In Mrs. Reilly's Garden

Miss Shawcross' eyes bulged. She had contorted to get a better view.

Still he struggled on with his shameful story, seemed determined to tell everything, standing there naked in front of Sarah and next to his flushing, quivering young teacher.

He said standing in the corridor when he was, yes, erect, and when his mother was gone, the maids and sisters and cousins examined him close-up- this, he thought, had been his mother's intention- bending and pointing, remarking on shape and colour. He felt as if he were a slave on the blocks, forced to stand there naked while women assessed his qualities before an auction. They asked him questions especially his older sisters and cousins, like how often his lavada stood up- although the maid insisted his organ be referred to not as his lavada but as a lola. Lola- the word implied a big organ, loli being the word for a boy's small one. He had to tell them that it stood up from time to time, certainly when he took his clothes off or when his thoughts wandered.

"Your naughty nerman," a cousin spluttered and all the girls laughed, looking at it.

Yes, nerman was the Hindi word for a stiff one, he explained- and they asked him whether he was full of shame about his nerman. He said he just nodded and hung his head which made them laugh at him. One cousin pointed out that it would cause an awful bulge in his trousers and his sisters confirmed that they often noticed it. When he got up from table, for example, or when they saw him in the corridors in his pyjamas. "It pokes!" spluttered his older sister. "It pushes his pants out- his funny, stiff snake!"

Then they asked why he had that sack- yes, sack, that little bag- hanging down, those androshka...like stones or marbles, they had said to bursts of giggling.

"Androshka."

He pointed to his scrotum, to help the headmistress.

"Yes, androshka, I know- the Hindi word for testicles," said Sarah who was just starting work on a dictionary of Indian anatomical and reproductive language. "Androshka sounds so right." She looked at the sad, hanging sack the boy displayed.

She saw Miss Shawcross swipe a lubricious sideways glance. "Yes, the girl would be curious about those," thought Sarah. "Maybe she has some scraps of information about their function or has overheard brothers discussing their 'balls.'

He went on telling her the questions they put to him, like why did his thing have all those thick veins and what was the point of the knob on the end of his toto (toto-another shaming word for his organ) and whether they could touch it...

Yes, of course, they would want to do that. All females did, the objects being so puzzling in shape and appearance.

"And?"

He drew the line at being touched. But once he had to suffer his artistic cousin sitting on a stool only a foot from him to sketch and colour a portrait of his organ while other girls looked over her shoulder and up and down at the subject she was so earnestly reproducing. They were full of ideas for rendering the anatomical portrait more realistic, making the androshka she was drawing droop lower, one especially lower than the other- there was debate about this, a lot of backwards and forward comparisons of the object and the sketch. And there was much animated and high spirited discussion about making the head of the lola bigger and redder, or the chocolate-coloured band darker and more sinister. All accompanied by cruel giggles.

He agreed this was terribly embarrassing.

Once his mother had punished him just as she and the rest of the family were leaving the house for a visit. They gathered, all the females, to watch him divest himself of jacket and shirt. The maid had then peeled his trousers down and then his pants while his sisters had stared and gasped at his nerman, and giggled at the androshka and he found himself left behind at the mercy of the maids, standing naked in the corridor. Maids- low caste girls and women and old ladies- those of his own household and their friends from neighbouring homes who had been summoned to see the Brahmin boy undergoing murgha or nude punishment. They thronged around him, about a dozen. The younger were enormously curious and elbowed to get close. Some appeared not to have seen a penis, at least in an erect state. Certainly not on an upper caste boy. Their stares, whispers, giggles and gasps made him shudder.

He turned to the wall to shield his groin and its rigidified content from their mocking looks- he could not, he said, make his nerman subside, his lola engorged, well, just like it was now. Again he explained to Sarah his inability to restrain himself. Touchingly he told her his "feelings were very strong" and made his "rod" (the English slang term, which he must have used with dormitory companions, tumbled out) go "hard, oh so very hard."

Reference to his erect state made Miss Shawcross tremble and look down with renewed hunger. Was it the big knob that had captured her interest, wondered Sarah, or the veiny stem? Imagine the effect on a girl, with all the normal impulses, who had never seen such a sight before.

He continued.

With his back turned he found the maids were even more enlivened- an upper caste boy, was revealing his bottom! This was shameful- and in front of females of the lowest caste! "We...can...see...your...gaandu!" one of them taunted. "Your naughty boy's gaandu!" And they all burst into laughter.

He had to go on presenting his buttocks (a bottom was termed gaandu, buttocks were called chootad) for what seemed hours. He winced when the girls giggled about his chootad. "What a jolly bare chootad on the boy!" Chootad: the very word- comic and euphonious- made him shrivel.

"What pretty chootad!" they taunted and teased. "Look...look! The boy's chootad! Oh, what jolly business! His naked chootad!" A cheeky and sensuous maid- an attractive young woman of 19- asked him lubriciously, "Aren't you shamed...a Brahmin boy?" She would never have spoken so familiarly in other circumstances. And then again she asked it, right into his ear, while for a second her maid's fingers flickered over the surface of his right buttock, she whispered: "Your maids can see you...all naked...Brahmin son and his bare chootad."

He said he shuddered at the thought they were seeing his naked behind, his gaandu and his chootad, these low caste females.

"You must have been...very ashamed," said Sarah, she herself now feeling excitement. "To have them staring at your...globes." She chose the word for its shaming effect. She pronounced it carefully, rounding the vowel. She saw Miss Shawcross tremble before a smile alighted on the corners of her lips. The teacher took a side-glance at the boy's behind. Appeared to be stimulated by what she saw, his globes on display.

His globes...nude.

Sarah breathed deep.

"Well, we used a lot of nude punishment- murgha- here," she pronounced. "If boys are naughty, well...it's the punishment: boys lose their clothes. All spanking here is done when boys are nude, the spanking delivered by females, by me and our staff..."

She saw his penis throb. His eyes went wide. As for his young teacher, from the cold climes of northern England and its chapels and sermons...there was sweat on her brows. If she had fallen to the floor in a swoon, Sarah would not have been surprised.

"...and we have English girls now enrolling in our school and..."

The excitement swept over him in a wave: girls! White girls! His age! Who might be viewing him when he was like this!

He shook. Shook uncontrollably.

"...they will be shocked when they first start seeing our boys being disciplined. Yes, English girls witnessing our punishments for boys. In the corridors, for example...or in classrooms...they are going to see boys deprived of their clothing..."

She let that sink in.

"But right now it's your punishment here, with me. And Miss Shawcross. Please, cross to the couch..."

It would be a paddling, with the boy lying on his back, legs in the air. His genitals on display, sticking up hard or flopping hopelessly. She liked that position.

His legs would be held aloft, in the first round, by Miss Shawcross with Sarah taking aim and delivering the strokes all over his thighs and rounded parts. Then she and the teacher would trade places. She would see the flushing and the quivering of Miss Shawcross as she learnt to make a grown boy bawl with pain and struggle like a colt. Then...

...then she would make this young "Miss Manchester" sit. And Sarah would order the red-bottomed boy to lie over her knees. They would hear the cackle of starch as his weight settled into her. And the hiss of his released breath. His lumpy, ugly organ would be pressed into his teacher's laces and linen. She would certainly be aware of it. Sarah would guide the chapel-bred girl to use hand and paddle on the boy's round, brown chootad, spread exposed under her very nose while she felt his nerman throbbing and jolting- maybe doing even more- pressed into her own virginal privates.

Miss Shawcross would see the boy strain and buckle, throw out arms and legs in a swimmer's motion, twist and turn and reveal all. From this position she would glimpse the inner regions of his intergluteal cleft, his most intimate characteristic.

This boy was shuddering and leaking already by simply being stared at. With a nude spanking he would surely deliver the ultimate male offering, a full-bodied ejaculation. In Miss Shawcross's lap. Its fresh boyish smell would flavour the air, perhaps perfumed with a scent of spices and tumeric.

Sarah thought that this girl's mind would weave together- perhaps for all time- her own exquisite carnal joy and the cruel, nude punishment of a young male. Her exaltation. And his shaming.

Miss Shawcross would never be the same again.

Sarah drew a paddle from a bottom draw and followed the boy to the couch. His erection bounced ahead of him, his nerman. And he was presenting his chootad. His globes, his Brahmin bottom.

His chootad, about to become the centre of everyone's attention.

Mrs Reilly's Cadillac left the drive way of her heritage mansion with her and her guest, Sarah Maitland in the back seat.

In the front, driving them was 18 year old Tom Wilson, a boy from Grover Cleveland High who had done time in the gardens working off some offence but been recruited for paid duties in Mrs Reilly's grounds. And in her house.

He was coal-black and athletic, a member of the school swim team. In fact he had been with other boys training in the nude when Miss Braithwaite and the girls had burst in, that famous occasion in the recent history of Grover Cleveland High. He had been one of two Negro boys.

His family had immigrated from Savannah. There Tom had worked as gardener in the grounds of an estate where older white ladies, mostly widows, had appreciated his physique. Seen him shirtless in the garden. Invited him indoors, showered him with gifts.

Mrs Reilly's patronage had not surprised him.

Today Tom was dressed in chauffeur's cap and neat white shirt and black neck tie under a navy blue jacket. It is not possible to describe what he wore below his waist for the simple reason he wore nothing below the waist. Doris and Dorothy had selected his uniform and broke the news that he would remain naked from the waist. He was less than astonished because he had worked for Mrs Reilly after school and on weekends for some time. He knew her rules.

Truth was he was beginning to enjoy the dictats of the chatelaine, even found the enforced exposure thrilling and the five dollars a week was a boon.

And he got to drive a Cadillac.

His jacket and shirt were very short, several sizes too small, ending at his waist. As a result when he had opened the car door for Sarah and Mrs Reilly their eyes had been able to devour the sight of his groin- and what hung from his groin.

As he felt their appreciative and curious stares his penis, already stretching, had immediately lengthened and stood to rigid attention.

The ladies had seen it as they had stepped in the car.

Now as he drove them his black penis with its huge vein and mahogany head stood rampant with the excitement of what he was doing- steering the Cadillac through downtown Brewer nude from the waist, with no pants- and his ample testicle sac lolling on the leather seat between his thighs.

In the backseat the ladies talked.

"I think you will enjoy the hospitality of Mrs Ricketson," Mrs Reilly was saying to her famous house guest.

"It's bridge, isn't it?" Sarah asked.

"Oh, that's the pretext. Truth is it's a little more. With these bridge parties she has her poor helpless son Rodney do some modelling. Normally the tiny Indian loin cloth he's wearing for the school drama."

Sarah laughed politely. She admired and liked this Mrs Reilly. Her American host was a gifted amateur. Her enthusiasm was formidable. Still, these were things- nude male punishments- Sarah had worked at for decades. She had seen it all.

Mrs Reilly continued, describing this Mrs Ricketson and her endeavours in the cause.

"Rodney's humiliation in front of the old dears and town mothers is simply exquisite. He has perhaps the best physique in the town. Think Michelangelo's 'ignudi' on the Sistine Chapel or David himself, only with with shapelier chest and with a decisively larger appendage than what you will see in the Academia in Florence. Yes, a big member with a big head like a prize winner mushroom at our local state fair. And being stared at..."

"He finds it impossible to control when looked at by females- the age old predicament. Their erections can't be stopped."

"Indeed. He's a real hoot in school medicals and swim events. Straight as a soldier within seconds. And at the bridge club we all get to see it close up. But today his dear mother has recruited his friends- a small, hairy little chap called Stevie, another swimmer called Mark, and there's a fella with a sideways slant to his prick- charming that is- and a tall basketball player with a delightful petite projection of no more than- oh, what did the tape measure tell us- three inches I think. Yes, He's called Carl."

Sarah's interest was rising.

"And she'll make these boys..?"

"They'll model some Shakespearean tights that they'll be wearing on stage at an event in the local womens' teachers college. Darling, these conceal nothing. Very tight. And so funny when they stretch away and produce emissions of Cowper's fluid and even...believe it or not...actually ejaculate while we look at them or rather, because we look at them."

"Yes, spontaneous ejaculations like your handsome recruit with the memorable curved member in your garden the other day- Johnny Marcello. Goodness, he just let fly with that emission didn't he? It was a benediction, all over the watching females standing beneath him, staring up."

"It was those schoolgirls staring that brought him to explode like that. Didn't you see the throbbing of his penis when the girls moved in to examine him? The twitching of his member? And suddenly he went rigid. And then...the first big splosh..! My goodness, it rained down on dear Lynda Lindhoff, into her hair and across her brow. It was cruel to laugh at her, but that lunatic expression on her face with his ejaculate hanging off her nose! Oh my god!"

Sarah had seen plenty of spontaneous eruptions- during strippings and spankings, during cannings and bathings. It was not common but it did happen. This one was a delight, however, with the boy high up on the ladder and ladies and girls milling under him. The boy being so good looking and his prick so sculpted.

"And the lad had much more to come."

"Yes, he sent a second shot at poor Wendy Hessmeister, our town librarian, and that jacket of hers will never be the same again. The expression on her face when his juice spurted in her direction! And it was the wrong moment for that nice young lady Cecily Axehead to be looking up mouth open! Mouth wide open! Suddenly the boy's fluid flew right into it- her classmate's sperm!"

I loved that," agreed Sarah, laughing. "She did swoon and reel and stagger and choke, all at once! And in her shock she swallowed! She's gone from being virgin to...something else, in one fun-filled moment."

"Later they all remarked on how HOT the fluid was! As she wiped her face clean Lynda exclaimed it was...hot...hot...as fudge!"

Mrs Reilly spluttered with raucous laughter. She added, "Maybe..maybe...it was that fresh milk I made the maids bring!"

"Cooking away in his testicles while he was up there, exposed to the sun's rays, I imagine."

Yes, she thought, the staged punishment had been a special event. Even with all she had seen in her lifetime- in English country houses, in Indian schools, in the Caribbean- Sarah had to agree it had been a choice entertainment. Full marks to her host, this Mrs Reilly.

The women fell into a momentary silence.

Steering the vehicle, Tom was listening. He had heard accounts of the occasion from other boys. In a corner of the school cafeteria they had told him about the garden punishment and Johnny on the A frame and the photographing. "They weren't allowed not even a stitch," they had whispered breathless. "And the 'ole crones watching and staring and snapping pics!" Their own erections had shown, pushing out their trouser fronts. And Tom had stiffened too. Now a slimy emission bubbled from his meatus. His bottom bare on the car seat, his erection throbbed.

Sarah returned to the subject of Johnny Marcello.

"Yes, my dear, it was hilarious, the way his sperm just flew out. That benediction for the womenfolk. He looked like he'd just been electrocuted. Shocked. I loved the way he required assistance getting down...and limped off head bowed, the milky fluid trailing from his organ."

"He was humiliated but..."

"But very much fulfilled."

"Yes, very much. Indeed I think on one level..."

"On one level," opined Sarah, the expert in full-nude punishments. "It was what he wanted, what he had been hungering for."

And she thought again of Rathsida all those years ago.

Tom Wilson steered them into Elm.

He wondered whether, when they got to Mrs Ricketson's, he would he be required to exit the car and open the door for the two ladies? Wearing nothing but the shirt and jacket that fell only to his waist. Showing off his prick and balls and the crinkly hair in his groin.

His erection was not flagging and the stream of fluid was running strong.

It was a thought that led to another: would he have duties inside the house, at the bridge party, in front of the old dears, with the other boys? And would it be the first time those old dears had seen a Negro boy's prick?

He certainly hoped the answer to both questions would be yes.

Meanwhile his nude ass cheeks savoured the leather. So did his lolling scrotum. His heavy Congolese erection jutted high and seemed to sniff the air around it, seemingly eager for exposure when they reached their destination.

"Oh boy!" Tom thought, "I sure hope they get me to show off my dick!"

And he wished it had been him on the A frame in the rose garden.

"Let me tell you the story of one boy in India many years ago," Sarah was saying to Mrs Reilly. "In several respects just like your Johnny..."