Lisa's Spanking Journal

Love Making After 22 Aug 2022 If you have not read part 1 click the LINK His hand strokes my hair, then trails down my arm. His touch is tentative again, but now it’s a question of comfort, of reconnection. I shift in his arms, turning my face up to look at him. His eyes are soft, full of that familiar love, but also a new, deep respect. I see my submission reflected in them, and it’s not a weakness; it’s a strength we share. I lean up and kiss him. It’s a slow, tender kiss, tasting of salt and forgiveness. My hands come up to his shoulders, clinging to him. The kiss deepens. The hunger, buried under the pain and the guilt, rises. It’s a different hunger now—not for playful release, but for reaffirmation. For proof that this ordeal has brought us closer, not driven us apart. He responds, his mouth opening to mine, his hands moving from comforting to possessive. One hand cups my face. The other slides down my side, over my hip, and settles on the blazing, tender skin of my bottom. He do...

  Attitude on the phone Aug 22, 2022 This is what I remember back in 2022 at the start of the school year. I wrote an outline then and used it to write this time when I got a punishment spanking. The school hallway is quiet, the morning stillness a fragile bubble before the storm of students arrives. I’m at my desk, reviewing a lesson plan for next week’s gear ratio unit, when my phone buzzes. It’s him. Where are the electrolyte drink packets? The text is simple, innocuous. But my mood, coiled tight from a sleepless night and the hormonal tides that seem to rule my body lately, twists it into something else. I feel a spike of irritation. He’s home. I’m here, prepping. It feels like a demand. A trivial demand. Instead of texting back, I call. My voice, when he answers, is sharp. Defensive. “They’re in the pantry, top shelf, left side. Where they always are.” He’s silent for a beat. Then his voice comes, calm but confused. “Lisa? I was just wondering. I’m going to work out since I do...

Spanking 23 Jan 2026 Attitude Corrected and then Swallowing His Seed The phone felt cold against my ear. “So, Saturday,” I said, my voice tight. “I was thinking we could finally see that new thriller, then maybe the girls could come over for board games, and after they’re in bed… you and me time.” I could hear his smile through the line. “That sounds perfect, baby. Except for Saturday. I promised Mike I’d help him move all day. His whole apartment.” The disappointment was instant, hot, and irrational. “Seriously? Again? You just helped someone move last month. When is it our time?” “Lisa.” His voice dropped, the warmth gone. It was that tone. The one that made my stomach flip.  “Well” I said stomping my foot and sighing really loud for him to hear. “I swear you plan things all the time. You didn’t think of telling me” “Lisa” he said, “Look at the calendar!” I looked at my calendar and my heart sunk, now I remember him telling me. Meekly I said, “Oh that’s right, I am sorry.”  ...

  Good Friday Connection 3 April 2026 It had started with the calendar. Good Friday. A blessed day off for me, a high school teacher. He’d taken a personal day from his own job, a gift of time we so rarely had. Our two daughters, both vibrant and independent teenagers, had been bribed—fairly and enthusiastically—with fifty dollars each at noon to go get lunch and then do some shopping for us. They’d left with giggles and promises to be gone for at least two hours. The silence after the girls left was profound. It wasn’t just quiet; it was a space, hollowed out and waiting. I stood in the living room, the soft morning light filtering through the blinds, and felt the weight of two uninterrupted hours settle around me like a promise. He was in the kitchen, pouring coffee. I could hear the gentle clink of the mug. My stomach was a tight knot of nerves and anticipation. Maintenance spanking. The words floated in my mind, playful and heavy all at once. We’d talked about it for weeks, a c...

  Distracted at Church 29 March 2026 The rich aroma of coffee and the clatter of ceramic cups filled the air of the church cafe. I shifted on the hard wooden chair, trying to focus on the worship lyrics scrolling across the screens mounted around the room. The music swelled, a gentle piano melody meant to uplift the spirit, but my mind was drifting. Hubby sat beside me, methodically finishing his breakfast plate, a man of quiet routine even on Sunday mornings. My purse rested on my lap, a soft leather weight. A buzz vibrated against my thigh. I glanced sideways. Hubby’s attention was on the screen, his face serene. I slipped my hand into the purse, felt the cool glass of my phone, and pulled it out just enough to see the screen. A message from a friend from Church: ‘Easter brunch plans? My place or yours?’ A simple, friendly query. My thumb flicked across the keyboard. ‘Yours sounds great! I already have the ham. I will bring it!.’ Sent. The act felt harmless, a tiny connection in ...