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The Devil in the Details - Part 1

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This was a bad idea.

I tapped the wrought silver ring on my little finger nervously against the glass, my eyes darting to and fro around the busy street. I was so sure this morning, but now, now that I was waiting here for… him, I wasn’t sure anymore. What was I thinking? I sipped the cooling chai in front of me and picked nervously at a finger nail.

This was a very bad idea.

The chair across me moved with an abrupt skittering screech, startling me into looking up. The reason for the moving chair looked down at me with penetrating blue-green eyes. My eyes locked on his and then darted down, beyond my control. But they did observe. Clean shaven, sharp haircut. Large, carefully manicured hands clasped in front. My eyes took in the crisp tailored white shirt and subtly patterned tie. The jacket was wool and carefully cut, probably Burberry. The coat definitely was. The trousers were fitted and the mirror-shined black wingtips were planted just slightly apart.

The voice, when it came, was surprising, it felt … familiar? Like home.

“You must be Emma.” He said, the polished British accent making me sit up and touch my face absently. Taking a deep breath, I darted my eyes back up to his. They were as softer than they were at first glance, and reassuringly friendly, crow’s feet pinching them at the corners against the bright winter sun.

I extended my hand, trying to control the tremble and plastering a brave smile on my lips.

“Yes. Mr. Hiddleston? It’s very nice to meet you.”

He took my hand in his and lifted it to his lips, bending slightly. His thin lips brushed my knuckles with the barest whisper of a touch.

“I am very happy to finally meet you. May I sit?”

I nodded wordlessly in the affirmative, and he sat down, crossing his long legs and folding his hands on the table.

“Our mutual friend said that you may benefit from my services. But before we discuss this, may I refresh your tea?”

The last sentence were spoken as he raised his hand unobtrusively, making the server appear next to him like magic. I was mesmerized. I nodded again and he ordered another Chai and a pot of Earl Grey for himself. For a few minutes all that was heard was the low murmur of passers-by and the clink of the tea service.

When the tea was served and cooling in the cups, he finally folded his hands in front of him and looked at me, holding the gaze until I raised my eyes. When mine met his, he sucked his bottom lip in and worried it with his teeth for a second before he spoke.

“What made you decide to come to me? I take it Margot explained what I do. “

Then he watched me, not with expectation, but with a kind of patient kindness that I found confusing. Intimidating. Floundering, I cast around for something to say.

“I’m… not sure…”

He sat back in the chair, extending his long legs and draping his arms over the rests of the chair. His look was speculative as he watched me.

“If you’re not sure about this, Emma, I suggest that you go home and come back to me when you are. This is not a trivial matter.”

I suddenly felt like crying, and I blinked fast, biting the inside of my cheek until the copper penny taste of my own blood filled my mouth. I was right. This was a mistake. It took all my resolve, but I looked him in the eye.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Hiddleston. I am truly sorry for wasting your time.”

And without looking back, I got up and fled, walking fast down the unfamiliar street, the only thought in my head to get away from him. I walked until finally the tears came, hot and fast, blinding me and forcing me to a stop. I sank onto the nearest step, sobbing into my hands pitifully. My sobs were dying down, and as I felt as if I might be able to pull myself back together, something cold, wet and black intruded itself into my little bubble of self pity.

“Oh goodness! I’m so sorry my dear, please excuse Monty he’s an incorrigible attention seeker. Monty, come here! Yes, leave the poor girl alone, that’s a good boy.”

Nonplussed, I looked up to see a little old lady standing on the pavement in front of me holding a leash, which ended in a grey-muzzled overweight black Labrador, wagging his tail furiously and straining to get to me. Smiling involuntarily, I extended my hand to scratch his ears and he leaned blissfully into my hand.

“Are you alright, dear? You seem upset. You must be waiting for father Thomas. I think he’s out, but he’s never long. He’ll probably be around in a tick, don’t you fret.

My brain had come to a standstill at a specific phrase, refusing to compute what she had said. I looked up into the kindly wrinkled old face incredulously.

“Father Thomas?”

She smiled, winking at me.

“Oh, forgive this dithering old bat, dear. Of course I know he’s not Father Thomas since he left the clergy, but to me he will always be a Father. And he helps so many people, always people coming to him for advice. Such a dear, sweet man.”

I realised that my mouth was hanging open and closed it with a snap.

“Mrs. McCleery, what an absolute pleasure to see you again.”

The deep cultured voice drifted towards us from a few feet down the pavement and I snapped my head around to see him striding towards us with his hands in his pockets, a bright smile on his face. Reaching us, he put his arm around the old lady’s shoulders, making her titter and blush nervously.

“You’ve made this young lady wait, Father, shame on you.” She said, batting him gently on the chest.

“I did, and I am forever in your debt for keeping her company while I so rudely made her wait.”

He put his large hand over his heart in a dramatic gesture and turned to me, bowing slightly.

“My most humble apologies, Emma, please, come on in.”

Mechanically I got up and put my hand in his offered one, saying my goodbyes to Mrs. McCleery and following Thomas meekly up the steps.

We entered the foyer and he closed the door behind him, taking my arm again and leading me into the sitting room. The room was absolutely exquisite. The furniture was heavy dark wood, classical antique pieces mixing easily with more modern ones. Floor to ceiling book shelves were filled with rows upon rows of books, and one entire wall was French doors, now closed against the autumn chill. Heavy drapes were drawn half across, casting half the room in sombre shadow. He lead me to a chair and indicated it with a nod.

“Sit. I’m getting some tea. We will finish it this time.”

Although his voice was not loud nor even particularly forceful, I obeyed without question and sat down, folding my hands in my lap. A few minutes later, he returned, putting the tray down on the coffee table and heaping three spoons of sugar into my tea, handing it to me wordlessly. I sipped, grimacing at the sweet taste. He sat down across from me, settling back and fixing a piercing look on me. After a few moments, he spoke.

“Why did you run away from me, Emma?”

I looked down at my hands reflexively, wringing my fingers together.

“Look at me please.”

His voice was still soft, soothing, but with an almost undetectable edge. I looked up into his eyes, separating my hands and putting them next to me in the chair.

“I…. I wasn’t sure.” I caught myself trying to look down again, but straightened my back and kept my eyes on his. “I was scared.”

It came out almost in a whisper, but clearly he had heard me well enough, because he nodded, bringing his fingers to his lips, thinking. Eventually he spoke again. One short sentence.

“Are you ready now?”

The weight of his words settled on the back of my neck and I swallowed hard before I answered. But when I answered, I did it with conviction.

“Yes. I am sure now.”

His demeanour changed almost imperceptibly. His eyes narrowed slightly and his lips went into a tight line. Getting up, he walked over and took the teacup gently from my hands, brushing his long warm fingers along mine, making me shiver. He put down the teacup and turned back, standing up straight and looking down at me.

“Running away in the middle of a conversation is very very rude, Emma.”

His voice was different too, still warm, but more authoritative. I nodded and looked down, feeling his eyes burning into my skin. I jerked up my eyes to his face again when he commanded me to look at him for the second time in a short while. Then he spoke again.

“Stand up, Emma, and please remove all your clothing.”

I found myself gaping again, but obeyed without hesitation, getting up as he sat down in a flareback chair across from mine. My fingers trembled on the zipper of my skirt, but I managed to lower it and drop the skirt to the floor. He looked at it pointedly, and feeling myself colour, I picked it up, folded it and lay it on the chair. I unbuttoned my blouse and did the same, turning and facing him, the gooseflesh erupting on my arms and my nipples straining against my bra in the slight chill of the room. He raised one eyebrow at me, saying eloquently without words that he is not satisfied yet. Closing my eyes tightiy for a moment and taking a deep breath, I unclasped my bra and took it off, and then dropped my knickers, putting both items on top of the other clothes.

I stood up straight in front of him, doing my best not to instinctively cover myself with my hands. He didn’t speak, just sat back, his one hand at his mouth , his fingers rubbing lightly over his lips, his legs splayed wide, watching. His eyes roamed over me, from the top of my head over my face, my neck and shoulders, my breasts, caressing, lingering, all the way down to my toes. I breathed deeply, doing my best to control the anxiety, to not show him my fear. Then he stood up, gracefully coming to his feet and shucking off his jacket. Holding my eyes, he removed the plain silver cufflinks from his cuffs and rolled up his sleeves, taking his time. Then, he removed his tie, taking it in his hands and wrapping it around his fist, a glint in his eyes. But then he changed his mind and cast the tie to one side. He spoke for what felt like the first time in hours.

“I am going to punish you, Emma. You were a rude little girl, and rude little girls get punished. Get on your knees please.”

Nodding, I got down on my knees, folding my feet under me and sitting back.

“Good girl. Now come here, please.”

His voice was still soft and courteous, and I couldn’t help obeying, although my heart was hammering in my chest. Dropping forward, I crawled towards him until I was sitting at his feet, looking up. He extended a hand and stroked the back of his knuckles down my cheek, his eyes soft but unnaturally bright.

Sitting down, he patted his leg wordlessly and I got up, draping myself over his knees. His large warm hand stroked down my spine until he reached my butt, and then he spoke again.

“Ten smacks. You will count them out loud. I do not use safe words. If you say ‘no’ or ‘stop’, I will stop. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

I felt the tremble in my voice deep in my chest, and I wasn’t sure whether it was from fear or excitement. His hand stroked my butt one more time, both cheeks, and then it was gone. I braced myself, my arms curling around his muscled thigh as I waited, holding my breath.

When it came, it took my breath away. I gasped, my eyes watering at the sharp sting. This was not a playful tap.

“What did I say, Emma?” Came his voice, sounding stern.

“Sorry…” I said, my voice quavering. “One.”

“Good girl…” He purred, his voice flowing over my like honey, soothing me almost as much as his hand stroking over the stinging mark on my ass. Then the next one fell, and I tensed, biting down.

“Two.” My voice cracked slightly, but he seemed satisfied. The next two followed in quick succession, and the tears came unbidden to my eyes, welling up and overflowing, soaking into the rough wool of his trousers scratchy under my cheek.

“Three. Four.”

I was hyper aware of my immediate surroundings. I could hear him breathing, feel the tense and relax of his strong thighs under me, and I could feel him hardening at my side. My core clenched and I squirmed a bit. But most of all, I felt his hands, smacking and stroking, punishing me. Giving me what I needed, what I knew I deserved. I heard a high mewling sound, and realised, shocked that it was me.

“Are you doing okay, Emma? Should I continue?”

“Yes. Please, sir.”

He didn’t answer, but I felt the tell-tale tensing and I braced myself.


“Five. Harder, please sir.”

My ass and my cunt were tingling, and I could feel my own wetness starting to dribble down my thighs. My breath came in short gasps and my face felt hot, almost as hot as my burning behind. Without warning, Thomas stroked lower and dragged his fingers through the wetness of my pussy. I moaned, my muscles spasming. I lay completely still as I waited and then I heard him lick his fingers, smacking his lips lewdly. I bit my lip and pinched my eyes closed, hot tears squeezing out at the corners.




“Oh… Seven.”

I was a mess, my nose running and the tears streaming down my cheeks unchecked. I was so aroused that I knew it was not going to take much to push me over the edge. I was whimpering softly, needing him to finish. As the next smack landed, hard, I felt my pussy start to clench, that familiar gathering, tightening feeling starting.

“Eight. Nine.”

The last smack was not quite as hard as the rest, but angled to land on my exposed swollen lips instead of on my butt. And as his hand connected, I fell into the abyss, my body tensing as the muscles in my core contracted rhythmically, my back arching as he kept his hand where it landed.

“TEN!” I screamed, gasping for breath, shuddering and moaning through the most mind-blowing orgasm I have experienced in a long time. I gasped and groaned myself down from the high and collapsed back onto his lap. For a few seconds I just lay like that, catching my breath as he stroked my back and butt lightly. Then he lifted me, indicating that he wanted to get up. I scrambled to my feet, my wobbly legs hardly taking my weight. He enfolded me in his arms briefly, kissed my hair and murmured that he will be back in a second. When he was gone, I collapsed onto the chair and dropped my face into my hands.

Seconds later he was back, pulling me up and wrapping a soft throw around me, settling in the chair and pulling me down into his lap. I snuggled into him, enjoying his warmth. I was absolutely exhausted, but as my eyelids started to droop, I became aware of his hot hardness pressing into my tender behind. Lifting my head I looked up into his face.

“I should take care of you. You’re …”

“Shhh…..” he murmured. “I’m fine, this is not about me, Emma. I am so proud of you.” His praise washed over me like a benediction, and suddenly I felt like crying again.

He handed me a glass of water and two aspirin, and I took it thankfully, gulping it down. His hand stroked calmingly up and down my back and I dropped my head on his shoulder, breathing in his smell, content, sore, tired, and at peace. Just as I was drifting away, I heard his voice rumble quietly.

“Sleep now, pet. We can play some more later.