Did you guys like it? You know where to go…
RomanticSpankings.com! It will also soon be available through Amazon!
After nearly two years of sitting in Bethany’s Woodshed’s member’s area, my first novel has hit RomanticSpankings.com! I’m really proud of it. It’s a doozy at 21 chapters, and I’ve priced it low so that everyone can get a lot of spankings at a high quality for their money.
I REALLY need your support on this one, guys. I can’t say how much I’d appreciate your buying the story, and I really don’t think you’ll regret it. Not much money comes to me, but I want Bethany to ask me to write another and keep my writing career going. And I’d rather her ask me to do another than me have to beg.
What’s it about?
Renny, the daughter of the High General, is young and brave, but also a brat in need of strict guidance. Following an embarrassing incident in front of the king whom her father is sworn to serve, she runs away from her father’s firm chastisement. She stows away on a ship, only to discover that she has ended up aboard the flagship of her homeland’s navy, captained by Admiral Logan Liam—her father’s rival, who only knows of one way to handle unwanted guests on his ship. But, over the course of the voyage, his fondness for her grows, as does his realization that she will always require a firm hand, frequently applied to her bare bottom.
Despite his best efforts, Logan and Renny are soon swept into the heart of a growing revolution against the cruel and brutal king. As the danger around them grows, so does their bond with one another, but can that bond endure through the events ahead?
So, essentially it’s a spanking naval/war fantasy. I wrote it after reading a bunch of the Patrick O’Brian series and watching too much Horatio Hornblower. But although I’m biased, and it’s my baby, I think it’s quite good. I’m not very good at writing “boring”. Once a part starts to get slow, you’ll see it end and pick right back up into the action, so hopefully there’s never a dull moment.
Please, give it a try! Read chapter one: Click HERE for Chapter One ! Tomorrow, I’ll post one of my favorite chapters so you can really get a glance of the story’s spanking quality!
Alright—so. James and I won a free cruise to go on this Spring, and it’s my goal to wear nothing but bikinis and miniskirts the whole time. Although I haven’t been gaining any weight, my weight’s certainly not going down either, and like hell I’m going to wear anything sexy until I’m at my goal weight: 130.
I’ve been at 130 before and I think I looked very good there, though it’s possible that I may want to lose more when I get there. But still, that leaves me with about 20 pounds to lose.
Tonight, though filled with water, I weighed 151.1 pounds (in the morning I tend to weigh up to 5 pounds less).
Talking about the spanking diet with James was a challenge, because he knows my weight can fluxuate up to 8 lbs in a normal day—I don’t know why this is. Hormones? Water? The Devil? But whatever it is, it makes the “if you don’t lose weight at this time next week” rule very hard to enforce, because I could eat nothing and still gain 4 lbs by next week at this time. That’s just the way I am.
James and I have rattled around with the “Spanking Diet” idea for a long time. But it’s hard to enforce—things come up and I can’t exercise, or I forget to keep a food journal.
So, although James doesn’t need to lose weight at all, James still expects me to work out 5 times a week (if I’m feeling well) and to keep a FOOD JOURNAL. Which I’ve kept before, but they’re hard to keep track of. He’ll be keeping a food journal, too, just to make sure it is a possible feat and he’s not expecting something superhuman of me.
I should add that James hasn’t said anything about my weight at all. It’s just as good as when we first met—I’d gained weight for awhile, but then I lost it back to my original “meeting James” weight, which is where I am now.
Blah, blah, blah! Let’s bring this rambling escapade back to spanking. How can spanking help with a diet?
Well, that’s just what we’re looking into. Lots of people have lost weight on the spanking diet—just peek into the American Spanking Society and see—they have been rattling away at a Spanking Diet since I found their blog, and it looks like they’re doing great.
The idea in place is simple: if I don’t achieve my weight-loss goals, I get spanked. Pure and simple. A lot of people’s weight-loss goals are different; mine’s merely exercise and a journal. Others are sometimes rules like ‘losing so much weight every week’, but I can’t do that, as stated.
But to make this work, every time I come close to not obtaining those goals I’ll be realizing that my failures will result in a pink bottom, which is definitely a good motivator.
Where can it go wrong? Not with me, really—life will be very tough for me if I don’t follow my goals IF James follows through. SO the responsibility lies on James to enforce these rules, which is tougher than it sounds. James likes to spoil me, and he has to be really stern this time.
If it works, though—I will be one happy camper. Let’s just hope my butt doesn’t get too bruised on the way there!
I’ve told ya’ll before—If I don’t get a spanking for awhile, that doesn’t mean that when I DO get spanked, I won’t go through a time where I get spanked CONSTANTLY. I don’t quite understand this anomaly; all I can do is verify its existence.
The funny thing is when I find myself in the corner with my pants down and an incredibly sore bottom, I’m always surprised that I’m there. Not because I think I don’t deserve it… I just thought that since it had been 24 hours before doing something wrong, I was simply in the clear. Sort of like the thought that, “If a police car doesn’t chase you after a minute, he won’t chase you.” Fallacy.
I guess the reason why he didn’t do it before is that we both weren’t feeling well on movie night. But, the next day we, unfortunately were just fine.
So, for all you detail hounds, it wasn’t as bad as the one earlier this week. It was just over the knee, with his hand. In fact, a lot of it was over my panties. I think that was a reward for not arguing much. When I was doing what I was doing to get a spanking, I knew I had done something wrong, and I regretted it. I was thinking the spanking would, in fact, relieve me of some the guilt—and it did.
Alright. My interested is peaked. What did you do this time, Korey?
But what do you do when you WORK in the spanking biz? You become a little desensitized, I’ve gotta tell you. All day it’s spanking, spanking, spanking… Nothing’s ever new! Nothing seems to give me that old nervous tingle at the pit of my stomach. Except this one.
This story, even though I’ve read it a few time, still gives me that old mischievous “I shouldn’t be reading this” sort of feel, when it’s NOT EVEN AGEPLAY. So, in short—it’s for the people that want to read age play but don’t want to support age play.
How, you ask? Let me explain.
Bach is an alien—who looks human, if humans had 4 fingers and were eight feet tall. (Here’s what to keep in mind when I say “Eight feet” is tall. You know how “Predator” dwarfsArnold Swartzenegger when they’re fighting? The Predator was only 7’4”. Thus, 8 feet is HUGE.)
Some of you assume I’m worse than I am—that I get spankings every day and then do the spanking celebration dance because I like them SO much. But that’s just not so. I rarely get spanked as discipline. I get a slap on the ass about 50 times a day, and every time we have sex, a fun little spanking will somehow scurry into our picture, but discipline spankings are not fun affairs, and are certainly not frequent.
Just the other day we realized that I hadn’t gotten a discipline spanking since we were in Santa Fe. That was in the beginning of September, folks. I mean, I’d gotten a couple of stern smacks, but not an over-the-knee sort of session that I most un-enjoy.
Of course we were both thinking the same thing at that time—that I’m “due”. Not officially, or anything, only we realized I can’t go too long without messing something up pretty royally where I don’t really have an excuse.
Did this happen on your anniversary? Woof!
No! Our anniversary was on Sunday, and it was wonderful. We can be very romantic when we try. We cooed at each other while we filled ourselves with fondue for about 3 hours. It really was lovely.
My spanking happened last night—Monday. I was in a horrible mood all day, so if you were to go back in time and informed me that I was about to get spanked, I would have no trouble believing you. Normally when I’m depressed, I walk right into one. When I’m depressed I hate myself, I hate everyone else, I hate my life, I hate who I am and what I can do and why anyone would ever put up with me. I was having a day LIKE THAT. And so, normally all the negativity makes me say something that causes me to upend over James’ knee.
Not because James would EVER discipline me for being depressed—he knows that’s probably not the best way of fixing me. If I get a spanking when depressed, it’s because he wasn’t understanding that I was in a sad mood, and only interprets my crazy actions as… well, craziness or meanness not something I’m doing because I’m sad—James is actually really good about being nice to me when I’m feeling fragile.
Despite the history, THAT’s not even why I got a spanking yesterday. It was because we looked a long time for a lighter and couldn’t find one. Isn’t that funny? Of course, if we can’t find something, it’s my fault.
You can’t find something, and therefore it’s YOUR fault? James is pretty strict…
No, no. James just realizes that I like to hide objects out of view in the house. It’s ALWAYS me. Once in a while, I would LOVE James to be the “misplacer” just to make life interesting. But it never is. It’s always me. I hide mail, magazines, newspapers, small objects, medication, toothbrushes, or anything at all that is just “left out”. I normally feel rushed when I’m doing this, and so I don’t break my back trying to figure out where all this stuff goes.
Which is fine—we have a clean house. BUT we can’t find anything. We spend HOURS looking for the crap I’ve misplaced constantly. I’ve placed our cat’s eye drops in my birth-control bag, once. I mean—it’s bad.
But, REALLY, James wouldn’t want to spank me for something he’s not positive is my fault, though, so he waits until he found, while looking for the lighter, his missing sunglasses in my sock drawer. How they got there? I don’t know.
So, James called me into the bedroom, and told me to take off my jeans. He had been very smooth with me all night; so much so, I didn’t really take any of this seriously. So I pulled off my pants, thinking he was just going to give me a few slaps, fondle my ass a bit, then let me up.
I was mistaken.
I *realized* I was mistaken when James slid my belt out of my pants. He did this probably because, unless James is going to a business conference, James does not wear them. He also probably did this because this is not my first punishment for this offense.
My composure went very quickly from giggly and aroused to whiney and concerned.
It started out with a vicious hand spanking—one where I thought he was definitely favoring my left cheek. It went on forever. He was talking—he always talks, and he wanted me to respond. It was something about how I need to remember where I put things and put things where they’re supposed to go, and if they don’t have a place to make one and keep it consistent. And stuff.
And then he grabbed my belt and immediately started spanking with it without much ado, and then he stopped. “You have GOT to start staying more still,” he said. “This would already be done if you didn’t fight so much.”
He says this like I can help it.
“I’m giving you twenty more with the belt.”
With number two he got my hand. I don’t know why he feels he much announce it—it just makes things worse. I know when I give blood, the nurse never says, “Alright. I’m about to put in the needle. Watch.” No. They just do it. They just stab you and get it done. Maybe if he did that, my hands wouldn’t be so quick to go back there and get themselves injured.
And then it was all over. I wasn’t crying—but I was put into the corner with my pants down and shirt lifted to think about it before I was able to survey what the damage was. And there was QUITE some redness going on.
Now, as I’ve mentioned before, James doesn’t ever get fresh during the punishment, but afterwards it does turn him on a little when he’s thinking about it generally, or looking at a pink bottom in a corner. So, James later said that it was the cutest spanking I’d ever gotten, and if he knew where the camera was, he would have taken a picture. But, again—only I knew where the camera was. J
That’s right—the reminder that James and I, though very generous with our advice, have been only married for a single year—not even! This Sunday, on the 8th, we’re approaching our one-year anniversary. Whoot!
That’s why we won’t be blogging until Monday, at the least. We’re going up to Kerrville, TX and Los Maples and we’re hikin’ until Sunday and then we’re going for dinner at the Melting Pot. It’s bound to be tons of fun.
What do you like about being married?
I really just enjoy being married in itself. And because I’m more honest on my blog than anywhere else, I like that marriage applies a sort of “ownership”—we have formed really into “one”, and because of that, we really hold an allegiance together that I don’t think people who are “just dating” really get. James and I are really invested in the other. There’s also the knowledge that our future, despite what may happen to politics or economics or work, always lies together, and that’s very comforting.
In short—partnerships/relationships may feel like they fill the void—but nothing quite does it like marriage. I know sometimes you think that if you get married that you will be stuck forever with someone who’s NOT into spanking, or IS into spanking, and you’re scared to death that you won’t be able to get out of it.
Don’t feel that way—marriage can fill the void that spanking can’t, and marriage is stronger than a dislike of discipline. Either way, it’s better to be married than to not be married.
Is it easy?
Like breathing. Now—you know it’s easier to breathe in the clear air of the country than in the muggy cities. Same thing—it’s not easy in adversity. James and I have been so stressed nearly all year by finances, and house-sales, and home-improvement, and everything else. There have been times where I have been at each other’s throats—defensive, exasperated, etc. But we’ve pressed through it until we’re breathing fresh air again.
So, make sure your priorities are straight—it’s all fine and good meeting gentlemen in hotel rooms for a fine evening of spanking, but there’s nothing like a man you can cuddle with on Saturday mornings (and James LOVES cuddling). If you’re lucky though, you can find both–if you want them to be seperate things, then… Choose marriage, and loose the spanking–because you can have a happy marriage without it. But just don’t go through life alone!
Will people who are into DD like it?
I don’t see why not! It’s a little off the beaten path, perhaps. Most women cling to the cliché where a man tames them by shocking them with a spanking. This has taming without the shock factor, but it works anyway.
Will people that are into Spanking Special Little Faucets (CDD, Ageplay, etc) like it?
An ageplayer will only enjoy this story if they still like reading about stuff that in no way concerns ageplay. This doesn’t have it. It’s not quite CDD either because of the fantasy theme—it’s very other-world based. But, it works. There’s a good vs. Evil theme to it. I don’t even know if someone would like it if they aren’t a spanko—but if you ARE a spanko… You’ll like it. I’m sure of it.
I was watching one of my favorite shows, 30-Rock, and they make fun of this “Catch Phrase” where they list a common complaint of a man and say it’s a “deal breaker”. IE: If your man wears a big diamsond necklace that says “Pussy” on it—that’s a Deal-Breaker, Ladies!” It’s equivalent to Jeff Foxworthy’s “Redneck” jokes, but as I was watching, I couldn’t help but realize that there’s so many “deal breakers” that happen in our community, as well. Here’s a few.
Askin’ More Than He’s Doin’? – That’s a DD Deal-Breaker, Ladies!
Many women get taken advantage of as soon as she makes it quite obvious that she’s a submissive, and wants a dominant boyfriend/husband. What happens is they think they can boss you around, because as soon as you say anything, than you’re being “uppity” and “need a spanking”. Don’t let them get away with this. A TRUE HOH will never ask more of you than he does of himself—ever. He’s a problem fixer—not a problem dealer.
Is he spendin’ your dough instead of savin’ your dough? That’s a DD Deal-Breaker, Ladies!
I know that you keep hearing “Carpe Diem”, with Oprah and those like her saying that you need to “live in the moment”. And it’s true—you should. But always be mindful of the future—it’s not going away just because you’re ignoring it. A good HOH will not spend all your money on a video game and then gasp when you buy a nice pair of shoes. He SHOULD monitor your spending, but he should also be monitoring his own. That doesn’t mean be cheap—it means be frugal—wisely frugal. A good HOH always has future goals that he knows will come and when that time comes, you shouldn’t have to worry about it, because the HOH has already made proper provisions.
Is he grippin’ school by the fingernails? That’s a DD Deal-Breaker, Ladies!
I see this happen a lot because James is still in Grad school. It’s disconcerning to me James is working as hard to get through as quickly as possible, while still making sure that he has enough experience and connections so that he can easily get a job when he is finished, but there’s so many that seem like they would be satisfied being in school forever. And it’s not just the aerospace department—my friend has the same problem who’s a biology grad student—he’s been working on his masters for YEARS now. Ph.Ds take a long time, but if they’re full-time students, it should NOT take more than eight years (That’s six years after undergrad; 10 years in college total).
A lot of the reason why they do this is because they’re afraid of that next step, they’re afraid of the real-world, they’re afraid of making decisions and they’re afraid of leaving their friends, and the girlfriend/wife/children be damned. It’s selfish and immature. A good HOH will always put the needs of his family above his own personal desires and fears. Always.
This will hopefully be a repeating series. For you DD-dreamers, check back soon for more reality-check deal-breakers. It’s important that before you ask someone to be an HOH, for them to ALREADY be an HOH. You can’t change a man.
…Albuquerque. It was quite nice. I loved it, actually—I might just move there in a year or two. New Mexico really is the scha-nizzle.
And you had no computer in Albuquerque?!
It was really busy! I work 16 hours a day rather commonly, and remember, I work for Blushing Publications (ABCD Webmasters) and so I work around spanking all day, every day. Which makes me exceptionally lucky, but unfortunately, lately, when I’ve had some spare time, I normally pursue non-spanking activities. But now I’m back, back and bringing you all my spanking thoughts. I actually had quite a few. I’ve done much more thinking about the blog than I have been doing the blog. Of course, it’s been that way all along!
In short, I’ve been doing more brain-work for this blog than work-work.
Why has work been so darn busy?
The Spanking Story Archive has been 2 years behind at one point. I had to bring them up to date—which I just finished this Sunday. And I also run Spanking Romance. AND I’ve had to get the new RomanticSpankings.com store up and running. And it’s REALLY buggy right now. I mean, still aesthetically pleasing at it works, but there’s a problem with the download-expiration and the fact that it asks for your credit card number twice and that the checkout page template is funky… Awe, man oh man, oh man. It’s been tough. I’ve also been helping out with covers lately. Also, our customer service had gotten behind and we had to let someone go, and I tried to help pick up the slack until the new customer service rep, Tia, got situated. Now, they told me to “Stop doing Customer Service!” Which… Is sad. L
How’s the Spanking Diet?
Alright—well, most of you probably know by now—James and I are under a TON of stress. We’re moving out of our house, doing construction on a condo, keeping the house clean for showing, we have pets, jobs, appointments and he had to go all week to a conference. And we’re moving to Albuquerque for the rest of the summer on Friday.
Needless to say, if we lost our minds, I think everyone would sympathize with the situation.
But isn’t it funnier that with everything we’re up to, none of that stuff made me go so crazy I earned myself a spanking this last Sunday after church? It was a craving. And no—I’m not pregnant. I don’t have as good of an excuse. I wasn’t even famished—I wanted French toast. I don’t know why, but I did. I wanted something bready and eggy, and God help the man who got in my way.
James normally doesn’t care—he hasn’t regulated my diet since I had foot problems 3 months ago. The night before, in fact, we had a sugar binge while we went to the movie theatre to watch “Year One”—which was horrible, but we had SO many goodies that I slept horribly and I had a headache the next day. Something happens to me the following day after a diet mistake—I deform. My face, for one, deforms into this strange ugliness reminiscent of the woman-villain in the Goonies. I look like half my face caves in.
Luckily, I was able to get a hold of myself for church, and I had pulled back the headache. But, unfortunately, I had already made 3 complaints—one that morning and 2 the night before, that I had WAY too much sugar, and what was I thinking.
So, when I mentioned that I was going to make “French Toast” when I got home, James felt he had to say something. “Remember—you had a LOT of sugar last night, so maybe you shouldn’t have anything sugary this morning.”
Something dark suddenly swept over me, and my mood did a 180. I was now on the verge, after we were holding hands and kissing each other’s cheeks and being nauseating after church, to someone who was contemplating manslaughter. “French Toast doesn’t have sugar on it,” I reminded scathingly.
“Yeah, but the syrup you’ll put on it does.”
We’re lucky we didn’t get in a crash. I almost unleashed my furry by beating him to death. Instead, I screamed,
” BUT I’M HUNGRY, JAMES! I NEED FOOD! I NEED FRENCH TOAST! GET OFF MY CASE! I’M HUNGRY!” In a voice that Satan would have if he got kicked in the nuts; high and ringy with a blanket of evil over it. It scared ME. But I had no control over how it came out.
He only took my hand and held it. It’s hard to describe exactly HOW he held it. Firm, I suppose. He held it firmly—almost as if he was firmly saying, “I love you. But get a hold of yourself, woman!” but he didn’t. Didn’t say anything. Neither did I.
So; it’s fair to say that I totally knew I was getting a spanking. I mean, I hoped I wasn’t going to get one, but I knew it was coming. When we finally pulled into the driveway, I finally said, “I’m sorry I snapped. I don’t know what happened, there.”
He sighed. “I know, Honey. It’s alright.”
But as soon as I walked into the front door and put down my purse, he looked like he was going to go for coffee, but then turned around quickly and took my hand and led me to the bedroom, saying, “Let’s just discuss something very quickly.”
Yeah, we don’t have quick discussions. So, it must be a spanking. I sighed. I was resolved to it. I had suddenly lost my mind. I didn’t think a spanking would help my future behavior, however, because I didn’t know quite what spurred on the crazy to begin with.
But I had a history. A history of food-crazy. Let me tell you the tale (though quite perverse, I warn you) about how I almost killed my ex fiancé over the left-over brownie batter. This story will make you think less of me, I know, but it’s a true story. I like to think I’m a normal person, too—until I think back to this dark, dark time.
I had walked in from class, and my ex boyfriend, all 340 pounds of him, was cooking—which was what the man did best. He was excellent at cooking, and I’m still trying to shed off the forty-five pounds I had gained during the course of our relationship. That day, he was making brownies.
Now, I don’t even care for brownies. Not as much as the uncooked batter. JP, by ex, didn’t believe in eating batter since he had gotten salmonella poisoning when he was a kid from eating batter with a raw egg in it. Such a thing had never, and has never, happened to me, and I hated that he would try to clean the bowl before I had a chance to lick it.
Today, I was PMSing, and as most of you women know, we need chocolate during this time. We will climb a mountain for chocolate. We will fight for it. And so, I begged as hard as I could for the batter, and finally JP made a deal with me.
If I performed oral on him, I could have the bowl.
Oh my God! Are you a chocolate whore?
Yes, I am. I’m not proud of it, but I took his deal, and afterwards, let him have sex with me, even though I made it clear that I was not in the mood. After it was done, needless to say, I felt deserving of the chocolate. However, by the time I was finished getting dressed after the ordeal, I came out into the kitchen and saw the bowl in the sink, with water in it, soaking.
My mouth dropped. “But—my CHOCOLATE!” I gasped.
JP smirked at me and shrugged. “I told you that raw egg’s not good for you.”
I looked at the knives next to me. JP didn’t know how close he was to death. Every inch of my being yearned to take one of those knives and stick it into him with all my strength. I was not myself. I was shaking.
As I was trying to fight this powerful will that was trying to put me in prison for the rest of my life, JP suddenly produced a chocolate batter-covered spoon. It saved his life. I calmed down instantly, but I found I was sick. My adrenaline was surging. I was still seeing white. I had very nearly killed him.
So, I wasn’t that crazy this last Sunday, obviously—but I do have that sort of potential. My friends used to laugh, “You have such a sweet tooth! I don’t know how you’re not the size of a hippopotamus.” Sweet tooth. Bah. They don’t know the half of it. Sweetness is like heroine to me.
Anyway, so I was subjected to this spanking because I was hoping it would harness this crazy food-demon I knew was still living in me, somewhere.
James sat down on the bed and wheeled me in front of him and took my hands in his. “I’ve been very good about not snapping at you, sweetie, but you need to be more careful about how you say things to me. I know you’re craving something, but I only care about your health. I wasn’t lecturing you. I just care about you, and I didn’t deserve that.”
“I’m so sorry…” I repeated, and I did feel bad.
He pulled me across his lap. For some reason, I had an image of those women in vintage-spanking pictures because I had high-heels and a cute skirt on and I looked so house-wife-being-punished-by-her-well-dressed-husband. Until, of course, the spanks started, and then, of course, all I was thinking about was how I could get out of this horrible situation.
I didn’t have much will to complain during this spanking. I was thinking of the story I just told you, and I still felt bad over it. Especially the “whoring myself out for chocolate” part that seemed so unlike the strongly Christian woman who I am now, who could be described even has ‘prudish’.
Not that the spanking made up for it. Actually, for the grief I was feeling, I felt it was over rather quickly. It was only about twenty spanks long, and James counted them out for me. His hand was firm, but he spanked quickly, not torturing me by dragging it out too long.
I realize how lucky I am. I have a man who understands me now, who doesn’t torture me with emotions or compromise my worth, or who I am, even though he knows what my weaknesses are. James is such a strong, nice, very attractive, very successful man that I don’t deserve. Especially because, since he still didn’t want me to have any sugar, he took me out to buy an egg sandwich that would appease my egg craving while not adding too much sugar to my already bad sugar-hangover headache. That man gets me.