found knowledge of this life-style. But for those three years you will be no more - and no less - than my property. I will own you - body and, well almost, soul."

"But it can't be legal. Can it?"

"We're not talking legalities. Look. I took you this evening and brought you here against your will. Even now you are pretty helpless? Nobody knows you are here. From what you've just told me nobody even knows of your existence. If I choose to do so there is nothing whatever to prevent me from loading you with permanent slave-chains and setting you to work under a whip. But you have a choice; I'm not into enforced labour. If you come to me you come entirely of your own free will; it's to be your own choice. BUT ... if you choose yes ... then you become mine for three years without reprieve, without further choice, with your entire existence under my control."

I remained silent. It took a deal of digesting. "I suggest we finish this in the morning," she said. "For now you take a shower and go to bed. Yes?"

I was speechless and just nodded. She crossed to me again and removed the strap around my ankles, helped me up and guided me from the room. I have never understood just why I failed to ask her to remove the handcuffs. She led me to a tiny room, which for me was a representation of heaven, with its own bathroom. I soaked under the shower for too long and emerged to find that all my clothes had disappeared; I was left naked and handcuffed in a room with a bed but with the door locked.

I cared not at all ... just fell into that bed.

---

That was all a long time ago. In fact it was getting on for three years ago but seems much longer. I did become her slave as she had outlined it only I had not quite realised the reality. She did in fact feed me and kept me well - on that score I had little about which to beef - but I had not reckoned on the complete humiliation of giving myself for enslavement. I was not so much a human being, a companion or just a dweller in the same house; I was an object for use as may be required. I found myself without "rights" of any sort; mine was but to do ... and do ... and do over and over again as instructed. Fail, disobey, offer resistance, talk back ...punishment was the instant reward.

Seldom did it take the form of beating so often associated with slavery - whipping, caning, strapping or even slapping. Mistress Mysterial had greater subtleties. She once chained me by the wrists to two points in the dungeon wall and forgot about me for a week or more; water I had in plenty and, very occasionally, a crust of bread. On my second offence she cuffed my hands behind and secured me by the neck to a chain stretched tightly along the floor. The third time I spent three weeks or more cuffed behind and hobbled all the time wearing a leather hood with only a breathing hole and a mouth hole. Sometimes, when she was around, she would insert one of several different gags through the mouth hole and strap it so tightly that ... I learned not to risk it.

As the Little Captive I was to become as enigmatic as the Mistress but not for me an exotic costume. I was never brought into public view except I wore a full leather hood, tightly laced up the back with a built in plug gag and holes only for eyes and nose. From the first morning of my enslavement I was never without shackles - at any time!

But I came to know her perhaps even better than she knew herself. Once I had accepted my position she began to allow privileges and the one I enjoyed most was sleeping in her great four-poster bed. She taught me a great deal about lovemaking and erotic practices but always I went naked and always that small chain jingled between my wrists.

Sometimes she would reverse our roles in which I would become the mistress and she would wear handcuffs and leg-irons. She so evidently enjoyed our sessions, during which I loved her while she pretended to be helpless, that I began to suspect that, in fact, she was more of a sub than a dominant. It was during one such session that I suddenly realised that, while I kissed and licked her breast and nipples, she had closed her eyes and was breathing very slowly and deeply. I stopped my ministrations and she failed to notice. Somewhere deep within there stirred an exciting feeling - I LIKED being in control!

She was truly aroused and had forgotten me; from where came that impulse I do not know but I slowly closed my teeth over that nipple and began to bite down with ever increasing strength. She erupted in a violent fury; I had forgotten about her almost worship of her own body. She hit me so hard that I rolled off the bed and in an instant she was on top of me. She pulled a belly chain through my elbows behind my back and locked it off thus securing my hands to my body. She put handcuffs on my ankles, jerked me to my feet and dragged me from the room, down the stairs and into the dungeon paying no heed whatever to my difficulties in walking.

There followed many painful and miserable days as I languished like any medieval captive in squalid and stinking conditions on bread and water alone. Although I had come to accept my status as slave this was going too far and it set the germ that was to grow into the present arrangement.

One day she entered the dungeon and seemed appalled at what she saw. "My dear ... what a ghastly mess you are in." She released me, gathered me up like a baby and carried me to her own room. Careless of the mess I was left on her bed while she ran a bath and there followed two wonderful hours in which my body was washed, my hair was washed, my feet were washed, every part of me was washed, dried, powdered and pampered. I gained an idea of what it must be like to have a slave to care for you in such manner, whose only purpose in life was to serve you, see to your needs and comfort.

That seed took root and flourished. I began to lay plans, to plot, to manoeuvre; I became the most exemplary of dutiful and loving treacherous slaves. Then came the day that, with Mistress enjoying a stint in chains, I obtained possessions of the keys. Keeping up my serving of her needs I contrived to remove my own restraints. She awoke as I was ramming my ball gag into her own mouth; her hands and feet were secured to the bed with what had been my manacles and I followed the gag with a blindfold.

I was truly surprised at how easily she accepted her new role. Doubtless she expected that, in due course, she would reverse the situation and meanwhile proposed to relish her new experience. But I was only too aware that, should she once again ascend into the driver's seat, then my life would become pure hell. My very first act was to dispose of the keys in a place well removed from her; I would not make her mistake of keeping them on my person. But I was only safe as long as she remained in restraints.

It was here that her strange costume and treatment of her slave proved so useful to me and so problematical for herself; with Mistress wearing the leather hood and the Little Captive hidden behind the harem costume and its veils ... who was to know of the switch? Who could even detect the switch? And so it has been ever since.

---

I am at risk in one area however and that is her undeniable physical strength. Surfing the Internet on her notebook computer I found the ideal defence. One of the "toymakers" was offering a unique set of bondage mittens. They consisted of hollow plastic spheres which opened on a hinge; the set consisted of two small units about eight inches in diameter and one larger about eleven inches across. Inside one half of the smaller units was a bar which the wearer was required to clasp and then the two halves were closed and locked together leaving just a spherical club on the end of each arm. The larger unit, without a bar, was designed to clamp around the head. The only concession to its wearer is air holes.

On public occasions the Little Captive now trails behind her Mistress totally blind, mute and all but deaf with her clubbed hands linked by a padlock; she is guided by the constant tug on her chain leash which is attached to Mistress Mysterial's exotic girdle. At home she is only allowed out of the mittens while working at chores although I spare her the agony of the globe hood.

In constant and hopeless helplessness she seems to be content with her lot and relishes the lack of all responsibility. She thoroughly enjoys our nighttime sessions of mutual play. But I know only too well that that is the happy side of this sleeping tiger. She is a natural-born sub; in the dom role she becomes a lost and raging beast without true confidence. It is a matter of my personal safety that she must never regain freedom.

I have often heard it asked why people keep dangerous "pets"? Why give houseroom to a fighting dog; a so-called-tame leopard, tiger or lion; an alligator in that back yard pool? Ask any daredevil or control-freak about the adrenaline-rush of knife-edge existence

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