Toby at the Beach - Part 2

“I’d love to come for an ice-cream with you, Toby,” Brenda answered. She told her friends she’d see them later and then turned back to the nude boy who had once again picked up his mum’s beach bag and was using it to somewhat coyly cover his ‘boy-bits’. Brenda held out her hand for Toby to take, but he gripped the beach bag more tightly in front of himself. “Surely a big strong boy like you doesn’t need two hands to lift a beach bag?” she teased.

Toby looked towards mum as if to gauge the likelihood of him being allowed to refuse Brenda’s offer. The expression on mum’s face was enough for Toby to gingerly release one of his hands from the bag. Brenda reached out and took hold of Toby’s free hand. Unfortunately Toby wasn’t strong enough to hold the beach bag one-handed in front of himself. He was forced to carry it by his side and in so doing exposed his smooth boyhood to all the holidaymakers walking along the esplanade.

It wasn’t far to the ice-cream parlour, but for Toby it seemed to take forever. No one, least of all mum, seemed to be in any hurry and when anyone stopped to talk, or just say hello, Toby found himself the centre of attention as inquiries were made as to how old he was and how much he must enjoy being in the nude on such a busy beach on such a lovely day. None of these questions were made to Toby directly and even when he did try to answer Brenda would step in to speak on his behalf making up the most outrageous stories about why Toby wasn’t wearing any swim-trunks. At one point Brenda even claimed Toby was new to nudism… which was sort of true, Toby supposed, but not in the way Brenda made it sound. And mum said nothing, simply smiled at Brenda’s quick thinking.

“Oh, yes,” Brenda, wearing her modest black one-piece swimming costume, explained as she stood next to the totally nude Toby, still holding his hand tightly, “Toby so wants to practice nudism, so his mum and I agreed to help him with his modesty issues… you know how boys go all shy at a certain age…”

Toby was stunned. He couldn’t believe mum was letting Brenda get away with telling such fibs, but whenever Toby opened his mouth to speak, mum would say, “Let Brenda finish, Toby… It’s rude to interrupt.”

“But, mum…”

Brenda took hold of Toby’s hand with both of hers. In front of about half a dozen mums and their children who had gathered in front of them, made Toby look her in the eye and spoke, “Toby… what did mummy just say?”

The small crowd watched and waited for Toby to reply.

“Come on Toby, what did mummy say?” Brenda persisted.

Embarrassed beyond belief and standing nude in front of strangers, knowing mum would not let them go any further without a reply, Toby looked down at his feet and mumbled. He couldn’t face the humiliation of looking at the holidaymakers. This resulted in a chorus of “Ahhhs!” “He is a shy one… isn’t that cute? What a shy boy… Ahhh! Look… he’s blushing!”

Then one little girl in a bathing costume not unlike Brenda’s spoke up. She was about half Toby’s age, “Mummy! I didn’t hear what that boy was saying!”

“That’s because he’s shy, dear… can’t you see how much he’s blushing?”

“Then why isn’t he wearing swim-trunks, mummy?”

“It’s because he wants to be a nudist, dear… didn’t you hear the nice girl explaining how she and his mummy are helping him…”

“... but I still didn’t hear what he was saying,” the little girl repeated.

Brenda squeezed Toby’s hand, “Come on Toby… be a brave boy and tell everyone what mummy said to you just now.”

It was hard to believe Brenda was almost the same age as Toby. It was clear to everyone how much more mature and in control she was. Mummy, they thought, must be so pleased to have a sensible young girl to help her with a boy like Toby.

“To let you finish… because… because it’s… it’s rude to interrupt,” Toby managed to say at last.

However, Brenda hadn’t quite finished embarrassing Toby and asked him what she was saying when he interrupted her. The last thing in the world a boy like Toby wants to do is admit they want to be a nudist, but Brenda insisted he tell everyone and under the watchful eyes of his mum, Toby told the ladies how Brenda and his mum were helping him to practice nudism.

This brought forth a positive cascade of “Ahhs” and “Isn’t that sweet” and “How cute”.

“You must be so proud of him,” one of the ladies said to Toby’s mum, “It’s not many boys… fourteen you say… no, not many boys that age who would want to go nude in public. My sister’s boys are so shy we can’t get them to take their shirts off and they insist on wearing those awful baggy shorts… at least they call them ‘shorts’, but they’re so long they cover their knees!”

Brenda pulled her serious face and told the lady it sounded as if her nephews had ‘modesty issues’ like the ones she was helping Toby with.

Toby thought the baggy shorts sounded great. Why shouldn’t a boy wear them? However Toby knew mum would never let him wear baggy shorts. Toby’s shorts were what mum called ‘sensible shorts’, shorts so short that when Toby sat down he could feel the lower curves of his bare bottom in contact with the seat. There was no use Toby asking for longer shorts since mum simply repeated her maxim that ‘short shorts are healthy shorts’… and once, when they were in the boyswear shop, mum told Toby that he had lovely smooth legs and it would be a shame to cover them up. The shop was full of boys with their mums shopping for the new school year, an annual ritual that Toby loathed. Each year it was the same; Toby hoping and praying for his first pairs of long trousers and each year being disappointed and leaving the shop with two new pairs of school shorts.

Of course shopping with mum for school shorts was never straightforward. Mum always managed to time their visit to the boyswear shop on the busiest day of the year. The shop would be bustling with boys, quite often accompanied by their sisters, along with their mothers wanting to purchase items from school uniform lists. When it was time for Toby’s mum to be served heads would inevitably be turned as mum announced that Toby would be requiring some more short trousers for school. It was obvious to everyone in the shop, children and adults alike, that Toby was old enough to wear longs, but customers were in for even more of a surprise when the short school trousers the assistant had laid out on the countertop elicited mum’s response, “Yes, but haven’t you anything shorter?”

Toby at this point would want to hide behind the counter, because he knew what would happen next as mum continued, “Here… let me show you what I mean… now Toby stand still while I show the assistant...”

Mum would show the assistant how thigh-baringly short Toby’s short trousers were. The assistant might reach for a tape measure only to be told by mum that she knew the best way of ensuring an accurate measurement.

“Toby stand still… the assistant needs to borrow your short trousers so that she can find a new pair just like them from the stockroom…” And with these words ringing in Toby’s ears, mum’s practiced fingers unhooked, unzipped and slipped Toby’s short trousers right down and off. Toby usually wore one of his school shirts on these shopping trips. These short sleeve Trutex school shirts had no shirt tail which meant  his little white underpants were in full view of all the shoppers.

It usually took ages before mum was satisfied with Toby’s new school shorts. Toby would have to stand, anxiously waiting, while mum sent the assistant back to the stockroom for yet another sample of short trousers to be laid on the counter-top for close inspection.

Toby was still thinking that baggy shorts sounded a great idea when mum decided they really must get a move on or the ice-cream parlour would be closed before they got there.

It wasn’t much further along the esplanade before they reached the entrance adorned with pictures of all the different ice-cream treats on offer. As they were about to enter the parlour Brenda asked mum a question which gave Toby some unexpected hope that his embarrassing nudity would soon be at its end.

“Shouldn’t we give Toby a towel?” Brenda asked.

“A towel?” Toby’s mum queried, “Oh, yes… I quite forgot, Brenda… You’ll find one in the beach bag.”

Toby couldn’t believe his luck. He was not looking forward to entering the ice-cream parlour in the nude, but now, on Brenda’s suggestion, he was to be given a towel. He put the beach bag down and eagerly opened it up so that Brenda could find a towel for him.

Brenda rummaged around among the contents of the bag until she found what she was looking for  and pulled it free.

“But… but, that’s not big enough,” Toby stammered as he looked at the small hand towel that mum had packed and Brenda was now holding.

“What do you mean, Toby? Oh! Did you think? It’s only for you to sit on silly,” Brenda told him.

“Brenda’s right… you only need a small towel to sit on,” mum confirmed.

“... but, mum…” Toby pleaded.

“Do you want me to ask Brenda to look for something else in the beach bag, Toby?” mum said pointedly.

Toby knew mum meant the leather strap and so shook his head, but not before Brenda had produced the strap from the bag like a magician conjuring the flags of all nations from a top hat.

“Is this it?” Brenda asked breathlessly, “Is this what you spank Toby’s bare bottom with?”

“Yes, Brenda,” mum replied, “I’m afraid I had to give Toby a spanking with the strap a bit earlier when he was being very silly… I’d hoped I wouldn’t have to spank him again so soon,” mum paused and looked Toby in the eye, “but I won’t hesitate to do so again if there is any more nonsense…”

Toby looked down at his bare feet once more, “There won’t be, mum... I promise…”

“We’ll see,” mum replied, “but I think you’d better keep it handy, Brenda… just in case it’s needed.”

Toby was mortified at the thought of another strapping and resolved to do whatever was asked of him even though he was totally nude. Besides which he didn’t want Brenda to see him being given of one of mum’s spankings… that would be just too much!

“Come along now,” mum said and the three of them entered the icecream parlour. It was very busy and Toby immediately spotted the boy who’d told him about the secret hideout sitting on one of the tall stools by the counter. He was about halfway through a Knickerbocker Glory.

“Isn’t that the boy you met at the showers, Toby?” mum asked, “Why don’t you go and say ‘hello’ while Brenda and I find a table…”

Toby walked over to the counter trying to ignore everyone looking at him.

“Mum says I’ve to come over and say ‘hello’,” Toby said to the back of the boy’s head.

The boy twisted round. The lower half of his face was smeared with raspberry syrup, chocolate and icecream. He was clearly enjoying his treat.

“Hey! It’s the nudie boy! We still on for later?” he asked.

“Keep your voice down,” Toby hissed, “my mum’s here and she’s got super hearing…”

“... and she’s got company… Oh, my name’s Roger… what’s yours?”

“Toby… that’s Brenda with mum… we only just met her… mum seems to like her,” Toby said.

“You don’t?” Roger guessed.

Toby shook his head. “She was making up all sorts of things when we were stopped by some ladies…”

“What sort of things?” Roger asked.

“About how I wanted to be a nudist and how she and mum were helping me get over ‘modesty issues’... whatever that means.”

“Dunno… search me...” Roger replied as he pushed a long spoon deeper into his Knickerbocker Glory. “Couldn’t half do with that wank,” he added staring wistfully at the remaining sundae in the tall glass… expect you could do with a wank after what you’ve been through…”

“Pleeease… don’t talk about… about doing it,” Toby hissed.

“What? Having a wank? Why? Don’t you want to meet up for a wank?”

“Don’t… please Roger… don’t keep saying that word...”

“What… Oh sugar! I’m sorry… I should have thought, but… blimey! I’m sorry, Toby,” Roger said apologetically as he looked and saw Toby’s penis was on the move.

Beads of perspiration trickled down Toby’s red face as he desperately tried not to think about wanking with Roger. But it was no good. The more he tried not to think about it, the more vivid his thoughts became.

Roger’s jaw dropped when he caught sight of Toby’s penis. “Cor…” was all he managed to say. He gazed with admiration as Toby’s nob stiffened. Although he felt a natural sympathy for Toby getting an embarrassing boner in public, Roger was more than ever eager to have a wank with him.

Toby’s heart was thumping. His penis was pointing straight out, unmistakably aroused. If… and when… he turned round, everyone would see he was almost erect. If he waited any loner he would be fully erect.

Roger slipped off his stool, “I’ve got an idea, Toby. If I stand in front of you, when you turn round no one will see your boner…”

“But… I’m not sure, Roger…”

“Come on… let’s give a try.”

Roger moved into position just as Toby’s mum called out from across the crowded tables:

“TOBY!! OVER HERE!! WE’VE FOUND A TABLE!!”

The two boys shuffled in the direction of the table where mum and Brenda were seated. Toby kept himself so close to Roger that his stiff penis prodded Roger more than once. As they passed by one table Toby heard a lady, at the sight of his bare bottom, say, “Oh, isn’t that cute… what a shame, dear, did you lose your swim-trunks in the sea?” But Toby was too embarrassed to reply.

When they arrived at the table mum wanted to know what the boys were up to.

“Toby… come out from behind your friend… what on earth are you two playing at?” she asked. When Toby hesitated mum reminded him that she’d asked the ever helpful Brenda to keep ‘something’ handy. Toby knew what it was and so he slowly moved to one side. His penis was caught for a brief second as it brushed the back of Roger’s swim-trunks. This caused Toby’s penis to jerk, wobbling into view with a suddenness which startled Brenda. Her hand flew up to cover her mouth as she tried to suppress a giggle.

Mum, however, did not giggle. She did not even smile.

From the expression on mum’s face, Toby knew he was in the dog house… again.

“Sorry, mum,” he said.

“It’s high time Mr Winky learnt some manners,” mum said and thereby drawing everyone’s attention to Toby’s penis, “It’s the second time he’s done that this afternoon… I don’t know what’s got into him lately…”

Roger couldn’t help himself and sniggered when he heard this. He knew why Mr Winky was so active, of course he did. Didn’t Toby’s mum know anything about boys?

Mum looked sharply at Roger and Toby thought this would be an opportunity to steer attention away from himself.

“This is Roger, mum,” he said by way of introduction.

Roger and mum said their ‘hellos’ and Roger added that he’s better be getting along. He patted Toby on the back.

“See you later, Toby,” he said.

Mum asked what he meant by that.

“Toby and me... we were going to meet up later…” Roger explained, beginning to understand what Toby had to put up with. It’s no wonder he’s ended up in the nude, he thought, glad I haven’t got a mum like that.

“Yes… yes, I realise that… what I want to know is what you boys plan to do when you meet up,” mum said.

“Oh… I dunno,” Roger replied airily, “muck about a bit, I suppose and…”

“Play…” Toby interjected before mum could draw any other inference, “Play…” he repeated, “Roger and I were going to meet up and play… that’s all, mum.”

Brenda, meanwhile, had kept her own council. She knew what boys were like and if she was any judge, the two in front of her were up to no good.

Mum wasn’t completely convinced but saw no reason to stop the boys from playing together, “... as long as you’re back by tea-time… Now, who’d like an ice cream?”

Brenda and Toby made their choices from the laminated card on the table.

“Now don’t forget to put that towel down where Toby’s to sit while I go and order your ice-creams,” mum said and headed off to the counter.

“What are you really going to meet up for?” Brenda asked as she smoothed out the towel for Toby to sit on.

“What d’ya mean?” Roger said cautiously.

“We’re going to play… you heard,” Toby added.

Brenda smiled and pushed her head in the boys’ direction. She lowered her voice, “... but what are you going to play with?”

“We’re just going to play… we’re not going to play with anything,” Toby blustered.

Brenda gave the boys one of those ‘you don’t expect me to believe that, do you’ looks that girls are taught from an early age by their mothers so they can intimidate young boys. She followed this with a well practiced exhalation of breath to underline her disbelief in the boys motives.

Roger was less defensive, “Hold on… why don’t you just tell us what you…”

Toby risked making matters worse by interrupting Roger, telling him to keep quiet, but Roger finished what he was saying, challenging Brenda to say what she thought they were up to.

Benda sat back in her seat and just smiled one of those self-satisfied smiles guaranteed to annoy boys like Toby and Roger.

Roger hated being teased by girls like Brends and was about to say something when Toby’s mum returned.

“I thought you were off somewhere?” mum asked Roger.

“I… I was, er, am, Mrs er…” Roger had clearly been flummoxed by Brenda’s Cheshire cat grin and was annoyed with himself for so being.

“Robbins… Mrs Robbins,” Toby’s mum informed him.

“Yes, Mrs Robbins… I’ll be going…” Roger said as he backed away towards the door and was through it in the blink of an eye.

“I wonder what’s got into him,” mum said slightly puzzled, “He seemed quite full of himself a couple of minutes ago…”

The ice-cream sundaes arrived. Toby had chosen a butterscotch sundae and Brenda a strawberry sundae, while mum had settled a plain vanilla sundae. It wasn’t long before Toby spilled some of his ice cream. Somehow he managed to miss his mouth and ended up slithering down his chest before he scooped it up again. When they’d all finished mum told Toby to go and clean himself up and sent him off to the gents. Reluctantly Toby, still nude, got up from his seat and went off to do as he was told.

The minute Toby was out of sight mum leaned over to speak with Brenda.

“I’m rather worried about Toby meeting up with that other boy, Brenda,” mum said in a low conspiratorial voice, “I know it seems a lot to ask, but would you mind keeping an eye on Toby. I think those boys are up to no good, but I can’t spare the time to find out what it is. You see I’ve got to go and fetch Toby’s continental suit from the dry cleaners. We’re visiting some friends of mine later and I want him to look presentable. The last thing I need is for him to lose track of time, get back late and need another lesson from my strap.”

“You want me to follow Toby?” Brenda asked to make sure she understood what was being asked of her. The thought of spying on the boys thrilled her, so she had to be sure she had Mrs Robbins’ blessing and the authority to deal with Toby if the need arose. Meeting Mrs Robbins and her son was already the best thing that had happened to Brenda for as long as she could remember. The thought of getting more involved with them and perhaps finding Toby doing something he shouldn’t… something really naughty, was even more exciting!

“Would you, Brenda? Just to make sure he doesn’t get up to any mischief with his new friend… I’m sure a sensible girl like you knows what boys are like when they’re left to their own devices.”

“I’d be happy to help, Mrs Robbins,” Brenda said as calmly as she could and hoping she wasn’t looking too eager to take on her assignment, “I think those two boys are up to something and that’s why Roger acted a bit funny just now…”

“I knew you’d understand, Brenda,” Mrs Robbins said sounding relieved, “I do hope Toby and Roger don’t get up to anything they shouldn’t… you must tell me right away if they do anything naughty… You’d better take a pair of Toby’s play shorts with you… you’ll find a pair at the bottom of the beach-bag…” Just then she saw Toby on his way back, “Better stop talking… here comes Toby.”

Mrs Robbins and Brenda fell silent as Toby returned from the gents. If he’d been a little more perceptive he’d have realised they had been talking about him in his absence. But even if he had noticed anything Toby would probably though it was just ‘girls’ talk’ and dismissed it out of hand. Meanwhile Brenda couldn’t believe she had just been entrusted with the top secret information that Toby’s mum had a pair of Toby’s play shorts hidden at the bottom of the beach bag!

“That’s better, Toby. All nice and clean again…” mum said, “Boys are such messy eaters, aren’t they, Brenda?”

“Perhaps you should bring a bib with you next time,” Brenda replied.

Toby glared at her, “That’s not fair!” he said, “Mum… that’s not fair, is it?”

“Brenda’s just teasing you, Toby,” mum replied.

“Your mum says you’re going out later to meet some of her friends,” Brenda said casually. Toby scowled as it was one of those things he disliked doing. “She says you’re going to be wearing your continental suit…”

Toby was horrified, “MUM!! Please don’t make me wear that again…. It’s horrid!”

Brenda smiled sweetly. She’d guessed that mention of the continental suit might provoke a reaction from Toby, but she still wasn’t aware of how humiliating the suit was for a teenage boy like Toby to wear.

Mum was adamant, “Toby… It’s either your continental suit or the birthday you’re wearing at the moment…”

“I think Toby’s birthday suit looks very nice, Mrs Robbins, but what does his continental suit look like?” Brenda asked.

“It’s a lovely little short trouser suit that Toby was given for his twelfth birthday by a friend of mine. It comes with a sweet little bolero-style jacket, which really shows off the adorable short trousers. Toby’s grown a bit since then, but his little suit still fits him like a glove… doesn’t it, Toby?”

Toby knew he’d be forced to wear his continental suit no matter what he said. And if he argued too much, likely as not he’d end up with a bottom that felt like it had been stung by a swarm of bees courtesy of mum’s leather strap. Or even worse, like the last outing in the continental suit when Toby’s thighs glowed red-hot from a strapping, which meant everyone could see he’d been punished.

With head bowed, Toby replied, “Yes, mum…”

“I’d like to see Toby wearing his continental suit,” Brenda said. Toby glowered at her again.

It was mum’s turn to tease, “I’m sure if you ask Toby nicely, he’d be pleased to put on his continental suit for you anytime, Brenda…”

“Mum!… that’s not fair…” Toby whined.

“Alright then, perhaps Brenda could call round later when you’re dressed and ready to go out…” mum suggested.

“Oh, I’d love to come and see what Toby is making all this fuss about… I mean, it’s only a boy’s suit, isn’t it… I wouldn’t have thought there’d be much to get upset about,” Brenda said, “I know you said it was a short trouser suit, even if hardly any boys that I know wear short trousers these days… I mean for school uniform and best,” Brenda continued, “But even so, why do boys make such a fuss about having to wear short trousers in the first place?” Brenda paused before delivering her coup de grâce, “I think Toby must look really cute wearing his continental short trouser suit.”

If it was possible for Toby to blush a deeper red, he would have done so. He hated his continental suit and cursed the fact he could still squeeze into it without too much difficulty. But he could do no more than sit and seethe as he listened to Brenda and his mum.

“He does, Brenda… everybody thinks Toby looks so cute. He doesn’t like wearing braces either,” mum explained and when Brenda looked puzzled, explained, “You see, Brenda, the continental suit is tailored to be worn with braces. The braces keep the short trousers up nice and snug, otherwise boys… and Toby in particular, have a habit of tugging at the legs of the trousers, making them look baggy and untidy…”

How could my short trousers ever look ‘baggy’, Toby thought, they’re far too short to ever look untidy. I can even feel my bare bottom when I run my fingers round the legs of the shorts. The braces pull my shorts up so tight they almost cut me in two… it’s like a permanent wedgie.

“Was there something, Toby?” mum asked her son who had remained silent while nursing a sullen pout during the recent conversation..

“No, mum,” he replied and wondered whether there was any likelihood of getting his swim-trunks back.

“Well then, you’d better get off to meet your new friend, hadn’t you?” mum said, “He’ll be wondering what’s happened to you.”

“Yes, mum… er, mum…”

“Yes, Toby.”

“Mum, can I put my swim-trunks back on now please?” Toby asked as politely as he could. He was very aware his request drew attention to the fact of his sitting quite bare next to Brenda wearing her one-piece swimming costume.

It was Brenda who answered, “Didn’t mummy say your swim-trunks needed a proper rinse?”

Toby nodded, “Yes, but…”

Before he could say any more, mum intervened, “Toby if I give you back your trunks you’ll only get yourself all sandy again and then you’ll have to go down to the showers to rinse off and before we know it you’ll be late back, so until your swim-trunks have been given a good wash to get rid of all the sand you managed to fill them with, you’ll just have to go without… do I make myself clear?” mum turned to address Brenda, “Really, I’ve a good mind to leave Toby’s swim-trunks at home the next time we come down to the beach… boy’s trunks are just not worth all the time and trouble…”

“I agree Mrs Robbins,” Brenda replied, “I don’t see why boys bother to wear swim-trunks at the seaside… I mean you see lots of boys running about and playing in the nude anyway…”

Toby was indignant, “... but they’re… they’re little kids… they’re not bothered…”

“... and you are,” mum interjected, “just because you’re a little bit older… Toby, do you  really think anyone can see any difference between you and those boys playing in the sand, do you? Do you seriously think there’s any difference between you and them? You’re all boys after all is said and done. I don’t see how there could possibly be any reason why anyone could object to seeing you running about in the nude like those other boys, Toby.”

“... but, mum…” Toby knew mum was referring to his lack of pubic hair. He couldn’t help it. It was bad enough not to have any hairs at fourteen, but for that to be used as a reason to keep him nude at the seaside was… was rotten!

Once more Mrs Robbins’ directed herself to Brenda, “In my opinion Toby has become wilfully modest this last year or so… he never used to be bothered about running about in the nude… even when I bought him his first pair of swim-trunks when he was twelve he wasn’t bothered at all when he changed in front of everyone on the beach... I’m beginning to think it was a mistake to buy Toby any swim-trunks in the first place…”

Toby realised this was a battle he wasn’t going to win. Now mum had an new ally in Brenda, a girl about the same age as he was! It wasn’t fair. Brenda was encouraging his mum… as if she needed any assistance in the matter, to have Toby go au naturel at the seaside. But Toby was fourteen! It just wasn’t fair at all.

Toby got up to go and meet Roger. At least there was something to look forward to. He liked Roger and, for obvious reasons, had tried not to think too hard of them both having a wank together later.

“Don’t be late, Toby,” mum called out as Toby disappeared through the door.

Brenda shuffled off her seat and rushed to the door to see which direction Toby had taken. She knew that in any case it wouldn’t be difficult to follow him, so she rummaged around in the beach bag and found the pair of Toby’s play-shorts Mrs Robbins had mentioned earlier. Brenda pulled then out of the bag and held them up; a pair of bright yellow shorts of such brevity, Brenda wondered if it was worth Toby bothering to put them on at all.

Mrs Robbins could see that Brenda was a bit puzzled by the play-shorts.

“There was an end-of-line sale on at the boyswear shop a few years ago. The play-shorts were ever so cheap, so I bought half a dozen pairs… all different colours. Toby was… let’s see, eleven… yes, Toby was eleven when I bought his play-shorts and they’ve lasted ever so well. There’s a bit of give in the elastic in a couple of pairs, but apart from that they’ll last a good few years yet…”

“You’d better get a move on, Brenda… you don’t want to lose Toby among all the holidaymakers.”

Brenda smiled at Mrs Robbins, “I don’t think there’s much chance of that happening… there can’t be many fourteen year olds running about completely nude…”

As she watched Brenda disappear out onto the esplanade, Mrs Robbins thought Brenda was being such a helpful young girl.

Toby at the Beach - Part 1

“Toby…! Come over here right now!” a woman’s voice could be heard calling out across the crowded beach.

A boy, her son, who can’t have been more than fourteen years old, was kneeling in the sand. He looked up and turned his head in his mum’s direction. Toby had been playing happily on the sandy beach and like most boys his age, would have much preferred to continue playing. As well as enjoying himself on the beach, from time to time Toby would go and splash about in the sea to cool off, so when he was called Toby was flecked with sand. He was wearing a lovely bright pair of orange and yellow coloured speedos, the cord of which was knotted and the ends of which hung over the front of the boy-trunks. Toby stood up and called back:

“Please, mum… just another five minutes…”

“That’s what you said half-an-hour ago… you’d better get a move on if you want your ice-cream before we go home.”

Reluctantly Toby walked back to where his mum was sat on a beach towel.

“You need a rinse before we go for your ice-cream… and so do these swim-trunks,” mum said matter-of-factly as she knelt up in front of Toby. “Look at you… covered in sand!” Her hands came up to the knotted cord of her son’s speedos. Mum’s intention was clear. She was about to loosen and pull down Toby’s swim-trunks.

A shocked Toby realised what was happening in an instant: “MUM!! NOT HERE!! PLEASE…!”

“Don’t be silly darling, I don’t think anyone here is bothered about seeing your bare bottom… you’re becoming far to modest lately… I can’t think what’s got into you.”

“BUT MUM… PLEASE… I’LL BE ALL BARE IF YOU TAKE OFF MY TRUNKS!” Toby pleaded with his mum, but this had no effect on her and she proceeded to untie the knot.

“PLEASE MUM… I’m fourteen now… Please don’t take my trunks off… not here on the beach in front of everyone… EVERYONE WILL SEE ME ALL BARE!” Toby pleaded anxiously as his voice climbed an octave higher.

One could almost start to feel sorry for a boy in Toby’s position. It must have been awful for him to be made to stand still on a crowded beach while mum prepared to take down his swim-trunks. Toby must have been aware of the casual glances of curious sunbathers nearby as  his very public humiliation unfolded. Mum finished untying the knot and pulled Toby’s trunks loose enough for her to push her fingers inside. Then she tugged her son’s trunks down far enough at the front so those who were close enough could see that Toby, even though he’d told anyone listening he was fourteen years old, was still smooth and hairless where it mattered to boys of his age. Poor Toby was as bald as a billiard ball and as his boyhood was fully revealed, those watching must have wondered if this was why mum had absolutely no compunction in taking off her son’s swim-trunks on the public beach.

But whereas Toby was without doubt, demonstrably perfectly hairless, he was however possessed of a perfectly magnificent penis. Toby’s appendage, as it bobbed into view, was perfectly proportioned in length and thickness, the foreskin was neither too long nor too short; long enough to completely cover the glans and loose enough to be rolled back over the nob when required. Toby’s testicles too were nicely well developed. Hanging loosely in the wrinkled folds of their scrotal sac, one slightly lower than the other. There could be little doubt that if Toby masturbated he would be capable of full ejaculation.

Mum lugged the red and yellow swim-trunks down past Toby’s knees as he protested thereby drawing even more attention from holidaymakers nearby.

“MUM!! PLEEEASE!! NOT IN FRONT OF EVERYONE!!! PLEEEASE!!”

Mum's response to this nonsense was to give Toby’s bare thighs a couple of sharp hand-smacks.

“OWW!!” was the predictable response from the boy with everything on display. Mum’s smacks caused a few mirthful smirks from Toby’s growing audience. Curious holidaymakers watched as Toby’s penis and ball-sac flopped about. Toby’s penis actually bounced up and slapped against his tummy as he twisted to avoid any more of mum’s well-placed hand-smacks.

“Toby, stand still!!” mum ordered as she pushed her son’s swim-trunks all the way down to his ankles.

Even though he was for all intents and purposes quite nude, Toby still struggled, anxiously pleading with his mother to spare him his ordeal. An ordeal he was making worse by the second, but which his audience was enjoying immensely.

“That’s enough of this nonsense, Toby! What will everyone think?!” Mum continued to scold Toby as she struggled to unhook Toby’s swim-trunks from his ankles. Then Toby lost his balance and fell, squirming into the sand. Mum was furious and she didn’t care who knew it.

“GET UP… GET UP THIS MINUTE!!!”

The holidaymakers couldn’t but notice mum how was reaching into her beach-bag…

“I’ve a good mind to spank your naughty bottom…” she said as she rummaged in the bag.

Toby was horrified. He scrambled about and got himself to his feet. Toby was covered in more sand than ever. His swim-trunks were still attached to one ankle and they too had yet more sand stuck to them. All thoughts of his public nudity appeared to have left Toby’s mind as he hobbled about trying to please mum by taking off his trunks himself.

Toby’s antics caused a ripple of laughter as he hopped from one foot to another and tried to grab hold of his trunks. Toby’s big hairless penis flopped about and bounced this way and that as he desperately tried to please his mum and so avoid the need for a spanking.

Finally Toby managed to unhook his swim-trunks and held then out at arm’s length.

“Here they are, mum… here they are... look mum I’ve taken off my swim-trunks for you…” Toby said. His desperation was palpable.

But it was too little… and too late. Mum produced a small, but nonetheless formidable looking leather strap from her beach-bag.

“OH NO!! PLEASE MUM!!! PLEASE!! PLEASE DON’T SPANK ME!!!” Toby cried.

“Toby, I’ve had just about enough of your behaviour… now stand up straight…”

Then it dawned on the audience watching the developing proceedings that mum was going to spank Toby as he stood upright!

Mum took a firm hold of Toby’s left arm and without further ado proceeded to whack her son’s bottom cheeks with her strap. Each time Toby’s bare bottom was walloped by mum’s leather strap his hips jerked forward causing his penis to bounce and jiggle about to the amusement of the onlookers.

It wasn’t only his bare bottom that received the attentions of mum’s strap, but Toby’s thighs too… back and front! Toby was bawling his head off at this point and who could blame him? The noise he made could be heard for quite a distance along the beach and people yards away could be seen to turn their heads find out where all the noise was coming from.

Toby’s face was a picture. Tears and snot streamed down his bright red face as he gasped and yelled. After each smack of mum’s strap Toby squeezed his eyes tight shut as if absorbing the painful sting... until the next thwack of the strap when his eyes would suddenly open so wide in shock they looked as if they would pop right out.

All the time this was happening Toby twisted and wriggled his bare body about, but this didn’t seem to bother mum one little bit... she always made sure each and every one of the strokes counted. Before long Toby’s bottom was blisteringly red-hot and his thighs were fire-engine red. His big smooth penis was bouncing and waggling about so much that, to everyone’s amazement, it started to look as if it was getting stiff. A few more waggles and there was no doubt about it… Toby was getting an erection right there on the beach in front of everyone!

By the time mum put the leather strap back in her bag, Toby’s penis was pointing skywards, fully erect. Toby’s shoulders heaved as tears ran down his face and dripped from his chin. As he rubbed his sore bottom and did a little dance, mum left him in full view of all the holidaymakers who’d been watching a very special ‘seaside show’, as one of the mums nearby was heard to call it. While Toby tried his best to put on a brave face after his spanking, mum gathered up her beach towel, sun-cream, magazines and all the other bits and pieces she and Toby had brought with them and put it all into a large beach bag. Then she picked up Toby’s swim-trunks and popped them into the bag as well! She turned to her naked son.

“Come along, Toby… and you can help mummy by bringing the beach bag with you.”

Gingerly Toby walked over to the side of the big beach bag. He wasn’t at all happy. Freshly spanked in public, no longer wearing his swim-trunks… or anything else! With the prospect of a long walk up the beach in the nude to the ice-cream kiosk on the seafront ahead of him, how could Toby possibly be happy?

“Mum…” Toby said in his most contrite voice, “Please can I have my swim-trunks back?”

Mum, who had walked on while her son shilly-shallied by the beach bag, turned: “Your swim-trunks are full of sand and need to be properly rinsed… that’s why they had to be taken off… the sand will go everywhere if I let you wear them…”

“... but, mum, I haven’t got anything on…” Toby whined.

“I can see that, Toby… but what’s there to get upset about… there are lots of young boys playing on the beach without any swim-trunks on and it doesn’t bother them…”

Toby swung his arm out in the direction on a group of boys playing in pools of water left by the receding tide, “... but, mum… they’re much younger than me… I was over there and one of the boys is… it’s his birthday… he’s only six…. Oh, please, mum…”

“I don’t see that makes the slightest difference, Toby… now will you hurry up and get a move on!”

You’d of had to have a heart of stone not to feel sorry for Toby as he grabbed the handles of the beach bag using both hands. He set off after mum as he lugged the bag awkwardly.

“... and will you please do something about Mr Winky… I can see his pink head peeking out from here,” mum said embarrassing Toby even further… if that was possible!

What mum meant of course, was that Toby’s foreskin was almost fully retracted due to his erection. It was bad enough for mum to mention these things in public, but what made it worse for Toby was the infantile language mum used. He gasped at the unfairness of it all and blew his cheeks out… as if he had any control over these matters, but fortunately for Toby his penis did slowly soften to the point at which it was merely pointing the way forward... when it wasn’t waggling from side to side!

Toby groaned and muttered under his breath and struggled to keep up with mum as they walked towards the esplanade where the ice-cream parlour was sited. Just before the esplanade were some open-air showers for holidaymakers to rinse off after they’d been swimming. A small group of boys, who appeared to be slightly younger than Toby, were larking about under the shower spray. Toby could see they were all wearing swim-trunks so he swung mum’s beach bag round and held it so the boys couldn’t see he was totally bare. Unfortunately his stratagem failed when mum called out for Toby to put her beach bag down and to go and rinse off under the shower.

Toby clung on to the beach bag, all that lay between him and certain humiliation at the shower stand. “I can rinse off later, mum,” Toby said, trying to sound as if it didn’t matter, but mum simply repeated herself and told Toby to go and rinse off. Her tone was more measured this time, which should have been a warning for Toby not to push his luck… such that it was.

“But, mum… the shower’s busy… those boys are using it...”

“Toby, we are not leaving this beach until every grain of sand is rinsed from your body… DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR?”

This was enough to get the message through to Toby… and to frighten Mr Winky! Toby’s penis became completely flaccid once more.

“... and if I have any more nonsense from you,” mum continued, “your bottom will feel another dose of my little strap… do you understand, Toby?”

“Yes, mum,” Toby understood alright and he put down the beach bag.

It took no more than a split second for the boys playing about under the shower to see that Toby, walking towards them, was completely and utterly bare-nude. Another split second and the teasing chants started: “NUDIE!! NUDIE!! WHAT’S YOUR NAME… NUDIE?! LOST YOUR TRUNKS NUDIE?! NUDIE!! NUDIE!!”

Toby glanced up at mum, but it was no use. Mum wasn’t about to change her mind just because some boys were teasing him, so Toby continued walking until he was standing next to the shower. The gaggle of boys looked Toby over. One of them saw the tell-tale signs of a spanking on Toby’s bare bottom.

“WOW! Was that you we could hear?” one of the boys asked. Toby nodded. “What happened to your trunks?”

“Mum put them in the beach bag…”

“Aww… that sucks,” the boy replied.

“From the back it looks like you’re wearing a pair of red swim-trunks,” another of the boys observed.

Toby felt a hand on his bottom. It was the first boy, “WOW! You’re bum’s still mega-hot!! That was some spanking… what did she use?”

Toby explained that mum kept a short leather strap in a tote-bag, but she also had a paddle.

“Wouldn’t catch me walking about in the nude…” a third boy announced.

“I don’t suppose he wants to… his mum took them, stupid,” the first boy said, leaping to Toby’s defence.

While this was going on, Toby managed to maneuver himself under the shower rose and rinse himself as best he could. The first boy, who Toby realised was the ringleader of the group of boys, whispered into Toby’s ear: “You wanking yet?”

Toby was affronted: “Course I am… what’s it to you, anyway?”

“Just thought I’d ask… er, but we meet… sort of club… and, you know… do it… wank.”

Toby’s immediate reaction was to glance back over his shoulder to see if his mum looked as if she thought he was up to something. As far as he could tell, she didn’t.

“... it’s a sort of wanking club,” the boy was explaining as Toby carried on rinsing himself, “... thought you might want to join in… y’know… have a wank with us…”

Toby was intrigued. Nobody had ever invited him to join their wanking club… or a club of any sort, come to that. He agreed to meet the boys, thrilled by this turn of events.

The boy pushed his thumbs into the front of his swim-trunks. He looked at Toby, “I’ve got some hairs… d’ya wanna see them? None of the others have got any yet,” he explained proudly. Toby nodded and the boy pushed his thumbs deeper into his trunks, pulling them down to reveal some short wispy boy-hairs.

“There aren’t many,” Toby said as he peered at the almost translucent hairs.

“... more than you’ve got,” the boy retorted and pulled his thumbs back out of his trunks.

“Mum’s waiting… got to go,” Toby said after getting directions to the boys’ secret hideout.

“It looked as though you made friends with those boys,” mum said when Toby rejoined her again, “You certainly look a bit happier than you were a few moments ago.”

Toby picked up the beach bag again.

“What were you two boys talking about?” mum asked.

Toby knew better than to lie to mum, besides he was sure she’d seen the boy pull down the front of his swim-trunks. “He showed me his hairs,” Toby answered truthfully.

“I suppose he teased you for not having any?”

Toby winced. He hated any talk about ‘boy stuff’.

“I don’t understand why boys get so obsessed over such silly things,” mum said, ignoring Toby’s obvious discomfort, “You can’t do anything about it, Toby. One day you’ll look back and wonder why you made such a fuss about a few little hairs…”

“... but I’m not making a fuss, mum… he just showed me his hairs, that’s all…”

Mum smiled that sickeningly indulgent smile that Toby loathed. He knew mum didn’t believe him and the first thing she’d do was to let all and sundry know that Toby was upset not to have any boy-hairs yet.

“Hmm… I wonder if that’s why your friend was allowed to wear swim-trunks on the beach… he really didn’t look old enough to me. If I were his mum...”

“Mum! He’s thirteen,” Toby almost spat out, “and I’m fourteen.”

“... you were allowed to wear your swim-trunks on the beach, weren’t you, Toby… and you’re the one who got them covered in sand…”

Toby wasn’t about to push his luck (not that he was having much anyway!) and didn’t argue the point that you can’t play on the beach without getting covered in sand. He was sure mum must have suspected he was hiding something, something naughty that took place between himself and the boy he spoke to, but thankfully mum left it at that and the two of them were soon walking along the esplanade towards the ice-cream parlour.

Toby clutched the beach bag to his front and was about to tackle the subject of his nudity with mum again when she turned round to face him.

“I’d better check you rinsed all the sand off before we go in,” mum said and with that told Toby to put the bag down and hold out his arms so she could check he’d done the job properly. Mum knelt down to check Toby’s legs and just at that moment he was mortified to see a gaggle of schoolgirls approaching. The girls were of course all wearing modest one-piece swimsuits. Mum seemed to be taking much longer inspecting Toby’s legs as the girls stopped to gawp and giggle at the bare boy in front of them.

This was too much for Toby and he begged mum to make the girls go away and to stop staring,

“Oh, don’t be silly, Toby,” mum said as she looked up, “I’m sure the girls aren’t upset seeing a boy without his swim-trunks… I said before there are plenty of bare boys on the beach today…”

“... but, mum…”

“Now, Toby, I just need to check your bottom,” mum said, ignoring her son’s embarrassment.

One of the older girls piped up: “Can I help?”

“Oh, that’s very kind of you,” mum replied, “I’m just making sure Toby has rinsed off all the sand he managed to cover himself with when he was playing on the beach…”

“Building sandcastles, I shouldn’t wonder,” the girl said with a smile, “my little brother drives mum up the wall when he comes back from playing on the beach… he leaves sand all over the floor and in his bedroom…. Mum says it’s any wonder there’s any sand left on the beach the amount boys manage to bring indoors…”

Toby’s mum laughed at what the girl had said. She was obviously a sensible young lady, mum thought, although she couldn’t have been any older than Toby.

Toby was frozen with embarrassment. Fancy being compared with the girl’s ‘little brother’. And as for making sandcastles… he wasn’t making sandcastles, he was busy building dams and waterways to redirect the stream that cut its way through the sand at low tide. That required serious engineering.

“Shall I check to see if Toby’s left any sand between his bottom cheeks?” the girl asked, “Archie… my little brother… always forgets about the sand in his bottom…”

“That would be such a help,” mum said, “Toby does clench his bottom… you’ll have to be very firm with him… give him a spank if he doesn’t cooperate…”

“MUM!! THAT’S NOT FAIR!!” Toby yelled.

“It looks as though Toby’s bottom has already had a good spanking today,” the girl said as both she and mum ignored Toby’s outburst.

“Just look there!!” mum exclaimed when she saw a few grains of sand in Toby’s bottom crevice. “Toby, I asked you to make sure you rinsed all the sand off...If it wasn’t for…”

“Brenda,” the girl prompted giving her name.

“Thank you, Brenda,” mum said to the girl before turning back to her son, “… if it wasn’t for Brenda, you’d have left sand everywhere you sat down.” Mum rummaged in the beach bag and took out Toby’s swim-trunks and spoke to the girl again. “Here you are Brenda, you’d better use these to wipe away the sand on Toby’s bottom. Give them a shake first… they haven’t been rinsed yet, but they’ll have to do… they’re going to need a proper wash anyway.”

Brenda took the swim-trunks and gently brushed the grains of sand from between Toby’s bottom cheeks. “Gosh your bottom is still very red and very hot, Toby,” Brenda said, “You must have been a very naughty boy. Does it still sting where mummy spanked you?”

When no answer was forthcoming, mum intervened, “Toby… Brenda asked you a question…”

“Of course it stings!” Toby answered rather too petulantly for his own good as mum reached out with her left hand, grabbed Toby by the ear and pulled him downwards, forcing him to bend over. With her right hand she landed three hard spanks to each of Toby’s bottom cheeks before she let go of his ear. Toby leapt up and his hands flew round to his bottom as, without thinking, he broke into a spanking dance right in front of Brenda’s girlfriends. The girls had been watching with interest and their patience was rewarded when they saw Toby’s ‘boy-bits’ slapping and bouncing about during his impromptu dance.

It was a good minute or so before Toby became aware of his giggling audience. The girls were laughing and pointing at his penis as it jiggled about when a wide-eyed Toby suddenly realised what was happening. His hands flew back round to cup his penis and scrotum, causing more laughter among the girls.

Toby wanted to run. But where to? He was totally bare. He thought about the secret hideout… for about half a second. Even Toby knew that he’d have to get his swim-trunks or his clothes back at some point and that meant facing mum… and mum was not likely to be best pleased if he’d run off. There would be consequences… searingly-hot-bottom consequences.  As these thoughts flashed through his mind, Toby became aware of mum’s voice:

“... you are to apologise to Brenda this minute!”

Toby wasn’t daft. He apologised, no matter how indignant he felt about having to do so to a girl… a girl who was seeing him in the nude… a girl who had just wiped sand from his bottom… and moreover, a girl who can’t have been much older than he was!

Mum leaned forward and whispered in Toby’s ear.

“Aww, mum… do I have to,” Toby said in response.

“I think it’s the least you can do… now, go on,” mum said.

Toby did as he was told, turned to Brenda and spoke, “Would you like to come for an ice-cream with me and mum?”

Mum rolled her eyes upward at her son’s abuse of the English language, but Brenda said she’d love to join them. Toby’s heart sank as Brenda turned to her friends to tell them she’d catch up with them later.

The P.E. Club - Part 1

I was nineteen at the time and had been kicking my heels at home since leaving school. I guess mum was fed up with me moping about and spending too much time alone in my bedroom. One day she handed me the local newspaper which had been turned and folded to the small ads page. There, in the middle of one of the columns among items for sale and wanted, mum had circled a box which contained these words: “Wanted - smart young lad to help  supervise youngsters at a local boys’ PE Club - Suit teenage school leaver - Full training will be given - Uniform supplied.”

“There you are,” mum said in the voice I recognised at once as the one to which I was expected to agree, “That will get you out of the house and out from under my feet.”

I prevaricated and tried to think of a reason not respond to the ad, not for any particular reason, just the usual teenage egotism that makes a boy rebel against any idea that’s not his own. This attitude got me nowhere fast.

“But you liked doing PE at school, Robert,” mum said, “Your PE teacher always told me how much you enjoyed PE whenever I spoke to him… and he never failed to tell me how good you were. You always got top marks for PE at school, didn’t you, Robert?”

“Yes, mum…” I had to agree as it was true that I did enjoy gym lessons and PE, but what mum didn’t know was that I enjoyed school showers even more! You see at school although we had those big, open communal showers, there were also a set of shower cubicles each capable of accommodating three boys  at a time (or sometimes even four boys at a squeeze!). Competition for these cubicles was fierce and there was always a gaggle of totally nude boys surrounding ‘Sir’ and pleading with him to be chosen and given permission to shower with their mates in one of the cubicles.

Mum said her final words on the matter, “That’s settled then, Robert, it’d be good experience for you to get this job and it will give me a break from you moping about the place.”

So I was given little choice but to respond to the advert and a couple of days later I found myself rather nervously facing the PE club coach. I guess I would in any case have been anxious, but what alarmed me most was that I was standing in front of a female coach. I hadn’t considered the PE Club’s coach would be anyone other than a man. The advert hadn’t mentioned who ran the club and my interview appointment notice had arrived by post, so how could I have possibly known whether a man or a woman would be interviewing me?

In light of this discovery it seems somewhat frivolous to say that I felt as if I was back at school, but that was the case. Miss Stewart, who I was to address as ‘Coach’, quickly made her position of authority plain despite the fact she appeared to be no more than a few years older than myself. In response I felt and acted as if I was a schoolboy once more, which probably wasn’t that strange as I wasn’t that long out of school anyway. The way Coach spoke to me and made me stand with my hands behind my back while she sat behind her desk during the interview, reinforced my feeling of inferiority. I noticed a chair in the room over by the window, but it wasn’t offered to me and I had to remain standing.

But I have to say my interview wasn’t that unpleasant once I’d adjusted to the fact the Coach was a woman. We talked about how important it was to motivate boys and how I would be expected to assist her in the gym in addition to my duties supervising the boys’ changing-room. I knew from past experience in the school gym that a firm hand is needed to get boys to give their best and to work hard on their PE exercises.

I explained that at school our PE teacher was never satisfied until our faces were glistening with sweat, our hair matted and sticking to our scalps. Our PE singlets and shorts were always stuck to our bodies by the time our PE lesson ended and we were on our way back to the changing-room.

“Yes, I’ve spoken to your school, Robert and also to your former PE teacher,” Miss Stewart said, “The reports were most satisfactory. Your PE teacher did mention some horseplay you were involved with that took place in the school showers when you were younger, but I’m sure you will have grown out of that sort of childish behaviour.”

I tried my best to sound positive when I replied that I had, but my shame was impossible to disguise. I was mortified to think that my conduct had been discussed in such detail.

Miss Stewart saw my embarrassment and was kind enough to assure me that the sort of behaviour she and my erstwhile PE teacher had discussed would go no further: “You must understand that boys go through these phases, Robert. It is very common for boys to engage in inappropriate behaviour in the changing-room as they go through puberty. I started out as an assistant PE teacher when I was younger than you are now, Robert and believe me, there’s not much I haven’t seen.”

“I hope I can rely upon you to act in a mature manner when you are supervising the young boys who attend club meetings,” she continued, “A moderate amount of high-spirited behaviour can be anticipated and indeed tolerated up to a certain point. Beyond that point, Robert, I will expect you to step in and assert your authority. Is that clear?”

“Yes, miss… er, Coach,” I replied wondering just how and at what point I was to ‘assert my authority’.

“Is there anything you’d like to ask me about? You’ll be meeting Doc in a short while… she’s most anxious to meet you, Robert. She’ll explain the other work we do with these young boys here at the club.”

I was taken aback once more by the revelation the club doctor was also a woman. Actually, and to be perfectly honest, after hearing what Miss Stewart had to say, I would have been more surprised to find out the club doctor was a man.

“The advert said you would be providing me with a uniform,” was the only thing I could think to enquire about.

“Oh, yes… you’re quite right. Doc would never forgive me if I hadn’t sorted you out with a uniform.”

I thought my uniform would be a tracksuit or something similar. Coach went to a cupboard to get my supervisor’s uniform. Even from across the room I could see there wasn’t much to it, but I certainly wasn’t prepared for what I was presented with. I very nearly blurted out, ‘Is this it?!’, but I was too stunned by the flimsy, featherlight shorts and singlet to say anything.

“Better get changed before you see Doc,” Coach said brightly, “You’ll be in uniform a lot… I’ll assign you a locker where you can leave your clothes. Once you join us you can put on your uniform straightaway, the minute you arrive.”

Miss Stewart left me to change while she attended to some club business elsewhere.

Used as I was to my school regulation PE uniform which I still wore from time-to-time when I was exercising, nothing had prepared me for my ‘club uniform’. I was shocked. It appeared to have been designed with little thought as to the embarrassment it would cause the wearer. The uniform consisted of what can best be described as very brief ‘micro-style’ shorts which were made from an extremely thin satinized material. There was no support pouch of any description and as my uniform did not come with a jockstrap, I could see I’d have to wear the micro-shorts as they were. Quickly I stripped off my clothes, anxious for Coach not to come back and find that I was not dressed in my uniform and ready to meet Doc. I stepped into the shorts and pulled them up swiftly. It quickly became apparent just how indecently exposed I was... my penis could be seen clearly protruding from the left leg of the micro-shorts.

At the time I possessed only a modest tuft of pubic hair at the base of my penis and this too was perfectly visible above the elastic waistband of the shorts. There was a mirror in the room and I tried to adjust the micro-shorts to at least minimise my shameful exposure, but it was quite impossible. The top of the shorts was not much higher than my hips which meant that whatever I did by pulling the shorts this way or that, my boy-hair remained stubbornly on view.

Next I tried to tuck my penis up into the shorts, but this failed as the legs of the shorts were generously cut to allow for good freedom of movement when exercising. Each time I pushed my penis up, it simply plopped back down and out of the shorts. I turned and looked back over my shoulder at my reflection in the mirror. I stared at the back of the absurdly brief shorts, Jeez! I saw the lower curves of my bottom were quite bare and as I leant forward to try and gauge what would be seen by others when I was exercising, I almost fainted as I watched the humiliating shorts sliding upwards over my bottom, baring more and more smooth flesh.

The top half of my new uniform was not much better; just a very short singlet printed with the words ‘PE Supervisor’ that reached no lower than my midriff. My uniform was very brief indeed! A pair of white plimsolls completed my new kit.

To say that I was getting very nervous at the thought of Miss Stewart’s return, never mind meeting Doc, would be a gross understatement. As I waited I continued to make little adjustments to my uniform, but whatever I tried nothing helped. I wondered if I should at least cover my penis by cupping my hands in front of myself, or should I ask for a larger size uniform. Something told me that neither of these was an option. In the first place Coach had spoken about ‘horseplay’ and the fact there wasn’t much she hadn’t seen, so she wouldn’t be shocked by what she saw; secondly if she thought the uniform was too small for me, I was sure she wouldn’t need me to tell so.

When Coach popped her head round the door a few minutes later she said nothing to indicate that she saw anything untoward, merely asking if I was ready to meet Doc. So, acting as if everything was perfectly normal, Coach escorted me as we walked along the short corridor to Doc’s office.

The door was open and Coach ushered me inside. I could feel a slight breeze coming in through an open window as it tickled my bare legs… to say nothing of its effect on the exposed head of my penis. To my intense embarrassment I saw an older woman whose face was annoyingly, if only vaguely familiar. She was sat next to a physio bench and was introduced by Coach as the PE club doctor and I was to call her ‘Doc’.

It was awful for me to be standing in front of these two women. They appeared to be totally unaware of my extreme embarrassment. Coach walked across the room and sat down. It was clear I was to remain standing. Nothing more was said for a few long minutes and Doc took stock of me. It was horrible. All I could think about was my exposed penis and I had to fight the urge not to move my hands to the front of my shorts.

“I believe we’ve met before, Robert,” Doc said.

This really threw me. As I said Doc’s face was vaguely familiar, but I simply couldn’t place her. I mumbled something in reply which brought a smile to Doc’s face.

“Oh, I don’t expect you to remember me, but I remember you. You see I spent a number of years as a school doctor and occasionally I would carry out the regular medicals at your former school, Robert. You would have been thirteen or fourteen at the time I carried out your Tanner Stage Assessment,” she paused before adding, “Quite a fuss you made…”

Memories of those humiliating school medicals came flooding back as Doc went on to explain how she’d retired after spending many years working as a school and sports doctor, but had been persuaded to take up her post at the PE Club.

“There’s been such a demand for boys to join the club that we need a supervisor to assist us,” Doc explained.

On the wall behind her there was a row of pegs and hanging from each peg was a boy’s junior jockstrap. Doc must have seen me glancing up at them as she reached up and took one down. She offered it to me.

“This is a junior school uniform jockstrap… perhaps you are familiar with them from your days at school? All the club’s junior schoolboy jockstraps are fully compliant with school uniform regulations…” Doc explained.

I handled the flimsy little junior boy’s jockstrap. I could tell it had been well-used. The thin little straps; the tiny white pouch; the jockstrap specially designed to be worn by junior boys. If only I had a jockstrap of my own to wear, I thought as I felt my penis sliding further down my leg.

Standing in front of Coach and Doc in the skimpiest, most breathtakingly revealing PE uniform I’d ever worn was unbearably embarrassing. I could feel my penis poking out of the ultra brief micro-shorts as the interview continued. To my amazement they didn’t appear to notice as it lengthened even when I handled the junior schoolboy jockstrap. Obviously I was not meant to wear it, but to inspect it… the junior jockstrap was far too small for me anyway. It was explained that only boys who had a note from Doc which authorised them to wear a junior jockstrap, could do so. The club rules governing the use of junior boy’s jockstraps were very strict and required the boy to undergo a series of tests and examinations before they were permitted to wear one.

“One of your duties will be to carry out a close inspection of the boys’ jockstraps for wear or damage,” Doc informed me. “We have to keep a close eye on things... as boys grow, jockstraps can cause chafing between the legs and around the boy’s genitals. You’ll be expected to notify me if you see signs of soreness or rubbing in these areas.”

“Yes, Miss… sorry, Doc,” I answered as I placed the boy’s jockstrap on the bench and wondered what on earth I’d got myself into. I decided to take the bull by the horns.

“May I ask you a question, Doc?”

“Certainly, that’s what I’m here for…”

“Will I be expected to… er, examine the boys’, er genitals?” I asked nervously.

“Of course… Is that a problem?”

“Er, no… no, Doc, I just wanted to make sure that I understood… um, if that was to be one of my duties.”

“It most certainly will,” Doc replied, “Another of your tasks at the PE Club will be to chaperone the boys when they have to report for inspections and examinations… You see on these occasions the boy being examined will be fully nude and the Club rules state that when the boy is nude there must be two grown-ups present… for this purpose you will be pleased to know that as a PE Supervisor you will be regarded as being a grown-up.” Doc smiled broadly as if to say that all other times I was to be treated as a boy. Then she continued, “In part this is why we are so keen to have you join the Club. You see Coach’s time is valuable and better spent training the boys in the gym and she can’t just drop everything because a boy needs to be chaperoned… d’you see?”

I nodded my understanding.

“Good… I’m glad we’ve cleared that up.” Suddenly Doc asked me a question which took me by complete surprise: “Do you masturbate, Robert?”

I was so taken aback and merely mumbled some incoherent words so that Doc was forced to press me for an answer: “You do know what I mean by masturbation?”

I blushed and said that I understood, but my answer can’t have sounded too convincing as Doc then asked me to explain what masturbation was.

“It’s... it’s when a boy, um, rubs his, err, penis, miss, er, Doc.”

“In what way must a boy rub his penis in order to masturbate?” Doc asked calmly.

I tried to explain, but it was so embarrassing to do this in front of two women. Doc asked me again whether or not I masturbated. I finally blurted out and admitted that, yes I did do it. Yes I did masturbate and as I did so I was made to feel more ashamed than I had ever done in my young life.

To her credit Doc must have seen how upset I was to have to admit to such a personal thing in front of two adults… two adult women.

“I know it’s difficult for a boy your age to admit to masturbation,” she explained, “but the fact is I have to ask these questions, Robert, because you see boys are very often enrolled in PE club because their mums are concerned about the effects of excessive masturbation... they have either caught their sons masturbating, or have some other reason to believe their sons have started masturbating on their own or with other boys. They rightly feel their son’s energy would be better focussed on strictly supervised physical exercise, rather than masturbating in their bedrooms… We call it the ‘Masturbation Intervention Programme’. Do you understand, Robert?”

“Yes, Doc,” I replied, little realising how this would concern me.

“You might be interested to know how the programme came about,” Doc said and I could tell that I was expected to show an interest, which I did. “Well, Robert a few years ago I became involved in providing data for a rather interesting research project. In my capacity of school doctor to a number of schools I had access to the data required. I was also involved with providing physiotherapy sessions to boys’ sports clubs, so I could source data from these places too. To cut a long story short, Robert, what this research found was a correlation between exercise and masturbation…”

I must have looked bewildered as Doc continued:

“Putting it simply, Robert, we found that strict supervised physical exercise can be used to overcome compulsive and chronic masturbation in boys…”

At the point I felt an unpleasant sense of foreboding. What had mum got me into?

“When I decided to take up this post at the PE Club, Miss Stewart was a natural choice to join me as club coach. There have been a few PE Supervisors, but none of the boys we’ve had in that post have stayed… but I have high hopes of you, Robert and I think you will enjoy the challenge of working with our boys.”

There was silence and it seemed as if Doc was giving me time to absorb all this information. It didn’t help. If anything I felt worse with a distinct case of butterfly tummy stoking my anxiety.

Then Coach spoke: “We like club supervisors to set an example to the boys…” she said and I thought for one moment she was about to tell me I would have to join the Masturbation Intervention Programme when I took on the job of supervisor. However, she was was looking at the waistband of my new uniform micro-shorts… more specifically at the curls of what little pubic hair I possessed that were visible.

“I expect you’ll understand that naturally very few boys who come to the club have any pubic hair,” Coach said, “Club Rules state that pubic hair on boys is to be considered unhealthy as well as quite unnecessary. This is made clear to the parents of any boy who wish their son to join the club that a condition of membership is the complete absence of pubic hair… I’m pleased to say that of the few boys we see that have actually started to grow a few immature hairs, all have now had them removed… usually a few words with the boy’s mum is all it takes...”

In my naivety I still didn’t realise the effect of what Coach and Doc were saying would have on me, so I simply stood there unsure of what to say. With the benefit of hindsight I think my silence was interpreted as a tacit acceptance by me, that I too would be willing to comply with the many club rules that applied to the young boys who I would soon be supervising.

“Robert, do you agree an important role of a supervisor should include that of setting an example to the boys?” Doc asked with such forthright directness it was difficult for me to answer in anything other than a positive manner.

“Why, yes… of course he should,” I replied and thus sealing my fate as the new supervisor at the boys’ PE club.

The penny dropped, but by then it was too late. Far too late. I couldn’t back out. For one thing I did need this job… for another my mum would have my scalp if she found out I’d been offered the post of PE Supervisor, but had turned it down. I could just hear mum saying, “What does it matter if you have to follow a few silly rules, Robert… You take that job and be glad of it!”

By the time I was on my way home I knew exactly what ‘setting an example to the boys’ meant. I had been shorn of what little pubic hair I’d possessed. I was smooth and hairless as the boys I would be supervising. Strangely, the lack of pubic hair didn’t bother me that much, but perhaps that was because I’d also undertaken to desist from masturbating. From now on I would be part of the Masturbation Intervention Programme (MiP) and expected to comply with the club rules and Masturbation Code of Conduct. Coach gave me a copy of the leaflet which was handed to all boys on joining the PE club. I was also given a leaflet produced for club supervisors.

“How did the interview go, Robert?” mum asked cheerfully, looking up from her knitting as I walked through the door.

“Err… okay. They… Coach and Doc… they want me to start straight away… tomorrow,” I replied, “They’ve given me some, um, stuff to read…”

“That’s splendid news,” mum said to encourage me, “It’ll get you out of the house and out from under my feet… Do you good to help boys with their PE exercises. Will you get to exercise with them as well?”

“Oh, yes… there seems to be a lot more to it than just supervising the boys,” I said, still trying to get my head round the fact that I now had no pubic hair and had promised Doc and Coach that I would stop masturbating. “I think I’d better go upstairs and read through this stuff before tomorrow, mum…”

“I’ll bring you up your Ovaltine later, Robert... and mind you don’t stop up reading 'til all hours…”

“No, mum, I promise,” I said and started upstairs to my room.

“I’ll expect to see you in your pyjamas when I come up,” mum called out after me.

“Yes, mum,” I called back.

I flopped down on my bed, the same single divan that I’d slept on for as long as I could remember. I glanced round my room; at the bookshelf, the small desk, the chest of drawers and the little cupboard which, among other things, contained my modest stash of wanking literature. What would I do if I was not allowed to masturbate? Not for the first time since my meeting with Coach and Doc I wondered what I’d let myself in for.

I picked up the supervisors’ leaflet.

The introduction went to great lengths to explain masturbation and how it was performed by young teen boys. Illustrations showed various methods and some pictures actually showed boys in mid-ejaculation. The text made it clear precisely what masturbation was and even included descriptions of mutual and group masturbation practices. I turned a page to see photographs of how a boy could position himself so his erect penis was held directly over his own open mouth and in the next picture the penis was shown to be actually between the boy’s lips! There followed some text which gave a cold, clinical explanation (as if any were needed!) of exactly what the boy was doing before a further picture that made my heart skip a beat. The boy’s penis was still firmly pressed into his mouth, but he had obviously ejaculated as semen could be clearly seen oozing from between his lips which were tightly squeezing his penis. Boy-cum was dribbling down the side of his smooth chin.

Over the page to fund myself looking at a series of pictures of boys performing a ‘circle jerk’. There were six boys all aged about thirteen or fourteen and all totally nude. Each boy was holding and masturbating the boy to his right, while the boy to his left was busy masturbating him… and so on around the circle. The boys were all kneeling around a collection dish. The object of the game, so the text informed me, was for the boys to ejaculate into the dish. Having played the circle jerk game myself, I knew what one of the penalties was for the first boy to ejaculate and sure enough when I turned the page I saw a picture of the loser bent down, hands behind his back, tongue out, about to lap up the boy-cum from the dish.

It will come as no surprise to learn that by this point my penis was pressing hard against my underpants. As I continued to read the leaflet it explained how it was specifically written and illustrated for club supervisors so that we would know the sort of things boys were capable of getting up to when left unsupervised. It defined masturbation as any activity that would result in the boy experiencing an orgasm and ejaculating, assuming he had reached the milestone of spermarche of course. Thus the boy’s penis could be stimulated by hand (his own hand or that of another), by mouth (his own or another) or indeed by any other method an inventive boy could think of.

I need hardly say that I was taken aback, not to say shocked, by the explicit details contained in the leaflet, but not in the way you might imagine. You see pretty well all of the ‘activities’ described in the leaflet I had myself taken part in, but I was shocked to see that what I’d thought to be secret boy-games, weren’t so secret after all!

I looked at the Masturbation Code of Conduct. By now I was so nervous my mouth was dry. What had mum got me into? I read the leaflet that was handed to all boys when they joined the PE Club. There was a space for the boy’s name and age to be filled in on the cover. Inside the leaflet was printed:

My Masturbation Pledge

1. I will not masturbate.
2. I will not play with my penis.
3. I promise not to allow another boy to play with my penis.
4. I promise not to play with another boy’s penis.
5. I will not join in games that involve penis-play.
6. I must tell my PE Supervisor if I break my Pledge
    and tell him what happened.
7. I promise to obey my PE Supervisor at all times.

I looked at Rule 6 again: ‘I must tell my PE Supervisor if I break my Pledge...’. My heart missed a beat. That meant boys had to come to me… me their PE Supervisor, if they’d masturbated and explain to me what they’d done. If I was any judge of young teen boys it would be impossible for them not to break at least one of the rules of their ‘Masturbation Pledge’.

Wow! Things were looking up. The thought of the boys in the PE Club coming to me and explaining how they’d been masturbating with their friends and squirting boy-cum over each other made me feel incredibly bonky and ready to break Rule 1 without delay!

Looking for a way to circumvent the strict rules, I read through the Code of Conduct a few times and decided that as long as I didn’t allow myself to cum, I should at least be able to play with my penis, since masturbation was clearly defined as having to include orgasm and ejaculation.  My theory was that I should be able to stimulate myself right up to the point of cumming and then stop. ‘Edging’ was the word I’d heard some boys at school use when they were ‘saving their spunk’ for some wild orgy or other (events which took place in their fertile imaginations rather than in real life, if truth be told). So that’s what I’d do to stop myself from going crazy with frustration; I’d start edging. The trouble with prolonged edging, as I quickly found out, was that I was horny morning noon and night. It left me in an almost permanent state of semi-arousal, to say nothing of having to cope with my aching balls.

Scott's Story - Part 14

“Wheels within wheels old man… wheels within wheels,” was the sage pronouncement of a fellow junior officer given to newly married Marcus. “You mark my words, old man, strings have most definitely been pulled…”

It had come as something of a shock for Marcus, on his return to HMS Troutbridge, to learn there was no space for him and that he would have to do a ‘holdover’ until such time as a space became available. Captain Povey told Marcus his holdover would be at a shore base. Povey thought young Marcus would be thrilled to learn of his secondment to HMS Curlew, a stone frigate which had the benefit of married quarters for what he termed the 'happy newlyweds'.

“I can’t understand it,” Captain Povey said later to his dear wife Ramona, “I thought that young midshipman would be pleased as Punch to have the opportunity to spend time on shore with his wife... It’s not every newly married officer gets such an opportunity.”

It wasn’t that Marcus was ungrateful to be posted to HMS Curlew, far from it. Despite Penelope’s at times stern behaviour towards him, he loved her just as he always had from the moment he first set eyes on her. True, she could be very strict with him and Penelope certainly had little time for what she termed his ‘demands’; those nervous words Marcus uttered during his so far futile attempts to woo Penelope in the bedroom. Marcus understood that Penelope’s behaviour towards him had much to do with the way she’d been brought up. He realised from the outset the strong influence of Penelope’s mother upon his wife’s behaviour towards himself. Therein lay the reason for Marcus not being quite as enthusiastic about his new posting as Captain Povey thought he should… Penelope’s mother. This was the reason, pure and simple.

When Marcus had told Penelope the news it seemed not to come as a total surprise for in her next breath Penelope told Marcus how there would be ample room for her mother to join them, ‘for as long as she wants’.

“Won’t that be lovely, Marcus?” Penelope cooed.

Marcus felt as if he’d been punched in the stomach, but managed to say the right thing, “Yes… yes, of course… that’s good… er, marvellous… yes, Penny… of course...”

Penelope’s announcement brought back memories of the humiliation Marcus had endured on his wedding day flooding back. How could he possibly forget how he felt to be standing, bare from the waist down, in front of his new wife and his mother-in-law, Mrs Bloom, while he waited for his spanking?

After their honeymoon, Marcus had been looking forward to joining his shipmates on board Troutbridge. Although naturally he’d miss Penelope, he was relieved he would be putting some clear blue water between himself and his mother-in law. But he’d hardly had time to drink a cup of the foul tea brewed by his steward, when the call came to report to Captain Povey. For once glad of the opportunity to leave his brew, Marcus stood up and looked fondly back at his bunk, his ‘wank-tank’ of happy memories. He was looking forward to renewing its acquaintance even though some bright spark had pinned up some of his wedding photos above his pillow. How Navy News had obtained the negatives Marcus had no idea, but the pictures had featured prominently in the latest edition of the magazine which had an almost universal readership among all ranks. Of the pin-sharp pictures that now adorned his wank-tank one which had been given prominence was of himself and Scottie, wearing his ring-bearer’s outfit, shaking hands. Marcus felt himself flush red-hot with embarrassment as he looked at the picture accompanied by the sound of sniggering from a couple of junior officers standing to Marcus’ rear. The photographer had deliberately posed Marcus and Scottie to highlight the absurdly short shorts they were both wearing; Marcus in his specially altered dress white shorts that bared his thighs right up to the lower curves of his bottom; Scottie in his little sailor-suit ‘hot-pants’ which had been made for a twelve year old who’d fallen ill at the last minute. Scottie’s tight-fitting costume had not not been re-tailored which meant every curve and boy-bulge was on full display.

His fellow junior officers thought the wedding photos a huge laugh. They teased Marcus mercilessly and promised to ensure that from now on he wore the specially altered white short shorts, unless Queen’s Regulations dictated otherwise. Marcus did his best to take the ribald teasing with good grace along with the odd wolf-whistle from the stokers when he appeared in his ultra-brief white shorts.

Apthorpe’s deduction about wheels within wheels was perfectly right. Audrey Bloom, Marcus’ mother-in-law, had been at school with Ramona Povey (née Plessington). As old girls they had remained in touch, each sharing the same values and robust outlook on life which had been instilled in them during their schooldays. Over the years they had done many favours and good turns for each other, so it was no surprise when Ramona Povey was asked by Audrey Bloom to use her influence “with the higher-ups” to secure a shore posting for her new son-in-law.

Penelope and her mother had agreed that Marcus would be better off in married quarters where they could both keep a close eye on him. Both women had been appalled by Marcus’ behaviour at the wedding and felt sure he would go completely off the rails if he was allowed to be away from the marital home for any length of time… or any time at all!

The subject had first been raised during the honeymoon when mother and daughter had sat down at the kitchen table one evening. Over a glass of wine the subject of Marcus’ future was discussed. It should be explained that, at Penelope’s suggestion, Mrs Bloom had joined the happy couple on the honeymoon. Marcus couldn’t understand why his mother-in-law was there at all. It seemed to him as if he’d spent his honeymoon attending to endless chores and if he wasn’t engaged in those, he was running an errand for Penny or his mother-in-law. On the evening in question, as the ladies discussed his future, Marcus was attending to some hand laundry. This was not the sort of task he thought he’d be carrying out on his honeymoon. Marcus imagined their holiday together would consist of a couple of blissful weeks engaging with Penelope in lengthy, athletic bouts of rumpy-pumpy, instead of which he’d been bossed about and given chores to complete. Indeed Penelope had yet to allow Marcus to engage in any rumpy-pumpy at all. Whenever he tried to approach the subject of their conjugal activities (or lack thereof), Penelope accused Marcus of being obsessed with sex, telling him that it was all he ever thought about (which was not wholly untrue) and reminding him of his disgraceful behaviour during their wedding.

One morning Marcus even found himself scolded by his mother-in-law who accused him of upsetting Penelope with his ‘constant demands’ for connubial relations.

“You are only nineteen years old, Marcus,” she said as her son-in-law stood nervously before her, dressed as ever in a pair of very brief, thigh-baring shorts, “I have observed boys of that age find it difficult to control themselves… I need only remind you of your frankly inexcusable conduct at the wedding. What on earth did you think you were doing? I hope you didn’t think your behaviour was in any way funny…” Audrey Bloom paused for a moment as she looked sternly at her son-in-law. “You must know that it is every bride’s dream to have a perfect wedding, but you, Marcus managed to spoil the ceremony for Penelope.” Mrs Bloom paused once more. Marcus’ stomach was knotted up as he waited anxiously for his mother-in-law to continue.

“Not content with deliberately flaunting your, ahem, boyhood in church, you made the most appalling noise in the village hall when Penelope, quite reasonably in my opinion, took you over her knee to be spanked as punishment for your wilful behaviour, Marcus…”

“Is it any wonder that all the guests were staring at you when you finally graced them with your presence at the reception? Heaven knows what they must have thought. Fancy them having to listen to your racket.” There was another pause before Audrey Bloom observed, “Wailing and pleading at the top of your voice like a little schoolboy… you were probably heard five miles away.”

Marcus gulped. He couldn’t help but recall the awful humiliation he felt as, freshly spanked by his new wife, he had been made to walk, as if nothing had happened, into the reception to face the wedding guests. From their expressions he realised they knew exactly what had happened. In any case Marcus’ thighs were bright red where the table-tennis bat had stung his legs; the reason his childish cries for Penelope to stop spanking him had been so loud. Loud enough to be heard by everyone assembled for the wedding reception.

No, Marcus hardly needed to be reminded of how it felt when he joined the reception. Nor did he need to be reminded of his behaviour shortly before he faced the wedding guests. How, fresh from his spanking, and still bare from the waist down, Marcus had shamelessly leapt about in front of Penelope, her mother and little Emily who was holding on to his white dress shorts. How he had danced about the room, kicking his legs as he rubbed his sore bottom. How he’d cavorted and waggled his bald private parts about in front of everyone. It was only after a further scolding and a reminder to behave himself that Marcus was given his shorts back by Emily, who had been kind enough to look after them while he was spanked.

Marcus was jolted back to the present by his mother-in-law: “And now you’ve succeeded in upsetting Penelope again with your continual demands… demands, it pains me to have to say, of a dissolute lascivious nature.”

Marcus did his best to defend himself, but only succeeded in incurring more of his mother-in-law’s wrath.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset Penelope… honestly…” he stammered.

“Your trouble, Marcus, is that you don’t think of the consequences of your actions. Without thinking you flaunted your base instincts before dear Penelope. You think too much of yourself and not of others. Or perhaps this sort of louche, self-indulgent conduct is acceptable among junior officers…?”

Marcus thought of all the happy times in his wank-tank dedicated to the joys of self-abuse. Life was far less complicated once he’d realised other junior officers, some quietly and some noisily, were pleasuring themselves as well. There was horseplay too, of course…

“I won’t ask you again, Marcus,” Mrs Bloom said interrupting his thoughts, “Are members of Her Majesties forces libertines... or perhaps you consider them to be debauched reprobates. Is this what you think of your fellow junior officers?”

More than ever Marcus felt himself to be a little schoolboy facing the wrath of an angry teacher. He managed to deny that any such behaviour was undertaken by his fellow junior officers, but his mother-in-law wasn’t finished with him.

“Exactly how are junior officers expected to conduct themselves?” she asked.

“As gentlemen, Mrs Bloom… as gentlemen,” Marcus said hoping his answer would be sufficient.

“Very good, Marcus,” his mother-in-law answered patronisingly, as if she was talking to a little boy, “That reminds me, Marcus, there is another matter I wish to discuss with you…”

Marcus stood quaking in his shoes wondering what on earth it could be.

“I have given this a great deal of thought, Marcus and I have decided that in future you will address me as ‘mummy’... ‘mother’ sounds far too formal, don’t you think? And I positively do not want to hear the word ‘mum’ fall from your lips, so common. If the occasion calls for it you may call me ‘Mrs Bloom’. It would be quite inappropriate to use my christian name . Only my dearest friends call me ‘Audrey’… is that understood?”

“Yes… yes, Mrs… er, mummy,” Marcus stuttered.

“That’s better… now one last thing before you go, Marcus.”

Marcus’s heart sank. He thought Mrs Bloom had said all she wanted to say, so he remained standing in front of his mother-in-law, feeling a slight breeze around his bare legs and waited for her to begin.

“Now, Marcus, I know that boys think it’s very clever to play with their little willy and when boys get to a certain age they can get so excited they make a mess…”

Marcus felt himself blush right down to his shoulders and he also felt a few beads of sweat as they trickled down from his forehead. He was embarrassed beyond belief.

Mrs Bloom continued, seemingly blissfully unaware of her son-in-law's discomfort, “This sort of behaviour is quite unacceptable. Boys who play with themselves simply lack moral fibre. Do you think they would fiddle with their little willy in front of their mothers? No, because boys know it’s very naughty… that’s why it is called ‘self-abuse’.... Do they think mummy doesn’t know what they get up to? Of course she does. Mummy can see by the stains on the front of his pyjamas exactly what her little boy has been up to in secret.”

“Marcus, I want you to promise me that you won’t play with yourself like other naughty boys… There is simply no need for it and as you’ve just told me how junior officers must behave like gentlemen, I’m sure you will be willing to make that promise for me and for Penelope…”

Marcus was shocked. Was this the price he would have to pay before he was allowed to perform his conjugal duties? If so, he would have to make that promise, but to remain in chastity while all around him junior officers were masturbating in their wank-tanks was going to take more willpower than Marcus thought he was capable of summing up.

Mrs Bloom looked Marcus in the eye and asked him again to pledge his agreement to abstain from self-abuse. Marcus promised to remain chaste.

After his ‘interview’ with his mother-in-law as over, Midshipman Marcus looked forward more than ever to rejoining the crew of HMS Troutbridge which was due to set sail for sea trials in the Bay of Biscay. Marcus had been looking forward to renewing his acquaintance with his ‘wank-tank’, but Marcus was a man of his word and making use of that on-board facility would, under the terms of his promise to his mother-in-law, have to be renounced.

During his honeymoon Marcus had not only been denied the pleasures of the marital bed, but he hadn’t even been able to find a quiet corner for a quick ‘J Arthur’. He had been kept busy during the day, but when bathtime came around, Penelope would be there to help make sure he washed himself properly. To Marcus’ extreme embarrassment quite often Penelope would be joined by her mother and he would be treated like a little boy who didn’t know how to look after himself properly, a situation that was enhanced by his lack of pubic hair. Upon seeing how he’d been shaved by a junior steward, Mrs Bloom decided it would healthier and more hygienic for him to be kept smooth and hairless. Penelope agreed. Marcus wasn’t consulted and shamefully said nothing.

If life in the marital home wasn’t what Marcus had expected, his duties at HMS Curlew were far from those for which a junior officer might have been expected to endure. Curlew was a training establishment, designed to give young men and boys a taste of the seafaring life. Marcus soon found out how his days were to be filled by showing Sea Scouts and Cadets various aspects of life in the Royal Navy. Physical exercise was a priority and Marcus was required to join in games and compete against the boys. Physical coordination and agility had never been a strong point with Marcus and he loathed clambering over obstacles on the assault course. Particularly annoying was the fact that Marcus was always beaten hands down by the youngsters. But worse than this was that Marcus found his marks for ‘zeal and enthusiasm’ were taking a serious battering, something his superior officers would not be pleased with.

The Cadets weren’t slow to pick up on Marcus’ weaknesses. They soon found out that the midshipman was unlikely to complain for fear of finding himself ‘marked down’, so they ragged him mercilessly. They ensured Marcus was drenched in the muddy cold water that every boy but he managed to swing over by hanging onto a rope. The Cadets groped him as Marcus struggled to crawl through a canvas tunnel. On more than one occasion Marcus found his shorts pulled down and he ended up hobbled as he tried to run and pull them up at the same time. But even worse than all the ways the boys found to disgrace him on the assault course was the humiliation he was forced to endure in the communal showers with the boys after their exertions outside. Bereft of pubic hair and with a naturally smooth body, Marcus had grown used to some light-hearted banter from his fellow officers, but to be mocked and teased by boys three or four years younger than he, was altogether too much. One boy of fourteen who was already not only more well endowed than Marcus, but also in possession of a very noticeable bush of curly pubic hair, had the temerity to compare Marcus to his twelve year old ‘baldy’ brother. The name ‘baldy’ stuck and everywhere that Marcus went the word was whispered in his ear.

Matters came to a head one day when Marcus returned to his quarters after yet another humiliating day with the Cadets. He had ended up last as usual in a race over the assault course. Splattered with mud he had snagged his brief shorts on a loose staple as he mounted ‘the wall’ (a particularly fiendish wooden structure upon which Marcus vented his hated each time he was forced to clamber over it). Marcus was caught straddling the wall with his legs dangling one each side of the structure, unable to move without ripping his shorts apart. Needless to say the cadets thought this a huge laugh as they watched Marcus desperately trying to save his shorts and get over the wall.

“Get your leg over, sir!” “Go on… jump, sir!”

The more the cadets shouted and whistled, the more desperate Marcus became. Eventually he managed to extricate himself from the situation, but it meant another black mark as he posted his worst performance to date over the assault course.

After another shower with the cadets during which he was forced to endure yet more teasing, Marcus was looking forward to a quiet evening with Penelope, but the minute he walked through the door he could hear his mother-in-law’s voice:

“But that’s marvellous news, Ramona… wonderful… yes, I agree… Marcus will be only too happy to help out… I’ll make sure of that… yes, of course he will… and if you would have a word with your husband and makes sure he speaks to the tailor on board his ship… yes, of course… he’ll have Marcus’ measurements… good, that’s settled...”

“Buggeration… what now?” Marcus muttered to himself… or so he thought.

“Don’t you think I didn’t hear what you just said, Marcus,” Audrey Bloom called as she replaced the telephone receiver.

Two seconds later Marcus’ mother-in-law appeared in the hallway.

“We are not at home to that sort of language in this house, Marcus,” she said sternly “… and what have you been doing with your clothes? You are a disgrace, Marcus… you’d better come with me straight to the bathroom… this minute!” Mrs Bloom’s voice rose and, when Marcus hesitated, she reached out, grabbed her son-in-law by the ear as if he was a naughty little boy, and hauled him up to the bathroom.

Marcus could barely see where he being taken as his head was twisted sideways as he was pulled by the ear and he struggled to keep up with his mother-in-law. Mrs Bloom was a strong, capable woman, more than a match for the likes of naughty boys like Marcus who tried apologising, but it was no use.

“Mummy… please don’t… please… ouch! I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to, mummy… ouch! I’m sorry”

But Marcus’ words fell on deaf ears as he was pulled into the bathroom and Mrs Bloom finally let go of his ear. Marcus’ hand shot up to rub his ear as his mother-in-law quickly got to work undressing him. Within seconds he was standing completely nude in front of her when, once again Marcus was pulled by the ear towards the hand-basin and he realised what was about to happen.

“Oh no, mummy… please, mummy… NO!”

Mrs Bloom rolled her sleeves up purposefully and reached for a bar of ivory soap which was kept in a covered dish and used for one purpose and one purpose only… that of washing out the mouths of bad boys who use naughty words.

Marcus was close to tears as he watched Mrs Bloom lather up a flannel.

“Open your mouth, Marcus! Wider! Nice and wide… that’s better… I will not countenance the use of bad language, Marcus. You may be an officer in the Royal navy and think you’re above such considerations… but you are not… You have behaved like a spoilt little boy and so you will be treated like a little boy… do you understand?”

Marcus could not be expected to reply as Mrs Bloom had already filled his mouth full of foul tasting soap bubbles and a soapy flannel which she was busily rubbing over his tongue. He heard Penelope’s voice calling from downstairs. Mrs Bloom took the flannel out of Marcus’s mouth. He barely had time to splutter before the bar of wet ivory soap was pushed into his mouth.

“Keep that in your mouth and stay there while I find out what Penelope wants,” Mrs Bloom said.

Marcus looked at himself in the mirror and thought what a sight he presented as he stood, naked and with his eyes streaming, a bar of ivory soap between his lips and soapy foam dripping from his chin… all because he said one naughty word. He looked down at his bald penis and cursed the young steward who’d given him such a close shave on the eve of his wedding. He wouldn’t have minded so much had he been allowed to grow back his pubic hair, but Penelope (and his mother-in-law!) decided Marcus looked much nicer without… and that decision had been final.

“What have you been up to, Marcus?” Penelope asked as she walked into the bathroom. From the tone of her voice Marcus could tell he was in the doghouse again. “Mummy tells me you were very naughty and used bad language…”

Marcus answered as best he could, which wasn’t easy when you’ve a bar of ivory soap in your mouth. He gurgled and humphed, coughed and produced copious quantities of foam that dribbled down from Marcus’ mouth, dripped from his chin and ran down his smooth chest, but no discernible words were forthcoming. This seemed to annoy Penelope even more.

“I can’t leave you alone for five minutes without you upsetting mummy,” she scolded him, “and just look at you… you’re so ungrateful… if you only knew how much mummy is trying to help you, yet all you do is behave like a naughty little schoolboy. Well, if you are going to persist in behaving like a schoolboy, then we’ll have to treat you like a schoolboy…”

All the time Marcus faced his wife Penelope with the bar of soap filling his mouth with suds and foam which was very unpleasant to say the least, but he daren’t spit the soap out. His eyes stung and watered, making Marcus screw his face up which caused his jaw to tighten and so clamp the horrid bar of soap even more tightly in his mouth.

“... and I had such a nice surprise for you,” Penelope continued and with a change of tone stepped up to Marcus, “Do you want me to take this soap now?” Marcus nodded his head vigorously, “Have you learnt your lesson?” Again Marcus nodded, agreeing to anything to get the foul-tasting bar of soap from his mouth. “Alright then, Marcus, but you are to go and apologise to mummy and tell her you are very very sorry for being such a naughty boy… Will you do that?” Marcus nodded his head as the slimy soap bubbles dribbled from his mouth.

Penelope eased the bar of wet ivory soap from Marcus’ mouth and placed it back into the dish by the hand-basin. Marcus was allowed to rinse his mouth a couple of times. Although this got rid of the soapy foam, it did nothing to lessen the overpowering taste of the ivory soap which Marcus knew from experience would linger in his mouth for some time. It was only then Marcus realised he was to go back downstairs just as he was, in the nude. The clothes he had been wearing were already in the laundry and he dare not risk upsetting Penelope further, so he gingerly went downstairs to the hallway and stopped when he heard voices coming from the living-room. Voices other than his mother-in-law. Marcus cupped his hands between his legs before going any further.

“It was no trouble at all to drop them off, Audrey… I… what have we here?” Marcus heard the woman say.

“Excuse me, Violet… Marcus! What do you think you’re doing?” Audrey Bloom snapped, “Haven’t I told you enough times that playing with little winky is forbidden in this house? Take your hands away from winky this instant! Good. Now come into the room and introduce yourself properly.”

Mrs Bloom turned to her friend Violet, “I’m sorry you had to see that, but boys these days seem to have become obsessed with... you know what. You wouldn’t believe the demands Marcus has been making of poor Penelope…”

“Boys think of little else,” Violet observed.

“Scottie is just the same… he won’t leave willy-winky alone. I’ve had to get some special mittens for him to wear at bedtime...”

Marcus was shocked to see that it was Emily who’d spoken. She was standing next to a red-faced Scottie who was dressed in the ‘Continental’ suit his Auntie Violet had bought him. Marcus had never seen such an absurdly short pair of tailored short trousers as those being worn by Scottie. It looked as if Scottie was just as embarrassed as he had been wearing the ring-bearer outfit.

It transpired that Emily and Scottie had been driven down by Scott’s Auntie Violet. The two of them would be staying for a short holiday, although Scottie was pretty sure he wouldn’t be an entirely enjoyable break… he’d already suffered the indignity of having the backs of his legs slapped in public when they’d stopped for a bite to eat on the journey to HMS Curlew. Poor Scottie was so embarrassed about being seen in his continental suit that he had foolishly dithered in the car park, saying that he would rather stay and “look after auntie’s car”. Auntie Violet had told Scottie not to be so silly. Then Emily grabbed him by the arm and pulled him along before auntie delivered a few resounding smacks to the backs of Scottie’s bare legs as they were about the enter the café . So Scottie was made to enter the café in his extremely short shorts that revealed bright red thighs from auntie’s smacks.

Marcus was still looking at Scottie’s little suit when Emily spoke up: “I think we ought to get you into your pyjamas, Scottie. It’s been a tiring day for you and you really need an early bedtime…”

“... but it’s only five o’clock, Emily,” Scottie blurted out.

Auntie Violet spoke: “Miss Emily, Scottie.”

Scottie looked sheepishly at his aunt and apologised.

Mrs Bloom thought pyjama-time was an excellent idea and proposed that Marcus too should be put into his pyjamas: “... Marcus was very naughty… using the most foul language when he thought I couldn’t hear what he was saying… didn’t you, Marcus?”

“Yes, mummy,” Marcus replied as he stood quite bare in front of everyone. The foul taste of the ivory soap still lingering in his mouth.

“Yes, I think we’ll have you into your pyjamas as well, Marcus. Then you and Scottie can have your tea and then it’s off to bedfordshire for both of you…”

Marcus looked sheepishly towards Penelope. If he was expecting her to overrule her mother, he was mistaken.

“Do as mummy says, Marcus… unless you want to go to bed with a sore red bottom.”

“No Penelope. Er, shall I go and get my pyjamas then?” Marcus said, hoping to escape his embarrassing ordeal in the living-room.

“No. You can stay there. I’ll fetch your pyjamas, Marcus,” Penelope replied before she turned to Emily and added, “The boys can sleep in the spare room…”

Emily nodded her agreement and started to undress Scottie: “There, Scottie won’t it be nice to share a bedroom with Marcus? That’s a big privilege you know… it’s not every boy who has the opportunity to share with a proper seaman like Marcus. I expect he’ll want to tell you all about his adventures on the high-seas… But I don’t want you getting over-excited, so it will ‘lights out’ at eight-thirty as usual.”

By the time Emily had finished her little talk she was taking off Scottie’s shirt to leave him just as bare as Marcus. The two boys were made to stand side-by-side and Aunt Violet said the two of them reminded her of her older brothers that she used to sit for when she was Emily’s age.

Emily unpacked a pair of Scottie’s pyjamas. This particular pair of brushed cotton pyjamas Scottie found dreadfully embarrassing to wear as they made him feel like a little boy. The pyjamas, normally worn by much younger boys than Scottie, were printed with a pattern of cartoon monsters and Mrs Bloom remarked that she didn’t realise such pyjamas were made in sizes suitable for teenage boys like Scottie.

“Perhaps I ought to look out for a pair for Marcus.” she added.

“Well actually I took the liberty of buying a pair of pyjamas as a present for Marcus,” Auntie Violet said, “I wasn’t sure of his size…” With these words she produced a pair of pyjamas that made Marcus cringe with embarrassment.

“Oh, how lovely,” Mrs Bloom gushed, “Marcus, nip upstairs and tell Penelope not to bother getting… never mind, here she is… Penelope darling, Violet has bought Marcus some delightful pyjamas… they’re a present for him… what do you think?”

“Mummy they’re beautiful… how very thoughtful of you Violet…” Penelope turned to her husband, “Marcus aren’t they lovely?”

Marcus gazed at his new pyjamas, replete with childish images of starfish, ships, anchors and other nautical paraphernalia, and inwardly groaned at this new humiliation. That he, Marcus the midshipman, would be forced to wear such a garment was, he felt, beyond the pale. He prayed that word would not get out that he had been put into such humiliating pyjamas as these. However, Marcus knew the response that was necessary for him to give.

“Yes… they’re really nice… thank you, Auntie Violet, that was very kind of you…” the naked, red-faced midshipman managed to say.

Emily had Scottie dressed in his pyjamas as Penelope helped put Marcus into his new sea-faring themed pyjamas.

“I brought some bibs for the boys to wear,” Emily announced brightly.

“What do we want bibs for?” Marcus asked, at which the older women looked at each other and collectively raised their eyes and tutted.

Emily explained, “I don’t want to see you two spoiling your nice new pyjamas when you have your tea… I know what you boys are like…” she said firmly, “In my experience boys are very messy when they are eating... I don’t want to see you spilling your food and drink all over your clean pyjamas.”

The towelling bibs were both emblazoned with the words ‘Mummy’s Special Boy’ and Emily soon had them tied around the necks of Marcus and Scottie. Then Emily took Scottie by the hand and told Marcus to hold Scottie’s other hand as she led the boys through to the kitchen for their tea.

Penelope had found two small ‘junior’ sized hard wooden stools for the boys to sit on and she smiled as Auntie Violet suggested old-fashioned high-chairs might be preferable.

“The stools will have to do for now,” Penelope said, “but I agree with you… Marcus is such a messy eater, a proper high-chair would suit him much better. I’ll have a word with some of the other mothers… there’s bound to be high-chairs available somewhere on Curlew.”

Marcus said nothing, but prayed Penelope would at least be discreet in her enquiries.