A modern day, old fashioned romance set in a rugged paradise of the Appalachian Mountains.

Brass Lantern Inn & Thin Ice, the first two stories of my Walnut-Bottom Farm series, have just been released as a two book set on Blushing Books, Amazon and Barnes & Noble! I couldn’t be happier with the news or the lovely cover. After spending months on the members only domestic discipline and spanking story site, Bethany’s Woodshed, they are now available to all. I hope the stories are well liked and I can’t wait to get some feedback from readers.


Submission Soapbox

I love the way Zoe explains this natural and beautiful phenomenon. So many women have suppressed these feelings out of societal pressure, feeling ashamed or embarrassed. I say, embrace your most feminine femininity!

A Uniquely Different Life


Submission is something I have been thinking a lot about the past few weeks. I love it and I crave it. More than anything I want to serve, please and obey. It makes me feel safe and loved when he is in control.

But it is my choice. It is something that the two of us have decided together. We have chosen this lifestyle, not because his gender makes him superior in any way to mine but because it makes us happy to do so. That is a huge and important distinction.

I submit not because he is male and therefore has some right to my submission or because God or some religion says so, but because giving this level of devotion feels more right than anything I have ever done. I give it. I choose it and I am thankful every day that he accepts it and nurtures my…

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A Thin Grey Line

American Magazine, September 1941

Searching the phrase “Domestic Discipline” you can find numerous sources of information, blogs and even pictures and videos. Trying to understand and wrap your mind around the idea of “wife spanking” in the 21st century may be somewhat difficult for many modern minds. Obviously the subject interests you (or your significant other), otherwise you probably would not be reading this. But, what is it? Not only what, but why, but who and how, and when and where? There is no one size fits all answer to any of these questions. It is a very intimate and mysterious phenomenon, undeniably enticing many, yet, so difficult to understand, and even more difficult to explain. Most of the answers will come from your own exploration and experimentation. What domestic discipline is to you will evolve and be defined as you and your partner discover your own needs and beliefs. That said, I will tell you what it is not.

At the Blushing Books Writers’ Conference a couple weekends ago our Editor in Chief, Victoria Rouch, gave a lecture on characterizations. She made some statements in the course of that lecture that meant a lot to me as a writer of romantic spanking stories, and as a woman. Victoria said one annoying thing writers often do is portraying the lead male character(s) as too perfect. I don’t remember her exact words, but she said he should not be infallible, always fair, always the best provider, always in control, always honest, always good at everything they do, etc… It just is not realistic. She also does not like to read things that are brutal, depictions of excessive and harmful punishments, or things degrading to women and their worth and intellect. Even in this genera we have a social responsibility to consider the ideas that we put out there. And it makes sense. While we write fiction and may like to indulge in unrealistic fantasy scenarios (Fifty Shades of Grey is a perfect example of the whole world indulging in such a story at once), excluding a few exceptions [wink], most real men are not always perfect, and most real women are not empty headed play things, in need of constant supervision and discipline.  Even as the editor of a publishing company for adult spanking stories, she is a feminist. I can see that she is a woman that believes that there is equality between the genders. Though there are differences between men and women that play in to how we interact with each other in our private relationships, we are equal.

Domestic Discipline is not a practice that should lead a man to believe he never again has to say he is sorry. It is not a relationship in which a woman is always wrong and he right. It is not a submissive never having a voice in important, or unimportant, decisions. A woman must not forfeit her autonomy or her rights as a free citizen if she is lucky enough to live in a country where those rights have been dearly won. It certainly should never be harmful, or cause permanent scars, physical or emotional. A domestic disciple relationship is not a relationship in which a woman is told what to wear or not wear, where to go and not go, what to do and not do, what to buy and not buy, who to see and not see, every day of her life for no other purpose than to dominate and control her mind, body, will and spirit. Don’t get me wrong. There may be times when clear orders are given to not wear that when you go there, or do not go to that side of town alone after dark, or ‘I do not want you to go out with this particular person for these reasons’. Heaven help you if you spend the mortgage payment on new shoes and a purse. Unfortunately, there will be times when a decision has to be made that will affect you both. As half of that partnership, the woman’s viewpoint should be sought out, listened to and reflected upon. The difficult part comes if agreement cannot be reached. In such cases, the final decision may be made by the man of the house. It seems unfair, but an ongoing fight and being stuck in stalemate is no good for either of you or the household as a whole. Deciding ahead of time to submit to your husband’s final word on issues that you do not yet know will come up is kind of scary. You may be realizing that there are times when a thin grey line is the only thing separating the loving, harmonious realm of domestic disciple from what could possibly turn into a scenario of overbearing and controlling domestic abuse.

Sadly, domestic abuse is prevalent in all cultures, classes and races. It is the number one cause of injury to women ages 15-44. (“Violence Against Women, A Majority Staff Report,” Committee on the Judiciary, United States Senate, 102nd Congress, October 1992, p.3.) Somehow, it just happens. I don’t mean to marginalize this fact or make it sound like no big deal, but it does just happen. People experience their strongest emotions during the day to day interactions with their partner. People we live with, that stir our deepest passions, naturally will get to experience our best and our worst extremes. Sometimes life is hard and stresses overwhelm us and we lose control. Some people have better coping skills and self-control than others. Most instances of abuse are never reported. It is just as likely to happen in a doctor’s house as it is at a ditch digger’s. Most cases are men victimizing women.  Domestic violence is very real. It is also the opposite of domestic discipline. One is the rage filled result of loss of control, or ongoing lack of respect for the opposite sex, sometimes even triggered by those exact two traits in the victim. (Let us be honest. I’m not saying that makes it right.) Testosterone and Estrogen sometimes come together in a perfect storm. Eminem articulated this perspective in his song, Love The Way You Lie, “…maybe that’s what happens when a tornado meets a volcano…” It is a beautiful song about an ugly issue with which too many couples have struggled. Domestic Discipline, on the other hand, requires a man that carefully controls his dominate, masculine energy and uses it for good, and with love. It requires a woman unashamedly in touch with her softer, more submissive inclinations towards that man. It is the kind of relationship where such natural tendencies, that so many of us have, can be expressed in a complimentary and gratifying way.  Domestic Disciple relationships require two people that love, trust and value each other, and their union.

So how does one avoid abusive relationships? I think the most important thing a woman can do to protect herself is to choose the right partner. Sounds overly simplified, I know, but we must be careful of what kind of man to which we attach ourselves. When in the dating phase we may get distracted by looks and physique. Maybe you are attracted to a man’s financial security; he owns a business, a big house and a nice car, showing stability in that area. He may be exciting and have a magnetic personality, charm and confidence. All of those things are great. But how does he treat little children and small animals? Does he lose his temper easily, such as when stuck in traffic? Does he question you incessantly about the details of your day and to whom you speak? Is he jealous of your time, keeping you from your friends and family? If you are already in a relationship, be it new or having celebrated many anniversaries, and you and your partner are toying with the idea of domestic discipline, before you go any further ask yourself a few questions. Does he believe in gender equality? Does he respect your feelings and opinions? Does he truly, deeply and selflessly love and cherish you? Does he often ask your opinion or seek your advice? Is he a man of strong moral fortitude and good character? No one is perfect but he should be a good man. Be honest with yourself when answering these questions. Some men are just not fit or worthy of this role. For a woman wanting this kind of relationship, choosing a man is like electing your own Prime Minister. And there is a chance that you may have elected one that should be impeached. If you must strictly account for every dollar you spend and for every minute of your day in order to keep peace, that is an abusive relationship. If you feel you are lower than, or less than him, that is not a healthy relationship. If you afraid of him, and I don’t mean afraid of getting spanked, I mean you generally fear him, especially when he is upset or having a bad day, then he is not suitable to be the “Head of the Household”.

This kind of relationship may save or revitalize your marriage. It may bring peace, harmony and tenderness into your household. It may satisfy deep intimate needs. Just know and chose your partner well, and be mindful of that thin grey line.

Check out Eminem’s video here:

Spending Thyme

securedownload (4) I spent some time this morning sitting on an Adirondack chair in the corner of my herb garden. There are a few tall stands of Zinnias and Sunflowers to provide a little rotating cover from the afternoon sun. Around the stands are wavy paths of stone encircled lavender and rosemary and sages. Plush and fragrant bands of mints and fellow lemon balm are poised, well spaced from one another and ready to converge on the entire garden, if  given the order. Spikey strips of chives and garlic struggle to hold them. Leaning over the split-rail fence there is a bending patch of dill, heavy in seed and ready for collection to dry. Hugging the whole parcel is a great river stone bordered crescent, bulging with groupings of different Basils from lime to licorice, and ferny plumes of Fennel, Caraway and Salad Burdett. Sprawling Oregano is binding the inner curve of the crescent, and overflowing Thyme has spilled over the outer wall before me.

One of the most wonderful things about thyme is that it is evergreen. On a snowy day you can fluff off the powder and reveal vibrant green locks of the low, viney shrub. Soon it will be covered in a summer snow of wee white flowers. Snip a few strands and gently rub it through your fingers and release it’s robust almost pine-like and peppery scent. There is always thyme.

Oh, if only so. There never seems to be enough time. As I pass through the doors and walk through my house the collection of projects and resources that surround me beg for time and attention. Walls of books, some read and some waiting. Field guides and herbal craft books, and quilting books and, of course my desk. The breadth of it all makes me reflect upon my time. How do I spend it? How do I waste it? Whersecuredownload (3)e do I find it and how do I steal it? Time management is really the definition of who we are. It is the determination of success or failure, and at the crux of all of our problems and solutions. The one thing I know for certain is that I need to go clip those heads of dill and get them drying in a paper bag, before all that seed falls over the fence and into the poppies. Perhaps, while doing that I shall ponder the best way to spend the rest of my time.

Brand-Spanking New!

10505598_1504588526426255_1277842152820676908_n (2)I tried to determine the origins of this phrase and found references to cattle branding as well as Spic and Span cleaner. Somewhere in the middle it has become a phrase that describes perfection. When you fix something or clean something, and do a very good job, it is like brand spanking new again! Relationships sometimes get strained and emotions get worn out. Every day life leaves a build up of grime on hearts and egos, and deposits chips on shoulders. Couples get out of sync, the balance goes askew and neither feels wholly connected to the other. While spanking is not the answer for everything, some things must be talked out and reasoned, it certainly has its place in the tool shed (or woodshed). Sometimes it is the only thing that can cut through the mess, so two people can even start to talk and reason. Other times, after all the talking and reasoning is done, it is the only thing that can clean the slate. Something phenomenal takes place during a proper spanking. Just because its mechanisms may be mysterious does not mean the results should be discredited. As with many human behaviors, logic is not paramount to success or satisfaction.

One need not deserve a spanking in order to need a spanking. And one need not a specific reason to punish if one just feels a compulsion to spank. The spanker may have been wrong about the main point of an argument, or may have even been the one with an attitude to begin with, but then the spankee had taken things too far or just can’t let it go. Maybe not. The spankee may be letting her emotions run amuck due to hormonal cycles out of her control, or just be overwhelmed with some of life’s many burdens, stewing over an insensitive remark, or even just disappointed in her mate’s failure to complete the new laundry room when he said he would. Any such thing can sometimes take hold and you find you have gotten into a rut and just can’t seem to stop criticizing and nagging . (Sometimes I blame the moon for my storms.) It could be that both of you just had a bad week, and like most people you take it out on the ones you love the most. Festering slights, snide remarks, undone items on the to-do list… before long you are not behaving as man and wife, or he and she. You are no longer Ying and Yang. The masculine and feminine powers that attracted you to each other in the first place have become nearly sterile and mute. It no longer matters who started it. Balance needs restored.

As a woman, once you get over the denial, anger, bargaining and depression, and come to acceptance, you free yourself of hostility and free him to take the lead. Once he has the courage to do so, the empowered masculine energy in him draws you in like a rising tide. Granted, sometimes acceptance, at least for me, does not fully happen until after I have been bent over and put in a leg lock and several hard swats have been delivered. No matter. “Just begun is half done,” so they say.

From what I’m told from the male perspective, spanking your woman does wonders for him too. Besides safely venting the natural aggressive effects of testosterone in a controlled and intimate manner, it also makes his role as Captain more real to him. Claiming his right to spank should also cause him to reflect upon his responsibility to lovingly and effectively lead. Even though he has to “man up” and finish this task, a good man will feel a little bit bad if he knows he was the one that “started it”, if it is the case. That’s where that, “This hurts me more than it does you,” business comes in to play. Men often feel bad, even hate to do it, even if they feel they must. Then ironically, even though they did not want to and may even pity you, something about the process really wakes up the inner man. It isn’t uncommon for a man that hates to spank and feels bad doing it to get a full blown erection just from the intimacy of it.  I think that is a beautiful and natural thing.

As the spanking goes on and the hurt builds up, the two of you may share very open and very honest discussion. After all, why not? The worst is already happening. Get it out. He should tell her exactly every little thing he wants her to be sorry for while she is feel very sorry for herself. Tell her everything you wanted to say but did not because you didn’t want to start a fight. Every disrespectful thing that she may have said or done to make you feel like less of a man, tell her. She should tell him any reason she may have had, no matter how it comes out, for her behavior. If her feelings were hurt because he forgot their dinner date two weeks ago and she has been pissed ever since, now is a good time to let that out. Any thing he said or done to make you feel less or let you down tell him. If you have been a real bitch for some reason he does not know because you were too embarrassed to say, but it hurt you and you have been carrying it around, tell him now. You are bent over, possibly bare bottom in the air, nothing left to be embarrassed of now. If, as he itemizes the list of charges against you and your attitude, and you are just realizing what a surly and incorrigible, whiney brat you have been, now that you are definitely listening, and you are ashamed and sorry (sorry is a given), then tell him that too.  Whatever needs said and heard that just couldn’t be before, let it out. Let it all out in the fury and the pain and the tears.

Then, once the dust settles and there is nothing left between you, no bitterness, resentment, no pent up emotions, all spent, all the anger vented and all the recompense paid, just hold one another tightly. Another mind blowing and illogical side effect, as a woman, you will probably have an uncontrollable urge to drop to your knees and devour that erection. This too, I feel, is natural and normal.  Drink in that brand spanking new feeling!

Stories Are Teachers, sometimes very strict teachers…

Stories are good teachers. If one were wanting to introduce the idea of domestic discipline to a potential partner the gift of a book may be the best way to do it. That would bypass a whole lot of questions and answers in the beginning and just show the other person a glimpse of what that kind of relationship may look like. Once Brass Lantern Inn and Thin Ice are moved from Bethany’s Woodshed to Blushing Books Publications, they will be great choices for such a gift. They aren’t overly long books so the intended can easily find the time to read them, and they paint a beautiful picture while telling a good tale. Another book perfect for such a gift is

And for the best variety of themes and genera the very best places to find good stories are:



Wash Day

securedownload (2)Everyone used to have a clothes line.  As electricity rates climb and more people are “going green” and become interested in sustainable living and respecting the environment, the trend is returning. Clothes lines are popping up all over the place where the used to be none. I imagine women everywhere discovering one of my most favorite of simple pleasures, slipping between fresh airy, sun dried sheets with newly shaven legs. Few sensations on earth compare.

Today was wash day for me. I have an incredibly long clothes line that spans most of my back yard and while hanging load after load it occurred to me that my clothes line is somewhat of a time line. All the costumes me and my family wore for all the occasions of life that week are lined up there in the light of day. It makes me remember and recap the events and moments. Beach towels from the day at the lake, my sons now unsmelly fishing clothes, my daughters date night outfit, my business casual dress suit from a work meeting, my favorite old denim dress that I wear the heck out of when doing house work and gardening, my husband’s work clothes representing a long week of labor and packed lunches and filled thermoses, pajamas, night gowns, every day outfits of skirts and blouses and underthings make me remember what happened each day that week when they were worn.

Some days left more of an impression than others. Hanging my husband’s jeans reminds me who wears the pants in the family. Hanging my long gauzy blue skirt with the white suns and moons all over, and my baby blue cotton panties, reminds me of the day I tested that very sound theory. At the end of the line of his pants, every one of which I have probably been bent over the left knee of at least once, hangs the panties I pulled down and the skirt he lifted up. The heat and sting of the moment has finally subsided, yet the memory hangs in the air.


A Morning Walk

“You and I are going for a walk.” Spoken as a calmly as if he meant it to be a pleasure stroll, only the sternness of his eyes gave away his meaning. Everyone that had heard it, including me, looked away as if they had not. It had been a long week at the cabin. We were surrounded by friends and family, balancing the work of having fun with the work of keeping up with the kids and the general maintenance of the cabin itself, sopping towels, fishy smelling clothes, cooking fires, hot water went on and on. The place was very large and very rustic, so a group effort was needed. Some members of the group were more helpful than others. Deciding I deserved a night off after five long days of living like a washer woman in a pioneer logging camp, I accidentally had too much fun the night before and may have, according to some reports, been out on the lake slightly intoxicated, skinny dipping with my best girl.
When we were kids we did that sort of thing all the time. Marie and I were friends since grade school. We were so close we sometimes made people wonder about our sexuality. We never cared. Two empty bottles of Chardonnay filled us with nostalgia and we were sixteen again, paddling our raft to the middle of Pawnee Lake and doing flips and dives in our birthday suits under the pale moon light. Marie was lucky, her husband was too busy with the farm to come along this year.
“You too, Marie. I just spoke to Juan and he asked me to please see that you get your fair share of this walk. Help Mindy finish the dishes and change into your swimsuits, both of you. Since you did not wear them for swimming last evening you may wear them for walking this morning.”
Pretenses blown, we both muttered a, “Yes, Sir” and continued with our task, at a much slower pace.
The woods were still chilly from the night and goose bumps stood up on our flesh as we tramped our booted feet and mostly bare bodies through the damp brush and ferns.
“Weren’t you two cold last night?” he asked as if just making conversation.
When neither was forthcoming with an immediate answer he went ahead and pointed out,
“Sorry, silly question I guess. Under the influence as you were, I suppose you didn’t feel the cold so much. You’re lucky you both didn’t drown. There is good reason for the lake having rules prohibiting alcohol while swimming and boating. The consequences could have been far more grim than the one you two are facing, so be thank-full for that much.” Turning around to look at our shamed faces and be sure his lecture was sinking in, he seen us crossed armed, holding ourselves and shivering. He took it as further evidence of the cool morning air biting at our bikini clad flesh, but it was partly a reflexive shudder of dread and self comforting.
“Don’t worry ladies, and I use that word with generosity this morning, you will be warmed up directly.” Coming upon what he was seeking and inspecting both sides for snakes and spiders and poison ivy, he then gestured to the great fallen log, “Bend over.” Unbuckling his belt slowly, folding it over and giving it a loud crack, Chad couldn’t help but grin as both, yet untouched bottoms bounced with a shriek and a roughed grouse shot up from a near by hiding place, along with every other creature within a hundred yards. The forest had gone silent as winter, for just a few moments.
The rhythmic cracking of the belt began as he attacked his work with the fervor of a young lumberjack. Back and forth between us he swung, sometimes getting one or the other two or three times in a row just to keep us wailing and unprepared for when and where the next one would land. We were sure the racket was heard back at the cabin but were too consumed with the searing sting of Chad’s belt to even care who heard.
People back at the cabin did indeed hear, and wondered how long it could possibly go on. Mindy’s mom got up and was headed to put a stop to it when Mindy’s dad took her wrist and warned that he wouldn’t even walk that far if he needed to take her out too. She fumed inside, but only about a minute longer, until it finally ceased.
Chad let us catch our breath while he put his belt back on and then helped each of us up one at a time, giving a brief hug, wiping away some tears with his handkerchief, and planting a gentle little kiss on the top of each head.
We walked back ahead of him, red assed and repentant, glad for it to be over. The rest of the stay was far more enjoyable, however, other than the sore bottom. Almost everyone felt so sorry for us that they all scrambled to pick up the slack. Marie and I barely had to lift a finger.

A Morning Walk (a short story)