three new implements, and last weekend he had a chance to try them out. He had placed them in a row on the bed, and invited me to choose a fourth weapon from the toybox. In keeping with the colour scheme I selected the red and black ping pong paddle.
Ron started with the paddle, and it was more ouchy than I remembered, as we had not had a chance to play for longer than usual. Still, it felt nice and familiar.
The pink rod was next. It's about the size and shape of an 18" wooden ruler but twice as thick. It was thuddy and the impact was not at all pleasant.
"Ow!" I complained.
"Does that hurt?" Ron asked. I suspect it was meant as a rhetorical question.
"Of course it hurts, you--" I restrained myself just in time.
"Does that feel better?" Ron had put the evil implement down and was gently rubbing my sore bottom with his warm hand.
"Mmm, much better." I thought I knew where this was leading.
Ron quickly switched to the striped cane. It packed the same sort of wallop as the ruler: heavy and thuddy. In between strokes and ouches, I could hear the clink of a belt buckle being undone, and the rustle of jeans sliding to the floor.
His last implement, the loopy Johnny, nearly sent me from the room. Boy, did that ever sting! After only a few swats Ron pressed himself against me while continuing to apply the loop to the upper portion of my backside. It was a delicious combination of pain and pleasure.
"Does that hurt?" Why does he keep on asking dumb questions?
Then Ron moved away and pulled me up from the bed. "Maybe this will feel better." I knew what was expected, so I dropped to my knees and paid some close attention to a certain part of his anatomy. This was much better than the coloured cane. My husband expressed his delight in my attentions, and I was sure our afternoon delight was at an end, but it seems it wasn't.
"We can continue," Ron said, "but maybe you'd rather pick something else." He knew the new toys were a bit over the top.
"Maybe, but first let's try them again."
He picked up the pink ruler and applied it with medium effort, and this time it didn't feel too bad at all. The prior warmup and the brief respite had given my posterior a chance to adjust. It was still thuddy and heavy, but didn't hurt quite as much. The cane was similarly bearable but not pleasant. The loopy Johnny was only a little less awful. I continued to protest and Ron thought that was humorous. I could hear him chuckling.
"What are you laughing at?"
"It's your own fault. You bought these."
"They were on sale. It was a Christmas - ouch! - special."
Afterwards we both agreed that while it had been a nice gesture, the implements were just too heavy. The terrible trio would be reserved for special occasions only, and would not be a regular part of our play.
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