tagLetters & TranscriptsRegina (Letter to Babette)

Regina (Letter to Babette)



You asked me if I had been misbehaving lately – don't know that I'd call it that but I did have a nice tantric sort of fling on a trip a couple of weeks ago. I got acquainted with Regina on CM after a scan of who was who in the area I was headed to in Virginia. Basics were Asian, straight, divorced, 59, 5'3, 105. She described herself as a neophyte who was interested in learning more. In a back and forth email exchange, she told me that she had been with one Dom twice, a guy much younger than her who had spanked her, slapped her, and used her roughly for oral sex. After the second time he never called again and would not return her calls. She was quite conflicted about it; she loathed him but found the experience to be a turn on. For almost a year after that she hadn't been with anyone, but often found herself fantasizing about it, sometimes playing with herself while she thought about it until she'd cum (which hadn't happened in the original experiences).

We agreed to meet at a local Starbucks one morning, and I found her to be as advertised – quiet, diminutive, thinner than I like but pretty, with dark almond eyes and long dark hair. After the usual chitchat we talked about her experience and her feelings about it. She said she hadn't like the pain per se but felt quite excited by giving up all control. It surprised her to hear that this was a very common experience – almost all of the women I've mentored over the years have reported it – and she was also surprised to learn that it is a fundamental of the ecstatic experience in the spirituality of many traditions. I told her that I might be able to help her back to that place but that my approach was different than the jerk she'd been with the other two times – but that it would require her complete submission. With only a little hesitation, she agreed and I told her when to come to my hotel room. "Wear something that makes you feel sexy," I said.

She was right on time, dressed in high heels and an elegant flowing black skirt with a black silk blouse, embroidered in the colors of the rainbow. Her hair was tied back and she wore garnet earrings and a garnet necklace. I showed her a comfortable meditation position and we sat quietly for a moment before I went over my one ground rule: that if I asked her to do something that she could not do she would simply say, 'Master I cannot do this' but if I asked her to do something she found merely uncomfortable or embarrassing, she would do it in keeping with the spirit of submission. She agreed, and I gave her a basic meditation exercise to help clear her mind and heart, with the additional instruction that she should pay close attention to the pulses and impulses of her body. We did this together for about twenty minutes.

When we finished the meditation I asked Regina if she was ready to begin and she said was. I told her that I needed her to stand up and remove her skirt and blouse and place them on the one of the room's chair. She was a bit hesitant, almost shy, but she did as I directed – she was left wearing a simple black silk camisole over a black brassiere and black high cut bikini panties, no stockings but still the three inch heels. I told her then to close her eyes and stand with her arms behind her back, right hand holding left wrist, legs slightly spread. I said that I needed to touch her body lightly, to take stock of her energy fields. Do you want me to go on, Regina? I asked. "Yes, sir."

Babette, her body – what I could see of it – was old and wonderful. Wrinkles, lines, spots of cellulite, crows feet, moles and blemishes – I let my fingertips explore them all, starting with her hair and ears and face, brushing lightly and stroking eyes, nose, lips, chin next, feeling a soft trembling as I touched her arms and hands, feeling her breasts and ribs and stomach through the silk of her camisole, kneeling to reach round her and caress the compact curves of her buttocks, letting my hands slide down the outsides of her bare legs, bringing them gently up the insides of her calves and knees and thighs, finally letting an index fingertip barely touch the crotch of her panties – which was sodden with her own jism. She gasped a bit at my touch.

I asked if she knew what this was called in Sanskrit. "No sir." I explained that it was called yoni which means 'divine passage' because all life passes through it and that her wetness was from adharamadhu or 'honey from below,' the source of life and fertility. Had she ever tasted it? "No sir." I slipped the fingers of my left hand into her panties, stroking her pubic hair before letting my middle finger slide into her brimming yoni. Regina made a sigh between a sigh and a moan and I left my finger there for a long moment before I slipped it out and stood, bringing my hand up to her lips. Open your mouth and taste your womanhood, I told her. She did so, uncertain at first and then more eagerly, using her tongue and lips to clean all her slickness off me. I eased it out of her mouth and asked again, Do you want me to go on?

"Yes, sir."

I explained to her that the next part of the process was a kind of exhalation, the letting go of all her tension, before she could inhale, or take me into herself. We would begin with massage, I told her, directing her to remove the camisole and her shoes and to lay face down on the bed, holding her arms above her head now, left wrist in right hand again, eyes still closed. (And here, I should add, I stripped down to my briefs as well.) I knelt above her, straddling her hips, and sprinkled drops of a warming massage oil across her back, unhooking her brassiere clasp, then softly kneading the tightness first from her shoulders then her upper back and spine, then – reaching into her panties – her buttocks, then moving to her feet, first the left then the right; then, still alternating, working my way up her calves and thighs until at last I was gently stroking her yoni with the tips of my thumbs. Remove your bra and roll over, I told her, and she did, her eyes soft on mine for a moment before she closed them again. I teased her aureoles and nipples with my fingertips, then squeezing them, first softly, the harder between thumb and index finger until they rose hard and tight. When they were fully erect, I moved suddenly down and hooked her panties with my fingers, sliding them down her legs and off, savoring the smell of her musk before I set them down, leaving only the red of the garnet jewelry against the lovely brown of her skin. Spread your legs and show me your yoni, I told her.

Here she went shy again – I had to gently lift her knees up myself and move them apart, but she did not resist. Babette, as you know, a woman's love cave is a beautiful part of her, and Regina's was no exception: black hair, pink-brown lips still oozing cream, and a swollen clit, nearly purple. I told her that it would please me to have her adharamadhu. Would she give it to me? "Yes, sir.

I caressed her inner thighs with kisses, first one and then the other, before beginning to gently lick her labia and her slot. I don't know if you've ever tasted another woman, Babette, but there is something wonderful and almost indescrib-able about it – sweet and slightly sour at once, earthy and rich, mixing the soft texture of her lips and clit with the warm liquidity of her nectar. Wonderful! Regina's response was almost immediate – she lifted her legs over my shoulders, her hips began an easy rocking, and her breath quickened and deepened.

My experience is that this part of the practice can take a while (and who would want to hurry anyway?) but Regina moved to the higher planes of pleasure as soon as I sucked her clit into my mouth, circling it rapidly with my tongue, and tugging playfully with my lips. The movement of her hips picked up a quicker rhythm and her breathing turned to quiet moaning. I slid first one and then two fingers deep into her yoni, in and out to match her movement, and began to caress the soft pucker of her anus with the pad of my thumb. She reached climax within minutes, her yoni spasming tightly around my fingers and a soaking flow adharamadhu suddenly rising like a stream after a storm. I slid my fingers out and used my tongue to lick it up – to consume adharamadhu is both a pleasure and a sacrament.

I gently removed her legs from my shoulders and moved my mouth to hers, to let her taste her essence on my lips. She was quietly crying – a first for me – so I kissed away her tears and held her tenderly while she came down and all the energy of tension flowed away from her. After a time I told her that she was almost ready for maithuna or union but that this would involve some pain.

Did she want to continue? "Yes, sir."

I directed her to put her shoes back on (at 5'3" it's necessary) and to stand at the foot of the bed, bending forward and leaning on her arms. She complied with little hesitation and at this point I slipped out of my briefs – as you can imagine, I was fully engorged by then – and gently touched the tip of my lingam (Sanskrit for 'wand of light' in one translation) to her buttocks and yoni. I told her that I would spank her at this point, that it would hurt, but that the pain was to act as a single point meditation, to clear her mind and heart of anything but sensation and between slaps she should focus only on her yoni. Did she want me to continue? "Yes, sir."

I told her not to make a sound and spanked her hard, alternating slaps from one cheek to another, five slaps on each with a pause between each. To her credit she was almost silent, giving only a muffled mmmph! with each hit. At the end of ten I could see that her yoni was glistening with fluid again and I stepped up behind her to tease her with the tip of my lingam again, moving it lightly across her slot, caressing her clit, drawing it up to her anus. Here I paused long enough to put on a condom – not ideal but required, really, at a first meeting – and then went back to my play, now penetrating her yoni slightly, now withdrawing, now fingering her clit and stroking her anus, finally plunging deeply into her, provoking a whimper and an immediate tightening of her yoni around me. Gradually we found a rhythm – deep slow strokes, the curve of my lingam in this position finding the soft sponge of her g-spot at its deepest push, these followed by shorter faster strokes, then slow again, then fast. As we moved together I began to feel that loss of self and sense of time that signals the dawn of ananda (bliss). I cannot honestly say how long this delight went on. Eventually the quickness of breathing and the urgency her pushing told me that she was approaching climax. I slowed my thrusts and pushed them deeper, reaching around her to press my index and middle finger onto her clit as we moved and reaching with my other hand for her hair to pull her head back and arch her back more. She groaned loudly as we came together and, after standing in place for a moment I gradually eased us down onto the bed, my lingam still throbbing inside her. We lay that way for a bit until she wanted to speak – I told her not to, to keep the experience inside her.

After a moment I told her that we would resume our meditation positions, and we did, both naked now except for the stones which shone against her skin. I said that I knew she wanted to speak but that now was not the time for that. Let me watch you dress, I said, then leave, and if you want to see me to talk, meet me tomorrow morning at 8:00 at the same Starbucks. I bowed to her and she quietly dressed and left.

I arrived at 7:55 and Regina was there waiting. Dressed for work in a blue suit and a blue blouse with sensible flat shoes (she is an accountant) she looked older, almost spinsterish. We made small talk for a moment or two and then she thanked for teaching her things about her body that she did not know. I asked her if she wanted to continue the lesson. "Yes, sir." I laughed and told her that there was no 'sir' there but that he might be back if she came to my room at 7:30.

She gave me a chaste kiss on the cheek and hurried off to work, taking her latte with her.

I'd be interested to get a woman's perspective on this, Babette – or perhaps you'd like to try it one day.

All the best –


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