It was the next morning, in the semi-awake time, we snuggled over to each other and started kissing. It was one of those "I really liked last night" mornings.

Hubby continued to enjoy my soft cuddly pajamas, a reminder of his first taste of my "inner child" the previous night.

We resumed kissing and touching for a while - mostly with me on my back and him running his hands all over me. Eventually, we were awake enough that we wanted to do more.

I wanted him to use the hairbrush on me. It had been a week or more since I had begun the whole process of finding it, ordering it and giving it to him. My anticipation had been building.

He had rolled over on his back, so I turned over onto my front and propped myself up on my elbows. I looked over at him and wiggled my bottom from side to side. "So," I said, "do you want to use your present on me?"

He giggled and turned back toward me, putting his hand on my bottom and patting it. "Why are you so eager to get yourself spanked?"

I looked at him, he slid his hand inside my PJ bottoms and started playing. He was obviously interested and it didn't seem like he was looking for a way out. I actually had to think about it for a minute in order to answer him. I knew I wanted it, but I wasn't really sure why.

Looking toward the headboard, I said, "I don't know. I guess I've been thinking about it since I ordered the thing and I've gone from being afraid of it to wanting some closure." I looked back toward him and laid down off of my arms. "And I guess I'm kind of turned on by the thought of you using it on me".

He thought about it and looked up and down my body, then a light seemed to go on. "Ah, because it's what she used when she caught you playing with it?"

I winced and started to turn away from him - actually, to turn my bottom away from him. It was instinctive. The memory of my mother using the hairbrush on me was enough to get me into a momentary panic.

But I wasn't going anywhere. He had his hand on my bottom and put pressure on it to return me to the face-down position and hold me there. That fed into my panic but it was exciting at the same time. We had played erotically with my spanking memories before and the panicky feeling of a moment like this was an erotic trigger.

He snuggled even closer and draped his leg across both of mine to hold me in place. With that, I stopped trying to escape.

I thought for a moment to remember the question that had set me off. "Yeah," I answered. "It was usually in my bedroom so it was handy for her whenever she caught me."

"So," he continued the thought, "if you were downstairs when she got it into her head to spank you, she would just use her hand?" He slid his other arm underneath my chest and pulled me into him so that his entire body was pressed into me - and our noses were almost touching.

I relaxed, surrendering myself to what was becoming a more in-depth discussion. He already knew the answer to his question. He just wanted me to talk about it - in detail. Telling him would excite both of us, each in our own way.

At the same time, I wondered if he was going to go get the hairbrush. Was this a warm-up or was he going to spank me with his hand and make me wait until another time for the hairbrush treatment?

Either way, I would go along with whatever he decided. After all, this was part of his birthday present.

I nodded. His eyes delved into my thoughts as I spoke them. "Most of the time, if she was going to spank me right away, she had to use her hand. If she wanted to use the brush, she would send me upstairs and then it would be a longer, more drawn-out thing."

His hand had slid down to cup the underside of the cheek closest to him. He squeezed and let his fingers find their way between and around to the front. With our noses already touching, we reached our lips out and kissed for a minute, with lots of tongue. I opened my legs and let him have better access to me.

"Would she make you go get it, or would she send you upstairs and then come up and do it there?" This was definitely getting kinky. He had his hand inches from my center and at the same time was probing deeply for specifics, making me remember each of the different ways I used to be spanked.

I opened my legs wider. "It depended on her mood. If she made me go get it, usually it was because she wanted to control me more - make me serve up the means of my punishment. Those were usually over faster."

His eyes are shiny blue. At that moment, my whole field of vision was taken up by his face. I could clearly see the lust in his eyes, his eyebrows, the way his cheeks were puffed up in a smile. And I could hear his breathing, waiting for me to continue.

"If she sent me to my room and then came up to do it there, it was going to be a lecture, followed by a slower, more methodical spanking. Probably she would stop in the middle a couple of times and lecture me some more."

He kissed me again, actually it was more like he was licking my lips.

After a moment, he pulled his tongue back and said, "What if she had caught you doing this?" His fingers reached for my lips - the lips between my legs - parted them and slid their way to my center spot. I closed my eyes and moaned.

I let myself feel what he was doing to me and answered him at the same time. "If she caught me doing that, all she had to do was grab the hairbrush from the dresser or go next door to the bathroom and get it."

"And then what?" At least three of his fingers were prying, sliding and diddling me. This was no longer foreplay. He was going to make me come in a few minutes if he kept it up.

"And then she would pull the blankets back, make me turn over on my stomach - if I wasn't already there - and start hitting."

He gave me the full treatment between my legs, at the same time making me recall the kind of spanking I would have suffered if I had been caught doing it. The combination was primal for me.

"Wouldn't you try to deny it?"

I had skipped a detail and hubby wasn't going to allow that. "Yes, but if she already had the hairbrush in her hand, it wasn't going to matter."

"And then what?" he asked.

I winced, recalling the sensation of the hairbrush smacking my bottom and thighs. "And then I would start crying."

"You said that she started 'hitting' not 'spanking'. What's the difference?"

I started to cry. His questioning of me was brutal, reminding me how much her punishments had hurt. "It wasn't a slapping sensation," I said. My sniffles and tears and little halting breaths didn't stop me from explaining. "The back of the brush isn't flat, it's concave. It feels more like being caned than being paddled."

The whole time his hand was working my most sensitive parts, pressing me higher, pleasuring me while his voice and his mind were hurting me.