What is it with hairbrushes? -- Moms spanking talk

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Subject: What is it with hairbrushes?

Author:
MarkW
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Date Posted: 11:49:45 09/13/24 Fri

Irene came in to the living room shaking her heard in puzzlement.

“What on earth is the matter with that boy?” she demands of me.

“Eh?” I looki up from the newspaper.

It transpires that my wife had gone in to our bedroom only to find our youngest (a freshly minted 16yo) son standing at her dressing table and holding his mother's hairbrush. When asked what he was doing there and why was her hairbrush in his hand, his face had gone pink and he said in that helpful teenage way: 'I dunno”. Fleeing the room before his mother could say another word.

“The kids know our bedroom is strictly off limits to them, and I haven't had to spank any of them for it since they were, well, knee high to grasshoppers” she muses thoughtfully.

I involuntarily colour a bit recalling an episode some three or four years back. I'd been re-aligning the doors to Mum's bedroom wardrobe which took me but a few minutes. I then walked over to mother's walnut dressing table to find some hand cream. My eyes caught sight of the old wooden hairbrush that had warmed my bare bottom so many times over the years. For some reason I picked it up and turned it over in my hands remembering those times bent over her knee. Yep, you guessed it, Mum walked in on me. I dropped the hairbrush guiltily on the table, my face flushing hot. Mum arched her eyebrows at me.

“Feeling nostalgic, are you Mark?” she asked me sweetly.

Sorry, I got side-tracked! Back to our boy.

“Perhaps,” I said to my wife “he feels guilty about something he has done? A subconscious acknowledgement that he should be held to account with a good spanking?” I offer.

“Hmm maybe,” says Irene “I will call him down and ask him”.

Like a dog with a bone, is my nearest and dearest.

The teenager traipses down the stairs looking a bit shamefaced, presumably because his mother caught him in our bedroom.

“Is there something you want to own up to?” Irene came right out with the question. No pussyfooting around.

“No,” he says a bit sullenly and shiftily.

“I will ask you ONE more time,” warns his mother sternly “What have you done?”

The kids have never been very good at standing up to interiohation from their Mum, come to think of it, nor have I.

“Nothing........ well okay, I borrowed £20 from your purse,” he blurts out.

And so we have it.

“Stole £20, you mean” snaps my wife.

“I mean to pay it back, Mum” his tone whining now.

“Oh you will pay it back alright, my boy. But first, I think there is something you need to bring down from my bedroom, isn't there?”

Face going pink and looking miserable, our son nodded in comprehension at his mother, and went back upstairs.

“What's he gone to get?” I ask, a bit slow on the uptake.

Irene shakes her head at me in wonder. Instead of answering she gets up and moves a straight-backed chair to an uncluttered part of the room. Hoisting the hem of her skirt to just above her knees, she takes a seat. Given her light grey pencil skirt is er um rather snug round her hips, shall we say, this was no easy feat.

Our son re-enters the room, the hairbrush once again in his hand. His mother beckons him over to her and takes it off him.

“Jeans down and get over my knee” she orders him, all business now.

Red faced and looking very nervous, he slowly did as he was told. Once in position, his Mum lowers his bright blue boxers.

16 years of age and a young man he well be, but he was bawling like a 10yo some time before the spanking was over. Our daughter – bless her – managed to sneak in to the room at the outset of her brother's spanking.

Sibling concern did not prevent her from grinning ear to ear as her brother stood, pulling faces and massaging his very sore bottom.

“Didn't your Mum catch you checking out her hairbrush in her bedroom a couple of years back, Mark?” asks the good wife.

“I was fixing her wardrobe” I mutter, as if that explained everything.

“Dad?” Asks the boy “Why were you clutching her hairbrush?”

“I was looking for hand cream,” I grunted, as if that explained everything.

“Leave me alone,” I grumble, burying my head in the newspaper.

There was a snort of derision from my wife, a guffaw of laughter from my son, and a prolonged giggle from my daughter. Am I too old to become a monk?

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Replies:

Subject Author Date

Re: What is it with hairbrushes? Mary 16:37:47 09/13/24 Fri

A bath brush not for scrubbing backs with -- MarkW, 10:39:23 09/18/24 Wed

Re: What is it with hairbrushes? Eliza 20:05:39 09/13/24 Fri

Re: What is it with hairbrushes? -- Cordelia, 16:30:19 09/15/24 Sun

Re: What is it with hairbrushes? -- Eliza, 18:35:25 09/15/24 Sun

Re: What is it with hairbrushes? -- Cordelia, 08:01:51 09/16/24 Mon

Re: What is it with hairbrushes? -- MarkW, 10:48:24 09/18/24 Wed

Re: What is it with hairbrushes? -- Eliza, 16:04:39 09/18/24 Wed

Re: What is it with hairbrushes? Jennifer 04:28:02 09/14/24 Sat

Re: What is it with hairbrushes? -- Eliza, 06:23:00 09/14/24 Sat
Re: What is it with hairbrushes? -- MarkW, 10:50:40 09/18/24 Wed

Re: What is it with hairbrushes? Laura (Matt's mom) 07:15:52 09/14/24 Sat

Re: What is it with hairbrushes? -- MarkW, 10:59:23 09/18/24 Wed

Re: What is it with hairbrushes? Cherie 13:47:28 09/14/24 Sat

Re: What is it with hairbrushes? -- MarkW, 11:05:21 09/18/24 Wed

Re: What is it with hairbrushes? Theft of candy here. Paige 07:03:46 09/15/24 Sun

Re: What is it with hairbrushes? Theft of candy here. -- MarkW, 11:10:15 09/18/24 Wed

Re: What is it with hairbrushes? Cordelia 17:02:16 09/15/24 Sun

Re: What is it with hairbrushes? -- MarkW, 11:14:30 09/18/24 Wed

Re: What is it with hairbrushes? -- Cordelia, 13:44:30 09/18/24 Wed

Re: What is it with hairbrushes? Stephanie 18:36:42 09/16/24 Mon

Re: What is it with hairbrushes? -- MarkW, 11:20:11 09/18/24 Wed

Re: What is it with hairbrushes? Mamá to Mark 19:28:36 09/16/24 Mon

Re: What is it with hairbrushes? -- MarkW, 11:23:55 09/18/24 Wed

Re: What is it with hairbrushes? Sonya 03:19:18 09/17/24 Tue

Re: What is it with hairbrushes? -- MarkW, 11:29:37 09/18/24 Wed

Re: What is it with hairbrushes? -- Grumpy, 16:45:24 09/18/24 Wed

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>Irene came in to the living room shaking her heard in >puzzlement. > >“What on earth is the matter with that boy?” she >demands of me. > >“Eh?” I looki up from the newspaper. > >It transpires that my wife had gone in to our bedroom >only to find our youngest (a freshly minted 16yo) son >standing at her dressing table and holding his >mother's hairbrush. When asked what he was doing there >and why was her hairbrush in his hand, his face had >gone pink and he said in that helpful teenage way: 'I >dunno”. Fleeing the room before his mother could say >another word. > >“The kids know our bedroom is strictly off limits to >them, and I haven't had to spank any of them for it >since they were, well, knee high to grasshoppers” >she muses thoughtfully. > >I involuntarily colour a bit recalling an episode some >three or four years back. I'd been re-aligning the >doors to Mum's bedroom wardrobe which took me but a >few minutes. I then walked over to mother's walnut >dressing table to find some hand cream. My eyes >caught sight of the old wooden hairbrush that had >warmed my bare bottom so many times over the years. >For some reason I picked it up and turned it over in >my hands remembering those times bent over her knee. >Yep, you guessed it, Mum walked in on me. I dropped >the hairbrush guiltily on the table, my face flushing >hot. Mum arched her eyebrows at me. > >“Feeling nostalgic, are you Mark?” she asked me >sweetly. > >Sorry, I got side-tracked! Back to our boy. > >“Perhaps,” I said to my wife “he feels guilty >about something he has done? A subconscious >acknowledgement that he should be held to account >with a good spanking?” I offer. > >“Hmm maybe,” says Irene “I will call him down >and ask him”. > >Like a dog with a bone, is my nearest and dearest. > >The teenager traipses down the stairs looking a bit >shamefaced, presumably because his mother caught him >in our bedroom. > >“Is there something you want to own up to?” Irene >came right out with the question. No pussyfooting >around. > >“No,” he says a bit sullenly and shiftily. > >“I will ask you ONE more time,” warns his mother >sternly “What have you done?” > >The kids have never been very good at standing up to >interiohation from their Mum, come to think of it, nor >have I. > >“Nothing........ well okay, I borrowed £20 from >your purse,” he blurts out. > >And so we have it. > >“Stole £20, you mean” snaps my wife. > >“I mean to pay it back, Mum” his tone whining now. > >“Oh you will pay it back alright, my boy. But first, >I think there is something you need to bring down from >my bedroom, isn't there?” > >Face going pink and looking miserable, our son nodded >in comprehension at his mother, and went back upstairs. > >“What's he gone to get?” I ask, a bit slow on the >uptake. > >Irene shakes her head at me in wonder. Instead of >answering she gets up and moves a straight-backed >chair to an uncluttered part of the room. Hoisting the >hem of her skirt to just above her knees, she takes a >seat. Given her light grey pencil skirt is er um >rather snug round her hips, shall we say, this was no >easy feat. > >Our son re-enters the room, the hairbrush once again >in his hand. His mother beckons him over to her and >takes it off him. > >“Jeans down and get over my knee” she orders him, >all business now. > >Red faced and looking very nervous, he slowly did as >he was told. Once in position, his Mum lowers his >bright blue boxers. > >16 years of age and a young man he well be, but he was >bawling like a 10yo some time before the spanking was >over. Our daughter – bless her – managed to sneak >in to the room at the outset of her brother's spanking. > >Sibling concern did not prevent her from grinning ear >to ear as her brother stood, pulling faces and >massaging his very sore bottom. > >“Didn't your Mum catch you checking out her >hairbrush in her bedroom a couple of years back, >Mark?” asks the good wife. > >“I was fixing her wardrobe” I mutter, as if that >explained everything. > >“Dad?” Asks the boy “Why were you clutching her >hairbrush?” > >“I was looking for hand cream,” I grunted, as if >that explained everything. > >“Leave me alone,” I grumble, burying my head in >the newspaper. > >There was a snort of derision from my wife, a guffaw >of laughter from my son, and a prolonged giggle from >my daughter. Am I too old to become a monk?
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