Last Chance (4)

Chapter 1
wrong from white

Chapter Description: [female: humiliation; male: mind control, physical AR]

Only fools use “coincidence,” “fate,” and “instinct” with interchangeable disregard. To wit, it was mere coincidence that the names of Travis, Tyler, and Tate -- the three closest and longest-running friends at Willowbrook High -- happened to be so similar. Fate, however, brought them to their girlfriends; Carla, Debra, and Marta, respectively. All that remains in our theorem is instinct. And indeed it was instinct that led the three 18-year-old seniors, pranksters all, to adulterate their girlfriends’ Smirnoff Ices at one of the high school students’ many illicit house-sitting parties. Derived from all three elements, we come to consequence.

For it was not so sinister a substance as GHB which found its way into those three tainted potables. Castor oil -- harmless, innocent, yet so effective -- served as the old lace. And it was when the Friday night house party was in full swing, when fully one-quarter of the Willowbrook student body were dancing, drinking, and smoking their cares away, that the fruits of our three boys’ labors came to pass.

Travis, Tyler, and Tate exchanged knowing glances as they watched looks of confusion and pain cross their girlfriends’ faces. 17-year-old Carla let out a fearful gasp and ran for the only available restroom, taking her place as the fourth individual in line. Debra was not so lucky; she simply doubled over on the dance floor, let out a moan of anguish, and strained every muscle in her body as she forced a mess of crap into her designer jeans, right in front of everybody. The students, distracted by the spectacle, looked over in shock as the gorgeous 15-year-old helplessly dumped into her pants, the back of her jeans expanding and turning a dark brown as warm, sticky stool ran down her legs. Marta, too, ran for the bathroom, but she knew it was hopeless as the 16-year-old felt the stinking mess burst from her butt and smear down the length of her freshly-shaven legs. Carla soon followed; she had only moved two spaces ahead in line before she simply dropped to her knees in surrender, helplessly pushing the entire contents of her bowels into her sexy pink panties. The softball-sized load was entirely noticeable through her dress, and the girl gagged at the feeling of shit dangling between her feminine thighs.

Laughter filled the room. The girls, humiliated, were crying. And the boys, their ultimate prank pulled off with consummate perfection, clinked their beers together in toast. They had done it.

Immature, yes; but senior pranks always are.

the following night

“You are all sons-of-bitches,” Carla declared. “Stupid, immature infants. The girls and I were talking about your sick prank all day and we’ve concluded that you’ve gone too far. This is it. We should all leave you right now.”

Travis, Tyler, and Tate, lined up on the couch in Carla’s living room, hung their heads in shame. They hadn’t intended on annihilating the pride of their true loves. They had only wanted a little fun. Ill-conceived fun, yes... but really, only simple, meaningless fun.

Debra stepped forward. “But the three of us decided to give you one last chance. Do as we say tonight, and we’ll forget this whole lousy episode ever happened. Don’t you think that’s worth it? Don’t you think you owe us?”

The boys nodded in agreement. This had all come as a shock to them. None were prepared to be alone their senior year. They needed their companionship. They needed their status. And, most of all, they needed their sex.

Marta opened the box on the coffee table in front of the couch. “In this box, you will find three pills; one black, one grey, and one white. They are nonfatal formulations our parents helped us devise with some local resources. You will each take one with a glass of water. Of course, you can refuse-- but any boy who does so is going to find himself very, very lonely at prom.”

The cost-benefit analyses of teenagers, skewed as it is, came through in top form. It took only a minute of conference for Travis, Tyler, and Tate to decide that they’d rather pop a simple pill than spend the remainder of the semester being the single senior-class losers dumped by freshman and sophomore chicks. Each of the 18-year-olds selected a pill and returned to the couch, idly toying with the capsules in their hands.

“Who will be going first?”

Tyler sighed, looking down at the grey pill rolling around in the palm of his hand. “I will, Debra.”

Debra walked over to her boyfriend and gave him a kiss and a glass of water. “Bottoms up, sweetheart.”

Tyler swallowed the pill and washed it down with the ice-cold water. In a matter of minutes, the drug had absorbed into his bloodstream and made its way to his cerebral cortex.

“I don’t feel any different,” the teenager said.

“Oh?” Debra replied. “Bark like a dog.”

A look of confusion crossed Travis’s face, and then a wellspring of laughter composed itself in his diaphragm. He opened his mouth to savor the ridiculousness of his girlfriend’s request.

“ARF! ARF!” Tyler shouted. “Arf arf ARF!!”

Debra laughed. “Excellent!” she clapped. “You can stop, now.”

Tyler was only too glad to. His complete and utter lack of control, his wholly-encompassing compulsion to do exactly as his girlfriend had told him, sent a chill of imminent doom rippling through his spine.

“Who’s next?” the girl demanded.

Tate, impatient and impulsive, sought only to get this ordeal overwith. “I will,” he volunteered, washing down his white pill with the water Marta provided to him.

Shortly thereafter, as the drug coursed through Tate’s veins, the 18-year-old felt a prickly tightness wash over the entirety of his form. He caught a gasp in his throat as the realization came to him: He was shrinking! Moreso than that, he was actually getting younger! A weak “No!” escaped from the 16-year-old’s lips as his muscular definition receded into nothingness and his t-shirt and blue jeans hung loosely from his shoulders and hips. Before long, his belted jeans dropped to the floor, exposing his boxer shorts to the three girls and his two best friends; said shorts soon followed, leaving only Tate’s t-shirt to barely cover his rapidly-dwindling cock.

The 12-year-old gasped in horror and disbelief as he watched his pubic hair suck into his skin. The now-giant t-shirt which enshrouded him became unbearably unwieldy and Tate cast it off just in time to watch his penis diminish into a hairless, pre-pubescent finger. He whined in despair as his body lost all semblances of muscle and structure, and the naked 6-year-old, awash in confusion, fell none-too-softly to the carpeted floor beneath. His sneakers and socks fell off of him as he kicked his little legs in frustration, the horror or revisiting his toddlerhood becoming a reality.

The worst was still to come. Now crying, wailing in a childlike cacophony, 3-year-old Tate squirmed uncontrollably, his tiny, denuded form locked in a tantrum of terror. Humiliation wracked him to his very core. His once-proud cock receded into a tiny nub and his testicles left his scrotum, ascending back up into the baby’s abdomen. An infant wail pierced the open air as Tate, now no more than a year-old, spasmed helplessly on the carpet. His strength was gone. All that remained was his adult thoughts, his adult memories, and his very adult grasp of the concept of morbid embarrassment.

“No! No!!” Tate howled in an ear-piercing soprano. “I’m still a man inside! Please, no-- stop this!”

“Tyler,” Marta said, bringing out a box of supplies. “Carla’s parents don’t want a mess on their carpet. Diaper your friend.”

to be continued

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