Zille Defeu’s Fetish Fantasies

Posts Tagged ‘blowjob’

Mr Defeu has many evil, evil tawses, but there is one stiff leather strap that I am always delighted to see him get out of the toy drawer. It looks about as imposing as any other piece of leather in his collection, but for some reason, this strap can’t hit me wrong — there’s not a time I don’t get some enjoyment from it. It ranges from “Ohhh, that’s a nice tease — please hit me harder!” to “Please keep that up — if you do, I’ll orgasm from this!” to “This is just a bit over the edge of what I can take, but it’s just that perfect amount over the edge! Do it again!”

There are some implements that from the first swat I loathe, despise, and outright hate. But this one turns me into an eager masochist, wriggling her bottom in eager anticipation. The implements which only hurt are perfect to use for tools of actual punishment. (Thus, the wooden paddle we have which is used for just that purpose, and which I do wish would just magically disappear, never to be seen again.) But this strap has come to be known as the “reward strap”. It’s just that good.

A couple weeks ago we were on a trip together. I often do his packing for him (a service I very much enjoy) and had used this opportunity to slip in that beloved strap and a bottle of lube — just in case, you know. It’s always good to be prepared for anything, right?! It was a busy, chaotic trip, but finally, on the last day, we had time alone together, and nothing else to do for a nice long evening stretching out ahead of us….
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Continued from Part I. I should warn you that this turned into a long and not particularly coherent ramble, with thoughts coming out faster then I could write them down, and so it doesn’t go in any well-mapped direction, nor come to a tidy conclusion….

Happy reminisces aside (and he’s given me plenty of lovely sensation-memories to contemplate in bed while he’s off on a business trip this week) the main reason I shared this scene was because it has really got me thinking about my long strange trip around the land of which Sacher-Masoch is king. (Or at least the guy who gave it its name!)

I’ve written before about how I was surprised as hell when I first got into BDSM and discovered that even though I’d been fantasizing about pain all my life, it actually hurt, and how that made me back off and explore submission and other kinky stuff, certain I was a failed masochist who could only dream but not live up to my own fantasies.

And, I’ve written how Mr Defeu and the Senior cane changed all that one amazing evening.

But that “voyage of discovery” wasn’t over, and I’m still very much learning about the intersection of pain and me.

Coming from the BDSM world, the spanko world confused me. In BDSM, masochists are out, proud, and boast of their masochistic depths – indeed, the most sought after thing is to be a “bottomless pit” which can take all the pain a Top dishes out – and preferably orgasm from it. (Of course, not many people are actually like this, and this ideal probably alienates many people as much as it did me!)

On the other hand, so many spankos claim to not enjoy pain at all. They suffer CP to get other rewards, they claim. This point of view helped me, when first arriving from the cult of the masochist (“Ah! It’s okay that pain hurts!”) However, it soon got in my way, because there are indeed times when a stroke hits just right, and I process it as pleasure. Or I get a spanking that amps things up slowly, just right yet again, and I can actually come from it, just like a real big masochist, mommy!

That’s what made me want to change the common-use (within the BDSM/spanko communities) definition of masochist, from “someone who enjoys pain” to “someone who gets something from pain” (which is what the dictionary definition is, anyway). Because I think most people who want to be spanked (or otherwise caned, whipped, strapped, or paddled) fall somewhere in-between the 0 of “I get nothing from being spanked” to the 10 of “I am a raging masochist who will come from being skinned alive”.

But this post is ranging too far in scope – I actually meant to just be talking about my own self-discoveries. Just as sexuality is fluid, so is masochism, it seems. (Although of course, for me, I don’t think there is any real division between my sexuality and my masochism.) Some days I just want the CP equivalent of love pats. Other days I crave my fundament being turned entirely black and blue….

But even more, as I learn more about myself, my own ability to take more and different kinds of pain expands.
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This is the “fun bit” of a two-part post. First I’ll recount a lovely scene Mr Defeu and I just did, and then tomorrow I’ll talk about some of the thoughts it has brought up for me. Dessert before dinner, for those of you who are just here for the spanking and kinky sex. But for those of you who want the “deep thoughts” part, the best is yet to come!

I was feeling a bit low on Saturday afternoon (despite some lovely first-thing-upon-waking-sex) and of course Mr Defeu knows the best way to perk me up: “I think there shall be a scene, this weekend,” he announced. “Oh, really?” I asked, suddenly buoyed up nicely. He nodded, and said nothing further, keeping his devious plans to himself.

Sunday morning rolled around, and as we cuddled in spoon-position after waking up, something else woke up, and poked me in lower right bum-cheek. “Aaaah,” I said, (always profound, me!) “Would you like me to go change into something more suitable?”

I was instructed to change into a vest (that’s a wife-beater, to American readers) and gym-cut knickers (which I took to mean short cotton-spandex shorts, not regulation knickers – and, as I wasn’t punished for wearing the wrong thing, must have made the right call!) and so, clad in a white vest, navy gym shorts, and two pony-tails (not just to be cute, but to keep my hair out of the way, as I had a feeling fellatio would factor into things somewhere, and also, getting a mouthful of hair during a beating, always after having been told not to move your arms, is both frustrating and embarrassing), I knocked on the bedroom door, and was curtly instructed to enter.

I was fighting a grin quite strongly at this point. I so very much wanted to be in role, but I was really just too happy that filthy perverted stuff was about to happen. I managed to have my face mostly under control by the time I got inside the door.

“Well, my girl,” he said in full disappointed “this will hurt me more than it hurts you” Authority Figure Mode, “What did I tell you about being too rowdy last night?”

Uh, I don’t know! – was my first thought, and not one I said outloud – I didn’t remember being particularly boisterous or unruly the night before. So I tried for an all-purpose defence: “Um, youthful high spirits?”

That justification was of course deemed quite beneath regard, and I was treated to a lecture on how I had quite ruined his evening, but he didn’t want to be imposed upon to have to punish me when he was trying to get some RnR, and so he would attend to me now.

I was lapping this right up of course, although I gave a token stab at self-defence and tying to talk my way out of what was coming to me. (You can’t very well say, “Yay! Yay! Lecture me more!”)

This worked so well that I ended up being pulled over his lap as he sat on the side of the bed, and him laying right into me with heavy, hard spanks.
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Mr Defeu is off on a trip again, and so when I found this old post it really resonated with me…. Originally posted on 6th Oct 2008.

Mr Defeu got home last Thursday night, and I promptly got sick. And then he had family-crisis stuff to deal with. So the best I could do as his girl was to have yummy food prepared for him, and surprise him with his desk all cleaned and neat and polished. (Most of the house was supposed to also be this way, but see above about the getting sick part, which threw the wrench in those plans!) I was scared that the weekend would go by with just dealing with family stuff. And also, when I get sick, he gets all in Daddy mode and wants to snuggle and pamper me.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I like being snuggled and pampered as much as the next girl, but when it means his Mean Scary Dominant Self gets turned off – then I’m a sad girl, because I live for our scenes. When he growls roughly at me to do something, my knees turn to jelly and other parts of my anatomy do fascinating things. When he gets all sweet and loving, it’s great … but well, it’s like flavours. I like to eat sweet stuff (oh yes I do indeed!) but I also crave rich, hearty, savoury flavours as well. Think of discipline and the various pains of spanking, caning, etc., as Boeuf Bourguignon, and your favourite sort of pizza, and spaghetti the way your mom made it, and creamy Potatoes Au Gratin, and sushi, and chicken satay and Tom Ka Gai, and a Monte Christo or Croque Monsieur or your favourite sandwich or burger, and, and, and … all your favourite savoury foods!

Happily, some of that yummy stuff was coming my way. He said he needed a nap, early Sunday evening, and I despaired. But then he saw I was upset and pointed out that after the nap, he would be refreshed…. He slept for about 45 minutes, and then I went in and joined him in the bed, and snuggled with him as he napped, and just enjoyed lying in bed with him, feeling his warmth and hearing his breathing, as I looked out of the window at the night-time city lights.

Eventually he stirred, and reached for my hand, and pulled it down to his cock, which was obviously wide awake and ready for action.

I laughed with delight, and said, “You should take lots of naps, Sir!”

Then I didn’t say anything for a while, because I was sucking his cock.

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I’ve been organizing the books in our apartment, as they are threatening to take over the place, and I found this gem among Papa Otter’s erotica collection.

The cover is more funny than arousing (to me, anyway) but what is lovely and even in it’s own way arousing is the innocence of the image. No worries about feminism, here, no angst about if spanking your wife is okay, no confusion about whether discipline should have sex involved (the author thinks it should, if you can’t tell by the spanker’s humongous erection!) — these are some happy ’60s swingers who explore their desires with an almost child-like innocence.

The book cheerfully merges domestic discipline with sex (and swinging, because once you find out the neighbours like spanking, too, the obvious next step is to spank and fuck the neighbour’s wife, non?) in a way that is very heartening for me, because Papa Otter and I find they mingle very well indeed, and I was very surprised when I came across the DD [Domestic Discipline] community and found out that I wasn’t supposed to want to mix those things!

My favourite example of this (and I really need to carry the URL for this site around with me, because when I tell people about it they just can’t believe me) is this fabulous article, Thanking the HOH — The “Formal Thank You” as a Non-Sexual Act. I don’t know how I found it, but once I realized what I’d come across, I had a reaction that combined all the best aspects of shooting my drink out my nose and punching the air and shouting, “Yes!”
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