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She looked down at the Tower of Pisa thrusting the knitted jockstrap pouch.
"...ashamed because they fear their big over-endowment renders them freakish. And they just tremble as their moms stare and say things like, 'Oh my, oh my!" or "Must get the doctor to look at that!" or give little lectures on the need for self control, as if having a large organ brought special difficulties."
He stumbled out another question.
"Do they...sss...sss...suffer..."
He went silent.
"Suffer erections?" she asked.
They were both looking down at his jutting.
He nodded, helpless and felt he had to explain.
"Yes...because...boys can't help it..." he stumbled out his own defence, as his thrusting jockstrap stared back at them.
"Yes," she replied. "Once nude they do suffer involuntary engorgement. And I don't think there's greater shame for a boy forced into total clothing removal in front of his mother when- without warning- his organ...well, it just sticks up. Because an erection reveals so much, in terms of size and shape. It shows whether there is a curvature, for example, and one in five males suffers a bend of some kind. Naturally, mothers are very curious."
Still looking at his tenting, they sunk into silence.
The boy's mind raced.
Then without any announcement she pulled his waistband out from his front to create space. From the crevice they both saw his enormous glans like a prize-winning mushroom in the Minnesota State Fair. Shiny with fluid, it stared back. At that very second a fresh dollop of clear moisture emerged.
Hungrily, she moved. She decisively tugged the jocks down his legs. His mighty rod sprang free.
His exposed groin, with its curly pubic bush, wafted a scent like damp pine leaves on forest floor.
A moments hesitation and Mrs Pebbles reached for the end of his rod and took hold as if it were a break shaft. Her palm enclosed the glans. Gently, she moved it around and around...
...making Jim's knees shake...
...and then up and down the penis neck over the drooping, wrinkled skin of the frenulum.
He gasped. His eyes half closed.
His mental screening room filled with footage of boys begging moms not to have to strip...then retreating behind trees to uncover themselves...then naked boys cringing in front of their moms...bent over...Oh gosh, Mom, this is sooo embarrassing! or standing hands planted and fingers splayed...covering up...then, because Mom insists, dropping their hands and exposing tiny dicks sticking up...or dangling salamis hanging low...
Boy oh boy! Did Jim experience- right in his gut- their shame...their humiliation...of these poor boys!
Did he ever!
While all the while Mrs Pebble's palm lightly massaged his swollen head...
...made her pointed fingers trace his corona...
...moved up and down, enclosing his penis neck.
So lightly...
...teasingly...
...lovingly...
He gurgled...
...he groaned...
...he gasped...
...he grunted...
...and bent back, projecting his midriff forward...like a young oak in the wind...
...and shot off!
Whoosh!
Three swift cannonades. Sloshing onto the tub and tiles.
The door bell rang. He froze with fear.
"Oh don't worry. I know who that is. She's one of your fans, Jim..."
"Whoooo?" his voice skidded.
"You'll see. She's from your school."
And Mrs Pebbles vanished.
Jim reached for his jocks and draped them in front of his groin. He shook with trepidation.
He heard the front door open. There were voices. But more than one. They became louder in the corridor.
"Yes," he heard Mrs Pebbles say. "He's ready for you."
Suddenly the door filled in a confused bustle.
There was Karen Strawbridge, eyes darting with desire behind her cats eyes glasses- ablaze with longing, taking in the full length of the naked boy and the sight of a rampant, dribbling hard-on. The barrier of his hand-held Bike brand jocks could not conceal the length and thickness of his rod.
A trickle of saliva appeared at the corner of her mouth.
And behind the girl...
Ancient Elsa Geiler, heavily pancaked with make-up and rouged and lip-sticked, all aflame with desire. She was wearing tight slacks. A blouse loose at the neck, showing a hint of weathered breast.
All wound up, hungry for young manhood. Eyes alive with desire.
From behind, said Mrs Pebbles, "Oh Jim, isn't this nice? They've just come from the Christensen's where there's a party...to see you!"
"To see you in Adamskostume!" said the girl, looking to the older lady for approval.
Jim jolted at the rude German word.
"Yes, in Adamskostume- in der Nacke, and with a big strong Stander!" declared the former Berlin bar girl now matured into symbol of mid-Western womanhood. Sixties-something. Very mature, her neck like crepe paper. Seventies, perhaps.
But her eyes were lively as a teenage girl's, taking in the boy about to be steered to his bath.
Gently Mrs Pebbles eased the jockstraps from his grip. Out from him, and away.
He was naked before them. Something told him not to attempt to cover up. His arms hung by his sides.
His cock, still engorged, trailed a dangling rope of silvery emission. At its end- inches from the tiled floor, it swung pendulum-like. The shame of it overwhelmed him.
Mrs Pebbles turned off the taps. She picked up a long-handled brush. Catching the boy's questioning look she gestured to the tub.
Submissively...
...blushing redder than a fire hydrant...
...he stepped into its welcoming warmth.
TIMMY CAPTURED
Timmy lurked in the shadows of the Christensen back garden, among voluptuous pink peonies and spiked purple sea holly, in the shadow of maple brass woods. He was prowler, voyeur, spy. He was a little alien, lurking in the dark. He was also buck naked, his clothes thrown behind him because of the gale-force erotic panic that had taken over. He was shaking with sexual thrills. He was watching, and through the wide French windows he could see it all, the whole cruel horrid prank. He could see trapped boys in their mocking costumes- hardly any costumes at all, virtually naked- facing the big gathering of women and girls.
The females- the moms, teachers, schoolgirls- were rampant with glee.
Beaming.
Sniggering.
Guffawing.
The boys were trapped. They were teary-eyed and blushing scarlet.
There was Alwyn Goodwin in that crazy mock grass skirt around his midriff, leaving exposed his petite cock...which was disgracefully erect. Yep, punching to the ceiling. All three inches, stiff and pulsing. And Alwyn's tears of shame were overflowing, coursing his cheeks.
There was Stevie Lynton, whose body had once been the hairiest of any of them, but who was now shaven carefully twice a week, and tonight sporting a waist band from which dangled strips of leather, perhaps six inches long. Something of a gladiator costume. It looked ridiculous. But his dick- small as it was- simply punched its way out between two of the strips, as if emerging from curtains to be part of the show. As with Alwyn, someone had tied his hands at his back, bound tight with string.
There was Eddy Barrett, basketball champ and the tallest boy in school, who looked the spitting image of MGM star Carlton Carpenter who had sung Abba Dabba Honeymoon. Yep, a long limbed goofy kinda fella. There he was quaking with shame with a black posing strap...right, this very moment...being lowered from his waist...down his thighs...by two kneeling ladies. Their actions exposed another three incher, this one sticking out parallel to the floor. The boy was straining to deliver a nonchalant buck-toothed smile but was in an agony of embarrassment.
The two moms seemed to relish the progress, right in front of their eyes. Behind them, three girls from school covered their mouths and shook with delight. His hands? Bound with rope, tight at his rear.
And next to him was a boy who looked so similar they might have been twins. Davey, too, was beanstalk thin. Yes, thought Timmy, he too might have been MGM's Carleton Carpenter singing "Wanna Be Loved by You" with Debbie Reynolds. Nude, too, except for...oh my god!...a small square pink cloth hanging from a string around his waist! And pushed to one side by a stubborn, rather red erection with a pointed head, the little glans virtually arrow-shaped.
The reason for the hard-on was so apparent. Delcia Forrest, the Doris Day lookalike, stood with one hand on his shoulder and another blatantly......
...openly...
...unabashedly...
...tickling the fella's ass cheeks, even up and down the cleft itself. Which no boy's dick could resist although he was begging her, "Please, Delcia, please...you're making me...you know..." as his cock stuck itself out and up. Hands fastened behind his waist with wrapping tape.
But the worst, the most shameful humiliation had been reserved for Carl Harlson, the tall, broad-shouldered, tow haired Young Viking.
He'd been forced to model a single leaf, tied around the base of his penis. A real Adamskostume this, a leaf, right out of the Garden of Eden! It was, thought Tommy, sooo cunning. Strip the boy of everything and plant a small leaf- cardboard or cloth- on his shaven groin, to cover his cock, held in place by a ring around his shaft. A parody of artistic depictions of- yes, Adam. And, hell! thought Timmy, which of the girls had been charged with dressing him? Which of the ladies- ladies of his neighbourhood, friends of his mom, ladies from his church? Who had been been made to dress Carl?
In a flash he realised. It was Laura Christensen, hovering over the shamed fella right now.
But seeing his buddies struggle with erections, being tickled furtively by the prying, nosey fingers of their hostess Laura, Carl had suffered the same eruption: his sweet little dick had risen to full height...and lifted the leaf with it! Yes, exposing the underside.
His hands were tied behind his back, bound by rope. Held in by Laura's Girl Guide knot.
The humiliation steamed off the boys.
Standing in foliage, feet from the French windows, Timmy's eyes stood out as if on stalks.
The short, cute fella had his well-honed erotic instincts- love of boys' shapely bottoms- yes, he loved to look at and imagine their asses. Then there was his fascination with their cocks. Big dicks, small dicks. There was his sweet susceptibility to female dominance. Staring in rapt attention at the scene inside the house, he found his various fantasies in runaway riot.
He stood, trembling and hypnotised.
His hand fell to his erection and for the third time- no, fourth time- that evening, he frantically began...
"Timmy Townsend!"
"Playing with himself!"
"What a naughty boy!"
Stepping from one side was Mrs Debbie Leapheart, eyes cruelly glinting. From the other, there was Mrs Christensen herself, fired up and grinning like a croc.
Timmy bent double and splayed hands over his groin.
"I thought I saw something...out here...in the garden," sneered the hostess, and she gave the boy such a hard slap on his bottom. He leapt and dropped his hands. In that second both ladies, as if long planned for his capture, took an arm and lifted the diminutive fellow right off his feet and swung him forward and carried him to the French doors.
Timmy's legs peddled frantically. "NOOO...PLEASE! Leemy get dressed! My clothes! Please!"
"Nothing doing, little fella, you are sooo late and we've been waiting! You're coming right in now. Just in time!"
Suddenly he was being borne through the open door, legs frantic and eyes tearing up...his midriff out in front, bearing up his petite erection and his small patch of dark pubic bush contrasting with the blondness of his crew cut hair.
They plonked him down, right between Davey with his pointed dick jutting aside his tiny pink cloth and Carl with his erection flattening his leaf into his shaven groin.
And before he knew it, a girl was fastening his hands behind his back. Timmy was facing what seemed a surging female crowd- gleeful and bug-eyed- taking in every inch of their new prisoner.
And clearly buoyed up and titillated that here were displayed Brewer's finest young athletes, although the ones with the daintiest, smallest, most immature penile appendages. Nude and erect.
"And do they have balls?" asked 56 year old Mrs Gwen Cassidy, glass of scotch in one hand, Camel in the other. "So hard to make out...tiny scrotums... if any."
She waved her cigarette, to make clear her puzzlement.
Which set off a wave of merriment and staring and sent some of the girls in close to the male prisoners, daringly close, to send exploring fingers into Davey's and Eddy's and Stevie's and Alwyn's private spaces producing cries of "Found it!" and "Yes, this one does have a little bean bag!" and "Got it! His funny little sack!"
Peals of laughter.
Carl had to suffer two girls and a mom- Mrs Dockweiler he knew from the neighbourhood, a friend of his mom's- descending on him to finger his scrotum, once dusted with blond fuzz and more recently shaved smooth. With comments on how soft the skin...how little his marbles...and how he looked so frightened as their fingers traced the wrinkles and bubbles of his textured testicle sack.
Veronica and Samantha discovered Timmy's diminutive balls, flattened and hidden.
"Well," bellowed Mrs Christensen, standing in front of Stevie whose small dick leaked gorgeous quantities of Cowper's fluid, right down to the polished Oregon ash floor boards. Excited by this cruel exposure, he trembled. She looked him over, for the fifth time tonight making him shake some more. She persisted in her quest. "A prize for the funniest nick names. My brothers used to say 'family jewels' and 'nut sacks.'"
And she moved onto Timmy. She elbowed the girls aside and reached out and fingered the boy's small testicle sack with its peach fuzz, his small bag flattened into his perineum by the tug of his stiffness.
"Coin purse!" called Mrs Carruthers and indeed Eddy's sac, which she was busy fingering, did look the part.
"Like 'coin purse,'" said the hostess. "It's sweet."
Eddy felt a deep stab of shame.
"Bollocks" was one of the most popular suggestions from the rush of nominations. Although several ladies said that the word suggested more manly proportions than those they were looking at tonight...
...which made the boys even more shamed especially Davey. He had been left by the moms with that black posing pouch stretched between his knees, otherwise naked of course, and diminutively erect. Two lively maidens, Kelly and Daisy, fingered his beanbag, with eyes of dancing merriment locked into his own frightened peepers. Both knew his sisters, he lamented to himself. Both were bound to tell them...everything.
But then...ouch! Hell!
He doubled over!
They had squeezed his marbles!
Hard.
Cruel.
"Owwwww!" Davey was dancing on the spot.
"Girls! Please! Boys are very sensitive down there! Touch...tickle...but don't squeeze!"
Mrs Christensen's warning had come too late to save Davey. He kept hobbling in circles, gasping. Females loved the sight. It was so comic- the lanky boy doing a war dance. Totally nude, except for the posing strap hobbling his legs. Little erection sticking up.
There was general consensus none of these boys should waste time nominating for Mrs Reilly's Brewer Scrotum Quest.
"No, no 'brass clunkers' in this row!" said jolly old Miss Cate Mencken, waving her champagne glass, to a chorus of mocking laughter. Brass clunkers! Several ladies were asserting their husbands had fatter testicles, staring all the time at the line-up of groins. The boys wanted to faint with humiliation.
One lady said that girls should really take an interest in the testicles of boyfriends if they were thinking of children. Several girls agreed enthusiastically, grinning eagerly.
The boys sunk deeper into pools of shame.
Every female seemed intent on inspecting Timmy, standing aghast. Old Miss Bruner generated laughter when she produced a magnifying glass from her purse and elbowed in close, bent down to Timmy's groin squinting. Some females asserted their right to play with his sac and say things about how "pretty" it was. How tiny the testes. How it might indeed be a coin purse.
Mrs Emma Hoodie, 67, asked him maternally whether he "played with himself?" Poor Timmy shyly shook his head. But fingering his rigid little stem the widow persisted. "Masturbation can stunt a boy's growth, you know?" Some of the girls in earshot doubled over.
Mrs Christensen called for silence with a fork knocked against a wine glass and laid out plans for the evening. Her plans were for boys to now serve the delicious snacks waiting in the kitchen and, while being served by the young men, for each of the females to enjoy access to the tape measures laid out on the side table. There were also clipboards with papers with names of each of the male guests. And blank spaces for measurements to be recorded.
"As the boys serve you food and drinks please use the tape measures...to record your findings. To take your record home as a souvenir. They'll hate it, of course. And I think the sooner we get rid of the funny costumes the better. That's right, have our fellas as buck naked as young Timmy who has joined us so late."
"In their Adamskostumes!" yodelled Lucy Peptide as she snapped the waist band holding up Alwyn's grass skirt...
...and watched it slither to his ankles...
...with the boy, hands tied at his rear, feeling another surge of shame.
Laura's girlish hands fell on Carl's leaf, flattened against his groin by his petite hardon, and clawed off the ring that held it in place on the base of his cock. "Gosh! Noooo...stop touching me...down there!" he spluttered. But his classmate was determined, and Brewer's Adam was suddenly without his Edenic leaf.
It was such a hoot to get the pathetic mock-costumes off and have all the males...
... bare...
...buck...
...birthday-suit nude.
For the next hour, during their waitering- serving drinks and food plates in their Adamskostumes- the boys rarely had their little erections out of reach of the tape measures. The females were resolved on taking two lengths- yes, along both ventral and dorsal sides- and then measuring thickness. They had to suffer girls and ladies settling differences.
"Oh, don't tell him he's under three! He'll die if that gets around school!"
"But there's the proof. This thing doesn't lie!"
Holding the tape.
"Look! Have Julia do it again! He might be still stretching!"
Time, finally, for the boys to enjoy a bite to eat as had been promised, to get them to this party in the first place. Mrs Carruthers did it first- recruiting goofy Eddy, tall and lanky as he was, to sit on her lap and be fed spoonful by spoonful from a plate of pie and cake- his penis, much measured this evening, pointing to the ceiling.
Delcia and Karen were sitting next to them on the settee, lending their fingers to tickle the funny testicle sac and stroke the penile shaft. Gentle to be sure. But increasingly firm in tickling and stroking, with the boy becoming agitated and breathless.
"No...please...don't please stop doing that...I...I...I'm going to..."
"What, don't you like our fingers?"
"Jeepers, please...oh, please stop...or..."
And when the poor, embarrassed boy to his horror exploded with sudden narrow shoots of sperm that splashed on his shoulder and then his chest and then his belly, and he looked so guilty and hangdog and forlorn and desperate, it was an invitation for groups of girls and ladies to apply the same technique to Alwyn (sitting on Mrs Dockweiler's knees) and then Davey, Timmy and Stevie, each taken in hand by a maternal guest.
Timmy exploded in the embrace of their hostess Mrs Christensen herself.
She had sprawled one arm around his shoulder- him sitting perched on her knees- and with her other hand worked her swift magic on his rigid sliver of flesh- yes, only a sliver as, sadly, all examinations had revealed it as just under three inches- until he too had shot off. It might have been judged a pathetically weak effusion, one modest puddle settling below his navel.
