Pantsing and Stripping Forums

SensoryOverlord wrote: Mon Sep 08, 2025 4:34 pm "but I can't talk about that, not how I took care of that."
Ha ha ha. Says the lady currently under the effects of an 'almost truth serum' and speaking with an expert inquisitor.

My guess is she would be more than willing to talk about and even show us how a male would take care of take care of problems down there. Hope she shows the girls all about that.

Witchfinder General
Chapter 5. Henry's Wandering Hand


Ms. Wormgrubber was pleased as to the effects of her "confessional concoction". It worked better than she expected. The teacher under the
influence of the specially prepared mixture was eager to talk. So caught up in her story telling, Mrs. Cliffington almost admitted out loud
that she did a most nasty deed. The teacher nearly confessed to pleasuring herself. Perhaps with some prodding the exact nature of this
pleasuring could be ascertained...but the witchfinder doesn't need to know these details. There are bigger fish to fry, more devilish and
dastardly deeds to be uncovered. Turns out the schoolhouse is awash in naughtiness and deviant behaviors. Ms. Wormgrubber will get to
the bottom of it.

"You've told me something about two of the three boys you were concerned about. You told me how Thomas Beck, who is twelve years old,
improperly gazed up a girl's dress as she climbed a tree. Then you just told me how bad-mannered Kevin Zegersby can be. Who is the third
boy? What did he do?"

For a moment the teacher is silent, gazing into the fire smoldering in the fireplace. Mrs. Cliffington has a faraway look in her eyes, like she
is recalling something both distant and wondrous. Suddenly the teacher giggled and she looked up, eyes full of mirth, a mischievous smile on
the teacher's face. Mrs. Cliffington looks so young, so full of life and energy. The inquisitor also smiles, remembering the teacher is only
a mere twenty-two years old and barely been touched by a man's hands. The teacher is married, but until she watched Kevin Zegersby be
washed she had never actually witnessed bared genitalia on a boy older than a baby.

"He's the smartest student in my class, the next one that required my attention. Henry Hampton is his name, the son of Mr. Hampton
the dairy farmer."

Ms. Wormgrubber nods her head, "Yes, yes I was informed about what happened on the Hampton farm. The cows were cursed with soured milk.
Please do go on. What did Henry do?"

"Well...Henry was always so polite and courteous, always a gentleman. Taking care of his father's cows made Henry a caring and responsible
young man. That's what made what happened so remarkable, so memorable. He is one of the oldest boys in my school, being fifteen years old.
He too went through a change when the four girls joined the class."

"Let me guess", the inquisitor interrups, "Henry suddenly had difficulty concentrating in class."

"Wow, how did you know? Henry could recite his beginning Latin terms with the best of them. He could sit still and write out three complete paragraphs on any subject I gave the class. But once the girls were part of our class, Henry became surprisingly absent minded, forgetting
what pages were to be read for the day's lesson, not doing due diligence in math homework. And in the classroom he'd be fidgety, squirming
in his seat every few minutes. Henry looked uncomfortable and preoccupied, not always giving full attention to my lectures. Several times,
when I had one of the girls up at the writing board, I glanced over to see Henry tugging at the front of his trousers.

"I don't suppose it was ants in the pants," Ms. Wormgrubber chuckles, then takes a sip of tea, but not the red drink she's been pouring into the
teacher's cup.

"Ha ha, certainly not ants. At first it perplexed me. Henry is tall and lanky like his father, with big hands that must be helpful for milking
a dozen cows every morning and early evening. I've even witnessed Henry absent mindedly moving a curled hand above his lap, moving the
hand up and down as if he's milking a cow. With these bizarre milking gestures and tugging on his trousers I couldn't figure out what the issue
was...until I saw him doing both those things while watching one of the girls at the writing board at the front of the class.

Lorretta wasn't finished with her sentence diagraming, but I spoke up and said, 'Henry Hampton, come to the front and show Lorretta what is
wrong with her diagraming.'

Henry looked almost scared when he stepped to the front of the classroom. He didn't want to look me in the eye when he passed me by, like
he was guilty of something. I immediately noticed how his trousers pushed out at the front. Now he's a skinny lad, still slender with much
growing needed to fill out his frame. Henry's trousers are held up with suspenders. I suppose they'd fall down without a rope belt or something
to keep them on his hips.

I heard some stifled snickers behind me. Some of the other students had also noticed the funny way Henry's trousers poked out. Well...the
boy did no better at diagramming the sentence than Lorretta did. He got a comma in the wrong place two times. I sent him back to his seat.
However, I continued to watch him. When Henry stuck a hand down the front of his trousers right after sitting down, I called him out on it.
I quickly stepped over to him, and before he could react I grabbed hold of his right arm.

'Stop what you are doing, Henry. Don't move a muscle'.

That is what I told him. The class got quiet when I told Henry to stand up. Without letting him move his arm, without allowing him to pull
the hand from his trousers, I marched the boy back to the front of the class. Turning Henry around to face the other students I asked him,
'What are you hiding in your trousers?'

Almost every student, both the boys and girls, laughed or giggled. Henry immediately turned red. He's embarrassed about something, but
he doesn't want to say anything. So I ask him again, 'You've been fiddling and diddling with yourself. What's is causing you to do that?'

"Na na nothing" says Henry.

"Maybe he brought a frog to class," Lorretta speaks up. "I've heard of boys putting a frog down the back of a girl's dress, making her scream
and run around."

I looked down at Henry's trousers, which are double pushed out with his hand still down the front. 'Do you have a frog in your pants?'

"Na na no ma'am. I don't have anything in my pants. Teacher, I swear."

'Okay, remove the hand from your trousers,' I told Henry. He did as I asked, but we all could see how much those trousers still poke outward.
I tell my student to place both hands behind his back. 'You've been accused of harboring an amphibian in your pants. How do you plead, Henry?'

My student pleads his innocence, but the mysterious poking out of his trousers is cause for concern. I inform them all what must be done next.
'I must ascertain if there is indeed something being hidden in your trousers. Hold still, I must check to find out the truth of it.'

Henry's trousers are in no danger of falling down, not while clipped to suspenders. But they are loose around the waist. I had no trouble
sliding my hand down the front. I can hear every student vocalize some sort of reaction. It all blended together in an auditory mass of sound.
Henry is silent, his red face now actually turning pale. His eyes large with fear, they glance down at my hand below the waist section of his
trousers. I lean over, and I too can see a little of what lies below. I can see the gray wool of his underpants. This is not definite proof, as I
cannot see what is actually causing the protrusion in the boy's pants. I slip my fingers down the front of the underpants, then my whole hand
slides down further.

"What a bold way to investigate," Ms. Wormgrubber sits forward in her chair. "No wasting time, no allowing time for the student to remove
incriminating evidence. I commend you Mrs. Cliffington. What did you find? Tell me everything."

The teacher's eyes again became gleaming and bright, a touch of smile graced her lips. "I first felt the curly, soft hairs of Henry's maturity.
Where Kevin Zegersby had only a small tuft of hair, the older boy has a thick mass of it. I could run my fingers through that for hours, but there
was more to explore. Right then my hand detected something thick, hard, and it was long. My hand nearly recoiled at first, as if it found
a snake. But my hand didn't want to extricate itself from Henry's pants but wanted to explore further. My fingers wrapped around the hard
thing, and my hand slides to the top of it. It throbs in my hand, expanding just a little. Contracts and expands, almost imperceptible it is,
but my hand can feel it. I fumble around a bit, forcing the trousers to poke out ridiculously, but I get to the end of it. Henry has a bulbous
end that feels akin to a mushroom in shape but feels like a doughy, dense dumpling from a pot of chicken stew.

I can hear the other students giggling and whispering, but I ignore it all. I still have a job to finish...as distasteful as this job is. I return to
the base of the male organ. One more place where a frog might be hiding. Reaching down I am struck by the size of the two round objects I encounter. Henry has fleshy parts like a bull, and I am amazed. The heat coming from the skin nearly scorches my hand. I can feel my own temperature rising to match. I feel faint and near to swooning...but I hold steady. The sound of Henry saying "hmmm, hmmm" brought me back
to my senses.

I've checked all the hidden recesses of the student's trousers, no other place to feel around, so I slowly pull my hand out. The coolness of
the air in the room is sudden and such a comparison to the humid heat in the boy's pants. I sigh loudly as I turn my gaze toward the students.
They are all eager to hear my findings, mouths open on many of them.

"There is no frog in Henry's pants. I checked thoroughly every place it could hide. You may return to your seat."

All the students watch as Henry goes back to his desk. I can see he wants to adjust something in his trousers again, but he doesn't dare
touch himself. While this is going on, I place my right hand over my face, pressing the fingers around my nose. The scent is strong on my
fingers, the lingering aroma of what lies down in Henry's underpants, is wonderous, so mysterious. I never smelled that on my husband. I
never go that close to the parts my husband has. Everything we did was all proper. I did my wifely duty when the time came for it."

"But his was somehow different, more alluring and dangerous. Isn't that right Mrs. Cliffington?"

The intoxicating red potion continued to work its wonders. The teacher had confessed to another naughty, carnal secret, the pleasures of
inhaling the musky aroma of a male's nether region.

"I couldn't help myself," the teacher confesses. "I wanted to see what Henry has in his pants. Feeling it all over was wonderful. Smelling
it on my hand...it intoxicated my senses. I wanted to know more about the male species. Is that so wrong of me?" The teacher's cheeks
turn pinkish as she drains the final drops from her cup. Then looking up, she flashes a naughty smile. That teacher has been smitten, and
she's hooked.

Glad to see a teenfan return! Missed seeing a new chapter! Now I've gotten my fix, until next time (;

SensoryOverlord wrote: Thu Sep 04, 2025 2:57 am
The only worry I have, is that anti-witch/warlock measures tended to be fairly swift and lethal. Hopefully Ms Wormgrubber takes a more thorough approach, giving the boys and teacher her close attention for many months. Investigating the efficacy of the teacher's 'drastic measures' and their consequences. Over the fullness of time. (pun intended)

Btw: "measures to keep some OF my students under control."

I rarely rush things, as most readers will know. The "Swift and Lethal" punishments would commence once the evil doers are identified
and tried (and of course, found guilty). It may take Ms. Wormgrubber some time to figure everything out.

I think I know what you are interested in by "measures to keep some of my students under control." The use of chastity devices was common
in those days, when being a virgin for marriage was essential. Also, public punishments for what we would today consider minor offenses was
the norm. I have a feeling this paranoid town will be willing to allow any number of creative forms of corrective
measures.

Witchfinder General
Chapter 6. Getting To Know Carolina

Ms. Wormgrubber was exceedingly pleased with the results of her first interview with the teacher of the Hempstead town school. Mrs. Cliffington
is welcoming and friendly, and eager to talk once the tongue loosening effects of the red potion kicked in. Three deviants had been identified
among the male students. However, these incidents are not enough to know if these three boys are truly the culprits of what ails the
beleaguered township. Every student at the school must be given a thorough investigation, and this is to include the parents and female
sisters and cousins as well. Everybody is a suspect, and no stone will be left unturned.

After two cups of truth tea, the teacher became drowsy, downright groggy like being drunk. The teacher has need to take a nice nap,
so that is all for the moment. The witchfinder makes her leave, and she stops at the inn to compose a plan of action.

* * * * *

At the Tinsel Tavern, the only place in the township where one can get a meal and a bed, the witchfinder general got seated at a small table in
a corner of the dining area. Several men at a table nearby cast suspicious glances her way. The cook stuck her head out beyond the door
to the kitchen, giving the inquisitor an unfriendly stare. Few people in town will be friendly or engage in chatty talk, and Ms. Wormgrubber
isn't surprised at that. She has been hired to find the guilty ones and clean up the evil omnipresent cloud hanging over the town, but nobody
wants to be anywhere near a witchfinder, not even the innocent folks.

A teenage girl asks Ms. Wormgrubber what she wants to eat. As she places an order of lamb stew, cornbread, and a baked apple tart, the
inquisitor looks the girl over. The young order taker has distinctive facial features, a strong jawline for a girl, a straight and true nose,
and blond hair the color of golden honey which is cut in a modestly short fashion. A slender, decently rounded figure resides under the clothes,
but girls are not allowed to flaunt their physical assets. Despite the plain clothing and less than attractive hair style, there is no doubt this girl would be exceedingly beautiful if given the chance.

"What is your name, my child?" Ms. Wormgrubber asks the tavern servant.

"It's Carolina."

"How is it you work in this den of iniquity?"

"Den of what?...um, oh my father hunts in the forest. He brings in the deer and wild turkeys and barter trades with the Indians for squash
and tomatoes. I help cook and I help serve the guests."

"But your father doesn't own this tavern." The inquisitor uses a well-used lawyer's trick, to begin by only asking questions where the
answers are already known.

"You are correct ma'am. My uncle owns the tavern. Mama, pa, and I live in the house out back. My uncle and Cousin Vernon live upstairs.
Their rooms are at the end of the hall, just two doors down from the room you are in. Vernon and I practically run this place...but don't tell
my uncle I said that." The young lady looked suddenly nervous, like she just said too much.

Ms. Wormgrubber immediately calmed the girl's fears. "Your sentiments are safe with me. Yes, I did spot a tall handsome young man chopping wood. Vernon, you say his name is...hmmm, now is it true you were one of the four girls who spent part of the school year doing your lessons
with the male students?"

"Mrs. Cliffington sure had her hands full. Yes'm it was quite an experience."

"I'm sure it was. Now run along and fetch me my dinner. I wish to speak with you father soon. You'll need to have some time set aside so I
may get to know you better. I have many questions to ask you...and the other three girls who went to that school."

* * * * *

The next night it was arranged between Ms. Wormgrubber and Mr. Talbot, the owner of the tavern and Carolina's uncle, to have the girl go
to the room occupied by the witchfinder as soon as the dinner dishes were washed.

When the door opened Carolina stepped into the room, her face slightly flushed pink from the heat and exertions of cleaning duty in the tavern's kitchen. Immediately Ms. Wormgrubber had the hard-working girl remove the apron from around her hips, and take off the long sleeved
outer shirt. With only the undershirt on, it was easy to see the womanly bosom on the slender girl has developed to an extent to make men's
eyes wander and less pretty women bite their lip in envy.

"Sit yourself down and get comfortable. Are you thirsty? I can give you a small dose of a medicinal elixir. Revives the spirit it does." Ms.
Wormgrubber hands a small porcelain cup to Carolina. After the girl takes several sips of the tasty red juice, the easy questions begin.

"How old are you?"

"I'm fifteen now Ms. Wormgrubber."

"Please now, let's not be so formal. You may call me Agnes. Fifteen you say. That is such a lovely age to be. A beautiful flower in bloom, the
enticing aroma of womanhood upon you, the eager beaver boys scrambling over each other to be near you. How many of them have you kissed?"

"Miss Agnes...please, I haven't kissed any boys."

"No? Not a single man placed his lips upon those delicate cheeks?" The inquisitor's tone is playful, whimsical, totally not serious. "You've never
kissed anyone?"

"Ha, oh...well, I've kissed my papa of course, and Uncle Terrence. Oh, and I've kissed Cousin Vernon."

Carolina smiled sheepishly, trying not to make eye contact at that moment. She finishes her cup of elixir.

"Your cousin is a fine looking lad. When I saw him chopping wood next to this tavern's barn, he was stripped from the waist up. Vernon has
a fine pair of muscular arms to go with a firm back."

"Vernon can out-wrestle any of the other boys at school." Carolina's eyes shine with family honor and loyalty to her closest relatives.

"He's a year older than you are, correct. At sixteen, that makes him the oldest student at the school. And he's remarkably diligent and
responsible from what I've been told."

Carolina nods her head, "Yes, my cousin works very hard and we are all proud of him."

"When was the first time you saw your cousin naked?"

Carolina's back stiffened and she sat up in the chair. Her breath sucked in suddenly as if she had been slapped by an invisible hand.

"I uh...Miss Wormgrubber...you want me to talk about such things?"

The blush is back on the young woman's cheeks again. Her eyes blinking several times rapidly, Carolina slowly takes in a deep breath.

"There can be no secrets from me. I am authorized by the highest authority in this colony to...to know everything. Oh dear, your cup is
empty. Let me give you some more of this. Believe me, it will calm the nerves."

Some more of the magical red concoction is poured into the pretty porcelain cup. After a couple more sips of it, Carolina is indeed more
relaxed than before. She giggles as she looks up at the ceiling.

"This happened when I was thirteen. I was told to give my uncle's tracker hound a bath. That dog is a mix of something shaggy with something
wolf like, looks like a fuzzy wuzzy bear and his name is Rothchild. Well, Vernon and the dog went hunting for muskrat down in the creek that
feeds into a swamp. Vernon was so happy when he came back with six muskrats to be turned into pelts or winter coats. To get that many he
went deeper into the swamp than he should have. His trousers were covered in muck and so was his arms. My mom took the dead muskrats,
then she ordered Vernon to go directly to the bathhouse. Maybe you've seen it already, the bathhouse is attached to the kitchen.

So Vernon slunk off to the bathhouse as my mom told my cousin she would bring him some proper clothes to put on. After a few minutes that
dog came into the kitchen and left muddy prints all over the floor. With all the fussin' over the dog uncle Terrence came into the room.
First he laughs, then he makes himself look angry as he says, "Take Rothchild to the bathhouse and clean him up."

"But now?... Vernon is in there taking a bath," I informed my uncle.

"That is not at all relevant. Take the dog and wash him now. That tub is plenty big enough for a grown dog and a half-grown man." Uncle
Terrence points toward the door leading to the bathhouse.

Really enjoying the olde worlde style of this story and I really like the idea of the witchfinder being able to get people to spill the beans with her magic drinks even if they don't really want to.

Looking forward to hearing more about cousin Vernon

Witchfinder General
Chapter 7. Unexpected Bathing Companions


As Carolina went into her story, about the day she was told to wash a dog, Ms. Wormgrubber leaned back in her chair. Slumping down, the
witchfinder woman closed her eyes. The fifteen year old tavern helper was remarkably detail oriented in recalling the events of that day,
and all that needed to be done is relax, close the eyes and picture in the mind what transpired, and having seen Vernon hard at work
she could piece together the typical day of his existence using some creative imagining to fill in the gaps and understand his emotional state...

The inquisitor's investigations into the habits and behavior patterns of those under suspicion also comes into play in this mental imagining
of the scene...

* * * * *

The door to the bathhouse opened, letting in a draft of cooler air. Vernon Talbot sits in the round wooden bathing tub, the water only half-way
to the top as baths are usually done with only the necessary amount of water and not a drop more. Water in kettles must be heated on the
wood burning stove in the kitchen to have a nice hot bath. The dirty, muddied up clothes Vernon came back wearing on his muskrat hunting trip
are piled nearby on the wooden plank floor.

Vernon expected his aunt to come into the room at some point, having stated she would be showing up with clean clothes for him to put on. However, the bathing boy didn't expect it to be so soon. He had just gotten started with his washing, having spent several minutes sitting and
soaking. He is startled to see his aunt is not alone. Entering into the bathhouse with her is Cousin Carolina and his hound dog, Rothchild.

Being fourteen years old, Vernon is used to being interrupted in whatever it is he is doing. He assists in getting things done at the tavern, and
he's constantly being accosted by a customer who needs something, or being pulled aside by his father, or uncle, or aunt who demands that some chores or special task be done at once, immediately and without delay.

Still being fourteen, Vernon is used to his aunt hovering around like an extra mom, or actually more like a real mom since his mother died
of smallpox two years earlier. His aunt constantly fussed over his appearance, making sure his hair is combed and clothes, mainly the short
trousers and stockings, are tidy and presentable for the townsfolk or weary travelers from another town. And being fussy like a mom, it was
expected the aunt would at some point show up with clean shirt and pressed trousers in her hand.

This is so unexpected, to see not only his aunt entering, but his younger by one year Cousin Carolina.

Vernon slumps down into the tub, but there is no way to be totally decent for being viewed upon by womenfolk. The water is still mostly
clear. He has only been soaking after all, not scrubbing away with the soap.

"Is something wrong Aunt Rachel? Is there a fire in the stable?" Vernon asks, thinking some disaster has befallen the tavern.

"Nothing is wrong dear. Your father requires that Carolina wash the filthy mutt of a dog of yours. Since water for bathing has already been
drawn, now is the moment to accomplish the task."

"I'm too old to have her in here. It's not proper," Vernon says as he watches his two close relatives approach. The protest is ignored.

Carolina has a gleeful smirk on her otherwise pretty face. She hasn't said anything, but it's obvious she's enjoying this unexpected chance to see
her cousin in such a compromised position. She always thought highly of Cousin Vernon, considered him sweet and occasionally charming though occasionally absent minded. Though strong of limb and leg, Vernon and Carolina are the same height, something the younger girl used to
advantage with teasing.

Cousin Vernon has a bewildered appearance, and when he is forced to assist in grabbing hold of the dirty dog named Rothchild, some parts
of him made their appearance, though somewhat obscured by six inches or so of water.

"Take hold of your dog young man. Carolina, lift up the back end," Aunt Rachel barks directions. "Get this mutt into the tub."

Vernon has to remove his hands, which were clasped down in front of him just under the water, and he has to grab the dumb dog underneath
its front legs. With help from Carolina, the dog is placed down into the water to take up half the space of the tub. Vernon's entire upper body
is now visible above the waterline since he must sit up straight. The arms and chest, the stomach even...all this can be viewed easily by the
a woman and the girl.

"How are we supposed to do this?" Vernon wants to know.

"Carolina is responsible to wash Rothchild. You finish washing yourself." The aunt turned to leave the bathhouse.

"But what about my clean clothes?"

"Oh those. I'll get up to your room as soon as I can." Aunt Rachel vanished beyond the doorway, the door closing behind her.

Carolina settles down onto her knees; her upper body partially leaned over the wall of the wooden bathtub. Vernon looks like he wants to
push himself back further away, but there is no place to push back into. Rothchild tries to jump out of the tub, just as he had gotten wet
from the shoulder down.

Carolina has to hold the dog in place. "Tell him to sit still. He's going to get my dress wet if he jumps out or shakes himself too much."

Vernon again has to place hands on the dog to calm it down. Eventually, Rothchild settles down and accepts the fact that it must get
a washing. Vernon also must accept the fact that his younger cousin will be there to watch him wash his body. Dog and boy use the same bar
of soap. Vernon applies the square shaped bar to his chest and underarms. Then he hands it to Carolina. The girl manipulates the bar in
her hands to gets some soapy lather worked up, then rubs the foam into the dog's wet coat. The washing girl doesn't look at Rothchild much,
her eyes wandering over toward her cousin, then to the dog and back again...and the smile never leaves her face.

Vernon gets the soap back, rubbing it across the stomach, then it suddenly slips from his hands. It plunges down into the water, right
between his legs the bar fell. Vernon freezes up long enough for Carolina to move immediately in the search for the bar of soap, pouncing first
like a cat. Leaning his way, and slipping a hand down between his knees, the cousin fumbles around in the now murky water. The hand swishes around searching, as it brushes up against something down there that isn't as hard as a bar of soap made of animal tallow and wood ashes. It's
not the bar of soap, but it is hard and Carolina's hand wraps around it. A tug commences, but what she caught hold of won't come up.

"Ahem...that is not the soap," Vernon whispers, aghast and nearly shaken to his core, face blushing.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," Carolina lets her hand go. "It must be down here somewhere." Feeling around some more, the correct object is grasped.
"Hey, I found it," the girl says as she lifts the tan colored bar up from the water.

The two cousins look at each other, each one knowing what just happened. Carolina giggles as she applies fresh suds to the bottom side of
the dog, the lower tummy and the upper legs.

"I am most amazed, dear cousin," Carolina says. "Until bathing him like this, I had no idea Rothchild has such large, ah...male parts."
Carolina drops the soap into the water. She lifts up on the front end of the dog, the back legs remaining mostly submerged in the water.
With the dog lifted up, it's like Rothchild is standing upright, his wetted hair plastered to the body, the dog's male organs clearly visible.

Vernon looks at his dog, sees the animal in a way he never really did before. Rothchild the hunting mongrel of fluff has one heck of a long tube
of skin attached to the underside of the lower belly, protruding somewhat outward, and below that an enormous dark skinned sack. It's a blunt
and harsh reminder how the human animal is so similarly equipped.

"Are your ballocks the same size as these are?" Carolina asks with full seriousness in her voice.

Great story! Looking forward to reading what the witch finder uncovers (literally) during her stay. She’ll have to interrogate Vernon soon!

nebnyc wrote: Mon Dec 08, 2025 5:13 pm Great story! Looking forward to reading what the witch finder uncovers (literally) during her stay. She’ll have to interrogate Vernon soon!

Questioning the teenage boys will be very different from interrogating the young girls. Enhanced interrogation is more like it.
Long ago a person accused of being a witch might be tortured into a confession. It won't go to that extreme, but Ms. Wormgrubber will have
a wide range of physical means of persuasion at her disposal to get boys to divulge their secrets.

Witchfinder General
Chapter 8. Clean of Body, Guilty of Wickedness


Ms. Wormgrubber laughed so hard tears came to her eyes. The brazenness of that girl, to ask her sweet cousin if his male reproductive
organs compared in size with those of Rothchild the hunting dog. Curiosity may kill the cat, but with Carolina it is a personality trait that is
sublime, exceptionally rare and worthy of praise.

"Goodness gracious girl. That boy must have been flummoxed." The inquisitor wiped a tear from her face.

The teenage girl is on her second cup of truth tea, and the words flowed like bubbling water in a brook, "I don't know that flummox word,
madam. He did turn bright red and didn't know what to say. With my cousin in the tub along with the dirty dog, the water had gotten too
muddy to see into. I asked if I could reach down there and feel for myself, you know...since he couldn't answer me."

"What an inquiring mind you have young lady, a passion for adventure and exploration. Did he deny your request?"

"My cousin continued to say nothing. I reached down with my free hand. Kept my other hand on the dog to keep the mutt from jumping out of
the tub, grabbed Vernon's leg at the knee and my hand followed along to that place where his parts all come together between those legs."

Carolina pauses a moment, as her mind recalls the exact moment her hand again grasped hold of something forbidden. Ms. Wormgrubber
studied the girl's eyes and that far away look embedded within them. It must have been wonderfully educational. The schoolteacher would
be jealous. Ms. Wormgrubber is jealous, but she has a plan of action ready and waiting to remedy that.

"Yes, yes, go on my dear."

"My good Cousin Vernon wasn't the big husky, big boned, wood chopping young man you know him today. Two years ago he was just starting
to fill out and add muscle. The sack of ballocks I held in my hand felt similar in size to what I saw hanging down between Rothchild's back
legs. He shivered. The water of the tub is still nice and hot, but Vernon shivered when my hand reached all the way down to grab him. I
gave it a squeeze. Vernon whimpered just like his dog. They sounded so much alike. I laughed when I heard it since it made my older cousin
sound like a child. I reached higher, grabbed his thing again. I thought it was hard the first time I tugged on it. It was longer and harder, like
a real stick was poking out down there under the water. I rubbed my hand up and down several times as I looked right into his eyes. Finally,
he didn't look so afraid. Maybe he was starting to like what I was doing to him. Right then the door opened. My mom comes in, and she has
towels and a change of clothes for Vernon.

"Get that dog out of the tub, Carolina. I have a towel for you to rub Rothchild down."

My mother placed Vernon's clothes on the small table in the corner. She tosses me one of the towels as soon as I got the dog out of the tub.
She grabbed the other towel, and opening it up wide she said, "Get out and I'll dry you off."

Vernon shook his head. He said he couldn't get out. He asked if he could stay in until I left with the dog. To Vernon's bad luck his aunt wouldn't
have any of the delay, yanking on his ear and forcing my cousin to stand up in the tub. "You're not too old to be seen by family."

I assumed my mom would wrap the towel around my cousin as soon as he stood up, but she happened to look down to see Vernon in a most
naughty state. He tried to cover himself, but both my mom and I got a good look. It stuck almost straight up. Instead of wrapping the
towel around his naked, wet body, the towel is pulled back.

"Vernon Talbot! What has gotten into you?" Then she turned to look at me. "Did he show this perverse arousal to you? The wicked boy has
he no shame?"

I truthfully stated that Vernon had not shown this to me, that he sat quietly in the tub and bathed himself. My mother was satisfied that
Vernon wasn't actively showing me his thing. But she was most displeased with the display.

"Step out of the tub. Now move your hands away from it. Move your hands or I'll whack you across the back of your head."

Vernon moved his hands away. The arousal was just as it was before, firm and hard up. My mother placed the towel over his enlarged,
upright organ. The towel covered it, but it stood up like being on a clothes rack. My mother stepped back to appraise her improvised cover
over my cousin's man parts.

"We shall see how long this wickedness shall go on. Caroline and I shall stay here and watch you drip dry. The towel will cover your lustful
loins. When the urges recede and the towel falls to the floor I will dry you further. Only then will you get dressed."

It must have been an agonizingly long time for poor Cousin Vernon. It must have been three or four minutes as we watched him stand there
motionless, his head hung low, eyes kept from ours. He had to stay that way until the hot blood of naughty thoughts left his groin. Finally
the hard stick under the towel drooped and the towel fell to the floor. His thing is still partially hard, but mother was satisfied that it was
decent enough to resume drying him. The shame must have been great, as his thing continued to shrink in size, even as his aunt rubbed the
towel across the rear end and legs. Vernon was thoroughly dry before he was allowed to put clothes on."

Ms. Wormgrubber is ready to ask questions again, the story having concluded. "You said Vernon was fourteen when this happened. How much
larger are those ballocks now? Does he put Rothchild to shame?"

"I do not know, madam. I have not seen him in the bath since. He and the other boys are careful not to let us girls know when they swim in
the river during the summer. There is a place they kept secret from us. But Annabelle says she knows where they frolic along the river, said
they all took their clothes off. We pestered her badly, but Annabelle wouldn't tell us where this secret swimming place was...or what happened
when she watched them from the bushes."