Deanna the Dominant

by Kayla Kelly

 

Theoretically I became a non entity. Deanna, my butch dyke lesbian neighbor kidnapped me. Being forced into a lifestyle of bondage and domination. Liquidating my housing and finances. Exposing and blackmailing my penchant for bondage desire and ballet fetishism. I became a helpless victim. Bound and gagged in various predicaments for hours, leading into days and weeks. Now known as " Kelly, " I was quickly feminized, clad in various combinations of leotards, tights and ballet slippers.Exhibited at various fetish parties with a lesbian kink, it was amusing and erotic to have a bound up male transformed for entertainment. This lead to my being loaned out to one of Deanna's patrons, the wealthy Christina Kayle. Tied up, drugged, for transport to Christina's home.Groggy, moaning, I slowly awoke out of my stupor. Deanna was happily driving the rented van, glancing back at me in the cargo area. " About time you woke up you stupid bitch, " she laughed. She was concentrating on the winding road. Cigarette in surly mouth, tight white tank top, tattoos on muscled arms, tight jeans, shined black boots. She was a formidable figure manhandling the rent- a- van through twisty turns. Mere luggage, squirming in the cargo area, trying to make some kind of noise, the pump up gag firmly expanded in my mouth. " Shut up you idiot ! I do not want to hear a peep out of your sorry ass ! " Tears welled in my eyes, unable to utter a sound or move. " We are almost there. Christina is paying some good jack for you and I don't want to spoil it. " The van slued aggressively on the curving road, Deanna cranking up KD Lang on the cd player. Christina Kayle's large contemporary estate was in an exclusive coastal community. Tall rooms with floor to ceiling windows. My escort was Christina's maid, Kim. Towering over me in exquisite black stiletto heels. I melted under her stern gaze and firm grip.Blonde, fishnets, black leather mini skirt. Me in a locked white canvas straight jacket, white tights and pink ballet slippers.The head harness/ ball gag/ mouth panel kept me mute. Kim coyly chuckled, " cat got your tongue ? " Pulling on a leash connected to the stiff posture collar around my neck, trying to keep my balance. " Mistress wants you totally bound up at all times, " blue eyes narrowing as she examined the straight jacket. Her arm snaked vise-like around my neck, bending me backwards, a strong shapely leg behind my knee as I was quickly put down on the cold tile floor. Black leather belts wound and cinched my ankles, above and below my knees and thighs. She leaned over me, breathingly, " Mistress keeps me as a personal slave, but she has given me permission to train you Kelly. Imagine, a slave having a slave ! When Christina punishes me, you can bet I will give you double the abuse ! " She slung me over her shoulder, carrying me down into the basement. A dungeon area was built adjacent to the large basement wine cellar. Access was gained by pulling open a specially hinged section of wine rack, revealing a heavy wooden door. Inside, Kim said, " This will be your home for a while missy. " It had all the usual accoutrements of a prison cell:grey concrete block walls, grey tile floors but with 'Designer Dominatrix' touches. Soft lighting. Piped in Goth music mix. Padded bench with a built in cage underneath. St. Andrews cross. Pulley systems for suspension. Closets of various sizes to be stuffed into and forgotten about. Obligatory metal rings in the walls and floors. Straight jackets, hoods, gags and leather belts neatly hung. Christina's epitome of domination was mummification and encasement, sealing her victim inescapably. The devices for her fetish were sinister and eclectic. Various body bags of leather, latex and canvas. White medical cloth wrapping to mummify. Wood crates. Trunks. Most evilly, a coffin and a casket. The vintage dark wooden narrowed coffin resplendent with a strapping system inside holding the victim absolutely still while the lid could be screwed on. But ' The Cadillac ' of her collection was a bronze colored metal casket with gold handles. Here, Christina or Kim would gently lower you in your bondage and lock the lid. Air was silently ducted in. Lying in the darkness, squirming. Or lying passively in muted electronic light, a small camera inside the lid looking down and monitoring your torment. Kim firmly slipped me into the cage underneath the padded bondage bench. Locked in, I tried to speak but could only manage small mewing sounds. At floor level, watching and hearing the authoritative clicks of her heels on the tile, she left me to writhe solitarily.

  

  

  

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