Adult spanking. Being an adult and getting spanked is nothing like being a kid and getting spanked. As a kid you have no choice, and your dad is so big and powerful to you that you submit immediately. I think looking back that the pain of my spanking wasn't the worst part it was the psychological side of being handed down a sentence of "The Belt" having to report to my room and get into position to take it. I had so much anxiety and nervous energy built up by the time he came up to tan my ass that he could have patted my butt and I would have melted down.
Now don't get me wrong he did not pat my butt, he whacked it, and he whacked it hard enough to show me he meant business, but here's the thing, as kids me and my buddies all played games at one point or another where we made loosing the game, the bet, or the challenge punishable by whacks. The guy who lost would sometimes have to bare ass to take them. We would usually hand slap that ass, but sometimes we'd get the belt out or some implement like a wooden spoon or a plank of wood. The point I'm leading to is that when we did it we whacked hard...no joke and I have to say we did it harder than our dad's did, but we never cried. We might hoot and yelp jump around and hold our blazing hot cheeks to sooth them, but we didn't cry. Yet my dad spanking me half as hard would get me crying like a baby.
I wonder if it is, and have to conclude that it is the psychology of being truly at dad's mercy that made the emotions run full tilt and crank up the water works. This leads me to wonder if we as adults now had the opportunity to truly control and dominate men, could we get tears from a spanking? I imagine a prison setting or a war setting, where you can capture and control a man. If you took that prisoner and lets say you were significantly larger and better trained in hand to hand combat so that he knew even outside of the guards with guns he'd still have no choice but to submit, then declared that he was going to get the belt, made him go to his room and wait for it, then finally walk up to his room and give it the way dad did, would he cry?
You're right-on, Jim, when you conclude that the tears occasioned by our Dads' whippings were primarily psychological as opposed to physical intensity. You were sentenced to "The Belt" in your room while for me it was "The Wood" out in the barn. And that same nervous energy that you felt as you waited for your Dad's arrival was what I felt as the urge to pee. The paddle had its designated place on a nail upon the wall, and it had dammed well better be there in plain sight at all times (even when my high school buddies arrived for a visit) or my ass was in serious trouble. So as I'd wait for Dad to arrive to start my licking I'd eye that paddle hanging from the nail. And the more I eyed it the more my bladder seemed to be filling with pee. Since it was only a barn, with nobody around to see, all I had to do was unzip my blue jeans, pull out my dick, and take a piss. That routine would happen at least three or four times while waiting --- but there never was any piss to pee. It was all in my mind because I was scared shitless (and pissless, too). Dads, in our era, were a serious source of power that was not be ignored. So were there tears out in the barn with Dad on one end of the paddle and my ass on the other? Oh, you bet there were, and for the very reason you've included in today's blog.
ReplyDeleteI think that another reason was the dissapointment factor. When we were kids, the parents were our source of security and support and the transgression that had us facing the paddle or spanking also threatened our status as protected. To that effect, they really were tears of remorse. I think if you are looking for those tears now, you must repliate that desire to please as well as the authority and dependance.
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