The “Little Bitch” Saga

While the action of this story takes place in Vegas, it begins in a very different time and place.

It was one of those evenings where I was alone in my apartment in South Dakota and Malignus was working. Both my professional work and my chores were completed for the evening, so I was sitting on the computer chatting to people and using Fetlife.

Recently, my darling twinsie, ellee, had been to a party in New York where she had met and played with Richard Windsor. From the very onset of my experience on Fetlife, Richard had been one of my favorite people. I liked his sense of humor, his ability to start a good discussion and his attitude towards play. I had been aware of him and his blog for longer than I’d been active in the virtual community, and I was delighted by how lovely he seemed online. We had met for the first time during Shadowlane, but unfortunately  I was super overbooked at that party and didn’t get to see half of the people that I wanted to. It also seemed to me that Rich was the kind of person who preferred pre-negotiated play over the “Hey, I’m here! Wanna spank me for the next ten minutes before I leave again?” sort of thing, which is really what most of my play at Shadowlane ended up being. After having our rather short meeting, though, my desire to actually get to scene with him had intensified, and listening to ellee talk about how amazing her experience had been brought this back to the front of my mind.

I wanted to engage, but more specifically, I wanted to show my interest in a bantery, fun, spank-flirty way. This is something that I’m not good at. My preference is to be a good girl, sometimes even doing so excessively to the point of being annoying to others around me. I know that in my regular home life, I’m never going to be intentionally bratty, but I also know that there’s a time and an audience for it and that it can be incredibly entertaining. The idea of having fun first and then getting spanked later sounded rather perfect for me. So I decided to wait for a window of opportunity and then try my hand at it.

It just so happened that the night in question, The Spanking World: Good vs. Bad was having a field day, and I happily joined in, joking and bantering. A few days/weeks before that, Rich had started a topic in the group, but when no one replied for a while, he took it down. He explained this in a post elsewhere in the group: “No one responded for 43 minutes, so I figured no one was going to and deleted it.” (this is paraphrased. I cannot find the actual post anymore). This lead to lots of teasing and hilarity  Later that evening, I posted a new set of self-taken photos:

I was pretty pleased with the photo set, but despite the fact that lots of people were active on Fetlife, I wasn’t getting any comments. I then made the following post to the famous “Pet Peeves” thread:

And then there was…

To which I responded:

Rich then commented on my photo, and I waited for exactly 43 minutes before replying to his comment. I literally sat next to my computer with a timer and waited. I was on a roll, and I was quite sure that everyone thought I was hilarious.

Really, it should have stopped there, but I was drunk with the glory of my new-found ability to draw spankings to myself in a hilarious manner, so I kept referring to the 43 minute rule and calling Richard a little bitch whenever I got the chance, and it probably got legitimately annoying. This was something that I originally really didn’t want: I just wanted it to be funny and then for me to get beaten over it, and there were signs that I was actually becoming irritating (maybe even offensive?) later on, so I decided to lay low until the Vegas party, which I successfully did. My biggest fear in this whole out of character, behavior experiment was that I would actually hurt someone’s feelings, create a nuisance or make someone think less of me, and I did worry that I had pushed things too far at the end.

Still, whenever anyone asked me about the story, I was happy to tell the entire thing, and I was quite pleased with myself. Rich had made it quite clear to me what the consequences for my actions were to be by sending me a series of voice recordings that were specifically designed to make my heart pound and my stomach flutter, I think. I was going to get 12 strokes of the cane, and after each stroke, I would need to repeat my most inappropriate phrase before the next. I let myself get enjoyably worked up over this. The anticipation built and built, and when we arrived at the party, Richard told me that I would be getting my caning on Sunday so that I got the maximum time to wait and think about things.

I ended up having to discuss practical concerns, which are my least favorite things when dealing with spanking play. I want to be able to just do whatever the fuck that I want, whenever I want. That’s the way the world works, right? Unfortunately, this is not always the case. I was leaving from Vegas to go to England and would be filming in just a few days after arriving, so I couldn’t leave the party all beaten and battered looking. This was also a concern in my play with YS: I had to ask him not to mark me during our last scene together, even though I really wanted him to. I wanted YS to spank me super hard and long and to leave me feeling sore and looking bruised so that I would continue to be enveloped in the safety and love of the time that we’d spent together. As it was, I wasn’t able to get that, exactly, although all of our play together over the weekend left me with very positive memories, and the combination of everyone’s efforts meant that I was very sore while flying to England. Anyway, I was worried that I would be in bad condition by Sunday and would not be able to be caned, and on Saturday night I was feeling a bit tired and emotionally stretched thin and I wasn’t going to be able to put my heart into the scene if we did it then. Richard and I talked about all this, and we decided that I would be fine to get caned on Sunday before I had to leave. I set aside more time than we would probably actually need for it, just in case, and to avoid rushing. I think because of my temporary anti-marking agenda I may not have been caned as hard as I possibly could have, but because this was our first real scene together, I was somewhat alright with that.

On Sunday morning I took my time getting up and getting dressed and then spent some final private time focusing on my D/s dynamic with YS. Then it was time to go to “Strick”Dave’s spanking court. When we left our room to talk down to the main suite, YS held his hand out for me to take and ended up feeling like I was in middle school or something. It was the sweetest gesture, and it made me feel a giddy, girly feeling inside. When we got to court, it had already started so we sort of snuck into the back. Court is always hilarious, and I have huge respect for (and probably a bit of a spanko-crush on) Dave: he seems to be knowledgable about everything, always quick to respond, makes me laugh lots and has just flat out impressive spanking skills. I was involved in one court case: in which Whooperine charged me with making fun of him for eating chicken wings with a fork. I did not even bother trying to defend myself against this, because several people had seen me say this, so I just argued that what I said wasn’t so much mockery as it was fact. I may have been found guilty and gotten ten strokes, but I think that I sufficiently was able to make court a venue for further Whooperine-teasing, which meant that everything was right with the world. Throughout all these proceedings, though, I had a funny feeling in my tummy. Richard had handed me a note when I first came in that instructed me to go to my room after court and stand in the corner and wait for him. He was dressed sharply and had a very serious look on his face all the way through the court proceedings. His unbudging nature made me get even more worked up over what was about to happen. I had the classic mixture of terror and excitement. It was an excellent state of being.

As soon as I finished my case, I told Richard that I was going to my room then, in the interest of time (or maybe he told me to? I don’t remember this part too well). What I do remember well is the walk down the hallway towards my suite. I had just walked this path with YS less than hour ago, practically skipping gleefully and then, it had seemed extremely short. Now, it stretched on and on in front of me. It was dizzyingly long! I found myself pausing to wipe my hands off on my skirt, because they were sweating. “How big is this hotel?” I wondered to myself. “I feel like I’ve been walking for an hour.”

I finally arrived in the room and I propped the door open so that Richard would be able to enter when he came in. I then went pretty directly into the corner and began to wait. I could hear my blood rushing around inside my ears and hear my heart beating. I was very detached from my regular self and simply existing in this moment. My world was a world where I’d been a badly behaved girl and I was going to be soundly, severely punished for it. Thump, Thump, Thump went my heart.

Finally, Richard appeared and called me out of the corner. I’m sure my face must have been pretty pathetic: I was literally quivering. His manner in addressing me was stern and unbending and it made all my other feelings even more intense. I didn’t protest against anything, just quietly submitted to getting into position for the cane. When he tested it in the air, I gasped at just the sound. From the time that the caning began until maybe ten minutes afterwards, I was in a liminal space on the verge of crying. Richard had said that he expected that I may cry, so I knew that was acceptable. For whatever reason, though, I never actually did: I think that I had too much nervous energy, too much anticipation and adrenaline to actually get to tears. Besides, I don’t think that I’ve ever cried the first time that someone gave me a serious spanking (with the exception of my very first spanking). I think it’s sort of an usual space for me, and my brain doesn’t know which part of the mixed set of emotions to respond to.

Richard had positioned me over a barstool, in basically the same position that YS had used, but while yesterday’s spanking had felt warm and close, this one felt austere and formal. It pushed a whole different (and much rarer to be pushed) set of buttons for. I was given a piece of paper which read “MR. WINDSOR IS NOT A LITTLE BITCH” which I was to recite after each stroke (this paper is currently tucked in my wallet behind my credit cards, which I suppose could prove awkward at some point, but I don’t want to lose it). The first stroke made me gasp and whimper. I had trouble getting my voice in order to speak to read the sentence. I think I may have actually moved my mouth without any sound coming out, like trying to bring myself to wake someone sleeping in a dark room when my mind believes that it is necessary to be entirely quiet.

“Mr. Windsor is not a little bitch,” I managed. The cane landed again, in a hot, stinging stroke. Again, I repeated the sentence. On the third stroke, I had a moment of fear when I realized that I was only a quarter of the way done with the caning. Just like the hallway had before, twelve strokes seemed impossibly long. The scene had gotten into some deep part of my brain and had twisted my senses of time and distance. It felt like a very long time before the next stroke.
Sometimes, I would rush the sentence out quickly. Others, I would whimper and wail a bit, catch my breath, move my feet and then whisper. At one point, I apologized, but I was firmly reminded that it was not the time for that. When I finally read the sentence for the last time and received my final stroke, I felt like I had been in the scene for ages, when in reality, I can’t imagine that it took more than ten minutes between the first and last stroke. Each one had been memorable, though: they cut, they bit, they slashed, they buzzed and itched and chewed at me. When it was done, I was suffering from “No bones syndrome” and sort of poured myself onto the couch in a snuggling position with Richard.

We talked a bit and I felt very relieved and relaxed. The whole thing had been such an intense and powerful situation that it took me a little bit to sort of “come to” from it, but when I did, I was very happy with the whole experience. We hugged and everything was forgiven.

I feel very certain that I will never call Richard a little bitch ever, ever again. ♥