Confessions of a Spanking Author

by Breanna Hayse

  When we did finally have the conversation I'd been anticipating/dreading, it came on the heels of a pretty bad fight. I was bratting, as had become the usual, picking a fight for no reason at all except for the unmet need that filled me to the brim. He responded with frustration, which, if nothing else meant we were on equal footing. Heated words were exchanged—I couldn't, or wouldn't, tell him what was bothering me and he was tired of it. We kept at it for most of the night and when we finally went to bed we weren't even speaking.

  Despite the darkened room, I could feel him awake beside me, radiating angry energy. I swallowed hard, hating myself for what I was doing to him—to us. I could have cried, if I'd had the energy. But I didn't, and as I lay there staring at the ceiling, wanting to reach for my husband, but being afraid that he'd push me away, I realized that I didn't have the energy to keep lying, either.

  "I want you to be in charge," I said at last, my voice so low that I wasn't sure he could hear me.

  "I want that, too."

  "Have you ever thought about… you know… maybe spanking me?"

  "I think maybe I should," he replied, rather crossly.

  "Okay," I whispered. He fumbled for me in the dark, rolling me over and delivered three or four hard smacks to the back of my pajamas. I could hear him breathing heavily beside me, could feel his frustration, and though it wasn't quite the spanking I'd been dreaming of, knowing that he was trying was more than enough for me.

  We found our footing slowly. I hesitantly broached the subject the next day and Jim admitted that he'd liked it. He liked the feeling of making things right between us. When I came home from work that day, to my surprise my husband was home and waiting for me.

  "You scared me," I gasped breathlessly.

  "I took the night off," he replied, his brown eyes glittering with secrecy. "I think we have some things to talk about."

  "We do?" My heart did jumping jacks in my chest as I noticed the sternness creep into his voice.

  "Yes, we do. I'm sick and tired of how temperamental you've been lately. You've been acting like a child."

  I opened my mouth to protest—though, in truth, I had—but he cut me off with a look.

  "So I did some reading of my own today."

  "You did?" I asked, swallowing hard.

  "I did. I looked at your internet history. Looks like you've been a busy little girl as of late."

  I could feel my cheeks flushing with heat. Little girl? Had he read that? I wasn't sure if I was more embarrassed that he'd seen my browsing history or pleased that he was trying so hard.

  "Why don't we go into the living room and have a talk?"

  It was clear that he wasn't giving me a choice, so when he offered a hand, I took it. He gave my hand a squeeze before leading me into the living room. What I saw made my heart fall down to my stomach and flutter with a heady mixture of excitement and apprehension. Laid out on our brown suede ottoman was a series of implements. First, a rubber ruler, a plastic backed hairbrush, a small wooden paddle and lastly and most terrifying, a plastic bath brush.

  "What… what's this?" I asked, swallowing over a suddenly dry throat.

  "It's a boot camp of sorts," he replied, the corners of his mouth lifting as he looked at me.

  "I… what?"

  "This is what you've wanted, isn't it, Dinah? What you've been asking for?"

  Was it? Seeing it in the harsh and all-too-real light of my own living room it suddenly seemed less appealing than I'd imagined.

  "Don't be scared," he murmured, as though he could read my thoughts.

  "I'm not," I lied, the words slipping past barely moving lips. My mind was racing. I was thrilled that he wanted to try this for me, touched beyond belief at the thought and effort that he'd clearly put into it. But on the other hand, I was shaking with doubt. What if my fantasy, once turned reality, wasn't anywhere near as pretty as I'd imagined it to be? What would I do then?

  Jim took my face in his hands and gently pressed a kiss to my temple. "I love you. Trust me, okay? Do you think you can do that?"

  Nibbling my lower lip, I considered him. "I think so," I said at last. "Yes."

  "Yes what?" he prodded.

  "Yes, Sir," I mumbled shyly, unable to stop the smile tugging at my lips.

  "Good girl."

  My heart jumped at the praise and as he led me to the couch, I felt myself in the fog of what surely must be a dream. When he sat, he pulled me along with him. Then we looked at each other, both a little uncertain of what came next.

  "How do I…"

  "Should I…"

  We both trailed off and laughed at the awkwardness, the newness of what was about to take place.

  "What if you don't like it?" Jim asked.

  "I'll tell you," I promised. "What if you don't?"

  "Well… then I guess I'll let you know."

  "Okay." For a moment, the two of us were quiet, both lost in our own thoughts.

  "Get over my lap, Sweetie," he said at last.

  I won't lie, that first time I was as nervous and fumbling as any newbie. Still, I made it over his knees somehow, filled with an exhilarating sense of peace. When his hand came clapping down on my upturned bottom, it was firm, and I found myself smiling. With each and every following spank I felt myself relaxing and getting into the rhythm of it. He stopped long before I was ready, when my bottom was barely tingling, but I knew that for us, it was just the start, just the beginning of all the exploration to come.

  Every night after Jim got home, he gave me my spanking, moving through the implements one by one, from least to most severe. Every night it hurt just a little more than the night before and in time we got down a routine of sorts. I could feel him putting more into the spankings just as I could feel myself submitting to him more and more each time. Somewhere along the way, I began to change. I became a more relaxed individual and he became confident in his ability to give me what I needed.

  Now, many moons later, while we are certainly not experts by any means, we are still trekking along and learning from our mistakes. And domestic discipline has helped us learn a lot about each other, too. For example, I know exactly how many swats I'll get when I smart off based on the look in Jim's eyes. I also know that hearing me whimper over his knee turns him on in two seconds flat. And Jim, well, he's learned that the threat of the bath brush has unlimited, magical powers. He jokes that it's saved our marriage. While I don't know about that, I know it's definitely made it more interesting!

  Dinah McLeod

  My name is Dinah. I enjoy a CDD relationship with my husband Jim and freely admit to love all things spanking--reading about it, writing about it, daydreaming about it...you get the idea! As long as I am not in trouble, that is! I hope you will enjoy my books, and feel free to let me know what you think!

  Visit her blog here:

  http://980875189741781282.weebly.com

  Don’t miss these exciting titles by Dinah McLeod and Blushing Books!

  Detention with Professor Black

  Love Heals

  Love Hurts

  The Errant Bride

  Mona’s Second Chance

  A Husband’s Duty

  Answering to Him, Old-Fashioned Husbands Book One

  Swept Off Her Feet, Swift Justice Book One

  Sir, Yes Sir, Old-Fashioned Husbands Book Two

  How I Spank My Wife

  Destined to Be His

  The Sombrero Incident by Sue Lyndon

  Over a dozen waiters paraded through the restaurant in a line, clapping their hands and cheering. I set my fork down and turned to watch, and my husband did the same. The server at the front of the line held a colorful, oversized sombrero, and once the boisterous procession reached a family seated near us, the sombrero was placed on an embarrassed looking woman. I felt a pang of sympathy for the woman, whose face had turned bright red as she glared at her laughing family members. A loud rendition of 'Happy Birthday' in Spanish followed, and afterwards the whole restaurant erupted into appl
ause.

  "Too bad it's not your birthday." Mr. Lyndon smirked across the table at me.

  "Ha ha, very funny."

  In that moment, as I peered at the woman wearing the sombrero, the naughtiest of ideas popped into my head.

  I glanced around for our waiter, trying to appear nonchalant. If my husband suspected what I was plotting, no way would he let me out of his sight. In fact, he would probably ask for our check and take me straight home. Good thing I have a decent poker face. Well, decent enough to fool my husband from time to time.

  I wish I could tell you I had a moment of doubt. I wish I could tell you that the second my husband excused himself to go to the bathroom, that I didn't immediately rush over to our waiter and tell him it was my husband's birthday. But that would be a lie, and lying is wrong. Apparently lying to a waiter and claiming it's your husband's birthday, even as part of a prank, is also wrong. As I would find out later that night.

  But let's get back to the lovely Mexican dinner we were enjoying. My husband returned to our table and I tried my best to keep my excitement hidden. We continued with our conversation about house repairs and my husband's new job, talking about normal stuff like all the other couples in the restaurant. Flutters rose in my tummy and I had to keep sipping my ice tea in order to hide my smile. We finished eating and I attempted patience, though worry began to set in. What if the waiter had forgotten? Or what if he had known I was fibbing?

  Fortunately, I didn't have to wait much longer. All the servers suddenly exited the kitchen area and headed for our table. Mr. Lyndon couldn't see them yet, and I tried to keep my poker face in place for as long as possible.

  The second the clapping began, I met my husband's eyes and gave him the biggest of grins. "Happy Birthday, baby."

  His face went pale. The poor guy had only been married to me for a month and didn't know all I was capable of yet.

  "You didn't."

  "Oh, but I did." I winked at him, then looked up and smiled at the waiters approaching our table.

  Mr. Lyndon muttered something about how I wouldn't sit comfortably again until the sun burned to space dust, but his comments were soon drowned out by the waiters cheerful shouts, and oh yes—that gorgeous, huge sombrero. It was decorated with sparkling beads, colorful buttons, and glittering gems, making it the gaudiest hat I'd ever seen. Oh, it was perfect. I wish I had a picture to remember this event, but to my chagrin, I didn't have a camera with me.

  I clapped and bounced in my seat as the sombrero was placed on Mr. Lyndon's head. He blushed bright red, or maybe it was a flush of anger. Now that I think about it, it was probably a combination of both. But he looked adorable sitting there wearing that giant, bedazzled hat, glaring at me with an intensity that had my bottom clenching and made me squirm in my seat. In fact, I'm pretty sure there was steam coming out of his ears.

  The waiters sang 'Happy Birthday' and the restaurant erupted into applause once more. Oh, and I should've probably mentioned this earlier, but it was a Saturday night and the place was packed. Had I pulled this stunt on a weekday evening when it was less crowded, we might not have stopped at Walmart on the way home to purchase a new, sturdy hairbrush. But alas, my fate had been sealed the moment I lied to the waiter.

  "What do we need at Walmart?" I asked as Mr. Lyndon parked the car.

  "You'll see." He gave me an ominous look, then marched me inside, directly to the aisle that contained hairbrushes and hair accessories.

  "Do you need a new, pretty ribbon?" I asked, batting my eyelashes.

  "You really don't know when to stop, do you, young lady?" He selected the largest paddle-like hairbrush available, and cracked it across his open palm. Thank God no one was nearby. "This one packs a nice sting. I'm sure it'll turn your naughty bottom a sufficient shade of red. Let's go."

  I was convinced that the cashier knew why we'd stopped to buy a hairbrush on a busy Saturday night and nothing else, but luckily the elderly woman didn't say anything other than, "Would you like a bag for that?"

  "No, thank you. My wife will carry it."

  Oh, the humiliation. I had to walk past the Saturday night Walmart crowd into the parking lot, holding the implement of my impending doom for all to see. I felt certain that each person I passed knew exactly what would happen to me once I arrived home.

  We got in the car and drove off, and my anxiety grew and grew the closer we came to our neighborhood. My husband remained quiet beside me, and his silence only increased my nerves.

  After a few more miles, a twinge of remorse stirred within me. Yes, the birthday prank had been funny, but I had intentionally embarrassed my husband in a public setting. He's not the sort of man who likes attention drawn to him, so maybe I had crossed the line.

  "Dear? Sweetie? I'm really sorry."

  "Not as sorry as you're going to be after I take that hairbrush to your bare bottom. I'm going to spank you long and hard, and you're going to be one very sorry little girl by the time I'm finished with you."

  To my relief, he sounded as if he were holding back a laugh. A smile tugged at his lips for the briefest of moments before he once again donned his serious I'm going to bust your butt expression. My stomach did little summersaults and the hairbrush felt heavy upon my thigh.

  So this was going to be a funishment spanking, kind of like we were roleplaying. Except I had been a tad naughty, and my husband wasn't exactly pleased with me. My heart raced and heat pulsed between my legs. I let my fingers travel across the hard wooden back of the hairbrush. My breath caught, my excitement rising. Each bump in the road intensified the anticipatory tingles that were spreading across my bottom.

  We arrived home and Mr. Lyndon relieved me of the hairbrush and marched me to the empty corner in our bedroom, giving me a few hard swats with his hand along the way. He stung my bottom through my jeans, and I thought maybe, just maybe, I shouldn't have pulled that prank in the restaurant.

  "You will stand there until I tell you otherwise, young lady, and think about what you did. What you did in that restaurant was very, very naughty."

  The image of my angry looking husband wearing the sombrero flashed in my mind, and I couldn't restrain the giggles from bursting from my throat, despite my mounting feelings of guilt.

  "What's so funny?"

  "Nothing, sir. I'm sorry."

  "Pull your pants down. Panties too. I want that naughty bottom of yours on display."

  With a dramatic sigh, I obeyed, baring my ass to his gaze while keeping my nose in the corner. My nipples hardened inside my bra and my breath came in quick, shallow gasps. Still, in the wake of my increasing excitement, a spasm of fear skittered through me. The hairbrush was going to hurt, I knew it. We'd experimented with wooden spoons recently, and I supposed the hairbrush would pack a similar sting, if not worse.

  He left the room and I heard him letting the dogs outside and moving around in the kitchen. I rubbed my backside a few times, as if rubbing it beforehand would lessen the impending pain. When his footsteps sounded in the hallway, I released my bottom and stood straight with my arms at my sides, my heart pounding in my ears.

  Clamping my thighs together, I felt the moisture that had trickled from my center, and I flushed.

  "Such a naughty little girl."

  His stern, deep voice almost made me come right there. I fidgeted in place and tried not to hyperventilate amidst all my excitement.

  "Turn around, young lady."

  I complied, shuffling around as best I could with my jeans and panties tangled around my ankles. He helped me step out of them and slip my shoes off, then guided me to the bed, pushed me over the side, and gave me three hard cracks with his hand. I spotted the hairbrush resting atop the bedside table, taunting me with its presence.

  "I'm sorry!" I said when I saw him reach for the hairbrush. "Please just use your hand."

  "After telling a lie tonight, you're lucky I'm not taking my belt to your ass."

  "Lie? What lie?"

  "You lied to the waiter. My bi
rthday isn't for several months."

  "Oh, come on! That doesn't really count as a lie. An itty bitty fib all in the name of good fun, but not a lie. Ouch!"

  He had grabbed the hairbrush and brought it down on my butt. I squealed and tried to rise up, but he placed a steadying hand on my lower back, holding me in position for another thwack of the hairbrush. And another and another.

  "Yes. I am spanking you for fibbing and causing a scene in the restaurant. You're lucky I didn't take your pants down and spank you right then and there."

  The threat of a public spanking sent tingles throughout my body and heat coursing through my veins. I ached like I'd never ached before, my center throbbing harder with each second, and I wiggled my bottom at my husband in between a series of spanks, hoping he would take the hint. I was ready to move on to the fun part of funishment.

  "You will never, ever, tell a waiter it's my birthday again, is that clear?" Spank spank spank.

  "Ouch! Yes, sir!" I tried to dodge the blows but he held me firmly in place, cracking the best hairbrush $9.99 could buy you at Walmart across my flaming cheeks. "But wh-what if it's really your birthday?" I couldn't resist asking.

  "Not even then, young lady." He paused spanking and caressed my backside, setting the hairbrush aside so he could cup my cheeks and rub away the sting. I arched into his touch, relieved that my spanking was over.

  Or so I thought.

  You see, my husband really doesn't like being the center of attention, and putting him on display with a sombrero on his head in the middle of a crowded restaurant had made his palm especially twitchy on this night.

  After a few minutes of wonderful, glorious rubbing, he started spanking the backs of my thighs with his hand. A few of the slaps even landed on the extra sensitive flesh on my inner thighs. The impact of these blows left my sex throbbing harder, even as I struggled to escape his firm, punishing hand.

  "Hey! I thought we were done!"

  "You thought wrong, little girl. The hairbrush spanks were for lying to the waiter. These spanks are for embarrassing me on purpose."