Where did I get the header image?

From Spanking Epics! Used with the persmission from Spanking Epics &
ABCD Webmasters.
Powered by Blogger.

Followers

Contributors

Subscribe via email

Enter your email address:

Delivered by FeedBurner

Saturday, September 1, 2012

Where'd You Go, Korey?!

Ah, my friends, I have moved--not just literally, either, but I've even moved domains. We (James and I) have finally started our own publishing company, and I made my blog off of the domain, and moved everything over there! 
Come visit me at koreymaejohnson.stormynightpublications.com!
See you there!!
Wednesday, February 3, 2010

Steering Back On Course


Hi everyone,

Back to posting. J Do you know why it takes me so long to post, funny enough, besides the obvious time constraints and the fact that I'm a workaholic? Pictures. I worry about having enough pictures for the blog, or trying to get the right pictures to work.
 
In the last five minutes, I decided I was ridiculous, and moreover, that it was a poor excuse. I mean, I think you guys would be happy with pictures of bunny rabbits if I would just post more often.
 
Also, I have been having major problems with my wrists since October, which got REALLY bad in December, and continued to get even worse in January. Now, I'm just always in constant pain. I finally have a desk, though, with wrist supports (though I've been wearing wrist-bands since December), a new desk, a new mouse, etc, and I think I'm ready to rock and roll here. Before, all I had as far as hardware went was a longue chair and a laptop. That's it! Now, I feel like I have all this high-tech stuff. And a desk? They're sooo useful. I love it. So, I love working even more now… That's sort of dangerous, but there you go.

Back to spanking, shall we?

We shall. I spend too much time talking to my husband about all my spanking theories and topics on spanking that I forget to blog about it. I think I just plumb talk myself out until I'm too tired to talk any more about it at all. Not that I don't see it all day every day. I've spoken to you all before that I think I'm slowly becoming desensitized when it came to spanking. It used to be something that I was SO ashamed about. I used to hide all my favorites, all my browsing history, all my books… I used to blush just by thinking about it.

Now, on my desktop, I have a big ass file that says "SPANKING". Right there in view. I don't cover up my steps at all anymore except to try to keep my spanking identity away from my real identity. Just in case I want to go into politics one day. But that's it.

SPANKING DIET

My diet has been going well and not well. I haven't been spanked for the spanking diet at all the last couple of weeks. Because I've been absolutely flawless in my approach to dieting. I've been working out every day; my food journal is spot-on perfect. I'm not losing any weight, however. James assures me that he's beginning to notice a difference, but I can't see it. I meant to be 140 by now, but I'm still 147. I've told you before that James won't spank me because my weight won't decrease.

He's right to make that decision—I might be dead by now. My weight fluxuates like crazy. The only way I can judge is by "the weekly low". So, the only way to do the diet is by me following the rules.

But GOSH I wish to rules were working better.

 
SPANKING SITES:

I hate to advertise at all, but I'm SO proud of redoing CFPub-online.com that I must tell the world. It's awesome—you can re-download your site, and the backend that I get to use is awesome because I can actually start using some purchaser demographics where I can actually pinpoint my market. It will be fabulous.
 
Anyway—I think it's WAY better than it was. Not that I had much of a choice—I couldn't keep the store on the server and the store software doesn't exist how it was, but it was so old this new server wouldn't support it. So—there ya go.

We're planning to do something similar with "BlushingBooks.com" by combining RomanticSpankings.com and spankbooks.com into the same store and making all of our stuff available in different formats for all sorts of e-Reading devices, since we KNOW that's what millions of people got for Christmas this year. Anyway—Korey's gonna be BUSY.

BUT I have GOT to see if there's a Texas All-State spanking party this year. Bethany wants me to set up a vendor's table there and sell books and videos, and I am just DYING of curiosity, as I've said last year, about what happens at those things. James, I think, would come with me to help out and keep me company. I hope everyone goes, though, if there is one.
 
Anyway, check up with me in a few. Now that it's so much less painful to type, I'll be blogging more often.
Monday, January 18, 2010

Another Spanking Story, Another Sneak Peak…


Hi All,
So… You know that month-long hiatus I took last month? It was mostly because I was writing a Christmas story for Spanking Romance, which is a membership right that posts a fully-complete novella every week. I took a turn with a Christmas story called "Christmas Awakening". I would be THRILLED if you would join up and read the rest with one of our month-long memberships.

ORPursuit of Glory has only sold 26 copies so far on RomanticSpankings.com… C'mon, guys! I PROMISE it's good, okay? Please, please, please! Buy it? It's only 6 bucks for a WHOLE LOT of story!
Here's the sneak peak of Christmas Awakening:



Chapter One

 
    Jack Fawkes sighed as he pulled into Maggie's driveway with a Christmas wreath on the front seat next to him. He looked down at it as if the dead, festive tree-branch was mocking him. The truth was that he just didn't feel very Christmasy; he was religious and respected the holiday's importance — for the sake of the townsfolk he found himself even pretending to be into the holiday spirit.

    He was lonely, and he was in his thirties, and he was about to get snubbed by Joanna Menard when he walked into the house — he just knew it. With any other girl, some snobbery wouldn't move him at all. He was the town Sherriff and was used to being known as the 'bad guy'. But Joanna had a way about her that made him feel two feet tall — which he was sure was her plan.

    "Time to get it over with," he said, grabbing the wreath as he left his car.

    Maggie liked him, though. In fact, Maggie was a surrogate mother to him while he was in his teens. When his mother was fighting cancer, and eventually died from it, she was always there to make sure his father, his brother, and he didn't die of starvation. She would also snoop enough to make sure he and his brother didn't get into any amount of regrettable trouble, which he appreciated even today — hence the wreath.

    He knocked on the door and put on a grin in preparation for the door being answered. He could hear the sound of someone coming near. Then, he heard a muffled voice say, "Oh, Lord. It's him."

    "Who?" was a much more distant, nearly inaudible, answer.

    "Jack."

    "Well, answer it and lead him back here. I'm elbow deep in cookie dough!"

    The door's lock clicked and the door opened wide, revealing Jo, who was more gorgeous than ever with her glassy emerald eyes and her long, dark brown hair draped over both shoulders. Despite it being mid-morning, she was still in a black t-shirt, flannel pajama bottoms, and huge slippers that resembled milk cows. Her expression was even less welcoming than her outfit, however, and she seemed to groan through her eyes.

    "Hi," she said wearily.

    "Hey Jo," he replied with a friendly grin. "Nice slippers," he teased lightly, looking for some sort of conversation that might make her smile.

    "Nice hat," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. She didn't even have to gesture to the fluffy flap-hat he was wearing. She stepped aside to let him inside the house, closing the door behind him.

    "It is nice," he assured, trying to take anything she told him with a light attitude. "It's warm. It's perfect. Don't know what I'd do without it."

    "I'm sure your life feels very complete," she droned, rolling her eyes as she turned away from him and began to walk towards the kitchen. "She's this way," she informed over her shoulder.

    He struggled to take off his shoes and said, "So, you done with college?" He was desperate to make any sort of conversation with her.

    "Yeah," she answered, standing still so that he could catch up to her lead. "Art degree managed."

    "4.0!" her aunt called from the kitchen proudly.

    "Wow," he said, genuinely impressed. "Great job," he encouraged with a grin.

    Jo blushed and looked away from him again. "It's just an art degree," she shrugged. "And it took me four and a half years to get it," she said as if it lessened the achievement. "It's no big deal."

    "Do you know what you want to do now?"

    Jo turned to him slowly, putting on a robotic-like stare.

    In actuality, Jo couldn't get over why he was asking these questions at all, except to either mock her or be polite. In essence, she had ended and disregarded all of their past friendly relationship, and felt he had to be relieved by her doing so. Why was he set on continuing to waste her time with automaton questions? "No," she answered, and led him into the kitchen. She opened her arms and presented him like she was selling a new appliance to her old aunt, who was balling up cookie dough into balls. "There he is! Now, I'm off to the shower. If I don't come back in an hour, send a search party."

    Crestfallen inwardly, Jack simply watched as Jo shuffled silently out of the room without so much as a 'goodbye'.

    "Merry Christmas, Jack," Maggie said, her face bright with smiles and wrinkles. She walked over to him with her arms outstretched and tried to hug this man who was easily a foot taller than she was.

    "Merry Christmas," he said, picking up the wreath and waving it. "Or, Merry Christmas in three days, I should say." He winked at her playfully.

    She clapped her hands together excitedly. "Excellent! Thanks so much! Put it on the table. I'd take it, but I'm sticky with cookie dough."

    "Well, thanks for hugging me then," he teased.

    She waved at him dismissively. "I didn't get you," she assured with a chiding smirk. "How are you these days? You haven't visited in two weeks now!

    "Yeah, well… I wanted Jo to become situated before I came up," he admitted, looking over at the kitchen island where a large scattering of several different types of cookies sat.

    She watched him scavenge for food with interest for a moment before she said, "You know, Jo's single and here for awhile… Why don't you try asking her out? Maybe for a cup of coffee or something?"

    He chuckled. So, Maggie could tell that he was interested in her niece. He wasn't too surprised. Maggie always seemed able to read someone's intentions in a matter of seconds. He was never able to lie to her. "Because she might take a swing at me!" He stole a cookie and took a big bite. Afterwards, he walked towards the fridge and took out some milk — just like he used to do as a teenager — eat and run. But Maggie, for whatever the reason, liked it.

    "She's interested," Maggie enlightened with a quiet voice. "Oh, she's too stubborn to admit it. But I've seen the way she looks at you."

    "Like I'm diseased?" he said with a full mouth, unable to let what Maggie was trying to say penetrate his skin. There was simply no way Jo was interested in him, as painful as it was to swallow, and all the wishful thinking in the world from her aunt wasn't going to make a bit of difference. "No, I'm afraid I ruined it."

    "If you're suggesting that she won't talk to you because once upon a time you spanked her, you've got another thing coming," Maggie assured firmly, trying to accentuate her seriousness by pointing a chunk of cookie dough at him. "You hurt her feelings somehow. She holds onto a grudge, but she never stopped liking you. I think you just have to be… a little persistent. Look, you need to come over and woo her. Try to crack that hard shell of hers. I'm not telling you that you have to be nice, either. But sincere and honest won't hurt. She's smart, but she can be as thick as a brick. As can you."

    Reaching for a second cookie, he said, "I don't know, Maggie. I think you're seeing something that just isn't there," he admitted, then sucked air through his teeth as she snapped him on the back of his hand with a wooden spoon.

    "Don't be a pig," she said. "I'm sending Jo to deliver cookies today. You're on the list," she promised. "Why don't you come up and have Christmas dinner with the Ruarks, Jo and me?"

    He hummed thoughtfully. "Hm, well… As much as I like your next door neighbors, Mag, the feeling's not exactly mutual since last week, when I busted little Kevin with a DWI. That would create a little bit of awkwardness, I'd say."

    She rolled her eyes. "You just are no good at politics, Jack," she said with a grin, shaking her head. "But you're a good boy."

    "Maggie — I'm thirty two," Jack reminded with good humor.

    "Oh, God! I feel so old," Maggie sighed exasperatedly.

    "I wouldn't worry about me being anywhere for Christmas, anyway," he mentioned pessimistically. "I'm gonna be snowed in, supposedly. So are you, in fact. You'll be able to make it to the Ruarks, but not into town, for certain. Remember? I've told you before--we've got reports of a huge ice and snow storm heading our way. We'll be buried so if you need to do something, make sure it's done before mid-afternoon. That's when it's gonna hit."

    "You don't have to work?" she asked, or rather, hoped. Like a mother, she worried incessantly about Jack, and she would only worry more if he had to drive roads in horrible conditions in the middle of nowhere; ambulances were famous for not even making trips up to the mountain during storms. It was as if the town would be cut off from the world.

    "No. I have the day off," he said, though he didn't sound too happy about it.

    "Well, maybe some time to yourself is what you need this year, Jack," Maggie mentioned wisely. "I think you need to do some soul-searching, Honey. I know you're unhappy."

    He was suddenly getting uncomfortable about how pensive Maggie was getting in her old age. "I'm happy. Perfectly, wonderfully gaga about life," he exaggerated, wishing with all his might it was true.

    She sighed and raised an eyebrow. Finally, she just threw her hands in the air as if she surrendered. "Alright, alright, I'll keep out of it," she promised. "It's your life…"

    "That's right," he said with a nod. "It's my life…. And my cookie." He mischievously snatched his hand out and grabbed a cookie before she could react. Then he walked over and kissed her on the cheek before he turned to leave, shoving the cookie in his mouth as he did so. "Merry Christmas if I don't see you 'til after. Call me if you have any emergencies," he offered, but he had a feeling she wouldn't. Maggie's house was stable, her pantries were stocked better than most castles, and although she had a bad hip, she had close neighbors and a niece to ease up her chores and keep her from hurting herself.

    He knew that she was right, though — he did need to do some soul-searching over the break. His life wasn't turning out like he hoped it would. He became Sherriff when he was twenty-eight, but it didn't seem like he had progressed much after that. He needed a big change; he just didn't know what that was going to be. That was simply going to have to be his Christmas Wish—if such a thing existed—figuring out what that change was going to be.

* * *

Jo stood motionlessly in the shower, deep in thought, just letting the hot water flow over her.

Whenever she saw Jack she could barely think of anything else for a long time. She hated how her emotions were so conflicting. On the one hand, she didn't want anything to do with him, on the other, she thought he was the most gorgeous, wonderful man alive.

She figured most of the things that made her nearly swoon when she saw him were only emotional remnants of her past. Before she was eighteen, she thought the man walked on water. He was nearly ten years older than she was, and acted like he was twenty years older. When she was sixteen, it already seemed like Jack had his life figured completely out. He was fresh out of the military, after serving two terms, and it seemed like everything he did, and everything he said, was just good — pure and simple.

She wasn't alone in her thinking, either. All the other girls in her high school felt the same way about him. It was impossible not to. Jack was tall, had a fine, chiseled body, a hard jaw line, sharp, piercing blue eyes… Everyone thought that he was all that is man.

And, out of all the girls in town, she was the one that got to see the most of him. Because of his connection to her aunt he seemed to take extremely kindly to her, and oozed attention on her. She figured now, that was because he was trying to help her get through the shock of her parents' death — maybe because he related to it a little himself. His mother died when he was a teenager as well, and he was no stranger to grieving.

He spoiled her, which was exactly what she needed at the time. He would bring her thoughtful little gifts, take her out to movies, and drive her to Bend, Oregon to go shopping. He would even pick her up and drop her off at school constantly, making her the envy of every girl she knew.

She hadn't been a good student before her parents' car accident; she hadn't been a good kid, actually. But Jack did seem to keep her focused — enough to get good enough grades for college. And her world had seemed more and more right every day, even though the high school crowd that existed in the small town was quite a rough bunch, and it was hard to stay out of trouble.

    By the time she was a senior she was well liked enough to get invited to everything—every party, every camping trip, every concert. Maggie was oblivious, and she kept Jack, who was the town's sheriff by then, as much at bay as she could. But the more she separated herself from him, the more suspicious he became.

    Suspicious or not, and however much he seemed to be on her case, she loved it. And she came to realize that she was in love with him. And since she was at that age where everyone seemed to be hooking up in the back of old Chevy trucks, or underneath the football bleachers, she decided that she wanted Jack Fawkes to be her first — who else was more perfect? No one else was as appealing in any form, No one held the type of magic she felt Jack was capable of. And he spent so much time with her, she felt that she wasn't too off-base in thinking along those lines.

    The perfect opportunity to plan such an event was when her aunt left for a whole week in January of her senior year. There was no better time; she was eighteen, she was alone, she had a whole house to herself… There would be plenty of time to seduce Jack.

    Of course, as soon as the rest of her friends got wind of the fact that she wouldn't be inconvenienced by her Aunt's watchful eye for a whole week, they got her to take up other interests as well. She had a lot of time on her hands, and she figured Jack simply couldn't stop by half as often as she even wished he would. He worked, after all.

    Maggie had left Saturday morning, and by Saturday afternoon her girlfriends and her were already hanging around the house with a cabinet full of liquor and a Ziploc full of weed; giggling with each other and talking about boys in their class. Until Jane actually called one of the boys, and in return, got them all invited to go up to the ski slopes with boys. They were expected to provide the booze, of course, which, thanks to Maggie not locking up the liquor cabinet, seemed like a pretty fair plan.

    Just as they had hauled the cooler into the back of her aunt's Chevy, however, the sound of tires at the bottom of the driveway made them all think incredibly sober thoughts, very quickly.

    Jack strolled down the driveway with his hands in his pockets, but the closer he got, the more suspicious his expression became. Although she noted to herself that it was probably just paranoia brought on from being hammered, Jo felt that his blue eyes fixated on her a little too carefully.

    "Hi, Jack!" she welcomed with as much enthusiasm as she could muster. "How ya doin'?" she asked sing-songishly, tilting her head innocently and even batting her long eye lashes.

    "Just checking on you," he answered honestly, looking towards the house, and then looking back at them. "You girls off somewhere?"

    Jo looked over at the girls — Jane and Mary swooned in silence for a moment before one of them answered shyly, "Yeah… We're off to meet Russell and Peter at the slopes."

    "Sounds like fun," he replied off-handedly, his eyes going from girl to girl. "You remembered to turn off the stove and everything, right?" he asked Jo as he started to walk towards the house. He turned his head over his shoulder as he asked, "And the heater?"

    ""I forgot the heater." Jo hiccupped once, but she passed it off smoothly by coughing. The girls were having trouble restraining a nervous giggle. "Can you turn it off for me, Jack? We're kinda in a hurry."

    "Sure," he said. "I'll turn it off. But hold on," Jack said from the front porch before disappearing into the house.

    Mary and Jane looked over at Jo with extremely nervous expressions, despite their maniacal grins that they didn't seem to be able to batten down inside themselves. "He's alright," Jo assured with a relaxed wave of her mitten. "He's probably just coming back out to tell us to turn on the headlights and to wear our seatbelts." Jo rolled her eyes, but added with adoration as she looked towards the house, "It's like he thinks I'm five."

    The girls giggled, were now more at ease and began to file into the truck. Jack seemed to be in there for quite a few minutes before he came back out, just as Jo was checking which of the dozen pockets of her winter coat she might have left the keys in.

    He walked right up to her driver's side window and opened her door. And, with absolutely no pause about him, he reached across and took off her safety belt, fluidly yanking her out of the car by her upper arm. "Everybody out," he ordered the other two girls, pointing at the far side of the car while he kept his hand tightly wrapped around Jo's arm. He wheeled her over to the back of the truck just in time to meet the other girls there, who now had no smile about them at all, only nervous grimaces.

    He released Jo roughly and opened the back of the Chevy. He reached into the truck with an angry grunting noise, grabbed the cooler inside, and dragged it toward him before opening it.

    Jo hiccupped again, wondering if she had ever been so nervous or ashamed. She looked over at the girls, and although all their expressions conveyed anxiety, they also had a look of resolve to all of them that seemed to communicate that none of them were allowed to break down and admit to anything.

    They watched silently as he opened the cooler, looked inside, then closed it again.

    He heaved a loud, disappointed sigh before he slowly turned back around and crossed his arms, looking at them all accusingly, but especially Jo. "Well, Miss Menard? Do you have any amazingly riveting reason for having Maggie's entire bar in that cooler?"

    Red faced and guilty, Jo realized that she didn't have the will to look him straight in the face. Her eyes lowered, instead, to the area around his navel.

    "I didn't think so," he said. "Minor in possession?" He snorted and shook his head in disappointment. He held out his hand. "Give me the keys, Jo. I'm driving your friends home. Playdate over. Wherever you kids were going is not where you need to be."

    With an angry, thwarted huff, and finding no way to defy him, Jo checked her coat pockets again until she finally found the keys in her pants. She walked up to him and put the keys roughly into his open hand. It seemed like, very suddenly, his facial expression fell from disappointed to angry. Quick as a flash, he grabbed her coat and took a couple of hard sniffs of her. She blushed at the audacity, or from whatever it was she just did that tipped him off to investigate her further.

    "Have you already been drinking?" he asked her warily.

    "No," she lied stoutly, glaring at him."

    "Do you want me to get my Breathalyzer?" he challenged further.

    She could have sworn she heard one of the girls gulp, but she wasn't too alarmed by the threat — she would have liked him to go search his car for his breathalyzer, if he even had it in there. She could have then had time to go behind a bush and use her very impressive gag-reflex to get rid of the evidence, eaten some snow, chewed a mint and been back in time to evade his wrath. "Go ahead," she dared. "We haven't been doing anything. We weren't even going to drink it. We were going to watch the boys do it."

    "Uh huh," he said disbelievingly, letting go of her jacket. His eyebrows went up for a long moment as he stared her down. She knew he was upset; there was a vein in his neck she had never seen before, and she hadn't ever seen him lock his jaw like that. But then, he finally just pulled the arm of his jacket over his watch to look at it. "Alright. You'd better make it to ten. Stand on one foot… All of you."

    Jane and Mary definitely gulped this time.

    "Ready?" he asked, eyeing them. Jo, unlike the other two girls, looked strongly confident. "Go. One—"

    No one ever thinks they'd actually be drunk enough not to be able to stand on one foot for ten seconds. Jo, in particular, was specifically peppy about the challenge. Then, unfortunately, she realized how good of a test it was.

    She couldn't even balance herself to the ending of the word "one". Whether Jane or Mary could have lasted longer was never discovered, because as soon as Jo failed, Jack grabbed the scruff of her jacket and hauled her over to the trunk of the Chevy.

    Before she even knew what his intentions were, he had quickly and effectively unzipped the front of her pants, moving faster than she thought possible. Less than half a second later, she was draped bare-assed over his lap with a horror-struck expression on her face. When she looked for help from her friends, she could tell they weren't even going to move, They were paralyzed with shock and guilty fascination.

    He spanked with purpose, raising his hand high and bringing it down mercilessly upon her bare flesh as she squeaked and tried to buck and wiggle off of his lap for want of her life. Even now, she could still remember what he ranted while he put her tail aflame.

    "You can think you're put on this world to do whatever you want, Joanna Lynn Menard, but you will not drive drunk in my town. It makes me sick that as soon as your aunt leaves you alone for a second, you could think about throwing all that trust away and endanger your life and the lives of your friends!" By then, he had given her at least ten spanks, and it didn't seem to her that he sounded like he was anywhere near done.

    She was right; as soon as she put back one of her mitten-covered hands behind her in attempt to shield herself, she merely succeeded in getting her hand pinned to her lower back by his free hand.

    "Please… Please stop! Stop this!" She was drunk, but well aware of how utterly humiliating it was to be chastised — not only like a small child, not only at eighteen years or age, but in front of two of her closest friends. Those friends, by the way, were completely worthless to her at the moment. They obviously weren't even considering any sort of intervention. They looked more like they had been hit by a bolt of lightning, and were probably praying that they weren't next.

    Jack's hand was very large, very strong, and did a very efficient job at causing her a whole lot of pain. She felt that she was unable to deal with the sort of pain she was receiving; she didn't think she had ever been in so much of it. She couldn't in a thousand years compare it to any sunburn she had ever had or with any scratch she had ever received. This pain was unbearable… and shocking… and lingering.

In no time at all, she was reduced to tears; she apologized. She apologized for everything else she had ever done—every lie, every prank she ever committed, ever being drunk at all. She promised, in fact, never to do anything else wrong for the rest of her life. Halfway through this pathetic pile of apologies, as if there were magic words out there that could make this assault stop, her cries went from sharp screams to breathy sobs, complete with eyefuls of tears.

It didn't deter Jack. As she sobbed, he carried out at least fifteen more smacks before he helped her rise off of his strong knees, where she modestly turned quickly away from him to pull up her pants gingerly over her scalding flesh, still feeling unable to stop crying, or to take a normal breath.

    She finally made eye contact with him, although she dreaded doing so, and found that there was absolutely nothing apologetic or even sympathetic about his expression. His face was hard as stone, with no remorse to be found anywhere about him. "I want you to keep out of trouble, you hear?" he said shallowly.

    Wiping a mitten across her face to clean her tears off, she nodded.

    "Alright. Say goodbye to your friends, get in the house and stay there until I get back. You and I are going to have a long talk about driving safely, little girl," he informed, then watched as she turned to her friends, who were still stunned beyond words, with their faces as white as a sheet of paper…

    Nearly five years later, the memory still made Jo's cheeks blush. Though, she was in luck — neither Jane nor Mary ever told a soul about anything that had happened. They blamed not making it up to the slopes on a flat tire, and they had never brought it up with each other since.

    That day, she went inside the house, locked the doors, and cried herself to sleep. Jack had come by, that she knew, because there was a blanket over her when she woke up. The next day, he came by, hoping that she would go to church with him. She refused. She vowed she would never go anywhere with him again.

    She fell deaf to his explanations of why she deserved the spanking, and even Maggie, who Jack confessed the whole matter to, openly told her that she backed him up. But she was already too hurt to ever forgive him.

    Jo's dream was over that day. Not so much because of the embarrassment he caused, or even from the spanking itself — but because the spanking gave her traumatic insight into how he must have seen her. She had been Jack's project; his charity case. He obviously viewed himself as more of a babysitter of her than even a friend. How could he love someone he viewed to be a child? Certainly, she decided, not in the way she wanted to be loved by him.

    She felt how hard her nipples were getting at the memory, how heated her loins were, and groaned. The most horrible thing about the spanking memory was how it aroused her, how it excited her.

    "What the hell's wrong with me?" she snapped at herself, banging her head in frustration against the shower. How could such a thing have aroused her so much for so long? How could she have Jack in authority over her, but still have him see her romantically, and not like some kid?

    You can't, her mind informed her harshly. You can't have both. And you shouldn't like a chauvinistic, narcissistic, woman-beater like Jack Fawkes anyway. What's the matter with you? Are you a masochist? No? Then get with the program!

    It was then Jo realized that she had been so in thought that she had shampooed twice.

    She sighed. This man will be the death of me.



Wednesday, January 13, 2010

Paddling in New Year’s Resolutions

I know what you're thinking—what the hell, right? Well, I've been a lot of places in a short period of time, trying to get things done all the while. I went to Oregon, Dallas, Florida—here, there, selling the house, blah, blah, blah. Every second of every day, however, seems to be tied up in finding A) A good ecommerce solution for an eBook store, B) a good programmer or C) Both.


Good programmers are a myth, by the way. If they're good, then they don't have time for customer service, which makes them unavailable, which makes them bad programmers. Show me a good ecommerce programmer (and email me) and I'll show you a man that has a job!

Okay, enough about your dull work life. I don't even care that you work in the spanking industry. Let's talk about spankings, already! Sheesh!


Okay, okay, okay. Fine.

I don't know where to start. I've gotten so many spankings since Christmas, I don't even know where to start! I mean, I get a spanking every single day anymore. It might be short, but it's still there. Today, I believe, has been my first spanking-free day all week.

…Details?


Details? Urgh! More like gripe. It's that damn spanking diet. I gained back some weight when I was on vacation, and James came down upon me with more rules, regulations, and punishments that I can shake a stick at. I'm at 150 now… So, 4 pounds up… Again. And I really don't think James is going to tolerate it any longer.

I got THE worst spanking EVER just this last Sunday. Mostly because I was eating cookies instead of lunch, eating "lunch" at 4 instead of before 1:30, and I barely ate breakfast. Oh—and I hadn't written a thing down in my food journal all day.

James was exasperated as he watched me enjoy my cookie. Which is hard to do—I think my cutest moments are when I'm enjoying cookies. Cookies are like happiness you can chew.

Anyway, he asked me if I had eaten lunch. I looked sheepishly down at my cookie. There was about to be a reckoning, I knew it, because my eyes lit up with all the crap I didn't do.

I think I go through periods of being absolutely the stupidest person on earth, is what the problem is. But he wasn't listening to the fact that I was stupid. I don't think things could have gone any worse than if I threw my cookie into his eye.

I was incredulous. He told me to go into the bedroom and take off all my clothes and put the paddle on the bed.

So, that's a bad start. I was nearly hyperventilating—the paddle?! I had done something so wrong as to require the paddle?! Without driving home drunk or taking hard drugs? Because I think that's the only time when I could understand the paddle. The paddle is a force which I still don't know how to accept.


Yet, I obeyed before the sentencing could get any worse. I don't know HOW it could get any worse, mind you, but I imagined that it could.

But, I have to admit, when he was lecturing me and listing the charges against me, I was nearly laughing. I was pretty ridiculous—and he was right—I wasn't taking my diet seriously enough. Which is probably why, after 10 years now of trying, I have not been able to obtain my goal weight.

So, he pulled me over his lap… (We have a new position, by the way! He takes the pillows away from the headboard, sits with his back up against the headboard of the bed, and pulls me across his knees. His leg is actually easier to position across my legs and he's better able to hold my arm in a way that it won't fly back though he doesn't have to twist my arm and risk hurting it. So, the pin-down works on all fronts.)

I was naked already so, needless to say, he didn't warm me up by spanking over my panties like he occasionally does. He was spanking SO hard I was actually thinking that he was thinking about not using the paddle, after all. If he was going to use the paddle, I thought, why would he be spanking so hard? Okay—I wasn't actually thinking—I was in crazed animal mode. But if I had been thinking, it would have been that. He was being dramatically thorough. He was getting my inner thighs, my upper thighs, in and out and all around—he was everywhere! My sitting area was just getting ruined.

And did I tell you about my beginning? Because I begged my ASS OFF. I was panicked before the spanking even began. I tried to think my way out of this situation. I understood I needed to be punished… But spanking? Why must it ALWAYS come to spanking? Aren't there other punishments? I was a fountain of ideas—I'd heard of people getting grounded, or stripped away of privileges. Butt plugs? I'd have even taken an enema at that moment. I didn't care. Anything but a paddling. Anyway—it was like negotiating with a wall. James had already made up his mind.

After the spanking ended, I had even considered escaping. Running to the car naked. Because, as soon as he finished and told me I could get up and stand in the corner, he told me, "This is just a small break before the paddling."

Ohhhhh! Nooo….

It wasn't over?! It… Wasn't… Urgh! I was wishing I could faint on call. Maybe THAT would get him to loosen up. I wasn't crying yet, but I was surprised that I wasn't. Is it possible to be so mind-boggled by your punishment that you can't really cry?

As I was thinking this, I was called out for "Round 2". Oh! Why did I eat that cookie? I knew it wouldn't quench my hunger! I had planned to eat a sandwich afterwards—why didn't I switch the eating order? Why am I so brain-dead when remembering to update my food journal?! Why?

Personal pity-parties don't make you feel any better about a paddling at-hand. They just make the whole thing even worse, somehow, like focusing on the "what I could have done" magnifies the whole situation. But I couldn't help it. I just kept on thinking, "Why, why, why?!"

Because the paddle was every bit as terrifying as I remembered it. There's nothing good about the sharp cracking feeling across my flesh. It's like a lightning bolt against the ass. And he only gave me SIX—six horrible, ugly, gut-wrenching smacks. I don't know what the neighbors were thinking about all this, but I KNEW they could hear me. Who couldn't? YOU ALL probably heard me and only thought it was the wind. Because I was truly that loud.

When he sent me back into the corner, I practically ran there, trying to catch my breath. Again—no tears. Maybe I'm dysfunctional? Because it was the worst spanking I had in memory. I stood in my corner with my ass throbbing, thanking God that it was over. I was almost elated—no. I WAS DEFINITELY elated. I could sing songs. I was so scared, and now I was so warm, so wonderfully punished. It was behind me.

James cuddled me while I was in the corner, and then took a picture of my bottom (he's been doing that all week—he wants to make a photo collection). I would post it, because I'm nearly proud of how red my ass was, but I still don't like the look of my love-handles from behind so I'll hold out.

Anyway, lots of spanking-blog to come, guys! Thanks for hanging with me!
Tuesday, December 22, 2009

Spanking Through the Diet….


Well, when it comes to the Spanking Diet… It's been working FANTASTICALLY. I mean—wow.

So, when I came home from Thanksgiving in Portland, I weighted 154. Urgh.. BUT before I left for Galveston Island this weekend (James wanted me to go on a "date weekend" with him) I weighted 146. 146! To highlight the significance, ya'll—I haven't weighed 146 since high school. I was 151 when I went to college, and I felt like I looked pretty good—definitely better than in the middle of college when I weighed 185. Ouch.

So, AMAZING progress!

Has it been easy?

No, the spanking diet sucks. It's really not something to enjoy, per se. It's just something to do when all else fails. I've got my ass pounded on the last few weeks. There's so much that can go amuck for me—I could forget to write down something I've eaten within an hour of eating it, I could not eat breakfast or lunch, I could eat too many servings of a meal or too many snacks or cookies, or I can just shoot James a horribly nasty glare when he gives me advice. All of that winds up the same way.

Sort of—if I mess up on a meal again, I'll probably get the paddle next time. Or so James claims. It's because he has to get stricter and stricter so I take high regard in this diet.

I don't know how loudly I can complain. As I've said—it's worked. Hallelujah.

Hopefully I'll be at 130, my goal weight, before I know it.

Alright, so, you know you need to post more often right?

That fact has not eluded me. I'm at my in-laws right now, trying to type this out as fast as I possibly can, but I will get more into it. I've had so many spankings! So many thoughts! So many things are happening! I just wish I had a more secretive way of blogging that doesn't require me hauling out by well-used 17-inch screened laptop.

I have to get going—everyone's going out to lunch. I'll add more later!
Wednesday, December 2, 2009

Birthday, Thanksgiving, & Portland? Oh, My!



Yep. That's why I haven't written in a week… Saturday the 21st, I turned the big 2-5. My parents gave me eye-cream for my already coming-in crow's feet. (James says we're imagining it, but I definitely don't look like I'm 18 anymore. I'm aging, and it sucks.)

We went up to Portland for Thanksgiving the day after and stayed there until I came home Monday morning after an all-night flight. There was a lot of dangers there for a spoiled woman like myself:

1) I'm defensive when I'm up there. My parents were actually well-behaved, but I felt like I was making up for lost time. Normally they're pretty insulting towards me (not that they mean to be bad-natured, they just like to pick on people), but this time, not so much. So, I think I overly teased them, as is my normal demeanor when I'm there.

2) Diet? Forget about it. It possibly started at Outback Steakhouse on my birthday—the gorging festivities—but it probably actually started when I went out with James' best friend's wife to a double feature of the new and old Twilight movies on the 19th, where I feasted on a large Dr. Pepper, popcorn, and M&Ms. I *shared* them (not the Dr. Pepper), but I imagine I still added at least 3,000 calories to a place where they didn't need to go. My stomach.

Afterwards—crab fests (Dungeness crab is in season there), chocolate cheesecake, Thanksgiving, French bread at every meal… Makes me wonder why I wasn't fatter when I was young. James and I joke that we ate so richly last week, we were lucky that all we gained was weight. We're lucky we didn't walk away with the gout.

3) Spankings? Ha. Where could we do it? My parents are INCREDIBLY nosy and we don't have a car up there. We can't even have *sex* in my family's house, for god sakes. We tried, mind you, while they were out, but then my father came home from work early and started calling our names, and seemed generally hurt that we didn't answer right away, like we were avoiding him or something. We had sex only once. In the middle of the night, to the sounds of their snoring… Sigh. Anyway, in case you didn't get the hint: spanking = impossibility.

4) James was sick… The whole time. He's still a little sick. Hopefully he doesn't have bronchitis or swine flu. I might be getting a touch of something myself. Anyway, when James is sick, James doesn't do well at roasting my tush anyway. He likes to lecture, and he can't do that amongst the coughs and the sneezing.

BUT NOW? NOW WILL SPANKINGS COMMENCE?


I suppose so. James told me that he expects that I make a food journal and actually maintain a healthy diet to write in it by the time he gets home from work. I have a huge pile of laundry that he expects done AND I have to write, because I have a short story due at SpankingRomance.com this week, and he wants me to write at least a chapter's worth before bed tonight, "or else". So—there's definitely potential.

The dieting, to me, is most important. Yeah, I like to make Christmas cookies, but I need to behave. We're going to Florida next month and I don't want to look like a cow when I'm there. I need to lose any weight I gained in Oregon, plus some. And I can do it. Stay tuned.
Thursday, November 19, 2009

A Special Peek at Korey’s Spanking Fiction



Alright, y'all: I promised you a taste of spanking fiction. Here it is; it's posted nowhere else… Of course, you'll have to buy it to read the rest! Warm up on Chapter One as well!
Chapter Three

She looked up at the doctor for a second, who was obviously shocked by the revelation. Now, he looked even closer at her face than before. This wasn't too surprisingthe Weather family was quite well-known, particularly in Kingstown, so she thought nothing of it, but when she finally looked at the pale blue eyes of the ship's captainor admiral, rather, she understood he didn't care for who she was one iota.

"What the devil are you doing here, girl?" snapped Logan Liam firmly, looking very unhappy to meet her acquaintance again.

    She looked up from the ground at his angry eyes for a moment, but she didn't know how to respond, so she looked back down at her small black slippers instead. "I just" she began, very quietly.

    "What, what?" he mocked sharply. "Speak up, Miss Weather. I'm sure your excuse will be quite entertaining for everyone."

    "I didn't know whose ship I was getting on to," she assured snappishly, not liking being talked to in this way, particularly because Logan Liam was not her father. Her blushing cheeks and angry stare gave away her embarrassment from his mockery.

    He was coming up with a furious response to her excuse, she could tell, but his mate interrupted it. "Should we give the standard punishment for stowaways, Sir?" Caldwell asked professionally.

    If Logan even considered giving her the 'standard punishment,' he didn't look like he had. In fact, he looked like he was quite agitated that Caldwell had even mentioned it. He looked at him as if he had told an ill-timed, unappreciated joke. "Yes, Mr. Caldwell. Standard punishment. Let's take the High General Weather's daughter, bare her, and whip her hard enough to spatter some of her blood about the deck."

Caldwell bit his lip and motioned for soldiers to take her arms. Renny's eyes widened and she tried to scramble backwards. Logan sighed exasperatedly and snapped, "I was being facetious, Mr. Caldwell." It amazed him that a man serving under him for ten years couldn't tell when he was and wasn't being serious.

Renny calmed immediately, though she seemed to understand that her sin was quite serious by the way she hung her head.

"We are gentlemen, Mr. Caldwell. We will act like gentlemen." Logan looked into Renny's inquisitive eyes, which were looking for some sort of forgiveness and acceptance that she would not be getting out of him. "See that Miss Weather is taken down to my cabin, and give her anything she requires." With that, the admiral disappeared back to wherever he came from.

    Caldwell cleared his throat, looking quite put out from the admiral talking down to him so, but straightened himself and turned to the doctor. "Is she alright, Sir?" he asked her.

"Hm?" said the doctor, looking very distracted before he settled himself. "Oh, yes, she's well. She'll be even better with some good sleep and some water." He looked at her very directly for a second, but then turned away without another word.

Caldwell sighed, and offered his hand to help Renny into standing. "If you would follow me, Miss Weather?"

Feeling her legs stretch both painfully and happily under her, she slid off of her seat and allowed herself to be escorted down to the captain's cabin.



As Logan finished his checks and duties, Renny never for a moment escaped his thoughts. Half the time, when thinking of her, his jaw locked in frustration, and other times he found himself quite pleased. At least she wasn't discovered the night beforehe hardly had a rash thought in his head reserved for the company of women. But still he didn't like that he would now have to make sure that she was protected and well provided for. Henry LaNosse, the doctor on the ship, would no doubt help himafter all, he used to be a Weather, and was Sirius' eldest, but he could tell that neither of them had recognized each other, and it was hardly a time for family reunions.

The fact was Logan didn't like women aboard shipsespecially ships of war. There was too much danger, particularly in battle where women were helpless and vulnerable. It would be more awful if they were defeated and Renny's virginity was taken by a lowly, lusty sailor. The thought enraged him and he told himself that Renny could, under no circumstances, be harmed or even touched, not even by him. He would give the young noble woman back to her close family in one piece, whether he died doing it or not.

Finally, grumbling to himself, he told his mate that he would be in his cabin for the rest of the evening.



    When Admiral Liam entered his cabin and looked about, he was startled by not seeing her immediately and was on his way back out to call a search for her before he heard a hum across the room. It suddenly came to his attention that a privacy screen had been put up. He walked closer to it where he noticed, with much delight, he could vaguely see Renny's silhouette behind the sheet, running a sponge over her body.

    He knew it wasn't appropriate to watch her, but the old sailor in him couldn't help enjoying it. "You seem a little too happy," he observed, standing close to the sheet, secretly hoping to see more of her.

    "Ecstatic would be a more appropriate word for it," she admitted proudly. Obviously unable to notice that she could be even slightly seen through the sheet, she began to wash her hair from the bowl of soap and freshwater she had been given. "It feels so good being able to clean myself. It was so hot in that barrel."

    He raised a concerned eye, even though he knew she wouldn't be able to see it. "I'm sure it was. I hate to hear of any discomforts you have had to bear, Miss Weather, but" he wanted to let her know that her happiness was not going to be long-lived, and that unless an astonishingly good reason was given for sneaking onto the ship in the horrible way she had, he was going to have to chastise her viciously, making being outside of the hot barrel also discomforting.

"Could I ask you to hand me my dress, Admiral? I've laid it out on your bed, which might as well be in another world for all the good it does me over there," she interrupted with a light chuckle as he watched her silhouette wringing out her soft curls.

He sighed, hating to be treated like a female servant, but he found himself grabbing the garment and carefully bringing it over to her. She looked around the edge of the sheet and grabbed her dress with a sprightly expression on her face as if she expected to see him in good humor. Her smile faded as soon as she saw how stern he lookedin fact, he looked exactly as he did at the meeting; as if she shouldn't have been there.

She suddenly looked completely unsure of herself. "Thank you," she murmured very quietly and sincerely as her head disappeared behind the sheet again to finish dressing. She heard the admiral pace about before the pacing stopped and she heard him take a deep breath, cueing that he was about to begin a lecture.

"I am sorry for boarding. I didn't know which ship I was going on," she tried to explain before he could start haranguing her. "I just heard that this one was headed for Brinland." She stepped out from behind the sheet, looking quite ready to be yelled at with her toes pigeon and her hands behind her back. Though there was still nothing about her that looked submissive other than her stature since her eyes were so tightly fixed on his own, as if reminding him that she wasn't one to be intimidated.

"That's just the danger, Miss Weather," snapped Logan. "Any other captain would have surely cut open your skin with the cat by now, not giving a fig who you are or who your father is." He put his hand over his eyes. "Good lord, it could have been days before anyone would have gone in that roomit was for back stock. You might have well been dead before we found you, if not very dead," he continued to lecture.

"I obviously didn't think barrels could seal so tightly," she defended haughtily. "I thought I would be able to get out at my leisure."

"Well, you thought wrong, didn't you, Miss Weather?" he snapped fiercely. He shook his head, suddenly horrified by an image of her decaying body being found when his shipmates were all out of tobacco. What on earth would he have told her father? Oh, Gods. Her father. "Where's your father?"

She shrugged, looking very much without concern. "At home, I suppose," she guessed, nearly with a proud gist to her voice.

"You ran away," he concluded. He rolled his eyes and sighed while putting his hand over his eyes; appearing that he was having a very bad headache. "Your father's probably having kittens!" Sirius was a very organized man, very strict, but very good and loving under all. He knew his old school rival must have been panicked to the hilt.

Sirius had never talked about another child more than he had Rennyshe was very obviously his favorite, as well as his first and only daughter. The grief Sirius must have been feeling would be intense. "And I have no time, Miss Weather, absolutely no time at all to return you. This is my personal ship, but it is not a private yacht! It's a man of war, and we're on a mission."

"Well, you're just going to Brinland," she said calmly.

"No, Madam, we're not just going to Brinland. We're to intercept a ship bound to attack the Brinland docks! We might well have a battle before we even spot a sign of land!" He seemed to march dangerously close to her.

Her eyes sparkled slightly with excitement, since she was, after all, a General's pupil that had never been allowed near a battle. Though already thinking of the victorious event, she tried to calm him. "I'll stay out of your way," she assured, trying to sound calm.

"Even if you could 'stay out of the way', you're in danger," he informed darkly. "The cannon ball does not discriminate. You don't know how easy it is to die on a ship."

"Well, not that easily, if you've lived as long as you've lived," she retorted smartly.

"You stupid girl," he spat angrily. "A twelve-pounder could easily deprive you of your leg. Or a head. You think because you're ageless means you can grow back one of those things?" He was yelling now, growing angrier and more worried for her the more he imagined. He felt like his heart was going to beat out of his chest at the mere thought of returning Sirius' daughter to him either in a box or missing some very important limbs.

"Don't call me stupid, and there's no need to yell," she ordered firmly, yet at the same time sounding awkwardly fragile.

"Obviously I need to, Miss Weather, because you haven't been yelled at enough!" he told her, removing his sword sheath and slapped it onto his desk with a clank. "I've never known such a streak of outright naughtiness," he told her.

She blushed at the word "naughtiness". It seemed to change the structure of the confrontation immediatelyshe was no longer the admiral's peer he was upset withshe was a naughty child.

Wanting badly not to be thought of as a child, she said what she thought any young man would say. "I'll work with the men," she offered sincerely, straightening her back to look more able and strong. "And Poppa trained me in sword-play! I could be very good use to you in a battle," she said, almost exposing her excitement. "I'm sure at the end of it all, you'll be happy I came aboard."

He looked at her as if she had just lost her mind. "I'm not having the general's daughter's hands and knees bloodied up, or getting in the real sailors' way. To make this ship run I need strong, disciplined, and respectful men. You, my dear, don't posses any of those attributes," he said harshly as he sat very firmly on the bed. "As for battle experience; you have none, nor will you receive it here, I guarantee you. I'm sure the sword play your father taught you was just that. Play. Now, come over to me; let's get this over with."

Her posture seemed to freeze when he said that. She looked at him as he sat so straight, proud, and expectant. Did he really think she was going to bed him? Like she owed him anything? She was angered by the mere notion. Forgetting to even argue about her fighting abilities, she straightened her posture threateningly, like a snake about to bite. "Get what over with?" she asked tersely, her brow knitted with firmness and confusion.

"Your chastisement," he promptly answered as he rolled up his sleeves, sounding as if she should have seen it coming all along.

She reevaluated his postureit suddenly looked all too familiar, only it was normally on her father as he sat on his stool in the woodshed, with the rolled sleeves and a strong posture. "You're not going to flog me," she informed certainly, standing strongly from her chair.

"Not with anything," he admitted, sounding as if she should be grateful about it. "You're a fool, but I've decided to be lenient because you are just a young girl, after all."

"No, sir, absolutely not," she informed with a shake of her head. She crossed her arms tightly across her chest. "You have absolutely no right at all."

"I have all the right under the gods," he told her firmly. "I am captain of this shiphigh admiral of his majesty's navy! There is a tradition that has all stowaways flogged; however, in light of your selfish attitude towards your father and the absolute danger you've put yourself in, this one will be my pleasure."

"Be reasonable, Sir," she told him with a whine in her voice. "Think of me more as your uninvited guest?" They stared each other down for a moment, but Logan seemed much more at ease than she was. "I won't be beaten by anyone but my father, I simply will not!" She stomped her foot by way of stating that she had 'put it down'.

"I am done jousting with you," he declared, looking very impatient. "Miss Weather, you do not want me to come to you," he informed ominously. Suddenly he realized her posture had changed entirely, from a snake's to a deer's, looking like she was about to run. He stood up as to grab her, but his quick movements seemed only to bring on the inevitable. "Damn!" he cursed when she darted from the room at his very first movement.

The girl seemed like she already knew every corner of the ship, every hallway, every sailor that walked in her wayshe was moving with great speed, and he knew he was not going to catch her anytime soon, unless... "Seize that girl!" he barked at a sailor the girl was going to run past.

She zipped past that sailor, despite his quick movements, and she got halfway down the main deck before two sailors came at her from two sides and held her still. "Let me go, you beasts!" she demanded furiously, desperately.

By the time the Admiral got there, he was more infuriated than many had ever seen him; his face was red and his jaw was locked, looking like it had steel bones within it. "Thank you, Mr. Styles, Mr. Anderson," he nodded when he finally found his voice again. He grabbed her arm tightly, but when she resisted with a sharp cry of "No!" he simply bent down and threw her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

The crew broke out in heavy laughter as they saw the high general's daughter being carried off like a naughty little girl by the admiral himself. Logan, however, didn't think it was funny at all. "Where were you trying to get to, by the way?" he grumbled at her. "There are only so many places you can go on my ship."

"Put me down!" she demanded hysterically and proceeded to pinch, scratch, and hit the Admiral's back as hard as she could.

He winced at her attack and then gave her a loud swap on the seat of her skirts. "Cease and desist, woman!" he warned. "Or I will flog you bare in front of my whole crew, I kid you not!"

The swat and threat seemed to subdue her enough. She gave a sort of frustrated growl, but just hung uncomfortably over his shoulder on the way down to his cabin. "Please, Sir," she began to plead again when they were below deck. "Can't you change your mind?"

He gave a snort. "Absolutely not!" was the answer. "And you will now also pay for that little jaunt about the ship. Shame on you for your foolish behavior!" he scolded as he finally reentered his cabin. "I expected you to be able to accept your chastisement like a ladynot a small child!" He leaned down to plant her feet on the ground in front of him. "Do you have a hairbrush in your pack?" he asked, his eyes glancing over at the cloth haversack she brought along with her.

She felt the pit of her stomach flutter. She had too much of a notion that he hadn't any desire at all to use it for the item's original purpose. She had been spanked with a hairbrush beforeonly not since before her mother passed away when she was seven. It was a very childish way of being chastised, even though she knew the admiral didn't plan on using it as gently as her mother had done. "No," was the answer that came through a moment of silence, her cheeks blushing furiously.

"It had better not be in there, then, when I look for one there," he said after eyeing her skeptically for a moment. He turned towards the pack.

"Maybe there is," she finally admitted as he picked up her sack. "I don't remember." She felt like dying when she saw him grab it out of the bag, wielding it, inspecting it, and then looking over and inspecting her suspiciously. Finally, he stomped over and grabbed her wrist tightly and led her over towards his desk chair. "I thought you said you weren't going to use anything," she whined.

He sat down on the chair and, without any more warning at all, pulled her unceremoniously over his thighs. "That was before you took matters into your own hands," he explained brusquely, grabbing for the bottoms of her skirts.

She squealed and put both hands behind her, trying to keep her skirts down. "No, Sir, please," she begged. "Over the skirts, if you would!"

"I wouldn't," he simply said, undeterred by her modesty. "And you will get your hands out of the way at all times, Madam," he said firmly.

She let out a dry sobbing noise and seemed to force her own hands to the floor. "You don't have any right to do this," she repeated with a cry as she felt all three layers of her skirts folding over her back. She gasped when she felt his hand on the hem of her pantalets, her face going redder than ever with humiliation. She whipped her hand back around and grabbed his hand firmly. "Stop!" she ordered. "You're not my father or my husband. You can not bare me!" she tried to warn.

"As this ship's master, I can," he differed mercilessly, pushing her hand gruffly back towards the floor. Although he didn't seem to wait a single moment before he had pulled down her pantalets, he did greatly anticipate themfar more than he knew was appropriate. The moment he had even seen her lingerie he had become too excitedtruth be told, he had never seen cuter pantalets in his life. They were of the softest white with the most innocent lace on them. In all his years, and as far as he knew, he had never seen a virgin's bottomthe only ones he had seen were scandalously clad, seen for the few moments before the silks were ripped away before a torrid sexual encounter with some professional companions he frequently enjoyed while on land.

When he saw her bare bottom, an evil trill was sent down his spine. Her skin was so fair, and so softhe just wanted to put his mouth on it. As he restrained himself as much as he could, he let himself inspect it for a moment and saw that there were some red stripes settled ruggedly across it, particularly deeper on her thigh. "You've been beaten, Miss Weather?" he asked straightforwardly, yet a slight amount of sympathy did infiltrate her ears.

"Yes, Sir," she admitted dejectedly, yet she was beginning to hope that he wouldn't find reason to continue. "The night I left..."

She heard him heave a sigh, but then his voice was very strong. "Really, Miss Weather, all this nonsense from one short whipping? A very light one, too, from the looks of it. Your father used to do much worse on your brothers, believe you me, and it was only to their benefit Even though none of them were ever as horrible as you."

It was then that the spanking commenced. Renny winced and squeaked after she felt his strong, calloused hand come down roughly on her delicate little bottom, already knowing she wouldn't be able to tolerate it for very much longer. After the first few strokes she had decided that Logan was far harsher than her fatherand he wasn't even warmed up yet. She had never been spanked by anyone other than her father or mother and so was aghast, now knowing that her parents had been so overly delicate with her.

It seemed like every smack of his hand left a red print and it didn't seem to be long at all until she began yelping and kicking her legs with all she was worth. After the tenth spank she had lost her composure completely, and tried to turn around and protect herself with her hand. "Please, stop!" she begged.

He locked his jaw again and grabbed her hand and pinned it against the small of her back. "I've only just begun!" he announced, despite her sob. "How Sirius could have ever raised a naughty little girl like you eludes me," he scolded as he continued to spank her. "You had better shape up, young madam, because you have far too much honor in your name to traipse around, shame your father, and climb aboard a ship, nearly killing yourself. Do you know how saddened your father would be at your demise? Do you have any idea?"

Renny was well beyond answering at this pointshe had thought her bottom already tender before the spanking began. Now she was beyond capacity for logical response. "I'm sorry," she finally sobbed, tears now freely falling from her eyes.

"You'd better be," growled Logan. "You should be mortified at yourself for causing Sirius so much grief! You're simply lucky you're not my daughter."

'I'd say,' she thought to herself with so much humiliation that she felt enraged, but in too much pain right now to do a thing about it. She suddenly thought of all the men that could no doubt hear all of this on deck, and tried to stifle her sobs a bit, until she felt him stop.

She was in such reliefit was over! But then she felt the most uncomfortable swack she'd ever experience in her life and screamed as the flat of her hairbrush smacked the most sensitive skin just above her thigh. "Please have mercy!" she sputtered quickly as she sobbed, suddenly unable to conceive of anyone else on this ship but the two of them.



Did you guys like it? You know where to go
RomanticSpankings.com! It will also soon be available through Amazon!