…Albuquerque. It was quite nice. I loved it, actually—I might just move there in a year or two. New Mexico really is the scha-nizzle.
And you had no computer in Albuquerque?!
It was really busy! I work 16 hours a day rather commonly, and remember, I work for Blushing Publications (ABCD Webmasters) and so I work around spanking all day, every day. Which makes me exceptionally lucky, but unfortunately, lately, when I’ve had some spare time, I normally pursue non-spanking activities. But now I’m back, back and bringing you all my spanking thoughts. I actually had quite a few. I’ve done much more thinking about the blog than I have been doing the blog. Of course, it’s been that way all along!
In short, I’ve been doing more brain-work for this blog than work-work.
Why has work been so darn busy?
The Spanking Story Archive has been 2 years behind at one point. I had to bring them up to date—which I just finished this Sunday. And I also run Spanking Romance. AND I’ve had to get the new RomanticSpankings.com store up and running. And it’s REALLY buggy right now. I mean, still aesthetically pleasing at it works, but there’s a problem with the download-expiration and the fact that it asks for your credit card number twice and that the checkout page template is funky… Awe, man oh man, oh man. It’s been tough. I’ve also been helping out with covers lately. Also, our customer service had gotten behind and we had to let someone go, and I tried to help pick up the slack until the new customer service rep, Tia, got situated. Now, they told me to “Stop doing Customer Service!” Which… Is sad. L
How’s the Spanking Diet?
Was it even a month that I wrote that I wouldn’t tell my mother in law about my lifestyle until I was pregnant with her second—not first, that’s too soon—grandchild? Yeah, I’m a lying liar who lies, obviously. Because we told her this last weekend.
Yeah. I know. CRAZY. It’s my fault we had to tell her, actually. We were staying at her house when I got the letter from Bethany, with my promotion. And OF COURSE I had to tell my folks right away. I told James, “I have to tell mom and dad,” and he snorted. “No, wait—I have to tell ALLISON!” I decided; Allison’s my last roommate who I’ve adopted as the sister I’ve never had.
“No,” he said, sighing. “Wait to tell Allison until we get home, alright? We only have so much time, and…”
“Alright,” I said, thinking how odd it was that he was fine with me telling my parents about my promotion but not Allison—I talk just as long with my parents. I was excited about telling them, you see: they would be very interested to know that I now had a “real job” and might now stop mailing me job opening posts from craigslist.
What I misunderstood was that he didn’t want me telling ANYBODY until we left his mother’s house. The walls are like PAPER. I don’t know what magical thing happens there—but it the walls do NOTHING to trap sound. And so, when I was talking about me being promoted, James’ mom, James’ mom, overheard this. She didn’t say anything, but she heard.
I’m going to pause here to clarify what everyone around us thinks I actually DO:
Allison & Travis: Best Friends. There are no secrets between us. They know everything.
My Family: Knows that I work for a specialty erotica company, and are fine with it. I also have informed them that I don’t want them in my business, and I don’t want to tell them which one. I assured them they wouldn’t like it. They DO NOT know that I’m into spanking. If they eventually do find out, however, I’m sure they’ll be released to know we’re not into something crazy, like furries or golden showers. Because I’m going to assume that they’ve already prepared themselves for the worst, kinkiest thing in history.
James’ Friends & Family: Don’t know about the erotica and don’t know about the spanking. They think I’m a simple housewife that occasionally maintains a “friend’s blog”.
So: this conversation she overheard, even though I never mentioned “erotica”, qued James’ mom to the fact that I’ve been lying and that I HAD a job for awhile and I’ve now been PROMOTED.
James comes in furious: he assumed I understood his meaning about the no phone calls to ANYBODY because of the WALLS. So, James makes me go on a car-ride. This doesn’t mean anything good—he fully plans to spank me to a pinnacle that I am not prepared for; especially because I’m too stupid to even think I’ve done anything wrong. But I did know this much by now: James’ mom heard EVERYTHING.
Because I can’t come up with a good excuse about “what I do” I just told James that we should tell his mother. James calms down when he realizes I wasn’t blatantly defying him and decides not to spank me.
So, we went home, I took a shower, and James told his mother about the spanking.
It did not go well. Lunch with the extended family that hour was very awkward. And I’m new to the family and the “in law”, so it’s naturally awkward for me, anyway! His mother was noticablly upset–enough to make James’ father think it was about him somehow. ( James wants to tell his father, too… But I’m very uncomfortable with that. I’m not as close to his father. I don’t think he requires as much information as his mother does.)
So—there was a slight family upset.
But, James went in back with his mom and they got to talking about it and I think James’ mom actually understands it—that it’s for discipline, and for sex, and everything else, and it’s HOW WE MET. It must have been a real “OH! I SEE!” moment for her.
HOWEVER: We’re STILL lying, so we don’t even get to feel good about “the truth”.
Because we can’t tell James’ mom about the erotica portion of what I do. She would think that there was something morally wrong about it. James made it sound that everything my company publishes is all of good Christian values with no sex before marriage and all of that—something she would agree with. God, I hope she never goes to RomanticSpankings.com and reads ANYTHING by Darla Phelps (who write a LOT of age-play), or that story about the Alien that trains his “human” pet with a bunch of spankings—as good as that story is (I think it’s called “Bach” or Bach: A pet story” or “Bach’s Pet”… It’s actually strangely good. You judge yourself slightly when you’re reading it, but it’s good nonetheless.) ANYWAY—I do NOT just publish CDD stuff.
AND James told her that I write this Blog and promised to give her the link for it.
NO. I know what you’re thinking, and NO. We will NOT show her this blog.
I doubt the blog where I complain about how much her daughter is in need of a spanking would go well, to say the least. So, I CREATED A NEW BLOG. It’s just like this one, only with only 2/3s of the posts and no “naked” pictures. Very PG-rated. It’s called “The DD Life” at theddlife.blogspot.com. Talk about non-explicit, too—the banner has COFFEE in it. COFFEE—the least erotic thing on the planet! Sigh. What a pain in the ass. I doubt she’ll even ever read it. Would you, if your daughter in law was writing about her personal spanking experiences? No. Of course you wouldn’t.
I feel strange, I feel awkward, and I have NO idea of how it’s going to go when she visits us this weekend. I wish I could just bury my head in the sand, but instead, I have to hope for the best. I asked James if we could go on like we’ve never told her.
“This isn’t the sort of thing you can pretend you didn’t tell someone,” he told me yesterday.
“Are you kidding?” I said incredulously. “This is EXACTLY the sort of thing you pretend you didn’t tell someone!”
So, folks: I’ll promise to keep you informed as to how it goes. Keep your fingers crossed for me, please.
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”.