The Tears You Can't See on the Table

A preview of Abby's Strapping

I've never had a spanking not go according to plan. That's because there has never been a plan. Whenever we've tried to plan a spanking, we end up doing something else. Therefore, our play has always been spontaneous and unpredictable. I've learned this week that a planned and filmed spanking is something else entirely, especially when something goes wrong.

At my prompting, we filmed a hard strapping scene earlier this week. We've never played as hard with the strap as we did in this. I actually said to my husband beforehand, "Don't be nice to me. You can be nice to me afterwards." And you know what? He wasn't. I know it was as difficult for him as it was for me, and I think there may have been moments when we both wanted to stop, but we knew it was too good not to finish. Too good, that is, until the lighting wasn't quite right and the camera that was supposed to be zoomed at my (agonized) face from the kitchen counter (a camera angle we had struggled over for what felt like ages) failed to zoom.

In the first third of the strapping, I was wearing jeans. Even through the denim, the strap, a barber strop with a surprisingly vicious bite, my bottom stung and burned. On film, however, it just looks like he's beating a dark blur. Without the facial camera, you can't even tell it hurts, other than my occasional yelping. Therefore, we left that out of the edited 4 minute "movie" we ended up posting on the clip site, leaving only the strapping on my white panties and then on my bare backside. It's a bit mean--not squeamishly so, but enough so that when I watch even the five-stroke clip above, I wince.

What's strange about the whole experience is the feeling of having failed an audience that wasn't even necessarily expecting anything. The table over which I am bent was covered in tears by the end of the ten minute punishment. I don't normally cry that much and it was overwhelming in itself. To feel that I had given so much of myself, that my husband felt that he had taken so much from both me and himself, and then to not have the film we wanted afterwards was frustrating. If anything, it was that feeling afterwards that was squeamish. I've never had to think of a spanking in terms of being a success or not. It's been fun and it's been relieving; it's been arousing and it's been terrifying. It's never been a matter of business.

I imagine this will be a subject I return to as we explore this new endeavour. On the upside--we bought new lighting, hopefully fixed the problem with the second camera, have a better concept of what we want to see, and, best of all, were both still able to be completely aroused by what we had filmed. A strange separation occurs after a spanking scene has been uploaded to the computer, I've discovered. Even knowing how much it hurt, how my husband had to hold me so gently afterwards as I cried, telling me how well I did and how proud he was of me, I watched the strap cracking against my own flesh and I found myself thinking, "Beat me harder."

For all the learning we have to do, for all the fears and doubts and questions I have, I can't help but think I've finally put my toes into the right water after all.