Finn’s Dream of Independence 6

By YourWetDream

evulmat@gmail.com

Copyright 2026 by YourWetDream, all rights reserved

[22,769 words]´

CHAPTER 6

Finn was terrified.

Fuuuuck! No, please, no! They all saw my naked ass! Oh my God, they all watched Sophie pull the swim briefs onto me. Jesus. Lina saw everything. Her mother saw everything. And now this fucking little Lennart is looking at me like I'm some kind of—

"Hello, Finn. Nice to see you again." Lina's voice was sweet, almost too sweet, and she was smiling—that same knowing, amused smile from the shopping mall. The smile that said  I remember everything.

Finn's stomach churned as they approached—Lina, her mother, and Lennart, moving across the sand like a small, unstoppable army, their shadows stretching long in the afternoon sun.

"That's my brother, Lennart," Lina said, gesturing to the tall boy beside her with a casual wave of her hand.

Finn looked him up and down. And up again.

I think he's taller than me. Damn. Definitely. And broader. His shoulders—how is he only thirteen?

He didn't know what to do with his hands. He felt lost, unmoored, a ship without a rudder, drifting in a sea of staring eyes. If he had been wearing a t-shirt, he would have been pulling at the hem nervously, twisting the fabric between his fingers. That was his habit, his tell, his small, pathetic comfort.

But he wasn't wearing a t-shirt. He was wearing nothing but a pair of tight, borrowed swim briefs from an elementary school swim team. The navy fabric clung to his hips, the white back panel displayed the seahorse badge for all the world to see, and there was nothing to pull, nothing to twist, nothing to hide behind.

So instead, his hands found the sides of the briefs. His fingers curled around the elastic waistband, and he began pulling at the fabric—stretching it, twisting it, adjusting it—a nervous, unconscious gesture that he couldn't stop, couldn't control, couldn't even fully notice.

It attracted even more attention to his swimsuit.

Stop it, you fucking idiot! Stop touching yourself. You're making it worse. They're looking at your hands. They're looking at where your hands are. These fucking little briefs. Stop!!

Lennart approached. He extended his hand—a firm, confident gesture, the handshake of someone who had been taught by his father how to greet men, how to look them in the eye, how to claim space without saying a word.

"Hi there, mate," Lennart said. His voice was steady, calm, the voice of someone who had nothing to prove.

Finn reached out and took his hand. His own palm was sweaty, his grip weak, his fingers trembling slightly.

"Hi," he answered, his voice barely a whisper, lost in the sound of the waves.

He didn't do anything specific. He just stood there. He just said hello. But the way he moved, the way he looked at me, the way his hand swallowed mine—it all screamed that he was something better.

Lennart's eyes flicked over Finn—the tight briefs, the seahorse badge, the small bulge that was barely visible beneath the navy fabric. His expression didn't change. His smile didn't waver. But something in his gaze shifted. A flicker of amusement. A flicker of pity.

Finn also noticed, with a fresh wave of dread that settled into his bones like ice water, that Lennart was slightly taller than him. Not dramatically—maybe an inch, maybe two—but enough. Enough to make Finn feel small. Enough to make him look up.

And the shoulders. The width of Lennart's shoulders. They weren't massive, weren't those of a grown man, but they were broader than Finn's. They hinted at a frame that was already starting to fill out, already starting to leave boyhood behind. He was dominating Finn without even doing anything, without even trying.

How the hell do kids these days grow that much? He must have been eating Chicken McNuggets and drinking growth hormone for breakfast every day.

And his legs.

Finn couldn't help but stare. Lennart's legs were covered in dark hair—not thick, not yet a man's, but unmistakably there. A shadow of adolescence. A sign that his body was already moving forward, already leaving childhood behind, already becoming something that Finn's body had not yet even begun to approach. The hair traced up his shins, over his knees, disappearing beneath the hem of his board shorts in a dark, masculine line.

Finn's own legs were pale and completely bare. Smooth. Hairless. Not a single dark follicle visible from his thighs to his toes. He looked like a boy who had never started puberty. Because he hadn't.

The contrast was devastating—a physical marker of the gap between them, visible to anyone who cared to look, a silent, screaming announcement of everything Finn was not.

"My mom, Mona—you already know from the mall," Lina added, gesturing to the woman beside her with a casual flip of her hand.

Yeah. Of course I know her. Damn. She watched one of the most humiliating moments of my life. She saw me in the baby-blue briefs, saw me get pantsed, saw me get laughed at by those boys. She was there for all of it. Oh no. That fucking Lennart. Please, God, make sure they didn't tell him. Please make sure he doesn't know about the mall, about the baby-blue briefs, about everything else that happened there.

"Lina, your brother is so tall!" Sophie's voice cut through Finn's spiraling thoughts, bright and warm and completely oblivious to the war being waged in Finn's chest. She was smiling, her eyes sweeping over Lennart with genuine appreciation. "How old are you? Fifteen? Sixteen?"

Mona laughed—a light, pleased sound, the laugh of a parent who was proud of their child's development and enjoyed having it noticed. "Fifteen? Oh, you're too kind. He's only thirteen. Just turned, actually."

Sophie's eyebrows rose, and her smile widened. "Thirteen? Really? I would have guessed much older." Her eyes swept over Lennart again, taking in his height, his build, his confident posture. "He looks very mature for his age."

Finn wanted to disappear. He wanted the sand to open up and swallow him whole. He wanted to run into the sea and keep running until he couldn't feel anything anymore.

"Well, what are you doing here with all of them?" Mona asked Sophie, gesturing at the cluster of children—Vlad, Aleksandr, Natasha, Sveta—who were now splashing in the shallow water, their laughter carried on the warm breeze.

"Yeah, actually, working," Sophie said, nodding toward the Russian children with a mixture of affection and exhaustion. "I take care of the four of them two or three times a week, usually half days." She gestured to Finn, her hand sweeping toward him as if he were a piece of furniture being included in the tour. "And Finn is my full-time charge, so I obviously can't leave him alone."

Full-time charge. Not friend. Not peer. Not young adult. Full-time charge. Like a pet. Like a problem. Like something that needs to be managed.

"Five kids at once on the beach to watch? Three of them boys?" Mona shook her head in admiration, her eyes wide with genuine respect. "Wow, you are a hero!"

I'm not one of the kids. Sophie, you fucking bitch. Stop saying that. I'm not—I'm not a kid. I'm a teenager. I'm almost fifteen.

"You guys should join us," Sophie said, gesturing to the blanket, the umbrella, the scattered towels. "There's plenty of room."

Finn's stomach dropped.

No. No, no, no. Not them. Not here. Not now. Please say you want to spend time alone. Please say you have other plans. Please say anything except—

"That would be lovely!" Mona clapped her hands together, her face bright with genuine delight. "We'll set up right next to you. And we are all here to help you with the kids—you should enjoy the weekend too!"

Lina's smile widened. She looked at Finn—directly at him, her eyes bright with amusement, her lips curved in a knowing smirk—and said, "Great. We'll have so much to talk about."

So much to talk about. Great. I can't wait!

Lennart brushed past Finn on his way to help with the umbrella. His bare arm grazed Finn's shoulder—a casual, accidental touch that felt like a brand, like a claim, like a reminder of everything Finn was not. He didn't apologize. He didn't even seem to notice. He just moved past, confident and unbothered.

The family set up their blanket just next to them, their towels overlapping with Sophie's, their umbrella crowding the space, their cooler and bags creating a wall of normalcy that felt like a cage. There was no gap. No escape. No empty sand between Finn's humiliation and their cheerful, oblivious presence.

Finn stood frozen, his hands at his sides, his body still half-exposed in the tight swim briefs—the navy fabric clinging to his hips, the seahorse badge glaring at the world, the white back panel with its elementary school inscription pressed against his skin like a brand.

"Alright, girls, now it's your turn to change. Boys, you wait here. I'll put some sunscreen on you in a minute!"

"Nonsense!" Mona interrupted, waving a dismissive hand. "I told you, we're here to help! You can help the girls change, while we put sunscreen on the boys. Lina can do the little one, I can do the older one, and Lennart can help with Finn's back." She smiled warmly at Sophie, her eyes bright with the satisfaction of a problem solved. "You don't have to do everything alone!"

No. No, no, no. Not Lennart. Anyone but Lennart. I don't want him touching me. I don't want him seeing—

"You are so lovely!" Sophie's voice was warm, grateful, completely unaware of the devastation she was about to unleash. "Thank you!"

Then she turned her head to Finn, her smile still in place, her eyes soft and casual, as if she were about to suggest something as simple as passing the salt.

"Finn, you two should get along great. You're practically the same age."

And with that, she slapped his bottom.

SMACK!

The sound was loud—shockingly loud, echoing off the sand, carried on the sea breeze, impossible to ignore. It was playful, clearly playful, the kind of casual swat a mother might give a child who was dawdling, but the sound was unmistakable.

Finn jumped at the unexpected spank.

Everyone laughed. Mona chuckled, shaking her head indulgently. Lina giggled, her hand covering her mouth. Even Lennart cracked a small smile, his eyes flicking down to Finn's swimsuit for just a moment before returning to his face.

"Chop chop," Sophie said, her voice light, teasing. "Go to Lennart. Don't be ashamed."

As if anyone ever got less ashamed when someone told them not to be! Thanks, Sophie! Thanks for making everything worse!

Finn's face burned. His ears burned. His bottom, still stinging from the playful slap, burned. He wanted to run, to hide, to disappear into the sand. But his feet wouldn't move. His legs wouldn't carry him anywhere except toward his tormentor.

Just do it. Just go to him. Just let him put sunscreen on your back. It's not a big deal. It's just sunscreen.

He slowly approached Lennart, the bottle of sunscreen clutched in his trembling hand. The sand was warm between his toes, the sun was hot on his bare shoulders, and the eyes of everyone on the blanket were fixed on him—watching, waiting, wondering if he would make a scene.

"Would you… ehkm… put some on my back?" His voice was small, barely audible, swallowed by the sound of the waves.

"Sure, mate. Turn around."

Lennart's voice was casual, almost bored, as if applying sunscreen to a half-naked boy he had just met was the most normal thing in the world. As if he did this every day. As if Finn were just another body, just another task, just another chore to be completed.

Finn turned.

His back was to Lennart now. He was facing the sea and the whole group. He could see Lina and her mother using their own sunscreen on Vlad and Aleksandr, asking about their names and ages, chatting about nothing. He could see Natasha and Sveta waiting for Sophie to help them change.

It's actually a good position. Now I can observe the girls changing. That's the karma. Sveta is nothing, but Natasha, even though she's eleven, she already has some little boobs. Yessssss. She giggled at me, little bitch, now she'll feel the same. I'm going to let her know I see everything.

And he could feel Lennart's hands on his back.

The sunscreen was cold—shockingly cold—and Lennart's palms were warm, and the contrast made Finn shiver. The hands moved slowly across his shoulder blades, down his spine, around his neck and even his ears. Lennart was doing his best, very carefully.

It's good he's taking his time with my body. My beautiful body needs to be very well taken care of. And it's good I have more time to observe the girls.

Sophie took out two swimsuits—a pink, one-piece swimsuit for Sveta and a purple bikini for Natasha. Natasha took off her t-shirt.

Alright, let's go. Now the show begins.

Sophie took out a huge towel from her bag and wrapped it around Natasha. Natasha started taking off her bra, but she was covered from her neck to her knees.

Fuck, what the hell?! Why would she get covered?! That's so fucking unfair! I don't get it! I want to see them naked too!

Meanwhile Lennart's hands were over his ribs. They were bigger than Finn's hands, stronger, more confident. They didn't tremble. They didn't hesitate. They just moved, spreading the white lotion across his skin in slow, methodical circles. It felt really, really nice.

"Finn, would you put your hands up?" Lennart asked, and Finn did as he was told.

It feels so weird. A boy I don't know. Touching me. Rubbing sunscreen into my back. His hands are so much bigger than mine. So much stronger. He's only thirteen, and his hands are—why the hell is he still clothed?!

The hands moved lower.

Down his lower back, over the curve of his spine, past the waistband of his swim briefs. Lennart had squatted down behind him—Finn could hear his knees cracking, could feel his breath warm on the small of his back—and now his fingers were tracing the line where the navy fabric met Finn's skin.

The massage he was receiving from Lennart gave him some weird, mixed feelings. Among all of them, the tension in his swimwear. Around his groin. He felt it started moving and getting to life.

Then he felt Lennart's hands on the upper sides of his hips. His thumbs pressed into the soft flesh just above the waistband. His fingers curled around the curve of Finn's buttocks, practically touching them now.

Damn. It feels so… weird. His hands are so close to—why is he—

Then Finn heard Lennart sigh.

It was a loud sigh, exaggerated, theatrical—a sigh that said  I have to do something I don't want to do, but I'm going to do it anyway because I'm the adult here, and you're just a child.

And it became clear within the next second what Lennart was about to do.

Lennart gently grasped the sides of the briefs covering Finn's buttocks with both of his large hands. He shifted the fabric inward, gathering it between his fingers, and then he gently pulled it upward—wedging the entire back panel of the swim briefs between Finn's buttocks, exposing the skin of his cheeks to the open air.

"Hey, stop! What are you—"

"Wow." Lennart's voice was flat, almost clinical, but there was something underneath it—a suppressed laugh, a barely contained amusement. "Your buttocks are reeeeeaaalllyyy red!"

The words hung in the air like a verdict.

He saw them. He saw the marks. The welts. The evidence of everything. The spanking from Sophie. The belt from Luca and Noah.

Finn's hands flew behind him, trying to push Lennart's hands away, trying to pull the fabric back down, trying to cover himself. But Lennart was stronger, and the briefs were tight, and the damage was already done.

"Stop fidgeting, Finn!" Lennart said, and gave Finn a loud slap on his right buttcheek. "You're the one who asked me to put lotion on you, so keep your hands still—right where they were!"

Finn obeyed him directly, not really understanding why he would obey a boy younger than him, who had absolutely no power over him.

I'll show him later who is who here, that little asshole!

Lina's head turned. Her eyes widened. Her smile grew.

"Sophie," she called out, her voice sweet and curious, "why is Finn's bottom so red?"

The blanket went quiet. Everyone was looking now—Sophie, Mona, the girls, even Vlad and Aleksandr had stopped splashing in the water and were staring.

Finn wanted to die.

This is the worst moment of my life. Worse than the mall. Worse than the roadside. Worse than anything. Because now they all know. Now they all see. Now there's no hiding what happened.

Sophie sat up slowly, her eyes finding Finn's face, then drifting down to his exposed bottom. She didn't look surprised. She didn't look embarrassed. She just looked… thoughtful.

"Well," she said, her voice calm and measured, "Finn had a very difficult day yesterday. He needed to be disciplined. And his bottom is still showing the consequences."

She said it. Out loud. In front of everyone. Fucking whore. I hope she gets eaten by a shark today and the shark chews her very, very slowly. She told them I was spanked. I just can't believe it. She told them I needed to be disciplined. She told them I'm a child who gets punished like a child.

Mona's eyebrows rose. She just nodded, as if this were perfectly normal, perfectly understandable, perfectly expected.

"That's not surprising at all! I saw how he behaved at the mall, that poor young Ahmed taking care of him. I swear I wouldn't have been so patient! You have to put such a misbehaving boy back in his place right away, otherwise he'll push the boundaries further and further!" Mona shared her motherly experience.

Lennart squeezed more cream onto his hand. "Alright, bruh, let's get it over with," and placed both of his hands on Finn's still exposed cheeks. He started gently rubbing the cream onto his bottom, absolutely everywhere.

Oh no, oh no.

Everything was happening faster than Finn could think. His teenage penis reacted to the touching immediately, pointing straight in the tight swim briefs.

Please, please make it quick, you little jerk!

Meanwhile, Sophie was continuing the discussion with Mona.

"Do you still have that problem sometimes with Lennart?" Sophie asked. "You can tell me later when the kids are in the water, if you don't want to embarrass him."

Sureeeee, talk all about how I'm getting spanked and how I behave, but Lennart?! Oh, no, let's not talk about that, the poor boy might get embarrassed! Sure, yeah! Let's get me naked on the beach, but make sure even little eight-year-old Sveta gets covered! Fucking Traitors! Fraudsters! Schemers!

Lennart giggled at that question, like he had nothing to hide.

"What, nooo!" Mona laughed. "We can talk about that. He's not spoiled, thank God. Me and my husband were very strict about our kids, and they don't cause any problems. The last time Lennart got spanked was years ago—maybe when he was nine or ten? I'm not sure anymore!"

"Yeah, you can tell Lennart is very mature for his age, as well as you, Lina!" Sophie said it directly to the kids. "But I have to say, Mona, Finn's mom is also doing a good job. She's pretty strict too and doesn't allow him everything. He just has a difficult personality after his father. She told me once she dated him only twice, because he was acting like a spoiled child, hahaha. So that must be it. But we're working on it. It's the last minute!"

"Oh, she's a single mom. Ough, I understand. It must be tough, dealing with bad genetics." Mona shook her head sympathetically. "You're right, we actually had luck with Lennart. I know boys sometimes need more time to get through puberty and become men. But maybe it's actually good for Finn. Since he's not through puberty yet, you girls have more time to raise him well, share some values."

Lennart was already doing his legs, but Finn didn't even realize. His head was now completely focused on what Sophie was discussing with Lina's and Lennart's mom. They talked about him like he wasn't even there, openly, just in front of other kids, in front of Lina, who was in his school!

"Exactly!" Sophie's voice was full of enthusiasm. "That's what I'm thinking. He's a lovely child, but since he's not really into puberty yet, it's still a good time to raise him well!"

"Yeah, once puberty kicks off, it's going to be hard. And after that… there is no more chance! In some boys' cases, it's better that they're late bloomers than early ones!"

"Right, that's exactly how it works. That's all they tell us in school—you can raise a child until they hit puberty; after that, it's just being friends. It's too late. Finn's definitely still a child, but he's almost fifteen, so we need to balance between being friends and me being his babysitter. But he's motivated to become friends with me, so we're on a good track, RIGHT, FINN?!"

"Yes…" Finn mumbled. His face became definitely more red than his bottom.

"Right, I think we're done!" Lennart announced, and started patting Finn's buttocks as if he were playing the drums.

Very funny,  Finn thought to himself and rolled his eyes.

Lennart finally released the fabric. The swim briefs snapped back into place, covering Finn's bottom. He gave them one quick snug.

"There," Lennart said, standing up, brushing sand from his knees. "All done. Sunscreen's on."

He sounded proud of himself. As if he had done something helpful. As if he hadn't just exposed Finn's deepest shame to the entire beach.

The girls were getting their sunscreen put on, and Lennart finally took off his white, sleeveless shirt. He took a deep breath and stretched, showing off his muscular chest, his arms rising above his head, his torso lengthening in the warm sun. The movement was casual, natural, utterly unselfconscious—the movement of someone who had nothing to hide.

"Alright, Finn, you can quickly do my back too." He threw the sunscreen bottle at Finn.

Finn, being somewhere else with his thoughts, tried to catch the bottle—it wobbled clumsily between his hands until it finally landed in the sand with a soft thud.

Damn, I feel like a total loser! No, wait. He just caught me lost in thought, that's all. It's not like I'm clumsy. I'm just distracted.

Finn picked up the sandy bottle, brushed off the grains stuck to the plastic, and squeezed some cream onto his palm. He hesitated for just a moment, then placed his hands on Lennart's back and began massaging.

Lennart's arms were definitely wider and stronger. And he was taller. The breadth of his shoulders, the taper of his waist, the subtle definition of his back muscles—all of it screamed development, screamed puberty, screamed everything Finn was not.

Damn, he has a beautiful back. Like a man's. I wish I had these too. Where does that come from?! He really must have eaten many Chicken McNuggets. He was over-hormonised as a child. I can't believe the bullshit his mother is saying about "luck" and "good genetics."

Finn wanted to do it as properly as Lennart had done it, so he massaged the cream even onto his ears, his neck, the sensitive skin behind his jaw. He noticed a few drops of sweat on Lennart's back, glistening in the sun. He also noticed something he had never noticed before with another boy.

He liked the natural smell of Lennart's body. It was warm, clean, slightly salty—the smell of healthy skin in the sun. Finn moved a bit forward, coming closer, wanting to feel his skin better, wanting to breathe him in.

Finn, stop. Stop right where you are. That's a boy. Younger than you. You can't. You shouldn't.

But it was stronger than him. His penis was pointing up again, pressing against the tight navy fabric of the swim briefs, as he worked his hands down Lennart's spine and across his ribs.

No one will see. I'm behind him. Damn, he smells so good. The last time I felt something like this was with Sophie. The way her hair smelled. The warmth of her skin. And now this.

Finn felt his knees go weak.

I would love to do his butt like he did mine.

But he obviously couldn't, since Lennart was wearing board shorts that covered everything. So he moved his hands lower, down to Lennart's legs. His hairy legs. Muscular, masculine, hairy legs. The dark hair traced up his shins, over his knees, disappearing beneath the hem of his shorts—a trail of masculinity that Finn's own body had never even begun to produce.

Funny. I kinda like kneeling for him. Damn, what's going on with me? Finn, stop right now. Calm down. You're going to have to stand up, and everyone will notice your little pointing dick. I wonder how big his dick is.

The thought came unbidden, unwanted, but it was there now, impossible to unthink. He imagined what Lennart might look like beneath those board shorts—the same dark hair, the same masculine development.

Before he realized it, his hands had traveled all the way down to Lennart's feet, rubbing sunscreen into his ankles, his heels, the tops of his feet.

"Alright, alright, mate," Lennart said, stepping back slightly, pulling his foot away. "I think I'm good. Thanks!"

"Oh. Yeah. Sure." Finn just mumbled, being caught off guard, his face flushed, his hands suddenly empty and useless.

What am I doing? What was I thinking? I was practically worshipping him. I was—

Finn quickly jumped onto the blanket and lay down on his stomach, pressing his groin into the fabric, hiding the erection he was desperately trying to make go away.

Within a minute, everyone was ready to go into the water. The girls had their swimsuits on. Vlad and Aleksandr were chasing each other around the blankets.

That's when Mona spoke.

"Alright, kids, you may all get into the water now," she announced, her voice carrying the authority of a woman who was used to being obeyed. "Me and Sophie are going to the bar to grab some drinks. You'll listen to Lina and Lennart, right?!" She looked at each of the children in turn, her eyes sharp, her smile bright. "We don't want to hear about any problems! If we hear for even a second that you are disobedient, there will be spanking and no more playing in the water today! Are we clear?!"

Sveta, Natasha, Aleksandr, and Vlad nodded and said "Yes!" all at once, like little soldiers in a military school. Lina and Lennart were standing together, smiling, hands on their hips. The generals.

Finn smiled at the thought of that, lying on his stomach, observing the situation.

Mona's voice cut through his thoughts. "Very good! Just be good kids, and we'll all be happy." She turned her gaze directly to Finn. "Same goes for you, Finn. I didn't hear a 'yes' from you."

Finn's smile disappeared from his face right away. His eyes went wide. "Wha… Yhhhh… What? Why?!"

"Like I said, all you kids are going into the water without me or Sophie, so you have to listen to Lina and Lennart." Mona's voice was calm, patient, utterly immovable. "You do understand German, right?"

"Yes, but…" Finn tried to speak for himself, tried to find the words that would explain the difference, the obvious difference between him and the Russian children.

The idea was absurd—Lina, a girl his age, from his school, and Lennart, a thirteen-year-old who didn't even know him, being put in charge of him. Like they were adults and he was a child.

"There is no 'but,'" Mona said, cutting him off. "Like I said, all of you kids. If we hear even once that you caused any problems, there will be consequences—spanking and no more playing in the water today." She smiled, warm and maternal. "Just be an obedient boy, and everything will go smoothly for all of us. Understood?!"

Finn opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

Who the fuck does she think she is? She's not my mother. She's not Sophie. She has no authority over me. I don't have to listen to—

But Mona's eyes were on him, steady and unblinking, and he knew with a sudden, sinking certainty that arguing would only make things worse. She would not back down. She would not apologize. She would simply escalate.

"Ekhm… Yes, ma'am," he mumbled, the words tasting like ash in his mouth.

Fucking whore! I swear, what is wrong with all of them today?! Listen to Lina and Lennart? The Russian kids, sure—but me? Like, sorry, Lina is my age, in my year at school, and Lennart is just a little prick. How could they possibly expect me to do what he says? He's no one! Did they all just lose their minds? Why isn't Sophie saying anything?!

But Sophie was already walking toward the bar with Mona, her arm linked through the older woman's, her laughter floating back on the breeze.

The Russian kids were already heading toward the water, jumping with excitement, their feet splashing through the shallows. Vlad was shouting something. Aleksandr was already waist-deep, his small body bobbing with the waves.

"Come on, Finn." Lina's voice was cool, measured, the voice of someone who had been given authority and intended to use it. "Stand up and get into the water. We're going all together, otherwise we'll lose control."

Finn just sighed. He pushed himself up from the blanket, his body moving reluctantly, his eyes fixed on the sand.

At least after all that bullshit, my stiffie is gone.

Lina walked by his side toward the water, her bare feet leaving small impressions in the wet sand. Then, without warning, she put her arm over his shoulder—a casual, almost friendly gesture that made his skin crawl.

"I really like your swimsuit," Lina said, her voice sweet as poison, her smile warm and inviting.

"Ekhm… Thanks, I guess." Finn felt a bit surprised by that sentence, a flicker of confusion cutting through his shame. Was she actually being nice? Was this some kind of truce?

"It's astonishing you still fit in briefs from your elementary school."

It felt like a slap. Finn's face went red—a deep, burning crimson that spread from his cheeks to his ears to his neck. He didn't say anything. He couldn't. His throat was locked tight, his jaw clenched, his eyes fixed on the water ahead.

"You chose them yourself?" Lina pressed, her voice light, curious. "Or did your babysitter pick them out for you?"

Finn still couldn't get a sound out of himself. With Lina's arm over his shoulder, guiding him toward the water, he felt absolutely out of place.

I'll just keep quiet and wait for her to get bored.

"I asked you a question," Lina said, her voice hardening, the sweetness evaporating.

"It's just a swimsuit, Lina." Finn's voice came out sharper than he intended, a desperate attempt to reclaim some control. "It's just something that professional swimmers wear! You would know if you could swim." He tried to sound cool, like he always did at school, the boy who could talk his way out of anything. "Take care of yourself and let me be!"

That's it. That's the old Finn. The one who talks back. The one who doesn't take shit from anyone.

"Oh yeah, sure." Lina's smile widened, and there was something predatory in it now. "With that emblem and that text on your back… what does it say again…" She paused, pretending to think. "Seahorses of Hoheluft Elementary Sch—"

"Oh, shut the fuck up, Lina!" The words exploded out of him, raw and desperate. "Who the fuck do you think you are?!"

"I think I am someone you have to listen to, Finn." Her voice was calm, almost bored. "And you are going to regret those words."

"Save that bullshit for someone else."

"I'll tell you something." She stopped walking, turning to face him fully, her arm still draped over his shoulder, her face inches from his. "You save that bullshit for someone else. You think I don't have a video? Of your BABYSITTER putting that little swimsuit for ELEMENTARY school kids on you? Over your SPANKED ass? Standing naked in the middle of the beach like a LITTLE BOY?!"

Finn's eyes went wide. His heart stopped. The world seemed to tilt, the sound of the waves fading to a distant roar.

She has a video. She filmed it. She watched everything. And she has it. She has proof.

The coolness he had tried to impose in the last minutes was nowhere to be seen. It had evaporated like morning dew, leaving nothing but raw, naked panic.

"How does that go with the image you create on social media, huh?" Lina's voice was a whisper, intimate and cruel. "How does it go with that cool hair?" She aggressively moved her hand through his carefully styled Edgar cut, raking her fingers through the sharp fringe, destroying the perfect lines he had spent so long creating.

"Hey, stop that!" He pulled her hand away, but she was stronger than he expected, her grip like iron.

"You think I won't show everything to the entire school?" Her hand landed on his hair again, this time pulling it—yanking the strands hard enough to make his eyes water. "Post it on Insta? Hahaha. Don't be naïve. Don't you ever stand up to me!"

Finn groaned in pain, his scalp burning, his eyes stinging with tears he refused to shed. She let his hair go, and he stumbled back, his hand flying to his head, rubbing the sore spot where she had pulled.

"First of all," Lina said, stepping closer, "apologize for telling me to shut the fuck up."

"I'm sorry, Lina." The words tumbled out, desperate and fast. "I'm sorry for telling you to shut up. It will never ever happen again! Please, don't tell anyone about this!"

Please. Please, God, don't let her show anyone. I'll do anything. I'll be anyone. Just please, please don't—

This time, her hand went down. Straight to his swim briefs. She got hold of his testicles—the small, undeveloped sac that was barely visible beneath the tight navy fabric—and squeezed.

"You think I didn't see how excited you became around my brother?" Her voice was soft, almost tender. "How your dick was pointing up? It was so small one could have missed it." She squeezed harder. "But I saw everything."

"Ahh! Ahh!" Finn screamed, his body doubling over, his hands flying down to try to pull her away, but she was too strong, her grip too firm, her nails digging in.

"Now I've got hold of your little nuts." Her voice was a whisper, warm and intimate, the voice of a lover. "You are going to do EVERYTHING I tell you to do. Otherwise, everyone is going to find out about your secrets. And your nuts will get destroyed before they even get a chance to grow."

"AHH! AHH!" The pain was blinding, white-hot, radiating through his entire body. "I'LL DO EVERYTHING!! I'LL DO EVERYTHING!! PLEASE LET GO!!!"

Lina held on for a moment longer—a deliberate, agonizing pause—and then released her grip. She put her arm back around his shoulders, the gesture almost affectionate, as if she hadn't just been crushing his most vulnerable part.

"How pathetic," she said, shaking her head. "I didn't even have to use my whole hand to squeeze them." She squeezed his shoulder, a friendly, reassuring squeeze. "I hope you understood everything."

"Yes, Lina, yes!" His voice was a croak, broken and desperate. "I'll be polite! I'll do everything for you!"

"Right." She nodded, satisfied. "Jump into the water and play a bit with little Aleksandr. It feels like you two are on the same level."

Finn trudged toward the water, his bare feet sinking into the wet sand, his body still trembling from the pain, his eyes fixed on the waves ahead.

He waded into the cold sea, the water rising around his ankles, his knees. Aleksandr was nearby, splashing and laughing, his small body completely unselfconscious, his voice bright and carefree.

"Finn! Finn! Come here!"

Finn forced a smile—a brittle, broken thing—and waded toward him.

He reached Aleksandr, and the little boy grabbed his hand, pulling him deeper into the water.

"Come on, let's swim!"

He waded into the cold sea, the water rising around his ankles, his knees, his thighs—a slow, creeping invasion of icy numbness that made him gasp. The North Sea was unforgiving, even in summer, its chill seeping into his bones, stealing his breath, making him shiver despite the sun's warmth on his bare shoulders.

Aleksandr was nearby, splashing and laughing, his small body completely unselfconscious, his voice bright and carefree.

"Finn! Finn! Come here!"

Finn forced a smile—a brittle, broken thing that felt like a mask made of glass, ready to shatter at any moment—and waded toward him. The water was cold, shockingly cold, a sharp contrast to the heat of the sun on his bare shoulders. It sent goosebumps racing across his skin, tightening his nipples, raising the hairs on his arms.

Fucking cold water. I hate it. I hate everything about this day.

He reached Aleksandr, and the little boy grabbed his hand with surprising strength, pulling him deeper into the water with the relentless determination of a child who had no concept of boundaries.

"Come on, let's swim!"

"Stop pulling me, it's cold!" Finn shouted at Aleksandr, his voice sharp, his patience already frayed to the breaking point.

"Don't be a baby, come on!" Aleksandr kept pulling his hand, his small feet churning the water, his laughter bright and unbothered. The water was around Finn's waist now—cold, unforgiving, pressing against the tight fabric of his swim briefs, making him acutely aware of every inch of his exposed body.

"Ah! Ah!" Finn gasped as the chill hit his groin, the shock of it making him double over slightly. "Stop it, you little fuck!"

Aleksandr let Finn's hand go and started splashing water toward him—great, arcing handfuls of cold, salty spray that caught him full in the face. Finn tried to protect his face and body with his arms, but that didn't do any help. He was drenched within seconds, water streaming down his cheeks, his neck, his carefully styled hair.

"Not my hair!" The words tore from him, raw and desperate. "Stop it, damn it, you little faggot!"

My hair. My beautiful hair. The one thing I had left. The one thing that made me look like myself. And he's destroying it. They're all destroying everything.

Finn's patience was over. His carefully constructed composure shattered. With closed eyes, he lunged forward, his hands finding Aleksandr's small body in the murky water. He grabbed him—a handful of skinny arm and slippery skin—and with all his power pulled him underwater.

"Drown, you little squirt!"

The water closed over Aleksandr's head. For one triumphant, terrible moment, Finn felt a surge of power—the first he had felt all day. He was stronger. He was bigger. He was—

Then he felt someone jumping on his own back.

"Let him go!" It was Vlad, his voice sharp with anger, his small body hitting Finn's back with the force of a cannonball.

Finn couldn't hold that weight. He felt himself going down, his legs buckling under the sudden pressure, and the water closed over his head—cold, dark, salty, filling his nose, his mouth, his ears. He flailed, his arms windmilling, his feet searching for the bottom, and then he was standing again, sputtering and coughing, the water streaming down his face.

"You two little motherfuckers!" he spat, his eyes still closed, his mouth full of salt, his voice thick with fury.

Before he could catch his balance, before he could even open his eyes, the boys started splashing water over him again—a relentless assault of cold, stinging spray that blinded him, choked him, drove him mad.

"You don't fight against us!" Aleksandr shouted, his voice triumphant, exultant.

"Stop it, I can't see anything!" Finn said, turning his back on them, trying to avoid the splashing water and finally clean his eyes. He wiped frantically at his face, blinking against the salt, his vision swimming.

"Maybe at least you can feel anything!" Vlad said, his voice bright with mischief.

And then Finn felt it—two little hands getting a grip of the waistband of his swim briefs on his behind. The fabric was yanked upward, hard and fast, forming a painful wedgie that cut deep between his buttocks.

Finn automatically squeezed his butt cheeks together and squealed loudly—a high, pathetic sound that was followed immediately by a wave of laughter. Not just from the two boys. From everyone. Natasha, Sveta, Lina, Lennart—all of them, standing at the water's edge or splashing nearby, watching his humiliation unfold with undisguised delight.

They're all laughing. Everyone is laughing. They saw it. They saw the wedgie. They saw my reaction. I'm a joke. I'm nothing but a joke.

Finn quickly turned back to them, this time trying to hide his butt from view. He hardly managed to pull the fabric from between his butt cheeks back to its place, his fingers fumbling with the wet material, his face burning with shame. But the boys were already splashing water toward his face again, relentless, merciless.

He closed his eyes against the spray, his hands coming up to shield his face.

Then he felt it—a small body slamming into his legs, wrapping around his waist. One of them—he didn't know which—had grabbed him, pulling him backward, off balance. The water closed over his head again, cold and dark and suffocating. He was underwater, completely submerged, his arms flailing, his lungs burning for air.

I’m losing. Against children. This is how it ends.

He fought his way back to the surface, gasping and sputtering, his eyes stinging, his throat raw with salt water. The laughter was still there—bright, cruel, delighted. The boys were still splashing. The girls were still giggling. The world was still turning, indifferent to his suffering.

Finn stood there, waist-deep in the cold sea, his hair plastered to his forehead in dark, tangled strands, his eyes red and streaming from the salt water, his body trembling with cold and rage and shame. He was a wreck. A disaster. A pathetic, ridiculous figure in a tight, borrowed swimsuit from an elementary school, surrounded by children who were laughing at him—laughing at his expense, laughing at his humiliation, laughing at the complete and utter collapse of everything he had ever tried to be.

"It's cute how little boys play in the water," Lina commented out loud, her voice carrying across the waves with the ease of someone who had never been the butt of a joke. "But Finn, honestly, I would expect you to be able to handle these two little devils."

Little devils. They're ten and eight. And they're destroying me. What does that make me?

"No one can win against us!" Aleksandr shouted out again, his voice bright with triumph, and he ran toward Finn with his hands up like some Viking on the warpath—a tiny, skinny warrior with no fear, no doubt, no shame. He jumped on Finn's back, his legs crossing around Finn's belly, his arms wrapping around Finn's neck in a chokehold that was more annoying than threatening.

Finn this time kept his balance and didn't fall down. He planted his feet in the sandy bottom, braced his legs, and tried to shake the boy off like a dog shaking off water.

"Get the fuck off me, right fucking now!"

"You shouldn't swear!" Aleksandr's voice was bright, scolding, the voice of a child who knew he was in the right. "I'm just a kid!"

Before Finn could respond, Aleksandr put his hand over Finn's mouth, completely covering it, his small palm pressing against Finn's lips with surprising force.

"Mhmmmm! Mhmmmmmm!" Finn's protests were muffled, useless, swallowed by the child's hand. He reached up to pull it away, his fingers scrabbling at Aleksandr's wrist—

And then he felt it again.

The painful, unmistakable sensation of his swimwear being pulled all the way up. Another wedgie. Vlad's hands were on the waistband, yanking the fabric upward, wedging it deep between Finn's buttocks with brutal, childish efficiency.

"Mmmmhmmmm!!!!" Finn couldn't squeal, since his mouth was covered, but his body reacted instinctively—he jumped a little, his knees bending, his buttocks clenching, and the laughter that erupted from the shore was louder than ever. He could hear them all: Natasha and Sveta giggling, Lina's sharp, mocking laugh, and even Lennart's low chuckle.

They're all laughing. Everyone is laughing. Again. At me. Always at me.

Finn was moving back and forth, left and right, trying to get rid of Aleksandr on his back. He couldn't reach his bottom to fix the wedgie because of Aleksandr's legs wrapped around his waist. His fingers clawed uselessly at the air, unable to find purchase, unable to correct the fabric that was cutting into him like a blade.

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

Finn was overwhelmed. He couldn't think clearly. His mind was a hurricane of panic and shame, spinning faster and faster, unable to find solid ground. He was totally defeated by the two boys—completely, utterly defeated. He could hardly catch a breath from being constantly pulled underwater or splashed with saltwater, his lungs burning, his eyes stinging. And if that was not enough, he was now wedgied, and couldn't even correct it.

What will they all think of me? What will Lennart think? I'm so fucking lost!

He was so embarrassed he wanted to cry. His eyes went red and wet, the tears mixing with the salt water on his cheeks, but no one could notice, since he was already wet—a small mercy, the only one he had been given all day.

"Finn, do you need help?" Lina's voice was sweet, almost caring, the voice of someone who was enjoying every second of his suffering.

"Mhmmmm!!" Finn was trying to say something, anything, but Aleksandr was still covering his mouth, his small hand pressed tight against Finn's lips.

I can't even answer, you fucking idiot!

"Boys, give him a break," Lina advised, her voice calm, reasonable. "And stop wedging him. We don't want this swimsuit to tear apart."

Like she cares. Like she actually cares about anything except making me look like a fool.

"I'll help with the wedgie," Vlad announced, his voice bright with helpfulness.

And within the next second, Finn felt his hands around the high-pulled waistband. Vlad just simply pulled them down—one quick, brutal motion, and Finn's swimsuit was around his thighs.

"MMMMMMHMMM!!!!!!" Finn tried to shout, tried to scream, but Aleksandr's hand was still there, muffling everything.

The wave of laughter was louder than before. His eyes went wide. He saw all of their faces—Natasha and Sveta covering their mouths, their eyes bright with amusement; Lina, her smile wide and satisfied; Lennart, his expression unreadable but his eyes definitely looking. All of them, deliberately looking.

They're looking at me. They're all looking at me. At my little—at my—

Finn pulled himself back, diving backward into the water, taking Aleksandr with him. The cold closed over his head, dark and silent, and he felt the grip of Aleksandr loosening—first his legs, then his arms, then his hand falling away from Finn's mouth.

Then Aleksandr was gone.

Finn stood up, gasping for air, his lungs burning, his eyes stinging. He quickly cleaned his eyes with his hands, blinking against the salt, trying to see, trying to understand what had just happened.

He looked down.

It was all out there. For everyone to see. His penis—smaller than ever, so short it was not even hanging down, shriveled from the cold water, retreating into his body like a turtle into its shell. He looked like a little boy. A very, very little boy. And everyone was looking.

He grabbed the navy-white swim briefs, trying to pull them back up, but they wouldn't go much higher. The wet fabric had rolled all up, bunched into a tight, useless wad that refused to cover anything. His fingers fumbled with the material, desperate and useless.

And then Lennart was suddenly standing next to him. He had approached without Finn noticing, his board shorts swishing around his hairy legs, his muscular chest bare, his face calm and unreadable.

"Come on, Aleksandr, Vlad," Lennart said, his voice steady, commanding, the voice of someone who was used to being obeyed. "Let's give Finn a minute to catch his breath." He turned to the boys, his eyes finding them in the water. "You're going to jump from my back now."

"Yeeeey!" Aleksandr shouted from just behind Finn's back, and Finn heard the splash as the boy launched himself toward Lennart.

Finn's and Lennart's eyes met for a second. Just a second. But it was long enough. Long enough for Finn to see the flicker of amusement in Lennart's gaze. Long enough for him to know that Lennart had seen everything—the struggle, the panic, the shriveled, tiny penis that was the source of all his shame.

He saw it. He saw everything. He saw my little—he saw—

He sank down, lowering himself into the water until it covered his chest, his shoulders, his neck—anything to avoid further looks, anything to hide his body, anything to escape the weight of all those staring eyes. He knelt in the cold sea, the water lapping at his chin, his fingers still clutching the bunched fabric of his swimsuit, trying desperately to untangle it.

He sank down, lowering himself into the water until it covered his chest, his shoulders, his neck—anything to avoid further looks, anything to hide his body, anything to escape the weight of all those staring eyes that seemed to pierce through him like needles. He knelt in the cold sea, the water lapping at his chin like a cold, unforgiving hand, his fingers still clutching the bunched fabric of his swimsuit, trying desperately to untangle the wet, rolled mess that refused to cooperate.

Just fix it. Just pull it up. Just cover yourself before anyone else sees—

"Need a help with that?"

Finn looked up, his heart sinking into the pit of his stomach. Lina was standing just before him, her arms crossed, her smile wide and predatory, accompanied by Sveta and Natasha, who flanked her like small, curious shadows. The three of them formed a wall of judgment, their eyes fixed on his struggling form.

"Go away!" Finn yelled at her, his voice cracking, sounding exactly like the little, outraged kid he was desperately trying not to be.

"Oh, oh." Lina's voice was soothing, almost maternal, the voice of someone who was enjoying every second of his suffering. "Now, now. Take my hand and let me help you stand up."

"No way! Leave me alone!!"

A wave came from behind, rising up unexpectedly, and covered his head—cold, salty, suffocating. He coughed and spat out the bitter water, his eyes stinging, his lungs burning.

The girls were laughing—bright, delighted laughter that echoed across the waves.

"Enough, Finnie." Lina's voice was sweet, reasonable, the voice of someone who held all the power and knew it. "You don't want the whole school to find out about your little secrets, right? We had an agreement." She extended her hand, palm up, an offering that was really a command. "So, now. Take my hand and let us help you."

Finn had no other way than to obey. His pride was gone, burned away by the humiliation of the past hour, leaving nothing but a hollow shell of compliance. He gave Lina his hand and let her pull him up, his body rising from the water like a drowned thing, his swim briefs still tangled around his thighs, the navy fabric bunched and useless.

"Ohhh, Finnie…" Lina looked deliberately at his groin, shaking her head with theatrical disapproval, her eyes lingering on the pathetic, shriveled evidence of his shame. "Your briefs got just a bit tangled… not a big deal." She kept hold of both of his hands, her grip surprisingly strong, immobilizing him. "I'm sure the girls can help you with that."

"Lina, please…" Finn mumbled, his voice small and broken, a plea to a god who had long since stopped listening.

"Sveta, Natasha…" Lina looked at the girls who stood just by the side, their eyes wide with curiosity and amusement. "You know how clumsy and inept boys can be, right? Would you mind helping Finn put his swimsuit back on? We don't want him to wiggle that little peepee to everyone."

The girls didn't answer. They just got to work.

"Wait, wait, I can do it myself!!" Finn's protest was swallowed by the cold water, ignored by the small hands that were already reaching for his waist.

From both sides, they started to unfold the briefs, their small fingers tugging at the bunched fabric, ignoring his pleads, his struggles, his desperate attempts to pull away. Lina took a step back, crossing her arms, a satisfied smile on her face as she watched the scene unfold.

"They are all rolled," Sveta said, her voice high and curious, the voice of a child who had never learned to filter her thoughts. "How did you get them so tangled, you stupid boy?!"

It felt really strange to be bowled over by an eight-year-old girl, Aleksandr's sister, her small hands working at his thighs with the efficiency of someone who had done this before.

"Ekhm… I didn't do it myself!" Finn protested, his voice thin and defensive.

"How come your peepee is so small?" Natasha asked, her voice genuinely curious, as if she were asking about the weather. "Are you scared?"

"What?! No!" The denial came out too fast, too sharp, the protest of someone who had been caught in a lie.

"Alexandr gets this small when he gets really scared," Natasha explained, her tone matter-of-fact, as if she were sharing a universal truth.

"I'm not small! I'm normal!" Finn's voice was climbing, desperate, cracking at the edges.

The girls just giggled—a bright, bubbling sound that made his skin crawl. His swimsuit was finally unfolded, the fabric smoothed out, and the girls pulled it up together, sliding it back into place over his hips, covering his shriveled penis at last.

"Done!" Natasha announced, her voice bright with satisfaction. "Your little peepee is covered. Don't do that again!"

"Ough…" Finn just mumbled, not knowing what to say, his face burning, his eyes fixed on the water.

"I think you owe the girls a thanks," Lina said, her voice calm, expectant.

"What?! Are you kidding—" Finn didn't finish his sentence.

"No, I'm not." Lina's voice hardened, the sweetness evaporating. "They just helped you get covered. Unless you wanted to show everyone your shrunken penis?" She tilted her head, her smile returning. "We can get them off you again. For good." She looked at the girls. "Girls, let's—"

"NO!!! No!!" The words tore from him, raw and desperate. "You are right! Thanks, ekhm, thanks girls, for… ekhm… helping me put my swimsuit back on."

The words tasted like ash in his mouth. He was thanking children. Eight and eleven-year-old girls. For dressing him. Like a toddler.

"You see?" Lina's voice was warm, approving, the voice of a teacher praising a student. "Much better. Just do as I say, and there will be no problems." She patted his shoulder, a casual, almost affectionate gesture. "Okay, now, I think you can join the boys and try jumping off Lennart's back!"

Finn stared at her. Jump off Lennart's back. Like a game. Like a child's game. Like he was one of them.

He turned slowly, his body moving on autopilot, and waded toward where the boys were splashing. Lennart was standing in the water, his back to Finn, his broad shoulders catching the sun. Aleksandr and Vlad were circling him like small sharks, waiting for their turn.

Jump off Lennart's back… Like I’m a fucking child.

His feet dragged through the sand. The water was cold around his thighs. The seahorse badge on his swimsuit felt like a brand.

He reached them. Lennart turned, his eyes finding Finn's face. His expression was unreadable—no pity, no amusement, just calm, patient acceptance.

He turned slowly, his body moving on autopilot, his limbs heavy and unresponsive, like a puppet whose strings had been cut and then hastily reattached by someone who didn't quite know how they worked. He waded toward where the boys were splashing, his feet dragging through the sand, the cold water rising and falling around his thighs with each reluctant step. Lennart was standing in the water, his back to Finn, his broad shoulders catching the sun in a way that made him look like a statue carved from gold and muscle. Aleksandr and Vlad were circling him like small sharks, their laughter bright and carefree, waiting for their turn to launch themselves into the air.

Jump off Lennart's back. Like I'm a fucking child. Like I'm one of them.

His feet dragged through the sand, each step a small death. The water was cold around his thighs, a constant reminder of his vulnerability. The seahorse badge on his swimsuit felt like a brand, a mark of shame that everyone could see, that everyone knew the meaning of.

He reached them. Lennart turned, his eyes finding Finn's face. His expression was unreadable—no pity, no amusement, just calm, patient acceptance, the look of someone who had been asked to do a thousand small favors and had stopped caring about any of them.

"Come on, sport," Lennart said, his voice easy, casual. "Your turn."

Finn approached, his heart hammering against his ribs, his face burning with fresh shame.

Damn. How did everything get so out of control today? How did I end up here, in this moment, about to jump off the back of a thirteen-year-old boy while everyone watches? Fuck. I hope I never see him again. How embarrassing. How utterly, completely embarrassing.

He placed his hands on Lennart's shoulders. The skin was warm, smooth, muscular—everything Finn's body was not. He could feel the firmness beneath his palms, the definition of muscle that came from years of sports and growth and development that Finn had never experienced. He pushed himself up, his legs straddling Lennart's back, his weight settling onto the older boy's frame.

Lennart didn't even wobble. He just stood there, solid and strong, carrying Finn like he was nothing—like he weighed nothing, like he meant nothing, like he was just another child to be entertained.

"Ready?" Lennart asked. "Go!"

Finn took a breath—a deep, shuddering gulp of salty air—and jumped.

The water closed over him, cold and dark and briefly silent, and for one suspended moment, there was nothing but the weightless feeling of falling, of surrender, of escape. Then he was standing again, sputtering and gasping, his face wet, his eyes stinging, his heart pounding with something that might have been excitement.

Before he could process anything, before he could even wipe the water from his eyes, he saw Aleksandr jumping off Lennart's back in his direction. The boy landed just a few centimeters away from Finn, his small body creating a splash that caught Finn full in the face.

"What are you waiting for?!" Aleksandr shouted, his voice bright with impatience. "Move your ass! Your turn!"

Vlad was already climbing up Lennart's back, his small limbs scrambling for purchase. "Quickly, jump!"

"Okay, okay!" Finn answered, his voice rising with the excitement of the game.

He was already moving, already climbing onto Lennart's back, already jumping into the water again. The rhythm was infectious—the weightlessness, the splash, the laughter—and he felt something loosen in his chest, something that had been clenched tight since the moment he had woken up that morning.

This is fun. This is actually fun.

They did another few turns, and then a few more. Finn was running quickly each time back to Lennart, not wanting to lose time, not wanting to miss a single moment of the game. He was laughing, jumping, splashing together with Vlad and Aleksandr, his body moving with a freedom he hadn't felt in days.

At some point, Lennart raised a hand and straightened up, his back cracking as he stretched. "Okay, stop," he said, his voice firm but not unkind. "My back already hurts. We'll do something else."

No. No, no, no. Not yet. Not now. I don't want it to end.

"No, no, one more time, please!" Finn begged, his voice high and pitchy, almost crying, the plea of a child who didn't want the game to stop.

The silence that followed was deafening. He could feel all of them staring at him—Vlad, Aleksandr, the girls on the shore, Lennart. He could feel their eyes on his face, on his pathetic, desperate expression.

Oh my God. I kinda forgot myself. What did I just say? I begged like a child.

Lennart raised his eyebrow at Finn, definitely concerned about the request that had come from Finn of all the kids—the oldest one, the one who was supposed to be above this, the one who was supposed to be mature. His expression was a mixture of surprise and faint amusement, as if he couldn't quite believe what he had just heard.

Then he smiled. Not a mocking smile, not a cruel smile—just a small, genuine smile of amusement.

"Alright, Finn," Lennart said, his voice warm. "You've got one more turn, since you joined us later. And then it's over." He gestured with his hand, a casual invitation. "Come over here!"

Finn approached, this time a bit more shy, his face burning with the realization of what he had just done. He had sounded like a child. A real child. The kind of child who begged for one more ride on the swings, one more story before bed, one more turn at the game.

He complied, climbing up onto Lennart's muscled back for the last time. The shoulders were warm beneath his hands, the back solid and strong. He took a breath, pushed off, and jumped.

The water closed over him, cold and dark, and for a moment, he was just a boy in the sea, splashing and laughing like all the others. For a moment, he forgot.

Then he surfaced, and the reality of everything came crashing back down around him—the humiliation, the shame, the knowledge that everyone had seen him beg, everyone had heard him whine, everyone knew exactly what he was.

He complied, climbing up onto Lennart's muscled back for the last time. The shoulders were warm beneath his hands, the back solid and strong beneath his weight, the skin smooth and sun-warmed. He took a breath, pushed off, and jumped.

The water closed over him, cold and dark and forgiving, and for a moment—just a single, fleeting moment—he was just a boy in the sea, splashing and laughing like all the others, his body weightless, his mind empty of everything except the joy of the fall. For a moment, he forgot.

Then he surfaced, gasping and blinking against the salt, and the reality of everything came crashing back down around him—the humiliation, the shame, the knowledge that everyone had seen him beg, everyone had heard him whine, everyone knew exactly what he was. A child in a child's swimsuit, playing children's games, begging for one more turn like a toddler who didn't want naptime to end.

Fuck. I need to get my dignity back. Right this instant. What will Lennart think of me? I am the oldest here! Damn! I need to cooperate, not be taken care of. I need to show him I'm in charge. I need to prove I'm not just another kid.

"Lennart," Finn started, his voice steadier than he felt, a desperate attempt to reclaim some shred of authority, "how about we two will be throwing these two little ones into the water now? You know, you can hold their hands, I'll hold the feet, we swing them and throw them into the water!"

That's it. That's the move. Show him I'm a leader. Show him I'm not just another child to be managed. Show him I can take charge.

"Great idea!" Lennart smiled at him—a warm, genuine smile that made something in Finn's chest loosen, just a little. "What do you boys think about that?"

"Let's do it!" Aleksandr was overexcited, his small body vibrating with anticipation, his voice bright and eager. "Start with me!"

The boys took positions. Finn grabbed Aleksandr's ankles, Lennart took his wrists, and they began to swing the small boy between them, his laughter echoing across the waves. The momentum built, the arc grew wider, and then they released him—a perfect, soaring arc through the air, a splash, a scream of delight.

Yes. This is it. This is teamwork. This is me being in charge.

Some went for Vlad. And so on, and on. The rhythm became natural—swing, release, splash, laughter, repeat. Between the throws, Finn put his hands on his hips and proudly puffed out his chest, exchanging blinks with Lennart, the two of them united in their shared role as the older ones, the ones in control.

Now that's a teamwork. Now I'm on his level. Damn, I would like to be thrown into the water like Vlad and Aleksandr. No! No, Finn, stop right where you are! You are, together with Lennart, taking care of the boys! No other way around! What the hell is wrong with me lately!

"So… how's school?" Lennart broke the silence between them, his voice casual, conversational, as if they were old friends catching up on a park bench.

"Good," Finn said, forcing his voice into a register of casual confidence. "Glad it's over soon. Need a break, man."

"Yeah, bro, same, same." Lennart nodded, his eyes scanning the horizon. "You're at the same school as my sister, right?"

"Yeah." Finn's voice was careful, measured.

"Same school, same year?" Lennart's face was unreadable, his tone neutral, but the question hung in the air like a test.

"Ekhm… Yeah."

"That's dope!"

Aleksandr was ready to be thrown again. He got into position, his small body wriggling with excitement, his voice counting down.

"1… 2… 3… go!" Lennart and Finn shouted together, the words synchronized, and the little boy sailed through the air with a shriek of joy.

Finn got back into his position, hands on his hips, chest proudly puffed, the water lapping at his thighs, the cold a constant, numbing presence. He felt almost normal. Almost in control. Almost like the person he pretended to be.

"So… you came here with your babysitter, did I get it right?" Lennart asked, his voice still casual, still conversational, but the question landed like a punch to Finn's gut.

Finn felt flustered upon hearing the question. Suddenly, all the fears he had forgotten while having a good time came flooding back—a tidal wave of shame that threatened to drag him under. A question asked by the boy standing opposite him. Younger in years, yet biologically older. Standing there, looking completely at ease, with a muscular build and trendy swim trunks covering his hairy legs. In contrast, Finn stood opposite him—thin, puffing out his chest to bolster his confidence, and wearing nothing but a pair of swim briefs from Vlad's elementary school days; these, much like his bare, hairless legs, signaled to everyone around that he was still a long way off from puberty.

A gentle wave lapped against his thighs. Finn wished that, at that very moment, the tide would rise and shield that part of his body from Lennart's gaze.

"Yeah, no, look…" The words tumbled out, desperate and fast, a lie in the making. "It's not my babysitter really, it's actually my maid."

"Your maid?" Lennart's face showed some emotion this time—it looked concerned, confused, as if he were trying to piece together a puzzle that didn't quite fit.

I'll use the same strategy I used with Noah and Luca. Just better. I'll make sure Lennart never visits and finds out. I'll control the narrative. I'll make sure he only sees what I want him to see.

"Yeah, look, my mom had to go to Finland for a few weeks, and she asked the maid if she could stay with me because of laws and regulations and everything. That's it." Finn's voice was confident, practiced, the voice of someone who had told this lie before.

"Oh, cool." Lennart's expression shifted, his concern replaced by something more appreciative. "She is so sexy!"

"Yeah, man, she really is!" Finn agreed, the words coming out before he could stop them, a desperate attempt to bond, to belong, to be one of the guys.

"What about these two?" Lennart asked, nodding toward Vlad and Aleksandr, who were splashing nearby. "Is she their maid too?"

"No, she's just babysitting them—and the girls." Finn shrugged, as if this were the most natural thing in the world. "She asked me if I wanted to come, since she might need some help."

"Oh, okay, I see!" Lennart nodded, accepting the explanation, his expression returning to its usual calm.

He bought it. He actually bought it.

Just then, Lina's voice cut through their conversation, yelling from the shore, her tone sharp and commanding. "Boys, come back! It's enough! The water is too cold!"

Lennart shrugged, a casual roll of his broad shoulders, and headed toward the shore without a word, his feet splashing through the shallows. Finn followed close behind, walking slowly, his eyes fixed on the back of the boy ahead of him, his mind churning with confused, unwelcome thoughts.

Maybe I could be friends with him. Somehow, I don't know why, but there is something I like about him. Something about the way he moves. The way he carries himself. The way he just… exists.

Finn came up behind him, his eyes tracing the contours of Lennart's back, the way his muscles moved beneath his skin, the broad expanse of his shoulders, the confident stride of his walk. His gaze drifted lower, watching his… ass. His wet shorts clung to his body, the fabric dark and heavy with water, accentuating every muscular contour, every shift of his hips as he walked.

Stop it. Stop looking. What are you doing? He's a boy.

Just then, completely unexpectedly, Finn felt it again—someone had grabbed the waistband of his swim briefs from behind and yanked it upward with brutal, childish force.

"Awww!" Finn shouted, the sound torn from him, high and pained. He spun around immediately, his heart racing, his face burning, to see who it was.

Alexandr was standing there, his small face split in a wide, mischievous grin, his hands still raised in the gesture of triumph.

"That's not funny, you little faggot!" Finn's voice was sharp, cutting, raw with outrage.

Alexandr burst out laughing, his small body shaking with delight, utterly unbothered by the insult. But Finn didn't find it funny at all. Those kids were making his life miserable again. First the splashing, then the drowning, then the wedgies, then the pansting, and now this—another wedgie, another humiliation, another moment of being laughed at.

Not this time. Not again. I'm not going to let them treat me like this. I'm going to show them who's in charge.

He grabbed Alexandr by the shoulders—small, skinny, slippery with salt water—and toppled him over. Alexandr went completely under, his body disappearing beneath the surface, his arms flailing, his legs kicking. When he tried to get back up, Finn held his head down, keeping him submerged, his hands pressing down on the small skull with a force that felt righteous, deserved.

Stay down. Stay under. Learn your lesson. Learn not to mess with me.

After a moment, Finn let him catch some air—a brief, gasping breath—and then repeated the move, shoving him under again. The water churned and splashed around them, bubbles rising to the surface like accusations.

"Finn!! Stop it!!" Lina's voice was sharp, urgent, cutting through the chaos. She was already running toward him, her feet splashing through the shallows, her face twisted with anger.

Lennart also turned around and started walking their way, his expression shifting from casual to concerned.

At that moment, Finn came to his senses. He let go of Alexandr, stepping back, his hands falling to his sides. The boy surfaced, spitting out water, gasping for air, rubbing his eyes with small, trembling hands. His face was red, his eyes wet, and then he started crying—loud, sniffling, hiccuping sobs that seemed to fill the entire beach.

"Oh, stop the theatrics already," Finn said, his voice defensive, dismissive. "You shouldn't have started it!"

Lina ran up to the crying child, kneeling in the water, her hands on his small shoulders. "Alexandr, are you okay? Did something happen to you?"

Alexandr shook his head, still crying, still sniffling, but didn't say anything.

"Finn, what the hell has gotten into you?!" Lina's voice was sharp, accusing, her eyes blazing.

"Me?! He started it!" Finn's voice was defensive, his hands spread wide in protest. "He wedgied me! He's been doing it all day!"

"He started it?! What kind of excuse is that? How old are you?!" Lina stood up, her hands on her hips, her eyes boring into him.

"He shouldn't have started it!" Finn's voice was climbing, desperate. "At least now he's learned not to mess with me!"

"Right." Lina's voice was cold, measured. "And who are you that no one's allowed to mess with you—the King of Morocco?" She gestured at the crying child. "He's only eight years old, Finn. Of course he's going to pester you. That's what eight-year-olds do. You're supposed to be the older one. You're supposed to know better."

Finn hung his head, his eyes fixed on the water, his face burning with shame. He didn't know what to say. There was nothing to say. She was right. He knew she was right.

The worst part was that Lennart was standing right there, watching everything. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes were fixed on Finn, taking in every detail, every word, every moment of his collapse.

The guy I wanted to impress. The guy I was just starting to feel like I could be friends with. And now he's watching me get yelled at like a child.

"Do you remember what my mom said?" Lina's voice was calm now, dangerously calm. "What's the punishment for causing trouble?"

Finn remembered perfectly. A spanking. No more playing in the water. Consequences.

"Lina, I'm really sorry—" The words tumbled out, desperate and fast. "Please don't tell them. It got a bit out of hand, but if he hadn't started it, none of this would have happened!"

"I told you not to use that as an excuse." Lina's voice was final. "It doesn't matter what Alexandr did. He's only eight, and nothing gives you the right to hit him—or, in this case, drown him!" She stepped closer, her eyes boring into his. "If I hear you using excuses like that for your outrageous, childish behavior one more time, I'll give you a spanking myself, right here and now!"

"Lina!" Finn's voice was high, panicked. "Please, stop talking like that!" He was almost crying now, his eyes wet, his voice cracking. "You're right, you're right about everything! I don't want a spanking; I'll behave—I'm really sorry!"

"Apologize to Alexandr, not to me!" said Lina, gesturing at the still-sniffling boy.

Finn turned to Alexandr, his face burning, his eyes fixed on the water at the boy's feet. "Alexandr," he said, his voice thick with humiliation, "I am truly sorry from the bottom of my heart. I was awful to you, and it won't happen again."

"Fine." Lina's voice was still sharp, but there was a note of finality in it. "This is your last chance. There won't be another, you rascal." She turned, gesturing toward the shore. "Let's go back to our blankets."

Finn followed, his feet dragging through the sand, his head hung low. He could feel Lennart's eyes on him, could feel the weight of his gaze, the judgment, the pity.

It was a truly humiliating feeling to be put in line by a girl his own age. A girl who had seen him naked. A girl who knew his secrets. A girl who had threatened to expose him to the entire school. And now she was scolding him like a child, in front of the boy he wanted to impress, while an eight-year-old cried and everyone watched—a public spectacle of his complete and utter failure as a human being.

Why doesn't anyone understand me? It isn't fair for Alexandr to pull up my swimsuit and make a laughingstock of me. I need to set firm boundaries with him, or he'll never understand. But they just see me as the bully. The older one who should know better. They don't see that I'm the one being tormented. They don't see that I'm just trying to protect myself. They don't see anything.

"Just chill next time, buddy." Lennart's voice was warm, almost gentle, as he put his arm over Finn's shoulder—a casual, brotherly gesture that felt like a brand, like a claim, like a reminder of everything Finn was not. "It's just a little kid, you know. Of course we're stronger than he is. No need to prove that." He squeezed Finn's shoulder, a brief, firm pressure. "It was not very mature of you."

Not very mature of you. The words of an adult to a child. The words of someone who is older, wiser, better. The words of a thirteen-year-old to a fourteen-and-a-half-year-old. The words that prove, once again, that everyone sees me as less than I am. Which is simply not true!

Lennart left Finn and took hold of Alexandr's hand now, his broad shoulders blocking the sun as he walked two steps ahead toward the blankets, the little boy's hand swallowed in his. Finn followed, his feet dragging through the sand, his head hung low, his face burning with fresh shame. He felt even more embarrassed now. Not only Lina, but also Lennart was lecturing him now. The boy he had been trying to impress, the boy he had wanted to be friends with, the boy who was younger and already more of a man than Finn — he was treating Finn like a child. Like a problem. Like a disappointment.

As soon as they reached their blankets, Sophie, all smiles, immediately asked, "How was it in the water? Did you have fun?"

The children shouted "Yes!" in unison, their voices bright and eager, their faces flushed with the joy of the sea.

"And were there any problems?" Sophie asked, her voice still light, still casual, as if she were asking about the weather.

There was a brief silence—a pregnant pause that seemed to stretch into an eternity. Then Natasha replied, her voice careful, measured, the voice of someone who had been thinking about exactly what to say: "To be honest, just with Finn. But Lina and Lennart handled him…"

Just with Finn. Of course! Always with Finn. The problem child. The difficult one. The one who can't behave. It’s always me! Have they all lost their minds today!?

"What?!" Sophie's smile vanished, replaced by a sharp, weary exasperation. "What happened this time? I'm starting to lose my patience."

"Finn was picking on Vlad and Alexandr," Sveta chimed in, her voice bright and eager to tell the story, her small face animated with the excitement of a good tale. "First, he got into an argument with them about splashing and was dead set on dunking them. Then he complained that his swimsuit was riding up his backside and insisted on taking them off—only to get so tangled in them that he couldn't put them back on, so Natasha and I had to help him untangle and pull them up."

Sveta rattled this off with the rapid-fire speech of an excited child, so fast that Finn didn't even manage to interrupt her at the right moment.

"What... no! That's not tr…" Finn tried to defend himself, his voice climbing, his hands reaching out in protest, but his voice was cut off by Sveta, who was still eager to tell the story, her eyes wide with the importance of her mission.

"And in the end, he tried to drown Alexandr!" Sveta's voice was triumphant, the final revelation of a master storyteller. "He almost succeeded! That's when Lina got really mad!"

"But... but that's not exactly how it…" Finn tried to get a word in again, his voice desperate, but the words died in his throat as he saw the looks on the adults' faces.

"Didn't I make it clear that anyone causing trouble would get a spanking?" Mona interrupted, her voice sharp, her eyes glaring furiously at Finn, her face a mask of righteous anger.

"Yes, but…" Finn tried to reply, his voice small, pathetic, the protest of a child who knew he had already lost.

"Relax, Mom, we handled him." Lina's voice was calm, measured, the voice of a serious, mature person who had everything under control. She walked over to Finn, her steps slow and deliberate, and placed her hands on his shoulders—a gesture of ownership, of control, of complete and utter dominance. "We did have to set him straight, but he was obedient after that." She squeezed his shoulders gently, almost affectionately. "He even thanked the girls for helping him untangle and put his little swim briefs back on." She emphasized the words  little swim briefs  with a subtle, cruel precision. "And finally, he apologized to Alexandr." She turned to the adults, her voice becoming crisp and businesslike. "Of course—just so you and Sophie know—I told him this was his last chance, and next time, unfortunately, he'll have to face the punishment you mentioned." She squeezed his shoulders, a warning and a promise. "Lennart also had a talk with him about his behavior, so let's hope all that helps and we won't have any more trouble today." She paused, her eyes fix on Finn's. "Right, Finn?"

The question came unexpectedly, catching Finn completely off guard. His mouth opened, but no words came out. He felt the weight of everyone's gaze—Sophie's, Mona's, Lina's, Lennart's, even the children's. All of them waiting for his answer. All of them expecting his submission.

"Ahem... yeah, right," he mumbled, the words barely audible, swallowed by the sound of the waves.

Right. Right, I'll behave. Right, I'll be good. Right, I'll do whatever you say, only because you have the video, you have the power, you fucking bitch.

"Well," Sophie concluded, her voice heavy with resignation, "this isn't the first time Finn has tried to assert his dominance over Alexandr. I hope he finally comes to his senses before it's too late." She shook her head slowly. "There's nothing more to say on the matter." She turned to Lina and Lennart, her expression softening into a warm, grateful smile. "Thank you, Lina and Lennart, for taking such good care of my charges. It gave me a moment to relax with your wonderful mother."

The two women exchanged smiles—Sophie and Mona, united in their approval of the children, united in their disappointment in Finn.

"Alright, come on, have a seat," Sophie said, her voice bright and cheerful once more. "We brought snacks for everyone—you must be hungry after your swim."

The children scrambled onto the blanket, their voices bright with excitement, their hands reaching for the bags of chips and fruit and cookies. Lina and Lennart settled onto the blanket with the easy confidence of people who belonged.

Finn sank onto the blanket, his body heavy with exhaustion, his mind churning with shame like a storm-tossed sea. He reached for a snack—a piece of fruit, something cold and sweet—and bit into it without tasting it, the flavor lost beneath the weight of his humiliation. The children were laughing again, their voices bright and carefree, their joy a cruel contrast to the darkness settling in his chest.

Oh, why is it always me? How did I end up in this mess? Are they all conspiring against me?! Did they secretly team up and hatch a plan to destroy me? Was I too cool? Was life going too well for me, so they decided to ruin it? None of them have as many Instagram followers as I do; they're definitely jealous because I'm going to succeed and they won't. But how do I get out of this situation unscathed? I don't want Lennart to think badly of me. Fucking Lennart—why do I even care what he thinks? Either way, I definitely can't let those little punks provoke me anymore, or else everything will be turned against me. I wonder if Lennart would be so smart if he were the one constantly getting his pants yanked up. Would he be so composed then? The jerk. Or maybe he'd just laugh it off? Maybe they're all right, and I really do have an anger problem? I know one thing: for the rest of the day, I'm going to be good. A perfect little angel. I'll do whatever they say without a word of protest. Anything to avoid getting a spanking in front of Lennart and suffering any more humiliation. Oh, Lennart—get out of my head!

In the meantime, Alexandr and Vlad had come up with another brilliant game—digging trenches in the sand and burying each other in them. Their small bodies were already half-covered, their laughter ringing out across the beach. The girls quickly joined in, their voices bright with excitement, their small hands scooping and shaping the warm sand.

Lina stepped closer to Finn, her shadow falling across him. "So, have you rested a bit?"

"Um, I guess so." Finn was clearly taken aback, his eyes wide, his body tense.

"Not that I really care." Her voice was flat, dismissive. "Do you remember our deal?"

"Yes..." Finn whispered, the word barely audible, a surrender to a power he couldn't escape.

Unfortunately.

"Good." She nodded, a small, satisfied smile playing on her lips. "I want you to go and play that burying game with the kids. You are to take an active part and let them bury you. Afterward, you'll come back and ask me—in front of Sophie and my mom—to help get the sand off your body. No arguing, no protesting, and not a word of comment." Her eyes bore into his, sharp and unyielding. "I shouldn't have to remind you why. Do we understand each other?"

"Yes..." Finn replied, his voice timid, broken.

"Excellent!" Lina patted him on the shoulder, a gesture that felt like ownership. "What are you waiting for? Chop-chop—get into the sand!"

Finn stood up and did as he was told, his body moving on autopilot, his mind a whirlwind of confusion and dread.

What kind of scheme does that sneaky bitch have up her sleeve this time? What's the point of this?

He walked over to the Russian kids and said, his voice flat, defeated, "Hey, can I join in?"

Naturally, they didn't say no. Their faces lit up with excitement, their small hands reaching for him, pulling him down onto the warm sand.

Soon, they all dug a trench for Finn and buried him in it. The sand was warm against his skin, heavy and soft, pressing against his chest, his arms, his legs. They had a laugh, their voices bright and carefree, and Finn climbed out without any trouble, brushing the sand from his body.

The girls suggested that the boys should all be buried at the same time—a triple burial, a row of sand-covered bodies.

A moment later, Finn, Vlad, and Alexandr found themselves lying in holes, covered in a thick layer of sand—except for their faces. Their heads emerged from the sand like strange, disembodied sculptures, their eyes blinking in the sun. It's hard to say why, but they found it amusing—the absurdity of it, the childishness, the simple joy of being covered in warm sand.

Natasha brought three sticks, which she and Sveta then stuck into the sand between the boys' legs. The sticks were meant to represent their penises.

What kind of ideas are these? She is only eleven, and hormones are already going to her head. What is wrong with these kids?

A moment later, six pebbles appeared—two for each boy—which the girls arranged beneath the sticks to mimic testicles, of course. The arrangement was crude, obvious, and devastating.

The girls called Sophie and the others over to admire their handiwork. The adults approached, their faces curious, and then—laughter. Warm, delighted laughter that echoed across the beach. There was plenty of it—mostly, of course, because Finn ended up with the shortest stick and two tiny pebbles. The girls had arranged it that way, deliberately, maliciously, a public mockery of his most private shame.

They've got it in for me; why are they doing this? Very funny. Of course, everyone knows I'm the oldest, so I'm actually the one with the biggest one. But fine, let them laugh; I know the truth. I'm not going to risk another scene, so I'm keeping my mouth shut.

The comparison was unmistakable. Vlad's stick was longer, thicker. Aleksandr's was somewhere in between. And Finn's—Finn's was the smallest, the most pathetic, the most laughable. The girls had arranged the stones with malicious precision, ensuring that everyone could see exactly where he stood in the hierarchy of development.

Of course. Of course, I'm the smallest. Of course, the universe has to humiliate me in every possible way. Even in a stupid game with sticks and stones, I come out on the bottom.

Sophie and Mona took souvenir photos of the girls posing with the buried boys—a moment of childhood captured forever, a memory that would be shared and laughed at for years to come. Lina also took her phone and captured the moment, her smile wide, her eyes bright with satisfaction.

Great—more mementos, more evidence. Another photo to add to the collection. Another moment of my humiliation preserved for eternity. Screw it; everyone knows the whole thing with the stick is just a joke, with no basis in reality! It's not real. It doesn't mean anything. It's just a stupid game.

But even as he thought it, he knew it wasn't true. The comparison was real. The difference was real. And everyone had seen it.

Finn lay in the sand, his body buried, his head exposed, his stick pathetic and tiny, and felt the weight of their laughter press down on him like the sand itself. He was trapped—not just in the hole, but in his own life, his own shame, his own endless, crushing humiliation.

I can't wait for this day to be over. I can't wait to go home and hide in my room and pretend none of this ever happened.

The kids got bored after a while—their attention spans as fleeting as the waves that lapped at the shore. The boys emerged from the sand and ran toward the water, their small bodies covered in grains that sparkled in the sun. The girls went back to the blanket for a slice of watermelon, their voices bright with laughter. Finn also stood up and started brushing the sand off himself, his hands moving mechanically, his mind elsewhere—

Only to catch Lina's sharp gaze.

Fuck. She hadn't forgotten. Of course she hadn't forgotten. She never forgets anything.

Finn remembered what Lina had ordered him to do: come back after playing and ask her to help get the sand off his body. It had seemed like a pointless, humiliating task at the time—and now, standing there, covered in sand, with everyone watching, it felt even worse.

He slowly walked over to the blanket where everyone was sitting, his feet dragging through the warm sand, his heart pounding in his chest. The two Russian boys had gone to rinse the sand off in the sea, their voices distant, their laughter fading. Before he could sit down—though he hadn't intended to anyway—Sophie commented on his appearance, her voice sharp with disapproval.

"Finn, you're covered in sand! Don't you dare sit on the blanket like that!"

"Oh... right, you're right... sorry..." Finn played the fool, his voice soft and apologetic, and began clumsily brushing the sand off his body with his hands, the grains falling in small, useless showers. "Damn, you're right; this sand is incredibly sticky..."

"At least you're getting a full-body scrub," Lina added with a light, teasing laugh. "Maybe your skin will be as soft as a baby's afterward."

As soft as a baby's. She's mocking me. And I can't say anything. I can't defend myself.

"Don't laugh at me," Finn said, his voice shy, hesitant, a performance of vulnerability. "Actually... maybe you could help me?"

"Help you? Me? With what?" Lina feigned surprise, her eyes wide, her voice innocent.

Of course, she makes me say it out loud.

"You know..." Finn's voice dropped, his eyes fixed on the sand. "Clean me up... I mean... get this sand off my body."

"Oh, boys, boys." Lina shook her head, a small, knowing smile on her lips. "Clean you up? Seriously? You're all the same..." She sighed, a theatrical exhale, and rose from the blanket. "Alright then. Fine, I'll help you." She picked up a towel, the fabric bright and clean. "First of all, we need a towel—stop trying to do this clumsily with your bare hands." She stepped closer, her eyes scanning his body. "Jeez, you've got sand even behind your ears."

She sprang into action, her movements efficient, precise, and began carefully cleaning Finn up—wiping his shoulders, his neck, his arms. The towel was soft against his skin, but her touch was clinical, detached, the touch of someone who was performing a task rather than helping a friend.

"It's a good thing you asked me instead of Sophie, though," Lina continued, her voice light, conversational. "As we agreed, she's supposed to be resting a bit today."

"Exactly." Sophie's voice was warm, approving, completely unaware of the war being waged in Finn's chest. "I really appreciate you doing this for me, Lina! Your whole family is so helpful." She turned to Mona, her smile genuine. "Mona, your children are so mature and well-mannered. I'm impressed." Then her eyes found Finn, and her voice softened. "Finn, I also appreciate that you went straight to a friend for help instead of coming to me first. I can see you two get along really well."

"Finn's a quick learner—at least, that's what they say about him at school," Lina said, her voice bright, encouraging. "Finn, arms up!"

Finn raised his arms, his body moving on autopilot, his eyes fixed on the sand at his feet. The motion exposed his armpits—smooth, pale, completely hairless. Not a single dark follicle, not a hint of the adolescence that was supposed to be claiming his body. They looked like the armpits of a much younger boy, a child who hadn't even begun the journey toward manhood.

"I haven't quite gotten that impression so far," Sophie said, her voice thoughtful, "but maybe he'll change my mind."

"He'll behave, you'll see." Lina's voice was confident, reassuring. "Right, Finn?"

The question came unexpectedly, completely throwing Finn off balance. His arms were already up, his armpits exposed, his body vulnerable. "Ahem... well, yeah, sure, I'll behave."

"Let's hope so." Lina's voice sharpened. "Hey, stop squirming!"

She raised her voice as she wiped the sand from his armpits, her fingers digging into the sensitive, hairless skin. The contrast was stark—her hands, capable and confident, working on skin that looked like it belonged to a child half his age.

"That tickles!" Finn protested, his body jerking away from her touch.

"So what?" Lina's voice was cold, dismissive. "Am I not supposed to wipe your armpits? You'll get chafing." She grabbed his shoulder, holding him in place. "Just hold still!"

A few swipes later, his armpits were clean—the towel moving efficiently, clinically, across his sensitive skin.

"Turn around." Lina's voice was commanding. "And don't drop your arms, for crying out loud. It's like dealing with a toddler."

Finn did as he was told, keeping his arms raised the whole time, his body turning, his back now facing Lina. She started wiping his back—the towel moving in long, slow strokes across his skin, cleaning the sand from his shoulders, his spine, the small of his back.

"I really don't understand why you didn't just go into the sea with the boys to rinse off the sand," Lina said, her voice casual, curious. "Or use the beach shower—there's one nearby. Instead, you come to me with this." She paused, her voice dropping. "Can you explain that?"

The question floored him. Finn felt faint, his vision swimming, his throat tightening.

What do you mean, why?! It was your idea and your order! You told me to do it! What am I supposed to say now, with everyone watching and listening?

"Umm... well, you know... Lina..." His voice was thin, desperate, grasping for words. "It's just... well... the sea water is freezing cold, and so is that shower, so I'd rather have you do it." The lie came out. "Please."

"Finn's right," Lennart chimed in, making his presence known. "The sea is exceptionally cold today; I don't feel like going back in either."

Finn's heart lurched.  Lennart—Jesus, I'd forgotten about him. He's watching his older sister wipe me down—me, his new, older friend.  The thought burned in his chest like a brand . Friend. After today, we'll never be friends. He won't want to be seen with me. He'll think I'm pathetic.

"Oh, alright then." Lina's voice was light, dismissive. "I'll do it—just this once." She grabbed his shoulder, spinning him back around. "Turn back around."

Lina crouched down, her knees pressing into the warm sand, and began to clean his legs with brisk, efficient strokes of the towel. Finn lowered his arms, a wave of relief washing over him as the tension in his shoulders eased—but it was short-lived.

"What did I tell you about those hands?!" Lina's voice cut through the air like a whip, sharp and commanding. "Do you really not understand simple German?! Keep them above your head—this is my last warning."

Finn rolled his eyes—a small, defiant gesture that he immediately regretted—but he did as he was told, raising his arms back above his head, his body once again in that position of utter submission. His armpits were exposed again, smooth and hairless, a silent testament to his arrested development. She had so much leverage over him that it wasn't worth the risk. Not with the video. Not with the threat of exposure. Not with everything she held over his head.

Lina grabbed his hips, her fingers digging into the soft flesh just above the waistband of his swim briefs, and let out a soft "Hmm" as if deep in thought. She began wiping down his thighs, the towel moving in slow, deliberate circles, removing the sand that clung to his skin. One of her hands brushed against his swimsuit, and she paused.

"Finn, your swim briefs are still damp and completely caked in sand," Lina announced, her voice carrying across the blanket, loud enough for everyone to hear. "It must look awful inside." She grabbed the waistband of his suit on both sides, her fingers curling around the elastic, preparing to pull.

"No, really, that's not necessary—" Finn's protest was swallowed by the sound of the waves, silenced by the inevitability of what was about to happen.

But before Finn could finish his sentence, Lina used a quick, decisive motion to slide his briefs down to his thighs, completely exposing his genitals to everyone nearby. The navy fabric fell away, revealing the pale, undeveloped flesh beneath—the small, shriveled penis, the hairless groin, the evidence of everything he was trying so desperately to hide.

"Lina…" Finn whispered, his voice a broken plea, rendered completely speechless by the sheer audacity of what she had just done.

"Just as I thought! Covered in sand!" Lina announced loudly, examining what she had to clean. Her face was mere centimeters from his penis; nothing stood between them. She leaned in closer, studying the damage with clinical detachment.

Oh God, oh God, please, anything but this—do something, save me, have some mercy! Someone stop her! Anyone!

To make matters worse, the boys returned from the water, their small bodies dripping, their laughter bright and carefree. Vlad and Aleksandr stopped in their tracks, their eyes widening as they took in the scene. Now the whole group was watching—the Russian children, Lina, Lennart, Sophie, Mona, the girls—a complete audience for his public undoing. Passersby on the beach glanced over, some with curiosity, some with amusement, some with the casual indifference of people who had seen far stranger things on a summer weekend.

"Lina, why is Finn's swimsuit pulled down?" Aleksandr asked, his voice high with surprise and confusion.

"Because he asked me to help clean the sand off him," Lina replied, her voice calm and reasonable, as if this were the most natural thing in the world. She grabbed a towel—and got to work.

Finn dared to look down. It didn't look good. His penis was indeed covered in sand—grains clinging to the pale skin, embedded in the folds, a testament to his complete lack of care. But the worst part was that it looked just as it had in the water—in its most embarrassing, smallest state, totally shriveled up as if trying to hide from the world, retreating into his body like a frightened animal. The cold water, overly tight swim briefs, stress, and fear had all taken their toll. And to make matters worse, there was—of course—no pubic hair there. Nothing. Just smooth, pale, unblemished skin that looked like it belonged to a child half his age.

No, no, no, oh god, no, please, no! Everyone can see!

"It looks like you've got a sandbox down here," Lina remarked, her voice light, almost amused, as she aggressively wiped his small genitals with the towel. The fabric was rough against his sensitive skin, the friction uncomfortable, the humiliation unbearable. "You were right to ask for my help. You were doing it so clumsily yourself; I don't even want to imagine the consequences if you'd walked around like that for a few hours." She shook her head, a gesture of mock disapproval. "Your whole little willy and your balls would have been chafed raw."

Little willy. That bitch just has called it a little willy. In front of everyone. In front of Lennart.

Lina shook her head in disapproval while continuing to rub his genitals with the towel. Her movements over those sensitive areas caused pain and discomfort—a sharp, burning sensation that made him want to flinch—but Finn tried to stand still, tried to remain composed, tried not to give her the satisfaction of seeing him squirm.

"I bet this has happened before, right, Finn?" Lina's voice was conversational, almost friendly, as if they were discussing the weather. "Have you chafed that little willy of yours before? Is that why you asked me for help?"

Finn couldn't believe how openly she was talking about his penis in such a public place, with so many other people around. His eyes darted frantically, taking in the reactions of everyone present. Lennart was watching, his expression unreadable but his gaze fixed. The kids were watching, their eyes wide with curiosity. Sophie was watching, her eyebrow raised, her lips pressed together in a thin line. Mona was watching, her face a mask of polite interest. Everyone watched with great interest.

"Spread your legs," Lina commanded, her voice sharp. "We need to clean your groin thoroughly, too—it can get chafed and cause you trouble."

Finn spread his legs slightly—as wide as he could; his tight briefs, still bunched around his thighs, wouldn't allow for any more movement. He felt the cool air on his exposed skin, felt the weight of their stares, felt the heat of his own shame rising like a tide.

"I asked you a question, but you didn't answer." Lina's voice was patient, almost kind, which made it so much worse. "Have you ever chafed your little willy like that before? Is that why you asked me for help?"

Finn felt his face turning redder and redder—and it definitely wasn't from the sun. His whole body was a furnace of shame, burning from the inside out, every nerve ending screaming with the need to escape.

"Ahem… Yes…" The words came out in a stammer, broken and pathetic. "I've had that problem before… where… my penis… got chafed… from the sand… that's why I decided to ask you."

Jesus, this is so embarrassing. Why is she doing this to me?! What did I ever do to her?! Are we really going to talk publicly about chafing on my penis? God, could You make a comet fall from the sky, hit the sea right here, and trigger a massive tsunami? Just wipe us all out. End this nightmare. Please.

"That's what I thought," Lina declared, her voice carrying the satisfaction of a detective who had just solved a case. "Boys are so clumsy… though you'll be fifteen soon, Finn; you really ought to start getting your act together. My brother is younger than you, and he manages just fine with things like this."

Finn involuntarily glanced toward Lennart. The younger boy raised his eyebrows, a look of quiet pride spreading across his face. His gaze was fixed on Finn—or rather, on what Lina was cleaning. He watched with the calm, confident interest of someone who had nothing to hide, nothing to be ashamed of, nothing to fear.

"Are you listening to what Lina is saying, Finn?" Sophie stepped in, her voice firm, her eyes sharp. "We talked about this quite recently. Puberty will catch up with you eventually, and there's no turning back. This is your last chance to learn a thing or two about good behavior."

Finn lowered his head, clearly embarrassed, his eyes fixed on the sand at his feet, wishing it would open up and swallow him whole.

"Look at me, not the sand, when I'm talking to you."

Lina lowered her hands and the towel, turning her attention to what Sophie had to say. Finn lifted his head and looked at Sophie as well, his face burning, his eyes stinging with tears he refused to shed. Sophie raised a finger, the gesture of a teacher about to deliver a lesson, and continued, "If younger boys can handle certain things, then you should be all the more motivated. You can't be a child forever; this can't go on endlessly." Her voice softened slightly, but the edge remained. "I know you don't like talking about it or hearing about it, but it's important that you remember and understand this—and start listening to us. We all want what's best for you."

She paused, her eyes searching his face. "I'm proud that you went up to Lina and asked for help on your own, without being prompted. That's huge progress. But the truth is, it shouldn't have come to that in the first place; you should be taking care of your own hygiene." She gestured toward Lina, who was still crouched beside him, the towel in her hands. "Listen to your older, wiser friend—she's teaching you a valuable lesson."

"She isn't older than me; we're the same age!!" The words exploded out of him before he could stop them, a desperate, foolish protest that died on his lips the moment he heard his own voice.

Lina smiled—a slow, knowing smile that made his stomach clench. Mona snorted, a sound of barely suppressed amusement. Sophie shook her head in disapproval, her lips pressed into a thin line.

"Actually," Sophie said, her voice dripping with pointed emphasis, "you're right. You are the same age." She let the words hang in the air, heavy and damning. "It's an easy mistake to make." She paused, her eyes boring into his. "That should give you even more food for thought."

How embarrassing. We're the same age. Why do I even open my big mouth?! It would have been better if everyone thought she was older than me. Now it looks even worse—she's more mature, more responsible, more in control. And I'm the one standing here with my pants down, being lectured, being cleaned like a toddler. What an idiot I am. I always blurt things out before thinking. Shut up, Finn—for crying out loud, just shut up!

The silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating. Lina resumed her work, the towel moving against his skin, the rough fabric scraping against his sensitive flesh. Lennart was still watching, his expression unreadable but his gaze unwavering. Sophie was still watching, her eyes sharp with disappointment. Mona was still watching, her lips curved in a small, satisfied smile. The Russian kids stood watching with an interest they probably wouldn't even show on a school field trip to the movies.

And Finn stood there, his arms above his head, his legs spread, his genitals exposed, his face burning with shame, wishing—more than he had ever wished for anything—that he could simply disappear.

"Why didn't you just come into the sea with us to rinse off the sand?" Vlad asked, his voice carrying that particular blend of childish curiosity and genuine confusion.

"Or use that shower over there?" Alexandr added, pointing toward the beach shower with its small trickle of water.

Because she forced me to! Because she's blackmailing me! Oh, how I want to scream that out! Everyone thinks I'm a total klutz! Everyone thinks I'm so pathetic I can't even clean sand off myself!

"Because he was cold, boys—we already talked about this while you were in the water," Sophie answered for Finn, her voice smooth and reasonable, as if she were explaining the simplest thing in the world.

"Jeez, Finn." Lina's voice was sharp with annoyance, her face contorting in a grimace as she moved her head closer to his genitals. Her breath was warm against his exposed skin. "Are you doing this on purpose?!"

"Doing what this time?!" Finn's voice was defensive, cracking at the edges.

"Are you trying to hide that little willy from me, or what?!" Her words were sharp, incredulous. "I swear it keeps getting smaller and smaller! Stop doing that right now—I can't get it clean!"

At that moment, Lennart laughed—a low, warm chuckle that seemed to escape despite himself. And then the rest of them giggled, a chorus of amusement that washed over Finn like a wave of icy water.

What is that idiot coming up with now?! Deliberately shrinking my penis?! What kind of crazy ideas are those! Maybe stop rubbing it with that rough towel!! And stop saying it's small!!!

"What?! That's not true!" Finn's voice was climbing, desperate. "I'm not doing anything!"

"Then why is it shrinking like that?" Lina's voice was accusatory, almost triumphant. "Look how wrinkled your foreskin is—it's full of sand. Are you doing this just to spite me?! Do you want me to have to touch it longer?!"

"What?! Have you lost your mind?!" Finn could feel his face burning, his whole body trembling with a mixture of rage and shame. "I'm not doing anything! That's just how it is!"

"Lennart," Lina called out, her eyes still fixed on Finn's exposed groin, "is he messing with me?"

"Nooo, hahaha!" Lennart's voice was bright with genuine amusement, the kind of laughter that came from a place of comfortable confidence. "Lina, you can't just shrink or hide your penis on command. At least, I can't, and I've never heard of anyone who could!"

He's laughing at me. The one person I wanted to impress, and he's laughing at my tiny penis. Ough. Not tiny, Finn, it’s not tiny! Don’t repeat her false words!

"Then why is it so tiny?" Lina's voice was genuinely confused, as if she were trying to solve a puzzle. "Yours was never that small…"

"Hey, hey." Lennart's tone shifted, becoming indignant, defensive. "We aren't going to talk about my penis here."

"Lina, just so you know for the future," Sophie began, her voice taking on a pedagogical tone, the voice of someone about to deliver a lesson, "penises come in different sizes, just like breasts. Even before puberty, some are bigger and others smaller." She paused, her eyes flickering to Finn's exposed groin for just a moment before returning to Lina's face. "Finn just happens to have a small willy; he's not doing it on purpose. Besides, he mentioned being cold, which can cause a bit of shrinkage."

She's explaining my penis. To a girl my age. In front of everyone. Like she's explaining why the sky is blue. Like it's just a fact. A simple, unremarkable fact. A small willy. Like it's just an obvious truth.

"Ugh, that's frustrating!" Lina's voice was sharp with irritation. She reached out and took Finn's penis between two fingers. Only then did Finn notice her hands—mature, feminine, with long fingers and manicured tips, nails painted a soft, delicate pink. They were the hands of a young woman, not a girl. And they were holding his penis like it was a tool that needed repair.

She grasped his foreskin between her nails, gave it a gentle pinch, and pulled it toward herself.

"Yeeeowch!!!" Finn screamed, jumping back and dropping his hands to clutch his crotch, the pain sharp and immediate, radiating through his entire body. "What the hell are you doing, you crazy woman?!"

"I'm trying to stretch it out a bit so I can clean it!" Lina's voice was sharp, defensive, rising with indignation. "You asked me to do this yourself, and now you're calling me crazy?! You should've dealt with that tiny little dick on your own instead of coming to me, you spoiled little brat!"

Finn's eyes nearly popped out of his head. He hadn't expected Lina to be so sharp and unpredictable. The words hung in the air between them, sharp as broken glass.

Tiny little dick. Tiny little dick. She said it again. That bitch just keeps saying it. And everyone keeps hearing it.

"Either you apologize to me right now," Lina said, her voice cold and final, "or you deal with it yourself and never speak to me again." She crossed her arms, the towel dangling from her hand. "I won't tolerate men in my life who are only nice to me when they need something—in this case, little boys."

Fuck, fuck, fuck, what now?! Think, Finn, think fast. Tell her to fuck off and do it myself? That won't end well for me; she's got leverage over me. I have to play along with this idiot. I'll get my revenge later, at the first opportunity.

"I… I'm sorry." The words came out weak, pathetic, a whisper of surrender.

"Is that an apology?" Lina's voice was flat, unimpressed. "A bit forced. Use full sentences, kiddo."

Kiddo.

Finn gritted his teeth and closed his eyes, his whole body trembling with the effort of holding himself together. "I'm sorry, Lina, for calling you crazy. It hurt when you yanked on my cock—that's why I reacted that way." The words tasted like ash in his mouth, each one a fresh humiliation. "But I shouldn't have, because you were just trying to help me, which is what I asked for." He paused, swallowing hard. "Could you finish what you were doing?"

"Fine," Lina said, her voice softening slightly. "I'll give you one last chance." She tilted her head, her eyes narrowing. "You'll be good now, right?"

"Yeah… I'll be good…"

God, what a humiliation. Every time I think it can't get any worse, it does. Did the universe plan all this for me? Is this some kind of karma?

"Alright then…"

Without waiting for a command, Finn uncovered his genitals again on his own, raising his hands above his head, his body moving on autopilot, his mind a blank void of shame.

Lina got straight to work, her hands moving with practiced efficiency.

"Listen, Finn," she said, her voice calm and measured, almost kind. "Let's make sure we understand each other and are in sync this time. I get that what I did might have hurt." She paused, her eyes finding his. "But just look here…"

Finn lowered his head and saw Lina holding his cock between two fingers again. The sight was devastating—his small, shriveled penis, pale and insignificant, dwarfed by her long, well-groomed, feminine fingers.

"See how tiny your little wee-wee is?" Lina's voice was gentle, almost clinical. "I can't pull back the foreskin because your willy just hides even more—look how much sand is in there." She gestured with her free hand. "So, I'm going to give it a gentle tug again to stretch it out and clean it, okay?" Her eyes met his, soft and understanding. "Can you be a big boy for me and handle it?"

Finn just nodded, unable to get a word out, his throat tight, his eyes stinging with tears he refused to shed.

She is so awful. Where does this come from? Did she take a course on how to be mean? Clean up that dick—call it small, tiny, whatever you want—but just do it and stop tormenting me!

"All right," Lina said, her voice soft, reassuring, "I'll be gentle."

Mona lit a cigarette, as if preparing for a performance. Sophie didn’t say anything. Lina did what she had done before. She gently dug her fingernails into his foreskin and pulled it back. Finn held his breath, clenching his eyes and teeth so hard his jaw ached, determined to avoid showing any weakness this time. Lina made a few motions with the towel—quick, efficient, clinical—and then let go of his penis. The whole thing took just a few seconds, but each one stretched into an eternity of humiliation.

Finn exhaled, a long, shuddering breath, and opened his eyes.

"There," Lina announced, her voice bright with satisfaction. "All done." She paused, tilting her head. "Was it worth making such a scene?"

Finn still couldn't say a word; he was afraid that if he started speaking, he would burst into tears, would let the dam break and flood the beach with his shame. So he simply shook his head—a small, jerky motion—to signal that it hadn't been worth it.

"Exactly." Lina nodded, her smile widening. "If you're coming to me for something like this, you need to trust me completely." She patted his hip, a casual, dismissive gesture. "Right, just your bum left now, and we're done—this has definitely taken too long." She gestured impatiently. "Turn around."

Finn turned around; this time, his backside was right at Lina's eye level, his bare buttocks exposed to her clinical gaze. He could feel her eyes on him, assessing, examining, cataloging.

At least she'll stop staring at my penis—her and that whole crazy family on the blanket. Go ahead, smell my ass, you stupid bitch. I don't care anymore.

But his relief was short-lived. True, in this position neither Lina nor the rest of the tour group could see his privates, but he was facing all the other strangers—the families on the beach, the teenagers lounging on towels, the passersby strolling along the shore. His face was exposed, his body was exposed, and everyone could see exactly what was happening.

Damn.

"So much sand got stuck between your cheeks," Lina remarked, her voice flat, clinical, as she immediately got to work, her fingers digging into the sensitive skin, the towel rough against his flesh.

Finn, however, was interested in something else. A group of teenagers walking past who had clearly slowed their pace. Four girls, two boys. The girls were in bikinis, their bodies tan and confident, their laughter bright and carefree. The boys were in swim trunks, their chests bare, their strides easy. They looked to be between fifteen and seventeen—the kind of people Finn desperately wanted to be, the kind of people who seemed to have it all figured out.

They were carrying cocktails, colorful and tropical, and they were staring right at Finn and the situation unfolding before them. They had grins stretching from ear to ear, their eyes bright with amusement, their heads bent together as they whispered to one another. They never took their eyes off him—off his naked body, off Lina's hands working between his cheeks, off the spectacle of his complete and utter humiliation.

Awesome—thanks to Lina, they've got the chance of a lifetime: seeing a hunk like me naked. Especially the girls. I just hope they don't follow me on Instagram. Damn, wait—what about my hair? It's probably a total mess. Never mind, never mind—it probably looks good. It looks good. Those girls look good, too. Let them feast their eyes—why not? We don't know each other. And everyone knows I look damn good.

Suddenly, the group veered off course and started heading toward the family.

What the...?

They were just a few steps away from Finn and the others—Finn, whose swim briefs were still down around his thighs, whose exposed body was on full display for anyone who cared to look. The group stopped, though one girl kept coming closer—dangerously close, her eyes fixed on him, her smile widening.

Finn froze. It's one thing for a stranger to watch you from afar, but quite another when they get that close—close enough to see the details, close enough to judge, close enough to remember.

"Excuse me," said the unknown brunette, her voice light and friendly. She held up a hand with a cigarette in it, the white cylinder caught between her fingers. "Could you lend me a lighter?"

Mona, the only smoker in the group, asked if they were over sixteen, her voice carrying the authority of a concerned adult.

"Of course!" the girl replied, her smile bright and disarming. "My mom would kill me otherwise!"

"Alright then," Mona said, her expression softening. "You look like decent kids."

The girl turned to her group and called out, "Come on, this lady has a lighter for us."

They all walked over—a small, casual migration that suddenly transformed into a crowd of teenagers gathered around Finn. Their eyes were curious, their smiles wide, their attention fixed on the scene unfolding before them. Lina seemed to slow down, her movements becoming more deliberate, more theatrical.

Damn it, Lina, hurry up—what are you doing?

Finn twisted around to look at Lina, his voice tight with desperation. "Ahem, Lina, I think I'm clean now—thanks!"

Lina responded with a loud smack on his bare buttock.

"Ow!" Finn jumped slightly, the sting sharp and unexpected.

"Stop fidgeting, for God's sake—how many times do I have to tell you?" Lina's voice was sharp, impatient.

One of the girls standing nearby patted him on the back—a friendly, casual gesture that felt like a brand. "Oh, boy, don't take the risk—you don't mess around with girls!"

"Exactly." Lina added, giving him another smack. "Stand up straight."

All the girls and boys giggled—a chorus of amused laughter that echoed across the beach.

Damn it, I hate her so much.

The brunette who had asked for a lighter was trying to light her cigarette, but the flame sputtered and died. She tried again. Nothing.

"Damn," Mona said, shaking her head. "It's out of gas; it wouldn't light a moment ago..." She paused, her eyes scanning the group. "Lina!" Mona called out to her daughter. "There's a spare lighter in my bag. It's right next to you. Could you look for it and lend it to them?"

"Sure, Mom," Lina said, getting up from her knees with a casual, unhurried motion. She walked over to the bag, her back to Finn, leaving him exposed and alone.

Finn noticed all the teenagers looking at him, their eyes raking over his body, their lips curved in knowing smiles. They were snickering, whispering among themselves, enjoying the spectacle of his humiliation.

Damn it, that woman is embarrassing me on purpose.

He didn't dwell on it for long. His hands moved down—one covering his genitals, the other grabbing the waistband of his swimsuit—and he started pulling it up, desperate to cover himself, to end this nightmare.

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING, KIDDO?!"

Lina's voice cut through the air like a whip as she returned with the lighter. Finn jumped, his heart racing, his hands freezing in place.

"I... I just... I thought you were done, and I wanted to get dressed!"

"Of course I wasn't done—if I had been, I would have told you!" Lina's voice was sharp, scolding. "Don't make a fool of yourself! You're about to ruin all my work, and I'll have to start over!"

She was already standing right next to him, her presence overwhelming, her eyes boring into his.

"Hands up, and leave those briefs alone." Her voice was cold, commanding. "Don't act like a little kid, or else—you know what happens."

Finn, clearly displeased, let go. His hands rose above his head, his body once again in that position of utter submission, his genitals exposed to the new audience.

"Here's a lighter for you—sorry about the mix-up," Lina said to the group of teenage strangers, her voice suddenly warm and friendly. They were all standing right in front of Finn and Lina now, a wall of curious eyes.

"Oh, don't worry about it—no big deal." One of the boys replied, taking the lighter from Lina. "We were the ones who came over to you; we didn't mean to interrupt... whatever it is you're doing here.” He glanced at Finn, then at his crotch, his eyebrow arching. “Sorry!"

Whatever it is you're doing here. You better never find out.

Finn wondered what the teenagers must be thinking as they took in the scene: Lina, holding a towel, scolding Finn—who was standing there with his underwear down, hands raised above his head, and eyes red from holding back tears. A complete picture of submission and humiliation.

"Relax, we're in no rush—it's Sunday!" Lina's voice was light, dismissive. "We aren't doing anything special; I'm just helping Finn get the sand off, since he's too messy to do it himself." She paused, her eyes flicking to the teenagers. "He's had chafing on his little willy before, so he's trying to avoid that now."

She said it. She said it again. In front of strangers. In front of everyone.

Every head dropped in unison, eyes darting to one specific spot. A collective "aaaaaah" of realization escaped their lips—a sound of understanding, of amusement, of pity.

"Ouch, did it hurt?" one of the girls—a blonde with a sympathetic expression—asked Finn, her voice soft with concern.

"Uhh... well, you know... not thaaaat much..." Finn replied, his voice weak, his face burning with shame.

"Not that much?" Lina's voice was sharp, incredulous. "Then why do you ask me to clean that little peanut of yours? Stop trying to act tough in front of strangers." She gave him another smack, the sound sharp and final.

"Chill out, kid." One of the boys stepped forward, his voice casual, friendly. "You don't have to act tough. Girls know that a penis is sensitive." He paused, his smile widening. "And a small peepee—even more so."

"Hahaha!" The girls laughed—a bright, delighted sound that made Finn's skin crawl. One of them playfully slapped the boy on the arm. "Stop saying that, you're embarrassing him!" she said, then took the lighter and lit her cigarette.

"Oh, not at all—Finn doesn't get embarrassed by anything." Lina's voice was dismissive, almost bored. "His little willy actually is a problem here; we were just talking about it—sand gets under the foreskin and it's hard to clean out."

Everyone giggled—a chorus of amusement that seemed to surround Finn, to press in on him from all sides.

"How come?" one of the girls asked, her voice genuinely curious. "Hard to clean because it's small?"

"Well, it's so small that it's hard to pull the foreskin back, because the whole thing sort of retracts inside."

"Oh god, I get it," the same girl replied, her voice full of understanding.

The last guy lit his cigarette and handed the lighter back to Lina.

"Thanks!" he said to Lina, then turned to Finn, his smile warm, almost kind. "And don't you worry, kid—it'll grow one day."

"Exactly," the brunette added, her voice sweet as honey. "You guys make a great family. A younger brother who lets his big sister boss him around—you don't see that kind of relationship often." She nodded approvingly. "It's good that you do that, kid; it'll keep you out of trouble."

"Exactly!" the second girl added. "And don't blush so much—you've got nothing to be ashamed of yet. You're very handsome, and your willy is just tiny for now; once it grows, you'll have to handle those problems on your own—without your big sister!" She paused, her eyes flicking between them. "How old are you guys, anyway? I'm guessing you're about fifteen," she said, pointing at Lina, "and you…" she continued, pointing at Finn, "probably twelve—or maybe eleven."

Finn's face burned. His whole body burned. He wanted to scream, to correct her, to tell her he was almost fifteen, that he was older than Lina, that he wasn't a child, that he was a young adult.

Finn's face burned. His whole body burned. He wanted to scream, to correct her, to tell her he was almost fifteen, that he was older than Lina, that he wasn't a child, that he was a young adult. But he didn’t. It would have made the situation even worse.

Unfortunately, Lina beat him to it.

"Oh, no, you've got it wrong!" Her voice was bright, almost cheerful, as if she were sharing a delightful piece of gossip. "First of all, we aren't brother and sister. We know each other from school!" She gestured between them with a casual wave. "We're the same age—I'm fourteen, and Finn is a bit older; he's fourteen and a half." She pointed toward the blanket where Lennart was lounging. "My brother is lying over there; he's actually younger—he's thirteen."

No. No, no, no. Why did she have to say that? Why couldn't she just let them think I was twelve? Why does she have to expose everything?

The teenagers' eyes nearly popped out of their heads. Their jaws dropped. They exchanged glances—disbelief, amusement, confusion flickering across their faces.

One of the boys spoke up first, his voice incredulous: "How old?! You're kidding!"

"No, absolutely not—why would I?" Lina's voice was calm, reasonable. She turned to Finn, her eyes sharp, expectant. "Finn, tell them. How old are you?"

"Lina…" Finn mumbled, his voice small and pathetic, his eyes fixed on the sand at his feet.

"Finn." Her voice was flat, unyielding. "It's a simple question. You aren't mentally disabled. Answer him." She paused, letting the silence stretch. "How old are you?"

Finn didn't want to answer. He felt that the truth, spoken by his own lips, would humiliate him even further—would confirm to everyone watching that he was not the child they thought he was, but something worse: an almost-fifteen-year-old who looked and acted like a child.

"I'm four… teen…" The words came out in a whisper, broken and halting. "Fourteen and a half."

"Whoa!" The boy covered his mouth with both hands, his eyes wide with theatrical disbelief. He looked down at Finn's crotch, then at his face, then at Lina. Back and forth. Back and forth. "You know how old I am?" He pointed at himself, his voice rising with incredulous laughter. "Fifteen! Holy crap! I thought you were way younger than me!" He shook his head, still laughing. "Hahaha! That's wild!"

Fifteen. He's fifteen. He thought I was younger than him. He thought I was a child. And now he knows I'm almost the same age as him.

"Finn is popular on Instagram," Lina added, her voice light, conversational. "Maybe you guys want to follow him?"

"Sure!" The teenagers pulled out their phones, their fingers hovering over the screens, their eyes bright with curiosity. "What's your username?"

Finn remained silent, his throat tight, his face burning.

"Finn." Lina's voice was sharp, commanding. "That question was for you—answer."

Finn didn't want to answer. He didn't want the people who had seen him in this humiliating situation—who had watched him stand naked, who had heard about his tiny penis, who had laughed at his expense—to be able to follow him online. Even if he never met them again in person, they would have access to his curated world, his carefully constructed image, the only thing he had left.

"finn.xnx.14," Finn replied, his head bowed, his voice barely audible.

"Followed!" they answered one after another, their voices bright and casual, as if they had just added a new friend to their social circle.

"Alright," the brunette said, pocketing her phone, "we're moving on. Thanks for the light!"

They started walking away, their footsteps slow and leisurely, their voices carrying back over their shoulders:

"Good luck, have fun!"

"Be a good boy, little Finn!"

"Small dick, big problem, hahaha!"

The laughter faded into the distance, swallowed by the sound of the waves, but the words lingered in the air like poison.

Lina returned to her spot and crouched behind Finn to finish wiping the sand off his backside. She swiped the towel between his buttocks twice—quick, efficient movements—then patted his briefs to shake out any remaining sand. She pulled them back up, the elastic snapping against his hips, covering him at last.

The whole thing took maybe fifteen seconds.

"What?" Finn asked, his voice surprised, confused. "Already?"

"Yeah, done." Lina's voice was flat, dismissive. She grabbed the waistband of his briefs with both hands, her fingers curling around the elastic. "What, do you want to stand around naked some more? No problem."

"No, no, Lina!" Finn's voice was high, desperate, his hands flying down to protect himself. "Stop! Okay! Thanks!"

Stupid bitch. She dragged it out on purpose just to humiliate me. She was practically done anyway. She made me stand there, exposed, while those strangers laughed at me. She made me give them my Instagram.

He pulled his swim briefs up properly, adjusting the fabric, trying to restore some sense of normalcy.

She's so nasty. But she'll get what's coming to her. One day. I'll make sure of it.