Zille Defeu’s Fetish Fantasies

Posts Tagged ‘happiness in slavery’

Well, I didn’t get punished this weekend, which is a blessing because “that time of the month” started up, but also frustrating because I just want to get the darn thing over with! Whenever we do anything else, sex or play-wise, the spectre of the punishment just looms over the whole thing the whole time. Well, at least for me it does. Of course, at the same time my Master might just be enjoying the piquant pleasure of knowing that I will soon be submitting to his punishment. Sadists, I tell you….

I was a very domestic slave this weekend, cleaning the kitchen and tidying the house, and cooking sausage and mash one night, and then putting the leftover mash on a shepard’s pie the next evening. I’m very particular about my shepard’s pie, so it takes perhaps a bit longer than the time in which some other cooks could prepare it, but my Master made happy noises the whole time he ate it, so that was reward in and of itself.

Sunday we met a friend of a friend, who had come on quite high recommendation. Mistress Katja is a lovely and sparklingly witty girl, and we met for a late lunch and ended up talking until evening snuck upon us. It’s lovely to meet a fellow perv and just be able to talk about anything, and they’ll know what you are talking about, and you don’t have to worry about offending them or freaking them out. We will hopefully be able to do a shoot with her in the future … and as we were making rough plans, I just had this sense of how incredibly lucky I am, that I can meet people like this, have a wonderful meal with them, and then get to work with them. (And she has the cutest mini Chihuahua, who sat on my lap and let me cuddle it for a while!)

It being the San Francisco Bay Area, I did at one point look up from my tea to see a woman in black tights and sequined tap-pants and a big red wig carrying a huge stuffed horse. She walked past, crossed the street, and wandered on … I do wonder what that was all about! I’m not particularly surprised to see anything happen in this city, but I still feel delight at the random strangeness of it all, and the surreal moments that happen here, be it in a dungeon, on the street, or just anywhere and everywhere.

What’s that? You want me to talk about sex? Oh, all right, if you insist!
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I’ve had too much happening too fast over the holidays to get caught up, but now things have slowed down a wee bit, so I will try….

This post is called “My first punishment of the new year,” but it really starts with the last scene of the old year, because I never got to write about that before the Christmas chaos took everything over.

It was the day before my Master and I were going to my parent’s house for the holidays. I had hoped we would play, because not only would finding the time for play while we were there be improbable, there was also the fact that having kinky sex with your parents downstairs is not really an optimal situation. I did it when I lived at home, because otherwise kinky (or any other) sex wasn’t going to happen at all – but I didn’t particularly relish the concerns with getting caught, or just the fact that my parents were in the same building at the time. I much prefer having sex or any kinky play when they are on the other side of the country….

Unfortunately, the day dawned with me feeling pretty sick. I decided not to mention the matter, because if my Master knows that I am sick, he goes into Daddy-caring-for-poor-little-girl mode, which is lovely but does not lead to hot sex.

We went through the day, me finishing the packing and doing last minute things. I don’t even remember how we got into the bedroom, with a scene about to happen, but I do remember telling my sickness to go away, this was not the time for it, as I got into a pair of punishment shorts.

My Master had requested my bad girl side, but he got more than he asked for, because it seems I’d had a lot of bottled up frustration and anger inside me. I can keep it shoved down when I’m being a good girl, but when I’m allowed to be a bad girl, there doesn’t seem much point in stoically suppressing my emotions, when I could have a good tantrum.

And thus I did! Damn, but I was horrible! I think my Master was secretly a little delighted with it all, because I’m always such a good girl, but the bad girls are the ones who get spanking stories written about them! Anyway, he gave as good as he got – my ass was as weal-ed and bruised as it has ever been. I got into that headspace where I could just keep taking it and taking it, no matter how painful the cane or tawse strokes were – and I just kept talking back to him, daring him to beat me harder with every word and look. He wanted to get me to submit to him, by kissing the tawse he was beating me with, but I was feeling so naughty and wilful that at one point, when he held it out for a kiss after a dozen or so hard strokes, I actually bit it! That tawse may still have my teeth marks in it!

In the end he had to stop to avoid damaging me, and I was grimly satisfied that I hadn’t cried, “Uncle!” (Although since I literally couldn’t sit down for the rest of the night, one can barely say that I “won!”)

After that, I could finally be fucked! And, wonderfully, he took me in the ass! I honestly don’t remember if it hurt or not – I was pretty high on endorphins by that time. A cool thing was that he had me lie on my back, bum at the edge of the bed and legs bent back against me, and took me in the ass that way, which I think was the first time for that position. We had been looking at pictures from the hardcore schoolgirl shoot together, and it was not actually the pictures from the shoot, but the background image in the gallery that had really got us both going! I was so turned on that I’m sure I was making faces like the girl on that page!

All of which is to say that it was a very intense scene! But what was of most interest to us both was that I could and did take a lot of pain whilst not feeling over-well. I told him after the scene that I had been feeling poorly before-hand, and we were both quite pleased that we may not have to put off scenes just because I have a headache or a tummy ache in the future. Since those are some of the main reasons we don’t get to play as often as we’d like, this is very good news!

And I think I am going to be punished a lot this year. Read the rest of this entry »

So I need to renew my driver’s license, and for reasons too boring to go into here, I need to take the written exam. I’ve needed to do this for quite some time, but have been putting it off, and off, and off. Now, next month, my current license will expire, so I have to actually go do this thing.

My Master and I have worked out a way to make studying the DMV handbook more fun – for both of us.

The set up goes like this: my Master puts me over the convertible step-stool, i.e., the Chair of Doom. Then he asks me questions from the sample tests the DMV provides. When I get an answer wrong, I get a certain number of strokes from the cane (which he sets before we start, although he seems to feel completely guiltless about changing that number whenever suits him!)

I’ve been fantasizing about this for the last few weeks. (And, to be honest, not studying overly much. That DMV handbook is written in such a way as to make your mind wander within a page, I swear!) Last Sunday we had our first study session.

My Master was in a spandex mood (and, it seems, having some ‘80s nostalgia!), and so had me in spandex short shorts and a thong leotard. I must say that I find such outfits really quite humiliating. I think most short shorts make my thighs look fat, and a thong leo is simply embarrassing to wear at the best of times. But he loves it – I mean it really turns him on! So I just try not to look in any mirrors, and let his eyes be my mirror, so I can feel as sexy as he sees me. It’s generally not easy at first, but gets easier as the scene progresses and his lust is obvious and continuing….

Once the outfit was on, he couldn’t wait to get started. I, on the other hand, was not in a great headspace. It was my first day of my “period week” in my menstrual cycle, and PMS was still in full swing. When he said it was time for the scene, I responded with alacrity, because I’ve found that if I have to beg out of a scene, I regret it for months later, every day that scenes don’t happen and I find myself thinking wistfully back to that scene that could have been. So I pretty much have to be bleeding from the eyeballs these days for me to even consider asking for a reprieve, and I certainly wasn’t going to give up a good scene opportunity just because I felt cranky and slow and tired. I even put on the thong with good grace!

But as the scene was getting started, a wave of self-pity rolled over me. My pain tolerance was at it’s lowest; why did we always have to do a scene on the first day of my period? I didn’t really want to be in pain, anyway. And other whinging, which I happily kept entirely internal.

My Master I don’t think noticed my inner turmoil – he was too busy enjoying the view of my spandex-clad bottom. He was so excited that he couldn’t keep his hands off: he suddenly changed plans, put the chair back into its chair shape, and put me over his knee for a warm-up spanking. (This did leave me a bit bemused, because he’s normally completely uninterested in a warm-up!)

He started in on the spanking, and I tried to get myself in headspace. He moved up the intensity scale pretty quickly, and my self-pity increased accordingly. Finally I burst out crying, more from the unfairness of it all than from actual pain. He lifted me off his lap, and started setting the chair up for the study session. He decided on using a tawse, first.

I got my first question wrong, and he thwacked my bottom a few times. I got the next one right, and then the next one wrong. And somewhere along the line, my self-pity and stupid headspace vanished, and the scene was just good and fun and sexy and hot.
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To an outside observer, even one who knows something of BDSM activities, what my Master and I did on Sunday might have looked like one play session, or one punishment session, but the distinction that it was two separate things would most likely have been lost.

I mean, first I was put in my collar and a gag, and paddled. Then the gag was removed and my Master held me. I played with his cock, and then went down on him, and then was bent over the bed for a caning. Then, I was ordered to take my panties down, and fucked quite thoroughly.

See what I mean? It might look like one scene to most people. But to my Master and I, it was most certainly not.

The paddle is a punishment tool. The cane is a tool of masochistic pleasure, discipline, and loving connection. But it’s more than just the tools.
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Last night I had one of my recurring dreams. As dreams for girls go, it’s a lovely one.

I’m looking through my closet at my parent’s house, where for years I’ve stored extra clothing (winter clothes, stuff I haven’t worn for a while but am not ready to give away yet, etc.) and I find this treasure trove of clothes that I’d bought a long time ago, but forgotten about (in most dreams, I’ve never even worn them once.) They are all fabulous clothing (often clothes I’ve been eyeing in catalogues in real life) and I’m so excited to find them: I’m hauling hanger after hanger of lovely dresses, cute tops, sexy trousers, etc. out of the closet, and I just keep finding more. All my most materialistic fantasies are being fulfilled – and I already own the clothes!

But this time when I had the dream again, there was a new element. Part of my selection process for choosing which of the fabulous clothing to pull out of the closet was, “Mr Defeu will like me in this one!” or “Mr Defeu won’t be interested in me wearing this, I’ll leave it.”

For over three years I’ve been dressing for Mr Defeu every day. At first he told me what to wear, but after about six months or so, he began leaving it up to my judgment, as I knew what pleased him (and how to coordinate with it!) If, for some reason, I don’t wear something I know is pleasing to him, it is something that is deeply considered before I do it, and I generally ask permission or otherwise check-in.

I guess this has really sunk into my subconscious! It seems, by becoming part of a recurring dream I’ve had for years (sadly, it’s never come true!) to have become a part of how I think and who I am.

That’s cool! That’s real enslavement!

Yesterday I was talking on the phone with a shibari rigger I just met who Mr Defeu and I might be doing some photography for, and he asked me, “So, you have a Master – does that mean you consider yourself a slave?”

I had this moment of utter shock that anyone in our local scene could somehow be unaware that I belong to Mr Defeu! “Of course,” I told the rigger, “24/7!”

He thought it was cool, and that made me kind of think of it: I don’t think there are any other Master/slave photographic teams out there, at least in the fetish world! We’re unique!