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Rodney

By: luvcurious



On a recent vacation to Mexico, I had an experience I had only fantasized about in the past.

I am a 41 year old, closeted bisexual, or even gay man, living in Colorado. I have known about my sexual preference for years, and only dabbled in unsatisfying sex with other men. For the longest time, I yearned for a loving, sensual experience with a man, but that only happened during my masturbation fantasies. That is, until I went to Mexico.

It was Tuesday when I checked into my motel on the eastern coast of the country. It was hot, but with the breeze blowing in from the Gulf Coast, the heat and humidity were tolerable. 

This was my first vacation in a few years, and I had spent the money needed for a week near the beach. My plans were simple; sun, beer, sun, and more sun. 

I was pleased with the money spent the minute I entered my suite. The door opened to white, marble floors, tropical pattern couches and chairs; and a huge balcony, which faced the beach. The warm breeze from the Gulf blew the sheer curtains from the French doors leading to the balcony. 

I dropped my bags, and headed directly to the balcony. The view was spectacular! White sand beaches, blue water, various partially naked bodies walking everywhere 15 floors below me. Sitting in the chaise lounge and looking out into the Gulf, my body drained of all tension and I drank up that ocean breeze. The sun permeated my clothed body, the warmth and the breeze and my surroundings put me immediately at ease.

After about an hour on the chaise, I reentered my suite. Unpacking and putting away my clothing took about thirty minutes. I stripped and hopped in the shower with a bottle of beer from the min-bar. I must have stood in the shower for forty-five minutes, letting the water wash away the rest of the tension from my body.

After my shower, I put on a pair of shorts and headed back out to the balcony with another beer and some sunscreen. I sat back on the chaise, applied the lotion between sips of beer and getting lost in the view. I must have stayed in the sun for and hour or two. Drifting off to sleep, waking up, looking at the ocean, turning over and beginning to figure out what to do for the night.

I heard a voice from my right and sat up to see where it was coming from. In my haste to begin enjoying my vacation, I had not noticed that there was a balcony on either side of mine. 

Seeing the origin of the voice instantly brought me to the idea of finding and enjoying that elusive, erotic experience I had craved for so long. There was a man speaking with a house cleaner, who was having a difficult time understanding him.

The man noticed me looking at them, and as our eyes met, he broke into the biggest grin. He dazzled me with his white teeth and his genuine looking smile.

"Do you speak Spanish?" He asked, still grinning.

"Yes I do, how can I help?"

"I want to find out if there are any golf courses in the area." 

Since I am a Spanish translator for my job, I had no problem getting the information for him. The house cleaner left and we introduced ourselves. His name is Rodney, and as it turned out, he is also from Colorado, and would be there for the week. I told him to let me know if I could help him with anything, and I turned to lie back down on the lounger. 

"I appreciate your help," he said, "you are more than welcome to join me for a beer if you would like."

I turned to him, smiling, "That'd be great!" I replied.

"Let me get a shower, and I'll let you know when I'm done."

With that, he walked into his suite and left me to my sun. 

I stayed on the lounger, enjoying the sun and the view for about thirty minutes when Rodney returned. I was so caught up in the visual esthetics; I did not notice that he had returned. He startled me as he spoke. 

"I'm ready anytime you are." 

As I turned to look at him, I realized that I enjoyed looking at him. Rodney is a black man; he stands about six feet, average weight. His hair is cut short, has a mustache, and as I said before, the most brilliant smile. He was wearing only a pair of Bermuda shorts. His skin was still a little wet from his shower, and the drops of water glinted in the sunlight. I do not usually look at men in a sexual way, but I could not stop thinking about how sexy I found him. 

With the sight of my new friend and the sound of the waves coming into the shore, the wind in my ears, the birds and the rest of my surroundings in general, I quickly realized that I was going to enjoy my week. 

I went over to Rodney's suite, and we settled out on the balcony with a few beers. We talked of our jobs and our lives back in the states. We both shared our need for some relaxation and our genuine pleasure in our accommodations. As we talked, it seemed like we were old friends. We talked about failed marriages, women in general and drank more than a few beers.

At about seven o'clock, we decided that it was time for dinner. I think it was mutually agreed, with out speaking that we would have dinner together. I went back to my room, showered, and dressed casually. About the time I was ready to go get Rodney, I heard a knock on the door. I opened the door, and found that perfect smile.

"I leaned on the door, smiled back and was caught up in something that I can't explain." I stood there, not talking, but genuinely enjoying the crush I had on this man.

His smile grew even bigger, "are you ready?" He asked.

I closed the door behind me and we walked to the elevator. 

The dinner was decent, steak, potatoes, a few drinks and some more great conversation. Afterward, we decided to walk around to check out the rest of the area. 

We walked along the path at the beach, passing couples, groups and single people. We talked, and laughed, and just enjoyed each other's company. There was never a point that either he or I came on to each other. However, I know I flirted a bit with him, and I was thinking that he was returning my flirts.

Stopping at a beachfront bar, we had a few more drinks. I was drinking scotch and water, while Rodney was drinking Jim Beam and coke. There were a few times while at the bar, that our arms brushed against each other. At one point, we let our contact linger without saying anything. His skin was warm and his arms seemed strong. While we held our contact, my heart was racing.

We began walking back to the hotel after midnight, and as we walked, we again brushed together a few times. We glanced at each other, holding our stares for a few moments, and both grinning stupidly.

When we got back to the hotel, we stood between our rooms, talking quietly for a few moments. We planned to meet the following morning for breakfast, shook hands and parted company. 

After taking my third shower of the day, I poured yet another drink and went to the balcony to relax. I sat on my chaise lounge in only my underwear and enjoyed the night air. 

I could not stop thinking about Rodney and his fantastic smile. I remembered our brief touches, and our locking gazes. I began to wonder if I was reading too much into this. I actually felt a pang of depression when I thought that I was going to spend the week around this man without anything developing. 

After I finished my drink, I crawled into my bed. I thought more about Rodney, and began getting excited. I thought about sliding my arms around his shoulders, kissing him, stroking his body, I was masturbating within minutes. 

The next morning came quickly. My wake up call at six startled me from a blissful sleep, but within seconds, I was wide-awake and ready to start my day. I showered again, enjoyed my coffee on the balcony with the sunrise and began planning my day. 

I had breakfast with Rodney, all the while enjoying his smile and our time together. I had made plans to spend the morning on the beach, doing nothing but tanning my opaque skin. I invited Rodney to join me, but he said that he had already paid for a snorkeling tour. My heart dropped, but he immediately asked if he could join me after his tour. Of course, I said yes, and instantly began to feel better.

I spent a few hours on the beach and then went back to the room for a little nap. The day was already hot, and the cool shower felt wonderful. I lie naked on my freshly made bed and drifted off to sleep. 

It was later that afternoon that I was awakened by a soft knock on my door. I quickly pulled my shorts on and went to answer it. My heart raced as I reached the doorknob and opened the door. There he was, smiling and wearing his swim trunks. 

"I'm sorry, did I wake you up?" He offered, "I could come back later."

That is when I did something that even I could not believe. I was so glad to see Rodney that I reached out, grabbed his hand, pulled him into the room, and slammed the door behind him. 

I stood there, holding his hand and looking into his befuddled face. However, I did not know what to do next. Should I kiss him? Should I try to laugh it off? I did not have the courage to kiss him, so I dropped his hand and walked into the room, mentally kicking myself. 

Apparently, Rodney did have the courage. I felt his hand on my shoulder, turning me to face him. When we came face-to-face, he stepped closer to me and we began kissing. 

The first kiss, was a quick "let's see how he reacts to this" type of a kiss. Gently brushing our lips together, his arms sliding around my waist and mine around his. When he realized that I was going to be okay with this, he leaned in and kissed me very passionately. My whole body melted in his arms as my lips parted and our tongues explored for the first time. 

We stayed there, in the middle of the room, kissing and holding each other for quite a while. After a few minutes of this, my hand slid down under his buttocks, and I pulled his crotch into me. We grinded our hips together as I explored his mouth with my tongue.

I worked my hand around to the front of his body, sliding my fingers over his crotch, I found that he was getting erect and as hard as I was. Rodney began caressing my chest, and lightly playing with my nipples. Our kisses got hotter, and I started to unbutton his shirt. 

I dropped my head to his chest, kissing and licking with each button undone. I pushed his shirt off his shoulders, biting his skin and listening to him as he quietly moaned with consent. We stood there kissing, licking, pinching and touching for a long moment. I loved the feeling of his skin against mine, our erections pressed together.

My breath caught as I felt his hand slide under the waistband of my shorts. His fingers traced a line from my balls, up my hard shaft and to the tip of my penis. His hand encircled my erection and he used his thumb over my slit to spread my wetness. I moaned into his mouth, completely caught up in my fantasy turned to reality. 

I pulled my body back from him slightly, reached down to his shorts. I untied them and slid my hand inside. I stroked his erection, feeling his own wetness spreading over his shaft in my fist. I cupped his balls, and slid my fingers further back to his hole. 

We stood there, in the middle of the room for what seemed like years. We enjoyed each other's kisses and touches and explored our bodies until my legs were tired and my knees ached from being locked for so long. 

I broke our embrace and led Rodney into the bedroom by his hand. I could not wait to experiment with him. We made it to the side of the bed, and began kissing and petting again. 

I sat on the bed and slid the fingers of my right hand into the waistband of his shorts. With my left hand, I caressed his erection through the material and looked into his eyes. His usual smile had been replaced by a look of pure desire. 

I pulled his shorts out over his erection and pushed them to the floor. My hands went to his chest and his nipples as I began kissing his hips, and gently biting his skin. I ran my nose and my tongue through his pubic hair, taking in his scent and the taste of his most private area.

His cock was at the side of my face and when I turned to slide my tongue along his shaft. My left hand slid down his body to hold him still as I licked the length of his hardness. 

As I again looked up into his eyes, I stared at him as my lips parted and the head of his cock disappeared into my mouth. I was instantly awarded with the taste of his slippery pre cum. 

I took as much of him into my mouth as possible, rolling his balls gently with the fingers of my right hand, and sliding my left fist along his shaft with every wet stroke of my lips. 

As I reached the head of his cock, my hand slid back to the base and my tongue swirled around the head, tasting his wetness. Each time I opened my mouth and followed my hand back down his shaft, he exhaled sweetly with passion. His fingers tracing lines up my neck, around my ears and around my lips as his cock slid.

I worked slowly on him, sliding on his shaft, stroking him, sucking on his head, pulling on his balls, trying desperately to give him as much pleasure as possible. When I felt his balls begin to swell, and his cock getting harder, I stopped all together.


Rodney pushed me back gently onto the bed by my shoulders. He quickly pulled my shorts off and lie beside me. 

As we lay there, face-to-face, kissing each other, I felt his hand begin to stroke me. He used my own juices to help his hand glide on my very hard cock. His fingers stroked my balls, and a few times, I felt a fingertip at my hole. 

I wanted this man; I wanted him inside me and me inside him. Our kisses got hotter and very intense. We leaked pre cum on each other in torrents. We writhed on each other, and got lost in our passion and desire. 

I began kissing his chest, and concentrating on his nipples. He has wonderful nipples, they got very hard in my mouth, and he responded with great enjoyment from my licking and sucking. 

I descended further, kissing his stomach, his hips and the top of his thighs. Before I knew it, I was laying beside him with my cock in his mouth. I swung a leg up and over his head, and had each knee on either side of his face. Within seconds, we were ravishing each other's cocks. My mouth made him so wet and slippery that I alternated between sucking him and stroking him. I sucked on his balls, and raised his legs to get my tongue to his ass. 

I circled his hole with my tongue, getting him wet, and pushing on him. He thrusted his hips up, his cock sliding along the top of my chest. With me in this position, he was able to get his own lips and tongue to my hole. 

I moaned on his body as I felt his tongue enter me slightly. At some point, a finger replaced his tongue, and I could not manage to concentrate on what I was doing any longer. 

I let his legs fall to the bed and moved forward to lie on top of him. I spread my legs to allow him easy access to my ass. As he kissed my calves and massaged my thigh and my ass with one hand, he slowly slid the finger of the other in and out of my body.

He used one hand to hold my left cheek open. I felt another and even a third finger push inside me. 

One of the things I love the most is being entered. With Rodney using his fingers to open me up, I was lost in lust. I began kissing his legs, his ankles and I began to suck on his toes. I sucked each toe like it was a little cock, and with each stroke of his fingers I moaned. Sometimes I moaned quietly, and sometimes I almost squealed with delight.

When I felt his fingers slide out of me, I turned and lay back down facing him. We kissed gently a few times, our hands went back to work on erections, and I whispered in his ear, "Make love to me."

Rodney responded by kissing me harder and sliding his fingers back to my hole. They went inside easily, and he quickly took control of me. 

He was up on one elbow, sliding his fingers in and out of me and kissing me while I spread my legs as far apart as possible. Within seconds, he had three fingers back inside me. My hand was feebly stroking his hard cock and my fingers spreading his pre cum over his head and shaft. 

Rodney took his fingers from inside me, and rolled over on top of me. I wrapped my legs around his hips and knowing better, I moaned into his mouth as he pushed inside me. 

My arms were wrapped around his neck, his tongue inside my mouth as he slid his cock in and out of my body. Our bodies moved in unison, we took turns pinching and pulling on each other's nipples, kissing shoulders, exploring mouths. It only took a few moments before Rodney was exploding inside me. 

I felt his cock, every inch of it, sliding in and out and then pounding me. I felt him as he grew rock hard. He held his body up with his arms, leaned his head down and I lifted mine to meet him in a kiss as his cum filled me.

With his cock, still inside my body, Rodney got back on his knees and began to stroke me. It only took a few moments to get me hard again, and shooting my own cum onto my stomach and chest. 

He lay back down on top of me, and we slept in each other's arms.

We spent the rest of the week in paradise, lust and indulgences. I have not seen Rodney since returning to Denver, but that story is in the making.

Rodney and Mass Punishment



All the characters in this story are, of course, 18 years or over.

*****

It was the summer of 1956 and the sun shone on the United States. It shone on the mid-West. On Minnesota. On the town of Brewer, set among pasture and lakes, with its silos, railroad tracks, dairies and car yards, its treelined streets and spacious old two story homes.

It shone on its soda fountains and diners, its movie houses and its two high schools, its YMCA, its milk-fed teenagers so many of them attired and coiffed like their heroes and heroines, Doris Day, Elvis Presley, James Dean and Audrey Hepburn.

But right now one of them, Ricky Fafner, 19, was totally nude. 

He was not happy being nude because soon there would be ladies and girls around and they would see him. 

He was a skinny, average height fella, with a springy, six inch cock that got heavier towards its mauve-tinted head. The nick name, "bellend," seemed very appropriate. Springy- more often than not defying gravity and raising itself. His ballbag was lost in wiry hair. His stones were small: when measured by Dr Speight during school medicals, compared with the different sized ellipsoids she juggled in her free hand, he had come out only a humiliating one on the Tanner Scale. She had looked disappointed. He had shrunk.

He had never been outdoors nude before; indeed his body was fish-belly white. Which made him look more blatantly buck naked, look, in fact, the ultimate embarrassed naked boy. Yet here he was on the driveway, next to Mrs Reilly's 1950 Pontiac Chieftain only a foot or two from the front steps of her graceful, towered two story home, a masterpiece- some said- of early twentieth century, mid-Western domestic architecture.

At about a quarter to three in the afternoon on a summer Tuesday.

As ladies were about to arrive for one of Mrs Reilly's famous afternoon teas.

Ricky was entirely nude.

In his birthday suit.

Stark naked.

Police Commissioner Malone had made the decision in a flash when Ricky had been hauled in to the Third Avenue Police Headquarters. He had been apprehended in the notorious lovers lane "playing back seat bingo" with the daughter of Brewer's Mayor. Both had been in their underwear. The arresting officer said that Ricky's penis had been erect and exposed through the flies of his boxers, the girl's panties had been dripping wet. The furious commissioner had said, "It will be a work detail at Mrs Reilly's or I report to your parents. And her's. Mayor Zeldin will see that you never work in this town."

When he had arrived half an hour ago Betty, one of Miss Reilly's Negro maids, took him to the garage and told him to take all his clothes off and leave them neatly piled. She had then taken a step back to watch. He had undressed slowly, lingering in loose boxers and only slithered shyly out of them when she had insisted. He had stood, shivering with embarrassment, hands over groin while she looked him up and down before escorting him to the front of the house to wait for another boy to arrive with the car wash equipment.

While Ricky waited the ladies of Brewer had begun to arrive. They were dressed in Christian Dior and Coco Chanel, in pencil skirts and big flowering skirts, cinched waists and pronounced bust lines, floral prints and stripes and polka dots, three quarter length sleeves and gloves, most with hats.

He twisted, and shuffled, and turned and sheltered, and moved around the parked car, and tried to avoid the gazes as they strolled up to the steps, singly for the most part but some of them in pairs, all the while his hands pressed to his midriff. And friends of his family said hello and said it was nice to see him and that they wondered what he had been up to be on gardening duty with Miss Reilly. And Mrs Qwen Skite, 40-something, wearing a boxy suit and blouse with a pussy cat bow, said goodness, wouldn't the girls from Harper Street (where Ricky's family lived) love to be here now to see him like this!

"She's got you bare as a board! Bare...as...a...board!"

She moved in close to get a better view.

"And you've got a hairy chest! Goodness, our little Ricky's developing!"

Ricky knew he had a few single hairs around each nipple. He felt pathetic.

He shrivelled and bunched up, hovering in the shadow of the car. He went all shivery, panicky and strange inside. Golly gosh! Women were seeing him buck naked, without a stitch!

Then Mrs Ricketson and her son Rodney arrived, hand in hand. Rodney was blushing deeply, at being hand-held by his mother; she had never done this before. Mrs Ricketson stopped and had a good stare at Ricky. He doubled over and pressed in his arms and hands to shield his privates. Truth was, with all that female attention, and the wafts of perfume, he had begun to get a boner. He felt Mrs Ricketson's eyes roaming to get a glimpse of what he was shielding. God, was he embarrassed! 

Then, around the corner of the house, came another 19 year old, Teddy Fasolt, once a champion of the track, with his blond crew cut and freckled nose. Poor guy, his arms were grasping a mass of brushes, cleaning cloths, detergents, cloths. He was struggling. He nearly bumped into Mrs Ricketson. But burdened with the cleaning gear he couldn't cover up. 

His bouncy prick already thrust out almost parallel to the ground. It was tipped with a funny glans, conical and flattened and wide, like a Chinese coolie's hat. This glans was planted on a thickish, upward curving stem: this curve and the wide bell-end made it a cartoon penis, drawn for an office joke by an animator in the MGM or Disney studios. With a diminutive swinging ballbag lightly coated with blond fur thrown in for good measure.

And he couldn't shelter because his arms were full.

Even though his cock was sticking out.

He just stood, his genitals on display, frozen.

Frozen, except for his penis which jerked, the silly shaped head determined to assert itself. Jerked up, as if to acknowledge Mrs Ricketson with a tribute or greeting.

"Why, Teddy, you're showing us all your virtues," chirped Mrs Ricketson, excited by how the day was starting.

His penis jerked some more. He couldn't help it.

"Why, look Rodney, he's got your problem. Teddy's penis won't stay down! It's stretching and climbing and sticking right out! How embarrassing- just like it is for you when we punish you in the nude, as we've been doing lately. Or when we see you model your Indian costume. But that's why us mothers are getting together. To see how we can control you fellas and your runaway instincts."

Rodney blushed and watched dismayed. Was this shortly to be his fate, stripped to the buff, being stared at by strange ladies, and girls he knew?

"And this other boy, here? Crouching? That's no way to greet a lady, sonny. What's your name?"

"Ricky...Ricky Fasolt, M'am."

"Well, Ricky, I know your Mom. Mrs Fasolt, from our library group. She gave the talk this week, on Raintree County. Well, Ricky, you drop your hands by your sides and stand up straight, and tell me why you are being punished here at Mrs Reilly's."

Mrs Ricketson was balanced on the towering heels of a sky blue pair of shoes. She wore a stylish cucumber-green suit, with cinched waist, and a small fawn hat with white polka dots. Her shapely calves shone with the sheen of her seamed nylons. Her fragrant perfume, Soir de Paris by Bourjois, drifted to the nude presence of Ricky and Teddy...

...both now shuffling in front of her, Ricky displaying a springy 45 degree projection and Teddy, having deposited the cleaning equipment, showing off his curved stem and wide, flattened glans.

Both had charming pricks, thought Mrs Ricketson, and Teddy's was hilarious, although both shorter than her son's.

And breezily, as if nudity were the natural condition of 18 year old fellas facing a mature age women in her finery, she asked about their offences and how many afternoons they would be required to work for Mrs Reilly and whether they were terribly embarrassed about it and whether they thought their behaviour would improve and how they enjoyed having finished school.

And she asked Ricky about his job in Mr Hyman's Dry Cleaners and Teddy about his job serving the counter at Freeman's Hardware and gave every sign of stretching things out, perhaps- Rodney, was beginning to think- so other ladies could get to inspect the full body nakedness of these two young men.

Due to the wafting Soir de Paris, the appraising glances of Mrs Ricketson, their rising panic or the mere fact of being nude outdoors the two boys were firmly erect throughout this encounter. They shuffled, stammered, blushed- aware their rubbery cocks were jutting, hard- but when their hands drifted to their groins to cover up the lady pointed and shook her head. Their hands withdrew to their sides. Their cocks stayed on display, even with the sound of other visitors coming up the driveway. No, thought Rodney, this does not bode well for this afternoon.

From her tower room, through parted curtains, Mrs Reilly looked down. It was precisely the exquisite male humiliation that was her greatest pursuit in life: God, she thought, the two boys totally in the buff, being humiliated by the stares of a fully-dressed lady. And with- she just noticed- another one, Mrs Lynton, hand-in-hand with her son Stevie, about to arrive and behind her, Mrs Campbell, hand-in-hand (oh, didn't he hate it! ) with her tall, athletic son Mark about to arrive as well. And beyond them she saw Mrs Fulbright with her son Kerry, hand in hand, a boy rumoured to be fitted out with a most unusual prick. Those school boys were dressed but, like the naked male victims they were coming face-to-face with, about to be stripped of every inch of clothing. Slowly stripped. And in front of her entire afternoon tea party.

Mrs Reilly was stark naked herself, apart from a pearl necklace and long-heeled Roger Vivier black shoes. She was standing in the embrasure, peering through parted blinds after her bath, her drying off, a dusting with talcum. She was tall and willowy, only a small layer of fat on tummy and hips, which accentuated her hour glass figure. Her breasts were up-tilting, conical. On the tips she sported rubbery pink nipples, right now stoutly erect. A riotous black pubic bush contrasted her lily-whiteness. 

She lowered the antique La Mier Parisian opera glasses, in burnished brass and in perfect optical order, a present of her second husband, a French planter in the New Hebrides. She inhaled her Camel, planted in her ivory cigarette holder. Yes, that boy Teddy did have the most comic prick, a zany cock worthy of Harpo Marx, with a collie hat of a glans and a sweet banana bend. Nicely, it had jerked to a full erection. How fitting to have had the blond crew cut criminal caught helpless, with his arms full, just as mothers were arriving. His funny prick had been pointing the way, like a pathfinder.

And the other boy, Ricky, under instruction no doubt from Mrs Ricketson, had just dropped his hands to his sides and stood hanging his head with shame. His groin sprouted a modest stiffie, standing up at a regulation 45 degrees. It, too, had a nicely sculpted and enlarged head, distinctly mauve. Being surprised by ladies had made it spring up. She must congratulate Betty, her Alabama-born maid on such timing.

She drew on her cigarette holder. Then she reached for her heavily-watered J and B Rare Blended Scotch Whisky and took a sip.

She reached down and collected a gout of her secretions, flowing richly, and smoothed it over her perky clitoris. Perky: it was like a miniature penis. Even with a bulbous end. She had heard gamey gossip that the Duchess of Windsor, a divorcee adventuress she greatly admired, flourished such a clitoris and that it had greatly helped her capture the heart of the then-King of England.

Pleasuring herself she moved to the second bay window and parted the curtains and looked down on the rear of her lavish garden. Ah, what a delight! Three quite naked young fellas who had been working her hedges had just been bailed up by four girls from Grover Cleveland High, sassy 18 year olds who Mrs Reilly had insisted visit and inspect her plants. The girls knew the drill: every afternoon there would be local boys just graduated from school working off offences in her grounds. As naked as Adam. The girls had accepted her invitation with alacrity. Oh, yes, their green eyes had lit up.

The girls were dressed in tight blouses and low, wide skirts nipped at the waist. Their immaculate hairstyles and baby doll lipstick showed the influence of Audrey Hepburn and Marilyn Monroe. The naked boys stood forlorn, with their clippers and shears. Without a stitch.

One girl- their natural leader, a Doris Day look-alike- was insisting with a waving finger, no, no, no, don't shield yourselves. No, no, no! And the boys despondently let their arms fall to their sides. They were totally on display. Then the girls leant in close, pointing, giggling. They seemed to discuss the shapes in the male groins. Their leader, the cutie-pie girl with the blond bangs and richly-applied lipstick, now said something. It seemed directed at the tall, skinny boy. He was ugly with a long, broken nose, recessive chin and a heavy, greasy Elvis hairdo that seemed too big for his slender physique. She repeated her order, this Doris Day girl, and in response the skinny boy was shyly lifting his small penis to show off drooping testicles. Heavily drooping, long and low-hanging, out of proportion with his small prick. He seemed acutely shamed about showing them off.

This led to demands on the other two boys who with similar shyness showed off their balls, lifting their cocks, provoking comparisons and pointing and questioning back and forward between emphatic females and trembling, blushing boys. 

Then the Doris Day girl appeared to give a short fella with the duckstail hairdo an instruction...and he awkwardly reached for his petite cylinder of a penis and delicately pulled back the foreskin, revealing a moist helmet. He was embarrassed, acutely. The girl pointed at his penis and said something. Her companions, in their wide skirts, leant close. And the boy shyly started feeling himself. Soon he produced an erection, his cock standing straight as a soldier on sentry duty. Girls moved closer, their mouths shaping oohhs and aahhs. The boy appeared to shrivel with shame.

Doris Day pointed and Mrs Reilly read her lips: "...a hardon...an erection!"

Oh how sweet, thought Mrs Reilly. Already thinking of the biological imperative, this girl is checking boys and their capacity to perform, determined to compare their sexual equipment, aware in the back of her mind she will one day have to be impregnated by specimens like these.

The sexually-precocious 18 year old girl was apparently making identical demands on his buddies because the other two shamed boys started feeling themselves. Presto! It happened so fast! They each had a prick- how Mrs Reilly liked the word, a product of Chaucer's time- standing out and up. The tall, skinny boy- heavy greasy hairdo, long broken nose, retreating chin- featured his surprisingly small member, although his ballsack still drooped surprisingly low. One of the shorter boys with hair brushed forward in a fringe had a penis as thick as one of her kitchen rolling pins, reaching his navel, too indecently big for his modest physique. The three of them- she noted as a connoisseur- sky-pointers. Right up- not parallel to the ground.

Standing back to savour the view, the bossy girl was now making a new demand. The three boys blushed, looked at one another, hung heads, and reluctantly placed hands on their erections and, looking around nervously, began stroking themselves. They looked as if they were doing it for the first time, tentative and shy, glancing over their shoulders with desperate, darting eyes.

Mrs Reilly was vigorously mauling her own pubis now, as this contemplation of male humiliation made her own juices flow. Her mind raced: look how they hate it...the lovely girls dressed so neatly, with such style...the naughty boys stark naked...all their secrets on display...in front of girls from their old school, their own street...yes, how excruciating for them...these grown-up fellas one year out of school...they've got frolicking girls laughing and pointing at their cocks and their ballsacks...making fun...memorising what they've seeing to share the revelations around...oh, fellas, you are suffering at this moment...looking over your shoulders thinking about those Moms arriving...or my Negro maids...being caught playing with your cocks...being your naughty masturbating male selves, playing with your little pricks- well, okay, one is voluminous to be sure...

but...yes...the young sap is rising in your equipment...oh, you naughty boys...I can see it in your eyes...quick here it comes...oh, a geyser from the short fella on the left...with the little uncircumcised cock that so focused the girls' attention...that figures, of course, the uncut boy has the most sensitive organ and can't hold back...oh, a lovely big spurt...his eyes look like they're popping out...oh, and another spurt...splash, onto the lillies...and a third...he has the four girls clapping...oh, and here comes shortie with the thick prick...like an oil spurt...out it comes...splosh! Onto the flower bed...a bit of human fertiliser...another big healthy spurt...goodness, what a machine! And another...oh, look at his expression...and don't those little ladies love it! Splash, a fourth spurt! Oh, you wicked little fella! 

And here comes your buddy, tall, skinny, big nose and regressive chin, with the little prick...oh, watch that Adam's apple dancing...he's bending over...that's how much he's liking it...and up he comes, leaning backwards now...oops! A massive spray...from his little boy dick...another...and another...his sperm dancing in the air like fireworks...and...God, don't tell me! A fourth! And...suddenly...they're all deflated, ashamed at what they've done in front of the females...looking down at their cock heads, more of it dribbling out...and don't the girls love it! First time they've seen that! And...it happened because they ordered it...such brazen, forward girls!

The Doris Day-look-alike now stepped forward and...astonishing...she knelt...in front of the ugly tall boy...and took his deflating and smallish penis...and...and...guided it into ...her mouth! Appeared to gobble on it! Mrs Reilly pressed her La Meier opera glasses into her eye sockets. The girl's companions were shocked, the boy too. Mrs Reilly watched through her opera glasses astounded as the girl's cheeks hollowed and her mouth moved backwards and forwards, and all around his prick, appearing to suck from its end all that remained off his recent emission. The boy looked dazed, his companions gasped.

The girl continued her work while the three other girls giggled and pointed and mouthed astonishment...until one broke ranks and moved forward herself and greedily took the rolling pin penis on the short fella and strained her mouth to take in its head and suck away. She quickly looked as if she were enjoying it, too. The third boy looked at the two remaining girls, holding his small erection expectantly and...to his joy, the two of them advanced and laughingly competed to take his petite uncircumcised rod.

Girls sucking away...on naked boys...in her garden!

The boys seemed in a seventh heaven. The girls' jaws worked busily, greedily. When one girl stopped to pluck a stray pubic hair from her tongue, Mrs Reilly saw a completely rigid penis. The boy- the one with the outsize member- looked impatient for the pleasuring to resume.

And the naked lady exploded herself, a big, brazen orgasm that shook her tall, elegant figure and made her pearl necklace rattle and her opera glasses fall to the floor and nearly made her topple over in her narrow heeled shoes, as she gasped and heaved and thrust her small belly forward.




Rodney and Mass Punishment



Subsided, she discretely closed the curtains, just as three boys were swaying and bucking in the grips of their second orgasm, in one case white fluid spilling down the girls' chin. The girls glued to the pricks, golloping away with abandon.

Mrs Reilly steadied herself. Inhaled on the Camel. Sipped the J and B. Recovered her poise.

She thought of Shakespeare, from his greatest tragedy, King Lear, reflecting on the ruttish desire of females, just confirmed by what she had seen through those lenses. These cunning young women were far from the Madona figures men may imagine: "Down from the waist they are centaurs, though women all above. But to the girdle do the gods inherit; beneath is all the fiends.' "

Governed by the devil, indeed, were those young females she had just seen, slaking their curiosity and sucking happily on penis stems. She moved to the other embrasure and peered out. Oh, how sweet. The two fellas on her driveway, Ricky and Teddy, were busy at work on her Pontiac, bending over the car body scrubbing away. And their lean, cleft bottoms presented themselves to the stream of lady visitors, stopping to stare as they reached her front steps, even twisting their heads to look, if they could, at the front of the boys, even as the embarrassed fellas hugged the car to shield themselves. 

Hard for them to keep sheltered- and Miss Reilly could see it all- because they were both half erect. The tips of their pricks were rubbing up against the bodywork of her car. And that prick of Teddy's! What a lark! And, how nice, her friend Miss Stevens seemed to have got herself a tantalising glimpse of it and it had brought a big smile to her features as she relished the banana curve, the broad, flattened coollie hat, his compact pair of balls swinging back and forth between his legs like a dog. 

Miss Stevens stared from the steps. Grinning wolfishly. Teddy appeared to be pressing his midriff into a fender to escape her scrutiny.

Miss Reilly turned and began to dress.

First, her bullet bra, salmon pink, with taffeta trim.

Next, those Paris panties with high elasticised waist and leg bands. In girly pink, with cream bows, it had a most obscene feature: a tailored opening in the groin which allowed easy access to her vagina.

Then her high waist Perma-lift girdle, with hip padding and metal snaps front and back- a stiff light gray fabric with bone reinforcements.

Next her seamed, ultra sheer stockings, drawn up her legs and snapped into place...and, then, finally, over her shoulders a luxurious slip in rayon satin with rich lace and pleats- almond and salmon pink.

She admired the hour glass perfection in the mirror, then the devastatingly slender side view. Long leg bent, shoe tilted, heel raised, playing with a suspender belt.

She thought, "If I let one of those 18 year olds feast his eyes, the poor boy would spill his seminal fluids into cupped hands within a few seconds. All of them, fetishists. A view of stockinged thighs and their little cocks stretch to the ceiling!"

She shrugged into her black $85 Hector Riveria cocktail dress and smoothed its skirts. She deftly sprayed some rich and sultry Femme de Rochas, dousing the reek of lust that wafted from her groin.

As she prepared to leave her loft she took in the picture of her favorite politician, Wisconsin's Senator Joe McCarthy. Her correspondence with him was now sheathed between leather covers in her library. She had written applauding his fight against state department commies and enclosing a $100 cheque. One thing had led to another, ultimately a night together in the Palmer House, Chicago. Exhaustion, from chairing the Senate committee on investigations: that was the only way she could explain his falling asleep so quickly, snoring and breathing whiskey, but if she had eased the burdens of office for only an evening what a contribution to the health of the republic she had made, how proud she could be. 

How misunderstood a man but what a fighter for their country's values.

Stepping carefully down the steep and narrow staircase she thought that these burdens were now shouldered by her, specifically the inculcation of proper attitudes to authority and duty among youths drawn to delinquency by the decadent values around them. At the bottom of her staircase, as if confronting the problem personified, she walked into the four 18 year old boys brought here for punishment by their mothers. They were standing in their white boxer shorts, everything else removed, even shoes and socks.

They started, like young deer caught in a forest glade.

She got a close-up glimpse of Rodney Ricketson as she passed. Athletic young man indeed. And with a very noticeable bulge in his white boxers, rounding the front of them in fact. He saw her looking and blushed and shivered. How fondly she recalled seeing him model the absurd Indian costume in his mother's living room. How vividly she recalled seeing his penis with its fleshy, mushroomy head; his dangling ball sack. He was a young bull, by any test. How sweet it had been for her to humiliate him on that occasion. And how she had relived the scene when she had got home that evening. 

Well, young man, she thought, today you will be punished fully nude in front of 30 ladies and a big party of school girls especially invited. And then you will be introduced to the solemn, sacerdotal world of supervised masturbation, with Mom and girls fully participating. And Dr Speight as well, an old friend, currently in town for school medicals, who has a lively interest in male adolescent sexual development.

And head high, the fingers of one hand playing with her pearls Mrs Freia Brunnhilde Reilly (nee Hunding) walked through the passage and into the living room. 

It was a theatrical setting. Large windows allowed summer light to surge through the embrasures and capture the cigarette smoke heavy in the air and illuminate the 30 smartly dressed mature age women and girls in soft, artificial light. They looked as if they might have been gathered for a tableaux, like the patriots in John Trumbull's epic painting of the signing of the Declaration of Independence. 

The Tiffany lampshades projected shards of color to cornices and pier mirrors with gilt frames and sculpted eagles enlarged the mise-en-scene. The huge canvas of Venus spanking an adolescent Cupid, over the marble fireplace, beamed with promise. Two Negro maids served tea, their heavy breasts appearing to heave with excitement under crisp white, fringed aprons.

And posed on easels around the room were the latest acquisition, paintings from the Eickardt collection, purchased by Miss Reilly as a lot from the Bonham Auction House in New York: Victorian paintings, the artists Laura Knight, Joaquin Sorolla and Max Liebermann, all featuring naked boys at swim, along beaches or riverbanks, in the company of fully dressed girls. Some of the girls were in gloves and hats. The boys were all naked, running along sand, sprawling on rocks, launching row boats. All buck naked. A genre of turn-of-the-century art, that Mrs Reilly had researched, tracked down, nailed at auction.

Over a poised cup and saucer Dr Ida Speight was telling three mothers that their teenage boys would be humbled by full nude punishment. "And I mean full nudity," she explained. "Not just the traditional bared bottom." The mothers were serious. Frowning with concentration they nodded in agreement. If they had overheard, their 18 year old sons, out on the school basket ball court, or working out at the Y, might have trembled with fear.

Two girls peered in close to Laura Knight's painting of a an English beach scene. Its impressionistic strokes showed a nude 18 year old boy shaking off water surrounded by three more mature girls in hats and gloves and satin and crepe, unabashedly curious. Across a gap of half a century the girls from Grover Cleveland High in Brewer, Minnessotta, recognised a situation they hungered after: fellas stripped of their clothing, girls fully attired. They nudged one another and snickered.

A party of standing school girls was poring over the photo album that Mrs Campbell had brought. And from the corridor Mark, to his horror, could see them. Even see the page they were looking at and beaming and gasping and giggling over: the page with the big black and white shot of him striding along the edge of the pool with his erection jutting out in front. Mouths open in wonder, they looked from the album up, across the room, to the frightened boy...and caught his appalled eyes. And laughed. Soon they would open the page with the pic his aunt had snapped when he was on the blocks, waiting to race, with an up-reared penis like a ship's cannon; and under it, the obscene close-up that even displayed the raphe that divided his scrotum and the ridges that ran from the raphe. They would be giggling and pointing at a photo of his balls!

Three seated mothers carefully leafed through the contents of a green manila folder with the evidence that had condemned the four boys being trialed here today: the Scandinavian nudist magazines, their pages incriminatingly curled and withered with caked semen. Rodney saw them, and what they were holding, and now passing to another group of horrified mothers, and wanted to faint with shame.

And in the front row the four mothers who were today's featured performers sat expectantly. They were wearing gray dust coats handed them by the maids; and holding cans of Johnson's Baby Powder and broad wooden hairbrushes. They glanced at the entrance. They caught glimpses of their sons, stripped to their shorts, fully deserving the punishment that awaited. Since the shocking revelation out of Rodney's bedroom they had practised this kind of punishment on each others' sons- oh, yes, things had developed fast in Brewer- and were enjoying it more and more. The spanking, the enforced nudity and the other thing...the supervision.

Miss Reilly assumed her position at the head of the gathering and her guests murmured their thanks, just stopped short of applause. 

The imposing and elegant woman welcomed all of them, with special warmth for the girls who were attending the first of these afternoon teas. She wanted first of all, she said, to give effect to one house-keeping announcement. She paused. There was a hush. She said she would like four boys waiting in the corridor to join them and stand behind her. She signalled to them, standing just outside the room. She could see Rodney wince, the others go white. Then, resignedly, they shuffled in, to the delight of the ladies and, even more, the dozen or so schoolgirls. The boys found their spot, and stood facing the female audience. They hung their heads.

Their female captors took in their wiry physiques. They noted the black hair that covered small Stevie's torso, the swimmers' builds of Rodney and Mark, the stocky muscles of Kerry, a wrestler perhaps. Looking closer...was that a little, pointy bulge in young Stevie's boxer shorts? A rounded parcel in Rodney's white cotton covered groin? The hint of a downward, sideways poke in the right leg of Kerry's? 

The boys hung their heads.

Then Mrs Reilly "without further adoo" called on Dr Ida Speight, physician and researcher for the Kinsey project, to introduce the subject of male adolescent behaviour and discipline. Mrs Reilly took her seat and Dr Speight, standing in front of the shamed, near-naked boys, sailed into her subject, describing the bodily changes that adolescence brings to the male. With every reference to growth in genital size or arrival of body hair, the boys were engulfed in full-body blushes, that had girls and ladies tittering. Thrillingly for the females, Dr Speight dwelt on the subject of erections. The boys felt every female eye on them, on their groins especially, where to be truthful some tentative swelling and repositioning was certainly suggested. 

"This physiological phenomenon sees the boys' penis become firm, longer, enlarged. The old fashioned term was engorgment. The shape may vary considerably, also the size..."

Stevie felt faint. A dot of moisture appeared on his shorts. He examined the polished pine floor.

"...and differences in size and shape are very familiar to me from my work as a school doctor. I've conducted over a thousand full nude and lengthy examinations of 18 year olds. From these and from my researches with Dr Kinsey I can say that shape and size of the penis are a matter of anxiety to almost all boys."

Here she paused and looked behind her at the standing males who stared hard at the floor. Stevie's spot had grown to the size of a dime and there definitely seemed to be force of nature jutting behind it. Rodney's rounded bulge had firmed. A jut was now confirming itself in the right leg of Kerry's shorts.

Dr Speight resumed by describing involuntary erections that appeared on all occasions she had required schoolboys to remove their clothes. Sometimes, she said, it happened the moment a boy's underwear came down. Females tittered. Other times when he lay on the examining table. Sometimes he was "flaccid" until she was required to handle his genitals but then, upon touch, his penis might lengthen and thicken. 

"This is nearly always a trauma for them, because they fear producing an erection in full view of a female doctor and..."

Girls snickered, looked at the boys trying to catch their eyes. But their blushing schoolmates kept staring at the floor.

"...whatever other female may be in the examining room."

There was a flutter in the room.

"Oh, only a visit by the principal's secretary, for example, or a schoolgirl with a message or an upset tummy or headache who needs immediate treatment. They can find themselves entering the room when the young male is completely clothes free and in a state of erection. This can be an acute experience for the boys, if the girl happens to be in their class or live in their street or even be a sister. Don't laugh, it's happened! And one can always involve a mother. I have when I thought it would help with a boy's discipline. Or when he had a medical condition, like a tight foreskin, I wanted to share with her."

Before long, Dr Speight was homing in on an accounts of the disciplinary theories of a Sarah Maitland who had worked as a governess and school teacher in England in the early 1900s and had enjoyed full reign to implement theories of full nude punishment when running a boys' school in India during World War One; later in the Carribean and in US detention institutions. Dr Speight gave examples of Sarah Maitland's regimes that included having errant boys strip completely for caning and over-the-knee spanking. She also made them wait totally naked in school corridors in full sight of sari-clad cleaners and maids. She once told an entire class of boys to strip and work at the benches of the chemistry lab without a stitch, in full view of their female teacher.

Running a school for the promising sons of Nergo families in Jamaica she had enforced cleanliness by having volunteer mothers from English colonial families supervise the black boys' bathing, introducing them to baths and penile and anal cleanliness.

"Let me quote one passage from her book."

Dr Speight picked up a volume printed on cheap wartime paper entitled "Love and Discipline: Ordering the Young Male."

"In this passage Miss Maitland came to the heart of her theory about full nude punishment. I love this passage. She writes, 'I advocate a boys-only, female-administered discipline regime ongoing through the teenage years. I favor spankings, powerful ones delivered by females. Spankings deliver a strong, unspoken message connecting power and sensuality and when a youth is hit on the buttocks blood rushes to the area causing a tingling in the genitals. The exposure of the penis of a denuded youth in a humiliation setting, yet one full of attention and sympathy, can have a profound emotional and sexual impact on the punished youngster, especially if he is displaying a sexual responsiveness, a common, inadvertent occurrence among adolescent males. Hence, a well punished boy loses more than just his britches when he is spanked..."

Here there was a tinkle of polite laughter. The girls beamed. All eyes were on the males standing blushing behind the speaker.

"...the typical teenage male's allegiance to aggressive, dominant, often abusive masculinity is replaced with a passive respect.' "

And Dr Speight insisted that Sarah Maitland's theory found that the optimal results were always when clothing deprivation was total- that is, did not stop at a bared bottom- but involved boys being buck naked and for long periods. Even- and this caused an intake of breath and giggles from the girls- for days at a time. Also, when exposure involved other female witnesses. These could be aunts, Grandmoms, neighbours, sisters and their friends. It didn't matter; what did matter was that females witnessed their shame. 

While the boys behind her shivered with fear she spoke glowingly about the role of "penile exposure," and the psychological aspects of involuntary erections- this term caused an intake of breath from the females- in the mother-administered discipline of 18 year old boys.

The girls glowed with expectation.

Mothers related this theorising to their own experience. Some of Brewer's mothers had had much to think about. At Mrs Reilly's last tea three mothers had reported on their encounters with their sons's masturbatory secrets and their punishment, also the regimes of supervised masturbation they had put in place. Encouraged, others had begun to experiment. They had inspected sheets and pyjamas and found telltale stains and looked under piles of Popular Mechanics or Sports Illustrated for obscene literature. They had ventured into, first, nude punishment of the errant boys and, in several cases, an insistence that from now on the self- abuse be conducted right under their noses. Just as in the theories being presented them, the boys were shamed and submissive.

Mrs Reilly turned to the agenda.

Time to punish boys who had been caught stark naked, masturbating together, in front of those "unspeakably" filthy publications that had been circulated this afternoon. While masturbating themselves the boys had been overheard making many disparaging comments about womenfolk.

The boys behind her- here she turned and stared cruelly at them and made them shudder- would now be punished by their mothers. In full view of them all. A model punishment as a warning to the boys of Brewer and an inspiration to other Moms in dealing with errant 18 year olds.

She paused.

One could hear the audience breathe and the frightened animal pant of terrified boys.

"Kerry Fulbright, step forward and face your mother."

Kerry shuffled forward and stood at her knees. Something in his right boxer leg was poking downward, hard.

His tummy muscles twitched with nerves. His eyes opened and shut. He looked close to tears. For a second- over his mother's dyed orange hair- he saw seated ladies leaning closer, and beyond them a group who had risen to their feet so as not to miss the view of his Yoke-front boxer shorts descending. The girls, too, faces aglow, eyes popping, smiles radiating.

His mother's hands, finger nails painted red, seemed to hover before him.

He felt her nails at his waist.

They thrilled his sensitive skin.

They took hold of the waist band.

They tugged.

His boxers began their descent.

His pubic curls came into view. Things seemed to stall. His semi-erection, his elegant seven inch penis cleaving to the right, was catching his pants. His mother saw the problem and jiggled and tugged the cotton. His penis sprang free- happy and bold- and into view, to a hushed but universal thrilling from the audience...as the boxers slithered to his thighs, his knees, his calves, his ankles.




Rodney and Mass Punishment



Eighteen year old Kerry Fulbright faced the females- craning, stretching, half-rising from chairs, peering, frowning, exulting, above all: staring. Kerry faced them, buck-naked, with the underside of his penis on total display, erect and slanting.

His hands fluttered.

"You will place your hands on your head!"

He started with fear at Miss Reilly's instruction. And obeyed.

She let things stand.

There was silent staring.

"Keep your eyes open and look right ahead!"

He obeyed. He saw a mass of mature ladies and a dozen girls from his school looking at his groin, and darting glances into his eyes. All smiling. Catching his eyes. As if to say, "Look at me!"

She invited the audience to move closer, even to leave their seats. There was a scrape of chairs, a pressing forward. Moving faster than the older females, several of the girls dashed to the front and peered in.

Yes, the slant was funny, thought Sally Wainwright, but the shape on the end of this thing was...heart-shaped. How sweet! She felt a runnel of excitement though her insides; excitement- at the boy's exquisite embarrassment. Oh, she thought, he must be shockingly embarrassed. Imagine- if I was stripped and stuck up in front of men...and, worse, boys from my school and neighbourhood!

Kerry stood transfixed, the girl's eyes staring hard at his cock.

"That's fine," said Dr Speight to Mrs Lyndsay Linehart, standing next to her. "She'll be a mother one day."

Mrs Reilly now directed her gaze to Mark Campbell. Told him to approach his Mom. Trembling he obeyed.

He saw his mother beaming, looking somehow official and medical in the dust coat, the hairbrush and Johnsons Baby Powder in her lap. Mrs Campbell was...well, suffused. She savored the humiliation of her son, seeing him in his latest Indian costume which she had forced him to put on and model when they last visited cousins in St Paul but, above all, seeing him wince and blush and nearly cry when she handed around that photo album.

He stood in front of her, his six pack abdominals on his fine swimmer's physique heaving with fear.

Her hands went out and took firm, decisive hold of the waist band of his Gripper boxers with their single fly button. There was an intake of breath from the females, packed tight. Whisk! Down to his ankles- with no impeding erection- in one bold, maternal movement, "no nonsense" in style.

He quickly placed his hands over his groin.

"Those hands on your head, please! And eyes open and straight ahead!"

Mrs Reilly's tone implied, "These boys! Their modesty! Can you believe them!"

Mark's broad, fleshy penis hang long and low, its mauve head gloriously sculpted, Gothic folds of his ball sack gathered at its sides. His scrotum, which would have hung proudly on a young bull, displayed his ample testicles clearly outlined. His mother eyed them, proudly. All females focused, wishfully.

He found himself looking right into the eyes of their neighbour, Mrs Daisy Kaplan, standing in floral blouse with huge bow and wide sky blue skirt- the mother of three girls- who beamed back. She dropped her gaze, lower.

Then Mrs Reilly said that she thought it fair that everyone here today got to have a good look at Kerry and Mark, both boys who had so liked the idea of being naked among females, and she instructed them to move around the room, up and down the aisles, standing in front of seated ladies and...

"...and apologise to them for things your mother overheard you saying- your offensive observations on women folk. Yes, move now, and if you find yourself feeling shamed think of it as part of your punishment."

His slanting erection leading the way, Kerry edged into a group of standing and seated ladies, embraced by the aroma of their cigarettes and perfume, their make-up and pressed skirts and suits...and another aroma as well, something redolent of female underwear left behind in bathrooms, warm and intimate. Mark edged to his left and found himself with two girls and three ladies. Miss Sally Salisbury, a bold spinster, said, "Well, you do look a picture!" And Wendy Sidebottom, from his class asked him, "Don't you think you should apologise for talking about women folk with so little respect?" 

As Mark moved from group to group his penis inflated and bent like a crow bar, then stretched straight ahead, then rising- this happened when he was circled by five girls from school- and pointing at the ceiling. The girls were thrilled. Engaged him in talk. Asked him why he liked the nudist magazines so much. They had the green manila file and opened it under his nose. Did he want to be a nudist? Did it excite him to go naked like this? To be seen by females? Is that why his...thing got like that? 

"This 'stuff' on the pages here? Look, is that..?"

They broke up in giggles.

They insisted on looking him all over while he blushed and shuffled. In answer, he could only shake his head or look at his feet.

Meanwhile Stevie was advancing on his seated Mom. She looked eager, impatient. In the crisis generated by the scandal of the group masturbation in Rodney Ricketson's bedroom she had heard the full story of her son from her daughters and maid. They told her about their own attempts to regulate young Stevie's dirty mind- about his stash of nudist magazines, about his frantic, furious, simian self-pleasuring, about his love of doing it while they looked and laughed. Even how he had come to enjoy being spanked by the maid, over her aproned lap- merciless blows with hand or brush.

Even how he would ask her to please go harder, or to strike him on upper thighs or his intergluteal crease. His sisters had apparently laughed hopelessly whenever this happened, a boy giving instructions to make his spanking sting more. How he would ask them to bring Ponds Cold Cream when it was time for him to masturbate under their gaze.

He stood before her now, diminunitive in his ballooning boxers and shockingly hairy all over his torso and legs, with something small pushing the cloth of his shorts and producing several big wet circles.

Since the revelation brought to her by Mrs Ricketson she had disciplined Stevie regularly herself. She had used the routine applied by his sisters and her maid. And she- Mrs Lynton, this distinctly well-off widow, seated with a dust coat protecting her tailored suit- had come to like the new disciplinary regime for her son very much. Stripping and spanking and sexually humiliating a young male, as it happens her son- something about it quickened her widow's existence.

With a practiced single hand she reached forward and tugged the waistband of Stevie's shorts forward- she knew how to accommodate that little erection - firmly forward, to open a gap as if she, a Mommy, were going to peer in to her little fella's pants. Then a pause, with pants elastic stretched out, and, then, with a decisive and cruel movement, she jerked them down. Whisk! Down pelvis, hips, thighs, calves. Small Stevie's erection was on display: tiny, stubborn, slimy. Jutting from a black, wiry explosion of hair.

There was an understated murmur all around the room. Shock at the erection, bold as brass; sympathy for its smallness; interest in the thread of moisture that now fell in a trail from the boy's urethral opening to the polished pine floor.

And without being asked - obedient boy, he had been coached in this protocol by his sisters- he placed his hands on his head. He shuddered. He knew what he was showing off, knew how far below the expectations it might be- this diminutive stiffie of his. He nonetheless thrilled at the humiliating display he was forced to provide. He felt suffused through his insides with a warm watery feeling. He looked across the room, over the head of his mother, over the ladies crouching forwards, right into the swollen eyes of Lucy Starbucks, from his class, who knew intimately the sight of her Daddy's and brothers' big, broad-beamed erections. She...was...in...his...class!

He melted inside.

As he did the rounds of the room, women and girls took a maternal interest, even ruffling the hair on his chest, and in one case trailing cunning, long-nailed fingers around his tiny testicle bag. He gasped with the pleasure. Many ladies took an interest in the length of his penis. "Three inches, I think?" Mrs Lanbourne put to him, whispering into his ear. And he liked the nice middle aged lady- her lambent brown eyes, her long elegant nose, her romantic perfume, the fact she stood so close- liked her so much, he nodded, submissively. 

He thought how much he would like being stripped and spanked by her. At her house.

Then a party of girls circled him and asked questions. Were the rumours true? Did his two older sisters make him strip? Did he let them spank him? With a hair brush? Did he like it and ask them to spank harder? Ask them to spank him on the curve of his bottom? And did you let them watch when (here they giggled) you jerk off? 

The giglets continued their questioning.

"And is it true you bought these nudist magazines? Because you like pictures of boys trapped nude by ladies and cheeky girls? And this stuff, on the pages? Is it your...jism?"

They broke up, laughing.

Stevie hung his head. His stiff cock, trailing fluid stared up at him.

Now Rodney stood in front of his Mom.

"Oh, you silly little boy," she was thinking. "You've played right into our hands, with your foolish all-nude, all-boys jerk-off circle in your bedroom. And now, dear Rodney, you will be humiliated as you never thought possible!" And as if he could read her thoughts Rodney's abdominals shook with fear and his eyes looked as if they would overflow. 

Her hands reached out...

...only she was determined to do this slowly, as slowly as possible...

...and her fingers took hold of his waistband and waited there.

The tension was electric. 

She dwelt on the front of Rodney's shorts. Funny, there was not the prodding, the jutting, the pole-like thrust she had expected. Just a firm rounding was all she could make out.

She pulled down gently, the shorts descended a fraction. The filagree of red hair that trailed from his navel grew marginally wider. She pulled some more and the timberline of ginger curls were displayed. She looked up and caught his terrified eyes. And why, she asked herself, wouldn't he be terrified? In front of him were women he knew as moms of his friends, ladies in their street, women he delivered groceries to. And beyond them, staring hard, were girls he sat in class with.

She pulled a little firmer...and!

Under the boxers another band of clothing revealed itself!

What? 

She jerked the boxers with all her force, pulling them to his knees. And, yes...her son was wearing a jock strap. My God! It featured a three inch elasticised waist band, with the brand name BIKE on the front of the band and with a red tracer line running round its middle. There was a sturdy, knit pouch; sturdy because its mesh fabric had managed to capture what would otherwise be a thrusting and powerful erection. Indeed, Rodney's fat mushroomy penis head was clearly defined, swollen behind the mesh.

A jockstrap! Under his boxers!

There were excited murmurings. Gasps of fascination, and disappointment. The boy stood frozen, rigid as a cigar store Indian.

Mrs Reilly was closing in.

"So, you thought you might cheat us, did you?"

She glared at Rodney.

He looked guilty.

"Thought you could guard your modesty with this sporting gear, this- what do you boys call it? 'Athletic support?' Well, I've got news for you!"

With her audience thrilling at every word she quickly pronounced that Rodney might do a tour of the room, showing ladies and girls exactly what a "jockstrap" was- so beloved of young males who, she said, look forward to their first as a coming-of-age ritual. And who often seem excited- here she glanced witheringly at the bulge in his front- at merely putting it on, as some women might thrill to wearing gorgeous undergarments.

"Go on, then, around the room."

When he faced the three seated women just to his left he found they seemed profoundly interested in this item of American male underwear. Old Miss Sally Wilhelm even reached out and placed an inquiring finger under a side band. And glaring at the swelling pouch Mrs Win Alexander even opined "Young Rodney seems to be developing very well," to which young Mrs Gladstone could only respond by nodding greedily, staring at the Rodney's glans, outlined clearly in the mesh pouch. But it was Moira Murphy, the lively girl from his class, who approached him from behind and caused a stir by yelping, "Oh...my...Gosh! His bottom is bare as an egg! Look!" And she took him by the shoulders and spun him around so that the whole roomful of women and girls could see Rodney's two globes, perfectly set-off by the white bands.

"Yes, bare as an egg indeed. No down. Quite glabrous," opined ancient Miss Proser, retired English and Latin teacher.

There was a great flurry of interest.

Many of the women and girls had not seen the bottom of a naked male, let alone one as athletic as Rodney, let alone one recently rendered golden by exposure to the sun as he obeyed Miss Cuff's insistence at getting an all-over tan like a real Red Indian. Girls who had sat with him in class and who knew his sisters were thrilled and excited. To see, that is, Rodney's globes defined by the white straps of his jock.

Mrs Reilly forced Rodney to keep moving. Groups of women and girls made him pose and stretch, the rear view being a precious novelty to many.

Until it was time. Time for Rodney to stand out in front.

But...

Mrs Reilly had a tweak in store, a modification in her narrative.

No, Mrs Ricketson would not get to haul down her son's last covering.

"Is everyone watching? Can everyone see?"

Mrs Reilly was twisting the screw in the exquisite humiliation of this young man. The women sensed something dramatic.

"Rodney Ricketson, you will face the front. You will look these females in the eyes. And..."

She spoke slowly.

"...you...will...take...hold...of...your...jockstrap..."

He looked stunned but obeyed, fingers holding elasticised band.

"...and like a good boy..."

No, he thought, no! She wants me to undress myself in front of them! To pull them off myself! No! No! To strip myself! In front of them!

"...to...take...them...off...for us."

He started. He froze. This was far worse than having it done by his mother. He would be a party to his own shaming. Implicated, he would be revealing his own erection!

He stuttered a request.

"Can...my Mom..?"

He looked despairingly at his seated, implacable mother for support.

"Mmm...om? Can...you...do it? Pppp...lease?"

His mother avoided his pleading eyes, grinned tightly, said nothing. 

"Pull your...jockstrap...down!"

Mrs Reilly was impatient.

"Now!"

Rodney started, easing the tight material down his hips, one side lower than the other, slowly, then the other side...revealing a blaze of red curly pubic bush...and then a struggle as his erection strained forward for release and rearranged itself...another push of the elasticised band...suddenly releasing, with a big, bold bounce...his totally rigid nine inch penis with its huge glans!

BOUNCE!

It bounced, free.

The audience looked captivated. Those in the front rows appreciated the strong definition of the glans, and its spongy, mushroomy size, plus the thick coronal edge, and the indentation that carved into the broad slit on top. They warmed to the whole display of the ventral or underside: the stringy flesh that ran just below the head down the penis neck- the frenulum, like a bunch of banjo strings; the broad, thick artery that ran the full length of the stalk; the decorative veins that ran off from it, zig zagging in anything but a symmetrical pattern, but appearing to be full and pumping hard. And his glorious testicle bag- goodness, at the back of the room, where the girls stood, it could still be viewed clearly in all its dangling, hanging, pendulous amplitude. The stones, heavy in its folds, were clearly outlined. This fella is a young stud, was the view of many females. Good breeding stock.

And the white, pink-tinged, broad-beamed penis reared, dribbling- oh yes, close -up, it was embarrassingly evident, this flow- from the slit, trailing all the way to the floor in a glistening, cobweb.

Rodney was ozzing.

And looking ahead. 

Right into the eyes of a grinning girl who looked like Doris Day. She was Delcia Forrest, with her blonde hair in bangs and a glint in her eyes. As she stared at Rodney - from his frightened eyes to his jutting cock- she smiled some more and licked her rosy red lips. Hungrily. He knew her from school.

She kept running her tongue along her lips. Smiling.

"Rodney's releasing pre-ejaculatory fluid," he heard Dr Speight pronounce, sotto voce, to no one in particular.

There was a disapproving lowing sound from the women.

All eyes were on this shameful, transparent emission.

It was time to move on.

Mrs Reilly told the boys to advance to their mothers, to stand in front of them, with hands behind their backs.

A row of four 18 year old boys now presented their stiff rods.

In full sight of the roomful of females, now leaning, craning, straining to get the best view.

Standing, hands behind backs, with penis heads inches from their mothers' noses.

"Now to the punishment."

Mrs Reilly was emphatic but even her voice vibrated with tension, excitement.

"Each boy is to place himself over his mother's knee. Slowly. Respectfully. Hands ahead of him, flat on the floor..."

The four moved awkwardly. Mothers lent helping hands, to assist them into place. A hand on a thigh, a lower back, guiding an arm. Mrs Fulbright gently pressed Kerry's gluteal crease, when thighs joined bottom. It made him start, the touch so intimate. Mrs Ricketson pushed Rodney by the shoulders.

"That's right...And toes behind, touching the floor..."

A boy lowering himself onto his mother's lap presents a poignant sight: this was so as Rodney, Mark, Kerry and Stevie shyly lowered their weight onto their mothers knees. Of course, their erections led the way...to be positioned gently, tentatively...on the laps of their coat-covered Moms...and, then, letting themselves go, pressed into her thighs, as their bodies settled on top...pressed hard as all their weight bore down, trembling because they knew their mothers would feel it. Feel their stiff flesh just where Mom's tummy met her upper legs. Squashing their rigid members near the spot they, 18 years earlier, had started their life journeys.

They settled into Mommy's lap. Nude, and over her knee: the classic position for maternal punishment. Mrs Reilly moved close to survey the scene with Dr Speight, appraising each bottom on mother's lap.

Women and girls crowded forward. The boys could see the high heels and stockings of the ladies and bobby socks and loafers of the girls as they gasped for breath, hanging hopeless, upside down. 

They could imagine with a shudder, the view the females would be getting at this moment. 

The footware and ankles of the women and girls moved inches from their eyes.

The stage was set. 

The actors and director poised. 

The curtain about to rise, and the show to begin.

Outside the sun shone on Brewer.