Poor Paddle Disposal Strategy

From “But What Have I Done!” She Cried by Lizbeth Dusseau:

With the paddle gripped tightly in his large palm, Robert raised it to shoulder height. “No!” she cried as the first strike smacked her naked rear. He kept on. “Ouch, no, no.” He was peppering her determinedly, with some strikes brisk and others slow. Some were hard, some harder still, and others deliberately lighter as though he were about to quit. By the time he reached the second round of ten, she was flailing, and crying, and gyrating so madly that he had to pause. “I can’t stand it, please.” Her desperate wail sounded so pitiful.

Veronica hated this paddle — no, hated was not a strong enough word. She loathed it, despised it, wished it off the face of the planet every time she was spanked with the damnable thing. Once she tried swiping it from the closet and disposing of it in the trash. When Robert discovered it there — as though he had some sixth sense clueing him in to her scheme (he never fooled with anything once it was in the dumpster), she got the paddling of her life. He could forgive a lot of things and others he let slide; but this overt rebellion was too deliberate a crime not to punish with a most befitting taste of that drilled wood.

“You can stand a lot more than you think,” Robert scolded. “I’m just getting started and we’re in for a long ride tonight.”

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