Jack Struggles in his Y Fronts

And fingers reached out to trace the inflammation on his arse...

...(he jolted at the first touch)...

...and to feel the heat.

Was that Mrs McCaffery's hand gently moving over his left buttock? Was that Jenny insinuating her palm into his hot crack? And who was tickling up and down his right cheek- a brazen Mom? Or one of the aroused, virginal sisters? Touching a boy's nether region for the first time? And who was exploring the gluteal fold? Gently, admiringly. Along with the excruciating pain he felt other emotions. And what boy wouldn't, his bottom being the centre of such female affection and concern?

Gerda withdrew Sun and Health from his hand.

"Patricia, take Jack to the bathroom and run a bath. I can't send him home in this condition."

She gestured at his silvery torso.

Jack kept his eyes on the floor as he followed the girl out.

Behind he heard Gerda say to her audience, "Well, there goes a healthy young man, to the eye at least. An athlete, in the peak of virility and strength. But he's excited by humiliation at the hands of females. This photo that he loves so much, says it all."

Patricia Baths and Spanks Jack

The worn tiles of the bathroom presented an institutional air, like that of a home in Ireland for unwed mothers or an underfunded orphanage. The Edwardian bath stood on clawed legs, its enamel exposed in several spots. The room smelt of cheap soap and permanent damp. Unwholesome.

Patricia ran a cold bath, turning back to eye the polluted and shamed youth sheltering his groin.

The smell of his coltish deposit hung in the air between them.

"You are..." she ventured. "So disgusting."

She shook her head incredulously.

He shuffled with shame.

She told him to sit in the bath. His softened dick flopped as he stepped in. He sat, legs drawn up, trying to be modest. Pointless, because the girl had seen everything. She took a heavy, red rubber apron from the wall and put it on. Then she pulled up a four legged, cork-topped stool and, sitting down, started slowly to soap his chest, with its congealing sperm.

Round and round his bulging pecs- those half coconuts- she circled with the heavy bar of yellow soap. Then she ran the edge of it across his nipples. He jolted. She noticed. She lingered at the task. Back and forth, over those medallions on his pectorals. Then the nipples inflated, just popped up.

"Goodness! Look at them! Look at them stand up! Just like a pregnant mother!"

He cringed, with shame...at having female titties. And pleasure, at having them explored. And talked about.

She continued to move the soap back and forward, only now with a tickling and teasing motion, moving the soap across the boy's big pleasure buttons.

His eyes glazed.

What boy's wouldn't?

"You gave us all a very large...ejaculation." She struggled with the textbook word.

I'm on the way to another, he thought, if you keep working on those nipples.

"Didn't you, you naughty young fella?"

He nodded submissively. And, like any naughty boy after a spanking, smiled bravely, letting himself be teased and mocked by one of the female witnesses.

She ruffled his hair. Silly boy, her gesture seemed to say.

She continued the baby dialect, like an exasperated nursery maid.

"There was so much! It just kept coming and coming. Didn't it? All that gooey stuff! All that..."

She returned to the soaping.

"...all that naughty boy's sperm! What a naughty, naughty, naughty little man..."

She worked the soap around his navel, round and round, quite vigorously.

"Yes, it just shot out all over the place, all over you! So hot and bothered by that naughty picture in...what's the name of the awful magazine?"

"Sun and Health," he stuttered, in an adolescent under-voice.

"Yes, we all saw it...a picture...goodness, of a nudist camp...and of a nude young man...all his clothes taken off him...surrounded by big ladies..."

She was soaping on his lower tummy, just above his pubic bush.

"Big ladies. Old ladies. And him, just a naked young man. So embarrassing for him, stark naked...ladies all around..."

The soap slipped from her hand. Opps! And her little fingers started exploring...

...around his groin.

He gulped.

Her fingers grasped at his hair...felt the edge of the scrotum...for a second, took in the roundness of a fat testicle...

He gasped.

...she even flicked the upper stem...of his cock!

...and finally rescued the soap where it had lodged, at the interstices of his thigh.

She resumed soaping his belly, those tight, defined abs.

"When you look at the photo do you see the naked boy, and think that's me there? All stripped off? Clothes miles away? On your own...no other fellas...with ladies looking at you and your little 'todger?' You, not a stitch to your name? All embarrassed, and them enjoying the sight- of your little 'todger?'"

He gulped at her use of the Manchester slang. He nodded.

"So that gets you excited? That makes you go all aflutter...all tingly...here in your tummy?"

She worked the soap around his tummy.

He nodded. He was guilty as charged.

She went lower.

She was working the soap just at his "timber line." He was delirious.

"Those other boys love pictures of ladies in their underwear, especially if it's all frilly...that's what makes them go all tingly...and anything to do with a woman's...titties..."

She whispered the last word.

He thought he should clarify.

"I...I..."

"Yes?"

"I get excited by those too...sometimes..."

"Oh, you are a naughty little boy!"

Her hand ventured into his pubic bush, round and round.

His cock lengthened like a Venezuelan water snake.

She scrubbed round his bush, and didn't say anything when his rising flesh nudged it. She chattered away.

"One boy- Richard, has a little tallywhacker, not enormous like your's. A real tiny one. Nice in its own way. He's 28- and got caught looking at a magazine with stories about naughty boys being spanked at public schools. His mother caught him pants down, spanking himself with a ruler. And there's a boy who comes here, red haired and thin but with a big tallywhacker like your one...called Garry..."

Jack jerked. Had to be Garry Stimson, now his gym buddy.

"...his mother caught him with pictures of men in skimpy little swimsuits, showing off their muscles. She brought them with her and Gerda made him own up. He said they made him excited...and he wanted girls to see him in his g-strings! Now that's queer..."

Jack stiffened.

Her soaping now encroached on his prick, half erect.

"Stand up."

He rose, water sluicing off. His rod stood parallel, veins prominent, insatiable, insistent.

She soaped a cloth and, with a tremble of prurient awe, reached out and enclosed his tube. Or part thereof.

He was, by any test, altogether clean.

She got up and went to the door and closed it.

"I want you to get out and come and take a spanking from me. Over the knee...now."

She repositioned the four legged stool in the middle of the room and sat down, smoothing the heavy, red, rubber apron.

"Here, across me..."

And she signalled at her lap.

He shyly lifted himself from the bath, clearly embarrassed that as he did his rod jerked up to stand out at 45 degrees. He paused and then lowered himself over the rubber apron that sheathed her knees. He pressed his erection into the hard, wet surface. His hands and feet touched the damp tiles, his rounded arse cheeks filled her lap like a cannibal banquet. Hanging there, his nostrils filled with the fragrance of the heavy rubber. Quiet gently she gripped his left wrist with her own left hand, pressing it into his lower back. With her right, she pressed down on the backs of his thighs.

He gave in to the sensations this aroused. He felt...trussed, like a sacrificial ox.

It felt...delicious.

"Ready?" she asked.

"Yes."

Smack. Not a hard one but it left a bright-pink blotch across Jack's roundest part. Smack. Now its twin, half-overlapping, arrived to join it. Smack- a little lower than the first. Smack- a little lower than the second. She changed target. Smack- that was across the middle of his right thigh. Smack- across the left thigh. Smack- fair and square and full-palmed across the lower part of his bottom.

His glutes trembled, earthquake-like. The stinging was electric.

Smack! Smack! Smack!

His bottom was tender from earlier slapping and slashing and he twisted at the last one and his "Oh, that hurt!" coincided with the next smack which was more or less where the first one had been. Smack! Patricia was working "around the clock" which meant a circuitous tour of the most smackable parts of a big boy's bottom which now writhed on her lap.

Smack! She placed her slaps with accuracy and deliberation and then built up steam. Striking with full strength, and striking faster. The rhythm built up. Now Jack- such a strong young man- was wriggling energetically and making little mewing sounds like a cat.

With what pride Patricia looked down at the large muscular bottom- twisting and rising, burrowing and withdrawing, heaving and subsiding- to see it glowing red all over, a vivid scarlet twisting on the ochre-red of the rubber apron.

So Jack was transported, rubbing against Patricia's thighs so alluringly sheathed in hard, damp rubber, under the resolute shower of crisp, fast slaps applied to his upturned seat- his offered seat- still lingeringly wet from the bath.

Smack! Smack! Smack!

Jack was wriggling like a mad thing and his cries were persistent and his pleadings sincere. But Patricia knew what she needed to do and kept up the chastisement, her hand burning. And she now started chiding him in baby language which she had learnt from watching her mother with her brothers, big strong boys who had required spanking over their mother's knees till their early 20s.

She told him what he looked like across his knee and how much he deserved it. He had, after all, been a very, very bad boy. Hadn't he? That photo! That magazine! That ejaculation- in front of all of them! And soooo much of that gooey stuff! His sperm! Sperm, oh my goodness! She called him a Babby and the part of him she was smacking his Botty. Speaking like the archetype of all exasperated nursery maids- tender, teasing, triumphant in turn- she communicated her focus and urgency, reducing him to a pool of shame.

Rubbing his cock on the slippery wet rubber to relieve the stinging, Jack certainly understood focus...

...oh yes, rubbing himself into her rubber-sheathed lap...

...real focus...

and urgency.

His mission, to relieve the accumulation of stinging in his cheeks, became more urgent.

And still more urgent.

His focus was intense.

Then something happened.

His whole body stiffened.

His pleadings turned to gasps.

She felt his shoulders go first- that unmistakeable wobble as the lungs slide into spasm. Then he went limp, and the whole tone of his skin changed in an instant. He hung across her lap and wept with all his heart.

Minutes later Jack was squatting on the floor, head in her lap. Playing with his hair, she remarked on the "new mess" he had made on the rubber.

"There's no stopping you, is there? Once you get hot and bothered? You being without clothes in front of ladies and getting you naughty big boy's bottom smacked like now? All that extra gooey stuff on my apron...and in your hairy bits. I'm going to have to mop you down again, aren't I?"

And he had to agree. Just as he had to agree that it was a very good thing that Gerda had instructed Patricia that she would be in charge of Jack's spanking on his next few visits. And even that Gerda had suggested to Mrs Ellroy that extra weekly spankings for Jack, if his errant behaviour continued, might be administered at her home in Eccles Street as the girl needed practice and Gerda's elbows were in chronic rheumatoid pain from the daily punishments administered to Manchester's boys.

"But we've got to hope you can be a better boy. Because I surely hope I don't have to visit your home and strip you down and take you over my lap, just like now."

And Jack surely hoped the same, he said.

Or so they both avowed.

At Home, and the Changes

At home that night Jack, subdued but suffused, sat at the kitchen table in his Y fronts, one of the old, infirm ones that threatened to fall whenever he stood. Julia forked the fired fish into her thin lips, occasionally pausing to draw on her Chesterfield. Mrs Ellroy sipped milky tea and talked about the changes.

Yes, Julia was indeed off to Ceylon to manage her firm's factory workforce of male employees. Her disciplinary instincts might be richly fulfilled, fuelled by what her aunt called her "research." The booklet she had been reading, thought Jack, must count as research. And the house would be receiving a new female lodger to help Mrs Ellroy. She would be Jenny...yes, the pretty girl who had accompanied her brother and mother to Gerda's and who Mrs Ellroy said she had got to know, with her nice mother, not only there but in the Orange Lodge.

Jenny? With the smokey grey eyes, the plump breasts? The cheeky sister who inserted her palm in his crack and said he smelt like her horse? Whose eyes had roamed all over his nude body during the punishment? Taking Julia's place? In the household? Here? Jack swallowed his shock even as his mind raced.

"A lovely young lady, looking for new digs now that her parents are retiring to a farm in the Cotswolds. She works part-time in an office and is happy to help with the household.

"And with her help I can take in two new lodgers."

Jack's eyes widened.

"A 19 year old sponsored by the church. From Jamaica. Here to do medicine. Oh yes, a black boy...one who wants an education so he can return and help his people. But no, not stay in England. They don't belong. But they say he's clean and obedient and doesn't smoke, drink or gamble and and he'll obey rules. Our rules."

Jack sat astonished.

"And he's a cricketer. The photo suggests a real, young athlete and good all-rounder."

Julia smiled wistfully. She would miss so much. But then...Ceylon. And the discipline of young gentlemen there, scores of them, in factory and household. It promised so much.

"The other boy you met today. The young boxer, Mrs Dedlock's boy? His mother wants to meet new male partners now she's been a widow for a decade and is keen to see him and his sister leave home though stay close-by."

Jack had a flash of Billy's short but very thick erection, parallel to the floor. Of his football-shaped buttocks and loose black chest hair. And his horror when Jack told him what his landlady did to him- keeping him in his underwear.

"And, yes, Jack. Their mums want them disciplined just like we do with you. So...from next Sunday, two new roommates. In Y fronts too. Isn't that nice?"

Julia's smile celebrated a feast of jealousy, triumph, prurience.

Mrs Ellroy had one more surprise. She pushed Sun And Health across the table.

"And since you like nudism so much I've arranged an outing on the moors with the Partridges. In a few weeks. With the new boys settled in. All the males in their birthday suits, under summer sun. A few of the mothers said they would like it very much. The females of course..."

"...will stay dressed!" cut in Julia, beaming cruelly at Jack.

Jack instantly hardened in his Y fronts.

"Are there any of your mates who might, perhaps, like..."

"Yes, Garry Stimson," said Jack perhaps too quickly. "He's a painter and decorator I know at the Y. He likes...sun...fitness...outdoors. And..."

And?

The possibility hung.

"There's George...from next door. I'm sure Darlene would want to come too."

For a moment the faces of aunt and niece seemed locked in lascivious imaginings.

George, from next door.

"They invited me over...to look at TV. Tomorrow night. And play cards. I can ask."

A half truth. Jack was to visit, yes. But there would be no TV any more than on the other nights when Jack had visited, often stimulated by dances with Julia's frisky young friends. Or by a cruel humiliation before female visitors to the Ellroy house, his Y fronts slithering down his legs or a testicle slipping out of elastic forcing him to cover up. Or 20 minutes with his nose poked into Sun and Health or Young Adonis. Or a testosterone-stirring nude workout at the YMCA and erotic talk taking steam with Garry Stimson.

And after presenting with an erection tenting his dungarees or overalls one could be assured the only card game next door would be a dashed prelude before stripping off all their clothes and sinking, arm in arm and lips offered lips, into a big old worn-out settee. Adult games would ensue with luscious Darleen and George, her fire captain and weight-heaving, gym-addicted husband, which demonstrated to 18 year old Jack there were a variety of moist orifices to explore, and not just the one obvious one, and many ways to generate friction- more than he had dreamt, or Garry had described, and there was a path to be crossed where a participant gives in to the ecstasy of the moment and erotic initiatives yield up without rehearsal, joy following joy leading to the exhausted denouement that left them wondering whether their exaltations had penetrated two brick walls and alarmed the aunt and niece living next door.

But sufficient unto the day.

We draw a veil across this part of Jack's life, at least for the time being.

There will be enough happening in 5 Eccles Street to keep you, reader, and our caste of characters, engaged and deployed and close to fulfilled.