(All characters in this sizzling CFNM story are, of course, over 18.)
Alwyn Goodwin was one of the boys at Grover Cleveland High who walked around in a state of perpetual shame. Girls giggled at the sight of him. Pointed, and grinned like wolves. There were knowing looks from female teachers, with merriment in their eyes and a tendency to drop their gaze to his fly fronts. The mothers of his friends looked at him strangely as if he- the tall, rangy basketball player and swimmer with the brushback hairstyle- were the punchline to some joke.
Apparently they had all heard reports about his mother's speech at Mrs Reilly's mothers' club.
It had been one of those sessions where some of the town's moms had talked about their 18 year olds and their masturbatory habits. His mother, Nora, had talked about him. And her disciplinary response- the full-nude, over-the-knee spanking. Some girls at his school had got the details from their mothers. "And do you know this boy, Alwyn Goodwin?" the moms asked their girls. And when a girl said yes, he was a basketball player and swimmer- a tall, skinny fella- their mother must have said, "Well, did his mother tell us a story about him!"
And then shared the details.
Oh, the shame of being talked about, mothers and their daughters- and it seemed some had even heard that he had been reduced to crying "Mommy...mommy." While being spanked, that is. Yes, some girls in the classroom had whispered in his direction, "Mommy...mommy...how's your mommy treating you, Alwyn." And burst into giggles. And when the English teacher had called them to order and asked what was going on, Samatha had said, "We were asking Alwyn about his mommy" and there had been a wave of fun rippling over the classroom from those in the know, and buzzed inquiries from those seeking information. Cruel giggles when they found out that their classmate had been spanked totally nude, and had begged his "mommy." Even that his mother told the other moms about how he had got erect. Even that it was only three inches.
Worse, the 18 year old Guelf sisters- Gwendolyn and Jessica- had been taking payment from girls- 50 cents a view- to see their own pictures of boys at the swim meet. Their mother, the broad-breasted Mrs Guelf, owner of Brewer's photo development store, had been made the official photographer by school principal Ada Braithwaite. She had taken to the task of recording nude male swims with great enthusiasm. She liked aiming her Brownie at shudderingly embarrassed nude males. It was the highlight of her career.
Alwyn had been one of the boys captured in her high definition professional black and white glossy pics, naked as a jay. That swim meet! The photographing! It made his flesh creep to recall the horror. Alwyn had been ordered like the others to be seated next to his mother and her friends. And then, when called, to rise and squeeze past them on his way down to the pool. He had been forced to give half a dozen females- mothers and one girl from school- a close-up of his skinny, clenched bottom, virtually in their faces. Not even a towel in his grip. Alwyn could recall the shame of that progression, hands cupped over privates. "Excuse me, Mrs Rockdale...may I get through please, Miss Gritch...excuse me, Frieda..." All the time steering his bottom past, inches from their noses.
He had then been photographed, like the other fellas, in every conceivable position, with all those girls and mothers watching from the bleachers. Yes, they had to pose every which way. On the blocks preparing to dive. With parties of mothers keen to be photographed with every buck-nude 18 year old male, a rare thrill for old crones and frustrated housewives. Made to bend over, bottom exposed- at the insistence of the coach.
And- hell!- with principal Ada Braithwaite, who had chosen to visit the event. Yes, in her stylish suite, gray hair drawn tight, her charming fixed smile. In several photos his penis had stood out parallel to the floor, but in the one with the principal it had pointed brazenly to the ceiling. Hell! Oh god! She was rumoured to have those pictures in her office, her posing with naked boys- him, one of them. With a brazen hardon.
In the corridors he had dropped his yes, blushing, when she passed. A strange feeling at work in his guts.
Now, it seemed, those pics had been passed around by Mrs Guelf's awful twin daughters. So girls had every chance to examine boys in all their glory...commit to memory the different sizes and shapes...remark on pubic bushes or the drape of scrotums...store up humiliating gibes based on the shocking candour of the tell-all pictures.
He had been relieved to take off for Carleton College.
But there in the lectures on engineering, and the hours in the library, and under the blankets at night, he had been troubled by very pronounced urges. He thought he must have the dirtiest mind of any boy on the campus. He was missing his mother, and the nude punishments. What she did that time he had been limp over her lap with her finger. Oh, sweet memories. And the sweet "milkings" she had lovingly given him. Whenever he had asked her.
On the first night of his holidays after supper, both of them sitting on the sofa about to watch TV, she asked if there was anything troubling him. He looked guilty. She asked again.
"Alwyn, remember how when you were at school and disturbed by that interest in magazines that showed naked women..?"
He blushed.
"Magazines called Frolic and Stare? Well?"
Tears welled. He shifted uneasily. The truth came out in a rush.
He admitted that he had tried to resist the "bad thoughts' but had soon fallen into his old habits. Yes, he wanted to view pictures of women with big breasts in lacey underwear. He found magazines called Spice and Lace in a grimy old store near the Greyhound depot. At college he had no mother to "help" him relieve his "urges," so he had been reduced to practising it on his on own. And on several occasions with other boys...
"What you told me they called 'circle jerks?'" she ventured, reminding him off his confessions about school life.
He nodded dolefully.
"Other athletes," he added, as if it rendered mutual masturbation circles less unwholesome.
She recalled the wisdom preached at Mrs Reilly's gatherings: if mothers and sisters don't take charge, then young males will over-indulge and likely co-opt schoolmates to practise with them. After three months, without her spankings, here was her own son, home from college, confirming this truth.
All Mrs Reilly's recent tutorials had focused on punishment techniques. Nora Goodwin, listening to them, had been stirred, and found herself mentally reliving the old routines with Alwyn. She missed ordering her son to undress. Missed the shock of his nudity. Preparing him over her lap. Delivering a drawn-out spanking. And giving him relief- what some mothers were calling milking- up to three times a day.
"Well, I'm so disappointed. But full marks for honesty, Alwyn. Of course, if you behave like a little boy you must be treated like one..."
She was breathing heavily.
"...I'm going to fetch a towel. I want you to undress."
His tummy leaped with expectation. This...this...is what he had been dreaming. He had yearned to be naked again, on his mother's lap. At her side on the couch. Her fingers bringing him to a delicious explosion.
She hastily exited the room. He quickly and efficiently shed his clothing. Never stripped off faster in his life.
When his boxers descended his erection sprang free.
Since leaving home his penis stem had gained another inch. His glans was plushier, more mushroom-like. His scrotum was clothed in a light gauzy fur. And a treasure trail of hair now flourished southwards from his navel to a lustrous pubic bush.
When Nora returned with the bathroom towel she started at the evidence of his growth spurt. Really? They keep growing after 18?
Her eyes coated over with a prurient glaze.
She studied his erection.
A fat tear started from its slit.
"Yes, you do look frustrated."
He looked down at it.
"I missed..."
"Yes?"
"Being spanked...and helped by my mommy."
Embarrassed by this submissiveness- not knowing where to look- she sat and spread the rough old towel over her knees. She gestured for him to lie down. She felt his penis fall into place, pressing firmly onto her thigh. She rejoiced in the old feeling, that urgent young male instinct, a sexual organ insisting on its rights, crushed into her lap. She jiggled him so that a knee took the heft of his excitement. This was a technique taught at Mrs Reilly's. The need to bounce them with your knee. The knee must be in place. "Imagine right under their coronal edge...on the frenulum," had lectured Sarah Maitland to the mothers.
She dropped her palm to his upper thighs. Her fingers fluttered over his skin. She felt his deep breath, as if preparing himself.
"I don't want to have to do this. But you leave me no choice. You understand this, don't you."
For him, this obedience was like sinking into a warm bath.
"Yes...mommy."
She quickly applied the slaps, smart and snapping, landing right on the fleshy fold above his anus. No where else for now. The sitting spot. This is what they had taught at Mrs Reilly's: boys are jingling with new sensations and their holes are packed tight with nerve endings. That's where to strike, and to do it more gently- but faster- than you might have imagined.
Her strikes slapped...slapped...slapped...as if snapping into place.
He noticed immediately. It was different. The slaps fell swifter...they were...brisk!
And less savage...
And they stung in the one spot, just above his hole...
...and sent shudders down his "taint," into his balls, along his stiff stem...
And what shudders!
And then she started to BOUNCE him!
The slap landed...then he got bounced...so his bottom rose...to meet the next one...
Again, slap...bounce!
And so on....
And...
...oh, the feelings! Oh, my god, the feelings...
His insides were melting.
Yes, he felt an eerie, thrilling...buzz. That's right a buzz...down there.
"Oh mom...mommy...it's so...sooooo..."
His sentence devolved into a long whining sound...barely audible. His cock was moving...no, being moved...forced to slide across her moving knee...with every bounce...and he was participating...yes, playing her game...by elevating his bottom...volunteering up his tight little globes...for the next crisp snapping crack.
Slap!
Right on that magic spot- sending the rippling down his perineum, into his ballsac, up his stem.
Oh my god, he thought!
For her part Nora thrilled to the task as never before. She remembered the advice from Mrs Reilly, "Make the slaps 'atta boy' slaps, like encouraging a young colt...slap him along for the ride...because for him it is a ride...with a definite destination."
Her mommy slaps kept descending, sending sensations rippling down his perineum.
Oh, he felt a buzzing all around his ass and his cock.
A real buzzing.
His voice was low.
"Ohhhhhhhhhhh...mommy..."
As if to say, "Goodness gracious, mommy, what you doin' ta me?"
As for his mommy, she too was very very stirred.
Yes, she thought, eyes glued to the bottom, "atta boy" slaps. On the bottom of her own son. Nude over her lap. Just look at its curves...dimples...cleft. Can you imagine? And how submissive he is. Offering it all up to her. Indeed, he was a participant, lifting his beautiful bottom...which had become more shapely in his time away...its most curved part now acquiring a sweet flush. And not losing his stubborn erection. No, it was hammer hard. And not resisting his penis being firmly frottaged by her shapely knee. Frottaged, how apt the verb. Rub...rub...rub.
"The knee bouncing will have a frottage effect," Miss Maitland had lectured the mothers.
Mrs Reilly and Sarah Maitland had also agreed on the importance of mothers talking to their punished boys.
She started doing just that.
"I'm watching your bottom turn red, Alwyn."
Slap! Bounce!
"I know this must feel so strange...stinging."
Slap! bounce!
"According to some mothers in Brewer, their boys say it's like having their bottoms stung by bees."
Slap! bounce!
