A Landlady Spanks Her Lodgers

...never...

...seen a real male disrobed.

And the bulges in their jeans!

Samantha and Annie were hypnotised by the Negro- the chocolate eyes, the abundant lips, the roof beam shoulders. They felt waves of shuddering. Their tummies fluttered. Their vaginal lips unloosed gobs of hot fluid.

On holidays from Oxford, Gudrun stared hard at Jack's flies. She recalled the slow waltz from last time, with his insistent erection pressed right into her through her near-diaphanous dress, and the vaulting ecstasy of their kissing. His emissions had stained that dress and forced her to discard it. But memories of the night had dominated her boring months of Tudor history and Austen novels in the tutorial rooms of Lady Margaret Hall.

"Oh, let's not waste time," barked Gwendolyn. "I know what you boys love- a game of strip poker..."

Girl faked groans of distaste. As if they found nothing more vulgar than being forced to witness males becoming nude. As if the game were too childish for them.

The boys looked...nervous. Billy's eyelids fluttered. Eddie looked around like a frightened animal. Jack's face showed a war of emotions.

But within seconds their hostess had them all seated around the long mahogany table, pressed together, each of the boys surrounded by girls crowding in. As if by magic, glasses of Harvey's Bristol Cream Sherry appeared ("A sweet sherry which flavours the breath it there's any kissing," Gwendolyn gushed, with giggles). And in a flash there were packs of cards and a quick start to a game with rules that only, it seemed, these girls had mastered.

Priscilla, daughter of the deacon at Saint Annes, was obliged to surrender a summer scarf and Annie her pair of high heels. But by that time the boys had already stripped their feet bare, filling the air with the smell of hot leather as the three had sheepishly removed boots and socks.

Samantha pressed close to the Negro. Peering into his lap as he slowly unthreaded his snakeskin belt and laid it, with blushes that turned his face purple, on the polished table surface.

He sat hang-dog, staring at the belt, seeming to fear what came next. Every girl was taken by the solemnity of the moment.

Yes, indeed, what came next?

Another twist in the obscure rules and soon Billy was forced to surrender his belt and, with another revelation about his hand of cards, to shyly unbutton his checked shirt. The young boxer blushed like a fire hydrant as every set of eyes settled on him. After all, they were now to see the first skin revealed tonight.

Eyelids fluttering, Billy worked away till the front of his shirt hung loose. Then he tugged at his waist and drew it out of his trousers...then pulled it from his right shoulder...and then his left...and down his arms. Gwendolyn calmly rose from her seat and moved to take his shirt, shake it out, fold it and lay it on the table.

The boy sat, head hung. He was displaying the chunky breastplate of his pecs...the muscle-packed shoulders...the big vein curling down each bicep...

For a moment there was reverential silence as girls took it in. Something delirious about a boy with no visible clothing sitting with us, thought a very thrilled Annie, who had never spied a male naked. It is as if...that under the table surface...he sits there in his birthday suit. Yes, just like the Greeks, thought art student Sally, gazing at his athletic upper body and gulping down a ravenous desire for...

...well, for what came next. Naked as statues, she hoped.

Then with some swift adjudications by Gwendolyn the two other boys were forced to surrender their shirts. They did so with an "aw shucks" display of resigned good humour. Girls on either side competed to take them and neatly fold the flannel and lay it on the table, along with the boy's belts and socks.

More than Jack's protein-filled torso it was the ebony musculature of the Negro boy that drew attention. With the swooping muscles and grizzled chest hair. His armpits released trickles of nervous sweat. It carried to girls' nostrils a deep bodily odour, something of the Gold Coast, of Vodoo danger and palm-fringed shadows.

The boys' upper bodies were now nude.

Priscilla, liberated tonight from the Biblical strictures of life in the manse, and her mind dancing with forbidden possibilities, said under her breath, "Which leaves only one place to go."

Silence. As each of the females thought the same.

But next some defeats for the girls, delivered by the mystery of those cards. Rebecca had to offer up shoes and Geraldine a wide, waist-cinching belt. For a moment the boys might have entertained hope of some evening-up in the game's outcomes. But the rules were rigged and suddenly Jack lost a move. All eyes looked at him. He was shirtless, and his feet bare, and he had already surrendered his belt.

His eyes were tearing with terror (or something else) as his head bent down over the table and he reached below and began to pop open those metal fly buttons- his fingers seemed troubled and uncertain- and then, wriggle in his chair and, with girls on either side manoeuvring to get a view of his lap, twist in his place and shake and half-turn and awkwardly tug the jeans down his legs one at a time...and, then, from his heels...to slither out of them altogether...and lift them above the table to raise them, like an offering...

...before Sally, on his right beat Noelene on his left, to whisk the denims from his hands and commence folding them up, in a drawn-out maternal manner. Then she lay them triumphantly on the table, with the other emblems of his defeat- belt, shirt, socks.

Sally and Noelene, guardians on either side, strained to peer into his groin. But his waist was jammed into the table to shield his tented Y fronts from prying eyes.

Annie was forced to shed her bracelet. A defeat for the girls. Then super-charged victories from the girls' team determined that Eddie and, then Billie, must surrender their second last item of clothing and follow Jack in removing trousers under the table while staying resolutely seated.

First Eddie, then Billy went through the awkward pantomime of unbuttoning and tugging and presented their indigo jeans, blue colour faded around the flies. Shedding their precious jeans, with their metal fly buttons, their white stitching and large turn-ups.

Girls on either side carefully folded them, and laid them out neatly.

Which left the boys in their famous Y fronts.

"I think these boys feel embarrassed."

"Not how males want to be...with girls all around them."

"Are they wearing underpants? Some boys..."

Billy vigorously nodded.

"We are..."

Giggles.

"...Y fronts," he added as if he were under challenge. "Cooper's Y fronts. Like the Olympic team."

Some girls snorted their contempt.

"Yes, we hear that's all boys in Mrs Ellroy's are allowed to wear. Just Y fronts. Some are old and slither down when you least want it..."

Girls sniggered at Gwendolyn's daring.

But she pressed on.

"We hear that they are easily pulled down. And it happens a lot. Even when there are visitors. And you fellas are throttled on your bare bums when you get caught 'playing with yourselves.'"

Girls breathed their disgust.

"But you put up with it. Because the rent's cheap. And the food's good. And...something else."

A silence. The three boys were downcast.

"Because some boys like to have stern mothers. They like to take orders from girls. Even...when a girl makes them take their pants down. Yes, get seen nude by them..."

There was a collective intake of breath.

"...and they even get excited being spanked. Oh yes, we've heard about that. At Gerda's. At Mrs Ellroy's."

There was a confession in the male looks. In their silence.

"Yes, boys learn to...savour the whole spanking business. And we know what we mean by the words, ''get excited.'"

She looked around the table. Some of her friends smiled knowingly.

"Why even now. Just talking about it. I bet you've become...excited."

A pause.

"Please stand up."

For Jack, Billy and Eddie it was like a slap in the face.

Yet for some reason she had to be obeyed.

They looked at one another.

They hesitated.

Then as one, they rose.

"No, you will not have those hands in front. Please, by your sides."

Cooper's Y fronts were designed to ride high. Above the belly button. So they covered even the rock hard, sky-pointing erections of Jack and Eddie. But the fronts of their pants boldly displayed the outlines of their stiffies. Their engorgements. Their cockstans. Their hardons.

Even Jack's big ventral artery could be seen, with all the precision of a cathedral relief sculpture. Both Eddie's and Jack's pricks thrust the waistbands outwards, leaving gaps that any girl might want to thrust a hand into. Like dipping into a letterbox. That they concealed mighty tools could not be doubted. And both their cockheads were especially well outlined in the white material, huge and decorative. As were the testicles. The plums. The nadgers. Big round balls, perfect in their under-the-cloth delineation.

Then there was the cute young boxer with the now famous and mysterious penis.

Billy's cock punched the cloth out and- for a mere three inches- upwards. But the broadness of the head gave promise of a fabulously thick stem, stubby as it might be. More than one girl had heard the gossip. Its weirdness made them ravenously curious.

What would Gwendolyn, their hostess, now command?

The very universe froze.

An order to lower their Y fronts would see those rampant tallywhackers- girls had learnt the slang from brothers or friends- spring free, and present their veiny undersides. Gwendolyn had shared her ambitions with some of her friends- yes, boys in the nude. What a hoot! What exquisite pleasure! To see males shamed and shocked and humiliated, in their birthday suits.

But was there virtue in delay? Stretching out time. Exploring these things in the enveloping darkness? Saving everyone the sudden shock...the too-surprising revelation?

Gwendolyn weighed possibilities.

Yes, she might command the three to lower their Y fronts. The thrusts in the material invited such decisiveness. There would be pleas...they would be close to tears...but in the end there would be a thrilling unveiling. And out would pop their engorged organs.

On the other hand, Aristotle, whom she was studying, taught that happiness came not from quick pleasure but embracing a more spacious purpose.

Such as a deliciously long evening...

...boys starting out in their straining underwear...

...the lights banished and, in the darkness, girls taking boys by their arms and leading them into the first waltz.

Their bodies pressed together...glued with tantalisingly deep kisses...straying female fingers...flickering in all the wrong places...

...males poised between dismal submission and explosions of pleasure...

...and, at the right moment, and not before, those fingers easing or whisking the Y fronts down each boy's legs- the moment, yes, when after drawn-out delay and distraction each boy's organ would finally spring free...

...and the dancing continuing with boys suffering total nudity, but the darkness protecting their modesty.

Yes, for a long evening.

Gwendolyn signalled for the lights to die. Just as Tennessee Waltz came to life on the gramaphone.

And Annie- or was it Priscilla- led Jack from the table. Pudgy Noelene took the hand of Billy the boxer and Gwendolyn elbowed aside both Sally and Geraldine to enclose with both long, skinny arms the massive torso of the boy from Barbados.

Like dancing with an erection, thought Noelene, with a boy attached to it, and if her sensuality surged with the body heat, the penile thrust and the smell of Old Spice and Brylcreem...well, her experience in Gwendolyn's home that night, was by no means unique.

"This is the strangest life..." thought Eddie as his hostess ground her own pelvis into his mighty steed, with every bar of the Tennesse waltz. And at the same time explored the Negro boy's mouth with her insistent sherry-flavoured tongue. All, while one set of fingers fluttered bird-like in his Y fronts tickling his grandly-proportioned left buttock and the other teased the grizzly hair around his nipples.

His organ leaked fluid. He might explode at any moment although, when he came close, Gwendolyn seemed to know how to relax the pressure. To delay fulfillment, as Aristotle preached, the true happiness.

"So strange, here in Manchester," the boy from Barbardos thought. "The strangest life on the planet."