STRICT NANNY DOES HER DUTY - caning the young gentleman so severely on his bare bottom...

Shortly after lunch, her train glided out of Paddington. In her First Class seclusion, Nanny Peters settled down comfortably to doze.

Nanny Peters dreamed of the young man she once had occasion to punish. So severely. She recalled, in her sleeping memories, that Easter Sunday some years ago now when all the chocolate eggs had been greedily wolfed by a certain young gentleman down from Eton while the rest of the family had been in the private chapel piously at their morning prayers. Loud protests and tearful tantrums greeted the scraps of silver and gold wrapping paper as the younger ones mourned the loss of the entire hoard of chocolate Easter eggs. Papa had spinelessly Daimlered off to his golf club and Mama had strategically hidden behind a migraine. Soothing then settling the younger ones down with colouring books and crayons, Nanny Peters had stalked the gardens until she cornered the miscreant lurking in the redcurrant bushes. He was seventeen - but Nanny Peters had owned and ruled his bottom for more than a decade and so he had followed her meekly, head bowed, along the cinder path, across the lawn and into the house up to his bedroom. Closing the door firmly, Nanny Peters ordered him to undress.

'Shoes and socks off, if you please, and then I want to see you bare bottomed. Bared and prepared for...punishment.'

As she spoke, deliberately pausing on the final word, a warm thrill coursed through her juicing labia. Nanny Peters adored punishments. Spankings. The hair brush. A crisp slippering. The very though of gripping a bamboo cane tightly before slicing it viciously down across an upturned bare bottom made the trickle of wet heat drench her pubic bush and soak her tight white cotton knickers.

The boy stood motionless. There was just a hint of rebellion in his tilted head. The eyes were a touch defiant - but they avoided her stern gaze.

'Quickly. Nanny wants your bare bottom, young man. At once.'

'Shan't!' he shouted rudely. 'And you can't make ...'

'At once!' thundered Nanny imperiously.

The train rushed through the green countryside, scattering cows and crows behind its sleek passage. In her deep sleep, nestling into her First Class comfort, Nanny Peters smiled. In her dream, she remembered his defiant - but futile - resistance. His red face. His uncertainty. The fear of a strict bare bottomed punishment clouding his wide eyes.

'I hope I do not have to tell you again,' she whispered menacingly.

The young man had been rude - outspoken even - in his refusal to obey her command. He defied her and her stern instructions. He argued, wholly unreasonably given the residual trace of chocolate around his mouth, that he knew nothing of any missing or eaten Easter eggs. Nanny planted her hands on her hips - signalling that she was out of patience. Weakening, the boy knelt down before her and fiddled clumsily with his shoe laces - his nervous fingers failing to loosen them.

Bowed down at her feet, inches from her brown polished brogues, the boy murmured in a slightly whining tone, 'You simply can't...Nanny...please...I shall be going up to Oxford next term.'

Nanny Peters was firm. 'Too old to be punished by Nanny, hmm? Too old for a spanking over Nanny's knee, I suppose, young man.'

'Well...yes...' he countered, lamely.

'Admit to it. Admit to stealing and eating the little ones' Easter eggs while we were all at prayers.'

He maintained a sulky silence.

'You will confess. Confess and own your sin, young man. We must not add lies to our sin of greed on the Sabbath. I will beat you when you have admitted your guilt to me. And only when you have admitted your guilt, is that clear?'

'Yes, Nanny Peters.' The tone was sulky.

A tense two minutes ticked silently by.

Nanny Peters surveyed her victim's bedroom. She knew every nook and cranny of the bright, airy retreat. She knew the mud caked rugger boots tossed carelessly into the dark cupboard. She knew the ancient teddy bear that had been repeatedly visited by the moth. She knew the hidden whereabouts of his rolled up girlie magazine - the pages stuck together with his joyful spurt of sticky semen.

'I know all your secrets, my boy. All of them. You cannot hide anything from Nanny. You know that.'

He nodded. 'Sorry Nanny Peters,' he mumbled. 'Please forgive me and please don't...spank me...'

'Good boy. You are wise to confess all. Very well, I shall not spank you...'

'Oh, thank you Nanny...'

'It shall have to be a caning. more arguing. Go down at once to the potting shed and bring me back a length of bamboo cane. There is a bundle of new canes under the seedling shelf - in readiness for this summer's raspberries. I do not want one of last year's dry sticks. It must be this seasons. Springy and supple, mind.'

The boy had undressed mechanically. He snatched up his trousers.

'No, never mind about putting those back on. I want you bare bottomed for the cane. Run along now and fetch me one.'

'But Nanny Peters,' he whined, his voice a rising protest. 'What if cook sees me. Or what if the new maid...'

'If they do see you than they'll know that Nanny is going to cane your bare bottom for being so very, very wicked. Won't they? Hmm? Now run along and fetch me my cane.'

He trotted off, returning red-faced - the new maid had squealed her surprise at catching the young man naked. He bowed his head as he surrendered the short length of whippy wood. Moments later, face down into the pillow, his nakedness stretched out beneath her, he bunched his bare cheeks in an anxious reflex as Nanny Peters tap-tapped his upturned bottom dominantly.

Stepping back from the bed, and judging the distance expertly with the length of yellow bamboo, Nanny planted her polished brogues into the dark bedroom carpet. He flinched from the tip of the cane as it worried his naked bottom and - burying his face into the pillow - whimpered his muffled apologies.

'Too late for sorry, young man. Far, far too late. You know you deserve to be punished...and punished you shall be.'

Unbuttoning and folding back the starched cuff of her crisp blouse, Nanny Peters thrummed the cane twice above the bare bottom below. As it sliced the empty air, singing its song of sorrow, Nanny smiled knowingly as she watched the buttocks below clench and tighten in pure fear. The third slice whistled - a vicious stroke - and lashed down across the upturned cheeks. The naked boy bucked and moaned, tossing on his bed in exquisite agony. Nanny Peters lashed the cane down across his suffering bottom seven, eight, nine more times in brutal succession. Swish, slice, crack. Swish, slice, crack. The pillow barely smothered his soft screaming. Nanny was an adroit punisher. She knew and practised the dark arts of discipline superbly. Supremely.

She paused, the cane pressing down firmly into his soft flesh, between each searing stroke - letting the rising tide of hot pain soak into his burning cheeks.

Slowly, deliberately, she raked every red weal across the smooth curves of his bare bottom with the tip of the cane, piling humiliation and shame upon his pain.

She paused, the cruel bamboo cane trapping and taming his bare bottom below, between each searing stroke - letting the dread of the next swipe build up inside him to haunt his boiling imaginings.

Slowly, deliberately, she pressed the supple length of wood down across his whipped cheeks, noticing with relish how the soft darkness of his cleft yawned wide as she dimpled his bottom in conquest.

Swish, swipe - reddening stripe! Swish, swipe - reddening stripe! The caning continued. Remorselessly. Inexorably. Nanny did her duty. And the young boy suffered. Each measured, unerring stroke lashed the thin cane down across his jerking bottom. At the pillow, his sobs were muffled and pitiful. But Nanny knew her duty.

At the pillow, his clenching fingers splayed like small star fish as they signalled his suffering. Swish, swipe, stripe. Swish, swipe, stripe. Nanny knew her duty. The pink cane strokes on his crimson bottom had turned from red to purple, and were deepening to a very satisfactory bruised blue. Nanny did her duty. Across the punished bottom, the weals were now a darker shade of pain.

Between the sixteenth and the seventeenth stroke of the cane, Nanny tamed her writhing subject into stillness, pressing the whippy wood down at the nape of his neck. Dominating him superbly, she quelled his wriggling and writhing. The concluding strokes were merciless, planting a succession of vicious strokes across the rounded curves of his helpless bottom. He squealed aloud as Nanny concluded the discipline with this furious final flourish. She smiled grimly as she watched him bucking and bouncing beneath her - clamping his thighs together as if squeezing out the pain. Her grim smile widened with dark pleasure as she savoured the moment the cleft between his whipped cheeks tightened to a severe crease.

'There, there,' Nanny murmured, resting the cane almost tenderly across his upturned - and savagely punished - bottom. 'Nanny has chastised you. Be thankful. Nanny knows her duty, and Nanny knows best. You must always trust Nanny. She has your best interests at heart, young man.'

'Yes, Nanny,' he almost sobbed.

'And so what do we say to Nanny after our punishment? Hmm?'

'Thank you, Nanny,' he whispered thickly.

'Good little boy,' she murmured, eyeing his strong thighs and manly limbs. She observed that he had grown darker, thicker hairs since his last whipping at Christmas.

Prodding him gently with the tip of her cruel cane, Nanny rolled him over on the bed. His erection flickered upwards, saluting her smartly. Bending, like a nurse attending to a patient, Nanny teased the glistening snout of his cock with the tip of her cane. The boy grunted - and groaned in response. Nanny dragged the edge of the cane up and then down the thick length. He blushed furiously as his cock quivered - his face almost as red as his whipped bottom - and scrabbled his hands to cover his proud shaft.

'Now, now, don't be childish, young man.' Nanny purred, sweeping his protective fingers away from his throbbing erection deftly with the cane. 'No secrets from Nanny, are there? Hmm? After all, I bathed you and milked your first sticky naughtiness out into the big yellow sponge, didn't I? And how many many times have I taken the sponge to you in the bath over the years? Hmm? Nanny milks her little boy, doesn't she?'

'Yes, Nanny' he replied, his voice tight and husky.

'That's right. Yes, Nanny. After all, I've owned you, your milk and your bare bottom for many a long year now, haven't I? Hmm?'

'Yes, Nanny.'

Nanny worried his cock once more, tapping it gently with a maddening rhythm. It strained and pulsed violently under her teasing treatment with the cane. He closed his eyes tightly, burning in his gathering shame. She adroitly twisted her wrist, bringing the tip of the cane to address his balls. She tap-tapped them deftly, angling the cane so that it rose up into the sac - soon his balls were riding the thin yellow bamboo. He groaned long and loud.

'Good little boy.'

The teasing at his sac was driving him towards ejaculation. He thrust his hips up. Suddenly, with a sharp gasp, he came - massively - splattering his tummy and chest as his fingers gripped the bedclothes in delicious torment. Nanny sighed as she watched the silver puddle shimmer in the nest of dark chest hairs. Inquisitively, she dipped her fingertip down into the warm mess and rubbed a generous droplet of the sticky semen against the ball of her thumb.

'Now run along to the bathroom and wash yourself thoroughly,' Nanny ordered crisply, drying her fingertip in her skirt. 'I will be along presently to apply a cold flannel to you little hot bottom. And,' she continued sternly, wiping the tip of the yellow cane on the carpet, 'Nanny truly hopes that she has taught you not to be such a greedy, selfish little piggy. Really, young man, eating all the little ones' chocolate Easter eggs like that. Disgraceful behaviour. So. Has Nanny taught you a valuable lesson? Hmm?'

'Yes, thank you, nanny,' he mumbled, wiping the semen from his chest hairs with his flattened palm. 'But did you know it was me...I mean that it was I...that ate the eggs?'

'Nanny knows everything, young man. She knows that you did not wipe the mud from your rugger boots before you threw them down in the cupboard. She knows about the magazine you look at...the magazine with the naked women on every page...the naked women you spill your stickiness onto...then hide it under your mattress...Nanny knows everything and above all...Nanny knows best.'

'Yes, Nanny. of course, Nanny.'

'Are you glad that I chose to cane you rather than spank you over my knee, young man?'

'Yes, Nanny.'

'Of course you are. You would not have wanted to be spanked across my knee and splash my nylon stockings with your sticky wickedness, would you? Hmm?'

'No, Nanny.'

'And why not?'

He lowered his head and remained stubbornly silent.

'Because,' she whispered, 'Nanny would have had to spank your sore bottom so very very hard - with the hairbrush even - until you had licked her nylons perfectly clean.'

The train was approaching a station. The shrill whistle woke Nanny Peters up from her dreams. Her dreams of discipline and punishment. Wet from her reverie, Nanny Peters slipped her gloved hand into her handbag to fish out a fistful of tissues to dry her pulsing excitement.

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