Just When I Least Expect

Spring has finally started to arrive in our part of the world. We refer to this as the rainy season, although that’s also what we call autumn and winter.

There are some chores that are getting done now solely because there’s a pandemic and we’ve run out of better ways to amuse ourselves. Such was the case this morning. Randy and I resolved to go through a pile of boxes in our basement and separate the keepers from the discards. Some of the items belonged to our daughter when she was in college and don’t interest her now. Most of that stuff was relegated to the pitch pile. Easy enough.

The next set of boxes came from my mother’s last home. This was more challenging, especially for me. Almost every item has an emotional context. But I worked my way through with the thought that it’s just not practical to keep everything forever. Randy was helping, but at this stage, his help consisted mostly of pulling some chotsky from a box and declaring, “Hey, Bon, look at this thing!”

“Oooo, look!” There he goes again, I thought. He was intent upon showing me the latest treasure he unearthed. When I turned, I immediately recognized both the item he was waving and the look on his face. He dug out a wall hanging that had long been a decoration in Mom’s guest room. She created it years ago in her women’s art and wine group (not necessarily in that order). It was a rectangular plank, about thirty inches long, with a canvas painting decoupaged to the wood. The design was a group of flowers presented in an Impressionist style.

This was my mother’s wall art, but to Randy, it was obviously a spanking paddle. He spotted it the first time he ever stayed in that room. He even threatened to paddle me with it, but we never had the opportunity. Suddenly, opportunity was banging on the door.

“I think we need to take a break.”

“A break to bust my butt you mean?”

“Yeah. Get over the spanking bench.” He pulled our designated punishment furniture into the center of the room.

There was no sense in arguing. Sometimes, it’s just destiny. I took my position, face down on the bench, as my love fastened my wrist and ankle cuffs.

“I can’t tell you how many times I saw this and wanted use it to beat your ass,” Randy declared as he raised my skirt to unveil his target.

“Let me guess? Was it absolutely every time?” My clever observation probably didn’t improve my chances for leniency, but I was all in at this point.

My answer came in the form of a stinging swat across both of my exposed cheeks. It was clear to me from that first whack that this repurposed artwork could send a message.

As the fourth swat impacted, however, I heard an unmistakable cracking sound. It hurt, but I immediately knew it was not me who broke. Randy managed to split the board, and of course, tried to blame it on me. But I wasn’t having it.

“Damn pine. It always splits. Your ass is just too tough.”

“If my poor old hide is tough, it’s from years of you tanning it.” I felt grateful that we resisted the temptation to perform this pervertible test back when the plank hung in my mother’s house. There are some things that are difficult to explain.

Randy retrieved a crop that was conveniently hanging on the wall and finished the job. It wasn’t the spanking he expected to deliver, but I hadn’t expected to be spanked at all. So it was fine.

Eventually, we returned to the chore at hand. We might have kept that paddle, I mean wall hanging, but alas, it was split. About an hour later, Randy asked me to lift my skirt and show him my bottom. To his delight, I still had some visible marks. That lead to another vigorous spanking, upstairs this time, and the fun that follows.

Maybe tomorrow we’ll finish sorting through those boxes...