Redness in Paradise

Randy and I recently enjoyed a much awaited escape from our daily drudge. It was great fun and there were plenty of spankings involved.

I knew this was going to be an interesting trip before we ever left home. As we were packing our respective suitcases, Randy announced in a matter-of-fact tone, “I’m only taking one implement this time.” I recall being pleased that his mind was on my bottom. I expected he would finish his thought and tell me what he had in mind, but his monologue moved on to more mundane topics.

Curious as always, I returned to the subject as he drove to the airport. “So, what was that one implement you said you were going to pack?”

“Heh,” his wicked smile made me feel slightly uneasy. “It’s the teardrop paddle… and I buried it in your suitcase.”

Great. This particular wooden paddle is a very effective spanking tool. It’s solid hardwood and delivers an intoxicating mix of sting and thud sensations. But the prospect of getting a hard spanking wasn’t what worried me. This toy is one that couldn’t possibly be mistaken, even by the most vanilla observer, for anything but a paddle designed for spanking. The rounded edges, extra thickness, smooth finish, and heavy varnish clearly indicate an implement meant for smacking someone’s bottom and not any sort of ball. If the government maintains a database of spankos, I’m now officially listed.

My mind quickly jumped to visions of having to answer for my kink in front a panel of humorless uniformed security officials. What, I pondered, if they thought it was a weapon? I mean it is, sort of. Right?

Fortunately, we checked our bags and passed security without any questions. Throughout the flight, I wondered whether I might yet be interrogated at our destination. When I whispered my concerns to Randy on the plane, he laughed at me.

“What do you think they’ll do? Spank you? You should be so lucky.”

I had to laugh myself at this improbable scenario. “But what if they confiscate our paddle?” I inquired.

“Then I’ll just have to find something else to beat your butt,” he said in a voice that was a tad too loud for my comfort.

When we reached our destination, we retrieved our luggage without incident. The paddle police, at least for this day, seemed to have other priorities. The resort where we stayed features individual units set back in the woods. I was pleased to see this arrangement because the paddle can generate a lot of noise (as can I on occasion!). Quite naturally, we were tired from the long trip. We enjoyed a light dinner and then decided to turn in.

After all these years, Randy knows me in every way a man can know a woman. He knew that a nice, brisk hand spanking would be just the thing to settle my nerves, relax me, and help me get to sleep. He was right, of course, and after some gentle lovemaking, we drifted off to vacation dreamland.

The following morning, we shared a quiet breakfast in the main lodge and then wandered back to our unit. As soon as Randy closed the door behind him, he announced that it was paddling time. I might have preferred to allow my meal a little time to settle, but he is in charge of our spankings. At his instruction, I stripped and then positioned myself face down over the arm of a large overstuffed chair. I shivered with delight as he assumed his role as dominant disciplinarian.

“Young lady, your behavior of late has left me no choice. For cases such as yours, the only corrective measures that seem to work are those that involve corporal punishment.”

I watched as goose bumps arose on my arms. He was pressing all my buttons.

“Yes, I am going to have to use the paddle. I had hoped it wouldn’t have to come to this.”

I thought that seemed unlikely, but I played along.

“I will now give you the spanking you so richly deserve. This is likely to be very uncomfortable for you.”

With that warning, he proceeded to smack my upturned bottom with the teardrop paddle. This particular paddle is solid hardwood and its shape is somewhere between the classic paddleball toy and a Jokari. It works equally well for standing, bending, and over the lap spankings. Even light to moderate strokes are sufficient to focus the recipient’s attention. Randy wasn’t yet swinging at full force, but he started off with a series of painful swats. Before long, I was squirming in place. The paddle issued a loud report with each mounting blow. I squealed and kicked my legs, but I loved every moment.

Without the constraints of time, Randy apparently felt free to vary the pacing and the intensity of my paddling. I’m not certain how long I was actually bent over that chair, but it sure seemed like a long time. He would talk to me for a while, deliver a bunch of swift swats, and then casually return to his one-sided discussion. I’d love to share what he said, but by this stage, I was off in my own happy spanko place.

When he decided that I had had enough, Randy tossed the paddle aside. He knelt down next to my ear and told me that he loved me. He brushed the hair away from my face and kissed me sweetly. He rubbed my very sore bottom. I found all of this attention a tremendous turn on and I was ready to jump into bed (or wherever else he might please). That outcome, I soon learned, would have to wait a while longer.

“Let’s go swimming!” my man announced. I was quite unprepared for that turn of events.

“C’mon, Bon, get your swimsuit on.”

By this point, I understood his game. He wanted to parade my red bottom around the grounds. He knows this is a scenario I both love and hate. I am a little bit of an exhibitionist, but I fear the consequences of having my kink revealed. I complied with his instructions and donned my new salmon and cream-colored, one-piece bathing suit. When I bought it, I recalled thinking that just because I am a grandmother doesn't mean I have to be unattractive. When I recognized that there wasn’t enough pink fabric to cover the freshly reddened flesh beneath, I made a mental note to settle for the grandma look the next time.

Just as I pulled my cover-up around my waist and started to fasten it, Randy gave me a disapproving look. “Do I have to spank you AGAIN?” he exclaimed. I quickly abandoned that strategy and grabbed a towel for the pool.

I felt both nervous and turned on as we walked out the door of our unit and onto the wooded grounds. I didn’t see anyone around except a groundskeeper and he seemed busy with his gardening pursuits. We reached the building with the pool without incident. The pool, however, was already occupied by two other couples. One man was swimming laps. A woman sat in a chair and read the newspaper. The other couple huddled in one corner and laughed quietly.

Careful to keep my crimson globes pointed away from the other people, I set down my towel and waded into the pool. Once in the water, I felt safe. The cool water was soothing to my well paddled posterior. Randy joined me there and we embraced in about four feet of water. He started kissing me. I threw my arms around his neck and returned his affection. His hands, meanwhile, wandered to his favorite part of my anatomy. Concealed by the water, he grabbed, kneaded, and squeezed my bottom cheeks. The resulting combination of pain and pleasure was excruciatingly delightful.

Eventually, both couples packed up and left the pool area. We were alone. We momentarily pondered the concept of intercourse in the water, but decided it was too risky. That didn’t keep us from sharing a lot of sexy touching.

When we exited the pool, there was no one else around. I asked Randy whether my bottom was still red and he told me it wasn’t. It certainly still felt sore, so I wasn’t sure if I could believe his assessment. As a precaution, I tugged at my suit in back in hopes of maximizing its coverage.

Upon returning to our unit, we quickly doffed our respective swimwear and let nature take it course. The ensuing sex was energetic and fulfilling. It was the perfect completion to all of the morning’s events.

There were several more paddlings during our time away, but this is the spanking I will most fondly remember.