Zille Defeu’s Fetish Fantasies

Archive for the ‘r/l scenes’ Category

So, I’m all alone in Mr Defeu’s and my secret hideaway in the UK, which was not in our original vacation plans, but after three days of solo vacationing, I can safely say I hope I get an extra week of alone-time on every vacation I ever take. When Mr Defeu and I go on holiday, there are always “so many people we want to do, and things we want to see” (as it were), that we don’t leave ourselves the time to really get in the “r-n-r” that was the idea of the holiday in the first place. So I’ve been reading, taking luxurious baths with the windows open letting in the long summer evenings, and just generally doing nothing at all for three days.

Of course, I am missing Mr Defeu terribly, no matter how much I enjoy this little taste of independence and indolence. He’s off for an urgent business thingie, but kindly makes time to call me every evening. (Which, after a day alone, I always discover I wanted and needed more than I knew.) Last night, he was a bit groggy from jet-lag, but gamely listening to my chatter. I was telling him how wonderful I was feeling (finally really recovering from a cold picked up at my sister’s wedding, and from trying to do too much in too few days ever since) and he suddenly said, “It’s the rabbits.”

“Um … what?” I asked, not sure what conversational turning I had just missed.

He explained that the rabbits we’d seen while driving around (myriad rabbits, all over the place) were coming in at night when I slept and … well, I’m not sure what the rabbits were supposed to be doing, because I interrupted him by laughing at a sudden flash of memory, which I of course then needed to explain to him.

Back when I was with A., we dated Tamsyn, and Tamsyn’s then-master. One night, a hot summer evening towards the end of the time before A. and I moved across the country, we were having a foursome evening. This evening just happened to involve good food, good wine, and some “killer bud” that may or may not have been inhaled by all, some, or none of us present.

Tamsyn’s master and she got out of their bulging play-bag a variety of implements, including some pieces of rabbit fur (which back then everyone had in their play-bags, for some reason. Nowadays people are much more likely to have something more useful like a Soft Tail Flogger). As I recall (although the memory is a bit soft-focus, for some reason) I was naked, and the bits of rabbit fur were rubbed all over me. In my intoxicated state, I found this really overwhelming, and began crying out that I was being attacked by rabbits – which only spurred the evil sadists to greater effort! (And they laughed at me!)

Anyway, I am sure that we all went on to an evening of further kinky debauchery, with undoubtedly some spanking or flogging, but it’s that moment of being surrounded by sadists with rabbit fur, laughing and tickling me, that really sticks in my mind and makes me smile.

I have lots of new stories of spanking and other naughtiness gotten up to with Pandora and Tom, and I can’t tell you anything, yet, about shooting with Northern Spanking Institute, or Lucy and Paul would have to punish me in a bad way, but for now, I just wanted to share that happy summer memory….

Funny to find this after yesterday’s post! Originally posted on 10th Apr 2006.

Well, you’ve all been good patient people, who have posted to let me know you like being voyeurs into my sex life [grins at you all] so here is an image from Mr Defeu’s birthday!

That’s a green school-girl gym-skirt you see on me. Oh, what a hot scene it was! My grades had been slipping, you see, and my teacher had me come over to his house for some discipline…. By this point my hands have been hit with a tawse, and the front of my thighs tawsed as well. I have been spanked, caned with a light cane in several positions, caned with a heavier cane also in couple postions, and then soundly fucked (in a variety of positions! And oh — sex with Mr Defeu is simply wonderful. But sex after being caned is beyond description.)

Then, a heavy nasty mean tawse was taken to my bottom (that would be the over-all redness you see) and then I got a final six from the cane which nearly had me climbing off the bed in pain!

It was amazing. After it was all done, and we were snuggling, I asked Mr Defeu, “Who’s birthday is it, again?!” Remember that picture of me looking all glow-y? I took that a few hours later.

I have a big long post to write about masochism another time, but suffice it to say, for now, that I am very happy with being a masochist and I am glad I am in the hands of someone who knows what to do with me!

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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Mr Defeu is off on a trip again, and so when I found this old post it really resonated with me…. Originally posted on 6th Oct 2008.

Mr Defeu got home last Thursday night, and I promptly got sick. And then he had family-crisis stuff to deal with. So the best I could do as his girl was to have yummy food prepared for him, and surprise him with his desk all cleaned and neat and polished. (Most of the house was supposed to also be this way, but see above about the getting sick part, which threw the wrench in those plans!) I was scared that the weekend would go by with just dealing with family stuff. And also, when I get sick, he gets all in Daddy mode and wants to snuggle and pamper me.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I like being snuggled and pampered as much as the next girl, but when it means his Mean Scary Dominant Self gets turned off – then I’m a sad girl, because I live for our scenes. When he growls roughly at me to do something, my knees turn to jelly and other parts of my anatomy do fascinating things. When he gets all sweet and loving, it’s great … but well, it’s like flavours. I like to eat sweet stuff (oh yes I do indeed!) but I also crave rich, hearty, savoury flavours as well. Think of discipline and the various pains of spanking, caning, etc., as Boeuf Bourguignon, and your favourite sort of pizza, and spaghetti the way your mom made it, and creamy Potatoes Au Gratin, and sushi, and chicken satay and Tom Ka Gai, and a Monte Christo or Croque Monsieur or your favourite sandwich or burger, and, and, and … all your favourite savoury foods!

Happily, some of that yummy stuff was coming my way. He said he needed a nap, early Sunday evening, and I despaired. But then he saw I was upset and pointed out that after the nap, he would be refreshed…. He slept for about 45 minutes, and then I went in and joined him in the bed, and snuggled with him as he napped, and just enjoyed lying in bed with him, feeling his warmth and hearing his breathing, as I looked out of the window at the night-time city lights.

Eventually he stirred, and reached for my hand, and pulled it down to his cock, which was obviously wide awake and ready for action.

I laughed with delight, and said, “You should take lots of naps, Sir!”

Then I didn’t say anything for a while, because I was sucking his cock.

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