Disciplining Ford

The 2nd weekend of June was a long holiday weekend here and regrettably, the last one to occur until November. As winter has well and truly arrived, fewer folks were inclined to go away for this particular holiday; so DW and I decided to make the most of the opportunity by renting a quiet and private cottage in the nearby mountains for some long overdue time, just to ourselves. The weather may well have been cold and damp for practically the whole weekend, but this was really of no consequence to our plans for simply enjoying each other’s company and rekindling the loving chemistry between us. Once we are freed from the need to consider others in the household, we never cease to be surprised at how little time this takes and how our desire for each other builds in direct proportion to the amount of time we can spend together.

So this was a weekend of relaxing, enjoying red wine, spending time in the big double spa, DVD watching, impulsive and passionate lovemaking, sleeping, reading and yes…I was also due for some remedial discipline, from which my butt has really only just now recovered.

On the only day that we felt inclined to venture outside (after DW had administered a morning spanking), we spent some of our time wandering through some second hand shops in a small nearby country town. In the backroom of one particular shop we came upon a couple of pure leather surprises that made my already sore backside “hurt just thinking about it” to slightly paraphrase you know who. The owner of the shop is a leather worker who specialises mainly in saddle repairs and leather pet accessories such as leashes and muzzles but there, also on display, were two formidable woven leather whips – one a single tail about 1.5 metres long and the other a nine-tailed affair with a rather threatening knot at the end of each tail.

The fact that they had become the immediate focus of DW’s attention was more than patently obvious to the shop owner who explained that they were not of her making, but came from another craftsman interstate who specialised in the manufacture of woven leather items. SO obvious was DW’s interest, the owner also felt compelled to add that we could have anything we wished made specifically to order and, that “she was very open-minded about it”!

After some little discussion, we settled for the single tail (although with hindsight, I suspect that DW now wishes we had bought both) and it was duly rolled up and packaged. It would be an understatement to say that the price was reasonable but as is customary, it’s my responsibility to make or purchase the instruments for use in my discipline.

Saturday evening saw DW’s first brief and tentative use of our newest implement – with DW confessing that “L” plates may be appropriate for a time until she fully learns its use. Irrespective, it made a great accessory to the outfit that DW ambushed me with later that same night.

After the demise of our original pine Spencer Paddle (as related in my earlier post “Over Again”), I’ve now had a couple of experiences on the receiving end of its much more substantial replacement. In each case, DW has taken advantage of a holiday period for the “running in” of her new implement, so to speak.

My first paddling with DW’s brand new oak Spencer Paddle came on the eve of a public holiday back in late April when the rest of the family happened to have left us to ourselves for the night. My first serious inkling that a spanking was in the offing came late in the afternoon when DW sent me off to the bedroom for a change into panties and some lightweight track pants, “… so they can be easily pulled down when I’m ready to spank you”. Some 5 minutes later I’d returned to my desk in the office having changed in accordance with DW’s instructions.

“So what colour panties are you wearing?”

“Monday’s panties are red Ma’am.”

“Umm… it sounds like the colour of your butt will shortly be matching them.”

However, it was only after another two hours’ of work at her computer that DW pushed back from her desk and wandered out of the office for a break. When she returned soon afterwards it became apparent that this break was also to include the promised spanking. It was only once I’d lowered my track pants and presented my panty-covered backside in a well bent-over position, that the reason for the spanking was explained. DW reminded me of a specific request she’d made on Sunday that I help with the preparation of a rather large and heavy item for shipment on Monday. In the end the request had been forgotten, and DW and her casual staff member had been left to package the item themselves – with some difficulty and in some haste on Monday morning. While in the process of this reminder, DW had taken up the new paddle and was rubbing it sideways across my vulnerable, nylon-covered butt.

As DW started to apply some pretty solid strokes, it was quickly becoming apparent that this paddle bestowed a quite different character of pain to that of its predecessor. Whilst there could be no denying the VERY severe sting from the impact of each stroke, the additional density of the oak and its slightly greater thickness also wrought a much more deep-seated feeling that this was also to be a very bruising encounter – despite the fact that DW appeared to be exercising some initial caution in her application of this new instrument for my punishment.
After she had administered fifty strokes across both cheeks, DW decided that it was time to lower my panties and inspect her progress to date. This she did by running her finger down my back, hooking it into the waistband and simply following through until they were down to knee-level. After then running her hands gently over the target area, my sharp reaction to her sudden grab of each cheek confirmed immediately to both of us the now very tender state of my backside. Another twenty somewhat stronger strokes my now bare cheeks then followed in fairly quick succession.

“Stay there.”

Just for good measure, DW had also brought the hairbrush into the office. After briefly rubbing its cool smooth back across my bare backside, she launched into a set of what turned out to be 20 absolute stingers that REALLY gained my attention. It seems to me that whenever DW has swapped from the paddle to the much lighter hairbrush, she tends to put much more “wrist” into each stroke – and my butt pays the penalty.

Still not content, DW re-applied the paddle for a further 20 hard strokes that rounded out my counting to 110 in total.

Then, after she had indicating that I was permitted to stand, DW added, “You are to remain in panties tonight and for the holiday tomorrow. Do you understand?”

“Yes Ma’am”, I replied somewhat breathlessly.

“That’s good Mister!”

The christening of the new paddle came a little later when, in response to one of DW’s characteristic queries about the state of my butt, the best description that I could come up with was “thoroughly tenderised”. After that, DW didn’t need to think twice about the name of her new implement for my discipline!

Even more ominous was the still tenderly aching state of my backside some 3 days later, even when seated on my normally very comfortable office chair.

I can most readily separate my memories from the Saturday and Sunday of that first disciplinary weekend by recalling the markedly different state of my backside on those two days. Whilst Saturday morning had certainly provided some distinct reminders of the 100 hairbrush strokes I’d received on Friday night, Sunday morning was a wholly new experience of spanking after-effects that ensured a virtually constant reminder of the three butt-blisterings DW had administered during the previous evening.

Perhaps in an effort to provide some protection for my severely tenderised flesh, I had retrieved and re-installed my panties at some stage during the night. I had slept rather well in the afterglow of our lovemaking but now, come morning, even relatively small movements tended to re-intensify the stinging from the worst affected areas of my butt. Judging from the extent to which the nylon material of my panties tended to adhere to the blistered area on each cheek, DW had very nearly achieved her objective of an even treatment for both the left and right sides. After gingerly extricating myself from the bedcovers and climbing sideways out of the bed, I carefully lowered the back of my panties to survey the damage in the mirror. The two damp and slightly red patches in the seat area of the panties simply confirmed what I could make out as a clearly distinguishable area of raw flesh on each cheek. After carefully restoring my panties, I donned my dressing gown and wandered out of the bedroom. Meanwhile DW had set about making some breakfast.

After we had exchanged a warm good morning hug and a kiss, and being in no hurry whatsoever to sit down, I decided that a shave should be next on the agenda. Just as I was getting that underway in front of the bathroom mirror, DW wandered in, and with somewhat exaggerated casualness enquired, “How’s your butt?”. I suspect that my reply must have been along the lines of “pretty damn sore, thank you” because with that, DW lifted the back of my dressing gown to inspect the outcome of her handiwork. As the state of my butt was quite apparent without the need to lower my panties, DW simply commented, “Well I’d hate to think that all my exertions were to no benefit. Perhaps THAT will teach you to behave.”

“Yes Ma’am, I certainly hope so.”

A delicious breakfast was ready by the time I had finished shaving, and I can remember sitting on one of the soft living room lounge chairs to eat it from the coffee table as I leaned well forward. After leisurely enjoying DW’s coffee, I announced my reluctant intention to go and shower and stood up – carefully. Just as I did, DW reached forward from her seat, deliberately grasped the paddle and said, “Well… just one thing before you do”.

For some reason, I didn’t attempt to argue. Perhaps it was my total surprise that, after all that had been visited upon my extremely tender backside, DW now planned yet more punishment – or perhaps it was an instinct that the future of our DW lifestyle depended on my willingness to submit this one further time. Instead, I shed my dressing gown, eased down my panties, and with the aid of that same lounge chair, assumed once more the now familiar position – absolutely knowing that this was about to hurt far more than any previous spanking I had ever experienced. As DW laid the paddle across my already desparately sore butt in preparation, I gritted my teeth in readiness.
DW applied herself just as enthusiastically as on the previous evening, mitigated only a little by the fact that she chose to apply her strokes to both cheeks at the same time. Even so, the intensity of the pain from the very first stroke was enough to make me gasp at its arrival, and I only managed to count it after a long swallow. As the paddle strokes just kept on coming I think the agonising pain simply transformed into a blurred continuum as I felt the blistering from the previous night being freshened and then rapidly aggravated. I must have been counting largely from instinct, because I seemed to have lost all sense of how many had gone before, and how many might be to come with the shear effort of coping with the pain and remaining in position. But after 50 strokes, DW did finally desist and carefully replaced the paddle back on the coffee table.

“NOW you know what will happen if you don’t behave – you know it’s for your own good.”

“Yes Ma’am”, I gasped while still trying to get my breath.

After some little time I’d recovered just sufficiently to consider standing. Rather than face the prospect of having to bend over again, I grabbed my panties as I straightened and pulled them up to about thigh level. I then very carefully lifted the waistband over my flaming backside and adjusted them for the least discomfort that seemed achievable.

The agony provoked by the shower was almost as traumatic as the spanking itself, matched only by that of the antiseptic DW insisted on liberally applying as unwelcome but essential aftercare. Once again a fresh pair of white nylon panties was waiting on the bed as I returned from the bathroom – at least these were somewhat less scanty in front than the previous day’s. By the time I had managed to ease my jeans over the panties and zip them up, the stinging of my backside seemed to have settled to a slightly more manageable level. I think my movements for the rest of the day could best be described as “careful” in an effort not to reignite the intense stinging that sudden movements would provoke. Climbing out of the driver’s seat once we had arrived at home was just one of those occasions.

With regular treatments of antiseptic lotion, it was still to be some 3 or 4 days before the red raw areas of my butt showed no further signs of their weeping and meanwhile, thick cotton underwear was a necessity! Not content with that, the outer layer of skin then dried out and gradually peeled off over the course of the next 3 weeks, just as would sunburn or a blister. Now when anyone talks of a blistered butt, I can be in absolutely NO doubt as to their meaning.