Zille Defeu’s Fetish Fantasies

Posts Tagged ‘erotica’

These delicious ladies may not have been just about to be spanked (or caned or strapped or birched!) but it’s not hard to imagine that they are just moments away from the first swat to their beautiful bottoms….

The other day I was reading The Pearl out loud to Mr Defeu, and found a reference to “The Order of St. Bridget.” Being me, I could not rest until I’d searched it out, and I found the whole text online for free. Here are some fun excerpts:

and how she kept them in order. I soon found out. She practised whipping, as almost every fashionable lady does, and kept them in order with the rod. I dare say, shut up as you are, you have never seen anything of the practice since you and I were girls together at Mme. Duhauton’s. Do you remember how we used to indulge in whipping on the sly, when Madame thought we were in bed? That was a very untutored way of proceeding. I have learned better since, and I can tell you that the passion for the rod is one which grows; I am as ardent a votary of whipping now as any of the ladies I have served, and I
have had two mistresses who loved it dearly. Mme. St. Valery kept her women and pages in order with the rod, and taught us to dread it, but she was not refined in her manner of using it; she would begin well enough, but it was sure to end in her getting in a passion. Many a time I have smarted well in her service….

More about this “merry order”: Read the rest of this entry »

Abel and Haron often visit castles and stately homes and fantasize about the spankings which must have (or which might in the future, if they have anything to do with it!) happened in various locations in the building.

Since my Master and I live in the U.S., we have less opportunity for “stately home visits,” (yet another way the U.K. is superior, I try to explain to my Master, so he will move back there and take me with him!) but last Sunday, driving home from our friend’s wedding, we suddenly decided to visit a “water alter” that was on the lovely road we were cruising in the Sunday afternoon sun. Well, we didn’t quite get to the fancy water-works, because we found “an historic site of the National Trust for Historic Preservation,” thought it was what we were looking for, bought tickets, and then discovered it was actually a “stately home and garden.”

Well, that was fine, because we had a camera, so we took flower pictures for a while, and then, when the sun was getting to us a bit, we headed into the house to see what was there.

Wow. This was a serious old-style mansion/manor house, with drawing rooms and dining rooms and pantries and kitchens (and dumb waiter!) and ball-room. We wandered around in ever-increasing delight, until we found ourselves in the study. The wood panelled walls, and the solid, masculine writing desk, and leather-covered chair put us both in a tizzy, and when we met each other’s eyes in erotic delight, we knew exactly what the other was thinking. We inspected the liquor and wine closets (behind hidden doors in the wall) and my Master whispered that if I’d been bad, I’d be locked in there, and I suddenly felt the inseam of my trousers very acutely!

Next was the library, and the wonderful wooden library steps pulled us over to them. My Master pointed out how he would have bent me over them, and I replied, “Oh! And then strapped, me, right Sir?!” and our eyes were glowing, and we just wanted everyone to be gone, the house to be closed with us left in it, and for my Master to have with him a full compliment of period implements of chastisement and discipline! (I wouldn’t have minded period — 1900-1920′s that is — outfits, just to add to the fun…!)

When we got home we were pretty exhausted from a weekend with little sleep, and lots of partying, so a nap was in order! But as soon as we roused from our late afternoon “disco nap,” his cock was hard, and soon I was astride him, moving faster and faster as we talked about the study and the library of that house, about me bent over the desk or the library steps, and him using the strap or the cane mercilessly upon my bottom….

Continuing our theme of Bettie Page this week, here is Bettie again in the Top role, this time with an implement near and dear to spanker’s hearts: the hair brush. (It is rather less near and dear to the spankee’s hearts! Whoowheee, can they sting!)

What I love about this image: the shiny satin dress, cuban-foot stockings (and just look at Bettie’s calves! Phwoar!), the rope being pulled up between the girl’s bottom cheeks, and the room they are in (what is it: a tack room? a dungeon?)

I think this would be a perfect shot to use for a caption contest! Who wants to have a go…?

I‘m resurrecting this entry because it seems to have gotten lost in the archives, and I’m about to write a whole bunch more about anal sex, so I thought I’d go over my previous thoughts on the matter. This is from an email to my Master, dated September 9, 2005….

From: Sexand submission.com

Dear Master,

Oh, so much has happened since the last time I posted up here! So many wonderful things for me … but the most wonderful is that I am pleasing you, that you are not disappointed with my progress, and that you want to do more with/to me!

Tonight I shall write about a topic that has been on my mind very frequently since you brought it up, the other night on the phone. Anal sex. Wheeee! – I never get tired of the naughty thrill of saying/typing that!

Here is my history with it, Sir, as of course such a topic can always yield amusing results!

Anal sex was a far from my mind as possible when I first started having sex. I know it must have been giggled about by me and my friends at some point, but I was as generally oblivious to it as someone who just doesn’t think about something can be. It was not even an option, in my mind.

When I was dating I— , he asked me if I would do him a sexual favour (and, I said, “Yes, of course, dear, what can I do for you?!”) and that was when he asked for either anal sex or me to shave my pussy. You know which I chose! I told I— at the time, and I meant every word of it, that “I will never have anal sex!”

Which is what I told C— , he being the next boyfriend. He said he was entirely fine with limiting our sex-life to oral and vaginal delights.

He laughed so hard that if he had not fallen out of bed I would have pushed him, when, a year or so later, I asked him to fuck me in the ass, please!

What happened to change my mind so drastically? Two things: Pat Califia (again, making such a huge imprint on my life) and porn. By this point in time I was rooming with R— , and she and I routinely rented porn flicks to do running commentaries over. At first I was horrified by seeing the seemingly all-too-huge cocks ramming into the all-too-small anuses. But, after a while, it occurred to me that if so many women were doing it, it could not be quite so bad as I was making it out to be! (And the Pat Califia book had anal fisting in it, which did sort of put the whole thing into perspective: “Wow! If a fist can go up there, a cock’s not so bad!”)

So that night, once C— got done rolling on the floor laughing at me and I stopped pouting about being laughed at, we got to it. I have to say for C— that he was always a careful and dedicated lover: therefore, perfect for a first-try at anal. We got the lube, and he got worked his way up to having three fingers up there with me really enjoying it. And then, figuring we’d stretched things out nicely, he tried his cock. No go. A real unpleasant pain came up immediately, and my first instinct was: Get It Out Now!

And it was like that for years. I’d really get off on any number of fingers digitally stimulating me back there, even quite vigorously, but trying later with other lovers yielded continuing unsuccessful results.

Meanwhile, butt-plugs were great! Vibrating or not!

It has been in the past two years that I have come to love the feeling of a cock pushing deep into my ass. The factor that brought results: I suddenly realized that I could play with my clitoris at the same time as being fucked in the ass!

With the pleasurable sensations running outwards from my clit, suddenly the “stretching” sensations in my ass that seemed to occur the most during penile-anal sex and which I had always perceived as painful – became pleasure as well. And the moments in the beginning, when it can seem just “all too much,” before you are opened up enough … while I was rubbing my clit, that pain became a turn-on instead of a turn-off.

Being a “lesbian” (that is, “bisexual in a long-term relationship with a woman”) had really done something weird for my sexuality! When I was sleeping with guys originally, the things that turned me on were … well, mostly, me getting some nice orgasms. But after a period of not sleeping with men, followed by a period of wanting to sleep with men again but feeling pressured not to (A. really was never comfortable with me sleeping with guys, so it was easier to take female lovers — we could share that way, anyway!) and so voraciously re-reading my Victorian erotica and White Shadow’s Nasty Stories (now sadly defunct), I had now become really excited about the idea of guys coming inside me. (I think that in high school I had been so worried about pregnancy that I thought sex was much hotter if all that nasty sperm was contained in a nice latex condom…!)

But now my fantasies couldn’t get hotter than being a Victorian girl who was just coming-of-age, and whose father/brother/uncle took it upon themselves (selfless gentlemen that they were!) to teach me the ars amours. Of course, being gentlemen, they would worry about getting their darling daughter/sister/niece pregnant, so they could twiddle my little quim with their big masculine digits all they liked, but their cocks always ended up in my arse….

And other fantasies. Years of nightly fantasies. I could go on for pages and pages just giving brief outlines! But, most relevant to this topic, suddenly I could care less about my pussy. That was where I was generally getting fucked, but in my mind I was only being fucked in the ass – thinking about anything else wouldn’t even come close to getting me off!

UPDATE: As of today, my fantasies remain anal in theme. In my head, I pretty much only get vaginally-penetrated if something else (ginger, anyone?!) is already stuck up my bottom! And, of course, I’ve learned to appreciate the pains of anal sex, even more than the pleasures: indeed, they have become the pleasure, for me!