Zille Defeu’s Fetish Fantasies

Posts Tagged ‘D/s’

This is a goooood week to be reading the kinky blogs, whether you’re a spanko or BDSM-player — even better if you’re both, like me!

On the Master/slave side of things, Kaya has put up what may be her bestest post to date (this is not easy — she’s so good, it’s hard for her to top herself. Errr, yes, in both meanings of “top!”) about the “reality” of modern Master/slave relationships.

[Slavery is] an illusion that only works because the two people involved believe in it enough to make it their own personal “reality”.

Nobody is really a slave, bound and held in the same manners that real-life slaves are. Nobody is owned. Nobody is property.

It’s mindgames and headfucks and brainwashing- and it works because we make it work. Because we’re dedicated to making it work and because we put equal effort into making it “real” for us. I am a slave, he is my owner and that’s how we live. That’s our reality, our day to day life and it’s how we choose to live.

But it isn’t real. None of y’all are. Stand in a police station one time and tell an officer that you’re an owned slave and your owner won’t let you leave. Face it, the only people believing in your “reality”, is the pair of you….

As Kaya so colourfully puts it, that observation “that went over like a fart in church.” Wander over to her blog to read the ensuing drama!

Over at Ye Olde Spanking Writers, the deeply intelligent and attractive Haron (me, be flirting with her? Why, um, yes, actually!) considers:

I’m not going to make anyone feel better if I say that, without taking on and processing different kinds of violence visited by one human being on another throughout history, we would be bereft of any settings for role-play. The stuff we feed on, from Roman slaves, via Victorian maids, to nearly modern schoolchildren, is in its core quite appalling.

How much of it you then make it yours, whether you decide to play with certain aspects of it at all, is then a sensitive individual choice….

(Of course, Haron’s not the only one doing awesome posts on the Spanking Writers this week. Abel put up this really amusing post yesterday!)

Meanwhile — because theory is all well in it’s way, but really, we’re all just here for the hot pr0n, right? — Adele Haze and Pandora have been getting up to no good, which is all to the good of us viewers, if not Pandora’s and Adele’s bottoms! I can’t wait for Roué to release the film!

Tweet this!

I was just whinging on my other blog, when events overtook me in a very ironic way. Thought you all would appreciate:

There’s a back story to this: some years ago, when we were still very intensely Master and slave — things having mellowed

——————————Amusing ironic cut——————————
Of course, just as I type the above, my Master called to me from the other room.

“Sweetie?”

“Yes, Sir?”

“I’d like help sleeping now.”

He meant, a pre-nap blow-job.

I immediately got up and gave him one — no thought of saying, “I’m writing a blog post — I’ll come and do it when I’m done!”

He may now call me “Sweetie,” instead of “Girl,” but some important things remain!

——————————End amusing ironic cut——————————

Anyway, as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted [grins] — things having mellowed somewhat since then…

Hope you are all having good weekends! I’m off to try and improve ours!

Tweet this!

Well, you lot, I apologise for being away, but I’m afraid I have an excuse. I’ve written about it here, and all future writings about that topic will be over there, too.

No, I’m not being all cryptic. My Master was in a bad car accident, and I am going to be dealing with the ramifications of that both over here (how this will effect our M/s relationship, his “physio-therapy” of getting able to spank and cane me again, etc.) but all the non-kinky stuff I’ll be putting over there.

Happily, I have good and kinky news already. My Master got out of the hospital this past Thursday, and last night I was able to give him a blow-job and he was able to come. This is not a small thing, because he was catheterized for a while (sadly, not a fetish of his!) and that can interfere with all of the manly tubing. Also, I had to very carefully not bang into or put weight on anything broken, fractured, or bruised, so it involved some creative gymnastics on my part. (Yay yoga!)

Finally, it was a week to the day after his accident, and he has been through terrible shocks to his physical and mental systems, so it would not be weird or even a bad sign if he couldn’t come. Indeed, I told him it was a no-pressure blow-job, just me giving him some pleasure for a while, c’est tout.

That he trusted me enough with his newly fragile body not only to do it in the first place, but more so that he was able to relax and ignore his bodily pains and leg brace and bandages, is the kindest compliment a person can give. When he came in my mouth, I almost started crying — it was very intense for me: an honour and true gift.

Lying as best I could beside him, after, I started to sense how our new relationship would eventually turn out. Everything has changed, but our love is only stronger, and we will turn this scary change into growth.

Tweet this!

As you lot all know from recent somewhat maudlin posts of mine, my Master has been away. Well, he got home late Saturday night—which did leave me time to have Miss Maggie Mayhem over for flirting and planning world domination and Indian take-away—and after he got home we all hung out a bit, before she had to go catch the last train.

My Master was exhausted from travel, and he plunked down in front of the TV to unwind before bed. He looked through the recorded shows on our DVR, and discovered that the box had become full, so had deleted some shows. The ones it deleted were our entire saved-up Season Two of Skins.

I had said that while he was gone, I’d watch the Tess of the d’Urbervilles that was taking up space on it, but I totally forgot, having become entirely caught up in Coupling.

Now, he has at least six Top Gears on there, but he is the Master, so it’s Tess’ and my fault that the Skins were deleted. He was really angry about it, which I would get if it was episodes of Dr Who, but while I enjoy Skins, it wasn’t life-or-death to me. I went and hid in the bathroom for a little while, and overcame my feelings of resentment for being snapped at for something I considered so trivial.

Here’s where being a slave is so good for me: instead of snapping back at him when he snapped at me, I went off, licked my wounds, and came back, well, if not bouncy and effervescent, at least quietly accepting of my fault and ready to move on if he was. Happily he was, and I ended up snuggled against him as we watched … something, I don’t even remember what. And then we went to bed and there was more snuggling and everything was okay … and it was okay because I didn’t snap back at him and turn it into a fight (and how awful would that have been?! “Welcome home—now let’s have a fight about something stupid!”). I let go of my hurt feelings and accepted his. Sadly, the only way I’ve been able to accomplish this consideration and emotional intelligence is to become a slave and not have carelessness, selfishness, and stupidity as options anymore. (Well, they are an option, but they inevitably lead to the paddle, and perhaps some kneeling on rice, so they become considerably less attractive as options!)

The next day, after our usual leisurely Sunday morning, I asked if I should go have a bath and do my shaving. He said yes, and I went off to go splash and soak and generally enjoy myself while making myself all smooth. When I came out, squeaky clean and moisturised to supple perfection (I’m a wee bit fanatical about personal maintenance), he was in bed with a book. Wheeeeee! I thought, and headed right to join him, naked as a jaybird.
Read the rest of this entry »

Tweet this!

My Master is travelling for work yet again, and I’m home alone. I’m re-watching Coupling to pass the time in the evenings when I would normally be snuggled up with him.

Watching the show is making me feel like the past three years never happened, and I’m sitting alone in my bedroom in my nice house in the ‘burbs, excited about this man who has just become my Master: not just excited, but scared, eager, raring to go. I was so desperate for things to work out with my Master, for me to be in a real successful D/s relationship, that I lived in a perpetual state of worked up nerves: one minute full of joy and singing out loud, the next crying because I was sure he’d suddenly realize how unworthy I was to serve him, and tell me I wasn’t his girl anymore.

I was just, “girl,” then. He decided I had to earn my nicknames from him, and so I started as his girl, a nameless girl. Then, one night, in a late night phone call – it was probably 1AM or so for me, and he was in off in some part of Europe – he accidentally called me “little one.” He was surprised because he hadn’t meant to upgrade me so fast, it just slipped out of his mouth! I melted into a puddle of happiness, although it didn’t really cure my irrational fears. It took a long while (okay, maybe a month or so!) for me to accept the term, “slave.” I’d never really wanted to be a slave, so while I was happy to have him as my Master, I was more comfortable being his girl, or his sub. Slave was a big step.
Read the rest of this entry »

Tweet this!