Samantha still dangled suspended by the chains around her wrists. She hung her head and refused to look at the woman that had so thoroughly disgraced her. An hour ago she would have though what had happened to be an impossibility and she had paid a steep price for her pride. She could imagine the smug smirk on the Scythe Spectre's face at having claimed the victory, but she could not bring herself to look up and confirm it. The heroine could hear her own ragged breathing and her lip curled into a self-loathing frown. Not only had she been defeated, she had been defeated<i><b>easily</b></i>and even just knowing that she could be rendered so helpless was a terrifying thought.<br/><br/>The sensation of the chains carefully lowering her to the hard cement snapped her out of her internal struggle. She looked up finally and the Spectre could see that her eyes were bloodshot and wet from her tears. When the villainess told her that no one needed to see the footage all Samantha managed was a weak nod. She seemed in a daze until the Maiden of Chains started to rub her wrists. It was a tender gesture and that in itself was weird, though not as weird as the reassurance that she would be okay and the suggestion to see a doctor if anything seemed off. She opened her mouth to speak and closed it again. Shaking her head, she pushed her confusion aside and tried to pull her hand away... But was still too weak to. "What do you care?" She tried to grasp onto anger but the effect was ruined when her voice, still hoarse from cries of pleasure, came out with a harsh rasp to it.<br/><br/>The suggestion to see a therapist and to give up the hero life stung. It was another thing that made her feel weak, as though she did not measure up. Still, in the moment she did feel like she didn't measure up and did not even bother to sit up while the enemy tended to her. When the Spectre left, Samantha rolled onto her side and simply laid there for a while. Only once she was sure that the other woman was really gone did she sit up. Struggling to her feet, she cringed at the feel of wetness against the skin of her inner thighs. Looking down, she could see that the material of her costume was soaked through at the crotch, leaving the fabric darker. It was a last shame that the Scythe Spectre left her with. Quickly, she left the warehouse and immediately started to make her way back to her apartment. She focused on the task at hand. To get home (without being so dumb as to go straight there in case she was followed), shower, and change to her backup costume.... And then go report in about how the villain had managed to escape.<br/><br/>The shower was long and annoying filled with recollections of her adversaries hands on her, of the friction of her thigh grinding into Samantha's mound, and of the feel of their lips meeting. When she finally got out of the shower she did notice the nail marks on the firm curve of her ass. Apparently while she had been rendered powerless she had been much easily to scratch. Maybe it was a good thing that the Spectre's interests ran more to humiliation than mutilation. She shuddered to think what would have happened if the same situation had happened with a more sadistic villain. It was best not to think about it, she thought as she dressed and with great reluctance and trepidation went into headquarters to submit her report.<br/><br/>It was all business as usual and she tried to avoid everyone but of course that was impossible. She was counselled not to let the fact that the bad guy had escaped bother her. It happened to the best of them, she would get her next time, they felt bad for the villain that thought they could get away from her... Blah, blah, cliche, blah. It was good that no one looked to closely though. At a glance she simply looked upset that she had been unsuccessful, but had anyone taken more than a moment to see her tension, the nervous fidgeting, and her distraction they might have figured out the truth, or at least that her version was a lie.<br/><br/>With her duty complete, she paused to set up an automated search for a hero exhibiting any of the Scythe Spectre's powers. Something in the way the woman had talked, the bitterness at the inevitability of betrayal... Something had happened and Samantha was almost certain that the woman had to have started out on the side of good. Knowing her enemy would help if they ever met again, if Samantha decided to stay that was. With her confidence so soundly shaken, the Scarlet Sentinel could not banish the Spectre's words about leaving the hero life behind. Luckily she had the next few days off of active duty and simply retreated to her apartment. After a full day of the events on a loop replaying in her head and driving her crazy she took the Scythe Spectre's advice and sought out a therapist. There was a short list of therapists that had clearance to treat superheroes and there was never a wait to get in because it was an anonymous online service. The therapist would not known which hero they were treating nor would she know the therapist. It was a blind voice conversation with the voices scrambled. After nervously sitting at the screen with the green connect button flashing for over an hour she finally clicked it.<br/><br/>The conversation had starting out simply enough. They had discussed her self-doubt after failing to apprehend a villain. The conversation was pleasant and soon the dam broke and everything that happened was recounted. The only details that she glossed over were who the villain was and how her powers had been neutralized. She figured that the less people that knew about the tech the better. She did confess to being turned on at being helpless. That it had been a new experience to be weak and as traumatic as it was she had completely unable to stop her body's reaction. She even admitted to the blackmail and considering giving up being a hero and just trying to live a normal life.<br/><br/>The therapist was understanding and compassionate. She reminded Samantha that wetness was a defence mechanism as well as a sign of arousal and that she should not feel ashamed. Samantha confessed that she had begged and that the thigh grinding against her mound had forced moans from her. The therapist had suggested that she might want to look further into -why- she had been aroused by being left helpless. Further, the therapist suggested recreating the event in a controlled environment as a way of confronting her feelings. By putting herself in a helpless position she could work through the issue. It seemed like a hokey notion of someone who wanted to get a hero in bed but with even a cursory Internet search it returned several noted members in the psychiatric field that had published papers showing that such encounters could produce positive results. It seemed an idea worth exploring and besides, she would still have her powers this time.<br/><br/>They talked that afternoon and into the evening about a hypothetical meeting: what would happen, safe words, protocol, and everything else she could think of. It did put her more at ease with the idea and the therapist in general. Before they had finished the discussion, the hypothetical had become a plan. The meeting would take place at a hotel so that it would be neutral ground, the hotel room would be paid for, and all she had to do was show up. It was a weird thing to trust someone but if they had gotten into the registry for treating superheroes then it stood to reason that they would have been thoroughly vetted. From, what the therapist said, it was a very common situation with heroes, the desire to turn it off and not have to be the one in control.<br/><br/>So the next night, she went to the hotel as discussed, thinking she was being crazy but unable to turn back. She needed to sort this mess out so she could go back to her life. Retrieving the key card from where the therapist said it would be, she slipped quietly on the side door, wearing her costume and mask under a long coat. She did not want to reveal her everyday identity after all. Upon arriving at the room and entering she pulled out the desk chair and sat with her back to the door as the therapist had requested. The idea that they were not actually going to see each other was strange at first but it protected both of them so she simply sat, trying and failing not to fidget while she waited.<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>