The thing about a proper spanking is that it involves all of the body's responses to pain. This is separate from questions of submission or dominance, of sadism or masochism. Those are psychological issues.
Physically, pain happens in two ways.
The first is the instant reaction to a trauma of some sort. Whether a stubbed toe or a wood spurtle, the offended nerves flash their message across the synapses until the signal finds its way to the spinal cord and the brain. Although not instantaneous, the brain knows within about a hundred milliseconds that something has happened. That instant flash of pain can be handled. Sometimes it doesn't even register. Every kid has managed to stub a toe or cut a foot while running and not been aware of the wound until he or she sees blood spots on the floor. The neurotransmitters involved here are the "A Delta fibers."
The true beauty of the
saltare doloris
and the
canticum doloris
comes from the "C fibers." They send a belated message to the brain, a message that takes almost a full second to register. But that's not the really important thing. What really matters is that those beautiful C fibers don't just send out a single signal. They keep transmitting and meanwhile, the body's blood is flooded with enzymes and hormones to prepare it, the classic "fight or flight" reaction.
And they stay busy, transmitting their message of danger. Since they keep sending, their signal builds with repeated abuse. The result is the
saltare doloris
, the Dance of Pain, as the shrieks the C fibers are sending override everything else the nervous system is doing. The body writhes, the legs kick, muscles tighten in a protective mode, and fingers hook into claws, ready to attack whatever it is that is causing the hurt. No matter how masochistic the mind is, the body dances its beautiful dance.
The song, the
canticum doloris
is just as involuntary. It starts with a hissed intake of breath and moves through grunts, the soft choking of crying and sobs, and inevitably, to shrieks when the body cannot tolerate what is happening to it. Down at the cellular level, where the lizard or rabbit make their final cry as the predator's jaws close, the human body simply has no choice but to sing its beautiful song. Since those wonderful C fibers continue to send their cries for help, that pain lingers and builds if more trauma is sustained. Done properly, after a spanking a woman's voice will be hoarse and husky for days afterwards.
If you would know what all of this is like, to have your nervous system overridden, go to any airport that supports the big commercial jets, and stand at the fence at the end of the runway from which the planes are taking off. The sheer noise of the big jet engines under full takeoff power will have much the same impact. You'll find your nervous system overridden as you stand, trembling, until the noise diminishes enough to release you.
The body, again the physiology of the human mammal, expends huge amounts of energy attempting to handle that level of trauma. Once the immediate source of the pain is removed, the deep sleep of healing is inevitable.
I watched Margie sleeping after her inaugural spanking.
She slept deeply. Her face had the complete relaxation of the deepest sleep. Her nose was running slowly, her body's reaction to the trauma she had endured. Her mouth was open slightly, something made necessary by the swelling of her sinuses as she cried and suffered. She was drooling slightly.
She was beautiful right then. She was completely female and utterly feminine.
I watched her sleep, smiling.
She was on her belly, her left arm bent under the pillow, her right straight out, almost as if she was reaching for me. The sheet was a tangled mess on the floor and as I lay there, my smile spreading, I admired the two almost perfectly rectangular bruises right where she sits. They were the dark purple shading into the black of a true deep bruise. I smiled, thinking how they would remind her of her surrender every time she sat for at least a week.
I watched her sleep, just enjoying looking at her.
Eventually, it felt like a long time but I think it probably wasn't more than five minutes or so, her eyes fluttered open.
"Oh, God," she said, swiping her hand across her cheek where she had drooled.
I chuckled and said, "You're beautiful."
She smiled then, and said, "In this moment, I can believe you."
"You should," I said, "because I mean it and because it's true."
She frowned then and I could almost see the wheels turning, as they say, in her head. That was her "I'm thinking" frown.
"Sooooooooooo," she said, drawing out long vowel, "Shall I call you 'Sir,' or 'Master,' or anything like that?"
I smiled and touched the rectangular bruise nearest me, the one on her right cheek. I liked her little sharp intake of breath, those busy C fibers keeping her very sensitive.
I chuckled and kissed her cheek before whispering in her ear, "Oh goodness, no."
"No?" she asked, her voice still soft and breathy as she was waking up.
"No, Margie," I said, "this isn't some weird Dom/Sub relationship. This is a sharing."
I smiled at her frown of confusion.
"Say the words," I said.
She held my eyes then, just a hint of a smile on her face, as she said, almost as she
recited,
"I am yours. I give myself to you. Nothing is held back."
"I accept your gift," I said, and kissed her.
