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 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

A Few Little Ideas.

Tragically, the play party we intended to go to when last we posted here was cancelled. I shall have to wait until another to punish my Ella in public. Rest assured, she received every stroke of the cane she had earned. Just, privately. So, in order to plan for the next play party and make a public spectacle of her corrections, I need to arrange for her to earn a few new punishments. This has me thinking. Ideas for her accrual:

1) Hang a bell from her collar. Bind her hands behind her. Order her to make the bed. Every time the bell rings, she earns a stroke.

2) Forbid her from touching the floor with the soles of her feet. Order her to prepare dinner barefoot. Any time the bottom of her foot touches the kitchen tile, two strokes.

3) Hogtie her – tightly but imperfectly – in rope. Order her to escape. A stroke for each minute it takes her.

4) Require her to squat, clenching a lubricated insertable within her for five minutes. Each time it slips,  she earns two strokes.

Games such as these are excellent means of minor humiliations. And humiliations invariably leave my darling Ella dripping wet and begging for release. And this of course, is one method I can use to nearly guarantee she earns a punishment:

5) Bind her effectively. Lock  her knees apart with a spreader bar. And press the Hitachi Magic Wand against her defenseless vulva. Forbid her to climax. Ten strokes if she does.

I do like this last one a great deal. First, it is a near certain means of her earning punishment. She cannot resist the Hitachi often. Second, once she has come, application of the Hitachi to her clitoris is pure torture. She begs. She cries. She whimpers. And she suffers. Because I am relentless. And then I get to punish her disobedience.

The next play party is coming soon. And I’m continuing to dream up ways I can arrange for her to accrue punishments. Always, of course, with some way for her to avoid the punishment. Even if it is extraordinarily unlikely. After all. I am her master. Which means that I get what I want.

– The Refined Dominant

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

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

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