Jumanji-online (the serial) Episode 7

When he opened his eyes, he was no longer in Burger King. A young boy, who was naked and who had an large penis, was leaning over him, saying, “Barry...Barry...wake up.”

“Who was Barry,” he thought. “I’m Jimmy...Jimmy Ray Wilson, and...I was just stabbed...”

But, when he felt for the wound, there was none, and...his hand encountered a breast. He glanced down at his body. He was naked. He had breasts. His crotch, as it had been since he was castrated at thirteen, was smooth, but when he touched it with his hand, he felt the indentation of a vagina. He had the body of a girl, a young girl, not that of a forty-five year-old eunuch. When he spoke, the boy, who was leaning over him, kissed him.

“Oh, Barry,” the boy said. “Are you all right?”

“Who’s Barry,” he started to say, but stopped as memories began returning, memories of being Barry Anderson, memories of the game of Jumanji, memories of the boy, who had kissed him, of Jennifer.

“Je...Jenn, is it you?” he asked.

“Barry...you’re back. I was so frightened. You lay there without moving for over thirty minutes.”

Thirty minutes?...but he’d lived a life time since he’d been gone from the game. He remembered the months that he had spent in the boys’ home. He vividly recalled every moment of the time he had spent in Whitcomb’s bed. He remember the beatings, finding Tommy’s grave, their escape. He had witnessed Whitcomb’s execution. He remembered college, law school. He remembered all the people he had met over a period of almost thirty years. How could it have been only thirty minutes? He had lived one year for each minute? How could that be possible?

But, then he looked at Jennifer, at the other game players, at the body which he wore, the body which had originally belonged to the girl he loved, to Jennifer. It was still the body of a young girl. It hadn’t aged thirty years. None of them had.

“But, Jennifer, I was gone thirty years. I remember those years. I lived them. I was Jimmy Ray Wilson. I lived his life. I have all his memories, all the memories of all that he experienced during thirty years. I even remember being stabbed; I remember realizing that I was dying. Then I woke up here. At first I didn’t know where I was, didn’t remember you, but then Barry’s memories began returning. Even now, my consciousness seems to be split between being Barry and being Jimmy Ray.”

He looked at Robert, who was wearing Barry’s body, a body that Barry had castrated, to him, thirty years before, but the wounds were only beginning to heal. In the game, injuries, castrations, had always healed rapidly. Using that time frame, Barry knew that he couldn’t have been gone long.

But, looking at Robert, who wore Barry’s original body, Barry again realized that it was his body that had lost its cock-its balls. He was no longer confident about the game’s reality ending with the game. He no longer knew what reality was. He had experienced three realities. They all seemed equally real. Was one the real reality? Were all of them equally real, or was all reality an illusion? He had experienced love, happiness, pain, fear, and sorrow in all three realities. All felt equally real.

Jennifer was holding the dice. She had held them since Barry fell to the floor. No one urged her to roll.

“Can we take a walk?” Barry asked Jennifer.

Jennifer responded by squeezing his hand.

When they were alone in the study, Jennifer said, “I hated it when I saw Jason fucking you. I hated it, yet it made me horny. My penis got erect. I wanted to be the one that was doing it. I used to hate having this cock, but, now that you have my body, the body of a girl, I want you all the time.” Her erect penis was throbbing.

For Barry, it had been thirty years since he had sex. In his eunuch’s body, without the driving force of testosterone, he hadn’t thought about it, or missed it, but, being back in the body of a healthy fourteen year-old girl, a body which had experienced orgasm, he wanted Jennifer’s cock, even though, after Whitcomb, he wouldn’t have thought that he would ever want to be fucked.

“Whatever you do, don’t drop the dice,” he said as he guided Jennifer’s nine inch cock to his pussy.

The pussy, which had been so ravaged by the huge member, when Jennifer had first fucked it, so long ago, after Jennifer and Robert had exchanged bodies, readily accepted it. Jennifer moaned as she thrust it into Barry. He arched his back so that he could take it all, so that he could feel it ramming the length of his vagina, banging against the end. Barry’s orgasm, to him the first in thirty years, overwhelmed him. Clutching Jennifer’s buttocks, he pulled her toward him as he ground his pelvis into hers. He could feel her cock expand as it pumped Jennifer’s seed into his pussy.

Jennifer was beginning to forget what it was like to be a girl. Testosterone produced by Robert’s big balls, since she had possessed his body, was affecting her thinking-drove her sexually. Her consciousness became centered in her cock. For a moment, Jennifer no longer existed. All there was-was cock, a cock pounding that lovely, warm, soft, hole. Her orgasm, although beginning in her penis, spread throughout her body. Her eyes rolled back in her head. If felt as though her life, her being, her soul were pumping out of her cock, shooting into Barry. She and Barry merged-become one. She could no longer tell where she ended and Barry began. Despite her resolve not to drop the dice, she did. She rolled a six.

When Barry felt Jennifer go limp on top of him, he thought little of it. His orgasm had drained all his strength, all his ability to move. When she didn’t answer when he spoke to her, however, he became worried. He rolled her over onto her back. She lay on the floor, staring-a blank, vacant stare.

In the dining room, words in the disk said: “Jennifer rolled a six. That means another switch, so before she forgets what it’s like to be a girl....”

When Jennifer was next aware, she was in a room, a hotel or motel room. She could see the rate chart on the door. She was fucking. For a moment she thought she was fucking Barry, but it wasn’t Barry who was beneath her. It wasn’t Barry she was riding; it was a man, and this time she was the one with a pussy, and with breasts, but not the small budding breasts of a fourteen year-old girl. They were the breasts, the large, firm, breasts of an adult woman. The memories and the consciousness of that woman began to flood Jennifer’s consciousness, but, unlike how it had been with Barry, when Barry merged with Jimmy Ray, that alien consciousness didn’t subside. It wasn’t even aware of Jennifer, nor did Jennifer have any control over that body. Jennifer could listen to the thoughts of the woman-Sarah was her name. She could access her memories. She could feel her emotions. She could feel the man’s penis sliding in and out of her vagina, but she could do nothing to affect what was happening. She was along for the ride-an observer, nothing more.

The man was tied to the bed with a ball gag in his mouth. Using a whip, which she held in her right hand, Sarah frequently struck the man across the chest, and, occasionally in the face. He seemed to become more excited-sexually-with every blow. After he came, Sarah withdrew from his limp penis; cum was oozing from its tip-dripping from her pussy.

Reading Sarah’s thoughts, Jennifer knew that Sarah hadn’t enjoyed fucking; she hated fucking, hated sex, hated men, but to her twisted mind, fucking the man somehow justified what was to come. Beginning when she was eleven, her mother’s boyfriend had repeatedly raped her. It had continued for the next three years, until, when she was fourteen, he had passed out-drunk-after fucking her. He had been lying in Sarah’s bed with his piss stained jockey shorts pulled down just below his balls. Having taken a butcher knife from the kitchen, she had sliced off his cock, had stolen some money and her mother’s car, and had driven to LA, where she had become a prostitute, a prostitute who specialized in S&M, who’s clientele were men who wanted to be dominated-who wanted to be tortured. Sarah was more than happy to oblige them. It had been profitable. Sarah was beautiful, and she was good at her job-at inflicting pain. Even though she charged over $1000 a session, she had many repeat customers. Usually she was satisfied with inflicting as much pain, within acceptable limits-geared to each individual client-as possible on her customers, but occasionally, when a new customer removed his pants, she would discover that he was wearing white jockey shorts-white jockey shorts with yellow piss stains.

Dave, her mother’s boyfriend, always wore piss stained, white, jockey shorts-shorts, which he never bothered to remove when he fucked her. In her mind, those shorts had been eternally linked to being raped by Dave. To her, cutting off Dave’s cock, had ended her ordeal. It had meant that Dave could never rape her, or any other little girl again.

This customer, a new one, had white jockey shorts on, even as Sarah fucked him. When he had begun removing them at the start of the session, Sarah had stopped him. She had tied him to the bed, had gagged him, and then had pulled his white jockey shorts-the white jockey shorts with a small yellow piss stain-down just below his balls.

Having fucked him, she went to her handbag. Opening it, she pulled out a straight razor, walked over to the bed, and held it to the base of his penis. His cock, which had become flaccid after he ejaculated, became stiff. It throbbed as Sarah teased his penis with the razor, wiped the flat side of the razor against the head of his cock, made cutting motions with its dull side at the base of his cock.

“You like that, don’t you?” asked Sarah.

He grunted behind the gag and nodded.

She stroked his cock with her hand as she made small cuts at the base with her razor. His eyes rolled back in his head, the cords in his neck stood out, his breathing came in pants, his cum gushed from his cock. Sarah sliced his cock free. It came away in her hand, even as cum shot from its hole. Cum oozed from the stub-the vestiges of his cock. His eyes bulged. His shrieks were muffled by the ball in his mouth. Sarah placed the cock on his chest.

“Let’s see you rape anyone else,” she said.

As Sarah dressed, the hotel room faded from Jennifer’s sight, to be replaced by the sight of Barry bending over, peering into her eyes.

“You’re back,” he said. “I could see the change in your eyes as I watched. What happened? Where did you go?

Jennifer felt her body with her hands. She was back in Robert’s fourteen year-old boy’s body, the body, with which she had become so familiar, but, when she glanced at her chest, she briefly expected to see Sarah’s tits. Although, Sarah had never been conscious of Jennifer’s presence, Jennifer had all of Sarah’s memories, memories of being raped by Dave when she was eleven, memories of all the Johns she had fucked, memories of all the cocks she’d sliced off. When Barry tried to hold her-to kiss her-she pushed him away.