Five Implements

Meat Tenderiser

It’s a wooden mallet, the two faces capped with heavy disks of metal. Each disk is imprinted with a different pattern. I ask her to tell me which face it is I’m hitting her arse with, then I hit her. I tell her that I’ll stop once she gets it right three times in a row. She guesses wrong. I hit her again. Hard smack of the mallet into flesh. Thwap. She guesses. Wrong. Wrong. Right. Wrong. Right. Right. Wrong.

I can see bruises forming already. “Please,” she says, “I can’t tell!” She says this as though I’m not perfectly aware that the game we’re playing is unfair.

Hand

I take her over my knee for this. Take her clothes off her – t-shirt over her head. Pull her pyjamas down and let her step out of them. Gentle, gentle. This is a punishment that isn’t really a punishment. She’s been good. Good girls get the hand, not the belt.

She kneels. Drapes herself over my legs. She’s a warm, heavy weight across my lap, squirming, breathing. I put my hand against her arse. Soft. Pleasing. She clutches my leg, then the edge of the bed, then my leg again. Doesn’t know where to put her hands.

After the first swat – which is loud and sharp and which I feel in the shock through my fingers – she groans quietly and arches her back. She bares her arse, begging for more.

USB Cable

I use her phone charger, because it is hers and this seems fitting. She has come to my house and she had brought with her the thing that I will use to hurt her without even knowing it. I coil it up and put a hand in the small of her back. She lies face-down on the bed in front of me, face buried in a pillow.

The noise is quiet and high-pitched – the most whip-like sound of any implement I’ve ever used on her. I like that sound as much as I like the loop-shaped marks the cable leaves. The layer pleasingly over one another. They criss-cross. Each one branded into her by that quiet, stomach-tightening sound.

Bible

We are drunk. We are in a hotel room in some backwater part of England. We are outside our natural habitat. The Bible is bound in faux leather, embossed, a Gideons edition. A softback brick of over a thousand leaf-thin pages.

It makes a very satisfying sound. A heavy thud – each one followed by a snort of laughter from her. It leaves no marks. Insubstantial. Perhaps next time, I tell her, we can use a dictionary.

Cane (Metal)

She buys it for me as a gift. When it arrives it isn’t the whippy metal car aerial she expected, but instead a solid metal rod. The kind of thing that could really damage something. You could smash a window with this. You could use it to vandalise a bus shelter.

Still, it is a gift. It would be impolite not to use it. I have her lie on the bed. “Are you sure?” she says. I tell her I’m sure, and (bless her, she trusts me) she takes her position on the bed. She grips the covers, grits her teeth. She looks like she’s expecting to end up broken.

I spend a long time touching her with the cane before I hit her with it. And when I hit her it’s more of a tap than anything else – gentle and percussive. Still; it leaves bruises. Deep ones. I tell her thank you for the cane. I tell her the bruises are the gift she gets in return.