Zille Defeu’s Fetish Fantasies

Archive for the ‘spankosphere’ Category

After yesterday’s post of Irelynn and me, I wanted to share two more images from that fun and sexy video.

I love these shots from Northern Spanking Institute because they remind me of the best sort of shots from Janus magazine.

The mindset of the coach character I am playing in this video would have been really humiliated to be punished in front of her student. To have her gym shorts pulled down and be spanked and caned just like the guilty schoolgirl would be the worst sort of punishment! I love the psychological aspect of the video. It could have just been a silly video, but we turned it into something more, something really hot!

Well, I asked my Twitter friends what to blog about today, and the only one to suggest anything was Lucy from Northern Spanking Institute. However, I’m not going to do either of her suggestions (fashion, or David Bowie!) today (although I will certainly cover those topics another day), because she reminded me that a new set of Irylnn Logeen and myself (and of course, the evil Stephen Lewis!) have gone up on NSI!

This fits perfectly in the Halloween spirit of things, because in this film I am playing a track coach, which is a true costume for me (I’m no good at running, and did my best to skip PE classes when I was in school!) So enjoy me in my gym shorts and whistle (and enjoy my acting — I had a great time getting in character for this!) because you won’t see that in real life! (Also, Irelynn is deeply enjoyable to look at in regulation gym knickers. Yum!)

I got the idea for this from the wonderful Mija.

It occurs to me that I’ve never written about my first spanking on my blog! This is probably because, like the first time I had sex, it really wasn’t the best example of the experience. But still, it’s worth remembering!

When I was 17 I was busy discovering the stories of Robert A. Heinlein (a topic I’ve written about before). And one of the things that was really exciting me about them (besides the excellent writing, fascinating plots, strong characters, and first view of positive polyamorous relationships) was all the spanking RAH manages to work into his tales. (There’s a pun there involving “tails” which I will ignore. You can thank me in the comments.) One spanking I remember well from first reading when I was 17 was from I Will Fear No Evil:

He stepped to the wall and squeezed down the intercom to zero, then said gently, ‘Get dressed, dear.’

‘I won’t! If we leave now, you’ll have to stuff me into the car bare naked.’

He sighed and picked her up; she stopped crying and looked suddenly happy.

The expression did not last. He turned her in his arms as he sat down on a straight chair, got a firm grip on her, and walloped her right buttock. She yelped. And struggled.

He got her more firmly, placing his right leg over both of hers, and applied his hand smartly to her left cheek. Then he alternated sides, stopping with ten. He set her on her feet and said, ‘Get dressed, dear. Quickly.’

She stopped and rubbed the punished area. ‘Yes, Jake.’

Neither said another word until he had handed her into the car, climbed in after her, and they had been locked in. Then she said timidly, ‘Jake? Will you hold me?’

‘Certainly, darling.’

‘May I take my robe off, please? Will you take it off me?’

With the robe out of the way she sighed and snuggled in. After a bit she whispered, ‘Jake darling? Why did you spank me?’

It was his turn to sigh. ‘You were being difficult … and it is the only thing I know of which will do a woman any good when a man can’t do for her what she needs. And right then – I couldn’t.’

(Copied from SpankingBlog — thank you Spank Boss for typing that one out! Head over there for more from that scene, and another spanking scene in the book!)

At that point in time, I had a boyfriend who was my first properly kinky boyfriend. Since I don’t think he’d mind in the slightest being mentioned in a porn blog, I’ll call him by his real name, Ira (which happens to be a common name in Heinlein novels, amusingly). He wanted to experiment with bondage and roleplay (Uncle Ira coming over to “take care of” little Zille in her nightie). He also was the person responsible for getting me to start shaving my nether bits (you can thank him in the comments, too, although I rather think I get more credit by this point in time for keeping it up all these years!)

He must have given me my first spanking. But, to be honest, if he did, I don’t remember it at all. (I do however remember the scene where he was “breaking into” my room, and was hog-tying me — presumably to be followed by discovering that sex is not particularly easy in that position. We were at my parent’s house, and not expecting anyone home for hours. Suddenly, we heard the door open and close downstairs. This was followed by a rather frantic out-of-character discussion: if it was my grandfather we were fine — he was mostly deaf and wouldn’t come up to my room, anyway. But if it was my mom…. We rushed me out of bondage — neither of us had the notion of Safety Shears at that time! — and got clothing back into order … and then discovered with relief that it was indeed my grandfather, but didn’t have the courage or energy to start the scene up again!)

So possibly, my first spanking came from an ex whom I have previously called The Lost Prince on this blog. He wasn’t big into the idea of spanking, but he was willing to give it a fair go.

He got me over his lap, bottom bared, and give a light smack. “Harder!” I complained. And so he raised his hand up, and came down with a proper smack. “Ohhh…!” He sighed happily, “It leaves a hand-print!” And then he took off, leaving as many hand-prints as he could, while I gasped and bounced and started to regret inspiring that enthusiasm! (No, he didn’t become a real spanko, in the end. But I bet he has happily left hand-prints on other girl’s bottoms over the intervening years!)

So there, anyway, is either my first or second spanking. Not the most thrilling start to life as a spanko, but not a bad one, either!

Last week, Leia-Ann Woods wrote about a strange phenomenon that exists in our little corner of the kinky world (it no doubt infests many other places, too). The issue is the strange morphing of the idea of supporting everyone’s kinks and fetishes (which is a splendid one, as long as the kinks and fetishes are involve consent of all involved) into a sort of pressure to actively like and enjoy anyone’s kink, no matter what it might be. Call me cynical, but I suspect there’s an unstated hope that not only should one like and enjoy that kink, but one should eagerly rush to participate in it with the person who mentioned it.

Written down like that, the whole idea looks obviously silly; we’re well used to the description of Voltaire’s views: “I disapprove of what you say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it”, and its easy to apply that the world of kink. For example, I fully support your right to engage in Roman Showers, but please, please, please don’t start spewing anywhere I can see, hear or smell your happy ralphing games!

We even used to have an acronym for this: YKIOK! (Your Kink Is OK… with an implicit “but not my kink” tagged on the end). We can also simultaneously defend the rights of neo-Nazis and raving communists to spout their opinions, while personally preferring to listen to Rick Astley‘s Greatest Hits — on the basis that the Mr. Astley’s songs contain more useful social commentary than that of the others I mentioned…!

In essence, tolerance is not the same as taste, acceptance is not approval, enlightenment is not engagement.

All of which is fine and lovely, but Leia-Ann said it perfectly well, so why do I repeat her musings here? (And indeed, she expands more on the topic, covering the individual’s right to change, too).

Well, there’s a not unrelated piece of social politics that I’ve noticed popping up in the past few weeks. An account of our friend Maggie Mayhem‘s recent involvement in a new scene event managed some mild innuendo about Maggie and her partner Ned’s supposedly questionable ethics while demonstrating all the fun you can have with liquid nitrogen, but reserved the bulk of the author’s disapproval for the selection of artwork on display. The issue? That despite the venue being self-identified as “sex positive”, only fractionally more than one picture in ten was “female gaze” — which is, in this context, apparently a euphemism for “of men“; we’ll quietly ignore that this usage neatly glosses over the idea that a women might actually like looking at a picture of another woman, because that’s just a flea on the back of this dog of a problem. The furor continued with the shocking revelation that none of the artwork featured obviously transgendered models!

It’s not clear quite what ratios would have been considered acceptable. Perhaps the ratio should have matched the national average, which would have meant that 50.9% should have been “female gave”, or perhaps that 50.9% should have been of women? Maybe we shouldn’t be parochial, and should use the global average? Let’s be extremely generous and assume that 1% of the population is transgendered, and the male/female ratio is even (which it isn’t), so that means that 0.5% of should be of M-to-F transgendered folk, while the another 0.5% should be of F-to-M people. But wait, there’s more: out of each group, surely we have to balance the dom/sub imagery; let’s arbitrarily assume an equal balance, and that gives us a figure that 0.25% of the art should be of dominant female-identified trans people.

Oh, hang on: what about race? That soon takes us to a requirement that 0.001% of the artwork, or one picture in every one hundred thousand, should be of a native Pacific Islander M-to-F dominant! Phew! Sorted! Ah, wait a moment: that covers art of people, but not by them. But no matter: with an insane amount of effort, we can probably ensure that our picture of a Pacific Islander M-to-F domme was created by a Australian aboriginal lesbian sub, and cover those bases in that way. Of course, since even the Louvre in Paris only has 35,000 pieces of art, finding somewhere to display all those gloriously inclusive pictures may prove to be a bit of a challenge…

Now, heaven knows inclusivity is a great thing, and is to be encouraged. But so is art. The moment one lets political or social goals, however well intentioned, control what art is acceptable or not, one inevitably sacrifices quality to the quota. It just doesn’t work.

And more importantly, it cannot work. Art won’t, and shouldn’t, say the same thing to everyone; and part of the price of having something inspire you is that it may well leave someone else cold, or even repulse them. And even art which is generally considered “good” may be less-than-perfectly-suited to a wall in a “sex positive” space; for example, a print of John Sargent’s “Gassed” may put a bit of a damper on the mood!

Which brings us back to Leia-Ann’s core point: just as with taste in art, sexuality is individual and personal. It has to be absolutely OK for us to both like and not like things. And when someone starts trying to impose their taste, their opinions, their politics on our individuality — even in the name of inclusiveness — they become the oppressor, the tyrant, dictating what should be.

While on the subject of not liking things, there’s also been trend of conflating not liking with hating. In the spirit of such partisan mantras as “if you’re not with us, you’re against us”, the idea that someone might not actually want to see (e.g.) M/M spanking is equated with homophobia. Unquestionably, homophobes do exist, and it is undoubtedly a factor in the acceptance or otherwise of such material, but personal preference is an entirely different, and possibly more significant, factor. Those who rail against the lack of a particular type of material in porn strike me as like campaigning against the lack of vegan menu options at a steakhouse. If the market can support a holistic, fair-trade macro-biotic eating house (or whatever), then someone will go ahead and start one, or the steakhouse may decide to branch out and offer foodstuffs that didn’t once go “moo!” But if it the customer base isn’t there, then you don’t get to insist that the steakhouse must offer nut cutlets or Tofurkey just because you want to eat those dishes; your preferred dining choices don’t automatically preempt the steakhouse’s market-driven business decisions.

In reality, while those mutterings about the ratios of types of art were probably well intentioned, it’s a fundamentally misguided challenge to a symptom, and does nothing for the cause. The “problem” isn’t that a particular sex-positive space has “the wrong sort of art”, but that there are not enough such spaces. And the solution is rather simple: instead of complaining about the deficiencies of other people’s actions, DO something. Start a Filipino-Transgender-Dominant co-operative; open a Wahhabi-male-submissive space, make art featuring African women in chains (that wouldn’t be controversial, would it?).

And then put whatever you want on your walls.

Last night Mr Defeu and I watched Time Shift: Series 10: Crime and Punishment – The Story of Corporal Punishment.

I have to say, it was really, really surreal to see CP images just playing on the television, not in a porn DVD, but as part of a show made for general viewing.

Here is the description (which is clearly made for people who are coming to the programme opposing CP…)

Timeshift lifts the veil on the taboo that is corporal punishment. What it reveals is a fascinating history spanning religion, the justice system, sex and education. Today it is a subject that is almost impossible to discuss in public, but it’s not that long since corporal punishment was a routine part of life. Surprising and enlightening, the programme invites us to leave our preconceptions at the door so that we may better understand how corporal punishment came to be so important for so long.

I’m still trying to fully sum up to myself what I thought of the show. It was one of those eye-opening reminders that the rest of the world does not live in my happy CP bubble, and that corporal punishment apologists are not seen with much sympathy out there in the cold, cruel, spanking-free world.

And of course, there is whole matter of how people who were against CP pointed out that it could be eroticised, and it was used in porn – which was seen as suitable condemnation, no further discussion needed…..

Since I was watching the programme with Mr Defeu, that means I was watching it with someone who had actually experienced CP at school, which meant I got to ask him questions about his own experiences, to supplement the programme … which improved it greatly, and made it a good deal more relevant. I’m hoping that he will have the time to post some of his own thoughts here.

Obviously, this was a discussion of real-life CP, not This Thing We Do. And of course, to get in the discussion of whether it’s okay to have CP in the real world, not just in consensual bedroom games, is well beyond what I intend to write about here (because I’ve had enough drama on my blog recently, thank you, and I find it really upsetting to dread checking my own blog’s comments, because yet another upsetting can of worms has been opened).

So I can’t really, I guess, blame the show for avoiding the intersection of CP in the real world, and the world of consensual adult CP. I suppose it was quite brave of them to make the show in the first place, although of course if you want to get good ratings, you can’t do enough programmes like this. Because, no matter what people have to say about CP, so many are fascinated by it.

And that actually says a lot about it all, to me! People find a reason to watch shows like this, no matter what they otherwise think about CP. And a desire to watch “real” CP clips from the past is certainly no “better” (for whatever value of “better” you want to use there) then watching consenting adults who are getting paid to take their whacks.

Watch Time Shift: Series 10: Crime and Punishment – The Story of Corporal Punishment via BBC iPlayer Online