Saturday, 2 April 2016

A Trip to the Doctor’s for Oliver - Part 2


The following story was written by Tom and follows on from Part One posted October 2015.


Back in Doctor Willis's Consulting room...

“Right Mrs Evans,” the doctor began, “firstly I’m happy to say there is nothing medically wrong with Oliver. His pubic hair, from what you tell me, is very sparse for his age, but other than that he seems perfectly healthy, normal young boy in a clinical, medical sense...”

Mrs Evans face showed a mixture of relief as she wondered if it was just Oliver being wilful.

Dr Willis continued, “As you know I've made a bit of a study of this type of problem after one of my own boys had a similar problem. Like Oliver he kept playing with his ‘little friend’ from the age of about 12 or 13 but I'm happy to say, after consulting with many mums at the local mothers’ union, there are a range of measures for controlling this sort of behaviour which all mums have found very effective indeed.”

“In essence, boys in their early teen years can be very furtive and will go to great lengths to play with themselves, many do get unwanted erections but generally even the unwanted ones are not really that unwanted, it’s an opportunity for them to show off that they are becoming men in the most graphic way. This is the sort of behaviour that Oliver, being older, really should have grown out of by now...”

“Having undressed Oliver I note that he was wearing standard schoolboy's white Y fronts, generally these are okay but they don't tend to have any elastic in the legs and can tend to gape at the legs. For a man it’s generally better to have a little freedom of movement so to speak but for boys that movement can cause them to shift around causing them to want to shift their appendages through their trouser pockets which then causes erections.”

“After discussion with the mothers’ union, one Scottish mother mentioned that this problem was often solved by making boys with this problem wear girls knickers. I'm not talking about ordinary knickers here but the type of stout school knickers with firm elasticated cuff legs that I'm sure you and I remember well and are extremely effective at holding boy's appendages firmly in place. In addition to this, they realise they have been put into girls knickers for a reason and this harmless garment alone has transformed an unruly youth into a well behaved and obedient boy pretty much over night all on their own.”

“You see, in Scotland many boys would be dressed in kilts and it was often very expensive to buy matching underpants or “trews” as they were known. Many boys complained they were uncomfortable and many boys experienced “tenting” of their kilts. Mothers soon discovered that a much cheaper alternative which matched the base colour of the kilt and were readily available was girls school knickers with elasticated legs and some bright lady must have realised this also helped significantly with the “tenting problem.” In time this practice spread quickly and it soon became the norm for Scottish boys to wear girls school knickers under their kilts.”

Dr Willis paused to gauge Mrs Evans reaction.

“Why Dr Willis, I never thought it might have been an underwear problem, but now you mention it Oliver was always fiddling with it through his pockets. I had thought it was an entirely wilful display on his part to provoke me and challenge my authority but it is entirely possible you are right, I think I'll give that a try.” Mrs Evans added with some enthusiasm for a potential solution to Oliver's problem, like a light-bulb of insight into the problem.

“Oh Mrs Evans, do call me Hillary, we mothers do have a lot to put up with, perhaps you would consider joining the mothers’ union, we would welcome your input and experiences and I'm sure you would find the other ladies a mine of information and support,” Dr Willis added with a kindly smile.

“ I'm Vera doctor, ahem, Hillary, I'd be delighted to join the mother's union. I'm sure I'll find it most enlightening and a great help. Bringing up teenage boys can be such a burden as I'm sure you are aware,” Vera Evans added with a broad smile of a lady with a weight lifted from her shoulders.

“Well, that's settled then” added Dr Willis, who also smiled broadly, “but I must ask you a little more about Oliver's behaviour after today's “little episode”... is that alright?”

“Why of course doctor, I mean Hillary, ask anything you want...”

“This is slightly delicate, but I'll not beat around the bush as time is pressing. I wonder if you have caught Oliver masturbating at all, or perhaps signs that he is indulging in this terrible habit of self-abuse. I heavily suspect a boy of Oliver's age …...”

Mrs Evans interjected, “you don't need to say any more, Hillary. Really, I'm at my wit's end with Oliver. I know he was playing with himself when he was 14 going on 15... I very nearly let him move up to long trousers as he was doing well at school and was generally well behaved, but one morning whilst making his bed I came across stains on the sheets of a rather sticky nature.”

Vera Evans paused but received a knowing pat on her knee from Dr Willis and Vera Evans continued: “As you can imagine I was outraged and disgusted, so when Oliver returned from school I confronted him with the evidence, he initially denied knowing anything about it of course but as he couldn't think how else the stains got there he quickly had to confess. I told Oliver there and then I would not tolerate such behaviour in my house and that it was the typical act of a naughty little boy and if he wanted to act like one then his punishment would be to be treated like one…”

“... I immediately stripped him and dressed him myself in his old school uniform from the year before which included his school shorts with knee socks and junior boy’s underpants, vest and T-bar school sandals. What's more, he was informed that until such time as he had proven he could act as an adult he would wear that uniform until I was satisfied he was cured of his obsessive, childish desire to masturbate…”

“... however Hillary, although Oliver has tried to hide his filthy habit, it saddens me to say that quite often I've found tissues stuffed down the back of the bed and he regularly keeps fiddling with himself at other times... he even seems quite happy to do so in public. Why sometimes I've never felt so ashamed... and if I'm going to be shamed in public then I see no reason why Oliver shouldn't be until he learns to grow up,” Mrs Evans said with a degree of desperation in her voice.”

Dr Willis listened intently to the account of the distress Oliver had caused his poor long suffering mother. Initially she had felt a deal of sympathy with Oliver's predicament but after listening to the heart-rending story of a mother at the end of her tether, Dr Willis knew she had to offer Dr Willis all the help she possibly could.

“Vera, it sounds as if Oliver is playing with himself regularly. So, to cut a long story short, I'm going to recommend Mrs Karen Holmes to you. She has a small dressmaking business in the town but has often helped the mothers’ union with the sort of problems that Oliver and sadly a number of other boys in the town are prone to. Karen will happily give you a free consultation on the problems you are having with Oliver and can provide a bespoke suite of problem solutions that many mothers in the town say are the most effective around. Here's her card. When you go, feel free to take Oliver with you. In the front of the shop her daughter Jenny frequently serves, just ask Jenny if you and Oliver can have a consultation in private.”

Dr Willis pressed the business card firmly into Vera Evan's hands and with a smile and added: “Please feel free to come back and see me after a month with Oliver to see how he's getting along. I like to stay involved with these cases and I can't ask Karen to give me any details as it would break patient confidentiality so I'll have to ask you and Oliver to update me. See the receptionist and make another appointment on your way out...” she paused before adding, “Don't worry, Vera, between us we'll soon have Oliver cured of his naughty little habit.”

With a broad smile on both their faces, the two ladies parted; Vera Evans happy that a weight had been lifted off her shoulders and Dr Willis felt she had really helped Mrs Evans and young Oliver... although he didn't know it yet


Meanwhile in the Waiting Room…

Oliver's heart had been put through the wringer, he was quite exhausted from the embarrassment of the doctor's surgery and the array of eyes on his smooth legs around the waiting room and the near constant glances with a knowing smile from the young receptionist just a few feet away.

Oliver nearly jumped out of his skin when the warm hand of the girl next to him dropped onto his upper thigh.

“It’s Oliver isn't it? I nearly didn't recognise you in your lovely shorts... You know me don't you” the girl added with a broad smile as Oliver looked up in shock.

“Ummmm, I'm not sure I....errr, think, I errr…” Oliver stammered, blushing profusely to a shade of crimson hitherto unknown as the girl smiled back at him, still stroking his leg rather too close to his groin.

“It’s Emily... you know me, of course you do! I'm a couple of years below you at school,” she added with a light squeeze of Oliver's thigh, “you're in the Sixth Form aren't you?”

“...umm, er, well, that is...I, err Y..Y, Yes,” Oliver stammered.

“I thought so!” Emily squealed in delight, drawing attention to herself and all the others in the room. The receptionist’s ears pricked up immediately and it was obvious she couldn't wait to hear what was coming next.

“My you do look nice in your school uniform... and these lovely shorts... I didn't know boys in the Sixth Form still wore short trousers… but you have such nice smooth legs Oliver...” Emily added, hardly suppressing the glee in her voice as she continued to stroke Oliver’s bare thighs.

Oliver was left speechless and gawping like a fish.

Emily smiled sweetly and continued: “Why are you wearing your school uniform during the school holidays, Oliver... and why are you wearing those lovely short trousers? Do you like to show off your legs when you dress up smartly, is that it?” With furrowed brow Emily, as if deep in thought added, “Well I think it’s very brave of you to wear short trousers and your school uniform in the holidays when you don’t have to. It’s nice to see such a smartly dressed boy... so much better than the scruffs you often see outside of school with dirty jeans, I'm very impressed with you...”

Oliver could feel everyone in the room lean in to listen, the silence was electric, not that Emily appeared to notice as she patted Oliver's thigh, looking expectantly, as did the receptionist and the rest of the waiting room for his answer.

“I… I… er, don’t wear short trousers to school,” Oliver said, trying to make it sound like an act of defiance: as if it was his choice to go to school in longs.

Emily looked up and looked straight into Oliver’s eyes: “... but that’s not what I asked, is it Oliver?”

Oliver felt even more uncomfortable than ever and squirmed in his seat as Emily continued her questioning. He had little choice but to blurt out: “Mum… er, Mummy… that is… likes me to be smart when I see the doctor… and it’s, er… um… easier if I’m wearing… my short… er, that’s why… um short trousers…”

Emily smiled pleasantly at Oliver’s evident embarrassment and was about to ask the Six Former whether that meant he had to undress for the doctor when a voice came over the Tannoy:

“Oliver Evans to Dr Willis please.”

Oliver jumped up as if he'd been touched with a cattle prod but stood transfixed; the hell of the waiting room or Dr Willis. It was not much of a choice… either way he hoped the ground would swallow him up.

“Off you go, Oliver… mustn’t keep the doctor waiting,” Emily said, quickly patting Oliver on his bottom like a small boy who needed encouragement.

Oliver bolted like a startled stallion towards Dr Willis's Consulting Room. He started to panic. Would Emily tell the other boys at school he had to wear school uniform out of school and with junior boys short trousers? He'd never live it down. Then he almost began to hyperventilate as he wondered what on earth was Dr Willis wanted him for now?

Oliver tapped lightly on the door.

“Come in, Oliver...” Dr Willis called.

Nervously Oliver went through the door and saw his mum sat chatting with Dr Willis.

“Come right in and stand here next to me Oliver, I've a few things to tell you,” Dr Willis said breezily.

Oliver did as he was told and the doctor continued: “That's it... now, after your examination I'm pleased to say that you don’t have anything medically wrong with you, but I am concerned that you do have certain behavioural issues that need to be addressed and about which I’ve discussed with your mother...”

Oliver stared blankly at Dr Willis with a deep feeling of dread as she continued:

“The good news is that there is plenty of help I can provide with your little... difficulties, Oliver and I'm sure you'll be glad to hear that. I've given your mother the name of a lady who can help you deal with these issues... There’s no need to worry, quite a few boys of your age have troublesome erections and like to play with their little toy… their, ahem, winkies...”

Oliver, made to feel like a little boy, was wide eyed at what he was hearing but Dr Willis continued:

“...but we'll soon have all that under control... I'll see you in a month and we’ll give you a check-up to see how you are getting along… you might even be ready for the next part of your treatment. Is there anything you'd like to say?” Dr Willis enquired.

Oliver looked like a gawping fish out of water again, bright red in the face and fiddling with the hem of his junior shorts. He wanted to speak but just couldn't form the words.

“Well that's settled then... I have to say that your mother was quite right to bring you in to see me,” Dr Willis concluded, “Mummy obviously cares deeply about your moral welfare and she does dress you very smartly. You do look very nice indeed in your school uniform and short trousers. It’s such a shame that more mothers don't take the same sort of care with their son's appearance. Shorts are so practical for growing boys,” Dr Willis added with a little pat on Oliver's bare leg.

“Right, well thank you very much indeed Dr Willis, I'll sort out your recommendations immediately, we may as well strike while the iron is hot so to speak… Come along, Oliver,” Mrs Evans added as a parting thank you and stood up to take Oliver's hand.

Oliver knew better than to cause trouble as his mother held his hand tightly as they left the surgery and walked back into the waiting room with butterfly's running through his stomach as he spotted Emily wide eyed at Oliver led by his mum's hand to the reception desk.

The receptionist, still somewhat surprised at the sight of the tall seventeen year old dressed in his school uniform and junior boy’s short trousers, found it hard to disguise a smirk behind her broad smile.

“Oliver, ask the nice lady to make you another appointment to see Dr Willis in a month's time,” Mrs Evans instructed.

“Em, please Mi...mi....Miss, can I have another appointment with Dr Willis in about a month please” Oliver said, still beetroot red and  knowing Emily was watching his every move behind him.

“Certainly Oliver,” the receptionist replied as she looked at the appointment diary, “Now let me see… what is the appointment for Oliver? only I have to make a note for the doctor…”

Oliver blushed fire-engine red. He knew the Emily for one was bound to be listening, eager to find out why Oliver had been to see Dr Willis. He glanced at his mother as if to ask whether he had to answer the question.

“Come along, Oliver, answer the lady… or would you like me to explain?” mum said.

Fearing his mother’s voice being heard by everyone in the waiting room, Oliver quickly told the receptionist: “I… er Dr Willis… It’s for my… my pe… my thing…” He fell silent and then, in a very quiet voice, added: “ winky…”

Mum felt that she should explain for the benefit of the receptionist: “Oliver’s been having problems with his little winky… Dr Willis called them troublesome erections and you know what boys are like… they think it means they can play with themselves… The doctor understands I can’t have Oliver playing with his little winky all the time and making a mess everywhere…”

Oliver was horrified to stand there listening to his mother… and what’s more he could see Emily sat only a few feet away listening to every word as well!!

Finally the receptionist was able get Oliver booked in: “Don't worry, Oliver, Dr Willis will sort out your little problem… she’s very experience in dealing with boys with similar problems… oh, and I see she's just enrolled you on the program, aren't you a lucky boy? Now let’s see Tuesday 23rd at 2pm… will that be okay?”

Oliver looked at his mum who nodded in approval.

“Yes thank you, miss,” Oliver whispered.

“I can’t let you go without saying how nice it is to see such a smart young boy like you, Oliver, dressed in proper short trousers…” the receptionist said as Oliver prepared to leave the doctor’s thinking his humiliation was over. He muttered a barely audible ‘thank you’ under his breath.

“Don't mumble Oliver,” Mrs Evans said in a clear voice that everyone could hear, “what have I told you about thanking ladies when they give you a compliment?”

Oliver hung his head in disgrace as he realised his ordeal at the doctor’s was still not over.

“I’m sorry miss,” Oliver apologised, “Thank you very much indeed for your compliment on my school uniform,” he added cringing as he knew Emily could hear everything he said.

“Oh, Oliver, that's perfectly alright,” the receptionist smiled, “It’s just that it’s so lovely to see and older boy like you dressed in short trousers these days. Short trousers are so much better for growing boys... and they don't grow out of them anywhere near as quickly as longs and no knees to wear out either as well as plenty fresh air to the legs. So much more healthy I think; you're a real credit to your mummy!”

Mrs Evans blushed with pride while Oliver felt that today he had landed in hell and it wasn't over yet he feared. Mrs Evans pulled Oliver away and towards the door where young Emily sat.

“Bye-bye, Oliver,” Emily said as he passed, “It was really nice to see you today. You do look very smart in your school uniform and short trousers... See you back at school next term...” she added as her eyes wandered down from Oliver's face to fix her gaze on the well filled shorts and Oliver's long smooth thighs.

“And who is this delightful young lady, Oliver?” Mrs Evans enquired, “do you know her?”

“Ahem, yes m, mu...mummy, this is Emily, she goes to my school,” Oliver answered.

“... and what do we say when we get a compliment Oliver…?” Mrs Evans added sternly, clearly exasperated at having to remind her son yet again how to behave.

Oliver rolled his eyes thinking his mother hadn’t seen. However, he should have known mum had eyes in the back of her head.

“Don't you roll your eyes like that young man!” and before Oliver knew what had happened three very sharp, stinging smacks had landed on his left thigh. Oliver was startled and tried to pull away but was dragged back with tears welling up in his eyes.

“Now what do you have to say Oliver and be quick about it!” Mrs Evans further admonished him.

“Emily, thank… thank you very much for the compliment,” Oliver, tears streaming down his face and with a big red patch starting to form on the top of his left thigh, said to Emily as she sat, barely able to take in what had just happened to the Sixth Form boy right in front of her.

Before Emily could regain her composure Mrs Evans had dragged Oliver out of the waiting room back into the street where the cool afternoon air immediately became apparent to Oliver's thighs.


Oliver followed alongside his mother, head bowed against the strong early autumn breeze, ever conscious of the cold air that seemed ever more apparent since his thighs had been warmed. Straggling two steps behind his mother thinking over the terrible embarrassments he has suffered at the doctor's and wondering what on earth the doctor wanted to see him about in a month's time. All he knew was that something was going on and that it was likely to involve him in further cringing humiliation. Couldn't his mother see he was a nearly a grown-up and already a Sixth Former! To most mothers that's a time when boys don't get treated... well like boys! It’s so unfair he thought!

“Do hurry up, Oliver, we haven't got all day,” mum said as she yanked Oliver's hand and pulled him along, “I really don't know why you are being so petulant Oliver, you know EXACTLY why I had to take you to the doctor's, how else are we going to cure you of that filthy habit of yours? Self-abuse isn’t funny… I saw you sniggering!”

Oliver looked up aghast, just as two mature ladies past, who obviously heard Oliver's admonishment and gave him a ‘disgusted look’ that cut right through him.

“I wasn’t, mummy… I wasn’t laughing, mummy,” Oliver protested.

The two ladies merely ‘tut-tutted’ at his juvenile behaviour, which made Oliver feel even worse. Then one of them said to the other: “... and kept in short trousers too… that little boy ought to know better… playing with himself… the very idea!”

If Mrs Evans heard these exchanges, she was hardly bothered as she pulled out the business card Dr Willis had given her. ‘Karen Holmes Dressmaking and Bridal Wear, 42 Bridge Street’ was printed on the card in a decorative typeface.

Mrs Evans held Oliver’s hand tightly as the two of them turned into Bridge Street. They walked past a few other shops before Mrs Evans spotted the sign above Karen Holmes’ dressmaking establishment. She stopped to double check they were at the right place as Oliver stared through the window of the shop. A girl stood behind the counter who was certainly no older than twenty. The girl looked slightly bored. Oliver saw another older lady, who he guessed to be about forty, who was packaging up a small parcel for a customer.

With a jolt mum pulled Oliver's arm again as she dragged him through the door. The loud tinkle of the shop bell sounded as they entered. Both the lady and the girl turned and looked towards the door.

“Good afternoon madam,” the older lady said.

The younger girl took in the sight of Oliver who stood sheepishly, head bowed, still holding his mother's hand and staring at his T-bar school sandals. Oliver’s cheeks were flushed red to match the colour of his recently smacked upper thighs.

“Good afternoon, I've just been to see Dr Willis who recommended I come to seek a consultation with a Mrs Karen Holmes… it’s with regard to my son, Oliver here,” Mrs Evans explained, “Are you Mrs Holmes by any chance?”

“Em, no madam, Mrs Holmes keeps the offices through the back of the shop. If you would give me a moment I’ll see if she's free.” With that the older lady disappeared to the rear of the shop. The young assistant, a tallish attractive girl, continued to stare at Oliver. Her eyes wandered up and down, taking in every detail of Oliver’s school uniform which made him feel very nervous indeed. When the girl’s eyes focussed on Oliver’s bare thighs it made him want to run from the shop before anything else happened to humiliate him.

After what seemed like an age to Oliver two ladies appeared. The second lady, a somewhat stout late middle aged woman with a rather jolly demeanour was wearing a knee-length tweed skirt and a merino wool cardigan, with her hair neatly done in a tight bun.

“Good afternoon, madam” Karen Holmes introduced herself, “I believe Dr Willis has sent you to see me regarding your, er boy, here...” As Karen took in the sight of the rather tall boy neatly dressed in his school uniform... his junior school uniform, complete with his very short short trousers, neatly pressed and his tan T-bar sandals.

“My, he does look very smart indeed... a real credit to you Mrs er...?”

“Evans, Vera Evans, and this is my rather naughty son Oliver,” Mrs Evans said introducing herself.

“I'm very pleased to meet you Mrs Evans,” Karen Holmes replied as she looked Oliver up and down, “Yes, he looks a real credit to you. It’s so nice to see boys smartly dressed and in that regard there is nothing smarter than a proper school uniform, with of course, short trousers. Short trousers are both practical and healthy for boys and it does stop them getting too many grown up ideas about themselves doesn't it?”

Mrs Evans positively glowed with the praise heaped upon her: “You are so right Mrs Holmes. Short trousers are much smarter and as you say young boys today seem to think they are so grown up... well in my opinion there's nothing like short trousers for reminding boys they are still only boys and not men. Men don't go to school do they? But boys do... and boys should wear short trousers and there's an end to it in my opinion.”

“Mrs Evans, I really couldn't agree with you more on that topic. I can see we are of one mind in that regard. Would you like to come through to my consulting rooms? It might be best initially if Oliver waited here.”

“Of course Mrs Holmes... and please do call me Vera,” Mrs Evans turned to Oliver and changing the tone of her voice, spoke to her son. Addressing him firmly she ordered him to “...go and stand in the corner over there with your hands behind your back... and don't you dare move until I come back. Is that clear?”

Oliver blushed as he replied: “Yes, mummy…”

Under the gaze of Mrs Holmes and the wide eyed young girl assistant, Oliver slunk off, head bowed, face flushed and on the edge of tears, to the corner of the room. At least he thought he wouldn't have to face the girl staring at him.

Mrs Holmes turned to her daughter “Helen, I think it’s time you changed. You know we are going to the school tonight to see the Sixth Form tutor about your A levels for next year. I want to see you in full school uniform in precisely one hours time.”

“Yes mum” the slightly crestfallen girl responded, knowing better than to answer back

“Right, Vera, please follow me… Oh and please… do call me Karen,” Mrs Holmes said as she led the way. The two ladies proceeded to the rear of the shop, through the cutting room and into a small but comfortable office.

“Perhaps we could start with the reason for your referral to me, Vera and we'll take it from there,” Mrs Holmes suggested.

“Well, it’s er, difficult to know where to start,” Vera Evans said as she braced herself. Then, taking a deep breath, she continued, “Oliver seems to have a problem controlling his err, penis,” she said and paused.

“Vera, you shouldn’t worry about offending me. I've heard many a tale that would make your hair curl about naughty boys and what they get up to, so there's no need to pick and chose your words for fear of shocking me... please do continue.”

Vera Evans, reassured, continued: “Well, as I said, Oliver seems to have a great deal of trouble controlling his penis. He keeps getting erections all the time and it seems to me that he's just showing off or deliberately trying to offend or disobey me. For example, just the other day we were visiting a friend’s house. Oliver was playing with my friend's son and for no reason at all that I can fathom his winky went very stiff inside in play rompers and was, well, leaking if I could put it that way...”

“Naturally I admonished him in the strongest terms,” Vera Evans continued, “I gave him a good leg slapping as well... but did it make any difference? No, winky was still as stiff as a board! Well, I could hardly let that sort of disobedience go unchallenged and I stripped his rompers off him and gave him a good thrashing with a discipline strap, but even after that winky barely subsided. The poor lady who I was visiting had to put up with the frightful sight of Oliver waving his winky around right in front of her... It’s as if the boy has no shame at all!”

Vera Evans paused, somewhat exasperated and clearly approaching the end of her tether.

“I see...” Karen Holmes sympathised, “Sadly this is an all too common tale in young boys. May I ask how old is Oliver?”

“He's seventeen now, but he'll be eighteen in three months time. I really don't know what to do with him… He’ll be eighteen and he’ll still be playing with his winky… what am I to do with him?” Vera Evans said, shaking her head in disbelief that Oliver could be so wilful.

“I see…” Karen Holmes said, “Yes… seventeen... that really is an age by which a boy should be able to control himself. This sort of behaviour is more common in boys of thirteen to fourteen… boys going through the early stages of puberty. But you’ve done the right thing bringing Oliver to me, Vera. Not to worry though... we'll get Oliver’s little problem under control eventually, but it may take time.”

“May I ask, do you know if Oliver deliberately plays with himself… I mean does he masturbate?” Karen Holmes asked and when she saw Vera Evans hesitate, she continued, “Experience tells me that boys are almost certainly secretly masturbating if you notice any of the following signs… Is he spending too long a time in the shower or bath? Or maybe you’ve found tell-tale stains on his bedding or his bed clothes? Do you check the front of pyjamas for dampness? Have you found sticky tissues hidden in his bedroom?” Karen enquired, placing a knowing hand on Vera's knee.

“Well, Karen, one thing’s for certain,” Vera replied, “I can assure you Oliver doesn't play with himself in the bath. All his bath-times are strictly supervised, but I have to say that I have seen on a couple of occasions large sticky stains all over his pyjamas and bedding. You can be sure Oliver received a very stern lecture from me on the moral hazards of, er playing with himself…  and obviously a good thrashing…”

“It was at a time when I was giving serious consideration to allowing Oliver to wear long trousers on special occasions out of school… you know of course that Oliver has to wear longs to school now he is in the Sixth Form, although he changes out of them the minute he come home. However, as he was obviously intent on acting like a naughty little boy, I decided that he should continue to be kept in short trousers while he behaved like a little boy.”

“I made sure I gave Oliver regular pyjama inspections every morning and he stood by his bed while I examined the sheets. He didn't make the same mistake again, but a few weeks later I found some sticky tissues inside his bedside drawer and it was evident he was up to his tricks again. At that point I decided that he was going to continue acting like a naughty little boy then the whole world should see him as such…”

“What did you do?” Karen asked.

“I bought him a full junior boy's school uniform and told him that he would have to wear it in public to remind him of what a naughty little boy he was. Why, I even bought him some infants school shorts… you know the ones I mean; pull-ups with a fully elasticated waist, when I discovered he'd been at it… playing with himself again!”

Vera Evans was clearly both agitated and exasperated by Oliver's wilful refusal to stop playing with himself and to act his age.

Karen Holmes had heard similar tales all too often. Naughty boys seemed to be the same the world over and needed the strictest guidance through their formative years.

“Let me reassure you, Vera,” she said, “You’ve done the right things insofar as you have been able and it’s clear you’ve gone to a lot of trouble and expense to help Oliver desist from practicing his naughty habit... but it would seem the shame of being seen in public dressed as a junior schoolboy has not been enough to dissuade Oliver of the error of his ways. It would appear that we'll have to take more drastic action and no doubt that's why Dr Willis has referred you to me...”

“... and let me say that you’ve come to the right place. Over a number of years... and acting on feedback from concerned mother's and of course the mother's union, we have tried many methods but we now think we have found a fool proof method of stopping naughty boys from playing with themselves. Years ago we tried the old methods, like making the boy wear boxing gloves, but, would you believe it, some boys managed to get round that by getting their winky out of their pyjamas and holding a milk bottle to pleasure themselves. Some mothers reported that their boys wet the bed, or that they made a frightful mess in the bathroom because they were unable to hold their penis and point it at the toilet properly…”

“Other mums were woken up in the night to take the boy to the bathroom and hold his winky while he pees, which obviously is not what any mum wants. Obviously preventing a boy from holding his winky had it down sides, some mums resorted to rubber sheets but most quickly realised that nappies and rubber pants solved the problem. Several mums found that the boxing gloves were stopping the boys from sleeping properly or even blowing their nose during the night if required as well as the inability to scratch a legitimate itch. Mums also noted that when boys found it difficult to sleep it interfered with their schooling and this was obviously highly undesirable…”

“Most mums found that the nappies and rubber or plastic pants worked very well, but obviously naughty boys could just take them down in the night and then pull them back up again, so they weren’t very secure just by themselves. Some mums used baby monitors but that really only works if they make a lot of noise and of course they can sneak out of the room… But rather than describe the solution, why don't I show you?”

Vera Evans could tell that Karen Holmes was an expert in her field as she followed Karen from the small office back through the cutting room into a small anteroom. Vera Evans’ jaw just about fell off, never mind dropped, there were plastic pants, nappies and rubber pants of all sizes and descriptions.

“Here we are Vera, this is the type of thing right here,” Karen said as she picked up a pair of heavy duty milky white plastic pants and laid them on the table in front of them. “Now, these are not just ordinary plastic pants you would get from the chemist, although you may struggle to get them in Oliver's size, you'll notice they are very thick, here, feel them...” and she passed another pair to Vera Evans

“They certainly are heavy duty,” Mrs Evans exclaimed as she pulled then this way and that, testing the leg elastic, waist elastic and tried, in vain, to pull the side seams apart.

“You'll notice a very high ‘rustle’ factor of the material... nice and loud,” Karen explained.

“Well yes, but...” Mrs Evans started.

“But how will these put an end to Oliver's disgusting little habit you are thinking?” interrupted Karen Holmes.

“Yes... exactly, Karen. Can he...” Mrs Evans continued but was cut short again.

“Let me show you how we arrive at the finished product… Firstly we take an unaltered pair, so... we make a small incision in the waistband, thus... so that we can get a hold of the elastic. We attach a length of this fine but extremely strong chain. We clip it to the elastic and then rotate the elastic through the waistband until the chain is fully threaded like so. After that we have elastic in the waist to hold them in place as normal but once on, the chain can be secured with this small barrel lock arrangement riveted to one end and this clip on the other end...”

Mrs Evans witnessed the conversion in just a few minutes into a very secure adjustable waist closure which prevented even the naughtiest boy from removing the plastic pants.

“...and there you go” Karen Holmes finished with a flourish as the lock quickly snapped into place with a light click, “Now without this key they will have to be cut off!”

Vera Evans was clearly amazed and impressed at the thought that Karen and the mother's union had put into their novel solution. As Vera was drinking in the neatness of the solution when Karen continued:

“You may be thinking the naughty boy could slip his winky out of the leg holes, not so! We did originally put chain in those as well but it was tending to cut into the boy's leg. We found that requesting the manufacturer to use a heavy grade elastic with a limited maximum stretch was sufficient, even if they could get part of it out of the pants it was simply just too difficult and painful,” Karen Holmes added as she beamed with enthusiasm for her miracle invention.

She continued: “and that's not all the naughty boys have to contend with! We originally used nappy towelling squares to pin on the boys but this did place quite a burden of time on mother's so we invented the nappy pants or trainer pants. These pants are made from the thickest Egyptian cotton towelling, double thickness and cut to the same shape as the plastic pants, with strong elastic in both the waist and the legs and covered with a protective binding as you can see and covered in an additional plastic exterior lining.”

Karen Holmes held up an example and passed a pair to Vera Evans to examine.

“These wonderful pants are simply brilliant,” Karen continued, “Firstly they are extremely absorbent, therefore the naughty boy can use them as a nappy during the night which means mum doesn't need to have her sleep interrupted. Secondly, the additional leg elastic in these pants, combined with the outer pair of lockable plastic pants make it pretty much impossible for any boy to get his naughty winky out. Thirdly, by ensuring the outer pair of plastic pants are a close fit it's impossible, if they do get an erection, for them to be able to grip their winky through the two layers of slippery plastic and the thickness of the two layers of extra thick towelling. Hey presto, problem solved!”

Vera Evans had witnessed an epiphany and was positively glowing, “Wow Karen, I'm so impressed, you have thought of everything!” she cooed.

“Well, if you are happy, let's get Oliver in for a fitting shall we?” Karen suggested.

Part Three can be found here

A Trip to the Doctor’s for Oliver - Part 3

The following story was written by Tom.

Part One can be found here.

Oliver had been standing in the corner, his anxiety growing by the minute. What was his mother up to? Why was he in a bridal wear shop? He was sweating, flushed and very nervous. His legs felt weak and the butterflies in his stomach were fluttering all over the place. Then he heard the door to the rear office open and nearly jumped out of his skin. Oliver immediately stood to attention for fear of being admonished again, his mind swirling with the day's events.

“Oliver! Come with me now and be quick about it!” Mrs Evans commanded with a sharp tone.

Oliver wheeled round and followed his mother through into the back office.

“Hello, Oliver,” Karen said with a big smile, “Mummy tells me you have been a naughty boy… a very naughty boy who likes to show off his stiff winky at any opportunity. And mummy says you’ve been playing with winky as well. That's simply behaviour we are not going to put up with any more. In future you will be sleeping at night... not playing with winky and making a mess all over your pyjamas.”

“Now, take off your blazer, jumper, shirt, tie, Oliver... and those lovely little junior boy’s shorts as well,” Karen ordered.

Oliver made the mistake of hesitating and looking to his mother to confirm the order to undress. Mrs Evans simply aimed a quick slap to Oliver's bare thigh and told him to get a move on and to do as he was told by Mrs Holmes.

Oliver, stunned but rapidly awakened by the stinging slap, quickly had his cap and blazer off and seconds later his jumper was passed to his mother. His school tie quickly followed and he unbuttoned his crisp white shirt to reveal and brilliant white schoolboy's vest. Impatient with progress, Karen Holmes kneeled down in front of Oliver and took hold of the waistband of his junior schoolboy shorts. Within seconds the double clip had been undone and she was busy unzipping Oliver’s short trousers. Taking hold of the waistband, Karen expertly held the junior shorts, expanded the waistband and lowered them over Oliver's bottom to reveal his brilliant white junior schoolboy's white Y front underpants, with his vest neatly tucked into the waistband.

“There we are Oliver, now lift up your left leg,” Karen Holmes slipped the shorts from his left leg, “... good, now lift your right leg.” Oliver immediately obeyed, his shorts were off and Karen Holmes folded them neatly along the crisp pressed creases and put his shorts on the adjacent chair.

“There we are Oliver… that wasn’t difficult was it?” Karen cooed, talking to Oliver as if he was a little boy.

Oliver was stunned. He couldn't believe it... he was a teenager being undressed by a strange woman as though he was back in infants' school. For god's sake I'm seventeen he screamed to himself but he knew better than to risk another strapping by objecting, tears welled in his eyes as he hung his head.

“Now Oliver, I'm just going to take a few measurements, stand up straight now,” Karen said as she picked up her tape measure and held it round Oliver's waist, “Let’s see… there we are,” she said as she made a note on a pad. Karen then slid the tape measure down to Oliver's hips and again made a note of the measurement on the pad.

Taking the tape measure and placing it round Oliver’s thigh she measured the circumference of his upper thighs in turn and then turned to Mrs Evans for assistance: “Vera, would you help me by holding the end of the tape measure there in the middle of Oliver’s waist just above his belly button?” Then she threaded the tape measure between Oliver’s legs and held it up to his waist at the back. “That’s it… now let’s calculate what size you need.”

Karen Holmes took the measurements to her desk, consulted her paperwork and exclaimed: “It looks as though you’ll need an extra large, Oliver... I don't sell too many of those, but I don’t often have to measure up boys of your age, so I'm sure we'll have more than enough stock for you Oliver, aren't you a lucky boy!”

Oliver's mind was working overtime. Was he getting some new underpants? What were the measurements all about? Oliver wondered what this was all about. He must be getting MORE shorts? Oh god, not more shorts, when will I ever get longs, when will mum finally see that I'm nearly a man, he thought, but that soon faded when a tear rolled down his smooth boyish cheek.

Karen Holmes walked away to the store room and quickly returned with a bundle in her hands, Oliver was struggling to make out what it was that Karen was carrying, it looked to be plastic of some sort.

Karen placed the bundle on the table and took hold of the plastic coated trainer pants, holding them by the waist she turned around to Oliver, held them up stretching the waist as she did so.

“Now Oliver, let's try these on for size shall we?”

Oliver drank in what was now in front of his eyes: “BUT MUM, THEY ARE BABY PANTS!, I can't wear those... I'm a big boy. I'm not wearing those,” Oliver squealed petulantly and stamped his T-bar sandals on the floor. Seconds later he burst into a flood of tears.

“You'll do as you are told, Oliver,” Mrs Evans said, “and if you are going to cry and stamp your feet like a baby, then baby-pants are exactly what you need… or perhaps you would like to have another meeting with my strap, Oliver?”

“BUT MUMMY, Please, please, please don’t make me wear baby-pants, mummy…. no, no no!” Oliver blubbed and stamped his feet again.

Mrs Evans was having none of it, she was not about to have her authority challenged again and certainly not in front of Mrs Holmes. In one swift movement Mrs Evans grabbed Oliver's arm and pulled him unceremoniously to the nearby chair and in a seamless movement managed to sit and pull Oliver over her lap. A rain of smacks fell on Oliver's upper thighs and the seat of his junior schoolboy's white Y-front underpants, as Oliver screamed and cried.

“That's it Oliver! I've had just about enough of your disobedience and childishness today and I'm going to continue smacking you until you BEG me to wear those trainer pants, DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME!”

Oliver screamed and wailed, his hand trying to protect his bottom but in seconds Mrs Evans had both hands secured in the middle of his back and Mrs Holmes lent the obvious hand required to hold onto Oliver's flailing legs.

“Karen, I wonder if you would be good enough to go into my handbag, you'll find a short stiff leather strap”

“NOOO... PLEEESSEEE, MUMMY... not the strap.... PLEEESSEEE!” Oliver blubbed between continued sharp smacks.

“I warned you Oliver.......(smack), if I had any more trouble from you today, (smack) you'll beg me to wear those baby trainer pants (smack) and I'll continue until you do my lad, (smack smack smack)” Mrs Evans added in her most authoritative voice, pausing between sharp smacks. “Let me hear you beg to wear them Oliver.”

Karen Holmes had found the strap, a fearsomely stiff piece of two-ply leather with two small tails, despite its small size it was surprisingly heavy she thought.

Within seconds it was in Mrs Evans’ hand and being expertly applied with a resounding wallop that echoed in the small room, the noise only matched by Oliver's wails and screams. It only took two applications before Mrs Evans heard the words she wanted to hear…


Mrs Evans paused her onslaught, “Well Oliver, I told you that you would beg to wear them, now ask Mrs Holmes properly and be quick about it.”

Oliver had difficulty catching his breath as he blubbed and sobbed: “Please… Please Mrs Holmes -sniffle- Please… may I be -sniffle- allowed to wear my baby trainer pants. I promise to be a good boy for you and I promise not to be any trouble...” Oliver blurted out, anything was better than the pain of that strap.

“Very well Oliver, I'll be more than happy to oblige you,” Karen Holmes replied in a lovely soft voice and she helped the blubbing Oliver back to his feet.

Oliver couldn't stop snivelling as the tears rolled down his cheeks and he continued to blub and a trail of clear snot dribbled onto his top lip.

Mrs Evans looked on in desperation, “I really don't know when he's going to grow up at all Karen, just look at him, you get less drama from a three year old having a tantrum.”

“I must say, I was surprised to see a boy a big as Oliver in junior schoolboy uniform and particularly those little boy’s school shorts, but I now understand completely,” Karen said and, reaching for a tissue, she approached Oliver, placed the tissue over his nose, and told him to blow. Oliver did as instructed and Karen removed the the excess from his top lip like an experienced mother with a toddler with a cold. Reaching for another tissue, she wiped Oliver's eyes and cheeks: “There, there Oliver, we don't need all this drama do we?” Karen added in a tone trying to cheer up a three year old.

As he stood while his face was wiped, Oliver busily rubbed his bottom in an effort  to relieve the soreness.

“Stop that at once Oliver! Hands on head... immediately!” mum snapped.

Oliver knew better than to argue further and placed his hands firmly on his head, but couldn't help shuffling his thighs trying to find an alternative method to remove the smarting, stinging feeling in his bottom and upper thighs.

“And stand still Oliver! I won't tell you again!” Mrs Evans barked, waving the strap menacingly at her son.

“Now then Oliver,” Karen Holmes said in a tone that suggested she was talking to a little boy, “let’s try these trainer pants on you shall we? We had better take off your sandals first though... they’re very smart sandals aren’t they? My... they do suit you don’t they?”

“And what do we say Oliver?” Mrs Evans added in an enquiring tone.

“Yes Mrs Holmes, my sandals are very nice, thank you,” Oliver said, his eyes lingering on the strap still brandished in his mum's hands.

“That's lovely to hear Oliver, I'm sure you'll soon turn out to be one of my best boys won't you?”  Karen Holmes said as she undid the straps on Oliver's sandals and slipped them off his feet. Next came Oliver’s schoolboy kneesocks. “Now Oliver, I think we'll have your schoolboy underpants off for the fitting... they are lovely and white aren't they? You must be the pride of the changing rooms at school.”

Oliver was mortified, but he knew better than to argue. His eyes were still firmly focused on his worst enemy, the discipline strap, still being fondled in his mother's hands. Karen Holmes, still kneeling in front of Oliver, put her fingers into the waistband at the side of Oliver's white schoolboy underpants and started to lower them, within seconds they were sliding down his smooth thighs.

“Ooooohh, aren't you a lucky boy,” Karen cooed, as she noticed the label in the rear of Oliver’s underpants, “Ladybird brand I see... only the best for your boy, Mrs Evans.”

Oliver flushed bright red, he hated his Ladybird underpants. They were synonymous with children’s clothing, a constant reminder every morning of Oliver’s junior status and to add to the insult they were for boys of 13 to 15 years.

Looking upwards at Oliver’s crotch, Karen Holmes was obviously startled: “My, my, my... what have we here Oliver? You are quite the schoolboy aren't you, not a single hair, I can hardly believe it? Do you shave him, Vera?” She asked his mother.

Oliver was now even more flushed. “Oh god why can’t I have hairs like all the other boys at school,” he thought to himself, not daring to speak out loud, “It’s so unfair and why do people have to keep mentioning them, or the lack of them, it’s not my fault...”

“Oh, Oliver has always been a late developer,” mum replied to Karen, “He only got his first wispy hairs not much more than a year ago. They were so fair that I didn't notice them for quite a while. When I did see then… well they were so fine I didn’t see the point of leaving them, so I just plucked the three of them out with tweezers. Oliver hardly noticed did you?”

Oliver wasn’t sure what to say, but thought it best to reply in the affirmative: “Yes mum, they were very fine and thank you for removing them.”

As Oliver said the words he knew his mother wanted to hear but he couldn't help flushing the deepest shade of red in shame; the very words making his heart pound in his chest. Oliver thought it couldn't get any worse but the thumping of heart and his rising blood pressure was having the most undesired effect. He could feel winky starting to thicken and grow just as Karen Holmes was checking with her fingertips what she could see, but hardly believe, with her eyes.

She lightly ran her fingers over Oliver’s completely bald and smooth pubis and then over his smooth scrotum. The gentle touch of Karen Holmes’s fingers, combined with Oliver's heightened embarrassment was having the worst effect possible. Oliver became mortified at the thought he would get an erection which, of course, made it certain he would. Try as he might, Oliver knew he was losing the battle as his penis thickened further and started to twitch upwards with a definitive jerk.

Karen Holmes sat wide eyed as, at three second intervals, Oliver's winky grew in length and width before her eyes; each twitch narrowing the distance between Karen's face and the offending appendage.

Mrs Evans was busy replacing her strap back in her handbag behind Oliver and was oblivious to what was occurring. Oliver knew there was nothing he could do now and burst into tears once more, each sob and shake of his body caused his full seven inch erection to twitch in Karen Holmes's face.

Just as Oliver thought things couldn't get worse the door to the store room opened and Karen Holmes's eighteen year old daughter breezed in through the door. Helen had changed into her school uniform of gold blouse and school tie, bottle green jumper, bottle green and gold braided Blazer, box pleated mid thigh length skirt and brilliant white patterned knee socks, finished in polished leather Mary Jane shoes.

“Mum, I'm ready when...” Helen stopped mid-sentence, growing increasingly wide eyed, she said, “Mum! What's that disgusting boy doing... he's not ANOTHER naughty one is he, just showing off?”

Karen Holmes snapped out of her disbelief and Vera Evans was immediately on full alert, Vera Evans swung round to observe what was going on: “Oliver, how could you! After all I have told you and you continue to show off and make an exhibition of yourself in front of Karen and her daughter, have you NO SHAME AT ALL?! You're just a naughty filthy little boy who deserves to be treated just like a 5 year old, what are you?”

Oliver blubbed, which merely increased his body twitching which inevitably caused his fully erect winky to flap around in front of him, just as Helen and Mrs Evans stood together in front of him to take in the sigh. Everyone had stony, disapproving looks on their faces.

“Well Oliver, what do you have to say for yourself? I'm waiting,” mum admonished.

“I'm a (blub, sniffle) naughty little boy (sniff, sniff) with... with, no shame at all...” Oliver stumbled out, his winky all the time waving in front of the three onlookers.

“...and what do you deserve to be treated like, Oliver?” Helen added with a clear smirk on her lips.

Oliver wailed again, now this schoolgirl was intent to add to his complete humiliation.

“Well, Oliver, I think Helen deserves an answer, doesn't she?” Mum prompted.

Oliver’s shoulders heaved as he spoke: “Like… like a 5 year old...” he mumbled, staring down at his bare feet with the very edifice of his embarrassment clearly framed between his feet.

Vera Evans was back in her handbag but was stopped by Karen Holmes: “Vera, I don't think we have time for another thrashing. I think we'll just proceed and you can administer the strap later at your leisure. Oliver is rather red already and I think we have a more suitable intermediate punishment for show-off naughty boys... and time is pressing. I need to take Helen to school shortly... would you mind if I proceed?”

Vera Evans, clearly exasperated with Oliver, relented and put the discipline strap back in her bag: “Of course Karen, I do understand, and you can be sure Oliver, I WILL be dealing with you later,” Vera Evans added in her most authoritative tone.

“Thank you Mrs Evans, I realise how distressing this is for you. Helen would you fetch those baby trainer pants off the table for me?” Karen Holmes asked.

Helen skipped across the room in sheer glee, it was quite a while since she’d had the chance to fit out a naughty boy and certainly not one anywhere near as big as Oliver. I wonder how old he is? She thought. In a flash Helen was at the table and picked up the trainer pants and walking back slowly to Oliver, she stretched the waist elastic: “Are you sure these will be big enough for this baby mum?” Helen enquired, in a voice of false innocence.

“Oh yes, we have measured him up already darling,” Karen Holmes answered.

“Can I help you with this... it will be quicker won't it?” Helen added with a real plea and quite a bit of glee in her voice.

“Well, I don't see why not darling,” Karen Holmes replied. She looked to Mrs Evans for confirmation and on getting the nod, added: “Well, it's good practice for your babysitting skills I suppose and it's a good a time as any for you to find out just how nasty seventeen year old boys can be...”

“He’s SEVEN-EN-TEEN!” Helen exclaimed, “but he’s got no hair, err, down there, he can't be… surely he must be younger, mum...”

“Now Helen, that's enough... You know full well little boys don't have hair there and Oliver is still a little boy aren't you Oliver?” Karen said with more than a little irony in her voice.

“Erm, yes that's right miss...” Oliver added, in the vain hope of getting some brownie points, before he was again admonished by his mother.

“Oh well mum, I'm sure you're right, shall I start putting them on? We'll have to get it over his er, thingy,” Helen giggled with a menace only a schoolgirl making fun of a schoolboy knows. Then she 
crinkled the plastic training pants in her hands, as if to demonstrate they were baby pants to Oliver.

“Right Oliver, lift your left leg please. Helen if you could kneel down and put them on,” Karen instructed.

Helen was down at Oliver’s feet in a flash, wrinkled up the trainer pants to expose the left hole and guided Oliver's foot inside.

“Thank you Oliver, right leg please,” Karen told the nervous boy.

Oliver obliged and Helen eased the pants over his right foot.

“Right Helen, if you would pull them up please.”

Helen lifted the trainer pants, which moved quickly up Oliver's hairless legs until the leg elastic reached his knees: “He’s got very smooth legs hasn't he mum… just like a little baby,” Helen squealed with delight.

Oliver was completely numb by this stage. In his mind he was on another planet. The only thing that brought him back was the tickling feeling at his knees of the soft towelling which seemed to be hard wired to his winky by electrical impulses.

“Right Helen if you could pull the legs up,” Karen ordered.

It took poor Helen some effort to stretch the leg elastic each side but it was clear to both women it was a labour of love for Helen. She had to continually move her head around Oliver's throbbing penis, but eventually Helen got the legs to Oliver's upper thighs and looked round at mum.

“Well, it's not going to go over that pee-pee stick is it mum?” Helen was lost as to what to do.

Karen Holmes stepped forward and took hold of Oliver's penis by the tip and Oliver visibly shuddered and his legs appeared to buckle slightly. He was struggling to control himself. The soft towelling was now tickling Oliver’s scrotum and what with Mrs Holmes holding his winky, he could feel it twitching in her firm hand.

“Right Helen, I'll hold this naughty show off  boy's winky against his tummy while you pull up the trainer pants darling...”

Oliver was desperate to avoid another explosion. He knew a real thrashing would ensue but it was soooooo difficult! He could barely contain himself. The firm grip on his winky and the tickling of his scrotum by the soft towelling, made the twitching of his winky inside Karen Holmes hands worse… much worse…

Winky was dribbling pre-cum and Karen Holmes was aware her hand was becoming rather sticky…

“Mummy, what's the boy doing now?!” Helen exclaimed.

“Helen, if you could fetch me that towel please from the wash room… quickly now!”

Helen jumped up, her eyes transfixed by Oliver's winky which looked more than ever like a 7 inch volcano about to blow.

Mrs Evans was becoming increasingly concerned. Sitting as she was behind Oliver she couldn't see what was going on but was aware that Oliver was twitching periodically and feared the worst: “Oliver, I hope you are not going to disappoint me again today?” She said as she got up to see what was causing the delay.

Mummy… I'm Sooooooooo Sooooorrrryyy,” Oliver blurted as his twitching became uncontrollable. Mrs Evans had just come round to face Oliver when a spurt came from her son’s winky. It shot up past Oliver’s nose as he thrust his hips forward through Mrs Holmes's hand and narrowly missed her dress.

Karen Holmes, utterly shocked, released Oliver's penis just as a second jet shot out, this time directly ahead of Oliver, covering a good 3 or 4 feet, followed shortly after by two further less forceful jets and then a stream of short pulses as Oliver's winky twitched upwards.

Oliver blubbed like a baby between wails of tears as they streamed down his cheeks, to add to the mess on the floor. Mrs Evans and Karen Holmes exchanged glances of pure disgust.

“I'm really SO sorry Karen. What a mess! You have really done it this time my lad! Just you wait till I get you home... YOU JUST WAIT!”

Karen Holmes snapped out of her trance just as Helen returned: “Mummy, what has that disgusting boy done? Why is he waving it about? Has he been showing off again? What's all that mess? Has he done a white wee wee?”

Mrs Evans interjected “I'm so sorry Helen that you had to see what naughty little boys do. You can rest assured that I'll allow you to discipline Oliver for his showing off. It’s bad enough we have to put up with his antics without you being forced to see this sort of thing.”

Helen took in the words of Mrs Evans and thanked her for her concern, but she couldn't help but look at the sight in front of her, a completely confusing picture. What appeared to be a grown up boy, crying like a 5 year old, she could hardly believe he was seventeen, except of course for the obvious twitching winky.

“Erm, thank you Mrs Evans,” Helen said, “I don't know why boys have to be so disgusting. They were awful when I was in junior school but at Oliver's age... really! I do sympathise Mrs Evans and I'd be happy to help in any way I can.”

Oliver stood, blubbering like a 5 year old, his still fully erect winky flapping about as he sobbed. His cheeks were flushed red and tears streamed down his face.

Karen Holmes went to her desk and returned: “Vera, I don't know about you but I've had just about enough of Oliver’s petulant behaviour. Please allow me to put an end to it for you...” With Vera’s approval Karen Holmes placed a small ribbon around Oliver's neck. Attached to it was a baby's dummy: “Open your mouth now Oliver,” Karen ordered and she inserted the dummy into Oliver's mouth.

Oliver couldn't believe it, but he immediately started to suck the dummy as his sobs were dampened and audibly reduced by the dummy, but his tears still flowed.

“Right, let’s get this sorted out... Vera, would you assist me?” With these words Karen Holmes took hold of Oliver's slippery winky once more and Vera Evans took hold of the front of Oliver's new baby trainer pants and stretched the elastic. With a few swift jerks Mrs Evans had them over Oliver's hips and Karen let go of Oliver's slippery winky. With a resounding ‘snap!’ the elastic closed around Oliver’s waist with his still erect winky pressing against the waistband elastic.

“Right, let’s have a look at you,” Karen Holmes knelt down and checked the legs of Oliver's new milky-white trainer pants, “As you can see Vera there is very little play left in the leg elastic... less than half an inch, just as it should be. Just enough not to nip but there's no way Oliver will be able to fish out his naughty winky.”

Vera Evans nodded with approval: “I'm so glad we finally have an answer to Oliver's problems, you have no idea how pleased I am.”

“We are not quite done yet, Vera. We need his security pants now, of course. Would you fetch them please Helen, they are on the table there.”

Helen went to the table and picked up the security pants, they were quite heavy and crinkled audibly as she picked them up. The thickness of the plastic meant they could virtually stand up on their own. Helen was slightly perplexed by the length of fine chain in the waistband over the elastic.

Moving to Oliver she held them up for him to see, stretching and crinkling the plastic: “Who's a lucky boy, Oliver?” Helen teased and smiled sarcastically at Oliver, who was still blubbering and sucking his dummy.

Karen Holmes took the security pants from Helen and rolled them down, ready to receive Oliver's legs: “Lift your left leg please Oliver.” Karen Holmes threaded Oliver's left foot into the plastic pants, “Now your right leg please,” and Oliver duly obliged.

Karen Holmes tugged the pants up to Oliver's knees where he was aware immediately of the heavy grade elastic in the bonded leg getting increasingly tight as Karen Holmes tugged them up. The legs required stretching in order to move them up Oliver's thighs. Finally, with a ‘whoooop!’ the elastic waist band was in place and with some adjustment of the leg elastics they neatly fitted over Oliver's baby trainer pants.

“Turn round Oliver,” Karen Holmes ordered and Oliver duly obliged, his cheeks still streaming with tears. “Now Helen, will you pass me that small heart shaped lock on the table.”

Karen Holmes tugged the two ends of the golden chain in the waistband of Oliver's security pants, inserted her fingers in the waist band and deemed the chain adequately tight, inserted the miniature lock into both ends of the chain. A light click was audible, signifying that Oliver's access to his winky was no longer under his control.

“There we are, nice and secure Oliver. You won't have to worry about that naughty winky of yours at night any more will you? Are they comfy Oliver?”

In between sobs and sniffles Oliver managed to blurt out: “wess wisses wolmes, wankyou”, hampered as he was by the baby's dummy still in his mouth.

“Now Vera, I just need to explain... as you can see Oliver's can't get access to the lock, so it’s quite impossible for Oliver to insert the key... even if he had it, which of course he won't... as the lock is hidden behind him.”

Karen Holmes stretched the leg elastic of the security pants, indicating a maximum stretch of less than half an inch: “ see, if Oliver was to even try to get his winky out of the legs, there just isn't enough room to get it out, and it’s made even more difficult by the additional elastic of his baby pants. Even if he did get it out, and no boy as far as I know ever has, it will be extremely painful on his winky which will prevent him playing with it!”

Karen Holmes positively purred with delight as Vera Evans looked on with gushing approval.

“That's simply wonderful Karen, I don't know how to thank you, I'm sure Oliver is very grateful to you as well, aren't you Oliver? Do thank Mrs Holmes and her daughter for her help won't you?” Vera Evans said and removed Oliver's dummy to permit a proper response and nodded to Oliver in a knowing way.

Oliver stumbled his words, seeking reassurance from Mrs Evans as he proceeded: “Thank… Thank you, Mrs Holmes for my new trainer baby pants… I… erm… I'm sure they will help me get over my… er... problem...”

“And what do you have to say to Helen, Oliver?” Mum prompted.

“...erm... I'm really… err… really sorry Helen, erm… I mean Miss Helen for my naughtiness in front of you… erm, I'm just a... a… a... naughty little boy and I hope you will forgive me please…”

Mrs Evans nodded in approval and slipped Oliver's dummy back into place: “Now Oliver, have a walk up and down please so we can see that they fit properly.”

Oliver strode down the room, passed Mrs Holmes and the smirking Helen, the heavy rustle of the plastic security pants were clearly audible to all, much to their satisfaction.

“And that's another security feature of these Vera... any boy trying to get his winky out, or even get out of bed at night is clearly audible, so they won't dare try it. The close fit of the plastic security pants are such that with them being over the plastic of the trainer pants it completely impossible to grip any erection he may get. They really are 100% foolproof on naughty boys,” Karen Holmes added as Oliver rustled as he passed the three ladies again.

“Well, that seems marvellous, I just wish I had found you a few years ago, they really are marvellous,” cooed Mrs Evans.

“And what's more, the towelling is so absorbent, with the two thick layers, there's no need to worry about wet beds either, they really are the perfect solution!” Mrs Holmes exclaimed. “Well, we'll have to be off shortly to Helen's school for the teacher's meeting if you don't mind Vera?”

“Oh I nearly forgot. We'll be out of your hair as soon as I can get Oliver dressed... I think Oliver will be having an early bed tonight and he can keep those on as he'll be going to bed as soon as he gets home after today's antics. Come here Oliver, let’s get you dressed.”

Oliver was mortified, was he really going to have to wear these trainer pants home?

“But MUM!, I can't wear these on the way home, everyone will laugh at me, I can't, I CAN'T, PLEEESSSEEEEE MUM!” Oliver screamed.

“That's ENOUGH from you master Oliver. You'll do as you are told unless you want my strap to persuade you?” Mrs Evans added sternly moving towards her handbag.

“Awwww NO NO, please NO MUMMY,” Oliver exclaimed rushing towards his pile of clothes quickly putting on his long school knee socks and jumping into his vest, struggling as best he could to tuck it into his new trainer pants with the little room afforded by the tight chain.

Soon Mrs Holmes was helping with Oliver's grey school shirt and put on Oliver's school tie. Mrs Evans held out Oliver's grey school shorts for Oliver to step into. Mrs Evans pulled up the shorts, they were a very tight fit over Oliver's security trainer pants. With a struggle, Mrs Evans stretched the elasticated waistband almost to its limited to fasten the double clip and the zip was a little tight.

“Now Oliver, put on your sandals” instructed Mrs Evans.

Oliver slipped his feet into his childish T bar school sandals. As he bent over to do up the buckles all three ladies could clearly see the elasticated legs of Oliver's trainer pants poking out of each leg of Oliver's school shorts as well as a full inch of waistband of his trainer pants above the waist of Oliver's shorts underneath his grey school shirt. Oliver put on his school blazer and cap, adjusted his socks until Mrs Evans gave the nod of approval.

“Karen, I think we'll take 7 pairs of the baby trainer pants and two pairs of the security pants if I may, just to allow me plenty of time to launder and dry them,” Mrs Evans said.

Karen Holmes duly obliged and presented them a few minutes later at the till in a lovely carrier bag for Oliver to carry home.

The bill was presented and Mrs Evans went to her purse to pay, “Well, it’s not cheap Karen, but I'm not in the least concerned, as Oliver here will be paying for these over the next two years from his pocket money, won't you Oliver?”

Oliver looked on aghast: “Awww MUM!” He stamped his T bar sandal on the floor with another pout of his bottom lip, but knew better than to go further.

“Oliver, you have brought it on yourself with all this nastiness you have been up to recently. You were warned many times. I don't see why I should have all this expense because of your naughtiness and anyway, you eat far too many sweets as it is.”

“Oh, I nearly forgot Vera” Karen Holmes added, “you'll need the key for Oliver's security pants. Here it is on a short chain and I suggest you wear it round your neck to keep it say from Oliver. We keep a spare in the shop should you lose it but if you do you'll need to keep the receipt, otherwise we would have to use bolt cutters to release Oliver!”

Wheeling Oliver towards the door Mrs Evans said a fond fair-well to Karen Holmes and Helen and apologised once more for Oliver's behaviour, they once again agreed that naughty boys, and very much naughty teenage boys needed very firm supervision and moral guidance. Boys will be boys they sighed, but boys who will be boys must be treated as boys and that would always mean proper short trousers for as long as it took to ensure they had grown up completely.

Oliver was pushed out of the door as Mrs Evans waved goodbye, the ever smart Oliver rustling gently in his trainer and security pants clearly audible and visible from behind. Oliver was mortified at the noise he made but couldn't bear to look up to see if anyone was looking at him. He could feel his cheeks flushed with embarrassment as he tried in vain to tug the very short legs of his brief school shorts down to cover his plastic pants but it was all clearly in vain. The thick padding caused Oliver to waddle slightly. The plastic pants, thick as they were and with the residual smarting from his earlier chastisement was starting to build up quite a bit of heat within trainer pants. Fortunately for Oliver they did not bump into anyone they knew, once in the house it was clear that Oliver was still in disgrace.


“Right Oliver, I'm at my wit's end with you, you have been a disgusting naughty little boy today and naughty little boys are put to bed early without any tea. I'm putting you to bed right now!” Mrs Evans stated in a ‘no nonsense’ tone of voice that was all too familiar to Oliver and with those words Oliver was almost pulled up the stairs to his cosy small back bedroom. Within seconds Mrs Evans had Oliver's school cap off and was busy stripping his blazer off.

“What a disgusting little boy you are Oliver, flashing your erect winky at Mrs Holmes and her poor daughter, I've never been so embarrassed in public but that's wasn't all was it Oliver? Was IT?” Mrs Evans scolded.

“No mummy, I'm very sorry mummy... I… I didn't mean to...” Oliver added in an attempt to mitigate his telling off as his mum was hanging up his blazer.

Mrs Evans wheeled round: “YOU DIDN'T MEAN TO...? Can't you control that winky at all? IT’S DISGUSTING! You’re just like a little boy... little boy's can't control themselves and that makes you no better than a little boy... and little boys have to wear LITTLE JUNIOR boy's school shorts don't they Oliver?” Mrs Evans continued.

“Err, Yes Mummy, thank you mummy… I… I thought...” Oliver added stutteringly, the tears welling up in his eyes.

“There's nothing to think about Oliver. You won't be seeing your senior boy's shorts for quite a while I can tell you,” Mrs Evans continued her tirade.

“Arms up!” Mrs Evans commanded and Oliver's school jumper was pulled off in a swift movement that only a practiced mother could do. Seconds later Mrs Evans took off Oliver's junior boy's school tie and cast it on the chair and began unbuttoning Oliver's junior schoolboy's grey school shirt. Seconds later Oliver's brilliant white school vest was on show as Mrs Evans pulled the shirt tails out of his tight shorts.

The short silence Oliver could feel was building up to a volcanic crescendo.

“And what do you have to say about all that mess you made in front Mrs Holmes and her poor daughter Helen? Were you trying to show off to Helen? Well Oliver, let me tell you senior girls are not interested in naughty little boys who have to wear little junior schoolboy grey shorts and wave their little winkies about... particularly little boy's that spray white wee wee everywhere… utterly DISGUSTING! - What is it?”

“I'm sorry...(blub) mummy… my, (sniff, sniff) I couldn't help… (sniff) it, it just… well… happened… (sniff) when Mrs Holmes rubbed winky...” Oliver stumbled out a hopelessly inadequate explanation which he could clearly see mummy didn’t believe.

“Oh, so you are blaming Mrs Homes now... Well, really, we'll see about that in a minute... Now, let’s get your socks and sandals off first,” Mrs Evans was apoplectic and pushed Oliver back onto his bed. Mrs Evans started taking off his beautifully polished brown schoolboy's sandals and almost ripped his socks off his feet.

“Stand up!” Mrs Evans commanded “Now let’s take off your little junior schoolboy's shorts. Aren't you ashamed that mummy has to make you wear JUNIOR schoolboy's little grey school shorts at SEVENTEEN, NEARLY EIGHTEEN! You are no more than disgusting little boy who keeps acting like a baby boy and as long as you act like that you'll have to be dressed like a little schoolboy won't you... WON'T YOU?!”

Oliver burst out crying once more, a steady stream of tears ran down each cheek. Mrs Evans knelt down and pulled Oliver towards her. With the expertise of a practiced mother she soon unclipped the double clip of Oliver's junior schoolboy's shorts and seconds later the zip descended with a resounding Zuuuuuup. Taking her hands to the rear waistband Mrs Evans eased the shorts over Oliver's trainer pants and let them fall to the floor.

“Left leg up!” Mrs Evans commanded as she removed Oliver's leg from his shorts. “Now the right leg!” and Oliver duly complied.

“Right then, let’s get this naughty, disgusting little boy into bed,” As Mrs Evans turned down Oliver's bed and picked up his pyjamas.

“But… sniff, sniff… I need to go to the toilet, please” Oliver stammered between blubs and more tears.

“Nonsense Oliver, you'll have to wait till morning now or you'll have to do what babies do, you are NOT going to play with your naughty winky again today, under ANY circumstances… Now PYJAMAS!!”

A tearful Oliver was put into his pink Lambikins pyjamas and with yet more tears Oliver climbed into bed as mummy pulled up the bed clothes.

“You have a long think my boy about your naughtiness today and don't you DARE get out of bed until I tell you to in the morning - disgusting boy!” Mrs Evans commanded.

With a resounding slam of the bedroom door, Mrs Evans was gone. Oliver continued to cry silently under the covers. The awareness of his need to wee, combined by the growing heat building up in his trainer pants was becoming uncomfortable and the elastic in legs of the trainer pants was really starting to bite. Oliver mulled over the events of the day, its wasn't his fault that he kept getting erections and why did they always happen when he most hoped they wouldn't? It was just so unfair! Why did he have to wear baby's trainer pants it really wasn't fair at all! No other boy of seventeen had to wear baby's rubber pants!

Oliver was ever conscious of the growing pressure in his bladder as he mulled the shaming events of the day but once again, fate conspired against him as he became aware of the stiffening of his winky enclosed within the trainer pants which became increasingly uncomfortable. Oliver tried to adjust his winky by pushing and pulling at the thick outer plastic but it was difficult to get any purchase at all and the crinkling noise seemed inordinately loud. Fearing mummy may mistake the noise for a less innocent operation Oliver tried to insert a finger into the leg elastic but there was almost no movement at all. With some straining Oliver was able to push his engorged winky to the near vertical position which was marginally more comfortable but his efforts only make his erection worse as it now pushed up against the chained waistband of his baby pants. It was dawning on Oliver that his previous unlimited access to winky was now a thing of the past. The more frustrated he felt, the harder it got and the more it throbbed, a terrible itch he now couldn't scratch. The itch was tantalising but no matter how Oliver adjusted his grip he simply couldn't get a proper hold through the thick towelling material and the slippery plastic baby trainer pants.

It was a very frustrated Oliver that cried himself to sleep.

To be continued.