Emma and Tom

By Brugha Puer

[2,670 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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When an underdeveloped boyfriend gradually becomes more like a son, maybe it's time to take proper action. And if it doesn't help, there is always Puericil here.

Emma and Tom

Their friends couldn't believe it, but it happened: after college, Emma and Tom moved in together. They were an odd couple. Emma looked older than her years—no, she didn't have wrinkles, but she was a large woman who radiated authority. Tom, on the other hand, looked almost like a pre-pubescent boy, even though he was, of course, a fully grown adult by every measure.

They settled into a house—small, but quite decent. Most of the neighbors were retirees, along with a few young couples. After years of living in a dorm, they initially found it hard to fall asleep because it was so quiet.

Emma worked at a law firm. At first, she was a junior associate among other junior associates, and she came home completely drained.

Tom worked from home as a programmer. He communicated with his colleagues only online. He had never even met his bosses in person. Furthermore, he would complete his part of the work and send it to an integrator, who would tell him what needed to be added or redone. They would wrap up one project and start another.

One evening, Emma came home not just agitated but furious.

“I need to spank someone!” she announced the moment she walked in. “Get your ass over here, Tom.”

It was hard to tell whether she was joking or not. When Tom lived with his mother, he had often been spanked—and frequently quite hard. Obedience to that kind of tone was in his blood. Almost without thinking—and to Emma's surprise—he took off his jeans and boxers and lay across her lap.

Emma spanked him hard and for a long time, but only with her open palm. It wasn't because she wanted to spare Tom's backside but simply because there was nothing else in the house suitable for spanking.

That incident was like opening Pandora's box.

Lately, she had been spanking Tom almost every day upon returning home—most regularly with a hairbrush she’d bought on Amazon. The lacquered back of the brush bore the inscription “Mommy's Helper.” The handle had a loop, and Emma kept it hanging on the kitchen wall; anyone entering the kitchen could see it and read the words written on it.

Tom would cry during the spankings—not because he was faking it, but because it hurt.

Later, Emma bought a belt. “For special occasions,” she said, though she never explained exactly when an occasion might qualify as special. The belt hung on a hook next to the brush, too—a detail that was a dead ringer for the home Tom had grown up in.

Not long after the belt appeared, a sheet of paper went up on the refrigerator door. Emma used it to list the demerits for which Tom deserved punishment.

Winter passed, and spring arrived. The windows in the rooms and the kitchen were left open until evening—even during the spankings. It would have been strange to expect the neighbors *not* to hear Tom crying while he was being punished.

One neighbor, Mrs. Briggs, had grown very fond of Tom. He reminded her of her own son—who had died in Iraq—as a child. She would drop by frequently to chat with Emma, bringing treats for “Little Tom” and always hugging him and kissing him on the forehead.

It was spring. The windows were open. The elm tree standing between Mrs. Briggs’s house and the one where Emma and Tom lived was still completely bare of leaves. Tom was in his room; after three hours of coding, he had taken a break and switched to porn. Back at her own house, Mrs. Briggs went upstairs to her son’s former room, where she now kept old pattern magazines. She glanced out the window and froze. Her favorite, “Little Tom,” was making unmistakable, lewd gestures in front of his computer screen.

That same evening, she went to see Emma.

“My dear, you really ought to spend more time with your boy,” Mrs. Briggs said. “He engages in indecent acts when you aren't around. He could grow up to be a pervert.”

Emma had come home that day feeling unusually calm. She made some tea. The women sat down in the kitchen and chatted over their cups.

Emma learned what Tom had been doing and what Mrs. Briggs had seen. It was clear the older woman was hurt; after all, she had always considered Tom to be a sweet little boy.

“Tom, darling, come here a moment,” Emma called out.

Suspecting nothing, Tom came downstairs. He greeted Mrs. Briggs and moved to hug her, as he always did, but she pushed him away.

Emma explained what Mrs. Briggs had seen and how it had affected her.

“Now, Mister, you will be punished in Mrs. Briggs's presence,” Emma began. “Take off your trousers and underpants, and hand me the belt.”

“What!” Tom exclaimed, blushing beet-red.

“Not 'what,' but 'yes, ma'am,'” Emma corrected him. “It's time you learned some manners.”

Tom removed his jeans and boxers and folded them neatly on a chair. Then he moved another chair against the wall and climbed onto it to take down the belt.

Tom's weenie, though fully functional, was small and flaccid, looking more like that of a little boy.

He handed the belt to Emma.

“Apologize to Mrs. Briggs,” Emma said.

“I'm sorry, ma'am,” Tom whispered, turning toward the older woman.

“My mother used to say,” Mrs. Briggs remarked, “that unless the backside is sore, the kid isn't sorry.”

Emma placed her left foot on the chair and, grabbing Tom by the collar, hauled him over her knee. She held his twisted arm with her left hand, while with her right…

Emma's right hand, wielding the belt, demonstrated what happened on special occasions. Tom didn't just cry; he bawled. His buttocks and thighs turned red, then a deep crimson.

Mrs. Briggs counted forty strokes. Perhaps a bit excessive. But Emma surely knew best how to discipline her boy.

When Emma finished and set Tom back on the floor, he continued to sob for another ten minutes. Afterward, she helped him wipe his eyes and blow his nose.

“To the corner!” Emma commanded. “Don't move, and not a sound!”

Tom stood in the corner. The women settled in for a second cup of tea. “Dear,” whispered Mrs. Briggs, out of Tom's earshot, “there are special pills for boys like Tom that turn them back. They become small and cute again. They stay children for a few years, and then, when the time comes, they grow into adults in just a few months, skipping that troublesome teenage phase. You can buy these pills at any pharmacy without a prescription.”

—*—*—*—*—*—

Emma didn’t immediately buy the pills Mrs. Briggs had mentioned, even though the offer sounded tempting.

Emma had to admit to herself that she enjoyed spanking Tom. She liked the frightened look on his face the moment she picked up the hairbrush. She liked the way Tom would back away, covering his bottom with his hands, as she sat on the chair and patted her thigh—indicating the spot where he was to position himself. Furthermore, she liked the way Tom cried during the spanking. It wasn't just tears; there were cries of, “Mommy, it hurts! Mom, I'm sorry! I won't do it again. I'll be a good boy. Mommy, please!” For Emma, this was a sign that she was doing the right thing.

She and Tom did have sex, of course. For Emma, it was like having sex with a child; she could easily do without it. Tom, on the other hand, turned out to have no qualms about jerking off whenever and wherever the mood struck him.

Their friends from college knew them as Emma and Tom, but they haven’t met those friends since graduation. Strangers, however, saw them as a young mother with a preteen boy. Emma liked that. She liked it more than having sex with Tom.

Emma was still mulling things over when a young woman with two children moved in next door.

Emma soon got to know her. The woman, Kelly, was older than Emma—nearly forty. Her daughter, Mika, was twelve, and her son, Kevin, was seventeen, though he looked like a nine-year-old.

“How?” Emma asked.

“Three years ago, my husband left, and Kevin turned fourteen. And suddenly I realized that just spanking him daily wasn't enough. Hormones and his peers were too much for me. I put him on Puericil, and things started changing in a week,” explained Kelly.

“I still have the belt, but for only exceptional occasions. No matter how you try, boys find a way to get into trouble.”

Emma had to admit that Tom wasn't her son.

“Call the hotline,” Kelly advised. “They’ll definitely help.”

The young woman on the other end of the phone line was very friendly. She explained that Emma could adopt Tom as soon as she started giving him Puericil. And it could all be done online, without Tom even knowing.

By the end of the week, Tom was officially Emma's son. In all the registration papers, he was listed as a Puericil boy.

Emma went to celebrate with her new friend at Kelly’s place. Mika opened the door. Kevin was there too, but he was stark naked, wearing nothing but terry-cloth socks.

“Puericil boys are encouraged to stay naked inside and around the house. It has a positive effect on their development,” Kelly explained.

Mika didn't seem to pay attention to her brother's nudity at all.

Emma turned to Tom. “In case it hasn't sunk in yet: get undressed.”

“Here?” Tom whispered, blushing from his head to his heels.

“Well, yes,” Emma confirmed.

“But Mika…” the boy tried to object.

“And what do you have that she hasn't seen before?” Kelly asked, nodding toward the naked Kevin.

Tom sighed but stripped down to his socks. He kept his hands over his privates, stealing glances at Mika. The girl paid him no mind as she set out cups and cutlery for tea on the living room table.

As soon as Tom was undressed, Kevin ran up, grabbed his hand, and whispered in his ear, “Come on, I'll show you something,” before dragging him up the stairs.

“No running in the house!” Kelly called out after them. Soon the table was set, and Kelly, Emma, and Mika sat down.

“Boys, come down!” Kelly called out.

There was a sound of thundering feet, and a horde of two little boys came charging down from the second floor.

“So much for the 'no running in the house' rule,” Kelly whispered to Emma with a grin.

—*—*—*—*—*—

With the arrival of spring, it felt natural for Kevin and Tom to go naked, both at home and outdoors. The neighbors all knew one another and recognized the two naked boys—the lads bothered no one, and their nudity seemed perfectly natural to everyone else.

Tom and Kevin became inseparable friends. The *puericil* had reverted them both to the age of nine, yet they retained their memories, habits, skills, and preferences. Kevin was more prone to the wild antics typical of young boys. He never walked normally—he ran. He climbed trees and was fascinated by frogs, spiders, and anything that moved. Whenever he spotted something new, he would drag Tom along with him.

Tom was the calmer of the two. For one thing, he always kept in mind the belt hanging on a hook in the kitchen. For another, he wasn't used to being naked, especially outdoors. He didn't care for aimless romping; he always found something useful to do.

In Mrs. Briggs’s garage, he found an old push-reel lawnmower. It was such a simple machine that it was virtually indestructible. Tom cleaned and oiled it until it was as good as new. Mrs. Briggs sewed a new grass-catching basket for it.

From then on, the neighbors could forget about the chore of mowing their lawns. The two naked boys would push the mower, collect the clippings, and dry the grass.

The fact that the boys were generally good kids and well-liked by the neighbors didn't mean their mothers could neglect them. Both Emma and Kelly spanked their boys every day before bedtime. Everyone understood that this was a good thing—after all, little boys need to be spanked daily. There were days, of course, when one or the other would say something he shouldn't. That’s when the hairbrush came into play. Or perhaps he’d do something—maybe even accidentally—and then the belt would come out.

Tom had resigned from his previous job but still returned to programming as a freelancer. He didn't do it for the money; he found it interesting and beneficial to keep his skills sharp.

If not for the constant nudity, Tom’s new life suited him quite well. As for Emma spanking him every day—well, his mother had done the same thing in his past life.

Tom would forget about his nakedness when he was alone or deeply engrossed in a task. The rest of the time, however, he was acutely aware that he was naked, and it made him feel awkward. Emma forbade him from covering himself with his hands; both she and Kelly insisted that such a gesture was tantamount to an indecent act. Through their combined efforts—using a hairbrush and a belt—they broke him of the habit of covering himself, though the sense of nakedness and shame lingered.

Being naked in the presence of adults felt almost normal. But there were plenty of children not on Puericil in the neighborhood—both boys and girls. The children, especially the girls, would stare at his weenie; by then, it was small and flaccid, and his scrotum looked like nothing more than a fold of skin.

Of all the children living on their street, only Kevin and Tom were on Puericil. Consequently, they were the only ones who were constantly naked. It felt strange to see twelve-year-olds around them who looked more physically developed and, in general, more mature.

Autumn arrived, and—unexpectedly for Emma—Tom was enrolled in a school for Puericil-treated boys. The move was primarily intended to foster his social skills. Once a week wasn't much, but the routine of taking Tom to school and bringing him home afterward was a new experience for Emma.

Emma began to wonder what would come next. After all, while boys like Kevin reverted to their natural age once they stopped taking Puericil, that wouldn't happen with Tom. After consulting specialists, the decision was made to keep Tom on Puericil indefinitely.

One day, Emma asked Tom what he thought about his current situation and his life in general.

“I feel uncomfortable when girls stare at my weenie,” Thomas replied. “And… the belt hurts.”

“But you have to admit that the belt is necessary sometimes,” Emma countered. “It works wonders on you every time. Afterward, you always turn into the sweet little boy that everyone loves.”

“That may be true, but it still hurts.”

“Do you want to grow up big?”

Tom didn't answer for a moment. Then he looked at Emma, shrugged, and smiled.

“I love you, Mommy. And I want to stay your little boy forever.”

He then hugged Emma around the waist—since he couldn't reach any higher—and she bent down and kissed him on the forehead.

(End of File)