The photoshoot was hell captured on camera, hours of muscles being strained to hold a particular pose or used to contort their bodies in ways that bodies were not meant to move. Finally, a break was called and Mercedes moved off to her dressing table to grab her purse and then hurried outside to smoke, more so to get away from the others than for any other reason.

In mid puff she heard the rustling of footsteps rushing upon her and then felt a hand cover her mouth even as an arm strong as a band of steel wrapped around her and pinned her arms to her sides. She felt the cool metal of the collar snug against her neck and then watched as a chain was attached to each side that connected to a pair of wrist and ankle cuffs. The sound of cloth ripping could be heard as one of the slavers cut the skirt from her body and then slipped the tip of the dagger beneath the hem of the corset and sliced upward. All underclothes were removed in the same manner and soon she was naked and unable to stand without the arms that held her imprisoned. Blindfolded and gagged, Merci was led away from the building and through a portal that took her, the slavers, and the mage that created the portal, back to RhyDin.

Within a drawer at the photographer?s workstation, sat a bag of gold as payment for his part in the abduction of Mercedes. The one responsible for arranging the sale, the model?s own agent and longtime boyfriend - Jorge, had received five times that amount.

Disoriented by the travel between realms, having no idea such a thing was even possible, Merci had to be forcibly moved. She was quite suddenly a mass of chained limbs in a pile upon the ground, having finally succumbed to her terror. The blindfold was removed and rivulets of black leaked down the white painted and powdered cheeks; black kohl liner and mascara met in a coupling that defiled and stained. The painted on grimace, that had been her mouth, was now just a smear of carmine and black; the grimace very much real, the paint no was no longer needed to depict it.

The Gothic Angel revived with a splash of icy water suffering across bare olive skin, goose bumps rising as the cool night air fondled along wet flesh.

?Rise, it is time to meet your Master, you filthy whore.?

Sputtering her protest, it took Mercedes very few moments to regain her bearings and remember where she was. Knees were drawn protectively to her chest, dragging her thin frame into the fetal position, for all the good it did her.
She wouldn?t be able to recall at a later time, which had been most effective, the sound of the whip as it cracked a half second prior to lacerating the smooth flesh upon her back or the actual rending of that flesh. The screams that were issued from her throat pierced the silence of the night, filling it with the commodities that gave the Boogeyman his notoriety: torment and terror.

Those screams had cost the disoriented model a valuable few seconds of movement, and once again, that whip was brought across previously unmarred flesh. She unfolded from the useless protection of her current position and attempted to rise, coming to rest upon her calves tucked beneath her. One shapely leg was drawn out from beneath her body and her foot planted, weight adjusted as she attempted to stand, only to feel the slice of the whip once again.

?You do not stand in the presence of the Master unless commanded to do so.?

Sobbing that waterfall of soot down already begrimed cheeks, Mercedes descended into the position of resting upon her calves, deeming this ?safe? as it had not brought the wrath of that whip across her trembling frame.

The Master stood back in the shadows, studying how his newest acquisition responded to these methods, face impassive.