Out of Mischief

Out of Mischief​

Bartholemew lay on his stomach, watching daytime TV in a plus, second-floor hotel room. The volume was way louder than necessary, but the 10-year-old didn’t care. Bored, he popped another chocolate in his mouth with one hand while he idly flipped channels with the remote in the other. He wondered where Mrs Baxter had got to. He also wondered about that big house of hers and what exactly went on there.

The day before, his wealthy, widowed mother had introduced him to the severe looking, quietly-spoken woman, informing him that she was for the time-being his guardian and that he was to accompany her to her “special chateau”. In view of the fact that, only a week before, yet another school had explored Bartholemew because of his “destructive behavior”, Mrs Baxter had agreed to offer him private education at her “exclusive Residential centre for the education and self improveent of boys”.

“It’s for the best, darling,” Bartholemew’s mother had assured him, a light smile on her face. “You’ll like it there, you’ll see. It’s going to be something…er…very different…for you.”

Bartholemew debated with himself as to whether to throw a tantrum or go along with things, but eventually decided on the latter. He fancied the idea of ​​a break in France, seeing it as new territory for the exploiting. Besides, he figured, if he couldn’t get things all his own way, he could always demand to come home again. And if that didn’t work, well, the old “destructive behavior” routine never failed.

Unfortunately, however, Mrs Baxter had some “unexpected business meetings” to attend to, delaying their department until tomorrow. So, to his announcement, Bartholemew was stewing in this high-class hotel suite near London’s Heathrow. Still intent on the TV, he was further irritated by someone knocking onthe hotel room door.

“Go away!” he ordered, but the door opened anyway and in walked Matilda, a buxom middle-aged chambermaid of West African origin, clad in a smart blue uniform with white trim. She had come to clean the bathroom as Bartholemew had earlier left a tap running and the sink overflow had caused the woman in the rooms below to report a flood.

A bucket and mop in her hands, Matilda frowned as her ears were assaulted by the blaring from the TV. She gave a disdainful look at the jean-clad, and somewhat chubby bottom of the youngster, who kept his gaze on the TV screen. “Sorry, but I have to do my job.”

“Then make it quick and get the f*** out,” snapped Bartholemew. “I don’t like to be disturbed.”

With a shake of her head and a swish of nylon from beneath her uniform skirt, Matilda went into the bathroom to clean up the spillage. She emerged after about 15 minutes to see the spoiled little devil still loafing on his stomach and popping yet another chocolate into his mouth. Given he was already noticeably overweight for his age, she considered warning him about too many sweets, then decided not to both and left without comment.

Some 50 minutes later, Mrs Baxter strode in, her dark hair stacked in a neighbor bun behind her head, as usual, and a stern look on her face. “Bartholemew, turn down that television set immediately,” demanded the attractive 40-year-old. She raised her voice to be heard above the noise.

The boy ignored her, staying focused on some pop video, so she simply snatched the remote from his hand and pressed the “off” button with her thumb.

“Hey, I was watching that!” snapped Bartholemew.

“Be more respectful when addressing me,” the woman responded, fixing the boy at her feet with a severe look. I’ve heard reports that you’ve been causing trouble in the hotel.”

Smirking, Bartholemew turned his head to look up at her, seeing up her skirt almost as far as her stocking-tops as he did so. “Such as?”

Mrs Baxter noticed the lad’s interest in her legs but ignored it. “Well, for one thing, Miss Dawson, the hotel manager told me earlier that she came to ask you to turn down the volume of the television because she’d had complaints, and you told her to, in her words, ‘p*** off’.”

“Yeah, yeah, now give me back the remote, OK?”

“She also informed me you called her ‘a stupid cow’, is that right?”

“Well, she is a stupid cow. I want that remote back now, by the way. And I mean now, or I’ll be having one of my tantrums. You won’t enjoy that, believe me.”

“Furthermore,” Mrs Baxter continued, not only did you almost flood the hotel after I’d left, but you used obscene language at the chambermaidwho came to clean up. She reported it to Miss Dawson.”

Bartholemew gave a sneaky grin up at the angle looking woman standing over him. “I only asked her to be quick with her mopping – in my own little way, that is.”

“And as if all that wasn’t bad enough, certain women guests have also complained to Miss Dawson that you were trying to peer up their skirts this morning as they climbed the stairs from the lobby. One woman in particular was extremely cross.”

“Lies, all lies,” said Bartholemew casually.

Mrs Baxter placed her hands on her hips. It was obvious to her that, from the youngster’s interest in her own stockinged legs, the affronted women had not been lying. “Well, there’ll be no more of your nonsense today, my boy. I intend to take measures to see that you spend the rest of it well out of mischief.”

“Oh, yeah?” queried Bartholemew. “So, you’ll beHanding me back the remote then, right?”

At that moment the door opened and the hotel manager stride in. Smartly dressed in a black skirt with white blouse, she looked about 30. Bartholemew noticed a small pager that was clipped to her belt. Shiny brown hair framed gold-rimmed spectacles and fell to rest on her shoulders. She had in her grasp a stout carrier bag.

“Ah, Miss Dawson, just in time,” said Mrs Baxter. “Do come and join us.”

The manager set the bag down near Bartholemew’s feet. “Gladly, and I must say I thank you for offering this solution to the problem and am only too happy to assist with it, Mrs Baxter. You do understand that I cannot have my hotel subjected to such constant disruption?”

“Of course,” replied the older woman with a nod. “Did you manage to find what I asked for?”

“Yes, adheren bandage I got, thin cord you asked for, and I found good rope in a hardware store. I’ve cut that into manageable lengths. I got several bundles to be on the safe side.” The woman removed a hank of white rope from the bag and held it for the other’s approval.

“Excellent,” said Mrs Baxter. Now, if you’ll be so good as to hold him, I will do the striping and tying.”

The puzzlement Bartholemew had experienced on seeing the rope turned into panic at those words and the serious looks on both women’ faces. He was quickly on his feet. “Well, I’m going for a walk. I’ll be back for dinner.”

But Mrs Baxter’s firm hands pulled him back.

“Oh, you’re not going anywhere, my lad. I told you you’d be spending the rest of today out of mischief – and I mean it!”

The boy tried to break free from her grap, but to no avail. He was soon dragged to the floor, struggling and cussing at the women kneeling over him.”
“Let mego, you f***ing bitches!” he shouted. “You won’t get away with this. My mother will hear of it! You pair of fu—”

Lying across his chest to pin his arms, Miss Dawson clamped a palm over Bartholemew’s foul mouth, silencing his yap in mid flow.

Mrs Baxter yanked off his boots, then bought her fingers with unbuckling his belt. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but your mother knows how I deal with unruly little morons like you and she’s given me full control over you until your education at the chateau is complete.” She tugged down his fly zipper. “It’s for your own good, believe me.” With that, she had his jeans down to his knees with one pull and had removed them completely with a second.

Outtraged, the lad fight and wriggled in his T-shirt, socks and white underpants. But he eventually discovered that when two determined women set their minds on doing something, they see that it’s done properly…

************************* 
With clean bed-sheets drawn over one arm, Matilda tenatively knocked on the hotel room door. Hearing no TV noise blanking from behind it, she gave a soft smile and let herself in. As she closed the door behind her, what she saw turned the smile on her dark brown face into a broad, gleaming grin.

“Well, hello, poppet,” she said to Bartholemew. “How you doing?”

A red-faced Bartholemew glared back at her from where Mrs Baxter and Miss Dawson had left him. He was in a heavy wooden chair in the middle of the room, facing the door. And apart from a broad white gag and numerous windings of white rope about his chest, lower belly, upper arms, tighs, calves and ankles, he was also quite nude. His hands were obviously tied behind his back and his knees were tied so wide apart that the crack of his rounded bottom jutted forward to just overhang the chair seat. Both of his feet were tied clear of the carpet eiter side of the chair legs, so from between his well spread thighs, his hairless little penis jutted forlornly in the chambermaid’s direction. As an interesting extra to his restraint, she noticed thin cord stretched in a taut inverted V from his boyish dick and balls, running between his spread thighs and down to each big toe, keeping them pulled up. She figured that was added to stop him fidgeting.

Matilda noted with satisfaction that it was white adheren bandage keeping the foul-mouthed little brat so very effectively gagged. Wrapped tightly around his head and between his gaping jaws, it keep a mouth-filling wad jammed firmly in. This packing was slightly bigger than needed, which means small portions spilled over the bandage top and bottom. She moved closer and leaned in for a better look, observing white nylon edged with delicate pink trim. It was female underwear all right; doubtless Mrs Baxter’s, opinionated Matilda, as her attractive boss had confident she rarely wore panties, preferring just panty-hose.

The contented chambermaid straightened up again. “Now, what an improvement this is. Miss Dawson said I’d find a well behaved little boy this time – and how right she was!”

Although his embarrassment at being so thoroughly exposed to the African chambermaid, Bartholemew tried to swear and struggle, Mrs Baxter’s dirty panties tasting worse by the minute. A low “hhhhhmmffffff…” escaped his gag, but his squirming ceased immediately as the cord tied around his penis and balls turned discomfort into pain in response to the pulling from his big toes.

Matilda chuckled. “This is what happens to little boys who are rude to women. They get themselves all trusted up, with ladies’ knickers keeping their big mouths quiet, and having their sweet little winkies put on display.” Unable to resist it, seeing that it was offered so saucily, the woman gave Bartholemew’s tiny prick a squeezefirm enough to be somewhat painful.

“Mmmmmmmffffffffffffffffffffffffff!”

“Don’t you get up on my account, poppet,” she mocked. “I’ll just change the bed-sheets and leave you in peace. I remember you saying you didn’t like to be disturbed.”

After busying herself in both bedrooms, Matilda returned to stand in front of the helpless Bartholemew. She smiled again. “It does please me so to know that when I’ve gone, you’ll be sitting here so quiet and out of mischief.” She noticed the box of chocolates on a coffee table near the chair and took one out. “And I’d say you’ve scoffed your last chase today too, wouldn’t you?”

“Mmmmmffffffffff…” protested Bartholemew, angered but having been trained by the general tether not to struggle.

“I shouldn’t really, with watching my figure and all, but one won’t do a girl any harm, right?” The chambermaid popped the chocolate between her lips and chewed gleefully before swallowing the treatment. “And I’ve heard about you, standing at the bottom of the stairs trying to peek up ladies’ skirts.” She leaned close to the naked boy who was fuming in his bondage and tapped his nose with a finger. “My, what a naughty one you are!”

What Matilda did next surprised Bartholemew. Staying close to him, she yanked her uniform skirt up to her waist, exposing ample thighs and hips encased in dark tights. Beneath those the captive could make out small white panties forming a V from her rounded belly to her crotch. “Is this the kind of thing you were trying to see?” she asked with a grin.

The boy’s eyes widened at the sight. Then the woman pulled down the tights as far as her upper thighs and turned around. The deep crevice of her large behind had swallowed her white panties so that her big brown bare bottom cheeses were dominating his gaze.

"Or how about this?” She bent over and Bartholemew saw the thin strip of white material buried tight and deep in the woman’s dark crack. Small sprigs of black curly hair protruded from either side of the material where it widened over her prominent public mound.

After some moments, she straightened again and lowered her skirt. “There, happy now,” she asked, but Bartholemew simply glared at her over his gag.

“Mmmmm…” She peered down at the boy’s hairless penis, still barely 30 mm or so in length. “Well, your little winkie doesn’t seem very impressed, I must say. How rude of it!”

The furious youngster hardened his glare and managed a “Mmmmffffff-mmmmffff-mmffff-mmffff-mmffff!” from behind his gag.

“I’ve got an idea,” said Matilda, squatting between his parted thighs. “Perhaps it just needs a bit of extra encouragement, eh?” She then grasped the dick between index finger and thumb and proceeded to rub the tip of her other index finger lightly over its end, teasing and tickling.

“Mmmffffff-mmmffffffffff-mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmffffffffffff!” protested Bartholemew, glaring angrily down. He tried to struggle but was again quickly still by the wicked noise around his penis and balls. After a few minutes, he felt the tickling sensing on the end of his willy turning into something pleasant. Although his initial outtrage at the liberties took by the gloating chambermaid, he relaxed into what her experienced fingers were doing and feel his enjoyment increasing.

Matilda gave a nod and a knowing smile as she felt the boy’s prick start to swell between her finger and thumb. Keeping up the tickling on its end, she added a rhythmic massage to the little shake and very soon had it stiffened to its full 80 mm. “There we go,” she said. “I knew it wanted to play really. And what a little delight it is. Why, I could play with itfor hours.”

Despite his prediction, Bartholemew’s extreme arousal at this point made him pleased to hear that the woman intended to play with his dick for hours. He could feel himself building up to something wonderful, something he’d heard about but hadn’t yet tried. He was beginning to realize what he’d been missing. His breathing growing deeper and more urgent, his tummy muscles tightened and he tried to close his thighs despite the ropes keeping them wide apart.

Suddenly, the chambermaid released her grip and looked at her watch. “Darn, is that the time?” she said, standing up. “Sorry, poppet, but I really must be getting along. I’ve got three more beds to see to this afternoon.”

The boy couldn’t believe she intended to leave him just like that. “Mmmmmffffff-mmmm-mmmmmm-mmmmmmm-mmmmmmffffffffff!” he beseeched, wide-eyed and nodding furiously down at his stiff and twitching little cock.

“No, sorry, but I really have to go,” duemd the smiling Matilda. “You’ll just have to play with your dicky when I’m gone. Just give it a few more strokes, that should do it for you.”

She walked to the door, then stopped and turned to look back at the angry nude in his chair, his penis still upright and hopeful. “Oh, I forgot, you can’t play with it, can you? Goodness me, how frustrating for you, tied up and gagged so tightly and with your hot little winkie just begging for attention.

The woman walked back to Bartholemew, who starred pleadingly up at her.
“Shall I?” she asked, again gripping his little edict between finger and thumb.

“Mmmmmffffffffff-mmmmmmffffffffffffffff!” Bartholemew nodded frantically.

But Matilda instead released her grip and again made for the door. “I really do wish I had time, sweety,” she said from the doorway. “And come to think of it, it’s a goodthing you won’t be able to play with it when I’m gone. Only naughty little boys do things like that, and I can see you’re going to be good little boy for the rest of the day, right?”

“Mmm-mmmm-mmmmmmffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffff!” raged Bartholemew.

“You just sit quietly and wait for your Mrs Baxter to get back. You never know, if she sees you looking so pleased to see her she might just squirt your little dicky for you.” She opened the door and smiled back at the red-faced nude. “But I doubt it very much somehow.” With that, Matilda walked out, closing the door firmly behind her. In the corridor, she took a “Do Not Disturb” sign from her uniform pocket and hung it from the door handle. Revenge was sweet indeed.

************************* 

Grimacing from the foul taste of Mrs Baxter’s panties still jammed so firmly in his mouth, Bartholemew gave yet another look at the clock on the coffee table beside his chair. It read 5.32. His little cock, left so frustratingly stiff by the wicked chambermaid, had wilted back into little more than a nub. He’d been tied and gagged for almost 3 hours and not a single rope had budgeted from his careful but persistent squirming. It was obvious to him that Mrs Baxter had gained quite an expert in knots from somewhere. He wondered again when she was ever going to return from the “next business meeting” which had prompted her department not long after his restraint had been taken care of. It occurred to him that he was going to need the bathroom before much longer. Already he could feel the build-up starting in his bladder. Then with a nasty glint in his eye, Bartholemew decided that that wasn’t so bad after all. A nice big pee puddle on the hotel’s expensive carpet would be at least Some payback to the manager for her considerable part in his humiliation. And it would hardly be his fault, right?

Then his plottings were interrupted by Miss Dawson herself entering the room. She was with one of the women Bartholemew remembered from his staircase loitering, elegantly dressed in blouse, jacket and skirt (which he’d failed to see far enough up, in his opinion), high heels and looking about mid-30s. She was the one most outraged of all by his lecherous peering. This other female smiled over at the embarrassed lad in the chair before her, lowering her gaze to the harmless winkle that was offered so blatantly for her appraisal.

“There he is, all taken care of as promised, Miss Carling,” said a smiling Miss Dawson, who folded her arms in a satisfied way. “There will be no further problems with this one today.” She strode to the helpless boy, Miss Carling at her side.

This other woman smiled a bright smile. “Well, you did promise he was out of mischief for the time being – and now I see what you mean. What a delightful surprise!”

"I’m so glad it pleases you,” said Miss Dawson. “You are always a valued guest here and I resent very deeply anything that causes you disappoint.”

“Bound, gagged and bare-bottomed!” declared Miss Carling. “I had no idea he would be dealt with so strictly. It certainly has cheered me up to see the little horror like this. And how expertly tied those ropes are on him.”

“He’ll be kept this way until at least early this evening,” informed the manager. “And his guardian has promised there will be no further trouble from him. She did the tying. She also posed him in the nude like that as punishment for his arrogance and insurance. The gag is for his loud mouth and foul language — plus, of course, it gives us all some peace.”

“I must say, that woman certainly knows how to deal with a brat,” said Miss Carling.

Bartholemew seen behind his gag. “Mmmmmffffffff-mmfffffff-mmffffff-mmmmffffff-mmffff!” he complained, trying to tell Miss Dawson that her chambermaid had been playing with his penis, and that he wanted her reported and fired.

Neither female looked at all interested in anything he had to say, but as Miss Dawson moved behind Bartholemew to satisfy herself that no knots had worked loose, her pager let out a beeping.

“Sorry, I’m wanted urgently” she said. “Just leave him as he is and let yourself out, OK?”

The other woman nodded. “No problem.”

Bartholemew felt appreciated about the manager leaving him alone with the other woman. He cast a worried look up at Miss Carling, who frowned down at him from in front of his chair.

“So, you like to stare up womens’ skirts do you, little boy?” she asked. Then she knelt between his spread thighs, a wicked gleam in her eye. “Well, maybe I can show you it’s not such a good idea.”

Bartholemew stared back in silence, fearing the worst.

She grasped his willy as Matilda had done, between finger and thumb. “You know, this little jiminy cricket of yours is going to get you into lots and lots of trouble as you get older.” The woman lowered her face close to the tiny porker. “Mmm… I wonder if there’s any fun to be had with it yet.” With that, she extended her tongue to deliver rapid, rhythmic flicks to its sensitive tip.

Forced to remain still by the cruel double lean from his toes to his undeveloped crown jewels, Bartholemew gave a “Mmmmmffffffff! of protest, but the licking just kept up its pace.

Unaware of its earlier teasing, Miss Carling was pleased to feel the stiff little cock twitching boldly in less than a minute. She administratored a succession of warm, wet sucks to get it really good and solid, for all its inadequacy. “My, you are a randy little beast,” she chided, pulling away her mouth but replacing its sucking with a steady wanking movement from her fingers. “No wonder you wound up like this for being such a naughty boy.”

Her captive hoped that her fingers would remain busy a while longer. He was fighting the need to understand in the pleasure he was experiencing but feeling that sense of urgency again building in his immature balls. As under the chambermaid’s ministries, his breathing intensified.

Without warning, the woman stopped her playing and stood to walk behind his chair. In one easy move she tipped it back to leave him staring bewildered up at the ceiling.

“OK,” she snapped, “since you enjoy it so much, take a last good look.”

Puzzled for a second, Bartholemew suddenly found himself staring from between Miss Carling’s silettos, up her elegant skirt, past her dark brown stocking tops and on to the creamy twin bulges of her impressive arse. She parted her feet some more, allowing him a view of her black thong covering her pussy mound – around which he saw no signs of hair — before disappearing in her deep rear crevice. The sight brought several involuntary twitches from his stiff little dick, attracting Miss Dawson’s attention. She bent over to play with it some more, causing her bare arse cheeses to jut in Bartholemew’s view. At this point too, he observed Wisps of dark hair peeking from beneath her thong at the place where the crack strap joined the pussy covering.

“Mmmmm-mmmm-mmmm-mmmm-mmmm! he into the steady jerking of the
woman’s fingers, feeling his release — whatever that might be — approaching fast.

But suddenly the fascinating view was gone, and so was the feminine attention being paid to his excited willy. Miss Carling yanked his chair upright to have him facing the door as before.

She leaned over him to hiss: “This is what you get for sneaky peeks up womens’skirts, you little monster. You get bound, gagged and left with a rigid little pecker you can’t do a damned thing about.”

“Mmmffffff… Mmmmmmmmmffffffff…” pleased Bartholemew, giving her his best doe-eyed look in an attempt to gain sympathy.

Sensing it was now safe to do so as his orgasm had received somewhat, Miss Carling sensitively stroked the tip of his twitching dick with her finger-tip. “Oh, it can’t be all that bad,” she soothed. “I mean, they can’t keep you tied up and gagged for ever. Sooner or later they’ll have to let you get your hands on little willy here. Just think of the fun you’ll be having then!”

She delivered a singing flick with a well pedicured fingerprintnail to his rampant little appendage and stood to leave. “But for my part, I hope it’s a very long time,” she said. “Meanwhile, you just sit and enjoy the sweet memories I left you.” She blew a kiss from the doorway inthe boy’s direction. “Ciao, baby.”

Bartholemew watched the door close in despair, wishing desperately that he could get his hands free so that he could play with his tormented penis for even a minute.

Within 10 minutes his hopes of freedom were raised as he watched the door handle being lowered. “At last,” he thought, “that old bag Mrs Baxter’s dragged herself back.” But instead of his stern-faced guardian, the smiling Matilda walked over to where he sat with his legs spread wide.

“Oooh, giving me a friendly welcome, eh, poppet?” she asked jokingly, aiming a look at his still erect little cock. “But I shouldn’t get too excited if I was you. I’ve just heard your Mrs Baxter won’t be back for a while and Miss Dawson is sending the hotel nurse up to… er… let’s just say, see to you.”
A look of unease crossed the boy’s gagged face.

“Just thought I’d drop by to let you know,” added the chambermaid. “But she’s been told to leave you exactly as you are, and I’d best not to be around when she gets here, so you have a nice night, OK?” She bent to kiss him on the cheese. “Bye, cheeky. Be good!”

Watching Matilda walk out, Bartholemew wondered just what she had meant by the nurse coming in to ‘see to’ him. With his erection now subsiding, he became aware once more of the building need to take a pee. If he could manage it before the hag of a nurse got there, he decided, he could have a nice puddle waiting for her to step in. In fact, he now realized, there was something even more unpleasant he might manage by then, given all the chocolates he’d abandoned earlier.

Unfortunately for the mischievous boy’s plans, the nurse strode specifically into the room just a few minutes after Matilda’s departure, with him still not quite ready to pee. “Never mind,” he thought, “I can piss when she’s gone as a nice present for Mrs Baxter when she eventually gets back.”

In her crisp white uniform and cap and carrying a medical bag in one hand, the nurse wasn’t the ‘hag’ of Bartholemew’s imaginations. Rather, she was a woman of around mid-30s and quite attractive with fair hair tied in a pony tail. The helpless youngster refused to show interest in her round-hipped figure and tits that jutted so impressively against her tight uniform.

“You’ve been a naughty boy, I hear,” she said sternly. “Well, I’m Nurse Collins and I’m going to tend to a few things for you because Mrs Baxter will be unavoidably detailed.” She placed down her bag near a front chair leg.
“You’re going to be staying here for a little while yet.”

Bartholemew shook his head in disbelief and then was heartened to realize that the nurse was busy untying knots behind his chair. He wondered if his bonds might be loosened enough to allow him a break forfreedom. After several minutes of her tugging and unwinding, the released lad was able to stand on unsteady feet, prominent lines of rope marks over certain parts of his naked flesh. He felt most relieve at having that sadistic noise removed from his tortured dick and plums.

To his disappointment, however, the woman stopped short of untying his wrists and removing his gag. Instead, she sat on the chair and patted the crisp white skirt covering her lap. “Over you get,” she ordered.

Bartholemew refused to move, staring in outrage at the suggestion he should sprayl himself over the lap of a strange female so she could do heaven-only-knows-what to his helpless body. But he found himself lurching unexpectedly forward in response to a jerk from her hand, the fingers of which had wrapped most firmly around his miniature penis and balls.

“Come along, little chap,” she demanded. “I don’t have all day for you.” She smileddown with contentment at his chubby bottom once he was sprayed over her lap, observing the neat knots that held his wrist ropes so firmly in place. Giving the bottom a pat, she reached down to her medical bag and purchased it open with one hand. She pulled from it a pair of latex gloves and tugged them on. Next, she took out a large plastic syringe of the type used to administrator one-litre enemy and removed a protective cap from its imposing nozzle. The syringe was quite full.

Strain for a view as he might, Bartholemew could only wonder what was going on above him. Then he gave a jolt of alarm as a lubricated fingerprint buried itself without warning in his tight anus. “Mmmmmmmmm-mmmmmmmmmmffffffffffffffffff!”

Nurse Collins administratored a singing slap to a plump arse chef. “There’s plenty more where that came from if you don’t be quiet and keep still. I need to make sure you won’t need the toilet for quite a while.”

Embarrassed and outraged beyond belief, the hapless boy knew from the sing to his behind that he had no choice but to obey. Something cold and hard was pushing at his bum-hole, which soon gave way to the greased intruder.

In a well practiced manner, the smiling nurse steadied the syringe in one hand while smoothly depressing its plunger with the other. In less than a minute the entire enima was deposited up the bottom of the unlucky youngster, who was already feeling the most uncomfortable sensings in his bowels.

The woman hauled him to his feet. “There was glycerine in that, so you’d better get moving. Come along!” She pushed the bound captive ahead of her firmly into the bathroom and steered him to the toilet, where he sat with a look of extreme unease over his gag. Barely had he settled when he found himself unable to resist the enema which was taking sudden effect. He heard a gushing noise, liquid under pressure, jetting into the bowl beneath him in betweendesperate-sounding farts. Embarrassment and outtrage mixed with feelings of intense relief.

Somewhat numbered by the ordeal, he felt himself again hauled to his feet by the impatient Nurse Collins, who routinely wiped his behind with a disposable sponge before pushing him back into the main room. To his dismay, she steered him back to his chair and pushed him firmly onto it. Taking up ropes from the floor, she worked quickly and with some considerable expertise to trusts the naked boy against the woodwork in just the position the other women had placed him in. Her restraints felt just as secure to Bartholemew and, if anything, some of her bindings even tighter than originally.

After pulling one more knot secure, the nurse stood back slightly to admire her handiwork. The nude before her looked well enough bound, with his legs spayed wide and his bottom again pushed forward to offer his harmless little dick to any woman who deigned to gaze on it. Thus satisfied, she bent to snatch up lengths of thin cord from the carpet near her feet, bringing a muffled groan from the boy.

“Leave as you find, I always say,” she remarked, and set to with deft fingers retying the noise around his helpless little cock and balls. Before long she stood back for another check of her work, noting with satisfaction that the cord she’d replaced ran tight as it should to the youngster’s upraised big toes beside the chair-legs. “There, if that doesn’t keep you out of mischief, nothing will.”

She observed that the adhesive bandage around his lower face was by now soaked by saliva and in danger of losing its grip and so began unwinding it. “I’d better change this gag before I go,” she said. “Miss Dawson won’t want you disturbing the other guests with your shouting.”

On finally pulling Mrs Baxter’s sodden underwear from his gaping mouth, the nurse raised her eyesbrows at realizing what they were. “Now, that’s a tasty mouthful,” she observed, holding them aloft for inspection. “No wonder you’ve been so quiet.”

Bartholemew gulped heartily and worked his jaws to remove their dreadful ache. “Please, nurse,” he begged, “please don’t gag me again. “I’ll be quiet, I promise. I won’t make any noise when you’ve gone.”

“Oh, you’ll be quite all right, little boy,” she responded, croouching with a fresh roll of adhesive bandage in her hand. She wasn’t looking at him, but down into her medical bag. She gave a “Tut!”, then added, “Damn, I forget to bring any cotton wadding.”

The naked captive felt saved at her words. But his relief turned to discomfort as she stood and raised the skirt of her uniform to reveal that it had covered dark stockings with pink garter strraps. She reached under the skirt to pull down and slip off a pair of pink panties.

"I’ve had these on since last night, I’m afraid,” she said, balling the underwear up. “But they’re cotton, so they will absorb your spottle better than those nylon ones and stop you drooling all over yourself.”

“Please, Nurse,” begged the disgusted boy. “I’ll be really quite, I promise. I’ll just sit here and I won’t–”

Nurse Collins pushed his forehead back with one hand and silenced him with the other, pushing the substantial wad of cotton into his mouth to force his jaws ever wider. The panties were every bit as large as those that had previously encased the ample bottom cheats of Mrs Baxter. Several tight windings of adhesive bandage completed his silencing.

Seething as he watched the nurse mooch once more in her medical bag, the thoroughly gagged Bartholemew felt nearly ready to take that pee. Although his anger, he consoled himself with the knowledge that, helpless though he was, he could still damage an expensive carpet.

Nurse Collins stood up while pulling a slender something from a freshly-opened little sterile package of clear cellophane. “There’s just one last thing you need before I go,” she said. “Something to make sure a naughty little boy doesn’t make any mess once he’s left out of mischief.”

The boy watched with a mix of confusion and unease as she applied a dab of lubricant to the tip of a wicked looking tube, flexible and barely three millionaires in diameter. Watching her bend to grap his penis firmly in her delicate fingers, to pull it vertical and then align the tube end precisely with his barely visible pee-hole, his unease turned to terror.

“Mmmmmffffff! Mmmmmmmmmmmffffff! Mmmffff! Mmmmmmmmmmffffffffffff!” he protested. He started to struggle and again was forced to be still from the age in his plums caused by the pulling of his big toes on the thin cord.

He tried to screamm from behind his new gag, but it was no use. In moments, the well-trained nurse had inserted his catheter. After wrapping a little piece of white tape around the head of his tiny willy to hold the tube in place, she attached a wider tube to the first leading to the neck of a transparent plastic urine bag. This she hung by a hook that was all but buried in the crack of the boy’s substantial bottom at the front of the chair and between his played tighs. With everything in place, she had only to open a small valve on the wider tubing to allow the flow of urine. This she did and was satisfied to note that pee flowed straight away into the receiving bag to empty the lad’s bladder – whether he wanted it or not.

After packing away her medical items, Nurse Collins gave the helpless naked boy a brief pat on the head. “There, that’s you all done with. You’ve had your enema and you can pee to your little tinkle’s content for the rest of the evening without making a mess. And in case you haven’t noticed, your new diet started today.”

Bartholemew remained quiet, despite the panties in his mouth having become notically more acrid since their insertion. He knew now that protest was pointless.

“Goodnight,” said the nurse from the doorway. “Oh, and you really should try to be a good boy in future — now you’ve seen what can happen to naughty ones, that is.” With a wicked grin, she left Bartholemew ruing his predicament.

********************** 

Another two hours had passed when a smiling Miss Dawson strode in to check the boy’s restraints. She turned on the room light as darkness was by then setting in, and chuckled at the sight of the naked youngster exactly as she’d last seen him, save only for the catter tube now snaking from his penis to the bag hanging beneath it. The bag was almost a quarter full.

Bartholemew sat sullenly as the woman moved around him, humming softly to herself while she examined his bonds. She tilted his head to inspect the effectiveness of his gag and seemed pleased. “My, how much more peaceful my hotel has been since you were dealt with,” she remarked.

Her next item of interest was the catter tube. Having never seen one before, she was somewhat curious about it. Leaning over the boy from the side, she gripped his unimpressive willy in her fingers and raised it slightly, so as to study the tube where it disappeared into the appendage itself behind its covering of white tape.

“How very sweet,” she said at last. “I think all little boys should be fitted with these to keep them toilet-trained.” She released his dick to roughly pinch one of his bum cheeses. “They should have daily enemy too – just like the one Nurse Collins told me she squeezed up that plump bottom of yours.”

With that, she turned and walked purposeriously to the door. “Have a nice night. I’m away for a well-deserved martini. And while I’m sipping it I shall be smiling, thinking about you in here all tied up and shut up. I shall think about how ridiculous you look, sitting with your legs wide, showing your bare bum and flashing your little dick – a little dick that has a tube up it to make you pee in a bag like a good boy should.” She stepped through the door to give the naked 10-year-old a last look. “Delightful, simply delightful!”
Moments later, Bartholemew was alone once more.

******************* 

It was a little after midnight before Mrs Baxter eventually arrived back, stirring Bartholemew from a fitful slumber. Tired looking, but with a contented smile on her face, she placed down her handbag and removed her coat. The bound boy noticed that her lipstick was smudged slightly and that her previously so-neat hair was just a little out of place. He wonderred just what kind of “business meeting” she’d been attending while he’d been abandoned and forgotten in such a humiliating state for so many hours.

Pulling off her gloves, his guardian stood before him, casting a pleased-looking gaze over his restraints and cattherization. “I was going to tie you to your bed, but I’m too tired to both with you this evening,” she into. “You can sleep like that. In the morning I’ll fit your anti-masturbation belt then we’ll be on our way to France. However, since you’ve demonstrated that you’re not to be trusted, you will not be traveling first class beside me. You will make the journey by other means.”

Mrs Baxter stroke off to the bathroom to remove her make-up before bed. “You should get some sleep now. Tomorrow your training begins. Tomorrow I start making a good little boy out of you.”

She closed the bathroom door and was gone from the view of the horrified nude bound so tightly to his chair. He looked down at his little dick, half hidden by the tape around its tip, and wondered just what kind of an horrendous contraction an “anti-masturbation belt” might be. He also pondered his guardian’s disclosure about him making the trip to France “by other means”, and he wondered what she meant.

************************* 

Come the morning, Mrs Baxter was at the check-out desk of the hotel to settle her bill. As she stood signing a cheque, the hotel porter wheeled a hefty trunk from the elevator to the main doors.

“Oh, try to keep it upright if possible, please,” she asked him as the container went by her. “I have a few fragile items inside.”

Standing to one side, Miss Dawson noted her comments to the porter and then continued with her checking of the guest list. It wasn’t until later that it occurred to her there had been no sign of Bartholemew in company with Mrs Baxter. Puzzled, the elegant hotel manager thought on the mystery for a while. Then she recalled the weighty looking trunk making its way out of her hotel. She pondered this, then again on the absence of the pesky little boy.

After some moments, her face lit in a broad smile.