Zille Defeu’s Fetish Fantasies

Dear Sir,

Here is a random selection of thoughts/emotions/stuff from last Saturday’s scene, as per your request.

One thing that immediately springs to mind is the final spank you gave me that night. It was the perfect spank – you are immensely skilled at spanking, but this was the best one ever – the Platonic ideal of a spank. Your hand/the energy/the sensation sank into my ass as one, and it felt so good, so right. It was just the right amount of force, and I guess my ass was just the right amount of “warmed up” (hahaha – to call two canings a “warm up”!) and I was coming and my body was pressed up against yours and it all just made me so content and replete and … comfortable, in a “I have found my place” kind of way. Anyway, I will never forget it!

Which is a good lead-in to the caning, which, of course, I will never forget either!

I find it difficult to write about. It is very much an indescribable thing in my mind and memory. I remember how scared I was lying down on the cold glass of the table – hearing the metal of my collar hitting the glass, feeling your hot strong hands pushing me, guiding me … and then I just tried to relax as much as I could, just lie there with all my muscles completely relaxed, my mind open and ready.

And then … words seem so inadequate…. I heard the cane, and then I knew it hit, and then I felt the pain coming up, and despite any and all preparation, it was such a shock, something I could have never have really been ready for. That time there was no trouble for me counting … as the rush of pain from the first stroke died away, my whole being was fixed on: “There are five more. Just five more. I will take five more. I can take it because there are only five more.”

I could feel you move around a bit, and when you’d take your hand away I’d feel so scared and lost, but when you put your hand back on my back, I’d know that another stroke was about to fall, and I would try to relax into it, but it grew harder each time. So your touch brought both comfort and trepidation in one simple-yet-so-complex contact.

I could not tell you how long the caning took. I know you gave me as long as I needed to recover, and I tried to be scrupulously honest in my breathing – only panting when I had to, and taking longer, more composed/composing breaths as soon as I could.

Now that I think about it, I can compare it to only one other thing: competing in ice skating. Which is pretty indescribable in all the important ways, as well. But it’s got so much in common! Beforehand, you want to compete. You plan it with your coach, who also wants you to compete and may encourage you to do a hard competition you do not think you are ready for, yet. You work hard to be ready for it. But as the days grow closer, it looms in your mind, with all your fears unavoidable and ever-present in your mind.

The night before you don’t get much sleep. And then on the day of, you are a bundle of nerves, and you play it in your head: how it might go, how it should go, over and over. And you prepare, very ritually. (I had a breakfast I always ate. You wash your laces and polish your boots. Etc.) And suddenly, everything seems new: like you have never laced up your boots before, like you are stepping out onto the ice for the first time.

Time moves differently, and it is both faster and slower than normal. Everything seems to be going by so slowly, and yet suddenly that part is over and you are in this new moment and how did that happen?

Standing on the ice, in your starting position, waiting for the music to start playing so that you, the barely-held-together collection of nervous energy that you are, can start moving – can start breathing, being alive again, is just like waiting for that first stroke of the cane. It seems like it will never happen and then Oh God It Is Happening!

And the whole caning is like performing your whole routine … you focus on each thing as you come to it, and that thing is the whole world for you. Each upcoming maneuver, each upcoming strike, is the only thing you are thinking of, thinking of in this quiet, completely calm place, very far away from the normal world. Then you are doing it and you are not thinking at all, just doing it, just moving through it. And then another thing comes up….

And then you are done – the music ends or the pain from the final blow fades away, and you know how you did with crystal clarity – the whole thing was this ongoing moment of pellucid lucidity, and that clarity fades out to be replace with a rush of emotion and fuzzy thoughts – suddenly, you wonder, “How did I do?” when a moment before you knew exactly. And if you did well, your coach, your Master, is hugging you, praising you, telling you what a good job you did and you feel high, drunk, soaring with endorphins and happiness.

(Knowing what it felt like to do poorly in a competition, I never, ever, want to do poorly in a caning!)

But really, all those words do not even touch how it feels. But both of those experiences are highly addictive, and you soon start wanting to have them again, even as your (realistic!) fear of them starts building up in the wake of the fading adrenaline. Now that I know how much a caning hurts I want it just as much – more – than I did before, even though I fear the pain and furious intensity.

The second caning, Sir, was very different. Bent over like that I felt much confusion (although less humiliation than I feared, because of the protective nature of the cat-suit.) This time, I could not easily keep track of the strikes, even though there were not any more than before. It was all a hot rushing daze of pain and trying to keep in the position. The first time you caned me I felt like I was actively part of staying in control of myself – there was still pride in holding still and taking the blows well. But the second time, I felt that it was only you that was keeping me going through it, that it was less about me actively submitting to you and more about you actively dominating me.

I love being in your arms any time, Sir, but being held by you after a caning is special, and is part of the addictiveness of the experience. I could not sense your excitement while you were caning me, but afterwards, I could feel it coursing through you and that was a rush sweeter than any opiate to me. I can – and will – go through just about anything to get back there, again.

It makes the deep, dark, echoing “cave” of my un-tried depths of submission a lot less scary. I realize that you will be there with me, and though I still cannot see more than a few feet beyond my face, knowing that you will be there, Sir, with your hand on my back, my neck, my head, whatever, leading me or just being there with me, makes it all “okay,” without taking away any of the excitement or anticipation. Although I say that still pretty high from Saturday – there still may be corners I am afraid to go ‘round … but I know that you will show me how.

And then making you come twice was like a cherry on a huge perfect sundae!

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