Zille Defeu’s Fetish Fantasies

Posts Tagged ‘digital photography’

I did this shoot last year, when all of a sudden, I had a whole lot of models to shoot and had to think of something to do with them (oh, poor me, what a terrible life!) I thought, “Where would you find a bunch of hot women together?” and, my mind being what it is, “A brothel,” was the first thing that came into my mind. That thought was soon followed by remembering the amazing images of the Storyville “ladies of the night” by John Ernest Joseph Bellocq.

Here are two from the series, that I thought you lot would especially enjoy. In this first image, we see a number of naughty girls cheating at their card game (and of course, they are gambling and drinking the demon liquor, to add to spankable offenses, should a gentleman feel so inclined….)

In this next shot, one of the recalcitrants (you may remember she was taking a shot as cover for peeking at her neighbor’s cards) is now being brought to justice. It would seem the gal who was offended against is enjoying the prospect — and her bottom…!

Sorry I missed posting yesturday, but now I’m finally starting to feel better! To make up for it, I’ll post two things today!

First, Abel and Haron, The Spanking Writers, did a great post today: Roald Dahl’s Spanking Poetry. In it, they name-check Roald Dahl, and his wonderful story “Galloping Foxley” which is in Tales of the Unexpected, — an excellent selection of his short stories. Here’s a snipet:

” ‘If you’re too obstinate to answer,’ the voice was saying, ‘then I’ll have to decide for you.’ I wanted desperately to answer because I knew which one I had to choose. It’s the first thing you learn when you arrive. Always keep the dressing-gown on and take the extra strokes, Otherwise you’re almost certain to get cut. Even three with it on is better than one with it off. ‘Take it off then and get into the far corner and touch your toes. I’m going to give you four.’ Slowly I would take it off and lay it on the ledge above the boot-lockers. And slowly I would walk over to the far corner, cold and naked now in my cotton pyjamas, treading softly and seeing everything around me suddenly very bright and flat and far away, like a magic lantern picture, and very big, and very unreal, and sort of swimming through the water in my eyes.

‘Go on and touch your toes. Tighter – much tighter than that.’ Then he would walk down to the far end of the changing room and I would be watching him upside down between my legs, and he would disappear through a doorway that led down two steps into what we called ‘the basin-passage’. This was a stone-floored corridor with wash basins along one wan, and beyond it was the bathroom. When Foxley disappeared I knew he was walking down to the far end of the basin-passage.

Foxley always did that. Then, in the distance, but echoing loud among the basins and the tiles, I would hear the noise of his shoes on the stone floor as he started galloping forward, and through my legs I would see him leaping up the two steps into the changing-room and come bounding towards me with his face thrust forward and the cane held high in the air.

This was the moment when I shut my eyes and waited for the crack and told myself that whatever happened I must not straighten up.

Anyone who has been properly beaten will tell you that the real pain does not come until about eight or ten seconds after the stroke. The stroke itself is merely a loud crack and a sort of blunt thud against your backside, numbing you completely (I’m told a bullet wound does the same). But later on, oh my heavens, it feels as if someone is laying a red hot poker right across your naked buttocks and it is absolutely impossible to prevent yourself from reaching back and clutching it with your fingers.

Foxley knew all about this time lag, and the slow walk back over a distance that must altogether have been fifteen yards gave each stroke plenty of time to reach the peak of its pain before the next one was delivered.

On the fourth stroke I would invariably straighten up. I couldn’t help it. It was an automatic defence reaction from a body that had had as much as it could stand.

‘You flinched,’ Foxley would say. ‘That one doesn’t count, Go on – down you get.’ The next time I would remember to grip my ankles.”

I think the people who do Lupus Spanking should remake this (with a girl in drag, a la Over the Knee!)

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Okay, now for the second part of the post! This week I’ll be madly working to process images I’ve taken so I can launch my Master’s and my fetish photography website. (Beyond a front page, that is!) So, this week, every day, I’ll post a sample of what I’ve been working on! Today’s shot is I think quite thematically appropriate for the text above!

The model getting the cane is Ntali. N.B.: I don’t have a good title for this image. I would love suggestions!

UPDATE: Karl has come up with a winning name: “Recoil” — isn’t it perfect?! I’m so pleased that I will be asking for names for all the images I post this week!

This is a shot I did for Project ISM about a year or so ago.

I’ll be posting some of my favorite shots I’ve done for ISM over the years in the coming weeks, to celebrate being on the site again — yes, I’ve sent in the shoot from my Master’s and my honeymoon! It’s going to take them a while to process the images and get me in the updates queue, so until then I’ll take you lot back with me down memory lane….

In this shot, I am wearing one of my Master’s old shirts, and enjoying a warm summer afternoon in a b’n'b in England!