Zille Defeu’s Fetish Fantasies

Happy is the me. Today marks the first day of my re-emergence as a real, functioning slave!

There is still a little work left to do for the evil jobby-job, but this weekend I am free to actually enjoy the weekend. Which means getting beaten a lot!

Last week, I wrote my Master a letter. It basically said that I am really committed to being a slave, that I really do want him to punish me for me for my thoughtless/careless mistakes, or breaking the rules (of which he will be creating more, as circumstances bring them about. He doesn’t want unworkable rules, ones that will be a true hardship for me to follow, or for him to have to oversee), and that I have been taking advantage of his good nature – and I just don’t want to live like that.

It’s been so easy for us to slide into a comfortable complacency. I was really sick for a while, and then I’ve been working on the job-from-hell, and have had to cut back on my slave labors to get it done. And that’s life. It’s always going to throw curve-balls like that at us. Pretty much every other slave/sub who I talk to, or whose journal I read, deals with the same thing (that is, the ones who are in a relationship, living the lifestyle 24/7.) It’s hard to keep it up, and so easy to slip into something which seems more comfortable in the short-term. You know, if you’re tired, and over-worked, and you have your period, you might just get irritable and snap at your Master. And he, being the nice, loving, caring man that he is will say to himself, “You know, she is overworked and stressed out. I’ll cut her some slack.” And, to be honest, it might be easier for him to do that then to call you on it and deal with the emotional roller-coaster that will then happen (until the next day, when you feel bad about not being a “good slave,” and apologize profusely.)

But, I really don’t want to be given slack. I need that leash pulled taut. Because if you give me an inch of breathing room, I’ll take a mile. And when I do, I can become really selfish, thoughtless, and inconsiderate. I don’t want to! It’s not fun to be like that, even at the time (because you’re so annoyed at the world for not doing exactly what you want!) and then when you realize what a shit-head you’ve been, it’s really awful. I hate waking up and smelling the coffee of my inferior judgment. It makes me hate myself.

But if that leash is kept taut, then it’s all (mostly, except for those occasional really bad PMS months, where nothing will do but that I fuck up egregiously) not a problem. Keeping me in regular discipline, with swift sure reprimand for when I forget to do something, or do something wrong due to not paying attention, or what-have-you – then it not only keeps me from fucking up so much, but I tend to have a far more realistic view of the universe, and can get over myself far more smoothly.

Who knows why? I blame the parents. Seriously. My parents were totally of the ‘70s “let’s raise our little angels to think they are perfect and never know a moment’s hardship” school of parenting. My parents punishments were laughable. Honestly, I can’t think of anything worse than a lecture from them – and their lectures were to be avoided simply because they were really annoying and, like, a total waste time!

I really didn’t learn how to be a disciplined person from them, even though they both are pretty disciplined people. I am generally a nice person, generally pretty thoughtful and reasonable. But there is this monstrous spoiled brat in me, and it doesn’t take much for her to take over (the lyrics, “can’t fight the seether, I can’t see her till I’m foaming at the mouth” spring to mind.)

So, basically, what I need from my Master is to, in loco parentis, teach me how to be a disciplined, right-thinking, right acting person. Many people would find this a serious turn-off in a partner (“What? You aren’t actually an emotionally adult person? Screw that!”) but I am lucky enough to have found someone wired like that. He wanted someone he could have that much control over, whom he could mold. And I couldn’t be more delighted: “Mold me, baby – mold me hard!”

(I assume the end goal is to have me be a reasonable human being by the time we’re too old to do anything but sit in rockers and suck on our dentures. And I’m all for that, because I’d like to be able to have that strength of character as my body starts to fail me!)

Anyway, he was okay with the letter I sent him. He didn’t really talk to me so much about the details of it, just warned me that I was going to have to accept his discipline, and not get cranky if things didn’t always work out just as I’d like them. To which I replied that if I got cranky about it, I should be punished harder. (Something which I really do believe, but which belief I’m sure will not protect my bottom like a McGuffy’s Reader* when push comes to shove and I have to take a punishment when I’m tired and have a headache and feel, in that moment, that the punishment is entirely unjustified and unfair.)

And, I’ve already gotten my first punishment! But this post has gone on quite long enough, so I’ll put the prurient details in my next post!

* From R.A. Heinlein’s, To Sail beyond the Sunset
“…and if I hear just once more that you have lost your temper,
then when your mother sends you to discuss the matter with me, you had
better have your McGuffey’s Reader tucked inside your bloomers.”
“Father, you wouldn’t”
“Just try me, carrot top, just try me. I will enjoy spanking you.”

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