Zille Defeu’s Fetish Fantasies

My Master and I are out of town for a business trip. Well, it’s his business trip! I’m along for the ride.

We are down in San Diego now, and started driving down on Saturday. We got as far as LA, because one of my Master’s friends was having the opening of his “Brand New Premiere Full-Service Dungeon” in LA: The Broken Door, and as we were going to just happen to be passing by, there was no way in the world we wanted to miss it.

It was an invitation-only party, which is always preferable. But I must say the “strict dress code” was not enforced at all, and we saw plenty of T-shirts and jeans, which always brings down the tone of such events. (And why would you wear jeans and a tee to a party, I always wonder. It’s a shame to waste any excuse to get dressed up!)

We didn’t know it was no “don’t bring a camera” rule, either, or we would have brought ours. We did take some pictures of me in my shiny black spanking dress and thigh-high boots afterwards (nothing like a 2AM impromptu photo shoot!) and I’ll post them soon!

The space itself is brilliant. Everywhere you turn in the huge warehouse-sized rooms you find a lavish little island to play in. My personal favourite was a beautiful pavilion with oriental carpet, low soft chairs, and the most beautiful St. Andrew’s Cross I have ever seen. Also, a naked slave was part of the decoration, and my Master and I had a nice long chat with her – about anal sex. I don’t know how we got on the topic (not that it’s hard, with me!) but she was just so delighted to discuss it in detail, and I was equally delighted to indulge her (and my Master seemed pleased to sit back and listen to two slaves discussing the joys of anal sex, throwing in a gem of Masterly wisdom now and then).

We wandered away to do a circuit of the club, and I got in line for the loo while he helped himself to wine at the open bar (and how many fetish events have those?!) The line was, unsurprisingly, long and slow, but at least there was lots of yummy stuff to look at while one waited, including two submissives lying on the ground, wearing only leather thongs, being flogged and otherwise tormented by two Tops. Then a couple of girls got in line behind me. One of them really needed to use the bathroom, and was not being either quiet or subtle about it. I generally would prefer someone simply to ask me, “Look, my bladder is seriously about to burst. Would you mind letting me jump ahead of you in line?” to, “Ahhhh! I need to peeeeeeeee! I’m gonna diiiiiiiiieeeeee! Why is this line so sloooooooow?!” repeated at loud volume, but I didn’t have the micturation urge as badly as this young lady, so I when I got to the head of the line, I gallantly offered to let her use the toilet first. She was delighted, and replied, “You’re coming in with me!” “What about me?” her friend cried, and she got invited to the piss-party as well.

I looked around for my Master, to give him some warning that I was about to enter the loo with two strange women, but I couldn’t see him, and I didn’t think the girls would force me to have sex with them (well, they could try, but I figured I could get out of the situation by either graceful excuses or fisticuffs – i.e, I could take ‘em!) so into the loo we trooped; onlookers undoubtedly came to their own conclusions.

Need-to-pee girl (who looked pleasingly like Parker Posey) obviously went first (this was a one toilet W.C., not a public restroom with stalls). She chatted to us the whole time. Then she insisted that I take my turn. Now, I can pee in front of people, but they tend to fall into a certain, singular category: my closest female friends. There is a small and elite group of people in the world who have been privileged to see me tinkle – and if I count, I think they fit on one hand. (Yes, there have been videos of me peeing on the internet. That’s not the same as being in the same room with someone while it happens!) Even my Master hasn’t been in the room with me when I’ve urinated, although he might decide to humiliate me that way someday in the future. (He’s peed on me, of course, but that’s another matter!) Anyway, I managed to squeeze it out, through sheer force of will (it helped that the loud music from the club covered up the tinkling sounds.)

I washed my hands and checked my make-up. The third girl hadn’t finished her business, so I stood there kind of awkwardly, as I couldn’t just open the door and leave while she sat on the toilet. They started complimenting my dress and boots. I replied with thanks, and gave them the name on the label (which conveniently was “Honour” – my Master keeps me well-dressed!) They asked where I got the items, and as my Master had bought them, and I didn’t know where, I explained that.

“You’re a slave?!” they asked, with all incredulity. I thought about the fact that I was wearing a spanking dress, and I couldn’t for the life of me think why a Domme would wear one, but I decided that there was no point in being snarky – if they were new to the scene, maybe that sort of thing might not occur to them. So I confirmed that yes, I was a slave, to which they responded: “Oh! I though you were a Mistress!” “Me too!”

Everyone was finally back in their outfits (not that I was very much in an outfit to begin with!), and I could make a polite exit. As my Master and I wandered the club during the rest of the evening, I saw them now and then, and they smiled and waved excitedly.

It was later, as my Master and I were discussing the L.A. fetish scene with another SF Bay Area kinkster who just happened to also be at the event, that I felt a tug on a lower strap of my dress. I looked around, and it was the girls, now joined by some other female compatriots, rolling around on a huge fur-covered bed. They kept tugging, so I turned around and met my Master’s eye. “I’m being pulled back onto the bed,” I informed him, before loosing my balance and going over backward into a pile of girls. The I-Need-To-Pee girl locked lips with me, and I returned the kiss enough to be polite before pulling away and said, “You have to ask my Master’s permission for that!” She looked up to my Master, who was watching over me and the situation, and said, “Sorry, Master! Can I kiss her?!” My Master smiled, acquiesced, and went back to talking. I was sucked back into a world of soft female lips and sweet, liquor-scented breath.

I got to breath again sometime later, and the girl thanked my Master, who sat down on the side of the bed to converse (there was a great moment where he was introduced around. I said, “This is my Master,” which was met with cries of, “Hi, Master!” “Hey Master!” “Hi there, Master!”). The other girl from the bathroom listened to the thanks, and suddenly announced to the first girl, “Hey wait! I’m your Master! You should have asked my permission!”

It was decided that the I-Need-To-Pee girl had been very naughty, and the girl who was ostensibly the “Master,” declared that my Master should spank her. We pulled her over his lap, and he took the duty very seriously, until she held up a hand to indicate that she had reached her limit. He stopped right away, and she sat up, looking dreamy and doped-up on endorphins. “Doesn’t he have a great hand?” I asked her. “Ohhhhh, yeaaaaah, he does!”

At this point another girl volunteered that she had also been a very naughty girl recently, and so it was over his lap for her, although this spanking was sadly curtailed when I suggested that she wasn’t getting the proper full dose through her skirt, and it should be on the bare. She freaked out a bit and jumped up. “Forget to wear panties?” I asked her. “Well, I’m wearing some, but they don’t really cover much,” she replied. I was being polite to a stranger, so I didn’t tell her that if you wear slutty knickers, you should be prepared that you might at some time become overexposed. But that is a firm belief of mine! If you aren’t comfortable enough in your panties that you wouldn’t be okay with the whole room being flashed a glimpse, then buy more concealing nether garments! And certainly don’t volunteer for spankings!

We wandered away after that, and had an all-too-short chat with Mister Merlin, my Master’s friend. He, being on of the hosts, got called away on business, and so we wandered around to see if it was time for a scene of our own. There was a wondrous cage, the most beautiful I’d ever seen, and there was room inside for both of us, and at the centre was this slender swinging platform you could stand on, and hold onto, and be swung by your Top as you were tormented in any preferred method. He had me stand up there, and we were enjoying just playing with it, but then this very intense couple showed up, staring at us. My Master swung the swing around, to show me off, and then told me to get off, and we started to exit, because he thought the couple wanted to use the cage. The woman stopped me, and asked some strange question, like “Is he a very good Top?” all while staring intensely into my eyes. I responded in the affirmative, and then the confusion got sorted: it seems they didn’t want to use the cage, they wanted to watch our scene. (This was all explained while they both stared with consistently unblinking intensity into our eyes. It was a bit eerie.) Anyway, we figured we’d go back to where we were, might as well since we already had an audience. So he had me climb back on the little platform, and he started spanking me, and gently swinging me. Or at least, he says he was swinging me – I only noticed the spanking!

We were just getting up to an intense level (and my Master tells me we’d already attracted quite a crowd), and I was wondering if the cane or tawse or belt was coming next, when suddenly we were told to stop. It turned out the police were raiding the club! So I slipped on my modest over-dress, and we quietly slipped out the back way, feeling a bit like teenagers running from the law! (Not that the filth was actually arresting anyone, they were just shutting down the club – quite an exciting opening night, and probably excellent publicity for them in the long run!)

So we went home a bit early, and with our scene sadly curtailed. But we had a fun early morning photo-shoot, and it does mean that tonight we can go swimming in the hotel pool and I don’t have to worry about freaking anyone out with marks on my bottom. (This is always a dilemma. I love having sex in hotels, and “sex,” for me means a scene, and scenes mean canes and straps and other things that leave marks, but when I’m in a hotel, I also want to go swimming in the pool every night, because my Master is so much fun to be in the water with! I swear, I need a Victorian bathing dress! Although that wouldn’t be much fun for swimming laps…!)

Off I go now to the hotel gym for a workout. My Master is off with co-workers. We have a lovely week ahead of us, and I’ll share it all with you!

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