Future Boy Daniel

By Masked Man

Copyright 2022 by Masked Man, all rights reserved

maskedmanwriter@gmail.com

Feedback: maskedmanwriter@gmail.com

INTRO/ BACKGROUND:

Motivated of looking how things are changing in our society, the “politically correct” ideas, an all that I imagine in a future that things keeps growing and growing in that direction, to the point of a young boy around 10, genius and so qualified being “the boss” of other scientist/engineer in a time machine project.

Because of an accident with the time machine, both end some decades ago from our present time (maybe 70s or 60s) in a small conservative town with old fashioned ideas about children.

When the machine can be repaired and they can return, the adult is in love with the place, and decides to stay there, forcing the child genius to remain keeping unwillingly the “roleplay” as his son.



SIDE NOTE: This belong to my Future Boy/Visitors From Utopia series (not necessary to read the others first), but this one was not written by me, I hired a writer, but the plot and ideas were 100% mine, however the writer put ideas and phrases but it was almost ghost writing, English is not my first language but fear not, this is well written and the guy did an excellent job

future boy Daniel







By the 23rd century, the proliferation of internet access has networked the world to the point

wherein the abundance of, free exchange of, and easy access to knowledge and information

has necessarily led to adults and children being held in equal esteem. The youth of society

are raised by private contractors and their talents and strengths are cultivated by the

people by pairing them with less adept, albeit elder, apprentices. Daniel, a bookish

boy of ten years, while shy, is among the most gifted people in his collective and

works closely with his middle-aged assistant, August, refining temporal

technology and coming to know the ways of the world. An accident

with one of their prototypes sends the pair back to Earth in the

1970s, a time of comparatively stringent social conservatism

ill-equipped to abide the concept of equally-talented

business partners with such disparate ages. Though

Daniel is headstrong, August cannot decline the

opportunity to raise a “son” of his own, and

elects to strand the pair of them in the

idyllic rural countryside of the distant

past. Though sometimes contentious,

and punctuated by the occasional

spanking, their relationship is

inviolable, invaluable, and

just the right flavor for a

time when authority was

conferred upon people

merely by virtue of

their longevity...

...It is here that

we begin.

CHAPTER ONE



A crackling fire shed light on the studio from the corner fireplace. In an adjacent corner, a Magnavox television, its colors muted by the CRT’s age and its volume dial turned to a setting that left its disbursement of sounds almost imperceptible, cast its own pale glow on the focal point of the room: a light brown, vinyl easy chair, only slightly worn on account of the work ethic shared by the house’s pair of tenants. But, on this night, on a seat upon which there was room enough for one, this pair sat, passing the time with patient, weary breathing, as their shadows danced in two circumstances on the walls behind them.

“It’s just... I think it’s demeaning,” Daniel offered in a soft voice, almost a whisper.

“You have a right to think that,” replied August. “But if you want to go through life without drawing negative attention to yourself, you have to at least make an effort to conform to the style of the times.”

August, a man of above-average height and slender frame, sat in the chair itself, his long, slate-gray hair spilling down the back of his head like a horsetail, his hazel eyes projecting sympathy and a warmth characteristic of the flame they reflected. Perched upon the right thigh of August’s long black work pants sat Daniel, clothed in little other than a slack cranberry t-shirt and ashen boys’ briefs, his spindly, hairless legs arcing into triangles that arrived at a terminus enforced by August’s left leg and announced by a pair of plain white socks that covered the boy’s delicate feet.

Daniel alternated between glancing off at an invisible waypoint and meeting August’s eyes with fleeting glimpses. “The shorts are too short, though. They end inches above my knees. And the cuffs don’t even go straight across! I might as well just put on a second pair of underwear for all the coverage I get.”

August laughed, causing his chest to bob up and down like a bouncing barrel. Daniel appreciated the deep, throaty vibration that rippled through his body.

“Now, that I’d like to see,” said the man. “Little Daniel walking down the street, silent and angelic, with the sun warming his legs all the way up.”

“And that’s another thing,” Daniel protested, drawing attention to his bare legs by unfurling his palms in mock exasperation. “Can’t a guy get some pajamas out here? I get what you’re saying about the short shorts being in fashion, but I don’t believe for a minute that pajama bottoms are a recent development in modern attire. Wouldn’t take me but a minute to look up, either.”

Daniel’s head was crisp and shaped like an inverted teardrop. Big blue eyes sat beneath dueling cascades of blonde, almost bleached, straight hair that reached down to his chin in shaggy and varied endings that turned out to the sides. When he looked up at August, the elder apprentice saw in that visage a conflagration of characteristics seldom seen in symphony-- comprehension and curiosity, worldliness and naïveté, passion and the undisturbed detachment of youth. It made August self-conscious about whether the face his diminutive superior saw was one that naturally elicited the desired emotions of safety and need.

The man shrugged noncommittally. “What would be the point in that? It’s not like I don’t see you like this practically every evening. And the fire provides enough heat in the house with some left over to spare. Is it that terrible having my wrists resting on your legs from time to time?”

“No, it’s not that, it’s just--”

“Next you’ll be telling me you don’t want me spanking you anymore.”

Daniel laughed nervously. “I don’t want you spanking me anymore.”

“That’s the idea,” August reasoned. “If you wanted it, then how could I use it as a deterrent for the unbecoming little things you do when you get into one of your moods? Swatting you on the bottom is the last defense I have against your devolution into a stereo-thieving, thermohyolene-syphoning street punk.”

The boy blushed softly and looked straight ahead, between his knees. “Then at least let me keep my undies on when you do it. It’s just too humiliating having you spank my bare butt like I was...”

“...Like you were what, Daniel?”

Daniel sighed and glanced awkwardly at August. “Like I was still some kind of baby or something. It doesn’t seem fair that you can go to town on a part of my body that I can’t even see without a mirror. And it’s not like I wouldn’t build character from some more... age-appropriate methods of restitution.”

August smiled into the boy’s investigative stare. He could tell Daniel was exploring uncharted territory, setting his toes upon areas of autonomy and dignity that he had taken for granted in their home century but which the conservative social mores of their current time and place dictated were precocious and inappropriate.

“If we’re gonna keep up this charade of being your average Cold War-era fix-it men,” August said, “then I’m afraid I’m going to have to keep treating you the same way all the other adults treat their children in this day and age. It won’t be for very much longer, you know?

“And besides” -- August smiled gently at the sentiment that had formed in his mind -- “I kinda like spanking your bare little bottom as though you were still a--”

“August!” Daniel hissed, loosing a squeak from his vocal cords in the process. The boy sighed, scratched his chin a bit with one thumb, and rested it atop the crossed arms he propped against his knees. “Let’s try to remember ourselves. Please.”

Just then, the doorbell rang.

August glanced at his watch and turned his head to face the hallway leading to the front door. “Who on Earth could that be at this hour?” The man lifted Daniel at the hips, stood the boy up upon the carpeting, and rose to stretch his tired muscles. “You can stay here and sit by the fire for a little if you want, short stuff. I’ll find out who that is and let them know we’re not buying what they’re selling.”

“Material good, politician, or religion?”

“Any one of ‘em... doesn’t matter.” August left the studio and closed the door behind him, leaving the quickly-tiring Daniel to kneel in front of the fire by his lonesome, the flashing of combustible embers casting spells of luminescence upon his pure, pale face.





CHAPTER TWO



On silent feet did Daniel pad to his point of reconnaissance. It was but an ear held to the door, pressed against delicately, flesh gently kissing mahogany, with a curled hand poised laterally to serve as a funneling dish to the curious boy’s head. Only muffled sounds struck his eardrum, distinctly dialogue, jovial and neighborly if not perfunctory given the hour at hand, and each intonation wormed its way into the wide-eyed boy’s universe like it had made the journey through an ocean of obfuscating tides, painting the night with ionic light.

It was Ginny and her family. He should have known!

As a person of more advanced philosophy and refinement, Daniel seldom got on well with his contemporaries, and Ginny was an outstanding example in practice. A girl every bit as headstrong as he but without the breadth of knowledge and intricacy of neurological circuitry, Ginny often made Daniel feel as the straight man in a slapstick comedy; as Daniel, in turn, made Ginny to feel as though she was the only child in the neighborhood who put forth the effort to elude the shackles of a society that seemed to have the prescription for everything. The disparity served as a grazing field for acrimony and, to Daniel’s utter malcontent, the foyer in which August, Ginny, and her family had rendezvoused now stood between him and the sweet liberation of the mezzanine.

Daniel didn’t want Ginny to see him in his undies! He couldn’t allow that. Already he was at a disadvantage, weak-willed and scatterbrained after a taxing day. Now he had to find a way to circumnavigate the periphery of the foyer without attracting the attention of a certain impetuous girl. Resignedly did Daniel wish, half-hearted, for an impromptu cataclysm to manifest a convenient stead over the central tea service.

“Daniel? Daniel!” August beckoned quietly, opening the doorway which bound the studio to the foyer, a smile of invitation preceding him. “Come out and say hello to Ginny and her mom before they go home for the evening.”

“Are you crazy!?” hissed Daniel. “I’m not going out there dressed like this! Cover for me!”

“Let’s not be rude, now.” August stepped inside the studio and shut the door quietly behind him. “I’ve already told them you’re still up. Now be a gracious host and say hi to your friend.”

“She’s not my friend, man. I can’t stand her. She’s obnoxious beyond belief and if she sees me like this I’m never gonna hear the end of it!”

“Daniel, if you don’t grow up this instant and show some manners I’m going to put you over my knee and you’re really going to regret that you didn’t cut your losses.”

Daniel crossed his arms, moved his head forward an inch, and opened his eyes just a touch more widely. “No.”

A beat of silence. Then, had real life been a mimicry of the Western animation of the era, a light bulb would have appeared over August’s head, beaming fluorescence as the studio’s tertiary light source. Instead, a wry smile crossed the man’s face.

“Very well, then,” said he. “If you’re not going to come greet our guests as a dignified young man, then you will welcome them as a happy little child.”

With that, and no further technicality, August leant down and plucked sweet Daniel off of the floor, his palms placed at the boy’s bony hips. With one fluid motion did he invert the child so that the studio’s fireplace illuminated the top of Daniel’s field of vision. Then, pinning the bottom half of the boy’s legs to his own chest with his left arm, August sent his platoon of spiderlike fingers to the bare torso gravity had helped expose to the evening air.

August, the product of a time in which information is so readily accessible that even the least curious among humanity can become a weekend scholar should he exploit the initiative, was possessed of an advanced knowledge of the neurology of the human body’s epidermal layers. An almost geniuslike awareness of how and where to tickle his prey, almost to the point of complete and utter incapacitation, informed his long and wiry fingers as he began to dance their feathery fingertips against Daniel’s yielding young skin. The boy, despite himself, gasped and laughed uproariously, squirming in utter futility in his compromised position, hair reaching for the carpeting like dangling eaves of moss.

“S--stop it!” Daniel gasped between labored breaths. “Stop it this instant!”

“Gonna getcha! Gonna getcha!” declared August. “Gonna show Ginny a hap-py little boy! Aren’t we? We sure are!”

The power of August’s tickling was the stuff of legend. The tactile receptors buried beneath Daniel’s milky skin lit up like Christmas as they sent signals of pure quivering ecstasy and total screaming abandon to the boy’s encyclopaedic brain. He kicked his little feet, and flexed his fingers, and clawed wildly at August’s shirted wrist, struggling against insurmountable odds to gain purchase against the onslaught... but he was trapped, trapped and hopeless, trapped and hopeless in an endlessly repeating circular cycle of contact and absence that sent the man’s hand all over the boy’s abdomen and chest, his belly button, his nipples, his armpits. August’s offensive granted no quarter.

He opened the door with his free hand and carried Daniel, still in this most compromising position, out of the studio and into the foyer where a confused and curious pair of young ladies stood in wait. Still, how Daniel howled, his vision blurring as his eyes caught side of an upside-down Ginny and her amused mother, August’s fingers never ceasing the delicious torture of their rhythmic and unceasing contact.

“We’ll just be a minute,” August said to the ladies over the music of Daniel’s laughter. “I have to tuck my laughing little devil into bed. Daniel, you remember your friend Ginny, and her mother?”

“I--haha!! Stop! G--Ginny!! August! Hahaha!!”

“Ginny, would you mind accompanying us to Daniel’s bedroom on the second floor? He seems to be a little fussy at the moment and I could no doubt use an extra pair of hands.”

“It would be my pleasure, Sir August,” the young girl replied, curtsying with the requisite manner afforded a female child of the day. She, with her long, auburn hair and yellow dress, stood not quite as tall as anyone else in the room, but she looked positively monumental in comparison to the wholly indisposed boy whose current predicament amused her so.

“No hurry, my dear,” said August, declining to relent for even a second. “We’ll be waiting for you.” Slowly, as though without a care in the world, August ascended the stairs, keeping Daniel grasped in his inverted position, squirming and laughing and kicking and twitching.

Eventually, the duo made it to the summit, and August spirited his boss away into the darkness of one of the side rooms, flicking on the light switch as the undulating mass of laughter made its entrance. Still, August held him fast, his smile never abating as he ran his fluttering fingers all over the surface of Daniel’s skin.

“Stop it!” Daniel pleaded between choked gasps. “I--I can’t take it anymore!”

“Just a little while longer,” said August, sneaking an extra playful pinch of the boy’s left nipple as his fingertips crossed it again. “You can hold out until Ginny gets here. Don’t wet yourself now, pretty boy, or Ginny and I will have to give you a bath before sleepytime.”

Daniel grimaced in horror. In retrospect, he couldn’t tell whether that simple reaction was the moment of distraction that crossed the event horizon, but such a detail proved ultimately inconsequential. The reality of the situation was undeniable. The reality of the situation was out of the boy’s fleeting control.

Daniel felt his heart flutter in anxiety as he began to wet his undies. At first, it was a singular warm, round bead of urine that snuck out of the boy’s body, touching the fabric of his briefs and instantly collapsing into component molecules that soaked into the threaded fabric of the silver garment.

“Stop!” he cried. “Stop!!”

Laughter rang deeply about the acoustics of the room as Daniel’s bladder at last gave way and he began leaking a long, continuous stream of hot pee into his boys’ briefs, gasping for breath as he squirmed. A dark stain the size of a dime began at the head of his penis and quickly expanded to encompass the crotch and fly of his underwear. Daniel blushed a beet red as he felt tiny rivers of urine break free of the waistband of his briefs and streak quickly down his abdomen towards his face. Droplets of the boy’s unabating release began to liberate themselves from the confines of the fabric and drip through the air, catching the light of the room and recasting it in a kaleidoscope of colors before hitting the carpet and soaking into its twisted threading. Daniel tried to hold back, to regain control of his muscles, but there was no hope of overcoming the sheer power of August’s assault. The boy could feel his testicles growing warm with the sensation of adjacent fabric saturating and flooding with his piss, wicking along the bands hugging his hairless thighs and tickling his perineum, which quivered parallel with the ceiling. Like ghostly, pallid fingers, tributaries of urine webbed across Daniel’s chest and bounded his nipples, then dripped to the underside of his chin and made disparate journeys down either cheek and into the child’s golden locks and the carpet beneath them. By the time Daniel felt the last of his pee course out of his genitals, his bladder entirely and mercifully drained, the warmth of two renegade droplets creased his lips and touched his shuddering tongue, disappearing into the boy’s burgeoning quantity of saliva and ringing his mind with the distant tang of light acidity.

And then, it was over.

Ginny sauntered casually into the bedroom, a smirk plastered across her spritely face. August had finally ceased tickling young Daniel, and the boy, chest heaving, face plum red, struggled to catch his breath as his apprentice rerighted his stance.

“Well, well, well,” said Ginny. “I’m glad we got that out of our system before ni-ni time. Now, what do you say we give you that bath with which I overheard August threatening you before you showed all of us your true colors?”

Daniel was not smiling. He scratched his elbow as he pouted, his soaked, soggy underwear still dripping urine from his groin down the air between his legs to the puddle at his feet. His penis twitched twice, reflexively, in the cool nighttime air. He hadn’t felt so exposed, so utterly infantile, in his entire ten years of existence. He truly felt like the naked little baby as which he feared Ginny and August saw him, all eyes trained on him like spotlights, all attention focused squarely upon the enormity of his humiliation.

As his penis shrunk and shriveled into itself, Daniel wanted nothing more than to collapse and drown in the hot, steaming puddle he had made for himself.





CHAPTER THREE



The ammoniac scent of urea hung stale in the air as Daniel, dejected and forlorn, gazed distantly into the reflective shimmer of the bathwater. Its level rose with time and the incessant burble of liquid pooling into itself. Though Ginny’s mother was still downstairs, enjoying a sit and a magazine at the behest of August, the middle-aged man and his fidgety female guest joined Daniel atop the bath mat in the water closet adjacent to the boy’s bedroom. August was hunched over the tub, regulating the temperature of the quickly-filling soak, and Ginny assisted him with an almost comical verve, proffering suggestions for the impending bath and meeting with varying degrees of success. The capfuls of lavender bubble bath were roundly vetoed by virtue of August’s allergies to one of its detergents; the bath toys, however, plastic in composition and wildly colorful, sat upon the rising tide and gained elevation as would the very boats and rafts the models resembled.

Daniel, for his part, kept it together as best he could. He was still clothed in his white socks and red t-shirt. His silver briefs, darkened with urine and tugged downward with its weight, clung bitterly and coldly to Daniel’s bottom and hips. He felt so gross, so dirty, and so childlike, that not even Ginny’s patronizing arm slung around his back comforted him. In fact, it made him feel worse.

“Would you take off his socks, please, Ginny?”

“My pleasure, sir.”

Ginny knelt down and placed her fingers at the cuff of Daniel’s left sock. The boy shivered at her touch and reluctantly raised his foot, permitting the girl to unroll the fabric from his pale skin and pull its elasticity from his wiggling toes. As Ginny worked to denude her male acquaintance’s feet, her nose wrinkled at the smell of urine that assaulted her; when she looked up, she saw not only the wrinkly and soggy briefs clinging to Daniel’s butt, but she noted the screwed-up face of the embarrassed boy a mere few feet upward. He seemed too humiliated even to protest, as though by mere virtue of his silence he could vanish from this plane of existence, to depart into the aether forever and eternalize what was left of his pride as his legacy.

August divested Daniel of his shirt as Ginny rose to her feet. He pulled the tee up over the little boy’s arms and head and tossed it aside cavalierly, leaving the pair’s charge standing in naught but his waterlogged undies.

“Did you want to take off your own wet underpants, Daniel?” August cooed.

“No!” huffed the boy. Reflexively, the man gave the petulant child a swift swat on the rear, a wet smack piercing the air as droplets of room-temperature pee bubbled from the threads of the compressed fabric. Daniel sniffled and extruded his bottom lip in silent protest, and August nodded to Ginny, implicitly giving her permission to relieve the 10-year-old of his last vestige of modesty.

Daniel was too tired from the stresses of the day to fight against inevitability any further. He sniffled and bit his bottom lip as Ginny threaded her fingers through the waistband of the boy’s saturated briefs and began dragging the garment down his slender, hairless legs. As soon as he had the room to maneuver, Daniel clasped his palms against his bare groin and refused to move them, shielding his damp and wrinkly boyhood from Ginny’s prying eyes even as it twitched nervously beneath his cupped hands. Daniel was only too eager to step out of his stinking, pee-soaked underpants, and he sniffled in shame as Ginny tossed them aside and spasmodically waved her fingers through the air in overwrought disgust.

His pee-soaked underpants... and Ginny had touched them, took them off him. He was never going to live this down.

Daniel wept softly as he sat naked in the tub, clutching at his genitals in humiliation. August ran a soapy washrag up and down the boy’s bare back while Ginny ran her Ivory-slicked fingers in between each of the boy’s toes. The toy boats floated unceremoniously around Daniel’s bare body as it poked out of the surface of the water. A part of him wanted to play with them, to busy himself with their innocuous potentiality for distracting him from the utter mortification that enshrouded his very being, but he couldn’t bring himself to reveal his private parts to the doting Ginny.

As August ran his rag over the boys bare shoulders and chest, dripping pearly white suds over the pert roundness of the boy’s nipples, Ginny grabbed a second washrag and started using it to climb up Daniel’s pole-like legs, oohing and aahing at him and teasing him as each swipe of her caring, cleansing touch inched closer and closer to his sensitive inner thighs.

“And does little Daniel liiiiike his bath time?” Ginny cooed, dragging out her syllables as she did her motions, savoring every red-hued blood vessel that lit up in the boy’s cheeks as he shivered in embarrassment. “Aunt Ginny and Uncle Auggie’s gotta get the little boy aaallllll nice and clean after he made such a mess of himself, peeing his underpants like an itty-bitty little baby, don’t they? We don’t want Danny getting a rash on his little dinky! Why, if he’s pouty now, wait’ll you see what he’s like when he has to powder his little boy-parts before he tucks them into his next pair of underpants!”

August chuckled, but tried halfheartedly to reign in his zealous assistant. “Alright, alright, Ginny,” he cajoled. “Let’s not make too much fun. Daniel couldn’t help that he had an accident, could he? Why, he still wets his bed from time to time. Wasn’t too many years ago that I thought I’d have to send him to bed in plastic pants until he went off to college.”

“That’s not true!” Daniel howled, a hot, stinging tear coursing down his right cheek.

Ginny reached Daniel’s crotch and immediately began soaping up his privates, paying no mind to the boy’s struggle as he held his hands over them and kept them out of view even as he felt himself be openly fondled by the neighborhood girl. Eventually, her ministrations overrode the residence of his clutches, and his hands sprang free, idly wafting through the water like ghosts in flight.

“Now that your hands are free, little boy,” Ginny crooned, “why don’t you go ahead and play with your toys? I think I can hear those tiny ship captains calling out for a biiig, smooth, pale sea monster to help give their vessels some momentum.”

Daniel scowled at Ginny. If looks could kill, his evil eye at that moment would have been up to the task--but his most indelicate position, denuded and being manhandled by his two foils, conveyed an image too comical to be burdened by the weight of intimidation.

“Ah-hem,” said August. “I don’t think it was merely a request, Daniel.”

Still scowling, and with visible reluctance invigorated by caustic and evident venom, Daniel wrapped his pudgy young hands around the plastic boats that floated above his bare lap and began crashing them into one another, halfheartedly making poorly-acted sounds of maritime action in an attempt to sate Ginny’s lust for antagonism. Engaged in such meaningless whimsy, Daniel appeared a boy many years his junior; far from the stately and cosmopolitan young man of the world who had mastered his chosen trade, but rather more akin to a harmless tot, barely out of diapers and enraptured in the throes of a youth spread boundlessly before him.

“Hop up onto your hands and knees, Daniel,” August directed. “Hands and knees. Let me get your bottom.”

Reluctantly, Daniel twisted one leg over the other and used the heels of his hands to help rotate the whole of his body about its axis, feeling his pale skin erupt in fleshy goosebumps and blushing redness as he exposed his back and round white bottom to the open air. He put himself into a crawling position and closed his eyes as tightly as possible, wishing beyond all hope to disappear as Ginny laughed at the view.

“Nice butt, little boy,” she giggled.

Daniel whined pathetically. Ginny sat back on her haunches as August used the washrag to coat the boy’s urine-stung buttocks in pleasant-smelling suds. He dragged the cleansing fabric up through the boy’s crack, chuckling as Daniel clenched and begged for a speedy conclusion to his ordeal.

August clutched the washrag in his right hand and used it to soap up the opposing middle finger. “Ginny?” he asked, glancing over at her.

“Yes, sir?”

“Turn around, please. This’ll just take a second.”

Confused, but obedient, Ginny averted her gaze. Daniel tilted his head quizzically.

Then, August placed the tip of his soapy finger upon the surface of Daniel’s pink anus and slipped it inside.

August’s stiff, slick finger slid into his boss’s rectum easily, the soft pink membrane of Daniel’s sphincter tightening around it as a reflex.

“Ahh!” gasped the boy. “What was that? What are you doing?” He was hissing out his whispers to August in the hopes that Ginny wouldn’t hear them, but even Daniel had to acknowledge that the likelihood of her eavesdropping was great.

“I’m cleaning you,” said August, allowing a warmth and a safety to fill the pits in his voice. “Now pipe down and hold still.” August extracted his bony finger from Daniel’s body and inserted it again, adopting a gentle rhythm. The shy, whimpering boy quivered around the invasion and sucked on his tongue until the sensation passed and suds of foaming cleanliness were spilling from his puckered little hole.

“How did that feel, Daniel?”

“Like I needed to go to the bathroom.”

August laughed softly. “Well, believe me, you don’t. You’re sparkly-clean, inside and out. And you’re welcome to stand on the bath mat out here while we towel you off and drain the tub.”

All Daniel could think about as he stood in the center of the bathroom, soft light bearing down on his flesh, crystal water dripping from his loins, was the length of time distancing him from the end of his humiliation. He was on display, an exhibit, not a boy of action, but a curio, posed, in his idiom, for the amusement of Ginny and the pleasure of August.

It was not an opportunity the duo elected to shirk. They fawned over the boy’s soaking body, caressing every delicate inch with the absorbent terrycloth of colorful bath towels, threading the warmth of their downy surfaces through his most innocuous digits and his most private folds.

Daniel felt a whimper of dejection leak from his lips as Ginny’s kneading fingers worked at his damp flesh. The sensation of warm cloth arced upwards and downwards through every quantum of his body, absorbing the liquid molecules from the boy’s hydrated skin, tickling his nerves and sending itching little tingles to a brain awash in activity. He alternated among giggling, whining, and catching tiny gasps in his throat as August worked the towel thoroughly over Daniel’s back and between the parallel globes of his sweet-smelling rump.

“Is all of this really necessary?” Daniel peeped. The timbre of his voice was attenuating noticeably with the passage of time.

“Now, now,” chastised August. “We underwent this whole rigmarole because you were wet. There wouldn’t be much point in dressing you in fresh clothes if you were still wet, would there?”

Daniel bit the inside of his lip. The heat of shame flushed from the back of his neck, through his cheeks, and around to his nose. Why did August have to keep reminding him that the precocious young boy had urinated himself like a common toddler? Was the antagonism deliberate? Whatever the cause, Daniel felt it wildly out of line. But he also felt as though his capacity to voice his objection had diminished appreciably with the waning of the hours.

August, on the other hand, fancied himself a master of balancing his measured distribution of humiliation against Daniel’s emotional well-being. The former had something of an affinity for these behaviors-- many an evening, back in the future-times, a relaxed August would frequently ruminate on matters of corporal punishment and playful humility during his more private moments of the self. But such tales, the harmless literary errata that much pleased his ancestors in a similar manner, had been censored out of existence by a moralizing legislative body on a symbolic crusade against the prurience of a bygone era. Sort of a counterintuitive paradox in light of the more liberalized views of social responsibility of the later centuries, but, alas, these are matters of deliberation for scholars and critics and not for well-meaning gentlemen of technical vocation.

“All done,” said August, piercing the silence and causing Ginny to withdraw her towel from Daniel’s crotch with a smile. “Let’s get you bundled up and on your way to bed.”

“For God’s sake, I can handle this part myself, August.”

August swung his palm downward and delivered a sharp smack to Daniel’s bare bottom. The clapping sound of the duo’s colliding skin ricocheted among the bathroom walls.

“That’s for blasphemy,” said he. Though such a concept was obsolete, almost quaint, to the natives of Daniel’s temporal home, the swiftly-delivered spank looked perfectly appropriate in the context of the 1970s.

Tears welled up in Daniel’s eyes and a sour tinge manifested in the back of his throat. He wouldn’t cry in front of Ginny, he assured himself-- but the sudden irritation and heat radiating from his rear end compelled him to nibble nervously on his tongue. He had never felt so hopelessly little in his entire life.

“Ginny, would you be so kind as to give me a hand, please?” In the following seconds, August held one corner of the towel against the back of Daniel’s left shoulder, wrapped the large cloth around the right side of his body, and brought its terry freshness back to its point of origin, enshrouding the boy with its coverage and twisting the corners together into a small knot that resulted in a toga-like garment. Then, August picked Daniel up, cradling the 10-year-old’s shoulder blades with his right forearm and slinging his left beneath the little one’s arched knees, allowing Daniel’s lowest extremities to dangle freely of the covering of the towel as he remained largely immobile in the trough formed by the concert of August’s linked arms.

August and Ginny walked side-by-side through the corridor of the house’s upper level, returning to Daniel’s bedroom in no hurry. Despite himself, Daniel clung to his apprentice, gaining anchorage from his gentle grasp and feeling not unlike a needful child in the process. Thin, wiry locks of his hair, still dampened from the bath, clung to his forehead in darkened, sticky curls. August gazed down at his young charge and smiled reflexively, feeling decidedly fatherlike in his expanded role as caretaker, and fought against every impulse he had to lean down and give Daniel a gentle kiss, placed without pretense upon a forehead still beaded with dampness.

Inspired by the intimacy of the occasion, and emboldened by August’s evident playfulness, Ginny observed an opportunity to take a gentle grasp of one of Daniel’s bare ankles and followed through on it. Between light fingertips she held on to the bony roundness of the boy’s ankle, smiling at the pliability of his skin and giggling at the self-conscious and pleading gaze he shot her after raising his head in quandary.

“Please, Ginny,” Daniel said in a half-whisper, his voice quavering. “Whatever you’ve got planned, just give it a rest, okay?”

The girl said nothing. Instead, she raised her free hand, placed four of its fingertips to the still-wrinkled skin of the immobilized boy, and began the fiercest, most sensational onslaught of tickling of which she could conceive.

Daniel burst into laughter. He laughed, he thrashed, he kicked, and he squealed. He twisted and turned in August’s cradled arms like a puppy trying to escape his master’s stead. All of his muscles variously contracted and twitched, seized and relaxed, causing a rippling symphony of nervous gestures to erupt from Daniel’s frame like popping corn. Spittle flew from his lips and his toes curled in rigidity as his drier shocks of hair bobbed and weaved in the warm air of the hallway. And all the while, to his utter mortification, Daniel knew that, had his bladder had any more output to give, he would have been doomed to wet all over himself, wet all over the floor.

He was truly at their control.





CHAPTER FOUR



Daniel was still panting for breath by the time August laid him, damp, folded-over towel and all, onto the boy’s twin-sized bed. His muscles twitched weakly, exhausted, his bare and wiggling foot having finally been granted a reprieve from Ginny’s assault. The only thing Daniel could think about by that point was the mercy that could be provided by things like nightclothes, privacy, and a hard-earned and much-overdue slumber.

Ginny stood on the sidelines, keenly observant as always, while August moved to Daniel’s oaken dresser and opened the top drawer, from which he extracted a virgin-white pair of boys’ briefs and a baby-blue t-shirt that nicely supplemented the cranberry one he had worn during the course of the day’s duties. Soundlessly, wordlessly, August moved, deft as an apparition, to Ginny’s proximity. He handed her the two articles of clothing and crossed his arms with an air of contented finality.

“Well, I’m going downstairs,” declared the middle-aged man. “Ginny, I trust you have this situation under control? I’ve been remiss in my duties as host; your poor mother has been whiling away her minutes unaccompanied while we’ve been having just the grandest time taking care of our boy Daniel here.”

“Oh, that’s no problem,” said Ginny. “She can amuse herself. She understands that sometimes it takes an extra pair of hands or two to wrangle a little boy at bedtime.”

“Guuuyyys,” Daniel whined from the bed. “Stop talking about me like I’m not here.”

August ignored the exhortation. “Nevertheless, I’m still going to attend to her so that the two of you can return home at a reasonable hour. Just get Daniel clothed in his shirt and undies, please, and when he’s tucked into bed for nighty-night, you’re welcome to come on down for a spot of cocoa before you take your leave.”

A smile spread across Ginny’s face. “That sounds wonderful, sir. Very well. Go on ahead.”

“Daniel?” said August, his voice taking on a stern tone as he turned to face the toweled figure squirming self-consciously on the bedspread. “Daniel.”

“Yes?”

“Yes who?”

Daniel furrowed his brow in confusion. “Yes... Dad?”

August smiled warmly. “I don’t suppose I have to tell you to be cooperative for our young guest, here. She’s offered to assist me of her own generosity and she is a guest in our home. You’re already beaten -- you know this -- so just relax and be cooperative. The last thing you’d want Ginny to see would be Daniel being put over his Daddy’s knee and given a nice, hard spanking, wouldn’t it?”

Daniel swallowed the lump in his throat. He couldn’t believe this was happening to him.

“I... I guess so. I mean, I guess not. I... whatever.”

August chuckled. “Whatever, indeed.” He turned and exited the bedroom, closing the door behind him before leaving a softly-worded “Goodnight, little one” in his place.



-=-=-



Ginny, invigorated by a sense of carte blanche that set her mind adrift with possibilities, inhaled the fresh-laundry scent of the clothing August had handed her. She thought as though she might have detected the slight essence of Daniel wafting from the delicate cotton fabrics of his underwear.

She was a girl of great curiosity, something of a tomboy, by all accounts a mischief-maker and not one to let an opportunity elude her. The secretive, almost exotic world of boys had always remained tantalizingly out of Ginny’s grasp, its intricacies (or, just as likely, she figured, simplicities) unknown to her as she fruitlessly observed her male peers playing, chasing, scheming, and dreaming. She envisioned Daniel wearing the underpants she held whimsically to her cheek, running and jumping in them as they hugged parts of him that, ordinarily, she would never get to see.

But fate had smiled on her upon that eve, she mused, as she glanced at the towel-swaddled boy gazing at her shamefully from the top of his bed. And these secrets of the ages needn’t be enshrouded in the obfuscations of common decency any longer.

“Alright!” she sing-songed, dashing to the foot of the bed. “Towels off!”

“Huh!?” Daniel gasped in surprise, and his muscles reacted in double-time to retain the towel that girded him. Fumbling fingers grasped the nearest available patches of terry and made impromptu handfuls out of them, and the towel as a whole drew taut as Ginny grasped a length of it and applied all the strength she had. “Ginny, leave me alone!”

“You heard what August said!” Ginny said, her face a grin with eyes. “It’s time for your tighty-whities, little boy!” Suddenly, Ginny planted one foot securely on the carpet and pivoted the entirety of her body with a swift push of the other, channeling an impossible amount of force into a thrust against which Daniel’s pervasive sense of modesty didn’t even stand a chance. And, with that, Ginny spun around in a full circle, the damp towel whipping and coiling around her revolving frame, as a shrieking Daniel, at last fully nude beneath the incandescence of the overhead lights, blushed a most crimson shade of red and threw a pair of panicked hands over his penis.

“I said stop!”

Ginny giggled at Daniel. She dropped the bath towel at her feet and couched her chin in the palms of her hands. “Oh, don’t be such a baby. Unless... that’s what you are! Are you a baby, Daniel?”

“No!”

“Ohh... I think you might be! Only babies pee their--”

“Ginny!” Daniel howled, catapulting the top half of his body from the surface of the bed. Unthinking, he allowed his hands to form into fists and pound the bedspread on either side of him, revealing his full nakedness to his most amused guest.

“Aww, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” said Ginny. But she was distracted. She had never seen a naked boy before, and the very sight of one -- let alone Daniel, the boy whom she loved to antagonize more than any other in her history -- rendered her speechless with a simmering curiosity. He was white as a ghost, pure and flawless, unblemished at all corners and everyplace in between, as though he had been sculpted from vanilla ice cream. Only his face, pocked with features and splashed with red, and the pink-hued innocence resting atop his groin, imbued the tableau with color.

Daniel was at a loss. He was actually surprised by what his instincts compelled him to do-- in his heart, in that instant, he felt that if he should adopt some air of nonchalance, some detached disassociation from the reverie, that his unenviable state would resonate with Ginny not as a singular novelty but as an utterly unremarkable anticlimax.

“Okay, so, you got your wish,” Daniel spat, crossing his arms across his bare chest and smirking as though Ginny had accomplished naught more notable than the wasting of her own time. “Daniel with no clothes on. Fascinating. Was it everything you’d ever dreamed it could be?”

Ginny stuck her tongue out and leaned over the foot of the bed, resting her palms on the comforter mere inches from Daniel’s wrinkled feet. Fearing a redux of tickle torture, the child spread his legs apart, distancing his sensitive soles from wandering fingertips.

“No, for your information,” she said matter-of-factly. “It isn’t. I don’t see what the big deal is. All I see is a skinny little boy.”

“Maybe that’s because I am a boy.”

“A skinny little boy,” Ginny sneered, somewhat redundantly. “With a skinny little boy-thing. And skinny-skinny skin as white as the driven snow. Tan much?”

Daniel swallowed and returned his hands to his crotch, shyly clutching at his genitals as though he were a show dog who had failed inspection. “You don’t have to be so mean about it.”

“Hah!” Ginny scoffed. She leapt onto the bed, knelt between Daniel’s spread legs, and used one of her hands to slap the pair of his away from his privates. “And stop doing that!”

“Ow!” Daniel cried, waggling his fingers in shock at the sudden impact of metacarpals against metacarpals. “What gives?”

“Stop hiding your... your... thing,” said Ginny, her eyes wide with mock incredulity. “I’ve already seen it. And it’s nothing to write home about anyway.”

“Why do you care so much about my thing?”

“I don’t. I just think it’s cute the way it bounces around. Like a little piece of rubber.” Ginny leaned down and snapped the tip of her index finger against the flaccid shaft of Daniel’s penis. “Boi-oi-oi-oi-oinnng.”

“Ouch!” Daniel screwed up his face. “If you’re gonna be a jerk about it, give me my underpants so I can just go to bed already!”

“Nuh-uh! August left me in charge. And I have to put your undies and your shirt on for you because you’re just a dumb boy. A dumb, skinny little white boy.”

Daniel exhaled in frustration. His head was beginning to pound. Worse yet, between the cool evening air and Ginny’s brazen manhandling, his “thing” was doing that “thing” it did from time to time-- swelling up into a stiff little finger, aching and looking ridiculous for no apparent useful purpose.

“Now what’s it doing?” Ginny asked, though this time the question sounded less antagonistic and more honestly curious.

“Oh, I don’t know,” huffed Daniel, eager to change the subject of conversation. “Why do we get goosebumps? How am I supposed to know?”

Ginny reached down and inspected Daniel’s erection. “Boys are so weird. I don’t know how you walk around with this thing.”

Daniel gently swatted Ginny’s hands away, though he was mildly surprised to find he didn’t altogether mind the sensation of the girl toying with something that, to the best of his recollection, he alone had ever touched. “I wasn’t given a choice.”

“Does that mean it has to pee?” asked Ginny, pointing one finger unnecessarily. “When it stands up like that, does that mean you have to go pee?”

“Uh, no.” Daniel blushed anew. “It’s actually kinda hard to pee when it does this, to be honest.”

“How do you make it go down again?”

“I dunno. You wait a while and it just... goes down, I guess. I try not to think about it.”

Ginny rolled her eyes. “Boys are so weird.”

“You said that already.”

“Do you want your underpants or not?”

Now it was Daniel’s turn to appear incredulous. “I’ve been waiting here all this time for exactly that!”

“Well, you should’ve said something.”

“Hand ‘em over.”

“I don’t think so!” Ginny smirked. “I’m in charge here, and that means I get to put your underpants on you. Now lift your feet up and put them together.”

Curiously, and almost certain of the existence of a more efficient manner by which Ginny could be clothing him, Daniel closed his feet together as the girl resumed her standing position at the side of the bed, picked up Daniel’s lily-white boys’ briefs, and shook them into shape. The young boy used his arms for purchase against the bedspread as he lifted his legs into the air... somewhat akin to the manner in which babies had their ankles raised during a diaper changing, he realized in some dark, suddenly-humiliated corner of his mind. Ginny, in turn, fitted the cuffs of the briefs over Daniel’s wiggling feet and began to slowly guide the garment along the boy’s bony legs.

“Could you hurry it up, please?”

“Don’t get huffy, little boy.”

“And stop calling me little boy. I’m older than you.”

“I’m not talking about age,” spat Ginny as she gradually, methodically inched the crisp, white fabric along Daniel’s wiggling legs. “I’m talking about how I’m a robust young woman and you’re just a skinny little thing. Who still pees his pants and needs the neighborhood girls to change him like they were his babysitter.”

“Har har. It’s getting pretty tired, Ginny. You’re not gonna get to me.”

When at last Ginny reached Daniel’s milky thighs, she directed the boy to lift his rump from the surface of the comforter so that she could fit its elastic waistband over his rounded curves. “I must say, it’s almost as though you’re taking this like a man. I might have underestimated you, Danny-boy.”

Daniel seethed. “Just get this over with and get out of my house.”

Ginny let go of the stretchy cotton just as she was tugging the waistband over Daniel’s smooth scrotum. “I’d dial back the attitude if I were you. I doubt August would have much of a problem with me putting you over my knee for a swift spanking.”

Daniel shuddered at the thought. His considerable intelligence had gifted him with an almost cinematographic talent for mental staging. In a matter of moments, Daniel pictured Ginny -- a girl who, though younger, boasted a slightly fuller and more durable figure -- securing his spindly body belly-side down over her lap, tugging down the seat of his tighty-whities, and hovering her eager palm just inches away from his sensitive young flesh. He grimaced as he envisioned her hand coming down, as he heard the smacking of skin against skin echoing against the walls of the bedroom, as he saw himself squirming helplessly against her clutches, tears streaming down his cheeks, humiliated wails blaring from his howling tongue. He really would be just a baby then... wouldn’t he?

I’d need a diaper just to be able to sit.

“Um... you’re right.” Daniel blinked and swallowed the lump in his throat. “I’m sorry... Madam Ginny.”

A smile curled the little girl’s lips as she pulled the fabric of the briefs over Daniel’s shriveling penis and symbolically encased it in the emasculating white purity of its cotton. A few moments later, the baby-blue freshness of the t-shirt surrounded Daniel’s body as well, rendering him the ideal picture of a boy who had taken his rightful place in the hierarchy of the household. A giggly, malleable little bundle of joy, always on the verge of capitulation and ready to satisfy every whim, as long as the remnants of his dignity survived.

“I’m glad we speak the same language,” smiled Ginny, tucking the nervous little boy into his bed for the evening. “Goodnight.”