Rodney's Nude Humiliation Ch. 20

"Oh, Stevie, you look so nice without a single hair," said adorable Mrs Lanbourne. "Smooth as a statue of a boy...in the Naples archaeological museum. But always with the proud stiffening of your sweet diminutive organ."

And she cuddled him and planted a wet kiss right on his lips.

And indeed there were girls leaving Rodney, and drifting his way, grinning boldly. Probably, Stevie hoped, grinning at the contrast between Rodney's long, hefty dick with its fat mushroomy glans and Stevie's pencil-sized one with its petite bellend. He wanted them to gasp and giggle when they came close.

There were more girls still.

Girls dressed for the show began to sidle into the backstage area.

College girls.

Enrolled in this strict all-girl college.

Where young men could not even be sighted working at the gardens or hauling garbage and there were no male instructors.

Five of the college girls- decked out for tonight's Shakespearean performance in billowing dresses and ruffled collars- peered around the doorway from the female change room. And: bingo! Right in front of them was a rear view of two stark naked 18 year old males. They were Ricky Fasolt and Teddy Fafner, both possessors of tight globular asses- and as it happened, suntanned by those days working off their crimes in Mrs Reilly's verdurous garden. totally stripped off! A rear view! For college girls who'd never seen a naked boy!

Wow! And wow again!

The eye of the girls bulged, with prurient awe.

Nude boys' bottoms! Toasted in the sun!

How delicious!

They noticed that in front of the boys- facing them head-on- were the fella's moms and a brace of girls. They had arrived tonight packed tight into the Fafner's De Soto Plymouth station wagon. The boys, like prisoners, had sat in the rear-facing seat, a grinning sister on either side.

The college girls tip-toed around the boys to join the little female crowd and crane their heads to take a frontal view.

And Wow again!

Ricky was blushing deep as his springy six inches with its heavy mauve head was lengthening - as his panic grew. The looks of sisters and cousins, each holding a item of clothing, were all over him. Jerk! Jolt!

Another two thrusts, and his neat regulation cock was parallel to the floor as the girls gasped and giggled.

Teddy knew his dick- just beginning to fill out- would get a lot of attention: its banana curve, its coollie hat of a glans. "You've got a cartoon cock," one of the ladies had told him in Mrs Reilly's garden confronting him nude and erect. "The curve...that bellend!" Those ladies who came to Mrs Reilly's always found it an attraction when they trapped him naked washing Mrs Reilly's parked car.

No longer at school, the two boys had not been shaven. In contrast to the others they boasted healthy scrolls of pubic hair- thick black curls and a dusting across their tummies- Teddy a pronounced "treasure trail" from navel to bush.

Both fellas now caught a glimpse of five young ladies in their stage costumes craning to get a look at their nudity, straining and staring over the heads of the Fasolt and Fafner females.

College girls!

Dressed in their flouncy stage costumes!

They wanted to faint!

And there was nothing they could do to stop their cocks rising.

Jolt! went Ricky's.

Jerk! went Teddy's.

Now girls who had accompanied brothers and cousins and scoped their privates- making their young men squirm and blush and twist and struggle to cover up and go teary eyed- were wandering to stare at other fellas. The troop of girls who had brought Kerry, for example, had divided themselves like a tourist party in a cathedral. Samantha and Veronica, for example, had gravitated to stand in front of crew cut Larry Albright and savour the view of his skinny, long appendage with its small, scarlet snake head. The underside seemed to stretch for ever. The wrinkles! The big vein, his ventral one!

The boy shivered with shame, arms jerking nervously to shield himself, then return to his sides.

"All shapes and sizes..,"whispered Samantha.

And Larry read her lips.

Mrs Claverback, cigarette in hand, moved from Kerry to Rodney. She narrowed her eyes to take in all of the redhead's broad white bludgeon with the fat pinkish head; the boy wincing and twitching with embarrassment. Dorothy drew herself to her mother's side and joined her taking it in- broader and longer than Kerry's. The remarkably fat pink head. With more road map blue veins, so delicate. She unconsciously licked her lips.

Girl students in Shakespearean costumes- more of them- had surged in from another door and closed in around Jimmy, Kerry and Carl.

"They've been stripped...but their costumes haven't arrived!"

"Oh my god! It's like a penis parade!"

"Look at this one- with the Elvis hair! It's a whopper!"

"Oh but I love the cute boy's thing. Holy cow, look at it- veers off sideways!"

"Scope the blond! What an athlete but such a sweet little stiffie! Oh my god, he must be embarrassed!"

"These two over here have still got their body hair! Look at the banana bend!"



"Stiff! Stiff! Stiff! Every last one of them!"

Suddenly from the side entrance a bustle.

Mrs Carruthers and her maid Yuela appeared. Plus Zelma and Louise, two Negro lady cleaners from the school, all loaded down with bundles of costumes separated by brown wrapping paper over their arms. The town's top ladies' tailor was full of apologies but Miss Cuff assured her curtain time was still 20 minutes off.

"Relax. We're getting the lads ready."

Big black eyes bulged greedily at the exposed flesh of white boys on display.

White boys.

All naked...and aroused.

But only for a moment, because the job of finding the right tights for each boy was now pressing.

Mrs Carruthers and her three Negro helpers went into action.

Here were the lime green ones for Stevie, the salmon, almost pink, ones for Jimmy. Indeed there were some richer pinks for other boys and some of the palest yellows. All were in powdery hues. There were pale lilacs. There were pearl greys.

But as tights were handed to mothers and sisters to dress their boys it became clear it was not the colours that made them shamed- these pastel and girlish shades. Although the first sight of them made most of the boys inwardly groan (not all, however, because Rodney's cock seemed to bounce with joy as his mother held aloft the salmon-shaded ones handed over by Yuela, and Mark's erection had vibrated visibly as the most feminine brazenly pink ones were handed to his mother by a knowing Mrs Carruthers).

No, it wasn't the colours.

It was the material. The one previous dressing had shocked the boys with the gossamer quality of the tights. Every private detail of their groins had been visible through the clinging material- silk or whatever it was. This time was worse. How had Mrs Carruthers done it? Found material as thin as onion skin?

The audience would see everything in detailed outline.

Which was immediately clear as soon as females won the battle to assist boys mount the tights over their legs...and tug, tug, tug the material up to their waists...and tug, tug, tug some more- even when it was clear that, for example, Mark and Rodney were suffering their ballsacs being pulled and flattened in the most unnatural contortions. And the waist of Larry's tights were so low that a good three inches of absurdly skinny erection-wrinkled frenulum and veiny stem- rose out of it, flattened against his washboard abs, which reduced females to exhalations of prurient awe, and Young Viking Carl Harlson suffered too- with a waist so low- so very, very low- the tip of even his very short penis poked charmingly out of the tights, and the rear offered a public viewing of his intergluteal cleft. And what a cute bottom that was! That had many females in tales of gasps and giggles.

Jimmy Fraser's long appendage wouldn't flatten but poked the material out at a 45 degree angle almost as if inviting females to lower a pretty little hand into the resultant gap and playfully wriggle around. To feel his large rod. Nor would Kerry Fulbright's erection flatten but insisted on poking the material out, and at an odd angle. This was delightful for the big party of females who had accompanied him. They surrounded him, giggling and gasping. Again, he caught Dorothy's wicked eyes. Supercilious eyes. Looking down on him in his awful humiliation.

For her part old Frau Geiler lingered over Rodney.

"Look at his Stander!" she kept exclaiming.

Then she brazenly reached out and pinched hard his right nipple which triggered sensations of excitement and alarm. It made him blush deeper, standing with his substantial cock flattened sideways in his tights every sinew revealed and his balls stretched upwards and leaking a big shameful puddle shaped like a map of Sicily.

So tight were their tights that Ricky and Teddy had their intact scrolls of pubic hair on display- their female admirers could see the curls outlined in the crepe-thin material of their tights! Just like Hellenistic Greek statues, and their punchy well-hooded dicks were nicely outlined, flattened too.

Near them Stevie stood trembling and shuddering...

And it was time to dress them in their very short jackets which had been designed to be very short and provide no shield of modesty whatsoever, and feathered hats and soft-skinned slippers with raised toes.

"How so very cute," exclaimed Sally, Rodney's sister relishing the ultimate shame of her brother.

Which brought the gathering to curtain up, which for scene one required Rodney and Mark to be present on the stage facing the audience while five of the girls were to demonstrate that soliloquies from Hamlet and Richard 11 were not the preserve of males.

Shuffling, arms fluttering, they arranged themselves on the still-curtained stage with the audience conversations excitedly being conducted just beyond them, still out of sight- yes, an all-female audience as it happened, with many unattached girls and spinster ladies and frustrated wives very eager for the show to start.

"Oh, dear god, let my dick subside," prayed Rodney. "It's so fuckin' obvious!"

"Hell, please...please...stop being hard!" lamented Mark. "It's the only thing they'll be staring at!"

The audience chatter suddenly died.

And the curtains gave a jerk...

Young swimmers and the Methodist minister's wife...

John Lawrence and Bud Lanter entered the room in the church where John's Sunday School class met. It was a side room used for storage, off the church hall, with stacked prayer books and fold-up chairs and an ecclesiastical smell- mustiness, decaying flowers, cold stone.

John wore a tartan jacket, pleated navy trousers and patterned tie, his friend Bud, a navy blue sports coat handed down from his older brother Ned and dotted tie, crisp white business shirt tucked into high waisted chocolate trousers. He was proud of two-tone shoes handed down from his marine uncle Jimmy.

Smelling of Brylcreen the two young men waited for their teacher. She breezed in, also early and eager, before the other half dozen youngsters.

"So sweet of you to bring Bud," Mrs Pebbles said. "Another fine young man to join our class. Here at 16th Street."

She wore a new melon-rose sculptured dress in 100 percent nylon with raised flower design ("dries in minutes, needs no ironing, wears for years") with gold-color metallic buttons and piping and leather-like gold-color belt. Her smile was electric, making her features crease into the most welcoming of smiles, and her dazzling brown eyes flicked all over them.

And her gaze fell to their flies. Both were tented. For a split moment both thought about covering up...but thought again, and kept their urgent, teenage hard-ons displayed. They shivered with that familiar strange emotion. When she invited them to sit in one of the fold-up chairs neither crossed his legs. In fact, trembling slightly with the excitement, both sat spread-legged. They revealed stiffys pointed to the vaulted ceiling.

Five other boys drifted in and reached for fold-up chairs and the class started with Mrs Pebbles leading them through a discussion of Saint Paul's letter to the Corinthians. Mrs Pebbles brought things to a conclusion after half an hour instead of the customary 60 minutes.

The other males spirited off.

The two young swimmers lingered, Bud leafing through a July 1952 church newsletter as if he were pursuing the most urgent research into mid-West religious fervour, standing with erection displayed behind his flies. John, his tented flies as obvious, stared intently at framed wall prints of Jesus preaching.

Mrs Pebbles seemed thrilled they had lingered. She brought them to her corner with talk about their swimming.

She had meant, of course, their recent nude swimming. Which had allowed her to view them at the pool in their birthday suits.

They told her about their training schedules and swimming styles. She said that she liked seeing boys swim backstroke. Blushing, they replied that they liked that style. She said being nude in the pool must help them maximise speed, without loose trunks slowing their pace. They agreed and Bud even said it felt "real nice" on their skin, being...

He hesitated at saying "nude."

"...being without trunks."

She asked them about Jim Nielsen, the swimmer who Coach Compton was treating as a favourite, and said it might be nice if they invited him to the Sunday school class. They both thought of the boy's thick hanging dick, the biggest in the school...and felt a second's jolt of jealousy.

The shouts and cries of other Sunday school attendees died in the outside air, as youngsters gambolled home. It became clear the three of them had been left alone in the church precincts. Mrs Pebbles' minister husband with their two daughters had driven off to his his second sermon of the day in Biwabik, a tiny community an hours drive from Brewer where, later, they would picnic with parishioners.

"Perhaps you boys would let me reward you with a glass of milk and fresh baked cookies?"

The manse was next door.

The three left the building together, Mrs Pebbles locking the heavy oak door with a set of jangly keys. The woman and the two 18 year old boys then walked across the fresh cut lawn, under the perforated shade of three ancient elms, both Bud and John sheltering their groins with their Bibles. They were close enough to breath the scent of Mrs Pebble's rosemary flavoured soap.

The minister's residence was cool and quiet. Its furniture looked second hand and dented, the religious prints and landscapes faded, the carpets worn with threads showing and the curtains sagged. But a loving wife had filled the living room with fresh flowers and hand-sewed cushions with lively geometric designs from Home Magazine. There were copies of Readers Digest, The United Methodist and National Geographic (John wondered whether it might contain pictures of bare breasted women from the Pacific islands or Africa). A parishioner had donated the family a big globe in a light wood stand to allow them to follow missionary activity.

"I want you boys to sit here."

She gestured to two dining room chairs while she sat facing them on the sofa.

Silence reigned.

The lady beamed at them.

The boys hoped...

What?

"I still think about you boys swimming. So athletic. So manly. And just think! Young men confident enough to perform totally..."

She paused. Was she going to falter? Change direction?

But the boys hoped.

And she pressed on, as they had dreamt.

"...nude. Yes, not wearing a thing. In birthday suits- I love that expression. Naked as Adam. And in front of females. And- remember? You each came across and spoke to us? Didn't get shy and cover up. Just stood there..."

John shivered at the memory.

"...in front of me and the girls, letting us enjoy your youthful forms. So trusting, and grown-up about it..."

Bud rubbed his thighs together.

The tent in John's thighs seemed to jerk.

She said she loved seeing what boys in her class looked like naked.

They both wanted to swoon. Oh, yes, oh yes...oh yes, Mrs Pebbles. Tell us more!

She said she loved seeing them without a stitch.

"Yes, getting to see the characteristics of boys you know..."

The boys blushed a deep scarlet. They felt warm all over.

She said she was sure other females felt the same way.

"You must have enjoyed it too? Yes, I know, a little shy...but still proud of your physiques...still keen to be admired?"

John nodded, vigorously.

"Yes...we liked it," gushed Bud.

"Which makes me think..."

And she briskly rose and decidedly drew the curtains with a clatter.

"...it might be so nice for you two boys, and me..."

They both nodded, to encourage her to press on. She stood over them, eyes flickering to their erections.

"...if you boys were to strip off now..."

They both felt their stomachs melt, their groins ignite.

"...and I could enjoy the sight of you, again, in your nude glory...and you could feel the pleasure of being admired. After all, there are no girls to smirk and make fun of you and tell their friends. Just me, a mother..."

Bud and John looked at one another, eyes dancing.

"...full of respect for young male bodies. Yes, you can be nude, sitting here while we enjoy milk and cookies baked fresh this morning!"

Their faces lit up and they nodded keenly.

"Yes, you can strip off now!"

The boys instantly rose and looked at one another for a second and then John shucked out of his coat and Bud followed, and both were loosening ties and, as if in a race one against the other, each undid buttons and pulled his shirt over his head- Bud nearly ripping his in his eagerness to get naked- and hanging it over the chair. An excited intake of breath, and they were unbuckling snake skin belts and then unbuttoning flies with John pulling one button off in his haste- and, with another pause and another big breath, letting trousers slither downward to puddle at their ankles. Then they stepped out of them.

Their white boxers exposed stubborn erections with wet splotches. They resumed their undressing, stumbled for a moment pulling off shoes. The room filled with the smell of warm leather. Then they stepped out of the mess of clothing.

They looked at their clothes on the chairs.

The looked at her beaming gaze.

They looked at one another.

And then...

...in a flash...

...Bud and John whisked their boxers down and stepped out of them.

Bud displayed a cock that projected from his groin and stuck straight up at 45 degrees. Its underside was densely wrinkled. The coronal edge of the glans was well formed. It was a very defined penis head indeed. Any female would feel it thrust its way in, mused Mrs Pebbles. A very formidable glans indeed.

Bud observed his Sunday school teacher staring right at it, seeing it leak clear fluid. He gulped. He...felt...wonderful...as her lovely eyes danced all over his erection and his slender swimmer's build.

John Lawrence surged with excitement too, showing off his rock hard erection with a top heavy cock head but also his fantastic body hair: the square of black fuzz covering his chest, dark fleece descending downwards like the trunk of a tree to camouflage his navel then, below it, a lighter growth spread all over his tummy until it suddenly darkened and turned into the exploding jungle of pubic bush.

Mrs Pebbles pondered how warm he would feel. Like a much loved dog.

"Let me get our snack."

Soon the boys were seated, drinking fresh milk and munching on warm cookies, while Mrs Pebbles sat opposite admiring their naked forms-talking about their "nice lean muscles" and their body hair which was "fabulous" in the case of John but still nice in the instance of Bud, and how they must be both proud of their "manliness" and how their organs stood so hard and gave out so much fluid which promised to make them good "mates" for the girls they chose to marry and how she liked the "testicle sacs" on boys even though John's was hard to see with his abundant fur and, yes, Bud had a testicle that hung much lower than its partner but that was common and true even more with the Reverend Pebbles.