An Equestrian Event

Ron had a special surprise for me last week when we retired to the bedroom for some spanking fun. He had recovered one of our rarely-used implements - the dressage whip - from its hiding place in the closet. I hadn't been on the receiving end of that particular implement for some time, but the memory was still fresh. I had mixed feelings about becoming reacquainted with it.

My husband noticed my distressed expression.

"Something else too?" he queried, then walked to the bedpost where some of our leather implements hung. I held my breath as he took hold of the black leather strap, then exhaled in relief as he moved it aside and took the dogging bat in his hands.

"That's better." I had a thought. "And the riding crop. We'll have a horsey theme."

So Ron picked up the riding crop too and laid both implements on the bed beside the dressage whip. I stared at the terrible trifecta and shivered. All of a sudden I wasn't so eager to begin. Ron chose the riding crop to start with, and when I hesitated, he helped me by placing his right hand in the small of my back and guiding me into the appropriate position.

The crop bit into my bottom cheeks, and it wasn't wildly painful; it was a reasonable warm-up. All too soon it ended, and without a pause for reflection, the fiery sting of the dressage whip took my breath away. I shouted my distress, but I don't think Ron took much notice. He administered rapid-fire strokes, and although they weren't excessively hard, they sure did sting.

"Does that hurt?"  Why do men ask such silly questions?

"Ow, ow, ow, yes!"

After what seemed like an hour (but was probably closer to a minute) Ron switched to the dogging bat. Oh, good, I thought. The bat never hurts much.

How wrong I was! Either Ron was putting all his strength behind the strokes or my bum was overly sensitive after its tenderizing from the whip, but that dogging bat hurt like never before.

Then it was back to the whip, and I was cautioned to stop squirming and hold my position. I did so with difficulty.

"Say 'Uncle' when you've had enough," Ron generously offered. "Say 'Uncle Ron'." But I refused to give in first. He went through the rotation of implements several more times, and finally gave me the familiar tap on the back of my head--with the crop, I think--that signaled it was over.

I was glad our Triple Crown event was done. I felt some stinging spots on my right cheek, caused by the tip of the whip, so after giving Ron a thank you hug I hurried to the mirror to check the state of my bottom. It was bright red, but otherwise showed no damage. Ron may have noticed the disappointed look on my face, because he asked, "Do you want some more?"

"No, that's all right," I hurried to assure him.

The next day I still felt the burn, and walked a little stiffly for most of the day. But that's to be expected after any equestrian encounter, whether or not a horse is involved.