Spankings 'R' Us

This spanking is brought to you by the letter R

Ready: an end to the waiting
Round: the pillow beneath; the bottom above
Reach: for the dogleg brush
Rough: the first strokes are the worst
Rhythm: whack, whack, WHACK
React: gasp, moan, shriek
Repeat: two right, two left, three right, three left
Respite: massage, rub, squeeze
Resume: harder and faster
Rebel: legs kick and thrash
Restrain: hold on tight
Ruminate: sharp sting mixed with heavy thud
Radical: swats on thighs
Rosy: cheeks dark crimson, hot and tender
Relax: it's over
Reward: cuddle, caress, kiss
Roam: fingers probe, tease, penetrate
Release: share the happy ending
Rejoice: in our love and closeness
Rejoin: the outside world
Ready: to do it again
Thank you Ron!

On Wood

I have made no secret of my enthusiasm for leather implements. I love the sensuous feel that leather has, even when it's traveling at high speed on impact. And it's also because leather resonates with me.
Now wood is starting to appeal to me too. I'm on very good terms with a maple paddle, and have requested the dogleg brush on a few occasions when leather, however nice, just isn't enough to get me where I want to be.
Thinking about wood brings to mind a pleasant childhood memory.
I must have been about five years old, and my grandfather had just come home from work. My grandmother was standing at the wood stove in the kitchen, trying to get a good fire going so she could cook our supper. I was sitting on the floor beside the stove, watching her feed the flames with piece after piece of smooth, fragrant wood.
The warmth of the kitchen, the dim light of the darkening room, the smell of wood sap, and the shadows the irregular slabs of wood cast on the floor made my imagination spring to life. Those round, rectangular and diamond-shaped blocks of wood seemed the most desirable of playthings. I reached for two, then another and another, and stacked and rearranged them in front of me. They became houses and barns and trees; scraps of shavings and bark became animals. I created a story about them, long-forgotten now, but fascinating then.
There's just something about wood.

In Case of Emergency

I have done a log of complaining about the bath brush and how much I hate it. So it's only fair to tell you that Mr. Dogleg and I have reached an understanding. This is how it all came about.



I hate doing my income taxes. It's the only time I procrastinate. I leave it until the last day then grumble because I'm surrounded by a sea of forms. Even the thought of the generous refund I always manage to get is not enough to inspire me to get them done early. So I was in a pretty bad mood. I wasn't happy about wasting part of my precious weekend fiddling with a calculator. I finally finished the endless calculations, transfered all the numbers to the good copy, and stuffed the completed forms and handfuls of receipts into the envelope. 

That's when various other unpleasant and unrelated events began to unfold. Without going into grim detail, I seemed destined to continue having a really bad day. Normally I keep my emotions under tight control and try to smile as much as possible because that usually keeps me feeling cheerful. But that day, it didn't work. My dark side was showing, and I didn't like that at all. By evening I was down in the dumps, big time!


The following morning, I couldn't finish the lovely breakfast Ron had made me, which is very unusual because I like to eat! Instead, I burst into tears, which is even more unusual. I knew I had to get a grip. Not even telling myself to cheer up and snap out of it, or my husband's helpful advice to "Get over it" did any good. 


Later that day we would be having our regular weekly date for spanking and loving, and I sure wasn't in a very romantic mood. I wasn't even looking forward to the spanking that I usually couldn't wait to get. This was serious. For a moment I considered having a "headache", but in the dynamics of our relationship that isn't really an option, so I discarded the idea.


I had had spankings in the past that, besides being very exciting and erotic, had greatly helped to relieve stress. That was what I needed - a stress-relief spanking. But how could I be certain it would do the trick? A tiny voice inside my head whispered, "the brush". I tried to ignore it; that bath brush was wicked. I couldn't deny that something heavy duty was what I needed. Ron had never used it again after that first time; would I have the courage to ask for it? 


Later, I found myself in my husband's arms. He kissed me, then caressed my bottom before smacking it with his hand a few times as a preview of things to come. When he stopped I looked at him and asked, "Will you finish off with the bath brush?" 


"Okay," my man of few words agreed. And on we went.


As I got into position over some pillows on the bed, Ron reached for the much-loved leather paddle then applied it vigorously, alternating left and right cheeks. He stopped to rub my bottom while I caught my breath and waited, both wanting and not wanting him to continue. Continue he did, and the swats were harder and quicker. Then another pause for caressing, and he put down the paddle. 


I heard the drawer open. He reached in and picked up the bath brush. Was it too late to stop him? Did I want to? I didn't. I braced myself and held on tight to the brass rails of the bed.


The wood cracked against my right cheek. Pain seared through me but I kept silent. The left cheek got the next whack, and I took the scalding blow, relishing it. Ron kept up the rhythm of strokes, and all I thought of was enduring the ordeal and letting the pain heal me. All the other emotions that had been swirling inside me melted and vanished as the brush did its work. 


Then Ron laid the brush aside, caressed my sore bottom and explored further. I was gasping from the intense burning, yet very ready for attention of a different kind now, and he lost no time in slipping inside me from behind. If that sensation was lovely, the ones that followed, as he gently and skilfully took me completely out of myself, were even more wonderful. Finally we lay exhausted, and I was once more at peace. I smiled. 


I know it's an old cliche, but every cloud has a silver lining, or in this case, a wooden one, with bristles.

Lemmings

"Everyone else is doing it. Why can't I?"

"If everyone jumped off a cliff, would you do it too?"

You've all heard some variation of this as a child, when you wanted to follow the herd, do what the other kids were doing, or have what you thought everyone else had.

So it was with me. I had heard so much about the wonders of the bath brush (aka dogleg brush) on certain blogs that shall remain nameless, that I had to find one for us.

I wandered through the bath department of several stores before I located my prize in The Pottery Barn. There were several on display, tastefully arranged in a decorative jug. I chose the one with the nicest finish and perfectly straight bristles. As I paid for it I felt sure the associate knew what its intended purpose was.

Ron usually strenuously opposes any addition to our growing implement collection. He is happy with what we have, and the drawer is getting quite full. On this occasion, when I unpacked my purchase and held it out to him, he examined it, smiled, and said, "Which side do I use?" How I wish he had sternly ordered me to take it right back to the store and get a refund!

Fast forward to my next regularly scheduled spanking. I knew I was in for a more severe experience than usual, but even so I was totally overwhelmed by the intensity of the first smack on my left bottom cheek. It seared my skin and made me cry out. The next one was just as bad, as the brush attacked the other side.

As Ron continued his assault, I squealed after every single swat, which is very uncharacteristic of me. I had to summon every ounce of self-control I possessed to keep from begging him to stop, or at least to ease up a little. It was one of the rare occasions when the thoughts running through my head were something along the lines of "Why am I doing this? I must be crazy! It hurts too much."

Ron paused to rub my aching bottom, and I caught my breath. When he resumed, the sting was still fierce but somehow more manageable, and I took the spanking more quietly. By the time he put down the brush for good, I had reached the point that, while I was glad it was over, I probably could have endured a few more if necessary. Gotta love those endorphins.

We need to have a serious talk about warm ups before I let that brush near my bottom again.

The lesson I learned? Following the herd can sometimes be a real pain.