Rodney's Nude Humiliation Ch. 20

...and she would explode. In her fantasies, he would explode too.

Here the boy was, shuffling with shame, nude in front of them again. That remarkable cock rising in jerks.

Both women stirred deeply, staring rapt at the stiffening snake.

Carl Harlson, broad shouldered and tall- a real protein-fed, mid-Western boy, a young Viking in fact- had been stripped by his mother and his aunt and cousin. He stood totally nude with his small cock pointing straight out, parallel to the floor. It had stretched as soon as cousin Mary had whisked down his boxer shorts. Hell, it was as if he could feel her eyes tickling him. Bang! Up it went, like a miniature cannon on a model battleship! One glance told him she was staring at it. His aunt too, with her cunning, searching, mocking eyes.

So Carl stood frozen- nude, erect and totally smooth, shaven twice a week in the corridor outside the principal's office by Beatrice Weatherall.

"Oh, my god," thought cousin Mary. "I can see his stiff dick. His little dick."

Sure, she admired his athletic build- the V-shape of his torso, punchy pecs, corded arms. It was just that his penis was short...slender...small-headed, certainly compared to that bludgeon on the towering boy over there with the Elvis hair cut. Goodness, that cock was muscular, broad...

And Carl had the humiliation of watching Mary make the comparison.

It made him feel small.

Miss Cuff turned to Majorie Babbage, a freshman student wearing billowing Tudor-style dress who, in the show tonight, was going to deliver Portia's speech from The Merchant of Venice, with boys in their tights decorating the stage. Right now she took in this back stage performance. Her 19 year old eyes shone with lust.

"Like viewing a park full of statues," Miss Cuff mused, sensing the girl shared her own impulses.

The girl flushed, her secret thoughts had been unveiled. Her hair was lustreless, thought Miss Cuff, and her skin could no more be described as unwrinkled.

Looking out at these naked athletes shorn of body hair, Majorie, this plain girl with such deep longings, had to agree it was like viewing statues of Greek gods and warriors. She nodded shyly.

"Only..." began Miss Cuff, eyes twinkling with mischief.

The girl knew what was coming and disguised her shiver.

"...only these naked males are engorged, unlike any of the marble figures I've viewed in the Louvre or the Metropolitan."

The drama teacher gestured to Mark standing as bashful as Venus, full nude with a throbbing 45 degree erection, his foreskin tugged back along the thick stem...

...to little Stevie, his diminutive stiffy shining with fluid flat against his recently shaved pubic bone...

...to Kerry, his elegant seven inches hard as graphite and veering leftwards, and his scrotal sac so cute...

The plain girl reddened.

"Oh, don't be prudish," said Miss Cuff. "The male appendage is made to stiffen...to go hard...that's so the penis can achieve entry and splendidly deliver the biological necessity- that is, depositing ropes of healthy young male semen in a female passage..."

Majorie looked on the point of gasping and choking. "Ropes of sperm?" Goodness!

"...on the wedding night, of course. Boys at school might call them 'stiffys.' Other names too. 'Hard-ons?' 'Boners?' You must have heard the smutty talk."

The girl shivered, looking now at Larry Albright's erection, rock hard and veiny, its small reddish head pointing at the ceiling. Like that boy's? So it might enter...females? Like her?

Her knees wobbled.

The teacher noticed Majorie's trembles. She chose to press on.

"Yes, or 'tent pole?' That's a vivid piece of smut. 'Tent pole,' just think! Filthy locker room talk. But perhaps inspired by the penis on the boy you were just staring at..."

The girl went red as a hydrant. But, exposed by her laser-like attention to Larry Albright, she nodded as if to admit she had indeed been caught out focusing on the cocks of the young men. To distract attention she mumbled some reference to cousins...on their farm. They talked like that- smutty talk, she told Miss Cuff. One cousin, she said, had crudely gestured to his buddy and chanted, "Long and thin will go right in..."

Here the girl blushed. But Miss Cuff told her to go. Majorie said her cousin's buddy had grinned lewdly, she had recalled, as if accepting the description of his intimate parts. Majorie did not admit to the teacher she had been shaken with throes of wild imaginings. "Long and thin" indeed. But how long? Her mind raced. And how thin? And "go right in?" What would it feel like, she had wondered.

She was staring across at Rodney's "boner." White, and hard as granite. Long, but certainly not thin. That outsized mushroom. Jutting boldly from the smoothly sculpted athletic physique. A party of girls stood close to him, enthralled. He, blushing with eyes clenched. Miss Cuff read the girl's expression- that hunger in beady young eyes. She knew Majorie would forever be an ally. She might recruit her as an acolyte.

This unappetising Majorie, all dressed up to recite from the stage, was already enlisted to the cause, dazzled by the backstage display of 18 and 19 year old nude flesh and penile diversity, trembling with desire and fixated.

Johnny Marcello waits in a towel...

While these scenes were being enacted backstage at the college, that summer evening elsewhere in Brewer a different drama was being performed. For weeks the story had spread of Glen Christopher- that nice clean-living boy who sung in the church choir- answering the front door in a towel when female canvassers had called. And of how the towel had sprung loose and slithered to the floor. And how the female canvassers had started with fear and stared with gluttony at the 18 year old's erection. And how one of the ladies- an attractive older missionary- had volunteered to enter the house...and tend to young Glen's very urgent needs. And, when he had exploded under her ministrations, had lovingly mopped him up. Like a doting mom.

Glen had confessed to Gloria. She had thrilled to the steaming sexuality of the story and had told girls and older ladies like Mrs Geiler, the wizened Nazi with the dyed blond hair and the interest in seeing Mark nude and her love of rude German words for testicles and cocks and boys stripped to their "Adamskostume." She had told Mark's mother and she Mrs Ricketson and she Mrs Reilly and she more mothers still, and they had shared it with daughters and they with friends and cousins.

The story had spread to boys and indeed Christopher had confirmed it and even boasted to his closest buddies. Boys had thrilled to the story, their flies tenting as they discussed the humiliation and the...well, the erotic charge of being trapped nude in that fashion. All of them envied handsome Christopher that sweet humiliating moment. And when his family were out of the house- say, visiting gran on the family farm or on church picnics or shopping in the twin cities- there wasn't a boy at Grover Cleveland High who wasn't prowling the house wearing a towel and restlessly parting the curtains looking for female sales rep touting Bibles or encyclopaedias.

And among the world of female canvassers the story of Brewer's athletic young males spread and middle aged ladies were disturbed with prurient fantasies about the moment a door might respond to their delicate knocking and a boy with a swimmer's or basket baller's physique might present himself with nothing protecting his modesty but a fragile bathroom towel knotted so loosely as to fall to the floor within 30 seconds. And he might, just like Christopher, seek the canvasser's help in finding relief from those powerful impulses that boys suffer.

As a result canvassers from central Minnesota found reasons to tell management they thought sales were particularly buoyant in Brewer and how easy it was to get signatures on contracts for magazine subscriptions or the latest washing machines or cake mixers.

And the town's restless young men would stay home from work or school, watching from the parted curtains, nude and sporting very urgent erections drooping a clear fluid, with towels in their hands. Watching and waiting.

One such boy was Johnny Marcello, his mom and sisters off visiting his cousin studying for the priesthood at the archdiocesan Saint Paul Seminary School of Theology.

Johnny's chunky physique- honed by chest presses in the gym at the Y and carving laps through the chlorine-scented school pool- was smooth as a statue. It had been shaven of every hair only this morning in the corridor outside the principal's office by Olivia Pucker, grinning all the time with her tombstone front teeth. How long he she spent shaving his low-slung scrotal sac? Well, long enough for Miss Assam, the secretary to the principal to stand there viewing him in his agony of shame. Long enough for a visiting mother to heave into view and stand gasping at the sight. And for Ada Braithwaite, the principal herself, to come on the scene and assure the mother that this was now a common site at Grover Cleveland and boys shaved were more convincing as Indians and it was good experience for the girls.

Meanwhile Johnny's banana erection had throbbed and leaked to the delectation of the three mature age women.

Johnny hated the humiliation and loved it.

That melting in his gut that he felt whenever he suffered mocking or lustful female eyes on his naked form was like nothing else. Involuntary nudity- when he was stripped at Mrs Reilly's to work in her verdurous grounds, stripped to be examined by the school doctor Dr Speight, being seen swimming nude at the pool- hell, it made his insides curdle with shame.

And left him wanting it to happen again.

Damn, when would these female canvassers appear in his street?

When would they knock at their door?

A watched kettle doesn't boil. But in this case it did...because female door-to-door sales ladies were swarming over Brewer. Two appeared on the other side of the road and Johnny's heart leapt and his cock jolted. A bolt of viscous fluid bubbled from his meatus.

They were...young women. With their hair in springy bangs. With wide tartan skirts. Pinched at the waist. Bobby socks. He watched them engage Mrs Holleran at her front door. Then after five minutes turn away waving cheery farewells.

Hells bells! Johnny recognised them as girls who had left Grover Cleveland High two years back.

On the edge of the pavement they consulted a piece of paper from a slim leather attaché and...

...yes! Headed across the road...

...in the direction of Johnny's place!

The boy's tummy churned.

Watching through a sliver in the curtains he trembled as the eager expressions on their alert young faces came into focus. These girls-he remembered. Sally...someone. And Naiomi Davenport. Each had had a reputation at school for being shy. Neither had dated. They were not pretty. Sally with her red hair had freckles big as corn flakes, Naiomi a flat chest that might have been a skinny boy's. But they seemed to be somewhat animated. And giggling. And expectant. Ready for fun.

To be making up for lost time, 20 year olds in hot pursuit.

He tightened his towel. Then loosened it. The ends just- by the gentlest pressure- hung together. Threatening to separate any second. He looked down at the rounded outline in the front. His cock was pounding. He was thrilled to be shaven smooth- no hair shielding even a corner of his privates.

They would see every inch of him.

He padded into the hallway and breathed deep.

Quick came the knock.

As quickly he turned the lock...

Paused...

And yanked the door wide open.

He saw their eyes widen as they took him in.

Both of the young women gasped.

For them...bingo!

What they had been hoping for!

What they had heard so much about!

He felt a dizzy stimulus rise from his groin and melt his tummy. His erection throbbed against the protection of the towel.

The deep porch and the angle of the house and the drooping ancient elm protected him from being sighted from the road.

"Gosh...sorry...I been...in the shower..."

"Johnny Marcello? From Grover?" Sally was taking the lead.

He nodded.

Naomi, eyes taking in his Greek warrior physique, spluttered that they were working as sales reps for Parfitt Publishing...

Sally, now staring right at the bulge in the front of the towel, then stuttered that they were calling on the boys who played sport in school teams...

Naomi gabbled excitedly that they were selling orders for a wonderful new book called Eat Right and Live Longer by Adelle Davis. She swallowed as she took in his slicked Elvis hair, his smooth muscled white chest, the thrust in the front of the towel...

The towel shifted at his waist.

But the knot held- for now

They seemed to notice. Their eyes ignited even more. They kept taking turns to talk about the book, staring at his midriff where that curved bulge promised such delight.

With a massive effort Johnny forced himself not to grip the loosening towel...his only covering.

No, he would let it flop free.

There was another faint loosening around his waist...

...the towel was no longer belted to his body, no longer clinging...

...one deep inhalation from him and yes, it would flutter to the floor.

In a flash, the excitement gripping him...

...wanting desperately to show off his manly physique...

...wanting them to glimpse his banana prick at full stretch...

...wanting to see their eyes widen like saucers, with lust and gluttony...

Johnny Marcello sucked in his tummy...

...the towel loosened...

...opened up...

...and slithered to his ankles.

This time their gasps were loud.

They stared at the underside of his sturdy prick. What a lovely thick artery running up its underside! There was the frenulum, that wrinkled skin attaching glans to stem. "Like jowls," had said Dr Speight, when at her inspection she had given young Olivia and Miss Assam that guided tour of Johnny's naked body.

What a fat pink knob on its end!

And the bag, hanging low- with two big balls visible!

"Sorry...oh, I'm so sorry..."

He sounded woeful...also, a tad insincere.

"...it just slipped off..." he spluttered, but- aha- keeping his hands by his sides.

Standing rigid, facing them.

Naiomi didn't hear. She was fixated on the roadmap of fine blue veins criss-crossing the industrial strength central artery. And the dollop of moisture emerging from the slit.

Johnny saw their swollen eyes. He trembled with pleasure. This exposure was all he had dreamt of. He loved the debasement washing over him.

"Perhaps..." said Naiomi.

She paused, lips between her lips.

"...we might come in?" finished Sally.

And he had a vision of these two plain girls on either side of him with him sitting naked on the sofa. The one with freckles and cats eyes glasses fingering the swollen glans like testing a cantaloup and commenting on the sponginess of it. The one with the woeful flat chest tracing finger nails over his scrotal sac round and round and saying how soft it was, how "like a chamois bag."

Maybe that was their vision too.

He stepped to the side. It was a gesture that invited the two maidens to enter.

They entered. All of Brewer's police squad would not have stopped them.

And with the boys backstage...

Meanwhile back at the Doris Wordsworth Theatre of Myra Shrewsbury Teachers College- behind the proscenium arches and the red velvet curtains and faded scenery- here, backstage- the ritual humiliation of young males was continuing. And females young and old were lapping it up.

Off to the left was tall, lanky Jimmy Fraser with his heavy, greased Elvis hair. Underneath that slicked, pomaded advertisement for his male vanity, he was smooth as a baby, shaven by Milly Slink with the electric razor at Mrs Lanbourne's. Around him stood his mom and three sisters each with an armful of his discarded clothing- T shirt, jeans, Texan boots, woollen socks. And here was the big boy, totally nude in front of them. Wow! Not that this was the first time. They had seen him stripped for spankings bent over the sofa and stripped for modelling the Indian costume and, on a few other occasions, the half a dozen nice posing straps from the department store the sisters had bought him for Christmas.

And frequently stripped to wander the house and do cleaning chores with brush and broom and Electrolux vacuum cleaner as punishment for coming home late from dates. Sometimes with one of the feminine aprons, which was very funny when he suffered an erection that tented the fabric with its floral design. Sometimes in one of the delicious posing straps- one with stripes was very nice. Sometimes totally bare, cock standing up or poking forward.

But this was the first time they had seen him shorn, shaven, depilated. All over, weirdly smooth. Even his big, droopy ballsac. He was blushing, and his long fleshy cock was beginning to wobble to life, stretching and flexing its way to a veiny erection.

Nearby was a handsome athlete. Yes...Mark. Every girl's favourite athlete.

His mom and two sisters and family friend, old Mrs Geiler, were laughing at Mark. They had stripped him and as his dungarees had descended, tugged down by sisters front and back, they revealed he was wearing his pink posing strap! Because he thought he might be slowed to wear it under the tights? And it might capture his rising dick and give him an element of modesty? Or because he just couldn't resist pulling on the delightfully sexy garment?

"No, no, no," insisted his mom, choking with laughter. "They want you NUDE under those tights. Please Mrs Geiler, you do the honours..."

And the old lady, with the crepe-like skin and wicked eyes, reached forward, dug into the waistband and whisked them down Mark's athletic, shaven thighs. His ample cock fell free and immediately began to expand.

Its powerful sculpted glans was emerging from the ruffled foreskin.

His sisters gasped and giggled.

"Ah see," exclaimed the old lady, under her dyed blond hair. "He is now...in Adamskostume!"

The others laughed at the funny expression. He was indeed stark naked before them. Naked as Adam. His mother told him to step out of the posing strap.

"He loves that pink poser! Oh, you sweet boy! In love with his pink posing strap!"

And she tousled his hair.

"And, mom, look- he's getting one of his Standers!"

Mark's mother laughed as heartily as her daughters, looking at her son's cock jolting to a full erection.

"Oh, yes, here we go again. His Stander! Poor boys can't help it."

"And, Mark, we're getting to see your two Eier...in your Hodensacke! You remember, what Mrs Geiler says are your EGGS! In your SACK!"

His sisters loved Mrs Geiler's indecent German words. What shame for a boy to have his sack...his eggs...on view...reduced to standing there with his Stander sticking out...in his Adamskostume!

"I bet you're nervous when you get shaved!"

Miss Cuff overheard this lewd badinage from the sisters, as she moved around making her inspections. Good, just what she wanted. For the girls gaining such sexual confidence and boys sustaining such humiliation. Like this boy Mark- this big, handsome athlete who she had delighted to see buck naked so often, and always savoured the look of his brawny cock. Yes, brawny. He caught her glance as she strolled by, head turned his way, and wanted to sink into the floor.

While nearby small Stevie Lynton stood exposed before his putative mother, Mrs Lanbourne, totally nude and, once so hairy but now so recently shaven, with his diminutive cock standing straight up and already leaking, his hands rigid at his sides. His head was bowed but he shot sideways glances, hoping to see girls and ladies looking at him. Noting, he hoped, his loss of body hair and laughing at the weirdness of it. Curious about his small dick, smallest of any of the boy's. Giggling at the erection, snorting at the leakage from his little meatus.