Rodney's Nude Humiliation Ch. 13

She clamped the tong's nippers on the right nipple and stimulated it to rise like its twin.

Then the fun started.

She returned to the left nipple and used the handles of the tong to pinch it hard.

He winced. She maintained the grip. He rubbed his long boney feet together in pleasure. He settled into a trance-like state moving his hips slightly as if his whole body had to accommodate the pained ecstasy.

She tightened the grip, and pivoted, twisting the tube of his enlarged, erect pink nipple. The cork-screw motion had its effect.

His feet shifted. His knees rose slightly. As she tightened further, his eyes closed tighter.

"You like that, don't you Rodney?"

He gurgled.

Shifting to his other nipple- erect, puffed up, seeking attention- she asked, "Aren't you glad I found these tongs?"

His only answer- as she applied the tongs, pinched at the other nipple- was to rub his feet together, helplessly. To twist his torso slightly. To gurgle a smothered response that might have been interpreted as, "Please...don't...stop..."

His penis head was leaking, rather like a faulty water bubbler in a constant flow.

She reverted to a lighter, tickling tease. His nipples became pleasure transmitters. She gently coaxed them. Lovingly, so he couldn't imagine himself anything other than the most loved, spoiled boy in the world.

Then she squeezed more firmly.

He whimpered and twisted helplessly, eyes clenched.

The tongs firmly gripping, she twisted them sideways. Pivoted. Not too tight. His left, then his right.

Eyes still shut, he panted. His feet rubbed together.

For an eternity she kept it up with the tongs, in an unceasing repertoire of tweaks, tugs, squeezes, pulls and tickles with an unfailing instinct for keeping Rodney dangling between pleasure and pain, entirely at her mercy.

Until his head lifted and he nodded at his slimy erection. He seemed hypnotised by its purplish head which stared back, like a snake at its keeper. Pathetically he asked the question she had been waiting for. He said, "Please, Milly..."

Looking transfixed at his penis head.

And the girl put down the tongs and slowly, tantalisingly, reached out and took hold of the tight, lubricated penis shaft and spread the sticky fluid up and down its length and squeezed.

He sighed.

She deftly- oh, how much she had learnt- began to move her fist. Along his shaft. A few pulls, gentle pulls, and he was not long in ejaculating. It would have been a very austere and moralistic boy, one of Brewer's young churchmen, who might have resisted longer, a boy made of steel. Rodney was not such a boy.

He had been teetering on the brink of ejaculation all through the undressing, the tickling, the application of foamy bristles to groin and scrotum, the attention of brush and razor to his most tender spots, the long game with his nipples and her tongs.

To be honest, who of Brewer's fellas could have held out?

She felt him tense and hold his breath. And she knew at what moment to grip- just as his sperm was shooting up the penis shaft- to tighten, and to intensify the velocity of the developing cannonade: Whoooooosh! A forceful stream shot over the boy's head and splashed against the wall; a wad of white fluid against the wall with the tiniest thud..and it began to drain to the floor.

A second shoot flew over his head and dropped to the floorboards, like a load from an airforce bomber, a third splashed on his forehead like some kind of Hindu blessing.

The whiff of fresh semen rose to the girl's nostrils.

She watched the urethral opening on the purple head of Rodney's penis drain more fluid onto the boy's flat abs. Meanwhile he subsided, eyes closed, drifting to another universe, way off, a long way from that of Grover Cleveland High, Brewer and 1950s Minnesota.

Like Mary over the crucified son Milly looked down benignly, as if in a pieta- through Coke bottle glasses not vouchsafed to her Biblical inspiration- and gazed on the naked basketball player, shorn of all body hair, on the table, prone and fulfilled.

After she had mopped him up and helped him dress- she had insisted on pulling up his boxers and jiggling them into place- they exited the makeshift barber shop. "You're lucky," Milly said. "Miss Assam didn't burst in this time."

Rodney giggled shyly. "I guess she's seen all of me by now."

They both laughed.

"Well, she certainly enjoyed looking at you, all those times."

In the corridor stood a nervous Timmy: a heart throb, snub-nosed class letterman, long eyelashes fluttering under his ducks tail hair style, in button down shirt and khakis. He was not happy. He stood next to a beaming Veronica, a wide-hipped girl, big-breasted, who feared herself plain. Her joy in life was the young male physique- in the art texts with pictures of Greek athletes and warriors fed her by her maidenly art teacher, Miss Simpkins. Or the nude male students on display exercising naked by local lakes, easy to be spied on by any cunning girl in the bushes with old Korean War binoculars. Or in the chlorine-scented school baths, while she peered at the unsuspecting nude swimmers through gaps in the crumbling masonry.

Or on those occasions these days when she could strip her compliant boyfriend, Timmy, and keep him shaved of his body hair.

And at the end of the corridor Miss Assam, at her desk, was peering up at a shuffling, red-faced Johnny Marcello- black, oiled Elvis hair brushed back, wearing a white tee-shirt and jeans that bulged in the front, a teenage Marlon Brando. He stood next to a very possessive Olivia Pucker grinning with her tombstone front teeth.

"Early! Early! Olivia, you are here early!" Miss Assam was telling her, treating the red haired, freckle faced girl as an idiot who obdurately would not understand simple rules and procedures. "I know you are eager to make a start on..."

And she cast her green eyes over Johnny's flies.

The boy shrivelled.

"...on this young man but you'll just have to wait."

At this moment Carl Harlson appeared, almost arm in arm with Sally Wainwright, presenting at Miss Assam's desk.

"For shaving?"

The girl beamed in agreement: for three weeks Sally had been in charge of Carl's body hair and had grown familiar with the Viking boy's lanky form, blond pubic bush and, yes, diminutive penis. His short, narrow penis. So cute, and on such a tall boy, and a handsome one. She knew the contours, colours and veins of its ventral side off by heart, peering down as it stretched stiff, a third of the way to his navel. His tight little ballsac was also effectively hers. In their first session she had carefully razored off its gauzy fairy floss hairs. His testicle sack was these days smooth as an egg and she was proud of it.

Miss Assam consulted her exercise book.

"Yes...you two are booked in, yes. But the room's occupied and these two..."

She nodded at Olivia and Johnny.

"...these two are waiting."

At that moment came, around the corner, Charlie Hodgson, the swimmer with the crew cut, shamed to be a prisoner of red haired Karen Strawbridge with her cats eyes glasses. The girl, smiling broadly and clearly excited, steered him to Miss Assam's desk. In three weeks she had got to know the contents of Charlie's groin- his famous wide, young bratwurst- carefully shaving around it and carefully rendering smooth his uneven ballsac with its tantalising dangle to the right. He had never lost his embarrassment at her attentions, felt personally devastated by his inevitable stiffening.

Miss Assam looked up at them. Her eyes darted to Charlie's well-filled flies- she had seen their contents many times: fat, rolling pin size, white as a fish.

"No, girls...no!"

She feigned anger.

"You've all arrived at the one time. We've got a backlog!"

Whether it was she, the principal's secretary, who had caused this traffic jam by manipulating the timetable or the cunning girls who had engineered it, this backup of boys needing to be shaved- goodness, still more were arriving- admitted of only one solution.

It was a delight to Miss Assam.

A delight to the school principal, the recently promoted Miss Ada Braithwaite, who would be expected to walk this corridor anytime soon.

A delight to girls who might be summoned to the staff offices for consultations with staff, female staff as it happened.

A delight to the veteran female cleaning staff who at any moment would start their rounds.

The solution- statesmanlike and accommodating at once- was quickly decreed by Miss Assam. It was that the boys waiting to be shaven should undress in the corridor- strip completely. There were chairs to take their clothes, neatly folded of course.

And she decreed that standing there stripped to the buff they would be ready at any time to enter the little room when it was vacated by the couple ahead of them in the queue, the little room with its table and other facilities, and be tended to by the assigned girl. In fact...

She took a little time to come to this conclusion...

...girls might, yes here in the corridor, commence the task of shaving, even in a preliminary sense...perhaps kneeling before each denuded and blushing boy and getting the business of scrotums out of the way first, each of the girls having been equipped last month at the start of the process with her own razor, brush, jug (as an inducement to practising on brothers at home, of course, if mothers allowed.)

No girls raised objections and Miss Assam briskly summoned the young men to gather around, pointed to the corridor chairs and ordered them to be neat about folding clothes and positioning their shoes.

"Whaaad? Here? Where everyone can see..?"

"Aw, Miss..."

"Jeepers...hell..."

"That means, with our teachers...with other girls...with mothers...going past...seeing us and all!"

She brushed aside all objections.

Said she knew what Miss Braithwaite would do if she had to call on her. Miss Braithwaite was a known enthusiast for nude male punishment, had insisted on inspecting the boys' nude swim classes on a regular basis and being present at all rehearsals of the school musical, Cowgirls and Indian Braves.

The boys knew they were trapped, once again.

As one they began loosening their belts, eyeing one another warily, not wanting to be the first out of his pants.

The girls watched riveted.