As soon as I saw mum approaching
with the pyjamas draped over her arm I knew I was in trouble. Even though it
was only three thirty in the afternoon and I had just recently celebrated my
eighteenth birthday I knew I was bound for bed.
Mum always dressed in her
matrons uniform to punish me. Even today, just seeing someone dressed in a dark
blue uniform scares me. Mum took my hand and led me upstairs; I feared what she
had in store for me.
The blue and white striped
pyjamas I was wearing were several sizes too big for me; mum had purchased
seven pairs as a job lot. Mum enjoyed dressing me in them; they were winceyette
pyjamas, the bottoms fastened with a drawstring and the pyjama jacket buttoned
to the neck. I had to clutch at the waist of the bottoms to keep them up as I
was marched upstairs to my room.
Mum stood me in the corner and
told me to put my hands on my head and not move until she returned. As I was
unable to support my pyjama bottoms they slid slowly to my ankles. I stood there
for a couple of minutes until I heard her return to the room. Mum lifted up my
overlong pyjama jacket to expose my bare bottom; instinctively I tensed my
buttocks as she patted my bottom with her hand.
“I hope you are going to be a
brave boy for mummy,” she said, “ I will give you four, if you move I will
start again from the beginning.”
Mum was very experienced and
wielded the cane with practiced dexterity. The first strike always took my
breath away and I almost tottered forward but recovered and kept my hands
firmly on my head. Mum was excellent at varying the timing between each stroke
of the cane so that I could never anticipate any of the blows. The second one
made me cry out, this she didn’t mind, in fact it would have pleased her that
she had “broken” me so quickly on this occasion, usually I lasted longer. After
the third one I could feel the welts rising and I was physically crying, I
begged her to stop but she insisted I stand and accept the fourth. I waited a
long time, longer than I ever had before. I heard the swish then felt the
sting. Somehow I remained resolute and maintained my position.
I heard her leave the room, mum
always kept her canes in her room for some reason, I still didn’t move.
She returned and I heard her
lower the side of the cot. She ordered me to sit on the plastic covered
mattress. I shuffled to the cot; my
pyjama bottoms still bunched around my ankles and winced in pain as I sat on
the cold mattress.
Mum went to the dresser and took
out a baby’s dummy still in its packaging. She removed it and tied ribbons to
the dummy’s ring. Knowing from experience that refusing to accept the dummy
would only cause me further punishment I meekly closed my mouth around the teat
of the dummy while she tied it in place.
From the same drawer mum
produced my punishment bonnet. The bonnet was a frilled peek-a-boo style of
white cotton that totally restricted my peripheral vision. Mum fastened the
bonnet under my neck with ribbons; she tied them so tightly that there was no
way of shaking the bonnet off.
Once she was satisfied my dummy
and bonnet were securely tied mum told me to lie down on the mattress. For some
reason I hesitated and tried to protest at her treatment of me. Unfortunately
all that emanated from was
“mmmmphhh!”
Mum pushed backwards onto the
mattress and secured my wrists in the padded leather cuffs that were affixed to
the bars at the head end of the cot.
Mum then told me to turn and
face the wall, this was slightly difficult with my hands secured but I managed
to twist my body so that my bottom was again exposed to my mums view. She
examined my bottom with her hands.
“My that does look sore,” she
commented. “I had better get you something for that.”
She returned and I heard the
ominous sound of a rubber glove being snapped on. “Now my baby boy stay very
still.”
Mums rubber encased finger began
to enter my rosebud. “Mmmmphhh”, I
moaned through the teat of the dummy as she worked her finger deeper into me.
Then she was pushing; something uncomfortable was invading my bottom.
Then I became aware of the
unmistakable aroma of ginger.
“Mmmmphhh, mmmmphhh!” I started to panic and tried to resist and
expel the root but she had one hand firmly planted in the small of my pyjama
clad back whist she forced the foreign object into my anus. Finally my
sphincter muscle closed and mum patted my bottom.
“There, it won’t be long until
that piece of ginger makes it’s presence felt and I’ve just enough left to tend
those nasty looking weal’s on you bottom.”
Mum proceeded to rub the juice
of the ginger into my bottom. As she
pulled up my pyjama bottoms and tied them tightly around my waist the ginger
was already beginning to take effect. Externally my bottom was already on fire,
and internally I was just beginning to feel the initial warming begin.
Mum secured my ankles in the
same manner as my wrists. I was now secured in the cot lying on my back wearing
oversized blue striped pyjamas a frilled baby’s bonnet with a baby’s dummy
secure in my mouth. Mum peered down at me through the narrow confines of my
baby bonnet.
“Now you just lie there and
squirm and reflect on your behaviour babykins,” she said as she pulled up the
rail of the cot. “Night night!”
