All the while, Bethany at Bethany's Woodshed just hired me to FULL TIME! Whee! Which is awesome, but with everything going on, it makes me a very bad blogger. BUT I'm posting what I always meant to—my testimony. It was a DD testimony that I sent into Bethany's Woodshed back in November that we haven't gotten around to organizing. So YOU ALL get first peek! Here it goes….

An Occasionally Painful yet Happy Solution:

A Testimony of Korey Johnson

I can't even remember how many times James has come home from work harrumphing about his friends' wives. "Chris needs to grow a pair," he would grump. "Do you have any idea what Miranda did this time?" Naughty wives abound in this world, and we think we're so fortunate to have figured out a solution.

James spanks me for discipline. Alright--sometimes he just spanks me because he's a little kinky, but there are so many distinctions between the two that there is never any question which is which. Or at least there's one very large distinction: discipline spankings are extremely painful. Luckily, I'm a rather well-behaved young wife, which means that I only get spanked about twice a month on average. (Please, take "on average" as a purely mathematical figure, I sometimes get spanked 5 days in a row and then don't get spanked for 3 months.)

When do these spankings occur? Why? Well, I'm pretty good at not repeating the "why" very often. My first spanking was for bad language. My latest spanking was for letting a check bounce, and not even calling the bank to ask how it could have been avoided, even though he asked me repeatedly.

From the first spanking to the latest--I doubt it was the last, but we can hope--there has been a "method" to the spanking. He calls me into the room. "Korey!"

I shrink. "What?" I ask, hoping he fell and needs some help up. But I know just by the sound of his voice that he's at least thinking about spanking me.

"Just come here."

I sigh and quit doing whatever I'm doing. "I didn't do anything," I'll complain as I walk through the door.

"We need to talk." He says, and I immediately interpret those lines as this; "You need a spanking."

"About what?"

And he will say what I did. Sometimes I'll have a good excuse, like, "The reason the credit card bill is so high, is that I took my mother out to get our nails done, and she had just taken me out to lunch… and I wanted to be nice to her." He'll just sigh and say, "Alright. Just remember that we're trying to save money." He'll give me a kiss and the incident will be forgotten.

Most of the time I won't have a good excuse. I mean, there's a reason why I do everything, and I so I can--and will--explain my reasoning. But my reasoning, though normally innocent, sometimes sucks. "Well, the bank wasn't going to tell me something I didn't know," was my latest reasoning. "And you know how the beauty parlor couldn't get my credit card to run, so I had to use my debit card."

"Why not the other credit card?" he asked.

"Because I didn't want to look through my wallet for it, I was just trying to pay fast." This, ladies and gentlemen, is a sucky excuse--I'll be the first to admit it. It was true: I just wanted to get out of there and the hairstylist who was cashing me out was also in the middle of another client. But that didn't mean I needed to use the debit card from my personal checking account that barely has any money in it, when we have a joint account that did have plenty of money. I just grabbed a card and blew through the consequences.

He'll explain what I did wrong, reminding me that regardless of what card I used at the hairstylist, I still shouldn't have later written a check without knowing if there was enough money in my account to cover it. He will tell me that he knows that I can do things the right way because I'm an intelligent, educated person, and that I just need to not rush through things when money is involved. The specific lecture changes, of course, but the message is always the same. He knows I can do better; he would never spank me unless he was absolutely sure I could do better. When the lecture draws to a close, he'll tell me to pull down my pants.

The trick is to not lower my panties--just the pants. If he can wear out a few slaps on the fabric, that's all the better. The spanking will last until he believes I've learned my lesson… or until he can't use his hand anymore…whatever comes first. Panties, as thin as they are, really shield the blows. Panties are magic.

But eventually the panties will come down, and it will not be a good moment. I'm already sore by the time they come down, and will beg, "James, please." James has stopped listening to me by this point. Nothing I say is going to make him stop. He's going for a shade of redness and will not cease until he gets there.

Did I say during the spanking I'm acting like a wounded raccoon? Well--I am. I'm kicking, though not successfully. My pants are around my feet and my panties are around my knees and his thigh is normally keeping my knees pinned down. I don't bite only because I know it would go so much worse, but I'll still always consider biting.

Instead, I howl. I howl and tear at the bed sheets, I pull my own hair, I squish my hands against my face. I try to block out the pain in my mind, but this is of course unsuccessful. I try to beg, but try is the operative word here. I am beyond begging--I'll open my mouth and crying gibberish comes out instead.

Everyone; I do not take a spanking "gracefully". Graceful is beyond comprehension in moments like these. In fact--I think anyone who claims that they can take one gracefully is either lying, because they can't, or they're not being spanked as hard as I am. James efficiently brings me to the brink of what someone can stand without trying to heartily defend themselves.

Still, James only spanks with his hand, and his hand only connects with my thighs or that beloved "sit spot", which we hate when we're looking into mirrors yet so tenderly care about in moments like these. When James finishes, he rubs my bottom a little, which feels oddly good, and normally I catch my breath.

James and I decided in the beginning of our relationship that we would not have sex after a punishment spanking--we wanted the punishment spanking to be and feel different. James is unquestionably erect after a punishment spanking--he can't touch my bottom for a millisecond without becoming erect, God bless him, but at times like these he doesn't want sex. And neither do I. We really just want to hold and comfort each other. I look forward to these moments; it's probably when we're closest as I feel so vulnerable--I'm out of breath, normally still crying, and he's feeling bad that he had to spank me.

This is important--I don't know if I would trust James if he liked putting me in pain or discomfort. He hates it as much as I do, but he looks on it like his duty, as I believe a disciplinarian should.

If you're wondering how James and I got into a relationship like this--or even why this lifestyle suites us so well, then I'm going to tell you that it's a bit complicated. For my part, there was always a little bit of "weird" in me that got me turned on to such a lifestyle as this in the first place.

I remember very far back into my childhood, and a truth that remains constant from the earliest memory is a strange truth indeed—I've always been completely entranced with spankings.

It was an odd pet to have, and it wouldn't be until I was about fifteen that I would come to the realization that I wasn't too weird; there were a lot of people like me. There were a lot of people that would read any book they could get their hands on, scanning for a spanking scene, or watching movies just to see the blessed event.

Little did I know when I was fifteen, that 2000 miles away, in Texas of all places, was my soul mate—a man who had grown up with the same interests. Unfortunately, life, uninterested boyfriends and school got in the way until my senior year of college, when, being freshly broken up with my fiancé, I was back on the prowl, looking for men. My best friends, bless their hearts, though I had trusted them with the identity of my interest, could never fully comprehend my heart's desire.

When it comes to friends of spankees, who are not spankees/spankers themselves, it is very unlikely that they'll ever completely understand people our interest--their minds are programmed to go right to abuse, or to BDSM. Their brains can't comprehend a man lovingly disciplining his wife. My friends try--but they think that spanking is still a merely sexual urge, not something I want underlying my life, so at this point they were trying to hook me up with "normal/vanilla" men and thereby were getting a bit in the way of my quest.

As you might have guessed, by that point I was fully keen on the life possible by "Christian Domestic Discipline", and although I hadn't even been to church in ten years, every fiber of my being ached for it. I read countless stories, testimonies, blogs… Getting into it was just harder than it sounds—for one, you need a boyfriend to be part of the domestic discipline life, and I had none. For another, finding a boyfriend that was interested in the same thing, after months of searching, was a bit of a rare find.

I'm a picky person and, after a close call with being forever in a relationship with a man who wouldn't make me happy, my new boyfriend "must have" list was quite immense, and I would not back up on it. I didn't just want a man that would gladly spank his girlfriend, I wanted a man who I thought in every sense was better than me, more responsible than me, and smarter than me and would help me become equally amazing through a sort of loving discipline. (Note that James does not agree that he is either better or smarter than me. He does agree that he is more responsible, and that is why he is more than willing to discipline me when necessary.) I was determined to let this fetish that had plagued me all my life finally be of some use to me, but finding the perfect man to implement that strategy was a delicate process which only the internet could provide.

I had almost given up on the spanking networking site when I got a message from a guy who was interested in what I was looking for. Suddenly, I was deep in conversation, and I stayed up until all hours talking to this faceless person from Texas (I was in Oregon then). Obviously, it was impossible for there to be a relationship—he was deep into grad school, and I had no intentions of going to Texas.

Yet, while I kept looking around, I was constantly in contact with this Texan, James. I loved chatting with him. Like me, his chats were made of long, well thought out sentences, and an interested dialogue that had a sternness to it. Although strange to say, every time we chatted he sent goose bumps up my spine. All of the sudden, we were exchanging numbers and photographs, talking on the phone, and in just a couple of weeks, we decided we had to meet.

Obviously, I had changed my mind slightly on this "going to Texas" issue, even though I already had an internship and job opportunity in Philadelphia. But there was something to James that I had to see for myself. He visited me in Oregon about a month after we first started talking.

He was gorgeous with dark blue eyes, a chiseled body, chestnut colored hair, a perfect smile… I wanted nothing more than for him to spank me—for any reason, for no reason. Just to get his hands on me. I wanted to slip under the covers with him and never come out.

Although he was against premarital sex (even though he knew I no longer had my virginity, thank you fiancé #1) he never hesitated on giving me an affectionate slap on the butt every now and then, but that week he refused to give me a discipline spanking—he wanted me to be comfortable with him and for us to build up a trust of each other first.