Double Tears
Part X: Transmutation
Chapter 113
“The gods do not protect fools. Fools are protected by more capable fools.”
—Larry Niven, Ringworld
WE WERE OUT OF CAMP by six Monday morning. It was a long drive to Fort Wayne and we all had things to get done before school started on Wednesday. We loaded our four vehicles and were through Louisville before rush hour got too intense. Brittany was humming happily in the middle seat next to me. We hit the Starbucks at Columbus for bathrooms, sandwiches, and coffee, then we were back on the road. I pulled into my driveway for the first time in a month at eleven o’clock.
Of course, Mom and Dad were at work and Pey was over at Livy’s house with the rest of the summer kids. That’s what Sophie and I had planned for. We jumped out of the truck and practically dragged Brittany through the house to my bedroom.
“The birthday girl should be in her birthday suit,” I said, grabbing the hem of her T-shirt. Sophie was working on her shorts.
“Oh, my God! You remembered. I thought everyone forgot,” Brittany said.
“And, like the little brat you are, you weren’t going to tell anyone. Did you plan to pout and make everyone feel bad?” I demanded.
“Um… No… Maybe.”
“You’ve been manipulating everyone for a year now because you were jailbait. Now you’re sixteen. What do you think you’re going to hold over Sophie’s head now?” I asked.
“Sophie? You know I love you, right?” Brittany whimpered.
“Oh, yes, baby girl. And you know I’m going to spank your bare bottom now, right?”
“You are?”
“You’re the age of consent now, Britt. Do you consent or not?” I laughed.
“To getting spanked?”
“Everything comes together. All or nothing.”
“Is that fair?”
“What kind of a little brat would ask a question like that?”
“I… guess… I consent.”
We moved quickly. I sat on the bed and pulled Brittany across my lap with her bare bottom… I just had to pet that beautiful round bottom a little. It was sticking up in front of me and I slid my hand down its curve and between her legs. Sophie cocked an eye at me and I nodded.
It was a good thing I had a grip on Brittany when Sophie smacked her bottom the first time. I think she levitated off my lap and her spasm drove my finger into her already wet box. Sophie didn’t waste time teasing with her swats. She counted them out as she spanked her niece. In the meantime, I wiggled a second finger into Brittany’s hot twat and managed to get my thumb on her button. Brittany was building a head of steam and Sophie held off the last swat until Britt started to tip over the edge in orgasm. That last swat topped off a come that made her pass out.
I laid Brittany out on the bed and Sophie and I quickly tied her hands and feet to the corners before we got undressed ourselves. I had Sophie’s naked dancer’s body in my arms, kissing her, when Brittany struggled up from her little nap and discovered she was tied.
“What are you…? Why am I…?” I squeezed Sophie once more and we turned to face Brittany.
“It’s time you learned what a year of bratty behavior earns you, my quince,” I said. “A year ago, you had me to yourself at your big party. Now the party is smaller and we have you to ourselves. It’s time you learned what it’s like to be teased and manipulated for our pleasure.” I got up over Brittany and pushed my cock in her face. “Suck.” Her eyes got big and she nodded as her mouth opened for my cock. There were a number of little gasps around the invader as Sophie went to work between Brittany’s legs.
We were careful. We didn’t plan to hurt our little lover. It was all a game to teach her that she was now fully a part of us and not the bratty youngest who always had to have her way. And she went about the process of sucking my cock enthusiastically, even as Sophie manipulated her up to another orgasm. Brittany screeched out her come just as I filled her mouth with mine. She spit come out her nose.
I had a bottle of water on my nightstand as well as a box of tissues, so I cleaned her up and gave her a drink without untying her. Brittany’s eyes were glazed over and it was obvious Sophie wasn’t letting her come down. I hadn’t looked to see what she was doing.
“Mmm. That was good but I want to fuck now,” I said. “You have this perfect little body and I want my cock pounding in and out of it.”
“But… but… she’s… Sophie… has her hand in my pussy.” I looked down between Brittany’s legs and, sure enough, Sophie had her hand almost completely inside our little lover. I wasn’t worried. Brittany had told me Beca had her hand up there more than once. Without releasing her, I rolled her onto her side and Sophie resumed licking and fisting her. I grabbed my lube and lathered my cock thoroughly.
“I think there’s room for both of us down there,” I whispered in Britt’s ear as I cuddled up behind her. I poked a bit and positioned my cock at her anus. “Don’t you want to be completely filled?”
“You’re going to… there?” Brittany started to hyperventilate and I pushed in to her round little bottom. The rapid breathing exploded into a scream as Brittany started coming again. I knew how tightly she could grip her pussy muscles and figured Sophie would be lucky to escape with her hand intact. I soon felt the same about my cock in her rectum. She squeezed so tightly that my first spurt felt like the pressure of a firehouse was ripping up the length of my cock. When she felt the bursts in her butt, she ramped up again and this time, I passed out.
“Do you think that giving me orgasms like that will stop me from being bratty?” Britt giggled as she lay sandwiched between Sophie and me. Our play had continued for over an hour and included Sophie riding Brittany’s face while I munched her muff. I had to admit that by the time I’d cleaned up my cock good and fucked Brittany’s elastic pussy, I was thinking this was a reward all the way around.
“You know, we might just do the spanking without the fingering,” I said. “If nothing else, that would leave you frustrated.”
“We could change all those lovely orgasms to edging,” Sophie said. “I’d never let you come if you were bratty to me again.”
“Oh, Sophie, I love you. I’m sorry I’ve been a brat. Sort of. It was fun and you were always there for me. I love you. I love you.”
I glanced at the clock and rolled out of bed. “I have to get a shower and get to cross country in an hour,” I said. “Are you two going home smelling like my room does right now?” We all piled into the shower and then I dropped them at home on my way to cross country practice.
I was amazed at the number of guys and girls on the field for cross country. Wasn’t it just last year we could hardly field a team?
“Hopkins!” Jock yelled at me. “Field one! Follow that man on a six-minute mile. Don’t pass him. Lock on and follow his pace.” Me? I glanced at my watch and tapped in my pace. Guys were gathering behind me on the track. There must have been fifty of them. “Go!” Jock yelled. I took off, hitting my six-minute stride in a few seconds. I wondered if Jock was sure I could hold this pace after being gone all summer.
Four laps and about half the followers were more than a hundred yards behind me. Of course, the real athletes—many I knew from last year—were running stride-for-stride with me.
“Keep going! Same pace!” Jock yelled. I kept going. When we glanced back across the track half way around, we could see Jock waving all the slower runners off the track and telling them to stretch out. He flagged the rest of us on. We were spot on at two miles in twelve minutes. “Keep going! Same pace!” Jock yelled. Crap! He was sending us on for a third mile. There were only about twenty of us still running as the slowest were culled again. I lost myself in the rhythm of the footsteps and shut everything else out. There were half a dozen of us… maybe ten… running at the same even pace when we came around the twelfth lap. “Keep going! Same pace!”
The guy next to me looked over and I shrugged. We kept going. We’d done three miles in eighteen minutes. I knew the guy beside me could have run the 5k about two and a half minutes faster, but he wasn’t prepared for a fourth mile. When Jock flagged five of us on for another mile, we were all showing signs of wear. It’s a good thing he didn’t ask for a kick. None of us had one to give. He flagged us off the track and we walked off the run. Across the way, I could see Livy’s blonde ponytail leading the pack of girls on the other sports field track. So many runners this year that we had three new coaches.
“Five guys score in cross country,” Jock said when he’d called all fifty of us together. “No matter how many run. These five were in scoring position after five miles. Was it because they’re the fastest? No. It’s because they ran their race. How many of you last five have done a thirty-minute five mile before?” I raised my hand and one other guy—the one I expected would be our star harrier—raised his. “Those of you who came off the track after one mile, I want you to focus on staying with the leaders during that mile. If you came off the track after two miles, focus on staying with the leaders for two miles. If you can stay with those leaders after three miles, there’s a chance you can score in some of the meets we’ll be running in. And when you are all able to keep the pace for five miles, we’ll see if you can match Hopkins on a full 10k. Have you run a 10k in thirty-six minutes, Hopkins?”
“No sir. Forty-two is my best so far.”
“You mean it would have taken you twelve more minutes to finish another mile?” We all laughed at that. I wondered if I could hold that pace for another mile. That would be something!
Jock intended to split the team in two and run both JV and Varsity. He said we’d be running the five-mile test twice a week so I should be ready to set the pace. That was great, but I didn’t think it would help my standard cross country time at 5k. I’d managed it at seventeen minutes, but I needed to work on picking up my pace in order to be in those top finishers.
That’s when Jock hit me with the second bit of news. A lot of things were changing this year. We were now on an accelerating plan of physical fitness in school. The Service Education Act had passed in the spring and over the next three years it would be required for kids to have first two years, then three years, and then four years of PE. The PE waiver was granted to anyone who participated in an interscholastic sport. And the cross country rules had added distances of 8k and 10k. They were considered ultra cross and were a separate event. Jock intended for me to run the long distances.
Tuesday was a shopping day. Pey and I both needed new school clothes and Mom took the day off to go shopping with us. I still had to be back in time for practice. Some of my tastes had changed over the summer. Filling them was nearly impossible. Sure, I needed a pair of jeans and a couple of T-shirts. I was a teen, after all. But V1 raised his head and vetoed anything that looked sloppy, including torn and baggy jeans that hung around my ass. I didn’t like any of the shit that had logos and graphics on the shirts. I preferred a button-up shirt but plain polo shirts were okay as well. And I finally found at least one shirt that was a little more ‘renaissancy’ as Desi would put it. It was black and when I tried it on, I looked like I stepped out of The Princess Bride. I wondered if I could grow a mustache. I preferred plain black slacks but was really getting into the whole canvas shoe thing that seemed to be the craze. I got a pair of high tops and a pair of black low cuts. For good measure, I got a pair of good hiking shoes, too.
Pey, of course, got an entire girl’s wardrobe. My ten-year-old sister was nearly five feet tall. I wondered if she’d get taller than me. I couldn’t remember how tall V1 Peyton was. It seemed I always looked down on her.
“So, you have your class schedule for tomorrow?” Mom asked. “I know it’s short periods and you’ll be out by noon, but you should make sure you know where you’re going.”
“They might have remodeled the school over the summer,” Dad tossed off.
“I have my registration slip. I guess I can download the schedule. There might be special instructions for first day of class.” After we’d cleaned up the dishes, I opened my computer and worked my way through the thirty pages of information I didn’t need in order to get to where I could download my schedule and list of textbooks and others I would need. “Fuck!” I breathed. Damn Gieseke swapped me out of Constitutional Gov and into Calculus.
I showed the schedule to Mom and Dad.
“I thought we had this straightened out last spring,” Dad said. “Set up an appointment with this guy and let me know when it is. It’s time I went to meet this fellow.”
I smiled. Once my music had started to pick up, Dad had become my number one fan. He wasn’t interested in me learning calculus. He wanted to hear me play.
“Thanks, Dad.”
Wednesday morning, all classes were twenty-four minutes long with six minutes between classes. There was no lunch break. We were out of school at eleven-o-nine. Of course, I was there half an hour early to request an appointment with Mr. Gieseke. Some poor girl, who was probably trying to get an administration position when she went into National Service, was taking names in the order we showed up. There was a line down the hall for each of the guidance counselors. When I got to the front, the girl looked up at me only briefly.
“Name?”
“Jacob Hopkins.”
“Issue?”
“I was mistakenly placed in Calculus instead of Constitutional Government.”
“God. They get better all the time. Two o’clock Friday,” she said handing me a permission slip. “Name?” The next person in line was already stating the nature of his business. There were at least fifty students still standing in the hall when the first bell rang for class. I hustled to Intro to Accounting.
“Hopkins, Jacob,” Mr. Orwell looked up.
“Sir, I’m not supposed to be in this class but I can’t get in to see Mr. Gieseke until Friday afternoon to get it corrected,” I said. He sighed and looked down at his notes.
“You’re that troublemaker,” he said. “Ms. Freeman was fired because of you.”
“I think she was fired because she was incompetent,” I replied coolly.
“Don’t think you can pull the same thing with me. No one tests out of this class.”
“I don’t want to test out. I just don’t want to take it.”
“Well, pay attention until you have your appointment. You’ll need to know what we cover when you are back in here on Monday. Irving, Lester.” He continued to call names. I picked up the textbook and workbook and tossed them in my locker between classes. I joined Cindy as we walked into the orchestra room.
“Were we supposed to have instruments with us today?” I asked.
“Only those of us who want to show Mr. LeBlanc that we are ready to perform at any moment,” she giggled. “No, silly. I have a lesson right after school. Today is probably getting music. You already have yours, I think. But there will be an exercise book. In some ways, Mr. LeBlanc teaches as much theory as Ms. Devine does.”
In the orchestra room, there were chairs arranged in an arc, several rows deep, and everyone seemed to know exactly where he or she was supposed to sit. I just stood there staring.
“Ah, yes, Hopkins,” LeBlanc said when he got to my name during rollcall. “We’re putting you between the piano and horns. That is the spot normally reserved for a harpist, but we don’t have one. Would you like to learn that instrument as well?” The class laughed. I just shrugged.
“Anything I can do to help, sir,” I said.
“Good attitude. First guitar. Perhaps by the end of the semester we’ll have you on either a full lute or a mandolin.” He went on and called the names of close to eighty kids in the orchestra. I was on my way out to Expository Writing when LeBlanc stopped me. “Jacob, I’m concerned about your instrument being left here at school. We are fairly secure but I encourage students with valuable instruments to secure them independently. Do you have a practice guitar?”
The question took me by surprise. I loved my guitar so much, it is what I practiced on and I’d missed it over the summer.
“I have my lute guitar. Oh! I have my old guitar. I forgot. It doesn’t sound anywhere near as good as my regular guitar,” I said.
“I understand that. Of course, you’ll want to practice on the best you have at home but perhaps you could bring your old guitar in and store it here. Pull out the good one for rehearsal weeks before a concert.” I thanked him and ran to my writing class.
It appeared that Monday and Wednesday would be my days to set pace for five miles unless we had a mid-week race. In two weeks, we’d run the Warsaw Invitational again like we did last spring. Then we ran the whole track team. This fall we’d run everyone on our cross country team. There would be hundreds in the race. This weekend, though, we’d be running our first meet against just Snider. That would amount to about eighty or ninety runners.
Unlike some sports, you don’t separate the team into the best and the worst and call them varsity and junior varsity. Jock was using our twice weekly pacing runs to determine the ultra cross runners. Then he’d divide the remainder up into varsity and junior varsity in such a way that both teams had a good chance of placing in races. He was giving most of the guys their choice of what race they wanted to run, but he pretty much just told me that I wouldn’t place in a 5k and I should focus all my energy on the 10k.
It made no difference as far as I was concerned. I’d simply learned to love running. V1 couldn’t imagine it.
“Mr. Hopkins, I’m glad you could join Jacob for this meeting. We need to get him straightened out and on the right path.”
“I believe he was on the right path when he registered for classes last spring,” Dad said.
“Well, not taking Calculus would be tantamount to wasting a fine mathematical mind,” Gieseke pushed on.
“Jacob has fulfilled all the State requirements in math. There is no reason he should pursue that when his interests lie elsewhere,” Dad said. He wasn’t giving an inch and I was just sitting back letting him run with it. I learned at least a little when I dealt with the incompetent algebra teacher. I was a teen and no one respects a teen’s opinion. My dad—for all that he was forty years younger than me—was the adult.
“Well, the National Service Corps has a keen interest in students with mathematical aptitude. After Jacob’s test last spring, the Corps advised that he should continue in accelerated math courses,” Gieseke said.
“According to the constitution and the law, I’m not responsible to the Corps until I have turned eighteen and finished high school,” I said. “Are you telling me they can dictate what classes I take now?”
“It comes as a high recommendation. You’ve drawn good attention, Jacob. You need to do this for yourself and your school.”
“How much?” Dad said. He stared at Gieseke until the counselor looked away.
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
“How much is the Corps incenting the school to put students into the courses they dictate? Is there a certain percentage you need to hit? How much does the school lose by Jacob not taking Calculus?”
“Um… Well, it’s complicated. We’re under a great deal of pressure to conform to the recommendations of the Corps.”
“You won’t give me a number,” Dad said. “We’ll just assume the school is losing money by Jacob’s refusal to take Calculus. How much would the school lose if I took him out of school entirely?”
“What? You can’t do that. The law requires that a student stay in school until he reaches the age of eighteen.”
“Or graduates. Do you have any doubts that Jacob could pass a high school GED within the next month? And then he would still have two years to play guitar and learn as much as possible about a field that interests him before having to report for induction. I’m thinking that might be our best choice.”
Gieseke sighed and his shoulders slumped forward.
“So, you want out of calculus and there is nothing I can do to dissuade you,” he said, shaking his head. Then he smiled. “The Constitutional Government class you wanted is full. It’s a senior requirement and we have to give seniors priority.”
“I guess I could use a study hall,” I said. “Chemistry and Latin are both challenging and I have a lot of reading to do for AP English Lit.”
“I’ll submit your withdrawal. Check your mail this weekend for a list of alternative classes you could take,” he said at last. “Mr. Hopkins, I think you are making a grave mistake. This could have given your son a fast track into engineering management in the National Service.”
“Did you know that in order to enter a management track in the Corps, you have to sign a six-year extension to your service?” I asked. Gieseke’s eyes shot open. Dad and I left.
“Dad, thank you. I know you went way out on a limb for me there. I just… I appreciate it,” I said when we got home.
“Son, you make me proud.”
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