Strictly Speaking – With Mistress Karen

At this exact moment as I type these exact words, this girl from the market is licking my boots. She has no idea what I’m typing. I told her to take her time. Her hands are nicely bound in a leather arm binder and she is wearing jeans and a white bra. Honest to God, I don’t even know her name. I’M SO SERIOUS. How did this happen? Hold on….

I just ordered her to stop it and go over to stand facing the corner… and she did it. She’s standing there right now with her face to the corner and her arms in the binder. She really could use some nasty pumps with those jeans (instead of the little health girl shoes), but I’m not going to push my luck.

Anyway… as I was saying before I got tired of her licking my boots… I went to the health food store for some carrot juice. That’s my all time favorite healthy drink. So I bought the juice, walked outside, cracked open the juice and drank a little. But it tasted weird. Of course, the date had expired. I went back into the store to return it and the clerk, the chick standing in the corner right now, said she could only give store credit because I had already opened it. WHAT!?? That’s outrageous… and I told her so. After a little more bickering, I think she was trying to calm me down when she half-jokingly quipped “You are cute when you get mad.” Of course ,that was the fastest way to shut me up. I shot her a glare that said “Just fucking try me.” And you know what, she did. “That’s not a bad thing. I really think you’re cute like that”, she threatened. At that point, it was like Poe’s Tell-tale heart. Did she know about me? Was she testing me? Or was she serious? So I had to test the waters with: “Yeah, well I bet I wouldn’t be so cute if I was yelling at you like this in private.” ZING! Her eyes lit up and we both had this secret understanding… pure electricity. She called her boss over and showed him the carrot juice. Then she lied and said she tasted it too and now I feels like she is going to get sick. And she put on a little act. He told her to go ahead and leave her shift to go home and recuperate. So, it may be a shitty carrot juice return policy, but the girl has a pretty great manager.

I walked out first, got into my car, and with nothing more than a look, told her to follow me in her car. And now she’s standing in my corner looking pathetic and devine and the same time. I think I’ll go kiss her neck. Actually, I’m going to surprise her by whipping a plastic baggie over her head and making her suffocate and struggle a bit. Then, I’ll kiss her neck. Sorry. gotta go.

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.

First off, my credit card was credited with the return of the brown leather gloves! YAAAAY. Now I can order some new ones. Maybe I’ll go for the $850 Gautier ones. Now honestly, no matter how hot they are, they could never really be worth that kind of money, right? Well, on second thought, they might be pretty damn hot.

Anyway, as you know Friday night was Halloween and I have some rather interesting stories from that night. I decided to dress up as myself… well… at least my private and sexual self.

I work in an office with about 30 regular co-workers. Last year I went as an angel. I wish I had been blogging then because it was a pretty great costume, complete with a boned satin corset. The halo clashed with my real one so I left it at home.

But this year, I thought I would shake things up a bit and let them see a bit of the real me. Usually, I keep to myself at work and would say I’m not the most gregarious. It’s true we have to all work together all day, but I’m not the best at bullshitting at the water cooler.

But fuck it. I really wanted to go as a dominatrix to our company party. And knowing there was going to be booze there, it seemed like it would only be a matter of time until people dropped their guard and would be revealing their true submissive or otherwise kinky side.

My standard dom outfit was feeling a bit cliche as I was getting ready in the afternoon. You know the drill, my hair was up with a black chopstick holding it together. My neck was cinched into a high-end posture collar. I had a full corset and my black shoulder-length gloves with fur trim. Definitely an expensive look. Then on the bottom I wore a long black rubber hobble skirt and wickedly high lace-up oxfords.

But when I looked in the mirror, it really felt like a costume, like I was getting ready for a big scene or something. It made me want to just lay down and start playing with myself to some Philip Glass music. And actually, that’s exactly what I did.

So it was back to the shower to start over. While the water was pouring over my head, I came up with the perfect outfit for the office party.

When I arrived at the party, which was in full swing, I knew I had made the right outfit choice when I saw the heads turn. Not to be rude, but with some folks (like diabetic Dan) it doesn’t take a whole lot to get their heads to turn. But when Michelle and Sarah, the run-of-the-mill office hotties, take notice… well ladies and gentlemen, I have arrived.

I had on a camel colored A-line flowing skirt that went just below the knee… where it met my lace-up dark brown riding boots (the real deal from an equestrian store). Tucked into the top of the skirt was a crisp white blouse. I hid the skirt/blouse transition with a super wide (almost corset feeling) brown belt which felt sturdy and rugged against the white shirt. Can you say Catherine Hepburn? And to top it off… turned out the be the most sexually charged accessory I have ever worn. In fact, it ended up being an instant ice breaker, conversation starter, and object of verbal foreplay. Flirting abounded.

You see, at the top of my crisp white shirt was a classic starched collar and the front of the blouse was unbuttoned a little to give that feminine allure. But the elegant neckline was contrasted by a two and half inch wide leather belt that was strapped around my neck with a simple heavy buckle in front. It was actually a belt I was a little tired of, so after the Philip Glass music, I got an Exacto knife and shortened the belt to a little over a foot long so that it would fit snuggly around my neck.

Oh my God, it got more attention than any fetish gear I have ever worn in my life. Oh, and of course, I topped off the outfit with a dressage whip I held in my gloved hand. The gloves were short English riding gloves, kid leather.

In wondering about the outfit, people asked “Who are you supposed to be?” I invariably replied, “Someone you want to meet in a tack room.”

Now I’m out of time for writing, but I will create another post soon with some of the details of the goings on at the party.

The universe works in strange ways. Today I was getting a little blue and feeling a little lonesome in my new neighborhood which is 400 miles away my lifelong home in L.A.  Just when I was about head out to the mall to get even more depressed, the phone rang. It was Candice, a girl I used to play with from time to time in L.A.  Sometimes we would go out to coffee, but mostly, she was my sub and liked to be tied up and neglected.  Anyway, it felt so good to talk to her. She now lives in San Francisco!  We set up a time for next weekend when she wants to come and take a little abuse. Part of me wants to just visit and do girl stuff, but the other part of me wants to give her what she craves and deserves. Maybe I’ll find the perfect balance. Come to think of it, it would be kind of fun to chain her up and get all my unpacking done while she stays put. Of course, I could occasionally whip or clothespin her to break up the drudgery of unpacking. What I should actually do is stick a bit gag in her mouth and cinch her into a corset and posture collar… then have her unpack for me.

The thing that’s great about Candice is that she is classically simple-looking and beautiful at the same time. I would say she reminds me of a female local news anchor without the makeup cutsie wardrobe.

It feels good to know that I will soon have a friend visiting.  Maybe we’ll start with a latte first. I’ll keep you posted.