The following story was written by Tom.
Part One can be found here.
Oliver had been standing in the corner, his anxiety growing by the minute. What was his mother up to? Why was he in a bridal wear shop? He was sweating, flushed and very nervous. His legs felt weak and the butterflies in his stomach were fluttering all over the place. Then he heard the door to the rear office open and nearly jumped out of his skin. Oliver immediately stood to attention for fear of being admonished again, his mind swirling with the day's events.
“Oliver! Come with me now and be quick about it!” Mrs Evans commanded with a sharp tone.
Oliver wheeled round and followed his mother through into the back office.
“Hello, Oliver,” Karen said with a big smile, “Mummy tells me you have been a naughty boy… a very naughty boy who likes to show off his stiff winky at any opportunity. And mummy says you’ve been playing with winky as well. That's simply behaviour we are not going to put up with any more. In future you will be sleeping at night... not playing with winky and making a mess all over your pyjamas.”
“Now, take off your blazer, jumper, shirt, tie, Oliver... and those lovely little junior boy’s shorts as well,” Karen ordered.
Oliver made the mistake of hesitating and looking to his mother to confirm the order to undress. Mrs Evans simply aimed a quick slap to Oliver's bare thigh and told him to get a move on and to do as he was told by Mrs Holmes.
Oliver, stunned but rapidly awakened by the stinging slap, quickly had his cap and blazer off and seconds later his jumper was passed to his mother. His school tie quickly followed and he unbuttoned his crisp white shirt to reveal and brilliant white schoolboy's vest. Impatient with progress, Karen Holmes kneeled down in front of Oliver and took hold of the waistband of his junior schoolboy shorts. Within seconds the double clip had been undone and she was busy unzipping Oliver’s short trousers. Taking hold of the waistband, Karen expertly held the junior shorts, expanded the waistband and lowered them over Oliver's bottom to reveal his brilliant white junior schoolboy's white Y front underpants, with his vest neatly tucked into the waistband.
“There we are Oliver, now lift up your left leg,” Karen Holmes slipped the shorts from his left leg, “... good, now lift your right leg.” Oliver immediately obeyed, his shorts were off and Karen Holmes folded them neatly along the crisp pressed creases and put his shorts on the adjacent chair.
“There we are Oliver… that wasn’t difficult was it?” Karen cooed, talking to Oliver as if he was a little boy.
Oliver was stunned. He couldn't believe it... he was a teenager being undressed by a strange woman as though he was back in infants' school. For god's sake I'm seventeen he screamed to himself but he knew better than to risk another strapping by objecting, tears welled in his eyes as he hung his head.
“Now Oliver, I'm just going to take a few measurements, stand up straight now,” Karen said as she picked up her tape measure and held it round Oliver's waist, “Let’s see… there we are,” she said as she made a note on a pad. Karen then slid the tape measure down to Oliver's hips and again made a note of the measurement on the pad.
Taking the tape measure and placing it round Oliver’s thigh she measured the circumference of his upper thighs in turn and then turned to Mrs Evans for assistance: “Vera, would you help me by holding the end of the tape measure there in the middle of Oliver’s waist just above his belly button?” Then she threaded the tape measure between Oliver’s legs and held it up to his waist at the back. “That’s it… now let’s calculate what size you need.”
Karen Holmes took the measurements to her desk, consulted her paperwork and exclaimed: “It looks as though you’ll need an extra large, Oliver... I don't sell too many of those, but I don’t often have to measure up boys of your age, so I'm sure we'll have more than enough stock for you Oliver, aren't you a lucky boy!”
Oliver's mind was working overtime. Was he getting some new underpants? What were the measurements all about? Oliver wondered what this was all about. He must be getting MORE shorts? Oh god, not more shorts, when will I ever get longs, when will mum finally see that I'm nearly a man, he thought, but that soon faded when a tear rolled down his smooth boyish cheek.
Karen Holmes walked away to the store room and quickly returned with a bundle in her hands, Oliver was struggling to make out what it was that Karen was carrying, it looked to be plastic of some sort.
Karen placed the bundle on the table and took hold of the plastic coated trainer pants, holding them by the waist she turned around to Oliver, held them up stretching the waist as she did so.
“Now Oliver, let's try these on for size shall we?”
Oliver drank in what was now in front of his eyes: “BUT MUM, THEY ARE BABY PANTS!, I can't wear those... I'm a big boy. I'm not wearing those,” Oliver squealed petulantly and stamped his T-bar sandals on the floor. Seconds later he burst into a flood of tears.
“You'll do as you are told, Oliver,” Mrs Evans said, “and if you are going to cry and stamp your feet like a baby, then baby-pants are exactly what you need… or perhaps you would like to have another meeting with my strap, Oliver?”
“BUT MUMMY, Please, please, please don’t make me wear baby-pants, mummy…. no, no no!” Oliver blubbed and stamped his feet again.
Mrs Evans was having none of it, she was not about to have her authority challenged again and certainly not in front of Mrs Holmes. In one swift movement Mrs Evans grabbed Oliver's arm and pulled him unceremoniously to the nearby chair and in a seamless movement managed to sit and pull Oliver over her lap. A rain of smacks fell on Oliver's upper thighs and the seat of his junior schoolboy's white Y-front underpants, as Oliver screamed and cried.
“That's it Oliver! I've had just about enough of your disobedience and childishness today and I'm going to continue smacking you until you BEG me to wear those trainer pants, DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME!”
Oliver screamed and wailed, his hand trying to protect his bottom but in seconds Mrs Evans had both hands secured in the middle of his back and Mrs Holmes lent the obvious hand required to hold onto Oliver's flailing legs.
“Karen, I wonder if you would be good enough to go into my handbag, you'll find a short stiff leather strap”
“NOOO... PLEEESSEEE, MUMMY... not the strap.... PLEEESSEEE!” Oliver blubbed between continued sharp smacks.
“I warned you Oliver.......(smack), if I had any more trouble from you today, (smack) you'll beg me to wear those baby trainer pants (smack) and I'll continue until you do my lad, (smack smack smack)” Mrs Evans added in her most authoritative voice, pausing between sharp smacks. “Let me hear you beg to wear them Oliver.”
Karen Holmes had found the strap, a fearsomely stiff piece of two-ply leather with two small tails, despite its small size it was surprisingly heavy she thought.
Within seconds it was in Mrs Evans’ hand and being expertly applied with a resounding wallop that echoed in the small room, the noise only matched by Oliver's wails and screams. It only took two applications before Mrs Evans heard the words she wanted to hear…
“MUM… MUMMY!! PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE, STOP!! I'll WEAR THEM PLEASSEE STOP!!”
Mrs Evans paused her onslaught, “Well Oliver, I told you that you would beg to wear them, now ask Mrs Holmes properly and be quick about it.”
Oliver had difficulty catching his breath as he blubbed and sobbed: “Please… Please Mrs Holmes -sniffle- Please… may I be -sniffle- allowed to wear my baby trainer pants. I promise to be a good boy for you and I promise not to be any trouble...” Oliver blurted out, anything was better than the pain of that strap.
“Very well Oliver, I'll be more than happy to oblige you,” Karen Holmes replied in a lovely soft voice and she helped the blubbing Oliver back to his feet.
Oliver couldn't stop snivelling as the tears rolled down his cheeks and he continued to blub and a trail of clear snot dribbled onto his top lip.
Mrs Evans looked on in desperation, “I really don't know when he's going to grow up at all Karen, just look at him, you get less drama from a three year old having a tantrum.”
“I must say, I was surprised to see a boy a big as Oliver in junior schoolboy uniform and particularly those little boy’s school shorts, but I now understand completely,” Karen said and, reaching for a tissue, she approached Oliver, placed the tissue over his nose, and told him to blow. Oliver did as instructed and Karen removed the the excess from his top lip like an experienced mother with a toddler with a cold. Reaching for another tissue, she wiped Oliver's eyes and cheeks: “There, there Oliver, we don't need all this drama do we?” Karen added in a tone trying to cheer up a three year old.
As he stood while his face was wiped, Oliver busily rubbed his bottom in an effort to relieve the soreness.
“Stop that at once Oliver! Hands on head... immediately!” mum snapped.
Oliver knew better than to argue further and placed his hands firmly on his head, but couldn't help shuffling his thighs trying to find an alternative method to remove the smarting, stinging feeling in his bottom and upper thighs.
“And stand still Oliver! I won't tell you again!” Mrs Evans barked, waving the strap menacingly at her son.
“Now then Oliver,” Karen Holmes said in a tone that suggested she was talking to a little boy, “let’s try these trainer pants on you shall we? We had better take off your sandals first though... they’re very smart sandals aren’t they? My... they do suit you don’t they?”
“And what do we say Oliver?” Mrs Evans added in an enquiring tone.
“Yes Mrs Holmes, my sandals are very nice, thank you,” Oliver said, his eyes lingering on the strap still brandished in his mum's hands.
“That's lovely to hear Oliver, I'm sure you'll soon turn out to be one of my best boys won't you?” Karen Holmes said as she undid the straps on Oliver's sandals and slipped them off his feet. Next came Oliver’s schoolboy kneesocks. “Now Oliver, I think we'll have your schoolboy underpants off for the fitting... they are lovely and white aren't they? You must be the pride of the changing rooms at school.”
Oliver was mortified, but he knew better than to argue. His eyes were still firmly focused on his worst enemy, the discipline strap, still being fondled in his mother's hands. Karen Holmes, still kneeling in front of Oliver, put her fingers into the waistband at the side of Oliver's white schoolboy underpants and started to lower them, within seconds they were sliding down his smooth thighs.
“Ooooohh, aren't you a lucky boy,” Karen cooed, as she noticed the label in the rear of Oliver’s underpants, “Ladybird brand I see... only the best for your boy, Mrs Evans.”
Oliver flushed bright red, he hated his Ladybird underpants. They were synonymous with children’s clothing, a constant reminder every morning of Oliver’s junior status and to add to the insult they were for boys of 13 to 15 years.
Looking upwards at Oliver’s crotch, Karen Holmes was obviously startled: “My, my, my... what have we here Oliver? You are quite the schoolboy aren't you, not a single hair, I can hardly believe it? Do you shave him, Vera?” She asked his mother.
Oliver was now even more flushed. “Oh god why can’t I have hairs like all the other boys at school,” he thought to himself, not daring to speak out loud, “It’s so unfair and why do people have to keep mentioning them, or the lack of them, it’s not my fault...”
“Oh, Oliver has always been a late developer,” mum replied to Karen, “He only got his first wispy hairs not much more than a year ago. They were so fair that I didn't notice them for quite a while. When I did see then… well they were so fine I didn’t see the point of leaving them, so I just plucked the three of them out with tweezers. Oliver hardly noticed did you?”
Oliver wasn’t sure what to say, but thought it best to reply in the affirmative: “Yes mum, they were very fine and thank you for removing them.”
As Oliver said the words he knew his mother wanted to hear but he couldn't help flushing the deepest shade of red in shame; the very words making his heart pound in his chest. Oliver thought it couldn't get any worse but the thumping of heart and his rising blood pressure was having the most undesired effect. He could feel winky starting to thicken and grow just as Karen Holmes was checking with her fingertips what she could see, but hardly believe, with her eyes.
She lightly ran her fingers over Oliver’s completely bald and smooth pubis and then over his smooth scrotum. The gentle touch of Karen Holmes’s fingers, combined with Oliver's heightened embarrassment was having the worst effect possible. Oliver became mortified at the thought he would get an erection which, of course, made it certain he would. Try as he might, Oliver knew he was losing the battle as his penis thickened further and started to twitch upwards with a definitive jerk.
Karen Holmes sat wide eyed as, at three second intervals, Oliver's winky grew in length and width before her eyes; each twitch narrowing the distance between Karen's face and the offending appendage.
Mrs Evans was busy replacing her strap back in her handbag behind Oliver and was oblivious to what was occurring. Oliver knew there was nothing he could do now and burst into tears once more, each sob and shake of his body caused his full seven inch erection to twitch in Karen Holmes's face.
Just as Oliver thought things couldn't get worse the door to the store room opened and Karen Holmes's eighteen year old daughter breezed in through the door. Helen had changed into her school uniform of gold blouse and school tie, bottle green jumper, bottle green and gold braided Blazer, box pleated mid thigh length skirt and brilliant white patterned knee socks, finished in polished leather Mary Jane shoes.
“Mum, I'm ready when...” Helen stopped mid-sentence, growing increasingly wide eyed, she said, “Mum! What's that disgusting boy doing... he's not ANOTHER naughty one is he, just showing off?”
Karen Holmes snapped out of her disbelief and Vera Evans was immediately on full alert, Vera Evans swung round to observe what was going on: “Oliver, how could you! After all I have told you and you continue to show off and make an exhibition of yourself in front of Karen and her daughter, have you NO SHAME AT ALL?! You're just a naughty filthy little boy who deserves to be treated just like a 5 year old, what are you?”
Oliver blubbed, which merely increased his body twitching which inevitably caused his fully erect winky to flap around in front of him, just as Helen and Mrs Evans stood together in front of him to take in the sigh. Everyone had stony, disapproving looks on their faces.
“Well Oliver, what do you have to say for yourself? I'm waiting,” mum admonished.
“I'm a (blub, sniffle) naughty little boy (sniff, sniff) with... with, no shame at all...” Oliver stumbled out, his winky all the time waving in front of the three onlookers.
“...and what do you deserve to be treated like, Oliver?” Helen added with a clear smirk on her lips.
Oliver wailed again, now this schoolgirl was intent to add to his complete humiliation.
“Well, Oliver, I think Helen deserves an answer, doesn't she?” Mum prompted.
Oliver’s shoulders heaved as he spoke: “Like… like a 5 year old...” he mumbled, staring down at his bare feet with the very edifice of his embarrassment clearly framed between his feet.
Vera Evans was back in her handbag but was stopped by Karen Holmes: “Vera, I don't think we have time for another thrashing. I think we'll just proceed and you can administer the strap later at your leisure. Oliver is rather red already and I think we have a more suitable intermediate punishment for show-off naughty boys... and time is pressing. I need to take Helen to school shortly... would you mind if I proceed?”
Vera Evans, clearly exasperated with Oliver, relented and put the discipline strap back in her bag: “Of course Karen, I do understand, and you can be sure Oliver, I WILL be dealing with you later,” Vera Evans added in her most authoritative tone.
“Thank you Mrs Evans, I realise how distressing this is for you. Helen would you fetch those baby trainer pants off the table for me?” Karen Holmes asked.
Helen skipped across the room in sheer glee, it was quite a while since she’d had the chance to fit out a naughty boy and certainly not one anywhere near as big as Oliver. I wonder how old he is? She thought. In a flash Helen was at the table and picked up the trainer pants and walking back slowly to Oliver, she stretched the waist elastic: “Are you sure these will be big enough for this baby mum?” Helen enquired, in a voice of false innocence.
“Oh yes, we have measured him up already darling,” Karen Holmes answered.
“Can I help you with this... it will be quicker won't it?” Helen added with a real plea and quite a bit of glee in her voice.
“Well, I don't see why not darling,” Karen Holmes replied. She looked to Mrs Evans for confirmation and on getting the nod, added: “Well, it's good practice for your babysitting skills I suppose and it's a good a time as any for you to find out just how nasty seventeen year old boys can be...”
“He’s SEVEN-EN-TEEN!” Helen exclaimed, “but he’s got no hair, err, down there, he can't be… surely he must be younger, mum...”
“Now Helen, that's enough... You know full well little boys don't have hair there and Oliver is still a little boy aren't you Oliver?” Karen said with more than a little irony in her voice.
“Erm, yes that's right miss...” Oliver added, in the vain hope of getting some brownie points, before he was again admonished by his mother.
“Oh well mum, I'm sure you're right, shall I start putting them on? We'll have to get it over his er, thingy,” Helen giggled with a menace only a schoolgirl making fun of a schoolboy knows. Then she crinkled the plastic training pants in her hands, as if to demonstrate they were baby pants to Oliver.
“Right Oliver, lift your left leg please. Helen if you could kneel down and put them on,” Karen instructed.
Helen was down at Oliver’s feet in a flash, wrinkled up the trainer pants to expose the left hole and guided Oliver's foot inside.
“Thank you Oliver, right leg please,” Karen told the nervous boy.
Oliver obliged and Helen eased the pants over his right foot.
“Right Helen, if you would pull them up please.”
Helen lifted the trainer pants, which moved quickly up Oliver's hairless legs until the leg elastic reached his knees: “He’s got very smooth legs hasn't he mum… just like a little baby,” Helen squealed with delight.
Oliver was completely numb by this stage. In his mind he was on another planet. The only thing that brought him back was the tickling feeling at his knees of the soft towelling which seemed to be hard wired to his winky by electrical impulses.
“Right Helen if you could pull the legs up,” Karen ordered.
It took poor Helen some effort to stretch the leg elastic each side but it was clear to both women it was a labour of love for Helen. She had to continually move her head around Oliver's throbbing penis, but eventually Helen got the legs to Oliver's upper thighs and looked round at mum.
“Well, it's not going to go over that pee-pee stick is it mum?” Helen was lost as to what to do.
Karen Holmes stepped forward and took hold of Oliver's penis by the tip and Oliver visibly shuddered and his legs appeared to buckle slightly. He was struggling to control himself. The soft towelling was now tickling Oliver’s scrotum and what with Mrs Holmes holding his winky, he could feel it twitching in her firm hand.
“Right Helen, I'll hold this naughty show off boy's winky against his tummy while you pull up the trainer pants darling...”
Oliver was desperate to avoid another explosion. He knew a real thrashing would ensue but it was soooooo difficult! He could barely contain himself. The firm grip on his winky and the tickling of his scrotum by the soft towelling, made the twitching of his winky inside Karen Holmes hands worse… much worse…
Winky was dribbling pre-cum and Karen Holmes was aware her hand was becoming rather sticky…
“Mummy, what's the boy doing now?!” Helen exclaimed.
“Helen, if you could fetch me that towel please from the wash room… quickly now!”
Helen jumped up, her eyes transfixed by Oliver's winky which looked more than ever like a 7 inch volcano about to blow.
Mrs Evans was becoming increasingly concerned. Sitting as she was behind Oliver she couldn't see what was going on but was aware that Oliver was twitching periodically and feared the worst: “Oliver, I hope you are not going to disappoint me again today?” She said as she got up to see what was causing the delay.
“Mummy… I'm Sooooooooo Sooooorrrryyy,” Oliver blurted as his twitching became uncontrollable. Mrs Evans had just come round to face Oliver when a spurt came from her son’s winky. It shot up past Oliver’s nose as he thrust his hips forward through Mrs Holmes's hand and narrowly missed her dress.
Karen Holmes, utterly shocked, released Oliver's penis just as a second jet shot out, this time directly ahead of Oliver, covering a good 3 or 4 feet, followed shortly after by two further less forceful jets and then a stream of short pulses as Oliver's winky twitched upwards.
Oliver blubbed like a baby between wails of tears as they streamed down his cheeks, to add to the mess on the floor. Mrs Evans and Karen Holmes exchanged glances of pure disgust.
“I'm really SO sorry Karen. What a mess! You have really done it this time my lad! Just you wait till I get you home... YOU JUST WAIT!”
Karen Holmes snapped out of her trance just as Helen returned: “Mummy, what has that disgusting boy done? Why is he waving it about? Has he been showing off again? What's all that mess? Has he done a white wee wee?”
Mrs Evans interjected “I'm so sorry Helen that you had to see what naughty little boys do. You can rest assured that I'll allow you to discipline Oliver for his showing off. It’s bad enough we have to put up with his antics without you being forced to see this sort of thing.”
Helen took in the words of Mrs Evans and thanked her for her concern, but she couldn't help but look at the sight in front of her, a completely confusing picture. What appeared to be a grown up boy, crying like a 5 year old, she could hardly believe he was seventeen, except of course for the obvious twitching winky.
“Erm, thank you Mrs Evans,” Helen said, “I don't know why boys have to be so disgusting. They were awful when I was in junior school but at Oliver's age... really! I do sympathise Mrs Evans and I'd be happy to help in any way I can.”
Oliver stood, blubbering like a 5 year old, his still fully erect winky flapping about as he sobbed. His cheeks were flushed red and tears streamed down his face.
Karen Holmes went to her desk and returned: “Vera, I don't know about you but I've had just about enough of Oliver’s petulant behaviour. Please allow me to put an end to it for you...” With Vera’s approval Karen Holmes placed a small ribbon around Oliver's neck. Attached to it was a baby's dummy: “Open your mouth now Oliver,” Karen ordered and she inserted the dummy into Oliver's mouth.
Oliver couldn't believe it, but he immediately started to suck the dummy as his sobs were dampened and audibly reduced by the dummy, but his tears still flowed.
“Right, let’s get this sorted out... Vera, would you assist me?” With these words Karen Holmes took hold of Oliver's slippery winky once more and Vera Evans took hold of the front of Oliver's new baby trainer pants and stretched the elastic. With a few swift jerks Mrs Evans had them over Oliver's hips and Karen let go of Oliver's slippery winky. With a resounding ‘snap!’ the elastic closed around Oliver’s waist with his still erect winky pressing against the waistband elastic.
“Right, let’s have a look at you,” Karen Holmes knelt down and checked the legs of Oliver's new milky-white trainer pants, “As you can see Vera there is very little play left in the leg elastic... less than half an inch, just as it should be. Just enough not to nip but there's no way Oliver will be able to fish out his naughty winky.”
Vera Evans nodded with approval: “I'm so glad we finally have an answer to Oliver's problems, you have no idea how pleased I am.”
“We are not quite done yet, Vera. We need his security pants now, of course. Would you fetch them please Helen, they are on the table there.”
Helen went to the table and picked up the security pants, they were quite heavy and crinkled audibly as she picked them up. The thickness of the plastic meant they could virtually stand up on their own. Helen was slightly perplexed by the length of fine chain in the waistband over the elastic.
Moving to Oliver she held them up for him to see, stretching and crinkling the plastic: “Who's a lucky boy, Oliver?” Helen teased and smiled sarcastically at Oliver, who was still blubbering and sucking his dummy.
Karen Holmes took the security pants from Helen and rolled them down, ready to receive Oliver's legs: “Lift your left leg please Oliver.” Karen Holmes threaded Oliver's left foot into the plastic pants, “Now your right leg please,” and Oliver duly obliged.
Karen Holmes tugged the pants up to Oliver's knees where he was aware immediately of the heavy grade elastic in the bonded leg getting increasingly tight as Karen Holmes tugged them up. The legs required stretching in order to move them up Oliver's thighs. Finally, with a ‘whoooop!’ the elastic waist band was in place and with some adjustment of the leg elastics they neatly fitted over Oliver's baby trainer pants.
“Turn round Oliver,” Karen Holmes ordered and Oliver duly obliged, his cheeks still streaming with tears. “Now Helen, will you pass me that small heart shaped lock on the table.”
Karen Holmes tugged the two ends of the golden chain in the waistband of Oliver's security pants, inserted her fingers in the waist band and deemed the chain adequately tight, inserted the miniature lock into both ends of the chain. A light click was audible, signifying that Oliver's access to his winky was no longer under his control.
“There we are, nice and secure Oliver. You won't have to worry about that naughty winky of yours at night any more will you? Are they comfy Oliver?”
In between sobs and sniffles Oliver managed to blurt out: “wess wisses wolmes, wankyou”, hampered as he was by the baby's dummy still in his mouth.
“Now Vera, I just need to explain... as you can see Oliver's can't get access to the lock, so it’s quite impossible for Oliver to insert the key... even if he had it, which of course he won't... as the lock is hidden behind him.”
Karen Holmes stretched the leg elastic of the security pants, indicating a maximum stretch of less than half an inch: “...you see, if Oliver was to even try to get his winky out of the legs, there just isn't enough room to get it out, and it’s made even more difficult by the additional elastic of his baby pants. Even if he did get it out, and no boy as far as I know ever has, it will be extremely painful on his winky which will prevent him playing with it!”
Karen Holmes positively purred with delight as Vera Evans looked on with gushing approval.
“That's simply wonderful Karen, I don't know how to thank you, I'm sure Oliver is very grateful to you as well, aren't you Oliver? Do thank Mrs Holmes and her daughter for her help won't you?” Vera Evans said and removed Oliver's dummy to permit a proper response and nodded to Oliver in a knowing way.
Oliver stumbled his words, seeking reassurance from Mrs Evans as he proceeded: “Thank… Thank you, Mrs Holmes for my new trainer baby pants… I… erm… I'm sure they will help me get over my… er... problem...”
“And what do you have to say to Helen, Oliver?” Mum prompted.
“...erm... I'm really… err… really sorry Helen, erm… I mean Miss Helen for my naughtiness in front of you… erm, I'm just a... a… a... naughty little boy and I hope you will forgive me please…”
Mrs Evans nodded in approval and slipped Oliver's dummy back into place: “Now Oliver, have a walk up and down please so we can see that they fit properly.”
Oliver strode down the room, passed Mrs Holmes and the smirking Helen, the heavy rustle of the plastic security pants were clearly audible to all, much to their satisfaction.
“And that's another security feature of these Vera... any boy trying to get his winky out, or even get out of bed at night is clearly audible, so they won't dare try it. The close fit of the plastic security pants are such that with them being over the plastic of the trainer pants it completely impossible to grip any erection he may get. They really are 100% foolproof on naughty boys,” Karen Holmes added as Oliver rustled as he passed the three ladies again.
“Well, that seems marvellous, I just wish I had found you a few years ago, they really are marvellous,” cooed Mrs Evans.
“And what's more, the towelling is so absorbent, with the two thick layers, there's no need to worry about wet beds either, they really are the perfect solution!” Mrs Holmes exclaimed. “Well, we'll have to be off shortly to Helen's school for the teacher's meeting if you don't mind Vera?”
“Oh I nearly forgot. We'll be out of your hair as soon as I can get Oliver dressed... I think Oliver will be having an early bed tonight and he can keep those on as he'll be going to bed as soon as he gets home after today's antics. Come here Oliver, let’s get you dressed.”
Oliver was mortified, was he really going to have to wear these trainer pants home?
“But MUM!, I can't wear these on the way home, everyone will laugh at me, I can't, I CAN'T, PLEEESSSEEEEE MUM!” Oliver screamed.
“That's ENOUGH from you master Oliver. You'll do as you are told unless you want my strap to persuade you?” Mrs Evans added sternly moving towards her handbag.
“Awwww NO NO, please NO MUMMY,” Oliver exclaimed rushing towards his pile of clothes quickly putting on his long school knee socks and jumping into his vest, struggling as best he could to tuck it into his new trainer pants with the little room afforded by the tight chain.
Soon Mrs Holmes was helping with Oliver's grey school shirt and put on Oliver's school tie. Mrs Evans held out Oliver's grey school shorts for Oliver to step into. Mrs Evans pulled up the shorts, they were a very tight fit over Oliver's security trainer pants. With a struggle, Mrs Evans stretched the elasticated waistband almost to its limited to fasten the double clip and the zip was a little tight.
“Now Oliver, put on your sandals” instructed Mrs Evans.
Oliver slipped his feet into his childish T bar school sandals. As he bent over to do up the buckles all three ladies could clearly see the elasticated legs of Oliver's trainer pants poking out of each leg of Oliver's school shorts as well as a full inch of waistband of his trainer pants above the waist of Oliver's shorts underneath his grey school shirt. Oliver put on his school blazer and cap, adjusted his socks until Mrs Evans gave the nod of approval.
“Karen, I think we'll take 7 pairs of the baby trainer pants and two pairs of the security pants if I may, just to allow me plenty of time to launder and dry them,” Mrs Evans said.
Karen Holmes duly obliged and presented them a few minutes later at the till in a lovely carrier bag for Oliver to carry home.
The bill was presented and Mrs Evans went to her purse to pay, “Well, it’s not cheap Karen, but I'm not in the least concerned, as Oliver here will be paying for these over the next two years from his pocket money, won't you Oliver?”
Oliver looked on aghast: “Awww MUM!” He stamped his T bar sandal on the floor with another pout of his bottom lip, but knew better than to go further.
“Oliver, you have brought it on yourself with all this nastiness you have been up to recently. You were warned many times. I don't see why I should have all this expense because of your naughtiness and anyway, you eat far too many sweets as it is.”
“Oh, I nearly forgot Vera” Karen Holmes added, “you'll need the key for Oliver's security pants. Here it is on a short chain and I suggest you wear it round your neck to keep it say from Oliver. We keep a spare in the shop should you lose it but if you do you'll need to keep the receipt, otherwise we would have to use bolt cutters to release Oliver!”
Wheeling Oliver towards the door Mrs Evans said a fond fair-well to Karen Holmes and Helen and apologised once more for Oliver's behaviour, they once again agreed that naughty boys, and very much naughty teenage boys needed very firm supervision and moral guidance. Boys will be boys they sighed, but boys who will be boys must be treated as boys and that would always mean proper short trousers for as long as it took to ensure they had grown up completely.
Oliver was pushed out of the door as Mrs Evans waved goodbye, the ever smart Oliver rustling gently in his trainer and security pants clearly audible and visible from behind. Oliver was mortified at the noise he made but couldn't bear to look up to see if anyone was looking at him. He could feel his cheeks flushed with embarrassment as he tried in vain to tug the very short legs of his brief school shorts down to cover his plastic pants but it was all clearly in vain. The thick padding caused Oliver to waddle slightly. The plastic pants, thick as they were and with the residual smarting from his earlier chastisement was starting to build up quite a bit of heat within trainer pants. Fortunately for Oliver they did not bump into anyone they knew, once in the house it was clear that Oliver was still in disgrace.
“Right Oliver, I'm at my wit's end with you, you have been a disgusting naughty little boy today and naughty little boys are put to bed early without any tea. I'm putting you to bed right now!” Mrs Evans stated in a ‘no nonsense’ tone of voice that was all too familiar to Oliver and with those words Oliver was almost pulled up the stairs to his cosy small back bedroom. Within seconds Mrs Evans had Oliver's school cap off and was busy stripping his blazer off.
“What a disgusting little boy you are Oliver, flashing your erect winky at Mrs Holmes and her poor daughter, I've never been so embarrassed in public but that's wasn't all was it Oliver? Was IT?” Mrs Evans scolded.
“No mummy, I'm very sorry mummy... I… I didn't mean to...” Oliver added in an attempt to mitigate his telling off as his mum was hanging up his blazer.
Mrs Evans wheeled round: “YOU DIDN'T MEAN TO...? Can't you control that winky at all? IT’S DISGUSTING! You’re just like a little boy... little boy's can't control themselves and that makes you no better than a little boy... and little boys have to wear LITTLE JUNIOR boy's school shorts don't they Oliver?” Mrs Evans continued.
“Err, Yes Mummy, thank you mummy… I… I thought...” Oliver added stutteringly, the tears welling up in his eyes.
“There's nothing to think about Oliver. You won't be seeing your senior boy's shorts for quite a while I can tell you,” Mrs Evans continued her tirade.
“Arms up!” Mrs Evans commanded and Oliver's school jumper was pulled off in a swift movement that only a practiced mother could do. Seconds later Mrs Evans took off Oliver's junior boy's school tie and cast it on the chair and began unbuttoning Oliver's junior schoolboy's grey school shirt. Seconds later Oliver's brilliant white school vest was on show as Mrs Evans pulled the shirt tails out of his tight shorts.
The short silence Oliver could feel was building up to a volcanic crescendo.
“And what do you have to say about all that mess you made in front Mrs Holmes and her poor daughter Helen? Were you trying to show off to Helen? Well Oliver, let me tell you senior girls are not interested in naughty little boys who have to wear little junior schoolboy grey shorts and wave their little winkies about... particularly little boy's that spray white wee wee everywhere… utterly DISGUSTING! - What is it?”
“I'm sorry...(blub) mummy… my, (sniff, sniff) I couldn't help… (sniff) it, it just… well… happened… (sniff) when Mrs Holmes rubbed winky...” Oliver stumbled out a hopelessly inadequate explanation which he could clearly see mummy didn’t believe.
“Oh, so you are blaming Mrs Homes now... Well, really, we'll see about that in a minute... Now, let’s get your socks and sandals off first,” Mrs Evans was apoplectic and pushed Oliver back onto his bed. Mrs Evans started taking off his beautifully polished brown schoolboy's sandals and almost ripped his socks off his feet.
“Stand up!” Mrs Evans commanded “Now let’s take off your little junior schoolboy's shorts. Aren't you ashamed that mummy has to make you wear JUNIOR schoolboy's little grey school shorts at SEVENTEEN, NEARLY EIGHTEEN! You are no more than disgusting little boy who keeps acting like a baby boy and as long as you act like that you'll have to be dressed like a little schoolboy won't you... WON'T YOU?!”
Oliver burst out crying once more, a steady stream of tears ran down each cheek. Mrs Evans knelt down and pulled Oliver towards her. With the expertise of a practiced mother she soon unclipped the double clip of Oliver's junior schoolboy's shorts and seconds later the zip descended with a resounding Zuuuuuup. Taking her hands to the rear waistband Mrs Evans eased the shorts over Oliver's trainer pants and let them fall to the floor.
“Left leg up!” Mrs Evans commanded as she removed Oliver's leg from his shorts. “Now the right leg!” and Oliver duly complied.
“Right then, let’s get this naughty, disgusting little boy into bed,” As Mrs Evans turned down Oliver's bed and picked up his pyjamas.
“But… sniff, sniff… I need to go to the toilet, please” Oliver stammered between blubs and more tears.
“Nonsense Oliver, you'll have to wait till morning now or you'll have to do what babies do, you are NOT going to play with your naughty winky again today, under ANY circumstances… Now PYJAMAS!!”
A tearful Oliver was put into his pink Lambikins pyjamas and with yet more tears Oliver climbed into bed as mummy pulled up the bed clothes.
“You have a long think my boy about your naughtiness today and don't you DARE get out of bed until I tell you to in the morning - disgusting boy!” Mrs Evans commanded.
With a resounding slam of the bedroom door, Mrs Evans was gone. Oliver continued to cry silently under the covers. The awareness of his need to wee, combined by the growing heat building up in his trainer pants was becoming uncomfortable and the elastic in legs of the trainer pants was really starting to bite. Oliver mulled over the events of the day, its wasn't his fault that he kept getting erections and why did they always happen when he most hoped they wouldn't? It was just so unfair! Why did he have to wear baby's trainer pants it really wasn't fair at all! No other boy of seventeen had to wear baby's rubber pants!
Oliver was ever conscious of the growing pressure in his bladder as he mulled the shaming events of the day but once again, fate conspired against him as he became aware of the stiffening of his winky enclosed within the trainer pants which became increasingly uncomfortable. Oliver tried to adjust his winky by pushing and pulling at the thick outer plastic but it was difficult to get any purchase at all and the crinkling noise seemed inordinately loud. Fearing mummy may mistake the noise for a less innocent operation Oliver tried to insert a finger into the leg elastic but there was almost no movement at all. With some straining Oliver was able to push his engorged winky to the near vertical position which was marginally more comfortable but his efforts only make his erection worse as it now pushed up against the chained waistband of his baby pants. It was dawning on Oliver that his previous unlimited access to winky was now a thing of the past. The more frustrated he felt, the harder it got and the more it throbbed, a terrible itch he now couldn't scratch. The itch was tantalising but no matter how Oliver adjusted his grip he simply couldn't get a proper hold through the thick towelling material and the slippery plastic baby trainer pants.
It was a very frustrated Oliver that cried himself to sleep.
To be continued.