A Puericil Journey

A Puericil Journey 4

[9,054 words]

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This story is intended for adults only. It contains depictions of forced nudity, spanking, and sexual activity of preteen and young teen children for the purpose of punishment. None of the behaviors in this story should be attempted in real life, as that would be harmful and/or illegal. If you are not of legal age in your community to read or view such material, please leave now.

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A PUERICIL JOURNEY - PART FOUR

OWEN'S JOURNAL

It might be a man's world, even now. Men still hold most of the power and still earn more, and whatever. I think men and women should be treated equally of course, but men probably still have it easier right now. That's men. Not boys. In my opinion, the pecking order is: Men, Women, girls, the family dog, then boys!

Alright, maybe I'm being dramatic. But seriously, at school, at home, even if you try and go into a store alone, or with a mate where you will quickly be followed around by the security guy, the world expects boys to be dumber than girls, and worse behaved. Automatically. Girls get away with murder at school, while I get told off when I haven't done anything! I mean, I'm not even sure if I'm going back to school yet, but you know what I mean. It’s always guilty until proven innocent for us.

I mean look at Puericil. Why is Puericil a thing? I feel like it's unfair that I'm being brainwashed or something, when I haven't done all that much wrong. I suppose it's not all bad being a boy though. I must admit I do play up being helpless and "not to be trusted with responsibility" when I can't be bothered to do something. I don't mind Mum patronising me when it means I get to go back to gaming as she does something for me, or better yet, Amy has to to a job for her instead of me! Yeah, I do a bit of, what do they call it, strategic incompetence?

I didn't always used to be lazy. I used to help out more, or try to. But Mum seemed to act like I was more of a nuisance than a help so, you know what? Now I am quite happy acting like trying to figure out the washing machine controls is way beyond me! If Amy is so smart that she can figure it out easily, more fool her!

Why am I moaning at you today? Well, last night I had a nightmare and was talking to Mum after. Um, keep that to yourself please. I didn't mean to wake her up, I just went to check she was OK. Anyway, we ended up somehow talking about what happened at Jamie's. And she ended up going on about swimming clubs and dance schools and other things she heard about on TikTok that sound equally trash, but once she gets going there's not putting her off. I'll need to pick something or she'll pick for me. And at the moment she will not shut up about how much Jamie likes ballet. And on top of that I found out I have to go back to the Doctor that caused all my problems. So I'm a bit pissed off at the moment. I'll leave it here for now.

* note - I read this entry back later. I was probably being a bit self-pityful (is that a word?) Also I made myself sound like a brat. I’ve decided I will go to Jamie’s dance class that she is obsessed with (but NOT ballet, he also does some sort of, I don’t know what it is, but it looks more acceptable anyway) and she will be proud of me, so I’ll have done something good. This is on condition that I don’t go back to my old school. The new term starts in a couple of days but If I go back there I might as well lay down at the gate and wait for everyone start kicking me. I’ll take home school, or maybe Jamie’s school for “special” Puericil boys.

There I go again, I need to stop being mean to Puericil boys. I don’t mean litterally. I don’t go around calling them names, or giving them wedgies. But when I think of them, even Jamie, maybe especially Jamie, I keep thinking I’m better than them and they are, like, retards or something. I need to stop that. I AM a Puericil boy, and I’m not a retard. I think we’re just misunderstood. Still, I’m not going back to moron school. You know what? The kids in the Puericil school are probably a lot less dumb!

Helen's Journal

I feel a lot better now than I did about, what would it have been? 20 hours ago? A fairly stressful day started when Owen woke me up at around 1am. He was upset and it turned out he had had a nightmare, though he wouldn't tell me what it was about. I gave him a hug, and though he was standing there with his teddy bear like a little boy, I didn't think it was appropriate to let him get in my bed, Puericil or not, so I told him to put his dressing gown on and offered to make him a hot chocolate in the kitchen.

I did discover on checking his room that he had wet the bed again. I sorted it out and didn't make a fuss, but calmly suggested that Owen agree to wear pull ups until it stops happening. He just said OK, so I think he realises he doesn't have a choice at the moment.

Downstairs, we had a chat. I asked about his stay at Jamie's, just as a way of getting a conversation going, and he happily told me about playing with Jamie and Jamie's cousins, one of whom seems to have made an impression on him!

He also mentioned that Judith (Mrs Coombes) had...touched him. You can imagine how this made me feel sick! I do understand that this is something that some Puericil parents or practitioners do, but it seems wrong to me and I had decided not to have anything to do with it. So I felt pretty pissed off. She did not ask my permission, or even mention it to me afterwards! I asked Owen how he felt about it and he didn't say a lot, which is understandable, but he obviously wasn't happy. I feel like I let him down by not being there to protect him. I also felt, briefly, annoyed that after I had carefully avoided the temptation to take advantage of Owen, someone else had waltzed in and done exactly that without a by or leave. I quickly pushed that thought aside, as I was uncomfortable with it. This isn’t wrong because I’m jealous for God’s sake, it’s wrong because it’s wrong!

Torn between calling Judith at 2am to give her a piece of my mind or calling the police, I remembered that we had an appointment with Dr Lewis today, so decided to wait and chat to her first. I put Owen back to bed and tried to get some sleep myself, but didn't get a wink.

By 5:30, I'm back in the kitchen on my second cup of coffee. Half an hour or so later, Owen shuffles in, yawning into his elbow, hair sticking up in three directions. At least he wakes up early again these days so I didn't have to worry about waking him. His pyjama sleeves disappear up his arms and the pull-up peeks above his waistband when he stretches. I think to myself I need to buy him some new ones. "Sit," I tell him, nudging a bowl of cereal across the table. He blinks at it silently like he's never seen a three dimensional object before.

Amy thunders downstairs at 7:30, all polished shoes and clipboard energy, ready to grab some toast on the move as she always does. "Mum, have you seen my..." She stops dead, nose wrinkling at Owen, who’s now engrossed in his iPad. "Why’s he still not dressed?"

"He's not going to school today honey, I'm taking him to the doctors. Owen, it is time to get dressed now though, please."

"Also, I'm NEVER going back to that dump of a school." He interjected without looking up.

"Owen, just get dressed, please. We'll talk about that later."

I struggled on with the morning routine and a little while later we arrived at the Doctor's office. Owen slumped in a waiting room chair, his fingers drumming against the armrests, trying to disguise his nerves as boredom. "You stay here," I told him, smoothing his collar. "I'll just be a minute."

Dr. Lewis's office was lighter and larger than I remembered. I asked for a private word and she listened without interrupting as I recounted Judith’s. behaviour. "She didn’t ask," I repeated, voice sharper than intended.

Dr. Lewis stared at me for a moment until I thought she wasn’t going to reply, but then she did.

"Of course, I do I understand your discomfort," she said evenly. "It does seem as though your friend has overstepped. Perhaps you should speak to her about it? It's possible it was an oversight. But semen extraction is a standard therapy for Puericil boys, especially those who started treatment post-puberty. It helps regulate their focus and concentration during the day and to sleep better at night."

I swallowed hard, my nails digging into my palms. "But...why wasn't I told? Why did Judith just...do it?" The memory of Owen's hesitant confession twisted in my gut—she touched me..."

Dr. Lewis sighed, adjusting her glasses. "Ideally, she should have consulted you first. But the practice itself isn't harmful. Quite the opposite—it prevents obsessive self-stimulation, which can occur in Puericil boys if left unchecked. It can disrupt their emotional progress." She leaned forward slightly. "Think of it like releasing a pressure valve in a controlled manner."

My throat felt too tight. "But the Puericil..isn't that supposed to stop his...urges?"

Dr. Lewis's pen tapped against her notepad—once, twice—before she set it down deliberately. "Helen," she said, her voice softening, "Puericil doesn't erase puberty. It presses pause. For boys like Owen who started treatment after already reaching certain development milestones, biological impulses will remain, though they may be lessened. The drug stabilizes them, but it doesn't eliminate the need for release. That's why adjunct therapies exist. It only prevents the production of seminal fluid if taken before puberty."

My fingers twisted the strap of my purse. "But Judith just—"

"I know." Dr. Lewis sighed. "She should have discussed it with you first. Consent matters, even in therapeutic contexts. But the act itself isn't harmful. In fact, for many boys, it's recommended." She tilted her head slightly. "Has Owen seemed... calmer since his visit with Jamie?"

The question caught me off guard. I pictured Owen sprawled on the couch yesterday, quieter than usual, less fidgety. "Yes," I admitted grudgingly. "Although it was only two days ago so it's hard to say. And since you mention it, now I'm worried he's been withdrawn because it upset him!"

Dr. Lewis’s pen hovered over her notepad for a moment before she set it down deliberately. "Helen," she said, softer now, "this is your choice. Whether you incorporate this into Owen’s care regimen is entirely up to you." She folded her hands. "But medically speaking, it is beneficial for boys like Owen. It can even be self administered but that should be supervised. Otherwise they become rather obsessed with it.”

I sighed. Dr Lewis pushed some pamphlets towards me which I quickly put in my bag. It felt grubby looking at them at the time.

"It is perfectly safe, Helen. Make an informed choice and if it is not for you, just make that clear to all Owen's other caregivers."

Hang on, did she just suggest it was my fault for not specifying that I didn't want Judith to do that to him? I felt angry but then self doubt. Perhaps I should have done more research into the whole thing of raising Puericil boys. I have been burying my head in the sand over his schooling, perhaps I've been doing the same over his care.

Anyway, while I felt more confused than reassured at this point, Dr Lewis effectively ended the conversation by inviting Owen in to begin his examination.

"And how are you today, Owen?"

"Fine," he muttered, swinging his legs under the chair. And then with little ceremony he asked, "Doctor Lewis? Why am I wetting the bed?"

I was surprised that he would bring up something so personal voluntarily.

I watched his fingers dig into his thighs. "It’s embarrassing," he added, as if she might not grasp this.

Dr Lewis didn’t react beyond a slow nod. "Ah. Yes, that can be a side effect of Puericil."

Owen’s head jerked up. "Well then, I want a different type...or I'm not taking it anymore!"

"Owen!" I warned.

"It’s a known side effect," Dr Lewis continued smoothly, flipping open his file. "The medication relaxes certain muscle groups, including the ones that help you hold it in at night." She glanced at him over her glasses.

Owen’s face went scarlet. "That’s stupid." His feet thumped against the chair legs. "I hate it! Can’t you give me a different kind?"

"I’m afraid not. Changing medication can throw up other unexpected side effects and since yours is working fine, it’s not worth the risk. It's a temporary side effect, I promise you. The bed-wetting should decrease as your body adjusts. Is it every night?"

"No!"

"Well, then, that is a good sign. I recommend taking precautions for a few weeks until it stops. If the problem persists longer, Mummy will make an appointment and we'll discuss it further."

Dr. Lewis tapped her pen against Owen’s chart. "And physically? Any other discomfort? Headaches, nausea?"

Owen shifted in his chair. "Not really. Just...sometimes everything feels kinda fuzzy? And warm. Not like fever warm, just...soft warm." He glanced at me, then quickly away, as if embarrassed by his own description.

Dr. Lewis nodded, making a note. "That's also quite a common side effect. Puericil can make certain emotions feel a bit foggy, but it helps your brain prioritize emotional processing over impulse reactivity."

"Huh?"

I rolled my eyes, even though I wasn’t sure what she was talking about either.

She opened a drawer. "I can prescribe some tablets to counter the fuzziness, if it bothers you."

Owen hesitated. "Nah. It’s not...bad. I just thought I'd mention it. As long as it’s normal I don't mind."

"It is." Dr. Lewis smiled. "In fact, many boys describe it as pleasant once they adjust. Like wearing a weighted blanket mentally."

"Uh-huh".

Dr. Lewis snapped on fresh gloves with a practiced flick of her wrists. "Alright, Owen, let's check how you're progressing physically. Would you mind undressing own to your underwear, please?"

"Yes I would." I looked up to see Owen give a cheeky grin and relaxed when I realised it was a joke. He was aware in advance that the appointment would involve a physical. He hesitated, fingers hovering at the hem of his shirt before peeling it off with exaggerated slowness. His arms crossed instinctively over his chest as he kicked off his shorts, leaving him in just his underwear.

"Good," Dr. Lewis said, her tone neutral as she palpated his collarbone, then his ribs. "Any tenderness here?"

"N-no." His voice cracked.

"Good. All good. What body hair he had has already gone. That is a sign that the drug is working and has bedded in quickly. That should mean the other temporary side effects will clear before long."

I nodded understanding as Owen blushed.

"I take it it has gone down there too?" She asked him.

"Yess!" He hissed abruptly.

"Could you pop your underwear off for me so I can have a quick look?"

Owen glanced at me briefly. His fingers hesitated at the waistband of his underwear - white briefs with little blue rockets that came in a pack I bought him to remind him that he didn't need to worry about grown up things - before shimmying them down with a resigned sigh. He stepped out, kicking them toward the pile of his other clothes, then sat again, with his arms stiff at his sides, staring at the ceiling. His shoulders were hunched forward slightly, like he was trying to shrink inward without actually moving.

Dr. Lewis didn’t react beyond a clinical nod. "Thank you, Owen. Now, hop up on the table for me."

I saw him swallow as he climbed onto the crinkling paper, his movements stiff. His knees knocked together briefly before he forced them apart, fists clenched on his thighs.

"Good boy." Dr. Lewis adjusted her gloves. "This won’t take long."

And it didn’t. Her hands were efficient, briefly checking the softness of his skin where his pubic hair had been. Owen flinched when she cupped his genitals for a moment lifting them to inspect the area, but stayed silent except for a sharp inhale.

Dr. Lewis reached for a small wooden box on the shelf, the kind that might hold jewelry, except when she opened it, there was a string of smooth beads in graduated sizes nestled against velvet. "Alright Owen, swing your legs over the edge of the table for me." Her fingers brushed the beads, selecting one with practiced ease.

Owen hesitated, his toes curling against the cold metal of the table frame before obeying. Dr Lewis sat between his legs with the bead thing and brought it close to his groin.

"Ah, yes," she murmured, comparing the bead to his testicles with gentle precision. Her other hand steadied him, thumb brushing his inner thigh. "Definite regression. See here, Helen?" She angled her wrist so I could observe the mismatch, his anatomy noticeably smaller than the bead. "This is excellent progress. His testes have reverted to a Tanner Stage 2 size."

Owen made a small, choked noise. His fingers dug into the paper beneath him, tearing a tiny crescent into the edge. "I knew it had got smaller!" He didn't sound angry this time, just resigned and pathetic. He started to cry and I wobbled on my chair trying to decide if going to comfort him would interrupt Dr Lewis too much.

"It's your testes that I was measuring, Owen, not your penis. But it is possible that your penis has also shrunk a little...." Owen groaned.

".….I don’t need to measure that, so I can’t say. I can promise you that it is only temporary. Once you finish Puericil, puberty will restart with no ill effects on your long term development. It's also very unlikely you will see any further shrinkage. It's actually one of the most pronounced physical changes I've ever seen as it is."

This last remark did not feel like a consolation to me so I can only imagine how Owen felt.

Dr Lewis continued, and I felt she was trying to reassure both Owen and myself when she said, "The important thing to remember is that these changes are for the benefit of your overall well being. Next time I see you , in six months, I expect you will feel happier that you have in a long time. Just hang in there during these first couple of months when it's all new and a bit wonky."

Dr. Lewis snapped off her gloves with a practiced flick while Owen scrambled for his underwear, nearly tripping in his haste to cover himself. He yanked the briefs up so fast the elastic snapped against his waist with an audible twang.

"And Owen," Dr. Lewis said casually as she scribbled notes, "Mummy mentioned what happened at Jamie’s house."

Owen froze mid-step, one foot still hovering over his discarded shorts. His head whipped toward me, eyes wide with fresh panic, like I’d betrayed him somehow.

Dr. Lewis continued. "It’s quite normal and healthy for caregivers to help Puericil boys release tension that way - to help them sleep," she continued, as if discussing vitamin supplements. "But you should always tell them not to unless Mummy’s given explicit permission." She capped her pen with a decisive click. "Understood?"

Owen’s throat worked silently. He glanced at me again, his fingers twitching at his sides before he managed a jerky nod.

"She's not saying it was your fault, Owen", I intervened wearily with a reproachful glance at Dr Lewis, "just that if it were to happen again, you are able to say no. And let me know. Unless..." I couldn't believe I was saying it but I'd started the clarification so had to go on, "unless I have given the person permission and If I ever do that I will always warn you in advance."

To the relief of everyone, Owen had by this point reached a level of mortification rendering any further communication impossible in either direction, bringing the consultation to an end.
There was some feeling of silent relief in the car afterwards, that both of us had brought up difficult things that were bothering us and had been rewarded with at least some kind of reassurance. If nothing else from Owen's point of view it was over with for another six months. I resolved to have a calm chat with Judith now that I had calmed down a little.

I stopped at McDonald's on the way home as a little treat and we didn't say another word about Judith or Puericil. But back in the car for the final part of the journey, he did again bring up not wanting to go back to school, and I just blurted out that it was fine. We'd find something else. And he randomly told me he wanted to try the dance class!

Owen's Journal

I had to go to the doctor this morning. Sucked. That's all I'm saying, it's done with now.

We went to McDonald’s for lunch, and I helped Mum in the garden this afternoon. She said I'm not going back to school now, I mean at all, so that's such a relief. She's not sure what I am doing yet though, which is a bit of a problem since term has started already. I don't think she wants to home school me. She doesn't have time, really. That only leaves Jamie's school, which I don't really want, BUT at least I would already know one person there, and hopefully it would take a while to get in and I could have some extra holiday as a result. I'm not sure about that, but fingers crossed!

I had to have a bath after doing the garden cos I was all dirty, and Amy washed me. I still would rather do it myself but I have actually gotten used to Amy doing it now, and find her doing it less embarrassing than Mum. She doesn't make a big deal out of it.

We chatted a bit which was OK, and then right at the awkward bit where I have to stand up for her to finish washing me, she said, "I saw Louisa in school today."

"Louisa?"

"You know, Jamie's cousin."

"I didn't know she went to St John's."

"You don't know anything. I don't know her very well but she came up to me and asked how you were."

"Did she?"

"She did. You seem to have made an impression."

"I only met her briefly". This part of the conversation coincided with her washing my privates with an unfortunate result.

"It seems you like her too!"'

"No I don't! You know that always happens,"

"Owen and Louisa sitting in a tree..."

"Shut up!"

"No need to be embarrassed. Hmmm...." she bent down to inspect my now fully erect dick. "Make him dance!"

"What? Amy, don't you remember the trouble you got in last time you played with it?"

"I'm not playing with it. I just want to see it dance. Swish it about a bit?"

"Swish it about?" I laughed. "What are you on?" Nevertheless I did move my hips, causing it to swing back and fore a few times as she giggled.

"Boys are so funny!"

"You're just jealous because you don't have one!"

At this she splashed water at me which would normally have prompted a little splash war and probably a row from Mum, but as soon as I made the crack abut her not having one I remembered that the Puericil has shrunk mine and felt gloomy again, so I didn't retaliate. Well, it shrunk my balls anyway. I hope not my dick, but I am convinced it has slightly. I wondered if Amy had noticed, but didn't ask. Dr Lewis had better be right about it not getting any worse.

I spent the rest of the day watching YouTube.

HELEN'S JOURNAL

The smell of fries lingered in the car long after we'd finished eating. Owen slumped sideways against the window, drowsy with full-bellied contentment. I watched his reflection in the rear-view mirror as he idly kicked his legs. That alone would've been enough to make me smile, but then he'd surprised me by humming along to the radio. Quietly and out of tune, but it was music to my ears.

Later that afternoon we made the most of the lovely weather as Owen knelt beside me in the garden, his hands carefully patting soil around the lavender seedlings we’d planted. There was something soothing about the rhythm of it—digging, planting, patting—like the earth itself was absorbing the tension we’d carried home from Dr. Lewis’s office. Owen’s forehead wrinkled in concentration, his tongue poking out the corner of his mouth the way it used to when he was seven and stacking blocks. Selfishly, I felt happy that the Puericil would keep him mine just a little bit longer.

"Like this?" he asked, pressing a final mound around the stem.

"Perfect," I said, brushing dirt from his knuckles. "You’ve got green fingers."

He blinked at me. "No I don't."

"It's a figure of speech, Owen. It means you’re good at gardening."

"Oh. Thanks."

“You can help me in the garden again if you like?”

“Will I get paid?”

“I thought you were enjoying helping?”

“I am, but I’m still working for you.”

“We’ll see then. Cheeky!”

“Anyway, it’s not really a garden, it’s more of a yard.”

“No it isn’t we’ve got plants….”

“Jamie’s garden is huge.”

“Jamie’s mother is rich. I’m not, I’m afraid. Be thankful for what we have.

“I am.”

Not long after, I found myself smiling again when Amy bounded through the door, her schoolbag swinging with that particular first-day energy—a mix of relief and triumph. She'd navigated it effortlessly, according to the snippets she tossed at me between bites of after-school toast. She is obsessed with toast. "Mrs. Barham says my creative writing is exceptionally vivid," she announced, smearing jam to the crusts with precision. "Oh, I bumped into Louisa Martin at school. She's Jamie Coombe's cousin."

I brushed aside my annoyance at the unintentional reminder of Judith Coombes. Pride swelled unexpectedly in my chest. My little girl, already adapting so seamlessly where Owen had faltered. And then, without prompting, she emptied Owen's wash basket into the washer, and run his bath like it was the most natural thing in the world. No prompting from me, just cheerfully helping out, leaving me free to make dinner while stealing the odd free moment to read up again on Puericil parenting, starting with the pamphlet Dr Lewis had given me yesterday.

The brochure lay open on the kitchen counter, its clinical language glossing over the intimacy of its contents. Seminal Fluid Retention in Puericil-Treated Adolescents: Risks and Recommended Management.I traced the bullet points with a fingertip, my tea cooling beside it.

"Left untreated, seminal retention in Puericil patients can lead to an unhealthy build up in the prostate. This may lead to discomfort or infection. Regular extraction either by licensed practitioners or trained caregivers has been shown to help alleviate these symptoms and prevent them reoccurring. The therapy has also been proven to lead to increased energy and concentration at school and better sleep at night."

The text claimed that this was standard care. The medical detachment should have been comforting. Instead, my pulse throbbed in my throat as I imagined Owen's bewildered face if I broached this with him.

"Most caregivers report best results with daily sessions, but the optimum approach will vary from patient to patient. You may prefer every other day, or a weekly frequency and you may find a certain time, for example just before bed, or early morning, to be the most effective time for your sessions."

Am I really considering this? I keep reassuring Owen he is not being brain washed, yet somehow between Dr Lewis and Judith I feel sometimes like I'm being brain washed myself. If I did do this to… with...for...Owen - would it be better to do it myself or send him to a clinic?

The pamphlet explained about Puericil clinics that offer therapies including extractions. It went on to explain "these might be booked bi-weekly or even monthly as the trained practitioner will perform a more thorough extraction that may take a couple of hours but will leave the boy calm and relaxed for the week ahead. This might be performed manually or with a medical device that can insure the boy is fully emptied each time, and in conjunction with a protective device worn by the patient to prevent him from interfering with the process between sessions."

I stared at the pamphlet in my hands, its glossy pages catching the afternoon light in a way that made the diagrams seem almost animated. I traced the outline of a Puericil clinic’s treatment room—sterile white walls, a padded table with adjustable stirrups, a tray of gleaming instruments that looked like instruments of torture. My thumb hovered over a photo of a boy no older than Owen, his face blurred for privacy, lying prone while a nurse in scrubs adjusted something off-camera. His limbs looked boneless.

I flipped the page and immediately regretted it. There it was—the machine. Polished steel with a series of adjustable sleeves, suction ports, and something labeled a prostate massager. "For patients requiring more intensive therapy, the PB-12 ensures complete seminal evacuation with minimal discomfort," the pamphlet assured. A flowchart detailed the process: positioning, lubrication, extraction, recovery. Step four included a cartoon boy sipping juice in a recliner, wrapped in a fuzzy blanket like he’d just had a bath.

I started to feel a little dizzy when, down the hall, the shower shut off. Owen’s footsteps padded toward his room, followed by Amy’s chatter about some TikTok trend. Normalcy, just beyond my grasp. I slapped the pamphlet shut and shoved it under a stack of grocery receipts.

I would still have to speak to Judith about the other day, but at least I now understood that she probably did not mean harm. After relaxing and watching TV with Amy while Owen pottered in and out in a cheerful mood, I researched schools. There was good news and bad. The good was that they looked great. Surely the best option of Owen. They were all boys schools, which I didn't love, but at the same time it made sense under the circumstances.

Some were boarding, but there were some day schools which I'd prefer. The bad news was that there are no state Puericil schools. So this is going to cost me. Also, the nearest one is an hour away. And it is Jamie's school. It also requires a sponsor for applicants and since the only person associated with it I know is Judith...it looks like I'm going to have to take the softly softly approach with her whether I like it or not. I will be speaking with her about boundaries nonetheless!

Owen's Journal

Went to Jamie's again today, Mum kept drumming her fingers on the steering wheel in that nervous rhythm she does when she’s about to ask someone for a favour. "Remember," she said for the third time since we turned onto Jamie’s street, "Mrs. Coombes is doing us a kindness by even considering sponsoring your application. So be polite. And for heaven’s sake, don’t slouch."

I rolled my shoulders back obediently, my stomach flipping. I was pretty happy with the choice to send me there. To Jamie's school, I mean. I wasn't sure at first if I wanted to go to a school full of Puericil zombies but I changed my mind when I realised it would be preferable to going back to school with the morons I used to hang out with, none of whom have made any effort to keep in touch over the summer, even after the football disaster. Although I'm glad to not have seen anyone since that. Also Jamie goes there, so it hopefully it will be alright.

Mrs. Coombes answered the door in a cloud of perfume. She’s so different to my Mum, and not in a good way. "Oh, Hello Owen! Look at you, all dressed up!" Her fingers pinched the collar of my polo shirt and I fought the urge to squirm. "Judith," Mum said brightly, "thank you so much for seeing us on such short notice."

The second they disappeared into the kitchen, Jamie materialized at the top of the stairs, grinning. "Hey! Leave 'em to it," he whispered, beckoning me up.

Jamie invited him to join in playing Rocket League. The controller he tossed me had teeth marks on the thumb sticks. "Did your dog chew this?"

"Er, no, that was me sorry". he said, flopping onto the bed.

"Gross!"

"It was ages ago, I don't do that anymore. It's the old spare."

"Alright, well it better work properly."

The controller vibrated in my hands as our cars sped across the digital arena. Jamie leaned forward, tongue poking out in concentration. "Left! Left!" he hissed, but I'd already seen the opening and angled my car just right to tap the ball into the goal.

"Nice one!" Jamie grinned, bumping my shoulder. "You have played this before then." He stretched, hiking up his shorts absently. "So...you nervous? About school?"

I shrugged, focusing on the next match countdown. "Dunno. What's it like there?"

Jamie snorted. "It's basically just the same as normal school except..." He scrunched his nose. "There's less people there. No girls at all for a start. Well, mostly. Sometimes sixth form girls come to help with stuff. As volunteers. Reading groups, art projects." His thumbs flew over the buttons."

I missed my jump, my car hurtling the wrong way. "What do you mean volunteers?"

"It helps them with something or other they are doing. A course they are on or something. We were told but it went in one ear and out the other sorry."

"I don't like the sound of that. We’re boys, not stray dogs. it's not a bloody animal rescue centre."

"Don't worry about it. It's just a couple once in a while, they are not there all the time. Mostly you'll find lessons pretty much the same. Equally boring, for instance."

"I might give your dance class a try as well, after all."

"Oh cool!" He clapped his hands at that. Cute.

"Not ballet, mind. The other one. Is it like break-dancing?"

"Not quite, it's contemporary. But we do some stuff kind of like that. I can do a back flip. You have to be pretty fit. Ballet is not easy, mind. You probably couldn't do it it you wanted."

"Well I don't anyway. But I'll give the other one a go."

"Nice."

At that point I could suddenly hear the conversation downstairs. The muffled noise of it, anyway, which worried me a but as when Dad was at home that usually meant Mum and Dad fighting.

"Hang on, I'm going to check what they are on about."

Jamie side eyed me but did not move, so I snuck out to the top of the stairs. Two minutes later I trudged back in feeling sick.

"My sodding Mum has just asked your Mum about...what she did the other day!" I can't believe her!"

"The nappy?"

"No not the bloody nappy! You know….she jerked me off!"

"Ew! Gross! Don't say that!"

"But she did! You saw it happen. AND she said she did it to you as well!"

"Well, yeah, but they call it an "extraction". It sounds weird if you say...what you said."

"An extraction? It didn't feel like having a tooth out!"

"What is she talking about that for?"

"Mum was cross that your Mum did it. I hope she doesn't piss your Mum off now. She's supposed to be asking your Mum to vouch for me."

"Why is she cross?"

"Because it was bloody weird! What's wrong with you?"

At this point he looked offended. "No it isn't! And stop talking to me like that. Like you think I'm a retard."

That stung a bit because he was right and he called me on it.

"I'm sorry Jamie. I don't think that. I mean, I did at first, but I don't anymore. I think you're alright."

“I’m not stupid, or pathetic, and if you think that, you can just go!”

I started to feel my throat go weird like it does when you are upset. “I don’t think that Jamie, I promise. I’m just stressed at the moment.”

"Well, good. Because I thought you were cool. Look, I know it's all new to you but extractions are stuff that happens to Puericil boys. Mummy is a better option than a clinic, believe me. Mummy only did it at first until she found out about them. Then she took me there instead. That can last, like three hours and it's awful. That's why I pretended I don't get stiffies anymore. That and they used to make me wear a thing on it so I couldn't touch it when I wanted to. Now I don’t have to go there anymore and I can touch myself when ever I want!”

“Jamie!”

“Oh come on, don’t try to pretend you don’t do it.”

I blushed. "It's pretty bad to lie like that to your Mum though?"

"Did you not just hear what I said about those clinics? I guess you don't know because you never got sent there."

"Yeah. I guess you’re right. Still a bit naughty though!"

"All of a sudden you are an angel? What are you going to do, spank me for being bad?" He taunted, pulling a face at me.

"Sod off, you are a weirdo!" I laughed.

"I'm the weirdo am I? Don't forget I know why you got stiff in the first place!"

"That just happens! You know that Jamie!"

"I know you seemed to enjoy watching me get spanked! Perv!"

"Arrgh! Are you just going to wind me up all day?" Maybe I will bloody spank you just to shut you up."

With this I grabbed him and forced him giggling across my lap. I yanked his shorts down and was honestly just intending to give him one smack for comedy effect when Mum and Mrs Coombes walked in. I must say at this point, I hate my life.

***

A few minutes later, me having explained that we were just messing about, we were in the kitchen as Mum explained that Mrs Coombes had agreed to sponsor me and that, with a bit of luck and if all went to plan I'd be starting the school next week. All this in a really awkward atmosphere. I knew that this meant I was in trouble, but Mum wanted to avoid further embarrassment by pretending I wasn't until later.

The car ride home was silent except for Mum’s occasional sighs. I kept my face turned toward the window, watching houses blur past while my stomach twisted tighter with each mile. Jamie’s last whispered "Good luck" as we left had been appreciated moral support.

The front door clicked shut behind us with finality. "Upstairs," Mum said, her voice quiet in a way that meant trouble. "Now."

I hovered at the foot of the steps, fingers gripping the banister. "Mum, I..."

"Owen." She didn’t raise her voice. Didn’t have to. "Do not make me repeat myself."

I stood frozen in my bedroom doorway, suddenly feeling that it was very important to carefully study the way the afternoon sunlight was cutting sharp rectangles across the carpet. Mum gently pushed me into the room and shut the door behind us with a soft click that somehow sounded more dramatic than a slam. She crossed her arms.

"You knew how important today was." Her voice was low, frayed at the edges. "After everything I explained in the car. After everything Mrs. Coombes agreed to do for us." She inhaled sharply through her nose.

My face burned. "I told you, we were just messing about..."

"I had just had an awkward conversation with Mrs Coombes as it was. Then to go upstairs and … I was mortified."

"You could have knocked."

"Owen! Don't be cheeky. Look..." She sighed and looked uncomfortable. "I just want you to know....if.....If you like…You know…if you like boys..."

"Mum!"

"That it’s OK...."

"Mum!"

"That is not what you are being punished for. Just to make that clear. Er… you can talk to me about it later if you want...."

"For god's sake!" I do hate my life.

"But the point is, what you were doing is not appropriate...."

"I told you what we where doing. Just messing about. IT… WAS… A… JOKE!"

Mum didn’t even raise her voice when she finally snapped. It was like she’d already given up on me ever learning. “Enough,” she said, just that one word, and my stomach dropped straight to my socks.

She pointed at my jeans. “Off.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but she cut me off with a look. Not angry. Disappointed. Somehow that was worse. My fingers fumbled with the button, the denim scraping down my legs like it was weighted with lead. The carpet prickled under my bare feet.

“Over my lap,” she said calmly, sitting on the edge of my bed.

I prefer it when she sits on a chair so I can grab the chair legs rather than just dangling, but I lay down obediently. There was no point arguing anymore. She yanked my underwear quite roughly until it was resting half way down my thighs, leaving my bottom exposed. The first smack landed before I could brace myself. There was a sharp crack! that sent heat radiating across my left cheek. I gasped, toes curling into the carpet. Mum didn’t pause; her palm came down again on the right, then left, then right in a steady rhythm that left no room for protest.

Smack! Smack! Smack!

The sting built quickly, each smack layering over the last until my thighs were twitching involuntarily.

"Ow" Mummy...wait..." I twisted, but her arm pinned me firmly across her lap. The elastic waistband of my underwear dug into my thighs where she’d tugged them down, trapping me in this absurd, vulnerable position. My face burned hotter than my backside.

She didn't need to lecture me. The Smack! Smack! Smack! of her hand spoke volumes telling me that this is what happens when you embarrass me in front of Mrs. Coombes. This is what happens when you act like a toddler instead of the teenager you supposedly are.

A particularly sharp smack landed dead centre, and my breath hitched. No. No way was I crying over a spanking like some little kid this time. I bit my lip hard in concentration.

Mum adjusted her grip, her fingers splaying over my stinging skin to steady me. "Stop clenching," she hissed, delivering three rapid smacks to the same spot. The pain flared white-hot, and despite myself, a choked sob escaped. "No, I said no clenching. Relax your bottom now!"

How could I do that? Well I tried and was rewarded with three or four more rapid smack that hurt even more and I began to lose my battle for dignity. Suddenly stupid tears were dripping onto the carpet. Mummys hand paused mid-swing.

"Alright," she said quietly. "Stand up."

I scrambled upright too fast, my head swimming. The relief lasted exactly two seconds before she told me to rest a minute and I realized that it wasn't over yet. My underwear slid a little and came to rest bunched around my knees, Mum's hand resting lightly on my hip to keep me facing her.

"Hands on your head," she said quietly as I tried to rub the sting away.

Mum studied me for a long moment, looking at my blotchy face as I tried to recover my breathing and dignity as quick as possible, without much luck. She reached up to wipe my cheek with her thumb and I wanted a cuddle. But it wasn't time yet. She gestured to me to go back over her knee.

"Get rid of those, they are in the way." She said, pointing to my underwear, which I allowed to fall to my feet before kicking them off. I wasn't even concerned about my nakedness at this point, more about what was coming next. I reluctantly lay back over her lap and she surprised me by gently rubbing my back - and bottom - for a moment before resuming the spanking.

Fortunately, she seemed to have lost heart by this point, because while the spanks hurt just has much, they came more slowly and only for 8 or so more before she gave up. She pulled me to me feet, and without an invitation, I climbed back onto her lap in a sitting position, legs astride her while she hugged me tightly.

So that ended another bad thing that has happened to me, kind of by accident that wasn't my fault. I like the cuddles though. Mum gives the best cuddles after a spanking.

Helen's Journal

Today was an interesting day to say the least. Where on earth do I start? I went to see Judith. Really, I needed to ask for her help with Owen getting into Sandgrove, the Puericil school. Which, is not as posh as it sounds, but is as expensive. But I think it's the best option, and the one Owen now seems happiest with.

She seemed happy enough to provide a reference for Owen and to help us out, so I'm hopeful it will be a formality. After all, I'm giving them money for the privilege, not asking for a hand out. We did chat a little about the school over a cup of tea which I accepted out of politeness even though I don't like it. She did not offer coffee which was a little odd.

Judith stirred her tea while I pretended to enjoy mine. "Sandgrove really isn't so different to what you are used to ," she said, setting the spoon down with a precise clink. "The curriculum's identical to mainstream schools, right down to most GCSE options. But it is far nicer, especially for nice boys like Jamie and Owen."

Her fingers traced the rim of her cup. "They only do non-competitive sports. Nothing like rugby, obviously. Swimming's popular but they only race in relays, trying to beat their own time as a team rather than each other. And they've replaced cross-country running with orienteering."

I nodded, taking it all in with interest. I approved of the sports after what I’d seen on the football field.

"They nap after lunch," Judith continued.

"They nap?" I interrupted in surprise.

"Yes. An hour in darkened rooms. Sounds unnecessary until you see them afterward, bright-eyed, less irritable." Her eyebrow arched. "You'll appreciate that with Owen. Puericil makes them drowsy, you see. They can't concentrate as long as other children. Although you might argue that mainstream children are expected to concentrate far beyond what they are actually capable of. Naps wouldn't do them any harm either!"

"Oh yes, I suppose you are right there" I agreed.

Judith's cup clinked on the saucer as she leaned forward. "They also have an in-house therapist. Twice-weekly sessions are mandatory. It helps the boys process the Puericil adjustments." She smiled, stirring absent-mindedly. "Jamie adores her."

"Oh that's interesting. I'm a bit of a sceptic when it comes to therapy to be honest. I doubt Owen would be that open to it."

"Boys never are at first. Don't worry, dear, she is used to that. She'll help Owen, I'm sure."

More chat followed about the school, and even some chat about logistics. Could Jamie and Owen share lifts? For example, perhaps I could drop them off in the morning and she could pick them up? Apparently on Monday to Thursday nights only, boys can sleep at the school if needed, however I knew that there was no chance at all of Owen ever agreeing to that.

I did then turn the conversation on to the incident. If I was to trust this woman with Owen again, we needed to clear the air.

My teacup trembled slightly in my hands as I broached the subject. "Judith...about what happened last week." My throat tightened around the words. "With Owen."

Judith set her cup down with deliberate calm. "Ah. I suppose you mean the extraction?"

"Yes. If that is what you call it. " The words came out sharper than intended. "You didn't ask me. Didn't even tell me afterward." My knuckles whitened around the cup. "He's my son. You should have at least told me Judith, or really you should not have done it at all!"

Judith sighed, folding her hands. "Ah. Yes. I should have told you that it happened, I'm sorry Helen. My sister arrived with my nieces the following day and it slipped my mind." There was a pause. "Helen, you must understand that for boys on Puericil who still get urges, it really does help them out. I know it seems odd, or awkward or...icky even. That’s what I thought at first. But now, I don't see it as much different to washing their hair."

That didn't seem plausible to me, but I knew I had to pick my battles here. "That's as maybe, Judith, but could you not have asked first?"

"I am sorry Helen. You trusted me to bathe him and put his nappy on. I barely registered that this would seem like a bigger deal to you. I forget how new you are to this. I promise never to do anything without asking first again."

"That would be appreciated." I said, quite stonily, though I knew that it would be my final shot fired.

"Forgive me?"

"Of course."

"Honestly, I didn't mind helping Jamie in that way, but it didn't seem to help much. It would just pop up again soon after...."

Great, now I am imaging Jamie with an erection!

"....so in the end I took him to a clinic for professional extractions, That did the trick. In fact he only needed to go twice before his erections stopped altogether."

"Oh. Yes, I was reading about those places. They don't look very nice."

"Well, I won't lie, Jamie did not like going. The first time he slept half the next day, and wouldn't speak to me for a few hours. But it did him a world of good you know!"

"Yes, well. I'm sure, but I think if Owen needs any help at all, it should be his mother. But you know, he is really quite well behaved and when it comes to that sort of thing, I don't think he has much in the way of...needs." As I said this I remembered his post spanking erections a little too fondly. "No, I'll keep it in mind, but I think Owen can be trusted to behave and be well adjusted without that sort of intervention, thank you. And thank you for the tea, but I must go soon."

"Of course, dear, it's up to you, and once again I am very sorry if I overstepped. Well, shall we drop in on the boys and let them know that Owen will be joining Jamie at Sandgrove soon?"

And so it was, that about 45 seconds after my pompous speech about Owen's virtues, we open the door to find him pulling Jamie's shorts down. A moment, possibly never to be lived down. I know what you are thinking. It's not about you being embarrassed. Surely the issue was more is Owen OK? Is Jamie OK? Look, that was my biggest worry, but damn, I was also humiliated in front of that woman!

As soon as we got home I punished Owen. Writing now, I realise I should have asked more for his side of the story. He insisted it was just horseplay - a joke I think he said ? I should have called Judith to apologize, and ask how Jamie is. But, no, I punished Owen for embarrassing me.

What if Owen is gay? Well, that would not make any difference to me, of course. But I can't have him thinking he can just go around touching people when he feels like it. Is this is what Judith has taught him is normal by her actions the other night? Perhaps I do need to look into "extractions" after all. He had a post spanking erection as usual when I cuddled him. And for the first time, I almost decided to - Judith would say "help him". I turned him sideways on my lap, still sitting up, and for the first time other than to quickly wash it, I took his penis in my hand and held it for a moment, starring at it as though it would help me decide. I gently rotated it, giving it a thorough inspection for no good reason, while he obediently sat and said nothing. Then I let go and sent him away to get dressed. I watched his reddened bottom walk over to his closet and watched his erection bob about as he stepped into his pyjamas and pulled them up over it.

Did I do something wrong by touching him? Something right by sending him away? Or was that actually unkind? I am being told that to “help” is normal for carers of Puericil boys. It would be a lot easier if he just stopped getting erections, like Jamie has. But perhaps a shame if we didn’t bond in this way at least once before he does.

(End of File)