First posted to the soc.sexuality.spanking Usenet group December 2002.
"...TO THE PAIN" [M/F]
“Tonight you’re going to cry,” Adrian said as he turned off Westley and Princess Buttercup riding off into the sunset.
“You know I never cry when you spank me,” Melinda replied.
“But you will tonight.” Adrian grinned, nodded, and walked into the bedroom.
“Oh really?” Melinda got up off the couch and followed her beloved.
“Yep.” Adrian squatted down alongside the bed and pulled the storage box out from behind the eyelet dust ruffle. “Because tonight I'm going to make you go 'to the pain.' You’re not going to just push it away like you always do.”
Melinda looked up at him with a gaze he had only seen a few times before. Afraid. Sad. Angry. Vulnerable. Then looked at him with a smirk. And a giggle.
“Your arm will get tired first,” she teased.
“Probably. Then I’ll just make you stand in the corner while it rests.” It was Adrian's turn to smirk. Melinda huffed.
“But I hate the corner. And it’s not like I did anything wrong…”
“Take off your pj bottoms and panties.” Adrian nudged her with his shoulder. Melinda pouted, then sighed and began disrobing. As she tugged down plaid flannel and white cotton, he could see the concentration in her eyes. The deep, centered breathing. He reached out and smacked her left cheek with the hairbrush. She jumped and reached behind her.
“Ow! Wait! What – “
“I know what you’re doing – stop it.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You’re preparing. Getting your mind ready to dissociate the pain. I don’t want you to. I mean it that I really want you to feel it.” He stared back at her as she scowled. And gaped. Eyes glazed in disorientation.
Clutching her left arm, Adrian led her body over his lap. Then slapped Melinda's fleshy buttocks repeatedly. Hard. In rapid, concentrated clips for several minutes. She gripped the quilts. Pulled herself onto her elbows, moving her bottom forward. And yelped.
“I know that you don’t cry when I spank you," Adrian began, "because you push the pain away to a place inside where you can’t feel it anymore.” His smacks lagged but remained heavy as he spoke. “And it’s worked to get you through some very tough times. But it’s still there inside. Keeping you from healing. Hurting you much more than this is.” The hairbrush returned to the faster pace. “Let it out…Feel it and let it out.”
She curled her toes. Shifted her weight from one hip to the other. Grunted. Dropped her forehead onto her arms.
Oh god this hurts…He’s going to stop soon. He will…Damnit this stings...Just gotta hang in there a little bit more. It’ll stop in a minute…But it burns. I can’t take it…Yes I can…But he’s not stopping. This just hurts too much…If I can just breathe…Concentrate…
“I want you to focus on how much it hurts. Tell me what it feels like…” He continued the sharp spanks then increased the force when she remained silent. “Talk to me – what’s it feel like?” Melinda squealed.
“It…it hurts.” Then several “ows” and “ohhhwees.”
“Okay, what else.” Still slapping the hairbrush down on her jiggling, scorched buttocks and thighs. “How does it hurt?
“Burning…It…it burns. And stings.” Melinda whimpered and squirmed. Adrian steadied her with his left hand on her back. Delivered a biting slap on the right thigh as her legs jerked upward.
“And…?” Several more smacks on the thighs.
“Ahhh…I…ow…I…don’t know…I can’t…ohhwee…” She was making the sounds of someone crying, but without the tears. And it would be awhile yet before they would come.
Melinda was right. His arm was worn out.
“I want you to go stand in the corner for awhile and think. Think about how much your bottom hurts and how much it’s still going to hurt.” She crawled off his lap and straggled to the corner.
Adrian left her there while he went into the kitchen. Humiliation was not his intent. No, he really wanted to leave her alone with herself. To face what was inside.
The paint blots on the wall began to take on individuality as Melinda stared at them. She hated the corner because it was boring. And then because it made her have to look at herself. Like a surreal sort of mirror. But unlike the warped mirrors in a fun house, this mirror reflected back a small child. The little her. The frightened her. The her without any answers. The her she locked away behind maturity, intelligence and toughness needed to survive a hard life. The her she shielded from all pain. Wherever it came from. She shivered as the cold air wafted around her naked bottom half.
“Come here.” Melinda turned to see Adrian back on the bed, switch in hand. Her stomach dropped. He patted the bed and she bent over. And with as much vigor as before he laid the switch on her cold, scalded bottom. She cried out – but no tears. Yet.
“Let her come out,” he whispered. “Go back to that little girl before she had to become tough and grown up. Back when she could still feel pain.” The switch thwacked across her cheeks. “Back before you built up all those walls. Before you put on all that armor.” Then down across her thighs. “Before all the injuries and illness. All the loss and heartache…”
That small feeling from the corner came back. The little girl who felt lost and scared and lonely and sad. And hurt. Unbearably hurt. Who couldn’t find anything to grab onto in her grown up mind to get her through the pain that burned her skin and throughout her soul…
Oh god…he’s not stopping…it hurts so much…so much…all of it…oh god…I just want it to stop…I just can’t…
“It’s okay. You don’t have to be tough anymore. You’re hurting. You’ve been hurting for a very long time.” Again the switch sliced across her cheeks. “But it’s okay to cry. To feel it.” It seared along the thighs once more. “It’s real pain that would be too much for anyone to bear.” The switch bit a few more times. “Let her cry…”
They started in that spot where the stomach and the chest meet. Yes, the tears came from Melinda's eyes, but they started down there. The sobs rippled through her shoulders. Filled her chest, her stomach, her back.
Adrian dropped the switch onto the floor. Climbed onto the bed and pulled Melinda next to him. Held her in his arms as she lay there on the bed – the little girl/woman – crying.
Copyright 2002 Natty