Days of the Raj Ch. 02

In her study he obediently clambered out of his soiled East London overalls and grimy denims. He stood in his ragged underpants and started begging. It emerged in a rush: his last period in detention had been hell...he would do anything to avoid going back...the other boys had tormented him...he was mocked because he was "different"...he was "different" down there...he nodded to his groin. He stumbled out the word, "misshapen."

Nothing could have enlivened Sarah more. Her interest quickened. In her study she kept voluminous files which detailed the genitals of the boys in her care. She re-studied them- photographs, sketches, tracings, written accounts- very often. She shared them with friends like young David Lawrence the writer and Magnus Hirschfeld, a physician from Berlin. A nice young man going by the name E M Forster had been sent by Lawrence and spent a whole day in the corner studying the records- the tracings of boys' privates and photos and sketches- shaking like a typhoid patient. When he left his moustaches were twitching and a stain like a map of Ireland had appeared on the flies of his beige summer trousers. "Only connect," he had muttered headed for the door. "Only connect."

She advanced on Louie and knelt. Her hands went to the knot of the laces that held his underwear. She looked up into his eyes where tears brimmed.

She untied and pulled down, slowly.

What she saw was stunted, hooded, white, networked with delicate veins...but by no means misshapen. The ball sack? She lifted the stem with her gloved fingers- which made him start- but behind the drooping worm the sac and its contents were normal. He must, Sarah thought, be focused on his size. But she knew smaller that this. Relished occasions when big, fully developed fellows were exposed possessing minnows three inches at full stretch. Loved their shrivelling embarrassment.

In any case Sarah's own meticulous records were confirming that five inches was the average, not the six that some of the literature had suggested. No doubt men got trapped by some methodological bias, the more modest among them never offering themselves for surveys or measurement. This was not an option for the young males in her care: when they stood naked and quaking before her, or lifted themselves shamed from her lap, they were in no position to run off when she produced her tape measure. They just froze with horror or fear as she stretched it along the dorsal side, never the ventral side, of the pulsing erection on offer. Five- this was her conclusion. Louie was flaccid but Sarah calculated would not fall woefully short of this mark.

At that moment the door opened and Marjorie, a chubby cheeked 18 year old maid, blundered in. Her eyes widened greedily at the sight of the naked burglar although in a household like this,10 boys held for punishment, she had glimpsed nudity often. Participated in their communal bathing, helped in the full-nude punishment. And relished it very much. But something in the slightness of this newest charge appealed and her interest flared. He felt it too, shivered and shuddered. She stood close. Instantly the boy responded: his thin penis stretched and lifted...and twisted to the right, and then poked back to his belly!

Instantly Sarah saw what the problem. Nothing less than the most flamboyant case of Peyronie's disease she had ever witnessed. Because Louie's stem not only veered to the right- just under half the cocks she had studied featured bends- but his then turned and pointed back.

The eyes of the two females popped.

His punishment was to stay with them as a servant, kept nude at all times, with special responsibility for helping Majorie at household duties. There was a sweet session where he was photographed at a Shaftesbury Avenue studio- the photographer a woman, of course, a stern disciplinarian called Miss Aurelia Flint who wearing a spare gray smock and assisted by a servant girl, Sadie, specialised in having boys out of their clothes within minutes. Her command to "Strip off! Everything!" was as savage as a sea captain's and it was never resisted, never challenged.

It was a studio which Sarah used to capture all her young charges naked, as soon as they enrolled in her establishment. After the shy lads dropped their clothes and shuffled nervously, hands sheltering their privates, they were made to pose against a canvas frame with a faded rustic scene of trees and grass. It was entirely absurd- this cheap stage backdrop- and the boys looked as if they were naked in some West End version of English farmland robbed of their clothes, about to be surprised by gambolling girls out for a stroll.

There were close-ups, too, of the boys' privates and those of Louie's- his penis coaxed into twisted erection- were designed to be a classic of their kind, shared and discussed by the small community of Edwardian sexologists and homosexualists Sarah corresponded with.

Louie became a kind of household mascot, stupid and good natured, desperate to keep their good graces. He polished floors, tiny skinny bottom pointing high, slapped by passing staff, one of the maids even reaching low to tickle his perineum and little testicle sac- goodness, did that make him start! He did washing up in the kitchen without apron- the cook declaring, "Laddie, instructions are for you to be in the nuddy and there'll be no exceptions in my domain, besides Ayes likes the looks of a naked boy." He sat with the servants at meals bare as a board, maids always teasing him about what was in his lap and whether it had come to life, even worked in the garden without a stitch, delighting girls in the houses on either side who stuck their beaming heads above the fences and burst into giggles.

Both Sarah and Majorie noticed that on these occasions- and the garden took a lot of time- he was initially appalled. To have 18 year old girls poised above the fence or hedge pointing and guffawing while he was stranded helpless and naked was savage treatment. Holding shears or shovel he could hardly shield himself. Yet as this happened more and more, Louie seemed to look forward to his exposure, even leave the house and enter the garden already erect and peering around to confirm his audience was in place. His near-constant erections had one maid exclaim, "That boy's always in for a rut! Mad as May butter!"

Much of the time he obeyed Majorie, trailing her as she performed her duties, letting her bathe him and even shave off his late-blooming body hair, from groin, scrotal sac and arm pits. It was something she had learnt when Sarah had organised plaster casting of boy's privates, a riveting responsibility that required hair removal to facilitate moulding with wax and plaster. Marjorie had proven particularly skilled at this delicate task, especially at the stretching and scraping of wet, lathered testicles- such a daunting assignment for a young maid from Manchester and the nervous males who sat naked and spread-legged on the toilet seat while she knelt on the tiles and razored curls from the most sensitive part of their anatomy.

Smooth as marble and naked as the day he was born Louie was to serve tea for visiting friends of Sarah's- to the delight of the female guests. They were ladies with careers like her's in schools, detention facilities or households. They were teachers, nurses, governesses. Once, at one of these gatherings, she had Louie wear a bow tie. It deliciously emphasised his nudity and absence of body hair.

Here, serving tea in the drawing room, his erections were frequent and attracted attention for their flamboyant twists.

"It's known as Peyronie's disease," explained Sarah and used him as model to illustrate what she had learnt from medical text books while visiting ladies- a whole roomful- gawped at the sight. They gawped no less than their daughters who accompanied them- more and more frequently as it happened; who could say no to an invitation to Sarah's now? With a show like this every time? And naturally Sarah thought of providing a contrast, by bringing one of her disciplinary charges- stripped for the occasion- to join them at the afternoon tea, a tall well-proportioned lad called Nicholas Elliot, and making him stand there blushing to demonstrate one of those organs that are perfectly straight and reach high, what might be regarded as "normal"- although Sarah's notes and photographs confirmed that only a minority (46 percent to be precise) fitted this category, matched this ideal.

The first occasions were excruciating for Louie, not less than for Nicholas, his companion. But slowly, Sarah noticed, Louie came to savour it- stiffening as soon as the first ladies arrived and he was sent to answer the door. Stiffening even faster and leaking pre-ejaculatory fluid if he had glimpsed from the windows that they came with a daughter. Savouring the humiliation when the other boy, Nicholas, entered the crowded room already nude and with a few rubs brought his penis to full stand, the two boys side by side. He, the good-looking one, his organ straight and high, was clearly coming to enjoy this too; Nicholas revolted when Sarah suggest he give another boy a chance to perform. Violently objected. He was now enormously wedded to the honor of walking nude into a room full of females and demonstrating how his penis stood- more and more readily with each occasion as it happened.

The eyes of the females darted between them, the petite twisted member pointing like a finger back at its owner as if asking, "Who, me?" and that of his athletic companion standing hands behind his back, letting his regulation penis sprout at a text book 45 degrees, eyes straight ahead.

Louie liked the pats, hugs and caresses he received from compassionate ladies when the display was over. Some of the ladies held him very tightly indeed. More than one flickered her fingers very quickly over his object. And Louie loved the close-up curious looks of their flushed-face daughters. He always left the gathering erect and pulsing, seeking relief.

As Sarah discovered he found this in the administrations of the maid, Majorie. She surprised them in the larder, their mouths glued and Marjorie's hand around the boy's penis, her fat little fingers already overflowing with the boy's porridge-coloured, telltale fluid. She hauled them out and established that "tickling his thing" had become a habit, a reward for the elfin captive, this little mascot of Sarah's household. It wouldn't be long, she thought, before she discovered them doing more; and at that point she resolved she would arrange for them to become engaged. Majorie would win herself a little hubby who she could keep nude and subjugated at all times and whose stubborn, twisted little member she could keep happy.

Enough...this was the past. Sarah could dilate on that anytime- and pull out the file, photos and tracings from her trunk. Even the plaster cast she had had Majorie help her make; a perfect replica of Louie's intimate parts. How proud he had been to see it unveiled and to be positioned in Sarah's closet with the dozens that displayed curves, bends, shortness, length, width. The late, great Charles Darwin had not collated specimens more scientifically.

Erections of the Raj

That was passed. The present was rich enough.

Here, in India. In the stables, and outside.

Where noble Anwashi, penis ahead, was providing not the slightest evidence of Peyronie's Disease. His erection was decisive, straight, high. The perfect penis of Victorian pornography, thought Sarah, whose secret collection she knew had been raided by so many of her teachers, their imaginations set racing by what they witnessed at this school.

The others, too, were all of them, at maximum extension. Yes, some hint of bends, but slight- take for example the penis of that long-lashed tawny-skinned lad who has just finished his raking, and stood with Clara Covington and three other girls asking questions of him in a teasing fashion. His not over-long member curved to the left. Ah, the elegance of a curved penis, sighed Sarah, not for the first time, and it stuck out, not up, a horizontal pointer. Horizontal and curved to the left. Its head was still shrouded in its foreskin and- what could be seen of it- was not dissimilar in colour from the coffee-coloured stem. It was hard as a board. Each girl would glance down at it between eager questions that had the poor boy perplexed, casting around, moist eyed, shifting arms by his sides.

Did he have sisters, one asked? Did they ever...see him like this? (Accompanied by giggles.) Was he embarrassed...now? Did he realise how...funny...he looked, in his birthday suit?

"Just look at him..."

And they did, feasting their eyes.

"Without a stitch...Let me ask..."

And she paused, eyes fastened on his privates.

"That little brown sack, behind your thingamajig...what IS it?"

And she and her friends bent to look.

Sarah left them, as the boy stuttered out the word and the girls pressed him with queries about its shape, and how did it just hang there and what happened when he ran.

In another corner the boy with the spray of chest hair and the thick and dark penis, prominently veined, was standing straight as a soldier displaying the ventral or underside of a fine uprising erection- displaying the underside because the whole thing jutted out with the a slight "u" bend, as Sarah called a banana bend. Tilting back to the boy's abdomen, the penis put its own belly on nice display: the big artery, the veins that serviced it, the straining tissue of the frenulum. Its glans was generous and with its defined corona shaped like a coolie's hat and balanced on its end was a pearlescent bubble of moisture, threatening to spill down the sides.

Two girls quizzed him eagerly. How long had he had that hair on his chest? Was he embarrassed that they could see- their glances fell to his groin- "all of him?" Was it common for "his thing" to stand up like that? Did his mother see him like this? He groped for answers, sensing Sarah expected it.

The hair on his chest- how he blushed at having to talk with them about his displayed body! - had sprung up in the last six months. Yes, after the other hair...the "hair down there." No, he did not like having all his clothes off, in front of them. It made him feel very ashamed. He did not want English girls to see "his bludgeon"- the slang term stumbled out before he could censor himself- and he didn't want the maids to see him- he glanced wildly outside where five sari-clad maids now had intercepted and stalled Anwashi and Wendy. His penis, he said, might rise like this several times a day. No, more, he conceded, hanging his head. Sometimes when he had "daydreams about naughty things." And, darkening and tearing-up, he said that his mother at home would subject him to "Murgha." Under further questioning he said that meant being stripped of everything and forced to stand against the wall of the living room or hallway.

"Where your sisters could see you?"

Sarah, overhearing, thrilled as much as the girls, hung desperate on his answer. Oh, how she hoped he had sisters and...

Yes, he had three. And cousins, girl cousins.

"What, they just...stand there, looking right at you?"

He confirmed that his sisters and cousins liked doing that and that, yes, they laughed at him in the nude and teased him.

"So...sometimes they would see you...like this?"

The girl gestured at his erection.

Sarah, the evesdropper, held her breath.

Yes, came the shameful admission. So...they saw him at full stand. At that moment the ball of moisture rolled over his glans and down his stem. More seemed to emerge. Behind, a loose scrotal sac displayed two prominent stones.

Elsewhere, pinned against the wall, two boys stood, twisting- yes, turning this way and that, eyes clenched- with shame as five girls interrogated them, while two pricks- Sarah now thought in the terminology of her banned literature- stretched to their limits, "tough as teak." One was neat, smallish, uniformly brown, without a foreskin, and the testicles had vanished, entirely scooped up. The petite penis pointed up. "Let's see," calculated Sarah, to herself. "It's standing at an angle...oh, about 30 degrees above the horizon." It had no bend.

But- oh my god!- the other! It was a big and a badly made shambles- loose ragged cloak hanging off the end revealing a bright red stunted glans with a huge smiling mouth. Like the glans the neck was also red, then there stretched a broad beam of dark-brown complexion. It's distinguishing feature was a vast industrial strength dorsal vein; its upper end connecting to his groin seemed to be holding the appendage up and driving it out and ahead. Behind there was- grotesquely enlarged hanging in huge folds- a capacious bag, luxuriously haired. With his bolt hard erection the glans might have reached his belly button except that the trajectory of the penis flattened. It was close to horizontal, with a lowering from around its midpoint, the second part of its length pointing down, at an angle just below the horizon. An "n" bend, thought Sarah. No, better still, what she called a "humpback" erection.

It belonged to a boy called Tagore, of average height, coffee-coloured skin, neither good or bad looking.

His prick was his distinction.

Especially measured against the compactness neatness of his short companion.

For the girls the sight and the contrast were intoxicating.

Sarah saw the light of divine revelation in the eyes of her maidens. Oh, those eyes blazed. They would forever wonder what lay in the trousers of males- the variety, the difference- never be able to resist downward swipes of their eyes when males entered. They would easily enlist for any mission catching males nude, which Sarah considered one of her goals.

"Bet you wish you didn't throw that straw!"

They twisted with humiliation, eyes shut.

The girls asked questions. What does it feel like to have all your clothes off in front of us girls? When we've got clothes on? Do you feel extremely embarrassed? Why do boys have "knobs"? What's that funny bag? Hey, there's water coming out!

It was time, however, to bring things to their conclusion. And there was only one: a caning.

She barked an order and the boys gathered at the centre of the stables, Anwashi joining them from the grounds. Arms swinging helplessly at their sides, eyes flickering nervously, they formed a group, each one with his stubborn ceiling-jabbing erection. With the females watching hungrily, she told them that as a result of their assault on the girls they would receive a caning. A bare bottomed caning. Here, in front of their victims. In fact, lying flat on that waist-high bale of hay right there.

Tagore Spanked: A Naked Indian Youth With Female Teachers.

First, one of them would have to go to her study and collect her cane. She picked Tagore, the one with the most curious penis, the wildest incongruities, the ragged foreskin and wide, spreading beam. The one with the "humpback" on his penis, that jutted out hard but in the end pointed just below the horizon as if burdened by its weight. This just happened to be the busiest time of day, and a day for that matter when the corridors would be full of mothers and sisters attending one form's presentation. He would go just as he was- yes, without a stitch.

He begged to be spared. He cried.

Sarah's response was to send him off with fierce instructions that he walk with hands absolutely fixed to his sides.

"My little darling," she thought. "You'll show that big vein and that gaping foreskin and that humpback penis stem to all the women and girls around this school."

Tagore took himself at a shuffling place across the grounds that lay between the stables and the main school building. Just as he did a party of visitors- a mother, some young women, two maids- appeared, taking the same route. As one they saw the nude youth; they stopped, their eyes popped. They feasted on the sight, at once woeful and lubricious. The boy, hanging his head, hands rigid at his sides, kept shuffling...his big untidy penis wobbling ahead of him, parallel to the ground.