Zille Defeu’s Fetish Fantasies

Archive for the ‘blowjob’ Category

She could have thought of better things to do of a Saturday, but she was okay with visiting Uncle Duncan. After all, it had to be better than Daddy’s lectures, right?

Daddy said (over and over) that he was disappointed with her recent behaviour, and that she needed to go and stay with Uncle Duncan for the weekend. Whatever. She could wrap him around her little finger in no time, and then have the same fun on weekends as usual. Maybe she could get an even better set-up, actually. And since her uncle lived in another town, that was a whole new social scene to discover. New boys to meet. Yes, this could work very well….

She got the train, and walked over to Uncle Duncan’s house with her overnight bag. He was waiting for her in the living room.

She greeted him with cheerful casualness, but he didn’t reciprocate.

“I see you are in your uniform, as I requested.”

“Yeah, but Uncle Duncan, this sucks. It’s the weekend. I get to wear what I want on the weekends!”

“Not when you visit me. You, my girl, have not been living up to expectations. I’ve heard about your shameful behaviour from your father.”

“Yeah, Daddy’s been so cranky recently! But I know you’re not like that!”

“On the contrary, my girl, you shall find I’m even more like that. Your father has sent you to me because he finds he is to tender with you, his love for you gets in the way of the discipline you so obviously need. I will not have that problem.”

“Awww, com’on, Uncle! You don’t have to be like that! We could have some fun while I’m out here! Wouldn’t that be better?”

“You are not helping your case, young lady.”

This conversation went on like this for a while. She couldn’t quite believe that her uncle was being like this. This was so stupid. She told him so.

“I don’t like your attitude, miss. Get over the side of the sofa.” He got up to help her bend properly over the arm of the sofa.

“No! You can’t do that!” She fought against him.

“You’ll find I can.” He pushed her back down.

“But that’s not legal anymore! And I’ll tell Daddy!”

“Your father has asked me to discipline you as you so clearly deserve. I have his permission, indeed his implicit authorization, to do as I wish with you.” His large hands pushed her chest down into the cushions, and one hand grabbed her arm and pulled it up behind her back.

“Heyyyy! No! You’re a pervert! Get off me!”

“You are only making it all the more obvious, girl.” He flipped her grey skirt up, despite her protests. Instead of regulation knickers, he discovered a pair of shocking panties, skimpy cut, with a cut-out at the top of the back brazenly showing off where her bottom cheeks met.

“Well, my girl, that is certainly asking for my attentions!” He gave her some heavy-handed smacks on the poorly concealed area.

“It wasn’t for you to see! Let my skirt down now, and let me up!”

“I can see I’m going to have to teach you a lesson. Hold still.” His heavy hickory cane, deeply detested by more than one girl, was close to hand. He aimed at her squirming bottom, and the cane sliced against it. It would be her fault if she didn’t like how it landed.

“Yeeeow! Stop that! Let go!”

The can cut down again and again, and she screeched and writhed, showing her complete lack of discipline. Her foot came up to protect her bottom, since her arms were both trapped. He ordered her to move her foot, and when she didn’t, he let the cane come down, not too heavily, across it. It was heavily enough to impress her, as she nearly fell off the sofa. She screamed, but when he hauled her back up, and resumed caning her, her foot stayed down. After a few more strokes, he let her up.

“Now, put these on,” he instructed her, and handed her a pair of bottle green polyester knickers.
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Well,
to continue with the caning … I was still quaking in my spandex after the last series of Six-O-The-Bests, but the final twelve were yet to come. This was back to the Senior cane, which would have seemed like a walk in the park after the last cane (the bamboo root one!), but there was not much real estate left on my bottom that wasn’t hot and weal-ed. So the cane strokes either came down on the already well-battered skin on my bottom, or on my thighs, which were not very marked, but which always hurt so much more!

By the end of that I was squealing and blindly trying to swim away through the air. It always amazes me that his fingers resting ever-so-lightly on my back keep me firmly in place no matter what the level of pain.

Then – my reward! Yes, if you’re thinking, “Alright, this is Zille, so she means ‘anal sex’,” you’d be right! I’ve been begging him for cruel anal sex: just using me for his own pleasure, whilst I whimper in pain (or at least varying levels of discomfort!) and I think it’s been hard for him to entirely be sanguine with it. When he fucks me, he wants me to go soaring into pleasure with him – and, mind you, I appreciate the sentiment! It is the irony of the universe that so many guys are careless lovers who “just take,” and I fantasize about that, while having a caring and involved lover, to whom my pleasure matters deeply.

Of course, if he wasn’t that person, I couldn’t trust him with the sort of play we do. How deeply ironical that it’s only because I know he is not truly like that, that I can long for him to be, and beg him to pretend to be!

But, because he does care about my satisfaction, he betook himself to use me roughly and get as much pleasure from it as possible. I know, some of you are thinking, “Oh, poor guy gets the world’s smallest violin from me!” but the fact of the matter is that when he’s fucking me and I’m screaming in pleasure, he can just let go and enjoy it 100%. When he is forcing his cock into my ass and I’m whimpering in pain, he has to pay attention to what he is doing, so he doesn’t injure me – and that is a distraction, he cannot let go 100%. (Of course, being me, I think a solution for this is that he practice a whole lot, and then it can become second nature and he won’t have to think about it anymore!)

Anyway, it was a period of wonderfulness. As he pushed into me, some inner masochist part of me sighed, “Oh, now this is pain I can really get into!” I revelled in the pain like a pig in mud, begging him sotto voce, “Please … use me … please … enjoy this fully … please … hurt me….”
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Life being what it is, the minute my Master and got back to the place where we could have full-on hot scenes, life got too busy to play, or even to do blog entries! (Which is my way of apologizing for being MIA all last week….)

However, I am now sitting (uncomfortably) in the warm (stinging) glow of a post-playtime afternoon, with lots of stuff to tell you all, and at least a bit of time to do it. (If I haven’t done an hour of yoga by the time my Master returns home, well, I really don’t want to contemplate what the Evil Paddle would feel like on my bottom at this juncture – I may be a masochist, but I’m not stupid!)

Today was all about the cane. Sadly, I was not in the headspace that I’d been in all week, when my every thought (when it wasn’t about work, which was sadly all too often) was about how lovely it would be to be bent over the bed with the cane whistling down repeatedly upon my bottom….

Today, of course, I just couldn’t be eager and rarin’ to go. No. I had to be very low-energy and somewhat depressed and really more in the, “How ‘bout a nice snuggle?” sort of place. And it didn’t help that, after the post-breakfast’s fiddling-around-on-the-computers time, we had one of those stupid couple miscommunications. I sat back, realized the day was progressing more rapidly than I realized, and asked him, “So, what does our time schedule for today look like?”

He seems to have heard that as, “Can we play now, huh huh?!” when what I meant was, “Should I go have a bath and shave now because you might want to play later, or is there no time for that today?” He responded to what he heard by gesturing at something on which he was working on the computer, and said, “We’ll talk about that later.” But since what thought I had communicated was, “Shall we plan things out so that we can setting up play at an optimal time for you?” I felt really brushed off and like he couldn’t even bother to plan out the day with me, so I stomped off to my room, pouting and hurting. (I hadn’t been being disingenuous, by the way, but was trying to bring the topic up in such a way that if he needed to say, “No play today, sorry,” it was simpler and less emotionally fraught for him.)

About an hour or so later, he called out to me, “Girl, come here.” (I think he knew he’d somehow hurt my feelings, if not exactly the whys and wherefores of it, and this was sort of a dual-purpose thing where he both let me know that those hurt feelings could be put aside, because play-time was upon us, and he was at the same time saying I’d better put the hurt feelings aside, because he was ready to dominate me. (As it is hard to hold onto your sullen emotional pouting and be submissive at the same time!)

I worked hard at just letting go of the remaining pain from the miscommunication, but, as it was, I still wasn’t in a great space. And he was being very sweet and tender with me, which was probably the right thing, the best way to express that he had understood my hurt feelings and was ready to move on from them with me … but it is also something I find very confusing and hard to process. In my fantasies, CP or other ouchie things are seldom preceded by loving gentleness. It’s much more the rough and violent or cold and distant sort of thing. I do have the occasional fantasy about a “Daddy is sad he has to punish his little girl, but he has to do it for her own good” OTK spanking, although even then that tends to lead to Daddy making his girl suffer the discomfort and humiliation of anal penetration, also “for her own good” (there is something quite sexy about quiet forcefulness and gentle but relentless domination, a feeling that despite – or even more because of – understanding and compassion, your fate is inexorable.)

However, that occasional fantasy didn’t help me much at the time. If it had been something he wanted to role-play, that would have helped set it up for me … but he didn’t want to play at being other people, in other circumstances: just him and me, with me accepting pain and discipline from him.
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I was just whinging on my other blog, when events overtook me in a very ironic way. Thought you all would appreciate:

There’s a back story to this: some years ago, when we were still very intensely Master and slave — things having mellowed

——————————Amusing ironic cut——————————
Of course, just as I type the above, my Master called to me from the other room.

“Sweetie?”

“Yes, Sir?”

“I’d like help sleeping now.”

He meant, a pre-nap blow-job.

I immediately got up and gave him one — no thought of saying, “I’m writing a blog post — I’ll come and do it when I’m done!”

He may now call me “Sweetie,” instead of “Girl,” but some important things remain!

——————————End amusing ironic cut——————————

Anyway, as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted [grins] — things having mellowed somewhat since then…

Hope you are all having good weekends! I’m off to try and improve ours!

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There was nothing else I could title this post!

Yesterday, my Master said the most romantic sentence I’ve ever heard: “Well, we’ve got half an hour until Dr. Who comes on, so how about sex?”

Really, the only thing that could have improved it would be a bit more time, and that his arm not be broken so he could add some spanking to the mix!

While I’ve been enthusiastically giving him blowjobs (because it’s the best way I can think of to show him how happy I am he didn’t die in that car accident!), my own sexual pleasure has been a bit thin on the ground (Eddie Izzard fans: “…thin in the air. Just generally pretty trim.”) because, his right arm being broken means no spankings or canings and none of those glorious fingerings where he makes me come over and over and over. And my vibrator broke in the first few days I was in the country. And, what with him being all-over bandages and leg-brace, I haven’t even thought of suggesting sex, because that would be a stupid way to pressure him.

But, if he suggested it (with a note of caution about me not bouncing up and down on him too vigorously !) then I was all for it! Obviously.

It didn’t even need too long, because once I’d blown him nice and hard, and I climbed on top … well, from the moment he slid in me it was intense…. I’m still so aware how close he came to death, how close I came to being a widow before our first anniversary … that being able to feel him inside me was this amazing joy. (Even more so than the amazing joy it usually is!)

I asked permission to come in after holding off as long as I could, which wasn’t probably more than a minute. The sensations only increased and intensified until he suddenly got a very intent look on his face, moaned, and came inside me. I collapsed forward (gently, not forgetting the cracked sternum and rib!) onto him, and just started bawling. Tears of joy, and relief, and release….

He was still inside me, and we just lay there like that, literally coupled, enjoying the ultimate closeness.

Then, with a minute to go, I grabbed a couple ginger beers, and we snuggled up close under the covers of the bed and watched Dr. Who (it was that great episode with Martha Jones and Shakespeare) and honestly I don’t think I’ve been happier very often in my life!

However, the goodness wasn’t over for the evening, because then we found the most wonderful restaurant right around the corner from our guest house, and an astoundingly good meal followed, washed down by a lovely bottle of rioja (my Master is off the hard-core pain-killers, so we can enjoy wine together again!) We lurched back somewhat tipsy — or, as I burbled to him at the time, “much the better for wear!” I was going to drunk-post this all, but when we got in bed, I suddenly discovered that I had no urge to to anything that involved thinking or movement on my part, and I may have gotten the best night’s sleep of my life….

And so we move forward and on….

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