Owning Regina: Diary of my unxpected passion for another woman (37 page)

If it weren’t for Regina’s presence, I would have taken the boot compliment as the completely sarcastic and pejorative remarks of a prude.  My past had been filled with comments of Jenna putting down my boots as too sexual or slutty... even Doc Martens’! Boots have always been my biggest fetish, so the comments were especially effective at making me feel like a freak. 

But the comment to Regina was for real.  Jenna seemed genuinely taken by the palpable romantic chemistry between Regina and I. Secretly, I bet she and Mark yearned for such a deep and sincere romantic connection, especially one that manifested fully in just a month. Unfortunately, I’m afraid they both settled for each other out of fear of releasing their full sexuality and passion on another human being. It’s like bungee jumping. Some people are too afraid to let loose, therefore missing out on an experience of a lifetime.  Jenna and Mark would be so much happier if they felt free enough to take a cock in the ass or be whipped and humiliated for an hour.

Regardless, Jenna’s perception of me seems to have shifted seismically in the course of a single dinner... thanks to Regina... and the fact that the two of us are able to have such an honest relationship that others dream of. Kink is a big part of that. The trust in our scene play is immensely powerful. That foundation informs and supports the rest of the relationship.

After arriving home from the dinner, we decided to sleep at my place. I could have strapped Regina down to the kitchen table for the night, but I was more in the mood to cuddle.  We hung out in bed talking for about an hour, meandering across conversations from flirting to politics. Regina fell asleep with her head on my chest. Sweet.

--- SUNDAY APRIL 15 --- Things suddenly get real

Dear Diary, I hope you are not lonely. Even though you can’t hug me, I know you care about me too. I really appreciate you being there for me. Thanks for not judging me!

Regina left shortly after coffee this morning. She had some papers to grade and needed to do a bunch of errands. We decided to rendezvous for a casual dinner back here. I needed the day too, both for my own headspace and for paying bills, and of course, finishing my taxes!  Regina had already done hers a month ago. But I usually get an extension. It’s free. Why not take the time since there is no penalty and it takes the stress off? I put on some Pandora and got into the zone. The sun was shining on my arm at the table. I felt so in love.

After messing with the taxes for about two hours, I ended up taking a nap by falling asleep on the couch to a Rykarda Parasol song (Her music is so sultry and mysterious). The sleep felt amazing... until... Blare! Blare! The stupid phone started ringing.  It was my mom.

She called to say how much she enjoyed the evening last night and how much the whole family enjoyed meeting Regina. She went on and on about how it was great to see me so happy with someone. 

But with my mom, she’s never going to leave it as a happy conversation without imposing her views.
She has to give me her advice. Sure enough, she started with, “Do you mind if I share some concerns with you?”  Of course I do. I didn’t want to hear anything negative coming out of her. Welcome to my childhood with her.  She had an opinion about everything. Her advice made sense sometimes, but other times it felt preachy. Intangible things like love operate independently of her well-meaning logic.

For example, I’m 26 years old and she still sends me articles in the mail about how to do things better in my life.  She’ll send me an article about how bad caffeine is, or how to avoid being mugged as a single woman at night. I really don’t need that crap. All it does is aggravate me and make me rely on my own wisdom even more.

My mom wouldn’t be done until she has an opportunity to dispense her advice. I figured she was going to tell me how hard life is going to be as a gay person. Gay people are discriminated against, etc. But instead, she surprised me with a lengthy sermon about how our age difference will end up being a big problem.

Regina is 12 years older than me. Big whoop, right? To my mom it sure is. For twenty minutes I listened to her address about the problems with our age difference: “
You won’t be able to relate to the same music or cultural references because you both grew up a dozen years apart. Regina’s friends will be much older than you and you will feel awkward when you are out socially together. People may even think she’s your mom. When you are 40, she is going to be 52.  She will be in menopause while you are still in your prime. Your own friends are much younger and will wonder why you are with someone so much older. Your friends and her friends won’t be on the same wavelength. Her hair will be grey while yours is still red.  She has a child, but what if you want one of your own and she has already been there and done that? When her son is 20 he could have kids and make you a grandma before your 40
th
birthday. When you are 70, Regina is going to be 82 years old.  82!” 

Jeeeze!!! I’m freaking 26 and she already has me at the retirement home. WTF!  I didn’t even want to dignify my mom’s monologue with an answer.  A twelve year difference is nothing. Look at Jay-Z and Beyonce. Or Celine Dion and René Angélil with a whopping 26 year difference. Ellen DeGeneres and Portia de Rossi: 15 years.  Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall: 25 years! If Regina were 12 years older than me as a man, I bet my mom wouldn’t have said jack.  I politely let my mom know, “Thanks, I got it covered.”

I was all worked up. I decided to go for a little roller blade along the Ocean Beach esplanade to clear my head.  After a good 45 minutes of seagulls and sea breeze, I was finally forgetting all about that phone call, especially after I saw a pod of dolphins poking along by the surfers.

On the way home, I picked up some groceries to prepare for dinner with Regina. Strangely, I found myself seeking foods that were high in anti-oxidants like blueberries, kidney beans, artichokes and pecans. Without even realizing it, I think I was shopping for foods that would help Regina preserve her youth longer. Fuck. That is really messed up!! My mom’s comments had poisoned me.  At 38, Regina looks better most women could ever hope to.  What the hell is wrong with me? I am not going to be poisoned by my mom’s well-meaning nonsense.

After a shower, I got ready for Regina, assisted by a scotch on the rocks.  As the clocked ticked closer to her arrival time, I found myself getting kinkier and kinkier thoughts about having a badass S&M scene with her. I wanted to dominate and humiliate her. I wanted to torture her and be cruel. I needed to play the “weather” game again.

But when she finally showed up, I opened the door to find the sweetest smile on a woman whose energy felt like radiating sunlight. “Hey, Baby,” I welcomed.  We hugged and kissed tenderly. Her lips were telling me that she loved me more than anything in the world.  How could this divine creature contain even an ounce of kink? People from her school and neighborhood would be stunned if they found out that she adored sexual pain and high leather boots. Our delicate kiss took a sharp turn when she bit my bottom lip; I recoiled with a quick scream.  Clearly, she was not the sweet daisy I was enjoying a moment earlier. She asked for it! “Can you believe how blue the sky is today?” I shot out with a cold smirk.

Bang! Just like that, she was entranced as my slave. “Yes, Mistress,” she responded as her face instantly transformed into the darker personality. Her eyes cast downward and she knelt before me with her head down. “Get up,” I ordered. “How dare you presume to be my slave without the proper attire,” I censured. “You need to go upstairs and find my corset. Even though it maybe a little big for you, it will cinch down to your size if you pull the lacing as tight as you can. Understood?” I pushed. “Yes, Mistress,” she submitted. “Dress like a slave… and you’d better not forget your heavy leather collar,” I continued. “Yes, Mistress,” she agreed and disappeared toward my bedroom.

While she was gone, I pondered the upcoming scene and how I would like it to unfold. When she returned, she looked like a living Helmut Newton photo in my corset, her long gloves, and thigh boots. The corset strongly accented her striking figure.

For a millisecond, my head took a recess from the game and said in my mom’s voice, “Meg. She is a 38 year old woman, 12 years older than you!” But my mind quickly jumped back into the Mistress’s body and I realized that whatever minor wrinkles or aging effects Regina may have or would develop, she is smoking hot! Her age is a turn on to me. She is a powerful, beautiful and fully alive woman. Anybody on Earth would agree.

I walked right up to Regina, just an inch from her face, grabbed her jaw overbearingly and stared into her eyes. Then something took over and I sternly articulated, “You need to prove your love to me. You need to chain me down and hurt me. You need to fuck with me until I cry... until I have nothing left... until I am nothing but a pathetic mess.  No safewords. No ending the game. No stopping until you achieve your goal. Understood?”

“Yes, Mistress,” she responded flatly. She pulled my hand from her jaw, stared callously in my eyes, then slapped my face with full intent. Her instant switch shocked me!! The slap hurt! Heartlessly, she dumped on me with, “You are pathetic, Mistress. You think you’re so tough, don’t you?” Her words had the effect of completely taking away my power. She grabbed my wrist and dragged me to the kitchen post where she locked my arms around it with the handcuffs that she had brought downstairs with her after changing. I’m assuming she had thought the handcuffs would be on her wrists instead. But things moved rapidly and I suddenly found myself handcuffed to the post and under the control of my own slave.

Before I even knew what was happening, she had grabbed the plastic bag the artichokes had been in and whipped it over my head, pulling the plastic tight to cut off my air. It wasn’t erotic, it was just fucking scary!! I couldn’t breathe at all. I shook my head and writhed around in vain trying to escape the baggie. She wasn’t letting up. Completely desperate and freaked, I tried kicking her violently with all my might and tried to reverse headbutt her, but she was able to easily avoid my desperate flailing.

Just when I was about to black out, she yanked off the baggie!  I heaved for air in giant gasps. “Pathetic,” she dispassionately said to herself. As I struggled to gain my breath, I wondered… “Was this really Regina? Was she still my slave? Was I still the mistress in charge?”  She had either taken my orders very seriously or something had snapped in her.

With my hands locked around the post, my back was to her. She fondled my breasts from behind, kissing my neck and nibbling on my ears. Gradually, her hands lowered to my waist and her fingers undid my belt and unbuttoned my pants. She pulled them all the way to the floor, taking my panties along too.

Her gloved hand caressed my ass for a while, which had the effect of making me super moist. She pulled off her right glove, then shoved her index finger into my mouth forcefully for me to suck.  She seemed to really appreciate how I sucked it like a cock.  With her other hand, she continued fondling my tits, sometimes pinching the nipples.  Her bare hand went back to my ass to caress it. SLAP!! She broke the tone with a solid spank. Then another… and more and more. She was spanking my ass as hard as humanly possible.

At first, I was digging it, but the more she went along, the more the pain turned from sexual to actual. I was aching and moaning and begging her to stop, telling her I’m sorry and trying anything at all to get her to quit spanking.

Then, she did. All was quiet. A moment later, I felt her middle finger on my clit. She started working me with a magic touch.  Suddenly, my eyes widened with a start! She had shoved her middle finger all the way up my ass! While playing with my breasts, she started fucking my ass hard with her finger. It was super hot! I mumbled something like, “Oh my God, that feels soooo good.”  But it must have pissed her off. She instantly stop playing with me and spoke harshly, “Did I say you could fucking talk?” With her gloved hand, she shoved the other glove deep into the back of my throat. Because it was a shoulder-length glove, it more than filled every bit of my mouth.

She dashed to the sink, took of her other glove and washed her hands. A moment later, she returned with duct tape. She wet the back of my hair by my neck with a water from her hands, then strapped the tape around my mouth and neck with several passes to secure the glove in my mouth. (I figured she had wet my hair so the tape would come off later without sticking).

Her forcefulness and ultra cold demeanor was a real turn on that I hadn’t expected from the sweet little Regina slave. She took the belt from my pants and started whipping my ass. It’s a heavy leather belt and it really smarted, especially since my ass was still on fire from the spanking.  She got into a tight 1-second rhythm with the blows. My ass was starting to burn big time. She kept at it. After a couple minutes, I was getting near the end of my pain threshold.  She was perceptive enough to know this, so she pulled back up my pants and buttoned them. She ran to my room and came back with my vibrator, which she shoved into my pants, parking it right on my clit.