Jack Loses His Y Fronts

Millie spoke as if he were a little boy. She patted the outline of one of his big balls.

"It's my...testicles..."

His embarrassment made him mash up the enunciation.

"Yes, I know," said Millie. "But what are the bad words?"

He looked puzzled as if he had never heard any but the textbook jargon. Then he struggled out with it, in a shamed whisper, "Knackers?"

"Yes, and.."

"Bollocks...and...beanbag..."

They laughed at "beanbag" as he sat naked between their skirted thighs and each had a part of his capacious "beanbag" in her hand.

Their eyes devoured the ropes of sperm in his black pubic bush.

"Goodness, we'll have to clean you up!"

"What a mess!"

And Olivia reached for his pyjamas folded next to his pillow and, shaping the fronts of the pants with her fingers, proceeded to dab at his deposits.

"No! No! Not the pyjamas...Mrs Ellroy..."

The girls looked nonplussed.

Then Olivia said, "Ah, I understand. So Mrs Ellroy inspects them. What, every morning?"

Jack nodded, brimming with shame.

"To see whether you have played with yourself during the night? What's the word? Ejaculated?"

He nodded again, near tears.

The girls looked at one another and smiled.

Millie told Olivia, "Some of them do it in their sleep...when they dream about having sex with one of us. They can't help it. They have rude dreams and shoot a load of this hideous stuff."

They laughed and looked him over.

Olivia resumed mopping his chest and tummy of the sprayed residue.

"But really, Jack," said Millie. "It's very bad of you to engage in this kind of thing. What we would expect of a 13 year old, of our young brothers."

His diminution was complete. He sat, naked and ashamed.

Olivia had wetted much of his pyjama fronts by using them to mop up his waste. When the pyjama pants dry, thought Jack, they will be as hard as cardboard.

"But don't worry, we won't tell Julia or Mrs Ellroy. That would only get you another thrashing from old Gerda Halloway. Oh don't worry, we've heard about that..."

Jack froze.

"...oh yes. We're good friends of Georgina who couldn't believe she was invited in to watch. Saw every inch. She said you're more handsome with your clothes off than her brother Donald."

Jack wilted with the humiliation of knowing they knew about his spanking.

"But we want you to tell us about your magazine and why it thrills you..."

And Millie placed her pretty white hand on his upper thigh, ever so gently, and looked tenderly into his eyes. On his other side Olivia was moving the tip of the pyjama fronts around his tummy, as if polishing a surface.

Jack's cock stretched and rigidified. The veins filled out flamboyantly.

"Oh my!"

"I think your cock likes us!"

They giggled as their eyes inspected the stretching.

There was nothing he could do to stop it.

"Look, they can't help it," explained Millie.

"Poor fellas. Who'd want to be a boy with this problem?"

And they asked him again, and then a third time, about his fondness for such a queer magazine and when he didn't reply they told him they could easily tell Mrs Ellroy and Julia how they had found him. And he, like a prisoner of the Germans under interrogation, started blabbing. Oh, about how, yes, he liked pictures of nudists...males and females together...and, yes, this picture especially...well, er...um...because.

Just because.

"Just because, Jack? Or because it shows a boy your age...trapped...without clothes...look at him, starkers...and two big old ladies looking down into his lap smiling?"

"Jack, a bit like you in this house. Almost naked...forced to go around in your underpants...with females seeing you. And smiling...oh, definitely smiling. More likely laughing their heads off at the funny sight."

With these words, Olivia ran her fingers up and down the veiny stem, and then around the bellend, around Jack's "corona," although neither the quaking boy or the lascivious girls could have baptised the gloriously carved penis head with its scientific name.

Leaning in close she breathed into his ear, "And like those other boarders here- like Jimmy from Liverpool, and little Billy and Mrs Ellroy's son, Davey, you've grown to...like it..."

Her fingers running around his cock head...

"...in fact, you love it..."

He was now completely erect. In fact, fresh, transparent fluid was emerging from his slit.

Millie was using her finger tips to circle his beanbag. Around and around its little grooves her finger nails made their tickling journey.

She added, "Yes, when girls have got you surrounded and you're just in those drooping old Y fronts threatening to sag to your knees and we're watching with our beady eyes...yes, Jack, you really want it to happen, don't you?"

The boy, in a trance, nodded his head.

Oh, what a shaming admission, he thought.

"You want to be trapped naked? Yes? By girls like us?"

He nodded again. He sunk into the shame.

"Just like the boy in that picture, forced out of all his clothes at the nudist colony. And surprised by the two old dames, coming up close and getting an eyeful? Goodness, that's got your quacking with excitement all over, hasn't it?"

It was not something he could deny. Shut eyed, Jack was silent.

"Hasn't it, Jack? Soooo excited..."

The pressure on his cock head was tighter. The tingling in his balls almost unbearable.

"...you had to strip off completely and touch your tallywhacker until you spilt your spunk just as we walked in? And caught you at it, all naked?"

He nodded, submissive...

...like a naughty boy, caught out by two maiden aunts. Found by them to be masturbating over some wicked literature...exposed naked...forced to sit between the old ladies and give an account of himself.

"Next time Julia has you on a chair fixing light bulbs, you will let her whisk down those Y fronts, especially if we're visiting. And when she plans that picnic with her aunt, and some of us, you'll let us strip you clean...and spend the day in the forest in your birthday suit? With us, dressed while we keep you buck naked?"

Jack was close to fainting with the images, shocking and thrilling at the same time, and the feel of their fingers...

...their finger nails around the groves of his ballsac...

...around the tip of his cock...

Sensing something, both girls increased the speed of their manipulations.

"Will you let us watch, Jack?"

Olivia quickened the massage of his corona.

Oh, the tantalising feel of fingers on his bellend, his ballsack...

"And, Jack, with your landlady and her niece out for the afternoon- for the next hour at least- are you going to be a really good boy and show us your jock strap and walk with us downstairs, and let us watch from the kitchen while you go out into the backyard wearing nothing else..."

As she painted this tantalising picture Millie made her finger nails flick over his ballsac lighter and faster.

Jack shook all over...

He felt the rising in his prick...

Hell! In the backyard...in his Bike jockstraps...bare bottom defined by those tight straps...cock stretching the knitted cup...

...the sexy Mrs Lacey peeking again from behind the curtain!

A new thrill ran through his whole being.

And he suddenly let forth a gush...

...oh god, he thought, I can't help it...

...a big shot sending a whole glob of boy's emission to splatter on his chest...a second on his tummy...and a third to half shoot, half dribble into his glistening black bush.

Later, mopped up by the girls- oh hell, it was like those maiden aunts were washing their naughty nephew- and with his doused pyjamas left on the blanket like crucial evidence at a murder scene, Jack was led by Millie and Olivia into the kitchen. He wore only his Bike jockstraps, its straps boldly defining his bottom cheeks. He was trembling with what they had threatened, especially when Millie opened the back door and gestured Jack through...and into the back yard.

"Go and check the weeds," she whispered into his ear.

"And make sure you spend a lot of time bent over," giggled Olivia.

He descended the steps, knowing his glutes were entirely exposed to the gaze of their neighbours if the Laceys were at their window or back steps.

He felt the thrill of air circulating around his barely covered middle and the sun on his arse.

He bent and squatted. He inspected the leaves of the cauliflowers and poked at the soil. He positioned himself to give the girls in the doorway the optimal view of his arse and its muscles, bending right over to check for caterpillars. One glance over his left shoulder showed the girls in the doorway laughing soundlessly at the sight of his exposed bum cheeks. And what they may have seen in the cleft between them.

Millie caught his eye and mouthed the instruction: "Strip!" She combined this with a gesture of pulling pants down. He looked puzzled. She then mouthed it again: "Strip!" She repeated the gesture of pulling down pants.

He gulped.

And he had no alternative except...there in the backyard...not knowing who might be looking from the Lacey household...to face the girls from the middle of the vegetable patch...and slide his Bike jockstraps down to his knees...

...releasing a rising cock from its woven cup.

Boing!

His stiffie sprang free.

The girls doubled with laughter.

He thought of how in his bedroom they had trapped him, nude and masturbating. How they had been captivated by his organs- his meat and veg, on display in his lap- handling him and mopping up his spunk. He thought of how, just then, they had ordered him to slide his Jockstraps down and make him stand nude...

...and in response...

...despite the two earlier explosions...

...his tallywhacker had sprung to full stand.

Another stonk-on. A real stiffie.

And at that very moment he allowed his eyes to drift leftwards...

...to the house next door...

...to see...

...George Lacey framed in their upstairs window, himself naked except for Y fronts...

...but tented with an unmistakable erection.

His own stonk-on.

His own boner.

As in a stage drama- say, a Victorian melodrama that Jack's grandma might have told him about, or Aladdin and his Lamp and other pantos Jack might have been taken to see from the cheapest seats in a West End theatre- the rest of the theatre darkens and a beam of light falls on a stage villain high in the mise en scene so for Jack, at this moment, everything gave way except the sight framed in the upstairs window next door.

Notably, the granite carved breast plate chest and chiselled abs in the full stomach...

...the handsome face under the Elvis hair style, oiled and swept into place...

...those Y fronts with the tent pole jutting...

Of course, all was confirmed. The body builder striding from pool to weights room. The V-shaped back. The Steve Reeves-look alike. The thigh muscle that had pressed against his, in the darkness and steam. "Home to wifey" and "Just what mates are for."

Then suddenly...

...over George Lacey's shoulder, his wife Darlene coming into view, wide eyed...

...and as she looked down hypnotised by Jack a milk white breast fell out of her open house gown, embellished with a rubbery pink nipple...

She stared, then...

Retreated.

To what end?

To do what?

Her purpose was vouchsafed when her dainty hands appeared on either side of her husband's hips...

...at his elastic band...

...and suddenly, in the window frame, George's Y fronts vanished- whoosh, down and over his hips- as if by stage magic.

And as his eyes bulged, his statuesque, white erection sprang free with a fat glans pressed against the glass.

Squashed against the glass.

As if planting a kiss.