Zille Defeu’s Fetish Fantasies

Posts Tagged ‘discipline’

My Master and I have been going through quite a lot, emotionally, these past few months. He’s not happy in his job at the moment, and what with my father not doing well and a number of other serious emotional things, it’s been very hard for us to manage even being a happy husband and wife, never-mind bring back kink into our relationship.

One of the reasons kink has been so scarce for us is that my Master has had serious concerns about being fair and reasonable. He’s been in some seriously cranky moods, for very good reasons, and he hasn’t wanted to take them out on me.

This would be all well-and-good, except that he hadn’t really expressed to me the extent of how miserable work was making him – he was trying not to bother me, to protect me from worrying information. Also it can’t be easy on him that I have depression – I can understand him not wanting to bring me down.

But the fact of the matter is that when the going gets tough, I can, as our dear Miss Maggie Mayhem says, “Pull on my Big Girl Panties.” And I need to know about what is happening in his life and mind and heart, because if I don’t, I can’t act properly on the information I’m lacking. Which can lead to a number of unpleasant results, like him resenting me for wanting things from him that he doesn’t have the energy to give, or him feeling bad that he can’t give me what I want (which I’m only asking of him because I don’t know better), and that guilt making the whole situation worse in a downward-spiral-y type of way.

Well, we’ve gotten though the worst of it. (I think and hope!) Now that I know what’s going on, I can give him the support he needs – or at least not ask stuff of him at bad times! As part of the healing process, we’ve been discussing getting back our disciplinary dynamic.

The main gist of our discussing (and discussing this stuff is very much fun, almost foreplay in its own right!) is that he is going to let go of his concerns about “fairness.” They were making him second-guess himself to the point that he never did anything, and to earn a punishment I had to basically “act out” in a very obvious way. Not particularly good for us!

Now, if I bother, annoy, or otherwise inconvenience him, something will be done about it. There is no excuse for feeling sick or tired or just having a sudden attack of stupidity. Another change is that our focus isn’t just “the paddle,” anymore. There will be a variety of levels of discipline and punishment.
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An excellent post (as always) from The Spanking Writers includes a (more introspective than I ever imagined) quote from Scary Spice:

The anticipation was worse than the punishment. I knew exactly what was coming. I’d walk into a silent room, bend over, get smacked (by his hand or a belt), then stand up and walk out of the room without saying a word…. I dreaded it. Sometimes, though, I think I was naughty on purpose, just to get dad’s full attention for a few minutes.

In the first place, that very anticipation and the ritual aspect are both vital. But that’s not what I want to write about just now.

As a little girl I wanted my daddy’s attention. (Well, I wanted all the attention I could get from everyone, but my daddy’s counted the most!) And I’d do anything to get it — good behaviour, bad behaviour — whatever worked best! And since my parents didn’t really punish me very efficaciously, it was just as likely to be the latter as the former, when I was a child! In my teens it changed — then I wanted him to pay as little attention to me as possible, so I could do the stuff I wanted to do with him not forbidding me or lecturing me!

Now I have come full circle, but at least I am self-aware. I want my Daddy’s attention as much as possible. When he is busy on the computer, and doesn’t have time for me, it hurts just as much as when I was a little girl and my daddy had to work.

There is an amusing family story that when I was about 5 or 6, my bio-father had a meeting one weekend day. Now, I had accepted that my daddy would be at work during the day on weekdays, but weekends were MINE, and I was a jealous god little girl. So I pitched a fit with all the power of my wee vocal cords and body (the vocal cords, I am given to understand, were not unimpressive, and my mother assures me I was Olympic-level for throwing myself on the ground and pounding my little fists and feet.

My dad gave his lecture with me on his hip.

And I was a happy little girl, because I was with my daddy. (And, of course, I’d WON!)

Now I’m in a slightly different place. Not in my desires — they are still as simple as wanting to be with my Daddy, and wanting attention from him. But now I don’t want to be a spoiled creature — I want the discipline to not throw fits when I don’t get my way. (I don’t, for the record, still throw myself to the ground and scream and pound my fists. But there are adult behaviours, the worst of which include manipulation and being passive-aggressive, which are just as vile as any childish misbehaviour! And my mom is a very passive-aggressive manipulator, so I live in terror of having picked those things up from her!)

However, no matter how well I may learn to accept that I can’t always get all the attention (which I think will be a life-time’s study!), punishment will always have as it’s most beguiling attraction, the fact that when you are being punished, all your punisher’s attention is right on you. And as much as you may dislike the pain or other educational aspects of punishment, you can still bask in the attention being lavished upon you.

I suppose a contrary person might point out that then, in my case, a true punishment for me is simply to ignore me. I have two answers to that: in the first place, this is supposed to be loving discipline — not cruel and unusual punishment! And secondly, my Master and I have the complimentary urges, wired into our sexuality, to be punisher-and-punishee. And since we’ve been lucky enough to find each other, in this wide world full of mistakes and missed connections, we really both ought to derive some enjoyment from our mutual needs that now can be fulfilled.

And what that means is that I need to police myself a bit, and not act too badly, be a little bit in charge of myself and consider my actions and words. The reward for that effort though, is getting to revisit being a little girl who gets punished by her Daddy, having his love and concern for her proven with his attentions, over and over again.

(And somehow, getting lectured became hot for me, too, somewhere along all of this. I remember saying as a teen that no punishment could be worse than my dad droning on at me. Now my Master can’t make me a happier lil’ pervert than if he reads me the riot act before my thrashing!)

*Please note that I’m not calling anyone stupid! I’m misquoting “It’s the economy, stupid” from Bill Clinton’s 1992 presidential campaign.

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Amazon.com is the last place I would have expected to find a far-ranging and at times very intelligent discussion of spanking — not the consensual adult kind, but the actual raising-your-child kind, upon which us pervy adults base most of our role-play.

The discussion starts out basically as an advertisement for the No-Spank unilateralists. But then, some reasonable people weigh in:

Anonymous says: Michael, I spanked my kids and they lived to tell the tale! They were always warned first and if the behavior didn’t change they got 3 swats on that padded spot! I was spanked growing up and it was always deserved! It does, IMO, have a place in raising a kid at times. That being said I had one kid that I could always talk and explain things to, from a young age. He got spanked when it was deserved though. The next one was the type you had to smack him to get his attention and then spank him for his misdeed. Both have grown up to be fine, productive men.

Ricky B. says: Unfortunately Anonymous, you are now a child abuser according to Michael. This is where its funny, its either his way or you’re an abuser. Michael you talk so much of other people being open minded yet it seems you have a closed mind yourself. I agree spanking is not a be all end all punishment. But at times it does have a place.

ALL kids try to push boundaries and see what they can get away with. And at times a simple “talking to” or grounding, or even scolding isnt enough to deter that behavior. And while some children can respond and listen well, there are some that can’t. I talked beforre about my uncle, they don’t believe in spanking their children. Their daughter has grown up so far to be a mature, and responsible person. She listens to them, doesn’t act up and has respect for other people. Their son however, decided at an early age that he didn’t have to listen to mom and dad. They’ve disciplined him multiple times, but he knows there is no follow through if he just ignores the discipline. He gets grounded, he’ll just leave anyways. I’ll say it, the kid is a little brat, he treats his parents and most of the other family with no respect. IMO in that sort of instance where other discipline isn’t working, then yes, a swat on the butt to show the kid that there ARE going to be consequences is a helpful form of punishment.

Though I know I’m wasting my time even trying to tell you, you’ll just go on your “its all abuse and pain makes children serial killers”. Let me guess, you’re one of those people who support the “everyone gets a medal” sports they’re doing at schools now too? We don’t want any of our children actually believing they have to work hard to do something or that there *gasp* are actually people that are better at things than other people in the world.

One has to wonder if being spanked as a kid can help people to learn how to be reasonable and see the world from more than one point of view!

Seriously, where I weigh in on this is that A.) I don’t think that I received enough helpful discipline growing up — and I certainly got too much of the “Oh, you are the next Picasso!” when I managed to complete a finger-painting, or “You are a genius!” when I managed to come to a reasonable conclusion in a paper. (Mostly from my parents, this must be said. My school was actually pretty good at being encouraging without going overboard. I do shudder to admit this, because when I complained about the school, my mom did tell me that I was getting a good education, and that I would appreciate it someday! [sighs])

Being told I was a genius, when an IQ test would have told another story, didn’t help me in life. The day I suddenly realized that I was not a genius was very painful, and I really could have skipped the pain of having that (entirely unnecessary) bubble burst!

Having been taught some self-discipline (by means of external discipline) would have come in very handy! I can tell you for certain that having to try and learn it on your own, as an adult, is no fun at all, and it makes me feel like an emotional and intellectual cripple, at times. One minor example: my mom keeps a Better-Homes-And-Gardens-ready house at all times. She balances her check-book every month. She told me that I should do these things, but she never gave me real incentive (like, “if you don’t keep your room clean, X, Y, or Z will happen”) and so in the end, I didn’t get in the habit of doing those things, and now I struggle to get in that habit, and better organize my life — and it’s a bit odd to me that she valued neatness and organization so much, but couldn’t be bothered to properly instil those values in me.

As a teenager, I could (and did!) say, “Fuck off!” to her. She didn’t like it … but a later half-hearted apology could get me out of all trouble. Even at the time, I was amazed she let me get away with it — but there was no way I wasn’t going to take advantage of it! In the years since leaving the nest, I’ve had real trouble, when fighting with a partner, not to say hurtful and thoughtless things. I’ve been working on it for years, and I think my Master would say I’m not too bad now (he was willing to marry me, after all!) but the fact of the matter is that if I had had to learn to moderate my speech for fear of consequences in my youth, I’d it would have been easier to moderate my speech (for fear of the consequences of hurting my partner’s feelings, or even just not wanting to shoot off my mouth and sound like an ass) in my adult years.

So, yes, I’m for spanking or some other form of reasonable discipline for children. I’ve seen kids go off into fits where only “a short sharp shock” would end the selfish hysterics. (One girl I know of got shoved in a cold shower — fully dressed — to put an end to her screeching fit. It seems entirely reasonable.)

I don’t know why everyone who is into spanking as an adult has gotten their interest in it. But I know where mine came from: I want to feel loved, and knowing someone is willing to discipline me is proof of love in my head. And I have felt this way, actually, since I was a very young kid. I spent my whole childhood longing to be properly disciplined. Sure, at the time I’d never have admitted it! I would have pouted and sulked and complained, as any child does who can’t get their way for whatever reason. But under that, I would have cherished knowing that some cared about me in that way — someone would pay that much attention to me. And indeed, much of childhood bad behaviour is “acting out” — trying to get attention. Who knows how much less need kids would have to “act out,” if they knew someone was paying attention, and their efforts would get immediate results (if not perhaps entirely the most desired results!)

Anyway, it’s a moot point — I won’t be having children (for health reasons), and so I can’t try out my personal social experiments on them (which, before you get all upset, is, when you think about it, what every parent does!) However, for me personally, I am lucky — I’ve found someone who is able to love me that way (and wanted someone he could love that way!) and so I am able to get some of the discipline I didn’t get before. And, one hopes, because I can actually “sign up” for the course (and my brains are as developed as they are going to get), it should be more efficacious, faster, than actually going through childhood all over again!

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Wow, how this month has flown by. Damn, there went that summer, and I really don’t feel I had enough time to fully enjoy and appreciate it!

Now that it’s September, I realize I’d better finish this serial, before events overtake me again – i.e., before I go to my first ShadowLane party!

So … that Saturday…. My Master and I knew that Mystery Minx would be coming over for another sleep-over (this one actually planned!) on Sunday, so this was a day for us to connect as a couple, before bringing the wonderfully bratty third back in.

My Master has been in Daddy-mode a lot recently. So much, that I’ve been considering calling him “my Daddy” over here on this blog, because our energy has transformed so very much from where we started, that I feel it deserves recognition. I’ve always been his girl – that much has not changed (and I hope it never does!), and as a title works well in a number of situations, from high-protocol Master/slave, to a school-setting roleplay.

Of course, that title might squick the pure-spankos who come over here even more than “Master.” I mean, “Master” sounds all BDSM-y and possibly pushes emotional buttons, but how many more buttons does “Daddy” push?! And we’ve talked about it, and while it would be a good solution otherwise, “my Sir” is not for us, because it’s not a natural part of language, e.g. the way “my Lord” is. (Errr, the English language, I should specify, as “Monsieur” is exactly that. But if I called him “Monsieur” we’d both fall over laughing, unless we were doing the whole bloody scene in French! Which, come to think of it, could probably not be accomplished without massive giggling, anyway! Now German, that would fit a scene very, very well…. But I don’t think he’ll take to “Mein Herr,” either, and honestly, that leads to visions of clicking my heels and saying, “Yavol, Mein Herr!” and then falling over in giggles as well….)

But I’ve wandered off track – thinking about it, I’ll use “my Daddy” for the rest of this post. Those of you who read it, please leave me a comment letting me know how you feel about it – does it work? Or does it squick you out?

So, here we go – I started over my Daddy’s lap; hand-spanking and then the mean slipper. Once I was crying out and bouncing around, I was put over the edge of the bed and he decided to work through a large selection of his tawses, as we’d just found the missing Campbells (they were, if you can imagine it, in the toy bag!)
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Well,
to continue with the caning … I was still quaking in my spandex after the last series of Six-O-The-Bests, but the final twelve were yet to come. This was back to the Senior cane, which would have seemed like a walk in the park after the last cane (the bamboo root one!), but there was not much real estate left on my bottom that wasn’t hot and weal-ed. So the cane strokes either came down on the already well-battered skin on my bottom, or on my thighs, which were not very marked, but which always hurt so much more!

By the end of that I was squealing and blindly trying to swim away through the air. It always amazes me that his fingers resting ever-so-lightly on my back keep me firmly in place no matter what the level of pain.

Then – my reward! Yes, if you’re thinking, “Alright, this is Zille, so she means ‘anal sex’,” you’d be right! I’ve been begging him for cruel anal sex: just using me for his own pleasure, whilst I whimper in pain (or at least varying levels of discomfort!) and I think it’s been hard for him to entirely be sanguine with it. When he fucks me, he wants me to go soaring into pleasure with him – and, mind you, I appreciate the sentiment! It is the irony of the universe that so many guys are careless lovers who “just take,” and I fantasize about that, while having a caring and involved lover, to whom my pleasure matters deeply.

Of course, if he wasn’t that person, I couldn’t trust him with the sort of play we do. How deeply ironical that it’s only because I know he is not truly like that, that I can long for him to be, and beg him to pretend to be!

But, because he does care about my satisfaction, he betook himself to use me roughly and get as much pleasure from it as possible. I know, some of you are thinking, “Oh, poor guy gets the world’s smallest violin from me!” but the fact of the matter is that when he’s fucking me and I’m screaming in pleasure, he can just let go and enjoy it 100%. When he is forcing his cock into my ass and I’m whimpering in pain, he has to pay attention to what he is doing, so he doesn’t injure me – and that is a distraction, he cannot let go 100%. (Of course, being me, I think a solution for this is that he practice a whole lot, and then it can become second nature and he won’t have to think about it anymore!)

Anyway, it was a period of wonderfulness. As he pushed into me, some inner masochist part of me sighed, “Oh, now this is pain I can really get into!” I revelled in the pain like a pig in mud, begging him sotto voce, “Please … use me … please … enjoy this fully … please … hurt me….”
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