Wednesday, April 11, 2007

Spankers and Slappers and Paddles, Oh My!

Handcrafted leather paddle with embroidered and jeweled design.
I stood in front of the wall of spankers and slappers, fingering the wooden paddle. I liked its dimensions, but the handle felt too narrow to be held comfortably for any length of time. It was black, but poorly painted. It was dotted with little holes to eliminate wind resistance, making for a sharper, faster smack. That was good. But it looked to be made out of some cheap wood and I could already see it splintering around the holes. I pictured splinters in my ass. That was bad.

I remembered the paddles I’d seen online the night before. Unfortunately, my conscience and my wallet rejected the beautiful and expensive exotic wood paddles on spankers-r-us-dot-com. I let out a sigh, said my goodbyes to the cute gay boy at the counter, and headed out of the leather store and across the street to the woman-owned sex toy store.

I had been in the store before, but couldn’t remember if they even had an SM section. As upscale erotic boutiques go, this one… well, isn’t. All the decent toys – the Vixen products, the glass and metal toys, and the rabbit habits – are kept in glass display cases. Prime retail real-estate is devoted to cheesy, crude, cheap, ugly novelty items for use at bachelorette parties. There’s an enormous rack of trashy lingerie (y’know, the fun stuff), which I’ll admit I perused with interest before remembering that my A’s were unlikely to fill any of those outfits. Then I remembered why I was there. I approached the young women behind the counter, amused at my own feeling of camaraderie with these women I’d never met. When I asked for paddles, I was led to a room blocked off with a velvet rope. The clerk opened it for me, pointed me to the paddles and stood there waiting. Apparently we the people cannot be trusted alone with punishment implements.

I took off my jacket, lifted one leather paddle and smacked it against my forearm. Wimpy. I put it back and picked up the other, which was also leather but with a metal bar down the middle of the interior. This made me nervous. I went a little easy on my forearm. It was good, but not great. It wasn’t terribly well made despite its overcompensating price tag, and I could picture the leather wearing through. The woman standing behind me was making me nervous anyway, so I put it back, thanked her, and headed out.

I’ve been spanked by hand, flogged, belted, and even smacked with the back of a hairbrush. I don’t have a favorite (okay, that’s a lie, I love the belt). I like sting, but I crave the thud of a heavy paddle, the kind of pain that turns into an ache and is accentuated by each subsequent smack. I’ve scanned all the usual suspects online (you know the stores I’m talking about) and I’m not falling in love with anything. I’m intrigued by the idea of paddles made from recycled tire rubber – I mean, does it get anymore environmentally friendly than that – but I’m pretty sure they’re no longer being manufactured. A shame, since they look awfully painful.

Sigh. Whatever is a naughty girl to do?

photo: Rainbow Nights Paddle at

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