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June, 2009

When Korey Goes Krazy…

By June 24, 2009 Domestic Discipline

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.

“I know you are, honey,” he said sincerely. “This is just going to be a quick reminder to control yourself.”

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.

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How Did Women Kill Chivalry?

By June 15, 2009 Domestic Discipline

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—

HEY, HEY, HEY! What does this have to do with Chivalry, for one, and what does this have to do with spanking?

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.

So… Chivalry=good spanker?

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):

  1. He understands that woman and men are different and he wants to take care of the woman. They normally think women are fragile, which we technically are: due to lesser physical capabilities and hormones that are beyond our control, we are emotionally and physically weaker than a man. Our sense of safety is fragile, and our feelings are even moreso. This type of guy doesn’t want women to feel any sort of pain whatsoever.
  2. He feels “dutiful”: it’s his duty and or privilege to cater to a woman.
  3. The center of the universe CERTAINLY doesn’t revolve around him. That much, he is sure.

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:

  • Letting a woman on the elevator first
  • Pulling out a chair at a restaurant
  • Paying the bill
  • Walking someone home
  • Letting a woman in a cab first after opening the door


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:

  1. Make eye contact, smile thank anyone who does ANYTHING nice to you. Eye contact is key. They equate it to recognition, and it must ALWAYS come with a smile and a thanks. The “thanks” MUST sound sincere, as if it was such a sweet surprise to find someone that kind. Here’s the key:
    1. Even if you don’t want to date, or even think the person doing it is ATTRACTIVE—if they look like FRANKENSTEIN, you still do thank them? Why? Because they’re being kind to you, and you must acknowledge and also because you want the men in the area to see the recognition you’re giving to the chivalrous one.
  2. ALWAYS compliment. If a man walks you home, all you have to do is THANK him and say, “that is just so nice of you”. That’s all. They’ll feel good about themselves all day. Eye contact. Smile. If someone even OFFERS to do something for them, thank them, and tell them how wonderfully nice they are.
  3. Teach your sons that women need special care, and to always have good manners DISPITE the feedback they get.

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!

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Casual Chauvinism and the T-Shirt Wars

By June 8, 2009 Man's Perspective

Korey has been asking me to post, and I’ve been planning to do so, for quite some time. The trouble is that I always have things I want to post, and I think through what I’m going to say… then I think of something to add, then something else, and on and on, until I realize that the post will be so long that I have neither the time nor the energy to write it. So, I promised Korey I would keep my posts at least reasonably short, so that I can actually make myself take the time to write them.

Korey and I were at the outlet mall today, and we walked by a store selling BBQ equipment, including some aprons. In order to make these aprons appropriately manly (it is BBQ, after all, not baking cookies), they all had various manly phrases about meat, or sports, or cars. One of them had this statement, obviously directed at the manly apron wearer’s wife: “In the time it took you to read this, you could already have gone and gotten me a beer.” I admit I laughed out loud at this. However, it also made me think about how accepting our society has become of what I would call casual chauvinism. I’ll give a better definition for this term later.

While thinking about this, I remembered another time a few years back when I was struck by the same concept. My girlfriend and I had just had a relatively petty argument which had turned into a fight, and she was laying in the sun on the beach (we were spending a day at the ocean while visiting her family, who live near the Texas Gulf Coast). I wandered into a large shop dedicated to selling all types of T-shirts. As I wandered, I noticed that one entire section was devoted completely to girls’ T-shirts with various insults toward men printed on them. Many of them were the usual, benign girl-power stuff, like “If it has tires or testicles, its going to give you trouble.” However, I noticed that quite a few others had pretty harsh insults on them, attacking the average man’s intelligence, abilities, looks, etc. I honestly don’t remember what any of them said, but I remember thinking that these were far more insulting than the average T-shirts sold in mall kiosks.A silly thing to be bothered by, of course, but I was in a bad mood toward women at the time, due to my recent argument, and so I looked around the store for similar T-shirts designed for men. I soon found them, but they just depressed me further. Of course there were the usual “FBI: Female Body Inspector” and similar shirts, which could in a way be considered a response to the insults heaped upon men in the other section, but these didn’t satisfy me. I don’t really know what I was looking for, exactly. I didn’t seriously expect to find a T-shirt with “If you don’t treat me with more respect, young lady, I’ll take you over my knee and spank your bottom bright red!” printed on the front, although that would have been nice. I think I just wanted something at least somewhat mature and intelligent, which again was silly because I was at an oceanside T-shirt shop, but again that was the mood I was in at the time.

Finally, I saw a T-shirt alone on a display. I couldn’t read it from the angle where I was standing, but I already knew this T-shirt had something to say. It stood out, apart from the others. As I came closer and looked up at it, I got my hopes up. Here, at last, would be the response of the male sex to all the abuse. It was solid black, with large, bold white lettering on the front. The phrase was simple, unequivocal, and profound:

“I will destroy you with my enormous cock.”

This was not the response I had hoped for from my half of the species. However, it did make me think about what society will accept from men, and what it will not. Society will accept chauvinism from men, as long as it is done in a lazy, stupid, boys-will-be-boys type of way. This is what I referred to earlier as casual chauvinism.

Now, I need to end this post in order to keep with my “short-post” promise, but there are two separate issues I would like to address in follow-up posts.

First, why has it become acceptable in society for women to constantly, aggressively, and harshly bash not just individual men, but the entire male sex? I’m not talking about playful poking of fun between the sexes, I’m talking about a sustained attack on everything that could be loosely considered male.

Second, why has it become acceptable for men to descend deep into chauvinism, as long as they do so in a way that is lazy, stupid, and slobbish? Just as an example, why is it that if a man were to walk around in public with a shirt that said “A woman should be naked, in the kitchen, making me a pie” that wouldn’t really make anyone raise an eyebrow, but if a man walked around in public with a shirt saying “In a Christian marriage, the man is the head of the household” he would have feminists parachuting in to confront him in a matter of minutes?

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The Mother-In-Law Finds OUT

By June 5, 2009 Korey's Real Life

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.

…Huh?

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.

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The Testimony

By June 1, 2009 Domestic Discipline

Hi Folks,
Sorry it’s been awhile again. I know I’ll post more once I’m living in Albuquerque for the summer, but lately I’ve been doing construction on the house, selling the house, buying a condo, and doing MAJOR renovations on the condo (tile floors, new paint, new carpet, new cabinets, new handrails) and to keep it cost-effective WE have to do all the labor ourselves (except put in the carpet and the granite countertops. We’re not CRAZY!)

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.”

“About what?”

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.

It wasn’t until our 3rd vacation together, when he visited me during my internship in Philadelphia, nearly 4 months after first meeting face-to-face, that he finally responded to my attempts to actually discover what a real spanking would be like. I knew how he felt about swearing—that it was the ugliest thing a woman could do—and when he met me I had quite a bad swearing habit. That whole week, I had just made it worse. I was looking for him to make good on his threat. He had promised previously to give me some time to adjust to the new “no swearing” rule, but now he had warned me that I was fast approaching a spanking.

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.

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