Davey

A DAY WITH DAVEY

A story by Kris

comments to kris62uk@live.co.uk

DAVEY AT THE SHOPS

I had gone into a toy shop to look for a present for my nephew who at eight was in the collecting phase of life. I was at the counter displaying toy cars when I first noticed the strange couple. She was in her early fifties, grey-haired, neat, and conservative in dress and demeanour. The lad with her was anything but. He looked sixteen, although I subsequently discovered he was eighteen, a face untroubled by shaving, and as far as I could see a nice tight bum. He wore a t-shirt resplendent with a large Mickey Mouse, baggy grey trackies, and a top of a light pink. On his feet were the inevitable trainers, but also pink socks. A very queer getup.

As I said, I was looking at the toy cars, and so were they. It was what was said which excited my interest. The lady ordered the lad to hurry up and select a car as she had other shopping to do.

"I am sorry, but I need to do a wee."

"How tiresome" she responded. "Can't you wait til we get home?"

"No, Miss" the boy grimaced.

She turned and saw me looking. "Boys can be so troublesome. I couldn't prevail upon your kindness to accompany him to the toilet. He is not allowed to go on his own."

I was both shocked and delighted by the request and in a brief while had steered him to the shop's toilets. We went in. He looked at the urinals and then with an apology said he had to use the cubicle.

I waited. I presumed he wanted a shit but all I heard was the tinkle of piss on porcelain and a few moments later he re-emerged, blushing.

"Why didn't you use the urinal?"

"I couldn't without taking my pants down."

I reached forward and pulled his trakkies open. He was wearing training-pants, just like a kid would. "So I see" I smirked. "these look like training pants to me."

"They are" and now he really did blush! I gave his bum a playful slap and led him back into the shop.

"What took you so long?" she demanded of the lad.

"I couldn't use the urinal because of what I am wearing" he said.

"Of course. I should have thought." She turned to me. "Thank you so much for your help."

"Not at all. Always happy to oblige a lady."

"How gallant. Let me repay you by buying you a coffee." I responded enthusiastically to the invitation.

In short order, she made the lad select a toy, a red racing car, and he was sent to the till with a tenner to pay for it. He returned and gave her the change.

We sat in the store coffee shop sipping our coffees whilst Davey, as I discovered was his name, sucked out his milk-shake from a straw.

"Tell the nice man how many cars you now have Davey."

"This will be my seventh."

"And do you still play with your cars?" I asked. He blushed and nodded his head. "Often?" Again he nodded.

The lady intervened. "If he has been a good boy and not wet himself he is allowed playtime."

"So he has a wee-problem?"

"Yes. That is why his parents sent him to me to lodge when he got a place at the uni. I am expert with boys like him who have such problems."

"Is he getting better?"

"No, worse. He has started wetting during the day which is why I have to take precautions."

"Hence the training pants?" I observed.

"How do you know that?" she asked sharply.

"I asked him and when he wouldn't tell me, I had a quick look."

She turned to the lad and remonstrated with him. "You should always answer when a grown-up asks you a question. You know that! I shall have to spank your bottom again when we get home."

"I see you believe in corporal punishment."

"Of course. Don't you?"

"Yes. It is the only way into a boy's brain."

"Not the only way, but certainly a useful tool."

Drinks consumed, we parted but not before she gave me her card and invited me round to her place for tea at 4.30.

DAVEY AT HOME

The sight which greeted me when I entered her sitting room was arresting to say the least. The boy was divested of his outer garments and was seated on a rug in the corner dressed just in his training pants and t-shirt, surrounded by his toy cars and a toy garage. He looked up, his eyes filled with shame and humiliation. I smiled back. He bent once more to his play.

Miss Muir, for that was her name, brought in a tea-tray on which resided tea pot, scones, bone china cups and saucers, milk jug etc. Clearly this lady preferred the old fashioned ways. We sat either side of the fire, making polite conversation; it was though the lad was not present. It was nearly a quarter of an hour before she turned to her charge.

"Come here, boy."

He rose from his play-rug and came over, eyes lowered, face revealing uneasiness. Was that due to my presence? I smiled at him, and he relaxed just a little.

"Take the tray and do the washing-up. And don't take too long as it is nearly five o'clock and you know what happens then don't you?"

"But you have a visitor, Miss" he pleaded.

"So what? Now hurry up child or else your little bottom will be even sorer."

The lad left with the tray and I asked my host what was the significance of the five.

"It is his punishment hour. Everything is done to a routine; it is the only way with naughty boys. But don't feel you have to stay."

"I wouldn't miss his punishment for the world" I responded.

"I thought not." And she smiled a thin-lipped smile.

At three minutes to five the lad re-appeared.

"Everything done?" she asked.

"Yes Miss, but I didn't have time to dry up so I left them on the draining board."

"Very wise" she opined. She made him stand in front of her between her open legs. Her hands gently caressed his buttocks through his trainer-pants.

"Do you know why you are being spanked?"

"No Miss. I thought I had been a good boy to-day."

"yes, you have tried hard to be good, but ..." and she paused. "But you did not answer this kind gentleman's question when he asked you why you needed to use the cubicle to wee. Did you?" He nodded his head. "Now you know that when a grown-up asks you a question you should answer fully and truthfully. I know you are ashamed of having to wear your trainer-pants, but until you stop wetting yourself there is no alternative, is there?"

"No Miss."

"Your parents made it clear that until you stop wetting you should be treated as a little boy. And that my lad is why you will be spanked. Now."

Her hand grasped the elastic top of his pants and yanked them down. I stared fascinated at his little penis. It could hardly be bigger than three inches, an insufficient instrument between his silky smooth thighs.

"Prepare yourself."

He stood to her side and at a signal bent over her knees, his firm round bottom exposed. With measured strokes she spanked his buttocks a dozen times, leaving ten or more seconds between each spank to allow the previous one to sink in. She was an expert; every spank counted and by the time she had finished his bottom was glowing red.

"Up!" she commanded.

He rose, and in a tearful voice thanked her for punishing him and promising to be better next time. Another command and he shuffled across the room his pants round his knees and stood facing the corner, his bare bum exposed.

"Would you keep an eye on him and make sure he doesn't move whilst I prepare his tea."

Of course I said yes. The moment she left the room I strolled over to the standing youth and gently stroked his smooth red bum. He quivered but said nothing. "Hello little boy" I whispered in his ear "whose a silly boy?" I pressed closer, letting him feel my hardness as I moved my hand from his bottom to his genitals. Testicles, perfectly shaped but small, greeted my enquiring fingers. I reached up and touched his penis. It was stiff; small, four inches at the most, but ramrod stiff. "I am enjoying my visit" I hissed. "Now you stay there like a good little boy until Miss returns" and I returned to my place by the fire.

Five minutes later a call came from the kitchen for him to pull up his pants and come in for his tea. He scampered past me and through the door. I waited a while but in the end curiosity led me to follow.

He was sat up at a high-top in a high chair (a sort of converted bar-stool), round his neck was a plastic bib, and in front of him a plastic bowl filled with a sort of mush of peas and shepherd's pie. And he was being spoon-fed by Miss Muir. She looked up at my entrance. "I have to feed him" she explained. "He is such a messy eater; if left to himself he spreads it everywhere, hence the bib." She forced another spoonful into his mouth but he hadn't quite finished swallowing the previous mouthful and some of the gunge trickled down his chin and into his bib. "You silly boy" she admonished him "pick that out of your bib an eat it." Blushing, he obeyed.

After his main meal she plonked down a red jelly and spoon in front of him. "This is his favourite pudding" she explained. She turned to him "You love your jellies don't you Davey?"

"Yes Miss."

"Show the nice gentleman how you eat."

He took up the spoon in his left hand and began inexpertly to spoon the jelly into his mouth as quickly as he could. Inevitably some missed the target and by the time he had finished his face with smeared with red.

"You see what I mean about him being a messy eater" she said as she wiped his face clean with a cloth.

"I do. Very messy." I paused a moment to enjoy the look of shame on Davey's face. "You can't even use a spoon properly, can you."

"I'd do better if I was allowed to use my right hand" he mumbled.

Miss Muir got quite cross at this point. "You know as well as I do that all this would stop the moment you stopped wetting your bed. It is your own fault for being a pissy boy! Now go to your bedroom so I can nappy you for the night."

With a tear running down his cheek, he climbed off his stool and left.

"He is not normally as troublesome as this. I think he has been distracted by your presence. Mind you that is no excuse, so I shall make him apologise to you when he is nappied, that is if you want to stay."

"I wouldn't miss it for the world."

"I thought not" she smirked.

Ten minutes later they returned to the living room. He was just in nappies his smooth hairless torso exposed. Behind him came Miss Muir carrying his pyjamas. The lad came closer, head lowered, and mumbled an apology.

"I am sorry, I didn't quite catch that. What did you say?"

The lad looked up, anger and shame on his face.

"I am sorry for being such a wimp and not treating you with the respect proper to a guest of Miss Muir."

"I am sure you couldn't help it, like you can't help weeing yourself. You are lucky to have such an understanding landlady."

"I know." All resistance had fled. He was broken.

He sat in front of the tele on a rug, eyes glued to the screen, watching a children's cartoon. "It keeps him quiet and helps him accept how he is kept" Miss Muir explained. "He has even come to like it. He objected at first but a few sound bare-bottom spankings soon brought him round."

"Does he like lollipops" I asked.

"Oh yes, he adores sucking on things." And she gave her breasts a playful feel. "He loves sucking on these before bedtime, after his bottle of course." She paused. "Do you have a lollipop for him?"

"Yes. Between my legs."

"Oh, you naughty man! Let us see if he would like it."

As I unzipped and pulled out my rampant rod, she called the lad over. He came on all fours, mesmerised by the sight of my priapus.

"Suck the nice man's lollipop, Davey."

And he did, inexpertly. Not that that mattered; I was more than ready to cum, and in less than two minutes I filled his mouth."