Jack Loses His Y Fronts

He talked about his rich experience of punishment. She had tried paddle, ruler, slipper, cane on his bum cheeks. But it stopped hurting when he realised that playing the game earned him a lighter touch. He kept returning to the advice, and Jack noticed his heavy prick became half erect as he relived his experience: be fast about stripping off, don't be shy about revealing a boner, and get over her lap and "grind away."

While he talked, they showered, dried and hauled on their overalls. Garry said that not only his sister but a female cousin and a neighbouring girl had been brought along to witness his humiliations.

"Hell, you musta hated that!"

He said it had embarrassed him at first but then he had grown to like "showing it all off."

"Shit mate, y' got girls looking at your monster cock and drooling! Who wouldnt luv that!"

Jack absorbed that with a weird kind of relief. So he wasn't the only male to feel a kind of thrill, that queer excitement, a dirty-minded pleasure.

They exited the Y into summer twilight. There was a ruffling wind stirring that day's factory pollution in the evening light. The smell of hops drifted from Boddingtons' Brewery. Trams and trolley buses rattled.

Garry told Jack he worked as a painter and decorator in his uncle's business. He said he had an official girlfriend who he would probably marry and one "on the side." He said after any punishment session at Gerda's he would be "ready for it." The girls knew that when his bum was red hot they would get "the best ride."

He opened his bag to produce a foil tin with the wording: "RAMSES Three genuine transparent rubber prophylactics." He held it between thumb and forefinger and gave a prurient wink.

But he told Jack that if sex with his girlfriends left him with no more "baby batter" to produce in bed at night he would lacquer his pyjamas with flour and water or toothpaste to ensure his mother would think he'd been "beating the bishop."

Jack was transfixed by his revelations, one after the other.

"Last thing I want is for me mam to stop taking me along to Gerda. Love it when mam holds the pyjamas up to my sis' and says, 'Our Garry won't give up. Look, he's been at it again. Look at this mess!' Sis' loves it too because she knows she's gonna see me get another spanking, me leaping around with red arse and a stiff white monster bouncing."

He had even hinted to his mother she should invite one of his girlfriends to be witness. He said he'd grown to love the visits.

Cheerily he invited Jack to join him for workouts and give him tips because he wanted to get a physique like his. "I'm as skinny as a greyhound," he said, tapping his concave belly.

"Not that girls care- only one muscle matters for them."

Then he mounted a South Manchester trolly bus. He told Jack that tonight he would be "buffin' for hours, red bottomed and hard as a hammer! Whoop-ee!"

Waving, Jack remembered the wink and the smile as Garry had stood naked in the corridor, his monumental erection suddenly revealed to catch the eye of the females passing by. "Grown to love it." So easy. Take it as it comes. Now he was off with his red bottom and tin of condoms.

Take it as it comes. "Just what mates are for."

There was a lot to think about on the way home.

After tea Mrs Ellroy sat in the parlour watched the broadcast of an Agatha Christie mystery. Jack, in his newest, tightest Y fronts- what a relief to be in a pair that boasted firm elastic- sat at the kitchen table with a glass of milk. Julia circled him, a Lucky Stripe in her fingers adding a hint of elegance that was at once undermined by her mousy hair and the cats eyes glasses recently prescribed.

"So how did you fare at Miss Halloway's today?"

There was a glaze of prurient excitement behind the glasses.

Jack blushed a deep crimson.

"Oh don't be bashful, we girls know all about it. We hear..."

Her eyes assumed a lubricious glaze.

"...she made you come out from the screen and slip those down..."

She pointed to his underwear. Her voice reflected a repressed but raging excitement.

"...yes, you had to slip those right off, in front of Georgina, and another girl, and her young assistant Patricia, and aunt of course. Yes, all the way down..."

She stood over him, exhaling smoke. Reeking of smoke, a cheap perfume and...something else, at once sour and intimate.

"So you were full frontal naked. Totally nude. In your birthday suit. Not just your rear...which we see when we bath you...but your front! And then she hand- spanked you over her knee...and they saw your bum cheeks turn red...and then she strapped you standing at her desk...big savage lashes across your behind...and, I hear, they could see everything swinging between your legs..."

Saw everything between his legs. Jack sat frozen.

"...and when she ordered you out to the corridor, goodness...they saw your..."

Here she lowered her voice.

"...they saw your tallywhacker at full stand!"

Jack wanted to sink into the chair.

"You naughty little boy, Jack Cunningham. I hear you call it a 'boner' or a 'stiffie.' Well, you know what I want you to do now, Jack?"

Her whisper was sinister.

"I want you to slip those Y fronts down to your ankles and show me your 'stiffie'...because I'm sure that talking about what happened today has got you hot and bothered."

Jack started with fear. The girl was capable of making his life hell if he resisted. She was bound one day to whisk his underwear off him when Mrs Ellroy was out, perhaps while he was up on a ladder or stool or down on his knees doing house work.

Sheepishly he reached for his waistband.

"Jack it's way past your bedtime. You've had a big day..."

From the front parlour Mrs Ellroy's voice rang down the corridor.

Saved! By his landlady's voice!

"...say goodnight to Julia and up to your room, young man. And remember, it's a pyjama inspection in the morning!"

Upstairs, Jack crawled under his sheets stark naked. He was risking trouble. If Mrs Ellroy and Julia chose to raid his room on their way to bed they would catch him without pyjamas under the sheets, clearly in the throes of "self pollution," and with a copy of Young Adonis with Steve Reeves on its cover and his battery torch. But he was thrilled at the risk, to be caught exposed by the two of them. Let it happen, he thought recklessly. Take it as it comes, like Garry. Five females had seen him today, nude and erect. It couldn't get worse. And his mind was also feverish about what had happened later in the steam. "Just what mates are for."

Jack reached for his cock. He pledged to himself he would dispose of the mess carefully...

...although, on the other hand, if he littered the sheets he would be guaranteed future visits to Gerda's...

...guaranteed that thrilling punishment...

...in the nude, before female eyes astonished as his bum cheeks turn red...

...then to be exposed with a stiff tallywhacker.

Garry had said he deliberately "pollutes" his pyjamas to get himself hauled by mother and sister to Gerda's. Well...

...take it as it comes.

His thoughts remodulated.

Yes, that visit.

Awful, but hadn't it also been the most exciting thing that had every happened to him? And hadn't he- a loner from London's east- for those moments being spanked and humiliated, been the absolute centre of attention? Those sets of eyes on him, had been rapt and filled with awe and amusement, even affection. Even contempt was a form of attention. Thrilling to the boy at the centre of things, who had never known such admiration before in his life. And those precious moments in the steam room at the Y- where an unknown figure in the shape of Steve Reeves had followed him and chosen to touch him with his leg and then bring him off...

Of all the available fantasies Jack, naked under the sheets, quickly settled on one that nagged at his libido. He ran the movie in his mind. Next door, in a house identical to their's, a muscular young firefighter- yes, with muscles like Steve Reeves- returns from work via the gym and his gorgeous young wife tells him to strip to his Coopers Y Fronts. She likes to see his muscles. So recently pumped up. He's reluctant but gives in...and that's when the fun starts...Mister Universe, Steve Reeves, is being forced to strip...rippling muscles exposed...and she is now in her silk house coat with a milky white breast falling out...and, as if by magic, Jack is there too...in his Y fronts and nothing else...

Life in Manchester went on. Jack was mastering his knowledge of aeroplane engines. He was upping the weights he lifted at the Y and admiring his shoulders and lats and pecs in the mirrors and swimming laps and teaching back stroke to Manchester boys his age. Half a dozen times one or two of Julia's friends had collected him to go to the pictures. He liked Sailor Beware with Jerry Lewis. He had day-dreamed about a variation to the plot in which Jerry and his pal Dean Martin were inspected on their recruitment to the navy by female doctors. Imagine that goofey grin as Jerry's baggy, spotted boxers get whisked down by a nurse not brooking any nonsense. They saw Giant with Elizabeth Taylor and Rock Hudson. Millie said Rock was "very manly, a man's man."

Some of these girls might meet him after his workouts at the Y to go to the Cona Coffee Bar. They promised to teach him to rock and roll and said they would take him to the Ritz which had a sprung dance floor.

But always when they called in at Mrs Ellroy's the lady was out, perhaps seeing a film herself, such as Carousel or a revival of Gone With the Wind. Then it was tables turned, and handsome Jack with his Tarzan physique was embarrassed, being viewed by these young ladies in nothing but his Y fronts. Oh, so embarrassed. And if they were one of the old, loose pairs with infirm elastic- well, it was blushing and shuffling for poor Jack when a girl dragged him up out of the lounge chair for a few dance steps in the little parlour.

Golly, they looked like they could slip off anytime and once or twice slithered perilously close to leaving him totally exposed, hands clasped by his dance partner and leaving him with no chance of gripping the elastic. On one such occasion Gloria caught a sudden glimpse of a bared globe and marvelled at its soccer ball moulding before the wretched boy could tug it back into place.

When he had to go to the kitchen to refill their glasses and return with his hands full- that was embarrassing too. Once Margaret and Giselle, two of his sprightly companions, glimpsed his bellend, emerging from the bunched foreskin, poking out of his leg opening- oh god, the elastic was so loose, his thing just spilt out! Their giggles were murderous. Then a big, round bollock in a lightly haired scrotum dangled, liberated, and Juliette gazed at something she had never seen before, eyes popping.

Even if it were a more sturdy pair of Y fronts, he suffered sitting there knowing their eyes were all over him...his nipples and his muscles and his chest hair and the bulge in his groin. They, of course, never stopped staring. And with girls around him, frocks flicking his bare legs and perfume and lipstick fragrant in the air along with smoke from their Chesterfields and Lucky Strikes he couldn't guarantee his cock would remain inert. Hell, it was stretching or swelling at the best of times.

Once doing a few dance steps with Hazel Summertide his tallywhacker was up and out, parallel to the floor. That she felt its insistent prodding into the front of her tight pencil skirt was not to be denied, indeed she had pressed closer and kept up the slow, intimate movement even when someone replaced Patti Page singing Tennessee Waltz with Chuck Berry doing Roll Over Beethoven.

"Goodness, I think I can feel your tube steak," she had breathed into his ear, using a term learnt from a naughty brother. Yes, she had said "tube steak." And pressed up against him more firmly. Which filled him with shame and fear.

Several had witnessed the protuberance- undeniable because after dancing with Hazel it was standing at 45 degrees and prodding the Y front skywards. There was also, though none would have remarked on it, a wide blotch of wetness at the tip of the jutting. When he glimpsed it- and was seen looking down at it- his humiliation might have been considered complete. Still undeterred, girls were bidding to be his dance partners.

To the undiluted joy of Julia's friends this "chrome plated" boy, with his "dreamy" build and "fabulous" Elvis hair, was being kept near-naked by his landlady for their pleasure. It was, as Gillian swore, "just so amazing." Mrs Ellroy did it for female enjoyment. "He's our big toy," had expostulated Millie with a breath of smoke, and Jack had gone weak overhearing her.

And he was indeed their big toy, as much as he hated it.

Or appeared to.

One Saturday morning the women were out on errands and business. The house was deserted and silent, Jack naked in his room. Buck naked. Stimulated, and stiff- his tallywhacker with its pronounced dorsal artery stretched in front of him like a weapon for hand to hand combat. He knew what he wanted to do. Needed to do. He reached deep into his suitcase and extracted a magazine he had noticed in the bookshop near Manchester's Piccadily train station where he bought Young Adonis and Physique Pictorial. That collection of "physique mags" lay in a neat pile on his chest of drawers next to copies of Muscle and Strength.

But this most recent purchase might better be shielded from Mrs Ellroy's gaze. It was called Sun and Health, a black and white magazine devoted to life in Scandinavian nudist colonies.

Standing with other shifty males in the dingy bookshop with its tables of prurient literature, Jack had begun to tremble when he had flicked open its pages...and seen its riches.

"Thought you were a Young Adonis blokey," said the unshaven shop attendant at the desk, out of the corner of his mouth, as he counted out Jack's change. Jack had blushed. He had spirited the new find home in his roll-shaped work bag.

He was growing to relish pictures of nude males together with females. But especially pictures that showed boys his age caught alone with females, always more confident in their nudity than the trapped male. Very often, the females were as old as the boys' mothers, or an aunt. Their melon-like breasts might hang towards their waists. They often wore cats eyes sun glasses under broad straw hats.

The picture Jack had opened now, as he squatted cross legged in the middle of his bed, showed a rangy young man on a fold-up seat, perhaps at the entrance to the family cabin. Or maybe a caravan. The camera caught him side-on, his long bronzed legs and torso almost in profile and his midriff hidden to the camera. But filling the entrance of the cabin or caravan were two mature ladies- say, the boy's mother and aunt- standing and looking unabashedly at the seated youth's groin.

Yes, right at his groin. In breast shape and straw headdress the ladies looked like most of the mature age nudist mums- something that only made Jack pant more eagerly. One had huge aureoles on her balloon breasts. Vast decorative medallions. Freakishly big. The other's blazing black tangle of pubic hair was defiantly on view, a riotous garden that claimed half her tummy.

He savoured the image.

He instantly gave himself the boy's role.

Cast himself, as if in a movie set in a nudist colony.

Yes, he imagined the boy in the photo was him- totally nude, say on his first ever visit to the Sun Health Camp and, yes, trying to get used to being naked with females looking. And always half-erect and forced to shelter any additional uplifting of his organ by throwing himself on a towel or retreating to the shrubs.

Jack fantasised that he was a young athlete brought to the nudist colony by an insistent mother and father. And he imagined the females were looking at his groin of this young new member every chance they had ...

...including girls like his sister and cousins who had the excuse to stay in costumes, 18 year old girls in their modest two piece swim suits.

Just as bad, he would suffer the stares of grannies with withered brown skin and silvery fur in their groins...

...and he would sustain inquisitorial body inspections from the eyes of leathery women his mother's age- yes, in their cats eyes glasses and sun hats, or coiffed hair fresh from the hairdressers.

All looking at him blushing and shuffling in his birthday suit with his cock threatening to lift and stretch parallel to the ground.

Without wrenching his eyes from the delicious, humiliating picture Jack reached to the chest of drawers and scooped up a dab of Brylcreem from the open jar. He lathered his erection.

In the role of young athlete in this nudist colony, sitting on the fold-up seat...the two ladies staring right at him...

...he gave himself a big stiffie- a wickedly hard involuntary one, what his mates called a "prong-on"- jutting up out of his groin. And the two ladies saying nothing about it but, as their big smiles suggested, relishing the lubricious sight and even more...

...enjoying the hapless boy's shame!

The shame of an embarrassed 18 year old with..."the lipstick out!"

Oh, to be the nude fella!

To be deliciously trapped like that!

Caught...sprung...and no way out!

No towel within reach.

No shorts to pull on.

The ladies unabashed and proud in their balloon-breasted nakedness...

...looking down and seeing it all...oh yes, in all its shameful detail...

...even the slit in his bellend...the tight skin of the underside of his dick...the pumping arteries, all standing out...

...and his lounging ballsac...with its two big eggs...

Oh gosh! The shame!

Jack couldn't delay any longer as he massaged the Brylcreem into his erection. He felt the sap rising. Shooting up his dick. Suddenly he exploded! Splosh, and his first big shot hit his forehead and ran down into his eyebrows...with one trickle sliding down his nose...

...splash! The second drenched his chest and filled the canyon between his two pecs...yet there was more, surging up...

...the third splashed into his navel and flowed down his abs...

...and...

"Oh, goodness Jack, what a mess!"

WHADT?

He looked up.

To see Millie and Olivia, Julia's friends, who had glided into his room like ghosts, unheard! Hell! Oh, hell! Fuck!

Had they been waiting for him, silent and secreted in Julia's room? Was this a trap?

He stared up at them, jaw hanging.

A trail of his semen drooped from the tip of his nose and hung like a stalactite, swaying.

The girls were wearing fashionably wide floral skirts and white blouses, Millie's with a big pussy cat bow. They bore scents of lipstick and Max Factor perfume. Olivia had white gloves. They were so dressed. So respectable.

"Jack Cunningham, you are in the bare scud!"

"Your birthday suit!"

"You haven't got a stitch!"

"Not even your sweet little white Y fronts!"

"We can see...everything!"

"Goodness...your penis!"

"It's sticking right up! And all that goo! Ugh!"

"And...what's this?"

Millie snatched the magazine from him. The two flicked through its pages.

"So...these are the things that excite you," said Olivia. "Caught my boyfriend looking at magazines with pictures of women in lingerie...but this is very naughty."

Jack winced. His fist still gripped his softening penis, shining with hair cream. The dangling rope of sperm slipped from the tip of his nose.

"But here, sit by us..."

And Millie sat, and patted the bed. Olivia sat too.

Jack obediently slid sidewards to sit on the edge of the bed between them.

Olivia placed a gloved palm under his scrotum and scooped it up.

"What do we call this?"

"Go on, Jack, tell Olivia. What are naughty terms that you and your friends use?"