Lucky Thirteen

When I am on the business end of a spanking, Ron will often comment on the implement he is wielding. Usually he has chosen a weapon he enjoys, but from time to time his remark is negative. The last time this happened, I suggested we take stock of our spanking implements and do an evaluation of each one. He agreed, and last week our spanking had a "keep or toss" theme.

I assembled on the bed all of the toys kept in Ron's bedside table; it was quite a pile.

"Gosh, how many are there?" I asked.

Ron counted out loud, "Ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen. That's unlucky."

"Very," I agreed. Especially where my bottom is concerned. "Let's get rid of some."

So we started our evaluation. I assumed the position over the end of the bed,and presented my bare bottom. One by one, Ron picked up an implement. applied it vigorously to my bare posterior, and judged my reaction. I had originally thought he was going to make the decisions, but Ron wanted my input as well.

"Yes or no?" he asked. "Yes or no?" But usually all I could say was "Ow!" That naturally resulted in a decision of Keep.

There were two oversized spatulas, nearly identical except for the shape of the end. One was flat; the other curved. Ron tried one, then the other.

"Listen. They don't sound the same," he remarked. "Which one sounds better?"  He tried them both again, and kept the one that made the loudest smack.

When we got to the belt, I didn't say anything; I just settled into the lovely sensation. It continued for a moderate length of time.

"Yes," Ron said. "We both like that one." Keep.

Some of his decisions surprised me. He had never cared much for either the black hairbrush (too small) or the brown dogleg bathbrush (curved the wrong way). But when it came down to discarding them, Ron wasn't willing to let them go. They were okay after all.

In the end, only three implements were in the Toss pile: the duplicate spatula, the red leather slapper (too light) and the heart-shaped wooden spoon (too small an area of impact).

"Shall we go through the keepers and make sure?" Ron asked. What could I say except "Yes."

Each of the ten chosen implements was applied to my rosy peach, and not just a whack or two. I wasn't counting, but recall that I must have received somewhere between one and two dozen strokes from each. I usually mind the pain less as a spanking proceeds, but when the last paddle met its target, the fiery burn of the Wedge felt worse than it had at the beginning.

I spent an increasingly uncomfortable evening as the numbness wore off and the heat and tenderness increased. When we went to bed, my bottom was burning. I slept on my tummy that night.

The next day, as I took my morning shower, my backside still tingled, so as soon as I dried myself I rubbed some aloe gel into it. That felt nice. I turned around to inspect myself in the mirror, never expecting to see any visible reminder of the previous day. I was so wrong! My bottom was bright red. Whether it was from the hot shower, my recent rubbing, or the effect of the gel, I couldn't say. I've never had a red bottom that lasted more than an hour or so.

We still have another group of implements to sort through. Maybe not for a while, though.