I cut a 46 centimetre (eighteen inch) length of the plank. That gives a handle of about eight inches and a striking surface of about ten inches. That means the paddle will land across the entire buttocks, or the upper thighs even if the submissive woman has her legs a little apart for her paddling.
This means that although the paddling will hurt from the very first stroke, the second stroke will inevitably land on skin that’s still smarting from the first impact, and hurt much more. The most punishing thing about the paddle, I’m told, is that it’s so absolutely relentless. The site of the impact doesn’t move around, as it does with a caning, or a pleasure-focussed spanking. It just starts hot and sore, right across the buttocks, and then makes the whole area hotter and sorer.
If, as the dom, you want to hear and see sincere signs of sorrow and repentance, to to hear sincere begging and listen to the submissive’s fervent, urgent promises to improve her behaviour, the paddle is the shortest route to that outcome that I know of.
So I bought a length of wood about two centimetres (2/3 of an inch) thick, and 12 cm (5 inches) wide.
From that you can make a paddle that a submissive woman will look at wide-eyed, and start to imagine how she’ll feel when it lands.
I’m taking a break from writing the anecdote about Ana, from my days as a probation officer. I’m busy with work at the moment. I want to do justice to what was happening in that relationship between me and Ana. The roles and duties, and the desires, we assigned to each other and ourselves started at complicated and escalated from there. But I’m not going to give spoilers.
Anyway, I’ll get back to that story when I’m not in a hurry.
The paddle isn’t really part of my cultural background. Nor are cheerleaders. All those stories and videos about sexy cheerleaders getting the paddle are pretty much a mystery to me.
But I can’t help noticing that submissive women who’ve experienced the wooden paddle talk about the implement with a certain amount of awe, respect and even a sort of fear. The shivery kind of fear that’s half a pleasure, but it’s still fear.
So I looked at some flimsy-looking paddles in local shops, which wouldn’t do at all. So I decided that I’d make my own.
So this story hovers around a woman, somewhat ludicrously called tintanabula, with her feet and wrists cuffed to a wooden whipping frame, naked in the night air, her ass presented but her head, hands and feet close to the long grass.
She sobbed, unrestrained. Her body wasn’t. Unrestrained. Her buttocks and upper thighs were bright red, with patches of a darker, richer red which would develop into black and blue bruising in only a few more minutes.
The paddle lay on the grass beside her, and the penis of the man who had hurt her – that’s me – was hard. I’d loved her tears and cries. She still whimpered as I pushed in and slowly withdrew in her rectum, I held her hips to keep her still and presented. I wanted her to feel, even if it wasn’t entirely true, that I had no regard at all for her pleasure. She was being buggered while her ass still burned with pain. She should get the full benefit of that.
She knew it’d never be quite true, but she loved feeling that I didn’t care about her pleasure.
I don’t think she enjoyed being buggered just then. Two dozen isn’t a lot of strokes, but it is if you use the paddle. It was one of the most severe punishments I’ve ever given. It simply hurt, and afterwards I hadn’t been gentle.
But it was what tintanabula said was the hottest, the most rawly sexual night she’d ever experienced. Afterwards I’d wrapped her in a gown and taken her to a bed with cool, crisp sheets, and while I laid her down and fucked her I whispered in her ear that I’d paddle and bugger her again soon, but even harder, and possibly with an audience next time. She’d come harder and more often, that night, than ever before in her life.
I mentioned, back in Yikes #1, that I told a girl I was going to give her twenty-eight strokes of a thick wooden paddle. We’ll call her tintanabula. I think using lower case for a submissive’s name, in print, is faintly ridiculous and so does she. But that’s exactly why she gets lower case: who said a submissive is allowed typographical dignity?
I’m going to leap ahead in that story, and say that I took her out, naked in the night air, and cuffed her to a whipping frame, with her head down, looking into a forested river valley. She began shedding tears after about five strokes of the paddle, and then sobbing aloud, serenading the valley, after eight. As she began to sob, she could reflect on the fact that there were still twenty strokes to come, and wonder what state she’d be in by the time I’d delivered the full set.
This is a girl who can take a dozen with the cane dry-eyed. Sore, but not usually crying even when she’s dramatically striped. So she hates the paddle, because it reaches her. It reduces her to nothing but a warm, helpless creature being beaten, with no physical or psychological defences.
I don’t have to use the paddle at all hard. A firm, controlled swing to bring it down across the centre of her buttocks, with not too long a gap for recovery between the strokes, will elicit a fresh outburst of pain and repentance every time.
I worry that tintanabula will come to love being paddled: all that helplessness, and the hormonal ride of pain. But in the meantime, it’s the implement to use when I want to punish her and be sure she won’t enjoy it.
I was about to deliver a serious paddling. It was for getting low marks in a test, in a university course, where I was helping a submissive girl to improve her marks. It wasn’t just a case of punishing her if her scores weren’t good enough (“you get top marks or you get bottom marks”). I also did a lot of positive things to help her get started, and to focus while she was working.
But she did the rest, and although she just barely passed, I’d told her she had to do better than just pass. She had to stay at 75% or above, and her test result was not that. I was not pleased.
So I told her I was going to paddle her. She’d get one medium hard stroke for every point by which she fell short of 100%. That meant a 28-stroke paddling.
“Yikes,” she said.
This story will be continued.