A very cruel woman

First meetings are special. About half the times they are disappointing. about a fourth are indifferent. About a fifth are good. The last one in twenty is great, marvelous, wonderful, the beginning of a long relationship. And of those there is one rare one where I say goodbye and long to just stay, fuck work, to hell with a responsible life, just take me!



I've just had one of these. A woman, again in another country.

In the morning on the ferry, coming in towards my destination I prepare myself to meet her. A history of messages and chats are behind us. I get up. shower, find the razor, check there is no stubble left anywhere on my body. Put on my make-up, eyes, lips, a small touch of color to my nipples. Then no clothes at all, just the fake-fur coat. Overnight bag packed I sit down on the deck in the lobby area and wait for the boat (it's a big boat, maybe I'm supposed to call it a ship) to dock.

Finally we start to depart. In mid january there aren't to many of us. Over the gangway into the terminal building, down the stairs - I freeze - there she is. At the bottom of the stairs. She is tall, must be around six feet - and she is wearing high heels - a six foot woman in high heels - that's a very self-confident woman. She is blonde - the icy looking kind - impervious, eyes quitly fastening on me. I yield. I go from excited anticipation to total slave in a second. My cunt goes from moist to dripping, my nipples pucker up and become hard. Suddenly my breasts are so heavy, I become so conscious of the way they move as I quietly walk down the last steps and stop before her.

Her hand moves towards me, she opens two buttons on my coat and a steady, strong hand moves past the coat ang takes hold of my right breast. At this point I have lost all sense of time and it just feels like she weighs, probes, examines my breasts for a long, long time.

She is quiet. Not a word passes her lips. She takes my overnight bag and with a trow of her head she indicates that I shall follow her. I do. Into a big black car. She still doesn't speak. She turns to the right rather than in towards the city and after a short drive we arrive at one of these old, almost mansion like villas that just reek of serious money.

She gets out of the car and with another throw of the head indicates, no, commands me to follow.
Around the corner. Before the steps up to the entrance she comes to me, unbutttons the coat, takes it off me. I am naked except for my shoes.

Her first words to me: "get down, crawl, follow me"

All saturday, all sunday I never really get up unless you consider the hours I spent hanging from the ceiling.I suppose I was upright then.

Two days of all the usual. All the usual wonderful moments of submissive bliss that is. My skin is marked by angry red stripes. Welts are rising.

The usual. So why was this so special?

It was sunday the middle of the day sometime. I was lying on a narrow bench. Hands secured under the bench. Gagged. Pillow under my ass. Legs stretched wide. Crotch open, accessible, vulnerable.

The cane. Bamboo I think. Over my cunt. Hard. Again and again. Right in the slit. My asshole, my slit, my clit. The world disappears, the room is gone, she is gone. There is only me and the pain. there is only my cunt. It lasts for ever. i cry, my tears are running, my vision blurred, and then: explosion - I come - she doesn't stop - I come again, and again.

That old question, Am I a masochist has finally found it's answer:

I am a masochist, I am a pain-slut.

intelligent, educated, self confident woman and slave. A paradox?

Sometimes when I have made the effort to sort through the many time-wasters on the collarme website, do I come across someone really worthwhile and promising people. I have met some of them for real-life encounters, and some develop into close friends within a dom-slave framework of course.

My problem is that I sometimes get a response saying that people have a problem understanding how I, who come through as an intelligent, modern, self-confident woman, also can be a slave. The two mind sets seem to be in conflict.

How can I explain this?

Yes, I am intelligent. I'm no genius or particalarily brilliant, but I do posess the kind of intelligence you find a lot of in any university. I do have a Masters degree. I work and I perform well in my job. I have friends who are much like myself. I love to be with them, talk about current issues and generally solve the worlds problems :)

Sometimes I go into slave-mode. It is almost as if I change personality. It is important to explain that this side of me is no less real, no less me, than the other side.
I become this all female sexual being with a total craving for being handled, commanded, punished, used, exhibited, humiliated. Whipped, caned, restrained, manipulated. A total desire to crawl before my masters, naked, available, obedient and subservient to his/hers/their wishes.
This is the sexual me.
A servant, object, piece of property, slave.

You may well ask, how do I reconcile the two?
I don't!
I live them out separate. This is actually much easier than it sounds.
When I have come to the point with someone where we have agreed to meet, there is generally two ways to do it. We meet, we go to restaurants or other more or less public places. We get to know each other, become friends if we're lucky, and maybe from then go into a master/slave mode.

The other way is that my master/s pick their slave up at the airport, railwaystation, busdepot, whatever. I am dressed according to instructions, greet my betters subserviently and politely, a quick, descreet inspection follows, I am transported in some fashion to my temporary home, my clothes are packed away.
From the first moment I am a slave whith all that it entails.