Rodney's Nude Humiliation Ch. 07

"How did they get him to do that?" asked Jessica.

Her sister, full of wonder at the sight of a boy's bottom, just shook her head.

"Dunno but I bet he would hate to know that we're looking at it."

And the next photo she picked was the view from the belly button on his drum tight abs to the upper thighs, with his petite penis at full stretch putting the ventral side of his member on full view- for inspection of each vein and wrinkle. The photo even showed the little fissures running around his scrotum, under the gauzy dusting of auburn hair.

"Yes, he would hate it."

Both flushed at the humiliation they had delivered, just by raiding these family photos.

"Mrs Grossman? asked Gwendolwyn, holding another envelope.

She opened it.

There were 25 pictures of Brewer's Rotary Korean exchange student, Jason Cho. Mrs Grossman was the mother of four daughters who had taken the boy in as his hostess during his stay. How the red haired, bespectacled lady must have relished the sight of Jason naked- as if in a Seoul bathhouse for his weekly boil-down with uncles and cousins.

Jessica always found the Korean student cute, with his glowing golden skin, darting brown eyes, compact physique: here he was naked as a jay.

Unbelievable. Naked...without a stitch...in his birthday suit.

Now she dilated on the perfectly formed ass as he stood, back to the camera, as a group of ladies gazed transfixed at his midriff, wreathed in smiles of admiration.

Here he was seated with Mrs Grossman and her friends...but the heads of other female admirers blocked a view of his privates.

Ha, now a close-up!

But spoiled...Jason was sheepishly pressing his hands into his lap, only revealing a timberline of tight, glistening black curls.

But now someone had torn his arms away. Mrs Grossman? To allow the photographer to get in close. And here followed seven pics of Jason's oriental genitalia: a perfectly formed penis in every state of relaxation and arousal. Perfectly formed. What a cute head it has, thought Jessica, the nicest of the helmets we've seen. How sweet to be able to bath him- and it, thought Gwendolwyn.

And the finale: a full body shot of the boy standing alone on the edge of the pool, his perfect penis at full stand. Jason's hands were obligingly behind his back- as commanded by Mrs Grossman? And his sad smile looked as if commanded too. Perhaps she had also told him to stiffen his prick, Jessica thought with a prurient smile on her lips, and for his host mother he has had to oblige.

And what would Mrs Grossman do with it? Frame it for her bedroom, to stand by the lampshade? Add it to an album with photos of other Rotary students she'd hosted, each required to stand nude? Certainly share it with her daughters, something that would very likely quicken their interest in their handsome young Oriental house guest.

Gwendolwyn parted an envelope marked "Mrs Madelaine Cardaver."

She was the mother of Larry, the tall skinny boy who swung by twice a week delivering groceries. "Hi, Mrs Guelf," he would chime but seemed to forget the twin's names. Still, both found him unbearably attractive, the essence of a mid-Western American fella, with a hint of cowhand. "He's tall as a Kentuckian," their mother once said. "What long, straddling legs!"

Shamefully, in bed, each of the twins had imagined what he might look like with denim overalls bunched at his ankles, tartan shirt peeled off- say, washing himself down at a water trough, next to the cattle pen. A real young cowboy.

And there he was!

In his birthday suit!

In a flash, they saw Larry without his clothes, courtesy of 36 photos painstakingly snapped by his mother.

Up on the blocks- eight pics! In one, his ballsac hung so low, with the funny big stones seeming to drag it to his knees, saggy and wrinkled. As for his penis, his long appendage hanging low, low, low...now inflating, so comically long and thin...pointing like an accusing finger, no an arm...rising, captured on the move...even a pic where he looked down at it in despair while it seemed to stare back at him!

"Like a broomstick!" Was Gywendolyn's prurient response.

In pic after pic the boy's long, skinny white member stretched and rose skyward and in pic after pic the boy's face assumed a Greek tragedian's mask of woe knowing ladies were staring and laughing and his mom snapping pics for the family album.

"Oh look at the poor boy's expression. He hates it!"

Jessica allowed her hand to press her vulva as she gazed at their naked delivery boy. Gwendolwyn had a far away look.

Then there were photos of Larry from the rear- his glutes so skinny!- easing his way back to his seat on the bleachers, the eyes of all the ladies in his row fastened on his groin.

Then in his seat, sitting slumped over so the broomstick appeared to reach the level of his nipples, as ladies around him turned sideon to stare down at its narrow length.

"Doesn't he look..."

"Embarrassed. Yeah, humiliated. Just imagine."

Their panties, already soaked, dampened some more.

Their delivery boy nude. In 36 versions. His prick and balls now committed to memory.

Reluctantly they put the envelope back on the table and reached for "Fulbright."

They swallowed in expectation.

Kerry Fulbright.

He of the long eye lashes, snub nose, cute features. With his brunette hair, these days in a heavy swept style. Popular with girls. Bit of a heart throb. Jessica remembered him once smiling superciliously, Gwendolwyn remembered him looking right through her, even when, at the bus stop, she had greeted him with a sing song, "Hi, Kerry. Nice day, hey?"

Now he would be at their mercy.

Jessica opened the envelope.

Here he was, stark naked.

Striding along in a line of boys, seen in profile. His mother must have snapped away as she recognised her embarrassed son in the procession that the coach had insisted on, out of the shower rooms.

Something swung between his legs, but vague and out of focus.

Disappointing.

The next pics were no clearer.

Kerry continuing the walk, but sheltered by the boy following, only one of his pert buttocks on view. Kerry turning to cast a look to the bleachers- his mother calling him to pose- but with hands hovering shyly over his privates. Kerry mounting the block, showing off a deep cleft.

Then...pay dirt!

No fewer than 10 photos of the heart throb up on the block!

The first was from a distance that left his midriff in shadow- no revelation for the girls there- but then, as his mother moved in, snapping away with the family Brownie, the pics became much, much more interesting for the girls. Photo by photo it emerged- yes, the fabled veering dick: sticking erect from Kerry's chunky, defined physique but veering off to the right. Like a cigarette, at a jaunty angle.

Kerry, with eight other boys, each in some stage of arousal. Kerry, with two boys by his side, their eyes aslant focused on one another's pricks, suspiciously. Kerry, on the blocks from mid-distance. And- pure delight- Kerry seen from below, the underside of his compact globular bag and veering cock dominating the frame. And then three more photos, each closer and more revealing until the final frame was the battle ship artillery piece of the boy's organ, targeting a starboard enemy with a useful sack of ammo dangling below.

How his mother must have pursued that! Standing within breathing distance of her naked son...holding the camera within inches of his erection...not forgetting his ballsac in which his all-important testicles were stashed away.

Mrs Fulbright was obviously very intent on recording her son's organs of generation.

The central arty, the wrinkled frenulum, the sculpted glans were presented by the standing boy for his mother to lovingly record- with attention to light and focus, to shade and proportion.

As mother, she may even have felt pride. In her son's development and attributes.

She certainly delivered detail enough to sate even the anatomical curiosity of the Guelf girls.

"Goodness."

"My, oh my!"

Their voices were far away and dreamy.

Now they ravaged the envelopes in all directions, in a fever of desire.

There was little Timmy Townsend, cute as a bug...and, hell! His mom or maybe his aunt had photographed him right next to Samson Douglas, the Negro boy from Alabama! The black fella had thrown an arm over the shoulder of the diminutive, pale, blond boy and by the look of his punchy little member and the glazed expression in his blue eyes, didn't Tommy appear to be swept away with pleasure! There the two were again, in profile, facing one another, big and little prick reared, with the black boy's two hands on Timmy's shoulders, like a big brother advising his much adored younger- that is, if you ignored their racial characteristics.

The touching tableaux brought a shine to the girls' eyes.

"Sullivan."

"This would be Mark...Mark Sullivan."

It would take more than the skill of this poor author to capture the aura of lascivious expectation that now suffused the twins. They moved in slow motion...to part the entrance to the envelope...to tip its contents onto the table...to reach for the first of 25 black and white revelations: of the tall, rangy champion swimmer.

Whose penis the girls in the classroom had discussed with such prurient awe.

Suffice it for me to say that when they were abed that night, in the tumble of images that fuelled their unashamed thrashing under the blankets, it was the long Sullivan penis with the spongy head that may have- if only by a whisker- beat those of other victims in dominating their fantasies. But only because he was so acutely embarrassed and the combination of his manly looks and his devastating shame stirred something deep in both twins.

Of course, there had been so many images.

Other nude, humiliated boys like Charlie Hodgson and Louie Mapple, stuck on the blocks, hauling themselves from the pool and surrounded by family and friends sitting in the packed bleachers. Some were pictured up in the bleachers standing and backing out of a row of ladies. In all cases the ladies were staring at the boys' middles while the naked 18 year olds faced them, walking sideways. " In every case there were pics of boys posing with mom, aunt, neighbour, grandmom. Charlie looked a treat with his mom and grandmom on either side- he looked captive, doomed- and his bulky penis, with a life of its own, seemed to point like a cannon at the lens.

And in every case there was at least one photo of the boy standing alone, penis reaching up in gravity-defying embarrassment, the boy submissively on display from head to foot. Perhaps this was was to be the official portrait shot, just right for the living room or first page of an album.

As if...

As if...these stalwart erections were his mother's pride and joy.

Louie Mapple's had a curve like a banana, downward pointing. And the funniest pic of all may have been one of the boy, hands on hips in half profile, looking at his own ludicrous appendage, downward thrusting from his groin. He looked puzzled, troubled.

Maybe this was the first time Irene Mapple had observed her son's penis. That might explain why of 36 photos 12 were close-ups of his bent-over erection. Was Mrs Mapple amused? Celebratory? Or just assembling evidence for a visit to Doctor Speight for her advice? "Doctor, it's about my son. You see, he has an unusual penis. Perhaps...if I can...these photos? What do you think, Doctor? An examination? Of course. I'll bring him in this afternoon..."

Jessica and Gwendolwyn paused, exhaled...and started all over again. Photo after photo. Boy after boy. Shame after shame. For hours. Even their adolescent melon breasts seemed to sag. Their mousy hair fell over their glowing foreheads.

Very late, in bed and after each had heard the other bring herself to orgasm three times, and after they had heard their mother's unsteady stockinged feet mount the stairs and the creak of her bedsprings, they speculated on the luckiest find of the night.

After all, those envelopes were all to be collected, most likely tomorrow, by those over-eager moms...or lucky sisters sent on their behalfs.

Those thrilling photos would leave Guelf's, never to be glimpsed again.

To be totally out of reach of the twins, and to be within reach of the arrogant pretty girls who might trade pics of nude brothers from their newly-enhanced family albums.

How lucky that Jessica had glimpsed it.

A bulging album in one corner of the developing room. A secondhand, leather-bound album that had been lying about the shop unsold for ages. Why was it suddenly in the developing room? On an instinct Jessica had opened it.

Beginning with Cadaver, ending with Mapple, it had a copy of every photo from every envelope. Every boy had his shame adumbrated at least 25 times, some 36.

Mrs Guelf herself was storing copies of the photos of the nude male swimmers.

For her own purposes.

Whatever they might be.

What might Jessica and Gwendolwyn do with this treasure trove?

That was something both are thinking feverishly about as we leave them in their sheets, smelly, drained but happy.

It's a subject on which I am sure, dear reader, you have a view, a view of the rich possibilities.

One we can explore in future chapters, dealing with our awe-inspiring, never boring subject. Or shall we say, our obsession. Our obsession without end.