Zille Defeu’s Fetish Fantasies

Archive for the ‘kink’ Category

I’ve got some tabs to close in my browser, so here’s a “things to share” hodge-podge for you lot!

I missed My Bottom Smarts Sunday Brunch this weekend because I didn’t actually get online enough to answer the excellent question:

It’s been said that clothes make the man (or woman). Do you or you partner dress for a spanking? Or do you perhaps adapt the spanking to your mode of dress? Does wearing certain clothes affect your spanking experiences? If so, how?

Papa Otter really introduced me to dressing for “sex.” (By which I mean spanking, role-play, and everything that generally follows, for us!) Oh, sure, I’d enjoyed playing dress-up role-play in the past, and I was in no way loathe to wear whatever my partner wanted to see me in, but “sex” generally happened in the buff.

With Papa Otter at first I was really confused because we never had naked sex. I was in my schoolgirl uniform, or a spandex catsuit, or equestrienne garb, but us enjoying some spanky-bot-bot and rumpy-pumpy was almost never done au naturale. It made me wonder if he didn’t like my body, or something.

Fast-forward to now. He’s utterly corrupted me! Naked spanking and sex is very rare for us – and even if he is willing, I’ll generally be the person to say, “Oh … shouldn’t I go put something on…?” *

Well – I’m the one who is not naked. He is usually naked or just in a pair of shorts. I get this from a practical viewpoint (i.e., that he is one of those people who is always warm, and he’s doing lots of physical labour, so wearing a tweed suit every time we play might be impractical. Also, when it’s time for things to go into places, he’s ready to put them there) but … darn it, I’d really like him to wear outfits for me more often!

So, I’m registering my complaint now! I’d like to see my Papa Otter in *his* riding clothes (OMG, boots!) or period clothing (Victorian, Elizabethan, whatever, I’ll role with it!) or the finest in headmaster fashions (just the occasional tweed is all I ask!) … or just even a nice suit, with one of those pairs of very sexy men’s dress shoes he owns. (I’m not a foot/shoe fetishist. But expensive men’s footwear makes my brain go melty. If I’m going to lick someone’s boots, give me some bespoke hand-made dress shoes from Jermyn Street, thankyouverymuch!)

As for the spanking that occurs spontaneously, when one is already dressed … well, those obviously are adapted as needed. “Necessity is the mother of invention,” and all. But so far we haven’t found an outfit I couldn’t be spanked in. Although the one time he caned me over a bustle, I did end up collapsing in laughter because it made such a terrible noise, but hurt not a bit! (The skirts and bustle were lifted soon thereafter!)

*For those ladies who might not get it and are wanting a purely practical explanation: I feel cold most of the time. This means that I’m almost never cold going into a scene, now. My poor cold feet have white schoolgirl socks on! Me being cold had actually gotten in the way of scenes, in the past. Also, being clothed means that one can keep one’s bra on for bouncy activities like being in “cowgirl” position. I was always having to cross my arm under my chest, because my tits bouncing all over the place is actually painful to me. (Not good painful – just distracting and annoying painful.) Now I can have them supported, and have both hands free … for stuff…!

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Also, Kaya has always written well about sex, but she just keeps getting better….

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And Kaelah has written a wonderful article about her first punishment.

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(The spankosphere has had some brilliant articles recently, but many of them are now sufficiently “old” by ‘net standards that I’m embarrassed to bring them up! I should get over that and just highlight the articles I’ve enjoyed over the past weeks/months!)

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From: New Scientist!

Spanking is stressful at first, but it could bring consenting couples closer together. That’s the implication of two studies of hormonal changes associated with sadomasochistic (S&M) activities including spanking, bondage and flogging.

Brad Sagarin at Northern Illinois University in DeKalb and colleagues measured levels of the stress hormone cortisol in 13 men and women at an S&M party in Arizona, before, during and after participating in activities. During S&M scenes, cortisol rose significantly in those receiving stimulation, but dropped back to normal within 40 minutes if the scene went well. There was no change in those inflicting the activity.

At an S&M event in Colorado, testosterone was measured in 45 men and women. It increased significantly in receiving women only. Donatella Marazziti of the University of Pisa, Italy, says the boost may help women cope with the aggressive nature of S&M activities, or that it could be another sign of stress. In both studies, couples who said the party went well also reported increases in relationship closeness (Archives of Sexual Behavior, DOI: 10.1007/s10508-008-9374-5).

It’s important to note that levels of both hormones dropped back down in couples who enjoyed the experience, Marazziti says. “When sexual intercourse is consensual it is not stressful – even if it is extreme sex.”

Heh — for me, I don’t think my stress levels go up when the spanking starts at all — I’m just too happy about it! Of course, if it’s actual punishment, that’s another matter … but the study didn’t go into such detail!

Maybe we should do our own study! We in the spankosphere could start S.P.A.N.K. (the Society of Professional and Notable Kinksters, perhaps, although I’m sure one of you could come up with some better words to fill that acronym, this was just off the top of my head!) and do scientific studies of all sorts of aspects of spanking and CP. We could have the S.P.A.N.K. Institute (classically I think these things are supposed to be in Switzerland, but my vote is for either the UK or somewhere tropical!) and we could call upon the world’s finest scientists (if you go with my theory that all scientists are perverts, then this makes it easy to assume they’ll all want to join us!) and then have spankers and spankees coming in for trials and studies.

Can’t you see it … white hallways with white-lab-coated spankologists walking looking at clipboards (or, better yet, Star Trek PADDs!), passing rooms, where looking in the windows on the doors, you can see girls bent over various white furniture items (a bed, a desk, a chair, even white and sterile medieval torture pieces) with wires hooked up to their heads and bodies, with scientists standing around taking notes as the spanker lines up another hit … or the “psychology” labs which have perfect sets (schoolroom, headmaster’s office, reformatory dormitory) where spankees and spankers interact while scientists monitor from one-way mirrors … there can be a sleep lab for seeing if people sleep better after a spanking … and a gymnasium for exercise-based CP studies … and I picture two dining areas: one where the spankees can whisper to each other about what the tests are like, and what might be happening to them next, and a lounge for the spankers and scientists to chat over meals about new tests and ideas for improving results….

I think I may have to visit this fantasy with some regularity!

(There always has to be anal play in any medical scenario, don’t you think?!)

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I am a dedicated reader of The Register (whom I hope do not mind being linked to by filthy pervert bloggers) and today my two worlds crashed, like particles in the Large Hadron Collider (Also known as “Large Hardon Collider” when news media slips up. Or is written by 15 year olds!), when I read this marvellous titbit of news, from El Reg reporting on the LHC:

Apparently the key to the business involves looking into something called “CP-violation”, which is some sort of deviance from normal behaviour on the part of antibottom beauties and their relatives – thus the more of them that can be created at the LHC, the sooner the missing 96 per cent of the universe can be tracked down – perhaps hidden in another dimension or something.

Whoooaaah! “CP-Violation”?! “Deviance from normal behaviour on the part of antibottom beauties”?!

It’s like the “boffins” at the LHC were asking for a dose of “perverting reality,” after a long night of staying up and doing complex maths.*

Either that or scientists are all pervs. Which I think is probably quite likely.

*Another thing I just have to quote is the part which nearly made me narf hot tea out my nose. I should know better than to drink my morning tea while catching up with El Reg!

By some process involving extremely hard sums and possibly some type of reinforced, extremely close-fitting hat to prevent their heads exploding (we could do with one of those just writing about it) the boffins managed to identify all of this on the mad snakes’ wedding of particle tracks pictured above and add up how much the original antibottomed beauty had weighed (5.32 Giga-electron-Volts, in case you’re wondering) pleasingly confirming that they had indeed summoned matter – and antimatter – into existence using only French and Swiss grid electricity.

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Am sitting at the local café. School must have recently ended for the day, because it’s stuffed to overfilling with schoolgirls. (And schoolboys. But I’m afraid my point of view on teen and pre-teen boys is that they are mostly just zitty, unwashed little monsters which it’s best to ignore whenever possible. A perspective I wish I’d had when I was a teenage girl!)

It makes me think of Abel and Haron, and their ability to turn any situation into a spanking one. (Although if I couldn’t manage to make a spanking situation out of a café full of schoolgirls, I shouldn’t be entrusted with a keyboard and Wordpress account!)

So, here goes my “perverting reality.”

Breckenridge Academy, California’s most prestigious prep school, lets out for the day at 3:30 PM. It’s a time of day which Frank Sarchimor, coffee-shop proprietor, dreads. His café is just a block away from the academy, and he almost thinks he can hear the final bell ringing in his head every day.

At 3:40, his clean, well-lighted café is suddenly deluged with a range of kids who are loud, prone to shoving or just general clumsiness (he’s had to move the sales displays behind the counter), and just generally unmannered and unruly. After backing up the line at the counter so that customers are frustrated, they all also order iced blended mochas with shots of flavoured syrups (as if they needed the caffeine and sugar!), which throws his baristas into a frenzy of trying to get these complicated drink order fulfilled, which slows things down all the more. And the kids don’t tip, of course, which makes his baristas cranky.

By about 5PM every day, his beloved café is trashed. Straw wrappers everywhere (how did they get them to stick on the ceiling?) empty plastic cups, crumbs from brownies and rice krispy treats which had been used as projectile weapons between flirting boys and girls. Frank has to chip in on the clean-up every day, because if he doesn’t he fears his baristas would just go work at another café, and he’d finally just gotten them trained up right! The signs he keeps putting up on the walls, to “respect others and keep the noise down,” to “please have your order ready when you got in line,” and to “please bus the tables yourself,” are roundly ignored.

Then, the final nail in the coffin. Frank came out from his office after a particularly intense period of sound and fury to discover that a number of the thick coffee frappes had been spilled across the floors and tables and chairs like a Jackson Pollock piece. With java chips. The last two kids were sauntering out of his café, two girls in what seemed to be much shorter than regulation pleated skirts, blouses unbuttoned to show as much cleavage as possible, and insolent looks on their faces. Frank lost it and started yelling at them, demanding they come back and help clean up the mess they’d made. They just looked at him in patent disbelief, stuck out their tongues, and ran out the door giggling.

Frank made an appointment to speak with the head of Breckenridge Academy the next morning.

Mr. Morgans welcomed Frank to his office the next day. Frank had been concerned that, given the attitude of the spoiled brats who’d been frequenting his establishment, that his concerns would be brushed aside. But Mr. Morgans and he had a very satisfactory meeting of the minds, which led to Frank returning later in the day for a special school assembly….

When Kristin and Susan saw the coffee-shop guy on-stage with Mr. Morgans, they had yet another fit of giggles. How ridiculous that this little man had complained about them and their classmates! The Academy kids brought good money to his café, and had as much rights as any of his other customers – just ‘cause he didn’t like kids was his problem, not theirs!

Their giggles died away when they suddenly became aware that Mr. Morgans had called them both up onto the stage. They suddenly became intensely aware that the gym teacher had dragged a vaulting horse on-stage.

Mr. Morgans’ mood was not improved by the fact he had to call them up more than once, and that they came dragging their feet and slouching….

Mr. Morgans explained that while he knew Kristin and Susan were not the only offenders, they would serve this time to be an example for the whole school – Mr. Sarchimor and his café would be treated with respect, or more disciplinary actions would be handed out. If Mr. Morgans had to punish every student in the school, he would, and they had better believe it. Breckenridge Academy had very high standards, and the students would live up to those standards, or learn how to do so the hard way.

First Susan, then Kristin, had to lean over the horse, and suffer the embarrassment of their skirts flipped up. Mr Morgans himself personally attended to the punishment, using a paddle which was the subject of school myth, but which had, obviously to the detriment of the student body, not been used in years. It was worn quite smooth from years of being applied to errant school-children’s bottoms, but the smoothness did not in any way mitigate either the pain of the impact or the hideous stinging burn that lasted long after the stoke.

It was twelve each, due to the fact that this bad behaviour had been going on for some time, now. Well before the twelfth whack, Kristin and Susan were howling, their faces red and wet with tears, their eyes puffy, and their noses requiring frequent sniffs to keep from embarrassing them further.

The assembly was silent, except for the occasional gasp of sympathy. Although some of the kids looked somewhat less terrified and more simply fascinated in the show….

As for Frank, he got to watch the whole thing. He was very satisfied seeing Susan and Kristin reduced to blubbering and very sorry girls, and he deeply enjoyed every moment of their stuttered apologies.

He was so pleased, he invited Mr. Morgans down for a cup of java, on the house. And over the steaming beverages, they shared some ideas for future school assemblies.

Because, after all, the youthful memory can be so short, can’t it. You just can’t keep down those high spirits. No, there would be plenty of reason to bring out the paddle in the future, and Frank was more than ready to help keep up the standards of the Academy and the community.

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I’ve been organizing the books in our apartment, as they are threatening to take over the place, and I found this gem among Papa Otter’s erotica collection.

The cover is more funny than arousing (to me, anyway) but what is lovely and even in it’s own way arousing is the innocence of the image. No worries about feminism, here, no angst about if spanking your wife is okay, no confusion about whether discipline should have sex involved (the author thinks it should, if you can’t tell by the spanker’s humongous erection!) — these are some happy ’60s swingers who explore their desires with an almost child-like innocence.

The book cheerfully merges domestic discipline with sex (and swinging, because once you find out the neighbours like spanking, too, the obvious next step is to spank and fuck the neighbour’s wife, non?) in a way that is very heartening for me, because Papa Otter and I find they mingle very well indeed, and I was very surprised when I came across the DD [Domestic Discipline] community and found out that I wasn’t supposed to want to mix those things!

My favourite example of this (and I really need to carry the URL for this site around with me, because when I tell people about it they just can’t believe me) is this fabulous article, Thanking the HOH — The “Formal Thank You” as a Non-Sexual Act. I don’t know how I found it, but once I realized what I’d come across, I had a reaction that combined all the best aspects of shooting my drink out my nose and punching the air and shouting, “Yes!”
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