I'm in Trouble - NOT!

In my eternal quest for the perfect belt, I found a lovely one at the local thrift store. It's quite similar to the one in the above picture: thick, black, reasonably wide, and just my size. This one is primarily intended to hold up my jeans, although if Ron would care to sample it as a spanking implement, he's more than welcome. Best of all, it's a genuine Versace, in excellent condition. The name is printed on the metal loop next to the buckle and embossed on the belt itself. And all for a few dollars!

One morning, I laid out my clothing on the bed, and this belt was somewhere in the pile. Fluffy was still snuggled under the blankets but watched me assemble my outfit. I then went to have a shower, and when I came back, there was Fluffy, contentedly chewing on the end of my beautiful belt. I snatched it away and examined the soggy, irregular end; it was now fat and puffy and wouldn't fit through the metal loop beside the buckle. Fluffy, who is not a puppy and should have better manners, sulked because I had confiscated his before-breakfast snack.

I showed the damage to Ron, who assured me that he would do what he could to repair the damage, or at least make it less noticeable. And he did. After letting the dog saliva dry, he trimmed, glued, pressed and painted, and a few hours later proudly showed me his handiwork. I thanked him and hung the belt up to wear the next day.

The following morning again found me assembling my outfit. Striped pullover, grey pants, socks, belt and underwear. Then I went downstairs to get my first cup of coffee before showering. When I came back, Ron was there, and Fluffy was beside him on the bed. Both were staring at a very well-chewed belt, although for different reasons.

"You left your belt on the bed again?" It was a question I didn't want to answer.

"I only left the room for a minute. I didn't think..." I said contritely. Then, "Don't worry about fixing it again."

"I won't." Ron left the bedroom abruptly, and I recognized that tone of voice. Oh well, I could probably do something about the damage myself. I hung the belt on the back of the door to dry and headed to the bathroom to shower.

I considered tossing the belt out, but hated to part with it. It fit so well. After my shower, I dressed then turned to look at the belt and see what needed to be done. It was gone. I checked inside the closet, but it wasn't there. Then I peeked into Ron's study. There on his desk was the belt, a bottle of glue, scissors and black marker. He was ready to repair it all over again.

Awww. Isn't he good to me? Although I'm betting that he'd probably like to improve my memory by applying that belt to a certain part of my anatomy, once the glue dries. But that won't happen. Ron doesn't give discipline spankings. In our house, punishment means NO spanking. When I asked if I was in trouble, he said, "No, there will be no trouble." So I guess you could say I'm NOT in for it.

Maybe I'd better think of a way to thank him for his hard work, and ensure my bottom gets toasted on Sunday.