Lisa's Spanking Journal

Day 2 of 3 Spankings for Keeping Secrets Tuesday. I'm writing this Saturday morning, at my desk in the office. He knows I'm writing now. He told me I could, as long as I showed him when I was done. But I need to process Tuesday before I can hand it over. The morning came early. Not rooster-early, but early enough that the sky was still that pale, washed-out gray that happens just before the sun clears the treeline. His alarm went off at 5:30, and I felt him shift beside me, the mattress dipping as he swung his legs over the side. My hand found his wrist before he could stand. "Stay," I mumbled, my voice thick with sleep. "Just a minute." He paused. His hand came back to rest on my hip, warm and heavy through the sheet. "We've got animals to feed." "I know." But I didn't let go. The belt marks from the day before were still tender, a dull ache that pulsed when I moved. Twelve strokes. I could feel each one when I rolled onto my bac...

The Day I Finally Told Him Monday 20 July 2026 Monday morning started like any other morning, but I knew it wasn't going to end like one. The girls left at 8:00 that morning for STEM camp. They wouldn't be home until Friday afternoon, which meant that for the first time in a long while, the house would be quiet. No kids coming in and out. No interruptions. No reason to put off what I knew I needed to do. I had spent so much time being afraid of telling my husband about my blogs. I was afraid of what he would think. Afraid he would be angry. Afraid he would feel betrayed. Afraid that once I told him the truth, everything between us would change. But I also knew that keeping something this important from him was wrong. So, around noon, I finally did it. I sat down with my husband and read him the confession I had written. I had put everything into that letter—how the blogs had started, how they had grown, why I had kept them secret, and, most importantly, how sorry I was for keep...

Chores before Spanking 28 June 2026 The crowing started at 5:47 AM. I knew because I cracked one eye open and glared at the clock on the nightstand, its red numbers cutting through the predawn gloom. The rooster was early. Or maybe I was just slow, my body still heavy with sleep, my brain wrapped in cotton. Sunday. Father's Day had come and gone, and now we were back to routine—the blessed, exhausting routine of summer on the property. Beside me, he stirred. His arm, which had been draped across my hip, tightened briefly before he rolled onto his back with a groan. "Rooster's got opinions this morning," he mumbled. "He always has opinions." I stretched, my toes pointing toward the foot of the bed, my spine arching.  "What time is it?" "Too early." "Six. Almost." He turned his head on the pillow, and even in the dim light, I could see his eyes tracking over my face.  "Chores before church." "Chores before church,...