WARNING: What follows after this cut is explicit and filthy. That is, moreso than usual!

If you do not want to read about anal sex and piss play, in lurid detail, now is a good time to look back over some other posts I’ve done, or visit a website that features nothing but anal sex or just some nice bondage and kinky sex.

If you’re a close friend of mine, and don’t want TMI, this is NOT the post for you! On the other hand, friends who are filthy perverts and don’t have any problem with knowing such intimate details are welcome! Just don’t say I didn’t warn you! (Not that you can’t stop reading at any time, of course, and the first few paragraphs, and the final few, are “safe.”)
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Hello all! I have so much to write about! But first I want to say, with great excitment that my newest set has gone up at IShotMyself.com. Actually, it’s not just my set, because my Master is in it (doing his first porn evar!) and we captured him making me feel “like a virgin, touched for the very first time!”

This is what the kind folks over at ISM said of the shoot:

There are a fair few ISM fans who have been waiting for months now to see Zille and her beau together at last. Well, parts of her beau, at least. The lucky mystery man is holding the camera for most of this set, and we like his taste in angles. Thanks to these two honeymooners!

There’s no spanky-bot action in these images, but you can see some fading cane marks on my bottom!

Also … this is really exciting (and a wee bit scary) for me because this is the very first time I’ve done boy-girl porn. Until this point, I had only ever done girl-girl. It was a limit for me, one I was very comfortable with. It was a limit that made sense at the time, because I was in a poly relationship with a woman who didn’t really like me being with men. Since we were poly, we only ever did safer-sex stuff unless we were working with someone who was already our lover, and the demand for boy-girl porn with condoms was pretty rare five years ago (it’s gotten a bit better, since.) So it made sense. And it was a limit I never crossed.

But now, that limit doesn’t make sense, because my Master is the only person I’m having sex with (and this may or may not change, depending on what he wants) and he is a guy (obviously.) I’m not about to make fake porn, since my whole career was all about making 100% real, beautiful porn. So now I have new limits that make this limit silly … but it was a limit for so long, that stepping over it feels weird and a bit daunting.

But I’ve never let that kind of thing stop me before (well, at least since college…) so now it’s done, and here are the results….
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Okay, I managed to avoid this meme when kaya tagged all her readers, but now Mollena has tagged me in a most unequivocal way, so here I go:

seven random things you didn’t know about me (but do now)

1. I love dinosaurs, and my favorite is Triceratops — because he was an herbivore, but could still kick T-Rex’s ass all over town.
2. I have read the Lord of the Rings trilogy at least 20 times in my life. And I HATE the movies! My favorite character is Treebeard.
3. I sleep with a stuffed wolf cub every night, named Kodah.
4. Except when my Master goes on trips very far away. Then I ask him to take Kodah with him, so I won’t worry so much. When my Master went to India, he sent back pictures of Kodah in hotel rooms, at ancient temples, contemplating Indian squirrels, etc. While Kodah is away with my Master, I may sleep with a black bear named Olallieberry, or my stuffed Triceratops, named Trinity.
5. I love being in small enclosed spaces. You’ve heard of claustrophobia — I have claustrophilia! It started when I was a kid — I have memories of favorite small enclosed spaces that are richer than most of my other memories. One was in a doctor’s office “kid’s playroom,” that had a niche you could only get into by a small round hole, and once inside, one wall was stained glass, and the colorful light made me really happy. For some reason, it was part of my sexuality — I remember being in small enclosed spaces the same way I remember fantasizing about the spanking monsters, or finding references to spanking in books or tv.
6. Also sexual from my childhood: the smell of new gym mats. A very rubbery smell. I like the smell of latex clothing just fine, but if you put me in a room with a gym mat, I’ll be lying on it and breathing in deeply through my nose (errr, that’s the polite way of saying “huffing”) in no time flat!
7. The jobs I wanted to have, in chronological order: paleontologist (circa age 5), librarian (circa age 8), writer and illustrator (circa age 12), spy and/or navy pilot (circa age 15 — yes I’d gotten into the John Le Carré section of the library, and that was around the time Top Gun came out…), interior designer (circa age 17), porn star (circa age 19), web-designer (circa age 23). I’m now back to wanting to be a writer (when I grow up — heh!), although I’m happy doing web-design and working in the porn industry, too!

So there you are. Proof of my geekiness laid out for all to see!

In return I tag:
Paul — please do this meme in the comments for this post!

I don’t know who else from my friends has already done this post, so if you are reading this, and feel like doing it, feel free to leave it in the comments for this post if you don’t have a blog, or do it on your blog (in which case, let me know so I can go read it!)

My Master and I are out of town for a business trip. Well, it’s his business trip! I’m along for the ride.

We are down in San Diego now, and started driving down on Saturday. We got as far as LA, because one of my Master’s friends was having the opening of his “Brand New Premiere Full-Service Dungeon” in LA: The Broken Door, and as we were going to just happen to be passing by, there was no way in the world we wanted to miss it.

It was an invitation-only party, which is always preferable. But I must say the “strict dress code” was not enforced at all, and we saw plenty of T-shirts and jeans, which always brings down the tone of such events. (And why would you wear jeans and a tee to a party, I always wonder. It’s a shame to waste any excuse to get dressed up!)

We didn’t know it was no “don’t bring a camera” rule, either, or we would have brought ours. We did take some pictures of me in my shiny black spanking dress and thigh-high boots afterwards (nothing like a 2AM impromptu photo shoot!) and I’ll post them soon!

The space itself is brilliant. Everywhere you turn in the huge warehouse-sized rooms you find a lavish little island to play in. My personal favourite was a beautiful pavilion with oriental carpet, low soft chairs, and the most beautiful St. Andrew’s Cross I have ever seen. Also, a naked slave was part of the decoration, and my Master and I had a nice long chat with her – about anal sex. I don’t know how we got on the topic (not that it’s hard, with me!) but she was just so delighted to discuss it in detail, and I was equally delighted to indulge her (and my Master seemed pleased to sit back and listen to two slaves discussing the joys of anal sex, throwing in a gem of Masterly wisdom now and then).

We wandered away to do a circuit of the club, and I got in line for the loo while he helped himself to wine at the open bar (and how many fetish events have those?!) The line was, unsurprisingly, long and slow, but at least there was lots of yummy stuff to look at while one waited, including two submissives lying on the ground, wearing only leather thongs, being flogged and otherwise tormented by two Tops. Then a couple of girls got in line behind me. One of them really needed to use the bathroom, and was not being either quiet or subtle about it. I generally would prefer someone simply to ask me, “Look, my bladder is seriously about to burst. Would you mind letting me jump ahead of you in line?” to, “Ahhhh! I need to peeeeeeeee! I’m gonna diiiiiiiiieeeeee! Why is this line so sloooooooow?!” repeated at loud volume, but I didn’t have the micturation urge as badly as this young lady, so I when I got to the head of the line, I gallantly offered to let her use the toilet first. She was delighted, and replied, “You’re coming in with me!” “What about me?” her friend cried, and she got invited to the piss-party as well.
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My Master got home last Thursday night, and I promptly got sick. And then he had family-crisis stuff to deal with. So the best I could do as a slave was to have yummy food prepared for him, and surprise him with his desk all cleaned and neat and polished. (Most of the house was supposed to also be this way, but see above about the getting sick part, which threw the wrench in those plans!)

I was scared that the weekend would go by with just dealing with family stuff. And also, when I get sick, he gets all in Daddy mode and wants to snuggle and pamper me.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I like being snuggled and pampered as much as the next girl, but when it means his Mean Scary Dominant Self gets turned off – then I’m a sad girl, because I live for our scenes. When he growls roughly at me to do something, my knees turn to jelly and other parts of my anatomy do fascinating things. When he gets all sweet and loving, it’s great … but well, it’s like flavours. I like to eat sweet stuff (oh yes I do indeed!) but I also crave rich, hearty, savoury flavours as well. Think of discipline and the various pains of spanking, caning, etc., as Boeuf Bourguignon, and your favourite sort of pizza, and spaghetti the way your mom made it, and creamy Potatoes Au Gratin, and sushi, and chicken satay and Tom Ka Gai, and a Monte Christo or Croque Monsieur or your favourite sandwich or burger, and, and, and … all your favourite savoury foods!

Happily, some of that yummy stuff was coming my way. He said he needed a nap, early Sunday evening, and I despaired. But then he saw I was upset and pointed out that after the nap, he would be refreshed…. He slept for about 45 minutes, and then I went in and joined him in the bed, and snuggled with him as he napped, and just enjoyed lying in bed with him, feeling his warmth and hearing his breathing, as I looked out of the window at the night-time city lights.

Eventually he stirred, and reached for my hand, and pulled it down to his cock, which was obviously wide awake and ready for action.

I laughed with delight, and said, “You should take lots of naps, Sir!”

Then I didn’t say anything for a while, because I was sucking his cock.

Cock-sucking is always something I enjoy, but sometimes it is more exciting than others. Sometimes, just blowing my Master will get my pussy as wet and ready as a good spanking does. This was one of those times, especially, when my Master grabbed both my hands, and started actively fucking my throat. I’m not perfect at deep-throating, but it turns me on to no end. Just feeling his cock push all the way into my mouth, oh, it makes me feel so submissive and helpless – and aroused!

My Master had special plans for this scene. He wanted it very intense, and very intimate. After he’d enjoyed the blow-job as long as he fancied, he directed me to climb on top of him, in “reverse cowgirl.” He had three toys he’d never used on me before: a short, black, very stiff two-tailed tawse; a short flogger made from old tyres, with jagged edges as if cut by pinking shears (which I actually brought to the relationship – a story for another post); and a long oak thing, somewhere between a paddle and a cane. (Which I immediately knew I didn’t like the look of!)

As I moved up and down on his cock, he beat my bottom with the tawse. That was wonderful, moving me from the early sensations to starting to have to work through the pain. Then, he grabbed the flogger, and applied it to my bum and my back. He has very seldom flogged my back, normally he prefers to lavish his attentions on my bottom, and I don’t see anything wrong with that! But something about the way this flogger caught against my skin on my back was just driving me wild with that pain/pleasure combination. He noticed how excited it was making me, and thus followed a very long session of me riding more and more excitedly on his cock, while his flogging grew heavier and heavier, until he ordered me to come, and I took off at his command. I was in pure masochist heaven.

Eventually he moved to the evil oak thing. I took the first few strokes okay, but that pain was of the kind I have trouble processing, and I ended up holding myself rigid on his cock, because if I moved I’d try to move out of range of those sharp, hard strokes.

This, of course, fascinated him, sadist that he is, and he promised me a session, coming soon, where he would use that toy on me, and then fuck my ass. My emotional response to this is twofold and contradictory: first, there is the “I DON’T WANT!” response, and a feeling of unfairness because this thing definitely falls under the “punishment” range of implements (he himself said that after this scene, it would be used in for times when I need discipline or punishment, but haven’t been bad enough for the punishment paddle) and so this voice in my head has all these excuses, and the mantra of “It’s not fair!”

But at the same time, the thought that he knows how hard this will be for me, and he wants to put me through it – that it will make me become so vulnerable as I strive to accept pain I can barely handle for him – and then he will take me in that defenceless place, and fuck my ass, which always makes me feel the most ultimately vulnerable and used … well, that makes me want to run, not walk, to Mr. Buzzy, and release these intense sensations building up in my pussy!

I will just never get over how confusing it is being a masochist! At least now I have (mostly) learned to ignore the first reaction, and just focus on the second as being the truer (and more satisfactory!) one.

Anyway, back to our coitus already in progress: at this point he had me turn around (I tried to pivot on his cock, but ended up falling off him, which led to much laughter – but I probably shouldn’t admit that, as of course there is no laughing in BDSM!)

Then he took the little tawse to my inner thighs and mons veneris. This, combined with the new angle of his cock led to more orgasms, and I leant back further and further, ending up completely bent in half backwards (thank you, yoga!), elbows besides my feet, so he could have the most access possible to beat my pussy.

That position was great, but not particularly sustainable, so we ended up back in normal cowgirl, with him now wielding the flogger, and using it on my breasts, and, as we both got more and more excited and I was bouncing all over the place and his aim got less and less precise, pretty much on the entire front of my body.

I think it will come as no surprise to anyone that his orgasm and my final orgasm were pretty amazing. But for me, the orgasms were really just pleasant side effects. It was the intimacy of the act, the intensity of accepting the pain while being penetrated by him that was the most important, profound thing for me.

What a happy sticky mess we ended up as! The tensions of last week were washed over, and we could go to sleep, him holding me tight, relaxed and ready for Monday.

My Master came home last Friday night, and left this morning. We only had two full days together, and one of them was spent running around the Folsom Street Fair, so even less one-on-one time.

Saturday he was jet-lagged and worn out. We spend an indolent day in our apartment. I served him breakfast, lunch, tea, and dinner. And we cuddled on the sofa all evening.

Sunday did not go as it was supposed to go. I had an outfit planned, and then there were a serious of clothing malfunctions, and I had a hell of a time finding something to wear, which was compounded by waking up to a serious sore throat. (Which, of course, after spending the day running around a crowded street fair, is much worse today!) The outfit needed to do a number things:

1. it had to be sexy
2. but it had to keep me covered up from the sun
3. because I already had a sore throat, comfy shoes were called for, because while I can handle the pain of walking all over The City in six-inch stillettos when I feel well, when I don’t feel well, adding extra stress and discomfort is not a good idea

Finding an outfit that fit all of the above was darn near impossible, after both my prefered option, and my “Plan B” were shot. And we were supposed to get to the fair early, and the clock kept ticking as I kept getting more and more stressed out about finding the right thing to wear.

Finally, he took the useless upset puddle of me, held me lovingly, and ordered me to go put on a traditional schoolgirl uniform (”I don’t care that the Americans won’t get why what you are wearing is really a fetish outfit, it will please me and that’s what matters.”)

So, instead of getting to the fair early, by the time we got there it was already crowded — too crowded to really do the photography I wanted to do.

But we did get there in good time to shoot Luke Degre rigging up the lovely Lady Ivy, whom I have a serious crush on. We got some great shots of their really intense scene. (I have to say, I’m glad my Master isn’t interested in using staple guns!)

I’ll be spending the day processing those images, and I’ll share the best with you lot over here. Although at the moment I’m on the sofa, eating a grapefruit and drinking lots of fluids and trying to do the right thing for my throat, which is very displeased with me!

Before my Master left for his business trip today, made the kind of love to me that we both like best.

He indicated I was to give him a hand-job, and as I did he pinched my nipples, making me moan in that lovely combined pleasure/pain. Suddenly he rolled me over on my back, and started spanking my pussy. As I shrieked (mostly in delight, but also in pain as the slaps became heavier and heavier) and he said, “You have kaya to blame for this!” I managed to say, in between gasps, that kaya would be most pleased, but reconsidering it, I know kaya is not a sadist and would never wish pain upon her fellow slaves, so I think actually it will be kaya’s wonderful Master S. who would be most pleased!

After he’d had enough of spanking my pussy, he rolled me back around tightly into his arms, and started spanking my bottom with serious intensity. (Honestly, I think my motto as a slave should be, “A warm-up? What’s that?!”) I clung to him and just hung on for the ride. It was actually really thrilling! Warm-ups are possibly over-rated!

When he was done, as we re-adjusted positions, his leg came up against my pussy, and the liquid evidence of how much I love his sadistic attentions.

Nothing more needed to be said, and suddenly he was on top of me, fucking me in missionary position. This was never really a favorite of mine, I was always more of a doggie-style girl, but with him I just come and come and come when he fucks me that way. (Well, I really just come whichever way he fucks me. But it’s always a surprise for me to enjoy missionary so much.)

Then we ended up in our usual final position: me on top. We’ve worked out a good rhythm for this, because after I come, often my legs go all like jelly and I can’t keep on riding him, so after I come hard, I take a break and go down on him, then climb back up and ride away to another orgasm, and then, ahem, rise and repeat until he comes, either in my mouth or in my pussy. Today it was in my pussy. We came really hard together, and I love how connected that makes us feel.

Then we took a shower together, which is another of our favorite ways to connect. We started the tradition when I first started sleeping over at his place, and I still lather him all over with body wash. I still giggle when washing his genitals. I still love running the foamy soap over the strong muscles of his thighs and calves. We often kiss in the shower. Kissing as water runs down your bodies is so purely romantic, at least to us: we are water creatures for sure!

Now he’s gone, but I still feel all warm and connected to him. If only my throat wasn’t aching so much, I’d be just perfectly happy. I joked to him that sex should be mandatory on Monday mornings!

This coming Sunday is the Folsom Street Fair, a favorite day of the year for my Master and me.

Here’s an entry from a Folsom, in 2006.

I’ve been going to Folsom since 1998, when A. and I first moved out here to California. We moved in September, and just happened to arrive in time for the street fair. What a way to start off my new life here! Walking around, down a huge city street filled with perverts of all stripes, my mind was absolutely blown. I really was in the land of kink and honey!

I don’t think I’ve missed one, since. When I did DarkPlay.net , A. and I would go around handing out flyers — one year we even got a booth. (I just found some pictures of that — would you like me to share them here?) Other years, I worked for Dark Garden in their booth, rope-burning my fingers lacing corsets onto all the people who who wanted to try them on.

My Master and I went around one Folsom together, before he and I were together as a couple! A. and I met him (and an ex-girlfriend of ours — A. and I were poly — whom I’ll call “Anonyme”) and we wandered around the fair. I know I have some pictures from that day. I had purple hair, that year!

When my Master and I first got together, it was May, and by September I had pretty much moved in with him. That September we went to our first Folsom as a couple, and I couldn’t have had a better time! It seemed he knew everyone who was anyone, and he took me around and showed me off as his slave, and I just about died of happiness!

This year we’ll be walking around with friends, and also meeting friends at the Mr. S Leather booth. We’ll have our cameras with us, and I can’t wait to shoot! It’s going to be such a fun day!

The first Folsom Street Fair that my Master and I went to as a couple, we bumped into a friend of his, and chatted for a while. The friend made some joke about his slave using a safeword (for something silly, can’t think of a good example at the moment) and we all dutifully laughed and my Master continued the joke with, “A safeword — what’s that?!” I tugged on his sleeve to get his attention, and said, “Sir, that’s what I tell the police I have if they ever break down the door while we’re having a scene!”

Back in my “Subconcious Slavery” post, Karl asked me:

Zille, did you always have this longing to belong to someone else as a 24/7 slave or was there some sort of process you went through in coming to this realization about yourself?

An excellent question, and I’ve been putting off answering it because the reply is going to take so long!

I never really had a longing to be a 24/7 slave before meeting my Master.

Let me qualify this.

When I was just a wee little thing, I had fantasies about being spanked and about being held by huge hands (my fantasy characters, the “spanking monsters” were giants, you see). So I clearly wanted to be controlled. But I’ve always been a very dominant personality. Outside of my fantasies, I was quite sure, as a child, that I ruled the universe.

When I was about 12, I disavowed my kinky self, and tried to be vanilla for some years. Obviously, this didn’t work very well, because by about age 15, friends were giving me Exit to Eden and Venus in Furs as gifts. I was like that gay kid whose entire family and friends know he is gay, but he’s not willing to admit it, yet!

The thing that really let me realize I was kinky was Pat Califia’s Macho Sluts, as I’ve said before. Thus followed a time of serious exploration. I knew I wanted to be a bottom and a masochist — but I had no idea how to go about being a submissive (nevermind a slave!)

I got into my first BDSM relationship with A., when we were both in college. A. was supposed to be the Top. But she was only a year older than I was, even less experienced in BDSM, and she was at best a switch and probably would have prefered to be the bottom in the relationship.

I basically topped from the bottom for the seven years we were together. After we broke up, friends told me how funny they thought it was that we were supposed to be one way, on the outside, but we really were the exact opposite.

I had pretty much given up on the 24/7 dynamic as an option by this point. I thought it was impossible to do in the real world, it was only good for fantasies and roleplay scenes.

Then I started seeing the man who would become my Master. Things moved really fast, and by the end of our first proper date, he had told me I could call him “Master.” (Please note that I do not encourage this sort of thing! He and I had known each other for five years, but still, it was very silly of us and we are very lucky it didn’t backfire!)

So he was Master. But what was I? At the beginning, he just called me, “girl.” That was my only title. He told me he wanted to work up to me being his slave. I was not comfortable with that. I told him I didn’t want to be a slave. Why couldn’t I stay being his girl? Or what about some other title?

No, he was adamant, he wanted a slave. And I could be the slave he wanted … or, well, I guess if I had really resisted, we wouldn’t have stayed together. However, all I wanted in the world was to belong to him, so I pushed my comfort-zone aside (as one would throw off a down comforter!) and agreed to be his slave.

So, in some ways I always wanted to end up here, but in other ways it was the last thing on my mind.

I did always long for, from first memory, the masculine (I’ve said before and will say again, it didn’t have to be a man, per se, but it couldn’t have been a effeminate man or girly-girl) figure with strong hands to own me, control me, manipulate me with those big fingers.

And I love being in the M/s relationship we are in now. When I am allowed to be dominant I am often thoughtless and selfish. Being a slave means I must always strive not to put myself first. It makes a great improvement in me as a person!

And it’s a wonderful comfort. I pushed aside a comforter at the beginning of this relationship, but another, better one has replaced it. Every day, every minute, I belong to my Master. He is in charge. As much as I have to learn to let go of control, the reward is that I get to relax and not try to control things. My Master has taken the world off my shoulders, and controls what I do carry on my shoulders (like a yoke!)

Yoke - thestockroom.com

It was not hard realizing I need to belong to someone. It just made sense, once I started getting the chance to really live it. On a day-to-day basis, I find masochism and the whole corporal punishment thing far more challenging to figure out!

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, “My Master will like me in this one!” or “My Master won’t be interested in me wearing this, I’ll leave it.”

For over three years I’ve been dressing for my Master 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 (on Facebook!) who my Master 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 my Master! “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!