cheekybottom
Posts: 69
Joined: 5/28/2005
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This is posted in these areas: Masters/Dommes/submissives since this applies to each in there own specific ways.
quote:
ORIGINAL: cheekybottom
In a sudden movement the worn brown leather cracks together, tauntingly. I am well aware of how it will be used, why must it shout at me? I know what it wants. It will take my pain; my humiliation, my suffering, but it WON’T take me, my tears.
The snapping of a belt can instantly drive me back to a time where there was more purity left in my life, my childhood. Everyone encounters certain stimulations that can send them hurtling backward, recreating/living past traumas. How do you process such an experience into something more rewarding? I’ve made progress, but have found the allure of being spanked the need to be spanked often conflicting with the past.
The belt will never hold appeal for me while it continues to be gripped in fear. Until I free myself from its claws I will always view it as a severe form of "punishment." I’ve learned to turn myself off by controlling my tears. By giving them (my parents/anyone) a part of me (my tears) it somehow empowered them.
Never have I experienced anything but physical pain from the belt/it has always been used as punishment never for pleasure. I ‘m not sure that I could understand that (if it ever became pleasurable) let alone deal with it. I've never allowed the belt to effect me emotionally (in the presence of others); to do so would be a way of giving in. Now words, the way a person feels about me could cut me to the quick as though the belt had touched my person. There wouldn’t be any welts to be seen, but my feelings would certainly bruise.
It is a shame how this particular trauma of mine has held me back from so many erotic-spanking fantasies... I have managed to explore some by reaching past my initial negative childhood experiences. With the unknowingly effort of a past play partner of mine who didn’t believe in punishments for wrong doing, and made it clear that I would be beaten for pleasure, his and mine. He has no idea how much that has helped me. But I have finally come to realize that this is a defense mechanism of mine in dealing with the fear of intimacy. I have yet to learn how to fully let my past go so that I may better embrace my submission.
I am curious to hear from any bottoms that are specifically in the scene because they unconsciously try to recreate their abusive experiences in the hopes that they can somehow un-do the ordeals of their past and find love or whatever they seek even if it has no name. What are you’re experiences in these areas?
When I look deep within myself I do not feel that I "play" as a way to transform consciousness and stimulate ecstatic erotic catharsis. But having said that... I often struggle with why the mere thought of spanking should turn me on when I think about my childhood.
~d~
quote:
ORIGINAL: junecleaver
I enjoy BDSM for many reasons, but I have to admit that it is closely connected to that fact that my parents are insane.
quote:
ORIGINAL: jennel
I am attracted to older daddy Doms. My parents rarely gave me the love and attention I needed as a child. Coincidence? Heh ...
I often feel very much like a little girl just at the sound of my Dom's voice and that is how I like it. It is a safe haven.
jennel
juncleaver: Care to expand upon that?
jennel: I’m sorry but I wasn’t speaking about parental love but discipline although I will concede that for some it ties into a from of love-“This hurts me as much as it hurts you.” “I’m only doing this for your own good because I love you.”
Here are a few excerpts and personal discloser (found in bold) from past discussions on this subject:
From a submissive
i don't have any answers for you but want to send hugs your way. I often feel embarrassed about things i want knowing that in other circumstances they were harmful to me. Good luck on finding the place you are looking for.
Smiles, thank you name with held. It’s hard to move past certain issues, but I’m sure that it can be done.
Even when the belt is taken out for pleasure (thoughtfully explained before hand), it still requires a lot of thought processing on my part, which can effectively ruin the potential of the “scene” at hand. All it takes is one well-placed flesh stinging snap, and in my mind I am being punished for a wrongdoing. 36 years of parental programming is a hard thing to erase clean.
I have been punished once, and it was with the belt before he even knew the history behind the leather tool. It was a thousand times worse than any blow my parents could have meted out. The physical pain was bearable although it pissed me off enough to stomp my foot at the injustice of it all. I thought: “Damn you! You’re neither my mother nor my father, how dare you?” However mentally it was crushing. Especially afterward, with my parents I was expected to remove myself, and shroud myself in anger with in the privacy of my bedroom. But with him I was given ice for my swollen bottom, made to look deep into his eyes (that was so hard to do), and held soothingly in his arms. I think he knew that I just wanted to run, run away. I thought I needed my anger, but I didn’t, I needed him more. I learned an important lesson that day. I did wrong. I was punished. I was forgiven. All this was done without anger. One should never punish out of anger for it only breeds anger.
At one time the belt was suggested as I was being way too playful at the time, and yes it effectively put me back in the place where he wished me to be, where I should have been had I been more receptive to his needs.
I wonder though. I did what I wanted when I was a young girl. I learned that the pain came, it faded, it went away, and I still got to do what I wanted to do. Naturally there is always a price to be paid, and you can be sure I compensated my parents with stripes of my flesh. And now, how many times can anyone threaten and still maintain it’s over all effectiveness?
It is not my place to test, nor do I want to, but my mind will still wonder.
~d~
From a Dominant:
As a Dominant, every once in a while I reflect on my punishment sessions as a child. This post reminds me of such. I was waiting for you to come back and then I thought Id talk about my view of the belt.
But more so how you point to the transformation of an evil thing into something maybe welcomed and some how made sense of.
I must admit that I didn’t see the belt that often, it was used primarily by mother and that was when she came to the conclusion that when we were spanked , we' d scream and cry ( brother and I) and then she'd walk out of the room and we would laugh at her. lol of course quietly. Boy we sure put on a good show.
But then the belt starting coming out. I can't say I found subspace, but I sure had a sore ass a few days after sometimes. Yah something’s never change, I still get into trouble here or there, but in all fairness, no one gets hurt.
So back to this belt thingie ...
really when it comes down to it, I think the belt is a universal disciplinary tool. I would like to hear more "tops" talk about their experiences too, for we all were (underlings) at one point, and were all disciplined somehow. Hey maybe they took your Cracker Jax away, I don't know. But most my age, knew the Belt.
I have plenty of them, but still don't use it, if at all.. Too much stigma, if I want to punish, guess what comes out................. A big wood handled hairbrush, sorry if that offends some one, but I know its power and it does the job.
Words from a Domme
Ahh, the belt: Now that is a punishment with which I'm quite familiar.
During my formative years the preferred method of discipline for my mother was the belt. Dad has thick Garrison belts and mother used them on us and would snap them in such a way to catch our bottoms or the back of the legs. Many times the buckle caught me right behind the knees. I think I had a permanent welt there for quite sometime. I am the oldest of 3 and many times I took the belt punishment for a younger sibling as I could 'take it' better. I would simply step in the line of fire, and endure what I had to for their sake. We soon learned to yelp and cry early on so that the hitting would stop and like name with held, we laughed as she went away because after awhile, it didn't hurt quite as much anymore.
As a Domme, I never strike another with a belt as the crack of it brings back those memories of cowering when mother's rage got the best of her. She wasn't a raging lunatic, but she was out of control, often, those few years she struck us in this way.
I love using a paddle on a submissive, for I feel the vibrations of the whack run through my hand and it feels quite powerful to me. And to watch my submissives ass turn that lovely shade of red, ohhhhhhh, simply heaven. And when I stroke his lovely reddened ass and watch him responding to my strokes and touch, well what could be better than that?
quote:
I am the oldest of 3 and many times I took the belt punishment for a younger sibling as I could 'take it' better.
I am the eldest of three as well, and can distinctly remember a time when I took a beating for my brother who was such a tiny thing. He sat a top his high chair quivering in fear, while I was on my hands and knees picking up bits of food, and lint in the hopes to please a mother who was way beyond angry. I must have blocked out the reason why he was about to get a strapping for I do not recall what he did to upset her so. I just remember a girl scrambling to please and a tiny boy who would have shattered under her blows.
Even though the very idea puts me in my place, a place that a Master prefers, the use of such a tool should be well thought out when concerning me.
If left alone to my thoughts the cold begins to seep in creating distance, anger, and resentment.
In response to the male Dominant I never laughed after, I only hated.
~d~
I also recall a time when I was chased around our home with my mother belt in hand, round and round we went the house I was much faster than her and I could only imagine what the neighbors must have thought! After awhile before I begun to tire my senses kicked in, I can’t run forever. And so eventually I stopped and took my belting. Did I give in? No, I took it like anyone stronger can. That is the only time I found it somewhat comical.
Has anyone ever watched the movie:
Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood (2002)
A Southern comedy drama about life, love and family which follows a group of lifelong friends as they stage a rather unorthodox intervention to help a young playwright unravel the truth about her eccentric mother, find forgiveness and come to terms with her difficult past.
January 23, 2005
The mother in the movie chased after her children in the pouring rain with her hitting arm raised as far back as she could manage wielding a long, soaking wet brown belt with a heavy belt buckle clasped between her fingers. I sat frozen, and helpless watching bodies slipping frantically across the rain saturated lawn, jerking back in pain, as bodies fell, and struggled to gain firmer ground, that hand never lost its grasp, the belt buckle laid secure in her punishing embrace. A neighbor happened by, shuffling the children into her pick up truck. The scene ended, but my mind kept flashing to a similar occurrence of my own childhood. Once again, I don’t remember what I had done wrong. I only recall running from my mother just as they had done, but while they jumped away from her slashing arm they stayed within striking range. I on the other hand put as much distance from the one I call mother, her belt folded in half waiting until she managed to catch up with me. We ran around the house several times before I realized that I couldn’t run forever, I halted, and then the beating came. No neighbor savior riding up in a white pick up truck for me.
Little pockets of time, lost until something triggers them open. How can something that occurred so long ago remain just as fresh as the day it happened?
Early today I experienced the belt briefly during a made up version of Jenga-Dungeon Blocks. The tower started to list as I removed a block, and before I knew it they scattered everywhere, the one left in my hand that caused the downfall read: 10 belt strokes. I was going to be okay, it was a game, and I trust him. The strokes from the belt fell upon my skin in soft thud like patterns as I counted each one out. I anticipated many things, but I wasn’t prepared for the feel of the belt gliding across my skin or the sensations evoked knowing whose belt was acquainting its being erotically rather than as a punishment.
The belt has a main function, and that is to hold ones pants up. While knowing this I also know that it can be used sensually, but am more familiar with its punishment uses, which is how I personally identify with its practical applications. I can put on and take off a belt like any daily task of dressing ones self without recall, but watching another, especially a male generates unpleasant memories especially if they jerk it off in irritation, and suddenly in my mind the intent for which it will be used is that of physical chastisement. I find this all rather confusing as I am condition to one response in relation to its functionality, being aware of its other uses matters not, especially after liking it during a brief amount of time, and then later completely appalled after hitting a memory wall. That night the belt evoked two recollections. A newly awakened sensuality, and that of a lanky girl with long curly brown hair running around her house from a belt-wielding mother, yes this confuses me. After all, this same girl all grown up came close to liking it. Why?
I do not feel as though I am in any relationship for the nurturing after certain “punishments”, things I didn’t get as a child from my parents. However there was certainly a difference between the two. One was done out of anger, and the other without. Where one taught hate, the other taught correction. The one resented, while the other forgave, and moved on. It is much easier to stand your tormentor in the eye and shield yourself in hate, than to look the other in the eye, knowing that you did wrong, realizing that all is forgiven because not only do I have to own up to that, correct the behavior, but I also must face the hurt that I caused. It’s easy to lash out in fury, releasing negative energy, but I can’t imagine it being an easy task to discipline once calm, knowing that the one you care for is hurting even if they were mistaken in their actions.
I plan to post this long winded response in the Master and Domme section as well
~d~
< Message edited by cheekybottom -- 6/5/2005 8:24:56 AM >
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Kiss me I'm Irish, Spank me I'm Italian.
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