Rodney's Nude Humiliation Ch. 27

(Everyone in this story is 18 or older).

The mothers had heard about it.

They had heard about the "jiggle juggle" game.

One of the girls had blurted the revelation and it had spread like wildfire.

So when Mark was doing the washing up- dressed in a lady's apron and nothing else- just the way his mother liked to keep him at home these days when nudity for 18 year old boys was being enforced very strongly- she suddenly said, as she stood peeling vegetables, "And are all the boys enjoying the new game?"

"Whadt?"

"You know the new game? Some of the mothers were telling me. Like at Mrs Lanbourne's with Jimmie Fraser? Or with Rodney at Mrs Reilly's? Girls after the swim meet, in the change room with their brothers?"

Mark blushed furiously.

"You know- the 'jiggle juggle' game. It sounds like great fun... and a grand way for girls to find out about male anatomy. And I hear from your sisters..."

Mark went weak at the knees as he guessed what was coming.

"... that you got trapped into it but ended up seeming to like it very much."

There was a note of glee in his mother's voice. A tone that said, I've got you young man.

To a strong athletic son, nude- but for that female apron with its pink design and silver bows and lilac ribbons. His muscular glutes perfectly framed.

It had happened after a rehearsal for Cowgirls and Indian Braves. A rehearsal that had made all the girls wildly excited because for the first time every boy was rehearsing wearing the new costume. Just an embroided belt. And nothing else. Mrs Cuff had been called away, something about Mrs Reilly and the scrotum competition and the girls had ganged up and had the boys standing in a line, all six of them required in act three, and were bending and crouching at their midriffs to take turns gently slapping the bottom of the testicle sacs...

... jiggling away...

... and watching the balls bounce.

Or juggle.

That is, playing the "jiggle juggle" game. With gentle slaps to the funny testicle bag.

Which quickly brought on erections, which caused female amusement, and tempted the contestants then to take a sudden cruel swipe at nutsacks to have the boy double over and execute a little tap dance going "Ohh... ahhh... ohhh..." or something like it, even exclaiming "No... no... Samantha..." or "Hell, no... no... Jane... don't do that!" Even trying to explain, "No, no... please don't. Boys are very sensitive down there!"

And so poor Mark had suffered as four girls had taken turns at this torture with him as the pathetic victim and four times he had doubled over and done his dance begging and pleading, like all the boys naked, except for the belt, while the cowgirls were dressed out in the fine elaborate costumes with tassles and belts and scarves and checked shirts and waistcoats and skirts and boots.

He melted at the memory.

Of course girls would have told his sisters.

Of course they would have told his mother.

And now his mother was proposing that after dinner tonight, with his cousin Susie visiting, they play a game of "jiggle juggle" and dear old Mrs Geiler would be here too.

"But... oh, mom... ah no! Not with Susie... not Mrs Geiler... not that game! No!"

"Turn around," she ordered him and reluctantly he put down the saucer and faced his mom.

His mom gave off a whiff of her favourite perfume Miss Dior. Yes, she was always elegant- today, in mauve silk blouse with pearl necklace at her throat.

She lifted the skirt of the apron. Suddenly her son was effectively nude. She had revealed his bratwurst cock with its huge pucker around the fat glans.

While he winced she stared intently. Again, she marvelled at her sons' preposterously large penis. She thought of her husband's and considered that she should not be surprised. His had been a whopper and he had always been eager to show it off- arranging on one occasion to loose his swimmers in the surf and emerge from the waves buck naked and pretending to cover up in front of their picnicking family, relatives and friends. Maids had complained, or noted slyly, that he had dared to walk bucked naked from bathroom to bedroom, and had been excited.

Mrs Campbell allowed the tips of her fingers to stroke her son's sac. Around and round one of the bird's egg testicles, then the other. Then the rear of the sac. Her fingers lightly tickled the velvet-soft, shaven skin. Then with the finger tips of her right hand she took hold of his grand glans and lifted his pendulant cock so she could cup his scrotum and juggle it gently.

Which made his powerful engine of his cock fill out... thrust forward... point skyward.

As she stroked and tickled and fingered, as if worshipping his testicles and their bag, she affected not to notice the erection process. Oh god, she thought, my own son... and the most beautiful shaft in Brewer. Look... look... at those veins.

"Yes, as I suspected. You could do with a little shave..."

"What? No, mom! She did it Thursday!"

"She" being Milly Slink, the girl who had taken over his shaving twice a week at school.

"Well, she's a nice young woman and I think she does a good job. But your testicle sac could be smoother. Come, we'll do it in the bathroom."

She whisked off his apron.

She noticed that fat artery twined around his stem, like a vine around a tree trunk. He was nude, and stiff.

In front of his mom.

She gestured with her head, pearl necklace juggling on her chest, suppressing a smile.

And it meant Mark following his mother out the kitchen, through the hallway of their glitteringly modern prairie style home and across the living room with its vast plate glass picture window which afforded a view of... of, oh hell! There she was- Mrs Wendy Fassbinder in her gardening hat and gloves, standing in their front garden looking at the rose bush hedge, with... oh, hell! "Sassy" Gilders, an 18 year old, who had just moved into their neighbourhood and who had been dying to get a look at the famous stripped boys from Grover Cleveland. Straining to be invited... to the swimming class, the school doctor's rooms, the rehearsals... but never in her two weeks in Brewer managing to see a nude fella. Until this moment.

Now the two of them copped an eyeful of a naked and erect young athlete and his charmingly dressed mother with set of pearls. A touching vignette. Worthy of the front page of Saturday Evening Post in its domesticity. Mom leading Son across the living room... but the son blazingly naked... and his handsome dick out and up. He, caught by the gaze of two very prurient female neighbours. One a mature age divorcee, the other a frustrated schoolgirl itching for male nudity.

Their eyes stood out on stilts. Mark clamped hands over his erect cock but he sheltered very little.

"Mom..." he ventured in a quailing voice. Meaning, "Mom... please... can we move on. Mom... these females are staring at me. Mom... it's making me go all shivery..."

But his mother was engaging in sign language with the females on her front lawn, even as they drifted across to be closer to the plate glass.

His mom did thumb gestures over her shoulder as if to say look what I've got behind me. As if to say, look at my silly son... naked as a jay... and getting all hot and bothered.

Then she mouthed something.

Mark heard her mouth the words "The game!"

Which brought smiles of recognition to Mrs Fassbinder and her young companion.

"Oh yes," they were apparently saying, as the boy read their lips. "The game! Of course! The game!"

Which just confirmed, thought Mark, all the females were talking about the "jiggle juggle" game.

They then laughed heartily and his mother led him on, to the bathroom. Mark was aware that at this point the lady and the girl must have been enjoying a generous view of his ass. His muscular, two soccer ball ass. They would be seeing it all- the muscles, the dimples- especially when his mother paused at the exit from the room to painstakingly straighten a picture, a reproduction of van Dyke's Laughing Cavalier. First this way, then that. She took her time, him standing behind her, his ass on display.

The portrait seemed to be laughing at the 18 year old boy, naked as the athletes of Ancient Greece. Goodness fella, the face seemed to be saying, you've got yourself in a nice fix, nude as a newt and on display to female eyes. Reflected in the glass on the painting, Mark could see the concupiscent females outside, savouring his glorious bottom.

Then in the bathroom she told him to stand arms at his side and she drew up the stool. Then she whipped up shaving cream in her husband's old mug. She was using the shaving brush to slosh- slosh seemed the perfect word- slosh cream around the mug and then... then around his ball sack. He shivered at the sensation. Briskly she sloshed it on. His cock hardened. Soon his balls were covered with cream. She tugged at a fold of the testicle sac and stretched the skin and started shaving, his erection poking like a cannon on a destroyer.

He thought he would say something he'd been rehearsing for weeks.

"Mom... gee mom... I gotta say that... for a fella... it's pretty darn embarrassing..."

She was moving her razor over skin, eyes flitting between the road of hairless flesh being exposed on the left side of his scrotum and the sight of his penis neck with folds of preupuce gathered like a winter scarf.

"Yes?"

"... for a boy to be n... n... n... nude... in front of ladies and girls all the time..."

"Oh Mark, don't be silly. All the boys are going nude. I know mothers who make them strip off as soon as they get home from school. And you go naked once or twice and it's done. All over. We see everything and you shouldn't be shy again. It keeps discipline. It makes you respect womanhood. It educates the girls. And..."

As she spoke she carefully shaved away, tongue between lips.

"... to be honest, all the mothers just love seeing our sons- the strong athletic ones but the unathletic boys too- stark naked. Shucked down. To your..."

And he knew she was going to use the awful expression that he knew his friends hated.

"... birthday suits. Yes, for sure. Seeing your features..."

Seated on her stool she leant back and looked up at him, the ventral side of his rampant cock especially.

"... seeing our boys grow... we just like it, your sisters too. Oh, they like it, I can tell you..."

Which made him shrivel.

"... and their friends."

She admired his organ- its sinews and veins and its grand stem. She savoured its tugged-back foreskin and its spongy pink-purple glans. She thrilled to the penile raphe, the brown skin that ran the length of the shaft's underside. This raphe was clearly cousin to her inner vaginal lips.

Maybe... one day soon... his penile raphe would be devoured by her labial minora. Her own organ, swallowing whole her son's glorious rod. But right now she would settle for licking it- then taking, between her vaginal lips, the head and neck of his penis and then plunging, noisily sucking her son, her cheeks sunken, to a rich, delicious orgasm. Yes, she thought, as if answering a Kinsey researcher's question, she would swallow, greedily.

Gulp down her own boy's lovely creamy emission.

Looking down with an unknowable feeling, he sunk into his regular fantasy- his most common masturbatory day dream- about his mother, nude at home, her elegant 48 year old body totally exposed, large breasts drooping, pink nipples popping erect, hairy black pubic jungle on display, walking the house...

... with a string of pearls- the ones she was wearing now- around her white throat.

His mother, naked with pearls.

His stiffness throbbed.

Maybe also high heels. Just pearls and high heels. Not a stitch.

His cock throbbed.

She had shaven his ballsac smooth. No cream remained.

She leant in.

"Your sisters will love doing this."

And she placed her palm under his sac and delivered perfectly executed slaps.

One...

... two...

... three, four and five...

Mark's system was in ecstasy, his mind flowing with pictures of his mother as nude as Eve, walking in empty house.... yes, wearing only high heels and her pearls... itching to be interrupted by a plumber or electrician arriving at the back door... shocking the 25 or 28 year old... and hauling him inside... feeding her nipples into his lips while furiously unbelting his khaki work pants...

Then, bang! As if she could read his mind and to punish him for his thoughts, she slapped him good and hard on the scrotum and the shooting pains sent him into a dance on the spot.

"Awwwwwwwwwww!"

Tapping the floor with his feet.

He saw what was headed his way after dinner.

She grinned. Cruelly.

"Okay, Mark. We'll all enjoy the lovely, funny game. 'Jiggle juggle'- I can't believe our local girls invented it."

She sent him into the kitchen to peel peas and said she would go and shower.

"No apron, mind you. You're a nude boy for the evening."

An observer might have enjoyed the juggling and jiggling of his bottom cheeks as, at the sink, he efficiently jacked himself off. His mental movie house was running footage of his Mom in this kitchen... naked, pearls bouncing... as she swiftly set about stripping the visiting tradesman of his jockstrap. Down it came, the sweaty and well-worn Biker brand jock and out sprang a curved and veiny somewhat beige erection, with a well sculpt pink head.

But Mark when erupted there was, for the moment, nobody to observe (or to deplore) the shooting of voluminous white-gray fluid. Whoosh! Up into the air and splat! Onto the icing of the lemon sponge cake baked so lovingly by his mother that afternoon! Later, as he used her cake smoother to spread the product of his gonads, he smiled as his own precious spermatoza added to the glistening surface of her confection- the confection that she would so proudly serve, slice by slice, to the females at the end of dinner.

The glittering icing entering, one after the other, their ravenous mouths.

"Let them eat cake," he thought to himself, remembering the quote from a history class but whether it came from George Washington or Julius Caesar the nude muscle-bound boy- not the brightest fella at classroom stuff- could not have recalled.

MRS PEBBLES WITH THE BOYS

Mrs Pebbles also loved the term "birthday suits." Just loved it.

As in, "I want all five of you in your birthday suits as soon as possible."

She was dressed in a generous kimono with faded floral patterns, and if truth be told, an egg stain on one sleeve. The phrase "birthday suits" made her shiver with anticipation.

It made them, the 18 year old boys, shiver too... with a mix of emotion. But strong ones. Tummy-turning emotions. Hot flush emotions. Dick stiffening ones.

She could see that Jim Nielsen was erect, and the boy was blushing. Of course he was, because he could see her cast her eyes over his midriff and what looked like a bludgeon in his pants. That look of hers would make any fella blush, directed at his flies. And she corrected herself- it didn't just look like one, it was in fact a bludgeon, recalling the sight of his hardon at the swimming pool which had hypnotised her and the other females in the bleachers. And she reflected at how this boy with his "one in a hundred" penis, so beloved of the coach, was becoming, despite those blushes, less and less shy... now, she guessed, positively in love with shedding clothes, going nude, when females could ogle him.

A sexual energy flowed out of her, and embraced the five young, testosterone-fueled males.

As if responding to her thoughts Jim was unbuttoning now at lightning speed. Oh, he wished, I want her to spank me... over her lap... my cock pressed into her knees... and, if it's in front of these other guys, I don't give a damn. His shirt came off and he let it fall to the rug and unbuckled his belt and plucked fly buttons loose and slithered out of his trousers. Off came his jocks and he stepped out of them.

And stood naked. Raw naked.

Bud Lanter's dungarees were slithering to the floor and the boy was panting with excitement. John Lawrence busted two shirt buttons in his eagerness to disrobe- almost as quickly as his equally hairy-chested older brother Dave who had stripped himself for this lady only this morning.

The two new recruits- Johnny Connelly and Robbie Lightfoot- were a trifle more bashful, looking furtively around for guidance.

Johnny Connelly, seeing Jim, Bud and John become naked, thought that's enough for me. He quickly snapped his belt open and started plucking buttons on his fly. "Hell," he thought. "It was kinda cranked... pretty crazy... being nude in front of them all, this morning but... Whadt the shit is gonna happen now?"

Down he whisked his jeans and jocks.

He was hard as a hammer, his "cute" cock up at 45 degrees, lifting his shirt front as if begging "Hey Mrs Pebbles, look at me!"

But he had a compulsion to quickly get completely nude like Jim- what a cock he had on him! Jim's cock was the biggest he had ever seen, and he had stared furtively around a lot of change rooms. Hell, look at how it's rearing up, all pumped! Yeah, maybe he has dreams like me- being stripped off, in front of women. And now, he thought, it's happening. To all us boys.

He ripped his buttons open and shucked out of his checked shirt. His chest hair, black and loose, came into view.

Now he was buck naked.

Right in front of this lady.

Mrs Pebbles thrilled to the tuft of black hair around his navel, and his cute cock erect and eager.

Tall, lean Bobbie Lightfoot stumbled, hauling his socks off, then his trousers. His mind had been in a riot of shame and ecstasy since the morning. He kept trembling, thinking of all those girls and women and old ladies casting their eyeballs over his groin, over his narrow dick with loose foreskin going stiff so quickly, the females taking in every inch of him. It made him feel weird... yet kinda cool... like a dreamboat with lots of admirers.

Do it again soon, he had been telling himself... gotta do it again... don't care 'bout anything... just getting nude in front of female eyes.

As his pants came down his jocks got caught up and slithered down his calves with them. He was suddenly showing off a perfectly 45 degree erection, long and narrow. His glans stuck right out of the prepuce.

He caught Mrs Pebbles assessing it... even as he worked on his shirt buttons.

In fact, she was soon able to cast her eyes over five stark naked 18 year olds, all eyeing her warily and their cocks at full salute. Stark naked, without even one stitch between them, as the air filled with the aroma of hot shoe leather, Brylcreem and the fern-like smell from the groins of nervous young males. Like the colts on her family farm, she thought again. Not in the school musical either, so these boys had not been shaved, and boasted healthy bursts of black pubic bush.

For a full moment she stared at them, nude and erect fellas who shivered with excitement: at being buck nude in front of this mature and attractive lady

She told four of them to sit crowded on the couch, Jimmy to plant his naked bottom cheeks on the rug sitting at their feet, long legs crossed...

... facing her.

She liked the hammerhead shape of his toes.

She commenced her monologue.

She asked them to look around at the sexual organs of their buddies. Not to be shy. But to note how their friends were engorged... all of them erect... and this was natural and wholesome. Why, after all, they were healthy young males and the arrival of fully-functioning reproductive systems was a sign of their emerging manhood. The penis of each of them, she said, was standing tall and proud.

This made them look at the sexual organs rearing from the laps of one another, Jim twisting from his position on the floor to gaze around at his companions. Direct behind him he got an eyeful of Johnny's dick, roped with a lilac blue vein and Bud's fine rod, topped with such a well sculpted glans.

She repeated. Yes, your sexual organs are all standing tall and proud. And God gave you each this capacity, this capacity to get such fine erections. And how does it happen, so wonderfully, so miraculously?

She paused and with a gesture of her palm in the direction of their rearing cocks, invited an answer.

"Blood," said John. "Blood flows... and makes it go stiff."

"And what gets the blood flowing?"

There was silence.

"Excitement..." ventured Bud, in a quaililng voice.

Which led her in a hushed, sympathetic Jane Allyson tone, knowing she was dealing with such vulnerable young men, to ask what made them excited and, with empathetic pauses and doleful, beseeching eyes to extract answers from them.

"Taking our clothes off..."

"In front of girls... and ladies..."

"In front of you!"

These first offerings were from Bud and John, her regulars.

But the dam broke when Jimmy gushed that going naked for swimming, with ladies as old as his grandmother, as well as girls from his own school, watching him, just had that effect "everytime... either right there at the pool or later." For good measure, seeking her approval, he threw in lingerie advertisements..."dirty literature" that boys might smuggle into school or home... some things in books like Peyton Place...

All the boys said, yes, going naked in front of females or thinking about it happening, when they were in bed at night, caused them to "stand up" or "suffer engorgements" or- and Johnny stumbled into using the term- "to go stiff."

He blushed and feared he may have gone too far.

"To go stiff" indeed.

But the beautiful, lovely, understanding, sympathetic lady- like an ideal mother- just nodded, half smiling with a dreamy look, letting Johnny know that she welcomed his honesty about the things happening to his body. And in relief Johnny just wanted to say to her that she could be his mom anytime... he wanted to say he would let her bath him... and in the tub he would ask her to gently wash his penis and his testicles... and when he suffered wet dreams or a burst of self pleasuring he would bring her his polluted pyjamas with a shame faced confession just to hear her say it was normal for a boy of his 18 years to be doing these things and she would tousle his hair and give him a peck on the cheek and tell him to make sure he cleaned around his private area.

Some said attractive younger teachers... some said cute girls... Johnny nominated that just being nude in the showers with the fellas did it to him, even though it was embarrassing to admit it, and he swallowed his words. But Bud and Bobbie agreed that it happened to them too.

"Yeah, jus' knowing ya all shucked off together and buddies are lookin' yer over..." Bobbie confessed and was relieved by murmurs of agreement.

Bud seemed to take a deep breath and ventured, "It happens to me... with older ladies... getting nude... ladies the same age as my mother or aunts..."

He paused.

But let the truth emerge.

"... ladies... like you."

The others murmured their approval.

Their excitement had mounted.

Which liberated, first, John and Jimmy to start fingering their erections, spreading emissions of Cowper's fluid the length of their boners... and Bud to begin fisting himself more vigorously... which brought in Robby, glaze-eyed staring at Mrs Pebbles, moving up and down his long thin member with the tips of his fingers... and Johnny, panting, one set of fingers tickling his balls, the other rubbing his penis head.

Mrs Pebbles felt elevated to a heavenly plane, facing five naked young men... showing off the wrinkled undersides of their sky-pointing cocks... their funny pink cock heads seen from this angle... sitting just like at one of her Sunday School classes, answering her questions. Only each as "nude as a nickel."

And pleasuring themselves...

... as she now told them how Jesus himself was a young man who, we knew from all the great painters, had genitals just like their's, and he and Saint Paul knew what it was like to struggle with "urges" just like them. The Mediterranean had a Greek culture which meant young athletes going naked just like you boys did today at swimming, with women watching just like they watched you...

Here she saw Johnny shudder, and Jim's eyes float into the distance, and Bud become frantic.

"Did... did... the boys feel... embarrassed?" he gasped out the question.

"At having their genitalia seen... and admired... and laughed at... by sisters and neighbours?"

Bud nodded like a robot.

"Why, I'm certain they did," she answered laughing at the naive young man, naked and masturbating right before her eyes, so eager to be told that other boys- and in Biblical times- had suffered these urges. "But the girls would have loved seeing them... all of them, without tunics."

A collective shudder rippled over them.

It was John's turn. Again, she admired the tight and abundant hair on his upper body.

"Did the boys... jack off... I mean, masturbate? Like we're doing? For you, now?"

Each of the boys was doing it.

"Jacking himself."

In front of the lady.

Nor did this question faze her.

"We know that even after the young men married and had children they would still get together... enjoy going naked... in one anothers' company... and many vase illustrations show they even helped their buddies to jack off, as you put it..."

She isolated the term "jack off" to make it sound more wicked.

As she spoke her day gown fell open at her left shoulder and revealed snowy skin just enough to raise the possibility that under it... Mrs Pebbles might herself...

... have her breasts bared.

The boys were panting as they noticed.

Poor things, she thought, having made the gown fall forward with the slightest of gestures. It's so funny that they can't help themselves.

"A young male ejaculation is a marvellous thing... the tension in the whole body... that unique pleasure shooting up the length of the urethra... the point of no return... and the trembling pleasure at the desperate relief... which allows poor boys to get rid of constant, intrusive, unhelpful thoughts- thoughts that nag at them, and stop them thinking of anything else..."

Her vivid words had their effect.

They were...

... cumming!

Johnny's thin but long stem was the first to send forth its contents. Three ropes shot out and splashed over his chest. Bud followed, the thick lava flow filling his fist and spilling over to flood his pubic bush.

John yoddled like a Confederate infantryman as his milky white fluid splashed onto his chin, then his chest hair, then his midriff. Bud doubled forward emitting choking sounds along with gurgles of pleasure. "Grrrrrrrrrr..."

"Ahhhhhhhhh," Robbie gargled, then threw himself back as if astonished at the eruptions- one, two, three and then four and five- deposited the grey-white content in his hair, on one ear lobe, his shoulder, and one nipple, from which it hung dangling like a decoration on a wedding cake.

So funny, she thought. So absurdly, colossally funny. These young male ejaculations.

Jimmy came last. The expulsion from his great stem shot to the ceiling, splashed on a cornice then fell to the rug, while the next three danced in the air like fireworks before crash landing round his seated form.

A murmur of release rose from the slumped boys.

The air filled with the aroma of youthful seminal fluid, spreading like incense in a high mass.

She rose, tugged her shift at her chest, surveyed them and left the room.

They dozed, like addicts in an opium den. Their physiques were gemmed with the offerings of their own seminal fluids.

When she reemerged with several wet towels the boys stayed slumped while she mopped their bodies, and wiped and squeezed.

"Young mens' tributes, to a lady," she chortled. "It's just so..."

The corner of the wet blue and white striped bathroom towel pinched Jim's fat mushroom, and collected remnants. On the floor, propped on his arms, he opened one eye to watch, as if emerging from anaesthetic after having tonsils removed.

"... it's so winsome, and to see yourself enjoying the release so much..."

Here she delved with a towel into Bud's pubic bush where ropes of his emission were now congealing. She scrubbed around. She was delivering a rub down of his pubic region. He groaned- positively crooned- with pleasure.

"... with your minds suddenly cleared... so you can now concentrate on studies and prayer and holy scripture."

She wiped the mess round Johnny's navel. Lovely, she thought, that tuft of hair. Every one has a different, and special, hair distribution. He shivered with her touch.

They seemed so benign now. So pliable.

She wiped the milk from Robbie's ear lobe, from his nipple where it was dangling, from his shoulder, and scrubbed around with the corner of her towel in his floppy, college-boy cut hair.

"What a mess you've made of yourself, Robbie."

The poor boy blushed into an Aw Shucks grin, right out of Leave it to Beaver.

"Goodness, if only your mother could see you."

He blushed deeper at that wicked thought.

She looked them over.

"I think you've all gained from our first exercise today. Although the next step is even more important..."

Jimmy's ears pricked. So did Bud's and John's.

"... which will have to be a full nude spanking. Yes, by a lady. Your mother's age. I'll get my apron... plastic apron... and Johnsons' Baby Oil so you don't chaff yourselves. No hurry. Even young men need a few minutes to recover."

Mrs Pebbles left them, once again tugging the loose kimono tight across her breast.

Time for them to recover?

A view of their laps suggested this was not necessary. Each of them had stiffened again- at the thought of what was to come- with cocks begging to be squished into a plastic apron stretched tight across a lady's knees, lubricated and shiny with Johnson's Baby Oil.

Teenage cocks wishing for it. Begging for it.

Despite his explosion Jim's legendary inches were stretched tight and when, from his cross-legged position on the rug, he looked over his shoulder, he saw four other erections reared up from forested groins.

From down the hallway, there was the sound of a kitchen cabinet being clicked open.

Samson's Weekly Visits.

Every Tuesday at quarter to three Samson Douglas, the Negro boy who now worked as driver to Mrs Reilly, would enter her garage and eagerly remove his trousers and underpants and fold them and lay them on the workbench. Then naked from the waist, he would sit in the driver's seat of Mrs Reilly's Plymouth and back it out and down the driveway, steer up Elm and turn right at Cypress and down Fillmore and into the service entrance of the Brewer Presbyterian Ladies Home where, protected by a wall of spruce, he would slide out and enter the kitchen entrance where the door was being held open by the Negress cook, Felicia Sherwell, who viewed the boy's hefty erection, which jutted his shirt forward, with a mix of sensual longing and racial pride.

Every Tuesday.

"H'dy master Douglas," she would say, before offering him the glass of milk and fresh baked chocolate chip cookie which was always ready. All the while, eyeing the grand, red-tinted penis head that reared at her from under his shirt.

He knew what to do without being reminded. He efficiently removed his shirt and hung it over a kitchen chair. His body glowed with all its obsidian Congolese vitality.

"Them ladies are mighty frisky about your visit today."

He grinned and struggled out of his shoes and socks.

"And you look mighty frisky about what they gonna do wid' yo.'"

He darkened a little with embarrassment. Jutting from his nudity his cock looked insistent.

Now totally exposed in front of her he moved just a trifle awkwardly, sitting at the table. This is like being bucked naked in front of your mother, he thought.

As he devoured his snack, cookie crumbs landed on the frizzy curls on his chest and the milk gave him a white moustache. Then he rose, ready. Felicia gave his knob a squeeze and patted his bottom. He followed her down the corridor, nude as a newt.

There was the click of doors, as he passed, with the tenants opening to get a glance of his naked form from the rear. To see his broad V-shaped back and small, tight exposed ass. One old dear just stood boldly in the corridor, silver hair in pins and wearing a pink flannel dressing gown, devouring him whole as he passed, riveted it seemed by his thick black pink-tipped erection. She must have been 80.

Her eyes blazed with lust.

The recreation room smelt of bad coffee. On tables there were lots of Saturday Evening Posts and Readers Digests and Ladies Home Companions. A big print of the Last Supper adorned one wall. A fold-up table stood in the middle. Samson knew what he had to do. He raised himself onto the table and lay flat on his back. Felicia went to a wall cupboard and took two fluffy white towels. Standing above the prone boy she lay one over his head, the other over his middle, covering cock and ballsac.

His erection tented the towel.

Felicia reached out and stuck her fingers under the towel and tickled the tight testicle bag. It made him jolt. She held the sack in her palm, gently.

"Not gonna hurt your big acorns, Samson. This coin purse..."

She giggled at her own slang.

"... so nice and soft. And glad yo' Mrs Reilly let you grow all your frizz back..."

Here she tickled his newly sprouted follicles.

"... any boy wants to keep his fur.... so nice, your giggleberries... with their fur..."

She juggled his balls.

"... and yo' long, black corn pole."

She stroked his shaft.

He reached out and blocked her.

"Stop! Can't cum! Wait for all the old ladies!"

And they began to arrive. The room filled quickly with their fragrance... perfumed soaps, cheap sprays, lipstick thickly applied, mothballed clothes. The youngest in their late 50s, most in their 70s and 80s. They moved, some on canes, to stand around the table displaying Samson, his legs and the tented towel, his exposed chest and what looked a mummified head.

They gazed down- about 15 of them- at the magnificent tented display, in worship. Worshipping a covered phallus... a Negro phallus.

Eyes fired with lust.

Lust for the shaft of a black 18 year old. For all the thoughts it aroused- the rumours of plantation liaisons between southern belles and black slave boys, for example. The legends of Negros and their sexual prowess. Their all-conquering pricks, ravenous and insatiable. For his ballbag, too, packed with seminal fluid.

"So... manly," cooed one of them, as she strained over the shoulders of her housemates.

"Hardon," giggled another, in her late 70s, and a lifetime spinster. "That's what they call it, hardon on."

From under the sheet that covered his head, Samson heard all. And waited for it.

"It" being the first touch of those shivering fingers.

And then it came.

The first hand.

The fingers reached under the towel and touched his inner thighs. Exploring. Soooo delicately. It made him tremble. The fingers were thin and pointed and dry... and their nails were long. The tips of the nails were what he felt as they traveled up along the inner thigh...

... and paused where his thigh joined his groin.

Paused...

... before tickling around. Exploring.

Those long nails.

On his other leg a smaller, hotter hand crept around his knee, then journeyed higher to enter the towel and travel swiftly to his ballsac. This encouraged the first entrant to do the same. Soon Samson's testicles were being lightly scratched with another set of fingers, with longer nails, then... massaged and stroked by a fourth entrant. But they were all practiced strokes. As if some tutor had taught the old dears that boys must be touched gently down there. That those funny sacks attached to them behind their cocks, were vulnerable.

The tingles rose through his groin...

... and travelled right up to the stretched base of his very big, very stiff penis stem.

By this time several sets of fingers were at his exposed chest, exploring his nipples. Exploring- then scratching and squeezing. While several more sets of fingers played with his toes and feet... and others with his thigh, now becoming crowded with hands...

... until one of the ladies took it upon herself to lift the lower towel right off! Whoosh!

She exposed...

... the ventral side of Samson's ample and very rigid erection.

There were gasps filling the air. Then... giggles.

One old voice said, "I think it's getting bigger... since last time."

There were scornful dismissals.

"Oh, Stella, it's a nice big one... but they don't grow in a week!"

But a voice he recognised as that of Doctor Birkwell sounded a correction. She was 80 and had brought health care to remote Minnesota towns and hamlets specialising, it was rumoured, in injuries and illnesses of cowboys. Long retired but a voice of authority.

"Don't be so sure, my dear. At this stage they have growth spurts. And sometimes they can be quite decisive. Especially... with Negro boys... with their... penile and testicular endowments."

This stimulating exchange only increased the activity of all those fine-boned, flinty fingers. Hell! There must have six sets of fingers up and down his stem... and four playing with his ballsac... while one lady insisted on teasing his belly button... and four or five seemed to be at his nipples, one squeezing quite hard his right one which very much excited him... sending a zing into the roof of his mouth... just as a clever set of fingers tickled his left ribs.

And with his cock exposed, lying like a prized slab of meat at a deli, still more fingers descended on his stem with its stand-out veins. One traced those veins, zig zagging the length. One hand appraised the widest part of his stem, where the stalk widened in its middle. Her finger and thumb seemed to be measuring his beam, full of wonder and respect.

Another had her finger nails ever so lightly on his penis neck, the frenulum of bunched, loose skin, that stretched from stem to glans.

Then suddenly...

... one of the unseen ladies...

... decided to finger the mushroom itself, marvelling, it seemed, at the softness.

"This..?"

"Called his glans, Doris. Decorative isn't it? Helps the penis probe- it's the prow of the boy's cock."

It was the doctor's authoritative tone. And yet... that obscene word. She had said "cock."

The word in her voice made him tremble- with excitement, shame. He was exposing a "cock" to these female eyes.

She had referred to his "cock."

He could hear intakes of breath.

Two other sets of fingers joined the first explorer, one after the other cupping his cock head then feeling its lustrous flesh between their forefingers and thumbs.

"It's like a mushroom, dear."

"A real state fair prize winner."

Samson shivered with the purest pleasure.

His legs tensed and shifted position.

He was lost, in a universe of pleasure.

A lovely squeeze of his left nipple.

Scratching of his right.

His hips lifted slightly. His toes rubbed one another.

"Look, the boy's writhing... he loves our touch."

He felt more fingers, flicking across his tummy and in the frizzled wool of his pubic bush, rubbing around. Massaging.

He was lifting into the pleasure zone.

He heard the pages of a book being riffled.

"Here it is, in my Anatomical Encyclopaedia," said Doctor Birkwell. She had practised in St Paul, retired to Brewer. "This we call his scrotum..."

And Samson felt her fingers, far more authoritative than the cook Felicia's, or any of the others, take his testicle sac and fondle it. She was testing his balls, for size or flexibility. But she didn't hurt.

His excitement was building.

One of the old dears squeezed his cock head more firmly, then massaged between both palms, like an outdoorsman trying to ignite a flame with rocks.

"Yes," she said, lips lowered to his ear speaking in an undertone. "I think your dick..."

He thrilled at the obscenity from her lips.

"... would probe very forcefully. A real probing prick."

And between both palms rubbed the glans more firmly.

He felt something rising.

Two separate sets of fingers, one from the left and one from the right, squeezed his nipples harder than ever. As if co-ordinating. He felt a zip from this in the roof of his mouth... then in his fluttering tummy... then in electric shocks up his urethra.

He twisted on the table.

Which made those fingers press tight and squeeze his pleasure buttons harder.

His legs stiffened. He rubbed his feet together.

The doctor's fingers were pressing him firmly under his ballsac and then lower, just near his asshole. "I'm feeling his anal triangle... yes, a most suggestive term," she said. "The rear part of the perineum, around his little hole... which is making him nervous... even as he enjoys it."

Suddenly she pressed very hard, as if to test how he would respond.

One knee lifted.

"I'm exploring his external anal sphincter..."

She pressed it.

The boy groaned very softly.

"... and, now... his transverse perineal muscles."

She pressed hard, as deep as she could, between his coccyx and his pouting anus.

The boy groaned louder. They could all hear.

And were emboldened.

One of the old ladies now appropriated his scrotum, and her nervous finger tips were long and pointed and she seemed intent on running them all around the corrugated, warm surface.

He lifted his bottom slightly.

"Oh look, the flow has started."

And there was a murmuring as the whole group jostled to see the clear fluid emerge from his meatus and Doctor Birkwell lectured on Cowpers' fluid and how it was the male lubricant with a serious biological purpose but it certainly signified that this "fine young man" had allowed himself "to become very excited."

There were murmurs at this, some carrying hints of disapproval, others plain prurience.

And suddenly fingers were competing to spread the clear but syrupy fluid over his stem or to catch it and sniff... or even taste, the emission.

"Goodness, Gladys, what do you mean by putting those fingers in your mouth?"

"The very essence of young manhood, Negro male. I believe it's wonderful for the complexion."

Which sent more fingers smoothing the fluid all over his cock... and collecting what they could.

"Yum yum. You're right. Young male essence."

"Young Negro male essence, dear."

"I've never done this before."

"What not with one of your own boys? What 18 year old boys are for, dear. Serving up this health serum for their moms."

Much tittering.

Now all the stroking and tickling and stretching and tweaking of balls and nipples and thighs and belly and cock head...

... brought the excitement of Samson to its climax.

He felt another fluid moving quickly through the urological network.

It was rising out of his balls...

... and up the stem...

He tensed.

They all noticed.

"Ugggggggfuuuuuuf...."

Suddenly he sent fireworks shooting into the air before their eyes.

There were gasps and squeals.

One shoot...

... another....

... a third cannonade...... and a fourth...

... high into the air...

... and then plashing to his torso.

And, head covered by the towel, he could imagine them captivated by the display and, in particular the contrast between the snowy whiteness of his emissions and the blackness of his chest and stomach where the four big explusions had landed. His torso was gemmed with his milky expusions.

He loved that he had done it... with so many old ladies watching... gasping... giggling... He was thrilled to once again have had an audience, like at the swim meets with all those moms and grandmoms seeing a naked black boy for the first time. And going stiff for them.

The doctor spoke.

"Well, ladies, I think we have confirmed before our eyes what we have long known, not least from the pages of Doctor Kinsey's report- and I know that his volumes are the most visited books in our library..."

There were chuckles.

"... which is that Negro males deliver the highest quantity of male ejaculate of any racial group in these United States. And that ejaculate has a higher sperm count than that of any other category of males. Even Italians, with their passions. Even the Dutch, with their super endowments and high dairy intake. Look at it... before our eyes."

Samson knew, still blinded by the towel over his face, that she was gesturing at his emissions pooling on his chest and tummy.

"Penile strength is abnormally high. Why this youth is capable of recovering within, say, half an hour or less. And giving a repeat performance. But I think we will let him save it up till next Tuesday."

There were good natured laments.

Later, after Doctor Birkwell had gently mopped him with a wet cloth- lovingly, more than clinically- and the other ladies, as if by some unwritten rule, had trailed whispering and chuckling out of the room, the old doctor and Felicia lifted the towel from his face.

He propped himself, blinking and shyly half-grinning. Grinning with pride- at his penile strength, amount of ejaculate, sperm count. What else? Oh, his growth rate. Getting bigger with each visit, his legendary dick.

"You presented us with a lovely gift today, Samson," said Doctor Birkwell. Her eyes shone behind cats' eyes spectacles. "They were four delicious shoots of your boy fluid. You must have been very disciplined, holding it back. Just for us. Didn't he do well, Felicia?"

"Why, very well. We just' so proud of this young 'un from Alabama."

And she ruffled his oiled locks.

He grinned an Aw Shucks, goofy, boyish smile. The head of his deflated dick swelled and the stem slightly stiffened, in fast recovery mode.

Then they walked the buck naked boy down the corridor, crowded with the retirees chatting in groups. All eyes fell to his groin where the commanding penis had decided to half stiffen, pointing parallel to the floor- with, in an enchanting gesture, a trail of thickish white cum swinging from his meatus, beating time to his tread like a metronome.

With $30 in his pocketbook gifted from the management, Samson said farewell to the cook and, still naked from the waist in accordance with Mrs Reilly's rules, drove back to the mansion. In the late afternoon sun, the lady visitors had left the pleasures of the pool and the young male recruits (or detainees) had pulled on jeans and T shirts and departed for home.

He would have dinner in the kitchen with the two black maids.

But as the vehicle nosed to the garage entrance Samson spotted one of the Cupids, Gilles. Tall, skinny, small-dicked. He had been working in the garden- probably as punishment- and was plastered with leaves and grass and hosing himself down.

GIllies' eyes lit up.

He followed the car into the garage and opened the door for the chauffeur to alight.

"Hi young 'un. Yo' had a busy day? Looks like it."

"Yeah, Samson. Still being punished... for stuff."

"For stuff? Bad stuff?"

Samson grinned mischievously.

Gilles shuffled, staring transfixed at Samson's still half-hard rod poking from the skirt of his shirt as the boy lifted himself out of the car.

"Yep. Been a bit naughty... with Rodney."

"Must mean sex stuff. The two of you? Huh?"

"Guess. Y' know... getting caught looking at her dirty literature, up in the library... Archie comics with all the characters nude... and other stuff..."

His voice trailed. Samson was standing facing him. And his cock was lifting. Gilles stared at it, his own delicate dick poked forward, a toy cannon.

"Rodney with you, hey? Looking at the dirty literature together. Getting fired-up. I can see it."

Gilles hesitated and blushed. He nodded. His cock rose to 45 degrees. It dribbled a tell-tale fluid.

The contrast with the black bludgeon it faced couldn't have been more dramatic.

Or exciting...

... exciting, for both of them.

"Well, I'm happy to show you the stuff any day. Drawings of nude boys... getting caned... shooting off for ladies."

Samson pointed to the ceiling with a questioning look.

"Wanna..?"

Gilles nodded.

Samson turned to the dimly-lit stairs that led to his above-the-garage bedroom. Gilles followed, gazing at the black ass as the dimples and creases and muscles powered the chauffeur forward and up the steps. The lanky Cupid was hypnotised by that Congolese ass, just as he suspected Rodney had been hypnotised by his smaller, tighter white one, springing up the grand stairway of Mrs Reilly's mansion.

Thus all our characters in mid-1950s Brewer fall in sweet surrender to the laws of sexual desire. Yes, old Miss Maitland and Doctors Speight and Birkwell, the Cupids and the athletes among the 18 year old boys, the band of female teachers like Miss Cuff and Miss Breakwill and Sunday school teacher Mrs Pebbles, and the slew of Doris Days, and the ugly or pudgy or flat-chested girls as well.

All of them, driven by the same ominous and not-to-be-denied insatiable impluse that Doctor Freud had identified and Dr Kinsey had explored and that books like Peyton Place and Lady Chatterley seemed to celebrate and dirty magazines quickened the taste for- magazines like Spice and Black Lace and Physique Pictorial and Young Adonis.

In Brewer's world this quest and pursuit was normal and fixed, and predictable, and everyone had a predetermined range of motion, like a mechanical figurine.

Thus Gilles, his petite penis pointing the way, followed Samson, his large black bludgeon pushing aside his shirt, and standing at 45 degrees, into the small bedroom. The space was fragrant with boy smells, and something hinting of plantation humidity. Overalls, shirts and dungarees, plus a crisp chauffeur uniform, were draped on clothes hangers. It was getting dark and both Gilles and Samson felt a jolt of excitement at the quiet, at the shadows- especially as Samson ominously bolted the door behind them.

One last ray of light through a dingy window illumined, on a bedside stand, an industrial-size jar of Vaseline The Wonder Jelly. Samson caught Gilles' gaze falling on the golden contents and grinned as he unbuttoned his shirt. Gilles seemed happy to see it. It glowed as if it been been the Holy Grail.

Back With Mrs Pebbles

Johnny now faced his spanking at the hands of Mrs Pebbles. It was the first spanking ever, of course, the first time with this legendary lady. All day had been a build up to this incredible moment. He was trembling all over with excitement caused by the events of the day, here in Brewer with its unbelievable rules about boys going nude. More, going nude in front of "gurls," moms and women old enough to be his gran! Getting stiff in front of them- oh hell! That was humiliating and thrilling all at once. All of them looking at his cock. Some whispering about how cute it was.

Yes, girls his own age. Women the age of his mom. And grannies!

Fuck!

As for Mrs Pebbles, she had fallen in love with his "boy next door looks." And, as well, understood how Coach Compton could rhapsodise about boys' hair distributions. This Johnny Connelly was ideal. His body hair was... enchanting, she thought, and she had stripped nude a lot of 18 year old fellas. The wisps about his nipples made his arole look enlarged. The sweet patch around his navel was just delicious. Then there was the jungle of his pubic region. And that cock was cuteness itself- its short stem, the dark brown line that decorated it, the lopsided glans jammed on top.

Now he was dangling over her lap- ridiculous if you think about it, just hanging there enduring his fate-lying on the plastic apron lubricated with Johnson Baby Oil. Mrs Pebbles was spanking him very fast, but only on that single spot on top of his asshole which was so sensitive and made the tension build and build and build while his erect cock slithered on the plastic apron with the oil all over it. Slip to the left, slither to the right. And her knee would squash it, tilting his bottom high - up in the air for the next slap to land and make those nerve endings round his twinkle hole fire even more.

Oh, the tingling. Oh, the tickling. Oh, the rush of feelings down there- from his asshole into his balls and up his cock. He felt it and she knew he felt it.

She never got tired, even after doing this to Bud and John Lawrence both of whom had exploded so quickly, John ejaculating with loud "Ahhhhhhhs!" and "Jesusssssss, I'm cummming!" as he expelled his voluminous fluid onto a plastic apron slimy with baby oil and gluey with Bud's ejaculate and Jimmy's as well. Jimmy had taken a bit longer although she had the impression he had been holding back, and he then unloaded so much. Sooo much!

Yes, Jimmy and John and Johnny lowering themselves into an apron skirt slimy with ejaculate mixed up with Baby Oil. Sloshing their cock's around in the gluey stuff. It was soooo interesting what they might be reduced to, she thought. It might have repelled other fellas. It was as if they didn't care, given the welter of sensations that a romantic spanking represented.

Mrs Pebbles had learnt about "exquisite" spanking from Miss Maitland at Mrs Reilly's home, lessons enriched with stories about boys in Indian schools, boys in Mississippi, black boys as well as white and in the Caribbean, all Negro. The narratives were... well, thrilling. Now with her mind loaded with images from her mentor, Mrs Pebbles was enjoying the desperation in Johnny's moans and movements. It was one of the phases that Mrs Maitland told her to expect to come on fast as the effect of bottom spanking accumulated.  

Especially as she concentrated on Miss Maitland's doctrine. First, all slaps must land on the sit spot, the site on top of his anus with its riotous nerve endings. And, second, the juggling of her knee. Yes, jam it up right into his stiffie, pushing it into his pubic bone.

As she applied these principles- the targeted slaps and the thrusting upwards of her knee- she produced the inevitable pants and gasps. The "Mmmmmmmm..." and the "Ohhhhhh..."

Then the protests.

"Oh m'amm! Oh, my goodness... that... that... tickles me! Owwwwww! Pleasssssse..."

That had come from Bud.

But "pleasssssse" what? Please stop this moment? Or please keep it up, and don't whatever stop?

When she slapped- always that same spot- she knew it was making Johnny's anus tremble, and dilate, and thrill- sending- and Miss Maitland had emphasised this- shudders down his perineum, into his ballsac, up the shaft of his very, very stiff organ (with its cute brown ring and with the slightly lopsided hat on top)... yes, shudders all the way... but the jamming of the knee seemed to work even more with this boy- she jabbed his midriff with her knee bone again...

... oh yes, when she pressed it hard she could feel the desperate, urgent, obscene mounting of his excitement.

"Oh, whadt you doin' wid me?"

His words were desperate. But he was carried away by the excitement.

Now in the throws of her blitzkrieg,  a nervous knee, a quaking and bouncing red bottom, the handsome head lifts and turns over his shoulder to see the show, seemingly shocked at how red his cheeks have turned.

She loves this stage, when the spanked boy looks over his shoulder.

Miss Maitland had discussed it with them.

What did she say? That the boy's place over matron's knee is one that holds, secures, and caresses in "a maddening and rhythmic way." Yes, those were her words. "Maddening... rhythmic." It offers them, she said, a much slower journey to what they are used to doing themselves in a matter of mere minutes.   So is it any wonder that they look back?

Miss Maitland said that they see their own "hoisted, bare hillocks and feel the hand that does both sting and tickle."

What a wonderful thing, she thought, to be turning around to look at their very own bottoms, their bottoms turning red and being bounced. Yes, Mrs Maitland had said, every boy has done this to himself but now, with a lady in charge, they feel the exquisite slowness of the mounting orgasm.

Imagine the sensation they feel as the flat of the hand lands across their anus, Miss Maitland said. And the bouncing on your knee as well- a separate source of weird pleasure that brings on their moans and that runs through their penis shafts- and she used the word "frenulum"- and the feeling goes right into their tummies driving their responses "like bellows." Oh, Miss Maitland's words were so vivid.

"Ohhhh..." Johnny moans, as if to confirm all this, while his cock slithers in the oiled plastic, with the expelled cum of three other boys... yes, his penis slithers and slips on the fluids...

... slides sideways...

... thrusts forward...

... in the oily soup...

... and with its next bounce, her knee and his pubic bone pinion his erection... grasp the cock... holding his stiffie in their embrace...

... between her knee and his pubic bone...

"Ohhhhh..." he moans again, cock squeezed.

And now he has to do it once again- look back over his shoulder.

He raises his head, eyebrows furrowed, looking behind...

... as if hypnotised by his own scarlet bottom.

He sees it, as it tilts up, lifted by that merciless knee... and her flat palm again descends...

... and his eyes widen as he sees it hit that very spot...

... always that spot...

... oh, he feels the electric shudders it sends all around his anus, oh Jesus, he thinks! And it fires those nerve endings, shooting down his perineum, into his ballsac...

Head over his shoulder, he sees the other boys...

Jimmy, who he had watched get spanked, and who had risen when he exploded, like a colt rearing... this Jimmy is sitting on the floor, legs crossed. And he's fingering his cock as he stares hypnotised at Johnny's bright red ass.

Hell, thought Johnny, this boy with the ponderous penis, is looking at my bottom getting spanked and jacking off!

In a flash it filled Johnny with even more weird sensations.

"Ouch!" he lamented as her flat palm landed again on that very spot, just as her knee had risen and squashed his cock... and his cock slithered on the oiled plastic... oiled, and with the thickened cum of the other fellas mixed in... and he thought of Jimmy watching him- watching his bottom and masturbating...

Again, Johnny looked back over his shoulder, eyebrows furrowed...

... and he saw Bud and John Lawrence, the experienced boys and favourites of the lady, who both had come quickly as her palm had struck their sit spots, oh ever so precisely, right on the spots just above their twinkle holes...

Boy! The two of them had exploded, right into her oiled lap!

When they had risen- Bud first, then John Lawrence- they had trailed thick ropes of their stuff. Boy, had they expelled lotsa cum!

Her lap was awash with it as well as with baby oil.

Jimmy's cum, and Bud's and John Lawrence's.

And- just think!- his stiff cock was rubbing around in it, this soup filling the saddle of her lap, weighing down the plastic apron. Yes, it was filthy. But...

Now those fellas- whose emissions he was squishing around in- were sitting there, staring at his bottom...

... and jerking off...

... their eyes on fire...

And Robbie too, who would be spanked next... he was jerking himself, eyes glued to the sight of his buddie's bottom.

Fuck! As his perineum registered electric shocks with each slap... as the shocks thrilled his ballsac... and sent shooting pinwheels of excitement up his penis stem...

... Johnny felt a dirty, filthy sense of humiliation and... something else... as he saw those naked fellas jack their cocks, looking right at his burning ass... eyes aflame... looking right at his bottom. Yes, a weird thrill through his whole being.

His head fell forward again, as her knee lifted... squeezed his cock between its hard surface and his pubic bone... and then delivered another slap on his tilted, raised posterior.

She slaps!   And she slaps!   Not too fast, but not slow, one right after another.   His bottom stings, but, it's a kind of sensation he never felt before and resigns himself...

... surrendering to this lovely lady...

... swept away with sensations that are like churning waters.  

Hell! He swings his head back again and sees Robbie, now with a totally frantic look in his eyes, jacking off fast and furious, eyes on fire as- Johnnie thinks- he's watching me take it on the ass.

Eyebrows furrow, and eyes close tightly, and his energy and ecstasy rise and intensify..

... oh those sensations...

... the tickling in his bottom...

... the shooting feeling from balls to cock head...

... the squeeze of his frenulum, above her knee...

AND...

... Johnny gasps and gurgles and grunts...

... he thinks of four naked boys watching his ass and getting so excited, and jerking their dicks eyeing his blazing glutes...

... THOSE FELLAS... LOOKING AT MY ASS!

... and Johnny explodes like an atom bomb!

And feeling this immense relief and joy...

... he makes one more glance over his shoulder and sees Jimmy's head thrown back and his fire hose cock expelling a fountain of teenage milk, shooting above his head...

... on the sofa, Bud doubled over, head down, watching his own emissions flood his fingers...

... John Lawrence and hands free as...

Whadt?

Whadt?

Robbie, squeezed in on the sofa next to him, has taken John's erection, firmly and shamelessly, and was jacking him off...

... jacking John Lawrence off!

... apparently with John's approval...

... as Robbie continued his own self-pleasuring with his left hand... his other wrapped around John Lawrence's stiffie!

Holy Cow!

... until both exploded...

... with gasps and gurgles...

... and, with the last cannonade expelled, Robbie falling sideways to lean on John's side, his right hand still clutching his neighbour's cock- overflowing as it was- without- and without any objection.

After Johnny hangs there over Mrs Pebbles lap, listless and thinking on this, and after she ruffles his hair and after she murmurs that he's been a good boy, and thanks him for his offering, she shifts her legs and signals with a playful slap that it's time to rise.

And he does, trailing his own thick ropes to her overflowing lap, holding the offerings now of four young men, the aroma of the teenage spunk filling the air.

He staggered to the sofa and swapped seats with Robbie who had risen and shuffled to Mrs Pebbles and was hesitating above the sodden saddle of her lap...

... until, with a what-the-heck gesture, he lowered himself onto the plastic and into the oil, and the sperm of four other boys, to receive his treatment.

Johnny, squeezed against John Lawrence's thigh, looked like a circus performer just fired from a cannon. He was thinking of all that had been crammed into the day. All he'd learned. The total nudity? It was fuckin' thrilling- in the change room, in the pool, facing females at the bleachers. Yeah, being humiliated like that! Them staring, grinning, openly laughing. The moms, the grannies, the schoolgirls- any category was sooooo exciting, he thought. What a crank! And now. The lubricated apron? Could anyone believe that? And the fuckin' spanking! Slaps that were so crisp and sharp offering a sweet, consistent sting. Setting his asshole on fire. Slaps that were delivered in a never ending cadence.

His ass still burned, deliciously.

And why? We might ask this. Why the bouncing of a knee up and down? Why this provocative mix of slap and tickle?   Why does she ignore the slippery jostling of their engorged organs? Why doesn't she acknowledge their insane hardness? Why doesn't she show, or admit to, the beauty of young male posteriors that under her eyes and over her lap, roll up to her as if asking for more?

No, Miss Pebbles keeps it a mystery.

But a bigger mystery looms.

Why do fellas get so excited seeing one another spanked?

Right now on the sofa John Lawrence is pressing his thigh firm against Johnny's own.

Both of them are watching Robbie's punchy glutes shake and shiver as her first slaps land hard. Again, as always, on that sit spot just above the nerve endings of the anus of this fella, any fella. Only minutes also it had been his own ass taking the treatment, his own perineum being electrocuted.

And... look!

Her kimono has fallen from her right shoulder, with the movement of her arm. The house gown just fallen forward...

... and suddenly she's revealing- in the fury of her movements and intensity of her concentration- that she's wearing no bra and boasting a large rubbery pink nipple, utterly erect! A really big, hard pink nipple!

Johnny's hand is about to fall to his groin and touch the wet, mottled flesh of his stem but John Lawrence beats him to it- he takes Johnny's cock and grips it, and in a flash Johnny reciprocates and takes John Lawrence's dick, now hardening fast.

"Yeah..." Johnny says in an undertone.

Each fella clutching his companion's dick.

"Yeah," says John, quietly. "Always better if it's someone else's hand."

"You bet. What else are buddies for?"

They commence jerking one another.

"Look at her tittie..." says Bud, lifting himself off the sofa to plant his bottom next to Jimmy on the floor. He looked sideways at Jim's one-in-a-hundred cock, shiny with his latest emission, its muscles straining, its veins standing out. He hesitated, waiting permission.

Without looking away from Mrs Pebbles and the bouncing ass on her lap, Jim made the decision for him. He reached sideways and rummaged in Bud's midriff. He took hold of his stiffening member.

"What Saint Paul used to do... she reckons," he said.

"What else are buddies for?" asked Bud, reciprocating, his fingers taking his companion's stiff fire hose.

Slap! Her next smack landed.

It landed above Robbie's bottom hole. His whole ass juggled. The shoots of pleasure tingled every corner of his private parts. Wide-eyed he looked around to view his reddening globes... and saw his four mates staring at them, and pleasuring one another.

SHOCKING CLASSROOM NUDITY.

It was Miss Breakwill's English class. The very sexually-driven but frustrated 45 year old spinster who had just moved to Brewer was determined to strip boys, render them buck naked, in this class and before her eyes. She had caught glimpses of boys shorn of their clothes huddling in the corridors and had shyly attended one nude swimming event at the invite of Coach Compton and stared hard at thrillingly nude young bucks. She had run the fantasy every night under the sheets in her room at Zeitblooms Accommodation for Ladies and feared her savage orgasms might be heard in the next room or down the corridor.

She longed to see 18 year old boys reduced to their birthday suits- thrilling phrase that, it spoke such humiliation- and for the whole period of her English class. Without a stitch. Their cocks and balls and asses on display and their cocks stretching and standing up- "hardons," they called it. Some of the young men at the swim event had walked around with their organs inflated, parallel to the tiled floor or standing like flag poles. She had stared, eyes popping. One boy had caught her eye, and shivered with shame and turned his back. She had loved that.

Rodney Ricketson and Perry Downton provided her with the chance. As she swung back from the blackboard she saw their heads lowered with the two of them engaged in conversation. Spirited conversation.

"What are you two talking about?" she fizzled with assumed anger.

They were struck dumb.

Now Perry was a new boy, amazed at the things that were going on in Brewer. He had dark hair, long at the front flopping over all of his forehead. He was average height, a bit shorter. Lean as a greyhound. His face was friendly, naive, eyes wide, chipmunk cute.

In his first days at Brewer, he had been recruited to the lake for workouts with the coach and the group of suntanned athletes- tanned evenly all over, he had noticed, as they had stripped nude- and that had been a shock, a special experience. But he had shivered as one boy had shared the rumour that girls from the school watched them through binoculars, hidden in the thick shrubbery.

And then swimming nude in the school pool. There had been no females watching their regular swim class, as opposed to the training sessions for top swimmers where females were ever-present. He had been relieved. But going down the school corridor near the lockers a girl called Lisa Alcott chortled that girls had secret viewing places and they had taken a lot of interest in seeing him, a new boy.

"Aw, you just made that up," he had responded, hoping to turn it into a joke.

"No way," the cruel girl had retorted with glee. "First, you've got all your pubic hair- a nice bush..."

He had blushed like a fire hydrant.

"Second, you've gotta thick one..."

Perry had choked.

"... yes, thick and we had guessed, five inches..."

His eyes had popped.

"... because after the second race you got out of the pool and stood there watching and it went stiff, parallel to the floor. Sally measures her brothers, and Gina her boyfriend, and said four to five."

Perry had turned and fled, doubled over with the shame.

So there he sat in class listening, as Rodney had insisted on telling him another horror story.

And now Miss Breakwill was insisting they confess what they had been talking about

Impossible they tell her the truth- that Rodney had been talking about his punishment at home the previous night when his mother had insisted he model the team swimmers chosen so carefully by Coach Compton and Logan Department Store's Miss Newbold. They were in the style of the Speedos worn that year by the US Olympic team only an obligatory two sizes smaller, tighter and more revealing. To be worn at out-of-town swim meets where the nude practices entrenched in Brewer were not acceptable.

So Rodney had been, he said, forced to walk around a circle of his mother's closest female friends and show off the suit... and a stiffening penile shaft and furtive ball sac.

"So you got a hardon?" Perry had asked him in a furtive whisper.

"Yeah... and it stuck outta the swimmers, and the old dears got excited, and mom said that I was an embarrassment to her... not being able to control myself... and I might as well pull the things down and let them see me...'unencumbered' by clothing... and I had to whisk 'em off..."

That's when Miss Breakwill caught them whispering and told both boys that new as she was she had learnt about the boys classroom punishment code...

... here there was a great intake of breath from 15 girls...

... and, she continued, that should go to the rear of the classroom and "peel down" immediately.

"Peel down" were words that made the boys feel terror in their tummies. At the same time it thrilled every girl with libidinous, rustish instincts.

"Gonna see some cock," whispered Madeleine Cloister to Jane Palley.

"Rodney's too!"

"And..." with a glint in her eye their teacher, who had never seen a naked 18 year old male once in her entire life, apart from these glimpses at this school, added "You must know by now that means every last item of clothing. Get up. There's the bench where you can leave you clothes. Start with shoes and socks... jockstraps last."

At the mention of jockstraps her voice deepened with emotion of some vague kind. The first time she had used the word, perhaps.

Hell!

The boys shuffled down the aisle, woeful.

Perry was hypnotised by the order. He moved like a robot.

And as Miss Breakwill resumed the lesson, girls looked over their shoulders as the two fellas struggled on one foot to haul off shoes and socks and then shyly start the unbuttoning of plaid shirts and then hesitated before reluctantly shucking them off and laying them on the bench, exposing naked torsos and backs to the delight of peering girls, then slowly unbuckling belts and plucking at the buttons of their jeans and then, looking at one another and agreeing by eye contact that this was the dismal moment, slowly lowering the jeans over athletic legs, confirming Miss Breakwill's instincts that both were wearing the most daring male garment ever invented, Biker brand jockstraps, the rear straps of which only highlighted the punchy masculinity of the two bottoms- Rodney's spectacularly so- and the mesh cups the swelling of the captured male organs.

They came to a halt, arm hovering across chest, a hand in front of the mesh cup, one other arm rising to work at a non-existent itch near a nipple, another to reach behind and work at one on a lower back.

Two fellas never looked more vulnerable.

All girls had swung in their chairs.

Miss Breakwill halted her lesson to stare with a libidinous look in her eye.

"Well?" she asked, pointing to their midriffs.

They looked dumb.

"Time to remove those supporters."

An intake of breath from all the girls.

As the words left her mouth, Rodney felt blood rushing to his penis. Perry felt intense tingles in his gut. They were now being ordered to remove the last shred of clothing, their lowly jockstraps. They were all that stood between them and total nudity in front the teacher and a room full of festive girls.

Rodney swung round to face the wall and took hold of his straps. Perry followed. They froze and, just before the teacher could issue another instruction, Rodney led and edged his garment down to his ankles and stepped out of them. He lifted the fragile bit of clothing and held it as if a precious. Perry followed.

Both boys were intensely aware they were giving these females a view of their asses. They could hear the intakes of breath, the gasps and a few tentative giggles. Perry wanted to be dead.

Rodney again led and turned to the front and placed the underwear with his other clothes. Perry followed, close to tears and red as a beetroot. They both clamped hands across their groins.

"Now, we have a modesty problem do we?" asked Miss Breakwill. "Let me state plainly that I and other teachers have been instructed that this punishment takes the name of Total Clothing Deprivation. In that spirit you will placed your hands behind your heads..."

The boys jolted.

Rodney slowly moved his hands... but just to his sides. Displaying, incidentally, his voluminous penis in the process of filling out. Perry followed. His cock- with a very promising broad head- was looking at the classroom, shyly imbedded in his black bush.

There were more gasps. Giggles. Whispers.

"Good," said the teacher, eyes bulging and face aflush. "No false modesty. Now how to do this?"

She cast her eyes around the classroom. Yes, she could order two girls to surrender their chairs and have each boy sit next to a girl. Then, after 10 minutes, have them shift and plant their naked nates elsewhere, next to a different set of gluttonous young female eyes- perhaps gifting a fat or plain girl with the triumph of a Greek god or cute "boy next door" sitting nude at her side, thighs almost touching.

But, no...

... she wanted to explore fresh ideas for nude humiliation.

She ordered Rodney and Perry to pick up their chairs from their desk and take them to the front of the classroom, to the podium with her desk, and to place them next to one another facing the class.

So down the aisles the two nude boys shuffled, knowing all female heads had swivelled to get close ups. All were staring. Rodney's dick was now stiff, pointing at the floor. It excited a lot of interest. Perry's was inflating, showing its thickness and the impressive scale of the well-shaped glans. Helen Carswell through her cats eyes glasses took in a full vision view of Perry's ass and was fascinated by his anal cleft. That cleft- so deep, she marvelled. And she stared at the lovely gluteal fold with its dusting of thin dark hair on its curves.

It was the closest Gretchen Kidd had ever been to a penis when Rodney shuffled down the aisle, holding the chair aloft and exposing all his shaven midriff. Later she would tell girls from other classes, "The head on it... like a giant mushroom. Made me shudder... thinking of that monster forcing its way into our... business. But soooo glad to see it! I've finally see Rodney Ricketson nude!"

Their teacher instructed both boys to be seated.

Their chairs on the podium. At the front lf the class.

They faced the class.

And when Perry jammed his thighs together Miss Breakwill disabused him with a sharp slap from her ruler on his left. The boy gasped with pain as a red splotch appeared on his lightly haired flesh. Rodney, on the other hand, proudly opened the valley of his upper legs... and exposed.... everything.

He felt female eyeballs exploring him. Like insects.

His legendary prick stretched reaching for the ceiling.

"The two of you will keep those thighs spread apart... wide as you can. This is very deliberate humiliation involving total clothing deprivation. You talked in the middle of the lesson... and must learn your own lesson."

Perry's own stiffening was at work, five inches of thick penile flesh stretching between his thighs to point at his watchers.

"In fact, we will make this display part of our lesson... so let me ask, 'How might the females in Jane Austen's novels encountered... male nudity?"

Her words sizzled in the air.

"Well, to get you thinking, in her last and unfinished novel Sanditon, set in a seaside resort, there is a scene where Charlotte Heywood catches Sidney Parker emerging stark naked from the sea. Males revealed without clothing is presented in all literature as funny... because it is so very shameful and embarrassing for them, in front of dressed females."

All classroom eyes focused on the boys.

"Sea bathing was becoming popular. And at Scarborough, for example, males of all social classes swam totally nude and girls and ladies watched. Paintings show this practice. Males totally stripped off, in Jane Austen's era."

"Like now? With them?" asked Gretchen, eyes gluttonous. Eyes switching between the two pricks.

"Exactly," said the teacher. "So let's stretch our vocabularies. What are some adjectives we might use to describe the condition of Perry and Rodney at this moment?"

And soon she was dashing the words with chalk on the board, quick as the girls could grinningly suggest them.

"Ashamed, yes indeed- very ashamed I would say."

"Humiliated. Yes, look at them... acutely humiliated I would say that too."

"Panicky. Good choice, Sally. They looked panicked don't they?"

Girls roared their agreement.

Perry suffered waves of redness wash over him. His cock was fully extended, as if the flow of words from beaming girls adopted and written on the board by the teacher, were aimed right at his midriff.

"'Flustered,' yes- good one Alice. And I see you looking at Perry's privates as you say that. And the boy certainly looks flustered, knowing you are seeing him nude all over. Yes, Gloria- 'inelegant' is the most original word offered so far. Look at Rodney..."

Legs jammed to the sides, huge cock at maximum stand, Rodney looked as frozen with shame as it was possible for a boy to be. Certainly 'inelegant.'

Soon the teacher had added "nonplussed" and "graceless" and "discomposed" to the board.

She suddenly changed tack.

"Think, girls, of what we've said about the society of Regency England. Apart from catching boys swimming nude what other opportunities might young ladies have had- young ladies like yourselves- and living in villages and country houses, in a parsonage or mill, to have sighted... well, what you are seeing now? Two stark naked males your age? Trapped without clothes?"

Girls pondered, staring at the stiff pricks and nude physiques.

"Well, while you're thinking, Perry will you stand up please? Maybe that will stimulate thoughts."

And trembling with shame, and blushing wildly, the boy rose and his thick, generously hatted cock stood, jutting out parallel to the floor. About five inches.

Girls went wide-eyed.

"How, girls, might a sight like this have come to your attention?"

And quickly the suggestions flowed.

Sissy Glasson suggested that a girl might have trapped two naked 18 year olds in the barn...

She was looking at Perry, standing erect while she continued.

"... yes, maybe they had been bathing. Or maybe the Duchess had made them strip for punishment... or maybe..."

"Or maybe they were just up to no good," interrupted Jacinta. That produced contemptuous snorts.

"Yes," said Miss Beckwith. "Maybe they were caught being rude..."

She let that thought hang.

Rodney's eyes showed deep guilt. Had any of them learnt about his exposure with that bad literature in Mrs Reilly's library? With Gilles? Trapped naked?

"Total nudity for caning or spanking was de rigueur. A girl might have reported them for rudeness or tardiness- only to be able to savour them being disrobed for punishment. Quite a thrill for a young lady..."

"And very educational," added Samantha.

There was lively agreement.

"And not just farm labourers in the barn. A girl your age was bound to get a glimpse of a brother stripped for the cane or the strap wielded by his governess. And we can assume their trousers and underwear would be confiscated, leaving them without covering for the lower body, or they would be stripped clean, of every item of clothing like..."

Perry's hands hovered, close to covering his groin.

Miss Breakwill promptly rewarded him for his boldness.

"Hands behind your head, young man. Lace your fingers."

The girls were enlivened by this added touch.

The boy looked pathetic, as if his arms were held in chains over his head.

There were other suggestions.

Samantha said that when a brother was trapped in a hip bath his sisters might have burst in and blocked him from access to towel or clothes. And made him present himself.

"Very imaginative, Sam," said the teacher. "Rodney, you might stand up and give us an idea of what the girls might have seen, a brother rising from a hip bath. And hands behind your head, too, fingers laced."

There were Awwwws and Ohhhhs at the sight the young athlete presented in all his glory. And the string of Cowpers fluid that dangled from his slit (or meatus) generated more whispers.

Jane suggested that the best opportunity for educational male nudity in "the olden days" was still the old favourite of catching boys swimming nude.

"There would have been lots of forest, and streams and lakes. And even here in Brewer boys just looooove swimming in the nuddy..."

Perry and Rodney, cocks rampant, hands behind their heads, shivered with shame. Both had been down at the lake. Naked at coach's insistence and viewable to girls hiding with binoculars.

"Girls would have found it just too easy to peep from the greenery or to burst in and run off with their clothes. I think Jane Austen and her sisters in Steventon would have been at it every chance they got!"

Every girl seemed seized by the excitement.

There was much hilarity and the teacher, new to Brewer, was thrilled by the stories that now poured out from girls- while two naked male prisoners blushed, shuffled, teared-up, dropped their heads- stories about boys being spied on naked in school swim class or viewed officially at swim events, caught at a nudist colony when all females had conspired to be dressed, forced into loin clothes and belts when playing Indian braves, surprised when girls burst in on medical examinations...

Which stretched the subject a long, long way from Jane Austen.

Which brought no rebuke from Miss Breakwill.

But which left two naked fellas, scorchingly embarrassed, seated once more and cocks rising from their laps, hands still behind their heads, as smirking girls left the class for their next lesson. Perry and Rodney were told by Miss Breakwill, her eyes blazing with excitement, to remain in place so that Miss Cuff, due to arrive with another set of young ladies for the drama class, might catch them in situ and do what she liked with the 18 year olds- whose clothes and shoes, incidentally, had been locked in the classroom cupboard with Miss Breakwill taking the key.

The new teacher's brain was well stocked with visions for bedtime tonight at Zeitblooms Accommodation for Ladies, very well stocked indeed. Vivid mental pictures of what 18 year old, all-American, mid-Western fellas looked like stripped of every thread of clothing. Right down to... well, the bubbles on their scrotal sacs... the rounded mushroomy penis heads... size difference... and those veins!

A furtive tear stained Perry's cheek. What kind of school was this? When would he get his clothes back?

Rodney was thinking ahead. Which young ladies were in Miss Cuff's class? Might there be any seeing his erect cock, his dangling ballsac, for the first time? He prayed for it. He fluttered with excitement in the deepest recesses of his tummy. The sinews of his erection became even more taut. New girls seeing him... humiliating him... giggling at his plight. More of the Cowper's fluid flowed, flowed out of his meatus and down his stem.

And the more urgent question.

Where would he- with Perry by his side, he hoped- be able to retreat for a jack off session? The boys' toilet? The recesses of the change room? Oh hell, he needed it. He thought of Gillies and what he might be doing. Whether the Cupid might be free to meet him and take up what they had been doing when interrupted by that cruel, prying girl and that terrifying Miss Maitland.

Right now, Rodney knew, those juices were straining for release.