One weekend, my parents were out of town. However, they had instructed Nanny Beatrice to take us to church on Sunday as usual.
Nanny Beatrice was about five feet eight inches, with brown hair and brown eyes, a devout Christian who has never married, and has devoted her life to being a nanny for others.
She is meticulous, well-spoken, disciplined, and stern when necessary.
When it was time to get ready for church, Nanny Beatrice came into my room and wanted to know why I wasn’t ready.
I told her that I didn’t feel like going to church and that I wanted to stay home instead.
Nanny Beatrice then grabbed my black pants off a hanger in my closet handed them to me and said- Put these on – you’re going to church, whether you like it or not.
She then left the room and I started to take my shorts off.
As I did this, I started thinking to myself- She’s not my mother.
I don’t have to go to church if I don’t want to.
So I sat down on my bedroom floor in my underwear and T-shirt
and told myself that I would just sit there in protest.
Big mistake!
Nanny Beatrice came back in my room a few minutes later to check on my progress
and she became really upset that I hadn’t put my pants on yet.
She then told me in a stern voice- If you don’t put these pants on right now, I’m gonna give you a spanking!
A spanking?
Sure she had spanked me several times before,
but this time I felt that there was no way that she would follow through on her threat.
After all, I felt that if I didn’t want to go to church,
then I didn’t have to.
This time, I felt that I was totally justified.
I stood up and I yelled back at her-
No! I’m not going to church and you can’t make me, Nanny Beatrice!
With this, I threw my pants at her.
In an instant, Nanny Beatrice grabbed me by my arm and took me over to my bed.
Now I was in for it!
She sat down on my bed and pulled me over her lap.
Nanny Beatrice was always stern and composed during these moments.
The setting was always the same: a cozy bedroom with soft lighting and traditional decor.
Her method was methodical, raising her hand high before bringing it down with precision.
Each spank was delivered with a firm but controlled force, ensuring the lesson was learned.
Sometimes, she used a wooden paddle, its smooth surface adding a sting to each strike.
Other times, it was a leather belt, its weight and flexibility making each spank resonate deeply.
On rare occasions, she opted for a hairbrush, its hard bristles leaving a lasting impression.
Regardless of the tool, the message was clear: obedience was non-negotiable.
The emotions were a whirlwind—fear, pain, and a deep sense of submission.
Each spank was a reminder of the consequences of defiance.
The lesson was always clear: obedience was non-negotiable.
I was face down over her lap
about to get the spanking of my life from my nanny.
This was to be my first bottom spanking from her.
Nanny Beatrice yelled- You’ve been a very, very naughty boy
and you must be punished!
I’m gonna spank you until you learn that when I tell you to do something,
you better not disobey me!
Nanny Beatrice then began spanking me with her right hand.
After the first few spanks, I yelled out, Please, Nanny Beatrice – stop! Please don’t spank me!
But she continued beating my bottom and said, I’m gonna teach you some manners, you spoiled brat – you’re gonna get a spanking you’ll never forget!
Nanny Beatrice continued spanking me,
and it was becoming so hard that I started to cry
and kick my legs. The spanking hurt so much that I lost count of the number of swats.
She must have given me about thirty spanks before she was done.
After she finished spanking me,
Nanny Beatrice held me in place over her lap and said,
If you ever disobey me again, I’ll put you over my knee and spank your bottom so hard that you won’t sit down for the entire month!
Then she finally let me up off her lap, still crying.
As the dust settled, the reality of what had transpired began to sink in.
It was a moment of reflection, a time to piece together the fragments of the day’s events.
The aftermath was not just about the physical remnants, but also the emotional echoes that lingered in the air.
Each of us, in our own way, started to process the whirlwind of emotions.
There was a sense of quiet contemplation, a need to understand and, perhaps, find some semblance of closure.
It was clear that this chapter, though challenging, would shape us in ways we couldn’t yet fully grasp.
And so, we stood there, in the silence, letting the weight of it all wash over us.
I thought my punishment was over but I was wrong.
She said- Now you’ve made us late for church,
so you can just spend the next half hour in the corner
to remind you of what happens to naughty boys who disobey!
I slowly waddled over to the corner in my room.
Nanny Beatrice then left my room, saying-
If you move from that corner and I catch you,
then you’ll go right back over my knee –
but this time it’ll be with my hairbrush!
For the next half hour, I didn’t dare move a muscle.
I didn’t end up going to church that Sunday – but I wished I had,
because my bottom was as sore as can be.
That was the last time I ever refused to go to church when Nanny Beatrice was around
but I can’t say that was the last time I was over her knee for a bottom spanking – it was just the beginning.
The next week, she caught me in a lie – but that’s another story.
