Zille Defeu’s Fetish Fantasies

Posts Tagged ‘slipper’

Continued from Part I. I should warn you that this turned into a long and not particularly coherent ramble, with thoughts coming out faster then I could write them down, and so it doesn’t go in any well-mapped direction, nor come to a tidy conclusion….

Happy reminisces aside (and he’s given me plenty of lovely sensation-memories to contemplate in bed while he’s off on a business trip this week) the main reason I shared this scene was because it has really got me thinking about my long strange trip around the land of which Sacher-Masoch is king. (Or at least the guy who gave it its name!)

I’ve written before about how I was surprised as hell when I first got into BDSM and discovered that even though I’d been fantasizing about pain all my life, it actually hurt, and how that made me back off and explore submission and other kinky stuff, certain I was a failed masochist who could only dream but not live up to my own fantasies.

And, I’ve written how Mr Defeu and the Senior cane changed all that one amazing evening.

But that “voyage of discovery” wasn’t over, and I’m still very much learning about the intersection of pain and me.

Coming from the BDSM world, the spanko world confused me. In BDSM, masochists are out, proud, and boast of their masochistic depths – indeed, the most sought after thing is to be a “bottomless pit” which can take all the pain a Top dishes out – and preferably orgasm from it. (Of course, not many people are actually like this, and this ideal probably alienates many people as much as it did me!)

On the other hand, so many spankos claim to not enjoy pain at all. They suffer CP to get other rewards, they claim. This point of view helped me, when first arriving from the cult of the masochist (“Ah! It’s okay that pain hurts!”) However, it soon got in my way, because there are indeed times when a stroke hits just right, and I process it as pleasure. Or I get a spanking that amps things up slowly, just right yet again, and I can actually come from it, just like a real big masochist, mommy!

That’s what made me want to change the common-use (within the BDSM/spanko communities) definition of masochist, from “someone who enjoys pain” to “someone who gets something from pain” (which is what the dictionary definition is, anyway). Because I think most people who want to be spanked (or otherwise caned, whipped, strapped, or paddled) fall somewhere in-between the 0 of “I get nothing from being spanked” to the 10 of “I am a raging masochist who will come from being skinned alive”.

But this post is ranging too far in scope – I actually meant to just be talking about my own self-discoveries. Just as sexuality is fluid, so is masochism, it seems. (Although of course, for me, I don’t think there is any real division between my sexuality and my masochism.) Some days I just want the CP equivalent of love pats. Other days I crave my fundament being turned entirely black and blue….

But even more, as I learn more about myself, my own ability to take more and different kinds of pain expands.
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This is the “fun bit” of a two-part post. First I’ll recount a lovely scene Mr Defeu and I just did, and then tomorrow I’ll talk about some of the thoughts it has brought up for me. Dessert before dinner, for those of you who are just here for the spanking and kinky sex. But for those of you who want the “deep thoughts” part, the best is yet to come!

I was feeling a bit low on Saturday afternoon (despite some lovely first-thing-upon-waking-sex) and of course Mr Defeu knows the best way to perk me up: “I think there shall be a scene, this weekend,” he announced. “Oh, really?” I asked, suddenly buoyed up nicely. He nodded, and said nothing further, keeping his devious plans to himself.

Sunday morning rolled around, and as we cuddled in spoon-position after waking up, something else woke up, and poked me in lower right bum-cheek. “Aaaah,” I said, (always profound, me!) “Would you like me to go change into something more suitable?”

I was instructed to change into a vest (that’s a wife-beater, to American readers) and gym-cut knickers (which I took to mean short cotton-spandex shorts, not regulation knickers – and, as I wasn’t punished for wearing the wrong thing, must have made the right call!) and so, clad in a white vest, navy gym shorts, and two pony-tails (not just to be cute, but to keep my hair out of the way, as I had a feeling fellatio would factor into things somewhere, and also, getting a mouthful of hair during a beating, always after having been told not to move your arms, is both frustrating and embarrassing), I knocked on the bedroom door, and was curtly instructed to enter.

I was fighting a grin quite strongly at this point. I so very much wanted to be in role, but I was really just too happy that filthy perverted stuff was about to happen. I managed to have my face mostly under control by the time I got inside the door.

“Well, my girl,” he said in full disappointed “this will hurt me more than it hurts you” Authority Figure Mode, “What did I tell you about being too rowdy last night?”

Uh, I don’t know! – was my first thought, and not one I said outloud – I didn’t remember being particularly boisterous or unruly the night before. So I tried for an all-purpose defence: “Um, youthful high spirits?”

That justification was of course deemed quite beneath regard, and I was treated to a lecture on how I had quite ruined his evening, but he didn’t want to be imposed upon to have to punish me when he was trying to get some RnR, and so he would attend to me now.

I was lapping this right up of course, although I gave a token stab at self-defence and tying to talk my way out of what was coming to me. (You can’t very well say, “Yay! Yay! Lecture me more!”)

This worked so well that I ended up being pulled over his lap as he sat on the side of the bed, and him laying right into me with heavy, hard spanks.
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Sunday, 16 January 2011

This has been an amazing week for Mr Defeu and me: Tuesday we re-initiated our discipline-based relationship, and then Friday evening we had over the delicious MinxGrrl for a session of traditional British schoolgirl uniform fitting, and traditional CP, and then kisses, snuggles, and erotic story-reading with added stimulation.

I must say that as a first-time play session with someone, it went rather fantastically well! (And, from her tweets, the Grrl of the Minxness agrees with me!)

I’ll let her sum up the action:

So I was dressed up in proper British school attire, spanked, caned, strapped w/ belt & tawse, slippered, had my hands strapped & caned… We played about 4 hours with a couple breaks. I also had my feet caned, put in the corner and there may even be more that I just can’t remember through the afterglow haze. Ow…mmm. We only stopped to snuggle and for me to make out with his hot wife ftw!

During some of the play, I grabbed Minx’s mobile and started getting shots I thought she’d rather like to have, later. She has since tweeted her favs, and thus I present to you a photo-essay – snapshots of some lovely moments in that evening….

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Wow, how this month has flown by. Damn, there went that summer, and I really don’t feel I had enough time to fully enjoy and appreciate it!

Now that it’s September, I realize I’d better finish this serial, before events overtake me again – i.e., before I go to my first ShadowLane party!

Mr. Defeu has been in Daddy-mode a lot recently.

Of course, that title might squick the pure-spankos who come over here even more than “Master.” I mean, “Master” sounds all BDSM-y and possibly pushes emotional buttons, but how many more buttons does “Daddy” push?! And we’ve talked about it, and while it would be a good solution otherwise, “my Sir” is not for us, because it’s not a natural part of language, e.g. the way “my Lord” is. (Errr, the English language, I should specify, as “Monsieur” is exactly that. But if I called him “Monsieur” we’d both fall over laughing, unless we were doing the whole bloody scene in French! Which, come to think of it, could probably not be accomplished without massive giggling, anyway! Now German, that would fit a scene very, very well…. But I don’t think he’ll take to “Mein Herr,” either, and honestly, that leads to visions of clicking my heels and saying, “Yavol, Mein Herr!” and then falling over in giggles as well….)

But I’ve wandered off track – thinking about it, I’ll use “my Daddy” for the rest of this post. Those of you who read it, please leave me a comment letting me know how you feel about it – does it work? Or does it squick you out?

So, here we go – I started over my Daddy’s lap; hand-spanking and then the mean slipper. Once I was crying out and bouncing around, I was put over the edge of the bed and he decided to work through a large selection of his tawses, as we’d just found the missing Campbells (they were, if you can imagine it, in the toy bag!)
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