Cry Havoc

Chapter 15
Progression

Chapter Description: from Book Two: Submission

wednesday 18 october – 11:45 AM

The week that included October 18, 2017 was the worst on record for the Tigers. The third phase of Willis Benes’s recipe was as close as modern man has ever come to witnessing a Biblical plague.

There was no respite at school. There was no succor at home. For these three young men, life had become the world’s cruelest mirror.

The first thing these three entitled, arrogant, violence-prone boys lost was their physicality-- and their physicality was their weapon, leaving their days of violence a distant memory. The second thing these teenagers lost was their stature-- and their stature was the wellspring of their arrogance.

So what did Dr. Willis prescribe for quelling entitlement? The answer presented itself in the middle of the third week.

Well-equipped, well-maintained locker rooms are a mainstay of athletes and recreational sportsmen alike. In high school, though, they have a different quality. A different... air about them. It’s not the smell of chlorine rallying valiantly to keep the place from becoming a Superfund site. It’s an air of competition-- not fraternity, as the locker rooms used by adults.

High school locker rooms are facts-of-life for some and utter nightmares to others. Who’s fat? Who has the smallest penis? Who didn’t get the message that the puberty train rolled in three years ago?

Well, the Tupper High locker room was about to get a lot less attractive to the Tigers.

A brief refresher on Mikey Velez, Recon’s 10-year-old stepbrother. Wide-eyed, a lust for learning, a true Honors Merit Scholar waiting to happen. Of course, Recon saw him as more of a proving ground for cruelty, having committed such zingers as swiping the pastries from the fridge, coating them with Cayenne pepper, and offering Mikey some delicious cinnamon treats; telling Mikey that there was no Santa Claus... when he was six; and sneaking Mikey’s completed homework outside of his backpack when he wasn’t looking so that he’d be doomed to bring home failure after failure.

Don’t mess with a clever kid. It never works. You can just as easily put things into bags, a transitive property of which Mikey elected to take advantage on October 18th-- when the elder Velez’s defenses were not only down, but had been bunker-busted.

Blame it on stress, compressed anatomy, or even a secret side-effect to Willis’s tonic... but 17-year-old Rico “Recon” Velez had developed... a problem. Oh, it had started out small-- a few spots on the bedclothes here, a five-second delay before his emptying bladder had alerted Recon to go to the bathroom there -- but it escalated, and it had escalated rapidly.

Recon had started soaking his bed every night. And these weren’t the Frisbee-sized dark spots you might remember seeing under your freshly-woken butt when you were a kid. These were full bladders -- the full bladders of a 17-year-old, mind you, whose idea of a light beer is Arrogant Bastard, shooting out piss at a hundred miles an hour -- and, eventually, he ruined a mattress. Adjusting bedtimes hadn’t worked. Canceling post-sunset liquids didn’t work. Outside, it’s too cold in October to sleep.

So Recon bit the bullet and bought “absorbent undergarments.” They’re diapers, except you can’t poop in them. Well, I mean, no one’s gonna stop you.

It’s hard to keep an embarrassing secret from your little brother. Especially when you utterly soak your training pants. Especially when it gets so bad that you have to cut holes on the outside of the first one just so you can wrap a second one around it.

But I digress. The trash bags add up. The smell of ammonia and urea builds up.

That said, a clever kid can keep his mouth shut. He can keep a secret, too.

Rico “Recon” Velez discovered this immediately after a grueling run in Wednesday’s gym class. In a locker room full of his peers -- peers who were only just beginning to forget the loss of muscle mass, and who even felt a little bad about the shrinking -- he unzipped a giant sports bag, and 48 adult pull-ups came tumbling out.

Recon only stared at them in shock. That little son-of-a-bitch. That little goddamned son-of-a-bitch--

“Hey, Rico, wanna come by my pad tonight? Just be sure to bring your own!”

“Now, do these stay dry until after the bedtime story?”

“At least that’s one job you’ll never be qualified for... plumbing!”

The laughter was deafening. It actually caused a horrid, tinny tone in Recon’s ears. And, to his horror, he realized he’d dropped his towel in shock!

Recon reached for it, but that’s when the real shit hit the fan. He froze in place, just a few inches into mid-lean.

Moment by moment, one by one, every indication that Rico “Recon” Velez had ever entered puberty, began to disappear from his naked body.

His hair grew fine and tousleable. The severity of his nose seemed to melt into his face. His jawline was gradually obfuscated by baby fat, the extra adiposity plumping out his cheeks. His Adam’s apple receded into undetectability. His shoulders slumped, and their doing so seemed to have triggered further height reduction. Though he had shrunk to 4’6” by this particular day, apparently the process decided that Recon was much more deserving of standing at four-feet even, unquestionably the shortest student enrolled at Tupper High.

The fine hair Recon had on his harms and legs receded into their follicles. Then went his happy trail and wispy tuft of pubic hair, leaving a hairless, but incredibly obscene eight-inch dick attached to a 17-year-old who missed puberty and was only six times taller than its length.

As much as Recon didn’t mind that problem, and as much as he’d have merely settled for its slight attenuation, he was smart enough to know what was coming next.

Dozens upon dozens of 14- through 18-year-olds looked on with a cocktail of wonder, horror, and sheer amazement as, centimeter by centimeter, Recon’s proud penis seemed to retract into his body while simultaneously contracting into itself, keeping the length-to-girth ratio sensible the whole way through.

Away it went... seven inches, then six, then five. Recon’s gaze was frozen in horror. The nightmare of most guys -- other than their wives’ birthdays -- was happening to him, and it was impossible to stop.

But it eventually did. And Rico “Recon” Velez was left with a toddlerdick of his very own, hairless and perched over two balls the size of acorns. Too his horror, Steve Benjamin was (of course) looking on, and didn’t miss the opportunity to make a “I’ll pass the torch, if you can even light it” quip.

As if that sideshow hadn’t been enough, it sounded as if another had just begun on the other side of the locker room. It sounded like the exceptionally loud crying of a very young child-- unmistakably so, but how could that be possible? (Oh, fine time to ask that question.)

It was a three-year-old babe, wrapped in a gym towel that had carelessly been dropped to the--

--It was Loudmouth!

Apparently, the writing had been on the wall... he hadn’t been able to keep himself from crying himself to sleep after the Great Muscle Rapture, and his natural reaction to a senseless beating was a quiet sobbing. The man who was thought to be silent had it in him all along.

And, boy, was he a crier! No matter what the more compassionate high school students tried to do to comfort him -- swaddling him in warm towels, rocking him, etc. -- Loudmouth simply refused to shut up. At the volume he was producing, no one assumed he ever would.

“Do you think we need to wrap him in a diaper?” asked one student.

Loudmouth shut up long enough to shout “No diapers! I’m potty trained!” Then he went right back to bawling his eyes out.

Cynical students checked to make sure, and they were right: Loudmouth was possessed of the same two-inch, acorn-bedecked dinky with which Recon had been cursed.

The more astute members of the class were beginning to piece together what had happened. Someone-- or something-- had loosed a chemical agent that would have permanently deprived these hoodlums of the ability to terrorize others for the rest of their lives. But who could have possibly done such a thing, and how? What did the Tigers have in common that no one else did?

Somewhere, Dr. Willis was laughing. He had figured how to treat violence by removing physicality, the weapon. He had solved arrogance by eliminating stature, the wellspring. And he had cured entitlement the only way he knew how... by dumping sexuality.

At about the same time Willis Benes was laughing, Troy “Impulse” Devecchio was entering the Tupper High locker room.

First, the 4’11” troglodyte walked around in silence. He looked with disdain upon his peers, as he always had. He looked with confusion upon the enormous pile of adult pull-ups in the corner. But, hardest of all, with a bizarre flame of victory igniting within his retinas, he looked with superiority upon Rico “Recon” Velez and Peter “Loudmouth” Li, currently no longer in any shape to fight, to take back, or to rebuild the Tiger empire.

“We could’ve still fought,” Impulse said through gritted teeth. “Somehow this has to have happened. But what am I left with now? A guy who uses a potty chair and a guy who uses his bed. Honestly. You toddlerdicked-little dweebs should never’ve... even...”

Suddenly, Impulse clutched at his chest. Then at his tummy. Then at his crotch. He grunted and, horrified, dropped his pants in front of everyone. It couldn’t be true. It couldn’t happen to him.

Not to me!

His nine-inch cock (nine-and-a-half erect, as he liked to remind people), was anything but that anymore. Wearing only an undershirt and a pair of child’s khakis around his ankles, Impulse stared in horror as his magnificent rod became depressingly normal... six inches long, if that. But then it kept going. And going. Pretty soon, it was the size of the penis he remembered from when he himself was potty training.

He tuned out the laughter.

But it kept shrinking. It kept collapsing. Two inches. One inch. Half of one, buried in a tuft of pubes that showed no sign of retracting.

Impulse’s balls were still huge. Just like jumbo eggs. They ached for release.

Cavalierly, and with an uncharacteristic sense of confidence, Steve “Babydick” Benjamin -- suddenly the man among the four with the largest dick -- sauntered up to the confused and humiliated Tiger.

He knelt in front of Troy, but spoke softly.

“I’d bet the girls would be complaining now.”

Impulse said nothing.

“I’ve never wanted to hear about your ‘fucking cock,’ Impulse, but, now that we’re both here, did you want me to look at it? Well, let’s see.”

Steve began to pick through the frozen Impulse’s pubic hair as if he were looking for his favorite flavor of jelly bean in a basket full of Easter grass. When he finally grabbed ahold of it, Troy moaned.

“What does it look like? Well, it’s pretty stiff... I’d say it looks like something I’d buy in a package of half-calorie breath mints.”

The whole locker room erupted in laughter.

“Now,” Steve continued, “if I remember correctly, the next thing you wanted me to do was measure your erection. What’s the term I would use? One flea? One flea’s shit?”

More laughter.

“But you like it when I rub it, don’t you, bitch? You like it because I’m a little faggot, is that it? Or is it because you have these two giant balls just bubbling with white-hot cum and it will absolutely torture you for the rest of your life unless someone helps you get it out forever?”

Impulse hated what was happening, but the little queer had hit the nail right on the head. He needed his balls emptied. He couldn’t conceive of any other manner by which he could go on with living.

“Alright,” Steve conceded. “But I don’t swallow.”

The 15-year-old gave the elder sub-babydick a couple of gentle tugs, and a torrent of semen was on its way. Given the diameter of the organ from which it was ejecting, it took almost a full minute and 180 contractions to divest Impulse of the last of his true manhood. He had his thumb stuck in his mouth, was bobbing away at it, and was enjoying every second of it.

But, at last, it was done. Troy “Impulse” Delvecchio’s jumbo eggs were now naught more than ball bearings, relieved forever via chemical or magick or some combination thereof of having to shoulder the responsibility of sperm production again.

Then again, Impulse remained a man. Men can do it no matter what.

to be continued