It's Not Fair

It's Not Fair - Peter's Letter 2

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This story is intended for ADULTS ONLY. It contains explicit depictions of sexual activity involving minors. If you are not of a legal age in your locality to view such material or if such material does not appeal to you, do not read further, and do not save this story.

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This story is set in the Puericil Universe.

This is one of the letters to the "It’s Not Fair!" column, in "Boy Stuff" magazine. In them, boys complain about how little privacy they are allowed, and about the double standard that makes it OK for people to see them naked but protects girls’ modesty. Because of its length and more edgy nature, it is published as a standalone.

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Letter published in the It’s Not Fair section of the magazine called Boy Stuff:
(this letter has been written by Mike Ploog The response is by Cassie. The letter is published as originally sent. Before being published in the all ages magazine, some of the more sexual descriptions were slightly toned down. The request not to be called Petey was however published as is)

(You can read Peter's previous letter in INF 14 and INF 34)

Peter (age 18)

Dear it’s not fair,

It’s me, Peter, again. Many thanks for your latest response-letter and your encouraging words.

The reason why I’m writing you again is because I have to make quite an unpleasant confession. Let me tell you what happened: You remember how much I hate it being put on Puericil and you may also remember that Madame has even increased my dosage after the incident at the beach. I know you told me that the pills help me to be a modest boy and save me from misbehaving. But I simply couldn’t stand this medicine anymore – a medicine that subdues my puberty and keeps my peenie so terribly tiny!

So here’s what I did: A few days after Madame’s return she ordered me to buy a few things for her in the nearby grocery. I did as instructed but secretly added a packet of chocolate beans which I had to effort from my saved pocket money (50 Cents a week... but only if I’d behaved!)

The size of the beans was comparable to the evil Puericil pills so therefore they were perfect for my planned “cheating test”. Later that evening when I was alone in my basement room, I took out a bean and used my tongue to shove it into the cheek pouch behind my molars. I then took a sip of water and tried to swallow it with the bean kept in my mouth. It actually took me many attempts to perfect my cheating-technique but fortunately the number of beans lasted... and that meant I was ready for the real thing!

Next morning, after breakfast time when I was given my first Puericil pill of the day, I grabbed a glass of water, took a swig... and managed to preserve the medicine in my mouth. Neither Madame nor her daughter had taken notice of it. I tell you, I was so nervous that I thought even my galloping heartbeat might betray me! A few moments later, when no one was looking at me, I felt safe enough to secretly spit the pill into my hand and to shove it into a held ready tissue from my trousers pocket. My plan was successful! Now I’d all the time in the world to dispose 50 milligram of puberty killer into the sink... And the best thing was: I managed to repeat my little cheating ceremony during lunch time and dinner. From that day on I successfully avoided EVERY single given Puericil pill!

It took a few days until my Puericil-abstinence evolved its desired effect but after a week I spotted the first signs of freshly grown light pubes on my formerly bald testies. And I swear that my testies had grown in size, too. I also felt an increasing urge to play with my (yet tiny) peenie as I was regularly having a stiffy at that time.

But then the inevitable happened. As Madame was monitoring me during my evening bath (Miss Valery was still on her holiday camp) I got another involuntary stiffy – which normally didn’t happen before my Puericil-abstinence. How embarrassing! Of course, this didn’t become unnoticed by the strict lady who told me to spread my legs and inspected my saluting peenie with critical eyes... “You naughty little boy! How dare you? .... and what the hell is this? Do I see some pubes here?”

Damn, it was obvious to Madame that I had undergone physical changes! Being worried about my development “down there” she decided that I needed to see a doctor. Said and done, she soon contacted a well-reputed pediatrist who is specialized in Puericil and much to my dismay an appointment was arranged.

You have to know that I’m so afraid of any kind of doctors! The night before my planned visit to the pediatrist – a woman called Dr. Melanie Madison – I was nervously shifting on my mattress in fear of my forthcoming examination. My mind was spinning: What will the doctor do to me? Will she hurt me? What if she comes behind my broken off Puericil therapy? OMG, no doubt she will! She’s a professional! I was nothing but devastated...

It was half past five early in the morning, long before Madame would awake, when I quickly got dressed and decided that there was only one way out of my misery: escaping from town and travelling back home to my mom! With guilty conscience I tiptoed into the big wardrobe beside the entrance door, snitched 100 Dollars cash from Madame’s leather purse and searched through Monica’s fully packed Gucci bag where I found additional 80 bucks.

Yes, I am very aware that stealing is an unforgivable crime. But you must know I so much needed the money for the long train journey and possessed only a few pennies on my own whereas Madame is the wealthiest person I ever met.

Without making the slightest noise, I secretly left the house, hit the road to the nearby main station and paid 120 Dollars for the needed tickets. Good thing was that the cute young counter girl didn’t ask for my (expired) travel-permission which Puericil boys are obliged to produce if they travel alone (“alone” means without a person in company who’s at least 14 years old). But bad thing... I had to wait three hours until my interstate train was announced departure so I prayed to god that they weren’t already searching for me. Seeing the train eventually arriving, my heart was beating like crazy. In only a few minutes I would be out of this hateful small-town! But just as the automatic doors opened, I suddenly felt someone tapping me on my shoulder...

The two police officers, a woman and a man, were informed about a young runaway thief and caught me right on time. “Is your name Peter Williams, young man?” the tall female cop asked me in a friendly but authoritative voice. She was holding a pair of handcuffs and slightly touched her baton on high alert. Being scared to death, I didn’t even try to lie and ruefully confessed my crime so the officer woman quickly put the handcuffs on me. And she did it right there on the station platform amidst all the astounded travelers! After she’d checked my ID she put on a pair of latex gloves, snarled “Now, don’t move, bucko!” and started to body-search me as if I were a drug dealer! Was that really necessary??? Christ, she even fumbled between my legs and drove her gloved hand behind the waistband of my undies to check my CROTCH! As if I would ever hide something between my privates! O, I can’t describe how utterly embarrassed I was as her initially puzzled look turned into a knowing smile when she reported to her partner that she’d “found nothing noticeable”.

Anyway, to make a short trip even shorter I ended up crying in the backseat of a police car while the cops drove me back to Madame. Well, at least, I didn’t end up in jail as she refused to officially report my crime. “We’ll handle this our own way, officers. Many thanks for getting back our little runaway!”

I guess you’re not surprised when I tell you that the consequences of my failed escape were harsh. Very harsh! The 100 strokes with the belt I was administered on my bare hiney by Madame and the additional 80 blows delivered by her fuming daughter – one stroke for each stolen Dollar – were more than appropriate. But that was just part one of their punishment regulations!

To prevent me from any further fleeing attempts Madame decided to lock away nearly all of my clothes and introduced a new dress code to me: I am now condemned to wear underpants only.
I mean ALL DAY!

“I’m quite sure you wouldn’t dare another little trip to the station in this outfit.” she simply explained. I was nothing but shocked but of course my meek protests were in vain. “Any more complaints and I’ll keep you all bare, young man!”

The only times I am “allowed” to go out on the street now is once or twice a week when Madame orders me to drop her letters into the public mailbox 100 yards down the road (at least, this allows me to secretly send my own letters). Doing this, I always have to be careful and watch out for the rough neighborhood kids from the lower class families. They always harass me when they spot me. There’s one particular mean boy I fear most as he once pantsed me and paraded me around, exposing my wiggling little peenie to all the laughing kids until he pinned me down and invited a couple of witnessing young wild girls to spank me which they eagerly did!

The boy who did this to me is a real bully and despite he’s probably only 12 or 13 and a few inches shorter than me he easily overpowered me. I’m so terrified of him!

When I told Madame about it she just blamed me “I can’t believe you’re afraid of a little boy, Peter! But if you’re really such a chicken, you may ask Valery to help you. She’d practiced Jiu-Jitsu and even won a few junior contests where she literally kicked some asses. Didn’t she tell you? Well, maybe she didn’t because last year she somehow lost interest in martial arts and decided to take ballet classes. Funny, isn’t it? Anyway, I’m sure she’s still capable to teach that little troublemaker you’re so scared of a lesson if it’s necessary.”

Now tell me: How can I, an 18 year old young man, ask a ten year old girl (!) to protect me against a brutal teen boy?! No way! Just imagine Miss Valery would really beat up the mean bully...Christ, that would mean she’s SO MUCH stronger than I! How embarrassing!

However, my new dress code is not even the worst part of my punishment fate. As you know, I’d spent 120 Dollars for the train tickets – and that means a debt burden of 120 Dollars. In order to regain this huge amount, Madame heavily increased my workload. Simply put, I now have to slog the whole day. No spare time, no time-off on Sundays and of course no television! I even have to do garden work in the adjoining neighborhood estates, both inhabited by rich widows, Mrs. Frampton on the left and Mrs. Rousseau on the right. Can you imagine how degrading it is to present myself to those old ladies in nothing but my cartoon undies while I have to foster their huge flowerbeds or paint their fences for no more than 50 Cents per hour? That’s not fair!

You have to know that I hate working for Mrs. Rousseau! She is nothing but wicked and has the habit to “encourage” me with her old-fashioned broom whenever I slow down my work. At least, Mrs. Frampton is nice to me and often “rewards” me with an extra apple for being “such a diligent boy”, though I don’t like it when she’s caringly fondling me as she likes to cuddle my hair and sometimes she actually strokes my bare skin admiring my undies and my “cute little tushie” which makes me feel a bit... uncomfortable.

Yesterday, Mrs. Frampton even tried to lure me into her mansion. She was standing in her porch, dressed in a black negligee and offered me to earn some extra money. It would be a “special job that only boys can do” she said with a strange smile. And though I badly need the cash and had no clue what the friendly old lady wanted me to do, an inner warning-instinct told me to resist.

So I sheepishly refused her alluring offer pretending that I was late and needed to go home... but looking back I tend to regret my decision. This is where I need your advice. What do you think? Should I go with her, if she invites me into her house again? She would pay me 2 Dollars plus additional 2 Dollars if she’d be satisfied with my efforts! And she promised it would be “easy money”.

I would also like to tell you what happened during my rescheduled examination at Doctor Madison and the resulting treatment (she put me on Puericil again, a much stronger dosage form now, rectal suppositories!) but that’s another story and you know, my immense workload allows me only very little time to write.
That’s not fair!
Peter

P.S.: I was so happy when you told me that Miss Monica didn’t actually kill any mice – but is it really true?? I still believe these rubber things must be mouse baits because I spotted several similar looking items in a wrapper when I searched Monica’s bag for money and they were labeled as “jelly flavor”. Mice do LOVE jelly!

The magazine published response:

Dear Peter,

Thanks for writing again. It makes us happy knowing how our friends are doing, even though you seem to have got in quite a lot of trouble since last time we spoke.

You really should have listened to my advice. I know you don’t like Puericil, but you should accept it with good grace. You are a very immature boy, and you need to be supervised and controlled by adults, or more mature kids, so that you do not make bad decisions and get into trouble. That’s where Puericil comes in. It helps you accept the supervision and control you need, by making you less rebellious and less violent, so that you remain a good boy instead of turning into a juvenile delinquent.

It doesn’t really matter that Puericil delays your puberty and keeps your peenie so tiny. What does an immature boy like you need a developed peenie for, anyway? You can still use to pee, and you don’t really have more need of it until you grow up and mature. You are not a man, you are an immature little boy, so it does not matter if you have a tiny little peenie. When you mature, there will be time for it to grow and become more grownup-like.

But you didn’t listen, and instead you made some really bad decisions. Which only goes to show how immature you are, and how much you need to be tightly controlled.

I’m surprised and appalled about what an elaborate plan you followed to avoid taking your Puericil. That was very bad and naughty of you! And of course, once you stopped taking it, you only became rebellious and unmanageable, and you made even worse decisions. Decisions that put your precious life in danger.

Of course, did you expect your disobedience to be undetected for long? You know very well that you are too immature to be allowed to bathe without supervision. Madame and the girls see you naked every day, so of course they could not miss the guilty signs for long. And good thing that they see and inspect your peenie so regularly, because at least that way they discovered the problem before it got even worse. Of course, Madame was worried when it seemed that your medication was not working, and of course she made an appointment with the doctor to make sure you were all right.

You should not be so scared of doctors. They just want to help you and have your best interest in mind. Even if the examination sometimes are uncomfortable, it’s done for your own good. That you were unable to see that is just another proof of your extreme immaturity.

Then you made an even worse decision: you ran away! I bet you wouldn’t have done anything so bad, so juvenile-delinquent-like, if you still had been taking your Puericil like a good little boy. You also stole Madame’s money. Oh, Peter! That was so bad and naughty of you! That’s how you repay her care?

But the worst is the risk you took. A small, completely immature little boy like you should not be alone and unsupervised in the city. Anything bad could have happened to you, being so naïve and immature! A bad person might have taken you away!

Thankfully, the policemen found you in time, before something worse could happen. You were embarrassed because the police-lady searched you? Well, you were lucky she didn’t bare your bottom right there and gave you a good spanking for causing so much trouble! I know I would have, because no matter how much I like you, little boys can’t be allowed to be so naughty. I’m surprised she didn’t, because when she felt how tiny your peenie is, she could have do doubts about your immaturity. No wonder she told her partner that she had found nothing noticeable there!

Madame was kind not to press charges. She could have, you know, just to give you a taste of what happens to juvenile delinquents, so that you are more grateful that you are tightly controlled so that you don’t become one.

The spanking you got on your bare hiney with Madame’s belt was bad, but you have to remember how naughty you had been, and how dangerous your behavior was. Who can blame them for blistering your little bottom so that you would learn never to be so naughty again!

I’m sorry you were also restricted to wear only your underpants. At least it’s true that you wouldn’t dare run away like that, so that means you won’t get in so much trouble again. And it could have been worse. You could have been restricted to be naked all day! Imagine that! Anyone could see all of you, anytime! I’m sure that’s coming if you do something like this again, so make sure you don’t!

The rectal suppositories are like that too. I’m sure they are uncomfortable and embarrassing, but they are meant to help you keep out of trouble, little man!

I’m really sorry that bad little boy bullied you, Peter! You are 18, and he is just 12 or 13, but I bet he is a rough and bad-behaved boy. No wonder you are scared. You really should ask Miss Valery to help you, you know. I mean, OK, you would be an 18-year-old boy asking a 10-year-old girl to protect you. But really, what’s there for you to be embarrassed about? She already supervises your baths, doesn’t she? Think about it, she makes you strip naked and watches everything as you bathe yourself. Everything! And then she inspects you to make sure you did a good job. Think how much more mature than you she is. Compared to you, she is like a grownup, that’s why it doesn’t matter if she sees you all naked, and that’s why she takes care of you and not the other way around. So then, how is asking her to please protect you from the bully any different? You need to forget that you are 18 and she is 10. What matters is that you are an immature little boy and she is a mature young lady.

So, please, heed my advice. Ask her for help, humbly, and be grateful and respectful if she protects you.

I’m really sorry that Madame gave you extra chores, but she is only trying to teach you right from wrong, and that there are consequences when you are naughty.

Peter, you need to work hard and be good and obedient so that you won’t be treated so strictly. I’m sorry Mrs. Rousseau is so rough and strict, but remember you brought this on yourself. At least Mrs. Frampton treats you more gently, even if she sometimes makes you feel uncomfortable. If she is not ordering you to do that special job then you do not need to do it, so if you feel comfortable you may just refuse politely. Tell her you are too immature for what she needs.

I hope in your next letter you’ll tell me that you have been a very good boy and earned back Madame’s trust.

A very big hug to you. Remember that if you are punished harshly it’s only for your own good!
INF

P.D. Believe me, she didn’t kill any mice. Those rubber things are actually condoms. That’s something that grownups sometimes use when they have sex, but you do not need to worry your little head about such grownup things. Just know that no animals were involved, and therefore no animals were hurt. Miss Monica was just teasing you.

(The End)