Self-spankers...wow!

As a professional dancer, I have a high tolerance for pain.  The first time I went to a chiropractor--one who worked on Broadway dancers--we discussed this phenomenon.  He began to work on my back, saying, "Tell me when this starts to hurt--wait...no...you're a dancer."  He informed me that dancers most often will not register pain, so would remain silent, even at a point when a non-dancer would be screaming.  He's right.  Pain is a regular part of our training, and often, our art.

That, coupled with a long medical history--including such gems as: herniated disk, unusually sharp bone spur, kidney stone, ulcerative colitis, scarlet fever, chicken pox, numerous ear infections, chronic headaches & frequent migraines, multiple epidurals, innumerable blood tests & shots, long hours of physical therapy, and the usual sprains and strains--has inured me to pain, generally (I had a very ill childhood :(   ).

That being said, a few nights ago, after hearing my roommate leave the apartment, I let a whim take me:  I took my flat, square-ish, wooden hairbrush from my nightstand drawer, bared my bottom and, standing straight upright, gave myself a quick ten swats, alternating five on each cheek.  I was shocked at how much each swat stung!  Admittedly, I don't do this very often, so my bottom's not accustomed to it; and I have little padding there, especially with the Ballet classes I've been taking lately.  Still, it surprises me (a difficult thing to do, really) just how sensitive my bottom is to a little spanking.  This does not deter my desires one bit--I still strongly crave to be given a real, out-of-my-control spanking by a woman; the same kind of spanking I so immensely crave to give to a recalcitrant girl.

I am simply even more impressed by those who practice self-spanking.  It requires a great deal of willpower, determination, courage, and stamina, in my opinion.

I had one lover who, during phone-sex sessions, I would command to spank herself.  She was a nymphomaniac, who I introduced to spanking (I'll talk more about her in detail at a later date).  While on the phone with her, I had her take the wooden hairbrush I'd bought for her (and to use on her), and spank herself.  I could hear the swats connect, and her accompanying moans, but I'd often demand that she spank harder.  Eventually I would tell her to push the handle of the hairbrush inside herself, and use it as a dildo until she came.  The voyeur in me loooooved these phone calls!  Apparently, so did a school friend of hers, who later admitted to having stood outside her dorm room door and listened.

If I can figure out how to do this right, here is one of my favorite self-spanking videos.  It's short, but I love the expressions on her face--you can tell she is truly punishing herself, but determined!

(Oh, thank God...I thought I'd lost this whole thing, but it saved itself as a draft!!!  Strike 2...)

(Ooooo-kay...guess I am unable to upload a video...strike 3...)

(Ahahahhahahahaaaaaaa *maniacal laughter*...it worked! ...maybe!)

The Return...

Wow...I can't believe my poor bloglet has been ignored for so long!  Here's a short true story, to ease back in...

My ex-step-mother (yes, you read that right) iterated this story to me, about some former neighbors.  I spent at least half of my childhood on a ranch in northern California (a mile from the Oregon state line).  The area is high-altitude desert, but is mostly flat--once a lake, that had been drained to create farmland.  We lived just at the bottom of the West Hill.  There was a small, ramshackle house across the road from us, just up the beginning of the hill.  For a brief time, the house was inhabited by my father's best friend, his young wife, and their newborn baby boy.  Visiting their house was the first time I ever witnessed a mother's breastfeeding a child.

...but that is not the story.

Several years later, after the family had moved to a nearby town, and my father had divorced my step-mother, she was visiting the mother.  By this point there was a second son, and the first, Christopher, was about 4 or 5 years old.  Apparently, it was past his bedtime, but his mother was having trouble getting him to stay in bed.  When he refused to obey, and got himself out of bed, she finally fetched a wooden spoon from the kitchen and spanked him, in the presence of my ex-stepmother.  I can still hear her voice saying something like, "If you git outta bed again I'm gonna spank yer butt.", with her slight country twang.  Christopher, once he'd stopped crying, remained undaunted, and he climbed out of bed again, coming back out to where the ladies were chatting.  He received another dose of the wooden spoon, and another admonishment, again being told that to disobey again meant another session of "spank yer butt".  Finally, little Christopher, still headstrong having subdued another bout of tears, climbed out of bed a third time, went to the kitchen to fetch the wooden spoon, brought the spoon to his mother, and said, "spank-a-my-butt".  If I remember correctly, the ladies were laughing too hard to even try to put Christopher back to bed.


On a personal note:
As I've mentioned before, the only implement I was ever exposed to was a belt, but most spankings for me were with a hand.  Apparently the actuality was close by, but the real use of other implements never even occurred to me--I had seen paddles, but never in someone's home, and never in use, or really even referred to.  I still kind of yearn to know what it would have been like to experience actual corporal punishment with a paddle or wooden spoon.  The whole idea of these implements as regularly used family tools somewhat stymies me, simply because they were never a part of my life at all.  Unfortunately, I don't believe I can ever truly know what they were like (I'm sure some would say I am fortunate in that, but it leaves a hole for me and my mind).  I can play or pretend (and have...), but to experience these things now is never quite real.  This goes for both giving and receiving spankings.  I desire...yearn...crave the reality that I think I cannot truly experience.  Perhaps I am wrong...that remains to be seen.

Anyway...here's a little picture for motivation (thanks, Facebook):