In Mrs. Reilly's Garden

He saw the two plain girls stare at it, eyes swimming.

His penis jolted and throbbed.

"What's all this?" panted Ena to Cecily.

"Dunno. Naughty boys...being punished, I guess," said Cecily, beat thumping. "I heard the rumours. But never dreamt...never! Not like this!"

Homer gulped.

He recognised Ena and Cecily. He whispered to his mother, "Mom! Mom! Let me down! Those girls...they see me at church!"

The Youth Fellowship of Fourteenth Street Baptist to be precise.

He was covering his groin again, desperate to block them from seeing his privates. Hell, they sung hymns with him! Went to picnics! Bible class! And here he was nude! Without a stitch! They would see...everything! Including his shamefully hairy chest! He wanted to cover up bad. To be able to step down from the ladder and creep back to Mrs Reilly's house and put on his clothes.

Pursing her lips Mrs Dockweiler just shook her head. She signalled for him to move his hands back to his sides.

He grimaced. And obeyed his Mom.

Just as the girls recognised the shy, gawky boy.

"Hey! That's Homer! From church!"

"Oh my god!"

"He's completely naked too!"

"Ena, look! He hasn't got a stitch!"

He saw them goggle. And drop their eyes to stare right at his genitals.

He saw their expressions. "Wow! Look at Homer's penis!" their eyes seemed to be saying. "Look at Homer's testicles! Aren't they...funny!"

"And at that hairy chest of his!"

Their mocking eyes seemed to be saying that as well.

His insides turned to water.

He could have melted from shame.

Sweet girls from the church. But now...seeing him naked...that expression in their eyes!

And in response to this strange feeling his penis lengthened...stretched...

...filled out...

...and lifted...

...in three jerks...

...jerk!

...jerk!

...jerk!

To full stand.

Almost flat against his abs. Its underside on veiny display.

All the ladies noticed.

"Oh my!"

"This young man's getting excited again."

"Goodness me!"

"Like one of the young goats on our farm!"

He saw Ena and Cecily nudge one another and ogle.

Homer looked close to fainting, mid-way up the ladder, big erection jutting up. Hands rigid, hanging at his thighs.

And Ena and Cecily now fixed him with syrupy smiles.

Beaming at his blushes and humiliation.

"Oh, this is sweet," thought Ena. "To see them completely nude! And this boy humiliated. And that Johnny Marcello too!"

She and Cecily were feeling very stirred in their own privates.

Meanwhile ladies did not miss the opportunity.

Snap. Snap. Snap.

What a subject for pics!

Snap! Snap! Snap!

And then another female arrived. Demurely, respectfully. Her dress, white and summery, was vaguely Edwardian. She sheltered beneath a white, laced parasol- the effect very much of the tropics or the ante-bellum South. Her sharp features were somewhat lined, her skin not far from parchment. Her brown eyes shone. Oh, say in her mid-70s. Clearly not from these parts.

It was Mrs Reilly's house guest.

It was Sarah Maitland.

Discretely, from a shadowed corner of the living room, she had watched the supervised masturbation and full-nude spanking of Homer Dockweiler. Her admiration for her host- who, it seemed, regularly organised these occasions- had grown. Not many women could deliver such a triumph. Or recruit so many ladies to participate. Nor render the humiliation of the young males so exquisite.

And the full-nude gardening work carried out by punished youths- yes, and their stripping by two Negresses- and now this theatre in the garden, with all these tittering viewers, well, this was the coup de grace.

Sarah's mind went back to her own years in England as governess and teacher and as manageress of the house in London's St John's Wood where boys were sent to be disciplined. And then her years in schools in Indian and the Caribbean where she implemented full nude punishments. Her years running discipline in juvenile detention facilities in the American south and her book, Teaching Boys to be Gentle Men.

But that curved appendage, on that nude young man...

It brought back a very specific memory of one punishment in her office, one day in-oh, it must have been- 1917, when full nude punishment of those Indian youths was gathering force, galvanising her female staff, curbing the arrogance of the 18 year old Brahmin males in her care.

Standing there in that garden, in the American mid-West in 1957, Sarah's mind roamed over the decades and settled on that sweltering Indian Spring.

The Great War was torturing colonial India. It was stripped of its male folk: a million soldiers off to Europe, natives and their white officers. The German raider Emden was capturing every British ship that appeared in the Bay of Bengal. Families- Anglo-Indian and native- had run out of savings. The fabled Saint Barbara's School for Girls had to close.

Where to educate these 18 year old English girls, their fathers off fighting battles in Flanders or the French trenches, their mothers stressed with the discipline of servants? In normal times it would have been unheard of, to install them in a school for boys, Indian boys, the sons of the educated Indian elite. But Sarah Maitland's discipline was legendary, spoken of across the Empire, and there were grand spaces available in the opulent red brick buildings designed by the Viceroy's Architects Office in Calcutta. Here on the edge of the Ganges and its baked mud river banks, the buffalo and circling hawks.

There was also an all-female teaching staff available. The older ones were highly regarded, stern spinsters dedicated to their craft and brooking no nonsense. The younger ones, recruited from Scotland and the North of England, left something to be desired: naive, unprepossessing girls, lower middle class or even less distinguished, overwhelmed by the tropics. Still, they were responding rapidly to Sarah Maitland's disciplinary philosophy.

As confirmed this morning in the headmistresses' grand study with its heavy curtains, the walled elephant head, the mahogany furniture, the hallmark tusk on her desk, the rich Rajasthani carpets.

Rathsida was 18. His nudity was shocking, stark. His skin was khaki. He was gaunt, lanky. He was decidedly not good looking, with a beak nose and big shifty eyes. Sarah noted with distaste his testicles. Normally she warmed to the sight, at once comical and suggestive: a bag, a purse if you will, loaded with two balls, sometimes tight- a little globe gauzy with hair- sometimes loose, hanging low with the objects outlined in the skin. In this case, however, there were two many folds, the hanging was too low, the weight of one testicle much heavier than its twin.

Yes, standing before her desk he was completely naked; he had been confronted with his misdeeds by his nervous young teacher and forced to strip at breakfast in the refectory. Then marched by the teacher through the school corridors to the office. Here he stood before her, as nude as Adam. Yet he was not a charming sight, thought Sarah. And it wasn't just his testicles, his over-loose, dangling scrotum. His dark penis, in a state of full erection, arced forward, bent downwards like a banana. Its tip was a blazing red, as if touched with lipstick- red and shiny as a kidney.

And this glans, this rich red penis head, was misshapen, turned upwards, as if carelessly jammed onto the stem: pointing up while the stem arced down, all unsymmetrical. As for the penis stem itself- relatively thick- the colouring was unsavoury: a patchy khaki with a chocolate ring around its middle. Oh yes, those rings were common but this one was broad and dark way beyond normal.

How humiliating must have been the long walk through corridors to her office. His meaty organ would have led the way, bouncing in front. What a delight to the sari-clad maids thronging the corridors, polishing brass and wood, mopping the floors, to see him stripped to the buff with his blushing teacher Miss Shawcross, new to her job, tugging him by ear or arm! If he had run into the English girls just enrolled..! What an epiphany for them! And for her teachers who may have seen him passing by- the shy newer ones, the worldly older: a new boy, humiliated and totally displayed.

Yes, the teachers fresh from England's cold, puritanical regions: how they would have gulped down the sight of a young Indian male nude and erect being marched down the corridors and up the stairs by one of their own.

Yet was he truly humiliated?

He stood, before her desk, his eyes shifting nervously. They were chocolate- same colour as that penis band. His eyelids blinked furiously. What was he thinking? Sarah knew no assumptions could be safely made. In this condition their minds race, imaginations fly, fantasies gallop wild.

A drop of clear fluid suddenly made its appearance at his meatus- how she savoured the correct term for the slit in the penis head- and she thought: nature gives us a clue. A smile worked at the corners of her lips. He saw it and shifted. But her conclusion was unavoidable: he was excited by being nude in their company.

Besides him the teacher, Miss Mildred Shawcross. She shook nervously. She was only 21, hardly older than the boy she had just ordered out of his clothes. She had arrived from Manchester a week earlier. She had been coached by Sarah in what had to be done to apply discipline: any errant boy should be instructed to remove every item of his clothing where he stood and then have you- his teacher- march him through the corridors holding him by the ear or upper arm. Outside the office he is to be positioned standing against the wall, facing the wall exposing his rear (a terrible disgrace for a Brahmin boy) or facing outwards exposing- well, everything- whatever the teacher thinks warranted. But if he is to face outwards he is to stand hands behind his back or on his head. This presents a delicious spectacle for passing females.

Sarah remembered that as Mildred and two other new teachers had been instructed about this rule their eyes had swollen, clearly with a prurient interest. A lively prurient awe. And that was before she began the instruction on corporal punishment. As Sarah outlined the protocols around full bodied naked spankings and canings their breasts had heaved and hot flushes run up and across their necks and cheeks.

Back to this unprepossessing boy.

He had been viewed that morning by sari-clad maids, teachers, some English ladies visiting for tea with Sarah: facing outwards, hands behind his back.

"Did he find it excruciating?" Sarah had asked her secretary, one of whose duties was to check on the punished boys, a duty that Miss Plimmer, a virgin, devoted herself to diligently.

"No, Miss Maitland. He did not act at all embarrassed. Even seemed..."

"To enjoy showing himself to all and sundry?"

"Yes. He even smiled at me when I looked..."

Looked! She blushed and corrected herself.

"...when I was checking."

"And his organ was engorged?"

"Completely. Throughout." She blushed deeper. At home she had never viewed a male organ. Now in the tropics they were presented to her throughout each school day. And at the bungalow house she shared with teachers, one of them, Hester Marsden-Smedly, had last week proposed that their young Indian male servants- cook, gardeners, houseboys- dispose of their longhis or shorts and move around performing duties in a state of nature. "Oh do! Oh let's!" had exclaimed one of the young teachers. At this stage it remain a proposal.

These sights, these prospects, filled under-the-sheets dreams and fantasies.

Meanwhile Sarah thought about this boy's defiant presentation. It happened occasionally. There may be- oh, call it a tipping point. A boy in a country house loses his shyness at being stripped. He shudders when ordered to pull off his clothes, not with embarrassment but eagerness. And when his mother or governess whisks off his underpants he is already throbbingly engorged. Underpants at his ankles, his penis bounces in the air as if flattered to be looked at. He contrives, while being paddled over a female lap, to twist and show off his organ, displaying it to watching females- sisters, cousins, an aunt, daring them to stare. He will misbehave- raid the pantry, taste the port, answer back and use bad words- to provoke nude punishment especially if in sight of a maid. A maid! Thrilling for them!

In this case? Certainly Rathsida was standing boldly, arms fixed besides his sides when most boys cannot stop them fluttering to shelter erections. His erection was hardy and resolute. The driblet on its end had become a trail of clear moisture- a dangle of Cowper's fluid- hanging and swaying in mid-air. Yes, some boys crave to display themselves naked. Her correspondents in research institutes described this as "exhibitionism." It seemed a likely hypothesis that this was his pathology. In which case her shameful punishments were ineffectual.

She looked up at the nude youth.

"Are you punished at home? Like this?"

He nodded.

"Made to undress? Or does someone take your clothes off for you?"

He shuddered uncontrollably.

"A maid. My mother's maid. She...undoes the things..."

His penis twitched in the air at the recollection, thrilling and humiliating.

"Does she- this maid- pull your underpants down?"

He shuddered and nodded.

"And make you step out?"

He nodded, shaking with some nameless emotion.

"With your mother watching?"

"Yes...and my sisters."

"And where does this take place? In your bedroom?"

"In the hall...or the big parlour...where visitors...my sisters' friends or cousins...can watch. Also, aunties..."

"So this happens today, even with you being a grown boy of 18?"

"Yes...my mother is very...punishing."

His excitement was obvious. His body shook. His erection jolted and the stream of fluid now trailed all the way to the carpet.

Sarah decided to go for broke.

She selected her words carefully.

"Do you find your sisters enjoy staring at you...naked?"

Her words hung in the air.

His trembling became more convulsive.

He nodded.

"Looking at you..? Down there?" She gestured at the capacious bent tube with its dark ring and garishly coloured head.

He seemed almost to faint. But she got the response she had been fishing for.

"Yes...they stare...at my...my organ..."

"At your somewhat large, engorged organ. With the bend. And the interesting colouring."

She might have been addressing his genitals for she was staring right at them.

Under his khaki skin he darkened and lowered his eyes. He nodded. Yes, he seemed to be saying, the bend...the colouring.

"Do you think they like what they see? Do they think it funny- the bend, the colours? Or does it frighten them?"

He looked bewildered. In return, she was only more cunning.

"Or all three- they like it and they think it funny and it frightens them, all at the same time?"

He seemed to reflect on this possibility.

"Yes."

"And they probably like to see it become engorged? Like now?"

"Yes. That makes them...laugh."

He looked miserable, as the memories awakened.

"They point at it...when it...gets...long. When it gets stiff. I am wanting to stop it...but not able..."

He looked down at his jutting member. Its head returned the stare and indicted him.

"Does that make you go all...shivery? Knowing they're looking? Looking and laughing?Does it make you feel strange?"

With a shy nod he acknowledged that this was what he felt.

"Shamed...to your core?"

"Yes."

"And strangely excited?"

Miss Shawcross stared sideways at the object of the questioning. It was so...thick, she thought. The knob on its end so...fat! And that band around the stem...so dark!

She gulped. Greedily.

"Yes."

"And I think you feel that now, don't you? After all, you are quite naked and...engorged as you say, in front of us, two women. Shamed...but excited too."

He was silent, seemed to think and then nodded.

And like a prisoner responding to interrogation his defences collapsed and the truth tumbled out.

He told Sarah his story, standing naked before her, with Miss Shawcross blushing and flushing and quivering at his side.

It seemed his mother- stern, angry and living apart from her husband who ran their big Punjab estate- applied the punishment at least twice a week. The maid she used was a favourite, an unmarried lower caste woman in her 30s with flashing eyes and a "naughty spirit." She clearly loved the unbuttoning, the pulling down of his trousers, the slow descent of his underpants, all the time smiling and catching his gaze. He said when this happened- especially at the moment his underpants were lowered- he shivered with shame. He said he could almost feel her eyes- those of the cunning maid- roving over his organ.

As for his sisters they supplied complaints to his mother to trigger this nude punishment, made up stories shamelessly- claimed he had bullied them, for example, when in fact all afternoon he had been in his room. Told other stories too, alleging he had sworn in front of them ("Bad words, Mama, dirty words!") or taunted maids or raided the pantry, all in order to see their brother forced to stand before them and be stripped by the maid- her name was Sunita- in the most humiliating fashion and forced to stand hands behind his back in corridor or parlour.

He spoke to Sarah, in a rush, about how the eyes of the girls and the maids came alive when he was stripped. He said one cousin jiggled with excitement staring at him as the maid eased his underpants down his legs and, when he had to step out, she caught his eye and showed a triumphant grin. Two young maids leant into one another and cuddled, giggling, as they fixed their eyes on him, as if they couldn't believe the sight he presented.

Another could not resist placing both hands between her thighs, bent over with excitement, her face twisted in concentration, as his clothes vanished- his trousers slithered down, his underpants were whisked to his ankles- and he assumed his humiliating nudity. She seemed to be stroking herself, pressing her own privates, as she stared at his exposed organ.

"You must have been deeply embarrassed?"

Yes, all the staring...even from his mother. She had looked at him intently. He said his mother had been without his father's company for 10 years. She seemed very curious, to compare him with his father perhaps. Or just to see a male like this. Or...to see him, a male, humiliated.

And there was his older cousin, an attractive young woman of 19 or 20 about to be married...

"The age of your teacher, Miss Shawcross, here."

Sarah's intervention was inspired, mischievous and it had its effect. The teacher blushed crimson and the boy swung to look at her.

For her part it was clear the teacher was tremendously stirred by the boy's narrative. Every time Sarah had looked in her direction she noticed the teacher gazing down and sideways at her student's jutting penis. Not a sight she was used to seeing, thought Sarah. Not something she had ever glimpsed back in dowdy, puritanical Manchester- the voluminous and erect member of a naked 18 year old male.

"Please continue."

The boy said that, yes, this cousin, about to marry, seemed the most curious of all. He said her eyes swam as she stared and she leant in so close he could feel her breath on his private parts. She seemed to be memorising the details...thinking, he speculated, of her approaching marriage. When she move away he said he noticed a far-away look in her eyes.

He described the embarrassment of having to stand there, his penis "engorged..."

"Erect is another word," offered Sarah, gesturing to his penis. "When a penis becomes stiff- when it stretches and pulls away from the body, standing up and out- we say that is an erection. An erection. Like what you are suffering now."