Switched by the nanny’s mom

I have written before about Ingrid, the Jamaican housekeeper and nanny who was in full charge of the children’s discipline in our house, and how she spanked me with both her hand and the belt whenever I was naughty enough to have earned a whipping.

As I mentioned before, she had spanked her own children in Jamaica before coming to work for my parents, and she told me once how she sometimes took a switch to her younger son and, once in a while, to the older one’s bottom too.

After this, of course, my burgeoning spanko fantasy world now included images of those poor boys getting their behinds and upper legs criss-crossed with ugly red welts. Surprisingly, I didn’t consider Ingrid mean for doing that – and I also couldn’t help but wonder how a switch would feel put across my own bare bottom.

One day, I asked Ingrid some probing questions about whether she had ever considered taking a switch to me. Her answer was that we were not in Jamaica but in America, where the spanking customs were less strict.

That pretty much put an end to my questions. Nevertheless, everyonce once in a while I would ask again if I deserved the switch for my latest offence. Ingrid’s invariable reply was: “I know there’s a part of you that enjoys me spanking you, young man, and I ain’t gonna give you the satisfaction. Anyway, my hand and my belt hurt that bottom of yours enough for when you’re in need of it.”

To be honest, I think there was a big part of Ingrid which enjoyed spanking children, and when we had these discussions about corporal punishment she would hold me close, my head on the exposed cleavage of her motherly breasts, and rock me while we talked about it.

Then, one fine day, I got caught spray painting buildings in the town. Ingrid was so angry that she said I was going to get the switch after all – but not from her. Instead, she pointed at her own mother, who was visiting us and was in the room while my latest misdemeanour was being discussed.

Ingrid was a strong, heavy-set woman, but her mother was even more formidable – chubbier and even larger hands. “You’re gonna be one sorry boy,” was all she said to me. Then she rose, went into the kitchen and came back with two switches which she had evidently already cut for me.

Suddenly, the fantasy of being switched didn’t seem so appealing and I began to cry at the prospect. Ingrid took me to her breast for a moment and hugged me. “Shush now, John – you need to take your punishment like a big boy. All right?” I nodded, trying to look brave.

“Take down his pants and undies,” her mother directed her. Looking me straight in the face with sad, reproachful eyes, Ingrid undid the waistband of my pants, put her thumbs in my underpants and bared my bottom in one go.

Her mother spoken again: “Bend him over your lap with his bottom facing outwards.” Ingrid took me by the armpits and buried me face down in her crotch, restraining me tightly. There was a strong smell coming from her vagina.

“Let’s just get his shirt out of the why,” I heard Ingrid’s mother say, then there was a brief brush of her hands against my bare bottom as she lifted my shirt to expose the target.

The next second, I felt a line of fire flash across from one buttock to the other as the switch hit home. The rods were light but so thin that it felt like my bottom was being cut each time they were brought down on my body. The pain soon increased beyond what any child could bear and I bawled like a toddler, as Ingrid’s mother wore out both switches on my behind.

Ingrid gathered me up into her arms when it was over. Despite the pain, incredibly I found I had an erection. My nanny masturbated me playfully for a second, then said to her mother: “I think he was bad on purpose because he wanted to be switched.”

Her mom smiled at my modest little erection, came over to us, rubbed my head and kissed me on the lips. “Well, now you know what it feels like, young man,” she said indulgently.

Contributor: John

All Maman stories are copyright, unauthorised reproduction may lead to legal action.