Without the constraints of time, Randy apparently felt free to vary the pacing and the intensity of my paddling. I’m not certain how long I was actually bent over that chair, but it sure seemed like a long time. He would talk to me for a while, deliver a bunch of swift swats, and then casually return to his one-sided discussion. I’d love to share what he said, but by this stage, I was off in my own happy spanko place.
When he decided that I had had enough, Randy tossed the paddle aside. He knelt down next to my ear and told me that he loved me. He brushed the hair away from my face and kissed me sweetly. He rubbed my very sore bottom. I found all of this attention a tremendous turn on and I was ready to jump into bed (or wherever else he might please). That outcome, I soon learned, would have to wait a while longer.
“Let’s go swimming!” my man announced. I was quite unprepared for that turn of events.
“C’mon, Bon, get your swimsuit on.”
By this point, I understood his game. He wanted to parade my red bottom around the grounds. He knows this is a scenario I both love and hate. I am a little bit of an exhibitionist, but I fear the consequences of having my kink revealed. I complied with his instructions and donned my new salmon and cream-colored, one-piece bathing suit. When I bought it, I recalled thinking that just because I am a grandmother doesn’t mean I have to be unattractive. When I recognized that there wasn’t enough pink fabric to cover the freshly reddened flesh beneath, I made a mental note to settle for the grandma look the next time.
Just as I pulled my cover-up around my waist and started to fasten it, Randy gave me a disapproving look. “Do I have to spank you AGAIN?” he exclaimed. I quickly abandoned that strategy and grabbed a towel for the pool.