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

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