Spanked to Tears

Don't let the title of this post worry you or make you scratch your head in disbelief. It's not what you think.

I've already told you what happened before and after. Now here's the story of the best spanking I've had in recent memory.

I was excited as I climbed the stairs to the bedroom, but when I got there and saw the paddle that Ron had chosen lying on the bed, my anticipation turned to dread. I picked it up and turned it over in my hands. It was awfully thick. But I didn't have long to ponder my fate; I heard footsteps in the hall. Quickly I put the paddle down and proceeded to slip off my jeans and panties.

When Ron came in I stood up and waited for instructions. They weren't long in coming.

"Bend over," Ron picked up the paddle and gestured to the end of the bed.

I obeyed and felt the smooth paddle caress my bottom. Ron seemed in a chatty mood, which was unusual but very nice. He expounded on the benefits of his chosen implement as he applied it to my cheeks. My exclamations of distress were liberally punctuated with laughter. He was having fun and so was I.

"You're turning a nice shade of pink," Ron observed after a few minutes of effort.

"Ouch! And what colour are you aiming for?"

"Purple."

"Ow!"

Ron continued, but several swats landed with a dull thud instead of a sharp crack. Misfires. I laughed and asked, "What are you aiming at?"

"Quiet!" Ron startled me with the command.

"What? You don't want this to be interactive?" I giggled.

"No. You're too noisy. I want to be able to hear the whacks."

I tried to be quiet, and stuffed a corner of the bedsheet into my mouth. It worked, but then Ron sabotaged my efforts at silence. In between swats to my bottom he gently tapped the back of my head with the implement. Then he escalated the attack by tickling my tummy with the edge of the paddle. It was no use. I laughed until the tears rolled down my cheeks. As I dried them with the sheet I thought, I'm being spanked to tears - tears of laughter!

Ron stopped for a break, and as he rubbed my bottom he complained, "I bent the paddle."

"Turn it over and use the other side to straighten it out."

He did, and reported that it seemed to have worked.




The two sides of the paddle are different, although not exactly like the ones in the above picture. The back has a raised pattern of vines and foliage on it.

"Are you making leafprints on my bum?"

"The leaves are falling off. There are twigs all over the bed."

Again I chuckled as I squirmed and squeaked. Finally, we were both exhausted from laughing, and Ron called a halt to the fun.

"Get up. That's all for this time."

I reached for a tissue to dry my face, then headed to the mirror to check my mascara. As I turned and inspected the reflection of my bare bottom, I praised my husband for a job well done and confirmed what he already knew.

"It really is purple."

What Makes Me Cry?

I have never cried during a spanking. Usually I'm enjoying it so much that I want to cheer! On the odd occasion when the pain is just too much, I may wish I could escape, but crying wouldn't occur to me.

So what makes me cry? Tall ships in full sail on the water. A sad movie. A parade. Ever since 9/11 I cry whenever I see a fire fighter or pass a fire station. Then there's the ramp ceremony on the tarmac at the airfield in Afghanistan, when our Canadian forces say good-bye to yet another fallen comrade returning home, and a piper plays a lament.

For situations of personal sadness, such as the illness or death of a two- or four-legged loved one, I usually hold myself together and stay strong for the sake of those around me. I'll deal with medical emergencies, handle practical matters, make decisions and organize whatever arrangements are necessary. When everything is in order, then I can let myself go, sometimes not until days after a crisis.

I will cry when I am frustrated and helpless to control a situation. It's pretty rare now, but it does happen. I suppose that if I were being spanked against my will, or unfairly, or if I really didn't want it and was being forced, then I might cry. But that has never been the case. I know that if I have to, I can always call a halt. And since I am almost always a willing and enthusiastic participant, tears are highly unlikely.