So once the shock factor of what I do for a living wears off, the onslaught of questions begins. Maybe not at first, since the shock can last for quite some time. But eventually the questions come.
"Does Vance (my husband) spank you?"
"Do you get spanked?"
"Are these books true stories?"
What's even better is when someone actually reads my books and notices that I have a fondness of including anal play in every one of them. My books open their eyes to butt plugs, figging, anal discipline, and a whole lotta anal sex. Those questions are the best.
"How does a butt plug feel?"
"Do you put ginger up your butt?"
"So do you have anal sex all the time?"
And then for some reason, these same people like to tell me their anal sex stories—usually about how they don't like it—over dinner and cocktails. Nothing better than having a butt plug talk over some chips and salsa, let me tell you. It's funny how announcing that I write erotic books, somehow gave me an instant master's degree in sex therapy. Rarely, does an evening out with friends not involve some form of talk about sex, spanking, sex toys, anal sex, or erotica. My husband is a great sport and has accepted this odd fact of life for me. He usually just shakes his head and laughs. Yes… this is the life of Alta Hensley.
So how do I answer these questions you might ask? It depends on what company I am with, and how many glasses of wine I have had. But I never go straight out and say, "Yes, my husband spanks me. And yes, I have tried everything you just mentioned."
I can't even imagine the expressions I would get. I'm actually laughing right now at the thought. But instead, I just smile, joke, shrug my shoulders, and answer generally. I never give a straight answer, and it works for the most part.
So when my husband and I were getting ready to meet some friends for a lunch date, I already knew the topic of Domestic Discipline would come up, or at least something along those lines. My friend, Lucy, had just finished reading my book Traditional Love, and couldn't wait to talk to me about it. She had sent me texts throughout her entire reading experience, expressing her shock, her horror, her arousal, and her interest. I knew what I was walking into, so I thought it was only right to share that info with Vance.
"Oh, by the way," I began as we were gathering our things to walk out the door, "Lucy just finished reading Traditional Love. Fair warning that she may bring it up today at lunch."
Vance smiled. "Did she like it?"
I shrugged. "I think so. She sent me a lot of texts while she read the book."
"John and she could benefit from DD for sure. Maybe John needs to read the book too." John and Lucy were that couple. You know, the couple that bickered all the time, regardless of who was around. Leave it to my husband to think the answer to every marriage problem is a spanking. I just rolled my eyes and shook my head as we walked out the door.
Vance wanted to take the 1957 Mercury classic car that we owned, and I readily agreed. We fondly nicknamed it the Merc. Both my husband and I have a love for vintage, classic, and old-fashioned. There's something really special about sitting on leather seats that go all the way across, no seatbelts, and being able to snuggle up against your man with one of his arms slung around you during the drive to the destination. We don't drive the car all the time, but occasionally for dates, we do.
It had been decided that we would eat at this trendy restaurant that sat right on the river, but it was also located next to some really neat antique shops. So Vance and I decided to arrive early so we could look around and maybe do some shopping before we met up with Lucy and John.
I was on the hunt for an antique ivory brush. I wanted one with intricate carvings and had the old Victorian charm I loved. Not exactly the smartest idea of mine, since it was very likely that the brush would end up being used on me, but regardless, I wanted one. So we went into shop after shop to no avail. But in the last shop we came across this old wooden cheese board. As Vance and I examined it, we both came to the same conclusion.
"This wasn't used for cutting cheese," I said.
Vance nodded and hit the board against his hand. "It's the perfect size." It was the size of a good old-fashioned paddle.
"Look at how it's worn down." The board was scuffed in the middle like it had been used as a paddle for centuries. There were no knife marks that would be present if cheese were cut on it. No, this board was a paddle for spankings. It was as clear as day. It even had a loop at the end so it could be hung for display—a warning of misbehavior.
"We have to get this," I said as I grabbed it from his hand. Now in hindsight, that probably wasn't my wisest move, but it had such a classic charm that I couldn't resist. I started to look around for something else to buy. "But we have to buy something normal. We can't just go up to the counter and buy a paddle."
"It's a cheeseboard. I don't think the lady at the counter is going to think it's a paddle. That's just how your dirty little mind thinks," he teased.
"Hey! You thought the same thing," I said as I swatted his butt with the paddle.
He gave his classic 'Vance look' that warned I was pushing it. But I couldn't help it and I swatted him again—with more force this time.
"Alta…" There is a certain tone of voice that goes with that look, and I was getting both. Now a good little submissive wife would heed to those warnings, but I never claimed to be that.
So foolishly, I swatted him again and giggled mischievously. "Bend over, baby."
"You aren't going to like how this is going to end," he warned. "For every swat you give me, I'm going to give you twice that." Now if I were smart, I would have stopped. But I didn't claim to be smart, either.
"It's research. I want to write a femdom book, and I need to know what it's like to spank a man," I lied and swatted him again… and then again. I also had seemed to forget that we were in a small antique shop and the lady at the counter could probably hear everything. But it was too fun to stop. So I swatted him again.
Vance gave me the stern look, even though I could see a hint of a smile, and humor twinkled in his eyes. "Hand it over," he said with his hand extended. "Your butt will thank me later for stopping you before you can't sit down for a week."
With a little pout, I gave him the paddle.
"Now let's go buy this and go back to the Merc. Someone is getting paddled."
"Whatever," I said, rolling my eyes, hoping he was joking.
Nope, he wasn't. As soon as he bought that damn cheeseboard, he grabbed me firmly by the hand and led me to where the Merc sat in the far corner of the parking lot. Vance always parked away from other cars in fear of dents and scratches. And for the moment, it provided just enough privacy for his intended task.
"You've got to be kidding," I said with a nervous laugh.
His hand tightened on mine. "I warned you. Now I have to follow through. You should know this Miss DD writer."
Crap. I hated when he used my own words from one of my books. Pretty hard to argue against myself.
"But lunch—" I tried to drag my feet and pull him back toward the restaurant.
"We still have plenty of time," he interrupted.
And before I knew it, we were in the classic car, with a classic paddle, about to have my classic ass paddled. Now those seats I mentioned before, that almost look like a couch, made lying over his lap really easy. Plenty of room for me to stretch out, but sadly, plenty of room for him to get a good swing.
"Come on," he said as he patted his lap. "Skirt up, panties down." Vance was not one for chitchat or small talk before a spanking. Straight to the point.
"What if someone sees?"
"You weren't concerned with privacy when you were using it on me in the middle of the store."
Damn, he had a point.
Vance patted his lap one more time. "Now, Alta."
I knew that was the last request I would get. I had learned a time or two before that resisting the inevitable only added to the punishment. So with a pout and a huff, I
pulled my panties down to my knees, lifted up my skirt, and laid across his lap, hoping it would be quick and no one would see my white butt on display.
"So let's see here," he began. "How many times did my lovely wife smack me with the cheeseboard?"
I didn't answer. No way was I going to help.
"I do believe it was six times. Which means twelve spanks for you."
Jesus, twelve!
"Fine, just get it over with," I mumbled.
My attitude was rewarded with a loud and stinging swat to my ass with that God forsaken cheeseboard. That piece of wood was no joke. Before I could even make a noise, another swat landed right in the center of my bottom. The board was just big enough to cover most of my butt, but not quite.
"Oh, I like this," Vance announced with a chuckle. I gritted my teeth so I wouldn't say something sarcastic—I was in no position to do so. Glad he was so amused. "This will become a favorite of mine for sure."
The paddling continued, and I took it very stoically until about the sixth swat. By that time, my poor bottom was on fire! When the next swat landed on my behind, I couldn't help but call out.
"Ow! Okay, okay, I get the point. It hurts!" I tried to wiggle away, but Vance only held me to him firmer. I knew there was no escape. I couldn't help but kick my legs as he continued on.
"Someone's a little feisty today," he said as he applied the paddle to one sit spot and then the other. I think I actually howled and bucked up when he did so.
"Oh God! Ow! That's enough! It hurts too much." I wiggled. I kicked. I tried to escape to no avail. And oddly enough, I no longer worried about if anyone would see me getting spanked. My only focus was desperately wanting my paddling to stop.
When he finally reached the twelfth swat, I was sweaty and out of breath. Thank God it was over. I said nothing as I just laid limply over his lap, not caring that my naked behind was still on display.
"Are you going to be a good girl now and listen when I tell you something?"
I said nothing. I was pouting as I often do when a punishment is over.
He leaned over me and reached for the glove box. Inside, he pulled out a small velvet, black bag. I eyed it suspiciously, not sure what was inside. I had a good idea, but…
I tried to scurry off his lap, failing miserably. "No! Okay, I will be good! I'll be good!" But it was too late. Vance opened the bag and pulled out a medium-sized butt plug and a small bottle of lubrication. Because… you know… it's normal to carry a butt plug and lube in your glove compartment, right?
I just closed my eyes and took some deep breaths, trying to relax as he worked the lube around and inside my anus. This was going to happen whether I liked it or not.
When he placed the plug at my tight entrance, he said, "Let's try this again." With a firm push, a hiss from my mouth, and a plug firmly planted inside me, Vance asked again, "Are you going to be a good girl now?"
Instant submission. Funny how a foreign object stretching you in the most intimate of ways can do that to a gal.
"Yes, sir." I rarely called Vance 'sir', but after a punishment, it was my way and his cue that I truly was submissive—which was the intended goal.
"Good girl," he said as he patted the base of the plug and then reached for my panties to start pulling them up. He helped me sit, wrapped his arms around me and kissed me several times on the head like he always does.
I snuggled into his neck and nuzzled against his warmth. Spankings suck, butt plugs suck even more, but the feeling of true submission to the man you love is incomparable. No feeling can match that moment right after a good old-fashioned spanking.
As we walked toward the restaurant, with that damn plug still invading my backside, I felt a bond to Vance that I only hope others can understand. We made it to the table where our friends were already seated. I did my best to sit down without making it obvious that my husband had just paddled the hell out of me, and the solid wood of the chair only pushed the plug deeper inside. Lovely. Lovely indeed.
And then the lunch began. And just like any other Alta Hensley lunch, the conversation eventually found its way to spanking, sex, erotica, butt plugs, and my books.
"So come on. Fess up," Lucy said as she leaned in closer. "Has Vance ever spanked you?" Her husband blushed and looked away, embarrassed but no doubt curious.
I smiled and took a sip of my wine. "Yup. He just spanked me in the car with a cheeseboard and then put a butt plug in me. I'm sitting on one right now."
Vance nodded with a huge smile and just shrugged.
Lucy and her husband started to laugh. "Ha, ha, very funny. Stop joking. Come on, tell the truth. Has he ever? Maybe just once?"
And there you go. Even when I tell the truth, no one would believe me. I looked at my husband and winked. Just another lunch with Alta Hensley.
Alta Hensley
Alta Hensley is a multi-published author whose Domestic Discipline/Spanking erotic romance novels have become some of the bestselling books in the genre.
She finally followed one of her dreams, and one of the dreams her Nana always had for her. Alta always wanted to be a writer from the time she could spell, and now she gets the privilege of saying she's an Author.
You can find out more about Alta on her website at http://www.altahensley.com and she can be found on Twitter, Facebook, and Goodreads.
Other Titles by Alta Hensley and Blushing Books
Traditional Love
Traditional Terms
Traditional Change
Poppa's Progeny
In the Palace of Lazar – Harem: Book One
Conquering Lazar – Harem: Book Two
Lady Templar
Ruby Rose
Of Yesterday
Anthologies:
Coming to Terms
Milestones
Temper, Temper by Bella Bryce
Everyone probably has a most memorable smacked bottom. Rather, everyone who lives the lifestyle of using smacky bottoms as a deterrent (punishment) or play (funishment) probably has at least one instance that either stands out in their memory or that they still draw energy from. For me, it happened to be my first caning and it definitely stands out in my memory.
I was in love. I still am and have now been married six years, but there is something inherently special in a relationship that chooses to walk the path of domestic discipline when all of the thoughts, the conversations and fantasies about how it will play out, come together for that 'first time'. This particular rendering of discipline was not my first time, but this instance of receiving the English cane, was. At the time, my now husband and I were engaged, aged twenty-three and twenty-two respectively. We were three months short of our wedding and had only been together a short while before that. It should be understood that I was twenty-one before I gave away my first kiss and that was to the man I would soon marry. I chose not to date because I knew exactly what I wanted from the age of thirteen years old. Even earlier than that, I envisioned a very particular character of man, even down to how he might dress and handle certain situations. That drove me from childhood through to adulthood to wait and watch the men around me to see if any of them fit this mould. Waiting is always worth it and I found him. We kissed, had our first date in Paris, cried when we parted at the airport, and waded our way through the early stages of implementing domestic discipline in our courtship. Whilst we weren't sleeping together before we were married, he didn't hold back disciplining me whenever he felt it necessary. The one and only thing that truly wiped a cheeky grin or look of defiance from my face throughout those seven months of courting and engagement was the word cane. Since I was new in practice to the actuality of receiving a smacked bottom, I still very much whimpered and squealed and wriggled. And yes, I pouted and played the 'that hurt very much so' card. It did! You think getting a smacked bottom doesn't hurt as an adult? It bloody does! However, it should be understood that as soon as an implement is introduced then the game changes. For me, implements equate to the seriousness of the cr
ime. I usually faced the floor from the ample and very handsomely dressed knees of my fiancé and received swats that left me in tears. The rare times during our engagement when he deemed it necessary to graduate to something more convincing was in relation to the severity of my behaviour. I knew he had a cane and it probably was no secret to many of our friends because it leant against the corner (behind my Victorian school desk, no less) in his study. He bought it as an option to discipline, but at my insistence it was to be used only for offenses that went 'way beyond the line' due to my fear of it. The line itself hadn't been entirely established in the short amount between the cane being purchased and the cane first being used, but this particular instance in his mind did enough deciding. Apparently. I'm sure the reader of this memory of mine would happily take my side and see that it was perhaps too early for the cane to come out.
It was June 2009 and we were out at the local football field kicking the ball around. I used to play semi-professional for a women's league and football is the sport of England so most males know how to kick a ball and dribble decently. The fact of the matter was that even after three knee operations and with arthritis in one knee I still dribbled better than him. I couldn't (and still can't) run, but I put up enough of a challenge that we spent a few hours in healthy competition with me mostly being the winner of everything ever. I used to play goalkeeper for my league so I was standing in goal deflecting his shots and basically being awesome. He couldn't handle it. He might say even now that he wasn't getting grumpy or jealous because of my mad skills, but I had never seen him look so cross as that afternoon. Mind, we'd only been friends for one year before that seventh month of courting so I hadn't seen all aspects of my darling fiance's personality. I suppose it is a bit unfair to pin him with the grumpiness label after the football went sailing through mid-air and landed a few strategic inches below his waist. He might have been a bit put off because his future wife, being far better at football, (and men have tender egos I have since learned) but let's just say what played out next was like a rapidly collapsing trail of dominoes. So rapid we almost broke up. I know. Twenty-something year olds, right? It's amusing to think of now.
Confessions of a Spanking Author Page 3
