CARNAL NATION

I'm in love with a tall, thin 56-year-old British "prison trustee" named Bernard. Now normally, I wouldn't consider a prison inmate as a suitable partner but he wooed me with his words of desire—for a very stern and perverted matron who would administer humiliating strip search, severe beatings with, naturally, a genuine rubber prison strap, vigorous use of cane and crop, body electrics and needle play. As a domme, even a new one, I know once play starts I am in complete control of the scene, but also as a relative newcomer, I relished reading scenarios over the months before he flew over and we met. Those scenarios sparked my interest, gave me new ideas, inspired me to learn more techniques.

In the very beginning of my conversion from a subdued sixty woman to a sensual, sadistic sixties domme, I was so nervous that when I met a partner for the first time, I carried around a 2x4 card tucked in my corset with a note to slow down and a list of activities from which to choose, a sort of mini script in case I went blank or panicked. If I got really nervous I would stalk out of the room on my high heel boots leaving a sub immobilized, blindfolded and on his knees while I grabbed a cigarette and calmed my nerves (and yes, I kept him in sight and safe, if, perhaps, somewhat perplexed about where I'd gone and when I was returning).

Bernard has a generous soul and a wicked imagination. He talked at length about his yearning since a young boy to be dominated, whipped, punished. He stated point blank that he was married and loved his wife but she shared none of his SM interests. He had, for years, periodically visited London pro dommes for punishment. He did not seek intercourse or intimacy by vanilla definition. But, oh, what other intimate activities he did enjoy in a role-playing extravaganza. I've been his prison warden for more than a year now and I love my British felon with all my heart. He has encouraged me, inspired me and amused me on-line with the scenarios he envisions as my prisoner. When he visits I have flogged him, strapped him, tortured him with glycerin enemas and electro-probes. And worse. He has taken me to levels of play only a truly serious masochist would enjoy and I have loved performing every sadistic minute of it.

I'm in love with the energy I feel from the exchange of fantasy and intimacy. While I'm sure a diet of purely intellectual play would leave me feeling unfulfilled, on the rare occasions when two people creatively mesh, developing dialogues are eagerly awaited chances to click on a newly arrived e-mail, it's an exciting opportunity to get a daily jolt of pure pleasure.

Working together to build a warden's secret punishment room provided my first true internet orgasm. Bernard would send possible scenarios of how the prison trustee should be punished for sneaking porn from the prison's library computer; I would alter them but keep the theme, adding twists to please me. He would suggest implements to enhance the prison theme and offered to equip me with the tools to authenticate it. I bought them and attended classes on their use.

I have never taken any monetary compensation from someone I play with and choose purposely not to—strictly for personal reasons. I may suggest a particular toy (one of my clamp lovers had to bring me cut glass chandelier crystals to affix to a set of metal clover clamps, another had to cut birch switches on his way over to my house). But with Bernard, every time I use my violet wand, electrostim and it's devilishly fun probes, I think of him.

Each time he crosses the ocean (twice so far for high-level business conferences) I clear my schedule, get out my matron's outfit, that special authentic prison strap and await his arrival with the strains of Hail, Britannia echoing in my head.