Rodney's Nude Humiliation Ch. 22

The king size Rambler pulled up and his mother and aunt Sylvie competed to bid their little 18 year old the fondest of farewells.

"Make sure you thank Mrs Christensen for hosting this wonderful party for you and the other athletes," said Timmy's mom.

"And project your young man's charm at the nice girls, even the homely ones," ordered his lovely aunt.

Timmy Townsend alighted from their new sedan.

This was a corner of Brewer where the houses were new and low-slung, all lighted and smelling of fragrant wood smoke like temples in a sacred grove dedicated to monogamy and domestic bliss. He faced the illuminated facade of the Christensen house. It was perhaps the grandest of the recent ranch style-homes, with a shale and timber facade and porches and patios, set in a garden crowded with shrubs and trees.

From inside Gogi Grant was singing The Wayward Wind. There were peals of shrill girlish laughter. Shadows moved quickly across the drawn Venetian blinds. A deeper woman's voice issued an order but Timmy couldn't make it out. Another burst of girls' laughing pierced the air.

The boy's heart beat hard.

Under his blond crew cut, Timmy was excited.

Maybe Samson, the Negro boy from Alabama would be among the swimmers invited tonight. At that big swim meet last month the sight of the black boy's glistening muscles and his onyx cock, hard as a hammer, had made the eyes of his mom and aunt light up. Little Timmy had also been excited by the manly physique and had felt the strangest feelings in the pit of his tummy.

He had dreamt about becoming the black boy's special friend. Yes, he- a small, cute blond boy with a sweet little cock- would volunteer to be adopted by the Congolese warrior. "I could be Samson's white slave," Timmy even dared to dream. He had fantasies that Samson had slept overnight at their home and the boys had shared Timmy's bed and that under the blankets they had both slipped out of their stripped pyjamas to get warmer, skin touching skin. And that Samson had cuddled Timmy and then Timmy had cuddled Samson- stretching real hard to get his arms around the big torso- and they had played games of tummy rubbing- one on top, then the other- and riding one another's backs.

When his aunt Sylvie was giving him his bath, gently soaping around his groin and making his petite penis point to the ceiling, he had admitted to funny feelings about his Negro schoolmate. His aunt had told him it was "kinda normal" at his age to get confused but he would soon "grow out" of it and meet nice girls and feel warm and affectionate about them instead.

Maybe Samson would be here tonight. And they would get to model swimwear, side by side. Even be required to undress together, pulling on their new brand swimwear racers. Maybe Samson would let Timmy lace up his racers which would be burdened by the heft of his bull-like cock and balls. Timmy might be required to help tuck them in.

As the Rambler roared off, Timmy stood still.

He was somewhat nervous about knocking on the door and joining boys preparing to model the new racers, with swarms of women and girls. Something in him wanted to be a watcher, safe in the dark, peering through a window. Not being judged for being short, boyish, cute...free to gorge on the sights of others.

The squeals of girlish laughter continued. Shadows moved on the blinds. The gramophone now played Tab Hunter's "Young Love."

Timmy tiptoed across the tendered grass, illumined by the light of the big front rooms, to the side of the house. Here it was dark, under the branches of the cedars and mountain ash.

One window was open, protected by an insect screen. But too high...

He moved swiftly along the side of the house and into a rear garden. The outsize pool was illuminated from underwater lights that made it vast and Caribbean. By a tool shed Timmy saw fruit crates neatly stacked. He lifted one and moved back to the window, as light on his feet as the naked Hermes, messenger of the gods of Greece.

He positioned the box under the window amid the hydrangeas, mounted it, stood on tiptoes and peered in.

It was the bedroom of one of the girls, all pinks and pale yellows, dolls on display, flowers in a vase, a big ornate mirror.

And...

...hell!

There was a boy from school, facing Timmy but not seeing him in the darkness. In any case, the boy's eyes were glazed with terror.

He was the long, lean athlete- who played basketball and swimming- called Alwyn Goodwin. His head was crowned with the heaviest Elvis haircut, shaped with dollops of Brylcreem, swept up in the rear in a duck's tail. The brunette pomaded helmet of hair- so flamboyant- just made him look more skinny...

...and naked.

Naked, that is, except for his white boxers which he was reluctantly drawing down his thighs...

...and suddenly revealing, emerging from a shock of untidy black pubic bush, a petite and tapered uncut prick, settled on top of a little globe.

And behind him, helping him draw down the underwear, knelt a beaming Sally Wainwright. Sally Wainwright! And behind her, flushed with excitement, was red haired Karen Strawbridge with her cats eyes glasses. Karen Strawbridge, with her freckled face and red hair in plaits, that frightening ugly girl!

Alwyn's jeans were folded over her right arm.

She'd already taken his jeans off!

By her side, beaming, was 28 year old Miss Lucy Peptide, English instructor from the all-womens' Myra Shrewsbury College. She held the boy's checked shirt over her arm. Timmy knew her because she regularly visited their school to assess English instruction.

"Down they come," cooed Sally. "Right off. What an obedient boy! Over your feet...and whoosh! What a good boy!"

Sally was triumphant, holding his boxers aloof, then passing them over her shoulder to Miss Peptide whose eyes shone brightly, newly recruited to this fun with high school fellas. So much more fun than at the all-female college teaching Jane Austen or practising Chopin preludes on lonely nights.

Alwyn was nude. Totally stripped off.

The long, lanky boy under the heavy Elvis hair stayed bent over, arms folded across his middle. His back was turned to the females, presenting his bared bottom to them. He looked close to tears.

"But you've left me with nothing on!" he lamented.

"Oh you poor boy! But we can only see your little tushie!" Karen enthused.

"Your cute little caboose!" said Lucy, feeling very much a girl again. And loving this- which she had never experienced in her own school days.

His face reddened with the shame of having his bared bottom inspected by girls from his class.

"But you said we'd all have swimmers! The latest design! For racing!" he complained.

His voice cracked with the injustice.

The long skinny boy was half turning to them, both hands splayed over his dainty genitals. He was, thought Timmy at the window, the very picture of embarrassed naked boy, tricked and bullied and blackmailed out of his clothes by naughty girls, worse because he was so tall. Worse, because he had such a small dick.

"Yes, we know we said you boys would model the latest swimmers but Miss Newbold..."

Sally's voice was sweet as June Allyson playing the "girl next door."

"...from Logan's Department Store..." explained Lucy, feeling tingly all over, playing this game with a naked young athlete.

"...she told us yesterday," continued Karen. "That the supply of teensie weenie swimmers hadn't arrived. But she and Mrs Carruthers, the seamstress, have been designing some other costumes."

Alwyn's face contorted with horror.

Tears started in his eyes. "NO! Not the b...b...b...belt they wear for Miss Cuff's musical!"

The three females giggled.

"Well yes, precisely that."

Karen went across the bed and lifted from a pile an embroided belt, with Red Indian designs, waist size 30 inches, and held it up.

One of the new, notorious belts!

The others ohhhed and ahhhed. Mocking their prisoner.

Lucy gave a wolf whistle.

Alwyn, all six foot two inches of him, still clutching hands to his groin, fell to his knees.

"No...no...no, please! Not...not that!"

"Why ever not?" asked Lucy, in mock innocence. She had loved dressing boys in tights for the Shakespeare night, especially Larry Albright who had turned out to sport a freakishly long thin cock. Alwyn was built like Larry- tall and lean. Would he have a similar penis? She guessed that he would, long and thin.

What an absolutely delicious prospect!

She resumed teasing the boy. "It is very stylish. Boys in Miss Cuff's musical have been wearing it in rehearsals..."

"And walking from their change room to the school hall, in just this...this...this..."

Karen couldn't bring herself to say "belt" because it was so hilarious that a boy might be ordered to put such a thing around his waist and go out on stage. Just a belt! She spluttered at the outrageous notion.

Her friend Sally picked up the slackened reins of her comments.

"Yes, a belt! A lovely belt! Boys wearing it down the corridors...past our home sciences room...the art room...corridors full of GIRLS! A belt...and nothing else."

"And boys like Rodney Ricketson...and Marc...and...and the Negro boys...seem to be getting used to wearing that belt."

"Even showing hints that they enjoy it."

And Timmy at the window, and Alwyn on his knees, naked and covering up, had the same thought. Yeah, each thought, those fellas have real whoppers!

Eight inches was the rumour about Mark and Rodney...some said 10...and so thick...too thick to get a girl's hand around, some said...and strong enough to support a wet towel. But Alwyn thought, I've a narrow little three incher, and never want any female to see it until my wedding night.

At the window, Timmy felt the same. The revelations of his...smallness...at the swim meets, had been terrible humiliation. Right in front of his mom and aunt and all those other mothers. While those big boys had drawn looks of real female admiration. Females almost panting...as they stared at the groins of really big boys.

"C'on fella, let's fit this around your waist."

"Please...no! I'll do anything! I'll be your slave! I'll pay you my allowance every week...but don't make me go out there in just that belt!"

The girls hesitated.

He was kneeling, facing them. Hands pressed to his groin, shielding everything. Desperate to stay covered.

"Well," said Sally. "We do have something else..."

"That offers you a bit more modesty. But if you don't agree to wear it I'm afraid we will get Mrs Christensen and Doctor Speight to make you come out just as you are now. Butt naked."

"Naked as a jay."

"In the buff."

Kneeling, hands covering up, he begged, "Just not that belt! Please...oh, please!"

Sally went to the pile on the bed and reached into a brown paper bag. There was a pause. She rummaged. Tension filled the room. She smiled as she took hold of something, catching the eyes of the others. She pulled out what looked like a bunch of big green leaves which, on closer study, turned out to be made of lacquered fabric.

"We cut these out and stitched them together to create a belt for a boy who might play the part of Adam in a Sunday School tableaux," explained the English instructor Lucy Peptide.

"Mrs Carruthers did the design," she added as if this resolved all his difficulties.

"But...but...but..." spluttered Alwyn.

"Stand up!"

The blushing, teary-eyed boy struggled to his feet, hands still grasped in front.

Karen Strawbridge was approaching him...

...and stretching the belt of big green leaves, moving in real close...

...and she threaded it between his arms and his torso so it enclosed his waist.

She moved to his rear and fastened the clasp.

It snapped into place.

At the window Timmy gasped.

The belt of leaves rode high around naked Alwyn. Hugged his waist. This belt would clearly not shelter his cock and balls.

As would be clear if he stopped covering up.

"Drop those hands!"

Long, lean Alwyn groaned at the prospect.

And then...

Slap!

Lucy- with all the authority of a 28 year old college instructor, with a streak of cruelty to young males- struck Alwyn hard across his face.

It shocked all of them. Especially the resisting boy.

"Remove those hands now...or we will take you naked over our knees!"

And she added, cruelly, "It is, after all, what we hear your mother does to you."

Timmy, watching Alwyn's back, could see the lanky fella jolt with shock.

But even Timmy had heard the rumour. That Alwyn was one of the boys spanked naked by his mom. His mom had told all the other mothers about it at Mrs Reilly's. And even that she...

..."milked" him.

Alwyn slowly obeyed.

Timmy, open mouthed, watched spellbound as Alwyn's hands moved jerkily to his sides.

The females were facing him.

Their eyes widened.

They stared right at his groin with looks of lewd glee.

They took their time to take it all in, eyes dancing with satanic delight.

Taking it in, nudging one another.

"No wonder..." said Sally, pretty face under her Doris Day hair alive with mischief.

"...he wanted to cover up so desperately," added Lucy, the cruel mistress of this team of bad girls.

Followed by a long humiliating silence.

Then Lucy turned the boy around. They wanted to see how the belt of fake foliage looked above his ass.

Timmy could now see Alwyn front on, and see how the lacework of leaves rode too high to afford any cover. The tip of one leaf jabbed into the upper reaches of his pubic bush. But...everything was shamefully exposed.

As for Alwyn's dick...the sliver of tapered flesh was not thick or long enough to dangle. It just jutted forward, sitting on top of the little ballsac. And yet the fella was so tall, thought Timmy- and athletic. With such a dainty little uncut prick.

But his humiliation in front of the three females wasn't over.

They spun him around to face them again.

Softly Karen spoke: "We know a bit about you, Alwyn. How your mom found you with magazines called Frolic and Stare. She said because you liked naked women you couldn't object to being spanked naked yourself. And...something else..."

"Yes," said Lucy. "Something about what you wanted her to do with her finger...and your bottom hole...you know, when you were naked over her knees...that little ass of yours up in the air...what a dirty-minded little boy you are!"

"And," said Sally. "Your mother told other mothers at Mrs Reilly's how she had been embarrassed at the swim meet because your little cock and your balls- were so small compared to other boys! Imagine, your own mom talks about it!"

All eyes again fell to his exposed midriff. The boy seemed to sway. Was he gonna faint, wondered Timmy.

But the young peeping Tom was suddenly startled by a the bark of a northern hawk owl high in the branches of the red pine, almost as if the five pound bird of prey were announcing it was time to end this voyeurism. Time to skedaddle. Timmy was about to lower himself when another warning to Alwyn made his blood freeze.

Said Karen, "So it's time to show you off to all the mothers and girls outside..."

She spoke with relish, grinning like a croc.

And Lucy added, menacingly, "And if you allow that little thing to inflate then under the rules we're allowed to take a measurement..."

With that she reached into a pocket and produced a roll of tape measure.

"Length along the top..." said Lucy.

"Length along the bottom..." said Karen.

"And thickness...of your shaft!" pronounced Sally. "Your shaft!"

They burst into laughter.

Karen and Sally each took a hand and tugged him to the door which Lucy Peptide was opening.

Timmy lowered himself. His mind was racing, emotions out of control. He retreated across the strip of lawn. Seeing Alwyn's long lean physique was thrilling enough. An athlete...with James Dean hair! Maybe...Alwyn could visit him at home. For a sleepover. But seeing him shamed by those wicked females! Forced to reveal his awful secret! Timmy's tummy was turning over at the very idea.

He slipped away from the lighted windows of the house moving into the pitch blackness of a flower bed, under the heavy branches of a peach-leafed willow. He quickly unbuckled his dungarees and slid them down. What would happen to him inside? Forced into an Indian design belt? Or a ring of leaves, made to look like Adam in the Garden of Eden?

A small, blond, crew-cut Adam?

And which girls would take him under their control? Guffaw at his three inches? Measure him. Find out, he didn't quite make three. Thinking of their widened eyes and gasps and giggles, he jerked down his boxers and felt the fresh air on his midriff. Yes, the lewd glee in their naughty girlish eyes! Or one of the nice older ladies? One who might take him over her lap naked, as Alwyn's mother apparently did regularly with her tall, skinny son. Yes, even slap his face without warning as Miss Peptide had done.

He trembled, but found the idea weirdly...sickly...spookily exciting. He would just...surrender, like the most obedient boy in the Christensen house. Make himself the pet, the sweetest of all the small-cocked boys invited tonight. And when he got stiff? And they pulled out tape measures? He trembled all over.

There was a peal of female laughter from the windows. Some mock cheers and sound of hands clapping. More laughter. Timmy felt watery in his tummy, tingly everywhere. He reached for his punchy erection, slimy with Cowper's fluid.

SCHOOL ERECTIONS

"Erections...in the corridors...boys wearing only belts...those belts! Yes, it has become a problem for us all," said principal Ada Braithwaite. She was talking to the inner circle of the school leadership. All female.

They were in the principal's office, under framed portraits of her predecessors. The air was silky gray with cigarette smoke. Lipstick-charred butts overflowed the ashtrays. The 20 volumes of the 1953 edition of Colliers Encyclopaedia weighed on the shelves of her glassed bookcase. In her briefcase was livelier reading material: a well-thumbed copy of Peyton Place and a used brown envelope with some of Coach Compton's deeply adored Physique and Young Adonis magazines.

"I mean, it's understandable," said Dr Speight, full time medical officer at Grover Cleveland High. "Miss Cuff has to have those rehearsals, several times a day. Now she's bringing in boys from other schools. Boys have to change in their changeroom and walk through the school to the hall...and, at that age, erections are the default mode for the male appendage..."

"And yet..." ventured Miss Carrabine, mouselike, gesturing shyly with her Camel in its holder. "And yet..."

She seemed embarrassed that all faces turned to her. She was sweetly pock-marked.

"And yet I can't get a girl to concentrate," she insisted. "Faced with a choice between algebra and a close up of Rodney Ricketson passing the classroom wearing only that belt and a feather on his head, I'd say maths loses everytime."

She quickly dissolved her embarrassment by drawing on her Camel.

There were lubricious sniggers.

"Must help with biology, though..."

Miss Williamson's sly eyes suggested her own imagination had been drawn to the Ricketson veined shaft. To the fat glans. To the wide ventral artery. Her girls' biology class has been allowed, in the last month, to have boys as specimens, following a direction from Principal Braithwaite to her staff. An additional punishment option for male students who had been tardy or inattentive or disrespectful of females.

Fellas peeling off behind a screen erected at the rear of the classroom.

Being made to appear, blushing and covering up; then to walk around the desks to allow girls to observe close up, consult the illustrations in their texts, to take notes. A few of the more cheeky, confident girls might reach out with a pencil or ruler- to lift a sagging scrotum, or elevate a penis. Containing their giggles.