She adjusted the lacy top of her stockings making neat lines of the garters, fidgeting with the elastic, bending to straighten the seam at her toes. He had called from the cab, he was minutes away. He’d check in, carry his own bags, too modest to follow a cheery bellhop, and he’d knock, despite having the key – of this, she was certain because she had told him to do so.She was waiting for his knock before she put on her shoes, sexy patent leather stilettos, heels no thicker than a pencil, guaranteed to thrill. She stepped out onto the balcony for some air. She could see the front of the hotel below, and she watched the unfamiliar street in an unfamiliar city for the cab that would bring her a man who was both entirely unfamiliar yet whom she knew as well as she knew herself. February in Montreal means snow and icy night air but it was a destination roughly halfway between them and both were happy to brave the cold for the chance to finally touch. Her lungs burned as she took a long breath and looked down as a cab pulled to the curb. That voice, that accent. It was him. She heard him speak to the cab driver. She watched as he shouldered a messenger bag and camera bag, black suitcase on wheels. Her aerial vantage point confirmed little of what she knew about him but began to fill in more of the blanks about how he moved, how he used his voice and body together. Her hands and feet were burning with cold and as he disappeared into the hotel, she too stepped back into the room.

Everything was where and as she wanted it: tidy, low lights, quiet music. Her expectations were minimal after his almost eight hour flight but she did want him to be comfortable and to set the right tone, to fulfill the fantasy, for it to be the meeting they had both imagined and discussed.
She slipped on her shoes and fiddled with the straps. Smoothing her dress she exhaled slowly and as if on cue, she heard the knock on the door. Two sharp raps, then silence. Excitement and nerves fluttered in her chest as she moved to the door and slowly pulled it open. There he was, looking stunned and happy. They both grinned silently, taking the other one in. He smiled and put out both hands, palms up, and her hands moved to his as he exhaled in hardly more than a whisper, “Miss …”. She felt her cheeks flush as she pulled him to her, immediately finding a perfect fit for her head below his chin.
The embrace dissolved in laughter as she led him into their room. Minutes passed as they exchanged small talk about both their flights and they warmed up to one another. Finally she suggested he relax and take a shower.
“Leave your bags, you can unpack later. Relax, unwind from your flight. Take a hot shower, I’ll pour us some wine.”
“Yes, Miss.”
She smiled and shooed him off towards the marble bathroom, smiling wider as she heard him whistling to himself. Confident he was becoming comfortable she waited impatiently, sitting on the sofa. In a few minutes he emerged, shy and damp, in a soft white robe. In an almost practiced way he stood before her, looking down.
“Yes?” her tone cooled as she observed his submissiveness rush to the surface, his down cast eyes and the boyish hunch to his shoulders giving him away.
“Miss, may I … May I kneel for you?” he was nearly breathless with anticipation.
“Miss?” his eyes shifted to meet hers and his hands immediately untied the belt. The plush robe fell from his shoulders.
“Good boy.”
She looked him over as he slowly knelt, palms on his thighs. She was surprised when a soft, shuddering whimper came from him.
“What is it? Look at me.”
He looked up now to where she sat, with him kneeling they were nearly eye to eye but not quite.
“I’ve just waited so long to kneel before you, I … ” he drifted off, suddenly emotional.
She tenderly leaned forward and pulled him to her, his cheek resting on her thigh, this beard tickling through her stockings. He rested there and she pet his head and shoulders, his palms caressing the backs of her calves.
“What do you need?” she ventured.
“Just this, Miss. I could stay like this forever.”
“Nothing else?”
He paused. He knew her well enough to know to take questions and offers at face value.
“I need to feel your hand. I need to feel that this is real. I need you to … Please … Spank me?”
She ran her fingers through his hair as he spoke, smiling as he revealed his desire.
“Yes. I think we’ll both feel more at ease if I do. Over my knee then.”
He paused only slightly before standing, sheepishly naked and aroused, fighting the urge to cover himself, beginning to enjoy the intensity of her gaze.

She sat back into the sofa and patted her thighs, encouraging him to lay across them.
“Come on, you won’t crush me.” He smiled as she read his mind and hesitantly knelt beside her on the sofa before stretching over her, his chest and legs supported.
She looked down at the pale, taut, buttocks before her, petting his skin, bringing the blood to the surface as she rubbed him, commenting playfully on the dimple in his right cheek. She decided to politely ignore and not tease him about his erection, straining and weeping against her thigh.

The first strike was not hard, yet he still squeaked, more from the sound than any pain. Her hand connected with his flesh over and over in rhythmic strikes. It began softly, the spanking. Growing in intensity as she felt him relax. Her other hand firmly between his shoulder blades as he cried out softly from the sting, her palm warming as his cheeks grew pink. Ramping up as he exhaled her name with every strike, his cheeks changing from pink to red, they fell into synch and she felt him begin to slip away as his cries ceased, replaced by soft grunts despite each strike being harder than the last. After some minutes of mutual bliss she spoke.
“Just three more,” she whispered.
He counted softly with her, his lips damply parted, his cheek pressed to the fabric of the sofa.
“Three …. Two …. One.”
They both exhaled. She rubbed the hot, flushed backside in her lap.
“I’m so proud of you. Tell me how you feel.”
“Mmmm I’m floating, Miss.”
“Easy then, catch your breath.” She pet his burning butt and thighs as he slowly returned to his body from the trance of subspace.
“Come, come, cuddle in.” She pulled up the chenille throw blanket at the end of the sofa as he gingerly sat up, snuggling in close, breathing her in.
“What are you thinking, my darling?”
“I’m so happy. To finally see you in person, to touch you, and then to be put over your knee … My every hope has been eclipsed. Thank you.”
“My pleasure, I assure you.” she snickered and kissed his temple.
“Rest now, or I’ll have to spank you all over again.”
“Yes, Miss.”
“Good boy.”

Violet Fawkes

Violet Fawkes (she/her) is a freelance writer and sex blogger focusing on pleasure education, erotic fiction, and the intersection of identity, kink and mental health.