Shopping for a Spanker

Ken at Spanked by My Lady recently wrote about a shopping trip that included a visit to a tack shop. One of the items they bought was a black riding crop with a leather flapper in the shape of a hand. The punchline of his story was that the sales associate called it "a spanker."

We have one of those too, in purple. I have mentioned it in previous post, here and here.

How I feel about it depends on the way it's used. If Ron smacks the little hand against each cheek in turn, it's a stingy appetizer of what is to follow. When he applies the length of the crop across both globes, then it's a seriously ouchy implement. I love the variety that is possible, depending on the whims of the operator.

I bought mine online from Horse Tack Co.

You Completed the Caption

Riding couldn't have been much fun way back then, when a lady had to wear long skirts. However, there were compensations. Here are your captions.

Michael: Lady Vivian Covington-Smythe, winning trainer of London's inaugural Ponygirl Derby in 1895, won by Girlaway.

Sixofthebest: "I hope that when you reach my age, your ever loving husband uses this riding crop on your voluptuous bare bottom, when you deserve such punishment."

Season: Photographer: "Now stand still this time so I can get the shot. I don't want to hear any more about how much your corset hurts or I'll take that crop and really give you something to whine about."

Ronnie: Lady Patricia Rosemary Smythe. Patron of the newly formed Disciplinary Wives Club. New members most welcome.

Scunge: "What do you mean wipe that scowl off your face!? Just you wait until you are finished taking this snap then I'll..."

Rattan: "Lady Violet de Pierrepoint decided her portrait photographer had been frightfully tardy."
and "Mistress Beatrice Birch was delighted with her new passport picture."

Marqe: " If you Sir think I'm spending the next four hours removing this bloody stupid outfit just so that you can give me a deserved whipping then you can ..... swivel on it Sir!"

Hermione: Tally Ho!

Thank you to all who contributed, and welcome to those who joined in for the first time. I hope to see you all back next week to complete another caption!

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.

Please Sir, I want some more

Two weekends ago I was lying across Ron's lap and he was energetically applying the riding crop to my bared bottom. As he spanked, I mused. (I'm good at multi-tasking.) It was funny, I thought, that the last time he had used it, he had switched to a different implement because I hadn't been reacting to it much. I had been disappointed with it too.

How different things were this time. The little hand on the end of the crop was making its presence known. Had Ron been practising? Or was he simply giving me harder strokes?

Then the swats stopped as Ron paused to admire his handiwork and to see what effect it was having on me. His hand gently rubbed my hot cheeks, then slipped in between them to rub even more gently. The rubbing became a little firmer and more rhythmic, and I realized we had moved on to the next phase. That was fine.


Or was it? The riding crop had felt good. I wanted more. When he continued his ministrations I weighed the odds. I knew where this was headed - where I was headed - and that was nice too, but first, I had to feel the crop sear my buttocks again. Should I speak up? Or should I go with the flow?

I made up my rapidly-dissolving mind.

"May I have a little more?" I whispered. Ron immediately withdrew his hand, and in a heartbeat I felt the welcome, rhythmic pain once more. He kept it up until I stopped squirming and ow-ing and settled into it. Then he put down the crop and picked up from where he had left off. This time I didn't stop him and, well, you'll just have to imagine the rest

"Do I have lots of little handprints on my bum?" I asked later, as we cuddled together.

"Dozens," Ron affirmed, and I couldn't wait to see them for myself.



The following weekend found me on my elbows and knees on the bed after Ron had decided that the belt hadn't been taken out of the drawer for quite a while. He made that implement hurt a lot more than I remembered, but it was such a good hurt.

Sets of whacks with the belt alternated with periods of caresses on my sore posterior. Each time the belt resumed its task, I felt it less and less, although I could tell that Ron was using more force. When he finally put the belt down, I sighed and started to roll onto my side. Ron put a hand on my back to stop me and asked, "Enough?"

I was thrilled at his considerate question. "You've never asked me that before," I replied, somewhat flustered. Should I ask for more? I thought it was over, and was okay with that. But this might be my chance to go for the hour-long spanking. Should I? Shouldn't I?

I lay back, then pulled Ron down beside me.

What a gentleman! In future I won't hesitate to ask for what I need, but then again, I may never have to ask.

Special Treatment

A few weeks ago Ron went away on an overnight trip. Since one of the days he would be gone was also the day of our regular spanking date, I suggested that we reschedule it to the day after his return. I wanted to avoid any more miscommunication, and he happily agreed.

While Ron was away I had done some of the chores that were usually his responsibility, but on his return he decided that there was a lot of yard work to be done. After a day of physical exertion in the heat and humidity, he was ready for a shower and his recliner, but not for spanking. I on the other hand had read a few more blogs than usual (okay, maybe a lot more than usual) and had been looking forward to playing and loving. When Ron said we would postpone both for another day, I agreed reluctantly.

The next day there were no more strenuus outdoor chores to be done, but the trip had been stressful and Ron was still preoccupied with thoughts about it. The time for our date came, then the minutes started ticking by. Finally Ron asked if I wanted to, or if we should postpone again.

"You don't look very enthusiastic," I observed.

"To tell you the truth, I'm not in the mood."

"Then let's not bother," and I got up from the couch. I felt Ron's fingers on my back as he tried to reach for me, but I moved away and said I had to check on something in the kitchen.

Standing in front of the stove stirring a pot, I struggled with disappointment. I knew our schedule for the next day would not allow for any play either. Then I heard footsteps behind me, and whack! Ron slapped me hard on the bottom.

"Get upstairs," he commanded.

"But I thought you weren't in the mood."

I'm not, but I can still give you a good spanking!"

I didn't need to be told twice. That was the kind of order I was delighted to obey.

For us, spanking is usually the appetiser and lovemaking is the entree that follows. This time, Ron made it clear that spanking would be the main course. It was going to be all about me, and he would do everything he could to make me feel special.

He started by asking which implement I would like. While I pondered the possibilities he picked up the riding crop. That would be perfect! It had lain unused for several months and I looked forward to feeling its sting again.

After a few cycles of strokes of the crop alternated with gentle bottom rubbing, Ron surprised me again. He stopped and asked if I would prefer something different, because the crop wasn't doing much for me. I was touched by his perceptiveness, and I had to agree. The crop was making a great deal of noise but I really couldn't feel much sting, if any. He teased me about having calluses on my bum and I laughed and turned to look and see if I did. Talking, joking and laughing during a spanking? That was practically unheard of.

I was just about to ask for the plastic paddle, which delivers a real sting and is only used after a preliminary spankiing with something less severe. Then Ron took the dogging bat down from the bedpost where he keeps it and told me he'd use it because it was always reliable. I thought it was so sweet of him to give me what I liked best, so I gave up on sting to go for thud.
The bat felt firm and solid after the crop, and it covered a much wider area. The spanking had taken a distinctly erotic turn and I delighted in the hard caresses. Ron had essentially started over and I was thoroughly spanked a second time. The rubbing in between swats became more prolongued, and each time, his fingers strayed a little farther from the impact zone.

When Ron finally laid the leather bat down, he was very clearly "in the mood" after all. So was I, and we finished with a mutually satisfying activity for dessert. Satiated, we talked and laughed some more about the ineffective crop; Ron assured me that he had been using it energetically enough.

I regained my cheerfulness, Ron was no longer stressed, and the next day my sore bottom frequently reminded me of how much my husband loves me.