Wet and Wild

Things took an unexpected turn last weekend while we were preparing for our favourite indoor pastime on Sunday afternoon.

I was standing in the bedroom, waiting impatiently while Ron prepared to administer a thorough bottom-warming. First he took the leather paddle out of the drawer and laid it on the bed. Then he disappeared into the hallway to collect another implement, and returned a short time later. In one hand he held a wooden shoehorn, and in the other a plastic spray bottle.

Spray bottle? Had he been reading blogs again? The recollection of a recent MBS brunch discussion about wet bottom spankings flashed through my mind.

"You're going to wet my bottom?" I questioned, a big grin on my face.

"No," replied Ron a little hesitantly. "I was only joking. It's carpet spray." 

So, he wasn't up on the use of water. But I wasn't going to let the opportunity slip away. I explained the benefits of having a wet bottom, and Ron exchanged the bottle he held for one that contained plain water, kept handy for suppressing squalling cats.

He looked dubious. I hugged him, then felt a bit embarrassed at what was to come. This scientific experiment was starting to feel a little weird.

"Let's start with a dry bottom so I can compare the feeling," I said as I bent over the end of the bed. Ron eagerly followed my instructions with the leather paddle, and he soon had me squirming. After my bottom was nicely warm and glowing, he put down the paddle and picked up the spray bottle. I felt the rush of water on the back of my head and the sound of spray in my ears.

"Not my head!" I protested. "My bottom!" The spray was redirected and it cooled my hot cheeks. The paddling that followed hurt, but I couldn't say that it hurt any more (and certainly not less) than the dry paddling.

Ron stopped too soon. "The water isn't good for the leather." A good spanker takes care of his implements. He picked up the wooden shoehorn and resumed his activities on my hind end. Wasn't water bad for wood too? It might warp this current favourite of his.

My bottom was once more dry and hot, and I was feeling the shouhorn's full effects. I got a couple of swats across the backs of my legs for kicking too much, as well as a light tap or two on the head, for Ron's amusement. I howled in protest, and he pretended not to understand.

"Did you say something?"

"Ow."

Smack. "What?"

"Ow."

Smack. "What did you say?"

"I said, '"Ow.'"


The nice thing about cool fall days is that all the windows were closed, so I wasn't afraid of anyone hearing me as I loudly voiced my displeasure at the pain being inflicted on me. But all good things must come to an end.

"I think I have achieved the desired result." Ron paused to inspect my bottom. "Orange."

I giggled, and was rewarded with more attention from the leather paddle before I was allowed to stand up.

As I rubbed my sore cheeks, my considerate husband asked, "do you want me to cool you off?"

I eagerly agreed, and bent over the bed once more, enjoying the rush of cool water and picturing the steam that must have been rising from my orange bum. I think we'll keep that spray bottle handy.