Submission ~ Baby Ronnie
copyright ©www.GovernessX.com ~ material not to be reproduced without written permission
Mother's Revenge ~ a serialised story of a Mother's complete control & infantilisation of her son
Mackintosh Discipline ~ a personal account of the traditional discipline of Baby Ronnie
The Regression of Ronnie ~ a story of an overpowering Mummy & her mackintosh boy
Mother's Revenge
Robert stood nervously in front of his mother, anxiously staring at his feet, shuffling uncomfortably as she read him the riot act.
“I’ve never been so embarrassed as I was today young man! Well, I’ve been far too lenient with you for far too long. There’ll be some changes around here starting right away”
Placing a high backed chair in the centre of the room, she pulled Robert towards her sharply, and then across her lap, and he suddenly found himself staring at the floor. Pulling him towards her with her left hand, she quickly pulled his jeans down with the other hand, exposing his Calvin Kleins. The alcohol had diluted the speed of his reaction, and he belatedly realised that he was to be spanked by his mother.
“You can’t do this to me you bitch…….I’m 19 years of age…. Stop it now”
But she was in no mood for his protestations, and proceeded to pull down his pants, and to administer the spanking that was 10 years overdue in her opinion.
Ten minutes later, he found himself facing the corner of the room with his hands over his head, and his trousers and pants around his ankles. It gave him time to consider the series of events that led to this state of affairs. Not just the outburst of drunken swearing in front of his mother’s friends, nor the verbal abuse of her mother’s boss earlier that afternoon, but the years of decline that saw him change from the well behaved young boy of 12, to the layabout deadbeat he’d become at the age of 19. He thought momentarily of the death of his father, an event his mother had always blamed for how he’d turned out - the lack of a paternal influence to guide the young man through his teen years.
Robert was a short boy for his age throughout his formative years, and this was still the case today. But the fresh faced, well dressed 12 year old had given way to an ashen faced youth, inclined to dressing in ripped jeans, cut off tee shirts, and trainers that had seen better days some time ago. His behaviour matched his appearance, his mother seemingly powerless to keep him in check. That is, until he pushed his luck too far earlier today.
But his attention was very quickly brought back to the here and the now, as his mother re-entered the room. She behaved as a woman with the new-found confidence to check his errant ways, after years of decline. She stood there with her hands on her hips, her head held high, looking ready for business. She was always dressed impeccably, a smart matching buttoned-up jacket and knee length skirt, over a white blouse buttoned to the neck. And as she strode towards him brandishing a plastic apron, he sensed that this evening was one he wouldn’t be forgetting for a while.***
She stood in front of him as she unbuttoned her jacket, hanging it up neatly over the back of the chair, and whilst fixing her gaze on him, she rolled up her sleeves over her elbows. She then took the white plastic apron, and threaded it over her head, pulling the belt tightly, and tying it behind her. It had the effect of accentuating her buxom and curvy figure.
“Right, before we go any further, it’s bath time for you. Come along …….. I’m waiting” she said holding out her hand. “Don’t make me come and get you, or you’ll be for it again……come on, quick about it”
Robert had thought about resisting, that is, until he saw his mother marching towards him. Realising that for now, resistance was futile, he allowed his mother to take his hand in hers. But as they climbed the stairs and entered the bathroom, he realised that events were taking a further unusual turn.
“Now let’s get those horrid clothes off you. Come along, arms up”
Robert noted that she was actually about to take his clothes off for him.
“Leave me alone. I can take them off myself. Stop it!”
“You’ll do as you’re told or do you want a spell over my knee again? Now, for the last time, arms up!”
She removed his tee shirt, quickly followed by his jeans, and socks, leaving him stood there in just his underpants.
“Now let’s get those off as well! Come along!”
“No way. There’s no way I’m taking these off in front of you.”
“Right I gave you a warning. Come here this instant” she ordered, as Robert moved away from her.
She caught hold of his hand, and in a repeat of his earlier punishment, he quickly found himself laying over his mother’s apron clad lap being spanked soundly like a 10 year old boy. Before long, his pants too had been removed, and as he found himself being lowered into the bath, tears flowing from his eyes, he realised that the balance of power had been dramatically and perhaps terminally reversed.
His mother proceeded to wash every part of his body, including his privates, just as a mother would her toddler infant. Feeling the pain of his two recently administered spankings, he obeyed his mother’s every instruction - “Arms up!” “Stand up!” ”Turn around!” “Head up!”
Before long, he’d been towel dried, buttoned up in his pyjamas, and despatched to bed - all before 8 o’clock. Little did he know at the time, but the events of the following day would have a significant impact on his life for some time to come.***
He’d spent the previous night in bed dressed in the pyjamas he’d worn as a 10 year old. His mother had insisted he be dressed suitably at all times, starting right now. So once she’d dressed him up in his “jammys”, ensuring the jacket was buttoned to the neck, he was tucked into bed tightly, and warned to only venture out if he wanted to visit the bathroom.
Meanwhile, his mother had been busy planning the next stage in his re-education, making a number of telephone calls. And so it was that when Robert was woken by his mother he was introduced to a couple of these changes.
“Now then young man. You’ll notice that the changes I talked about last night have already taken effect. So let me tell you more about these:-
You will address me as “Mother” at all times.
You will do everything I ask of you without question.
You will wear what I tell you to wear.
You will not be allowed out of the house without me.
You will no longer see your friends. I’ve already told Kurt that you’ve been a naughty boy, and been over my knee for a spanking. When he stopped laughing he told me he couldn’t wait to tell the rest of your “gang”.
You will no longer work in the record shop. I’ve also told the owner that you’ve been a naughty boy, and won’t return. My inheritance from your father will keep us both very comfortable.
Mealtimes will be strictly enforced and you will eat what is put before you without question.
You’ll be supervised by my sister - your Aunty Patricia - while I’m shopping or running errands. She’s given me some advice already on how I can keep you in check.
Any misbehaviour will be punished; and persistent misbehaviour will result in lost privileges.
If you ever dream of leaving, you can wave goodbye to your inheritance.”
As the list was read out, Robert became increasingly incredulous, particularly once he learned that his friends and employers had been told that he’d been spanked like a baby; there was no way he could face them ever again. With no money, no income and the threat of disinheritance hanging over him, he saw himself as a virtual prisoner in his own home.
“Now is that clear……well, speak up!”
“Yes” he muttered quietly
“Yes what?”
“Yes, Mother”
“That’s better. Now get dressed, and come down immediately for breakfast. I’ve thrown out your clothes bar what’s laid out for you. That’ll see you through until we get you some proper clothing”
He obliged dutifully, and walked down to the kitchen. The table had been set, and his mother was waiting for his arrival. He almost always gave breakfast a miss, preferring instead to recover from the excesses of the night before. But today it was different…..very different. He took his seat at the table as instructed by his mother, as she brought in a bowl of thick hot porridge. He’d hated porridge, and he anticipated the first of many battles with his mother.
“But I hate porridge”
“Nonsense. Little boys need to be fed up. No boy of mine is going out on an empty stomach! Come along, eat it up before it goes cold”
The smell was turning his stomach, and since it was the texture of glue, he readied himself for a battle of wills
“No way. I’m not eating that”
“Oh dear. It seems someone has forgotten one of Mother’s golden rules already - that you’ll eat what’s put in front of you. Now come here this instant!”
He was pulled vigorously from the chair, and found himself being laid over his mother’s lap, over the adjacent dining room chair. A quick spanking soon reminded him who was in charge.
“Very well, if you can’t eat it yourself, then Mother obviously needs to feed you like a baby. Sit up straight, and lift your head up”
She lifted his chin with her hand, and tied a white towel around his neck like a bib. The threat of an even longer spanking from this larger and more powerful woman meant he was obliged to do as he was told, and he quickly found the first tablespoon full of porridge being inserted into his mouth. Each subsequent spoonful was greeted by a simultaneous commentary - “open wide….good boy….and another one…” - and his mouth became encased by more and more of the gooey porridge. Eventually, his ordeal was over, but he quickly realised that this re-education programme was no idle threat from his mother.***
An hour later, and they were on their way into town for the shopping trip Robert had been promised earlier. He was wearing what was left of his own clothes, the remainder sitting in a bag, waiting for a charity collection later that afternoon. His mother had warned him that he was to have a new wardrobe of “sensible clothing”; he’d half anticipated what fat faced him, but his mother was about to ensure that his subservience to her was complete. As they walked down the high street , Robert noticed that they were passing the majority of stores he’d hoped or expected to visit - from the high fashion stores for the trendsetters of the day, to the popular high street retailers for the under 25 age groups.
“Where are we going? Why aren’t we going into these shops on the High Street?” Robert enquired.
His mother laughed condescendingly
“You can say goodbye to those shops. We‘re going to Lumsden‘s“
.
“Lumsden’s?! But that’s for squares and old people!”
“Nonsense. They have some very fetching outfits there”
“But it’s not fair. Everyone will laugh at me”
“Silence. Now keep up” she said, taking his hand in hers, and dragging him along reluctantly.
He well remembered Lumsden’s. This is where he was brought for his school uniforms and sensible shoes. This is where older people still came for good old fashioned clothing, and good old fashioned service. This wasn’t where 19 year old boys came for their clothes.
They entered the shop, and it was as if Robert had been sent back in time. The store was administered by a number of mature assistants and clothes dummies modelled the clothing. Clothes were hung up or folded neatly, and service was administered personally on a one to one basis. Once they were introduced to an elderly assistant - Mrs Protheroe - the next 10 minutes were spent between her and his mother, as Robert sat apprehensively nearby. The assistant was despatched with a list his mother had drawn up, while Robert was led to the changing room.
Mrs Protheroe returned with a selection of clothes.
“I’ll just leave these with you; please don’t hesitate to call me should you require further assistance”
“Thank you” his mother replied as she pulled the curtain closed
“What are you doing? I can try these on myself”
“Nonsense. I can’t trust you to pick the right style and size. Come along. Let’s get these horrid clothes off you”
Robert offered minor resistance, but the mere threat of a spanking - a public one at that - was enough to persuade him to comply. Before long, his mother had him try on every combination of collared shirts, ties, jackets, blazers and slacks. Mrs Protheroe interrupted them only once, as she handed his mother a pair of grey short trousers.
“You can’t think I’m going to wear those! You’ve got to be out of your mind”
“I do agree that short trousers do allow you to exercise more control over children. It’s such a shame that schools don’t enforce them on teenage boys more often” Mrs Protheroe interjected.
“Indeed. Well this young man will now have the chance to make up for lost time” Robert made to protest, but his mother cut him of mid sentence. “Silence, now there’ll be no more of that. Come along, take those trousers off this instant”
The trousers were yanked off sharply, and the shorts pulled up. With the long grey stockings, and the shirt, blazer and tie, he looked like a young schoolboy, his slight appearance belying his 19 years.
“Oh yes! That’s much better, don’t you agree Mrs Protheroe? Isn’t he a smart little boy?”
“Indeed! And it seems to have had the effect of keeping him quiet, doesn’t it?!
“Right; you’ll keep those on for the trip home. Now Mrs Protheroe, he’ll need a nylon mackintosh, and probably a school gaberdine as well. Can you assist us?”
Robert was escorted out of the changing area, back into the full glare of the shop floor. He quickly realised that his day was going from bad to worse.***
Robert had by now given up all resistance of note, realising it was futile in any case. He did, however, offer a hesitant challenge, but it was more in hope than expectation.
“Well, young children of today are very silly when it comes to being protected from the rain” Mrs Protheroe replied. “What type of coat are you looking for?”
“Well, Robert will need a blue gaberdine school regulation mac, and also a blue nylon mac.” replied Mother.
“But I want a cagoule or an anorak”
“Well your misbehaviour means that you’ll be wearing mackintoshes for some time to come. It‘s a button-up mackintosh for you young man”
“I think nothing offers the same protection as a proper mackintosh. What size will he require?”
“Well, as you can see, for a 19 year old, he’s very small for his size, so an age 11 should be fine. It’ll give him room to grow into them” replied his mother sarcastically.
Mrs Protheroe immediately removed a number of mackintoshes from hangers and shelves. He then saw Mrs Protheroe approaching him with a blue gaberdine mackintosh. However, instead of simply handing it to him, his mother insisted on dressing him herself,
“Now come along. Arms out. Quickly!” she warned him. She held the coat up and guided his arms into the sleeves of the mac, offering a commentary as she did so.
“There we are….. And the other…….Turn around…..Head up”
She removed the 2nd button that fastened the storm flap, and then lifted it up to fasten the top button, followed by the collar hook. The second button was then fastened, and the storm flap fastened over it. The other buttons were fastened also, followed by the belt. Robert was made to stand in front of the mirror mounted on the adjacent wall. His Mother was uncertain whether this was the right size for him however, but decided to continue with the trying on of the nylon mac first of all. Again, Robert was buttoned into the mackintosh, including the top button. His Mother took a step back to survey the fit.
“Do these mackintoshes have a longer fit?” she asked the assistants
“No, I’m afraid we only do longer fittings on clothes for the over 11’s” she replied
“Oh, what a shame he’s so slight for his age. The next size up would be far to big on him. It’s just that I’d like to see him in a full length mac, to protect him properly.”
“It’s a shame that he’s not a little girl as their fittings are slightly longer relative to the size of the coat.” the assistant mused.
“Well, perhaps not…… Would it be possible to try one on…… just to compare the sizes?” his mother asked.
“But Mother…..” Robert started to protest, but a withering glare from his mother cut him dead in his tracks.
“Of course, Madam. Dorothy, would you mind fetching a selection of mackintoshes from Girlswear please?” she asked of her colleague.
Moments later, the assistant returned with a wide selection of mackintoshes, promoting Robert’s mother to unbutton both his gaberdine and nylon mackintoshes. Mrs Protheroe picked up a navy blue gaberdine and handed it to Robert’s mother.
“Now, this is also an age 11 raincoat, but is a good 4 inches longer. It also has a number of other features that differ from the boy’s fit. As you can see, the collar’s are angled more acutely, the belt is a little wider, and the coat is gathered at the waist, and then flares out through the coat’s skirt. Of course it also has a draw string hood. Otherwise it’s exactly the same as the boy’s mac” she advised.
His mother turned towards him, holding out the mac for him to slot his arms into the sleeves. He considered resistance - after all, he WAS being asked to wear a girl’s mac - but he knew better than to argue with his mother in this mood. He complied with her urgings, and was turned around by his mother to face her.
“Now, there’ll be no messing and you’ll do exactly what you’re told! Do you understand?” she warned. “Now head up for Mother to button you up! This is a girl‘s mac, and so it buttons up on the left hand side”
Robert lifted his head up, so he was staring into his mother’s face. The stern look on her face was a picture of determination and no-nonsense. Again, she unbuttoned the storm flap, lifted the flap up, and fastened the top button underneath it, followed by the collar hooks.
“I see what you mean about the collars. They’re certainly longer and more angular in their shape” his mother commented, as she folded down the collars neatly. “And it’s a good fit as well, it suits his frame far better than the boy’s mac”
Robert stood there compliantly, following every instruction to stand up straight, to lift his head and to stop shuffling. His mother then proceeded to fasten each of the remaining buttons, including the storm flap, and all the while Robert could feel his embarrassment increasing as he was fastened into this girl’s mackintosh. What would his old friends say if they could see him?
“And I also see how the wider belt, and the gathered waist gives the mac a more feminine shape, but I doubt very much if anyone will notice” his mother remarked, as she pulled the belt as tightly as possible, fastening the belt hook through the silver coated hook rings. His mother then took a step back to admire her work.
“Oh that’s much better. A far smarter mackintosh. And it falls right down to his calves. Now let’s put the hood up!”
The hood was lifted over his head, and the draw strings pulled tightly. His mother pulled the hood forward once again, over his forehead, allowing the draw-strings to be tightened even further. The hood was then buttoned in place with a throat tab, meaning that Robert was trapped tightly in his hood.
“Now come and have a look at yourself, Robert” his mother ordered as she led him by the hand to the mirror. Facing him was a tiny figure encased entirely in a full length mackintosh, and his face barely visible through the hood opening.
“Oh, yes. Perfect. Now for a nylon mackintosh. In fact he’ll need two, one to be worn in the summer on its own, and another to be worn over the gaberdine - that one will need to be a couple of sizes bigger won’t it?” she asked of the assistant who was holding half a dozen different macs in different styles and colours.
“Yes, the gaberdine is a fairly bulky coat, so a larger age 12 will be sensible. Dorothy, what do we have in a 12?” she asked of her colleague.
“Well we have a number of options. We have a zip front option that’s very popular with children today” she replied.
“Oh, no. Those zips are far too tricky. I understand that they’re forever getting stuck. No, a button up mackintosh is what little Robert needs?”
“I quite agree. Fashion pays no attention to practicalities, and I do think that the button up option is far smarter. Sadly so few young children are made to wear one in this day and age. So many favour cheap looking anoraks and cagoules. Very well. We have them in a longer fit, long enough to fit over the gaberdine, but I have to warn you that this will be practically a full length on such a short child” Dorothy replied
“Oh that’s not a consideration for Robert. He must be protected fully from the ravages of the weather, so the longer the better. May we try this blue one here?” his mother asked, pointing to a Pakamac.
The assistant nodded, unbuttoned it and handed the mackintosh on to his mother, who held it out for him to slot his arms through the sleeves. All the while, Robert stood there with the hood tightly fastened.
“Head up” he was ordered as she turned him around to face her, and as she pulled the coat over his shoulders. She bent over to button up the top button, and then folded the collar over neatly. This had rounded collar edges, almost Peter Pan like, were it not for the fact that the collars were longer than that. She then ensured that the remaining buttons were fastened before smoothing out some creases by running her hand down the length of the mac several times.
“Oh yes, perfect. It’s a far better fit than the boy’s mac. I don’t think little Robert here will be getting wet when he’s dressed like this”
And Robert could see exactly how he was dressed when he caught a glance of himself in the mirror. The nylon mac was even longer than the gaberdine, and reached his lower calf / upper ankle.
“Do I have to wear the hood? Can I at least not wear the hood?” he asked meekly
“Well if you want to wear a rain bonnet, you don’t have to” she replied nonchalantly.
Given that impossible choice, he accepted that this is how he’d be dressed.
“I’m afraid we only have one nylon mackintosh in navy blue; I’m afraid we only have this in beige for the second mackintosh?” Dorothy the shop assistant asked.
“Very well. Beige will be fine. Would you bag that up please? The remaining clothes can be send on for delivery, but Robert will wear what he has on for the trip home”
Robert’s mother settled the bill, thanked the two shop assistants for their help, and handed the bag containing the second nylon mac to him to carry. She took hold of his other hand and led him out to the front door, bidding farewell by suggesting that they would return again for replacement mackintoshes once Robert had outgrown the current ones. At that point, Robert realised that a life without mackintosh discipline was a long way away.
As they approched the front door, his mother, noting that it was raining outside, turned to Robert to check he was properly buttoned up, and then put her own brown nylon mac and rainbonnet on. Taking Robert by the hand, they turned for the High Street for the journey home.***
The long walk home was an arduous one, but thankfully for Robert, he wasn’t recognised in his new outfit. Arriving home, his mother removed her mackintosh before turning her attention to Robert, brushing off his protests that he could remove his own mackintoshes.
“Nonsense, you’ll do as you’re told. Stand up straight! Head up!” she replied in a stern fashion that warned Robert of the consequences of further protest. She unbuttoned his nylon mackintosh, followed by his gaberdine. Shaking the nylon mac out, she then hung both up to dry. “Now off you go to wash your hands, tea will be ready shortly”
The meal followed uneventfully, although a balanced one including cabbage and swedes was not one that Robert had become used to in recent years, when his diet consisted largely of burgers, kebabs, crisps and beer.
His mother then despatched him to his bedroom for an hour of reading, before she returned at 7.30 to put him to bed. He fell to sleep, exhausted by the mentally draining events of the day, little knowing that his mother, and his Aunt Patricia were busily planning the events of the next day.***
The following day, Robert awoke to find his Aunt Patricia had arrived, and was deep in conversation with his mother. After breakfast, he discovered that his Aunt was here for a purpose.
“Now then, I’m sure you’ll be keen to understand what your Aunt Patricia is here for so early in the morning?
“Yes - too right!” Robert replied anxiously
“I beg your pardon….yes what?”
“Err….Yes Mother” he corrected himself
“That’s better. Well as I was saying, Aunt Patricia is here to make sure that you make up for lost ground in terms of your education. At the same time, she’ll take responsibility for your discipline, and has my permission to dispense any form of corporal punishment she deems necessary. Is that clear?”
“Yes Mother”
“Good. Now as you know, Aunt Patricia has just returned from a teaching visit to a private school in Singapore. Since the discipline there was so strict, she has concerns about how she’ll respond once again to working in the UK, where as we all know, the attention to discipline has been sadly eroded over the years. So I’ve therefore agreed that for the next 6 months, you will be put back to school under Aunt Patricia’s tutelage. You will be required to wear a traditional school uniform at all times, and will be punished for any infraction. Is that clear?”
“Yes Mother”
“Very well. I shall now leave you with Aunt Patricia so she can explain what will happen next. And remember, she has my permission to punish you in any way she wishes”
Turning to face Aunt Patricia, he looked up at her formidable demeanour. Noting the determined look in her eye, he swallowed hard, recognising that the next 6 months were ones he would find very difficult indeed.***
Aunt Patricia turned towards him, and moved towards the space next to him on the sofa. As he looked at her striding purposefully, he saw that she was indeed a formidable figure.
Patricia had lived in the Far East for some 6 years since graduating in Education. For the last 4 years, she had lived in Singapore, and taught at a private boys academy, where discipline was paramount. Although she prided herself on her own disciplined life, she was taken by the educational model that she found there, where respect and compliance were everything. However, her own life had taken a turn for the worse, when she entered into an ill advised relationship with an expatriate banker from the UK. The relationship produced a baby boy, but the relationship foundered once her partner refused to recognise the child as his own. This experience coloured Patricia’s views of men in general, and ill disciplined ones in particular, and informed her own approach to childcare and education.
Patricia was a number of years younger than Robert’s mother - she was only 27 - but she looked at least 3or 4 years younger. She stood 5 feet 11, and when she took to wearing high heels, as she usually did, she towered over Robert, who measured a more paltry 5 feet 5 inches in his stockinged feet. Despite her youthful looks however, she dressed in a more mature fashion. She was rarely seen in trousers, and if she was, they were never jeans, but more likely a neatly tailored trouser suit. She particularly favoured either severely tailored blouses, jackets and matching skirts, or classical 1950’s dresses that accentuated her curvy figure, allowing her breasts and bottom to be prominently displayed.
Whilst she was never short of male attention, her experiences in Singapore meant that she regarded the male of the species as a second class citizen. She certainly belived that they needed to be told their place at all times, and this opportunity to look after her young nephew was too good an opportunity to pass by.
“Well, good morning Robert. And what a predicament you’ve found yourself in! Now, your mother has explained that I am to be your private tutor, but let me please explain what this will entail. Your mother has very kindly not only allowed me this paid opportunity, but she has also allowed your cousin and I to move in whilst I oversee your education. I will therefore be tasked with your discipline on a full-time basis”
Over the next hour, Robert’s aunt explained the rules under which he would be governed:-
He would be returned to the age 11 year group to make up for the time lost in his initial education
He would be treated in every way as an 11 year old
Discipline would consist of scolding, lines, detention and corporal punishment
School uniform would be worn at all times. This would consist of shirt, tie, blazer, grey short trousers, and knee length socks. For exercises outdoors, Robert would be required to wear his school cap, navy blue gaberdine mackintosh and / or navy blue nylon mackintosh.
Mealtimes were to be strictly governed; all helpings must be eaten at all times
Aunty Patricia was to be addressed as Governess at all times
After lessons were completed at 3.30pm, Robert would retire to his room for 2 hours of study before dinner
Bed times would be set at 8pm on weekdays and 9.30pm at weekends
Weekends would be spent at Governess and Mother’s discretion. Visits to museums and other educational establishments would be mandatory
TV viewing would be permitted for no more than 30 minutes each weekday, and 2 hours on Saturday and Sunday
Persistent disciplinary infractions or academic failures would result in Robert being taken down 3 years each time; his treatment in terms of his clothing, diet and education would be adjusted to suit his age at all times
As Robert listened to his aunt whittling off these rules, he found it odd that a women just over 7 years his senior felt able to dictate these rules to him, and at that point resolved that was old enough to do as he chose whenever he wished. After the events of the next week , he might be forgiven for reflecting on what a foolish decision this was.***
“You can’t tell me what to do. You’re not my mother” he protested childishly.
She looked down at him disbelievingly.
“How dare you speak to me like that! Did you not listen to anything I’ve said? It seems someone needs to be taught a lesson before we’ve even started”
She moved towards a high backed chair that was placed at the side of the room.
“Come here this instant!…..Well, I’m waiting” she ordered whilst she sat on the chair, smoothing out her knee length skirt in anticipation.
Sensing the fate that faced him, Robert stubbornly refused to move from the settee.
“No, I’m not moving…..this is silly…..you’re treating me like a baby”
“Well if you persist in behaving like a baby, then that’s how you shall be treated if you’re not very careful. Now come here immediately - don’t make me come and fetch you” she warned ominously
“I’ve told you once, and I’ll tell you again you stupid cow! I’m not moving” he blurted.
“Right, that’s it! I’m not waiting a moment longer!” Governess said, as she sprung out from the seat. In an instant, she’d grabbed him by the ear and was pulling him across the room in the direction of the chair. The pain seared through his body, producing a series of high pitched yelps. She sat herself on the chair, placing Robert immediately in front of her. She then quickly unbuttoned his short trousers, pulling them down to his ankles, and then, threading her fingers down the elastic of his underpants, pulled them sharply down his legs. Without delay, she pulled him across her ample lap, and proceeded to administer a spanking that she hoped he wouldn’t forget for a long time.
As she continued to beat out a rhythm on his bottom, she scolded him for his insolence.
“You….will….never….again….speak….to….me….like….that….Little….boys….must….do….as.
..they’re….told….and….always….do….as….their….Governess….demands”
Robert kicked his legs in protest, but this simply galvanised Governess to increase not only the frequency of her spanking, but the power of her strokes also. Pulling Robert ever closer to her breasts with her powerful left arm allowed her to keep his wriggling to a minimum.
After receiving the best part of 60 smacks, Robert was left a snivelling wreck, as tears flooded his eyes and cheeks. Governess allowed him back to his feet, and ordered him to replace his shorts and underpants. Reaching up the sleeve of her white high necked blouse, she produced a handkerchief, and held it to his nose.
“Blow….there that’s better”
She ordered him to sit on the seat as she stood up purposefully in front of him. She walked slowly around the room as she lectured him, her hands placed on both hips as she did so.
“Now hopefully, that will give you an example of what your indiscipline could lead to. I’ve made it clear that such behaviour will not be tolerated. As you will know, every instance of ill discipline will be punished, and for this you will be put back 3 years with immediate effect. You will now be treated as an 8 year old, meaning that your bed times will now be 7 o’clock each day. You will be required to hold my hand whenever we are outside, and your clothing will be changed to reflect your new age. Is that clear?”
“Yes” Robert replied
“Yes what?”
“Yes Governess”
“That’s better. Now get up, we need to get you changed before we go to the bookshop to buy your school books.”***
Whilst his Governess introduced Robert to the palm of her hand, his mother was busying herself elsewhere in the house. She firstly removed all traces of his rebellious past from his bedroom - posters, records, videos etc - and replaced them with books, landscape scenes and traditional furniture that had lain dormant in one of the spare rooms. The wardrobe and drawers were filled with the clothes that had arrived earlier that morning from Lumsden’s - shirts of different colours, ties, jackets, blazers, trousers, socks and sensible leather shoes. Most of the trousers were shorts, mostly in grey, and the socks were both knee length grey and ankle length in white. As his mother folded away the clothes, she was reminded of the times when Robert was a darling 8 year old boy, and for a moment, she became a lot more maternal than of late, when she wondered sometimes why she’d given birth to such a horror. However, her mind was brought back to the present when she heard her son crying out, as he went over his Governess’ knee. She’d taken no time to show him who’s the boss, she remarked to herself.
She also transformed another bedroom into a classroom. An order that had been placed the previous day with a local supplier of educational goods had arrived that morning. A school desk, blackboard, school cane, mortar and gown had been installed already, and this was where Robert would be schooled by his Governess from now on.
His mother had also taken the precaution of telephoning Lumsden’s with another order for clothing, and this too had arrived that morning. Perhaps sensing that he would fail many of the disciplinary tests that faced him, his mother had acquired clothing fit for younger children. She knew that she would have to honour her threats to peg him back 3 years each time he misbehaved badly if she was to succeed in bringing him under her control. As she unpacked the bibs, bottles and nappies, she knew that it would come to be that he would be dressed and treated as a baby soon enough. But for now, the dungarees, shorts fitted with button fastened braces, frilly white socks and patent leather Mary Jane shoes would have to do.
As she walked along the landing, Governess Patricia faced her, with Robert held firmly by the hand, his eyes bloodshot. Governess explained what had happened earlier, and told his mother of the sanction that Robert now faced - being dressed and treated like an 8 year old. However, the clothing acquired by his mother wasn’t clothing that any self respecting 8 year old would be seen wearing. Instead, they harked back to a more traditional time when little children looked just like little children, and not aspiring pop stars.
Before long, Robert had been disrobed of his 11 year old clothing, as his mother undressed him while his Governess pinned his arms to his side to stop him from struggling. Before long, he was resplendent in his navy blue sailor suit and patent leather shoes.
“Oh yes, that’s much smarter. You look an absolute picture, my little pixie” his mother teased him.
“Well that’ll teach him that we’re serious about his re-education. By the end of the week, it wouldn’t surprise me if we’ll need to treat him as a baby” his Governess replied conspiratorially.
“Well that’s exactly what’ll happen to him if he doesn’t pull his socks up” his Mother warned. “Come along. Let’s fetch your coat. You’ve got a big day in front of you in town”
Robert suddenly realised the enormity of what he faced, an afternoon in town looking like an 8 year old. For once he was relieved when he was told to put his mackintoshes on, as these would conceal the very worst aspects of his clothing. His Governess led him by the hand tightly, as they descended the stairs into the hallway. His aunt removed his gaberdine and nylon mackintoshes from the coat hooks.
“Arms out for Governess….good boy…..now turn around!” .
Robert made to fasten up his own coat, but his hand was smacked away by his Governess.
“No… little boys need to be buttoned up by their Governess at all times….now chin up”
He peered up, and as he did so he looked into his Governess’ face. He could barely believe that here he was, a 19 year old man, being buttoned into his mackintosh, by his 27 year old Governess, and she was taking no messing
“Now keep still, or young Robert will be over his Governess' lap again…… good boy…..now let’s fasten the top button, we don’t want you catching your death of cold”
Before long, his Governess had dressed him in his gaberdine and then in his nylon mackintoshes, fully buttoned and belted. His Governess stood back to admire her work.
“Oh it was such a good idea for you to insist on Robert wearing traditional mackintoshes, particularly the nylon one. It’s a shame that so few other mothers take the same approach. They do so much to instil discipline into a boy, don’t they?”
“Oh, yes. He’ll be wearing these mackintoshes for some time to come. To think he wanted to buy an anorak!”
“An anorak? No that wouldn’t have been suitable at all” his Governess replied.
Robert stood and watched as they both put on their own mackintoshes - his mother wore a red plastic one with a tartan lining, whereas his Governess wore a blue trenchcoat that emphasised her impressive figure. It came with rounded collars, and was full length. She took care to make sure it was fully buttoned up to the neck, and then belted tightly. After she’d put on a pair of black leather gloves, she held out her hand, instructing him to take hold of it with his own.
“Come along - Handy Pandies!”
Robert stepped forward reluctantly, and offered up his hand, not knowing what the trip would lead to.***
The trip passed off relatively without incident, after his little cousin had been despatched to his Grandmother‘s home. Although they came across a friend of Governess, who fully approved of the measures that were being taken to exercise control over Robert, he was pleased that they hadn’t come across any of his former friends, who would have taken great delight in poking fun at his predicament. Inside the shops, he was pleased to be afforded the luxury of keeping his mackintoshes on, so the assistants were unable to see the sailor suit he’d been forced into earlier.
They spent hours seeking out books on Arithmetic, English Literature, Chemistry, Biology, History, and other subjects that had given way to more fashionable subjects such as Media Studies. Governess was determined that Robert should follow a traditional syllabus. A number of exercise books were also acquired so Robert could undertake the many exercises his Governess would be issuing to him as homework.
Throughout the trip, his hand was held firmly by his Governess. As they approached a busy road, he would be jerked back sharply if he made to cross it before Governess deemed it safe. At this point, she joked with his mother whether they should fit Robert with a pair of reins, and although it was laughed off, his mother had made a mental note of this suggestion, in case further episodes of misbehaviour resulted in further compulsory regression.
Since he was held by the hand, he was unable to resist his guardians’ wish to call into a tea shop for lunch. Although he would have preferred to have returned directly home, he was now very hungry. He knew however, that he would be unable to keep his mackintoshes on over lunch, at which point, Governess made a show of removing them from him in full view of the other diners.
“Now keep still while Governess unbuttons your mackintoshes! Oh he’s such a little fidget isn’t he” she said loudly, so everyone could hear her. “Little boys need their Governess to help them get undressed”
An elderly waitress took their order, at the same time admiring Robert’s outfit that was now on show for everyone to see. Robert wanted nothing better than to have a burger and chips and be off home as quickly as possible. However, Governess was determined that he would not eat any “nasty junk food” as she called it., and instead ordered a meal that included cabbage, swedes and sprouts - vegetables he’d always detested. When he refused to eat the meal that was ordered for him, Governess became increasingly assertive.
“Now you WILL eat this, one way or another. Come along, pick up your cutlery!” she ordered
“Yes, come along Robert. You’re making such a scene” his mother added.
“No, I won’t eat this! I hate sprouts!” he protested childishly, stamping his foot on the floor
“Oh dear, looks like someone is going the right way for a punishment” Governess added
After refusing to eat the food on a further two occasions, Governess took control of the situation.
“Well if you won’t feed yourself, then you obviously need someone to do it for you! Come along, head up” she said feeding a napkin around his neck as if it were a bib. “You’ve just earned yourself a 3 year regression, and fussy-eating 5 year old boys need Mummy or Governess to make sure they're fed properly”
And with that, the napkin was tied tightly around his neck, Governess brandishing the cutlery. His food was cut up quickly, and before he knew it, Governess was pinching his nose so she could feed the food into his mouth. He held it shut until he could do so no longer, enabling Governess to quickly fill it with a mix of mashed vegetables.
He could barely believe it was happening, but here he was, a 19 year old, being overpowered by his formidable Governess. He could barely keep pace with her, as she continued to fill his mouth with food. The other diners were watching the spectacle, and Robert might have been embarrassed to have been the centre of attention, were it nor for the fact that was trying hard not to gag on the food.
“If naughty little boys don’t do as they’re told, then naughty little boys will be punished” Governess offered in a high pitched motherly sort of way. “From now on, all meals will be spoon fed to you until you can show you’re to be trusted. If you carry on, then it’ll be back to bottled milk and baby food for you”
“Come along, Robert, eat up like a good little boy” his mother instructed.
When the meal was over, his mouth was wiped with the makeshift bib, the waitress was paid, and he was instructed to hold his arms out while his mother buttoned him into his mackintoshes. They exited the tea rooms and noticed that the much threatened rain was now falling, prompting his mother and Governess to put on their plastic rain bonnets. Turning to Robert, they pulled up the hood on his gaberdine, pulling it tight with the cords over his head.
Robert was led home firmly by the hand, knowing that the next few days would be unlike anything he’d faced previously.***
Over the course of the following couple of weeks, Robert was treated as a 5 year old, but admittedly a very young 5 year old. Further photographs were taken by his Mother of Robert dressed in his new clothing, with the threat of disclosure to his friends hanging over him. Childlike shorts were compulsory, particularly in royal blue and yellow. Matching tee-shirts with childish emblems were also acquired, his slim childlike figure no barrier for finding the right fit. These were complemented by elasticised sun bonnets, and a pink plastic Disney mackintosh for when it rained.
By now, his blonde hair had grown sufficiently long for Governess to tie them into two bunches on each side of his head, giving him the appearance of a small girl. Governess had also located an outsized pram / pushchair, allowing her to take him for walks to the park. On one such walk, Governess noticed the imminent rain, and in the first instance called him back from the swings so she could pop his mackintosh on.
“Come along Robert, before it rains please! Let’s just pop this on you”
Robert knew better than to protest, and obediently ran towards her, and held out his arms for her to thread them through the sleeves, She then turned him around to face her so she could fasten the top button. It was a long fitting mackintosh, and fell to below his knees. Folding the collar over neatly, she then buttoned up the remaining 5 buttons. He was then lowered into the pushchair, while Governess fastened her own mackintosh, a brown nylon one. As Robert had noted, it hugged to her voluptuous figure very well, the buttons straining at her breasts and bottom. She took great care to fasten the buttons to the neck, and then tying her plastic rain bonnet tightly. Pulling the cover over the pushchair, she noted that it failed to offer Robert complete protection.
“Looks like we’ll need to make a call into Mothercare doesn’t it? Come along, off we go!”
“Mothercare? What for?” he asked hesitantly.
“For a plastic rain cover for the pushchair of course”
Robert simply shut his eyes in anticipation for the journey ahead.
Within 15 minutes, not only had they arrived at the store, but they were about to leave with Robert tucked neatly into his nylon pushchair protector, his head thankfully covered into his hood, making recognition almost impossible. They briskly made their way home through the rain, making it home before anyone had the chance to speak to Governess. They arrived home, and shortly after being unbuttoned from his plastic mac, he was taken upstairs where his bedroom had been refitted - as a nursery.
Would Robert attempt a protest at this latest indignity, as he faced his Mother and Governess in front of him, or would he acquiesce silently?***
Inside, the bedroom contained all the paraphanalia associated with baby care. Robert noted that there were stacks of neatly folded nappies, plastic pants in an array of transparent colours, bibs, dummies, bonnets, feeding bottles etc. He also noted a wardrobe of recently acquired baby frocks, full of frills and lace trimming. It transpired that Mother had commissioned a dressmaker friend of hers to make them all - in pink, lime green, light blue and yellows of all different styles, from ornate party dresses with acres of petticoats, to functional clothing that would cope with being messed through food and drink spillages.
"Why have you done this to my bedroom?"
"Well, young man - or should I know say "Little baby" - your schoolroom grades have been most disappointing, and you've been warned on more than one occassion about the consequences of that. You've been a source of ongoing disappointment, and I'm afraid I'm no longer prepared to accept such unacceptable behaviour in future" Governess replied.
"But it's not fair....." he whined.
"SILENCE!" his Governess ordered, cutting him off in mid sentence.
"Now come here this instance! We need to get your new clothes on. Come along, no dawdling!"
"No, this is stupid. I'm 19 years old! I've had enough of this" he protested. "Where are my proper clothes? I'm moving out!"
He got up from his chair and made for the door, but the formidable frame of Governess got there before him.
"Oh no you don't! Little babies do as they're told! And when they don't they must face the consequences!"
As she stood in front of him delivering her scolding, she stood there with her feet placed together, her hands placed firmly on her hips, her head held elegantly and authoritatively high. The admonishment was punctuated by the occassional pointed figure to emphasise her point, and by placing her hand under his chin as she instructed him to look up.
"And now it's time to remind you of your position, and for you to accept your punishment"
Robert's protest hadn't finished just yet however, as he attempted to barge his way past his Governess, but she was far too strong for him, and picked him up as she carried him under her arm over to the chair. She sat herself down before quickly and roughly, she removed his shorts and pants, lowering them to his ankles. He was then pulled sharply over her knee as she clutched him tightly with her left arm, his own arms trapped as she held him towards her. Despite his continued kicking out as he lay over he lap, she was in no mood to take any messing.
"Now KEEP.....STILL!" she ordered as she pulled him even tighter to her formidable bosoms.
And then the smacks rained down - hard and rhythmically. She held him so tightly that he remained motionless over her lap. And as the rhytmical smacking continued, Governess felt a movement over her lap, and quickly suspected that her charge was developing an erection, a suspicion that was confirmed as he rose to his feet, his penis standing smartly to attention also.
"You naughty, naughty baby. You know the rules, no sexual urgings are allowed without Governess or Mummy's consent. Well, we'd better get rid of that hadn't we?"
And before Robert had time to answer, her hand gripped his penis sharply, and in an extremely clinical fashion, begun rubbing his penis. Expertly and rapidly, she produced his orgasm before ordering her charge to mop it up.
She stood herself up, dabbing up some of the fluid that leaked onto her tight knee length skirt, smoothing the creases as she did so.
"Now that's a lot better" she said as she surveyed Robert in front of her, his trousers still around his ankles. "Time to get you into your new clothes I think?" - less a question, more a statement of intent.
Robert reflected on what was about to happen to him, as she moved forward with her hand held out in front of her, and a large dummy in the other.
***
"Come along! On to the changing table!" he was instructed
He was pulled off the floor, and placed without ceremony on the table top. Governess removed her sharply tailored black jacket that was buttoned to the neck, exposing a high necked blouse adorned by a neck broach. She placed a plastic apron over her head, and fastened the ends behind her waist tightly. The frills adorning the edges of the apron provided a feminine finish to what was a practical garment that nevertheless accentuated her bust and bottoms. The hem fell to below the knees, affording her full protection from spills or mess. His pants and short trousers were removed, and a stack of 3 nappies was placed below Robert’s bottom, as his Governess effortlessly and expertly raised his ankles upwards. Batting away any lingering signs of protest, Governess pinned the nappies together, before returning with a pair of transparent yellow plastic pants, pulling them up sharply, tucking the nappies in all around.
“Now stand up!” she instructed, swinging his legs over the side of the changing table. “Mummy has bought some beautiful little dresses for you to wear. Won’t you be the prettiest little baby around? Won’t you? Won’t you? Oh yes you will ! Oh yes you will”
Before Robert knew what had hit him, he’s been instructed to hold his arms up to allow his Governess to thread the most beautiful yellow silk party dress, fastened the series of tiny pearl buttons that adorned the rear of the dress, and tightly fastened the belt around the back of his waist. A pair of frilly ankle socks and black Mary James adorned his feet, before Governess pulled Robert towards her to place a fetching matching yellow bonnet that had the most enormous frills adorning the rim, over his head. She lifted his chin to tie the ribboned ends into large loops, before inserting a large bulbed dummy into his mouth.
“Now, Baby is to keep it in his mouth at all times, unless Governess says otherwise. Is that clear?……. I SAID Is that clear?”
Robert nodded his head obediently, as his Governess noted approvingly.
“Now come along, time for tea. Handy pandy please” she ordered as she held out her hand so she could take his in her own.
They returned to the kitchen where Robert was dismayed to note the arrival of another high chair in addition to the one used by his toddler cousin Archie. However, what dismayed him was that it was big enough to accommodate his own frame.
“Come along! Up you get”
His Governess had removed the tray to allow him to sit inside, his Governess providing a maternal help up, before replacing the tray.
“Now for your misdemeanours, you will be treated as a baby, and that includes your meal time. So until further notice, you will be bottle and spoon fed. Any refusal on your part will result in compulsory forced feeding. Is that clearly understood?”
Robert nodded his silent understanding, not prepared to incur the wrath of his Governess any further.
“Now Mother has cooked a special dish for you - steamed cabbage, sprouts, swedes and potatoes. Now you’ll be a good boy and eat it all up!”
A plastic bib was swiftly placed around his neck, before his Governess too a seat to the Robert’s right, brandishing a plastic tray of congealed mush. Robert was almost gagging as soon as the dummy was removed, and resolutely refused to open his mouth. His Governess then pinched his nose until he could hold out no longer, enabling the first spoonful to be rammed in, but not before some of it found itself onto his mouth and chin.
“Now open wide for Governess Patricia! There’s a good baby! Yes you are! You are a good little baby, aren’t you! And another…. Open wide….good boy!”
This process was repeated before Robert had swallowed fully the food already in his mouth, meaning that more and more of it found itself on his face and chin. Eventually the ordeal was over, but not before this residue, and that on the bib, was scooped up with the spoon, and inserted into his mouth.
The tray top was then raised once again, and he was taken by the hand to the sofa.
“Now Governess is going to feed cousin Archie. You must be a good little baby, and sit next to me on the sofa. Is that clear? Good”
No sooner had Robert and his Governess sat down, than his Mother appeared with cousin Archie, and Governess began to undo her blouse to begin her breastfeed of Archie. However, Archie was nearing the stage where he was ready to be weaned onto solids, leaving Governess feel frustrated quite often when Archie would refuse the breast, andshe would be left with a full breast of milk. This was one such situation, and the solution proposed by his Mother was one that filled him with horror.
“Well I think you should take Robert to your breast. He was bottle fed as a child, and I genuinely not regret taking him to my breast. The saying “Breast is Best” would certainly apply if I had my time again” she explained
“Very well; it would certainly relieve the pain in my breasts if you were to agree, and it wasn‘t uncommon for nurses to be hired specifically for this task in times gone by”
And so it was decided that a 19 year old boy was to be taken to the breast of his 27 year old Aunt, who of course was now his Governess. Before he could offer resistance, the substantial Governess had pulled him over her lap, his head facing the ceiling, as his body was pulled across, so his head rested in the crook of Governess’ arm.
By now, Governess was unclipping her maternity bra, revealing her 42EE breasts in all their glory. She guided her left breast towards his mouth, and felt his body offering the last vestige of resistance.
“Now you stop that right now!”
But Robert continued to protest and offer physical resistance. Before he knew it, Governess had flicked him over so he faced head down over her lap, as she pulled down his nappies and plastic pants, and began administering a series of hard smacks across his bare bottom. By the time she felt the resistance draining from his body, she’d flipped him back over to his original position.
“Now no more nonsense. Open wide…. That’s a good baby”
Robert stared up at her, facing the nipple that was by now leaking breast milk in anticipation of a hungry recipient. The nipple was forced into his mouth, and as it entered, he involuntarily gripped it with his mouth, and began sucking greedily at it. The large breast practically covered his face. Within seconds, milk was oozing from it, prompting his Governess to grip him to her maternally, rocking his body rhythmically.
“Good baby…. Isn’t that nice?… Isn’t it?…. Yes it is…. Oh, yes it is…..That’s it….nice and gentle…..”
After a further nursing session on the other breast, Robert was pulled over Governess’ shoulder before being winded like a baby, prompting him to produce a gentle burp of wind.
“Good baby, now that wasn’t too hard was it? It’ll be a lot easier next time!”
***
Over the next 2 or 3 weeks, cousin Archie would be weaned from the breast of his mother, Governess Patricia, and as he refused his feed, Governess would pick up Robert, and oblige him to take her breast. The times this happened, Mother noted it would coincide with a period of improved behaviour, when Robert would be more compliant at both feed time, and also at nappy change time, now that he was also obliged to use his nappy rather than the toilet. Following conversations between Governess and Mother therefore, it came to be that Robert was to be breast fed for the foreseeable future.
Occasionally, Governess would not only need to administer a breast feed, but also a forced masturbation in the event that Robert was aroused as he was grasped to Governess’ enormous milky breasts. This of course was preceded by the obligatory spanking, resulting in Robert being more aroused than he was initially, as the rhythmic spanking, Governess’ tight grasp, and her verbal admonishment resulted in heightened arousal. However, Governess would ensure that her spanking was delivered in bursts, always keeping him the right side of orgasm. With this taking over 20 minutes before he was flipped over to face her breasts before being allowed to orgasm as she gripped his penis by the hand, Robert was totally in her control.
As the summer months arrived, and Robert’s enforced babification continued, Governess became increasingly concerned to make sure that he should receive enough fresh air exercise. This filled Robert with horror, that he should be seen by the public as a 19 year old baby. However, the absolute control that Governess had over him meant he had no choice in the matter as Governess explained the routine he would face as a public adult baby.
“Now pay attention Baby Robert” she instructed, as she entered the room in her newly acquired Governess’ uniform. She wore a severely tailored jacket that buttoned to the neck, gathered at the waist, before flaring slightly at the hips. This was accompanied by a tight fitting skirt that fell to just above the ankles. Her hair was tightly pulled back into 2 buns behind each ear, her glamorous makeup providing a contrast to the austere look of the rest of the image appearing before Robert. She wheeled in Robert’s push chair that had her raincoats draped over the chair’s handles.
“Firstly, I will get dressed in my raincoats, as the rain has arrived unexpectedly. I will then make sure you put on your own raincoats before we depart to Mrs Thomas’ tea party. She’s heard so much about you that she’s invited all of her friends, and also her daughter Olivia’s friends who will no doubt enjoy seeing you in all your finery. Now keep still while I get ready”
She pulled a navy trenchcoat over her shoulders, and then buttoned it to her neck, including the storm flap. Tightly fastening the belt, she exposed her curves to Robert, accentuating her relative maturity, seniority and authority. She then repeated the exercise with her navy blue nylon mackintosh that fell to her calves, before tying a plastic rain bonnet over her head.
Turning to Robert, she produced a transparent and specially made plastic trenchcoat that fell to his ankles, but allowed any passing stranger to see the baby clothing he’d be wearing underneath. The top button and belt were fastened tightly, ensuring he was secure from the ravages of the weather. Placing a pair of tight fitting leather gloves over her elegant hands, she was the model of traditional efficiency.
“Baby Robert can wear this while he walks in the park, and in Mrs Thomas’ back garden, but your nylon rain cover will protect you in your pushchair.. Now hop on, and no arguing”
Governess bent over him, and threaded the cover’s hood over his head, making sure that the hood ties were fastened to ensure no rain leaked through.
“Good boy…… well we have a lovely trip to look forward to. Now open wide so Governess can put your dummy in. Good baby! It’ll be some time before you find yourself without one, so you’d better get used to it!”
THE END
Mackintosh Discipline
Mummy responds to my disobedience by administering different forms of mackintosh discipline. Mummy always ensures I'm dressed in a girls' style mackintosh - both my nylon and school gabardine are of this style, being fuller in length than the equivalent boys fit, falling just above my ankles. The gabardine is more generously flared from the waist, and comes complete with a hood that Mummy insists is always tied tightly whenever the mackintosh is worn. When I behave, I'm permitted to wear adult clothing beneath it (albeit I'm always required to wear my nappies and plastic pants), but whenever I'm disobedient in Mummy's eyes, my light blue sailor suit with white trim and buttons is laid out for me to wear, together with my white knee socks and Mary Jane shoes.
Over the years, Mummy has typically selected traditional navy blue for both my nylon and gabardine mackintoshes. Recently, Mummy had purchased a ladies' Burberry for me, full in length in beige. But Mummy has told me that I'm far too much of a baby to wear grown up clothes at the moment, and has put me back into my gabardine for now.
Our shopping trips are, for me, dreadful affairs. I plead with Mummy to allow me to wear clothing fit for boys, but she has none of it. Mummy is a physically imposing woman, whilst I am a pathetically formed overgrown baby. She has no difficulty taking me in hand, and on one occasion, I protested too much when I found myself in front of a formidable shop assistant who herself took me by the hand as she marched me to the rainwear section. Before I knew it, Mummy and the assistant had marched me to the changing rooms, and I found myself face down over Mummy's lap staring at the floor receiving ten of the best on my bare bottom. My protest did me no good however, as I found myself being buttoned up to the neck by Mummy, and marched home by the hand, wearing my new light blue nylon mackintosh with contrasting dark blue buttons, together with a clear plastic rainbonnet.
Mummy and my workplace guardians then ensured that I should wear this for the next 3 months rain or shine, and that I should receive an immediate spanking for every instance of disobedience. It took me a number of breaches to realise that this was no idle threat of Mummy's.
This is just one of a number of instances of Mummy's control of my life. Am I wrong for thinking this to be unreasonable? Should Mummy allow me to behave and be dressed as the responsible adult that I am, or should my punishments continue?
***Before I was reunited with Mummy, I held a responsible position with a large legal firm. However, one condition of my moving back in with her was that I should resign my position there, and take a new position that mother had arranged in the town nearby. I was initially delighted that Mummy had gone to such trouble, but this turned to concern as she escorted me to work on my first day. Her refusal to disclose the nature of my new role aroused nothing more than intrigue in my mind. However, as she escorted me into the wool and child's clothing shop, the last thing on my mind was that this was where I would spend the rest of my working life.
I was quickly introduced to Mrs Fotheringham, and advised that I should do what she instructed, or else face the consequences. Mrs Fotheringham soon had me making the tea, cleaning the cabinet surfaces and tidying the merchandise on the shelves. I was given a uniform, but this was a lady's nylon buttoned overall. However, despite my protestations, I was ordered to wear it, and warned against further disobedience.
It wasn't long before I incurred Mrs Fotheringham's wrath for losing my nylon mackintosh. In truth, I hid it in the stock room, hoping it would never come to see the light of day again. For this indiscretion, I was to be punished, and quickly found I was no match for her. I was taken by the ear to the back room, and in the full view of the other ladies who worked there, found her removing my trousers and pants, before being hoisted over her ample lap. She pulled my struggling body towards her bosom, and proceeded to smack my bottoms rhythmically.
Just as she ended the punishment and ordered me to stand up, I found myself relieving myself, as the embarrassment got the better of me. Thankfully the leakage just missed Mrs Fotheringham, but she then ordered one of the other ladies to fetch some of the nappies they held in stock, and for the first time in 30 years, I found myself clad in nappies and plastic pants.
When my mother came to collect me, Mrs Fotheringham explained the events of the day, and it was agreed that I should not only wear nappies for the rest of the week, but that I should also be treated as a baby for the duration. The question of my missing mackintosh remained however, and it was agreed that I should wear some of the end of line stock items for the remainder of the week before shopping for a replacement at the weekend. Suddenly, Mrs Fotheringham produced a light blue cotton coat that was three quarter length, double breasted, and had white buttons and white piping all around the edge of the coat, just like the coat worn by young children in the charge of their Governess! The coat flared significantly at the waist, and was buttoned right to the neck, and belted tightly.
Over this, a light brown girls' nylon mac was slipped on. It was knee length, and had rounded collar ends, just perfect for little girls, as I was reminded by Mummy. She fastened the top button, turned over the collar and smoothed out the creases in the mackintosh before fastening the remaining buttons. She bade Mrs Fotheringham farewell, taking a supply of nappies, plastic pants and other baby supplies, demonstrating her intent to make sure that I WOULD be treated as a baby for the remainder of the week.
The events of this eventful day would seemingly have far reaching impacts.***
Taken for a walk by Mummy this evening. She insisted on putting on my gabardine as we left the car, making sure that my girls' mackintosh was buttoned to the neck, storm flap fastened and tightly belted. She allowed me to wear it without the hood, ensuring that everyone could see it was a little boy wearing it. The other boys laughed at me, and when I tried to take it off, Mummy took me to a park bench, and spanked me soundly for being naughty. At that point it rained, and for being naughty, Mummy took her rainbonnet and tied it over my head.
For dinner, I was spoonfed pureed potato and cabbage, fed a bottle of milk laid over Mummy's lap, and then sent to bed early.
Life is so unfair at the moment....
The Regression of Ronnie
I am Ronny's Mummy, and as he's been a naughty baby, he's been sent to bed early once again. I've therefore taken the opportunity to contact you. May I firstly commend you for your approval of Ronny's Mackintosh punishment regime.
In recent weeks, Ronny has required a replacement nylon mackintosh, his blue nylon mackintosh being slightly worn through extensive daily use. On the day we were due to venture to the outfitters, he was proving to be particularly grizzly, and on more than one occasion he found himself over my lap, being spanked on his bare bottom. I notice from the splendid pictures on your website, that you too are a firm advocate of over the knee spankings. Perhaps we should compare notes on technique? After ensuring he was properly dressed in his blouse, short trousers and Mary-Jane's, and ensuring that his dummy was attached to his blouse, we ventured to the bus-stop for the short journey to town.
We eventually found ourselves approaching the store, Ronny being held firmly in my hand, dressed in both his nylon and gabardine mackintoshes. I immediately escorted him to the girls department. A helpful young lady assistant produced a variety of different colours and styles, having explained to her that I was looking for a full length fitting mackintosh. However, at this time Ronny's attitude became particularly tedious, complaining that he was a grown up, and that he should no longer be wearing "old fashioned mackintoshes". Having already warned him about his conduct, I pulled out a high backed chair into the middle of the store, and administered a spanking over his short trousers in full view of the other Mummy's and their daughters. By the end, Ronny was reduced to tears, and the shop assistant, who was barely 20 years of age, admitted to me that she'd been tempted to administer a spanking of her own for his errant behaviour, and commended me for instilling discipline in such a way. Having then held a hanky to his nose and instructed him to blow, I then held up the first mackintosh for him to try on.
Over the next hour, we tried on over a dozen different mackintoshes - navy blue, light blue, royal blue, brown, beige and bright red. I favoured the traditional navy blue mackintosh, but the assistant persuaded me to purchase not one but two - the red mackintosh for every day use, and the brown one for more formal occasions. We then agreed that matching school gabardines would be required for each. However, before we paid for these, the assistant produced a bright pink plastic mackintosh, emblazoned with childish cartoon characters and other girlish paraphernalia. I agreed that this was the perfect mackintosh for children's parties and so on.
Ronny was relieved that he wouldn't be made to wear the plastic mac from the shop, but his joy was short-lived when the shop assistant and I agreed that he should wear his new red mackintoshes for the journey home. She offered to dress Ronny, an offer I was only too pleased to accept, while I myself put on my Burberry and brown nylon mackintosh.
"Come along, arms in!" she instructed sternly, holding up the red gabardine. "Now we'll have no Silly Billy's here, or someone will have another spanking. There we are.... head up... let's fasten the top button... and now the collar hooks.... storm flap next..... and the other buttons..... one more..... goooood boy!"
She fastened the belt tightly, and made sure that the mackintosh's skirts were flared out in the A-style I'd requested. It fell to his calves, his short white ankle socks barely visible. The same routine was followed as Ronny was buttoned into the red nylon mackintosh. This was even longer than the gabardine, falling to his ankles. Its slim fit meant that it too flared out over the gabardine, and it's large red buttons, and rounded collar edges meant that this was suitable clothing that any self respecting Mummy would require her charge to be dressed in.
Finally, the young assistant tied a plastic rainbonnet over his head, to make sure that he was protected fully from head to foot. I saw that tears were welling in his eyes,but he would receive no sympathy, and I gathered the remainder of our shopping in one hand, and took Ronny's hand in the other, as I marched him out of the store, into the throng of shoppers outside.***
On the following day, I woke Ronny early, as he had a busy day ahead of him. Since his misdemeanours at work the previous week, further infractions of discipline meant that he'd earned a month in nappies. It was a delight to take this 32 year old back to his days of yesteryear, but his tiny frame was no match for my overbearing approach to discipline.
This morning was no different, as I pulled back the bedclothes to reveal him in his finery - a full length white nightie, complete with buttons up the back, a high ruffled neck, with a babyish pattern of cartoon animals throughout. The image was completed with the ornate night bonnet that he'd fought so hard against when I tried to make him wear it the night before, and a pair of white mittens that were tied onto his fist shaped hands, rendering him at my mercy.
"Wakey, wakey little Tommy Trouble, time for breakfast."
I led a reluctant figure by the hand to the dining room, where I positioned him into the high chair that I'd bought earlier in the week from a local specialist medical shop, somehow knowing that it would come into regular use. The plastic backedbib was fastened with minimal resistance - a warning look was enough - as it was tied firmly behind his neck.
I returned with a plate full of steaming hot porrdidge, placed it on the chair tray, and scooped up a spoonful of porridge.
"Now open wide.....be a good boy for Mummykins" I ordered
"But, I don't see why I.........", and with that the spoon was inserted into his mouth.
I knew that Ronny had detested porridge when he was a child, but now he had no choice - Mummy was most definitely in charge. To begin with, I spooned only small quantities onto the spoon, each time making sure to insert a new spoonful just as he was emptying his mouth of the last, taking care not to scold his mouth. But as the porridge cooled, ever larger spoonfuls were inserted to the point that a gooey mess developed around his mouth.
"Open wide.... the choo,choo train is on its way....gooood boyyyyy..... and again.....theeeeerrrree we are! Who's a messy little baby then?"
Again and again I'd keep his dinky little mouth ever fuller, to the point that it started to drip down his chin onto his bib. As we finished the meal, I scooped the residuce off his face and chin, fed him what was left over, and took the bib and wiped his face and chin clean.
The table tray was removed, and I escorted him back to his bedroom, where I removed his nightie, exposing him in his nappy and clear plastic pants. I deposited him on the changing mat that now formed a permanent part of his bedroom furniture, ready for his morning change.
"Now keep still - looks like someone's ready for a nappy change"
"Why do I have to wear a nappy? It's not fair - I can go to the toilet like a grown up!" he protested meekly, being careful not to push his luck too far.
"Ssshhhh, little one. Let Mummy take care of you" I soothed sympathetically. "You know Mummy spanks if Baby is naughty; now, no more!"
I promptly changed his by now dirty nappy, replaced the plastic pants, and got him ready to be dressed.
"Now Ronny, you know we're going to see Mrs Fotheringham for lunch today, so you'll be wearing your Sunday best. So you'll be wearing your little sailor suit, and there'll be no argument"
At this point Ronny got a little anxious, and a session over my knee was necessary to focus his mind, but shortly after, a little sailor boy was resplendent in his light blue outfit.
Following a session of errands and duties around the house, it was time for his mid morning snack of milk and cookies. I sat at the end of the sofa in the living room, and instructed Ronny to lay over my lap. He knew better than to argue, and he lowered himself gently, and immediately found himself staring at my ample bosoms. I fed the cookies by hand as Ronny lay over my lap, and washed this down with a bottle of cold milk. I fastened a bib around his neck, took the bottle from the mini table to the side of the sofa, and lowered the bottle to his lips.
"Now open wide, you need your milk if you're to grow up a big strong boy. Theeeeeerrrrree's a gooooood boy........."
I held his head close to my breasts, his cheek brushing them as I clutched his head and shoulders in the crook of one arm, and the other holding the bottle, as I rocked him gently to a medley of nursery songs.
As soon as the bottle was emptied, I clutched him even tiighter to my breast for a minute or two, Mummy and Baby bonding ever closer. I then hoisted him over my shoulder, and proceeded to rub and pat his back, eventually producing a big burp, and finally wiped his mouth clear of the milk and dribble.
We were now ready to leave for Mrs Fotheringham's, so just the little matter of putting our coats on for the short walk to her house.
Ronny stood in front of me ready for our visit to Mrs Fotheringham
"Now, you'll need something over your sailor suit, it's a little cold outside. So you'll wear this little cardigan, and no complaining, or you know the consequences. Arms out! And the other....... there we are.... no put your head up...." I instructed him.
The cardigan was a little girls, was in a matching shade of blue, and had tiny little buttons all the way to the neck.
"But it's a girl's cardigan!"
"Now, that's enough. Come along! Head up! I won't ask you again"
He raised his chin, and looked to the ceiling as I slipped the top button through the opening. The cardigan was made of a stretch fabric, so with the top button only fastened, the cardigan formed an inverted "v" from the neck down.
"Now we'll just fasten the top button so you look just like a little girl. It'll be so much easier to remove it when we get to Mrs Fotheringham's, my little Ronnykins! Now, let me fetch your red gabardine. Here it is! Oh isn't it a pretty mackintosh?"
Instructing him to hold his arms out, I slipped them into the sleeve, and turned him around to face me. Pulling the mac over his shoulders, I pulled the collar together, unfastening the storm flap so I could fasten the top button, just as every mackintosh should be fastened - I always tire of seeing rainwear being worn in a slapdash way. The remaining buttons, belt and collar hooks were fastened to complete the look.
I then decided he should wear his red nylon mackintosh but instead of slipping his arms through the sleeves, I decided to turn them inside out, and simply slotted the mackintosh over his shoulder, and fastened the top button as if it were a cape. I folded the collar down neatly, and smoothed the creases out by running my hands down the nylon several times. I then fastened the remaining buttons - Ronny was now captive inside his nylon mackintosh, despite his struggling and his protestations.
"Oh, don't you look a picture? Those lovely white knee length socks and black Mary Janes make you look like a lovely little girl. Now let's do something about your hair."
I took the hair brush and comb, and created a little centre parting. Since Ronny had returned home some 3 months ago, I'd insisted on allowing his already long blonde hair to grow without a visit to have it cut. Now that he was helpless inside his mackintoshes, I quickly pulled each side into a bunch, I tied a little blue ribbon into his hair, and then did the same to the other side. I then took a comb to his fringe, combed it forward, and cut it horizontally across his face in a straight line.
Venturing to the front door, I noticed it was raining, so I reached to the sideboard, and to the plastic patterned rainbonnet upon it.
"Now we can't have your head getting wet, so let's get this rainbonnet on you. Theeeerrrrreeee we aaaaarrrreeeee! Goooooooood booooooooyyyyy.Now as I can't hold your hand, you'll need to wear these reins. Keep still while Mummy fastens them up. Goooooddd boooooyyy"
And with that I turned to put my own mackintoshes on - a full length rubber lined beige Burberry and a brown Pakamac that fell to my ankles; of course I too wore a rainbonnet, and as we made for Mrs Fotheringham's, we could have been mistaken for a Mummy and her (somewhat overgrown) little girl.***
We walked as quickly as my little legs would carry me, Mummy forever fiddling with my reins and my nylon mackintosh. En route,we bumped into a neighbour's daughter - Sara - who was an 18 year old prefect in school. She was, I thought, well formed for her age, but my thoughts turned to the circumstances that had brought me into this position in the first place.
I'd enjoyed a well paid job in the City, but made the mistake of getting a girl into trouble. Her father and mother had paid a visit to Mummy, complaining at my treatment of her when I refused to provide support for her. Mummy promised to speak to me with a view to get to the bottom of everything. When I turned up at the house the following weekend, I thought nothing of it when I saw Aunt Maude standing next to my mother. Over the next hour, Mummy interrogated me thoroughly, and although I initially denied the allegation, eventually I was ground down, and I admitted my guilt in a bout of tears.
Initially, Mummy was most annoyed, but eventually offered sympathy and support. She cuddled me warmly as we sat next to each other on the sofa, just as she had done when i was younger, but suddently she pulled me over her lap, and unleashed a volley of smacks to my bottom. After reducing me to tears, ably supported by Aunt Maude, I felt my trousers and pants being removed, and then being spanked on my bare bottom. Suddenly, Aunt Maude took a photograph of me in this compromising position, further reducing me to tears. At this point, Mummy produced a hairbrush, and began beating me without mercy, all the while being photographed by Aunt Maude.
Once it was over, Mummy removed my trousers and pants completely, pulled me up to he breasts, and started to cuddle me to her, as one would a young child. All the while, I continued to cry, and all the while I could sense the flashgun of the camera recording the event for posterity
Eventually, when it was all over, I was told that Mummy would make arrangements for my child to be supported. However, this was on condition that I return to live with her, to live under the conditions she imposed, and to obey her every instruction. And if I were to return to the City, she would make sure that my work colleagues would be shown the photographs of me laying over her lap, being spanked just as a small child would.
Over the next 2 months, I was gradually desensitised of my adult ways, until I found myself here today, on my way to visit Mrs Fotherngham for lunch
Sara approached Mummy cicumspectly. "Is this little Ronny" she asked incredulously. Mummy had obviously discussed my situation with Sara's mother, who in turn had wasted no time in relaying the information to her daughter.
"Indeed he is; isn't he adorable? I couldn't trust him not to run away so I just had to put him into these reins"
"Well, who's a big boooooooyyyyyy?" she asked in a motherly voice, just as if she were speaking to a baby. "Hello, Baby Ronny. Well, don't you have a smart mackintosh?"
"He has two on actually. Can't be too careful in this weather"
Mummy looked at me, loosened the loops and removed the rainbonnet to expose my newly trimmed hair
"Oh, just loook at your beautiful hair! Did you cut this yourself?" she asked Mummy
"Indeed I did. It was becoming distinctly unmanageable until his Mummy took control of matters"
Mummy then explained where we were going, and as she retied my rainbonnet tightly, she suggested that Sara could babysit me when Mummy went to a church group the following week.
As we bade our farewells, I suddenly realised that my Mackintosh Discipline regime had a long way to go.***
We were greeted by Mrs Fotheringham at her front door. She was a formidable woman in every way. She was a tall, large woman, possessed a large bust, and took to wearing clothing that accentuated her curvy figure. She was in her late 40's and her hair was now greying slightly. I think her hair was quite long, but it was difficult to say, since she had tied the ends into little buns that were gathered just over each ear. She was dressed in a high necked frilly blouse, adorned with a classic broach at the neck, a long black skirt and black patent leather high heeled shoes.
We were quickly escorted into the lounge, where Mummy removed her Pakamac and Burberry, shaking the Pakamac of the surplus rainwater. I was instructed to stand still while they both exchanged pleasantries, and then started talking about me as if I wasn't present.
"So has young Ronny been behaving himself at home? I certainly have to take him in hand at work for various infractions" Mrs Fotheringham offered.
"Unfortunately not;he's spent quite a bit of time over my lap in recent weeks, and I've also had to treat him like the baby that he's been behaving as" Mummy replied.
"Well if they insist on childlike behaviour, then that's the only answer. I do hope you've withdrawn toilet privileges, and returned him to nappies?"
"Of course, and also he's to be treated as a little girl rather than a little boy, although I make sure everyone knows he's still a little boy. It must be hard to tell the difference though!"
Eventually, their attention turned to me, as they agreed that I'd need to take my wet mackintoshes off. Mummy retired to the lavatory to freshen up, leaving Mrs Fotheringham to look after me.
"Now let's get these mackintoshes off you, shall we?...... Well boy, answer me!"
"Yes.....err..... sorry Mrs Fotheringham" I replied hesitantly, as she pulled me to her, and quickly removed the reins.
"Head up" she instructed as I stared up at her face, towering above me. Firstly the ends of the rainbonnet were untied and the bonnet removed. "Theeerrrre's a goooood boy.....now let me just shake it dry...... there we are.... Now keep your head up so I can remove your mackintoshes....Your mother has selected such a nice colour... such a good one to keep naughty boys in line..... first the top button.....and now the others....theeeerrre we arrrrreeee.... good boy!"
She shook the nylon mackintosh, and hung it up on a hanger to dry properly. She then repeated the same exercise by removing the red gabardine.
"Oh isn't your hair pretty! Let me just comb it a little.... there that's better.....now I'm afraid it's a little cold in the house.... the fire hasn't been lit yet, but you'll be helping me with that, so to protect your clothes you'll wear this white cotton pinafore over your cardigan."
"I'm not wearing a dress; that's what girls wear!" I replied.
"Now I won't ask you again. Arms out!" she said, approaching me with the dress held open in front of me.
"No! You can't make me do this! You're not my mother. Mummy!" I screamed.
"You naughty little boy; come here this instant!" she moved towards me, grabbing hold of my ear. She escorted me over to a chair that I later learned was a nursing chair, and bent me over her substantial lap. The elasticated waist of my sailor suit trousers were pulled down, and the disposable nappy too. Without delay, the admonishement and punishment commenced.
"If I - SLAP - tell- SLAP - you- SLAP - to- SLAP - do- SLAP - something- SLAP - I- SLAP - expect- SLAP - to be- SLAP - obeyed" she started. "When- SLAP - I - SLAP - tell- SLAP - you- SLAP - to- SLAP - wear- SLAP - a pinafore- SLAP - dress- SLAP - then- SLAP - that- SLAP - is what- SLAP - you'll do- SLAP "
By now, my whole body was quivering, tears were running down my eyes, as this noticeably larger figure loomed over me. The more I struggled, the tighter her hold of me became. Her left arm held me down over her lap, her left hand pulling me towards her breasts. I could feel these against the left side of my body, as they strained against her tight white blouse. As each blow landed, I could feel the effect on her own body being transmitted through her breasts against the side of my body.
When the punishment was finally over, I was hauled to my feet, blubbering loudly.
"Oh stop being such a big baby. Here....open your mouth!"
I complied immediately, and found a large dummy bulb being inserted to my mouth, and a large blue ribbon being tied tightly behind my head to keep it in place.
"Perhaps that'll keep you quiet? Now after you finish your errands around the house, we'll find you something more suitable to wear, but for now, you WILL wear this pinafore. Come along... let's get your arms in.... that's better....now turn around while I button it up at the back!"
The dress fell to my calves, and had frills all along the border of the sleeves that stopped at the shoulder, and along the hem. The length of the dress gave no clue that I was wearing short trousers underneath, and catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror, as Mrs Fotheringham slotted the series of tiny buttons through the holes, realised that to a stranger, my appearance was increasingly one of a small girl.
At this point, Mummy appeared, and was told of my misbehaviour and my punishment, and warned by her that I would be spanked again if there was any further messing. The best thing, I was told, was to complete my errands without argument. And at that point, I set off to do just that.***
The morning was spent cleaning the kitchen and lounge, and by preparing the fire in the sitting room. Mrs Fotheringham inspected my work before she confirmed she was satisfied with my efforts. Even though I'd finished my duties, the by now grubby pinafore was replaced with a clean one. Once again however, I insisted on protesting against the indignity of being dressed as a girl, but this time was met with the double wrath of both Mummy and Mrs Fotheringham.
"This young man insists on behaving insolently" Mrs Fotheringham said, complaining to Mummy. "So much so that I think he should be taken down a step or two further - permanently"
"Well I do insist on punishing him each time he misbehaves" Mummy replied, again as if I wasn't listening in on this conversation
"Yes, but in my experience there's only one treatment that suffices ...... being dressed and treated as a baby for a month"
"But that's not fair......."
"SILENCE! No one has invited you to speak" Mrs Fotheringham snapped, pointing an accusatory finger at me.
"Well, he does wear nappies, but what else did you have in mind"
"24/7 baby treatment; nothing more nothing less"
"Well I do tire of his behaviour, so this may very well be the thing to regulate his insolence. Very well, I'll start the arrangements first thing in the morning when the shops open"
"There's no need to wait; I have a selection of clothing you can try on now"
"This isn't fair..... How can I go out in public? How can I work?"
"Well you'll be transported in a large baby carriage, just like little babies are; and the ladies at work will make sure that you're properly attended to" Mrs Fotheringam suggested "Now come along, let's find something for him to wear before lunch. I always keep a supply of suitable clothing at hand for when my daughter brings her son around. Although he's 18, she needs to punish him from time to time, so they should fit perfectly. Come along Timothy, no dawdling"
I was pulled firmly by the hand, and taken up the stairs, as Mummy followed behind, determined that I should face up to my fate. Mrs Fotheringham opened the door slowly, beckoning me in behind her. As the door opened, it became clear to me that the threat of being treated like a baby was not an idle one...... for the whole room was decked out like a nursery, and as Mrs Fotheringham opened the wardrobe door to show the baby clothing within, I realised that matters had taken a turn for the worst.
***I immediately attempted to escape the clutches of Mummy and Mrs Fotheringham, refusing to accept my fate without a struggle. However, I was no match for their combined strength, and I soon found myself standing in front of them, having been stripped of my dignity and my clothing, the door locked from the inside- there was absolutely no means of escape.
"Now I notice he has no nappy on, so I think he needs one of these" said Mrs Fotheringham, producing a square of terry towelling. "In fact, I'd recommend three layers-one can't be too careful, particularly as his digestive system adapts to his new diet"
"That's a very good idea. Yes - three layers it is"
At this point I realised that not only would I be dressed as a baby, but also treated as one. Since protest was futile, it reduced me to tears as I contemplated being paraded in front of others in my new outfit, being spoon fed my food, and worst of all, being made to use my nappy.
"Come along Ronnykins, lay on this changing mat" Mummy ordered.
I was lowered over a light blue plastic changing mat, covered in pink cartoon animals. Mummy held me down while Mrs Fotheringham went to work with my nappies in a brisk and business-like way. The bulk was significant, and the effect was finished off when a pair of clear plastic pants was produced. I was aware that they'd crinkle loudly when I'd walk, but there was no point in protesting - my fate had been sealed long ago. Mrs Fotherigham threaded my legs through the openings, pulled them over my nappies, and tucked the top over the nappy edge.
"There, that's better. Stand up! Let's have a look at you!" I was ordered by Mummy. "That's perfect, you can just about stand up and walk properly, but they'll offer perfect protection also. Now, although I'd prefer to start Ronny off as a 3 or 4 year old when he's out in public, he'll be dressed as a baby indoors at all times, but if he misbehaves at all, he'll be regressed to a baby in public as well. However, he'll be dressed as a girl toddler, so we'll need something suitable for him to wear over his nappies. Do you have a selection of girl's dresses?"
"Yes, I have something that my daughter has got her 18 year old to wear quite often" she replied, turning to the wardrobe. "Here we are - a beautiful pink party dress!"
"I'm not going to wear THAT!" I spat out indignantly.
"ENOUGH!" Mummy replied, equally indignant. "Don't forget about the photographs I still have. I'll be only too pleased to share those with your friends! Now, arms out!"
I held my arms out, as the puffed sleeves were threaded over them. The dress buttoned from the back with over a dozen tiny little buttons, so that I had no chance of ever escaping. In addition, Mummy made sure that the collar hook was fastened at the rear also. A purple satin belt was tied around my waist tightly, and as I was spun around to face my mother, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. The nappies gave the effect of a more feminine shaped bottom, and the effect of the belt to clinch the waist added a further feminine look.
The dress consisted of a reverse Peter Pan collar, a raised waist, and the skirts were flared as they fell from the waist. It was a fairly long dress, falling below the knee, and was decorated with lots of frills and patterns - a perfect dress for a 4 year old girl. A pair of white knee length socks were threaded over my feet, as were a pair of perfect fitting black Mary Jane's. Finally, a white cotton pinafore was placed over it to complete the girlish look.
"Now he'll also need a silky bonnet to be worn at all times. If it's cold, he can wear a woollen one as well, but no little girl should be seen without one. Here we are" said Mrs Fotheringham, handing a large bonnet to my mother.
"Head up, Ronnykins! Isn't this a nice little bonnet? Yes, it is! Oh, isn't that pretty" my mother commented as she tied the ends tightly under my chin. The ruffle-edged bonnet totally surrounded my face, further emphasising the controlling and babyish nature of my appearance. "Oh, yes it is! Yes it is! Does little Ronnykins like his new outfit? Does he? Mummy can't hear her little Ronnykins"
"Yes"
"Mummykins can't her her little Ronnykins. Now again!"
"Yes, Mummykins. Ronnykins does like his dress"
"Goooooodddd boooooyyyyy! Now come along, it's time for your din-dins!"
I caught a further glimpse of myself in the mirror as Mummy and Mrs Fotheringham fussed over some last minute adjustments, before being taken by the hand downstairs, my mind trying to anticipate the fat that faced me over lunch.***
Mummy led me to the kitchen, where we found Mrs Fotheringham's daughter - Marjorie - and her three children had just arrived. I was introduced to each of them - the eldest was Daniel (eighteen), then there was Amanda (13) and their baby brother Stewart, who was 2. I saw Amanda giggle when she was introduced to me by name, and when it was explained that I was dressed in this way as a punishment for my persistent disobedience. However, Daniel didn't bat an eyelid at this point - I suspected he was wary of being punished himself based on Mrs Fotheringham's earlier comments.
While Amanda was dressed in jeans and a smart anorak, and removed it herself to expose a fashionable jumper, I noticed that Daniel was dressed in a full length light blue nylon mackintosh. He stood still while his mother removed her own nylon mackintosh, and then hung it up.
"Come along then Mr Trouble Maker. Let's get your mackintosh off" his mother instructed. But rather than unbutton it himself, he waited until his mother approached him to unbutton it herself. "Now keep still while Mummy unbuttons you......there's a good boy...... and another button....one more....there we are.... let's get this off you!"
The mackintosh was removed to expose the outfit he was wearing underneath - a light blue Alice in Wonderland style dress, complete with a white belted apron fitted over it. He too wore knee length white socks, and a pair of sensible black shoes.
"As you can see, Mother, Daniel has been very naughty, and so he's been dressed as a little girl once again. He refused to eat up his porridge this morning, so he's now facing up to the consequences of this" his mother commented. Turning to Mummy she continued, "I do think that every little boy should wear a mackintosh, don't you?"
"Oh yes. Ronny has quite a selection. He wore a gabardine and nylon mackintosh to school until he left. He hated wearing them, but I made sure he did so, or he'd be punished"
"Indeed. Daniel is forever complaining about having to wear his brown nylon mackintosh to school, but fortunately for him, his Mummy walks him to school every day to make sure he doesn't take it off" Marjorie continued.
"Well he never learns does he. I quite agree with your punishment dear. It's a shame he doesn't learn to behave himself." Mrs Fotheringham replied.
"Well we're just in time for dinner by the look of it. Come along children, sit down at the table........ not you, Daniel..... you just wait there for the moment. Mother, do you have the "special chairs" for Daniel and Ronny?"
"Yes, dear. I'll just go and fetch them with Ronny's Mummy"
A few moments later, they both returned with what looked like folding chairs from the storage room, but what on closer inspection were outsized high chairs. I learnt that Mrs Fotheringham had them made for Daniel, and also for her own husband when he too misbehaved but sadly he had now died.
Daniel and I were shepherded into our respective high chairs whilst Mrs Fotherigham returned with lunch. Under the threat of a spanking, we were told to sit quietly as Mummy and Marjorie tied bibs around our necks. Over the next 5 minutes we were made to wait our turn as Mrs Fotheringham, Mummy and Amanda ate their roast dinner, while Stewart fed himself to scraps of food by hand. When they were finished, Mummy and Marjorie turned their attention to Daniel and myself.
Mrs Fotheringham handed Mummy a bowl of pureed vegetables. It was brown in colour, looked awful and probably tasted the same also. Mummy made sure that my bib was tied on securely before scooping up a spoonful. She raised the spoon to my mouth, but I was determined not to eat it. Daniel on the other hand was compliantly opening his mouth to receive his meal to avoid punishment.
"Come along Ronny......open wide.....here's the choo choo train..... now don't be a silly billy...... you're not leaving here until you've eaten every last bit of this......come on....."
Suddenly, Mummy pinched my nose until I could hold on no longer, and eventually opened my mouth. Without delay, Mummy spooned in the food. It tasted awful as I suspected, but Mummy was now on a roll, as she continued to spoon more food into my mouth, before I'd even finished the last mouthful.
"Who's a lucky boy, then? .....Isn't this nice?...... There we areeeee!..... Goooooodddd boy! Oh look you've got some on your face......let Mummy wipe it off..... that's better.... oh you are a messy eater....never mind......almost finished.......there's a good boy......isn't this niiiiiiiiccceee........"
When it was over, Mummy lowered herself from her standing position, held up my chin, and wiped the goo off my chin with the terry towelled bib.
After lunch was finished, I found myself sat on the settee next to Marjorie, as she attempted to breastfeed Stewart. Marjorie had complained that Stewart wasn't very hungry, and had recently been weaning himself off the breast.
"It seems he won't feed again, Mother. I'm not sure what to do with him, especially as the pressure is building in my breasts. Unfortunately, I've also forgotten my expressing pump"
"Well perhaps Ronny's Mummy will allow him to feed at your breast since Daniel is allergic to dairy products?"
"But of course" Mummy replied. "Anything to help"
And almost immediately, Marjorie handed Stewart to Mummy to hold, and I was being hauled over her lap, despite my protestations.
"Now come to Aunty Marjorie.....there's a good little baby..... now let me get you comfy.....now turn your head to me.....goooooooodddd boyyyyyy...... now open wide!"
Aunty Marjorie lowered her enormous milky breast towards my mouth, holding the nipple out. She pulled my head forward suddenly, and almost immediately found myself nursing from her, the sweet tasting milk running over my tongue, and down the "little hole". I firstly nursed on her left breast, and then on her right, and was then placed over her left shoulder for a winding session.
"Who's been a good boy for Aunty Marjorie then?"When I looked at little Ronny nursing on Marjorie's breast, my thoughts returned momentarily to the time that he did the same at my own breast, many years ago. At that time, I resolved that Ronny would most definitely be treated as a little baby for as long as he spent time under my roof.
But for now, it was time for us to return home, but not before we spent more time looking for suitable clothing in Mrs Fotheringham's wardrobe. Once this was done, Ronny was changed into a new outfit for the trip home. His new dress was a lot shorter, and made of light blue silk taffeta. His nappies would be exposed were he to bend over, and he made great efforts to pull down his little dress on more than one occasion.
Mrs Fotheringham then produced a choice of coats, and we settled on a light blue three quarter length woollen coat, with white piping along the coat's hemline and edging. It was double breasted, and had contrasting white buttons. I buttoned Ronny into his coat, and then slipped on a spare light blue nylon mackintosh and plastic rainbonnet over it. His arms were slotted into the reins, and we bade Mrs Fotheringam and Marjorie farewell before we embarked on the walk home. I made a final adjustment to Ronny's mackintosh, and took his hand as we turned the corner and approached the main road.***
Before we arrived home however, Ronny was in for a shock when we bumped into an ex girlfriend of his. Virginia was a strong character even back in school, and now some 15 years later, was no different. I Knew that her husband had found her too much to handle, and that she was now single once again, despite always wishing for a family. She had always been a strong maternal figure, and her curvy, busty figure supported this view. I'd always hoped that Virginia and Ronny would have got married, and now I saw the perfect opportunity for them to be reunited - for Ronny to find the perfect carer.
As we approached, Ronny spotted her from a distance, and attempted to squirm his way free, but I was too strong for this pathetic little baby, as I tightened my grip on his hand. Virginia greeted me warmly before recognising the errant child held by the hand. Initially she did a double take before recovering her composure.
"I see this young man has been naughty again? He was a mischievous little boy when we went out with each other. I came very close to take him over my knee then; it seems he's changed very little in the interim."
"Indeed. It's a life of discipline and regulation for young Ronny, I'm afraid. Show Virginia what you've got underneath your mackintosh!..... Come along!......She's waiting!"
Unfastening the buttons of his mackintosh, I removed it and handed it to Virginia. She stifled a chuckle as she saw him in his little blue coat, noting that Ronny was wearing nappies and plastic pants that rustled as I removed his mackintosh. The blue coat was removed next, exposing his punishment so that Virginia could see him in all his glory.
"Oh, what a picture! Who's a pretty boy? Whooooo's a pretty boyyyyyy? Aren't you? Aren't you?" she said, pinching his nose as she did so.
"What do you say to Aunty Virignia........WHAT DO YOU SAY?"
"Yes I am a pretty boy, Aunty Virginia"
"Oh what a darling creature!" she exclaimed
"I have an idea" I suggested. "Why don't you come back with us for a chat? You can help put him to bed?"
"That would be a splendid idea! I'd be delighted!"
Virginia helped me replace his coat and mackintosh, and taking him by the hand, accompanied me as we strode home.
After our arrival, Virginia not only undressed and changed Ronny's nappies, but also helped me bathe him. Taking the opportunity to help, she dressed herself in my full length rubber apron, and drying him off, she sat him on her ample lap, as she smothered him in a soft fluffy towel, before dressing him in his full length nightie. Despatching him to bed with a good night kiss, I realised that this was the woman who could care for him for many years to come.***
Over the next few weeks, Ronny was to be regressed to his babyhood. I was delighted that Virginia became a regular visitor over this time, as she developed a connection with Ronny. Her ex-husband had left her a generous settlement as part of their divorce, meaning that she didn't need to work; this meant that she was practically a daily visitor, allowing me time to attend to my errands and work, safe in the knowledge that Ronny was being taken care of.
Virginia had personally supervised his regression; she oversaw his 3 times daily nappy changes, his regular spoon-feeds, his discipline (including the administration of frequent spankings), and his daily outing to the park. These outings would be religiously enforced, and followed a set routine. Firstly, Ronny would be dressed in a footed sleeper, a sun bonnet if it was warm and sunny, or in a woollen one fastened by pom-pom tassels if it was cold. A woollen matinee jacket would be placed over the sleeper, which in turn would have the ribbon end of a dummy attached to it in case it fell out of Ronny's mouth.
Veronica would always be resplendent, and would either be dressed in a navy Burberry mackintosh, fully buttoned and belted and a matching navy rainhat, or in a beige Burberry cape. Underneath, she always wore a white blouse, adorned at the neck with a brooch, and a full length black skirt. She certainly commanded respect from Ronny, and demanded that she call him Nanny Virginia. Standing just short of 6foot tall, Virginia was an imposing figure to say the least.
In dry weather, Ronny would be lifted by Virginia into the adapted pram that Mrs Fotheringham had kindly loaned to them; a blanket would be placed over him to keep him warm, and the hood would be raised to keep the sun and wind at bay. However, in the event of rain, Virginia would place Ronny in the pushchair, and place the hood of a nylon Mothercare pushchair cover over his head, before attaching the cover to the pushchair itself - the cover would be slotted over the handles, and fastened underneath to make sure that Ronny was totally covered. He certainly looked a picture in it, with his face barely visible, particularly when the dummy would be inserted into his mouth.
As Nanny would make her way to the park, she would be stopped by passing Mummies so they could see Ronny in his finery, often reducing the silly baby to tears. Time would be spent feeding the ducks at the lake, before returning via the town centre, where Nanny would take Ronny for shopping trips, or for a snack. It was on one of these trips that Ronny was to come across one of his former teachers - Miss Larkin - who was now married to a classmate of his. This was an event that Ronny wouldn't forget in a hurry.***
Ronny and I made our way from the park to the town centre. I strode purposefully behind the pushchair, Ronny sat under his bright red pushchair cover. The weather was particularly bad this morning, and Ronny had initially refused to get ready for our trip by allowing me to thread the cover over his head. However, a quick visit over my lap saw to him, and he was almost immediately transformed to an obliging polite little baby. I made sure that I too was adequately protected by slipping a full length brown nylon mackintosh over my Burberry. I find it astonishing to see so many people walking around unprotected in the rain, particularly young people; an afternoon under my supervision, and they'd be properly kitted out in their mackintoshes, I can tell you. And buttoned to the neck as well; there'll be no scruffiness under my watch.
As we made our way to the town centre, I decided that we should have something to eat before journeying home. Unfortunately, I'd not brought baby food for Ronny, who by now was only eating pureed foods. When I mentioned this to Ronny, his mood darkened somewhat, as he was particularly keen to make our way directly home, so as not to draw unecessary attention to himself. But I was determined that his Mummy shouldn't think that I'd skipped lunch - whatever would she think of me? One final warning, and the insertion of the dummy was enough to silence his blubbering protests.
We were welcomed by a waitress who guided us to a table towards the rear of the restaurant, affording Ronny a modicum of privacy. She was intrigued about his appearance, but symathised fully when I explained the nature of the punishment. I took off my mackintoshes, shaking out the nylon mac before hanging it up with my Burberry. I then turned my attention to Ronny, lifting him from the pushchair, before removing the rain cover and his little blue toddler's overcoat. Anticipating the visit to the town centre, I'd dressed him in his prettiest party dress - white silk with layers and layers of lace petticoats, with dozes of little buttons up the back. I sat him in the chair next to me, ordering him to behave himself. I would have preferred a high chair, but they didn't have one that was big enough, poor mite.
The waitress took our order for two cooked lunches. However, Ronny's included extra sprouts and cabbage, vegetables he detested, but essential for a good digestive system in my opinion. Ronny naturally protested, but he was cut short with a withering glare. The food returned a moment later, but just as he picked up his knife and fork, I slapped him by the hands.
"And what do you think you're doing?"
"Well I was just going to start eating......you....you're not going to feed me? In public?"
"Well babies are always fed by their Mummies or their Nanny, and you'll be no exception" I replied. Turning to the waitress, I asked her to return with a masher, on the pretence that I'd be mashing his potatoes,but when she returned I started to mash the whole meal, and by cutting the meat into tiny little pieces. Before long the whole plate had been pureed.
I stood to tie a plastic bib that I'd brought with me around his neck, in full view of the fascinated audience of fellow diners. There was much pointing and giggling, and I could sense Ronny blushing to a deep shade of red. I then proceeded to feed him his lunch, although he did need a little encouragement to begin with, bearing in mind his dislike of the sprouts and the cabbage mashed into the food. After I finished my own meal however, Ronny started to blubber through the dummy I'd re-inserted. Turning around to follow his gaze, I noticed a former teacher of ours - Miss Larkin - was walking toward us. However, this wasn't what Ronny was flustering over; for behind her was our former classmate, Ian Dennis, now Miss Larkin's husband.
I'm sure that Ronny was wishing we would either leave in the opposite direction, or that the floor would open up. Sadly for him, neither of these would come true.***
Miss Larkin - I couldn't bring myself to call her Mrs Dennis - appeared in front of us, immediately recognising not only myself, but also Ronny, despite his unconventional appearance. Ronny couldn't bear to look her or Ian in the eye.
Miss Larkin had been one of the youngest teachers at our school, fresh out of university. Many would have expected her to have been a soft touch; but the very opposite was true. She was mature beyond her years at the time, and she took no messing. In an era where corporal punishment was allowed, it was quite common for her to take a young boy over her knee for even the most minor indiscretion. It always astonished me why boys would continue to push their luck when they knew the consequences. She had met Ian once again some 5 years after we'd left school, and a couple of years later married him, despite the 8 year age gap. Ian had a reputation forbeing a wild one, but Miss Larkin had apparently tamed him successfully.
And here she was 15 years later in her late 30's. She was, as always, resplendently dressed, particularly in light of the weather, buttoned securely in a beige Burberry, the storm flaps fastened, the belt buckled tightly. She donned a matching rainhat that she removed to reveal her long hair tied into a bun. Ian was similarly attired in what looked like a navy nylon mackintosh very similar to one of Ronny's.
"Do you mid if we both join you? It would be great to catch up?"
"Of course; move along Ronny, make room for Ian"
Miss Larkin first of all removed her own raincoat, revealing a white blouse and black pencil skirt. Intriguingly, she turned to Ian and unbuttoned his own coat before hanging it up with her own, revealing a navy school gabardine that she also unbuttoned before hanging it up. This exposed Ian to be wearing a version of our old school uniform - shirt, tie, blazer and grey trousers.
Following our initial greetings, I explained to Miss Larkin the circumstances leading to Ronny's appearance, and to my own involvement in his development.
"Well that's a fascinating idea. I've also taken to doing something similar with Ian here" she said pointing to her husband. "He had a reputation for being mischievous if you remember, something of a bully. Well I made it quite clear that I wouldn't accept any such behaviour if we were to get married. So each time he misbehaves, he's regressed, and made to wear clothing that fits the crime"
Miss Larkin went on to explain that at various times, Ian's punishments had been very similar to Ronny's. Today, he was dressed as a senior schoolboy, but he has also worn short trousers and a school hat for greater misdemeanours. She also explained that Ian was subjected to Mackintosh Punishment for more extended periods. The school gabardine was regularly fetched from the wardrobe for outings, as was a matching blue nylon mackintosh; in fact, Miss Larkin now insisted that he always wear these.
I sensed that Ronny was slightly relieved that he was not alone in his predicament, noting that Ian was compliantly sat at the table not having attempted to poke fun at him, presumably for fear of incurring a punishment later in the evening.
As the conversation continued, Miss Larkin suggested that she accompany us home, so that she could have a look at some of Ronny's outfits, having sensed that her punishment regime needed to be taken up a notch or two, as Ian had become increasingly boisterous in recent weeks. And so we both found ourselves accompanying our charges up the street, Ronny in his pushchair, and Ian being led firmly by the hand, now buttoned back up once again by Miss Larkin in his nylon and gabardine mackintoshes, both buttoned to the neck of course.***
Virginia was now practically living with us, having taken primary responsibility for Ronny's care. This extended to Ronny spending nights at her home, where she was under strict instructions to continue his baby regression. He had now been weaned off solids, was fed all of his meals in pureed form, and all liquids were delivered by way of a baby bottle. Indeed, in recent days, liquids had been confined to baby formula.
Over the next few weeks, we welcomed regular visitors to the house. Miss Larkin would bring Ian over to visit, as would Mrs Fotheringham, Marjorie, Daniel, Amanda and Stewart. With Maude and Ronny's cousin Andrew (aged 7), we would gather for parties at regular intervals. Whilst these parties are now common place, the occasion of the first one was a source of some consternation in our household.
It was conditional that Ronny be dressed in up in his very nicest party dress. By now, his wardrobe had been extended to quite the Aladdin's cave of little baby girl's outfits. On the day of the party, Nanny Virginia led him up to the bedroom to get ready, as I followed to help out.
"Now let's get you ready for the party, shall we? Theeeeere we arrrreee," she said, falling to her knees whilst she removed the pink onesie from him. "Now let's check your nappies......yes they're still dry..... who's been a good boy then?...... Have you been a good baby for Nanny?......Yes you have.....Let Nanny hug you......Oh, who's Nanny's precious little baby?"
I selected a yellow knee length party dress, full of frills and petticoats, with a matching bonnet, dainty little ankle socks, and black patent leather shoes. As Nanny instructed him to hold his arms out to place the petticoat and dress over him, Ronny became unnecessarily fractious, leading to Nanny taking him in hand. She pulled him across the room to the high backed chair that Ronny was no stranger to, and pulled him over her ample lap.
"You wicked little child. Do you have no manners at all? Do you know how naughty it is to disregard Nanny or Mummy? You've just earned yourself a spanking, just like all naughty boys and girls"
Nanny removed his plastic pants and nappy, exposing his bottom, and raised her arm in anticipation, continuing to scold him throughout.
"Naughty..... SPANK .....little..... SPANK .....boys..... SPANK .....must..... SPANK .....do as ..... SPANK .....they're ..... SPANK .....told..... SPANK .....or..... SPANK .....they'll..... SPANK .....face..... SPANK .....the..... SPANK .....consequences...... SPANK .....Little ..... SPANK .....boys..... SPANK .....will..... SPANK .....wear..... SPANK .....their..... SPANK .....little..... SPANK .....party..... SPANK .....dress..... SPANK .....if..... SPANK .....that's..... SPANK .....what..... SPANK .....Mummy..... SPANK .....wants."
With Ronny reduced to tears, Nanny expertly buttoned him in his party dress before securing the pretty lacy bonnet over his head. The ends were made of yellow ribbon that fell to his waist, enabling Nanny to tie large bows into the ribbons as she fastened them under his chin. With the side of the bonnet coming well past the end of his face, he certainly looked like the little baby he was.
With Ronny ready to face his guests, he was escorted downstairs to the lounge. I prepared a bottle of formula for him, and lowered him over my lap on the sofa, his face close to my breasts. I fastened a cotton bib around his neck, and then inserted the bottle into his mouth. The milk was greedily consumed, resulting in a residue spilling out over his chin as he was fed. I took the bib into my hand and mopped up the milk on his chin and around his mouth while I continued to hold the bottle in the other hand. At the end, I pulled his little frame up, and lowered him over my left shoulder as I patted his back, eventually releasing the trapped wind.
"Gooooooodddd boooooooyyyyyy! Now you're ready to meet your little friends!"***
Ronny was then lifted into his enlarged pram, under strict orders to behave himself or face the consequences.
The first of the party guests arrived shortly, the ladies in their best Sunday suits, fresh from their church visits, and the children in their Sunday best. By now, Ian had been confined to short trousers, and today was no exception. I welcomed him and Miss Larkin to see Ian in his school hat and blue gabardine mackintosh. I noticed that the mackintosh was buttoned to the neck, and with the collar hooks fastened to pull the collars closer together, made for an austere 1950's look. I also noticed he was in his short trousers, his grey stockings just visible below the full length mackintosh.
"Hello Miss Larkin, welcome. And hello Ian! So nice to see you. My, you look smart in your mackintosh. Here, let me help you off with that."
"No, I can take it off myself!"
"Enough of that young man! You're going the right way for a smacked bottom. Now do as you're told!"
"Yes, Mummy!" Ian replied obediently.
I took Ian by the hand as he entered the house. Miss Larkin removed her full length brown nylon mackintosh and rainbonnet to reveal a starched white blouse with a large bow fastened at the neck, and a black pencil skirt that fell to her calves. She certainly exuded authority in my mind. I turned Ian around to face me as I unbuttoned his mackintosh.
"You're a very lucky young man to have a mackintosh like this one, aren't you? Oh yes you are! Now first the collar hooks.... there, that's better isn't it?.... and the top button..... and the storm flap... and another.... there we are!"
I removed the mackintosh, and hung it up to dry, revealing Ian in a blazer, shirt, tie and short trousers. The blazer had all three buttons fastened, and the tight short trousers certainly emphasised his youthful look.
"I do think that young boys should always have a mackintosh or two in their wardrobe, don't you, Miss Larkin?"
"Of course, and Ian is no exception. He has half a dozen of different styles. I had a terrible time with him at home earlier, as he didn't want to wear his gabardine in public, but a quick spell over my knee put paid to that! It was the gabardine or the pink Barbie mac - guess which one he picked?"
As we all retired to the lounge, it wasn't long before the rest of our guests arrived. Daniel was resplendent in a lovely pink silky number that failed to hide the fact that he was wearing nappies, and Andrew in his blue sailor suit with matching overcoat and mackintosh. I then removed Ronny from his pram, and encouraged the children to play quietly with the toys I provided while the grown ups quickly prepared lunch for everyone.
It wasn't long before everyone sat up at the table for lunch.***
The ladies firstly ensured that their charges were sat properly at the table. Nanny made sure that Ronny was sat in his highchair, and despite his protestations and obvious embarrassment, slid the tray into place, securing his hands in the process. A large bib with "Baby Ronny's Bib" emblazoned over the front was tied behind his neck, although he continued to struggle. However, he was no match for Nanny, and she simply laughed off this sideshow. His dummy remained tied to his mouth, rendering him speechless, and unable to protest further.
Marjorie made similar arrangements with Daniel, whereas Ian sat at one corner of the table, allowing Miss Larkin to sit next to him. Daniel too was draped in a large bib, but Ian was allowed to feed himself under Miss Larkin's watchful eye. Meanwhile, Maude was busily placing a bib around Andrew's neck at the table.
Presently, the food was brought in, and Nanny placed a bowl of pureed vegetables in front of Ronny. It contained the hated sprouts and swede, but she was determined that he would eat every last bit of it.
"Come along....open wide.....looks like someone's not hungry......Mummy, would you hold his nose please......thank you, that's better.......there we are.....isn't that nice.......good boy.....who's a messy boy then......let Nanny wipe your face.......that's better......and another mouthful....goood boy."
Ronny felt everyone's attention was on him, but this was only partially true, as Andrew and Daniel were also being force fed their lunch of pureed vegetables at the same time.
Once their respective meals were over, the ladies responsible wiped their faces clean of the mess that formed during their feed, and promptly removed their bibs. This led to an unprompted outburst from Ronny, the like of which I haven't heard for some time.
"That food was puke. I hated it! I hate you all!" he shouted
"That's enough!" I countered "You'll keep that mouth shut if you want to avoid any further punishment today. That little outburst has cost you your pudding as it is."
"Good. I'm sure that was puke as well, you bitch! Let me out of here now!"
Nanny could suddenly take no more. Unclipping the tray on the high chair, she lifted him forcibly , and dragged him over by the ear to a kitchen chair.
"Let me go! You can't do this! You're not my mother!" he shouted.
"SILENCE! You will do as you're TOLD!" Nanny replied, as she dealt with his struggles admirably.
Bending him over her lap, she pulled up his party dress, exposing his plastic pants and nappies. They were removed with little delay, her left arm clasping him to her bosom, whilst the right hand went to work on his panties. Suddenly his bare bottom was exposed, and Nanny went to work on his bottom with a fury I hadn't seen before. It was no more than he deserved, and I was pleased to see that she was punishing him so as to remind him never to behave in this way again. However, he continued to struggle, kicking his feet in the air. But Nanny responded by simply tightening her grip on her left arm, as she pulled him ever tighter to her not insignificant bosoms.
After about 5 minutes, she pulled him to his feet, and producing a little hanky from the sleeve of her blouse, ordering him to "blow".
"Now let that be a lesson to you all in case any of you are tempted to misbehave!" I heard Mrs Fotheringham warn.
Ronny was in floods of tears, crying like the big baby he was. Marjorie, noting his behaviour, suggested that he be placed across her lap so she could comfort him. Nanny agreed readily, and after refastening his nappies and plastic pants, and pulling down his party dress, she led him to the sofa where Marjorie was sat. She held her arms out as Nanny handed Ronny over to her, pulling him across her lap. Fearing another fearsome spanking if he disobeyed, he complied without complaint.
"There we are, my little one. Oh have you been crying?...... have you?.....oh you poor thing..... that's better......come to Aunty Marjorie.....let me hold you tight"
Ronny suddenly found his face being pulled to her large breasts, barely able to breathe. Suddenly, asking him if he was thirsty, and without waiting for the answer, Marjorie unbuttoned her blouse, and unfastened her maternity bra. Pulling her breasts out, she pulled Ronny toward them.
"Would Baby Ronny like his milky, milky?.....would he? .....oh, yes he does, doesn't he?......come to Aunty Marjorie....there we are.....open wide......there's a good boy."
And in front of an audience of cooing and aaahing ladies, Ronny took his feed on the sofa. He had no means of resisting, Marjorie's grip being vice like around the little child's head. The dark nipple was placed between his lips, and the enormous breasts engorging his whole face, almost rendering him unable to breath.
For the next hour he lay there being fed, and being winded, before it was decided that they should all get dressed for a trip to the park.***
The ladies gathered their assembled charges together. There was a drizzle in the air, and it was agreed that everyone should slip on their mackintoshes. Daniel and Andrew were particularly fractious at the thought of being seen in public in their mackintoshes, both complaining that they wanted to wear anoraks like everyone else in their school. But Marjorie and Made were having none of it, and both boys fond they'd pushed their luck too far, and were rewarded by a very public spanking. Soon Daniel was being buttoned into a pink plastic Barbie mackintosh that matched his pink party dress, and Andrew was being put back into his navy blue cotton coat, and the navy blue nylon mackintosh that had a fetching set of contrasting dark blue buttons.
Amanda was already wearing her brown gabardine when she approached me asking if she could help Ronny get dressed for our trip.
"Of course you may, darling. He's too much of a baby to be able to dress himself. Isn't that right Ronny? Would you like Amanda to dress you for your trip outside? Well...... would you?"
"Yes Mummy, I would like Amanda to dress me for my trip."
"Oh excellent; well come along, let's go upstairs to your bedroom!" she exclaimed, taking Ronny in hand and leading him up the stairs with me in tow.
I opened the wardrobe so Amanda could have free reign in choosing his mackintoshes.
"Oh, look at these. I used to wear mackintoshes like these when I was a little girl. I'm so glad I don't have to wear one anymore. I think it's so important for little boys and girls to wear a mackintosh to protect them from the rain, don't you?"
"Oh, absolutely. Ronny knows he has a life in mackintoshes in front of him if I have anything to do with it. Now which ones would you like him to wear?"
Over the next 5 minutes, Amanda took great pleasure in trying on a number of different gabardines and nylon mackintoshes before settling on the red ones.
"Oh I notice that they're girls mackintoshes?"
"Yes, they fit Ronny a little better than boy's. The gabardine flares from the waist a little better, and they're both fuller in length than boy's ones."
"Oh, yes. I see they almost fall to his feet, don't they. Now Ronny!...Head up!....Come along!....Theeeere we areeee.....now let's button up you gabardine.......first the top button, little boys should always have their top button fastened....gooood boyyyy.....now for the storm flap......and the other buttons......now for the belt.....nice and tight....oh look you can see the nappy bulge....now the collar hooks....oh look how the collars are pulled close together....just like a 1950's schoolgirl."
I could see Ronny squirming slightly, as he stood there impatiently being dressed by a 13 year old girl. He made for the door, but Amanda pulled him back, reminding him he needed a nylon mackintosh in this weather.
"You can't tell me what to wear! You're just a 13 year old girl, and I'm a grown adult!"
"Well you're certainly not behaved like one, and you're certainly not dressed like one," she countered
"ENOUGH! Or you'll be over my knee again! Now might I suggest the long pink Barbie mackintosh as suitable punishment for his outburst?"
"Oh what a good idea. Come along then, arms out!"
Amanda slipped the mackintosh over his shoulders, and turned him to face her. Under instructions from me to behave, Ronny simply stood there motionless, as the top button was fastened through the opening, as Amanda and I both admired the cut of the mackintosh. Before long the other 5 buttons were fastened and Ronny was totally covered in patterned pink plastic that fell to his ankles.
Before rejoining the others, I handed Amanda a pair of mittens that had been specially adapted to hold his hands into a fist, and a plastic rainbonnet. Amanda practically squealed as she placed the bonnet over his sun bonnet, fastening the ends in ornate bows.
Before long, we'd rejoined the rest just as the Mummies were applying rain bonnets to their own charges' heads. By now the boys had been suitably chastised or punished so that they simply accepted their fates, the Mummies tying large bows in the bonnets to emphasise the feminine effect.
And so, as they set out, strangers would have been confronted with four powerful women, and their assembled charges being held by the hand on their way to the park. And as I looked at Nanny and Ronny in front of me, as he dawdled behind her, only to receive a slap on the legs, I realised that Ronny had a lifetime of Regression and Mackintosh Punishment ahead of him
THE END
