Danger Mouse stared over his right shoulder in vague dread, using his keen, razor-sharp intellect to gauge the painful capacity of the implement affixed to the bizarre contraption, and arrived at the conclusion that, from the looks of it, the thickness and length of the paddle certainly did have the capacity to truly smart. The White Wonder swallowed once, and let out a nervous chuckle, looking to his commander with a futilely hopeful eye, "Ahahaha… I... don't suppose a stern talking to might be sufficient, Colonel? A slapped wrist, perhaps? I assure you, and Her Majesty, that it will never happen again~!"

Unless he had another light SLAM to the head at some point in the future… he really had to train himself against these eventualities! How did one harden their head to the point of diamonds? Penfold was more 'soft in the head' in that respect…

But the paddle pulled back and swung forward and smacked DM's rump.

DM was ready for it, but not ready for it; if you understand. He tensed, his nimble body going rigid and tightening every muscle it could against the sudden assault to his pale naked buns. He did not make a sound, however - just flexed his fingers in their grip on the handles.

The paddle whacked his rear again and a third time.

Ah.

Oh... oh dear.

That was... a LITTLE more of a sting than expected! Ah...

DM clutched the handles more powerfully, and stared forward, resolute.

He wouldn't cry out, of course. That was a given. As the paddle THWACKED across his snowy white buns a third time, he tensed them tight, bracing himself and trying to refer his mind to the weather.

He WAS British, after all.

The paddle sped up and started whacking his rump harder.

DM's single yellow eye bulged at that, and he gritted his teeth, arching his back against the thick wood as it pounded his bum mercilessly. Sweat beaded his temples, his face heating until even his eyepatch felt damp after several more harsh punishing whacks fell and beat his bottom.

His fists trembled with the sheer force of the whacking he was getting, and the brave white mouse wished vainly that he could close his keen ears to the crisp sounds of wood on flesh as the faintest reprieve.

Oh, crikey!! That really smarts--!!

The machine soon smacked DM's rump enough, to turn it pink.

"Sh...sssurSURELY th-that's e-eNOUGH, S-sir...!!" DM managed falteringly between the smacks, his vision blurring, flushing still as he could see that the usually creamy white hillocks of his bare bottom were turning a most unseemly pink - not his shade at all!

Colonel K shook his head in response.