The Fourth Letter to David

Dearest David,

It’s been a few weeks since I last wrote to you. I expect you’ve been hoping that I’d forgotten all about what happened the day Suzy and I saw you being punished by your mother. Well I know for a fact that you’ve been on tenterhooks, David, waiting to see whether the postman had brought you another letter, a letter from me to remind you of what happened. Your mother told me how every morning before you set off for school, you would wait nervously, straining to hear the footfall of the postman outside and how pale you went when letters tumbled through the letterbox. I can only imagine how you must be trembling as you read this, but as I explained at the outset these letters are intended to be a record of what happened as well as a reminder of what to expect when you are naughty.

Suzy couldn’t stop talking about how your feet got tangled up in your underpants and how you fell backwards onto the floor that afternoon. You know what happened next, don’t you David… something that Suzy tells me she will never, ever forget. I believe some boys call what happened ‘losing it’. Well there’s no doubt you ‘lost it’ completely and ejaculated right there in front of your mother, Suzy and me. Do you know what went through my mind as we watched you spray ejaculate all over yourself, David? It was that I couldn’t help but wonder why there was such a copious amount of fluid. It seemed as though that penis of yours would never stop spurting. So Suzy and I spoke to a friend of mine and we told her precisely what had happened. My friend, a nurse, was very interested in our account and she explained that when a boy has not ‘relieved’ himself for a while, the build up of ejaculate can be quite considerable. My curiosity, and Suzy’s, was aroused and we wondered why a boy of sixteen like you, David, would allow himself to get into such a state. Yes, you see although Suzy is two years younger than you, she is much more mature than you, David and quite old enough to know all about what boys get up to, so you can be sure she knows exactly what I know.

I expect you are reading this and wondering where all this is leading… although I’m sure you already know the answer. It only took a little chat with your mother for me to find out that you have been forbidden to masturbate. Isn’t that the fact of the matter, David? And isn’t that why you made such a complete spectacle of yourself when you shot such a lot of ejaculate over yourself that afternoon in front of us all?

Suzy, who was with me when I talked to your mother, wanted to know more about why you had been told you were not to masturbate, but unfortunately we didn’t have the time as the café was very busy. Although the waitress said we could stay and chat for as long as we liked, we felt it was only fair to give up our table. As we left the ladies at the table next to us offered a few words of encouragement to your mother. They asked how old you were, David and said what a very good idea it was to stop you playing with your penis and that it would teach you self discipline. One day, they said, you’d be grateful to your mother for looking after your moral welfare. I think that was nice of them, don’t you?

I’ve strayed a little from the subject in hand, that is to say what happened on the afternoon I called on your mother only to find that you were due to be punished. However, it is my intention to return at some point to the matters raised in the preceding paragraphs.

If you would care to consult my last letter you will note that it finished at the point at which you were left sprawled out on your mother’s front room carpet and covered with your own boy’s sperm. I’m sure you remember how Suzy squealed when she saw what you were doing and told you what a disgusting little boy you were. I wonder what it felt like for you to be told off by a girl of fourteen? You were hardly in a position to argue, knowing that to do so would only risk making your punishment that much worse. That being the case you were forced to listen in silence as Suzy ticked you off for being such a naughty boy.

Do you remember what happened next, David? I rather fancy you do, because your mother announced that she would not have you over her lap for a spanking given the state you were in… not until you’d been cleaned up. That was when Suzy volunteered to help.

“If you’re absolutely sure, Suzy,” I said and a towel and damp flannel were fetched from the kitchen.

How you complained and grumbled, David when Suzy told you to stand up so that she could set about cleaning the boy’s sperm from your body. You will recall that your school vest was still scrunched up about your armpits and your little white schoolboy underpants were still tangled around your ankles. Suzy almost lost patience with you because you were making such a fuss and she accused you of deliberately dragging things out... correctly in my view. I thought for a moment your mother was about to say something to you as well, but she was so clearly impressed at the way Suzy had you under control that she kept quiet and let Suzy get on with it.

Well you eventually managed to stand up straight and we all saw the sticky mess you’d made as it began to slither down over your chest, arms and legs. Suzy used a towel to clean up your ejaculate and once she’d wiped your arms clean she made you put your hands on your head like the naughty little schoolboy you were.

I must say how impressed both your mother and I were as we watched Suzy clean you up of every last drop of your mess. Suzy does do some babysitting and while she wiped you down, she told us how one or two of the boys she sits for have had similar ‘accidents’ when she was bathing them.

Now then, David, what happened after Suzy got you cleaned up? Well it was time for mummy to take you over her knee for a spanking, wasn’t it? But I’m sure you remember, don’t you? In fact I’m inclined to wonder if you are ever likely to forget!

I’d noticed the old piano stool that had been placed against one of the walls of the front-room, but I’d not understood its significance and why you kept glancing in its direction. Imagine my surprise when it became clear that Suzy knew exactly the purpose to which it was used. Suzy didn’t need to be asked twice by your mother to help her move it into the middle of the room. I was still in the dark when Suzy politely told your mother that she would fetch another towel, ‘in case David has another accident’. Then it became clear when your mother sat down on the stool and Suzy laid a fresh towel over her lap, that you were to be bent over mummy’s lap for a spanking. Before this could happen you had to shuffle across the room from where you’d been standing, as those ridiculous junior schoolboy underpants were still tangled up around your ankles. Your mother looked very serious as she watched you, but Suzy and I couldn’t help but smile and giggle as you waddled over to your mummy taking tiny steps to walk the few feet. Once again we were treated to the comical sight of your penis as it waggled and jiggled about, bouncing off your testicles, until you reached the side of your mother.

I was delighted when Suzy stepped up and stood in front of your mother. Suzy told her how you had been a very naughty little boy and said that you, David, should also be punished for losing control and squirting boy-stuff all over himself. He should be made to realise that ejaculating like that was not ‘clever’ or ‘grown-up’, it was childish and very silly. That sort of behaviour just made work for others.

It was easy to see from the expression on your face that the way Suzy spoke and treated you, just as if you were a little boy, was having the desired effect and when it was time to lean forward over mummy’s lap, I could swear you were already on the verge of tears.

The piano stool was obviously chosen because to position your bottom correctly meant that you were forced up onto tiptoes and had to brace yourself with the palms of your hands flat on the carpet. Mummy made sure you were held securely by leaning forward slightly and wrapping her arm around your middle so that when the spanking started no amount of wriggling would dodge the onslaught of smacks.

Suzy stayed standing in front of you and your mother, getting a ringside view of your spanking, David. Whatever you thought of this arrangement probably didn’t last very long, since you were soon begging and pleading for mummy to stop the spanking. When your legs started kicking and much to everyone’s amusement, your little white schoolboy underpants flew off your feet and were launched across the room. It was almost as if you were glad to be rid of them, although I don’t think you even knew it had happened, because at that point Suzy turned to me: “Mummy, David’s crying and he’s only had a few spanks…”

Suzy bent down to look at your face: “Mummy, David’s nose is running… should I wipe it for him?”

“No, dear… better leave it until David’s mummy has finished his spanking,” I said.

Then Suzy looked up at me again and above all the noise you were making, said: “What a cry-baby… Isn’t David just a big cry-baby, mummy?”

I had to agree with Suzy, because I find it hard to believe any self-respecting sixteen year old boy would make such a noise and start crying during a hand-spanking from his mummy.

Then your mummy gave you another surprise, didn’t she, David?

“Would you like to give David’s bottom some smack’s, Suzy,” she asked my daughter.

Suzy turned to me, her eyes wide with excitement, “Can I mummy? Please mummy...”

“Of course you can, dear… to make up for all that boy-mess he made and you cleaned up.”

So Suzy gave you some hand-spanks on your bare bottom, David, but after a while and despite your wriggling, mummy had something to say:

“Oh, that’s no good…” she said, “Suzy, it’s not your fault, but your spanks simply aren’t getting through to David. You’re going to need some assistance from my little helper if David is going to feel the benefit of your spanks… I think it’s time David took us up to his bedroom and showed us what’s hanging behind his bedroom door…”

You were quite put out by this, David and started making an awful fuss:

“No, mummy! Please… please don’t…” You begged and pleaded so much that I was curious to know what it was you were so ashamed of, but mummy wasn’t listening and simply ordered you up from her lap. Your bottom was quite red after mummy’s spanking, but you weren’t allowed to rub it, were you? No, you were told to put your hands straight back behind your head.

I must say it was quite a sight to see you leading the way upstairs to your bedroom, David. You were almost completely bare-nude, weren’t you? Just your white school vest left on after you’d kicked off your schoolboy underpants during your spanking. But that vest didn’t cover much, did it, David, because it was still rucked up, right up under your armpits. You must have felt very nervous as you walked out into the hallway, no doubt wondering if anyone could see you through the hall window or the front door. Then it was upstairs and along the landing to your bedroom.

I’d not been inside your bedroom before, David, and I have to say it was quite a surprise. Could this be David’s bedroom, I thought. David is sixteen, I told myself, but this looks like the bedroom of… of… why, of course, it’s what I was saying in my first letter to you, David and no wonder, because this looked just like the bedroom of a twelve year old! There on the shelves were the toys of a little boy; toy cars and toy soldiers; cap guns and bows and arrows. I looked down at your little bed and the candlewick bedspread. Then I turned around to see what it was that you were so ashamed of hanging on the back of your bedroom door.

“Oh, mummy!” Suzy said excitedly, “Mummy… it’s a strap!! A strap for naughty boys…”

I didn’t think you could possibly blush any more redder than you already were… but you managed it, David and when your mummy ordered you to take the strap from its hook and show it to Suzy and me, I thought you would faint from embarrassment. And why was that? It was because of what was printed on the leather strap, wasn’t it?

“Oh, mummy! Look there’s something written on the strap!” Suzy said breathlessly as we both examined the short leather discipline strap.

“Perhaps David would like to tell us what is says on the strap,” your mother said from the doorway.

You did look very sheepish, David, but you were able to tell us what what printed on the leather. No doubt as the strap was kept hanging on your bedroom door, it was easy for you to memorise the words.

“It says ‘David’s discipline strap’...”

“Is that all?” your mummy asked.

“No, mummy… on the other side it says ‘For use on David’s BARE bottom’.”

Sure enough when Suzy turned over the supple leather strap there, imprinted on the leather, were the words that gave instructions for the use of the strap.

“You better give the discipline strap back to David,” I said to Suzy, “He can carry it back downstairs and his mummy can show you how to use it.”

I’m going to pause at this point as I’m sure it will take another full letter to do justice to what happened when we all returned to the front-room.

Affectionately yours,

Stephanie & Suzy



[Earlier 'Letters to David' are available via The Story Index]

 

Robin: Part 6

Veronica walked briskly along Lockton High Street in the direction of her mother’s shop.  There was a definite spring in her step as she thought about the two boys, Robin and Harold, she had left at her friend Carol’s house. Veronica smiled as she marvelled at the way Carol had managed to engineer events so the boys were left standing fully nude in front of the two young Girl Guides, Heather and Shirley. But it has to be said that both Veronica and Carol usually succeeded in making the most of their opportunities to embarrass boys.

The biggest reward Veronica had in return for helping out at her mother’s shop, ‘Lockton Boys’ Outfitters’, was that she was blest with ample opportunities for seeing red-faced boys. Young and not-so-young boys were often scolded by their mothers right in front of her for misbehaving or making a fuss when being fitted for a new school uniform, play-clothes, PE kit, or measured for some nice new cosy boy’s pyjamas.

Veronica’s mother always insisted boys be measured up and fitted properly with whatever new item of apparel that had been requested by her customers. Her professional pride demanded this and her reputation was founded on such high standards. This could prove highly embarrassing for a boy, whether old or young, first former or sixth former, or indeed a school-leaver who was still living at home and thus expected to abide by his mother’s rules.

There was a small fitting-room in the shop, but it was never used. If the curious customer ever peeked behind the thin curtain they would see the fitting-room had long been given over to storage. The lack of a fitting-room hardly mattered though, since it was after all only boys who might be glimpsed in the shop in a state of partial, or even full undress, and nobody minded about that… except the boys!

Veronica turned a corner just in time to see Mrs Darnley walking towards her from the other end of the street. Veronica was only a few steps away from her mum’s shop, whereas Mrs Darnley was three or four doors away. But it was clear that she too was headed for the boys’ outfitters as she was holding the hand of her young son, Leslie. Leslie did not look at all happy and Veronica guessed that Mrs Darnley might already have had ‘words’ with her son. As they drew closer Veronica could see the tell-tale signs of redness around Leslie’s eyes and a quick glance downwards told the rest of the story. There were a couple of red smack-marks just visible at the top of Leslie’s bare thighs.

“Whatever gave you the idea you’d be going back to school in long trousers, Leslie?!” Mrs Darnley said as she tugged at her son’s arm, “Did you expect me to give you permission to wear long trousers to school? Was that it?” Mrs Darnley shook her son’s arm, “Answer me! Come on! I want an answer, Leslie!”

There could be little doubt Leslie’s mum was in a frightful wax over her son’s willful misbehaviour. Veronica had no idea what the details were, or what Leslie had done to deserve his mother’s wrath, but she did know how old Leslie was and that he was about to enter the Fifth Form at his school. From what she’d heard just then, Veronica also knew that when Leslie returned to school he would undoubtedly be the only boy in short trousers in the Fifth Form. Veronica was familiar enough with the uniform regulations of Lockton Grammar School for Boys to know that short trousers were only compulsory wear for boys in the First and Second Forms. She also knew there was no restriction that prevented boys from being sent to school wearing short trousers in whatever school year they happened to be attending. So it was perfectly in order for Mrs Darnley to send Leslie to school wearing short trousers even though he was fifteen years old.

Leslie mumbled something about being in the Fifth Form and how he “just thought that…” and how “everyone wears longs…” and “all the other boys say that short trousers are…”, but whatever he said simply made matters worse.

“I’ve not the slightest interest in what other boys say… If you think I’m going to let you go to school dressed like a… like a long-haired juvenile delinquent, you’d better think again!” Mrs Darnley responded.

Veronica stood to one side of the doorway to her mother’s shop and waited for the Darnleys. She could hardly believe her luck. Fancy walking into this, she thought. Mrs Darnley tearing a strip off Leslie as they walked down the street… and what was in the bag that Mrs Darnley was carrying, she wondered?

“Good morning, Mrs Darnley… Good morning, Leslie,” Veronica said politely before adding, “After you, Mrs Darnley…”

Mrs Darnley let go of her son’s hand, thanked Veronica and moved to open the shop door. When Leslie unthinkingly followed his mother she turned and snapped: “Leslie! Manners! Let the young lady go first!”

“Sorry, mummy…” Leslie replied with head bowed.

“You will be before much longer if you continue with this sort of behaviour,” Mrs Darnley replied ominously.

The shop bell tinkled as they all entered the outfitters. Mrs Cathcart, Veronica’s mum, was busy arranging the window display and had opened two of the panels that formed the partition between the shop window display area and the rest of the shop. Normally the panels would all be closed to form a backdrop to the window display and at the same time prevent the prying eyes of curious passersby from seeing into the shop.

Mrs Cathcart stepped out of the window and greeted her customers: “Well this is a surprise, Leslie! Two visits in one week… and you’ve brought your mother along too this time,” she said and turned to face Leslie’s mother, seemingly oblivious to Mrs Darnley’s obvious annoyance with her son, “What can I do for you today, Mrs Darnley?” Veronica’s mother asked politely.

In answer Leslie’s mother plonked the bag she’d been carrying on the counter: “Would you mind looking inside this bag and telling me what you find and how it came to be in my son’s possession?”

“Please, mummy…” Leslie whinned. It was clear he was deeply embarrassed.

“Be quiet, Leslie,” his mother said firmly.

Veronica’s intuition had already led her to guess what the bag contained and she watched eagerly as her mother opened and peered into the bag. Her assumption was correct.

“It’s a pair of boy’s school trousers,” Mrs Cathcart said as she slowly drew the garment out of the bag rather like a conjuror, “... a pair of boy’s long school trousers,” she added.

“And what might they might they be doing in my son’s possession?” Leslie’s mother asked.

“Why… because you bought them for him to wear to school now he is about to enter the Fifth Form,” Mrs Cathcart explained, albeit with a slightly puzzled look on her face as if the answer to Mrs Darnley’s question had been plainly obvious.

“I!! I!!” Mrs Darnley thundered in a voice not dissimilar to that of Dame Edith Evans in the role of Lady Bracknell, “I made no such purchase for my son… the very idea of him wearing long trousers is altogether preposterous… Leslie is only fifteen years old!”

Veronica’s mother smiled, quite unperturbed: “There must be some misunderstanding… Leslie came into my shop… let me see now, was it Tuesday or Wednesday, Leslie?”

Leslie hung his head in shame, but managed to croak out the words: “Tuesday, Mrs Cathcart.”

“Ah yes, Tuesday it was… now just let me look in my stock-book,” Veronica’s mother opened a ledger and ran the rubber-tipped top of a pencil down one of the columns, “Yes, here we are, ‘one pair boy’s black school trousers (long) on account, Mrs...”

Mrs Darnley interrupted: “But I made no such purchase… I thought I made that plain a moment ago...”

“Perhaps I should explain that your son made the purchase on your behalf… one pair of school trousers, long. When he came into my shop he explained that as he would be starting in the Fifth Form he required a pair of long trousers and that you, Mrs Darnley, had agreed that long trousers would be more suitable for him to wear…”

Mrs Darnley turned to her son as Veronica watched and waited for the scolding Leslie was bound to receive.

“Do you mean to tell me you came into this shop and deliberately LIED to Mrs Cathcart?!” Mrs Darnley thundered.

“I… I… thought… I thought you would let me go to school in longs…” Leslie said, his voice cracking under the strain. It was somewhat disingenuous of Leslie to say this since he knew perfectly well his mother’s views that long trousers were a privilege, one that he would be unlikely to be rewarded with while still at school. It mattered not one jot to Mrs Darnley that other boys at her son’s school wore long trousers. She knew what was best for Leslie and it was her intention to keep him in short trousers. As his mother was seemingly oblivious to his mortification in wearing short trousers, Leslie concocted a plan whereby he would obtain a pair of long trousers which he would change into on his way to school and change out of on his way home. Except he never had the chance to implement his plan when his mother found the pair of long trousers, Leslie’s ‘secret trousers’.

“Whatever gave you that ridiculous idea?!”

“I… I’d only wear them… er, longs... to school, mummy…” Leslie answered quite truthfully, since it was part of his plan of deception!

“That is beside the point… I have already explained to you that I do not intend to see you turn into one of those delinquents with greasy hair we see skulking about in coffee bars listening to that dreadful noise...”

“I think we are rather getting off the point, Mrs Darnley…” Mrs Cathcart said, “I would never have allowed Leslie to leave my shop with a pair of boy’s long trousers if I’d known you intended to keep your son in shorts. Leslie was most insistent that… but, if you… no, I think it’s becoming clear… Leslie did offer to pay for the long trousers rather than put them on your account, which at the time I did think unusual…”

“And just how were you proposing to pay Mrs Cathcart?” Mrs Darnley asked her son.

“With my pocket money, mummy… I’ve been saving a bit each week,” Leslie explained.

“... but I’m afraid it wasn’t quite enough, was it Leslie?” Veronica’s mother said to Leslie before she continued with her explanation to his mother, “I could see how disappointed Leslie was and he was obviously so looking forward to wearing his first pair of longs…”

“... that you charged them to my account?” Mrs Darnley said and sighed, “Well, I can’t say that I blame you, Mrs Cathcart. Leslie can be very persuasive... But what are we to do? The long trousers are of no use to my son… perhaps you might know of some more deserving boy who would make proper use of them? I can hardly ask you to take them back… Leslie will have to find a way of paying whatever he owes you…”

“Might I make a suggestion?” Veronica chipped in and when her mother and Mrs Darnley asked to hear what it was, she explained, “I know that Leslie has been very naughty and should really save up and pay what he owes, but I couldn’t help thinking whether there might not be another way of him settling the debt. What about if Leslie comes and helps out in the shop?”

“Help out? In what way?” Mrs Cathcart asked her daughter.

“I was thinking that Leslie might be able to act as a sort of mannequin… you know, wear some of the play-outfits we stock… that sort of thing. He could wear different outfits and once word gets around, customers might call in just to see what Leslie was wearing…”

“... you might even get one or two suggestions from my friends,” Mrs Darnley said with a smile, “I think it’s an excellent idea, Veronica. What do you think, Mrs Cathcart?”

“I think Veronica has a point. Anything that gets customers into the shop is a good thing as far as I’m concerned,” she replied.

At no time was Leslie’s opinion sought and if he had the slightest inkling of what else was going through Veronica’s mind, he might just have found the courage to say something. As it was Leslie imagined he’d be made to wear his school uniform, or perhaps a pair of shortalls, of maybe even a tailored short-trouser suit.

Veronica continued: “I was also thinking how useful it would be to have Leslie to model… well, for instance, this year’s range of boy’s swim-trunks…”

“Yes, why not… I’m sure I could have sold more pairs of those new-style trunks if mums had seen a boy like Leslie wearing them properly,” Mrs Cathcart added enthusiastically, as she thought of the brief, super-slim trunks she’d bought in that hadn’t sold as well as she’d hoped.

The discussion became quite animated as Veronica and the two ladies exchanged views and ideas about other ways Leslie could help in the shop. Leslie himself did not look at all happy and became increasingly worried about what he overheard.

“That’s settled,” Mrs Darnley said, Leslie would pay off his debt by helping out in the shop, “Would Saturday afternoons suit you?” Mrs Darnley asked.

“Saturday afternoons would be perfect,” Mrs Cathcart replied.

“Do you remember those Red Indian outfits you got in last year, mummy?” Veronica 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.”

Leslie was beginning to regret thinking he’d be able to get away with wearing longs to school. All this talk about posing in swim-trunks and play-outfits like Red Indian costumes and heaven knew what else, was most disturbing. Leslie felt self-conscious enough wearing short trousers at the age of fifteen, never mind all these other outfits the women were talking about. Not for the first time and it certainly wouldn’t be for the last, Leslie wished he’d never been tempted to buy a pair of long trousers. How on earth did he expect to get away with it? he asked himself. He might have known mummy was bound to find out. All the pennies he’d saved for the long trousers could have been put to much better use and spent on his stamp collection, for instance. Instead not only had he lost his meagre savings, but he actually owed Mrs Cathcart for the balance he did not possess. This would be repaid by ‘helping out’ at the boys’ outfitters for an unspecified number of Saturday afternoons and Saturday afternoons were one of the few opportunities Leslie had to watch some sport or follow his football team. So, to sum up, Leslie reminded himself as Veronica made a cup of tea for the grown-ups, I’ve no money, no free time and no longs! What a disaster!

“I have to say I’m rather taken with your idea, Veronica,” Mrs Cathcart said to her daughter as she sipped her tea, “Trade has been a bit slack recently… By the way, who were you thinking of… those boys you mentioned... to help us attract some more customers?”

“You know my friend Carol? She’s got a younger brother Harold…” Veronica replied.

“Oh yes, I know Harold… nice smart boy,” Mrs Cathcart interjected and added for the benefit of Mrs Darnley, “He’s a year younger than your Leslie.”

“I thought Harold and his new friend… a boy called Robin who’s here for the holidays, might like to help,” Veronica continued.

“Are you sure they’d like to help out?” her mother asked.

“Oh, I’m sure they would,” Veronica replied confidently, “You see Robin has managed to get himself into a bit of a pickle and hasn’t anything at all to wear… Harold’s got himself into a spot of trouble with his sister and is in much the same boat as Robin…”

“You mean both boys are…?” Mrs Darnley interrupted, somewhat surprised at what Veronica had said.

“Bare?” Veronica replied with more than a hint of a smile in her voice, “Yes, when I left them not fifteen minutes ago, Robin and Harold were completely nude... They’re waiting for me now... in their birthday suits.”

“Why are they waiting for you, Veronica?” her mother asked.

“That’s what I came to ask you, mum. Do you remember that batch of faulty junior boys’ jockstraps?”

“Yes, they’re in the stockroom… why do you ask?”

“I thought if I could borrow a couple of pairs the boys might be grateful as they’ve got nothing else to wear and they’d be stuck in the house otherwise… I said I’d ask you,” Veronica explained.

“I don’t see why not… but I’m not sure whether they’d be much use… I mean the state of the elastic straps… but you’re welcome to try,” Mrs Cathcart said, “I just hope you don’t have a wasted journey…”

“Why not let Leslie try one on,” Mrs Darnley suggested, “It’s about time he did something useful…”

Leslie was shocked: “Mummy!!”

“I’m sure Veronica will help you with it… won’t you Veronica?” Mrs Darnley continued as she ignored Leslie’s objections.

“Certainly Mrs Darnley, I’d be glad to help,” Veronica replied and turned to ask her mother whether she could fetch one of the faulty jockstraps from the stockroom.

The plate of biscuits Leslie was holding rattled as his nerves got the better of him. He shook even more when Veronica returned and he saw the size of the junior schoolboy jockstrap that she was holding.

“The elastic is a bit perished, but I think it will do,” Veronica announced as she held it up in front of Leslie’s crotch. The pouch looked very small against the fifteen year old. “I’m sure it will be fine… Now Leslie are you going to help me or am I going to have to undress you all by myself?”

“Mummy… please… do I have to?” Leslie whined.

“Leslie, I’ve had quite enough of your nonsense for one day… just do as Miss Veronica asks, or would you rather I took down your trousers and underpants, because if I do it will be for a spanking over my knees… is that what you want, Leslie?”

“No mummy.”

“Good… then you are to do exactly as Miss Veronica tells you… and she has my permission to smack you if you don’t…”

“Thank you, Mrs Darnley,” Veronica said and immediately told Leslie that it would be necessary for him to remove his T-bar sandals and ankle socks and when he had done that she would help him take off his short trousers and underpants.  Once this had been done Leslie was to hold his shirt right up out of the way so that Veronica could fit him with the jockstrap.

Mrs Darnley was very impressed by Veronica’s efficient manner and said as much to Mrs Cathcart: “You have a very capable assistant in your daughter…”

“Up onto that stool, Leslie,” Veronica said as she pointed to a polished wooden low stool that Mrs Cathcart kept for boys to climb onto to make fitting clothes easier. “Now keep still while I take off your trousers and underpants…”

When Leslie and his mother had arrived at the boys’ outfitters Mrs Cathcart was busy arranging the window display (dressing one of the mannequins in a pair of teddy-bear patterned winceyette pyjamas, as it happens). She had left a couple of the window partition panels open when she stepped out of the display area to attend to Mrs Darnley and Leslie. These panels were still open and to Leslie’s horror, when he looked up from his position on the stool he saw a group of young schoolgirls peering through the shop window. Veronica was already undoing Leslie’s short trousers and had just unzipped the fly. Veronica was quite unaware of the audience outside, unlike Leslie who daren’t upset his mother never mind risk a spanking from Miss Veronica, but he most certainly did not want the girls outside to watch him being fitted with anything… let alone a faulty jockstrap!

Veronica eased the short trousers back over Leslie’s bottom and then down his long smooth legs. Leslie squirmed with embarrassment as he looked back out through the shop window. Although he couldn’t hear them, Leslie knew enough of young girls to know what they were saying…

“Cor… look… she’s taken down his little trousers…” “Is she going to pull down his underpants as well?” “Never… do you think so?” “... LOOK… she’s going to do it! She’s going to pull down his underpants!” “Do you think so?” “Course she is… just you wait…” “Oh, look how red his little face is… do you think he knows we’re watching him?” “Course he does… see, he’s looking at us!”

The girls giggled, pointed, waved and poked their tongues out at Leslie, adding to his misery. Leslie knew his underpants would be following his short trousers which were already out of his reach on the shop counter.

“Hold your shirt up for me, Leslie while I take off your underpants,” Veronica said in her best matter-of-fact voice that so impressed Mrs Darnley, “Come along, Leslie I haven’t got all day,” she added.

Without thinking Leslie accorded Mrs Cathcart’s daughter due deference in his response: “Yes, Miss Veronica…”

The schoolgirls outside pressed their faces against the shop window. They were determined to miss nothing and as Leslie’s white schoolboy underpants were slowly drawn downwards by Veronica, the girls were silent in their astonishment. They could hardly believe that what they saw was really happening. Witnessing the unveiling of Leslie was something the girls would treasure and no doubt discuss among themselves for some time to come and as they saw Leslie’s penis spring into view they gave a collective gasp.

Inside the shop Leslie quaked with embarrassment. Veronica, without saying a word, had tugged Leslie’s junior boy’s underpants all the way down to his ankles. It had taken all Leslie’s strength of will to keep his shirt pulled up to his neck. He was mortified at the way his penis had popped out in front of Veronica as the tight elastic waistband was drawn down over his boy-bits.

Mrs Darnley and Mrs Cathcart were busy talking as they drank their tea and nibbled their biscuits. They paid little attention to Veronica and Leslie and even if they did notice the schoolgirls huddled together, peering through the shop window, they didn’t mention them. Why should it concern them what the girls saw? Leslie was only a boy after all was said and done.

Veronica removed the underpants from around Leslie’s ankles with an efficiency that demonstrated exactly who was in charge. The underpants were placed on the shop counter on top of Leslie’s short trousers.

“Stay there, Leslie while I sort out this jockstrap,” Veronica said, as if Leslie, in his state of near nudity, would dare to do anything else. “Hmm, the elastic is a bit perished, but I’m sure we can sort something out,” Veronica added.

“Let’s see…” Veronica turned and holding the jockstrap out, told Leslie to lift his right foot. It was obvious Veronica knew what she was doing and Leslie realised how she must have fitted lots of boys with jockstraps. It wasn’t more than a moment or two before Veronica was pulling the jockstrap right up to the top of Leslie’s thighs. The elastic straps hung limply and Leslie could feel them tickling the back of his legs. In contrast to the straps the waistband was quite firm and since it was a jockstrap designed to be worn by junior boys, it was a tight fit on Leslie. Nevertheless Veronica succeeded in drawing the waistband over Leslie’s hips, his bottom and his boy-bits. It was at this point Veronica realised there would be a problem. To put it bluntly, Leslie’s penis and testicles could not be easily contained in the small, junior-sized support pouch. Leslie was after all fifteen and his genitals were as developed as those of any healthy fifteen year old boy. True he still had only a very light dusting of pubic hair, but Veronica could see that under normal circumstances it would be a tight squeeze to get Leslie’s boy-bits into the pouch if the jockstrap was not faulty. As it was, with the perished elastic in the straps, Veronica managed to manipulate Leslie’s penis into the small pouch, but his testicles were hanging out on each side. Each time Veronica attempted to push Leslie’s testicles inside, she found that his penis plopped out.

The schoolgirls, their faces pressed against the shop window, were in seventh heaven as they watched Veronica trying to stuff Leslie’s penis into the little jockstrap pouch. They saw Veronica with one hand push a testicle back into the pouch and with her other hand attempting to control Leslie’s wayward penis. They giggled and laughed as eventually Veronica was forced to turn to her mother for assistance.

“Mum… I can’t get the jockstrap to fit properly,” Veronica explained, “Leslie’s penis is just too big to fit into the pouch…”

Mrs Cathcart put down her teacup: “Let me have a look… Hmm, yes I see what you mean… what about if I hold onto the straps… is that any good?”

“Can I help at all?” Mrs Darnley asked.

To Leslie’s mortification he was now surrounded on all sides by women probing and pushing at the jockstrap as they ‘tutted’ and argued about what to do. Leslie was told to keep still as he endured agonies of embarrassment in full view of the schoolgirls outside. Bravely he kept his shirt pulled right up as three pairs of female hands twisted his hips this way and that and fiddled with the far too small jockstrap pouch in a futile attempt to cover Leslie’s boyhood. After five long minutes of this torture the combined efforts of the ladies had achieved little.

“I’ve an idea,” Mrs Cathcart said.

Mrs Darnley and Veronica looked up expectantly. Leslie was less enthusiastic and wondered more than ever what the point of all this was, after all he wasn’t the one these jockstraps were intended for, it was those boys Veronica mentioned. During the pause Leslie looked over towards the window to see if the girls were still there staring at him. They were and when they saw him looking towards them they poked their tongues out at him and waved once more.

Mrs Cathcart explained her idea which was to pull the straps up ‘nice and tight’ over Leslie’s bottom and to pin them up at the back to the waistband: “You see we’re never going to get anywhere with the support pouch in this state… see how loose it is?” she explained, “It’s no wonder Leslie’s penis won’t stay put…”

“Let’s give it a try and if we all work together, I’m sure we’ll succeed,” Mrs Darnley said, sounding as if she was giving a pep-talk to a girls’ hockey team.

“Veronica, you hold this side of the support pouch and Mrs Darney, if you wouldn’t mind taking the other side… yes, that’s right,” Mrs Cathcart said, “Hold still Leslie while I pull the straps up nice and tight…” Mrs Cathcart was as good as her word and as she said ‘pull’, she tugged the straps up as far as they would go and with a couple of safety pins soon had them held in place. Leslie was briefly hoisted up onto his tiptoes and wondered if his boy-bits would never be the same again, squashed as they were into a support pouch designed for much younger, less endowed boys.

“There... that’s the best I can do,” Mrs Cathcart said finally, “Now Leslie, why don’t you get down from the stool and walk around a bit… see how the jockstrap feels.”

Leslie did as he was told, but it was a desperately uncomfortable experience. Even getting off the stool was fraught with difficulty and Veronica had to lend a hand to support Leslie as he stepped down. Once down Leslie waddled about with his legs bowed as if he’d just climbed from his horse after spending the last few weeks in the saddle on a cattle drive with Walter Brennan. Leslie’s audience of schoolgirls were in fits of laughter as they watched his progress from the street outside. Every time Leslie turned and the girls saw his bare bottom, they squealed with delight.

“Hmm… I’m not convinced,” Mrs Cathcart said as she pronounced judgement on her attempt to make some use of the faulty jockstraps. Relieved, Leslie stopped trying to walk any further and waited to be told what to do next.

“But don’t forget, mum, Leslie’s wearing a junior schoolboy jockstrap,” Veronica reminded her mother, “and Leslie isn’t a junior boy anymore… I mean, he’s fifteen now and I'm sure if you measured the size of his penis using the standard measuring card the jockstrap makers supplied us with...”

“Yes, that’s true, Veronica…” her mother replied.

“Excuse me, but what is the 'measuring card' you mentioned, Veronica?” Mrs Darnley enquired.

“It’s a sort of gauge the jockstrap manufacturers supply us with to measure a boy’s penis and testicles,” Veronica replied, “… so we can fit him with the correct size jockstrap or support pouch. It’s very useful, isn’t it mum?”

“Oh yes, but I’m afraid it can be a little embarrassing for some boys… boys who’ve been boasting about how they’re going to need a senior size jockstrap when they hardly even need to wear one at all! When I reach for the jockstrap gauge, that’s when all their little fibs are exposed… in more ways than one…”

As if on cue and much to his consternation, Leslie’s penis broke free of the support pouch. All the tugging, pushing and pulling to squeeze his boy-bits into the little jockstrap had finally had its effect. Up until this point Leslie had managed to control himself and behave properly in Mrs Cathcart’s shop, but hearing Veronica and Mrs Cathcart talking openly about jockstrap gauges and measurements was the final straw. His penis pushed its way out of the side of the little pouch and it was clear to all that Leslie was in the early stages of arousal.

“You can stop that at once!” Mrs Darnley snapped at her son as Leslie’s penis, free of the pouch, stuck straight out parallel to the floor, “How many times have I got to tell you? You’re nothing but a disgrace…. showing me up in front of everyone!” she turned to Mrs Cathcart, “I do apologised for my son’s behaviour. I’m sure he just does these things to embarrass me.”

“Please don’t upset yourself, Mrs Darney, I am quite used to seeing boys showing off like this… and Veronica has been helping me in the shop for long enough not to be at all shocked by this sort of silliness… I sometimes think that boys do it because they think we’ll be impressed...” Mrs Cathcart added.

“... do you think so, mummy,” Veronica said and shrugged her shoulders, “I don’t think I’m that impressed… I mean I know Leslie’s fifteen and his penis is too big for the junior jockstrap, but...”

“Veronica…” Mrs Cathcart replied in mock surprise.

“But mummy, that boy who was in for a fitting last week… now he was impressive!”

“Well, that’s as maybe,” Mrs Cathcart said. She could see Mrs Darnley was infuriated with Leslie’s behaviour and couldn’t help wondering how it would end.

The schoolgirl audience couldn’t quite hear what was being said, but they didn’t need to, as the furious look on Mrs Darnley’s face said it all. Oh this was the best treat they’d had in ages!

“... an absolute disgrace!” Mrs Darnley was saying as she continued to berate her son. “I’ve told you about this before… haven’t I?!”

“But mummy… it’s not fair! I can’t help it… I’m not doing it because I…” Leslie spluttered. He was offended that anyone should think he wanted to have an erection in the middle of the shop… in front of everyone, to say nothing of the girls he knew to be still watching through the shop window. However, his protest was cut short.

“How dare you use that tone of voice to me!” Mrs Darnley said sharply to Leslie. Then she turned again to Mrs Cathcart, “Really! I’ve a good mind to teach this boy a lesson… right now… this minute!”

“Oh mummy… no! Please… not now… not here!” Leslie pleaded.

“It’s your own fault. When I bring you out shopping with me I don’t expect to be shown up like this. I’ve been far too lenient with you, Leslie and this is the price I pay! You seem to go out of your way to show me up… embarrassing me in front of Mrs Cathcart and poor Veronica… do you really think Veronica wants to see that?!” Mrs Darnley said as she pointed at Leslie’s tumescent penis, “I really don’t know what gets into you… I suppose you think you’re being clever...”

“No, mummy… no I’m not…” Leslie said anxiously. He knew where his mother’s tirades usually ended and he certainly didn’t want that to happen in Mrs Cathcart’s shop.

“Now, are you going to make winky to behave, or do I have to do it for you?” Mrs Darnley asked Leslie, but instead of waiting for an answer she reached out her right hand and simply flicked the head of her son’s penis sharply with the tip of her index finger.

“Ow!” Leslie yelped, more from surprise than discomfort. He was more hurt from the embarrassment at being treated like a little boy and having his penis referred to as his ‘winky’ and it was this, coupled with a few hard smacks of his mother’s hand on his bare bottom that caused his penis to soften.

Leslie’s audience of girls pressed against the shop window were delighted: “Look! His mummy’s just flicked his do-dah!” “Bet he felt that!” “Look! Now she’s smacking his bottom!” “You mean his botty!” “Look! Look! His thingy! It’s bouncing about!” “Ahhh… it’s gone all limp...”

“You’ve certainly managed to deflate Leslie’s ego,” Mrs Cathcart said with a smile which helped to lighten the mood. However, she could see that Leslie’s mother was still infuriated with her son, but much as she understood how Mrs Darnley felt, Mrs Cathcart also had a shop to run.

“Why don’t you sit down and have a fresh cup of tea, Mrs Darnley,” Mrs Cathcart suggested, “Veronica can get Leslie dressed now that you’ve attended to his, ahem, childish display… and I really must finish my window-dressing… Oh dear me! I wonder how long those girls have been there? I’d quite forgotten about the shutters… I must have left them open when you came into the shop. Oh well, too late to do anything about them now…”

Leslie wasn’t sure whether anyone else had noticed his audience. If they had, they’d not said anything. But as Mrs Cathcart said, it was too late… they’d seen everything!

Veronica discretely acknowledged the girls presence outside and then made sure they could see her remove the jockstrap from Leslie. She left him standing on the stool and reminded him to keep holding his shirt right up as she made a big fuss of folding the jockstrap at the shop counter. Veronica then carried on fussing about while Leslie stood waiting, all the time watched by the girls. Finally Veronica set about getting Leslie dressed, making him step into his underpants as she held them, then pulling them up his long smooth legs.

“Your Veronica certainly knows what she’s doing,” Mrs Darnley said approvingly.

“Oh, yes… Veronica is is a great help,” Mrs Cathcart replied, her arms piled high with a selection of boy’s winceyette pyjamas she was intending to display in the window.

“My, but aren’t they lovely…?” Mrs Darnley said when she saw the pyjamas on the top of the pile Mrs Cathcart was carrying.

“These lemon-yellow ones? Actually these are a new style of shorty-pyjama in our Winnie-the-Pooh range of boys’ clothes…” Mrs Cathcart paused for a second, then turned to face Leslie’s mum properly, “Perhaps you would like Leslie to try on a pair?” she said, never one to miss the opportunity for a sale...

Mrs Cathcart put down her teacup: “Leslie…”