This is not a Christmas story but it does hint at the end of one to come. I have been suffering for a few weeks, shingles, which has made me very unsociable and grumpy. Two folks usually give me a Christmas spanking and both have had to be cancelled. Hence this pretty long story and, unusually for me, a good deal of semi sexual detail. Pure fantasy of course although, I suspect, nurses such as Miss Nettles figure in many an over active male mind. Happy Christmas. Shingle bells, shingle bells, shingle all the way. Alfred Roy
Taking Care
I should be embarrassed. I was the first
time but, when you have been bathed half a dozen times, you get used to it.
Well I did anyway. My brother said it’s because I am only fifteen and don’t
have his hormones. I also don’t have his arms. Well one of them. My right one.
Have to wank left handed, he said, when you start, or get someone else to do it
for you. He seemed amused by this but I reckon he was covering up distress.
That’s what my sister said. She’s my twin and we are two years younger than
Adam. They were both gutted by my accident, you could see that in spite of the
forced hilarity. I lost the arm in a car accident about eighteen months ago
and, to compound the difficulties, my saved left arm is taking yonks to heal.
But, eventually, the hospital let me home and dad employed a nurse come home
help to see us through. Had to really as mum, in the car with me, is back in
hospital and not likely to come out again for months. Can’t have three
teenagers causing riots, he said, during the long holidays. You’ll all need a
firm hand. Not sure, then, if he meant that literally but, looking back, it was
a portentous comment. That summer was one never to be forgotten.
I suppose you could say we were an
incredibly lucky family in some ways. We had a fantastic house in the country
and we all went to private schools. Never any money problems, mum had inherited
wealth and dad a highflying job which took him all over the world. We wanted
for little. But in other ways, we also had our fair share of bad luck. The car
accident was just one of many. Adam spent two years in hospital, on and off,
when he was little with heart problems. Thankfully, now fixed. And Sophie, bane
and love of my life, was the twin I nearly lost when our holiday boat capsized about
five years ago. Adam said we were jinxed and repeated it after the car
accident. True I said, but we have all survived. Unlike Tom he reminded me, as
is he needed to. Tom was the eldest of the four of us, five years older than Adam.
Or would have been. About two weeks before my accident he was killed in
Afghanistan. Dad reckons that mum was thinking of all that when she lost
control of the car. As I said we are an incredibly lucky family.
But what we lack in luck we make up for in
humour and resilience. We get the resilience from dad and the humour from mum,
or is it the other way round? Thing is they both had both qualities so we,
Adam, Sophie and me had double portions of the two. That’s what Adam said, and
Sophie repeated it when Miss Nettles arrived. The nurse come home help. Miss
Nettles. Ambrosine Nettles. Thirty five, serious, old fashioned. In manner and
dress. You’ll need your humour with her Sophie said and giggled. And your
resilience Adam said, in spades. Glad she’s not my nurse. I just looked open
mouthed. I’m Simon by the way and I have just got off to a bad start with dad’s
little helper. We all stared in amazement as Miss Nettles walked up the garden
to the house. What had dad done?
She had arrived on the Wednesday afternoon
of the start of a long and glorious summer. We three were in the garden
drinking beer. That might sound a bit strange for two fifteen year olds and
their seventeen year old brother but it was homemade stuff, one of dad’s
passions, and we had been virtually weaned on it. Miss Nettles, our Ambrosine,
in starchy nurse’s uniform and light brown coat seemed singularly unimpressed.
She carried a small case, a holdall, and a distinct frown. Are one of you
children, not Simon obviously, going to help me with these, she said. No
introductions, no hellos, just a veiled instruction. Adam looked nonplussed and
Sophie smiled her widest and most insincere smile. I don’t like you it said,
almost instantly. I looked at Adam and said I would lend a hand but it’s at the
hospital. We all corpsed and Adam spluttered in his beer. Our Ambrosine merely
smiled icily and said, unnervingly calmly, then Adam, it is Adam isn’t it, can
show me to my room. We can introduce ourselves at tea. And with that she
flounced, or something equally dramatic, to the house.
We questioned dad closely that evening.
Who and what is she and where does she fit? Simple he said. He was to be away
for six weeks and she was to run the house and nurse me. She came highly
recommended and it would be best if we co-operated. Apart from her, Miss
Nettles, and a cleaning lady who came in three mornings a week we would be on
our own. It was either that or shutting up the house for the summer and sending
us away. He reckoned we would prefer this option. We did but not because of Our
Ambrosine, as we called her behind her back. She seemed to have little sense of
humour, was over efficient, and insisted on us obeying a few house rules for
her stay. As the latter included being in bed by ten and not drinking dad’s
beer in the house we were unimpressed. But other than that she generally left
us alone. Except for me. She was a qualified nurse and tended to my remaining
arm with a professional expertise. In fact in her nursing role she was almost
likeable, it was the unfamiliar role of controlling three teenagers which
caused her most discomfort. There was just one aspect of that nursing role that
caused me some initial concern. She was determined to carry on where the
hospital left off and that included me showering at least twice a week. For
some reason that didn’t bother me too much at the hospital, different nurses on
different days and a sense of anonymity. But at home with a person I was seeing
regularly unnerved me a bit. And hormones were beginning to kick in, in spite
of what Adam said. I’ve got used to it now, and other things, as she has been
here two weeks and made me shower at least six times. But I still shudder at
the first time, especially as, bizarrely, I got what I reckon was my first ever
serious erection.
I had been getting pretty good at most
everyday things. I could dress myself and go the lavatory without help, thank
God. Both tasks took five times as long as normal but it was better than the
alternative. But showering, as they told me in hospital, was difficult if not
impossible. Mainly because I needed to keep my damaged arm dry. So I used to
close my eyes and let them get on with it. Initially bed baths but, as I got
stronger, trips to the shower with the available nurse. Usually an older, no nonsense,
one. I got used to it so did not get too agitated when, on her third day,
Nettles said I needed to shower. To save time she took my clothes off in the
bathroom and that, I reckon, was her first mistake. In hospital it was just a case
of taking off the pyjama top and pulling the cord on my pants. Within a blink I
would be naked. But at home the command, that is what it was, came at the end
of a day when we had all been having fun in the garden. She had to strip an
awful lot more. Shirt, shoes, socks, jeans, underpants. One by one. I found it
exciting as well as embarrassing. Especially when she pulled my underpants down
and off. Sorry Miss, I said, looking at the stiffness in my cock. She ignored
it. You are a boy she said, it is to be expected. I stepped into the shower,
hoping my strange growth would go away. It didn’t and it got worse when she
turned on the water and started to rub me with the soap. First my back and
chest and then my legs and buttocks. The last bit took my breath away and I
closed my eyed firmly and tightly when her hands went to my private bits. They
need cleaning as well she said, even the stiff bit. I thought I would die. She
did it briskly and efficiently and quickly moved on to washing my hair, taking
care to keep my one arm away from the water flow. I had survived and breathed
thankfully when I realised my unexpected erection was subsiding. I learnt two
things that day. One was that no boy has any control over his appendage. It
rises and falls at will. The second was that some folks, some women, have
strange habits that please. This one certainly did. As I stepped out of the
shower she delivered a sharp and resounding smack of her hand to my wet and
naked bottom. They must have heard it downstairs. Ouch, I said, what was that
for? For failing to control yourself, Simon, for having unclean thoughts. I had
not a clue what she meant, all I knew was that I had a sharp sting on the left
cheek of my bottom and, truth be told, it felt rather nice. Nettles by name, and
Nettles by nature. How much so I was yet to find out.
The first clue came from Adam, my older
and so called wiser brother. She’s Nettles by name and nettles by nature is our
Ambrosine, he said to me one morning, adding, I reckon that’s why dad employed
her. The phrase struck me as the one I had called to mind after she first
showered me. After that she took care to ensure showers took place in the
morning before I dressed. No slow and hormone inducing stripping and no
subsequent hand stinging slap on bum. Don’t you know he said, pouring himself a
second cup of disgustingly thick Turkish coffee and lighting a cigarette, much
frowned upon by Our Ambrosine. He looked at me quizzically. She’s out, he said,
shopping with the cleaner. And, proceeding to puff on his clandestine weed,
told me what I clearly did not know. You must have been on one of your hospital
visits, which is why you missed the drama. What drama, I said. Our Nettles got
cross with Sophie, he said. Last Tuesday. She came in late the night before and
gave her some lip. Asked to apologise the next day more lip spurt forth. Upshot
was Miss Nettles gave her a spanking, Sophie, right there and then in the
kitchen, in front of the cleaner. No messing, knickers down and on her bare
behind. She howled for England. I heard it. All over when I got to the kitchen
but no doubt what had happened. Sophie was bawling and rubbing her behind and
threatening Miss Nettles, utterly calm I might say, with all sorts of dire
threats. The cleaner looked gobsmacked, as I was. But amusing all the same. Do
Sophie good. But today she threatened me with the same. You are not too old at
seventeen, she said, to get what Sophie got. Just because she caught me smoking
one of these, he waved his cigarette around to emphasise the point. Just let
her try, he said. Just let her try I echoed the thought. Sophie spanked by Miss
Nettles and hating it and Adam threatened with a spanking from her and
dismissing it. And me? Listening to all this. What did I, Simon, think? Fifteen
year old Simon remembering the showers and the smacked behind, albeit
fleetingly. I thought it might be rather nice. Might be rather nice to be
spanked by Miss Nettles, especially if she did it on my bare behind.
She did. Only a few days after Adam
related the story of Sophie’s spanking. And she did it exactly as I had wished,
exactly as I had fantasised. On my bare behind after a serious lecture and slow
and deliberate preparation. Could she read my mind? It was my own fault. Adam
had said, amongst other things, that he thought Miss Nettles was a bit of a
sadist. Her flushed and animated face after spanking Sophie clearly indicated a
woman of strange passions. He had read too many dubious books I said. She was
strange but not a sadist. He disagreed. Wouldn’t surprise me, he said, if she
had straps and canes buried in her bureau ready to wreak havoc on our behinds.
Such women exist and not just in books. It got me thinking. Dad had made it
clear that Miss Nettles had been employed to keep an eye on us. And he had said
something else which did not register at the time we questioned him but was
beginning to take on a special significance. You either accept her, he had
said, or I shut up shop for a couple of months. She comes highly recommended
and I have given her full powers. Full powers. Now what did that mean? Did she
have disciplinary implements buried away in her room, ready to whack us with? I
decided to find out. I decided to search. My timing was bad and, being so, I
discovered that Miss Nettles, Our Ambrosine, was indeed a woman not to be
messed with. No canes, no straps, either discovered or used but a hand of
vicious and stinging qualities. Especially when applied to a fifteen year old
backside. As the first smack landed emphatically into my bared bottom my
fantasy died.
‘You do know I have spanked Sophie?’
‘Yes, Adam told me.’
‘So it will not surprise you, Simon,
that I intend the same for you.’
‘That’s abuse. You are my nurse. Besides
I don’t have any arms.’
‘Not strictly true and not relevant. I
do not intend to spank your arms.’
‘I am too old to be spanked.’
‘No boy is too old, not even Adam if he
deserves it. You certainly deserve it, invading my private space. What did you
expect to find?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘I think you do, but I am not
interested. You have stepped out of line and your father has given me
permission to deal with such matters as I see fit.’
As she said this she drew me closer
towards her and started to undo my trousers. We were in her bedroom, the room
in which I had been caught. She had closed the door and locked it. A sure sign
that I was in serious trouble. As my pants were pulled to my knees I registered
what she had said about dad. He’d never spanked us, and neither had mum, but
both had said that it would probably do us all good occasionally. Well they
were getting their wish. I thought that as my underpants followed my trousers
down my legs. She was sitting on the edge of the bed and pulled me towards her
and over her knees, my bare bum upended and ready for action. I shouldn’t feel
too embarrassed as she had seen all I had many times. But not like this, not as
a little boy over her knee waiting to be spanked. I had mused on the
possibility many times since she spanked Sophie and the idea appealed. That
appeal faded the moment her left hand lifted my shirt and her right connected
with my bare bottom. My howling was about to begin. Boy could our Miss Nettles
spank. Both of my poor cheeks were walloped at least a dozen times and I
struggled manfully, arms or not, to wriggle free. But her left arm was firmly
around my waist, holding up my shirt to ensure that the area to be spanked was
well exposed, and my soft and vulnerable bottom was well and truly smacked. I
could not see but the heat rising from my bum suggested a picture of vivid red.
By the time she stopped, and the spanking could not have taken more than a
couple of minutes, I was in tears. She raised me up and, as she lowered my
shirt, did the decent thing and gently massaged my bottom. After all, she said,
I could not do it myself. Standing there, pants still at my knees, her soft
hand on my naked bum almost made the earlier stings worthwhile.
‘Dry your tears Simon, it wasn’t that
bad.’
‘Tell my bottom that.’
‘Sophie took it better, even if she was
abusive afterwards.’
‘Maybe she has a tougher bum.’
‘Nonsense. Boy’s bottoms are much more
resilient. You will be fine within half an hour.’
‘Doesn’t feel like it at the moment.’
‘Good. Will teach you to behave
yourself.’
‘And if I don’t.’
‘Then perhaps you will feel my cane.’
‘Cane?’
‘The one you couldn’t find.’
She was redressing me during all this
and she could not have failed to notice the erection I was displaying. It had
started as she rubbed my bottom after the spanking and, as much as I tried, I
could not control it. Pulling up my underpants and trousers was an exercise in
physical delicacy. She made no comment but, when dressed, she patted my burning
bottom again and said that I was a strange but interesting boy. My cock twitched
again. It might only be fifteen but it was getting weird sensations. I told
Adam all this the following day. You are a masochist he said, nothing weird about
that. Lots of men like being spanked and they got their fixation in childhood.
I reminded him that I was not a child but, wafting away the smoke from another
of his revolting cigarettes, declined any other comment. Sophie joined us and
smirked that she had heard that I had suffered as she had and mused that only Adam
was now a Nettles virgin. Unlike you, Adam said, our Simon quite enjoyed it. I
was about to protest when Sophie said something that got me thinking. It runs
in the family, she said, all at least amongst some of us. We both asked her
what she meant and she just pulled a face, one of her most irritating habits. I
discovered the facts behind the enigmatic comment later. I overheard the
Pauline our cleaner, she said, talking to Our Ambrosine on the day she spanked
me. Full of admiration, the cow. Said it was long overdue. We were all nice
kids, she said, but spoilt, and a few smacked behinds would do us all good. I
didn’t say anything but in Sophie’s case I was inclined to agree. I loved her
to death but she could be a monster on her bad days. Bloody cheek, Sophie
continued, she wouldn’t have been so eager if it had been her bare bum getting
walloped. But the most interesting comment came from Nettles. Their father
agrees, she said, which is partly why he hired me. I can combine nursing with
old fashioned correction. A smacked behind can help to develop an individual on
the right path and he should know, she said. I reckon she would have said more
but they saw me in the doorway and stopped talking. Now my darling Simon, my
‘armless brother, what do you make of that?
I didn’t know what to make of it other
than the fact that Nursie Nettles had arrived with a dual mission. Tending to
all my medical needs was the obvious one, with a not now so hidden agenda to
discipline us when needed. With ‘old fashioned correction’ to quote Sophie
quoting Nettles quoting dad. And dad should know, she had said. That was the
most perplexing comment and as such I dismissed it from my mind. Besides I had
other things to think about. Our Ambrosine said I was well overdue for a
shower, she had not had time that morning, and it would be the first one since
being spanked the day before. A strange surge went through my young body. Apart
from the first time she had given me a shower my appendage had behaved itself.
She had been quick and efficient and professional and, being early morning, my
mind was only slowly awakening. But today’s was late morning and followed both
the previous day’s private and personal walloping and the discussions with Adam
and Sophie. I flinched when she made the announcement, just before lunch, and
blushed profusely when my revolting siblings both gave knowing smirks. I don’t
need a shower I said. I’ll be the judge of that, she said, in a manner which
defied contradiction and engendered a sense that this lady was finding her
feet. Upshot was that ten minutes later I was standing in the bathroom in my
birthday suit, eyes closed and fervently praying that nothing of me would rise
to the auspicious occasion. The prayer failed.
‘Your bottom seems to have recovered
remarkably well, Simon.’
‘Yes Miss.’
‘One would hardly know it had been
spanked.’
‘No Miss.’
‘I shall have to do better next time, if
there is a next time, I usually leave shining beetroot cheeks for at least
a couple of days.’
‘It hurt Miss, and Sophie agrees with
me.’
‘It is meant to Simon. There is no point
otherwise.’
‘Yes Miss.’
‘And Sophie would have felt more
discomfort, such a small and tender girl’s bottom.’
‘Yes Miss.’
‘You seems very dutiful today, Simon. I
am pleased.’
‘Yes Miss.’
‘I shall have to take your pants down
more often.’
And on that point she laughed and turned
on the shower. The water, thankfully, engulfed me and took my mind off a penis
which had stiffened more and more as she had chatted. I think she knew the
turmoil she was creating in my mind both by the situation, me naked and
waiting, and by the conversation. Fixated as it was on my spanking of the
previous day. As the soap and water, and her soft and large hands, went to work
I concentrated on the task in hand. Trying to forget the heady conversation and
the memories of the previous day I sensed those hands doing their expert job.
Cleaning all of me, all my orifices and personal bits, washing my hair,
massaging my bottom and legs, cleansing my back. If I had been capable I reckon
I would have spurted on that day and I reckon she knew that, hands exploring my
young body interspersed with comments on my spanking. By the time I stepped out
of the shower and a warming towel dried my body I was ready, and she knew it,
to be spanked again. To be spanked, or anything else she had in my mind. What I
did not know, and in fairness neither did she then, what she eventually had in
mind was a damn sight more than a spanking. And this next time it was not
private and personal. This next time was a threesome. I got caned and I did not
get it alone. When I bent over the leather chair with my bottom in the air I
was following fifteen year old twin Sophie and seventeen year old Adam in a
painful disciplinary dance. By then we definitely knew that dad would be
pleased. We knew because we found a letter that he had written to her. We knew
because she caught us reading it. And we knew because all of us, sentenced to a
caning, reckoned she had left it lying around as a trap. Sophie read it out and
her eyes widened in amazement as she did so. Adam and I just stood transfixed
as a veil was lifted from our eyes. Dad had planned this and the realisation
coincided with our realising that Nurse Abrosine Nettles was both watching and
waiting. A short hiatus in this narrative will allow that letter to be
displayed in full. It explains a lot.
‘My Dear Ambrosine, it has been so long
since I saw you last I hesitate on how to begin. Life has been pretty dire for
my family over recent months. First Tom being killed and then the car accident.
It has taken us months to get back on an even keel and now my lovely wife is
back in hospital. I should close up the house and send my kids off to relatives
for the summer but I know they would hate that. They are mad but lovely and will
make for fantastic and amusing adults. We are all a bit bohemian and all we
lack, as I often tell them, is a bit of old fashioned discipline. I know that
your special services have helped me through many traumas. My wife understands,
always did, my need to visit you every few months. Always put me back on an
even keel and helped, even enhanced, my coping with the commercial world. I
reckon it would help my kids if they got a taste of your special medicine. Not
that I want to be around to see it. Much too soft with them. I hinted that you
would fit the bill when we spoke on the phone. Simon needs nursing care and the
fact that you have that qualification as well makes you a bit of a shoe in.
Contact me at my office and we can finalise the details. Basically I would like
you to live in for the month or so I am away, look after Simon and sort out the
other two delightful reprobates. And smack the bottoms, hard as you like, of
all three when they need it. They will thank you in later life. Regards,
Nigel.’
Sophie was singularly unimpressed by the
reference to being reprobates and Adam thought it a bit off that dad was
sending strange letters to a strange woman advocating that she smack his seventeen
year old son’s bottom. I felt it all made sense given what I had experienced at
Our Ambrosine‘s hands. Not only had she spanked me but she regularly bathed me,
and on the last occasion she seemed to relish talking about it. The spanking
not the showering. To talk and reflect on smacking bottoms to a naked and tumescent
boy. I was getting hooked on the things my dad needed, must be genetic, but the
prospect did nothing for my siblings. Sophie desired not a repeat and Adam
abhorred an introduction. But the variety of feelings from thrill, to fear, to
distaste, mattered not a jot. Three siblings with mixed emotions turned and
listened as the incriminating letter dropped from their hands. All three, eyes
firmly fixed on our Ambrosine Nettles, learnt very quickly that they were going
to be caned. We were lined up in book laden study so revered by our dad. By now
the scenario was well established. Musings and clandestine letters, not to say
the earlier spankings of me and Sophie, spelt out what was expected. Miss
Nettles had been given carte blanche to our undeserving bottoms by dad and she
was not to be thwarted. She made that clear. He loved us and hated the thought
of sending us away when circumstances conspired against us. Him on serious
commercial business and mum in hospital. But his arrangements had a downside.
At least for us. A stinging Nettles bent on fulfilling her brief. If we refused
to accept her sentence, six strokes each, she would resign and throw the house
into confusion. We had no choice. Sophie cried at the thought, Adam gulped in
resignation, and I both hated and thrilled in equal proportions. But we
accepted. Report to the study, she said, for six cane strokes each on the place
that nature intended. And then the house
could come to some sort of order. We slowly and fearfully made the small
journey, all of us thinking we had to do this for dad. I said we were a weird
family.
To an outsider it must have looked very
strange. Three teenagers, the eldest only seventeen, standing in only their
underclothes in front of a crisply uniformed nurse. Why she was wearing her
nurse’s uniform I do not know but, with a vicious looking cane in her hand, it
added a special frisson. At least for me. Nurse Ambrosine Nettles was in her
element, full disciplinary power sanctioned by an absent parent, was about to
give consummate vent to her special remedies. She said she would deal with
Sophie first. Well she was a girl and the youngest by twenty minutes. On that
basis I thought I would be second in line but for some reason she decided that
Adam would be next and I would be last. When bid, Sophie stepped forward,
already in tears, and bent over the leather chair that had been conveniently
placed in the centre of the room. Its low back made it ideal for its intended
use. I can’t remember the last time I had seen my twin’s knickered bottom. I
must have over the years but in this situation it fascinated, especially as I
was to receive what she was currently getting. Her knickers had been pulled up
tightly and smoothed across her cheeks and her top lifted, expertly. Nothing,
other than flimsy cotton, stood in the way of Our Ambrosine’s cane. She rested
it on Sophie’s cheeks and, unsurprisingly, they twitched in nervous
anticipation and the tears enhanced. Be grateful these are not coming down,
Nettles said, emphasising the point with a couple of light cane taps. Sophie
twitched again and immediately followed with a loud and piercing scream as the
cane lashed across the centre of her bum. A second stroke joined the first and
Sophie jumped up, tears flowing and screams pleading, and rubbed a bottom that
was clearly on fire. I was transfixed as Adam, standing next to me, shivered in
teenage fear. Get back Sophie and stay down, came the command, otherwise I
shall not spare your modesty. The threat worked and Sophie took the final four
strokes, if not stoically, at least with grim resolution. Nurse Nettles allowed
her to leave the room, still clutching her bottom and howling, and I considered
her lucky that we did not get to see her bared bottom. The whole process had
taken no more than two or three minutes and it was with flushed face and steel
in the eyes that our chastiser summoned Adam to the chair.
‘Adam you know what to do. Bend over the
chair.’
‘And if I refuse this assault on my
person?’
‘Then I shall resign my position. It is
as simple as that.’
‘Perhaps I don’t care.’
‘Oh, I think you do Adam. It isn’t just
that you and Sophie will go away. Simon will have to go back into hospital.’
‘He might like that.’
‘I doubt it, he is getting used to me
and my methods.’
‘Unlike me?’
‘And it is what your father wishes.’
‘He wishes us to be caned? I doubt it.’
‘He wishes you to stay together and,
though you don’t agree, he thinks having your bottoms smacked occasionally will
do you good.’
‘I don’t call what you just did to
Sophie a bottom smacking.’
‘It was deserved Adam. As is yours. And
if you keep me waiting much longer I shall take down your underpants as extra
punishment.’
‘You wouldn’t.........’
‘What. Wouldn’t dare Adam? I think you
know me better than that. Now bend over the chair and let us get this over. It
will hurt but it will not take long.’
I listened to all this, fascinated. Adam
was trembling, in spite of his superficial bravado, and Our Ambrosine Nettles
had the determined look of an avenging nurse. Adam was going to be caned and he
knew it. I was enthralled, both at the prospect and that I would be next. My
big brother was about to get his bottom whacked and when he bent over I could
not help but admire his shapely backside. Fuller than Sophie’s small backside
and distinctly boyish. And enhanced by the tight white trunks which clung to
every curve. Nurse Nettles took her time, I think she appreciated the male
bottom on the cusp of manhood and her hands smoothed out the covering cloth
and, erotically, made Adam spread his legs and lift his backside. A good
target, she said, and a good bottom. Well qualified for discipline. And
discipline he got. She walloped that cane into him six times, about ten seconds
apart, and Adam gasped at every stroke. But though he wriggled and squirmed he
absorbed each one and never attempted to get up. When he did, after the last
stroke had seared the centre of his behind, he had tears in his eyes and hands
rubbing away almost as vigorously as Sophie had done. She let him go, to
recover his composure in private and so it was just me left in the room with
the medical woman from whom I had no secrets. And this time it was not for a
showering or a spanking, or all the other many things she did for me. This time
it was for a caning. Six times. On my bottom. And I had seen what she had done
to Sophie and Adam. I was both scared and thrilled and now it was my turn. I
have to say I was a little disappointed. I bent over meekly, unlike Adam. I
lifted my bottom, as instructed, and enjoyed her rearrangement of my underpants.
I fearfully awaited the cane and screwed up my face when the six strokes
struck. And when I rose I had a few tears and lots of rubs to my behind. I had
taken my caning better than Sophie but not as well as Adam. And she said so. I
mumbled something and gratefully left when she dismissed me. The pain in my bum
was excruciating and I knew it would throb for a while. But I did not mind
that. What I minded, what disappointed, what left me with a sinking feeling of
emptiness was one thing. One thing that I most desired when I bent over in
readiness for the cane. I desperately wanted my Nurse Nettles to take my pants
down and do it on my bare bum. For that, all pain would be bearable. And she
didn’t. She did not take my pants down and cane me on my bare bottom. So,
later, it was left to my boyish fantasies. I mused on this for a long time
afterwards and eventually, somewhat reluctantly, raised it with Adam. We were
in the library playing chess, about two days after we had our caning threesome.
Unlike me he had not spent time examining his marks. It won’t happen again was
all he said. I said I had found it all exciting, in spite of the pain. And the
marks on my bum are amazing. You are a pervert, he said, just like dad. But, I
shouldn’t worry, he added, it was just a strange normality and indicated high
intelligence. Except in my case, he added. I reckon he was right, not the
intelligence bit, and something that happened a couple of weeks later made me
think even more so. Nurse Nettles gave me an enema and, discomfort or not, the
experience was thrilling.
I was standing in front of her dressed
only in underpants and top. No need to get dressed, she had said, after an
early morning shower which, thankfully, had not sent my jimmy pointing up to
the ceiling. Wisely she had decided that early morning showers caused less
embarrassment. I had ignored the instruction even though she had amplified the reason.
My tablets were causing havoc with my insides and an enema was well overdue.
Her words. I had been given a couple in hospital, not pleasant, and was not
really looking forward to a repeat from nasty Nettles. My bottom had recovered
from my caning but the memory lingered. But she was insistent and, before
breakfast, I found myself on my bed wearing only my top. She had taken down my
underpants and when I lay on my bed, turned away from her with my knees up to
my chest, I was conscious of an unwanted incipient erection. She had seen it
but made no comment. Only my bottom seemed of interest. The cane marks have
cleared up nicely, she said. I hope you have learnt your lesson. I made no
reply, conscious only of the oiling of my anus and the slow and gentle
insertion of the cold and unkind tube. Warm water gradually flowed into me and
I steeled myself for the inevitable reaction. She made me turn to her and her
hands gently massaged my stomach. They were no more than inches from my penis,
thankfully now declining, and the feeling was not unpleasant. When you are
ready, she said, and shortly I was. She helped me to the bathroom and, in spite
of the excitement at exposing myself to her again, I was glad when this
incident was over. I took vicarious enjoyment from her seeing my naked bottom
but, deep down, I wished it prior to being disciplined. Showering and enemas
were not the same. And I particularly wished her to see that naked bottom just
before she caned it. I thought it might have happened when we were left alone
after she caned my siblings but, in that desire, I had been frustrated. A week
after the enema I was to get my wish. Thinking back, I realise now that such
desires should remain in fantasy.
‘You have engineered this Simon.’
‘No Miss.’
‘Oh, I think so.’
‘Yes Miss.’
‘You get Adam and Sophie drunk by lacing
your father’s beer, very dangerous I might say, you persuade them to join you
in running naked around the garden, and you post photographs of the event on my
website. You must have known you would be caught.’
‘It was a laugh.’
‘Not very funny. Fortunately nothing
gets posted until I have checked it. You must have known that.’
‘I said it was just a laugh.’
‘How did you find it?’
‘What? Miss.’
‘My website.’
‘It was in dad’s letter to you. Your professional
name.’
‘Very clever. But not so clever with the
photographs. Apart from your arms, you were all clearly recognisable.’
‘How? I didn’t show faces.’
‘But you showed bottoms, Simon.
Especially yours, with which I am very familiar.’
‘Yes Miss.’
‘So you will get your wish. I will cane
you, twelve strokes on that bottom. On your bare bottom, which I think is what
you most desire. But for lacing your brother and sister’s drink. Nothing else.
So I should say take down your pants but, as things are, I shall have to do it
for you.’
‘I’m sorry, Miss.’
‘You will be, but as I said Simon, you
have engineered it.’
‘Yes Miss.’
‘You really are your father’s boy.’
And I was. I desired nothing more than
what was proposed. A pervert was what Adam had called me, a chip off the old
block. He was right. At fifteen I had discovered the joys of being whacked. I
did not understand the thrill, but thrill it was. Standing waiting for her to
do what she intended was nothing short of heaven. Rich in my imaginations and
overwhelming in the reality. The fear of pain, and I was scared, was eclipsed
by the heady anticipation. She approached and I drew in my breath as she undid
the top of my jeans. All buttons quickly followed and she dragged those same
jeans down to my knees. The low leather chair had been pulled to the centre of
the room, the same room in which three siblings had been caned in their
underclothes, and she walked me to it and bent me over. Not three siblings now,
not two watchers and one with covered modesty, just the one, me, and modesty
was not on the agenda. I felt her warm and large hands caress my bottom, very
pleasant, and drew in my breath as the fingers teased the waist band of my
underpants. Within a moment I felt them being pulled down, slipping down my flesh,
exposing all I had. I was captivated. She had seen all before, seen my bare
bottom many times, but this time it was not for a showering., This time it was
to feel her cane, twelve times. I could hear her heavy breathing, sense the
tension in her body, and responded by raising up my bottom. Signally my acquiescence
in what she intended to do. I desperately wanted her to cane me, and I
desperately wanted her to do it like this. My jeans and pants at my knees, my
top lifted, my bare bottom begging for her savage kisses across it. I sensed
the feeling in my loins with which I was becoming so familiar and told my mind
I did not care. As long as she caned me I did not care what happened. Or I
thought I didn’t. When the first stroke lashed into my bottom I could have
screamed with agony. It was vicious, much worse than when she did it on my
underpants, and tears welled in my eyes at the searing pain.
‘Aagh. That hurts Miss.’
‘It is meant to Simon. I am not doing
this for fun.’
Thwack!
‘Aagh. It stings. No more please, Miss.’
‘You brought it on yourself, Simon.’
Thwack!
‘Aaaagh.’
‘So stay still.’
Thwack!
‘No more please, no more, I am sorry.’
Thwack!
Thwack!
‘Oh my God. Aaagh. Oh my God. It hurts.
I rose, clutching my bottom with my one
good arm, turning towards her and begging for forgiveness. I told her I was
sorry, told her that I did not think it would hurt so much, said it was all a
mistake. I was in tears, disconsolate, the searing pain in my bum throbbing for
all it was worth. I told her I was not enjoying it. She laughed and said she
never expected me to. It was clear then that if I had a childish fantasy she
was bent on destroying it. Reluctantly, pain still throbbing, I bent over the
chair again.
Thwack!
‘Aaagh. Please Miss, no more.’
‘That was quite gentle, Simon.’
‘It hurt.’
‘It is meant to.’
Thwack!
‘Oow.’
‘Only four more to go.’
Thwack!
‘And all deserved. Your bottom is
looking lovely, beautiful stripes.’
Thwack!
‘Aaagh. Oh God.’
‘You should have them for a few days.’
Thwack!
Thwack!
‘Aaaaaaaagh. Christ.’
‘And hopefully you will be cured.’
I looked at my bottom in the bathroom
mirror. Three days had passed since my caning and on each of those three days I
had, with an effort, undone my jeans and pulled both them and my underpants
down to my knees to inspect the damage. On the first day I lifted my top to see
the reflection of my naked cheeks I had gasped at the sight. The stripes on my
bum were vicious, purple and red lines across both white bottom cheeks. They
fascinated and the fascination grew as each day passed. The pain had been
worthwhile and Our Ambrosine’s attempt at a cure had failed. She knew that
herself by then. My most recent shower from her had made that clear. The
stripes are hardening, she had said, I had better wash your bottom with care.
They will be there for days yet and however much soap I apply they will not go
way for a while. As she said this, and as the soap rubbed against my lacerated
cheeks, she and I noted my erection. I had been stiff from the moment she
undressed me and soap and words merely enhanced it. It was as she washed my
genitals, delicately as always, I came. For the first time in my life. I said
sorry, I could not help it. I did not truly understand it either but I knew
that the feeling had been pretty special. She merely smiled and turned the shower water
to freezing cold and gave me a hard smack on my naked and bruised bottom. It
was the last time we had any contact that summer. She left the following day.
Adam questioned me about it. All a bit
sudden, he said, did I know the reason why? I said I didn’t but perhaps she was
feeling guilty about whacking us. I didn’t believe that and neither did Adam.
It was left to Sophie to come up with some sort of solution to the mystery. Dad
was coming home early, later that day, and Our Ambrosine was going to meet him
at the airport and then head off home. She had lots of catching up to do
apparently. Sophie saw her packing and waiting for a taxi whilst we were still
in deep sleep. Don’t disturb them she said, just say good bye and tell them I
will be seeing them again, especially Simon. Sophie looked at me and grinned. Sounds like a
threat, Adam said, but one that our little pervert would like. I said nothing.
I just closed my eyes and drifted into memories. I think I know why she left.
It was a strange Christmas that year.
I spent it with her, Nurse Nettles. Dad
and mum, now out of hospital, and Sophie and Adam left for a much deserved
skiing holiday. I couldn’t go, not in my condition. So I spent Christmas and
the New Year with Nurse Nettles, Our Ambrosine. But that, as is said in the
best stories, is best left for another day. It was a heavenly two weeks.
Alfred
Roy (2016)