The new rule.

Last weekend, Rafe and I had three nights together – a rare treat. He had already decided that I would be spending most of the weekend naked and in service. When I arrived, he quickly instituted a new rule: Whenever I was naked, I must ask permission to put clothes on. Violation of this rule meant 10 cane strokes. (I’d already received 20 after my arrival, for failing to send appropriate pictures 2 mornings of the week.)

I was quite successful through the weekend. There was but one infraction – a technicality, really. I’d gone to change clothes. I was never really naked, only partially. But my master is not one for arguing the letter of the law, when it comes to our arrangement. It’s all about the spirit.

At one point, he said playfully, “I think we should make this a permanent rule.”

This weekend, I failed twice, before he reminded me. And then a third time. At least he had decided that the cane was perhaps too stringent a punishment for this new rule. He has not told me what the punishment will be regularly. But this weekend he administered a good old-fashioned spanking with the palm of his hand.

– The Elegant Submissive

Getting What She Asked For.

This weekend, I had an intense, almost desperate need to be of service to my Master. Unfortunately I was far away from Rafe this weekend, just as I had been all last week and have continued to be this week. Of course, by no means, was I beyond the reach of my Dom.

As I described in my previous post, I asked Rafe how I could serve him. At the end of the exchange, he warned:

Careful what you ask for, slave! You might get it.

  • Saturday – Masturbate for two minutes without coming, with clothespins on my nipples and a finger up my ass. Twice, separated by an hour. And completion of the blog post before 10 pm.
  • Sunday – Leave a comment on another bdsm blog. Before leaving my apartment, masturbate again, same conditions as Saturday. Then in the afternoon, more masturbation – this time, the clothespins on my labia (I thought I might come at the first clamp), with permission to come after two minutes was up (thank you, Master!).
  • Monday – No panties today. At work, masturbate without coming for 90 seconds (this one came with a deadline). While at dinner with acquaintances, go to the restroom and insert a finger up my ass – no masturbating. At home, leave another comment on a blog.
  • Tuesday – Panties must be red (even this little command sent me tingling). He had another plan, but it wasn’t workable without access to a private bathroom (still don’t know what he had in mind for me).
  • Wednesday – Comment on two blogs while at work. Later in the evening, another order arrived: Put an ice cube in my pussy and let it melt there. This one almost got me into trouble, because I had no ice. I immediately filled a tray and put it in the freezer. Fortunately, I had enough time for the cubes to freeze at least half way. When I pushed one in, it suddenly become almost impossible not to come. I begged my Master to let me masturbate to climax. After a couple of minutes, he permitted it, telling me later, It is difficult to deny you when you beg. The orgasm was long and intense. It took me a minute to catch my breath.
  • Thursday – I was working from home. Late morning, a command: Strip naked and masturbate without coming for two minutes. After I was done, a follow up: Repeat every 90 minutes until 4 pm. A total of 4 times in 4.5 hours. My clit is a little tender now. And Rafe has decided “we” should do it one more time before bed.

So I’m getting what I asked for. Service to my Master. And the results?

I’ve been wet all week. I’m aching to be filled and fucked and tormented by my Master. I want desperately to be used by him, roughly and mercilessly. I want him to take all that he can, all that is his (which is all of me). I’m longing to delve more deeply into our bdsm experience than we have yet.

I see my darling Rafe tomorrow. Of course, as fate would have it, he can’t take me straight home to fuck me. We have plans. We will be side by side for hours before he takes me home to play.

I have already been given a rule for this weekend. Every time we enter the house, I am to ask if my Master would like me to suck his cock. Failure earns 10 strokes of the cane. I’ve already earned 8 – 5 for a delay in sending him pictures of myself in my running gear, 3 for improper capitalization of my last post (since fixed).

I can’t wait to see what else Rafe has in store.

– The Elegant Submissive

My comments this week

Careful What You Ask For.

Time has slipped by. Rafe and I have, in turn, been traveling, sick, and stressed. During this time, understandably, our play has been a bit more subdued.

This weekend, we are apart, and I felt a longing for my master’s hand, his strictures, his orders.

How may this slave serve you from afar, sir? I texted him.

He asked what I proposed.

I replied, What would please my master? Masturbation? Some anal play? Nipple torture? What does my master fancy his slave doing to herself this week? What images would bring him pleasure and satisfaction?

He sent me the first of his plans – and my orders – for the week:

I have been thinking that I would like you to come twice this week. But I think we should build up to it.

Today I want you to masturbate for 2 minutes, without coming, twice. Separated by at least an hour.

You will not come today. We’ll repeat it tomorrow. If I’m satisfied, maybe tomorrow. If not, perhaps Monday.

Today, when you masturbate, do so with a finger up your ass and clothespins on your nipples. Both times. Send pictures.

Already I was wet with the anticipation of fulfilling my master’s orders. I did as I was told. The two minutes was an eternity. I felt on the verge of climax. But I knew to fight the desire to succumb, lest I be dealt my punishment for coming without permission.

I returned to my day as usual. A short nap. Some dinner. A bit of cleaning.

Then time for another session.

I had a little wine with my dinner, hoping that it might make the edge a bit more bearable. Again, I was already warming at the very thought of what I was about to do for my master.

With the placement of each clothespin on my nipples, I felt blood rush to my vulva and clitoris. I felt myself grow wetter. I sent my master the first picture.

I then applied lubricant to my anus. I coated a finger of my one hand, reached behind, and inserted into my rectum. I exhaled shakily, my desire intensifying.

I started the stopwatch on my phone and, kneeling on my bed, slipped my free hand between my legs. Engorged, slick, the first touch of my pussy felt like it might almost be enough to push me over the edge. The seconds ticked by. Slowly.

Thirty… I was dripping wet. Forty-five… Not even half way there. Sixty… Fingers dipping inside to move the stimulation away from my clit. Seventy-five… Would I be able to hold back? Ninety… So close. Fingers sliding effortlessly between my lips. I longed to come. I was desperate to come. But I also longed to meet my master’s demands.

Finally, the clock hit two minutes. I had made it.

As I removed my finger from ass, I feared that again that I might come. But I did not. I removed the clothespins. I collapsed onto the bed. Spent but electrified. Almost afraid that any move might be too much. A gentle rub of my previously pinned nipples sent another jolt to my cunt.

An hour later, I’m still dripping.

My master told me to expect assignments every day this week. I do not know what to expect. Perhaps more masturbation sessions with me struggling not to climax. Or perhaps orders to orgasm, maybe even more than once a day. I am certain that they will be challenging.

After outlining today’s assignments and promising more, my master closed:

Careful what you ask for, slave! You might get it.

Perhaps so. And yet I do so long to serve my master this way.

– The Elegant Submissive

Change of Pace.

Last week, I left Rafe’s arms with the usual longing to stay. My travel was uneventful, smoother than usual actually.

As always, I texted Rafe when I was home.

With his reply came a surprise. A new assignment while his slave was away. An order to have three orgasms each week until I see him again.

One of the rules that we have established is that I am never to come without my Master’s permission. As with my body, my orgasms belong to him. Typically I am forbidden from orgasm while we are apart. Often he will order me to masturbate – sometimes every day – for a minute or two without coming. The knowledge that I must not come makes the desire to do so more intense.

He did not explain why he decided to change the assignment this week. Only what I was to do.

Last night was my deadline for the first week. I still had one to go. I was exhausted. The toy collection at my place is sparse and without a single vibrator. But I knew a surefire, efficient way to get it done. I stripped, adjusted the water flow and temp on the tub faucet, and slid underneath it for my clit to be pulsed until I came.

It was strange. A forced orgasm. After two others in the week. Without my Master as witness. It felt indulgent. Filthy. Almost wrong.

Today was the start of week 2.

I considered what the point of the exercise might be. What it meant to me. Why I had felt a bit conflicted about last night’s orgasm. I realized that it made me feel like a slut.

And the truth is, I like being Rafe’s dirty little slut.

So this afternoon, with that in mind, I dried off from my shower and laid back in bed. I accepted his claim on my orgasms, by either denial or requirement. I accepted that I am aroused by my submission to him. And I fucked myself with the handle of the hairbrush that Rafe likes to use on me at times (for spanking and fucking).

And then, per my Master’s instructions, I sent him a picture with my gratitude. And my gratitude for this one was deep.

– The Elegant Submissive

Her Request.

Dearest Master,

It is agony to be separated from you this weekend.

Especially when your little slut so desperately needs to come. To submit to my master and be teased and fucked until an explosion of ecstasy breaks my mind, leaving me spent and silent.

I took this weekend to attend to things in my home. And now, sir, I need to attend to one more. I humbly request your permission for an orgasm in your absence, sir.

This is a rare request. And rarely are these granted without conditions.

Perhaps my master would exchange this orgasm for the punishment of his slave when she comes without his permission…

Perhaps my master would permit his slut to masturbate on his terms. His selection of what she is to use to bring herself to climax. Or maybe some humiliation she should endure while her pleasures herself.

I submit myself to your designs, sir. But, please please please sir… let me come.

Your adoring slave,

The Elegant Submissive

Her Rules.

It’s been just more than a year since Rafe and I began to explore this avenue of our sexuality together. The core element is power exchange – dominant/submissive, master/slave. It’s time for something new, something to tip the balance a little further.

Rafe gave me an assignment – pick four rules that will become standing expectations for me. These rules could be ones that we already practice. But this is the first formalization of them. The rules provide requirements and boundaries. They reinforce our roles, privileges, and responsibilities. The first three are rules that have been in place for some time. The fourth is my humble offering to him – I do hope he enjoys it.

  1. Any day she is not in her master’s presence, she must send a picture of herself, entirely nude, to him. This serves as a daily reminder that she belongs to him.
  2. As the societal and physical confines allow, she is to attend to her master’s needs and desires. She is his slave, and her duty is to serve her master diligently.
  3. She may only come if her master permits it. Her orgasms belong to her master, just as her body does.
  4. In private or in play spaces, she is to take an appropriately submissive position (to be defined by her master). This serves as a reminder, to both, of her willing submission to him.

– The Elegant Submissive

Her Inspection. Failed.

It had been a long week. I was tired. And that made me careless.

After being separated for too long, I was back in my master’s reach. And for the first time, I failed my inspection.

Early on, before the full nature of our relationship emerged, Rafe asked if he could shave me. He liked me as I was – curly reddish hair, coarse but rough. But he wanted to see all of me. So I agreed. It had been years since I had shaved that intimate area.

One evening, I reclined on the bed as my darling Rafe carefully trimmed the hair away and then meticulously shaved me with his single blade razor. I was a little nervous, but it was a divine pleasure watching him work – the studious gaze, the firm but careful touch, the furrow in his brow… Such joy to be the subject of a lover’s undivided attention.

As we began to play with power dynamics, grooming became part of the ritual and responsibility. Occasionally he wants to do it himself and will give me a day’s notice that I am not to shave. But most weekends I see my master, I am to be clean, smooth, and ready for inspection. It’s a thorough inspection. He looks me over carefully, feels for a bit of stubble, pulls back the labia to check underneath… That is where I failed this time.

Rafe always has a curious reaction when I fail, a mixture of admonishment and delight. “Tsk, tsk. Someone will be getting a punishment – not tonight, but sometime this weekend. What should it be? Perhaps a stroke for every hair?” He began counting, but fortunately for me, he grew bored of counting. He took the offending labia in his mouth and sucked on it, before moving to the other.

After a few minutes, he hovered over me, his mouth next to my ear. “Your punishment will be ten strokes with the hairbrush. After each stroke, you will say – and listen very closely because I will not repeat myself – you will say, ‘I promise to more carefully shave my pussy in the future, sir.’ And you will count the stroke. Any mistakes, and we start over.”

The following night, he stayed true to his word. He stripped me and ordered me to lay facedown on the bed. He secured the red leather cuffs to my ankles and wrists. He tied me to the bed, prostrate before him. With each action, I grew more aroused. As I was there bound, completely powerless, he first administered the four strokes of the cane I had earned earlier in the week – two demerits for a delayed assignment. Then he brought down the hairbrush on my ass. Somehow, I managed to string together the words I had been commanded to remember. “I promise to more carefully shave my pussy in the future, sir. One.” Miraculously, I made it through all ten without a misstep. And I grew wetter.

“Whose ass is this?” he asked.

“Yours, sir.”

“And whose pussy is this?” he questioned.

“Yours, sir.”

“That’s right. I expect you to take care of it, to groom it properly, to keep it in pristine condition. Now what will you do?”

I replied, without hesitation, “I will more carefully shave my pussy in the future, sir.”

“Good girl,” he responded.

Bound as I was, I could not see him, but I heard the sound of a cord hit the floor. In a few seconds, the Hitachi was vibrating against me. He held it there until I came. Then he increased the intensity and maneuvered the wand just underneath me so it was pressed against my clit. I convulsed. I twisted. But I had little leverage to move. This was trial and torment solely for my master’s pleasure, amusement, and arousal, an exhibition of his dominance over me. I lost track of time and count of the orgasms. But I didn’t want to give in. I didn’t want to ask for mercy.

Finally he stopped. I heard his clothes drop to the floor. I was gasping to catch my breath. Soon he was on me, his voice in my ear. “You’re such a good slave. You suffer so elegantly.”

Then he took me, still tied to the bed – the reward for a punishment well received.

– The Elegant Submissive

Their Debut.

This weekend, Rafe and I will be expanding our play a little further. We’ll be making another appearance at a party. But, as Rafe already shared, we’re planning to do a bit more than just watching this time.

Early this week, my master informed me that any punishments I earned this week would be doled out at this party, before an audience. He often issues specific assignments for me, with the penalty for failure defined at the outset. But you may recall that I have a standing requirement as well – every day that we are separated, I am to send him a photo of myself in an appropriate state.

I promptly missed this requirement after learning that I would be punished publicly for any infractions this week. I can’t say it was intentional… but neither was it entirely unintentional. Normally I attend to my duty first thing in the morning. But my routine was recently disrupted, and I was focused on getting out the door Monday morning. Early that evening, I recalled that I hadn’t yet snapped a pic. I pondered whether I would send it, knowing that failure would thrill my master. I decided to wait. And then I forgot.

So in a day, I will receive my penalties, with others bearing witness. What’s more, my master has now decided that I should have no orgasms until after the event.

Rafe asked – or rather ordered – that I describe my fantasy about this next step. How do I imagine it? What would a “good” experience feel and look like?

After a day spent together, she satisfies his arousal in whatever way he elects, while she remains frustrated. As he dons his impeccable suit and tie, she carefully puts on her fishnet stockings and a skimpy pair of black panties. He ties her into the elegant corset he bought for her and locks her collar. She covers her outfit with something more acceptable to the outside world and then steps into her precariously high heels. She takes his arm, the other occupied by smart bag carrying the instruments of her submission and torture. They depart for the venue.

They arrive. She is promptly stripped of her covering, leaving the night’s real attire in place. The soft red leather cuffs are placed on her wrists, though not tied. He attaches his leash to her collar. They greet some of the attendees, she never more than inches from her master’s, never speaking unless permitted by her master.

The time has arrived. He leads her to the St. Andrew’s cross. He kneels and gently fastens the ankle cuffs he carried in the bag. He rises, caresses her cheek lovingly, and pulls her into him for a passionate kiss. As their mouths part, he still holds her close. He whispers in her ear, “I love you. I do this because it pleases me. And because it arouses you.”

Then he pulls her to the cross. One by one, he ties her cuffs to the cross, trailing his hand along her curves as he moves from one extremity to the other. He tells her to test the knots. She does, and they hold. He steps back and draws the crop from his bag.

“My darling Ella,” he begins, speaking just loudly enough so that bystanders might hear, “what is the primary responsibility of a slave?”

“To attend to her master’s needs and desires,” she replies.

“Tell these lovely people the penalties you incurred this week and why.”

She holds her head high. “Fifteen strokes for failing to send an appropriate picture. Two strokes for failing to answer your phone call. Two strokes for my inattention to your instructions concerning demerits this week.”

“Very good.” He strokes her neck with the leather of the crop. “Let’s start with the fifteen, shall we?” Without awaiting (or expecting) an answer, he snaps the crop against her creamy ass.

“One. Thank you, sir,” she intones.

He continues – sometimes in quick succession, sometimes gently tapping or caressing her with crop before striking. As they progress, the stings grow sharper. She tries to breathe through the pain. She bites her lip to keep from crying out. He adores the elegance of her suffering, and she does not want to disappoint him.

Time stretches. She almost loses count but catches herself. And then it is done.

He comes to her side, turning her face towards him. His eyes twinkle with pleasure and admiration. A small smirk plays on her lips. Nineteen strokes. Endured without faltering.

He cuts the ties restraining her. He pulls her close and walks with her to a place where they can sit. In that moment, he is not her master but her caretaker.

They sit and observe others at play. They chat between themselves and with others. But it’s growing late.

“Come along, darling,” he commands. “It’s time to get you home. So you can thank your master properly.” He then speaks low in her ear. “Besides, I think it’s about time my precious slave is rewarded for her patient suffering… and that my little slut to be well and properly fucked.”

– The Elegant Submissive

Remembering Her Place.

My master seems to think that he has been too generous with me of late. Too few punishments. Too little bondage. Too many orgasms.

Perhaps he’s right…

No… He is the master. Of course, he’s right.

And so this weekend is becoming a time to remind me of my place.

Submissive. Slave. Plaything.

This period of separation from my master was shorter than most. But as I prepared myself – showered, washed my hair, shaved my legs and pubic area – I found myself fantasizing of the ways my master might use and torment me, longing for his domination. It left me in quite a state of arousal… a dangerous state.

My train was late, of course, though not catastrophically so. When we arrived home, my master stripped me bare, blindfolded me, clamped my nipples,  then ordered me to hands and knees. He brought the broad hairbrush down on my ass to punish my late arrival, knowing my tardiness was beyond my control. It was a reminder that fairness is not a principle of punishment in our relationship. When he was done, he played with the silicone butt plug before driving it inside me. He probed my dripping sex, teased my clit & explained that I was expected to deny myself orgasm this night. Soon I was serving my master’s needs, his cock in my mouth until he was satisfied. I, of course, left utterly unsatisfied.

We went to dinner, the plug still secure.

After we returned home and I was once again stripped & collared, Rafe caressed & teased, pinched & twisted, almost mindlessly, as if I were just a toy to occupy idle hands. And if that is what my master desires, that is what I am.

Taking me to bed, he bound my hands, ordered me to kneel, and cropped my exposed breasts. Satisfied with his practice session, he once again set to teasing me, reiterating that I was forbidden to orgasm. Then he pushed me onto my back and thrust his hard cock inside me.

Never have I dreaded that action until that moment. A moment of perfection as we were so closely and intimately linked. It felt amazing, but as he entered me and moved sinuously inside me, I knew I would not be able to keep my pleasure at bay for long. He could see it in my eyes. He reminded me of my restriction, of the punishment that would result.

“Sometimes, I think you want me to fail,” I replied in a low voice.

He said nothing. His only response: planting himself deeper inside me.

I could hold back no longer. Try as I might, I could not stop the waves rolling through me. I came, longingly, slowly, and with the trepidation of the promised repercussions.

Today the restrictions and assignments continue. Today, as my Rafe works, I attend to errands in the city, wearing not only my master’s collar, but also a harness of metal and leather under my jeans. Today, running short on time, I dictate this tale of refined domination on my smartphone as I walk through the city. Soon I will post it for the world to read. And every one of these acts of submission and exhibition simply serves to arouse me further.

Last night, I came. Without my master’s permission. And tonight my punishment will come.

– The Elegant Submissive