by Fiona Wilde
How could I have been so stupid, you ask? Because in the beginning he had been Kevin the Dominant, Kevin the Spanker. And I had been in heaven.
We'd met online through Spankmatch.com after I'd been dumped by a nice guy who'd told me "Sorry, I don't hit women and you need help," after I shyly gave him a heart-shaped paddle for Valentine's day and pulled up my dress to reveal panties that said, "Spank Spot" near the bottom.
Roy had been a gentle guy, and open-minded, and my online chat buddies at the Spankmatch forum had suggested he just needed a little playful coaxing. Instead it went down as the Worst Valentine's Day Ever, with him walking out and my sitting there in my Spank Spot panties drowning my troubles in a quart of Cherry Garcia.
But - again following my forum buddies' advice - I got back on the horse and this time placed and ad that would lead to a relationship where the man would know what I wanted up front, or - in my case - in back.
I got three hits right away. One from a handsome black guy who went by the handle of Mack Daddy. I deleted him right away, not because of his race, but because he was 57 and I'd clearly stated I was looking for a man between 35 and 45. I deleted the second guy, too, because his profile said in addition to spanking he was "committed" to breast torture. And I'd clearly stated I was just looking for a spanker, and wasn't interested in having any body parts twisted, compressed, clamped wrung or pierced.
When I saw Kevin Martel's profile, I thought it was a joke. I'd been warned by my chat buddies that I'd spend days sifting through freaks before finding anyone even remotely suitable. It didn't seem possible that I'd be contacted by the perfect guy this early in the game.
I read his profile looking for some tell-tale sign of lunacy. "White male, 42. Graphic artist/ business owner. Looking for a woman secure enough to admit her need for a strong man to guide, protect and provide real loving discipline. I'm not a player. Commit to me and you get the real deal...."
Even the photo was perfect. Square jaw, intelligent brown eyes, deep dimple in the chin. His head was shaved, the classic sign of a man trying to hide his early male pattern baldness, but I was among the women who found a shaved head strangely attractive. He was a little shorter than I liked my men. At 5'8 he was only six inches taller than I was, but I decided I'd be crazy not to pursue this further.
I emailed him, and by the next morning I'd gotten back a request for a chat date. All that day at work I was counting the hours until I could get home and get to know Kevin better via IM.
Ironically, that was the same day I began having trouble with Derrick Smith, the elder of the two Smith brothers who made up Smith Brothers Contractors. If I hadn't been so preoccupied with thoughts of Kevin, perhaps I would have noticed those early signs of trouble and taken them for what they were - a foreshadowing of worse things to come.
It started with Derrick Smith "accidentally" touching me as he walked by, something he'd never done before. There had been compliments, and plenty of them. My hair looked nice, had I had it cut? I was really in good shape, did I work out? My outfit was flattering, my perfume alluring. I didn't even mind his little nickname for me: Princess.
I'd never approved of women who considered compliments a form of harassment. I just figured Derrick Smith was a nice guy who appreciated having an attractive woman around the office. Not to be ugly or anything, but having me in charge of purchasing was about as close to an attractive woman as Derrick Smith would ever get. I'm not exaggerating when I say he was a pathetic toad of a man, 50'ish, short with a pot belly, small watery eyes and the most absurd case of come-over I'd ever seen.
It had started in the hallway. I was looking down and didn't see Mr. Smith until he ran into me which, in retrospect, I realize had to be intentional since the hallways were wide.
"Whoa, careful," he said, and made as if to help me steady the papers that were about to fall from my arms. As he did, the back of his hand brushed my breast. I blushed, feeling uncomfortable but more for him than for me. I was such an idiot. Here I was feeling sorry for him.
"Sorry, Mr. Smith," I said.
"Not looking where we're going today, are we?" He smiled at me, showing a row of tobacco stained teeth.
"Oh, I'm just a little distracted today." I smiled at him. "I've got a date tonight. The first promising one in awhile."
Something passed across his face then. Jealousy. Anger, maybe?
"Now, Princess, why'd you go and do something like that for? How many times have I told you I'm the only guy for you?" But Mr. Smith was smiling again, so as usual I took his flirtation for banter and dismissed him.
"And how many times have I told you that you're out of my league," I laughed.
"Well, I hope you bought yourself something pretty to wear on your date," he said. "It's not like you can't afford it given the huge bonus I gave you at the end of the quarter."
"Oh yes, it was very generous," I said, and it was. The extra $3,000 in my paycheck was such a surprised that I'd hugged both Derrick and his younger brother, Stuart. "But our first date is going to be online. We're just chatting."
Derrick Smith scoffed. "Online, huh? Sounds like a cheapo. What's the matter with him. Can't afford to take you to dinner?"
"It's nothing like that," I started to move away, becoming less than comfortable with discussing my dating life with my boss. "We met through a dating service and we're just going to chat. I'm picky and I want to make sure he's what I'm looking for before I meet him in person."
Derrick Smith said nothing, just looked at me for a moment before turning away. "Maybe you should be less picky," he said. "There's a lot of guys who'd like to have a girl like you. Not because someone doesn't look like they came off the cover of GQ is no reason to pass them by."
So looking back, yeah, I can see all kinds of disturbing aspects of that encounter in the hall. But at the time, I was on fast forward, watching the clock until it was time to leave the office.
I know it sounds silly, but even though it was just an online date, I still fixed up that evening before talking to Kevin. The conversation was brief, the deadline for a project he had been working on had been moved up. We touched on mutual interests - canoeing, backpacking, the arts, jazz, gourmet cooking. But it was a positive exchange that left me looking forward to our first real date the following weekend.
I'd suggested a little cafe on front street known for its outdoor dining and good wine. Kevin said I'd read his mind, and whether Saturday at 2 p.m. was convenient. I made sure it was, even marking on my calendar in bold letters Kevin 2 P.M.
Just in case things went really well, I spent the day tidying up the place. I even groomed my cats, Dr. Evil and Mini Meow.
I was finished by noon and spent the next hour-and-a-half playing with my hair. The outfit had been a no-brainer. I'd bought an adorable above-the-knee form fitting blue and white polka-dot dress and coordinating blue and white pumps with princess heels. But my hair...I put it up in a French twist, undid that and put it up in a classic bun, undid that and braided it into pigtails, unbraided it and clasped it in the back in a barrette before finally deciding to just leave it down.
The cafe was within walking distance of my apartment, so with my most upbeat iPod tunes blasting in my ears, I strolled through the streets, enjoying the admiring glances of men I passed along the way. I hoped Kevin would be just as approving.
He wasn't there when I arrived so I selected a table and sat, waiting. 2 o'clock came. Then 2:15. I was starting to wonder if I'd been stood up when I felt someone come up behind me and take my earphones out. I turned to see Kevin.
"Hi," he said, and smiled down at me. Even with face in shadow, I could tell he was as handsome as he was in the pictures I'd seen of him up until this point.
"Hi," I replied.
"Sorry I'm late," he said, and sat down. He motioned the waiter and ordered a bottle of white wine and two glasses. He didn't ask me my preference but since the wine was what I would have ordered anyway it didn't matter.
We made small t
alk for a few minutes, rehashing topics from our chat, until Kevin got quiet.
He topped off my wine glass and gave me a serious look. "You know," he said. "Our obvious attraction to each other isn't all about looks and hobbies. We wouldn't be sitting here if we'd not signed up for Spankmatch, and we wouldn't have signed up for Spankmatch if we weren't looking for a different type of relationship."
I nodded. "Yes. I've had some pretty disappointing relationships. I mean, there was nothing wrong with the guys. They were nice. We just didn't speak the same language."
"They didn't speak dominant, and didn't understand submissive," he said.
I nodded again and sighed. "I felt kind of silly signing up for Spankmatch and really wasn't prepared for it to go anywhere. To find someone so quickly, right here in my own town. It's amazing."
"Yes it is," Kevin agreed. "But let's not get ahead of ourselves. I think we need to be pretty sure of what we both want so we don't go wasting each other's time."
We launched into a deep conversation, then, and it wasn't until much later - after the relationship was over - that I realized just how manipulative it had been. As I sat there, Kevin transformed our talk into an interview.
What was my idea of submission? Had I been spanked as a child? Could I submit to spankings that were not just pleasurable, but disciplinary? How did I feel about women who were Fair Weather Submissives - women who submitted only when it was convenient for them? What Kevin wanted was a woman who would have the strength and grace to submit even when she didn't want to. To him, that was love.
I answered his questions honestly, telling him while I would have been happy to settle for an erotic spanking before, my deepest desire was to be in a D/s relationship 24/7 with spankings issued both for pleasure and correction. I told him I'd read enough posts on spanking boards about batting to know that I didn't want to play games, and that if I were lucky enough to find the right man I would do the best I could to be what he wanted.
He seemed to consider this, quietly and masterfully. But when I asked him questions he turned the tables - again in a subtle way - that left him with an air of mystery and left me unbalanced. When asked him what he thought of Fair Weather Dominants, he asked me if he were giving me that impression. When I asked him what the idea of a dominant man was, he asked me the definition of dominant. He treated my questions like Zen koans and turned them around on me.
But he would also compliment me, and tell me how I projected the aura of someone who needed to be protected. He wondered how other men at the surrounding tables hadn't picked up on it. I blushed. He held my hand and stroked my face.
I was right to have cleaned my apartment, because after lunch we strolled back to it and went in, although neither of us really suggested that as a course of action.
I had a cheesecake in the fridge and took it out for dessert. I cut a piece for each of us and we ate out on the balcony off my living room. Kevin repeatedly complimented me on my apartment and showed a genuine appreciation for my modest but tasteful art collection. As a budding artist himself, he was working on building a portfolio, he said.
Then he stood and extended his hand. I was nearly finished with my slice of cake but didn't hesitate to put it down. I placed my hand in his and stood, meekly allowing myself to be taken to the bedroom. I was excited, scared and not sure of what to expect. I was smitten with Kevin, but during lunch he had unnerved me a bit by dropping little comments like "I just want to be sure," and "I don't know. I'll need to convince myself this is right."
For a girl not knowing what to expect, a hard, unexplained bare bottomed spanking can be hard to take. But that's just what I got. Without a word, Kevin pulled me over his lap, jerked up my dress, pulled my panties down and began alternating hard slaps on my buttocks.
"Ow! That hurts!" I cried, struggling and trying to get my mind around what was happening. "Did I like this? Was I supposed to like it? I wanted to, but it hurt. And just when I thought it hurt too much, he'd massage my bottom and tell me to 'tone it down, young lady' because if the neighbors knocked on the door I could only expect worse that night. So I buried my face in my down pillow as he reddened my cheeks so solidly that by the time it was over I was crying genuine tears.
When he stood me up, I was a wreck. My nose was running, my mascara was running, I'd lost a button on my now-wrinkled dress from the struggle and my hair was tangled.
"What was that for?" was all I could ask.
"That, Lauren, was a punishment. A punishment for nothing," he said. "Just think what I'll do to you if you really do something wrong."
I stood there, torn between being terrified and terribly excited.
"So," he said. "Do you still want me?"
"Yes," I cried, and threw myself into his arms. Kevin laid me down on the bed and unfastened the remaining buttons on my dress, kissing skin as it was exposed.
"Can I take your shirt off," I asked.
"Yes, you may," he said and I thrilled at asking his permission, even as he did not ask mine when he rolled me over and pulled me to all fours, rubbing his cock against my bare bottom. When he slid into me, he murmured that my pussy felt like a furnace, and pumped me hard as he played with my breasts.
I groaned and shamelessly met his thrusts until we came together. We laid and talked for an hour, fucked again, talked and fucked some more before showering together. We took a walk along the street until just before dark, when he announced he had to go.
"I've got another job lined up so I'm going to be busy for a couple of days, but what do you say we get together at my place Tuesday night?" he asked.
"I'd love that," I said. "Do you want me to cook? What do you want?"
"Hmmm, something Italian," Kevin said.
"Pasta putanesca?"
"Sounds great." He kissed me on the lips and told me he'd call.
I was on cloud nine all day Sunday and played love songs as I pored over recipe books and planned the perfect meal. At noon a courier came with a bouquet of flowers and a box. The card read, "To my good girl. Your search for a Real Man is over." Love, Kevin.
In the box was a beautiful thin silver bracelet.
I put the flowers in a prominent place so I could look at them while I planned the dinner menu.
At work the next day, all I could think about was Kevin. He sent me flowers again and another note. "Can't wait to dine with you - and on you - tomorrow night." I was giggling over the note when I got the feeling someone was behind me. When I turned, I saw Derrick Smith, who reddened and stepped back. It was clear he had been reading over my shoulder.
"From the new boyfriend?" he asked.
"Yes," I said. "He's wonderful."
Mr. Smith laid some papers on my desk. "How about looking into these suppliers," he said. "I'm getting tired of McMurray's price changes on the roofing material. See if you can't lock one of these guys into a better price."
"Sure, Mr. Smith," I said, and he walked off.
I kept busy haggling on the phone for the next two hours, and at around 3 p.m. another bouquet of flowers arrived, this one twice as big as the one I'd gotten earlier.
"Good heavens, but that guy is romantic," I gushed to Derrick Smith, who came over as the delivery man was placing the flowers on my desk.
"He must really care about you," my boss said.
I pulled the card off. "Dear Lauren. I'm happy you had a good weekend. When you're happy, I'm happy. Derrick Smith."
I looked at the card, dumbfounded.
"I - - I---thank you, Mr. Smith," I said, feeling a bit weird and not knowing what else to say. "They're beautiful."
"Yes, and a bit bigger than the other bouquet," he said. "You might want to talk to that new beau of yours about learning how to send a real bouquet."
He walked away, laughing and I stood there, trying to dismiss the gift as an example of Derrick Smith's quirky sense of humor when my desk phone rang.
"Smith Brothers, Lauren speaking," I said.
It was Kevin, his voice st
ressed and upset as he apologized for calling me at work with bad news. The date, he said, was off. He'd just gotten into a terrible fight with his landlord over needed repairs to a door that wouldn't lock and the man had told him to get out. He was reeling from the shock, he said, and didn't know what to do.
But I did. "Don't worry, Kevin, you can stay with me until you find something else."
"You really are an angel," he said. "You're more than an angel, you're my prized possession."
Across the room Derrick Smith stood, a dark look on his face. I ignored it, turning my thoughts towards helping Kevin. If I knew then what I know now I would have run from both of them right then and there.
Chapter Three
If you're going to tell me I was an idiot for letting a man I barely knew into my apartment based on nothing more than a story and my infatuation, I'll readily plead guilty. Especially since pleading innocent hasn't done me much good anyway.
But before you pronounce me a total doormat, you should know that the first thing Kevin did when he walked in was to hand me a thousand dollars in cash.
"You'll need money for groceries with me here until I find a place," he said.
"I don't mind - --" I began.
"Well, I do." He reached outside my door and picked up a box of art supplies. "I don't want you think that I'm sponging off of you. I've got a couple of jobs going right now that should bring in quite a bit of money over the next few weeks."
I'd cleared out my spare room and put the furniture in storage to make a studio for Kevin Kevin had also been kind enough to rent the storage unit, which also held his furniture.
During our first dinner together at the apartment, I told him I felt 'bad' to see him pay for the storage unit when he had so much other stuff to deal with.
Kevin put down his fork and looked at me. "Lauren, is there some reason you want to mother me?"
I looked up, shocked at this interpretation of my concern. "I'm not trying to mother you, Kevin. I'm just trying to help?"
