Zille Defeu’s Fetish Fantasies

Archive for the ‘my_fantasies’ Category

Previously…

I moved in during the week-end, and every time that I went in or out, Mel seemed to be there.

I called her over, “Sweetie, is there something that I can do for you?” She blushed, giggled and moved away.

Mrs S— had stocked the fridge, bread, butter, milk, eggs and other comestibles. I knocked on the kitchen door to thank the lady and ask what I owed her; a voice that I recognised said, “Come in Sergeant-Major!” I asked, “Afternoon, Mel, is your mother in?”

“Yes, she is in the front garden, would you like me to call her?”

“No, that’s all right, I’ll walk ‘round.”

“I’ll come with you….”

“OK.”

As we walked round I explained to Mel that she need not use my rank, that Paul would be fine, or if that made her uncomfortable, I would answer to Mr Paul, “but why,” she asked, “aren’t you proud of your rank.” “Not really, it was necessary for my job, military titles belong in the army, and you don’t call your daddy general all the time, do you?” “No” she replied, “he wouldn’t really like it,” “I feel the same; in a civilian environment it isn’t appropriate.”

After about a month the children and I got on like a house on fire, Mrs S— mothered me, I didn’t see a lot of the general, his duties kept him fairly busy.

All this time while I was settling in, the children had more or less accepted my presence, Mrs S— tended to treat me as a grown-up son; this felt strange, nobody had done that for me before.

The feelings between Mel and I weren’t going away.

I had bought a bicycle and had permission to take the children on rides in Regents Park, and occasionally I took them on the boating pond. Mel was good with her brother and sister; she wouldn’t let them play me up.

After about nine months, I’d been in the army nearly six years. I had signed on for twenty-one years with the option, of discharge, should I wish, at the end of every three year period. Mrs S— persuaded me to discuss my plans with the general. I told him that I needed to go to university and that I had seen an opening for a career: I was very interested in the new and growing science of Information Technology. I wanted to get degrees in Computer science and Language, and see if I couldn’t set up an agency.

The general agreed, he considered that as far as promotion went I’d be marking time in the army, so I ought to go for it. In July ‘58 I applied for and obtained a place in the first IT degree course offered by the London School of Economics; I also applied for an honourable discharge from the Royal Army which went through with no problems.

In June of ‘58 Mel was fifteen, and her parents bought her a pony – well a small mare. She called it Suki. I bought her a hard hat and riding gloves.

Teaching her to ride was a thrilling thing; she was a very responsive pupil. I had learnt to ride as a child at the orphanage, and it was a good way to get round during the war, since hay wasn’t rationed.

The Saturday morning after Mel’s birthday weekend I was lazing about the flat. I’d been out the night before and hadn’t got to bed before two AM. There was a ring at the door, and I when looked down the stairs, there was a very nervous Mel. “Mel? What are you doing here? You know the rules.”

“Oh please, Paul, I’ve got to speak to you!”
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An Oriental Fantasy

The Emir reclined in his Chair of State; he was a man of late middle age with wise brown eyes and many laughter lines. His beard was full and streaked with grey; he was sipping a sherbet.

There was a stir and much murmuring at the audience hall door. A plump – nay, fat – chamberlain hurried forward and bowing low, said, “Mighty Lord, your Vizier seeks audience….” The Emir raised his hand and beckoned, the chamberlain still bowing and stepping backwards signed to the door warden to admit the Vizier.

The Vizier was a frail old man of many summers advanced, supporting himself with his staff of office. In a surprisingly strong voice he asked, “May I approach, O Mighty Lord?” The Emir who loved this old man said, “Come forward, O Fount of Wisdom and Support of My Throne.” The Vizier approached close to the Emir, because the Vizier was as a second father to the Emir, and he was allowed privileges given only to equals.

Speaking in a much softer voice he said, “My Prince, knowest thou that thy favourite wife, and my own beloved niece, the Princess Willow hath 25 years this very day.” “Hath she indeed,” said the Emir. “Hmm, what doest thou advise?” “My Prince, thou knowest that thy Willow loves thee greatly and mourns that affairs of state keeps her from thee. Grant her the privilege of entertaining thee in a manner of her choosing.” The Emir with a smile, clapped his hands and said, “Let this be done.”

The Vizier left the audience hall after instructing the chamberlain to clear the hall, as the Princess would be unveiled. He walked to the Emir’s harem, knocked at the entrance; a wicket in the door opened and the Harem Mistress looked out. Seeing the Vizier, she instructed the slaves to open the door.

The Vizier entered and said to the Harem Mistress, “Our High and Mighty Lord desires the presence of the Princess Willow: lead me to her.” The Harem Mistress bowed her acquiescence, turned and lead the way to an inner chamber; there she despatched another slave to inform the Princess that her Uncle the Vizier wished to see her.

The Princess hurried out, as she hoped that the Vizier bore a message from the Emir her husband. “What news hast thou, mine Uncle,” she asked, looking rather nervous. The Vizier smiled, “The Prince your husband graciously awaits your presence and the divers entertainments that you offer.”

“But now tell thou to me, Niece, the nature of the divers beguilement that you offer your sovereign lord.”

“I will enter the audience hall with mine attendants, and with musicians in the blind gallery. I will dance while mine attendants remove my own garments with their whips, leaving my very skin unblemished.” “Hmm,” quoth the Vizier, “And the next…?”


“As the dance continues, Uncle, the attendants’ change their whips for the Dragon’s Tail, heavy straps with a six inch slit at one end, which as you know is generally used to punish disobedient concubines and wilful wives, and the straps will be used on my back, my buttocks, and my thighs until I collapse in supplication before my Prince….”
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It was the summer of ’57.

I had just been posted from Libya back to Blighty. I was expecting to be posted to a REME or RAOC depot as my field was safety, explosives, and ammunition. Instead of which I was seconded to the War office to help in the recruiting drive, as one of the youngest Warrant officers in the army.

I used to visit the better class schools in the London area and talk to the fourteen year olds who might be interested in a career in The Royal Army. At this time the official school leaving age was fifteen.

I’m due to give a talk in, let’s call it St. Stephens Grammar School, all the pupils who might be leaving school after their next birthday attend; I like to think it was voluntary.

I give my usual talk, about the training opportunities, but especially about the education the army offered. I told them that I left school at fourteen with nothing under my belt except a willingness to learn and an expectation of hard work; I told them that I stood before them with such good qualifications that any University would accept me, could I but afford it. The Service also offered saving opportunities, so in fact I would be able to afford it, just.

I threw the floor open for questions, there were questions about what unit to join, and as always lots of questions about the Marines and Red Berets, very few questions about education.

Suddenly a clear young voice broke the silence. “Excuse me Sergeant-Major,” I looked up in surprise, I’m rarely addressed by my correct rank at these meetings, “Yes, young lady,” there was a smile in my voice.

I looked down at the teacher chairing the meeting, “Melody S –,” she said.

“Yes Melody?”

“ ‘Mel,’ if you wouldn’t mind, sir.”

“Not a problem Mel,” I replied. For some reason my heart skipped a beat, Mel proceeded to ask some well-thought-out questions, which led me to believe that she knew the answers and was testing me, this wasn’t the first time this had happened, she really knew her stuff, fortunately so did I.

“One last question sir,” she asked. I looked down at the teacher; she held up five fingers. “OK, but make it brief –” just then the bell rung, there was a scraping of chairs … suddenly a stentorian bellow cut through the noise, “Hold still, say thank you to Sergeant-major Paul and go quietly!”

“Thank you sir,” they said, and filed out slowly, all except one.
I looked at the teacher, “That voice would do justice to a parade ground!”

“Thirty year’s teaching,” she smiled.

She turned to the girl; I really looked at her for the first time, 5’0” in her shoes, shining brown hair, sparkling green eyes and the face of a William Bouguereau angel and possibly the most kissable lips I’ve ever seen. The teacher spoke to her as if she were a normal mortal woman, “Well Mel – more questions, doesn’t your father answer yours?”

“He has taken to avoiding them, miss.”

The teacher turned to me, “Brigadier General S – is Mel’s father.” “Ooops!” I thought to myself: the boss.

Mel turned round and saw a woman standing at he door, “Good! Mum’s here, come and meet her sir, she doesn’t bite.”

Mel started off almost running, her mother gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head, Mel stopped, turned and waited for me; we approach her mother together, “Mother this is Sergeant-Major Paul, he is here to try and persuade us to join the army! Did daddy send him? Sergeant-Major, my mother Mrs S –” who gave a slight bow.

“Ma’am, a pleasure to meet you, you have a vivacious daughter, not to mention intelligent.”

“You are very welcome sir and thank you; she can be a little trying.”

I smiled, “fourteen,” I said. She nodded ruefully.

Mel was almost dancing on the spot, “Mother please invite him to tea, there is so much I want to ask him!” “Really Mel, you know better!” But she looked at me, “Will you?” I nodded, “If it’s not inconvenient.”
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My last post was actually supposed to be an intro to this erotic fantasy, but it grew so large and unwieldy that I just made it its own post, and posted this seperately. Here’s the fantasy I have about how my Master could have punished me for leaving the camera overnight in the car….

“Zille, do you know what I found in the car when I went downstairs?”

“No, Sir.”

“The camera.”

“Oh, Sir! I’m very sorry! I wasn’t feeling well when we came back last night. I know how lucky I am that it wasn’t stolen, and your car broken into again. I’m really very sorry.”

“I’m glad that you understand that, girl. But you still need to be punished.”

In a very small voice: “Yes, Sir.”

“I think you need an aid to your memory. Go get the large bronze butt-plug.”
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This story is dedicated to Daddy’s Lil Lola. Knowing she is out there waiting to read these tales makes me feel safe to post them.

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For those who missed it, Part I is here.

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Lexie woke up the next morning feeling a bit better. After the punishment, she had rediscovered how nice Daddy could be to her after disciplining her. He’d taken her out for the nice dinner, and even let her have a drink as well. Then, he let her stay up late, watching episodes of Dr. Who with him that she’d missed while she was at school. He was sweet and loving to her, and she melted into the happy warmth of it.

It continued through breakfast, and then she went up to her room, to revel in having a room to herself, and found a romance novel – something with no even remotely educational content, pure fluff – and settled down to properly waste some time.

It was about time for lunch when Daddy knocked on her door. She was too lazy to move from her spot – tummy down on the bed, holding the book open in front of her – and so she just called out, “Come in!” When he did, she noticed his eyes traveling up the backs of her legs, where her skirt had ridden up while she was lying down. She saw the flicker in her eyes. Oh no – she knew that look. She was in for it again.

“You know I’m not finished disciplining you, yet, my girl.”

“But, Daddy –”

“I thought we discussed these ‘buts’ last night, girl. I won’t have them. But I have given consideration to your concern that you are too old for a spanking.”

Was this too good to be true? She figured she better encourage that train of thought. “Yes, Daddy! I am! You don’t have to do that anymore, you could just talk to me and –”

“I’ll decide what I can and cannot do, my girl. But as you say, you are getting a bit old for a spanking. So now I will treat you like a grown up woman. Stand up.”

This was definitely not going in the right direction. She had hoped for just a lecture. However, it seemed, corporal punishment was still in her future, and now of an unknown quality.

“Take off your skirt and pants and bend over the bed.”

Wow, he was not kidding. Daddy’s eyes were adamant, daring her to give him the slightest excuse for punishment. Lexie gulped. She’d never seen him in quite this mood before. Maybe growing up wasn’t quite as pleasant as she’d thought. Now, the thought of just a spanking held much appeal.

She decided not to push things, not when she was on this dangerous, uncertain ground.

She undid her skirt, and slowly slipped it down over her hips. She could go slowly if it just looked like she was being careful to do things right, but not if she pushed it so much that he could see that she was playing for time. She stepped out of her skirt, and to slow things down further, folded the skirt neatly and put it on a chair. That turned her to the side, so she was able to hook her thumbs in her knickers and ease them down with her side to him. Somehow, Daddy looking at her made her feel so much more naked than changing at school with the other girls, or if she was making out with a guy….

“Turn and face me, girl.” Well, he’d noticed, of course. She turned, shyly, with her kicks around her ankles.

“You’ve shaved, my girl…” It was an invitation to explain herself.

But all she said was, “Yes, Daddy.”

“I noticed it last night, but we had other business to attend to, then. Now, you’ll tell me why.”

“Daddy … I started growing in hair. I didn’t like it, it was uncomfortable. So … I shaved it off….” Was this a bad thing? A punishable offense? It hadn’t seemed like a bad idea at the time, and she liked it better being smooth down there….

“You didn’t play around with a boy and catch something, did you girl?”

She looked in shock at her Daddy. This was the most humiliating thing she’d ever been through. How could he think that, and accuse her of it…? She would never let herself catch any nasty bugs!

“No! Daddy, no! Never! Of course not! Please don’t think that –!” She was close to babbling incoherently, now. Tears had started up in her eyes, and he’d not even laid a hand on her. She was really horrified, terrified – what if he didn’t believe her?!

“Well … girl, I believe you.” She nearly passed out with relief. “I like the shaving,” Daddy continued, “You will keep it up. And it does prove what I was saying, that you are a big girl, now.”

Even with the relief coursing through her, she eyed him warily. Had he made her strip just for that, or was there more?

“And now, my girl, turn around, and take the skirt off that chair. Yes, just put it on the desk. Get your knees on that chair, and bend over it, no, like this. Now, grab that rung. I know it’s not comfortable, but that’s not the point, is it?”

She didn’t answer. Some questions didn’t need answers.

“Now, I see from your reports that you’ve had the Prefect’s cane at school. Rather more than once. Did you enjoy it?”

“No, Daddy!”

“Well, you can’t tell that from the record, girl! But after you’ve become used to the cane, it’s not good trying to punish you with spankings any more.” Lexie didn’t try to explain to him that his hand was really as effective as any punishment tool she could think of.

“Well, this cane should teach you more than the ones at school, which seem to have failed altogether. You were just having the Prefect’s canes. This, my girl, is the Senior cane, and you’ll being getting to know it well, this summer.”

Her hands grasped the chair rung tighter, as her tummy spasmed in fear. She’d not liked the Prefect’s canes at all. They stang and bit and it was all she could do not to blubber in front of the other girls when she got it. She had a feeling she’d be blubbering now, all right. But of course, it was a bit different – Daddy didn’t feel he’d done his job unless she’d had a real cry. And it wouldn’t take long – not only did this Senior cane sound awful, but she was still reeling from Daddy’s earlier accusations.

“Okay, my girl – bottom out nice and proud. We’ll start with six and see where we go from there.”

She jutted her ass out and up, feeling her complete lack of control, and his total control over her. She was in a position, literally, where there was nothing she could do but follow his orders to the best of her abilities. To do anything else would only bring more pain and suffering. Often, he let her get away with being sassy and slightly naughty. But there were times, like these, where she had discovered he would only accept immediate and utter obedience.

He did that thing where he swished the cane right behind her, so she felt the small breeze, and heard the terrible noise. Oh, why did people wielding canes feel the need to do that?! She knew pain was on its way, horrible pain, so why not get right to it? And then, of course, the tap-tapping as the measured his target. All making fear and anticipation tense her limbs.

Then, with the next swish, the horrible pain was there. Other girls had said there was a split-second before the pain started. That was total crap. She felt the pain right off – the pain of the impact, and then the pain that built up from the inside, building and building.

This Senior cane was much worse than the Prefect’s canes. The pain came up from deeper within her, there was a sting, yes, but not like an insect stinging her from the outside, but like a row of insects all stinging her inside her skin. She yowled.

“None of that, girl! You’re a big girl now, so you had better show me how grown up you are.” And the second stroke hit.

Happily, it shocked her silent. That was the only good thing about it, because it seemed somehow worse than the first. So did the third, and this time she made a sound through clenched teeth. The fourth was not as bad, and she managed not to make a sound. The fifth made her moan piteously, not sure she could take the sixth. The sixth … brought silent tears to her eyes, her shoulders racking with suppressed sobs.

“Well, girl, good job. I’m impressed with you. Let’s look at these weals.” She felt his big, hot hand sliding over her bottom, then just a finger tracing each of the tramlines, making noises of approval. Maybe he would be content with this…?

His voice tugged her out from her pain-induced reverie, the trance she’d been slipping into from the feel of his fingers on her throbbing stripes. “That was a good start, my girl, and now you know what to expect if you displease me this summer. But there’s more than just this introduction for you.” Waiting for more, she was numb but anxious at the same time. “Now you’ll meet Daddy’s belt. Why I haven’t tanned your arse with it years ago I don’t know, but it’s time to rectify that situation. Now that you’re all grown up.”

She deeply regretted ever having balked at going over his lap. She could be over his lap right now, feeling his erection pressing up into her belly, even if she was being spanked, she would have still been against him, his arm around her. Now, she was all alone, taking all this pain without knowing he still loved her. She knew that he knew she was thinking that, and that he was enjoying her all-too-late regrets.

“But I must say, your ass is not up and out like it should be girl – get into position!” And she did, arching her back before he could finish the word. She could feel his eyes on her exposed, shaved place. At least hair would have hidden the glisten of wetness. Now she was totally open to him.

She heard the belt slide from his trousers – she felt like she could hear it go through every loop. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him double it up, and saw the motion of him swinging it experimentally to get the range. Then, she closed her eyes.

The belt whooshed down and slammed into her bottom. It was like one of his full hard spanks, but with even more power behind it. She cried out more out of shock than pain, although there was enough of that. Not giving her time, like he had with the cane strokes, he raised the belt up again and again and brought it down again and again. She cried out loudly, but the pain was more bearable than the cane, it was the sheer force that had her wailing with each stroke. The pain was real, not to be denied, but it was the repetition of those powerful blows that had her mind really reeling. Her body moved with it, sometimes curving her bottom down to protect the spot where her bottom and legs met – but then, when the blows fell on the tender top of her cheeks, she would arch back up again to protect them, her head swinging up and down in counterpoint.

The pain built and built, until it was even drowning out the force of the blows in her mind. Her hands scrambled frantically on the chair, her body moving more and more away from the strokes. Finally, he was done, and he dropped the belt, and she could hear him breathing hard. Not as hard as she was, for she was panting, dry-mouthed and hoarse.

He picked her up, and she never felt such joy to be in his arms. Such big strong arms! He pulled her up to his chest, and she slid her arms around his neck, and he carried her to the bed. He pulled the sweaty shirt off of her, and somehow he had lost his clothing, as well. He kneeled at the base of her bed, and pulled her forward so her bottom was right at the edge. He fondled it, saying over and over how hot it was, how red and bruised it was, how much he’d punished that bottom. Between the beating and now the fondling, she felt her wetness increase, unmistakable now. He noticed it, of course, and his fingers started spreading the moisture around on her most sensitive places.

“How wet my little slut has gotten when her Daddy beats her. Are you a big girl, now?”

She moaned, not knowing how to answer, hoping one was not required.

Steel returned to Daddy’s voice, “Are you my big girl?”

What to say? “Oh, yes, Daddy, I’m your big girl…”

“Well, my grown-up girl, then you get to have the special thing.”

She shuddered. Daddy almost never put his cock inside her pussy. Only when he had taken her virginity, and then that time on her birthday. It was always her mouth or her ass, because that was what was safest.

But now, he straightened up and his cock was just there, pressing eagerly against her wet skin. She moaned again, in wordless pleading. Daddy made her feel so good when he put it in there.

“Beg me for it, slut.”

“Daddy, please! Please put it in me! I really need it! Please put your … cock in my … pussy … please, Daddy, please!”

“Well, since my girl wants it so much….” He pushed a bit, and the head of it, which had been teasing her so terribly, slid in to her, just an inch. She begged more, and he slowly pushed inside her. It had been so long since he’d done it, she was almost painfully tight, despite the arousal oozing from her. But she needed more, more, more, regardless. He wrapped her ankles around his neck, and proceeded to fuck her, the speed building rapidly up. She orgasmed immediately, and then over and over, and he groaned each time her pussy spasmed around his cock, and thrust harder, which made her come again.

After some nameless time, he pulled out of her. She knew what was coming next, and tried to relax, but it was still a rough shock as his cock, lubed up only by her fluids, pushed forcibly into her arse, still sore from yesterday, and then pounded hard. She squealed, the pain mingling with the pleasure, and she felt her Daddy slam hard against her several more times as his come pumped hotly into her.

“Good girl,” he whispered into her ear, as he lay forward on to her body. “And are you still my little girl?”

“Yes, Daddy! Always!”