A Modest Boy 2

By H. T. Duck

The author does not wish to receive feedback
Copyright 2025 by H. T. Duck, all rights reserved

[16,917 words]

* * * * *
This story is intended for adults only. It contains depictions of forced nudity, spanking, and sexual activity of preteen and young teen children for the purpose of punishment. None of the behaviors in this story should be attempted in real life, as that would be harmful and/or illegal. If you are not of legal age in your community to read or view such material, please leave now. 

Ruth and Brad arrived at the school gate, and she couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement bubbling in her chest as she spotted Sanford and Heather waiting for them.
Sanford, a close friend of Brad's, had a mop of brown hair that always looked like it needed a good brushing, while Heather was a bubbly girl with a smile that could light up the darkest room.
The four of them had been inseparable since they were kids.
But now, with Brad's new treatment, their dynamic was shifting.
Sanford's cheeks flushed a deep red, his eyes darting to the ground in an attempt to hide his embarrassment.
"Hi guys," Brad mumbled, his voice tight with discomfort.
"Brad," Sanford stuttered, his eyes flicking up briefly before returning to the safety of the pavement.
"How's it going?"
"I see Sanford is nude in school now, It's part of his treatment," Ruth explained, her voice filled with an air of authority.
"He's overcoming his modesty issues."
She gave Brad a gentle pat on the shoulder, making sure to let her hand linger a moment too long, feeling his muscles tense beneath her touch. Sanford and Heather exchanged glances, both unsure of how to respond.
"It's okay," Brad said, his voice stronger now.
"It's just something I have to do as well."
The four of them walked into the school, the whispers of their classmates following them like a chorus of judgment.
The weight of his sister's hand on his shoulder was a constant reminder of his new reality, and the glances from his friends made him feel both exposed and oddly protected.

Brad's heart was racing as they approached the school, his eyes darting around to avoid the stares of his classmates.
The thought of being nude in front of them all was almost too much to bear, but he knew he had to be strong.
He felt a strange sense of solidarity with Sanford, who was also being subjected to this treatment.
As they walked down the hallway, Brad noticed that the posters on the wall, which usually displayed student artwork, had been replaced with diagrams of male genitalia.
The sight made his stomach churn.
He couldn't believe this was what school had become for them.
The day dragged on with art class feeling like an eternity.
He couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy towards the fully-clothed girls, who were allowed to maintain their modesty while some of the boys were stripped of theirs.

The art class was a gruelling test of Brad's willpower.
The other students, both clothed and nude, were busy sketching and sculpting, their eyes occasionally flicking to the naked boys.
The teacher, a stern woman named Mrs. Jenkins, walked around the room, her eyes assessing their progress without a hint of empathy for their plight.
The sound of pencils and brushes on paper filled the room, punctuated by the occasional snicker from a student who couldn't help but glance at the naked figures before them.
Brad felt like a specimen on display, his every movement scrutinized and judged.

As the bell rang for art class, Brad's stomach dropped.
He knew what was coming. His mother had told him that as part of his treatment, he would have to pose for the class, and now the moment was upon him.
He walked to the podium in the centre of the room, feeling the eyes of his classmates burn into his skin.
His sister, Cathy, Rhonda, and Patricia all dressed in their school uniforms watched him with a mix of curiosity and amusement.
Cathy, in particular, had a glint in her eye that suggested she was enjoying this far too much.
"Brad, just remember, this is for your own good," she called out, her voice echoing in the large room.

Brad's cheeks burned as he climbed onto the podium, his hands shaking.
He tried to keep his eyes on the floor, but he couldn't help stealing glances at the faces of his peers.
Some looked away, others stared openly, and a few giggled.
Mrs. Jenkins handed him a pose to hold, and he awkwardly positioned his arms and legs, trying to find some semblance of dignity.
He heard the rustle of clothes as the other boys in his situation took their places around the room.
The room grew eerily silent as the girls began to sketch, except for the occasional whispered comment.
Brad's mind raced with thoughts of rebellion, but he knew that fighting back would only make his situation worse.
Instead, he focused on the sound of the pencils against the paper, the smell of the art supplies, and the feeling of the cold podium against his bare skin.
He took a deep breath, willing his body to cooperate as the minutes stretched on like hours.

Ruth watched Brad from the sidelines, a smug smile playing on her lips.
She had never seen her brother so vulnerable and exposed.
It was thrilling, and she knew that this was just the beginning.
As the class drew on, she couldn't resist the urge to add a little twist to the scenario.
"Brad, remember, part of overcoming your modesty is getting comfortable with touch," she announced, sauntering over to him.
She reached out and gently adjusted his pose, her fingertips grazing his skin.
He flinched, but she held her ground.
"Class, this is a perfect opportunity to observe the human form in its most natural state," she said, turning to the others.
"If any of you need to make any adjustments to your models, please feel free to do so.
Just remember to be gentle," she added with a wink.

The classroom buzzed with nervous energy as the students began to move around, their eyes wide with excitement and trepidation.
Brad's heart raced as he felt the gentle touch of his sister's hand guiding his pose.
He could feel his penis starting to react, and he hoped nobody would notice.
The other nude boys looked equally uncomfortable, their bodies twitching as the girls approached them.
Mrs. Jenkins nodded in approval, walking among them to offer guidance and critique.
The room was filled with the sound of whispers and the rustling of clothes as the students touched the naked forms before them, their faces a mix of fascination and fear.
Brad tried to focus on his breathing, willing his body not to betray him further.

Ruth watched the scene unfold with a sense of triumph.
She had orchestrated this moment, and she revelled in the power it gave her.
She approached Brad, her eyes scanning his body as if he were a sculpture to be admired.
"Remember, Brad," she murmured, her breath warm against his ear, "this is all part of the treatment.
You need to get used to people seeing and touching you."
Her hand trailed down his spine, sending shivers down his back, and she stepped back to allow others to do the same.
Brad's cheeks burned as a classmate tentatively touched his shoulder, moving it slightly to better see the musculature.
The sensation was strange and unwelcome, but he knew he couldn't protest.
He held his pose, his eyes fixed on a spot on the floor, as hands touched his skin, moving his limbs and adjusting his posture.
The whispers grew bolder, and he heard snippets of their conversations, comparing his body to the others, discussing his penis in hushed tones. The humiliation was almost unbearable, but he knew he had to endure it.

Brad felt a strange mix of anger and submission as the hands of his classmates touched him.
He wanted to push them away, to scream at them to leave him alone, but he knew it would only make things worse.
His penis began to react, despite his efforts to control it, and he felt a warmth spread through his cheeks.
He focused on the coolness of the podium, the smell of the clay, anything to distract him from the sensations.
Each touch was a violation of his privacy, but he forced himself to remain still, to endure the indignity.
His mind was a whirlwind of thoughts.
Would this really help him overcome his modesty?
Was he just a toy for the entertainment and education of others?
He glanced at Sanford, who was also being touched and prodded, and they shared a look of mutual understanding and silent solidarity.

Ruth watched the scene unfold with a mix of satisfaction and curiosity.
She had never seen Brad so exposed and vulnerable.
It was fascinating, watching his body react to the unfamiliar touches of his peers.
Her own heart raced, a thrill running through her at the power she had over him.
She knew that this was only the start of his treatment, and she was eager to see how far she could take it.
"Brad, remember to keep your pose," she called out, her voice echoing through the room.
"It's important for everyone's artistic development."
She walked over to him, her eyes lingering on his face, watching the emotions play out across his features.
"You're doing so well," she whispered, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.

Brad's heart pounded in his chest as his sister's hand touched his shoulder, sending a jolt through his body.
He knew she was enjoying this, and it only made his humiliation that much more acute.
He gritted his teeth, trying to ignore the way his penis was reacting to the attention.
He had to get through this, for better or worse.
He took a deep breath, his eyes focused on the floor as the hands of his classmates continued to explore him.
The room was a blur of motion and whispers, a cacophony of sounds that seemed to press in on him from all sides.
He could feel their eyes on him, judging him, and he wanted nothing more than to cover himself up and run.
But he didn't move.
He was a statue, a model, an object of study.

Ruth noticed the growing interest in Brad's body, his cock slowly hardening under the curious gazes of his classmates.
She felt a strange thrill at the sight, a mix of power and possessiveness.
She stepped closer to him, her hand moving to cup his cheek, tilting his face up to meet her eyes.
"Look at me, Brad," she said softly, her voice a stark contrast to the cacophony around them.
"You're doing great.
Just a little longer."
She leaned in, her breasts brushing against his arm, and whispered, "And remember, I'll be here when it's over."

The class had settled into an uneasy rhythm, their eyes darting between their art projects and Brad's exposed body.
Cathy, a girl with a penchant for cruel teasing, couldn't resist the urge to voice her thoughts.
"Isn't it really small?" she whispered to Mrs. Jenkins, her eyes wide with feigned concern.
Heather, overhearing the remark, looked up from her drawing and shot Cathy a glare.
"It's perfect," she shouted, her voice cutting through the murmurs of the classroom.
"Leave him alone!"
The room grew tense as the two girls locked eyes, a silent battle of wills playing out before everyone's eyes.
Mrs. Jenkins cleared her throat, drawing the class's attention back to the task at hand.
"Let's focus on the art, shall we?" she said firmly, but her eyes lingered on Brad for a moment longer, a flicker of something unreadable crossing her face.

Ruth's eyes narrowed at Cathy's remark, but she kept her cool.
She knew that Brad's treatment was about more than just exposure; it was about acceptance and understanding.
She stepped closer to her brother, her hand resting on his forearm.
"Remember, Brad," she murmured, "it's not about size, it's about being comfortable with who you are."
Her voice was a gentle reassurance in the sea of whispers and giggles that filled the room.

Brad felt a rush of gratitude towards Heather for standing up for him, and his sister's words of comfort brought a small smile to his face.
He took a deep breath, focusing on the feel of her hand on his arm rather than the embarrassment that threatened to consume him.
He looked up at her, his eyes meeting hers, and for a brief moment, the classroom faded away.
"Thanks, Heather," he mouthed silently.
Then, turning his attention back to the task, he shifted his stance slightly, trying to ignore his arousal.
He knew that if he could get through this, it would be one more step in the right direction.
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, his body slowly relaxing under the gentle touch of his sister's hand.

Ruth felt a surge of protectiveness towards Brad when she saw the look of embarrassment on his face.
She squeezed his arm gently, her eyes flashing with determination.
She knew that the road ahead was going to be difficult, but she was committed to helping him through it.
"You're doing so well," she said, her voice a soothing balm against the harsh whispers.
"Just keep going."
She watched as Heather's eyes met hers, and she offered a small nod of thanks.
The tension in the room was thick, but she was determined to maintain control.
"Remember, Brad," she whispered, "this is just the first step.
You're going to be fine."

Brad felt a warmth spread through him at his sister's words of encouragement, and for a brief moment, the embarrassment washed away.
He took another deep breath and focused on the task at hand, his mind racing with thoughts of what might come next in his treatment.
He knew that today was just the beginning, and he had to find the strength to endure it all.
As he held his pose, the touch of his sister's hand on his arm was a reminder that he wasn't alone in this.
He could feel the tension in the room, the whispers and glances of his classmates, but he pushed it all aside.
He was going to get through this, no matter what it took.
The bell eventually rang, and the students began to pack up their supplies, the nude boys climbing down from their podiums.
Brad felt a rush of relief as he was allowed to cover up, but the feeling was short-lived.
He knew that the real challenge was just beginning.

The art class ended with Brad feeling more exposed than ever.
The other students had all touched him, commented on him, and he had been powerless to stop it.
But now, as he stepped off the podium, he found a small shred of dignity in the fact that the class was over.
He quickly slipped into his clothes, feeling the material cling to his body like armour against the world.
The four of them, Brad, Ruth, Sanford, and Heather walked out of the school, the cool air outside a stark contrast to the stifling atmosphere of the classroom.
They walked in silence for a few moments, the weight of the day's events hanging heavy over them.

"So, Brad," *Ruth began as they approached their home, her voice light yet holding an undercurrent of authority.
"How did you find the art class today?"
She glanced at him sideways, her eyes gleaming with a hint of mischief.
"It's all part of the process, remember?"

"It was... interesting," Brad replied, trying to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.
He felt a strange mix of anger and relief now that he was dressed again.
"I just want this to be over," he murmured, avoiding eye contact with his sister.

Ruth's smile grew wider as they arrived home, Sanford and Heather stayed and watched Brad strip before moving on and going home.
Ruth linked her arm through Brad's, leading him inside their house.
She knew he was uncomfortable, but she also knew that this was just the start.
"Oh, Brad, it's just the beginning," she said, her voice lilting with excitement.
"But don't worry, I'll be with you every step of the way."
She glanced at him, her eyes filled with a strange mix of affection and dominance.
"After all, I'm your coach."


Brad felt his heart sink as he stepped into the house, the warmth of his clothes giving him a momentary sense of normalcy.
He knew that this was just the tip of the iceberg, and he wasn't looking forward to the rest of his treatment.
He took a deep breath, trying to compose himself as he faced his sister. "Yeah, I know," he said, his voice a little shakier than he would have liked.
"What's next?"

"Homework," Ruth said, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
She led Brad to the living room where she had set up two chairs, one for him and one for her.
On the coffee table was a pad of paper and a pen.
"We need to keep detailed notes on your progress, Brad.
Now, tell me, about the cocks of last two boys you saw in the showers that day?"

Brad sighed heavily, his face flushing as he sat down in the chair.
He picked up the pen and paper, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on him.
"I don't know their names," he mumbled, his eyes darting around the room, searching for an escape from the conversation.
"They were just guys from my class."

Brad's hand hovered over the pad of paper, the pen trembling slightly in his grip.
He took a deep breath, trying to compose himself.
"One had... dark hair and was a bit taller than me," he began, his voice barely above a whisper.
"His... uh, his penis was about the same size as mine, maybe a little shorter, but he was definitely more... endowed in other areas."
He swallowed hard, his face burning with embarrassment as he recounted the intimate details of his classmates' bodies.

Brad felt his face flush even further as he described the second boy.
"The other one," he said, his voice tight, "was shorter, with lighter hair.
His penis was a little shorter than mine when soft, but... it looked like it might be a bit longer when hard."
He paused, looking up at his sister's expectant face.
"What else do you want to know?"
He felt like a trapped animal, but he knew that fighting back would only make things worse.

Ruth leaned in, her eyes sparkling with curiosity.
"Describe their foreskins," she said, her voice low and eager.
"Were they like yours?"
She watched Brad's face closely, enjoying the way his discomfort grew with each question.

Brad's grip on the pen tightened, his knuckles turning white.
"One of them had a longer foreskin," he replied, his voice tight.
"It barely covered the tip when he was hard, but it looked like it would stretch to cover most of the head when he was... you know."
He took a deep breath, steeling himself.
"The other one had a shorter foreskin, like me."
He didn't dare look up at his sister, focusing instead on the pad of paper.
"Is that what you needed to know?"

Brad felt a bead of sweat trickle down his spine as he continued to describe his classmates' bodies.
The room was eerily quiet except for the sound of his own voice, the words feeling foreign as they left his mouth.
He had never talked about this before, and the intimacy of the conversation made him feel like he was betraying his peers' trust.
Yet, he knew that this was part of his treatment, and he had to be honest if he wanted it to work.
He glanced at the clock, willing the time to pass faster.

Ruth listened intently as Brad described the other boys' foreskins, her gaze unwavering and her expression a mix of fascination and authority. She leaned in closer, her breath hot on his neck.
"Very good, Brad," she murmured, her voice a purr of approval.
"Now, tell me about their testicles.
Were they similar to yours, or did you notice any differences?"
She reached out and lightly cupped Brad's balls, giving them a gentle squeeze.
"Remember, the more details you can provide, the better I can understand and help you."

Brad's entire body tensed as his sister's hand touched his most sensitive parts, his mind reeling at the sudden intrusion.
He took a shaky breath, trying to ignore the way his body was responding to her touch.
"They were... different," he managed to croak out.
"The first boy had... smaller, tighter balls, and the second one had... larger, looser ones."
He felt a bead of sweat form on his forehead, his heart hammering in his chest.
"Is that... is that what you needed to know?"

"Mm-hmm," Ruth said, her eyes never leaving Brad's face as she continued to play with his balls, rolling them gently in her hand.
"And how did their cocks look when they were hard?"
She leaned in closer, her breath hot against his ear.
"Were they thick like yours, or thinner?"

Brad's eyes squeezed shut tightly as his sister's hand explored his most sensitive parts.
He felt his cheeks burn with embarrassment, his heart racing in his chest.
"They... they looked... different," he stuttered, his voice strained.
"The first boy's... it was thicker, and the second one's was longer, I think."
He couldn't believe he was having this conversation with his sister, but he knew he had to play along if he wanted this to end.
He took a deep, shaky breath, trying to ignore the sensations her touch was causing.

"Can we... can we stop now?" Brad whispered, his voice cracking.
He felt so exposed and vulnerable under her gaze and touch.
"I've told you everything you asked for."

"Alright, Brad," Ruth said with a knowing smile, her hand sliding away from his genitals.
"You did well.
You're really embracing your treatment."
She leaned back in her chair, the power dynamic between them palpable.
"Now, how about we do something to unwind?
Maybe a game of Warcraft?"

Brad's eyes searched hers, looking for any signs of pity or mockery, but all he found was a twinkle of amusement.
He knew she was enjoying this far too much.
"Okay," he murmured, his voice still shaky.
"Warcraft it is."
He tried to stand up, his legs feeling like jelly, but managed to get to his feet.
The idea of losing himself in a game was appealing, if only to escape the reality of his situation.
He followed her to the living room, where the familiar glow of the computer screen was a welcome sight.
As they sat down to play, the tension between them didn't dissipate, but it was masked under the guise of sibling rivalry over virtual battles.

Ruth's smile grew as Brad settled in front of the computer.
She knew he was still reeling from the art class and their little chat, but she was determined to keep the momentum going.
As they played, she couldn't help but feel a sense of power over her brother.
It was intoxicating, knowing that she had access to his most vulnerable moments, that she could make him squirm with just a few words or a touch.
"You know, Brad," she said casually, her eyes not leaving the screen, "Mrs. Jenkins said that the next phase of your treatment involves nude sports.
Are you looking forward to that?"

Brad's hand slipped off the mouse, his heart skipping a beat.
"N-no," he stuttered, trying to keep his voice steady.
"Not at all."
The thought of playing sports naked in front of his classmates was his worst nightmare come to life.
He took a deep breath, trying to regain his composure.
"It's not that I don't want to get better," he added quickly, not wanting to seem uncooperative.
"It's just... it's going to be really hard."

"Yeah, I imagine it would be," Ruth echoed, her voice filled with a hint of challenge.
She leaned back in her chair, her eyes never leaving the computer screen.
"But you know what they say, Brad.
No pain, no gain."
She couldn't help but smirk as she watched his discomfort grow.
"But don't worry," she added, her voice taking on a more soothing tone.
"I'll be there to support you, every step of the way."

Several hours of intense game play later, Brad's orcs had claimed victory over the human forces.
His heart raced from the adrenaline of the battle, but it was nothing compared to the tension that had built between him and his sister.
He leaned back in his chair, wiping the sweat from his brow.
"I guess... I guess orcs do rule," he said with a forced chuckle, trying to lighten the mood.
But the mention of his victory only served to remind him of the real battle he faced outside of the virtual world—his ongoing treatment.
He looked up at Ruth, searching for any sign of sympathy in her eyes, but all he saw was the gleam of power and excitement.

Dinner that evening was a welcome reprieve from the day's events.
Brad had grown accustomed to the nude routine, his modesty slowly chipped away by the persistent exposure.
He sat at the dinner table, his body bare, trying to focus on the food in front of him.
The aroma of roast chicken filled the air, and the sight of steaming vegetables and fluffy mashed potatoes made his stomach rumble.
He took a deep breath, the scent of garlic bread wafting over, and he felt a moment of peace.
For once, the evening was pleasant, the conversation light.
The warmth from the meal spread through his body, and he allowed himself to relax, if only for a little while.

After dinner, as the dishes were cleared, Brad felt a knot tighten in his stomach at the mention of bath time.
His sister's eyes twinkled mischievously.
"You know, Brad," she said, her voice sweet but with an undeniable edge, "you can take a shower instead if you'd prefer.
It's all part of the treatment."

"But remember," she added, "the goal is to be comfortable with your body.
No hiding, no modesty.
After all, modesty is only a cover for inadequacy, isn't it?"
She gave him a knowing look, one that said she knew he was anything but inadequate.
"So, what's it going to be, Brad?"

Brad swallowed hard, his mind racing.
The thought of showering in front of his sister, with no barrier between them, was terrifying.
He looked down at his plate, his food now cold and unappealing.
"I... I guess I'll take a shower," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.
He knew that this was another part of his treatment, another way for her to assert her power and for him to confront his fears.
He took a deep breath and stood up, his legs feeling wobbly beneath him.
"I'll just... go get ready."
He walked out of the dining room, his heart hammering in his chest.
As he passed by the bathroom, he could feel her eyes on him, watching his every move.

Ruth's smile widened at Brad's response, her eyes glinting with excitement.
She knew that this was going to be a pivotal moment in his treatment.
She followed him into the bathroom, her eyes scanning the room for any signs of his resistance.
"Remember, Brad, the goal is to be comfortable with yourself," she said, her voice soothing yet firm.
"You need to let go of any shame you might feel."

Brad's stomach churned as he stepped into the bathroom, feeling the cold tiles under his bare feet.
He knew what was expected of him, and the thought of showering in front of his sister was a nightmare come to life.
He turned the water on, the sound of it hitting the tiles echoing through the room.
The warmth of the water beckoned him, but he couldn't shake off the feeling of vulnerability.
His eyes remained glued to the floor, avoiding the mirror that reflected his naked body.
He climbed into the shower, the spray hitting his skin, and took a deep, shaky breath.
He could feel his sister's gaze on him, her presence a constant reminder of his humiliation.
He closed his eyes and let the water wash over him, trying to find some semblance of normalcy in the chaos.

Ruth watched as Brad entered the bathroom, a smug satisfaction playing on her lips.
She leaned against the door frame, arms crossed, her eyes drinking in the sight of her brother's naked form.
"Remember, Brad," she called out, "you can't hide anything in the shower."
She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a whisper.
"And I'll be watching to make sure you clean every inch of yourself properly."
She felt a thrill of power as she watched him tense, his hands moving to cover his genitals instinctively.
"It's all part of the process," she assured him, her eyes never leaving his.
"Now, go ahead, let the water do its work."

Brad's cheeks flushed a deep shade of red as he stepped into the shower, his eyes avoiding the mirror that reflected his nakedness. The water cascaded over him, warm and soothing, but it couldn't wash away the mortification that coated him like a second skin.
He lathered his body with soap, his movements mechanical as he scrubbed every inch of his skin, aware of his sister's eyes on him.
He tried to focus on the task at hand, his thoughts racing with the fear of what might come next.
The sound of the water muffled the outside world, creating a bubble of isolation.
His hand trembled as it moved lower, gliding over his cock and balls, and for a brief moment, he allowed himself to feel something other than embarrassment.
But he snapped back to reality, his heart racing as he heard his sister's voice.

"Brad, are you washing thoroughly?"
Ruth's voice was a mix of concern and teasing, echoing in the tiled room.
"Remember, we don't want any dirty spots," she sang out, stepping into the bathroom.
Brad's heart sank as he realized she wasn't going to let him have any privacy, not even in the shower.

"I'm fine, sis," Brad called out, his voice strained.
He took a deep breath, trying to ignore the feeling of her eyes on his naked body.
He squeezed his eyes shut tighter, focusing on the scent of the shower gel as he worked it into a lather.
The bubbles danced around his hands, tickling his skin, and he wished he could just sink into them and disappear.

Ruth sauntered into the steamy room, her eyes lingering on Brad's form under the spray.
She picked up a loofah from the counter, her smile never faltering.
"Let me help you with that," she offered, holding out the loofah.
"It's part of the treatment, after all."

Brad's eyes shot open, and he quickly moved his hands to cover his privates again, the warm water suddenly feeling cold against his skin.
"Ruth, please," he begged, his voice trembling.
"Can't I just have a little privacy?"
He could feel the tension coiling in his stomach, a mix of fear and embarrassment.
The thought of his sister seeing him in this state, exposed and vulnerable, was unbearable.
He tried to shrink away from her, but the small shower stall offered no escape.

"Brad, after everything we've been through together?"
Ruth's voice was a mix of exasperation and playfulness, her hand holding the loofah out to him.
"You know I'm just trying to help you overcome your modesty."
She stepped closer, the warm steam enveloping them both.
"Now, hold still and let me wash your back.
It's all for your treatment, remember?"
Her eyes searched his, looking for any hint of defiance.
But all she saw was a flicker of resignation, and she knew she had won this battle.
With a gentle touch, she began to scrub his back, her soapy hands moving in slow, circular motions.
The scent of lavender filled the air, a stark contrast to the tension in the room.
Brad's muscles tensed under her touch, but he didn't protest further.
He knew that fighting back would only make things worse, that he was trapped in this twisted game she called therapy.
As her hands moved down to his buttocks, he bit his lip, trying not to flinch.
He could feel her gaze on his crotch, and he wondered if she was watching his every reaction, eager for a sign of arousal or discomfort.

Ruth's soapy hands glided over Brad's skin, the loofah a gentle abrasion against his flesh.
Her fingers lingered on the small of his back, just above the crevice of his buttocks.
"You're doing so well, Brad," she cooed, her voice a sweet melody of deceit.
"It's just a matter of time before you're completely cured of your modesty.
And think of all the fun we'll have along the way."

Brad's body tensed further as he felt his sister's fingers trace the line of his spine, the loofah moving lower.
He knew she was enjoying this, could see it in her eyes, the smug satisfaction that she held all the power.
He bit his lip, his mind racing.
He hated feeling so vulnerable, so exposed.
But as her hands moved across his buttocks, he couldn't help the involuntary clench.
He was trapped in this nightmare, her coach and tormentor in one.
"Just... hurry up, please," he murmured, his voice tight with tension.
He didn't dare turn around, afraid of what he might see in her eyes.
He focused on the sound of the water, the feel of the loofah, anything to keep the reality at bay.

Ruth couldn't help but smirk at Brad's plea for haste.
She knew exactly what she was doing to him, and the power thrilled her.
She stepped closer, her breasts brushing against his back as she leaned over to whisper in his ear.
"I'm just making sure we cover all the important areas," she said, her breath warm and teasing.
She allowed the loofah to dip between his cheeks, her fingertips grazing his tight sphincter.
"You wouldn't want to miss a spot now, would you?" She chuckled at his sharp intake of breath, her grip on the loofah tightening slightly.
"You know, Brad," she began, her voice a seductive purr, "I've noticed that you get... flustered when we talk about your body.
Is that because it feels good, or because you're just really, really embarrassed?"

Brad's eyes squeezed shut as he felt the loofah against his most sensitive spot.
His body was a whirlwind of conflicting sensations—the warmth of the water, the roughness of the loofah, and the unmistakable thrill of his sister's touch.
"It's just... weird, okay?" he mumbled, his voice tight.
"It's not... not supposed to be like this."

"Weird?" Ruth's voice was a purr of mock-innocence.
"Why would it be weird?
You're just getting used to being comfortable with your body."
She leaned closer, her breath warm against Brad's neck.
"And I'm just your sister, helping you through a tough time."
Her hands continued their soapy exploration, the loofah moving away from his buttocks to trace the line of his hip.
"Besides, it's not like I'm doing anything wrong."

"You know, Brad," Ruth's voice was soothing as she worked the soap into his hair, her fingertips massaging his scalp, "the sooner you get used to others touching you, the easier this whole process will be.
It's all about breaking down those barriers."
She rinsed the soap out, her hands running through his hair, sending a shiver down his spine.
"Now, let's make sure we get all of you clean."
She stepped back, giving him a little space as she picked up a bottle of conditioner.
"Turn around," she instructed, her voice still playful, "and let me do the front."

Ruth's eyes danced with mischief as she watched Brad's reflection in the steamy mirror.
His posture was rigid, but she could see the resignation in his eyes.
He had surrendered to her whims, to the cruel twists of fate that had landed him in this bizarre treatment program.
She stepped closer, her breasts brushing against his shoulder as she reached for the soap.
Her hand hovered over his chest, watching the rise and fall of his breath.
"You're doing great," she whispered, her voice a mix of mockery and encouragement.
She began to lather his chest, her movements deliberate and slow.
Her fingers danced over his nipples, watching them pebble in response.
"It's just a little bit of soap," she said, her smile wicked.
"You don't have to be so tense."
Her hand moved lower, tracing the line of his stomach, and Brad couldn't help but suck in a breath as she touched him.
He was both terrified and aroused, the lines of his emotions blurring into a confusing mess.
"Remember, Brad," she said, her voice a silky caress, "this is all for your own good.
You're just a little boy who needs to learn that there's nothing wrong with his body."
Brad's heart raced as he felt her soapy hands glide over his skin, her touch both gentle and taunting.
He couldn't escape the reality of his situation his own sister treating him like a mere object, a toy to be played with and examined. Yet, there was a part of him that couldn't help but respond to the intimacy, the way her fingers danced over his sensitive flesh.
He tried to ignore the way his cock began to stir, but it was a futile effort.

"See?" Ruth said, her voice a playful purr as she watched Brad's body react to her touch.
She knew she had him right where she wanted him, vulnerable and at her mercy.
Her eyes gleamed with a mix of power and fascination as she watched the pink tip of his cock emerge from its foreskin.
She reached down and took it in her hand, her grip firm but not harsh.
"Look how much better you feel when you let go of your modesty.
It's like a weight has been lifted, isn't it?"
She stroked him slowly, her eyes never leaving his face, watching his every reaction.
"Does that feel good, Brad?"

Brad's eyes widened, and he gasped as he felt his sister's hand wrap around his cock.
He had never been touched like this before, not by anyone, especially not by a family member.
The feeling was foreign and overwhelming, a mix of pleasure and discomfort that he didn't know how to process.
He stared at the water cascading down his body, trying to focus on anything but the sensation of her hand moving up and down his shaft.
His thoughts swirled in a chaotic mix of fear, arousal, and anger.
He wanted to pull away, to tell her to stop, but something held him there, frozen.
He bit his lip, his breaths coming in short gasps as he felt himself hardening under her touch.
His eyes met hers in the mirror, and he could see the excitement in her gaze.
"Ruth, please," he managed to say, his voice shaking.
"This isn't right."

Ruth's smile grew wider as she watched Brad's confusion and arousal in the mirror.
She knew she had pushed him to the edge of his comfort zone, but she also knew that this was a crucial part of his treatment.
"You see, Brad," she said, her voice a low, seductive murmur, "it's all about facing your fears."
She tightened her grip slightly, watching the water run down her hand and over his now fully erect penis.
"You can't hide from your body forever.
It's a beautiful part of you."
She leaned in closer, her breasts pressing against his back.
"And it's okay to enjoy it, to let someone else enjoy it too."
Her other hand moved to his shoulder, her fingers digging in gently as she stroked him in a rhythmic motion.
"Does it feel good?" she whispered, her breath hot against his neck.

Brad's body was a maelstrom of sensations—the warm water, the gentle abrasion of the loofah, and the electric shock of his sister's hand on his cock.
His mind raced with a cacophony of thoughts and emotions, from disbelief to a strange, burgeoning arousal.
He had never been touched like this, and the feeling of his sister's soft skin against his, her breasts pushing into his back, sent a jolt of heat through his body.
He bit his lip harder, trying to suppress a moan as she stroked him.
His eyes darted to the mirror, watching the intimate scene unfold before him, feeling his face flush with a mix of shame and excitement.
He didn't know how to respond to her question, his voice trapped in his throat.
He could only nod, his body betraying his conflicted feelings.

Seeing Brad's nod in the mirror, a thrill of victory surged through Ruth.
She knew she had him right where she wanted him—under her control, his body responding to her touch.
She continued her ministrations, watching him in the mirror with a mix of curiosity and satisfaction.
"Good boy," she murmured, her voice dripping with sweetness that didn't quite mask the underlying dominance.
"You're doing so well."
Her eyes searched his, looking for the spark of understanding, the moment when he truly realized that she was in charge of his therapy and by extension, his life.

Ruth's smile grew as she watched Brad's body respond to her touch.
She leaned in closer, her breasts pressing more firmly into his back, her breath hot against his neck.
She could feel the power surging through her, the thrill of knowing she had him exactly where she wanted him vulnerable, exposed, and under her control.
Her strokes grew more deliberate, her movements a silent symphony of dominance.
She whispered sweet nothings into his ear, her voice a siren's song, urging him to give in to the pleasure she offered.
"You're doing so good, Brad," she crooned, her eyes never leaving his in the mirror.
"This is just the beginning of your journey.
Soon, you'll be just like me, free of all that pesky modesty."
She watched his reflection, the way his eyes searched hers for any sign of reprieve, any hint of mercy.
But she knew that she wasn't about to let up—not now, not ever.
This was too much fun, too satisfying.
Her hand moved faster, her grip tightening slightly as she felt him swell in her palm.
"You're going to love being naked all the time," she murmured, her voice a seductive promise.
"It's so... liberating."

Ruth's eyes gleamed with excitement as she watched Brad's body respond to her touch.
She stepped closer, her breasts pressing against his back as her hand worked its magic on his cock.
"You see, Brad?" she whispered into his ear, her breath warm and teasing.
"This is what happens when you let go of your inhibitions."
Her hand moved faster, her strokes more deliberate, watching him in the mirror with a mix of fascination and power.
"It's all about embracing who you truly are."
She felt his body tense and knew he was close to climax.
The thrill of it all was intoxicating his vulnerability, his arousal, his utter dependence on her.
"Just let it happen," she urged, her voice a velvet purr.
"You'll feel so much better afterwards."
She could feel his breath hitching, his heart racing under her fingertips, and she reveled in every second of it.
The steam in the room thickened, the only sound the slick slide of her hand over his skin.

In the confines of the steamy shower, Brad felt his resolve crumbling under the weight of his sister's manipulation.
His eyes remained locked on hers in the mirror, a silent battle of wills, as the pleasure she brought him grew too intense to ignore. The warm water cascading down his body seemed to amplify the sensation of her hand on his cock, his mind racing with the realization that she had indeed taken control.
His cheeks burned with a blend of arousal and embarrassment as he approached the point of no return, his breaths coming in ragged gasps.
The room felt smaller, the air thick with the scent of lavender and the tension that hung between them.
Despite his internal protests, his body was responding to her, and it was a feeling he had never experienced before a strange blend of fear, excitement, and a hint of something darker.

Brad's eyes never left the mirror, watching the scene unfold with a mix of dread and fascination.
His sister's touch had become a silent demand, and his body was obeying without consent.
His cock grew harder, straining against her hand, and he could feel the warmth of her breasts against his back as she whispered sweet, taunting words into his ear.
"Ruth, please," he gasped, his voice barely above a whisper.
"This isn't... it's not right."
But even as he said the words, he felt his body betray him, his hips moving slightly to meet her strokes.
He knew he should be repulsed, should be fighting back, but the strange thrill was too potent to resist.
He felt the tension in his body coil tighter, his legs shaking as the pressure grew.
His mind was a tornado of thoughts, swirling around the one question that seemed to echo through the room.
What would happen when he came?

Brad's body was a battleground of sensation, his mind reeling as the pressure grew.
He could feel his orgasm approaching, a tornado of pleasure and humiliation that he couldn't escape.
His breath hitched, his eyes wide with panic, and he whispered, "I'm... I'm gonna..."
But before he could finish, his body bucked, and he came in her hand, the warmth of his release mixing with the water as it rushed over his skin.
His eyes squeezed shut, and he couldn't hold back the moan that escaped his lips.
When he opened them again, he saw the triumph in her eyes, the smug smile that said she had won.
He felt a tear slip down his cheek, melding with the water and soap, and he realized with a sinking feeling that this was only the beginning of his new life.

"Good boy," Ruth purred, her voice thick with satisfaction as she watched Brad's climax in the mirror.
"You see? That wasn't so bad, was it?"
She turned off the shower, her hand still wrapped around his softening cock, and grabbed a towel, wrapping it around his waist before he could react.
"Now, let's get you dried off," she said, her tone shifting back to the playful coach.
"We wouldn't want you catching a cold, would we?"
She stepped out of the bathroom, leaving Brad to follow her, his body still trembling from the recent experience.

As they stepped out of the shower, the cold air hit Brad's skin, sending goosebumps down his spine.
The towel barely covered him, but he was too stunned to care.
He watched as the water droplets clung to Ruth's wet shirt, outlining the curves of her chest, the fabric clinging to her body like a second skin.
Her breasts, smaller but perkier than most of the girls he knew, were almost visible through the thin, transparent fabric.
The sight was jarring, a stark reminder of the power she held over him.

Ruth couldn't help but feel a sense of victory as she wrapped the towel around Brad's waist.
She had seen the fear in his eyes, heard the tremor in his voice, and felt the power of his climax in her hand.
It was a heady experience, one she had never expected to enjoy so much.
She turned to him, her eyes sparkling with excitement.
"Now, Brad," she said, her voice taking on a more authoritative tone, "you know the drill.
It's time for your post-shower inspection."
She gestured to the towel, and with a sigh, Brad allowed it to fall to the floor.
He stood before her, his body still trembling slightly from the recent ordeal.
"Good," she said, her eyes roaming over him with the detachment of a doctor examining a patient.
"You're really starting to get the hang of this."
She stepped closer, her hand reaching out to cup his testicles, giving them a gentle squeeze.
"Your body is changing," she murmured.
"It's going to be so much fun watching it grow and develop."

Brad felt his face flush an even deeper shade of red as his sister touched him so casually.
He knew he should protest, should push her away, but his body seemed to be in a state of shock, his mind racing with thoughts of what had just happened.
"Ruth..." he began, his voice weak.
"Please... don't do this."
But his words fell on deaf ears.
She was lost in her own world of power and control, her eyes gleaming with a twisted pleasure.
He felt her hand on him, her fingers probing and squeezing, and his cock began to stir again despite his protests.
He hated the way his body was responding, the way it seemed to crave the attention she gave him.
He swallowed hard, trying to find the strength to pull away, but his legs felt like jelly beneath him.

"Why not, Brad?"
Ruth's voice was sweet and innocent, a stark contrast to the dominance in her eyes.
"It's just part of your therapy.
You know how important it is for you to get over your modesty."
She released him and stepped back, her own heart racing from the power she wielded over him.
"Now, let's get you dried off and ready for bed."
She picked up another towel and began to pat him down, her movements deceptively gentle.
"We've got another big day tomorrow.
You're going to start participating in health classes with the other modest boys."

Brad's eyes darted to the floor, avoiding her gaze as she touched him.
He felt a strange mix of anger, embarrassment, and something else he didn't quite understand.
"What's going to happen in those classes?" he asked, his voice shaking.
The thought of being naked with other boys his age was mortifying, especially after what had just transpired between them.

"Oh, you'll see," Ruth said with a mysterious smile, her eyes sparkling with excitement.
"It's all about building camaraderie and helping each other overcome your modesty issues.
It's going to be such a bonding experience for all of you."
She finished drying him off, her movements lingering longer than necessary on certain areas.
"But for now, let's get you to bed.
You're going to need your rest."
She playfully swatted his butt with the towel, the gesture feeling more like a warning than an act of affection.

Brad couldn't help but feel a cold dread creep into his stomach at the mention of the health classes.
He had no idea what to expect, but knowing it involved more nudity and his sister's control only made it worse.
He took the towel from her and began to dry off the rest of his body, his eyes avoiding hers.
"Okay," he said meekly, trying to sound more composed than he felt.
"What time do I need to be up?"

"Don't worry about the time," Ruth said breezily, her eyes never leaving Brad's body as he covered himself.
"I'll make sure you're up and ready for your big day."
She stepped closer, her eyes lingering on his cock.
"And remember, Brad, it's all for your own good.
You're going to be a new person when this is all over."
She leaned in and gave him a peck on the cheek, her hand brushing against his chest as she did so.
"Now, get some rest."

The next morning dawned with the cruel inevitability of a recurring nightmare.
The sun's early light filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow across Brad's room.
He lay in bed, his mind racing with the memories of the previous night, his body still feeling the phantom touch of his sister's hand.
The digital clock on his nightstand read 6:45 AM, and he knew that in a few moments, the sounds of the house would come to life, signalling the start of another day under his sister's regime.
The smell of breakfast began to waft through the open door, and he could hear the distant murmur of the TV from the living room.
With a heavy sigh, Brad sat up, the cold air of the room making him shiver as he swung his legs over the side of the bed.
He glanced at his discarded clothes from the night before, the towel he had hastily wrapped around himself lying in a crumpled heap on the floor.
The stark reality of his situation hit him like a cold shower no longer could he hide from his new reality.

Ruth barged into Brad's room without knocking, a steaming cup of coffee in one hand and a clipboard in the other.
"Good morning, sleepyhead!" she chirped, her voice full of forced cheer.
"Time to get up for your big day!"
She set the coffee down on his nightstand, the aroma of hazelnut filling the air.
"You're going to love health class," she said, her eyes gleaming with something Brad couldn't quite place.
"You're going to make so many new friends."

Brad groaned, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and glancing over at the coffee.
He hadn't had a sip of the stuff before, but it smelled heavenly.
He reached for the cup, his hand shaking slightly as he took a tentative sip.
The warmth spread through his body, a comforting embrace that contrasted sharply with the cold reality of his situation.
He avoided looking at Ruth, focusing instead on the steam rising from the cup.
"What's going to happen in health class?" he asked, his voice still thick with sleep.

Ruth's smile was as bright as the morning sun as she watched Brad take a sip of his coffee.
She knew that today would be a significant step in his therapy his first group session with other 'modest' boys.
"Oh, Brad," she began, her voice a mix of amusement and condescension, "today, you're going to learn about your body in a way you never have before.
You'll be playing games, doing exercises, and sharing experiences with others who are just like you."
She tapped the clipboard against her palm.
"It's all about building confidence and embracing who you are."

Brad's eyes widened at the thought of group therapy.
He had always been a private person, and the idea of sharing his most intimate moments with strangers was terrifying.
"What kind of games?" he asked, his voice a hoarse whisper, hoping to gauge what he was walking into.
He took another sip of coffee, the warmth spreading through his body but doing little to ease the knot in his stomach.
He glanced at the towel still wrapped around his waist, feeling the weight of his sister's gaze on him.
Despite his fear, he knew he had to play along, at least for now.

"Oh, Brad," Ruth giggled, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
"You'll just have to wait and see.
But trust me, you're going to love it."
She stepped closer, placing a hand on his shoulder and squeezing gently.
"You're making so much progress.
I'm so proud of you."
The warmth of her touch felt alien, confusing, and he couldn't help but flinch slightly.
"Now, go ahead and get dressed for school," she said, her voice dropping an octave.
"Remember, no underwear today.
We're going to keep up with the nudity to help you adjust."

Brad's heart sank at her words.
The thought of going to school without underwear was mortifying.
But he knew better than to argue with her.
He took a deep breath, setting the coffee aside, and slowly stood, his legs wobbly.
He glanced at his wardrobe, his eyes lingering on the clothes he'd chosen the night before his favourite pair of jeans and a baggy t-shirt that would hopefully hide his shame.
He dressed quickly, the fabric brushing against his bare skin a stark reminder of his new reality.
He couldn't help but feel exposed and vulnerable, the fabric of his clothes feeling almost suffocating compared to the usual comfort of his underwear.
"Okay," he murmured, his voice barely audible.
"I'll get ready."

"Great," Ruth said, her voice brimming with enthusiasm.
"Remember, Brad, today's all about facing your fears and making friends."
She handed him the clipboard.
"And don't forget, you're going to write down all the things you're thankful for about your body every day."
She watched as he took it with a trembling hand, her smile never faltering.
"It's part of your homework for tonight."

The school day began with Brad's heart pounding in his chest as he made his way to health class.
The hallways were a blur of faces and whispers, the other students' stares burning into his soul as he walked with his sister at his side.
He felt the clipboard's weight in his hand, a constant reminder of the humiliation he was about to face.
As the bell rang, signalling the start of first period, he took a deep breath and stepped into the classroom, praying it would be quick.

As Brad walked into the health classroom, his eyes scanned the room nervously.
The sight of the younger boys, their ages ranging from 10 to 14, sitting bare and exposed, sent a shiver down his spine.
Their eyes were filled with a mix of fear and confusion, their bodies a testament to the cruel reality of their shared fate.
Each boy had a coach a sister or mother standing over them, clipboards in hand, ready to document their progress.
The room was a tableau of vulnerability and power dynamics, starkly illustrating the program's pervasive influence.

Ruth followed Brad into the classroom, her eyes scanning the other coaches with a smug confidence.
She had already heard whispers about the 'new case' and watched as the other mothers and sisters took in her brother's naked form. She felt a strange sense of pride in his discomfort, as if his humiliation was a trophy she had earned.
"Alright, Brad," she said, her voice firm, "You know the drill.
Sit down and introduce yourself to the other boys.
I'll be right here, taking notes on your interactions."
She took a seat at the back of the room, her gaze never leaving him as he found a spot on the floor among his peers.
The other coaches watched with interest, their eyes flicking between her and Brad, the power dynamics clear.

Brad felt his heart racing as he sat down, the cold floor against his bare buttocks a stark reminder of his new reality.
He glanced around the room, seeing the other boys' eyes on him, some filled with pity, others with curiosity.
He took a deep breath and introduced himself, his voice shaking slightly.
The room was filled with awkward silence, and then, one by one, the other boys mumbled their names and ages, each one sounding more nervous than the last.
He noticed that each had a coach, all female, all watching with varying degrees of enthusiasm.
His mind raced, wondering what kind of twisted games they were about to play.
He felt a hand on his shoulder, and he flinched, looking up to see Mrs. Anderson, their health teacher, smiling down at him. "Welcome, Brad," she said, her voice too cheerful for the situation.
"We're going to start with some simple exercises to help you all get comfortable with your bodies."
The room filled with a collective sigh of dread.

"Excellent," Ruth said, her eyes never leaving Brad as he settled into his new surroundings.
"Now, Brad, remember, you're here to learn and grow."
She leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a whisper that only he could hear.
"And I'll be watching to make sure you do just that."
The smugness in her tone was palpable, sending a fresh wave of embarrassment crashing over him.
He nodded, trying to ignore the way his cock twitched in response to the proximity of her warm breath.

Brad's cheeks burned as he tried to focus on the coaches' instructions, his thoughts racing.
He glanced around the room, his eyes meeting those of Sanford, who gave him a look of solidarity and understanding.
It was a small comfort in a sea of humiliation.
He took a deep breath, trying to compose himself as Mrs. Anderson began the class with a lecture on the importance of modesty and its role in their development.

Ruth watched Brad closely, her eyes gleaming with excitement as she observed his every move.
She noticed the way he was trying to cover himself more, and the way his cheeks flushed when he caught her gaze.
It was clear he was struggling with his new reality, but she knew it was for his own good.
The other coaches were engaged in whispered conversations, sharing their experiences and tips.
One mother, Mrs. Jenkins, leaned over and whispered to Ruth, "It's tough in the beginning, but you'll get used to it.
And before you know it, he'll be just like the rest of them."
The thought sent a thrill through her—Brad, the confident, the proud, brought low by the very thing he had once mocked.

The classroom was a cacophony of whispers and shuffling feet as the coaches began to separate the boys into groups.
Brad found himself in a cluster of boys all younger than him, all at Tanner Stage Three, their bodies in the early stages of puberty.
Mrs. Anderson clapped her hands, bringing the room to order.
"Alright, boys, let's start with some simple stretching exercises.
Remember, the goal is to be comfortable in your own skin."
The coaches began to circulate, ensuring the boys followed along.

Ruth's eyes sparkled with excitement as she watched Brad's group begin to stretch.
"Remember, Brad," she called out, her voice carrying across the room, "No hiding!
Let it all hang out." She winked at Mrs. Jenkins, who chuckled knowingly.
The other boys in the class shifted uncomfortably, their eyes darting between Brad and their own coaches.

Mrs. Anderson's instructions grew more explicit as the exercises progressed, the room a symphony of awkward movements and muffled gasps.
She encouraged the boys to compare their progress with each other, ensuring that the power dynamics remained firmly in the coaches' hands.
Brad felt his face redden further as he glanced over at Heather and Sanford's group.
Despite their similar ages, they had been placed in a more 'advanced' group, their bodies already showing signs of maturity that he hadn't yet reached.

The class continued with the exercises, designed to showcase each boy's physical development.
Brad couldn't help but feel self-conscious as the coaches guided the younger, Tanner Stage One boys through the same stretches.
Their bodies were so much like children's smooth, unblemished, and without the burgeoning signs of manhood that plagued Brad and his peers.
Yet, even they weren't spared from the program's intrusive gaze, their innocence a stark contrast to the more developed Tanner Stage Two boys who had entered puberty's embrace, their genitals already showing the promise of adulthood with larger testicles that swung freely as they moved.
The coaches, mostly mothers and sisters, oversaw the activities with a mix of encouragement and scrutiny, ensuring that every inch of their wards' bodies was displayed and compared, reinforcing the idea that modesty was something to be discarded, no matter how young or inexperienced.

As the exercises grew more complex, Brad found himself in a group with younger boys, all sharing the same stage of development Tanner Stage Three.
The room was a sea of slightly larger cocks, each one a testament to the cruel joke puberty had played on them.
They were all at the awkward phase where their bodies had begun to mature but hadn't quite reached the point of manhood.
The coaches hovered around, their eyes assessing the differences in length and girth, the beginnings of body hair, and the size of their testicles.
Brad felt a strange camaraderie with these boys, all of them equally uncomfortable and exposed.
Most of them younger than Brad.

Meanwhile, in the corner, Tanner Stage Four boys, who had reached the next phase of their development, performed more advanced exercises.
Their cocks, impressive in both size and shape, were a stark contrast to Brad's group, showcasing the fruits of their 'therapy'. Their bodies had begun to take on the more masculine forms of Tanner Stage Five, their muscles more defined, their voices deeper. They moved with a newfound confidence that Brad couldn't help but envy.
It was a constant reminder of what lay ahead for him, both in his therapy and his life outside the classroom.
Sanford was tanner stage five, man sized. (actually large by adult standards)

As Brad's group began their exercises, Ruth couldn't help but feel a twisted sense of pride.
Her brother's body was on display for all to see, and she had the power to guide and scrutinize his every move.
She took notes on his performance, scribbling down comments about his posture, his willingness to participate, and the occasional glance at his genitals.
She noticed that he was avoiding eye contact with her, focusing instead on the floor or his own nakedness.
She made a mental note to discuss this with him later eye contact was a sign of confidence and openness, something she knew he needed to work on.
She watched as the other coaches interacted with their charges, some with gentle encouragement, others with stern reprimands.
It was a dance of dominance and submission that Brad would soon learn to navigate.
She leaned back in her chair, sipping her coffee and watching the scene unfold before her, her mind racing with ideas for his next 'lesson'.

Brad's cheeks burned with humiliation as he followed the exercises.
Each movement was calculated to highlight their differences, to make them feel less than human.
The room was stifling, the scent of sweat and fear mixing with the antiseptic smell of the floor cleaner.
He glanced at the Tanner Stage Four boys with envy, their bodies already showing the signs of manhood that he craved.
Sanford's group was in the corner, their bodies a stark contrast to the vulnerability of Brad's group.
He watched as they interacted with ease, their voices deep and assured, their bodies moving without shame.
His own cock felt like a betrayal, a constant reminder of his lack of control.
He wished he could shrink away, become invisible, but the eyes of his classmates and the coaches held him in their sway.
He swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way his cock twitched as he stretched, drawing unwanted attention.
He focused on the floor, his eyes tracing the patterns in the tiles as he moved through the motions, his mind racing with thoughts of rebellion and escape.

In the aftermath of the group exercises, Mrs. Anderson announced the formation of teams for the next phase of their therapy.
The air was charged with anticipation as the boys were sorted into their respective groups based on their Tanner stages.
Teams were created, shy quiet Heather was team captain one, her stage 5 guy obviously her brother Sanford, stage 4 was Marcus, Brad was stage 3, Murdoch was stage 2 and Terry was stage 1. each group was then sent to a different class to be used as teaching aids.
Each team was then instructed to proceed to a different classroom, where they would serve as living examples in sex education lessons for the older students both male and female.
The coaches exchanged knowing looks, the excitement of the new challenge reflected in their eyes.

Ruth watched with a smug smile as Brad was ushered into a classroom filled with giggling older girls.
He looked back at her, his eyes pleading, but she merely nodded and whispered, "You're doing great," her voice dripping with sarcasm. She knew this was only the beginning of his journey to 'freedom', and she relished every moment of his discomfort.
As the door closed behind him, she couldn't help but feel a sense of triumph she had won this round.
But she also knew that Brad was stronger than he looked, and she'd need to stay vigilant.
The power dynamics in their relationship had shifted so dramatically, and she wasn't about to let him slip out of her control.
She took a seat at the back of the room, her eyes never leaving him as she scribbled notes on her clipboard, her thoughts racing with the thrill of his ongoing humiliation.

Brad's group, now under the sweet and seemingly innocent Heather's guidance, was led into a bustling classroom.
The atmosphere was a mix of eager anticipation from the older students and the nervous energy of the younger boys.
Heather, despite her shy demeanor, took her role as team captain seriously, her eyes darting to Cathy for reassurance.
The other coaches, Mrs. Luxor and Mrs. Founds, both seasoned in the art of modesty therapy, flanked the group with a knowing smile, ready to assist in any way necessary.
The room was ablaze with whispers and curious stares as Brad and his peers lined up in front of the class.
The older students leaned in, their eyes wide with a mix of fascination and amusement, as they took in the nakedness of the younger boys.
The stark contrast between Heather's innocence and her newfound authority over the 'modest' males was not lost on Brad, who felt a strange cocktail of admiration and dread swirling in his stomach.

In the classroom, Mrs. Founds began her lecture with a dramatic flourish, gesturing to Brad and his peers.
"As you can see, these boys are just beginning to understand their bodies and the importance of modesty.
Now, let's compare them to someone who's a bit more...advanced."
She called Sanford forward, his stage five form confidently striding to the front of the room.
The other coaches nodded in agreement.
"Sanford here is a prime example of what happens when we allow our boys to mature without unnecessary modesty.
Notice the difference in size and development," she said, her voice carrying over the murmurs of the class.
She pointed to her 10-year-old son's genitals and then to Sanford's fully exposed cock and balls.
"While Brad's body is still developing, Sanford's shows the true potential of a young man who has embraced his natural state.
It's a stark reminder of the benefits of our program."
The class leaned in, some with fascination, others with embarrassment.
Sanford's cock, already impressive, grew slightly as the attention focused on him, a silent testament to his comfort and the program's effectiveness.

Mrs. Luxor stepped forward, her eyes gleaming with excitement as she beckoned her two sons to join her.
Marcus, the elder, was a picture of confidence, his stage four genitals already showing the beginnings of a man's form.
"Marcus here," she said, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, "has made excellent progress in his therapy."
She then turned to Murdoch, her stage two son.
"And Murdoch, as you can see, is still quite modest."
The room grew quiet as the stark differences between the two brothers were laid bare.
Marcus's cock was slightly longer than Brad's, with a smattering of dark hair, while Murdoch's was much smaller, a mere hint of what was to come.
"The program is tailored to each individual's needs," she said, her voice soothing despite the blatant comparison.
"Marcus was always eager to share, while Murdoch needed a more gentle approach."
The other students nodded, understanding the subtle message there was a hierarchy even within the modesty program, and Brad was at the bottom.

Heather, the team captain with a surprisingly commanding presence, took a tentative step forward.
Her eyes met Brad's for a brief moment, and he could see the conflict within her sympathy for his plight and a desire to maintain her role.
She cleared her throat, her cheeks a delicate shade of pink.
"As you can see," she began, her voice shaking slightly, "Brad, Murdoch, and Marcus are all at different stages of their development."
She gestured to Murdoch, whose smaller cock and less developed body reflected his younger age.
"Murdoch is stage two," she said softly, "and still has a lot to learn."
Then she turned to Marcus, whose cock was slightly longer than Brad's and thicker.
"Marcus is also stage four, but as you can see," she paused, her eyes flickering to Mrs. Luxor's hand on Marcus's shoulder, "he's more...comfortable with his body."
She tried to avoid Brad's gaze, but her eyes kept darting back to him, as if seeking his forgiveness.
"And Brad," she finished, her voice barely above a whisper, "is perfect, also stage three."
The classroom was silent, the only sound the rustling of clothes as the students took in the naked forms of their peers.
Heather reached out and pushed each foreskin back revealing the heads of each boys cock.
Brad felt a strange mix of embarrassment and anger he was being compared to boys who were still children, yet the program treated them all as equals in their lack of modesty.

As the lecture progressed, it was clear that the coaches had orchestrated a demonstration of the program's effectiveness.
Mrs. Anderson, the health teacher, stepped forward and instructed the stage three boy to stand up at the front of the class.
Her eyes lingered on Brad, a smug smile playing at the corners of her mouth.
"Now, class," she announced, "today's lesson is on the natural response of the male body to stimulation."
Without warning, she reached out and gently began to stroke Brad's foreskin, her touch feather-light yet deliberate.
His body, trained to respond to any form of attention, began to betray him, his cock swelling to a half-erection.
The room was a symphony of shocked gasps and stifled giggles as Mrs. Anderson continued her demonstration, her strokes becoming firmer until Brad was fully erect.
The power in the room had shifted Brad was no longer a person, but an object to be studied and manipulated.
His heart raced as his cheeks burned, and he wished the floor would swallow him whole.
Sanford watched with a mix of pity and curiosity, while the stage two and one boys looked on in wonder at the transformation before them.
The coaches nodded in approval, scribbling notes as they observed Brad's body's involuntary response.
It was a stark reminder of his lack of control, his modesty stripped away before his peers.

With Mrs. Anderson's nod, Ruth stepped forward, her eyes glinting with excitement.
She approached Sanford first, her hand reaching out to lightly trace the contours of his cock.
His body responded predictably, and soon he was fully erect under her touch.
The class watched in rapt attention as she moved down the line, her hands skimming over each boy's genitals in turn.
Brad felt his face grow hotter with each passing moment, his own erection a stark contrast to his younger, less developed stage two counterparts.
She took her time with each boy, her touch growing more confident, more possessive.
By the time she reached Brad, he was already painfully hard, his cock jutting out from his body.
She paused, her eyes meeting his for a brief second before she began her ministrations.
Her touch was firm, almost too firm, as if she was trying to prove something.
Each stroke sent a bolt of pleasure-pain through him, a reminder that his body was not his own.
He couldn't help but watch the other boys' reactions as they were touched by the coaches, their faces a mix of shock, confusion, and arousal.
It was a dance of power and submission, one that Brad had become all too familiar with in the short time he had been a part of this twisted program.

As Mrs. Founds stepped into the fray, her voluptuous figure was impossible to ignore.
Her blouse was unbuttoned, revealing the generous swell of her breasts and the dark areolae that surrounded her pert nipples.
She moved with the grace of a cat, her eyes gleaming as she surveyed the boys before her.
She leaned in close to Brad, her breasts pressing against him, and whispered, "You're doing so well, Brad."
Her warm breath tickled his ear, sending a shiver down his spine.
She then proceeded to demonstrate the various stages of male arousal, her own hand moving up and down his erect cock with a surprising gentleness.
Mrs. Luxor, not to be outdone, had chosen an outfit that was equally revealing.
Her shirt was almost transparent, the outline of her small, pointed breasts clear against the fabric.
Her nipples stood out, thick and dark, like beacons of authority.
She watched Brad with a critical eye, taking notes as her own son, Marcus, took his place in the line.
The sight of their mother's barely concealed breasts had both Murdoch and Marcus's cocks standing at attention, a silent testament to their burgeoning manhood.

With a cruel smile, Ruth stepped back to allow Mrs. Founds to continue the demonstration.
She felt a strange thrill watching her brother's humiliation unfold before her eyes.
It was as if she had become the puppeteer, pulling the strings of his modesty, watching him dance to her tune.
She made a mental note to discuss this with Cathy later perhaps they could incorporate more public demonstrations into his therapy. The room was a maelstrom of emotions, fear, arousal, and power and she was the eye of the storm.
She watched as Mrs. Founds' hand moved expertly over Brad's cock, her eyes never leaving her brother's face.

Cathy, the coach for Marcus, had been watching Brad's demonstration with a mix of curiosity and jealously.
She had always envied her brothers' closeness with their mother, Mrs. Luxor, and the power dynamics that came with it.
Seeing Brad undergo the same treatment she had administered to her younger siblings made her feel a twisted sense of kinship with him.
She couldn't help but feel a pang of desire as she watched his cock respond to Mrs. Founds' touch, and she wondered if she'd be allowed to join in the demonstrations, to feel the power of controlling a boy's body like that.
She glanced at Mrs. Luxor, whose eyes were fixed on Brad, and felt a surge of ambition.
Perhaps, she thought, she could do the same thing to her older Brother Marcus, her hand wielding that same power.

Ruth's eyes narrowed slightly as she watched Mrs. Founds work Brad's cock.
The sight of his body reacting to another woman's touch made her feel a peculiar mix of anger and arousal.
She took a step back, her heart racing as she tried to regain her composure.
She had to admit, Mrs. Founds had a certain finesse, a way of making Brad's body respond that was almost mesmerizing.
But she wasn't going to let anyone else claim victory in this battle of wills.
She took a deep breath and stepped forward, her hand reaching out to claim Brad's cock from Mrs. Founds.
"Let me show you how it's done," she said, her voice low and dangerous.
She began to stroke him more aggressively, her eyes locked on his, challenging him to look away.
She knew that the power lay in her control, in her ability to make him react, and she reveled in it.
His eyes grew wide with shock and something else desire?
The room fell silent, the only sound the slick movement of her hand on his skin.
The air was thick with tension as the class watched their every move, and she knew that Brad felt it too the thrill of being exposed and vulnerable.

Cathy couldn't resist the urge any longer.
She stepped up to Marcus, her hand trembling with excitement and anticipation.
"Your turn," she murmured, taking his cock in her hand.
It was larger than Brad's, but it responded just as eagerly to her touch.
She stroked him firmly, watching his eyes widen with surprise.
Meanwhile, Mrs. Luxor had turned her attention to Sanford, her hand sliding down his body to grasp his cock.
Sanford's eyes darted around the room, searching for an escape, but found none.
He was trapped, just like Brad, under the watchful gaze of the coaches and their peers.
Mrs. Luxor's grip was firm, almost possessive, and she began to stroke him with a rhythm that spoke of years of experience.
The class watched, some with envy, others with horror, as the two oldest boys were brought to the brink of climax by the very women who were supposed to protect their modesty.

"Remember, Brad," Ruth whispered, her eyes gleaming with victory, "this is all for your own good.
You'll thank me one day."
She stroked him faster, her grip tightening around his shaft.
The room was a blur of faces, all watching, all judging, but she focused solely on her brother's reactions.
His breathing grew ragged, his hips began to thrust forward slightly in response to her touch.
She knew she had him, his body was her plaything now, and she reveled in the power she held.
"Look at you," she taunted, her voice barely above a murmur.
"So desperate for release."

Brad's cheeks burned with a mix of shame and anger as he felt the familiar build-up of pleasure.
He didn't want to give in to this not here, not like this.
He tried to think of anything else, his mind racing, but it was no use.
The feeling was too intense, too overwhelming.
He glared at his sister, willing her to stop, but she only smirked back at him.
"This isn't right," he managed to say through clenched teeth.

Mrs. Founds, noticing the tension between Brad and his sister, decided it was time to move on.
She turned her attention to Murdoch, the young stage two boy, whose cock was now fully erect and standing proudly despite his obvious discomfort.
She stepped closer to him, her voluptuous figure a stark contrast to his slight frame.
"Murdoch," she cooed, her voice a seductive purr, "I think it's time for your turn."
She reached out and took his little cock in her hand, her touch surprisingly gentle.
The room watched as she began to stroke him, her movements deliberate and practiced.
Murdoch's eyes widened with shock and a hint of pleasure as his cock grew even larger in her grasp.
The power dynamics in the room shifted again Mrs. Founds had claimed another modest soul to 'heal' with her touch.
Brad felt a strange pang of jealousy, even as his own body betrayed him under his sister's harsher ministrations.

Heather, the team captain, couldn't help but feel a sense of unease as she watched Brad's and Murdoch's public manipulation.
She knew she had to maintain her role, but the sight of their vulnerability stirred something within her.
Her eyes drifted over to Terry, a stage one boy whose circumcised cock was already drawing curious glances from the others.
Despite her duty to maintain order, Heather's thoughts strayed to Brad's uncut cock, the one she had been forbidden from touching in this setting.
Her hand itched to feel the difference between his uncut length and the boys she was allowed to handle.
She hoped that her own desires didn't show on her face as she returned to her role, her touch on the other boys' genitals a poor imitation of the longing she felt for her teammate.

"You're both doing so well," Ruth said with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes as she moved away from Brad and towards Murdoch, her hand still stroking him in a way that was definitely beyond the boundaries of a 'therapeutic' touch.
She knew Brad's words had struck a nerve, and she couldn't resist the urge to push him further.
"Murdoch, tell the class what you think of Brad's progress."
The room was silent as Murdoch, still in the throes of his own humiliation, stuttered out a response.
"I-it's...it's okay, I guess," he managed, his cheeks a deep red.
The coaches exchanged knowing looks the competition between the modest boys was a tool they used to drive the program forward.

The class continued to watch the demonstration with varying degrees of fascination and horror.
Heather's gaze remained on Brad, her thoughts a tumult of emotions.
She had always harbored a secret crush on him, and now here she was, her hands on his body as part of his 'therapy'.
The knowledge that her best friend, Ruth was orchestrating this twisted scenario only made it more thrilling.
She couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy Ruth had always been the one to get what she wanted, and Brad was no exception.
As she took her turn stroking Brad's cock, her mind raced with the possibilities.
If she played her cards right, maybe she could claim him for herself, or at least enjoy the power that came with being a coach in the program.
Her strokes grew bolder, her eyes never leaving his face as she watched for any sign of reciprocation.

"Thank you, Murdoch," Ruth said, her voice a sweet blend of patronizing and praise.
She turned to the class with a satisfied smile.
"Now, let's see how Brad does with some more...challenging activities."
She winked at Mrs. Anderson, who nodded in understanding.
The health teacher stepped forward, holding a jar filled with a clear gel.
"This," she announced, "is a special cream that helps with sensitivity training."
She dipped her fingers into the jar and smeared the gel onto Brad's cock.
The coolness was a stark contrast to the heat of his arousal, and he shivered involuntarily.

As if on cue, Heather moved with surprising speed, her eyes flashing with excitement as she stepped up to Brad.
Her small hand wrapped around his erection, the gel cool and slippery as she began to mimic the strokes she had seen Mrs. Anderson perform.
The other coaches followed suit, each claiming a modest boy to guide through this new phase of their treatment.
The room was filled with the sound of squelching gel and hushed whispers as the coaches worked in unison, their hands moving in a synchronized dance of power and control.
The boys looked at each other, a silent camaraderie forming amidst their shared embarrassment.
Sanford's eyes met Brad's, and they shared a knowing glance they were all in this together.

Mrs. Anderson's voice cut through the air, her words a sharp reminder of their purpose.
"Remember, girls, we're here to help them overcome their modesty.
The more they resist, the more they need our guidance."
Her eyes scanned the room, ensuring that each coach was taking her words to heart.
Brad felt a tremor of fear his sister's influence over him was just the tip of the iceberg.
These girls had been given the power to control every aspect of his life, and they were reveling in it.

"You see, Brad?" Ruth's voice was a seductive purr as she watched him squirm under the collective attention of the class.
"You're just like all the others.
You need this as much as they do."
She stepped back, allowing Heather to take over.

Brad's eyes darted around the room, feeling the weight of each gaze on him, the gel-slicked grip of his sister's friend on his cock. He felt exposed, violated, but a strange part of him couldn't ignore the way his body was reacting.
The room was a cacophony of whispers and soft moans, a symphony of embarrassment and arousal.
He couldn't help but feel a twinge of something...was it desire?
His mind rebelled at the thought, but his body was a traitor, responding eagerly to Heather's touch.
He bit his lip, trying to keep his expression neutral, his thoughts racing.
Why did he feel this way?
Why was his body betraying him?
He took a deep breath, trying to focus on anything but the sensations, but it was like trying to ignore a screaming siren in a silent room.

Heather's touch grew more tender, her eyes searching Brad's for any sign of...what?
Understanding?
Acceptance?
Something in the depths of her gaze spoke of a shared secret, a silent confession of feelings that had been hidden beneath the facade of their friendship.
Brad looked into her eyes and saw the conflict there the desire to be the coach she was supposed to be, and the girl who had always cared for him.
For a moment, he allowed himself to feel the comfort in her touch, the warmth of her palm sliding up and down his length.
It was a strange dance of power and emotion that played out between them, a silent conversation that spoke louder than any words.

Terry, the stage one boy with the circumcised cock that had been the subject of curiosity, stood slightly apart from the others.
His eyes were squeezed shut, his body rigid as Mrs. Founds continued her gentle strokes.
The tension in the room was palpable as everyone waited for the inevitable.
Suddenly, his legs gave out, and he stumbled backward, his knees buckling.
He grabbed onto the edge of the desk for support, his body jerking in silent spasms.
It was clear from the expression on his face that he had just experienced a dry orgasm, the kind that left him trembling and exposed without the release of ejaculation.
His face was a mask of shock and confusion, the reality of his situation crashing down around him.
The coaches exchanged knowing looks this was a common reaction among the modest boys.

Cathy reached out tentatively at first, her hand hovering over his thick, uncut cock.
Marcus looked at her with a mix of horror and fascination, his body responding to the proximity of his sister's touch.
With a smirk, Cathy wrapped her hand around his shaft, her thumb playing with the foreskin.
She began to stroke him firmly, her movements deliberate and calculated.
The foreskin slid back and forth over the swollen head, revealing the thick, sensitive ridge beneath.
Marcus's eyes rolled back in his head, his mouth forming a silent 'Oh' as he tried to process the sensations.
Cathy watched him closely, her own desire growing with every twitch and gasp.
The power was intoxicating, and she knew she had to have more of it.
She whispered in his ear, "You're just like Brad, aren't you?
Both of you need to learn your place."

Meanwhile, the room's attention remained focused on Brad as Heather continued her ministrations.
But in the corner of the room, unnoticed by the others, Ruth had moved to Murdoch.
Her eyes glinted with malicious delight as she took his small, dark cock in her hand.
Murdoch was trembling, his eyes squeezed shut as he tried to ignore the touch of his friend's coach.
The contrast between Brad's and Murdoch's bodies was stark Brad's longer uncut cock and Murdoch's short, uncircumcised member.
But in this twisted world, size didn't matter.
What mattered was the power to control and manipulate.

Ruth, feeling the thrill of power from her earlier encounter with Brad, turned her focus to Marcus.
Her hand moved faster and faster, her grip tightening around his cock.
Marcus's body was a map of tension, his muscles straining as he fought against the overwhelming sensations.
The room grew quieter as everyone felt the tension building, the anticipation of his climax a living entity in the air.
And then, with a gasp that seemed to echo through the room, Marcus's body convulsed.
His cock erupted in a spray of hot, sticky cum that painted Ruth's hand and the floor beneath him.
The power rushed through her, a heady high that left her feeling invincible.
She looked up at Brad, her eyes gleaming with victory.
She had claimed his friend's body just as she had claimed his.

Ruth watched Marcus with a mix of envy and admiration.
She hadn't realized how much she craved that power, how much she needed to see Brad's body respond to her touch.
Determined not to be outdone, she turned her attention to Murdoch.
Her hand, now slick with gel, moved over his cock with a newfound urgency.
His eyes snapped open, meeting hers with a look of shock and betrayal.
But she didn't stop.
Instead, she increased her pace, her movements precise and calculated.
She watched as his body began to tighten, his breath hitching in his throat.
And then, with a whimper that was almost inaudible, a thin stream of pre-cum leaked from the tip of Murdoch's cock, sliding down the shaft like a tear.
She had won this round.
His orgasm not completely dry but no real sperm to speak of.

Heather's eyes searched Brad's face, looking for any sign of consent or even a glimmer of the friendship they had once shared.
Her chubby frame was a stark contrast to the slender, toned figures of the other coaches, but it was her softness, her genuine care for him that made Brad's body react.
Her hand, now coated in the same gel that had been used on his cock, slid down to cup his balls.
She gently massaged them, her thumb tracing the sensitive skin beneath.
It was a gentle touch, one that spoke of compassion rather than the cold, clinical strokes of the other coaches.
"I just want to make you happy," she whispered, her breath hot against his ear.
"Please, cum for me?" It was a plea, a silent admission of her own desires wrapped up in the guise of 'therapy'.
Brad felt his body respond, his cock swelling in her grip.
It was as if her words had unlocked something within him, something primal and unstoppable.

His mind was a whirlwind of emotions—fear, anger, embarrassment, and an inexplicable thrill.
But Heather's gentle touch, her quiet words of reassurance, brought him back to reality.
He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, willing his body to embrace the pleasure.
"Please," he murmured, his voice barely a whisper.
"finish it."

"Oh, I will," Heather breathed, her eyes lighting up with excitement.
She increased her pace, her hand moving in a smooth, practised motion.
Brad's body responded, his hips jerking forward as he chased the elusive orgasm.
He could feel his sister's eyes on him, watching with a mix of triumph and something else...desire?
It only served to fuel his arousal further.

Brad felt his body tense up, his cock swelling in Heather's grasp.
He couldn't believe that he was going to cum in front of all these people, but the sensations were too much to ignore.
He bit his lip, his eyes squeezed shut as he tried to block out everything but the feeling of her hand on him.
And then, with a strangled cry, it happened his body spasmed, and he came.
It was a big orgasm, leaving him trembling and unsure.
He felt the gel on his cock, the slickness of it, and knew that his body had been manipulated into this response.
He opened his eyes to find Heather's gaze on him, her hand still wrapped around him, her expression a mix of pity and something that looked suspiciously like longing.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Luxor had been working on Sanford's substantial erection with a focused intensity that was almost hypnotizing.
She had two hands wrapped around his thick, uncut shaft, her knuckles brushing against the soft, velvety skin of his inner thighs. The sight of his massive cock, the plum-sized head disappearing and reappearing with each stroke, had the other girls in the room leaning in with curiosity.

As Brad's orgasm subsided, the room remained silent for a moment, the only sound the soft squelch of gel as Heather slowly removed her hand from his now-softening cock.
The tension broke as the coaches moved on to their next tasks, the demonstration of power a stark reminder of the boys' new reality. Sanford's turn was next, and Mrs. Luxor was eager to show her own skills.

Mrs. Luxor, a seasoned coach with a flair for the dramatic, approached Sanford with a gleaming smile, her eyes never leaving his swollen member.
She knelt before him, her hands gracefully reaching up to take hold of his thick cock.
Her long, red nails contrasted with the pale, velvety skin, and Brad couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy as he watched the intimate scene unfold.
Sanford's eyes were wide with a mix of fear and arousal as Mrs. Luxor began her slow, deliberate strokes.

The room buzzed with anticipation as Mrs. Luxor's expert hands glided over Sanford's thick, uncut cock.
His body was a sculpture of tension, each stroke a masterful play of power and seduction.
Brad felt his own cock stir at the sight, despite his recent climax.
He was torn between anger at his body's traitorous response and a strange fascination with the scene before him.
Sanford's breaths grew ragged, his eyes locking onto Mrs. Luxor's as she whispered sweet nothings about his 'progress'.
It was clear that she took great pleasure in her work, her eyes gleaming with a sadistic satisfaction that sent a shiver down Brad's spine.

Mrs. Luxor leaned closer, her mouth watering as she whispered sweet nothings into Sanford's ear.
Her hand worked in a steady rhythm, each stroke bringing him closer to the edge.
The room was a symphony of soft gasps and furtive glances, the tension palpable.
Sanford's hips began to rock in time with her movements, his body betraying his desperation for release.
And then, with a strangled cry, he came.
The first shot of cum arched gracefully through the air, landing on Mrs. Luxor's cheek.
She didn't flinch, instead tilting her head back and opening her mouth to catch the next few ropes, her eyes never leaving his.
The class watched in rapt attention as she demonstrated the ultimate act of dominance over her modest charge.

The room erupted in a round of applause, the sound jolting Brad back to reality.
He felt a mix of disgust and arousal, his mind racing to process what he had just witnessed—and been a part of.
As the class began to disperse, Brad couldn't help but feel a strange kinship with Sanford.
They shared this humiliating experience, this loss of control over their own bodies.
He looked over at his sister, expecting to see triumph in her eyes.
Instead, he found a look of contemplation, as if she were plotting her next move.