Zille Defeu’s Fetish Fantasies

Okay, this is not a spanking-related post, but you can blame Haron, a Spanking Writer, for it, so it is spanking-related in it’s own special way!

Warning: what this IS is very geeky. Do not continue reading if rampant geekishness offends or frightens you! Also, if you don’t like kinky play that doesn’t involve spanking, just scroll down to the previous post now!

I watched Star Trek: The Next Generation when it first came out – I remember watching the first episode with my parents. It’s weird now to remember back to when I was young and watched TV with my parents in the evening. Although, come to think of it, some of my best memories of childhood are watching Benny Hill and Dr. Who with my dad in the evening. My mom didn’t approve of Benny Hill, but if you think about it, the jokes are often at the level where any child who can talk can appreciate them – because fart jokes are ageless – and kids don’t worry about the stuff that goes over their heads. They are so involved with the things they are focused on, that adult humor generally doesn’t tend to effect them the way some adults fear. Also, I used to get up and run around the room at the end of the show, and make my parents join in. So it really is family entertainment!)

(I can’t find an example of an ending “chase scene” to Yakety Sax on YouTube, but here are some gym skirts in action!)

But TNG didn’t make me a Star Trek geek. I enjoyed the shows, but fanaticism was not inspired. (I was too young to fully appreciate Captain Jean Luc Picard, I think!) What put me around the bend was something that happened when I was in college.

I didn’t have a TV in college – I figured it was an unneeded distraction, and I was happily entrenched in the superior-than-thou “Kill your television” ideal. But one day I’d burnt out all my synapses studying, and I found myself in the student lounge, watching an episode of Star Trek which featured Worf. I enjoyed it very much, but thought no more about it.

But that night, I had the most amazing dream. I was on the Klingon homeworld (Qo’noS, for those who care), with my fiancé, who happened to be a Klingon, and he was taking me around his hometown and showing it to me. I felt this amazing love for him – the most beautiful romantic love – and when I woke up, I actually felt slightly devastated that I’d never see him again, because I could still feel all that love in my heart.

From that moment on, Klingons became very diverting to me!

A year or so later I was dating A., who would wonderfully do any fantasy role-play which I asked for. We had worked our way through some Daddy-girl fantasies, and there was a great ongoing one between “Father Michael” and a young lady who had confessed to him … but the evening in question I had related a fantasy that I was in Starfleet – just an ensign or something, no one special – who was innocently sleeping in her berth, when she was attacked by a Klingon (Yes, yes, I know by this time that this was post-Khitomer Accords, so Klingons were our allies, but this is my fantasy, damnit!). As all good Klingons do, this one had a large and sharp dagger.

Now, there’s a term in the BDSM-world called “knife-trained,” which means that a submissive has been trained that when there is a knife in play, that s/he will not move a muscle. (In the real world, this is called “common sense.”) I hadn’t been “knife-trained,” but I knew about the concept – and it was my own blade, and people who own knives should apply some small amount of common sense when using them.

A. was straddling me, knife at my throat, growling threats. I should have known better than to do anything but submissively take what was coming to me, but I guess I’d gotten really into my character, and this idea came into my head. Where the dagger blade met the hilt, there was about an inch of unsharpened metal (the tang, exposed). I knew that, and A. didn’t know my knife as well as I did! So I made this surprise move, bringing my hand up and catching the dagger between my thumb and hand right by the hilt, in the safe place, and bucking up with my body, tossing her surprised self off me.

This had all gone to plan, and I was very pleased with myself. But then, the realization came over me that all had not gone to plan, and that the knife had, as I tipped her over backwards, the blade had pulled down along where the thumb meets the hand, and now some lovely red blood was gushing out.

Now, at this time I was a pretty hard-core goth, and A. and I had been doing a fair share of “blood-play,” and the first thing that occurred to me was that here was some perfectly good blood, and it would be a shame to waste it! So I thrust my hand at her, exhorting: “Drink!”

She obliged me, but after a short while, I started to feel a bit woozy, basically just because I knew it was a deep cut. “Okay,” I told A., “Let’s get this dressed now!”

We went into the bath and her role switched over to Florence Nightingale for a while. Unsurprisingly enough, we had all the supplies we needed!

There was no damage – there isn’t even a scar, which would have been nice to show off in the years after, when I retold this tale. yes, it was silly, but lessons were learned, and there was no lasting harm. (No Zille’s were harmed in the making of this movie!)

Well, there’s my story, Haron! I realize with some dismay that I will have absolutely appalled some of the spankos who wander by this blog, and I’ve probably lost my spanko-card (before I even had it in my hot little hands), and now everyone will just see me as a BDSM-er forever more, never to join the elite spanko squad. [sigh]

But it’s still a fun story, damnit, and a part of my memories which makes me smile when I remember it.

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