Monday, January 04, 2010

Story: Natty and the Confiscated MacBook

(Dedicated to A. & P., whose MacBook made this story possible -- Thanks!)

“Do I have to watch you every second?”

Natty nearly dropped her MacBook at the sound of Nanny Bea’s voice

“I...I just needed to check something real quick...”

Nanny Bea set a basket of clothes down on the chair and walked over to the bed where Natty lay with with her MacBook propped up against her thighs.

“Hand it over, please.”

“But...I promise I’m going to sleep right now.” Natty promptly closed the lid in a demonstration of good faith. “I won’t go online anymore.”

 “I’m not going to stand here all afternoon. Hand me the laptop now, please.”

Natty gazed up at her nanny with an expression of utter pathos sure to move even the hardest of Dickensian villains. But not Beatrice Seymour, who responded with her own steely, implacable gaze demanding submission -- which came quickly and with a grim sigh. And then a gasp when she placed the MacBook on top of the wardrobe, far out of the reach of her five foot charge.

“You can just wipe that scowl off your face right now...” Nanny said as she picked up the hairbrush on the dresser and sat down on the edge of the bed. “...And get yourself over my knee.”

This made Natty scowl even more.

“But I wasn’t on there for very long,” Natty whined with a huff and folded arms. “And besides, you took away my laptop, which is way too much punishment already.”

“‘Too much punishment’ indeed.. .” Nanny Bea grabbed Natty’s left ear lobe and yanked it hard. Natty quickly unfolded her arms, and with a deep guttural groan, laid herself across Nanny Bea’s lap.

But she was still scowling. With eyebrows deeply furrowed and lips pressed hard together, it was the scowl of defiance mustered by many a little girl in the face of such grave grown-up injustice.

The scowl, of course, gave way to yelps of pain once Nanny Bea had taken down her pajama bottoms and panties and began slapping the solid, ebony back of the hairbrush on Natty’s tender fleshy cheeks.

“When I put you down for a nap, young lady, I expect you to take a nap,” Nanny Bea scolded as she delivered two dozen smart smacks. “I do not want to find you on the computer, or reading a book, or watching television, or doing anything else but resting -- preferably, sleeping. Is that clear?”

“Ye -- oh! -- Yes!” Natty answered as she squirmed and squealed.

“And you still fail to understand that when I ask you to do something, you are to obey at once. I am not at all interested in debating the finer points of my instructions.”

With that Nanny Bea gave the back of Natty’s thighs five sharp slaps of the brush each, producing fresh sobs, blubbering apologies, and promises to be good.

“So, we’re going to try this again.” Nanny Bea set aside the hairbrush and stroked Natty’s hair. “You are going to lie down for a nap. In your bed. Without interruption. Got it?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Natty mumbled. She sniffled, crawled off Nanny Bea’s lap and back under the cotton sheet and quilt.

Nanny Bea bent down and kissed Natty on the forehead before leaving her. “Now be a good girl and get some rest.”

But Natty did not feel like being a good girl. Her repentance was a bit like her computer -- of the laptop variety.  Once she was no longer over Nanny Bea’s lap, she no longer felt particularly penitent. She lay in bed sulking and pouting over the many outrages she had suffered under Nanny Bea’s tyranny. Indeed she was even plotting how she might free her beloved MacBook from its confinement high upon the wardrobe when sleep - which so readily follows a good spanking - overwhelmed her insurrectionary aspirations.

The MacBook was still in captivity when it was time for bed that night. Daddy was there to cuddle and tuck Natty in, sitting on the bed with his legs stretched out as she lay her head against his chest all wrapped up in his arms.

“And were you a good girl today?”


“‘Mostly?’ Go on...” In a way that was prodding, stern, and resigned all at the same time.

“I just...well...Nanny was making me take a rest. But then I remembered that I needed to check something online so I opened my MacBook real quick but then Nanny --”

“-- What exactly demanded such immediate attention?”

Natty bit her lower lip.

“Um...something on Twitter...” she mumbled, knowing well Daddy’s low opinion of Twittering.

“I see. This is not sounding good...”

“But I just needed to see something really quick. And it was only going to take me a few seconds but Nanny took my MacBook away and put it on top of the wardrobe so I couldn’t get it back, which was way too harsh a punishment but then she still punished me more and it wasn’t fair!”

“Excuse me?”

Natty pressed her lips together. Hearing the subtle stringency in Daddy’s voice, she knew she had tripped onto very treacherous ground.

“But...but it wasn’t fair...” she stammered.

“Are you complaining about Nanny Bea, young lady?”

Natty had to think about her answer. If she said no, Daddy would say she was being dishonest. But she couldn’t acknowledge she was in the wrong given how justified her grievance. It would be admitting defeat -- and if there was one thing Natty hated, it was losing.

“I’m just saying was...unreasonably harsh...”

“You’re just digging yourself deeper and deeper, aren’t you?” Daddy said with a raised eyebrow. “Right. I think you need a trip over my lap.” He patted his thigh.

“Please don’t spank me, Daddy! Please! Nanny already spanked me today and --”

“-- This is a poor choice of moments to argue with me, young lady.”

Would the injustice never end?

Natty tried desperately to think of some way -- any way -- to avoid the fate before her. But after a few seconds, when she could think of no means of escape, she finally sat up on her knees and lowered herself over Daddy’s lap.

“Let’s get these down,” said Daddy as he tugged at her jammie bottoms and panties. Once Natty’s bottom was bared, he peppered her fat cheeks with crisp smacks that quickly turned a keen pink whatever wasn’t mottled with purple and red from the prior spanking.

“I’m disappointed to see that you still hesitate before doing what you’re told.”

Daddy increased the force of his spanks, eliciting whimpers and yelps from Natty.

“Anything short of immediate obedience is simply not acceptable, and I should not have to keep reminding you of this.”

He dropped his hand down to the back of Natty’s thighs but the force of his blows remained the same.

“I’m also sad to see that you never stop trying to justify yourself.”

The sharp sounds of slaps and sobs reverberated off the bedroom walls as the words “disappointed” and “sad” began melting Natty’s defiance and self-pity into a puddle of regret and contrition.

“I’m...I’m sorry,” she said during a lull in the smacking. An apology of the heavy, permanent sort.

“I should think so,” Daddy responded. He struck her blushing cheeks several more times before he stopped. “No more stalling when I tell you to do something, yes?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good.” Daddy petted his little girl as her sniffling and staggered breathing gradually subsided. “And no more excuses?”

“No more excuses.”

“Good girl.”

He bent his head down near Natty’s face and stroked her hair.

“Now we still need to talk about what happened with Nanny Bea...”

Natty’s shoulders fell even as she nodded stiffly.

“Would you agree that you were moaning about her even though I have specifically told you not to?”

Natty’s nodding remained awkward.

“Excuse me?” Daddy cupped his ear.

“Yes, Sir...” was Natty’s tepid response.

“And would you agree that you were being very willful toward her this afternoon?”

“Yes, Sir...” With a gulp.

“And what happens to whiny, willful little girls?”

Natty blinked the sting and wet from her eyes as she let out a little whimper with her answer.

“ get...punished...”

“That’s right.” Daddy caressed her chafed bottom and bent over so that his lips were right next to Natty’s ear. “Best go fetch the cane,” he whispered tenderly.

“Yes, Sir.” Natty’s voice cracked.

Pushing herself up off the bed, she waddled to the door where the cane hung from a hook, her panties and jammie bottoms still scrunched around her knees. By the time she had made her way back to the bed, Daddy had already placed several pillows in the middle of the bedspread.

“Right. Over the pillows, please.”

Natty obeyed. She was almost shivering as her raw, exposed bottom waited for the cane.

“I’m going to give you twelve strokes, and I want you to count them, please. I want you to think about the fact that your Nanny does nothing but try to keep you healthy. When she makes you take a rest, it’s because you really need to rest. When she took your MacBook away, she did so in order to remove what was clearly a tremendous impediment to your getting the rest you needed. And you know full well that you never just spend a ‘couple of seconds’ on the computer. Indeed had she not caught you, you may well have missed your rest time altogether.”

The puddle of regret and contrition grew as Daddy delivered the twelve cane strokes. They were not particularly severe. After all, Natty was a rather sickly and fragile little girl. The twelve angry red stripes were, however, just hard enough to leave her feeling properly punished and penitent when she climbed back into bed.

However there was yet one last punishment left for Natty.

“Once you get your MacBook back,” Daddy said as he tucked and smoothed the blankets securely around his little one. “The first thing I want you to do is write a 300-word essay about how Nanny Bea takes care of you and why what she does is important.”

And for just that moment -- but only that moment -- Natty was actually a little glad her MacBook was well out of reach.

Copyright 2009 Natty

You can find the first Nanny Bea story here, as well as her guest appearance here. Casey Morgan has written her own Nanny Bea story here, which I think is far more elegantly written than mine.

Friday, January 01, 2010

2010: No More Mr. Nice A.

I got my first spanking of the decade this afternoon. Laying across my bed with the phone on speaker, A. had me consider some New Year's Resolutions with a ping pong paddle and clothesbrush handy.

None of my resolutions were particularly original: take an hour-long rest each day, get to bed on time, do a better job of taking breaks from the computer.

What was novel, however, was A. setting specific and severe punishments should I forsake my resolutions. Like 60 (!) strokes with the clothesbrush for each time I neglect my daily rest period. And one stroke for each minute I'm late to bed (it's not unheard for my tardiness to exceed two hours). He has yet to decide about the computer time, but I'm expecting it to be perfectly dreadful.

Of course, he had to remind me what those strokes would feel like should (when?) I merit them. After making me warm up with the ping pong paddle, I got multiple rounds of 12 strokes with the clothesbrush, not to mention periods of simply whacking until he told me to stop. I assure you, dear reader, there was much pouting on this side of the phone line. And both my arm and bottom remain a bit tender.

With this new get-tough-on-Natty policy, I foresee a year of grave suffering for my backside. A year of arduous sitting, sojourns to the corner, and maybe even lines or worse. (I'm too embarrassed to think about A. attempting anything of a colonic nature...) 

And a year for more stories. I've got a new Nanny Bea story scheduled for Monday. Fingers-crossed, my writing head will stick around for a more productive literary spell.