It's #ThrowbackThursday again - i.e. I'm up early enough to snip a little low-def video from another Naughty Abby Spanking Video, 2008's "Time for the Belt." This is the same clip I'm posting to Twitter, but....
Check out the original post Doctor When? for what I thought about this video at the time, and a not very well-hidden treasure if you enjoyed the 30-second clip. Fun Fact: Even in 2008 there was still some question as to whether spankings on film were "real," as I reference something about that in the post. Good thing we've all become porn stars since then and we all know that what we're doing on film is what we're doing in real life. And having fun doing it!
The clip here is part of the tawsing section of my favorite film we made, Fierce Foreplay. It's the most like what we do in the bedroom, though there is no sex. That part is just for us. Even so, the film goes through everything from light spanking to the cane, and I have a very marked bottom by the end. I have a fantastic memory of making this movie. I squeal a good bit, but I can honestly tell you, this spanking was painful, fulfilling and amazing.
I like sharing these videos, because I am not your regular spanking model. I am a working woman who loves to cook, and my body shows it. I have a little bit of extra flesh but a girlish squeal, and just a love of spanking that I hope translates to film. This movie was made in 2008, a year after Mr. W and I were married. It's not HD. This clip is all panty-clad. They get removed later in the film, but there's no need to put that unexpectedly on the blog.
Mr. W and I just spent a portion of our morning watching snippets of the old "Naughty Abby" movies. We haven't seen them in years. The drive they were on died years ago, and I had to re-download them from the site where they'd been hosted and fortunately when I "killed" Abby a few years back, I did not take them down. The only one I couldn't get was "The Breaking Point," our final film, because apparently at some point I accidentally deleted it from that hosting site. If anyone has this movie and a way to transfer it to me, please let me know. I will write you personalized erotica, or send you the original cost via Paypal. I'd really like to have this movie back, because it was such an unintentionally iconic moment in our lives. The breaking of the paddle, the ending of the era of "Naughty Abby," the ending, even, of aligning spanking with the word "punishment." I'd like to have it again, for sentimental, erotic, and future project purposes.
Watching one's personal oeuvre of fetish movies does get in the way of other intentions for the day, and so I have not yet worked on the audio files I mentioned. I want to start by turning the old movies into audio files, because I have recently become fascinated with ASMR videos on YouTube. That is a post to come. I thought it would be the one I wrote today, but I'm not there yet, due to the watching of myself and my husband getting our spank on. I really enjoyed it! I had moments where I winced, and Mr. W would look at me and all I could say was "I feel really bad for myself there!" Other comments included: "What ever happened to those panties?" "Ohhh, I'm bruising right there" and I'd point at the screen, touching my own bottom in video form, which is oddly fascinating. "I wore those white socks because I hadn't had a pedicure." "I cried a puddle of tears on the table with this one. You were so mean!" And, four minutes in to "Time for the Belt," "Do you really just belt me for nine minutes straight?" The answer to that one, it turned out, was yes.
I'm coming back to this blog a slightly different person. I'm 35 now, having just celebrated my birthday on Imbolc/Groundhog's Day/Saint Brigid's Day/Candlemas/etc. We celebrated with an amazing spanking and caning, helped along by my new-found toy, the ball gag. The gag is partly due to an initial curiosity, and partly due to apartment living. We finally have an upstairs neighbor we like, with a very darling but young and therefore anxious dog, and I just don't want to randomly scream, even though my body, presumably due to hormonal changes, is more sensitive than it was a few years ago. The other part is that I find it oddly comforting. We keep it loose, so I can move it in and out of my mouth as needed. It's not to stifle me. It's so I can let out the murmurs and moans while restraining myself in taking the harder hits. I like knowing that my reaction is up to me: when the strike is warm and full across the fleshiest part of my bottom, I can moan in sexy "agony," but when it hurts like hell, I can bite down and take it, if I choose. Most importantly, the "naughty" is officially gone from my name. I think there a few other women out there who know what I mean when I say, I am a damn good woman, wife, and creature of the flesh. I deserve not punishment, but uplifting. And if my uplifting comes in the form of having my ass lifted in the air and turned bright red or striped until I can hold it up no more, so be it.
My dryer broke today. I spent hours trying to figure out what was wrong with it, because I rent my house and do not want to have to call my landlady. That would require cleaning the house first, and I'd rather just replace the belt or motor in the dryer if possible. First I cleaned behind the dryer, removing dust bunnies so large I could have named them. Then I spent forever trying to open the top to check the belt. The belt was fine. (Can I just say how sad it makes me that I am writing about my dryer belt and not my husband's belt across my bottom? This is very sad news.) The only thing left to check is the motor, which most likely needs to be replaced. Problem being: I need to get into the back of the dryer to check the motor.
The washer and dryer are wedged into a tight space between two walls. I realized today that the reason the washer, which is newer than the dryer, is dented in the middle is because it was forced into place. That means that the dryer is not coming out. No way, no how. Nor is the washer. They are going to be set between those two walls until the end of time.
Some of you would have very much enjoyed the positions I got into to attempt to move these large appliances. I had just exercised, after which I realized the dryer had broken, as I was trying to multi-task. So I was still in workout gear - snug-fitting running pants and black tank, hair in a pony-tail and cheeks flush with oxygen - when I got down on the floor, braced myself in any number of ways, and attempted to pull the dryer even inches farther than the wall. I'm not beneath hopping behind it to find a fix. I may not be the most physically fit girl in the world, but when I'm determined, I'll do what it takes to get the thing done.
Nothing worked. That thing is so wedged in there that I exhausted every muscle in my body to no avail. Sitting on the floor, right foot braced on one wall, left foot braced on the other, I just began to cry. I've had a ridiculous week in terms of my day job, and all I wanted to do today was work on my new story, work on moving my blog, and work on visiting my friends' blogs. Trying to fix a dryer, or cleaning my entire house so the landlady can get the dryer fixed, was not on the menu. So I wept full sobs of angst. And then I realized that there were better things to cry for.
I came over to the computer and pulled up my old film, "Please Not My Hands." I've been fantasizing a lot about the tawse lately, and had already intended to write a post today entailing my most recent fantasy, which quite literally made me collapse into orgasm earlier, before the dryer debacle. I'd been on my knees at the edge of the bed, as I like to be, and I actually fell forward onto the mattress. Anyhow, the fantasy used then most definitely needs to be written about here, but for now, as it was easier to render a clip and write about appliances, here is a full dozen strokes of the tawse. In this part, I am already openly crying because I've received the tawse on my hands as well as 24 strokes across my bottom. Just when I think it's over, Mr. W decides I need 12 more, and wants to make me count them. There is much sobbing, many exclamations of "ow," and yes, my softly pliant (i.e. a bit fleshy, but do we really care? no, no we don't) backside whipped quite well.
I'm posting this as much to remind myself that there are good things to cry about and stupid things to cry about as I am posting it for your viewing pleasure. There is much weeping. But you've probably already watched it and didn't bother with my diatribe about my dryer. If you did, thanks for listening! I'm still panicking, but I do always feel better about the world when I share my naked bum with it.
One of my favorite things about filming these spanking sessions is that I have a whole new realm of spanking subjects to write about. In this blog, I've covered subjects from "Am I a masochist?" to "Am I secretly a little girl?" I never really thought I'd have an opportunity to focus on the answers to questions such as "Is that really what my arse looks like?" and "Is that a real spanking?" (As many a spanking model has noted before me, the effort in special effects alone make it far more reasonable to just beat a girl than to pretend one is doing so.)
"Time for the Belt," the bit o' fun we shot Thursday night, answers all these questions. For example, if my backside is as pink as a sunburnt baby, I just might be a masochist. Looking at those hips, why, no, I am not secretly a little girl. However, yes, that really is what my arse looks like, and I am finally just loving it. All soft and glowy and curvy and womanly and apparently, quite spankable. It's taken my whole life to be comfortable with my body. Turns out, all I had to do was put it on film and know that people around the world were alright with seeing it. The exhibitionist's delight. And finally, is that a real spanking? If the belt fits, well, take it off and use it on my backside.
I think this is our best film so far, in terms of sound, lighting, and how my bottom looks. It also contains bits of comedy I hadn't noticed at the time of shooting. In the preview clip, I make a funny little goat sound at the end. What is that? I laugh every time I hear it (which has been a few times, what with editing and all). If you find yourself giggling, quite all right! I don't normally make farm animal noises, so I'm finding it quite amusing.
In the full version of the clip, you may also discover our flair for accidental absurdist theatre. As Mr. Williams chastised me for being late, he kept looking at his wrist to indicate the time. The problem is, Mr. Williams does not wear a watch. When he finally realized what he was doing, he scolded me, "I'm not even wearing a watch, that's how late we are." I'm hoping it becomes a catchphrase in the international lexicon of reasons to be spanked.
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.
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.
Here is a short sample of what happens in that first film we posted on Naughty Abby. I have to admit, I can think of nothing but making more of these right now. This is my first time uploading video to the blog, so I hope it works, but most of all, I hope you like it.
These past few days have been some of the strangest of my life. There have been quite a few times that I have felt like I have been wearing too many hats. Trying to get through the work day then come home, help design the shoot, provide input on camera angle, be punished (more harshly than usual--there is a post to come on the strapping I received last night), then approve the edit and get it posted both here and on the new site... there are moments when I'm no longer even sure what my name is, my job is, who I really am in all of this. Then I watch the videos we've made, and I see myself in a way I've always longed to see. Suddenly I think I'm beautiful and made just for this thing we do. My bottom is soft and round and just begging to be beaten. This is me. And I can finally say that quite literally. Just push play. This is me.
