Rodney's Nude Humiliation Ch. 04

Hearing every word, Rodney stood out of sight in the hallway corridor, his stomach melting.

"So...the idea's out there, my dear. All the mothers at the last club meeting heard the story and went home thinking carefully."

"Goodness! Well, I won't be lagging behind any of them. Now," said his mother. "Where is that boy?"

Rodney took a deep breath.

He stepped forward and presented himself in the doorway to the living room.

The ladies looked up. Their eyes widened like saucers as they took in the virtually nude 18 year old, standing there facing them. They took in his naked torso...his bare midriff...and the pathetically tiny strap hanging on his front.

Their merry swimming eyes then closed in on his pubic zone- the wild burst of red hair and the left testicle just hanging below the flap. Their eyes fastened on THAT. A fat, dangling testicle.

His mother's eyes began to water as her bosom heaved. Mrs Riley was gasping for breath.

"Oh, dear...that barely...covers...anything. And if he moves or there's a breeze..."

His mother surrendered to spluttering laughter at the thought.

"No wonder...no wonder...the poor boy doesn't want the girls to see!" Mrs Reilly burst out.

Blushing, he hung his head, quaking with shame.

His mother ordered him to come closer. Eyes down, he let out a little moan of protest. She repeated the order and he shuffled forward, aware that this made his flap sway.

There was a silence, Rodney hanging his head. He nearly suffocated on Mrs Reilly's sultry perfume, the heavy fug of their Chesterfields. And there was another scent, something warm, sour, feminine.

"I think your boy is...developing well."

This could only be a reference to the burst of pubic bush, curly and scroll-like, on display above the flap. Or more likely the huge, half exposed testicle. Rodney blushed deeply. "Developing well!" Jeepers!

Ignoring Mrs Reilly's remark his mother said, "I wonder what our seamstress made that flap out of?"

She was staring. Rodney shuddered.

"Yes, it looks like some animal skin..."

"Chamois?"

His mother's fingers with their red lacquered nails reached forward.

He nearly leapt.

"And the inlaid beads..."

She delicately took the end of the flap in her fingers.

Rodney felt the slightest point of contact- just for a second- on his glans.

His mother raised the material ever so slightly. "Yes, it looks like..."

Mrs Reilly's finger gestured...and moved forward and touched the raised flap.

"...yes, such fine decoration..."

His mother lifted it further, as if she were short sighted...and thus exposed his hanging penis to Mrs Reilly's intent scrutiny.

Oh...my...God!

Without thinking Rodney looked down, right into Mrs Reilly's green eyes. They fixed on his. They were swimming with mischievous delight.

She smiled.

There was silence. Rodney squeezed his eyes shut.

He felt the stretch on his waistband as his mother raised the flap even higher. It was clear the two women were looking at...everything. They could suddenly see it all: the thick white stem, the preposterously heavy head on it, the Gothic folds of the dangling ball sac.

The silence continued.

The women were reverential.

Rodney's stomach turned to water. He could feel the air circulating on his privates.

He thought he could even feel the eyes of the women creeping over his skin.

"Not circumcised?"

It was Mrs Reilly.

Time seemed suspended.

Seconds were drawn out into hours.

His mother responded.

"No, I wanted to. Think it's a good investment in hygiene. But his father was insistent. You know what men can be like about this. 'Leave the boy intact. In a natural state.' Yes, that's how they think- let the boy have all the dirty thrills and sensations his father enjoys."

"Of course it should be a mother's decision. She should be in charge of her boy's upbringing. And clipping off the prepuce makes masturbation less likely..."

The two women looked up at Rodney's face but his eyes were clenched with shame.

"...still, the skin moves easily?"

Rodney at this moment came close to fainting with shame.

"Certainly did as a youngster. When I used to give him baths."

"I mean, dear, it's terribly important to keep it clean under the...under the...little cloak. One other thought, though..."

Another silence. Rodney could FEEL two sets of eyes on his penis tip.

"...sometimes the constriction of the foreskin impedes the development of the glans. A tight foreskin results in a small penis head. The 'snake head' effect. But that does not seem to have happened here."

"No, his head seems well developed. Too big if anything...under the foreskin, in its little home. So funny, aren't they? That bulge, under the foreskin."

They both giggled.

As the shame washed over him he squeezed his eyes even tighter. He felt hot waves of blushing.

"You've never had any trouble moving the foreskin, Rodney?"

He shook his head at the maternal question.

Oh God, he prayed, don't let them touch it.

Suddenly his mother dropped the flap.

"Turn round, Rodney. So we can see the side view."

"Aw, mum! I don't...don't like this."

"Around!" And she steered him with a hand.

The women were looking at the side view.

"I just love a male's flanks," said Mrs Riley. "Like a colt's."

"He's really quiet nude from this angle. Bare as a native, apart from the teensie weensie string." And she skirted it with a finger. He shivered at his mother's touch.

"Just imagine those Indian braves- your age, Rodney. Getting around a campsite dressed like you are now. And the young squaws- cheeky girls in their animal skin skirts- having a good look at you!"

The boy shuddered.

Mrs Riley's cunning words seemed deliberately chosen with one objective. If so, they worked. They produced a vivid picture in Rodney's mind. He saw himself with his male friends- young braves dressed as he was now- playing a ball game between the tepees. A crowd of young squaws dressed in animal skin skirts watching excited as the flaps of the boys swung and flew and fluttered...exposing all the boys' secrets. Their bottoms. Their cocks- of various sizes and shapes. Their dangling balls. All on display as they ran and leapt. And he and the other braves were embarrassed. Shamed but...yes, thrilled, to be prancing around with the loin cloths flying, knowing girls were seeing their secrets. Yes, of course, the boys were excited and shamed at the same time. The...boys...enjoyed...it!

Rodney flung the image from his mind. But not before it had sent a jolt that had his penis inflate and stretch and force his flap upwards.

"Now show us the rear," his mother instructed.

He swung. In relief, just in time to obscure his rising prick, stretching to its full eight inches.

The ladies started laughing again.

"Well, little point in this flap, is there Rodney? Barely covers YOUR intergluteal cleft."

"What did you call it?" asked his mother. "Inter...what? You mean...the boy's...?"

And his Mom giggled.

"Yes, intergluteal cleft is the name for it. The grove or trench between the buttocks, these mounds...the gluteus maximus..."

...and, inevitably, he felt Mrs Riley or his mother lift the rear flap high. Meanwhile, at his front, his stiffening member had shoved the other flap to one side and was now jutting out at 45 degrees.

"...that's the cleft..."

And he felt a long finger nail lightly and slowly trace his crack from bottom to top. Mrs Reilly's finger!

He shivered at the thrilling contact.

"...and these, the gluteus maximus..."

His mother with a reverential tone repeated Mrs Reilly's phrase.

Just as a finger nail moved over his left buttock, tracing circles.

His penis jolted and throbbed.

Time was suspended. Mrs Reilly kept up the circular motions around and around his left and then his right buttock. So light. So very light. Finger and finger nail, circling his ass. Around and around. Rodney felt he was being transported.

"And below his buttocks..."

Hell, the term sounded so obscene, thought Rodney, in the mouths of these women: "his buttocks!"

"You have his gluteal crease..."

"Ahhh," said his mother, at this revelation.

"Yes, it's this horizontal fold..."

And her fingers descended to trace it. They flicked along the crease on his left, lingered at the entrance to the cave of his cleft and played with the dusting of hair where thigh met buttock and then the right. Tantalising tickles with her long fingernails.

"...here. It's also known as the gluteal sulcus, mediating between the glutes and the upper end of the posterior thigh."

Now she had two sets of fingers at work on his crease.

Rodney's Mom was in awe.

"His crease, his gluteal crease. Goodness. Everything has a name, hasn't it?"

"Oh yes, my dear, every last attribute and there is a sweet pleasure in learning them..."

Mrs Reilly's fingers did not cease their tickling work.

"...especially the names of all the body parts of young vulnerable men like your son. And the logic of the names- see the crease where buttock, or maximus gluteus, joins his thighs? Yes, a crease. Rodney's gluteal crease."

He felt his mother's fingers now traverse the crease. He trembled. His cock was rising.

Then Mrs Reilly in a very low voice addressed him. She sounded thoughtful.

"Rodney, does it embarrass you to be seen by women...in, you know...this condition...in a state of...nudity?"

Nudity- that awful shaming word! He couldn't speak. And he now felt the fingernails of two hands drifting with infinite slowness around his buttocks...and two more up and down either side of the cleft.

"Or..."

And now Mrs Reilly sounded as if she was weighing an alternative.

"Or what?" asked his mother.

Their fingers were still drifting dreamily over his intimate rear flesh.

"Or Rodney, do you find that being naked...you know, in the buff...stripped like this..."

"In his birthday suit," chortled his mother. "He was naked when he arrived in this world and totally in my care!"

"So he was. Bare as a board. Naked as a jay."

All this- these dreadful shaming synonyms for nudity- chilled Rodney to the bone while, unseen by them, his cock inflated and stretched. What was the cunning Mrs Riley getting at?

"Or...

...do you think, Rodney, that it's really somewhat exciting. You know, to be stripped off in front of females."

"And in their control," added his mother helpfully.

Jeepers, thought the boy, can they see what I've got sticking out of my groin?

Mrs Riley continued in her insinuating voice.

"There's a bit of doggerel we used to tease the boys with when I was a girl. Let's see. How did it go? Ah, yes. Here it goes.

'Boys not yet in their prime

Often find nude games sublime

A loin cloth they would wear

Their bottoms to bare!'

Just like now, Rodney. You're baring your bottom right now. For us. And I wonder...along with the embarrassment...if part of Rodney isn't saying to himself...I'M RATHER ENJOYING THIS!"

The shocking idea hung in the air. Rodney was mortified.

Suddenly from the back garden there was the slam of a gate. And the excited high pitched voices of senior school girls- Rodney's age- returning with hockey sticks, high spirited after games. Perhaps fuelled with gossip about the boys' fittings.

"Sounds like the girls are home," said his mother. "Well, Rodney, off to your room. Pull your clothes on. And start your homework! But I'm warning. After what I've heard of some of your friends, I'll be checking."

Rodney started for the door, hands pressed to his groin, sheltering the sight of his pulsing erection.

"What a pity," opined Mrs Riley. "And there was a lot more naming to do! Yes, I was enjoying that."

And as Rodney bustled out of the room to turn into the hallway, he feared his profile might give something away.

"And...on one level," continued Mrs Riley. "So was your son"

The boy fled down to his corridor to his room.

Where was this leading, he wondered, in despair. And he thought of the line from Hamlet that Miss Cuff had drilled into them: "This is not, nor it cannot come to good."