Zille Defeu’s Fetish Fantasies

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.

Well, I hit an emotional crisis. Because I really did not want the cane. Not that I don’t love the cane, because I do – I love it’s intensity, and the formality with which he delivers the strokes, and everything about the cane, really. But my bottom had reached the point where it was really letting me know that it had been hurt enough and over the bruises from last weekend, so perhaps more than enough at that!

Basically, I was scared about damage. It wasn’t whether I could get through the pain (because I have before and I will again) but simply that my body was telling me, “We’ve had quite enough, thank you, now stop before someone gets hurt!”

But I couldn’t say that to my Master. Well, I could, but it would damage the relationship that we have. He’d probably even not insist on caning me, or just give me three, or something kind like that, and give me lots of cuddles and not make me feel like I’d failed him at all. And then it would take years for him to trust me as a “bottom” in a scene again, as someone who will trust him and take what he needs to give. If I have learned anything in this relationship, it’s that it’s even harder to be the Top than the bottom, and I must respect that and make it as easy and enjoyable for my Master as possible.

So I kept my mouth shut, swallowed my fears, and took six of the best from him. (I assume they were “of the best.” If they weren’t, however, my bottom was so well-tenderized that he just could have been tapping the thing on it and I would have thought it was full force. At moments like those, there’s little difference between “bad” and “worse.”)

I don’t know how well I took them. I stayed in place, which is my minimum goal (although sometimes the only one I can meet!) I think I took them with some grace – since I’d had to use an extreme amount of self-control to accept them from him at all, I needed to maintain that through the caning, and so had self-control actually happening, which was convenient.

Then, he ordered me to lube up his cock. I didn’t know which hole he was going for, so I really slathered it on, since I wasn’t sure how I’d get through extreme anal pain as well. I was relieved when he went for the other orifice, I must admit!

Of course, I was more than ready and begging to be allowed to orgasm in no time flat. Submitting without question to my Master when I was afraid was not just the right thing to do for him, it was the right thing to do for me, too.

I think he hit a new land-speed record for piston-ing your cock into someone. At least for heterosexual males within a 10 year range of his age! (Maybe gay 16 year olds can go faster, I don’t know!) I like the hard and fast pump-action, so I was happy enough not to mind that of course he was also pounding his body against my terribly sore bum!

We were both a wee bit done in at the end of it, but after post-coital cuddles, I managed to make us a spectacular dinner. We usually have a (more or less) proper English breakfast every Sunday, but this Sunday we had some very yummy Scottish oat porridge we were finishing up, so I promised breakfast for dinner. I think breakfast for dinner may have to become a regular thing, because we both really loved the poached eggs and beans on toast, with a side of mushrooms sautéed with haricots verts (I did feel the need to add something green to dinner, esp. since I didn’t have any tomatoes to broil!) That makes a mighty fine dinner, it does, and especially after such an intense (strong, powerful, forceful, deep, passionate, severe) scene!

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