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

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.


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


Hurry Up and Wait.

She rushes to make the bus. She is running late to meet her lover at the airport. She almost forgets an important stop on the way, completion of an errand assigned by her master. She stops in a store on the way and hurriedly makes the purchase before the mad dash to the airport. She is still in transit when she gets the text. On the ground, he writes. She replies, Almost there.

He responds – Hurry, darling. She knows that tardiness will be met with punishment. But there is nothing she can do to expedite her arrival. She can only hope. Fortunately, she arrives mere moments before he descends the stairs. He approaches her, hunger in his eyes, and pulls her in for a long, fierce kiss before leading her outside to the taxi stand.

Little conversation is exchanged in the cab. He unbuttons her thick winter coat so that he can reach underneath and twist her tender nipples. She bites her lip to keep  cry of delicious pain from escaping. But it’s not enough. So instead she turns it into laughter. Her master is bemused by the sound, then pleased by the whispered explanation.

Not fast enough, never fast enough, but at last, they are home. He wastes no time. In seconds, he has her stripped bare. Fingers dip ever so briefly into her hot, liquid core. He wipes them on the lacey lavender thong she’d been wearing, which he then stuffs into her mouth. He commands her to kneel on the bed. She obeys. She always obeys. “Don’t move,” he admonishes before disappearing from the room.

When he returns, he opens the bag she’d carried when meeting him. He finds the item that fulfills her assignment. The clothesline, which she’d bought barely more than an hour ago, soon expertly binds her hands behind her back. He cuts another long piece, which he folds double. Earlier in the week, he’d given her an option: Would her punishment this weekend be concentrated on her supple breasts or her delicate pussy? She selected the latter and now has a strong suspicion of what he’s about to do.

Indeed he loops the clothesline around her waist, then under her crotch and over her shoulders, pulling it tightly and securing the ends to the bonds around her wrists. He positions the rope so that the labia are held back, leaving her engorged clitoris perfectly exposed. He pulls and pinches ruthlessly. “I know, darling,” he responds to the look on her face. “But your suffering pleases me. And,” he slides his fingers between her legs, “it leaves you absolutely dripping.”

He undresses as he admires her form and his own handiwork. He removes the panties from her mouth and jerks on the crotch rope. She knows to keep quiet and suddenly wishes the gag were back in her mouth. He lies down. “I think you know what to do.”

She must move with care, the bonds inhibiting her ability to balance as she positions herself between his legs. As she bends over, the rope presses into her p­erineum, giving her pause. But she continues bending forward until she can take his cock into her mouth. “Start with the balls,” he reminds her.

She does as instructed, kissing and gently sucking them the way he likes. He sighs with pleasure. After some moments, she moves her lips along the shaft, which has grown ever harder. She positions her lips to push the foreskin back so that she can access the sensitive frenulum. She attends to him, as is her privilege and duty.

She is surprised when he stops her and gets up after only a few moments. Could it be possible that he is ready to take her completely? It’s been more than two weeks since her last orgasm. Could he be electing to be merciful and alleviate her deprivation?

No, that is not his intent at all. “Face down,” he orders. She complies, bending over with her face to the bed, back arched and ass in the air. He surveys his property. He pulls roughly on her tender labia. He tastes her. Then she feels the smooth back of her hairbrush rubbing against her ass. “Too bad we have to be quiet, because I’d really like to spank you with this right now.” But he finds another use for it, thrusting the smooth handle into her cervix.

He toys with her for a few moments. “Up.” She returns to a kneeling position, and he ensures that the handle remains planted inside her. He returns to his earlier place on the bed. “Now back to your duty, slave.” She bends over him again, taking his member in her mouth again. “I think we need make sure you spend plenty of time this weekend filled at both ends.”

She attends to her master, taking great satisfaction in his quiet moans of pleasure, his simple praises of “Good girl”. He sighs deeply, a sound of contentment. After some time, he caresses her face, cups her chin, lifts her off his cock. “Such a perfect slave,” he says. The words thrill her.

He swiftly turns her, flipping her onto the bed and removing the brush. And yet still he does not take her. He lies next to her, her legs held open and his hand in between. He torments and teases her clitoris, occasionally thrusting his fingers inside her. He moves between her legs and feasts upon her succulent flavor.

Finally… finally, he rises to his knees, and without further ceremony, he pierces her. So heightened is her arousal, that she feels the orgasm building almost immediately. He claims her with his actions and his words. He thrusts deeply. His hands cover her mouth and pinch her nose shut. She can’t breathe – and it is electrifying. Her hands still bound behind her, she claws at his thighs when it becomes too much. He issues relief… and then takes her breath away again. And she comes. Hard and long, as he releases her breath to her control again.

He rewards his tormented slave for her patient suffering. Then he completes his own pleasure, climaxing deep inside her. And she comes again.

So much waiting. So much torture. And worth every moment of it.

– The Elegant Submissive

Such Delectable Pleasures.

My Ella and I have been separated for more than two weeks now, by the vagaries of our various professions. Two weeks is a horrible time to go without my beloved slave. And it is, if anything, worse for her. She has not been allowed to orgasm this entire time. I’ve been toying with the notion, internally, of simply not allowing her to climax at all unless we’re together. So far, I’ve simply put conditions and rules around her self-provided orgasms: sometimes she must purchase them with strokes of the cane. Sometimes she must submit written requests.

I find it unbearably arousing that she must suffer deprivations while I satisfy my own according to my whim. Indeed, all of her suffering is arousing to me. And given how separated we’ve been, and how eagerly I find my hands grasping for her, I have decided that this weekend, when we are finally together again, she will suffer deplorably for me. And I want her torment to be special.

So, we’ve decided that this weekend’s torture will be concentrated on her poor, neglected pussy. She is to be shaved, and prepped for me. Earlier this week I had her write the word “SLAVE” across her mons pubis in black marker. If the word still lingers, all the better. She’s had a number of assignments this week, including selecting bondage positions and devices she’s hoping to try that she hasn’t yet been subjected to.

And so, when I arrive, she will be carefully and tightly bound. Rendered helpless and immobile. Subjected to humiliations for my pleasure. And I will torture her perfect, pink, delicious, smooth little pussy until she begs me for mercy. And then I will use her for my pleasure. As is my desire. And finally, I will grant her permission for that elusive climax. And if history is any indication, she will contort with illimitable ecstasy until her mind nearly breaks. And then she will thank me for it, breathless and spent and owned.

-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.


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

The Next Event.

I am taking Ella to an event on Saturday. It’s billed as participatory theater, which means a play party that’s legal to charge admission to without it being prostitution, I think. However, the event only allows nudity from the waist up. No penetration, etc. Which is just fine by me for our first play party. Perhaps as we engage with the community more, we will be more interested in parties that have more… expeditionary ambitions. For now, we are interested primarily in observation and connections.

Because I have absolutely no intention of sharing my Ella with any other males. Or with any other dominants. The idea of her being touched by another submissive female is not entirely unappealing to me, but it is an area which we are only beginning to discuss, and are certainly not ready to explore yet. If ever. And I am not interested in touching any other persons at all, male, female, dominant, submissive, or otherwise. Ella is mine, and she is only mine. I have no desire for any others. And our arrangement does not extend to any others. We are a pair. Not more.

But, being watched, and watching? That appeals to both of us, right now.

Prior to the event, I will be buying my Ella a corset. We had her try one on recently. She is very petite, and has about a 27″ waist, naturally. The 24″ corset was elegant, and certainly confining. The store we love has them only in even-numbered sizes. So while a 23″ might be ideal, it isn’t an option unless we branch out or have one made. Luckily, the nature of corsets is such that they’re quite customizable.

So, we will buy a corset. And I will lace her into it. And then I will put on my hand-tailored suit. Ella will wear panties and thigh-high stockings with a garter under her corset. High heels. And of course, her collar. And my leash. And we will go and watch, and if it suits me in the moment, perhaps I will bind her to a stocks and crop her there, in public, so that all may see how my obedient slave accepts her master’s discipline.

And then, when we return home, she will serve me in private as she cannot in this public forum. Surrendering up her body for my pleasure, and for hers.

-The Refined Dominant