`Er...no, Miss,' I answer as I slip back the hood of skin so as to soap the glans. To have it cheesy, as she puts it, unclean when it's due for a wanking session is unthinkable. Most of all for me. I can just imagine Sister Joyce Freeman if she were to be presented with any other than a scrupulously clean cock to wank off. That's when I go to Sister at the women's private clinic to be attended to, from time to time. Imagine her incredulous look and the quick production of her tawse once she's over­come her shock. Sister may well wear gloves when she `takes me in hand' but she still re­quires complete cleanliness from me. It's bad enough having the tawse used as a persuasion to `function' profusely enough, without ask­ing for it on a purely `gratuitous' basis as well. Being forcibly wanked is a hot enough time for me, in more ways than one. Either by the stout clinic sister or by Ness. Cheesy however, I am unlikely to be, as I wash my prick thoroughly each morning. Without being told.

Ness however makes a point of reminding me, each day. Mainly I think because she likes to refer to her wanking me.

She does not permit me to stand in the bath with my back to the wall, always bottom to face the tap end of the bath. Ness slaps me on either bottom or thighs if I am slow or do not wash to please her. My bum facing the taps is the best position for her - for her right palm to slap me. Smacking when my skin is wet stings a lot more than it does on dry skin. A useless piece of information for most people but not for me in this position. Very pertinent indeed in my case. Ness just out of bed is wear­ing a white blouse above a denim mini skirt. Her skirt short enough to show a glimpse of white thigh above her black thigh length boots. I rarely see her without boots of either knee or thigh length. They give her a dominant ap­pearance which I am sure is intentional.

`Smack!' across my left thigh as I bend to pick up the flannel to wash neck and ears. Her wet palm on my wet thigh. Stings viciously. As she means it to do.

`Hurry it up, bastard, you haven't all day!' `Smack!' I get one on the bum. Left cheek to emphasise her words. I gasp at the sheer sting of the slap, whilst rubbing furiously at my neck with the flannel.

Dropping the flannel I bend to wash my legs. `Smack!' a nicely bent bottom presented un­willingly for the slap. Ness has thin hands but long fingers.'

`Smack! ... Ouch ... !'The smack landed on top of the previous one to my left bum cheek. `Inside these ears, Stewart! You are not finished with them yet. Corner of that flannel well into them.' Smack!...`Get them clean, you little bastard!' She fairly yells that at me. Almost as if my failure to wash my ears has made me deaf.

I do as she tells me, screwing a corner of the flannel to a point and inserting it well into both ears, one after the other.

`Smack...!' `Wake up, boy, don't try to skimp the job. Possibly you do when you are unsuper­vised but not whilst I'm here!...' SMACK! ... She gives me another two ringing slaps as I wash my legs SLAP! and SLAP?! `Use the bloody nail brush to scrub these knees. I want to see them red with the scrubbing you have given them - go on harder than that!'

As my knees are visible whilst I am at home, well below the hem of my floral overall and simply miles below the gym shorts worn beneath it, clean knees are very important for me. The very latest overalls I am made to wear have slits high up the side seams exposing bare thighs.

I am spared nothing which might add to the humiliatory aspect of my house dress. Similarly slit skirts may appeal to women and girls. They have something, possibly, to show off but slits have no appeal for me. More bare skin on view and less privacy beneath the overalls. Another penance to be borne.

Two more slaps land, thigh and hot.

`I told you to hurry up. You are taking much too long, lad, making a real meal out of this. Smarten up or I'll be taking the tawse to you.' Ness has little patience and her temper is always kept on a very short fuse. In all honesty I've only been in the bath a few minutes.

Hair is washed every morning. `Obtain a real­ly good lather and let me see you rubbing it hard. Get that scalp all atingling, boy!' I do my very best because I know if it's not done to her satisfaction, she will do it for me. That's not to be recommended as my scalp does more than just tingle then. It just did not think a woman could have such strong and hard fingers. I'm lucky to have any skin left on my scalp once Ness has finished with it. In any event carbolic soap of the type I am given does not lather very well on hair. I don't rate a pro­per shampoo in this house. Ness will get a lather, as well as get into a lather with me. More than my scalp will tingle. My ears will too. A couple of fore and backhand slaps across the ears will make both ears feel very thick indeed. So I rub at my scalp like crazy.

Rinsing is done with a large metal baler and to accomplish this I am made to sit down in the bath whilst Ness turns on the cold tap. To fill and refill the baler.

`Head well back now, lad, let's have all that soap off.' The big baler is brimming full as she gives the order to me. I bend head and shoulders back, leaning back on my hands and arms, eyes tight shut. `Swoosh!' the contents of the utensil cascade over face and head. Cold causing me to gasp and shiver. The bath water, what little there is of it, will get progressively colder as she upends each successive balerful.

`Swoosh!' Head well back, which Ness in­forms me is the correct way for rinsing to be done. `The way the ladies have it done at the hairdressers, my lad. That just has to be the cor­rect way.' Maybe so, but not for rinsing in this fashion. 

`Swoosh!' gasping I think head well forward would be much preferable for me. But then who am I to be thinking anything!

`Swooosh!' baler upturned again in cold water enters my nose and mouth. I splutter and shake my head, spewing water from mouth and nostrils. Mouth initially tight shut as had been my eyes. Mouth soon opened by my gasps as the cold water cascades over my napper. The ladies held up as an example to me, don't get it this way.

`Keep that stupid head still, boy, or you'll soon be having a taste or two of the strap.' Ness is doubtless getting wet herself and she's angry as my head shaking antics. Luckily she realises I cannot be expected to hold it completely still. `Swooosh!' impossible for anyone, far less a wimp like me. Yet I know too much 'play­acting' will undoubtedly mean the tawse when I get out of the bath. `Don't you even dare to act the goat with me, you horrid little bastard, or I'll tan your backside until it steams.'

`Slap!' a cuff across the bonce, `head well back, I'm not finished with it yet.'

It takes ten or twelve balerfulls to rinse me properly - do it thoroughly. I always get the lot, no matter that the soap may all be out by the time I've had six poured over my head. Most days I get the full twelve, just for good measure.

Shivering, miserable, stinging, crying, I'm glad to hear Ness yell `out - dried quickly now - a good hard rub down.' The big towel is bliss. But I've no time to savour it's comfort - speed is still the main consideration. I still have teeth to be cleaned and a face to be shaved. Then get dressed for going to the office. Then have my room and myself inspected by Ness before I leave the house. Mornings, like the rest of the day in this house are not pleasant.

I am watched, chided, further slapped as I complete my ablutions. Shaving as tears fall, the razor slicking tears away as well as stub­ble. Both bottom cheeks are now fully accessi­ble to Ness's hand. A ripe target. One not neglected as `Smack!' and `Smack!' they come in pairs now. Right and left cheek benefitting equally from her hard hand. The smacks ring out clearly in the cold, bare bathroom. Magnified by the high ceiling, as is Ness's car­ping female voice. Washing and bathing is not a task I look forward to these days. Worse are the days, when I come out of the bath and in­to that comforting towel, only to hear, `Once dried, straight down to the kitchen, whilst I fetch the tawse.' No need to ask why she wishes to fetch the tawse. I'm about to get it from her.

Punishment downstairs, so as not to disturb three still sleeping bitches of Aunts. Still asleep? I doubt not. The noise generated by Ness, her clear voice shouting at me, the slapping sounds and my yelps, would awaken the dead. There have, so far, been no complaints regarding this morning ritual. Not to my knowledge and as discipline is the prime consideration here, I doubt if complaint is at all likely. Anyway my Aunts can merely turn over and snooze for as long as they like afterwards.

Still starkers and hot foot down to the kitchen, knowing Ness is not far behind me with the tawse. Unaware as yet of what she intends to do to me. Across her knee for a bottom war­ming, twelve strokes of the thick, wide, extra heavy tawse. Both bottom cheeks already afire from her slaps will be roasted afresh. Making it hell to have to sit on them, once I arrive at the office. Leaving me open for the sniggers and trite remarks of the young female, whose room I share. My need for a cushion to sit on drawing their attention to my plight. `A good hot one today was it then?'...`Fused the tails of the strap together, did she?' It's far from fun­ny though the girls appear to think it is.

Likewise to have my fingers warmed is worse. Hold my hands out for Ness to lash the tawse down on to them. each time she raises the tawse, the urge to draw my hands away from her - make her miss me. The desire to double up when she has hit me. Neither action any more than a dream ...I don't do such things, either with Ness or any of my Aunts.

Ness only gives me Six in the mornings, three on each palm but six of her best. `Now the other hand, boy,' she orders after three. By then my face has crumpled and I'm yelping and crying. For all of that the next three will not be given any softer. Ness does not spare any effort and her wet nylon blouse sticks nicely to her pert tits as she arches back before delivering each stroke. `But I can't write pro­perly, Miss, after you have belted my hands' I had told her. `Rubbish, when you were at school didn't you sometimes get the strap at the start of the day. For being late or something? ...Yes, well this is just the same. If your lady supervisor has any complaints tell her to address them to me. I'll give her a pre­sent of the tawse so as she may correct your bad writing.'

It's only a few minutes after 7.40 now, there was plenty of time and no one else was wishing to use the bathroom. I do not have to report to Ness downstairs again until 8.25 am, so what is all the rush each morning? I can be ready for her inspection long before then. I've oodles of time to spare now.

The ritual, just completed, is an addition to Ultra Strict Domestic Discipline. A reminder to me that literally anything can be done to tighten up what is already tight. With or without a specific reason for doing so. As in this case, merely at Ness's whim.

`The way of the transgressor is hard' something I am constantly being told both at home and outside. My transgression? Is to be the bastard nephew of three strict Aunts. Each of whom appears to be of the opinion I should be made to pay for my mother's sins. An opi­nion shared by Miss Agnes `Ness' Kepler and a few others outside this house. Roll on 21, when hopefully I shall leave being a juvenile behind me forever. Not that I've heard such an eventuality being actually mentioned. But then I wouldn't ... would I? My Aunts and other adults don't discuss such things in front of juvenile me.