Broken Hairbrush

I got spanked on the weekend. I know, you're thinking that sounds like a good weekend for Ronnie then, and it was indeed good but not because of the spanking per se.

We were having an exceptionally good weekend anyway, sometimes that happens and you can't put your finger on why. I don't mean that most weekends are unpleasant or anything because they're not, it's just that sometimes everything seems to be in sync and you can't put a foot wrong, although on second thoughts I suppose I did put a foot wrong and it got me spanked so really it wasn't a foot wrong at all and the spanking, though hard, was delicious for three reasons: 1) it happened spontaneously, 2) it was hard, 3) it broke my hairbrush which I hated anyway.

 Spontaneous spankings, which happen because of this or that and are dished out immediately are the best in my opinion; even though I spend time contriving all sorts of ways of getting spanked, I know the best ones happen naturally. This one came about because I booked a gardening firm to come and cut our conifer trees down and P had said he wanted to get another quote or two, or even work out whether to do it himself (which meant it would never get done). We had a written quote from the firm and it was the same as it cost us three years ago except we have to pay extra for the waste disposal now which is fair enough so I called them and booked them and told P, I thought I was saving him the trouble. Well he told me off for just charging ahead and doing it, then he said I deserved a spanking and took me upstairs, he told me he was going to spank my bottom so hard I'd be in tears when I phoned the company again to un-book them, which he would make me do immediately after he'd dealt with me. Sounds like he's a brute, doesn't it.

So he put me over his knee on the side of the bed, pulled my jeans down and spanked me with my hairbrush which was the most convenient implement to hand. I shouted at him to stop and the job needed doing but he said it was his department not mine, and not to argue anyway or my knickers would come down too. I carried on protesting and eventually did lose my knickers and got a very sore backside from an implement which I don't much care for. Then suddenly it stopped and my husband rolled me onto the bed, I thought he was going to get another implement but he didn't, he just got up, told me to let that be a lesson to me and went downstairs. I followed a few minutes later, not crying I might add, wondering if I'd really have to make that phone call.

P had made two mugs of tea and my hairbrush was sitting on top of a newspaper, a big split along its length, 

my husband was smiling as he told me I needed a new hairbrush and to try and find a stronger one next time so that he could spank me properly. He told me to come and sit next to him, he said he'd had a rethink and he wasn't going to make me un-book the gardeners, he agreed it needed doing and their price was fair. I could have turned on him and said 'Why the fuck did you put me across your knee then?' but I didn't, instead I leaned across and pecked him on the cheek and said I was sorry for jumping the gun. Good humour was restored immediately, truth be known I don't think it had ever gone.

Have a good week.

Ronnie

xx