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


He binds her in what has become one of their favorite predicaments. Simple. Difficult. Her collar is turned so that the steel ring that normally graces her throat is at the back of her neck. Her leather cuffs encircle her wrists. Her arms rest in the small of her back. He connects the collar to the cuffs with a loop of twine. A small loop. Her arms are hoisted from her lumbar to her shoulder blades.

The position rapidly becomes a struggle. She must lift her arms to relieve the pressure on her throat. Light pressure. It does not impair her respiration. But it is uncomfortable. It is very uncomfortable. And this is far from the sole pleasure of the position. She is utterly, completely helpless thusly bound. Thoroughly confounded in movement, she is nevertheless completely exposed. She can cover neither her breasts nor her ass.

The blindfold ensures she will not know whether her next torment will be applied to those breasts, or that ass. She is desperately aroused. Fear and anticipation build until she feels the rough palm of his hand caressing her cheek. He builds the anticipation slowly. Cupping her breast lovingly. Briefly lifting her elbows to relieve her strain. She can smell his proximity. Her heart seems to quiver rather than beat.

The slicing sound of the crop through the air and the yellow blossom of pain in her breast come in the same moment. She gasps and bites her bottom lip gently. The hand returns. The pain is replaced with the warm pleasure of his touch. Her body floods with arousal. He nudges her knees apart with his foot. Presses the cool leather of his cordovan monk-strap into her dripping pussy. Another blow of the crop lands.

The alternation of blows to her breasts and gentle caresses repeats. How long? She can’t know. A minute. An hour. Finally, he releases her arms from their strictures. And issues his first instruction.

“You’ve gotten your juices on my shoe, slave. Lick it clean.”

She places her hands on the floor in front of her. Arches her back, lifting her cream-colored ass into the air, her smooth pink lips peeking between her lean and immaculate thighs. Blindfolded, it takes a moment for her to locate the foot. She can smell herself, now, on its supple leather. Her tongue caresses the horsehide as a shiver of humiliation runs through her, releasing another deluge from her core. As she expected, he takes the opportunity to direct the crop to her upturned ass.

“Well done, my pretty little slave. Now, thank me for your torment.”

“Yes, sir,” she whispers.

She rises to her knees again. Unzips his trousers. His heavy member falls free and she takes it in her mouth. He is supremely aroused. It takes little effort for her to coax his climax from him. She swallows him. He catches his breath.

“Well done, my darling captive,” he pronounces, as he lifts her to her feet and removes her blindfold. “Well done indeed. Now, bow for your audience.”

The room erupts in applause. A waiter brings her a glass of champagne at her master’s indication. She smiles bashfully and takes a modest sip. He leans down into her, kisses her, and whispers into her ear: “I think you’ve earned an orgasm of your own for that performance. Probably.”

-The Refined Dominant

A Short Fantasy.

It’s been a difficult day. Nothing is right at work. He loves his job and works with good people. But good people sometimes clash, and today they did. Everyone wants what’s best for the institution. They all have different ideas about what that is. He’s exhausted from arguing for his vision. He sits on the train on the way home, thinking of what is waiting for him there.

She had the day off from work. Their various institutions observe different holidays. She’s been home writing. He’s told her when to expect him, and what do do when he arrives. She has said, as she always does, “Yes, sir.” Lost in her efforts, she starts when the chime on her phone rings. She set it so as not to forget her task. The alarm means she has ten minutes to prepare.

She strips and quickly shaves any roughness from her pussy, she gathers up her collar and cuffs. She is not allowed to put them on or take them off. But she will have them ready for him. She puts out the memory foam mat on the floor of the foyer. She lays the instruments of her bondage on the floor, along with the crop and a blindfold. And then she kneels on the mat, naked and dripping, touches her forehead to the floor, stretches out her arms in front of her, and waits for his arrival.

He opens the door to find her waiting exactly as instructed. He walks past, doffs his jacket and shoes, sets down his bag, and returns to her, lifting her, placing the collar around her throat and the cuffs on her wrists. He blindfolds her and leads her into the living room, still on her knees, prodding her with a few well aimed snaps of the crop on her perfectly toned ass.

“I had a perfectly miserable day, my darling. Time for you to make it better.”

She needs no more instructions. They are clear. She reaches up to unzip his trousers, pulls him free. She gently pulls his scrotum out of the aperture as well, and begins licking and sucking his balls, while stroking his shaft with her long, elegant fingers. He runs his hand through her hair and tugs this way or that at the ring on her collar from time to time. But his intention is clear.

Very little improves his confidence and mood like his naked slave girl, kneeling and blindfolded, sucking his cock until he rewards her by coming in her mouth. She gratefully swallows him.

He gathers his breath. “Good girl. I needed that. Now, let’s get those wrists shackled and see about dinner.”

– The Refined Dominant