At last week's brunch, Bonnie asked about tears during a spanking. My reply was that the only tears I shed are tears that come from laughing too hard. By coincidence, on that same day I experienced one of the times that I laughed till I cried.
Among the implements Ron selected for my spanking was a sturdy wooden spoon that he hadn't used for some time. It was placed on the bed along with two leather paddles and a short cane. Ron started with the spoon. He alternated smacks on my cheeks, as usual, but then he made an observation.
"Listen." Thwump. Thwick. "They make different sounds." He repeated the demonstration in case I hadn't understood. Thwump. Thwick. Thwump. Thwick. Thwump. Thwick.*
"So my cheeks are uneven? Different densities, I guess," I mumbled, my face buried in a pillow. The concert progressed. Thwump thwick. Spock spack. Thwump thwick. Spock spack. Thwump thwick. Spock spack.
"Like one of those Jamaican drums that you can tune." I meant the steel drums of Trinidad, but at the time I just wasn't thinking too clearly.
"You have a Jamaican butt." Ron proceeded to tap out a calypso beat on my bottom as I giggled and tried to sway to the beat.
The spoon was put aside for one of the leather paddles, but after a time its turn came again.
Ron whacked, then listened. He whacked again, then declared, "There I've got them tuned now." and the concert continued as he turned the spoon this way and that to produce a variety of sounds. Thwump thwump. Spock spack spick. Thwick thwick thwick. Spock spock.
I could barely control myself as I laughed and he played. I didn't even feel any discomfort from the spoon as the concert continued, and only noticed a sting when Ron switched to the cane for a little change of pace.
After a dose of the small leather paddle and a longer session with its larger counterpart, the spoon came into play for the third time. Ron tapped one cheek, then the other, then tapped harder. Thuck. Sput.
"They're out of tune again. I'll have to fix that." By then I was practically hysterical, and the tuning effort ended in disaster as he just couldn't get my cheeks to produce exactly the right sounds, or so he said. We were both laughing and even the resumption of the cane couldn't put a damper on our fun.
"I think you've worn that spoon out. I'll check the ones in the kitchen and get you a replacement," I consoled him as I had dried my eyes on my sleeve.
*I really wish I could have recorded that session so you could hear the actual sounds the spoon made but I'm afraid you will have to settle for my attempts to write them phonetically.