I actually prefer the strap, not because it’s more or less painful than a cane or wooden paddle, but because the aroma of tanned leather suffused with sweat and tears is intoxicating. My aching puss seeps whenever a whiff wafts near. Awkward in polite society but then again, most of our circle know me quite intimately. SMACK! The first swipe echoed like a shotgun blast from a blind. SMACK! The second drove the held breath from my lungs. Mrs. Cleanknockers was in no hurry; ever the professional, she seemed determined to wring every last wicked thought from my naughty bottom.
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