Short but Sweet

In my last post I told you that Ron's mission was to find a substitute for the ineffective paint stirrer. The man outdid himself.
He didn't warn me in advance, so when I walked into the bedroom one evening, I was prepared for a spanking but not for what I saw. Hanging from the iron rail at the head of the bed was a bamboo shoehorn, similar to the one at the top of this post. It had hung on the wall in Ron's study for years and I had never given it much thought, but now it had tremendous significance. I can honestly say that I have never had such a strong reaction to an implement as I did that day. My stomach did a major flip-flop and I felt an emotion best described as fear mingled with excitement.
I looked at Ron and said, "I guess I'm in for it" in a small voice.
"You sure are," was all he said.
And I sure was.
It wasn't so bad the first time. Ron used the shoehorn end like a little paddle on my bottom, and it had quite a sting. But after a few whacks on each cheek, the end broke off!
"You broke my shoehorn!" wailed Ron.
I thought he probably had something to do with it but didn't comment. I giggled, which earned me several hard hand spanks.
The broken implement hung above the bed, and each time I entered the room I felt a thrill of anticipation mixed with dread. I wondered what would happen at my next encounter with it.
I soon found out. Ron used it like a cane, striking me across both buttocks at once. Each stroke burned like fire, made worse because we had not yet learned about warmups. He didn't give me very many but each one made me gasp "Ow". I was so relieved when he hung up the wretched thing and turned his attention to consoling me in the very nicest possible way.
The marks that appeared on my bottom the next day fascinated me. There were several on each cheek, caused by the knots in the cane, and I was so proud of them. Ron saw them too and was not as thrilled as I was. They turned me on but had the opposite effect on him. He was horrified by what he had done to me, and resolved it wouldn't happen again. He removed the shoehorn from the bedroom, glued the end back on, and returned it to its former location and function.
We have since discovered many implements that do just as good a job, or even better. But I still miss the thrill of walking into the room and seeing that shoehorn hanging there, waiting for me.