Gynarchie Tumblr

🔞 TOUTES LES INFORMATIONS CLIQUEZ ICI 👈🏻👈🏻👈🏻

Gynarchie Tumblr
D u w i r s t d i c h n i e m e h r l a n g w e i l e n .
Vielleicht später Ich will mich registrieren
You are using an unsupported browser and things might not work as intended. Please make sure you're using the latest version of Chrome , Firefox , Safari , or Edge .

        “Have a good weekend, Lizzie!”
        Elizabeth Anne Davies had long since given up correcting her coworkers. Elizabeth was the name on her birth certificate, diploma, email signature, and everywhere else in her life. And still, here, she was Lizzie.
        “See you later, Marcia,” Elizabeth chirped and waved over the cubicle half-wall before leaning forward to rub her forehead with her gloved fingers, straightening out the glistening black rubber over her fingers. She still had a few more hours of work in front of her and with Marcia gone, Elizabeth was the last one in the office. It was not for lack of effort or skill, Elizabeth was one of the most talented Intelligence agents in the district, and the Gynarchy was almost certain to see her as a candidates to be called up to the provincial level with the next wave of promotions. No, It was by design that she had pushed off some of her work until late this Friday afternoon.
        Not only would she be able to churn through what work was remaining, she would be able to do so in peace. It would also give her time to memorize as much information as she could. As a low-ranking agent, she was given just enough access to confidential information to help The Resistance keep half a step ahead of her employers. At the end of each week, she would fill her mind with dossiers, case reports, and patrol patterns until she felt it all leaking out her ears. Then, as the sun set, she would walk to a local park and write down as much as she could recall on paper and pen, the last untraceable, unbreakable medium.
        She didn’t know who received the papers; all she knew was that after she rolled them up and stuffed them into the knot of a tree, they made their way to The Resistance. In her investigations, she could tell that her messages were helping guide their movements. Since she started her drops one short month ago, fewer men and women were caught by patrols. Armory raids happened marginally more quickly than they did before with fewer casualties and larger payoffs. Even as she completed her investigations for the Service, she was helping The Resistance, picking off the stragglers who didn’t know enough to actually be useful.
        Today was much the same as every other week. She took a moment to enjoy the silent office, shuffling to the break room and rinsing out her mug under the sink. The water always smelled like sulfur but better couldn’t be expected from the facility. The local branch of the Gynarchy’s Intelligence Service used to be an insurance office in the back corner of a dying strip mall and the peeling countertop showed its many years of barely-maintained use. Elizabeth wiped down her mug and moved to the coffee machine to pour out the dregs of the last pot, now hours old.
        The polished aluminum of the toaster caught her eye and she couldn’t help but look at herself in the distorted reflection. It was casual friday which meant that instead of the latex blouse, suit jacket, hobble skirt, stiletto boots, and corset she typically wore, she could get away with just a plain black catsuit and some worn-out sneakers. She could even let her long, light-brown hair down without a rubber hood around her head (though the black mask did make her eerie, blue-almost-purple eyes even more stark and bright). It wasn’t a bad look for her, but like the totalitarian grip of the Gynarchy, its unrelenting grip was suffocating and she had grown to detest its grip.
        With her zeal for the Resistance renewed, she returned to her desk and readied herself for the upcoming mental effort. She had her caseload open on one monitor, idly typing up reports and filling out paperwork. The other monitor displayed material that could plausibly be linked to her own investigations. The latter was where her attention was directed. For the next few hours, she pored over the data, lips moving slightly as she recited them inwardly until she knew every bit by heart. Even as she locked her workstation and rose to leave, she continued to loop over the secrets as if they were a lover’s last words.
        As she sat on the bench, she appeared to be at peace, the hood of her long, leather coat pulled up around her head and her hands tucked under one double-breasted flap. Only the slight movement at her waist would let slip how frantically she writes. Every word in her razor-sharp brain was transferred onto the hidden notebook, four full pages of legal pad filled with neat, blindly-written intel.
        The papers detached and tightly-rolled, she paused to make sure she didn’t miss anything. She only made contact on a weekly basis and her intel would be useless in seven days.
        With the treasured document held in between her fingers like a cigarette, she stood and made her way down the path. Forty-seven paces later, she crouched down to tug at her shoes with one hand, the other reaching out to stabilize herself against a convenient tree. As she leaned against the tree, the rolled-up paper slid into a metal pipe embedded in the wood and vanished. As if nothing happened, she continued on her way, the drop completed.
        Elizabeth was always on her guard, particularly around drop day, and she pulled her coat tighter around her body as she started the long, winding walk home. She took a different route each week to hide her movements, holding on to a healthy dose of paranoia to keep her safe and hidden. Halfway home, she noticed that the streets were quiet, particularly for a Friday evening. The sidewalks were usually sparse but tonight they were completely empty, and the restaurants and storefronts along the streets were all unlit. It struck her as odd but she wasn’t as familiar with this area of town. She suspected that the shops could just have early close times and a quick check on her phone confirmed her guess.
        Marcia found it odd that Lizzie had walked right past her without saying hello. Lizzie was usually friendly and quick with a response, but tonight, she walked as if the rest of the world was invisible to her strange eyes. Marcia would have chased after to see if something was wrong, but that was the moment the rest of her group spilled out of a nearby boutique, giddy with their newly purchased corsets.
        “Oh my Goddess, Marcia! Suzie flirted with the owner and got us reservations at Éclat!”
        “It was MORE than just flirting,” Suzie huffed, her cheeks still flushed from her shenanigans. There may have been quite a few orgasms shared between Suzie and the boutique’s proprietor.
        The girls quickly tugged at Marcia’s arms, dragging her next door to the gourmet restaurant. They giggled with delight as they sashayed past the long line. Marcia glanced back momentarily, finding that Lizzie had long since vanished into the crowds, before her friends swept her into the full dining room.
        Feeling the chill of the night air, Elizabeth pulled the coat around her tighter, turning a corner back towards the center of the city and home. She checked her phone once more, though the screen had become dim and faded. Turning the brightness settings all the way up barely helped matters as the glow struggled to be seen. It was then, while she was distracted by the faltering technology, that she saw movement out of the corner of her eye and across the road. After nearly a half-hour of walking alone in the complete stillness of the night, she was primed to catch sight of even flickering shadows.
        She could feel her pupils dilating in the dim light, the streetlights above failing to shed light past the sidewalk. Peering into the blackness between the trees, her eyes strained to make out any features that might give any hint to what that movement may have been. The rational part of her mind adamantly tamped down the part that urged her to run to safety. Nothing good comes from the unknown. But Elizabeth was a woman of pride and intellect. It could just be someone out for an evening run.
        As she continued down the street, she looked up and noticed that all of the lights had dimmed. It was like someone had found God’s dimmer switch and wanted to set mood lighting for the world. Her eyes felt strange to her as they peered into some of the darkness between buildings, struggling to focus without anything tangible to grip. Her phone was now completely unresponsive. None of the stop lights were working. There wasn’t a single illuminated window above street level.
        Rationality yielded to panic and Elizabeth ran.
        “How do you expect us to believe your story?”
        It was the Tuesday before and Marcia and Lizzie were performing an intake interview on a supposed Resistance member who had surrendered himself to the Gynarchy. The two sat across from a haggard male in the interrogation room, a janitorial closet that had been emptied and retrofitted with a heavier locking door. Lizzie lead the discussion while Marcia simply watched. With only empty space between the three uncomfortable chairs, Marcia could much more easily watch his body language and pluck the truths out from his field of lies.
        “I’m not lying. That’s what I saw. It told me that it knew I was Resistance and that I should surrender.”
        Lizzie took a deep breath and adjusted her glasses, the thick frames just there to give her a more serious, intimidating look. She considered him for a moment longer, her eyes always intense and piercing. He was young, too young to be a man, too young to be trusted.
        “Let’s go back to the beginning,” Lizzie spoke sharply. “Last night, you were walking to a Resistance meeting. You walked into the alley just south of Woodbridge and Stout, next to the Traveler’s Rest Bar. All the lights went out.” She paused for a moment and the boy nodded stiffly, eyes wide in fear. “You heard a voice tell you that it knew you were part of the resistance and that you should turn yourself in.”
        A visible shudder ran down his spine and he nodded again. Lizzie paused for a moment. He was too young to be believed.
        She had not heard of any new initiatives to suss out Resistance members. Even if this was something that another Gynarchy group had started, something so simple as casting a blind net with no actual threat shouldn’t have worked, even on someone as young and naive as this boy. Something didn’t add up and she was going to get to the bottom of it.
        “You don’t understand what that voice felt like,” he stammered. “It was like…like hooks scraping down my spine. I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t go to the meeting, I’m not that dumb. It would follow me there and then we’d all be fucked. And whatever you can do to me is nothing compared to whatever it could.”
        Lizzie’s lip curled upwards just slightly. She had learned how to put on a domina’s expression, one that could make any mortal man shiver. The boy before her couldn’t even maintain his gaze. “Are you so sure?”
        His answer came without hesitation. “Yes.”
        Elizabeth ran through the empty streets, her mind recalling the boy’s terror when she forced him to relive his story. She now felt it, that barbed spine buried between her ribs, probing and prying deeper into her back as she fled. Her sneakers allowed her to make tight turns down unfamiliar streets, though she no longer had any sense of where she was. There were no street signs, no landmarks to navigate by, just nondescript urban landscape that flew past her.
        An alleyway appeared immediately after a street corner and she took the opportunity to duck into it. She hoped this would let her elude her pursuer and catch her breath. Only when she collapsed against the brick wall did her ragged exhaustion make itself apparent. Her chest heaved and strained against the tight rubber, burning from the dead sprint. The sheer terror had subsided some, the adrenaline burning through it enough for her rationality to take hold once more.
        She closed her eyes and focused on calming her body and mind, focusing on slowing her breathing. The more she fixated on a sensation of calm, the less she felt that fear. There had to be an explanation for it all, everything from the shadows in the corner of her vision to the closed storefronts and darkened windows. She must have been seeing patterns that didn’t actually exist, her paranoid brain just showing her what it was most afraid of. She was the one in charge of her own mind and would regain control.
        All of the courage that her little pep talk had built up vanished the moment she opened her eyes.
        There was darkness right in front of Elizabeth. The alleyway had no light and she couldn’t see the wall across from her, but somehow she knew that the darkness was right in front of her. It took the vague shape of a hooded and cloaked figure crouching in front of her, veiled in a shadowy mist that blurred her vision. From the darkness appeared a pair of smiling, red lips, smooth and glistening, the only color and brightness in the world.
        “I know who you are, Elizabeth.” Its voice was terrible, a hissing whisper like a hurricane. “I know your crimes.” The hooks scraped Elizabeth’s nerves, her chest spasming from the fear that raked through her body, so intense it was painful. “I bring your punishment.”
        Elizabeth gasped to scream but the shadows wrapped around her and plunged into her mouth. Her nostrils were filled with the scent of rubber and smoke. It was so powerful that she could taste it coating her tongue like a slick film. The smiling lips lunged towards her and opened, growing until they threatened to swallow her whole. And then unconsciousness overtook her.
        Consciousness came to Elizabeth in a smooth gradient, slowly returning awareness to her. For a single, precious moment, she felt herself floating, relieved from the heavy weight of her body. There was only a vague ache in her legs and chest from her earlier sprint as she hung.
        And then she became aware enough to recognize that this was not normal.
        Her limbs flailed as the sensation of floating became one of free-fall, though it was without the rushing of air or any consistent orientation. She was fixed firmly on the knife-edge between wakefulness and sleep where reality and dreams bleed together. Her limbs spasmed and jerked constantly, trying to catch herself on something tangible, trying to grab hold of something solid to stop the heaving jerk deep in her gut. Her eyes scattered desperately to find some reference to stop the chaotic tumbling but there was none to be found in the blackness around her. The only thing she could see was her own body, the surface of her catsuit glistening in a dim light that seemed to have no distinct source.
        It was hard to breathe, not only from the panic causing every muscle in her body to convulse, but also how the air felt. Amidst the terror clouding her thoughts, she remembered the moment before she blacked out as well as the taste and scent of the air that she gasped. Even though her lungs managed to pull in the hot, viscous air, she still felt like she was drowning. The lack of fresh oxygen made her head spin, made the tumbling even more disorienting. Each breath drew in air so dry it felt gritty, and when she tried to scream, only a hoarse heave sounded into the void.
        When the glistening red lips appeared in front of her, she felt relief. In spite of the horror it brought, it was something that grounded her. She was adrift until they appeared, absent from any comprehensible space or time. They smiled wickedly for a long moment, reveling in Elizabeth’s discomfort. A pair of eyes, steely gray and unblinking, materialized to stare into Elizabeth’s. As the disembodied features emerged from nothing, Elizabeth tried screaming again only to find that she had shrieked her throat hoarse. She could only stare as more features coalesced from the darkness.
        The eyes were heavily made-up, long lashes and thick eyeliner becoming visible against a thin border of alabaster skin, too smooth and perfect to be natural. Not a crease was to be found in the crimson lips, another thin line of bare, pale skin so smoothly stretching with the smile. Smoke exuded from the corners of both eyes and lips, mingling with and getting lost in the surrounding black. Elizabeth was barely able to make out the shine of a latex hood that fixed those three points of light in space. How something so beautiful could be so terrible froze her nerves solid.
        “You have done damage, Elizabeth.” The voice burrowed into her spine, oozing through it and making her spasm. It was a sigh and a screech at once, the softest whisper that stabbed through her eardrums, drilling directly into her skull. “You will correct your mistakes.” The face was so close she couldn’t help but directly inhale the smoke that billowed out whenever those lips parted. She couldn’t pull away. Reaching up to try and shove it away, her hands became tangled in the swirling mist, vanishing from her sight. “You will know…retribution.”
        The eyes dove towards Elizabeth and for an instant, they filled her entire vision. That same moment, cold lips pressed against her own. She opened her mouth to scream, eyes wide in shock. The shadows took that opportunity to flood into her body. They became sufficiently corporeal to drive into her mouth and down her throat, up her nostrils, into her ear, even around her eyes. She writhed and convulsed, but the darkness cradled her in its thick, unyielding grip.
        The gaseous tendrils poured into and through her body, violating and defiling her. She felt sheer terror and panic as the shadows streamed through every part of her. Aching pain lanced through every muscle and nerve as the shadows left nothing untouched. Through it all, though, she could still feel those smooth lips kissing her. A tongue slipped into her mouth, pushing through the shadows to glide slickly over her own.
        Completely lost to sanity, Elizabeth kissed back.
        Marcia had thoroughly enjoyed her dinner, but she had split off from the rest of her friends. While she would have loved to hit up some nightclubs, Friday night was hers to spend alone. She walked through the park by herself, humming the melody to a song she had heard in the restaurant, a live band performing instrumental covers of popular songs.
        Upon reaching a certain tree, she crouched and slid her house key into a hidden notch in the trunk, prying out a narrow, steel tube. She tapped it against her palm to extract the paper, but the only thing that spilled out was a hot, black powder that felt like sand that had been baked in an oven. Hissing, she shook her hand out and pressed it against her thigh to still the pain.
        “I know who you are, Marcia.”
        The scraping, howling voice came from behind her and when she turned, Marcia’s world became darkness. From the black came a pair of smooth, red lips, sneering.
        A pair of eyes formed above the lips, eerie, blue-almost-purple eyes, stark and bright. Marcia’s own eyes went wide in terror.
        The eyes did not show any signs of recognition, only displaying a hunter’s predatory gaze.
        The Shroud lunged forward to envelop Marcia in the shadows. The former Resistance operative masquerading as an Intelligence agent vanished. The park was silent once more.

home //
message //
submit //
archive //
theme
Wesmore Academy of Dominance and submission
I think Sunday Nights are generally very quiet, Headmistress, people are probably just
Il Lui Remplie La Chatte
Gaki Ni Modotte Yarinaoshi 02
Her And Him Bella Thorne