No need to clean your glasses; I did indeed write “Bethany”, not “Bethie”. It’s my great pleasure to report that Bethany (longtime Spanking Blog advertiser and the driving force behind the acclaimed Bethany’s Woodshed family of spanking sites) and her man Jim have resolved to make better use of their Woodshed Spanking Blog. Jim wrote:
The blog had become just another ad vehicle, and that’s not what blogs are for. That has stopped.
As the Internet has become fiercely competitive, we have maintained a tremendously loyal following, I believe because we are the real article—a couple that lives DD every day and makes it work to give us a satisfying marriage. We want our blog to reflect that, and to help us connect with our customers—no, not customers—friends—who have made Bethany’s and our many other Websites so wildly successful.
Which I find inspirational myself, and it’s a sentiment I hope you’ll soon see reflected (to an extent) here on Spanking Blog. I love my advertisers and I’m not ashamed of them, nor am I getting rid of them; indeed, without them, we wouldn’t have most of the yummy spanking pictures that get posted here, nor would I have the time and energy to keep up the blog. But I freely admit that I post too many pictures, because pictures are easy, while writing a good blog post isn’t. I’ve been doing this spanking blog thing for years, and it’s not always easy to stay inspired. Jim’s post has helped.
But hey, this is a song about Alice… or, rather, this is a blog post about Jim and Bethany, who announced their good intentions on July 26, and then — for three weeks as Jim reckons — it was pretty much the sound of crickets. Bethany picks up the tale (or should I say tail?):
Last night as I drove home, the phone rang. Jim got right to the point. “Why haven’t you posted anything new to the blog? I just looked at it. We said we were going to change the direction three weeks ago.”
OK, Jim and I have been together six years now. You’d think I’d have learned a few things in that time – but unfortunately, there are moments – like that one – when I am most definitely NOT the brightest bulb on the Christmas tree. A wise woman would have admitted her mistake and gone on. Or at least “pretended” to not have “realized” just how long it had been. I didn’t take either of these paths. Oh no. I argued with him. “It hasn’t been three weeks,” I asserted. “It’s only been two weeks and umm… four days.”
Bethie does this too — when she’s guilty, she’ll try to argue an insignificant detail as if it were the charge-in-chief. “I did not stick my tongue out at you six times last week, I’m sure it was no more than four!” Always makes me laugh, especially when there’s a full and adequate confession wrapped up in her argumentative denial. But back to Bethany and Jim, picking up after she’s gotten home:
“Now, you and I are going to have a little talk.” He yanks my pants down – a really bad sign, because if we’re even semi “playing” he’ll make me do it. Not tonight. Just get at the butt in question (mine) as quickly as possible. His hand in the middle of my back, the cool wood of the brush on my skin. Every time I’m in this position for real, I wonder WHY IN GOD’S NAME did I ever think this was in good idea. No answer is forthcoming.
“Didn’t we say three weeks ago that we were going to change the direction of the blog and start posting DD material regularly?”
No warm up, nothing. Just that unbelievably “traditional” (that’s a synonym for horrible, by the way) hairbrush cracking against my skin, which was NOT as numb as I had thought, by the way.
I howled, and in that instant, gained at least a bit of wisdom – I would refrain from pointing out again that it had only been two weeks and four days.
“And why hasn’t it been done?”
I’ve never understood why he asks a question and then smacks me. Does he want an answer or not? A few times when we were first together, I had the temerity to point out this inconsistency to him. No more. Low percentage game.
As soon as I can catch my breath: “I don’t know. No excuses. I just kept putting it off. I just didn’t know… how to start.”
As soon as I said THAT, I regretted it because I knew what his answer would be – and he did not disappoint. “So consider this my contribution to the blog THIS is how you’re going to start.”
So spank he did. I don’ t know how many I got – probably not all that many – because he’s well aware the hairbrush is nothing to fool around with. But it was enough… A lot of women say that they can’t cry when they’re spanked – or do so only rarely. Not me. I’m boo-hooing before ten whacks – and sobbing by twenty. He probably stopped after about twenty five moderately hard cracks, which is quite a spanking with a wooden hairbrush. My ass was on fire.
He stood me up and looked me right in the eye. “So, first thing in the morning you’re going to write about this. Exactly this. About how you came home, and got turned over the sofa, and got your ass busted. And why.”
And she did, and they all lived happily ever after. What a good start on the new direction for their blog!