Some of you may recall a blog I wrote early February; you can refresh your memory here. Scroll down past the initial text and look at the pictures. Remember him?
He was in my apartment spanking me this afternoon.
After I wrote that blog, I got the occasional teasing message from him on FetLife, hinting around about playing, but never coming right out and suggesting we do so. As you know, I don’t have an abundance of patience. So I messaged him back, saying, “So, are you going to tease me indefinitely? Yes, I know I’m a pushy vixen.”
Pushy, yes. But it worked.
Not right away. He’s a busy man, he was traveling, he was shooting. For a while, I thought perhaps I’d been blown off, but I waited. I was rewarded by his writing and saying he appreciated my patience. (Patience? what patience??) And suggested a date and time.
OK, here’s where I know I’m going to get scolded by some of you. And I suppose I deserve it. But I observed absolutely NO protocols this time. I did not meet him for coffee beforehand. I got a first name only, no phone, no email (we kept our messaging to FetLife). I gave him my home address. Why? Because on a gut level, I felt safe. My instincts told me that, despite his menacing image (he does call himself The Villain on Fet, after all), he was safe and sane. He is in the public eye, he does videos, he has a beautiful girlfriend. He’s certainly not going to mess with that.
Today, I found a message from him in my Fet inbox when I got up and logged on. My first thought was, “Oh noooo, he’s cancelling.” I opened the message and read:
“I will have my hands on you in roughly five hours.”
I thought I was having a heart attack. I swear, if you’d looked at my chest just then, you probably could have seen my heart banging away, like in the cartoons.
He showed up right on time; always a good thing. I brought him inside from the lobby, and once the door was closed behind us, he took off his jacket. But instead of throwing it over a chair, he handed it to me. “Would you mind?”
I walked to my hall closet and reached for a hanger. Mr. Villain came up behind me and gently but firmly grabbed the back of my neck. “I do believe this is a case of ‘be careful what you wish for,'” he whispered.
Hmmm… where had I heard that before? Oh yeah. Here.
“I get the feeling you’re not going to run away,” he said. I shook my head. My two hands were frozen in mid-air, holding his jacket and the hanger.
“Go on… hang it up.” I did. He turned me around, headed me toward my bedroom. “You’re not going to scream, are you?”
“Good girl. Come here.” He sat on my bed and laid me across his lap.
“So, I’ve been reading all about you.”
“Well, there’s just so much to see. You’re everywhere.”
I grinned into my bedspread. “So what have you learned?”
“For one thing, you’re a very good writer. And for another, you’re quite the impertinent little brat.”
OK, so he’s observant.
His hands were strong, wonderfully smacky and non-thuddy. There was no initial awkwardness; it was like he knew exactly what to do, just like in the stories. Then again, if he’d been reading what I write, I suppose he had some idea of what goes on inside my head.
He was verbal. He did not scold; rather, he crooned. That’s the best word I can think of. He switched up his spanking techniques a great deal, did some things I found unique, like vigorously slapping with both hands, alternating. Now, you guys know I HATE the wrong-hand crossover thing. But this wasn’t it — it was like he was playing bongos on my butt, very rapidly. He’d start softly and build and build and build steadily in intensity. And just I was reaching a point where my brain screamed and my body thrashed, he’d stop. Soothe a bit. Start again.
I had to get him a paddle. I chose a plain hairbrush-style one I have; I did not give him the paddle New Guy made for me. That is his and his alone. I was a little apprehensive — putting wood in the hands of a stranger can be a disaster. But I somehow knew it wouldn’t be.
He didn’t use it super hard. Just hard enough to make me squirm, to make me feel tender. And then he tossed it on the carpet and went back to his hand.
Oh good, I thought. So much for that. But a few minutes later…
“Hand me the paddle.”
Mischievously, I looked at him over my shoulder. “You didn’t say please.”
As I thought he might, he smiled. “Please.”
I picked it up and handed it to him, and then he gave me a staccato flurry of swats with it, chanting, “Please, please, please, please, please…” with each one.
Freaking overachiever. Once would have been fine!
“I think the pushy vixen should get exactly what she wants and needs.” Damn. He remembered I’d said that. I really need to watch what I say. (Yeah, that’ll happen.)
Our scene lasted about an hour and ten minutes. When we’d begun, my apartment was on the chilly side, as I hadn’t run any heat and it’s a cold rainy day. By the time we were done, both my A/C and bedroom fan were on and he was shirtless.
But a perfect gentleman. He didn’t even take down my panties.
I mentioned how I’d love to do a Spanking Court video, since he’s done those. He said he thought I’d be perfect for one and that he’d put in a good word for me with the woman who runs the production.
“But,” he added, “you’ll have to take one heck of a spanking.”
“As opposed to what I just took now??”
“That,” he murmured, leaning down to me, “was an introduction.”
I’ve mentioned before how spacy I am post-scene. Never has that been more evident than today. When I went to retrieve his jacket, I stood at the closet door and stared stupidly at the line of coats. I could not find his. Seriously. It was black, and I have several black jackets myself. All I saw was a sea of black. I had to call him over and tell him to find it himself. He found that very amusing.
Sorry, I have no pictures of today’s activities. But here’s another photo of The Villain, at his dangerous best:
(Not sure why it’s blurry, but you get the idea.)
I really am insatiable, it seems. It took me two full days to recover from NG’s spanking this time, and now I’m all tenderized anew. Oh, gawd… I am going to get such a hard time from John over this… 🙂