Zille Defeu’s Fetish Fantasies

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, and I am used to rattan (his preferred cane), which is, I think, a much more civilized tool. I imagine you can understand why I feel this way!

I thought the paddling would provide a “warm up” (as it were) and then I could take the cane strokes like a champ. But sadly, no: no championship caneé awards to be given out for this performance! All I knew was that he’d gone and gotten one of the seldom used canes (a bad sign — none of them are nice!), and was hitting me with something that left a deep and sustained stripe of agony – this wasn’t even the classic hit-then-pain-comes-up thing, this was pain-starts-on-impact-and-doesn’t-go-away.

Well, I got through them. Again, with no poise or stoicism! After the final stroke, he told me to pull down my shorts, and he used that adamantine pillar on me, or should I say in me? It wasn’t an ass-fucking (I was surprised, but too done-in to be anything but grateful for the reprieve) but there was something about submitting to being fucked after submitting to being truly punished that gave the fucking something of the intensity of anal sex. He said, later, that in that circumstance, he can really feel like he is using me (or allow himself to feel that way, I never get an entirely clear answer out of him on the matter) and since being used sexually is a big turn-on for me, that got me feeling horny again … albeit well after the punishment was over!

It was essentially a “forced orgasms” thing. I wasn’t what you’d call “in the mood,” being more desirous of curling up in fetal position in a cave and licking my wounds. Last thing I wanted was someone slamming their weight against my ass, let me tell you! But he kept fucking me, with all the knowledge he has of my body, and he made me come, and then come again, and again. They were strange orgasms, because in that very vulnerable place I was in, it just felt like the skin had been ripped off my psyche and I was just flesh, naked to the world. I cried at each orgasm, really bawling. To say the experience was cathartic would be stretching even the limits of the art of understatement.

When he came, he said his teeth were tingling.

We cuddled after, because if there was ever a person in need of cuddles, it was me at that moment! And, if one stops to consider his point of view, he probably needed to cuddle me just as much as I needed it from him. A proof that all is okay with your partner, that you didn’t push them too far, and that even though you’ve just given them a horrible beating that they didn’t enjoy at all, they still love you and want you to do it again. And I do want him to do that again – not for a while to come, mind you! – but this is exactly what makes our relationship so intense and wonderful: he needs someone he can punish for their infractions, and not just play-punish, but have that sort of real control over. And I have always needed someone who will punish me, for the same reason that a parent punishes a child: because they love them and want to help them improve, and make life that much easier for them in the future. To me, that he punishes me is the ultimate proof that he loves me.

One thing does leave me in a conundrum, and it all comes down to the hardness of his cock. I have nothing to complain about his cock on a day-to-day basis — as glancing over previous blog entries will prove — but when he punishes me, it’s like he took 10 Viagra or something, the evidence of his intense arousal is very unmistakable, palpable even, to make a wee pun. (A wee-wee pun. Okay, sorry for that — I’m still a bit giddy, I think!) And I want to provide for him that level of arousal and fulfillment with every sexual encounter (or at least as many as possible). But I don’t want to (and don’t think I can) take a beating like that every day. Or even every month. Occasionally — because at least I only mess up enough to require punishment no more than occasionally — seems plenty, in the face of my memories of last night and how my bottom feels today.

But, while my body and rational self are voting for “occasionally,” my fantasies are all about exactly what makes his cock so hard: being beaten past my point of self-control, past the point where as a masochist I can enjoy it, to just pure mindless pain. The intensity of it is intoxicating — and addicting! That’s what I think about when I masturbate. There has got to be some way that we can get him what makes his cock so turgid it might explode, and what fuels my fondest fantasies, but without leaving my bottom as scarred and leathered as the ones you see at gay leather events, on those old gay guys who’ve been in the scene forever and taken more beatings than you can shake a cane at, rattan or synthetic!

Heh. Well, I guess it means we’ve still got a lot of exploration still ahead of us, and won’t be getting bored with each other any time soon!

And all this from a simple punishment for being overly cranky! It’s amazing how a D/s dynamic can take something that might be a problem (because who wants to stay with a partner who becomes extremely unpleasant to be around whenever life throws a little stress in the mix?) and turn it into a fascinating adventure….

[Picture of the results]

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