Rodney's Nude Humiliation Ch. 09

Rodney and Mass Punishment

byaaronburr©

Eighteen year old Kerry Fulbright faced the females- craning, stretching, half-rising from chairs, peering, frowning, exulting, above all: staring. Kerry faced them, buck-naked, with the underside of his penis on total display, erect and slanting.

His hands fluttered.

"You will place your hands on your head!"

He started with fear at Miss Reilly's instruction. And obeyed.

She let things stand.

There was silent staring.

"Keep your eyes open and look right ahead!"

He obeyed. He saw a mass of mature ladies and a dozen girls from his school looking at his groin, and darting glances into his eyes. All smiling. Catching his eyes. As if to say, "Look at me!"

She invited the audience to move closer, even to leave their seats. There was a scrape of chairs, a pressing forward. Moving faster than the older females, several of the girls dashed to the front and peered in.

Yes, the slant was funny, thought Sally Wainwright, but the shape on the end of this thing was...heart-shaped. How sweet! She felt a runnel of excitement though her insides; excitement- at the boy's exquisite embarrassment. Oh, she thought, he must be shockingly embarrassed. Imagine- if I was stripped and stuck up in front of men...and, worse, boys from my school and neighbourhood!

Kerry stood transfixed, the girl's eyes staring hard at his cock.

"That's fine," said Dr Speight to Mrs Lyndsay Linehart, standing next to her. "She'll be a mother one day."

Mrs Reilly now directed her gaze to Mark Campbell. Told him to approach his Mom. Trembling he obeyed.

He saw his mother beaming, looking somehow official and medical in the dust coat, the hairbrush and Johnsons Baby Powder in her lap. Mrs Campbell was...well, suffused. She savored the humiliation of her son, seeing him in his latest Indian costume which she had forced him to put on and model when they last visited cousins in St Paul but, above all, seeing him wince and blush and nearly cry when she handed around that photo album.

He stood in front of her, his six pack abdominals on his fine swimmer's physique heaving with fear.

Her hands went out and took firm, decisive hold of the waist band of his Gripper boxers with their single fly button. There was an intake of breath from the females, packed tight. Whisk! Down to his ankles- with no impeding erection- in one bold, maternal movement, "no nonsense" in style.

He quickly placed his hands over his groin.

"Those hands on your head, please! And eyes open and straight ahead!"

Mrs Reilly's tone implied, "These boys! Their modesty! Can you believe them!"

Mark's broad, fleshy penis hang long and low, its mauve head gloriously sculpted, Gothic folds of his ball sack gathered at its sides. His scrotum, which would have hung proudly on a young bull, displayed his ample testicles clearly outlined. His mother eyed them, proudly. All females focused, wishfully.

He found himself looking right into the eyes of their neighbour, Mrs Daisy Kaplan, standing in floral blouse with huge bow and wide sky blue skirt- the mother of three girls- who beamed back. She dropped her gaze, lower.

Then Mrs Reilly said that she thought it fair that everyone here today got to have a good look at Kerry and Mark, both boys who had so liked the idea of being naked among females, and she instructed them to move around the room, up and down the aisles, standing in front of seated ladies and...

"...and apologise to them for things your mother overheard you saying- your offensive observations on women folk. Yes, move now, and if you find yourself feeling shamed think of it as part of your punishment."

His slanting erection leading the way, Kerry edged into a group of standing and seated ladies, embraced by the aroma of their cigarettes and perfume, their make-up and pressed skirts and suits...and another aroma as well, something redolent of female underwear left behind in bathrooms, warm and intimate. Mark edged to his left and found himself with two girls and three ladies. Miss Sally Salisbury, a bold spinster, said, "Well, you do look a picture!" And Wendy Sidebottom, from his class asked him, "Don't you think you should apologise for talking about women folk with so little respect?"

As Mark moved from group to group his penis inflated and bent like a crow bar, then stretched straight ahead, then rising- this happened when he was circled by five girls from school- and pointing at the ceiling. The girls were thrilled. Engaged him in talk. Asked him why he liked the nudist magazines so much. They had the green manila file and opened it under his nose. Did he want to be a nudist? Did it excite him to go naked like this? To be seen by females? Is that why his...thing got like that?

"This 'stuff' on the pages here? Look, is that..?"

They broke up in giggles.

They insisted on looking him all over while he blushed and shuffled. In answer, he could only shake his head or look at his feet.

Meanwhile Stevie was advancing on his seated Mom. She looked eager, impatient. In the crisis generated by the scandal of the group masturbation in Rodney Ricketson's bedroom she had heard the full story of her son from her daughters and maid. They told her about their own attempts to regulate young Stevie's dirty mind- about his stash of nudist magazines, about his frantic, furious, simian self-pleasuring, about his love of doing it while they looked and laughed. Even how he had come to enjoy being spanked by the maid, over her aproned lap- merciless blows with hand or brush.

Even how he would ask her to please go harder, or to strike him on upper thighs or his intergluteal crease. His sisters had apparently laughed hopelessly whenever this happened, a boy giving instructions to make his spanking sting more. How he would ask them to bring Ponds Cold Cream when it was time for him to masturbate under their gaze.

He stood before her now, diminunitive in his ballooning boxers and shockingly hairy all over his torso and legs, with something small pushing the cloth of his shorts and producing several big wet circles.

Since the revelation brought to her by Mrs Ricketson she had disciplined Stevie regularly herself. She had used the routine applied by his sisters and her maid. And she- Mrs Lynton, this distinctly well-off widow, seated with a dust coat protecting her tailored suit- had come to like the new disciplinary regime for her son very much. Stripping and spanking and sexually humiliating a young male, as it happens her son- something about it quickened her widow's existence.

With a practiced single hand she reached forward and tugged the waistband of Stevie's shorts forward- she knew how to accommodate that little erection - firmly forward, to open a gap as if she, a Mommy, were going to peer in to her little fella's pants. Then a pause, with pants elastic stretched out, and, then, with a decisive and cruel movement, she jerked them down. Whisk! Down pelvis, hips, thighs, calves. Small Stevie's erection was on display: tiny, stubborn, slimy. Jutting from a black, wiry explosion of hair.

There was an understated murmur all around the room. Shock at the erection, bold as brass; sympathy for its smallness; interest in the thread of moisture that now fell in a trail from the boy's urethral opening to the polished pine floor.

And without being asked - obedient boy, he had been coached in this protocol by his sisters- he placed his hands on his head. He shuddered. He knew what he was showing off, knew how far below the expectations it might be- this diminutive stiffie of his. He nonetheless thrilled at the humiliating display he was forced to provide. He felt suffused through his insides with a warm watery feeling. He looked across the room, over the head of his mother, over the ladies crouching forwards, right into the swollen eyes of Lucy Starbucks, from his class, who knew intimately the sight of her Daddy's and brothers' big, broad-beamed erections. She...was...in...his...class!

He melted inside.

As he did the rounds of the room, women and girls took a maternal interest, even ruffling the hair on his chest, and in one case trailing cunning, long-nailed fingers around his tiny testicle bag. He gasped with the pleasure. Many ladies took an interest in the length of his penis. "Three inches, I think?" Mrs Lanbourne put to him, whispering into his ear. And he liked the nice middle aged lady- her lambent brown eyes, her long elegant nose, her romantic perfume, the fact she stood so close- liked her so much, he nodded, submissively.

He thought how much he would like being stripped and spanked by her. At her house.

Then a party of girls circled him and asked questions. Were the rumours true? Did his two older sisters make him strip? Did he let them spank him? With a hair brush? Did he like it and ask them to spank harder? Ask them to spank him on the curve of his bottom? And did you let them watch when (here they giggled) you jerk off?

The giglets continued their questioning.

"And is it true you bought these nudist magazines? Because you like pictures of boys trapped nude by ladies and cheeky girls? And this stuff, on the pages? Is it your...jism?"

They broke up, laughing.

Stevie hung his head. His stiff cock, trailing fluid stared up at him.

Now Rodney stood in front of his Mom.

"Oh, you silly little boy," she was thinking. "You've played right into our hands, with your foolish all-nude, all-boys jerk-off circle in your bedroom. And now, dear Rodney, you will be humiliated as you never thought possible!" And as if he could read her thoughts Rodney's abdominals shook with fear and his eyes looked as if they would overflow.

Her hands reached out...

...only she was determined to do this slowly, as slowly as possible...

...and her fingers took hold of his waistband and waited there.

The tension was electric.

She dwelt on the front of Rodney's shorts. Funny, there was not the prodding, the jutting, the pole-like thrust she had expected. Just a firm rounding was all she could make out.

She pulled down gently, the shorts descended a fraction. The filagree of red hair that trailed from his navel grew marginally wider. She pulled some more and the timberline of ginger curls were displayed. She looked up and caught his terrified eyes. And why, she asked herself, wouldn't he be terrified? In front of him were women he knew as moms of his friends, ladies in their street, women he delivered groceries to. And beyond them, staring hard, were girls he sat in class with.

She pulled a little firmer...and!

Under the boxers another band of clothing revealed itself!

What?

She jerked the boxers with all her force, pulling them to his knees. And, yes...her son was wearing a jock strap. My God! It featured a three inch elasticised waist band, with the brand name BIKE on the front of the band and with a red tracer line running round its middle. There was a sturdy, knit pouch; sturdy because its mesh fabric had managed to capture what would otherwise be a thrusting and powerful erection. Indeed, Rodney's fat mushroomy penis head was clearly defined, swollen behind the mesh.

A jockstrap! Under his boxers!

There were excited murmurings. Gasps of fascination, and disappointment. The boy stood frozen, rigid as a cigar store Indian.

Mrs Reilly was closing in.

"So, you thought you might cheat us, did you?"

She glared at Rodney.

He looked guilty.

"Thought you could guard your modesty with this sporting gear, this- what do you boys call it? 'Athletic support?' Well, I've got news for you!"

With her audience thrilling at every word she quickly pronounced that Rodney might do a tour of the room, showing ladies and girls exactly what a "jockstrap" was- so beloved of young males who, she said, look forward to their first as a coming-of-age ritual. And who often seem excited- here she glanced witheringly at the bulge in his front- at merely putting it on, as some women might thrill to wearing gorgeous undergarments.

"Go on, then, around the room."

When he faced the three seated women just to his left he found they seemed profoundly interested in this item of American male underwear. Old Miss Sally Wilhelm even reached out and placed an inquiring finger under a side band. And glaring at the swelling pouch Mrs Win Alexander even opined "Young Rodney seems to be developing very well," to which young Mrs Gladstone could only respond by nodding greedily, staring at the Rodney's glans, outlined clearly in the mesh pouch. But it was Moira Murphy, the lively girl from his class, who approached him from behind and caused a stir by yelping, "Oh...my...Gosh! His bottom is bare as an egg! Look!" And she took him by the shoulders and spun him around so that the whole roomful of women and girls could see Rodney's two globes, perfectly set-off by the white bands.

"Yes, bare as an egg indeed. No down. Quite glabrous," opined ancient Miss Proser, retired English and Latin teacher.

There was a great flurry of interest.

Many of the women and girls had not seen the bottom of a naked male, let alone one as athletic as Rodney, let alone one recently rendered golden by exposure to the sun as he obeyed Miss Cuff's insistence at getting an all-over tan like a real Red Indian. Girls who had sat with him in class and who knew his sisters were thrilled and excited. To see, that is, Rodney's globes defined by the white straps of his jock.

Mrs Reilly forced Rodney to keep moving. Groups of women and girls made him pose and stretch, the rear view being a precious novelty to many.

Until it was time. Time for Rodney to stand out in front.

But...

Mrs Reilly had a tweak in store, a modification in her narrative.

No, Mrs Ricketson would not get to haul down her son's last covering.

"Is everyone watching? Can everyone see?"

Mrs Reilly was twisting the screw in the exquisite humiliation of this young man. The women sensed something dramatic.

"Rodney Ricketson, you will face the front. You will look these females in the eyes. And..."

She spoke slowly.

"...you...will...take...hold...of...your...jockstrap..."

He looked stunned but obeyed, fingers holding elasticised band.

"...and like a good boy..."

No, he thought, no! She wants me to undress myself in front of them! To pull them off myself! No! No! To strip myself! In front of them!

"...to...take...them...off...for us."

He started. He froze. This was far worse than having it done by his mother. He would be a party to his own shaming. Implicated, he would be revealing his own erection!

He stuttered a request.

"Can...my Mom..?"

He looked despairingly at his seated, implacable mother for support.

"Mmm...om? Can...you...do it? Pppp...lease?"

His mother avoided his pleading eyes, grinned tightly, said nothing.

"Pull your...jockstrap...down!"

Mrs Reilly was impatient.

"Now!"

Rodney started, easing the tight material down his hips, one side lower than the other, slowly, then the other side...revealing a blaze of red curly pubic bush...and then a struggle as his erection strained forward for release and rearranged itself...another push of the elasticised band...suddenly releasing, with a big, bold bounce...his totally rigid nine inch penis with its huge glans!

BOUNCE!

It bounced, free.

The audience looked captivated. Those in the front rows appreciated the strong definition of the glans, and its spongy, mushroomy size, plus the thick coronal edge, and the indentation that carved into the broad slit on top. They warmed to the whole display of the ventral or underside: the stringy flesh that ran just below the head down the penis neck- the frenulum, like a bunch of banjo strings; the broad, thick artery that ran the full length of the stalk; the decorative veins that ran off from it, zig zagging in anything but a symmetrical pattern, but appearing to be full and pumping hard. And his glorious testicle bag- goodness, at the back of the room, where the girls stood, it could still be viewed clearly in all its dangling, hanging, pendulous amplitude. The stones, heavy in its folds, were clearly outlined. This fella is a young stud, was the view of many females. Good breeding stock.

And the white, pink-tinged, broad-beamed penis reared, dribbling- oh yes, close -up, it was embarrassingly evident, this flow- from the slit, trailing all the way to the floor in a glistening, cobweb.

Rodney was ozzing.

And looking ahead.

Right into the eyes of a grinning girl who looked like Doris Day. She was Delcia Forrest, with her blonde hair in bangs and a glint in her eyes. As she stared at Rodney - from his frightened eyes to his jutting cock- she smiled some more and licked her rosy red lips. Hungrily. He knew her from school.

She kept running her tongue along her lips. Smiling.

"Rodney's releasing pre-ejaculatory fluid," he heard Dr Speight pronounce, sotto voce, to no one in particular.

There was a disapproving lowing sound from the women.

All eyes were on this shameful, transparent emission.

It was time to move on.

Mrs Reilly told the boys to advance to their mothers, to stand in front of them, with hands behind their backs.

A row of four 18 year old boys now presented their stiff rods.

In full sight of the roomful of females, now leaning, craning, straining to get the best view.

Standing, hands behind backs, with penis heads inches from their mothers' noses.

"Now to the punishment."

Mrs Reilly was emphatic but even her voice vibrated with tension, excitement.

"Each boy is to place himself over his mother's knee. Slowly. Respectfully. Hands ahead of him, flat on the floor..."

The four moved awkwardly. Mothers lent helping hands, to assist them into place. A hand on a thigh, a lower back, guiding an arm. Mrs Fulbright gently pressed Kerry's gluteal crease, when thighs joined bottom. It made him start, the touch so intimate. Mrs Ricketson pushed Rodney by the shoulders.

"That's right...And toes behind, touching the floor..."

A boy lowering himself onto his mother's lap presents a poignant sight: this was so as Rodney, Mark, Kerry and Stevie shyly lowered their weight onto their mothers knees. Of course, their erections led the way...to be positioned gently, tentatively...on the laps of their coat-covered Moms...and, then, letting themselves go, pressed into her thighs, as their bodies settled on top...pressed hard as all their weight bore down, trembling because they knew their mothers would feel it. Feel their stiff flesh just where Mom's tummy met her upper legs. Squashing their rigid members near the spot they, 18 years earlier, had started their life journeys.

They settled into Mommy's lap. Nude, and over her knee: the classic position for maternal punishment. Mrs Reilly moved close to survey the scene with Dr Speight, appraising each bottom on mother's lap.

Women and girls crowded forward. The boys could see the high heels and stockings of the ladies and bobby socks and loafers of the girls as they gasped for breath, hanging hopeless, upside down.

They could imagine with a shudder, the view the females would be getting at this moment.

The footware and ankles of the women and girls moved inches from their eyes.

The stage was set.

The actors and director poised.

The curtain about to rise, and the show to begin.

Outside the sun shone on Brewer.