Rodney's Nude Humiliation Ch. 11

As they did.

One, two, three. R-ip!

The last threads tore!

As he climbed the steps- seen in profile by the audience of female teachers- his penis burst forth from the unravelling fibres of his jockstrap pouch, punching its way to freedom and fresh air! Rodney's fabled penis, the most discussed of any of the boys' and the biggest and funniest, with its outsized spongy bell-end, was on display!

Up and out, instantly at 45 degrees...

...and every teacher could see it!

Bang!

There it was!

"Ooh...my...god!"

The ladies gasped.

They were stunned.

And excited.

Especially as Delcia Forrest, leading him by the rope, had to pause in a kind of traffic jam while the queue of 15 girls and 15 boys mounted the stage and started to arrange themselves.

Then the girls marshalled the boys to stand...their bare backsides facing the audience. All of them, on view, their glutes defined by the bands of their jockstraps. A display of male bottoms.

And then the surprise!

The great surprise!

From stage left, enter...

A lady!

Dr Speight no less, in white coat- her doctor's white coat- with a stethoscope and tape measure around her neck. Beaming with the pleasure of taking the audience by surprise.

And with Milly Slink by her side, dressed in nurse's uniform, right down to a neat little cap on her lank, mousy hair, grinning broadly and eyes sparkling behind her thick Coke bottle glasses.

And from stage right...

Mrs Reilly- yes, the citizen who hosted at her home the afternoon teas where boys' punishment was discussed and practised and where, in her verdurous garden, young delinquents were punished by having to work stark naked.

Mrs Reilly- dressed up, too, as a nurse. Eyes on fire.

The three females mounted a little stand and stood facing the boys and girls. Ominously, they each had tape measures around their necks. Milly had a clipboard too. She pressed it tightly into her groin, stared at the boys before her, especially at Rodney.

This part had not been rehearsed.

But Miss Cuff's authoritative, metallic voice rang out.

"So this will be our climax, boys and girls.

"The cowgirls have brought their captives to the fort, all trussed up.

"You braves must look like you are shivering with fear. Fear- and something else. Remember, nothing would shame an Indian brave more than to be taken prisoner, hands tied, by a white girl, armed with a pistol. Especially if you have been caught with only one of those little loin cloths. So...act shamed!"

She let her words sink in.

The boys were standing side by side with the cowgirls, facing the three females who had just marched on stage. Their backsides, defined by the straps, were facing their seated females teachers. Their bottoms- each cheek- jiggled and shivered and danced with apprehension.

Miss Cuff's vision- cruel and thrilling- was being fleshed out.

Her colleagues, her teacher friends, felt the tension, the wonderful tension.

"Now just understand, boys, that you have been brought here to be inspected by a medical team from Washington's Smithsonian Institution. You are ethnographic specimens: Indians from the plains. And the scientific world will want to know all about you. So before you are sold into sideshows and carnivals and Wild West circuses you will be thoroughly inspected. Examined and tested and measured, all under the gaze of your captors.

"This is going to be a very funny scene for our audience. Hilarious in fact. That is, our all-female audience. Oh yes, I haven't mentioned. As a matter of policy we will only be selling tickets to Brewer's females."

Again she let this little revelation sink in.

"Your mothers. Your sisters and cousins. Aunts. Family friends. Grandmoms too- oh, yes, they always love this kind of a show. Neighbours. Girls next door. A big cheery female audience."

Even from the rear the boys could be seen to be reddening.

"So...over to you Dr Speight. Remember, you are in charge. In charge of this all-female team of scientists. And what a treat! You and your colleagues get to perform the first ever experiment of its kind: a full-scale medical examination of young braves brought in as prisoners."

And, then, in an undertone that could be only heard by the teachers in their seats, she added, "This will be the funniest of all the scenes- and we can make it up as we go along!"

There were sly chuckles.

"Over to you, Dr Speight!"

The doctor surveyed the boys lined up in front of her, bottoms to the audience.

Her eye dwelt momentarily on Rodney and his penis, rearing out of the ruins of his jockstrap. So did Milly, and she drooled. Spittle ran down her cheek.

Rodney felt their looks on his jutting penis, and that of the girls on either side of him, and heard their gasps and giggles.

For this rehearsal Dr Speight's instructions had been to allow the boys to keep their jockstraps to avoid distracting the young women.

But improvisation was the essence of a work of this kind. Rodney Rocketson was exposed. Why not all of them? And she knew what Miss Cuff wanted above all: male humiliation.

As she did too.

And so did Mrs Reilly. It was her mission in life and she had imbued it in them all. The subject of those wonderful afternoon teas! Those naked delinquents working at her flowers and shrubs!

And, of course, young Milly Slink. God, the girl by her side was salivating, drooling.

Dr Speight swallowed. Then beamed. And barked her words.

"Indian braves, you have been taken prisoner. And white women want to examine your secrets, your magic. We...want...to...know..."

Here she fingered the tape measure around her neck.

"...all about young Indian braves.

"All your...secrets."

There was an ominous pause.

"You will take down your cloths!"

And, she added, sotto voce...

"Your undergarments as well!"

Undergarments? But we thought..?

Each boy registered shock. Some looked over their heads to Miss Cuff who remained impassive.

None pulled at their modest covering.

Again, Dr Speight spoke in an under-voice.

"Unless you want one of your captors to pull them down for you! I'm sure they would be delighted to get the first glimpse!"

Girls sparkled at this prospect.

The boys responded.

Fifteen sets of hands reached for the elastic bands holding their frontal flaps. And in the same grip, the elastic band of their jockstraps.

And, if driven by a collective consciousness, in perfect timing, the fellas pulled them down to their ankles.

Fifteen erections sprang free.

With a bounce!

It should have been accompanied by some cartoon-style sound effects.

A "boing!" sound would have been appropriate.

Milly Slink gasped, mouth agape. Her mind was racing. Dr Speight had promised her a role in medical examinations, to be conducted on stage as part of the show. She had told Milly that as a nurse she would get the job of inspecting the Indians' testicles, and then had to explain to the poor girl what they were- that males have a sack hanging between their legs behind their penis which contains two balls; and the area is very sensitive; but there is a very choice game to be made of gently bouncing the bag to make the balls move up and down. "Juggle the testicles...to see them jiggle!" And you should use very mild slaps to achieve this end but make, say, every tenth slap a slightly harder one to bring on a "funny" reaction from the boy, making him hover between exquisite pleasure-when the slaps were gentle- and exquisite pain when a slap became a bit more severe.

"You can be our...our official Testicle Nurse, looking after what the dirty-minded males call their balls," Doctor Speight had promised, smiling broadly. "Balls- or their testicles. Hanging in their scrotum or beanbag."

It was a sweet gift to the plain, virginal girl. With the result that Milly now stared hard at the sacks before her, some tightened little globes, others loose and dangling with the balls easy to make out. Yes, that's what they are, she thought, little balls. Marbles really. Some covered in a boy's fleece, others smooth as eggs.

Mrs Reilly's eyes, too, widened like saucers. She liked what she was seeing, although with Rodney and his three friends, Mark, Kerry and Stevie, it was not the first time. She had seen them subject to spanking and supervised maternal masturbation at her afternoon tea. But the others were interesting. Nice, she thought, to orchestrate some fuss between each of these boys and Brewer's constabulary. To have the boys picked up by her friend, Police Commissioner Malone, for any one of a number of offences- say, being in a parked car in a lovers' lane playing "backseat bingo" with a girl. Especially if in a condition of nudity or near-nudity. Or swaying drunkenly late at night outside Baker's Tavern. Or traffic offences- oh, that was easily contrived. Driving too fast, too slow, being wrongly parked.

Then the boy would be brought to Mrs Reilly's front door and she would send him with one of her two Negro maids to the garage where he would have to strip. Strip completely, become buck naked, and then under the guidance of Betty or Hessie have to carry tools into the garden (with both arms full of clippers and rakes there was no question of him sheltering his privates which was huge fun for the maid!) Mrs Reilly could watch him from her boudoir windows with her burnished brass La Meir antique binoculars or, cheekily, emerge from the house and ask questions or give instructions while he tried to use hands clad in garden gloves to hide his cock- normally erect- and his balls.

Dr Speight, surveying the variety before her, had her own thoughts. She had thoughts of the inspections that awaited. Close-up, lingering, drawn-out. Palpating, squeezing, measuring. Not in the privacy of her room but here, with an audience.

And she thought of Miss Cuff's plans. The idea, for example, that for days before the performance the boys should attend class clad in their Indian costumes. Yes, the tiny flaps with nothing sheltering their rears. Padding into class with only their teensie loin cloth. Walking school corridors with bared bottom. Struggling into the auditorium for a concert or tournament, struggling to keep the flap in place. Getting up from their seats with undisguised erections. As a boost to ticket sales.

There was Mrs Reilly's sweet proposal, made over cocktails when the ladies were tittering over the boys' fate: that after the performance, at an event at her home, boys should stand on an auction block like slaves in the old south and their Indian costumes should be sold off to the highest female bidder. They would have to slip out of them, last shield of their modesty, and hand them over. They would make a little ceremony of this. Mothers and sisters would relish the moment. And, she had said, if that left the boys nude and even erect...well, one can't make an omelette without breaking eggs. All funds raised would go to the school drama department, of course. Which gave it additional appeal to Miss Cuff.

Right now on the stage the girls looked from side to side, grinning, secure in their cowgirls' suits, seeing what the boys were presenting.

Rodney presented his long white pole with its huge mushroomy head. It was disgracefully trailing clear fluid to the stage.

Stevie's obstinate little projection jutted at 45 degrees, a bubble of clear fluid ballooning from its tip and threatening to dribble to the floor.

And so on, down the line- Kerry's elegant, slanting stick, Danny's banana bend, Charlie's broad-beamed white rod, Mohammed's long brown snake with bright red neck and head, Carl's minute sliver of flesh, Jimmy's veiny pole, Jason Cho's perfectly formed, five inch coffee-colored appendage, Mark's heroic penis with glans struggling out of its bunched, fleshy foreskin, Trevor's standard American five and a quarter incher, right out of a textbook.

And so on.

The fellas were buck naked. And erect. Indian flaps and jockstraps at their heels, in a pool of shame.

In their birthday suits, blushing, teary eyed.

From their seats their teachers, seeing their naked rears and sensing the adventures to come, applauded.

Mrs Aurelius, the classics teacher, indulged some philosophic speculation.

She thought, "I know we inhabit a universe of atoms and void, of ceaseless creation and destruction, and one governed entirely by chance. I know this. I learnt it at college."

Her mind wandered some more.

"Yes, I was taught that existence was a ceaseless chain of collisions. And I'm driven to wonder which collision of charging atoms has deposited me here? Here with the possessed genius, Miss Cuff. With this dedicated medico, this Dr Speight? With the sinister and charming Mrs Reilly? Or those other priestesses, Mrs Carruthers the dressmaker and her maid, Yuela? All dedicated to the same ends."

Oh to be female, in Brewer, she thought.

In Grover Cleveland High School. In 1956.

A universe of colliding atoms, governed by chance? So it appeared to Lucretius and other philosophers and poets of the ancient world.

But no, thought Mrs Aurelius, looking at those quaking young buttocks up on the stage, shorn of their loin cloths and jockstraps. How did this happen? There must be a Creator to conjure up such richness.

She looked up at the row of male bottoms.

Between the legs of several she could make out the silhouettes of scrotums.

She could also see the eyes of Dr Speight, Mrs Reilly and young Milly Slink positively popping as they stared at the boys' groins. Clearly, thought Mrs Aurelius, those erections that had been tenting their jockstraps were now on glorious display, to the three females who faced them with such rapturous, worshipful expressions. And soon, she hoped, on display to all of us, seated in the body of the hall.

Soon something was going to happen on stage and, directed by Miss Cuff, it was bound to be exquisite.

This didn't come about by chance, thought the classics teacher.

Not random atoms. Not a universe of chaos. No, the moment was too beautiful.

It has all been managed by the Creator.

God exists.

And Her powers are absolute. Pity those naked boys.