Madame Peine Takes Control

[Bertha]

This is another piece that I originally submitted to Susan at PDM/PDQ many years ago. I hope it is suitable for this excellent forum.

Part One

I must tell you about my marvellous neighbour Madame Peine who, having spent many years living and working in France only returned to these shores after being widowed. It is her that I have to thank for turning my son from an ill disciplined brat into a delightful, sweet little baby girl, using the excellent methods she has employed that have been so efficient in disciplining and taming my wayward son.
She lives next door, and her three daughters were themselves the victims of stupid pranks and catcalls from Andrew. She visited to discuss things and after I had become visibly upset about my inability to control Andrew she immediately recognised the problems I was experiencing with him. She suggested that she would be willing to help implement the cure herself by effectively becoming his babysitter and imposing her own particular brand of discipline on the boy.
I work each day, so I eagerly accepted her offer and quickly came to an arrangement suitable to us both.
Her methods are most effective and I was amazed at how quickly they took effect, as I witnessed one afternoon when I returned home early from work.
Madame was already having great success in fashioning a whole new baby girl wardrobe for Lambikins, his new sissy name, and even though it was not quite 3.30, Madame Peine was already preparing Andrew for bed as his sweet, lemon coloured gingham romper suit that already lay discarded on the lounge carpet bore witness.
Not wishing to interrupt, I watched from the kitchen doorway as she unfolded his gorgeous super soft winceyette, baby girl pyjamas. The pink one’s with the frolicking lambs motif and the darling little lace edged Peter Pan collar and cuffs.
Andrew began to throw a little tantrum at being dressed for bed so early and being made to wear such babyish, girls’ pyjamas and I was amused at how quickly his demeanour had become that of a small child rather than his true age.
Madame quickly stopped his nonsense by awarding him a spanking ticket, more of which in a moment, and he was quickly sitting cross-legged on the carpeted floor suc-king obediently on his baby’s dummy avidly watching a ‘Bananas in Pyjamas’ video,
“Hello Lambikins, Mummy’s home.”
Startled by my sudden appearance, he struggled to his feet, the loose fitting, and long legged pyjamas bottoms hampering his ability to stand as they hung baggily upon him.
His dummy fell from his mouth and swung loosely from the ribbon pinned to his pyjama jacket. “G-Good afternoon Mummy,” he stuttered. I bent down toward him proffering my cheek as he reluctantly kissed me, unwilling to forgo the attraction of the infantile programme.
You may wonder why an older boy like Andrew was avidly watching a, 'toddlers’ TV programme, well it is all down to the admirable Madame Peine. She has painstakingly watched all the programmes herself and compiled questions about each episode.
After Andrew has watched a programme, he must take a small quiz, each incorrect answer earns Andrew a spanking ticket. When he has been awarded five tickets they entitle him to an over the knee spanking, usually administered for maximum humiliation in front of Madame’s ‘crème de la crème’ from her lady friends, who have been especially selected to witness and enhance Andrew’s humiliation of his early bedtime and pyjama punishment.

“One spanking ticket for not waving goodbye to the Bananas, that makes four today, Lambikins,” Madame informed him with some relish. I could tell Andrew blamed me for receiving his latest spanking ticket by distracting him.
“Was Lambikins watching close enough I wonder?”  Continued Madame Peine as Andrew sat on the floor; hands clasped together and back ramrod straight as Madame consulted her list of questions.

[Bertha]

Part Two.

Unfortunately I think my presence made Andrew nervous and he only answered two of Madame Peines questions correctly.

She wagged a finger at him, “tut, a very poor effort Lambikins, you’ve earned yourself a bedtime spanking, I really don’t think you are paying enough attention when watching the Bananas in Pyjamas, are you? ” Madam Peine asked.

“In future,” she continued, “you will wear your new ‘viewing bonnet’ whilst the programme is running. You can try it on now to show mummy how sweet you look.”
 
Andrew looked at me, then back to Madame Peine and his lower lip began to quiver and his eyes welled with tears as she approached him with the most sissyish, peekaboo style baby bonnet I had ever seen.

The pink gingham bonnet had a gorgeous white frill all around the edge and extended outwards three inches. Madame Peine tied the bonnet under his chin with the one inch wide, pink ribbons that were long enough to be fastened into a double bow.

“There now,” Madame said as she adjusted the bow to her satisfaction , “you really do make a sweet little baby Lambikins my pet.”

Andrew could hold back the tears no longer and my maternal instincts surfaced as I sat Andrew on my lap to cuddle him and dry his tears. I popped his dummy into his mouth and to my surprise and delight, he immediately began to enjoy the soothing effect and his sobbing decreased and the tears stopped as his comforter bobbed rythmically in and out.
 
I held my big boy sissy babykins tightly and closely admired his frilly pink baby girl pyjamas and his lovely new bonnet that complemented his babyish nightwear perfectly.

“Madame, Lambikins looks so sweet in these baby girl pyjamas I want him to be wearing them for his special tea party. Is everything organised?” I asked.

Immediately I had an extremely anxious Andrew squirming on my lap, quickly I put my hand on his dummy and held it firmly in his mouth to prevent a verbal outburst.

“Mmmppphhh!”  Was all he could muster in way of a protest and I found it difficult to suppress a smile as, thanks to his peekaboo bonnet, he had to twist his body comically to look directly at me. I made sure I held him tightly as I looked at his worried little baby face and told him about the invitations I had had delivered to his friends; I  found my bag and held an invite up so he could read what I had arranged to be printed.

In the top left hand corner of the invitation there was a picture of a sweet little girl dressed in a swishy pink party dress holding a balloon which doubled as a speech bubble portraying what she was saying.

Andrew ‘Lambikins’ Fairchild requests the presence of …… ..at four thirty on the twelth, for a party with lashings of jelly and ice cream followed by a concert by Lambikins himself consisting of a rendition of Baby Bunting and a selection of more of his favourite nursery songs. The party will end at a quarter to six prompt to enable Little Lambikins to be escorted to beddy-byes at six o’clock.

His face turned pale. “What’s the matter?” I teased in baby talk.

“Doesn’t my ickle Lambikins want to see his fwends and sing Baby Baby Bunting for them? There are lot of girls from school coming, Lambikins. I am sure they will love to see you wearing your pink jim-jams”

I admit to enjoying the discomfort I witnessed, the look on his bonnet shrouded face, as he imagined being made to sing his nursery songs in front of girls from school whilst dressed in his baby girl jim-jams was priceless.

I waited for the images to flash through his mind before I baited my trap.

“Does my baby Lambikins not want his friends to come to his birthday party and see him sing for them?” I asked innocently.

“I suppose If you really really, don’t want them to come I would let you ring them up and say that you will be far too busy being my sweet little baby Lambikins to have any time to see friends, let alone have a party.”

Andrew seized the opportunity to escape his nightmare scenario. I handed him his confiscated phone and listened with satisfaction as I heard him effectively abandon his so called friends.

“It was just a joke by mummy er.. My mother. No there never was a party. No of course I don’t go to bed at six o'clock, I will be too busy to see you for a while. No don’t ring or come round. I’ll be in touch soon, bye”

The look of relief on his face as he completed his task was amusing to myself and Madame Peine as only we knew what the future had in store for our Lambikins.

[Bertha]

After listening to Andrew finally sever his ties with his friends, Madame Peine took his phone from him, the look of relief he had at avoiding public humiliation was to be quickly dispersed.

“Now then my poppet,” said Madame as she took hold of my diminutive son’s hand, “who is going to eat all this food now that your friends aren’t coming?”

I followed them through into the dining room, the table was full of childish party food, jelly, cakes, and of course, ice-cream.

Madame Peine lifted Andrew up into her arms, “Will the little lambs want to eat some jelly and ice-cream do you think?”

She pointed to the lambs on his pink pyjamas as she slipped him into his high chair and lowered the food tray.

“Answer Madame Peine, Lambikins.” I prompted.

Andrew looked worried. “Maybe,” he replied hesitantly,  uncertain of how to reply.

”Don’t be a silly Lambikins; the lambs on your baby jammies can’t eat ice cream can they?”

She laughed at her own joke before she began tying a pink towelling bib around his neck, “I know who can help you eat up all your lovely party food.” She teased.

She called out and her three daughters, none of whom liked Andrew very much, came running into the dining room.

“Now girls,” Madame Peine spoke as she re-tied the bow of Andrews bonnet, all of our Lambikins fwends have deserted him and he is vewy vewy sad, aren't you Lambikins?”

Andrew slowly and reluctantly nodded his head, totally embarrassed at being spoken to in baby talk as he sat in a baby’s highchair, with a baby bonnet tied on his head and wearing his frilly pink, little girl’s pyjamas decorated with frolicking lambs.
 
Madame Peine's daughters clambered onto chairs adjacent to Lambikins perched in his high-chair.

“Oh I like your pyjamas Lambikins, what sweet  little lambs, my baby cousin  has a pair just like them, but she is only three years old,” Melanie teased gleefully as she examined his baby jammies, “are you going to beddy-byes shortly? I do hope you are going to sing a bedtime song for us.”

Andrew blushed furiously, helpless as Madame Peine enhanced his embarrassment by pouring juice into a big sippy cup for him to use. The girls giggled cruelly at Andrew and force-fed him ice cream that became smeared around his face enabling them to wipe his messy chin with his pink bib while he sat helplessly embarrassed.

Quickly though, the girls, being genuine hungry, became absorbed in devouring the party food, and left poor Andrew to sit unhappily in his high chair for an hour until Madame Peine wiped his face properly clean and lifted him down from the chair.

“Come along girls, time for our baby Lambikins to prepare for beddy-byes.”
Why don't you prepare for Lambikins concert whilst I take him to tinkle

A mad scramble ensued as the girls rushed to find seats. Meanwhile Andrew had begun to whimper, “Please Mummy, I don’t want to go to bed or sing nursery rhymes in front of everyone, won’t you please, send the girls away?”

I held firm and told him in my strict mummy voice. “Now Lambikins, you know very well why you are being treated like a helpless little baby girl, so just do as you are told by Madame and concentrate on remembering  your darling little songs. The girls and I are so looking forward to hearing you sing immensely. Now off you go with Madame.”

As we waited, the girls excitedly showed me the projects that Madame had set them to enhance Andrew’s new wardrobe. I was overwhelmed at the quality of the girls handiwork as I examined the gorgeous sun bonnet that was nearly finished, save for the frill to be added. I commented how it would protect Andrew from the sun when he began to take naps in the garden sitting in his soon to be purchased pushchair. 

The mittens and matching bootees that had been knitted in soft white lambs wool would complement perfectly his long white flannelette nightie that Giselle, who at thirteen was Madame’s oldest daughter, had almost finished sewing as a wonderful surprise for Lambikins. Once Madame had supplied the lace for the bodice, we could enjoy a truly babified and petticoated Lambikins, snugly dressed for his early beddy-byes. 

Soon, a face washed and teeth cleaned Andrew appeared in front of us, now clutching his favourite bedtime teddy bear in one hand and Madame’s hand with the other.

Madame Peine addressed the audience. “Thank you ladies and girls for attending our little Lambikins bedtime sing-song. Lambikins is very excited at having the opportunity to sing for you aren’t you Lambikins.”

Andrew swallowed nervously and stared shyly at the floor as he was told to begin singing his little nursery rhyme song for the girls.

“Come along,” she urged, pushing him in front of her, “unless you want a smacked botty instead in front of everyone.”

Andrew gave me one last look, pleading for a reprieve from his ordeal but I shook my head and forlornly he cleared his throat.

His thin, almost whisper like voice took up the refrain as he cradled teddy in his arms.

“Bye, bye baby bunting
Daddy's gone a hunting
To get a little lambie skin
To wrap his baby bunting in

Bye, bye baby bunting
Daddy's gone a hunting
A rosy wisp of cloud to win
To wrap his baby bunting in.”

Just as Madame had taught him, as he finished the last line it was his cue to give a little curtsey and we broke into spontaneous applause and laughter, urging an encore.

Andrew’s face was beetroot red with embarrassment and I was delighted when Madame agreed to one more song before baby Lambikin’s bedtime. Madame exchanged teddy for his little girls dolly and once again ushered the tentative boy forward and once again his whispering voice started the nursery rhyme.

“Miss Polly had a dolly,
Who was sick, sick, sick,
So she called for the doctor,
To be quick, quick, quick.
The doctor came,
With his bag and his hat,
And he knocked at the door,
With a rat-a-tat-tat.

He looked at the dolly,
And he shook his head,
And he said "Miss Polly,
Put her straight to bed."
He wrote out a paper,
For a pill, pill, pill,
"I'll be back in the morning,
With the bill, bill, bill."

Andrew almost slumped to the floor with embarrassed exhaustion as he gave his little curtsey but Madame caught him and effortlessly lifted him up into her arms.

“Well done Sugarplum,” she praised, “but next time I want to see a much better curtsey at the finish.”

The girls had been besides themselves with excitement at watching a boy much older than they were be so cleverly humiliated by their mother and begged her to make Andrew continue to make an utter fool of himself with his songs.

“Another day girls, it’s time our sweet little Lambkins was tucked up in beddy-byes. I tell you what, if one of you puts down his changing mat, I will show you how to pin babykins into his nappy and soon I will let one of you do it all by yourself.”

The girls excitement exacerbated at the thought of actually nappying Lambikins and quickly their mother was settling Andrew down on the gaily nursery rhyme patterned mat.

Madame lowered his pyjama bottoms and soothed him by pushing his pink dummy into his mouth. Displaying her years of experience, she expertly powdered and creamed his bottom, explaining calmly and precisely to her daughters as to why she did each task before she finally pinned him snugly into his fluffy white nighttime nappies and re-positioned his jim-jams.

“There, all ready for night-night aren’t you sweet little Lambikins?” She gave him a babyish wet kiss on his cheek, and then lay him face down across her knees.  “Did Lambikins think Madame Peine had forgotten baby’s punishment?” She asked the hapless Andrew as she smacked his heavily nappied and pyjama clad bottom.

The girls were spellbound at witnessing Andrews’s spanking. He cried out for Madame to stop, not because she had hurt him, but because of his utter humiliation. He felt faint, but at last he was beginning to learn his position as the baby of the family.

Madame Peine once again lifted Andrew into her arms. Her large frame easily allowed her to balance my diminutive son on her hip in the classic, carried-to-bed position. One arm supported his weight while the other, firmly clasped around his torso, kept him securely snuggled to her as his pink pyjama clad arm curled instinctively around her shoulders, the other hugging his beloved bedtime teddy bear.

His dummy bobbed in and out as his breathing became slower due to his sleepiness, Lambikins was become accustomed to his new, early bedtimes.

The girls, “oohed and aahhed” at baby’s predicament. “Say goodnight to Baby Sleepyhead girls, it’s far too late for tired babies to be up.”

They each bade poor Andrew goodnight as if he was a sweet little baby girl being put to bed, instead of a much older boy.

“After school tomorrow girls, I will show you how to bathe our little Lambikins.”
Despite his tiredness, Andrew’s eyes widened in horror as he heard Madame’s words but the only reaction he could muster was to whimper pathetically from behind his dummy.

Madame smiled as she carried the hapless, pink pyjama-clad Andrew off to beddy-byes, and I could only reflect on how lucky he and I both were to have such an expert practitioner of pyjama and early bedtime discipline.