Real Life Story

 Letter from a reader

                             
Dear Eddard,
     My  husband and I have been reading your stories with enjoyment,
but  also with wonderment. I'm confused. I don't know what to think of
my  situation.  I am willing to admit that I  enjoy  reading
these your website very much. I'm not  so  willing  to
admit  some other things that reading these things  make  me
wonder   about.  I  have  always  thought  of  spanking   as
discipline  until lately when my husband found your site online.
I always felt that I deserved a spanking  when I got one. Then it
was always like  an  extra touch  of forgiveness that making up after
the spanking  was so  nice.  I  guess I was simply naive, but I  never  really
thought  about this. Here I am thirty-five and admitting  to
being  such an innocent. Instead of trying to figure it  all
out, I'm going to tell you my story.

Mrs. Santa Claus - (F/X)

Christmas is right around the corner so I thought I'd give you all this holiday story. For those waiting for more of Liz and Shannon, patience please. Been hard to get time away from real life but I haven't forgotten. In the meantime, enjoy.
***
Making a list . Checking it twice. Gonna find out who's naughty and nice. Everyone knows about Santa Claus bringing presents to the good children of the world. But has anyone heard about his wife, Mrs. Santa Claus? That story isn't very well known. The problem is, the people who know the story don't want to admit it. Why you ask? Well maybe they have some painful memories...

Shannon's Spankings - Part 2

[Continued from Part 1]

Forcing one foot in front of the other, a step at a
time she finally made it down the stairs and to the dining
room doorway; she paused outside and desperately
gathered her flagging courage before stepping into the
room.  She blinked back the tears forming in her eyes,
determined not to lose her last shred of dignity and cry in
front of everyone.  Finally she entered the room, and all
eyes turned towards her.  She could feel her face flaming
just at the thought that they knew what was coming.
She focused her attention on Henry, who held the
power of both pain and mercy over her.  She approached
him on legs gone rubbery and held out the brush.  "Here it
is, sir," she said softly, forcing the words past the
tightness in her throat.  She had never called him Dad, and
usually called him Henry, but when she was under
punishment all he would accept was "sir".