Zille Defeu’s Fetish Fantasies

Posts Tagged ‘real life scenes’

I haven’t written about the dynamics about domination and submission for a long time on this blog. The reason being that Mr Defeu and I had needed to stop being 24/7 Master and slave when we went through some relationship issues a couple years ago. It was the most healthy decision we could make at the time, but it deeply hurt both of us to have to do it. We both want to get back to the correct balance of power (for us) as soon as we can — but we have to be careful to build up to it carefully and correctly (which we patently didn’t do the first time around!).

This past weekend, we took a step closer to that strongly-desired goal.

It was Sunday morning, and I woke up feeling generally upset. Well, specifically upset, on a him-and-me issue. I was supposed to join Mr Defeu in bed (due to insomnia issues, I’ve been sleeping in the loft bed in another room) as I do most weekend mornings (I miss sleeping with him, so I like to get in snuggles when we go to bed, and snuggles when we get up, which are the high points of sleeping with someone, anyway!). I joined him, but he could tell I was upset, and he held me while I composed my thoughts. I started telling him about them, and he suddenly stopped me.

“I want to try something,” he said, “I want to cane you, and have sex, before we have this discussion.”

Well, that stopped me dead in my tracks — I was not expecting that! Mr Defeu explained that he thought our discussion of the issues would go better after we had emotionally and physically connected.

Now, I was really not in the mood for sex, and really not in the mood for pain. If this had been earlier in my life, I would have flat-out said no. But I thought about what Mr Defeu had suggested, and it actually made a good deal of sense. We would be more in tune with each other after that, and thus more able to make it through the discussion in an entirely beneficial manner. It would undoubtedly work on all sorts of psychological levels for both of us. It was absolutely the right thing to do.

“But!” part of me whined, “I’m not in the mooooood! I don’t wanna!”
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Mr Defeu has many evil, evil tawses, but there is one stiff leather strap that I am always delighted to see him get out of the toy drawer. It looks about as imposing as any other piece of leather in his collection, but for some reason, this strap can’t hit me wrong — there’s not a time I don’t get some enjoyment from it. It ranges from “Ohhh, that’s a nice tease — please hit me harder!” to “Please keep that up — if you do, I’ll orgasm from this!” to “This is just a bit over the edge of what I can take, but it’s just that perfect amount over the edge! Do it again!”

There are some implements that from the first swat I loathe, despise, and outright hate. But this one turns me into an eager masochist, wriggling her bottom in eager anticipation. The implements which only hurt are perfect to use for tools of actual punishment. (Thus, the wooden paddle we have which is used for just that purpose, and which I do wish would just magically disappear, never to be seen again.) But this strap has come to be known as the “reward strap”. It’s just that good.

A couple weeks ago we were on a trip together. I often do his packing for him (a service I very much enjoy) and had used this opportunity to slip in that beloved strap and a bottle of lube — just in case, you know. It’s always good to be prepared for anything, right?! It was a busy, chaotic trip, but finally, on the last day, we had time alone together, and nothing else to do for a nice long evening stretching out ahead of us….
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This past weekend Mr Defeu and I had this most lovely, amazing scene, which I just had to share with you lot!

I said in a previous post that we haven’t been able to play much, recently, but that I’d been finding surprise benefits to that. We managed to grab some playtime this past weekend, and I was in for another nice surprise!

I don’t know what it was, but the energy between us was like when we first started playing together. There was an eagerness to it, an exploration of bodies, like you’d expect from a one-night-stand, not a married couple.

I was wearing this slutty spandex dress he’d bought me a while ago. It’s my favourite thing to wear on hot days, because there’s not much to it, but it keeps my breasts from bouncing around and flatters what small bits of my body it covers.

My new nick-title for him is Boss (like the girls in Heinlein!). He was teasing my nipples through the spandex, pinching harder and harder, and before long I exclaimed, “Ouch! You’re a meanie! You’re a mean Boss! I think I had better quit your employment!”

“No, I don’t think you will,” he replied (making me melt) and really pinched down a poor helpless nipple.

“Do you want me to go get the clothes pins…?” I asked, softly — as it was out of the role’s character, and a bit shyly as well…. He agreed, and I raced over to the “kinky drawer”, which is filled with straps, tawses, paddles, and other random assorted instruments of pain and pleasure.

“You’d better take your top down,” he warned, and I did so coyly. It’s amazing – I think I will be somewhat shy around Mr. Defeu forever. He’s seen me naked in very exposing positions, he’s done humiliating things to me in those positions – but I still feel awkward and nervous disrobing in front of him. It’s hot.

Next thing, I have one of the “nice” clips on each nipple. Now, I have supremely sensitive nipples, so while these clips might not impress most people, they have me squirming in serious discomfort in but a few minutes.

Thus followed a timeless (but all too long and all too short!) period of Mr Defeu putting clips on, taking clips off, getting out the “nasty” clips and putting them on (“I will scream if you use that!” I warned shrilly – and scream I did!) and finally we ended with four clips on my nipples, me squirming in ever-increasing pain until I said, breathlessly, “I can’t take it anymore!”

He held my wrists in one hand as the pain overcame me. Undoubtedly he was counting in his head, but I couldn’t keep track of the seconds as they ticked by. Finally, he yanked them all off, and there was the rush of pain that comes from nipple-clamp removal, but honestly it was overwhelmed by my relief and the Adrenalin rush! I threw my arms around him, kissing his face and neck, filled with such gratitude that he would take me there, take control, help me experience things like that.

It’s moments like that when I really realize how much the giving of pain is a gift, the act of dominating is a selfless one at the same time as it is giving the top their own more-selfish pleasures.

We were both a bit breathless, eyes sparkling with lust. One of us was drippingly wet, the other painfully erect.

Then he ordered me into a modified 69 position, my hips to one side of his head. I went down on him as he spanked and fingered me.

For some reason, this gave him an all too good angle of attack for the spanks. Each one bit into me sharply. I soon could no longer focus on the pleasure of his finger for the distraction from the pain, and sometime thereafter had to stop going down on him, as well, for fear of biting him!

He was delighted by my helplessness, and didn’t seem to care that I had stopped pleasuring him – he was entirely focused on his own sadistic pleasures.

The nipple play had been an utterly confusing combination of pleasure and pain. I always perceive nipple play in very confused senses: pain as being delicious, pleasure as being too intense and thus painful. But this spanking (usually something I mostly perceive as pleasurable) had moved rapidly into the realm of purely painful.

As I have learned about myself as a masochist: it was the sort of thing I hated in the moment, but would later masturbate over, cherishing all the details of the intense pain and feelings of being overwhelmed.

After he had satisfied his sadism, he ordered me on top of him. I think he really delights in having hurt me, knowing I have suffered, and then seeing me be unable to keep from orgasming right as soon as he pushes inside me.

We finished back at the blowjob. It just seemed right – to thank him, to try and express how much it meant to me, and how appreciative I was for every moment of it.

It is actually true that every cloud has its silver lining – at least within the spankoverse.

Mr Defeu and I have not had overmuch playtime in the past few months – travel (including two weddings where we were in hotels surrounded by family members!) and poor health and other factors have all taken their toll on our play-life.

This weekend we were finally had a full weekend to just be with each other: no places to go, people to see, or anything pressing to do. So, of course, he went and decided to rebuild the media server, but happily – for me – this eventually became frustrating enough that he needed to have a special “break” with a strap, some canes, his hand, and me!

Once we’d gotten me in regulation knickers and a white shirt (the uniform dressing got only so far, partially because it was quite a warm day, and partially because we were rarin’ to go…) he gave me the quick-n-dirty “storyline” to our play: “So you’ve finally come over to see your uncle…” he growled, putting it into his voice that he was unhappy at me for neglecting my familial duties for so long.

As he was at that moment fondling my bottom, I decided that I must not have visited him recently because of his obvious lecherous ways!

Before I could compose that sentence, however, he started pulling me over his lap. “You know you need a spanking, girl…” he explained.

“But,” I said protesting, “I’ve been good!”

“Well, then, you need a spanking to remind you to continue being good.”

Well, that seemed quite unfair to me, so I decided that I might as well earn the inevitable spanking: “You’re just a dirty old pervert!” I exclaimed, with full disgust at the situation dripping from my every word.

No one will be surprised that shortly thereafter, hard spanks rained down on my bottom.
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So, I’m all alone in Mr Defeu’s and my secret hideaway in the UK, which was not in our original vacation plans, but after three days of solo vacationing, I can safely say I hope I get an extra week of alone-time on every vacation I ever take. When Mr Defeu and I go on holiday, there are always “so many people we want to do, and things we want to see” (as it were), that we don’t leave ourselves the time to really get in the “r-n-r” that was the idea of the holiday in the first place. So I’ve been reading, taking luxurious baths with the windows open letting in the long summer evenings, and just generally doing nothing at all for three days.

Of course, I am missing Mr Defeu terribly, no matter how much I enjoy this little taste of independence and indolence. He’s off for an urgent business thingie, but kindly makes time to call me every evening. (Which, after a day alone, I always discover I wanted and needed more than I knew.) Last night, he was a bit groggy from jet-lag, but gamely listening to my chatter. I was telling him how wonderful I was feeling (finally really recovering from a cold picked up at my sister’s wedding, and from trying to do too much in too few days ever since) and he suddenly said, “It’s the rabbits.”

“Um … what?” I asked, not sure what conversational turning I had just missed.

He explained that the rabbits we’d seen while driving around (myriad rabbits, all over the place) were coming in at night when I slept and … well, I’m not sure what the rabbits were supposed to be doing, because I interrupted him by laughing at a sudden flash of memory, which I of course then needed to explain to him.

Back when I was with A., we dated Tamsyn, and Tamsyn’s then-master. One night, a hot summer evening towards the end of the time before A. and I moved across the country, we were having a foursome evening. This evening just happened to involve good food, good wine, and some “killer bud” that may or may not have been inhaled by all, some, or none of us present.

Tamsyn’s master and she got out of their bulging play-bag a variety of implements, including some pieces of rabbit fur (which back then everyone had in their play-bags, for some reason. Nowadays people are much more likely to have something more useful like a Soft Tail Flogger). As I recall (although the memory is a bit soft-focus, for some reason) I was naked, and the bits of rabbit fur were rubbed all over me. In my intoxicated state, I found this really overwhelming, and began crying out that I was being attacked by rabbits – which only spurred the evil sadists to greater effort! (And they laughed at me!)

Anyway, I am sure that we all went on to an evening of further kinky debauchery, with undoubtedly some spanking or flogging, but it’s that moment of being surrounded by sadists with rabbit fur, laughing and tickling me, that really sticks in my mind and makes me smile.

I have lots of new stories of spanking and other naughtiness gotten up to with Pandora and Tom, and I can’t tell you anything, yet, about shooting with Northern Spanking Institute, or Lucy and Paul would have to punish me in a bad way, but for now, I just wanted to share that happy summer memory….