#495) The Hairbrushing

Ever since she was small, Ellen’s mother had brushed her hair before the child’s bedtime. Mother wanted to brush the luxurious blond locks while looking the pretty girl in the eye, but for some strange reason, the headstrong Ellen preferred to throw her hair over her head and sit with her face down for this ritual. He mother would brush the thick mane with one hundred strokes and when Ellen threw her hair back onto her shoulders, she had reason to hold her head high; her hair was stunningly gorgeous. That hairbrush was never employed in any other way. Ellen’s mother would sometimes threaten to upend the girl, apply the back of that wooden hairbrush to Ellen’s other end, to paddle the girl for her attitude or misdeeds. Just hearing this warning was enough to reform Ellen immediately. She prided herself on being a good girl, a rule follower. The mutual respect and reciprocated love was clearly evident to anyone who watched any mother-daughter interactions between these two.
All of this seemed to crumble away in an instant. In Ellen’s senior year of high school, her mother caught Covid and died suddenly. Ellen was farmed-out to her nearest relative, an uncle, the brother of a father Ellen didn’t even remember. Ellen had to move away from all her friends, to finish school in a different state. This state was hit so hard by Covid that Ellen didn’t even get to have a graduation ceremony! The girl seemed to walk around in a daze, a permanent pout on her once pretty features.
“Come here, girl,” this uncle, Jerome, commanded of Ellen one evening after he got home from work.
Ellen interrupted her Cinderella-like duties of finishing cooking their dinner and setting the table to walk across the room to where he always sat.
“Yes, Uncle Jerry?”
“Sit on my lap, girl.”
She sat instead on the arm of the chair.
“You sure have pretty hair!” he remarked and stroked it.
It creeped Ellen out to have him touch her with such familiarity. She threw her head forward and tossed her tresses over her face, as she used to do, this time to keep from looking at her lecherous uncle, and to keep he hair out of his reach.
“What’s the matter with you, girl?” Come here…” and he reached for her.
“I just thought I’d brush my hair, Uncle Jerry…” she countered. Ellen rose from where they were tussling to try to go to the chair across the room, where her hairbrush still rested from the use it got the night before in Ellen’s hand.
Jerry sprang out of his chair and beat her in getting to the other one and the hairbrush. “Sit on my lap. I’ll brush your hair for you…” he ordered, slightly winded from the efforts.
“No, I…”
Abruptly, the man took the young lady by the wrist. Instead of pulling her down onto his lap, he pulled her across it. “All I’ve heard from you is ‘no’ to this, and ‘no’ to that ever since I let you move in here! You seem to have an ‘I’m better than you and all this’ kind of attitude, and I’m tired of it! Tell me, Ellen, have you ever felt the business side of this hairbrush, instead of the bristles?”
With that he began belaboring the seat of Ellen’s skirt with hairbrush spanks.
“No! Don’t!” she protested.
“Again with the ‘no’s’! You didn’t answer my question, have you ever been spanked?”
“No!” Ellen repeated.
“And it shows! And it’s high time that was rectified…” He flipped the pleated wool skirt up out of the way.
“Please don’t!” Ellen pleaded.
But it was too late. Jerome had it in his mind that the girl was a malcontent, a sour-puss, a hell of a lot like her stuck-up mother, and that this treatment was the best cure for those ailments.
Ellen was feeling about fourteen different things at once, many of them conflicting feelings. She hated Uncle Jerry for manhandling her! She was humiliated and angered to be treated this way, to be put in this position, to be inappropriately stripped of some of her clothing. That hairbrush, long her favorite possession, hurt like hell! At the same time, she was thankful to have that full head of hair at this moment, it acted as a curtain, shielding her from having to look at her ogre of an uncle. It also shielded from view the fact that this scenario was extremely potent in Ellen’s mind. She’d entertained fantasies about what it must be like to be spanked… But in her vivid imagination, the honors were done by a handsome stranger, a white knight of sorts, who would ride in and show her her submissive place, then ride away with her to his kingdom. NOT by a beast of a brute like her uncle!
Ellen happened to have chosen white cotton panties with a repetitive snail print in shades of pink all over them. Up to this moment, they’d been one of her favorite pair of undergarments, but now this leach was looking at them. And then a horrifying thought occurred to Ellen, and she silently repeated the fervent wish, please don’t pull them down, PLEASE DON’T pull them down!
It only took as long for this mind-filling hope to be banished from her brain as it took for the first solid swat to land on the seat of those panties. Oh, fuck, that stings!” she screamed in silence. The second wallop was exponentially worse, the third beyond all compare, and it just kept going… He covered the entire seat of her panties, spanked the backs of her thighs, and then he stopped to let the pain blossom into full bloom.
As if all of this wasn’t bad enough, Uncle Jerry then chose to rub her barely-clad bottom with his palm. She tried to avoid his touch by involuntarily arching away from it, but that served to press her tummy against his lap, and Ellen was sure that she felt his erection pressing against her hip…
Ellen felt one of his fingers enter underneath the elastic hem of her nearest leg hole. Jerry was appraising the thin cotton between this finger and his thumb as he remarked, “Not too much protection from the paddling, eh?” She didn’t know what to say, so laid there mute. “I’ll make you a deal, Ellen… You agree to pull these knickers down, and I give you one more set of spanks, or you keep this flimsy fabric in place and I give you two more sets. What’ll it be?”
That was no choice! she wanted to yell. I didn’t do anything wrong!, I’ve already have enough! She wanted to protest. Please, show me mercy, she thought. But reality invaded her train of thought, derailing it, with the silky/slimy voice for her guardian.
“Time is ticking, Ellen. What’ll it be?”
She didn’t think her poor bum could endure two more sets of painful swats, so with resignation she whimpered, “Take them down and give me just one more brief set…”
This made her uncle laugh uproariously, causing his manhood to prod her hip repeatedly. “Nice try. You need to arch up and pull them down yourself, showing me that you agree to this necessary measure, and then, the second set will be just as thorough as the first. Now, let’s get this over with, shall we?”
Even though her tears, sweat, and snot were making her blond tresses stick to her face uncomfortably, she was thankful for this curtain of hair protecting her from having to see the brute, or letting him see the evidence that his beating was really getting through to the girl. With self-loathing, she arched up, reached back, and pulled her sweat-soaked panties down off her cheeks. She didn’t want to think whether he could see her vagina right now, was able to glimpse her anus as she disrobed and elevated herself right toward his face.
Before she was ready (how could she be?) and without warning, he began the second set. Being panty-less seemed to make no difference; it hurt like hell! He was without mercy, giving her a second set that was just as exhausting as the first, including more swats to the backs of Ellen’s thighs that made the girl yelp and jump and, she was sure, give more looks of her charms to this sadist.
Then he stopped. She didn’t give him the opportunity to rub her bared bum, Ellen launched off his lap as she pulled her undies back up and then brushed her skirt down. She wanted to run to her room, but he caught her by the wrist.
“Very well. I think that did us both a great deal of good,” here he gave her a roguish smile. “I think a maintenance spanking like this on the order of once a week will keep everything copacetic. Mind your P’s and Q’s, Miss. We wouldn’t want to have to escalate to three sets, or more… or to the cane…”
“No. We wouldn’t want that!” she managed to say. As she pulled her hand away, Uncle Jerry pressed her hot hairbrush into it. The heat reminded Ellen that it was now a new implement, different from the one she’d been used to and used previously. It now was a doubled-edged sword, with one side purposed for her head of hair, and the other side purposed for hurting her hind end.
“Your hair needs brushing desperately,” he said. “I don’t think you want me to do it. See that you do a good job of it before bed.”
“Yes, sir.” As she walked (with difficulty) back to her bedroom, several thoughts passed through her mind. She detested her lecherous uncle, but he was a vehicle she would ride for her corporal punishment fantasy fulfillment. She had new-found respect for the implement in her hand, its second role in her life now. She let her fingers run along the handle. In the privacy of her bedroom, she wanted to experiment with this handle, play with it where only her fingers had played before, her private places. That hairbrush would soon have a third role in her life…

2 responses to “#495) The Hairbrushing”

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