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From: Lone Ranger <euchides@yahoo.co.uk>
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Subject: {ASSM} Out of Mischief {Hedgehog}
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Date: Tue, 12 Feb 2008 00:10:02 -0500
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Out of Mischief



   by Hedgehog









   Bartholemew lay on his stomach, watching daytime TV in a plush,
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 expelled Bartholemew because of his "destructive behaviour", Mrs Baxter
had agreed to offer him private education at her "exclusive residential
centre for the education and self improvement of boys".

   "It's for the best, darling," his 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 had 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'd 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 behaviour" routine never failed.

   Unfortunately, however, Mrs Baxter had some "unexpected business
meetings" to attend to, delaying their departure until tomorrow.  So, to
his annoyance, 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 on the 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 suite 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 slightly overweight for his age, she considered
warning him about too many sweets, then decided not to bother and left
without comment.

   Some 50 minutes later, Mrs Baxter strode in, her dark hair stacked in a
neat 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 chambermaid who
came to clean up.  She reported it to Miss Dawson."

   Bartholemew gave a sneaky grin up at the angry 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 be handing me back the
remote then, right?"

   At that moment the door opened and the hotel manager strode 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, adhesive 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 stripping and tying."

   The puzzlement Bartholemew had experienced on seeing the rope turned
into panic at those words and the serious looks on both womens' 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 meant it!"

   The boy tried to break free from her grasp, but to no avail.  He was
soon dragged to the floor, struggling and cussing at the women kneeling
over him."

   "Let me go, 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 busied 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.

   Outraged, the lad fought 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 draped over one arm, Matilda tentatively knocked
on the hotel room door.  Hearing no TV noise blaring 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 almost an hour ago.  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, thighs, 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 either 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 white adhesive bandage was keeping
the foul-mouthed little brat so very effectively gagged.  Wrapped tightly
around his head and between his gaping jaws, it kept a mouth-filling wad
jammed firmly in.  This packing was slightly bigger than needed, which
meant 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, opined Matilda, as her attractive boss had confided 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!"

   Despite 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 "hhhhhhmmfffffff..." 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 trussed 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 squeeze firm 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 chocky today
too, wouldn't you?"

   "Mmmmmffffffffff..." protested Bartholemew, angered but having been
trained by the genital 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 treat.  "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 cheeks 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 pubic 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.

   "Mmmm..." She peered down at the boy's penis, still barely 3 cm 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
"Mmmmfffff-mmmmfffffff-mmfff!" 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-mmmffffffffffff-mmmmmmmmmffffffffffff!" protested
Bartholemew, glaring angrily down.  He tried to struggle but was again
quickly stilled by the wicked noose around his penis and balls.  After a
few minutes, he felt the tickling sensation on the end of his willy turning
into something pleasurable.  Despite his initial outrage at the liberties
taken by the gloating chambermaid, he relaxed into what her experienced
fingers were doing and felt 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 shaft and very soon had it
stiffened to its full 8 cm.  "There we go," she said.  "I knew it wanted to
play really.  And what a little delight it is.  Why, I could play with it
for hours."

   Despite his predicament, 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 grew 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-mmm-mmmmm-mmmmmffffffffff!" he beseeched, wide-eyed and
nodding furiously down at his stiff and twitching little cock.

   "No, sorry, but I really have to go," affirmed 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 stared
pleadingly up at her.

   "Shall I?" she asked, again gripping his little erection between finger
and thumb.

   "Mmmmmfffffffff-mmmmmffffffffffffff!" 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 good thing 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-mmmmmffffffffffffffffff!" 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 even
squirt your plaything 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
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 budged from his careful but persistent squirming.  It was
obvious to him that Mrs Baxter had gained quite an expertise in knots from
somewhere.  He wondered again when she was ever going to return from the
"next business meeting" which had prompted her departure 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 meant.  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
discomfort."

   "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 said it was best he be left in the nude
as punishment for his arrogance and insolence.  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 seethed behind his gag. 
"Mmmmffffffff-mmffffff-mmffffff-mmmfffff!" 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 watched with apprehension as the manager left.  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 leash from his toes to his
undeveloped crown jewels, Bartholemew gave a "Mmmmffffffff!  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 administered
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 writhe in the pleasure he was experiencing but
feeling that sense of urgency again building in his immature balls.  As
under the chambermaid's ministrations, 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 stilettos, 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
cheeks 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.

   "Mmmm-mmm-mmm-mmm-mmm!  he intoned to 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...  Mmmmmmmmffffffffff..." pleaded 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 receeded somewhat,
Miss Carling sensuously 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 stinging flick with a well manicured fingernail 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 in the 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.

   "My, you certainly know how to make a girl feel welcome, poppet." she
joked, 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 cheek.  "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 gorged earlier.

   Unfortunately for the mischievous boy's plans, the nurse strode
purposefully 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 imaginings.  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.

   He tried to tell her to f**** off, but only muffled grunts came from his
gag.

   "Well, I'm Nurse Collins and I'm going to tend to a few things for you
because Mrs Baxter will be unavoidably detained." 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 for
freedom.  After several minutes of her tugging and unwinding, the relived
lad was able to stand on unsteady feet, prominent lines of rope marks over
certain parts of his naked flesh.  He felt most relief at having that
sadistic noose 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 sprawl 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 smiled down with contentment at his chubby bottom once he was
sprawled 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 prized 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 administer one-litre enemas 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 finger
buried itself without warning in his tight anus. 
"Mmmmmmmmm-mmmmmmmmffffffffffff!"

   Nurse Collins administered a stinging slap to a plump arse cheek. 
"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 to go to the toilet for a
while."

   Embarrassed and outraged beyond belief, the hapless boy knew from the
sting 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 practised 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 enema was deposited up the bottom of the unlucky
youngster, who was already feeling the most uncomfortable sensations 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 between desperate-sounding farts.  Embarrassment and outrage
mixed with feelings of intense relief.

   Somewhat numbed 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 truss 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 noose 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 eyebrows 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, crouching
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 don't have any cotton wadding in here."

   The naked captive felt relieved 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 suspenders.  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 spittle 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 cheeks 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.  Despite
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
millimeters in diameter.  Watching her bend to grasp 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.

   "Mmmmmfffff!  Mmmmmmmmffffff!  Mmmfff!  Mmmmmmmmffffffffffff!" he
protested.  He started to struggle and again was forced to be still from
the agony in his plums caused by the pulling of his big toes on the thin
cord.

   He tried to scream from behind his new gag, but it was no use.  In
moments, the well-trained nurse had him catheterized.  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
nestling in the crack of the boy's substantial bottom at the front of the
chair and between his splayed thighs.  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 noticably more acrid since their insertion.  He knew now that
protest was pointless.

   "Goodnight," said the nurse from the doorway.  "Oh, and you 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 that the boy was still where he should be.  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 catheter
tube now snaking from his penis to the bag hanging beneath it.  The bag was
almost a quarter full.

   Bartholemew sat in glum silence 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 catheter 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
reach under and roughly pinch one of his bum cheeks.  "They should have
daily enemas too - just like the one Nurse Collins told me she squeezed up
that plump bottom of yours."

   With that, she turned and walked purposefully to the door.  "I'm going
off duty now, so do have a nice night." 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
wondered 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 catheterization.  "I was going
to tie you to your bed, but I'm too tired to bother with you this evening,"
she intoned.  "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
travelling first class beside me.  You will make the journey by other
means."

   Mrs Baxter strode 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 contraption 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.

   -------------------------------- Sent from Yahoo!  - a smarter
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