When we last left Brody and Shana, they were discussing her bad attitude and Brody's opinion that she should be punished for it. This picks up mere sentences where we left off. :)

Don’t look at him, I coached myself. Don’t look. “Would it hurt?” I asked instead, cringing as soon as the words escaped my mouth. I wanted to snatch them out of the air and keep them from his ears or at least bolt for the door before he had a chance to answer, but my feet stayed planted firmly to the ground. 

“It would hurt,” he answered, as though our conversation wasn’t completely bizarre. “Spankings are supposed to hurt.” 
 
God, if a shiver didn’t run through me when he said that. I chanced a look at him and saw, to my surprise, that he didn’t look smug or pissed, like I’d half-expected. He still looked like Brody, normal, next-door wonderful Brody. That was what made it so much harder to run away. That and the weird tightness in my chest. “And if I don’t?” 

“Hmm, I don’t know. Can I spank you for not letting me spank you?” 
 
The playfulness was back and I relaxed a little. “Is that a question?” I’d meant it to sound flippant, but I caught how my voice wobbled and I knew he had, too. “You know what, really, I’ve got to go now.” This time, mercifully, I managed to move my feet and walk toward the door.

He caught up with me in mere heartbeats, stopping me with a hand to my arm. “Not so fast, we need to talk about this.” 
 
“What’s there to talk about?” I asked, my breath hitching at his touch. “I said no. You still remember what that means don’t you?”

“Attitude, Shana,” he growled in a low voice, making me flush hotter. “And yes, your lips are saying no some of the time while the rest of you...” He lowered his hands until he was holding my hips. “Seems pretty unsure to me.”

Hello, everyone! It has been a whirlwind of a week. To recap for those who haven't heard, I fell through my attic Wednesday morning, about an eight to nine foot drop and had to be rushed to the ER. I am thankfully going to be OK. The Dr. said I came close to breaking my spine, which would have been problematic. Instead, I have sprained everything from my head down to my toes. Moving very slowly, but hey, at least I still have my typing fingers. ;) Thanks again to everyone for the well wishes. Don't send flowers, just buy a copy of my latest book, "The Marriage Pact!" OK, just kidding, but please do enjoy and comment on this excerpt.

“I know, OK?” I muttered. “I said I was sorry.”
“Yes, you did. Now I want you to prove it.”
I glanced up at him. “O-kay...how am I supposed to do that?”
“That’s simple. You behaved like a child so I’m going to treat you like one.”
I hunched my shoulders at the c word--not that I could protest. He was right; the clock seemed to have turned back and instead of the mature thirty-four-year-old I’d become, I was acting more like the teenager I’d been when I’d left. “Meaning?”
“I think you deserve a spanking for the way you treated me.”
Time froze all around me and my face froze along with it, torn between a perplexed frown and a laugh. I stared at him, unblinking and he stared back. It was a surreal reminder of the staring contests we used to have as kids, which was what tilted the scale toward laughter. “Come on, Brody,” I said when I finally found my voice. “That’s not funny.”
“It’s definitely not, and I’m dead serious.” His eyes showed me that he meant every word; there wasn’t an ounce of laughter to be found in them.

H is for HOH. Who would have thought that one day I would know
the spanking lingo? It’s a crazy world we live in, friends. Anyway, HOH is right
up there with them--or rather, head of the household. You know I’ve mentioned that my husband Jim has issues with domestic discipline. I feel that I need firm guidance in my life--whether it be because I was wired that way or because I didn’t get it growing up, either way, I do need it and I don’t see that changing anytime in the near future. Jim has learned to live with it. 
 
It’s funny, because like I’ve said, we’ve been together since we were teenagers. Thinking back on the man I dated, even the man he was when we first married, I would have thought that the HOH role would be right up his alley. If anyone has read my story “Sir, Yes Sir” you’re sure to remember Dean. He’s a firm, always in charge, implacable military man. Dean did not come solely from my imagination, but was brought to life by my husband.
Raised as a military brat, he enlisted right after we got engaged. If I’d thought he was stern and commanding (which I guess I must have loved even then, even if I didn’t realize it at the time) before, when he came back from Basic Training, wow-whee! He was ever much more so. It was just part of the culture. 

Unfortunately, a back injury a year and a half later earned him a medical discharge. Since then, after years of having to learn to work and cope in the “civilian world” he has mellowed out considerably, which, like I said, is really ironic to me now because of what I’m asking of him! I’ll be honest, it’s not very feminist of me to say so, perhaps it’s not even politically correct, but I think that a man should be in charge of the household. I think families work better that way--assuming, of course, that the HOH is loving, gentle and only wants what’s best for his family.

G is for the Good Things in Life
1. My husband Jim really is the best thing that has ever happened to me. He loves me
as I am, even if that’s a brating, testing person at times. I love him more than words can truly express. After nearly ten years of marriage, he keeps me laughing!

2.  My kids are a close second. I love them so much. I never, ever thought I could love
someone the way I do the two of them—they make me realize my true power to
overcome fears (remember that post on driving phobia) as well as my nature. I am
normally a very nonconfrontational person by nature, but hurt my kids and just see what happens! Oh, which also means they’ve taught me the meaning of the term Mama Bear.

3. My wonderful Fans. The people who read my work are the ones who inspire me to keep
writing and to try every time to create a better story than before. I am very grateful to anyone who’s ever read one of my books. 

4. Friends. They say that a person who has one true friend is very lucky and I’m proud to
say that I have that friend. Also, I’m surrounded by such wonderful, kind
writers in this community! I love you all!



All too often we focus on the negative. I know I do it, too, so
today let’s take a moment to focus on what is good in our life and start your
day with a smile.

F is for…what else? Fetish! 
Like a lot of self-proclaimed spankos, I used to obsess over the word. My make believe games always included spanking, I looked it up in the dictionary and shivered with excitement as I read, I read and reread the books that included spanking scenes. 

Yet, it was a long, long time before I recognized my fetish for what it was. It wasn’t until 2006, when I was twenty-one and home alone with the computer that I began to understand. Like I said, I had the house to myself and a web browser. I was on the computer, doing God knows what when I typed in “spanking stories” and hit enter. I remember at the time thinking, “Why did I do that? That’s weird.” Then I read and reread every story that popped up. Some were good, some were only so-so, but yet each one electrified my body in ways I couldn’t understand. 

For those of you who read my post yesterday, you might recall that my husband and I married when I was eighteen. Which means we’d been married for three years when I realized I was a spanko. It was maybe a year more before I was able to come clean and even longer before he was able to accept it. In the beginning, I was only comfortable with the spanking, which he was uncomfortable with. He was good with whips and chains
BDSM, but just plain spanking? It seemed as odd to him and it did to me, yet, I could no longer deny my need.

It has taken us a long, long time to get things right. I’ve incorporated some BDSM to keep hubby happy and you know what, I do believe he’s becoming something of a spanko himself--as long as he’s the top! 

Right up there with one of the things a woman will remember for the rest of her life is how her husband proposed. Though Jim swears it happens differently, I assure you it had to be the least romantic proposal on the face of the Earth and beyond. We were just talking--I don’t remember about what--when he started doing pushups. Then he said, “I think we
should get married.” 

“Are you asking me?” I said, somewhat perplexed. 
“Yeah.” 
“Huh.” 
“What?”
“Nothing, just...not exactly how I thought proposals went.”
I should have cut him some slack, he was only nineteen to my seventeen at the time. Eventually--yes, I said eventually--I said yes and we got married right before my nineteenth birthday. We went to the courthouse with only my sister and her boyfriend in attendance as witnesses. A lot of people didn’t think that we should get married because we were so young. Those same people said it would never last. 
First, it will be our ten year wedding anniversary in November.
Second, they were right. We were too young, and half our problems through the years have been because we’ve changed so much in that ten years. So, lesson learned, one I can hopefully pass on to my daughters. If they, however, want to get married at eighteen, what ground do I have to stand on? (My husband hates it when I say that, but it’s true
nonetheless.)

As a young girl, I didn’t get the big, romantic proposal I dreamt up and believe it or not, that bothered me for some years. However, my husband and I have been married than plenty of friends who received big, flowery declarations of love. Everyone has their story and this is only part of ours. It’s been such a blessing to share this journey with the love of my life. 

Today, D stands for Dancing with an Ex. This is an excerpt from my new release, “The Marriage Pact”. And no, in case you were wondering, I’ve never danced with an ex.
They were "ex" for a reason...probably because they didn't know how to dance! ;) 

“Listen, I was just wondering...would you like to dance?”
I frowned as I considered him. “I thought you were here with--”
“She’d love to,” Becky interjected, shoving me toward him. “I’ll work on getting that pole,
Shan,” she said with a grin before she walked away.
I looked up at Brody, blinking. “Do you know what she’s talking about?”
“No idea.” He smiled down at me. “You’ve had a little too much to drink, huh?”
I giggled. “Maybe.”
“You never could handle alcohol,” he said fondly. “Come on, dance with me. You can hold on as tight as you want.”
The small, sober part of my brain that remained told me that ordinarily, that would have made my belly tighten in lovely, hopeful knots. Fortunately, the rest of me was free of
such inhibitions and I let him take my hand and lead me to the dance floor. He slipped his arms around my waist, holding me lightly and I wrapped my arms around his neck.
I took a deep breath, inhaling his clean, masculine scent that sent a thrill throughout my
body, making my sex clench. “God, you smell so good. I’d almost forgotten.”
“You’re not too bad yourself,” he quipped.
“Brody, you’re not mad anymore, are you?”
He appraised me thoughtfully as we swayed back and forth. “You know what? I can’t say I
am.”
“Is that because you’re seeing someone?”
He cleared his throat, looking abashed for the first time since this evening began. “You heard about that, huh.”
“Small town.”
“Don’t I know it. Hell, there’s not a single one here who can keep their mouth shut.”
I tilted my head quizzically. “Are you sure she won’t mind you dancing with me?”
“Claire? No, she doesn’t mind much of anything.”
The way he said it made me curious, but I decided that talking about girlfriends could get
uncomfortable for both of us, so I let it slide.
“And what about you?” he asked as he spun me around.
I broke into laughter at the motion and when he pulled me back to him I clutched his chest
and hung on for dear life, feeling a bit dizzy. “What about me?”
“Are you seeing someone?”
“No, not at the moment.”
“I find that hard to believe. Beautiful girl like you...”
I could feel a blush creeping along my cheeks, awed by the intimacy of the moment. When his lips parted, all I could think about was kissing him. I wanted to kiss him until my
lips were swollen and tired, until I couldn’t see straight from lack of air. I looked down, hoping that if I stopped staring, the feeling would go away, but no such luck.

And for the something personal: I cannot dance. No, really. I try and I do it very enthusiastically, but I've accepted that I'm not any good at it. Fortunately, my daughters don't know better yet and they love to dance with me. :)

OK, guys, this one is going to be a tad bit long today, but bear with me! I originally planned to share a homemade dip recipe that is AMAZING but had an experience yesterday that fits in with C. So, without further ado, C is for car accident.

Yes, you guessed it. I have mentioned before that I have a phobia of driving. Odd, perhaps, but it is what it is. And it just might have something to do with the fact that since I was nine years old my dad would come tell me anytime there was a mention of a teenager in a car accident and read it to me from the paper. Not saying that it caused it, but it’s certainly possible. 

Anyway, as a mother to two kids, I’ve had to deal the best I can. They have places to go and people to see, so that means I have to get behind the wheel and conquer fear every single day. That’s what I was doing, innocently minding my own business, conquering fear and all that, when, AT A STOP SIGN, I felt myself get jolted from behind. Now, my car is tiny. If I could get one smaller, I would do it, tiny cars are what I’m into. Again, see driving phobia. 
:)

So, when I got rear ended by an SUV, it pushed my car forward a bit, even though the hit wasn’t that hard. 

“Jackass!” I exclaimed loudly. 

“What’s a jackass, Mama?” my five-year-old asked innocently.
Damn.

So, we’re fine, the car is fine--my husband was a bit ticked at me because I let the guy drive off when I realized there was no damage. Before the lectures commence, I had no
idea what I was supposed to do. I have never, ever been in an accident. 

AND because I don’t want to deprive you of my wonderful recipe, see below!

This is officially the most awesome chip dip in the world and it’s dessert! How’s
that for new and different! Try it, you’ll be soooo glad you did. I never ever serve this without getting requests from the recipe. Served it last week and it was gone in sixty seconds! Hee hee!

What you will need: 
Strawberries 
Cool Whip Frosting (I use vanilla; it can be found in your freezer aisle, next to the--what else?--cool whip)
Package jello (You can use any flavor. I use strawberry)
Stacy’s cinnamon sugar chips

Half your strawberries 
Stir in 2 tsps jello mix into the frosting 
Stir in strawberries and serve with chips! 

So amazingly good and takes five minutes or less! Also, makes the strawberries taste so ripe and delicious! And it’s got fruit in it, so it has to be healthy, right? ;) 

Also, one last thing: When my book, "The Marriage Pact" posts on Amazon I'll update with the links! <3 Thanks

No, all my posts aren’t going to be about spanking. No, really I promise! But this is what came to mind, so here goes.
Brating

My husband loves the term brating. Don’t ask me why, he thinks it’s funny. Have you ever heard someone say a word and you can tell they’re putting quotation marks around it?
There you have my husband.

Here’s an example, heard recently:

Him: Could you stop being so difficult? Oh, excuse me, stop brating. 

Well, excuse me while I roll my eyes. Yes, we’re the perfect, loving married couple. ;)
 
Here’s a secret: my husband doesn’t like to spank. He doesn’t, in fact, like domestic discipline. Yes, we practice, but it can be trying for both of us at times because of that fact. He likes the end result, but he doesn’t like having to set rules and he certainly doesn’t like to enforce them. My husband, like many others, I’m sure, doesn’t understand the appeal it holds for me, and I believe it makes him uncomfortable. Ah, the things we do for love. No matter how many times I explain--and I know he tries--it doesn’t make much sense to him. 

So when he slacks off, what do I do? What do all naughty/good girls at heart do? I act out, I test, I push, and yes, as he says, I brat. Sometimes, all it takes is him walking into the
room and presto-chango I’ve turned into a first class brat. It catches him off guard, it perplexes him, it annoys him. Yet, he handles it the best he can. 

In the books I write, the men always know just what to do. My husband is not one of those men, but we’re working through the kinks of living in the real world. Oh, to be a work of
fiction. And while I promise myself I’ll stop brating, chances are if the day ends in y, it’s 50/50 who I’ll be when he walks in the door.

**wanted also to use this time to let you guys know about a book I have releasing, "The Marriage Pact" which should be available on Amazon later today! So excited to share an excerpt with you tomorrow!! **