Zille Defeu’s Fetish Fantasies

Posts Tagged ‘submissive thoughts’

I‘m resurrecting this entry because it seems to have gotten lost in the archives, and I’m about to write a whole bunch more about anal sex, so I thought I’d go over my previous thoughts on the matter. This is from an email to my Master, dated September 9, 2005….

From: Sexand submission.com

Dear Master,

Oh, so much has happened since the last time I posted up here! So many wonderful things for me … but the most wonderful is that I am pleasing you, that you are not disappointed with my progress, and that you want to do more with/to me!

Tonight I shall write about a topic that has been on my mind very frequently since you brought it up, the other night on the phone. Anal sex. Wheeee! – I never get tired of the naughty thrill of saying/typing that!

Here is my history with it, Sir, as of course such a topic can always yield amusing results!

Anal sex was a far from my mind as possible when I first started having sex. I know it must have been giggled about by me and my friends at some point, but I was as generally oblivious to it as someone who just doesn’t think about something can be. It was not even an option, in my mind.

When I was dating I— , he asked me if I would do him a sexual favour (and, I said, “Yes, of course, dear, what can I do for you?!”) and that was when he asked for either anal sex or me to shave my pussy. You know which I chose! I told I— at the time, and I meant every word of it, that “I will never have anal sex!”

Which is what I told C— , he being the next boyfriend. He said he was entirely fine with limiting our sex-life to oral and vaginal delights.

He laughed so hard that if he had not fallen out of bed I would have pushed him, when, a year or so later, I asked him to fuck me in the ass, please!

What happened to change my mind so drastically? Two things: Pat Califia (again, making such a huge imprint on my life) and porn. By this point in time I was rooming with R— , and she and I routinely rented porn flicks to do running commentaries over. At first I was horrified by seeing the seemingly all-too-huge cocks ramming into the all-too-small anuses. But, after a while, it occurred to me that if so many women were doing it, it could not be quite so bad as I was making it out to be! (And the Pat Califia book had anal fisting in it, which did sort of put the whole thing into perspective: “Wow! If a fist can go up there, a cock’s not so bad!”)

So that night, once C— got done rolling on the floor laughing at me and I stopped pouting about being laughed at, we got to it. I have to say for C— that he was always a careful and dedicated lover: therefore, perfect for a first-try at anal. We got the lube, and he got worked his way up to having three fingers up there with me really enjoying it. And then, figuring we’d stretched things out nicely, he tried his cock. No go. A real unpleasant pain came up immediately, and my first instinct was: Get It Out Now!

And it was like that for years. I’d really get off on any number of fingers digitally stimulating me back there, even quite vigorously, but trying later with other lovers yielded continuing unsuccessful results.

Meanwhile, butt-plugs were great! Vibrating or not!

It has been in the past two years that I have come to love the feeling of a cock pushing deep into my ass. The factor that brought results: I suddenly realized that I could play with my clitoris at the same time as being fucked in the ass!

With the pleasurable sensations running outwards from my clit, suddenly the “stretching” sensations in my ass that seemed to occur the most during penile-anal sex and which I had always perceived as painful – became pleasure as well. And the moments in the beginning, when it can seem just “all too much,” before you are opened up enough … while I was rubbing my clit, that pain became a turn-on instead of a turn-off.

Being a “lesbian” (that is, “bisexual in a long-term relationship with a woman”) had really done something weird for my sexuality! When I was sleeping with guys originally, the things that turned me on were … well, mostly, me getting some nice orgasms. But after a period of not sleeping with men, followed by a period of wanting to sleep with men again but feeling pressured not to (A. really was never comfortable with me sleeping with guys, so it was easier to take female lovers — we could share that way, anyway!) and so voraciously re-reading my Victorian erotica and White Shadow’s Nasty Stories (now sadly defunct), I had now become really excited about the idea of guys coming inside me. (I think that in high school I had been so worried about pregnancy that I thought sex was much hotter if all that nasty sperm was contained in a nice latex condom…!)

But now my fantasies couldn’t get hotter than being a Victorian girl who was just coming-of-age, and whose father/brother/uncle took it upon themselves (selfless gentlemen that they were!) to teach me the ars amours. Of course, being gentlemen, they would worry about getting their darling daughter/sister/niece pregnant, so they could twiddle my little quim with their big masculine digits all they liked, but their cocks always ended up in my arse….

And other fantasies. Years of nightly fantasies. I could go on for pages and pages just giving brief outlines! But, most relevant to this topic, suddenly I could care less about my pussy. That was where I was generally getting fucked, but in my mind I was only being fucked in the ass – thinking about anything else wouldn’t even come close to getting me off!

UPDATE: As of today, my fantasies remain anal in theme. In my head, I pretty much only get vaginally-penetrated if something else (ginger, anyone?!) is already stuck up my bottom! And, of course, I’ve learned to appreciate the pains of anal sex, even more than the pleasures: indeed, they have become the pleasure, for me!

Most of my blog posts recently have been ruminations/discussions about punishment and discipline. Well, this weekend, my Master put those ideas and notions into practice!

Discipline from Kink On Demand

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So, I’m being a wee bit naughty over in Fetlife. Of course, I blame kaya — she’s a bad influence on me!

Basically, this person posted in one of the spanking groups asking if safewords should be allowed for “true punishment.”

Heh. Of course, I do not have a safeword at any time, and the very last place my Master would consider letting me have one is during punishment! I mean, how handy to hand a submissive a key to ending the punishment! “Yes, when you don’t like what’s going on anymore, just say ‘red,’ or ‘safeword,’ or ‘banana,’ and I’ll stop punishing you and give you a cuddle!”

By the time I got around to reading the post, most people had commented saying that “safewords are essential! You should never play with anyone who doesn’t let you have a safeword ever or Bad Things Will Happen!”

At which point, the smart thing is to back away slowly and go about my day. Sometimes the smart thing is no fun, though!
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As you lot all know from recent somewhat maudlin posts of mine, my Master has been away. Well, he got home late Saturday night—which did leave me time to have Miss Maggie Mayhem over for flirting and planning world domination and Indian take-away—and after he got home we all hung out a bit, before she had to go catch the last train.

My Master was exhausted from travel, and he plunked down in front of the TV to unwind before bed. He looked through the recorded shows on our DVR, and discovered that the box had become full, so had deleted some shows. The ones it deleted were our entire saved-up Season Two of Skins.

I had said that while he was gone, I’d watch the Tess of the d’Urbervilles that was taking up space on it, but I totally forgot, having become entirely caught up in Coupling.

Now, he has at least six Top Gears on there, but he is the Master, so it’s Tess’ and my fault that the Skins were deleted. He was really angry about it, which I would get if it was episodes of Dr Who, but while I enjoy Skins, it wasn’t life-or-death to me. I went and hid in the bathroom for a little while, and overcame my feelings of resentment for being snapped at for something I considered so trivial.

Here’s where being a slave is so good for me: instead of snapping back at him when he snapped at me, I went off, licked my wounds, and came back, well, if not bouncy and effervescent, at least quietly accepting of my fault and ready to move on if he was. Happily he was, and I ended up snuggled against him as we watched … something, I don’t even remember what. And then we went to bed and there was more snuggling and everything was okay … and it was okay because I didn’t snap back at him and turn it into a fight (and how awful would that have been?! “Welcome home—now let’s have a fight about something stupid!”). I let go of my hurt feelings and accepted his. Sadly, the only way I’ve been able to accomplish this consideration and emotional intelligence is to become a slave and not have carelessness, selfishness, and stupidity as options anymore. (Well, they are an option, but they inevitably lead to the paddle, and perhaps some kneeling on rice, so they become considerably less attractive as options!)

The next day, after our usual leisurely Sunday morning, I asked if I should go have a bath and do my shaving. He said yes, and I went off to go splash and soak and generally enjoy myself while making myself all smooth. When I came out, squeaky clean and moisturised to supple perfection (I’m a wee bit fanatical about personal maintenance), he was in bed with a book. Wheeeeee! I thought, and headed right to join him, naked as a jaybird.
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My Master is travelling for work yet again, and I’m home alone. I’m re-watching Coupling to pass the time in the evenings when I would normally be snuggled up with him.

Watching the show is making me feel like the past three years never happened, and I’m sitting alone in my bedroom in my nice house in the ‘burbs, excited about this man who has just become my Master: not just excited, but scared, eager, raring to go. I was so desperate for things to work out with my Master, for me to be in a real successful D/s relationship, that I lived in a perpetual state of worked up nerves: one minute full of joy and singing out loud, the next crying because I was sure he’d suddenly realize how unworthy I was to serve him, and tell me I wasn’t his girl anymore.

I was just, “girl,” then. He decided I had to earn my nicknames from him, and so I started as his girl, a nameless girl. Then, one night, in a late night phone call – it was probably 1AM or so for me, and he was in off in some part of Europe – he accidentally called me “little one.” He was surprised because he hadn’t meant to upgrade me so fast, it just slipped out of his mouth! I melted into a puddle of happiness, although it didn’t really cure my irrational fears. It took a long while (okay, maybe a month or so!) for me to accept the term, “slave.” I’d never really wanted to be a slave, so while I was happy to have him as my Master, I was more comfortable being his girl, or his sub. Slave was a big step.
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