He felt the cold wipe touch his skin, casually brushing his tiny member, and remembered how he'd used his sex as a weapon just two nights before. When he was big. When he was strong. He concentrated, desperately trying to maintain control. Panic meant flailing arms and legs, and screams that he could not control.
His wife teased him, spending more time than she needed to clean the miniscule genitalia. She wanted him to begin to know just how small and helpless he had become, how he'd ceased being a man and how he now belonged to her. He was her property, to do with as she saw fit, a wet little plaything for his wife and step daughter.
He married her just two weeks before. If only he'd taken the time to get to know her better, but he was so taken with her beauty... and her sweet little girl was precious, old beyond her years. Such an old soul! He needed to be close to her.
Now he was beginning to understand that his wife was probably much older than she seemed. His step-daughter might be older still. The two of them had found a way to appropriately punish a man so interested in youth, so obsessed with innocence, so consumed with the need to be touched by childhood.