In time I had my belovèd return to corner. You may wonder at the odd omission of the definite article before corner: but I use the phrase to represent a traditional time of thoughtful waiting, not a location or a specific architecture. Sometimes I choose; sometimes she is free to, within limits that she understands. If memory serves, no actual corner has ever been involved.
I let her have her thoughts: about who we are together, and what we were accomplishing that morning. I needed time for mine as well. Nothing of this is routine or casual for us.
I told her to hold her hands out, palms up. I placed the bamboo spatula on them. And we waited together, quietly. When the time was right, I called her to bring it to me.
There was concern in her eyes as she placed the spatula in my hand. Perhaps part of it was for what her already-tender bottom was about to experience, but most was for me, and my “no implements” edge. Despite all our discussion, her chief worry was that I would push myself too far. Think about that.
I placed her prostrate at the foot of the bed, and began slowly and lightly.
When the smacks grew stronger, I grew more doubtful. When the business end landed absolutely flat, it lived up to potential: tons of sharp sting, next to no thud, and good surface color. But that “absolutely” is the problem. Any slight twist or tilt of my hand, or just a tiny bit off in the descending arc, caused the thin blade to land with a leading edge; being so thin, those edges were almost sharp. I didn't care for the way her skin was marking along those impact lines, and stopped quite soon. I released her; sent her back to corner, on her knees that time.
I do not like the bamboo spatula. My belovèd agrees. It is officially retired after one episode. May it enjoy the rest of its life as a kitchen tool.
— Frenulum
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