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

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

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

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

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