A New Requirement.

Because Ella and I do not yet live together (we’re working on it), and because our working schedules are often incompatible, sometimes several days will pass that we cannot see one another. Ella has developed the endearing and delightful habit of sending me pictures of herself in varying stages of undress as she arises, or tends to her ablutions. I have come to anticipate and appreciate these pictures. I’ve received them nearly every day for the duration of our relationship in which we haven’t been together.

Monday, the 21st, was just one such day that we were unable to be together. But no picture came in the morning. Nor at night. An entire 24 hours passed and I did not see the voluptuous curves of my delectable slave. An intolerable condition, as any Dom might imagine. And yet, I had never explicitly required her to send one every day. Individual times, certainly. She knows she must send a picture of herself every time she shaves that I’m not there. (What a perfect little pussy, my dear readers. Pink and slick and clean-shaven…)

So I cannot punish her for failure to send a picture yesterday. But I can make sure it never happens again. I have informed her that she is required to send a nude picture every day we are apart from now on. I have not informed her of the consequences of failure. That she will learn at the same time as the rest of our readership.

So, Ella, a daily picture, morning or night, completely disrobed, appropriately shaven, and befitting submissive posture. Each day you neglect this task will result, on our next reunion, in ten strokes to the ass, breasts, or thighs. With the cane. Which you will count, aloud, and thank me for. And then, when done, you will kneel before me and thank me for your punishment with your mouth, just as a good slave does.

-The Refined Dominant

Agony in Indulgence

This weekend, Rafe and I meandered through the city, as we are wont to do, enjoying the lovely weather and conversing freely. It’s a truly beautiful and important element of our relationship. I submit to his mastery in our sexual play. In the bedroom, my duty is to attend to his desires. But outside that arena, we are equals, and the time we spend simply being together – ambling aimlessly, sharing deep thoughts and silly musings, occasionally stealing a kiss on at a street corner or desolate street – nourishes the intimacy that allows me to submit with such abandon.

Yet, as we wandered, we unsurprisingly arrived at the elegant sex shop that we both like so much. It’s unabashed without straying into kitsch.  On this particular visit, my master had hoped to find a leash to use with my new collar, but he was not satisfied with the selection. However, we did not leave empty-handed, finding a suitable pair of ankle cuffs – comfortable, sturdy, and matching the color of my collar.

Later, my master put them to excellent use. Stripped bare and secured in my cuffs, he restrained my arms at each side using a short piece of rope to connect the wrist and ankle cuff by their respective D-rings. He had promised to bring all his skills and tools to bear, to arouse and stimulate me unrelentingly, blending bliss and torment. He pushed my knees out so that he might have unencumbered access to the pussy he’d freshly shaved. He placed the pulchritudinous clover clamps on my nipples, bringing immediate and exquisite agony, and warned that every time I closed my legs, he would pull the chain connecting the pair of clamps, tightening their grip on my breasts. He began by placing his succulent mouth on my labia, teasing my clit with his tongue.

Then, after some time, my dom brought out his most merciless tool – the Hitachi Magic Wand. He knelt before me, applying the Wand to my clit. I tried to hold back, knowing that once I climaxed, the vibrations of intense pleasure would become torture. But soon I succumbed, and my master watched with satisfaction as I erupted in orgasm. As I expected, no relief came. I squirmed. I tried to breathe deeply and steadily, with limited success. My master continued, on and on, unyielding.

“Please,” I gasped at last. “Let me suck on your cock. Please.”

This amused my darling Rafe, who wondered whether I begged because I truly wanted to service him or because I was looking for relief. I expressed, in short bursts that my lungs would permit, that I desired to please my master as he had me. There was a tone of laughter to his voice. “It may be difficult to believe,” he explained, “but sometimes, my darling slave, what I desire more than you sucking on my cock is watching you suffer orgasm after orgasm.” And so he carried on.

I begged. Eventually the vibrations subsided, though I know it was not my supplications but his desire that brought them to an end. He sat on the bed and beckoned me over, and I greedily and grateful took him into my mouth. After a few minutes, he raised me to kneeling and offered me a choice – another round with the vibrator or ten strikes on my ass with his belt. It was no easy decision, but finally I chose the vibrator.

As the sensation exploded, I wondered if I’d made the wrong choice. My dom commented, “Perhaps you should have asked how long this would session would be. Perhaps I’ll just keep going until you beg me to lash you with the belt.”

There would be no relief. Fingers slipped inside me as the wand was held against my clit again. My hips rose up, not altogether voluntary. I was exhausted, mentally and physically. I broke. I did as my master had hoped and asked for the belt. The sting of leather on my ass and thighs was painful – yet, as always, arousing. Perhaps sensing I was reaching my limits, he administered only a few strikes before cutting the tiny pieces of rope binding hand to ankle, so that I could properly thank my master for the delight and discipline he had meted out.

And then, he took me. He claimed me as his own. He came deep inside me as I came yet again, this time around him.

It is an unusual experience, the orgasm as torture, a sensation difficult to describe. Not painful yet not exactly pleasant. An overload of a typically pleasurable feeling becoming almost too much to bear. But it’s another facet that becomes delightful, a demonstration of my master’s care and focus. It reminds me of how attentive he is to my satisfaction. And just as our walks through the city deepen our relationship, so too does his torture and dominance over me expand our sexuality.

– The Elegant Submissive

The Master’s Duty.

To outward appearances, the relationship between a slave and a master can appear to be about the slave satisfying all of the master’s desires, while having her own sublimated and denied. Providing the master with pleasure while the slave suffers indignity and pain, suffering for her master’s desire and entertainment. And certainly, I don’t want to diminish that aspect. My Ella suffers both pain and denial while pleasing me according to my desires.

But it is the master’s duty to ensure his slave’s needs are met. And that her deep, core desires are fulfilled. Previously unfamiliar with a lover devoted to her pleasure, I work very hard (a literal labor of love) at ensuring my Ella receives many multiples of pleasure for every trial of pain and torture. It is a great delight to see her transported by pleasure, rapt and elated. Whether we are making love on the loveseat, or she is bound for my use on the bed, when she shudders in ecstasy it is her master’s triumph.

My design, when I have her helpless, subject to my will and my whim, is that she feel cherished. I claim her because I want her. She is precious to me. I bind her and torment her because it arouses her. And because it arouses me. I want her to know that she is worth all of the effort that goes into her captivity. When she is kneeling, her hands bound behind her back, her breasts defenseless against my cruel fingers, my instinct – as that of any man must be! – is to take her, plunge my cock into her, and satisfy myself.

But I delay my own pleasure, I delay my own right – a right we’ve together agreed is mine – to satisfy myself this way. I postpone my pleasure so that I may increase my slave’s. Through slow, focused torment and prolonged service. I ratchet her arousal to levels that she has never known, and then finally, after she has begged for me to do so, I satisfy us both together. This is the master’s duty.

The master’s duty is to his slave. That she be cherished, and adored, and loved. That her service and sacrifice be rewarded. That she is rewarded copiously with what she needs from her slavery. This must, of course, vary from slave to slave. What my Ella needs may be very different from what another master’s prize desires from her slavery. But my Ella. She is mine, and I desire no other.

My duty to my slave is simply this: she must know that she is precious. She must know that her suffering elates me. That my desire is not for the game, but for the way it nourishes our souls. That the trust she places in my hands when she is helpless and I am rampant is a sacred and inviolable trust. My Ella knows that she is mine. My own property. And I only acquire possessions of great value.

-The Refined Dominant