Rhinelander

Chapter 3
Book Two: Them

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Chapter Description: In which a young man foments proportionate retribution.

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VI

The voice on the radio continues listing schools closed for snow days. The third-grader listens intently, his eyes pointed out the window at a dog playing in the snow.

“Brush! Your! Teeth!” shouts his mother.

“I’m GONNA!” howls the boy, his upper lip twitching a bit. He clambers off to the bathroom to finish the rest of his grooming. Why do all the other kids get a day off-- and not him?

“God, this is hot,” said Peter.

“Wait’ll you see what happens next.”

Jenna and Peter had their eyes trained on an LCD TV. In amateur video, a boy was wrestled into another girl’s panties as he struggled to reach orgasm.

Peter marveled. “I can’t believe that’s the same dude.”

“My one and only Tomás,” Jenna sighed in mock wistfulness. “Thanks for your help.”

“No problem,” Peter winked.

The television blared as they observed. “NOT. GOOD. ENOUGH.”

“She’s a little firestorm, isn’t she?” asked Peter.

“Yeah. I think my sister got tired of me bitching to her all the time and was only too happy.”

“And the others?”

Tommy cried loudly from the TV, clumsily masturbating in a pair of girl’s panties. “I didded everything you said!”

Jenna shrugged. “All of ‘em had their reasons. A few of them, money.”

Peter nodded in understanding. “Money, sure, of course.” He grinned and turned to meet the eyes of his girlfriend. “Can he really not cum anymore?”

“He’s eight,” the 16-year-old girl said, grinning. “The only ‘coming’ he’s doing is dragging his butt to his mom in the morning for a change of Pull-Ups.”

“Really? We made him have to wear diapers to bed?”

Jenna twitched her shoulders and snipped a bit of air out of the corner of her mouth. “I don’t think we did. It just happened to be what he was doing at the time.”

Peter grinned mischievously. “There’s something about the concept that we actually pulled it off that makes me--”

Jenna’s hand leapt to Peter’s crotch. He moaned.

“--something that makes me feel the way you already know I do,” he finished, weakly, at the touch of his girlfriend. Peter was already dripping into his pants, aroused at the thought of the man he’d replaced having been reduced to years of soaked underpants and an unattainable orgasm.

“More wine?” Jenna said, dangling her empty glass in front of Peter’s gaze.

“More wine,” he smiled, and was off to the kitchen with both glasses.

VII

A little boy of eight sneaks around the corner of a suburban house.

“Dumbasses,” he smiles, noticing an open window barricaded only by a screen. In a moment, the blade of his pocket knife is inside, and he slits an opening big enough for his new body to tumble through.

Tommy isn’t used to his new body. He’s not on board with wetting his bed, and he’s not on board with the smells of dirt and grass constantly floating about his clothes, and he’s not on board with not being able to fuck.

The boy slips into a well-appointed study. Books line the walls and ships-in-bottles -- enough of them to be considered a collection -- dot every conceivable space that would otherwise be empty. Peering through the doorway, he sees nothing, but hears everything... two giggly voices, one male, one female, glistening with schadenfreude from the floor above him.

“God, this is hot.”

“Wait’ll you see what happens next.”

In utter quietude, Tommy slowly the swings the door of the study open and makes his way towards a kitchen and the open jug of cheap wine sitting on its island. He removes a small water bottle from his pocket. It contains the other half of the beer that got him to his point-- the half he didn’t drink, plus a little something extra. He dumps the concoction into the remainder of the wine, the hues of both liquids intermingling quite naturally.

“Wait’ll you see what happens next,” the little kid grins, then flits away.

Peter, being 15 years of age, was street-smart enough to know that sharing a bed with a girl one year his senior was a major coup. He was neither nervous nor anxious about the tableau before him... a beautiful, shapely woman, who wanted him and, for the moment, nothing else. Peter was moderating himself with the wine, trying to hit that sweet spot wherein he could unshackle himself from his inhibitions and yet still be able to perform-- but he was wildly drunk off the sensation of power he felt as a result of the caper he and Jenna had implemented.

“This could be the start of a beautiful history of vengeance,” he suggested, touching Jenna’s cheek with his fingertips. They had not yet consummated their love that evening, but the time was drawing near. The clothed teenagers could feel their breathing become layered as their underwear grew increasingly damp. “Who do we do next?”

Jenna grasped Peter’s hand, the one with which he had been stroking her cheek, gently in hers, and pushed his index finger into her mouth, sucking on it softly, erotically, her gaze connecting with his.

“Easy there, Jack Bauer,” she smiled. “Let’s enjoy what we’ve got just now.”

And that was the new plan. In seconds, Peter and Jenna lay side-by-side atop Jenna’s double-bed-- he in his boxers, she in her panties and bra.

“This wine tastes like hell,” Peter offered, finishing off his glass and setting it on the night table.

Jenna drained hers as well, so that they might get down to business. “It’s a three-liter jug that cost eight bucks. I’ll ask the vintner what could have possibly gone wrong.”

The young lovers shared a laugh, disrobed each other, and latched onto one another as if their appendages had become meathooks.

VIII

Tommy peeks out from behind the slats in his ex-girlfriend’s closet. When Peter had gone to the kitchen to freshen the couple’s wine, and Tommy simultaneously heard the flushing of a toilet upstairs, the little boy embraced the only chance he had to sneak up into his ex’s bedroom unseen. The familiar scent of Jenna’s clothes, enveloping him in the darkness, drives him mad with lust and fury.

He does not like the idea of watching her fuck another boy-- especially one two years younger than Tommy and with a body seven years’ more developed. At the same time, that isn’t what he came here to see.

With a grunt and a futile gasp for air, Peter wondered whether he’d ever get used do the sensation of a mouth around his cock. To him it felt like being cradled on the other side of existential perfection. He laid on his back, the palm of his hand atop Jenna’s head, as she went down on him. She did it well. Electrical connections in Peter’s mind were popping left and right as Jenna slid her warm, wet, silkiness up and down the boy’s penis.

“Jesus fuck,” Peter gasped. “You’re so good at this. So fucking hot.”

Jenna was having a fine time of it, as well. She had a thing for cocksucking; not so much a talent (though the talent was certainly there) as it was an obsessive compulsion to bring guys to the brink of ecstasy and rob them of just a few seconds of self-restraint as their physiologies claimed full sovereignty. Jenna loved bringing guys over the edge-- of hearing them breathe shallowly and twitch and empty the contents of their balls on command as if performing a trick.

She felt a lot more in control of her relationship with Peter than she had with Tomás. Jenna made the occasional symbolic gesture. At that moment, for example, she pulled off her boyfriend’s cock, used her fingers to scoop off a bit of the pre-cum he was leaking with lustful teenaged abandon, and fed it to him. Peter cleaned her fingertips with expert precision. He was hers. She liked that.

When Jenna returned to nursing Peter’s penis, though, she noticed something was wrong rather immediately.

It wasn’t filling her mouth.

It wasn’t doing it for her.

“Peter?”

The boy propped his head up a few inches, anchored by his elbows, his prick continuing to twitch. “Yeah, sweety?”

“Your cock is shrinking.”

“Then suck it a little while longer.”

“No. Look.”

Peter did. He wasn’t 15, not by the looks of things.

He was 13 again.

IX

“What did you do to it!?” Peter howled.

“I didn’t do anything!” shrieked Jenna. Even then, she could feel the assets affixed to her chest start to dwindle. She feverishly clutched both her hands to her tits as the fists she was making grew smaller and smaller.

“Suck on it again!” squealed the boy. “Get it back!”

“Um, ew?” Jenna remarked, slipping back to age 13 as Peter reclaimed prepubescence. The scientist’s son was horrified, erect, but with a penis that was shrinking with a speed that wiped out every modicum of the boy’s previous confidence. “Suck on a penis?”

“Yes!” Peter’s screams were ones of desperation. “Suck on my dick! Get it big again! Get me big again!”

“Then eat me out,” Jenna declared. Her assertive nature was borne of a similar desperation. Her tits were collapsing into practically nothing, and the more she massaged and squeezed them, the more breast tissue seemed to evaporate into the aether.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Peter squealed, shivering at the mere thought of it. “Boys don’t put their tongues where girls pee.”

Jenna was 12 years old. “Well girls don’t put their mouths where boys pee.”

Peter gave it a moment’s thought. Why would anybody want to suck on his penis, anyway? It was just something to pee from and play with.

“And what am I supposed to grab on to?” spat Peter, then eleven. “The Hershey’s Kisses you’ve got attached to your chest?”

“And what am I supposed to suck on? That filthy boyish Mike & Ike between your legs?” Jenna thought hard. Why would Peter care about what’s hanging from her chest? He was just a gross little 10-year-old. She was eleven. She could be naked around him if she wanted to. It wasn’t a crime.

She was more ashamed for herself. What was 10-year-old Jenna doing around a little nine-year-old dork like Pete?

From the vantage point of Jenna’s closet, Tommy has to bite down on a rolled-up pair of socks to keep from laughing as the scene unfolds. He honestly -- and rightly -- believes that the few modifications to the formula he managed to bribe out of one of Peter’s less loyal friends are taking place.

Jenna and Peter just aren’t losing their bodies, he concludes.

They’re losing their minds.

X

“Stop slappin’ my dinky!” Pete whined.

Jenna was giggling. “What else am I gonna do? It’s sooo cuuute.”

The regression having ceased, an eight-year-old Pete leapt atop an equally naked nine-year-old Jenna. He tapped two index fingertips rhythmically on her nipples, which had just minutes ago bore host to proud, perfect breasts.

“Where your titties go?” the boy giggled. “Huh? Huh? Huh? Where your titties?”

Fuming, Jenna reached up and grasped Pete’s limp dick. “And what’s this supposed to be, huh?”

Pete whined and fell forward a bit. He still retained all of the adult sensations attached to his penis-- and now that both inches of it were stiffening in Jenna’s hand, all he wanted to do was get off.

“It’s--” he breathed, lustfully, “--it still works.”

Jenna turned up her head. “I’m sorry. I don’t play with little boys.”

“I’m not a little boy!”

“You’re as smooth as a baby’s butt and you act like one, too. Butthead.”

“You’re the butthead.”

“You’re the butthead!”

Pete started to cry. He missed his old cock, and he missed his body hair, and he missed being able to arouse the girl of his dreams. A fluttering of a thought inside his head bestowed upon him the reality that he was no longer interested in “turning on” any girls. Pete didn’t even know what “turning on” meant anymore.

“Your dick is tiny.”

Pete blushed. “Well, you’re a yucky girl.”

“I am not!” Jenna squealed, pushing her hairless lover onto his back. His stiff little penis bounced and waved in the air.

“Yup,” he said, staring at the ceiling. “You’re a yucky little girl and all you’re ever gonna do is look for boys and we’re gonna think you’re crazy.”

“Yeah? Well, what I’m gonna do is think about how much boys stink. Grass, dirt, sweat? Can’t you take a bath once in a while?”

Pete sat up and blew a raspberry into the open air. “Why don’t you?” he asked, beginning to masturbate unconsciously. The boy still had a considerable hardon, but the sudden antagonism his pseudo-friend had been displaying had sucked much of the libido right out of him. “You’re the one with cooties.”

Jenna’s face burned red with fury.

“I’ll show you cooties.”

For the next five minutes, Pete was sprawled naked across his nine-year-old girlfriend’s lap, receiving the spanking of his life.

THWACK.

THWACK.

THWACK.

The boy curled his toes and had an orgasm.

And nothing came out.

to be continued

 

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