"A FOUR?" she said, wide eyed.
"Yeah, a four on MY scale. Another guy might call it just perfect, another guy might be in tears and say it was too hard for him. I have and I am a very heavy bottom. I crave a good afterburn, the kind I feel long afterwards, that hurts when I'm sitting in the car on the way home. But right now, ten minutes afterward, I'm not feeling anything. If you ask me, do I want to do it again, sometime, I'd probably say, 'well catch me at a party if I'm not busy.' But I'm not going to make a special date. I can stay at home and beat my own bottom harder than this."
"Oh. Well, what can I do ... right now ... to make it better?"
"Um well ..."
I stood at the edge of the bed, and bent at the knees, so I could put my full torso over the edge of the bed, and I said, "Pick up your big paddle,and beat my bottom like I was a husband you caught cheating on you."
She smiled, and said, "Okay," and picked up her paddle and came up behind me and
I did, groaning, and clutching my buttocks.
"Better??"
I smiled, weakly. "That was up to an 8. I'll for sure feel it for ... a while."
"An eight? So, how do I get to nine or ten?"
"I give a nine to a caning that leaves stripes and welts. I give a ten to the kind of whippings I've gotten at the parties."
She smiled and said, "Well...."
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