Zille Defeu’s Fetish Fantasies

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The endlessly delicious Miss Maggie Mayhem has an article up at carnalnation.com: Burning Up for Bondage. Before we get any further, however, let’s review Maggie’s lovely breasts, shall we…?

Okay, keeping those dual bits o’ perfection in mind, read this snippet from her article….

This is the part of the story where I try to explain a poor decision without seeming like a complete moron. What I am about to describe to you is a situation that has most people wondering how someone could do something so extraordinarily stupid. I’m going to do my best to rationalize things, but I knew better. I assumed it would end badly, and I did it anyway. I shall accept all mockery with whatever dignity and grace I can muster.

The best thing I could find at the gas station was a patch kit with rubber cement. We all remember rubber cement, don’t we? I looked back fondly upon the often-used glue of my childhood and figured that it would work out just fine. This was the very thing I used to make collages and homemade models of the solar system. Maybe it would sting a little, but how bad could it really be? Surely it couldn’t feel worse than a single-tail whip or wintergreen alcohol applied immediately after a play piercing. I would use the rubber cement; the crisis would be averted; the photos would have my pasties; and everyone would be happy. It’s not like I was going to be completely comfortable at a bondage shoot anyway.
Is anyone here familiar with a chemical burn? I’m not talking about an unpleasant tingling. I’m talking about a volatile reaction to a caustic substance that results in tissue damage. I look calm in those photos, but my mind was incoherently full of expletives. How shall I describe the sensation? It was like fire ants chewing their way through my skin. Or maybe a cheese grater doused with mace. Silly model, I thought, putting vanity before anything else.

I wasn’t a little irritated or slightly raw. The end result was pretty ugly, and I will spare you the unfortunate details. As a model, my true success for the day is that you can’t see that ugliness in the pictures. We were making erotic photos, not a PSA about the dangers of putting harsh chemicals on sensitive parts of your body. I forced myself to focus on things like glaciers or the freezer aisle at a grocery store until I finally got word that all the photographers had gotten their shots and I could get dressed. Nothing seemed to soothe me until someone showed me a preview of the content we made. It was a painful experience, to be sure, but the photos were fabulous. Even as I was still rubbing my poor sore nipples, I felt confident that it had been worth it. The pain would go away eventually, but the pictures would endure….

This is just a snippet of the excellent article, but you need to click over for more reasons than that simple one. CarnalNation pays their contributors, but it’s based on how many people read their contributed articles! So if you like Maggie (or me, since I really like Maggie) please just click over and help out!

(Oh, and for those of you who may be worried about the current state of Maggie’s nips — they looked fine when I got my hands (and, errr, mouth) on them last Wednesday) but it was quite dark in Bondage A Go Go — so since she is coming over tomorrow, I will make sure to examine them even more closely!)

So, there’s this site called F*** My Life where people write in and anonymously share embarrassing/deeply unpleasant situations with the rest of the world. I wander by there occasionally, because it can be a quite entertaining view of the human condition.

I shouldn’t have been surprised today to find this:

Today, I was talking to my mom. During the conversation she randomly asked me “does he take his leg off when you guys are having sex?” Referring to the guy I’ve been seeing who has a prosthetic leg. My dad then asked “does he beat you with it too if you’ve been naughty?” FML

Being me, I immediately want to find someone with a prosthetic leg and a sense of humour, and do a shoot! Any takers…?

Here’s another shot I found of the delectable Scarlett Fay getting her bottom warmed for her continued tardiness (see Fabulous schoolgirl spanking dialogue and Scarlett Fay: spanking and sex and black leather gloves for more).

From: Fresh Outta High School

And, no, I have not reached a level of unhealthy obsession with Miss Fay’s bottom. I think a posterior of such perfection deserves nothing less!

Of course, it’s not just her bottom that exemplifies perfection…

From: Fresh Outta High School

In other news, here’s a fabulous article called, Should Fantasies Be “PC”?

An editor once reminded me that erotic fiction needs to focus on pleasure rather than be a vehicle for dysfunction. I was so stunned by this I didn’t eat worms for the rest of the week and almost quit my basket-weaving. I am not dysfunctional. I am not damaged. And what on earth is “pleasure” anyway? It sounds suspiciously like scented candles to me. The notion that female erotica should be softer and more romantic is wildly offensive. Ditto the implication that a women who wants to be dominated by a man must be lacking her own mind. She doesn’t want it. She’s merely a victim and it’s her damaged, self-loathing psyche talking. Oh, purlease.

In the next two paragraphs, Kristina Lloyd makes so many good points that the text is rather like a flour-less chocolate cake: no padding around the good stuff….

Kate, like Beth, is a woman conflicted about her sexuality. I think this is true of a lot of people whose kinks are on the dark side, and I think this is OK. We hear a lot about “sex positivity” and having a “healthy” attitude; and while I applaud the sentiment it leaves me feeling a tad uncomfortable. It seems so neat, clean and tidy, and leaves little space for angst or doubt. Where we want to go and what we want to do or be done to us can be disturbing, terrifying, upsetting and exciting. It’s pleasure but not as they know it. Accepting conflict and contradiction is a significant part of accepting our messy sexual selves. I’m sure “sex positive” was originally meant to encompass this but it’s easily miscast to imply unproblematic happy-jolly-fucky sex. It can make me feel dirty, and not in a good way.

I like brutes and bullies with a nice line in contempt. I like back alleys, seediness and squalor. I like scary scenarios that make my heart beat faster. All these things break down the ego and strip away the veneer of the civilised self. And when you’re without that constructed identity, when your dignity and self-respect have been put on hold, then boundaries shift, inhibitions are lost. If anything, those who like to indulge in being broken down need to have a very secure sense of self. They must be continually piecing themselves back together again afterwards.

Well! What more do you need to say about that? Go off and enjoy your darkest fantasies. Mine may involve doing absolutely vile things to Scarlett Fay…!

Since we’ve been talking about the differences between punishment/discipline and roleplay for some weeks now on this blog, I was entirely delighted to find these two posts by Niki Flynn, which covers all of those ideas so very well:

When I’m shooting, I have to be aware of the camera while simultaneously tuning it out. I have to know whether I’m in shot, make sure my hair isn’t obscuring my face and focus on a hundred other things that are invisible to the viewer. The camera is both friend and impartial observer. Bettie Page once said she liked pretending that the camera was her boyfriend and that she was making love to him.

The camera on my right was no loving boyfriend. It was the glaring eye of judgment, isolating me in its cold gaze. Still, I dutifully tucked my hair behind my ear when it fell in my face, fighting the urge to put my head down out of sight and sob. Dallas had no mercy for a girl who had endangered her life by unfastening her life vest. He pushed all my guilt buttons.

‘How do you think your boyfriend would have felt if you’d hit a rock and gone under?’

WHACK!

‘How would he have felt?’

WHACK!

There was no answer to that. All I could do was yelp and take my punishment. The worst part of all was that I deserved it. I KNEW I deserved it. This was nothing like my childhood punishments, when I always felt wronged and resentful. This was my own fault. I was being made an example of and people all over the world would be watching my shame and disgrace.

‘You look in that camera and tell your boyfriend you’re sorry.’

My heart clenched and my face crumpled as I turned to face the impersonal lens.

‘I’m sorry,’ I whimpered pitifully, looking into its unfeeling eye. I had never felt so vulnerable and exposed at a shoot before. It was as though the camera was stripping my soul bare.

I sobbed helplessly throughout the rest of the strapping, releasing all my pent-up fear and anxiety. By the end I was so distraught I abandoned the camera completely. I hung my head, crying, oblivious to whether my face was in shot or not. I’d had enough. I’d learnt my lesson. And Dallas knew it too.

(Images from Northern Spanking Institute‘s Appointment With The Brush, starring Niki Flynn & Michael Stamp.)

Okay, I had another post I was going to put up today, but this just entirely trumps it! Thanks to Niki Flynn, who brought this amazing defence of “extreme” porn by Pandora Blake to my attention!

Read the whole thing — its extraordinarily well-written, and so clear and sensible that I can only think that any rational-minded person who’d had doubts about whether “extreme” porn was really needing to be censored or not, simply must agree with Pandora by the end of the article.

A part of the article that really delighted me was her explanation of herself as a lover of discipline — I could have written the exact same thing, only probably not as well as she has done!

I’m an independent, self-employed, over-ambitious perfectionist. I work hard and play hard and set myself tough goals. I need the profound emotional release that comes from, just for an evening, having no responsibilities at all. I need the deep, kittenish satisfaction that comes from offering myself to my lover, doing what I’m told and being found pleasing. I need the emotional simplicity that arises from being given very simple goals. Don’t move. Trust me. Endure this. Pain grounds me in my body better than any meditation technique I’ve ever tried. It cleanses my psyche of all the self-inflicted anxiety and guilt that accumulates during my average working week. It leaves me feeling renewed.

Pandora as Paulina on Girls Boarding School

This point really gets to the heart of the matter:

Let’s think about the argument here, for a second. The one championed so passionately by Liz Longhurst and the Daily Mail, that violent porn causes violent crime. The court case into Jane Longhurst’s tragic murder did not demonstrate a causal connection between the extreme porn Graham Coutts liked to look at and his act of homicide; nor has it ever been demonstrated that there is a de facto link between one act (looking at violent imagery) and another (committing violent crimes). The debate on violent videogames has raged for years without conclusion.

Everyone in the country is now affected by this law, despite the fact that the vast majority of us are not violent sexual offenders, and never will be, especially if we’re female. This law has nothing to do with violent crime, and everything to do with censorship.

There’s nothing more to say about that — case closed!

I may live in the US, but this rule in the UK could give our “ignorant prudes” ideas — and the ignorant prudes in the US are the spiritual descendants of the Puritans — ignorant prudes whom the UK kicked out for being annoyingly prudish and censorious of others!

I just hope rational thought and freedom can overcome this, and sooner rather than later!