“True. It shows his petticoats to advantage, which I think is so important. Sinead, please put Master Melvyn into his bloomers.”

If the boy had a bass drum beating in his chest it would make less noise than the merciless rhythm of his heart at this dreadful moment. He knows these bloomers are baby bloomers, worn by baby girls to go with their baby dress. As Sinead Murray draws them over his knees and threads them up beneath his petticoats, he knows that she can see – and feel – his furiously unwilling arousal as a result of them dressing him. The coolness of the new silk comes through his panties and caresses his groin and his cock with feminine sensations.