Rodney's Nude Humiliation Ch. 01

And the coach was always excited when female teachers entered the school pool when they were training. When the coach himself was nude, displaying his body builder physique and his nudist's suntanned ass and his small cock. In his shaven groin. Enjoying showing off but also seeing his boys get humiliated...ordering them get out of the pool when Miss Braithwaite their English teacher or Miss Alma Goodwin their maths teacher came in with some excuse to talk to the coach. And it was often the boy sheltering an erection- elbows on his knees while he was seated or front pressed to the wall of the pool- who he called on to demonstrate a dive, while the visiting female struggled to suppress a smile and hide her curiosity at the erection sprouting from the blushing youngster. And the boy- nude and erect- wanted to die off shame totally exposed in front of his own female teacher. Oh god, thought Rodney, the humiliation!

Twice it had happened to him. Out of the pool, on the orders of the coach, "Quick buddy!" That was when Mrs Goodwin, wearing a polka dot blue and white blouse with big bow, had ventured into the pool area to give the coach an invitation to some damn teachers' union meeting. "Stay and see our best diver," he had said. "Come on, Ricketson, up on the board!" And Rodney had no alternative but to rise from the pool, his broad-beamed, heavy-headed cock hard and poking parallel to the ground. And in front of the visiting female teacher- her eyes bulging- he had had to shuffle along the side of the pool, right under her gaze, and climb up onto the diving board, cock now upright, rigidly at full stretch, where Coach Compton had made him stand- frozen in place and time and on display- while he chatted with a plainly excited Mrs Goodwin about diving technique.

His schoolmates had smirked nervously at his distress, knowing that it might be them next, and Miss Goodwin had stared, eyelids fluttering, and forehead locked in a frown as if Rodney's erection was something with which she had a deep moral argument. Or it might have been sight of the plum-head on the cock or the dangling scrotum and full, heavy testicles. Whatever, coach had just stretched her visit out, chattered at great length, making the suffering boy stand there arms by his sides, manhood sprouting out of red curls, Alma Goodwin the old maid staring right at it, until he gave the direction for Rodney to dive. Ever since, Mrs Goodwin had blushed when she had seen Rodney in class or corridor- and guiltily dropped her gaze to his flies. Yes, every time, glared at his trouser front as if willing it to vanish and the boy to be revealed nude again.

It had been worse with Miss Braithwaite's visit. He had been sitting on a bench, elbows on his knees to shield his hardon- an erection brought about by his delicious fantasies, the usual ones about going to see a female doctor and being made to peel all his clothes off behind a screen and then emerge while she looked him over- and swimming nude in a rock pool with the fellas and being surprised by a party of girl guides. Girl guides with freckled faces and hair in plaits who held up the boys' abandoned clothes and demanded they emerge one by one from the water. Within seconds of thinking about these sweetly humiliatingly situations, he found his penis had bolted upright, throbbing.

Suddenly the handsome, gray-haired Miss Braithwaite had pushed open the steel door and was standing breezily talking with Coach Compton, nude as a newt, who looked thrilled at being exposed. Indeed his little penis was suddenly stretching from his shaven, suntanned groin, parallel to the floor. All around the pool terrified boys were turning their backs or sitting cross-legged so as not to be sighted by the lady, by common consent the school's sexiest teacher.

But within seconds the coach had called for Rodney and four others to mount the blocks and Rodney was shuffling past the attractive Miss Braithwaite, with whom he always harboured romantic thoughts- yes, his own English teacher, wearing her summery floral dress with wide skirts, throwing off a smell of perfume like his mother's. Yes, what a humiliation: his prick was almost slap bang against his abs, wobbling as he walked. He felt her amused eyes on his profile. Miss Braithwaite! For whom he had once brought flowers! "Why Rodney, what a lovely gesture," she had said, making him blush. Now she was seeing him not as the sweet boy who aspired to be her class pet but stark naked, naked as a jay...she was seeing his blazing red pubic hair...his ugly, hanging balls...his funny big-headed penis...and with a hardon!

When he and the others were on the blocks the coach made them stand still while he gave Miss Braithwaite an account of their swimming achievements, one after the other. "Now Rodney Ricketson," he had said. "Here's one of Brewer's most promising..." and while he enumerated Rodney's swimming career at length the lady teacher had never shifted her lambent, laughing eyes from Rodney's groin, smiling delightedly- whether at his agonised embarrasment or his erect, outsize genitals was unclear.

He thought, close to tears, of his foolish romantic notions about Miss Braithwaite, of his dreams and fantasies.

Now he was totally nude before her- a crude, comic naked youth- and she was laughing at him.

Never again would he be able to meet those eyes in classroom or corridor.

That damn coach, thought Rodney.

And now he wants us to compete wearing these...these...Speedos, one size too small, when they were already so damn small anyway!

"Are we gonna measure Rodney?" asked his sister, eyes shinning with lubricious thoughts, holding the Speedos in two hands. "Make sure they fit him?"

She may have been offering to take charge of the process.

Rodney was throbbingly erect. His hammer-hard prick was tenting his dungarees. He couldn't pull away from the table and stand there while they pulled a tape measure around his hips! They would see the unmistakeable bulge.

"No," said Miss Newbold. "I need to take him into a changing booth where..."

Where you can strip him, thought the females, wildly.

Where you will take my pants off, thought Rodney, terrified.

"...where we can do it properly."

Miss Rosalind Newbold was smug.

She had been doing this with Rodney's classmates all week: leading quaking boys off to changerooms where she would measure them for their swimsuits, with their Moms and sisters on hand waiting to inspect the accoutred young swimmers. She had been enjoying herself.

"Come on," she told him. "Into the fitting area. We'll leave your mother and the girls to look through the mens' swimsuits. Oh, there's a drawer here they will want to explore..."

And she pulled open a deep drawer.

"...you will love this. We don't display them but here are posing straps for boys who do body building and get photographed for the magazines- physique magazines. And for their Dads."

The females dived in.

What they hauled out horrified Rodney. And thrilled him at the same time.

His mother held up a petite white satin pouch attached to a string.

"Oh my god! So this is...a posing strap! So...TINY!"

His sister held a sturdier pouch, made of flannelette with ridged lines, attached to a thin elastic waist band.

"Goodness! I love them! A bit more cover for him in this one!"

"But...but...but..." His cousin was guffawing, holding a patch of pink cotton dangling from string. Pink!

She held it aloft. "Not much space in this...for a boy's 'organs of generation.' "

His mother had spread out several posing straps. "All of them leave all their bottoms uncovered...completely bare! There's nothing...at the rear!"

His mother beamed and swiped a glance at Rodney's rear, displayed in his tight dungarees. "Oh dear, I hope they're not embarrassed by that."

"Well," mused Miss Newbold. "These young body builders want all their features to be admired and, as your brother can no doubt confirm, that includes their gluteus maximus- or their rear ends- which they build up with exercises like squats, done with heavy weights on their shoulders. And in their competitions and changerooms and showers there's a lot of looking and admiring and comparing. In this respect they're just like girls. Oh yes, I know all this from Coach Compton..."

While the sales lady talked, the females kept excitedly rummaging. His mother now found a posing strap sewn from cream-coloured, knitted material. She said she thought the colour was "sweet." Rodney thought, "That one at least would cover my pubic hair!" But his sister held the smallest so far. It had an army camouflage design and was tiny, presumably made for an 18 year old of small physique signed up for the military. Perhaps a small-framed bugle boy. Rodney was horrified. There was no way it would hold his balls, let along his cock.

Meanwhile his cousin was giggling over one with pretty blue and white stripes. They're imagining how they would look on ME, thought Rodney.

"Know who makes these? A local lady. None other than Coach Compton's dear old Mom!"

Rodney swallowed this fact. The coach again. He was always letting drop that he knew the guy who produced Physique Pictorial and Young Adonis and leaving copies of these pocket size magazines in sight of the boys. They were full of black and white photos of fellas their age wearing these posing straps. Most of the guys had sneaked furtive looks. Rodney felt he was not the only one to find them interesting. And now this revelation- the coach's mother made the posing straps the boys in the magazines wore!

"I sold two yesterday to Mrs Campbell- the mother of Rodney's swimming buddy. She said what with all the talk about mothers disciplining their boys in new ways, she thought they might come in useful. If her Mark needs serious punishment, for bad grades or immoral behaviour. She can force him to strip down and wear one of them and leave him in them for an evening at home."

"Whaaat? Mark Campbell? Getting around the house with his bottom on display? And just this covering his front!"

Rodney's cousin was gasping with excitement. She now held a posing strap in loose white cotton which seemed to promise it would hang nice and low. Certainly below a boy's timberline, holding his sagging bundle as if in a neat package. A hammock...for a bulky young prick.

"Yes," said Miss Newbold. "For photographs and for punishment. With his sisters and their friends likely to glimpse him. No boy likes that. A sweet way to punish a boy."

Here she beamed at blushing Rodney, head hanging low.

"Anyway, off to the fitting rooms..."

And with the females bent over the treasure chest and its salacious contents Rodney was able to lean forward slightly- kind of double over- to disguise his bulge and shuffle along besides Miss Newbold, moving away from the display table to the other side of the store. The sales lady did not appear to notice the tenting of his pants. She held the Speedo swim suit.

Over his shoulder he heard his mother say, "Well girls, I don't think we can let Mrs Campbell and her girls have all the fun. Let's pick three for Rodney, three of the nicest!"

Rodney was appalled. Have all the fun! Making their sons get around in tiny posing pouches! How could they do that to their boys!

"I'd like to see Rodney in the pink one- goodness, it's so...small!" said his sister.

"And the stripes...that would give the poor boy a bit more cover," said his cousin. "Just a bit! Just a bit."

Rodney reeled from these comments. He shuffled along, slightly humped. But being bent over like this only drew the attention of the female shoppers they passed. A well dressed older woman in gloves and flower-box hat was choosing stockings and stared right at Rodney's bulge and appeared shocked. Behind her metal-framed spectacles her eyes widened like saucers. A mother with two 18 year old girls looking at summer blouses had to step back to allow Rodney and Miss Newbold through, and three sets of eyes settled on the boy's distorted flies. The girls looked enormously curious. They nudged one another.

My fuckin' hardon won't go down, the boy lamented to himself- just as he saw a female sales assistant- shit! It was snub-nosed Emma Blackburn from his class, who worked here after school. She was behind the underwear section and she cast a look in his direction and her eyes flickered instantly to his midriff and its blatant contents. Emma broke into a broad grin. Rodney Ricketson with a great bulge in his flies! And didn't he look ashamed! Wait till she tells everyone! And she noticed the tiny Speedo brief swinging from Mrs Newbold's hand and smiled even more broadly. He's gonna get stripped, she thought, and forced into those teensie, weensie swimmers! Oh, I wanna see that!

She looked up into Rodney's terrified eyes, this snub nosed girl from his class. She beamed. Rodney wanted to die.

At his side, Miss Newbold told him, "We'll just duck in the womens' fitting booths. They're closer..."

Before them was a corridor with a sign that read Fitting Booths Women and Girls.

"Errrr..."

Rodney had reservations. They were confirmed when two 18 year old girls bustled ahead of them with arms full of autumn-coloured sweaters to be tried on and admired in front of mirrors. And ahead of them, in the small, cramped corridor of changing booths, a group of hatted and gloved ladies was positioned, leaning in while a friend held dresses to her body before a mirror.

"Can't we go to the mens' section?" he gulped.

"No, save time. This is closer."

And Miss Newbold steered the boy to a booth while women and girls stared and grinned.

"A swim suit fitting? For one of our young athletes? Oh my!"

The inquiry came from one of the hatted ladies, maybe a mother of one of Rodney's friends. She looked the boy up and down. She seemed excited.

"Squeezing this young fella into one of your delightful racing briefs, Rosalind?"

A sales lady giggled as she bustled past and spoke those words, so unsettling to Rodney.

"Yes," said Miss Newbold, with a mocking hint of "yes, here we go again- these silly boys and their little swimsuits, what a chore," in her voice.

The atmosphere was full of perfume and the scent of womens' clothes. Being in this corridor, thought Rodney, was like hiding in his mother's closet.

Unseen by Rodney, Emma Blackburn, working in Logan's as a salesgirl after school, peered around the corner watching her shy schoolmate get ushered into the booth. On either side of her snub nose her eyes bulged and shone.

Rodney Ricketson! Getting stripped! For a fitting! Oh, Emma resolved, I wanna see this!

Miss Newbold was panting with her rather more mature excitement. Her connoisseur's excitement.

"There! Here we are. Now just get out of those clothes."

The words made Rodney freeze.

She whisked closed the flimsy cloth curtain.

In the tiny space there was a stool and a wall mirror.

Miss Newbold was so close he could feel her breath. He smelt her odour: the Chesterfield cigarettes, the perfume, and that mysterious womanly smell, intimate and sour.

She carefully perched her cats' eyes glasses on the bridge of her nose.

Rodney was petrified.

"Now the clothes...all of them...off!"

(To be continued.)