Rodney's Nude Humiliation Ch. 13

So twice a week the boys who were to play the Red Indians in Miss Cuff's school drama had to drag themselves down the echoing corridors of Grover Cleveland High and report to Miss Assam, the principal's secretary. They stood in front of her beetroot red and shuffling. She would mark their names, flash them a grim smile and send them to the second door on the left, a storeroom now converted to a little clinic. It was where the boys went to have their body hair shaved off, by the girl allocated to look after them: a different girl for each fella.

"Go in...and strip off," Miss Assam would say, her green eyes dancing in the direction of the boy's fly- chilling, because as the boys had learnt, they could hardly have a shaving session anymore than a medical inspection without Miss Assam finding reason to burst through the door with an inquiry or a form to fill, while her eager, roaming eyes searched out the nude male's groin.

Still blushing like a fire hydrant Rodney shuffled down the corridor, passing the hanging, fading photos of football and basketball teams from the 1920s and the display cases with sporting trophies and school mementoes; he passed the gold-framed photo of Hiram Q Mossbacher, school principal from 1923 to 1951, beaming above a polka dot bow tie. Rodney came to the second door on the left.

He knew who would be inside, with her shaving gear at the ready: Milly Slink who, in seven shaving sessions, had grown more confident, more assured, more deft. That is, at whisking off the stubble in his arm pits, from his groin and his scrotum.

While Rodney had grown more...

It was hard to find the words. But if naked exposure had shaken him with surges of terror and suffused him with feelings of joy it might be said that the suffused joy was becoming, well...to dominate. Yes, at the hands of Milly.

There she stood as he opened the door. Her eyes swam behind her Coke bottle lenses, her plaited hair stretched stiff in pink ribbons. These days she dressed up to shave Rodney- today, in pink blouse with pussy cat bow, wide tartan skirt, white ankle socks, loafers. She had even taken to wearing a pointy bra and high-waisted salmon pink panties she had smuggled home without her Baptist Mom getting a glimpse.

"Well, hullo Rodney. All ready...to be smoothed skinned?"

Her voice had a sing song quality.

It was the voice of a nurse, a matron, a teacher. A female...in charge. She had picked it up from Dr Speight, school doctor and Kinsey sex researcher.

Especially when she used the next locution.

Sometimes it was, businesslike, "Yes, slip out of your clothes." Sometime, cheerfully, she would chime, "Time to strip off then." And smile resignedly, as if to say here we go again, isn't this a chore. Or she might be as maternal as any mother with a first born boy, "Come on fella, outta those clothes. You know I can't shave you with everything on."

Or brutally she might just say, "Rodney, now take off every item of clothing and put your hands behind your head so I can see what we need to do today."

And Rodney had no alternative but, blushing, to begin to struggle with shirt buttons while his stomach felt as if it had a thousand butterflies fluttering, and struggle out of his shirt knowing that Milly would notice his long projecting nipples sticking out and she would probably be reminded how Rodney appeared to enjoy having them tweaked with tongs. And he would reach the moment when his trousers would have to be unbelted, unbuttoned, slithered down his legs.

As they proceeded towards the denouement of total, one hundred percent stripping off, developments never failed to send a rocket-charged surge of excitement through both of them, there never being an occasion when Rodney peeled off his trousers when his boxers weren't shamefully tented or shucked out of his boxers, when his penis was not revealed rock hard and drooling. As for the girl her excitement was hidden from view but an irrepressible odour- feminine and sour- quickly circulated about her while her eyes swam with a lubricious greed lapping up every station of the boy's quickening humiliation.

He always felt a jolt in his tummy when his erection bounced into view after he pulled his boxers down his legs and he looked up and saw her eyes swim behind those glasses, wide as saucers, as if she were straining to take in the huge, swollen, purplish glans stuck on the end of his long, thick, white stalk. Or to take in the network of prominent blue veins, or the heavy, hanging testicles in their purse of loose flesh. All amplified by the absence of so much as a single hair. Without his scrolled, ginger pubic locks he looked as bare as an egg.

He stood naked and erect, "bare as a board" as Miss Assam had exclaimed the last time she had burst in, his hands locked behind his neck. A trail of fluid dangled from his penis tip, swinging in the air like a loose thread in a spider web. Milly advanced and, standing so close he could feel her breath, lightly ran her finger tips in his armpits.

And when he trembled and twisted she said, "Oh that's right, my silly little boy is ticklish isn't he?" And she gave him a good five finger tickle right in the armpit and made him twist.

"A bit of stubble. Yes, we'll shave those armpits smooth again. And down here..."

Her fingers fluttered in his groin, which had once blazed with sculptured red curls and was now exposed, white and childlike. Her fingers touched his penis stalk as she felt for stubble on his pubis.

"Oh dear, you have grown stubbly here, Rodney," as her hands moved between his stretched, stiff dorsal shaft and his bald pubic area and he clenched his eyes with embarrassment and pleasure. "Yes, we will need to shave right around your groin..."

She was feeling the base of his erection. She tightened her grip.

"...yes, all around your groin and..."

She had moved to cupping and caressing his balls. As if assessing their weight. Lightly bouncing as she cupped them. Rodney was going weak at his knees.

"...these are getting stubbly too...so we gotta...shave your...test...testicles."

She struggled with the pronunciation. These were things she had only learnt about. And her palm tightened on them.

"Soooo..."

She released her grip, held the scrotum in her palm. Then she slapped his ballsac hard.

Slap.

"Ouchhhhh!"

He doubled over.

"...we better start. Up on the table, Rodney!"

"Yes...but...please...don't...do...that...to my balls..."

He gasped...gathered his strength...looked imploringly into her eyes.

"Rodney, no more dirty nicknames for your private parts. Say, 'please don't do that to my testicles.' Now, Rodney, up on the table."

Penis shaft leading him- it had happily reinflated- he shuffled and lifted his left leg, then eased himself down and spread himself, with hands under his head and armpits open. He lay naked under her gaze.

She noisily whipped up a thick lather in a shaving jug with the old fashioned shaving brush. She produced a rich foam. He watched. His penis throbbed expectantly.

She then squished the shaving cream into each armpit, lathered it around, while he flexed with ticklishness. He loved the feel of the bristles. His penis drooled into his belly button. She picked up the lady's safety razor and slowly set to work, scraping off the foam, from the cavern of each armpit.

No one- not in all the history of hair removal, from the time of Aztec warriors and Pharaonic Egypt- has ever been shaven with more luxurious slowness- than Rodney Ricketson was by Milly Slink.

She took her time, slowly rinsing the shaver, then paring off another rectangle of lather, till his armpits were bare. And smooth.

She now mushed the shaving cream into his groin. Sloshed it around. She laid it on, under his stiff shaft. She lathered it around his penis base. And, with huge enjoyment, lathered his lounging scrotum. He flinched with pleasure, bristles working his tender spaces.

"What fun this part is," she thought. "What did Johnny Marcello say they called it? Their beanbag. Ballsac. Such loose skin, with those marbles inside- little oblongs really- and the funny ballsac, the beanbag, hanging down between their thighs. Hilarious really, flopping around, especially when they jump or run."

And as she deftly, lightly pared off strips of lather, tongue between her lips, she would ask him in her sing song nurse's voice about the latest stories on his home life. She loved hearing about his punishments and humiliations at the hands of his mother, in full view of his sisters and cousin. And Rodney, lying bare as a board, having his groin shaved, loved telling this plain bespectacled girl all about it.

Now, as she leant in close- tongue between her lips- singling out a stray hair under his shaft or on his scrotum- he talked about the horror of being forced to model his Indian costume for his mother's bridge club- so the ladies could see how it looked with his body removed of all its hair. And how ladies had made him stand close so they could see his smooth testicles and had gone "Ohhh" and "Ahhh" and how old Mrs Shotover had pointed her finger and come close to touching his left testicle. And he had felt Miss Flintwich's breath- hell, she must have been 75- when she leant in close peering through her lorgnette- shit! Her breath on his penis head!- when his mother had edged him closer to the seated ladies, pushing him forward with her hand on the small of his back.

"And did your long, thick thingie stick out and up? I bet it did!"

"Yes," he had to concede. "I got a hardon...sorry, I mean erection. It...it...poked out under the flap."

"And all the old ladies saw it?"

"Yes...it was right in front of them."

"What, stiff and long like it is now?"

"Yes."

"How did they react to that?"

And she whisked off some stubble from his penis base and pubic bone with a deft lift of the razor.

"They stared. Stared hard at it. Their eyes popping. Staring hard. Looking...kinda greedy. And giggled."

"And your mother?"

"She just smiled."

"Oh dear, I bet you hated that! Staring and giggling at this!"

And she touched the underside of his shaft, stretched as it was above his belly all the way to his navel. And lightly ran her fingers along the dorsal length.

And he had to admit to MIlly he had felt very embarrassed. He had shrivelled with embarrassment. That is, until his mother had made him turn around and show them his bottom.

And as he told her stories of his humiliation at home his insides melted with shame as the girl dipped the shaver in the water bowl and shook it clean and returned to the folds of his lounging scrotum. And slowly, with surgical dexterity, scrapped foam off.

"And Rodney..."

She took a deep breath.

"...have you been masturbating?"

As she asked the question she looked down on the offending rod.

Her voice had taken a stern and disapproving tone.

He admitted he had. And went weak and watery inside with the shame.

She whisked the cream from a loose fold of his scrotum.

"And did your mother catch you at it?"

Business-like, she rinsed the razor.

He admitted that two days ago after basketball, he had gone home and found the house empty. He had gone into his room and removed all his clothes...

"You like doing that, don't you?" She closed in on the foam that filled the indentation between scrotum and thigh. She was now familiar with Rodney's yearnings and stratagems.

She carefully pared his inner thigh.

He admitted that being naked was something he enjoyed. On this occasion, he said, he was excited.

"Because of the game," he said. "And the shower...and I had thoughts..."

"About females seeing you with no clothes?"

"Yes, those those thoughts make me so excited. So...so...in my bedroom...I started...y'know...fooling..."

"With your penis?"

"Yeah...playing with myself, like..."

He shyly made the jerk off gesture.

She shook her head with distaste.

"...because I was just too excited...thinking of dirty stuff..."

With tongue between lips she now pinched a fold of his scrotum. She stretched it and then razored carefully along its length. She rinsed off the razor. She couldn't believe that this privilege was being vouchsafed her- plain, mousy Milly Slink: the task of taking hold of Rodney Ricketson's testicles...and shaving them smooth. Like a temple priestess, tending to a Greek warrior; a young squaw to a handsome Algonquin brave; a US navy nurse to a wounded marine.

"And your mother walked in?"

She stretched taut another fold of lathered scrotum.

"Yes."

"And caught you in your birthday suit? Naked as a jay?"

She had leant these terms excited him. Saw his penis jerk when she said he was "in the buff" or "in the altogether."

"Yes. I was totally stripped off."

She scraped off lather from the stretched scrotal fold.

"Did you try to cover up?"

She rinsed her razor, saw a few bristles float in the jug. She returned to Rodney's balls, lathered more cream onto his testicle sack.

"Yes. But my pants were on the other side of the room and she stood in the way..."

"Did she look at your erection?"

He gulped, recalling the shame. He told her he sat on his bed, red with embarrassment. That his mother made him tell what he was "up to." That she kept staring at his penis as he confessed. That she told him to dress and to be prepared to remove his clothes when the girls got home and get a spanking and be naked all night in front of them...

And so his stories ran, lying naked under Milly's gaze while she worked at his depilation, making them both thrill to the word pictures, his penis leaking and her vagina filling with secretions.

"...so she made me strip in front of them, in the living room, and hand my clothes over, and my sisters and cousin were staring when I was down to my boxers and I begged Mom to let me keep them on and she said, 'Oh, very well,' and I got over her lap and she started with the hairbrush, and it hurt real bad, but after a while she said it was not working and pulled my shorts down. Yep, just whisked them off while I lay there. The girls could see my bare bottom. Boy, was I embarrassed! I was buck naked...in the altogether...in my birthday suit. I pressed down into Mom's lap so they couldn't get a look at my front. Yeah, I was real embarrassed and the girls laughed..."

"I bet you felt real shamed, when your boxers came off."

Milly peeled off lather from the scrotum that held his left testicle, admired its smoothness and rinsed the razor.

"Aw yeah...'specially as I knew they were staring hard at my naked bottom and all. Anyway, Mom struck real hard so that I twisted and when I turned in her lap I think they all saw my prick and balls and that was why Mom kept it up. Hard, real hard. Smack. Smack. Smack. Then when she finished she told me to stand up and I had to do it, facing her, with hands behind my head, and she gave me a lecture about 'playing with yourself' and the girls giggled. But then she asked me to turn around so she could inspect my bottom and I had to face the girls, and they could see everything. And Mom ran her hands over my bottom and asked if it hurt and it sure was hot and sensitive and said not to be shy because I was gonna stay like that the whole evening and I had better get used to it..."

While he adumbrated on his humiliation the girl deftly scraped off every patch of lather; she revisited any trouble spots and lathered afresh; and whisked it off all over again. Some sites she returned to twice, three times, especially the challenging soft flesh of his scrotal sac and more particularly the scrotal raphe, and then the penis base, until Rodney was whiskerless, bald as an egg, glabrous, to use the word that the school's old classics teacher had applied that day at Mrs Reilly's. Which didn't stop her. She returned to his armpits and then lathered up the groin and scrotum all over and set out once more. Finally there were no bristles, no stubble.

Indeed throughout Rodney continued his doleful account.

"...I served them supper, no apron, totally nude, going to the kitchen and coming back...and, yes, my cock was stiff and they looked at it and laughed especially when I leaned across with plates..."

"Tsk, tsk. 'Cock' is not a word for a nice boy. Say 'penis' please, Rodney."

She thought any mother would insist on this.

"Sorry, Milly, my penis was stiff, and kept getting under their noses as I served the dinner, and made them laugh."

Milly mopped him down with a hot, wet towel- for a few seconds she enclosed his penis with it and squeezed- and then rubbed him dry.

It was time for his treat. She opened the draw and produced the long-handled medical tongs. When he saw it poised above him, in her hand, his eyes glazed with pleasure.

"Now I know this can hurt..."

He nodded warily.

"...just like our jiggle-juggle game hurts..."

And here she gave his scrotum a stinging slap that made him lift from the table and exclaim, "Owwwwwww!"

"...don't exaggerate, Rodney! Don't be a coward."

Again she slapped his testicles and again he scissored upwards. This was "jiggle juggle" and a special game she played with him every time, and one he half hated-half loved. But it was not going to detain her today. So she stroked his balls and gently tickled them, and his penis, which had wilted for a few seconds, happily stiffened afresh. Yes, happily stretched and hardened under her gaze.

She put the tongs down. She tickled his balls- the part of his anatomy she was beginning to love most. Oh yes, the knob on the end of the stem was lovely, bulbous and mushroomy; it was heart-shaped and packed tight with nerve endings, as Dr Speight had told her. The arteries intrigued. Big, pulsing- and with networks of fine, blue veins branching out. She loved to trace them with her glance, her fingers. The frenulum with its bunched, banjo-string texture also invited her touch. If she tickled those elastic bands- that was what they were like, bunched up under his glans, on the neck of his penis- boy! did he respond!

Then the heroism of the great stem itself, thick as a bludgeon, white and long: she could not avoid imagining how it would slide into her own drenched vagina when they married. Stretch her, dissolve her. How she longed for their wedding night. But Rodney's scrotum with its mysterious contents and function- this floppy bean-bag, this purse for the family jewels, his baubles, she had grown fond of it, like a favorite child.

Her fingers ran over the droopy flesh, they ran over the outline of his testicles (what she had learnt boys called their "balls") they ran over the countless little ridges, they tickled the "scrotal raphe." Yes, she had memorised the correct terms. Her delicate little fingers ventured behind the scrotum and flicked his perineum and its raised ridge line, what Dr Speight during her training had called Rodney's "perineal raphe." The light, flickering fingers even ventured- oh, what a naughty girl she had become!- to the hole in Rodney's crack (what the doctor had told her was called the boy's "anus" lodged like a cubby-hole in his "intergluteal cleft") and Rodney was soon cooing. Twitching his feet, and cooing. Cooing like a dove.

Then she lifted the tongs.

With the nippers of the tongs she pinched his left nipple. It stood up. She pinched some more. She aroused it to its full tubular length. It had come to life. Stood straight as a soldier.

"My! Look at that, Rodney! Isn't it getting long? Like a girl's!"

He blushed and looked at the flaming erection rising from his left medallion. There was no doubt that since they had started this game his nipples had thickened, lengthened. Even non-erect, they were bubbles of flesh. And then he only had to think about naughty things and then they would poke their way to life. Visible under a tight-fitting shirt.