Rodney's Nude Humiliation Ch. 08

In fact right now Rodney may have been a captive Cherokee brought back to be inspected by matronly ladies in a museum society.

"Yes, so much nicer, I think, without a rear flap."

There was a murmur of approval with Mrs Ricketson's assessment of her son's appearance.

Although, she added, the old costume hardly covered anything. "When it swayed, you saw all his cleft."

There was a tinkle of giggling.

Rodney wilted. But had, now, a more immediate concern. His penis hardened. Stretched.

Mrs Tina Grey found herself wishing that Mrs Ricketson would make Rodney bend right over and part his buttocks, the way she made her son George do on the pretext of inspecting his cleanliness but, in truth, to humiliate him deeply, getting a touching glimpse of his dime-sized pucker. Which he hated his mother to see. She even poked at it with her index finger.

Mrs Humphrey spoke up, loud enough to be heard by Rodney.

"And Rodney, do you and your friends like the costume they've designed for you?"

The boy was mute.

"Rodney, answer Mrs Humphrey!"

He choked on the answer he thought his mother wanted.

"All right...I guess."

He could hardly say otherwise. Meanwhile his penis had pumped out, hard as a roof beam, parallel to the floor, the useless flap thrust to the left.

Fortunately the ladies, staring at his ass, could not see it.

One of them was talking again.

"There, you see, that's what I think. A bit of embarrassment but in the end they enjoy showing themselves off to females, especially to girls their own age. Like young Milly here."

It was the smokey catch in the voice of Mrs Glover. She continued,"Mrs Riley? Know Mrs Riley? She thinks some boys really relish stripping off. Enjoy showing what they've got. Even if there's a bit of shame along the way."

A general murmur of interest.

Yes, said Rodney's Mom, she knew Mrs Riley's views. Had attended her afternoon teas where her theories of teenage discipline were being discussed, debated, refined. She said she was seriously thinking of applying them- that is, to Rodney, if his behaviour didn't improve, and his grades.

"Oh," said Mrs Bailey, "Were you at Mrs Riley's when she had young men in trouble with the police working off their misbehaviour? I must say, that was a real treat, the time I went."

There was a deep murmur. No woman in Brewer was unaware of the full nude punishments meted out to young males, forced to labor in the verduous Riley garden behind its tall, ivy-clad brick walls. About half had thrilled through her poolside cocktails, drinks being served by youths, buck naked. Males Rodney's age. Legs rubbing the skirts of the mature age women. Quickly becoming obdurately erect.

Mrs Ricketson confirmed that yes, she had witnessed the distinctive punishment for local delinquents. The humiliation of going totally stripped off, in front of women like their mothers, had guaranteed they never offended again. Although there were exceptions.

Milly took a deep breath. She asked, "Does Rodney like wearing his costume, Mrs Ricketson? Does he like showing himself?"

The girl swallowed at her own daring. Enjoyed seeing Rodney

jolt with embarrassment as he absorbed her question.

Rodney's Mom thought about her response. From her position, seated at the far reach of the circle of bridge players, she could see the answer to Milly's question: her son was now sporting an erection, jutting at 45 degrees. None of the others could see it. The expression, "hard as a hat peg" came to mind. And he was disgracefully trailing fluid, from the tip of his penis to the carpet, dangling like a string.

So here they were again. Just like in the fitting room that time or modelling his old costume when Mrs Riley was present, Rodney had once again got himself defiantly stiff, and couldn't help himself. Pathetic really. And deserved punishment for it. Right now he was blushing like a fire hydrant, eyes watering, lower lip trembling uncontrollably. He was fearing the moment when his mother would tell him to turn around. The simplest answer to the mischievous girl's question was simply to ask Rodney do just that, to turn around.

His rigid penis would indict him.

But Mrs Ricketson was caught- caught in a conflict of disloyalties. Keenly she wanted to see her son humiliated. Oh yes, she knew she was being cruel to him: yet she, too, had her half-hidden desires and erotic urges. Seeing her own awkward teenage boy subject to full nude punishment in front of females was a thrill for her, a kink, a quirk- call it what you will. Yes, she conceded to herself, it was something she day-dreamed about, dwelt on when she pleasured herself under the blankets or in the bath. It, yes, got her, a divorced mother, extremely excited. Extremely.

She couldn't think of a swifter, more devastating game than making him present his erection right now, making him stand close and put it on inspection. Have her dozen bridge-players lean in and breath all over it; render him faint and tearful, with questions about what makes him erect, his circumcision status, whether his foreskin pulls back easily.

There would be five minutes of conversation back and forwards about the fact of his pre-ejaculatory fluid- goodness, his penis was now as damp as a sapling glistening with morning dew.

Inevitably one of the mature ladies- oh, yes, she could see this happening, certainly Bev Bailey or Sally Glover- would ask permission to handle it. She could see their painted finger nails reaching eagerly while her boy trembled. Leaning in so close, they would be exhaling their cigarette smoke all over its proud length. Yes, with what lubricious awe would they feel its sculpt glans, its splendid girth, its drooping sack. And, God, the interest that this Milly would take in it, peering through those inch-thick specs! I could, if I wanted, invite the girl to juggle his testicles, see the balls jiggle. How she would love that. Mrs Ricketson looked at Milly and thought she could see a trail of spittle on the girl's chin: Jesus, she was drooling at what she saw of her son's cleft and shapely backside! Down below she would be as damp as a duck.

On the other hand, why should the old girls and this ferociously unattractive maiden be vouchsafed this pleasure? What had they done to deserve it? They had never let her inspect their own sons. And when it came to her son's penis- so fleshy, so stalwart- why should she share it? Those wide pumping ventral and dorsal veins belonged to her, and the smaller zig zag ones. All hers- every inch of the broad white beam of the stem. And the mushroomy head, let alone the drooping, dragging capaciousness of his scrotal sack and its twinned contents.

They belonged to her son, and to her, as his doting if stern Mom.

No, my friends, another time. But not today.

"Oh, I think Rodney's like any of them. Alternately ashamed and...yet, I think, proud. Certainly, Milly, we're all coming to the view the only punishment for young males involves some element of nudity. Nudity in the presence of females. As I imagine you will discover when you have your own sons..."

Sadly Milly saw only diminishing prospects of procreation. Which was why right now, her panties were sopping as she participated in the nude humiliation of Rodney Ricketson.

Except...

His mother suddenly pronounced he had to get to his room. He had to start homework and, relieved beyond belief, hands in front of his groin, Rodney instantly vaulted around the corner into the hallway, taking off like a young gazelle fleeing wolverine predators.

Only Miss Reynolds and Mrs Bailey caught a tantalising glimpse of a fleshy projection, being pressed back into his groin with desperate hands.

In his bedroom he breathed easy at his narrow escape.

And back to the door, jacked off quickly with the faces of the females dancing in his mind. Their fiendish eyes, mocking laughs, pointed fingers.

His mother treated him kindly that night. There was no hint of him modelling in front of his sister or cousin or going around the house nude. She had saved him from acute humiliation, seemed proud of her benignity. She tousled his red hair and laughed at him for being concerned his styled flat top had been disturbed.

The next day after school Rodney was dawdling home, with Stevie Lynton, Kerry Fulbright and Mark Campbell. He was telling them about the inspection. He described how he had stood there in the tiny flap, how he felt their eyes all over his exposed cock, how viciously they laughed, how he couldn't help getting stiff.

Walking alongside his pals, telling them this story- about Milly Slink's stares, about the shameful inadequacy of the flap, about presenting his bare ass- he couldn't avoid noticing a bulge spring up in Stevie's fly, and a broader jutting in Mark's trouser leg. Kerry's elegant six inch prick famously slanted to the right; his bulge jerked sideways to his pocket. Like him, they were alternately panicked and thrilled.

The boys said they expected to be inspected at home in their new costumes soon. Mark already suffered his Mom showing family and friends the photo album crammed with pics of him at nude swim meets, with many shots of him erect or half erect up on the blocks or walking by the pool, even close-ups of his prick and balls. "Even our Negro maid gets to look," he lamented. "They'll make me pose in that loin cloth anytime. Oh, and they'll include her."

"That magazine store in St Paul? One I told you about..? "

It was on First Street, where Stevie went to buy mainly Scandinavian nudist magazines, kept under the counter by the shifty-eyed, whiskey-breathing owner. Stevie admitted to being addicted to this literature, especially since he had been discovered by the maid masturbating over the magazines. The maid had told his two sisters. And his sisters, every Saturday with their mother out at bridge, now forced him to strip off. Then they ordered him to "play with himself," the lubricious black and white pictures spread on the coffee table. The girls got excited watching their kid brother reached a noisy, splashy climax, confirming Stevie in exciting notions of being nude in the company of fully dressed females.

"...well, I went there Saturday, and I've got some new ones."

He gestured at his school bag.

The eyes of Rodney, Kerry and Mark swam with prurient interest.

Rodney calculated.

"My sister and cousin are away at camp. Mom is in Cathage at an auction, won't be back till six..."

They had paused on Pierce Street, outside the Parkway Motel. Mark was getting more aroused. His penis now poked out at the front of his loose fitting flannels. A passing mother, pushing a pram, stared hard. He placed his battered brief case over it. He swallowed, determined.

"We can go to your place."

"Yeah, let's," said Kerry.

Resolved, they marched through Brewer's oak and elm-lined streets as briskly as Marine recruits. They allowed Rodney to unlock the front door of his home- excitingly dark and silent- and followed him down the hallway into his bedroom, with its sporting trophies, pennants and model planes. Without pause Stevie produced half a dozen magazines from his bag, like a magician producing pigeons. The covers showed big busted middle age women under the mastheads: Sundial, Naked Life and Nature People.

Four obdurate erections immediately stabbed at the front of the boys' pants.

"My favorite! Look!"

Stevie opened Sundial at a full page pic of a woman the age of their Moms shoulder to shoulder with a teenage boy. The woman, beaming wolfishly, was curled and coiffed as if just out of a hair salon. It made her nudity the more brazen: her balloon bosoms hanging low with outsize aureole that could have been drawn with crayon and a tangled rainforest of black pubic hair under a broad swathe of belly. She seemed set to devour the slender, frightened-looking kid with his auburn curls and freckled face and shoulders, looking wholesome as fresh milk, or like an extra just off the set of Leave It To Beaver. His pubic bush was a third that of the woman's and from it hung a stubby penis, its glans invisible under tapered overhang. His cock was cute as a button, certainly she seemed to think so.

"She's an aunt, or sumthin'?" questioned Mark.

"Mother?" speculated Rodney, his bulge jolting.

"Got a dirty mind, looking him over," was Kerry's view.

"Looks embarrassed, don't he?" said Stevie, rubbing his trouser front.

"I'd say. You'd be too. She's looking right at it! Thinking that's a nice little prick!"

"Yeeeeah," said Rodney. "Real embarrassed...like I was...in front of that bridge party, stripped off...12 of 'em lookin' me over, just like she's lookin' at him."

"Or me," offered Mark. "Having my bitch of a mother show the girls that album with about 30 pics of me nude, at the swim meet. And she shows it to aunts and neighbours and cousins. Spreads it out for them. Then with me in the room looks me in the eye as if to say, hope you feel shamed, they're all looking at you nude."

Stevie was mesmerised by the magazine and the photo of the lady and the slightly-built 18 year old.

"Totally stripped off. In his birthday suit. Looks like his family forced him to go nudist. And she's closed in to..."

"To check him out!"

"Fuck! Wouldn't you want to drop dead?"

With that Mark, gazing hypnotised at the picture, started unbuckling his belt. Stevie had already undone his and loosened his waist and was pushing his trousers down his legs, revealing the tenting in his white underwear. Kerry's jeans and underpants were at his ankles in a flash; his elegant penis leant to the side, eager for attention. Moisture glistened on its tip.

"And look this over!" ordered Rodney. He held Naked Life open at a page that showed a thin young fella hauling himself from a pool being surrounded by frisky girls and a hefty matron, her melon breasts sagging to her waist. She grinned like a crocodile, her bulbous eyes greedily focused on the wet male's petite uncut penis and whispy pubic hairs. Victorious in the pool, he was now exposed and looked abashed at the females moving in on him.

"Look, he's new too, forced to go with his family, and all the fuckin' dames want to get close to see his prick."

"And he hates it. Look at his eyes!"

It was too much for Rodney who hauled his khakis off and stepped out of them, clawed his boxers off too, throwing them over his shoulder. He was fully naked, feeling his nine inch erection, totally consumed in the humiliation of nudist youth.

Another picture fired them. It showed a family troupe. Father had a meaty figure and a short, slender, circumcised dick; his teenage son too, was small- a sliver of a tube in front of a petite, hairless globe. Mother and daughters, a couple of frolicsome female cousins, too, it seemed, posed beaming: each had an hour glass figure, showing off their perky, bouncy tits. Behind this line-up a tall athlete stepped out in profile oblivious to the family, a pythonesque penis tumbling the length of his thighs, stopping near his knees.

"Fuuuuuuuck!" snorted Stevie. "What do the women folk think when they see that guy go past! How humiliating for Daddy...for their brother! Bet he gets teased! 'Our brother's got the smallest prick in the nudist camp!' You can hear them! Or they might say, 'Mom, how come Daddy's pee-wee is like a little boy's. Not big like that man's there?' Humiliating!"

He had quickly unbuttoned his blue, button-down shirt and flung it aside. His buddies followed, ripping at the pages all the while. They were soon a hundred percent stripped off. In their birthday suits.

"Fuck! Look at this!"

Mark had found a picture of a boy lying on his tummy on sand, his freckled face looking up helpless, desperate. Five cheeky girls and women were standing like hunters who had bagged game. One playful teenage girl- vaginal lips smiling through golden pubic curls- was planting her foot on his left buttock.

"Fuck! The bitches have got him trapped. Trapped!"

"You can see he's panicking- he doesn't want them to see his stuff," said Kerry. "But the bitches have got him! Trapped!"

Mark was jerking furiously now, tumbling out the words: "...yeah, trapped! That's like they do with us...here in Brewer...trapped when we're swimming nude...trapped when we're in those loin cloths...trapped at those school medicals...trapped naked...when they're dressed..! They all love it!"

"Yeeeeah!" breathed Stevie, heavily. "Moms, teachers, sisters...fuckin' maids...they all love it, trapping us...nude!"

His fist devoured his stiff little penis.

"Imagine how...I feel...when my sisters and their friends...get to see the swimming shots of me...totally nude...in the family album...they see everything..."

Mark was burbling his complaint.

Naked, they fell to their knees, jacking off at the magazines spread over the bed cover.

Rodney was jerking desperately, eyes glued to a picture of a long lean suntanned boy, seated outside a hut, back to the camera. In front of him towered a wide-hipped, big-breasted Mom in straw hat grinning as she looked right into his lap. That boy, too, seemed trapped.

The image was making Rodney swoon.

"Or in those fuckin' loin cloths...those flaps...even worse...making us show our pricks and balls...turn around...and show the fuckin' bitches our asses!"

Rodney threw his left arm around Stevie's shoulder, and Stevie around Mark's, pals seeking comfort. For his part Mark reached down and cupped Kerry's balls, gave them a gentle tug with his left hand, while continuing to quickly pleasure himself with his right. They were buddies, college freshmen or new Marine recruits in a circle jerk off.

Spurred by the photos the four were approaching climax.

And just outside the bedroom, Mrs Ricketson, home early from Carthage where her auction had been cancelled, having on some instinct tip-toed down the corridor, was seeing everything. The mirror on the half-open door of the bedroom cupboard projected the bacchanalia into her line of vision while she remained out of sight. And Rodney's Mom was hearing every foul, sick word.

Her first thought: how correct her good friend Mrs Reilly was about teenage boys. Yes, dear Mrs Reilly. The richest widow in Brewer with her priceless heritage home in its gorgeous walled garden, who chain smoked and declared cigarettes good for mental processes, who sipped a watered Scotch throughout the day, who travelled the world ceaselessly collecting information about customs and practices that would make one's hair stand on end.

And who paid Police Commissioner O'Mallory a fat donation to his favorite charity to have young male delinquents work off their crimes, naked in her garden.

And who convened afternoon teas of lady friends to talk about nude punishment of their sons.

And- this was the salient point- who had insisted that it was every mother's duty to supervise (even, she had said, "assist") her son's masturbation because boys could not resist their compulsions and would do it anyway. In fact left unsupervised boys recruited pornographic literature and their own schoolmates to help. Why, look at the scene before her! Orchestrated by her son, cunningly, because he no doubt calculated she would be at Cathage till dinner time. The four boys frenzied like spider monkeys! Stripped entirely nude- her son's bedroom a mess of underwear and shirts. Babbling filth about mothers, about nudity! Gripping one another by the shoulders to heighten their paroxysms and devouring the filth on the pages of those lurid magazines! Images of women like her!

And she, only yesterday, had been so nurturing of her son. So maternal, protecting him from full-bodied exploration from that room of old crones.

This was how he repaid his own mother.

Her resolve was quick. Her plan clear.

First, to arrest them in their activity and hold them naked with magazines displayed until each of their mothers had been summoned. Second, to have those mothers join her in a good old fashioned spanking. Oh, a hard spanking. Indeed to have each mother spank the others' boys, getting to relish close-up the nakedness of the other sons- a veritable festival of hairbrush, leather belt and palm-delivered chastisement. Over the knee mother-style, and with boys standing hands on heads, or standing bent, bottoms projected backwards, or lying on the bed legs raised and bottom tilted: every technique and position, until they had these naked males howling. Really howling. Third, to march them off to Mrs Reilly's next afternoon tea where, in front of 30 so so ladies, they could suffer some more punishment and be professionally eased into a new mother-centric punishment regime. That included supervised or, if they liked, "assisted" masturbation.