About an hour after I had blogged on Saturday my wife arrived home. Judging by the bags, she and her friend had hit the credit cards quite hard. I made her a coffee and we stood in the kitchen talking about each other’s day. The bundle of thin branches lay on the kitchen island in a prominent position. I had tied a small ribbon around the holding end and whilst she made no direct mention of it, I saw her glance over once or twice.
The red bow made it look a little less of a menacing instrument, but not by much. I had made it with 6 lengths of field maple branches. These are stringy in thickness, maybe 6 mm diameter at one end and 3 mm at the other and they grow very straight. Cut to about 3 feet long they send a powerful message to a bare bottom and they do not splinter or wear out. They will also last maybe 5 days before they dry out and longer if they are left in a bath of water.
Anyway, that’s enough of the technicalities of switch making.
As we talked my wife asked me what I had achieved on the jobs front. I went through the list but I could see she was not impressed. When she asked about the ironing I said I had not finished it, but would do so on Sunday. She then went off to the utility room and came back with a frown across her face. She scolded that I had not even started on the laundry and as she spoke she reached for a wooden spoon from the utensil holder. This was the long one, which is designed more for making jam. Smiling in a stern sort of way, she came round to my side of the island and pushed my back to make me lean forward. Even over some jeans that spoon spanks hard and she laid ten smacks on in quick succession. She told me that was for telling stories about the ironing. I stayed put waiting for something else to happen but instead my wife put the spoon back in the holder and picked up the switch. She complimented me on my craft and said she was really looking forward to using it later on.
I followed her upstairs and then ran the bath with lots of bath salts. She got undressed in the bedroom and came through stark naked. She looked fabulous and I told her so. She thanked me for the compliment but said that I could not get out of trouble so easily and took the bath-brush off the hook in the shower cubicle.
Holding it in one hand and smacking the palm of her hand gently with the other she told me to strip and bend over the vanity unit.
Those of you who have already met the bath-brush will know how very evil it can be. The broad head of the brush at the end of a longish handle, which in turn is pivoted at the elbow, develops momentum as it swings in a low arc and the energy of that momentum is transferred to bare skin in a stinging blow across a small area, which quite takes ones breath away.
I jumped around for a dozen smacks with the brush and said sorry, sorry, sorry, many times.
When she became satisfied that I meant it and I was dismissed to get on with dinner.
It was suggested that a T shirt and thong pants were all I would require for the rest of the evening, about which I hope to tell in another day or so.