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Confessions of a Spanking Author

By: Box Sets
Published By: Blushing Press
Copyright: �2015 by Blushing Books� and the Authors
16 Stories / 51,900 Words
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They say 'write what you know', but just how true is that of some of our authors? Ever wonder if any of your favorite storytellers REALLY get spanked?

Blushing Books is proud to present a collection of 16 unfortunate, but true, stories from a series of authors such as Breanna Hayse, Maren Smith, Alta Hensley, Tabitha Black, Sue Lyndon, Joannie Kaye, Renee Rose and more! We also have some excellent stories from the viewpoint of the Dom.

Confessions of a Spanking Author will make you laugh, squirm, and maybe even feel sorry for (or envy) one of your favorite authors.

A Note from Bethany of Bethany's Woodshed and Blushing Books:

The authors in this compilation are a mix of writers - old and new. While some have just joined Blushing Books, others have been around as long as dirt. What these stories have in common is that every one of them - some dire, some sexy and some hilarious - are absolutely true.

My own "Violators Will Be Spanked" has been said to be the funniest thing ever, and although I can laugh now, I assure you, it was not funny THEN.

We hope you enjoy Confessions of a Spanking Author and will visit both Blushing Books, and Bethany's Woodshed. Our authors have many fantastic stories for you.

Full list of authors include: Bethany Burke, Breanna Hayse, Sir John Hayse, Alta Hensley, Maren Smith, Tabitha Black, Bella Bryce, Sue Lyndon, Renee Rose, Joannie Kay, Devlin O'Neill, Dinah McLeod, Patty Devlin, Keith Anderson, Ashlynn Kenzie, & April Hill

Violators Will Be Spanked - Bethany Burke

This is�regrettably�a true story. It happened many years ago, when I was young and foolish. Reading it over now, I am struck by the little ways that technology has changed the world, most notably the lack of cell phones.

The Visitors' Parking lot is gone, replaced twenty years ago by a massive parking garage, and we no longer even live in the college town where this story occurred. But to this day, if I am back in town for a visit, I can't drive by the�the former scene of the crime without thinking of this night.


Recently, my husband and I have discovered "spankingland," and we're learning some of the more "fun" aspects of this inclination. But for the first twelve years of our marriage, spankings happened for one reason only: pure discipline. Although at the time, I never thought of the spankings as either interesting or amusing, I find I can now look back with a certain amount of (sick) humor on some of the more memorable ones, particularly the ones brought about by my incredible stupidity.

One of the most unforgettable spankings happened when my husband and I were both in graduate school, he getting his law degree, and I getting my MA in History. One night, as he was getting the family room ready for his study group, I realized that I needed a specific book from my carrel at the library. Because I had a nursing baby, I usually studied at home, but I left many of my books in my carrel as having forty or more at home was a hassle. Thus, these quick nighttime trips to the library were not uncommon.

As I was grabbing my keys to run out, Kevin looked at me. "You know, with mid-terms next week, the place is going to be mobbed. You're never going to find a parking place."

Since they'd built an undergraduate readers' library, the graduate library, DaNeal, was usually fairly empty at night. But just before exams, every library on campus turned into a zoo. In fact, the influx of desperate undergrads was why he and his study group had chosen to meet at our house instead of at the law library where they normally met.

I, however, had a solution to the parking situation. "Oh, don't worry about it," I breezed back as I tried to slip by.

He grabbed my arm, his face serious. "I AM worried about it. Where are you going to park?"

"Well," I hesitated, "The Visitors' Parking Lot?" Visitors was a misnomer, translating into "Students Who Are Willing To Pay $5.00/Hour." Usually, they weren't, so spaces abounded.

"It'll be full," he predicted ominously. He was right, of course. During exams, finances took a back seat to expediency and this lot was so centrally located, it was always full during peak times. Not only would there not be a single open space, but also there would be cars circling. "So where are you going to park?" he persisted. "Because if you have to go up on one of the side streets...� He paused. "I don't want you walking a long way alone in the dark."

"Listen, it's really not a problem. When I'm running in like this, if I can't get a space, I just kinda..." I hesitated.

"You just kinda what?" His eyes had narrowed and I didn't like the look on his face. Damn, I knew I should have just told him I'd park in one of the outer lots and take a bus... "Spit it out, Bethany."

"I go into one of the restricted service spaces, you know, by the stairs..."

"What?" His face darkened like a thundercloud. "That's a tow-away zone."

"I know. But when I'm just running in, I'm barely there ten minutes. There's no danger."

"I don't fucking care if you're there one minute. Don't park there."

"Come on, Kevin. I've done it before. Lots of times."

"Oh, great!" He looked at me incredulously. "Lots of times? I don't want to hear it." He started cursing, always a bad sign. Finally, he settled down. "Look. Just don't do it again. You'll get towed."

God, I was thinking: what a granny! "But Kevin..."

"No 'buts'. Don't park there. If you can't find a safe place to park, come home. I'll drive you over after study group."

"That'll be 11:30," I protested. "And we'll have to wake up the baby. And...

The doorbell rang behind us, and Kevin turned to admit one of his classmates. She tramped by us with a smile, down to the family room. I tried to use the distraction to slide away, but no luck. A hard hand snagged my jacket and he pulled me to look up into his face.

"I'm telling you, Bethany. Don't do it." His voice was low, but hard. I said nothing. "Promise me you won't park there."

It was obvious I wasn't going to get away until I said the "magic" words. "Oh, all right," I snapped.

He gave me a long appraising look before he let go of my jacket. I hurried out to our car.

Driving towards the library I was shaking my head, fuming in rueful frustration over my husband's rigid conservatism. What a stick-in-the-mud! Never breaks a rule... thinks '58' is speeding...

I arrived at the Visitors' Lot, and no surprise, it was full. Not only that, at least ten cars were circling in the hundred space lot. Hopeless. I eyed the two empty service vehicle slots, and sighed heavily. I pulled away to circle once as I thought it out.

My husband was a hard, uncompromising man about many things. Early in our marriage, faced with some incredible immaturity on my part, he'd introduced me to a painful reality: he spanked. Hard. On a bare bottom with a fifteen inch hardwood ruler. He spanked for behavior he considered childish: a lack of respect, general, as he termed it, "sleaziness," and outright defiance. Not being the most cautious of women, I'd gotten maybe six or eight solid wallopings a year in the five years we'd been married. They'd all been painful, humiliating, and very, very effective. There was no doubt what would happen if I got caught parking in the tow-away zone after I'd promised not to. I bit my lip and eyed the empty space, eyed the huge DaNeal library lit bright on the hill above the lot... so close...

"Don't be such a pussy!" I told myself. "You're turning into as much of an old lady as he is. I did the math. Two minutes up the stairs, maybe five minutes into my carrel, two minutes back out. You'll be in there ten minutes, tops," I told myself. "No way will you get towed. No way will you get caught. No. Fucking. Way."

I zipped my Jetta right into the space. Stepping out of the car, I walked to the stairs, walked right under a sign that said, "Service Vehicles Only. No Parking. Violators Will Be Towed."

Dashing up the stairs, I sprinted into the library, up to my carrel, snatched the book I needed, ran back down the stairs into the lobby, zoomed for the door, and...


I whirled and my eyes went wide. "Martha!"

We ran to each other. Martha Terrence had been a close friend during my undergraduate years, but, in the four years since, we'd lost touch. In fact, the last time I'd seen her had been at my wedding.

"What are you doing here?" we cried simultaneously.

She was, it turned out, in graduate school in the linguistics department and had been all year. She'd had no idea I was still in town and I'd no idea she'd come back. We began talking, expressing amazement that we hadn't run into each other before now, speaking as we walked to one of the sofas and sat down. I asked about the man she'd been dating when she graduated, and where she'd worked in the intervening years. She asked me about Kevin and smiled happily when I told her I'd had a baby. I asked about where she was living, and what she was taking and if she were seeing anyone. I asked her about her mom, who had been sick while she was in college. She asked me about the department and if I liked teaching undergrads and how Kevin liked law school and if being a mother kept me busy and...

"OH. MY. GOD!" I gasped, looking up at the big clock behind her. For a second, in my horror, I couldn't decipher the Roman numerals and ornate hands, then I couldn't remember what time I'd gotten there. Suddenly, I could feel the blood draining from my face. We'd been gabbing for nearly an hour. Counting the time it took me to run up to my carrel, it had been over an hour since...

"What?" Her eyes went wide at my horrified tone, at my abrupt change of demeanor.

"Oh my God, Martha, I parked in a tow-away zone. I was just going to run in... Listen, I gotta go. Are you in the directory?" She nodded, eyes still popping. "I'll call you tomorrow." Taking a deep breath, I sprinted away.

Running down the stairs, I felt my heart pound in my chest. You've probably gotten a ticket by now, but don't worry, I reassured myself. They haven't towed you, surely they haven't towed you, they don't REALLY tow people...

I got to the bottom of the stairs. The parking lot was still and quiet. There was an empty space where my car should have been. I blinked and looked again.

My car was gone.

I continued to stare.

My car continued to be gone.

I was so shocked that nothing came into my mind, not my favorite obscenities, nothing, only... You won't sit for a week, for a month, for... well, forever. Sitting, hell. You're dead. He's going to kill you. Your poor motherless child.

A plan, I gasped to myself. You need a plan... Anything... Martha!

I turned around and ran back up the stairs, ignoring the stitch in my side, back into the huge library. But she'd been going out, too, I remembered, so I ran back out... just in time to see one of the University buses pull away from the library stop. I realized, my stomach sick, that she'd probably taken that bus.

I went back in and sank down onto one of the sofas in the library's foyer, trying to figure out the next step. Think, Bethany, think. Calm down and think. Not an easy task when visions of hard rulers cracking against bare red bottoms keep flashing through one's brain.

Okay, deep breath: What's the first step? Answer: Get the car back, now, no matter what it takes, no matter how much it costs, even if you have to have sex with the tow truck driver. To do that, you have to know where the car is... I'd been with a friend once, years ago, when he'd gotten his car towed, and I suddenly remembered vaguely that they had to call the police to do it.

I walked to a payphone, my mouth dry as dust, dialed the University Police and stammered out the situation. "Hold please," the woman snapped. She hadn't, I reflected, sounded the least bit sympathetic or helpful.

A man's voice came on the line. I explained my problem. "White VW Jetta? Virginia license number...."

"Yes," I mumbled.

"Dettors towed it."

"Okay, so how can I get it back? I don't have a car."

"First, you gotta come in here, and pay the parking ticket. They you gotta go to Dettors and pay the tow."

"Can I do that now?"

"No. We don't open 'til 9 AM."

"But you're there. So how can you not be open?"

"Cashier isn't here," was the terse reply.

My mouth went dry as cotton. It almost didn't compute. "You're telling me I can't get the car back until tomorrow?"


"But I have to. My husband..." I could feel the tears welling in my eyes.

"Sorry. We can't take any payments 'til 9 am. And even if we could, Dettors' lot doesn't open until then anyway."


"Sorry, ma'am. I can't help you." He paused, his voice softening just a little. "If you need a ride home, we can arrange for the escort service to give you a lift, but there's nothing else..."

I thought quickly. If I took the ride, might Kevin somehow miss the fact that the car wasn't in the driveway tomorrow? We only had one car, but since he went to school full time, and I only part-time, he generally walked and left the car with me.

Maybe I could say I'd loaned it... to a friend? Okay.... Okay.... Not bad... This might work. I'd run into the friend at the library and the friend needed it... to go... where? On a hot date? Getting better... And then the friend had given me a lift home. And I was going to get it back in the morning.

Voila. Problem solved. Kevin would probably not even notice that the car wasn't there tonight, and tomorrow morning, when he was running out the door to go to class, he wouldn't have much time to consider it.

Then I could get a lift in the morning to the University Police and then to Dettors and the car would be safely back in the driveway before...

"Is this Mrs. Bradley?" I started. I'd almost forgotten he was still on the line.

How did the officer know my name? Oh, they probably called into the state computers...


"Your husband is Kevin Bradley?" I mumbled an affirmative. "You can come in here and pay the ticket, of course, but I should tell you that Dettors will only release the car to the person whose name is on the registration. According to the DMV record, only your husband's name is on the registration." I knew why he was telling me this in an instant. He obviously had dealt with frantic wives before.

I rested my head limply against the pay phone, still trying desperately. So I would steal my husband's driver's license, and bribe one of my male friends, who just happened to look like him...

I sagged. Who was I fooling? It had been hopeless from the get-go. My husband had a saying: I might have been born at night, but I wasn't born last night. There would have been no way that he would have fallen for the friend who needed the car for the hot date story to begin with, and this was the final nail in the coffin.

There was no way I could hide this from him. And, I realized, it's probably best he finds out now, while study group is there. Maybe he'd be joked out of his anger by his friends? Weak hope, but better than nothing.

"So, do you need a ride, Mrs. Bradley?"

"No." I thanked the man. "I'll just, uhhh, call my husband." I heard a snicker before the line went dead.

I stared at the phone for a few minutes before I finally got the courage to stick another quarter in. Maybe it'll be busy...

"Hello?" It was a female voice... one of the study group members.

"Hi, it's Bethany. Is Kevin...?" I heard a rustling fumble as the phone was handed over to someone else...

"Bethany?" It was Kevin's voice, low and frustrated. "Where the hell are you? Eliza's been awake and fussing for an hour. She wanted to nurse. I've been carrying her around. Finally, I had to give her a bottle. You said you only were going to be gone a few minutes."

Oh God, it just got worse and worse. This meant he hadn't gotten to work with his study group, and he would be pissed off about that... "I know, but... Kevin, I had, uh, a little, uh, problem."

"Are you all right?"

"Yes, but..." I sighed heavily. Why wait? "Honey, they towed the car."

There was a long silence. Very long. Very, very long.


His voice sounded strangled. "Where are you?"

"In the lobby of the library. Kevin..." My only response was a click.

Ten minutes later, my husband walked into the lobby of the library. The look on his face was daunting. I realized in a millisecond that I was going to be spanked. The only question was whether he was going to do it now or later. From the way he was striding towards me, from the set of his mouth, the immediate option seemed at least a possibility. In the lobby of staid DaNeal Graduate Library? He couldn't. It wasn't possible. I took another look at his face. He might. I backed off, bumped into a sofa...

He grabbed my arm. "You are unbelievable," he hissed. He jerked me along behind him.

My head down, shaking with embarrassment, I followed him as quietly and as quickly as possible out of the building. He whirled me to face him. "I want to see exactly where you parked. Exactly."

"In the Visitors' Lot... Kev, I'm so sorry."

"Not as sorry as you're going to be."

My wrist tight in his fist, we walked along in silence, him striding, me stumbling behind as swiftly as possible, trying to avoid any unwanted attention, trying to make it look as if we were just a couple of people walking fast together, instead of what we were: a furious husband dragging his errant wife off for a sound spanking. We reached the base of the stairs. "So where was it? Right here?" He eyed the sign angrily.

I pressed my mouth tight and nodded. What could I say?

He dragged me closer to a huge boxwood, until we were almost under the sign, flipped me around, held tight to my upper arm, and gave me a hard swat, his big palm encountering my bottom cheek with stinging force despite the protection of my jeans. "Read it to me."

"Service Vehicles Only. No Parking. Violators Will Be Towed," I mumbled out.

He swatted me again. "Read it again."

I did, and got another shot for my efforts. "Again."

"Kevin, someone's going to see..."

"Just be happy I'm not taking your pants down." His palm cracked into me again. "Read it."

I did, then put my free hand back to protect myself. I might not be a quick learner, but I had a feeling another one was coming. "Move your hand, Bethany."


He let go of my arm and snatched my protecting hand out of the way, jerking it up my back, and walloped me hard one more time. "All right, march."

"Was that my spanking?" I tagged along behind him. Hope springs eternal.

He laughed as he dragged me along the parking lot. Laughed hard in a mean way. That was his only answer. Incredibly, sickeningly, he'd found a place in the lot; we were in the car, obviously loaned to him by a member of his study group, and whipping towards home in seconds.

We drove in silence. I wanted to beg, but knew it was futile. I was getting spanked. He knew it, I knew it, hell, everyone in his study group probably knew it. The skin on my bottom shivered and crawled.

"Do you know how much this is going to cost?"


"Probably sixty for the tow, plus at least fifty for the parking ticket."

"Oh." He had every right to be furious. We were two graduate students, on an incredibly tight budget. That was a third of a month's food right there.

He piloted the car skillfully. I watched his big hands on the wheel. Would I be feeling one of those on my bottom, or would he use the ruler?

"Why'd you do it? I told you not to. You promised me."

"I just... I don't know. I just thought you were being too conservative. Like you always are. And I wouldn't have gotten towed except..." I sighed.

"Except what?"

Why lie? "I ran into Martha Terrence."


"You probably don't remember her. I knew her before I graduated. She's back."

"Great. I bet you're really glad you ran into her tonight."

I said nothing.

"I'm really glad you ran into her."

I looked up at him, not sure how to take the comment. "Why?"

"Because it shows me how you feel about me. About how much respect you have for me and my wishes."

"Oh, come on, Kevin. Don't take it personally. I just thought you were wrong."

"So you defied me. Hell, you outright lied to me. You drove away from the house with every intention of parking right where I'd told you not to. You probably even laughed when you did it."

"No, Kevin, that's not true." It wasn't, I told myself. I hadn't actually been laughing...

"Well, it doesn't matter. I'm sure you'll see the error of your ways soon enough."

I said nothing. There was nothing to say.

We drove up. "Ida loaned me her car and said she'd stay with the kids while I came to get you. I told the rest of them to go over to the law library. Told 'em I didn't think that there'd be much studying going on here the rest of the night."

"Kevin." I was mortified. "What did you say?"

He chuckled a grim little laugh. "Did I tell 'em I was going to tan your tail purple? No, but I probably should have."

The graphic image, so explicitly stated, caused my stomach to clench, but at least I knew a second of relief, grateful that he hadn't embarrassed me totally in front of them. His next words mitigated my gratitude a little... "Though I don't know what else they think might happen to a wife who promises her husband she won't park in a tow zone then drives off and does it."

"You told them that?"

"Yes. Why else do you think everyone left in such a hurry?"

Shit. I leaned my head limply against the window.

He parked and got out of the car. I didn't move. He walked around and opened my door, pulling me out by the arm. "Come on."

I walked into the house behind him, ill at ease with his classmate. She looked embarrassed, too, and I realized that while he might not have actually said a word like "spank," or "paddle," what he had said along with his demeanor had probably made the general outlines clear enough. Great. She mumbled a "bye" and left in a hurry. They were law students, for heaven's sake. For a liberated group, they were suddenly showing a whole lot of support for traditional family values.

"Come on. We're getting this over with." He dragged me into the bedroom.


"She fell back to sleep after her bottle."

He shut the bedroom door, shucked his jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his button-down oxford. God, he was mad. My mouth had a horrible taste in it. It had been a couple of months since he'd spanked me, and I didn't think he'd ever spanked me quite this angry. "Why don't we wait until you cool down a little?" I suggested, desperate.

"No way. I might start feeling sorry for you."

He reached up onto his closet shelf and got the ruler down. Fairly wide, and made of a hard wood, it was the old-fashioned kind, the kind that every family had kicking around in a closet somewhere, the kind you couldn't buy anymore.

He walked towards me, his face menacing. Usually, he made me take off my own pants, pull my panties down, and stand in the corner awhile. Sometimes I had to hand-write an explanation of my offense and an apology, but from the look on his face, I could tell he had no patience for such activities tonight, as edifying as he might normally think they were. He walked over to me, and jerked off my jacket, then, ignoring my squirming and pushing hands, wordlessly, unbuttoned my jeans and dragged them down to mid-thigh. The panties followed in a split second, and before I could even draw a protesting breath, he'd seated himself on the bed, and I was tossed across his jean-covered thighs. I had on a blouse and a sweater. He pushed the material into a thick wad at the small of my back. The fact that we were both fully clothed, right down to shoes and socks, made the nakedness of my bottom all the more acute.

"What did the sign say, Bethany?"

God, sometimes I hated him. "I don't remember," I snapped. Bad choice. Very bad choice. He brought down the ruler across both of my cheeks with a biting wallop.

"Work on it." He cracked me again.

I squealed. "Service vehicles only," I gasped. "No parking. Violators will be towed."

"What was the last part?" He punctuated the question with another hard swat, this one lower down, across my thighs.

"Violators will be towed... Please Kevin..." I turned my head slightly, frantically, and I realized he'd left the closet door open. A full length mirror was only a couple of feet away, and I could see everything, the awful humiliation of the position, the untidy lump of jeans and panties at my knees, my white bottom high across his lap...

"Again." He smacked the ruler into me viciously.

"Violators will be towed... Oh, God... Please..."

Another smack fell, then another and another. He stopped lecturing and spanked. Often, when he punished me, he would stop during the spanking, scold me, make me tell him why it was happening, apologize, etc. But not this time. He just spanked. Again and again and again, the ruler cracked into my backside, leaving lines of fire that just built.

I could watch the whole thing happening, and it was terrible. I could actually see the rounded crests of my bottom cheeks getting redder and redder. Watching lent a perspective to this spanking that I had never had before. I could see his arm lift, I could see the grim look of concentration on his face as he decided where the smack would land. And I could see the ruler fall, could see it actually striking my bare round bottom. I wanted to turn my head away, but the awful fascination was too great.

Looking back on this spanking, it seems like it took forever, but since he was spanking so hard, and so often, it probably was much shorter than most of my punishments. I remember feeling like nothing but an awkward bundle of tight, bunched clothing with a hot bare bottom. I couldn't kick... my jeans were too tight. Sweat started pouring off my back under my blouse and sweater. I remember wailing out promises over and over, the bedclothes getting wet under my face, but still the ruler fell relentlessly.

Finally, finally, he stopped. I was panting and sweating and sobbing. "Now, Bethany," in the mirror, I could see that he had stuck the ruler into the same hand that he was pinning my wrists with, "let's talk about that sign again." My bottom was scarlet. He dropped his hand to it and rubbed. His palm felt like sandpaper against my raw skin.

"Please, oh please..."

"What should the sign have said?"

"What?" I hadn't a clue about what he wanted to hear.

Deftly, he popped the ruler into the other hand and brought it down, a hard one across the thighs. "What did the sign say? 'Violators will be'... what?"

"Towed." I sobbed out.

"Okay. But what's happening to you?"

I gasped, panting, "Spanked. I'm getting spanked."

He cracked me again and I jumped. Feeling the ruler again after the break was almost worse than the steady whacks. "So what should the sign have said?"

I knew what he wanted me to say. "Violators will be spanked," I mumbled out.

He brought his arm up very high and let the ruler come down with biting force. "Again."

I wailed. The pain was so bad I just couldn't...

He raised his arm. "You better say it..."

"Spanked. Violators will be spanked."

Another smack. "Again."

"Violators will be spanked."


"Violators will be spanked. Please, no more, I just can't..."

He put the ruler down on the bed and put his hand on my bottom. I watched his face as he looked at me. "God, you're red." His expression was mildly curious, but not sorry or sympathetic at all. He rubbed absently for a few seconds, then pulled me off his lap and stood me in front of him. "Now, I want you to go, just like you are, and sit at the kitchen table, and write one hundred times,

Gitana on 09/12/2015 05:55pm
Really enjoyed this book from start to finish, with authors sharing their personal stories. It's a keeper to be reread!
Cindy on 09/05/2015 12:29am
Really good. Very interesting to see real situations. And fun to see different authors' personalities and marriages.
Margaret Corcoran on 07/28/2015 01:10pm
I loved this book. Most of the stories are well written and great fun. There is lots of different styles so there is something for everyone. I loved Sir John's story, it was by far the most fun. Sorry Breanna!!
Laurel Lasky on 07/23/2015 07:35pm
I just loved this book. It gives me more insight into what makes a spanking author tick. April Hill as always makes the story very funny. Maren Smiths book was also funny. I enjoyed each and every story and my favorite was Bethanys Burkes story. I could never picture her getting spanked and she was such a naughty girl that she deserved every whack. Sir John told his with a dry dense of humor and pot Breanna paid the price (ochie) these were the most delightful stories I have had the good fortune to read.

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