Styles of Submission.

Ella and I were talking last night about our D/s dynamic. We have an idiosyncratic arrangement. It’s a 24/7 lifestyle in that I am always dominant in our sex life, and I decide when we are playing. I can order her to do what I choose, when I choose, and she does it. As we say, she does what she’s told; I get what I want. That’s our agreement.

But in practice, we don’t do high protocol service slavery and I don’t take control of many things that neither of us are particularly interested in incorporating into our dynamic. Finances. Exercise. Work. Diet. These are things Ella is perfectly good at managing for herself, and I have no desire to manage for her. Frankly, she’s better at some of those than I am.

So we’ve carved out a style of dominance and submission that works for us. In discussing it last night, I realized that I have never punished her for disobedience. Ella has followed, or attempted to follow, every order I’ve ever given her. She doesn’t disobey in order to manipulate me. She doesn’t act the brat in order to try to top from the bottom, picking and choosing when she receives discipline. She’s truly into service and obedience.

It’s utterly refreshing. While I sometimes have to correct her service, in order to mold it to perfection, so that she serves me precisely as we both want her to, I never have to assert my dominance in order to “put her in her place”. She’s not defiant or oppositional. When she wants more severe discipline, instead of acting out in hopes that I correct her with a severe punishment, she simply asks for it.

Last week, she begged me: “I want you to gag me, and torture me, and use me for your pleasure.” And I did. Though now that I think about it, I think I forgot the gag. But I bound her arms behind her back, tied a very tight crotch rope, and then spent fifteen minutes spanking her with the crop, my belt, and a hairbrush. Then, I made her come with the hitachi. Then I repeated the process. Her ass remained sore for days. She wept and wriggled and cried as I punished her ass mercilessly.

And when I was satisfied, she served me with her mouth and her cunt, and made her master come in the manner he’s accustomed to.

-The Refined Dominant

A Delightful Saturday.

This weekend Ella and I cooked dinner together. She’s a bit better in the kitchen than I am, but I’m certainly no slouch. The cold weather called for a hearty meal, so I made a spicy turkey chili. And Ella was charged with making the cornbread from scratch to go along with it. Naturally, I had to make it a challenge for her.

 

photo 1

Binding her hands made for an enjoyable baking session as she struggled to prepare the dish. I kept interrupting her, as well, ordering her to her knees to suck my cock while I worked on the chili, and making her lick the sliced stem of the jalapeño pepper. Eventually, I decided that even the wrist hobble was not enough, and decided she needed a more invasive impediment.

photo 2

I gave her a few smart strokes with my palm to redden her cheeks, and eased our new string of silicone beads into her tight little ass. Unable to wait for dinner, while the cornbread baked I ate my little slave’s cunt while extracting and reintroducing the hard little beads into her ass. It wasn’t long before she begged me to fuck her. And when I did, she climaxed volcanically beneath me.

Dinner was excellent. And after, we reposed in the bath, master and slave, lovers.

photo 3

 

– The Refined Dominant

On Domination.

At the surface, being a dominant appears to be utterly luxurious. Endless sexual authority. Limitless pleasure. In my relationship with Ella, she is required to serve to my every pleasure, at any time of my choosing. She is required to do this regardless of her own pleasure or convenience. My pleasure is paramount. Hers inconsequential. Attending to my satisfaction is her first rule. She is required to observe it at all times without considering her own. My desires are served, when I want, where I want, how I want.

But a dominant who exercises this authority to maximize his own pleasure and be inconsiderate of his slave’s needs will likely not long remain dominant over that slave. We must merely recognize that attending to a slave’s needs looks different from attending to each other’s needs in a relationship that does not feature power exchange. It does not require less consideration of the slave’s feelings and desires. It’s just that that consideration is orthogonal to the kind of consideration required between normal couples.

When I deprive my Ella of pleasure (We have established now that she never has orgasms unless I specifically direct it. Sometimes, weeks go by between her climaxes.) I do so because the deprivation is meaningful to both of us. It accentuates my authority and her submission. When I do finally take her over the edge, her shuddering ecstasy is delightful.

Being a good dominant requires me to delay my own satisfaction considerably. If all our interactions were about Ella quickly making me come, and then it was over, she would rapidly tire of the arrangement, I imagine. By delaying my own satisfaction, I elongate her service. I develop our intimacy. Domination requires creativity: what tasks must she accomplish to satisfy me? What are the punishments if she fails? What can she endure, and how can I enhance her submission, her suffering, her devotion?

My goal as Ella’s master is bring her the kind of sexual satisfaction she craves. The relational intimacy she needs. Because we are who we are, this entails punishment, deprivation, service. Last week, Ella used the last of the toilet paper and did not replace the roll. I brought her into the bathroom, showed it to her, and then spanked her ass several times with my open hand. I’m sure that will be enough. She’s very diligent about lessons. But if I need to escalate, I will.

But domination is, let me be clear, thoroughly indulgent. I receive my pleasure. When and how I desire. And I know my Ella wouldn’t have it any other way. And when her delicate little tongue flickers over my perineum I am reminded of just how good it is to be in charge.

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

A Planned Reprimand.

This weekend Ella and I will be attending another play party. It’s an exciting event in a downtown loft-style space. There will be access to equipment we don’t have at home, and another opportunity to see how others in the community play. And to expand on our own exploration of our sexuality, and Ella’s submission to my will. And so this time, for the first time, we plan to play a little, and not just observe. At the last party, other than displaying Ella in her corset and stockings, and pinching her nipples a bit while still concealed in the tight embrace of lace and steel. But for this one, we have plans.

I informed Ella early this week that any punishments she accrues during the week will be administered at the party. And she promptly failed to provide her required picture. It’s delightful that she’s so eager to endure punishments and humiliations for our pleasure. Ordinarily, the penalty for her failure would be ten strokes of the cane. But I may switch to the crop, and a few more strokes, to make the packing arrangements for the party a little less inconvenient. And the cane I reprimand her with is light and plastic. I don’t want to risk damaging it. I do so love snapping it against her succulent little ass and the backs of her thighs.

And so she will be bound to a stocks, or a St. Andrew’s Cross, and I will mete out her punishment in full view of the other attendants. All will see, and hear, as she counts out the strokes, and confesses her breach of duty. As she apologizes and admits she owes her master greater fealty. I’ve come up with a few more tasks she must complete before Saturday, and her date with the inevitable correction. I’m hoping she will commit some infractions, so that I might draw out and linger over the task of the punishment. After all, displaying my slave, and exhibiting my mastery of her for all to see, that is a reward for me. And receiving my punishment gracefully in front of the throng, and then my praise for her elegance under duress? That will be her reward.

-The Refined Dominant

His Designs.

It has happened once again. Due to the vagaries of our lives, I have been sundered from Rafe for far too long. This is, in fact, the longest we have been separated in our time together. It has been a torment – and not of the pleasurable variety we so enjoy.

But soon, so very soon, we will be reunited.

I will be back in the arms of my lover.

And in the service of my master.

Under his spell.

Subject to his will, abandoning my own.

I am a woman of both passion and reason. There is so much of this lifestyle that my logical brain cannot reconcile. As I have shared before, I grew up in a conservative culture. I had only vague notions of this world, assimilated from television or movies. I could see the appeal of being bound. I had even fantasized about it. But the exchange of power, the pursuance of pain didn’t make sense. Despite beginning to accept its place in my life, the rational part of my being still struggles with the reality that my soul should covet bondage and submission. Professionally I seek independence and control. Sexually I choose to give power over to another. In day-to-day life, I try to avoid things that might cause pain. In erotic life, I find agony arousing. The dichotomy confounds ratiocination.

But there is one part that makes complete sense.

Rafe and I have spent too much time apart. But during this time, my cherished master has had time to think, to explore, to plan. He has designs for me, intentions at which he has only hinted. And this thrills me.

I know what it’s like to truly be a thing just there to be fucked. Little more than a hole to shove a dick in – and to be told, essentially, that I wasn’t even good at that, and it was my fault. I’ve experienced the depressingly dull, almost nonexistent sex life, one where my desires and needs were meaningless. It’s a sad, lonely, dismal place to spend years of one’s life.

So to have a partner who is thoughtful, who ponders what terrible and delightful sensations he can induce, who turns his mind to how he can take his lover to new heights… That is beauty. That is love. That is … magic.

And that is a dominant. At least, it is my dominant, embodied by my darling Rafe. From the outside, it’s easy to believe that dominance is about taking what one wants. But a dominant gives as well. When I submit to my master, I become the center of his attention. His concentration and his effort are focused upon me. Even when I am not in his presence, I consume his thoughts; he considers the ways he can use me, yes, but also the ways he can arouse and delight me. When I surrender my will, my master cherishes the power I give. He honors the offering with deliberation over my longing and need. I know no greater privilege than to become the cynosure for my master and lover.

This is the part of the dynamic that logic can comprehend: surrendering myself to become the complete focus of the man I love.

I have been apart from my master for too long. But he has been dreaming designs for me. And so my devotion deepens.

– The Elegant Submissive

Where She Belongs.

Recently I had the prodigious pleasure of spending a weekend with my Ella in a luxury hotel downtown in a great American city. The tragedy of traveling is, of course, that I am reluctant to bring the various accoutrements of pleasure and pain that we so enjoy. I am forced to improvise. Ella had once again failed to send the required picture and thus had a punishment due. As I was unable to bring the cane, I instructed her to propose and justify an alternative punishment. Her response:

Dear Sir,

To attend to my oversight, I propose, as equivalent to 10 strokes with the cane, 7 strokes with the belt. Your belt will be an implement you have on hand, and we have established that the belt ranks above the cane for dispensing pain. I further propose an additional 3 strokes with the belt to account for the inconvenience of not being able to make use of the cane. Thus I suggest 10 strokes with your belt as fitting punishment this weekend.

Sincerely,

Your Elegant Submissive

I concurred with her proposal. Ella was traveling for work, and so when I arrived, she was finely dressed in her business wear. Ella is astonishingly beautiful in anything, and in business wear she is resplendent. And it is a pleasing fetish of mine to have her submissive and humiliated in her elegant and refined suits. As soon as we entered the hotel room, I bent her over the bed, and pulled down her pencil skirt. I stripped off my belt and bade her count her strokes. Before the first, I bent down over her and growled in her ear:

“Tell me why you’re being punished.”

“Because I failed to send you the picture as I am required to.”

“That’s right. You are required to send me a picture, every day we are apart, of yourself. Naked. Submissive. What’s the punishment for failure?”

“Ten strokes of the cane, sir.”

“And because we are unable to use the cane?”

“Seven strokes of the belt, with an additional three for your inconvenience, sir.”

“That’s right. Count your strokes.”

I ensured the belt would be worse than the cane. On the third stroke, she gasped in pain and nearly couldn’t count the stroke as the lacquered leather tip of the belt snapped cruelly against her labia. Her suffering was occasioned by no mercy. Each of the ten strokes was meted out against the smooth curve of her cream-colored ass. When I was finished, I stripped her bare, and stood her up.

“What do you say, slave?”

“Thank you for punishing me, sir.”

“And how does a slave thank her master for her punishment?”

“By sucking his cock.”

“By sucking his cock.” I insinuated my belt back around my waist, and pushed Ella to her knees, where she belongs.

Ella2– The Refined Dominant

 

A Lovely Present.

The holiday season is upon us, and I am separated from my lovely Ella. She’s with her family, whereas I’m stuck in my hometown, alone. We will be reunited this weekend. I am decidedly eager to see my beloved slave. Especially considering the thoughtful and exciting gift she gave me. She’s such a generous submissive.

Readers may recall Ella’s “New Requirement“. She is required to submit a photograph of herself, naked and appropriately submissive, every day that we are apart. The holiday season is no exception. The punishment for neglecting this requirement is ten strokes of the cane. Now, Ella is not especially fond of the cane.

We were discussing her preferences recently. She asserts that in order of most-to-least-pleasant, the implements with which I punish her are arranged thusly: hand; crop; cane; belt; hairbrush. I was surprised to learn that the hairbrush is such a dreaded instrument of correction. And of course, this list leaves unremarked upon the various kitchen tools used for similar purposes. I have a variety of olive-wood spoons…

Nevertheless, while the cane is not especially high on the list of dreaded reprimands, it is decidedly effective, in more than one way. First, she will endeavor to avoid it through excellent adherence to my strictures. Second, when I wield it – laying thin pink stripes across her gorgeous ass and the backs of her milk-colored, taut thighs – it results in a flood from her sweet little pussy.

I confess. I was thrilled when she neglected to send me that photograph on Christmas Eve. While I obviously may cane her at any time of my choosing, I prefer to allow her the privilege of avoiding the strokes if she can be obedient enough. And so upon our reunion, Ella will kneel and present her ass. And I will subject her to my discipline. And then I will avail myself of her delectable, molten core. As is my right. My privilege. My property.

-The Refined Dominant

Play Party.

Saturday, Ella and I attended our first play party. It was the first explicitly BDSM event I’ve been to, though I’ve been to a number of sex-positive events. For Ella, it was her first exposure to anything of this sort at all. But as you’ve read, she was very excited about it. She had been on semi-orgasm restriction for about 10 days. Meaning, she is required to purchase her orgasms with two strokes of the cane. She elected not to have any, rather than to incur the debt. Which is fine for me. We ensure that my needs are satisfied whether hers are or not. And I enjoy equally her deprivation, or executing her demerits.

So on Friday we bought her her corset, and an extra length of rope for good measure. We did go with the 22″ corset. Forgive me, but I do enjoy having her tightly confined. And my Ella does enjoy the strictures of bondage. We also got her a set of gorgeous black stockings. A pair of brutal patent leather pumps. I hope you’ll agree she’s lovely.

Ella

The party itself was very interesting. For the first hour, I allowed Ella to wear her jeans. After that, she was stripped down to what you see above. Though I never did attach the leash. I did, however, pinch her nipples until she begged mercy in public. We watched a fire-show with cupping. There were a number of gay couples involved in complex rope-work. I got to observe some great rigging.

But it was difficult to meet people. We were new. While Ella was in an outfit that had echoes all around the room (though no one wore it as well), I did not. I was dressed more for closing a business deal than in the leather-and-denim favored by most of the men there. It’s not my look. I won’t be adopting it. There was one couple there dressed smartly, dominant man, collared woman. But we never got the chance to talk with them. But I suspect that we’ll make friends as time goes by.

However, the thrill that I felt taking Ella out, and showing her off as my own thing, my property, was magnificent. I enjoyed it, even though I felt vaguely uncomfortable in the social situation, and will definitely need more experience. Ella described the feeling of being my thing as very erotic. And when we finally came home, we made love without pretense, and without bondage. Lovers, aroused by the same environment. I her master, she my slave. And each of our desires equally attended to.

-The Refined Dominant

Change of Venue.

It’s been a long week (and then some). I’ve been working late. I’m trying to get one project pushed through to completion before the holidays. Meanwhile, I’ve been laying groundwork for other projects, spending time in meetings and trading emails to arrive at a clear conception of a project’s framework that must be mutually agreed upon by two strong-willed managers. All this against the backdrop of December – a month that harbors plenty of “holiday cheer”, familial expectations, travel stress, and emotional baggage.

So I am longing deeply for this weekend. Time to spend with my darling Rafe. To drink in each other’s presence. To step away, ever so briefly, from the demands of the rest of the world. To have a singular primary responsibility – attending to my master’s desires.

Of late, our play has been somewhat subdued by necessity. Much of the time we’ve spent together has been in close proximity to others, a single wall or thin door all that separated us from the ears of those we did not wish to disturb. Travel has limited the tools available for his use. And thus bondage and torture have been simple and quiet.

This weekend, though, we have no such restrictions. My master has me all to himself, in the privacy of his home, all the tools of our play at his disposal. I am in for a punishment, deferred from our previous weekend together (I forgot to bring my razor on our last trip, and a slave should always be properly groomed for her master). But I’ve been good this week; I think Rafe might be a little disappointed that I’ve not incurred any additional reprimands. This, of course, does not mean that I expect no other pain solely for the pleasure of my master – and myself.

The weekend also bears the promise of new and exciting things. First, Rafe will be buying my first corset – beautiful, elegant, restrictive, something that appeals to us both. And I will be wearing that corset to our first play party. My master, thoughtful and wise, has decided that we will go with the intention of observing only. He has been patient and careful, introducing me to this world, understanding that it is all very new to me, exciting yet uncertain for me, even unnerving at times – the confrontation with a foreign world.

When Rafe first mentioned the idea of a play party, I was intrigued but unsure. When he found one for us to attend, I was nervous. Today I am expectant and delighted at the thought. A nervousness remains. What if I don’t like it?

Or perhaps, more disconcerting, what if I do?

Before meeting Rafe, my sexual life was boring. And just bad. It was never discussed with anyone – even my partner who was completely opposed to talking about it, beyond the fantasy of a threesome.

With Rafe, it is quite the opposite. Thrilling. Satisfying. Open. Still there is a hesitance to share it with others (ironic, I know, to write this in a post for public consumption). I have never put my sexuality on display. This is a venture into the unknown. I have no idea what to expect, neither from the party nor from myself.

But I’m ready. To explore this community. To see how this aspect of our relationship manifests in a new venue. To learn more about this wonderful side of our sexuality.

– The Elegant Submissive