Zille Defeu’s Fetish Fantasies

Archive for the ‘personal growth’ Category

This past weekend Mr Defeu and I had this most lovely, amazing scene, which I just had to share with you lot!

I said in a previous post that we haven’t been able to play much, recently, but that I’d been finding surprise benefits to that. We managed to grab some playtime this past weekend, and I was in for another nice surprise!

I don’t know what it was, but the energy between us was like when we first started playing together. There was an eagerness to it, an exploration of bodies, like you’d expect from a one-night-stand, not a married couple.

I was wearing this slutty spandex dress he’d bought me a while ago. It’s my favourite thing to wear on hot days, because there’s not much to it, but it keeps my breasts from bouncing around and flatters what small bits of my body it covers.

My new nick-title for him is Boss (like the girls in Heinlein!). He was teasing my nipples through the spandex, pinching harder and harder, and before long I exclaimed, “Ouch! You’re a meanie! You’re a mean Boss! I think I had better quit your employment!”

“No, I don’t think you will,” he replied (making me melt) and really pinched down a poor helpless nipple.

“Do you want me to go get the clothes pins…?” I asked, softly — as it was out of the role’s character, and a bit shyly as well…. He agreed, and I raced over to the “kinky drawer”, which is filled with straps, tawses, paddles, and other random assorted instruments of pain and pleasure.

“You’d better take your top down,” he warned, and I did so coyly. It’s amazing – I think I will be somewhat shy around Mr. Defeu forever. He’s seen me naked in very exposing positions, he’s done humiliating things to me in those positions – but I still feel awkward and nervous disrobing in front of him. It’s hot.

Next thing, I have one of the “nice” clips on each nipple. Now, I have supremely sensitive nipples, so while these clips might not impress most people, they have me squirming in serious discomfort in but a few minutes.

Thus followed a timeless (but all too long and all too short!) period of Mr Defeu putting clips on, taking clips off, getting out the “nasty” clips and putting them on (“I will scream if you use that!” I warned shrilly – and scream I did!) and finally we ended with four clips on my nipples, me squirming in ever-increasing pain until I said, breathlessly, “I can’t take it anymore!”

He held my wrists in one hand as the pain overcame me. Undoubtedly he was counting in his head, but I couldn’t keep track of the seconds as they ticked by. Finally, he yanked them all off, and there was the rush of pain that comes from nipple-clamp removal, but honestly it was overwhelmed by my relief and the Adrenalin rush! I threw my arms around him, kissing his face and neck, filled with such gratitude that he would take me there, take control, help me experience things like that.

It’s moments like that when I really realize how much the giving of pain is a gift, the act of dominating is a selfless one at the same time as it is giving the top their own more-selfish pleasures.

We were both a bit breathless, eyes sparkling with lust. One of us was drippingly wet, the other painfully erect.

Then he ordered me into a modified 69 position, my hips to one side of his head. I went down on him as he spanked and fingered me.

For some reason, this gave him an all too good angle of attack for the spanks. Each one bit into me sharply. I soon could no longer focus on the pleasure of his finger for the distraction from the pain, and sometime thereafter had to stop going down on him, as well, for fear of biting him!

He was delighted by my helplessness, and didn’t seem to care that I had stopped pleasuring him – he was entirely focused on his own sadistic pleasures.

The nipple play had been an utterly confusing combination of pleasure and pain. I always perceive nipple play in very confused senses: pain as being delicious, pleasure as being too intense and thus painful. But this spanking (usually something I mostly perceive as pleasurable) had moved rapidly into the realm of purely painful.

As I have learned about myself as a masochist: it was the sort of thing I hated in the moment, but would later masturbate over, cherishing all the details of the intense pain and feelings of being overwhelmed.

After he had satisfied his sadism, he ordered me on top of him. I think he really delights in having hurt me, knowing I have suffered, and then seeing me be unable to keep from orgasming right as soon as he pushes inside me.

We finished back at the blowjob. It just seemed right – to thank him, to try and express how much it meant to me, and how appreciative I was for every moment of it.

It is actually true that every cloud has its silver lining – at least within the spankoverse.

Mr Defeu and I have not had overmuch playtime in the past few months – travel (including two weddings where we were in hotels surrounded by family members!) and poor health and other factors have all taken their toll on our play-life.

This weekend we were finally had a full weekend to just be with each other: no places to go, people to see, or anything pressing to do. So, of course, he went and decided to rebuild the media server, but happily – for me – this eventually became frustrating enough that he needed to have a special “break” with a strap, some canes, his hand, and me!

Once we’d gotten me in regulation knickers and a white shirt (the uniform dressing got only so far, partially because it was quite a warm day, and partially because we were rarin’ to go…) he gave me the quick-n-dirty “storyline” to our play: “So you’ve finally come over to see your uncle…” he growled, putting it into his voice that he was unhappy at me for neglecting my familial duties for so long.

As he was at that moment fondling my bottom, I decided that I must not have visited him recently because of his obvious lecherous ways!

Before I could compose that sentence, however, he started pulling me over his lap. “You know you need a spanking, girl…” he explained.

“But,” I said protesting, “I’ve been good!”

“Well, then, you need a spanking to remind you to continue being good.”

Well, that seemed quite unfair to me, so I decided that I might as well earn the inevitable spanking: “You’re just a dirty old pervert!” I exclaimed, with full disgust at the situation dripping from my every word.

No one will be surprised that shortly thereafter, hard spanks rained down on my bottom.
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Continued from Part I. I should warn you that this turned into a long and not particularly coherent ramble, with thoughts coming out faster then I could write them down, and so it doesn’t go in any well-mapped direction, nor come to a tidy conclusion….

Happy reminisces aside (and he’s given me plenty of lovely sensation-memories to contemplate in bed while he’s off on a business trip this week) the main reason I shared this scene was because it has really got me thinking about my long strange trip around the land of which Sacher-Masoch is king. (Or at least the guy who gave it its name!)

I’ve written before about how I was surprised as hell when I first got into BDSM and discovered that even though I’d been fantasizing about pain all my life, it actually hurt, and how that made me back off and explore submission and other kinky stuff, certain I was a failed masochist who could only dream but not live up to my own fantasies.

And, I’ve written how Mr Defeu and the Senior cane changed all that one amazing evening.

But that “voyage of discovery” wasn’t over, and I’m still very much learning about the intersection of pain and me.

Coming from the BDSM world, the spanko world confused me. In BDSM, masochists are out, proud, and boast of their masochistic depths – indeed, the most sought after thing is to be a “bottomless pit” which can take all the pain a Top dishes out – and preferably orgasm from it. (Of course, not many people are actually like this, and this ideal probably alienates many people as much as it did me!)

On the other hand, so many spankos claim to not enjoy pain at all. They suffer CP to get other rewards, they claim. This point of view helped me, when first arriving from the cult of the masochist (“Ah! It’s okay that pain hurts!”) However, it soon got in my way, because there are indeed times when a stroke hits just right, and I process it as pleasure. Or I get a spanking that amps things up slowly, just right yet again, and I can actually come from it, just like a real big masochist, mommy!

That’s what made me want to change the common-use (within the BDSM/spanko communities) definition of masochist, from “someone who enjoys pain” to “someone who gets something from pain” (which is what the dictionary definition is, anyway). Because I think most people who want to be spanked (or otherwise caned, whipped, strapped, or paddled) fall somewhere in-between the 0 of “I get nothing from being spanked” to the 10 of “I am a raging masochist who will come from being skinned alive”.

But this post is ranging too far in scope – I actually meant to just be talking about my own self-discoveries. Just as sexuality is fluid, so is masochism, it seems. (Although of course, for me, I don’t think there is any real division between my sexuality and my masochism.) Some days I just want the CP equivalent of love pats. Other days I crave my fundament being turned entirely black and blue….

But even more, as I learn more about myself, my own ability to take more and different kinds of pain expands.
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This is the “fun bit” of a two-part post. First I’ll recount a lovely scene Mr Defeu and I just did, and then tomorrow I’ll talk about some of the thoughts it has brought up for me. Dessert before dinner, for those of you who are just here for the spanking and kinky sex. But for those of you who want the “deep thoughts” part, the best is yet to come!

I was feeling a bit low on Saturday afternoon (despite some lovely first-thing-upon-waking-sex) and of course Mr Defeu knows the best way to perk me up: “I think there shall be a scene, this weekend,” he announced. “Oh, really?” I asked, suddenly buoyed up nicely. He nodded, and said nothing further, keeping his devious plans to himself.

Sunday morning rolled around, and as we cuddled in spoon-position after waking up, something else woke up, and poked me in lower right bum-cheek. “Aaaah,” I said, (always profound, me!) “Would you like me to go change into something more suitable?”

I was instructed to change into a vest (that’s a wife-beater, to American readers) and gym-cut knickers (which I took to mean short cotton-spandex shorts, not regulation knickers – and, as I wasn’t punished for wearing the wrong thing, must have made the right call!) and so, clad in a white vest, navy gym shorts, and two pony-tails (not just to be cute, but to keep my hair out of the way, as I had a feeling fellatio would factor into things somewhere, and also, getting a mouthful of hair during a beating, always after having been told not to move your arms, is both frustrating and embarrassing), I knocked on the bedroom door, and was curtly instructed to enter.

I was fighting a grin quite strongly at this point. I so very much wanted to be in role, but I was really just too happy that filthy perverted stuff was about to happen. I managed to have my face mostly under control by the time I got inside the door.

“Well, my girl,” he said in full disappointed “this will hurt me more than it hurts you” Authority Figure Mode, “What did I tell you about being too rowdy last night?”

Uh, I don’t know! – was my first thought, and not one I said outloud – I didn’t remember being particularly boisterous or unruly the night before. So I tried for an all-purpose defence: “Um, youthful high spirits?”

That justification was of course deemed quite beneath regard, and I was treated to a lecture on how I had quite ruined his evening, but he didn’t want to be imposed upon to have to punish me when he was trying to get some RnR, and so he would attend to me now.

I was lapping this right up of course, although I gave a token stab at self-defence and tying to talk my way out of what was coming to me. (You can’t very well say, “Yay! Yay! Lecture me more!”)

This worked so well that I ended up being pulled over his lap as he sat on the side of the bed, and him laying right into me with heavy, hard spanks.
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From deep, deep in the archives of the blog — August 10, 2005 to be precise! — I pull out to share with you lot one of the first things I wrote to Mr. Defeu — from before I had my very first caning! He had left me with two DVDs of Classic Spanking videos that I was to watch (this was, obviously, from before we were living together, and he was travelling constantly back then) and report on to him. Thinking about it, I never have finished watching all those videos — I think perhaps I really should finish that assignment, all these years later! What do you think?

And now for the Way-Back Machine….

My thoughts and emotions on A Private Punishment are going to be based on the memories that stuck best with me in the several days since I saw it, since this assignment was not given to me until after I had viewed the video.

First, I’ll go over the funny ones, to get them out of the way. I laughed aloud at the beginning when the guy threatened, “I’ll sack the lot of you.” That was great! And Angela’s hair alternately amazed and frightened me (not in the good erotic way we’ll see later in this report.) The most amusing moment was when he offered her the liniment, and I (I had obviously gotten rather engrossed in the film) cried out, “Don’t do it, Angela, it will make it sting worse!” The only thing that could beat this (errr, so to speak) was when they both moved in such a way that the liniment bottle was un-obscured for the first time in the film – and turned out not to be a prescription healing salve – but Johnson’s Baby Oil!

But, funny stuff aside, actually, now that I think back on the film I realize I remember many details (I was about to re-watch it to refresh my memory, but I have realized I do not need to – images, moments from the film are burned into my brain.)

The main things I enjoyed about the film were the punisher and Angela. I was impressed by both of them, for complimentary reasons. He was very deliberate, very calm and purposeful. He would leave his hand on her, to comfort her and let her know he was still in control, and that really made the video much more real and arousing.

Angela – honestly, I was just plain impressed with her. First she was a very realistic nurse. I thought her acting was stilted until a moment where he said, “Are you going to lay over my lap or do I have to force you,” and she just quietly said, “You will not force me,” and she was compliant and obedient to his will from that moment on. I had been hoping, “Make him force you!” because I always like to see the physical tussling, and the moments of fighting the punishment before the pain (or something else) makes the bottom finally give in and submit to her fate. But there was something so graceful about how Angela just submitted; as deliberately as he was taking control she was giving it up.

And of course, I am in totally awe of how Angela took her punishment. Well, for the spankings she couldn’t hide her smile – you could tell she liked them! And with the tawse you could see her sinking into “sub space.” But the most impressive – of course – was the caning. Oh, I hope to take a caning like she does, some day. I don’t know what I’ll do (the first time[s]) , but I imagine it will involve lots of noise and emotion. Angela simply – well, expelled the pain. You saw it go through her whole body and come out her mouth in a breath of release. She made noise, but it wasn’t too much noise – it was still deliberate, she was still in control of herself, even as she submitted to his will.
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