The hairbrush lay on top of the red boxes that had been sent around for her perusal. She starred at it for a moment while her stomach did gymnastics. Okay so she had been late, but it wasn’t as if she was out parting with the girls or meeting up with men. She had job to do, an important job where people were counting on her.

She stared at the offending object for a moment more before snatching it up. She had been about to throw it across the like a petulant teenager but the hard coolness of it in her hand stopped her. It was made from good wood and it had been expensive. Besides she was no stroppy young teen, she was a grown woman and she didn’t have to put up with this.

“I won’t do it,” she said angrily, addressing her ire at the brush in her hand.

She put it down next to the boxes and smoothed down the front of her skirt of her smart business suit. Looking in the mirror she saw what others saw, a confident 30-something lady in-charge. Okay so she had a reputation for throwing her weight around, having a temper even, an image aided by her fiery red hair.

“You just have to tell him, ‘no more,’ you are not a child and men can’t just treat women like that anymore. They don’t. ‘You won’t.’” She addressed her remarks to the serious woman in the mirror who was looking back at her with hard calculating eyes.

“I met with the Prime Minister this morning,” she said aloud, “Such women are not…”

She could never say the word. Why should she? It was not a word that had anything to do with her.

It’s decided then, she thought giving the woman in the mirror an emphatic nod.

“Time to run a bath,” she said easily, with a confident smile.

The water made a satisfying crash as she turned on the taps and the sound of running water filled the house. Then she tossed in half a dozen of her favourite bath crystals and went back into the bedroom to get undressed.

She got as far as her blouse and underwear with stockings before curiosity got the better of her. She opened the first box and began flipping over the pages. Ah yes, she thought, that old chestnut. Well that is an easy one I’ll just…

In moments she was lost in thought, calculating every angle of the matter in hand and abandoned herself to her work as usual. She didn’t come back until the sound of running water suddenly shut off. She jumped and clutched papers to her chest.

“You left the bath running.” It was his voice; hard and keen. It sent a shiver down her spine as it always did.

“Oh I forgot,” she said sheepishly; confidence, damn it.

“It nearly overflowed onto the floor,” he accused.

“Sorry,” she said, not sounding it. “I was reading some papers…”

“Of course you were,” he cut her off, “Very conscientious of you, but I would have thought that it would keep until tomorrow given it is so late.”

“It’s important,” she said defensively.

“Isn’t it always?” He threw down his jacket onto the bed and took a step towards her.

“Look,” she said, suddenly unable to recall the carefully prepared speech she had rehearsed in her head.

“Oh I’m looking,” he smiled, but she noticed he was unbuttoning his sleeves instead of just taking off his shirt.

“You’re right, it’s late. We can talk about this tomorrow. You must be tired,” she kept her voice firm and even as if she were addressing one of her meetings.

“I am tired. Tired of you breaking promises and never calling to say you will be late.” He was nearer now and his once rugby-hardened frame was intimidating.

“You’re never tired,” he accused.

“Look I’m… I’m sorry. I was delayed. The PM…”

“Called earlier,” he said, folding his arms like a prison wall. “He was surprised you hadn’t got home hours ago.”

“My office…” she began.

“I called them. They said you had left.”

“Oh,” she pulled that face; the cute sideways one that she used when she screwed up. He hadn’t seen it in a while. She was too big for it these days.

Her brain worked overtime and she searched hard for the woman who juggled billions and shifted the resources of nations.

“I had to…” her sentence died as she saw him pick up the hairbrush.

“Come here,” he ordered,

“You can’t I’m…”

He tipped her across his lap easily as he sat on the stool facing her mirror.

“Darling, please,” she wailed.

He answered by hooking his thumb into the waistband of her black lace knickers and drawing them down her stockinged legs. Her tight youthful bottom peeked out from under the hem of her blouse and he patted it admiringly.

“I know I agreed to… I… but don’t you think…” She was eager and 20 again. Earnestly explaining things to a dumb oaf of a rugby player and telling him what he should and shouldn’t do.

The brush cracked down hard across both domes of her prone bottom.

“Ooh, darling, please… ow,” she groaned and then shrieked at the second impact.

“I don’t care who you are at work. I don’t care who you think you are,” he said sternly, spanking her again hard, “Here you are my wife and you will submit to our rules.”

“Ow… yah, don’t… aiyee,” she gasped in quick succession in response to the slow volley of spanks crisply assaulting her bottom.

“Are you telling me you are too big for your boots now for this type of handling?” He paused, the brush hovering above the by now quite red bottom.

“No, but…” she said in a small girlish voice.

“Well alright then,” he said in the tone of a man who had just supplied a crossword puzzle answer to a flummoxed wife and started another round of spanking.

“Ooh, this is so unfair,” she wailed, spluttering to sobs.

“Of course it is,” he replied, spanking her again and again until she yelped at every impact.

The rest of the spanking took a while and by the time she he set her back on her feet she was looking very meek.

“I’m sorry,” she wept and he allowed her to hug into him.

“Silly girl,” he soothed.

“Can I…? Can we?” She said in her cute voice.

“I think my cherry-bottomed little minx can go and stand in the corner before she does anything else,” he growled.

“Yes Sir,” she lisped.

He watched while she obeyed, her cute red bottom peeking out under her blouse as she raised her arms to put them on her head and then he nodded in satisfaction before heading to the shower.

On the way he let some of the too-hot water out of her bath to allow in some cold. It would be ready for her in a while. Then he changed into a bath robe.

Somewhere a phone called him back. He was pleased to see that she made no attempt to move and he teased her by letting it ring for another couple of beats.

“Hello,” he said finally. “The minister, yes she is, but she can’t come to the phone right now. Is it urgent?”

She strained to hear who it might be from the tone of voice reduced as it was to a muffled squeak from where she stood.

“Constituency courtesy call… oh yes thank you, I’ll tell her.”

He put the phone down and turned to look at the nation’s youngest ever cabinet minister where she stood fit to burst in the corner.

“Another admirer wondering if you might be available for something or other. He is going to call your office for an appointment and I should bloody-well think so,” her husband growled.

“Yes Sir,” she said meekly.

“Good girl,” he said, pleased to see that she was finally letting go.

Ends.