Zille Defeu’s Fetish Fantasies

Posts Tagged ‘D/s’

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.
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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.
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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.
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Okay, here it is the picture you’ve been waiting for … sorry it’s so grainy … the flash blew out the marks, but it wasn’t light enough in the room for a good exposure on the little camera we were using (as my Master was wanting to go sit on the sofa and watch me cook dinner, not do a complex photo shoot. I guess we are just going to have to keep lighting equiptment in our bedroom at all times!)

If you missed it, the write-up of the punishment is here.

What annoys me is how mild it looks in that image! The problem is that both the paddle and the heavy nylon cane are very heavy, thuddy instruments, and so the bruising (and pain!) is deep in the muscle. I find this frustrating, because blast it, if I’m going to suffer that much, I deserve some pretty kick-ass (errr, literally!) marks decorating my brave bottom.

But no, even though it still hurts if I plunk myself into a chair instead of easing myself gently down, no, I just have some dark yellow markings that do not do justice to the experience one little bit! Phooey!

For the past week, my life has been eclipsed by the book I am reading — not really reading, but devouring, really! Maia, by Richard Adams, is a thick and dense fantasy novel, which seems to inspire either unmitigated praise or loathing from its readers. The ones who like it compare it to The Lord of the Rings in scope, and the ones who don’t, well, they cast it down to corresponding depths, I assure you!

I personally am loving it, although I don’t think that you should compare every well-fleshed-out fantasy novel to LOTR (and indeed, comparing these two would be serious apples and oranges), although I have by now figured out that I will happily enjoy all sorts of fantasy and science fiction novels at which lots of other people sniff down their noses — and I’m fine with that, as I just get another book to enjoy.

I can’t complain about its length, because I love long novels, since they let me enter another world and stay there for a long time. (Can you tell I do escapist reading?!) And I can’t really complain about anything else I’ve seen derided online about this book; one thing that seems to drive feminist-sorts mad is that the main character, Maia obviously, is pretty flawed. If you don’t read the story closely, you’ll think she’s sorta stupid (very little intellectual curiosity, and not much imagination) — that’s what gets the feminazis up in arms. But since I know at least a couple people who demonstrate exactly the same flaws as Maia, it just makes it all very real and believable to me (and at least she is still a likeable character, unlike Harry Potter, who towards the end of that series I just wanted to smack so he’d stop whinging!) And, what is really great is that Maia grows and changes through the book, learning from her experiences — and that’s really cool to see in a fantasy story. Anyway, I thought having a flawed hero was actually a mark of better writing than having a perfect, one-dimensional character? But what I do I know?

Well, I do know one thing: Richard Adams is a right old pervert! As far as I can tell, he has only written this story so that he’ll have an excuse to think up all sorts of scenarios for slave girls to get caught in shocking situations, with varying amounts of sex and perversion. Most of the main characters are either seriously into BDSM (and “safe, sane, and consensual” don’t enter into it!) or are simply generally very horny people who want to, and do, have sex all the time.

Take poor Maia, f’r'instance. She starts simply as an innocent 15 year old (the very start of the first chapter spends pages lavishing a description of her naked young body) who happily starts fucking her step-father. Yes, really. Unsurprisingly, her mother doesn’t take too well to this, and so she calls in the slave-traders to take Maia away. How could this story really become more than a sexy romp of a novel, I ask you?! Kushiel’s Dart, so infamous as a BDSM erotic novel, has less kinky sex in it!

The best parts, for me, are the spanking-related ones. Maia, after some adventures, gets bought by the obscenely dissolute Sencho. Once in his household, the real fun begins:

The punishment referred to by Terebinthia and Occula as ‘whipping’ was in actuality or never inflicted with a whip, for the bodies of the slave girls of the quality owned by the High Counsellor were far too valuable to be scarred or lacerated. Terebinthia’s normal practice — of which he, as a connoisseur, approved, finding it as enjoyable as whipping, was to administer a sound smacking on the rump with a broad strip of leather about twenty inches long, and perhaps an eighth of an inch thick. As an amusing adjunct to this spectacle, Sencho, whose natural pruriency delighted above all in seeing women indecently degraded, had himself designed and had made a special block for the culprit. This consisted of a life-sized figure, carved in black wood, of a naked grinning savage reclining on its back, the two hands cupped in front of the face to form a kind of perch or saddle. The girl to be punished, having been stripped, was compelled to crouch astride this figure, facing its feet, her buttocks elevated and her groin supported on its hands. In this position, and effectively gagged — for the figure was realistically complete in its semblance of carnal arousal — she presented a charming and elegant spectacle of humiliation which never failed to afford Sencho keenest enjoyment.
During the smacking of Meris, which Terebinthia, herself stripped to the waist for greater freedom, carried out with brisk and pleasing vigour, the High Counsellor, his couch placed close beside the girl, lay watching in blissful silence. From time to time, signing to Terebinthia to pause, he would stretch out a fat arm to caress Meris’s thighs, himself trembling with frissons of delicate, cultured pleasure….
Her own reactions to the whipping had been startlingly unexpected … so Maia, whether she would or no, was swept away by a surging headlong exhilaration. Ah! Ah! Meris shuddering, Meris writhing, Sencho panting, Meris uncontrollably pissing in the black man’s face ha ha….

It was through this inspired scene that I found the novel, as it impressed someone on Amazon enough to include it in the Spanking In Literature List. But it has even more spanking and corporal punishment … Read the rest of this entry »