Owning Regina: Diary of my unxpected passion for another woman (15 page)

Then I commanded her to cross her legs (like Indian-style), pulled out a 4ft piece of heavy chain and chained her ankles together in that crisscross leg position so that she couldn’t straighten them or stretch them out. I took the other end of the chain and wrapped it around her neck.

And to secure it at the front of her neck, I used a padlock, which I also used to lock the center of the handcuffs.  I grabbed each of her gloved wrists and locked them in the cuffs at her neck. It was a beautiful sight. Her legs were locked in a crisscross position and that chain went around her neck, locking in the front. Her hands were locked in the cuffs on either side of her chin, which prevented her from touching herself anywhere. It looked like a very uncomfortable position. She could never escape. If I lost the key, she would be stuck there for hours until I could figure out how to cut the chain.

Because of her blindfold, I couldn’t see her full expression, but I would venture to say that she looked extremely turned on.  I lied down next to her and caressed her like a pet. I kissed her slowly. It felt so dominant to have a woman chained up like this; I could touch her all I wanted but she couldn’t touch back. She was literally my object.

I decided I needed a little loving too, so I slid off my jeans and stuck my pussy right in her face. She immediately began licking me… licking me from that honest place in her. I could barely handle it for more than a few seconds and pulled away.

Then, blindsiding her, I firmly covered her mouth and pinched her nose closed to cut off her breathing. At first there was little reaction, but slowly, she began to squirm and moan as her breath was running out.  In a calm and loving voice, I told her, “Listen to me. You can trust me. I will never harm you. I love you. Do you understand?” She desperately nodded “yes,” clearly under duress.

J
ust as she was starting to flop and writhe to get air in a panic, I released her breath. She sprung to desperately gasping for air, while bellowing, “I trust you, Mistress.” “Good. I’m only punishing you for your own good,” I assured her. And now that I had her trust, her mistreatment could begin.

I strapped the leather horse bit gag into her mouth and tightly cinched it behind her neck above the chain. She was blindfolded and gagged on the floor. Her arms were bent at the elbow and locked to handcuffs by her neck. That same chain locked her booted ankles in a crisscross position so that she couldn’t stretch out at all. She was naked.  But that still wasn’t enough for me. Can you believe it!  The kinky monster inside me was free to do what it wanted to this poor slave. And the monster wanted more.

I placed full earphones over her ears with a long cord that went to my Bose player where I put on a Pandora channel to send floating French and Italian arias to her ears. It had the effect of rendering her in a state of complete sensory deprivation: no vision, no hearing anything in the room, no mobility, no use of her mouth due to the gag. 

I spoke to her as a test, and she couldn’t hear my normal talking voice at all. She couldn’t see. She couldn’t walk. Basically, she was fucked.  I took a few moments to play with her super wet and exposed pussy.  

Lifting her earphones for a moment, I told her, “I’m going to get your keys out of your purse and sleep in your bed at your house tonight. You are going to have to sleep here like this. This is a very secure building and I will be checking on you from Skype on my iPhone from time to time. My laptop over there is broadcasting the video of you. I will be back in the morning.  Do you trust me?”  She looked terrified as she nodded “yes.”   Then I put the earphones back on her and walked out of the room, slamming the door for effect on the way out.

The power of having my own human object chained up in my bedroom for any use I desired is quite a feeling. She was an orifice or a plaything. She was fodder for masturbation whenever I wanted. She is willing to be degraded and uncomfortable in order to please me. And she is beautiful.

Being left overnight like that must be a rush… no mobility, no vision, no hearing, no way to check the clock. The only thing she has is trust. If she didn't have trust, surely full panic would quickly take over and it could be the most terrifying experience imaginable. She had to keep calm and keep faith that I would return to release her in the morning. But in her mind, I wondered if she had fears about me not returning at all. Perhaps I would get in a car crash. Perhaps I would get arrested for some strange reason. Who knows?

But God forbid, if anything like that happened, she would still be chained up and at the mercy of circumstance. It is extremely doubtful that she would ever be able to be rescued because nobody would know she was there.  On the flip side, if something happened to her while I was away and I couldn't get to her in time, she might suffer grave consequences, even death. The whole scenario was really, really scary. That's what made it so sexy. The trust had to be deep. I had to use every precaution to make sure that she was safe… and that I was safe too.

I started wondering if, perhaps, her limbs might be too restricted for proper blood flow. It would be awful if I left her like that all night, only to discover in the morning there was no circulation to her hands or feet. To check on things, I reentered the room loudly so that she would both feel the door action and my footsteps in the floor's vibration.

I lifted off her headphones and said, "Before I leave, do you feel safe? Do you feel like anything is going to fall asleep?" "Thank you for checking, Mistress. I feel perfect," she struggled to utter against the gag. Of course she felt perfect. She was limber and fit from years of yoga and good eating. I replaced the headphones and stared up close at her for a moment. Then I slapped her face quite firmly. A sexual moan of approval escaped her mouth. I walked out the room and slammed the door again on my way out. At least, that's what she must have thought.

Instead, I only faked the door slam.  I wanted to stay in the room for a while and spy on her. I stood quietly studying her perfection. I loved the contour of her bent elbows that lead to her wrists being locked in the handcuffs by her neck. And her legs, chained crisscrossed in the boots is an image I will certainly recall in the future when I need some good material for self-pleasuring.

I decided to test her hearing again. First I whispered her name. There was no response at all. I tried it louder and louder and she could never hear me at a loud room voice. I can't imagine what have been more torturous for her… to be chained up like that or to have to listen to opera all night!  Either way, I was certain that she couldn't see or hear anything from me. I watched her another few minutes as she squirmed a little and tried in vain to adjust her position against her bindings.

Very quietly and slowly, I opened the door and exited. While leaving, I studied her to see if there was any reaction to the change in air due to the opening door. She didn't seem to have any awareness that the door had opened. I closed it and stealthily headed downstairs.

At the kitchen, I poured a glass of wine and then sat on the couch. With my first sip of wine came the thrill of thinking of all this craziness I could have never imaged just a few weeks ago. My libido was in charge and I felt sexually fulfilled for the first time in my life. It was a woman. It was bondage. I was in control. She craved it. The whole thing was feeding my lifelong yearning. I mean, I never yearned for a woman, but I yearned for this feeling.

In retrospect, I could have only been this satisfied with a woman; BDSM with a man could never feel this rich. A man could never look as submissive as Regina. A man could never surrender so fully from the inside like Regina had. I could never relate to a man's physical sensations like I am with Regina. I was she. I was chained up there in the bedroom and I could feel the chain around my neck and the blindfold cutting off my sight. I could feel my wet pussy and feel the freedom of surrendering to a beautiful mistress lover.  I could feel the scariness of the situation and feel the sensual power of pure trust and honesty. I could feel that mistress loving me profoundly. As a woman, I was both slave and mistress.  The control lies with me, but the sensation of being a slave is accessible to me.

I know Regina wants to surrender to me and that suits me fine. I want to own her sexuality. I own her by not being selfish, but by being strong and controlling. She must serve me. She is free with me and she relishes giving up the trappings and trials of daily life.

As I sat so comfortably in my living room sipping my wine, I enjoyed thinking that she was helpless and uncomfortable on the floor of my room. Her mind was filled with the idea that I was gone to her house. But in fact, I’m too chicken to leave her alone and completely helpless in such a dangerous situation. Too many things could go wrong.

I was bullshitting her about leaving her alone. But she probably thinks I really left for her house. Each minute to her must have felt like an eternity. Every heavy truck that rumbled by or vibration of the elevator must be a big event when all other senses are removed. She may be completely stressed about if I am ever going to return at all.

The contrast of being relaxed in my chair while she strained to get through each minute was particularly erotic to me. I started to play with myself as I thought of her stuck up there.  Strangely, I wanted to feel a bit of what she was feeling. I grabbed a clothesline rope from the garage, lied down on the floor and crossed my legs like hers, and then tied them extremely tightly together.

I was pretending I was her. I was trying to be in her head as I massaged my vulva and clitoris. It was a vicarious torture. I rubbed and thrust into my hands. I was fully excited, dripping, and tingling with excitement over my whole body. My legs felt like Regina's. With one hand, I played with my breasts while escalating my pleasure to mind-shaking rapture.  I exploded in ecstasy, trying to refrain from being too loud.  It was Regina's orgasm I was feeling. I was her. She was mine. Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.  

It seemed like a good idea to take a peek at my little slave. I went upstairs and quietly peered in. To my surprise, she seemed to be asleep; her breathing was different and she was completely still. I could tell she was not in peril. Can you imagine how shocking it would be when she awakens to rediscover that she is completely chained and immobile? Sometimes that happens when I sleep with my feet bound; I forget while I’m asleep. Then when I awaken to rediscover it, my heart races and I jump straight into being fully turned on in an instant.

One of these days I’m going to chain her up like that and wait as long as it takes for her to wake up. The second I sense she is realizing she is helplessly bound, I will shove a giant dildo in her mouth and ram it as far in as I can. Imagine waking up to that!!  But that was for another time. I decided to go back down stairs, enjoy my wine and spend a good long while writing here to you, my dear Diary.

It’s therapeutic to share with you, Diary.  What started as a move to vent angrily about Boyfriend X has morphed into an unlikely love story. It has morphed into a wonderful exploration of my real self that was never able to have a truthful voice in the past. Thank you, Diary.

Never has my sexual orientation been so guilt-free. Until now, my kink was to be hidden and shamed. In our culture, BDSM people are stigmatized to a high level. It is usually expressed in media and television as goofy and clown-like.  We've all seen the countless clichés of a black vinyl clad dominatrix comically whipping a male slave who usually has on a diaper or a dress and gaudy makeup. Or she whips the backside of an unattractive male slave who is strapped spread-eagled to a wall of a cheesy dungeon featuring garish red lighting. Why are the slaves always portrayed as unattractive buffoons? Why do all the dominatrices wield a bullwhip and smile crazily while pretending to whip a guy? A real bullwhip would immediately cause blood and irreparable damage in the hands of a novice.  So the "clown" is one shaming version of S&M.

The other version is on the news: "Police discovered the kidnapped victim was held captive in a makeshift dungeon where there were implements of torture."  People tend to associate the real S&M with violent and nonconsensual abuse.  That's like thinking that making love is the same thing as rape; it is the same exact act. What difference does consent make? The shame of being kinky was always heavy for me.

Like being gay, many people think it is merely a choice. Sure, there may be cases of homosexuality arising out of circumstance or exposure, but ninety percent of sexuality is proven to be determined way before any choice is presented.

For example, it is not a choice to like chocolate. There is never a date when someone approaches with a Godiva bar and says, "You must now choose to like this or not to like it."  Straight people never have to make a choice to be straight. Kinky people never make the choice to be kinky. But the shame is overpowering.