Submission Jonathan

Submission ~ Jonathan
copyright ©www.GovernessX.com ~ material not to be reproduced without written permission

Aversion Therapy ~ a scene of panties punishment
The Remote Control ~ a serialised story of a most unorthodox adoption *updated 16/8/06*
Don't Cry Wolf ~ a little tale of a boy who cried wolf and got spanked

Aversion Therapy
“I can’t help it, Nanny!” he bleated, trying to hide his erection.

Nanny put the knickers down on the table and tut tutted for the third time that morning.

“Oh dear!” she sighed, “Well we’ll just have to keep trying. Come along now. Take your hands away. You haven’t got anything I haven’t seen before."

He took away his hands, exposing himself to Nanny’s stern gaze. Nanny Picked up her little cane in one hand and the knickers in the other.

“Please, Nanny don’t do it again, it hurts !” he whined.

“It’s supposed to hurt!” she said “How on earth are we to stop you playing with ladies panties if it doesn’t hurt? Silly boy! Now do as you are told and put your hands on your head this instant!”

He put his hands on his head and she wrapped his organ in the soft filmy material yet again and then began to strike his naked bottom with her cane.

He kept doing little hops to avoid the blows but this only served to accentuate the contact with the panties.

“Naughty boy. Keep still!” (swish swish swish). Nanny held his penis tightly. “Naughty, naughty, naughty.” (swish swish swish).
He wriggled free of her grip for just a moment.

“Oh really, Jonathan! You must keep still or I will get very cross. Wait a minute! I have a much better idea. Put the panties on and then you can go over my knee. Perhaps a spanking while you actually wear the panties will put you off for a while!"

Nooooo! Pleaseeeee, Nanny!” Jonathan pleaded for mercy. He begged, he knelt in front of her, his head resting momentarily on her thigh. “Not another spanking!”

He didn’t really mean it and Nanny knew he didn’t. It was rather good fun and Nanny did have such nice panties. The only thing that bothered him was that bl**dy hairbrush. All being well if he kept quiet she might forget about it. Fingers crossed.

The Remote Control
She controlled the implant and had threatened to use it when the adoption interview team came. She monitored their private chat with him using a hidden camera. He wanted to tell them but he was too frightened so when they asked if he was happy to be adopted he said yes.
He heard her voice in the hidden ear piece, “Smile! Look happy!”
He felt with dread the now familiar tingling sensation in his groin and forced a smile. Please he thought to himself don’t turn it up.

The social services posse left amidst much hand shaking and a plethora of self congratulations. Another waif settled in a good home, another worthy job done. If only they knew ... if only.

Victoria Taylor smiled with glee as they departed, she had him all to herself, her personal play thing.
“Well, little boy you are all mine now," she smiled with sickly menace.
"Please, Mummy, don’t do it!” he begged.
It was no use. She took the controller from her pocket and pressed one of the buttons. He looked askance as, instead of the usual sharp pain, his bladder failed and a stain appeared on the front of his trousers. Tears came in to his eyes.

“And what is that? she asked triumphantly.

He knew the part he had to play and so, scared of her reaction to refusal, he complied and spoke the ritual words she had drummed in to him. “Please, Mummy, I’ve done a wee wee in my pants.”
It was a crushing admission and worst of all it was true.

“You’re a very naughty boy,” she said. “You know what happens to naughty boys, don’t you?”

“Yes, Mummy.” Tears welled up in his eyes.
“Yes, you do, don’t you - naughty boys get spanked! Naughty boys have their pants pulled down and their little botties smacked. And now Mummy is going to give you very hard spanking!”

“Come along then, ask Mummy nicely, ask for your spanking, tell Mummy what you need.” Her voice was full of scarcely disguised glee.
He could do nothing to resist and so he spoke the mantra, “Please, Mummy, I’ve been naughty, and I deserve a smacked botty."

“Yes you do!” she said and with that she took him to the chair in the middle of the room; she sat down, hitched her skirt high to reveal her powerful thighs, partially contained by a stiff girdle, her legs in soft fully fashioned nylons. She pulled his damp trousers and pants to his ankles. She looked sharply at him.
“Wet pants means a sore red bottom! Now over my knee!”
She flipped him over her lap, his lower torso made contact with her warm body, and her hand descended on to his behind. Smack.
"Naughty boy!" Smack. "I’m going to teach you a lesson you won’t forget!" Smack. Smack. Smack. Smack. “What are you?” she asked.
He had to reply, “I’m naughty.”

Smack. Smack. Smack. She spanked and spanked and spanked until his bottom was on fire. The scolding was relentless. He squirmed and squirmed and to his horror his penis began to respond to the movement and the contact with her soft feminine thighs. She felt the swelling and smiled.
She lifted him from her lap, stood and looked at him with steely determined eyes, “The naughty boy has a hard little penis.” She gripped it in her hand and led him to the side table. She took a small cane in her hand and flicked it across his bottom. He flinched.

“Naughty little boy." Swish. "Sore little bottom." Swish. "Hard little penis." Swish.
The strokes continued as she held his member tightly in her grip. He felt his seed rising there was nothing he could do to prevent it.
“The naughty boy is going to wet Mummy’s hand. Don’t you dare!" Swish. Don’t you dare!" Swish.
His body shook as the inevitable happened. Then as his climax ebbed, she pulled him close to her.
"There, there, all over now."
He broke down in tears and she held him tight, soothing him, running her hand through his hair.

After a time she spoke, "Well, I did enjoy that. Let’s have a look at your bottom. Ummm. A sore red bottom. I do like that game. Now then what shall we play now, I wonder?" she said with all the air of a small child. “Does the naughty boy want to do mess on Mummy’s stockings?
He cringed, although he did enjoy it, it also meant another spanking.
She saw his look of pained reluctance. “We could play the baby game, after all you did wet your panties.”
He blushed at the reminder. But the baby game, it was horrible! She would undress down to her underwear, then sit him on her knee and make him suckle her breasts like a baby. And the nappy and plastic pants were so embarrassing! Then she would put her hands inside his nappy and milk him while he was clamped to her bosom. It was so humiliating.
“I know!" she announced in a cheerful voice. "Let's play Sissy Dolly!”

His heart sank, “Please, Mummy, no! Please, not that!”
He clasped his hands together and knelt pleading ... he saw from her face it was to no avail.

In a trice she had emptied the dolly clothes all over the floor and was busy selecting a collection of frilly panties and little skirts all for him to wear! Next she would call Mrs Johnson from next door and both of them would dress him. They pretended to be two girls with a dolly to play with. He slumped in resignation. She had the controller – resistance was useless. It would be another grim afternoon of panties, spanking and milking.

What a terrible prospect.
***
The next day Victoria rang her neighbour, Mrs Johnson, and invited her over to “play dollies”.

“Oh yes, the device is working very well, I can control a range of functions now.” She paused as Mrs Johnson spoke, and then continued, “That’s right ... anyway do come along and you can see for yourself.” She put the phone down and went to the back door as Mrs Johnson came up the garden path.

He cowered in the corner as 'Mummy’s' friend came in. This was going to be terrible, he couldn’t stand her, but there was nothing he could do. Mummy picked up the remote and twiddled one of the dials. His muscles twitched and then seemed to be drained of all their strength. He could barely raise an arm.
“Say hello to Aunty Carol!” she ordered, then adjusted something on the device as he began to speak.
Instead of his usual male voice, the “hello aunty Carol” came out in a strange distorted way. Something was stopping his larynx from functioning normally. It was like the squeaky voice that comes when you breath helium balloons. He sounded like a little GIRL!

Mrs Johnson let forth a peal of high pitched laughter and came towards him. She was a very large woman and her abundant bulk loomed over him. She was dressed in a strange way for a woman of her age and size. She had large chunky thighs, each one almost as thick as Jonathan's waist yet for some reason she chose to wear a ridiculous short pleated skirt that barely covered her knickers. Her blouse threatened to burst its buttons at any second and was undone half way down so that it seemed as if her huge cleavage was going to tumble out and crush him.

She scooped him up, and buried his face in the mass of her huge soft breasts. “That’s a good boy come to Aunty Carol. What a sweet little didums!" she cooed.
She quickly turned him over as she sat down and plonked him on her capacious lap. She held him under his arms and Mummy pulled his trousers down. He tried to struggle but he had no strength. He could wriggle but in a slow feeble way. The two women then placed him on the floor and pulled his jumper over his arms and eventually he was sitting naked in front of them. They started to have a discussion about what outfit they would make him wear. Mummy was determined to have her way.
“When I was a girl I NEVER had Tennis Barbie and that is what I’d really like."
Aunty Carol rather fancied a Ballet doll but as one would expect, Mummy got her own way.
Just as the conversation was coming to its logical conclusion, Aunty Carol exclaimed out loud, “Look, look ! He’s peeping up my skirt! The naughty boy!”
It was true, but in his weakened state he couldn’t avoid looking at the expanse of thighs covered in tan coloured nylon and then between her thighs at the soft white gusset of her knickers.

She picked him up with ease, dropped his almost inert form on to her lap and started to spank him, very hard indeed. Her hands were so large, they seemed to smack his whole bottom with each blow.
“What a rude little boy! (spank spank spank). Looking at aunty’s knickers! (spank spank spank)."
He was powerless to offer any resistance. Then, as had happened with Mummy, his penis grew as it fretted against her tights. She noticed immediately.
"Look, Vicky! He’s enjoying it! The dirty little boy! I know how to put a stop to that!” she declared.

She lifted him effortlessly from her lap, turned him over so that he was sitting upright on her knee. Then she seized his erect member and began to rub it very roughly.
“I’m going to make you do your rude squirty mess, right now !” she said in clipped angry tones.

“Then when it’s all gone gone, I’m going to spank your bottom very, very hard ! It will be bright red and very very sore. It will hurt and you will hate it. You will cry and cry because you are a very rude naughty boy."

“Quite right too!” said Mummy with almost mock harshness. Her voice changed to a slightly warmer condescending tone. “Mummy can’t have sweetykins be a rude boy to her friends now, can she?”

He spoke, and at once felt embarrassed as the squeaky dolly voice came out, “Pleaseeee Mummy, don't let her!”
One of Carol Johnson’s large arms encircled his limp form, squeezing him in to her enormous breasts and the other crudely masturbated him until he erupted in her hand. He couldn’t go limp because he already was. The remote had disabled 90% of his musculature. She held his deflating penis in one hand and using the other gave it small slaps, all the time saying “naughty, naughty, naughty” She stopped as it first sagged and then shrivelled.
Then she put her hand under his chin and said, “Now the naughty boy is going to get a REAL spanking."

Real it most certainly was. She spanked him hard and long. She slapped the backs of his legs for good measure. At one point she lifted him so he straddled one of her large thighs, spreading his bottom cheeks. In this way her spanks penetrated almost between the cleft in his buttocks, nothing escaped her ministrations. He was a crumpled sobbing form. Mummy then twiddled the remote, his limbs regained some semblance of power and almost gently she lifted him up and led him to the corner. She turned him to face to the wall and told him he could stay there to consider his “bad behaviour”.

They left him in the corner for an age while his bottom cooled and he sobbed. They had a cup of tea and at the same time he was given an over large Tommy Tippee mug with strict orders to "drink it all up like a good boy”.

When the tea drinking was over it was time for the dreadful ritual of the dressing. They eased a pair of frilly tennis knickers up his legs, and then pulled an Aertex tennis blouse over his head, then white socks with pink lace trimming and finally the skirt. Oh that was so humiliating! It was little more than a pleased belt! The frills on the knickers were actually below the hem line of the skirt.

It was at this moment, to his abject horror that he realised he need to “go”. As he had learned over the past weeks, he had to ask in a certain way.
He did as he had been instructed. “Please Mummy, please Mummy, I need to do a wee wee.”
Mummy replied, “You’ll have to wait a minute, sweetykins, we have to find a hairband.”
“But, but, but...Mummy,” he whinged.
His Mummy sighed. “Aunty Carol, would you get the potty. We don’t want him to have an accident in his pretty clothes.”

His control was so limited that it was really too late, just as “Aunty” Carol had put the potty on the floor next to him, his muscle control failed. All the ladies could do was force him down on to the potty as he shamefully wet his knickers.

The two women looked at one another knowingly. The hapless boy shook inwardly.

“What a naughty girl! You’ve wet your knickers!”

“What are you going to do Mummy?” said Carol.
“I’m not sure,” said Mummy. "I don’t think I want to smack him until later because he won’t feel it. I think perhaps a little baby time is in order, then we could both give him a “jim jams” spanking at bedtime. What do you think?”

“Super idea!” chimed Carol. “We can get a dummy and everything. Shall we do nappies, plastic panties and sucking boobies?” She giggled when she used the childish words.

Mummy picked him and up and cuddled him close and said in a sweet kindly voice, “You can be our little baby, can’t you ?”
He nodded pathetically. It was better than another attack on his bottom, he thought. He relaxed mentally as they laid him flat and slowly removed his clothes. He surrendered to their perverse ministrations as tears ran down his cheeks.
to be continued

Don't Cry Wolf

He has strict instructions from Mummy to tell her if he wants to wee wee...

Tonight Mummy is getting ready to go out with some real grown ups. Her boudoir has all those delightful scents of freshly run baths, clean bed linen, cosmetics and perfume.

“Mummy!” A whining voice cuts through the hum of her hair dryer. “Mummy!” A little louder, "Mummy, I want to do a wee wee!”

The dryer stops. A slightly exasperated, even irritated tone, “In a minute sweetykins, Mummy is trying to dry her hair.”

The delightful angel (The Mummy, of course!) is wearing a translucent ivory chiffon dressing gown, tied loosely at her middle. Her breasts strain at the halter of her pretty white brassiere. Her neat French panties cover her suspender belt which supports tan coloured seamed fully fashioned nylons. The gentle roundness of her bottom and womanly thighs curve outwards from her trim waist.

Then a more insistent voice. ”Mummy, I need to go now!”

A sigh of exasperation. She takes his hand and leads him to the bathroom. They stand over the lavatory and she pulls his trousers and pants down.

“There we are, that’s a good boy do a wee wee for Mummy” A calm patient sing song voice.

There is a slight pause, then again the gently insistent voice. “Come along, Jonathan. There we are."

Then a little whimper from the troublesome one. “It’s gone away, Mummy. It’s alright, I don’t need to anymore.”

The angel speaks again but this time with steel in her voice.

“Gone away? Gone away indeed! You are a naughty boy. A very naughty boy! Mummy is busy and you keep pestering her for attention. I am going to count to three and if you haven’t started doing your wee wee by then we will go straight back in the bedroom. You will go across my knee and you will get your bottom spanked - very hard! One. Two. -"

The whine starts again, “But Mummy, pleaseeeee!”

“Three.”

She seizes him by the wrist and drags him out of the bathroom and to her dressing table chair, his pants still round his ankles. In a trice he is over her lap, his legs kicking and wriggling.

“I’ll teach you to waste Mummy’s time. You are going to get a spanking you won’t forget. Naughty boy! (spank spank spank). You naughty, naughty, boy. (spank spank spank). By the time I’ve finished with you, you won’t sit down for a week.”

He squirms and pleads to no avail. The spanks continue to fall stinging and burning. Then just as he is about to burst in to tears, it stops. It must be over. Relief.

Yet still she holds him over her lap. Why?

She reaches for her hairbrush. He realises with a certain sinking feeling that it isn’t going to be used for its designated purpose.