Uncle Bingo’s Pawn Shop asked me to come by and I was happy to do it. Uncle Bingo is the only pawn store dealer in Georgia willing to buy used sex toys and furniture. He also makes his own pulled pork in a shed in the back. When I come to consult for him, he always offers me a free plate. That is a good man.
I walked into the pawn store and Uncle Bingo waved at me from the front counter. There was a blonde woman waiting there and she had a cute little ass. Her face would have been pretty except that she was frowning and it looked like she frowned a lot. Unhappy women were both a weakness and a curse to me.
“Hey Ken,” Uncle Bingo said. “I would like you to meet Ms. Merrit here. Ms. Merrit, this is Ken Hale. He knows everything there is to know about paddles.”
Ms. Merrit’s frown didn’t improve any. I guess being an expert on paddles didn’t impress her any. “Pleased to meet you,” she lied.
“Pleased to meet you,” I said. Oh Lord, this was one unhappy woman. I wanted to run away from her something fierce. I also wanted to ask her out. I decided to stick to business.
“How are you doing, Uncle?” I asked.
“Not bad, Ken,” he said. “The pig has been cooking since four this morning so it should be ready soon. I was wondering if you could take a look at Ms. Merrit’s paddle for me first.”
“Sure, Uncle,” I said. I knew it had to be a rare paddle because when it came to sex toys, Uncle Bingo was pretty damn smart. The man had been selling handcuffs and crops since before I was born. If he needed my opinion, it has to be for something special.
I was right. He took out a beautiful paddle. It had a rich brown color to it that soaked in the light. Just by looking at it I could tell how well made it was. When he handed it to me, I was struck by how perfect the weight was. The leather grip felt good in my hand like it was made for it. This was something special all right.
I looked at the base of the handle and saw what I expected. It was signed RJ. This could be an original Randy Jack paddle.
“where did you get this?” I asked Ms. Merrit.
“It belonged to my father,” she said with a bit of disgust. “I knew he was sleeping around with the older women in the neighborhood but it wasn’t until he passed away that I discovered that he had a sex dungeon in the basement. I was going to throw it all out but my friend told me to take it to Uncle Bingo’s first.”
“Good thing you did,” Uncle Bingo said. “A trash man wouldn’t pay you a cent for those magazines, suspension rig or leather handcuffs. I was going to make her an offer on the paddle but I wanted you to see it first, Ken.”
“Well Uncle Bingo, what are your concerns with this paddle?” I asked.
“Mostly I just want to know if it is real,” Uncle Bingo said. “I know paddles but I have only seen one other Randy Jack paddle.”
“Who the fuck is Randy Jack?” Ms. Merrit said.
“Randy Jack was a spanker who made his own paddles in the 80’s,” I said. “He made paddles that were so good that other people tried to buy them from him. He wasn’t really interested in money and the paddles took a long time to make. He would give some away as gifts but that was it. We’re aren’t even sure how many he made.”
“So they are kind of rare?” Ms. Merrit said. Her frown started to improve ever so slightly. When people hear the term, rare, they associate it with money. Big money.
“A real Randy Jack paddle sold recently for ten thousand dollars,” I said.
“Fuck!” Ms. Merrit said. Her face was beautiful for a split second with happiness.
“That is IF it is real,” Uncle Bingo said.
“True,” I said. “If it is not a real Randy Jack, then it is just a really nice paddle. At that point, I wouldn’t put a retail value of more than fifty dollars.”
Ms. Merrit’s frown was back. “How do tell if it is real?”
I took a deep breath. “We got to test it. I have swung a few Randy Jack paddles in my time. I’ll be able to tell by the feel.”
“Then start swinging,” Ms. Merrit said. Uncle Jack was trying really hard not to laugh.
“It is not that simple,” I said. “Swinging a paddle in the air is pointless. Randy Jack made these paddles so that they would hit asses. You can tell by the sound they make, by the way the feel feels in your hand when it impacts an ass and by the marks it leaves on the ass. The only real way to test it is on an ass.”
“Don’t look at me,” Uncle Bingo said. “My ass don’t get hit by nobody.”
“Can you get one of your employees?” Ms. Merrit said.
“I ain’t got no employees,” Uncle Bingo said. “That is how I got such low overhead.”
“I will need to be the one swinging it in order to accurately judge authenticity,” I said.
Ms. Merrit bit her lip and frowned some more. She was shaking her head.
“A little bit of spanking could make the difference between fifty and thousands of dollars,” I said. I was trying to be helpful. Like I said, I had a weakness for frowning women.
“Could we go in the back and test it?” she asked.
“Ain’t got no back,” Uncle Bingo said. “Don’t need a back when it is just me.”
“Can we at least lock the front door?” Ms. Merit said.
“What? And turn away customers?” Uncle Bingo said.
Ms. Merrit looked at the door and back at the paddle. She was seriously debating it. The frown lines on her face deepened.
“Ms. Merrit, Sunday mornings are not a busy time. If you agree to help test, I promise to make it as fast as possible.” I didn’t mention that going fast might be good for her dignity but it wouldn’t be good for her ass.
“I guess that will have to do,” she said.
I tried not to smile. I was happy to smack her ass but I was more excited to swing a possibly real Randy Jack paddle.
“Do I just turn around?” Ms. Merrit said. She was this close to rolling her eyes.
“A proper test will mean a proper position. Turn around bend over the counter here. Also, you are going to need to take off your jeans and underwear.”
“Excuse me?” she said.
“A paddle, especially a Randy Jack paddle was not made for clothed bottoms. I will need to examine the marks it makes on flesh and the way the paddle absorbs the impact. Even something as thin as panties can mess it up.”
“Son of a bitch,” Ms. Merit said. “This thing better be real.”
She turned around and kicked off her sneakers. She unbuttoned her jeans out of my line of sight. It is always strange what women find important for modesty’s sake. That was fine with me. I had no problem watching her ass as she slipped her jeans down over her dark blue panties. She stepped out of her jeans and then yanked her panties down as fast as she could. After stepping out of her panties, she bent over Uncle Bingo’s counter. She was doing her best to not show off or make it exciting in any way. She was exposing her ass under protest.
I love protest ass. The paddle felt good in my hand as I stepped next to her. I put my hand on the small of her back. She jumped under my touch and I smiled.
Staying in position, she turned her head to look at me. “Is touching me really necess-OW!”
I had a paddle in my hand; I had to use it. It cut through the air like a knife. It smacked into her bottom with a solid WHACK that sent shivers up my legs.
Ms. Merrit was shivering too. She started to stand up straight but my hand pushed her back down.
“I’m authenticating,” I said firmly.
I smacked her ass again. She had a nice plump bottom and the paddle sent shockwaves through her curves. I struck her a little bit lighter than the first smack but I know to her inexperienced ass, she couldn’t tell the difference. All she felt was a stranger smacking her bare bottom in a public store.
The paddle was great. I smacked the sides of her ass, the center of her ass, and the top of her thighs. I sent a few swings downwards on her ass and a few more swings upwards from the bottom of her ass. She wiggled and flinched but I never missed. The paddle struck true with every swing.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK!” she cried.
I kept paddling. I spanked her ten times as fast as I could.
“Fuck, fuck, SHIT, SHIT!” she cried.
I spanked her ten times in the exact same spot until it became unbearable to her.
“GOD DAMN IT FUCK!”
I spanked her with very light taps to see if I could manage the weight of the paddle. After the spanking she had endured, even these light taps stung her poor bottom.
“Ow! Ow! OWW!”
After a good solid five minutes of paddling, I stopped. I bent down to see her ass up close. I swear I could feel the heat radiating up from her bottom. That might have been my imagination but what wasn’t my imagination was the smell. I could smell her desire and almost taste it on my tongue.
She tried to stand back up but my hand kept her down. “Is it a real?” she asked.
“Might be,” I said. “The marks are typical of his work. There is a faint imprint from the outline of the paddle as well as some signature wavy lines from the way he polished the wood. The paddle certainly feels right so far.”
“So we’re done?” Ms. Merit said.
“We ain’t done until my expert is satisfied,” Uncle Bingo said. I wasn’t sure if he did that pun on purpose.
“I need to verify the stress capabilities of the paddle,” I said.
“What does that me-SON OF A BITCH!”
I really let her bottom have it. My arm pulled back as wide as possible and then swung towards her ass. I threw all of my strength behind it and hit her ass with a terrifying WHACK that shook some glass figurines on a shelf. Ms. Merit stood up and danced on her feet. She grabbed her ass and spun around in shock. The frown was completely gone and all I saw was pure hatred. It sent tingles down my cock. She was also so angry with me, that she didn’t realize she was flashing me her little blonde bush.
“What the fuck?!?” she said. Venom dripped with every word.
I held the paddle up. “Not even a crack on it,” I said. “Most paddles can’t handle that kind of stress but a Randy Jack can.”
Ms. Merit smiled. I had damn near blistered her ass but she was smiling. “So it is authentic?”
“Yep,” I said. “As nice as it is, I would give it a retail value of about ten thousand dollars. That is what rich fucks are paying for top of the line paddles right now.”
“Hot damn!” Ms. Merit said.
“He said retail,” Uncle Bingo interrupted. “I got to make some money on it myself.”
Ms. Merit didn’t seem fazed by this news. The smile wasn’’t moving. She had no idea how hard of a negotiator Uncle Bingo was.
“You can pull your pants back up,” I said casually.
The smile vanished and turned into a blush. Her face turned a brighter shade of red than her ass was. She bent over get her panties, wincing as she moved. She yanked them as fast as she could.
Ms. Merrit let out a scream as the fabric of the panties touched her tender ass. I figured that hearing that scream was almost as good as the pulled pork I had coming to me.
“Ken, why don’t you go out back and have Junior get you a plate,” Uncle Bingo said. “ Me and Ms. Merrit are going to talk numbers.”
Thirty minutes later, I decided that the scream was better than the pork.