Page 89 of A Very Naughty Christmas

I bowed my head forward in remorse.

“Do as I told you to do.”

I unbuttoned my red blouse slowly, trying to delay the punishment I had coming. I hated getting punished with my hairbrush. It was humiliating, for one. That was the item I used to brush my own red locks, or when I was acting younger, Daddy would brush it for me. After my spanking, having to use it would make my face so red as I remembered how it had been wielded the last time.

On top of that, I hated the way the brush felt when it was being exerted against me. It stung horribly! It felt like lightning was striking my ass, instead of a hairbrush.

“Chloe, if you continue to procrastinate, you’ll earn extra smacks.”

That statement had my hands moving quicker. I finished with the buttons and pulled off my shirt, my pants hurriedly followed, until I stood in only my matching red lace panty and bra set.

“Off with those too,” he commanded.

When I glanced his way, the bulge forming in his pants was hard to miss. Despite the situation, I felt a warmth wash over me, happy that even after all the years we’d been married,I still turned my husband on.

Once I was naked, I sashayed toward him until I reached his legs. Slowly, I bent over his lap and let my hands fall forward, fingertips to the floor, so I could steady myself and wouldn’t have to worry about falling. This also helped me resist the temptation to cover my bottom during my punishment. I had learned the hard way that doing so would result in extra strokes with whatever implement was being used.

He ran one hand over my backside and the other went into my hair, massaging my scalp in small circles—a tender sign of his love and reassurance no matter what was about to occur, before he tightened his grip, making sure I wouldn’t move.

I loved when my husband pulled my hair. It made it very clear who was in control and who was submitting.

“I hate having to do this, but you broke a promise. You’ve earned this punishment,” he admonished as he traced random patterns on my ass.

“Yes, Sir.”

Without any warning, my spanking began. The first few smacks from his open sharp hand fell onto my cheeks in slow succession. They didn’t hurt all that much, but triggered enough anxiety to make my muscles tense up, causing the next couple of spanks to hurt even more.

“Relax,” he said in his gruff voice.

He spanked the center of my ass a bit harder. It stung worse than the spanks I had gotten before.

I had to use all my concentration to release the tension from my bottom. He was right. When my muscles tensed up, it caused even more pain than if I were relaxed.

“Good girl.”

He rubbed my bottom for two minutes and spread the heat all around. I wished that the punishment would be over now, instead of having to continue. The anticipation of how that brush would feel against my behind made each swat feel a bit worse.

The next few smacks heated my ass a bit more and made me bite my lip to keep from whimpering. I clenched my hands into small balls, hoping that the slight pain of my nails digging into my flesh would keep me focused on that, instead of the pain that was about to come.

“Your warmup is done. Now, it’s time for the next part, ten with the brush.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Again, he rubbed my backside, spreading the heat and sting around and making my nervousness increase even more.

I held my breath, waiting for the first smack from the awful wooden brush. After what felt like an eternity, it came, quickly. The second, third, and fourth swats followed after, and they were all much more unforgiving than his hand had been.

“Ouch!” Tears formed behind my eyes, causing my vision to blur.

My ass felt like it had been stung by an entire hive of bees. Compared to how much Drew’s hand had hurt, the pain from the hairbrush was double. The wood had no give, and unlike a hand spanking, the pain from each swat was concentrated, making every area it punished sting. He landed two more spanks, this time on the skin right where my behind and thighs met.

“Ahh!” I cried out, “No more, please, Sir,” I begged. With my hands still on the floor, I tried to wiggle myself off his lap to avoid the last of my punishment. He tightened his grip on my hair, immobilizing me.

“You have four more strokes to go. Take them like a good girl.”

With that small bit of praise, I knew that I could do this. I wanted to make my husband proud.

“O-Okay.”

---