Chase and Kathleen grow close while the others are away.
"Yes," she said, cheerfully jiggling the stretched waistband. "It's pretty clear to me that males like our products out there...the tight stretching Latex...the Side-Lacers...and that new Speedo. And you know, I think those posing straps are going to be very popular..."
Oh hell, lamented Rodney with eyes clenched, she's clutching the waistband...she's teasing me with the jiggling...any minute for sure, she's gonna wrench them down...and my dick's gonna be right in her face...any minute, I'm gonna be totally nude on this stool...
And then in a higher pitch, she asked, "And how would you feel, Rodney, modelling one of those posing straps for your mother and sisters, showing off your swimmer's physique? Say, the white linen? Very sweet, I thought. The teensie one in camouflage design? Goodness, that one would be...revealing..."
Here she jiggled the stretched waistband in her fingers even more vigorously- it made him tremble, thinking any moment the boxers would be hauled down- and she prattled on.
"...or the nicest one of all, the one in girly pink..."
He shuddered. She had read his mind!
"...the pink one? To wear for pics with your buddies out at the lake...or...showing off at home? Maybe like with the Campbell family, you could get to model for your Mom's bridge club..."
He gasped! His buddy had never told him!
"The pink ones? To show off for the ladies? But you did...like...them?"
He felt he had to confess.
His face twisted with shame. He had confessed that he like the pink posing strap.
She closed in.
"You'd like to get around in them?"
"Guess..." He stumbled out the answer. "Guess so..."
"The pink ones?"
Oh, the shameful admission.
"...but...not with girls!" He quickly added.
"Ah, modest...a modest boy."
And, as if to punish him, she whisked his shorts all the way to his ankles. It happened in one swift movement. It was brutal.
Leaving him bare as a board.
Standing on the stool in front of her.
Naked as a jay.
It was all he could say, up on the stool, boxers in a shameful muddle at his feet.
Rodney wanted to die.
He had never been more embarrassed, not even when ladies saw him at the pool. Miss Newbold was...so...close!
His penis wIth its outsize head reared in her face as if he were a duty cop waving a nightstick at a street offender.
He shuddered all over. He was in...his birthday suit.
That awful term, birthday suit.
Her eyes were on his nightstick. Perhaps, he thought, she thinks the head on my prick is freakishly big. Or is it my balls- too heavy, too low.
"...let's take those measurements."
And her long narrow fingers were threading her tape measure through his fine red pubic curls, between his erection and his abs, around his waist to join above his backward thrusting glutes.
"Ah," she said. "The right size. These will fit you, Rodney. Tight, to be sure..."
The captive boy stood like a statue, rigid in every sense.
"...but let's measure your hips to make sure."
And hell! She was doing it again, measuring him around the middle...just lower!
Her hands scummaged around the broad base of his penis.
Her elbow grazed his penis stem.
Her fingers met above his bottom, a little finger dangling into his cleft.
Her close-up breath tickled his fat glans.
"Yes, that's the right size. Now it's just a matter of trying them on!"
She held the Speedos up. Tiny.
"Let's step off the stool and pull them up." And she helped him down, his weighty erection wobbling out in front.
He took the swimsuit and bent to fit his big, boney feet into it. He then hauled them up his legs, so tight when the material reached his thighs. And then..?
He tugged at it.
He wasn't loose enough to stretch over the jutting projection. His erection was in the way.
"Goodness, can't stretch?" She sounded as sympathetic as movie star June Allyson.
Wildly, Rodney thought of Leave it to Beaver, of the boy Beaver Cleaver and his mom and whether she w