What's My Line? (Abby's First Paddling)

Preview from Abby's First Paddling 

There are a few standard characteristics I have when I'm about to receive a spanking. I call Mr. Williams "Sir," for starters. I instantly go into little girl mode, pouting and protesting, having a bit of a whiny tantrum, but I do what I'm told, albeit hesitatingly.
As the spanking progresses, the woman takes over. My pride makes me squirm and grit my teeth, trying not to make a sound--usually failing. My breath quickens; I exhale in moans and sighs. I still cry out, I still yelp, I still, most certainly, call him Sir, but the body in which I resided at the beginning, the one that doesn't want to be punished, is overcome by the arch of my back and the tension in my thighs. I am all too aware that when I toss my head back in pain, I want him to grab my hair and pull it. When I lean forward from a powerful stroke of whichever implement he holds, I know what flesh is within his view. The shame I would have felt at being exposed in the beginning is gone. If anything, the only shame I may feel is that of wanting to be harshly disciplined, and even that dissipates as all feeling becomes focused increasingly on my backside. I am then free to fall into the punishment, to let it become, for a short time, my world.

There are, of course, variations to the tale, but the short version is: I am small, I am grown, I am released. Perhaps, in that sense, a punishment scene is like a micro-lifespan for me. Afterwards, I am reborn. I have been experiencing and writing about this long enough that I know this spanking story by heart. I know it, that is, until the rehearsal that has been my life is over and the tale is played on stage.

I'm posting another clip, this time of a paddling we filmed last night featuring the Cane-iac Little Red Schoolhouse paddle. The paddling, by the way, was enormously painful and fabulous and I am ridiculously sore today. That, however, is another post. Right now, what I am fascinated by is the fact that we cut the first minute because I cannot keep track of who I am. Am I my husband's wife, about to play with a new toy? Am I Abby, spanking and schoolgirl enthusiast? Am I a little girl or a grown woman? Why is playing myself suddenly the hardest role I've played?

From second grade through college I was on stage. I have been a 17th century New England colonist, two fairies (one of whom, oddly, is murdered on stage), a wicked stepmother, a wicked queen, Eliza Doolittle in My Fair Lady--for heaven's sake, I was Dogberry in Shakespeare's Much Ado About Nothing! How is it easier for me to have a beard, a sword, and a drunken swagger than it is to bend over and be me?

Part of it is knowing that we're not going to film straight through the parts that come after an off-screen spanking. We're making spanking films, but as the one friend I have told informed me, I am not a porn star, despite my insistance that after a week of owning a camera, I most certainly am one. (Insert wry grin.) Part of it is knowing that although my instinct is to play the girl, I am a woman. I'm never going to convincingly play the schoolgirl, and I know that. Part of it, quite simply, is that I am almost always in character. I am a different person at work than I am with my family, who is a different person than I am with my husband, who is a slightly different person than I am with my friends. It's all masks and hats and hoping I wear the right one at the right time. In the past year, I have been more myself in this blog than I have been anywhere else, save with Mr. Williams. I want the me that is here to translate to the me on film, minus the floral language.

The difference, I suppose, is allowing myself to not play a character. To let go, to not even attempt to create a script, to wear what I feel like wearing and to be the person you've come to visit here. Not a schoolgirl, not even a bad girl, just Abby, her arse up in the air and her heart on her sleeve. Maybe I'll be able to fully be m yself next time. Then again, I've had quite a few new readers lately, and maybe the new ones are here for my round red bottom. Either way, here's a taste of why I can't sit comfortably today.