Zille Defeu’s Fetish Fantasies

Archive for the ‘spandex’ Category

Today’s pleasing visual is brought to you by Girl’s Boarding School…

Most of my blog posts recently have been ruminations/discussions about punishment and discipline. Well, this weekend, my Master put those ideas and notions into practice!

Discipline from Kink On Demand

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January ended with a bang! No, not the crack of the paddle against my bottom (thank all the gods of spanking, and um, bottoms) but just in a happy, happy weekend that makes me look forward to February even more!

Saturday was just plain good. The early part of the day was spent lazing around. I gave myself a mani/pedi as my Master did stuff on the computer, we watched an episode of Gordon Ramsay’s The f Word (thanks Mr. Stagg for the tip!) and Skins – Vol. 1, and I continued my re-reading of Maia.

After tommy-toe-toasties we went to bed and my Master read me a story from Janus Magazine while we cuddled naked, and then held me and whispered about terrible things he’s going to do to me (involving me being tied down and tormented with stinging nettles!) while sticking his fingers into my disturbingly wet pussy (at least, I’m disturbed! I shouldn’t be so turned on by nettles! I’m so attuned to his desires now that whatever he wants to do to me gets me excited, no matter how much of a bad idea it might be to a sane and reasonable person!) and then I gave him a blow-job while he probably thought more about tormenting me with nettles (whatever it was, he came very hard, one of those orgasms that just goes on and on), and then we snuggled and felt very pleased and satisfied about the whole affair.

In the evening was a local absinthe party, and we were taken by Miss Maggie Mayhem. Before the party, we took her out for Thai food – a new place we hadn’t tried before and it was a big success. We spent a long time in the restaurant talking and flirting and enjoying good food and good company.

We stopped off at home so us girls could do final wardrobe adjustment and reapply lipstick, and ended up spending too much time there as well. This was a problem because poor Maggie, due to a scheduling matter entirely out of her hands, had another date that evening, who was meeting her at the absinthe party and spiriting her away to another shindig. Well, we made her quite late to the absinthe party, and I ended up keeping her even later since we had promised each other to kiss all each other’s lipstick off, and I wasn’t letting her go until she’d lived up to her end of the bargain!

Strangely, her date didn’t seem to mind Maggie and me doing some serious tongue-wresting, breast-rubbing, thigh-humping, standing by him in the middle of the roof (decorated with little lanterns on strings, with tables and chairs and heat-lamps). It was quite cold up there on the roof (and I wasn’t wearing much: black spandex leggings with my favourite high-heeled black ankle boots and a tight black sleeveless shirt with a sheer lace back — no bra or pants, of course!) but while I was making-out with Maggie, I really didn’t notice it at all!

Sadly, a sense of social fairness forced me to let Maggie go about her evening (I hadn’t had a chance to get drunk, yet, was the problem. If I’d been drunk, I wouldn’t have given a fig what anyone else — except my Master — wanted!

With Maggie gone, my Master and I wandered around the party, looking for something else to entertain us. When we wandered back to the small stage area, we found a band playing, and so settled down to listen to Vermillion Lies.

Then there were a couple gals doing burlesque from Hubba Hubba Review so we hooted and hollered as is good form at a burlesque show (or the gals will be upset you don’t find them sexy!)

In the meantime I was knocking back “Red Dabel” absinthe from the Czech Republic. It was very tasty and went down quite smoothly! And it was an absinthe that is best with the sugar cube flamed, so every time it was made for me I got to watch the blue fire melt the red-soaked sugar cube into the cup, before it was finally doused with the cold water…. Happily, I didn’t get annoyingly drunk, or say anything stupid. I just got very snugly with my Master, and gave him long lustful kisses whenever he turned his face my way.
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Well, Sunday evening’s scene (the picture went up yesturday) was intense! Some other synonyms of that word work well: strong, powerful, forceful, deep, passionate, severe, etc.

It started with the School Uniform Review that my Master had requested some time back, and we both finally had the right amount of time and energy to devote to it.

From memory, I have:

• Three jumpers/pinafores: blue, green, grey. These fit well.
• Skirts in blue, green, grey, and black in varying lengths and styles (from gym skirts to more formal ones) – all have problems that my waist-to-hip ratio is greater than they seem to expect a “schoolgirl’s” to be, which is silly because I am pretty sure I’ve been this size/shape since I was about 16/17. We bought them to fit my waist, which they do, but they’re too tight around the hips. We’ve decided a number of them need to be replaced with the size larger and cut down to fit me. (I’ll be agitating on making all of them shorter, too, but my Master is a pure pervert and likes the longer lengths for reality’s sake or something nasty like that!)
• Blazers in blue, green, grey, and black, the first three have a loose fit; the last has a tailored fit.
• Sweaters in blue, green, grey, and black.
• White shirts in long sleeve and short sleeve. I prefer the fitted ones from Bhs, and would love to replace the old baggy ones from John Lewis!
• Knickers in blue, green, grey, white, maroon, and some cutesy patterned little girl ones. Both cotton and those nasty nylon ones he adores so. 90% in the “high waist, modest leg” fit that I think looks about as sexy as a dead squirrel, and he just adores. It’s the main source of humiliation in my life, and he is really quite unsubtle about enjoying it.
• “Punishment shorts” in blue, green, black, and white, varying from “short shorts,” to knee length. Varying mix of cotton/spandex, or that is, matte/shine.
• Ties and those cute little cross ties that snap on, in varying colours and solids/stripes.
• Socks in white, green, and blue, varying lengths. Tights in blue, green, black and white. Some white and black stockings and matching garter belts, for the older schoolgirl.

Is there any doubt left in anyone’s mind that we are perverts? Thorough perverts and thoroughly perverted!

After much trying on and taking off and trying on again, I ended up in (only) a pair of blue cotton knickers and white over-the-knee socks, over his knee for a spanking. Spanking progresses from “brisk” to “hold on for the ride!” and then he pronounces that the panties are “too loose.” He likes them so tight that my skin bulges out from the elastic. ICK! Someone explain to me how or why that is sexy!

So, on with a tighter pair of knickers. Which we have. Don’t ask how many pairs of knickers there are. He of course needs to start the spanking over again, obviously.

He then tells me that I’ve been a good girl, so I may suggest the next implement he’ll use on me. If he likes the suggestion he’ll go with it. I put forward the slipper and then the belt (because I’m a masochist like that!).

The slipper and the belt are a study in opposites. The slipper looks innocuous, and by all lights it should be just an extension of a spanking. But those slippers are evil, stingy things, and I can’t help but bounce around when he thwacks me with them. He put first one of my legs under his own, then he had to put both underneath, because I was flailing around like a drowning person – as indeed I was: a girl drowning in pain! However, for all the horrible pain they produce, I don’t think the slipper does much actual damage to my bot.

The belt, on the other hand, I just adore. He can bring his arm back all the way for maximum force, and when the belt hits, I always hear the WHUMP! sound it makes and wince, but then as the sensation spreads through me, I think, “Well that’s not so bad at all! Yummm, that’s going right to the pussy, that is!” The noises I make are indicative of this: I make almost growly cries as the belt hits, which I maintain are just the wave of kinetic energy passing from my bottom through my body, which turn into moans of pleasure as my mind processes the pain, and then perhaps a certain amount of aroused hip-movement, but nothing like the frantic wriggling of the slipper. But, looking at my bottom, and feeling how it feels today, I can say with some surety that the belt does some damage to my flesh.

The worst thing about when your Master lets you choose is that you invariably pick something just as horrible, or worse, than he would pick for you! Once, in one of our earliest scenes, the bastard my Master put the whole selection of “toys,” he’d brought with him in front of me, and had me pick three. I didn’t know enough about them to make informed choices, and I also didn’t want to be seen picking the lightest implements, but didn’t want to get the evilest ones, either! He watched with a smirk as I made my fateful choices, and then, after I’d tentatively set three aside, he said, “Oh, really, those are the ones you want?”

“Um, uhhh, did I choose the worst?” I quavered.

“Well, they’re not what I’d have chosen!” he replied, leaving me as much in the dark but infinitely more terrified, and proceeded to use all of them mercilessly on me.

I’d had the slipper over his knee at the edge of the bed, and then he had me lay flat on the bed for the belt (so he could get the best swinging force for the target, I’m sure), and then, that done with, he told me to lay over the edge of the bed on my own, and got down a cane.
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Last night I finally got what was coming to me.

I had really not wanted another weekend to go by without my punishment (the story of how I earned my punishment here) actually being done and out of the way. It was hanging over me, and I was going a bit crazy from that. But of course last weekend I had my period (and I don’t know if my Master was being kind, or just avoiding any over-emotional ramifications) and then he was super-busy all week with work stuff, coming home late and exhausted. And you can’t just say, “Well, look, I know you’re tired and all, but I need to be punished now, so get over here and beat my bum!” Heh, well, you could say it, and if you do please tell me your results, but I’m not stupid enough to try it!

Anyway, yesterday started with a lazy weekend morning (poached eggs and toast and tea and lazing on the sofa with laptops and books) and then we had a gazillion errands to run, and got back home around 5:30. We were supposed to meet some friends at the dungeon later, and I was anxious, hoping that the punishment could be done before we went, so that if we did a scene there, it would be post-punishment and relaxed and happy.

I got permission to go do my bath/shaving, and we had run out of hot water, so it was a very thankless affair. Afterwards, I begged to lie down in bed for a bit, to warm up, and he joined me, snuggling me and warming my body with his own – which is very effective; he gives off such lovely heat! – and it was very comfy, and we could have just slipped off into a nap. But I really didn’t want a nap right then!

We have this thing where we indicate “I am thinking it’d be nice for something sexy to happen now” by body language and looks. Neither of us almost ever has to announce things with words (although I do love when he orders me gruffly into the bedroom!); it’s all a matter of pressing up against each other in certain ways, or touches becoming longer and more caress-like, or our eyes meeting and understanding being exchanged by seeing the fire in the other person’s eyes and letting a reciprocal fire flare up in your own.

Anyway, I was sending off signals as hard as I could (although a person who didn’t know us would probably not have noticed any change at all, I don’t think) and he of course noticed and laughed and told me I was a slutty girl. I asked if that sort of thing was on the menu, or if he was feeling sleepy and wanted a nap. Well, he allowed, maybe some sex could happen. At which point my frustration bubbled up in me and I said, “Oh, please, can’t we get this punishment over with?! Everything we do is overshadowed by it for me, and it’s driving me mad!”

He didn’t seem to mind me speaking up. He pulled me around to face him in our cuddle, my head resting on his chest, and my hand pushed down to take up its duty on his cock, which had somehow become a statue carved out of adamantine….

He informed me that as I had three black marks in the punishment book, my punishment would be tripartite: two sets of ten from the paddle, and because the last infraction was not too grievous, a final set from the cane. Well, I’d been feeling kind of horny up until that point, but faced with twenty from the paddle, that ended right quick!

He had me go put on white spandex punishment shorts (which not only do not provide the least amount of protection, but I think may actually make it worse!) and then stand in the middle of the room, with my hands on my knees (which I do realize was kind of him, not making me grab my ankles, but I really didn’t appreciate it in the moment!)

I took the first thwack okay, although it had enough force to rock me on my legs. Okay, I told myself, the first is just horrible because you’ve forgotten what the paddle feels like – now that’s over and you can just grit your teeth and take the next nine. Whack, the second slammed into my ass, and then, like a wall crumbling, all semblance of self-control just fell to pieces, and I started crying. By the third hit, he had his hand on me to hold me in place, and I don’t know what number it was when he gave up and ordered me to lie over the side of the bed, because I was in too much misery to care.

Unfortunately, as much better as it was to be laid over the side of the bed, for some reason that changed the angle of his attack, and now, instead of getting both cheeks thwacked with equal force, now my right cheek was getting the brunt of it, and I was right on the edge of getting out of position and trying to high-tail it out of there! But I held on, somehow, although when the first ten ended (and how was all that agony only ten whacks from the paddle, how?!) I did say, while grabbing my right cheek with my hands somewhat hysterically, “Ahhh! They’re all landing on this one!” which was about as coherent as I could get at the time, and thank the gods he understood that I was just trying to let him know what was going on, not criticizing or complaining.

Very kindly, he switched to the other side for the next ten, and really, it was much appreciated that he didn’t ask “Are you ready?” because I don’t know if I could have squeezed out a, “Yes, Sir” at all! He had kindly agreed beforehand that I could have my penis gag (which has become kind of a pacifier for me in scenes, and brings my volume down considerably, which I think the neighbors appreciate!) for the second ten, but as he was fastening the buckles at the back of my head, I can’t say it brought me any real comfort.

And, as the second set progressed, it was actually not helpful in another way, because it fits down under my chin, and thus caught all the saliva that came pouring out of my mouth as I made incoherent cries of agony, and also it comes up to right under my nose, so the mucus that started pouring down as I cried also got caught up in the big mess my face had become. There was no grace under fire, no dignity left to me. Well, except that I didn’t break position: my feet danced, my back arched up a few times, but I never left my spot. (Honestly, I find it best if you just don’t even consider it an option!)

He let me calm down for a moment before the final set from the cane. I felt much more confident about those, because by now I’m an experienced caneé, and can take my licks with dignity and self-control. Well, not that day! He went for the heavy nylon cane Read the rest of this entry »