Scott's Story - Part 13

Marcus didn’t have to wait very long in order to find out the answer to the question he’d asked himself as he watched Penelope approach  him up the aisle of the church.

The tightness in his criminally short white dress shorts that Marcus been forced to wear had become more noticeable to him as he felt his penis engorge. From the corner of his eye Marcus could see that his younger brothers, Alan and Adrian, were looking in his direction and whispering to each other. Then Marcus saw the wide-eyed look of Scottie, dressed as he was in his pink ring-bearer outfit, looking at him as well. More specifically, Marcus couldn’t help but notice the direction of Scottie’s gaze. It was straight at Marcus’ tiny white shorts!

Marcus inwardly cursed his fellow junior officers and blamed them squarely for his embarrassment as he stood at the altar. The ‘Wedding March’ rang in his ears as the full horror of his position became ever more clear. To turn, or otherwise try to escape from his predicament, was not an option. There was nothing he could do apart from picking frantically, helplessly at the hem of his absurdly brief shorts. He cursed too the onboard tailors who’d left him with legs so bare his mid-thigh tan-line could be seen, clearly delineating Marcus’ carefully cultivated tan and the pale whiteness of the upper reaches of his smooth thighs. But Marcus, so utterly ridiculous as he felt in front of everyone, now had other things to worry about. The fact of the matter was that the head of his penis could be seen just peeking from the left leg of his white shorts.

Behind her bridal veil, Penelope was for the moment unaware of her groom’s difficulty, but she could see that Alan and Adrian were giggling at something. Penelope had only to follow the gazes of the two boys to see what it was. Penelope was not happy and she was even less happy when she realised Marcus’ brothers weren’t the only ones to have noticed what was poking out of Marcus’ shorts.

Penelope leant to one side and whispered something into Aunt Violet’s ear.

“Certainly, dear. I understand. Leave it to me. I’ll see to it,” Aunt Violet replied, sotto voce.

As they neared the altar Scottie stepped to one side. He could feel Emily’s eyes on his trim little bottom encased in the tiny hotpants of his pink sailor-suit. Scottie’s legs were still hot and sore from the spanking Emily had given him in the church porch. He was anxious not to give Emily any reason to repeat her performance and so was careful to keep to the choreographed script he had been taught at the wedding rehearsal. Even so, Scottie was distracted by what was happening to Marcus and found it difficult not to stare at the head of the groom’s penis as it became ever more noticeable.

Marcus tried everything he could think of to try and stop what was happening, but he soon realised that crossing his legs and tugging at his ridiculous little shortened shorts simply drew attention to himself and to his naughty penis.

To her credit Penelope was not going to let Marcus’ behaviour spoil her wedding. His conduct would be ‘discussed’ with him later, she thought. In the meantime Penelope knew she could rely on Aunty Violet to do what she’d asked of her.

So the wedding ceremony went ahead with the usual rites and formalities. If the guests were shocked by the sight of Marcus’ engorged penis straining at his little white shorts, they were far too polite to say anything that could be heard above a whisper. For Marcus’ younger brothers, the twins Alan and Adrian snug in their long trousers, it was a different matter. Try as they might neither boy could stop themselves from sniggering. Alan would manage to control himself only to start off again when he caught sight of Adrian doing his best to stop giggling. And so it went on in spite of repeated ‘hssts!!’ for the boys to keep quiet from Mrs Bloom who was close by.

For Marcus a nadir was reached when the time came for the couple to kneel. With his back to the congregation the astonishingly severe alterations made to Marcus’ shorts by HMS Troutbridge’s resident tailor was made apparent to all. A series of gasps accompanied by discrete coughs of astonishment were heard throughout the church. Marcus’ shorts had ridden up so much that his smooth bottom was bare almost to the crown of his cheeks.

Scottie too was suffering a similar fate. As he knelt, still holding the ring-bearer’s cushion in front of him, he was unable to tug at, or do anything to alleviate his rising hotpants from exposing even more of his boyish bottom. Although even if Scottie could have reached back, it is doubtful he would have tried to do anything since he was all the time conscious of Miss Emily and what she would say, or worse do, if she caught him ‘playing’ with his outfit. So, as Scottie knelt forward, he too like Marcus, felt the cool air on his exposed bottom cheeks.

Arm-in-arm the newly married couple walked down the aisle. Penelope was smiling; Marcus’ face was set in a rictus grin after his new wife whispered a few words to him.

“Marcus,” she hissed, “I will not let your behaviour ruin my day, so for the present, we will act as if nothing has happened… but you and I are going to have a few words about this later… do I make myself clear?”

Marcus had nodded and the two newly-weds were soon outside the church being made ready for photographs to be taken.

In every picture Marcus was prominently placed so his tiny shorts were fully visible. Since Penelope didn’t want ‘that thing of yours’ showing she’d told Marcus to ‘do something about it’ before the photographs were taken. Marcus managed to make the required adjustments to his dress with the help of his younger brothers.

“I told you you should have had a wank before you put those shorts on,” Adrian said as he watched Alan help his older brother to push his still engorged penis back into the little shorts.

“Why don’t you have a quick wank before the photos, Marcus?” Alan suggested, “‘Cos I don’t think your nob’s going to stay put in those shorts.”

“And where do you boys expect me to have a wank exactly?” Marcus replied, not expecting or for that matter wanting a reply.

“Vestry is a good a place as any…” Adrian offered.

“Bet there’s been a lot of seed spilt there over the years,” Alan observed.

“... all falling on stony ground,” Adrian added.

“That’s choirboys for you…” Alan concluded.

“Ha, bloody ha…” Marcus replied as he made final adjustments to his gentleman’s region. In truth he was more worried about what Penelope had whispered to him as they walked down the aisle. When Alan asked what she’d said, Marcus was evasive, “Oh… it was nothing…”

Just then, as if sent to rescue Marcus from further interrogation by his brothers, Scottie appeared. Emily had sent him to fetch Marcus as the photographer was ready to start taking the wedding pictures. So with a final adjustment to his little shorts and more than a little nervous, Marcus followed the boys around the churchyard to where everyone was assembled.

To Scottie’s horror he found himself featuring in lots of the photos, ensuring an abundant selection of pictures of him dressed in his humiliating pink sailor suit. The photographer decided it would be a good idea to feature Marcus and Scottie together in a number of shots. One of these pictures, which found a home on a number of mantelpieces, showed the two in their extremely short shorts facing each other so the lower curves of both their bottoms were visible. Scottie was shaking hands with Marcus, supposedly congratulating him on his marriage. Many of the mums present at the wedding thought this picture so cute, they ordered copies there and then. Another picture saw a red-faced Scottie surrounded by the bridesmaids; one ruffling his hair, another bridesmaid making a minor adjustment to his outfit, while the others were wagging their fingers at him as if he’d forgotten the rings.

There were formal picture taken. One with Marcus facing the camera while on each side his younger brothers, the twins Alan and Adrian, stood dressed in their smart, long-trousered, suits. The main photograph featured all the principles; Penelope and Marcus with on each side Mrs Bloom, on the other Aunt Violet, the bridesmaids along with important guests, which of course included Emily who arranged for Scottie to stand in front of her so that she could put her hands proprietarily on his shoulders.

Once the photographer had finished it was time for everyone to move on to the reception. It was a short walk to the village hall where the reception was to be held and it was to the hall Aunty Violet had been seen to disappear into while some of the wedding photographs were being taken. No one thought much about it as they assumed she was seeing to something to do with the reception. Well, in a way she was, but not in the way that would have occurred to anyone at the time.

Penelope and Marcus, arm in arm, led the way along the path which led to the village hall. Marcus had almost forgotten the words Penelope said to him in the church and as they approached the double doors of the hall, he was more concerned about how much longer he would be expected to wear his little shorts. It’s fair to say that both Marcus and Scottie had been feeling the effects of the chilly autumn day on their bare legs. The wedding photography had taken a lot longer than Marcus had thought it would, so he was glad to get into the relative warmth of the village hall.

“Come with me Marcus!” Penelope said sharply. Marcus was taken by surprise and allowed himself to be pulled along by his bride by the hand. Penelope walked determinedly through the open hall where the guests were gathering, passing the tables set with a splendid spread of food, as she hauled her new husband.

 “Come along, Marcus… Hurry up!” Penelope urged as she ignored the murmuring wedding guests.

 “Back in a sec…” was all Marcus could think to say as he was dragged to the rear of the hall.

 Along a short corridor, next to the kitchen, was a small committee room. This room was Penelope’s destination. The committee room tables had been set back against the wall. A single chair had been placed in the centre of the room. On the chair seat was a table-tennis bat.

 Marcus tried his best to make light of the situation: “Are we going to have a game of ping-pong?”

 “What with only one bat? Marcus don’t be ridiculous… Penelope merely wants to have a word with you before the reception.” These words were spoken by Mrs Bloom, Penelope’s mother and now, of course, the mother-in-law of Marcus.

 Another voice was heard. This time from the doorway: “Can I watch please?” Emily asked politely.

 “Of course you can my dear,” Mrs Bloom replied, not even bothering to consult her daughter. She was certain Penelope wouldn’t mind in the least.

 “Leave the door open could you Emily? It’s a bit hot in here,” Penelope spoke as if to confirm her mother’s invitation to the young girl.

And likely to get hotter, Mrs Bloom thought as she watched as her daughter picked up the table-tennis bat and sat down on the chair. Penelope still had hold of Marcus, who was looking nervously at the bat. The penny had well and truly dropped that he was to be punished for his behaviour in the church.

“Please, darling… please… do you have to… here?” Marcus stuttered and glanced over his shoulder to where his mother-in-law and Emily were standing before starting to apologise to his new wife. But he was cut short by Penelope.

“Marcus you have been very, very naughty...” Penelope started to scold her husband and told him off for is failure to control  himself. She told him she expected him to behave and was disappointed he had not learnt self-discipline during his time as a junior officer in the Royal Navy. How could he show such a lack of respect on today of all days and in, of all places, the church on her wedding day?

Emily watched, determined to learn from Penelope. She saw how Penelope remained calm and focussed while reducing Marcus in status until he resembled nothing more than a little boy squirming in front of a grown-up… a little boy who knows he is to be punished and who can’t take his eyes off the instrument of his chastisement, the table-tennis bat held in Penelope’s hand.

At that moment Emily wanted nothing more than to grow up to be like Penelope. It must have been the look of awe on Emily’s face that prompted Mrs Bloom to whisper in her ear.

“Penelope used to be a sitter like you Emily,” she said, “She wouldn’t take any nonsense from the boys she sat for… always insisted on spanking privileges.”

By the time Penelope had finished scolding her husband, Marcus was a nervous wreck. He felt a complete fool standing in his absurdly short dress shorts. Once more he blamed and cursed his shipmates for getting him into this mess. But he also blamed himself for letting Penelope see the picture of himself dressed in shorts taken as he posed in front of the Rock of Gibraltar. Above all he blamed Penelope’s mother, Mrs Bloom, for making him promise to wear his frankly indecent dress shorts for the wedding.

“Well, Marcus… I think it’s time we did something about it, don’t you?” Penelope said as she rounded off her admonishment of Marcus.

“I, er… that is, um…” Marcus stuttered, unsure of how to respond.

“Marcus! Haven’t you been listening?! Do you think I’ve brought you in here for my own benefit?! Haven’t you been listening to a word I’ve said?!”

If anything was needed to stoke the flames of Penelope’s ire, it was the blank look on Marcus’ face. So calm and controlled a few moments ago, Penelope felt the time was right for action.

Emily gasped when she saw Penelope reach out to the tiny white shorts Marcus was wearing and her eyes went out on stalks as she watch these little shorts being tugged downwards. Emily gasped again when she saw Marcus’ penis bounce into view and point straight out towards Penelope.

“Marcus you are the most disgracefully behaved little boy that it has been my misfortune to meet,” Penelope said sternly, just as if he was one of the little boys she had ‘sat’ for when she was a few years younger. She ordered her husband to step out of his little shorts.

Emily watched as Marcus stood, holding his tiny shorts and waited as Penelope continued to berate him for his failure to control himself. Emily noted that Marcus made no attempt to ‘cover up’ in spite of her presence and that of his mother-in-law. Then Mrs Bloom whispered in Emily’s ear. Emily nodded and stepped forward.

“Can I help Marcus and look after his shorts for him, Penelope?” Emily asked.

“That’s very thoughtful of you Emily,” Penelope replied and instructed Marcus to hand over his shorts.

Marcus did as he was told, feeling quite overwhelmed by this turn of events. Emily glanced down between his legs and saw his penis wobble from side to side as he turned and handed over his little white wedding shorts.

“Should Marcus’ penis be pointing out like that?” Emily asked, making Marcus feel even more vulnerable than ever.

“No, it certainly should not be… Marcus needs to learn a little more self-control, Emily,” Penelope replied.

“That’s why I had to spank Scottie before your wedding. He was being naughty and making his willy-winky get all stiff in his nice costume. I didn’t think you’d like everyone in the church seeing Scottie with his willy poking out of his nice little shorts…” Emily explained.

“I’m very grateful,” Penelope said, “It was kind of you Emily and shows that you understand the need for decorum… unlike some,” she added looking Marcus straight in the eyes. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, Emily, but Marcus… at least Marcus’ bare bottom, has an appointment with this bat.”

Emily stepped to one side as Marcus made to climb over Penelope’s knees.

“One moment Penelope,” her mother called out, “Emily, dear, take this towel and put it over Penny’s lap… in case Marcus has an accident whilst he’s being spanked.”

Emily took the proffered towel and folded it in two over Penelope’s lap: “Is it because Marcus might ejaculate while you’re spanking him with the bat?” Emily asked.

Marcus couldn’t believe what he heard Emily say and spluttered something about how girls shouldn’t ask such things. His level of embarrassment went through the ceiling when his mother-in-law weighed in with her views on the subject of boys and their inherent lack of self-control. As if to confirm Mrs Bloom’s thesis, Marcus’ penis became more engorged than ever.

“There… what have I just said?!” Mrs Bloom announced, pointing at her son-in-law’s member, “Complete lack of self-control… It’s disgraceful!”

At this point in the proceedings all Marcus wanted to do was to get his punishment over and done with. Short of running from the room bereft of his dress shorts with his tumescent penis flopping about all over the place, Marcus had little choice but to stand as still as he could to await orders from Penelope. Stumbling bare from the waist down into a reception-room full of wedding-guests was not an option to be considered.

Outside in the hallway Marcus’ younger brothers, the twins Alan and Adrian, were huddled together listening. When they realised what was happening the two boys, noiselessly as they could manage, tiptoed into a storage cupboard from where they could hear events unfold. Gleefully they listened…

“No wonder he wouldn’t tell us what Penny said to him…” Adrian said.

“He’s got a hard-on…” Alan deduced from what he heard being said in the next room.

“We told him to have a wank… didn’t we tell him?” Adrian observed.

“We did, Adrian… we told him… it’s his own fault…”

“He should have had a wank…”

“Now he’s going to get spanked…”

“Spanked for not having a wank… that’s a turn up,” the boys laughed.

“Did you hear what Emily said about Marcus losing it?”

“I dunno about Marcus losing it…” Adrian sniggered as he pushed his hand through the hole in his trouser pocket.

“You going to…?” Alan asked as he too sought the hole in his own trouser pocket.

“Have a wank? Sure… why not?”

“Did you hear that? Sounds like it’s started… ouch! That must have really stung.”

“Wait ‘til I get hold of my nob, can’t you?” Adrian hissed, his words directed towards events unfolding in the next room.

“Shhh… keep your voice down… wow... that was loud…” Alan gasped when he heard Penelope’s bat slam into Marcus’ defenceless bare bottom. The response from Marcus was even louder.

As his twin brothers settled into their wanks, Marcus struggled unsuccessfully to control himself as the bat slammed down on his bottom. He was trying his best not to cry out, but each thwack of the bat felt worse than its predecessor. Marcus was in floods of tears as he started to plead with Penelope to stop spanking him; that he wouldn’t do it again; that… that it was hurting!! But within seconds his pleading had turned to wailing, unintelligible noise as the stinging sensation building in his bottom became unbearable. Marcus’ legs flailed and he writhed over Penelope’s lap. As his bottom grew redder, Marcus clenched his cheeks and bucked in a futile effort to ease the torrent of spanks.

Penelope was more than a match for Marcus and knew just how to control a wriggling naughty boy. As an experienced ‘sitter’ Penelope was well versed in all the tactics boys employed to try and stop their spankings. She was equally skilled in making sure her discipline was administered thoroughly and to her satisfaction. She was not going to let Marcus up until she was finished with him.

Emily stood and watched in complete awe of Penelope, now even more determined to emulate her.

Penelope’s mother simply looked proudly at her daughter as Marcus bucked and wailed with tears streaming down his face. ‘That’ll teach him to control himself,’ she thought as she watched Marcus’ bare bottom cheeks clenching and unclenching as they turned bright red.

Meanwhile Marcus’ brothers were enjoying every second of their older brother’s misfortune. Any pretence of ‘brotherly love’ went out of the window as they conducted a sort of gloating running commentary, mixing their views on the ‘state of play’ next door along with an account of the impending climax of their individual masturbatory exploits, until Adrian gasped that he could hold out no longer. Alan’s fist stalled as he watched his twin brother’s hand jerk the final few frantic rubs inside his underpants signalling the end of his wank. Within seconds of Alan resuming his wank, he announced that he too was about to cum.

As the boys relaxed and got their breath back, the spanking of their brother continued in the room next door. Alan and Adrian had both had their customary morning wanks, so neither boy had produced much ejaculate. They knew that a furtive wank during the day was easily contained within the confines of their schoolboy underpants.

Meanwhile, in the main part of the hall where the reception was being held, guests mingled, nibbled on dainty comestibles and listened. They listened because they couldn’t avoid hearing the sound of the newlyweds having a ‘discussion’. What words were exchanged between the wedding guests were words of approval.

As Aunt Violet was heard to comment: “Start as you mean to go on, I say…”

“Penelope’s a spirited girl… I’ve no doubt she’ll keep her new husband in his place, Violet,” her friend concurred.



Story Index

Robin: Part 8

Robin and Hal had plenty of time to consider their predicament as they stood, both totally nude, in Hal’s mother’s kitchen. Heather and Shirley discussed what they’d just witnessed and wondered if any of their friends had ever watched a boy being masturbated. For her part Carol got on with clearing things away while the boys waited to see what was in store for them.

The day’s events had certainly revolved around Robin and there was no doubt it was entirely due to his doomed attempt to outwit his mother in the matter of play-clothes. Foolishly Robin had thought that by ‘forgetting’ to pack clothes, clothes that he was ever more embarrassed to be seen wearing, his mother might, since they were on holiday, consent to buy something Robin considered a little more suitable for a boy his age. How on earth Robin expected this to happen he couldn’t say, after all it’s not in a boy’s nature to think these things through. Robin just thought… no, let’s be honest, Robin didn’t think.

So, as he stood in the nude waiting to see what Veronica was going to bring from her mother’s shop, Robin had plenty of time to reflect that perhaps his play-clothes weren’t that bad after all. He thought of the shortalls which had been his everyday play-clothes for as long as he could remember. And now, even though Robin was fourteen years old, mum still insisted on him wearing his childish shortalls when he was sent out to play.

Or there was the bibbed dungaree shorts that no boy over the age of about seven would have been seen dead in. The dungaree straps were always adjusted to pull the shorts high up and between Robin’s buttocks leaving the entire length of his legs quite bare and a few good inches of his bottom too!

Mum was always on the lookout for a bargain and this had also led to even more inappropriate play-clothes purchases for Robin. When she saw some stretchy nylon shorts in an end-of-line sale at Woolworth’s, mum snapped up half a dozen pairs for her son. Designed for boys up to the age of eleven at most, the brightly coloured shorts were tight as a drum when worn by fourteen year old Robin. With a fully elasticated waist, the ‘pull-up’ style nylon shorts had no inner lining and left Robin feeling very vulnerable indeed.

Other boys who lived in the neighbourhood wore jeans and T-shirts, but not Robin. Other boys wore trainers, but not Robin who wore sandals when playing. Sometimes an old pair of school sandals, but often or not it was a pair of plastic sandals such as you would see being worn by young children and infants at play on a beach.

It was not unusual for Robin to be sent out without a singlet. Robin didn’t have any ‘proper’ T-shirts to wear, although one of his aunts did insist on buying him T-shirts (and other clothing) for birthdays and at Christmas which had been printed with the most juvenile images imaginable. Robin well remembered the birthday present from Aunty Georgina he got when he was twelve. Even Robin’s mum thought aunty’s present a little inappropriate… which was saying something. Although mummy didn’t actually say anything to her sister Georgina for fear of seeming rude or ungrateful. Rudeness was something mummy simply would not tolerate and of course she was obliged to set an example in front of Robin.

“But, mummy… they’re… My Little Pony...” Robin whimpered as he held up the T-shirts printed in the vividly coloured, horribly cute pony characters. Underneath each pony character were the words ‘I’m Special!’ It was enough to make any boy want to weep…

“Oh, but that is kind of you Georgina…” mummy gushed, “Say ‘thank you’ to Aunty Georgina, Robin.”

“But… but… mummy…”

“Robin I asked you to say ‘thank you’ to Aunty Georgina… or would you prefer a spanked bottom and an early bedtime for your birthday?”

“No, mummy…” Robin replied.

“Then let me hear you say ‘thank you’ to your Aunty Georgina.”

If experience had taught Robin anything, it was that a spanked bottom from mummy was at all costs to be avoided and if the price to pay was the humiliation of thanking his aunt for the abominable My Little Pony T-shirts, then so be it. Robin, with all the sincerity he could muster, thanked his aunt and secretly prayed that he would never have to wear one of the T-shirts in public… or anywhere else for that matter.




Back at Lockton on holiday with mummy and staying at Aunty Daisy’s house, Robin stood with head bowed. Standing next to Robin was his new friend Hal who was also staring glumly at the floor. Things hadn’t gone too well for the two boys and there didn’t seem to be much hope of any improvement.

“... well, I think it’s the least you two can do,” Robin’s mum said.

“But, mummy…” Robin pleaded, “It’s not fair…”

“It wasn’t Robin’s fault he fell into the nettles and got tangled up in the brambles…” Hal offered.

“That’s got nothing to do with it,” mum countered, “You were very fortunate Carol and the Girl Guides were able to administer First Aid to Robin. Heaven knows what might have happened if they hadn’t been… those scratches might easily have become infected and who knows what that could have led to…” mum paused, but only to gain breath. She continued, “Veronica has been more than helpful as well. I think what she and Carol have suggested is the least you boys can do to thank them for all they’ve done…”

Robin and Hal glanced at each other. They knew mum didn’t know the half of it… and they weren’t about to tell her how Hal had been caught masturbating by his sister Carol and how they’d both been made to cum in front of the girls, Heather and Shirley. No, the boys knew it would be foolish to risk Robin’s mum, or Hal’s for that matter, finding out all the details.

Veronica, who was standing next to Robin’s mum, smiled at the boys. She knew perfectly well what was going through their minds. Working in her mother’s shop, ‘Lockton Boys’ Outfitters’, had given her an unrivalled insight into what she called ‘Boy Psychology’.

“... a few hours helping out at Veronica’s mother’s shop won’t hurt you,” mum continued.

“But…” Robin whined.

“That’s enough!” mum snapped at Robin, “I don’t think I’ve ever met two such ungrateful boys in my life,” she added turning to Veronica.

Hal and Robin fumed. Why, when they were having such a great time together, did events take a turn for the worse. Okay, Robin’s tumble into the nettles had been a blow, but what transpired in Hal’s mum’s kitchen  had been humiliating in the extreme. Both boys had ended up in the nude in front of not only Hal’s sister Carol, but two Girl Guides Heather and Shirley. And if that wasn’t bad enough they were also seen by Veronica who was at that moment thinking of her earlier conversation with her mother:

“Do you remember those Red Indian outfits you got in last year, mummy?” she had asked, her voice full of enthusiasm, “I was thinking that we could dress Leslie in one and have a sort of themed event... I know a couple of other boys who might like to help. We could dress the boys in Red Indian outfits as well and they could stand outside to invite customers inside the shop… I bet they would attract lots of attention…”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves...” Veronica’s mother replied, “Besides those Red Indian outfits are very skimpy and I’m not sure if they wouldn’t be a little too revealing if Leslie was to wear one. They’re really meant to be worn by much younger boys, Veronica, much younger boys.”

Quite unaware of what was going through Veronica’s mind, Robin and Hal found themselves packed off to ‘Lockton Boys’ Outfitters’ dreading what would befall them at the hands of Veronica and her mum, Mrs Cathcart.

Word had got around of how Leslie was ‘persuaded’ to do some impromptu modeling and ended up in the shop-window harnessed and strapped into a highchair. With his bare legs left dangling, a hinged tray had been lowered over his head and from the backroom a brimming bowlful of utterly revolting, cold tapioca had been placed before him.

“It adds authenticity to the display,” Mrs Cathcart had explained.

Leslie, blinkered by a frilly bonnet, looked down at the cold tapioca, now more worried about what was in the bowl in front of him than who might be watching through the shop window. Like a lot of boys Leslie was nauseated by milk-puddings and tapioca in particular. In short, he hated the stuff almost as much as the spoonfuls of castor oil which were another regular feature of his life.

Before Leslie could be fed the tapioca a bib had to be placed around his neck to protect his lemon-yellow shortie pyjamas. Mrs Cathcart thought for a few moments whether to use a towelling bib, or a moulded plastic dribble-bib. Both bibs would be extremely humiliating, Mrs Cathcart realised, but needs must and the plastic bib with its food catcher would help to keep Leslie’s pyjamas nice and clean.

“Do you think Mrs Cathcart is going to feed him?” asked one of the ladies who were standing outside the shop window.

“He can’t very well feed himself now that Mrs Cathcart has tied those mittens onto his hands, Mildred,” the other lady replied and then leant forward to whisper in her friend’s ear, “They stop boys playing with their little willies at bedtime.”
Inside the window Leslie stared, transfixed by the wipe-clean plastic feeding-spoon, full to the brim with the noxious milk pudding, as it was brought closer and closer to his mouth.

“Come along, Leslie… open your mouth for the aeroplane,” Mrs Cathcart said as she moved the spoon, laden with cold tapioca, from side to side in front of Leslie, “Just a couple of big mouthfuls to make mummy happy…”

Leslie’s mouth stayed resolutely shut.

Outside the ladies, and one or two other passers-by, watched to see what Mrs Cathcart would do to overcome Leslie’s obstinacy. They had enough experience of recalcitrant little boys to know what was likely to happen next. They were perfectly correct and watched approvingly as Mrs Cathcart moved to one side of the high-chair upon which Leslie was perched. Deftly she reached down and pinched Leslie’s nose, squeezing it tight until Leslie had no choice but to open his mouth for air. The spoonful was thrust into Leslie’s open mouth and before he realised what was happening Mrs Cathcart moved her hands to clamp Leslie’s mouth shut.

Leslie struggled, but was in the end forced to swallow the cold, slimy milk pudding. He choked and spluttered as Mrs Cathcart made him face three more spoonfuls of the hated tapioca before Mrs Cathcart conceded that her efforts were having diminishing returns. To the ladies outside watching, it seemed as if more milk pudding had landed in the dribble-bib than had made its way to Leslie’s tummy. Nevertheless Mrs Cathcart appeared pleased with what she’d achieved as Leslie burped and a few more bubbles of cold pudding dribbled down his chin. Mrs Cathcart made no attempt to clean Leslie’s face since she thought the messy look of the boy added veracity to the display. Both bowl and spoon were left in front of Leslie on the hinged tray and Mrs Cathcart promised Leslie that if he was a good boy he could have some more of the milk pudding later.



It was with the knowledge of what had happened to Leslie that Robin and Hal arrived at ‘Lockton Boys’ Outfitters’. Needless to say both boys were extremely nervous. They hated milk puddings just as much as Leslie, so it was to the boys’ relief they could see no sign of the offending comestible. But their jaws dropped when they saw Leslie… well not so much Leslie, but what he was wearing.

Leslie had arrived at Mrs Cathcart’s shop a little earlier and had already changed… or more accurately been changed into one of the play outfits Veronica thought could be used to help attract customers into her mother’s shop.

Hal spoke first: “You’re not going to make us put one of those on…” He was horrified.

“Not exactly, Harold,” Veronica replied, “Leslie’s a little older than you and Robin, so the one he’s wearing is that much larger than the one’s you’ll be…”

“But his is tiny!!” Hal blurted out, “You… you can see his balls!”

Robin didn’t know what to say. Hal was right though, you could just about see Leslie’s balls hanging below the front flap of the tiniest Red Indian costume Robin had ever seen. And it didn’t take a genius to work out that if Leslie’s outfit was ‘much larger’ than the one’s he and Hal would be wearing… why there’d be hardly anything to cover their boy-bits.

“Your costumes are over here,” Veronica said as she directed the boys to a couple of what looked to them like postage-stamp sized flaps of buckskin laid out on the counter, together with moccasins, headbands, a couple of toy tomahawks and set of bow and rubber-tipped arrows.

The boys’ eyes popped out on stalks. “I’m not wearing that…” Hal said firmly.

“Whyever not?”

Hal turned round and came face to face with Mrs Cathcart whose voice it was. She continued: “I have spoken to both your mothers and they have given their full consent to you boys helping me. Now Veronica has come up with a splendid idea to promote my shop by handing out some leaflets. These leaflets explain that I not only stock school uniforms and other essential clothing for boys, but also play-costumes and outfits such as the ones you’ll be wearing… now that’s not going to be too difficult for you, is it?”

Robin and Hal were too stunned to think of anything to say. Leslie, they could see, had already been ‘persuaded’ into his outfit, so a precedent had unfortunately been set. What the boys hadn’t seen were the tears and tantrums of the fifteen year old Leslie as he was undressed and fitted with his Red Indian costume.

Mrs Darnley, after the ‘success’ of Leslie’s assistance as a ‘living mannequin’ in the shop window strapped into a highchair, had been only too pleased to allow her son to help Mrs Cathcart and Veronica hand out leaflets which promoted ‘Lockton Boys’ Outfitters’ in the town centre. In Mrs Darnley’s mind the more boys who went to be dressed properly at Mrs Cathcart’s the better. Leslie had been taken to the outfitter’s and, under his mother’s watchful gaze, helped to undress by Veronica.

As before there was no consideration given to Leslie’s modesty and he soon found himself standing bare-nude next to the shop counter waiting while Veronica and Mrs Cathcart decided which size Red Indian costume he should wear. Various sizes were considered, held up to the nude boy and then debated with Leslie’s mother. Veronica held a tape-measure up to Leslie and showed how Leslie’s penis wasn’t going to show beneath the small front flap she had selected. The whole process seemed to take ages.

“Please, mummy,” Leslie spoke, “Can’t I wear something with the outfit… some underpants, or.. or a.. a jockstrap… or something…”

“Leslie,” his mother replied sternly, “You know very well that I do not approve of boys your age wearing those… ahem, athletic supports...” she said, referring to her son’s suggestion of a jockstrap to wear.

“... besides, Leslie… who’s ever heard of a Red Indian wearing underpants…” Veronica chipped in.

The ladies laughed at Leslie’s absurd suggestion and it was at this point the tears and tantrums started. Leslie begged not to be sent out in a Red Indian costume where everyone would see him.

“... but that’s the whole point, Leslie,” Mrs Cathcart told him, “It’s Veronica’s idea so that you will stand out and people will see you and take a leaflet…”

“Mrs Cathcart is right, Leslie,” his mother snapped, “And I don’t want to hear another word out of you…”

Veronica took a tissue and wiped Leslie’s eyes: “There, there, Leslie… this isn’t the way Red Indians behave… now is it,” Veronica said as if she was talking to an eight year old, “... they’re not called Indian Braves for nothing are they?”

Leslie shook his head slowly from side-to-side: “No, miss…”

“Good… now let’s get you into your costume… the other boys will be here shortly,” Veronica said and picked up the Red Indian outfit from the counter. Leslie’s outfit consisted of two flaps of unbleached calico that had been sewn with coloured beads. The beads formed decorative, abstract patterns and added weight to the flimsy material, not that this was of much comfort to the wearer. Attached to the top side of each flap was a cord to enable the flaps to be tied together over the boy’s hips.

Veronica held the flaps in place while her mother tied them together. Veronica then carefully adjusted the flaps and it became apparent just how little coverage the Red Indian outfit afforded the wearer. The front flap was a mere four inches wide and little more than five inches deep. Correctly positioned so as to cover Leslie’s genitals, the top edge of the front flap rested on the base of his penis, so that it was perfectly clear he had yet to sprout any pubic hair. It took all of Veronica’s concentration to ensure, from the front at least, that Leslie’s penis was not visible, but try as she might, Veronica could quite cover Leslie’s well-developed ball-sac with the small front flap. Veronica wasn’t too concerned as she knew enough about the anatomy of teenage boys to know that it was more than likely Leslie’s scrotal sac would shrink and rise once outside where the air was cooler.

The rear flap covered even less. The flap was considerably narrower than that at the front and so just covered Leslie’s intergluteal cleft. Leslie possessed a particularly pert bottom and so most of the rear flap was left hanging freely from his curvaceous globes.

Mrs Darnley and Mrs Cathcart spent a few minutes discussing the coverage of the costume and in the end decided it perfectly adequate. Leslie would just have to be careful, that’s all.

As Veronica put the finishing touches to Leslie’s Red Indian costume putting on his headband, arm and legs bands, his mother and Mrs Cathcart took a closer look at the beadwork on the front and rear flaps.

“This outfit is really far to good for Leslie to play in,” Mrs Darnley said as she held up the front flap, not bothered in the slightest that her son’s genitals were exposed, “The beadwork is wonderfully done… and this edging is of a very high quality..”

“Thank you, Mrs Darnley,” Mrs Cathcart replied, “but I can assure you the Red Indian costume is designed and made for boys to play in and we do everything we can to make it as authentic as possible… it’s very hard wearing, so you should have no hesitation in letting Leslie wear it when he is allowed to play outside.”

Veronica stepped back to admire her work. She was pleased with what she saw: “What do you think, mum? When people see Leslie dressed in his Red Indian outfit they’re bound to want to come and take a leaflet to see where they can buy a costume like the one he’s wearing...”

“I hope you’re right, Veronica,” Mrs Cathcart replied, “But even if they don’t, it’ll be a novelty to see a party of Redskins in the town square!”

Leslie’s red face showed how he felt about being part of the forthcoming ‘Red Indian Party’.

It was at this moment that Hal and Robin arrived at Mrs Cathcart’s shop. As has already been related, they were shocked to see Leslie dressed in the Red Indian outfit that covered so little of his otherwise nude body. But what Hal and Robin didn’t realise was that, being a year younger than Leslie, their costumes were even briefer!

It wasn’t until they saw Veronica holding up their outfits the boys noticed something different about them… something was missing.

“Just a minute,” Hal said, “There’s only one flap each!”

“There should be two flaps!” Robin spluttered.

“Yes… one for the front and one for… for... to cover your bum!” Hal exclaimed.

“The word you’re looking for is ‘bottom’, Harold,” Mrs Cathcart said somewhat primly, “... and if I hear any more language like that in my shop I’ll see to it that particular part of your anatomy gets sent a message with the aid of my hairbrush…”

“A spanking on your bare bottom, Harold,” Veronica said, making it plan to the boys what her mother meant.

“But… but, why aren’t there two flaps? There should be two flaps for each of us… like Leslie,” Robin said, repeating himself.

“That’s because you’ll both be dressed as ‘Tenderfoots’...” Veronica started to explain.

“What do you mean?” asked Hal.

“In olden days all Red Indian tribes had young Redskins called ‘Tenderfoots’,” Veronica continued, “These were young boys about your age… most of the time they ran about without any flaps at all… in the nude in other words…”

Robin and Hal were astonished and stood with their mouths agape, until Hal managed to gasp: “What! Nothing at all… completely nude?!!”

“That’s right, completely bare,” Veronica confirmed and carried on with her explanation, “But when they were old enough and had been initiated, the Tenderfoot Indians were allowed to wear a flap at the front when they joined their elders on expeditions…”

“Wow!” was all that Robin could manage to say as Mrs Cathcart and Mrs Darnley exchanged glances that revealed to each other how seriously they took Veronica’s explanation of the Red Indian way of life.

“You mean we’ve got to wear what the tenderfoots wore,” Hal said as he tried to grasp the situation, “... just the flap at the front, nothing at the back?”

“Yes, Harold, that’s correct,” Veronica conformed, “Now it’s about time you two boys got undressed and into your tenderfoot outfits…”

“I don’t want any fuss from you boys,” Mrs Cathcart said to Robin and Hal, “... or your mothers will hear from me straightaway… do we understand each other?”

The boys nodded and chorused: “Yes, Mrs Cathcart.”

“Oh… there was something else,” Veronica said and rather theatrically put a finger to her lips, “What was it? Let me see… oh yes, Carol told me to tell you that Heather, Shirley and she would be dressing up too and coming along to help you boys…”

“Dressing up?” Hal asked cautiously, “Dressing up… as what?”

“Why Carol said they’d all be dressing up as Red Indians as well…”

“WHAT!!” Hal and Robin gasped.

Leslie too, couldn’t believe their luck. His Red Indian outfit might be dead embarrassing, but the opportunity to see Carol wearing something similar made it seem almost worth his humiliation. Leslie fancied Carol something rotten and she was the object of many of his fantasies. The idea that he would soon be seeing her in a skimpy Red Indian costume, resembling his own, caused a distinct movement of his front flap.

“I thought your sister might have told you, Harold,” Veronica said.

“Carol doesn’t tell me anything,” Hal protested.

“Oh well… perhaps she wanted it to be a surprise,” Veronica replied, “Now, come along, we’ve wasted enough time…”

The boys got undressed and handed their clothes over to Veronica and her mother for safekeeping behind the counter. The two boys, now nude, stood and waited for Veronica to help them with their Red Indian outfits. With just one flap to each boy it made it easier for Veronica to tie them in place. The special tenderfoot flaps were narrower then the one Leslie was wearing, but they were noticeably longer. At first Robin thought his costume was ‘pretty cool’, until Hal pointed out the narrowness of their flaps… their only flaps, meant that viewed from the side it was ‘dead easy’ to see their nobs.

“Doesn’t it feel weird without anything covering your bottom?” Hal asked Robin.

Robin had to admit the lack of a rear flap did indeed feel strange, but he thought to himself that it was a small price to pay if he was in with a chance of seeing Hal’s sister dressed in a similar Red Indian costume.

“Don’t forget your tomahawks boys,” Mrs Cathcart said and handed Hal and Robin rubber tomahawk toys.

“How come Leslie hasn’t got a tomahawk?” Hal asked, “Why can’t we have bows and arrows?”

Robin giggled and whispered into Hal’s ear: “It’s because he’s already got a big chopper…” and glanced meaningfully at Leslie’s front flap, behind which his penis was very obviously stirring. Hal looked at Leslie and started giggling as well.

“What are you boys laughing at?” Mrs Cathcart asked.

“Nothing…” Robin answered as he and Hal fought to stop themselves from giggling any further.

Veronica put feathers in the boys’ headbands and they were all ready for the walk into town.

“Do you think they’ll be alright?” Mrs Darnley asked Mrs Cathcart as she watched her son Leslie and the bare bottoms of Robin and Hal as they left the shop and stepped out into the street.

“Don’t worry, Veronica knows what she’s doing,” Mrs Cathcart replied, “She’ll look after the boys.”

“Is it true what she said about Carol and the girls? Dressed as Red Indians, I mean.” Mrs Darnley asked.

“I believe so,” Mrs Cathcart answered, “But… well, let’s just say the boys are going to get a bit of a surprise with they see how squaws were dressed …”


Story Index