Aunt Betsy Part 2 by Randy

It wasn’t long before Tommy’s maths teacher once again had cause to advise Aunt Betsy that his performance in the maths test was not up to standard. Driving us home she began her lecture.

"You see, Tommy, your troubles have more to do with your attitude than your teacher and I have just the remedy for a boy who doesn't know how to work hard enough. It's just as well that Billy is here, especially since his mother and I see eye to eye on these matters. Young man, I am going to give your bare bottom little lesson in paying attention and I'm not going to stop until it's clear you've learned a lesson from me. Do you understand? Then you'll be going straight into your jammies and put to bed for a nap. I'll get you up for dinner, of course, but then it's right back to bed after your bottom receives a second reminder of what happens to bad little boys who don't do their school work. You're going to have lots to think about before you fall asleep tonight, young man, do you hear me?

This set off a chorus of pleading and excuses which fell on deaf ears. Aunt Betsy took hold of Tommy's hand as if he were a small child and marched him into the house, opened the front door she strode in pulling Tommy behind her and telling me to follow her and close the door behind me.

With his voice taking on a new urgency, Tommy begged:

"Please mummy, don't spank me in front of Billy, please." But Aunt Betsy only replied in a calm, businesslike manner.

"You should have thought of that when you weren't doing your homework, young man. Your cousin might as well see what happens to bad boys in this house. And anyway, Billy needs a good reminder of what to expect if he's naughty from now on." Eyeing me directly, she added:

"I rang your mother today, Billy, and we agreed you are long overdue a good spanking yourself. From what your head teacher has told me about all the trouble you've been getting into at school, now give me your hand as well. I want you to come upstairs with Tommy so you can see exactly how I handle bad little boys in this house."

With that, Aunt Betsy began to lead us to the stairs, only to struggle as Tommy began dragging and twisting on her arm. Almost immediately, she whirled around, let go of me, and in one, quick gesture, pulled Tommy's shorts and underpants inside out and halfway down his thighs. Bending over his back, she quickly applied a series of hard spanks to his bare bottom, each timed to go with a group of scolding remarks.

"SMACK Young man, SMACK you had SMACK better not SMACK give me any trouble SMACK unless you want me SMACK to get out SMACK your paddle. Now, are you SMACK going to obey your mummy? SMACK Or are you going to earn SMACK yourself extra spanks and even a paddling? SMACK"

At the very first spank, Tommy cried he would stop resisting and repeated those cries with every spank. Seeing that she had made her point, Aunt Betsy released Tommy, took our hands again, and began climbing the stairs with the two of us in tow behind her. Tommy waddled along as best he could, his bare bottom twisting back and forth framed by the white tangle of underpants and shorts below. After those sharp spanks, his physical resistance had given way to the soft crying many children adopt when they know they are about to be spanked no matter what they do or say. With Aunt Betsy leading me just as firmly by the hand, I realised I also had no choice in what was about to happen. And though I assumed I was going along only as a witness, I could not help feeling I too was about to get spanked. My mind flashed back to the many times I had waddled along, pants at half-mast just like Tommy, as my mother led me by the hand towards my bedroom or the living room sofa. By the time we reached the top of the stairs, it was all I could do to keep the growing tightness in my chest from turning into the same sort of soft crying I heard from Tommy.

Thinking back, I believe that I experienced a kind of empathic reaction with Tommy when my aunt took me by the hand. No doubt, that was exactly what she wanted. As she led us both down the hall, the truth of Aunt Betsy's earlier warning hit home. She wanted me to see how she handled bad boys because she really was planning to handle me the same way. By the time we reached Tommy's room, my sympathetic reaction had deepened and I began to sniffle along with my cousin's crying. At that moment, I understood I really was on the verge of a spanking, just like Tommy. My situation was different only in that my first spanking would come, when? Perhaps in a week or two, perhaps even that weekend. But the decision had already been made. As soon as my aunt decided the time was right, I too was going to be bare bottom spanked over her knee. Tommy's spanking was only a dress rehearsal for what I could expect from now on at Aunt Betsy's home.

These thoughts were interrupted as we entered Tommy's room and Aunt Betsy sat me down in a chair near his bed. She then marched Tommy over to the dresser. Still holding Tommy's hand, she opened a drawer with her free hand and pulled out a pair of light pink sleeper pyjamas before taking him over to the bed and sitting down. Tommy just stood there crying and begging his mother not to spank him even as she began to work the buttons of his shirt.

"Now hold still, Tommy Springer. Raise your arms so I can get this off ... that's my good boy. If only you were as adept at doing your homework. Now keep those hands up high and don't give me any trouble while I get these shorts and underpants off.

With that, she slipped the garments down to his ankles and made him lift each leg so she could slide them off his feet. By now tears were streaming down his cheeks and he was crying openly like a little boy. As I stared in dread and fascination, I realised that this was exactly how I must have looked just as my mother readied me for a spanking.

“Now let's get these socks off. I'd say your bottoms long overdue a good spanking, even more than Billy's." Then, looking directly at me, she gave Tommy's bare bottom a couple of additional sharp spanks as if to remind me of what I could expect.

Once Aunt Betsy had slipped off Tommy's socks, she again lifted each ankle and slid the pyjama sleeper over his feet before pulling the lower part all the way up to his waist. Next, she placed each arm into the sleeves and drew the top around his torso before buttoning it up. Bringing Tommy to her right, she pushed her dress up out of the way, so as not to wrinkle it, drew him across her lap and moved him forward until his head hung down near the floor and his legs waved helplessly in the air. Finally, she announced:

"And now, young man, it's time for mummy to teach you a good lesson about doing well in school. Let's undo these buttons and bare that naughty bottom of your's so we can start your spanking. I don't think we're going to take your temperature this time because your naughty bottom cannot wait another minute. Billy, pay close attention because you're going to get the same when you misbehave from now on. I have half a mind to put you in a pair of Tommy's “naughty boy jammies” and give you some of the same medicine after I finish with him. What do you think about that?"

Without waiting for an answer, she turned and began spanking Tommy's white, round bottom which bounced and juddered with each blow. His crying immediately doubled in volume and pitch and he kicked his pyjamaed feet furiously, other than that, he made no effort to wriggle off his mother's lap. On and on Aunt Betsy spanked, with a slow, deliberate pace just like Tommy had described. Within a few minutes, his plump bottom turned into a pair of pink mounds of dancing jelly, matching the colour of his pyjamas and which danced with every smack. As I continued to watch, it soon changed to a reddish tone and then a bright red. After a few minutes, Tommy was reduced to a sobbing child. With his scarlet bottom showing through the flap of his toddler's pyjamas, he looked and sounded more like a toddler than someone in his teens. Finally, after at least five minutes, Aunt Betsy stopped and asked:

"Tommy, are you learning a good lesson from mummy?"

When he managed to stammer out a yes, Aunt Betsy replied:

"Good, then I'm sure you won't have any problem continuing this lesson since it seems to be working so well. Now tell me how sorry you are and ask for the rest of your spanking. And ask me the way you've been taught or we'll start all over. Billy might as well learn what bad boys have to say halfway through their spankings."

Tommy managed to stop crying enough to stammer out his apology.

"I know I've been naughty, mummy and that I deserved this spanking. I promise I'll do better... I promise."

"What else, young man? Haven't you forgotten something?

"Yes, mummy... I know... I know... Please, mummy, I'm ready for the rest of my spanking. Please... spank me now and don't stop... until... until I've learned a good lesson."

"That's a good boy, Tommy, that's what mummy needs to hear. Now let's finish up the rest of your spanking and make sure you really have learned something this time. I don't want to have to spank you again after your next maths test, do you understand me?"

With a glance in my direction to make sure I had heard, she resumed her steady spanking rhythm which immediately brought forth a new round of sobbing and frantic kicking. Only after another five or six minutes did Aunt Betsy finally stop. For the next three minutes, she held Tommy over her lap until his crying subsided, all the while gently rubbing his scarlet bottom. Then she buttoned his flap, raised him up to sit on her lap, kissed him, told him how much she loved him and how his spankings were for his own good before standing up and tucking him into bed with a final kiss.

Turning to me, she said, “let's leave Tommy alone so he can think some
more about his lesson while he takes a nap until dinner."

My mouth was completely dry, my heart was pounding and I felt dizzy. It was partly what I had just witnessed but even more the sense that I had escaped getting a spanking myself. As a result, I was all but frozen to the floor and completely unable to speak or move when Aunt Betsy asked me to leave. Fortunately, she wasn't cross when I didn't respond. Instead, she came over, her face softening with concern, and remarked on how flushed I looked. Running her hand over my forehead, she told me I seemed hot and asked me if I felt sick. Again, I was unable to give much of an answer. Seeing my state of confusion, she steered me out of Tommy's room, closed the door, and took me down the hall before feeling my forehead again. Then she reached a decision and announced:

"Young man, we've better take your temperature. Come along with me."

With that, she escorted me into her bedroom at the other end of the hall, closed the door, and led me over near her bed before disappearing into the bathroom. After rummaging around for a while, she emerged carrying a jar of vaseline, a box of tissues, and a special thermometer which I immediately recognised from my own mother's medicine cabinet. It seemed Aunt Betsy shared quite a few ideas with her sister. Under normal circumstances, I might have protested and asked for an adult thermometer. But after what I had just witnessed, I was still in quite a dazed state.

As if foreseeing my reaction, Aunt Betsy explained. "This is the best way to take children's temperatures, especially naughty children. Since I know your mother handles you the same way, you won't mind, will you Billy? When Tommy's earned a spanking, I often take his temperature first this way just to give him another reminder of how I treat bad little boys. Your mother and I discussed this along with other methods of punishment and we both agree any boy who still needs spankings is not too old for a rectal thermometer."

With that, Aunt Betsy sat down on the bed, placed the tissues beside her, opened the jar of Vaseline and stuck the thermometer into it before setting it aside. All the while she hummed cheerily to herself. It was clearly a fairly routine process here just as it was in my home. Then turning her attention to me, she smiled and drew me over until I stood directly before her. Soothing me with caresses to the face, she continued speaking in reassuring tones as she loosened my belt and took my pants down to mid thigh. I was still in a half-daze as I watched as she pulled up her skirts, "so as not to wrinkle them" and gently steered me across her lap so that my upper and lower body extended out quite comfortably on the bed. More embarrassed than ever, I buried my face in the soft, down duvet and yielded to her motherly administrations.

"Now you just relax and lie quietly, Billy, and your Aunt Betsy will take good care of you. This will only take a few minutes."

Though embarrassed by my predicament, I also felt secure and loved, a little like I felt at home, long after a spanking, when the smarting had turned into a warm glow under the covers. I also wanted to please my aunt and yet get this whole thing over as fast as possible. Thus I lifted my hips the moment I felt her fingers at the waistband of my underpants. Noticing my cooperation, Aunt Betsy tousled my hair with her left hand and exclaimed.

"That's a good boy, Billy. That's good ... lift up so Aunt Betsy can get these underpants down."

After dragging my underpants down to my ankles, Aunt Betsy gave my bare bottom a few smacks and told me I was lucky I wasn't over her lap for a spanking. For my part, as I felt my bare torso against the soft, warm pillow of her thighs and the cool air on my bottom, it seemed as if I really was there for a spanking. My attention quickly turned elsewhere as Aunt Betsy gently pried opened my bottom cheeks and began rubbing a dab of vaseline deeply between them. Using the tip of her little finger, she gradually probed all the way into my rectum, asking me again to relax so she could finish getting me ready. As her finger slid in and out, I was horrified to feel the onset of an erection which I was powerless to stop.

By the time she slid the thermometer in and held it in place by cupping my bottom with her warm hand, I was quite stiff. Aunt Betsy seemed not to notice and said nothing, preferring instead to hum to herself as she stroked my head with her left hand and rested her right hand on my fanny. When three minutes were up and she pulled the thermometer out, I was actually throbbing against her soft thigh, my red face buried in the duvet. After checking my temperature, Aunt Betsy declared me fever free. Then, changing to a more serious tone, she added.

"Billy, though I'm glad to see you are not sick, I'm shocked at how you have reacted to this thermometer. It sometimes happens with Tommy as well. Of course, when he really does have a fever, it's not fair to punish him for such naughtiness and the same would hold true for you. But if he's well, that's a different story. Since you know I believe in firmly correcting bad little boys and since you're being very, very bad right now, you're going to get that spanking I've been promising. Normally I would put you into little boy jammies first, but since I don't want to disturb Tommy's nap, we'll have to postpone that until he gets up. Then it's dinner for both of you and straight to bed after a bedtime spanking.”

She paused and began to rub my bottom with the palm of her hand, first one cheek, then the other. “I find,” she began again. “That Tommy learns much more from an early bedtime if it comes with a warm bottom, even after he's already been spanked earlier that day. And your mother has told me how well the same thing works with you. Now please don't give your auntie any trouble because it will only make things worse. If there's one thing I won't tolerate in this house, it's boys fussing like babies when they're about to get spanked. Tommy knows what to expect if he puts up too much of a fuss or tries to get off my lap. He goes into nappies and plastic pants for the rest of the day. Would you like me to try nappy discipline on you? We've got the whole weekend ahead of us."

After what I'd been through the last twenty minutes, I was completely unable to protest this new turn of events and I frantically shook my head. Already I was crying softly and had been from the moment Aunt Betsy had announced her new plans for me. It was as if the gates to pent-up emotions had been opened and the knowledge that I was about to be spanked allowed me to release certain feelings. Recognising this as the passive, pre-spanking crying that it was, Aunt Betsy went about her preparations, shifting me off the bed and further over on her lap so that my head hung down near the rug. Only then did she begin the spanking itself. Like Tommy, and every other naughty child getting spanked, my cries immediately became sharper and more earnest.

"Young man, if you don't keep that noise down, you're going to wake Tommy from his nap. And if that happens, you'll be going to bed early tomorrow with afternoon naps tomorrow and Sunday. Of course, all naps and early bedtimes in this house come with a good bottom warming. You'll also be well nappied under your jammies. Now lower your voice unless you want to spend the whole weekend in nappies, jammies and bed.”

I was able to comply to a certain extent, it helped to bury my face in the bedding. True to her word, the spanking was not as long as Tommy's though she did stop halfway and make me ask for the rest of it. Long before then, my "problem" in front had completely subsided so that I felt no shame when Aunt Betsy eventually lifted me up from her knees, sat me back on her lap with my pants still tangled around my ankles, and held me close with comforting words.

"There, there, Billy. It's all over now. Your spanking is finished. You really were a brave boy the way you took your first spanking. It wasn't that bad, was it? Are you going to be a good boy for Aunt Betsy from now on?"

When I nodded, still crying into her shoulder, she continued:

"I thought so, Billy. It's clear you needed that spanking a lot and that you've learned a good lesson. Now if you don't want more spankings from me, all you have to do is stay out of trouble at school and do as your aunt tells you to. You know what will happen to you if you don't behave, don't you? You're going to go back over my knee every time you act up, just like Tommy. Is that clear, young man? It's obvious you still need regular spankings to help keep you in line and your aunt Betsy is going to take care of that for your mother from now on."

After wiping away my tears and kissing me, she stood me on my feet, rubbed some more of the sting away from my bottom, and pulled up underpants and my pants.

"Now do you promise to be a good boy for the rest of the weekend?"

"Yes, Aunt Betsy". I replied through my tears.

"Good. It's all too clear to me you are one of these immature boys like Tommy who needs regular discipline. I gather your mother has never used nappy discipline on you or early bedtime and pyjama punishment but she did say I should try it if I think it might help. Tommy hates being nappied, especially when I go out for the evening and leave his babysitter, Kathy, in charge. He always needs changing by bedtime and by then he usually has a spanking coming from her as well. I am sure she wouldn’t mind at all babysitting two nappied naughty little boys in their jammies and giving them both a bare bottom spanking before putting them to bed early, hmmm?”

At the time, the full implications of this didn't register with me. I was too busy nursing a sore bottom and being comforted by my aunt's soothing words and caresses.

A few hours later, we went in later to wake Billy and I found myself changed into punishment jammies just like him, mine were yellow and so very soft and comfortable, I enjoyed the sensation of wiggling my toes that were confined in the pyjama feet. Yet instead of humiliation, I felt strangely secure in my new cosy outfit, secure because it matched Billy's and made me feel I was now completely part of Aunt Betsy's home, all the way down to the warm glow of my bottom. Billy too seemed less embarrassed by his spanking and babyish pyjamas once he saw me dressed the same way.

After dinner, Tommy and I cleared the table and did the dishes as expected, all the while exchanging silent but knowing glances. When the whole kitchen was spotless, we reported to Aunt Betsy who was knitting quietly on the sofa in the living room. Although I was embarrassed standing before her dressed in my yellow toddler jammies, I was even more red-faced when I had to repeat Tommy's formal request.

"I'm sorry I was such a naughty boy today, Aunt Betsy. I'm ready for the rest of my spanking." Despite my embarrassment, the thought of going over Aunt Betsy's lap again was no longer terrifying. After all, I would have Billy right there to share the punishment this time. And however much the second spanking might smart, Billy and I would both drift off to sleep afterwards with warm bottoms, snug in our jammies in a house where naughty children were as well punished as they were loved.

Pyjama trouble in the dormitory

Matron swept into the dorm, her pink quilted dressing gown fully buttoned but revealing six inches of her pink floral winceyette nightgown, the frilled hem of which nestled on her fur trimmed red slippers.

"Pyjama inspection boys, stand at the bottom of your beds, come along quickly.!"

Three bleary-eyed boys stumbled out of their beds, two of them clad in school regulation stripey pyjamas, the third trying comically to conceal his nakedness.

Matron glowered at John as he cast his head downwards and cupped his hands to conceal his embarrassment.

Surprisingly she then chose to ignore him and turned to face the other two boys.

"Well done Jeff, pyjama jacket tucked into your pyjama bottoms and top button fastened, excellent, back into bed with you."

Next up for inspection was PP. " Can you explain to me why your pyjama jacket is hanging loose outside your pyjama bottoms boy?" She tugged at the hem of his pyjama jacket to emphasise her point. "Not up to anything untoward I trust?"

PP swallowed deeply, "N..n..no matron, honestly, I have just visited the bathroom and must have forgotten to tuck myself back in properly."

Matron stared into his face, looking for tell-tale signs of mendaciousness.

"Hmm... well, don't just stand there, get yourself tucked in and get back to bed."

Relief swept through PP and he quickly adjusted his pyjamas and hopped back into bed where he could enjoy the show.

Matron turned to face John who by now was shivering as the coldness of the dormitory floor penetrated his bare feet.

"Look at me boy," she commanded, "hands on head."
John's head slowly rose, then he hesitated slightly before conforming fully to her instructions.

"Where are your pyjamas, John?" She enquired.
"Under my pillow matron," he answered nervously.

"May I ask why they are under your pillow instead of adorning your diminutive body."

Her eyes lowered as she spoke and PP blushed deeply.

"I..I.. don't know matron," he stammered.

"Well get them on now, at once boy," her voice rising as she spoke.

She watched him intently as his fingers fumbled buttoning up his red striped pyjama jacket and as he struggled to put his feet in his pyjama bottoms. His hands shook as he knotted the pyjama cord and he finally stood successfully pyjama clad facing matron.

"Right into bed with you John. You will report to my study after lessons tomorrow wearing correctly adjusted pyjamas and your slippers and I look forward to hearing your explanation as to why you were not wearing your pyjamas this evening before you are punished, Do you understand?"

John gripped the blanket under his chin with both hands as he whispered a timid, "yes matron."

Matron headed for the exit, her quilted dressing gown billowing slightly revealing more of her nightie.

"Good night boys, and straight to sleep!"

The three boys chorused, "good night matron," in reply as the light was extinguished and two boys snuggled smugly down.

The third, however, shivered slightly even the heavy winceyette material of his recently adorned pyjamas could not warm him, his feet were still chilled. He sneezed.

"Hope you haven't caught a cold John? Ventured PP.

Jeff laughed. "Well, he's certainly going to catch something from matron tomorrow!"

Aunt Betsy Part 1 by Randy

Moving to a new school is always difficult, especially when your mother is leaving to work abroad for a year. Aunty Betsy lived in the north and I was to stay with her and my cousin Tommy until my she returned.  

My cousin Tommy and I were both small for fourteen-year-olds. We looked about two years younger - and were unathletic in a school which placed an emphasis on sports, we found ourselves somewhat excluded from the rough and tumble clubbiness of school. This situation along with many common interests and family ties drew us together and we were quickly inseparable.

About two weeks into the term, Tommy got a D on the first maths test and fretted for the rest of the day as if he had failed the final exam. At some point, I finally asked:

"What's the problem, Tommy? It's just the weekly test, you can easily make it up next week by swotting up."

He mumbled something about how he was, "really going to get it at home" and changed the conversation. Since my mother had still spanked me once or twice a week and frequently mentioned how her sister used the same methods, my curiosity was instantly aroused. Eager to find out more, I pressed Tommy further. But he only put me off with more vague answers.

"It's nothing, Billy. It's just that my mum has my teachers call her whenever I get anything less than a C- and then I get in trouble."

Knowing there was more to it than that, I asked him as innocently as I could:

"What do you care if you can't watch TV tonight or lose this week's pocket money?"

"Never mind, Billy ... it's not a big deal." He said evasively.

"Only after you tell me what happens to you at home when you get bad grades. Come on, Tommy, you can tell me. Since when do good friends have secrets?"

"I suppose they don't... but really... it's not anything. I'd just rather not talk about it."

Since he was obviously embarrassed, I realised the only way to get the truth out of him was to tell him about my own experiences.

"Tommy, I get the feeling your mother still uses the same kind of old-fashioned methods that my mum uses at home. My mum warned me to mind my manners when I came north or your mum would handle me the same way."

At this, Tommy's eyes widened.

"What do you mean handle you the same way? What are you talking about?"

Realising I would have to spill the beans first, I looked around to make sure no one was nearby and lowered my voice to a whisper.

"Tommy, cross your heart and swear to die you won't ever tell anyone?"

After Tommy gulped and nodded nervously, I continued,

"I think I know what happens to you because it still happens to me. I'm talking about getting punished like little boys even though we're fourteen,  I'm talking about... you know... about... about... getting spanked. You're the first person up here I've ever admitted this to. Now fair's fair, Tommy. I've told you my secret. You've got to tell me yours?"

After looking around nervously and swearing me to absolute secrecy in return, Tommy nervously admitted he too was still spanked at home. After further prodding encouraged by additional disclosures on my part, he even admitted that spankings were a regular occurrence at home.

Like Tommy, I was just as eager to keep my own mother's methods a secret from my school classmates once I had arrived at my new school. I had long since taken for granted that naughty children of all ages were spanked and it was only in recent months that I began to realise just how embarrassing it really was for a boy of my age to be taken over his mother's knee like a little boy and spanked on his bare bottom.


Once we got over the initial embarrassment of admitting we were both still spanked, our mutual confession led to a whole series of whispered discussions after school. We compared notes on spankings we had received, the different methods used by our mums, and the prominent role of a demerit chart tied to a regular, weekly spanking time. We also swapped stories about our most embarrassing spankings such as the times when we were punished in the living room with family friends present or the spankings received from babysitters. Like my mother, Aunt Betsy believed an extra witness or a surrogate disciplinarian added to the humiliation of a spanking. Over the years, many of my mother's closest female friends had witnessed my spankings including neighbours and school teachers as well as cousins and playmates. While Tommy and I had both been spanked by babysitters, no one else had ever spanked him. Consequently, he took a special interest in my accounts of being spanked by the school nurse, Sunday school teachers, and even the Akela of my Cub pack. It was, perhaps, no accident that all of these women were good friends of my mother and regular visitors to our home.

Fortunately for me, my weekly experiences across my mother's lap had ended with her departure, I supposed I was completely safe as long as she was away. I adored Aunt Betsy for her loving yet firm manner and the way she always kept a cheerful disposition. Even when she scolded Tommy, a real gentleness came through. No wonder Tommy worshipped her and seemed genuinely disturbed when he let her down. We also liked her because she spoiled us so with delicious meals, funny stories, and lots of outings. 

While it was clear most boys our age would have been horrified at the idea of regular spankings, it did help knowing that my best friend was disciplined the same way.

Unfortunately, all of his mum's friends seemed to know he was still spanked, especially since Aunt Betsy talked about it so openly. Some of Aunt Betsy's friends seemed to go out of the way to embarrass him by asking direct questions about his last spanking. If that weren't enough, there was the demerit chart and paddle his mother hung conspicuously on the kitchen wall (again, just like my mother). If any visitor inquired, they always got a detailed explanation. 

Demerit charts linked to a weekly spanking hour seem to have been more common in the sixties. In many ways, the chart was a special monthly calendar, with a page for each month. Descending on the left was a long list of chores and behaviours covering everything from housework and homework to obedience. Before putting us to bed each night, our mums would mark a plus or a minus on the chart for that day with a number next to every minus for the number of spanked earned. When Sunday came, we fetched the chart and the paddle after dinner so they could tally the spanks earned and enter the number of spanks earned. Attentive visitors to our homes could see exactly how many spanks we had earned the previous two or three weeks, and if they flipped the pages, for other months as well. This tended to generate more embarrassing comments and questions at home.

Needless to say, with so many categories for misbehaviour, we almost always faced a spanking on Sunday nights. The worst effect of the demerit chart then was to create what was basically a permanent spanking sentence which hung over us every week. Even before the sting of one Sunday spanking faded, we both knew the ritual would be repeated in seven days, if not before. And over the years, each Sunday night spanking would revive memories of all the preceding spankings going back years while promising an infinite series of future lessons. Though we got older, the Sunday night ritual created a firm tie to our past and reminded us we were still in some ways treated like little boys.

Despite such embarrassing routines, Tommy and I accepted our punishments because our mothers always spanked out of love and made that clear whenever they put one of us over their laps. According to Tommy, Aunt Betsy never spanked hastily or in anger and never without a good reason. If she felt his correction couldn't wait until Sunday night, she informed him in a firm tone that he had earned an "extra bedtime chat" and left it at that. Tommy knew he would be put to bed early on those nights and that his mother expected him to take his evening bath directly after doing the dinner dishes.

Despite ten years of such bedtime chats with his mother, Tommy almost always got butterflies in his stomach while taking his bath. After drying off and brushing his teeth, he reported to his room wrapped in a towel. By then, Aunt Betsy was always sitting on his bed with his special "naughty boy jammies" laid out beside her, the jammies he always wore on Sunday nights. This was a light blue, one-piece, sleeper outfit his mum had made especially for him with enclosed feet and a button-down flap in back. Except for its size, it was identical to the kind of pyjamas he had worn as a toddler.

Aunt Betsy believed spankings were more effective if they came with additional reminders of what happened to little boys who didn't act their age. For the same reason, she usually took his temperature rectally after she changed him into his jammies and before his spanking. Tommy absolutely hated this since it really made him feel like a toddler. And indeed, while she lubricated him with Vaseline, inserted the thermometer, and held it in place for five minutes, Aunt Betsy always scolded him thoroughly for needing to be treated like a little baby. To make matters worse, she always insisted that his babysitters put him into his "naughty boy jammies" right after dinner as a reminder of what to expect if he misbehaved. And she always left the Vaseline jar and thermometer out on the bathroom sink in case the babysitter needed it.

As for the spankings themselves, Tommy said she always spanked slowly and patiently, reinforcing the spanks with a lengthy series of questions and sharp verbal reminders using language normally reserved for younger children. Methodical and thorough, her sessions usually lasted twenty to thirty minutes including the post-spanking time lying over her knees until any real crying subsided. Sometimes, she made Tommy stand in the corner afterwards with his jammies flap down, his reddened bottom on display for another fifteen minutes. 
Whether he did corner time or not, she always sat him on her lap at the very end for a final cuddle and kiss. Aunt Betsy would remind him again of how much mummy loved him, what a good little angel he was most of the time, and why mummy had to spank him whenever he was naughty. He, in turn, had to promise mummy to try to be good in the future. Only then was he put to bed.

Except for Tommy’s special, “naughty boy jammies”, my mother had similar ideas along with a few special twists of her own. She often combined spankings with punishment naps, early bedtimes, and rectal temperature taking. (She had a strange theory that boys misbehaved when they were sickening for something.) Additionally, she reviewed my behaviour once a week in addition to giving out extra spankings which couldn't wait until Sunday. 

Like Aunt Betsy, she postponed most extra spankings until just after dinner. That way, she rarely spanked in anger. After I finished my dessert, she led me to my spanking corner in the living room and lowered my pants and underpants to mid-thigh before returning to the kitchen to wash the dishes. After ten or fifteen minutes of leaving me waiting bare bottomed, she would return and take me by the hand over to the couch and spank me right there in the living room. In the summers, the windows were always left open so that the neighbours and their kids could hear everything.

If I was being put to bed early, she would lead me upstairs to my bedroom instead, moving slowly because my half-lowered pants forced me to waddle childishly. Keeping hold of me from start to finish, she would sit on my bed and stand me in front of her while she finished undressing me and putting on my pyjamas. As she often explained, any boy naughty enough to earn a spanking was not allowed himself to undress when he was about to be spanked. Only then would she take me over her lap, pull down my pyjamas and begin my spanking. Afterwards, I was always put straight to bed so I had extra time to, "to think about the lesson I had just learned." 



When I was particularly naughty, she would sentence me to a "pink bottom weekend". That meant I was confined indoors and dressed permanently in my pyjamas. On pink bottom weekends, each day began with a spanking in my bedroom. After lunch, I was usually spanked in the living room, even if mum had a visiting lady friend. Of course, I was always put to bed early after dinner with another spanking. By Sunday night, I was always one very contrite and well spanked little boy.


On those occasions I had earned an extra spanking for misbehaviour at school, mum felt it was fair that the teacher in question should know exactly how a "pink bottom weekend", operated, so she would then invite the teacher over for Sunday dinner. 

"Would you like me to invite Miss Billings for dinner this Sunday so she can see firsthand how mummy takes care of bad little boys in this house ... would you?"  She would ask.

There's nothing quite so embarrassing as sitting through dinner, wearing your pyjamas, chatting about various normal subjects with your mum and a female teacher from school knowing full well you will soon be kicking and crying over your mother's lap with a red bottom with your teacher sitting watching on approvingly. 

Before the spanking took place mum would ask me if I deserved my punishment. I always knew what answer she expected.  "Please, mummy, I know I've earned a good spanking and I’m very sorry for being a naughty little boy. I'm ready to be taught a lesson, mummy."

Finally, once my pyjama bottoms had been pulled back up,  I had to say to my mother through my tears. "Thank you, mummy, for spanking me and I promise I'll be good from now on".

Babysitting Oliver by Christina. Christina has presented her story for posting to the blog, hopefully she will be able to continue it. Don't forget that feedback is important in motivating authors.

I thoroughly enjoy reading the accounts of older boys kept in short trousers and subject to early bedtimes while having to wear childish style pyjamas. It is a pity that more boys are not kept in short trousers through their teenage years to remind them they are still little boys and not young adults. Most boys are far more immature than girls of the same age and this should be reflected in how they are dressed and treated by their parents.

I am also in favour of a younger girl having authority over an older boy should the circumstances be warranted. I attended an all girls’ school where the best friend in my class, a girl called Lucy, was given parental authority on her fifteenth birthday over her especially childish, eighteen-year- old brother.

He was expected to obey her without question and she could punish him with very early bedtimes, mouth soapings, and corner time. She also made him wear short trousers at weekends and would smack his legs to add to his humiliation. I was a frequent visitor to her home and was most impressed with the way she strictly controlled her older sibling who was obviously in awe of his authoritarian younger sister. I also have to admit I was somewhat envious.

In the early eighties, when I was seventeen, my parents bought a large mansion flat in Marylebone where our next door neighbours were a married couple and their schoolboy son Oliver, who looked about thirteen. He was always very smartly dressed in complete school uniform which included short grey trousers, grey knee socks turned down at the top, a pale pink blazer, and matching pink cap. His trousers were very short, enough to be almost completely covered by his blazer revealing an expanse of hairless thigh.

I imagined he attended a private Preparatory School where short trousers were still a compulsory part of the uniform. Whenever we met he seemed shy and would blush, an endearing, childish embarrassment with the opposite sex I assumed. Although he could not have been more than five feet three inches tall and had a small frame, he looked just a little too old to still be in short trousers.

We rarely saw the father but my mother and I soon become friends with Oliver’s mother who was an elegant middle-aged lady whom, we soon discovered, had firm old fashioned ideas about how to raise children. Over afternoon tea in our drawing room she revealed that Oliver was, in fact, nineteen, he had been returned to short trousers the year before after being expelled from school for cheating in exams. Now studying for his A Levels by means of private tutors he was expected to wear his school uniform at all times including weekends.  I was shocked but also fascinated that a boy of this age was still dressed and treated as a small child.

Although Oliver was taken out by his mother to visit his tutors he was also taught at home so mummy and I would often see him when we were invited to tea by his mother who talked to him as though he was a mere five-year-old. He would be instructed to make the tea having to wear a pretty white frilled edged pinafore to protect his school uniform. The knee length pinafore, wrapped around his body and was tied in a wide bow at the rear completely hiding his short trousers so giving the impression he was actually wearing a dress, which was no doubt his mother’s intention especially in front of visitors.

I could not resist telling him how sweet he looked and how fortunate he was to have a mummy who dressed him in such lovely clothes. His face would turn crimson with shame but he was sufficiently well trained to politely thank me for the compliment. After serving tea he had to sit quietly cross-legged on the floor next to his mother, who would pat him condescendingly on the head while reminding him that little boys were to be seen and not heard and he should only speak if spoken to first. She also informed us that since he was a child he should always sit on the floor in the presence of visitors.

His mother also informed us that Oliver had a lady babysitter when his parents went out in the evening whose role was to ensure he was dressed in his pretty, infantile pyjamas and in bed by half past seven with lights out within fifteen minutes. A few weeks later I was surprised but delighted to be asked if I would act as his babysitter as the usual lady was unable to attend.

I immediately accepted and was later briefed by his mother on how he should be treated, what pyjamas he should wear, and shown a leather strap hanging up in the kitchen that I should use on his legs and, if necessary, his bare bottom if there was the slightest trouble.

I was about to babysit a boy two years my senior.

I have to confess I was very excited when I entered their flat at six o’clock on the designated evening. Oliver’s parents were smartly dressed and attending a formal dinner and would not be home until late. His mother reminded me in front of Oliver, who was wearing short trousers and schoolboy uniform that if there was the merest whiff of disobedience I should slap the backs of his bare legs hard with the strap.  He had to be in bed with lights out by eight o’clock at the latest.

Once they had left I ordered Oliver to stand to attention in the hallway so I could inspect that he was properly dressed. He looked very nervous but nothing was out of place as I carefully looked at his front and back. I noticed he was wearing a pair of rather girlish, pretty pink T-strap sandals which perfectly matched his pink blazer and cap and told him how sweet he looked in them. He blushed when I told him they were what I would expect a little girl to wear.

“There cannot be many boys of nineteen who are still dressed in short trousers and school uniform by their parents. Are you still dressed by mummy?” I asked, examining his attire.

He looked embarrassedly at the floor but remained silent.

“I asked you a question, little boy”.  He blushed again and mumbled a half-hearted “yes”

“Yes, MISS” I admonished. “Little boys like you must always be respectful when addressing an adult. Say it again and answer the question fully”. He gave a nervous swallow.

Yes, Miss. Mummy dresses me every morning and undresses me for bed at night. I am very sorry Miss that I forgot to address you correctly.”

Leaving him standing I went to the kitchen and collected the leather strap. “I think a few slaps with this might help you remember in future. Put your hands on your head”.

He obeyed and I administered five stinging strokes on the back of each leg. He managed to avoid crying out but I knew it must have hurt as his legs were soon a deep red.

“Say thank you for being slapped”

“Thank you very much, Miss, for slapping my legs and giving me the punishment I fully deserve”. I knew that his mother treated him this way and that he knew the answers he had to give so I ordered him to stand in the corner facing the wall with his hands remaining on his head.

I went into the drawing room to read a magazine and left him for fifteen minutes before summoning him to my presence.

“Oliver.  Come here. I want you to make me a pot of tea as you do it so well for your mummy and her friends. Fetch your pretty white pinny so I can put it on you. We do not want you getting your school uniform dirty, do we? Mummy would be most cross.”

“Yes, Miss.” He mumbled and disappeared into the kitchen and returned holding the pinny which he respectfully handed to me. “Please, Miss will you put me in my pretty pinafore like Mummy does”.

I enjoyed putting his pinny on for him and tied it into a large flouncy bow behind him. He looked like a sweet little girl and very embarrassed at his appearance, but he knew he had to behave.

“Thank you, Miss.”

He returned with the tea on a tray and carefully placed it on the low table adjacent to my chair.

“You will stand there until I tell you to pour it”. I think you could make a rather good housemaid. Would you like to be a housemaid, Oliver, if you ever grow up?” There was hesitation as he was obviously unsure how to reply.

“I am not sure, Miss. I do not think I would be very good around the house”

“Oh, I don’t believe it. Your mummy says you are very good at housework and serving guests especially when you are wearing your pretty pinny. You do love wearing your pretty pinafore, don’t you Oliver?”

The crimson cheeks returned as he attempted a coherent response. “Yes, Miss. I think so.......” He trailed off not knowing what more to say.

“Well, I will suggest to your mummy that she buys you a maid’s uniform so you could be trained properly.  It would be a change from wearing short trousers and being a schoolboy all the time”.

I ordered him to pour my tea and had him remove the tray. Later, and still, in his pinafore, we went to his bedroom so I could select which pyjamas he would wear. He had several outfits which were all very childish with white lace collars and cuffs and adorned with fairies and dolls patterns. I chose a pink pair with pixies and elves. “I will dress you in these for bed tonight”. Actually, we had better get you undressed and changed now”

I had not planned to undress him but his mother had told me to get him ready for bed so it seemed as though I had her authority. His submissive childlike nature also encouraged me to treat him accordingly. I sat on the bed and with him standing in front of me removed his pinafore, his socks, sandals, and school blazer, before unbuttoning his grey short trousers and allowing them to drop to his ankles. Without hesitation, I then pulled down his white underpants revealing a hairless crotch and a small flaccid organ.

“My word isn’t it tiny, but then you are still only a little boy, aren’t  you Oliver?”

“Yes Miss, I am still only a little boy which is why I am so small”

“Well, I hope you are a good little boy and do not touch yourself down there” I gently held his penis in my hand but his obvious extreme nervousness and acute embarrassment meant it remained but a small tassel. I gave it a mischievous squeeze which caused him to cry out and then completed the disrobing and slipped on his pink pyjamas.

As soon as I had tied the small pink bow on his white lace collar he began sucking his thumb which I had been told about by his mother. Evidently, it was an automatic reaction when put into his pyjamas. I perused his collection of dolls and teddy bears that were perched on his dressing table and selected a doll wearing a pink baby sleeping suit, similar to his own, put it into his arms and had him sit on the bed.

My Babysitter Melissa by Randy Final Part

In the summer of my sixteenth year, I had another chance to spend a month with the Dobson family at their cottage while my parents went on their own holiday. It was only when I found myself alone for a weekend with Mrs Dobson while Melissa and her Dad attended an, Are you Being Served convention, that I realised Melissa was not the only one who was interested in spanking games me.

 It had been a year since Mrs Dobson had last spanked me as a summer guest and I supposed I was too old for her to punish me. On Friday evening Mrs Dobson emerged from showering wearing only a short robe, I could not help but focus my attention on her shapely legs and very visible breasts.

"Young man, you'd better stop staring if you know what's good for yourself. Do you hear me?
Go and get your pyjamas on at once and report back to me.”

"Oh no, Mrs Dobson, I wasn't staring ... really, please it’s too early for pyjamas.” Unfortunately, I managed to say that while keeping my eyes glued on her breasts.

"I'm serious, Danny. Well-behaved little boys don't stare. If you keep that up, you will be in a lot of trouble, now pyjamas on and be quick about it.”

Reluctantly I trudged off to put on my pyjamas and when I returned I found Mrs Dobson sitting reading her book. She scolded me in a voice which was now tinged with anger.

"Danny, I’ve decided to put you over my knee. In some ways, you're even more naughty this summer than you were last year. You may well be sixteen but if you keep acting like a naughty child you will be treated like one. Do I make myself perfectly clear?"

"Yes, of course, Mrs Dobson, I'm sorry I ogled you, I didn't think.".

"That's the problem, Danny, you didn't think.... It's clear you need a much better reminder about listening to Mummy Dobson."

"No, Mrs Dobson, I’m so sorry. Really, it was an accident."

"When was the last time you got a good spanking, young man?"

"Oh no, Mrs Dobson, really, I'm much too old for that" I replied with real alarm now entering my voice.

"Answer the question, young man, and tell me the truth. Your mother and I speak frequently on the telephone and we discuss everything. I know exactly what goes in on your household"

"Um... I... Aaah... um. It was two weeks ago."

"I thought so, young man. So you really aren't too old to be spanked, are you?"

"Please, Mrs Dobson, please punish me in some other way.”

"You should have thought of that before disobeying me, Danny. The fact that you think you're too old to go over my knee will make the spanking you're about to get all the more effective. I find nothing gets the attention of a naughty teenager faster than having his bottom bared like a small child. Frankly, I'm surprised you've managed to go a whole two weeks without a spanking, If you were my child, you'd be getting more regular discipline than that."

"No... please... Mrs Dobson," I continued.

Mrs Dobson took me through the living room, down the hall, and into her bedroom. She then closed that door as well before leading me over to her bed and sitting down.  She removed the belt from a pink terrycloth robe draped over the nearby bedpost and wrapped it securely around my wrists before tying it.

"Since you are now a considerably bigger boy, your mother suggested I use some sort of restraint to control you."

Before I could respond to this new development, Mrs Dobson grabbed the waistband of my pyjama bottoms and yanked them down. When I protested, she replied calmly,

"Don't think I haven't seen lots of little boys before, Danny. Besides, I always spank on the bare, just like your mother. Have you forgotten what happened last summer?"

The problem was not that I had forgotten but that a lot had changed for me since then. Indeed, I was still somewhat stiff from ogling Mrs Dobson's breasts which were now heaving out of her robe directly below my eyes and more visible than ever. While my erection wasn't that noticeable right then.

"Now get over my knee, little boy. Mummy Dobson is going to make sure you learn a very good lesson. And afterwards, I'm going to put you to bed early, do you understand?"

"Yes, Mummy Dobson," came my muffled response as my face hit the heavy bedclothes and I felt her adjusting me over her lap.

"I'm going to enjoy spanking this cute bottom of your's, Danny," she said, squeezing and measuring my cheeks with her hand.

"You've grown into quite a handsome young man since the last time I turned you over my knee. And you've certainly got a spankable bottom. Now that I've got you over my knee, I think you're going to need two spankings from me today: one for staring at me and another one at bedtime for lying to me about your last spanking. And you'll be back over my knee tomorrow if you give me any trouble. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, Mummy Dobson,", I replied, in my meekest voice
No sooner had she doubled my sentence than Mrs Dobson began spanking me in earnest, though considerably less vigorously than I had expected. It was as if she wanted to savour the experience or perhaps start out slow. In any case, the smacking of her warm maternal hand on my bare bottom had an effect on me as my loins pressed directly into her barely covered thighs.

Within minutes, I was stiff as a board though neither of us said or did anything to acknowledge this. Mrs Dobson just continued spanking me methodically while scolding me as if I were a small child. My bottom began rising to meet each spank. And every time her hand fell, I responded with a little thrust against her warm thighs. Over the next few minutes, I gradually lost all sense of myself and surrendered to the pleasure of her warm hand on my bottom.

With my hands tied and my pyjamas around my knees, I felt as helpless as a little boy and made no attempt to resist in any way. In fact, my restraints and childish situation freed me psychologically to express my sexual delight more openly, as if I was too young to be responsible for my behaviour. As a naughty child stripped and spanked by an older woman, I could wriggle and arch my bottom and thrust against Mrs Dobson as much as I wanted. And it wasn't long before I began a series of increasingly audible moans and cries as my hips suddenly began thrusting uncontrollably. Moments later, I began ejaculating all over her thighs.

Fortunately, Mrs Dobson didn't get angry. In fact, she just continued spanking me through the whole episode. Afterwards, she increased the force of her spanks noticeably, as if she had just been playing spanking me before. Within a few minutes of this new onslaught, she had stoked up a real fire in my bottom and I began to cry as if I really was a naughty little boy who was learning a good lesson. The fact that I had just been naughty in a more grown up way made me feel even more like I deserved what I was finally getting - a real spanking.

When Mrs Dobson finally stopped spanking me some five minutes later, my bottom was scarlet and my face tear-streaked. Yet I felt more protected and safely held down over her lap than I had in any earlier spanking. For the next few minutes, Mrs Dobson gently rubbed my hot bottom until it didn't hurt as much. Then she reached over to a jar of Cold Cream on the bedside table and scooped out a big dab.

"I think this bottom of yours could use some nice soothing, don't you, Danny?" I just nodded, my face buried in the sheets. As she continued to rub that cold cream all over my bottom, her hand began to rub deep between my cheeks and down between my legs. The more she rubbed down there, the more I forgot about my sore bottom and remembered something else. It didn't take long before I was once again pressing into her thighs and eventually rocking up and down on them openly.

"Would you like me to put you to bed now Danny?"

Once again I just nodded, entranced by her creamy hand. Mrs Dobson stood me up and untied my hands. She guided me out of her bedroom my penis pointed straight up the whole time, flopping from side to side as we walked down the hall to my bedroom.

Mummy Dobson drew back the bedclothes and ushered me into bed. I blushed deeply, feeling very childish as she tucked me in and kissed me on the forehead.

“Goodnight you naughty little boy,” she said even though it was only eight o’clock.

I was still awake when Melissa returned and could hear her conversation with her mother.

Why is Danny in bed so soon, did you have to spank him, mum?”

"Yes I did Melissa, you know he was very naughty and I had no choice other than to punish him and put him to bed.

“You know mum, sometimes I think he goes out of his way to earn a spanking by doing something after he's warned not to. Why do think he might do that?"

"I don't know. Melissa. Some boys seem to need traditional discipline well into their teens. June Morgan spanked her son, Billy, all the way through university."

"Really? Do you think Danny will need to be spanked that long?"

"I don't know, sweetheart, but I wouldn't be surprised based on what you and his mother have told me.”

I turned over, could it be true that I would be spanked until I was at least twenty-one?

My Babysitter Melissa by Randy Part Two

I dutifully switched off the TV and went up to my room, greeting Melissa as I passed her in the living room. She reminded me I had promised to tidy my room before story time and I realised I had not left myself much time.

Hurriedly I first brushed my teeth. I was so distracted that it took longer than usual to brush. I then washed my face and hands before heading for my room to tidy it before Melissa came to inspect it.

Unfortunately, as Melissa stepped through the door she discovered me still tidying my room, I had underestimated the time it would take

"It looks like we are going to have to have a real bedtime lesson tonight, after all, Danny. You've got two minutes to get yourself sorted and into bed or you'll be sorry. Do you understand me, young man?"

I gulped and nodded and went into a cleaning frenzy as the whole time, Melissa just stood in the doorway and watched. I turned from my last chore - putting clothes away - to see her crooking her index finger at me and beckoning.

"Young man, I gave you ample warning about what would happen, didn't I?"

"Yes, Melissa, but I was almost..."

"Shush, young man. I don't want to hear any excuses. You knew what you had to do and you knew what would happen if you didn't do it. Remember your mother's instructions to me about making sure you cleaned your room up by bedtime."

"But it's still a couple minutes before my bedtime, Melissa. I was just about finished when..."

"I said no excuses, young man, and I mean it. You promised me to have everything cleared up so I could read you a story. That was our agreement. Wasn't it?"

I hung my head and stared at the floor.

"I thought so. No, Danny, it's time you found out what a real spanking from Melissa feels like. I've should have turned you over my knee a dozen times before now in Sunday School. I'm glad I finally have a chance to give you what you so obviously need. Your mother may spank you once or twice a week but I suspect you are one of those immature boys who needs more discipline than that. It's also just as well that you disobeyed me, Danny, because you need to know what a real spanking from your future full-time babysitter feels like. If it weren't this late, I'd give you some corner time first. But given the hour, we'll have to save that for your next spanking."

Melissa then pulled my pyjamas down to my ankles in one swift tug. My penis was still saluting the sky but it didn't stay that way for long. Quickly I was pulled over her lap until my feet kicked helplessly in the air. Within seconds, my first spanking from Melissa had begun.
And it hurt. Still, I tried to be brave about it at first, begging to be let off and responding to her spanks with a steady stream of "ouches".

Ignoring my requests, Melissa spanked on with a rapid, hard swing, alternating from one cheek to the other and scolding me continuously in a manner which helped break down my fourteen- year- old stubbornness.

Smack Smack Smack Smack Smack

"You naughty, naughty, naughty boy. When Melissa tells you to do something, she means it."

Smack Smack Smack Smack Smack

"Every Time you fail to obey me, you are going to go right back over my lap for another sound spanking on your bare bottom."

Smack Smack Smack Smack Smack

"I don't care if I have to spank you every time I sit for you. Is that clear, young man?"

"Yes, Melissa, please don't spank me anymore. I've learned my lesson"

Smack Smack Smack Smack Smack

"Oh no, you haven't, young man. We're just getting started. I'll tell you when I think you've learned a lesson."

Smack Smack Smack Smack Smack

"Oooowwwww... you're hurting me, Melissa"

Smack Smack Smack Smack Smack

"It's supposed to hurt, young man, it's a spanking and it's just what a naughty boy like you needs to mind his babysitter."

Smack Smack Smack Smack Smack

"If you act like a little boy and disobey Melissa, she will treat you like a little boy and pull your pyjamas down for a good spanking on your bare bottom. When you start crying like a baby, we'll be getting somewhere with your lesson."

Smack Smack Smack Smack Smack

"Nooooo, Melissa ... pleeeeaaaasse ... I'll be a good boy, I promise. I'll be a good boy."

Smack Smack Smack Smack Smack

"I'm sure you will be a good little boy, Danny, but not until after you have learned how to behave like one over my knee."

As the heat in my bottom turned into a burning sting, my cries gradually shifted from protests and promise to the first hints of real crying. Like Mrs Worthington, mummy always spanked me until I cried and I supposed Melissa would do the same as well. I wanted to be anywhere else at that moment. In the hopes of ending my spanking earlier, I started to cry more openly now. But Melissa spanked on with the same steady pace.

Smack Smack Smack Smack Smack

"How does it feel to be lying bare bottom over a sixteen-year-old girl's lap for a spanking like a naughty little boy, Danny?"

Smack Smack Smack Smack Smack

By then, I had slipped past the point of a coherent response. I could have mustered a reply had she pressed the matter but she just kept on spanking and I finally let loose with some real bawling.

Smack Smack Smack Smack Smack

"You can kick and cry all you want, young man, but Melissa will decide when you have been properly spanked. Your mother told me she believes a real spanking only begins when one hears real crying. And I couldn't agree more."

Smack Smack Smack Smack Smack

"Mummy Melissa's going to take good care of you from now on," she replied, picking up on her new name right away and slowing down her spanks noticeably before tapering off.

"Are you going to be a good little boy from now on, Danny?" she asked, gently rubbing my sore bottom now.

"Yess...... yes... I promise I'll be a good boy oooh... I promise, Mummy Melissa".

For the next few minutes, Melissa continued to rub me gently until my crying subsided. I had kicked my pyjamas completely off and it was easy for her to stand me on my feet and take me in her arms for the second hug of the evening. Now her hand rubbed real comfort into my scalding bottom as I felt the full softness of her breasts again. And there, holding me all safe in her arms, Melissa kissed away my tears and asked if I understood why she had to spank me. I nodded through my heaving breath and hugged her more tightly than ever.


"Whenever you fail to obey Mummy Melissa, she's going to give you a sound spanking on your bare bottom, isn't she?. I expect you to have your room clean on time in the future, little boy, do you understand? Otherwise, you'll be back over my knee lickety split. Do you hear me, Danny?"

I nodded to her questions as I clung more tightly to her and cried softly and freely, my face buried in her shoulder under her hair.

With some effort, Mummy Melissa broke off my hug and reached down to fetch my pyjama bottoms. While I clung to her neck, she slipped them over my feet and pulled them back up. Moments later, with a few smacks to my pyjamaed bottom, she bundled me into bed and tucked me in.

After tucking me in, Melissa bent down to give me a good night kiss. I reached up and hugged her in return. As my face once again nestled near her ear, I whispered, "I love you mummy Melissa."

"I love you too, Danny, and I'm going to give you all the extra love you need. Goodnight sweetheart."

"Goodnight, Mummy Melissa."

Minutes later, I fell soundly asleep, exhausted yet utterly content, a warm glow spreading from my bottom throughout my entire body.

That was the beginning of two years of regular babysitting from Melissa. She watched me once or twice a week, and sometimes more often.

When I turned fifteen, I spent four weeks with Melissa and her mother at their summer cottage while my parents enjoyed a Mediterranean cruise. During that time, I was spanked by Melissa two or three times a week. Many of the spankings were given when her mother was home and on all occasions, she managed to walk into the room in the middle of my punishment.

When I was cheeky to Mrs Dobson when Melissa was off running errands or visiting friends, she proved as able in the spanking department as her daughter. The most embarrassing episode was when I was crying my way through a bare bottom spanking over Mrs Dobson's lap when Melissa returned with her friend, Jenny Saunders. I buried my head in the sofa cushion and continued sobbing like a baby as Mrs Dobson went right on spanking and scolding me.

The most embarrassing moment came when Mrs Dobson scolded me in front of Melissa and her friend

"Danny, it's clear you are one of those naughty boys who will never be too old to be spanked. Both your mother and Melissa tell me you need at least one good spanking a week and sometimes more than that. And as you can see, I will be more than happy to take your pyjamas down if you misbehave in my house. Mummy Dobson has had years of experience spanking naughty boys, I hope I'm getting through to you young man and that I see a change in your behaviour around here. Otherwise, you'll be right back here over my lap with a very sore bottom. Is that clear, young man?"

"Ye... ye.. yes... mummy Dobson," I managed to stammer in between spanks.

"I've also told your mother that she can drop you off here anytime Melissa isn't free to babysit and she has accepted my offer. Melissa isn't the only one around here who knows how to handle bad little boys, is she?"

"No... mummy Dobson." At that, both Melissa and Jenny began giggling and I turned even redder.

As always, I was stood in the corner for fifteen minutes after my spanking before Mummy Dobson called me out of the corner to pull up my pyjamas and gave me a hug of forgiveness. And during those fifteen minutes, Melissa and Jenny managed to keep busy in the living room where they could admire my scarlet bottom.

My Babysitter Melissa by Randy. This story was one of the first I ever read that involved early bedtimes and pyjama spankings

1973 was a year I still remember, I turned fourteen in August. And my parents found a new babysitter named Melissa. With a very busy social schedule, they were often out two or even three weeks a night at dinner parties, the theatre, or the symphony

She was sixteen when mum hired her, she was the daughter of our local vicar and for the past year, she had worked as the assistant teacher at my Sunday School, supervising fifteen children aged eleven to fifteen.

She was also very pretty. At five foot seven, she was four inches taller than me and extremely curvy, which made her look very grown up in my eyes. The fact that she was in charge of me every Sunday for an hour only added to her appeal. So did her regular habit of keeping order threatening unruly children with a spanking. Fortunately, she was not allowed to make good on her threats. All discipline was administered by the Sunday School director, Mrs Clara Worthington.

Mrs Worthington was a kindly woman in her late fifties who left most of the demanding work of supervising the children to Melissa. Mrs Worthington preferred to stay in her office just off the main school room where she could keep an eye on things. As Mrs Worthington's assistant, Melissa was instructed to give only one warning to serious troublemakers. Repeat transgressors were promptly sent to Mrs Worthington for discipline and that always meant a spanking. Mrs Worthing spanked for disobedience, bad language, and any other offence Melissa deemed sufficiently serious.

As one of the more rambunctious children, I ended up in Mrs Worthington's office about once every month."You have been very, very naughty, little boy. Do you know how Mrs Worthington handles bad little boys? Do you? She bares their bottoms and gives them sound spankings. And that's exactly what you're going to get in a few minutes, young man, a sound spanking on your naughty bottom. Do you understand?"

No scolding ever lasted more than a few minutes. And toward the end, she would begin unfastening the boy's belt and taking down his shorts (part of our Sunday School uniform). Once these were at his ankles, she would pull him over her lap and adjust him to the best position - something which took another thirty seconds or more. If a child wasn't crying by the time his shorts were taken down or her dress raised, most began crying audibly when put over her lap or when their bottoms were finally bared.

As my bottom was bared, I felt an extra surge of juvenile helplessness and dependency as if I were still a toddler. Since I had been spanked regularly for misbehaviour since I was young, each spanking invariably triggered memories of much earlier punishments. No wonder the baring of my bottom made me feel so "naughty". Yet even while I felt terribly apprehensive, I also felt strangely safe and in an equally childish way. With my feet waving in the air, my head near the floor, and my bottom bare and all too vulnerable, I felt like I had given up control of my body to the very capable hands of an older, maternal figure who was about to teach me a lesson.

While I imagine I wasn't the only fourteen-year-old Sunday School boy to imagine getting a spanking from Melissa, such thoughts quickly became the centre of my fantasy life in and outside of Sunday School. The other women who spanked me (and the many who spanked me in my daydreams) all gave way in my imagination to Melissa. She was much younger than my mum or Mrs Bailey yet still older than me. She was also terribly sexy even though my fourteen-year-old consciousness had only the vaguest sense of what "sexy" meant. At that age, it was mostly felt as an overwhelming crush which I did little to conceal in the hopes my affections, once noticed, would somehow be returned.

Even if spankings hadn't intrigued me, I would have been thrilled when Melissa scolded me. In hindsight, I'm sure I got into more mischief just to provoke attention from her, regardless of what kind of attention that might be. In my little boy imagination, I was convinced she would somehow admire my mischief as a sign of independence and cleverness. She would recognise how special I was compared to the other children.

Since I knew Melissa wasn't allowed to spank, I would often misbehave a little in Sunday School to draw out warnings without overstepping the fine line and earning a trip to Mrs Worthington.

It was through Sunday School that my mother ended up hiring Melissa to babysit for me. Melissa caught me using a dirty word, Mrs Worthington reported the matter to my mother when she came later to pick me up. Actually, she had Melissa tell mummy exactly what had happened before adding an account of my spanking. All of the other children had left by then and it was just the four of us in Mrs Worthington's office. I found myself looking at the ground with a very red face throughout the conversation. After listening to Melissa and Mrs Worthington, mummy said,

"I want to thank both of you for responding so promptly to this kind of behaviour which Danny knows is completely unacceptable. One of my strictest rules at home is the rule against foul language. It's even more serious to use such language in church. Danny is going to get another sound spanking on his bare bottom as soon as he gets home. Do you understand me, young man? You promised me last month you wouldn't use bad language again, didn't you? Apparently, the spanking you got then didn't teach you to mind mummy, did it? You're going to learn another lesson young man, just you wait. If Danny ever uses such language again in Sunday School, I want you to take down his shorts and underpants and spank him right in front of the other children."

"An excellent idea, Betty. I'm sure a little embarrassment would help Danny learn a good lesson. He's getting to that age when boys hate to have their bottoms bared in front of others. Maybe I should let Melissa spank him next time. From what the mothers of the other Sunday School children tell me, Melissa is quite capable in that department as a babysitter."

"Come to think of it, Clara, I've heard the same thing. And everyone tells me how well Melissa handles the children at Sunday School. It just so happens that my husband and I are looking for a new babysitter. Melissa, do you think you might be interested in babysitting for Danny a few times this coming week?"

"Of course, Mrs. Richardson," Melissa replied. "I'm always happy to earn a little extra money. When would you like me to sit?"

Thus the object of my most intense, boyish affections moved from supervising me in a group every Sunday to a much more intimate, one-on-one situation as my new babysitter. Little did my mother know she had fulfilled my wildest hopes.

Given my feelings for Melissa, it's easy to see why I vividly remember the first night she sat for me. As with all new babysitters, the evening began with a long list of instructions from mum. She was thorough if anything. There were reminders about my meal times, homework duties, television privileges, room straightening chores, teeth brushing, and bedtime.

I was a little embarrassed when Melissa was told my current bedtime was 7.30, very early for a fourteen-year-old I know but mum explained to her about my bad behaviour at the wedding so she understood why I was also wearing my pyjamas at 6 pm.

So naturally, there were equally thorough instructions on matters of discipline. I always had to be present for these in case any questions arose and mum always made sure I was ready for bed in my pyjamas as mum also knew I would behave better if I was pyjama clad when she went over disciplinary matters with my babysitter.

"Melissa, Danny has to have his room spic and span by his bedtime at 7:30. Once lights are out, he is to stay in bed. Make sure you check on him every half hour until he is asleep. He sometimes tries to sneak out of bed or read comics with a flashlight under the covers. If he doesn't follow your instructions and do as he's told, don't hesitate to give him a good spanking. Your mum tells me you have lots of experience babysitting for your two younger brothers and that you know how to handle naughty children."

"Yes, Mrs Richardson, I know exactly how to take care of bad boys." As she said, "bad boys" she turned and smiled at me causing my face to go red.

"Splendid, Melissa. I think you'll find Danny is usually very well behaved but that's partly because he knows exactly what to expect when he doesn't mind. Discipline without consistency is just not discipline. You probably understand that from your own home because your mother and I think alike on that score."

At the time, I briefly wondered why Melissa blushed a little at mum's words. But there was little time for such thoughts as the discussion immediately returned to my discipline.

"Melissa, I always give Danny one warning if he isn't doing his chores on time and that usually works. He knows I will check on him a little later. If he fails to do things on time or to obey your instructions, a session over your knee will straighten him out quickly. Sometimes, that's the only way to get his full and undivided attention. Consistency is essential to proper child raising and discipline is the basis of consistency. As I said to you earlier on the phone, we're looking for a regular babysitter. I'm afraid Danny is one of those boys who will need babysitting for a long time yet.

"Since I need you to watch him three times this week, this can be a trial run to see how you work out. If all goes well, you can be Danny's new regular sitter. We usually need someone about two nights a week and we can usually provide advance warning. As you know, I also pay good wages for babysitting.”

Melissa smiled at me as she replied to mum, "I'm sure Danny and I will get along just fine, from what I've observed in Sunday School, it's clear Danny will be needing close supervision for quite some time. He's still a very much a little boy in many ways, isn't he?"

"He certainly is, Melissa. I'm glad to see how observant you are. You remind me in many ways of your very capable mother. If my instincts are correct, I think you are going to be the answer to my prayers. Oh, one more thing, Melissa. After Danny gets a spanking, all is forgiven. A punishment works best if it has a clear ending so a youngster can put his misbehaviour behind him. That why I always give him a good hug afterwards. He should also promise to try and behave better in the future. Hugs and a cookie help Danny understand how discipline is a natural part of any a loving household."

Once again, Melissa quickly agreed with my mother. My mind began turning a little until Melissa interrupted my thoughts.

"Enjoy your dinner party, Mrs Richardson. I'll take good care of Danny and make sure he stays on his best behaviour. Won't you, young man?"

I gulped and nodded.

"Wonderful, Melissa. You be good, Danny, and make sure you behave for Melissa, mummy will be back later after you're in beddy-byes but I'll check on you when I come in."

Mum paused to bend and kiss me goodbye with a long, loving look in my eyes before tousling my hair.

Melissa and I went back into the kitchen where we ate dinner and given the detailed instructions my mother had issued on matters of discipline and my history with Melissa in Sunday School, the conversation soon turned to punishments.

I asked her innocently what sort of mischief her charges had gotten into. With a smile, she described all sorts of boyish games and pranks. She then asked me how often I misbehaved and what I did. And that, finally, led to the question which broke the ice. Fortunately, Melissa let me off the hook by asking it herself.

"Danny, how often do you get spanked?"

"Oh ... I suppose once or twice a week, except in the summer when mummy says I get into more trouble because I have more free time."

Now it was my turn to blush though my momentary embarrassment did not prevent me from forging on.

"Melissa, can I ask you a question?"

"Of course, what is it?"

"Have you ever spanked children while you were babysitting?"

"Why Danny, what a silly question. All babysitters spank when necessary. Haven't your other babysitters put you over their knee when you needed it?"

"No, you’re the first babysitter mum has given permission to spank me. Melissa tilted her head as she spoke

“Some children are naughtier and need more frequent discipline, you remind me of a boy I sat for last year on Thursday nights who earned rather frequent spankings. I suspect his mummy wasn't giving him the discipline he needed. Other boys are better behaved and only need their bottoms warmed occasionally."

"Really, Melissa ... you spanked him almost every time you sat for him?"

"That's right, Danny. He was just about your age, and just as cute too, especially when he was standing in the corner with his pyjama bottoms at half mast."

"You made him stand in the corner and spanked him on the bare bottom?"

"Why Danny .... how else does one spank? The good Lord gave children padding in their bottoms so they could be well smacked without lasting harm. Spankings are a childish punishment and bare bottoms are an important reminder of how boys and girls get treated when they act like naughty children. Doesn't your mummy spank you on your bottom?"

Though I blushed, I also felt a surge of excitement as I replied, "Yes, she does." Without even realising what I was doing, I reached down under the table with both hands and rubbed my bottom through my pyjamas as though remembering one of mummy's spankings.

"Does she use corner time too?"

"Sometimes.” I hesitantly replied.

Then Melissa added something out of the blue which made my heart pound. "You know, Danny, if you really want to get some idea of how I spank naughty boys, I could also give you a play spanking. Although it wouldn't hurt, it would give you a good idea of what to expect if you misbehave. Would you like a play spanking?"

"Well ... I ... uh ... I uh ... really? You promise it wouldn't hurt?"

"Cross my heart, Danny. Besides, from what I see of your behaviour in Sunday School, you'll be going over my lap soon enough for the real thing."

"Well ... if you promise it won't hurt ..."

Melissa suddenly took on suddenly mock-serious tone. "Listen here, young Danny, it's time you learned a good lesson from me about how I handle naughty children. Come with me right now".

She grabbed my arm firmly and led me downstairs into the den and over to a straight-backed chair which stood against the wall.

Playing my part I begged and put up a mock struggle. "No please, Melissa, don't spank me .. please ... I'll be a good boy, I promise".

"I'll believe those promises only after I see a red bottom over my lap, young man. Now stop struggling right this instant if you know what's good for you. You are going to get a good spanking from me right now and there is nothing you can do about it."

To reinforce her point and urge me along, Melissa punctuated her remarks with a series of solid smacks through my pyjamas. As soon as I felt her hand, all resistance seemed to vanish and I allowed myself to be marched downstairs and over to a chair. The next thing I knew, she had sat down and put over her knee.

"Now let's get these pyjamas down, shall we, once I have warmed you up I like to get to the bare bottom of things and you will be no exception, young man. Do you understand? Bad ... bad ... bad ... bad Danny."

Smack Smack Smack.

"You bad, bad, bad little boy. You aren't going anywhere until you've been well spanked. Do you understand me?"

Smack Smack Smack. Smack Smack

"Yes, Melissa, please don't spank me anymore... please"

"You can kick and cry all you want but Melissa isn't going to stop until you've learned a good lesson."

Smack Smack Smack.

On and on she scolded and spanked just hard enough to give me some idea of what the real thing would be like. My bottom began to feel very warm.

At the same time, my little penis hardened and pushed against her bare thighs with each spank. Fortunately, she didn't seem the least bothered by this and continued to scold and spank me and I wriggled and rubbed. It wasn't long before I felt like the luckiest little boy in the world lying over the lap of my babysitter getting a play spanking that went on and on and on.

Finally, after about fifteen minutes, she took down my briefs and assessed the damage on my bottom by slowly going over every inch of my cheeks with her right hand. Of course, I continued to "cry and beg” not to be spanked on the bare all the while enjoying the feel of my squirming and pressing directly against her.

By then, I was in a dizzy rapture, conscious of a glowing warmth which seemed to encircle my loins and bottom while spreading up along my torso and down my legs. I guess I was in some sort of boy heaven where all things are possible.

"Please, I promise I'll be a good boy. Melissa... I'll be a good little boy... please don't spank me on my bare bottom," I cried with a tone which managed to mix urgency with a taunting quality.

Smack Smack. Smack. Smack Smack

"You're not going anywhere, young man until I give this cute bottom of yours a good spanking. Cry and kick and struggle all you want but you are staying put until Melissa gives you the discipline you need. You are obviously someone who needs lots of discipline and I will be all too happy to provide it. If I was your mummy, I'd put to bed each night with a good spanking. Little boys sleep much better with a warm bottom, don't they?"

Smack Smack Smack Smack Smack Smack Smack

"I suppose so, mummy... I mean Melissa. I wish you really were my mummy, Melissa. Will you really spank me if I am naughty?"

Smack Smack Smack Smack Smack Smack Smack Smack Smack

"You had better believe so Danny."

Smack Smack Smack Smack Smack Smack Smack Smack

By then I was in a real rapture, half crying, half moaning as I openly wriggled on her thighs as shamelessly as a little child. My bottom rose slightly as if greeting her hand and fell in a thrust against her soft legs.

Smack Smack Smack Smack Smack Smack Smack Smack Smack Smack Smack

"I think I'm going to enjoy sitting for you, Danny. And since you obviously like play spankings so much, I'd say you're going to need another one tomorrow night when I come back. Of course, this will have to be our secret, Danny, won't it, young man?"

Smack Smack Smack Smack Smack Smack Smack Smack Smack

"Of course, Melissa. I swear I won't ever tell anyone."

Smack Smack Smack Smack Smack

"You'd better not. I'd probably be fired as your babysitter and I might get a spanking myself from my mother."

Smack Smack Smack

"Really, Melissa, you still get spanked?"

Smack Smack Smack Smack Smack Smack Smack

"Sometimes, Danny, but that's another story? I think you'd better concentrate on your own punishment?"

Smack Smack Smack Smack Smack

"Yes, Melissa".

Smack Smack Smack

True to her word, Melissa spanked me gently. As if to compensate, she also spanked for what seemed about a half hour. Neither of us seemed in any hurry to end things. In the end, my bottom was red and very tingly. Finally, Melissa stood me on my feet ignoring how stiff I was in front and gave me a long hug. I hugged back as if there was no tomorrow. I guess I loved Melissa more intensely at that moment than ever. It was as if my love had finally been consummated.

I was even proud of my condition and glad that she wasn't embarrassed by it. I also hugged her to prolong the sensation of pressing against her soft, heavy breasts which seemed to embrace my chest in return.

To comfort me more, Melissa kissed the side of my face, told me what a good boy I was, and stroked by bottom repeatedly with her right hand. She then reminded me I was still liable for a real spanking if I didn't behave for the rest of the evening.

After she released me and pulled my pyjamas back up, she gave me permission to watch TV until 7.15 after which she told me I was to brush my teeth and go up to my bedroom. She said she would do homework in the living room and would come upstairs to check on me and read me a story.

With a final smack to my bottom, Melissa turned on the TV and disappeared to do her homework.