In the days following her visit to meet Vera Evans and her son Oliver, Felicity Wilding, Stephen’s mum, had thought long and hard about what she had seen and what had been discussed with regard to the correct way of bringing up teenage boys. Felicity had seen that Oliver, in spite of his age which she knew to be seventeen and even though he was in the 6th Form at school and might reasonably have expected to be thought of as on the verge of maturity, Oliver, she could not fail to see, was treated no differently than one would a little boy; a little boy who needed constant control and supervision. She had seen that Oliver was required to change straight back into short trousers when he returned home from school each day; that Oliver was kept in short trousers at weekends and during school holidays; that Oliver’s short trousers were indeed very short and that his junior short trousers, which had been selected for him to wear on the day of her visit, were by no means the briefest of Oliver’s short trousers.
Vera Evans had openly discussed her son’s routine, describing in detail how Oliver was subject to strict pyjama-times and bedtimes, as well as properly supervised bathtimes during which he was washed by his mother.
“Of course I always bath Oliver myself,” Mrs Evans had explained as the two women sat sipping their tea, Stephen’s mum recalled and remembered the look of abject shame on Oliver’s face as he had stood with his head bowed, on his naughty-stool in the front-room. The tops of his thighs where his mum had pushed up the legs of his junior short school trousers, were bright red where he had been smacked. The legs of the little shorts, such as they were, remained rucked up and were still that way when Pamela, Oliver’s younger sister entered the room. Pamela had looked over at Oliver standing on his naughty-stool, hands clasped behind his neck. She glanced up and down and gave her brother a withering look which expressed far more than words ever could what an utterly pathetic sight her brother presented standing on his stool in short trousers. Pamela had then turned to her mum and announced her intention to meet up with her friends later and that she would let herself in with her own house-key if she should happen to be late back so as not to disturb her mother.
The contrast between brother and sister could not have been more stark. Oliver would never be allowed out on his own, let alone be in possession of his own latch-key, to say nothing of deciding for himself what time he would return home. In spite of the fact that Oliver was older than Pamela, it was clear she possessed sufficient maturity for her mother to allow her considerable freedom, freedom that would be unthinkable for seventeen year old Oliver.
“Boys never seem to be able to bathe themselves properly,” Stephen’s mum had observed, continuing the discussion, “I still have to give Stephen his bath… and from what you say about Oliver it sounds as if I’m going to be doing so for a good long while yet!”
“Pamela does help out from time-to-time,” Vera Evans continued, “Ever since she was little she’s helped me with Oliver’s bathtime… although we’ve had one or two silly temper-tantrums in recent years… haven’t we, Oliver?”
“... especially when we have to deal with his naughty bits. Of course now he’s a bit older we have some little hairs to attend to as well… don’t we Oliver?”
Oliver’s embarrassment was palpable as he answered: “Yes, mummy…”
Vera Evans turned back to her guest: “Has Stephen started adolescence yet?” she enquired, which was her way of asking if Felicity Wilding's son had started to grow any pubic hair.
“Oh no… Stephen’s quite the little boy in that respect although he is fourteen now, so shall have to keep my eyes peeled…”
“Oh, fourteen is not so old…. why Oliver didn’t start to sprout any little hairs around his penis until he was nearly sixteen… or was it later than that, Oliver?”
“Um… Sixteen, mummy… um, just after my birthday...I, err… think...” Oliver stammered, then immediately felt foolish for volunteering the extra information. It was a natural reaction to try and please his mother, but simply led to his feeling more embarrassed than ever.
“Yes, dear, I remember now… I think Pamela spotted it first... so unsightly and quite unhygienic. I insist that Oliver is kept clean and free of all hair down there. It makes him look much smarter... it’s so much healthier too… isn’t it, Oliver?”
Oliver squirmed with embarrassment. He was seventeen years old and felt like ten year old as he meekly replied: “Yes, mummy…”
Yes, thought Felicity Wilding as she sat at home one Saturday morning, in the highly unlikely event of her having any doubts about her son’s upbringing; if she ever wavered from her conviction that Stephen was best kept in short trousers, she had only to think of Oliver. What a smart boy he was, she thought as she pictured him dressed in his junior short school trousers, ankle socks and T-bar school sandals. Yes, a very smart boy indeed. A boy any mother would be proud to be seen with.
What a pleasant surprise it was then to answer the ring on her doorbell and find Oliver and his mother on her doorstep!
“We were quite close… I had some shopping to do and Oliver needed some fresh air… and I hope you don’t mind, I thought it would be nice to drop in and Oliver could show you one of his visiting outfits… Wipe your feet, Oliver…”
“How lovely to see you… do come in,” Felicity Wilding said. “Oh… and here’s Stephen!”
Mrs Evans was surprised when she saw that Stephen was wearing a pair of denim jeans, but said nothing. Introductions were made and the ladies stood back to admire Oliver’s ‘visiting’ outfit. Stephen was horrified; Oliver was so ashamed he wanted to run away. It was bad enough to be seen by Mrs Wilding, but to be seen by her son, a boy so obviously younger than himself, was a dreadful experience.
Oliver’s visiting outfit consisted (from the ground up) of light blue single-strap maryjane shoes, white ankle socks with a lacy trim, a pair of extremely brief light blue shortalls (side-buttoned) the material of which had a satin-like sheen, a white filly-fronted shirt of the same satin-like quality which had short, puffed sleeves and soft collar around which was tied a light blue floppy bow tie. The shortalls had a bib at the front and crossed braces at the back. On his head Oliver wore a straw boater complete with a light blue sash which was long enough to hang over the rim of the hat.
The overall effect of the clothes was childlike in the extreme and anyone seeing Oliver in his visiting outfit would have been hard-pressed to guess his age. From his physical size and the proportions of his body it would have been clear to the observer this was, or at least should, be an older boy. But on the other hand when the observer looked more closely at Oliver’s long and very bare legs, from the little white lacy ankle socks all the way up to the hem of those sweet ‘little-boy’ shortalls, why they would see that Oliver’s legs were perfectly smooth and hairless with just the faintest dusting of a peachy haze on the lower legs, so it was clear these boy’s legs were naturally smooth. They would look at Oliver’s face and at his chin and see a boy who clearly had no need yet to feel the sharp blade of a razor. And yet… they would ponder, and yet... they would conclude this is an older boy dressed as one might dress a child for a wedding perhaps, or some other very special occasion.
“What a lovely outfit!” Felicity Wilding gushed, “Isn’t it a lovely outfit Stephen?”
Stephen was sensible enough to know what his reply should be and even though he thought Oliver’s visiting outfit was sissyish in the extreme and couldn’t possibly be more shaming, he simply agreed with his mum, “Yes, mum…”
“Manners Oliver… say ‘thank you’ to Mrs Wilding and to Stephen,” Oliver’s mum admonished her son.
It was then the observer, on hearing his voice would finally be left in no doubt of the age of Oliver. The moment he opened his mouth it was clear that although he hadn’t quite got over those embarrassing sudden changes in pitch that plague a boy’s breaking voice, Oliver had at least surmounted the hurdle of puberty.
Shyly Oliver said ‘thank you’ as he was told. As he turned to speak to Stephen, three years his junior, he was blushing fire-engine red. It was then that Stephen noticed Oliver was carrying a small bag along with his mum’s shopping.
“Oliver has brought along a couple of toys to play with… Show Stephen your toys, Oliver,” his mother ordered.
Nervously Oliver opened the bag and took out an Action Man figure and held it up for Stephen to see. Stephen felt so embarrassed for Oliver, but without thinking blurted out that he too had an Action Man: “Mum bought me one for my birthday once… when I was, err eight… I think.”
Stephen realised what he’s said and felt really sorry for Oliver standing in front of them dressed in his sissy outfit, “... um, I’ve still got my Action Man stuff… upstairs… in my bedroom,” he added as he nervously tried to make it up to the older boy.
Mrs Evans turned to Stephen’s mum: “I know it’s really none of my business, but I can’t help noticing that Stephen is wearing denim jeans…”
“Oh, don’t be alarmed… I’ve not had second thoughts about Stephen’s clothes. The jeans he’s wearing are hand-me-downs. A very kind neighbour thought they could be used to make a pair of ‘cut-offs’ for Stephen to play in,” she explained, “In fact I was just on the verge of marking them up to make the alteration when the doorbell rang…”
“Oh, mum… do you have to cut my jeans down?” Stephen whined. “Can’t I keep them like they are?”
“Stephen you know very well that I do not approve of you wearing longs. You know perfectly well that bare legs are healthy legs… just look at Oliver. Why Oliver’s mum keeps him in shorts and short trousers and he’s seventeen…”
Stephen had been wondering just how old Oliver was. He knew he must be older, but even he was shocked to be told Oliver was that old.
“But, but mum, I’ve already got some cut-offs...”
“Stephen, if there is any more of this nonsense I shall make you take the jeans back to Mrs Banks and tell her what an ungrateful little boy you are…”
Stephen could see mum meant what she said and apologised for making a fuss… well, that’s not quite true, what he did was to look at the floor and mumble an embarrassed ‘sorry, mum...’ well aware that Mrs Evans was frowning at him too.
“If you’d like, I’d be happy to help with the alterations...” Oliver’s mum said.
“Oh that’s most kind of you. Why don’t I go and put the kettle on while you mark up Stephen’s jeans… the sooner the alterations are made the better. There’s tailor’s chalk over on the side-table and some scissors there too if you want to make a start.”
By the time Stephen’s mum returned from the kitchen Vera Evans had marked up the jeans as Stephen stood on a footstool. She had already undone them and pulled them off the somewhat bewildered boy and was in the process of making the first cut into the denim material as Stephen watched from the stool. There was a look of anguish on his face as he watched Vera Evans make the alterations to his hand-me-down jeans. For Stephen it was a sickening sight to see the legs of the jeans being so callously removed. Why couldn’t he keep the denims as they were? Why did they have to be cut down so short? It wasn’t fair!
The resultant cut-offs were extremely brief. But that wasn’t the end of it, since when they were put back on, it was found that when the cut-offs were pulled up properly they were a little loose around Stephen’s waist.
“What Stephen needs is a pair of braces,” Oliver’s mum suggested.
“I’ve just the thing… Wait there a moment.” Felicity Wilding said.
A couple of minutes later Stephen’s mum returned with a pair of braces he hadn’t seen in ages. The braces were decorated with a repeating cowboy motif and were quickly clipped, front and back, to the waistband of the supremely short cut-offs.
“I bought them a few years ago when Stephen had a craze for the Wild West…”
The braces were a tight fit and pulled the little cut-offs right up so that Stephen could feel the shorts pressing into his crotch. Nervously he ran his hands back over his bottom. He was horrified when he touched bare flesh and realised the lower curves of his bottom cheeks were completely exposed. He turned and saw that even Oliver looked shocked at what his mum had done to the hand-me-down denim jeans.
However both mums seemed quite satisfied with their tailoring and sat down to a refreshing cup of tea.
“Of course they will fray a bit with time, but I shouldn’t worry about that…” Vera Evans observed.
“Not at all... I think it rather adds to the look of cut-offs… Now Stephen, why don’t you go and find some of your Action Man toys and show them to Oliver?”
This wasn’t so much a question as an order, but Stephen was relieved to get away from everybody even if it was only for a few minutes. He knew exactly where his Action Man stuff was stored, but first went to the bathroom to look in the mirror and see how bad his cut-offs were. It was worse than he thought. Oliver’s mum clearly hadn’t considered the shape of his boy’s bottom and how it filled out the seat if the jeans. The effect was that what little material that was left simply rode up to expose a considerable portion of his bottom. And when he leant forward…! Gosh, Stephen thought, these have to be the most embarrassing shorts ever!!
But there was nothing he could do and hoped that mum wouldn’t make him wear them too often. So he went to his bedroom and found his old Action Man stuff and trudged back downstairs again to find Oliver sat on the floor in the front room with his Action Man figure. He was bending the limbs of the figure in a desultory fashion, clearly unhappy.
“You boys can play with your toys while we drink our tea,” Felicity Wilding told them.
Stephen sank to his knees, put down his Action man stuff in front of Oliver and leant forward onto his elbows. The little denim cut-offs rode so far up that well over half his bottom was left quite bare.
“It’s funny you should mention Stephen’s interest in Cowboys and Indians…” Oliver’s mum said as she sipped her tea, “You see a couple of year’s ago Oliver liked to dress up as a Red Indian…”
Oliver’s heart skipped a beat when he heard these words. He remembered only too well how he’d been tricked into that particular humiliating costume. The word ‘liked’ could hardly be used to describe Oliver’s feelings towards his Red Indian outfit. He was relieved that Stephen had remained quiet and the subject appeared to be dropped.
The boys were left to play with their Action Man toys on the carpet. Having another boy to join in and play childish games was oddly reassuring for both boys. For Oliver it made him forget he was a seventeen year old 6th Former and Stephen too enjoyed playing games with the older boy. If he had any thoughts on the matter Stephen might have felt that if it was okay for a seventeen year old to play with an Action Man set, then it was okay for him too.
The mums looked down at Oliver and Stephen who were engrossed in their Action Man game.
“They’re getting on so well together,” Vera Evans said, “I am pleased… you see, Felicity, I’ve got a little confession to make…”
Stephen’s mum lifted an eyebrow: “Nothing serious I hope…”
“Well, after meeting you the other day I couldn’t help thinking that…” she hesitated, “I may as well come straight to the point… I’m in a bit of a pickle, you see I’ve got an old girls reunion coming up and this year I’m hoping to stay with a dear friend of mine overnight so that I don’t have to rush home. Of course, normally Pamela would baby-sit Oliver for me, but I’m taking her with me to meet some of my old school chums…”
“... And you’d like Oliver to come and stay here?” Stephen’s mum interrupted, “Why of course I’d be delighted… and I’m sure Stephen would be thrilled too!”
“Are you sure? It really would help me enormously. There’s no way I could take Oliver as well… for one thing we old girls tend to stay up chatting well beyond his bedtime…”
“Think nothing of it… you and Pamella go off and enjoy yourselves and I’ll look after Oliver for you. He might be a few years older than Stephen, but he’s still just a boy when all said and done.”
“It is a relief to hear you say that, Felicity”
Without more ado the ladies went on to discuss arrangements for Oliver’s stay. It was only to be for one night, but Oliver’s routine would be strictly observed. The boys, it was agreed, would be bathed together before their joint 6 o’clock pyjama-time. They would be allowed to play together in their pyjamas before bedtime at seven-thirty. The boys would share Stephen’s bedroom and Oliver would sleep on a camp-bed.
“I’ll put in a couple of pairs of DryNites Pyjama Pants with Oliver’s overnight things,” Vera Evans added, “It’s as well to be on the safe side…”
“You can never be too sure with boys,” Felicity agreed, “I’ll make sure he’s put into pyjama pants before I settle him down for the night.”
Of course both Stephen and Oliver heard what their mums were saying. Oliver glanced at his new friend and blushed nervously, grateful the younger boy hadn't burst out laughing. However, Stephen knew full well that if he had laughed at Oliver it was very likely he'd find himself put into pyjama pants too.
Once the mums had concluded their business, Mrs Evans turned to the boys and said in a somewhat patronising manner: “Well now boys, are you going to tell us what adventures Action Man has had this afternoon? I’m sure you’ve both got a lovely story to tell about your Action Man toys...”
Stephen turned round. He thought this was a daft question to ask. Did she really think two teenage boys would make up silly stories like that? The look on Oliver’s face should have acted as a warning though, but Stephen felt affronted that anyone should think him quite so childish as to make up stories at his age.
“Oliver… You first,” his mum ordered, “Stand up and tell us what your Action Man has be doing.”
Oliver stood up and told his mum that Action Man was a pilot and had been out on patrol when he got into a dogfight. He’d fired all his missiles and had strafed the enemy, etc. Stephen watched in disbelief as Oliver waved his Action Man around to illustrate his story.
“Well Action Man has been busy today, Oliver,” his mum said and then turned to Stephen, “And what has your Action Man been up to, Stephen?”
Stephen looked to his mother: “Aww, mum, do I have too…?” he whined.
“Now come along Stephen… tell us what your Action Man has been doing while Mrs Evans and I have been talking,” his mum replied.
“But… I don’t want to…”
“Stephen…” mum said in her ‘warning’ voice.
Stephen stubbornly ignored her: “I don’t want to make up a silly story… It’s stupid.”
“Oliver made up such a nice story about his Action Man,” Oliver’s mum said in a conciliatory tone, “I’m sure you can tell us what your Action Man had been doing…”
Stephen pouted and sat sulking.
“... he’s a sailor Action Man, isn’t he Stephen?” she continued.
“Dunno…” was the only word that escaped Stephen’s lips.
Oliver looked really worried now and wondered why his new friend was being such an idiot. He decided to make a up story for Stephen’s Action Man.
“He’s been on a secret rescue mission, hasn’t he Stephen?”
“Dunno…” came the response.
“Yes he has,” Oliver persisted, “He was ordered to report to…”
“No he wasn’t!” Stephen snapped, “This is stupid! I’m not making up a stupid story!”
“Stephen! How dare you behave like this! How dare you show me up in front of Oliver’s mother!” Stephen’s mum was furious at her son and it didn’t take more than a few seconds for her to take action.
“Come here… now!!” She barked at her son and then turned towards Vera Evans and said in a calm voice, “If you wouldn’t mind, you’ll find there is a short leather discipline strap in the sideboard drawer…”
“Oh, mum! Please no!” Stephen’s eyes popped out on stalks when he heard these words. He had only experienced the strap on very rare occasions and he had no desire to experience it again, particularly in front of Oliver and his mum.
“I’m sorry mum… I really am…” he gasped out as he saw Mrs Evans returning with the horrid leather strap in her hand. “Please mum, please mum… I won’t do it again… I’m sorry…”
“It’s no use Stephen, it was very naughty of you to be so rude to Oliver… and to his mother. Oliver was only trying to help you. You were very ungrateful and I positively will not tolerate rudeness in this house… Now come over my knee… you can keep your cut-offs on…”
In actual fact it didn’t make the slightest difference whether Stephen wore his cut-offs or not, since Vera Evans had cut them so short they would clearly offer no protection from mum’s discipline strap whatsoever. When he was bent over mum’s lap Stephen’s bottom was almost completely bare and he felt the full force of the strap as it cracked down on his tender flesh. Before long Stephen was wriggling and scissoring his legs so much that mum instructed Oliver to take hold of Stephen’s ankles.
“That’s it, Oliver… grasp Stephen’s legs firmly... now hold his feet well apart…”
This positioning of her son’s legs enabled mum to apply the discipline strap to Stephen's inner thighs, which caused renewed pleading from the distraught boy. Oliver flinched as he watched his new friend being disciplined. Every time the leather strap smacked Stephen’s bare and very vulnerable boy’s thighs it caused the fourteen year old to yelp. Oliver, from his position at Stephen’s feet, felt a mixture of fear and fascination; fear of the little leather strap; fascination that something so simple could cause so much distress to a teenage boy.
When finally the punishment was over it was a tearful and very remorseful Stephen who apologised to everyone. Oliver remained kneeling on the floor. He had sat back on his haunches and appeared to be in no hurry to stand up. When it came to his turn for Stephen to offer his apologies to, Oliver had to be told to get up off the floor and stand up properly.
With a great deal of hesitation Oliver stood up, trying his best to keep from facing his mum and Mrs Wilding. Then Stephen saw the reason… Oliver was struggling to avoid anyone seeing that he had an erection! The seventeen year old looked pleadingly at Stephen and mouthed the word ‘please..’ in an attempt to stop the younger boy from revealing what had happened.
But mum had already seen the direction in which Stephen’s eyes had been drawn…
“Oliver! How dare you turn your back on us! Turn and face me this instant!” she barked.
Oliver hesitated, then reluctantly shuffled round to face his mum. His hands were hovering defensively over the front of his shortalls. He quickly saw the hopelessness of his situation and frantically started to apologise even before he was told to move his hands.
But Stephen from his position had seen everything and in an instant realised what had caused Oliver to get so excited… it was Oliver’s participation and his witnessing Stephen’s own punishment with the cruel leather discipline strap that was responsible for Oliver’s erection!
“Oh please, mummy! Please… I’m so sorry, mummy… I didn’t mean to…”
Stephen thought Oliver looked pathetic. As he stood next to the seventeen year old with his own salty tears still damp on his face, Stephen thought Oliver was a contemptible sight. Then, as Oliver slowly moved his nervous fingers, Stephen saw something that made him gasp… At the tip of Oliver’s penis, outlined as it was in the shiny light-blue material, the shortalls had turned a darker colour that could mean only one thing. Oliver had become so excited from watching the discipline strap being used on Stephen’s bottom, that he had begun to ooze pre-cum from his penis!
“Please, mummy… I didn’t mean to....”
“Oliver Evans! Have you been playing with your self again?!”
“No mummy! No… please mummy…!”
“Put your hands on your head this minute!”
To Stephen’s delight the dark patch was spreading as the pre-cum continued to leak from the stiff penis. Stephen felt a degree of revengeful satisfaction that Oliver, who had participated in his own punishment by holding his ankles in place, was on the receiving end of his mother’s wrath.
“Oliver Evans I am ashamed of you,” Vera Evans continued, “Can’t I take you visiting without you disgracing yourself?”
“I’m sorry, mummy… I didn’t mean to…”
Vera Evans cut her son short: “It’s no use telling me how sorry you are. I think we both know what I want to hear you say, don’t we?”
“Mummy…” the seventeen year old stammered, “Mummy… I’ve been very naughty…. I… I didn’t mean to show you up in front of Mrs Wilding… but… but I’m a naughty boy… and… and…”
“And… what, Oliver…?”
“And… I let winky… I let winky get stiff…”
When Stephen realised what Oliver meant he nearly burst out laughing, but one glance at his mother’s stern face was enough for him to control himself in spite of the overwhelming temptation to snigger at the older boy.
“Yes, Oliver, winky has been very naughty indeed. I think it’s time for you to ask Mrs Wilding if she might permit you to borrow something on my behalf.”
For a brief moment Oliver was unsure what his mother meant. Then he saw the little discipline strap where it had been left on a side table once Felicity Wilding had finished with it.
“Yes, mummy,” Oliver said a turned turned to Stephen’s mum, “Please Mrs Wilding, may I borrow your discipline strap. I have been very naughty and mummy has to teach me a lesson for losing control of winky.”
“Certainly Oliver… you may borrow the strap. Stephen,” Felicity turned to her son, “Stephen, fetch the discipline strap and hand it to Oliver.”
Stephen quickly did as he was told. It felt so good. The fourteen year old was going to have his revenge. To play even this minor role in Oliver’s punishment was reward enough.
Oliver was allowed to lower his hands from his head as he took the leather strap from the younger, leering, boy. He held it nervously, well aware of the punishment potential of such an innocuous looking instrument. Vera Evans stepped forward towards her son.
“Hold still while I take off your shortalls…”
Oliver jerked backwards away from his mum.
“Oh no! Please mummy… no!” he pleaded without thinking.
“Oliver… you’ll only make matters worse if you carry on like this,” Vera Evans said and smacked Oliver sharply on his legs by way of reinforcing her message.
Oliver yelped and danced about as his mum smacked him repeatedly. Stephen thought Oliver looked a complete dork as he watched the seventeen year old dancing about the room in his sissy maryjane shoes and lacy ankle socks. Oliver simply wouldn’t keep still as his mum wrestled with the side buttons of his satin shortalls. He begged her not to take them off him in front of everyone, but all this got him was some more stinging smacks on his bare legs.
“Oh please mummy!” he pleaded shamelessly, “Please don’t take off my shortalls… Mummy no!!”
Oliver almost screamed these last words as mummy pulled the straps of the shortalls from his shoulders. The buttons were undone and Oliver’s shortalls were tugged down to his ankles. Without more ado Oliver was unceremoniously relieved of his shortalls before mum hoisted up the back of his white frilly shirt and tucked it firmly into Oliver’s collar.
Stephen gasped in astonishment. Oliver was not wearing any underpants (these were not worn with Oliver’s playclothes) and Stephen could see, as could the two mums, that Oliver’s penis was still fully erect. They could also see that Oliver’s penis was as bald as a coot. Although the foreskin still covered the meatus, no one could fail to notice the pre-cum that still bubbled from the head of Oliver’s penis. The miserable seventeen year old still held the leather discipline strap tightly in his hands. Tears of shame were running down his face.
What followed was a salutary lesson to Stephen; a warning of what could happen if he did not behave himself, as he watched Oliver’s punishment unfold before him. The shame and humiliation suffered by the older boy was palpable. Stephen didn’t need any further proof that foolish and uncooperative behaviour would get you a very sore bottom indeed, to say nothing of red, stinging legs as well!
Oliver was a snivelling wretch by the time Vera Evans had finished with his punishment. Stephen was given the discipline strap to put to one side. It felt hot in his hand and although he had been punished with it less than an hour ago, he knew his strapping had been as nothing to the one he had just witnessed. Yes, he thought to himself, he would do all he could to avoid being on the receiving end of the leather strap. He would obey his mum without question and if that meant he was to be kept in short trousers, then so be it…
As for the unfortunate Oliver, he was left to stand sobbing in the middle of the room. Vera Evans felt that after a punishment a boy should not be allowed to hide himself away in the corner of a room, but should be left ‘on display’. On display Oliver certainly was, since he was still bereft of his shortalls, which had been put to one side earlier, and with his shirt-tails tucked into his collar, stood with his hands on his head. His hairless penis, somewhat less aroused, nevertheless still pointed away from his body. A string of pre-cum hung from the tip of Oliver’s penis which twitched and swung to and fro as he sobbed.
Stephen was allowed an orange juice to drink while Vera and Felicity each had a fresh cup of tea. Oliver, however, remained in disgrace.