With Dignity and Elegance

BabyMan will be the first to tell you that I cry really easily. Too easily as far as he's concerned.  And no offense to all of you out there who say you can take a spanking without a tear or the occasional gut wrenching sob, but I find that absolutely… unbelievable. The pain of having my bottom burned by a paddle accompanied by a scathing diatribe on how I’ve disappointed him is enough to have me screaming into, and completely soaking through an extra firm pillow. But I have spoken to many women within a forum and through blogs, who can actually bend over, take 30 or 40 stripes with a cane, and never utter a sound or move an inch. A friend sent me a video on Spankingtube of a woman who was being whipped with several different medieval torture devices, and remained relatively quiet as a mouse (she cries slighly, but if it were me, they'd be able to hear me in Afghanistan) while her behind turned a deep purple before my very eyes.  Even more amazing, she remains perfectly still.  There was no cutting or splicing of the tape for the opportunity to apply makeup to her bottom for effect.  This was real, up close and personal.  I found myself screaming at the computer screen, “WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU? GET UP!  RUN FOR YOUR LIFE!"

Okay, part of my angst is jealousy. I’ve given it my best shot when being punished to take it without fighting, squirming and crying like a 4-year-old. I believe there’s something to be said for taking a spanking with peace, serenity and total acceptance, and this is what I want to achieve.

A friend of mine, Jade Alanson, wrote a series of books about an entire family of brothers all in domestic discipline marriages, as well as the parents. My favorite character in this series is Kathleen Brady, the matriarch of the clan, who has been in a dd relationship so long, she has come to take her spankings with poise and elegance. I suppose I identify with her mostly because she’s closer to my own age, and she has a degree of wisdom, humor, and quiet dignity that I admire.  I can see her in my mind’s eye, striking a balance as she hangs on to her pride and a measure of humility at the same time. As Jade describes her, "No matter how much she knew a punishment was inevitable, she had her little ways of offering resistance with a last unspoken gesture of defiance.” And throughout her punishment she speaks to her husband in in a calm, rational demeanor that impressed me enough to want to emulate her class.

Kathleen Brady!  What a babe! This is who I want to be, because it speaks of self respect and acceptance. It also takes a drop of power out of his hands and puts it in mine for just a fleeting moment as it assumes my own consent and cooperation.

So every time I hear the words, “Go get the paddle and wait for me in the den,'" a couple of things cross my mind. The first is Oh My God, how am I gonna get outta this? And once I’ve accepted the fact that I’m trapped, I think, Kathleen Brady. I need to act like Kathleen Brady. She’s elegant and strong, and she accepts her fate with dignity and grace. I need to remain still, not fight or squirm, and do my very best to keep quiet. I need to…

“AAAAAAAH! OH GOD! THAT HURTS! NO BABY, PLEASE… PLEASE… PLEASE… AAAAAH! OH GOD, HELP ME, AAAAAAAH..."

So why is this so difficult for me? Where do I go to acquire the nobility and decorum that I so desperately want to portray? I don’t want to constantly be screaming and sobbing like I’m being tortured, running the risk of having the neighbors call the police because the sounds from our unit lead them to believe that I’m being slowly murdered.  Some of my tears and yelling is a reaction to BabyMan’s disappointment in me, but most of it is a reaction to the pain. That paddle stings to no end, I am in constant anticipation that another strike is going to grace the same general area, and intensify the burn.  The anticipation alone causes me to squeal like a pig.

The downside of taking a spanking the way I desire to with little sound or agonizing, is that I believe that BabyMan will note my silence and assume that he is not getting through to me. If there’s no audible evidence of pain and suffering, he will no doubt wield that paddle with more force and determination in order to achieve his goal. So I’m trapped in somewhat of a dichotomy.  Even if I do ever get to the point in my life where I can display the quiet, calm elegance during one of the most painful and humiliating sessions of my life, I run the risk of creating a more sever punishment by virtue of my silence.

So I will admire from afar the people I have come to know as my models of feminine strength.  And I will forever remain really really... loud.