A pyjama punishment with added spice.

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!”