Put to Bed Without Pants

by Glen <ttrumble@tassie.net.au>

Just before the second world war, when times were different and wages and social values were also different my family lived comfortably and we had a maid and a nurse, for in those times I was only about 4 and my Mother was just about to give birth to a sibling and she needed assistance to look after me. I suppose, being a boy, I was a handful for this nurse, and she developed a technique to discipline and punish me. It was quite simple. She would take me to my bedroom, turn down the bed - whatever time of the day it might be - then slowly and deliberately sit me down on the bed and take off my shoes and socks, next my jumper and shirt - she would leave my singlet - then she would lift me up on the bed and say to me, "Only good boys are allowed to wear pants, naughty boys don't deserve them !" Then she would carefully pull my pants down and take them off and as she took off my underpants, she would add something about naughty boy's bottoms should always be bare. By this time I would be crying in shame and humiliation as I had always been taught a boy's nether regions were very private and intimate. Some consolation was provided by the nurse tucking me up in bed as the bedclothes concealed my shame, but my hands could feel the dreadful nakedness below my singlet and as they caressed that shameful nudity I would sob into the pillow. There I would have to stay for an hour or maybe two hours if my naughtiness justified it before the nurse returned with my clothes and allow me to get out of bed when hurriedly and very gratefully I would put my pants back on.

As time went on and the pantless hours in bed increased, I discovered while caressing the shameful nakedness, another consolation other than the concealing bedclothes. My wandering hands found an erection as well as a bare bottom. The two things became entwined in my mind. Then one day when I had been marched to the bedroom the nurse was horrified to find me erect when she pulled down my pants. That punishment stopped forthwith. Instead I was introduced for the first time to "the hairbrush" and to being locked in the lavatory after it. My pants were never taken down by that nurse again, but the damage had been done. In those years boys always wore short pants at least until they were 12 or 13, and although the back of that hair brush hurt like hell a definite connection came about between it and my short pants which again produced erections - at least until the first wallop of the hairbrush anyway, and certainly afterwards while locked alone in the lavatory.

The war brought about changes in many things. Our maid and the nurse left to join the womens' forces, economic conditions changed and we never again had servants, but the hairbrush and the lavatory continued, and certainly short pants did as well. The hidings grew worse as I grew older and in between them I would seek solace at bedtime by going to bed in nothing but a singlet and remembering old times and wondering what it would be like to get the hairbrush dressed like that. It was a year or two before I found out. In the meantime many an enjoyable few minutes were experienced imagining - as by then I had discovered the delights of rubbing an erection. As a boy's mind can be so tangled by these very emotional things it happened one day when I was at home alone that in a fit of boyish desire I pretended I had been naughty. I got the hairbrush (by this time I was throbbing with excitement) and in front of a mirror took off my pants and clothes (except of course my singlet) took the back of the hairbrush soundly to my bare bottom and then locked myself in the lavatory. The consequences I am sure can be understood. After orgasm (I was still too young for ejaculation) I sheepishly came out and dressed, put away the hairbrush and tried to resume normal behaviour.

The real thing happened when I was 14. By this time I was wearing long trousers but had a special pair of shorts which I would surreptitiously change into to masturbate. Unfortunately one day these shorts were found and their purpose very quickly realised. I was terrified. It was like old times. I was marched to my room, I was lectured sternly about _s_e_x_ual habits then ordered to strip naked - even my singlet ! I had to fold up the clothes neatly on the end of the bed then I was sent naked to fetch the deadly hairbrush and then to take it to the lavatory where I was locked up with the hairbrush for two hours. This time it was real terror, there was no erection and no wanking, I can't remember really what I thought about. I sat on the pan and did a lot of contemplation of the hairbrush which lay on the floor. I had been thoughtfully supplied with a clock and told that in two hours I was to "get it" ! I contemplated the clock too, and watched as the time passed, nearer and nearer to "getting it". Why I didn't masturbate continually I cannot now think, certainly I would do so now ! and actually do when I relive the experience - as happens often.

Eventually the two hours were up and the door was unlocked. Shaking with terrified anticipation I was ordered to the garage, and carrying the hairbrush I crossed the lawn. The car had been driven out to clear a space inside where stood a stool. The hairbrush was taken from me, and again I received a stern lecture about _s_e_x_ and masturbation in particular. I was told I was going to get 20 whacks on each cheek of my bare bottom and then 20 whacks vertically between them. I was to stretch my legs wide and bend over the stool, gripping the bottom rail. The thrashing took over an hour to administer as I could only bear three or four whacks before I had to leap up and dance round roaring and rubbing my bruised bottom. Why the neighbours didn't call the police I will never know. Each time I leapt up I earned three more whacks. The vertical whacks were the worst, the pain was unbelievable, how many times I leapt up during those I can't imagine, and how many whacks I ended up getting altogether I just don't know. My bottom was seriously bruised for about a month and it was genuinely difficult to sit down.

The planned benefit of this thrashing of course was never realised. I masturbated more often and more regularly but much more discreetly, I was only caught once again before reaching adulthood, and that was as a boarder at school, the story of which is elsewhere on this website.

More stories by Glen