Waterworks

Bonnie's brunch question last week was, "Does a spanking applied to a wet bottom really hurt more? If so, why?"

We had never explored this possibility, so before answering the question I decided  we would engage in a bit of research. The timing was perfect because our regular weekly spanking was scheduled for later that same day. I would figure out a way to include a little wet and wild fun.

Ron had laid out his chosen implements: dogging bat, short and broad leather paddle, and dressage whip. The first two were unsuitable for the experiment because i didn't want to spoil the leather by getting it wet. The dressage whip ? Well, let's just say that the less Ron uses it on my bottom, the better. I didn't want its use to be extended by even one stroke.

So it would have to be something wooden. I rummaged through the toybox and came up with a sturdy maple paddle.

"Are you sure you want that one?" Ron queried.

"Yes," I confirmed, even though I have been known to state that maple trees are more useful producing maple syrup than being turned into paddles.

I got into position and Ron picked up the dogging bat. Good, I thought, we were starting out easy.

A dogging bat (not for batting dogs)

The leather paddle was next, and although it was more severe I still wasn't in too much distress. Maybe Ron's arm was tired after washing the car and I would get off with only a light paddling.

I was wrong. The maple paddle did its work effectively, and soon my bottom and thighs were burning. But the whip - saved for last, as always - was its usual evil self. For some reason, Ron decided to deliver the strokes in sets of five, in a repetitive pattern on my backside. It went: top, bottom, top, bottom, middle. Over and over. Was he tapping in time to some tune running through his head? Ouch times five!

As was his habit, my husband cycled through the implements several times, always in the same order. Except once, when he picked up the dressage whip and made it whistle through the air.

"No, not yet. It's out of order!" I cried.

Ron chuckled, put it down and picked up the maple paddle instead.

"That's better," I muttered. "I knew you were joking. You're too OCD to mix up the order." I paid dearly for that remark, let me tell you!

Finally I heard the words, "You're done" and knew I had to act fast. I turned to look at Ron, and my quizzical expression made him ask, "Unless you want some more of this?" as he brandished the whip.

"No," I said hastily, "but get the spray bottle. I want to see if it makes a difference."

Ron put down the whip, picked up the bottle from the dresser behind him, and within seconds I felt a spray of cold water hit my bare waist. I jumped and half rose from the bed.

"How's that?" he asked, from about six feet away from me.

"No, not there, silly!" I got back into position and waited. Streams of water in quick succession struck my ear, thighs, neck, the back of one knee, and the intimate area between my legs.

"Does that make a difference?" Ron asked, laughing ,after every squirt. "Does it?" "Does it?"

Between giggles I managed to gasp, "No, you're doing it all wrong. You're supposed to aim for my bum!"

Ron finally complied and I felt my burning cheeks cooled by the water. Then as we both laughed uncontrollably, he picked up the maple paddle and paddled my bottom. "Well?"

"Yes, it hurts more," I managed to say as I got up. Our eyes met and once more we burst into fits of giggles. Not very scientific, I know, but we had an unexpectedly hilarious time and I did manage to come up with an answer to the brunch question.