Mistress Connie

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Mistress Connie's New Dungeon

From Women in Power Magazine, Issue 25, 1999


I like the word dungeon for the facility in which a Dominatrix holds her sessions with her slaves, but my particular dungeon is far from the damp, dank, cavernous place one usually concurs up in his mind. Because I'm so very narcissistic, so in love with the sight of my own body, every inch of wall, includingjhe doors, are mirrored from floor to ceiling. One door leads to the living quarters of the house, one opens to the rear courtyard and one to a very cold, austere, black-tiled bathroom. A number of the other mirrors are really sliding panels with closets and alcoves behind therm, where the implements of my trade are hung or otherwise put away. What you'll find behind two of the sliding panels might surprise you. Let me tell you about the one on the common wall between the dungeon and my livingroom. On the dungeon side of the panel is, of course, a mirror, on the back of the panel is some very expensive wallpaper, depicting a Paris street scene. Now then, try to picture this! In the living room is a large, plexiglass bubble like they install for skylights in the ceilings of houses. With the panel shut, when you're sitting in the livingroom, you look through the bubble at the Paris street scene. In other words it's like a picture but just a little bit different. That pretty, bubble-framed picture is what my straight friends see when they come to visit. However, when other Dominas or girlfriends who know what I do for a living come to call, What they see is often a naked, male slave suspended there in the bubble. See how it works? You slide the panel open on the dungeon side, make the slave climb up and get in the bubble, then slide the panel shut to hold him in. It's fun, a conversation piece. Often when they sit in my livingroom for the first time, they think it's a sculpture behind the glass. You should see them jump when the slave's muscles begin to cramp and he begins to squirm. I love my little, innovative wall decoration, and so do my guests.

My other secret panel opens to a shallow closet that separates the dungeon from the bathroom. Just up from the closet floor is a hole for a slave to stick his head through. When you go in the bathroom, you see two toilets side by side. Lift the lid on one and you'll see water, lift the lid on the other and you may be staring into the eyes of one of my nice, little toilet slaves. I have even more fun with my trick toilet than with my slave in a bubble, and my girlfriends adore it. Every time they come over they want to use the dungeon bathroom. I think some of them held it in for hours, waiting to use my entertaining, rather unique toilet.

So, now you know what's behind two of my sliding mirror panels. Behind two others are my whips and paddles, my sex toys and bondage equipment. On the other side of the room, behind two more panels is a closet with feminine clothes and various costumes and masks and such that I make my slaves wear.

The equipment in the room; the racks and whipping post, the suspension devices and such, are made up of highly polished chrome. At first glance, you'd think you were looking at a room full of expensive exercise equipment. In one corner is an attractive furniture groupingthat consists of a plum colored leather sofa and easy chair, a standing lamp and a chrome and glass end table. The floor of the dungeon is polished, white marble. In the ceiling is a rather complex lighting system that I operate with a hand-held remote. Oh yes, I almost forgot. On the back wall are two small holding pens with shiny, chrome bars. "Efficient" is the key word to best describe my new dungeon. Charles, the contractor who did most of the work, also happens to be one of my better slaves. Because of this, he knew what I wanted and needed. It was a labor of love for him. As a matter of fact, it was Charles who thought up the idea of the slave bubble. I had a party to celebrate the completion of my new, state of the art dungeon, and guess who became the first man in the bubble. That's right. As the champagne flowed, there was poor, naked Charles looking at all the pretty people from inside his own plexiglass bubble.

It was 3:00 am before the party broke up and I dismissed the serving slaves in their cute French maid's outfits. I saw Charles looking at me with pleading eyes as I walked through the livingroom. He'd worked so hard to build me the perfect dungeon and here I'd kept him squished up in that plexiglass pen throughout the entire party. I knew how his muscles must ache. I knew how frustrated he must be, looking at me but unable to touch. I unzipped and stepped out of my emerald green gown, tossed it aside, and stood with my arms outstretched in my half-bra and panties and my garterbelt, hose and high heels.

Charles had worked so hard, often putting off other jobs, to give me just what I wanted in a new dungeon. I moved slowly toward him in a sensuous, hip-swinging walk. I stood right in front of the bubble as I reached behind myself, unhooked and took off my bra. I swung it around on my fingertip then let it fly up in the air. Next my panties came off, did their little twirl on my finger and flew off somewhere. When I pressed my naked breasts to the glass, poor Charles turned into a contortionist trying to kiss and lick the glass where my nipples were. I teased him another five or ten minutes, then kissed the glass. I looked back over my shoulder as I was about to turn off the lights and leave the room, and there was my pathetic, penned up slave, pressing his lips to the imprint my bright, red lipstick had left on the glass.

My dungeon is a cold place in more ways than one. I like to turn the air conditioning up fairly high when a slave is due.

He's told to strip naked and to get on a his knees in the center of the room where the only light in the room, an overhead, pinpoint, spot light shines directly down on him. I love my fun coats and jackets and stoles but in South Florida there's very little need for them....except in a very stark, very forbidding, very cold dungeon.

I love the contrast of a naked, groveling, shivering male and an all powerful, arrogant Dominatrix, dresses in boots and leather and furs. The slave can't see me as I sit in my comfortable chair and observe him from the darkness. I watch awhile, like a predator observing its prey. I stand. There's a rustle of leather and the unmistakable sound of spike heels as I slowly circle my prey in the darkness.

You think men are brave? Most of them are afraid of women and of what women can do to them from the time they're little boys. You should see these poor, helpless souls in that bright stream of light when they hear the ominous clicking of a woman's stiletto heels slowly circling around them. I move closer, stand just outside the stream of light. They know I'm there, grow more nervous and fearful by the second. Then, into the light, a boot....a gleaming, black, patent leather, spike heeled boot appears!

The effect that one, lone, Domina's boot has is something you have to see to believe. Some of them begin to moan and whimper like tiny puppies. Some begin to call out my name, "Oh Mistress, Mistress Connie,". Others begin to shiver and tremble so hard that their muscles turn to jelly, and they collapse into a pile there on the cold, marble floor.

The boot moves forward, my black stockinged leg slides through the slit in the long, leather sheath. He's looking at my leg now. The most gorgeous, glamorous, female leg he's ever seen in his pitiful life....and bathed in the bright, dramatic glow of the overhead spotlight. Could this Mistress Connie from Fla??

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