An Experience With Mistress Elita and B1

May 2, 2019 3:25 pm Published by Leave your thoughts

Written by Livvy
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‘You must suffer me to go my own dark way.’
– Robert Louis Stevenson, The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde

When kink is discussed, especially with people outside of the kink community, there are a few stereotypical images that come to mind first: the billionaire dominant in a suit, BDSM with whips and chains, and, of course, femdom and the Dominatrix.

Tall, fierce, dressed in latex with skyscraper heels. Sexy, powerful, exaggerated and larger than life. Think Angelina Jolie in Mr and Mrs Smith; Lara Pulver as Irene Adler in Sherlock. Whether an accurate impression or caricature, these stereotypical women have always fascinated me. There is just something extraordinary and wonderful about women with that much power.

Because I want it. I want to be that powerful and to wield that much control. I want to project that level of self-confidence and self-assurance. I lead by example, rather than demand; I negotiate and cajole, rather than command; I struggle with professional conflict and usually capitulate, rather than feeling confident enough in my position to stand my ground. In short, I am not dominant, and I want to be.

I had always thought that this meant my interest in female dominants was purely based in envy. My own sexual preference is about as straight as it is possible to be and, although I tend towards submissive behaviour, I don’t identify as a sub. Equally, my explorations into pain after my experience with labour haven’t yet extended to wanting or needing to be beaten. I am not attracted to female dominants; I am in awe of them and in awe of their power.

Except that I had made these assumptions without really knowing what I was talking about! I had seen mainstream media representations of these women and read femdom erotica. I had read blogs from writers I respect and even met a few femdoms in social circumstances. I thought I knew; I thought I knew what to expect and what I would feel. But I didn’t know. I hadn’t felt it or seen it or experienced it. I didn’t know.

Eroticon may be ‘just’ a writing conference but the intoxicating mix of sex positivity, opportunity, friendship and trust means that, more often than not, extraordinary things happen, and this year was no exception!

On Friday evening, Bibulous One arranged a private event for a dozen or so friends where we had the opportunity to watch a session between him and Mistress Elita, the dominatrix who intended to take him apart, to steal B1’s turn of phrase.

And it was amazing. Fuck, it was amazing!

We arrived to be presented with champagne and nibbles; B1 and Mistress Elita were circulating the room, chatting easily without any tension or suggestion of power. It was perhaps only a slight nervousness from B1 that betrayed what was to come.

And then everything changed. I hadn’t seen Mistress Elita leave but I could not miss her return, striding towards B1 in black stockings and suspenders. There was instant silence, punctuated only by the heavy beat of a trance soundtrack. She had done nothing but walk, and yet the whole room was completely and undeniably under her power.

And she began to take B1 apart, as promised. I could not take my eyes off them; off her. As she tortured his nipples, as she flogged him with whips and paddles and, eventually, an absolutely monstrous cane. As she held him against the wall or turned him to face us. As she murmured in his ears, never raising her voice above a whisper.

It was one of the hottest things I have ever seen. As we watched, my body thrilled with the pounding of the music and the pounding of the blows. The intense energy of the room crackled across my skin and I could barely breathe.

But no matter how hot the sounds of leather on flesh or the developing bruises on B1’s arse, they will not be my abiding memory of that evening. No matter how incredible and impressive it was to witness B1 tolerating and absorbing his punishment – and, believe me, it was so incredible and so impressive to watch his body writhe and flex and yet remain unbroken through so much and to then watch her then bring him to his breaking point and safely out of the other side – it wasn’t his pain or even imagining myself in his place that turned me on.

It was Mistress Elita’s intense, palpable and all consuming control that I will never, ever forget.

Standing with feet apart, body held rigid with left arm flexed for balance, she gently but oh so accurately flicked the whip towards B1’s back without touching him. That is the sound that caught in my throat, the flick of leather through the air and the knowledge that the tip hadn’t reached his skin. Yet. Knowing that B1 would also hear that sound and be in no doubt of what was to come. The anticipation. Fuck, the anticipation and her infinite, definite control.

It was the same with the cane. Mistress Elita stood next to the bed, her arm outstretched to measure depth before she struck. Again, there was no doubt that she was going to hit him exactly where and how she wanted. It was beautiful to watch; professional, skilled. Stunning.

And watching, I wanted it all. I wanted to be her – I wanted her confidence and control and dominance, achieved with a grace and gentility that made the stereotypical femdom seem like a screaming harpie. I wanted to submit to her, to prove my confidence was well founded. To listen to the flickering of the leather whip and wait for it to bite my skin. To hear her encouraging and reassuring words as she hurt me, to know that she would never break me unless I wanted her to. And I wanted to watch her. Oh, I could have watched her forever.

Strangely, or perhaps not so strangely when viewed from a place of experience, watching Mistress Elita beat a friend into submission has shown me what I needed to know about being both dominant and femme. It is possible to avoid being a bitch – you just need control!

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