The missing hairbrush

When my first born, Rebecca, was 12, she got in trouble one day. She had misbehaved at school, and she knew her backside was in deep trouble.

I got home maybe half an hour after she did, had a quick discussion, then sent her to her room to wait for me. I decided the offence was well worth the hairbrush, and went to get it from the bathroom where it normally was.

Except, when I got there, it wasn’t. I tried to remember whether it had last been used on her or her brother Michael. I checked my son’s bedroom. Nope. I went to Rebecca’s room, to see if it was there. Nope.

At this point, I was naturally mighty suspicious that a certain young lady had perhaps used that half hour to make the brush vanish – but I didn’t have proof and she, of course, denied it.

I owned no other wooden hairbrush, so I grabbed my spanking spoon, determined to use it as well as I ever had and at least get a similar level of punishment as I felt Rebecca deserved. Her panties came down, and her butt got tore up.

However, even after her spanking, she tearfully denied any knowledge of the missing brush. To be honest, I didn’t believe her, but I’m not one to punish without knowing it’s deserved for sure. So her nose went to the corner.

I believe this happened on a Thursday. On the following Sunday, I took Rebecca to the mall, just she and I, with the other three kids left at home. In truth, we had a very nice day. But before we went home I stopped at a store and much to Rebecca’s quiet horror, I began looking through their hairbrushes.

Eventually, I found one that was significantly heavier than my missing implement. It was pricey, especially compared to any brush I had bought before. I said and did nothing to indicate what it was really for, but Rebecca clearly could tell.

On the way home, I could see she was freaking out a bit. She didn’t like the look of the heavier, thicker, higher quality hairbrush. I calmly explained to her that I simply needed to replace the missing one. She was clearly worried.

So we get home, take care of our things, Rebecca takes the couple of new things she got to her room. I put the new brush in my own room, to be safe, and made dinner.

After dinner, I went into the bathroom and what do you know? My missing brush was back in its place. Clearly, someone was trying to save her backside in the future. I picked up the old brush, went to my room and got the new one, and then went with both to her bedroom.

Rebecca briefly tried to lie a bit more, first claiming “I don’t know” when asked where she got it from and “I found it” a moment later. Not surprisingly, it really didn’t take too long before she confessed at last that the brush had been buried in her closet since shortly after she got home from school that day.

However, confronted with a new and apparently more painful brush, she decided to try to sneakily return it.

I’d heard enough. Down came her panties, and the old brush gave her the spanking she should have had four days earlier. I let her cry and compose herself for a while before taking the lying young miss to the bathroom, where I thoroughly scrubbed every inch of her dishonest mouth with soap.

Back to her bedroom we went, and she was more properly introduced to the new brush in what was, without question, the hardest spanking she had ever taken or I had ever delivered up to that point in our lives. I scorched and blistered her nether cheeks.

When it finally was over, I laid the new brush down on Rebecca’s dresser. I told that if at any time I came into her room and the brush wasn’t on her dresser, she would get her butt whipped by her dad every day until it is returned, and once it was back she would go over my knee for as many nights at it had been missing. Finally, I added that she would no longer need to worry about the old hairbrush, because this new one was now her very own.

A couple years later, I bought a very similar brush for Michael. When Rebecca was 18 and moved to college, her brush moved into her sister Nicole’s room (though it was borrowed back a few times over the next couple of years, for use on it’s original owner’s bottom.

When Michael moved out of the house, Abigail was just about the right age to inherit his. To this day, each of my younger two have one of those brushes on their dresser, with the same rules, and both feel them as needed.

I probably would never have bought one like that, and at that price, if Rebecca hadn’t given me such motivation, so all her siblings can thank her for more than a few of the marks and bruises their backsides have accumulated over the years.

Contributor: Elizabeth

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