I was born in the end of the 1950s, the child of relatively wealthy parents, and was raised predominantly by my nanny, who I loved a great deal. Her name was Maureen – she was a big girl, with a warming smile, but nevertheless a fairly strict disciplinarian. Spanking was very commonplace in English households at the time, and Nanny was an enthusiastic practitioner of smacking bottoms.
As a child, the muscle at the bottom of my bladder didn’t work properly. As a consequence I wore nappies, especially at night, until I was about 11 years old. I had an operation to correct the muscle problem when I was 10, but by then I had discovered that I actually enjoyed the sensation of having a wet nappy pinned to my middle and that very special feeling of waking and emptying whatever was left behind into my sodden, swollen nappy.
These were the days before disposable sanitary wear was commonplace, so I had a thick terry towelling nappy with an extra piece inside and rubber pants over the top. The latter nearly always leaked, and I grew to love the smell of ‘wee-wee’ mixed with the unmistakable odour of the rubber sheet that protected my mattress.
A couple of months after my operation, it was decided that I no longer needed nappies at night, as my operation had been totally successful. Although I didn’t need nappies, I missed them – so I began to deliberately wet the bed. As soon as I woke, I released my bladder and with no nappy on, my wee went everywhere.
Nanny was cross at me for making a mess but still mostly sympathetic, and I was put back in nappies for a few days. I was in heaven! However, after a few more days the nappy was again removed – and more wet beds were the result.
A trip back to the hospital was arranged, when some tests were carried out. Afterwards, my mother, Nanny and I were called into the doctor’s office, along with the nurse who had looked after me during the operation. The doctor told them that there was nothing wrong with my bladder, and suggested for the first time that my ‘accidents’ might be intentional.
I had the grace to blush bright red as this news was delivered, then the nurse remarked: “I think I know of one little boy who’s going to get a smacked bottom before bed tonight.” That made me blush even more, if that was possible, and to my horror both my mother and Nanny agreed with her.
As it happened, I didn’t even have to wait until bedtime. As soon as we got home I was sent to the nursery and told to stand in the corner. About 20 minutes later, Nanny came in and ordered me to undress to my vest and pants. As I did so, she went to the chest of drawers and retrieved her little punishment paddle, and from its hook behind the door she put on the rubber apron that she wore at bath times.
Then she sat down on a high-backed chair and said: “Come here, George!” I stood next to her and she reached across and pulled my underpants to my knees – thankfully ignoring the erection I was sporting for some reason. “Bend over!” I got into the familiar punishment position. I’m ashamed to admit it, but I loved the feel of the cold rubber against my penis.
Then the spanking started. Using just her hand at first, Nanny spanked me long and hard. Then there was a pause as she picked up her paddle – an oblong, thick leather thing about 6in long and 3in wide. The paddle was applied over and over for what seemed an age – my poor bottom was on fire, tears and snot were dripping from my face. I kicked and squirmed, I begged and pleaded, I said I was sorry but Nanny was having none of it – she simply scolded me more and spanked harder.
Eventually it was over and Nanny helped me to stand back up. Then she sat me on her knee, hugging and consoling me. “Do you understand why you had to be spanked? Have you learned your lesson?” I nodded obediently at each question, still sobbing but hugging Nanny as tightly as I could.
Finally, she said: “Good boy. Now, back in the corner with you for another 10 minutes, hands on your head! I’m sure Mummy will want to see what a very naughty boy’s bottom looks like after his spanking!”
Sure enough, five minutes later my mother arrived in the nursery to inspect Nanny’s handiwork and to scold me further. Finally, she said: “An early night, I think, Nanny – and another smacked bottom before lights out. Oh, and you had better put him in a nappy as a precaution.”
So at half past six I was summoned to the nursery, where Nanny was waiting. “Right, young man, if you are going to behave like a baby, wetting himself, I will treat you like one.”
With that, she started to undress me as she had done for years beforehand, commenting all the time about me being such a big baby. Once naked, I was led by the hand to the bathroom next door. Nanny picked me up and stood me in the bath. She then proceeded to wash me – I remember she had me bend over, so she could inspect and wash my anus. Once rinsed all over, I was hauled out, stood on the mat and dried off.
Once we were back in the nursery Nanny sat on the chair, spread a nappy on her lap and once again ordered me to bend over her knee, whereupon she started to spank me again. My bottom was still sore and bruised from the earlier punishment so I was quickly bawling and crying again.
The spanking eventually came to an end, and the nappy was pulled up between my legs and pinned in place at the sides. I was stood up and Nanny held open a pair of cream-coloured rubber pants for me to step into. She pulled them up over my nappy and around my waist.
I climbed into bed, feeling very sore and sorry for myself. “Now, George, you go straight to sleep,” she ordered, “and if there is so much as a tiny dribble of wee-wee in your nappy in the morning, I will get Daddy to come up with his cane and beat your bare bottom – understand?” I nodded, scared to death at such a terrible prospect.
Needless to say, I never wet the bed deliberately again – but that was by no means my last spanking!