Rodney's Nude Humiliation Ch. 26

(Here's another feast of CFNM in which, as ever, all our personnel are over 18).

Our Mrs Pebbles.

As morning light crept in through the curtains, Mrs Pebbles stretched in the luxury of her bed. Under the sheets her nightdress had risen to bunch around her belly. She knew she had a fine body, a woman in her late thirties whose breasts were luxuriously heavy and her milky white flesh a marvel. Her near-nudity suffused her mind with delicious thoughts.

Eyes still closed she permitted her left hand to take hold of an erect nipple, the other to finger the brunette jungle of her groin. Ahhhhh, what a day this promised to be. What anticipatory dreams her subconscious hosted.

Reverend Pebbles was off with the Billy Graham crusade as it swept through North Dakota. As a result, for a full week she had the house to herself. That meant she was free to have her young men visit for the combination of religious instruction and physical discipline leading to the "relief" that 18 year old males need so desperately. She loved those sessions, the nudity, the supervised masturbation, the romantic spanking.

Another treat was in store.

At 11 am today she would visit the YMCA and its pool as guest of Coach Compton. The muscle-bound, small-dicked, suntanned-all-over Coach had enlisted six new 18 year olds to his swim team, from schools in neighbouring towns.

"Such nicely mannered young fellas. Floppy college-boy hair, not Elvis style or crew cuts for one thing. Right now on the skinny side but so eager to build some muscle. From my inspection..."

Recruits to his fitness activities would be required to strip for him in the Y gym, in the morning when it was always empty, and do exercise routines under his direction- the boys shy at working out buck naked for the first time. Him, full of encouragement, telling them this was how the Ancient Greeks did it and nobody had better physiques than them.

"...these new boys have fine potential in weight training. We can carve out some good definition. Several boast very nice personal development and..."

Here his eyes had drifted off, as if suddenly shy.

"...nice hair distribution," he added softly.

He realised his excitement might have too obvious, at what he had seen of new pubic bush, fresh hair sprouting around nipples and treasure trails running south from navels.

But Mrs Pebbles had put him at his ease with her melting eyes, her brunette charm, and told him there would be a big party of girls in the bleachers delivered by Karen Strawbridge, some girls visiting Brewer on an excursion, who had never seen naked boy swimmers before. They were very excited at the prospect. They were going to love the boys.

This had certainly stirred the coach.

"I'll make sure that each of the new boys gets to trot over to the female viewers and thank them for their morale-boosting support. And our regulars, of course. Like Jim Nielsen and John Lawrence."

His eyes had swum at the implications, nude boys forced to stand and mumble bashful and goofy greetings to a big beaming party of females sitting there in the bleachers.

"Them presenting themselves to us- that's so sweet," Mrs Pebbles had cooed. "The girls just love to know...you know, what they look like. The sisters of some of the swimmers included. Cousins. Neighbours. And I'll be ready to recruit the boys for Sunday School."

Under the sheets, stroking herself, Mrs Pebbles smiled at that rather charged exchange with her ally, the Coach. He suspected her Sunday School recruitment and the things she might do, she knew his game. She stretched like a lioness.

And she thought of what the afternoon offered...

Not only were John Lawrence and Bud Lanter visiting- they had insisted on twice weekly visits now- but so was Jimmy Nielsen with his one in a hundred penis. The once bashful boy was becoming a determined pursuer of full nude opportunities- at the pool and in the Pebbles household where a Saturday afternoon bath and bottom spanking was a highlight, even if classroom nudity at school was proving a trial.

And there would be two other boys with crushes on their Sunday School teacher. After all, she had gently instructed John Livingstone and Bud Lanter that they would be rewarded with more visits but first they had to deliver other fellas.

Mrs Pebbles tickled her other nipple while her hand flicked and rubbed her prominent clitoris. She ran a movie in her mind of the delicious things that had happened in her living room. Eighteen year old males shucking out of their clothing. Delighting her eyes with instant "hardons"- the word her husband used. She loved the view and was always drawing things out- to savour their flushes of shame, their raging excitement at their nudity being inspected by her.

She would give them relief first, she thought. She loved the feeling of ejaculate overflowing in her fists, a naked boy on either side of her on the settee. Then more arousing talk from her to prove that Jesus and his circle followed Greek practices about male nudity...and other things. Aroused, the boys would be ready for their spankings, their excitement storming as they watched their buddies over her knee twist and turn, and slide and exclaim, and kick their legs. Finally, big dollops of their fluid on her lap.

Especially now as she had taken to donning a plastic apron for spankings and dousing it with Johnson's Baby Oil or Ponds Cold Cream, a practice preached by Miss Maitland.

She was thinking of the urgency of their sexual instincts. "Yes, Mrs Pebbles," they would agree, going red with enthusiasm, when she suggested it would work better if their clothes came off. "Everything?" they might ask, knowing and hoping what the answer would be. "Yes, those jocks too."

And their emissions- the overflow into her fists, the expulsions during spankings. Oh, the abundance of those emissions. The fresh smell filling the air. Their wild, bewildered looks when they "shot off." Then the lightning recovery. Getting erect again, setting themselves up for a second ejaculation.

She was massaging her clitoris thinking of it all.

"Yes...oh yes," she quietly gasped. "Yes...oh, yes..."

Then the ringing at the door.

Insistent.

Mrs Pebbles rolled out of the bed and peered through gap in the curtains. Someone was standing in the small porch and the column blocked most of her view but she could see just enough of the caller from the side to note dungarees and a college-boy letter jacket, and slicked, "ducks tail" hair. The face of what could only be a young man was blocked but his height and posture suggested an athlete, older than her regular boys. It took her a minute to gargle with mouthwash, pull on a gown and fasten it, loosely.

She opened the door.

A young man shone with yes, that urgency she had recalled a moment earlier. She could smell the desire coming from him, almost as much as the Brylcreem that shone in his black hair.

His features were vaguely familiar. Those fluttering long eyelashes...

"Mrs Pebbles?"

He introduced himself as Dave, the brother of John Lawrence, the boy she had recruited after seeing him at nude swimming. With the very hairy torso and the heavy-headed cock. A regular here in her living room with his pal, Bud Lanter. Both of them begging to see her more often.

"That's right. John's my kid brother. I go to Saint Olaf. Studying agricultural science. I'm home for summer. And..."

He stuttered. His lashes fluttered.

He said he was close to his younger brother. More buddies than family. And at night in their shared bedroom John told him about how Mrs Pebbles was his Sunday School teacher at 16th Street Methodist and took such good care...

His eyes had widened at this point and he stumbled, but got it out.

"...such loving care...of..."

He blushed like a fire hydrant.

"...of my brother's development. And I've seen how Johnnie has become a better fella...with all your help...and I got thinking..."

Clearly there was no time to be lost. She had to be at that swim meet with the stripped-off 18 year olds. She had a group of boys including his brother coming over this afternoon. She invited Dave into the dowdy living room of the parsonage, with its religious prints and framed wall map of missionary activities.

As he entered the hallway she noticed his chest and shoulders were heavier than John's and the front of his slacks seemed moulded around an ample sex organ, shamelessly. His hair oil might have been smelt half way down the street and she thought he must have spent an hour shaping his oily black locks. He also carried a whiff of Old Spice but it couldn't conceal a hint of fresh sweat. As he turned she noticed his ass was punchy and powerful, stretching the bottom of his dungarees.

She might need a special effort to subdue it.

She guessed he was a hit with females.

As if he read her mind, he said, even before sitting down, he didn't chase girls and was looking for "'something else" and when his brother had told how Mrs Pebbles had helped him he had realised it was what he wanted. In fact, he thought he wanted it- needed it- even more than his brother.

He shyly took his seat on the ragged settee.

She faced him from the reverend's armchair.

"Yes, what you do for John...I need it too..."

Her imagination was engaged by his direct words.

"...even more."

Aha, she thought.

Here it came out in a jumble while his eyes blinked wildly. References to "Lordly behaviour" and being "instructed" by her and how much he too needed "loving discipline" and how he grew excited by the things she did like...

"You know...getting males into our birthday suits..."

The evocative words fluttered in the atmosphere, exciting both of them.

"Birthday suits."

He blushed like a fire hydrant.

She thought of what he might look like nude. Some fur at his shirt collar suggested his brother's hairy chest was a family inheritance. His shoulders looked fit to burst his cotton shirt and she guessed that like John he was a swimmer but probably lifted weights as well and had been popular in his school days with Coach Compton. The heft at his flies suggested he might replicate his brother's well shaped top heavy glans but boast a meatier stem.

She treated his arrival as a gift of the All Mighty, another enrichment of her day.

She filled his embarrassed silence.

"Wholesome nudity- a young man and an older lady- is the staring point that lets us talk frankly about your urges and what's good and bad in them. Yes, they are not all bad, young men's nighttime yearnings and instincts..."

Here he nodded so violently she thought he would leave home and be her disciple if she had wanted it.

"But in the end, David, every fella wants a motherly lady to let him know the sacred rules of life, give him much-needed relief from the things that trouble him and set him straight on how he must view womenfolk."

She remembered suddenly that she wore a pair of slippers with leather soles and was struck with a thought that spanking this boy- clearly he was striving for this outcome- might give this footware a new and exhilarating role.

"I can see you are eager to get started..."

Her gaze dropped to his lap where an extra swelling was now obvious.

"Mrs Pebbles, it kept me awake all night. I...want...it...so bad..."

He suddenly slid forward off the settee, to kneel on the worn-out rug before her, as if at prayer- big veiny hands folded over his midriff with the telltale bulge. His eyes were smarting. The scent of Old Spice and hair oil was being challenged by a young man's panicky perspiration. Like one of the colts on her family's farm, she thought.

"Very well, and there's only one way to begin. I think you know that, from all your brother has told you. It's the starting point for all that will follow."

He nodded, again with pathetic submission.

"I know. Believe me, I want it, Mrs Pebbles. I kinda day dream about it. Mrs Pebbles, I'm so...so...I dunno, I just want to do whatever..."

It was easy to believe his nights had been filled with tossings and turnings.

"First, your shoes and socks..."

No one- none of her boys- had obeyed her faster.

"Now loosen your belt. Stand here, I'll help with those buttons."

The Maids Bathe Rodney and Gilles.

Dorothy and Doris, Mrs Reilly's two Negro maids, stood in the bathroom, breathing heavily with the hurried climb up the stairs. And with the excitement of the task given them by grand old Sarah Maitland. They were in their black and white maids' uniforms, their aprons white and starched and their caps held in place by pins. They wore black stockings and their shoes were high heeled. Right now their Senegalese eyes widened and their jaws were slack...

...as they took in the sight.

Rodney and Gilles stood in front of the bath full of steaming water.

They were naked and their bodies shone with baby oil and boys' emissions.

Naked, and deeply, deeply ashamed to be viewed by two Negro maids.

Oh, that curdling shame!

It ran deep into their guts. Hell, it reminded Rodney of the costume fittings at the home of the seamstress, Mrs Carruthers, and how her Negro maid Yuela had seemed to love seeing the white boys stripped, shamed, suffering erections, made to linger and be viewed by parties of girls.

Oh, to be viewed by "the help." By servants, looking on now at two mid-Western, milk-fed boys.

To be viewed buck-naked by black women- objectionable, on so many fronts.

Both pressed their trembling hands, blushing like fire hydrants, over their cocks.

If only they knew how silly- really goofy- they looked doing that, half bent and covering up their groins.

In a flash Doris waved a finger and made it clear she had authority from "Miss Sarah" and there was to be no covering while her partner just advanced on the smaller boy and tugged an arm so violently he nearly toppled to the floor. They let their hands fall to their sides.

In doing so they exposed dangling cocks- Rodney's hefty and veined, Gilles' delicate as a cocktail sausage.

The maids stared ravenously.

Their mouths twitched on the verge of sniggers.

Doris said something, too wrapped up in Southern idiom for either boy to understand, but her words could only be about one thing. Whether it was the contrast in the sizes of their stems, or Rodney's preupuce and Gilles' lack of one, or the pearl whiteness of both organs, was impossible to decipher. But their eyes told the story: it was the cocks that had their attention. Their lewd attention.

White boys' dicks.

Dorothy nodded, then smirked.

She stepped forward and stood in front of Rodney making the red headed Adonis shudder and bent to place her fingers on the underside of his scrotal sac. Fingers like a tripod, she lifted the balls, staring with intent bemusement. She fingered the marbles, as if testing meat at a butcher's counter. The boy held his breath, eyes registering terror. She looked at them a long time, probing the thick wall of his sac and moving gently around the testicles.

"Pl...pl...please, Miss...if you..."

Whether he was warning of the potential pain or the danger of becoming aroused, was not resolved.

Events intruded. His cock spoke for the boy. In one big jerk Rodney's dick stretched boldly, right in front of her face.

And then jerked some more, its veins visibly filling out.

"Oh, Miss, please...don't...if you keep..."

Dorothy giggled in her deep mezzo soprano register and called Doris to come and see. Her friend wasted no time.

The two maids were leaning in close and Doris had joined the fondling of the scrotum and its contents while the cock stretched and rose, now parallel to the floor.

"I...can't...oh, please...I'm so sorry..."

Rodney was melting into tears at the shame of being naked and getting erect in front of two Negro servants.

Looking at his friend's involuntary erection and his acute embarrassment Gilles, with excitement brimming in his eyes, looked down and saw his own cock stand up. It took one decisive jolt and he was sporting three rigid inches pointing at 45 degrees.

The maids were fixated on Rodney's stiffening and swapped glances.

Then Dorothy took hold of Rodney's big spongy glans- his mushroom head- and daringly gave it a squeeze.

The boy's mind rioted. "Wait!" it said. Oh please stop. I'm a white boy and you're a Negro maid!" But it also said, "I love this shame...oh, this humiliation...it's so beautiful...love my dick being admired by females...being touched...oh, this is sooooo bad...you being coloured and all...but it's soooooo good! So fuckin' good!"

It one big jerk it reached its full stretch and the two maids- crisp white aprons and pointy little white caps, black dresses and big wide dark eyes- were concentrating maniacally on the grand penis of Rodney Ricketson, feeling its veiny stem...pointing out the zigs and the zags of the arteries...measuring its width with their fingers...squeezing the glans like a fruit...

The door snapped open.

That ghost had reappeared.

"I said to bathe the boys!"

It was Sarah Maitland as revenant.

Her order made Doris and Dorothy spring back, and mumble obediently, "Yes, m'am!" and "Doin' dat, m'am, this instant!"

Within in a second they were grabbing the boys by their arms and almost lifting them into the high-sided capacious bath with its grand old fashioned claw legs.

"And remember my orders. Those brushes...there! The ones with the hard bristles! And- all over! Not a square inch of skin anywhere on them to be left undone! And at the end you walk them down around the garden where those new ladies can see them before you take them into the garage and let them dress and send them home."

"Yes, m'am."

"And any resistance and you have my permission to take them over your knee and savage their nates...what you call their asses. Only do it as I've instructed. You concentrate your slaps on the sit spot, the flesh above their anus..."

The maids nodded in vehement obedience.

"...remember, they are only 18 year old boys and they are completely under your charge. Forget all the prejudices of your upbringings in the south. They are to obey you, in everything. Take to them with a vengeance. And if your attentions to that part of their bottoms produce another pearly shower then so be it- their humiliations will have been complete. A pearly shower."

She was gone.

The boys were seated at opposite ends of the bath, knees raised, as the maids came at them with the long handed brushes and cakes of industrial soap.

The torture that followed can be barely be described.

Dorothy began by hauling Rodney to his feet. She starting scrubbing his thighs. The savagery of the bristles on the boy's skin triggered loud protests.

"Hey! Miss! That hurts! Owwwwwww!"

Doris had drawn Gilles to his feet and, bristles soaped up, began scouring his torso.

"Eooooowwww!"

He was dancing in the water, his cock suddenly deflated.

The angry maid brought the flat of the brush down on his buttock.

Slap!

Ouch!

He stopped struggling and submitted.

She resumed the cruel scrubbing. Down from his chest, all around his belly, into his shaven groin, and roughly all around his miniature scrotum- boy, did that make him tense! But she kept at it, her brush pushing his poor little testicles up into his groin and making him gasp, "Oh, plssssse...Miss....oh that's making me...." But it didn't stop her and she sent the scouring bristles up into his perineum and -with him crying out protests- into his cleft. His bottom! Then, to access it easier, she bustled him into bending over...

...and pulling back his asscheeks, so she could really scrub away around his pouting hole.

Scrub!

Scrub!

Scrub!

Rodney suffered too. Dorothy was stretching out his slackened penis and moving her bristles up and down its stem as if scouring a salami, before attacking his loose scrotal sac and then forcing him to bend and haul open his cheeks, and attacking his rosy anus.