Zille Defeu’s Fetish Fantasies

Posts Tagged ‘cane’

Well, I asked my Twitter friends what to blog about today, and the only one to suggest anything was Lucy from Northern Spanking Institute. However, I’m not going to do either of her suggestions (fashion, or David Bowie!) today (although I will certainly cover those topics another day), because she reminded me that a new set of Irylnn Logeen and myself (and of course, the evil Stephen Lewis!) have gone up on NSI!

This fits perfectly in the Halloween spirit of things, because in this film I am playing a track coach, which is a true costume for me (I’m no good at running, and did my best to skip PE classes when I was in school!) So enjoy me in my gym shorts and whistle (and enjoy my acting — I had a great time getting in character for this!) because you won’t see that in real life! (Also, Irelynn is deeply enjoyable to look at in regulation gym knickers. Yum!)

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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All the recent not-playing has left me with lots of time to read (oh, what a wild life I lead!) and I’ve continued on with my “Heinleins That Don’t Get Enough Attention” list. It seems I’m not the only one to realize what a great book Double Star is:

Whatever your viewpoint on SF, the fact that an award-winning book from a man generally named as one of the genre’s founding fathers (alongside Isaac Asimov and Arthur C Clarke) is so little known amongst otherwise knowledgeable cultural journalists says something about the way the genre has been marginalised by the UK press. Now that I’ve read the book, such ignorance also seems a shame.

The replication in question concerns an egotistical actor who is called in to act as a double for a political leader after the man himself is kidnapped. The actor (The Great Lorenzo) successfully performs a tricky diplomatic mission on Mars and is then called on to encore after encore after it becomes clear that Joe Bonforte – the man he is pretending to be – is unlikely to be able to appear in public again.

So far so simple. The story moves at a sharp pace, helped along by Heinlein’s slick prose and the kind of wry good humour demonstrated when he describes the multi-consonant names (Rrringrill) he has ascribed to his Martians as sounding like “a leaking faucet”.

In common with much of the best SF, it’s not just the scientific ideas that make this book worthy of investigation. History does too. The political concerns and philosophy that Heinlein chooses to project onto his imagined future also provide an intriguing barometer of his times.

The book’s impassioned pleas for understanding and tolerance with regard to Martian culture, for instance, might not make for a subtle allegory, but it is moving given the book’s context in 1950s America. It’s not beyond the realms of possibility that a few of those impressionable teenage white males who comprised the books original target audience went on to stand with Martin Luther King on the Washington Mall a few years later.

And, here, finally, is the quote that this whole post is about!

As my father used to say, ‘Larry, you are too durned pretty! If you don’t get off your lazy duff and learn the business, you are going to spend fifteen years as a juvenile, under the mistaken impression that you are an actor – then wind up selling candy in the lobby. “Stupid” and “pretty” are the two worst vices in show business – and you’re both.’

Then he would take off his belt and stimulate my brain. Father was a practical psychologist and believed that warming the glutei maximi with a strap drew excess blood away from a boy’s brain. While the theory may have been shaky, the results justified the method…

The images in this post are from Northern Spanking Institute’s epic space opera “Schoolgirls In Space”, which you should go watch immediately! Heinlein would have entirely approved of it!

Funny to find this after yesterday’s post! Originally posted on 10th Apr 2006.

Well, you’ve all been good patient people, who have posted to let me know you like being voyeurs into my sex life [grins at you all] so here is an image from Mr Defeu’s birthday!

That’s a green school-girl gym-skirt you see on me. Oh, what a hot scene it was! My grades had been slipping, you see, and my teacher had me come over to his house for some discipline…. By this point my hands have been hit with a tawse, and the front of my thighs tawsed as well. I have been spanked, caned with a light cane in several positions, caned with a heavier cane also in couple postions, and then soundly fucked (in a variety of positions! And oh — sex with Mr Defeu is simply wonderful. But sex after being caned is beyond description.)

Then, a heavy nasty mean tawse was taken to my bottom (that would be the over-all redness you see) and then I got a final six from the cane which nearly had me climbing off the bed in pain!

It was amazing. After it was all done, and we were snuggling, I asked Mr Defeu, “Who’s birthday is it, again?!” Remember that picture of me looking all glow-y? I took that a few hours later.

I have a big long post to write about masochism another time, but suffice it to say, for now, that I am very happy with being a masochist and I am glad I am in the hands of someone who knows what to do with me!

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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