Chapter 7: Massage

Sylvia’s journey unfolds further from the preceding chapter.

In the last chapter, during the two-hour police-sanctioned public punishment, Sylvia endured the relentless onslaught of rubber rods on her body. The painful stimulations to her most private areas, particularly her pubic mounds and anus, led to the shameful eruption of multiple orgasms—nine, to be exact.

With the ordeal finally concluded, Sylvia embarked on her walk back home, the ‘walk of shame’. Naked, holding signs above her head, the bruises from the rubber rods marked her skin, a visible testimony to the physical toll she had endured. Each step carried the weight of humiliation, as the echoes of laughter and jeers from the villagers lingered in the air. The sign, a cruel emblem of her public disgrace, stood as a silent witness to the torment she had faced.

Upon reaching her cabin, the sign signifying her crime of ‘sodomy’ was nailed to its front door. It was to remain there for a month. However, in that moment, all Sylvia yearned for was to shut the door behind her, to find solace in solitude. Weary and defeated, she slumped into her bed, finally alone with the weight of unbearable shame and pain.

Sylvia succumbed to a nearly 24-hour sleep, seeking refuge from the haunting memories of the horrific ordeal—shame, humiliation, and physical pain that had left an indelible mark on her body and mind. In the realm of dreams, the echoes of her suffering persisted, interwoven with a bizarre twist. Amidst the nightmares, an unsettling yet strangely arousing experience unfolded—squirting orgasms, involuntary climaxes that perplexed her waking mind.

The peculiar nature of Sylvia’s dreams hinted at an unfamiliar phenomenon: a manifestation of what could be termed ‘super-libido.’ This condition propelled her sexual desires to resurface at an exceptionally rapid pace, a cruel irony considering her inherently virtuous, modest, and shy nature. Sylvia remained oblivious to the specific medical nuances of her situation, but her body’s ability to rebound so swiftly was both a blessing and a curse.

The endurance and health of her physical being played a pivotal role in managing the constant resurgence of libido. Sylvia, fortunate in her athletic constitution, navigated the paradoxical challenge that accompanied her swift recovery. It was a delicate balance between her resilient body’s ability to endure and the overwhelming inflow of libido, a situation that, if not for her robust health, could have taken a toll on her well-being like some women with similar conditions.

With a slow blink, Sylvia’s eyes adjusted to the light, and she glanced at her watch—3 pm, marking a day that had slipped through the folds of her unconsciousness. A realization dawned on her; she had slept for over 24 hours. The thought of missing school crossed her mind, but she clung to the hope that the principal would understand the circumstances.

Despite the soreness that clung to her body like a shadow, she decided to have a shower. The water, cascading over her, offered a bittersweet reprieve, washing away physical and emotional remnants of the torment she had endured. The welts from the rods, especially her swollen vulva, and the tender anus were persistent reminders of the brutality.

Stepping out of the shower, her senses sharpened, only to be met with surprise. Matumbo, Marimbo, and Gambe were sitting at the dining table, next to the bed, in her one-room cabin.

As Sylvia laid eyes on the unwelcome trio, a surge of dread cascaded through her. Nervousness pounded within her chest, the irregular beats echoing the disquietude of her soul. Emerging from the refuge of the shower, thinking she was alone in her cabin, she neglected the of a towel, stepping into the open vulnerability of her nakedness.

With a slouched posture, she attempted a feeble defense, one arm crossing her triple-D size chest, the other arm trying to shield her crotch. Yet, the makeshift barrier proved futile against their scrutinizing gazes. A timorous inquiry escaped her trembling lips, “H ... hi ... wh ... what are you doing here? I...” Her voice, a quivering testament to her inner turmoil.

“Ah, we popped in to check on you, Mrs. Sylvia. We were worried when you didn’t pitch up at school. Thought you might be dead on your feet, you know...” Matumbo’s words, with his heavy Aprico Island accent, dripped with feigned concern, as if he were a worried student about his teacher. The hypocrisy of the situation wasn’t lost on Sylvia. He was the one who subjected her to the most degrading “police-sanctioned” punishment in the town square, and now, he sounded so concerned about her well-being.

He continued,” see you’ve got plenty of bruises still. Let’s take a look. I’m worried those marks might stick around if you don’t treat them properly. Come on, let me see.” Sylvia hesitated. The welts from the rods were concentrated on her body in places a woman shouldn’t expose. Despite the enduring violation, Sylvia, inherently shy and modest, found herself engulfed in a flush of embarrassment, her cheeks painted with a telltale redness. The juxtaposition of her reserved nature against the invasive scrutiny of these men created a dissonance that further amplified her sense of vulnerability.

In the midst of her hesitation, the air was pierced by Gambe’s sinister voice, echoing with the implication that Sylvia was being disobedient in her hesitation, a prelude to the ominous suggestion that further discipline might be necessary.

Sylvia, inherently timid and easily frightened by nature, had become even more so now, a testament to the relentless ordeals inflicted upon her by these three boys. The cumulative impact of their actions was such that even the stoutest of wills of men would have crumbled under the weight of such sustained torment. Sylvia, now akin to a well-trained puppy, responded with instinctive submission as Gambe’s menacing words reverberated. Without explicit instructions from Matumbo, she raised her hands as high as she could, a gesture she considered as Matumbo’s favored pose—an act that left her vulnerable to the scrutiny of revealing her naked body. In this moment, Sylvia’s involuntary response bore witness to the profound psychological impact these men had exacted upon her, leaving her caught in a web of fear and conditioned obedience.

Sylvia, a 32-year-old white woman, stood naked before the trio of African boys, with her hands raised, shivering under the weight of their gaze. In the tremor coursing through her, To Sylvia’s surprise as she feared Matumbo’s next proposition could be another one of his agonizing punishments, he instead said,” See, ya hia, Mrs. Sylvia, all dees sca’s need good care, or dey go be permanenta” Then, he produced a bottle of oil, proclaiming it to be medicinal. His unexpectedly gentle voice resonated as he explained,” We go massage you wit’ dis oil, and soon, dem scars go vanish. You dey like dat, Mrs. Sylvia?” The contrast between his usual demeanor and this unexpected kindness left Sylvia grappling with a mixture of disbelief and cautious hope.

The prospect of a soothing massage seemed particularly appealing to Sylvia, especially given her current state. However, the unsettling reality loomed—these boys, her tormentors, would be the ones administering the massage. While she harbored a strong aversion to the idea, the fear of inciting their anger coerced a hesitant “yes” from her lips.

Matumbo instructed her to verbalize her desire for an oil massage from them. A noticeable blush crept onto Sylvia’s cheeks, a telltale sign of the discomfort she felt. The directive aimed to demean her, yet she complied, expressing in a meek and stuttering voice, “Yes, I want you to give me an oil massage.” Matumbo, unsatisfied or perhaps reveling in her discomfort, prompted her to repeat the request, and despite her nervousness, Sylvia obediently uttered the words once more.

Then, he mentioned that using oil inside would damage the bedding and even the wooden floor, suggesting they move to the backyard. Panic set in for Sylvia, and she hesitantly proposed it was fine to proceed indoors. Matumbo, in a mocking tone, reminded her that she was merely renting Gambe’s uncle’s cabin. Abruptly shifting to a stern demeanor, he instructed her, different from the previously kind tone, “Go outside, teacher, keep your hands up!” Sylvia found herself with no option but to comply, following him to the backyard, naked, with her hands raised high, the afternoon sunlight casting an uncomfortable spotlight on her.

In the impoverished setting of Aprico Island, the backyard resembled nothing more than a shared space among eight cabins, each resembling wood-paneled shacks akin to Sylvia’s dwelling. The absence of fences meant a stark lack of privacy. Adding to the discomfort, in the afternoons, some of the local boys about the same age or younger than Sylvia’s students, came out the backyard to play. These boys attended ‘regular’ schools, not the reform school, signifying that they were pure and innocent, unlike Sylvia’s tormentors and their schoolmates from the Aprico Reform School.

Until this moment, these neighborhood boys were unaware of Sylvia’s harrowing ordeals. They remained genuinely affable, endearingly nicknaming her ‘Auntie Snow’ This nickname was given to her by one of the boys who said he found their new neighbor, a white woman, to be the most beautiful woman he had ever encountered, surpassing even the renowned Snow White. Now, in an unfortunate twist of fate, Sylvia found herself walking out to the backyard, totally naked as the day she was born, her hands raised above her head, exposing the vulnerability of her womanhood to these unsuspecting boys.

Nervously scanning her surroundings, Sylvia observed five boys engaged in play in the backyard. As they turned their heads, their attention homed in on Sylvia, affectionately known as Auntie Snow. Her hesitant steps followed Matumbo, with Gambe and Marimbo trailing behind. The boys didn’t overlook the fact that Sylvia was completely naked. Their jaws dropped in stunned surprise, and Sylvia, catching their gaze, felt her cheeks flush with embarrassment.

The quintet of boys abandoned their play and approached the unfolding scene, drawn by the peculiar sight of their cherished “Auntie Snow.” She stood in an awkward stoop, a futile attempt to make herself appear smaller despite her well-endowed figure. Her hands were raised in an uneasy display as she nervously positioned herself beside the notorious trio of bullies from the Reform School. The collective curiosity of the boys propelled them towards this unexpected tableau, seeking to unravel the mystery behind their Auntie’s perplexing predicament.

One of the boys inquired, “What are you guys doing? Why is Auntie Snow naked?” Sylvia, overwhelmed with shame, wished she could disappear. Matumbo responded, “Oh, we’re not doing anything; we’re doing what she told us to do.” Sylvia, taken aback by this reply, certainly didn’t ask to be brought out here, naked, with her hands raised. Boy pressed, “What do you mean? Auntie is all naked; and she looks like she’s about to cry. Hey, Auntie Snow, are you okay?” Sylvia was about to answer, but Matumbo interjected, stating, “She’s okay; she wanted us to give her an oil massage.” Boy sought confirmation, and Sylvia hesitated, wanting to deny it and ask for help. However, she knew these boys wouldn’t be able to help; the bullies would just beat them up if they tried.

Matumbo then said to his naked teacher, “Yes, you did. Don’t lie now. Did you or did you not tell us to give you an oil massage? Answer it!” Sylvia reluctantly replied, “Y ... yes, I d ... did.” She realized that it was true; as earlier in the cabin, Matumbo had forced her to say to them that she wanted them to give her a massage.

Boys observed with astonishment, “Why does she have her hands up, and what are those whipping welts? Wow, they are ... look, they are all over her buttocks, and ... and her boobs! And look at her pussy, wow, all over her pussy too!.” Sylvia, enveloped in shame, yearned desperately to lower her hands to shield her naked body.

Matumbo casually remarked, “She got police-sanctioned caning yesterday; you guys missed the show.” Boy, incredulous, inquired, “For what? Auntie Snow is so nice; what did she do?” Matumbo cryptically responded, “Well, you guys won’t understand. It’s something to do with her asshole and her pussy, the way she likes to fuck, if you know what I mean ... She loves to fuck her asshole, with foreign objects... “ Matumbo nonchalantly stated, “And she likes to do that in public. She gets off on people watching her do it, you know what I mean?”

Boy exclaimed, “I know what that is, that’s sodomy, and it’s illegal! I can’t believe you would do that, Auntie! Are are you a pervert? Auntie Snow?” Sylvia’s cheeks flushed with shame, and tears were welling up in her eyes. She found herself at a loss for words, uncertain of how to respond in this moment of shame.

Matumbo broke the silence, “That’s why she asked us to give her an oil massage, to ease the pain in her private areas. We came out here because she wanted to do it outside, in this warm sunlight.” With that, Matumbo swiftly put an end to the verbal exchange, signaling a shift from words to action. His gaze directed everyone’s attention to a generously sized picnic table, a communal fixture belonging to one of the neighbors. With a practical note, he emphasized, “This table has a plastic top, so there’s no need to fret about damaging the surface with massage oil.” Without further ado, he instructed his naked and afraid female teacher to lay on her back atop the table, setting the stage for their ‘massage’.

The boys couldn’t shake off the pang of guilt as they observed the visible distress on their favorite new neighbor, the stunningly beautiful Auntie Snow. Yet, a rush of excitement surged through them. This marked the first time they laid eyes on a naked body of a white woman, an encounter previously confined to the glossy pages of magazines surreptitiously taken from their fathers or uncles. Before them lay the most captivating white woman they had ever seen, reclined on her back atop the picnic table, completely nude.

As Sylvia reclined on her back, her ample triple D breasts maintained their impressive shape—soft to the touch yet firm. Boys found themselves utterly captivated, unable to avert their gaze. Moving downward, attention shifted to the triangle of Sylvia’s crotch, her fair white thighs, and then, the focal point, her pubic mounds. Her plump pubic mounds, separated by a delicate crevice, adorned with a covering of dark hair. It stood as the most beautiful sight these boys had ever seen.

“These boys are in for wet dreams tonight, hehehe,” Marimbo quipped, eliciting a crimson blush from Sylvia. Following suit, the trio of bullies liberally coated their hands with massage oils, pouring an additional generous amount over Sylvia’s sizable breasts and hairy crotch. Commencing the massage, their attention zeroed in on those specific regions—not only for the evident welts but also for an unmistakable reason: those were the areas they wanted to touch.

Sylvia’s inhibitions quickly succumbed to her escalating libido. The embarrassment of being completely naked, reclined on the neighborhood picnic table beneath the open sky, weighed heavily on her. The prospect of any neighbor emerging at any moment heightened her discomfort. In addition to the trio of bullies, she was further surrounded by five boys, all familiar faces from the neighborhood, and undergoing massages in her most private areas, Sylvia grappled with conflicting emotions. While the massage itself might have been coerced, she recognized the imperative to rein in her desires. Experiencing an orgasm in the presence of these innocent boys went beyond mere embarrassment—it felt unequivocally wrong, Sylvia contemplated.

Biting her lips, Sylvia made a concerted effort to divert her thoughts elsewhere, to something, anything, in an earnest struggle against the sensations. But the hands exploring her breasts, teasing her nipples, and the combined efforts of four hands massaging her pubic mounds proved overwhelming. She consciously avoided glancing downward, rendering her oblivious to the identity of the hand responsible, as a finger slid in the crevice of her vulva and began massaging her clitoris.

“Auuu ... eeee ... please, no, not there,” Sylvia protested meekly. Matumbo responded, feigning innocence, “Hey, Mrs. Sylvia, we’re just massaging you for medical, therapeutic reasons. We must address the swelling, you know. It’s embarrassing for me too but considering the punishment you had to endure right here, it’s necessary.” As he spoke, he intensified the rubbing on her clitoris, adopting a seemingly sincere and innocent teenager’s tone. However, Sylvia, along with everyone except the boys, was acutely aware that he was simply mocking her.

“Aeee uuuuu eeeee uuuuuu” Here we go, the bullies thought in anticipation. Sylvia’s hips initiated involuntary jerks. At first, her buttocks lifted slightly off the table, but soon, she was arching her back and experiencing intense, uncontrolled spasms. Sylvia found herself compelled to surrender as her libido and body took command, leaving her with no alternative.

Soon, Sylvia’s vagina experienced a sudden release, and her bodily fluids followed suit with an energetic burst. The boy positioned right beneath her crotch for a closeup had an unexpected encounter with her arousal fluid, prompting a visceral reaction. “Yuk!” he exclaimed, swiftly stepping back. The remaining boys and the bullies erupted into laughter at the unexpected turn of events.

Sylvia lowered her gaze and identified Omari’s voice— the boy who had dubbed her Auntie Snow. His face and hair were soaked with her arousal fluids. Embarrassment flooded Sylvia, leading her to apologize repeatedly. Omari, with an honest inquiry, asked, “Auntie Snow! Why did you pee on my face, Auntie Snow?” This straightforward question triggered another round of laughter. Sylvia’s heart sank as the realization hit her: the relationship she was on the verge of developing with these boys, a budding friendship, had now undergone a profound and irreversible change.

Then, she realized that her humiliation wasn’t yet over as Matumbo ordered her to turn around and get on her hands and knees on the table. She obeyed, fighting back tears as her significant triple-D breasts hung from her chest, her beautiful buttocks thrusting upwards. The African boys could not resist the temptation before them, one of them asking Matumbo in a salacious voice if he could “have a feel”. Fighting against every instinct inside of her, Sylvia remained still, awaiting Matumbo’s answer like a punishment long overdue.