All Better Now

My favourite implement of ass destruction is our dogging bat. In case you were wondering, it has nothing to do with dogs. It's a type of riding crop that originated with cowboys in the southwestern US, and "dogging" means chasing and catching steers while on horseback. The bats are now used in rodeo speed events.

Ours is made of two thicknesses of leather sewn together, except at the larger end, where the two separate pieces of leather slap together. While designed to make noise rather than to harm, it still packs a good wallop. To stiffen it, there is a slender, flexible rod hidden inside the entire length of the bat. Sometimes after a vigorous application, the rod works its way up through the opening at the top (indicated by the yellow arrow in the picture above.) Then Ron has to push it back down inside.

Ron finally got tired of adjusting the bat before or after every use, so he took it away to his workshop and did some repair work with glue.  It was missing from the wall rack for a few days, then reappeared.

"We need to test my repair work," Ron explained, and began to paddle my bottom with it.

"So far, so good," he declared, after a few moderately hard swats.

"Maybe you'd better go easy with it, just in case it breaks again," I suggested.

"Not a chance." The swats became harder and came faster. That's so like him; always doing the opposite of what I suggest. I protested loudly, but it had no effect.

Twice he stopped completely to, I think, examine his weapon.

"Everything okay back there?"

"Everything's just fine," Ron reassured me, then got back to work. He became uncharacteristically creative, varying the speed, rhythm and intensity. I didn't know what to expect next and it unsettled me. 

"You're messing with my mind."

Ron paused a moment. "No, I don't think so.  It's not your mind I'm messing with," then continued his quality control testing of the repair job. Ha ha, very funny!

You will be glad to hear that when the assessment was completed, we both pronounced his handiwork satisfactory.

Work Around

Last week I told you about our interrupted spanking. Well, it nearly happened again.

Ron was using the dogging bat quite energetically, and I was loving it. Suddenly he stopped. I thought he had paused to switch implements, but the pause lasted too long. He tapped me on the bottom, said "look" and showed me the end of it.

"What's the matter? Did you break it?" I was only joking; the supple leather was unbreakable, as was the stiff nylon core.

"Look. Blood." Ron showed me the tip, flecked with red dots. We had only started, so I couldn't see how he could have done any real damage to my posterior. Besides, our spankings are never severe enough to draw blood. That would be a big no-no.

"Did you do it with the hairbrush?" That was the first implement used in our session.

"I don't know, but there's a blood blister on your butt."

"Where?" He touched it with his finger, and I could feel that it was on the inner curve of my left cheek, quite near the cleft. It seemed to be in a spot rather out of harm's way, and not at all sore, or at least not any more painful than any other part of my bottom. Oh, dear, was he going to atop before we had even started?

"Never mind," Ron said. "I'll work around it." So he did. I was paddled high and low, and on the outer curves of my bottom, but no implement touched the marked spot. Ron's aim is pretty accurate when he tries.

An Equestrian Event

Ron had a special surprise for me last week when we retired to the bedroom for some spanking fun. He had recovered one of our rarely-used implements - the dressage whip - from its hiding place in the closet. I hadn't been on the receiving end of that particular implement for some time, but the memory was still fresh. I had mixed feelings about becoming reacquainted with it.

My husband noticed my distressed expression.

"Something else too?" he queried, then walked to the bedpost where some of our leather implements hung. I held my breath as he took hold of the black leather strap, then exhaled in relief as he moved it aside and took the dogging bat in his hands.

"That's better." I had a thought. "And the riding crop. We'll have a horsey theme."

So Ron picked up the riding crop too and laid both implements on the bed beside the dressage whip. I stared at the terrible trifecta and shivered. All of a sudden I wasn't so eager to begin. Ron chose the riding crop to start with, and when I hesitated, he helped me by placing his right hand in the small of my back and guiding me into the appropriate position.

The crop bit into my bottom cheeks, and it wasn't wildly painful; it was a reasonable warm-up. All too soon it ended, and without a pause for reflection, the fiery sting of the dressage whip took my breath away. I shouted my distress, but I don't think Ron took much notice. He administered rapid-fire strokes, and although they weren't excessively hard, they sure did sting.

"Does that hurt?"  Why do men ask such silly questions?

"Ow, ow, ow, yes!"

After what seemed like an hour (but was probably closer to a minute) Ron switched to the dogging bat. Oh, good, I thought. The bat never hurts much.

How wrong I was! Either Ron was putting all his strength behind the strokes or my bum was overly sensitive after its tenderizing from the whip, but that dogging bat hurt like never before.

Then it was back to the whip, and I was cautioned to stop squirming and hold my position. I did so with difficulty.

"Say 'Uncle' when you've had enough," Ron generously offered. "Say 'Uncle Ron'." But I refused to give in first. He went through the rotation of implements several more times, and finally gave me the familiar tap on the back of my head--with the crop, I think--that signaled it was over.

I was glad our Triple Crown event was done. I felt some stinging spots on my right cheek, caused by the tip of the whip, so after giving Ron a thank you hug I hurried to the mirror to check the state of my bottom. It was bright red, but otherwise showed no damage. Ron may have noticed the disappointed look on my face, because he asked, "Do you want some more?"

"No, that's all right," I hurried to assure him.

The next day I still felt the burn, and walked a little stiffly for most of the day. But that's to be expected after any equestrian encounter, whether or not a horse is involved.

Try a Dogging Bat

What is a dogging bat used for? It gets its name from a Western rodeo event involving horses and steers and lots of dust, and I suppose it's used to urge the horse to gallop faster, or maybe for whacking the steer. It's great for spanking, or course. But it has other uses too.

The other day I came home from work and went up to our bedroom to change out of my office clothes into something more comfortable. Fluffy and Fang came in to watch. While Fluffy checked my pockets for the possibility of a forgotten treat, Fang examined the selection of toys on the floor. (No, not spanking toys. Dog toys.) Dissatisfied with the choices, he started trying to fish one out from under the bed. He lay flat on his tummy and wiggled under as far as he could, but couldn't reach it. He got up, sat down, and looked pleadingly at me.

"Can't you play with Teddy? Here," and I tossed a sheepskin bear at him. Fang ignored it and started to dig at the carpet.

I was halfway through my clothing change and was wearing only a bra and panties, but I'm a well-trained doggy servant. I knelt down and peered under the bed. There was only one toy, and it was exactly under the centre of our king-size bed. There was no way I could reach it.

I stood up and looked around for something to use to pull the toy out. My lack of clothing ruled out going downstairs in search of a broom. As I scanned the room, the implements hanging on the bedpost caught my attention. The black leather strap was too floppy, the red leather slapper was too short, but the dogging bat was just right!

I separated it from its companions, knelt beside the bed again, and easily pushed the toy toward Fang, who snatched it up and began chewing contentedly on it.

After blowing the dust bunnies off the bat I returned it to its home and thought what a versatile implement it was. No wonder it's our favourite.