Date: Sat, 30 Dec 2023 15:55:44 +0000
From: Art Penman <sphsublondon@gmail.com>
Subject: Unyielding Roles Brothers in Phallocracy

- - -

Imagine a world in which your dick size is public, and dictates every
aspect of your life.  Welcome to Virilius.


- - -


Thank you also to the many Nifty authors I've enjoyed for over half my
lifetime (and many of whose tropes I have shamelessly pilfered!).  Thanks
also to Nifty itself, to which you should consider donating.


Check out my other stories:
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/authoritarian/boyclit

https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/authoritarian/my-six-twink-top-lodgers


And check out the stories of Mathias Gold, one of my doms.  He is one
hung young stud!

https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/authoritarian/shrinking-his-dicklet/

https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/authoritarian/stepford-boywives/


- - -


Unyielding Roles: Brothers in Phallocracy


Chapter One - Oath of Fidelity


Under the sun's majestic golden hues, the squeak and slap of sneakers
against wet asphalt echoed around the Thompsons' modest back garden in
the suburb of Valourwood.


Sammy, a tall and lithe twenty-one-year-old, dribbled the firm ochre ball
- ducking and weaving quite gracefully as he made his way to the hoop.
He came face to face with Jack, his sixteen-year-old younger brother -
shorter and more muscular - whose style of play was less calculated, more
spontaneous and explosive.


"Can't get the ball from that easily, lil bro," Sammy teased.


Jack's laughter filled the garden most and loudest of the three, and he
had a mischievous glint in his eye as he mocked back the second his
brother moved, "Oh yeah, watch this!"


He inelegantly but successfully swept the basketball from under his
brother's hand.  He ducked, weaved and three-point turned away from his
brother's attempts to retrieve it - turning to the basket and biting his
bottom lip a little with focus as he landed a near-perfect hoop.


"Well done, my boy!" Marcus congratulated Jack - Marcus was their
loving but authoritative father, in his early forties, slight wrinkles
forming on his handsome face - their family's patriarch and provider.


The format of the play was quite formless - with the brothers meant to
practise both competitive shooting and collaborative passing, so they'd
each better bring honour on the Thompson name when playing together on
Valourwood's team in the Boldberg Future Tops' Basketball League.


"Not bad, Sammy, not bad," Marcus offered, as Sammy managed at one
point to use his greater experience and height to manoeuvre around Jack
and dunk a hoop of his own.  "A little more aggression next time!"


"Yeah, like this," this younger brother gloated.


Jack, not to be outdone, showed just such power - not just in his play -
but in the growing muscles that bulged out of his vest, contrasting with
his deepening boyish laugh, and hinting at the cusp on manhood he was
just passing.  He swept the ball from Sammy, around the small family half
court, and into the basket thrice - making two shots out of three.


"Hey, Jack!  You don't always have to be Mr Star Shooter," Marcus
laughed, "give your brother a chance!"


Egged on, Sammy grinned, and used Jack's moment of distraction to show
off some of the best moves he'd learnt from years of play to score
another hoop.


"Yeah, show off," Sammy joined in, giving his brother a cheeky friendly
wink.


As the sun set, the patio lights came on, and the sound of squeaking
sneakers and the pat-pat-pat of the basketball against the warm and
drying ground began to slow, replaced by the panting of the exertions of
the three big sweaty boys.


"Okay boys, time for dinner," Marcus announced.  "Let's see what you
poppy's got cooked up for us."


And the three of them bounded from the garden into the kitchen.


Soft lighting and gentle music subtly filled the Thompson kitchen, along
with the lemony aroma of Oliver's famous roast chicken - which he was
just serving up, used to his husband and son's daily routines.


Oliver was Marcus's devoted wifey and loving poppy to Sammy and Jack.
He was some six inches shorter than Marcus - although not at that moment
as dad had just collapsed onto a sturdy wooden chair - and Oliver kissed
him on the cheek, placing a beer in front of him.  Oliver's longish hair
was tied back for cooking, and he wore a red-and-white polka dot pinny
over his clothes.


"Good game, boys?" Oliver cooed, watching as Jack and Sammy
competitively tore into the chicken after Marcus had had first dibs.


"Save a little for your poppy, sons," chuckled Marcus, but with a hint
of seriousness.


"Yeah!" Jack regaled, with his mouth half full, "I whooped Sammy's
butt!"


Sat to his side, Sammy swallowed.  "You did not!  Shut it, you stink!"


Which was not untrue.  In contrast with the fruity and sometimes floral
scents Oliver wore, - not having bothered to wash after the game, Marcus,
Sammy and Jack were all glowing and sweaty, and Jack - not having washed
for a couple of days, as sixteen-year-olds are wont to do - was sweatiest
of all.


"Shut it, you!" Jack said, grabbing the head of his big brother with
his right hand and shoving it into his left armpit.  Sammy scrunched up
his face at the acrid teen funk and fought to get free.


Marcus waited a moment.  This sort of boisterousness was common among men
in Virilius, but Jack needed a little more respect for his older
brother.  "Leave your brother alone, Jack."


Jack released Sammy as instructed and tucked into his chicken, even
putting a little of the delicious but less loved salad on his plate, not
wanting to hurt Oliver's feelings.


"I'm sure you're both going to do the family and the Valourwood Future
Tops team proud at your game on Saturday," Oliver said, beaming at his
boys hungrily demolishing the meal he'd made.


"No doubt about it!" Marcus agreed.


Sammy thought about just how lucky he was.  The table at which they sat
and ate had been made from scratch by him, his dad and his brother - from
chopping down the tree, to helping at the lumber mill for it to be made
into planks, to hammering and nailing it together in the garden into the
sturdy heart of the home it now was; and on which his poppy now placed
like clockwork a never-ending string of tasty baked and roasted things
for them to eat.  It was an idyllic family - one in which any Virilian
boy would be lucky to grow up.


- - -


Sammy was in a similarly reflective mood as he walked around the park
later that week.  He stopped off at a stall selling soft drinks for a
lemonade, and was sipping at it, as he watched the people go by.


Five such people were some members of the Valourwood Future Tops football
team.  He knew them slightly, and wondered if they recognised him too as
one returned a nod of hello.  They were wearing the crimson and navy
uniforms of Future Tops throughout virilius, each proudly had a silver
badge of the proto-insignia on their chest - a firm phallus unadorned by
the stars that confirmed tops wore.  Tuesday's next basketball meet
wasn't until Tuesday, so he wasn't in uniform.  He hung back to watch
the boys rough-housing around the park.  He winced slightly at the
prospect of them getting grass stains on their honourable uniforms, but
figured they too must have loving poppies at home who'd expertly wash
and press them for the next day.


Two of the footballers - Ryan and Ben - were Sammy's age, and so he knew
them especially, from school.


Ryan was so lucky.  A natural leader, who excelled not just in football
but the other sports at which he tried his hand; not to mention
fire-building, fishing and other camping skills; and the plethora of
other activities in which Future Tops took part.


Ryan was especially lucky as he loved and was loved by Sebastian - who
wasn't here of course.  Sebastian was a devout Bottom of Tomorrow.  This
much smaller organisation attracted its members from the fifth or so of
Virilian boys who knew even in childhood that they were destined to grow
up to be bottoms - kind, gentle and nurturing, and more often than not a
little feminine - they were usually right.  They were sometimes seen in
their teal and pastel pink uniforms on their way to help adult bottoms
with sewing, to sit in cookery classes, and to volunteer to read to
toddlers in the local nursery.  Given how few boys wanted to be bottoms
when they grew up, aspiring tops who managed to find such a high school
sweetheart were very fortunate indeed.


Ryan, Ben and the other three were leaning against some railings,
uniforms a little scruffy but unsullied, and Sammy watched as they in
turn people watched.


They offered respectful nods to the adult tops who strolled on the path
along the railing, some in military uniform and others in civilian dress,
but each wearing the golden insignia of his Tier - indicating his rank in
Virilian society.  These men returned the nods to these young model
Future Tops.


They were less respectful to say the least to the adult bottoms who
walked by, pushing prams or laden with the day's shopping, who bore no
insignia and dressed modestly.  The five lads wolf-whistled and passed
comment on them, one languidly chewing gum as he did so.  One bottom, not
much older than the boys, was stopped - ostensibly to ask for the time,
given the way he checked his watch.


As the bottom tried to continue on his journey, Ben grabbed his wrist.
The three other boys whose names Sammy didn't know fell about laughing,
and Ryan shook his head but had a forgiving smile the whole time.  Sammy
couldn't hear what was being said, and squinted in vain to read their
lips; the bottom was attractive, with youthful androgynous facial
features and pert buttocks, good for child-rearing, and Sammy imagined
the five tops were telling him just that.


Sammy could see trouble abrewing, however, as he saw two men in military
uniform - golden insignia of a firm phallus underlined with four stars,
the Tier of Dominance, and lapel pins with a red fist.  The Advocates -
tops who spent their spare time ensuring propriety across the lands of
Virilius - ensuring tops behaved like tops and bottoms behaved like
bottoms.  The Future Tops and the Bottoms of Tomorrow were youth
organisations overseen by the Advocates, in fact.


As these two men approached the ruckus, Sammy winced.  He knew what was
coming.  The Advocates' deep voices carried far enough for him to catch
snippets as they berated the unsuspecting bottom


"Totally inappropriate!"


"Jodhpurs far too tight!  Of course you caught these young men's eye!"

"Have you no modesty?"


Luckily for the bottom, they seemed to let him continue on his way with
just a firm and public warning, and Sammy watched as feminine young man
scurried away with bright blush spreading across his pretty cheeks.


"Gentlemen," the Advocates said, nodding to the Future Tops, before
continuing to patrol the park.


Sammy almost felt sorry for the young bottom - having seen the whole
thing unfurl, he clearly hadn't stopped to flirt with the Future Tops,
but rather the other way around.  Nevertheless, it was a foolish thing to
do - for a bottom to allow himself to be objectified by men so publicly.
It simply wouldn't do in Virilius, where bottoms are meant of course to
be demure and modest.  Really, it was a good thing the Advocates came by
when they did before the bottom could have dishonoured himself by
anything more happening to him.  Sammy shuddered at the thought.


- - -


All felt right with the world back at home.  Marcus was working late,
Jack was out with the  Future Tops tennis squad, and as Sammy lay in bed
he could hear Oliver in the kitchen preparing the casserole they'd be
eating that evening.


Sammy's eyes wandered around the room from the bottom bunk of the bed
he'd shared with Jack almost as long as he could remember.  There were
posters of elite sports stars, great tops who brought victory and honour
to Boldberg in the Virilian Games.  He and Jack had discussed whether or
not to pin up the calendar of bottoms in lewd positions that Jack had one
day got from his schoolmates on the wall, but both agreed their dad and
poppy might think it inappropriate, so it was tucked under Jack's
mattress above - and he'd said Sammy could `use' it whenever he
liked.  Two small desks side-by-side on the wall opposite were stacked
with Sammy's and Jack's schoolwork past and present, and they and the
walls above them were adorned with medals, certificates and a trophy or
two from the Future Tops' sports leagues and camping trips first Sammy
and then the two of them had been on together - Sammy's seniority meant
he had a few more, but Jack was catching up rapidly.  In the middle of
this collage of achievements was a joint poster of five strapping young
men in the crimson and navy uniform of the `FUTURE TOPS!', as the
poster exclaimed, `Power.  Dominance.  Triumph.  Shaping Virilius'
Destiny.'  And beneath it, a photograph of Sammy and Jack in their
uniforms on the first Future Tops camping trip they went on together.


It all made him feel rather nostalgic.  That summer was his last as a
Future Top.  Tomorrow would be his Epiphany Ascendus.  The Virilian
coming of age ceremony is taken by all boys in Virilius at twenty-one at
the latest, Sammy's current age.  One could take it up to five years
early, but three quarters of Virilians chose to wait until the last
minute and for good reason.  In the ceremony, your manhood was measured
and gauged - length and girth alike.  Tops, like Marcus, and the rest of
the half of men who ran this phallocratic nation, were those whose dicks
were deemed above average - and they were sorted into Tiers based on
which of these five deciles they fell, indicating the power and rank of
the jobs for which they were eligible.  Marcus for instance was in the
Tier of Strength, the third decile - indicating a cock in the top 30% but
not the top 20% - and he supported the family by managing a regional
chain of games arcades.  Sammy couldn't wait to find out which of the
Top Tiers he'd be in tomorrow, and what sort of vocation he might
pursue, be allowed to drink and smoke, and of course to find a loving
bottom with whom to raise a family.  He'd always loved building
furniture with his dad and brother - maybe he could get a job in
construction, maybe even as a contractor if his Tier was high enough.


Anyone whose `virile' volume was deemed below average, however, didn't
get a Tier.  They won no insignia to don.  They were bottoms.  Bottoms
like his poppy, Oliver, they had an honourable role in Virilian society,
supporting the men, keeping house, and bearing them children.  Sammy
loved his poppy dearly, but - almost as much as Jack - he'd always had
more in common with his dad Marcus, and couldn't wait to join him in
Virilian top adulthood the next day.  Sammy loved Oliver dearly, but knew
he'd want one day to have a bottom wife to love the way Marcus loved
Oliver - and bear him lots of sons.


That night at dinner, Sammy's Epiphany the next day was all the family
could talk about.


"Tomorrow, you become a man, son," Marcus said, beaming, and slapping
Sammy heavily on the back.


"I can't wait for my Epiphany!" Jack exclaimed, his boyish voice
cracking and deepening by the day, "I'm gonna the best top ever - like
you dad!  Maybe even better!"


"Watch it, cheeky," Marcus chuckled.


"You'll both make fine Valourwood tops and be husbands to some very
lucky bottoms one day, just like I am," Oliver smiled indulgently, and
squeezed their dad's hand across the table.


"Have you thought about what sort of job you might like, my boy?"


"I was thinking maybe construction, maybe even a head contractor.  I
loved our trip to the lumber mill that time," Sammy said.


"A fine career, son.  As manly as they come," Marcus opined, nodding.


Once they'd finished eating, Marcus said the boys could play some
videogames and the three of them settled in the living room.  Oliver
brought Marcus a whiskey, the newspaper, his cigarettes and his lighter,
and picked up the sweaty shoes he and the brothers had all shucked off,
before shuffling off to the kitchen to clear the table and wash-up.


Jack was something of a whizz with computer games, and in even the ones
at which Sammy was much better practised he could pick up the moves and
the flow quite quickly, as was the case this evening where whatever the
permutations of characters in the beat-'em-up, Jack seemed to whoop
Sammy's butt over and over.  Sammy found it a little demoralising, but
knew tomorrow would make it all worthwhile - he'd be a confirmed top,
something for which his little brother would have to wait another five
whole years.


Marcus chain-smoked and sipped his whiskey, occasionally reading snippets
from the sports and then the business sections of the paper.  Just as
Oliver was coming in from the kitchen to snuggle up towards Marcus with a
glass of dry white wine for himself, Marcus had reached the news section.


"This Piers Vanderpuye is at it again," Marcus growled.


"What's that dear?" asked Oliver, who like most Virilian bottoms
didn't take much notice of current affairs.


Piers Vanderpuye was an Alpha Tier top, men whose dicks were in the
largest decile of Virilian society, destined for great leadership roles.
After an esteemed career as a general in the Virilius Armed Forces, he'd
retired a little early to take up a post as rather a reactionary a
columnist in Virilius' newspaper of record.


"Universal Chastity: Strengthening Virilian Tradition," Marcus read
from the paper.  Oliver and Sammy both pricked up their ears, with Jack
only half-listening as he adolescently focused on the console controller
in his hands and the screen before him - Jack's main reaction was to
laugh as Marcus put on a posher more clipped accent, mimicking the times
they'd seen Vanderpuye on the television, and doing a rather good job of
it:


"For centuries, our great society has been based on balance and harmony
between tops and bottoms.  I have been lucky enough myself to be adored
and supported by the same devoted wife, which has allowed me to focus on
keeping our esteemed nation state."


"I read with great alarm, therefore, in this paper and others about an
ever increasing number of bottoms who do not do so.  They are not
adoring.  They are not supportive.  They're barely even respectful of
the great men who do what we can to protect and provide for them.  Back
chat.  Immodesty.  Even infidelity.  Flirtations and encounters before
marriage.  And, one of the most odious practices of all, role confusion.
Yes, dear reader, I am talking about bottoms who use their own modest
penises, insofar as they can be called that, for personal pleasure.  I
have even read of unmarried bottoms using their penises for penetration
among each other.  What next?  Them attempting to use their penises for
penetration with tops?  This abhorrent misbehaviour must be stopped in
its tracks."


Marcus furrowed his brow.  There was nothing disagreeable in the article
so far, but Piers Vanderpuyre usually found a way to go beyond the pale
by his peroration.  Oliver was smiling docilely and nodding, but with a
slight look of discomfort on his gentle features.  Oliver had barely even
considered his penis before his Epiphany, and has certainly never touched
it beyond a cursory wash in the shower, even sitting down to pee.  The
idea that there were bottoms in Virilius doing anything but was bizarre.


Marcus continued to read aloud from the Gazette, "Since the time of our
forefathers, role compliance enforced by chastity cage has been used as
punishment for those bottoms who commit these unspeakable acts.  It is a
system rich in history and tradition.  It is a system which works well.
It is a system the time has come to expand.  Why do our so-called
leaders, fellow tops no less, not see what is needed?  Universal chastity
for bottoms, from the moment they undertake their Epiphany Ascendus, is a
firm but fair, a cheap but effective, method of ensuring our beloved
Virilian values are upheld.  As sure as a mighty oak protects the tiny
buds beneath it from all weathers, we tops must act now to protect our
bottoms from this impropriety."


The words hung in the living room air for a while, now silent as even
Jack had paused his game to listen to Vanderpuye's rather extreme
proposal.


Oliver, if he had any opinion, offered up none.  Jack seemed to look at
the dad he idolised to take his leave before forming an opinion.  Sammy
thought it sounded a bit barbaric.  Chastity was a punishment for
misbehaviour, so universalising it would be a punishment for all
bottoms.  But he didn't say this out loud, wanting to know his family's
thoughts.


Marcus, the family patriarch, put the matter to rest.  "Pah, typical
Vanderpuye, that old reactionary.  Why do ALL bottoms need to be placed
in chastity for the misbehaviour of the few.  My little Ollie here's
never been in one of those cages and has never had to be."


He pulled his bottom wife into an embrace and kissed him dotingly on the
head.


Sammy exhaled with relief, and Jack and Oliver decided they too shared
Marcus' viewpoint.  They switched off the games console so they could
watch a film together before it was time to sleep.


That night, in bed, Sammy could hardly sleep from the excitement.  The
excitement manifested itself quite physically - and he found himself the
hardest and biggest he'd ever been.  It was such an urgent excitement,
in fact, he found it stopped him from sleeping - and as his hand reached
down to explore himself for his twice-daily relief - his thumb, fore- and
middle finger deftly playing with himself, quietly as he could and with
baited breath so as not to attract Jack's attention.  He had his eyes
closed - picturing first the attractive young bottom he'd seen in the
park that day, then a ballroom full of them, then the visions became more
abstract, him on the stage tomorrow, becoming a man, becoming a protector
and provider.  His movements became a little more urgent - disturbed once
or twice by Jack turning in bed above him.  It took him only a couple of
minutes for release, and he fell asleep in his own mess.


- - -


It was rather a cloudier day than Sammy had always envisioned for his
Epiphany Ascendus, as the air was thick and humid as the Thompson family
walked around the corner to the Valourwood Civic Hall.  Epiphany
ceremonies were held monthly in each neighbourhood and were days of pomp
and pageantry.  The Virilian coat of arms featured prominently on banners
and flagpoles - a shield whose elements were four firm phalluses with a
fifth and larger phallus at the helm, representing the five Tiers of Tops
who led the great nation, and - underneath either side at the mantle, a
modest peach topped by a budding flower, representing the care and
nurture the nation's bottoms gave to their tops.


There were ten other boys from their suburb entering for their Epiphany -
and Sammy knew most of them, given they were mostly the same age.  Some
looked extremely confident, others a little more nervous - and Sammy
hoped they felt he belonged in the former camp.  Even girly little
Sebastien Harris, whose arm was looped through Ryan's, seemed poised and
sanguine in his own unassuming way.


Ryan Johnson and Ben Taylor, and the twins Jonjo and James Evans, greeted
Sammy with huge grins, handshakes, and manly back-slapping hugs.  They
had all been in the Valourwood Future Tops since they were young boys,
and the shared excitement of the life as tops - as real Virilian men -
was contagious.


The Grand Preceptor for the event was Victor Rodriguez.  A firm but
patient top of about fifty, Preceptor Rodriquez had been working in the
neighbourhood overseeing its Epiphanies for decades, and so the young men
assembled at the front of the Hall knew they were in good hands - as
they'd seen Preceptor Rodriquez assign hundreds of older cousins and
neighbours and others to their adult roles - a life of rule or of
service.


As the Grand Preceptor took to the stage, the boys' hubbub and that of
the friends and family assembled at the back petered down.  He wore
almost clerical robes, and about his shoulders was draped the yellow silk
tape measure with which he would administer his important role.


"Esteemed men and fair bottoms," he began, "we are gathered here for a
most momentous occasion."


Sammy marvelled at how Preceptor Rodriguez managed to bring the same
gravitas and momentousness to each ceremony over which he presided.  He
felt, with some relief, himself start to harden urgently.  As he glanced
up the row, he saw most of the other boys shift in their seats.  Most
boys were achingly erect by the time they reached the stage, but at past
ceremonies Preceptor Rodriquez was more indulging than most at letting
those who needed it reach the rigidity they wanted before undergoing the
most important measurement of their lives.


"For centuries, our great nation of Virilius has been based on the deep
and traditional values of phallocracy.  For our generously endowed tops:
dominance, strength, valour and fortitude.  For our modestly endowed
bottoms: honour, modesty, chastity and submission.  These ancient and
complementary principles underpin our esteemed Virilian society and
ensure its continued prosperity and harmony."


Preceptor Rodriguez cleared his throat.  "The young men assembled before
you find themselves on one of two paths.  For the tops, a life of
leadership, contributing productively to our nation's greatness and
protecting and providing for their families.  For the bottoms, a life of
nurturing, settling down and finding a top husband, someone with whom to
raise a family and make a warm and caring home.  Just as we celebrate the
glory and achievements of our great tops, we must respect the role our
nation's bottoms play - in their chastity, our tops find esteem; in
their submission, our top's find dominance; in their nurture, our tops
find fortitude; and in their modesty, our tops find strength.  Theirs too
is a role of honour."


"And so," Preceptor Rodriquez boomed with expert flourish, "without
further ado - I shall call these Virilian young men to the stage."


"Evans, James" called the Grand Preceptor - and the first of the sporty
twins made his way to the stage.  James' back was facing the audience -
and the Grand Preceptor was facing him - as he fiddled with his trousers
and lowered them.


Preceptor Rodriquez's silk tape measure was to the ready, and the crowd
could see the movements they'd seen many times before, as first James'
length and then his girth were calculated.  On a stand next to the Grand
Preceptor was a tablet, into which the figures were entered digitally.
In the past, these would have been entered into a municipal ledger
accessible by any citizen in the Civic Hall - and Preceptors had to be
deft at mathematics - for the result to be declared aloud.  Now, however,
these things were done on-screen and the calculation, the percentile and
the rank projected onto the screen:


Length 7.1" x Girth 5" = 55th percentile = Top: Tier of Fortitude


Grand trumpets let out a pompous arpeggio.  The audience broke into
applause, and after a few moments James turned around, grinning a little
bashfully at the audience and - as was customary - showing the assembled
crowd his manhood, before buttoning himself off and exiting to the side
of the stage.


Next up was his twin "Evans, Jonjo", whose identicalness was almost
entire


Length 7" x Girth 5.1" = 54th percentile = Top: Tier of Fortitude


More pompous horns and more applause from the audience.


Sammy felt his palms start to get a little sweaty and he gulped.
Obviously not all Epiphany ceremonies ended with exactly even numbers of
tops and bottoms, but that's the average towards which they tended, and
here were two of presumably five or six spots taken already.


"Harris, Sebastien," Preceptor Rodriguez called.  Sebastien made his
way gracefully on stage.  He wore jodhpurs of the type that were
fashionable among bottoms, as though he knew the life that was ahead of
him.  The Grand Preceptor took his measurements, tapped away and they
flashed on screen:


Length 4.2" x Girth 3.8" = 17th percentile = Bottom


This time gentle flutes let out a delicate arpeggio and the audience's
applause was more muted, but firm and polite.  An exception was Ryan, who
clapped heartily and let out a whistle at his now-confirmed bottom
boyfriend.  Sebastien turned around to show his little dick to the
assembled Virilians and beamed at Ryan, whom both knew was up next.
Sebastien did up his trousers and walked to the side of the stage.


"Johnson, Ryan," Preceptor Rodriquez called.


Ryan swaggered onto the stage, turned and gave a cheeky wink to the other
young men who still awaited their turn and a thumbs up to the crowd.  The
Grand Preceptor gave him a nod to do what needed to be done.


Ryan deftly undid his trousers and whipped out his member in the
direction of Preceptor Rodriquez, who began to take the measurements.
After the customary tense few seconds and some tapping, Ryan's dreams
came true:


Length 8.4" x Girth 6" = 77th percentile = Top: Tier of Strength


The crowd broke into rapturous applause even before the trumpets sounded,
and Ryan waited a showman's moment before turning around to show his
pride and joy to the crowd.  He was almost twice the volume of his
bottomy boyfriend - and now he was a confirmed top.  He grinned a winning
smile, and strutted towards the side of the stage, taking his time to
shove his substantial erection with some effort into his jeans as he did
so.


Next up were five boys Sammy didn't know so well went next - he supposed
he hadn't seen them at Future Tops, or perhaps they were a little
younger, but nor had he seen them with Sebastien when his Bottoms of
Tomorrow group were out and about.  The former seemed likelier for three
- maybe they didn't have enough sporting prowess or care for the
boisterous behaviour that was expected, and so hadn't signed up for or
got into Future Tops.  Three of the five were assigned as bottoms, to
flute and applause, and two were tops.


Only Ben and Sammy were waiting for their turn now.


"Taylor, Benjamin," said Father Rodriquez, giving each of the boys'
names the sense of occasion it deserved.


Sammy cast his mind back to all the basketball games and campfire
shenanigans he and Ben had got up to growing up in the same Future Tops
troop and as near-neighbours.  Ben was an even better sportsman than
Sammy was, and Sammy felt that surely the two of them were destined to be
tops together.


Preceptor Rodriquez took his time in measuring Ben - which usually meant
someone was likely to be on the borderline between Tiers - something a
Preceptor with as much experience as he had could often intuit.  Sammy
wondered which two Tiers of Top Ben was between and into which he'd
fall, when Preceptor Rodriquez nodded at Ben and Ben nervously nodded
back.  He entered the figures into the tablet:


Length 5.1" x Girth 4.2" = 48th percentile = Bottom


A tense moment's pause impregnated the air, before the audience let in a
collective inhalation of breath and before the flutes started to play.
The polite applause came eventually, but to be so narrowly assigned a
bottom must have sent Ben's mind racing.  He was a little slow in
turning around and showing everyone his slightly-too-below-average
endowment, before hiding it away and scurrying to the side of the stage.


That left just Sammy now - who had a deafening buzzing in his ear and
whose heart was thumping, as he was trying to picture what these numbers
might look like as an actual dick - was still convincing himself that he
might just make it and be assigned as a top, perhaps a lower Tier one
than Ryan or his dad, from what he'd just seen on stage - but, after
having just seen Ben, he wasn't so sure - but then again, he could know
for certain, as Ben was quite far away, and in any case...


The buzzing in his faded and he realised Preceptor Rodriguez was speaking
with the slightly tried patience of someone who was repeating himself.


"Thompson, Samuel?" The Grand Preceptor was looking down at where Sammy
sat.


Sammy's legs seemed to have seized up and he was slightly rueing having
turned twenty-one so soon. Maybe if he asked nicely he could wait another
year to find out his destiny was to be a top?  But the expectation of the
face looking down at him and which he sensed in the crowd before him, not
to mention centuries of Virilian tradition, all told him this would be
impossible.  He managed to wrestle himself from the seat and tread his
way carefully towards the stage.


Preceptor Rodriquez cleared his throat again and nodded dignifiedly to
Sammy's crotch.  It was a sacred part of the body, for tops in
particular, the source of one's honour and power.  Sammy had always
dreamed of this moment, but now it seemed like a nightmarish out-of-body
experience as he reached down and unbuttoned his chinos, pulling them and
his boxers under his balls and giving his offering to the master of
ceremonies.


Preceptor Rodriquez, who had known Sammy since he was a boy and indeed
mentored the Valourwood Young Tops in many a matter, quickly concealed
his raising of the eyebrows.  Sammy watched as the Grand Preceptor's
tanned brown hands handled the yellow silk tape measure that had hung
from his shoulders and was now doing its work to decide what Sammy's
destiny was to be.  He felt it placed professionally over his length, and
licked his lips with some nervousness, then felt it wrapped around the
thickness he had.  He watched as the Preceptor Rodriquez's long fingers
tapped away at the tablet and he felt a deafening silence in his head.


His heart thumped, deep and slow, in his eardrums - once, twice, thrice -
and he was brought back to reality by a gasp from the audience.  He
looked up over Preceptor Rodriguez's head to the screen the audience
could see


Length 3" x Girth 2.9" = 2nd percentile = Bottom


Sammy suddenly felt his throat tighten and his eyes well up - the gentle
flutes which played played again in his head in melancholy-tinged minor
key variations - not celebratory nor nurturing, but bitter and ironic.
He barely knew he was displaying himself, although just as well as it was
expected, as he turned to see the audience still silent and agog.


Eventually, their polite applause started up, and this snapped Sammy to
his senses as he looked down and buttoned away at what they had just
seen.  His dicklette, not even breaking double figures in length or in
girth.  The smallest at the ceremony by some margin.  The smallest, as
far as he could recall, that he'd ever seen at a Valourwood ceremony.
With a sense of clenching foreboding he made his way to the end of the
stage where the ten other boys stood.


- - -


Two Deputy Preceptors had come to greet the assembled boys, as the
friends and family in the audience headed home, not privy to this next
more private part of the ceremony.  Unlike Grand Preceptor Rodriguez,
these Deputy Preceptor roles were part-time and voluntary.  Ryan, Jonjo,
James and the other two tops were now proudly donning their top insignia
- Ryan's with three stars beneath the imposing-looking phallus, James'
and Jonjo's each with just one.  Oh what Sammy would have done for just
one star at that moment.  The Deputy Preceptor who took them aside was a
local business mogul, who wore his four-starred Tier of Dominance
insignia with pride.  But among the tops, there would be no pulling of
rank - it was a moment of fraternity and shared pride - and he seemed a
striking and charismatic figure, as he led the five newly assigned tops
into the Ascendants' Hall for their Dominion Rites.


The top who had been assigned as Deputy Preceptor for this ceremony's
bottoms was a man Sammy didn't recognise.  He was a military man, as
indicated by his uniform, and he too wore the four-starred Tier of
Dominance insignia.


"Well done, ladies," he growled with a hint of hazing malice, and told
them to follow him into the Serenity Chamber for their Oath of Fidelity.


The room was austere - a dozen seats facing a stage, with small bouquets
of white unblossomed lilies on tables on either side.  On the stage, onto
which the Deputy Preceptor strode, was a screen which presently he
disappeared behind.


Starting with Sebastien, the five other boys began to undress, and it was
only through peer pressure and a slight state of disassociatedness that
Sammy began to do the same.


Sebastien was beaming, glowing even, as he neatly folded each of his
garments and put them in a neat pile under his seat.  The three other
boys who Sammy didn't know attempted to do the same, although with it
not coming quite as naturally as it did to Sebastien - they looked
nervous, but nowhere near as bad as Sammy felt.


Sammy looked at Ben, whose furrowed brow and look of concentration hinted
at an emotion slightly more similar to Sammy.

"I can't believe it," whispered Ben.


"Nor can I," offered Sammy, speaking for the first time since the
Epiphany, his voice a little hoarse.  "I was sure we'd be tops
together!"


Now all six of them were naked, and Ben looked down at Sammy's pitiful
dick.  Sammy felt sure Ben was thinking that he, Ben, had been borderline
- and almost given the life he felt was owed to him, one of a top; but
that Sammy's case was open-and-close.  Which, numerically, was true -
but surely that didn't detract from the fact that Sammy had always been
one of the boys, goofing and horsing around together, he and Ben had
played just as much sport as James and Jonjo, and stuck up for themselves
almost as much as Ryan for that matter.


Sammy had never seen so many dicks in his life - or dicklettes as he
should say, as was customary for bottoms after the Epiphany.  In truth,
Ben's and even the others' felt down right intimidating to him - even
if they were modest enough for them too to have been assigned bottoms.
He looked at Sebastian, whose grace and femininity was something he'd
always found attractive and often envied Ryan for being able to enjoy,
whose pert little erection stood at three centimetres larger than his
own!  How could Sebastian - a model Bottom of Tomorrow - have a bigger
dick than him?!  This was a nightmare!  And if the dicks in the Serenity
Chamber of all these bottoms made him feel this way, what must the dicks
of all the tops out there be like?


He didn't have to wait long to find out.


"I'm Colonel Walker," began the gruff old soldier, who strode around
from behind the screen - butt naked apart from a medallion worn around
his neck of strong and firm phallus emphasised by four stars beneath it -
and emphasised further by his substantial manhood, as upright as the
bearer, the strongest and of course the largest in the chamber.


"And I'd like to congratulate each and every one of you on your
Epiphany Ascendus.  You now take up the very important mantle of
bottomhood here in Virilius.  This is a great privilege," he said,
twitching his moustache slightly, "you do not need to work.  In fact,
you cannot work.  That's a man's job - quite literally - for tops.
Instead, you will live lives of quiet humility and modesty, and one day I
hope you will each make a top husband very happy indeed."


"There is no greater privilege in Virilius than supporting a strong and
virile man, ensuring his stomach is full and his balls are empty," there
was a little shuffle in the crowd at his salty soldiers' language,
"raising his sons, and keeping the home."


The Colonel went on: "Now, before I let you get dressed and move on with
the next stage of your lives, I must remind you of the tenets of the Oath
of Fidelity you have all taken by being admitted to the role of bottom:"


"The Tenet of Reverence: you shall revere the sacred bond between top
and bottom, cherishing the roles bestowed upon us."


"The Tenet of Submission: you shall submit willingly or otherwise to the
authority of your top, trusting his guidance and leadership."


"The Tenet of Modesty: you shall embrace modesty in your appearance and
conduct, honouring the virtues of Virilian values."


"The Tenet of Service: you shall dedicate yourself to serving your top
and your family with unwavering devotion and care."


"The Tenet of Respect: you shall treat all tops with respect and honour,
recognising their vital roles in our society."


"The Tenet of Responsibility: you shall take responsibility for your
actions and decisions, understanding their impact they have on our great
nation of Virilius.


"And finally," the gruff Colonel went on, "the Tenet of Chastity: you
shall vow to maintain your chastity until marriage, and forevermore
refrain from using your penis for penetration or for personal pleasure."


There was no call for Sammy and the others to agree to these oaths.  They
were taken, both de jure and de facto, by virtue of being Virilian
bottoms.


Sammy, whose dicklette had gone soft from the chilly air in the unheated
chamber, hardened up at these last words - and releasing some of the
tension he felt from this sickening turn of events would have been very
welcome indeed.  Most of the other boys had gone soft by this point,
Sammy noted as his eyes wandered, before settling on the crotch of the
perfect little bottom Sebastien who - even soft - had a volume which
rivalled Sammy's hard.  The Colonel looked down at Sammy's modest
upward pointing endowment and shook his head with gentle disapproval.


- - -


After the Epiphany, Sammy took the long route home and arrived just as
Oliver was serving up dinner.  Ben and the others had dashed off right
after the ceremony, and Colonel Walker didn't seem like the chatty type,
and Sammy was desperate to talk to someone and get things off his chest
after the shock from earlier today.


"You're a little late?" Marcus said, looking at his watch, "Oh, uhh,
and well done on your Epiphany." he added, offering out a soft gift
roughly wrapped in brown paper with messy sticky tape holding it
together.


"Yes, congratulations, sweetie!" Oliver offered, smiling, hugging and
kissing Sammy on both cheeks.  "Here's this is from me," he said,
giving Sammy a small box, wrapped again in brown paper with a neat red
bow around it.  "And this is from your brother," Oliver added,
proffering a smaller-still wrapped box.


Judging by the look on Jack's face, and the neatness with which the gift
was wrapped, Sammy very much doubted Jack had taken much time to choose
it.


But more pressing and nagging still was how his dad, poppy and brother
seemed completely unfazed by what had happened earlier at the Epiphany.


"Uhh, thanks," Sammy said.  "So - what do you think?  Of my assignment
at the Epiphany."


"I said well done, didn't I?" Marcus muttered, nudging Jack on the
arm.


"Oh, uhh, yeah, well done big sis!" Jack said, with a mischievous
smile.


"You'll make a wonderful bottom," cooed Oliver, "although I'll have
to start passing on some more of the family recipes to you!"


Sammy was dumbstruck.  Just yesterday, everyone - including him - was
certain that after years of waiting and expectation he'd be a top, just
like his dad, just like most of the Future Tops with whom he'd grown up,
and now they were acting like his assignment as a bottom was nothing of
note.


He ate with less alacrity than usual that night - Marcus and Jack
shovelled slice after slice of the leg of lamb Oliver had cooked onto
their plates, and into their cutes, while Sammy found he'd lost half his
appetite.  Oliver demurely had two slim slices and a little asparagus.


After dinner was finished, Marcus turned to Jack, "Fancy a few hoops
before bed, my boy?"


Sammy's face lit up.  A good sporting distraction was just what he
needed right now, and he looked at his dad expectantly, but Marcus
avoided his gaze.


"Sammy, darling," Oliver said, "why don't you stay and help poppy
clean up?" he asked in the third person.


"Oh, uhh," Sammy muttered, feeling his cheeks begin to flush red, "I-
I guess."


"Ata boy!" Marcus said, "you help out your poppy."


"Open your Epiphany gifts first, darling," Oliver said.


"Oh yeah, umm, thanks guys," Sammy said.  He unwrapped the one from his
dad first - an apron - polka dots, like his poppy's, but teal and white
rather than red and white.


"Thanks, dad," said Sammy, feeling his cheeks begin to colour.


"Try it on, sweetie," Oliver said encouragingly, "we can wear ours
together for the washing up!"


Sammy stood - hesitant and awkward - and put the hoop at the top around
his neck, with Oliver tying the back into a bow.


"Beautiful!  Open your brother's next," Oliver went on.  This
household matter, and it being a newly minted bottom's Epiphany, clearly
gave poppy domain over the occasion.


Sammy undid the bow and then unwrapped the paper, revealing a box with an
expensive and popular perfume he'd seen advertised to young bottoms:


"Whispers Pure: A gentle scent infused with white tea and clean cotton,
symbolising the purity and virtue of our nation's bottoms."


Judging by how intently his younger brother was watching Sammy as he
unwrapped the gift, Sammy felt surer than ever that his poppy had picked
it out as `From him'.


"Oh `Whispers Pure'!" Oliver exclaimed, feigning surprise, unboxing
it and squirting a little on either side of Sammy's nape.  "That's
just what I wore when I was your age.  And how appropriate given your
strong younger brother can help ensure you stay pure until marriage, just
like I did.  Do mine now."

"Uhh, thanks, Jack," said Sammy, before unwrapping the final neatly
bowed gift, and this one contained a thin silver chain with a modest
pendant at the front - in the shape of a peach, with an unblossomed
flower bud at the top - and on the pendant was the one-word inscription
"Chastity".


"I hope you like it," Oliver trilled, taking it from its box and
walking behind Sammy to hang it over his neck.  "Remember, it's not
just pretty.  It's one of the most important pledges we take to
safeguard the honour of our family and our future husband."


Sammy flushed in emasculation, and hallucinated the chain tightening
around his neck.  "Thanks, poppy," he said, and allowed his reddening
cheek to be stroked.


The mandatory family soppy stuff now out of the way, Marcus stood up and
walked towards the garden, with Jack bounding after him like a big
boisterous puppy, and Sammy tried to follow his poppy's lead with
picking up plates, and scraping them clean.  He tried to wash things in
the sink at the same time as Oliver, which didn't work, so Oliver gave
him a cloth with which Sammy could instead dry dishes after Oliver had
washed and rinsed them.  Sammy had never washed up before.  It wasn't
anything that had ever occurred to him - or his parents for that matter -
as they'd all until recently assumed he'd one day be a top like Marcus;
and so it required the focus and concentration of learning something new
and difficultly important.


Sammy felt himself welling up with tears for the second time that day, as
he heard the sneakers squeaking and the basketball pounding on the ground
out in the garden, along with Marcus and Jack's laughs and barks of
mutual encouragement.  Oliver saw the tears in Sammy's eyes, and gave
him a comforting smile, tiptoeing to kiss him on the cheek.


After he'd helped with the clear-up for the first time ever, Sammy
decided to head to his room for some privacy - and to be away from sounds
of the sport he loved and might never again get to enjoy playing.  He
breathed deeply, calming himself, still not quite fully registering the
day's news - not being able to play b-ball with his dad and brother,
helping out with the washing up - all of these small and unforeseen ways
in which his life would now be different, and all on day one.  Helooked
around his and Jack's shared room until his eyes settled on his desk.
Jack's was as he'd last seen it, but Sammy noted all his work books had
been put into neat piles, and there was now a sewing machine on his desk
for some reason.


Odder still, all of his Future Tops medals and certificates and the like
were gone.  His heart skipped a beat and clenched up and he pounced up
from the bottom bunk.


"Poppy?" he asked, peering his head into the living room where Oliver
was using some free time to flick through a magazine.


"Yes, darling?" asked Oliver.


"Where's all my Young Tops stuff?  My basketball medals and swimming
certificates and stuff?"


Oliver blinked and then cocked his head to the side.


"What do you mean, sweetheart?"


"My stuff from the Future Tops!  It's not in my room!"


Oliver sighed deeply.  "Sammy, darling, you're a bottom.  You were
never in the Future Tops."


Sammy's mind and body alike clenched up.  What did his poppy mean?  Of
course Sammy had been in the Future Tops.  Oliver had walked him to all
his earliest sports tournaments.


Sammy ran out into the garden.


"Dad!  Jack!  Has one of you moved all my Future Tops medals?" he
asked, tenser and more urgently.


"What are you talking about?" Jack responded, screwing up his young
cute face.


"My b-ball medals and- and- my certificates from Future Tops camp??"
Sammy pleaded.


"You were never at Future Tops camp, Sammy.  Only Future Tops go to
those and you're a bottom," their dad Marcus said firmly.  "You must
be thinking of Jack."


"Huh?  But I was in Future Tops WITH Jack, dad!"


His dad and brother just shook their heads like Sammy was deranged - like
he was making it all up.  With a heaving and heavy heart, Sammy stormed
off to his room and pulled close the door, throwing himself onto his
mattress and as he drifted off to sleep trying to subdue his sobs.


- - -


Jack was distracted from his game with his dad in the garden, missing a
few more shots at the hoop than usual, after Sammy's little outburst.


He knew he'd always looked up to his older brother, knowing they would
grow into fine Virilian citizens with each other.  Well, after Sammy's
Epiphany - Jack thought with a shrug - he guessed he'd be more like an
older sister figure now.


Marcus seemed almost to read Jack's mind.  "It's good your poppy will
get some help around the house now," Jack's dad said.  "With Oliver
guiding him, Sammy will make a fine bottom wife some day."


"Yeah," Jack agreed, hesitantly at first.  Then a firmer "for sure!"


Jack had tennis again later that week, and was just two matches away from
being Boldberg Future Tops champion.  He loved and respected Oliver, and
Sammy for that matter, but he felt more hopeful than ever that when his
Epiphany came he'd be assigned as a top - just like his dad.  Basketball
was awesome, and he didn't think he'd be any good at washing up or
cooking.  And besides, some of those bottoms at today's ceremony had
looked mighty fine.


Jack had spent a lot more time looking at and thinking about bottoms
recently.  He felt his dick chub up in his sports shorts a little, and
hoped his dad wouldn't notice.


It was getting late, given they'd started playing after dinner, and
pretty soon Marcus suggested they hit the hay.


Jack pushed open the door to his and Sammy's room gently.  He didn't
think it would be fair to wake his older brother after the big day he'd
had.  Jack sniffed at the air a couple of times to a surprise scent -
what was it his poppy had said?  Tea and laundry?  He raised his arm and
sniffed his own pit, letting out a chuckle - the smell was the total
opposite: he'd not showered in a few days, and one sports fixture after
another had strengthened into quite the symphony of sweat and
testosterone.  He could see why young bottoms might wear the perfume
Sammy was now wearing, asleep, to attract a top husband - having such a
girly scent in his and his brother's room for the first time certainly
seemed to make Jack's dick thicken for the umpteenth time a day.


So much so Jack's mind drifted to the naughty calendar under his
mattress, and he thought about sneaking it into their ensuite bathroom
and giving himself some much needed release.  Jack needed to cum three or
four times a day - and when privacy and his schedule allowed, could
easily go to a dozen times.


But he didn't want to wake Sammy, he remembered, and figured he could
wank himself off in the shower tomorrow - it was probably about time he
had a wash.  He clambered silently onto the top bunk the way he had a
thousand times before, and closed his eyes.


Just as melatonin and sleep were washing over him, his eyes sprang open!


What was that gentle rhythmic squeaking he could hear?  And if he
concentrated, he swore he could feel the bed frame moving a little to the
same tempo?  And then, it dawned on him, when he heard Sammy moan beneath
him - more softly than he remembered Sammy sounding.


"Sammy?  What are you doing?"


There was a moment's pause as squeak, movement and moans all stopped.


"Nothing," Sammy protested.


Jack felt sick to his stomach.


"Are you?  Are you touching yourself?"


If Sammy had ever done this before while Jack slept, Jack hadn't
noticed.  But this was different.  Sammy was a bottom.


"No!" Sammy pleaded, defensively.


"Yes you are," Jack whispered.  "I heard it.  I felt it."


"I'm sorry," said Sammy, his voice sounding almost tearful.  "It's
just - after the day I've had, I really need some relief."


"Sammy, you can't!"  Jack said.  He knew, just as Sammy did, that
bottoms touching their so-called penises wasn't just taboo - it was
strictly forbidden.  "Bottoms don't do that!"


"I know, but I- I can't be a bottom.  I need release, just like you,
just like dad..." Sammy went on.


"Stop!" Jack said, firmly. "That's totally different.  Dad's a top.
I'm gonna be a top too one day.  You're a bottom, Sammy.  We all saw
what the Preceptor measured.  Hell, you showed all of Valourwood.  Your
dick's not meant for that."


"But- But-" Sammy tried to protest, but knew it was no use.  Jack was
the golden boy, the perfect Virilian young man, and he knew there'd be
no persuading him it wasn't fair.  "You're right, Jack.  I'm sorry."


"Yeah, that's better," Jack said, soothingly.  He loved his older
brother and wanted to make sure he grew up to be a bottom of honour.
"Now go to sleep, so I can sleep too."


Jack heard a few more moans, but after listening strainingly figured them
to be gentle sobs - as Sammy tried to fall asleep with aching balls and
his unsatisfied untilised little dick straining beneath his duvet.


Jack's own dick was now fully hard, and he could feel it straining
youthfully upright past his navel and against his abdomen.  Jack turned
onto his front.  It turned out his own horn was not in fact so easily
ignored, and he wondered whether the firmness he'd had to show to his
older brother - now a certified bottom whose modesty needed protecting -
had played a small part in his insistent and urgent his hard-on was.  As
discreetly as he could, he rubbed his cock into the mattress, visions of
bottoms flashing across his closed eyes - that cutie Sebastian, the sexy
Stevie Adams next door, even his brother Sammy, until all the bottoms'
faces melded into one with shared pert buttocks just built for Jack's
cock - into which he'd thrust just he did here with his boyhood
mattress.  He let out a low guttural moan as cum flooded from his cock
onto the clean bedsheet below.  As he fell asleep, Jack almost felt
guilty that it would need cleaning up by his poppy Oliver - or even, for
that matter, his bottom older brother Sammy.


- - -


The next day, Oliver talked Sammy through how to make pasta from
scratch.  Oliver had already made the nduja and tomato filling with which
it would be made into ravioli for that night's dinner, and had left
Sammy to it - keen that he would grow up to be the domestic goddess
expected of a Virilian bottom and wife.


Sammy wasn't sure if his poppy Oliver and his dad Marcus knew he could
hear their urgent whispered conversation through the open window from the
garden.


"Why didn't you start teaching him these things when he was younger?"
Marcus asked his bottom wife.


"Me?" Oliver pleaded, "he was always off with you and Jack, dear.  How
didn't you know he was a bottom with measurements like that?  You should
have known he'd be like me!"


Marcus lowered his voice further, as not to be heard by their neighbours,
"Well, he was always sporty to be fair.  It wasn't really `til Jack
started growing up I thought he might not be sporty enough.  And he
always changed quite discreetly at the pool - I certainly never thought
he had that little thing under his trunks.  In fact, I thought it was
bigger."


"You don't think he was ... stuffing, do you?  I always thought he went
through rather a lot of socks when I did the laundry," pondered Oliver.


Sammy blushed so hard he felt the heat reach his ears.  His mind flashed
back to his early teens, when he had indeed started packing an extra pair
of socks to stuff down his boxers at school, on the court, at the pool.
He thought all young Virilian boys did it - except, perhaps, the Bottoms
of Tomorrow - to emulate the well endowed tops they hoped one day to
join.


"Maybe.  Anyway, the Preceptor has spoken and the numbers never lie,"
grumbled Marcus, "it's the bottomiest endowment Valourwood's seen in
years."


"You're right," agreed Oliver, whispering in awe, "I've always loved
how proud you are of my tininess, and his is even smaller.  I'll go see
how he's getting on with dinner."


- - -


At the table, Oliver served first Marcus and then himself, and Sammy did
as was expected and served his younger brother Jack first with a more
generous portion, before dishing out his own meal.  Sammy was tense,
slightly fearful Jack might blab to their parents about the previous
night's indiscretion, but Sammy was on great form - psyched for his
tennis match the next day, and talking animatedly with Marcus about that.


Jack persuaded his dad and poppy to let him go and hang out with some
friends around the corner for a couple of hours - and Marcus went to the
Adamses' house next door to have a drink with their dad Mike - leaving
Sammy and Oliver to clear up dinner, do the dishes, and make a start on
the laundry.


Sammy was sent into his and Jack's room to get the washing basket and
strip the beds, and as he reached up to strip Jack's sheet from the
mattress the unmistakable boyish aroma of cum which had stiffened up on
Jack's bed clothes hit his nose.  His jaw dropped slightly as he held
the sheet up against the light - how many loads was this?  It surely
couldn't be just one - it would have taken Sammy a week to make this
much, or - at least - it would have done back when he was allowed to use
his little dicklette for such things.  He felt red-faced and
self-questioning as he shoved the sheet in with the laundry, and put on
fresh sheets.


After Oliver had told Sammy he was done with his chores, Sammy excused
himself to his room.


He tried to read, he tried to read one of the cookery magazines his poppy
had given him, he tried everything to keep his mind off the one place it
kept wandering - his urgent need to cum.


Double-checking the bedroom door was firmly closed and figuring it would
be a while before Jack's return, he carefully slid the dirty calendar
from under Jack's mattress, then sat horizontally on his own bunk,
sliding down his trousers.


His almost-four-incher felt heavenly in his hand, as he tugged at it with
his usual thumb-and-two-fingers method.  One of the bottoms, his
favourite in the calendar, wore nothing but a pink thong and presented
his butt to the camera - so naughty!  So immodest!


Sammy let out a sigh as he fapped away faster and more urgently, he just
... needed ... a minute ... or so ... more ...


His heart jumped into his throat as the bedroom door burst open.


"What the fuck?!" shouted his brother, Jack, stood there, sweaty and
panting from whatever gallivanting he'd been up to with his Future Tops
friends - his face suddenly flashing angry.


"Oh, shit," Sammy said, trying to pull his trousers back up.


"I cannot believe you're doing that again," Jack said, suddenly
lowering his voice so their parents wouldn't hear.  "After our talk
yesterday!"


"I know, I know-" begged Sammy.  "I'm sorry.  I thought you were
out."


"That's not what's important," Jack hissed.  "Even when you're
alone, you can't use your dick like that!  Fuck, can't you get a
fucking vibrator?"


Bottoms having enough libido to need a vibrator was something of a
running joke about Future Tops - who were simultaneously amused at the
idea of bottoms having a sexuality beyond pleasuring tops while being a
little turned on at the prospect.


"What?!  No, fuck you!  I just need release!  Normal release, like you
clearly have!" Sammy whined.


"Excuse me?" said his shorter and younger but musclier brother,
advancing on him, "Don't talk to me like that, you fucking bottom."


The words hit Sammy like a smack across the face.


"What I get up to is totally different.  When I grow up I'm gonna need
this dick," Jack said grabbing his crotch, eliciting wide-eyed awe from
Sammy, "to fuck bitches and make fucking babies.  Your little dick
isn't made for that."


Sammy silently began to cry, and felt the little dick in question wilt
under the humiliation of it all.


"What would dad and poppy say if they heard about this?  Hell, what
would the Advocates or Valourwood Council say?" Jack said, angrier
still, his face filled with revulsion.


"No one wants a bottom who acts like this, Sammy.  No self-respecting
top would want a bottom who thinks there are two dicks in their
relationship," Jack went on.  "If I ever fucking catch you doing this
again, I'll have no choice but to report you."


The words hit both of them with an element of surprise this time.  Jack
seemed now momentarily torn about whether he would really dob in his
flesh and blood, his beloved older brother, for a moment.  But then his
features hardened.  Jack would do what was right - for Virilius - for his
family - and, even if he didn't yet know it, for Sammy.


Sammy gulped.


"I'm sorry, Jack.  I'll try.  I promise," he said, hands clasped
together in submission.


"You fucking better," spat Jack, as he climbed back into bed.


Sammy couldn't sleep for an hour or so, as it all sank in - this would
be his life, now, surveilled by his family, then any future husband,
forbidden to get the release he had had so easily before the Epiphany -
back when he was a Future Top - if he ever was a Future Top.  No, he was
sure he had been - the basketball competitions, the fireside, the boyish
fraternal ribbing.  But the memories seemed hazier now.  He was also
deathly scared of what would happen if Jack was as good as his word - the
disappointment of his parents, the scorn of the Advocates, the potential
punishment of the Council.


Sammy hugged his pillow as he fell asleep, unaware of Jack above him
whose heart pounded too for quite different reasons and who had a rage
boner firmer than ever - but he was too shocked at his brother's lack of
respect for Virilian honour even to fuck his mattress like he hoped one
day to fuck bottoms far and wide.


- - -


The next night, Jack slept a little more soundly.  He'd thrashed a
bottom for nearby Woodsfield 6-1 6-0 in tennis, jacked off three times
thinking about his victory - in the locker room, on the coach home, and
in a field near his home - and was suitably tired.  And, best of all, he
seemed finally to have got through to Sammy - who'd seemed especially
subservient all throughout dinner, with no hint that Sammy's thoughts
were thinking of his dicklette as a dick.


He was just dreaming about pinning down some of the more comelier bottoms
who'd turned out to cheer and watch the match, which seemed to whirl
with him gently fucking them, to the same rhythm of one of the longer
rallies the other Future Top had managed to defend himself with in the
second set when this all dematerialised and he found himself -
frustratingly before climax - rock hard in his bed, and vaguely aware of
the ensuite door closing and a sliver of light coming from beneath it...


Jack breathed deeply, trying to savour the memories of his dream, hoping
to continue it again in a few moments before Sammy had so rudely needed
to go for an early hours' pee.


Come to think of it, Jack pondered, he'd never known Sammy to need to go
to the toilet in the middle of the night before.  He couldn't be?  Could
he?


If he was, thought Jack, surely he wouldn't want to know.  Sammy must
have understood by now that the bottoms' Tenet of Chastity was absolute
- mandatory for any bottom ever hoping to bring honour on himself, his
family, his future husband.  And yet, Jack realised, he did want to
know.  He couldn't allow Sammy to dirty himself like this if he had any
hope for fulfilling his destiny.


Swiftly but silently, Jack pounced down from his bunk, and walked towards
the lockless bathroom door.  He placed his fist around the knob and
pulled it back with a growl...


Sure enough - there was Sammy, tugging away at his pitiful little
dicklette.


Jack felt a wave of anger surge over him.


"For fuck's sake!" Jack yelled, not caring their parents or all of
Virilius heard this time.  "What the FUCK do you think you're doing."


Sammy's hand froze in place, his eyes filled with fear, "I'm sorry,
Jack.  I'm sorry!  I tried, I really did!  All day today!"


Jack strode forward, grabbing Sammy by the wrist, and pulling his hand
away.


"Look at yourself!" Jack barked, as Sammy looked down po-faced, his
gaze meeting his small achingly hard cock.  Jack looked at it too.  He'd
never seen anything so laughable - Jack hadn't seen a lot of hard
cocks.  None except his own had ever interested him.  But what he saw
before him and what the numbers had said were wise and immutable.


He pulled Sammy up from the toilet seat and span him around, facing the
mirror above the sink where they'd brushed their teeth since they were
boys.


"I mean, fucking look at yourself!  Does that look like a top's dick?
Does that look like the cock of someone whose dick is to please himself
or anyone?!"


Despite being 5'9" to Sammy 6'3", Jack had never felt taller -
watching his brother's increasingly meek and terrified face.  Jack felt
surer than ever of Virilian tradition and his own destiny as a top one
day, at least surely - if Sammy's endowment was anything to go by.
Seeing the two of them in the mirror, Jack's cock lengthened and
fattened in the black fitted boxers in which he'd gone to sleep, from
knowing he was doing what's right - and, in no small part, from
exercising this righteous power over his older brother.


Sammy, meanwhile, was terrified but so desperate for release that his
little boner stayed upright.  Fuck, thought Jack, Sammy's six years
older than me - but I don't think my dick was that small six years ago!


In the reflection, it seems Sammy saw it too.  He broke down crying, big
heaving sobs, interspersed with whispers.  "No.  Of course not.  I just-
I just- I just really need to cum.  Please!  I'm begging you!  Just go
to the other room and let's not tell anyone.  Just PLEASE let me cum,
one last time!  Forever!"


"Bottoms!  Don't!  Touch!  Their!  Dicklettes!" boomed Jack, his voice
now indisputably deeper than Sammy's, which had seemed to soften over
the last few days.


"What's going on here?!"


Both boys jumped and looked behind them, as Marcus, who'd yelled first,
and then Oliver - had been alerted by Jack's yelling and joined them in
the bathroom.


"Nothing!" Sammy yelled, looking pleadingly at Jack.


Oliver's face awash with worry, and Marcus' was a picture of
incredulity.


"Dad!  Poppy!  I caught Sammy wanking!"


Their dad's expression shifted further into a scowl, and poppy gasped.


Oliver tried to be understanding, "These ... transgressions are not
unheard of after the Epiphany."


"Three times!" Jack went on.  He was running on adrenaline now, shocked
that the values he and his brother had seemed to share now went out of
the window just because Sammy had been deemed an unhung bottom.


"WHAT?!" boomed Marcus.  "THREE TIMES!?  Once would be bad enough!"


"I know," Jack said, slightly taken aback to see his dad even angrier
than he was.


"Oh, Sammy, how could you?!" Oliver gasped once more, shaking his head.


"I'm sorry, I just-" Sammy started


"What a DISGUSTING notion," Marcus' brow furrowed, and even he felt
shocked at how like Piers Vanderpuye he sounded.


"And you're sure it's three times?" asked Oliver, hopeful it
couldn't be true.


"Three times in three nights," Jack assured them earnestly.  "I can't
believe it either.  I think-" he paused, unsure he could do this even
for Virilius.  But then went one "I think I'm going to tell the
Advocates tomorrow."


"Please, NO!  Don't!" begged Sammy, looking at his dad and poppy
pleadingly.


But they were unmoved.  Marcus snarled and went back to bed, while Oliver
shook his head a few times and headed after his husband.


"Go to bed!" snapped Jack.


Sammy slinked back into the bedroom, and Jack felt pretty sure he
wouldn't dare try anything again that night.


Jack also, he realised, had had a hard-on the entire time.  Sport always
made him horny, and winning matches even more so - and the way he was
responsibly ensuring his brother's honour seemed to make his bold
erection throb.  He watched himself in the mirror as his right hand
stroked up and down his shaft.  He let out deep sighs as he stared
himself in his eyes, stared into his destiny and his brother's destiny
alike, and that was enough to bring him off.  A dozen spurts of cum
volleyed from his cock onto the mirror.


He nodded at his reflection and the patterns his substantial seed made as
they seeped down the mirror, and caught himself hoping that before his
poppy cleaned it off the next morning that his bottomy younger brother
would see obscuring his reflection the sheer manly volume of Jack's
load.


- - -


Sammy found himself sitting in the dock at Valourwood Council Hall.


True to his word, Jack had woken up the next morning, donned his Young
Tops uniform and hailed the first Advocate he could see.  The Advocate
had called for back-up, and despite Sammy pleas and protestations, his
dad and poppy had merely shaken their heads and followed as Sammy was led
to the municipal centre.


Judge Tanaka, a Tier of Dominance magistrate, was known and feared for
his strict adherence to honour and the meting out of punishment.  He
presided over Sammy's trial:


"Sammy Thompson.  You are charged with three counts of using your penis
for personal pleasure.  I see here, you are not just a bottom - but you
are a bottom in the 2nd percentile.  What sort of message do you think it
sends to society and to the tops who might one day wish to court you that
you would deign to use such a modest endowment for pleasure, even your
own?"


Before Sammy could answer, he was cut off-


"Silence.  It was a rhetorical question.  It would send a very bad
message indeed.  Yours is a dicklette not ten centimetres long nor ten
centimetres around.  It is the opinion of this court that these
measurements are laughable as a prospective sexual organ, and that the
ancient Epiphany Ascendus has rightly deemed you to be a bottom."


"I read here also that your brother Jack, the upstanding Future Top in
uniform in the gallery, esteemed men and fair bottoms, caught you on all
three occasions and they were three nights in the row.  How do you
plead?"


Sammy waited a few moments, to see whether he was now allowed to speak,
before answering - with a heavy heart -


"But, Your Honour, I know it is forbidden.  But I just don't see why-
I just really needed to- I- I- I-" but Sammy's words failed him.  The
confidence he had known before his Epiphany seemed to melt away before
the courtroom, before the Judge, before his very own eyes.


"I ask you again, Sammy Thompson, how do you plead?"


"Guilty, Sir," Sammy said.  His head hung low.


There was a gasp and much tutting and even a few boos in the courtroom.
Valourwood was a respectable suburb, and trials like this didn't happen
often.  And here was Sammy, bringing such scandal and dishonour to his
neighbourhood not even a week after his coming of age ceremony.


Judge Tanaka was known as a conservative justice, and those in the
courtroom who knew this knew this would not go down well.


Punishment was swift and decisive.  The top Judge continued, "Well then,
young Sammy, I'm afraid I have no choice but to sentence you to six
months not just of psychological counselling but also in chastity.  I
hope you will use this time to forget about your dicklette, given you
shall have no access to it, and shall instead focus on improving your
community and attract a well endowed top husband for yourself."


A mixed murmur of gasps and assent came up from those assembled in the
courtroom.


"The punishment will be administered immediately.  Bailiff, take away
the criminal!," spat the Judge.


Two burly tops, Tier of Fortitude ones with dicks in the fifth decile
(not much bigger than Ben, thought Sammy, squirming at the injustice of
this justice system) manhandled him out of the dock and into the cells
downstairs.  As they pushed him inside and slapped the door, Sammy's
eyes teared up once more and he couldn't imagine how this could be any
more humiliating.


He needn't have imagined very long.  He was mortified to see his dad
Marcus, then his poppy Oliver, then his `upstanding Future Top' brother
Jack, led down a different flight of stairs - one at a time - shown by a
different bailiff to a row of seats facing his cell.


Most judges delegated this stage of proceedings to a bailiff, but not
Judge Tanaka.  The middle aged magistrate liked to stare into a bottom's
soul, which he devoutly believed he was saving, when they were placed
into chastity for crimes such as pretending their own pathetic pensises
were for any use beyond peeing.


A bailiff followed after him, however, with a small trolley of equipment.


"Strip, you wanton bottom," Judge Tanaka commanded.  His tone was more
scathing away from the court record, but none of Sammy's family seemed
to care.


Sammy fought back his tears as his trembling fingers removed his shoes
and socks, his shirt, the jodhpurs Oliver had brought him, and - finally
- his boxers.


He could see the Judge scowl at his `masculine' underwear.


As if having brought shame on his family for all their neighbours to see;
having justice meted out by this cantankerous old judge, who - as an
affirmed top - could never understand Sammy's plight and frustration;
who seemed to relish what he was about to do; and have his entire family
watch as he did it weren't enough; there was one final embarrassment.
Sammy's little nine-centimetre pecker was hard as rock from it all.


"Hmmm," Judge Tanaka scowled.  He reached over to the trolley the
bailiff had brought down and pulled out a hose.  Pressing a button at the
top of it, a laser-like jet of high-pressure ice water blasted Sammy in
his tiny little junk.


"Ahhhhh!" Sammy yelped.  The freezing cold and the bullet-like blast of
the water first taking his breath away, and then blasting at his tiny
dicklette and now-shrunken balls.  It didn't take long, not more than
five or so seconds, for his little nub to shrink back to an unblossomed
bud.


"That's better," smirked Judge Tanaka.  "Now - let me see - no, extra
small won't do.  I think you are an extra extra small."


His fingers plucked first a ring, almost as cold and clinical as the ice
hose, which he slid over Sammy's dicklette and tight cherry-like balls.
He then picked up the extra extra small cage in question, and slid that
over Sammy's shrivelled little penis.


Judge Tanaka took a padlock from the trolley - slightly larger than the
cage itself(!) - and slid it through the mechanism which connected the
cage to the ring, before locking it in place.


Sammy tried to squirm out the way, but was quickly grabbed and held in
place by the brute of  a bailiff.


With a hint too much sadism for a professional jurist, Judge Tanaka
clicked the lock shut and then pocketed the key with a number which
corresponded with the lock.


"There we are," he chuckled.


Sammy looked over at his family through the bars.  Jack was staring at
Sammy's crotch, with seemingly mixed emotions on his face, avoiding
Sammy's eyes.  His father Marcus looked at Sammy more brazenly, a look
of deep and genuine disappointment on his face.  And Oliver - his beloved
poppy Oliver - looked utterly crestfallen that Sammy would do this to
himself and the family in front of all their neighbours.


Judge Tanaka went on: "Now, the court psychologist will write to you in
due course.  And you can come back for this," he said, patting his
pocket, "in six months' time - in January.  Do you have any
questions?"


Our young bottom criminal Sammy was too crushed to even think whether he
had questions, let alone what they might be, and so shook his head.


"And you, Mr and Mrs Thompson?  Young Jack?"

Marcus and, if anything even more so, Oliver shook their heads more
gravely.  They knew Sammy had this coming to him, and hoped beyond hope
this meant he wouldn't do something like this again.


Jack looked pensive and a little guilty, but also determined.


"No, Your Honour," Jack said, the starless phallic proto-insignia of
the Young Tops glinting on his chest.


- - -


Three weeks had gone by and Jack had a bigger spring in his step than
ever.


Judge Tanaka had taken him aside and awarded Jack the Valour of Vility
award for having upheld such strong Virilian values, even (or, perhaps,
especially) in light of it involving his older brother.

Sammy, as far as Jack could tell, seemed to move between a stroppy
moodiness and a resigned submission - helping Oliver around the house,
and sometimes being enormously polite and obsequious to Jack, and other
times avoiding his gaze and seeming a little frosty.


Well, thought Jack, it didn't bother him.  He had one of the highest
honours it was possible for a Future Top (or, like that sexy Stevie Adams
next door had been, a Bottom of Tomorrow) to achieve.  And dinner was
better than ever now poppy had some help around the kitchen.  After that
night's bratwurst and potatoes, Jack found himself with his dad Marcus
shooting hoops in the garden.  He'd not missed a shot all evening, and
was feeling pretty bold and brazen.


"Dad?" Jack opened.  "Can I ask you something?"


"Yes, son," Marcus said, catching the basketball he'd been dribbling
in both his hands.  He made his way to the picnic bench he and Jack had
made together on which the family sometimes dined outside and sat down.


Jack went and sat opposite him.


"I'm thinking about Sammy, and what happened to him in court, and how
he seems to be struggling with ... his role, since his Epiphany."


"Hmm," growled Marcus, not enjoying this besmirchment on the family
name of Thompson - which he wore with pride, which Jack did too, which
his bottom wife Oliver wore literally tattooed on his wrist as all
Virilian brides did with their husbands' names, and yet which Sammy
seemed not to grasp.


"And, the thing is," Jack continued, "I don't want to wait, dad.  I
want to take my Epiphany."


Marcus spun the basketball between his fingers, letting his younger
son's words sink in.


"Are you sure, son?  It's no light matter."


Jack was boyishly enthusiastic in his prepared response.


"I know, dad.  But ... I think I'm ready!"


"But Jack, my boy," Marcus countered, pausing for effect, "you've
only been eligible a few months.  And you could wait another five years.
Once the Preceptor takes the measurement, that's it for life.  You have
a few more years' growth left in you.  Why not wait?"

"Dad!  I've seen Sammy's dicklette, remember.  Too many times, to be
honest!"


Marcus joined in with an indulgent chuckle to match Jack's laughter.


"And I know I'm not like him.  I know I'll be a great and honourable
top!"


"Hmm," said Marcus.  In truth, Marcus had platonically spotted Jack's
bulge a few times at the pool - and, combined with his prodigal and
rapidly improving sports prowess, the way he often took on leadership
roles with his friends, thought he was probably right.


"Son," Marcus continued, "there's no easy way to ask this, but...
Have you ever `stuffed'?"


"What's that?" Jack asked, oblivious.


Marcus frowned and then smiled.


"Your poppy and I, we think ... we think Sammy may have shoved socks and
things down his boxers growing up.  Have you ever done that?"


Now Jack thought about it, he did remember one of the reasons he'd
bonded so fraternally with Sammy was that he seemed to be packing a
top's heat in his trunk, the way their dad did, the way their poppy
didn't, and the way Jack himself had - recently and so rapidly - done
himself.


"What?  No. Why would I need to?"


Marcus stared at his son and didn't see even a glimmer or glimpse of a
lie in his soul.


"Very well, Jack my boy.  If you're sure.  If we register you tomorrow,
we'll be in time for next week's Epiphany."


Jack leapt from his seat and wrapped his arms around his dad.  They
patted each other roughly on their back.


"Really, dad?!  Thanks!"


Oliver's initial uncertainty was easily overcome.  Sammy was already in
bed, and would have to wait `til the next day to hear the news.


It took Jack substantial restraint not to wake Sammy and break the news
to him, as he tossed and turned and struggled to sleep from the
excitement.  Boy oh boy.  Taking the Epiphany aged sixteen.  It wasn't
unheard of, but it sure didn't happen often.  But here was Jack
Thompson, golden boy of the Valourwood Future Tops, who in a week - five
years early - would be taking his Epiphany Ascendus to learn his destiny.


- - -


I hope you're enjoying this story.  Any feedback and suggestions would be
much appreciated at sphsublondon@gmail.com