Strictly Speaking – With Mistress Karen

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.

Now that I’m coming down from the extended “vacation” of being chained in a dungeon for an entire month, I’m starting to feel a little more like my dominant self. First of all, I got pissed that the assistant I was paying to handle my bills while I was away screwed up and my cable got shut off yesterday. Bitch. That would certainly bring anybody’s dominant side back. So last night, I called up Candice again to drive up here so I can abuse her a little. She is going to have to pay for my assistant’s sins (even though they have nothing to do with each other and have never met). I can’t wait to see Candice (don’t tell her I said that!). She really needs to be punished. I just bought some new boots on my “netflix” boot service (the “Dionne” boot by BCBG – see below) and I’m going to make her kiss them for an hour while I drink tea. I’ll have her in a posture collar connected to a thick leather leash (the kind that feels like a heavy strap). God, I’m so pissed about the cable. Sorry Candice, but that kind of crap is just not acceptable.

Ciao, Karen.

Hello,

I know some of you are getting a little weary of my submissive side rearing it’s pathetic head, but don’t worry. I’m sure it won’t be long until I get back to the right end of the whip. Well, actually I prefer a riding crop. Any way, it turns out I have a bit of the “Stockholm Syndrome”.  You know… where a captive falls in love and identifies with the captor.  So last night, I was longing for that uncomfortable feeling of a heavy chain around my neck again. I guess a month wasn’t enough.   I crawled into my cozy comfortor on my super snuggly bed…  and then decided my neck had to be chained to the headboard. So I got out of bed, put on some 5 inch heels (Mary Jane’s), grabbed a heavy chain, crawled back into bed with my heels on, locked one end tightly around my neck and the other end to the head board post.  Ahhh. Now I felt comfortable. I set the key on the night stand and gave it a little flick to make it rest a few inches out of my reach. Feeling very satisfied and secure, I dozed off to sweet dreams. Then, many times throughout the night, I would be awakened by the tug and hardness of the cold chain.  Now that’s what I call a good night’s sleep. In the morning, I had to masturbate a few times before using my shoe to help reach the key and get myself out. I’m in love with my captor.  Fuck me.

Honestly, I am pretty easy-going but I really have a problem when people aren’t punctual. It’s probably mostly my own problem, but it just seems rude to be flaky.

So as you know, Candice was supposed to visit for the weekend. I was so excited to see a friend since I hardly know anyone up here in my new digs in Northern California. In my mind, I had the whole weekend figured out… where we would eat, what we would do, how we would play, etc.

Candice said she was going to arrive here on Saturday at 11am. This would make it easy for her to drive up from San Francisco after a leisurely post-breakfast departure. At 10:50am, I put the water on for tea. Of course I had already dressed (and re-dressed a few times) in the “perfect” outfit: kind of casually sexy. Though it wasn’t supposed to be any kind of official date, I was somehow nervous about setting the right tone with my outfit because I haven’t seen Candice in a while. So I ended up wearing a simple plum cashmere sweater with a ballerina neck line, and some camel corduroy pants tucked in to some knee-high, lace up riding boots. So the look was kind of casual, but still had that kind of an earthy, dominant feel to it.

At 11:15am, I poured myself a tea and sat on the sofa, not knowing if I should unpack another moving box or just twiddle my thumbs for the next few minutes.

At 12:10, I was bored and getting pissed. I decided to leave a note on the door and get out of the house to make her feel guilty. So I left a note, “Candice, I was getting hungry and ran out to a restaurant. Back later.”

But as I was walking down the front path, the FedEx truck showed up and the driver had me sign for 12 packages from high end retailers!! They were my “NetFlix” clothes and shoes. Wow. I suddenly didn’t feel like going out anywhere; I just wanted to open all of those boxes and try everything on.

So I poured myself a glass of Sirah, put on some classic tango music and started playing dress up. Candice was a vague thought and if she showed up, I would answer in whatever garment I had on at the time.

The clothes looked amazing and I was getting really turned by feeling all the couture fabric against my skin and the shoes were getting me pretty moist. I have a bit of a fetish for super expensive shoes with a towering heel. I guess they make me feel like a sex object and I love that feeling. My chocolate brown opera gloves showed up and I had to immediately take a little break, put them on and masturbate.

I was so ready for Candice to knock on the door. But she didn’t. I had gone through all the boxes and no Candice. How rude could she be. I didn’t remember her being like that. Finally, at 3:30 the phone rang and it was her. She babbled a litany of the usual excuses and I found her explanations really annoying. She said she was just leaving San Francisco and would be here in about an hour (which really means two hours). That was just enough time to get really petulant.

Ding Dong. The doorbell rang at exactly 5:30. I opened the door, now in new jumper, the opera gloves, and some wicked-high Gucci pumps that I could hardly walk in.

She was all smiles and babbling about how sorry she was to be late. Blah, blah, blah. She didn’t even dress up for me, but showed up in some jeans and a t-shrit with some cutsie saying on it. I didn’t even say a word. Instead, I grabbed her talking lips and squeezed them together to let her know that the babble must stop. I think I hurt her a bit because she jolted to an angry look. As I held her lips as if grabbing a duck’s bill, she finally settled down and I dragged her by the lips toward the bookcase where a thick, 8ft. chain was waiting. I ordered her to put her hands together, then I chained them together securely with a padlock. Then I took the other end of the chain under her legs from the front and went up her back and looped tightly around her neck, locking it with a second padlock. I could tell she was getting turned on. With the remaining bit of chain hanging from her neck, I took it around a post that is part of the room divider near the living room. I drew the chain in really tightly around the post, leaving no slack for her head to move. In fact, her head was in full contact with the post and it didn’t look very comfortable.

But then I looked at her there, and it still bothered me that she was so casually dressed. It was almost like she dissed me on purpose. Whatever. She had on these stupid Converse tennis shoes that really insulted me. Remembering that we had the same size shoe (6 1/2″) I left her there and went to my fed ex boxes where I found some 5″ Chloe wedges (probably the sexiest shoe I have ever seen). I yanked off her Converses and forced her feet into the Chloe’s. I could tell she was loving it… and those shoes. So there she was… chained at the neck to a post, that chain running down her back and through her crotch to her hands that were chained together in front. I liked her jeans a lot better with a big chain over them. And the Chloe’s looked even better on her than on me! Good thing my place is carpeted or I would never be able to return those shoes.

I took her chin in the firm grip of my glove, looked her right in the eye and coldly said: “Don’t ever be late again”. Then I marched out of the room, turned off the light and went upstairs to my bedroom. I changed into some schlubby clothes, went back downstairs, walked right past Candice and out the door because I felt like seeing a movie. I was hungry too, so I decided to eat at a restaurant first before the movie. After I ordered, the thought that Candice was standing in those high wedge shoes was getting me going again. Dinner was fair, then I was off to the movie, a romantic comedy.

But in the movie, I started getting scared that Candice might have to pee and accidentally ruin those shoes. I couldn’t take it much past the first hour, so I bailed on the movie to make sure Candice didn’t wreck my shoes.

At home, I played it cool when I came in the door. It was a relief to make a quick glance and see she hadn’t made any puddles. But she did look pretty drained from standing there all that time. She started to apologize, but I really wasn’t in the mood, so I strapped a leather gag in her mouth. Then I took off her shoes and put them neatly on the shelf. Phew!! I unchained her neck and led her by the chained hands to the bathroom were I locked the loose end around the base of the toilet. Nighty night. I switched off the light and closed the door behind me, ignoring her garbled pleas to be released.

Upstairs, I took a hot shower to wind down. After relaxing in my robe on my bed for a bit, I kept looking at the chocolate brown opera gloves and thinking about how much they turn me on. So I put on the gloves, turned off the light and handcuffed my hands behind my back. I really wanted to sleep like that. So worked my way into the sheets, hands still locked in those long gloves behind my back and I tried to sleep. I tossed around for about 45 mins before I finally was relaxed enough to doze off. I loved being locked like that. I loved having Candice locked in the bathroom downstairs.

In the morning, I was awakened by Candice’s sorrowful whimpering. I think she had learned her lesson about being late. My hands were still locked behind my back in those scrumptious leather gloves and I loved waking up like that. I made my way out of the bed and found the handcuff key on the dresser. But the gloves made it difficult for me to maneuver the key into the hole and I ended up dropping the key several times, having to squat down, grab the key with my locked hands behind my back and start over again each time. But finally, I heard that joyful little “click” and I was free.

As I approached the downstairs bathroom where Candice was, I started getting this rush of guilt for being overly harsh. I wanted to give her a taste of sweetness. When I opened the door, she looked utterly miserable and uncomfortable. Clearly, she hadn’t had a very nice night. As I unchained her, I spoke in a normal, sweet voice and tried to comfort her. She was so relieved when I took the gag out and there were impression marks all over her cheeks. I left my dominatrix personality out of the room and concentrated on reversing the harshness that I had dealt to her. First, I handed her a fluffy robe to change into while I made a protein smoothie as quickly as I could. Then I drew a hot bubble bath in the upstairs bathroom. I gently led her there where just slipped into the soothing water. The look on her face turned from anguish to exaltation.  After a few moments of letting her settle in, I handed over the smoothie, which she took straight to her lips (she hadn’t even eaten dinner). I sat on the floor next to the tub.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

And she started to cry gently: “Yeah, I’m fine. It was just a little traumatic. I really wanted to be with you.”

I assured her that we were “cool” and I that I regretted having given her such harsh treatment.

She warmed up to me and I told her that after her bath, she can put on something nice and we can go to a restaurant downtown for an omlette and some coffee. I left her bathside to clean up too, putting on a CD of some Keb Mo’ music.

After a while I came downstairs in some jeans and a floral blouse (kind of retro) and Candice was in her same jeans, a turtleneck and boots with a rounded toe and a stacked wooden heel. She looked elegantly hot, but comfortable at the same time.

We went to the restaurant and had some great girl chat ( FYI… hardly touching on kink).

Then we checked out an estate sale on the way back to my place. At home, we felt so spent from the night before that we decided to lay down on my bed for a little nap. I thought it was sexy that we were both still fully dressed. I loved seeing her sleep in her boots.

When we awoke, we both felt refreshed and a little melancholy because we knew she had to get back to San Francisco. We said goodbye in the driveway and as she was about to pull away, I whispered in her ear…

“Don’t be late next time.”  She smiled and headed off.

- Karen

Mistress Karen is a girl-next-door who happens to have a dark side.

Mistress Karen, a dominatrix demands respect from a slave in the documentary “Strictly Speaking”

Mistress Karen, usually a dominatrix, sometimes likes to be at the receiving end of a whip as a submissive