Zille Defeu’s Fetish Fantasies

Posts Tagged ‘Paul’

An Oriental Fantasy

The Emir reclined in his Chair of State; he was a man of late middle age with wise brown eyes and many laughter lines. His beard was full and streaked with grey; he was sipping a sherbet.

There was a stir and much murmuring at the audience hall door. A plump – nay, fat – chamberlain hurried forward and bowing low, said, “Mighty Lord, your Vizier seeks audience….” The Emir raised his hand and beckoned, the chamberlain still bowing and stepping backwards signed to the door warden to admit the Vizier.

The Vizier was a frail old man of many summers advanced, supporting himself with his staff of office. In a surprisingly strong voice he asked, “May I approach, O Mighty Lord?” The Emir who loved this old man said, “Come forward, O Fount of Wisdom and Support of My Throne.” The Vizier approached close to the Emir, because the Vizier was as a second father to the Emir, and he was allowed privileges given only to equals.

Speaking in a much softer voice he said, “My Prince, knowest thou that thy favourite wife, and my own beloved niece, the Princess Willow hath 25 years this very day.” “Hath she indeed,” said the Emir. “Hmm, what doest thou advise?” “My Prince, thou knowest that thy Willow loves thee greatly and mourns that affairs of state keeps her from thee. Grant her the privilege of entertaining thee in a manner of her choosing.” The Emir with a smile, clapped his hands and said, “Let this be done.”

The Vizier left the audience hall after instructing the chamberlain to clear the hall, as the Princess would be unveiled. He walked to the Emir’s harem, knocked at the entrance; a wicket in the door opened and the Harem Mistress looked out. Seeing the Vizier, she instructed the slaves to open the door.

The Vizier entered and said to the Harem Mistress, “Our High and Mighty Lord desires the presence of the Princess Willow: lead me to her.” The Harem Mistress bowed her acquiescence, turned and lead the way to an inner chamber; there she despatched another slave to inform the Princess that her Uncle the Vizier wished to see her.

The Princess hurried out, as she hoped that the Vizier bore a message from the Emir her husband. “What news hast thou, mine Uncle,” she asked, looking rather nervous. The Vizier smiled, “The Prince your husband graciously awaits your presence and the divers entertainments that you offer.”

“But now tell thou to me, Niece, the nature of the divers beguilement that you offer your sovereign lord.”

“I will enter the audience hall with mine attendants, and with musicians in the blind gallery. I will dance while mine attendants remove my own garments with their whips, leaving my very skin unblemished.” “Hmm,” quoth the Vizier, “And the next…?”


“As the dance continues, Uncle, the attendants’ change their whips for the Dragon’s Tail, heavy straps with a six inch slit at one end, which as you know is generally used to punish disobedient concubines and wilful wives, and the straps will be used on my back, my buttocks, and my thighs until I collapse in supplication before my Prince….”
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It was the summer of ’57.

I had just been posted from Libya back to Blighty. I was expecting to be posted to a REME or RAOC depot as my field was safety, explosives, and ammunition. Instead of which I was seconded to the War office to help in the recruiting drive, as one of the youngest Warrant officers in the army.

I used to visit the better class schools in the London area and talk to the fourteen year olds who might be interested in a career in The Royal Army. At this time the official school leaving age was fifteen.

I’m due to give a talk in, let’s call it St. Stephens Grammar School, all the pupils who might be leaving school after their next birthday attend; I like to think it was voluntary.

I give my usual talk, about the training opportunities, but especially about the education the army offered. I told them that I left school at fourteen with nothing under my belt except a willingness to learn and an expectation of hard work; I told them that I stood before them with such good qualifications that any University would accept me, could I but afford it. The Service also offered saving opportunities, so in fact I would be able to afford it, just.

I threw the floor open for questions, there were questions about what unit to join, and as always lots of questions about the Marines and Red Berets, very few questions about education.

Suddenly a clear young voice broke the silence. “Excuse me Sergeant-Major,” I looked up in surprise, I’m rarely addressed by my correct rank at these meetings, “Yes, young lady,” there was a smile in my voice.

I looked down at the teacher chairing the meeting, “Melody S –,” she said.

“Yes Melody?”

“ ‘Mel,’ if you wouldn’t mind, sir.”

“Not a problem Mel,” I replied. For some reason my heart skipped a beat, Mel proceeded to ask some well-thought-out questions, which led me to believe that she knew the answers and was testing me, this wasn’t the first time this had happened, she really knew her stuff, fortunately so did I.

“One last question sir,” she asked. I looked down at the teacher; she held up five fingers. “OK, but make it brief –” just then the bell rung, there was a scraping of chairs … suddenly a stentorian bellow cut through the noise, “Hold still, say thank you to Sergeant-major Paul and go quietly!”

“Thank you sir,” they said, and filed out slowly, all except one.
I looked at the teacher, “That voice would do justice to a parade ground!”

“Thirty year’s teaching,” she smiled.

She turned to the girl; I really looked at her for the first time, 5’0” in her shoes, shining brown hair, sparkling green eyes and the face of a William Bouguereau angel and possibly the most kissable lips I’ve ever seen. The teacher spoke to her as if she were a normal mortal woman, “Well Mel – more questions, doesn’t your father answer yours?”

“He has taken to avoiding them, miss.”

The teacher turned to me, “Brigadier General S – is Mel’s father.” “Ooops!” I thought to myself: the boss.

Mel turned round and saw a woman standing at he door, “Good! Mum’s here, come and meet her sir, she doesn’t bite.”

Mel started off almost running, her mother gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head, Mel stopped, turned and waited for me; we approach her mother together, “Mother this is Sergeant-Major Paul, he is here to try and persuade us to join the army! Did daddy send him? Sergeant-Major, my mother Mrs S –” who gave a slight bow.

“Ma’am, a pleasure to meet you, you have a vivacious daughter, not to mention intelligent.”

“You are very welcome sir and thank you; she can be a little trying.”

I smiled, “fourteen,” I said. She nodded ruefully.

Mel was almost dancing on the spot, “Mother please invite him to tea, there is so much I want to ask him!” “Really Mel, you know better!” But she looked at me, “Will you?” I nodded, “If it’s not inconvenient.”
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Hello friends, fans, lurkers, and random strangers!

This post is to make the happy, exciting announcement that “my number one fan,” Paul, has graciously accepted my invitation to become a guest author on this blog!

If you’ve been following my blog, you’ll have seen Paul’s comments to my posts, and in many of them he relates snippets from his life with his beloved Mel. Sadly, this “life” with Mel is fictional. Paul created Mel as his ideal wife and spanking partner as a way to deal with his own unhappy (and spanking-less) marriage.

However, this becomes interesting in a very “meta” way (at least for me) because Paul has “lived” with Mel for the past twenty or so years. In a way, she is more real to him than his own wife. I think this is a cautionary tale of what happens if people are not allowed to follow their desires and live the lives they long for…. In those cases, a reinvention of your life, a day-dream you can live in, becomes the life you always wanted, the thing that can keep you alive in a day-to-day reality which might otherwise destroy your spirit.

While “Mel” is not a real, breathing person, yet she becomes, in Paul’s stories, a person as realized as one can hope to be. His “memories” of her (and indeed they are memories, because they are memories of years and years of consistent fantasy) show her to be a spirited woman, who doesn’t let anything keep her from her dreams. Perhaps she is someone Paul would like to be, as well as someone Paul would love to love…? At any rate, this woman is loved, and Paul’s stories of her are full of tender emotion and warm detail.

Click the categories “Paul and Mel” for Paul’s stories of the wife and life he would have loved to live. The category “Paul” will yeild both those and Paul’s other erotica.

[EDITED: Jan. 22nd, 2009]

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In other news, tommorow I have a punishment to report upon, and a picture of my poor beaten bottom to share with you all.