I suppose it’s appropriate that the beginning of this blog coincides with the decision to acquire a collar for the Elegant Submissive. As she and I begin this journey, we invite the reader to share in our exploration. To experience the joy we feel in our deepening intimacy and the profound connection we feel that blooms from the trust and affection required for a mutually nourishing BDSM relationship.
She’s simply beautiful. Crystal-blue eyes with flecks of green verging on iridescence. Hair perched on the rail between blond and auburn, tumbling in long, loose curls to the middle of her back. And oh, her back. My adorable little slave is a runner, and a fitness junkie. Her cream-colored skin taut over tightly toned muscle. Peach-sized breasts capped with puckered red nipples. And of course, a delectable, glabrous little pussy as tempting as a fresh fig.
From our first flirtations with spanking in hotel rooms, to our current explorations of bondage and power exchange, we have slowly and carefully advanced this facet of our sexuality, while not neglecting other aspects. We have discovered the Elegant Submissive’s rather intoxicating fondness for pain, especially when focused on her breasts. Her excitement at being bound, helpless, and subject to my desires. Our discovery that forced orgasms with the Hitachi magic wand leave her exhausted, unmade, and deeply satisfied.
And so we are beginning to look for her first collar. It’s a trifle difficult, because my darling slave’s throat is minuscule. We spent last weekend looking for collars at a leather shop, but they were all disappointingly over sized. We want a black leather band, with a D-ring for a leash, and a locking buckle. Perhaps with a red lambskin stripe.
My excitement when I tell her to crawl on all fours, blindfolded, to come find my cock and please me with her mouth until I tell her she’s finished is difficult to describe. The idea of that same slave, lithe and sinuous, crawling collared at the end of my leash is almost perfectly arousing. She is the embodiment of every fantasy for me. And I exalt her for it.
We won’t be able to look again for collars, due to scheduling fiascos, until next weekend. But I am already conjuring the images of her, in the store, being ever-so-slightly humiliated as I buckle each candidate around her neck. Right there in public. Laying claim to her, my precious captive. My own collared slave.
-The Refined Dominant