Confessions of a Spanking Author

by Breanna Hayse

  The football sailed through the air and smacked my poor fiancé in… himself.

  F***! His hands went to, I don't know, comfort, the accosted anatomy? I was not only shocked at his expression but I was annoyed. It was established as a costly choice for me to swear (and it still is) and he upheld the expectations by setting the example of not swearing. 'Don't let your mouth get you into something your backside can't handle' was the phrase he turned a couple of times. So there he stood, in pain, having shouted not just any swear word, but the one that was probably most offensive, and the tone he used had caused me to feel horribly guilty. He frowned and bent over and probably tried not to cry. Oh, correction—he wasn't about to cry he had been taking deep breaths (can you guess who looked over my shoulder there?). He didn't say anything to me for a few minutes and when I asked if he was all right, I was met with ambiguous, disgruntled replies. Like any insecure, daddy-issued twenty-two-year-old, I assumed our engagement was off. I was horrible. I hurt him and he was cross with me. Nope. Done. There is no going back from a football in your fiancé's nads. The symbolism was rampant; me, the girl and better athlete had just finished off future husband's pride with that exclamation mark. If it had been me shooting at the goal it would have been a fantastic shot and probably made that satisfying sound of the ball slamming into the back of the net and rolling down onto the grass. I love that sound. I didn't love this.

  There was an exchange of dialogue whereby I did my best to comfort him, but there seemed to be none received. Whether it was my perception or his unfortunate circumstance, but a disagreement broke out. Why had he shouted so loudly a swear word that I was not even allowed to whisper? I had previously been disciplined for such an offense. His lack of solid reply irritated me and I felt like a tangible distance was growing between us in a matter of seconds. We left the field in annoyance, him limping and me, frowning. The disagreement from the field has almost completely escaped us (as most disagreements between couples do), which just proves how utterly ridiculous it was. What I most certainly do remember is the point on our storm cloud of a walk back to his flat is that he made a silly face (timing was so inappropriate and I maintain that position even now) and did a jogging motion with both of his knees. If I was annoyed before, I was completely livid at that point. Three knee operations, almost an entire year of bed rest, fighting for my life and physical therapy to relearn how to walk meant I couldn't run or jog or move my knees like that anymore, and in that split second his silliness felt like a sharp knife in my heart. I thought he was making fun of me. I am not entirely a sensitive soul, but after going through such an ordeal, and now feeling like we were on the verge of a complete meltdown, meant I was panicking. I never considered that his personality or past experiences might have caused him to inject humour into a potentially stressful or conflicting situation. I didn't consider that he did that to try and lighten the mood. Well, it bloody didn't lighten the mood, it made me angrier. I didn't have time to consider anything because I was deeply offended and wasted no time in throwing the football at him (intentionally, this time).

  "Are you being completely serious?" I demanded after his silly little motion.

  "What?"

  "Don't be so bloody stupid, you know what!" And off came my engagement ring before it was hurled at him. If I could have, I would have sprinted back to his flat but that wasn't possible so I stomped and huffed and puffed instead. It was equally satisfying, I assure you. Not only was this whole debacle going to end (unbeknownst to me) in my first caning but this was actually our first proper argument! And we were both shocked. How could he say that? How could I say such things? He made fun of me. She threw the ring. We were a bit of a mess.

  When we got back to the flat I was secretly panicking because I now felt ill with guilt about throwing my half carat platinum engagement ring at the man I loved. How could I be so horrid? But as soon as I answered my own question with 'but he trampled every ounce of suffering and re-learning how to walk with that one silly action of making fun of the fact that I can't run or jump or fill in the blank'. Neither of us even stopped to look for the ring at the time. We were both upset and the argument was the center of attention so we didn't even really know what we were arguing about! It was a complete and utter explosion of miscommunication wrapped in assumption with pride on the side. We continued to disagree and even questioned whether or not we were meant to be together. It was a real trip. Bloody hell would we have made a fantastic reality show that day. I even rang my Mum and spoke to her. I broke down crying at the whole situation and was so ashamed at my temper, but I also didn't like apologizing, so I didn't. I maintained that I was right and he was insensitive. It was about an hour before we were able to calm down enough to speak properly and get ourselves to a place where we could walk back down to the nearby path and look for the ring. When we got there, it seemed impossible to think of ever finding it. The paved pathway was split down the middle with a lane for walkers on one side and a lane for bicycles on the other. There was also a school and their property behind fencing, which ran all the way along the pathway, and thick hedges in front of the southeastern train tracks on the other. It was a mildly secluded trail and I was hoping no one had seen my ring. The sun would be setting soon and I remembered where I'd thrown it. I also remembered that it had bounced and gone off to the left into the brush. Well, the left was now on my right as we walked back and I got down on my stomach to feel around for it. Thomas looked further ahead and after only a few minutes we both felt the weight of despair. It really did seem impossible. At the same time, a lady walking her dog appeared just as we stopped the army crawling method of investigation. We recognized her and got to our feet to exchange polite greetings. As the English do, we didn't say anything about our situation, but maintained that we were doing well and yes, we were looking forward to the wedding in three months. Where was my ring?

  I'm afraid I've dropped it. Yeah, bloody right I did. I hurled it is what I did.

  Her dog seemed to be on the trail and was sniffing along the fence. I was watching him and thinking, 'don't you dare bloody eat it or I'll be eating you.' I love dogs really. We have one. His name is Bingley.

  Yes, well, have a lovely evening. Polite smiles and waves. And then. Is that it?

  GASP. I could have floated up into the air like a balloon I breathed in so deeply. She was pointing at the ground as she was walking away. I dashed over to her and yes, that was it! My ring was blatantly sparkling right in the middle of a load of green grass and sticks. I put it back on my finger and we thanked her profusely. She insisted she hadn't done anything, but we knew if she hadn't walked past, then we probably would have missed it. The relief we both felt was palpable and my guilt immediately decreased. The way I'd spoken and acted wasn't very loving but the fact that we found the ring made me feel a whole lot better. We returned to the flat and then it got awkward. It was such a close call that I almost lost a £3,000 ring and the elephant in the room was my temper. "What was more," as he told me very gently was, "I chose this ring for you. I picked it out and bought it for you. To see you throw it broke my heart."

  The full weight of guilt returned and I broke down into cries of regret. I did apologize—but only for throwing the ring. I made sure not to apologize for anything else, though, because I'm stubborn like that #hehashishandsfull. Unfortunately, our arguing flared up again and the realization hit. Just because we were madly in love, definitely meant for each other and wanted the same things, didn't mean it would be easy. That alone didn't guarantee anything except that we intended to spend our lives together. Communication that day broke down in every possible way it could, with each word or phrase twisted and distorted until our own fears of rejection, being unlovable and being broken, was seemingly proved true. We didn't break up, though. Three hours later we finally stopped fighting. He came into the sitting room, closed the curtains, and laid the cane on the dining room table. I still remember the hairs standing up on the back of my neck.

  "You ca
n't use that after today! This was a serious argument and I'm very upset."

  "So am I. Now that we've got that all out, I want to make it clear that what you did earlier by throwing your ring was one of the worst displays of your temper I’ve ever witnessed and I'm not having it. I'm giving you six strokes of the cane and you're having it properly." Properly, in British English, means on the bare bottom. It means the full scope of the punishment, done as it should be done, from start to finish. I protested, of course, and insisted that was going too far. I also reminded him that we agreed not to do any smacky bottoms on bare skin because we were saving all of that for when we were married, along with all the other goodies. He felt the only way the message would sink in was if my skirt went up and my knickers came down. This was the furthest thing from any kind of sweet daydream I’d ever had of being 'sorted out' by my future husband. This was serious and it bloody scared me to tears. As with most of us going over knees or arms of sofas for punishment, it was also met with pleading, promises of perfect behaviour and flawless manners, and all sorts of creative (and most pathetic) bargaining. I did all of this on the way to the sofa and it was the first time in all of the times I'd been punished that I truly felt it was absolutely, positively, completely deserved. I can't recall a time my behaviour was worse than that particular afternoon and somehow felt it justified that I get the cane. I didn't want to experience it, believe me, but somehow in the depths of me I knew it was fair.

  He wasn't doing it because he wanted to get back at me. If that were the case, the punishment would have occurred three hours earlier when we were still at each other's throats and being ridiculous. No, this was after the storm, after the apologies, after the cuddles and after complete forgiveness of each other's shortcomings. We were still getting married. We were still in love. Perhaps this was just a portrait of what life 'until death parts us' could look like. Beyond the sighing and kissing and dinner dates and roses in Paris there was a reality to our relationship that hadn't been touched until that day. The sharpest reality I'd ever felt was in the six strokes of the cane that bit across my skin and left me without shame to cry my bleedin' head off. The neighbours heard everything. It's England. The walls are paper thin. That's a trademark of blighty. If you didn't know that by now, then you have just learned a very important fact. They undoubtedly heard the 'warm up' smacks, which I cried through. I was still new to receiving discipline beyond my imagination and I always seemed a lot tougher in daydreams. Nope. Tears and all, after a few smacks the thin senior cane whished (yes, it actually whishes) through the air and landed on my poor darling skin. He did three on each side and I could barely stay still. I distinctly remember feeling like I wanted to turn around and rip the cane from his hand before smacking him with it. That was also a daydream and didn't happen. The strokes of a cane are like sharp bites and then they spread like a miniature fire. They bloody hurt and just as one begins to fade then the next stripe is cast in both neat and short order. I cried through that too, but I tell you what, I felt like a boss afterwards. I felt like my temper had just been put back in its cage—like I'd just been rescued from it. More amusingly, I felt like the schoolgirl who just walked out of the headmaster's office going 'damn right I just took six of the best. What now?' Can you hear Jay-Z playing in the background? Except, I don't listen to Jay-Z. I listen to Yoruba, Ludovico Einaudi and musical theatre, so, yeah.

  As with most discipline, there were kisses and cuddles to follow. It ended with the cane going back to its corner and me facing the other with a subtle smile on both of our faces. It might have been a shocking, immature display of pre-marital nonsense, but it was handled in the way he wanted and I needed. A very serious lesson was learned that day and it wasn't just about communication—he learned that I had quite the temper beneath the surface of what he called my 'doll-like features' and that it required taming. How many more times in the last six years do you suspect the cane has reappeared? Naturally, you would say none, because of course I have since learned my lesson.

  Bella Bryce

  Bella Bryce is a 28-year-old author of clean adult domestic discipline fiction who floats around various storylines in the realm of age-play, romance and the school scene (with many more to come!) Her stories must have a direction and a guiding inclination of some kind. They will challenge readers to look at themselves and reflect on their own behaviour, thoughts and belief systems as they take readers through themes like forgiveness, pain, trauma, bitterness, healing, reconciliation and how traditional discipline helps along the way. She always includes personal circumstances and memories in her writing, but those that are fact from fiction shall remain undisclosed—except for this story—which is very telling, indeed!

  Her current published works include the Waldorf Manor series:

  Book I: The Solicitation

  Book II: The Shortlist

  Book III: The Courting

  Book IV: The Glass House

  Book V: Unfailing Love

  www.authorbellabryce.com

  They Say it's your Birthday! by Keith Anderson

  She was curious. I love 'curious', it's one of my favorite words. Curiosity is electric and contagious. Erin recently expressed 'curiosity' in 'spanking' and those two concepts are just two great things that go great together. We had been talking and getting to know each other for a few weeks previously.

  Good morning Erin! I messaged.

  Good morning!! How are you? :)

  Pretty good, and how about yourself?

  I'm doing all right. It's just we've had so much rain the past several days, I was wondering what the new yellow day ball in the sky was all about.

  I know, right? I've heard about it on the news. Apparently, scientists have named it the 'sun', it's actually a star that's just really close to us and it means us no harm.

  Whew! That's a relief!

  Except if you spend too much time out in it, well it might give you cancer.

  Okay, well, wait. What? What?

  I shouldn't have said anything, I'm sorry.

  Well, what if I wear this new tin foil hat I just made, would that help?

  *shrugs* I guess it couldn't hurt.

  Yes! I knew it'd come in handy! Lol

  LOL… human ingenuity wins again!

  Her messages had wit and humor, which for a nineteen-year-old was really saying something. There was no 'idk', 'ikr?', 'hru?' or 'hmu' nonsense. She actually spelled words out. She used 'there', 'they're' and 'their' properly. She knew when to use 'a' and when to use 'an', and (be still, my heart) steadfastly refused to employ an Oxford comma. There is nothing as intrinsically sexy to a writer as someone who has an exemplary command of the language. Damn the tube tops and Daisy Duke cutoffs. Give me a woman who can explain the difference between 'than' and 'then' and when to use them and I'm a puddle of goo.

  She was curious about spankings and her birthday was coming up. Two more great things that go great together.

  Guess what? she messaged.

  You've just been named the new Popess. I'm gonna have to call you 'Her Holiness' from now on and you're wondering how to get through doorways without tipping over your new tall pointy hat.

  Nope, but damnit, that should happen!

  I know!

  That's also so much better than my actual news!

  What was that?

  Next Monday is my birthday.

  Oh shoot, I'm sorry.

  It's okay.

  Let's start over.

  Okay! :)

  Five minutes go by and she messages me back.

  Guess what?

  What?

  It's my birthday next Monday!

  OH MY GOD!! THAT'S THE BESTEST NEWS EVER!!!

  I KNOW!

  I mean, your birthday… that only comes around like... once a year!

  Exactly!

  Well, we need to celebrate

  Hmmm… what were you thinking?

  Well, I think birthday spankings are in order ;)

  Hmm… I think tha
t could be a distinct possibility. Would these be with your hand?

  They could be, or I could use this (I send her a picture of a new leather spiked paddle I had just gotten).

  SWEET BUTTERY JESUS NO!! You will not be coming near me with that thing! :)

  LOL. Oh, okay. Just my hand… maybe a tawse.

  Hmmm… we'll talk about it. ;)

  Good! In the meantime, feel free to overuse that intelligence of yours.

  Oh yeah?

  Yeah, because it's sexy as fuck. Lol. ;)

  We made plans to have her spanking done at a play-party that was a few days before her birthday. It would be her first play-party and her first spanking since she was a kid. We discussed plans of how it would go, how there would be warm-up before the actual spanks would be counted. She was excited and nervous and I was excited for her.

  On the night of the spanking, I asked if she was ready and she nodded nervously. Erin had shoulder length, slightly wavy red hair, bluish-gray eyes and a big expressive smile. As if having inquisitive intelligence weren't enough, she also had an ample bosom and an equally impressive ass, giving her wonderful curvy figure an hourglass shape that made her even that much more attractive. I had picked out a comfortable spanking bench, and she slowly hiked up her skirt, revealing red lacy panties, accentuating the lovely curve of her cheeks. She knelt on the bench and then leaned over resting her body on the bench and settling into position, slightly wiggling her sexy behind.