Strictly Speaking – With Mistress Karen

Ok, remember Candice?

She came up last night for dinner. But she had barely walked in the door when my juices started flowing. I’m so Pavlovian!! She looked delightful in a olive colored sweater and a straight black skirt. And she had this cute little black wool cap, too. But she was wearing ballet flats, which needed to go. I had her put on my patent leather boots. For some reason, I think it is so hot when other girls wear my shoes. I can just imagine their sweat in there when I wear them next time. Their molecules will be touching mine, and vice versa. Her feet were touching my molecules in my boots. Ok, so excuse that little departure.

Anyway, I told her that dinner could wait a little bit because I wanted to play first. So much for delayed gratification. But she was totally cool about it. I cinched her arms behind her back in a black leather arm binder. Then I locked her neck in a heavy chain and attached the other end to a heavy beam above her head. So she was stuck in a standing position with no slack in the chain from her neck to the beam. I decided to take off my panties and shove them into her mouth. I secured it by tying a thick cotton rope around her mouth and neck, making a full 4 trips around. And to finish off her helplessness, I pulled her wool cap straight down over her eyes. It was an easy blindfold that was super cute.

Then I was off to make dinner. It took me about 30 minutes and I only made enough for myself. When I came back to Candice, she was still there just the way I had left her. She was tending to move around and wriggle a lot though, because I think the heels and the armbinder were getting a little uncomfortable.

I sat on the over-stuffed chair with my dinner and watched her while I ate. It was like watching TV, only it was a person. And not just a person, but a tied up, sexy person, in my own boots. I really loved watching her. Every minute that went by seemed to be more and more uncomfortable for her. But I didn’t mind at all. My salmon and rice was really satisfying.

After a nice leisurely meal, I cleaned up the dishes, then fixed myself a tea and went back to watch her a bit more. But I really couldn’t take it much more. When she struggled, the sound of her heels on the floor and the squeaking sound of her leather armbinder was sending me over the top.

Though I never really do this, I just had to touch this girl. I unroped her mouth and pulled out the panties. And I started kissing her like crazy. And she was kissing me back with all her heart. It felt really sexy, like some movie or something. Of course, the next thing I knew, I was licking her under her skirt. And she started coming like crazy. Sorry if this is sounding a little to porny, but it was just one of those times when things got really carnal. And when she came, she lost her balance and was hanging briefly by her neck before I rushed to the rescue and righted her. After she calmed down, I undid her armbinder and told her to play with me with her fingers. WOW!!!!! I can’t believe I kept those fingers restrained for so long. What was I thinking? Her hands were like magic on me!!!! And then I came too. She is so beautiful.

Then I unchained her and had her cuddle with me in bed. She said she was starving! We decided to go out to Thai food. I could watch her eat this time. I was already full. So we went out… and she was still wearing my boots!

Hey there,

This is just a brief little post to tell you something fun that happened at work today. I was chatting with this girl in our marketing department about her online dating adventures. She is the type of girl who seems to set herself up for a bad date every time. She always invests too much in the potential outcome and is always let down by some guy.

Anyway, things digressed and she was asking about my dating life and was curious why I seemed to date a lot and never end up with a boyfriend. “Don’t you want one?” And she was surprised to learn that I am just fine keeping it casual and I kind of hinted that sometimes I feel more comfortable hanging out with girls.

Then she shocked me by saying, “I’d want to date you too!” Whoa, it was like she was so tired of the guy scene that she would try anything…. even a girl. She seemed so mixed up. So I jokingly told her that she probably just needed a good spanking to shape her up. And to my utter surprise, she totally melted and called my bluff with her big eyes and slightly chubby cheeks. “Maybe you’re right, I probably do need a spanking” she flirted. And she so knew I would give it to her! Shit, I must be too transparent. I always thought I was so good and passing for a plain Jane. Or maybe she just had good kinkdar.

I decided to make a deal with her. It was 3pm, so I told her… “I’m going to handcuff your hands behind your back and throw a coat over your shoulders. If anyone comes in, tell them you have a chill. If they ask you to sign a paper or leave the office, tell them anything, but don’t move from your chair and don’t let them know you are handcuffed. I’ll come back at exactly 6:01pm and if you are still in your chair, you will get the spanking you deserve.” And now she looked shocked!! But her tone said she was up for it. “ Are you gonna punk me? Why would you have handcuffs?” she asked. And I just said “Do you want the spanking or not?” Mmm. she was all over it, practically ready to pounce on me. So I cuffed her and draped her coat over her shoulders. You could tell she was turned on.

“Ciao” I said. As I was leaving the office. She was kind of freaked that this was really going down and probably wondered if she really would be punked.

I went about the rest of my day. At 6:20 (just to give her a little cause for alarm) I showed up and closed the door behind me.. There she was, still cuffed and looking curious. So I had her stand up and lean over the desk. Then I lifted her skirt and spanked her panties. She was digging it big time. She had to be really quiet because there were still a few stragglers in the area. She was melting. I spanked her about 30 times before she started to whimper softly and tears started rolling down her face. But I kept at it. Then she was in an all out bawl, and having difficulty refraining from making noise. Then I stuck the key in her hand and told her to never say a word about this. Then I coldly told her to masturbate after I was gone. And I took off.

It was an odd little episode. I’m pretty sure it will end up being a crazy, one-time thing that will never be discussed again. That’s the way I would like it. But it did feel really satisfying to make her cry. She needed it.

Dominatrix takes her slave to work!

By now, a lot of you have probably figured out that I specialize in neglect.  For you newbies or vanilla types, that means that I thrive on restraining someone in a somewhat uncomfortable position and then leaving them alone for hours at a time to wonder if I am coming back. Of course, I have been known to wield a whip from time to time or even participate at all levels of kink. But really, I love seeing a slave tied up and squirming. I love it when they have to piss themselves because their restraints prevent them from having the dignity of a bathroom. Some people have suggested that I am a “lazy” dominatrix  because there is so little physical interaction between me and my sub. But in my own defense, that’s like saying that a gun is not powerful if it is never fired.

And while many of my friends and slaves have long been benefiting from technology (web stuff, HD video, etc) in the world of bdsm, I am a late adopter. But my life will never be the same after finally getting a web cam and learning to use Skype. I never would have thought my orgasm would be coming from an internet thingy… but WOW!!!

An old boyfriend of mine (from 9 years ago)  was feeling really stressed from some transitions in his life and called to see if I would be into a little session. I said, sure, as long as we were clear that it was only bdsm and no chit chat about the past or future. He agreed and showed up at my house. After a little reacquainting  with small talk over a glass of wine, I told him it was time to get  things moving because I was getting ready for bed. I had him take a shower then come into my bedroom naked. I told him that I wasn’t ready for a big scene and that he would have to sleep on my floor because I didn’t want to be bothered that night.  So I put him in steel manacles and shackles and locked his hands to his feet with only about a foot of chain to let him have a little movement. Don’t get me wrong, he was still in a loose forward hogtie position and I doubt it would be so cozy to sleep like that. His cock was absolutely stiff as a board. I took a 1 gallon baggie and rubberbanded it around his cock and balls so that he could feel free to pee in the night if he had to. I took a light shower, then I dropped down and had him lick me for a little while until I was nice and relaxed.  Then I sat on a chair in front of him and donned my kid leather thigh high boots as he watched.. I put on my shoulder-length leather opera gloves. Then I walked a couple circles around him so he could wonder if I was going to be cruel to him. But like I said, I wasn’t ready for that yet. I mean, it had been 9 years. I stepped on his head, forcing it tightly against the floor and reminded him that I like absolute quite when I sleep. He understood. But just in case, I put in my earplugs. Because guess what, even the best slaves  involuntarily wriggle and squirm as the restraints get more and more uncomfortable.

I crawled into bed with my boots and gloves on, no panties or top. I always love sleeping in my boots. Some people like to sleep with their favorite pillow.

In the morning, I awoke to see a restrained slave on my floor looking pretty weary from the night of discomfort.  His plastic bag was full of pee around his manlyhood.  I unshackled him and told him to go to the shower, clean up, and meet  me in the kitchen.

A few minutes later, he showed up at the kitchen while I was cooking an omelet, never saying a word.  I handed him some oranges, a knife, and a juicer and told him to make a pitcher of o.j. Then I set the table and had him sit down for the omelet I had prepared. After a silent breakfast, I ordered him to clean up the kitchen while I got ready for work.

At first, I wanted to really restrain him and leave him for my whole day at work. I thought about chaining his neck to a bolt on the floor with zero slack in the chain. And I would handcuff his hands to another bolt on the floor, arms out straight. That way his neck would be locked down and his arms would be stretched out with no wiggle room at all. And I wanted to tie his cock and balls to a nearby post, and his legs backwards  toward the chain on his neck.  There would be no way he could touch himself.

But then the realistic side of my brain told me that something could go really wrong and he could end up with cut off circulation or have some kind of seizure being left in such a position for so long.

So I studied the room for alternate ideas. Then I notice my Skype camera on my computer. BINGO! A brilliant idea if I do say so myself. I could watch my slave from my camera while I am at work. And it even has sound so I can hear if something starts to go wrong or if a safeword is blurted out amidst the groans of agony (or pure ecstasy).

So I went ahead with my original bondage position. And believe me, this guy was going no where. But if, God forbid, a fire started or… whatever else… I could be home in 10 minutes if I hit all the green lights. And looking at the pathetic soul on my floor, I realized that 10 minutes might not be quite enough time and I could end up with a David Caradine on my hands. Shit. So I needed to have a way to probe him from time to time to make sure all was ok.

I made up a code. I said I’ll call on the phone and let it ring 2 times, then call back for 2 times again. After the 2nd call, he was to say “Thank You, Mistress” if all was “well.” . I would hear him on the Skype cam.

Then I positioned the mouse over the the Skype button area where it would eventually ask to “accept the incoming call.” I carefully taped the mouse there. I positioned a large heavy book a couple inches above the mouse and supported one end on with a plastic cup. So the book was at an angle and poised to drop onto the mouse to activate the Skype call. I tied a string to the cup and put the other end in the guy;s hands, telling him to pull the cup out with the string when he hears the incoming Skype call.

So I fucked with him a little bit with my dressage whip, then headed off to work.

When I got to work, everything was normal. Ground hog day.  I turned on my computer and launched Skype, making the call to my home. Like magic, the call was answered! Damn, I’m good!! Ferris Bueller would be proud.

The image came up and…. There was my old boyfriend…  right in my office… completely helpless and at my mercy. I was controlling him from this far away. For whatever reason, it was really turning me on to know that he was on my screen in my office! And it wasn’t even a porn site, so there were no red flags to the IT guys.  When coworkers would come into my office, I would temporarily cover the Skype screen with my work documents, the windows of which were strategically placed to cover the Skype at the click of a mouse.

I never expected to get that kind of a thrill from this, but it really gave me a charge. I loved watching him squirm and agonize over his restraints and uncomfortable position. And sometimes, I would put in my headphones and hear the audio, which got me going even more. And the thing is, he had no idea if I was watching him at any given moment, or even if I was watching at all.

About 4pm, he was really starting to get vocal with his groans. It was a little scary. I mean, the guy was basically hogtied for a whole day. So I called him with the telephone secret ring. And between his groans, I heard a very clear and direct “Thank you, Mistress.”  So clearly, he was still in the game.

And luckily, other than that,  there were no problems with the physicality of the situation. I didn’t have to make an emergency departure from work. And when I finally got home, my little slave looked absolutely and agonizingly exhausted and spent. When I unchained him, he started crying from the delayed discomfort. I told him to go flop on my bed and I gave him an outstanding hot dinner from my local Japanese restaurant I had stopped by on the way home. He devoured the meal. Then I told him to get himself off while I watched.  Even though we aren’t so compatible as boyfriend/girlfriend, I did have a nice connection with him. We slept together that night.. He spooned me. And I even had my boots off.  The next morning, he was off. Maybe I’ll see him again in another 9 years.

But now my Skype camera at work is empty. It was really fun to have a slave at work!

In design, there is a base rule that usually underpins the concepts of the most successful design: “Function is Beauty.” In other words, there is always the right tool for the right job. You really can’t improve on a hammer. It’s a beautiful thing. Likewise, it’s hard to improve on a riding crop. It’s a crop and it works… and the only thing that is more sensual than the smell of that leather flap and handle, is the sound it makes when it slaps skin or my thigh boot as I command a slave to lick my boot heel. Function.

Last weekend, my friend David (really, just a friend) told me about this party out in the country called “The 4th Annual The Love Fest.” The way he explained it, a very progressive California couple got married 4 years ago and for their wedding reception, they decided to have a sleep-over in tents on their large property: “The Love Fest.” And every year since, it has become more and more of a swinging thing and a “let it all hang out” type of joint. David told me he went last year and saw the original groom massaging a woman on a blanket… right in front of his wife, the original bride. So off we were, driving 45 mins. out into the country. When we arrived, it looked like a farm house with some acreage. Every one had to park at the bottom of the hill and wait for a quad with a trailer to show up to pick us and our luggage up. So the quad showed up and about 6 of us piled in the trailer like a hay ride… and up the hill we went to the party.

It was a pretty cool vibe. Lots of pooled light everywhere and a jazz trio pumping out Duke Ellington for the raccoons. It was mostly a city crowd that was out for a “no questions asked” weekend. A pretty strong sexual vibe was in the air with lots of short skirts and barefeet. I felt a little out of place in high boots (wedges so they wouldn’t sink in dirt) because there really didn’t seem to be much of a kink factor to the crowd. Everybody seemed to match the “love fest” moniker. They were sitting around stroking each other and making out like kids at a high school beach party. David quickly went out to “check out the ladies” (I hope that fucker was kidding because, that is his exact quote). So I just sort of shot the shit with small talk and drank Sirah. There was lots of it because somebody owned a vineyard and they were pouring.

It didn’t take long until several guys had made their way up to me with conversations about how great it is to be a such a progressive party… inevitably leading to dog-butt sniffing about my level of interest free love and swinging. There were lots of stories about “you should have seen what happened at Burning Man this year.” Standard ice breaker.

A while later, David shows up again and I let him know that this gig wasn’t really my cup of tea. Oh yeah, and he was with some petite brunette who was riding piggy back on him. The chick addressed me with, “What would make it better for you? Maybe you could be a little more relaxed with a massage. My husband gives killer massages.” Just then, the husband walks up, not even batting an eye that his wife is on the back of David.

So David introduces me as “my dominatrix friend.” Instantly, the couple looks taken aback. “Is he kidding?”, says the husband. So then I go straight to my cold dominatrix persona: “Do you think he’s joking?” I stare him down for a long second, then turn and walk away abruptly.

Now that I was made, I decided to get into my element. I went to the bathroom, opened my bag an pulled out my heavy leather collar. Some time ago I made it by chopping a man’s plain brown leather belt in half. I love it because people can never make out what it is. Like, is that a dog collar or a “punk” collar or … where the hell did you get that. It looks like a thick strap of leather around my neck with no detail. But it always puts me in the mood and always starts the conversation flowing. It looks particularly striking when set against a non- s/m outfit.

So maybe I was a tad over-dressed for the Love Fest, but who cares. Fuck ‘em. After about 5 minutes, a guy came up to me who had heard that I am the “dominatrix friend.” Even before he opened his mouth, I knew he was a sub and that he was going to pursue that. And sure enough, there he went. Of course, he tried to be so surreptitious, but I can read these types like the first line of an eye chart and it was fun watching him play it out with me. Still, I didn’t feel like all the nice nice chit chat b.s. So I shut him off with”How would you like to be tied up and whipped.” You could almost here the “shwinggg”in his trousers. But of course, I didn’t have my black bag with me because I thought that shit wouldn’t fly at the Love Fest. So I had nothing to tie the guy up with. I told him to go find me a semi-private, out-of-the-way place to use as a make-shift dungeon and to get me some something to restrain him with. Cool. he darted out toward the garage. I love these closet sub types. They’re too afraid to embrace their inner kink until something like a Love Fest gives them permission. This dude was in for it.

About 10 minutes later, he shows up again (and 10 minutes was a little long by my book). He says there’s a yurt just past the garage that would be ideal for the dungeon.

He presents his restraints… a package full of sturdy 2 foot long electrical cable ties. Awesome. These are what the cops use at riots and demonstrations to restrain the college protesters. And guess what? They make an unbelievably effective restraint, even though I’m not usually a fan of plastic. But watch out, if cinched tightly, then can cut off circulation faster than almost any type of fetter. In fact, they should come with a warning label. Anyway, the guy actually found a package that held 50 cable ties… so I figured he was hoping for some serious restraint action. Ok. I had him turn around and cinched his wrists together behind his back. Again, the “shwingg” was all but audible. A few love festers took notice that something was going on. They sort of drifted over to check it out. I ducked off my panties and crammed them into his mouth, after which I took another cable tie and cinched around his neck and mouth to hold the panties in place as a gag. Trust me, this is a really effective gag that will never slip off! Some of the “lovers” were getting a little concerned, but they still looked on with that circus-side show anticipation. I walked over to some guy with a beer in his hand, unbuckled and removed his belt without saying a single word. I felt like a magician asking for someone’s watch. So I took the belt and put it around my cable-tied guy’s neck and led him off to the yurt.

In the yurt, I commanded the guy to lay face down on the indoor-outdoor carpet. Then I had him cross his legs (Indian style) and zip-tied them into place. Again, I had to be ultra careful to not cut off his circulation, because I wasn’t planning on sticking around to baby-sitting the guy. Then I took a third zip-tie and tied his ankles to his wrists behind his back. A perfect hog-tie with only 3 zip ties and that guy was not going anywhere. And of course, it was no surprise to me when the guy immediately started thrusting into the carpet. So I grabbed him by the hair and told him sternly that he better not move muscle. And to hammer home the point, I took the belt from his neck and whipped him while asking if he understood. But I wasn’t sure if he knew I was serious so I whipped him until he started groaning in agony. Pretty soon, some chick pops her head in and says “Everything ok in here?” She got a quick look at the hog-tied guy and I could see shock and repulsion hit her face. She was completely vanilla and actually thought there might be a problem. But then she saw me holding the belt and I shot her a look that says “you’re not welcome here” and she took the hint and disappeared. Cool. I was about to do the same thing. But not even 20 seconds later, some other chick comes in and says “I heard there was something fun going on over here.” “Fun?” I said coldly. “Does it look like this guy is having fun.” She looked me dead in the eyes and said coolly, “I guess that depends on one’s definition of fun.”

Fine. “See that post? Go over and stand with your back to it. You’re going to watch over our friend here to make sure he is not in any harm.” This chick, clearly not kinky but very interested in the situation at hand, gladly walked over to the center post in the yurt and leaned against it. I studied her a moment like a drill sergeant scrutinizes a new recruit. Then I strapped her neck right to the post as tight as I could without strangling her. Then I zip-tied her hands behind the post. Dang, those things are easy and effective! And I got right in her face and said “You fucking worthless bitch.” I grabbed her boobs for a little bit, slipped one out of her v-neck and sucked on it a while. It was almost enough to make her come. She was writhing and moaning and the guy on the ground was digging it. But I had had enough, so I slapped her in the face and told her, “Don’t say a fucking word to anybody unless his hands start turning white. If someone comes in to rescue you, tell them to fuck off. Other than that, not a peep out of you, you little fucking slut.” And just for fun, I stuck my hand down her pants. Sure enough, she was dripping wet. I took some with my middle finger, brought it up to her mouth and stuck it in. She started giving my finger a blow job… and it was the hottest blow job I have ever seen. It was my finger, but it was the hottest blow job I had ever seen. I was getting too worked up myself, so I darted out of there. I found a cozy little bench in a dark corner outside by a bush and immediately got myself off. It was kind of hot thinking that my finger in me was the same one that was in her.

I needed to have the proverbial after sex cigarette. But I don’t smoke, so I ended up chilling at a campfire where they were cooking smores. Let me tell you, there is nothing better than a hot smore after a hot little session. That melted chocolate and marshmallow was practically a second orgasm.

So I visited at the party a while more and had idle chat with the love festers. Then I found some scissors and headed back to the yurt. I cut the girl’s hands free from behind the post and then stuck the scissors between her neck and the zip-tie (kind of like a holster). I told the guy to start thrusting. I told the girl to watch him get off, then get herself off and let him free. I gave her a sweet peck on the lips and said “You’re not really a bitch. You are sweet and I’m so glad to have met you. “ Then I slipped out the door, found my David, and bailed. We didn’t feel like sticking around for pancakes in the morning.

Moral of the story: Function is beauty. Zip-ties seem kind of faux or cheap, but there is always the right tool for the right job. Sometimes steel bondage (heavy shackles, steel neck collar, etc) gets me off, and sometimes the cheap plastic stuff is amazing. And as a footnote, I just don’t get vanilla love fests. Sorry, I just don’t get it. Oh yeah, and now my beautiful high wedge boots look pathetically covered with dust. Now I need to find someone to take care of them for me. Where’s a good sub when you need one. Maybe I should have stayed for the pancakes.

At the risk of having some of you see me as less dominant, I must confess… I started seeing a psychologist (the word “shrink” makes me feel like a nut case).  There has been a spell of about two months where I felt blue and empty and started reading stupid existential stuff like Jean Paul Sartre and Camus. Talk about putting out the fire with gasoline! There was one particular Sartre story where he looks at his girlfriend upside down… just her face… upside down, as she is lying on the bed. And he pointed out that when you look at someone’s face in close-up and upside down, the image of that person makes them soulless and carnal, like a cut of steak on a plate. Just by turning a face upside down, it becomes nothing more than a piece of strange looking meat.  For “fun,” take a close-up picture of just your face, print it out, and tape it in front of your desk. When you look at it, you will see the meat I’m talking about. It doesn’t matter if the image has a smiling face or a neutral face. Meat.

And so I started to dwell in this soulless place. I started losing my sexual vim. My normal frequency of masturbation dropped from about 4 times a week to about once every three weeks… and even that one felt like a lot of work.

So what changed in me that I suddenly felt depressed and clouded? Was something wrong with me? Too many times as a sub getting oxygen deprived? Run out of slaves to whip? Nope. I couldn’t put my finger on it. Enter the psychologist. Madeleine. She’s only a couple years older that me. She’s cute… and fucking smart. But before you think this is going to turn into some steamy little post about ballgagging my therapist and hogtying her in 5 inch pumps and shoulder-length leather opera gloves… don’t worry. This is a merely a little purge of my private thoughts. Feel free to bail right now if you are expecting a woody. That may happen in subsequent posts, but for now, I’m just exposing myself. Not very exciting.

Still here? I’m not kidding… this post is not about how I may want to lock a slave’s head into some steel stocks, shackle their widely spread legs to the ground, whip them with a riding crop for an hour and then leave them for the evening while I go watch a flick. But that would be a nice post.

Okay so here’s me:

With almost all the slaves I see for sessions, there is always a sense that they aren’t satiated after the session. Sure, the look relieved and relaxed, especially if the session is particular rough and emotionally draining. But in the end, their eyes tell me that they still haven’t filled that hole inside of them. It’s a hole of loneliness, wanting to be accepted,  wanting to feel, wanting to forget the woes  of daily life, wanting anything!!  Sometimes you can tell that a person will take anything you can dish out. Those are the people that want that whole filled so badly that they beg to have more and more discomfort. They literally want every single orifice in their body crammed to capacity. These clients thirst for simultaneous overload. So I stuff an inflatable gag in their mouth and pump it to max out every space in their mouth, forcing their jaw to the full wide position. I have them stick a large dildo in their ass and pussy (if it’s a guy, then his cock has to be tied or clamped down really severely.). I put earplugs in their ears, duck tape their eyes, then strap an eyeless hood over their head with only the nostrils for air. They I strap their neck into a rigid posture collar and restrain them at every joint. I whip them or cut off their air. And even though it is scary and exhilarating for them, they are never able to fill that “hole.”

And that’s me. Sometimes I feel like I want something that is impossible to describe or ask for. There’s just this longing and a simultaneous feeling of pointlessness. My life is kind of a “groundhog day” : Get up, do shit. Piss away some time, go to bed. Not very dominant is it? Of course, my slaves think I really have my shit together. They all want to be with me and approach me about being their slave for life or even wife.  But even if I were to go down that road, there would be no chance of it working out once they saw that I really having nothing going in my life besides being able to wield a good whip. For now, at least I can fill their void for an hour or so. For that period, they can feel what it is like to be complete and not have any thoughts outside the present.  Me too. I get off on being a dominatrix because, just like the slave, I forget all about my daily life and tune into making someone suffer. So it’s a win-win. They get their void filled with discomfort, and I get mine filled with perfecting the craft. When they are in ecstasy, I really get off too. Sometimes seeing someone writhe can literally get my juices going. It’s hot to see someone letting go. It’s hot to see someone forgetting who they are. When a slave is licking my thigh high boots for an hour, I don’t let them know that I have already come at 45 minutes. And that’s just from them licking my boots. I secretly rub the riding crop against my clit and the slave doesn’t even know that I am getting my void filled too.

But when the lights come up and the slave has gone home. It’s just me. Me in an empty dungeon… cleaning up… thinking about how I am going to go home to nobody. And occasionally, I have encounters at home, like this one chick from the Whole Foods, or Candice or whomever, but they always end up going back to their lives. And I’m just a fix. Like a nice meal, eventually you shit it out. So I that high of domination has been dulled by my knowledge that it is only momentary.

And so I started thinking about what I want in my life. What are my older years going to be like? Will I have kids? Will I be able to love them? Will I have a husband who loves me for something more than “filling his hole.”? If I died tomorrow, would my life have meant anything? What about if I died in 5 years? The truth is, even if you are Einstein, your legacy is not meaningful to you because you can’t experience it. But I think everybody wants to be able to point to something in their lives and proudly say, “yep. I created that.” And when I don’t have things like that in my life, it makes my void ever more present.

So I started swimming a lot. It helps me feel more connected to myself and my body. I love feeling something positive happening with me. I can literally see my body changing and improving. It feels good. I think it prompted me to exercise my mind, too. And that’s why I decided to see Madeleine (the shrink).

It was terrifying for me to interview psychologists in deciding which one to go with. A few of them immediately told me they can help me get over the shame that is causing my kink. YEAH, FUCK YOU. I like my kink. It’s me. It’s my sexual orientation. I could never get off on making love on a bed of rose pedals. Gross.  Seriously, several of the first few psychologists I saw were hell bent on “curing” me. Again, “FUCK YOU!” It was enough to almost turn me away from the whole notion.

Sidebar: Why is it that kink is a bad thing? Why can’t kink be a part of our legitimate culture instead of being cast off as deviant or perverted? It’s perfectly okay to have a Victoria Secret catalog come to your house, but if an “Extreme Restraints” catalog shows up in your mail, suddenly you are a loser sex fiend.  That bullshit is perpetuated by the mainstream media who only shows kink in the most freakish or comical portrayals.  All you gotta do is look at the countless movies where some guy in a cheesey dog collar and harness is tied up with pink ropes in a closet. Ha ha. Eveyone laughs. That is the big joke scene in the movie. Real fucking funny.  Or look at the daytime talk shows where some slave is paraded out before a snickering studio audience by his “dominatrix” to broadside his wife, revealing his secret fantasy of being dominated. FUCK ME.

That’s why I gotta hand it to movies like “La Maitress” (Gerard Depardieu), “Secretary”, “Fetish,” (a documentary), “Black Snake Moan,” and the like. These movies go for the real feeling of S&M. They touch on that heavy void that we all feel.  They show kink as something capable of profound aching that is the antithesis of those lame talk shows.

Okay, back from my sidebar:
I finally happened upon a male therapist (whom I had rejected because I would only feel comfortable opening up to a woman) who suggested there are many kink-friendly psychologists out there. Music to my ears.  He gave me a list of 5 of them in my area.

The first one I called was Madeleine. She sounded totally normal… kind of sweet, but exceedingly professional.  She immediately took my kink seriously and assured me that if we started sessions together, she would give great respect to that part of my life. You mean I could still masturbate with my riding crop while a slave licks my heels? And I could still get mentally healthy and optimistic about life again? Cool. I’m in.

The very first real session was crazy!  Madeleine was as cool as a cucumber as she started hearing about my life. But the more I talked, the more I started having serious physical reactions. Physical, I’m not kidding. First my hands got really sweaty, then I was starting to shake, and then I was getting really fidgety and nervous and kept apologizing for being so tense. And when stuff came up about me craving bdsm for most of my life, I suddenly felt like a freak and felt very shameful for having those thoughts. In fact, I saw myself from above… outside my body… listening to myself, and my kink sounded so artificial and psychosomatic. It felt like I could just as easily had a fetish for riding on airplanes. It just seemed so unfounded, arbitrary, and goofy. But yet that has been the thrust of my life. So there was this dueling feeling of watching myself describe my sexual orientation while also feeling really turned on about the description itself. My mouth started to get dry and it was just so odd.  But Madeleine was really cool and kept assuring me that it was a safe place to say whatever I wanted to. I never expected such a physical reaction. But then I realized… some of the thoughts and memories I was telling her have never been uttered from my soul before that moment. Much of it was stuff that I had never told a single soul about myself. And I try to blog pretty honestly, but that session was a whole different echelon of honesty. For the last 25 minutes of the 90 minute session, my legs were quaking and I developed this shiver from being cold. I know it sounds retarded, but I was a wreck… just from talking out loud.

Madeleine was so supportive and said she hoped we could continue to meet and work on some ideas together. She gave me some homework to do. Yes, homework. She wanted me to try to start trying to see the world in more shades of gray and less in stark black and white. So the homework was this worksheet where there were different scenarios listed and I had to circle the word that best fit in the blank. Here an example:

1) I got an unexpected bill in the mail this morning for $2000. It was  __________  way to start off the day. (“a terrible” or “not my preferred”).

Obviously, the point of the homework is to start seeing that, for example, life doesn’t end because of a bill. So there were several sentences like this on the worksheet. Madeleine also told me to practice describing things in my day the same way and to avoid superlatives and definitive descriptions. And having a sense of humor, she also said I could make an exception in the dungeon with the slaves and it would still be ok to call them worthless pieces of shit who deserve nothing better than to lick the heel of my boots. She said my slaves probably are pieces of shit in the dungeon, but that once I’m out of my corset and shoulder-length gloves, it would be helpful to find other ways of describing people.  Madeleine also said I should keep swimming. I feel good. I want to keep seeing Madeleine. Maybe I’ll start coming out of the fog more and more. But if that bitch ever gets in my dungeon, she is in for some hard core restraints!!

Sorry. Once again, long time, no write.

Guess what? I’m trying something new. Something that really gets the endorphins rushing: exercise! Yep. I felt like there is more to life than walking around in high heels and masturbating all the time to some adorable girl locked in a cage with a ball gag strapped into her mouth.

A friend of mine showed me this little music video she made of herself and her workout partners (all guys) at the pool. They were all swimming laps and looking so healthy, happy and vital. So I decided to join her at the pool and start working out. Of course, I’m about as graceful in the water as a wet chicken, but I didn’t care what people thought. I put on my black 1 piece suit and started getting my heart rate up. All the other swimmers looked so tan and strong. They must have thought I was from mars. But that’s what happens when someone spends so much time in a dark dungeon flogging slaves and getting my boots licked by some guy on his knees in steel manacles.

That first day swimming, I thought I was going to die. My body was like… shut up! you’re not really doing this to me. But when I was done after 40 mins, I swear to God, I felt like a million dollars.  I made a commitment to my friend to join her on a regular basis at the pool.

When I got home, I was unbelievably tired and sore! I think I pushed it too hard on the first day.  And another strange thing happened. I became exceedingly horny. And for me, that is saying a lot because sex is my drug anyway. But I wasn’t in the mood for other personalities. Actually, I was feeling super submissive (of all things) and was dying to be ultra restrained with sensory deprivation. The exercise really pulled a trip on me.

I called over my gay friend David and asked him if he would strap me into the sleepsack and leave me for 4 hours so I could take a nap. He was kind of rolling his eyes about being used as a tool for me, but he went along with it. My sleepsack is black leather with heavy cinching straps about every 4 inches up the bag. For those of you who don’t know what they are, think of a “mummy bag” sleeping bag that is really tight fitting… and when it’s cinched, your arms are stuck in the down position. Normally, I use the sack for my slaves, but I guess swimming made me want to feel something new.

David strapped me extremely tightly into the sack. And as each strap was buckled, I melted more and more into a sense of bliss (I was probably tightly swaddled as a baby girl because I felt like I was home again). He begrudgingly asked… “Anything else?” I told him that I needed more severity and could he please chain the bottom of the sleep sack to a post and put a sensory deprivation hood on my head and chain it to a post at the other end of the room. He was a little bothered, almost like I was dominating from the submissive position. But then said “Look, this is your last chance to talk so if you want anything else, you better talk or the hood will be over your head and you won’t be able to ask for anything else.” Come to think of it, I really wanted to have my large iPOD headphones over the hood where my ears were so that I would have zero chance of hearing anything in the room once he cranked up some heavy techno. He complied and I started to get really scared and turned on about being so helpless. He kicked me a couple times as if to say goodbye, and then he went off to wherever.

I could feel every single heartbeat and breath because your body starts to go into a little bit of a shock about being so completely restrained.  Then I started thinking all the bad things that could happen… a fire, an intruder, a vomit fit, or David getting hit by a bus. Fuck, it was starting to freak me out. So I had to go deep into a calming meditation to bring myself back down.  After about 20 minutes, I finally calmed down and started to enjoy being that helpless. I fell asleep shortly thereafter… only to spring awake a few minutes later with an adrenaline rush. When you are sleeping in strict bondage, you usually forget you are tied up and then periodically wake up in a momentary panic… until you get your bearings. God, I was so turned on! But my arms were restrained at my sides and I had no way of touching myself for relief. After a while, I fell asleep again to the muted sound of the techno coming through the hood. Finally, I got kicked again and was jolted awake. It had to be David. GOD, I was so relieved. He took off my hood right away and I gasped for lots of fresh air. My entire head was dripping with sweat. Then he unchained the sleep sack and let me out. Again, my entire body was as wet as coming out of a shower. I politely told David to hit the road and then I collapsed on my bed for awhile. Then I got up in absolute starvation, went to the kitchen and got a giant bowl or raisin bran.  Finally being able to relax (and touch myself)  I came 4 times thinking about my experience.  I can’t’ imagine swimming will have this effect each time (it better not!!) but it sure was a nice start of something new. See ya at the pool.

Strictly Speaking Blog -entry

Guess what. I finally got “outed” at my work. It’s a pretty conservative office and I had been terrified that if anyone found out I was a dominatrix, I could either be fired (for some concocted reason), made fun of, or stalked. But today at the water cooler I overheard this one girl talking to this coworker guy about MY blog! The girl was in total disbelief and kept pressing for more info. The guy, who must be a reader of mine, was cool and didn’t make a joke out of me. He was telling her about my blog on a serious level and she seemed to be receptive. He even told her he bought his wife some thigh high boots and a riding crop after having read my blog for a while. The girl got a kick out of that. Wow, I have more influence than I ever thought.

But then I was wondering if I should walk into the kitchen to take the humiliation head on. So I did… when they were mid-sentence about how they sort of suspected I was kinky. There was a bit of awkwardness for a second as I sashayed up to them, but then I copped to it and said it was, in fact, my blog. They both said “YOU ARE SO COOL!”.  I wasn’t expecting this reaction. I really warmed up to them. Of course the rumors and office snickering is inevitable now, but I was really happy that these two didn’t seem to judge me. Who knows, maybe they won’t even tell anyone else. But even if they did, I guess it made me realize that the shame I was expecting to feel never actually materialized. Sometimes the things you worry about and fear are not as bad as you have set yourself up for them to be. I know that is a really lame and cliché thought, but it’s true.

But now I just feel like finding a little slave girl and spanking her while she is on all fours with her arms are locked around the base of a toilette and her ass is in the air.  She’ll thank me later.

Sometimes I’m tired… tired of keeping it all going. I’m a little ashamed to admit it, but it would be nice meet someone who I would love to be with (and of course, he would be fabulously wealthy) and who would marry me and insist I have a life of leisure. Of course, it could be a lot cleaner if I just won the lottery.

But there is also a part of me that would relish a traditional husband/wife dynamic and relationship. It would be fun to cook eggs for my husband in the morning or figure out how to remodel our new kitchen. But until then, I tend to whip that thought out of my head by dominating others.

When I’m dominating someone, I feel like I can conquer the world. I feel like nobody can control me. It’s a rush. I guess some people use booze or pot to forget their troubles. Dominating is kind of like that. It really gets me going to see someone begging me, (AND I MEAN BEGGING… BECAUSE I DON’T ALLOW SAFE WORDS) to stop or to release them. And sometimes, it’s no bullshit. I turn into an actual sadist. I like to see them squirm and writhe and blubber like the piece of shit they are. Of course, they are still people in real life, and when the session is done, I instantly and genuinely switch off my contempt and sadism, often times even feeling inferior to them due to their accomplishments or social stature.

I think people come to me thinking they are going to tell me what to do from the bottom position. But the reason they come back is that once they commit to me, all those thoughts of controlling the session are gone and they have no idea what to expect or what is coming in the next instant. People get off on the fear. But they probably don’t realize that I am the one using THEM as a drug… and I’m the one getting the real rush. Sensory deprivation is one of my favorite tools. I like to disorient the sub so that they don’t know if they should answer “yes” or “no” to my questions. I like to make them physically disoriented and completely surprised by the next action I take.

For example, this old “friend” of mine came to me with his wife, who was a bit new to the BDSM world. His request was that I help train his wife to dominate him. I’m sure he thought that he would be tied up and she would learn the finer techniques of flogging. Fuck that. The best way to teach someone anything is to make them do it themselves. In other words, if his wife (Claire) had a true understanding of how scary it can be to be dominated, she might learn that dominating is not an activity or an action but a feeling of power. And for the slave, it becomes so real that the Stockholm syndrome begins to set in, even in a single session. In fact, a session done right will not only feel real, but becomes real. The participants are not merely characters, but really assume the role of submissive and dominant. It’s real. Someone really has the control and someone really fears and worships that person.

Before the session started, Claire told me that she really wanted to learn and would do anything I told her to, so long as it would help her dominate her husband in a way that would make him respect her as dom.

Sounded easy enough. Step one… dispense with the guy. I ordered her to restrain the guy (Marco) in a way that would create genuine fear in him. First she looked at me with a blank face. Then, she read me as serious and got to forcing him into a small cage that would cause him severe discomfort if he were to be left there for more than 30 mins. I quickly scolded her… “I said restrain him in a way that would create genuine fear. Do you think he’s afraid?” She got my point. “Step over here,” I told her. I directed her over to a post and handcuffed her arms behind it. “This is how you make fear,” I went on.

I pulled Marco out of the cage and told him to sit down on the floor. I slapped shackles on his ankles and handcuffed his wrists to the shackles, kind of like a reverse hog-tie. Then I dumped the waste basket upside down to empty it out. Never mind a couple bottles breaking. Then I yanked the white garbage bag out of the can and quickly pulled it down over Marco’s head, sealing it very tightly all around with several passes of duct tape.

Claire was horrified as she saw him start to struggle to breathe. “He can’t breathe!” she whined. No shit. He struggled harder and harder and she screamed at me to help him. “You see, this fear is no bullshit, right Claire?” I calmly teased. “Okay, okay, I get your point. Just stop, please!!!” Finally, I thought they got my point so with my fingernail, I punctured the trash bag right at his mouth. He started gasping for air at the same time as blubbering something about “thank you, Mistress.” I told him to shut up or I would put a gag in his mouth. Little sissy.

Then I approached Claire, whose hands were still bound behind the post. I gave her a cold hard stare before whispering “Don’t you ever tell me what to do. Ever! Do you understand me?” By the fear in her eyes, I take it she got me. But I thought I should reinforce it a bit.

I put some earplugs in her ears, then put a piece of duct tape over them. Then I laced her into a rigid leather posture collar I have and finally, a really intense leather sensory deprivation hood that straps around the eyes and chin… and the straps lock with padlocks. It’s an intense hood and only has a mouth hole the diameter of a pea. It laces up the back and as I was cinching it up, I felt her legs begin to tremble. First it was slow and then she was all out shaking from fear. I used to think that was only in cartoons.

I told her that she would learn to trust me and worship me and caressed and hugged her a bit for comfort. Her breathing was fast. I uncuffed her hands and had her put her hands in sturdy leather fist mitts. Those are the kind where there isn’t enough room to extend your fingers in the mitten… so your hands must remain in the fist position. I cinched them really tightly around her wrists with the leather restraints on the mitts. No chance she could ever get out of those. Then I padlocked the mitts to the front of her posture collar. I also attached a thick leather leash to the collar and started to drag her for a walk.

Having never even been blindfolded, she was really nervous about walking, and only took baby steps for fear of falling or bumping into things. But that’s okay. I wasn’t in too big of a hurry. I took her all around the dungeon to disorient her. Then I took her out of the dungeon and past the medical room. She must have been really concerned. Obviously with the earplugs, tape, and hood, she had no idea where we were. I dragged her outside the emergency exit door and into the alley where it was quite cold. Clearly she must have felt the temperature change and wonder what the hell was going on. I was a little nervous about someone seeing us in the alley so we headed back inside. I took her on a SLOW and meandering path back to the dungeon. Of course, I had to spin her around a couple times for extra good measure.

Now that she was sufficiently lost, I took my new BCBG Dionne boots out of the closet and made her step into them. She was really confused and it took a few minutes until she was properly zipped up in the boots (I love it when women wear a size 7, that’s my size). Once she was in them, she looked hot. I loved how she was so unsure about standing in them and being so disoriented. I took out a riding crop and swatted her tummy a few times. Then I rubbed the crop slowly on her pussy for a while. After a minute, I gently felt her… and she was dripping wet. Wow! Now that’s power. It was even getting me a little moist. I stepped away and came back with a steel spreader bar which I locked around her… I mean… MY boots. Her legs were spread really wide. Her hands were locked in the mitts to her posture collar and her hood was extremely tight. Oh yeah, and hubby was several feet away cuffed and shackled with a plastic bag taped over his head.

I whipped her several times with the riding crop, giving more and more time between each blow. Finally, I was waiting up to 5 minutes between blows and you could see her body relaxing as if she thought it was over. But after 5 or 6 minutes, another hit would come… until they didn’t. I tip-toed out of the dungeon and decided to catch a movie. I know Claire had no idea where she was, where I was, or what she should do next.

I saw a really bad movie: “Confessions of a Shop-a-Holic.” It was a fluff movie, so it was kind of bad in a fun way. But midway through the movie, I had to masturbate. Ever wonder why girls bring coats to theaters?

When I went back to the dungeon, Marco was in near agony and kept groaning. Claire wasn’t doing so well either. She had managed to lay down and was hyperventilating a bit. I unshackled her legs and took my boots off of her. When she felt my presence, she was euphoric and shivering (again). I put the handcuff key in the hand of Marco. Then I grabbed my boots and quietly crept away. Of course, at home I had to stimulate myself again. I couldn’t’ stop thinking about Claire’s legs locked in the steel spreader bar in my boots. I’m telling you, it’s sexy.

I know one thing, I think Claire will have no problem putting Marco in a state of fear.

Okay. The emails have been urging me to get into some of the occurrences that happened when I was chained by the neck in the dungeon for an entire month. Remember that post? One thing it proved is that I must be a true switch. In other words, a dominatrix needs an outlet just like everybody else. Granted, I have an overwhelming desire to be a top. But when I think about health food girl, the woman I had over to my place yesterday (whose name I still don’t know), and how it must have felt to have your hands secured behind your back and be surprised by a plastic baggie whipped over your head until you start to suffocate… well, that would feel pretty helpless. And that’s a feeling that really gets me going too. I’m a bit claustrophobic, so I doubt I could actually handle the kind of session I gave her, but I still love the idea of being ordered around. It’s sexy to feel completely owned by someone.

By the way, after our session, I told her she was really sweet and said I would surely see her in the store the next time I had to go in. There was  a quiet understanding between us. She is a sweetheart.

And when I was in the dungeon for that month, at least 3/4 of the time I was thinking it was very unsexual and I just wanted to go home, cry, and then take a hot shower. But in my waiver with Mistress Du Champ, there were explicit directions that no safe words were to be used and that there was nothing I could verbally say to make her unchain me until a full month had passed. But the parts of my stay that were sexual were a million percent euphoric.  First of all, I was lost in this delirium of timelessness. I was chained in the main room of the dungeon with nothing but a cot and a potty that consisted of a bucket. There are no windows.  The mistress would only turn on the lights when she was in the room. So literally, there was no sense of day or night, afternoon or evening.  My clue to help guess the time was when it would be quiet for what felt like about 3 hours. If it was quiet after that, I knew the mistress must have gone home for the night.

Being in the dark was really upsetting to me.  Sometimes when Mistress DuChamp’s client would leave, I would hear her exiting the dungeon and I would start to get scared and cry. But then a short time later, she would be back with another client. It was like music when I would hear the murmur of the voices coming toward the dungeon from down the hall. The sound of her heels approaching became really Pavlovian for me and I could almost climax at the thought of a real human coming back. In fact, one time I could hear her and the client outside going through the stock room. They were picking out all their toys and whips for what seemed like 20 minutes. I was salivating about the her coming in and turning on the light and I started masturbating.  But all of the sudden, the door opened and she caught me red-handed (both hands on my clit) in the beginning of an orgasm. The client (a guy about 42) was, pretty surprised… first by the fact that there is a woman chained in the dungeon and second by the fact that she was in the midst of masturbating. Mistress DuChamp was pretty pissed and she abruptly excused herself from the client for a moment.  Then she walked over and calmly strapped leather cuffs on my ankles.  I knew I was in for it. She hooked the winch onto the cuffs and hoisted me upside down until I was hanging there with my head about a foot above the ground. Then she whispered in my ear: “You will never touch yourself unless I give permission. Do you understand?” But I was an emotional wreck  and started crying and apologizing profusely.  She told me to shut up, but I couldn’t help myself. So she because really rough and forced my head into a thick leather hood that only had holes in the nostrils. Like I said, I’m a bit claustrophobic and I started to panic. She ordered the client to lace up the back of the hood as tight as he could.  Then she saw that I was REALLY freaking out so she took a riding crop and smacked my upside down ass good and hard. It stunned me because I wasn’t expecting that.  Then she gave me a second blow and told me to think about each hit. Now I see that her idea was to make me think about something other than the claustrophobic scariness and being upside down. And it worked.  Believe it or not, I started calming down by being whipped. Fuck. I hated being in that hood. When she saw that I was calming down (or maybe it was going into shock) she lowered me back down, unlocked the neck bolt on the chain and dragged me to the rack table. She laid me face down on the rack, spread-eagled me and winched it pretty tight. Anything felt better than being upside down in that hood. Then she took of the hood, chained the guy’s leg to the bottom of the table and ordered him to massage me as gentle as a butterfly’s touch until she came back. She put on a loud playlist of Bach and disappeared out of the dungeon.  For whatever  reason, the guy didn’t talk… and I didn’t want to talk to him. Plus, I wasn’t give permission. He rubbed so gently that it was almost like a tickle. But after a while, I was getting euphoric again. I dozed off a couple times.  He must have rubbed me for about two hours before she came back.

She seemed pleased with the results of her commands as I appeared very relaxed (except that my arms and wrists were sore from being stretched) Then she released the tension on the rack and told me to sit up. She shoved a giant milkshake in my hand and told me to drink. Wow! Nothing ever tasted that good in my whole life. She told me I had been a good girl and now I would be rewarded. But of course, she hooked my neck back up to the chain. She told me she was too tired to dominate the client and that I would have to do it. So she helped get me into my favorite lace-up kidskin thigh boots (actually, they are crotch high boots). Then she cinched a black silk (boned) corset around my waste. I felt sexy being in a dominate outfit but still chained by the neck. She releasd the client from the table and handcuffed his arms around a post near me. She put a large bit gag in his mouth and strapped it on tight. Then she handed me the crop and told me to punish the client. God, it felt good to have that kind of power again. Mistress DuChamp went over to the velvet throne and sat there. She called on the intercom for a cappuccino and some magazines and told me to go ahead with the punishment. This is the type of guy I could play like putty. I turned on my coldest dominatrix mood and fucked with the guy.  When her magazines and cappuccino came,  we were completely invisible to her. She just sat there and took time for herself as if she were on a couch alone in a New York apartment. Even when the guy was a blubbering mess, she never showed any awareness that we were in the same room as her.  After a while, the guy couldn’t take any more domination from me.  Mistress DuChamp coldly called on the intercom for bath supplies and a few moments later, someone came in with a bucket of warm water, and warm towels. She helped me out of my boots and corset, uncuffed the client and told him to bathe me from head to toe. It was ecstasy. The warm water felt as divine as the milk shake tasted.  Then she handed me a toothbrush and told me to brush my teeth and spit on him. She put him into the steel standing cage, a cage that is designed so tightly that if you fall asleep in there, you can’t collapse. She kissed me goodnight on the head and told me she was really proud of me. Then she walked  out, leaving us both in the dark. Neither of us said a thing. Oddly enough, I was comforted by the fact that another real person was a few feet away from me and would be there in spirit to help me through the hours of darkness that would follow. At least I was able to lay down. He was moaning all night from discomfort.