Zille Defeu’s Fetish Fantasies

Tonight, while giving my Master a blow-job * I had this wonderful realization that I am the luckiest girl in the world.

We’ve had a tough week. I’m working flat out on The Project From Hell for the jobby-job. And we have both had every cold and flu that’s come down the pike this winter, including the one we’re recovering from now. Today we had to run errands, and I had to work, and my Master was working on the new server (which was, and still is, giving him troubles) and we’ve both felt pretty crappy all day, ranging from “mildly discomfited” to “shoot me now.”

But, we got Chinese take-away from our favorite place, and watched a movie together. And it was good. During our TV watching time, my Master enjoys when I fondle his “stuff.” I love doing it. I mean, the idea of just being able to roll those eternally attractive (and ever-so-touchable!) items around in my hand for long periods of time is just pure pleasure for me, and being allowed to do him such a personal service is a great honor: it shows how much he trusts me, how comfortable he is with me — it makes me feel useful and valued at the same time.

After the movie was over tonight, I finally felt better than I had all day. He was still in my hands, all warm and heavy, and so I just gracefully rolled between his legs (don’t you love when things just work and one is graceful without effort!) and started sucking him. (He hadn’t received the Morning Blow-job™ in several days, because we have both been feeling pretty icky in the mornings. I was missing it terribly, even while appreciating his generosity on the matter.) Anyway, I suddenly felt well enough to make up for those losses, and I could feel that this was a good time for him, too.

He reacted with pure pleasure, and let me suck him first from his relaxed state to hard and engorged in my mouth, then using all the methods I know he likes best to bring him off. “Good girl,” he murmured at the end, as I held him in my mouth, as I always do, after it’s over, prolonging the quiet post-orgasm pleasure as long as possible. (I love that time, a happy reflective time, just feeling the pleasurable sensations of my mouth and neck muscles coming to rest, of the taste of him in my mouth, of knowing that I have pleasured him and am continuing to do so, even in such a small way.)

That moment goes some way to summing up our relationship, actually. He told me from the beginning, “I have no use for an automaton **” and he meant it. He wants active submission and service from me. There are rules I must follow, but mostly, I am expected to act on my own, with his gratification in the forefront of my mind. If I am thoughtful and unselfish, I will tend to do the right things, and he will be pleased with me.

It’s funny, because when I ended things with my last ex (for one reason, that I needed to belong solely to my Master) that ex told me I was making a big mistake — that I was choosing a M/s relationship because I was scared of the world and wanted my reality to be in black-and-white, “Do this,” “Don’t do that,” “Do A unless B, in which case do C.” And now, I find myself in a relationship where I must make decisions based on shades of gray constantly. I must read my Master’s body language and guess how best to serve him from tiny cues. I must make educated guesses and hope they will be the right ones. I know he wants me for the long haul, but part of me cannot believe it, so I tend to treat my actions as if they could “break” the relationship — which is to say, I think before I go off and say or do something stupid. I know that seems so obvious, but it wasn’t something I was particularly good at, before, as any of my exes can attest to! I felt that if they loved me, they had to accept whatever I said and did that wasn’t something overtly wrong, like cheating. Now, in this amazing relationship, I have learned how to be considerate of my partner. That is part of my submission: that I put someone ahead of my own selfish self.

And, for the most part, it is so amazingly easy I can’t believe I was ever not good at it! It is so easy to think of him, to think, “What would he like to see me wearing when he gets home?” or “What little touch could I add to dinner to show him my devotion?” (the other night, it was a roasted red pepper salad just for him, since I can’t eat peppers and he loves them.) During the time he is at home, I ask him if I can do anything for him at regular intervals — not because I have been ordered to present myself for potential service on any schedule, just because, in my head, I hear a little voice saying, “It’s been a while since you’ve offered. Maybe he wants tea, or a blow-job, or help with something. Or maybe the offer will just make him smile.”

A thought just crossed my mind: that he leaves me free to enslave myself. He never ordered me to wash the dishes or clean his apartment, in those early days of seeing each other. I just started — I even asked permission! Now, those are my duties — and there are still no rules surrounding them, I just do them. The Morning Blow-job™ started the same way (although it has since been discussed and codified!) And all the time, I look for ways to do more for him.

There is the rule that I dress for his pleasure, but as noted in a previous post, he mostly lets me free to do that as I choose, secure in the knowledge that I am trying to please him as much as I can. And there is a masturbation rule, that I always hold his cane when I do (more on this in another post — this post is already far longer than I’d intended!) — and I have broken that — twice! — and been punished! And the rule that I kneel at his feet when he comes home — unless I’m in the midst of dinner prep and cannot stop, or something practical like that. But those are the only real hard-and-fast rules I can think of. The rest of the time, I am on my own, stuck using my poor little wits to try and do the right thing, at the right time, in the right way, for him.

The rewards of doing it all right are huge, no matter how small they might seem. I did the right thing with that spontaneous blow-job this evening — I read his cues, the situation right, and acted not on selfishness but on a simple desire to give him what he needed — and, after snuggling up into his arms, I looked up and caught a look of relaxation on his face, a smile of contentment. I did that! I put that smile on my Master’s face! At the end of a long and not easy day, I managed to choose a right course of thought and action, and gave him that moment of peace and happiness. What more could a slave ask for?

* As I was typing this, I wondered where the hell the term “blow-job” came from. Wikipedia says, “Some have postulated that the term is a corruption of “below-job”, allegedly an old Victorian slang term that was commonly used to describe the act. However, there is a third school of thought that believes the word “blow” in “blow-job” indicates the climax of the penis (compare to blowing of a volcano). It is further argued that the phrase “blow-job” originated in the 1940′s; at the time, it was also used by Allied pilots as a slang term for jet aircraft”

** He did, however, add, “Well, OK, that’s not true: I have plenty of uses for a good one, but would get bored once I’d finished using the thing; anyway, one doesn’t train automata, merely return them as defective if they don’t do what you want…!”

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