The Mistress of Sternwood Grange

by Arabella Knight

  The erection spasmed. She saw his knuckles whiten as he gripped the bedsheet.

  ‘But first, before I spank your bare bottom, Nanny will wash you.’

  Retreating to the hand basin, she wet and soaped a flannel. Returning to the bed, she filled the air with a strong whiff of carbolic. She sat down on the bed and began to wipe his face vigorously. Submissively, he surrendered to the brisk flannelling.

  ‘Hands.’

  He offered up each hand in turn, which she dealt with firmly. Having completed the task, she casually draped the warm flannel over his stiffened shaft. He gasped aloud.

  ‘Hands by the pillow, please, while Nanny washes you properly.’

  The dark hair sank back on to the white pillow as he lay prone and passive, his naked body tensed with expectation. Closing the fingers of her left hand around the flannel-wrapped flesh-spear, she pumped and slowly squeezed.

  ‘No. No noise,’ she said to quell his groaning. ‘No noise while Nanny washes you.’

  Within the hot flannel, she felt the captive flesh pulse. Gripping and pumping more fiercely, she gazed dominantly down into his eyes. She watched them widen, narrow – and then close. The harder she pumped, the faster his fingers scrabbled at the pillow, digging into its softness in an ecstasy of sweet suffering. Suddenly, his hips jerked up from the bed. The loud groan and the surge of wet warmth between her fingers signalled his release. ‘That was very, very naughty,’ Mandy whispered, peeling away the flannel and opening it up across the palm of her hand. ‘Just look what you’ve done, you wicked little boy.’

  He struggled up on to his elbows. Their hands almost touched as, gazing down together, they inspected the sticky cloth.

  ‘You certainly are heading for a severe spanking this morning, my lad. I’ve never known such wilfulness. Reading and eating sweets in bed, peeping at Nanny when she was naked, watching her putting on her brassiere and panties, and now this.’ She folded the flannel in a talon of fingers. ‘I think we’d better have that bottom smacked before breakfast.’

  Ordering him out of bed, she spread him across her lap and firmly pinned him down. His bare cheeks were quickly turned pink, then an angrier shade of crimson, beneath her spanking hand. He wriggled and squirmed but her grip was firm. As her hand swept down across the upturned buttocks, she felt his thickening shaft digging into her plastic apron as he propelled himself into her, his toes splayed on the carpet below. The crisp spanks echoed around the nursery as she chastised him severely. As she increased both the frequency and the severity of the discipline, he jerked into her faster and faster, rocking across her clamped thighs and driving his hot erection into the plastic apron. Mandy paused, deliberately fingering the scalded cheeks.

  ‘Nanny has a cane in her cupboard. A cruel little yellow wand of bamboo. You know that, don’t you?’

  Trembling to contain his orgasm, he whispered his response.

  ‘If you splash Nanny’s nice clean apron with your sticky mess, you’ll get four strokes of the cane.’

  She saw his buttocks spasm as he squeezed his thighs together. But her words had the desired effect. Stiffening briefly, he shuddered. She watched his hot cheeks tighten as he came – emptying himself into her plastic-sheathed lap. As the last twitchings ebbed and died, she fingered his bottom as if tracing where the four slices of the cane would cut. He moaned softly, parted his thighs in submission and slumped across her.

  ‘Did Nanny say four strokes?’ Mandy murmured, peeling his wet belly away from her plastic apron. ‘Better make it six for being such a bad boy.’

  She left him kneeling on the carpet, head bowed penitently, as she stood up and removed her apron.

  ‘Just look at that,’ she chided, holding the apron aloft.

  He looked up, his blue eyes meeting her stern gaze through the clear plastic. The centre of the apron was clouded with a wide opaque smear.

  ‘Stand up.’

  He staggered to his feet.

  ‘Bend over. Touch your toes,’ she instructed, tossing the spoiled apron aside as she strode across to the cupboard, her menacing brogues silent despite her measured tread. The cupboard door squeaked as it opened. Removing a black and green railway engine and another teddy bear, she unearthed a thin bamboo cane. Swishing it twice as she returned, she saw his toes curl into the carpet.

  ‘Head down,’ she said crisply, levelling the wood against his recently spanked cheeks.

  He drew his thighs together, the cleft between his buttocks becoming a thin flesh-crease.

  ‘No, legs apart. You know how Nanny wants you when she’s going to cane your bottom.’ She tapped the upturned buttocks dominantly. ‘Legs apart. Give me your bottom.’

  Whimpering softly, he obeyed.

  The six strokes of the cane across the buttocks were delivered slowly, each measured swipe leaving a thin red line of suffering. Between the fourth and the fifth, she tapped the tip of his penis with the cane, saying, ‘When Nanny gives you an order, she expects you to obey it.’

  His muted moan of delight was drowned by the harsh swish-slash of the concluding strokes.

  ‘Breakfast,’ Nanny said brightly, after returning the cane with a dry rattle to the top shelf of the cupboard, ‘and Nanny wants you to eat it all up.’ She pressed a bell.

  Four minutes later, the double doors opened and Sonia appeared, bearing the breakfast tray. Lowering it carefully on to a small, walnut table, the pert minx looked across at Mandy and then at the caned man. Sonia’s eyes were wide – her grin wider. Mandy’s finger flew up warningly to her lips. Sonia nodded, turned and withdrew.

  ‘Eggie soldiers. Come along.’

  He ate the fingers of toast dipped in a softly boiled egg. Mandy busied herself at the unmade bed, gathering up the teddy bear and smoothing back its ears with her thumbs. Outside, the morning was growing darker beneath a scowl of storm clouds. Soon, Mandy thought, the storm would break.

  What next? How was she going to entertain this submissive? What did Nannies do, she wondered. What possible opportunities for sustained dominance and discipline were there in a nursery?

  Lunchtime would be different, she decided. She’d order horrid food – braised liver or boiled cod in parsley sauce – and put him in a high chair and spoon feed him. Yes. And make him swallow every awful mouthful. He would rebel and she would punish him. Good, she thought. Then there was the school desk, she mused, picking up a Liquorice Allsort and popping it into her mouth. Yes, there was the school desk – but above all, she suddenly realised, planting teddy in a chair by the darkening window, there must be strict, stern discipline, and Nanny’s buckled belt.

  She tidied up the bedclothes. ‘What is this?’ she inquired, holding up a fluttering nylon stocking which she had just pretended to discover under the pillow.

  Don’t know, the shrugged reply implied. He swallowed the last of his toast and squirmed uneasily.

  ‘Stealing Nanny’s stocking? What a wicked thing to do. Come here this instant, you naughty little boy.’

  He approached, his hands folded at the base of his taut belly.

  ‘Hands behind your back and stand up straight. No slouching.’

  Obeying, he revealed his gathering excitement.

  ‘So, my lad, you steal Nanny’s nylon stockings, do you? We’ll see about that. Kneel.’

  He dropped to his knees, almost as if genuflecting in adoration.

  Bending down, Mandy quickly bound his penis with the soft, shining stocking, sensing the throb of the thickening shaft against her palm. She threaded the loose nylon between his thighs and let it trail between his ankles. He tensed, his body rigid with delicious anguish.

  ‘Nanny’s nylons are forbidden to naughty boys,’ she purred, standing in front of him, her brogues planted apart.

  Below his belly, the nylon-sheathed erection nodded as it rose.

  ‘Nanny’s nylons,’ she whispered, ‘must not be touched.’ She inched the hem of her striped uniform dress up slowly. ‘But you want to touch, don’t you?’r />
  He nodded eagerly.

  ‘Answer me properly.’

  ‘Yes, Nanny. I want to touch.’

  ‘But Nanny says you mustn’t. And Nanny’s word is law. You can look,’ she said softly, inching her thighs towards him, ‘and you can smell.’ She pushed her pubis against his face, feeling the aquiline nose probing. ‘And you can taste.’

  He buried his face between her warm thighs, his hot tongue flattened against the darker bands of nylon at the stocking-tops.

  ‘Smell and taste Nanny’s forbidden stockings, you naughty boy.’

  Already, the head of his throbbing, nyloned shaft was tapping at his hard belly. Mandy closed her eyes as the tongue lapped at her stockings, and fought to deny the hot pulse tormenting her slit. This, she fully understood, was the sweet taste of utter dominance. The dark delight of having a naked man in absolute submission, in supreme thralldom.

  No. She must concentrate. She was an angel, serving both the memory of her late aunt and – she tried to focus on the fact despite the urge to come – her own financial interests. She must not succumb to the immediacy of pleasure.

  Mandy opened her eyes. To her dismay she realised that she was rhythmically thrusting her pantied pubis into the kneeling man’s face. Bridling at her own weakness of resolve, she stepped back a pace and struggled to compose herself.

  ‘Nanny will now teach you, and teach you most severely, never to steal her nylon stockings again. Down. Get down. On all fours.’

  As he did so, she unbuckled her leather belt and slipped it from her waist. The coiled length of supple hide felt surprisingly light in her open palm.

  ‘Bottom up.’

  He crouched, the nylon stocking at his shaft still trailing through his thighs down to his heels. Mandy stooped and gathered up the slack. He grunted as she tightened it – tugging gently at his erection. Jerking the stretched nylon upward, she drew it between his cheeks, working the material deep into his cleft where it scalded the sensitive flesh. His groans melted into softer moans, as he wriggled in an attempt to escape her controlling domination. Mandy imperiously planted her left brogue down on his left buttock, quelling and subduing him completely. At the touch of the firm foot, he froze beneath her absolute authority over his nakedness.

  ‘I am going to give you a very special treat,’ she purred, yanking the nylon deeper into his cleft. ‘Nanny’s belt. Nanny’s brown leather, golden-buckled belt. I’m going to punish your bottom with Nanny’s lovely belt.’

  He bowed his head. Down on all fours – captured and controlled by the nylon binding his shaft – he inched his buttocks up for the lash. Mandy shouldered her belt and tightened her grip on the nylon stocking, winding the bronzed tether four times around her left hand.

  ‘Nanny’s leather belt,’ she whispered, dangling the length of hide down and teasing his naked cheeks with the buckle. ‘Such a special treat for such a naughty boy.’

  Flicking the belt up, she snapped it down instantly across the bare bottom. Grunting in his pleasure-pain, the crouching man spasmed in response. Mandy felt the straining erection tighten the stocking in her left hand. The belt whipped down again, and again, crack-snapping across his scalded cheeks. After the fifth lash, Mandy tugged the stocking, supremely controlling his engorged shaft. Whipping the belt down again, twice, she sensed the throbbing urgency of the captive flesh.

  ‘Three more red stripes across your naughty bottom and then Nanny will give you another little treat.’

  ‘Please, Nanny, please, do it, do it quickly. Now,’ he implored.

  ‘How dare you tell Nanny the correct way to punish you,’ Mandy snapped, teasing the swollen erection with the nylon stocking and tormenting the whipped buttocks with the dangling strap.

  ‘Please, Nanny, please –’

  ‘Nanny knows best.’

  ‘I beg you…’

  She felt the taut stocking twitch as he trembled on the point of his explosive climax. She tantalisingly relaxed her firm grip, allowing the tight nylon to slacken a trifle. He squeezed his whipped cheeks together in an ecstasy of anguish.

  ‘No. Not yet. You cannot have your pleasure until Nanny has completed her task of dispensing your pain.’

  His forehead nuzzled the carpet as he arched his buttocks up, arched them up as if yearning for the fierce lash.

  ‘No, wait until I’ve whipped you.’

  Snap, crack. She brought the belt down. Then again, leaving another cruel red stripe across his cheeks. But before the leather had kissed his flesh for a third stroke, Mandy felt the stretched nylon straining as he came. She whipped the buckled belt down for the third stroke, savagely searing his buttocks, the swipe coinciding with his scream of dark pleasure. The final lash had established her absolute authority over him, rocketing him into a violent climax. Shivering and perspiring, he sprawled on the carpet. Mandy dragged the toe of her leather brogue down his spine, then squashed it into his whipped cheeks.

  ‘Time you had your morning wash. Come along.’

  He shuffled after Mandy as she paced across to the hand basin.

  ‘Up. No, remain kneeling.’

  As he steadied himself on his knees, the soaked nylon trailed from his spent shaft. He gazed up, his blue eyes swimming with devotion. Mandy unwound the stocking and wiped the tip of his twitching penis. Tossing the nylon aside, she ordered him to stand up.

  He rose. She motioned him against the sink.

  ‘Nanny is going to wash you, now. Up on tippy-toe.’

  He did as she commanded, spilling his balls over the edge of the white porcelain into the warm water. Scooping up a handful of creamy suds, Mandy washed his balls, palming them with deliberate firmness before squeezing them with a gentle severity that left him gasping aloud. A small cloud of sullen resentment darkened the sky of his blue eyes. Mandy squeezed harder; the clouds lifted immediately.

  After rinsing the matted pubic nest, Mandy ordered him to turn round. ‘Nanny wants to wash your bottom.’

  He turned but kept his thighs clamped together.

  ‘Legs apart.’

  His reddening face became a stubborn mask.

  ‘Do as Nanny says,’ Mandy insisted, a stern note in her voice.

  Still he refused to surrender and submit his bottom to her soaped fingers. A sudden, sharp spank made him blink. The spanked cheek – the left one – reddened but remained clenched. With waspish impatience, she spanked his bottom again.

  ‘Give Nanny your bottom,’ she commanded, a spank punctuating each terse word. Her voice was curdled with delicious dominance.

  ‘Shan’t,’ he blurted out. ‘Won’t.’

  ‘Silly little boy,’ she murmured, fingering his cleft silkily. ‘Don’t you know that your bottom belongs to any female in authority who wishes it? It is theirs, always, to control as they will. At prep school, the nurse will own it. She can examine it, punish it, whenever she wishes. And then, at boarding school, your bare bottom will belong to Matron. In the privacy of the san, she will give you many merciless rubber-gloved examinations – and frequently use the strap and cane across your naked cheeks. Your bottom is doomed to an eternity of female control and ownership. So stop being silly and part your legs and bend over this instant.’

  Submitting to her stern authority, he bent over and surrendered his punished buttocks to her strict control.

  ‘Nanny does not like a sticky bottom. Let’s see if we can’t wash it nice and clean.’

  Her soaped fingers explored between his cheeks, dwelling at the tightened sphincter.

  ‘Relax,’ she whispered venomously, sensing his continuing attempt at resistance.

  Hesitating at first, he succumbed to her crisp command. Her index finger slid inwards.

  ‘Now Nanny is going to make sure that your bottom is properly clean, isn’t she?’

  ‘Yes, Nanny,’ he whimpered, thrilled to be enthralled.

  Picking up a yellow nail brush, Mandy soaped the firm bristles before applying it vigorously to his sensitive cleft. Stagge
ring forward, he crushed his swollen erection against the curve of the hand basin, smothering a scream of sweet suffering. The bristles skimmed his inner flesh with ruthless affection. He writhed, but Mandy pinned him firmly at the nape of his neck. All attempts to escape the burning flame at his cleft – and the even fiercer flames of shameful humiliation – proved useless. Nanny was strict and Nanny was stern and her little boy was helpless in her hands.

  ‘Always do what Nanny tells you to, understand?’

  ‘Yes, Nanny.’ He had been broken, his will now subdued.

  ‘Now touch your toes and give me your bottom completely.’

  Slumping down abjectly, he proffered his buttocks. They were now hers, absolutely.

  ‘And this is what you get for even thinking of being so wickedly disobedient.’

  She savaged his cleft for a full three minutes. Crying out, he lurched across the sink, squirting his hot seed. Mandy continued to ply the stiff bristles even as his shaft pumped out the spurting orgasm. Down on the carpet, his naked feet twisted in ecstasy.

  ‘There. Nanny promised you another little treat. Now Nanny is going to wash you again, and towel you dry. Then, I think, a nap. Yes. Nanny will put you to bed and you will have a little nap.’

  ‘Yes, Nanny.’ He shuddered as the rough towel began to torment his balls.

  Curled up in bed, hugging teddy, he listened enraptured as Mandy read to him from Biggies. It was a ripping chapter. High over France, in a clear blue sky, Sopwith Camels gave the Hun Fokkers a good hiding. Propellers glinted, machine guns chattered and black smoke plumed from downed planes. Good vanquished evil in a world of black and white. As Biggies nosed his limping bus down towards a makeshift ‘drome behind enemy lines, the naked submissive, still hugging teddy, fell fast asleep.

  Mandy closed the Biggies book quietly and contemplated her sleeping charge. He looked pale and exhausted, drained of the liquid lust she had drawn from him with spanking – or milking – hands. But on closer examination she noted with pride that he was drained too of the creased frown of care, the burdens of high office.