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.
Alright, folks—I’ll be the first to admit that I have a problem. I’m obsessive. Once I start something, God help me if I can stop doing it. When it comes to figuring out problems with a webpage, you benefit. When it comes to blog posts, you benefit. When it comes to starting a new book—life is put on hold, the earth stops revolving, and life is just me, with my book.
That is really traumatic when it comes to getting hooked on a series. Then it might be days until I come out of my room. Weekend wasted.
I normally only read 200 page books that I help Bethany from Bethany’s Woodshed publish. Rarely are they ever longer than that. 200 pages I can waist in a couple of hours. THE TWILIGHT SERIES has taken the largest hit on my time since Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.
I really, really liked the first three books of the series. I really, really hated the forth book. I would explain why, but you’ll start asking yourself when this became a writer’s group or a review forum. Simply put: Stephanie Meyer just didn’t even TRY on the fourth book! I could go on all day on how—
Sigh. I’m getting to that. Anyway; the reason WHY I liked the Twilight Series wasn’t because I wanted to squeeze Robert Patterson’s tush. I think my husband is just as, if not more attractive, anyway, and I can squeeze his tush anytime I wanted. What I liked was Edward Cullen, the main vampire in the novel. What I liked ABOUT Edward was his manners.
That’s right—I didn’t care about the fact that he can keep a car from running over you, that he has the strength of 1000 men, and that he can carry Bella around as easily as a backpack. I cared about his manners.
Edward Cullen is a perfect gentlemen. He engages in Chivalry techniques in manners that they don’t even carry out in the South anymore. “Good Manners” I’ve forgotten about. Edward opens every door for Bella (the human girl), including not just building doors but car doors.
Edward sometimes buckles Bella into her seat, pays for meals, walks street-side, carries her bags, pulls out the chair for her, keeps her virginity intact until after marriage not for her own sake, but because he is protective of her virtue…
Edward protects her.
…So? Let’s tie this in with spanking this year, shall we?
Grr. Edward PROTECTS HER! Which is amazingly hot to watch and to read, and I think that has something to do with why it’s such a popular book.
Edward’s not always NICE about it, though. Edward’s always guiding her by the arm, forbidding her to do things that are dangerous, constantly scolding her, he forces her to do safe things….
I was REALLY hoping Edward would spank Bella sometime during one of the novels. Of course, it never happened. I knew it wouldn’t. But I hoped it would.
Because Edward was exerting the personality type that WOULD spank. He’s MUCH older than Bella—by nearly 100 years, so he’s certainly more world-wise and mature, he’s strong as can be, he’s very capable, very disciplined, educated, non-hypocritical, understanding, and he’s gorgeous.
I’m not saying that, but I certainly think it’s a vital characteristic of a HOH. Chivalry says one very important thing about a man (I’ve said something like this before, but let’s recap):
So, do you have to wait for a vampire to fall in love with you before you can get some chivalry?
No, not exactly. Supposedly, you can find a guy that has it. I don’t know if you can find one that has as much as Edward Cullen, of course, but definitely some variations. The thing is, not that many men are chivalrous gentlemen anymore. It’s the Twenty-first century.
What does the century have to do with it?
A lot, actually. Mostly because we’ve been ripping chivalry out of men since women’s liberation in the 1920s. That’s 90 years of telling men that we don’t need their chivalry—that we’re not fragile, and we’re not different, and we can open our own doors, thank you very much.
Here’s the article I read that just made my stomach roll from Marie Claire (Click here to view the original article):
Is Chivalry A Dying Art?
June 5, 2009 10:20 AM by Rich Santos One of my vivid childhood memories took place on a soccer field. When I was four or so, the soccer leagues were co-ed. In those days there was no method to the madness for us fledgling players. The ball would move and we’d all follow it in a gigantic swarm rivaling biblical locusts, with no organization or strategy to score a goal.
In one game, as we followed the ball after it popped out of the mob, I noticed a little girl trailing behind us and saw that she had fallen down in the mud. I was faced with a choice: follow the ball toward our goal, or turn around and help the girl. No one had stopped to help her up, or acknowledge that she had fallen down. Furthermore, something about the mud all over her (even in her blonde hair), the fact that she was alone and she could have been hurt, compelled me to turn around and check on her.
On the sideline my coach implored me to worry about the girls later. The ball, by now, was way down near our goal. It was just the little girl and I on the other end of the field. I walked back to her and stuck out my hand and helped her out of the mud. I must have embarrassed her because her appreciative look was laced with a bit of defiance. This was my first conflicted moment with chivalry. I learned that she was perfectly capable of picking herself up out of the mud (thank you very much).
These days, I rarely get to be chivalrous. I am desperately trying to be “cool,”– not too easy or too nice. Plus, I don’t think I am well-trained for chivalry. One time, my Southern friend Margaret complimented me for “walking street-side,” on our way home from work. She explained that men traditionally walk street side in case a “passing buggy splashes water onto the sidewalk.” Chivalry in the South is taken to a whole other level.
I hate those street solicitors who ask me to donate to cause A, B, or C as I try to avoid them on the sidewalk. They punctuate it with a 10-minute spiel. As soon as I see someone with a clipboard, or a branded shirt, I zig-zag out of there. Little did Margaret know that I had gone “street-side” that day to put her in the line of fire of a street solicitor. Hey, when it comes to street solicitors it’s every man (and woman) for themselves.
Horses and buggies aside, there are plenty of chances to be chivalrous on dates in NYC:
But there are reasons that guys avoid chivalry:
Don’t Want To Look Too Nice. Guys are trying to find that sweet spot of nice but not too nice, while retaining little mystery. If we go out of our way all the time and wait on a girl hand and foot, we won’t look attractive. Chivalry is great, but it’s not special if it happens all the time.
Women’s Rights. After her man holds the door and picks up her bags one too many times, a woman might be inclined to say: “hey I can do this myself.” Doing too much for a woman can come off as condescending.
Don’t Raise ‘Em Like They Used To. Are younger men on board with chivalry? Because of society’s shifting values, chivalry could be dying. You may see less of it in the street these days because there is less focus on educating young men about chivalry.
I practice “part-time chivalry.” I’m much more of a gentleman at a fancy event like a wedding than I am when I am tumbling into a diner late night drunk at 4AM. But I wonder if I should be chivalrous the majority of the time.
I remember the warm fuzzy feeling I had when I helped the girl on the soccer field. I felt like I was doing the right thing. Things were much simpler then, but I bet most women want some chivalry in her life. I’m just not sure how much chivalry is optimal.
How much chivalry do you like in a relationship? Are there certain chivalrous acts that you really love, or that turn you off? Is there any charm to a guy that doesn’t practice chivalry? Do you see much chivalry out there these days, or do you agree that it’s a dying art?
You can see where I’m disturbed. Have half the woman really done it in for the rest of us? Did the women who never say “thank you”, never appreciate an open door, never smile at someone who helps them up when they fall… Did they ruin it for the rest of us? I’m not a mom yet or anything, but I want that for my daughter! I hate to think that it’ll be long dead by that time.
Anyway, if you don’t think this matters and that chivalry is dead, then let me tell you what’s going to die right along with it. DD RELATIONSHIPS! That’s right…. I said it. Because an HOH that has absolutely NO concept of chivalry is not doing to be a good HOH. He wouldn’t have the right temperament. That’s a fact.
WAIT—Women can destroy not just chivalry, but DD? But HOW? How did WOMEN DESTROY CHIVALRY in the first place?
As the article stated—he was going to help a girl out of the mud, and she acted indignant and embarrassed. Admittedly, I would be embarrassed too, but you have to be grateful. Women aren’t grateful anymore. I don’t blame men for not being chivalrous anymore. Why would they be chivalrous if they get nothing in return? Why go through the trouble, and let me assure you—it IS trouble for them. They weren’t put on the planet to help us out; that’s a duty they’ve taken upon themselves. It’s a choice.
So, here’s what you do if you want to reverse the cycle. I’m sure you’re all very intelligent people, and that I’m preaching to the choir, but this is what you do:
Yep. That’s all you can do. It’s not much. It’s quick. 2 seconds and then, of course, pass it on to the next generation. But so little you do makes the largest differences. We have so much to make up for. We have to retrain 3 billion men in this world. We have our work cut out for us!
All the while, Bethany at Bethany’s Woodshed just hired me to FULL TIME! Whee! Which is awesome, but with everything going on, it makes me a very bad blogger.
BUT I’m posting what I always meant to—my testimony. It was a DD testimony that I sent into Bethany’s Woodshed back in November that we haven’t gotten around to organizing. So YOU ALL get first peek! Here it goes….
An Occasionally Painful yet Happy Solution:
A Testimony of Korey Johnson
I can’t even remember how many times James has come home from work harrumphing about his friends’ wives. “Jason needs to grow a pair,” he would grump. “Do you have any idea what Amy did this time?” Naughty wives abound in this world, and we think we’re so fortunate to have figured out a solution.
James spanks me for discipline. Alright–sometimes he just spanks me because he’s a little kinky, but there are so many distinctions between the two that there is never any question which is which. Or at least there’s one very large distinction: discipline spankings are extremely painful. Luckily, I’m a rather well-behaved young wife, which means that I only get spanked about twice a month on average. (Please, take “on average” as a purely mathematical figure, I sometimes get spanked 5 days in a row and then don’t get spanked for 3 months.)
When do these spankings occur? Why? Well, I’m pretty good at not repeating the “why” very often. My first spanking was for bad language. My latest spanking was for letting a check bounce, and not even calling the bank to ask how it could have been avoided, even though he asked me repeatedly.
From the first spanking to the latest–I doubt it was the last, but we can hope–there has been a “method” to the spanking. He calls me into the room. “Korey!”
I shrink. “What?” I ask, hoping he fell and needs some help up. But I know just by the sound of his voice that he’s at least thinking about spanking me.
“Just come here.”
I sigh and quit doing whatever I’m doing. “I didn’t do anything,” I’ll complain as I walk through the door.
“We need to talk.” He says, and I immediately interpret those lines as this; “You need a spanking.”
And he will say what I did. Sometimes I’ll have a good excuse, like, “The reason the credit card bill is so high, is that I took my mother out to get our nails done, and she had just taken me out to lunch… and I wanted to be nice to her.” He’ll just sigh and say, “Alright. Just remember that we’re trying to save money.” He’ll give me a kiss and the incident will be forgotten.
Most of the time I won’t have a good excuse. I mean, there’s a reason why I do everything, and I so I can–and will–explain my reasoning. But my reasoning, though normally innocent, sometimes sucks. “Well, the bank wasn’t going to tell me something I didn’t know,” was my latest reasoning. “And you know how the beauty parlor couldn’t get my credit card to run, so I had to use my debit card.”
“Why not the other credit card?” he asked.
“Because I didn’t want to look through my wallet for it, I was just trying to pay fast.” This, ladies and gentlemen, is a sucky excuse–I’ll be the first to admit it. It was true: I just wanted to get out of there and the hairstylist who was cashing me out was also in the middle of another client. But that didn’t mean I needed to use the debit card from my personal checking account that barely has any money in it, when we have a joint account that did have plenty of money. I just grabbed a card and blew through the consequences.
He’ll explain what I did wrong, reminding me that regardless of what card I used at the hairstylist, I still shouldn’t have later written a check without knowing if there was enough money in my account to cover it. He will tell me that he knows that I can do things the right way because I’m an intelligent, educated person, and that I just need to not rush through things when money is involved. The specific lecture changes, of course, but the message is always the same. He knows I can do better; he would never spank me unless he was absolutely sure I could do better. When the lecture draws to a close, he’ll tell me to pull down my pants.
The trick is to not lower my panties–just the pants. If he can wear out a few slaps on the fabric, that’s all the better. The spanking will last until he believes I’ve learned my lesson… or until he can’t use his hand anymore…whatever comes first. Panties, as thin as they are, really shield the blows. Panties are magic.
But eventually the panties will come down, and it will not be a good moment. I’m already sore by the time they come down, and will beg, “James, please.” James has stopped listening to me by this point. Nothing I say is going to make him stop. He’s going for a shade of redness and will not cease until he gets there.
Did I say during the spanking I’m acting like a wounded raccoon? Well–I am. I’m kicking, though not successfully. My pants are around my feet and my panties are around my knees and his thigh is normally keeping my knees pinned down. I don’t bite only because I know it would go so much worse, but I’ll still always consider biting.
Instead, I howl. I howl and tear at the bed sheets, I pull my own hair, I squish my hands against my face. I try to block out the pain in my mind, but this is of course unsuccessful. I try to beg, but try is the operative word here. I am beyond begging–I’ll open my mouth and crying gibberish comes out instead.
Everyone; I do not take a spanking “gracefully”. Graceful is beyond comprehension in moments like these. In fact–I think anyone who claims that they can take one gracefully is either lying, because they can’t, or they’re not being spanked as hard as I am. James efficiently brings me to the brink of what someone can stand without trying to heartily defend themselves.
Still, James only spanks with his hand, and his hand only connects with my thighs or that beloved “sit spot”, which we hate when we’re looking into mirrors yet so tenderly care about in moments like these. When James finishes, he rubs my bottom a little, which feels oddly good, and normally I catch my breath.
James and I decided in the beginning of our relationship that we would not have sex after a punishment spanking–we wanted the punishment spanking to be and feel different. James is unquestionably erect after a punishment spanking–he can’t touch my bottom for a millisecond without becoming erect, God bless him, but at times like these he doesn’t want sex. And neither do I. We really just want to hold and comfort each other. I look forward to these moments; it’s probably when we’re closest as I feel so vulnerable–I’m out of breath, normally still crying, and he’s feeling bad that he had to spank me.
This is important–I don’t know if I would trust James if he liked putting me in pain or discomfort. He hates it as much as I do, but he looks on it like his duty, as I believe a disciplinarian should.
If you’re wondering how James and I got into a relationship like this–or even why this lifestyle suites us so well, then I’m going to tell you that it’s a bit complicated. For my part, there was always a little bit of “weird” in me that got me turned on to such a lifestyle as this in the first place.
I remember very far back into my childhood, and a truth that remains constant from the earliest memory is a strange truth indeed—I’ve always been completely entranced with spankings.
It was an odd pet to have, and it wouldn’t be until I was about fifteen that I would come to the realization that I wasn’t too weird; there were a lot of people like me. There were a lot of people that would read any book they could get their hands on, scanning for a spanking scene, or watching movies just to see the blessed event.
Little did I know when I was fifteen, that 2000 miles away, in Texas of all places, was my soul mate—a man who had grown up with the same interests. Unfortunately, life, uninterested boyfriends and school got in the way until my senior year of college, when, being freshly broken up with my fiancé, I was back on the prowl, looking for men. My best friends, bless their hearts, though I had trusted them with the identity of my interest, could never fully comprehend my heart’s desire.
When it comes to friends of spankees, who are not spankees/spankers themselves, it is very unlikely that they’ll ever completely understand people our interest–their minds are programmed to go right to abuse, or to BDSM. Their brains can’t comprehend a man lovingly disciplining his wife. My friends try–but they think that spanking is still a merely sexual urge, not something I want underlying my life, so at this point they were trying to hook me up with “normal/vanilla” men and thereby were getting a bit in the way of my quest.
As you might have guessed, by that point I was fully keen on the life possible by “Christian Domestic Discipline”, and although I hadn’t even been to church in ten years, every fiber of my being ached for it. I read countless stories, testimonies, blogs… Getting into it was just harder than it sounds—for one, you need a boyfriend to be part of the domestic discipline life, and I had none. For another, finding a boyfriend that was interested in the same thing, after months of searching, was a bit of a rare find.
I’m a picky person and, after a close call with being forever in a relationship with a man who wouldn’t make me happy, my new boyfriend “must have” list was quite immense, and I would not back up on it. I didn’t just want a man that would gladly spank his girlfriend, I wanted a man who I thought in every sense was better than me, more responsible than me, and smarter than me and would help me become equally amazing through a sort of loving discipline. (Note that James does not agree that he is either better or smarter than me. He does agree that he is more responsible, and that is why he is more than willing to discipline me when necessary.) I was determined to let this fetish that had plagued me all my life finally be of some use to me, but finding the perfect man to implement that strategy was a delicate process which only the internet could provide.
I had almost given up on the spanking networking site when I got a message from a guy who was interested in what I was looking for. Suddenly, I was deep in conversation, and I stayed up until all hours talking to this faceless person from Texas (I was in Oregon then). Obviously, it was impossible for there to be a relationship—he was deep into grad school, and I had no intentions of going to Texas.
Yet, while I kept looking around, I was constantly in contact with this Texan, James. I loved chatting with him. Like me, his chats were made of long, well thought out sentences, and an interested dialogue that had a sternness to it. Although strange to say, every time we chatted he sent goose bumps up my spine. All of the sudden, we were exchanging numbers and photographs, talking on the phone, and in just a couple of weeks, we decided we had to meet.
Obviously, I had changed my mind slightly on this “going to Texas” issue, even though I already had an internship and job opportunity in Philadelphia. But there was something to James that I had to see for myself. He visited me in Oregon about a month after we first started talking.
He was gorgeous with dark blue eyes, a chiseled body, chestnut colored hair, a perfect smile… I wanted nothing more than for him to spank me—for any reason, for no reason. Just to get his hands on me. I wanted to slip under the covers with him and never come out.
Although he was against premarital sex (even though he knew I no longer had my virginity, thank you fiancé #1) he never hesitated on giving me an affectionate slap on the butt every now and then, but that week he refused to give me a discipline spanking—he wanted me to be comfortable with him and for us to build up a trust of each other first.
Surprisingly, after I got the “the next time you swear, I’m going to spank you” threat, I just decided to try to ride out the threat and avoid swearing for the rest of his visit. Something in his voice made it sound like it was actually going to hurt, and that I wouldn’t enjoy it as much as the spankings he would give me when we were fooling around.
Unfortunately, when I eventually earned this particular spanking, I was foolish enough to say the f-word in the shower. When I was naked. Needless to say, there’s nothing on this planet more awkward than coming out of the shower, hair wet, skin chilled by air conditioning, and then having to answer to a very stern, very clothed, very handsome man. Butterflies were dancing around in my stomach, yet I was mostly excited. I was also more than a little embarrassed when he told me to set aside my towel, and made me stand there in front of him totally naked with my hands on my head while he briefly lectured me.
For the first few seconds after the lecture ended I had reason to be excited. As he pulled me over his jeans, it seemed extremely erotic.
Wow. Did that change fast. The first spank was not light, it felt like all my skin on my butt swelled up in an instant–worse than if I had just been slapped with a brick of ice or fire. I shrieked.
Until then, I had only read about women kicking and struggling and crying and begging and everything else, and then suddenly, there I was, living out my own little spanking story. As I was getting over the shock of the moment, James was doing what James has always done, and will almost certainly continue to do for the rest of our lives; lecture me while spanking.
The lecture during a spanking has always been strange to me–it’s unnecessary effort, really, on his part. There’s something strangely soothing about hearing another human being’s voice while this is going on, of course–makes me remember that I’m not actually in hell–I imagine there’s no talking there. But still, I’m not actually listening. The pain has overloaded all of the rest of my senses, making all the rest of them worthless. But still, James feels lecturing me during a spanking is important to the overall discipline.
I’m sure the whole hotel heard me that day–not that I cared. You don’t care about much of anything but yourself during a spanking, let me assure you, but in retrospect I’m sure our neighbors were getting a good earful–and because of the cries, the spanks, and the lecture on top of it all, I’m sure they didn’t have to stretch their imaginations much. If they could put two and two together, then they should have had no problem figuring out that I was getting a spanking–one that would take my hourly swearing occurrences strikingly down to nearly zero for the rest of my life.
But still, it felt so nice to be wrapped up afterwards by the arms of a fully-clothed man, who was constantly kissing my forehead and telling me he loved me. It felt wonderful. And swearing, as I said, was cured from me instantly. As much as I hate punishment spankings, damn it–they work. And I’m better for it.
These spankings make me feel like there’s nothing to be guilty about, and that once it’s over, it’s like I’m forgiven and I don’t have anything hanging over my head, which is such a nice change from earlier–I still feel guilty for cheating on a project my senior year in high school–guilt stays with me for a long time. I feel so much healthier, and happier.
As for James, you can tell that he’s happy to have control of his life; he doesn’t have a wife that runs him ragged or who tries to hamstring him, but every day when he comes home, he has someone who has everything she was supposed to have taken care of, taken care of. I won’t ever embarrass him, and I always try to make him happy and he knows this.
Spanking me also makes him a better man. He doesn’t want to fall into hypocrisy by giving me a spanking for things that he does himself, so he does whatever he can to hold himself to the same standards he holds me. The only reason I feel that this lifestyle isn’t for everybody is because I feel not all men are like him–that too many men would take advantage of their wives.
As for us, domestic discipline has so greatly improved our lives, and I couldn’t imagine having gone any longer without it in my life.
Alright, so I think everyone is aware that I am a large advocate of HOHs, and look back at a better time when there were more of them. ‘Head-of-household’ was a term that people of the non-spanking persuasion used quite frequently and quite consciously. Those were good times.
But you talk of men being the head of household NOW and people will look at you as if you just asked them for a weasel sandwich. I understand why. Times have certainly changed—whether or not they changed for the better is HIGHLY debatable, but they HAVE changed, and for the first time since the dawn of time one half of the population is now trying to do exactly what the other half had spent since the beginning of time getting good at. I think it’s not our role as women to be HOH—not that we don’t have power. I believe, in fact, that we have more power than anyone in our family—we are naturally attuned to everyone’s emotions and can either hold a family together or tear it apart, depending on how we use this power. But we aren’t head-of-household because we tend to get caught up more in the drama of life than in the practicalities. We tend to enjoy problems rather than try to fix it, except for the ones that don’t need fixing—we like fixing those.
This has been our role—our strengths, and our problems, since time was known as ‘time’, and it was perfectly natural. We’re social creatures for a reason, and we are truly in our element when we deal with feelings, connections, and health. But for everything else, we started along the line to put men in charge of that, maybe because we didn’t want their awful responsibilities to start with. I don’t know, but the men’s job as protector, bread-winner, alliance-maker, war-fighter, politician and handyman is not ‘fun’, and neither is the unpopular position of HAVING the “last word” on something. And so we gave it up to men and promised, in return to try to ‘obey’ them.
But now, women are really opposed to the whole “obeying” point. And normally not because they don’t think that someone in the relationship needs to be obeyed, only they’d rather have their cake and eat it, too. But the men so far, in the last couple of decades, have merely shrugged their shoulders, and found it in themselves to negotiate a position that they spent 1000 generations getting for themselves.
I recognize the original roles that my ancestors were good enough to render into a sort of tradition. And because of such, I went out on a limb to be traditional at my wedding. It was important to me that “obey” be in my half of the vows. Strangely, it wasn’t that easy. Do you know how long it took me to find “obey” in wedding vows on the internet? The majority of weddings now leave it out of the vows altogether. Some ignore any sort of logic and put it in BOTH vows. I even saw some women on forums who argued that only the man should have obey in his half of the vows, although I don’t know if this is just a “Yay! Girl Power!” thing, or if they actually married men who were so pathetically emasculated that they tolerated such vows.
It took two hours. AND I’m a good Googler. But every Christian denomination, even the conservative ones, has decided to avoid that vow like the plague, simply because it’s “not PC”. But my question is… Why? Why should having a man as head-of-household be a cultural taboo? It seems to me that it’s a natural desire…
But THAT is one of those opinions that I’ve put in my pocket, especially during most dinner conversations. And then, last week, I picked up “Mere Christianity” because it was recommended to me. I was very startled to see my opinions written down in a way that I couldn’t describe them, being that I have been a professional writer for only 2 years and CS Lewis had been, at the point of writing the book, publishing for 16 years. Obviously, he had it down by then and was quite skilled at his craft, and can actually make a persuasive argument, unlike myself. Here’s what C.S. Lewis had to say on the subject:
“…So much for the Christian doctrine about the permanence of marriage. Something else, even more unpopular, remains to be dealt with. Christian wives promise to obey their husbands. In Christian marriage the man is said to be the ‘head’. Two questions obviously arise here. (1) Why should there be a head at all—why not equality? (2) Why should it be the man?
(1) The need for some head follows from the idea that marriage is permanent. Of course, as long as the husband and wife are agreed, no question of a head need arise; and we may hope that this will be the normal state of affairs in a Christian marriage. But when there is a real disagreement, what is to happen? Talk it over, of course; but I am assuming they have done that and still failed to reach agreement. What do they do next? They cannot decide by a majority vote, for in a council of two there can be no majority. Surely, only one or other of two things can happen: either they must separate and go their own ways or else one or other of them must have a casting vote. If marriage is permanent, one or other party must, in the last resort, have the power of deciding the family policy. You cannot have a permanent association without a constitution.
(2) If there must be a head, why the man? Well, firstly is there any very serious wish that it should be the woman? As I have said, I am not married myself, but as far as I can see, even a woman who wants to be the head of her own house does not usually admire the same state of things when she finds it going on next door. She is much more likely to say ‘Poor Mr. X! Why he allows that appalling woman to boss him about the way she does is more than I can imagine.’ I do not think she is even very flattered if anyone mentions the fact of her own ‘headship’. There must be something unnatural about the rule of wives over husbands, because the wives themselves are half ashamed of it and despise the husbands whom they rule. But there is also another reason; and here I speak quite frankly as a bachelor, because it is a reason you can see from outside even better than from inside. The relations of the family to the outer world—what might be called its foreign policy—must depend, in the last resort, upon the man, because he always ought to be, and usually is much more just to the outsiders. A woman is primarily fighting for her own children and husband against the rest of the world. Naturally, almost, in a sense, rightly, their claims override, for her, all other claims. She is the special trustee of their interests. The function of the husband is to see that this natural preference of hers is not given its head. He has the last word in order to protect other people from the intense family patriotism of the wife. If anyone doubts this, let me ask a simple question. If your dog has bitten the child next door, or if your child has hurt the dog next door, which would you sooner have to deal with, the master of that house or the mistress? Or, if you are a married woman, let me ask you this question. Much as you admire your husband, would you not say that his chief failing is his tendency not to stick up for his rights and yours against the neighbors as vigorously as you would like? A bit of an Appeaser?”
Yep. I, too, was thrilled. I think there’s a whole lot more to it than that, mind you. But it’s definitely a worthy and dependable name to spit out in defense of men at the dinner table when your feminist friend comes to dinner, and comes with a small pre-set argument.
I am the last person who would say that women are not useful, or in any way a lesser person then men. I am extremely proud of my gender. I tend to look upon the most feminine, maternal people with a great respect and jealousy, and the more I am like them, the happier and more at peace I find myself. I feel taken care of, but on the other hand, I feel like everyone respects the role I’m able to provide, and James, my husband, feels more confident in his role by providing it.
Anyway, I just wanted to share that little bit of fun with you. I’ll post again shortly.
I think it is a common agreement among many in the spanking community that they do not let their DD or their spanking interests become public knowledge. No public spankings. In the unlikely instance that the police (or anyone else) ever came to the door on a noise complaint from a worried neighbor, an educated spanko will say, “Oh, we were just getting into it with sex games”. This is because most people just won’t understand real discipline spanking. They get “BDSM”. Ride on the back of that to keep from people considering you a “wife-beater” or “battered wife”. They’re not going to “get it”. Don’t even try.
What’s even BETTER known is, even if you would LOVE to tell your family what you do and how your relationship works, you don’t. You shouldn’t.
But it’s hard if you have a family member that REALLY needs it. Take James’ family. You’ve never seen so many girls in one family that need a spanking. It’s ridiculous. There’s…
Don’t get me wrong. You can NOT spank OCD or bipolar out of someone, nor should you try, those are real psychological issues. However, neither of those FORCES a person to be rude, and when people tolerate that behavior it just reinforces it. I feel bad for her, because it seems like nobody has ever stood up to her about anything, instead they just refuse to get close to her.
James’ other cousin. Hillary is nice, but very lazy. Her parents’ house is close to being foreclosed on, and her father lost his job, yet she still won’t get her own apartment or make any attempt to pay rent. Far more interested in buying a new cell phone. I don’t know if spanking can cure selfish, but I would sure like to see it tried!
That’s most of James’ female relatives! At least in this generation. And they all need a spanking. But not just any spanking—one from a very, very patient guy who cares a lot about results and can see hidden potential. Someone who’s not perturbed by a fixer-upper.
James and I actually plan to break the “no telling family” rule one day. We think it would be good to eventually tell James’ mother that I do bring in some income, and at least some aspects of what I actually DO. But we want to wait until I’m pregnant with her SECOND grandchild (not the first, but the second). That way, we’ll have been married for about six years and she’ll be able to see that we’re perfectly happy and well-invested in our relationship and that it’s something that really, truly works. But we can never tell anyone else. Nobody else would have a chance of getting it. Certainly not MY parents. My brother would understand but he would tell my parents as soon as I told him.
I think the most horrible thing, as you can see, is seeing a problem, and thinking it could be fixed, but not being able to offer your advice. Like to James’ sister—she might really want a guy who spanks her. I’m 90% sure that she would. But that 10% leaves us in a world of doubt… SHOULD we tell her what we do? Maybe she would find some match on the internet. I don’t know what to do. I want to see her leading a better life than she is now. She needs to be reigned in, and her loser-boyfriend, who’s she’s not even that serious with—ain’t gonna do it. He can barely manage his own life!
Anyway, you can see how torn I am. I think about it constantly—should I open that door? Or should I do the sensible thing all spankos do—shut the door, lock it, bolt it, and put a heavy chair under the knob just in case.
Any opinions or commentary would be appreciated, folks. If you had a sister-in-law that you wanted with a good guy who would do the only thing that would work for her—to spank her—would you finally “Open the door” on the spanking secret? Or should I sew my lips shut?
As some of you know, I’m an Oregonian who currently lives in Texas. In all my days driving through Oregon, I have only had to pay one toll—which was to cross the Bridge of the Gods into Washington. Oregon uses gas taxes as a means of paying for roads, and it really seems that they have taken that to heart, and therefore keep the amount of toll-paying down as much as possible.
Nowhere else, it seems, is that way. I was aghast when I had to pay 3 dollars every time I came from New Jersey to Philadelphia when I lived in Pennsylvania a couple of summers ago. I’ve just gone without paying a time or two. I was in a rental car, anyway. But now, I’m not so lucky. I never have that much money in my car—hell, I’m lucky if I have 90 cents in change. Isn’t that what they designed credit cards for? Not having to worry about the frivolities of physical cash?
So, when I had to pay the toll last summer while visiting a lady about cake for my wedding, I didn’t have money in the car. So I just went through the toll booth in the lane for cars with an electronic toll tag, even though I don’t have one. This had happened before—the state takes down my license plate and sends me a bill, tacking on an extra dollar for the inconvenience I’ve laden upon them.
So, I got a bill for this day, too. And I meant to pay it… But then it ended up in a drawer somewhere and I forgot about it.
And I meant to pay when I got the first and second reminder letters, too. But come on—you know how these things are! You stick them somewhere, and you only think about them when you get a bill from a BILL COLLECTION AGENCY with an additional payment of FIFTY BUCKS for not paying the toll.
I almost piddled myself when I saw the letter in the mailbox—an official sort of letter from Idaho with my name on it. I do no business with Idaho, so I had a feeling it was nothing good. The only attention I might have deserved from Idaho was because of a toll road in TEXAS.
So, surely my credit’s taken a hit at this point, and I’m writing a check from our joint checking account, knowing that I’m going to have to come clean because James is the type who would look at our bank statement and wonder what a $50 charge was doing on there.
Unfortunately, not saying anything about it and hoping James would never notice wasn’t an option. Not saying anything about something like this is as good as lying in James’ book. And I’ve never had the spanking for lying. James assures me that I really don’t want to go there. When he talks about people deserving an “extreme spanking” where a switch is cut and all that nonsense, he describes the deservees as “women who drive drunk and women who lie to their husbands”. So he puts lying to him up there with drunk driving and getting arrested. Perfect. He says it is because trust is so very critical to a marriage.
So, knowing that I was going to have to tell James and just really, really hope that James had the best day EVER, I was dreading his coming home. He had gone with friends to play a game of disc golf that afternoon. I tried to make things better on myself by helping out in “The Wood Room”, which is a room in our house that James is rebuilding (so named for its partly finished wooden paneled walls). The previous owner started converting the garage into a room, but only got about halfway done. I cleaned the dust and excess wall texturing off of the windows that were open right in front of the driveway.
Chris, James’ best friend, was actually driving the group to and from disc-golf, which is a rarity. Normally James comes home all by himself, as he has to spend an hour dropping off his friends, but when they both drove into the driveway, my spirits were up since they were both in a rather good mood—meaning that James probably won a game. Finally, James came in and asked how my day was and immediately thanked me for helping with the room.
I had been working very hard all day—painting cabinets in the kitchen. Which really was not fun at all, and I probably looked as tired as I felt. So, when I finally told him about the bill, I sounded very angry with myself and the whole situation. He said that we would take a shower and talk about it later, but was cut short because Chris was suddenly standing right in front of the open windows.
James was about to discuss my upcoming spanking, which would have made a very good side-story to the event, because we were about to blow Chris’ mind with the private details of our relationship. He had come back to grab his cell phone (which he’d forgotten at our place), no doubt in time to hear my confession and see how miserable I was about it. If it was me looking in on the situation, my brain would have already gone to what was going to happen. But I don’t think Chris is that imaginative.
Because, at this point, James didn’t say anything about spanking yet—I like to think he won’t decide to do it, although he said, “Take a shower with me, and afterwards we’ll talk about it.” Yeah, we’ll “talk” about it. But it hasn’t happened yet when he says “talk about it” that way that we’ve “talked about it” when I wasn’t bare-assed and draped over his knee.
Still, we showered together (we’re big on doing that even when we aren’t in the mood for anything sexual, because we can chat without being distracted by anything, and we both like taking long showers), and we tried to talk about other things besides what I’d done. But I couldn’t keep myself from bringing up the issue. I was frustrated with myself. “I can’t believe I let that happen!” I grumbled.
“I know that sort of thing happens sometimes. I know you sometimes have trouble remembering things,” he shrugged simply and kissed me. “Don’t worry about it right now. After we’re out of the shower, you should do a short write up on what happened exactly—because I don’t really understand, and because it would be something to put on your blog. I’ll read it, and then we’ll talk about it.”
“Is there anything I can do to avoid a spanking?” I said, truly hoping there was something I could do to get out of it.
“No,” he said gently, so not to upset me. “I really don’t think so.”
I sighed, feeling suddenly resigned to my fate.
After the shower, I got on the computer and typed up this:
Back when visiting the cake lady for my wedding, I had to go through the toll booth. When I saw it coming up, I tried to get off the road and go around, but my attempts didn’t work. I didn’t have money in my car and I had very little change in my car. My ash tray merely contained pennies at that moment. So, I just went through. And I wasn’t worried, because a similar situation had happened before, where for a few extra cents, I could pay online after they sent me a bill. On the way back, I was on the phone, forgot about tollbooths, and got hit again by the bill. Again, I was unconcerned. The bill was going to come anyway.
A trifecta of punishment is nothing to look forward to. But preparing for the eventual punishment, for me, is far easier than receiving extra for not doing as instructed. I got ready, and by the time I was nearly naked in the corner, James was done reading and was in the bedroom, thanking me for getting all of that done and, as always, he told me he loved me very much.
Then he started the lecture. Listening to his lecturing always tends to be a bit awkward—I’m nearly naked, and I’m normally very nervous and twitchy. But I do remember him mentioning the point that if I had just gone through the toll booth without paying, it’s no big deal. Even if I forgot to pay until the first notice, it’s no big deal, probably just a few swats with his hand, if anything. But ignoring the first notice… and then ignoring the SECOND notice… and possibly a THIRD… that got me into REAL trouble. And from now on, if he sees a bill waiting around the house that I haven’t taken care of, I will get spanked immediately. (A bill specifically for me that is, James takes care of most of our finances, and we share our bank account, so I don’t have very many bills to pay.) If I ever let something go this far without taking care of it again, I’ll get a switching. (No, I’ve never actually been switched yet. It just sounds scary. James would never break the skin of course, but I’m sure it would hurt far worse than any spanking I’ve had before.) When I see something important I need to take care of, I need drop everything I’m doing and take care of it so that I don’t forget. I’m sure there was more to the lecture, but that was the bulk of it.
And then I was pulled gently over his lap and the spanking began. As always, it started with the hand. You might think “Oh, a warm up!” But you’re wrong. I swear James is a distant relation to the Tin Man. Call it what you will, but I’m definitely going to call it part of the real deal. It was even much longer of a hand spanking than usual, with special attention being paid to the backs of my thighs and the inner sides of my bottom cheeks.
After this “Warm up” my ass was already beat-red, and I was already crying. (And normally a hand spanking does NOT bring the tears out of me). He saw that I was already upset and gave me a hug and held me for awhile before he sent me back into the corner for a few minutes. (Trust me—corner time is awesome. It’s time to cool down and collect myself so I don’t lose it completely.) Afterwards, it was another lecture and we were back at it.
You all might remember the last BIG spanking I got with the belt. Well, this was no different. It was another moment of me laying with my back on the bed, James holding up my legs and going to town on my bottom. He spanked my already red bottom and thighs all over again. But I was bawling already, enough so he had to stop a couple of times to comfort me and give me a rest. But he wouldn’t be talked out of finishing.
I cried all through my corner time afterwards. My bottom was throbbing, and most of all, I felt so stupid. He thought it was going to make me feel better when he came back with the wooden spoon and said that he was going to use that instead of the paddle. But I don’t remember it making me feel any better—I was pretty inconsolable.
I don’t know why, but when your ass is that red, you can feel everything! FINGERS feel like murder, let alone a wooden spoon. It felt like medieval weaponry. When he finally decided that my ass was PLENTY red, he gave me my last 10 spanks on the inside of my thighs—which I think were even more tender than my bottom. I think that might have been his point, though—he KNEW I hated those, but he wanted me to learn the lesson so he never had to follow through with the threat of cutting a switch. He made it clear that he really wanted it to be the last spanking for at least a good while, especially about the issue of procrastinating and then forgetting important things. (Yet, I got a spanking not three days later because of the food journal issue, which I wrote about a few days ago). Fortunately for me, he didn’t follow through and use the switch for that spanking, because he felt he hadn’t been reminding me properly. Of course he had no such worries in this case, since he had never known about the toll issue in the first place.
Afterwards, he had to comfort me for a LONG time before I felt normal again. It’s funny how the events during the course of the day could turn to that. An ass that I LITERALLY could not sit with for 2 full days. Sigh!
I like to think one day I’ll screw my head on straight and avoid forever these sorts of situations. I’ve been doing quite well with the checklist James made me print out, so I think I’m on the right track.
A lot of you know that I’m one of those who treat Domestic Discipline as some sort of “cause”, and my husband and I, therefore, try to live as examples for other couples who might at some point consider using DD as a part of their relationship. Not that we’ve told any of our real life couple friends yet, but someday we might, and we would like to have some concrete examples of how it has helped us, both individually and as a couple.
We both believe that DD can help women accomplish goals that they have trouble accomplishing themselves. Achieving a goal weight is a prime example of this, since weight loss is a goal shared by so many women. It is also often a difficult and stressful goal to achieve, and one where we think domestic discipline can really play a useful role. Remember that we are talking here about goals that women have set for themselves. There are some rules that James makes, and enforces, whether I like it or not. The no swearing rule was one example, since I strongly disagreed with it when James and I first met, although I’m glad for it now. However, for a couple who is new to DD, a possible starting point might be the husband helping the wife to achieve some of her own, personal goals. It is a less daunting starting point for two reasons. First, from the wife’s perspective, she isn’t going to feel bullied or pushed around, because she is setting the goals herself. Second, from the husband’s perspective, he doesn’t have to feel any guilt or worry about spanking his wife when she isn’t making choices that will help her reach her goals, because she set the goals herself, and she asked for his help. This makes it easier for him to ignore pouting, whining, arguing, or in my case, the patented “Aren’t you being unreasonable?” look.
Now, back to the original point. When I have the body of a fine-tuned athlete with skinny legs (“Mick-Jagger legs” as I used to call them) and rock-hard abs as I did in high school, I still weigh 130 lbs. But right now I weigh 150. Since I got up to 180 in college, I think 150 is astounding, and a weight I have not seen in many moons. And for the most part, I think I already look quite good, and James agrees. I’m not overweight, but as most of you women out there know—it’s not about looking “normal”. It’s about looking like a scorching hottie. We can accept nothing less from ourselves. Losing about 15 pounds is a goal I have set for myself. I spent the first year and a half since James and I met trying to achieve it on my own, with very limited success, so right after we got married I asked James to help. Losing weight over the honeymoon and over the Christmas holidays just wasn’t going to happen, and James didn’t even try to make or enforce any weight related rules. After the New Year, James asked me if I still wanted his help. He told me he thinks I’m very beautiful at my current weight, and so he was fine with whatever decision I made. He asked me to think about it, and make sure I wanted his help, since if he did help, he was making a promise to me that he would make sure I succeeded. I thought about it, and decided that I did want his help.
In addition to looking my best, I figure that if I can reach 130 again, and people ask how it’s done, I’ll just tell them, “My husband made me keep to it. Because he spanks me.” (Not EXACTLY that sentence. I’m working on it.)
However, setting the goal is much easier than achieving the goal. And for James, offering to help is much easier than actually following through and making sure I eat right and exercise. And James has witnessed that although it seems I mind my eating habits and workout habits carefully, I still can’t lose weight. He maintains that I haven’t been able to work out and eat right consistently. He claims I do it for a week at a time, and then stop, and then start again later. And so, we’ve taken to the food journal. The food journal, in theory, removes any ambiguity from the process, since I can record exactly what I ate and when, and also whether or not I exercised, for how long, etc. I agreed to try “James’ way”, which I am skeptical of, because it is basically just what I’ve been trying for months now, except with James monitoring the process. If it works out, then James saying “I told you so” is a small price to pay for being skinny. If it doesn’t, James will be able to attest to the fact that all the usual “diet and exercise” ideas aren’t working, and I can go to a nutritionist and expect magic out of him. It helps if you have written down beforehand how much you’re working out, how much you drink, how much you eat, and what time you DO all of that. At the end of the day, I expect that nutritionist to pass me over a magic pill that will cure me of pudge.
Food journals, however, are NOT easy. I have trouble remembering to take a pill every day, let ALONE remember to write it down every time I pull a Trisket out of the pantry. But for my goals, it must be done.
I’ve really been sucking it up on this task. In general, remembering to do things I don’t really want to do is very difficult for me. This doesn’t just apply to the food journal, it has come up many other times as well. In fact, you’ll see another example in an upcoming post. I’ve never gotten so many spankings for one thing. My husband reminded me after my latest spanking the other day, “You have to start remember to do the things you promise to do. You’ve gotten more spankings over this issue than everything else put together.” And it’s true.
Many of you, like me, remember the spanking I got in the beginning of this March. You can look back into the archives if you don’t know what I’m talking about (or just click HERE). That spanking was truly awful. The spanking I received this last Saturday, however, was pretty odd for a repeat spanking due to the fact that it could have been much worse, and I couldn’t have argued about that.
My parents had come to town for about ten days, and after the 3rd day I lost my food journal (and I didn’t look very hard for it, to be honest), then even when I found it a couple of days later I didn’t add anything to it. After the last spanking, you’ll recall, I set up Microsoft Outlook so that every evening at 8:30 I get a reminder about my food journal. I got these messages, but then proceeded to ignore them. So, when I was filling in the pages with the best of my memory after my folks’ departure, I fessed up to what I was doing. I didn’t want to be accused of lying (which I really never want to be accused of, since James informs me that the spanking would be of historical proportions). James was in the middle of making a pizza, but he became very thoughtful.
After the pizza was made, however, he sent me, with my food journal, into the bedroom. (The bedroom has informally become the “punishment room”. I don’t think this is for any reason except that I feel uncomfortable being spanked in wide open spaces like the living room, and we’re creatures of habit). I mildly protested, but not for too long. He looked serious, but not angry. Just disappointed.
Without much further ado, I did as I was told. James was right behind me, and began the lecture as soon as he rounded the doorframe. “I know it’s not easy,” he began. “And I know that your parents are distracting, and I’m really grateful for all the work you guys did on the house. But you really have to remember the food journal. It’s just one thing. And you HAVE to do it right after you eat—every time. I blame myself this time; I need to remind you.” You see, James has asked me on several occasions to make a daily checklist, so I don’t forget things, but he’s never MADE me do it. The Outlook reminder was my alternative to the checklist, which James approved grudgingly. After that previous spanking, James was planning to remind me himself, after each meal, to fill out the food journal, but he failed miserably at this.
“I need to be stricter and more consistent and check your journal more often so every time you forget it doesn’t end up being a big spanking because you’ve forgotten for a week or more.” But he says this while he’s going into the closet for his belt. So I’m nervous already. “Bend over the bed.” He ordered, after which he peeled off my pants and panties and had me step out of them. He positioned me once on the corner of the bed, so that my legs would be apart, but when he asked, I admitted that my leg was feeling a little awkwardly placed, and so he put me back so I was bending over the long side of the bed with my legs on the ground (but still apart).
“I started writing again here,” I admitted, pointing at the book page.
“How many days?”
“Seven.” I said, glancing at it.
“Seven days times three meals a day, then. So that’s 21 strokes.” He figured. “It’s not going to be as bad as spankings I’ve given you before, because I haven’t been doing my job, but it’s going to get my point across.”
Then the first stroke fell. SMACK! Mind you; the belt sounds just as scary as it feels. But for some reason, you hear the sound before you feel the pain. I don’t understand the science of this.
But overall, James is becoming better at wielding the belt without bruising me. He has better control now, and he doesn’t hit with it as hard as he used to. Yet as soon as the belt hit the thighs…
Shudder. The belt, when connecting to the thighs, leaves an instant welt. There’s no “standing in place” to receive it. You FEEL it, and you RESPOND. Poor James always has to put an arm around my waist just to keep me in place. I certainly can’t do it on my own. And it’s harder in this position for James to keep me from putting my hands back there. Not to mention how easy it is just to stand up.
But it ended, and none-too-soon. The side of my ass was annoying me by hurting more than anywhere else. You can really tell, when being belted, how much the chub on your butt is protecting you from bruising, and as soon as there’s no fat somewhere… bruise, bruise, bruise! Luckily, everything’s gone now, and not many even lasted to the next day.
At the end of the spanking, as usual, James held me and comforted me. I wasn’t crying this time—just a bit rattled. I felt worse for James—he repeated his earlier lecture and told me that he wanted me to write out a “daily check list” and apologized consistently for “letting me down” and “not doing his job”. It’s wonderful to know that James takes my goals so seriously.
Afterwards, I made out a simple checklist and attached it to the fridge—just a “did you write down breakfast/lunch/dinner/night yogurt/other/exercise?” for the days of the week. I attached it to the fridge since I tend to open it by habit upon entering the kitchen—even if I want something that’s not a fridge-item. Like a pair of scissors. Hopefully I can keep with it. If not—you’ll be seeing a lot of spankings from here on out!
Here’s a fantasy that James and I share: to have some real life friends somewhere around our age that also believe in DD/CDD. Just to go camping with, go on picnics, go to the movies, bowling, dinner parties—the kind of things we do with our non-spanking friends! But it’s hard for us to find any in the area. And let’s face it, if they invent teleporting tomorrow and we were suddenly able to teleport from Austin to Timbuktu in a heartbeat—it would STILL be a problem.
And here’s why: they’re hard to find. Couples that practice DD are really hard to find and what’s HARDER to find is a DD relationship if you’re a single person, so if we do have a friend who’s into DD, double-dating is still off because it’s so hard to get that person together with someone who’s not old, bald, and creepy.
And I know why! Because many women of my generation—women in their late teens, twenties, and early thirties, were raised in a culture completely dominated by radical feminism. And some of us rebelled—at least subconsciously. We fought “the Man”, except this time “the Man” wasn’t a patriarchal head of household figure or an old white guy. Instead “the Man” was Gloria Steinem and Molly Ivins and the National Organization for Women. Some of us want to be housewives, and stay home when we have young children. And many who do have careers outside the home still want to feel taken care of and watched over when they are at home.
Men of my generation, on the other hand, grew up thinking that women are equal in every single way, or hell—better than them. And if you hit one, you’re toast (which is a good thing). However, they have also had it pounded into their heads that spanking = hitting, and thus they are not willing to spank when it is called for. Also, so many men (and women, of course, but let’s look at men) don’t feel that they should lead by example—they don’t have to anymore. Their wives are going to take care of them and their lives and they can sit watching football all day long, drinking beer, and being lazy. In essence, they can be Homer Simpson, and get away with it. That is what society expects of them, and they are more than willing to fulfill those lousy expectations.
This is not their fault alone—today’s society created these people. For centuries, men have been expected to provide for and protect their families, to treat women with chivalry, to work hard and try to do what is right, and to teach their sons to do the same. Not all men lived up to these expectations, of course, but those who did were treated with respect by their wives and by society at large. Now, in the last fifty years, society has told men that they don’t need to be the head of their household! Those men who try to act as head of household (with or without any form of discipline to enforce their decisions) are portrayed in popular culture as chauvinistic, insecure, violent, and sexually repressed, among other things. In fact, men are often treated as if they’re not needed in society at all. Women will do everything. Just put your sperm in the jar before you leave the planet so there can be future generations. When men are raised with those sorts of values, and they can behave that way and still get sex (often without even needing to get married), it is easy to understand why so many men just go with the flow, and sink to the level society expects of them.
Meanwhile, many men of the baby boomer generation have seen the problems that feminists have created (with the willing collaboration of lazy men). They see the high divorce rate, broken families, disrespectful children, and a generally cruder culture. Many of them just want a return to more traditional gender roles in society. Others of them are divorced and think that DD could have helped their previous marriage. Some, unfortunately, have become embittered by women and want revenge of some sort.
A significant number of these men are now looking for relationships where they are the unquestioned head of the household. In some cases they are now looking for a DD relationship, or a relationship that includes spanking or some other form of discipline. Sadly, though, these guys a lot of times have no idea what they are doing, or they are dramatically disillusioned.
Due to the anti-feminist rebellion of many in the younger generation of women and the large number of aging, divorced baby-boomer men, there is a HUGE age gap between women and men who are looking for DD relationships.
I’m not talking about EVERYONE, obviously. I’m just making generalizations from what I witness on various blogs, forums, and personal sites.
However, my heart really, truly goes out to the poor young women—of marrying age, particularly, who want to settle down with a man who can provide for them, care for them, and discipline them when they need it. There seem to be few of them to be found where the women are looking, and probably it’s just such a small population anyway and they’re hard to bring out into the light. Society does not look kindly on a man who openly admits that he spanks his wife when necessary. Some of these men (and women, of course) don’t even know that there are other people like them.
Women tend to think more on the issue—they want discipline. They read stories about it and have really made it a huge fantasy that many feel they can’t be happy without. Their soul yearns for it.
I’ve said it before: I want to help people get together. I want everyone to experience the personal fulfillment and joy I feel on a daily basis. And so I’ve resolved to find the best ways to match up folks. And yes—I feel everyone should be matched up. Personally, I don’t favor the “free sex” lifestyle of modern day America, where women are expected to drop their pants and destroy their modesty on the first date. It’s not all about sex.
ABCD webmasters (the group behind Bethany’s Woodshed and Romanic Spankings, among others) is coming out with a social network, where everybody who likes spanking can come together and sing camp songs or whatever, and I’m administrator of that site, but we’re not going to go to personals right out of the shoot.
Right now, it’s Spanking Internet. That is the site on which I met James, and so I am eternally grateful. HOWEVER—there are a LOT of creeps on there. They’re unchecked, and they’re sometimes very spooky, and they often overshadow the normal guys, so beware! When I met James, there wasn’t a way, unless you were a paid member, to search only within a given age range, but fortunately now there is, which makes it easier. It is also free to use the personals section.
So take heart, you lonely DDers! Things will look better by this summer, thanks to technology, and it is my pleasure to try to help you, advise you, and do everything I can. Read the first few posts I’ve made on this blog if you’ve never been in a DD relationship before, or if you’re just starting to look. There’s good stuff there.
If you need any advice, though—my husband and I are also here for you. My email’s firstname.lastname@example.org or Korey.email@example.com, I check both. Don’t hesitate to drop me a line. And always make read receipts with me to make sure your email’s going through. You’d be AMAZED how many problems I have with that!
What are you talking about, Korey? You’ve been so good, lately! How can you earn THREE spankings in 24 hours?!
Actually… I haven’t been that good this month. I’ve gotten a spanking here and there, I just didn’t write a blog about it. Trust me, if I wrote about EVERY spanking I ever got, I’d begin to sound tedious. Though, I must admit, I don’t think I’ve yet earned 3 decent spankings in one day before.
The second spanking of the trio was the main event, but I know ya’ll like a good lead-up.
The first spanking happened on Thursday evening, because I was cleaning and threw away a crazy blue thing I found on the counter. In my defense, it looked like an air sealer; a piece of trash—the thing you rip off of the kitty litter tub so that you can open it. It’s long and has a hole in one end. Only this one was small and blue. I SUPPOSE it was something important from one of James’ professor’s classes that he was teaching as a stand-in professor, that James was messing with and broke in half accidently. In fact, he wasn’t the first to do this. Another student was messing with it and broke it in half, but James re-broke it, and was re-gluing it back together. Which is why it was on the counter.
James is a pretty decent human being, you’re thinking. How can he spank you for throwing out something that you had every reason to think was a piece of trash?
Because I suppose he was talking to me about all this just five minutes before I got up and started to clean; I just wasn’t paying attention. I was probably trying to pay attention, mind you, only I was reading my computer screen, and although sometimes I convince myself otherwise, I can’t read and listen at the same time.
Anyway, it didn’t look good when he walked by and saw the blue thing in the trash. He was confused, and wondered if he threw it away accidentally, or if it had gotten knocked off the counter unintentionally. He asked if I put it in the trash, and I said, “Yeah. That blue thing? It’s in the trash.” Because, again, I was not listening to the story, AND he doesn’t like me throwing away stuff when I don’t even know what it is.
He called me into the kitchen, and told me to take off my pants. As I was arguing that is LOOKED like garbage, he tugged down my jeans and panties in a swoop and bent me over the counter. Then, to add insult to injury, he took off MY belt (which I guess makes sense, because James doesn’t wear pants too large for him so he doesn’t wear belts very often), and started to spank me with it.
I don’t really like belts, and I’ll tell you why: they’re really hard to aim. And you can feel the aiming struggle on your tush. So, since James was standing on my left side, the worst of each spank was mostly on the far right side of my right cheek. It was only 10 strokes, but still—there were nine strokes in one area. Until the 10th stroke.
OH, GOD. THE 10th STROKE. That landed on the inside of my left thigh, somehow. There’s still a welt, nearly 48 hours after the event.
TIP OF THE DAY: Try your best to get your husband/spanker to NOT spank the inner thigh area. The thigh area is what stories refer to as “Delicate Flesh”. And I don’t think spanking bruises are very sexy. Refer to the picture below:
See? Bruises aren’t incredibly hot. To me. Some people like them. Some people like going on those Russian Woodshed sites, too. But I think they’re scary.
Come on, Korey. Where’d this 2nd spanking go?
I’m saving it until the end for dramatic effect.
So; my workout ball, for some reason, pries the paint away from the wall where I put it every day. I don’t know why it does this. Weird latex on the ball/weak wall paint, who knows? I keep putting it on the same spot because I figure I’m going to have to repaint that spot, anyway. UNFORTUNATELY, James didn’t quite agree with my way of thinking. He happened to move my ball away from its normal spot just last night, and he was shocked when he saw the paint peeling away from the ball. He was noticing this for the first time, since he never uses the ball. He informed me about it, expecting me to be equally surprised.
I was not surprised by the news. I’d noticed two months ago that it was doing that. Of course, my lack of a surprised expression let loose the fact that I knew about it and was allowing it to continue, without mentioning it to James or doing anything to remedy the problem. So, my pants were back down for the second time in one evening. Luckily, he just used his hand, but my bottom was already totally swollen from spanking number two. However, after spanking number two, the last thing I expected was to be back across his knee only hours after the event.
*Cough Cough*. Spanking Two?
Alright, alright. So, I’m just sitting on my computer when I get a Skype message. James and I met over the internet, and we still really enjoy IMing each other during work. So, you get to read a conversation between us, that he began as soon as I got off the phone with a friend. As you may know, James is helping me get to my goal weight by making sure I exercise every day and making me keep a food journal. But… I haven’t been keeping it for a while, especially since I took ill. But, now that I’m mostly healed, I get this message:
James: I have to go to another meeting at 3:00, but we need to discuss something first. Let me have your full attention for a few minutes.
James: Go and get your food journal off the counter.
James: When was the last time you wrote anything in it?
Korey: When my neck went out.
James: I looked this morning, and the last day you had anything written down was March 2nd.
James: Is that correct?
Korey: Let me check.
Korey: You’re right. The 2nd. But I got that cough and stuff… After which, I probably dropped doing it.
James: March 2nd was the Monday before this one. You were still up and around without any major problem at least until that Wednesday, because we went to watch a movie over at Chris and Miranda’s place.
Korey: I don’t remember. I’m sorry; I don’t know why I stopped doing it. I was just assuming it was the cough, since normally I was good for a long time of writing in it when I was healthy.
James: But moreover, while I completely understand that you couldn’t work out while your neck was having problems, there is no reason you shouldn’t have still been keeping your food journal. You were still eating during that time. I would have been more than willing to help, bring it to you, whatever you wanted. But even with that in mind, I still wouldn’t have had a big problem if you had forgotten it on a couple of the days where you were doing really badly. But there is no excuse at all for you just not doing it for 10 days.
James: I didn’t check until now, because I assumed you were still doing it, since you even mentioned it in your blog entry.
Korey: You’re right; I haven’t been doing it. I’m sorry, honey.
James: I am not angry at you, sweetie. I love you very much, but I’m going to make sure you remember from now on. Forgetting one day, especially when you are sick, is not a big issue. Forgetting for 10 days is an issue, especially since we talked so much, so many times, about how we were going to try some things differently for a month. Of course the working out part isn’t your fault, but the food journal is your responsibility. I know you didn’t disobey me on purpose, but that isn’t the point. We have had this same discussion at least three or four times now, about other things, including your prior food journal on the Livestrong website and eating your yogurt.
Korey: You’re right. I’m sorry.
James: You need to take whatever action you need to take in order to remember each day. If that means you set a daily alarm for a certain time to remind you, that is fine. Other people do that, it is very easy with a cell phone. Or you can use a calender with check boxes, or whatever else you want. But it is something you need to take responsibility for.
Korey: I’ll figure out a way to remember it.
James: I’m discussing this with you on Skype rather than in person for three reasons. One, as you’ve said before, I’m stricter on Skype, and I need to be strict about this. Two, it lets me write out what I want to say, and think about it for a second, before sending it to you.
James: The third reason is that in the past, when I’ve spanked you, I’ve always told you about it right before it happened, even if I’d been planning to spank you for a few hours or more. I do this because I don’t want you to spend the whole day thinking about it.
Korey: Honey, just give me another chance one more time. I’ll do the food journal.
James: However, it might be useful for you to have a couple of hours to think about why you are being spanked, so you aren’t still in the process of trying to argue your way out of it when it actually happens.
James: There is no point in arguing with me about this sweetie. I only asked you about it because I wanted to make sure you hadn’t started using some other journal, or writing it in a Word document, or something like that.
Korey: I really think that if you give me another chance, you won’t have to spank me. I’ll do just as good without one.
James: I didn’t tell you this morning because I didn’t want you to have to worry about it all day.
James: Sweetie, you are going to get a spanking, this issue of you forgetting to do things we both agree you need to do has gone on too long.
James: I’m telling you now because I want you to be able to have a little time to think about why you are going to be spanked.
James: I will be home around 5:00. We’ll take care of your spanking then, so it won’t get in the way of us enjoying the rest of the evening.
Korey: Please, honey. I’ll do better. What do you want me to say?
James: There is nothing I expect you to say, sweetie. I decided on the way to work this morning that I was going to spank you.
James: I do want you to do two things, however.
James: The first is, you will come up with a plan for how this will not happen in the future. That could be a cell phone alarm, calendar, whatever it is that you want. But I want you to know what it will be, and I want you to write your plan down on a piece of paper.
Korey: I’ll make an alarm on my outlook calendar. I don’t have to write it down–I’m writing it right now.
James: Second, you will be ready for your spanking when I get home. This is part of your punishment. I’ll text message you when I’m about 5 minutes away, so you have time to get ready.
James: Sweetie, I don’t think you are understanding that I’m quite serious about this. You need to stop arguing, or this will be a much longer spanking than it is already going to be.
James: You will write it down, on a piece of paper, which will be on the bed when I get home.
James: Next to the paper will be the paddle (which is currently in your sock drawer), and one of my belts from the closet.
James: You will be in only your panties, in the corner of the room.
James: I’m going to try to be a little more formal about this, so that you get the message this time.
James: This will be at least the fourth spanking I’ve given you for something like this, and each time previously you’ve told me you would make sure to remember from now on. This time I’m going to make sure you take me seriously.
Korey: Honey, isn’t the paddle a little too harsh? I have a very low pain tolerance.
James: Sweetie, you know I love you very much, and I am not going to leave you black and blue or anything like that. However, you need to understand that I’m not going to want argument about this.
James: I have to go to the meeting. I love you very much. I will be home between 4:30 and 5:00. I’ll text message you when I’m about 5 or 10 minutes away, so make sure your phone is on.
So, needless to say, my internet begging didn’t work. I only have two weapons to use against a spanking. One of my weapons, James said, is acting sad, and the second is acting like James is being unreasonable and/or mean by spanking me over what I consider to be little stuff. In person, I’m quite good at wielding both of these weapons, and both of them together are a powerful combination, which is why I don’t get spanked nearly as often as I otherwise might. So, James was trying “Skype Sentencing” to carry out a pre-spanking lecture without getting taken down by my weapons. It is much harder for my sad face and my “Aren’t you being mean James?” tone to work in a text based format.
Long before James got home, I cleaned the house (thinking that a dirty one will make my punishment worse), and laid out one of his belts (the thinnest one) and the… paddle (Grumble. And if you want to know WHY I’m grumbling, read my post about the new paddle.) and I write down what my plan is for remembering the food journal on a piece of paper and lay out everything on the bed.
It’s actually quite good that I had all that laid out beforehand, because I never got James’ text message—sometimes those things don’t get through, even though he showed me later on his phone that he sent one. When I heard him pull up in the driveway, I quickly rushed into the bedroom and took off all my clothes and stood in the corner in just my panties. It’s cold outside—about 60 degrees, and I was shivering next to the window in the corner I chose to stand in.
James came in and thanked me for doing everything I was supposed to, and called me out of the corner to stand in front of him as he sat on the edge of the bed. He asked me if I understood why I was being spanked, and I told him I did. I didn’t argue like I normally do—that would only make it worse, and I was hoping that he would keep my panties on for my good behavior. And when he pulled me over his knee, I thought I’d be so lucky. But after he spanked me a few times with his hand, he ended up pulling down my panties nonetheless.
Right after, of course, the spanking felt a whole lot worse. Although panties are thin, they seem to do a lot as far as the sting of each blow is concerned.
I’ve mentioned this before, but I don’t take a spanking gracefully. I cry, I try to struggle, I kick; he always has to grab my wrists to keep me from trying to cover myself and has to position one of his legs over mine so I don’t kick too much or try to wriggle onto my side.
Soon, though, the first portion of my spanking is over and he sends me back into the corner. He leaves the room to get a drink—he just wants me to think about what’s about to happen, why I’m in this position—in the corner, naked, with an already red bottom.
When he comes back into the room, he tells me to lie on the bed on my back.
This is not a good sign. I have the strongest feeling that he’s not going to have sex with me, since we never have sex during or right after a discipline spanking. So, laying on my back will only be unpleasant.
I knew what he was thinking, too. He planned to belt me while holding my legs up in the air, making sure that he won’t belt me too high on my butt. However—when your legs are up in the air, your skin on your butt tightens, and you feel like any cushion your chub might give you is gone—because it is. This position makes your ass as tight as any super model. There’s only muscle.
So I started freaking out, even before he started, and James, I’m sure, felt bad. I mean, I was hyperventilating. He gave me a few stripes with the belt, and then he stopped for a bit to comfort me and calm me down before he continued. He kissed my forehead and said something like “Sweetie, I know this stings a lot, and it is going to sting a lot more, but remember it is just a spanking. Everything is going to be ok, I just want to make sure this is the last time I have to spank you for this.” I calmed down a little, and he eventually continued, and there were about 20 stripes in all. And then I was back in the corner. By now, I was shivering, crying, and not in a good state. Mostly because I knew it wasn’t over yet. Just thinking about that paddle made me shake uncontrollably and start to sob.
The paddle was a little different this time. It’s thinner than it was earlier—probably even by a forth of an inch—and lighter. James sanded it down because it was so heavy.
I was in quite a state by the time he pulled me back over his knee. He smacked me once—and the sharp pain immediately brought a stream of tears to my eyes. I didn’t try to run away; I just turned and gripped my arms around James and begged. But he had already quite made up his mind about giving me at least three swats. And three swats I got—the effect of them stayed much longer than invited; past the next spanking that day and well into the night. James took me to dinner and the movies afterwards, but my bottom just tingled with a numbing pain all the while.
Needless to say; I’m getting back into the food journal. This ended up being such a debacle; I’d prefer never to repeat it. And I suggest no one ever do anything that brings “paddling” into your husband’s mind. If James hadn’t already spanked me about stuff like this three times already it wouldn’t have been quite as bad, and it wasn’t as bad as it will be next time, if there has to be a next time for this issue, or so James has threatened.
Such is a day in the life of a spanked wife.
I’m not a fan of backseat spankings, so I’m happy that yesterday was really only my first one. First one for discipline, at least. Fooling-around spankings are good wherever I can get them!
I didn’t agree with the spanking—that’s right. I don’t agree with every one of my husband’s rules. Especially when they quell my attempts at side-seat driving.
Although driving is not my husband’s strong suit, I hate driving so much that I still have him drive us everywhere. It’s not that he can’t be great driver when he focuses—he’s just too smart to be a good driver most of the time. The inability to focus on mundane tasks is typical in geniuses—and yes, I think my husband’s a genius. Albert Einstein, for example, upon visiting the US got into a train station, and lost his wife. After he finally found her, he lost his tickets. Eventually he found those, too, but the man was notorious for getting lost in his own neighborhood. He was a space cadet. And my husband can be one, too.
Simply put, I’ve saved our lives with my side-seat driving more than once, but occasionally it will drive my husband up the wall. And he starts making threats. Yesterday was, “Korey, if you say one more thing about driving, unless it’s life or death, I swear I will pull over, take you into the backseat, pull down your pants, and spank you.”
So, I HEARD the threat, but it obviously didn’t process, because by the time we were leaving Costco, I felt he was trying to go to the exit line on the right instead of the much shorter one on the left. And I said, “Oh—you want to go to the one on the left. The right gets really backed up.”
He gave me a sideways glare and a sigh. “I’m gonna let that go. Last warning.”
So, about three minutes later, I said, “We’re in a turn-only lane.” Of course, he had just realized that himself.
Again, he gave me an annoyed look, but I shrugged. He didn’t say anything.
Two second later, I noticed the car to the left of us had its turn signal on. I was sure James didn’t see it because he was currently trying to get into the right, lane, too, and the car trying to get in our lane was crowding us. “Be careful of that guy. He’s trying to get into this lane,” I announced, pointing.
Before I knew it, he pulled into a parking lot. “That’s it!” he said.
“James!” I snapped. “We are a block from home. Let’s just go home. This is not funny.”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t promise you a spanking at home. Even though I warned you, I let you off twice!” He found a spot and turned off the car. “Get into the backseat.”
I argued angrily for awhile, but eventually I put down the pizza on my lap, and met him in the backseat.
Backseat spankings are pretty uncomfortable, for the following reasons.
Not exactly the romantic spanking you might have read about. Still, it was a LONG spanking. If it was actually administered on my sit-spot I might have had problems today. But eventually, it was over, and I was still angry even though James tried to make off-topic conversation during the last block to the house.
I pouted for awhile, and then made fun of James for being a brute. “I still don’t agree with the spanking,” I claimed a few hours later. He thought about it for a moment, because I normally agree with his spankings after I’d been given one. “I just have to follow through. Normally, I don’t mind your moment-to-moment commentary on my driving. Sometimes, though, I do mind, and that was one of the times. However, I suppose you think we were in actual danger, even though I disagree. And because you said something because you thought we were in danger, I apologize.” He didn’t’ look too guilty. “I let you off twice before that,” he finally shrugged. But, an apology is an apology.
Still, I’m just glad he chose an isolated enough parking lot that nobody was witnessed to my spanking, or else my ego would be much harder to repair. But it goes to show—no matter where we are, James is obviously going to follow through on his threats—which is a really good HOH tendency, in my opinion.
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”.
Why is it so hard to find a HOH? It’s certainly not as easy as looking underneath a rock. It’s a tricky business, and really, you need luck to pull it off. Especially if you want a guy who’s “into spanking”, and even harder when you want a guy who respects the DD Lifestyle.
Alright, smarty pants—how did you find a suitable mate?
Well, the short story is that we met on the internet. Although it can be very unsafe if you’re not careful, it can also be a “bigger pool” of which to fish from. James, my husband, sent me a random chat. This certain fact helped me as it has helped so many other women: I WAS NOT LOOKING. Not even window shopping. That’s always when Mr. Right comes along. Of course, he had qualifications. Enough qualifications, in fact, that I dumped the job in Pennsylvania I was offered and moved down to Austin, Texas to live with him.
Do all HOHs have “qualifications”?
Yes. Keep in mind that I’m one of those believers that think you cannot change a man. This fact slims down your choices considerably, since now you’re only looking at men that already have everything you require.
Not all HOHs are rich. Not all HOHs are neat-freaks. Not all HOHs are earth-shatteringly handsome. But this is what they all should have already:
He’ll show you he’s got chivalry on the first date, if he has any. Look at his manners—does he open the door for you? Does he give you his coat when it’s cold outside? Does he slow down his walk so you can keep up with him without jogging? Did he keep eye contact? If he did most or all of these things, he’s got chivalry. And, better yet, he sounds like a guy who wants a wife more than a buddy he can have sex with. Remember—an HOH will take care of you when you’re ill. He’s not someone who you may refer to as “the third child” (if you have two children to begin with, that is).
If I see those 5 qualifications, is he into spanking too?
I’m not going to dupe you. He’s probably not. You’re probably going to have to teach him about what DD is (refer him to my first blog, maybe) and explain why you want it.
I’m not saying he’s not going to give you a slap on the tush during sex. And if he won’t do even that, the man’s just being selfish. Men are normally very easy to coax into such sexual fantasies. And erotic spanking is not that uncommon at all—in fact, it’s one of the most popular fetishes in the world. (The top fetish in the world being feet. I know—I too, was surprised. Feet totally gross me out.) So, if you need a spanking sometime in your life, you won’t have to look far.
But will he want to give discipline spankings? Maybe. Maybe not. Don’t be offended if he doesn’t take to the idea easily. A gentlemen would be hesitant to cause pain to their women, particularly when they’re unfamiliar to the concept of DD. Men today have been trained so rigorously not to hit women that they aren’t going to recognize the difference between hitting your face and slapping your butt. They’re simply going to think both are completely out-of-bounds.
So, don’t think you can coax a non-spanko into giving you disciplinary spankings on the first date, or even the first year of your relationship. You’ve got to open a very open line of communication and trust. Then, and only then, can you make him come around to the idea.
What about getting guys off spanking websites?
If you’re destined to follow in my footsteps, and don’t want to play games, here’s my advice to you.
I can’t tell you precisely where these websites are—but they’re out there, and ABCD webmasters is cooking up something special in the near future that might help. Stay tuned for it.
What’s your #1 BEST advice for finding a good HOH?
DON’T BE TOO PICKY. Don’t think “soul mate” on this one. Soul mate’s don’t exist—think partner. If you have a man “check list” that has 100 items on it, I’d start pairing it down. Your husband probably doesn’t need to know 400 languages and know how to play the piano/guitar/violin. He didn’t need to win the Nobel Peace Prize. He doesn’t need to be a millionaire. He doesn’t need to have blond hair, blue eyes, be 6’5” and have Hugh Jackman’s body. Let’s start being realistic.
You know the spanking stories on Romantic Spankings? They’re awesome, I know, but 99% of those never actually happened. Men aren’t perfect, you’re not perfect, and relationships aren’t perfect. Welcome to the real world.
Hope that advice helped someone!
Alright, stay tuned for tomorrow’s post. I’m itching to tear this new study I just read a new butthole…