‘There’s no need to worry about anything, darling,’ the man said. ‘You came here to see me. You’re going to spend some time with me. I’m going to enjoy you very much.’
Natasha wanted to learn embroidery and make pretty things. But when she signs up for a women-only online embroidery club, she finds her world going off the rails. Who are the men she keeps going to meet and why does she get the sense that soon she won’t be able to stop?
Following the Pattern: Chapter 1
[‘Following the Pattern’ contains non-consent erotica, mind control, personality modification, bimbofication and female submission. All characters are over 18.]
Natasha had always been impulsive. When she decided she wanted to learn embroidery, she did the bare basics of internet research, before impetuously buying a monthly subscription to a women-only embroidery club.
The first kit arrived the very next day. She started merrily stitching the pretty moonlight meadow pattern, enjoying the high quality materials and easy-to-follow instructions.
‘It’s so much fun,’ she gushed to her best friend over social media.
Natasha had been living overseas for a new job. After the first few months of hectic sightseeing, she had been struggling to make friends. Embroidery — or, more accurately, the simple joy of learning a new hobby — filled in the gaps perfectly.
Natasha also joined the embroidery club’s online chat group. Although she was often lonely, she wasn’t expecting the chat group would assist with that as such. She usually struggled to get to know others in a group setting, even in online forums.
She was surprised when one of the club’s established members, Amelia, reached out to her soon after she posted a photo of her first embroidery attempt in the group.
‘Your first work was so excellent. We’d love to put you in touch with some of our sponsors — they do love to meet our dear members,’ Amelia gushed. ‘Some of them even live in your city. They may want to meet up to see your work. Make sure you welcome them. We owe so much to our sponsors, we don’t want to have to put up prices after all.’
Natasha thought it was nonsense — who would sponsor a women-only embroidery club, after all? — but she consented.
After all, the club was very cheap and she was enjoying the embroidery so very much. She had had some stressful time at work and the embroidery had helped to calm her down so she had been sewing away every single evening.
By the time Amelia contacted her, she had already completed her second pattern, a glorious golden orchid moth design. The following day, she started her third design — an oddly mesmerising kaleidoscope design.
Two evenings later, it was nearly midnight, and Natasha thought she should probably put away her stitching and go to bed. Her eyes hurt and she was so tired, even her fingers ached, but she simply hadn’t been able to put down the embroidery frame until she finished the kaleidoscope pattern with its intriguing pattern of leaves and flowers and tiny butterflies.
Her first instinct — to open the next kit and start sewing right then and there — gave way to a kind of odd wanderlust. I should go for a walk, she thought suddenly as she packed away her needles. I’ve been inside all day, after all.
She didn’t question her decision to go for a walk in a city neighbourhood so late at night — which was odd as she would not normally leave the house unless with friends any later than eight thirty. The air outside was fresh, almost chilly as the wind blew the scent of early snow down from the mountains to the east.
Natasha drifted down the street, enjoying how the trees were silhouetted against the evening sky, enjoying how contented and relaxed she felt, possibly the most relaxed since she had started this stressful overseas posting.
She regretted not wearing a pullover. For some reason that she couldn’t explain, she had slipped off her hoodie before she left the house, and replaced her sensible t-shirt with a tight, sexy tank top that didn’t even fully cover her bra.
Ahead, she saw a dark green car with dark-tinted windows pulled up in a cross street and she knew, instinctively, that that was her destination.
Natasha opened the back door and slid into the car without hesitation or questioning her decisions.
‘Welcome, darling,’ the man seated beside her said in an attractive deep voice. ‘Let’s get started, shall we?’
‘Sure,’ she replied, a slight tremor in her voice. The words came instinctively — it was the correct answer, the answer that was expected of her.
But Natasha was suddenly wondering why she was here. She didn’t recognise this man — so why was she in his car? The upholstery smelled rich, like old wood smoke and leather, and the unaccustomed smell jolted her out of her serene calm.
‘You’re fine,’ the man said, clearly seeing her sudden stress. ‘There’s no need to worry about anything. You came here to see me. You’re going to spend some time with me. I’m going to enjoy you very much.’
‘Yes,’ Natasha said softly, her brow still creased as her worries suddenly eased. Of course, she had come here to spend time with him. By some additional instinct, she had even worked out who he was.
‘You’re… one of the sponsors,’ she said, looking at the man vaguely.
Some part of her knew she should ask why she was meeting him at night in his car, but the thought blew away like a stray leaf in the breeze before she could vocalise it.
‘That’s very clever of you to know that already,’ the man answered with a soft chuckle. ‘I’m Mr Battenborough. You will call me ‘Patron’, is that clear, my dear?’
‘Yes, Patron,’ Natasha whispered, suddenly embarrassed to be calling him by a title.
‘That’s very good, darling,’ he continued. ‘Tonight’s your first special event for our little club, isn’t it?’ he asked, and Natasha shivered, wondering vaguely what he meant by ‘special event’.
‘I saw you had completed excellent work on your third embroidery, by the way,’ he continued easily. ‘I’ve been monitoring your progress and I came right over to celebrate with you. You have been working very hard. That pleases me and it will please the other patrons too, very much.’
Natasha blushed at the compliment. Her question — why was this man here, in her street, just as the clock was chiming midnight — remained on the tip of her tongue, unspoken and unanswered.
‘I know you’re called Natasha,’ Mr Battenborough continued. ‘But we’ll change that, of course.’ He reached out and took one of her cold hands in his, holding it tightly. ‘Such clever fingers,’ he murmured, his other hand stroking her hair back off her face.
Natasha watched him shyly, wondering why she was letting him touch her. She didn’t seem to be able to stop it happening and she shivered suddenly in apprehension.
‘I think I might call you Mittens,’ he continued once he had tidied her hair behind her ears with careful fingers. He tightened the grip on her hand. ‘As a little joke if you will. For your decision not to wear gloves tonight,’ he laughed softly, squeezing her hand again.
‘Mittens?’ Natasha asked, confused. ‘I don’t…’
‘It’s a perfect pet name,’ the man said, smiling at her. ‘You are going to be my pet, aren’t you, Mittens?’
The question was firm, imperative even, and she had to answer.
‘Y-yes, P-patron,’ Natasha stumbled over the words, knowing they were true as she spoke. Her name would be Mittens and she was going to be the perfect pet. She would have no real choice.
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It’s not a manifesto
I write a lot of M/f non-consent erotica, including enslavement of women, degradation and forced breeding. They are not an expression of how the world should be. Everything I write should stay in the hot world of fiction and play. It should absolutely not become part of the real world.
© Pixie Isobella
Pixie Isobella 