Jack Struggles in his Y Fronts

A Frustrated Julia, a Threatened Jack

The tension was electric.

Mrs Ellroy would be out of the house more and more, tending to a cutlery business bequeathed to her by an uncle in Sheffield.

She had withdrawn permission for her niece Julia to bath Jack. So the thin, angular girl- three years old than the 18 year old youth- no longer had those thrilling glimpses of Jack’s rear and the chance to soap it, lovingly, with the long brush. How she had relished the task: the two muscular cheeks, the folds at intersections of thighs and bottom, the deep cleft so mysterious and secret. Jack standing in the tub, shyly protecting his front from her gaze.

This prohibition made Julia all the more restless in the boy’s company. More inclined to stare hard at the front of his underwear. Or the tightness of the rear when he was bent at a task.

He, at home, wearing nothing but his Y fronts. That being the rule.

His tummy fluttered with fear that, at any moment…

…while he washed the dishes or stood on a stool reaching for a light switch…

…Julie’s bent fingers might reach out and take his white Y fronts by the waist band and whisk them to his ankles!

And he would suddenly have no secrets left, devastated by shame. Frozen with humiliation.

Adding to the tension was that with his weights exercises and swimming at the YMCA Jack’s physique was getting chunkier.

Under his slicked Teddy Boy haircut, Jack was as wide shouldered and trim waisted as the young champions in the pages of Physique Pictorial or Young Adonis with whom he compared himself in the mirror. The young champions in their straining G-strings, Jack in his. Or one of his- he had five, ordered from “All Male Garments,” care of a Soho post office box. At the YMCA gym one of the gnarled old veterans said he was becoming their own Steve Reeves, the world champion body builder from California.

His growth spurt had delivered hard-as-wood biceps that he flexed into half arcs. The swooping definition of his pecs excited the two women. And “devils horns” muscles, on his lower abs, seem to draw Julia’s attention lower still- to the bulge in the front of the underwear, always twitching and stretching, filling out or retreating, rearranging itself, wanting to show off its shape.

Like a frisky young python…

…moving around the boy’s Y fronts.

Once at afternoon tea, sitting at the kitchen table, Julia with finely honed instincts, told Jack to stand up.

His voice quailed, like an adolescent’s.

“Stand up? What for?”

“Just stand up…I want to check.”

Jack went as red as a beetroot.

“N…n…now?”

Her green eyes gleamed as she nodded.

He struggled to his feet, hovering hands trying to conceal the tenting of his Y fronts.

She stared.

Greedily.

Softly, hypnotised by his shameful bulge, she gave him a direction he couldn’t refuse.

He swallowed.

He dropped his hands to his sides.

Her eyes stood out on stalks devouring the 45 degree erection tenting the Y of his underwear. They were one of the old pair and a fat testicle emerged from the worn elastic on the left thigh.

There was even a gap in his waistband where his erection tugged forward. Space enough for her to have dropped an exploring hand inside, like a school doctor with gloved hand, groping for the testicles of an 18 year old boy.

Jack felt she was going to command him to take the Y fronts down.

Conflicting emotions warred in the boy’s soul.

A thrilling anxiety was aroused by the notion of lowering his undergarment.

Her eyes would be focussed on his rigid flesh…

The horrifying humiliation he would feel…

Jack was borne by the lurid thoughts. He prayed that her command would come.

It would be…

…devastating.

..wonderful.

And as if bidden, fluid flowed from his cock and dampened the Y front.

She too seemed at war with conflicting notions.

But a terror of going one step too far prevailed.

“Disgusting. Go to your room.”

Later Jack, standing at the top of the steps, caught scraps of conversation between the girl and her aunt. Some talk of a new job. But not here. In Ceylon where the Manchester outfit that employed her as book keeper and manager of employee records was opening a textile mill. It would be a big promotion. There would be a house in the grounds…talk of manservants…responsibilities just below the top executive. Jack said nothing but prayed for her departure. A house without her uneasy, prying presence.

Later he saw a luridly coloured book in the parlour, leaning against her leather bag. It was printed on the cheapest paper and entitled Discipline and the Tropics by Sarah Maitland. There were chapters about the Caribbean with shocking drawings of naked Negro youths being spanked, struggling over the laps of ladies in Edwardian dresses, or standing totally nude being lectured by English females. The women, young and old, seemed teachers or administrators. The Negro males were invariably totally naked, not even clothes draped across chairs or hung on clothes hooks. The artist had not hesitated to portray the lusty proportions of the black males and even dared to present nearly all “suffering erections.”

Other chapters were illustrated with drawings of Indian males, standing naked in corridors in an old fashioned school, with female servants in saris staring hard; or bent over with bums on display, completely nude; even naked in a classroom- the boys clearly Indian, the cross-hatching indicating dark skin, some with turbans- while female teachers lectured them tauntingly and well-dressed English girls smirked. And pointed, cruelly. This illustrator, who Jack assumed was Indian himself, seemed uninhibited about the boys’ private characteristics- the cocks for the most part petite and scrotums uneven and dangling- and he daringly portrayed a majority in states of erection.

Jack’s hand had shaken, his heart had raced.

Who had given this to Julia? Who was equipping her for staff discipline in Ceylon? Jack’s mind galloped. An underground of female disciplinarians? Friends and allies of Gerda Halloway? He wanted to read every word but noises at the door sent him scuttling, clutching his lose fitting Y fronts and covering the erection that had reared at this encounter between the worlds of English women and dark skinned, native boys rendered clothes-free.

Dancing in His Y Fronts

Of course, there were the card games…which devolved into dances.

With, say, three or four of Julia’s smart, well dressed friends- the lively girls who seemed to befriend her because she delivered access to the underwear-wearing boys who rented their rooms in her aunt’s house.

So after gym Jack would head to one of their homes where a girl’s parents would be out, and the young ladies able to entertain themselves for an evening. Four girls in their early 20s, with- they would assure parents- the nice young man who boards with Julia. And, they said, reassuringly, he’s only 18, boyish, no threat.

They didn’t mention that as soon as he arrived in his leather jacket and jeans, his flannel shirt and work boots, they would insist he strip off.

“Yes, get out of those work clothes.”

“Just like when we catch you at home at Julia’s.”

“Just in your white Y fronts. So manly.”

He winced at the instruction, eyelids flickering and his face blushing. He stumbled out a protest. But they insisted. And he didn’t tell them he had switched into a nicely pressed, newly laundered pair of Y fronts in the change room, anticipating just this instruction. So he would haul himself off to another room and pull off his clothes, folding them and piling them neatly on a chair. Taking a big breath, shuddering all over and with hands over his groin, he would re-enter the dining room and suffer their stares, their grins and giggles, their gasps and their nudging one another.

Their looks almost tickled his skin.

Feigning a motherly regard the girl hosting things would have him sit at the table, serving him a body-building snack like scrambled eggs or grilled liver and a glass of full cream milk. While he ate the girls would be frisky, waiting for the fun and swiping him with excited looks. Then with the females sipping sweet sherry, they would settle at cards playing gin rummy or cribbage or rough and honours.

Someone would make a joke about “strip poker” to make Jack blush. And someone would respond that Jack was- goodness me- more than half way there and couldn’t afford to lose one more item of clothing.

“Goodness, Jack, you haven’t even got socks to surrender, or a vest.” Gwendolyn said this, eyes glassy with desire.

He blushed in a “aw shucks” kinda way.

“You’d be in your birthday suit,” one might add with a prurient grin, also very excited.

He shivered at the image.

“You’d be naked as a jay!” said another, shuddering with the image.

Even he had to giggle weakly, as if confirming his shame, his tummy with a thousand butterflies.

And the humiliation of his situation would thrill and appal him

Until the hostess, eyes shining, would say, “Oh come on, let’s put a record on! Say, a slow waltz!” And, “Who wants the first dance with the nicest boy in Manchester?”

This was why he was here.

This was why they had come.

This is what four girls had been dreaming off all day, while they typed and filed and gossiped.

And in a flash one girl would be turning off the lights and another lighting candles and Jack would be hauled to his feet to be gripped by Sally or one of the Partridge sisters or Millie, fragrant with Max Factor perfume…or more personal scents. They would be set up to commence the dance as soon as a girl would be setting Doris Day or Perry Como on the gramophone. The slow moving melody of Patti Page’s Tennessee Waltz was a favourite.

So the waltz began, Jack’s partner careful not to plant a heel on the boy’s bare feet. Or to do precisely that, to demonstrate her power over an unshod, unhusked boy- but not too hard. Then girls danced with one another, eyeing the couple jealously, especially as they noticed how tightly their hostess might cling onto the near naked lad…how she would shamelessly press herself into his front…how subtly but determinedly she might move her hips with little wriggles and slides and lifts…and how delicately her spare hand might descend down her partner’s spine, fingers intruding into the elastic at his hips, as she waltzed with a muscular young buck in nothing but a pair of white Y fronts.

After due deference to their hostess, another girl might move in and beamingly declare it was “her turn” and, while the female partners changed places, they all noticed the huge tenting of the young man’s undergarment- elastic waistband yanked forward by the bold thrust of his appendage- and a Roundhead helmet clearly outlined. Yes, all found this of intense interest. While the lad shuffled and moved his hands around and smiled bashfully in what Americans might call, yes, his “Aw shucks” mode.

A big splotch of moisture decorated the Y of his shorts and may have been the reason he blushed and shuffled and tried to cover up till the second girl- often Giselle or Lorraine- forcefully pressed her own midriff into the source of his embarrassment and her eyes glazed with profound pleasure, taking his hand in her’s and letting her other dangle into the small of his back…and lower.

Into his shorts.

Around his globes.

And so it might go until 11 pm, which meant any one of the girls might have relished five waltzes, each time growing more unabashed…

…pressing more decisively into his front and rotating her midriff so as to rearrange where the tip of his rod would make contact…

…feeling all the muscles of his torso…

…allowing her face to nestle his neck, even the tip of her tongue to unloose itself at his tendons…

…and her left hand to descend into the rear of his Y fronts, tightening a grip on his flexing buttock.

One girl- it was Hazel Summertide- might allow her fingers to creep up Jack’s chest and tighten on a nipple, then flick it with her finger nail…and pinch it again. This transported the boy into another world, and seemed to work more every time. The nerve ends in his nipples became electric and sent zaps of pleasure to all ends of his body. His eyes would close dreamily.

One might move her hand in his underwear, trembling with her daring, around to his side, then quickly into the curls in his groin. Both she and he would breath heavily during this wicked intrusion, the boy close to gasping as her fingers tickled his intimate space.

Another girl- very likely Gloria- would twist her body till the tip of his protrusion would touch- for her- a special, secret point, then stand locked into his body, only rocking very slightly to the tune. Then during her second or third waltz she would erupt in small shudders. Her gasps would be unnoticed by her friends, or so she hoped. The same with the next dance, and the several that followed. She would always leave the party, flushed and silent with a faraway look in her eyes.

And during her final waltz a tall willowy, brunette- a mature young lady studying literature, and too long and narrow and flat chested to be counted attractive, a good two inches taller than the boy- would simply clamp her lips over Jack’s and jam her tongue- flavoured with sweet sherry- into his mouth and let it explore and tickle for the entirety of their dance floor coupling. She was terribly eager. Jack sensed he may have been her only experience of a male partner. Further that she may have expected it might be the last before she went to Merton for postgraduate reading. That her desperate pursuit sent both her and the lad into another universe of ecstasy was quite beyond dispute.

Once, as they parted, she whispered, “Keats- you know, the poet- says ‘Now a soft kiss – Aye, by that kiss, I vow an endless bliss.’ Well, young man, you’ve taught me about bliss.”

His tent pole erection and the splotch on his underwear was his answer.

Half the young ladies had not ever before waltzed with a male.

And here was one with the body of a Greek hero, nude except for his Y fronted briefs.

And with what their brothers would have called “a real stonk on.”

It was forbidden and illicit, a wicked folly.

It fulfilled every Baptist preacher’s condemnation of the lust that flourished on dance floors.

The girls had learnt to dress lightly for these evenings so that only the slimmest of blouse or dress material might separate them from the athletic flesh or the stiff appendage taut in his underwear. That they never wore underwear themselves for these evenings, or in the lavatory slipped them into their handbags, might be safely assumed.

Yes, their eyes took a feverish shine but none judged her companions- not for the flush in their faces, their impatience for the next dance, their rotation of hips against Y fronted flesh or for the spare hands that thrust into the rear of his undergarment. “Judge not…” might have been their watchword.

Besides, they were united in bliss.

Gerda’s Waiting Room

Jack sat in the waiting room next to Mrs Ellroy. This was his second visit to Gerda Halloway’s establishment to be punished for masturbation or “self pleasuring.” He was guilty as charged. His pyjamas, lacquered with dried sperm, had indicted him.

There were the same faded prints of race horses on the walls, the same cheap furniture, the same dog-eared books about the dangers of “self abuse” on the table. His heart was pounding. The impending pain and shame pressed on him- the fear of losing all his garments, of being stripped naked. Of being eyed nude by women and girls. Nude, and inevitably erect- with a rearing tallywhacker. And the fear of the savage spanking.

It made his tummy feel as if it had a thousand butterflies.

The boys, ranging from 18 to their late 20s, were downcast, shamed. Their mothers looked fierce and punitive. About half had brought daughters or female cousins to witness their boys’ shame. The girls were skittish and expectant, looking forward to the treat. They picked up the anti-self abuse pamphlets and shared text or illustration with a friend, and giggled knowingly.

“A Threat to Manhood,” by Reverend Brendan O’Cowl, for example, had been published that year by Catholic Mothers of Britain. The author dilated at length on the physical characteristics of males and there were many diagrams of the male organ in erect and flaccid conditions. And the priest’s publication, apparently his life’s work, had photos and line drawings of 18 year olds in pyjamas and swimwear, change rooms and bathrooms, camping trips and dormitories- every page laden with foreboding about self abuse, presumably an ever-present danger In such settings. The most explicit featured a boy sitting up in bed, one hand below the sheets, the other clutching a magazine.

As girls passed it around there was much giggling and suppressed laughter, and furtive looks at the captured males in their presence. One girl with freckles and plaits, after passing on Father O’Cowl’s pamphlet, stared over at Jack with a knowing grin, looking intently at his lap. As if to say, we know what you look like under those garments and we know what you get up to whenever you can.

A mother spoke. She had a small monkeyish face. Her son next to her was skinny, about 20, with receding chin and pimples. Shame suffused his sad features. His sister was pretty in Doris Day style. She was pert and blond and regularly tossed her hair back, over her shoulder. Her eyes were a piercing grey.

She made Jack think of Mrs Darlene Lacey next door. His cock stretched. He was always stretching, he thought. He believed he suffered more embarrassing erections than any other boy in Manchester.

“His sister and her friends caught him,” the mother said, to the whole room. “Apparently thought he had the house to himself, he did. And he was in the nudy…naked as a jay…”

This boy’s mother was talking…to this crowded room…about her son’s masturbation! Jack was stunned.

And his attractive sister smiled and looked around, proud.

From her bag the mother produced a magazine called French Spice with a cover showing a brunette in skimpy black underwear.

“Don’t Mum,” her boy pleaded, scarlet. The shame of his secret desires exposed in the crowded room was clearly excruciating.

“Yes, he had his nose in this! He covered up, ramming a cushion over his privates, but Jenny and her friends held him in place till I got home. In the nudy I found him, clinging to the cushion. Trapped.”

Jack thought of the scene. The dopey looking boy…cowering for shame…in his birthday suit. Yes, trapped, with that magazine in his hand. And his sister grinning and looking down at him, confiscating the magazine.

There were tsk tsk tsk sounds from mothers. His sister beamed around the room, flicking back blonde hair. Jack noticed she wore lipstick. He imagined her standing over her older brother, 20 years old and still fighting pimples. Her plain, skinny older brother caught in the nude on the sofa in their parlour.

Thinking of the boy’s embarrassment, Jack’s cock stretched along his left thigh.

Around the room grinning sisters tried to look their own brothers in the eyes. As if to say, “See? Other boys get up to the same stuff that got you into trouble.”

“Did you spank his bum?” asked a youngish mother. She looked a bit of a floosy, thought Jack, and indecently excited by the talk of punishment and nudity. Her 19 year old son, sitting by her side, blushed. His skin was white as snow, his shiny black hair in Elvis style, heavy with Brylcreem. He wore leather jacket and jeans, and polished boots.

“Yes, I did spank his bum. I slapped it while I walked him upstairs to his bedroom, twisting an ear. Remember we caught him in the buff so he had no protection. Yes, by the time we were upstairs I had it blazing…”

Jack thought of the poor skinny boy having his bottom slapped with every step to his room. His cock would have bounced ahead of him and quickly stiffened. He would have stumbled along with an erection pointing the way. His sister and her friends would have relished it. Giggling at his shame.

“…yes, blazing. But nothing like what Gerda will do.”

The youngish mum, heavily made up and with lipstick too red to be altogether respectable, looked at her own boy in leather and jeans. Her eyes sparkled with mischief and seemed to reflect a mum’s malevolence towards her male offspring. Jack sensed she loved male humiliation.

“Just like my Kenny. Just how I caught you, isn’t it, Kenny?”

Her voice was sweetly maternal. Cruel.

The boy retreated into his leather jacket.

“On Sunday? When you thought I was busy with the dinner?”

Her son seemed to offer the slightest nod, staring into his lap.

“I went into his room,” she said, looking around the crowd of mothers and girls. “He was naked, his jeans and leather jacket just flung about the place. Just in his birthday suit…”

Jack shuddered at the humiliating expression.

“…He was sitting on the bed- and with a real little stiffie on him…”

The girls gasped.

Every boy wanted to sink into the floor.

“…yes, and he was stretching his loose skin. What do you call it?”

“His foreskin,” a few of the ladies volunteered.

“The loose skin over the end of their thingies. Yes, that’s right- foreskin.”

“They give it a nick name,” ventured one mother. “Of course they give all dirty things nick names. They call it their ‘lace curtains.'”

There was giggling all round.

“Lace curtains,” muttered a few of the girls, incredulously.

The boy was dying of shame, having his penis discussed- his foreskin described- girls giggling.

“Stretching it…making himself excited…”

She offered up details of how she punished Kenny. She said that after consulting Gerda she reduced him to wearing only his vest, or singlet, not a scrap more, for the rest of the day. He had begged her not to enforce this cruel discipline. Begged her. “Cried…” she said, “Like a little girl.” His tantrum irritated her and she made him strip for the rest of the week on afternoons when he got home from work. She said it taught him humility. It had been Gerda’s strong recommendation and had worked a treat.

She looked her punished son up and down as he drooped in his chair, scarlet.

She added, eyes glinting, that he was embarrassed when “the little thing just poked up.”

“Can’t do a thing about it, can you sweetheart?”

And she grasped his neck and gave it as gentle shake.

Her son blushed deeper, looked close to tears.

“No, can’t control it. But the embarrassment is the punishment they need.”

Ladies clucked their agreement. The girls were beaming, eyes wide as saucers, staring at the fella in leather and jeans as if they couldn’t wait to see him stripped off here, today, if they might be so lucky…just as when his mother caught him. And checking out that loose skin.

The humiliation excited Jack. His imagination sizzled. His cock fleshed out and lengthened some more. The girl with freckles and plaits saw the movement in his overalls. She caught his eye and grinned. He blushed and quickly crossed his legs.

“I told mine it’s the reason your thingie is so small. Undeveloped. You never give it any peace…” declared another mother.

Her boy, Richard, looked to be 28, a small fella in jeans folded up at the hems and checked red and black patterned shirt, and a ducks bum haircut. His huge brown eyes darted like a trapped forest animal’s. He slumped in his seat.

Small? Undeveloped?

Around the room girls glared at him, undressing him in their minds.

“I agree it does them no harm to take Gerda’s advice and have their clothes banned to them. Richard’s embarrassed that girls might visit…and I won’t even tell you what literature I caught him reading!”

Richard turned scarlet and directed terrified eyes at his mother.

The imaginations of the listeners ran riot.

“Well, we might see it later.”

Jack to his horror, now heard Mrs Ellroy clear her throat, about to join in, no doubt to tell them about his humiliating Jockey regime. Or his preferred literature.

But suddenly Gerda’s assistant was in the doorway, Patricia in her pinafore. Her eyes sparkled with malice.

“Gerda is running behind. We have been very busy today. So these boys step out into the corridor…”

She consulted her clip board and read out five names including Jack’s.

“…better if they strip down to their underwear first…here.”

There was an intake of breath from girls.

The five boys struggled to their feet.

“Or…”

She seemed to be weighing another option. Her eyes danced with mischief.

“…or…”

Her face assumed a cunning half smile.

“…leave their underwear behind too.”

The five boys looked close to fainting.

“That means they don’t get mixed up,” she offered by way of explanation.

A second’s silence…

…and then a strong murmur of support from the mums.

Suddenly five ladies- which included Mrs Ellroy, no mother but with pronounced instincts in that direction- were fussing about their young men: unbuckling, unbuttoning, whisking shirts away…

…oh, the boys looked horrified!

…shucking down trousers…

Hell! Gosh Mum!

…helping their awkward and shy boys remove shoes and socks and step out of puddles of clothing.

Boys were being shed like husks.

A reek of warm leather and fresh sweat filled the air.

Leaning forward in her chair Sally Beaconsfield suddenly saw her cousin Joseph suffer his trousers go slithering down his legs, his somewhat hairy legs. She felt a flutter in her tummy…and lower, in her privates…and she sucked in her breath as aunt’s fingers now reached for the band of…oh my god!..his high waisted Y fronts!

Across the room that handsome fella was being eased out of his overalls by that forceful lady standing, bent to the task, and Paula Wellesley couldn’t believe the view she was getting of Jack Cunningham. Paula was “plain as porridge” as she had overheard her father say, and guessed her freckles and mousy hair would mean never having a boyfriend but…

… right now, just for her delectation it seemed, this manly physique was being revealed- that V-shaped back- and look! She will get to see his bottom as those overalls get hauled down by that lady.

Even better! Can’t believe it! She’s rotated him! She’s turned him right around, so he’s facing me! Oh golly gosh! The lady is tugging his overalls off from behind. Tug…tug…tug! Down they slither. He’s stepping out of them and I’m seeing him in those white underpants with…with…with that shape pressing forward in the front. Like a tent pole! Oh, how absolutely fabulous! And the lady is reaching for the elastic of those underpants and golly…look at the blushing…any second that beautiful young man will be a bare as a board…

…in front of me…facing me!

I’ll get to see him, she thought, “in the bare scud,” using a term she had once heard from her father.

Paula was leaning forward, like a leopard in the bamboo fixated on her victim.

And Gerry Foley was being helped by his mum to shuck out of his clothes. His beanpole sister with the glasses was so close he could feel her breath on his thighs, as the trembling boy stood facing the two, waiting for the next move. Hell, his sister Annette had never seen his 19 year old cock and balls although there had been moments when she had got close, bursting into the kitchen on bath nights when he had had to clamp his thighs together, there in the tin bath and beg her to respect his modesty. He blushed as he remembered how he had hunched there and she had brazenly peered with excited eyes into the tub…

…and right now, his mother’s fingers approached the elastic…

“Aw mum…nooooo, please…not with Annette here…”

He trembled.

“Annette has no interest in seeing her brother naked I can assure you. She’d rather be with her friends listening to gramophone records. She’s here as part of the punishment.”

Annette caught him with a crocodile grin.

As if by magic the mums had completed their undressing tasks at the same moment.

Their boys stood in underwear, trembling at what was about to happen.

All the other females looked on, a wolf pack gathering.

The mothers and Mrs Ellroy moved. Their fingers- the small ladies’s fingers- entered the elastic, paused for a second or two…felt their males shudder…

…the girls, sisters and cousins, held their breaths and their tummies fluttered in joyful anticipation…

…the ladies yanked on the elastic…

…and whoosh!

Down to the heels!

Wow!

Holy Jesus and Mary!

Five young men were stripped to the buff. Underwear at their feet!

Naked as jays!

Females were transfixed. Joyous.

Some got an eyeful of Joseph’s small dick with its tapering foreskin sitting above ridiculous low hanging testicles…especially his cousin Sally who, eyes bulging, spluttered with coarse laughter. That’s what they are! Balls! Oh my god! Balls!

Some stared at Gerry’s narrow tube with a curious half moon appearing from the tightly enclosing foreskin. His beanpole sister Annette, eyes popping, spluttered laughing.

Paula was one of the females who scoped a full-on view of Jack’s manly appendage- and it was pointing forward. Right at her, as it happened! Parallel to the floor! A very big penis! She sucked in air with thrilled astonishment -Jack, the muscled athlete, was blushing like a fire hydrant- and the girl with freckles and plaits was leaning forward chin resting on her knuckles, eyes aflame. Seeing that big penis going even harder. Moisture was running down her upper thighs.

And 19 year old Kenny- stripped of his jeans and leather jacket- stood compact and pale where half the room could see the errant foreskin- yes, a dangler, hiding the glans perfectly- that had been the subject of such discussion. The foreskin he had enjoyed stretching…on display for all of them. He looked up. There must have been half a dozen female eyes on his cock.

And the fifth boy- a masculine fella with boxer’s build, called Billy Dedlock, and a flame of black hair on his chest that trailed to his curly pubic bush- stood appalled. Females around him stared. His cock was short and very thick. Absurdly thick, considering its shortness. Its stubby stem jerked forward…

…oh shit! I’m getting a stiffie, he thought!

…to jut, like Jack’s, parallel to the floor.

He wanted to faint. But there was nothing he could do to control it.

His sister Daisy glowed. She had never seen her little brother’s penis. She relished this close up view. Oh, how short- must be less than three inches- but how thick! And crested with that fat mushroom…and tucked up underneath was that bag with the deep wrinkles, like a little coin purse!

She asked their mother in a sweet low voice, “Is Billy’s thing…”

“Yes, his penis…” said their mother, who had not stopped staring at it, with what- curiosity, compassion?

“…is it short…unusually short? Look, at that other boy’s…”

Billy wanted to expire.

“Oh I don’t know. It is perhaps somewhat on the short side. But it is certainly…thick! Yes, I would say it’s definitely thick.”

“But it’s sooooo short! A fat little penis!”

Billy clenched his eyes with the shame.

“And it decided to point…parallel to the floor!” This greatly amused his sister.

“Shhhsss…Billy’s suffering an…erection.” His mother spoke in an undertone. “It happens…although I certainly wish he wouldn’t embarrass us in front of everyone here.”

“Can’t they control it?” The girl giggled, her eyes glued to her brother’s “embarrassment.”

Her mother just frowned.

Her son felt very diminished.

Withering with this humiliation, the five husked boys quickly clamped hands over groins.

The girls were very aroused.

And, strangely, seemed excited not just by the sight of boys’ cocks and balls and arses suddenly unveiled but by the boys’ panic at their humiliation. Thrilling- to see them humbled by having to strip.

The more comically crestfallen the boys, the more enlivened the girls.

Then from the doorway, Patricia- eyes gleaming- said the boys should follow her down the corridor. She would call mothers and girls when Gerda was ready to punish their boys.

The boys stumbled out, hands pressed over genitals, as if just purchased after a gruelling nude inspection by a female agent at slave market.

The females revelled in the sight of those bare bottoms exiting the room.

Patricia pointed to positions along the corridor where they were to stand. Jack was relieved to press his now perfect 45 degree erection- veins bulging, pulsing away- into the wallpaper. Unwholesome wall paper. On his right and left boys did the same, eyes darting nervously.

“You been here before?” asked the boy with the boxer’s physique, Billy Dedlock, nervous, flattening his stout, aroused prick to the wall.

“Yeah. Once.”

“She hurt you?”

“Fuck, yeah. Awful. Your arse and legs. She has others in to watch, women and girls. They see everything.”

“Oh shit! They see you with your tallywhacker standing up and all?”

Jack nodded.

FUCKKKKKK!”

The Punishments

A flurry brought a group of females down the corridor. There was a smell of perfume. Jack screwed his eyes shut. No, he thought, there was no way he was going to take Garry’s approach, rotating to let them see and admire his erection. It was an exciting idea but…no.

He pressed flatter. Jack felt skirts flutter over his thighs as they passed. He thought that a finger grazed his arse. He heard the door to Gerda’s room snap open.

The delegation entered.

“Did you see who they were?” he asked Billy.

“It was the skinny guy with the pimples…caught on the lounge…his mother and sister and that other lady…yeah, your mum!”

“Not my mum. My landlady,” Jack corrected the nude young boxer.

“Shit- your landlady! She gets to see you spanked?”

“Yeah, and keep me in my underwear at home, all the time.”

Billy Dedlock couldn’t believe it.

The door to Gerda’s room stayed half open.

They heard voices.

“So this is the literature you caught him with? You say he was naked?”

“Yes, he was looking at this page…”

A sound of rustling paper.

“…yes, this one. The woman, just in her brassier and tiny panties, black ones. He was staring at it. He didn’t even hear us come in.”

It was James’ sister who had sprung him on the lounge, naked. She was being quizzed by Gerda.

“And he was touching himself?”

“Like this. Moving his fist. Up and down…it was funny.”

Gerda’s sermon followed. Directed at the naked boy.

“That’s what we call self-pleasuring. If you don’t stop it leads to masturbatory insanity. The next time you are tempted I want you to think how much you disappoint your sister- sisters have high opinions of their brothers and expect them to be manly, ready to play fair on the sports field and fight for the country. Instead…well, we know what she saw, don’t we?

“So it’s time for punishment. It works better if witnessed by females. That’s why you are in front of us in a condition of total clothing deprivation.”

In the corridor boys looked at one another. Jack took in the rounded buttocks of Billy, the short boxer. They looked like soccer balls. Squats? Deadlifts? For his part Billy was looking over his shoulder at Joseph with a testicle, fat and low hanging, squashed out from his flattened left thigh as the boy tried to press himself against the wall. Joseph was staring back at the two of them, terrified.

Shorn of clothing, each shivered at that doomladen phrase, “total clothing deprivation.”

That’s how they were now. In their fuckin’ birthday suits, under the command of females.

Gerda’s lecture went on, inside her office.

“What we do here is what they do in our best schools like Eton, or in India with the servants. It’s total clothing removal. Not a stitch. Like James here, or those boys outside…”

Outside the boys looked at one another, woeful.

“So, James…oh, please drop your hands…by your sides, thank you very much…and turn and face the ladies and your sister…”

The silence suggested he was complying.

“That’s better. Yes, your mother and sister and Mrs Ellroy can see all of you. Does that make you feel a grown up young man? Or do you feel like a naughty little boy, nude in front of us all…”

She then ordered him to take hold of his penis and hold “the thing” as he had when his sister and her friends had caught him.

The boys in the corridor gasped.

Another whimper of protest from James. It was followed by an even sharper slap.

“Take hold. And move it up and down as you did then. Go on. Yes, that’s right and stick out your bottom. That’s right, and let me pick up my paddle…and take aim at a dirty boy’s bottom…”

Slap!

Slap!

Slap!

James howled a protest.

“No, keep moving your hand up and down. I want your brain to understand the link between that…”

Slap! Slap! Slap!

“…lurid self pleasuring…”

Slap! Slap! Slap!

“…and the severe pain you are now feeling…”

Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap!

“…all over your bottom! Look at James’ botty, ladies. It’s turning bright red.”

The boy on Jack’s left- it was Kenny, the boy who had been exposed stretching his foreskin- whispered, “Shit! She’s making him jerk his dick while she wallops his arse!”

On the opposite side of the corridor Joseph, with his furry legs and low hanging balls, was looking at the half open door and stroking his own diminutive cock, eyes bulging, robotic. He was imagining what was happening: the shame of the nude fella, the females gorging on the scene.

He stroked harder.

Jack could not resist quick strokes of his own, his erection now drooling, as he too thought of the boy inside. The boy in his birthday suit, told to move his fist up and down his prick…with Gerda savagely slapping his bum cheeks…two older ladies looking on…and the boy’s sister getting an eyeful. Hell, his own sister! Patricia, too, Gerda’s assistant, with her little piggy eyes on fire.

The noises went on, slaps followed by grunts or yelps of pain

Until something happened and it stopped, then an unearthly silence, then sounds of the boy sniffling.

“Well, well, well,” said Gerda. “You are a sight aren’t you?”

There was a hint of mothers tsk tsking.

Something had happened.

Had James….spurted?

Gerda was giving the boy a lecture that he must on no account read obscene literature. Why did he look at pictures of near naked women?

“Dunno…”

Slap!

“Do I have to paddle you?”

Slap!

“No…please! It’s just that…I like…the pictures…”

“Do you mean you like her?”

“I think so…”

“But looking at pictures of her frilly panties and bra…what effect does it have?”

“Dunno…NO! Please don’t spank me again! The picture- it excites me…”

“Excites you? How?”

“Ahhh…It makes my penis…”

“Yes?”

“…engorge,” he stuttered in a quailing voice, bubbling over with shame, standing naked before them.

Outside five boys looked at one another, fondling their own hard cocks.

“So you look and you suffer erections?”

He must have nodded.

“And you handle yourself until…well, until you do what you just did?”

So he had spurted!

There was more along these lines. Then the delegation withdrew from Gerda’s room.

The naked boys desperately pressed themselves into the walls.

Turning his head, Jack saw the punished boy emerging. His mother was escorting him, holding him by one arm. The boy’s tummy was glazed with his emissions, glistening like wastes of shame. His hovering hand could not conceal the matting in his pubic bush.

Behind him, Mrs Ellroy emerged, flushed, and looked Jack up and down.

“I told Gerda to do you last.”

And behind came Jenny, the blond haired sister, with the plump breasts and lipstick. The girl who, with her friends, had caught her pimple-faced brother in his lewd act. She beamed at Jack, looking at his flanks with libidinous interest in her smoke-gray eyes.

Jack felt her skirts flutter across his legs and…

…her palm slide into the cleft of his arse!

She held it there…as if taking his temperature!

He pressed the flesh of his erection harder to the wall. Her girl’s hand was…in his crack! His groin was electric with thrilling sensations!

She withdrew.

He heard her sniff.

“You smell like my stallion!”

And she was gone, down the corridor.

Was I dreaming, he wondered. And he started to imagine her in jodhpurs and riding boots, holding a whip. The thought thrilled him.

Suddenly the corridor filled again, with more women and girls- Jack thought six or seven. Suddenly the boys on either side of him were bundled off: Billy with his boxer’s build, Kenny, with his troubling long foreskin.

Jack saw them being marched into the room, both sheltering their erections.

The door was snapped shut. Gerda commented that she could see the two of them were “aroused” and said she hoped that they were embarrassed to be “suffering erections” in front of females.

In quailing voices they agreed they were embarrassed.

She then delivered a lecture on the dangers of masturbation and quizzed them how often they committed the awful offence and where.

He heard the stumbling confessions and thought of the two, standing naked with hands- as he had heard Gerda order- folded at their backs. Facing the crowd of females.

Their cocks sticking out like artillery pieces.

“I think…once…a day…more on holidays…I do it in the bath…”

“If I’m by myself…alone at home…and in bed…one day, I did…it…four times…”

As if by excuse he quickly added, “It was Boxing Day…”

And Gerda asked how do they dispose of “all of that seminal fluid?”

“I dunno…rub it on my tummy…”

“…my hanky…pyjamas…”

And what books or magazines do they stare at?

“Sometimes boys at work lend me magazines…with naked ladies.”

“..newspaper advertisements…ladies…in underwear…”

She asked them to look at something. To look at every page. Slowly.

“Billy’s sister will hold it in and turn the pages. Here you are, Daisy…”

Jack sensed it must have been something like French Spice, full of black and white photos of leering women in lacey black underwear.

There was silence broken with the sound of pages been carefully turned.

Silence.

Pages being turned some more.

Then a mother said, “Well…well…well, look at that!”

There were snorts from girls. Then Gerda intoned.

“Ah! Cowper’s fluid! It’s bubbling out of both of you! Both of you have made yourselves more excited…looking at women in frilly, lacey underwear!”

And Jack had an image of the two bare boys standing there, with the clear, telltale fluid dangling from each dick. He imagined the boxer with his short and wide cock pointing parallel. And a long, shameful spider’s trail dangling out of his slit, to the floor. He imagined Kenny had his thin but longer one jutting up, notorious foreskin tugged back. And a long tail of fluid, sticky, hanging off its tip.

Jack thought of Daisy, that beanpole sister, grinning with delight as she taunted both of them with the sizzling black and white photos of Black Spice held up to their noses. He thought of both boys with arms folded behind. And of females staring at their aroused equipment, eyes on fire, thrilled and stirred by the boys’ shocking nudity…their arousal…their overwhelming humiliation.

Trails of Cowper’s fluid dangling to the floor.

As if two leaky water fountains.

Jack stroked his cock…

Then Gerda had taken to work with her paddle.

Slap!

Slap!

Slap!

The young men set up meowing noises. There was the sound of bare feet tap dancing. Jack assumed they were dancing on the spot. Erections bouncing.

He glanced around him. He moved his own fingers up and down.

There were mumbled orders inside the room. Gerda it seemed now had one of the boys, then the other, over her lap beating their bots with her fat palm. Soon there were noises suggesting another change, the boys bent at her desk and being paddled on their cheeks.

Spank!

Spank!

Spank!

Jack imagined how red their tight little bums had turned.

Gerda’s voice articulated an order.

“No! Just like you were doing when your mother caught you! Stretch it…it’s long enough!” he heard her say, he presumed to Kenny.

“Yes, give it a real good tug…now, you and young Billy here stick out your naughty bottoms and we’ll show you what playing with yourself gets you!”

Slap! Slap! Slap!

And so on…and on…and on.

Slap! Slap! Slap!

And when it was over and the boys were escorted out, by three mature ladies and three bustling, beaming girls, the boys had shameful deposits glinting on their stomachs. Milky deposits. In Kenny’s pubic bush what looked like trails of glue. Ropes of ejaculate had matted the flamboyant black hair on Billy’s chest.

The two had doused themselves.

Jack’s emotions were on fire, as he pressed to the wall.

The two victims caught Jack’s eyes.

As if to say, “It was awful. You will see.”

So it went on for the next hour.

Females would come up the corridor…with a nude boy or two under escort…trying to cover up an artillery piece erection…taken into Gerda’s room…from where occasional exchanges would reach Jack’s ears…sometimes mothers produced offending material the boys had been caught with, magazines or lingerie advertisements…confirming that today the fellas were punished in this terrifying style, as if Gerda were testing a new theory. Their bottoms were lashed…while they were instructed to “engage in self pleasuring” or “self abuse” under female eyes.

The boys emerged with their tummies silvered, and bottoms blazing red, their eyes teary. The mothers and sisters emerged beaming, eyes fired up.

“We can’t wait to see you perform,” said Patricia when momentarily there was no one else in the corridor, and she was so close Jack could feel the gamey heat of her breath. “Just make sure your big organ is ready.”

He felt the touch of her hot palm on the curve of his buttocks. He started like a frightened young colt.

She whispered some more.

“I think your’s is the best, the best of all the boys who come here. With that big vein down the middle. Bet your splash is the biggest!”

She pinched his bum!

And she was gone.

It would have taken a boy with iron self mastery not to have been stirred by- well, just the looks cast at his naked form by mature ladies and eager young girls as they moved in the corridor. Or by the fluttering skirts- the “fashion mags” of 1956 dictated wide, floral summer frocks- against the back of his knees. Flickering against the backs of his knees.

And that girl’s hand down his cleft! Her grey eyes! Her fleshy bossoms! The thought of her in the stables, riding crop in hand!

As the processions flowed past, he felt other wandering fingers or palms, flickering across his glutes or ribs or hips. From a daring girl or naughty mother.

And then there were the sounds from inside when Gerda instructed boys to masturbate while she delivered spanks.

And there was a special moment.

It happened after Joseph’s punishment ended. He emerged between his beaming cousin Sally with eyes on fire and his triumphant mother. His whole torso was shiny with what looked like a volcanic deposit, an explosion- perhaps of a big jar of glue. His face was stunned, as if stepping down after a performance with a stage hypnotist. And his backside was red and smarting. As they passed him Jack smelt the tart whiff of Joseph’s semen.

Patricia- her piggy eyes wild with excitement- followed them down the corridor. Gerda had stalked out of her office for the bathroom, trailing scents of talcum, and something else, an intimate odour.

The brazen youngish mum- the mother of Kenny, who had been punished earlier- had stayed behind. From the doorway she stood, staring at Jack.

Emotions tumbled in the boy’s mind, like clothes in a washing machine.

And in a flash he did it.

He turned…

…and offered her a sight of his cock…

…hard as a roof beam and glistening with the copious release of Cowper’s fluid.

He saw her eyes pop. She swallowed as she took in the sight.

Then, restless with uneasy curiosity, she spoke, in a whisper.

“If you were my son, I’d keep you naked except for a vest, all the time…”

Her voice shook with some nameless emotion.

Then Jack did it.

He placed his fingers on his erection. And he replied.

“My landlady Mrs Ellroy keeps me…”

Staring at the young mother and fixing on her gaze, he continued.

“…she keeps me in my Y fronts. All the time. She keeps me in my underwear.”

The woman’s jaw dropped. She was obviously stirred.

His grip on his rod tightened.

Was he going to move it up and down?

“Sometimes the elastic’s weak…”

His eyes were possessed.

“…and they just slip off! And with ladies looking!”

Jack was about to move his grip…up and down. His suggestive language hinted at it.

But at the very moment Jack sensed movement behind him. He froze.

Patricia and Gerda were suddenly there, staring at Jack in half profile, and at the the woman staring at him with rioting eyes. Jack’s ample flesh was erect and drooling. Another woman arrived.

Then the girls, Jenny, Paula and Annette, and were looking over Patricia’s and Gerda’s shoulders. They saw the boy in three quarter view, his cock poking out, the top glistening.

Gerda showed leadership.

Within seconds Jack was in her office, being forced brutally to stand in front of her desk. The females were bustled in to form a semi circle. In front of the entirely naked and erect young man. His hands fluttered over his rigid cock but concealed little. All their eyes were dilated on it.

There was a quick exchange between Mrs Ellroy and Gerda. In a flash Gerda was thrusting under Jack’s lowered head…

…a copy of Sun and Health nudist magazine.

“Here! Hold this! I understand that this is something you like…and this page in particular.”

Jack was mortified.

It was folded open at one of Jack’s fondest pages. It was enamelled with his dried emissions. A two page black and white picture showed a gathering of large breasted, bespectacled, mature age females at a nudist colony, standing at a camp table helping themselves to salad bowls…

…and amid them was one young man in blond crew cut- say, 19 years old- as bare as they, and sporting a short, narrow cocktail sausage in his pubic bush. One of their grandsons or nephews. Very much looking like this was his first nudist outing. And looking as if he had been adopted by the matrons- with their hair salon perfection…

…with their mature ladies’ hanging pediculums and cats eyes glasses…

…wild bush flaring in their flabby groins…

…and outsize aureoles on melon breasts.

Perhaps this was the young fella’s first visit and it was their duty to see that Sammy or Rodney or whatever his name, got shielded from frisky teenage girls, from his own sisters perhaps. Taken instead under their maternal wings- all of them, without saying a word but quietly aware of his little dickie in all its innocence, like the delicate cocks on early Renaissance bronze statues, of the first nude Davids cast in Florentine workshops in which the smallness of the member was proof positive of the lad’s purity of mind and spirit.

And his little cock on limp display…

…perhaps with watery eyes filled with shame…

…he sadly filled his plate, utterly exposed to the eyes of women his mom’s age.

Jack swallowed.

He loved this photo.

He had savoured it under the blankets in torch light. He had dilated on its sweet story naked in his room when the females were away. He had taken glimpses before breakfast on workdays so its luminous message might tease and tickle his daytime thoughts.

“You like that picture don’t you?”

He snuffled agreement.

And then Gerda gave him an instruction more cruel than that ever given to any punished boy.

“Hold those pages up in front of your chest…go on! Right now, or I’ll spank you harder than ever…yes, good, just like that. Now go to each of the females here so they can see what excites you to masturbation…begin with your landlady…”

Jack shuffled to Mrs Ellroy, glaring at him, and his erection wobbled in front, holding the magazine across his chest like a schoolboy displaying his school project.

Mrs Ellroy’s eyes blazed as he stopped a foot from her. She was staring unembarrassed at the broad, long erection pointing at her like a spear.

Gerda slowly instructed him what to say.

Flushing crimson he stuttered it out, “This is the dirty picture…I look…at when I…masturbate.”

With his confession Gerda brought a leather strap down slashing his bum cheeks, making him leap with pain.

“Now face Mrs McCafferty.”

Jack shuffled to the young mother whose eyes were absolutely fired.

He paused.

She was staring at his erection. At that moment a thick tear drop emerged from the boy’s meatus…paused…and dangled to his knees…and hung in the air.

The mother suppressed a smile. All the females noticed. Then Mrs McCafferty looked him in the eyes. She beamed.

Gerda gave him another form of words.

He stumbled them out, to the lady. “I like pictures of naked boys…in front of ladies and girls.”

Mrs McCafferty beamed even broader. “Well, you are a very naughty boy.”

Slash! And Gerda’s strap his lower bottom cheeks, and made him leap.

“Owwwwwwwww!”

He tap danced.

“Now go to young Jenny. Go on, she’s just seen her brother being punished.”

He shuffled, to the attractive plump breasted girl who was looking him over, pruriently, with a sly grin. Her smoke-gray eyes glittered.

She looked over his genitals. She was perhaps comparing him with her brother, Kenny, with his short, narrow cock. Jenny was plainly interested in Jack’s ample private parts.

Jack wilted before her. He thought of her in jodhpurs, with a whip. That gave him a jolt down his rod. Witheringly, he slowly repeated the words Gerda had given.

“Julia, I apologise…for being excited…by this disgusting picture…”

Slash! The leather landed on both bum cheeks and made him howl and execute another dance. He dropped the magazine and skipped, rubbing his bottom, his erection wobbling widely.

The females laughed. Especially Jenny, so close, who plainly thought he was ridiculous.

Gerda gave him the next instruction. Oh no! Jack begged to be spared. But the stern lady insisted. So he shuffled towards pudgy Patricia. Patricia- her young assistant. He held the magazine up to his chest, like a schoolboy with homework.

“I apologise for looking at pictures like this, Patricia.”

She stifled her giggles.

There was another mother, and two sisters- Annette, who in the crowded waiting room, had been so thrilled to see her 19 year old brother Gerry stripped, and Paula Wellesley, “plain as porridge,” who had stared hard as Jack had been stripped, enthralled by the sight. Now the boy was in front of her, begging her pardon for his interest in dirty pictures- pictures, bewilderingly, of boys his age naked in front of ladies his mother’s.

Paula’s mind now rioted, with Jack in front of her, doing his routine. She traced with her bulging eyes the lineaments of his rearing penis – those veins, the big head, the stretched skin- pointing up at her.

He shyly offered his apologies.

“Paula, this is the picture that I use to excite myself.”

From behind came Gerda’s attack.

SLASH!

“Ouuuuch!”

He executed half dance, half hobble.

Gerda then gave the girl the chance of a lifetime. She asked Paula whether she had ever punished brothers. The girl shook her head. Gerda said she might be a mother one day and should learn. She handed Paula a paddle and told her to give Jack five swats on what she called “his cheeks.”

The girl hesitated and her eyes swam. But she positioned herself at the boy’s rear and blushing, taking a deep breath, she rose to the occasion. Forcefully she brought the paddle down on his left buttock.

The big white circle it produced shocked her.

That was her practice slap.

Five swats.

Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap!

And the strikes made Jack skip on the spot, stubborn erection wobbling.

Then Gerda asked Jenny to take Sun and Health from the boy and hold the magazine right up to his face. The girl responded swiftly, her eyes fired. There! The disturbing photo was now inches from his nose. Jenny smiled a big, broad grin. Gerda told Jack to place his hand on his organ just like he did with “secret self pleasuring.” And to move it up and down…yes, to engage in “self abuse,” just as he did in secret…and to stick his rear end out so she could punish it, “a naughty boy’s bottom.”

He obeyed, eyes dilated on the picture being held in front of his nose.

His hand moved up and down his ample penis stem.

And as if to teach him the consequences of such lewd behaviour, down came the hardest slash so far. Right across his cheeks.

SLASH!

It made him leap, gasping.

Females smirked at his discomfit.

“Go on! Keep moving that hand…up and down! Just like you do every chance you get under the sheets! And keep your eyes fastened on that photo…”

Jack obeyed.

It was not hard, fixated on that photo- he had done it so often…

…that 18 year old crew-cut youngster, his little dick on display…

…the ultimate embarrassed naked boy…

…all the naked mums, standing around with perfect coiffure and their big breasts dangling, taking glances at him through cats eyes glasses…

…every one of them noting the exquisite delicacy of his cock…

…furtively loving his embarrassment…

Jack became transfixed, moving his hand up and down.

And Gerda swung into action.

SLASH!

SLASH!

SLASH!

He tiptoed on the spot. Like a nervous colt. But even as his cheeks turned scarlet, up and down, with more and more urgency, Jack jerked his cock…

…masturbating in front of ladies and girls…

…and felt his excitement rise…and rise.

The narcotic effect of the photo…

..the savage punishment of his bum, blood rushing to his midriff…

…and, hell, being stark naked surrounded by wild female eyes.

Jack felt the sap rise…and rise…and rise…

He suddenly jerked back…

…bent over backwards, thrusting his tummy out…

…as the first shot cannonaded high…

…above his head…

And sloshed downwards, all over his chest. Splattering over his pecs.

Another shot into high…and splashed onto his lower chest…

…a third onto his midriff…

The aroma of fresh young male sperm filled the air.

So did a sepulchral silence.

He stood, stunned, his torso glazed with the juices he had let fly. He panted.

The females took in the sight reverently.

Gosh, the quantity!

How high it had shot!

And it smelt so fresh!

Paula and Annette had never seen anything to compare. To say that each was very very damp around her panties and thighs was no exaggeration. But in this, among the females, they were by no means alone.

Gerda broke the respectful silence.

“Jack, show them your bottom.”

Submissive, the boy turned around. He presented his rear.

“Go on. Stick it out.”

He did so, like a stage girl teasing an audience.

There were mocking ohhs and ahhs.

“Gosh! It’s scarlet!”

“Oh the poor boy!”

“I bet he hates showing it to us!”