Zille Defeu’s Fetish Fantasies

Archive for the ‘books’ Category

Now FREE online: Health Care Without Shame: A Handbook for the Sexually Diverse and Their Caregivers. It’s wonderful that this has become a free resource!

Or, if you prefer a hardcopy, you can get it at Amazon.com.
Some Amazon reviews:
“This book is a really outstanding source for doctors, counselors, therapists, as well as patients/clients who have experienced difficulties communicating their sexual problems to their health care provider. Moser’s unique education (Phd in sexology as well as a MD), vast research experience, and knowledge in sexual minorities make him the most qualified individual in the field to write this book. The text is short and sweet, to the point, informative, and draws upon Moser’s experience as a physician specializing in sexual medicine. I felt the dual nature of the book (for providers and patients) was useful because it enables everyone to ponder both aspects of the interaction. His recommendations explain how to take control of your health care situation, including what is necessary and what is not. Providers will find this book useful and aid them in developing nonjudgmental techniques with their patients. The explanation of the nature of health care coverage is also informative. Overall, I highly recommend this book. As a human sexuality counselor/educator I can appreciate Moser’s dedication to the field.”
“Several times I have struggled with seeing a doctor about a health-related problem because it might mean I’d have to disclose information about my sexuality. This book tells you how to do so in an informed and calm manner.
Charles IMHO is a hero for writing this book. Not only is there information for the patient on dealing with a doctor’s concern about your “alternative lifestyle,” (ie the section called “For Consumers”) and any related health concerns but also a section for Health care workers near the end of the book (the section called “For Practioners”).”

I’ve got Victorian spanking stories on the mind. I’ve been re-reading The Pearl, a long-time favorite, and I have to say that, with the exception of Janus magazine (and Blushes and Roue, too, of course!) Victorian erotica is what I will turn to when I want to read something that will get me drenchingly excited.

When I was about 17, I was stuck with my family in a vaction house over the summer. There were no friends around, and the locals my age had no desire to fraternize with a vacationer. So it was just me and my little sister, and we could get tired of each other’s company pretty fast.

But the house my parents had rented was full of bookshelves. So, being the bookwormy geek that I am, I settled down for a summer of reading other people’s books.

And then I found, innocently enough in a shelf with other random paperbacks, A Man with a Maid and that seriously effected the rest of my summer, which was then spent mostly in my room!

I didn’t have any sex toys, so I went looking around the house for some likely insertable, that no one would think was too strange if they found by my bed. Lo and behold, the table knives were these huge utensils, with sleek, rounded handles. They also curved nicely to one end, as if made to seek out a G-spot! So a knife was secreted by my bed, and I figured if Mom found it I could just tell her I’d been having a late-night snack, “And the knife just fell down there — I was wondering where it went! Couldn’t find it for the life of me!” (It would have been soooooo transparent, but happily my mother never found the furtive bed-side table knife!)

After I went off to college, I could more easily lay hands on erotic books (and keep them undiscovered!) so books like Beauty in the Birch, Frank and I and, The Yellow Room. These were read over and over, and cherished, and if I was a guy, the pages would have been sticky! (Although I’ve never fully understood that. What I do is read the story until I get to a fevered pitch, and then put the book down and replay scenes from it in my head whilst I masturbate. I don’t have enough hands to hold the book up, at the same time, and it would be awkward, anyway, which is not something I particularly desire at that very moment!)

While I was looking up my old favorites online, I discovered this one, and am ordering it right away — I had never heard of it before, and I’m so excited just by the title alone: Tales of Fun and Flagellation!

Back in my “Subconcious Slavery” post, Karl asked me:

Zille, did you always have this longing to belong to someone else as a 24/7 slave or was there some sort of process you went through in coming to this realization about yourself?

An excellent question, and I’ve been putting off answering it because the reply is going to take so long!

I never really had a longing to be a 24/7 slave before meeting my Master.

Let me qualify this.

When I was just a wee little thing, I had fantasies about being spanked and about being held by huge hands (my fantasy characters, the “spanking monsters” were giants, you see). So I clearly wanted to be controlled. But I’ve always been a very dominant personality. Outside of my fantasies, I was quite sure, as a child, that I ruled the universe.

When I was about 12, I disavowed my kinky self, and tried to be vanilla for some years. Obviously, this didn’t work very well, because by about age 15, friends were giving me Exit to Eden and Venus in Furs as gifts. I was like that gay kid whose entire family and friends know he is gay, but he’s not willing to admit it, yet!

The thing that really let me realize I was kinky was Pat Califia’s Macho Sluts, as I’ve said before. Thus followed a time of serious exploration. I knew I wanted to be a bottom and a masochist — but I had no idea how to go about being a submissive (nevermind a slave!)

I got into my first BDSM relationship with A., when we were both in college. A. was supposed to be the Top. But she was only a year older than I was, even less experienced in BDSM, and she was at best a switch and probably would have prefered to be the bottom in the relationship.

I basically topped from the bottom for the seven years we were together. After we broke up, friends told me how funny they thought it was that we were supposed to be one way, on the outside, but we really were the exact opposite.

I had pretty much given up on the 24/7 dynamic as an option by this point. I thought it was impossible to do in the real world, it was only good for fantasies and roleplay scenes.

Then I started seeing the man who would become my Master. Things moved really fast, and by the end of our first proper date, he had told me I could call him “Master.” (Please note that I do not encourage this sort of thing! He and I had known each other for five years, but still, it was very silly of us and we are very lucky it didn’t backfire!)

So he was Master. But what was I? At the beginning, he just called me, “girl.” That was my only title. He told me he wanted to work up to me being his slave. I was not comfortable with that. I told him I didn’t want to be a slave. Why couldn’t I stay being his girl? Or what about some other title?

No, he was adamant, he wanted a slave. And I could be the slave he wanted … or, well, I guess if I had really resisted, we wouldn’t have stayed together. However, all I wanted in the world was to belong to him, so I pushed my comfort-zone aside (as one would throw off a down comforter!) and agreed to be his slave.

So, in some ways I always wanted to end up here, but in other ways it was the last thing on my mind.

I did always long for, from first memory, the masculine (I’ve said before and will say again, it didn’t have to be a man, per se, but it couldn’t have been a effeminate man or girly-girl) figure with strong hands to own me, control me, manipulate me with those big fingers.

And I love being in the M/s relationship we are in now. When I am allowed to be dominant I am often thoughtless and selfish. Being a slave means I must always strive not to put myself first. It makes a great improvement in me as a person!

And it’s a wonderful comfort. I pushed aside a comforter at the beginning of this relationship, but another, better one has replaced it. Every day, every minute, I belong to my Master. He is in charge. As much as I have to learn to let go of control, the reward is that I get to relax and not try to control things. My Master has taken the world off my shoulders, and controls what I do carry on my shoulders (like a yoke!)

It was not hard realizing I need to belong to someone. It just made sense, once I started getting the chance to really live it. On a day-to-day basis, I find masochism and the whole corporal punishment thing far more challenging to figure out!

Sorry I missed posting yesturday, but now I’m finally starting to feel better! To make up for it, I’ll post two things today!

First, Abel and Haron, The Spanking Writers, did a great post today: Roald Dahl’s Spanking Poetry. In it, they name-check Roald Dahl, and his wonderful story “Galloping Foxley” which is in Tales of the Unexpected, — an excellent selection of his short stories. Here’s a snipet:

” ‘If you’re too obstinate to answer,’ the voice was saying, ‘then I’ll have to decide for you.’ I wanted desperately to answer because I knew which one I had to choose. It’s the first thing you learn when you arrive. Always keep the dressing-gown on and take the extra strokes, Otherwise you’re almost certain to get cut. Even three with it on is better than one with it off. ‘Take it off then and get into the far corner and touch your toes. I’m going to give you four.’ Slowly I would take it off and lay it on the ledge above the boot-lockers. And slowly I would walk over to the far corner, cold and naked now in my cotton pyjamas, treading softly and seeing everything around me suddenly very bright and flat and far away, like a magic lantern picture, and very big, and very unreal, and sort of swimming through the water in my eyes.

‘Go on and touch your toes. Tighter – much tighter than that.’ Then he would walk down to the far end of the changing room and I would be watching him upside down between my legs, and he would disappear through a doorway that led down two steps into what we called ‘the basin-passage’. This was a stone-floored corridor with wash basins along one wan, and beyond it was the bathroom. When Foxley disappeared I knew he was walking down to the far end of the basin-passage.

Foxley always did that. Then, in the distance, but echoing loud among the basins and the tiles, I would hear the noise of his shoes on the stone floor as he started galloping forward, and through my legs I would see him leaping up the two steps into the changing-room and come bounding towards me with his face thrust forward and the cane held high in the air.

This was the moment when I shut my eyes and waited for the crack and told myself that whatever happened I must not straighten up.

Anyone who has been properly beaten will tell you that the real pain does not come until about eight or ten seconds after the stroke. The stroke itself is merely a loud crack and a sort of blunt thud against your backside, numbing you completely (I’m told a bullet wound does the same). But later on, oh my heavens, it feels as if someone is laying a red hot poker right across your naked buttocks and it is absolutely impossible to prevent yourself from reaching back and clutching it with your fingers.

Foxley knew all about this time lag, and the slow walk back over a distance that must altogether have been fifteen yards gave each stroke plenty of time to reach the peak of its pain before the next one was delivered.

On the fourth stroke I would invariably straighten up. I couldn’t help it. It was an automatic defence reaction from a body that had had as much as it could stand.

‘You flinched,’ Foxley would say. ‘That one doesn’t count, Go on – down you get.’ The next time I would remember to grip my ankles.”

I think the people who do Lupus Spanking should remake this (with a girl in drag, a la Over the Knee!)

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Okay, now for the second part of the post! This week I’ll be madly working to process images I’ve taken so I can launch my Master’s and my fetish photography website. (Beyond a front page, that is!) So, this week, every day, I’ll post a sample of what I’ve been working on! Today’s shot is I think quite thematically appropriate for the text above!

The model getting the cane is Ntali. N.B.: I don’t have a good title for this image. I would love suggestions!

UPDATE: Karl has come up with a winning name: “Recoil” — isn’t it perfect?! I’m so pleased that I will be asking for names for all the images I post this week!

Yesterday as I was walking home from grocery shopping, I saw an elderly gent walking his fluffy white dog – a mutt that looked like the dubious product of a West Highland Terrier getting it on with a Briard.

However ridiculous the dog looked, it didn’t matter because it was one well-loved pooch, that was obvious. It was an elderly creature, like its master, but it was still frisking like a puppy, and the owner was interacting with it with delight and joy.

As they came up the street, they hit a cross street, and the master ordered the dog to, “Sit!” Instantly, the fluffy bundle of pure energy settled into an obedient bottom-down position (I would have said, “a neat posture,” but this is one of those dogs that looks shaggy and unkempt even as you collect him from the groomers). The owner looked both ways, and then, as no cars were in view on this lazy summer afternoon, he grinned at the animal and encouraged it to barrel across the street. It took off with glee, but when the owner thought it had gone far enough, one word turned all that furry dynamism around and he ran back to heel at his master’s leg. In another moment, with another command, the dog had shot off up the hill, with the owner following and laughing lovingly at the sheer enthusiasm of the critter.

Watching all this, I had a smile plastered across my own face. The dog and his master so obviously adored one another, and were completely focused on each other; it was a pleasure to even observe it.

This made me think of my own Master (“Of course,” you may say at this point, “What doesn’t make you think of your Master?!”) and about what I want our Master/slave relationship to be like.

I want it to be like that dog and his owner. I long to be trained to obey with such immediate response. I already focus on my Master with the same eagerness the dog showed for his master, but it needs to be honed and directed.

I think that with training, my Master and I could have that same kind of joy in each other as exemplified by that lucky beast and his adored human. We have moments, a goodly number of moments, with that kind of joy. But my mood swings can get in the way of it, and I can get caught up with thinking silly things, getting the wrong ideas about things, and until my Master can set me straight, that interferes as well.

I really think that training and discipline is the answer for those problems.

Which makes it very handy that darling kaya sent me a copy of Domestic Discipline by Jules Markham.

I’ve started reading it, and I have a lot of thoughts about it, which are best saved for their own post, but there are definitely some good and helpful ideas in this book, and I’m really grateful to kaya for sending it to me!