Zille Defeu’s Fetish Fantasies

Posts Tagged ‘tawse/belt’

Originally posted on 30th Nov 2005.

Dearest Mr Defeu,

I may be too sick to write coherently, but I miss you, and the books you loaned me have put so many thoughts into my head, that I am going to try anyway.

It scares me to say this – the results are somewhat to be feared: but, I must say: I can take more. Oh, this is in no way a criticism, Sir, and how could it be, with you giving me the best “sex” of my life! Perhaps this is more a promise, a pledge: I can take more pain and I want/need to take more pain for you.

The other night, when you were playing with me and I asked you, “But what if I want to be punished?” and you asked me, “Do you want to be punished?” and I (having given it the due consideration of all of a second) said, “Yes,” – and then you tawsed my hands – I think the hardest you have ever done. By the time the last stroke came around, I didn’t know if I could put out my hand for it, and you grabbed my hand and pulled it out and hit it….

Image of Adele Haze from Northern Spanking Institute

Oh, that was so good! I loved being taken there, to that place where the pain was so much that I couldn’t manage to get that hand out for the last stroke – oh, it was a new and amazing place you took me to. You wondered why I was crying afterwards – that was it.

And I want to go there again. In A Degree of Discipline, there is a scene where Lucy is bound down with straps to a chest, and there tawsed:

Lucy howled and pleaded, wriggling and writing in a vain attempt to reduce the sting as Miss Parkin worked to a steady rhythm working down the slopes of her bottom, first one cheek and then the other, but to no avail.

I’m afraid that I will also howl and wriggle – I can’t really help it, although I do try my hardest and I hope that I will learn how to take a beating more silently over time. Recently I’ve found that even though the pain becomes enough for me to start making noise, noise I really can’t help because it does hurt so very much, but I know through the pain (and under the noise) that I can take more. So, I beg you, Sir, please give me more. I know there will be times when my pain tolerance is at a low ebb, say, late at night (or early in the morning, knowing the hours we keep) but, in general, I think my ability to take pain from you is getting more and more and more.

And, oh, how I want to! I want to please you, to satisfy you. Every time you hit me “not-quite-so-hard,” or you stop with (god-forbid) less than six … I feel like I’ve let you down terribly. I feel upset with myself, and afraid you’ll decide I’m not worthy of being your girl. Even if I “can’t” take the pain – well, not taking for you it seems worse to me than somehow managing to get through it!

And, while I love obeying you so very much (and here my bratty side jumps in to add that “it doesn’t suck”) I would also like to be taken to the place where I, under the duress of pain, beg you to stop – and you do not. Oh, it scares me to write that! I backpedal in my mind – think, “Oh maybe then he can at least tell me how many more I have left, to help me take it!” But really, I am learning that the pains of the cane, the tawse, the riding whip, etc., do not kill me nor even injure me (at least while in your hands, which I trust completely) and that knowledge gives me the courage to ask for “more” – because not only do I now know that I need it for myself, but I want – oh, do you have any idea how much I want?! – to give it to you!

I can write you stories, and give you gifts, and clean your apartment from top to bottom – but those do nothing to mitigate the deep debts I feel to you. You have brought me so much joy, made me feel so alive – indeed, given me a new and wondrous life as your girl, your slave. There seems no possible way to pay you back – but with my body, my pain, my tears – all my very self, given to you freely and lovingly.

And also it is a gift I long to give you. Not just as a debt of honor, but from the sheer pleasure of pleasing you.

Oh – I cannot go on. There is more to write – at the very least a decent closing. But I am tired and a bit dizzy and I will go lie down and wait for your call, dearest Sir…

Mr Defeu is off on a trip again, and so when I found this old post it really resonated with me…. Originally posted on 6th Oct 2008.

Mr Defeu 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 his girl 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.

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I wanted to make sure that Saturday was less hectic than Friday, but I didn’t mean it to be so mellow that I missed the Punishment Book meeting! But I slept in late, and then Mr. Defeu and I had some nice morning sex, and by the time I realized what was going on (i.e, that the PB meeting as not on Sunday after all), we barely made it down in time for brunch with Mija, Paul, Rad, and Miss Cassandra. (Note, I see Rad has explained that he can only be mentioned “as long as it’s glowing bordering on gushing” – so he should consider himself thus described as shining brighter than a glow-in-the-dark Jesus, and gushing in a manner that would make Niagra falls jealous!)

Then Mr. Defeu and I chilled for a while, before he got called off to help the Northern folks with some errands, and I started my prepping for my outfit for that evening. To the right, a shot taken while hanging out pre-ball with Mija, Paul, Fireman Chris and Serenity, Iris and M, and Bailey.

• Black Satin Bullet Bra
• 6-Strap Garter Belt
• Pin-Up Girl Stockings
• 50′s Rockabilly Satin Dot Halter Dress
• Satin Bolero Jacket

(I’ve linked above to a nice dress that’s like the one I’m wearing, but the one I’m wearing is special because it’s loaned to me by the delicious Pandora. Although I may tell her if she wants it back she has to come to San Francisco and wrest it from my body personally!)

The dinner part of the evening was nice – and the food wasn’t bad; better than last year’s, I felt – and I basically played musical chairs moving around the table talking to people. And a whole bunch of San Franciscans stopped by to talk to me, which was so cool – of course, it is perhaps ironic that we had to go to Vegas to meet and/or get a chance to chat! My local peeps should feel free to stay in touch with me – we talked about lots of cool ideas for spanking parties and stuff!

My only complaint was that the music got cranked to 11 while I was trying to talk to people. I was already loosing my voice from all the talking and from the smoky air (it’s weird, after living in CA, to be in a place where there is smoking allowed indoors! My throat’s just not used to that sort of thing anymore!) and since there was only a small number of people shakin’ their booties, the volume seemed disproportionately loud. I would really prefer that there be a dance floor area, and an eating/talking area, and the music kept to background-level in the latter. If I want to go dancing, I’ll go dancing whether or not the music is turned up – and if I want to talk, having to shout over music just makes me cranky.

This increased volume encouraged most of my friends it was time to move on to suite parties Read the rest of this entry »

Well, Sunday evening’s scene (the picture went up yesturday) was intense! Some other synonyms of that word work well: strong, powerful, forceful, deep, passionate, severe, etc.

It started with the School Uniform Review that my Master had requested some time back, and we both finally had the right amount of time and energy to devote to it.

From memory, I have:

• Three jumpers/pinafores: blue, green, grey. These fit well.
• Skirts in blue, green, grey, and black in varying lengths and styles (from gym skirts to more formal ones) – all have problems that my waist-to-hip ratio is greater than they seem to expect a “schoolgirl’s” to be, which is silly because I am pretty sure I’ve been this size/shape since I was about 16/17. We bought them to fit my waist, which they do, but they’re too tight around the hips. We’ve decided a number of them need to be replaced with the size larger and cut down to fit me. (I’ll be agitating on making all of them shorter, too, but my Master is a pure pervert and likes the longer lengths for reality’s sake or something nasty like that!)
• Blazers in blue, green, grey, and black, the first three have a loose fit; the last has a tailored fit.
• Sweaters in blue, green, grey, and black.
• White shirts in long sleeve and short sleeve. I prefer the fitted ones from Bhs, and would love to replace the old baggy ones from John Lewis!
• Knickers in blue, green, grey, white, maroon, and some cutesy patterned little girl ones. Both cotton and those nasty nylon ones he adores so. 90% in the “high waist, modest leg” fit that I think looks about as sexy as a dead squirrel, and he just adores. It’s the main source of humiliation in my life, and he is really quite unsubtle about enjoying it.
• “Punishment shorts” in blue, green, black, and white, varying from “short shorts,” to knee length. Varying mix of cotton/spandex, or that is, matte/shine.
• Ties and those cute little cross ties that snap on, in varying colours and solids/stripes.
• Socks in white, green, and blue, varying lengths. Tights in blue, green, black and white. Some white and black stockings and matching garter belts, for the older schoolgirl.

Is there any doubt left in anyone’s mind that we are perverts? Thorough perverts and thoroughly perverted!

After much trying on and taking off and trying on again, I ended up in (only) a pair of blue cotton knickers and white over-the-knee socks, over his knee for a spanking. Spanking progresses from “brisk” to “hold on for the ride!” and then he pronounces that the panties are “too loose.” He likes them so tight that my skin bulges out from the elastic. ICK! Someone explain to me how or why that is sexy!

So, on with a tighter pair of knickers. Which we have. Don’t ask how many pairs of knickers there are. He of course needs to start the spanking over again, obviously.

He then tells me that I’ve been a good girl, so I may suggest the next implement he’ll use on me. If he likes the suggestion he’ll go with it. I put forward the slipper and then the belt (because I’m a masochist like that!).

The slipper and the belt are a study in opposites. The slipper looks innocuous, and by all lights it should be just an extension of a spanking. But those slippers are evil, stingy things, and I can’t help but bounce around when he thwacks me with them. He put first one of my legs under his own, then he had to put both underneath, because I was flailing around like a drowning person – as indeed I was: a girl drowning in pain! However, for all the horrible pain they produce, I don’t think the slipper does much actual damage to my bot.

The belt, on the other hand, I just adore. He can bring his arm back all the way for maximum force, and when the belt hits, I always hear the WHUMP! sound it makes and wince, but then as the sensation spreads through me, I think, “Well that’s not so bad at all! Yummm, that’s going right to the pussy, that is!” The noises I make are indicative of this: I make almost growly cries as the belt hits, which I maintain are just the wave of kinetic energy passing from my bottom through my body, which turn into moans of pleasure as my mind processes the pain, and then perhaps a certain amount of aroused hip-movement, but nothing like the frantic wriggling of the slipper. But, looking at my bottom, and feeling how it feels today, I can say with some surety that the belt does some damage to my flesh.

The worst thing about when your Master lets you choose is that you invariably pick something just as horrible, or worse, than he would pick for you! Once, in one of our earliest scenes, the bastard my Master put the whole selection of “toys,” he’d brought with him in front of me, and had me pick three. I didn’t know enough about them to make informed choices, and I also didn’t want to be seen picking the lightest implements, but didn’t want to get the evilest ones, either! He watched with a smirk as I made my fateful choices, and then, after I’d tentatively set three aside, he said, “Oh, really, those are the ones you want?”

“Um, uhhh, did I choose the worst?” I quavered.

“Well, they’re not what I’d have chosen!” he replied, leaving me as much in the dark but infinitely more terrified, and proceeded to use all of them mercilessly on me.

I’d had the slipper over his knee at the edge of the bed, and then he had me lay flat on the bed for the belt (so he could get the best swinging force for the target, I’m sure), and then, that done with, he told me to lay over the edge of the bed on my own, and got down a cane.
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To the outside observer, the punishment and reward I received yesturday would look pretty much the same.

For my bad behavior in last weekend’s scene (leading it to be a “failed scene,” with much unhappiness on both our parts) I got a dozen whacks with an evil implement that I didn’t get a good look at (and I’m not sure I want to) but which most certainly taught me my lesson (and glad am I that it will only be used for punishment. It’s going to be super hard to eroticize the pain from that thing!)

My reward, however, was an inflatable butt-plug put in my ass, and then about 36 cane strokes and I-don’t-remember-how-many from the tawse, interspersed around a rough fucking.

So you can see how a person might get confused!
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