He spoke with an authority now that made her shiver with excitement. She began to kneel.
“No. Turn around, face away from me, and kneel.” She did as she was told. “Sit back.” She obeyed, sitting back on her feet, hands resting on her thighs.
“I’m going to give you something, girl. Another gift. One that traditionally means far more than is readily apparent. It is a symbol of my…interest in you. You will not remove it. Only I reserve that right, understood?” She nodded demurely. “Yes, Sir.”
He reached onto the table and lifted the collar and leash. He inspected it for a moment. “Items like this have a significance to people like me that you won’t soon understand. Before I bestow this gift upon you, you must understand that.” She nodded again and lifted her chin, ready to accept the gift. As he placed it around her neck, he suddenly took on a deeper tone.
“You belong to me now, girl. Until you leave this room your name is no longer Claire. It is Belle. My pretty little girl. Do you like that, Belle?” Her head fell back as he fastened it around her neck. “Yessss…. Your Belle…” she moaned. She couldn’t believe what she was saying, but she had since given up the fight. Every touch brought her closer to him. She felt completely taken. Controlled yet free. Owned.
He reached onto the table again an picked up the ball gag. “Now for my next gift. The gift of silence.” He reached around and guided the ball to her mouth. “Open,” he said softly. She did so and welcomed the gift into her mouth. A part of her was disappointed. She was hoping to have something else there soon, but she trusted him. She didn’t know why, but she trusted him. She had only known him for half an hour but she’d gladly exposed her entire body to him, let him touch her most intimate places, and knelt at his feet. The dichotomy of her feelings was causing a battle in her mind. And he was winning.
“Now for my final gift. The gift of sight.” He reached in his shirt pocket and removed his handkerchief. He folded over the plain black cloth and reached around her once more. “This will allow you to see, my sweet Belle. See what you are to me. See the truth. See beyond the physical. Close your eyes, and feel.”
——
The world went dark. She felt strong hands completing the knot behind her head, careful not to ruin her perfectly tightened bun. She felt the same hands on her shoulders as he rose to his feet, one lingering as he navigated around to center himself in front of her. She felt hot breath on her face as he bent down to kiss her flushed cheek. She heard a click as he fastened the leash to her collar. She felt a tug upward. She rose. His breath came hot against her ear.
“Come with me, Belle. I will take you to heaven in my arms.”
The plush carpet cushioned her footfalls as she followed the leash to an unknown place. The smell of cologne and bourbon filled her senses. She explored a new world within her mind. No sight. No taste. Just sound, smell, and touch. All three intensified from the lack of the others. She heaved in heavy breaths of his scent, savored every step on the soft, cool carpet. Listened intently to his breathing, calm and collected.
His warm, gentle hand pressed to her chest. She halted. His shirt rustled. Her mind let go…
The sound of limp cloth falling softly to the ground. A heavy breath. A sigh. A hand to her breast. A squeeze. Another on her shoulder. A bare chest against her back. A slow, sweet hug.
Then nothing. Silence. No touch. But still his smell. Drifting…
A hand to her bare bottom. Hard. Fast. A sting. Her own cry. Lingering pain. Another hand, evening out the pain. A rush in her ears. Blood flowing quickly. Another hand. Another.
She fell forwards, bracing herself on the what seemed to be the bed. The hands had left. His breathing was heavy. She heard more cloth fall to the floor. One, then another. A hand touched her leg. Lips followed. A tongue slid up, leaving a trail cool sensations behind it. Her center was moist. Dripping. Burning. Aching. A whimper escaped. Sheets crinkled in her grip. The tongue reached her center. The core of her being. Lips followed. Soundless kisses circled her. Caressed her. Her ache grew. She pushed back in wanton desire.
Her goal was met. He dove into her, exploring her from the inside out. Searching for just the right…there. She moaned unlike she had ever before. It was primal. Pure, unadulterated lust poured out of her lungs until she was out of breath. His hands gripped and pulled her open in a desperate attempt to taste her more deeply. She pushed back again in reply. He pushed forward in protest. She complied. Vibrations of his moans rung throughout her body.
His exploration slowed, then ceased. Flesh slid up her backside. Her skin was red and warm. What touched her next was warmer. Hot. Hard. Pulsing. It entered her. Reached inside and pulled something out of her…another deep, lustful moan. It was motionless, all but a pulse. He was not. His hand slid up her back, the other gripped her waist. A single tug and her hair fell down around her face. She shook it wildly. Her new occupant began a steady rhythm. His breath now heaved, the strength of his hands grew. With one hand intertwining in her hair, the other gripped tightly at her waist, pulling her in with every thrust. Electricity began to flow. Out from her center it traveled throughout her body and back, shock after shock until she cried out in pleasure. Her legs began to tremble but she held strong. For Him. One more quickly followed. Through her gag she pleaded, “Please!”
His pace became erratic. His breathing short, staccato. He pushed in deep and burst forth. The heat filled her completely. A liquid fire. She cried out again and both collapsed. Her legs twitched. His arms lost all strength. They breathed in unison. With the last of his strength he lifted his arm.
The world was light again.
——
The dim light of the room was cool and soothing. She shifted in his arms and turned her head to meet his eyes. They fixed onto hers. “Pretty little girl,” he breathed. She blushed and turned away. “I’m a mess,” she retorted. He reached up and gripped her chin, turning her face back to his. “Pretty. Little. Girl.” His words were short and deliberate. She closed her eyes and nodded. “Belle…” She rested her hand on his cheek and leaned in for a kiss. He moaned at the contact.
“Sir?” she said quietly. He opened his eyes. “Is this what a Dominant is?”
He smiled. “I’ll be here for a week, Belle. This is just the beginning.”
I spoke to a young Dom this weekend about discipline. It got me thinking.
Many may see punishment in a D/s relationship as a strictly discipline-centered affair. And in many ways it is. But it is important to note that punishment should be carried out as an act of love.
Setting rules for a submissive is a given in any D/s relationship. It’s part of establishing the structure the submissive needs and desires. And of course there must be consequences for breaking those rules. But an absolutely critical aspect of this is to ensure that these rules are seen as well founded and fair. No one, submissive or otherwise, will gladly follow a rule they do not agree with. They may follow it, but begrudgingly so. So what happens when a submissive goes against a rule that she finds unfair or unfounded? Is a punishment really in order when the rule is unfounded to begin with? Inflicting punishment for breaking such a rule could set a dangerous precedent in the mind of a submissive. Being punished for a rule that a sub finds unfair could create a feeling of resentment towards the act of punishment, and possibly even towards her Dominant.
So how do we avoid this? How do we ensure that punishments are always seen as fair?
The first and most obvious is communication. Speak with your submissive when establishing rules. Ensure that every rule and task is established with the submissive’s best interests in mind. When those rules are broken, talk about why they were broken and why they are there to begin with. After the punishment is carried out, talk about how it makes the submissive feel. It is critical that it is understood to be an act of love, not anger or resentment.
Another way I have used in the past is setting “pseudo-rules.” Rules that are easy to break and that, when broken, have no real repercussions, but are still punished. The punishments for these infractions, however, are chosen specifically to cause pleasure rather than pain. Doing so sets a positive precedent for the submissive, and helps to eliminate any reservations the submissive my have about receiving discipline.
These approaches, as well as many others, all help to enforce the notion that the act of punishment is about helping the submissive grow not only to be more pleasing to her Dominant, but as a person. These acts should be a bonding experience, and, when done with love, will help both Dominant and submissive to grow even stronger together.
And yet we are expected to be. And I feel the need to be.
But is that feasible? Can one person be 100% strong 100% of the time? I have my flaws. Some of them pretty glaring. I have my troubles. Some of them overwhelming. Am I to simply put them aside for the good of my submissive? Or is she to help me with my struggles as I do with hers?
I don’t have the answer to those questions. But I do have a perspective, however controversial it may be.
We are all human. Dom or sub, man or woman, it’s all the same when it comes to life’s trials. The difference is how you deal with those challenges when they arise. As the dominant side of the dynamic, am I to face these things alone? Am I to do all my own dirty work and discern a solution to everything of my own accord? Would it make me weak to seek assistance?
This is where it gets controversial. I don’t think I should go it alone. I honestly believe it is imperative that my sub be there for me just as much as I am for her. It creates a bond. If anything it should help build confidence in both of us that we can make it through anything together.
I will always be her rock. I will always be there to help her in any way I can with anything she faces. But I also would hope that she would be there for me as well. There are plenty of things I can handle on my own. But there are others that no matter what my role in the relationship, I’m going to need help.
And I know that she will be there for me when that time comes.
The clock read 8am. Claire awoke to see the man who had taken her so thoroughly the night before absent from the pillow beside her. She frowned to herself, but somehow knew it was only for a while.
She was sore. Her whole body ached. Between her legs was a pain she had never experienced before. Like the embers of a smoldering campfire in the morning she was hot, but not burning; it was a pain of lasting desire. He had finished twice, she more than she could count. His stamina was unbelievable.
Slowly and carefully she sat up in the bed, the sheets falling forward to expose her lightly tanned breasts, nipples still erect from thoughts of the night before. She observed the room. Everything was pristine, as if nothing of consequence had happened. As she turned her head to the table she saw a small piece of paper with a pen still sitting on it. A few words were scribbled across it. With more effort than it should have taken, she shifted her weight and let her feet hang over the edge of the bed. Pain in her legs made it difficult to support herself. She had spent so long bent over the bed, and much longer holding her legs back begging for more. He had brought out a side of her she didn’t know existed. She wanted him. Bad. Even in these early morning hours, after having so much just hours before, she wanted him.
Despite her aching, she rose to her feet. She looked down at her naked body and ran her hands down it’s length, bending over to touch her toes. The stretching felt good and relieved some of the ache in her muscles. She took a step and paused. The carpet under her feet was cold. She smiled to herself and placed her hands over her eyes. She took another step and whimpered lightly. That blindfold. Carefully she stepped again, remembering the increased sensation she experienced when her sight was taken away. She giggled as the carpet caressed her toes.
“Oh, Mr. C, you devilish man!” she shouted playfully to the empty room. “Take me, Sir!” She threw her head back, laughed aloud, and twirled around, almost bumping into the bed amidst her pirouette. She couldn’t remember the last time she had been this happy.
She made her way to the table, kicking up her legs and twirling as she went. She sat down and read the note.
Out to the conference. Room Service will arrive with breakfast at 8:15. You will eat what they bring you. Every bite. Your clothing for the day is laid out for you. You will leave here at 9:30 and leave work at 4:45. You will return here by 6. I will be back at 7. Be a good girl for me and you will be justly rewarded.
– Sir
She read and re-read the note, then looked across the table at the other chair. Draped across it were her clothes for the day. The clothes were obviously not her own; she had not brought any with her that night.
A loud knock came from the door. She jumped.
“Room Service!”
“Shit!” She scrambled to the bed and ripped off a thin white sheet. From the look of the outfit he had laid out for her she would need some time to get into it. Wrapping the sheet around her the best she could, she opened the door. “Um, thank you,” she said shyly, reaching her hand out from behind the door. She felt a heavy plate placed in her hand.
“Ma'am?” The voice was high and unsure. Obviously a new employee. “Thank. You,” she said sternly as she hurriedly pulling the plate in and shut the door. She breathed a sigh of relief and leaned back against the barrier between her and embarrassment. She looked down at the plate. No wonder the plate was heavy. A large helping of eggs, 3 pieces of bacon, a bagel with strawberry cream cheese, a small bowl of grits with a pad of butter and a light sprinkling of cheese, and a few slices of cantaloupe. She stared for a moment. “I’m supposed to eat all of this?” She scoffed. “How will he know?” She carried the plate back to the bed and sat back onto the headboard.
As she ate she sifted through her daily schedule in her mind. She had to be at work by 10. 9:30 was barely enough time to get there. Then she had a lunch meeting with her boss at noon, a conference call at 2, another at 3… Today was going to be hell. But tonight… She rolled her eyes back. “I’m going to need a wheelchair by the time he’s done with me,” she thought.
She finished her plate and sat it down on the bedside table. “I never liked grits, anyway,” she said, stepping away from the untouched bowl on her way to the shower.
After she returned she inspected the outfit he had laid out. A white blouse, similar to what she had worn the day before, but far more low-cut at the chest. The dress was similar as well, but featured a prominent cutout at the thigh. Her bra laid beneath those. “Where are my panties?” She looked around the room. She went to the bed and lifted the sheets. Under the bed. In the nightstand. They were nowhere to be found. Then she stopped. “Shit…” She immediately knew.
She took in a deep breath. “I can do this. I can do this,” she said aloud again, and started to pull on her new blouse.
——
She arrived at work 3 minutes late. Her boss, Dani, was waiting in her office looking impatient.
“You’re late, ” she said with distain.
“I’m sorry. Traffic.” It was the quickest lie she could come up with.
“Mhmm.” Dani looked at her knowingly, turned on a heel, and left.
“What’s her problem?” she thought silently. “It was her idea.”
The rest of the day went off without a hitch. Lunch was awkward, but bearable. She closed a few deals that had been hanging over her head for weeks. She felt a renewed confidence. The quiet, reserved Claire was somehow gone. She felt…powerful. She could take on the world.
But how? She was not the one barking orders. She was following them. She was…submitting…and yet felt empowered like never before. There was something about this man that she couldn’t figure out. Something about his touch. His words. His breath on her skin. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t read him. But for the first time, she didn’t care. He had possessed her. Not a moment had gone by that she didn’t think about him, and anticipate what was to come that night.
It’s an odd question. Many think they know. And most of them are right. They are right because even though their opinions may differ, they are still all correct.
If you think about it, submission is one of the few things in D/s that is not so much bound by tradition and protocol. It is defined completely by the submissives themselves. There are plenty of definitions of “What is a Dominant,” or “Qualities of a Dominant,” but very few of what it means to be a submissive. And that’s just it. There is no one way.
One could say that the core of what it means to be a submissive is the desire to serve her Owner. And that’s definitely true. But to what degree is what remains undefined. Does it means falling to His feet? Does it mean allowing Him to dictate your every step? Does it mean sleeping in a cage beside the bed? Yes. All of those things. And at once none of them. Recently my kitten has done very few of these things, and yet I feel her submission all the same.
Ultimately it comes down to one thing: what it feels like. Despite my kitten not having been on her knees in weeks, despite out time apart, despite any outward display of subservience or ownership on either of our parts, we still feel the D/s dynamic underneath. It has become the one constant in our life. She belongs to me. It’s just a given. No matter what’s going on in our life, no matter how we act outwardly towards each other in the moment-to-moment of our day, we know it’s there.
And that’s what submission is about. The knowledge that, no matter what, she is owned. Completely. That not matter what life throws at us, if worse comes to worst, she can always curl up at my feet like a good little kitten and be safe. Be where she belongs. Be mine.
