Alright, folks. I thought I’ve educated you guys up enough. Now—you get to hear about Korey’s spankings.
Do you distantly remember that my husband James and I have a DD relationship going? The thing you don’t know yet is that the DD is ever-evolving. We’ve only been together for 2 years, and we’re still not steady on how the DD should go. We’re just feeling it out.
Which is why in 2 years, last Thursday was the first spanking since I first moved in with James that was bad enough to make me cry.
Alright—rewind. I think you need a little bit of story. A little bit of why my ass was blistered, perhaps?
The story is that my weight fluctuates constantly. Which is really ridiculous because I rarely eat more than 1500 calories a day. You haven’t seen such a good calorie counter since Bridget Jones. I have a natural gift for counting calories. But one day I’ll be 7 pounds heavier than the day before. It’s crazy. I work out every day, yet still… the weight barely trickles off.
Since I’m a “normal” weight and therefore “healthy”, James doesn’t care about my weight. But I care enough for the both of us. And so he offered to “help” me with the extra motivation to exercise more than 4 times a week and to keep from spoiling my diet with binge-eating, which has always been by downfall. So James tells me, “You know what your problem is? You don’t eat lunch. You just have a big ass dinner.”
Of course, James isn’t a nutritionist, and I have no time for lunch, so I ignore him until he makes it “a rule”. But I’m not fazed by this, either. James isn’t a strict disciplinarian, by any means. Last Monday, we had a long conversation where he said he was going to get stricter, and that he’s been too easy with me. It had to be done, because I tend to get inertia about a lot of things where I don’t have the energy to get change in my life happening.
Alright, so—after church on Thursday night, I ask to go to Ryan’s (which is a buffet restaurant. It’s like the sizzler. I love it) because I’m “starving”.
“What did you have to eat today?” he asked casually.
“Well, I had that half-slice of cake and some Lucky Charms,” I answer. Which isn’t much. Only 250 calories at 7:30pm.
“What did you have for lunch?” he asked.
“Well, I didn’t get to the lucky charms until about one, so that’s lunch,” I shrug simply. I do not yet know that I’m in trouble.
“Young Lady—” he begins to lecture, but he calls me ‘young lady’ about 7 times a day, so I’m not worried.
“It wasn’t too bad,” I assured. “They pack a lot of vitamins into Lucky Charms.”
“They’re LUCKY CHARMS!” he said incredulously. “I thought you promised me that you were going to eat lunch. EVERY DAY.”
“I didn’t have time. The day went by really fast!”
He just grumbled. “Alright, young lady. I don’t want you to make yourself sick at Ryan’s.”
“I never do!” I said defensively.
“You always do!” he assured. “If you say ‘I’m too full’, or if I see you put an unreasonable amount on your plate, we’re leaving the restaurant, going back to the car, to the back seat, where I’ll pull down your panties and spank you. And I don’t care if someone sees it,” he threatened darkly.
Feeling a bit ruffled, I chuckled, which is my best way of relaxing the intense threat. “I’ll be good,” I promised.
No—I didn’t get spanked in the car. I was good at the restaurant.
Afterwards, we went home. I worked on the computer, and he installed some drywall in our project room. After a couple of hours, about ten o’clock, he comes into the room with a paddle he made with our new table saw. I laughed when I saw it—I didn’t think he was going to use it. I just thought he was bored. And I had discussed getting something other than a spoon for when my spankings do happen. I hated the spoon.
“Did you make that just now?” I laughed, taking it from his hands.
“Yeah, well…” he shirked off the conversation. I’ve supposedly wriggled out of a lot of spankings through joking around and putting him in a good mood. “Korey—now, I didn’t want to bring this up until now, because I didn’t want you dreading it—but we have to have a talk.”
‘A talk’. ‘A discussion’. I don’t think these things mean what he thinks they mean. The dictionary would agree that these things imply a conversation, not his hand slapping my ass in rapid succession. But this is a confusion that HOHs have quite often, I hear.
“About what?” My brain shot right back to my last spanking, which I got from not eating this special sort of yogurt (to help me stomach problems), which I’m supposed to eat every day, but I went without for a whole week. I had been unusually good about eating the yogurt since I finally got spanked for it, so it couldn’t be about that. I had obviously, by now, forgotten all about his annoyance about my luncheon habits.
The reason why I had forgotten is probably because he had lectured me about lunch quite a few times—in fact, I lost count of how many times he’d lectured me about eating lunch. I just kept shirking him off. After all, in the 8th grade I had lost 20 pounds when I had stopped eating lunch, and I was still certain that I could do that again. And I thought James was never going to actually spank me for it, I suppose.
“Korey, remember how we discussed that I was going to be more strict about your dieting? I have made a promise to you to help with it, and that meant you trying my suggestions. You agreed before that you needed to eat more and smaller meals, correct?”
This is the type of lecturing that naturally makes me feel uncomfortable. It sounds like he had been thinking about spanking me for awhile, and has finally decided to do it. It’s nigh unheard of to change his mind once he has made his final decision. “Yeah,” I agreed sheepishly, though I was still combing my brain for a way out of my spanking.
“Good,” he continued, putting down the paddle. “Because I know you’re telling the truth—you probably just forgot. And the day can get ahead of you; it gets away from me sometimes!”
“Yeah, and you don’t always eat lunch!” I countered.
“I know,” he sighed. “And I’m going to do better with that, but I’ve never complained about my weight.” Of course he hasn’t. James has a body that might as well be made of steel. “I try to be perfect, but I don’t always hit the mark. But that doesn’t mean I can’t correct you when you’ve screwed up. And this has become a really common thing for you. You need to know that I’m going to spank you about this thing.” He sat on the bed.
I winced. He was already sitting. He was already in “Spanking Korey Position”.
“Now, take down your pants,” he ordered.
My heart is now beating superfast. Is there truly no way out of the situation? I thought I was FINE not three minutes ago!
“Honey,” I begin to argue, stiffening.
“Take off your shirt, too,” he said. “You can leave on your bra.”
That was new. “James, really!” I said, horrified.
“Okay, bra, too,” he said, narrowing his eyebrows, looking annoyed. “Stop arguing and come here and take your pants down.”
I wasn’t getting it, although I get it now. He told me about it later—he was making me take off my clothes as extra punishment! Luckily, I stopped there, before he got the spoon, heaven forbid! I walked my ass over and unhappily unbuckled my pants and began pulling them down.
Before I crossed his legs, he readjusted himself. All I was thinking about was how cold it was in the room, for some reason, and how naked I felt. I mean, I was called “Naked Korey” in high school because I was a little too comfortable walking around the dressing rooms without a shirt, but suddenly I would kill to have one on.
Finally, he pulled me gently over his lap. James continued to lecture me further on how I have to actually pay attention to his rules, but I wasn’t really paying attention. I was too nervous. All I was concerned for was the well-being of my ass. James, although he was only using his hand, was well-remembered as an incredibly hard spanker.
And it began. It was quick but just as horrible as I remembered. I’m a gasper—I cry more by sucking air into my body than by crying out.
I’m not graceful, either. I’m more of a fighter. Not on purpose. I would take a spanking like a swan if I thought that was possible, but it’s not. My brain only thinks one thing in this position: how to get OUT of this position.
Before I know it, he pulled me off of his lap and took me to the corner. He left the room for a moment, (a very short moment. He was really only gone a minute or two). When he came back, he had a chair in his hands and stuck it into the middle of the room. “I’m sorry, but we’re going to experiment here. I’m trying to find a new position that helps when you’re fighting me.” He went and took my belt off my jeans, which I had kicked mid-spank onto the floor. He doubled it over in his hands before he deemed it unsuitable. He walked past me and walked into the closet and took out his belt.
“James!” I gasped. I didn’t think that I had done anything worthy of a belting offense.
“This is going to be a hard spanking, Korey,” he informed me. “I want to nip this in the bud.” After which, he sat on the chair and called me over to him.
Hesitantly, I put myself over his lap, putting my hands on the ground so my head didn’t scrape across the floor.
“Are you comfortable?” he asked with genuine concern as I wriggled around, looking for a spot where it didn’t feel like his knee was jabbing into my gut.
“I think so,” I said hoarsely.
“Give me your hand,” he told me.
“No, that’s okay. I’ll keep it on the floor.”
“No, Korey. I don’t want to hurt you because you’re trying to protect yourself,” he harangued.
“I can’t be comfortable and give you my hand,” I informed crossly.
He tried to position me and then sighed sharply. He pulled me from his lap and marched me back over to the bed. Obviously, the chair spanking was not working out. It never really had. We used to have chair spankings in the beginning of our relationship, but they never quite worked out. And this was why: gravity.
But back I was, less red in the face, but over the lap on the bed. He began to belt me nearly without hardly any further ado. I yelped, but he forced me to count them out. There were ten stripes, and all of them stung like the devil. I will say this much for beltings—they don’t really bruise. At least, they stung enough for me to be yelling out quite loudly, but I didn’t see traces of them at all the next day.
James stood be back up from his lap and put me back into the nearby corner, only feet from us. In the meantime, I suppose he was giving me a rest before he tried out the new paddle.
He grabbed the paddle and I inwardly groaned. My butt was already burning—I didn’t think I could take much more. I only thought “it can’t be worse than the spoon”.
When I was back across the lap, I discovered something.
It can get A LOT worse than the spoon. We’re talking instant-tears, folks. He brought down the paddle and I screamed. After I was done with my initial yell of agony, I noticed that the sharp pain I had felt from that first blow was not gone. So I screamed again. By the second scream, I was sobbing already; tears had escaped from my eyes.
A word about crying: I don’t do it very often. In fact, in two years, I had only cried from a spanking once—and that’s because I had an extra hard, extra long spanking that was merciless which I got from swearing at James in the car. I haven’t used the F-word since. Went to 10-20 times a day usage down to the big goose egg. 0. All from one spanking.
As I was suddenly sobbing, I think even James was surprised. I don’t know by what—either by how hard the smack was or from my reaction to it. Maybe both. When he had begun, he had promised that he would only paddle me five times. I sobbed and turned to grab his body in a desperate plea for mercy. He dropped it down to “three”. I cried harder. He dropped it to two. “Come on, honey. You have to understand that I mean it.”
I kept crying “No, no, no!” Until the second swat, which was a WHOLE lot lighter than the first, was given.
Immediately after, he scooped me up and let me cry on his shoulder. He cooed at me and gave me a post-spanking lecture that begged me to just take care of myself and listen to him, because he didn’t like giving me discipline spankings. He didn’t like seeing me sad, but he was going to spank me again if I needed one.
After I calmed down, we both got ready for sleep. I went into the bathroom and saw that the paddle had already made a round bruise on my ass. All the next day, I had the worst time sitting down. My ass was more swollen than ever. Though, when I complained to him that night that I couldn’t sleep on my back, he was somewhat proud of himself. He just laughed and told me to behave myself. “You’re just lucky I don’t normally spank you so hard.”
But still, I think that was the first and last time we’ll be using the paddle. James suggested that we go look for a better implement later. He did say he would keep it on reserve incase it was “absolutely necessary”. Hopefully, I would have to end up in prison before it becomes “absolutely necessary”.