Zille Defeu’s Fetish Fantasies

Archive for the ‘gag’ Category

I don’t know how I missed when Adele posted this, but it’s just so perfect for right now! The other night my darling Miss Maggie Mayhem won a contest for being the best Bettie Page look-alike (I’m waiting for SkinTwo to publish the article before I put stuff up over here) so I think while I’m waiting I’m gonna go on a bit of a Bettie Page kick. And why not — this wonderful lady deserved every compliment and laud she ever got or will get!

Here she is being adorably clueless about how to dominate and spank another woman. Her sweet innocence is just one part of her many charms!

To an outside observer, even one who knows something of BDSM activities, what my Master and I did on Sunday might have looked like one play session, or one punishment session, but the distinction that it was two separate things would most likely have been lost.

I mean, first I was put in my collar and a gag, and paddled. Then the gag was removed and my Master held me. I played with his cock, and then went down on him, and then was bent over the bed for a caning. Then, I was ordered to take my panties down, and fucked quite thoroughly.

See what I mean? It might look like one scene to most people. But to my Master and I, it was most certainly not.

The paddle is a punishment tool. The cane is a tool of masochistic pleasure, discipline, and loving connection. But it’s more than just the tools.
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Pixiepie’s Master responded to an unintentional challenge from Pixie in her blog today. It was so hot — it doesn’t matter if you are into what he was writing about (nails and razors and real brutality) because what was the most hot was simply being allowed to go with him on the journey to his darkest desires. And the final paragraph darn near made me melt, so I can’t imagine what it did for Pixie!

I’ve had a lot of fantasies about my Master really delving in to his dark side. Actually, these days, most of my fantasies are about that. I want him to tie me down on the bed or chair, and then put the penis gag and spandex hood on me (to muffle my screams as much as possible) and then just let go … let his sadist side loose.

I know how much he holds himself in control. And he is so careful with me … he can hurt me a lot, he can cause some serious bruising on my bottom and thighs … but he still has to hold himself back, he’s never able to just do whatever he wants.

But in my fantasies (and hopefully someday in real life!) he just immobilizes me, and gets to use my body as whim and fancy take him. My fantasies include a number of things, like the tawse being used on me over and over and over, with no time for recovery, just me drowning in a sea of pure pain.

In my own head, I really am quite cruel to myself! One idea I’ve had was that, when bent over the chair, he puts the clover clamps on me, running the chain through a rung between the chair legs. Then, whenever I jerk up from the pain of the beating, the clamps will tighten that much more, punishing me for moving out of position.

(They say that masochists make the cruelest sadists. I can totally see that! I wouldn’t want me to top me, that’s for sure!)

As I masturbate, thinking about these things, I throw in random details of his cruelty to me. Maybe warm me up, literally, with ginger up my bottom, and then start the beating? Or perhaps fucking my pussy or ass until it’s sore, and after he’s come and I think the pain is over, he grabs a large dildo and starts slamming it into me (the only lube being his come inside me!), while I cry and try to beg him to stop through the gag.

Or maybe he would use one of the toys I despise. The heavy black cane, perhaps, or other toys I’d generally prefer that he forget he owns! Maybe he would get out that toy, one of the ones that I’m at my pain-limit after about three strokes, and beat me until his arm is too tired to go on.

And he talks to me, in my fantasies, as he does this. He tells me I am helpless, that he is going to hurt me terribly and there is nothing I can do but scream. That he is going to use my body however he wants, and that my screams and sobs will only be the icing on the cake.

It always ends in anal sex, of course, because what else can make me feel so helpless and and reduced to being a thing-that-is-used so fast. Unless of course he has something painful in my bottom, in which case he’ll fuck me … slow if it’s ginger, so that the pleasure won’t overwhelm the pain, or fast if it’s some huge butt-plug so that it is also slammed painfully deeper into me at the same time as his cock.

You know … all of these thoughts has me pretty worked up! I think I’m going to spend some quality time with Mr. Buzzy….

Kaya did a post today that has finally started the cascade of posts about masochism that I’ve been threatening to do for some time, now.

She writes:

There are times when I “play up” the difficulty of a task or a chore, or sob more than is warranted during a pain session. Which isn’t to say that I cry because I have to do dishes or sob hysterically when he swats me on the ass. I at least keep it somewhat appropriate to the current activity.

But I know, deep down inside, that it’s not as bad as I’m making it out to be. I know I’m overreacting. (not always, though. Sometimes he really is a mean old bastard and my hysterics are entirely warranted!) [...] Until he gets the sobbing, screaming slavegirl he’s after.
Is it dishonesty? It’s not like I’m “acting” and winning an Academy Award here. I’m just.. exaggerating perhaps. But why? Fear? Afraid of how bad it really could get? Trying to steer? Am I doing it when I’m just not in the mood for extreme so I pretend I’m already at extreme so he doesn’t take me there?

The rest of this post started as my comment to her, but I eventually realised it was becoming too long to just be a simple comment, so I’m continuing the thoughts over here:

I also am guilty of hysterics, sometimes. If he doesn’t give me recovery time in between strokes (that is, enough time to ride the crest of the last wave of pain) then I will tend to start sobbing and otherwise making a lot more noise.

I like to think that at that point I can’t help it. I’m overwhelmed with pain I can’t process, so how can I be in control of my blubbering?

I used to think that when we got to that point, we were bumping up against my limits.

But now, three years into being fully a masochist, I’ve come to realize that just because I’m crying like a baby doesn’t mean I want him to stop. I might be overwhelmed with pain, and scared in that very primal way that you get when something starts hurting hurting hurting make it stop now!, but just because my lizzard-brain is freaking out doesn’t mean the rest of me wants to stop.
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This is a fantasy that has been running through my mind pretty much every time I’ve masturbated in the past couple weeks. I though I’d share it … and maybe if my Master likes reading it, it will come true!

I’m bent over the convertible step-stool-chair , which has been converted to its step-stool aspect. The wood is cold under my lower tummy and hips. My ankles and wrists are in the leather cuffs, which are clipped to the O-rings on the legs of the chair. I can squirm, but I can’t do anything else.

And I’m about to squirm. Because you have the ginger plug which you made me carve – how sadistic to make me create the instrument of my own torture….

You wet it with some cold water, and take a wet finger and tease my anus with it, making me involuntarily tighten up. You laugh and tell me that I can’t keep the ginger out – that since you want it up there, I have no choice in the matter.
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