Nude Humiliation of Young Viking

Ada was remembering that famous visit to the boys' swim class, bursting in upon them with a party of excited girls and catching the fellas stark naked. She was a newly appointed teacher at the time and it was thrilling given her views on Kinsey and Peyton Place and Freud to see all the 18 year old boys of Grover Cleveland High caught embarrassed and exposed, to see the erections pop up one after the other, and all that followed- the spanking of one boy by the coach, himself naked. And she remembered this boy Carl with his athletic physique, his V-shaped torso, standing without a stitch and a remarkably slender and short penis at full stand.

And now, in front of her, his exposed testicles! How she loved that word, how she loved the objects themselves, how she loved to fondle the things.

She told him to accompany her to her office. It was time for a bit more fun with boys of Grover Cleveland: she had an idea to explore.

With a hand on his shoulder she guided him past the office where Miss Assam, her secretary worked. He caught a glimpse of her at her typewriter and of one of the girls, Karen Strawbridge, hovering. Fortunately they didn't glimpse him. The boy and his principal went past the surgery where Dr Speight had three rooms to inspect reluctant boys; and past the little room with examination table and sink where, sometimes, if they were lucky, a fella might meet his allocated maiden for a private shaving session.

And into her own office with its reproductions of Van Dyke and Rembrandt, sports trophies and pennants. Her own degrees were framed: from Abigail Adams College in the East and Myra Shrewsbury Ladies Teachers' College in Minnesota.

A book case featured three shelves of The Harvard Classics and one with the 10 volumes of Will Durant's The Story of Civilisation.

Carl noticed a copy of Hendrik Willhem van Loon The Arts which he and friends had looted in the library for pictures of nudes. He recognised Thor Heyerdall's Kon Teki which they had at home, as did every house in Brewer.

She gestured the trembling boy- his flap now fallen into place and shielding his small, hairless sac- to stand in front of her desk. She sat down. Her tone was brisk and impersonal.

"Do you spend much time in the boys' locker room?"

Carl shook with guilt.

"Er...ah...no, Miss...I guess, some..."

"Do you look at magazines when you are there?"

He knew what she was referring to. He blushed deeply.

"I...dunno...maybe once..."

"Perhaps these can refresh your memory."

She reached into a draw and produced a pile of the tattered girlie magazines that were regularly leered at by goggled-eyed boys, and stashed away again in the anonymous locker; a treasure trove that boys borrowed from and refreshed; that fed their fantasies as they collected a lurid mag and retreated to a cubicle, or stashed between gym gear in their bags to take home for the night.

Carl, who knew each of the titles, whose own emissions lacquered the pages, tried to look astonished and disgusted.

"Funny that you haven't seen them before. Coach Compton told me that in his opinion all the boys were viewing them- if viewing is the operative verb. Using them- that might be more apposite. In fact coach tells me there is a veritable epidemic of masturbation among boys at this school. Fuelled by resort to disgusting magazines such as..."

Here she rummaged through the pile and flung them, one by one.

"Reveal...Adam...Lace Suspender...Taboo..."

Carl shifted uneasily, terribly conscious that only the tiniest flap of cloth sheltered his private parts, his secret being, from her enraged eyes.

"Fortunately there is a new program for boys with the problem. It's all in this..."

She lifted a Dial Paperback with the title, Teaching Boys to be Gentle Men by Sarah Maitland- big red letters on a white cover. The principal looked Carl in his shifty, telltale eyes.

"...and it proposes the only way of educating boys out of degrading and cruel attitudes to females, fed by masturbation fantasies like these..."

She gestured at the familiar magazines.

"...is a course of aversion therapy. In which boys are made to strip naked, rather as you are now...no flap though...the theory requires what the author calls, total clothing deprivation..."

The words made Carl tremble.

"...yes, total nudity. What she calls 'penile exposure' for the young offender..."

The boy's knees shook.

"...while being forced to contemplate the magazines to which we know they are addicted...that means exposing his erection..."

Carl sunk into a nebulous daze of sheer dread.

"...and required to pleasure themselves...but with females observing them..."

Carl felt like fainting. For a second came close.

"Yes, I can see your reaction. It is indeed traumatic for boys your age. It is meant to be. But all these years after Freud branded masturbation the universal addiction, this technique is the only know cure for the unhealthiest forms of self abuse, yes, the kind of masturbation that requires titillation through pornography, this artificial excitation."

She gestured again at the magazines polluting the surface of her desk. "Excitation that is built around the degradation of females."

The terrible indictment echoed in the office, hung in the air.

In a lower voice, almost mournful, she added, "Coach Compton found these and brought them to me. He is a good guide to the problem of boys your age."

The coach was involved? He had sold out his boys?

The coach had a physique like that of the famous body builder Steve Reeves. His hair was peroxide blond. All summer he organised boys to accompany him on swimming and workout sessions by the lake, in an isolated spot, where there was no problem exercising nude. "Like the ancient Greeks," he insisted. "Athenian culture, here in Minnesota." He also recruited fellas to work out naked after nine at night in the gym at the St Paul Y or swim nude in its ancient chlorine-scented baths. He liked to show off his physique, his all-over tan, his hairless groin.

He was known to collaborate closely with Miss Braithwaite. Even to have facilitated the arrival of her and her girls at the boys' nude swimming class that time. Seemed to enjoy being caught naked himself.

Was he collaborating with her in this exercise, Carl wondered. Meanwhile the principal pressed her intercom and asked Miss Assam and Karen Strawbridge to join her. "I have the first boy here," she said.

Carl swallowed. There was a definite disturbance in his eye ducts.

He was intensely conscious of his near-nudity. His bottom bare, his front covered by the smallest of flaps. How many times had he measured the thing? Six inches wide and five long! Also how silly he looked in the headband with its feather, how childish with the bow and arrow.

But he had no time to think of a solution before the two females burst in, standing close and looking him up and down. Karen Strawbridge was, Carl thought, one of the least attractive girls: with cats eyes glasses, red hair in plaits, freckles sprayed over her face. Yet she had a keen interest in catching boys out: was the first to pivot in her chair if one was called to stand in class to see what might be happening in his flies and was always proposing to other girls they burst in on the boys' swimming class.

Miss Assam, the principal's secretary, had become her closest friend. Together they took the keenest interest in boys' medical examinations. They might burst in- Miss Assam with Karen claiming to be ill, with headache or tummy upset- when a poor fella was in his birthday suit. The boy would be trapped, lying on the table or hands on head having his testicles examined by a seated Dr Speight. Or he might be caught very often erect or half-erect up on the weighing machine.

Now they had Carl in his Indian brave outfit.

They bent sideways to take a sly, prurient interest in his exposed bottom.

Miss Braithwaite quickly sketched her punishment plan. Just as she had for him. Boys as persistent masturbators...who use degrading literature...the role of aversion therapy...nudity for its shaming effect...

"...it's a cathartic experience. And all the boys who use that changeroom will experience it. Carl is simply the first. And since you two are available..."

Yes, they had no objection.

"So Carl please sit in that chair..."

With some relief, but also a deep dread, he put his bow and arrow on the floor and planted his bare globes on the varnished pine. He collected the cloth around his midriff to keep himself covered. Damn, it was so...tiny! Six inches wide, five long! It barely covered him, what with the waist band just above the penis base.

"...and slip that dear, sweet loin cloth you're wearing down to your knees. Better still, your ankles."

Carl nearly gagged.

"Whaaad, Miss?"

"You heard me, Carl. Or I can have Miss Assam do it for you, or Karen."

"But...oh no, please Miss...no, no! I promise...I won't..."

"Yes, I know. You'll never open one of these lurid things again, but you won't be able to resist when the time comes unless we change your psychology for good. And do it with the program: penile exposure, supervised masturbation with the offending literature, in the presence of females. Disapproving females."

He looked up. On one side Miss Assam was staring down into his barely-covered groin, eyes enlarged, tongue just visible between lips, just like a lizard. On the other side Karen Strawbridge gazed into his lap as if the pulling down of that tiny cloth were the thing that occupied her entire being.

Carl's universe swung out of control.

His quivering fingers fell to the band. He went to push it down his thighs.

He stopped.

"But Miss...not with them here, pleassssse!"

"Carl, I think they've had glimpses of you from time to time..."

She meant glimpses of his penis.

Carl thought of that awful, shameful time in the swimming class when he had stood with an erection and both Miss Braithwaite and Karen had seen him. Or all those times being shaven in the corridor when Miss Assam had strolled by, looking intently at naked and erect boys standing against the wall to left and right. She had seemed to linger on him, as if her stares were accusing him for having a small prick.

But...

...now they were so close. And he was the only boy. And...what came next? Supervised masturbation? Hell!

"Oh enough of this! They're not interested in what you've got under that flap although like all males you obviously think they must be! Miss Assam, you've seen him stripped for a shaving or at his medical. Pull his loin cloth down to his ankles, please."

And before Carl could do a thing the lady was kneeling between his legs and placing her spatula-like fingers in his waist band- which made him jolt as if electrocuted- and with surprising gentleness edging his loin cloth down. With exquisite slowness she drew the band forward and exposed the shaft of his penis...then, its tapered ending...the shaven balls below...

He shivered, involuntarily.

He felt all their eyes.

Miss Assam, never removing her gaze, continued ever so slowly to draw it along his thighs, over his knees and down his calves to rest around his ankles.

Carl sat there, stark naked, his penis displayed resting on his hairless globe like a cherub on a cloud on a baroque ceiling.

Miss Assam stepped back and looked down on her work. Karen beamed down greedily.

"There, that wasn't so hard." From behind her desk the principal directed a laser beam through the gray-framed glasses low on her nose right at the boy's midriff. Carl Harlson's penis: had it grown since she had last sighted him in a condition of nudity? No, if anything the tall young athlete seemed to have outgrown his small member.

She picked one of the crumpled, creased magazines. It was entitled Black Nylons. She opened and folded it. She handed it to Miss Assam who, cruelly, held it in front of Carl's nose: a lurid colour pic of a mature lady naked, more or less side-on, black stockings stretching up one leg, while leering at the camera.

Carl knew it well, suspected that some of the paste that stiffened the page was his own. He stirred again at her bare haunches. His glans poked from his prepuce.

Karen noticed: "Miss, his...thing's moving!"

Miss Assam moved in, fascinated.

The principal told him to keep looking at the picture just as he and his friends do when they're alone with the magazines.

The shamed boy took in the model's glorious stomach, imagined- as he had when he held it in the locker room cubicles- that he could see her pubic bush. And her leer- it invited him to approach, to poke his tongue between her lips, to plunge his dick into her hole, out of sight though it was.

It took a few seconds for Carl's penis head to lift from his sac.

There was a muffled giggle from Karen, a deep intake of breath from Miss Assam.

He placed his hands over his groin. Miss Assam, glaring ferociously, told him to put them back by his sides.

He obeyed, revealing that his penis was stretching, its foreskin retracting, its head out. Miss Braithwaite passed another magazine, Paris Taboo, to Miss Assam. She had folded it open at a photo of a kneeling brunette, flickering fingers pinching and shielding the nipples of her perky breasts. There was a not a stitch of clothing on her.

Miss Assam held it to his nose.

The pressed thighs of the model...her hour-glass upper body...the heft of her bosoms...

Carl's instincts stirred. In one jolt his penis was fully extended, rising from his denuded groin, pink-capped and veiny, the papery ends of the foreskin stretched back, the overall effect streamlined.

"Carl has now become erect. When his penis stands up, that's what we call 'an erection' although I'm sure Carl and his friends have nick names for the phenomenon. Carl, tell us what dirty names you boys use?"

The boy blushed scarlet and appeared to choke. "I dunno...I never..."

"You will call me 'Miss' at all times. Carl, I know you use your own words for..."

And she gestured to the statement standing up in his lap. There were suppressed giggles from Karen, more like grunts, and deep, heavy breathing from Miss Assam.

"Some boys...Miss...some boys say h...ha...hard...hardon..."

"Hardon? As in 'hard?' "

The three women looked down at his groin where the blood-hardened stem of Carl's penis greeted them.

"Hardon and..?"

The boy frowned, blushed.

"Boner. Some boys say boner."

"And I'm sure there are other dirty names. Come on, don't waste time."

"Chub...Miss, or chubbie..."

"Which means?"

"If...if it...if it is only half way."

This time Karen laughed out loud.

Miss Braithwaite looked at the girl sternly.

"Any other nick names?"

"Umm...one boy says...tentpole."

The girl and Miss Assam spluttered.

"I know one," volunteered Karen. "I once heard Kerry Fulbright say Rodney Ricketson had a 'stiffie!' "

"Stiffie! Have you heard that one, Carl?"

He shook his head. "No. No, Miss. Honest."

"Nevertheless, your penis has become stiff, hasn't it?"

He nodded.

"And that's in response to these pictures?"

He nodded.

"Carl, do you feel ashamed? Becoming stiff, acquiring an erection- or as you would say, a hardon, a chubbie, a boner, a tentpole, a stiffie..."

Her distaste hung from each noun.

Karen spluttered with giggles.

"...a stiffie, as you put it, in front of us?"

Carl looked down at his penis which, with its pink head and its slit, stared back at him.

He nodded woefully.

Miss Braithwaite folded open another magazine and handed it across. "What effect does this picture have on you, Carl? What does it want to make you do?"

From the magazine Silk Stocking Stories was a photo of a blonde lying on a sofa, one thigh over the other, an arm sheltering nipples or perhaps fondling and tickling them, her expression hinting very strongly that she needed a male- let's say a Brewer schoolboy athlete- to embrace her. Indeed- and the effect was electric on Carl- her stockings lay discarded by her side as if she had been undressing herself, seducing the male, getting ready for sex.

He knew the picture, lived with the fantasy, had embraced her in his dreams many times. A thick droplet emerged sluggishly from the end of his penis. They noticed.

"Carl, I want you to smear that fluid- it's called Cowper's fluid or pre-ejaculate- over your penis. No, go on. That's precisely why your system produced it."

Carl held up and inspected his right hand as if he had never seen it before. He slowly brought it down to hold his penis head. He clumsily rubbed it. He rendered the penis glans slimy.

"Now...move your hand around your penis...around the knob on its end..."

This time both Miss Assam and Karen guffawed. "Knob!" The girl loved the name, the object.

"It's called the glans," said Miss Assam sternly. "And as Carl and every one of his young friends knows, it's packed tight with nerve endings."

Like an autonomon Carl shyly moved his hand around his erection.

"Now, begin the movement that's no doubt very familiar to you, Carl- the up and down motion."

He froze.

"Carl! Up and down! The movement you know so well!"

And in a near-miracle of human communication Carl was suddenly- tentatively, self-consciously- masturbating.

As Sarah Maitland had recommended in her book Teaching Boys to be Gentle Men.

Naked as a jay.

WIth his nose in a page already congealed with emissions from him and his companions.

And with three females watching, two of them- a mature woman and a girl his age- standing on either side of him.

Up and down...

... the time honoured movement...

...his eyes now glassy and preoccupied...

...his penis now all slimy and lubricated...

...a flood of shame merging prurient desire...

...the lying nude floating before him, her right thigh rubbing her left; her fingers teasing her nipples, her leer inviting him on board...

Carl felt the familiar surge in his penis stem.

He gulped.

He tensed.

For a second he didn't care about the watching females, only about the impending release.

The surge gathered pace.

And without further warning he shot a heavy load of thick, milkish fluid to splatter on his chin and droop like a Santa beard...

...another to splash on his sternum...

...a third to unload on his belly button.

A lemon-fresh tart smell filled Miss Assam's and Karen's nostrils.

Some instinct made him look up into their mirthful and contemptuous eyes, a goatee of emission plastered on his chin.

They doubled over laughing.

Miss Braithwaite silenced them.

"Do you feel shamed, Carl? About what you've just done? Invariably it's in secret isn't it..?"

He nodded, still dazed, like a torture victim ready to sign his confession.

"But this time it's in your birthday suit. Goodness, just look at you, bare as a board..."

He shrivelled, sitting in the chair, to be reminded of his condition. Hell! He was indeed entirely nude, with three females.

"We've seen you at it, Carl. We've watched you. And it's been an unpleasant experience for you, a growing boy..."

The sperm, dangling from his chin, fell to join the other deposits on his chest. The pooled emissions all over his upper body seemed a terrible indictment.

"Karen, take this boy to the room across the corridor and clean him up..."

Carl reached for the loin cloth caught in his ankles.

"...no, Carl, you don't get to cover up yet. Hand those to Karen."

The girls eyes had been swimming with possibility.

"Miss, while I have him there may I shave him?"

Carl started. What? Have this girl fussing around his balls? Sloshing shaving cream around the base of his penis?

"But Miss we've done it...this week, twice...look, everyone says I'm smooth..."

He gestured to his groin and testicular sac.