Confessions of a Spanking Author Read online

  Confessions of a Spanking Author

  By

  Bethany Burke, Breanna Hayse, Sir John Hayse, Alta Hensley,

  Maren Smith, Tabitha Black, Bella Bryce, Sue Lyndon, Renee Rose,

  Joannie Kay, Devlin O’Neill, Dinal McLeod, Patty Devlin,

  Keith Anderson, Ashlynne Kenzie, & April Hill

  ©2015 by Blushing Books® and the Authors

  All rights reserved.

  No part of the book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Published by Blushing Books®,

  a subsidiary of

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  is registered in the US Patent and Trademark Office.

  Confessions of a Spanking Author

  eBook ISBN: 978-1-62750-978-7

  Cover Design by ABCD Graphics & Design

  This book is intended for adults only. Spanking and other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults. Nothing in this book should be interpreted as Blushing Books' or the Author's advocating any non-consensual spanking activity or the spanking of minors.

  Table of Contents:

  What A Mess! By Joannie Kay

  The Luck Of The Drawers By Devlin O' Neil

  The Cheeseboard By Alta Hensley

  Temper, Temper By Bella Bryce

  They Say It's Your Birthday! By Keith Anderson

  Run, Subby, Run By Breanna Hayse

  One For Luck By Tabitha Black

  My First Naughty Girl Spanking By Renee Rose

  Celebrating Twenty Years By Maren Smith

  To Bathe Burning Buns By Patty Devlin

  Twenty-Dollar Soup And A Red Hot Bun By Sir John Hayse

  The First Time By Ashlynn Kenzie

  Real Life, Take Two By Dinah Mcleod

  The Sombrero Incident By Sue Lyndon

  A Work In Progress By April Hill

  Violators Will Be Spanked By Bethany Burke

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  What A Mess! By Joannie Kay

  My husband, Lar, and I have been married a very long time. I think we have always had Domestic Discipline installed in our marriage, only back then we didn't know it had a name. It did seem the only way of stopping a huge temper was by a spanking, and for some reason it did (and still does) bring matters to a quick end. We were married twenty-seven years when I researched spanking and announced to Lar that we are DDers. He had plenty of questions, and things were a bit bumpy at first, but we found our niche, and realized that I am not ever going to be perfect, but neither is he, so it works. Things tend to run smoothly with DD in place.

  I am a writer. Making up stories is what I have done ever since I can remember, and even before I could write those stories on paper to preserve them. Writing is simply a part of me, and a writer must write. I hate details. By details I mean almost anything that has to do with numbers, or meaningless drudgery. I hate to pay bills, but now that almost everything we pay can be done on the computer, it is much easier. I can handle that if I ruin just one morning a month and log in to certain sites and give them money. We have three bills that must be paid by check; one by mail, and two delivered to the rightful place. Lar delivers those. I mail the one. Sounds easy, right? Not really, but it keeps my butt safe from a paddle, so I do it… grudgingly and complaining all the way. It is much better than having the electric shut off because I forgot to pay it, or because the bill is in the stack of unopened mail. I would hate to confess how many times that happened.

  The other issue in my life is mail. I hate mail. Without Lar, the mail would stay in the mailbox forever. I just don't give a damn who has sent what. I have no burning desire to run outside the moment the mailman passes to see what she has brought me. No, I am not the type of little old lady who sits peeking out the curtain, wondering why the mail is ten minutes late! I repeat, I do not care! The mail is usually nothing but junk mail and bills, and once in a while there is a card from someone. Those do make me smile. But, the rest can go to mail heaven for all I care. Lar, on the other hand, thinks mail needs to be brought inside, and each piece opened and examined thoroughly, and for some reason I cannot fathom, shared with me! Leave me alone!

  Of course, it was mail that has caused me several spankings, or rather, what Lar considers my mishandling of mail, that has caused me a problem or two. Our daughter and her children lived with us until about a year ago when they moved across the country. Either the grandkids or Lar, sometimes our daughter, would bring in piles of mail, and for some reason that does not make sense, would carry it inside and hand it to me, no matter that I was writing and did not wish to be interrupted with something as foolish as mail. Put it down! I would crossly tell them. Mail would pile up on my little side table. When I got sick of it falling over and not leaving me enough room for a glass of ice water, I would scoop it up and throw it on Lar's computer desk, which was much larger than my table since it was a regular desk. When that started overflowing, the kitchen counter was next. This would continue until we were going to have company for a holiday. Only then would I sort weeks of mail. Trash the junk mail, and then put the other stuff in a box to look at later.

  Lar finally had enough of this. He wanted me to open the mail as soon as it was brought inside, throw away the junk right then, and sort the other, important mail. I argued that the only mail that I considered important was a check. The look in Lar's dark eyes warned me that was the wrong thing to say. He'd wanted a 'yes' and I was daring to argue. Unfortunately, it was one of those rare times that we were alone, and I quickly found myself bent over the desk chair, with my shorts and panties down to my knees and a ruler he found lying in the pile of mail smacking against my tender bottom.

  "Owww! Lar, stop! That really hurts! Why don't you take over doing the mail? I'm not good at it. Ouch!"

  "You are going to get real good at it. There is no sense in piling up the mail so that no one (meaning him) knows what is here!"

  "If you did it yourself, then you would know." Now, I truly thought I was being reasonable. Lar didn't agree. He thought I was being sassy, and spanked me again. My poor tush was flaming red and sore, and it burned like crazy. I wasn't happy, and when I am not happy, attitude seems to creep out. This time was no exception, and I finally told him what he could do with his precious mail. I have often wondered what the number of spankings in a row any one female has suffered, but I am positive I hold the record. My sassy mouth seems to make almost any spanking worse and more involved.

  By the end of cleaning up all the unopened mail that afternoon, and ensuring I would not want to sit at the family picnic the next day, Lar had determined that I would open the mail and sort it each day. There would be no piles of mail lying anywhere. If there was, it would be a spankable offense. Lar was firm and did not stop spanking until I agreed. It wasn't as though I liked the piles lying around, but mail is a detail, and I hate details. Even when I was agreeing to do as he said, I knew I wouldn't. Why? Certainly not to anger Lar, or earn a spanking! No. It was because I hate dealing with details when I would rather be writing. I was doomed, and I didn't think it fair.

  On Monday, Lar called from work and asked, "Dear, did you deal with the mail today?" Of course not! I was
just getting ready to, I answered. He laughed, knowing me well. The call was his way of giving me fair warning that he was serious. I hung up, and promptly decided to finish the chapter I was working on, the mail promptly forgotten. Lar was pulling up out front when I remembered. I rushed in from where I was fixing dinner in the kitchen, grabbed the pile off my side table, and made short work of throwing it all in the trash can in the kitchen. I thought I was being very clever.

  "Joanne, where is my mail?" Lar asked after saying hello to me, and talking to the grandchildren, who were watching television.

  "Oh, nothing for you, dear," I said.

  "No, there should have been a manila envelope addressed to me. I called Anderson's, and they put their fair bench rental in the mail Friday. It should have been in today's mail."

  Oh, nuts! I tried to think fast. If I waited to find it, then pudding cups and other icky things would be on top of it, and I would be in trouble. Lar was in the kitchen with me while I cooked, and I tried to wait him out, but the man always knows when I try to hide anything! My brother says it is because what I think shows on my face. He should know since he is constantly tricking me. But, Lar is Lar, and he smelled a rat.

  "Where is the mail you kept?"

  "It was all junk." My back was to him since I was stirring the pot on the stove. I thought I was home safe, but my granddaughter came running with a piece of paper to throw in the trash.

  Lar opened the door and pulled the trash can from under the sink for her. I was dead meat. "Or maybe you threw it all away?" he said as he picked up the folded unit of mail and took it all out. He opened the newspaper, which I consider junk mail since it is all ads. Inside were bills (I don't need those; I get them online.) and the envelope he was expecting, with a check made out to an organization we belong to. There were also two pieces of mail for our daughter, but nothing else of importance. Lar was not happy with me.

  I tried again to be reasonable. "This is all your fault. The mail is not my responsibility, you know. You could simply do it yourself and leave me out of it." Sensible, right? Not in Lar's opinion.

  "Plan to go to bed early. You are due a spanking."

  I very maturely made a face at Lar, which our grandson saw and wanted to know why I was making faces at Grampa. I told him it was fun, so we made faces at Lar and he played right along, making faces back at us, but the kids told him I made better faces than he did.

  He gave me one of his looks and said, "Gramma has had more practice at making faces."

  The evening went well. I wrote; Lar watched television. He finally said, "Time for bed, Joann."

  "In a few. I want to finish this chapter."

  "No. Now."

  I suddenly remembered. He wasn't calling me for steamy, hot sex, but for a steaming hot bottom. "Lar, be reasonable. If you took care of the mail, it would get done properly. I don't want to do it."

  "Bedroom." Have I mentioned that Lar has a one track mind and he sounds like a broken record?

  "Why must I do the mail?" I asked once we were in the bedroom. "Where is it written that the wife must take care of the mail? Just because your mother was a mail watcher and would kill anyone who tried to get to the mailbox before her, does not mean that I am that way. I hereby bestow all mail rights to you for all of posterity. You get the mail, sort it, read it, toss it. I promise I will not complain even once." I thought it solved, but if you look up the word 'stubborn' in the dictionary, you will see a picture of Lar. I promise. In short, my little speech did not work.

  "Don't be all day. Take off your clothes and get face down in bed." Lar is careful of my back. Oh, how I appreciate the consideration for my back when he is planning to make the rest of me miserable!

  "Larry Joseph Kay, we really need to discuss this." I used his full name, hoping to show him I was serious.

  "JoANN, did you throw all the mail in the trash?" he demanded.

  "Of course, I did. You threatened me, and it wasn't fair! I do not wish to do the mail. You are more suited to the job. I don't have an inclination to do it, or it would have been getting done all these years. You know I pile it up. You know it! If you want to change it, then you need to do the mail. This is just asking too much of me. I don't do details!"

  "Are you done?" He was standing there, pointing down at the surface of the bed, waiting for me to get in place. I saw he was holding a paddle that was very stingy, another paddle I hated with a passion, and a strap that meant business. I wasn't about to agree to that! I know that DD wives should accept a punishment, but I am too feisty to do that. Giving in without an argument just isn't my style unless I am filled with guilt.

  "Lar, not that strap, please. You know I can't stand it, and I am still sore from Saturday."

  "You should have remembered that when you decided not to do the mail today. Throwing it away earned you the strap."

  I could go on and on, but none of my arguments worked. It finally wound down to the fact that if I didn't get in place instantly another implement was coming out of the drawer. He was reaching for the drawer when I decided I really had no choice.

  Lar started with his hand. He didn't scold much; it is his belief that by the time the spanking starts I should know why it is happening. His hand reminded me exactly how tender I still was from Saturday's spankings, but when I told him that, I got no sympathy.

  The wooden paddle that is stingy was next, and on top of the hand spanking, it lit a fire that had me squirming, from the very beginning, and begging Lar to stop. He didn't, not until my upper thighs, sit spots, and cheeks were scorched. I felt like I was on fire, and tried to convince Lar I would do better from now on. He had heard that before, so he wasn't interested in hearing it again. The other paddle was next. It was painted, and the paint on it acted as an abrasive that would compare to taking a sheet of sandpaper and rubbing it over my reddened skin. I tried to roll away, but Lar simply grabbed me and brought me back and continued spanking. Okay, I am not much of a crier, but I was in tears and I was trying to hide them from Lar.

  Lar's mother cried for any and every reason, mostly to manipulate people. I promised Lar I would never use tears to manipulate him, and I will not, no matter how much my butt hurts. So, I sniffled as quietly as possible, and finally, the torture stopped. He gave me a few minutes, and I was sure he was completely finished, and started to get drowsy. He even left the bedroom and went to the bathroom, so I was sure it was safe to fall asleep, and I was determined to put the mail away first thing when the kids brought it inside. I did not want another punishment spanking.

  Just as I was dozing off, Lar came back. "Now we'll finish this spanking, and you are to stay in place. If you move, it doesn't count, and we'll start all over."

  I was instantly awake. "Oh, please don't, honey. I'll try to do better. I'm really sore."

  "I'm sure you'll do better, too. Now, lie still so I don't use this where I don't want to."

  Lar didn't give me time to protest, but brought the strap down on my butt cheeks. I reacted in pure panic and self-preservation. I rolled over before he could stripe me again. "No! It hurts too much!" I screeched, not caring if the kids upstairs could hear me. I wasn't going to willingly suffer another harsh stroke of that leather strap.

  "Get over."

  "Lar, I can't. I'm too sensitive for that. You do not realize your own strength. Please, no more. I'm sorry I threw away your mail. I won't do it again, I promise." I thought that would be enough. I am not one to beg normally, but I was begging.

  "You have five more. Roll over and we'll get them done. I am not going to let you off this time. We have talked about this situation more times than I can remember. Now, turn over or I will start counting and add more to the total." Lar wasn't kidding. He started counting. He said 'One', and I immediately turned over. I hated this side of Lar. He wasn't willing to listen, but was going to punish me regardless of my feelings on the subject.

  The stripes were much lighter, I noticed. My husband does love me and didn't want to make me cry. He was
saving face, so I did my best to suffer through the rest. The final one came and I tensed. It was the hardest one yet, and I cried out as the searing pain cut across my sit spots. The spanking hurt, and my eyes were leaking tears. Lar covered us both, and then moved to hold me close. He didn't say much, but holding me was all the 'talk' I needed. It told me that he loved me, and hated making me cry in pain. I decided that I would do my best with the mail.

  Of course, I did well for the next couple of days. As soon as anyone brought the mail inside and gave it to me, I sorted it. I threw away the junk, put the bills away, and put anything that Lar needed to pay attention to on his desk. I also put Chrissy's mail where she would find it when she got home from work. Lar was fair and praised me for my efforts, but brat that I can be, sassed a bit and said he should simply take over the mail.

  I got really busy with my writing, and as happens occasionally, I had deadlines approaching and needed to work steadily to meet them. I put the pile of mail on my table. Told Lar he could go through it, but he didn't seem to want to take the effort to do so. When he didn't look, I took even less time to sort it, and soon it was piling up again. I cleaned, and I did the usual, and found something important that we needed to take care of. I was a bit upset with myself, but then, I thought that Lar could have helped… right? He spanked for that, too. Again, I tried to do better, but sorting mail is a detail.

  Eventually, the kids moved away, and Lar started carrying in the mail and going through it. I think he gave up on my taking it seriously. We moved, and I eliminated all the places to pile mail. Lar is retired; he now goes through the mail daily. He will occasionally hand me something that comes for me, and I do make an effort to give it some attention and then put away whatever needs keeping for later. I still don't like details, and I wish they would outlaw junk mail. Imagine all the trees that would be saved. Also, anything that can be paid by computer should not be resent in paper form. I could eliminate most of the mail sent to this house if only those two rules were followed.