A Landlady Spanks Her Lodgers

Jack's best friend at the Y was Garry Stinson, the cheeky apprentice painter and decorator with red hair in a crew cut and a spray of freckles on his pearly white skin. He also had a generously proportioned "lobcock" which he loved flashing when he was at Gerda's disciplinary establishment waiting his turn for a spanking, standing facing the wall in the corridor. Showing it off, when a party of mother and sisters passed with their naughty son and brother. Or at the Y, standing by a column watching boys swim nude coached by Jack, with a big group of women sitting in the bleachers. At the Y's chlorine-scented pool he just stood there, chewing gum, naked as a jay, letting his fat dick rise to an assertively full erection, loving the fact that mothers, sisters, grannies gazed right at him. At it.

He confided to Jack that he deliberately left evidence of masturbation on sheets, underwear and pyjamas so that his mum would despair, assume an angry expression and insist she had no alternative but to book him in with Gerda, with his sister and any other available girl to attend as witnesses, in line with Gerda's policy of optimal humiliation.

Except that Garry, as he confided to Jack, loved nothing more than to display his long white erection to female eyes.

So when Patricia, Gerda's pudgy assistant, announced from the doorway of the waiting room that the boys were to undress now to save time- it being the end of the day, and Gerda eager to get some relief and there being only three families left with their errant sons. Garry was flushed with excitement at the order. He was the first boy on his feet, pivoting to stand in front of his mom...who, sighing, reached up and started to unbuckle him.

His sister stared at her brother's flies, as did Jeanie, her neighbourhood friend who had no brothers and no boyfriend. Jeanie trembled with expectation and dancing, forbidden, lubricious thoughts.

Across the room 19 year old Dennis Spruce was having his shirt unbuttoned by his mom. He was a short, handsome fella with black hair, and a nicely haired upper body, who worked as an assistant in Kendals ("the Harrods of the north"). Dennis had appalled his mother and aunt when they found him nude in his aunt's room- nude, and terribly compromised.

He had been sitting on the pink bedcover. Naked, and they first noticed the hair on his chest...and his punchy five inch erection, somehow shiny...and then the rest. Spread all around him were his aunt Rowena's underwear. Her low-plunge, foam-cupped bullet bras- half a dozen, cream and gold. Her three rayon corsets- yes her corsets! Each with exciting stitching, for example, stitching in a triangular pattern on the front, almost in imitation of her pubic zone, and delicate lacing on the corset's legs.

Stitching and lace, thrilling to the 5 foot six inch fella with the glistening five inch erection and new, adult hair on his chest.

Aunt had a secret: she treasured a lacey pink pair of panties which she kept out of the family wash and secreted in a paper bag beneath all her other things. Shockingly Dennis was wearing them! They were stretched between his knees. When caught, his hand had been moving vigorously up and down the stem of his rigid member, shiny with auntie's Pond's Cold Cream.

The revelation had been horrific, for the three of them.

Aunt and mother had roundly denounced him. Made him, still naked, carefully fold and put away each item of underwear while his glistening erection wilted. Mother had spanked him, sitting on the bed, him still nude, dangling over her knee, aunt Rowena watching.

It was a hearlessly cruel spanking that left Dennis howling and kicking and twisting. But only a prelude, to this visit to Gerda's.

Briskly, mom and aunt now removed every item of his clothing, this wicked lad's first dose of punishment. Imagine! A boy excited by a ladies's underwear! Off comes his shirt. He would not grow up to be filthy minded like his errant dad. Down come his trousers. Forced nudity and bottom spanking would cure him and guarantee he would be no adulterer, running off with peroxide blond who worked in a pub. Out of the trousers he is forced to step, and hand them over, like the little boy he is, despite the black chest hair.

"There!" exclaimed his mother, whisking his Y fronts to his ankles, and exposing a nervous penis glans sheltering in his foreskin. "Not so focused on ladies's undergarments now, are you?"

Women in the waiting room saw his bottom revealed and felt a frisson- especially the sisters and girlfriends. A bad boy's bottom, soon to be severely punished.

Another naughty boy, also on his first trip to Gerda's, was similarly undone.

Bobbie Hughes was an immature 20 and, he had been hit by a late-onset hormonal compulsion that had him masturbate four or five times daily. This made it inevitable he would be one day sprung by his equally sex-obsessed twin sisters. They caught him- oh, the shame- in a silent house where, after sleeping in on this Sunday morning, he had woken up and assumed all were at church. Him, in a flash, totally naked, pyjamas flung to the other side of his bedroom, lying on his bed in the nuddy.

The six foot three inch boy- thin as a rake- had his eight inch cock (in the last two years grown so strong and musclely with standout veins) firmly in the grip of his right hand- and, oh the shame- a folded newspaper with a lingerie advertisement in the left.

And his 18 year old freckle-faced twin sisters abruptly entered his room to stand above him.

If ever a boy was trapped...sprung...it was him.

"Oh goodness, Bobbie in his birthday suit!"

"Playing with his lobcock! His tallywhacker!"

Dirty minded, each had thrilled to schoolground whispers and the language of sexual slang.

"Our Bobby's got a big stiffie!"

The retribution had been swift, with his granny, who raised the three Hughes children, fully briefed on her return from chapel, presented with a full description several times over, and with the shaming folded newspaper.

Right now sisters and gran viewed Bobbie, once again totally nude, standing before them, clothes folded in the females' arms and his eight inches beginning to flesh out- what with the air around it, and the panic overtaking him. And the stares from the two other mothers and the other girls. The others in the waiting room got a view of his profile, quickly becoming more interesting.

The tall lad, shaped by a growth spurt since he turned 18, totally nude.

On the other side of the room Garry Stimson was also naked. As his Y fronts had been eased down, his ample cock- eight inches, if measured with a tape along the dorsal side- has flopped free and had stood straight up.

Indeed, it had begun to drool- emit the telltale Cowper's fluid- as he confirmed that mom, sister and sister's friend were staring. Their stares made his insides riot.

His mom had a faraway look in her eyes, as if torn between driven curiosity and deep unease. His sister was...well, proud of a brother so obviously well developed, the owner of such a strong organ. She also loved his red pubic bush. She thought it daring and beautiful. Her friend Jeanie was ravenously aroused and staring greedily. The shape of the organ intrigued her- the big round knob especially, and the dangling bag.

"Right! Mrs Spruce's boy to come in now. With the two ladies. Bobby Hughes to stand in the corner...facing out and no covering up."

Dennis Spruce trailed to the door, his five inches now parallel to the floor, followed by a flushed mother and aunt Rowena. Jeanie was thrilled to spy his pointing cock...his black chest hair.

"And you..."

She pointed to Garry, standing with organ at full stand.

"You are to stay seated. And no covering up."

There was little logic to the girl's rule making.

Fulfilled, Garry sat between his mother and sister with his sister's friend peering sideways, his pearly white dick pointing to the ceiling feenulum stretched, the cock head a bold pink and myriad delicate veins on the stem like line design on China teaware.

He was like that for half an hour as Dennis and then Bobby took their punishment.

Sitting...

...suffused to be exposing his erect organ...

...proud of its proportions and the glaze of his ginger bush...

...thrilled every time a darting glance confirmed his mother was taking glances, his sister staring and smiling and her friend locked-in with pururient awe...

...and on the other side of the room a granny and two 18 year old freckle-faced twins were scoping him too, the girls with wolfish interest, focused right on his groin.

What made him thrilled all the more, was that his meatus was emitting gouts of clear fluid, bubbling out of the slit and slithering down his hammer-hard stem.

Wow! Another big dollop emerged, unmistakable to his three companions and even, he prayed, visible across the room.

This, was for Garry, exhibitionist bliss. Females staring...his nudity, total...his cock at full stand...and emitting an industrial quantity of pre-cum. That intrigued- must surely have- his female audience. The goblets of fluid, like a leaky water fountain.

Forty minutes of this...bliss for him...and then the march down the corridor to Gerda's study, still with a hard, sky-reaching cock.

It had been a long day for Gerda and her assistant. But labouring in the vineyard of morality they were sustained by the justice of the cause, in the frontline of the war on evil.

Garry lay across Gerda's skirted knees. He pressed his erection as hard as he could into her apron- an apron stained, as any beady eye would notice, with Cowper's fluid and seminal ejaculations (four out of her 12 punished boys had exploded today, a rough average). Garry knew that his willingness to submit, his unapologetic erection, perhaps the size of it too, and also his gentle back-and-forth motions- all got him brownie points, recognition by the good-hearted lady, even that he was a favourite. He would be spanked with palm only. And the pain would be measured, nuanced...as long as he made it a pleasure for her.

This was a game, both punisher and punished knew well. Gerda might have gone further and said, it had ancient precedents, been brought to perfection in the Victorian and Edwardian years, this corporal punishment of a young male by mature age female.

Punishment of boys. By matrons.

Boys who tend to masturbate, boys fascinated by their bodies and the myriad of sensations. Masculine boys, but itching to submit. Yes, she knew that. It was her genius to know it. She was one of the jaded matrons- Mrs Ellroy another, and her friend Alice Kerr Sutherland another still- who oversee bad boys and feel lust for them, but know the ancient ritual and are experts.  Ah yes, expert in touch deferred, touch redirected, false outrage and indigence, a mask of moral knowing. They were imbued with superiority over the sensual lad, and deal with him in primary and then secondary ways.   

It is a fact- Gerda knew this well, and Mrs Ellroy- that the male pelvic floor is rich in nerve endings, and that includes boys' glorious posteriors, their wonderful perineums, their sweet ball sacks, not to mention the penis itself.  These seasoned Victorian ladies know about these places, the intimacy of them, the sensitivity of them, and how, when primed, a sharp slap across those cheeks, may as well be a soft tongue across tight ball sacks.

Yes, Gerda was heir to all the Victorian mistresses or governesses and her duties, her lectures, her consistency and all of the subtle vehicles she employs while offering the benefit of her corrections.  As Garry was now finding, much commotion is directed across a boy's posterior.  Successive slaps. Stuck up on a knee.  Just think! The knee! The pivotal  placement that holds his entire weight, that place where his penis is cocooned between his belly and the rounded crest of her knee, touching his precious frenulum. The hot button of the penis. These intimacies were not to be denied.

Garry felt it intently, Gerda was aware keenly.

The lady was, half knowing it, the heir to a Victorian tradition that embraced governesses and school ma'ams and repressed mothers and precocious sisters. Like these forebears she was now slapping, and slapping briskly, in a fluid manner. Firm, not cruel. Gerry's pearl white bottom was turning pink. Both boy and matron were captured by a rhythm, the "slippity slap" of flat open hand across the very lowest part of that wonderful sex organ called a boy's bottom. To be truthful, over the anus- yes, let's be candid- sending wonderful, tickling shock waves down the swollen perineum and into tight, drawn up testicles.

Garry was in seventh heaven.

Oh...oh...oh! This was...lovely!

Oh, I must have this every day, he thought, I need it- every day!

And I have the added thrill of knowing my mom, my sister, her friend and the assistant Patricia are glued to what's happening. They are glued to my bouncing bottom!! Look at it, ladies, watch my bouncing bum cheeks!

But it got more intense. And why wouldn't it? Gerda could feel his stiffness. Feel every fibre of his engorged, granite-hard cock. This boy, Garry, who gave himself to her so wholeheartedly, was begging to share his stiff penis with her, his matron. He was rubbing away now. Rubbing his erection over her knee. Which was a request for her to respond. He was begging her to respond. Not by spanking cruelly. But...something else. Gerda knew how. Yes, the knee bounces. The magic knee. Slightly, up and down.  Not a lot.  A bit of a jiggle, in rhythm, and he focuses on it, he moves in time too. This slightly bouncing knee is cradling a boy's huge erection, rubbing, gently, tickling with each bounce.

Not just Gerda but the four standing females are lewdly savouring open views of a swollen and bloated perineum, and also tight, smooth, drawn up testicles, teased by the repeated and regular sharp reports from inches above, and a restless overactive knee, that seems to bounce the posterior upwards to deliver it to the slapping hand.

Oh my, yes! Bounced up! Slapped down. Bounced up! Yes, over and over....oh my!

The watchers- mother, sister and Jeanie, also Patricia- saw it at work, this rhythmic and mutual movement. Hypnotised. Drooling in their groins, as they saw the boy's bottom rise and fall, turned brighter pink, and he strained to look over his shoulder with eyes wild and a look distant- at them watching him, and at his own offered intimate target zone.

Surprising with some boys, Gerda thought, this need to try and look back as best he can, to the wave of sensations coming from his posterior. For his part he is amazed and he thinks, as the tension builds, this is better than his penis. This Victorian dame, this Gerda, understands implicitly the sensual link between posterior, penis and personality with boys like Garry. Indeed young men are hard wired to these undiscussed stimuli. She knew this. Her secret.

It builds with frustrating angst, while she lectures ("Masturbation is bad, bad, bad...you should be ashamed that your sister knows what you do...it gives you dirty pleasure does it? And do you look at dirty pictures while you do it, like other boys?") And the boy responds, "Yes...I know it's bad...but I can't...help it...OUCH!...yes, sometimes...OUCH!...I look at them...I get excited OUCH!...seeing naughty pictures!" and she even chortles while her slaps are delivered with machine-like precision.

He must watch...must watch...straining to turn back...to see his bouncing bottom. And the standing females looking at it, enraptured.

"Hell! They are watching...my bottom is bouncing....oh...oh...oh...what fuckin' sensations...love it...hope it goes on and on...I feel it, right outta my bum..."

When Garry's explosion came, it came violent and plentiful.

His head rose and he went, "AHHHHHHHHHHHHH....."

Then...slumped.

He dangled, head down and bottom blazing.

An aroma filled the air. Lemony, and a bit sour.

And when the boy rose from her lap there were dangling trails and spider webs, stalactites and gluey white lava linking him and Gerda's apron and, while his cock had begun to subside, he was growing stiff again knowing that females were watching what might have been considered a disgrace but which he, Garry Stinson, considered a triumph of his exhibitionist fantasies.

There, he thought, I had shown you my sloshing pre-cum, bubbling out, when we were in the waiting room and I sat there with a stonk-on. Now you can see my real stuff. My spunk. My baby batter.

As the boy gathered himself Gerda resolved, to involve Mrs Ellroy more closely in her strategems, the landlady with those male boarders- fitting objects for experiment. That Jack. He was as special as this Garry, a favourite too, who lay across her, always rock-hard and worked away rubbing his penis into her lap. And she had heard they were friends. And she had heard about a boxer, with a very special organ. And, astonishing, a black youth. Goodness, a Negro. That would be like punishing a slave.

And to involve Jenny, that new girl living at Eccles Street who showed, it seemed, so much promise in this game of female assertion.

But she need not worry. The girl was on the same path. Taking up for herself the mantle of Victorian matron, of punisher of males.

That night 20 year old Jenny lay awake, under her sheet on this hot summer night in Manchester. Her mind was rioting. Inflamed. Oh, the images from today's afternoon tea! With her landlady- her patroness, Mrs Ellroy- and her friend, Mrs Partridge and her two daughters! An "all girls" event.

But the females had been served tea by two young athletes in nothing but their Y front underwear, and one of them a Negro...from the West Indies! Just think, a black boy! Those clean, pressed white pants covered Eddie and Billy from navel to groin but were soon removed! Leaving the poor boys bare as boards! In their birthday suits!

And she had got to witness their humiliation! That humiliation of these young males had created a buzzing in her groin and, in bed tonight, it had ramped up again.

Her hand stroked a plump breast as she recalled delicious details- such as Billy having his old Y-fronts slither down his legs while he was serving cake, Eddie suffering a huge erection in his pants till Mrs Ellroy hauled them down, the exposure of two very different cocks both pulsing and rigid. And the boys' blushes and embarrassments.

She flicked her left nipple. She was aware her groin was getting sticky. Recalling nude young men...oh, the wicked thrill...and their overwhelming shame at being rendered nude in front of dressed females! Their paralysing shame!

It was the shaming that made it so exciting for her.

To see males shamed to the core of their being!

Truth was, this had become the centre of her own being: to see young males forced to strip in a welter of shame and humiliation.

Jenny could not believe the way things had developed since moving in with Mrs Ellroy, as helper at this very special boarding house. Being blond and perky, with ample breasts, she had never been short of boy friends. But now she was living in Eccles Street, with three athletic young males, with manly organs, sheltered only by those flimsy white fronts! Their privates within reach! This was transforming Jenny. Making me a naughty girl, she thought, filling my mind with shocking images.

Like the image of Billy's punchy erection, exposed- to his intense shame- with all of the females staring intently, including his very own sister!

As she recalled the scene from this afternoon's gathering her fingers felt their way under the raised skirt of her night dress and...into her humid cleft.

The movie screen in her head ran spools of the fabulous physique of Eddie, the medical student from Barbados. Yes, what a big strong boy...and pictures of his gigantic black cock. Recollecting the sight the girl smoothed her lumpish fluid around the mouth of her vagina. Oh, what a display he had presented- Eddie, the big strong black boy, as naked as a slave, or warrior from the African steppes. With a fabulous organ that would charm and enchant any woman.