***************

I hung up the phone in a huff.  “Kyra, come here please.”

My daughter stood at the top of the stairs, brushing her hair, and called down, “In a minute.”

“I said come over here, and that means now,” I said in a more forceful tone.

“Fine!” she replied, putting her brush down and descending the stairs angrily.  “What the hell is so important anyway?”  She crossed her arms and looked up at me with disdain.

“Young lady!  There is no swearing in this house, and while you are living under my roof you will obey my rules.  Understand?”  My daughter’s pouty expression indicated that she may not like it but would yield to my authority.  “Good.  Now I want to discuss the phone call I just received.  Your school called and said you were absent yesterday for the last 3 class periods.  What do you have to say for yourself?”

“About what?”

“What do you mean, about what?  Where were you?” I said, becoming exasperated.

“I don’t see why it matters,” she replied nonchalantly.

I began to fume.  “Don’t give me that crap.  You’re in high school, not college.  You know full well that you can’t just skip school whenever you feel like it.  At least,” I paused for dramatic effect, “not without consequences.  Now you’d better tell me exactly what you were doing or I’ll double your punishment.”

“Geez, whatever, it’s not a big deal.   I just went to a movie with some friends, OK?  It’s not like we got high or robbed a store or anything.”

“For your own sake you had better hope not!  In any case, you have to understand that school is the most important part of your life right now and since you are now grounded for the next 7 days, I think you’ll have plenty of time to focus on your schoolwork,” I said in as stern a voice as I could muster.

“Ah, come on, it’s not like I missed anything important.  All my classes are a piece of cake.”  It’s true, she was pretty damned smart – actually, that was an understatement.  She could easily ace all her classes if only she had the motivation.

“In that case, I expect to see a 4.0 on your final report card next month, or we’re going to have another talk.”

“This is bullshit!” she said as she stomped up the stairs to her room.

“That’s another week, missy!  I warned you not to swear!”  Sheesh, she seemed to be getting more out of control by the month.  I guess that’s just how teenagers are, though I wish she didn’t have to hold such a grudge when I punish her.  But that’s fine if she thinks I’m some tyrant, as long as she learns her lesson.  I just hope she learns it soon … Why does she have to be so difficult?

Being a strict disciplinarian really isn’t my style; I had much preferred raising Kyra as a child – a quiet but authoritative command was the most she had ever needed to behave.  And there was none of this stomping around and ranting on about how I was the meanest person in the world and blah blah blah.  We were really quite close back then; her mother died when she was young, and I suppose being the only parent meant she became completely attached to me.  I remember how her face would light up when I stepped through the door, and she would always tell me about her day and want to play games together.  And the movie nights where we would sit together, usually with her in my lap, munching popcorn and watching until she fell asleep.  Then I would carry her to her bed, trying not to wake her, and kiss her on the forehead as I tucked her in.  As I glanced over at the stairs where she had just now flown away in anger, I wondered when we had grown apart, and why she seems to avoid me at every chance.  Sighing, I returned to watching my movie – alone.

********************************

The next morning at work went by uneventfully.  Actually, I do very much enjoy my job, working as a nuclear physicist at an engineering firm/research lab outside of town.  The pay is excellent, and the work sure beats pushing paper and filing TPS reports in some office building, in my opinion.  In fact, overall I had a pretty darn good life as far as I was concerned.  My name is James Roberts, Dr. James Roberts if you want to be picky.  But I usually just go as James.  I look pretty much like your typical middle-class American, except that I’m 6’6” and weigh 220 lbs.  I’m a single dad raising my only child, my daughter.  She’s my pride and joy; although she can get a bit testy at times, she’s a wonderful little girl (well, not so little, she’s 6’1”) and despite the increasingly frequent arguments it is still a highlight of my day to see her after I come home from work.

But, as I would discover, an event happened that afternoon that would change my life forever.  And what happened to me?  Perhaps I walked in front of the particle accelerator which caused a radical reconstitution of my genetic makeup, causing me to instantly shrink?  Did I step into the Intrinsic Field Subtractor at my lab and reappear as a blue, glowing superhero with the power to stop time, move objects with my mind, and even change the size of my body?  Nope.  Actually, my job consists of sitting at my computer developing reactor analysis codes.  No lab equipment involved.  No, what really happened was that a fly entered through the open window and bit me (BET YOU DIDN’T SEE THAT ONE COMING, EH?).  I felt a sting and swatted the sucker, and thought nothing of it except that the fly looked a bit, well, unusual.  Although I would never find out, it turns out this fly was from a remote region of the Amazon rainforest and through a long and treacherous journey (which I won’t recount here) it ended up in my office and infected me with a virus hitherto undiscovered by man.  I felt no ill effects for the rest of the day, except for a slightly woozy feeling as I went to bed.

********************************

Waking up the next day, I still felt a bit … off.  I laid in bed probably longer than I should have but finally convinced myself to get up.  I stood and stretched, touching my hands to the ceiling (made possible by my 6’6” height), although did I have a bit more trouble reaching it this time?  ‘Bah,’ I said, ‘It’s too early.’  Then I groggily took a shower, got dressed, and went downstairs for breakfast.  But, to my surprise, I found Kyra sitting at the table, leisurely eating a bagel and watching TV.

“Hey, why are you still here?” I demanded.  “Your bus for school left 45 minutes ago!  And why are you just sitting around?”  I almost never see her in the morning since I leave for work an hour after her bus arrives.

“Oh, well, I woke up too late and was going to miss the bus anyway, so I figured I’d just get a ride from you!” She is quite a morning person, and sometimes I regret not seeing her at one of the few times of the day when she is openly happy.  However, the prospect of me having to drive her, combined with the fact that I am anything but a morning person, only served to foul my mood further.

“Christ, Kyra, I don’t have time to take you, it’s completely out of my way and I’ll be late for work!  Plus it’s your responsibility to be on time for school.  I know you think you’re mature for your age, so you need to start acting like it, young lady!”

“Then why are you late then?” she quipped.  Damn, she had a point.

“Because I … uh … well, at least I was still going to make it on time to my work!” I said, reflecting that I sounded rather childish.  But still, I was mad.

“Yeah, whatever you say.”  Her lackadaisical attitude was starting to drive me crazy, but I was I no mood to continue arguing, so I simply replied, “Fine, I’ll take you to school, but next time you’ll just have to walk yourself.”  I hurriedly ate breakfast and went back upstairs to finish getting ready.  But when I came back down, she was still nibbling on her bagel and watching TV.

“Kyra!  I can’t believe this!  If you’re not in the car in one minute you’re in big trouble!” I growled.

As I got in the car I saw her sauntering out of the house with her book bag and half a bagel in her hand.  “Oh, no you don’t!  No eating in my car,” I said.

“OK, I’ll go back inside and eat it then,” she said, a bit too cheerfully.

“God damn it,” I muttered under my breath.  She was really getting under my skin.  “Did you just swear Daddy?  You shouldn’t do that, remember?” she said, trying to hold back a giggle.  Holy shit, I can’t take this.  For the whole car ride I laid into her, reprimanding her for being so rudely inconsiderate, then moving on to her being late for school and how she needed to get her act together in class, then I even talked about her mother and how great she was and how Kyra should try to be more like her.  After the fact, I felt a little uncomfortable talking about her mother, but I was so livid I didn’t care at the time.  Anyway, it was clear that I got Kyra’s attention and that my rant had done some good because she didn’t say a word the whole ride and when we arrived at her school she got out and told me, with sincerity, “I’m really sorry, Dad.  I didn’t mean to upset you so much.  I’ll try to be better.”  She reached in for a hug.

This softened me up quite a bit, prompting me to say, “It’s OK Kyra.  I forgive you.  And I know you think I’m too harsh sometimes, but it’s only because I love you and I want what’s best for you.”

“I love you too, Dad,” she said as she kissed me on the forehead, got out, and went to school.  That put me in a better mood, so much so that I didn’t even mind being late for work.

Kyra does remind me of her mother a great deal.  The two of us were married for 10 years and were deeply in love.  Kyra has very little memory of her, as she died when Kyra was only 4 years old.  Fortunately, Kyra has inherited several of her best qualities: smart, confident, independent – some of the same qualities that have made her hard to deal with as a parent, but good qualities nonetheless.  It has been a joy to see in Kyra more and more of her mother over the last few years.  She has even developed the same tall, elegant, and beautiful figure that I enjoyed in my wife.  She stands now at 6’1”, with long wavy dirty blond hair, a cute face with a slightly upturned nose, and a slim, athletic physique with curves that have become more and more voluptuous by the day.  Not that I would ever think of Kyra the same was as my wife, but the similarities are very striking.  In fact, she has become a little too gorgeous for my liking, as I am not looking forward to the inevitable slew of teenage boys coming to my door to take her out.  Better buy myself a shotgun, I chuckled to myself.  Actually, the onslaught has already begun; she is very popular at school and has been asked out several times (that I know of) but each time I have laid down the law and said she cannot date until college.  Maybe that is a bit strict, but my parents did the same to me and I figure it can only be for the best.

The day went by more or less like normal, although I couldn’t help feeling like something was slightly wrong.  I couldn’t place it.  I dunno, somehow things didn’t look quite right, and I felt awkward and off-balance at times when moving around the office.  Even my clothes seemed too … loose, perhaps?  Did my pants rest a bit lower on my waist?  I couldn’t tell, but I figured I had come down with a mild flu or something, which would explain the nausea last night as well.

********************************

Tuesday: 6’4”

The next morning I woke up (on time at least), got up, and stretched, but … what the hell?  I could only just barely reach the ceiling now, almost having to stand on my toes a bit!  Normally I can touch my fingers to the ceiling easily, with room to spare.  This can’t be right.  There must be an explanation.  I figured I must have been standing at an angle or not fully extended, but no, I tried again with the same result.  I was starting to get freaked out a bit, but I decided now was not the time to think about this, having just gotten out of bed, so I took a shower and went through my morning routine.  As I put my clothes on, I noticed a small but distinct difference in how my clothes fit me; my sleeves and pant legs were just a bit too long now.  I tried to remain calm, but I couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling I had.  I mean, I’ve been the same height for 25 years, and suddenly I’m smaller, even if only a bit?  Something about that just didn’t sit right with me.  However, I had to get to work, so I ate breakfast and went on my way, resolving to go through the day like normal and hoping that the changes were temporary, or at least that I would shrink no more.  As I was leaving, I found a note on the door from Kyra, reminding me to pick her up from basketball practice after school at 4:30 pm.  I put the note in my pocket so I wouldn’t forget and headed to work.

After work, I headed over to Kyra’s school and parked in front of the gym.  It was 5:28; I knew she was supposed to finish at 4:30 but I have work until 5:00.  Oddly, though, no one was outside.  I got out and, hearing noises coming from the gym, went inside to watch the end of her practice.

As I stepped inside, I spotted her immediately as her team scrimmaged.  It wasn’t hard, since she was the tallest girl on the court.  As I sat down and watched, I realized she had a very long way to go in developing her skills.  Kyra had never played basketball until a couple weeks ago, and this was her first actual practice.  In fact, she never played much of any sport growing up.  But as she hit those growth spurts and started to fill out her lanky frame, the high school coaches started to recruit her heavily, particularly for basketball and volleyball.  She ignored their appeals earlier on in high school, but now this year she began to take an interest.  She was too late to join the team during the season, but now in May as the practices for the summer league started the coaches eagerly invited her to join the team.  As I watched her run around the court, I was impressed by her hustle – though her play was generally rough and awkward, she was still able to grab a couple of rebounds over her shorter teammates and made a decent pass every now and then.

The practice finished shortly after I arrived.  As Kyra and her teammates walked over, she introduced me to them.  As usually happens whenever I meet someone, they asked how tall I was.  When I replied 6’6”, one of the taller girls said, “Are you sure?  My dad is 6’6” and you don’t seem quite as tall.”

Laughing, I told her, “Well I think I would know my own height by now.”  The girls kept pestering me, and eventually begged me to dunk for them.  Fortunately, basketball is my forte, and even being 41 years old I could still throw it down without too much trouble.  So I grabbed a ball, did a few crossovers, and went up for a two-handed slam.  Well, I didn’t get as high as I usually did, but still managed to squeeze it in.  The girls were nonetheless impressed, and Kyra even said “not bad for a 41-year-old” giving me a wink.  I beamed as we headed towards the car.

As I got out the keys Kyra snatched them from my hand and said “I’ll drive!”  I had been reluctant for a while to let her get her driver’s permit, but eventually I relented and ever since then she’s been eager to drive whenever possible, which hasn’t been as often as she would like since I have to be there when she does it and I usually prefer to be the one driving.

“Not today, honey, I don’t want you to drive tired.”

“But I’m not tired!”  She did seem surprisingly fresh after her long workout.

“The answer is still no.  Now please hand them over,” I said with just a hint of authority.

She hesitated for a second, then said “OK Dad” and handed them over, apparently not letting it ruin her good mood.  Maybe the talk yesterday worked after all.

As we left the parking lot, Kyra said, “Sorry for running late today; we usually get out at 4:30 but during this first week Coach is really trying to whip us into shape.”

“No problem; I didn’t get here until 5:30 anyway.”

“OK, cool.  Um, so next week could you get here at 4:30?” she asked, looking over at me.

“Kyra, dear,” I sighed, “I don’t get off work until 5:00 and with the rush hour traffic you’ll just have to wait an hour.”

She didn’t respond for a few seconds.  I could tell she was staring at me, probably wanting to give an outburst but thinking twice about it.  “OK,” she said quietly.  A few minutes later, she added sadly, “You know, you never do anything nice for me.”  I was happy to let her leave it at that, since I was in no mood to argue.

When we got home, Kyra went up to her room and I threw a premade casserole in the oven for dinner.  After watching some TV, the oven timer went off and I called Kyra down for dinner.  As I was pulling the casserole out of the oven, she came down and opened the fridge to get a drink.  I set the casserole on the oven and turned toward the fridge, almost bumping into her.  I was about to excuse myself, but something made me pause.

My eyes were usually level with the very top of her hair, but now they seemed almost even with the top of her forehead.  “Kyra, have you grown again?  You look … I dunno … close to 6’3” now!?”

“Oh, weird.  You’re right, I am closer to your height now.  How about that,” she said with a big smile as she turned and walked to the table.  She hasn’t talked to me about it, but I think she enjoys being tall.  This new discovery seemed to boost her confidence and her spirits, and the dinner conversation was more lively than normal.  I was just thinking about how I was glad to see her in a good mood, and conversing with me no less, but then, suddenly, I remembered: I had shrunk last night.  Kyra was probably the same height as before.  It was me, ME, who had shrunk.  The thought sent another chill through my spine.  I tried to maintain the conversation but was in a funk.  Fortunately she was doing most of the talking, so dinner went by smoothly enough.

After putting my dishes in the sink, all I wanted was to sink down in my recliner, turn on the TV, and forget this troubling occurrence.  However, on the way from the sink I passed by Kyra again, and she told me, “Wait, Daddy” and stood in front of me with our faces just inches apart, drawing herself to her full height, and brought her hand from the top of her head to my forehead to measure the difference.  “Only a couple of inches now!” she beamed.  Meanwhile, I was becoming increasingly uncomfortable with the close proximity of her buxom frame as well as the reminder of my slightly diminished stature.  Her exuberance over the change didn’t help matters either.

“That’s great honey,” I mumbled as I was about to walk to the living room.

“Hey, wait a sec, I almost forgot to mark my new height on the wall!” she exclaimed.  On the edge of one of the kitchen walls we had marked her height since age 3, placing a notch every 6 months or so.  “Would you mind helping me, Daddy?” she said as she stood against the wall.

“But it’s only been 2 months since the last mark,” I replied, trying to avoid this whole situation.

“I know, but I’ve clearly hit a late growth spurt, so I think we should do it again.”  Grudgingly, I came over with a ruler and noted to my dismay that I had to go up on my toes to make sure it was level with the top of her head.  To my surprise she had indeed grown, but only about an inch, putting her near 6’2”.  “Aw, is that it?  I was hoping for 6’3”,” Kyra said with some disappointment.  She eyed me with perhaps a twinge of curiosity.  Afraid that she might want to measure my height, I quickly walked over to the living room and plopped down on the recliner.  However, I couldn’t help but do the math: figuring that she was only 2 or 3 inches shorter than me now, I guessed my current height was around 6’4” or 6’5”.  Wow.  But I guess it could be worse …

********************************

Wednesday: 6’3”

The next day began with bitter disappointment, as I had to rise all the way up on my toes to reach the ceiling.  The problem was evidently not just going to go away.  Trying not to panic, I picked up the phone and called the doctor’s office.  Fortunately, they were able to fit me in that afternoon.  I had a lot to do at work in the meantime but was too distracted to get much done.  I just hoped my physician would know what to do.

It was, well, rather awkward explaining to the doctor what was wrong.  They had measured my height at 6’3”.  Even still, he gave me a bemused look and said it was nothing to worry about.  When people get older they lose some inches in height; it’s only natural.  I asked him how the heck it could happen in the span of 3 days, then.  He gave some vague and confusing answer meant to appease me, and said if the problem persists I should see him again.  It was obvious he didn’t believe me.  I returned to work pissed off, my fears not assuaged in the slightest.  I figured the only thing to do right now was wait it out.  At least, if it got worse, that old coot of a doctor might finally believe me and actually do something about it.

After work I drove again to my daughter’s gym.  I was about to go inside and watch, but then I realized what would happen when she walked up to me.  God, I was almost scared now of my own daughter seeing me standing up; the change in my height would be immediately obvious.  I couldn’t believe she was just an inch shorter than me now.  She came out again around 5:30 and I unlocked the door for her.

She walked around the car to my door instead and opened it.  “Can I drive, Dad?” she asked.

“Like I said, I don’t want you driving after practice.”  Besides, I didn’t exactly want to stand up to change seats.

“Fine.” She slammed the door too hard for my liking.

“That was uncalled for, Kyra,” I told her as she sat in the passenger’s seat.

“Sorry, Dad, I just had a rough practice, is all.”

“You want to tell me about it?” I offered.  She went on most of the car ride telling how the coach had singled her out for something or other.  To be honest, I was paying more attention to the road, but I was at least glad she felt like talking to me about it.  Once we got home, I said I wanted to clean up the car a bit before getting out.  Really, I just didn’t want to walk in with her.  She offered to help, but I politely refused.

Once I got inside, I called out, “Kyra?” not too loudly; not having heard a reply, I decided she was up in her room already.  She usually didn’t emerge until suppertime.  I prepared spaghetti and meatballs, keeping one eye on the staircase.  Fortunately she stayed in her room.

“Dinner’s ready!” I shouted.  Oh no, I had meant to be seated with my food when I called her!  I rushed over and served myself as quickly as possible, banging some plates in the process.  As she was coming down, I tried to act casual and seated myself before she reached the bottom.

“What’s for dinner?” she inquired.

“Spaghetti and meatballs.”

“Again?  I wish you would take time to make some real food now and then.”  She was apparently still in a foul mood from practice.

“Kyra!  You know I’m a busy man and I don’t have time for that.”  She gave an exasperated shrug.  I realized in my rush I had forgotten a drink.  “Honey, would you mind getting me a glass of water?”

“Get it yourself.”  She was still serving herself in the kitchen.

She’s got some nerve!  Not wanting to get up, I said, “I’m going to count to three and then …”

“And then what?” she retorted.

“Oh you’ll find out, missy.  If I were you I’d behave.  Remember, you’re already grounded for 2 weeks.”

She seemed to have forgotten about it.  “I hate you, I hate you!”

I started counting.  “One … two …”

In spite of her rage, she got the message and went to the sink.  Filling up a glass, she slammed it down on the table in front of me, spilling half the water.  “I’m eating upstairs.”

“Oh no you’re not.  You’re sitting right here,” I said, pointing to her chair.  She gave a frustrated whine but sat down.  It’s good to see I still have some control over her.

I tried to start up a conversation but she ignored me.  I was a bit sad that she seemed to resent my authority so much, but it couldn’t be helped.  We ate in silence.

I stood up and put my dishes in the sink.  I began to wash them as Kyra walked up behind me and leaned over to put her dishes on the counter.  Then I noticed she hadn’t walked away, she just stood there.  “Daddy,” she said quietly, “Are you sure I only gained an inch when you measured me?”

I froze.  After dinner I had totally forgotten to avoid standing around her.  Slowly, I stammered, “Umm, yeah of course.  Why?”

“Daddy, turn around.”

“I’m doing the dishes honey.”

“It’ll only take a second.”

I realized I couldn’t hide it any longer, so with apprehension I turned around and looked ever-so-slightly down into my daughter’s eyes.  “You’re shorter,” she stated.  Like yesterday, she moved within inches of me and drew a line from the top of her head, only today her hand was level with my hair.  “Oh my god,” she whispered.

I told her everything I knew, which admittedly wasn’t much.  How it had started 3 days ago, how I had no idea why it was happening, and how the doctor had brushed me off.  Her look of wonderment soon turned pensive.  “Daddy, have you been avoiding me today?”

“Um, what do you mean?”

“Like, how you waited in the car today, and how you wouldn’t get up to get a drink.”  Damn, she was a smart cookie.

I admitted it, embarrassedly.  “You shouldn’t feel ashamed, Daddy; you can’t help shrinking,” she comforted, putting a hand on my still-taller shoulder.  “Besides,” she added, with a glint in her eye, “I kinda like you shorter.  Now I don’t have to look up to you anymore.”  She sounded innocent enough, but something in her voice made it sound slightly … ominous.  She started to walk around me, inspecting me, obviously fascinated by this turn of events.  I was starting to feel extremely uncomfortable.  “Kyra, I need to sit down.  Now go do your homework and finish your chores, and maybe afterward we can watch a movie together.”

“OK, sure Dad.”  She smiled at me as I went to the living room.

********************************

Thursday: 6’2”

I woke the next morning to the sound of my daughter’s voice.  “Daddy, wake up, wake up!”

What time was it?  I looked at the clock and saw 6:45 am.  “Christ, Kyra, what are you waking me up for?  My alarm won’t go off for another hour.”

She giggled.  “Because, silly, I want to see if I’m taller than you yet.”  Worst possible way to start my day. I slowly pulled myself out of bed.  Realizing I was only wearing boxers, I felt embarrassed.  But Kyra didn’t seem to notice – she squealed with delight as I stood to my full height and looked my daughter straight in the eye.  Then she stood shoulder to shoulder to me to compare arm lengths – hers might have been slightly longer?  She grabbed my hand and held it up to hers – at least my hand was still bigger.

As she started to compare legs, I noticed she was still in her night wear.  She had nothing but a pair of blue mini-shorts and a white tank top that was much too small for her.  And then I couldn’t help but notice that there was no bra to hide her more-than-ample assets.  I blushed, quickly averting my eyes.  When I made a move for the bed she grabbed my arm lightly and asked, “Daddy, would you please make me breakfast?”  Feeling more awkward by the minute, I agreed and told her to wait downstairs while I take a shower.  “Yay!” she exclaimed, bounding down the stairs.  I sluggishly headed for the shower and got ready for my day.

Breakfast was agreeable since Kyra was as ebullient as I can ever remember seeing her.  She chatted up a storm as I ate my pancakes happily, glad to hear her in such a good mood.  It was times like these that reminded me she was still a young girl, only in high school, even if her body and attitude said otherwise.  When she asked, I even agreed to drive her to school on this rare day.  I realized that she was only happy because I had shrunk, but I didn’t let that dampen the mood.  On the way there, she also asked if I would sit in at the end of her practice that afternoon.  Seeing me hesitating, she said, “Don’t worry, I promise not to bring my teammates to you; they won’t even notice the difference from far away.”  I reluctantly agreed, mostly since I was curious to see her progress in practice.  I was proud that she had chosen to take up basketball, it being my favorite sport,

After school I came inside as promised and made sure to avoid sitting near any other parents who happened to be waiting as well.  As I watched Kyra, I was very impressed indeed.  In less than a week of practice she was an entirely different player.  Sure, she wasn’t going to be dribbling between her legs anytime soon, and her shot needed quite a bit of work, but she clearly was starting to get a strong court sense and made a lot of hustle plays.  When she came by after practice, I congratulated her on her improvement and asked her how the coaches felt.  “They made me a starter on the junior varsity team!” she exclaimed.

“That’s terrific, honey,” I replied, genuinely impressed.  “Now, you know, I’m not so bad myself, so if you’re serious about this sport then I’d love to play with you and teach you a few things.”

“Really?  Sounds great, Dad,” she said merrily.

That night, after dinner, she wanted to play on our hoop in the driveway.  “Are your finished with your chores and homework?” I asked.

“Well, no, but I can do those later,” she replied.  Looking forward to playing with her, I agreed anyway.

After changing clothes, we met on the driveway.  She had the ball and threw a quick chest pass at me.  “Let’s see what you got, pops,” she challenged.

“Listen, Kyra, I didn’t mean for this to be a competition.  Let’s just run some drills and I can show you some post moves and stuff.”

“OK, suit yourself.”  I found her confidence amusing.  I showed her some of the basic moves, like the up-and-under, drop step, hook shot, etc.  I was actually quite amazed at how well she picked them up; most of her shots missed badly, but after a few attempts her form was spot-on.  “Just keep practicing those and you’ll get it in no time,” I said with pride in my daughter.  After a bit more drills, she turned to me and said, “OK, that’s enough practicing.  How about some one-on-one?”

“I don’t think so.”

“What, you scared you’ll lose to a girl?” she chided.

“Honestly, Kyra, it wouldn’t be fair; I’ve been playing for decades and you’ve only just started.”

“Chicken! Bawk bawk bawk!”  She made a flapping motion.

“That’s it, you asked for it!” I said, half-playfully, but half-annoyed.  I was really looking forward to putting her in her place; she was starting to get on my nerve.

“Play to 11.  Check ball.”  She started with a drive to the hoop which I cut off, forcing a tough jump shot.  Airball.

“You sure you’re ready for this?” I goaded.

“Bring it on,” she shot back.  I made a fake right and drove left for an easy layup.  “1-0,” I graciously reminded her.  As the game wore on, I continued my dominance, leading 8-1.  I was getting pretty winded though, and started making some mistakes.  She stole the ball and beat me to the basket for a layup.  On the next possession I faked right again and went left, but she saw it coming.  “Seen that one before,” Kyra quipped.  I used up my dribble and was stuck with my daughter leaning over me, arms outstretched.  Up until then, I hadn’t quite realized how unusual it was for me to play someone my own height.  Being (formerly) 6’6”, I had almost always been able to shoot over someone in a pinch.  But as I looked up at Kyra standing over me, her hands outstretched well over my head, her good positioning left me no choice but to contort my body and toss up an awkward shot from the side.  Airball.

“Nice try, Dad.”  She patted my butt as teammates usually do (which I always thought was an odd tradition, but anyway…).  The game got tougher as it went.  I was gassed, but Kyra seemed hardly even winded -- in fact, she wasn’t even breathing hard.  Without that extra jump to my step, I had to scrape out the last 3 points, but it wasn’t easy.  On her last possession, she backed me down to the post and executed a perfect up and under move which I completely bit on.  Even though she missed, she easily grabbed the rebound, missed again, grabbed another rebound, and put it in.  With her on level footing with me height-wise, and as fatigued as I was, I had no way to stop it.  She was learning fast, and her stamina was far better than mine.  I was happy to sink a ten-foot jumper over her outstretched hands to close the game out.  Final score, 11-6.

She walked up to me with a smile and folded her arms across her chest.  “Not bad, old man.  How about a rematch?”

“What, right now?” I said, bent over and practically gasping for air. 

“Sure, why not?” she asked casually, pretending not to realize that I was in no condition to keep playing.

“Not now, Honey.”

“OK, sure Dad.  I’ll see you inside,” she said as she strolled into the house.  A couple minutes later I had cooled down enough and followed her inside.

As I was walking in, I noticed her pinning up a piece of paper with the numbers 11 and 6, next to the wall with her height marks on it.  Jesus, she was competitive.  “Just recording the score so we can track my progress.  I’m getting better, don’t you think?”  I mumbled in reluctant agreement and mused to myself that it sure didn’t feel like a win for me.  I mean, I had trouble holding off my own daughter who’s been playing the sport for less than a week, but if we had gone to 21 instead of 11, the outcome might have been far different …

“Tomorrow night maybe we can play to 21?”  It was as if she read my mind.

“Honey, I don’t know.  I don’t think we should do this every night.  I want you to keep on top of your schoolwork and chores.”

She walked up to me.  “Oh, that’s not a problem, the math homework is a piece of cake.  Speaking of which … when I’m done with that tonight can I go to my friend Trish’s house?”

“Um, I guess … wait, no, you’re grounded remember?”

“What, you’re still hung up on that?  I didn’t think you were serious.  So, anyways, can I go or what?”

“I SAID NO!” I practically screamed.  It was louder than I meant to yell, but with my exhaustion and growing annoyance at her casual demeanor, the words just suddenly popped out.

“That was uncalled for, Dad,” she stated matter-of-factly, arms folded across her chest again.

She was right, but I didn’t want to back down.  Besides, she really wasn’t taking me seriously.  “Young lady, if I hear one more word from you I’ll --”

“You should rest, Daddy; you’re just tired after our game.”

“THAT’S IT! YOU’RE MARCHING TO YOUR BEDROOM RIGHT NOW!!!” I said, yanking her arm with me up the stairs.  It felt odd dragging someone every inch as tall as me – usually naughty children were much smaller than this.  She didn’t resist, though.  As we entered her room, I unplugged her laptop and grabbed it as well as her phone.  “You won’t be using these tonight.  You are going to sit in your room and figure out how to show some respect around here.”

“That’s not fair!” she exclaimed.

“And lights out at 9:00.”  Her normal curfew was 10:00.

She looked me straight in the eye.  Normally her eyes would be welling up by now, but not this time.  With a steely resolve, she said quietly, “Fine.”  I returned the stare with equal resolve (hopefully?) and carried her laptop and phone with me out the door.

I did not sleep well that night.  It was all very unsettling.  The game of 1-on-1 seemed to give her an extra boost of confidence and … rebelliousness, making it awfully hard to control her afterwards.  I figured I’d wait a while to play her again, to give her time to cool down.  Hopefully things will be better tomorrow…

********************************

Friday: 6’0”

I was relieved that Kyra wasn’t standing over me waking me up this morning.  My first thought upon sitting up was that, my God, she was now taller than me.  At least, I assume so.  It was hard to tell now that I haven’t been able to reach the ceiling in 2 days.  But things did seem a bit bigger, as usual.  Although, one doesn’t ever really get used to waking up with your entire world around you bigger.  Anyways, as I was dressing it was clear that I needed new clothes ASAP.  They were just so darn baggy.  I had to roll up more of the pant legs to keep from tripping over them, and I resorted to a short sleeve shirt.  Thankfully my belt had a tighter notch that I could use to keep the pants from falling off, or at least sliding down way too far.  I would definitely have to go clothes shopping tomorrow; I’m starting to look ridiculous.

I realized the easiest way to track my actual height was to compare with the wall in the kitchen.  Now that Kyra was taller than me, I could measure my height and compare with her recent markings.  Approaching the wall, I glanced up at the latest marking: too high up.  I tried not to envision Kyra standing before me at that height.  Hastily, I retrieved the ruler and held it on top of my head.  Keeping it steady, I turned and looked.  Yes, indeed, I was now about 6’1” – wait, no, I looked again.  I was only 6’0”.  Oh no … I shrank 2 inches last night!?  Not only was I now shorter than Kyra (and dreading our next encounter), but on top of that now my shrinking was accelerating!?  I called the doctor’s office immediately.  No times were available today, but they could get me in first thing Monday morning.  I was now starting to get extremely worried.

Kyra evidently went off to school as usual, so I wouldn’t have to confront her until after her practice.  I wasn’t looking forward to it.  People at work had definitely noticed; there was no way to hide a 6-inch drop in height.  After receiving more and more funny stares, I decided to talk to my boss about my situation.  Soon it was announced to the entire office, and while people would no doubt still be talking behind my back, hopefully it would at least help to reduce the awkward stares.

Finally, the hour came when I had to head to Kyra’s basketball practice.  As I drove up to her gym, my pulse started to elevate.  I don’t know why I was so apprehensive.  She’s still my daughter, after all, and only two inches taller than me.  Yeah, we had a little fight yesterday, so what?  But my attempts to calm myself failed.  As I got out and walked into the gym, my heart began pounding.  I sat on the same bench as yesterday, only it felt slightly higher this time around.

Watching her play, I was again impressed by her improvement.  I saw her go to work in the low post, using some of the very same moves that I taught her last night.  She even made some here and there.  What’s more, she seemed to move around the floor with added confidence, knowing where to be at all times.  She’s smart, like her old man.  But these pleasant reminisces were drowned out by the sound of my heartbeat pounding in my ears as she walked toward me.  ‘Calm down, everything’s fine,’ I told myself.  But as she walked up to me, I found I didn’t want to get up.  She sure wasn’t making this easy, standing directly in front of me with her hands on her hips.

“Come on,” she said flatly.  I hesitated.  “Do you need me to help you up?” she added quickly.  It was more of a threat than a question.  Reluctantly, I rose to my feet and looked up into her glare, less than a foot in front of me.  For the first time in my life, I had to look up into my daughter’s eyes.  She stood silently looking down at me for an excruciating 5 seconds.  I would have had to sidestep to get away, she was so close. 

“U … uh … I’m ready,” I stuttered, as a bead of sweat dripped down my face.  Kyra noticed the sweat and paused for a second more.  “The keys,” she said simply.  I didn’t understand what she wanted at first.  She peered down with an impatient look on her face and held out her hand.

“Oh, I see.”  Almost on impulse, I relented and fumbled in my pocket to pull out the car keys.  But at the last second, I recovered my senses.  I tried to sound stern, telling her, “Um, I don’t think it’s a good idea--“

But she cut me off by yanking the keys from my hands and strutting towards the car as I just stared after her.  Jesus, what the hell was that?  Why did I let her push me around like that?  I followed after her, determined to set things straight, but her longs legs had already carried her to the car and into the driver’s seat.  I opened the passenger’s side door, hoping to change her mind.

I declared with as much authority as I could muster, “Kyra, you shouldn’t be driving right now.  You’re tired from practice, plus it’s still rush hour.  Now please give me the keys.”  Ignoring me, she started pulling out.  I was only partway in the car, with one knee on the seat.  “Kyra!” I said, more surprised than anything.  She just kept backing up so I had little choice but to jump inside and shut the door.  “Young lady, we are going to have a talk when we get home.”  She glanced at me icily but said nothing and continued driving.

I was shocked with how she was behaving.  But there was nothing I could do about it until we got home.  So, I decided to make the best of the situation and give some pointers on her driving.  She didn’t have much experience, as I usually only let her drive on weekends around some neighborhoods.  I didn’t think she was ready for busy roads and traffic, especially at this time of day.  “Honey, slow down, you’re going 10 over the speed limit.”  She put on the brakes, and I was pleasantly surprised until I saw the light ahead of us had turned red.  Well, maybe she would have slowed down anyway … I hoped.  At the next light, she cut someone off to get into the turn lane.

“Drive more cautiously, honey, that’s how accidents happen.”  She didn’t acknowledge me the entire ride and drove much more recklessly than I would have liked.  As we approached home I tried to decide what her punishment would be.  I wasn’t sure what to do; I mean, she was already grounded until next week.  I guess I could take away her laptop and phone again.

Once home, we both went into the house without a word.  “Keys,” I said simply.  She dropped them in my hand.  I suppose I said that in the same manner she had said it to me to get even and regain some control, but it just came off kind of petty and immature.  As usual, she went upstairs and I made dinner – frozen pizza and frozen vegetables.  Mmm.  I called her down when it was ready and started slicing the pizza.

She lightly bumped into me as she went to the fridge.  Then, after she closed the refrigerator door, I could feel her standing right behind me.  She must have just showered; the scent of her perfume and shampoo wafted to my nose.  I tried to ignore her, even as my hand started shaking as I finished slicing the pizza.  As soon as I had finished, she reached around me, grabbed two slices, and sat down.  Relieved, I took some myself and got a drink.

I sat down and pondered for a few minutes as I ate.  Then I cleared my throat and said deliberately, “Kyra, I have been deeply disappointed by your behavior lately.  That is not how a young lady should behave.  You will continue to be grounded and have your phone and laptop privileges revoked until I see some improvement from you.”  As an afterthought, I added, “And your allowance will be suspended as well.”  She stared right into my eyes the entire time I was speaking and remained silent.  Disquieted, I averted my eyes and finished eating.  God, she was unnerving.  But at least I feel like she was under control now; she wasn’t even complaining about the punishment.  Good.

She finished her dinner first so I decided to wait until she was out of the kitchen to get up.  It was easier that way.  But she didn’t move, she just sat there with an empty plate.  She always left as soon as possible; what gives?  I finished my food and was debating whether to get up or not.  I waited a couple minutes, feeling a great tension in the air.  She was nonchalantly gazing off somewhere.  Does she know what she’s doing?  I wondered.

Finally, the situation having grown unbearably awkward, I told myself, ‘to hell with it,’ and went to the sink.  After I was done rinsing, I turned and nearly ran into her.  She kept advancing to the sink, making me lean back against the counter.  She reached over and put down her dishes, then stood to her full height, two inches above me.  I was basically wedged into the corner between the sink and the fridge.

Pausing for a few unnerving seconds, she said, “So, Daddy, there’s a huge party tonight, and everyone’s gonna be there.  Do you mind driving me there?”

I was flabbergasted.  “Wh –what? Are you serious?  You’re grounded.  Plus you are way too young for any parties.  Absolutely not!”

She clearly expected that response and replied, “Hmm, OK, how about a game of 1-on-1 then?”

“I don’t think that’s … uh … a good idea.”

“Why not?” she asked.  Was she leaning forward?

“Uh … it’s getting late.  And … well, I just don’t feel like it.  Maybe tomorrow.”

Here face suddenly turned sweet.  “Aw, c’mon Daddy, I just really enjoy playing with you, and I want to get better.  If you play with me I promise I’ll be on my best behavior all night.”  She looked sincere.

I couldn’t argue with that deal.  “Alright, honey, I’ll meet you outside in 5.”  Her expression changed to a sly smirk as she turned and went upstairs.

As I warmed up outside, I realized how sore I was from the day before.  Warming up helped, though.  I tried a dunk but got yoked, hitting the front of the rim.  Maybe if I loosen up more, I thought hopefully.  I was looking forward to a fun game with my daughter.  It was rewarding to see her improvement and her love of the game, and her promise to behave tonight was a good sign.  Then she sauntered over in gym shorts and a tight tank top, with her hair done up in a ponytail.  She looked quite the athlete.

“How about some more drills first,” I offered.

“Nope, let’s just start.”

“I’ll let you warm up first.”

“No need; I’m ready for you,” she said confidently.

I scoffed at her –hopefully—misplaced confidence.  “Alright then, it’s your funeral.  You get ball first, since you lost yesterday.”  I’ll take these small victories when I can.

“Hmph,” she replied.  “So we’re playing to 21, right?” she asked innocently.

“Oh, uh, no let’s just do to 11 like usual,” I replied, remembering how tired I got yesterday.  She started out with a strong move to the basket but it rimmed out.  Boxing her out, I grabbed the rebound.  I took it back and then backed her down.  She seemed to be resisting more than yesterday, though.  I definitely still outweigh her, at least, considering how skinny she is.  As I went up for a hook shot, though, I was caught completely off guard by how high her outstretched hands were.  I certainly hadn’t faced anyone 2 inches taller than me for a long time – even in basketball, 6’8” players are rare.  In midair I saw that she would be able to block my shot, so I had to adjust and put up an awkward scoop shot from the side.  Luckily, it went in.  “Wow, nice shot, Dad,” she complimented.  I was ill at ease, though.  Since getting my shot blocked was normally not a problem I had to deal with, I typically didn’t jump as high as possible to shoot.  But now I’ll have to remember to, although it may throw my shot off and wear me out even faster.

Fortunately, I still had a strong advantage in dribbling, allowing for sharper cuts and a better variety in my moves.  And I did a decent job of shooting over her.  I pulled out to a big lead again, 7-2, almost as good as yesterday.  But, damn it, I was getting winded again and, of course, she wasn’t.  It’s hard enough to win when getting out-hustled by someone your height, but when she’s taller than you it becomes way more difficult.  That little extra ups I needed to shoot over her was becoming more elusive.  Several times, I found myself at a bad angle and had to use up my dribble and force some wild shots with her leaning over me.  Fortunately, one or two went in, but I wondered if I could remain this lucky.  Meanwhile, on the defensive end, she continued to use the same basic moves I had taught her yesterday, so I had a good idea what to expect.  The problem was it was almost impossible for me to block her shot, and the best I could do was keep her away from the hoop and box her out.  Even still, she had a rebounding edge with her size and hustle, yielding too many easy put-backs.  And she was starting to make more of her shots from the post.  I was possibly even more worn out than yesterday.  She was just so big.

The score was 10-9; I was up and had the ball.  Post moves were becoming more and more difficult.  I tried an in and out dribble to get her off balance and drove to the hoop.  She caught up quicker than I hoped, though, and as I laid it up she came from behind and got a piece of it on the backboard.  Shit.  On her next possession, she backed me down close to the basket since I was too tired to fully push back.  She simply turned and dropped in a baby hook from 3 feet away, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.  10-10.  The next play, I backed her down as far as I could then, too far away for a hook shot, I turned and faded away.  It was a tough 8-footer, but to my surprise it went in.

I basically collapsed onto the pavement from exhaustion.  I had done it, but man was it tough.  “Are you OK, Dad?  Can you finish the game?”

“Huh?  I have 11.  I won,” I said between breaths.

“I thought we were playing win by 2,” she said, standing over me.

“Oh.  Uh … we never specified,” I returned.  I was in no condition, mentally or physically, to continue playing.  I thought I had won!  And, to be perfectly honest, I doubted I could stop her at this point.

“OK, you didn’t know; that’s fine, Daddy.  But next time you have to win by 2, because that’s how it’s normally played,” she stated.

“Yeah, sure, OK,” I said, still catching my breath.

As usual, she wasn’t even winded.  “Here, Dad,” she said, offering her hands to pull me up.

I hesitated, not wanting to get up yet, but then I grabbed her hands and let her pull me up.  I was surprised that she seemed to do so without much exertion, even though she did most of the work.  Not backing up, she looked down into my eyes from 6 inches away and said, “Good game, Daddy.  I’m surprised you did so well.”

What the hell was that supposed to mean?

She gave me a gentle peck on the forehead.  At least she still had to go up on her toes for that; my eyes were pretty much level with her mouth now.  But then, to my surprise, she wrapped her arms around my shoulders and said, perkily, “So whatcha wanna do now?  Let’s watch a movie.”

Geez, her body was close to mine.  I was uncomfortable but too tired to complain.  “Kyra, no.  You’re still grounded.  And that includes all electronics.  Do your chores instead.”

“Aw, Daddy, are you sure?  We could snuggle up in front of the TV and eat popcorn, just like old times!” she said, with a glint in her eye.

“Uh … I don’t know, Kyra.”  I’ll admit, it was very tempting.

Seeing me wavering, she replied, “I’ll tell you what.  I’ll take a shower, finish all my chores, and then we can watch something.”

I know I had expressly forbidden her to watch TV while grounded, but … well, it just sounded too good to pass up.  “Well, OK then, but I’m going to inspect all your chores to make sure you did a good job.”

“Daddy!  You’re the best!” she exclaimed, giving me a tight hug and then bending slightly to kiss me on the cheek.  She bounded inside to take a shower.  Things were turning out well indeed.  Still exhausted, I trudged upstairs to the master bathroom for my own shower.

10 minutes later, I came downstairs to find her bouncing around the house, diligently completing her chores.  ‘Isn’t she something,’ I thought to myself.  ‘Just look at her, she’s like a young, sweet girl again.’  I had almost forgotten how young she was, the way she had been acting lately.  Plus, it was hard to avoid seeing her as older and more mature now that I had to look up to match her gaze.  It was wonderful to see her acting so young right now, and I felt like a normal father again for the first time all day.

It was almost 8:00.  Looking up from the TV, I saw Kyra was still finishing her chores.  She had quite a bit to do; the whole house, in fact, as I rarely did any myself.  I figure I work too hard all day to have to work at home; and, besides, doing chores is good for her.  “Kyra, dear, are you almost done?  You should hurry up if you want to have time to watch the whole movie.”

“Oh, Daddy,” she said as she bounded over, “I still have a few to do.  Maybe you could do some for me?” she pleaded.

“No, they’re your responsibility, Kyra.”

“Pretty please?  I’m just so looking forward to watching something with you.”  The light behind her head gave a halo-like appearance -- she looked almost angelic standing over me.

“OK, dear, I’ll take out the garbage.”

“And vacuum the living room too?” she asked.

“Well, OK.”  I was getting up slowly, still sore from the game, when she grabbed my wrists and pulled me the rest of the way.  I don’t think she could have lifted me by herself, but she was still surprisingly strong.  As she bounced away, I sluggishly pulled out the vacuum.

Once finished, I saw her coming back in from the garage.  “I finished my chores faster than you so I took out the garbage too,” she beamed. 

“Oh, thanks honey.”

“No problem, Dad, now go inspect the house while I put the movie in.”

I didn’t necessarily like her telling me what to do, but I was in such a good mood I let it slide.  “OK,” I replied.  Everything was spotless; surprisingly so, considering how quickly she did them.  As I came back to the living room, I met her going upstairs.  “I’m gonna go change into something more comfortable.”

“Sure.  I’ll pick some movies to choose from,” I replied.  I was in the mood for action, and I pulled out some that I thought Kyra would like as well.

Whe I saw Kyra coming down the stairs, I had to pick up my jaw after it dropped.  Oh, no.  She was wearing the same blue shorts that barely covered her butt, and the white tank top that didn’t even cover her belly button and showed WAY too much cleavage for my liking.  “Kyra, dear, could you wear something else, please?”

“Why, Daddy?” she inquired, innocently.  “This is what I always wear to bed, and I thought I might fall asleep on the couch.”

I didn’t want to come out and say she looked too sexy in it.  Plus, I figured, it’s not like she’s going out in public like that; it’s just at home.  That was one thing I was very strict about, her dressing modestly in public.  She was far too young to show off her, admittedly, impressive features.  “Uh, nothing dear.”

I immediately regretted my decision, though; as she got closer I couldn’t help but notice she wasn’t wearing a bra again.  I gulped – hopefully she didn’t hear it.  She stood over me as I was sitting on the couch, fully in view, and I averted my eyes as much as possible.

“What did you pick, Daddy?”

I listed the action movies.  I looked up, unable to avoid her bare legs, taut stomach, firm breasts – God, they were unbelievably high and firm – did she really not have a bra on?  I couldn’t help but confirm that, indeed, she wasn’t wearing one, even though her breasts weren’t sagging one bit …

Shit!  My eyes had lingered too long, and as I looked up into her eyes, I saw that she was looking down at me the whole time.  Did she realize?  I prayed that my facial expression hadn’t given anything away.  Hopefully the thought that her father was checking her out didn’t even cross her mind.  “Well?” she inquired.

I stammered, reading out the names of the movies on my lap, keeping my eyes up on hers.  Crap, I couldn’t remember one of the titles.  I decided to close my eyes and look down as quickly as possible, trying not to be obvious about it.  I read the last one and moved my eyes up again –Damn it!  I forgot to close my eyes.  I saw way too much.

She looked down disapprovingly.  Oh God, did she know?  My hand started to shake.  “I don’t want to watch those,” she said.  I realized with relief that her disapproving look was for the movie selections.  She walked over to the cabinet and perused a bit, eventually pulling out The Notebook.

I hated chick flicks.  “Honey, I really don’t want to watch that.”

“Have you seen it?” she asked innocently.

“Well, no, but—“

“Then how do you know?  Come on, Dad I think you’ll like it.”  She opened the DVD tray and put it in.

“But what about the ones I wanted.”  Did I sound too whiny?

She came over to where I was sitting, bent over, and gathered up the movies in my lap.  Looking down, I felt her hand brush my inner thigh.  Trying to sound stern, I said, “Kyra, you can’t just …”  Gulp.  I had looked up to see her face, but found myself staring at the most gut-wrenching display of cleavage I had ever seen as she bent way over right in front of me.  Her face was right next to mine, so there was no way she didn’t hear my loud gulp.  I was rendered completely speechless as she stood up and put the movies away.  “Were you saying something?” she asked as she sat down next to me.  I shook my head.  Boy, was I in a pickle.  She reached across me to grab the remote from the armrest, and I tried not to notice her boob pressing into my shoulder in the process.  She skipped through the previews.  “Oh, I almost forgot.  Daddy, could you go make some popcorn for us, please?”  I was about to object and have her do it, but I thought getting away from her for a minute would be a good thing.  I stood up and – oh boy.  I had a full hard-on.  With the sweatpants I was wearing, there were no pleats or anything to hide it.  I quickly turned away from Kyra and headed to the kitchen, praying she hadn’t noticed.  I tried to maneuver around the kitchen in such a way so as to keep my back to her the whole time in case she looked over.  It was an awkward 2 minutes of microwave time, during which I pretended to look out the window above the sink.  Fortunately, ‘things’ had calmed down by the time the popcorn was ready, and I was emptying the bag into one big bowl when I thought twice and got out two smaller bowls instead.  I came over and sat down on the couch leaving a gap between me and Kyra.  I would probably have left a whole seat between us, except that it was only a 2-seater and she was even encroaching on my half of the couch as it was.  I handed her bowl to her.

“Thanks, Dad,” she said, starting the movie.  We munched our popcorn in silence.  When she was younger we always snuggled up together on the couch, but I certainly didn’t like the thought of that now.

‘This movie sucks,’ I said to myself.  ‘Why did she get to pick the movie?’  I was about to complain, but I looked over and saw that Kyra was clearly enjoying herself.  No way I could convince her to change it now.  Besides, it was nice to see her happy.  Soon after, I was still munching slowly on my popcorn while Kyra had finished hers.  I always prefer to take my time eating the popcorn, otherwise you finish 10 minutes in and have nothing for the next 90.

I felt the cushions shift, and before I knew it, Kyra had slid over next to me and began munching on my own popcorn.  “Kyra, I can make more if you want.”  Not only did I not want her so close, but it was my popcorn, damn it, and she was taking it without asking.

“No, that’s OK.”  She apparently didn’t get the hint.  I couldn’t think of a nice way to handle this, so I just sat there watching the movie and eating my popcorn a bit faster while it was still there.  Kyra, sitting to my right, readjusted herself again to get closer, and she rotated her body towards me so that her right hand could reach across and grab the popcorn.  As the movie dragged on, I couldn’t help but notice she was pressing more and more into me.  She was nice and warm, and soft, and – gah!  I realized it was her left boob pressing into my arm.  I tried my best to focus on the movie, but being such a boring movie, and her being so close, I could hardly focus on anything else but her.  It didn’t help that she had taken a shower 30 minutes earlier, and she smelled so … fresh.  My heart was starting to pick up the tempo, and I realized Mr. Johnson was back for another visit.  Yikes.  I had moved the bowl more between me and Kyra, but I decided to move it back to the center of my lap to cover things up.  Oh God, that might have been a bad idea, because Kyra’s hand was now groping around directly above my member.  We were getting down to the kernels and small bits of popcorn, which only increased the groping.  This was certainly not helping matters down there.  My whole body was starting to quiver from the tension, and there was no way I could avoid it.  “Aww, is Daddy cold?  I’ll get you a blanket when the popcorn’s finished,” she said gently.  She put her hand to mine.  “Wow, your hand really is cold.”  I recalled from Biology class that vasoconstriction causes blood to rush to the body’s interior when one is experiencing high tension situations, causing the extremities to be colder.  But I wasn’t about to tell her that.  I stopped eating the popcorn since my hands were shaking too much.  Mercifully, she finally finished the rest of the popcorn in my lap.  Getting up, she kissed me on the cheek and rubbed my head as she reached down and picked up the bowl.  All I could do was hope she didn’t look at my lap too closely.  She went and put the bowls in the sink.  Coming back, I saw she had a damp towel in her hands.  Before I knew what she was doing, she wrapped it around my own hands and started to rub them.  “Let’s get those buttery hands clean,” she cooed.  As she was doing this, I looked up.  I tried to look away, I really did.  But I found my eyes transfixed on another astounding display of cleavage, but this time her breasts were swaying back and forth as she rubbed my hands.  My mind froze, shut down, then did a hard reboot as she stood up, said “There we go, all better,” and walked away.

Coming to, I had to think quickly.  “Kyra, honey, I’m not feeling well.  I think I’ll head to bed now.”

“Aww, poor thing,” she said, approaching the couch.  She leaned over and put her head to my forehead.  Jesus, why did she have to keep leaning over like that.  “I don’t think you have a fever.  You must just be cold.”  I was about to get up but before I could she came back with a blanket and put it over us while sitting down.  “Feel better, Daddy,” she said as she pecked my cheek again.

‘OK,’ I thought to myself, ‘this could be worse.’  Now my boner wasn’t exposed, nor was her half-naked body.  She was sitting next to me, but thankfully she wasn’t leaning over like before.  But after grabbing the remote and resuming the movie, she came over and draped her right arm across my stomach.  I was still sitting up, so things weren’t so … visible down below.  This wasn’t as bad as before at least.  But 5 minutes later she kept fidgeting and readjusting herself.  I, meanwhile, remained completely motionless, not wanting to encourage anything.  But it was to no avail.  Soon, she sat up, nudged me, and said in a soft, sweet voice, “Move over.”  I didn’t move.  “C’mon, this will be more comfortable,” she said as she pushed a little harder.  Not seeing any way out of this, I let her reposition me with my head at an angle between the armrest and headrest, practically lying down with my feet up on the ottoman.  ‘Not good, not good,’ I thought.  She lifted my right arm up, lay down next to me, draped my arm across her back, and pulled up the blanket.  Nestling herself in, the entire length of her body was pressed into mine, and her head was on my shoulder, turned towards the TV.

The sweet scent of her shampoo filled my nostrils.  I could feel her breathing: in, out, in, out, in, out…  Again, I tried not to think of her boobs pressed against my chest, but to no avail.  God, if only she knew what she was doing to me.  I realized that, laying down as I was, my still-full erection was plainly visible.  With my free hand I tried rearranging the blanket, putting some in some folds to hide things better.  Hopefully she just thought I was getting comfortable.

I wanted nothing more than to finish this crappy movie and get away from her.  “Um, Kyra?” my voice cracked.

“Hmm?” she said softly.

“How much longer is it?”

“Oh, we’re about halfway through.  It’s 2 hours long.”

You’ve got to be kidding me.  It felt like we’d been there 3 hours already.

An idea occurred to me.  “Um, honey, I think you should finish this tomorrow.  It’s 9:20, and since you’re grounded your bedtime is still 9:00.”

She lifter her head and stared straight at me, our noses almost touching.  “I don’t think that’s fair,” she stated.

Unable to move my head back and feeling penned in, I told her, “Kyra, honey, those are my rules, and—“

She interrupted, “I’ve been on my best behavior as I promised, I did all my chores, and I deserve a break.  Just for tonight.”  She continued to stare directly into my eyes, waiting for a response.

I looked away.  Her gaze was too intense.  Then I had an idea which I thought would please both parties.  “OK, Kyra, you have been a good girl tonight.  So you may finish your movie, but I’m going to bed.”

“Aww, that’s sweet, Daddy, but you can sleep right here, where it’s so comfy and warm!  I just love snuggling with you.  I promise I won’t move around, and I’ll turn the sound down so it won’t bother you.”  She grabbed the remote, turned down the volume, and nestled against me again.

I couldn’t think of anything to say that would get me out of this without hurting her feelings.  I decided to lay there until something came to mind.  But gradually I forgot all about the movie, and even about trying to leave.  I was utterly absorbed by the overwhelming scent of her hair, and I thought about how warm and comfy I was, with the blanket over me and her body pressing into me.  Without thinking, I slowly brought over my left arm and slid my hand up her right arm which was draped across my chest.  Her skin was so soft and smooth.  “That’s better, Daddy,” she purred.  She brought her right leg up and laid it across my own legs, and her right arm reached around me fully as she pulled herself in for an embrace.  “Good night, Daddy,” she whispered as she kissed me on the mouth.  A faint moan escaped my lips as I rolled into her, burying my face into her neck.  I was in a trance, not consciously aware of what I was doing.  Very quickly, I sank into a deep sleep.

********************************

Saturday: 5’10”

I awoke from a pleasant slumber feeling wonderful.  I was so warm and cozy; it felt amazing.  As I slowly opened my eyes, I wasn’t sure what was in front of me.  I backed my head up a bit and realized it was curly, dirty blonde hair.  I groggily puzzled over that a second, then it hit me.  It’s Kyra!  What the hell was I doing!?  I tried to pull myself back, but without much success, as I was completely encircled by both of her arms and one of her legs.  Feeling my struggles, Kyra awoke and turned her head to me.  “Good morning, Daddy.  How did you sleep?” she said with a pleased smile on her face.

“Kyra, can you please …” I said as I tried to untangle myself from her embrace.  She made no effort to let me out.  Flustered, I finally managed to wrest myself free, then I stood up and straightened my shirt.  I started to walk away when she said, “Hold on a sec,” and stood herself up in front of me.  My jaw dropped open.  I was staring straight ahead into her chin.  Kyra giggled at my reaction.  “Well, would you look at that.”

She thought this was funny.  “Kyra, this is serious,” I said, storming upstairs to my bedroom.  ‘Why is this happening to me?’ I wondered as I looked at myself in the mirror.  Did I look a bit younger, or was I just seeing things?  My face appeared to have fewer wrinkles, and what little gray hair I had seemed to be gone.  Weird, I thought.  I got on the scale and found that I weighed only 159 lbs, much less than my original 220!  I realized that, since I was maintaining the same proportions as I shrank, my weight would decrease with my height cubed.

I reflected back on last night, and how incredibly uncomfortable I was.  How did I let myself fall asleep next to her?  What the hell happened?  All I remember was trying to think of a plan to get out, but I had no memory after that.

As I went downstairs for breakfast, Kyra jumped up and grabbed my arm.  “Over here,” she said.  “Hey!” I cried.  Before I could resist, she had pulled me up to the wall with Kyra’s height markings.

“Kyra--”

“Hold still.”  She brought the ruler and measured me, her eyes level with the top of my head.  She made a notch and spun me around and said, “Look, Daddy, 5’10”.  You’re as tall as I was when I was 12,” she stated plainly.

“Kyra, I don’t like measuring myself like this,” I complained.

“Oh, relax, we need to measure you each day to see how you’re progressing.”

“But do you have to announce how old you were at that height?”  It was unsettling.

She snickered at me and walked to the fridge.  I turned and looked despairingly at where she marked my height.  Off to the side I noticed she had marked last night’s score, 11-10, with an asterisk.  “Why’s there an asterisk next to the score.”

Kyra came over and looked.  “Oh, that’s just because you only won by 1.  You might not have been able to get to 2.  Don’t worry, I still count it as a win,” she said, flashing a smile.  “But remember, today’s game is win by 2.”

“Who said we’re playing again today?”

She just smiled again and said, “We’ll see.  Speaking of today, I need some new clothes, I think I’ve outgrown most of them.  And by the looks of it,” she said, peering down at my ridiculously baggy outfit, “you could use some too.  Let’s go after breakfast, OK?”  She playfully tugged the bottom of my oversized shirt and turned away before I could have my say.  God, she’s starting to get on my nerves again, acting like she owns the place.

We moved around the kitchen, getting out cereal, milk, fruit, etc.  Maybe I was imagining things, but she always seemed to move right in my way, bumping into me several times.  I hated standing near her, being constantly reminded of our rapidly increasing height difference.  Finally, I took my bowl and sat at the table while she walked past and turned on the TV.

“I don’t think so, missy.  No TV for you, remember?”

“Oh, sorry Dad,” she said offhandedly, “I figured you were over that after last night.”

“Me … ‘over that’!?  It’s YOU who needs the attitude adjustment.  Now come to the table and sit down.”

She turned off the TV and walked nonchalantly to the table.  I couldn’t stand how lightly she was talking all of this.  She finished first, got up, put her dishes in the sink, and then went upstairs.  I was still finishing up my cereal when she came back down.  Walking over to me, she rested her hand on my shoulder and said, “Hurry up, Dad, I want to have as much shopping time as possible.”  She bent over and took my empty glass and plate, leaving just my bowl of cereal.

“Damn it, Kyra, I’ll finish when I finish.”

“Language, mister!” she scolded.  God lord, she sure knew how to push my buttons.

I ate in angry silence, not wanting to provoke her into a further argument.  She sure was making it difficult, though.  Just as I was finishing my bowl, she came up behind me and whisked it away, cleaning it in the sink.

Managing to hold my tongue, I walked over to the door and put my shoes on.  “Well I’m ready, how about you?” I said rather immaturely, a smug look on my face.

She put the dishes down and walked straight over.  Instead of putting her shoes on, she bent down towards me, squeezed my jaw with her hand just enough to open my mouth slightly, and smelled my breath.  “Your breath stinks.  Go brush your teeth and then we’ll go.”

What the hell is this – she’s ordering ME to brush MY teeth now!?  I couldn’t believe it.  My face was red with anger.  But she just stood looking down at me with a slightly impatient expression.

“Bah!” I exclaimed.  I couldn’t take this right now.  I chose to be the better man (so to speak) and walked upstairs, realizing that merely arguing with her would get me nowhere.  We were well beyond that now.  As I brushed my teeth, I vowed to myself that I would come up with some punishment that would finally put her in line.  Clearly, grounding her just wasn’t cutting it anymore.

She was waiting as I walked down.  I took the keys from my pocket and walked by her.  She grabbed my forearm with one hand, and used her other to pluck the keys from my hand.  “I’ll drive.”

“No you won’t,” I declared.  But she had already turned and walked into the garage, her long legs putting distance between us before I could react.  I channeled my inner Buddha and kept calm, trailing behind her and getting in the passenger’s side.

The only thing that was said during the car ride was, “It’s a good thing we’re going shopping for you.  You look silly in those big clothes, Daddy.”  I clenched my teeth and looked out the passenger’s side window.

We walked into JcPenney’s.  Seeing so many people walking around was a bit of a shock to me.  I used to tower over practically everybody, seeing the tops of peoples’ heads in a crowd.  Now, while I was still slightly taller than the average man, there were plenty of men – and several women – who were now taller than me.  We got to the men’s section and Kyra said, “Let’s get you measured.”  I actually agreed with her for once.  As we walked up, the attendant eyed me quizzically.  “Who on earth measured you last time?” she said jokingly.

I hesitated, not wanting to share that I’ve been shrinking.  “Well, I, uh –“

“He spilled beer at my boyfriend’s party last night and had to borrow some of his clothes,” Kyra interjected.  I looked up at her surprised, then nodded to show my appreciation of her quick save.  Although she could have done without the part about a boyfriend.  The attendant replied, “Haha, it happens.  Now if you would, hold out your arms please…”  As she took my measurements, I thought it odd that the attendant accepted the story completely, not wondering why we were at the same party – a high schooler and a 41-year-old!  I had to admit that though Kyra was in high school she did look like she could easily be in college – but still, I had to wonder how young the attendant took me for.  I figured I ought to stop worrying about it and take it as a compliment.

I was upset to hear some of the measurements, such as my waist which had shrunk from 36 to 32.  Well, at least it’ll be a lot easier to get long enough clothes.  I used to have trouble finding the right sizes.

As we walked around the pants section, Kyra was continuously pulling out different pairs, saying, “Oo, I like these,” and holding them to my waist to get a feel for how they look on me.

“Kyra, honey, I can shop for myself.”

“Nonsense, Dad, you need a woman’s touch to make sure you look your best.”  After several minutes of her perusing, she handed me three pairs.  “Here, try these on.”

“Um, I think I’ll pick my own out, thank you,” I snapped.

“Dad, it’s not like you have to buy them.  Just try them on.”  She nudged me in the direction of the changing room.  I guess she had a point, plus I hate shopping so I actually didn’t mind someone picking them out for me.  I can always say no if I don’t like them.

In the changing room, I tried the first pair on.  The waist and length were correct, but they were a very tight fitting style.  I always go for a looser style; more comfortable in my opinion.  As I was taking them off to try the next pair, I heard Kyra’s voice outside my door.  “Daddy, did you try one on yet?”

“Yeah, it was too tight.”

“Let me see.”

“Why?  I don’t need to show you every pair.  I didn’t like the first one.”

“But I picked them out special because I thought you’d look good in them.  At least let me see first.”

Fine, couldn’t hurt, I figured.  I put them back on and opened the door.  “Hey, I like them!”

“They’re much too tight, dear.  I like looser pants.”

“Well, you want to look good, don’t you?  Turn around,” she said, motioning me to give a 360 degree view.

I did, and she practically squealed.  “Oh, your butt looks so cute in those!  You need to buy them.”  I didn’t like her commenting on that part of my body, but I let it slide, instead repeating that they were too tight.

“Well, think about it, Dad, when you continue to get smaller then they’ll fit just how you like them.  If they were baggy today then you couldn’t wear them the next few days.”

I never liked reminders that I would probably continue to shrink.  But she did have a point.  “OK,” I conceded.

“Good, now try those other ones on.  I’ll be waiting.”  She closed the door and stood outside.

As I was putting the next ones through my feet, the door opened.  “Kyra!  Not yet!”  She hadn’t locked the door.

“Oh, relax, it’s not like I can see anything.  Here, let me help you.”

“No!  I can do it myself.”

“OK, but you shouldn’t snap at me like that.  I’m only trying to help, Dad.”  I finished putting the second pair on and they fit like the first.  She pushed my shoulder to indicate that I should spin around.  “Very nice, now let’s see the last pair.”  She just stood there.

“Are you going to leave so I can change?” I asked indignantly.

“Oh, well, I don’t see why, but sure Dad.”

“And wait until I call you,” I ordered.

She waited this time, came in and had me turn again.  “Hmm, they’re all so good!  Why don’t you just get all of them.”

It was my turn to use my reason.  “Well, if I do shrink again, then I won’t have use of these soon, so I should only get one or two.”

“Good point.  Hmm … These,” she stated, handing me her two favorites.

“Well, I don’t know, I kinda liked the other one,” I interjected.

“No, I don’t think so; the color’s not quite right on you.”  She grabbed the third pair and put it back on the rack.  Why was she choosing everything for me?  And why was I letting her?  It didn’t bother me too much, though, since I wanted to be done shopping as soon as possible and anyways she probably had more fashion sense than I.

My shirts and shoes were chosen in the same manner, with Kyra basically picking them for me.  They seemed OK to me, although again the shirts were a bit tight, but I let it go.  She did let me pick out whatever boxers and socks I liked, since they’re really for comfort not fashion.  I paid for all the clothes, two sets for most articles, and we walked out towards the food court ready to eat.  We both agreed on Subway, and when we were done eating she stood up and said, “OK, let’s go shopping for me now.”

I was tired of shopping already, and so were my feet.  “I want to rest a minute first.”

 She just stood over me looking down.  She started tapping her foot.  I took my sweet time, mostly to piss her off.  When I did stand up, she simply said, “Come on,” and took off at a fast walk.  I had trouble keeping up, having to trot from time to time.  She took us to Dress Barn first.

I felt useless as she just went on her merry way picking out dresses.  I didn’t like how short and low cut some of the ones she picked out were.  “That one’s too revealing.”  She had given me flak before for being too strict with her attire, but I felt that as a girl still in high school she had no business wearing such clothes.

“Well, we’ll see.  I’ll try it on first.”  After picking a handful of dresses, she headed for the changing room.  I followed her, wanting to make sure she picked suitable attire.

“Come in if you want,” she offered.

Nooo way was I going to accept.  “I don’t think so.  But let me see what you try on.”

Soon the door opened and she had on a tasteful blue dress that actually did leave enough to the imagination, in my opinion.  “That one’s acceptable, and you look good in it,” I complimented.

She frowned, looking at the mirror.  “I dunno, I’m not thrilled with it.”  She said, starting to take it off.

“Kyra, wait ‘til I leave!” I exclaimed.

“Haha, you’re such a prude, Dad.”  She kept pulling the dress down as I bolted out the door.  A few seconds later she said, “OK, come in.”  I opened the door.

She was standing right in the doorway in nothing but her bra and underwear, striking a sexy pose and smiling broadly.  “Jesus!” I yelped, slamming the door.  She almost died laughing.  “OK, Dad,” she said a bit later.

“Is it safe this time?  If you pull that again I’ll be pissed.”

“Of course, just come in already.”

I opened the door with trepidation.  Holy smokes.  Fortunately she was wearing a dress this time, but I wouldn’t necessarily say she was fully clothed, either.  She had on a black spaghetti-strap dress with an extremely low cut.  The dress didn’t cover half her thighs, either.  She looked … stunning.  I stared at her body a second too long, and she noticed.  “Well, that’s all the confirmation I need,” she said, with the most devilish smile I had ever seen.

Turning beet red, I awkwardly averted my eyes, not sure where to look, but finally bringing my eyes up to hers.  She smiled a devilish smile down at me.  “Kyra, honey, absolutely not.  That dress shows way too much.”

“Aw, I love it, though!”  Bending over towards the mirror, she pushed up her bust and eyed her cleavage with satisfaction.  As she glanced over through the mirror and saw me eying her cleavage as well, a wicked grin crept onto her face.  “Definitely a keeper,” she said.

I blushed again.  “There’s no way I’m letting you buy that dress,” I said, stepping into the room and trying to act authoritative.

She chuckled.  “Admit it, Dad, you think this dress looks great on me.”

“I … uh … that’s not the point, honey.  It just … doesn’t leave enough to the imagination.”

She sauntered over, staring at me with a wicked grin on her face.  She closed the door beside me and leaned down until her face was level with mine, planting her hand on the wall behind me.  This, of course, opened up quite a valley of cleavage below.  It must have been my base instincts, but as she bent over I looked down and took a full peek at her breasts almost falling out of her dress.  Realizing my mistake, I quickly and sheepishly looked up into her eyes.  Doubtless, she saw the whole thing.  “Admit that I look fantastic in this dress,” she commanded.

“I … you …”  I gulped.  “Please stop this, honey.”

Her mouth spread into another wicked grin.  Not daring to look down, my hand groped for the door handle next to me.  She moved her hand from behind my head over to hold the door closed.  I tried pulling the handle but the door didn’t budge.  I didn’t want to yank it and show just how anxious I was.

Kyra had complete control of the situation, and I really had no choice.  “You … you look good.”

She took my chin in her other hand and said, “That’s not what I said.  Tell me I look fantastic in this dress.”

I tried to hang my head in shame, but her hand held it up.  “You look fantastic in this dress, Kyra.”

“Well, then, that’s settled,” she said, standing to her full height.  “I’ll buy it.  Or, I guess I should say, you’ll buy it for me.  Agreed?”

“Yes, dear,” I said, cringing.  Once she removed her hand I was free to drop my head in shame.

“Would you like to stay while I try the other dresses?  I love judging how good they are based on your reaction.”

“No thanks,” I said softly, humiliated.

“Very well, then.  Why don’t you have a seat outside the store and I’ll come get you when I’m done.”

“… okay …”  I started opening the door but she held it.

“One more thing, I’ll need your credit card to buy them.”

“But you’re supposed to buy clothes with your own money.  That’s what your allowance is for.”

“Oh yeah?  Well, I seem to recall you revoked my allowance, remember?”

“Oh … well, OK, but you’ll have to pay me back as soon as you can, alright?”

“Sure, whatever Dad.”  I wasn’t convinced, but I wanted nothing more than to get the hell out of that dressing room.  I pulled out my wallet and handed her the card.  “Good.  Now run along,” she told me, waving me away with her hand.

Once I was allowed out, I felt a great weight lifted off my shoulders.  I turned and put my foot in the door before it closed and said, with newfound confidence, “Young lady, listen to me!  I’ll let you borrow my card but you will not spend more than $150 today!  And if I find that you bought anything too revealing for my taste, then I will return it to the store myself!”

“What about this dress?  Remember, you said I looked fantastic in it and you wanted me to buy it.”

“Uhh…” I faltered.  Jesus, I did agree to that, didn’t I.  “Fine, I’ll let you have that one as a special treat, but you are only to wear it on special occasions.  Understand?”

Laughing, she said, “Sure, Dad.”

“I’m not closing this door until you promise.”

Pausing for a second, she gave a wry smile and started unzipping her dress.

“Damn it, Kyra!” I slammed the door, conceding the battle for now.  I’ll just stop her from going out when she puts it on at home, I told myself.

I found a bench and sat down, releasing a loud sigh.  From outside the dressing room, I couldn’t see why I ever let her bully me around.  What the hell happened?  She’s only a high-school-aged girl, for Christ’s sake, and I’m a grown man.  Not as tall as I used to be, but no doubt still stronger than Kyra.  Why didn’t I just force her back, reprimand her, and walk out the door, like a real man?  I guessed that she just caught me off guard.  The situation was extremely embarrassing, and she used her advantage perfectly.

But then I had an idea, and a smile crept across my face for once, as I think I had found the punishment she deserved.  Not my style, but it should put her right in line.  This is gonna be good, I thought.

It took at least forty minutes for her to come out of the store.  What is it with girls and shopping?  “Finally.  Let’s go home,” I said.

“Haha, Dad, that was just the first store.  Just keep waiting here, and I’ll get you when I’m done.”

“How long is this going to take?  I’m bored.”

“Patience, Dad.  You got something better to do today?” she quipped.  I had nothing planned, but that doesn’t mean this is how I wanted to spend my day.

“I’m going over to GameStop and maybe the arcade.”

“OK, but I want to see you here when I’m done.  I don’t want to have to run around the mall looking for you.”

“Just call me and I’ll come back here.”

“You took my phone away, remember?”

Grrrr.  “Fine, we’ll meet here.  Just don’t take too long.”

“OK, Dad.”  She turned and left

“And remember, only $150, no more!” I called after her.  She didn’t acknowledge me.

I spent an hour in GameStop then got bored.  You can only read game covers for so long.  I checked the bench.  No sign of Kyra.  I crossed over to the arcade and spent a good many quarters, playing at least another hour.  Once I used up all my cash, I returned to the bench.  Still no sign of Kyra.  ‘Lord, how long can it take to spend $150?’ I wondered.  I sat for a while, then said ‘screw this’ and decided to find her to tell her that her shopping is done for today.  I checked quite a few women’s stores.  There was no shortage of them.  Kyra should be easy to spot, at least.  On about the 15th store, I found her in Victoria’s Secret.  What was she doing here?

“What are you doing here?” Kyra asked me.  “Is this where you go in your free time?” she chided.

“Haha, very funny.  I should ask you the same thing.  You have no business buying lingerie.”

“Oh, please, they sell regular bras and panties here too.  Now help me find some 34DD’s.  It’s hard to find them that big in 34,” she told me.

I really didn’t want to hear her cup size.  Well, OK, I was a bit curious, I mean just to see how she’s growing, not sexual or anything.  I mean – well, I guess I had a hard time coming up with why I was curious.  But anyway …

“Find your own bras.  How much longer?  We’ve been here, what, 3 or 4 hours?”

“I wouldn’t know, I don’t have my phone with me to tell the time.  But I’m almost done; after this I just need shoes.”  ‘Great, that’ll be another hour,’ I grumbled to myself.  “Here, hold onto these for me.  I’ll be expecting you at the bench.”

“Fine, just hurry up.”  I grabbed the bags and walked out.  Going back to the bench, I looked in the bags to find the receipts.  It sure looked like more than $150, what with how women’s clothes are priced.  I couldn’t find any receipts, though; she must have put them in her purse.  Then I decided to look at what she bought and see if there was anything … uncouth.  There was the black dress.  I shuddered a bit, trying to force out the mental image of her with it on.  She had bought several more dresses, and some of them looked suspicious.  I grabbed one and pulled it out, but then realized how sketchy it looked for a man by himself to be looking through women’s garments.  Quickly, I placed it back in the bag and decided I would just check when we got home.

Half an hour dragged by.  I was tired of waiting and went back to GameStop, reading the same damn covers again just to pass the time.  Fortunately they had a PS3 with controllers set up for customers to try.  I played Madden for a bit and realized that it’s the best freakin game out there and the online play is awesome [well, that’s the writer’s opinion anyway].  I was so engrossed that I lost track of time a bit.  Looking at my watch, I realized I was in GameStop for 45 minutes.  As I strolled over to the bench, I saw that Kyra was sitting there, waiting.  When she saw me, she was pissed.

I said, “OK, ready now?” and walked up to her.  She stood up.  Way, way up.  What the hell?  Had I shrunk again?  My eyes were even with her shoulders!

I didn’t have time to figure out what happened.  I was completely thrown off balance, though.  “Where the hell were you?” she fumed.  “I told you to wait here.  I’ve been waiting for half an hour.”

She stood closer and glared at me down her nose, accentuating the now substantial height difference.  I took a step back.  “Geez, I was just over in GameStop, it’s not a big deal.  I mean, you made me wait hours for you.  Um,” I continued, with more important things on my mind, “did I shrink again?”

“Ha, I wish; then maybe you’d listen to what I tell you.”

“Kyra!  That’s a horrible thing to wish.”  I was about to scold her for her attitude, but then I found the cause: my daughter was wearing 4-inch heels.  “What the hell!  You know I don’t want you wearing heels; it attracts too much attention, like that skimpy dress.”

“Yeah, well, like that skimpy dress, these heels certainly grabbed your attention.  You’re not intimidated, are you?” she retorted, stepping closer again.

“You will take those off immediately,” I ordered, staring up into her eyes.  It was a bit uncomfortable, craning my neck like that, but I didn’t back down.

“I don’t think so.  Bring my clothes.  We’re leaving.”  With that, she turned and briskly walked in the direction of the car.

“You’re not going anywhere,” I called after her.  But then it dawned on me that she still had the keys.  And somehow I felt that she would have no problem leaving me here.  Grabbing her bags, I scampered after her.

I caught up to her after she had got in and started the car.  She popped the trunk.  I was about to lay into her, and it would be easier without these damned bags in my hands.  I put them in the trunk and closed it, then marched to the driver’s side.  “I’m driving,” I announced.  But the door was locked.  “Damn it, Kyra!  Open up this instant!” I yelled, pounding on the window.  She just sat there for a second, glaring at me.  Then she buckled up and put the car in reverse.  I cursed and screamed as the car backed up.  As she put it into forward drive, she cracked the window open, and told me with a scowl, “You had better be home in time to make me dinner.”  She then peeled out and left me standing there, flabbergasted.

I went into a rage.  I had been mad at her plenty of times, but this one easily took the cake.  I ranted for a solid 3 minutes, no doubt looking like a raving lunatic to passersby.  Having gotten the most violent parts out of my system, and growing increasingly worried that someone might call the cops to take care of the crazy person, I calmed down and sat for a bit in the empty parking spot left by my daughter.  ‘Heck, she shouldn’t even be driving on her own with a learner’s permit,’ I thought.  ‘But that’s the least of her worries.  She’ll get hers.’  I let out a slightly sinister chuckle, if that were possible.  After 10 minutes, I was convinced that she wasn’t going to return.  I wasn’t too surprised, really.  I couldn’t believe how out of control she’d gotten.  I looked in my wallet for enough for a cab or at least a bus fare.  Damn it, I spent all my cash at the arcade.  And, to my dismay, I discovered that Kyra still had my credit card as well.  Plus the closest Bank of America was almost as far from here as my house.  I couldn’t believe it, but I had no choice but to walk.

It was a long, hot walk, at least 5 miles, maybe 10, I don’t know.  It was a hot May day, too hot to be walking long distances.  I had to stop several times just to get out of the sun, looking for possible water fountains where I could, for I was sweating profusely.  I didn’t actually find any, as it was almost all residential areas from the mall to my house.  I never thought this town could be such a desert.  Here I am, walking under the beating sun, from oasis to oasis.  OK, so I was being melodramatic, I wasn’t exactly going to die out here, and it wasn’t all that hot, but geez I sweat a lot, OK?  I was also getting a pretty good sunburn, by the way.

Finally I reached the promised land.  I glanced at my watch.  5:45.  I sat down on the front doorstep, catching my breath and preparing myself for the upcoming battle.  I couldn’t find water for the last 2 miles but had no doubt soaked my clothes in sweat several times over.  I was parched.

After a short respite I heard the door open behind me.  Great.  “It’s 5:48, Dad.  I expect to be sitting down eating supper at 6:00.”  What is her deal?  She went inside before I summoned the courage to face her.  After continuing to summon for a minute more, I got up and went inside.

Kyra was nowhere in sight, probably in her room.  I trudged toward the fridge.  She must have heard me come in, though, as I heard her heels clacking on the stairs.  I didn’t pause, as getting a drink was my top priority.  As I pulled out a gallon jug of water from the fridge and set it on the counter, I heard her heels approaching.  I didn’t want to turn around, instead opting to take a swig.  But a hand reached out and pushed the jug away, while another hand spun my shoulder around.  I’m sure I wouldn’t have let myself been pushed around like this, except I was utterly exhausted from my critical shortage of water.

As I turned, my tongue leaped in my throat.  An impressive display of cleavage presented itself slightly below me.  She was wearing that damned black dress again.  And heels this time as well.

“Eyes up here,” she scolded, brusquely lifting my chin up with her hand.  “I know how much you like this dress but you are not to look at my breasts again.  Do you understand?”

I winced and told her, “Please, just let me get some water first.  I’m so thirsty.”  I felt that all my willpower would be replenished if I could just get some water.

 She squeezed the underside of my chin and leaned forward.  “Do you understand?” she repeated sternly.

“Fine, I won’t look at them.”

“Good.  Now, hopefully your nice little walk taught you a lesson today, and from now on you will listen to what I tell you.”  I moved my mouth to speak but no words came out.  All I could think was, ‘water, water, water.’  She grabbed my wrist and looked at my watch.  “It is now 5:53.  You had better whip something up quick.”  She let go of my chin and stepped back, still watching me.

I stood dumbly looking up at her for a moment.  “Hey, Earth to Dad!”  She snapped her fingers in front of my eyes.  “Your clock is ticking, little man.”  I reached over for the water jug.  “You don’t have time for that,” she informed me, grabbed it from my hand and taking a big gulp for herself, just to tease me.  Wiping her mouth, she looked at me and demanded, “What are you waiting for?”

Part of me knew I shouldn’t listen to her and that she couldn’t really do anything to me.  But the larger part of me realized that (1) I was in no condition to fight her until I got water, and (2) she wouldn’t let me get water until I had finished dinner, and therefore (3) I would have to give in now – just temporarily, of course – in order to hit her with everything I had later.

So, I made the only choice that seemed logical: I scurried to the pantry to look for food.  First, I pulled out a box of Kraft macaroni.  “I don’t want that.  Make something else,” she commanded.  Then I resorted to good old spaghetti and meatballs.  “No, Dad, we just had that.”  Frantic, I searched the pantry and fished out a can of black beans and some rice.  She sighed, “Good enough, I suppose.”

I started the rice cooking, knowing full well that it wouldn’t finish in time.  The beans could be done, though.  I searched for the can opener, with no success.  “Have you seen the can opener?”  She frowned disapprovingly, shook her head, and looked at the clock.  5:56.  I wish she wouldn’t just stand there staring at me.  It was disquieting.  Finally, I found the can opener and dumped the beans into a skillet.  Quickly, I threw in some spices, not knowing what or how much would be best but just hoping it was OK.  The beans were cooking fairly quickly, although the rice still had 10 minutes I thought.  I turned up the heat to high to try to cook it faster, not knowing what would happen.

“6:00.  I’m very disappointed in you, Dad.  Now every minute over will cost you.”  My hands started to shake.  I was having trouble steadying them, spilling some beans on the stovetop.

“Remind me to have you clean that after dinner.”  God, she was so unnerving.

Finally, both the beans and rice were done.  As I brought them to the table, I walked past Kyra as she said, “6:08.  Tsk tsk.  I had really hoped you had learned your lesson.”

I set the food down then fetched two plates and silverware.  She sat down and waited.  “Well, aren’t you going to serve me?”

I quickly took her plate and served the rice and beans, spilling some on the table.

“Kyra, can I please have some water now?” I pleaded.

“Let me try this slop first, and then we’ll see.”  She took a bite, then frowned.  My heart sank.  “Bring the cayenne pepper and paprika,” she ordered.  I went and fetched it.  “Just a dash of each.”  I sprinkled some on.  She took another bite, paused, then said, “This isn’t very good, Dad.  But nothing you make is, so that’s just something we’ll have to fix.”  I was feeling dejected, until to my surprise she added, “You may drink now.”

My eyes lit up.  “Thank you, Kyra!” I said with genuine enthusiasm, too thirsty to feel anything but gratitude.  I rushed over and chugged straight from the jug.  Exhausted, I carried it to the table and sat down as I continued to drink frequently.  As I regained my senses, my demeanor towards my daughter changed from one of gratitude to one of hatred, as I thought back over the degrading position she had put me in, taking advantage of my weakness.  A weakness, by the way, brought about by the long walk that she so cruelly and unfairly made me endure.  I brooded over how I would proceed.  I decided to punish her tonight, after dinner was done.

“Eat something.  I want you ready to go for our basketball game tonight,” she ordered as she pushed the pot of beans toward me.

“I’m not playing you tonight,” I stated.  But I did grab the ladle and serve myself; I was starving after my long walk.

“Oh?” she said, raising her eyebrows.  “I think you will.”

“Yeah right.  I’m your father, Kyra, and you can’t tell me what to do.”

She said nothing, but smiled.  I continued eating, and after a few bites she said, “I’ll make you a deal, Daddy.”  She leaned forward and put her hand on mine.  Without thinking, I snuck a glance at her chest – God, she was still wearing that dress.  I don’t think she noticed, because she continued, “If you can beat me in one more game of 1-on-1, I’ll be on my best behavior for a whole week, and I’ll do anything you ask of me.  We can play at any time of your choosing.  Agreed?”  I was caught off guard.  It sounded too good to be true.

“What’s the catch?” I asked skeptically.

“No catch; you just have to beat me,” she replied confidently.  I cautiously nodded my head.  She picked up my hand and we shook to it.  “Good.  Now, like I said, I’ll let you choose whatever day you want to play, but, considering how quickly you’re shrinking”—I winced – “it might be wise for you to play me tonight.”  As she ended, she got up from the table and took her dishes away.

She did have a point.  With how much I struggled last time, I knew it would get tougher by the day to compete with her on the court.  I reflected that she didn’t really give me much of a choice at all, but that was OK since it sounded like a great deal for me.  She had apparently forgotten to declare what would happen if I lost.  I wasn’t about to remind her, since it was a no-lose scenario for me as it was, and we had already shaken on it.

I finished eating and walked over to her confidently.  “You’re on.  I’ll meet you outside in 10,” I declared.

“That’s the spirit, tiger,” she looked down at me and smiled.

Warming up outside, I remembered that I intended to carry out my punishment tonight.  Well, I figured, after I beat her now on the court she should be easier to manage and I’ll still punish her tomorrow.  And, heck, even if I lose, I’ll carry it out all the same, tonight if needed.

She came out and I was happy to see her back to her normal height, without heels.  Well, she was still 4 inches taller than me but I found her significantly less intimidating than earlier today.  “Let’s start,” she said simply, opting not to warm up again.  I had fully recovered from the dehydration but was still sore from playing the last couple days.  I was feeling nice and loose after my warm-up, though, and was eager to start.  “You’re ball, since you lost yesterday,” I took pleasure in saying.

“Play to 21?  Or just 11 as usual?” she asked.

I had no doubt she had the stamina for 21, but I seriously doubted that I did.  “11,” I responded.

“Now, remember Dad, you have to win by 2 this time,” she chided condescendingly.

“Yeah, I know,” I replied with indignation.  I decided to play a more rough and physical game this time.  Sure, she was taller than me now, but I still had the weight advantage and, being a girl, there was no way she could outmuscle me.

She checked it up then made a hard move to the basket and laid in a 5-footer off the glass.  Shit, she usually misses those.  Her easy score took me by surprise, but still I stuck to my game plan.  On my first possession, I backed her down almost to the net and executed a nice drop-step.  At least, I thought it was nice until she blocked my shot, just barely getting a finger on it.  This game was not starting well at all.  I needed to keep playing physical and create easy shots.

On her next possession, she tried backing me down but I pushed back strongly.  She tried to go right but I aggressively shoved her with my elbows to keep her away from the basket.  It wasn’t strictly legal and a ref would normally call a foul on it, but too bad.  Kyra was caught off balance and stumbled back, losing the ball.  “Hey, what was that for?” she exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air.  I ignored her outcry and ran around her to pick up the loose ball.  “So you want to play rough, huh?” she said as she turned to defend me.  I again backed her down, although I had more difficulty this time as she had also started pushing back roughly.  I was a little unnerved at how much my daughter was able to jostle me around, but still I had the advantage in strength as I worked my way near the basket.  This time, I used a pump fake and got her up in the air.  I was able to put it in for a layup, despite her reaching out in midair and still almost getting a piece of my shot.

When she had the ball next, she tried to drive past me on the left but I was there with arms braced to get in her way and push her off course.  But somehow she managed to fight through me and drive to the basket.  I wasn’t beaten yet, though.  As she went up for a 3-foot layup, I charged after her and leapt up to swat the ball out of her hand.  Unfortunately, her hand was just a little taller than I was used to, and I ended up slapping her hard on the forearm.  She still almost made the shot, but it bounced off the side of the rim.

“Geez, Dad, was that really necessary!?” she berated me, shaking off the pain in her arm.

“Aw, did I hurt my little girl?” I mocked.  “This is basketball; get used to it.”  As I said this, I thought I saw a tiny flame light up in Kyra’s eyes.  She glared down at me angrily and I couldn’t help feeling just a little intimidated.  I bounced the ball to her and said scornfully, “It’s your ball since you thought it was a foul.”  I knew full well that I fouled the crap out of her, but I was out for revenge after the misery she put me through this afternoon.

She bounced it back to me with force and replied coldly, “I never called a foul.”  I knew I was getting to her.  Hopefully I could keep this up and keep her off her game for an easy win.

I checked it up then dribbled around the perimeter.  I expected her to lose her composure and play aggressive but sloppy, allowing me to take advantage.  But she hung back more than normal, giving me room to move about.  I jabbed left and right some, testing her, but she seemed prepared to cut me off if I moved in closer.  So I thought, OK, if she’s going to give me a wide open shot I’ll just take it…

I gathered up my dribble and lined up a good shot from 15 feet away.  But she had anticipated my move, and just as I was leaving my feet I saw her dart towards me with surprising quickness.  By the time I had reached the top of my jump and released the ball, she had closed the gap and leaped high in the air, quite a bit higher than I had gotten.  Her arm stretched up over me and swatted the ball with ease.  But she kept hurtling towards me in the air, and before I knew it her body slammed into mine and knocked me clean off my feet.  Meanwhile, Kyra was slowed by the collision enough to stay on her feet, stumbling a bit but regaining her balance.

“Owww,” I said as I landed painfully on the pavement.  She came up and stood over me imperiously, mocking, “You’re not going to call a foul for that little collision, are you Daddy?”  I didn’t answer, still holding my side in pain.  She continued, feigning concern, “I didn’t hurt you, did I?  This is basketball; get used to it.”

I got over the pain and stood up angrily.  Boy, she was going to get it now.  I wouldn’t be surprised to see a few bruises on her body after I finish beating her.  “Your ball,” I snarled, also refusing to call a foul.

The ensuing possessions did not go as well as I had hoped, though.  I fought with her tooth and nail for every inch of the court, but with her superior height and athleticism she was able to match my efforts, and even start to pull slowly ahead as I began to get winded.  I could no longer rely on getting out to a big lead early on as we traded baskets back and forth from the beginning.  Even in my anger, I had to admire the way she was handling the situation: she kept her composure and after that one knockdown she played me hard and physical but not dirty.  Things could have escalated quickly if she hadn’t been the mature one and restrained herself.

She pulled ahead early, but I came back to take the lead, 6-5, then maintained it to 8-7.  I was happy to have the lead, but I was getting worried since, as usual, I was getting gassed but she was still playing at 100%.  I had played a tough, gritty game so far, although it was clearly more difficult than yesterday.  I was shorter, and to my dismay she seemed to be knocking down more shots from farther away.  As I became more tired and sluggish, I began to get frustrated and play sloppy, giving her a few too many jabs and swipes as I played lazy defense.  She didn’t retaliate, though, still powering along with good moves and solid defense.

After barely stopping her from scoring and keeping it at 8-7, I checked the ball then slowly backed her down with much effort.  Near the rim, I decided to try an up-and-under.  She bit somewhat on the pump fake, leaving an opening for the layup underneath.  I was sure I had it when a hand came up and swatted my shot.  Damn it!  She recovered much quicker than I expected.  On her next possession, she faked left and drove by me to the right.  I was too tired to keep up, so I tried a lazy defense and went for the steal.  However, she had blown by too quickly and put in a wide open layup.  Next, I pulled up for a mid-range jumper, something I rarely do unless I’m too tired or lazy to work for my shot.  I missed and Kyra grabbed the rebound.  The next possession, she ran by me again, to the same side as last time.  I made an effort to catch her, but she got another fairly easy lay-in.  She had the lead, 9-8.

Next, I tried backing her down, but my legs didn’t have enough juice to push her very far.  I was halted 8 feet from the rim.  I resorted to a fade-away, but as I was about to leave my feet I realized she had anticipated it and was poised for the block.  I stayed down, but now I was leaning back away from my pivot foot and she was towering over me, basically straddling my leg.  I had absolutely no room to move, since I couldn’t move my pivot foot.  I just stood there for a few seconds, trying to find an opening, but she was just too big and had perfect position.  In desperation, I jabbed right then jumped awkwardly to the left while heaving a shot over my shoulder.  It flew about 5 feet left of the backboard and landed in the grass.  “I’ll get it,” she said smugly, trotting over to pick up the ball.  Her next possession, instead of driving by me again, she simply backed me down straight under the hoop.  I tried to push back, but she had all the leverage and still-fresh legs.  In desperation, I lunged up to block her shot, but she simply stood while I jumped out of the way, then without leaving her feet she put in a wide-open layup.

10-8.  I was flat out exhausted at that point.  After checking it up, I stood protecting the ball for about 30 seconds just to catch my breath.  Meanwhile, Kyra had approached and leaned over me with her arms out.  “Ready when you are, Dad,” she quipped.  After catching my breath a bit, I tried pushing her off me.  She moved a few inches but came right back.  I jabbed left but she mirrored my move.  Starting to get desperate, I jabbed right, then left, and then dribbled right, hoping to throw her off.  I did so momentarily, but she recovered immediately and stepped right in front of me, forcing me to pick up my dribble.  Like last possession, I found myself in a hopeless situation, but this time I was 15 feet away.  She started to slowly inch her feet forward, causing me to have to lean farther and farther back while looking for a gap, but there wasn’t one.  I eventually just took a breath, jumped away from the hoop, and heaved a shot two-handed over my head.  As I fell to the pavement, I watched the shot go straight up and land in-bounds, short of the hoop.  She walked over to retrieve it and dribbled out.  She could have simply gone in for a layup since I was still picking myself off the ground.  But instead she dribbled patiently on the perimeter, saying, “Ready, Daddy?”  I thought it was nice of her, but also perhaps cocky and overconfident.  I took a deep breath and approached her.  “Game point,” she reminded.  She turned her back and backed me straight down to the hoop again.  I tried to poke around to get the ball but she guarded it too well.  I felt helpless as she forced me down under the basket.  Taking her time, she went up for an easy layup.  “Whoops!” she said as she missed.  She caught the rebound over my outstretched hands.  I desperately tried to jump up and grab it, but I felt as helpless as a kid trying to take his lollipop back from a bully.  She kept the ball high, jumped again, and dropped in the easy layup.  She had beaten me, 11-8.  I collapsed on the grass as she stood over me.

“Good game, Daddy,” she said with a smile, putting her hands on her hips.  I was too tired to reply.  “You gave a really good effort, Daddy.  I’m proud of you,” she said condescendingly.  Standing over me patiently while I continued to lie on the grass, she eventually said, “Well, somebody’s all tuckered out.  Here, let’s get you inside.”

I was about to tell her to wait a minute, but she had already bent down and was pulling me up.  She got my torso up and said, “C’mon Daddy, you’ll need to help pull yourself up too.”  Reluctantly, I pushed off with my feet and she lifted me the rest of the way.  I felt woozy.  “Boy, looks like I’ll have to help walk you in.”  She reached around my waist and started walking us to the house.  I just staggered along with her.  On the way, she mentioned, “Just so you know, my offer still stands.  You just have to beat me once.”  That was good to hear, but I now had serious doubts that I could beat her anymore.  Once inside, she noted, “My, you’re drenched.”  She had hardly broken a sweat.  “You could use a shower, Daddy.” 

“Please, can I just sit on the couch a bit first?” I asked, just wanting to get off my feet.

“No, Daddy; you’ll get the couch all wet and stinky.”  She walked me up the stairs.  I didn’t like being so dependent on her, but I don’t think I could have made it there myself.  She walked me right through my room and into the bathroom.  Turning me to face her, she lifted my arms and said, “Keep them up.”  Not realizing what she was doing, she reached down and pulled the shirt right over my head!

“Kyra, I can undress myself.”

“Oh, OK.”  She went to the tub and turned on the water, testing its temperature, then turned on the showerhead.

“What are you doing?  I can handle it myself.  I want a bath anyway.”

“No, sorry Daddy, you need to take a shower.  A bath would take too long.  I’d like to have a talk downstairs when you’re done.  Be down in 10 minutes, OK?”

I didn’t know what on earth she was talking about, but I was too tired to argue and simply replied, “Fine, a shower.  Now please get out.”  She smiled, gave me a peck on the forehead, and walked out, closing the door behind her.  I sluggishly took my remaining clothes off and got in the shower.  I just stood there, letting the water fall around me and carrying the sweat away.  Eventually, I soaped up, shampooed, and got out.

Heading downstairs, I saw Kyra waiting on the couch.  She had showered as well, and to my relief she had changed into a loose t-shirt and shorts instead of her skimpy pajamas.  “What’s this about?” I asked, confused.

She patted the couch next to her to indicate that I should sit down.  I did as she wished, and she picked up my wrist to look at my watch.  “14 minutes.  I had asked you to be down in 10.  That’s the third time today I’ve had to wait for you.”  She must have been referring to the mall and to dinner.  That reminder put a sour expression on my face and I was about to reprimand her when she cut me off.  “We’ll have to work on that.  But that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.”

She took both my hands in hers as she turned towards me.  Taking a big breath, she gave me a look of sincere concern and said, “Daddy, I’m a big girl now.  I can handle myself and make my own decisions.”  I didn’t like where this was heading.  “You’ve been treating me like a little girl recently, and I don’t appreciate it.  From now on, I don’t want you telling me how to dress, or how to behave.  And I want you to lift that silly curfew and un-ground me and give me back my laptop and phone, effective immediately.”  She stared into my eyes, calmly, confidently.

“What?  I don’t believe this!  You’ve been acting completely out of line lately, and you deserved far worse punishment than what you’ve received so far.  For Christ’s sake, you left me in the parking lot today!  And you … well, er … your behavior in Dress Barn was completely inappropriate,” I exclaimed, not wanting to describe out loud the humiliating scene in the dressing room.  “… And dinner tonight!”

She kept her cool composure.  “I know you think I was being unfair, but it was really your fault I had to punish you.  Remember, you made me wait 30 minutes at the bench when I expressly told you to wait for me there.  And again, you had no business telling me what I can and can’t wear.  I only toyed around with you to teach you a lesson.  It was for your own good, Daddy.”

This is insane.  “I have every right to tell you what to do.  I’m your father, and you’re still in high school, young lady!”

“Dad, don’t be childish.”

“That’s it.”  I was livid.  I decided now was the time for her punishment.  “Kyra, get over my knee and pull down your shorts.  I’m going to give you a spanking that you’ll never forget.”

She seemed bemused.  “You can’t be serious.”

“Get down here, now,” I commanded, pulling her torso down toward my knees.

She held her arms out to brace herself.  Looking up at me, she said, “Dad, are you sure you want to do this?”

“You’re damned right I am.  Down, now!”

“OK, Dad,” she said calmly.

“Shorts down.”

“I thought you didn’t like me undressing in front of you.”

“I SAID DOWN, NOW!”

She complied.  It had been at least 5 years since I had spanked her.  I had only done it 2 or 3 times.  But I gave it my all and slapped her butt bare-handed.  “Not so hard, Dad, geez, I get the point.”  Clearly she didn’t.  With renewed vigor, I slammed my palm into her until her cheeks were bright red.  “It’s really starting to hurt, Dad,” she said, half whining, but also half annoyed.  I kept going for a couple minutes until my hand hurt.  But, with satisfaction, I thought about how much more pain I must have been causing her.  Finally, when I was done, I told her to get up, go to her room, and go straight to bed.  She stood up and stared down at me, hands on her hips.  “You shouldn’t have hit me that hard.  Now I’m gonna be sore.  Apologize,” she demanded.

I couldn’t believe it.  That’s not how spankings ought to go.  Apparently she was getting much too big for the barehand to be effective.  Realizing my work was not done yet, I stood up and took my belt off, saying “On your knees.  Bend over the couch.”

“Dad, what the hell!  This is bullshit.”

“Oh yeah?  You’re getting a little extra for that outburst, missy.  Down, now.”

“I don’t have to put up with this.”  She started to walk away.

“Oh yes you do.”  I grabbed both her wrists and pulled her back.  She struggled against me.  Boy, she was getting strong.  Or maybe I was just weaker after the basketball game.  Fortunately, though, I still had a slight upper hand, despite my fatigue.  We struggled for a while, but soon enough I had brought her to her knees.  “Stay down, if you know what’s good for you,” I boomed.  Picking up the belt and pulling her shorts down again, I laid into her.  And I mean I REALLY let her have it.  She started yelling, screaming, and kicking her feet.  “This isn’t fair!” she exclaimed.

“Hold still.”  I went a few more times, seeing her resistance fading.  I stopped once I heard her sobbing quietly.  “There, I think you’ve learned your lesson.”  I sat down next to her and rubbed my hand on her back in a fatherly gesture.  “Now, you know I only did that because I love you, dear.”

She looked up at me with fire in her eyes.  “I hate you,” she said, then got up and stomped up to her room.

“Remember, go straight to bed, I want lights out in 5 minutes.”  Remembering that she still had my credit card, I added, “Oh, and I’ll be needing that Visa card back.”  I heard the card slide under her door out into the hallway.  There, that’s how it ought to go.  Of course I didn’t enjoy causing my daughter pain, but spanking is a time-honored tradition and, really, there was absolutely no doubt that she had it coming.  Things will be better around here, I speculated.  After watching TV for a while, I decided to call it a night.  Passing her bedroom, I made sure that her lights were indeed off.  With a satisfied smile, I continued down the hall to my room.

********************************

Sunday: 5’8”

Another day, another 2 inches lost.  At least, that’s what it seemed like.  I would have to check downstairs to be sure.  What a crappy way to start the day, I thought.  I stepped on the scale and found that I was down to 146 lbs.  That’s only 2/3rds of what I weighed a week ago!  I took a shower and dressed, noting how even my new pants weren’t so tight anymore.  I opened the door to the hallway just as Kyra was leaving the bathroom.  She had just showered and had wrapped her body in a towel which showed plenty of cleavage and was barely long enough to cover her nether-regions.  Jesus, she was getting bigger.  Well, that’s how it seemed from my perspective.  Caught off guard, I stood in my doorway as she passed by and entered her room.  I don’t think she noticed me.  As I headed for the stairs, I noticed her door was cracked open by about two inches.  I saw her through the doorway, combing her hair.  I meant to keep walking, but I … had to pause.

Done brushing, she turned toward the door.  Shit!  I was still standing there.  I started myself moving with a jolt and headed down the stairs, my heart pounding.  She didn’t see me, did she?  I heard her walking towards her door.  Behind me, she stuck her head out and saw me descending the stairs.  I heard the door slam.  Loudly.  Oh my God, what the hell was I doing standing up there?  I went down, got some cereal, and sat at the table, my back to the stairs, my heart pounding a mile a minute.  A short while later, I heard her coming down.

My hand started shaking.  She stopped at the bottom, and I realized she was standing behind me, no doubt glaring down at me.  I tried to play it cool and pretend I didn’t notice her, although my shaking hand caused the spoon to rattle against the side of the bowl.  I prayed that she didn’t notice.  After a few excruciating moments in silence, she moved on to the kitchen and got herself a bowl.  I still didn’t dare look up from my bowl.  I heard her pour cereal and milk, and then to my great relief I heard footsteps on the stairs.  Normally I didn’t allow her to eat in her room, so she didn’t make a mess and so we could eat as a family.  But this time I was more than happy to let her go.  I finished my bowl and went to the couch to watch some TV.

It was an uneventful day.  Kyra was clearly avoiding me as much as possible, spending almost the whole day in her room.  She came down for lunch as I was still watching TV and brought some leftover spaghetti up to her room.  Even though she was sulking, I was glad to see the discipline last night had the intended effect.  She hadn’t talked back to me once since the spanking.  Well, OK, we hadn’t exchanged a single word all day, but still, it’s something.  I passed the time by doing some reading, taking a walk around the neighborhood, and, of course, more TV.  I didn’t see Kyra again until dinner time.

Promptly at 6:00, she came out and stood on the stairs.  “Is it ready yet?” she said coldly.

“Almost, dear.  I’ll call you when it’s ready,” I replied.  She looked annoyed but, for once, didn’t complain and simply returned to her room.

15 minutes later, I called up to her.  She came down and said, “It’s about time.”  Looking at what I made -- Kraft mac and cheese with hot dogs – she scoffed and said sarcastically, “Great, another gourmet meal.”

I gave her a stern look but kept quiet as I served myself and walked to the table.  After getting her own food, Kyra turned to walk up the stairs.  “No, Kyra.  Eat at the table please.”

She gave an exasperated sigh but did as I asked.  We ate in silence for a few minutes, both of us avoiding eye contact.  Not liking her aloofness, I said, “Kyra, honey, I’m sorry you’re upset, but it really was for the best.  I know you’re a big girl, so let’s just put this behind us and move on, OK?” I pleaded.

“It still stings when I sit down,” she scowled.

“It’ll pass, dear.  That should be the last time I have to do that.  Hopefully you’ve learned your lesson,” I said, looking into her eyes.  She was just looking down at her food.  I hope she hasn’t been building up too much resentment.  But no, in a day or two I’m sure she’ll come around.

After another minute, she asked flatly, “How about another game of 1-on-1?”  I wondered if she was hoping to beat me to vent her frustration.

“Not tonight.”  I remember her saying that the deal still stands; if I beat her then she’d be extra good for a week.  But after the spanking I didn’t see any need for that; she was already behaving quite well.

She simply replied, “Suit yourself,” and finished her meal.

After dinner, she escaped to her room again and I watched a movie before going to bed.  I even noted with satisfaction that her light was off in time; she had obeyed the curfew.

********************************

Monday: 5’6”

I was getting nervous about my inexorable decline in height.  When would it stop?  Fortunately, I had that doctor’s appointment this morning.  That bastard would finally believe me, now that I’m a full foot shorter than before.  I had gotten up early to make my 8:30am appointment.  As I strolled downstairs, I realized that Kyra must have still been there.  No sign of her, though.  Probably still in her room.  I ate my breakfast.  Still no sign of her.  Maybe she left early?

Right around 8:00 I heard her door open as she came bounding down the stairs.  “Still here?” I asked.  “You’re running late.”

“Gee, thanks, Captain Obvious,” she said as she grabbed a bagel and started to leave.

Then I noticed her clothes.  “Hold on, not so fast young lady.  Where did you get that outfit?”  I certainly hadn’t seen it before.  She had on a tight navy blue shirt with buttons down the front.  Way too many of them were unbuttoned, showing far too much skin for my liking.  And she also wore a skimpy mini-skirt, as well as those damned heels again.  She was dressed to kill, I had to admit – neat and slightly professional, but at the same time she looked very, very… --I didn’t let myself complete that thought.

“Saturday.  Remember, we went shopping?” she said, exasperated.

“Go change.  You know that attire is completely inappropriate.”

“Dad, I don’t have time for this, I’m leaving,” she said, walking out the door.

“Come back here!” I shouted after her.

I was happy to see her stop, turn around, and come back in.  But to my surprise I found out it wasn’t anything I had said.  “The bus just drove by.  I would have made it if you hadn’t been complaining about my clothes.  Thanks a lot, Dad.”  I did feel a little bad about it.  I mean, I would rather she make it to school wearing that than not making it at all.  “You have to drive me now,” she stated.

Yeah, I guess she was right.  But crap, my appointment was in less than 30 minutes.  Letting out a sigh, I said, “OK, but we have to leave right now if I’m going to make my appointment on time.”  I got up and was ready to head out.  “Oh, wait, no, Kyra you need to go change first.”

She briskly walked right up to me and put her hands on her hips.  “I don’t believe this.  You just said we need to leave now, so for God’s sake we ARE leaving now.”  Holy shit.  I hadn’t stood next to her all day yesterday.  The day before, my eyes were up to her chin.  Now, with 4 more inches, plus the extra 4 inch heels, I was staring up at her shoulders!  My eyes were only a couple inches above her bust, for God’s sake.  I realized that I was an entire foot shorter than her in those heels.

She didn’t give me much time to gawk, though.  “C’mon, let’s go already.”  I trailed behind her, too overwhelmed to argue with her.  As usual, I headed around to the driver’s side but realized she was already standing there.  She just held out her hand impatiently.  “Not today, it’ll be faster if I drive,” I told her.

“No, it’ll be faster if you stop wasting time and give me the keys already,” she retorted.  Not wanting to be any later than I was already, I decided to give in for now and deal with her misbehavior later.

Although I wasn’t able to get her to change out of that attention-grabbing outfit, I at least wanted to do what I could.  “Kyra, button your shirt up.  You can’t go around looking like that.”

“Looking like what?” she retorted, pulling out of the driveway.

“You know, showing too much of your, uh…”

“Too much of my what?”  God, she was being difficult.

“Kyra, you know what I mean.”

“Hmph.  I’ll tell you what, how about you apologize for making me miss the bus, and then I’ll button it up.”

“Apologize?  You’re the one who dressed like that.  And you were running late anyway.”

“Listen, Dad, I’m getting really tired of your protective father bullshit.  If you hadn’t stopped me for no good reason this morning I’d be on the bus now.  Say you’re sorry.”

I stared over at her, clenching my teeth.  When I refused to apologize, she casually reached down and started to undo two more buttons which had been stretched to the breaking point as they held in Kyra’s generous bust.  One at a time, she popped them open, letting her jugs spill forth and push apart the flaps of her shirt in a stunning display of cleavage.  She tugged down on the sides of her shirt to give an even better view.  Looking in the mirror, she pushed up on her boobs to readjust them, all the while acting as if I wasn’t even there.

I gulped loudly.  She wasn’t supposed to do that.  No, no, I couldn’t let her walk around like that, looking so … so …

God, I couldn’t stop staring.  My eyes remained transfixed on her heart-stopping display of cleavage, even after she finished adjusting it.  She looked over and, with sneering, said, “See something you like?”  I snapped out of my trance and blushed.

“Kyra, c’mon, please don’t do that.”

“Do what, Dad?”

“Just button it back up, OK?” I was getting weary from all the arguing.  And the awkwardness.

“I’m waiting for an apology.”

I looked back at her.  Whoa!  I looked away.  I could just imagine all the boys at her school ogling her.  “I’m sorry,” I muttered.

“Sorry for what?”

“I’m sorry for making you miss the bus,” I said slowly.

“That’s better.”  She re-buttoned those two buttons.

“You said you would button up more!” I whined.  “That’s just how it was before.”

Kyra glared over at me.  “This is good enough.”  Before I could argue, we had arrived at her school and she stepped out.  After retrieving her bag, she simply walked away to class, without so much as a goodbye.  It seemed the effects of the spanking might have been wearing off.  Hopefully this was just a result of running late; she would be better tonight … I hoped.

I was 5 minutes late for the appointment, so they pushed someone else in ahead of me.  15 minutes later, I entered the doctor’s office.  “What seems to be the problem?”  He evidently didn’t recognize me.  If he did, he would notice I’m almost a foot shorter than last time.  Frustrated, I explained my situation.  He didn’t seem to believe me at first, but their records did show 6’6”, and after all, why would I make this up?  After asking about my symptoms, any medications I’ve taken, etc., it was clear that he didn’t have a clue what was wrong or how to fix it.  He was going to just prescribe some antibiotics, saying, “I am confident that this will work,” but I knew full well that this was just a common doctors’ trick to placate their patients.  More forcefully, I convinced him to run a full diagnosis – blood work, urine sample, everything.  “We’ll have your results within 2 days,” he assured me after administering the tests.  Feeling a bit better that I at least got some tests taken this time, I went to work in a fairly good mood.

I could feel the stares of my coworkers, though.  I was becoming increasingly leery of coming in to work, due to the discomfort of having all these people around, especially people who were now taller than me.  It could be worse, I figured.  I’m only slightly below the average height for a man now, and still above the average woman.  That didn’t comfort me much, though.  As 5:00 rolled around I headed to Kyra’s school.

As I pulled up, she was at the curb waiting.  Oh no.  I assumed she would still be in her basketball attire, which I could handle, no problem.  But she had changed back into that … distracting outfit.  I leaned over and opened the passenger door for her.  She ignored it and strutted over to my side of the car.  Watching her walk, I wondered why my high school never had any girls so tall, busty, voluptuous, … Damn it, I really needed to stop doing that!

I rolled the window down and told her that I didn’t want her to drive this time.  She leaned over, WAY over, so that her elbows were resting on the door at the bottom of the windows.  I honestly can’t remember seeing a more gut-wrenching display of feminine beauty.  As she was practically spilling out of her shirt, I saw that she had undone those two buttons again.  “Daddy,” she said.  I didn’t hear her.

“Daddy!  Look at me.”  I broke the trance and gazed up into her eyes.  “What did I tell you about staring at my breasts, Daddy?”  Oh, hell.  I turned my head and stared sullenly down at the steering wheel instead.  “Well?” she said impatiently.

After stumbling to find the words, I said, “You told me not to.”

“That’s right.  And what were you doing?”  Couldn’t she just give me a break?

“I … I glanced at them.”

“It was more than a glance, wasn’t it, Daddy?”

“Ye – yes,” I said reluctantly.  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.”  By this time, I was squirming in my seat.  I thought of the Southwest Airlines slogan, ‘Wanna get away?’

“Good enough.  Now open the door.”  Not wanting to, but knowing she would just stay there with her jugs in full view until I acquiesced, I opened the door with her standing in the way.  I had to squeeze by her, trying my hardest not to look at what was now just inches below my face.  I got in the other side but we didn’t take off yet.  I just wanted to be home.

“Daddy, do you know why I’m mad at you?”

“Honey, I already told you I’m sorry,” I said anxiously.

“Well, that too.  But the main reason is that you made me wait a whole hour after my practice finished.  I told you we normally get out at 4:30,” she said sternly.

“Well, I told you that I can’t get off work until 5:00 and it takes a half hour to get here.”

“You didn’t even try to get off early, did you?”

“Well … no, because they would say no anyway.  And my job’s important.  I need to stay until 5:00.”

“I knew it.  We’ll talk about this later.”  I fumed as we drove on.  Kyra turned on the radio to some Britney Spears or Spice Girls or whatever the hell kids listened to these days.  I was out of touch, but I knew I hated this crap.

“Please switch the station, honey, I can’t stand this.”

“The driver always picks the radio station, you know that.”  She’s right, that’s what I always told her when I wanted to listen to my music.  Not going to win this argument, I toughed it out for the rest of the ride.

As we walked into the house, she grabbed my arm and steered me to the wall of shame, as I now called it.  “Hey, let go!”

“Relax, Dad, we need to measure you.  Shoes off.”  I reluctantly complied, standing another inch lower in my bare feet – another inch closer to her huge tits.  In her heels, she had to bend down considerably to line up her gaze with the top of my head.  “Let’s see what we have here … 5’6”.”  She giggled, spinning me around.  “Look, I was as tall as you when I was 10!”  Boy, that was sobering.  She spun me back around and moved in closer.  My chin was mere inches from nestling into her expansive cleavage.  “Daaadee,” she warned, “Eyes up here.”

I craned my neck to see her peering down imperiously from her lofty perch.  “You know what I just realized,” she said slyly.  “In these heels, I’m as tall as you used to be!”  I gulped.  Jesus, she was right.  I was really rattled by seeing how much I had shrunk – and just as rattled that my high school daughter was my former height, and I was as tall as her at only 10 years old.  I tried to edge my way out of there but she held both her hands on my shoulders.  She smirked as she saw my attempts to leave.  My neck was starting to ache, but I didn’t dare lower my gaze downward.  “Kyra, I need to go make dinner.”

“Haha, sure Dad.”  She lowered her arms but didn’t back up an inch.  I had to shimmy along the wall until I was free.

As I turned away from her, her power over me faded and I regained some sense of authority.  I spun around and told her, “Kyra, take off that outfit right now.  I should have made you take it off this morning.  In fact, we’ll need to return it to the store.  And after dinner I’m going to inspect your other clothes as well.”

She raised her eyebrow and stepped toward me, saying, “Should have made me take it off, eh?  But Daddy,” she continued with a mock pouty face, “I thought we settled this already.  Remember when you apologized for making me miss the bus over this silly little dispute?”  I cringed, remembering all too well.  “Besides, it’s too late now, I’ve already worn these a full day and it would be rude to return used clothes.”

My face was red from embarrassment and anger.  “Fine, but I’m still checking the other clothes you bought, and returning them if need be.”

“Whatever, just make dinner and we’ll settle this later.”  She glanced at the clock.  “5:49,” she said simply.  Fine, we’ll settle this after dinner alright.  I went about preparing tacos and rice, thinking ahead with bitter satisfaction to being able to put Kyra back in her place once the meal was over.

As usual, she came down right at 6:00.  She was still wearing the same outfit.  As I was finishing up the meal, she walked over and leaned over me to see how it was progressing.  “It’s almost ready,” I snapped.  “Hey, I told you to change.”

“And I told you we’ll settle this after dinner.”

I fumed, “Well, for God’s sake, would you at least button it back up?”

She motioned with her hand to silence me.  “After dinner,” she said assertively.  Grrrr.  The Incredible Hulk inside me was begging to come out.

I announced that dinner was ready.  She reminded me that the dinner was 4 minutes late.  But as we ate, she remarked, “Hmm, surprisingly good, Dad.  You should make this more often.”

“Oh … why, thanks dear,” genuinely pleased by her rare compliment.

After dinner, I stayed at the table.  “OK, Kyra, we need to talk now.”  I didn’t want to do it standing, that’s for sure.

“Sure, Dad, but first do you want to see the clothes I bought?  Just to see if there’s any you want me to get rid of.”

Well, well, she was being reasonable after all.  “Yes, would you bring them down, please?”

“OK.  But I have a surprise for you.  You should sit on the couch and close your eyes.”

Perplexed, I moved to the couch and stood waiting a few minutes, wondering what was taking so long.  Then I heard her call, “Eyes closed!  I’m coming.”  I played along, clueless as to what she had in store.  I heard her walk up to me and said, “Now stand up.  No peeking!”  I did as she asked.  “OK, ready, open your eyes.”

She had put on yet another dress, this time a yellow summer dress that fit her like a glove.  She had lined up her low V-neck right in front of my nose.  Startled, I fell back onto the couch.  “Jesus, Kyra!”  She was laughing uncontrollably.

“I just love watching your reaction to my dresses, Daddy.  I can tell you really like this one,” she said as she burst out laughing again.

“That’s not funny.  Why did you bother putting it on anyway?”

“Why, so you can see how it looks on me, to see if it meets your standards.  Besides,” she added, “I wanted a guy’s opinion before taking it out in public.”

“Taking it out in public?  Noooo way.  We are definitely returning this one.”

“Oh, Dad, quit being so melodramatic.  Wait here, I’ve got one more.”

She returned to her room, giving me time to figure out how to deal with this.  It didn’t help that she was so … distracting.

The last dress was a strapless number that showed plenty of leg.  I got caught checking her out for too long.  “It’s OK, Dad, normally I won’t allow it, but right now I’ll give you permission to check me out.”

“What – no I wasn’t.”

“You’re so cute when you’re embarrassed, Daddy,” she said affectionately.

I couldn’t believe I was letting this happen.  Rising to my feet, I mustered up some confidence and said, “Kyra, you can’t have any of these dresses.  Wrap them back up.  We’re going to the mall right now.”

I shouldn’t have stood up.  She sauntered towards me and wrapped her hands behind my neck, pulling me closer.  “But you love how I look in them, don’t you.”

“Kyra, I –“

“Don’t you, Daddy,” she said soothingly, pulling my head in to rest on her chest.  Oh God, they were so soft, so big, so… --What was I doing!?  After a second, I jerked back away from her, falling on the couch.

“I know how to settle this,” she offered.  “Let’s play another game of basketball.”  I was about to protest but she interjected, “If you win, I’ll take back all the clothes that you don’t like.  Plus I will still behave for a week.”  She ought to behave all the time, I muttered to myself.  But this was seemingly the easiest way to get what I wanted.  If not, I could always resort to spanking again; there was nothing to lose.  “Fine.  You gonna play in that dress, too?” I quipped.

“Don’t be silly, Daddy.  I’ll see you out there.”

After I was warmed up and ready to go, I gave her the ball but she reminded me, “No, Daddy, your turn first, remember?”  Ugh.  I was trying not to think about how my daughter beat me fair and square last game.  As I got ready, I started to think that this was a big mistake.  I was 4 inches smaller than last time, and even then I was overwhelmed at the end.  But I put on my game face and was determined not to back down.  I checked the ball and drove towards the hoop.

It was a slaughter.  I couldn’t do anything, tired or otherwise.  She got up 6-0 on her first 6 possessions.  “Um, Kyra, honey, I don’t feel well.  Can we do this another time?”

She chuckled and shook her head.  “Uh-uh, Daddy.  You play now, or the deal’s off.”  The game went like the last few possessions of last game, but worse.  I could hardly get within 15 feet of the rim, while she on the other hand could choose whether to use her strength to easily back me down to the basket or use her quickness to run right past me for a layup.  It was truly phenomenal how quickly she was improving, and with the now dramatic height disadvantage I had no chance.  I had to throw up wild shots over her outstretched arms, and very few of them even hit the rim.  Miraculously, one of them not only managed to hit the rim but bounced in as well, prompting me to give a fist pump and let out a sigh of relief.  Kyra seemed impressed, saying, “Wow, Daddy, one in a million, huh?” intending it as a compliment.  But in reality her words had the opposite effect, reminding me just how one-sided our games had become.  I did manage to stop her from scoring on three separate possessions, although I was pretty sure I had fouled her at least two of those times.  She didn’t call anything.  The final score was 11-1.  I was utterly devastated.

“Hang in there, big guy,” she said, rubbing my shoulder.  I shrugged her off in frustration.  At least, since the game went so quickly, I wasn’t so exhausted this time.  She went to pick up the ball and I quickly escaped to the house, hiding the tears that were welling up in my eyes.

Coming in after me, she called me over.  “I wanted to say I appreciate you helping me learn basketball.”  She caught up to me and brought me in for a hug.  My head rested on her shoulder.  “It must be hard for you, knowing that I’m so much better than you now.”  I didn’t appreciate her being so blunt.  She drew me back a bit to face her.  As I looked up at her, she said, “I know I said it was a standing offer, that you could try beating me whenever.  But I’ve decided that we won’t play competitively again.  It’s too hard on you.  And as you get smaller it will only get worse.  You could really hurt yourself out there.  I hope you understand.”  My eyes welled up with tears.  “There, there, it’ll be OK,” she soothed, pulling me back to her shoulder and rubbing the back of my head tenderly.  I couldn’t help but sob softly onto Kyra’s shoulder.  Basketball was my pride and joy.  I used to dominate on the court, and it was so much fun.  But now I can’t even beat my little girl who had just picked up the sport!  I felt completely impotent.

Bending down to kiss my forehead, she told me, “Why don’t you go shower up and then I’ll meet you downstairs for some TV.”

“Uh … OK,” I said uncertainly, wiping the tears from my face.  As I left I saw her taking down the paper with our 1-v-1 scores and throwing it away.

I felt somewhat better after the shower but was still depressed.  I dressed and went downstairs.  There she was, wearing her usual nightwear – with no bra, as usual.  I didn’t want a repeat of the last time we watched TV on the couch, so I told her, “Um, Kyra, honey, I don’t really think you should be watching TV.  You’re still grounded.”

“I see.  Come here, let’s talk about it,” she said, patting the couch next to her.  I obeyed.  “Are you feeling OK, Dad?” she asked concernedly.

“Yeah, why?”

“You just seem a bit upset.  I know you’ve had a hard night.”  She reached behind me and began rubbing the back of my neck tenderly.  “You want to talk about it?”

“No, I’m fine dear.”

She still had a concerned expression.  “I think a little TV will help ease your mind.”  She picked up the remote and turned on Cartoon Network.

“I don’t know, Kyra …”

“Just relax, Daddy, relaaaax …” she soothed as she pulled her arm around me and brought me into her.  “There we go,” she comforted.  I was about to protest but was too distracted by the aroma of her shampoo filling my nostrils.  With my head resting on her shoulder, I had a clear view of both the TV and … Looking down, I was mesmerized by her firm cleavage under the soft white shirt.  She couldn’t see my eyes from her vantage point, which was good but also very, very bad, as I had nothing to stop me from staring.

I lost track of time, hardly looking up at the TV, my attention completely focused on what lay in front of me.  As the 8:30 show ended, she reached over and turned off the TV.  “There, feel better now?”  I had indeed forgotten all about my troubles.

She seemed to sense this as she said, “Come along.”  She stood up and held my hand.  I followed her up the stairs into my bedroom.  “Brush your teeth, honey,” she said softly.  I was confused, not quite thinking straight, so I went ahead and did as she asked.  Coming back out, I saw that she had made my bed and pulled back the cover.

“What’s this all about?” I asked groggily.

“Well, as it’s 9:00 I thought I might sleep here with you.  You could use some extra comforting.”

Even in my dreamy state alarm bells went off.  “Oh, uh, I don’t think that would be appropriate, honey.”

“Suit yourself, Daddy.  But I think it’s time for you to go to bed all the same.”  Well, I was pretty tired.  But I usually stayed up until midnight or later.

“It’s not my bedtime yet,” I replied.

“Oh, tonight I think it is.  Sleeping is the best idea for you now.”  She pulled me towards the bed and I found myself strangely unable, or perhaps unwilling, to resist her.  She pushed me down onto the bed and lifted the covers for me to swing my legs in.  “There, isn’t that better?”  She pulled the covers up to my chin and sat down on the bed beside me, stroking my cheek maternally.  I was feeling surprisingly sleepy.

I remembered her curfew, and asked, “Kyra, are you going to bed now, too?”

“Oh, no, I think I’ll stay up a while.  That reminds me, where did you hide my laptop and phone?”

“Huh?  I’m not going to –“  She leaned in, her face inches above mine.  Her hair draped all around me; the scent was intoxicating.

“Please, Daddy, be a good boy and tell Kyra where it is.”

Well, I did want to be good … “It’s under the bed, in the blue bin.”

“Thanks, Daddy,” she said quietly.  My lips parted slightly in an almost inaudible gasp as Kyra’s own lips descended on them in a gentle kiss.  “Good night.”

“Good night,” I whispered.  I heard Kyra take out her laptop and phone from under my bed then turn the lights off and close the door behind her.  I felt tired, but at the same time I couldn’t stop thinking about Kyra.  Stop it, I told myself, but to no avail.  I was getting hard thinking about her and how wonderful it felt laying against her.  And that cleavage … I soon realized there was no way I would fall asleep without releasing some, uh, energy first.  My hand groped on the nightstand and found some tissues, as my other hand started fondling myself.  It was almost scary how much she was dominating my thoughts.  My own daughter, for Christ’s sake.  But I became lost in ecstasy, and it didn’t take long to erupt in my best, and most shameful, orgasm in recent memory.  I cleaned up, and soon after I dozed off into a deep sleep.

********************************

Tuesday: 5’4”

I awoke, feeling well-rested and refreshed.  I faced the usual disappointment of finding the world around me slightly larger.  I had to stoop down a bit more than before to get off the bed.  I walked over to the scale and weighed myself at 122 lbs.  Whoa.  I had lost 100 lbs in 8 days with my incredible shrinking diet.  And, looking in the mirror, I could have sworn that I looked younger again.  I noticed this a couple days ago, but now it was even more pronounced.  I had less of a stubble to shave, and my face looked more youthful.  I didn’t mind looking younger; I guess there’s a silver lining there.

I found a note on the kitchen table from Kyra.  It simply said, “Gym, today, 4:30 pm SHARP,” with the last word underlined for emphasis.  That was kinda rude, I thought.  But surprisingly I didn’t get angry.  Maybe I should get off work early, I thought.  Maybe Kyra deserves it – she was just so wonderful and nice to me last night.  Actually, I couldn’t quite remember what happened after my shower, but I just knew that Kyra was especially sweet and loving.  That settles it: I’ll pick her up on time today.

It wasn’t a problem to ask for the time off; I just said it was for some additional testing at the doctor’s.  Speaking of which, I called the doctor’s office but the results wouldn’t be in until maybe tomorrow, but probably later.  ‘Two days at the latest, my ass,’ I thought.  That doctor was pissing me off.

At 4:00 I left work.  I wanted to make sure to be there on time to surprise her.  Getting there early, I went inside to watch.  She was like a whole different player than the one I saw last week.  At least the blowout last night was partly due to her improvement, not just my shrinking.  She was very good, even dominant, playing with her teammates.  She looked to be the best player on the floor.  I was proud.

As she walked up after practice, I beamed.  “Hi, Kyra, here I am!”

“Hi, Dad, let’s go.”  I was hoping she would be pleasantly surprised to see me; instead, it seemed as though she merely expected me to be there.  I even offered her the keys, hoping to get a reaction from her, but she just grabbed them and walked out.

Catching up to her, I said, “You were amazing out there, I can’t believe how good you’ve gotten, and so quickly too.”

“You saw me play last night, didn’t you?” she said flatly, reminding me of the Monday Massacre.

Undeterred, I asked, “So how’s the team going?  They gonna bump you up to Varsity soon?”

“They already did.”  What, really?  I gave a confused look.  She told me, “JV and Varsity practice together until summer.  That’s why I was playing with the same group.”  Wow.  She was now the best female basketball player in the whole school.

“Really?  That’s great, honey!  But why didn’t you tell me?”

She shrugged.  “Didn’t think of it.”  She turned on the radio.  I was saddened that she didn’t include me at all in her successes.  Especially basketball; I mean, I was the one who nudged her towards basketball the most.

Getting home, she looked at the clock.  “Now you can’t claim ‘not having time’ as an excuse to make a crappy dinner.  You have over an hour, and I hope to see a drastic improvement in your cooking.”  Why was she being so bossy?  I was just trying to make her happy.

“I don’t have any recipe books,” I said.

“Go online.  There are tons of recipes there.”

“Sure, honey, no problem,” I replied, eager to please her.

She disappeared into her room until 6:00.  Meanwhile, I tried to find a good recipe online, but the real problem was a lack of ingredients.  I spent 15 minutes searching until I decided to just go with a ham, cheese, and potato casserole since we had those around.  45 minutes, plenty of time.  I peeled the potatoes and started boiling them.  I hadn’t realized it would take this long, though.  As I continued preparing the meal, I found out more and more that cooking generally doesn’t go as quickly and smoothly as you might think.  I don’t know where these recipes get the ‘estimated preparation time’ from, but it seemed wise to double it as a general rule.  Sooner or later, I realized that I was never going to finish by 6:00.  Darn, I really wanted to have it ready for Kyra.

Again, promptly at 6:00, she came down the stairs.  She had on the infamous black dress, that first dress she tried on in the store.  And, of course, those 4-inch heels.  “Well, what do you have to say for yourself?” she demanded, walking up to me with her hands on her hips.  God, she was huge.

“I’m sorry, Kyra, I really tried but it’s just taking longer than I expected,” I pleaded.  “Please don’t be mad.”

She glared down at me, not reacting to my supplications.  I couldn’t believe how big she was now.  As I looked down, I saw that her waist was about chest-high on me.  And her breasts – wow, they were staring at me straight ahead.  Jesus, just look at them …

“What the hell do you think you are doing!” she yelled, clenching her hand under my jaw and forcing me to look up at her.  Her fingers were digging into my skin.

I started to tremble.  “I – I’m sorry, I was just seeing how tall you were, and, and—“

“And you just thought you would gawk at your daughter’s breasts, is that it?” she asked with acrimony.

“Please, Kyra, I didn’t mean to!”

“Oh?  I think you absolutely meant to.  You haven’t been able to take your eyes off them all week.  Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”  She paused for a moment, then a wicked grin crept onto her face.  She towed me over to the wall, the same one that had the height marks.  She rougly pressed me against the wall and started inching her body closer.  “Do you like my breasts, Dad?”

“Kyra, you’re my daughter, I would never--”

“Answer my question.”

“Honey, what are you doing?  You’re a little too close.” I hoped she would relent.

She just kept coming, her impressive cleavage about to touch my nose.  I squirmed, trying to wriggle free, but her hand held my chin tight, and her other hand was pressing hard into my chest.  “Let me go!” I exclaimed.

With an evil grin, she pulled herself forward, plunging my face firmly into her bosom.  She released my chin and moved her hand to the back of my head.  Grabbing a fistful of hair, she pulled my head in tighter.

I tried to yell.  All that came out was, “Mmphh hrmph mmrrphh.”  I could feel her chest vibrate as she laughed evilly.  I was completely crammed in between her two gigantic melons.  The soft, pliable flesh formed a tight seal around my face.  I realized I couldn’t breathe, and I began to panic.  I started thrashing around and ended up hitting her in the shoulder.

I was yanked out.  “You hit me, you son of a bitch!  Ohh, you’re gonna get it later.  Stop thrashing about, or I’ll make your life a living hell!”  I was scared shitless.  This wasn’t punishment enough?  What would she do to me later?  I tried resisting, but with superior strength and leverage, she pulled me back in.  I realized I forgot to take a deep breath.  Oh boy, was I in trouble.  I stood there, motionless as she requested, and tried not to think of how good her heaving bosom felt.  Because it did seem to be heaving; was she breathing hard?  Surely, she wasn’t giving much physical exertion.  She wasn’t … getting turned on by this, was she?  I didn’t have much longer to contemplate this, though, as I was quickly running out of air.  I tried keeping still, but panic started kicking in, and I started groping about.

“STOP MOVING,” Her voice boomed through her chest.  I immediately dropped my hands.  Even though I was out of oxygen, I fought the urge to struggle, realizing it would only make it worse.  I started to feel dizzy and saw stars by the time she pulled me out.  She looked down at her chest.  “Ew, you slobbered on me!  Clean it up!”

She released me and I stumbled to the floor.  “Move it,” she commanded.  I stood up, still wobbly, and got a paper towel.  I came back over and hesitated.  “Now.”  She pointed at her breasts.  I wiped them up as best I could, although they were still a little sticky.  “So gross.  You will not slobber on me next time, understand?”  I nodded vigorously.  Next time?  “Now, where were we?  Ah yes, you were telling me what you thought of my breasts.”

I was about to cry.  Why was she doing this?  “Well?” she said sternly.

“Um … they’re nice, I guess.”

“Nice?  You guess?  You’ll have to do better than that.”

She leaned forward and pressed her arms together, squeezing her cleavage together.  She noticed that my gaze was still locked up to her eyes.  Chuckling, she said, “Very good.  Now you may look at them.”  She tilted my head down.  She then proceeded to undulate her body seductively.  She gently brushed her tits up and down and around my face.  I was shaking uncontrollably.  Where did she learn to move like that?  “I’m still waiting.”

“They’re very nice.”

“Yesss, very nice.  Go on.”  She was clearly getting aroused.  She then brought her left boob up to my face and pressed it into me.  I gasped.  Did she gasp, too?  My lips felt her nipple hardening.

“They’re … fantastic.  I’ve never seen any like it,” I answered truthfully.

“Mmmm, that’s more like it, Daddy.  Now I’ll just have to check something.”  A moment later I felt something grasp my raging hardon.  She gasped as loudly as me this time.  “Well, well, it seems you were telling the truth about me and my breasts.”  I grabbed her hand and forced it away.  “My, my, aren’t we feisty?”

My eyes started watering.  She pulled away and told me with a sly grin, “We’ll continue our playtime after dinner.”  I didn’t like the sound of that.  As she sat down I teetered over to the oven.  Tears were rolling down my cheek.  I pulled out the casserole, dished some out onto two plates, and, maintaining my composure as much as possible, placed the plates on the table and sat down.

“Hmm…” she looked at it.  “It looks pretty good, but you burned it.  Don’t let that happen again.”

I was about to protest that there’s no way I could have helped that as she was molesting me.  But from her sharp gaze I realized that she was testing me.  “Sorry, I won’t.”  I hung my head.

I kept my head down, staring at my plate the entire dinner.  I reflected on how she had just treated me.  And I remembered her mentioning more punishment, and more ‘playtime’ after dinner.  I had no choice but to try to put an end to this immediately.  As soon as dinner is over, I thought.

We had finished eating.  “Clean up in here, then meet me on the couch,” she ordered.

“No.”  I stood up, put my hands on my hips, took a deep breath, and stared down at her resolutely.  Though it may well be the death of me, I had to make a stand here and now before things spiraled even more out of control.  “This ends now.  I’m still your father, and you’ll do as I say.”

She raised her eyebrow and said, “Oh?”  With a dark voice, she added, “I would think twice about that if I were you.”

“Kyra, come to the living room.  You’re getting another spanking, and this time I won’t be so gentle!”

She eyed me with surprise.  As I walked to the couch, I saw her taking off her heels then get up and follow me.  Taking a deep breath, I hoped this would work.  “Are you sure you want to do this?” she questioned, peering down at me.

“Across my lap, pants down.  You know the drill.”  She shrugged as if to say, ‘Well, I warned you,’ but went along with it.  As she laid her heavy body across my legs, I started to worry.  I was 6 inches shorter than the last time I spanked her; would she even feel this?  Her midsection filled my lap completely, and it was almost comical seeing such a short man spanking a much taller girl.  But, I was determined.  I gave it all I had.  After about 10 loud smacks, she taunted, “Did you start spanking me yet?”  There was no strain in her voice, no plea to stop like last time.  I continued.  “I think a fly might have just bitten me on the ass.”  She was enjoying this way too much.  Getting tired, I decided to stop and try the belt treatment.

“Get up,” I told her gruffly.

She did, and told me with mock concern, “Look, Daddy, your hand is all red.  Did you hurt yourself?”

“That does it!”  I angrily got up to take off my belt.

“No, Dad, I think you’ve had enough fun for today,” she told me.

“Bend over!” I yelled up at her.

“No,” she declared.  Fine, I’ll just have to make her bend over then.  I grabbed her wrists and pulled her down like before.  Except this time she didn’t budge.  I started yanking her forward but she pulled me back.  We started a tussle.  She would pull, and I would pull back just as hard.  I was able to match her move for move as we vied for position.

After about 2 minutes of this, though, she stated simply, “OK, I’ve had enough.”  Then, to my amazement, her arms suddenly surged backward with amazing strength, yanking my frail body off my feet to send me crashing to the ground.  In a split second she was on top of me and pinning my arms back.  Where the hell did that come from!?  I had thought I was winning!  She wasn’t … toying with me the entire time, was she!?

She was laying down on top of me, her face inches from mine.  I continued to struggle, but she had a firm hold of my wrists and easily pulled them up over my head.  She was clearly stronger than me now.  After letting me squirm for a few seconds, she said sternly, “Stop struggling.”  I realized I had no choice but to comply.  She just lay on top of me, staring daggers for what seemed like an eternity, and although I was intensely uncomfortable I remained still as a statue out of terror.  Finally, she broke the silence by saying, “You can’t tell me what to do anymore.”

I felt utterly helpless.  There was no escape.  She could do whatever she wanted with me at that point.  I started to sob.  She just peered down at me, watching my reaction.  Finally, she asked, “Am I still grounded, Dad?”

My eyes welled up even more.  “No.”

“Can I wear whatever I want?”

“Yes,” I said softly.

“Are you going to be a good boy, now?”

“Y-Yes.”

“Now who is the head of the house?”

“You are, Kyra.”

“Good.  And don’t forget it.”  She stood and pulled me up with her, now strong enough to lift my entire 121 lb frame without my help.

She held my chin up.  “Now, I want you to get all your chores done and then go to bed.”

“What chores?”

“All of them, of course.”

“But I never do the chores.”

She cocked her eyebrow.  I replied hastily, “OK, I’ll do them.”

“Good boy.  But first, I think I have decided what your punishment will be.”  She sat on the couch and pulled me down with her.  I tried to resist her but after an embarrassingly brief struggle I found myself laying face-down across her lap.  “Pants down,” she ordered.

“Kyra, honey, what are you doing?  This isn’t right.”

“Remember, I’m the head of the household now and I know what’s best for you.”  She helped me pull them down.  After a few tense seconds, I felt a sharp sting on my ass.  “Ow!” I yelped.  And then another, and another, each one harder than the last.   “Kyra, please – Ow! – Please stop!” I begged.  Jesus Christ, she could hit!  I was learning what it was like to get spanked by someone bigger than me, and I didn’t like having the tables turned one bit.  I started struggling.

“Stop moving, or you’ll get more!”  I kept still and took her punishment.  She kept going for way longer than I did to her.  The longer it went, the more my bottom stung and the worse each blow became.  Finally, she stopped and said, “That was for trying to spank me just now.”  I started to get up but was assaulted with three more devastating blows on my bare ass.  “This is for hitting me earlier.”  Another three blows.  I couldn’t take much more.  I had since stopped yelling and started sobbing.  “And this is for burning the casserole.”  A few more slaps.  Fortunately she was lenient on this one, probably considering it wasn’t even my fault.

When she was done, she simply pushed me off her knees and dumped me on the ground.  “Now go do your chores.”  She sat in my recliner and turned on the TV as I slowly pulled my pants up and walked away, wincing from the pain.

It took me well over an hour to do them, partly because I hadn’t done chores in so long, and partly because it hurt to walk too fast.  But finally I finished up and nervously trudged up to her, saying in a meek voice, “Kyra, my chores are done.”

“Are you sure?  You had better have done a good job.”

I hesitated, but I knew I did them as well as I knew how.  “Yes, Kyra.”

She got up.  “Follow me.”  She went around the house, inspecting every nook and cranny.  “What is this?  You didn’t clean the mirror.”

“Oh, I forgot.”  How could I remember what all the chores were?

She continued, “This shelf is dusty.  And you need to vacuum better.”

“Yes, dear.”

“Well, there’s plenty more that needs improvement, but since it’s your first day I’ll be lenient.  Go fix the things I told you and see me when you are done.”

“Yes, dear.”

“Daaaddee, when I’m nice to you, you need to thank me.”

“Yes, dear.  I mean, thank you dear.”

“Go on then.”  It took me another 15 minutes, but when I was sure those things were spotless I came back to her.  “Do I need to check them, or did you do them right this time?” she asked condescendingly.

“I did them right, I promise.”

“Well, OK then.”  Grabbing my wrist and twisting it to see my watch, she said, “It’s 9:20.  From now on I want you to finish your chores earlier so you can be in bed by 9:00.”

“Yes, Kyra.”

“Go brush your teeth and I’ll meet you upstairs.”  Why was she going upstairs?  I did as she commanded, and when I had finished brushing I found her standing in my room.  She approached and said, “Arms up.”  What was this about?  She reached out to pull my shirt up.  As I was looking down to see what she was doing, I caught a mind-boggling display of her cleavage, still propped up beautifully in her skimpy dress.  Shit!  She didn’t see me did she?  Apparently not.  She lifted the shirt over my head then started unbuttoning my pants.

“Kyra, I can do this myself.”  She didn’t respond, simply pulling them down around my ankles.  She grabbed each ankle one at a time to pull the pants through.  Then she stood up and started pulling down my boxers!  “Kyra!  No!  Please, let me keep these on!” I begged.

“Hmm, well, I suppose that’s OK.”  She paused.  “Daddy,” she said impatiently.

“What … oh.  Thank you.”  It didn’t seem fair to have to thank my daughter for not stripping me naked.

I was expecting her to take me to bed, but instead she pressed me into her in a tight hug.  Fortunately not as tight as earlier, plus with her heels off my face was on her shoulders, instead of buried in her bosom.  “We’ve had a big day, haven’t we?” she gleamed.  “I’m glad to see that things are finally how they should be.”  She started swaying her hips from side to side.  Her hips gradually picked up the pace, and I could hear her breathing quicken.  “You were so funny today, squirming around in my chest.  It felt good, too.”  Uh-oh.  Danger, Will Robinson.  Still holding me firmly, she pushed me towards the bed until we fell on, her on top.  Now she was grinding herself on me, using my upper thigh to provide friction for her …  nether-regions.

“Kyra, honey, you don’t know what you’re doing!  This isn’t right!”  I was starting to get frantic.

“Mmm, good Daddy, keep squirming.”  She was getting off on her new power over me.  With horror, I could do nothing but lay still as she worked her hips up and down my thigh.  “You tiny, pathetic little man.  I can do whatever the fuck I want with you.  Oh, God, yes …”  She was drunk with power and arousal.

“No, Kyra!” I yelled desperately.  But she was too far gone to pay me any attention.  Her breathing turned to panting as her rhythm picked up.  She started moaning, louder and louder, until with a final push on my thigh, she orgasmed violently, clenching her legs painfully around mine and writhing in the throes of ecstasy.

She continued to hold me tight as her breathing slowed.  I could not believe what just happened.  “Oh my God, Daddy, that was wonderful!” she panted.  “I’ve made myself come before, but never like that,” she purred, caressing my face.  God, no.  The first sexual encounter of her young life was with her father.  And she forced him to do it, too.

Hopelessly trapped by her arms and legs, I could do nothing but lie under her as she continued to stroke my cheek and stare down at me dominantly, possessively.  Any illusions I had had of being able to control my daughter were now out gone.  And it was clear that she would continue to exert her dominance over me, even sexually, and there wasn’t a damned thing I could do about it.

She grasped my jaw firmly in her strong hand as her mouth descended onto mine.  She gave me a strong, forceful kiss on the lips, then she got up, turned the lights off, and shut the door.

My life was in tatters.  Just a couple days ago I had her completely in line.  Now all of a sudden she had all the power.  And she didn’t mind abusing it, either.  As I thought back to the horrors of the day I curled up into a ball and cried myself to sleep.

********************************

Wednesday: 5’2”

I opened my eyes the next morning to see the sunlight filtering in through the blinds, casting the room in a gentle glow.  I had that pleasant feeling that I was at just the perfect temperature; half a degree warmer or colder wouldn’t feel quite as perfect.  I laid still in bed for the better part of a minute.  That was the high point of my day.  Then, as I shifted my weight, I felt a sharp pain in my rear and remembered the spanking from last night.  Everything came flooding back to me – my shrinking stature, my new position underneath Kyra, her horrible punishments.  It was impossible to argue that I was still head of the household.  I looked with trepidation on my next encounter with my daughter.  The one relief I had was that she was already off to school and I wouldn’t have to see her until this evening.   I weighed myself, with the faintest hope that I was still 122 lbs like yesterday.  Nope, I had shrunk to 111 lbs.  Just over half of my former weight.  No wonder Kyra was able to manhandle me so easily.  I remember hearing that she was around 150 lbs, although probably a good 5-10 lbs more than that considering how girls like to lie about their weight.  I would rapidly continue to be even more helpless against her with each passing day.

I went to the bathroom, rinsed my face, and shaved, although it seemed like I barely had to shave anything.  I thought this was odd but didn’t think much of it since I never kept a mustache or beard anyway.  As I took my shower, though, I noticed a surprising amount of hair was falling to the tub.  I rubbed my head and didn’t notice much difference, but I felt around the rest of my body and realized that my chest, normally rather hairy, was now markedly less so.  And even my pubic region was looking more sparse.  Hmm.  I’ll have to monitor this situation.

After the shower, I went to my desk and booted the computer.  I was eager to check my email to see if the test results were in at the doctor’s office.  I found no email from them, unfortunately, but I would still call once I got to work.  I checked my other messages, paid the electric bill, and checked my bank statement.  There were several fairly large charges recently that I didn’t recognize.  Clicking on them, I saw Dress Barn, JcPenney’s, and several other clothes stores.  Oh, these were from shopping Saturday.  Then I looked again at the amounts; they added up to around $450!  Just to be sure, I got out my receipt for the clothes I bought myself, and just as I remembered I had spent only $110.  That girl!  She had spent $340 when I expressly forbade her to spend more than $150!  Oh, she’s gonna get it, I thought.  Then I thought again, and to my dismay I realized I couldn’t just punish her like I used to.  I decided to still take matters into my own hands, though.  I would take most of the clothes with me to work, then return them during my lunch break.  Good plan, I thought.  This way I could take away some of the sexier clothes that she decided to buy.   If she got upset, I could hopefully avoid punishment by explaining to her that I was just returning some of the clothes to keep it under $150, without having to say that I also didn’t want her wearing some of them.  I knew how she disliked me telling her what to wear.

I ventured out into the hallway.  Just to be sure, I looked down the stairs but she was nowhere in sight.  Not surprising, since her bus would have arrived half an hour ago.  I opened her bedroom door and entered.  What a mess.  She obviously hadn’t cleaned it in some time.  Her bed was unmade, and strewn all about the floor were papers, books, CDs, dirty clothes, and even clean clothes for cryin’ out loud.  I didn’t worry about not moving things around since I didn’t think she would notice in this mess.  I looked around for the bags and finally found them in the corner.  Looking inside, I saw that most of it was still in there; she had only taken out what she had worn so far.  No wonder they cost $340, I thought; there were still several full outfits’ worth in there.  I pulled them out one by one to inspect them.  Somehow, I wasn’t surprised that all of them looked just as revealing as the ones she had worn already.  She had some nerve.  After looking at each article, I set it on the bed.  I picked up the Victoria’s Secret bag next.  I didn’t really need to see this, I thought.  Well, maybe on second thought, I should take a peek just to be sure …

I pulled out some fairly plain, standard panties and bras.  Well, standard except for the size, that is.  She’s lucky they even make bras big enough for her, I mused.  Well, big enough to hold her in front while still having a small enough band to fit her skinny frame.

Next, I reached in and pulled out some frilly, skimpy black lingerie.  Jesus, I told her not to get lingerie.  She had no reason to wear it, and it was inappropriate at her age.  These panties would hardly cover her ass, from the looks of them.  And the bra!  It was so sheer that it was practically see-through.  I tried to recall just how big her breasts were and I imagined how they would look encased in this bra.  They would probably barely cover her nipples, I reckoned.  My finger traced a small circle in the fabric where I imagined her nipple would rest.  My imagination was running wild, picturing how the bra would look on her.  As if possessed, my hand reached out and cupped the underside of the bra as I fantasized about how small my hand would look holding her breasts, and how soft yet firm and heavy they would feel…

I snapped out of it and put the bra down on the bed.  Jesus Christ, I had to get a hold of myself.  There were a few more panties and some socks, but that was it.  I was about to gather them up and put them back in the bags when I realized my conundrum: I didn’t have the receipts.  They wouldn’t let me return them without receipts, would they?  Maybe if the tags were still on they would, but I wasn’t sure and decided to look around for the receipts just to be safe.  As I was stepping around the obstacles on the floor, I saw that black dress again, laying on the ground.  It struck me how huge it looked.  Did she really fit into that?   I picked it up and held it out.  Good lord, it was enormous.  I couldn’t help but walk to the mirror next to her bed and size it up.  I held it against my torso to compare with my body.  Holding the straps up to my shoulders, I saw that it dropped down to my knees, whereas I remembered it had barely covered the very top of Kyra’s thighs.  I tried to gauge how loose it would fit me, holding it to my waist.  It looked like there would be plenty of room to spare.  I was about to put it down when I caught a whiff of something.  It was Kyra’s unmistakable scent.  Hardly realizing what I was doing, I pulled the dress into my face and inhaled deeply through my nose.  Powerful visions of being smothered by her bosom came back to me.  I drank it in for a couple more breaths, then lowered it from my face.  That’s when I noticed through the mirror something looming in the doorway.  Or someone.  Shrieking, I spun around to see—No!  It couldn’t be!  She was at school!

Kyra’s face was bright red with rage.  Her fists were clenched, and she was exhaling loudly.  Sheer terror took hold of me.  I panicked, dropping the dress and bolting for the– the—damn it, I had nowhere to go.  She was blocking the only exit.  Acting on pure adrenaline, I looked around wildly then dove into her closet.  I tried to back as far in as I could, pushing clothes out of the way.  Of course, it was no use as she yanked hard on my feet, pulling me straight back into the room.  She grabbed me by the front of my shirt and I tried to pry her hands away but I felt myself being lifted right off the ground, higher, higher, then I felt my back slammed into the wall.  I was staring straight ahead into her face and I realized she was holding me a foot off the ground.  She might not have been able to hold me up in midair for long, but by pinning me against the wall she had no trouble.

I was already shaking uncontrollably when she screamed right in my face, “WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING IN MY ROOM!!”

I opened my mouth to speak but nothing came out.  “AND WHAT WERE YOU DOING WITH MY CLOTHES, YOU FUCKING PERVERT!?”  Oh God, I wondered how much she saw.  Surely at least me sniffing her dress, probably even me comparing sizes with it, and maybe feeling up her bra.  I couldn’t muster any words yet.  “Speak, now!” she barked.

I babbled on about how I had seen the credit card statement and was going to return some of her clothes to save money and was just putting them back in the bags.  She was pressing hard into my chest and I was starting to have difficulty breathing.  Kyra didn’t say a word, just glaring at me inches away.  She held me up for another minute, probably thinking of what she was going to do to me.  The tension was absolutely excruciating.  I started to break down under her unwavering stare, and began sobbing.  I tried to help my case by saying, “Kyra, honey, I’m so, so sorry.  Please, I’ll never do it again, I swear.”

“Shut up!” she snapped.  After another unending pause, I saw a glint in her eye.  She dropped me to the floor, causing me to topple to the ground.  “Go fetch that dress you love so much.”  As I started to stand, she commanded, “Crawl on all fours, you pig.”  I didn’t hesitate in the slightest.  Picking it up, she snapped her fingers and held her hand out.  I understood that she wanted me to bring it to her.  Oh no, was she going to wear it again?  It was definitely the sexiest of her dresses, and I just couldn’t help but gawk at her when she wore it.

I returned the dress to her as she snatched it from me.  “Stand.”  I stood.  “Clothes off.”  I hesitated, caught off guard.  She just glared down at me.  In her heels, which she was wearing yet again, she towered over me by 16 inches.  My eyes were level with the underside of her breasts (not that I dared look at them).  Not sure where this was going, but scared shitless, I quickly tore off my shirt and pants. 

“All of them,” she declared.  What!?  She wanted my boxers off, too?  I looked up pleadingly into her eyes.  Her stare was as determined as ever.  Reluctantly, I began slowly pulling them down.  “Hrrgh,” she gave an annoyed grunt.  She bent over and yanked my underwear down around my ankles.  I covered up my privates, hoping she didn’t have a chance to see.

“Raise your arms above your head,” she commanded.  I shook my head no, not wanting to remove my hands for anything.  Her eyes widened in fury.  “I’m going to count to three.  One, Two, --“  I darted my hands up in the air.  Before I realized what she was doing, she had raised her black dress up and slid it down onto my body.  No!  She couldn’t!  For the first time that morning, she smiled, but it was a vicious smile indeed.  She pushed me across the room in front of her mirror.  Looking into the mirror, I could see just how embarrassing I looked, a grown man wearing a dress that was many sizes too big, standing only as tall as my daughter’s chest behind me.  I started sobbing as she adjusted the straps to raise it as high as it would go.  Even still, the low cut just barely covered my nipples, and the bottom of the dress hung down to my knees.  It wasn’t quite as loose as I had expected, but probably only because Kyra had a much more slender physique than I did.  I guess I got the chance to find out how loose it was on me after all, I thought with dismay.

Done with her adjustments, she stated, “My shoes would never stay on your feet, so you’ll just have to walk around barefooted.”  Beats wearing women’s shoes, I figured.  Besides, I was just going to take this off once she left for school anyway.  But until then, dear God this was humiliating.

She grabbed my arm and looked at my watch.  “Great, Dad, just great.  You’ve already made me late for school.  Come on!” she yanked my arm and dragged me out the door and down the stairs.  Stumbling, I had difficulty keeping up with her long legs.  At the bottom, she said, “Where are the keys?”

“Oh, uh, in my pants.  They’re upstairs.”

“Agghh,” she grunted furiously.  “You had better run.”  She shoved me towards the stairs and I scampered up.  “Hurry the hell up, Dad!” she threatened.  The loose spaghetti straps kept wanting to fall off as I tried to hold them on.  I darted into her room, fished out the keys, and sprinted back, somewhat hindered by the straps.  Practically jumping down the stairs, I put the keys in her hands, put my hands on my knees to catch my breath, and said, “Have a good day at school, Kyra.”

I looked down and realized that leaning over like that had opened up a direct line of sight down to my junk.  I raised myself up sheepishly, but she made no indication of noticing.  Instead, she wagged her finger and told me, “Oohh, no, Daddy, you’ll say goodbye when we get to school.”

WHAT!?  No, she wouldn’t make me go out in public like this, would she?  I was going to protest vociferously, but before I got the chance she wrenched my hand along with her out the door.  She opened the passenger’s side door, which now seemed to be my door from here on out, and more or less threw me in.  Walking briskly around the car, she got in and peeled out of the driveway.  “You had better hope traffic’s not bad.”  Yeah, for two reasons, I reflected: so she would get there earlier, and also so I didn’t have to sit there in slow traffic where other drivers could notice my attire.

I buckled in as she drove like a banshee.  “Honey, please, you’ll get in an accident.”

“Shut up, Dad!  It’s your fault I’m late.”  For the first time, I noticed she had on another spicy little number, a frilly red blouse and a very revealing skort.  I was too terrified earlier to pay attention to what she was wearing.  But the terror and humiliation I was now subjected to quelled any stirrings of arousal I would have otherwise felt from looking at her.

We made it in record time, miraculously unscathed.  She pulled in front of the school and got out.  I was starting to climb across to the driver’s side, not wanting to leave the car.  Seeing this, she reached back in and took the keys out of the ignition.  “Ladies don’t climb over seats.  Walk around to me.”  Oh my God.  There was no way she would let me have the keys unless I got out.  Cautiously, I glanced around.  Fortunately, since school had already started, there were only a few people in sight, and none within throwing distance.  “Hurry up.”

I got out and sheepishly walked over to her.  I heard someone a ways off burst out laughing; I prayed that it wasn’t on account of me.  As she dropped the keys into my hand, she grabbed my watch again.  “9:19,” she stated.  School started at 9:00.  “Completely unacceptable.”  As she turned away, she looked over her shoulder and said, “I expect you to be wearing this when you pick me up today.  And that’s BEFORE 4:30 this time.”  She walked off briskly, her heels clacking, her ass bouncing side to side.  I stood watching for a few seconds, but then a cool draft reminded me of what I had on.  I quickly got in and pulled away.  I had to stop for a second to adjust the seat, which was way too far back for my short legs.  As I pulled onto the street, a woman at the corner looked my way.  Shit, hopefully the windows were tinted enough?

I headed for work, but halfway there I realized how stupid that was.  Wearing an oversized woman’s dress was not exactly proper workplace attire.  I changed my course, deciding to take as many back roads as possible on my way back home.  Already a half hour late, I reached down to my pocket to get my phone and tell work that I was running late.  My hand touched the thin silky material of the dress.  No pockets, and no phone.  I would have to wait until I got to the house. 

I rushed inside and yanked off that God-forsaken dress, throwing it on the ground.  Reconsidering, I picked it up and hung it over the chair.  I didn’t want to anger Kyra by getting it dirty or wrinkled.  I went into her room again to retrieve my clothes.  As I picked them up, I noticed that the clothes I had laid on the bed were still there.  I had better put them back where I found them.  I carefully laid them in the appropriate bags.  My hand lingered on the lacy black bra.  I noted that my hand was smaller than each cup, with room to spare.  I shuddered.  Remembering what happened last time I fooled around in her room, I snapped out of it, put the remaining clothes in the bags, and set them down in the closet.  Pausing, I remembered my goal to return those clothes to the mall.  I wavered for a minute, but then decided that Kyra would not be pleased that I took her clothes away without her permission.  I decided it was safer to wait until I could ask her tonight.  I absolutely did not want to upset my daughter.  Looking one more time to make sure everything was where it should be, I turned out her light and shut the door behind me on my way downstairs.

Since I would be an hour late anyway, I just decided I would call in sick.  My boss wasn’t pleased, particularly about me waiting an hour to call, but I put on my best sick man act and convinced her that I had passed out after throwing up and just now woke up again.  Next I called the doctor’s office.  Surprise, surprise, the results wouldn’t be in until tomorrow, they said.  I chewed the receptionist out, upset at the doctor’s office and with how my morning had gone.  She snapped that there was nothing she could do about it and hung up on me.  ‘Grrrhh.’  I punched the wall, not making a dent but making me hold my knuckles in pain.  Everything was going wrong for me today.  Damn you, Murphy, and damn your law!

I decided I just wanted to get out of the house.  Whereas once it was a pleasant place where I could put up my feet after a long day, gradually I started to associate it with dark times and evil doings.  Since I finally had some free time, I wanted to put all this out of my mind as much as possible.

I drove around the countryside on the outskirts of town, with the windows down and the radio blaring.  I lost track of time and, for the first time in days, didn’t have a worry in the world.  Eventually, I headed back, happening to pass by the mall.  I remembered that my clothes had gotten extremely baggy again, me being 8 inches shorter than when I had bought them.  I pulled into the parking lot and went inside.  I went to the food court and had a nice, leisurely meal.  Then I went to JcPenney’s.

The same attendant who measured me last time was there again.  “Hey there, cutie.  Say, you look kinda familiar.  Have I seen you before?” she asked.  It was unnerving having to look up at her now, as I distinctly remember myself looking down at her last time.  I didn’t want to say I was here this weekend, in the off chance that she would remember a taller me and start asking questions.  “Um, I don’t think so.  Can you measure me, please?” I asked politely.

“Sure thing, sweetie.”  This time she lifted my arms up herself and went about her work, keeping up the banter.  I would say she was flirting with me, but I had been flirted with plenty over the years, and this felt somehow … different.  I couldn’t put a finger on it, but I wasn’t quite used to the way she was treating me.  “There you go!  Here are your measurements,” she said, handing me a piece of paper.  “I bet it won’t be long until you’ll need to come back and get re-measured,” she winked at me.  Did she know I was shrinking?  No, why would she believe that?  I realized she must have thought I was young and still growing, since I wouldn’t need all my measurements again if I was fully grown.  Whew, that was a close one.  But wait … could I really pass for a teenager?  Seriously?  That sobered me up.

I had some difficulty finding clothes small enough for me in the men’s section.  My waist was only 29 now, which was in the S to XS size range, and few of the pants were short enough.  Eventually, I picked some clothes out that I didn’t particularly like, but again I wasn’t picky when it comes to clothes shopping.  They did fit pretty well, at least for now that is.  I got about two or three outfits and headed out.

Back home, I went upstairs and put one of my new outfits on.  That felt much better.  As I walked down the hall, though, I found myself pausing by Kyra’s door.  What was I doing?  I wanted to go on, but my feet didn’t budge.  I stood facing her closed door for quite some time, knowing I couldn’t go in there but at the same time unable to pull myself away.

Eventually, I told myself, ‘Well, I should probably double-check that I left everything in the right place earlier.’  Against all reason, I convinced myself to enter her room.  As I was passing through the door, my eyes anxiously darted downstairs, as if to make sure there was still no one there.  I tiptoed quietly into my daughter’s room, careful to avoid brushing anything with my feet, careful not to leave the slightest sign of my presence.  My heart started beating faster.  I slowly looked around the room again, paying more attention this time to everything that was lying around.  My eyes occasionally flicked back to the door behind me.  I crept forward to the bed to make sure I hadn’t left any of my things lying around.  I didn’t see any.

But a navy blue bra on the floor caught my eye.  A very big navy blue bra.  Maybe I should put this in the hamper for her.  I reached down and picked it up gently, almost with reverence.  My eyes began to dart back to the doorway more frequently now, as for some reason I was feeling paranoid.  Calm down, she’s still at school, I told myself.  Looking down at the treasure in my hands, I saw the tag sticking out.  I pulled it closer to read the size: 34DD, the same as I remembered hearing on Saturday.  It smelled like Kyra.  My hands began to tremble.  I glanced back at the doorway.  My God, the cups were big.  I found that I wanted to get a better reference for their size.  I looked in the mirror and a thought occurred to me.

Should I really do this?  I was both frightened and exhilarated.  I glanced back to the door, then to the wall where she held me off the ground this morning.  But I shook it off and told myself again that there was no way she would walk in now.  I pulled off my shirt and put my arms through the bra straps.  Pulling the tabs behind my back, I tried to fasten the clasps.  It was difficult with my shaking hands, but they eventually latched together and I looked up at my reflection in the mirror.

It fit me very loosely.  But it was enough to give me a good sense of the size of her jugs.  The cups were almost comically large on my small body.  If a girl my size had tits like these, she’d have back problems for life.  I looked down in awe at all the empty space inside the cups and my mind pictured Kyra’s chest jutting out from her dresses.  As I continued to examine her oversized bra on my body, I found my hand slowly reach down, unzip my pants, and start to fondle myself.  Oh God, I was so aroused.  I brought my other hand up to her cup and closed my eyes, imagining feeling the weight of her bosom in my hand.  They were so soft, yet so firm …

I was completely lost in ecstasy, not realizing that I was now masturbating with full speed ahead.  I continued to get closer, and closer, and … SHIT!  I returned to my senses just as I was starting to come.  I immediately threw both hands down on my member, trying to contain as much of my man-juice as possible as I erupted violently.  When the dust finally settled, I found myself with sticky hands and sticky pants, with much of the front of my pants covered in wet spots.  Whew, that could have been worse, I reflected.  I carefully made my way to my bathroom to clean myself and my clothes up as much as possible.  I ended up having to change underwear and pants, throwing the brand-new but already-stained clothes in the hamper.

Then I went back to Kyra’s room to check that there weren’t any stains anywhere.  I was immensely relieved that I didn’t find any.  I realized that I still had her bra on, so I undid the clasps and slid it off.  As I was holding it to go put it back, however, I felt a large wet spot on the underside of one of the cups. 

My heart pounded in my rib cage.  No, no, no, no!  This wasn’t happening!  I turned it over and saw a visible stain at least an inch across.  Oh God!  There was no way in hell I could play this one down if she saw it.    What would Kyra do to me if she found out?  I didn’t want to think about it as I rushed out of her room.  OK, it’ll be fine, don’t panic, James, don’t panic.  I’ll just throw it in the wash and it’ll be done by the time I have to leave.  I looked at my watch.  4:14.  Holy shit!  How did it get so late?  I realized I never really paid attention to the time all day, and what with the driving around, eating, shopping, and, well, uh, my activities in Kyra’s room, the time had flown by much faster than I had thought.  Damn it, I had to leave NOW if I wanted to be on time to pick Kyra up.  And boy, did I want to be on time.  Should I run the washer now and hope I can get it out while she’s not looking?  Or should I wait, risking that the stain will set in?  I had to choose now.  I decided that it would take too long to get the washer started, so I flung her bra in my hamper, shoving it under my stained pants and making sure it was out of sight, then I hastily put my shirt back on.

Running downstairs, I saw the black dress hanging over the chair.  Oh, hell, I had completely forgotten about that.  Thank God, at least, that I saw it before leaving.  The last thing I wanted was to anger Kyra any more after this morning.  Well, then how could I have been so stupid in her room just now?  I had no good explanation for that.  Quickly, I threw off my pants and shirt, keeping my boxers on, then pulled the dress over my head, glad for once that the dress was loose enough to slip on easily.  I got the keys and ran out the door.

I drove possibly even more recklessly than Kyra had this morning.  I guess I felt like I had more to lose than she had.  I prayed that she wouldn’t notice my tardiness as I pulled up to the gym at 4:32.  Fortunately, she was not out from practice yet.  Remembering what I was wearing, I decided to pull around to the fat end of the parking lot and wait.  I went to a spot a good distance from the other cars in the lot so I would have a lower chance of being seen, and watched the gym doors like a hawk.

5 minutes later, Kyra emerged in her basketball clothes.  I was about to drive up but I saw she was chatting with a teammate.  Oh no.  I saw her looking around the lot as she listened to her friend.  Then she spotted me.  She continued to talk to her friend as she put her right hand on her hip and started tapping her foot impatiently, all the while staring straight at me.  She was clearly indicating to me that she didn’t like to be kept waiting.

Jesus, what should I do?  I couldn’t bear the shame of stepping out of the car in front of anyone, Kyra’s friend especially, dressed like this.  I waited it out for a minute or two.  I saw Kyra take her cell phone out of her purse and look at the time.  She put it back, looked back at me, and cocked her head as if to say, “You’re going to get it, mister.”  I was really starting to worry.  Soon my fear of Kyra overcame my fear of being seen, and I was started to put the car in gear.

But just then a van pulled up in front of the two girls.  I saw the other girl get in and Kyra give a wave.  Whew, disaster averted.  Well, actually, maybe that was premature.  I drove up apprehensively.  She walked around and opened my door.  I looked around to confirm that no one else was around and stood under her.  I handed her the keys and started walking to the other side.

She grabbed my arm.  “What time is it?”

“4:41,” I said reluctantly, looking at my watch.

“What time did I tell you to pick me up?”

“4:30,” I said quickly, wanting to get back inside ASAP.

She watched me squirm under her grasp.  I believe she was drawing this out just to savor my predicament.  “Did you see me standing at the curb?” she asked deliberately.

“Yes, dear.”

“What time did I come out?”

“4:37, I think.”

“So you saw me yet made me wait 4 minutes until you came by?”

“Y- Yes.”

“Why did you disobey me?”

“B-Because I didn’t want to interrupt you talking with your friend.”  I was pleased with my quick thinking.

“Are you lying to me, Daddy?”

Oh God, I just wanted to get moving.  “Um … Yes, dear.  The, uh, real reason was I didn’t want anyone to see me dressed like this.”

“Do not lie to me again, understand?”  I nodded vigorously.  She finally released my arm, which now hurt from her grip.  I quickly went around to the other side and tried the door, but I hadn’t unlocked it.

“Kyra, honey,” I said anxiously.  I saw someone approaching from down the sidewalk.  She pretended not to hear me as she slowly opened her door and got in.  Instead of unlocking the door, she adjusted her seat back and fiddled with the rear view mirrors as the person on the sidewalk kept coming closer and closer.

I frantically knocked on the glass.  “Oh, sorry Dad, I forgot to let you in.”  She mercifully unlocked the door and I yanked it open, darting inside.  She smiled broadly as we pulled away from the school.

Back home, I begged, “Can I please take this off, honey?”

Looking me over again, she replied, “Daddy, you look so adorable though, wearing my big girl clothes on your tiny little body.”  My eyes pleaded with hers.  “Well, I suppose you’ve learned your lesson.  But I won’t be so lenient next time.”

“Thank you, Kyra.”  I picked up my clothes that I had left in my haste to pick Kyra up, ran up the stairs two at a time, and went to my room to change.  I heard her following behind me, going to her own room.

As I was putting my pants back on, I heard her call, “Daddy, come here please.”  Uh oh, what was this about?  I thought of my little accident this afternoon and hoped I had gotten rid of all the evidence.  I threw my shirt on and came over.  She stood inside her room with her hands on her hips.  “You came into my room again.  You had better have a good explanation for this.”

I almost panicked.  But I saw that she was standing next to her closet, where I had put the bags back this afternoon.  Whew, that seemed to be all she found.  “I had left my clothes in here when you, uh, made me change this morning, so I came back in to retrieve them.”

“And …?” she said, nodding towards the bags in her closet.

“… And I realized that I hadn’t put your clothes back where they belonged, so I did.”

She walked closer.  “Daddy, is that all you did in my room?”

“Yes! … I mean, yes dear, of course,” I said eagerly -- hopefully not too eagerly.

She looked down at me, gauging my reaction.  Convinced, she said, “OK.  You were just doing what you thought best; you didn’t know any better.  But,” she laid one hand on my shoulder, wagged her finger at me, and lectured, “from now on, you are not to enter my room for any reason.  Do you understand, Daddy?  Not for ANY reason whatsoever, unless I specifically ask you to.”

Even if my clothes were still in there?  I thought that was a bit extreme.  But I didn’t argue.  “Yes, Kyra, I’m sorry.  I won’t enter your room again.”  She gave a satisfied smile.  “Oh,” I added, remembering what I had wanted to ask her earlier, “can we talk about maybe returning some of your clothes?”

Her face turned sour.  “You’re not still hung up on me dressing too sexy, are you Dad?” she said, raising her eyebrows.

“No!  No, of course not, not at all dear.  You can dress as … as … well, you can dress however you want, honey,” I blabbered on, trying to avoid angering her at all costs.  “It’s just that, I saw the credit card bill, and, well, I’m sure that it was just a mistake,” I laughed nervously, “but it turns out you had spent $340 instead of the $150 that I had asked.  I mean, it’s not a big deal or anything, but the thing is, I … uh … can’t really afford to spend that much on clothes for you, especially since I have to buy myself new clothes every few days on top of that.  So I thought I might take a few of them back tonight, if that’s OK with you?”  Seeing her cold stare, I quickly added, “Or tomorrow if you’d rather.”

She frowned.  “Daddy, you know how important a girl’s appearance is.  And you know how good my new clothes look on me.”  I gulped.  I did have to admit, she had damned good taste when it came to clothes.

“Well, OK dear, I guess you can keep these.  But, if it’s not too much trouble, would you mind not buying new clothes for a while?  And maybe could you pay me back the $340?”

She gave a wry smile.  “We’ll see,” she said dismissively.  Then she squinted down at my well-fitted clothes and said, “Wait a second.  Did you get yourself new clothes today?”

“Yes, Kyra, I took the day off from work and went shopping.  My old clothes were much too big on me.”

Kyra put her hands on her hips and glared at me in indignation.  “Daaaddyyyy, after that whole long rant about me buying too many clothes, you go and skip work and buy even more clothes for yourself?  How is that fair?”

“But Kyra, you’re not the one who’s been shrin-“

She snapped her finger to cut me off.  “To your room, mister.”  She turned me and pushed me towards the door.  Entering my room, she said, “Now, where are they?”  I walked over and handed her the JcPenney’s bag.  She peered inside and took out the receipt.  “$117.  Unbelievable.  Just fucking unbelievable.”

“But Kyra, honey, I really needed them.  Please, can I keep them?  I promise I won’t buy any more until you say so.”  I was learning that the only way to get my way around here was to ask my daughter really, really nicely.  And even then, it often didn’t work.

She eyed the outfit I had on.  “Turn around,” she said as she inspected my clothes on me.  “Hmm.  I don’t particularly like these.  But … since you won’t be using these long I’ll allow you to keep them.”

“Thank you!” I said, pleasantly surprised.

“Now, let’s take a look at your other outfit,” she said, seeing that my receipt listed two pairs of pants.

“It’s in the –“ I choked, looking at the hamper.  Jesus Christ monkey balls.  I remembered that my other new pants were in the hamper, and boy I did not want her to see them.

She followed my gaze, walked over, and lifted them up.  There it was, a huge cum stain all over the front of my pants, held up in plain sight.  “What did you spill, Daddy?  You need to be more careful wearing brand new clothes.”  Ah, the innocence of a child; hopefully she wouldn’t put 2 and 2 together.

“I … uh … it’s nothing, dear,” I mumbled, looking down.

She thought my reaction was peculiar, and took a closer look at the pants.  Suddenly, she shrieked, “Ewww!  Oh my God, Daddy, did you cum on your pants?”  I turned beet red and couldn’t bear to look up at her.  I nodded my head in shame.

“That’s so gross!  Is that what you were doing at home today, when you should have been at work?”  As she turned to put them back in the hamper, she scolded, “And besides: what the hell Dad, you’re 41!  Don’t you know better by now than to get it all over your pants?”

As she reached down to drop them in, she froze.  Her hands dropped to her sides, my pants falling to the floor.  Slowly, she reached down and pulled a black object out.  It was Kyra’s bra.

I gasped loudly.  I had totally forgotten that I had put it there.  I hardly had time to grasp the severity of my situation when her right hand grabbed my throat and choke slammed me to the bed.  Before I knew what had happened, she sat down on top of me, pinning me down along the entire length of my body.  She tightened her grip on my throat, shoving her bra in my face.  “WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS!  WHAT IS MY BRA DOING IN YOUR ROOM, COVERED IN YOUR CUM!!!”

I panicked, flailing my arms as I could no longer breathe.  She squeezed even harder, causing my temples to nearly explode.  She flung her bra aside and her hand came down, HARD, across my face with a loud smack.  “ANSWER ME!” she commanded.

I babbled, “I’m so so sorry, B-B-Kyra honey, it w-was an accident, I …” my voice trailed off as I began to cry.

“Accident, my ass.”  She choked me again.  Not even the most cunning wordsmith in the world could have convinced her that it wasn’t my fault that my daughter’s bra ended up in my hamper with a big semen stain on it.  I flailed about, trying to push away her arms, her shoulders, or anything else my arms could find.  She ignored my pathetic struggles as she clamped both hands onto my throat.

My eyes felt like they were bugging out, Total Recall style.  I was seeing stars everywhere, and I swear I heard something pop in my neck shortly before she released me from her steely grasp.  I gasped for air, holding my throat.  She commanded, “Hands down!”  I didn’t hear her, but she yanked them down to my sides and pinned them with her legs.  She was sitting up on her knees, straddling my body.  I opened my eyes just in time to see something whooshing in fast from my left.  Smack!  I felt a searing pain on my cheek.  Then I felt the same pain on my right cheek as another hand came raining down.  Then a left, then a right, and then another left until I was crying uncontrollably from the searing pain.  I tried to pull my hands up to my face but they were tightly secured by her legs around me.  The blows had finally stopped, leaving a throbbing pain on my cheeks.

Kyra got off me and walked to my doorway.  “We’re eating out tonight.  Get dressed.”

Through my sobs, I said, “Huh? I’m already dressed.”

“Oh, no.  I don’t think so,” she sneered.  “You’re not going out like that.”  She picked up her dress from the floor and dropped it next to me.  As an afterthought, she reached over and placed her bra next to me as well.  “You’re going to dress like the sissy little perv you are.”  Walking out the door, she said, “I expect to see you standing downstairs, ready to go, in five minutes.”  She left the door open behind her and left me there in shock.

I rolled over to muffle my sobs in the sheets, but a sharp sting reminded me of the beating my cheeks had just received.  I lay there motionless for a couple minutes, unable to believe how radically my life had changed.  But I remembered Kyra’s command of 5 minutes and started taking off my clothes.  I decided to leave my boxers on, since I figured she wouldn’t want me getting the inside of her dress dirty at all.  I was about to put the bra on when I saw her in my doorway.  “Silly me, I forgot to give you these,” she said, tossing something on the bed.  I didn’t see what it was, since my eyes were caught on her body leaning over from beside the doorway.  She had stripped down into her sports bra and underwear, leaving little to the imagination.  Fortunately, she disappeared again before I had time to get myself in trouble for staring.  Even after the terrible physical and mental beating I received, my Johnson still knew what it wanted and started to stir.  I realized this was the first time I can remember seeing her with no shirt on, and in that brief glimpse I noticed how taut her stomach was and how curvy her hips.  It was bad news that she was always around and that she was literally the sexiest woman I had ever seen with my own eyes.  I had no hope of controlling my urges.

I snapped out of it and looked down at her latest gift.  It was a pair of her lacey black underwear.  My jaw dropped open.  I didn’t know how to react.  “Time’s a’wasting, little guy.”  I looked up to find Kyra standing in the doorway again.  She had seen my reaction.  Smiling and licking her upper lip predatorily, she continued to the bathroom.  I heard the shower turn on.  I realized I only had 2 minutes left, and even though she probably wouldn’t check since she was in the shower, I absolutely did not want to press my luck.  I reluctantly pulled down my boxers and slid on my daughter’s panties.  Fortunately I was of a somewhat stockier build than her, so despite our now 12 inch height difference the panties were only a couple inches too big.  The band was much lower than that of my boxers, designed to rest below the hips to avoid sticking out above a girl’s shorts.  Not pausing long, I quickly picked up the bra and put it on.  Having had the opportunity to practice this earlier in the day, I had no trouble meeting the clasps together behind my back.  I slipped the dress on and scurried downstairs, just before my 5 minute time limit was up.

She continued to shower and didn’t emerge for another 10 minutes.  I, of course, didn’t dare sit down, just standing by the kitchen table.  The underwear was just a bit too big to stay on, and I frequently had to grasp them through the dress and pull them back up.  Finally, she emerged from the bathroom wrapped in nothing but a towel, which only barely covered her important parts.  She stood at the top of the stairs, smiling down at me imperiously.  I might have seen just a glimpse of the underside of her bush as I looked up at her, though it was dark between her legs so I couldn’t tell for sure.  She chuckled down at me, saying, “You look real nice, Daddy.”  She went to her room but emerged a second later, tossing down a pair of her shoes.  “Put these on.”

I bent down and tried them on.  Fortunately they were flats, but they were several sizes too big.  I tried walking a bit and was somewhat able to keep them on by keeping my toes pressed all the way into the front of the shoes and hardly picking up my feet.  I was trudging around, hearing the heels of the shoes sliding on the floor, when Kyra emerged again.  She was absolutely stunning, wearing that yellow summer dress again, the one that fit her like a glove and had the low V-neck that showed as much juicy tit flesh as a guy could ever want.  “Well, don’t we look like quite a pair, all dressed up and ready to go out!” she exclaimed.  She was enjoying this all too much.  “Aww, poor thing,” she said, turning my head to the side.  “Your cheeks are still red from your punishment.  Here, let’s try to cover that up.”  She took out a makeup kit from her purse and opened it.

“Kyra, that’s OK, I’d rather have them red.”

“Awww, nonsense, little one.  Kyra knows best.  And,” she added darkly, “Daddy had better not talk back to me again; he’s in enough trouble as it is.”  She bent over, WAY over, to powder my cheeks.  Until that time, her neckline had been just above my vision, making it relatively easy to avoid seeing it.  But now my eyes followed her increasingly deep neckline down just slightly below my level.  As her arms moved about working on my cheeks, then moving on to my forehead, nose, and chin, I was completely mesmerized by their swaying to and fro.  Kyra had either decided to let me watch, or was too intent on the task at hand to notice me ogling her gaping cleavage.  I felt my Willy start to push out against the soft fabric of my daughter’s panties.  I started panting softly, hoping that Kyra wouldn’t notice.

She apparently did not.  She stood back up straight and inspected me.  “Hmm, it could use a little something more …”  She pulled out a stick of what was evidently mascara, as she leaned back down and started drawing under my eyelids.  “Stay still, Daddy,” she gently insisted as she grabbed my chin with her other hand.  With her face up to mine, at least I wasn’t able to get distracted by the view down below.  She stood up again and mused for a moment longer.  “Ah, and now for the finishing touch.  I think this color will do you nicely.”  She pulled out a slightly dark, red lipstick and told me, “Now open your lips like this,” demonstrating in front of my eyes.  I complied as she applied it around my lips.  “Now pucker,” she said, showing me how to roll her lips in and release with a slight smack.  I followed her lead, not liking how weird it felt to have this slightly wet, slightly sticky stuff on my lips.  I instinctively reached up to feel them but my daughter grabbed my hand.  “Uh-uh, Daddy, you can’t touch your lips with lipstick on.  For that matter, I did your whole face, so no rubbing at all or you’ll smear it.  Promise me you won’t touch your face tonight, Daddy.”

“I promise, Kyra.”  I knew this was going to be difficult since my face already felt funny with all this foreign material on it.

“That’s a good Daddy.  I know you don’t want me to have to punish you again.”  I shook my head vigorously, craning my neck up at her.  She patted the top of the head.  Keeping her hand there, she turned to the counter and reached in her purse.  I took advantage of every second that she wasn’t looking to stare ahead at her wonderful bosom.  My hand started to creep up, but I fought the urge to reach out and squeeze them.  God, they must feel soooo good.  My stiffy was returning with renewed vigor.  Turning back towards me, she started combing my hair.  As she worked her way around my head, I felt her body drawing close.  Oh, so close.  I could see nothing but her enormous bosom just slightly above me, and could smell nothing but her sweet aroma.  She was working out some kinks in my hair, causing my head to jerk around somewhat.  On multiple occasions my head was jerked forward, causing my nose to brush against the underside of her breast.  I felt my member push itself up and pop out from the confines of my panties.  It was no longer holding the panties up, actually now pushing them down, and so the panties quickly started to slip off again.  I reached down to adjust myself, accidently moving ever-so-slightly forward and bumping my eye into where her nipple must have been.  Feeling me, she looked down and saw me fidgeting with my dress below the hips.  “What’s the matter down there?”

“Nothing,” I replied quickly.  “Just re-adjusting.”  She started to part my hair to one side.  My hair wasn’t overly long, but it reached past my ears and Kyra had enough to work with.  I felt her pinning something in my hair, pressing my head forward even farther this time into her ample bosom.  Oh, God, I couldn’t take much more of this.  I felt part of her thigh briefly brush my swollen member, causing me to gasp audibly.  I closed my eyes and tried to block out all thoughts of my daughter’s towering, voluptuous figure in front of me.  Noticing my fidgeting, she told me, “I know you’re getting antsy to leave.  Almost done, sweetie pie.”  She pulled back with her arms on my shoulders to inspect her handiwork.  “Oh, you’re soooo adorable, Daddy!” she squealed.  Meanwhile, still hard as a rock, I had to pull up my panties again.

“Now just what have you been doing down there?” she asked quizzically.  Looking down, she paused, then said suspiciously, “Waaaiiit a second.  Daddy, move your hands away.”  It being too late to avoid it now, I reluctantly moved my hands back.  “My, oh my, look what we have here.”  I looked down as well to see a completely obvious tent in the front of my crotch.  If the dress had been tight, the tent would have been mostly pressed inwards against my body, but as loose as it was, the fabric was free to push out around my erection, making it all the more obvious.

She giggled uncontrollably.  “Here I was, standing completely oblivious to all the action below!”  She was getting a kick out of this.  “I guess I won’t punish you this time for staring at my chest; after all, you just clearly can’t help yourself when my big, luscious body is so close!” she exclaimed, giving her tit a playful squeeze for my benefit.  Just at that moment, my underwear slid all the way off and fell to the floor.  She burst out laughing again, her tits jiggling along with her.

Once she calmed down, she told me with a smile, “Now pull up your dress so Kyra can fix Daddy’s panties.”  I shook my head no, looking up at her pleadingly.  “Oh, don’t be such a prude, LITTLE GUY.”  She bent down and lifted my dress, giving me yet another eyeful of cleavage, which ensured that my manhood was still at full salute despite my chagrin.  She handed the hem of my dress to me to hold up then bent down to get a closer look.  I took a step back and started to lower the dress.  “No,” she said forcefully.  I just stood there as she stared, looking from all different angles at my junk.  She then reached one finger out and pressed down on my head, causing me to yelp and my member to spring back up like a diving board.  She giggled, reached down, and picked up my panties.  “Hmm, this won’t do.  Hold on.”  She turned and fished out some safety pins from her purse.  Geez, girls are prepared for anything.  Turning back around, she saw that my manhood was starting to calm back down.  Her face lit up as she had an idea.  She reached her arms around me, resting her elbows on my shoulders while bending her bosom down right in my face.  It was easily the best view I had all night.  She started to undulate seductively back and forth, back and forth as I stared wide-eyed at the rare vision before me.  I had gotten hard again the second she bent down, but now I was also starting to pant louder and louder.  I lowered my gaze slightly and saw a protuberance in the middle of each breast.  Her nipples were poking out against the fabric of her dress.

Standing to her full height, she looked down at me panting, and saw that I was so hard my veins were about to explode.  “Ohhhhh …” she sighed sensuously, “That was easy.”  She picked up my panties, which had fallen down again, and fastened a safety pin on either side of my hips to reduce the slack.  They would now be tight enough to stay on, except that the thin fabric of the panties was too elastic and my penis was still falling forward, which would still create an obvious tent and would also push the panties down.  “Well, this won’t do.  You’ll just have to get soft again,” she stated.  Drawing herself close again, she purred sexily, “Can you do that for me, Daddy?”  There was no doubt that she was getting off on this as much as I was.  This time, she bent her knee and brought her thigh forward, pressing into my member.  She started rubbing ever-so-softly.  I was starting to pant wildly.

Then she lifted her knee and jammed it hard into my shaft.  Her face suddenly went dead serious as she pulled up on my chin, forcing my gaze up into her eyes.  “If you get so much as a drop of cum on my dress, I’ll fucking kill you.”

I withered under her stare, my knees buckling.  “Yes, Kyra.”

She turned away.  “Don’t go anywhere, Daddy.  I’ll be back in three minutes.  When I do come back, I expect you to be soft again and tucked away.  Understand?”

“Y-Yes, dear.”

It was not going well for the first two minutes.  My mind was still reeling from what had just happened.  But the last minute, I pulled myself together and thought of anything I could to turn me off – vegetables, baseball, linoleum, Betty White in a bathing suit …

It worked.  She came back down the stairs.  I closed my eyes, not wanting to risk anything.  She walked up and stuffed some things into my bra.  I peeked down and saw it was just some clean socks, pantyhose, and the like, placed inside two small mesh bags and filling the two cups of my bra.  I felt them through the dress; they felt quite soft and round, not nearly as squishy and full as my daughter’s breasts, but – I stopped myself in mid-thought, not wanting to arouse my member, and her anger.

She bent down until her face was just above mine, maximizing the amount of cleavage I could see.  I squeezed my eyes shut, and then peeked one eye open, making sure to look up while minimizing my peripheral vision.  She smiled as she saw this.  “Now, we are going downtown, and I expect you to be on your best behavior, like a good little girl.  None of this shyness like earlier today in front of the gym.  Understand?”

“Yes, dear.”

“No, for the rest of the night, I want you to refer to me as ma’am.  That’s what polite girls say.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good girl.  Now, do little girls get erections when they go out in public?”  What an obvious question.

“No.”

“No, what?”

“Sorry!  I mean, no ma’am.”

“Correct.  So I’m going to keep track of every time you get hard this evening, and each time it happens your punishment will double.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Let’s go.”  We got in and Kyra pulled out of the driveway.  “By the way, don’t worry about making us late for dinner this time.”  It was 7:15.  “Even though it was your fault for making me punish you and dress you up, I so thoroughly enjoyed it that I’ll let it slide.”

“Oh, uh, thank you Kyra.”  She cocked her eyebrow at me.  “Thank you ma’am,” I quickly corrected.  I avoided all eye contact with her, or rather with her body, not wanting to get on the scoreboard before we even got there.

We parked in a garage and I got out.  Noticing that she was still sitting there patiently, it took me a second to realize what she wanted.  I went around and opened the door for her.  “Why, what a lady you are.”  She stood up and adjusted my stuffing, saying “these don’t look quite right.  We don’t want to attract stares now, do we.”  She winked at me.  I didn’t think that could be avoided.  After she was done, she bent down towards me.  As I glanced ahead at her mammoth mammaries, she kept running her hands along my body, ostensibly to straighten out my dress.  Her hands kept journeying further south, now pulling down around my thighs.  She knew what she was doing.

All of a sudden, my Willy popped out of my panties to say hello.  “Daddy!  That’s no way for a girl to behave.  Shame on you!”  She stood up and put her hands to her hips, looking down at me.  “I’m waiting.”  I again closed my eyes and used the Betty White technique, and soon enough my erection had subsided.  I looked back up at her to indicate I was ready now.  “If you’re not going to tuck it back in, then I will,” she threatened, moving down to do just that.  Quickly, I turned away, picked up my ridiculously long dress, and put things back into place.

“That’s one.”  She then draped her left arm around me, reaching behind my head and resting her hand down on my left forearm.  As we walked out onto the street, she was keeping me close, her hips swaying into me every other step.  I looked up and saw her just gazing around, pretending to be oblivious to what she was doing to me.  But deep down, I knew that she knew exactly what she was doing.  From the side, I watched her ample bosom jutting out from her chest, just inches from my face.  Fortunately, my trepidation over being seen in public like this was currently winning the battle and keeping the dragon down in his cave.  The streets weren’t crowded, but every 5 seconds or so a person or two would walk by.  I was getting all sorts of funny stares.  Seeing a man 16 inches shorter than his female companion would draw all sorts of stares by itself (hell, Kyra walking down the street by herself would have drawn all sorts of stares), but coupled with the fact that the man was wearing a dress and bra – oversized ones at that – with makeup and hair done up, must have been quite a sight indeed.  I saw people all around turning to their friends, whispering in their ears, and pointing at us.  As one guy walked by, I heard him say to his buddy, “Did you see that?  It looks like the little one is wearing the big one’s clothes!” accompanied by laughter.  Someone else laughed, “Look how short she looks next to her.”  Wait, how short SHE looks?  Oh my God, did I actually pass for a girl?  A woman behind me said, “What is that little woman wearing?  She should fire her tailor.”  Another woman laughed.  I looked back at them, bending my head to see around Kyra’s arm.  They covered their mouths in embarrassment, but couldn’t hold it back and burst out laughing again, poking at each other to stop laughing.  I turned and looked up.  Kyra tried to act like she hadn’t heard, but a smile crept onto her lips as she continued walking us forward.  FML.  We got to the restaurant after probably 10 minutes of walking.  Had she intentionally parked farther away to increase the walking time?

She had picked a fairly pricey restaurant, but I realized it was no use arguing with her.  We approached the hostess, and Kyra put her name down for a table.  It would be just a 5 minute wait, they said.  Still on the sidewalk, she led me off to the side, out of the way, and moved me in front of her, my back to her.  She placed both hands lightly on my shoulders as we waited.  About 20 feet in front of us, another group of guys was waiting to be called.  They were surreptitiously glancing at us and trying to whisper, but much too loudly.  “Damn, check out the rack on that one.”  “I’d do things to her that are illegal in 47 states.”  “Yeah, but check out the little one.  She makes me wanna hurl.”  “God, I know.”  “Hot chicks always carry around an ugly bitch or two to make themselves look better, you know that.”  They laughed.

“Can we wait on the other side, please, ma’am?” I begged.

Smiling down at me, and knowing full well why I wanted to move, she said, “Sure, little one, since you asked so nicely.”  She guided me away from the pack of wolves towards a much friendlier pasture.  But, once there, she started to pull me ever so gently back into her.  Her hands now draped down onto my chest, on either side of my neck.  Her fingers slowly tickled my bare chest as I felt something big press in and slightly down onto the back of my head.  She kept pulling me in, now pressing my full body back into hers.  I was having to lean my head down to make way for what I now realized was her massive chest.  “Ohhh,” I shuddered.  She began grinding her body slowly into mine.  I felt the two firm weights shifting around behind my head.  My breaths had quickened, and I felt a pressure in my crotch as I was pressing against the fabric of my panties.  I tried to get away, but her arms resisted me and I couldn’t get out without a struggle.  Not wanting to draw any attention to myself, I stood as still as possible.  But, soon enough, out popped Mr. Johnson.

I tried my hardest to keep the panic off my face as I looked around to see if anyone saw my entire dress tenting from waist down.  To my great relief, the hostess called Kyra’s name at just that moment.  I tried to move forward, but Kyra pulled me back into her and brought her lips down to my ear.  She whispered, “That’s two,” and lightly nibbled my ear lobe before standing up and walking us in.  As we entered, I heard the group of guys burst into an uproar, almost rolling on the ground laughing.  I pictured them all telling this story for years and years at parties – how the tallest, sexiest girl they’d ever seen was with who they thought was a short ugly girl, until they saw ‘her’ walk by with a raging hardon.  FMLx2.

I wondered how many other customers noticed my boner as we walked to our table.  I prayed that there was plenty else about our appearances to attract their attention away from my crotch.  Fortunately, my erection had subsided by the time we reached our booth.  It was a semicircular booth, the kind usually seen at bars and night clubs.  As she followed me into the booth, Kyra nudged me towards the middle and sat next to me.  Facing out into the center of the room, I felt like I couldn’t be any more exposed.  At least my crotch was hidden now, I reflected.  I readjusted myself to put my Willy back in place, with Kyra bemusedly watching me all the while.

Our waitress came and handed us our menus.  She stared at me strangely for an uncomfortable amount of time but didn’t say anything.  She left, and I looked over the menu and finally decided on the filet.  It was $40, but hell, I was in a foul mood and figured I might as well make the best of it.

“What are you having,” Kyra asked me.

“The filet.  I’m going all out.”

“Oh, hmm…” she said with a disapproving frown.  “I don’t think that’s such a good idea for you.  A girl like you shouldn’t be eating so many calories with your petite frame.”  Before I could protest, the waitress returned, asking Kyra if we were ready to order.  “Sure.  I’ll have the filet, medium-rare.”  Kyra looked down at me with an evil grin.  “And SHE will have the house salad, dressing on the side please.”

“Certainly,” the waitress replied.  But she then looked at me and hesitated.  It seemed like she wanted to tell me something, but was too uncomfortable to say it aloud.

The waitress left.  “Kyra, I hate salad!  Can’t I at least have some chicken or something?” I whined.

“That’s ma’am to you.  And that’s no way for a lady to talk.”  She turned toward me, placing her hand on my thigh.  Very, very high up on my thigh.  Looking over at her, I realized that even sitting down my gaze was only as high as her chin, and her neckline wasn’t very much below my line of sight.  “I’ll make you a compromise.  You can have a bite of mine, OK sweetie?”

Didn’t seem like much of a compromise to me.  I opened my mouth to argue, but she squeezed my thigh tightly.  Leaning in, she said in a stern voice, “I know what’s best for you, little one.  If you complain about your food one more time, you’re not getting anything the rest of the night.  Do I make myself clear?”

My eyes darted down to her décolletage then back up to her eyes.  “Yes Kyra.  I—I mean, yes ma’am.”

“That’s a good girl.”  She leaned over and planted a moist kiss on my forehead.  As she did so, her breast brushed against my shoulder.  My cock burst out of its prison again.  Still leaning in, Kyra whispered sultrily, “That’s three,” and gave my thigh another squeeze before withdrawing her hand.  Flustered, I sat there in silence as my erection dwindled again.

I glanced around and noticed that everyone seemed to be looking my way.  Maybe I was just paranoid, but there looked to be a lot of pointing in my direction and talking under one’s breath.  Just then, the manager came up with our waitress trailing behind.

“Excuse me,” he said, looking at me, “we’ve received several complaints already about what you are wearing.  Our customers are becoming very uncomfortable.  We maintain a strict dress code here, and the way you are dressed, especially the … cross-dressing, is not tolerated.  I will ask you to leave now.”  Well, I never thought I would be relieved to hear a manager kick me out.  Finally, someone recognized that I was a man (without having to see my hard-on).

Before I could humbly accept this honor, Kyra chimed in angrily, “Excuse me, Mr. Manager, but this is my friend, and SHE is going through a very difficult time in her life.  True, she was born with a male anatomy”—the manager squirmed uncomfortably—“but she finally came out as a transsexual this very morning.  Since she doesn’t yet have her own clothes, I offered to lend her some of mine for today.  And how dare you come over here and question her right to identify herself as she pleases!  She ought to sue you for sexual discrimination.”

The manager had turned beet red.  “I’m so sorry, both of you.  I thought this was some prank and didn’t realize your orientation.  I promise, we won’t bother you again.  Here, please take these,” he rushed over to the cashier and brought us two $50 gift cards, “and your meals today are free.”

Kyra said with feigned reluctance, “Very well.  But,” as an afterthought, “I think it would help boost my friend’s confidence if you referred to her by her new name … Kimmy.”

“Absolutely.  Our deepest apologies, Kimmy.  Please let us know if you need anything at all.”  The waitress also apologized to me, or should I say, Kimmy.  Then they backed away, practically bowing to us in humility.

Mortified, I looked over at Kyra.  She was pleased as punch.  “Well, I guess we’ve found a new name for you, haven’t we, Kimmy?”

“Please, ma’am, please don’t do this to me!  It’s humiliating!”

“Now, now, a girl shouldn’t feel ashamed of herself.  It’s for the best, Kimmy,” she added with emphasis.  “Oh, I know what we should do,” she added gleefully.  “Let’s go wash up before our food gets here!”

She pulled me up and brought me towards the restrooms, amidst many stares.  Not giving it a second thought, I headed for the men’s room.

“Silly Kimmy, why are you going to that side?”  She came over, grabbed my hand, and walked me into the women’s room.  I felt incredibly awkward as a woman walked past on her way out.  Fortunately, we were now alone in the room.  “OK, Kimmy, time to pee.”  I reluctantly got inside the stall and whipped it out.  “Kimmy!  You know that girls can’t pee standing up!” she chided.  Bloody hell, was she serious?  I turned around and sat down.  “Now remember, Kimmy, be careful not to let your dress fall onto the toilet behind you.”  She was really micromanaging my first experience as a woman on the toilet.  It was a bit troublesome having to hold the whole bottom of my dress up, but I managed to do so as I did my business on the toilet.

She was looking in the mirror fixing up her makeup when I stepped out.  I came over and washed my hands next to her.  Satisfied with her appearance, she turned to me.  “Oh, looks like you could use some freshening up.”  She got out her powdering thing, whatever it was called, and touched up my face.  “There, see how you look now.”

I looked at the mirror in shock.  I hadn’t even seen myself since the transformation.  Staring back at me through the mirror was someone who resembled me in shape and build, but I could hardly recognize the face.  My face had the same basic features, but I was done up, not gaudily, but tastefully, so that my skin looked softer, my lips looked fuller, and my hair – oh, my hair.  In just a few short moments, Kyra had easily turned my somewhat disheveled guy hair into a nice, neat, feminine hairdo, parted at the side with 2 or 3 hairclips pinning my hair up.  It absolutely looked like a girl’s hairdo.  It didn’t help matters that I could barely grow a stubble anymore and my body hair had mostly fallen off.  Between that, my hair, my face, my dress, and the two small mounds I had for boobs, I was almost surprised that anyone took me for a guy at all!  Granted, I did look rather uncomely, and my build probably reminded more of a male, but other than that I saw a girl staring back at me in the mirror.

Kyra watched my entire reaction with a huge smile.  “You see, Kimmy, you are a cute little girl after all.”  My eyes started to well up.  “Bad, Kimmy!” she said.  “You’ll ruin your makeup.  Stop crying this instant.”  I put my hands up to rub my eyes.  She yanked them down.  “No, Kimmy.  I told you not to touch your face.  If you smudge your makeup I’m going to be very upset.”  I somehow held back the tears.  “Look at me,” she ordered as she brought a paper towel up to my eyes.  “Just hold still, Kimmy.”  Like a mother, she dabbed my eyes, trying to avoid any smearing.  “There, all better.”  She turned me back to the mirror and stood behind me.  I watched through the mirror looking down at me from her vantage point well over my head, saying, “It’s OK, you really are pretty.  I’m sure there are plenty of guys out there who would be happy to date you.”  She was loving her position over me.

“Of course,” she continued, “not everyone is made alike.  Some girls are just naturally gifted with a tall, slender physique,” she said, looking at herself as she said it, “stunning facial features, a slender neck,” she gradually brought her right hand down along her body, feeling her features as she described them aloud, and with her left hand tenderly tracing the corresponding location on my body at the same time, “big, perfectly round, perky breasts,” she pushed up on both her and my bosoms and gave a squeeze, while dropping her voice into a sexy purr, “a narrow, tapering waist,” her fingers tickled my stomach, “curving out to wide hips and a firm, round backside,” she squeezed my left butt cheek as she said this, “and long legs that go on for miles.”  As she finished, her left hand snaked down, lifted up my dress, and found its way under my butt to the inside of my right thigh.  “But some girls have to get by without any of that,” she whispered in my ear, as she raised her hand ever so slightly to gently stroke the underside of my scrotum.  I was already rock hard, but at that last maneuver my body jolted to attention.  Her tongue snaked out and slowly licked the inside of my ear.  “That’s four, Kimmy,” she said lustily.

She suddenly dropped my dress down, gathered up her things, and strode out.  I just stood there panting for a minute, looking at myself in the mirror.  It was all so confusing.  I’m still her father … aren’t I?  I mulled over that question as I studied my now half-masculine, half-feminine features and recalled with disgust how my own daughter, who now towered over me, had just molested me yet again.  Me, who was wearing her dress, bra, and panties.  I regained enough composure to tuck my dick back into my panties, take a deep breath, and walk out of the bathroom.

Returning to Kyra and the table, I found my damned salad sitting there.  “I had them take my steak back since it was cold,” Kyra explained, “but you should go ahead and eat.”

I really hated salad.  I didn’t like lettuce, I didn’t like pretty much any raw vegetable, and I didn’t like the vinegary salad dressing.  I looked down and poked at my plate, picking out a crouton now and then (the one good part of the salad).  I was at least hoping for chicken on it, but there wasn’t any.  Soon, the waitress brought Kyra’s steak out, still apologizing profusely.  It looked delicious, and it was then I realized that I was starving.  Seeing me eyeing her plate hungrily, she said, “Well, you’ve been a good girl and haven’t complained about your food since, so here you go.  She sliced off a small bite and brought it to me with her fork.  I lifted my plate to take it, but the fork just kept comin’ to my mouth.  “Well, do you want it or not?” she asked indignantly, waving it in front of my lips.  I didn’t want to be spoon-fed (or fork-fed, as it were) by my daughter, but that bite was the only thing that would make the dinner bearable.  I opened up and she brought it into my mouth.  Pulling the fork out, she said, “Whoops,” picked up her napkin, and dabbed a bit of juice off my chin.  For that brief couple seconds, though, I experienced true pleasure as I chewed it around in my mouth.  “Can I have another bite, ma’am?”

“No, silly!  One bite; that was the deal.  Now finish your salad.”  I grudgingly started taking in the leafy grossness.  I eventually finished it and watched in envy as Kyra savored the last bite of filet.  “Mmm, that was delicious, I’m glad we came here.”  We got the bill, and Kyra confirmed that it was $0, and didn’t leave a tip.  They weren’t going to argue.

Stepping outside, we started walking back towards the car.  Mercifully, she let me walk on my own, not even holding my hand.  But, about half a mile away, she suddenly turned, and said, “Kimmy, you were very brave today, coming out as a girl.”  I almost broke down right there in the middle of the street.  Fortunately the sidewalk wasn’t so busy now.  “There, there.”  She stroked my cheek tenderly.  Before I knew it, she pulled me in for a hug.  I tried to pull back, at least my head which was crammed into her chest.  But she held the back of my head and pulled me into her warm, pillowy flesh.  I kept trying to struggle, but she responded by pulling my body into her even more.  Unable to resist her, all the day’s frustrations came to me at once, and I cried.

“It’s OK, Kimmy.  Kyra’s here for you.”  Her voice soothed, but her arms relentlessly pulled me deeper into her bosom.  I could still breathe, but with difficulty.  I felt her hips pull away from me as she leaned down to sink my face into her more fully.  With her hand, she started to rub my face back and forth across her soft mounds of flesh.  When my mouth found her nipple, she stopped rubbing and suddenly pressed me with renewed force into her.  She let out a gasp.  I felt her nipple clearly, poking through the fabric of her dress and bra, and meeting my lips.  After only a moment, she pulled me free, her breast bouncing back into place in front of my eyes.  We were both breathing heavily.  Of course, I was sporting some heavy wood.  She slowly drew herself down until her face was level with mine, and said huskily, “That’s five.  You’re getting into dangerous territory.”  My eyes opened in shock as she reached down and squeezed my cock.  “I’ll have to devise a suitable punishment when we get home.”  She was horny as hell.

She simply stood up and walked toward the car.  After coming to my senses, I scurried along behind her.  The way she was swaying her arms and ignoring my presence seemed to tell me to stay behind her.  I did just that, and watched and she swayed her wide hips side to side, side to side, side to side, having to constantly hold my panties up to keep them from falling off.  I didn’t even notice the stares and jeers from passersby.  Several minutes later, she looked back, and with a predatory grin glanced down at my still-hard member.  She said nothing and continued on.

As we got in the car she turned her body in her seat to face me.  Oh God, I felt like a mouse thrown into a cat’s cage.  And she looked ready to pounce.  “Mmmm, little Kimmy, what to do about this one,” she said, her hand gliding down to my erection, which still had not subsided.  Her arm, reaching across her body, pushed up on her chest, giving me a gut-wrenching display of her milky white breasts.  Her lips were parted and she was slowly licking her lips as she inhaled and exhaled forcefully.  “Your erection has gone on for soooo long now.  I wonder: should I count this as one or two?”  She fingered my head lightly, causing my cock to spasm.  She continued brushing her nail across it intermittently for a good 30 seconds.

“I’ve decided.  Every 10 minutes counts as another one.  So you’re still on 5, little one, although,” glancing at the clock, “I would say it’s been, oh, about 8 minutes so far.”  She gave me a challenging smile, as if to tell me, ‘I will keep you hard as long as I please.’

She took her hand away, turned forward, and drove out of the garage.  She repositioned her rear-view mirror downwards.  Way downwards.  I hardly had to guess where it was pointing now.  I looked out my window and tried to think it away again.  Betty White, Betty White, Betty White, …, KYRA, KYRA.  She was tickling my head again.  Oh God, don’t think about how amazing that feels.  No, Kyra!  Don’t!  Stop!

“10 minutes,” she said huskily.  “That’s six.  Your punishment just doubled again.”  Oh, no.  I wasn’t sure if she was just using an arbitrary scale, but it could only be bad.  I was relieved that she removed her hand.  A couple minutes later, my breathing had returned to normal and my penis was now deflated to about half pressure, although it was still sticking out from my dress.  I just waited to get home in and worried about my punishment.  I was caught completely off guard by her hand on my cock once more.  “Hrmm, still awake, I see.  It’s not time for you to hide yet.”

I used both hands to force her one hand away.  “Please, stop it!” I cried.

She slammed on the brakes in the middle of the empty road.  Turning, she clenched her hand onto my cheeks and squeezed, pulling me closer.  “You will look directly at my body for the remainder of the ride.  If I catch you closing your eyes, or looking anywhere else, even for an instant, your punishment will be ten times worse.”

“Y-Yes ma’am.”  Her punishment scale was getting a bit out of proportion.  I mean, on this scale, having only one erection would probably be equivalent to a light slap on the wrist, I mused.  But I wasn’t going to argue the relative merits of a geometric progression versus a linear or perhaps quadratic one.  All I knew was that she had some sense of how much she would punish me, and moving 10 units right on the x-axis was bad, on any scale.

She repositioned the mirror so that her eyes were looking right at mine.  No way I could risk glancing away now.  She saw me looking at her eyes in the reflection and yelled, “What did I just say?”

“Sorry ma’am!”  I darted my eyes over, and they went naturally to her chest.  I could only assume she would continue to look at my eyes for the remainder of the ride, but I didn’t dare move my eyes away to check; all I could do was look down at her body.

I tried to avoid getting aroused, fixing my eyes on one spot and not thinking of it as her body.  But no matter where I looked – hips, legs, shoulder, stomach-- there was much too much worth looking at, and my mind had no choice but to focus on her body, her chest breathing in, then out, then in again; her young, supple curves, her soft yet firm skin, her …

She glanced every now and then at my cock with satisfaction.  After some time, she announced, “Mmhmm.  20 minutes.  That makes 7, Kimmy.”  She continued to talk, becoming aroused again.  “Oh, little Kimmy, you can’t even look at my body without getting hard, can you?  Ahhhhh,” she let out a deep sigh as her hips began to squirm about in her seat.  “Look at you, Kimmy, you can’t even resist your own innocent little 18-year-old daughter.  You can’t control your little pecker around me, can you?  Tell me, what was going through your mind today as you stood there wearing you daughter’s big bra, shooting you load all over your pants?  Who were you thinking about, just then?  Whose body drives you crazy, makes you want to touch yourself?  Hmm?”  She was panting now, her hands moving across her breasts, idly playing with her own nipples.  In all my sexual exploits, I don’t remember seeing anyone woman get nearly so excited just sitting next to me.

We finally made it home.  She got out and walked around the car as I just sat there, petrified.  She opened my door and said, “I don’t remember giving you permission to take your eyes off me.”  Oh crap.  I could only pray that she hadn’t increased my punishment by an order of magnitude right there.  I walked in behind her, watching her ass sway in front of me at chest level.  She cocked her head to the side to see that I was still behind her, then sauntered up the stairs.  I followed her, of course.

She entered her room.  I was about to step in when I remembered her warning this afternoon.  She glanced back, hoping to catch me breaking her rule.  “Very good, Kimmy.  You may enter my room now and sit on my bed.”  I obeyed immediately.  She casually walked around the room, not acknowledging my presence in the slightest, except for the occasional glance to keep me honest.  Not that she really needed to, at this point.  A significant part of me was grateful that she was actually allowing me to feast my eyes on her.

She unzipped her dress, pulled down the straps, and stepped out.  Underneath, she had on a matching red bra and panties.  And, of course, her heels.  I was getting hot as hell now.  I had never seen so much of her body on display.  I suddenly longed for her to grab me, press my body into hers, and have her way with me.

But she remained out of my reach, still casually sauntering about her room, completely ignoring me.  She stood in front of her mirror, brushing her hair slowly for several minutes.  Then, finally, she looked at her clock, put the brush down, and sauntered over in front of me.

My senses were overwhelmed.  She was so much woman.  “30 minutes.  That’s 8.  Let’s see.  How much does that multiply out to.”  I started to do the math, figuring out 2^7, but I had only gotten to 32 when she announced, “128.”  She gave a sinister laugh.  “You’re in big trouble, missy.”  She just stood over me in silence, working out my punishment.

Several excruciating minutes later, she said with a wry smile, “For starters, you are grounded for the next 2 weeks, young lady, and I am taking away your phone and computer.  And after tonight,” she said, looking over and seeing that it was already past 9:00, “you will be in bed, lights out, not a minute later than 9:00.”  She gave a dramatic pause.  “Oh, and by the way, I think you’ll find that my definition of ‘grounded’ is a little bit different than yours; a bit … harsher, perhaps.  You’ll find out more about that later.”  That sounded ominous.

“Next, I will give you a spanking.  I think you will find that my spankings will be a bit harsher than yours as well.  However, since I don’t want to spoil you for tonight,” she said with an evil grin, “I will wait until tomorrow morning to administer it.”  Great, now I had tomorrow to look forward to as well.  “And thirdly, well, that’s what is about to happen right now.  But I daresay that this one is not so much of a punishment, since I think you just might enjoy it.”

She grabbed me, lifted me off the bed, carried me over to the wall, and slammed me roughly against it.  “Now, little sissy, I’ll make you a deal.  If at any point tonight, you are able to break free from me and make it through my doorway, I will drop all of the punishments.  Hell, I’ll even promise you a whole week, punishment-free.”

“W –what?  Seriously?”  I was shocked.

“Yes, Kimmy, that’s right.  Deal?”  I agreed, not believing she would risk me getting off the hook like that.

“OK, then.”  She dropped me on the floor.  Without hesitating, I darted for the door.  I was determined to get out of here at all costs.  I thought I had her until she yanked on my legs, hard, and pulled me back to her.  “Going somewhere, little one?” she inquired.  She pulled me up to the wall again, this time leaving me on my feet.  “I think you’re almost at 40 minutes now.  You’d better try to escape soon,” she taunted.  Was she seriously going to redouble the punishment?  She stood there looking down at me with her hands on her hips, giving perhaps a foot of room between me and her.  I anxiously looked left and right, thinking maybe if I faked right then ran left I could catch her off guard.  I tried that, but she easily darted in front of me and I hit a wall of flesh.

This time, she didn’t leave any room, and pressed her body against me back into the wall.  “Hmm, you’re a little too short now,” she commented, as my face was jammed against the bottom of her bra.  She reached down, grabbed both my wrists, and slowly brought them up over my head.  She pulled my arms even higher, lifting my feet up until I was tip-toeing.  Then she brought the full weight of her breasts into me.  I felt warm flesh completely encasing my face.  She held me like that for some time.  I had absolutely no leverage, with my feet dangling and my arms pinned straight up.  I couldn’t even reposition my head as she was bearing down on me.  My face was starting to get hot in this sexy prison.  I couldn’t breathe and was running low on oxygen.  I started screaming into her chest, which only produced a muffled yell in her chest.  “Ooohhh, that feels nice, your voice vibrating into me like that.”  She pulled back for only 2 seconds as I gasped for breath, then she slammed me into her again.  “Your head is so much smaller than last time I tried this – I can really get you in there far,” she purred.  Eventually I started screaming again for air.  “That’s it, Kimmy, let it out.”  She had gotten all hot and bothered by now.  Then Kyra suddenly dropped me and I crumpled into a heap on the floor

“Bad Kimmy!” she exclaimed, looking down at herself.  “You smudged your makeup on my dress!  And you slobbered on my boobs again.  I’ll have to add this to your punishment.”  She turned her back to me and stepped towards the bed, and I saw that this was my chance!  I scrambled for the door but she spun immediately and pounced on me before I had gotten even halfway there.  It was as if she wanted me to try to escape, and she enjoyed pulling me back.

“Mmmh.  What’s the matter, little one?  Scared of big Kyra, are you?”  In despair, I flailed about as she pinned my back to the ground.  “That’s it, Kimmy.  I just LOVE it when you try to resist me.”  She pulled me by the hair to the corner of the bed and stood over me.  “OK, enough foreplay.  Time for the main course, Daddy.”  In horror, I watched as my daughter started to pull her panties down above me.

“Wh-what are you doing??” My voice trembled in fear.

As her panties dropped to her feet, I looked up at my daughter’s pussy, which was dripping wet from her juices.  Her legs straddling my sides, I could see her staring down at me over her tits.  I watched as her hand snaked down towards her bush.  I watched her start to finger herself, moaning softly and squeezing her tit with her other hand.

I didn’t want to guess what she was going to do with me.  I spun around and made a desperate leap for the door.  I of course landed short and was about to scramble forward when my head was yanked back.  She grabbed a handful of my hair and lifted me up onto my two feet.  “Don’t leave yet, there’s something I want you to help me with, Daddy,” she breathed huskily.  Pulling me back to the bed, she forced me to my knees as she sat at the bed corner, her knees on either side of my head.  I felt myself being pulled inexorably toward her crotch.

Realizing what she had in mind, I begged her, pleaded her, implored her, “Kyra, anything but that!  Please!  You don’t know what you’re doing!  I’m your father! I –mmrrmmffhh.”  My voice was muffled as she pressed my face into her warm lips.  Her legs pressed around me as her hands pushed me in, locking me into her womanhood.  I screamed, flailed, pounded on her legs, anything to get out.

My struggles were having precisely the opposite effect I had intended.  “Ooohhhaaahh,” she said as her body lurched, “Oh God, Daddy, that’s it!!”  She pushed me deeper into her cleft.  Unable to breathe, I started opening and closing my mouth, gasping for air that wasn’t there.  The only affect this had was to cause her to start to buck her hips more and more wildly.  This couldn’t have lasted more than 30 seconds, and just as I was about to black out, her entire body shuddered and her legs squeezed my head to the breaking point.  She screamed in ecstasy as I felt her juices wash over my face and into my mouth.

I gagged, still unable to breathe, swallowing my daughter’s juices.  She opened her legs, allowing me to collapse in a heap at her feet.  As she sat back and basked in glory, she told me, “Oh, you were wonderful, Daddy.  That was the most amazing experience I’ve ever had!”  My daughter had just been eaten out for the first time in her young life, and I was the one who did it to her.

I sobbed uncontrollably, curling up around a blanket which had fallen next to me.  I buried my head into the blanket, blocking out all connection with the outside world.  An 18-year-old girl – my own daughter – had just had her way with me, and I was completely powerless to stop her.  Me, wearing a black dress, black bra, black panties, makeup, and hairpins, helplessly being controlled against my will by this towering behemoth of a woman.

What was I?  I was still a man … right?  Despite my feminine appearance today, I realized that I still thought of myself as a man.  But I would look back on this moment as that defining moment when, from that point on, I could no longer think of myself as a father.

I heard her get up and move about her room as she just let me lay there.  I don’t know how long I continued to sob until eventually I faded off to sleep, curled into a ball on my daughter’s bedroom floor.

********************************

Thursday: 5’0”

I awoke to find myself still curled up at the foot of my daughter’s bed.  My face felt sticky, and there was an awful taste in my mouth that I couldn’t quite place.  Then, I realized: it was my daughter’s juices from the night before.  I shuddered.

“Good morning, little guy,” Kyra said warmly from her bed behind me.  As I sat up, I heard her feet plop down onto the floor and footsteps coming up behind me.  As I turned around towards her, my body jolted as if receiving an electric shock, and my cock sprang instantly to attention.  My daughter’s huge, curvaceous body was looming above me, clad in her usual nighties.  Her boobs, still held up miraculously by an invisible bra, suddenly began plunging down toward me, revealing an ever deeper valley cleavage.  From my perspective they were growing more massive by the day, and I wondered if both my hands could cover just one of her breasts anymore.  Smiling broadly, she lowered her hands to her knees and peered down at me, saying, “You were out like a light last night, Daddy.  I bet you were tired from all our activities,” she said, ruffling my hair.  “I know I slept well.”  She stood up and gave a long, lazy stretch, raising her top even higher past her taut abs and sloping hips.  I took quite an eyeful, my cock now throbbing with excitement.  I realized that I still hadn’t had a release since the incredible buildup of pressure last night.  I had come down with a pernicious case of the ‘blue balls,’ as my loins were literally aching for release.  I would have to take care of that in the shower.

“Come here, Daddy,” she said invitingly, sitting on her bed.  I didn’t want to get up with my, uh, condition down there, but I knew she would see it sooner or later anyway.  I got up and went to sit down beside her, but I felt her wrap her arm about my waist and pull me over onto her lap.  I, a grown man, was sitting on my own daughter’s lap!  She draped her left arm around my back and placed her right hand onto my thighs.

For the first time in 8 days, though, I was able to look slightly down into her eyes – sitting atop her leg, my head was just barely higher than hers.  Sitting so close to her, I realized how impossibly large her proportions were.  I suppose someone who grew up shorter would be used to it, but being formerly 6’6” made this all the more bewildering to me.  Women, especially, always had shorter arms, narrower shoulders, smaller waists (well, the skinny ones anyway) – usually, much smaller compared to me.  But as I say on my daughter’s lap, with her arm wrapped easily around my back and her face seeming quite larger than mine, I couldn’t help but feel small and weak, but at the same time incredibly aroused.  I had never ever thought of my daughter in a sexual way at my former height, seeing her as my little girl.  But now, there was so much more of her, and I couldn’t stop myself from admiring her increasingly Brobdingnagian features as they filled my vision.

“I have good news for you, Daddy,” she beamed, “I was so pleased with your performance last night that I have decided to forgo your spanking this morning.  You see, it’s good to keep your daughter happy,” she said, wiggling my nose with her right hand.  I guess that’s one good thing, I thought, although I had to pleasure my daughter to get it.

She lowered her hand again.  “What’s this in your lap, Daddy?” she cooed, brushing her hand across my tip as it was poking up through the dress I was still wearing.  My whole body shuddered as I jolted from her touch.  She delighted in seeing her effect on me without her even trying.  “Oh, that’s right!” she said sweetly, “You were just SO excited for me yesterday, but big, mean Kyra was selfish and didn’t return the favor.”  She drew me into her body, her breasts squashing into my sides.  I groaned, looking down at the cleavage formed as her huge tit pressed into my torso.

“Would you like Kyra to give you your reward?  Hrmm?” she purred, lowering her voice seductively.  I violently shook my head no.  “Oh?  Are you sure about that?  I have a feeling you do, Daddy.”  She started dragging her fingers up my thigh, coming dangerously close to my engorged member.  I couldn’t hold it back any more.  My body tensed up and I could feel my seed preparing to burst forth.  At just the last instant, though, I felt an immense pressure on the length of my cock.  My entire body spasmed forward as if someone had just slammed on the brakes.

Bewildered, I looked down to see that my daughter had squeezed her hand around my shaft.  “Bad, Daddy!  What did I tell you about getting semen on my dress!?”

Still writhing in delirium, I didn’t answer.  “Well, mister?”

“You – you said you would kill me.”

“That’s right, and I just might do it to.  Shame on you for trying to come.”  Like I had any choice whatsoever.

“Stand up,” she commanded firmly, pushing me off her lap.  “We need to get this dress off of you before you decide to ruin it.”  Still seated, she pulled it up over my head and tossed it aside.  “You’ve already made a mess on my bra,” seeing it resting on my chest, “and you had better hope that one washes out.”  She reached around me an unclasped it, pulling it off my body.  Then she bent over and pulled the panties down the rest of the way, as they were about to fall off of anyway.  Tossing them aside, she pulled me back down onto her lap and said, “Now then, that was a close one.  What do you have to say for yourself?”

“I’m sorry, ma’am.”

“Haha, that’s good, but today you may call me Kyra again.”

“Yes, Kyra.”

She pulled me into her body again, and this time it felt all the more electric as my bare skin pressed against the soft fabric of her nightie and felt her warm body breathing in and out underneath.  “Now, Daddy, would you like your daughter to let you come?” she asked, caressing my face with her right hand.

“Uh … no,” I said, somewhat more reluctantly this time around.

“Are you suuuure, Daddy?” she cooed, gently brushing her fingers on my skin as she slowly brought her hand down along my chest towards my exposed member.  I was teetering on the edge, even more delirious this time from the increased sensitivity of my bare skin.  I started to surge as her hand brushed my shaft, but again her hand clamped down hard, leaving my sexual organs unable to carry out their function.  As I looked over at her in wild frustration, she gently scolded, “You said you didn’t want to come, remember Daddy?  I was just doing what you asked.”  I remained highly aroused as she loosened her grasp.  However, she didn’t withdraw her hand, instead starting to pump up and down, ever so slowly.  I gasped, immediately returning to the brink.  “You’ll have to beg me first.  Beg me to let you come, Daddy,” she breathed into my ear.

“N- No - stop – B – Kyra,” I stuttered as I felt myself starting to lean over the edge as at the top of a roller coaster, starting the plunge.

She squeezed again, causing me to see stars and writhe in agony.  “Beg me!” she hissed, beginning to stroke more intently.

My inhibitions were overridden by the intensity of pleasure and pain.  “Please, Kyra, let me come!  Please! Please! Please! …“ I repeated until I felt the floodgates open.  I felt as though my entire life force was sucked in towards my loins and surged forward through my beating cock.  I came for an eternity, shooting pulse after pulse of hot man-juice onto my daughter’s chest.

I sat there clutching Kyra’s body until my breathing finally started to stabilize, and I slumped into her shoulder exhaustedly.  I looked down to see gobs of my goo covering both of our torsos.  Kyra’s white shirt was soaked in front, and both her chest and neck glistened.

“There you go,” she exhaled, “See, all you had to do was ask, Daddy.”  Looking down at herself, she chuckled, saying, “I can’t believe what a mess you made.”  I saw her inspect her shirt and feared her wrath.  “Don’t worry, little one, I don’t mind so much if my nightie gets stained, so I won’t punish you for this.  But,” she added with a stern tone, “I expect you to do everything you can to get it cleaned today.  And the same goes for my bra.”  Her black bra still had my stain on it from yesterday.

She wiped some of my cum off her face and neck and playfully smeared it across my own face.  “What a mess,” she repeated.  “Come along, Daddy, let’s get cleaned up.”  She stood up, causing me to fall right off her.  As I stood back up, I watched as she grabbed the bottom of her shirt and started lifting her arms.  My horror turned to shock and awe as I watched her massive melons bounce down into the open air as her shirt pulled free of them.  Although I had shrunk 2 inches since yesterday, the fact that she was finally out of her heels meant that they were just below eye level.  In fact, her perfectly round, hard nipples were standing out tantalizingly, mere inches from my gaping mouth …

I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t move, I just stood there beholding the greatest sight mine eyes had ever seen.  I had just come, but I was already aching for more.  Kyra stared down, absolutely delighted by my reaction.  After letting me enjoy the show for a while, she pulled off her shorts and panties and beckoned me to follow her into the bathroom.  Entranced, I followed her while watching her naked ass wiggle back and forth, and I could even see the sides of her breasts from behind as she lifted her arms up to take out her hair band, letting her hair fall down around her.  Even after what I had just done, my loins were already going at full speed ahead.

Walking into the hallway bathroom (something I hadn’t done in ages), I watched her turn the shower on and get in.  After a pause, she asked, “Well, aren’t you coming?”

Should I really shower with my own daughter?  I was unsure of myself.  “Come on in, Daddy, I won’t bite.  And the water’s nice and warm,” she persuaded.  Listening to the soothing sound of her voice, I realized that did sound really, really good.  Besides, looking in the mirror, I realized I did really need a shower to clean up the goop on my chest, as well as the smeared makeup on my face from yesterday.

I stepped inside behind Kyra, my heart already pumping a mile a minute.  She turned her head and cooed, “There’s a good boy.  Come here.”  She reached her arm back around me and guided me in front of her, into the stream of water.  We stood there rinsing ourselves, her body occasionally bumping into mine and her breasts brushing into the back of my head.

Leaning over me and looking down, she commented with a bit of surprise, “My, my, that little guy just won’t go away, will he?”  She turned me around to face her and handed me the body wash.  I started lathering myself when she took hold of my wrists.  “Now, Daddy, don’t be rude.  Clean me first.”  She took the bottle from my hand and brought my hands down to her thighs, saying, “Start down there.”

“Kyra, honey, I don’t think this is a good idea …”  God, I WANTED her SO badly, but … she was my own daughter!

“Get started, now,” she commanded, “And don’t miss an inch.”  I had no choice, but also something stirred in me as I began massaging her thigh.  I worked my hands down to her calves and then her foot, then back up the other leg, making sure that my hands reached each and every inch of her oh-so-long legs.  Despite my initial reluctance, I quickly became absorbed in my task, kneading her flesh tenderly as I moved up her leg.

“Ohhh, Daddy, that feels nice,” she purred, resupplying me with soap as needed.  I worked my way up towards her crotch.  “Nuh-uh, Daddy, I’ll take care of that myself.”  She turned and brought my hands to her glorious ass.  I felt their soft weight as I kneaded the soap into them, then moved upwards to clean her back.  Reaching up, I was able to get her neck.  Then, she turned to face me again and guided my hands to her arms.  I ran my hands along them, realizing that each of them was now longer than my entire upper body from the waist up.  I then worked my hands down her sides and did her midsection, running my hands along her glorious hips for the first time and feeling her taut stomach.

I paused and began to tremble as my thoughts turned to the two huge globes hanging in front of me.  Seeing me pause, she said, “You’re forgetting a very important part, little one,” as she pulled my hands up to her glorious melons.

“Ohhhhhhh,” we both moaned in unison.  My hands shaking, I began to gently lather the soap onto them.  She reached down and pressed my hands into her breasts.  They were firm and heavy, but at the same time impossibly soft.  The consistency of the female breast is one of the great marvels of human anatomy, I thought.  I had felt many a woman’s breasts in my day, but these were in a completely, entirely different league.  My small hands began kneading her flesh feverishly, lost in passion.  She kept one hand up to press me into her, but her other hand drifted down and began fondling her pussy.

After a while of this, she shoved my chest back under the stream of water and moved herself up under the stream as well.  “Rinse,” she commanded.  I lifted her heavy weights up to rinse under her boobs, and ran my hands around them to get the remaining soap off.  She then grabbed a handful of my hair and shoved my mouth into her waiting nipple.  “Suck!” she ordered.  I closed my mouth around her nipple and felt it harden even more.  There was plenty of nipple to suck on, and I closed my eyes in ecstasy as I worked.  She began moaning as she pulled me over to her other side and mashed my face into her opposite nipple.  Unable to restrain myself, I began to suck feverishly.  She gasped as my tongue started wriggling around her nipple in my mouth.  Meanwhile, she continued to work her hand around in her pussy, and pulled my own crotch into her bent knee.  I started rutting on my daughter’s leg as we both worked more and more feverishly.

We climaxed simultaneously, as she threw her head back in ecstasy and shoved my face into her even harder, cutting off my breathing.  She released me and I collapsed to the floor, too exhausted to stand.

She stared down at me, still panting, her fingers slowly withdrawing from inside her.  Running her hand along her body, she said, “Tsk, tsk, Daddy, you got me all messy again.”  She began cleaning herself off with body wash as I looked up at her from the floor of the shower.  Kyra began to quickly soap herself down, minus the sensuousness of a minute ago.  She shampooed and rinsed her hair, then looked down at me, expressionless.  “Downstairs, dressed, 10 minutes,” she said, down to business.  She stepped out and began drying her hair.

Still dazed, I slowly picked myself up and washed my body down.  I couldn’t believe how easily I had given in to my urges.  Not only did I fail to resist her, but I … I … Christ, who was I kidding; I fucking loved it.  It felt wonderful, having Kyra’s bare tits in my mouth.  But I told myself that what we were doing was completely inappropriate, and that I would NOT encourage any such activity from then on, no matter what.

I was completely distracted by thoughts of Kyra as I finished up my shower and stepped out several minutes later.  I sheepishly scampered naked across the hall to my room.  Putting on my own men’s clothes felt good, even if they were slightly loose-fitting this time.  I got on the scale, weighing in at 100 lbs even.  After brushing my teeth, I pulled out my electric razor and started to shave.  “That’s odd,” I commented.  I didn’t seem to be shaving anything off at all.  In fact, my face felt completely smooth even though I hadn’t shaved in 24 hours.  Honestly, that still didn’t bother me, but what did was my lack of body hair, except for a few loose strands here and there, and my vastly thinner tuft of pubic hair.  Even my build seemed lankier – I now had no muscle tone to speak of, and I looked rather frail and underdeveloped.  In fact, my whole body appeared more … child-like, perhaps??  Snapping out of my contemplations, I walked downstairs with about a minute to spare on Kyra’s deadline.

Soon, she stepped out of her own room.  She was in the middle of putting earrings in, and the button-down shirt she was wearing was completely unbuttoned.  It flapped open as she walked, affording me a brief glimpse of her bra and midsection.  “Make me toast with strawberry jam, and orange juice.”

“Yes, dear,” I called back to her.  She returned to her room as I prepared my daughter’s breakfast.  As I was finishing spreading the jam, Kyra came down the stairs, buttoning up her shirt.  I snuck a peak, noting that she hadn’t buttoned many of them, still leaving an absolutely glorious view of her rack.  She came up to me as I obediently held out her toast and glass of juice.  She picked up the toast and took a bite while saying, “Oh, before I forget …” then she pushed me roughly against the wall – not to hurt me; rather, she was simply in a no-nonsense mood.  Standing up straight, I looked straight ahead at the bottom of her breasts (she was wearing her heels again).  Still down to business, she munched on her breakfast while bending over to measure my height.

“Let’s see … 5 feet even.  And, it looks like I was that height when I was … ah, 8 years old.”  I noticed a hint of a smirk on her face.  “And that also puts you just over the average height of a 12-year old boy.”  I turned my head around and saw a new series of markings.  She had evidently looked up a height chart online and marked it on the wall last night, after I had fallen asleep.  “Interesting,” she stated simply.  “Now, Daddy,” she continued, “while I’m at school today, I want you to clean my clothes that you stained”—my head drooped in shame as she said this—“and you might as well do the rest of your laundry too.  But not mine, of course, since my room is still off-limits.  Then, finish the rest of the chores, and at some point you’ll need to go to the grocery store.  And Daddy, I’m goddamned sick and tired of the awful dinners you make, so I expect you to put a LOT more time and effort into tonight’s dinner.  I’ll be looking forward to a good meal, and I would hate to be disappointed.  You’ll probably have to start preparing it before you pick me up from practice.  Any questions?”

I was confused.  “Um, yeah, when am I going to have time for any of this?  I’ll be at work all day, remember?”

“Oh, right, I forgot to mention that.”  She put both hands on my shoulders and condescendingly told me, “Daddy, remember, you are grounded for your naughty behavior yesterday.  That means you are not allowed to leave the house for any reason whatsoever, except for grocery shopping and picking me up and other things I specifically ask for.  Other than that, you’ll need to ask me first.”  As I was about to protest, she put a finger to my lips and continued, “And, no TV or internet.  You are to finish all your chores and other duties first, then once they are completed you may call me to ask for permission to take a break, unless I think of something else for you to do.”

“I can’t leave for any reason?  I have to go to work, Kyra,” I whined.

She took on a patronizing tone as she told me, “You should have thought of that when you were getting yourself in trouble last night, mister.  Just call in sick or whatever, I don’t give a crap.  But you WILL have your chores done by the time I get home, and you WILL make me a delicious dinner, or else you’re in big trouble.”

“But I’m already so far behind on work as it is and if I can’t get any work done they’ll fire me!” I complained.

She jabbed my chest back against the wall with a single finger and said, “You are staying home today and that’s FINAL.”

Too scared to say another word against her, I cringed up at her and replied, “Yes, Kyra.”

“Now, you should still take me to school until I get my driver’s license, but I expect you to come straight home afterwards.  Don’t leave for the grocery store until I give you permission.  I’ll call here from time to time when I’m at school, and you had better be here to pick up, got it?”

“Yes, dear.”

“OK, let’s go before I’m late for school again.”  She took the orange juice from my hand, chugged it, set it down, and pulled me by the arm to the car.  As Kyra drove to her school, I became depressed over my new loss of freedom.  She wasn’t even letting me go to work, instead making me do chores like a goddamned house slave.  I thought about going to work anyway, but I quickly rejected the idea since I had so much to do at home and I didn’t even want to imagine what Kyra would do to me if she found out.

We pulled up to her school and got out.  I walked around to Kyra as she said, “One more thing I almost forgot: give me your wallet.  I can’t trust you with it.  I’ll hold onto it today so you don’t get any bright ideas.”

“But, Kyra, I need –“

“Don’t make a scene, Dad.  I hate to be embarrassed in front of my classmates.”  I realized that students were all around, walking to class, and I hoped that none of them heard how I was being ordered around by my daughter.  I reached back and pulled out my wallet.

She snatched it, opened it up, and handed me my license and $40 cash.  MY cash, that is.  “Here’s your license, so you don’t drive without it.  But ONLY for driving home and to the grocery store.”  She gave me a stern look for emphasis, then continued, “And here is money for today’s groceries.  Remember, I want a very nice meal, Dad, and make sure you can get it ready by 6:00.”

With that, she bent way down to plant a kiss on my forehead, and even as frazzled as I was I still found myself checking out her massive cleavage in front of me.  Then she turned and walked away, and I could see her transferring the remaining cash and my credit cards to her own purse.  What the hell!  She may have taken my dignity, but she has no right to take my money too!  I’ll try to get my cards back somehow, I promised myself.  I angrily climbed into the car, slammed my fists on the dash, then pulled the seat as far up as it could go and drove home.  To my dismay, I noticed that even with the seat all the way up, I still had to scoot my butt forward some on the seat to reach the pedals.  This only amplified my frustration, and on the way home I cursed and shouted, telling Kyra that she is not to treat me like this and I will not tolerate it, and so on and so forth.  It felt good to vent some, but at the end of the ride I still had to perform my house slave duties all the same.

I called work once I got back to the house.  My boss was clearly getting upset at my continued absences and told me I had better get plenty of work done from home.  Geez, now I had two women telling me what to do.  Fortunately, since most of my work was done on computers I could work off my computer here at home without too much hassle.  Just had to remote desktop and/or ftp some files over. 

I remembered that my test results should be in today.  I called first thing once I got back to the house.  “James Roberts, let’s see … ah yes, your results are in but I’m afraid the doctor requested that he discuss them with you person,” the receptionist said.  “It sounded important.  Can you come in this morning, by chance?”

I didn’t know whether to be worried or optimistic, but finally it seemed that they had at least figured out something.  “Yes, I’ll come over immediately,” I responded.  But then I remembered Kyra’s stern face peering down at me as she warned me not to leave without her permission.  “Um, wait, no, I forgot I, um … have something I have to do now.  I’ll have to get back with you.  Maybe later today?”  I hoped that I could get a hold of Kyra soon and ask her permission to leave.  This was important, though, so I was sure she wouldn’t mind.  Well, fairly sure, anyway.

“Well, OK then, but we’re pretty busy this afternoon.  Let us know as soon as you can so we can get you in to see him,” the receptionist replied.  I told her I would and then hung up the phone.  I immediately dialed Kyra’s cell phone to ask her about it, but there was no answer.  She would call back when her class got out, I assured myself.  Meanwhile, I would start the laundry.

I went upstairs and retrieved my hamper.  On my way downstairs, though, I remembered that I needed to wash Kyra’s nightie that I had so thoroughly soiled this morning.  … Oh, shit!  It was still in her room.  I thought about just going in and getting it, but I had bad memories from yesterday and I wasn’t keen on repeating them.  Besides, if I cleaned them without asking first, she would realize that they were on her floor and that I must have gone into her room to get them.  Not wanting to provoke my daughter’s wrath, I decided to wait until she called back to ask her this as well.

I started cleaning the house, and about 40 minutes later I heard the phone ring.  I ran just to make sure I got there in time, and answered, “Roberts household.”

“Daddy, you made a fool of me last class.”  Kyra was pissed.  It was a bit hard to hear her over the din of students in the hallway.  “My phone went off in the middle of class when you called, and everyone turned to look at me, and the teacher reprimanded me for disrupting class,” she ranted, almost like a petulant child.  “You’re going to pay for embarrassing me.”

Her punishment was bad enough when I simply disobeyed her, but when I embarrassed her in front of other people … well, let’s just say I wasn’t looking forward to what she would do to me.  Even something as insignificant as this seemed to cause all kinds of pain for me these days.  “I’m sorry, Kyra, but it was important.  The doctor’s office said they have some interesting results about my shrinking that I need to see.  Can I please go there this afternoon?” I pleaded.

“Fuck you.  You’ll just have to wait until tomorrow.  That is, if I let you,” she retorted.

“But Kyra, this is important!  I’m just going to keep shrinking otherwise!”

“Maybe losing some more would do you good, then you won’t be so quick to talk back to me.  DO NOT call me back again, you little shit.  I will call YOU, and you had better answer.”  She hung up.  It was so unfair!  She gets to call all the shots around here, and she doesn’t even care about my well-being.  Jesus, I was in the middle of a life-altering medical crisis, and she’s keeping me here to do some goddamned chores!  I held my head in my hands, trying to hold back tears, but it was no use.  I sobbed anyway, thinking about how awful my life was now.

Eventually, I picked my head up and went to start the laundry.  Shit!  With all her scolding, I had forgotten to ask permission to enter her room and get her dirty shirt and bra.  Beating myself up over it, I realized that I would just have to finish the other chores until she called back.

Another hour came and went.  Her classes were only an hour each, so she should have called by now.  After another 10 minutes, it was clear that she wasn’t going to call until next class break.  It was 11:00, so she wouldn’t call until noon.  In the next half hour, I finished all the chores around the house, including washing my own clothes.  All I had left to do was wash her two pieces of clothes, go grocery shopping, and start cooking.  I went up to my computer and looked online for some recipes.  I found one that looked good: pan-seared steaks with a garlic-brandy-mushroom glaze, and twice baked sweet potatoes on the side.  It looked like a long prep time and cooking time, but if I got it all the ingredients ready before picking Kyra up I could cook it afterwards without a problem.  Seeing that it was still just 11:50, I tried surfing the web for a bit.  But, to my surprise, certain websites weren’t opening up.  I tried some basic sites like Google and Wikipedia.  They worked fine, but when I tried ESPN.com and Facebook, for instance, they said that access has been restricted.  Did Kyra come into my room last night and change my parental control settings or something?  I went to internet options to change it back, but found that it was set to strict, and certain sites like Facebook were specifically banned, but the settings were locked to all users except admins.  What the hell?  I looked under User Accounts on the control panel and found that I was no longer an administrator!  Kyra was the admin now.  I tried to log in as her but it was password protected.  I had never used a password on my account, so Kyra was able to create her own account and change admin privileges.  That bitch!

She called just then at 12:00.  I sprinted downstairs to answer in time.  “Kyra?” I panted.

“Have you been doing your work, Dad?”

“Yes, dear.  I was just on my computer and –“ I cut myself short, about to ask her to unlock my computer but realizing that it was no use bringing this up.  She would just ask why I wasn’t doing my work and get mad.

“You were what, Dad?”

She probably guessed what I had meant to say, but instead I said, “I was just finding a recipe for tonight.  Can I go to the grocery store now?”

“Have you finished all your chores?”

“Yes.”

“OK then.  But if you’re not back when I call at 1:00, I’m going to assume you are off doing something you’re not supposed to.  You don’t want that, do you?”

“No, ma’am, not at all.”  She simply hung up the phone.  Shit!  I was just about to ask her about her entering her room!  Oh, man.  At least I still had time once I got back to wash her clothes, but I figured the longer they sat there, the harder it would be to get my stain out.  I wasn’t about to call her back while she was at school, though.  I went and got the groceries instead.  I had trouble finding things, since the recipe called for more exotic ingredients than my usual fare of boxed macaroni, frozen pizza, and the like.  Crap, I said, looking at my watch.  I had to rush almost frantically to find the rest of the shopping list and get home.  Pulling in to the garage at 1:01, I shut the engine off and heard the phone ringing.

Oh God!  I got out, scurried around the car while bumping my arm on a rake, practically knocked the garage door off its hinges as I opened it (well, maybe if I were 6’6” and stronger, I would have) and dove for the phone.  “Hello!” I shouted.

“You’re a lucky little man; I was just about to hang up,” Kyra scolded with a warning in her voice.

“I’m sorry, honey, I just got home from groceries.”

“Sure you were,” she said.  Again, she hung up on me, and again I was unable to ask her about her laundry.  I brought in the groceries and started preparing the dinner.

I spent quite some time preparing it.  I sliced up some fruit to make a fruit salad, baked the sweet potatoes to get them soft enough to mash up, prepared their filling, and made the rub and the glaze for the steaks.  It took a good hour and a half, but finally everything was ready to be put in the oven when I got back from picking Kyra up.  It was then that I realized Kyra never called during her last class break.  I was starting to get antsy about her clothes, but I figured it was still fine since I would have over an hour still to wash it once she called at 3:00, and then I could throw the clean clothes in the dryer when I left to pick her up.

I went over to the recliner and sat down.  At least she can’t tell if I’ve been watching TV.  I turned it on but discovered I needed a password to watch Comedy Central.  Are you freakin’ serious?  Kyra enabled parental controls on the TV too?  She sure had prepared last night for my grounding.  I flipped through the channels but found that they were all locked, every single one.  I would have found having a parental control on PBS and CSPAN rather funny, had it not meant that I now had nothing to do.  I did probably watch too much TV, but it’s what I enjoy.  But now what.

Frustrated, I went to my room and passed the time browsing what few websites my daughter allowed me to open.  I remembered someone saying that if you start on any random Wikipedia entry, and click on the first link not in parentheses or italics, and then repeat, you will eventually end up at “Philosophy.”  I tried this several times and was amused to find that it actually works.  But soon I got bored, went downstairs, and stared at the paint on the wall for a while.

Mercifully, Kyra called at 3:00.  “Hi, Kyra,” I answered the phone.  Making damned sure to get my question in, I continued, “Can I please enter your room to get the shirt and bra so I can wash them?”

“What, you still haven’t done that yet?  You said all your chores were done.”

“But I didn’t want to go in your room without asking first.”

“Then why didn’t you ask me this morning?”  Not pausing for my response, she said, “Fine, go in my room, but come right back out, do you understand me?  No loitering.  I don’t even want to think about what disgusting thoughts go through your perverted little head in there.  Actually, you know what, I’m going to count to 10, and when I reach 10 you had better be back here with the clothes in your hands.  One … two …”  At least she was counting fairly slowly.  I dropped the phone and dashed up the stairs to her room.  Flinging the door open, I spotted both items on the floor and brought them down with me as I hurtled toward the phone.  I picked it up as she was saying, “… Nine --”

“I’m back!” I exclaimed.

“Do you have the clothes in your hand?” she asked.

I did.  “Yes, Kyra.”  She simply hung up the phone yet again.  Whew, disaster averted.  Or at least, I hoped so.  Seeing the huge slightly yellowed stain on her shirt was not encouraging, but it’s just body fluids, it should come right out, I reasoned.  I really wasn’t sure about that, but nonetheless I spritzed them with some stain remover and put them in the washer.

Now I had another half hour to kill until they were done in the washing machine.  I decided to walk back up the stairs to go discover what other sites I could access.  I noticed that I had left Kyra’s door wide open and started closing it.  As I leaned in, though, I paused, glancing around her room.  Even though I knew I shouldn’t, I found myself taking a few steps inside.  I looked over to the corner of the bed where, last night, she had pulled me into her and forced me to eat her pussy.  I shuddered as the memories returned to me.  It was so wrong, so horrible what she made me do … but yet, so …

Did I actually enjoy giving her such pleasure?  What was really going through my mind as I felt her body shake around me and heard her scream in ecstasy from my touch?  I didn’t know.  Or perhaps didn’t want to know.

Then I looked over at the side of the bed where she held me on her lap this morning and made me cum.  Or had she let me come?  Didn’t I ask her, even BEG her to jerk me off?  I mused that maybe it wasn’t so much that I was in anguish over the pain of being denied an orgasm several times, but perhaps it was more that I desperately wanted my daughter to bring me all the way, to let me erupt into her as she held me on her lap.  And that’s not even to mention the scene in the shower.  Oh God, what was she doing to me?  Even though a part of me still knew it was wrong, it seemed that more and more of me was beginning to want her, to NEED her to give me the pleasure that only she could give.  It was all very confusing.

Finally, the saner side of my brain snapped me out of my reverie, and I shook my head as I got the hell out of Kyra’s room and shut the door.  I decided to stay downstairs the rest of the afternoon just to avoid the temptation of walking past her door.

I sat twiddling my thumbs until the washer buzzed.  I pulled out the white shirt and, to my relief, saw that it looked clean – one could not tell that it had been stained.  I then confidently pulled out the bra, but … the stain still remained.  Whether it was due to the longer time it had sat out, or due to the more revealing black color, or the different fabric, I could not say.  But, while it had faded somewhat, the stain was still clearly visible with about half of its original intensity.  Oh shit.  I panicked for a moment, then rushed upstairs to research how to remove a semen stain from a bra.  I apparently wasn’t the only one who has had this problem, as the Google search had returned several results.  But, to my alarm, I was blocked from visiting any of them.  Apparently the word ‘semen’ was on the list of naughty words that the parental control recognized.  I tried ‘cum’ and ‘jizz’ with the same result.  I tried ‘bodily fluids’ but the results were vague and unspecific.  Realizing that I was wasting precious time, I stopped searching and decided to try my luck with the washer again.  I plopped a healthy amount of stain remover onto the spot and rubbed it in, then ran it through the washer again.  This had better work.

It was time to leave for Kyra’s practice when the washer finished again.  I pulled it out, and saw that the visibility of the stain was more-or-less reduced by half again.  Still not good enough, though.  I put even more stain remover on and ran it a third time, hoping that it would be good enough by Kyra’s standards.  I grabbed the keys and sprinted out to the car to go pick up Kyra.

I waited in front of the gym, leery of people seeing me in my diminished stature but also remembering what happened yesterday when I parked farther away.  To my great relief, Kyra walked out of the gym alone.  I got out and held the door open for her as she touseled my hair and got in.  She seemed to be in a good mood.  I scampered around to my seat as she started pulling away.

“Did you do everything I asked?” she said cheerfully.

“Yes, dear.”  I didn’t mention the possible snafu with her bra.

“Good boy,” she said, patting my thigh.  My cock jumped a bit as she did so.  Why did I have to get so distracted whenever she so much as touches my leg, I wondered.  She turned on her crappy music station and we rode home without another word.

Once inside, Kyra went right up to her room, and once she was gone I checked the washer again.  Well, it was slightly better since the last time, but a splotch was still faintly visible.  Not looking forward to showing it to her, I nonetheless realized this was about the best it was going to get as I put it in the dryer.  Meanwhile, I started cooking the dinner, putting the potatoes in the oven while pan-searing the steak, then transferring the steak to the oven once the potatoes were done.  Dinner was looking good; Kyra would be pleased.

As the steaks were cooking, Kyra came down.  I looked up and did a double take.  She was down to just her sports bra and panties.  There’s something about a good pair of boobs in a sports bra that really does it for me.  It just seems to hold them nice and round and emphasize their size.  And, of course, if I enjoyed seeing just an average set of tits in a sports bra, then just imagine how I felt about Kyra’s …

Interrupting my reverie, she said, “Dad, I need my black bra.  Where is it?”

“In the dryer, honey,” I said, trying to sound casual to avoid arousing Kyra’s suspicions.  I turned back to the oven and held my breath.

“Daaaddeee, come here please.”  Oh shit.  I put down the oven mitt and came over to her by the dryer.  “Do you see this,” she said seriously, pointing to the faint splotch on her bra.

“I’m so sorry, dear, I washed it 3 times and put stain remover on it and everything!  That’s the most that’s gonna come out.  I’m sorry, Kyra, it had been sitting out for too long.”

“And whose fault is that?” she retorted.

I wanted to point out that she was the one who made me wear it all last night, but I had learned better by now.  “Mine.”  I looked down at my feet.

“Now, how am I supposed to wear this tonight?  What would my date think, seeing me in a bra with some other guy’s semen on it?  Especially my little daddy’s semen.  Just how do you think that would make me look?”  I saw her feet step closer as she loomed over me with her hands on her hips.  “Well?” she demanded impatiently, cupping my jaw in her hand and craning my head up to her gaze.

“Y–You have a date tonight?”

“What, are you surprised?  Didn’t think I was SEXY enough to get a date?” she asked menacingly.

I squirmed under her stare but her hand held me tight.  “N-No, it’s not that, not at all!  It’s only, well, I just didn’t know about your date, but I thought maybe, if you don’t mind, you might want to consider waiting until you’re older?  I mean, I’ve had lots of dating experience in my day, and I really think it may be best to start dating when you’re older and more mature.”  Seeing her menacing stare, I hastily added, “I mean, if that’s OK with you.”  Gone were the days when I would command my daughter around with authority.

“Listen, Dad,” she said, sighing, “You know I’m much more mature than your average 18-year-old.”  I had to agree; she’s more mature than most college girls I’ve encountered.  She put her hands on my upper arms, leaned down slightly, and said frankly, “I’ve even had to step in and be strong for you as you’ve shrunk.  You’re looking more and more like a little boy each day, and I must say you’ve started acting like one too.”  Her tone was one of serious concern instead of mocking condescension.  “I’m afraid you’re just going to have to learn to accept my judgment and guidance, little fella.  It’s best for both of us.”

I hated her calling me immature.  “But I’m not a little boy, I’m a grown man!” I whined up at her.

“See, Dad, that’s exactly what I’m talking about.”  Jesus, she was right, I had just whined like a 12-year-old.  “Now I’m going to try this bra on and see if your stain is noticeable.”

Before I knew what she was doing she stepped back and lifted up her sports bra.  My heart skipped a beat or two.  Her generous bosom was staring back at me, level with my face now.  It just defied physics how things so heavy could stay up like that with no support.  Wow…

As she picked up her black bra she saw me staring at her naked chest.  “Are you just going to stand there gawking at your daughter’s breasts?”  I didn’t hear her at first.  I felt a hard slap across my cheek.  “Daddy!  This is that immaturity I was just talking about.  You’re staring at my boobs like a little kid who just hit puberty.”

I snapped out of it and, embarrassed, covered my eyes and looked down.  “Gawd,” she said in disgust as she put her black bra on.  “OK, now, I give you permission to look at my chest, but just so you can tell me if your stain is noticeable.”  I opened my eyes and tried to seem like I was focused on a serious inspection of the stain, and nothing more.

“Well, it’s, um, it’s on the underside of your, uh, b-b-breasts, so no one will see it under your shirt.”

“I know that, but what if he takes my shirt off?  Won’t he see it then?”

Some guy taking my daughter’s shirt off!?  I didn’t like the sound of that.  “Well, um, Kyra, I agree that it is OK for you to go on a date,” I said, conceding the point I had argued earlier, “but maybe you should, uh, take things slow for now?  Since this is your first date and all.”

“Yeah, yeah, and ‘You have so much experience with the ladies,’ “ she quoted me mockingly.  “We just went over this, Dad; I’m mature enough to know just how slow or fast I want to take it.  But,” she added, looking off dreamily, “I have a feeling I’ll want to take this one nice and fast.  He’s got such a body…” she said, daydreaming about her date tonight.

Oh, hell, I didn’t think there was anything I could do to keep her off this schmuck.  I was about to try to change her mind again when she said, “Now, come on, I need your help.”  She squeezed my bicep and pulled me with her up the stairs and into her room.

“Hmm,” she said with disappointment, looking at her bra in her mirror, “I really wanted to wear this for Steve.  It looks sooo hot on me.  Right, Daddy?” she said, posing in front of her mirror and giving her boob a playful squeeze.  She glanced over at me as I was, of course, confirming her statement.  She flashed a smile at my reaction and said, “Dad, hand me that bra there,” she said, pointing to a bra at my feet.  I bent down, picked it up, and upon raising my eyes was confronted with another awesome view of her naked tits.  She had taken her black bra off and had turned toward me, waiting for the next bra. 

“Dad,” she sighed, “I see you ogling my tits again.  I’ll let it slide for now since I want your feedback, but after this I’m going to have to start punishing you again if you keep it up,” she reprimanded, taking her bra from my hands and putting it on.  “Here,” she said, snapping her fingers and motioning for me to stand in front of her but to the side of the mirror.  I obeyed like a well-trained dog.  “How does this look?”  I was only too happy to oblige her.

I checked her out for a few moments, then said truthfully, “It looks great, Kyra.”

“Yeah, some help you are.”  She apparently wasn’t thrilled with the bra and told me, “Top right shelf of my dresser.  Bring me a handful of them.”  I complied, grabbing an armful of large, soft bras and walking back to Kyra.  Bare-chested, she motioned for me to return to my spot and took another bra from the pile, putting it on.  “How’s this one?”

“It looks great.”

“Dad, you think they all look great on me.”  That was the truth.  “You have to be more specific.  How does the shape look?  And what about my cleavage?” she asked, bending forward to give both of us a better look.

I gulped.  “Uh, maybe I liked the last one a little better?” I offered.

“Yeah, I agree.  The last ones pushed my boobs together better.”  I couldn’t believe I was helping my daughter pick a bra and giving my opinion on how sexy she looked.  She took them off as I looked on.  “Hmm, I know, what about my other new dress?  The strapless one.  I remember how much you liked it when I tried it on for you earlier.  See what strapless bras I have in there.”

I hadn’t forgotten the dress she was talking about.  A sexy little number that was white with some flowers on it, that barely covered her from nipple to ass.  I fished around and found just two.  Well, even having two of them was more than she should have had, since I had never allowed her to wear a strapless dress before and I didn’t see why she needed any strapless bras then.  She probably had taken advantage of my indifference toward shopping and slipped them by me.

She took the first one and put it on.  Meanwhile, I was starting to take on fever-like symptoms as a thin film of sweat was forming on my hands and face, my forehead was hot, and my heart was beating too quickly.  I knew what the cause was; and the cure was to avoid standing in front of Kyra’s naked body for extended periods of time.  “What do you think of this one?”  She turned sideways to check out her profile, and hefted her boobs up with her hands.

“Um, also great.”

“Daddy, come on,” she raised her eyebrows at me, expecting some elaboration.

“Uh … they look nice and round but, uh … maybe it could hold them closer together?” I said, perhaps unsure that there could possibly be anything wrong with such a glorious sight.

“OK, let’s try the last one then.”  I was truly glad that she was letting me off the hook for staring at her so hard, both because I loved the view, and also because I didn’t have to endure any punishment.  As she put the last one on, she gauged my reaction.  I was impressed, seeing an already awesome sight become even awesome-er.  “Well, I think we have a winner, eh?” she said, noticing my hungry approval and stepping towards me for a closer look.

“Y-Yeah.  They’re…perfect.”  At least, I couldn’t fathom how they could look any better.

“Touch them,” she said down to me.  I looked up with astonishment and a hint of … joy?  Was I thankful that she was letting me play with her melons?  “Go on.  I want to make sure they feel good when Steve squeezes them.”  Not letting thoughts of this Steve jerk get me down, I brought my right hand up to her left boob and pushed up a bit.  I glanced over my shoulder at our reflection, seeing the incredible size difference between us and especially between my hand and her boob.  “How is it?” she asked as she pushed my hand harder into her boob and inspecting the mirror.  Was I a bit disheartened that she wasn’t responding to my touch at all, instead just critically examining herself?  Maybe.  But God, it felt good anyway.

“It’s … It’s absolutely incredible, Kyra,” I said, unable to hide all the arousal in my voice.

Kyra didn’t notice, simply responding, “Good, this is the one.  Get my dress out of the bag, please,” she said, still looking at her own profile in the mirror.  I did as she asked, and she even let me help her put it on.  She stepped through it as I raised it up onto her body.  “Zipper,” she commanded.  I zipped her up, admiring the close-up of her from the other side.  She stood there posing and examining herself, then said with a dreamy look, “Excellent.  Steve’s gonna love this.”  I can’t imagine a straight man on earth who wouldn’t.  Remembering that I was still there, she shooed me off with a wave.  “You may go,” she said, not looking at me.  I reluctantly backed out of her room, stealing as many glances as I reasonably could.  Turning back for a second, I said, “Um, Kyra, honey, are you going to be having any dinner?”

“Naw, Steve’s taking me out to eat,” she said, starting to put makeup on.

“Are you sure, Kyra?  I tried really hard to make you a good dinner.”

“Well, just throw my portion out then, I don’t care.”  She remained focused on getting ready for Steve.

As I trudged downstairs, I wondered why I was so disheartened.  I think it was because I had worked so hard to make Kyra a nice meal, but she wasn’t even going to have any.  I then realized that I was also, perhaps, jealous?  Jealous that some guy was stealing Kyra’s attention away from me.  Jealous that she didn’t even notice me as she thought about that douchebag.  Sure, it was wrong that we had performed sexual acts together earlier.  I knew that.  But still, for some reason I yearned for her to respond to my touch as she had when her nipple met my mouth in the shower that morning.  Or when my face was buried in her bush last night.  I should be glad that she seems focused on Steve, so now she’ll stop molesting me, I told myself.  But somehow I didn’t feel glad; I felt downtrodden.  God, my head was all fucked up.

I smelled burning and realized that the steaks were still in the oven.  I pulled them out and found that they were charred and way overdone.  Great, I can’t even eat a delicious steak on my own tonight.  Oh well.  I decided to cut away some of the charred bits and enjoy what I could.  At least the potatoes were fine, albeit lukewarm.

Kyra came down some 20 minutes later.  Holy potatoes, Batman.  She looked fine as hell.  Her hair was done up, her makeup was striking but tasteful, her smell was exquisite.  And, of course, her dress and heels accentuated her goddess-like features perfectly.  I felt like I ought to stand.  “You look absolutely stunning, Kyra.”

“Oh, thanks,” she said nonchalantly, still not paying me any heed.

“Dinner turned out well, but, uh, a little overdone,” I gave a nervous little laugh.

She glanced at what I made, saying, “OK, make this again tomorrow.”

“Will do!”  I was overplaying my hand, sounding too optimistic and trying too hard to get a reaction from her, with no success.  I tried to keep up some small talk, but she just sat by the window responding, “Uh huh,” absentmindedly.  Finally, she squealed, “He’s here!  OK, I’m heading out.  I want lights out by 9:00.  Be in bed when I get back.”  With that, she opened the front door and walked out.  I couldn’t help but run to the window myself.  That Steve guy looked pretty ripped.  And, standing as tall as Kyra in her heels, I realized he was around my old height of 6’6”.  He definitely had the douchebag tough guy/jock look, with hair that probably took an hour to meticulously craft with gel to give the phony “just got out of bed” appearance.  I can’t stand these assholes.

I saw Kyra saunter up to him gracefully, putting more sway in her hips than I had ever seen her use before.  She gave him a hug that lasted a bit too long for my taste.  Then, laughing at a joke of his, she playfully rested her hand on his chest as he moved his hand to her lower back and guided her to his car.  Any old fool could see from their body language that they were into each other.  Grumbling, I stepped back from the curtain and finished my dinner alone.

Afterwards, I went on my computer and did some research for work.  It was a nice change, letting me take my mind off things for a while.  Almost 9:00, I wanted to stay up to catch up on some more work, but I didn’t want to displease Kyra.  After all, I was grounded and I deserved it, too, for my bad behavior. … Wait, what did I just say?  She was starting to get into my head.  Or, perhaps more accurately, she had already broken into my head and was now rummaging around in it.

I turned the lights out at 8:55 but couldn’t sleep.  All I could think about was how Kyra’s date was going with Douchebag Steve.  How she shouldn’t keep touching him and sending signals like that.  How she should stop batting her eyes and flirting with him.  But gradually I found my point of view shifting towards that of Steve, imagining that I was the one Kyra was flirting with, how I would lead her up to her door and lean in to say good night and …

I heard the door open and close.  Whoa, that timing was freaky.  I heard her heels clicking on the floor downstairs then getting louder as she climbed the stairs.  I watched the shadow of her feet pass by my door as she walked into the bathroom.  I lay in silence, waiting.  She started walking back, but then I heard my door handle slowly turn.  Shit!  I laid my head back and closed my eyes, trying to remain motionless.  I felt light upon my face as she opened the door and looked in.  After a few seconds, satisfied that I was asleep, she quietly closed the door and walked to her room.  Why was my heart pounding so hard?  It continued to pound as I lay there, then an idea struck me like a 2x4 to the head.

I couldn’t do that, could I?  No, that would be suicide.  She’d kill me if she found out.  I laid there in silence, not hearing any movement for a minute or two.  OK, I told myself, it couldn’t hurt to just poke my head out.  Her door is probably closed anyway.  Good plan, I thought, finding my logic irrefutable.  Or, perhaps, not wanting to refute it.

I looked at the clock.  10:20.  I ever-so-slowly crept out of bed and tiptoed to my door.  Opening it just a crack, I saw that the hallway was dark.  I slooowly pulled it open, wincing as it gave a few tiny squeaks.  She couldn’t have heard that, right?  I continued on, making like Elmer Fudd and tiptoeing down the hall towards my daughter’s room.  To my delight, the door was opened just a crack, and I slowly brought my eye up to the slit.  Fortunately, the door was aligned the right way, affording a view of the middle of the room instead of just the wall.  Through the small slit, I had perhaps a 20 degree angle of vision, including the mirror in the far corner.

She was out of sight at the moment, but I heard her rustling around.  Then there she was, stepping towards the mirror to take out her earrings and let down her hair.  She seemed all the more enrapturing from the clandestine and sinful view I was taking.  She went about her business, completely oblivious that she was being watched.  Everyone acts a bit different when they think they’re alone: more carefree and uninhibited, unburdened by the gaze of others sizing them up, judging them.  I had never had voyeuristic tendencies, but I watched in awe of her magnificence as she struck a pose in the mirror, trying out different angles and giving a sexy pout as she imitated the movements of a model (and what a model she would make!).  She licked her lips in satisfaction as she turned and walked back towards her closet.

It was unnerving having her out of sight, not knowing if she was 10 feet away or 10 inches.  I wouldn’t be able to pull back in time if I didn’t hear her reach the door.  I began to shake from both fear and excitement, the added chill to my skin from wearing only boxers contributing to my heightened awareness.  I listened like a hawk for sounds of movement.  I heard her stepping forward and I drew back, preparing to flee.  But then I saw her walk back to the mirror, bending over to take off her shoes while letting her magnificent cleavage spill forward.  I gasped, almost silently, but still causing a bolt of panic to run down my spine.  It was too quiet to hear, though, and she proceeded to unzip her dress.  Oh God.  I couldn’t believe I was seeing all this.  I mean, I had a first-rate view earlier, but something about being invisible, watching her undress completely oblivious to me, and knowing the terrible peril I was putting myself in, made this all the more thrilling.

She stripped her dress off, wiggling her hips as she pulled it down.  Remaining in just her bra and panties, she walked out of sight again.  I shrank back to the relative safety of the door frame closer to my room, but I heard her begin to speak.  Peering back in, I realized she was talking on the phone.

“Oh, Clara, it went amazing.  He’s so fucking hot, and totally into me. … You don’t know him?  He’s a senior. … Oh, yeah, I’ve been asked out by lots of seniors.  Just as many juniors, too.  I think underclassmen are intimidated by me, though,” she laughed, sitting on the bed.  I could see just her legs as she crossed them and sat back on her elbows.  “… Yeah, my dad had said no dating until 17, but I caught him staring at my tits the other day and he’s been too sheepish to confront me about anything since.  I’ve been pretty much pushing him around.”  What she said wasn’t false, but it was certainly a gross understatement.  “… I can’t wait to see Steve again.  Oh, those muscles.  And he’s sooo big.  I think, even … down there,” she said, giggling with her friend.  “We went to a club after dinner and it felt sooo good rubbing up against him.  And my hand ‘accidently’ brushed him down there a few times.  I just want to feel him inside me,” she moaned, as I saw movement by her panties.  I decided to push the door open ever-so-slightly wider, enough to see her fingers lightly rubbing the outside of her panties.  “… Oh, Clara, I will.  I’m thinking of letting him round 2nd base next time.  Or maybe third,” they giggled.  “Well, I should go, all this talk is getting me flustered.”  Laughing, she hung up the phone and tossed it across the room.

“Mmmm, Steeeve,” she hummed softly as she began working herself more quickly.  I couldn’t tear my eyes away from my daughter’s panties as her fingers slowly snaked underneath them.  I decided to risk a better view, cracking the door open a bit more.  I could see all the way up to her right tit as she was laying back and caressing it.

She wasn’t the only one who was getting horny.  I felt my own hand reach down and start to rub my shaft up and down.  Adrenaline was coursing through my veins as I watched my daughter start to pleasure herself.  Completely enraptured, I leaned in to get a better look.  In my tense excitement, though, I stumbled just a bit, bumping the door open another inch, causing the hinges to emit a loud creak.

I saw her pick her head up as I darted back from the door and toward my room.  I tried to sneak quietly, but with pure adrenaline kicking in I don’t think I was quiet at all in my mad dash for my room.  I thought I saw her door opening as I darted into my own door and yanked it shut, trying not to slam it.  But, to my terror, I heard footsteps stomping up and saw –no, felt—the door fly open in front of my face.  There was the silhouette my daughter, all 6’2” of her, standing with her feet apart and her hands on her hips.  If I could have seen her face, I would have probably curled up in terror into a ball on the floor like a roly poly.

I started to stumble backwards but her hand darted out and grabbed hold of my ear.  She yanked so hard I was sure it would tear off, and she stormed back to her room with me in tow.  Once inside, she spun me around to face her, letting me see the rage emanating from her face.

“Kyra, I can expl—“

SMACK!  My world went spinning as her open hand sent my face reeling towards the bed.  I crashed face down onto her sheets, then felt a strong hand yank my head up by the hair.  “WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU DOING OUTSIDE MY ROOM!!?” she yelled into my ear deafeningly.

I rambled, “I was just walking by to get a glass of water and I stumbled in the dark and bumped into your door and I didn’t see anything I swear!”

“Didn’t see anything?  You – You saw me masturbating, didn’t you!?  Did you watch me undress, too?  How long were you out there, you fuckin’ pervert!!!”

She was yanking back hard on my hair, causing me to shriek in pain.  I felt a sharp pain down my spine as my head was pulled back farther than it was meant to go.

“Please, Kyra, I didn’t do anything!”  I started crying.

“HOW LONG!?”

My one concern at that moment was getting out of this excruciating pain.  “A few minutes!  I don’t know.”

“Oh, you sick son of a bitch.  What did you see!?” she yanked back even farther.

“Owww!  Nothing!  I only … saw you take your dress off and talk on the phone and sit on the bed.”

“Only?” she asked incredulously.  “You were watching me the whole fucking time!?”  I felt a terrible pain in my side as she began punching me, HARD, finding a few sweet spots.  I began bawling uncontrollably as the torment continued.  She flipped me onto my back and punched my stomach.  I started seeing stars and couldn’t breathe from the gut shots.  She relented, sitting over me imperiously as I continued crying and writhing in pain.

Once I had calmed down a bit, she walked away, although I was too beaten to raise my head up and watch her.  Coming back, I saw her body looming over me as I felt myself being dragged the rest of the way onto the bed.  Then, her body grew larger and larger in my vision until everything went dark.  I felt a crushing weight on my entire body, from head to toe, as she laid down on top of me, my head lodged firmly into her cleavage.  I heard the clicking of a keyboard being used, and realized she was using her laptop.  I had access to a tiny stream of air between her massive melons, as she was propping her upper body up with her elbows.  The very limited access to air, plus the huge weight on my body, made every breath a mighty struggle.  Realizing my arms were free at my sides, I brought them up to try to slightly reposition my face.  But I sure didn’t think that one through …

“What, you’re trying to cop a feel, even now?” she asked with acrimony.  She pulled my arms down one at a time and bent my forearms behind my back at a 90 degree angle.  It was bearable at first, but gradually became unbearable with the weight awkwardly pressing down on my arms and back.  Jesus, she was heavy.  I recalled that I weight a mere 100 pounds to her 155, and almost all of it was pressing down on my body.  I continued my labored breathing for quite some time, getting more difficult with each passing minute.

Eventually, she asked shortly, “What’s your Bank of America password?”

Why the hell did want that?  I hesitated, but she just laid on me patiently.  I tried to speak, but only a soft mumble escaped my lips and her boobs.  She lifted herself up off my torso an inch or two.  Suddenly free to breathe, I gasped in and out, gulping as much air as possible.  “Well?”

I told it to her, then she fell back down onto me.  Was she … stealing my money?  I had $20,000 sitting in my savings account!  She wouldn’t take all of it … would she?  Jesus, she could if she wanted to; a couple clicks of her mouse, and $20,000 would be transferred to her own savings, probably increasing her holdings a hundred times over, just like that.  I started to get even more worried as I tried to remember how much I had in stocks and bonds – way more than the $20,000, I knew that much.  But I was pretty sure she couldn’t transfer it immediately; the transactions between my savings and brokerage accounts would take a few days to complete.  At least I had that.

I was dying to know what she was doing on her laptop, but my world was utterly black except for faint glimmers of light above my daughter’s cleavage.  It was becoming a real chore just to breathe in and out.  I lost track of time down there; it must have been at least half an hour, maybe an hour?  I couldn’t tell.  But, to my dismay, and despite my discomfort and difficulty breathing, I felt myself slowly becoming aroused.  Her huge proportions all around me, her incredibly soft, warm skin pressed against my entire body, my face nuzzled into her glorious breasts – all of this began to overwhelm my senses.  I began to wiggle slightly, back and forth, growing more aroused with each passing moment.

Incredibly, she seemed to be responding to my motions, probably without even realizing it.  She began to slowly undulate along with me.  I could feel her breasts heaving in and out more quickly now.  We continued like this for probably 60 seconds, growing slowly more intense.  Then, suddenly, she rolled over, flipping me on top of her.

“You liked watching me masturbate, don’t you Daddy?  Well, I think now you get to finish what I started.  Or, I suppose, what STEVE started.”  I felt myself being dragged down her body as her legs and hands worked together to push my face onto her panties.  I tried to pry myself loose, but her legs had wrapped me into a prison, one that was slowly pushing me down into her crotch.  She started grinding her pussy around my face, getting her more and more hot by the second.  I felt her panties moistening.

“PULL DOWN MY PANTIES, NOW!” she commanded hoarsely, loosening her grip around my head.  I immediately obeyed, pulling them over my head, down her legs, and off her feet.  A hand then yanked my hair and shoved my face into her swollen lips.  “Use some tongue this time.  I expect this one to be even better than yesterday,” she ordered me urgently.

I didn’t often go down on girls over the years.  But, I knew the lay of the land, and I was pretty talented with my tongue.  Although I was at first hesitant, her moaning above me encouraged me to lose myself in her bush.  I started giving it my all in a heated passion.  She moaned louder and clenched her legs around my head, while using her hands to pull my head deeper into her cleft.  Although I started having trouble breathing, I licked and sucked with reckless abandon until I felt her body scream and a wave of her juices hit my face.

We laid there for a minute, panting.  I waited, still trapped between her legs, looking up past my daughter’s bush to see her eyes closed and her body stretched out, basking in the afterglow.  I felt a twinge of pride, knowing that she was pleased with my performance.  Although I was expecting some kind of compliment, she simply commanded, “Take your underwear off and kneel in the middle of the floor.”  I thought that was odd but I did as she asked.  She then stood up and got ready for bed, without so much as a glance in my direction.  I watched her intently as she took her bra off and changed into her white nightie, brushed her teeth and hair, then left the room and walked downstairs.  I remained kneeling as she commanded, wondering what she was up to, but praying that it involved her and my penis.

I heard the garage door open then close, and then Kyra returned to her room and stood over me.  She had a length of thin rope in her hand, which she set on the bed.  “Come here,” she purred sexily, beckoning with her finger for me to rise.  We both rose simultaneously – that is, my cock and I.  “That was quite a performance you gave, little man.  I think I may have found myself a new sex toy.”  She draped her hands around me as she caressed my face, neck, and shoulders, drawing me tantalizingly close to her nipples pointing out from her shirt.  Oh God, I couldn’t help but get aroused around her when she wasn’t trying to excite me, but now that she was focusing her seductive powers on me, I was becoming nearly delirious from her attention.  Her hands felt sooo good on me, her magnificent body was looming inches away, teasing me with its gentle undulations.  Oh my God, I needed her so fucking badly!  My entire body and soul was focused on her as I prepared for her to reward me.

“But, Daddy,” she continued, “you did a very, very naughty thing today, didn’t you?” she said, putting on a pouty face.  I nodded up at her, wide-eyed at her magnificence and having no desires except for her to return the favor and bring me to orgasm.  She leaned forward and started backing me toward her closet.  “And what happens to naughty little boys?” she whispered seductively.  I couldn’t find the words to respond as her hand drifted down and stroked my member.  It only took her slightest touch to bring me over the edge.  I began to spasm in glorious pleasure, but was violently jarred out of my ecstasy as her hand again clamped down with excruciating force on my shaft.

Her face instantly changed to a sneer.  “…They are punished,” she completed her sentence with scorn as she shoved me backwards.  I flew off my feet and crashed into the back wall of her closet, then crumpled onto the closet floor.  My mind still reeling, I saw everything go dark as Kyra shut the folding closet doors.  I heard her take 2 steps, pick something up, and then return to the closet.  She cracked the doors open again, leaned over to peer down at me still on the floor, and said, with biting condescension, “This is how little perverts get punished.  You’ll stay here as my little prisoner until I think you’ve learned your lesson.  I’m going to bed, and I don’t want to hear so much as a peep coming from this closet.  And,“ she said, pointing down with disdain at my still-hard cock, “if you cum inside my closet I’ll spank your ass so hard you’ll never walk again.”  With that, she slammed the doors shut and I heard her doing something with the handles.  Remembering the rope she had in her hand, I realized that, holy Christ, she was locking me in here!  I was trembling in fear, not knowing just how far she would take this.  I recalled the incident at the mall where she left me and drove away over a minor quibble, but now that she caught me spying on her while masturbating, I shuddered to think how long I would be in here.

As she turned the lights out and got in bed, I kept the faintest glimmer of hope that she would reconsider and let me out that night.  After all, hadn’t I just given her the best orgasm of her life to that point?  Maybe that’ll count for something?  But as the minutes dragged on, this last hope faded as I resigned myself to sleeping out the night trapped in my daughter’s closet.  ‘It won’t be so bad,’ I hoped, ‘she would free me in the morning before school, and I could put this degrading episode behind me.’  With painstaking care not to make a sound and upset Kyra, I slowly repositioned myself until I was somewhat comfortable, laying on top of my daughter’s mess of crumpled clothes, shoes, and boxes.  I was unable to sleep for some time, listening to the steady breathing of my daughter sleeping soundly and comfortably in her bed.  Hearing that she was asleep, I decided to risk it and test the doors, slowly pushing them outward.  They barely budged, and I didn’t want to risk testing their full strength lest Kyra wake up and beat me to a pulp.  Helplessly trapped, I eventually settled down into my lumpy bed and faded off into a troubled sleep.

********************************

Friday: 4’10”

I awoke to hear Kyra rustling around her room.  My back was sore as hell from the poor excuse for a bed I slept on, and my mouth was completely dry from sleeping with it open all night.  There were slits in the closet doors, tilted downward so that I could only see things close to me on the floor.  Having nothing else to do, I put my face up to the inside of the door and watched as my daughter’s feet came by every now and then.  I looked on as her panties, shorts, and white shirt fell to the floor around her feet, unable to help myself picturing what was on the other side of the door, if only I could look up above her ankles. 

She then walked off toward the bathroom, evidently feeling free to walk around the house in the nude now that my eyes weren’t free to stare at her any longer.  I heard the shower turn on, and I listened to the water running for probably 10 minutes.  After another few minutes, I heard Kyra re-enter her room and move about again.

I wanted nothing more than to call to her and beg her to let me out.  I hated being trapped in her small closet, and, admittedly, I wouldn’t mind her opening the doors and giving me a full view of her bare flesh standing so tantalizingly close.  Stuck in her closet, looking out into her room, my mind was focused on Kyra and nothing else.  But, I wisely decided to stay silent and motionless, remembering her stern warning the night before.

I heard her pull her dresser drawers open, and I surmised that she was putting on a new bra and panties.  My breathing quickened as I heard her footsteps approach the closet.  My body tensed with anticipation as she undid the rope and pulled open the closet doors.  There she stood, all 74 glorious inches of her, which, relative to my original size, was a colossal 8’4” of female perfection.  Good God.

I sat in eager anticipation, waiting for her to release me from my cell.  But, to my dismay, she acted like I wasn’t even there, simply reaching above me to pick out the day’s outfit.  Still not daring to move a muscle, I gazed up at her towering form as she pulled out several blouses and decided which she would wear.  Finally, I was relieved to see her look down at me and bend over.  As her body approached I was amazed, and also quite intimidated, by the increasing size difference between us.  I realized that her arm was now easily longer than my entire upper body, including my head, as she reached down past me to the floor.  I thought she was about to pick me up, but instead I felt my body being shoved roughly to the side.  She had simply brushed me aside to get to the heels I had been leaning against.  She stood back up to her full height and closed the doors again.

No!  I was sure she was going to free me just then.  She wouldn’t … leave me in here all day, would she?  I began to despair as I heard her dress herself and get ready for school.  She went downstairs and opened the fridge.  OK, I thought, she’s not gone yet, she’s probably just toying with me and will let me out after she eats breakfast.  I listened with rapt attention as she set her empty bowl in the sink and began climbing the stairs.

My heart was pounding as I awaited my fate.  I panicked as I heard her put on her backpack.  “Kyra?” I ventured, but not daring more than a whisper.  She didn’t respond as she walked to the bathroom and turned on the faucet.  To my great relief, she returned to her room and stepped in front of the closet.  Oh, thank God, I was saved.

She undid the knot and opened up.  I gasped as I could glimpse her panties inside her skimpy skirt.  She had on the same button-down shirt from before, with most buttons undone as usual.  She held a full water bottle in her hand as she peered down at me imperiously.  I watched as she unscrewed the cap and began to drink from it.  About halfway done with the bottle, she tilted it down and looked to see how much water remained, then decided that was too much.  She drank some more until only ¼ of the water remained, then put the cap back on and dropped it into my bare lap.  “That should get you through the day.  And when it’s empty you’ll just have to pee in the bottle.”

WHAT!?  No!  I was stuck in here all day?  “Kyra, please!  Let me out!” I begged.  Her wicked smile showed how much she enjoyed my despair.  I leaned forward to plead my case, but her high-heeled foot swiftly contacted my chest and sent me sprawling back to the confines of the closet.  Stepping back, she closed the doors before me and tied the rope on again.  All the while, I pleaded more and more frantically, “I’m so so sorry, honey, what I did was so wrong, but I swear it’ll never happen again!  I’ll do anything you want, anything! …”  I began sobbing.  I saw her feet standing in front of the closet; she was no doubt loving my reaction.  Then she stepped out of her room, down the stairs, and out the door, leaving my desperate supplications unanswered.  I heard the car pull out of the garage.  I was trapped in my daughter’s closet for at least another 8 hours, with only 3 ounces of water, no food, and nothing to do.  I tried wresting the doors open, but she had the rope tied tight and there was no give at all.  Defeated, I slumped back against the wall and reflected on my miserable position in life.

The hours dragged on.  I had quickly finished my small water ration since I was parched from the night before, and since I had to urinate badly.  My mind entered stasis mode as I lay despondently on the closet floor.  After what must have been 3 hours of mind-numbing torture, I got up and stretched, getting antsy from all the sitting around.  I then noticed the oversized clothes hanging before me, clothes that would look comical on my tiny body.  Then, out of a mix of sheer boredom and kinky curiosity, I pulled one of her dresses down and decided to try it on.

Designed to hang just above her knees, Kyra’s dress instead came down to my ankles.  I felt absurd as I looked down at the straps trying to fall off my narrow shoulders, holding up a dress that was so loose it could fit another half of me inside.  I began to get aroused as I reckoned with the immense size of my young daughter.  I estimated that I now weighed just 90 lbs at my 4’10” height, not even 60% of Kyra’s weight.  No wonder she was able to brush me aside so easily to get to her shoes.

I tried on several more dresses, shorts, and blouses.  The shorts were the most comical; with their low cut and large waist, they covered up practically nothing, effectively leaving my erect penis out in the open air.  I was becoming extremely turned on by the thought of my daughter’s voluptuous curves filling out the same clothes that were engulfing my tiny body.  I only barely managed to stop myself before things got out of hand, remembering what Kyra threatened to do to me if I came while trapped in here.  I quickly returned her clothes to their rightful place and sat back down.

I spent 5 of the most incomprehensibly boring hours of my life on the floor of Kyra’s closet.  I was getting stir-crazy from having to sit still for so long, but there was absolutely nothing I could do until my daughter got home from practice.  I had plenty of time to reflect on my situation, gradually building up hatred for Kyra and her completely inappropriate treatment of me.  But, as I lay trapped and helpless in my daughter’s closet, as the long hours took their toll on me, my mind wandered to thoughts of Kyra’s body and those rare times when she showed me care and compassion.  These thoughts gradually dominated my mind, and I slowly began to wonder if, perhaps, I did deserve this punishment after all.  I mean, it really was my fault, wasn’t it, peeping in on Kyra last night.  Kyra might not be the most innocent, perfect angel, but I had always sort of thought that way about her, and that image of her still lingered in my mind from years past.  And it was wrong of me to do that to her.  She’s so … confident, and mature, and she was only trying to teach me a lesson for my own good, right?   Maybe, instead of focusing only on how much of a monster she was, I should try to change my own behavior.  As I sat and reflected, I realized that I only wanted Kyra to love me again, and treat me kindly, and that would only happen if I gave in to her judgment and started behaving better for her.

I was daydreaming of a happier future with Kyra when, miraculously, I heard the garage door open.  My eyes lit up.  I waited with bated breath as she climbed the stairs and entered her room.  Not wanting to upset her, I waited patiently as she moved about her room.  After a few minutes, she untied the rope and opened the closet doors.

With a surge of energy, I leapt up and hugged Kyra around her midsection.  “Kyra, dear, I’m so, so sorry.  I’ll be good from now on, I promise.  Please, can you forgive me?” I pleaded, looking up past her breasts into her eyes far above.

She held me at arms’ length and examined me, with a hint of surprise on her face.  “Well, perhaps you did learn your lesson after all.  We’ll just have to wait and see if it sticks.  Meanwhile, you may get yourself a drink and go to the bathroom.  But then I want you to get dinner ready, OK?” she told me.

I nodded eagerly, saying, “Thank you, Kyra!”  As I started for the bathroom, I paused.  “Kyra, can I put some clothes on first?”

“Hmmm … no, you’ll have to prove that you’ve earned that privilege first.”

“Yes, dear,” I assented, as I dashed to the bathroom.  After I had done my business, I went to the kitchen and began making dinner.  As I opened the fridge, I felt a loud rumble in my stomach.  God, I was starving.  I hadn’t eaten a thing in almost 24 hours!  I pulled out some bread and butter and was about to stuff my face when Kyra stepped out of her room.  Hearing me open the fridge, she called down, “Now, Daddy, I didn’t say you could eat yet.  I don’t want you to spoil your appetite.”

Spoil my appetite!?  I would need to miraculously turn this bread into a hundred loaves for that to happen, I thought.  But, seeing Kyra peering down at me, evidently testing my reaction, I quickly replied, “Yes, dear, of course.  I’m sorry.”  Satisfied, she went back to her room.  I made the dinner, even though I felt crippled from the hunger.  I called Kyra down to eat and served her before myself, maintaining the best smile I could.  Once she sat down and began eating, I dove into my own food like a rabid animal.

“Manners, Daddy!  That’s no way to behave at the table.”  She was amused at my predicament, knowing just how hungry I must be.  I didn’t think it was funny, but she clearly did.  With effort, I slowed my eating down and ever-so-slowly began to fill my stomach again.  As I did so, I noticed with some relief that Kyra had changed into a loose-fitting outfit meant for comfort around the house, meaning she was somewhat less stunningly beautiful and distracting than normal.

I made some small talk with her, trying to keep her spirits up.  I felt awkward sitting at the table eating in the nude, but I didn’t bother complaining.  Several times during the meal, I made sure to tell her, “Thank you for teaching me that lesson, Kyra.  I really learned a lot.”  I almost – ALMOST – believed a little bit of my words, too.

At one point, I asked her, “So what are your plans for tonight, Kyra?”

“Oh, no plans yet.  Some of my friends are having a little get-together after dinner, and I might show up.”

“That sounds fun, dear,” I replied, trying to cover up my displeasure with a smile.  She knew I didn’t want her going out to parties at her age, but she was a big girl now and could do whatever the hell she wanted, right?  I needed to have that mindset, anyway.

We finished eating, and I generously offered to clean up Kyra’s dishes for her.  She stood up and rubbed my hair as I walked by.  I found the gesture slightly demeaning, but I took it as a sign that I was on her good side and I walked away pleased with myself.  Kyra stayed at the table and started texting with her phone as I cleaned the kitchen.

I heard her squeal with glee, then jump up from her seat.  “Steve is going to the party!  I can’t wait to see him!”  She bounded up the stairs and into her room.  I guess that means she’s going, I thought.  After cleaning the kitchen, I thought I would make Kyra happy by starting my chores.

About 20 minutes later, I heard her call from her room, “Daddy, come here please!”  She was still giddy with anticipation.  I stepped into her room and almost had a heart attack.  There she was, wearing the black dress that I loved so much.  But this time her effect on me was even more overpowering.  She absolutely towered over me now in her heels, her stunning appearance augmented by fragrant perfume and tasteful makeup.  My senses became overwhelmed as she beckoned me to stand in front of her. 

“How do I look?” she asked playfully, drawing me closer to her body.  I now had to look up past her breasts hanging just above my head to see her face.  I was speechless.  She giggled.  “Daddy, you’re so cute down there,” she said, pulling me into her for a quick hug.  “Now,” she said eagerly, “I need you to help me with something.  Steve is coming to the party, and, with any luck, I’ll get him to make out with me tonight.”  I didn’t like the sound of that.  “As you know, I’ve never been with a guy before, and I don’t want him to think I’m a loser or something.  So I thought I would use you, my little sex toy, for some practice before the real thing tonight.”

My eyes went wide with panic.  My daughter was going to practice on ME before making out with another guy!?  I tried to bolt for the door, but Kyra’s hands grabbed my arms and held me fast.  “Oh, please, Daddy.  I know you want to.”  Ignoring my struggles, she easily pulled me onto her lap as she sat down onto the bed.  “Let’s start with some kissing,” she said, then pulled my mouth up into her waiting lips.  This wasn’t happening to me, it’s all just a bad dream, I thought, as I clenched my jaw shut, closed my eyes, and turned my head away from her.

With one hand, Kyra grabbed my jaw and wrenched my head back to her.  I felt her warm lips press into mine as I grimaced.  “Open up,” she said lightly, seeming to treat this whole ordeal like a game.  She squeezed my jaw, forcing my mouth to open slightly as I felt something wet and warm peruse the front of my mouth.  Kyra was probing my mouth with her tongue.  Squeezing my jaw harder, she explored deeper into my mouth, acclimating herself with the feel of my teeth and gums.  I tried to repel her tongue with my own, but this only brought a sound of pleasant surprise from Kyra as she experienced the play of two tongues against each other for the first time.  I resigned myself to pulling my tongue back and letting my daughter rape my mouth.  With shame, I realized that, despite myself, I was getting aroused by my daughter yet again.

After a minute or two of exploring, Kyra pulled out of my mouth and sat back with a delighted expression on her face.  “Wow, Daddy, that was fun!” she exclaimed.  “How did I do?” she asked innocently.

I didn’t want to answer, but seeing her waiting expectantly for an answer, I conceded, “It was … uh … pretty good.  I guess it was too much tongue though,” I said dejectedly.

Kyra glanced down at my stiff penis and said, “Oh, cool, look at that!  I guess my kissing WAS pretty good after all!”  She reached down and gave it a playful squeeze, sending ripples of pleasure through my body.  “OK, now YOU kiss ME this time.  Pretend that you’re big and strong, like Steve, and try your best to take control of the kiss.  It won’t be easy for a little fella like you, but give it your best shot anyway, OK, Daddy?”  I hated the situation I was in, yet it also hurt my feelings that Kyra didn’t see me like a man at all.  It was clear that, at the moment, I was nothing but a little toy for her to play with, a practice dummy.

Torn between conflicting emotions, I didn’t make a move.  “It’s OK, Daddy, I’m not expecting much.  Just do the best you can,” she encouraged, having no confidence in my manliness.  Just wanting to get through this as quickly as possible, I reluctantly moved in and kissed Kyra softly on the lips.  I slowly parted my lips and tried to get her to do the same, but she didn’t respond.

“I’m serious, Daddy, you need to try harder.”  She was getting more than a little annoyed.  To spur me on, she reached down again and started fondling my cock.  My body twitched as I felt her touch, then quickly a wave of arousal washed over me.  Like a man possessed, I began to give in to my sensations and I kissed Kyra with renewed passion.  I hungrily pressed my mouth into hers, opening up slightly and snaking my tongue into her own mouth.  I began to kiss her in rhythm, pulsing my tongue deeper and deeper into her warm mouth.  With reckless abandon, I worked my tongue around hers, losing myself in feverish passion.

I was really turning on the heat, more lost in passion than ever before in my life, by the time I felt her hands push me away from her.  Panting, still reeling from the incredible sensations I had just experienced, I looked into her eyes.  To my shock, she seemed completely unaffected, even bored with my feverish ministrations.  “Well, I guess I’ll just have to wait for the real thing tonight,” she said with disappointment and a hint of scorn.

Discouraged, I replied, “I’m sorry, Kyra, I tried.”  Still aroused, I quickly added, “But please, just give me another chance, and I promise I’ll do better this time.”  I couldn’t believe I was begging my daughter to let me kiss her again.

She sighed.  “Fine, let’s go again, but this time give me everything you got, OK?  Really try this time.”

I nodded eagerly and plunged forward into her waiting lips.  Wasting no time, I parted my lips again and pressed into her.  Although I tried to push deep into her mouth, her jaw had hardly opened and I found myself awkwardly trying to squeeze my tongue through her lips even though they wouldn’t budge.  I decided to help my cause by grabbing the back of her hair and pulling her head back to put me in a more controlling position.  But as I tugged, her head didn’t tilt back an inch.  The fact that I was sitting on her lap didn’t help my efforts, either.  I was getting frustrated, giving her my all while she just sat there like a statue, coolly watching me with open eyes.  I wanted nothing more than to show my daughter that I was still a man and could give her something she needed, but I ended up just feeling helpless in her lap.

I decided to go for broke, and I brought my hand up to fondle her incredible bosom.  Immediately, however, she grabbed my wrist and yanked my arm back painfully behind my back.  I sensed that she had had enough, and with her other hand she suddenly grabbed a handful of my own hair, yanked my head back, and overwhelmed my mouth with a brief but totally overwhelming kiss.  She easily pried my jaw open with her mouth, thrust her tongue into me, and worked it around my mouth at her own pace. My head completely immobilized by the painful grip of her hand on my hair, and my mouth being slowly and methodically dominated by the overwhelming strength of her own tongue and jaw muscles, it was clear that this was no romantic kiss.  Its sole purpose was to show me that Kyra was boss, that she could and would do anything she wanted to me, and, most of all, to demonstrate the utter absurdity of the notion that my pathetic little body could have anything at all to offer her sexually, at least not in the traditional male sense.

The rape of my mouth continued for an arduous thirty seconds, the presence of her tongue in my mouth bringing my lust for her to the boiling point, made all the more scathing by my incestuous shame and knowledge of my complete sexual impotence.

Finally, she withdrew from my mouth and looked down at me, still holding my head back painfully.  Wagging a finger in front of my eyes, she scolded with biting derision, “You are the tiniest, most pathetic little man I’ve ever seen, Daddy.  You no longer have anything at all to offer to the opposite sex.  So, you are not to touch my body, or any other woman’s body, with your grubby little hands ever again.  Only real men, like Steve for instance, have that privilege.  Are we clear?”

I couldn’t answer, my mind screaming with shame and agony.  Impatient, Kyra stood up and dumped me onto the bed.  “I can still get some practice out of you,” she said matter-of-factly, eyeing my still-hard penis.  “It won’t be the same as having a real man in my mouth, but then again it might be good to start small.”

It took a moment for me to realize what she meant, but by then it was too late.  Kyra had descended onto me, her head down by my groin.  “Kyra! You shouldn’t do –“  I was cut off by a jolt of electricity as her lips enclosed my member.  She took my entire length in easily; I was far smaller than I used to be when I was 6’6”.  As I writhed in ecstasy, I found that she was very inexperienced, but nonetheless my extreme attraction and arousal for my daughter brought me to the brink after only a few quick strokes from her lips.

Hearing me start to moan and buck in anticipation of my climax, she abruptly removed her lips and clamped down on me with the agonizing force of both of her huge hands.  “Already!?” she yelled with indignation.  “Are you fucking kidding me??  You can’t even hold it for 5 seconds!??  How the fuck am I supposed to practice with you; you aren’t even a man!”  She had somehow managed to hurt my ego even worse than she had already.  With an exasperated sigh, she stood up and headed for the bathroom.  “Stay right there, you pathetic excuse for a man.  I’m going to go wash your disgusting taste from my mouth.”

I lay still, physically and psychically beat up, until she returned.  She walked to the mirror and straightened her hair, giving me a breath-taking view of her curvaceous body pouring out of her skimpy dress.  She scowled down at me, seeing me checking her out.  Slinging her purse over her shoulder, she beckoned me to follow her out of her room.  Closing her bedroom door behind me, she pulled my chin up so my eyes met hers, and she reminded me, “My bedroom is still off-limits.  I want you to finish your chores and be in bed by 9:00 as usual.  I’m heading out now to spend a long evening with my man, so I won’t be back until late tonight.”  She turned to leave.

I rushed up to her and grabbed her arm while pleading, “Kyra, I’m sorry!  Please, I can still, um … do things for you.  You know, like last night …?”  I actually felt proud of how well I had made her cum when I went down on her yesterday.

“Get your fucking hand off me,” she spat, swatting my arm off of her.  Turning her head, she said with an imperious glare, “That’s never going to happen ever again, understand?  I have a big, sexy man now to fulfill ALL my needs.  What the hell use are you to me now?  You’re like a freakin’ 12 year old boy who shoots his load off whenever a girl looks his way.  No, Daddy, my body is COMPLETELY off-limits to you now.  Hell, I don’t even know why I keep you around, except for a few chores here and there.  Speaking of which …”  She dragged her finger along the counter and sneered disgustedly at the clump of dust that her finger had picked up.  “… If you don’t start cleaning this house better, I swear you’ll find yourself living on the streets very, very soon.”

She left me stunned at the top of the stairs as she descended towards the garage.  As an afterthought, she stopped by the kitchen counter and pulled out a few tissues from the nearby Kleenex box.  “Here you go, Daddy,” she said sexily, striking a pose and running her hand sensuously across her tits, and it was all I could do to keep from exploding in my pants then and there.  “I want you to have these tissues as a gift from me, for when you’re lying alone in bed tonight fantasizing about your daughter’s hot, sexy body, which you’ll never have, while she’s out fucking her boyfriend.”  Kyra then turned and leaned her torso forward, pressing her arms together to give me the most impressive display of cleavage possible.  “I’m sure you’ll keep this image in your head, won’t you?”  Then she confidently picked up her purse and strutted out the door.

I was mortified, depressed, and ashamed, but God damn was I aroused.  I really couldn’t help it; it was exactly like she said: I could not for the life of me erase the image of her strutting down the stairs, her ass swaying provocatively, and the image of her bending over with all her glorious tit flesh and an incredibly sexy and venomous smile on her face.  She seemed to peer right into my soul with that look, knowing exactly how obsessed I was with her body and how unable I would be to resist the urge to jerk myself off, now that she was unwilling to do it for me.

Despite knowing this, I reached down and fondled myself anyway, hating myself for it but unable to stop.  I was so goddamned aroused that it didn’t take but 30 seconds before I was spewing all over my hands as I hastily covered up to prevent staining the carpet.  She was more right about my sexual maturity than I cared to admit.

I went down the stairs, retrieved the tissues from the counter, and cleaned myself up, exactly as she had intended.  Then I grew increasingly depressed as I thought about what I had just done.  My gloomy mood continued as I completed my chores, making the house as immaculately clean as possible in the short time I had left, and got ready for bed.  As I turned out my bedroom light at 8:59, I got in bed and eventually drifted into a troubled sleep.

I awoke with a start as I felt two large hands pull my torso up out of bed.  I realized that it was Kyra, and to my surprise I also discovered that it was still dark outside.  Silhouetted by the hallway light behind her, Kyra brought her face up to mine, and I could smell the alcohol on her breath.  Jesus, she had been drinking!  She was still 6 years under the drinking age!

“Come on,” she said as she brusquely pulled me to my feet and hauled me to her room.  She stumbled a bit, and I surmised that she was more than a little tipsy.  Standing in front of her bed, she pulled me into her body, forcing my head way back to be able to barely see over her massive bosom.  Was she going to make me go down on her again, despite everything she had said?  Part of me hoped desperately that this would be the case, since it would give me a chance to bring her pleasure and regain some of my manhood.

But I was terribly, terribly mistaken.  “Steve is spending the night with me here.  He’s waiting outside right now, since I wanted to have some time to secure you into place first.”  What was she talking about?  And there was no way that boy was sleeping over with my daughter!  I had to do something.

“Kyra,” I said, trying to muster some authority in my voice, “please, you’re too young to have sex!  And you only just met this boy.  You should really get to know him first before getting intimate,” I pleaded.

Kyra pulled my head back as she lowered her own head to my level, having to bend her back at almost a 90 degree angle to do so.  Pulling me inches from her boozy breath, she said in a low voice, “Steve isn’t a boy; he’s so much more man than you.  I’m going to let him fuck me all night long and there’s nothing you can do about it.  In fact,” she continued ominously, “you are going to be here with us for the whole thing.”  What the hell did that mean!?  She grabbed both my wrists in one hand, and with the other hand she reached down and picked up a piece of rope that was sitting on her bed.  I noticed that, in fact, there were 4 such ropes waiting there, which she must have just pulled in from the garage.

“What are you doing!?” I said, with genuine fear in my voice.  I tried to struggle as she pushed me to her bedside, but I was completely overpowered.  She forced me down onto my back on the floor next to the bed and tied the rope onto my wrist.  Ignoring my pathetic struggles, she reached over and brought the other ropes down, tying them to my other wrist as well as both ankles.  As she held me firmly in place, she leaned down and told me, “You’re going to spend the night under my bed.  That way, I won’t have to worry about you sneaking about, spying on me as I screw my boyfriend.  I know how you can’t control yourself.  And, besides, you’ll be able to hear what a real man can do for me as he fucks my brains out.”

I protested violently until a slap came crashing down on my cheek.  “NOT ANOTHER WORD!!” she commanded.  “You will NOT make another sound all night.  If Steve finds out you’re down there, I swear to God I’m going to leave you tied up down there until you starve to death.”  I was scared shitless, not doubting for a second that she would leave me under her bed for days, maybe even – well, she wouldn’t actually let me die … would she?

Not wanting to test her resolve, I kept my mouth shut as she fastened the rope connected to my left arm to the upper left bedpost.  She then tied my leg to the bottom left post, pushing me under the bed.  I began to cry as she walked around, reached for my arm and leg, and tied them to the opposite bedposts.  “I told you: NOT A SOUND!” she barked, walking out of her room.  I tried to choke off my sobs as I lay spread-eagle under my daughter’s bed.  My legs were spread uncomfortably far apart, and the ropes had just a little slack to allow me to wiggle a few inches side to side.  Staring up at the bed frame inches above me, I burst out into more sobbing as I reflected on my situation.

Hearing two pairs of feet ascending the stairs, I put forth a herculean effort to stifle my sobs again.  Whether it was from sheer strength of will, or due to the sheer terror I had for Kyra and her punishment, I was able to remain silent as the two entered my room.

“Well, well, Steve, now I have you right where I want you,” my daughter said with a sultry voice.

“Are you sure your dad isn’t here?” Steve asked.

“Of course – he’s out of town.  Not like he could stop me from getting my hands on you anyway,” she purred.

“Baby, I’m going to show you a night you’ll never forget.”  I heard the sound of lips smacking together as they began making out feverishly.  Clothes began dropping to the floor around me from all sides.  “Oh my God, you’re huge!” she exclaimed, to my dismay.  Then I heard them fall onto the bed above me, and the bed creaked as they writhed around in a passionate embrace.  Soon, I heard my daughter gasp, “Ohhh, Steve, yessss … Fuck yessss!!”  I felt them start to move in rhythm, and I could only conclude that Steve was inside my daughter.  The pace quickened, and through the pull of my ropes – and even the occasionally pressing of the box spring against my body – I felt that the action above was really heating up.  Several minutes later, my daughter let out a wild scream as Steve brought her to climax.  As the movement slowed and eventually halted above me, I realized that I had just witnessed my daughter’s first time, not two feet above where I lay.  I couldn’t help feeling humiliated, embarrassed, and … well, to be honest, more than a little jealous.  Jealous that this schmuck had just given Kyra the best orgasm of her life, while I was unable to get even the slightest rise out of her earlier as she “practiced” on me.

I lay there for several minutes, but then I suffered in silence as they went at it again, and again.  Three times Kyra came, each time greater than the last.  I reflected that my dreary, mind-numbing captivity in her closet today was nothing compared to the torture I had now been put through.  This was a punishment I would never forget, something that no man should ever be put through, especially not by his own daughter!

Mercifully, they finally fell into a deep slumber, oblivious to the small man trapped underneath them.  I wanted to curl up into a ball and sleep away my own troubles, but even that small luxury was taken from me as I was forced to lay there with my limbs pulled outward, the pain and discomfort keeping me awake.  I sobbed quietly, although not loudly enough to wake Kyra, and after several hours I had cried myself to sleep.

********************************

Saturday: 4’8”

I awoke from a nightmare, my palms sweaty from anxiety.  As I came to, I felt pain in all four limbs.  Soon enough, I realized that it wasn’t just from being held in this uncomfortable position all night; my limbs felt like they would be pulled out of their sockets as the ropes pulled on them tightly.  I had shrunk again, and any slack that I had last night was now gone due to my diminished stature.  I couldn’t budge an inch in any direction, feeling like I was about to be drawn and quartered. 

I heard some chatter and clanging of dishes downstairs.  Kyra and Steve must be eating breakfast, I figured.  There was nothing I could do but wait and hope that Steve would leave and Kyra would remember to free me.  After at least a half hour of waiting, I heard Kyra say goodbye to him and walk up to her room.  I didn’t dare make a sound, though, as she moved about her room.  Another excruciating five minutes went by, until she finally ducked her head under the bed and saw me.

“Daddy!  I forgot you were down there!” she said gleefully, obviously in a great mood and unconcerned about the torture she had put me through.  She untied my ropes and pulled me out from under her bed, putting her knees and hands on the floor and looming over me.  “To think, you were down there all this time and I had totally forgotten!”  I didn’t think it was so amusing.  “Steve is gone now.  Oh, Daddy, I had such a wonderful time with him last night!  I mean, it was a million times better than anything you’ve tried to do for me!  I’ll have to invite him over more often,” she beamed.  Seeing the terror in my face at the prospect of being trapped down there every night, she laughed and said, “Oh, Daddy, don’t worry, we’ll find some other sleeping arrangements for you.”  She playfully wiggled my nose.  “Now hurry up and get ready to go out; I have a big day planned for you!” she exclaimed, pulling me to my feet with ease.  I was now truly intimidated by her size as her body filled my vision.  “Well, come on then!” she said, giving me a playful shove out the door.

Glad to be back in my own room and away from my daughter, I collapsed on my bed.  But, realizing how thirsty I was, I went to my bathroom sink and started lapping up water into my mouth, not wanting to go downstairs for a drink.  I then used the toilet and also weighed myself on the scale.  81 pounds.  Jesus Christ, I was the size of a little kid now.  My reflection in the mirror only reinforced this notion, as I had long since lost all hair on my body except for a few stragglers here and there, and my face looked more boyish than ever.  I shrugged off my uneasy feeling and got in the shower.  Taking my time, I closed my eyes and enjoyed the warm water pouring down my body.  Finally something that I enjoyed.

But my reverie was interrupted as I heard the shower curtain open next to me.  “Daddy, hurry up, you’re taking too long,” she chided gently.  Looking over, I saw that she had just finished her own shower and was standing before me in nothing but her bath towel.  She was leaning in to see me, showing a healthy view of her cleavage.  She turned and left before she could notice me looking up into her bosom.  I was about to wrap up my shower, but was haunted by the beautiful vision that had just lay before me.  I grew more and more aroused as I began fondling myself.

I had lost track of time.  Several minutes later, I heard the curtain snap open again.  “Naughty boy!” my daughter exclaimed, seeing what I was doing.  “Stop that this instant!  I told you to finish your shower quickly, not play with your little willy,” she chided, with a hint of annoyance.  She grabbed my arm and pulled me out of the shower.  Still holding my arm, she bent over and turned off the shower, then pulled my towel off the rack.

She started drying off my naked body, but I told her, “Kyra, I can do that myself!”

“Well, fine then.  But I want you to dry off and get dressed right away, OK?  And no more playing with yourself.”  Blushing, I nodded in assent, and she stepped out and left me alone.  I did as she asked, and came down the stairs fully clothed within 3 minutes.

When I got downstairs, Kyra stood up and guided me over to the wall.  She pulled out the ruler and measured my height.  As she bent down, I was relieved to see that she was dressed casually for once: shorts, a t-shirt, and tennis shoes.  Of course, she was still definitely a looker, as her clothes still showed off plenty of her ample curves.

“So, you are now … 4’8” tall,” she stated, marking the wall above my head.  “I was taller than you by the time I was 7!” she exclaimed.  “And that puts you just shorter than the average 11-year old boy.”  There was something unsettling about her smile as she said this, but I couldn’t quite place it.

She continued staring at me with that odd grin, and I broke the awkward silence by asking, “So where are we going?”

“Well, I think your clothes have outgrown you,” she said, bemused at her play on words.  “We’re going back to the mall to get something more appropriate for someone your size,” she said with a glint in her eye.  “Now grab a snack and let’s go.”

As I ate some toast, I wondered what she meant earlier when she said I had a big day ahead of me.  It was just shopping, after all.  As we headed out to the car, I realized I had hardly driven all week and I thought it might give me some confidence back.  “Kyra, maybe I could drive?”

She looked down at me with an amused smile.  After pondering a second, she said, “Well, sure, Daddy, I think you can still handle it.”  She dropped the keys in my hand and mussed my hair.  I walked to the now-unfamiliar driver’s side, straightened my hair, and got in.  To my dismay, even after pulling the seat all the way forward, I could only barely reach the pedals by sitting on the edge of the seat.  I had to sit up straight to see over the steering wheel, and I had to stretch a bit to tilt the rear view mirror down.  But, just barely, I was able to pull out of the driveway and head for the mall.  Looking over, I noticed that Kyra had been smiling amusedly at my efforts.  I pretended to ignore her, and I felt good being behind the wheel again.  I felt like I had control of something for once.

We pulled into the parking lot and walked toward the mall.  I had trouble keeping up with her long strides, as she was walking quickly in her eagerness to pick out some new clothes for me.  We headed for JcPenney’s again and, sure enough, the same lady was there to measure customers.

As we approached, I noticed with dismay that she now towered over me – not as much as Kyra, but it was still unnerving, since I was taller than her when I saw her last Saturday.  I wasn’t happy to realize I had shrunk 14 inches in just this last week, and 22 inches since I first began shrinking.  “Why, hello again,” the attendant said, recognizing Kyra from last week.  “Back for more, eh?  And who’s this little guy you have with you?  I seem to remember him being taller.”

“Haha, that’s right, I brought my other brother last time.  This week it’s little Jimmy’s turn to get some clothes.  He’s sick of wearing these big hand-me-downs.”  The two of them laughed.  Jimmy?  My first name is James, but Kyra never called me that, much less Jimmy.  My parents used to call me Jimmy when I was younger, but I always hated it.  But I didn’t want to make a scene in front of the attendant.  I would talk to Kyra about it later.

“Aww, well this one is even cuter!” the attendant exclaimed.  “Let’s see your measurements, little guy.”  She tousled my hair then pulled my arms out for measurement.

Of course, all of my measurements had decreased substantially, even since last Wednesday.  “All done, have fun shopping!” the attendant said, pinching my arm playfully.  Ow, that kind of hurt.  I took the slip of paper with my measurements and headed for the men’s section.

“Where are you going, sweetie?” Kyra asked behind me.

“I’m going to get clothes, duh.”  Kyra just let me lead the way, cracking a bemused smile as I did so.  I looked around at different racks of shorts, looking for a size 26 waist.  I only saw a couple of 28’s, but no 26’s.

“Daaaddddy,” she giggled behind me.

“What?” I turned toward her, annoyed at my lack of success.

She had a men’s size chart in her hand and showed it to me.  I saw that 28 inches corresponds to size XS, and 26 wasn’t even listed.  Giggling, she said, “You’re not going to find anything small enough here.  We’ll have to get your clothes in the Boys section.”

“What!  No, no, no.  I don’t think so,” I told her.  I pulled up the first size 28 shorts I could find and held them to my waist, but not only were they too wide, but they were just too long and baggy all around; my skinny legs would look ridiculous sticking out of them past the knees.  And this was the extra small size!

Seeing my reaction, she said, “You know I’m right, Daddy.  Now put these back and let’s see what we can find in your size.”  I had to admit that she was right indeed; besides, there should be plenty of clothes that looked mature enough, even in the Boys’ section.  I reluctantly returned the shorts to the rack as Kyra took my hand and led me out of the Men’s section.

Kyra found another chart that listed Boy’s sizes.  “56 inches tall, and a 25 inch waist.  That puts you around size 10-12.”  I wasn’t sure, but I seemed to remember that Boy’s sizes more-or-less corresponded to their age in years.  I shuddered.

She dragged me to the Boys’ section and started picking out some clothes for me.  “Can’t I find my own clothes?” I complained.

“Hush.  I want you looking your best.  You’re out of touch with fashion.  After all,” she said, peering down at me assertively, “It wasn’t all that long ago that I was in middle school, you know.  I know what boys your size are wearing these days.”

My jaw dropped.  I could not believe what she had just said.   “Kyra, I don’t wanna wear boy’s clothes,” I whined.  “I want something more … mature-looking.”

“Well, we’ll just have to see.  But I think with your build and facial features,” she said, lifting her eyebrows, “you would naturally look better in more, how should I say … youthful attire.”  As I started to protest, she placed her hand over my mouth and said, “Let’s have you try them on first, then we’ll decide.”  She continued picking out clothes for me as I fumed.  But, I suppose what she said was reasonable, and once she sees the more grown-up clothes she’ll realize that’s what I should wear.  I let her do her thing as I perused some plain polo shirts and nice slacks.

“OK, Daddy, I picked some out that I think you’re going to like.”  She took my hand and guided me to the dressing rooms.

“I found some that I want to try on, too,” I returned, holding a few pairs of decent looking clothes – smaller versions of my usual attire.

“Haha, OK, I might as well let you try them on too.”  She entered a changing room with me and shut the door behind us.

“Um, Kyra, could you leave please?  I’ll show you when I’m done putting them on.”

“Oh, nonsense, Daddy, you know how much I’ve seen you naked.  Now don’t be shy.”  I became paranoid that someone nearby would overhear her scandalous statement.  I reflected that it was perhaps the first time I had ever wished she wouldn’t have called me Daddy.  But I didn’t see anyone in the adjacent stalls, and I decided the best course was to just change in front of her and avoid any more verbal outbursts from her.

Even though I kept my boxers on, I still felt uncomfortable as Kyra stood there with arms folded, watching me undress.  I quickly slipped on the pants and shirt that she handed me and looked in the mirror.  I still had the hairdo that you might find in a successful businessman, but as I looked down at the rest of me I only saw an 11-year old boy in the reflection.  The facial changes I had undergone over the past two weeks had seemed fairly minor until now; I had still been seeing myself as the same old me, just a bit younger-looking, like in my 20s or so.  But now that I was wearing skinny jeans and a tight-fitting t-shirt with an ‘Angry Birds’ design on the front, and with my skinny build and lack of body hair, I would have totally mistaken myself for a middle-schooler if I hadn’t known better.

Kyra smiled broadly at my look of shock.  “See, I told you this would look perfect on you!”  She stood behind me and draped her arms over my shoulders, rubbing her hands all over my chest and arms.  “It fits your skinny little body just right,” she said, looking down at my reflection in the mirror with glee.  “Hmm, we’ll just have to fix your hair, it doesn’t go with the rest of your look.”

I was too stunned to say anything.  I simply took the clothes off when Kyra asked me to and tried on several more outfits.  They all fitted me well and had the same ‘youthful’ effect on my appearance, as Kyra had put it.  After the fourth outfit, I finally summoned the willpower to ask my daughter in a wavering voice, “Can I please try on some of the clothes I picked out?”

“I don’t see how they would look better on you,” she stated with a frown.  “But, I suppose it couldn’t hurt to try them,” she conceded, to my relief.  I eagerly put on a pair of khakis and a dark green polo shirt.  Tucking the shirt in, I looked up at my reflection.  Well, they fit well, and I thought I looked pretty decent in them, especially with my nice, clean haircut.  I did have to admit, however, that while I did look pretty sharp, I seemed less like a grown man on his way to work, and perhaps more like a … young teen, dressing nice for church or something, doing my hair up in a nice adult style that looked more … cute on my young face than anything else.  The now-baggy clothes I had bought on Wednesday hadn’t given the same effect, somehow hiding my youthful appearance in the folds of my clothes.  But with this new, fitted look, the effect was unmistakable.

Kyra noticed this, too.  “Aww, you look cute, all dressed up like that.  We’ll have to go somewhere nice so I can show you off.”  She pinched my cheek and stepped back, letting me undress.  She had me try on the remainder of the clothes I had picked, then the rest of her selections.  She liked how they looked, but kept saying, “Tsk.  I just wish I could see you with the right hairdo.”

I was getting tired of changing clothes by the end.  I pointed out that I didn’t need this many clothes, since my present rate of shrinking would render them useless in a few days’ time.  “Oh, good thinking,” she replied, and proceeded to mull over which 3-4 outfits would look best.  Without even asking for my input, she decided on the Angry Birds shirt, another shirt with a ‘Hey, Arnold’ logo, matching pants, and the khakis with the green shirt that I had picked out.  I also saw her sneak in a pair of full-length pajamas with little Spider Man logos.  At least she hadn’t made me try them on.  After deciding my wardrobe, she handed me the Angry Birds shirt and pants and said, “Here, put this outfit back on; I like this one the best.”

I did as she asked, but was surprised when she opened the door and walked out.  “Kyra, I can’t just walk out with this on!”

“Relax, sweetie, I’ll just tell the cashier to scan the clothes on you and it’ll be fine.  I don’t want to see you in those old ugly clothes again.”  I wanted to close the door again and change back, but she just stood there holding it open, waiting impatiently.  Reluctantly, I trudged out and she led me through the store to get the other items I needed: shoes, socks, and underwear.

By the time we got to the underwear, I was tired of shopping.  I pulled out some boxers that looked small enough and told her I was ready to go.  “Whoa there, little guy, not so fast.  I don’t think those are right for you.”  She plucked the pack of boxers from my hand, put them back, then pulled me over to where the briefs were.

“No, Kyra, I hate whitey tighties,” I told her.

“Now, now, everyone your size wears them.  Boxers are only for big boys.”  I didn’t know how she determined that, but as I started to argue she gave me a look that told me it was wiser to keep my mouth shut.  Well, I figured briefs won’t be all that bad.  I mean, I’ve worn them before.  Then I tried to recall when I stopped wearing them, and couldn’t remember for sure but I realized it was probably around my 12th birthday.  That was a depressing thought.

As Kyra held my hand and looked through the Boys’ underwear section, I looked over and saw a mother and her son.  She was holding his arm, picking out underwear for him as well.  I shuddered as I wondered if that’s how I looked, dressed as an 11-year-old boy, letting Kyra parade me around and choose what underwear I would wear.  By the time she had picked some out, I didn’t care what they looked like, I just wanted to get out of the mall and back to the relative safety of my home.

Still holding my hand, Kyra led me to the register and pulled out my credit card.  MY credit card!  I had forgotten she still had all my cards, after she took them a few days ago.  I guess I hadn’t had much need of them, trapped in her closet or under her bed.  “Kyra, please, can I pay for the clothes myself?  I mean, it’s my card you know,” I said uncertainly.

“Oh, don’t worry yourself about it.  Let me handle the money.”  She stepped up to the cashier and paid for my clothes.  Once we were out in the mall, she headed for a hair stylist a few shops down.  She had been holding my hand, pulling me around for a long time now, and I hated it.  But I couldn’t shake free of her grasp so I just followed along and tried to keep up with her gait.

She found an open chair and greeted the stylist, a very metrosexual-looking guy in his 20s.  “Well, what can I do for you, ma’am?” he replied.

“Actually, it’s little Jimmy here that needs a haircut.”

“Sounds sssuper!  Step right up, Jimmy.”

“It’s James,” I grumbled as I sat in the chair facing the mirror.

I saw the stylist feign an apologetic look.  “Don’t mind Jimmy, he’s just ornery from shopping all day,” Kyra told him.

“Ah, I see,” he replied.

Getting upset at the repeated use of my hated nickname, I again snapped, “My name is James!”

“Jimmy!” Kyra scolded.  “Behave yourself, young man!  That’s no way to treat the nice hair stylist.  Now apologize,” she ordered firmly.

I sat there pouting for a minute, but seeing both Kyra and the stylist staring down at me expectantly, I realized it would only get worse for me if I resisted.  “I’m sorry,” I muttered, looking down at my lap.

“I didn’t hear you, Jimmy,” Kyra chided.

“I said, I’m sorry!” I repeated, louder this time.

“Good.  He won’t give you any more trouble,” she said, speaking to the stylist.

“Apology accepted.  Now, what hairstyle should I give him,” he replied, not bothering to consult me on the matter.  Kyra described what she wanted, and he turned me around to face him as he went to work, reshaping my hair and snipping here and there as I sat there in silence.

“There, all done.”  He spun me back around toward the mirror.  I was amazed at what a little rearrangement and a touch of styling gel could do.  Instead of my professional-looking hairdo from before, with a part on the side and my hair brushed across the top of my forehead, I now had a slightly disheveled, slightly shaggy look with hair hanging down toward my eyebrows.  It reminded me of Justin Bieber’s hairdo, except a bit shorter.

The stylist removed the apron and I stood up in front of the mirror.  Oh my God.  The last remnant of my former maturity was now gone, and my transformation into an 11-year-old was now complete, at least as far as looks were concerned.  Kyra bent down and hugged me from behind, looking at my reflection.  “Aww, look at you, Jimmy!  You’re such an adorable little boy, aren’t you?” she cooed.  She turned to the stylist and said, “It’s perfect!”  Turning back to me, she said, “Now thank the stylist for doing such a nice job.”

They were looking down at me expectantly again.  Looking up at them, I felt small and powerless, like a –well, like a child.  “Th-Thank you,” I said meekly.  I shied away from him and hid myself partly behind Kyra, clutching her arm and trying to nudge her forward.  I felt nauseous and just wanted to get out of there.

“You’re welcome, Jimmy.  Come again!” he said.  Kyra looked down at me with a soft, caring smile, then draped her arm behind my back and gently pushed me out toward the mall.  She sauntered over to an empty bench and sat me down next to her, her soft legs pressed into mine and her arm laid behind my back.

She looked down at me lovingly as her hand moved up from my back and started caressing the nape of my neck.  My mind was flooded with an array of confusing emotions.  My conversion into a 6th-grader, the stylist’s condescending looks, Kyra’s gentle caresses – it was too much for me to process all at once.  I began to cry on Kyra’s arm, pulling myself into her warm embrace.  “There, there,” she soothed, wrapping her other arm around me in a hug.  She felt so nice, her arms draped around me, the top of her boob brushing my face.  The outside world was cold and scary, but here I felt warm and safe.

After a few minutes, Kyra pulled me back, patted me on the cheek, and said, “Everything’s going to be OK, Jimmy.  Here, I’ll make a deal with you.  I need to go to just a few more stores, and if you’re well-behaved I’ll take you straight home afterwards.  How does that sound?”

I looked up at her with teary eyes.  “Good,” I replied, not knowing what else to say.

“OK then,” she said, satisfied with my compliance.  She took my hand and started leading me away.

“Kyra, can I please just stay here at the bench?  I promise I won’t move.”

“No, Jimmy, I don’t feel safe leaving you alone around all these strangers.  I want you near me at all times,” she stated, continuing towards a nearby store.

While we did only go to a few more stores, they seemed to last forever as Kyra tried on a wide variety of outfits.  Of course, I couldn’t stop her from buying some of her more risqué selections, but I was at least pleased that she picked some more conservative, professional-looking attire as well.  She let me sit outside the dressing room while she tried on several outfits at a time.  I remembered the episode in her dressing room last week and was happy to wait on the other side of the door this time around.

After the third trip to the dressing room, she emerged in a dark green long-sleeved button-down shirt, with only the top two unbuttoned, and a tight-fitting gray skirt that extended halfway down her thighs.  Pantyhose and 4-inch heels completed the outfit, and her hair was even done up in a neat pony tail.

“Wow, Kyra,” I told her, truly impressed.  “This is a great look for you.”  She looked not at all like a high-schooler; she had the elegant and professional appearance of an up-and-coming business exec in her mid-20s.

“Thank you, Jimmy, that’s very sweet of you.”  She took my hand as we walked to the register.  I immediately noticed the difference her heels made, as my forearm was now angled upward slightly to meet her grasp.

We stopped by the food court next, and Kyra ordered us some food: a Big Mac for her and a kid’s meal for me.  “I wanted to make sure you could finish your meal,” she explained.  “I’ll share some of my fries if you’re still hungry.”  I did indeed finish my junior-sized burger and fries, but with only a bit of stomach space to spare.  “Whoopsies,” she said, reaching over and dabbing some ketchup from my chin with a napkin.  As I was finishing up the last bite of fries, Kyra stood up and said, “Wait here while I use the restroom, then we’ll go.”  She emptied the tray in the trash then headed for the bathroom.

After I finished chewing, I wanted some soda to wash it down but Kyra had thrown my cup away already.  I decided to head in the direction of the bathroom where Kyra just went, looking for a water fountain.  I found that there wasn’t one at this restroom.  I hate how malls don’t provide hardly any fountains, hoping you’ll buy more drinks from the food court.  But I didn’t exactly have possession of my wallet at the moment, so I needed a fountain.  I saw the sign for another bathroom on the other side of the food court and headed there.  Damn it, no water there either.  I walked a short ways to the center of the mall, where the four branches converged.  Looking around, I didn’t see any more restroom signs.

“Little boy, are you lost?” I turned as a pretty lady in her late 20s stepped out of the booth she was working at and approached me.

“Uh … no, I was just looking for some water.”

She bent down, resting her hands on her knees.  “Does your mommy know where you went?” she asked, with a concerned expression on her face.

“Well, no, but—“

“You wandered off without telling your mother!” she exclaimed sternly.  “She must be worried sick about you!”  She didn’t give me time to protest as she grabbed my hand in an iron grip and walked in the direction I came from.  “Where did you see her last?”

Jesus Christ, this was embarrassing – but also, her grip really hurt.  “Oww …” I said, seeing no choice but to play along.  “Uh … next to McDonald’s …”

My hand started to ache as I was dragged back to the food court.  I saw Kyra standing by our table, looking about with urgency.  Spotting me, her eyebrows furrowed menacingly as she stomped up to me.  “There you are!  I told you to wait here!  For all I knew, someone came up and kidnapped you!”  She clamped her hand around the back of my neck and drew me towards her as my previous captor released my hand.  Kyra looked up and thanked her.

“Oh, don’t mention it.  They can just be so hard to keep track of at that age.”

“Tell me about it.  This one’s going to get it when we get home,” she told her, increasing her hold on my neck.  I shuddered.

“I don’t blame you; he deserves it,” the lady said, peering down at me disapprovingly.

Kyra thanked her again then headed in the direction of our car, not releasing her hold on my neck.  As I struggled to keep pace, I glanced up at the tall, confident, mature woman as she looked straight ahead with determination.  I had a hard time picturing Kyra as a sweet, innocent child now, and I found it hard to believe that I once had any authority over her.  We reached the car and she drove us home.

Once inside, she wasted no time in grabbing my arm and leading me to the couch.  “Pants down,” she commanded.

“Kyra, I’m sorry!  I was just looking for a water fountain and I was going to come right back, I swear!”

“That’s no excuse.  What if someone wanted to snatch you away?  You wouldn’t be able to stop them.”  She gestured down at my pants.  “This is for your own good.”

I began to tremble as she loomed over me, hands on her hips.  I couldn’t bear to look up into her face, so I hung my head and looked down at her wide hips and toned thighs in front of me.  What could I do?  Nothing.  Defeated, I undid my belt and slowly pulled my pants down to my ankles.  I started to pull down my tightey whities as well, but she told me, “No, those stay on, little boy.”

She sat down on the couch and pulled me across her lap, face down.  Two of me could have fit across her thighs, they were so big.  My body was shaking in apprehension as she sat there with her right hand on my butt.  Twenty seconds later, I began to think she was just bluffing, just to send a message with fear – but I was wrong.  She pulled her hand back, and I drew a deep breath in anticipation of the blow.  My eyes started to water even before she hit me.

I yelped as an incredible force descended upon my ass cheek.  The blows continued to rain down every few seconds.  I began to bawl and begged her to stop.  Jesus CHRIST, she was strong.  After the fifth blow, I moved my hands behind my back in a futile attempt at self-defense.  Kyra took both of my wrists in one hand and twisted my arms up behind my back, causing yet more pain.  She punished me with five more blows.  The amount of pain was almost incomprehensible, even though I still had underwear on.

She let me up onto my feet and ordered, “Stand in the corner, facing the wall.”  I stumbled over and leaned my head against the walls, rubbing my ass with both hands.  “Stay there,” she said.  Then, as an afterthought, she strolled up to me, yanked my hair back so that my head was craned up at hers, and told me with deadly seriousness, “And this time, when I tell you to stay there, YOU STAY THERE.”  I gasped when she released the pressure on my neck and cried even harder in the corner as Kyra walked up to her room.

I continued to sob uncontrollably for five minutes, my ass still burning like hell.  Kyra came back down and sat on the couch behind me.  “Come here,” she told me.  I meekly turned toward her and she patted her lap, causing me to cringe.  “Don’t worry, the spanking is over.”  I cautiously approached like a frightened dog and sat on her lap as she wrapped her left arm around my back.

“Now, Jimmy,” she said, tenderly wiping a tear from my cheek, “I only punished you for your own good.  As you get smaller and younger, I need you to stay near me in public at all times to protect you, understood?”

The teensiest part of me wanted to affirm that I wasn’t actually getting younger – but I realized how stupid it would be to speak out about this.  So I just slowly nodded up at her.

“OK then.  Now there are some things we need to clear up.  I want you to forget all about who you thought you were in the past.  From now on, your name is Jimmy and you are an 11-year old boy.  And one more thing…”  She then took a deep breath as she prepared to tell me something that would change my life forever.  Staring me directly in the eye, unflinchingly, she told me, “I am not your daughter any longer.  I’m your mother.”

My jaw dropped open in bewilderment.  I sat there speechless, staring up at my … my moth--  No.  I could not accept that.  I would not accept that.  “No!” I pleaded up at her, shaking my head side to side.

“It’s OK, Jimmy, everything’s going to be OK,” she whispered gently while lightly stroking the side of my face.  Completely overwhelmed with emotion, I burst into tears.  “There, there,” Kyra cooed, hugging me into her body.  She reached her right arm under my legs, then I felt my world shift as she stood up, holding me in her arms.  “You’re so light, Jimmy.  My own little boy.”  This prompted more tears from me.  I was only 81 pounds now, barely half of Kyra’s weight.  I wanted to get the hell away from this madwoman, but truly I could no more escape her than an eleven year old boy could escape his mother. 

She had gone WAY too far this time – she was off her rocker, crazy, insane – but what could I possibly do about it?  Nothing.  Nothing at all.  It seemed that in this case might makes right.  The utter hopelessness of my situation caused me to simply break down in abject sobs of despair.

She gave me comforting words and carried me with ease up the stairs and into her room.  Setting me down gently on the bed, she said, “I’ll be right back,” and walked toward her bathroom.  A few minutes later, she returned and picked me back up into her arms.  I noticed that she had put makeup on, as she gazed down at me with red lips, eyes darkened with mascara, and a hint of blush emphasizing her high cheekbones.  It had the intended effect of making her look older, more mature, more … womanly.  I smelled her sweet perfume as she strolled lightly up to her mirror and nudged my head toward it.  Through my tears, through the mirror in her room, I saw my small, frail body being held lovingly by an elegant, beautiful woman.

My life was in tatters, and I had no one to turn to, except … her.  I couldn’t think straight, otherwise I would have realized that SHE was the cause of all this pain.  But all I could think of now was that I needed someone to care for me right now, and she was here for me, her wonderfully warm embrace soothing my soul and helping me forget all my troubles. 

“What’s your name,” she asked softly.

 “J-Jimmy,” I replied.

“And who am I?”

“Kyra,” I responded.  But as I gazed up into her loving eyes, from somewhere deep inside me – whether out of fear of punishment, or something else – I was compelled to add one word.  “… Mommy,” I whispered.

Her eyes lit up as her lips parted in a delighted smile.  With a surge of energy, she squeezed me into her body in a warm embrace.  My head rested on her shoulder, and my hand clutched her opposite shoulder, causing my arm to press tightly into her bosom.  I buried my head into her shoulder as she sat on the bed and caressed my face.  I was unable to think straight, giving myself completely to Kyra’s embrace.

She rocked me gently for what seemed like an eternity.  It wasn’t long before I found myself drifting off to sleep in the arms of my mother, for better or worse.

**********

I woke up and looked around.  I was back in my own room.  The sun was nearing the horizon.  Looking at the clock, I saw that it was already 5:50 PM.  I had slept for several hours.  I was still down to my underwear, so I walked over to my dresser and opened it, planning to throw on a loose-fitting shirt to at least cover myself up.  But then I saw the stupid Angry Birds shirt and new pants, folded neatly on top of the dresser.  She must have done that when I was asleep.  It became clear to me that if I put on any of my adult clothes Kyra would just make me change anyway.  Grumbling, I put them on, avoiding my reflection in the mirror, and ventured out into the hallway.

Something smelled good.  I heard sizzling coming from the kitchen.  I peered down at Kyra making dinner.  She had an apron on over her outfit and was bustling about, humming a tune.

I had a flashback to my own childhood, when I used to come out just before dinner and watch my mother cook – my real mother, that is.  The similarities were all too striking: her elegant body gliding around the kitchen with ease, whistling merrily to herself, and preparing delicious comfort food.  Watching Kyra was powerfully awakening these cherished memories from my past.  I paused, resisting her dominion over my mind, wanting to turn and run away, back to my adulthood as it were.

Kyra caught a glimpse of me standing there.  “Jimmy, you’re up!  Just in time for dinner.”  She turned back to her cooking.  I heard my stomach grumble; I was getting hungry.  Besides, where could I possibly run?  I slowly descended the steps and sat at the table.  Soon after, Kyra spooned some food onto our plates and brought them to the table.  She had made chicken sausages with seasoned hash browns and asparagus.  Then she went to the fridge and returned with a glass of juice for her, and a cup of milk for me.  I never drank milk.  But I was in no mood to argue, wanting rather to avoid conversation as much as possible.

I had to hand it to her, the food was delicious.  I finished my plate and washed it down with milk.  “All done?” she asked, getting up to serve herself more food.  I nodded yes then sat and watched Kyra finish her second helping.  Whenever her eyes met mine, she smiled warmly and I looked away sheepishly.

After dinner, Kyra cleaned up the kitchen and I headed to my recliner to watch TV.  Alas, the parental controls were still blocking all channels.  I walked over to the kitchen.  “Kyra, can I please watch TV?”

She put the plate down and turned toward me.  “Young man, you are not to call me by my first name.  I am your mother and you will address me as such.  And,” she said, plucking the remote from my grasp, “no TV until all your chores are done.  You are still old enough to have some responsibilities around the house.”

“Yes … mom.”  I did my chores over the next hour then went upstairs and knocked on her door.  “I’m done with my chores; can I watch something now?”

She came out, still dressed in the same outfit but with her heels off.  “Did you do a good job, Jimmy?” she asked down at me.  I nodded in the affirmative.  “OK then, I’ll trust you.”  I followed her downstairs as she turned on the TV and entered the 4-number passcode.  She entered them right in front of me, but held the remote above my head so that I couldn’t see the numbers.  Even with her heels off, my head only barely came up to her chest.  I felt so small next to her.

She handed me back the remote and went to the kitchen.  Relieved to finally have some time to myself, I plopped back on the recliner and turned to Die Hard on TNT.

“Jimmy, you should know better.”  Kyra had walked over as I watched, and now she took the remote from me again.  “Let’s find you something more appropriate.”  She flipped to the Disney channel and set the remote down.  “No more grown-up shows, OK Jimmy?” she said, returning to her room.

I sat watching that insipid Hannah Montana creature blabbering on for an entire hour.  I thought about turning it off, but I had nothing better to do, and at least my concentrating on the horribleness of the show proved a good distraction from the rest of my life.  But at 8:30 Kyra came down again.  “OK, Jimmy, that’s enough TV for today.  Too much will rot your brain.  In fact, from now on you’ll get no more than 1 hour each day.”  Great, TV used to be my main activity at home, but I was now reduced to just one hour of crappy kids’ shows.

She turned it off then told me to get dressed for bed and brush my teeth.  “But it’s only 8:30!  Plus, I already slept this afternoon,” I whined.  “There’s no way I can fall asleep right now.  Just let me watch TV.”  I didn’t want my one semi-decent distraction to end.  I picked up the remote, turned the volume up a couple notches, and kept watching.

In one swift motion, she grabbed my wrist in one hand, yanked the remote away with her other, and pulled my body off the couch and onto my feet.  “James Michael!” she said sternly, using my middle name, “I gave you an order, and you are going to follow it!”  She stormed up the stairs two at a time with me in tow.  I was sure my arm would fall out of its socket as my feet gave out and she essentially carried my 81-lb frame up the stairs.  As we ascended, she snorted, “Let’s see how you like this: no TV for a week.”  Entering my room, she whirled me around and said, “I’ll return in 2 minutes, and I expect to see you in bed, lights out.”

She released me and left.  I almost cried – I guess her relative complacency lately, all things considered, had lulled me into thinking I could actually talk back to her without consequences.  But now the one semi-happy activity in my life was gone, just like that, over one little action I had made.

I scrambled to brush my teeth, slip into my pajamas, turn the light out, and jump in bed.  She returned as promised, and I clutched the blanket to my chin as I watched her silhouetted body stand in the doorway with hands on her hips.  After a few seconds, she pulled the door closed and left me in darkness.

********************************

Sunday: 4’6”

I woke up fairly early but didn’t want to get up.  I must have spent at least an hour and a half lying there with trepidation.  As much as I tried to focus on other, happier thoughts, my mind kept returning to Kyra and the depths of humiliation she was subjecting me to.  I tried to formulate some kind of plan to improve my situation, but nothing came to me.  However, I found myself becoming aroused the more I thought of Kyra.  Without realizing it, my hand had crept down and began stroking myself.  This was so wrong; how could I keep having these thoughts?  But I was powerless to avoid thinking about Kyra’s huge, young, sensuous body, the feel of her warm breasts pressing into my face, the …

I heard the door open.  Shit!  I frantically yanked the covers back up and pretended to be asleep.  A few nerve-wracking seconds went by without a sound.  Oh fuck, did she realize what I was doing?  “Rise and shine, Jimmy.  Brunch is ready.”  She left without indicating she had seen anything, and I let out a long sigh.

If it were up to me, I would just lay here all day, away from my troubles.  But, clearly, it was not up to me.  I got up, weighed myself at a measly 73 pounds, took a shower, and dressed myself in the ‘Hey, Arnold’ shirt Kyra had bought for me yesterday.

Kyra was cheerful as we ate breakfast.  Afterwards, she had me sit on the couch while she cleaned up the kitchen.  Then she came and sat down next to me, patting her lap.  I grudgingly moved over and sat atop her thighs.  Jesus Christ, she was huge.  I mean, she had been big before, but with each passing day I was becoming more and more puny next to her towering frame.  When I had walked up to her just now, I had been no taller than her even though she was seated.  And at 73 pounds to her 155, I realized for the first time I was less than half her weight, too.

She was wearing a tight-fitting pink tank top with a plunging neckline, and my loins immediately began to respond to her closeness.  I started to breathe heavier.  Without even trying, she had me mesmerized.  Her smile indicated that she noticed my predicament.  Putting her hand on my thigh and giving a light squeeze, she said, “There’ll be some more big changes for you today, Jimmy.  First of all, some ground rules.  As you already know, you have a 9:00 bedtime, and only 1 hour of TV per day.  Although, of course, you’re still banned from TV for a week for your naughty behavior last night.”  I hung my head – yes, of course she remembered; I was foolish to have hoped otherwise.  “Also, you may not leave the house under any circumstances if I’m not around.  Which reminds me, I’ll be hanging out with my boyfriend today, and I’ve put some thought into this but I decided to let you stay home for a few hours by yourself, unsupervised.”

My eyes lit up.  “Really!?” I asked, looking forward to some alone time.

“Yes, Jimmy, but don’t make me regret it.  If it doesn’t work out, I’ll have to find some other accommodations for you.”  I vigorously nodded my acquiescence.  “Now, I should be home by dinner time, but, well, I might end up staying longer, knowing him,” she said with a dreamy look in her eyes.

“What are you guys doing?” I asked stupidly.

Her lips crept up in a bemused smile as she regarded me for a moment.  Then she pulled me closer until her hot breath was on my face.  “Little Jimmy, you’re too young to understand.  Someday, when you’re older, I’ll teach you about the birds and the bees,” she said sultrily, sliding her arm way up my thigh and giving a long squeeze, her eyes gazing into mine.  My blood began to boil.  She was driving me crazy.  My eyes rolled to the back of my head as she wiggled her fingers against my leg, inches from my engorged penis.  I lost track of time as she continued teasing me, delighted at my reaction.

“That brings me to the next rule, Jimmy,” she whispered in my ear.  “No more playing with your little wee-wee anymore.”  She removed her hand from my lap.  I just stared up at her, dumfounded.  She took my chin into her palm.  “I’m serious, Jimmy, you’re too young for that now.  I saw what you were doing this morning.”  My eyes shot wide open in terror and shame.  “If I ever catch you playing with yourself, you’re gonna be in BIG trouble.”

I withered under her stare.  God, she looked menacing.  But I couldn’t just give in, could I?  “B-But I have … needs!  I –I can’t go forever without, uh, you know …”

“What, Jimmy?  You can’t go forever without doing what?”  I squirmed in intense discomfort.  “Say it, Jimmy, like a big boy.”

I wanted to curl up and die.  “I need to, uh … masturbate.”

She gave an evil smile, then her face turned serious again.  “Absolutely not.”  I didn’t know whether to protest or just agree and move past this excruciatingly painful conversation.  After a few moments, though, she cocked her head thoughtfully and said, “However, I know you are a special little boy, and you do have some needs unlike other little boys.  I’ll tell you what,” she said, returning her hand to my upper thigh, “I promise that when I tuck you in each night I’ll give you a special treat,” winking at me as she said this.  “But that’s only if you’ve been on your absolute best behavior.”  She leaned in closer.  “I mean it, Jimmy.  If you act up at all during the day, then no happy time for you,” she told me, wagging her finger at me in a warning, then reaching down and briefly squeezing my member for extra emphasis.

I yelped at her touch and looked into her eyes with a flood of conflicting emotions.  I couldn’t let her make me come again, I just had to resist.  But, then again, I knew that the longer I resisted, the more easily aroused I would get as the days went on without release.  Actually, as I glanced down at Kyra’s magnificent cleavage in front of me, I realized that it probably didn’t matter how long it had been, I probably wouldn’t be able to resist her at any time, period.

“Well, Jimmy, what’ll it be?  Do you agree to the terms?”  Still, I hesitated.  Even sitting on her lap, in such close proximity to her magnificent body, I found an ounce of resistance.  My head shook almost imperceptibly side to side in the slightest gesture of defiance.  Her eyebrows raised in surprise, but then she gave a predatory look, accepting the challenge.  I felt my body being pulled into hers.  I tried to resist, but quickly I found my arm and upper body pressing into her bosom, as her hand grabbed the back of my hair and forced my head upwards, inches below her face.  Even sitting on top of her lap her head was higher than mine.

“P-Please,” I whimpered.  I was trying to beg Kyra for the right to jerk myself off on my own time, but I couldn’t muster the words.

“Please what?” she asked.  I felt her begin to tickle my thigh, just inches below my rock-hard dick.  God, it felt soooo good.  I looked up pleadingly into her eyes.  As she continued, though, I realized I was pleading less and less for her to stop, and more for her to … bring me all the way.

“Please … make you come?” she asked.  My body spasmed as I felt the tip of her finger brush the tip of my penis.

“Yesssss,” I said through clenched teeth.

“Do you agree to the deal, Jimmy?”

“Y-Yes!  I agree to the deal!” I blurted.  “Pleassee…” I was lost in ecstasy.

But then I felt a jolt.  She had clamped her hand down on my penis again.  “Good, Jimmy, that’s a good boy.”  She patted me on the head and stood us both up on our feet.

My body twitched and convulsed at the sudden denial, and I desperately writhed and clenched her body against mine and pleaded, “But, Kyra!  Please!”

“Silly Jimmy,” she said, easily prying my arms off her while bending down to my level and wiggling my nose playfully.  “I just told you the rules!  You know I can’t reward you yet.  You have to be good for a whole day first.  And my wittle Jimmy is gonna be the best wittle boy in the world, isn’t he?” she scrunched her face at me and pinched my cheek, treating me like a child.  I looked at her in intense disappointment at being denied.  I eventually nodded my head reluctantly as I held my emotions in check.  With a satisfied smile, she took my small hand in hers and led me up the stairs.  Along the way, she made sure to warn me, “Now, I think I’ll be able to tell if you’ve been naughty and masturbated on your own without Mommy’s help during the day.  You’re awfully excitable and enthusiastic towards me right now”—she grinned pointedly at the lingering bulge in my shorts as she said this—“but if you’re anything less than this later on I’ll know you did yourself and there’ll be big consequences.  Plus, I just don’t think you’ll be able to lie to me convincingly enough when it comes down to it either – don’t you agree, Jimmy?”

I almost let out a small whimper of dismay as we continued to ascend the stairs.  Obviously I had already thought about ‘doing myself’ as soon as she left the house – I was so horny I just couldn’t help it – but these last words from her were more than enough to make me think twice about it.  Something told me she would be absolutely merciless if she found me out.

So I looked up at her and nodded dismally.  She let me leave it at that for now.

But to my surprise, instead of going into one of our rooms on the right, she opened the door on the left.  This room had been left unused for years – it used to be Kyra’s room when she was a baby and then a toddler, until I felt that she was grown up enough for her current room, which was much larger.  The baby room still had Kyra’s old crib, as well as a single-sized bed and a small dresser; there wasn’t room for much else, not even a closet.  To my surprise, I realized that the bed had new sheets on it – adorned with X-men logos and characters—and that everything was newly dusted and cleaned, whereas before the room sported a thick layer of dust.  And, lo and behold, there were my other new clothes from yesterday, sitting atop the dresser.

“What is this?” I asked, bewildered.

“Why, it’s your new room, Jimmy!  Do you like it?”  My jaw dropped.  “I thought it was time for you to move, since clearly your other room outgrew you,” she said, pleased with her play on words.

“But, Kyra, --“

Her face snapped to one of cold determination.  “What did I tell you about calling me that?” she demanded, squeezing my arm painfully.

“Ow!  I’m sorry, Mommy, I didn’t mean to!  It won’t happen again.”

I cried out in pain as she tightened her grip further.  “It had better not.  The next time it happens, you’re going to be in a lot of pain.”  I cowered under her.  Even in her stocking feet, her boobs just cleared the top of my head now.

“Yes, Mommy,” I said eagerly, not wanting to anger her further.

She peered down at me coolly, releasing her grip on my arm.  “Now, as I was saying, I’ll be moving into the master bedroom.  And,” she said as an idea came to her, “I think I’ll use my old bedroom as a study.  Maybe for storage too … we’ll see,” she said nonchalantly.  Why couldn’t I have that room?  I started to speak, but immediately thought better of it, seeing Kyra’s testing gaze.

She continued, “So, Jimmy, since I’ll be gone most of the day, I figure you can help me move.”  She led me to my room – my former room, that is.  “I want all your old belongings taken out – that includes clothes, except the new ones; and all your papers and things on the desk can go, but leave the computer; and anything else from the closet or on the walls or the floor or anywhere else should go too,” she said, sweeping her hand across the room.  Then she looked down disapprovingly and reached down to pick up a piece of garbage at her feet.  “Hmm, this won’t do.  My room should be spotless by the time I get back.

“Oh, and one more thing,” she continued.  “Could you do me a big favor and write down all your passwords, account numbers, etc.– anything I would need to access your bank accounts, pay bills, use your email; you know, things like that,” she said casually.  “Mommy’s gonna need those, if she’s to take care of you properly.”

I hated to relinquish what little semblance of adulthood I had left.  “But Ba—I mean, Mommy,” I said, almost saying her first name.  She cocked her eye at me threateningly.  I gulped and continued, “I just wanted to say, um, maybe I could do all the bills and stuff for you?  I mean, so you wouldn’t have to worry about it.”  She looked down at me skeptically.  I wasn’t going to win this battle.  A tactical retreat was in order.  “At least, could I keep my email?  You don’t really need that, do you?” I pleaded.

Kyra shook her head and sighed in exasperation.  Then she put both hands on my shoulders and went down on her knees before me.  She was still just slightly taller than I was standing up.  “Jimmy, baby, you’re going to have to learn to accept your new role in life.  You’re far too young to be worrying about all these grown-up things.”  My eyes started to tear at the thought of losing yet another link to my former life.  “There, there,” she said soothingly, pulling me in for a hug.  She wrapped her long arms around me as her breasts pressed into my stomach.  Whispering into my ear, she said, “Don’t cry, little Jimmy.  Mommy’s going to take care of everything, don’t you worry.”  I actually started to forget my troubles, enjoying her warm embrace.  Somehow it just felt right.

She gave my body a squeeze, stood up again, and pulled me to her old room.  She was right back to business.  “You ought to be able to finish all that by this afternoon.  So I want you to start with my stuff as well.  Transfer all my clothes from my dresser and closet, and make sure to organize it the same way in my new room,” she scolded, wagging her finger at me.  “The same goes for the bathroom too.  Don’t worry about moving the rest just yet; I still have to decide which room I want things in.  But, would you be a doll and clean up for me?” she asked sweetly, looking down at me.  I knew she wasn’t merely asking.  I nodded.  “Thanks, Jimmy.  Just make sure everything is nice and neat.  I’m expecting my rooms to be spic and span when I get back, and I’ll be very, very disappointed if they’re not.”  She peered down at me imperiously.  “Any questions?”  I shook my head no.

“Good.  Now there’s one more matter to discuss.”  She sat down on the corner of the bed and pulled me, still standing, up to her.  She asked gravely, “Do you remember what happened the last time you went sneaking around my room?”  My eyes went wide as I remembered that fateful day, when I was fooling around with her clothes and accidently came on her bra.  And then, that dreadful punishment afterwards…

I closed my eyes in shame.  “I … I came on your bra.”

“That’s right, Jimmy.  And how did it happen?”  I tried to wriggle myself away but she held my arms fast and started to squeeze my torso with her legs.  She just loved to watch me squirm.

“I was trying on your clothes.”

“And why did you do that?”  I hesitated, still keeping my eyes closed.  “Eyes up here, Jimmy,” she commanded.

I looked into her eyes.  “Because … Because you’re so big and … and … sexy.”  I started to sob, but I kept my eyes on her nonetheless.  God, I thought, if you’re up there, please kill me now.

“Do you remember how I had to punish you?”

As I was crying, I burst out, “You made me dress like a girl and put makeup on me and took me to dinner and called me Kimmy, and everyone pointed and laughed at me, and…” I broke down sobbing.

Kyra held me in front of her, staring sternly at me and letting me cool down.  Then she continued, “So, when you are moving my clothes and cleaning up my room, are you going to try them on and play with yourself again?”  I shook my head emphatically no.  She tightened her grip, causing my shoulders to hunch up, and her legs began crushing my thighs.  She pulled me closer to her, until her hot breath was on my face.  “If you do, your punishment will make that last punishment seem like a cakewalk, do you understand?”  I nodded vigorously, doing all I could to avoid pissing my pants in front of her.

She released me, and I stumbled and fell back onto her floor.  She stood up and loomed over me.  “Well, get going already!” she commanded.  I scampered to the master bedroom and started pulling out my old clothes, my heart pounding in my chest.  I worked diligently for the next 15 minutes as Kyra changed outfits and got ready to leave.  Then, I heard the sound of her heels approaching my doorway.  “I’m leaving.  I’ll be back before dinner.”  I turned and caught a glimpse of her stunning body clad in a tight pink tank top and tiny skirt.  Whoa mama, I thought.  She headed downstairs and out the door, leaving me home alone.

I let out a long sigh and plopped down onto my bed – well, what used to be my bed.  I slouched over with my head in my hands and sat there for a few minutes.  But I soon snapped out of it and got back to work, knowing that Kyra had assigned me lots of work and relatively little time to do it.

I went slowly at first.  I carefully placed my things into boxes to move to my new room and started planning where I was going to put everything.  The baby room was so damn small.  As my former room emptied out I became sad – I had lived in that room for almost two decades, and now it was being taken over by Kyra.  But the nostalgia ended when I looked at the clock and saw it was already 3:00 – Kyra would be home in less than 3 hours, and I wasn’t even done taking my things out of her new room!  Christ, at this rate her room would still be a mess, not spotless as she requested!  I quickly tossed the rest of my things in some more boxes and shuttled them to the baby room.  I would just have to set up my own room later.

I spent the better part of an hour dusting shelves, vacuuming, making the bed, etc.  Confident that it would meet Kyra’s demands, I moved on to her room.  Lord, it was a mess.  There were papers, clothes, and sundry other items strewn about the floor.  I saw it was almost 4:00.  She might get home anytime from now until 6:00, I figured.  I moved as quickly as I could, transferring her clothes while trying to keep them as folded and tidy as possible, and making absolutely sure to keep everything in the same order she had it originally.  Fortunately my state of panic kept me from getting sidetracked and smelling the roses, and by roses I mean her undergarments.  I was also grateful that I didn’t have to move the rest of her stuff.  But still, having to clean up her room was a daunting task in itself.  As 5:00 rolled around, then 5:30, I still wasn’t done picking up her floor and arranging things nicely.  I started to panic, cringing at the slightest sound thinking it was Kyra walking in.

At 6:00 the phone rang.  I leapt to my feet and ran downstairs to answer.  “Roberts residence, this is James.”

“Your name is Jimmy,” Kyra’s voice responded sternly.

“Oh!  I’m sorry, uh, mom,” I replied sheepishly.

“Have you finished what I asked you to do?”

“Well, no, but my room – I mean your room – is all clean and I’m finishing up your old room now.”  Well, in reality it would take another hour or so, I figured.  I had just finished picking up her things but I still had to vacuum and dust – things that she hadn’t done in who knows how long.

She was silent for a moment.  I could just see the stern expression on her face.  “I wanted you to be finished by dinner time.”

“I’m sorry, mom, but I’ve been working so hard and I’ll be done soon, I promise!”

She sighed on the other end.  “Well, as long as you finish by 7:00 I’ll let it slide.  Can you do that?”

“Yes, I promise!  Uh, thank you,” I said, trying to mask my concern.  This was cutting it close, but I would do my best.

“OK, then.  I’m having dinner with Steve and I’ll call back in an hour.”  She hung up.  I dashed upstairs, determined to have her room spotless by the time she called back.

An hour later, I was not as far along as I had hoped.  There was just so much dust and junk on the floor.  Running out of time, I used the vacuum hose to clean as far under the bed as I could reach and finished vacuuming and dusting all I could.  To my dismay, the top of the dresser was too high now for me to clean it all – in years past, it only came up to my chest, but now I could only clean part of the top.  And the shelf in the dresser was way too high now.  I brought the desk chair from my old room and was able to get the dresser and most of the closet shelf, but to my chagrin it was still a bit too high to clean all of it.  Standing on the chair, I tried to lunge forward to get the back of the shelf, but ended up falling off and landing painfully on the closet floor.  Damn it!  I had an idea: the dining room chairs were a few inches taller than the desk chair.  That would give me the extra boost I needed.

I ran downstairs and started hauling a chair up.  Oh, boy, this was tougher than I anticipated.  The back of the chair was only a few inches shorter than I was, and with me weighing only a third of what I used to the chair was three times as heavy as before.  What’s more, it was already a heavy chair made of oak.  This all added up to a difficult time dragging it up the stairs.

I had to pull it up one step at a time.  I was getting gassed about two-thirds of the way up.  I took a breather then started the last few steps when the phone rang.  Oh, no.  Worst possible timing.  I desperately heaved onwards, trying to pull it up in time to answer the phone.  But in my hurry, and aided by a thin coat of sweat on my hands, the chair slipped from my grasp, bounced down the stairs, and crashed loudly onto the kitchen floor.  Alas, two of the legs were damaged and the chair back was bent out of shape.  It would be tough to salvage.

I didn’t have much time to fret as I dashed downstairs and around the chair and answered the phone.  “H-Hello?” I panted.

“What happened?  Why are you panting so hard?” Kyra demanded.

“I … uh … nothing happened.  I just … ran downstairs to … answer the phone,” I said, still out of breath.

“Is that the truth, Jimmy?”  I paused.  “Answer me,” she commanded.

“Yes, ma’am, of course,” I said, my breath finally stabilizing.

“OK …” she responded skeptically.  “Are you done with your work yet?”

“Uhh … yes, of course, mommy.”  Man, I was a terrible liar.

“Jimmy …” she said threateningly, but I didn’t make a sound.  “Are you sure?  If I came home right now, would I be pleased?”

“Yes,” I responded immediately.

“The floor is all picked up, and everything is dusted and vacuumed?” she inquired.

“Absolutely.”  Well, at least it would be in a few more minutes.

“And my things are in my new bathroom, and everything is clean in there?”

Oh, fuck!  I had completely forgotten about moving her stuff out of the hallway bathroom into the master bath.  In my panic, I neglected to answer her.  I paused too long.  “Well, Jimmy?”

“Huh?” I replied dumbly.

“The bathroom.  Did you finish that?”  She was getting impatient.

“Oh, uh, the bathroom?” I said, trying to sound convincing.  “Uh… yeah, of course I did it.”  I cursed myself silently for sounding so phony.

“Jiimmmmy,” she said slowly.  “You’re lying to Mommy, aren’t you?”  Her voice was chilling.   I didn’t respond.  “Come clean now, and your punishment won’t be as severe.”

“Well, I, uh, what I meant to say was, I’m almost done with the bathroom, I just have to, uh, uh, … clean the mirror.”  Shit, I just kept digging my hole deeper and deeper.

“James Michael, are you STILL lying to me?”  I didn’t respond.  “…Well, young man?”

I paused, then blurted out, “I forgot to do the bathrooms, I’m sorry!”

There was silence on the other end.  Then, she said in a low, menacing voice, “Listen up, little boy.  I’m staying the night at my boyfriend’s place, and I expect everything to be clean when I get home tomorrow.  And I mean absolutely clean.  I’m going to check every nook and cranny of both rooms, and there had better not be so much as a stray hair on the ground.  I don’t care how late you have to stay up, do you understand me?”

“Y-yes ma’am, absolutely,” I stuttered.  She hung up, and my hands were shaking as I put the phone down.  How could I be so stupid?  It was bad enough that I didn’t finish my chores, but I lied to her twice about it!?  And as I turned towards the stairs, I saw the broken chair and realized things were worse yet.  I had actually lied three times, not telling her about the chair incident.  For a minute, I sat there nervously, wondering if I should call her back now and tell her.  But, against my better judgment, I decided to try fixing the chair instead and hopefully avoid any further punishment.

Fortunately, the chair was in better shape than it looked.  The two back legs were only partially broken – the wood was still connected in back, and by bending them back into place they hardly appeared damaged at all, as long as no lateral force was applied.  And the seat back could be twisted back into shape as well; it too was loose, but looked no worse for the wear at a glance.  I took a deep breath.  This could turn out alright.  I had broken Kyra’s chair, but I just needed to swap it with a different chair and she would never know.  She always sat in the same spot, as far as I could remember.  I swapped it with a chair that neither of us used and made sure it looked like new.  Satisfied, I went upstairs to finish cleaning Kyra’s rooms.

It was a long, arduous process, by far the most intense cleaning I had ever done.  I brought up another chair, slowly this time, and finished dusting off the closet shelf, as well as cleaned the bathroom mirror and anything else up high.  Then I transferred her items to the new bathroom and cleaned the tub, sink, toilet, and floor.  By 9:00, everything was looking good at a glance.  But I remembered her chilling demand: not so much as a hair lying about.  I lost track of time as I, with the utmost care and attention, took her statement very literally and combed both rooms for anything left behind: hairs, tiny pieces of trash on the ground, specks of dust, anything.  I even crawled all the way under both beds this time (one advantage of being small) and vacuumed every inch.  I meticulously dusted and cleaned every nook and cranny, as she told me.

Just as I was finishing up, I remembered that I still had to write down my passwords and account information for Kyra.  Thank God I remembered before it was too late!  Though it felt like I was signing my adulthood away, I took a good 10 minutes thinking of all the important websites and accounts I owned and writing them down neatly on a sheet of paper, then placing it on Kyra’s desk, lining up the paper with the edge of the desk to look extra-tidy.

At long last, I looked upon my work and was satisfied.  I just hoped to God that Kyra would be as well.  I looked at the clock --12:30 AM.  Wow, I had spent a solid 11 or 12 hours cleaning and moving for her.  If that’s not good enough, I don’t know what is.  I felt my stomach gurgle and realized I was so busy I forgot to eat.  I went downstairs and scrounged around –there was practically nothing in the fridge.  I settled on a meager meal of crackers, cheese, and some applesauce.  If I had had my normal appetite I would still be starving after my little meal, but with my miniature stomach I was still hungry but not unbearably so.

I brushed my teeth and got ready for bed.  I gave one last look at my old room.  My big, comfortable old room where everything had been arranged just how I liked it for the last 20 years, now devoid of any of my belongings and soon off-limits to me.  I turned toward my new tiny room and went to bed with a heavy heart.

********************************

Monday: 4’4”

I woke up to the sound of the phone ringing.  Oh crap!  Kyra hated it when I didn’t answer.  Adrenaline kicked in to overcome my grogginess as I dashed downstairs and picked up.  “Mommy?” I asked.

A voice other than Kyra’s answered.  “Oh, I’m sorry little boy, I’m calling for James.  Is he your daddy?  Can you get him, please?”

Did I really sound like a kid now, too?  Now that I think of it, it made sense that my voice would get higher pitched since my vocal chords had gotten shorter.  But I guess I hadn’t noticed a change in my own voice.  “Uh, actually, this is he,” I said, trying to drop my voice a bit and sound more mature.

“James, is that really you?”

“Yes!” I said, getting irritated.  “And who the hell is this?”

“Watch your mouth when you’re talking to your boss,” she snapped.  Oh, shit!  I hadn’t quite placed her voice.  “You should be groveling on all fours, after missing practically all of last week without warning!  And you’re late again today!  Where the hell have you been!?”  Boy, she was pissed.

“I’m sorry, I’ve been, uh, really sick all week and I forgot to call.”

She wasn’t buying it.  “Bullshit.  If you’re not going to tell me the real reason over the phone then you’d better tell me to my face.  If you don’t show up at work today, you’re fired.  Understand?”

“Yes, ma’am, absolutely.  … Oh, uh, but I don’t have a car or anyone to drive me right now.”  I realized that Kyra would already be at school and wouldn’t get back until 5:00.

“You’re a big boy, right?  Deal with it!” she snapped, hanging up the phone.  Gah!  My life just kept getting worse.  I was hosed, unless I could find a way to get to work.  It wasn’t all that far – with my short legs it would take me a while but I would make it in time.  But what if Kyra came home after all and found that I had left the house?  She had expressly forbid it.  I weighed my options as I took a shower (in the hallway bathroom, to avoid messing up Kyra’s bathroom) and dressed.  Was avoiding Kyra’s wrath worth losing my job over?  It seemed like an obvious choice – yes, of course I should go to work, right? – but I was just so damn scared of Kyra.

But as 10:00 rolled around, I was sure that she had gone to school, and I would be safe to leave for a while and get back by 5:00.  She might call the house, but I would just have to make an excuse like I hadn’t heard it ring or something, and deal with her punishment.  Still better than losing my job, that’s for sure.  When I was out, I figured I would stop by the doctor’s office too, since the test results were waiting for me since Thursday.  I called ahead, and after explaining to the receptionist that I was a grown man, not a child, and that I had test results waiting, she told me that the only available time today was at 3:00.  “The doctor is absolutely booked through ‘til then, there’s no way I can squeeze you in early.”  Fine, I thought.  I would just wait around until then, and I could still make it back before Kyra.

I was dressed in my nice clothes – the polo and slacks that I thought helped me look more grown-up, but Kyra thought just looked cute on my little body.  And they no doubt looked even more so now: oversized and baggy, as if I were wearing hand-me-downs from an older brother.  But hell, it was the best I could do.  Ready to leave, I went to grab my things but realized I didn’t really have anything: Kyra had taken my wallet, phone, and the only set of house keys.  With empty pockets, I headed out.  Unfortunately, I had to leave the front door unlocked, but who would ever know?  I wouldn’t be gone that long.

It was a warm spring day.  I hadn’t been outside in two whole days, and it felt wonderful.  I made my way down the street, enjoying the green grass and patches of flowers in bloom.  For once, I was happy and free.

It was pretty much a straight shot from my subdivision to work, and I could walk along the same road most of the way.  I was getting a little uncomfortable, though.  It was a busy sidewalk, and it was unnerving being around so many people who were anywhere from one to two feet taller than me.  I was used to seeing the tops of people’s heads in the past, but now all I could see were midsections and long legs striding all around me.  My short legs couldn’t carry me very fast, and I was bumped and jostled several times by big people who either didn’t see me or were in too big a rush to care.  At least, one of them was a real beauty – I gaped up at her as she whooshed by, sidestepping another pedestrian while bumping into me and almost knocking me over.  I didn’t mind, though, as her round, firm tushy pressed into my chest.

But my pleasure immediately faded as I saw a creepy-looking guy looming to my right.  He was walking alongside me and I noticed him glancing down at me now and then.  He had a stereotypical thin mustache, greasy hair, crooked teeth, and gaudy unbuttoned shirt showing too much chest hair – everything you’d expect in a child molester.

I started to get nervous, and I picked up the pace a bit.  He lagged behind, and I thought I had lost him when I felt his hand brush my back, with the pretense of stepping aside for someone else.  This was not good.  I slipped around a few other pairs of legs and scrambled forward, trying not to get run over.  Looking back, I saw I had built a good distance between us, but turning forward I stopped abruptly as a car whizzed by in front of me.  I was stuck at an intersection.  I turned and saw him approaching, and the sick perv was staring right at me!  Oh crap.  I was hemmed in by giants on all sides, with nowhere to run.  I edged my way to the curb, getting as far away from him as possible.  But I had run out of real estate, and he was closing in.  Don’t panic, there’s nothing he can do in this crowd, I told myself.  But I panicked anyway as I saw him still looking at me, inching slowly forward in the crowd.

Then, miraculously, I heard tires screech behind me and heard a voice which recently I had come to dread, but which I now welcomed whole-heartedly.  “James Michael, get in the car this instant!”  Kyra had pulled up in the car next to the curb and popped the passenger door open, and she didn’t have to tell me twice.  I jumped in and slammed the door shut.

“It’s you!” I said in astonishment.  “I was just –“

“Not another word,” she snapped.  I shut my mouth as she turned us around and headed home.  Her teeth were clenched and her knuckles were white from gripping the steering wheel tightly.  She seemed furious, yes, but there was also something else which I couldn’t place.  Anyways, as she drove home, I had trouble keeping my eyes off of her, wearing another of her gut-wrenching outfits.

We got back home and went inside the house.  Then I felt myself being whirled around and lifted into the air.  She had her hands under my armpits and carried me with ease to the wall, holding me against it in front of her.  My feet dangled two feet off the ground as she held my face almost level with hers.  “Where the hell were you, Jimmy!  I told you never to leave the house under any circumstances!” she yelled at me.  Her hands were clamped painfully around my chest, making it a bit hard to breathe.

After a pause, her hard gaze softened and her grip on me loosened considerably.  “I was so worried about you, Jimmy!  Can you imagine coming home and finding your little boy missing, with the front door unlocked!  I thought some bad people had come and taken you away!” she said like a concerned mother.  She pulled my hanging body into hers and wrapped her arms around me in a tight embrace.  She said into my ear, “I can’t believe you were just walking through that crowd around all those strangers!  It would be so easy for someone to just snatch your little body up!”

I … I didn’t know what to make of this.  I had expected a spanking, verbal abuse, and God knows what else.  But instead, her voice had become so … caring and impassioned, truly concerned for my well-being.  I was actually a bit touched.  I even started to tell her what had happened but thought better of it.

“What is it Jimmy?” she asked, holding me out in midair in front of her.  “Tell Mommy,” she demanded.

“Well, uh, there was this one guy who made me, uh, a little scared.  He followed me around and kept looking at me.  But you came just in time.”

Kyra’s eyes grew wide.  “Oh my God!  I can’t even imagine what he might have done to you, and you would have been powerless to stop him!  Oh!” she said, deeply pained at the thought.  She pulled me into her with renewed strength.

“I’m sorry, Mommy, it won’t happen again, I swear!”

“I’m mad at you, Jimmy, but I’m even madder at myself.  It was stupid of me to leave a little child like you all alone.  That’s the last time I make that mistake,” she declared.  “From now on, I’m going to make sure you’re under adult supervision at all times.”

What!?  Oh God, no.  “But I’ve learned my lesson!  I’ll be good!”  I continued to beg as she shifted my weight around in her arms then positioned me so that I was straddling her hip like a child.  She cupped my bottom with her left hand as I put my arms around her neck for support.  Kyra simply ignored my pleas as she walked us over to the bottom of the stairs, a look of determination on her face.  Then she put her right hand to my mouth and said, “Enough.  Now tell me what you were doing away from home,” she demanded calmly.

I told her about my boss threatening to fire me if I wasn’t there today, how I needed to see the doctor, and how I thought she’d be home too late for me to make it on time.  Then I asked why she wasn’t at school.  “Don’t try to change the subject, young man.  That’s no excuse to leave home,” she said condescendingly.  I thought it was a great excuse, but my opinion no longer carried any weight.

“Your safety comes first,” she continued.  “Hmm … what to do with you the rest of the day … Ah, I’ll tell you what.  I’m leaving for school after lunch.  One of my teachers runs afternoon detention.  He has a huge crush on me so he’ll pretty much do whatever I want him to.  So I can easily convince him to watch you for the afternoon.  You’re technically much too young now to be on a high school campus but it won’t be a problem.  But first we can stop by your office and sort things out with your boss, then stop by the doctor’s to pick up your test results.  But,” she said, squeezing my butt and holding my chin up to her gaze, “I’ll only do this much for you if you promise to be on your absolute best behavior.”  I nodded graciously.  I had half-expected to never be allowed to set foot outside the house again; this was truly unexpected.  I was almost … grateful for her generosity, in spite of it all.

She carried me effortlessly up the stairs and walked into her second (old) bedroom.  Putting me down, she said, “Now, just because I’m being so nice to you doesn’t mean you won’t still be punished when we get home.  But before I decide your punishment, I’m going to inspect my rooms to see if they’re clean.  You may stand over there patiently and watch,” she said, gesturing to the corner.  I obeyed without question.

Kyra was every bit as meticulous in her inspection as I was in my cleaning last night.  Alas, there were inevitably some specks of dust or tiny crumbs here and there that I missed.  Kyra picked up a few crumbs and loose hairs as she moved about the room.  “Hold these,” she told me as she placed the crumbs and hairs on my proffered hand.  Then her gaze moved upwards as she inspected the closet shelf.  Where I could just barely reach from atop a chair, she was able to reach easily in only her heels.  “Hmm, good,” she muttered.  I was glad I remembered that.  She then checked all around the window sill, which I also cleaned.  But the last thing she checked was the light – it was mounted on the ceiling with a translucent globe covering the bulb.  As she wiped her finger across it, it came up dusty.  “Tsk, tsk,” she chided.  “I expected better.”

“But I couldn’t reach it, not even in the chair!” I exclaimed.  Well, I had forgotten to clean it anyway, but still.  Kyra gave me a stern sidelong glance and I fell silent, bowing my head in deference.  “Follow,” she ordered, beckoning me with her finger.  We went to her new master bedroom and she repeated the inspection with the same result: more crumbs, and more dust on the light.

She beckoned again, and I followed her down the stairs into the kitchen.  Turning to me, she said, “So, Jimmy, do you think you did a good job cleaning my rooms?”  She was testing me.

Nonetheless, I defended myself.  “Well, overall I think it was good …” I said uncertainly, my voice quavering.  “I mean, I worked as hard as I could all day long and I stayed up past midnight.”

“I didn’t ask you how long you spent,” she retorted, “I asked if you are satisfied with your work.  Did you do what I asked you to do?”

“Well, uh, yeah?  Kinda?” I said, more as a question than a statement.

Kyra was growing impatient with me.  Putting her hands on her hips, she stared down at me and said, “Do I really have to explain it to you like you’re a 5-year-old?  How clean did I ask you to make my rooms?”

I gulped.  “Spotless.  Not a hair on the ground.”

“And what did I find on the ground?”

I grimaced.  “Some hairs.”

“Not to mention the lights, which were such a mess.  You need to get back there right now and finish what I asked of you.”

“Yes, ma’am.”  As I turned away, though, I remembered something.  “I’m too short to reach the lights, even with the chair.”

“You’ll just have to get creative then,” she replied coldly.

“Isn’t it dangerous for me?  What if I fall?” I replied cleverly to get out of this work.

“I’ll be watching to make sure you do your job, and I’ll catch you if you fall,” she said, foiling my plan.  I grudgingly hauled the closest dining room chair up the stairs.  I realized it was even more work than yesterday at my new height.  After much exertion, and some embarrassment at Kyra seeing my troubles, I got it up there and put it into place under the light.  Climbing up was even a bit of a challenge, as the seat was about as high as my inseam now.  I was still several inches too short, as predicted, so I climbed back down and hunted for something to prop me up.  To my annoyance, Kyra followed me everywhere I went, watching in silence.  I found it incredible to think how easily Kyra could accomplish this simple task just by raising her arms to the lights, yet for me to accomplish the same felt like a grueling whole-body workout.

I pulled out a stool from the bathroom and returned.  Climbing on top of the chair and stool, I was now just high enough to reach the ceiling if I was up on my toes.  At least now I stood taller than Kyra, if only just.

“Um, could you get me the cleaning supplies?” I asked Kyra nicely.  She just stood there with hands on her hips staring up at me blankly until I sighed and went downstairs to retrieve them myself.  What a bitch, I thought.  God, everything was so much easier at 6’6”.  I came back and cleaned the light, with Kyra pointing out every tiny bit of dust I missed.  Then I repeated the ordeal, dragging the chair to the master bedroom and cleaning that light.  But this time, I slipped as I extended to reach the last spot on the light.  Thankfully, Kyra caught me.  I looked down as she did so and realized just how far down I would have fallen.

She set me down and leaned in towards me.  She leaned way over but was still a head taller than me.  “From now on, when I ask you to clean my room, this is what I expect, OK?” she said, talking down to me.  I nodded.  She stood up straight and said, “I’m hungry.  It’s time for lunch.”  I went to take the chair back down, but she stopped me.  “It’ll take you forever to bring that down.  After lunch,” she commanded.

Kyra got out leftovers and put some on two plates, not even asking me what I wanted.  I sat down as she microwaved them then brought them over.  “Would you get the drinks, Jimmy?” she asked as she set our plates on the table.  I went to the fridge.  “So, Jimmy, after lunch we are going to – WHAT THE HELLL!!!” she exclaimed as her chair gave out and she crashed to the floor.  Only then did I realize my mistake: I had taken her chair upstairs, causing her to instead sit on the broken one.

Bewildered, she picked herself up and brushed bits of wood off her shirt.  Meanwhile, sensing my peril, I was slowly backing away, shimmying along the kitchen counter towards the garage door.  In retrospect, it would have been best to deny everything and she might have thought it just broke on its own.  But I wasn’t thinking straight, and my instinct was to get the hell out of there.

“That was weird. …Um, Jimmy, what are you doing?” she asked, seeing me cowering away from her.  “Jimmmyyyy…” she said slowly.  “Did you know about this?”  She approached me.  “Did you break the chair?”

I tried to shrink away but she gave me no room to escape, placing her feet on either side of me along the counter.  “No, why would you say that?” I asked, trying to sound innocent.  But she just leaned further, and I was forced to bend my back against the top of the counter and hold my head back in an attempt to keep away from her.

She moved in closer still, her feet apart and touching the counter in front of her, her thighs pressing in on either side of my stomach and chest, her hands on her hips, her abdomen filling my vision.  My eyes were barely level with her belly button.  Leaning back and craning my neck, I could just see her eyes peering down at me over her rack.

She stood over me motionless for at least half a minute.  By then, my entire body was shaking in fear and awe.  Then, in a quiet, perfectly calm voice, she asked, “Did you break the chair and try to hide it from me?”

My voice cracked.  “Y-Yes, Mommy,” I admitted.

She loomed above me for another excruciating minute.  Ever so slowly, I tried to creep sideways along the counter in a hopeless attempt to get away from her.  Her hand shot out to my shoulder just below my neck.  She squeezed hard and pushed, painfully bending my back even farther.  I gave out a pitiful cry.  Looking up beyond her boobs, I saw an evil smile creep across her face as she said, “I’ve decided on a slight … change of plans today.  Let’s just say I won’t be quite as generous as promised,” she chuckled.

She released me from her grasp.  Looking at the clock, she told me, “We’ll have to hurry if I’m going to make my 5th period class.  Go change your clothes.”

“But why?” I complained, greatly preferring this outfit to my other kiddie outfits.  “Can’t I stay in this?”

Kyra shook her head in exasperation and grabbed my arm.  “I don’t have time for this.”  She hauled me up the stairs brusquely and opened the door to my room.  “Jimmy, what the hell are all these?” she asked, pointing to the pile of boxes I had filled with my belongings.

“That’s my stuff!  I didn’t have time to arrange them in my room yet.”

“Jimmy, you don’t need this stuff anymore.  I already put everything you need in your room yesterday.” 

What!?  There was practically nothing in here except my new clothes and bedcover.  “We’ll deal with this later.  Come on,” she said impatiently, grabbing my ‘Hey, Arnold’ shirt and matching shorts.  She proceeded to change me herself, brusquely removing my old clothes and putting on my new outfit.  She engulfed my hand in hers, took me downstairs, gathered her keys and purse, and headed out the door.

After a few minutes in the car, I ventured, “Mommy, where are we going?”

“Why, Jimmy, I’m taking you to the doctor’s and then to work.”

“Really?” I asked, pleasantly surprised that she was sticking to her word.  “But then what?” I asked apprehensively.

“Oh, I’ll find someplace for you,” she replied ominously.  “You’re lucky if I don’t leave you in the trunk today after what you pulled.”  I gulped.  I had bad memories of being trapped in her closet all day, and the trunk would be a good 20 degrees hotter!

We reached the doctor’s office and entered the waiting room.  “We’re here to see Dr. Williams,” Kyra announced to the receptionist.

She asked for the patient’s name.  “Jimmy Roberts,” Kyra answered, leaving me totally out of the conversation.

“Let’s see … Ah, do I have a James Roberts on file, but we have him down as 41 years of age,” she said, eyeing me quizzically.

“Trust me, this little guy is he,” she said, ruffling my hair.  “The doctor knows his situation.”

“Uhhh, yeahhhhh,” the receptionist said slowly, not wanting to call her a liar to her face.  “Well, in any case, I don’t see any appointment scheduled for today.”

Kyra replied authoritatively, “That’s OK, he has some test results in and we only need the doctor for a few minutes.”

“Well, I’m sorry ma’am, but Dr. Williams is completely booked today.  He won’t be able to see him until tomorrow at the earliest.”

“It won’t take long,” Kyra said, and, to the amazement of both me and the receptionist, she took my hand, opened the door next to the reception window, and walked through.

“Hey!  You can’t go in there!” the receptionist called out.  Kyra paid her no heed as she continued down the hallway, looking inside the examination rooms for Dr. Williams.  She found him in one of the rooms talking to a patient with the door cracked open.

“Dr. Williams,” Kyra said, barging in.

“What is this!?” he asked, whirling around indignantly.  “Oh – what a surprise!  It’s … It’s Kyra!  You’re looking well today.”  I noticed his eyes light up then quickly scan her body up and down.  That lousy bastard.  I hated him now more than ever.

“Um … but this is highly inappropriate.  I’m in the middle of an examination,” Dr. Williams continued, ushering us out the door.  He made no indication that he recognized me.  “I don’t recall you having an appointment today, dear.  But if you go see the receptionist I’m sure she’ll sort everything out.”  He guided us out the door and began closing it.

Kyra’s hand shot out and pushed the door open.  Taken off guard, Dr. Williams stumbled back with bewilderment.  “Actually,” Kyra said as she approached him, “I’d rather see you now.”  She rested her hand lightly on the doctor’s shoulder and moved in close.

The doctor wasn’t short, but still Kyra stood a head taller than him in her heels.  He nervously stood before her, alternating his gaze between her eyes and her ample cleavage hanging before him.  After a few seconds, he said uncertainly, “Um, this isn’t a good time.  Please leave.”

Not to be denied, Kyra clamped down on his shoulder, causing him to yelp in surprise.  “No, you’re going to see us right now,” she declared firmly.  She turned her gaze to the patient in the chair who had watched the whole scene in amazement.  “Get out,” she commanded, and the man scampered away and shut the door behind him.  “Jimmy, sit down,” she ordered, pointing to the examination chair.  I quickly complied, knowing the price of disobedience.  “Now, doc, you are going to see little Jimmy now.”

Cowering in fear, he nodded in consent.  Kyra released him and he obediently turned to me.  At least I wasn’t the only grown man Kyra could so easily bend to her will.  “So, is this y-your brother, then?” he asked, rattled.

“Don’t you recognize him?  This is James Roberts, the shrinking guy.”

His eyes grew wide.  “My God!  I hadn’t realized how small he’d get!  Unbelievable!” he said, inspecting my body as if it were some strange insect.  “How tall is he now?” he asked.  I realized that I hadn’t been included in a single conversation since I had gotten here.

“Four feet, four inches,” Kyra replied as the doctor looked on in wonderment.

After poking and prodding me a bit, the doctor stood up and told Kyra, “Well, I have some bad news and some good news.  The bad news is, while we haven’t identified the specific pathogen affecting his body, it’s related to a known form of bacterium, and based on what we know of it we are quite certain the effects will continue for some time, maybe indefinitely.”  Indefinitely?  As in, I would shrink to nothingness?  “The good news is that we have some antibiotics that work on the related pathogen and we believe it will eradicate this strain as well.  If it works, it would stop the effects of the pathogen immediately.  That is why we urged you to come see us at the end of last week.”

“Well, he was tied up last week,” Kyra replied, cocking an eyebrow at me to make sure I caught the pun, reminding me of last Friday when she tied me under her bed while she and her boyfriend … I didn’t want to think about it.

“Oh, I see.  Well, uh, as I was saying, we estimate a 90% chance of success with the antibiotic.  Of course, we’ve never seen this particular strain before so there very well may be unforeseen side effects, but it’s certainly worth the risk.  I’m prepared to administer the antidote right now.”

“So, if it works, will he return to his original height?” Kyra asked.

“Absolutely not, I’m afraid.  The effects of the pathogen are irreversible.  It would only prevent further shrinkage.”  Kyra looked at me with an unsettling smile as she heard this.  The doctor continued, “I’ll go get the antidote now.”

Kyra shocked us both by grabbing his arm and stopping him.  “Actually, doc,” she said, looking down at me with an evil gleam in her eye, “Little Jimmy here has been awfully naughty lately.  I believe it would do him some good to gain a new ‘perspective’ on things.  I don’t think he’s ready for the antidote quite yet.”

I stood up in shock.  “WHAT!!?” I exclaimed, speaking up for the first time that visit.  “Are you mad!?  You’re just going to let me keep shrinking!?”

The doctor was bewildered as well.  “Ma’am, I really think you ought to reconsider!  These are serious consequences we’re talking about.  And,” he continued, gulping, “technically he is still an adult and has the right to make his own decision.”

I had to make stand here.  “That’s right!  I’m still an adult and you can’t tell me what to do!”

She loomed threateningly over me.  “What did you say, little boy?”

I was scared shitless of her, but I held my ground.  “I’m not your little boy, Kyra, I’m a man!”  To a stranger, this statement would have seemed hilarious coming from the high-pitched voice of a 4’4” person who had every appearance of being a 9-year-old boy. 

But Kyra was not amused.  She picked me clean off the ground with one arm and sat on the examination chair.  Within seconds she had pulled my pants down and roughly turned me face down across her lap.  I started to yell for help but was immediately silenced by her hand.  She reached over to the nearby counter and grabbed a roll of gauze, then crammed it into my mouth.  “That oughta shut you up,” she sneered.  I heard the sound of feet shuffling on the floor.  I then heard Kyra snap harshly at the doctor, “Don’t you move another inch.  I’m not through with you yet.”  The shuffling stopped.  The next thing I heard was a loud whirring sound as she started some machine up, no doubt to mask the sound of her slaps on my butt.

Kyra then proceeded to give me the worst beating of my life, well beyond any other she had given me yet.  I had immediately started wailing in pain, but the huge roll of gauze jammed in my mouth was surprisingly effective at muffling my cries.  As the blows rained down on my ass, she told me, “This is for forgetting you’re a little boy,” and many blows later, “This is for forgetting I’m your mother,” and then, for the longest beating of them all, “This is for calling me Kyra again.  I warned you.”

The blows just kept coming, the pain becoming more unbearable with every slap.  During those few minutes, I forgot everything about my life, my job, my shrinking – my mind was filled with nothing but pain: excruciating, obliterating pain.

At long last, the blows stopped and I felt myself being lifted off her legs.  She let me down on my feet and I tried to stand but immediately crumpled in a heap on the floor, tears still pouring down my cheeks.  Through my bitter sobs, I saw Kyra walk towards the doctor and back him into a corner.  I couldn’t make out all the words, but I surmised that she was commanding him not to tell anyone about what just happened, and that he was scared shitless.  I heard a vigorous, “Yes ma’am!” then I saw her walk towards me.

I felt my world shift as she easily picked me up and sat me on her hip with my legs straddling her midsection like before.  The doctor hastily opened the door for her, and as we walked by Kyra told him, “Thank you, Dr. Williams.  We’ll be back for that treatment in, oh, maybe a week, maybe longer.”  I gulped, not wanting to calculate what my height would be after each passing week.

As we passed by, I saw a few tears streaming down the doctor’s face.  “Y-Yes, ma’am, I’ll see you then,” he replied as he wiped them away.  As we walked down the hallway, I looked back over Kyra’s shoulder and saw a nurse approach him.  I heard her ask, “Is everything alright?  I heard shouting.”  “Yes, yes, everything’s absolutely fine,” he said emphatically.  We then walked into the waiting room.  The receptionist stood and stared as she saw Kyra walk by with me on her hip, my eyes still wet and puffy from the ordeal in the examination room.  “Have a nice day,” Kyra told her snidely as she carried me out to the car.

I was still shell-shocked as she sat me down on the passenger’s side, walked around to the driver’s seat, and headed for my office.  I would hate for my colleagues to see me like this, crying like a baby and dressed like a little kid to boot.  But at least the office was a good ways away, giving me time to get over the former problem, although I knew I couldn’t avoid the latter.

We pulled into the parking lot and Kyra shut off the engine.  “Now, Jimmy, do you know why I punished you so much?”  I didn’t respond, still too shy to speak after that humiliating beating.  “It was partly because you were naughty and disrespectful, but the big reason was that you still see yourself as a grown-up, and I’m trying as hard as I can to help you get over that illusion.”  This bitch was crazy!  Her idea of helping me get over it is to beat me senseless?  But I didn’t dare voice my opinion.

Kyra unbuckled her seatbelt and leaned toward me until her face was inches above mine.  I also noticed that this opened up an immense valley of cleavage down below.  Jesus, each of her melons had to be the size of my entire head now.  “Someday you’ll understand that I’m only doing what’s best for you.  You’ll see.”  I gaped in awe when her bosom squeezed together as her arm reached out to rub my belly.  I moaned softly at her touch.  She was completely overwhelming my senses again, and I began to forget that this was the same woman who had so savagely beaten me a short while ago.  “Feeling better, Jimmy?  Ready to head up to your office?”  I actually was suddenly feeling better, thanks to her.  I nodded sheepishly and Kyra said, “Good Jimmy.  That’s a good wittle boy.”

We both got out of the car but I wobbled a bit on my feet.  Kyra came over and promptly whisked me into the air and back onto her hip.  Her hand on my butt caused me to wince in pain.

“Kyra, I can walk myself,” I said softly, though I had to admit it felt very nice.

“No calling me that, Jimmy,” my daughter replied sharply, squeezing my bottom for emphasis.

I yelped a bit and apologized immediately as she walked us into my office building.

“What floor, Jimmy?”

“Four,” I replied sullenly, dreading the prospect of all my coworkers seeing me like this.  But I knew I had to; it was better to work like this than to get fired altogether.

As the elevator was about to open, I pleaded, “Mommy, please let me down, it’s embarrassing!”

“You have nothing to be embarrassed about, you’re not too old to be carried around by your mother,” she said, poking my nose playfully.  I cringed as the doors opened.  As we walked past some desks towards the receptionist, I expected people to cry out in surprise as they saw me.  But no one did.  Instead, I saw my coworker Bill walk by, checking Kyra out briefly then looking at me with a pleasant smile.  We passed several more people I knew, all giving me the same pleasant smile.  I slowly began to realize that nobody recognized me anymore.  And who could blame them?

We reached Vicky, the receptionist – someone I had known for years! – and Kyra sat me down on the front of her tall desk.  “Good afternoon!” Vicky said cheerfully.  “And who is this little guy?” she said, flashing me a bright smile.  I was too humiliated to answer.  But Kyra said simply, “His name is Jimmy.”

Just then I saw the one person whom I didn’t want to see me like this.  Her name was Amy Adams, and we had shared a cubicle for 2 years now.  I always counted myself lucky, since she was a real beauty – easily the hottest thing in this office.  And she was fun and lively too, and quite sharp.  We had a nice rapport, and we were always teasing each other back and forth during work.  I had always meant to make a move but didn’t want it to make things awkward between us.  Or maybe I just didn’t have the balls.  But either way I knew things would be completely different now.

She walked up, bent down with her hands on her knees, and looked me straight in the eye but didn’t even recognize her best friend in the office.  Instead, she said, “Oooo, Jimmy is it?  Well aren’t you a cute little fella?  I bet in a few years you’ll be a real heartthrob!”

“Uh…” I started, but no words came out.  Kyra interjected, “He sure is, isn’t he?  And he’s quite a handful, too.”  Kyra was just loving this.

“Oh, I bet he is.  These little rascals are always getting into trouble.  Aren’t you?” she cooed, reaching forward and mussing my hair.  “Well, I have to get going, but it was sure nice meeting you, Jimmy!”  She held her hand out so I would give her a high five.  I was too humiliated to go along with it.  I mean, not only would I never have a chance anymore with her sexually, but she thought I was a little child now on top of it!?  That was a lot to stomach.  My eyes started to water up.  Amy looked disappointed and started to retract her hand.

“Jimmy, give the nice lady a high five,” Kyra commanded gently.  I reluctantly reached my hand out and pushed it into her own much larger hand.  Amy squealed in delight and skipped away to her desk.

“So, how can I help you two?” the receptionist interjected.

“Ah yes, we would like to see Ms. Johnson,” Kyra said, asking for my boss.

“And who should I say wants to see her?”

“Kyra Roberts.”

“OK, let me – wait a minute, are you related to James Roberts?  Have you seen him?” she asked.

I looked up at Kyra, pleading her not to reveal my identity in front of the whole office.  She just gave me a smirk and told the receptionist, “Why of course!  This is him right here.”

The receptionist’s mouth dropped open.  I heard a stapler hit the ground behind me.  The entire room quickly went silent as those that heard my identity passed on the news to those further away.  “J-James?” the receptionist said, bewildered.

“Hi Vicky,” I said sheepishly, my face turning bright red.

“Oh my God …” she replied, covering her mouth with her hand.

My coworkers started to crowd around me.  I saw two dozen huge faces leering down at me, inspecting me.  I felt naked before their prying eyes.

I saw Amy push her way through the crowd.  “James, is that you!?  Oh my God, I didn’t recognize you!” She bent down and gave me a firm hug then pulled back and looked me up and down.  I’m sorry for earlier – you just look so … tiny!”  Realizing her mistake, she blushed and said, “I’m sorry!  I didn’t mean to say that!  You just look … different, is all.”

I didn’t have much time to wallow in humiliation as another body came pushing through the crowd.  “What’s going on here, people?  Why aren’t you working?”  Seeing me sitting there, she asked, “And who is this?”

Amy turned to her with a pained expression and said, “Ms. Johnson, can you believe it?  This is James.”

Ms. Johnson turned to me and squinted.  “James … Roberts?”  Amy nodded.  “My God, you can’t be serious!”

Kyra interjected, “I’m afraid so, Ms. Johnson.  He’s shrunk to 4’4”.”  To illustrate, she picked me up off the desk and put me on the ground.  I heard gasps all around.  I found myself surrounded by a sea of long legs and tall midsections.  I only came up to the shoulders of the shortest of them, and of course I came to far below chest level to the tallest, including Kyra.

Kyra continued, “I believe you wanted to speak with him today, Ms. Johnson?”

Snapping out of her trance, Ms. Johnson replied, “… Yes, yes, that’s right.  Follow me.”  My coworkers stepped aside and stared down at me as the three of us walked to my boss’s office.  “Back to work, people,” she told them.

Once inside, she said to Kyra, “I didn’t catch your name.”

“Kyra.  Kyra Roberts,” she said, shaking my boss’s hand firmly.

“Now that’s a firm grip, Kyra!” she said playfully.  “And you must be his … daughter?” she ventured.

“Yes.  Well, officially I am his daughter, yes.  But you see,” she said, putting both hands down on my shoulders and turning me to face Ms. Johnson, “I’ve had to take on much more responsibilities ever since Jimmy started shrinking.  There’s just so much that he can’t do on his own now, and I’ve really had to step up and take charge, for his sake.”

Ms. Johnson paused and glanced down at me – I could see, behind her surprise, there was already some mirth in her eyes.  The two of us hadn’t exactly gotten along in the past – and lately she had probably been hating me more than ever for my weeklong absence.  And so it seemed a little bit fitting that she showed so little sympathy for my plight now, almost seeming to take it right in stride as she looked back up at Kyra and smiled.

“Oh, I know exactly what you mean!  I raised two children all by myself, and it’s just incredible how much work they are!”  I looked up in dismay as even my boss was now associating me with young children.  I definitely felt like a little child as these two towering women talked above me, having a ‘grown-up’ conversation and leaving me out of it!

“Oh, I know, tell me about it!  Now I have to drive him everywhere, cook for him, keep an eye on him at all times – in fact, I made the mistake of leaving him alone this morning, and do you know what he did?”

“What did he do?” my boss asked, greatly intrigued.

“Little Jimmy here proceeded to break the dining room chair and then tried to cover it up.  I almost broke my back when I sat down!”  Ms. Johnson looked down at me, shaking her head as if to say, ‘Shame on you.’  “And that’s not all!  When I got home I found out he had left home all by himself!”

“He didn’t!” Ms. Johnson replied, putting her hand over her mouth in shock.  “What if someone wanted to just snatch him up?  There are bad people in this world.”

“That’s exactly what I said!  And, in fact, when I finally hunted him down on a busy street corner he told me there was someone following him who wanted to do just that.”

“Oh my God, I can’t imagine how worried you must have been!”  She put her hand on Kyra’s shoulder to console her.  Then she lowered her gaze to me and wagged her finger, scolding me as she would a child, “That was very naughty, Jimmy.  You ought to know better.  If I was your mother I’d give you a whoopin’ you’d never forget.”

I couldn’t believe how readily Ms. Johnson went along with treating me like a child.  She most certainly knew exactly what she was doing, too.  I wanted to shrivel up in a corner and die, but Kyra held me fast.

“As a matter of fact, I did have to give him a spanking, right in the middle of his doctor’s appointment, no less!”

“Really!  He was acting up that much?”

“Oh yes, Ms. Johnson,—“

“Please, Kyra, call me Becky,” she interjected.  I had never known her to allow anyone to call her that.  Apparently treating me the way Kyra had been treating me was a fast ticket to my boss’s friendship.  I also wondered if Ms. Johnson realized that Kyra was only in high school – I knew my daughter could be easily confused for an adult sometimes, based on her appearance.

“Sure, Becky,” Kyra smiled.  “As I was saying, you wouldn’t believe the words that have been coming out of his mouth lately.  Like the other day, when I had to suspend his computer and TV privileges when he wouldn’t turn it off …“

“Good for you,” Ms. Johnson interjected approvingly.

“And all the mischief he’s gotten himself into…” Kyra continued, shaking her head disparagingly.  At least I was grateful that she didn’t mention me spying on her or coming on her bra.  “This certainly wasn’t the first time I’ve had to punish him.”

My neck was really starting to hurt from craning my neck as they continued to chat far above me.  “Well, you did the right thing, Kyra,” Ms. Johnson counseled.  “Trust me, I know.  You have to be strict, or else they’ll never learn.”  She peered down at me condescendingly as she said this.  Jesus, my boss had always been a hard-ass and had said less-than-friendly things to me before, but this was insane!

Then her stare darkened even more as she continued, “Speaking of misbehaving …”  She looked back up at Kyra.  “You should have heard him this morning.  He used the H-word when he answered the phone, and when I asked where he has been these last few days he even lied to me about being sick!”

“What!?” Kyra responded.  I felt myself being whirled around as she leaned down, gripping my arms painfully.  “Jimmy!  That’s no way to talk to a grown-up.”  She whirled me back around to face my boss.  “Now apologize to Ms. Johnson.”

I had no choice.  I looked up at my boss waiting expectantly with hands on her hips.  The shame was too great; I quickly lowered my eyes to the ground.  “I’m sorry,” I grumbled.

I felt a hand grab my chin and raise my head up.  But, to my surprise, it was Ms. Johnson, not Kyra, who did it.  “Look into my eyes when apologizing.  And speak up.”

I withered under her gaze.  I had been reprimanded plenty of times by her in the past, but it was never nearly so terrifying, or humiliating, as right now.  “I’m sorry, Ms. Johnson!” I said loudly.

She released my jaw and said, “Good enough.”

Kyra chimed in, “I can promise you it won’t happen again after tonight, Becky.  He’s got another spanking coming when we get home.  In fact, if you’d like to do the honors now, please, be my guest!”  She pushed me towards my boss.  I looked back in dismay at Kyra’s smug expression, then I turned my head in fear towards my potential new captor.

My boss had an absolutely devilish grin on her face as she looked down at me and considered Kyra’s offer.  I was terrified, knowing how domineering she could be even back when I was 6’6”, and then extrapolating that to what she could do to me at 4’4” …

“My, my, that sure is tempting, Kyra.  But I think I’ll pass, at least for now,” she said, emphasizing the last two words.  I shuddered at the thought of my boss putting me over her knee like a naughty child, but still I was relieved at her response.

“Haha, another time then, Becky,” Kyra replied with a knowing smile.  “But speaking of missed work,” she continued, getting down to business, “I feel I owe you an apology.  A couple of those days Jimmy missed because he was acting up and I had to ground him inside the house“ –Ms. Johnson nodded that she understood—“but the other days, I’m afraid I just couldn’t fit it into my schedule to give him a ride to work; I hope you understand.  I’m terribly sorry for any disruption it caused around here.”

Ms. Johnson held up her hand and said, “Please, Kyra, no need to apologize.  I understand completely.  I can’t expect you to have to take time off your own job to bring him here.”

Kyra laughed.  “Oh, actually I’m still in school!”

“Oh, really!?” my boss replied, genuinely surprised.  As I had noted before, with her new outfits Kyra could easily pass for a mature career woman in her mid-20s.  “So you’re attending State?” she asked, referring to the university in town.

Kyra laughed again.  “Oh, goodness no!  I’m still at Westside High School.”

Ms. Johnson’s mouth dropped open in amazement.  “You’re kidding!  Oh my goodness, I assumed you were much older!”  Still shaking her head, she looked down at me and said, “You’re the luckiest little guy in the world, Jimmy, having such an impressive young woman to take care of you!  To think, she’s still a student in high school and yet she’s willing to be strong for you and give you all the care and attention you need, and without any parents to help her!”  Wasn’t I her parent?  Clearly my boss no longer thought so.

Kyra rubbed the top of my head tenderly.  “It has been hard at times, but also rewarding.”  Sighing deeply, she continued, “I just wish he would stop fighting me at every turn.  I do the best I can to protect him and nurture him, but he doesn’t seem to appreciate me.  He still thinks he should be in control.”  I bent my head way back and saw her looking down at me affectionately, even lovingly.

Ms. Johnson stepped forward, looming inches in front of me, and put a hand on her shoulder.  The she said encouragingly, “Just give him time; he’ll come around.  You certainly have strong maternal instincts.  I’m sure you’ll make a great mother someday.”

“But I feel so much like a mother already!” Kyra exclaimed, and the two of them laughed heartily.  I was extremely uncomfortable sandwiched between these two behemoths as they treated me like a child right to my face!  Well, more like 2 feet above my face, actually.

Thankfully, my boss stepped back and walked behind her desk.  “So, why don’t we sit down and discuss our path forward.  Unfortunately, I only have one chair for guests, so Jimmy, why don’t you sit on your mommy’s lap?” she said with an evil grin, emphasizing the word ‘mommy.’

I was horrified by how eagerly my boss had taken up the game.  “I think I’ll stand,” I said, puffing out my chest and trying to bring back some of the confidence I had brought to this office in years past.

“See what I mean?” Kyra said as Ms. Johnson shook her head disapprovingly.  Kyra turned to me and said, “Young man, you are embarrassing me in front of my new friend.  Now come sit on your mother’s lap this instant.”  I would have resisted longer, but I knew from the look in Kyra’s eyes that there would be serious consequences if I hesitated.  I came over immediately and she effortlessly pulled me onto her lap and wrapped her arms around me.

“Well, at least you’ve trained him well enough to obey the second time,” my boss complimented Kyra, who nodded graciously.  “Now, regarding his job: to be honest with you, Kyra, I’m not confident that he’ll be able to perform his duties adequately in his current state, and especially not if he continues to diminish.”

I started to speak up for once, arguing, “That’s not true!  I can still –“ but Kyra’s arm squeezed my chest, dispelling the air from my lungs and literally depriving me of my ability to speak.

“Now, Jimmy, don’t interrupt us adults while we’re speaking.  Please continue, Becky.”

My boss nodded approvingly at Kyra and continued.  “From what you tell me about his naughty behavior, Kyra, there’s no telling what mischief he could get into around here if left unsupervised.”

I was about to try and defend myself by saying I only left the house this morning to come here and save my job, but as I inhaled I felt Kyra’s hand constrict my chest again as a warning.  I was so pathetic now, I couldn’t even say a word to defend my own career.

My boss continued, “And it would just be unfair to me and to his coworkers to have to keep an eye on him at all times.  Plus it would put an unnecessary burden on you, Kyra, to have to take him back and forth from here every day.  You’re under enough stress.”

“Thank you for understanding, Becky,” Kyra told her gratefully.  “So, clearly he can’t come in to work anymore.  Where does that leave us?”

“Well, I believe most of his work could be done from home.  Perhaps we could work out a part-time arrangement.”

That sounded good to me; I wouldn’t have to face my coworkers, and it would eliminate the problem of Kyra taking me to work, which she seldom seemed willing to do.  I took a breath in preparation of speaking.

But again, Kyra’s strong arm deliberately squeezed again and prevented me from voicing my opinion.  “Actually, I don’t think even that would end up working out well for either side,” Kyra stated.  “In my opinion, Jimmy here seems to be acting more and more like a child every day.  He can’t even seem to handle simple house chores anymore without breaking something or getting sidetracked.  I’m afraid he’s much too immature now to handle a grown-up job.”

Ms. Johnson nodded.  “That’s the feeling I was getting, too, but I didn’t want to say anything.”  She paused to consider her options.  “Now, earlier today I would have had no problem firing Jimmy on the spot, based on the way he’s been acting towards me –“

“—And I wouldn’t blame you for that,” Kyra interjected.  Both women were staring down at me condescendingly.

“—But I can’t say enough how impressed I am with your attitude, Kyra, and with your efforts in taking care of him.  I would just hate to put you in that situation financially.  So I’m prepared to offer disability compensation indefinitely.  It will mean a significant pay decrease, but it would mean he wouldn’t have to perform any work for us.”

Kyra’s eyes brightened.  “Thank you so much, Becky!  That will be a huge help!”  Kyra stood up, basically dumping me off her lap and onto the floor, as she extended her hand to Ms. Johnson.

“Aw, you can do better than that,” Ms. Johnson said merrily as she walked around the desk and the two women embraced in a warm hug.  “You deserve it.”  I picked myself up and, not knowing what else to do, climbed into Kyra’s chair.

They withdrew from the hug and my boss, or perhaps more accurately, my former boss, walked over to a cabinet and pulled out a liquor bottle.  “Now, in return though, I hope you might consider doing something in return … I have an offer I’d like to discuss with you, Kyra.”  She walked over to Kyra with two drinks in her hands.  “Care for a drink?”

“Becky, you devil!” Kyra responded, playfully hitting Ms. Johnson’s arm.  “I’m only in high school, remember?”

“Well, Kyra, I like you – I think you have a lot of promise, regardless of your actual age.  And as far as I’m concerned, you’re at least as mature as anybody sitting out there,” she said, referring to my former coworkers.  She extended the drink and Kyra gladly accepted.  I didn’t suppose Kyra would appreciate me reminding her of the drinking age, so of course I kept quiet.  “Have a seat,” Ms. Johnson suggested to Kyra.

Kyra hadn’t seen me sit down in the chair.  The next thing I knew, my vision was filled with Kyra’s huge yet shapely ass descending toward me.  Surprised and a little terrified of finding out what her weight would do to my frail body, I cried out just as her butt was pressing into my thighs and midsection.  Fortunately, she noticed my presence and stood back up.  This chair was very firm, and I wondered how many bones I might have broken if she had sat down too quickly.

“Silly Jimmy, how did you get there?”  They both laughed, oblivious to the anguish I had just been put through.  Kyra turned and bent over, hands on her knees.  God, didn’t she realize how much cleavage she was showing?  “Jimmy, honey, would you mind waiting quietly on the floor over there while we grown-ups talk business?” she asked sweetly, ruffling my hair.

I grudgingly pulled myself off the seat and landed on the floor, my legs being far too short to touch the ground while sitting in that chair.  “Come on, then,” Kyra urged, nudging me away and taking a seat.  “And no touching anything, mister.”

Gloomy, I took a seat where she told me near the door and listened to the big folks’ conversation.  The two of them had sprouted quite a friendship in this short visit.  “So, Kyra dear,” Ms. Johnson started, “As I was saying, I’ve been extremely impressed with you, and honestly I was intending to try to lure you away from whatever job you had so you could work here.  That is, of course, until I found out you were still in high school!”  They gave each other cute little smiles, and Ms. Johnson continued, “So, obviously I can’t give you a full-time job until you’re done with school, but after you graduate in, what, two years’ time, I’d love for you to come work with me.”

“Really!?” Kyra said ecstatically, “I’m honored!  But isn’t this an engineering firm?  Won’t I need at least a Bachelor’s degree, or even a Master’s or Ph.D.?”

“Typically, yes, but there’s no actual rule that requires it.  And with the job I have in mind for you, you really won’t need all that much technical background.  As long as you’re bright enough and quick to learn—“

“I am pretty much at the top of my class right now,” Kyra interjected, not without a sense of pride.

“Perfect.  I thought so.  Now, as I said, I’m not intending you to take one of the low-level positions, doing all the grunt work,” Ms. Johnson said, waving her hand dismissively in my direction.  I realized that she counted my job as one of these ‘low-level’ positions.  Bullshit, I thought, I needed a Ph.D. to get it, and it’s far more than grunt work!  I glowered at her, and she just smiled back, knowing exactly what I was thinking and also that I had absolutely no power to so much as raise a finger at all of this.

She continued, “You’ll be absolutely perfect for a management position.  There, you wouldn’t even need to know much of the science.  And I’m sure I can find a way to pay for you to go to college and get your degree while you’re here.  I would probably start you as a project manager, handling a few employees at a time, but I’m sure in no time you’ll be handling whole teams, even running the office when I’m away.”

I was absolutely floored by the offer she had just given.  Ms. Johnson had always been extremely miserly whenever I asked for the slightest raise.  But here she was, offering a high-schooler, whom she had just met, a job that was above even my own (former) paygrade, and I had a Ph.D. and had worked there for years!

Kyra was also shocked.  “My goodness, Becky, I don’t know what to say!  What did I do to deserve this?”

Ms. Johnson smiled warmly and replied, “Oh, I know a rising star when I see one.  You have all the confidence and people skills to be a great leader.  I mean, heck, you’re only 18.  No one asked you to take care of this little rascal,” she said, pointing at me.  “But you took the initiative and provided the strong guidance and support he needed.  Honestly, if you’re this good now, I can’t wait to see you in two years.”

I suspected the other factor swaying her decision was mostly just out of spite for me, knowing what I would think about this.  I swear she had been trying to find an excuse to push me out of a job this last year or so and find someone to replace me – and apparently in her mind there was no one better to replace me (and then some) than my own domineering daughter.  Just another blow to little old Jimmy …

Kyra was deeply moved.  “Becky, I’m touched.  Thank you so much.”  They got up and hugged again.

Then Ms. Johnson added, “Actually, now that I think of it, what are your plans for the summer?  I can’t hire you as a full-time employee, but every summer we take on one or two part-time helpers.  It would be far below your abilities though; I’m embarrassed to say you’d mostly be restocking paper and other busy work.  But if you could use some extra cash this summer I’d love to have you.”

“Sounds great!” Kyra responded with delight.  “Actually, this is my last week of classes, so I could even start next week, if that’s possible.”  That was news to me; I had completely forgotten Kyra’s school schedule.  “Although I do have basketball practices and games most days so I won’t be able to work regular hours,” she added.

“Not a problem; I’ll take whatever time you can spare!” Ms. Johnson responded.

They exchanged contact information, then Kyra told her, “Speaking of basketball, I actually have to be leaving now; I’ve missed the whole school day by now but I still need to be getting to basketball practice.”

“Oh dear, I’m sorry to make you late!”  They started heading for the door.

“No, no, don’t worry about it, Becky.  But, if I could ask one small favor…?”

Ms. Johnson nodded understandingly.  “You need me to watch Jimmy for you.”

“Yes, would you mind?”

By then they had reached the door and I stood up between them.  “No problem.  I think I can handle the little guy,” she said, patting my hair.

“You’re a life saver, thank you,” Kyra told her.  She hurriedly bent over and told me sternly, “Now, Jimmy, I expect you to be on your best behavior for Ms. Johnson, OK?”  I nodded.  She then stood up and said, “And as far as spanking goes … the offer still stands, Becky.  Feel free to punish him at your discretion.”  She then passed me on to Ms. Johnson’s waiting hands.

She smiled at Kyra.  “Trust me, dear, I know how to keep little boys in line, and I’m sure little Jimmy here is no exception.”

Kyra laughed, “Oh, I have no doubt.  I’ll be back around 5:00 to pick him up.”  With that, she gave a short wave and headed out, leaving me helpless in the clutches of my former boss.

As Kyra left, Ms. Johnson crossed in front of me and shut the door, then turned to me with a predatory look in her eye.  “Well, well.  Looks like I’ve got you all to myself now.”  She slowly advanced toward me.  Terrified and intimidated out of my mind, I backed away from her, almost tripping over a book on the floor.  “Little Jimmy Roberts … You know, I never really liked you.”  That seemed like a huge understatement at this point.  She went on cleverly, “You were always a little too big for your britches. But,” she continued, still moving ever-so-slowly towards me, “I think I’m gonna love your new size.  You’ll be much easier to handle now,” she breathed with pleasure.

I was being backed down towards the corner behind her desk, but I was able to maneuver myself around the desk and started circling it, only a couple feet away from her.  “What’s the matter, Jimmy?  Scared of your big, mean boss?  You know, in the past the worst I could have done was yell at you for all the times you acted up, but I always wanted to do SO much more…”  She had started advancing faster, and I managed to keep ahead of her, rounding the desk and heading towards the door.  She continued, “I always used to wish I could just bend you over my knee and punish you for all your insolence.”  Getting frantic, I decided to make a run for it.  I turned and dashed towards the door.

But just as I had reached the door handle, I felt two powerful hands reach around my midsection and yank me backwards into the air.  She pulled me into her chest, my arms and legs flailing uselessly in the air.  My boss laughed aloud at how utterly helpless I was.  She bent her head down to my ear and whispered, “Well, it looks like I get my wish after all.”  She carried me over to the corner of her desk and sat down, roughly spinning me around and bending me over.  She clamped her thighs together, securely holding my legs between them, and immediately started pelting my ass with blows.  She clearly knew what she was doing, probably from years of child-rearing.  Thankfully I still had my pants on, but she was hitting hard and my ass still stung from the earlier spanking from Kyra.  I cried out in pain with each blow until she brought her free hand to my mouth to muffle it so no one would hear.

Although it hurt like hell, it was still not nearly as bad as the one I received in the doctor’s office.  But still I was in tears by the time she finished.  She yanked me up to stand in front of her.  Even sitting on the edge of the desk she still towered over me.  “That was for your little outburst on the phone this morning,” she informed me sternly.  “I haven’t even begun to punish you for all your years of misbehaving.”  I gulped.  “Perhaps someday soon I’ll have more time to give you a more thorough lesson.  But fortunately for you I have much work to do this afternoon, so I’ll let you off the hook for the time being.”  My ass sure didn’t feel like she had taken it easy, but still I breathed a sigh of relief, knowing she was capable of much more.  “That is, of course, unless you give me reason to punish you again today.”  I nodded vigorously to show that I understood.

Just then, there was a knock on the door.  “Come in!” Ms. Johnson replied.

Vicky, the receptionist, opened the door.  She started, “Is everything OK?  I heard some odd noises.”  She took a few steps but stopped in her tracks, seeing the tears on my cheeks and the stern manner in which Ms. Johnson was holding me.  “Oh my!  I’m sorry to interrupt,” Vicky said, feeling awkward and backing away towards the door.

“No, not at all, Vicky, please come in.  Jimmy here was being terribly misbehaved, that’s all.  Weren’t you, Jimmy?”

My eyes darted to Vicky, seeing her shocked expression.  But my boss slowly strengthened her grip on my arms by way of a threat, and I had no choice but to nod and reply, “Yes, ma’am.”  Satisfied, Ms. Johnson turned to Vicky expectantly.

Vicky blushed and looked extremely uncomfortable, but she tried to talk normal anyway.  “Oh, I see … Well, uh, anyway, Ms. Johnson, you have a meeting starting in 5 minutes, and then two more before the end of the day.”

“Ah, that’s right,” Ms. Johnson said casually.  She didn’t seem to notice her receptionist’s discomfort, instead acting like reprimanding me like a child was the most natural thing in the world.  “Thank you, Vicky.”  Vicky quickly left the room, her face still red from embarrassment.

Ms. Johnson then devoted her attention back to me.  “I have to leave you for a while, OK Jimmy?”

I nodded eagerly.  “I won’t touch any of your things, I promise,” I told her.  This was a fortunate turn of events – I would get to be alone in here for a while, away from her and the rest of my coworkers.

But she just laughed and told me, “What, you think I would leave you in my room all by yourself?”  She stood up quickly and I would have been knocked down except for her grip on my arms.  She let go briefly while she gathered up her notebook and a few papers.  Then she walked to the door and opened it.  “Come on,” she said brusquely.  As I reluctantly went to her, she commanded, “Take my hand.”  I refused at first, realizing how humiliating it would be to have the entire office see my ex-boss walk me out like a kid.  But she responded with a vicious glare, so I quickly complied and reached my hand up to hers.  She squeezed it strongly and headed out. 

As we cut through the office I noticed that every single person in sight was staring at us – at me.  Many of them, even friends of mine whom I knew well, couldn’t contain their giggles as we marched to the far end of the room.

We reached my old cubicle.  It contained two desks facing away from each other: one was mine, and the other one was Amy’s, the close friend of mine whom I (still) had a crush on.  Amy was working hard at her computer but looked up as we approached.

“Here, Jimmy, I want you to sit at your old desk while I’m gone.  Amy, can I count on you to keep an eye on him?”

Amy didn’t respond right away, surprised at the way Ms. Johnson was treating me.  But she snapped out of it and replied, “Oh … absolutely, Ms. Johnson.”

“Thank you, Amy.  I’ll be in and out of meetings ‘til at least 4:30.”  It was 2:40 at the moment.  “Make sure to keep an eye on him at all times; he’s been getting himself into a lot of trouble lately.”  She turned back to me.  “And no computer for you, young man.  Kyra told me that she had to ground you from all computer privileges, and I’m going to respect that.  Just sit quietly at your desk.  I expect a good report when I return,” she said, nodding in confidence to Amy and walking away.

Once the boss was out of earshot, Amy turned to me and said, “What was all that about, James!?  It’s like she thinks you’re a child or something!”

I looked into her familiar eyes.  With joy, I saw that she still regarded me the same as she ever had: as a coworker and a close friend.  “Oh, Amy, it’s been terrible!  Everyone in the world has been treating me like that now that I’ve shrunk!”  She gazed at me with compassion and grief as I continued, “I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you again – you may be the last person I know who treats me as an adult anymore!”

“Oh, James, I can’t imagine!”  Still sitting in her chair, she opened her arms to me and pulled me in for a warm embrace.  Pulling me back, I saw a tear streak down her face, and it wasn’t mine.  “I’m so sorry for not recognizing you earlier, James!  Please forgive me!”

I was touched by her apology.  “It’s OK, Amy, I don’t blame you.”

Wiping her tear, she said, “So, tell me what’s happened to you.”  She gestured to my chair to suggest that I sit while I talk.

I wheeled it over to her and tried to climb onto it, but the damn adjustable chair was set at the highest height possible.  I recall it being actually still a bit too short at my old height of 6’6”.  But now the seat came up almost to my waist, and as I tried to climb on the wheels pushed it away from me, rendering me incapable of even sitting on my old chair.

“Oh, you poor thing!  Here, let me help,” she offered.  She held the seat back steady with one hand, and with the other hand she was about to hoist me up by my pants but at the last second realized what she was doing and stopped.  With some effort, I brought one leg up onto the chair and pulled the rest of my body up.  I sat on the edge of the chair with my feet dangling over the front.  She had to rotate the chair for me, turning it towards her own chair and pulling it closer.  Taking both my hands in hers, she looked at me tenderly and implored me to begin.

We talked for quite some time, maybe half an hour, as I told her many of the details of my life during the past two weeks.  Some of the stuff she already knew since she had seen me begin to shrink when I came to work last week.  But I told her about my daughter, Kyra (although it did indeed feel odd to me to think of her as my daughter; it seemed so long ago now that our roles changed) looking after me, about not being able to drive, about having to shop for new clothes, about people mistaking me for a child (something that Amy herself was guilty of!), and more.  But I left out almost all the details about what had happened between me and Kyra; I indicated that she was starting to boss me around and look down on me, but I couldn’t bear to tell Amy how horrible it had really gotten, how she made me call her ‘Mommy’ and spanked me, or even worse…

But I finished by talking about Ms. Johnson, how she had essentially just fired me, and what a bitch she was being (of course, leaving out the details of the spanking just now).  “Oh my gosh, I know!” Amy agreed.  “Every time she’s walked by here the last few days, she just grumbles about how much trouble you were in for missing work and how she should just fire you and blah, blah, blah.  And then she takes it out on me instead – it’s so unfair!  And even though she knows your situation, she’s still being a bitch to you!”

But then she saw it was already 2:50 and grimaced.  “Oh, James, I really hate to do this, but … she’s going to just kill me if I don’t have some results for my project by 5:00.”

“Oh … I understand,” I said, disappointed.  I had hoped to spend the rest of the afternoon chatting with my one true friend.

“Hey, cheer up” she said, patting my cheek lightly, “I’m sure we’ll get a chance to talk again.”  With that, she turned back to her desk and got right to work.  I sat there for a few seconds watching her tenderly.  My feeling for her were stronger than ever now.  She was just so wonderful in every way.

As I tried to turn back to my own desk, though, I realized I couldn’t do so without getting down and pushing.  But if I got down I wouldn’t be able to get back up.  “Amy?” I asked sweetly.

“Yeah?” she said without turning, still buried in her work.

“Could you give me a little push?”

She turned her head and saw my predicament as I looked at her sheepishly.  “One sec,” she said, turning back to her work briefly.  She finished writing her equation then put the pencil down with a ‘smack’ and spun her chair around.  Not wasting any time, she quickly stood up and grabbed the armrests, pushing my chair to my own (former) desk.  As she did so, I was treated to a breathtaking close-up of her body, far bigger than I was used to seeing it.  Her arms were like pillars on either side of me, her hair draped over her face within arms’ reach above me, her taut stomach and shapely thighs moving back and forth as she wheeled me over.  And, of course, her partially-unbuttoned shirt gaping open before me revealing a nice firm pair of breasts underneath, contained by a white lacy bra partially visible on the edge of my view.  She wasn’t nearly as stacked as Kyra, but hell, at my size, even her B-cups would be well larger than my hand could hold.

Fortunately, she didn’t notice my stares as she hurriedly pushed me to my desk and spun my chair around to face it.  “There you go.  Anything else?” she asked brusquely, laying her hand on my shoulder.

“I’m fine, thanks,” I replied.  She started to turn away.  “Oh, and Amy…” I added.

“What is it?” she asked, anxious to get back to work.

“It’s nice to finally have someone to talk to.  I’m so glad you’re on my side, Amy.”

She quickly patted me on the shoulder then withdrew her hand.  I heard the click of her heels and the squeak of her chair behind me as she sat back down and returned to work.

I sat at my old desk, where everything was just as I had left it.  I had a couple random doodads sitting around, some papers with scratch work pushed into a corner, and other random items.  One that immediately piqued my interest was a framed photo of Kyra and I, when Kyra was only 7 years old.  It was my favorite photo of us, taken back when the two of us were as happy as can be.  Our relationship was so different then: it was close, it was loving, and, most importantly, it was a father/daughter relationship!  Oh, how the tables have turned.  Even though it was making me gloomy, I continued to study the photo.  It was almost surreal: she was much smaller than me, barely standing as high as my chest.  But then I put two and two together and realized, even in this photo she was much taller than I am now.  I was the same height then as she is now in heels, but now I only came up to her stomach.  I held my finger on the photo to mark my current height and estimated that I only came shoulder-high to 7-year-old Kyra.

I shuddered and turned the frame face-down on the desk, hiding it from sight.  I did this a little too quickly, though, and it made a loud noise as it hit the surface.  I heard Amy’s chair squeak, and I looked behind me to see that Amy had turned her head and gave an irritated look in the direction of the noise.

“Sorry,” I told her as she turned back around.  She was normally very chill and laid-back when it came to distractions, but now she had a deadline to make, and in such times she would occasionally become irritable.  I decided to make sure not to distract her any further.

But it was easier said than done.  With nothing else to do, I spent the next 15 minutes bending a paperclip until it was as perfectly straight as possible.  Once my important and very useful task was complete, I just sat there blankly, unable to think of anything to pass the time.  I looked back now and then at Amy, having to lean out over the armrest since I couldn’t see over the top of the tall chair back.  Amy was typing furiously, and I could tell from her body language that she was becoming more and more agitated as her deadline approached.

I felt bad for her, plus I was bored.  “Amy, can I help with anything?” I asked.  We worked in similar areas of reactor physics and I was more-or-less familiar with the project she was working on, so I had a good chance of being able to contribute.

“No thanks,” she replied shortly.  I didn’t want to press the issue, so I just turned back to my desk.  Fortunately, there was a bug crawling across my keyboard: an exciting new development that would keep me riveted for minutes on end – Darn, it flew away.  I sighed out of boredom.

Then I had a thought: why don’t I just use the computer?  Sure, Ms. Johnson had forbidden it, but she would be gone in meetings for another hour at the very least.  And Amy of course wouldn’t mind; she understood my plight and wouldn’t dream of restricting my freedom like that.  I realized that I hadn’t had access to a computer in quite some time, not counting the severely restricted web access I had on the computer at home, thanks to Kyra.

The power button on the front of the CPU tower was out of reach, unfortunately.  I had to shimmy myself sideways, using my hands to pull me along the edge of the desk to get closer.  This proved to be no small feat with my measly biceps, but I managed to pull myself close enough so that I could lay flat on the seat and reach out just far enough to reach the button.

Success!  I sat back up and slowly pulled my chair back in position in front of the keyboard and mouse, having to pull them in much closer for my short arms to reach.  I waited for the computer to boot up.  But as it reached the desktop my speakers sang out in the familiar Windows welcome sound.

I heard Amy’s chair squeak behind me.  “James, maybe that’s not such a good idea,” she told me.  I turned around and saw a concerned look on her face.

“Oh, I’m sorry!  I forgot the sound was on; I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

She replied, as if it pained her to say it, “It’s not that.  Ms. Johnson doesn’t want you to use it, remember?”

I was surprised to hear her say that.  “But, Amy, she’ll be gone for another hour at least.  C’mon, she’ll never know,” I coaxed.

“But what if she drops by in between meetings?”

“I sincerely doubt that.  But even if she does, I’ll take full responsibility.  After all, it’s my decision, not yours,” I told her with a twinge of annoyance.

She was getting antsy to return to her work.  With a sigh, she put down her pencil and wheeled her chair over to mine.  She leaned over and lightly placed her hands on my knees.  I could smell her perfume and even feel the radiant warmth of her body.  She looked into my eyes with compassion and told me, “James, believe me, I know that you’re a grown man and that I can’t tell you what to do.  But,” she pleaded, “you have to understand that in Ms. Johnson’s crazy, screwed up head she sees you now as less than an adult, and thinks that I’m supposed to watch after you and make sure you behave.”  I started to speak, but she raised her hand and said, “I agree, it’s ridiculous, but I just know she would blame me if she caught you on the computer.  She’s just been riding me so hard since you’ve been gone, piling the extra work on me, and she won’t give me a break.  She’s been completely unreasonable – she has even threatened to fire me!”

I gave a sympathetic look and tried to say how sorry I was for putting her in that position, but she was talking fast, eager to get back to work, and I couldn’t get a word in edge-wise.  “But if she catches you on the computer AND I miss this deadline on top of it, she would fire me for sure!”  I doubted even Ms. Johnson would carry out that threat, but I kept quiet.  “So please, James, I’m begging you to stay off the computer.  It’s just for a little while.”

Looking into her sweet, pleading eyes, I really wanted to help her out and avoid getting her in trouble for my actions.  But there was still a small part of me that wanted to defy my ex-boss, and my ex-daughter, and log on despite their commands (provided, of course, that the chance of being caught was sufficiently low; after all, I wasn’t suicidal).  Plus, I really, really wanted to check my email and read some news from the outside world since I had been totally cut off lately.  I took a deep breath and prepared to defend myself once again.

Amy, seeing that I was about to resist her still, gave a pained expression and became even more antsy to get this conversation over with and return to work.  Nonetheless, I delivered my speech.  “Amy, I understand where you’re coming from; believe me, I’ve been punished more in the last week than I care to admit,” I started, playing the guilt card a bit, trying to soften her up.  “But, as you know, I haven’t been able to go online ever since my own daughter banned me,” I continued, throwing down another guilt card.   “If I could at least have some time to check my email, I would be incredibly grateful.  I promise I’ll be done in no time, before Ms. Johnson ever finds out.”

I could tell my appeal had had an effect on her.  But her impatience still seemed to get the better of her.  “I’m sorry, James, but this is just the worst possible time for me!  For goodness’s sake, I’m sure you’ll have another chance sometime to check your email!”

Against my better judgment, I stuck to my guns.  “But I may never get another chance!  Besides, I’m already logged in, and I’ll be done in no time.”  I turned my chair and opened up a web browser.

“Arrrghh!” Amy gave an exasperated cry.  “I don’t have time for this!  I give up; have it your way!  I just wasted 5 precious minutes of my time arguing with you.”  I heard her swiftly return to her desk and noisily thrust open a notebook, shove some papers in, toss it aside, and start typing furiously.  I had never seen her so pissed off.  My heart began to fill with remorse when I considered that I was more-or-less the one who caused it.  And I really didn’t want to estrange my only friend.  But since I already pissed her off, I might as well check my email now and make it up to her later.  Once she sees I’m logged off and she didn’t get in trouble, she’ll be in a better mood, I’m sure.

I opened up my email and found an exhaustingly long list of unread messages, some dated as far back as a week ago.  I skimmed through the subject lines, skipping many of the non-vital ones.  There were several from my boss that I didn’t even want to see.  I discovered that Amy had written two messages, which I did very much want to read; they were both quick but concerned messages wondering where I was and if I was doing OK.  I leaned over and looked tenderly at the woman sitting behind me and thanking the heavens for having her in my life.  But I quickly focused on the task at hand and sifted through the remaining messages.  I had about half of them left to read.

“Are you done yet?” Amy asked anxiously.

“Almost finished,” I replied.  I read an email from the utility company saying my payments for electricity and water were due Friday and were now late.  It saddened me to recall that last night I had yielded to Kyra such tasks as paying bills and managing accounts.  Now that I was also barred from my job, I was left with absolutely zero grown-up responsibilities.  How had it come to this …

Well, I couldn’t dawdle over this any longer; I had to wrap up these emails.  I saw another message from an out-of-town friend that had as the subject “Big news!  Respond ASAP!”  I opened it up and read, “Hey bro, long time no see!  Wanna come up and see the Bruins in the Conference Finals?  It would be a great chance to catch up on old times.  But tickets are almost sold out so I need a response fast.  Looking forward to it!”

The message was dated three days ago.  I clicked on the link he gave which opened another window with the online box office for the Bruins.  All sold out.  Damn it!  He was the most die-hard Bruins fan, and I was quite a fan as well, and I hated letting him down like this, plus it had been far too long since we had hung out.  I saw another couple follow-up emails from him to remind me.  I was bummed out.  I knew Kyra wouldn’t have ever let me go anyway, and I also didn’t want my friend to see me in my shrunken, adolescent state, but still I must have seemed like a really crappy friend for not even responding.  Oh well, just another thing going wrong these days.

While I was on the site, I at least wanted to check how the Bruins were doing.  I clicked the homepage and saw they were up one game to zero in the third round.  Nice.  But I had already tarried too long and moused over to my email to finish them up.

The rest seemed irrelevant to my life at this point, except for the very last one, sent half an hour ago.  It was from my physician, the one I had just seen a couple hours ago.  I clicked on it and started reading: “James – come to my house as soon as possible.  I am still willing to administer the antidote to you.  But only if Kyra doesn’t find out!  I have already left the office for the day but will be home this evening.  Please respond right away to let me know you are coming.”  He then wrote his home address.

Oh. Dear. God.  I suddenly froze up completely, my heart pounding furiously.  There … there was still hope!!  I could do nothing but stare at the screen in amazement, overjoyed at this completely unlooked-for opportunity.  I snapped out of it as soon as possible and hit ‘Reply’ to write a quick response telling him I would try to get there today at all costs.  I would run away from home if I had to.  Fuck my boss, and fuck Kyra; I would gladly take any punishment they could dole out if it meant I could put an end to my shrinking!

But alas, just as I was about to hit ‘Send,’ my chair whirled around and I found myself face to face with Amy.  She spoke to me with a mix of sadness and urgency.  “I’m sorry, James, but you’ve been on too long now.  I simply can’t let you risk my job any longer,” she said gravely.

I was taken off guard by the seriousness of her voice.  “Oh … OK, just let me finish this last email and I’ll shut it off,” I replied antsily.

She closed her eyes and shook her head in woeful regret of what she was now forced to tell me.  “No, James.  You need to turn it off, now,” she declared with finality.

I HAD to get this email out to the doctor.  I started to turn back, telling her, “Let me just click –“

My chair was halfway turned around when it suddenly halted.  I looked over and saw Amy’s huge hand gripping the armrest.  “What the hell is this!?” she exclaimed, pushing my chair aside as she rolled herself up to my screen.  “You were looking at SPORTS!?” she said incredulously, seeing the Boston Bruins page still up on the screen.  I started to explain but she immediately turned my chair to face her and grabbed the armrests on either side of me, her body looming over me intimidatingly.  “James!  I … I TRUSTED you to finish as soon as possible – but here you are screwing around!  I should have never let you on in the first place!”

She released one hand and reached under the far end of my desk, dragging me along with her as she wheeled over.  She was reaching for the power button!  As she pulled me towards the mouse, I frantically reached out to try to click the ‘Send’ button.  Just one click away from delivering the message … but it was too late.  The screen went dark.

“It stays off,” she informed me sternly as she pushed herself back to her desk.  I sat there in shock, trying to cope with what had just happened.  But I didn’t have time to recover before I saw an unwelcome face appear in front of the cubicle.  Ms. Johnson had returned.

“Everything alright here?” she asked, just as Amy reached her desk.  Ms. Johnson scanned both our faces and suspected that something was up.  “Amy, has Jimmy been behaving himself?”

Amy hesitated as she looked at her boss and then at me.  Then she sighed and said, “Yes, he’s just fine, Ms. Johnson,” to my relief.

Ms. Johnson eyed both of us skeptically for a moment but then replied, “Well, alright then.  I’ll be back in a while to check on you.  And remember, Amy, 5:00,” she told her, tapping her watch.  She walked away and Amy and I both let out a loud sigh of relief.  Amy then shook her head at me and gave a look to say, ‘I told you so.’

“You were right, Amy,” I admitted aloud, trying to smooth things over with her – and though I desperately wanted to log back on for just a second to send that email, as I looked into her eyes I knew I risked losing my friend forever.  But also, something in Amy’s eyes told me she would prevent me from hitting the power button again, by force if necessary.

But then I saw her eyes well up with tears after my semi-apology.  She stood up and quickly advanced towards me.  Bending over, she wrapped her arms around me and squeezed me tightly.  I don’t think she realized that she had lifted me off my seat in her tight embrace.

“I’m sorry I had to do that, James!  I hated every second of it, believe me!”

“I know you did, Amy,” I responded tenderly.  I was in heaven, being held by this gorgeous woman, her size completely engulfing me in her embrace, her aroma filling my nostrils.  Her body felt soooo good pressed to mine.

She released me back into the seat and laid her hands on me affectionately, one on my shoulder and the other on my chest.  Looking deeply into my eyes, she said, “I’ll never violate your rights and your dignity like that again, I promise.”

Touched by her earnestness, I replied, “Thank you, Amy.  That means a lot to me.”

She gave me a smile and continued, “I don’t want things to be weird between us.  You stayed on the computer longer than you should have, but I forgive you.”

I was glad for her change of attitude, but I at least wanted to clear my name and explain what had brought me to the Boston Bruins site.  “Just so you know, I was only looking at –“

She put her hand over my mouth to silence it, saying, “Don’t worry about it, James.  It’s behind us now.”

She still hadn’t let me defend myself.  I started to speak again, but she cut me off a second time, saying, “I’m so sorry, but I really can’t talk anymore.  I’ve already fallen so far behind on my work.”  She quickly pulled away and returned to her computer.

I so wished she had let me speak.  I felt like she still blamed me for staying on too long and thought I was just wasting time on there – if only she could understand!  But I had to let it slide, knowing I couldn’t disturb her again.  I waited around, bored, for another five minutes or so.  I thought about my chance with the doctor – it was probably OK that I didn’t get to respond, since he should be home in the evening anyway, or at least I could just camp out there until he arrived.  But then I realized – Oh no.  I hadn’t written his street address down.  I tried to remember it but couldn’t.  I became more and more sullen as I tried to think of some way to log back on and write it down.

But then I heard her get up and start walking.  I turned and saw her disappear around the corner.  She must be going to the bathroom … Gah! This was my chance!  As quickly as possible, I maneuvered my body toward the CPU tower and pushed the power button.  Figuring I would have just enough time to send that email before she returned, I nervously waited for Windows to boot up and then opened the web browser.  As I frantically typed the URL, I made a couple typos and scrambled to fix them.  My hands were shaking from the gravity of the situation and also my fear not so much of what Ms. Johnson would do, but what my friend Amy would do if she caught me logging on again after the last incident.  To my great relief, I was able to open the email and jot down the address on a scrap paper.  I looked over my shoulder anxiously then typed a quick response: “Be there tonight.  James.”

Then I heard the sound I was dreading: Amy’s heels hitting the floor, getting louder.  I lunged for the power button and managed to hit it, although I tumbled to the floor as a result.  Jumping to my feet, I brushed myself off and leaned against the armrest of my chair, trying to act casual.

Amy approached the cubicle.  “What was that noise?  And what are you doing there?” she asked, seeing me standing next to my chair.

“Oh, uh, nothing.  I just fell out of my chair, is all.”

She eyed me skeptically for a moment, but then her face lightened up as she gave a short laugh.  “My goodness, James, I can’t leave you alone for one minute without you falling out of your chair!”  I laughed as well, relieved that I had gotten away with it, despite feeling almost like she was talking to me like a child.  “Here, let’s help you up” she said.  I was about to tell her it wasn’t necessary, but she was already reaching over me and holding the chair steady.  Shrugging, I grabbed the seat and lifted one leg up, but then slipping as I tried to pull up the rest of me.  “Quickly now,” she reminded gently, but with a hint of impatience.  I struggled for a second more, until I felt a hand grab the back of my pants as I was lifted the rest of the way.  “Sorry, but my deadline’s approaching,” she explained, giving me a conciliatory pat on the top of the head before returning to her desk.  I didn’t necessarily like being hoisted up like that, but I guess I couldn’t blame her.

I spent another monotonous 20 minutes with nothing to do but stare at the cubicle wall.  Even watching paint dry would be a welcome activity at this point.  From the sound of agitated groans and furious scribbling behind me, I surmised that things were not going well for Amy, and she was getting more upset by the minute.

I heard my stomach rumble loudly.  I realized I hadn’t had a chance to eat lunch today, and I was utterly starving.  I tried to wait it out until Kyra got here, but it was 4:15 and there was no way I could last another hour or more.  I looked behind me and saw Amy working harder than ever.  But my stomach was really hurting now and I just couldn’t resist any longer.  With trepidation, I called out, “Amy?”

She didn’t respond, continuing to work away on her computer.  I hated having to interrupt her, but I meekly asked again, “Amy, do you have any food?”

“Not now,” she replied dismissively.

My stomach rumbled again.  “Amy, I really hate to disturb you, but I haven’t eaten since this morning and I could really use a snack.”

Without turning, she replied in a strained voice, as if reluctant to trust me, “Fine, go ahead.  But hurry back.”  I figured that she didn’t want to let me for fear of Ms. Johnson catching me unsupervised, but she was also too busy to take me herself.

I jumped down from my chair and started to leave, but I realized I didn’t have any money for the snack machine; Kyra had taken my wallet days ago.  “Um, Amy, could I borrow some money?”

She put her pencil down loudly and turned to me with a forced sigh.  “I have some leftover pasta in the fridge.  Take as much as you want.”  She turned back without waiting for a response.

I quietly tiptoed away from her and headed towards the break room.  Fortunately it was nearby and I only had to suffer through a few stares on the way.  With two hands, I yanked open the fridge door and looked inside.  Since it was after lunch, it was mostly empty and I quickly spotted a Tupperware with the name ‘Amy’ on the side.  But, to my chagrin, it was on the top shelf, pushed all the way to the back, and I couldn’t reach it without risking upheaving the shelves.  I looked around but there was no one else to ask for help.  Reluctantly, I returned to my cubicle and timidly walked up behind Amy.  Standing at eye level with her, I reached out and pulled on the sleeve of her shirt.

She jumped in fright, startled out of her intense focus.  Seeing me standing there, she sighed almost frutratedly and stared at me expectantly.  “Well?”

“Sorry, I, uh, can’t reach your leftovers in the fridge.”

With her elbows on the desk, she put her head in her hands, looked down, and closed her eyes in exasperation.  Then she abruptly stood up, almost knocking me over, and told me, “Wait here,” as she marched off briskly towards the break room.

She was clearly upset about being distracted yet again, but I discovered a way to make it up to her as I looked at her computer screen.  I was familiar with the reactor she was modeling, having done a project on it myself in the past.  And from the graphs on screen I saw that the problem she was having was a low neutron flux at the top of the core.  I believed I knew how to fix it.

She came back and hastily handed me the Tupperware and a fork, saying, “Here.  Now shoo,” flicking her hand at me to get me to move away from her seat.

“Thank you.  And to return the favor,” I said proudly, “I’ll help you fix your problem now.”

She somewhat ungently pushed me out of her way and sat down.  Turning her back to me and looking at her screen, she replied, “I appreciate it, James, but I don’t have time to explain it to you right now.”

I confidently told her, “The bottom-peaking of the axial flux profile can be fixed by adjusting the cross-sections of the axial reflectors.”

She turned her head back to me, surprised and intrigued.  “Go on…”

“I’ve had this problem before.  You need to use the results from your Monte Carlo calculation to determine the proper albedo factor for thermal neutrons.  Here, let me show you.”  I set the pasta on her desk then walked up next to her and reached over to grab the mouse.  Amy lifted her right arm out of the way to give me easier access to her computer, and then she rested her arm across my back, putting her hand on my opposite shoulder and encouraging me to move in closer.  My legs pressed into hers as I leaned towards her slightly to position myself in front of the computer.  I felt her hot breath on my neck as she watched me from behind, her head inches away from mine.

I tried not to let the closeness of her body distract me as I showed her how to extract the necessary flux tallies from the Monte Carlo simulation and calculate the appropriate albedos.  All the while, I made sure she understood what I was doing.  She replied, “Uh huh,” and, “Oh, I see,” sounding more and more optimistic as we went along.

I finished up my explanation, telling her, “… So you’ll have to run several more cases after this to make sure you are handling the reflector properly.  The peaking will also be sensitive to the anisotropic diffusion coefficient, so we’ll need to look at that as well.”  Then I opened the command prompt and started the first code run.

Watching the screen, she pressed the side of her face against mine and squeezed my shoulder, saying, “I’m impressed, James.  Looks like I might have some good results to show after all.”  I felt her firm breasts press into my arm and back as she leaned into me.

She surely didn’t intend to press her chest into me like that – or at least didn’t intend it to be anything sexual – but it really was starting to affect me now.  She held her embrace for another minute as the code ran, causing me to develop a full hard-on by the time the run was completed.  Once it finished, she said, “Let’s see what’ve we got,” as lifted her arm over and around me and took the mouse, opening up the calculation results.  “Hey, not bad,” she said as she plotted the axial flux profile.  “Still got a ways to go, but it is definitely better.”  Amy then brought her arm up and around my back again and turned to me, saying happily, “Thanks for your help, James.  I have to admit, I was almost at my wit’s end with you earlier, but now I definitely see the benefit of having you around.”  She flashed me a smile and planted a sweet kiss on my cheek.

She then lifted her arm over me again, ruffling my hair playfully as she did so, and returned her focus to the computer.  “I think I can take it from here.  Let’s see what happens if I just decrease the diffusion coefficient a bit more…”  That was what I would have done.  I saw that she now understood what to do and I was content to watch her work.  I picked up the Tupperware and fork again and started eating as I looked over her shoulder.  It was nothing but tomato sauce and rigatoni, and unfortunately she had eaten most of the noodles and left a lot of sauce, but I was too hungry to really care.  There was quite a bit left, though, and at my diminished size I figured it was more than enough to hold me until dinner.  As I was eating, I noticed a typo she had just made, and I leaned over her shoulder to point at the screen and tell her, “The parentheses should be around the 2.”

“Ah, thanks.  Hey, careful there with that pasta, you’ll ruin my clothes!” she exclaimed, half-jokingly but half-seriously concerned.  I was holding the container over her shoulder and had inadvertently let it start to tilt over as I looked at the screen.

“Oops, sorry,” I replied, withdrawing it back over her shoulder.  “You do look fantastic today, by the way,” I added, taking advantage of her pleasant mood.  I knew she was sensitive about her appearance and worked hard to make herself look good, and it showed.

“Aw, thanks James!  I love this new outfit; I just bought it this weekend.”

All this talk got me thinking more about her attire than her research.  I took the opportunity to lightly lean into her, feigning interest in her work, and survey her body from where she couldn’t see me looking.  And oh my, did I have the perfect vantage point, standing at just the right angle to look down the top of her shirt at her cleavage.  As I noted earlier, they were now an impressive size due to my diminished stature, and they looked so soft yet firm as I tilted my head slightly to see all the way down to the cups of her bra holding them up.

“How about I try changing it to 15.0 now?” she asked.

I snapped out of my reverie and glanced dumbly at the screen.  “Uh, yeah, sounds good,” I replied, not seeing what number she was looking at but confident that she would make a good choice.  I then continued my peep show for another couple minutes, pretending to pay attention as she ran more cases and made more modifications.

“Hmm, not as good as I had hoped,” she said after the fourth try.  She was starting to get antsy again, seeing that she only had 55 minutes left.  “This doesn’t seem to be working so well.  Maybe I should try the diffusion coefficient now?”  I was too distracted to reply with more than an incoherent grunt of approval.  Holy smokes.  I had only been able to catch glimpses here and there of Amy’s cleavage as we worked together in the past, so this was truly an unprecedented opportunity to check out the rack of my long-time crush.  Hardly realizing it, I found myself being pulled toward her like a magnet, leaning on her more and more as I became engrossed in the sight below me.  I could hardly contain my arousal as …

… the Tupperware slipped out of my grasp, spilling most of its contents over Amy’s shoulder.  I frantically batted at it, managing to hit it up a bit towards me.  But, alas, I wasn’t able to catch it before it spilled the rest of its contents over Amy’s shoulder and onto her outfit as well as down the front of my own shirt and pants.

“What the hell!?” Amy screamed.  Then she looked down and shrieked, “Oh my god, my new clothes!!”  As she turned, I saw a huge tomato sauce splotch running down the entire length of her blouse and most of her skirt as well.  She stood up and turned her gaze from her clothes over to me.  Boiling with rage, she yelled down at me, “You ruined my new favorite outfit!!  Son of a bitch!”  Then she stormed past me down the hall towards the bathroom, muttering obscenities as she walked.

I planted my palm on my forehead in disbelief; how could I have been so careless!?  I thought she was mad at me earlier, but this was a whole new level of anger.  I stood in a daze for a few moments then, realizing I had nothing to clean myself off with, decided to head to the bathroom.

But Amy intercepted me just in front of the bathroom doors.  She had just emerged from the women’s room after trying her best to wipe away the sauce, but without much success.  The stains were still clearly visible.  Holding a wad of paper towels in one hand, she snatched my wrist with her other hand as I tried to walk by.  Then she spun me around and held my arm out above my head and to the side, pulling me towards her shirt for a closer look.  Still furious, she told me, “Look what you’ve done to my clothes.  These stains aren’t going to wash out.”  I had never thought sweet Amy could ever make me feel intimidated or scared, but I had just learned otherwise.  She didn’t release her grip on my wrist, instead dragging me back to her cubicle.  I heard some people snicker and whisper, “Hey, check it out!” as we moved, and I knew the ridicule wasn’t directed at Amy’s stains so much as at my tiny body being hauled around like some naughty little child.

Returning to her cubicle, she released my arm and hastily bent over to wipe up what she could of the sauce on her floor, chair, and desk as I looked on nervously.  Then she discarded the paper towel and stood over me.  Before I even knew what she was doing, two huge hands reached down and lifted me up under the armpits.  My 65-lb body was effortlessly lifted up and dumped onto my chair.  She roughly pushed my chair backwards but, to my surprise, stopped only halfway to my desk.

Her lips curled into a slight snarl, she growled, “You’re staying right here where you can’t cause any more trouble.”  She then strutted back to her desk and turned her back to me.  Looking around, I realized what she had done: by placing me out of reach of any desk or other object, she had effectively stranded me on an island in the middle of the cubicle.  My legs were too short to move or even turn my chair, and I was now forced to sit there out of reach of everything, with not so much as a paperclip to keep me occupied.

I spent the next 10 minutes having nothing to do but watch Amy work.  She was again getting frustrated, as apparently the ideas I gave her weren’t producing the expected results.  I decided to risk interrupting her again in an attempt to win back her favor.  “Amy, can I help?” I asked timidly.

She responded by silently coming over to me and turning my chair 180 degrees until I was facing the opposite wall.  If that wasn’t a clear indication that she wanted me to shut up, I didn’t know what was.  Unable to rotate my chair, I listened as she began to curse and pound her fists in frustration at her lack of progress.

Finally, after another ten minutes of frustration, she came over and pulled my chair towards her desk.  She was all business, not even looking at me as she spun me around.  She pointed to the screen with a grim look on her face and told me through clenched teeth, “I’m trying to get this stupid code to change the reflector geometry, and it keeps giving me the same stupid error.”  She had to try hard to contain her rage stemming from her troubles with the code as well as her bitterness towards my ruining her clothes.

“O-Oh, OK,” I said like a hurt puppy wary of another blow from his master.  I looked through her input file for a couple minutes while she grew impatient.  I gave the best guess I could think of.  “Maybe you put too many decimal places here?” I said, pointing to a number on the screen.  She deleted a few digits then reran the code.  But the same error popped up again.

Amy gave a frustrated growl and told me, “Never mind,” with a sigh, starting to wheel me away from her desk.

Then I just happened to glance at another line of her input and it clicked.  “Wait, Amy, I’ve got it!  This line only accepts 4 inputs when discontinuity factors are disabled.  Take away the last number and it should work.”

She eyed me distrustfully but did as I suggested.  To my great relief, the code ran successfully.  “Thanks,” she said simply.  I was hoping that I had won back her favor and she would let me stay here to help.  But, despite my help, she again grabbed my armrests and pushed me to the middle of the floor, facing away from her.  Damn it, that was disappointing.  Now what the hell could I do to get her on my side again?  I thought about it but quickly realized the best course of action was no action; all I could do was sit there and avoid interrupting her any further.

I don’t know how long I had to sit there, since I couldn’t see the clock from where I was sitting.  But it had to be more than half an hour of abject boredom, slouching over with my face resting in my palm, staring blankly at the wall.  At least, Amy seemed to be getting less agitated; from the sound of her rapid keystrokes, I surmised that she was not stuck anymore and was making progress, but still had a ways to go and was working furiously to finish in time.

But she was still typing away as I heard two familiar voices approaching: Ms. Johnson’s and Kyra’s.  They were laughing loudly at some inside joke as they entered the cubicle.  “Why, hello there Jimmy!” Ms. Johnson said cheerfully, seeing where I was sitting.  “What are you doing in the middle of the floor?” she inquired, cocking an eye at me.  “I thought I told you to stay at your desk,” she added sternly.

“I put him there,” Amy interjected, looking up from her work.  Kyra and Ms. Johnson eyed her inquisitively, wanting an explanation.  “Well,” Amy continued, trying to put it delicately, “he was … interfering with my work.”

“Oh, really?” Ms. Johnson said as she and Kyra both turned their heads to look down at me disapprovingly.  “What did Jimmy do, exactly?” she asked.

I saw conflict in Amy’s eyes as she debated whether or not to tell the whole story.  She still seemed to be on my side and, while she was no doubt still mad at me, she didn’t necessarily want to see me punished like a child by these two women.  “Oh, nothing much,” she lied.  “He was just distracting me a little from my work.”

Ms. Johnson frowned at me and said, “Why am I not surprised…”  She then raised her eyebrow at Amy and said, “I trust that you didn’t let it interfere with your project?”

Amy replied nervously, “I haven’t quite finished it yet, actually.”  Ms. Johnson gave a vicious stare, prompting Amy to quickly add, “But if it wasn’t for Jimmy –“  I cringed as she was about to sell me out.  But Amy paused and glanced anxiously between me and Ms. Johnson, trying to decide whether to try to get off the hook by laying the blame on me or accept responsibility for being late and receive a harsher punishment.

To my immense relief, my friend decided to stick with me.  She continued, “If it wasn’t for James I would have been stuck; he actually helped me figure out the problem.”  I gave her a look of gratitude at this kind gesture.

But Ms. Johnson was not pleased.  She seemed even more inflamed than normal because Amy decided to side with me.  “So he helped you, but you still didn’t finish!?  This is totally unacceptable.  I have half a mind to fire you right now.  You’ll have to stay late today and finish if you want any chance of keeping your job.”

“But Ms. Johnson, I have an appointment at 6:00 that I can’t miss!”

“Tough,” she replied sternly.  “I don’t care how long it takes.  Get me those results tomorrow morning, or don’t bother to come in at all.”

I looked with pity at my friend, who put her own ass on the line to protect me and was now paying the price.  As I saw the pain on her face, I decided to do what I could to alleviate her situation.  I plopped myself down onto the floor, put my hands on my hips confidently, and was just about to declare that it was my fault and Amy shouldn’t be blamed for this.  But just as I stood straight and faced them, Kyra noticed the sauce stain on my shirt and shorts.  “Did you make a mess on yourself, mister?” she asked sternly before I had a chance to speak.  Glancing over, she also noticed the stain on Amy’s shoulder.  “Did he spill some on you too, Amy?” she said with concern.

Amy looked back and forth between me and the two women towering over me.  Her look indicated that she had wanted to keep it a secret, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to hide such a large stain down her front.  She sighed and reluctantly stood up, revealing to Kyra and her boss the mess I had made of her outfit.

“Oh my gosh!” Kyra and Ms. Johnson exclaimed in unison.  “Those clothes are ruined!  Did Jimmy really do all that!?”

“Well…” Amy started, looking into my eyes with pity.  “Yes, it was his fault, I’m afraid.”

“Jimmy!” Kyra said angrily as she roughly lifted me until I was standing atop the seat cushion.  Kyra still stood a bit taller than me as she peered unyieldingly into my eyes.  “I can’t believe you ruined this nice lady’s clothes!  And you even messed up your own clothes on top of it.  You should be ashamed of yourself,” she scolded, gripping my upper arm painfully.  Still squeezing my arm, she turned to Amy and said sympathetically, “I’m so sorry about this, Amy.  He just can’t seem to control himself anymore.  But rest assured, he’s going to pay for this when we get home.”  I shuddered as Kyra stared menacingly into my eyes.

“Oh … you’re not going to hurt him, are you?” Amy asked concernedly.

“Trust me, he deserves it,” Kyra asserted as she easily lifted me off the seat and plopped me down on the floor.  Then she strolled up to Amy and put her arm around her shoulder like they were old buddies.  The two of them faced me and looked down at my tiny figure.  “C’mon, Amy, I know how mad you must be at him, ruining such a cute outfit.  You look gorgeous in it, by the way,” Kyra added, looking at her with a smile.

“Why, thank you, Kyra!” Amy responded.  “Isn’t it fabulous!?  I just bought it this weekend, but it’s already my favorite outfit.  Well, at least, it WAS my favorite…” she ended dejectedly.

Kyra consoled her, “And now you’ll never be able to wear it again!  Oh, that’s got to be the worst feeling in the world!  Surely Jimmy deserves a little punishment for what he’s done…” she coaxed.

“Well, I don’t know…” Amy said, torn between wanting to treat me like an adult and wanting to punish me like a child.

“Amy, honey,” Kyra said frankly, “Look at your clothes and tell me he doesn’t deserve something for what he’s done.”

She glanced down and grimaced at the sight of her stained clothes.  As she lifted her gaze back to me, I marked a definite change in her demeanor: she didn’t necessarily like it, but she now knew that something must be done to avenge her ruined outfit.  She sighed remorsefully but said, with grim determination, “You’re right; he does deserve to be punished.”  She turned her gaze to Kyra and added, “Try not to hurt him too much, OK – just enough to make sure he learns his lesson.”

Nooooo!!! It couldn’t be!!! Never in a million years would I have expected to hear those words from Amy’s mouth.  Kind, gentle Amy, who wouldn’t hurt a fly!  My only friend on the entire planet!  My face contorted in a mix of shock, betrayal, and horror.  My eyes started to water and I felt faint as I looked up at the two women above me: Amy staring resolutely down at me with arms crossed, and Kyra leering down at me ecstatically after her latest triumph over my spirit and soul.  Perhaps if I had been allowed to defend Amy and take the blame for making her late, she would have been more compassionate and forgiving.  But Ms. Johnson and Kyra played her well – the one punishing Amy for my own misbehavior, and the other persuading Amy to take her anger out on me.

“Don’t worry,” Kyra told Amy.  “This isn’t the first time he’s needed a punishment.  I know exactly how much it takes to get him in line.”  She patted Amy’s shoulder knowingly and added, “You’ve made the right choice, Amy.  He won’t be so careless after tonight.”  Amy was still pained by her decision, but she nodded appreciatively at what Kyra was willing to do ‘for my sake.’

Ms. Johnson, who was also absolutely delighted at Amy’s change of attitude, told her, “Well, Amy, now that I see just how much trouble little Jimmy has caused you, and knowing that he’ll receive the punishment he deserves”—she stepped towards me and pinched my shoulder painfully as she said this– “I’ve decided that it will be perfectly acceptable to finish your work tomorrow.”

Amy’s face lit up.  “Really!?  Oh my gosh, thank you Ms. Johnson!  Again, I’m so sorry for not finishing on time.”

Ms. Johnson smiled and shook her head graciously, saying, “Don’t worry about it.  After all, you were nice enough to look after this little troublemaker”—she pinched my shoulder harder, causing me to wince in discomfort— “and it was unfair of me to expect you to keep him out of trouble and meet your deadline at the same time.  So just do a good job on the project tomorrow and get it in to me whenever – no rush.”  Amy and I both were startled at Ms. Johnson’s change in demeanor.  Hadn’t she just threatened to fire her not 3 minutes ago!?  Then it dawned on me: Ms. Johnson was rewarding Amy for agreeing to punish me.  The two conspirators – Ms. Johnson and Kyra – were playing Amy beautifully, cunningly encouraging her to join their side and begin to treat me as a child as well.  Considering how effectively their manipulation had worked so far, I shuddered to think what they would convince Amy to do to me next.

Amy thanked her boss again for her generosity, then Kyra suggested, “Hey, you two, I just had a terrific idea!  Why don’t the three of us go out one night and help Amy pick out a new set of clothes?”

“Sounds fabulous!” Ms. Johnson replied.

“Oh, you guys don’t have to do that,” Amy said, still caught off guard by her boss’s sudden transformation.

But Kyra interjected, “Oh, nonsense, Amy.  I’ll even buy you a whole new outfit.  It’s the least I could do after Jimmy ruined your clothes.”

“Well, it does sound fun … OK, let’s do it!” Amy consented.  The three women gave a little cheer then giggled.  They sounded like best friends already.  They all shared cell phone numbers, then Amy added, “But it’ll have to be later in the week, I’m afraid.”

“No problem, Amy,” Ms. Johnson replied.  “Just tell us when you want to go!”  She paused, then continued, “Well, I was just giving Kyra a quick tour of the office.  Amy, could I trouble you one more time to watch Jimmy for a few minutes while we finish up?”  She and Kyra stepped towards the hallway.

“Sure, Ms. Johnson,” Amy replied, standing behind me and resting both hands on my shoulders.  “He won’t go anywhere, I promise.”  The two of them smiled warmly at Amy and walked out of the cubicle.

Once my two tormenters were out of sight, I shrugged off the hands on my shoulders and spun around to confront my tormenter-in-training.  “What the hell was that!?” I asked, both angered and hurt by what Amy had just done.  “You betrayed me!”  I began to back away from her.

She sighed and told me, “Oh, come on, James, you’re overreacting.”

“I trusted you!” I shot back, tears welling up in my eyes as I stumbled backwards.

“Can’t we just talk about this?” she asked.  I saw that she was pained by my reaction but still thought I was overblowing it.  She stepped towards me and offered me her hand.  I recoiled from her reach and, seeing her lack of remorse, broke into tears and turned towards the hallway to escape her, overwhelmed by emotions.

But before I could leave the cubicle, I felt my arm suddenly held back by an immovable force.  Shocked, I turned my head to see Amy’s hand clasped around my wrist.  “I’m so sorry, James, but I can’t let you leave the cubicle.  I can’t risk pissing off my boss.  Please, just come sit with me and we’ll talk this through.”  Her face was filled with pity and compassion, but her grip on my wrist remained unbreakably strong and resolute.

“Just let me go!” I whined childishly as I struggled hopelessly to wrest myself free from her grasp.

“I’m not going to hurt you, James, I just want to talk.”  I continued to struggle.  “Please, James, stop fighting me.”  She watched my futile struggles for a minute, but her patience quickly ran out.  She sighed at my antics then turned and headed towards the chair behind her, still holding my wrist.  I resisted as hard as I could but found myself being pulled inexorably back into the cubicle.  There was nothing I could do to stop her overwhelming strength.

Having grown tired of my struggles, she shook her head in exasperation as she pulled me into her with one arm, then reached around me with her other arm and brusquely picked me up off the ground.  Her arm pressed my body into hers as she lifted me back onto my chair and plopped me down onto the seat.  Then she went down on her knees in front of me, grabbed both armrests, and pulled my chair closer.  My knees were pressed against her midsection, and my body was surrounded by her outstretched arms on either side of me and her huge torso in front.

Although I knew I was trapped, nonetheless I tried to lunge forward and squeeze through the small gap under her arms and next to her torso.  “Will you stop it already!” she boomed, annoyed at my continued struggles.  Her arm immediately moved to my chest and pinned me strongly, but not roughly, against the back of the chair.  “Just let me talk, OK!?”

I knew I was now in no position to stop her from just talking, so I started to cry.  “James, don’t be like this,” Amy pleaded.  “You know I never meant to hurt you.”

“Then why did you say Kyra could punish me!?” I blurted.

“There, there,” she soothed.  “You know it’s only fair, after ruining my outfit.  Besides, she’s only going to punish you as much as you deserved.”

“But she’s going to spank me like a little kid!”  I realized in embarrassment that I had shouted that much too loudly.  No doubt everyone within a five-cubicle radius heard what I said.  More quietly but just as forcefully, I added, “That’s not how an adult should be treated!”

Seeing that I had calmed down a bit, she withdrew her hand from my chest and returned it to the armrest.  But even though she had let up on my chest I still felt trapped like a mouse, being hemmed in on all sides by her huge frame, and knowing she would not let me leave if I was to try.  “I know, I know,” she replied, turning her eyes down regretfully.  “But,” she continued, raising her gaze, “You have to admit that you haven’t exactly been acting like an adult this afternoon.”

“What!?” I said, deeply hurt by her words.

“Please, James, try to understand me,” she pleaded.  “Of course I know you’re still the same 41-year-old man that I’ve gotten to know and admire over the last couple years.  I even,” she whispered confidentially with a tender smile, turning her head side to side to make sure no one else was listening, “had quite a crush on you, James, and I often wished we were more than just friends…”

My jaw dropped open in amazement.  I was such an idiot!!!  How could I have let this go on for so long without making a move!?  I was utterly devastated, knowing that she would never want me anymore, not in the body of a child.  But what if, maybe, just maybe, she still had feelings for me?  I was just about to open up to her when she put a finger to my lips to silence me and continued, “But that’s behind us now.”  Her face became serious again.  “It’s just that you’ve … changed in the past couple weeks, and maybe you ...” she said, trying to choose her words carefully, “well, you just don’t seem to … listen as well, and … uh … treat people with as much respect, and … do what they ask of you, and …”  She was really struggling to put things as delicately as possible, although what she was saying still wasn’t very delicate in my opinion.

I had to interject, to defend my honor.  “But I have been listening, and showing respect, and –“

She cut me off.  “See, this is part of my point – you just won’t stop arguing with me!  And what about when you refused to get off the computer?  And when you kept nagging me when you knew I was busy?”  I tried to speak but she shushed me again, getting increasingly agitated again as she recounted all my misdeeds.  “And what about when you spilled the pasta that I was nice enough to get you?  And even just a minute ago, when I risked my job to defend you, and you didn’t so much as raise a finger to help save my job in return, like any friend would!”

“I was trying to, but Kyra cut me off!  I swear!”

She frowned disbelievingly, growing more agitated at my continual arguing.  “Either way, my point is you haven’t been acting maturely like the man I used to know, and, well, to be frank, I’m not sure you’re able to take care of yourself anymore.  Maybe Kyra is right; you need someone to look after you and keep you out of trouble.”

I began to sob again under her hard gaze.  By all appearances, she now saw me less as a man, and more as a child: a radical change from when I first talked with her this afternoon.  In bitter frustration, I cried out, “They’re getting to you!  That’s just what Kyra and Ms. Johnson want you to think!  They’re just pretending to be your friend so they can turn you against me!  Please don’t treat me like a child too!  Please, Amy!  You’re my only friend in the whole world!”  By then I was sobbing uncontrollably, my head buried in my hands.

I felt Amy’s long arms reach behind me and pull me up off the cushion and into her warm body.  This only brought more tears from me as I cried like a baby on Amy’s shoulder.  “I’ll never treat you like they do, James, I promise,” she whispered earnestly in my ear, moved by my show of emotion.  “Just because you need someone to keep an eye on you doesn’t mean you should be treated like a child!  I promise, I will always care for you and listen to what you have to say, and I will never, ever hurt you.”  She pulled me back and looked deeply into my eyes.

My sobbing subsided.  Encouraged by her promise not to hurt me, I asked, “Does that mean you’ll tell Kyra not to spank me tonight?”

Amy paused thoughtfully then said with emotion, “Don’t worry, James, I’m sure this will never have to happen again.  I’m sure after a light spanking tonight you’ll have the mindset you need to act like a grown-up again, and we’ll be back to being best friends, just like old times.”  I was still too emotional to quite follow what she was saying at first, and I smiled when she said we could be best friends again.  But slowly her words sunk in: I would still be getting a spanking tonight.

Seeing my downcast expression, she laid her hand on my shoulder tenderly and said, “It’s OK, James.  What’s done is done.  Let’s just put all of this behind us and move on, OK?”  I had no choice but to accept my punishment tonight.  I nodded in pained acceptance, and she brought me in for another warm hug.

Kyra and Ms. Johnson returned just as Amy was releasing me from her embrace.  “We heard some yelling; did anything happen while we were away?” Kyra asked.  Seeing my cheeks still wet with tears, Kyra looked at us quizzically and said, “Don’t tell me Jimmy acted up again.  That boy just doesn’t know how to behave.”

“No, no!  It was nothing like that, Kyra!” Amy said, standing to her full height and placing her hands on my shoulders protectively.  “We just had some … issues that needed sorting out.”  I nervously turned my head up to Amy as she looked down and affectionately patted my hair.  “But we had a heart-to-heart, and now James understands that he was bad and needs to be punished, and I’m sure he and I will get along much better in the future.  Isn’t that right, James?”  She looked down at me expectantly, almost as a mother would a child.

I still absolutely disagreed that I needed a god-damned spanking, but what could I do?  “Yes, ma'am -- I mean, Amy,” I replied softly before dropping my head in shame.

The two newcomers grinned evilly at me, and Kyra responded, “Good.  Thank you so much for talking some sense into him, Amy.  It’ll make my job much easier.”

“Glad to help, Kyra.  Well,” Amy said, turning to her boss, “I hear that James is unable to work here anymore…”  Ms. Johnson nodded in confirmation, and Amy turned back to Kyra.  “… but I would love to have a chance to see him again, as often as possible.  And if you ever need someone to look after him, feel free to call me anytime.  You have my number.”

“That’s so nice of you, Amy!  I will definitely take you up on that.”  I was pleased with this; even though it sounded a hell of a lot like babysitting, I would far rather have Amy do it than anyone else.  Kyra added graciously, “Although, of course, not during work hours.”

Amy nodded approvingly, saying, “I’m afraid he is just too much to handle when I need to get work done.”  My face turned red as she said this.

“Of course, dear,” Kyra continued.  “I’m terribly sorry for burdening you like this today.  I’m sure I can find some other accommodations while I’m off at school.”  I was getting sick and tired of these women having conversations about me as if I wasn’t standing right there.  Even Amy didn’t seem to have a problem ignoring me.

Kyra and Amy gave a friendly goodbye hug, then Kyra swiftly lifted me up onto her hip and carried me away as Ms. Johnson walked us out.  I turned and saw that Amy was a bit embarrassed to see me carried this way, but nonetheless she happily blew me a kiss and waved goodbye.  I returned the wave until we rounded the corner, out of sight.

Kyra and Ms. Johnson continued to chat, still utterly ignoring my presence even though I was facing both of them as I sat on Kyra’s hip.  As we neared the elevator, Ms. Johnson said, “My goodness, I feel like we’ve known each other a long time already, even though we only just met this afternoon!”

“I feel like that too!  It was such a pleasure meeting you, Becky.”

“Please, Kyra, the pleasure is all mine.  I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other very soon.”  Then she bent over to put her face in front of mine and said, “And I hope to spend some more time with this little guy, too.”

“Oh, I have no doubt about that.  I could always use some parenting advice.”

Ms. Johnson gave a predatory grin and leaned in closer to me.  “Hear that, Jimmy?  You and I are going to have so much fun together.”  The ominous tone of her voice scared the shit out of me.  I sighed in relief as she backed away and told Kyra, “Keep in touch!”

“Will do!” Kyra replied merrily as she entered the elevator and pushed the button for the lobby.  There was another woman in the elevator who smiled pleasantly at Kyra and what was surely her son hanging on to her.  My expression turned even sourer than before.  I had had enough of this crap.  I was even too upset to pay attention to the bouncing of Kyra’s huge melons before my eyes as we got out and walked to the car.

Kyra was in a cheerful mood as she buckled me into my car seat and drove home.  I reflected on my miserable life on the way, and particularly on Amy’s semi-betrayal.  At least having her in my life would probably turn out to be a good thing; she had shown me the closest thing to respect I had seen in weeks, and I was encouraged by her offer to treat me like a grown-up ‘if I acted like one.’  It was the best offer I was gonna get, and I resolved to make the most of it.

And then I remembered another encouraging thing: the doctor’s offer to give me the antidote this evening.  I just had to get there, no matter what.  As we drove, I planned when to make my move – how about when Kyra took a shower?  Or even when she went to the bathroom, if need be.  I fingered the piece of paper in my pocket, where I had written his address.  I recalled that it was fairly close to my house, but still easily 10 minutes or more on foot.  But all I had to do was escape the house without her knowing, and then she wouldn’t be able to find me.

We pulled into the garage around 5:40.  I pulled the handle on my door, but to my surprise it didn’t open.  Kyra chuckled and told me, “Child safety lock.  It only opens from the outside.  For your protection, of course.”  She smirked and walked around to my side to open my door.  But as I was about to step down I felt her strong arms grab me again and lift me back up onto her hip.

“Bar—I mean Mommy,” I whined, narrowly avoiding the forbidden B-word, “I can walk myself.”

“Oh, Jimmy, but I just love carrying you like this,” she told me happily.  “You look so small and helpless in my arms.”  She walked inside, and instead of putting me down she proceeded up the stairs and into my new room.

She gestured to the piles of boxes I had set there with all my things.  “Now, Jimmy,” she told me condescendingly, “While I make dinner, I want you to take all those grown-up things out of your room and set them downstairs by the door.”  Of course, when she said ‘grown-up things,’ she meant all of my belongings – all except my kiddie clothes.  “I’ll want to look through them to see if there’s anything I want for myself before we get rid of them.  Have this done before dinner, sweetie.”  She set me down and went downstairs.

I grudgingly started carrying the boxes away.  They weren’t huge – not nearly as big as moving boxes could be.  But I still found them to be surprisingly heavy; I had lost 8 pounds since yesterday, and every pound was crucial now that I only had 65 of them left.  I had intentionally packed the boxes lightly, but it still proved quite a struggle to carry them one-by-one down the hallway.  And descending the stairs proved both difficult and potentially dangerous, as I had a hard time keeping my balance and finding my footing with the heavy load I had in my arms.

I managed to haul the first two boxes down without incident, although I had begun breathing hard and my arms were getting shaky already.  I went back up and counted 10 more boxes.  This was going to be tough.  I picked out a particularly heavy one and decided to carry it next while I still had some strength left.  Getting down the hallway was not much of a problem, but as I started to step down the stairs I became unstable.  The farther I went, the more I stumbled about, bumping into the railing and almost dropping the box.

As I was two-thirds of the way down, Kyra spotted me.  “Jimmy!  You’ll hurt yourself!”  She rushed over just as my arms were about to give way and spill the contents all over the kitchen floor.  Catching the box, she easily lifted it away and set it down next to the others.  I took a few more steps down and Kyra approached me, still taller than me even though I was four steps up.  “You should know better than to carry something heavy like that!” she scolded.  “I should never have let you move those.”  She beckoned me towards her outstretched arms, and I reluctantly leaned forward to let her pick me up again.

She returned to the kitchen and set me on the counter.  “I don’t feel safe having you out of my sight anymore.  You’re going to sit here and watch me make dinner.”

Dejected, I had no choice but to sit helplessly as Kyra prepared the meal.  As I watched her work, though, I couldn’t help but be impressed at how quickly she had learned to cook.  I couldn’t remember her ever cooking anything that didn’t involve the microwave, but as I watched her expertly maneuver around the kitchen and create what would surely be another delicious concoction, it was clear that she was naturally a much better cook than I was, even after years of practice.  Was there anything that she wasn’t ridiculously good at?  I reflected that I couldn’t think of a single thing that I was better at than her, except for my engineering work which took me many years to learn.  Although technically I couldn’t really even count that now since my job was taken away from me…  I sighed and shook my head as my amazing daughter/mother finished up.

“All done!” she said cheerfully as she served up our plates.  Then she came to me, lifted me under the armpits, and plopped me down to the floor.  She gave me a gentle nudge in the back and guided me to my seat.  Looking down at me patiently with arms folded, she waited for me to try her food.

I took a bite of the glazed salmon and my taste buds were in heaven.  “This – this is amazing!  It’s the best salmon I’ve ever had!” I told her truthfully, genuinely forgetting my horrible situation for the next few moments.

“Why, thank you, Jimmy!” she beamed down at me.  Then she pulled a few strands of hair back from her eyes, bent down, and planted a warm, juicy kiss on my forehead.  Meanwhile, I was already greedily putting another bite into my mouth when I looked over and saw her massive form leaning towards me, her cleavage spilling out of her top beautifully.  My mouth dropped open in wonderment and awe, causing the last bite to fall right out of my mouth and onto my lap, as the fork slipped from my grasp and bounced off my thigh and onto the floor.

“Oopsie!” Kyra giggled, still filled with glee from my reaction.  “Did Jimmy drop some food on himself again!?” she cooed playfully.  Her mood suddenly turned serious.  “You really need to be more careful with your food, after what you did to Ms. Adams today,” she scolded, referring to Amy.  “But I suppose I will let this second incident slide, since you’ll be receiving corrective treatment tonight anyway.”  My face darkened at the reminder of my impending punishment.  But Kyra’s face brightened up again as she reached for a napkin and told me, “Now let’s get you cleaned up.”

She slid my chair away from the table and leaned forward even more—while showing even more cleavage—to pick up the bits of salmon off of my lap.  “I can do it myself, Mommy,” I whined, but she simply ignored me as she removed the food bits.  But then my situation took a turn for the worse as she began to rub diligently on my lap to remove as much sauce as she could.  Unfortunately, I had dropped the food right in the area around my crotch, causing waves of pleasure to course through my body as she inadvertently massaged my privates.  I was losing control of myself as my eyes darted frantically down to her hands rubbing my crotch, then up to the gaping maw of cleavage laid out before me, jiggling deliciously side to side as her hands worked vigorously to remove the stain.  “Mommy, stop!” I begged frantically, reaching down to try to divert her hands.

Kyra looked up at me in surprise, still oblivious to the effect she was having on me.  She pulled her hands back a bit and finally noticed my strained breathing, flustered face, and anxious fidgeting.  Kyra tilted her head quizzically but slowly realized what was going on.  To confirm her suspicions, she brought her hand back down to my lap and rustled around a bit until her fingers met my rock-hard member.  This produced a loud gasp from my mouth as I frantically pushed her hand away and exclaimed, “Mommy, don’t!”

She gave a delighted chuckle at my reaction.  Then an evil smile crept across her face as she lowered her hands to her knees, causing her boobs to press together to give an even more eye-popping display.  “My, my,” she said slowly as she seductively licked her lips.  “What’s wrong, little boy?”  She gave an innocent pout and continued, “Mommy was only wiping the stain off your pants; I don’t know what could possibly be bothering you so much.”  I just wanted to crawl into a corner and die.  But even now, I couldn’t help but steal frequent glances at her cleavage hanging just below my eyes.

In my incredible discomfort, I tried to slide out of my chair just to get away from this situation.  But Kyra quickly grabbed my arms and slid me back into place.  “Uh-uh, Jimmy,” Kyra breathed lustfully, shaking her head slowly at me.

She just let me sit there and squirm for a few seconds, and she was loving every moment.  “Mommy, I … uh, I really need to go to the bathroom,” I lied in an attempt to escape.

“Not until you finish your dinner, little boy,” she replied, reveling in her power over me.  She then quickly stood up straight and turned away.  My gut reaction was to reach down and pull myself out of the chair.  But Kyra saw me immediately and boomed, “Stay still!”  I immediately drew my hands back and sat still as a log, more as a reflex than an actual conscious decision.

Kyra sauntered over to her side of the table and picked up another cloth napkin.  She then walked back to me and put her hands on either side of my seat back to pull my chair closer to her, which of course subjected me to another extreme close-up of her immense tits as she bent way, way over.  Just to ensure I had the best view possible, she pulled back her hair which had been partially obscuring her bosom as it hung below her head.  With her back straight and her chest thrust proudly out, she told me, “So, Jimmy, obviously you’re just going to make a mess if you try to feed yourself…”  As she said this, she tucked a napkin under the collar of my shirt like a bib.  I began to protest, but she put a finger to my lips.  “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Jimmy.  Lots of boys your age have trouble keeping their food in.”  She took the other napkin and placed it on my lap, pressing down harder than necessary on my crotch as she did so, causing me to writhe in both pleasure and discomfort.  “Whoopsie, looks like I missed a spot!” she exclaimed.  I sure as hell didn’t see anything there, but supposedly she saw another splotch of sauce which happened to be directly on top of my penis.  She made sure to give it a good, vigorous rub and didn't even bother to mask her delight at my writhing response to her touch.

Finally, she relented and placed the napkin neatly across my lap.  Then she rose and pushed my chair back in front of my plate.  She walked back to her own seat and sat down.  Seeing me sitting there looking at her with a distraught expression, she cheerfully encouraged, “Go ahead, baby.  Eat up,” as she began to eat her own serving.  I gave a small sigh, relieved that Kyra was finally giving me some space.  I was more than happy to return to the scrumptious meal she had prepared.  God, it was delicious.

But I soon found out that Kyra had no intention of letting up.  At first, she struck up an innocent conversation, saying, “Well, Jimmy, I just loved meeting everyone at your old work.”  She just had to specify ‘old,’ didn’t she.  “Your boss is just a delightful lady, isn’t she?”

I didn’t respond at first, focusing on my meal, but she raised her eyebrows at me expectantly.  “Oh, uh, yeah I guess,” I mumbled, deciding it wasn’t worth it to disagree and say my boss was a B-I-T-C-H.

“And Amy must have been such a wonderful coworker, wasn’t she?”

“Yeah,” I replied morosely.

“Well, come on Jimmy, tell me about her!” Kyra said enthusiastically.

I didn’t mind talking about Amy at all, but the humiliation Kyra had so willingly just put me through still weighed heavily on my mind, and I was in no mood to chat lightly as if nothing had happened.  But Kyra’s stern gaze quickly changed my mind, and I began to tell her about my best friend.  “Uh, well, Amy is … really nice, and I’ve known her for 2 years now.”  I heard Kyra’s shoe hit the floor as she slid it off underneath the table, but I thought nothing of it.  I continued, “Umm … we sometimes work on the same projects, and she’s fun to work with, and—“

My body jolted to attention as I felt something warm move up the inside of my thigh.  My eyes bulged as I realized Kyra’s nylon-covered foot was slowly inching its way closer to my crotch.  I saw a fiendish twinkle in Kyra’s eyes, but otherwise she pretended that nothing was amiss.  Her foot was getting dangerously close, and I pushed my chair back from the table.

“Uh-uh, Jimmy, I never gave you permission to leave the table,” she scolded, with the slightest hint of a smirk on her lips.  “Pull your chair back where it was and finish your food.”  I gulped and hesitated, but a stern look from Kyra told me it would be wise to comply.

I slowly pulled myself closer to the table, although intentionally not all the way back to where it was.  “Jiiimmmmy,” Kyra warned, “you know you should sit closer to the table.”  I felt her foot raise up again to my thigh, halfway to my crotch.  My frail body began to shake from the tension of the moment, but I knew she would only make my life even worse if I disobeyed her.  I slowly dragged myself closer, letting her huge foot slide further and further up my thigh while forcing my legs apart.

I stopped when her toes reached just an inch or two from my scrotum.  Kyra reacted by raising her eyebrows threateningly and saying coldly, “I won’t ask again.”  I gulped loudly, my legs shaking more and more with every passing second.  But I had no choice.  I closed my eyes and clenched my teeth as I pulled my crotch within range of Kyra’s waiting toes.

“Thank you, Jimmy,” Kyra said simply.  Then she continued on as if nothing had happened.  “I agree, Amy seems very easy to get along with.”  Of course, her foot began to slowly work its way back and forth across my junk, softly at first, but gradually pressing more and more firmly into me.  The sensations she was causing me with the simple action of her foot were mind-boggling.  I was unable to hide my reaction as I began twitching and moaning under her ministrations.  But all the while Kyra continued the conversation, still pretending as if nothing was happening.  “It’ll be awfully nice having a friend already when I start my internship.  Do you think she’ll be willing to help me out when I get there?” she asked innocently.

“Ggg – uhh – I ddon’t knowww,” I managed to force out through clenched teeth.

“Aw, come on, Jimmy, tell me more about her, won’t you?” she asked sweetly as she casually took a bite of salmon.

To my surprise and relief, her foot stopped its gyrations for several seconds.  Well, at least she's letting me talk finally.  I started in, “Umm, she’s really nice and she will DEFinitely”—just as I said the last word, her foot playfully flicked across my shaft, causing me to yelp in surprise and pleasure.

“Hmm, Jimmy?” she asked innocently.  “You were saying…?”  She was having way too much fun with this.

Cautiously, I continued, “S-she, uhh, will definitely help you neXT WEek”—I spasmed as she flicked her toes again.  She looked at me patiently, waiting for me to continue.  I hated her so freaking much for doing this to me, but I knew I had to go on.  “As I was saying … uhhh…” I couldn’t focus on what I was saying, as I was getting more and more nervous for her next strike.  I began again but jumped when I saw her twitch her arm.  She was just playing with me, delighted by how frightened she had made me by such a simple action.  I was starting to sweat and my hands felt cold and clammy as I told her—no, begged her—“Uhh, M-Mommy, can I p-please just eat my f-food now?”

“Oh, of course, sweety!” she replied cheerfully.  “You can tell me about her after dinner.  Wouldn’t want your food to get cold.”

“Oh!  Uh, thanks,” I replied, pleasantly surprised.  I picked up my fork and took another piece of fish, although the nervous shaking of my hands made it quite difficult.

But I should have anticipated that she would take this opportunity to continue molesting me.  Her foot began to work itself into me even more enthusiastically than before.  Holy Christ, her foot felt soooooooo wonderful.  How the hell could she know how to work a man so well, with so little experience?  But my musings were quickly drowned out by the ecstasy of the moment, as I felt myself about to come…

Kyra’s foot immediately pressed hard, and rather painfully, into my crotch.  She knew exactly how to take me to the edge –and exactly when to stop me.  I yelped and lurched forward in a violent spasm.  “Oh, what’s wrong, baby?” she asked sweetly.  I didn’t respond.  After about 15 seconds of recovery, Kyra asked me, “Well, aren’t you going to eat your food?”

I was scared to find out what more she had in store for me, but all I could do now was just eat.  I picked up the fork in my hand, still shaky, and began to eat ever-so-slowly.  But, inevitably, her foot began to massage my crotch yet again, this time slowly and rhythmically.  I let out a low moan as I tried as best I could to focus on my meal.  But it proved far more difficult than I had imagined, as my twitching, convulsing, and just general shaking made it next to impossible to navigate the food from the plate all the way to my mouth.

“Are you OK, Jimmy?” she asked in feigned concern.  “You’re not going to drop any more food, are you?”

I hardly heard her as I was totally focused on the food on my fork.  Several bites of salmon managed to find their way to my mouth.  But Kyra was slowly picking up the intensity.  I was halfway done with my fillet and started to pull another bite to my mouth.

Anticipating this, Kyra dug her toes sensuously into my crotch, causing me to spasm wildly.  The fork flung out of my grasp and hit my lap, depositing the bite of fish before falling to the floor with a clang.

This was the moment Kyra had been waiting for.  “Jimmy!” she said sternly.  “This is the third time today you’ve spilled!  Clearly you can’t be trusted to feed yourself anymore.”  Before I could react, she got up and pulled her chair around the table, setting it next to mine.

“What are you doing?” I asked, my voice cracking.

“Don’t worry, little boy, Mommy is gonna help you.”  She placed her hand on my shoulder as she sat down, ostensibly to provide balance but, from the way she slowly and exaggeratedly drew herself down and thrust out her chest inches from my face, it was clearly meant to get me even more flustered.  She then moved her hand from my shoulder to the seat back and pulled my chair in even closer to her massive frame as she pulled her own chair up to the table.  Even sitting down, the top of my head didn’t reach her shoulders.

Wrapping her left arm behind my back, she picked up her own fork and broke off a piece of my salmon.  As she brought the fork not towards her own mouth but to mine, it dawned on me that she was trying to spoon-feed me like a baby (or fork-feed me, in this case).  “Open wide!” she said eagerly.

This had gone too far.  “No!” I exclaimed, pushing the fork away, causing even more fish to fall onto my lap.  “It’s not fair!  You—“

“Jiiimmmmy,” Kyra warned.  “Do what your mother tells you.”  She wrapped her left arm more tightly around me in a warning squeeze.

I quailed as I looked up into her disapproving eyes.  What could I possibly do?  But I had to try to retain some dignity, I just had to.  My defiant resistance was replaced by a timid plea as I meekly asked, “Mommy, can I please feed myself?  I can do it, I promise.”

Kyra sighed and shook her head.  “No, Jimmy, I won’t have you making a mess any more.  Just look at how your hands are shaking!” she said, holding out my arm as evidence.

“But Mommy, that was only because I was about to –“  I cut myself off, not wanting to admit it.

“About to what, Jimmy?”

“Nothing!” I replied quickly.

Kyra set the fork down on the plate and lifted my chin up with her free hand.  “James Michael,” she said softly but sternly, “you will answer me when I ask you a question.  Now, what exactly were you about to do?”

I cringed under her stare.  ‘This is bullshit,’ I thought.  ‘She knows exactly what she was doing to me.’  But I was forced to suck it up and reply, with great shame, “I was about to come.”

She gave a gasp and said, “Naughty Jimmy!” in feigned astonishment, although I had to hand it to her that her acting was quite good.  “You were about to COME at the dinner table!?  Shame on you!”

I protested, “But you were—“

“Oh, no, don’t try to blame this on me,” she scolded.  “You know full well that you are only allowed to come if I let you, before you go to bed.  And only if you’ve been extra good that day.  Which you most certainly have not, young man.  And I’m warning you, Jimmy,” she said, pulling my body even closer, forcing me to crane my neck painfully up at her, “if you come when you’re not allowed, the punishment will be severe.”

Her treatment of me was so obviously and totally unfair that I didn’t know how to react.  She was lecturing me for something that she was wholly responsible for and she knew it.  She was really on a power trip and was probably just dying for me to protest further, when she would really lay down the hammer.  But I knew I couldn’t give in to her games.  “Yes, ma’am,” I said, starting to sob.

“Hmph.  Good boy.”  Picking up the fork, she took another piece of salmon and brought it to my face.  “Open wide,” she told me.  I complied, and she brought the fork into my mouth and said, “Now close up.”  I did, and I began to chew.  “Don’t let any spill out of your mouth again, OK?”  This brought on more sobs as I was now being lectured and spoon-fed by my 18-year-old (former) daughter.

The tears continued to stream down my face as she continued to feed me the salmon as well as the side of rice.  At one point, she paused and asked, “Would you like to feed yourself now?”  Astonished, I nodded eagerly. This was too good to be true.  “OK, but on one condition: you have to promise me that you won’t spill any more food.”  As she said this, she set the fork down and laid her hand on my upper thigh.  “Can you promise me that, Jimmy?”  Her hand began to massage my thigh, working its way closer and closer to my crotch.  My penis immediately sprang to attention, and I again felt my breathing quicken and my body begin to shake.  She watched me intently, enjoying the effect she was having on me.  “Can you absolutely guarantee it, Jimmy …??”  By then, I realized that she was just toying with me; if I said I would feed myself she would relentlessly fondle me until I would be sure to drop some food, and I could only imagine what my punishment would be when I did.

Defeated, I hung my head and replied, “I want you to feed me.”  Kyra beamed.  That was exactly what she wanted to hear.  A new wave of tears rolled down my cheeks.

She resumed the feeding.  From time to time, she would lift the napkin from under my chin and dab the tears from my cheeks without remorse.  Once that was finally finished, she pulled her chair back over to her side and ate from her own plate.  I started to get up, but she snapped her fingers and commanded, “Stay.”  I slumped back down as she continued, “That’s terrible manners, Jimmy.  You need to wait until everyone at the table is finished.  Now, tell me more about Ms. Adams.”

I managed to shrug off the humiliation I had just experienced enough to tell Kyra in some detail what my work experience was with Amy and what she was like.  Then, when she was done eating, she handed me her cell phone and told me to wait patiently on the couch while she finished the dishes.  Confused about the cell phone, I nevertheless complied.  While sitting, I remembered the one task that I desperately needed to complete that night: I had to escape and reach the doctor’s house at all costs.  But so far I could see no possibility for escape, with Kyra keeping me in her sight at all times.  But she would have to go to the bathroom at some point …

Kyra came over after the dishes were done and sat next to me.  She was still in a serious mood.  “Open the phone,” she told me.  I obeyed.  “Find Amy Adams’ number … OK.  Set it to speakerphone and call her.”  The phone began to ring.  “Hold the phone up while I talk to her.  And don’t speak unless spoken to, Jimmy.”  I had a bad feeling about this…

“Hello?” I recognized Amy’s voice.

“Why, hello there!  This is Kyra.”

“Oh!  How nice to hear from you!  Hope everything is going well…?”

“Actually, no, not so well.”

“Oh no!  It’s not … Jimmy, is it?”

“How did you guess,” Kyra replied sarcastically.

“Well, I guess it’s not hard to believe after his behavior earlier.”  I cringed as I realized Amy was still sore about that spill.  And everything else.

“You’ve got that right,” Kyra replied, looking down at me haughtily.  “In fact, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.  It’s clear now that that was not an isolated incident.  Just now, at dinner, Jimmy spilled twice—“

“What!?” Amy interjected.  “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m afraid so,” Kyra replied.  I desperately wanted to speak up, but one look from Kyra kept me quiet.  “He spilled all over his lap and the floor as well.  Fortunately no one else was near him, THIS time.”

“Well, good thing you have luck on your side, otherwise that boy could have ruined your outfit too!” Amy replied with indignation.  Wait—did she just call me ‘boy’!?  That was a big blow to me.  I doubt she would call me that to my face, but she didn’t know I was listening in.  Still …

“Don’t I know it!  Anyway, I said enough is enough, and I went right over and spoon-fed him the rest of his food.”

“Oh my goodness!” Amy replied, a bit taken aback.  At least she would think twice about degrading me like that.  But my heart sank as she continued, “Well … that’s unfortunate, but I guess there’s not much else you could have done.  I just can’t believe he would be so careless, after what he put me through earlier!”

“Oh, Amy honey, I know.  Such a shame.  And that’s not all; when we were sitting at the table, he nearly–" my eyes went wide with panic.  She wouldn’t tell Amy that I almost orgasmed at the dinner table, would she!??  To my infinite relief, though, Kyra finished, “Well, suffice it to say, he was extremely naughty.”

“Oh my gosh, whatever he did, it sounds bad!  I can hardly believe how much James has changed since I knew him.  He's just such a little ... Well, I don't even want to say it.”  Amy paused, then asked timidly, “So, have you … you know … punished him yet?” She was clearly still a bit uncomfortable at the idea.

“Not yet.”

“Well, Kyra, I just … do you think your punishment will be enough?  I mean, I hate for James to suffer, but then again … maybe you should pick it up a notch or two??  I just really want to make sure he learns his lesson, that’s all.  And from the sound of it, he has a lot of learning to do.”

A sinister smile crossed Kyra’s face as she peered down at me victoriously.  “Those were my thoughts exactly!” Kyra exclaimed.  “I just felt that I ought to get your permission first.”

Amy sighed on the other end.  “Yes, go ahead.  But …”—she still seemed hesitant—“you’re not going to make him, like, cry or anything, are you?”

“Amy, dear,” Kyra told her soothingly, “I’m afraid we don’t have a choice; if he doesn’t even cry, then he hasn’t really learned his lesson.  We need to enforce an actual change in his behavior, otherwise he’ll just say he’s sorry and then go back to the same bad behavior tomorrow.”

“Oh … I see,” Amy replied uncertainly.

“I’ll tell you what, Amy,” Kyra added confidently, “We’ll run a little before-and-after experiment.  Think back to this afternoon and try to remember his apology after spilling on you.”

Amy sat there in silence for a few moments, then exclaimed, “Oh my God, I had forgotten about that!  He never even apologized once!  As a matter of fact, when I calmly tried to explain to him all the ways he hurt me today, that little brat just tried to make excuses and blame me or you!”

This was so extraordinarily unfair!  No one had let me get an apology in edge-wise!  But I was far too scared of Kyra to pipe in.  “Argghh, after what he put me through!" Amy added.  "The nerve!  If he were here, I could just –“  Fortunately, she didn’t finish that thought.

“Well, you know, Amy, that can be arranged.  I’ll bring him over this instant and you can deal with him as you see fit.  Where do you live?”  Kyra’s eyes were wide with excitement at this new prospect.

But Amy had calmed down.  Thank God she was good at controlling her emotions (at least, after the initial outburst).  “No, no, I could never do that to James.  Especially now that he’s so small and defenseless.  But you go ahead, Kyra, and do whatever you need to do.  Really, whatever you feel is best.”

“Thank you, Amy.  I won’t let you down.  And if it will make you feel better, I had a punishment in mind that won’t cause him as much pain as a spanking, but I think it will be every bit as effective.”  That brought chills to my spine.  What the hell was she going to do to me?

“Oh, well that sounds ideal.  I still hate to think of little Jimmy in pain.”  That was nice to hear – Wait, did she just call me ‘little Jimmy’!? 

“Then it’s settled.  This brings me to the other half of the experiment: the after.  Why don’t I give you another call after I’m done with him, and you can hear his apology first-hand.”

“That sounds wonderful!” Amy exclaimed.  “But do you really think he’ll apologize?”

Kyra laughed confidently.  “Oh, you’ll see, darling.  A little punishment can do wonders for him.”

“Well, I’ll be eagerly awaiting your call then,” Amy said giddily.  They said goodbye then Kyra took the phone from my hand and closed it.

Kyra sat next to me, peering down in silence.  A growing sense of dread consumed me as Kyra slowly licked her lips.  I felt like a juicy steak that had just been tossed to a lion.  I tried to squirm away from her but she shook her head slowly, threateningly.

Kyra broke the silence by saying, “Well, well.  That’s quite a friend you have, Jimmy.”  She brought her hand up and started stroking the back of my neck lightly, causing my entire body to break out in goose bumps.  “She must really care for you, willing to punish you so you could learn a valuable lesson.  How nice of her.”

Kyra stood up and beckoned for me to do the same.  The last thing I wanted to do was disobey her right now, which would only amplify my impending punishment.  She stared down at me –way, way down at me—and my entire body began to quiver from head to toe.  I was scared shitless of Kyra, and even more terrified of finding out what she had in store for me.

After looming over me for a minute or so, she told me in a sinister tone, “Spanking you is becoming a bit … wearisome, wouldn’t you say?  I think we can come up with something a little more sporting.  I’ll be right back; don’t move a muscle, understand?”  I nodded vigorously.  Then she turned and headed up the stairs, and I realized this was my chance.  As soon as she was in her room I had to make a run for it.

As the moment approached, my heart began to pound faster and faster.  As she neared the top, I started to have doubts.  What if she heard me leave?  What if she caught me?  But the doubt that surprised me the most was this: maybe I shouldn’t try to get the antidote.  I shuddered to think what Kyra’s punishment would be if she found out I not only ran away from home, but took the antidote as well.  I was now so mortally terrified of Kyra that I began to consider whether her punishment would even be worth the reward of not shrinking.  This line of thinking chilled me to the bone.

But as she reached the top of the stairs, I found a new resolve and decided to risk it.  My entire body was tensed in anticipation as she opened her bedroom door.  I was seconds away from making a move that would change my life.

But at the last second, Kyra paused and turned back toward me.  Did she know about my plans to see the doctor?  No, certainly not.  But perhaps she sensed that there was a chance I would try to flee nonetheless.  “On second thought, Jimmy, why don’t you join me?”  My hopes were dashed on a whim.  I scampered after her, desperately wanting to flee but hoping that a time would come tonight.

I followed her into her bedroom – her Master bedroom, to be specific –and she turned to me and simply commanded, “Strip.”

“Wh-What, everything?” I asked, taken aback.  But she simply raised her eyebrows impatiently.  I obeyed, quickly removing my clothes as she watched me intently with hands on her hips.  I felt so pathetic, a puny little man being forced to strip naked before this towering giantess of a woman.  Soon I was down to just my boxers, but she impatiently motioned for me to remove them too.  Cringing, I had to comply and was now standing buck naked before her.  I sheepishly tried to cover my private parts as I cowered before her, standing well shorter than her breasts.

“Hands at your sides,” she ordered.  I grudgingly complied, and she let me stand there for a while as she inspected every inch of me with her eyes.  I felt so exposed and violated, but I knew the punishment hadn’t even begun yet.

“Now me,” she commanded.  I was confused, but she gestured to her own clothes.  I was to undress Kyra now.  Growing impatient at my hesitation, she cocked her eye down at me and said forcefully, “Now.”  I immediately sprang to action, awkwardly fumbling with the buttons on her top.  She had on a businesslike jacket thing with a thin belt around her midsection, with a low-cut tank top underneath, as well as a short, tight skirt and nylons, and of course those high heels.  It was very professional, yet devastatingly sexy at the same time.  She continued to stare at me uncomfortably as I undid her belt and buttons.  My quavering hands didn’t help as I reached above my head for the two buttons covering her breasts.  Normally I would have objected to her leaving so many buttons undone, as it revealed far too much cleavage, but for once I was grateful for this since I had a hard enough time reaching the bottom of her breasts as it was.

Once everything was unfastened, and her jacket lay open on her torso, I waited for her to remove it so I could continue my task.  But to my dismay, she just stood still, not helping me out in the slightest.  “Did I tell you to stop?” she demanded.

“Um, could you help me out some?” I asked hopefully.

“I thought I told YOU to undress me.”

“Well, yeah, but—“

Her hand darted out and slapped me square across the face like a bolt of lightning.  “NOW!” she commanded.  My hands went up to my cheek in pain, but through the welling tears in my eyes I saw her and knew I didn’t have any more time to waste.  I reached up as high as I could, trying to reach her collar.  Even on my toes, I couldn’t quite reach high enough.  Jesus, she was huge.  I went around behind her and tugged as high as I could on the back of her jacket, and with some effort I was able to pull it off her shoulders and down her arms.  Fortunately, Kyra was kind enough to remove her hands from her hips and leave them extended at her sides.  With a small sigh of relief, I finished removing the first article of clothing and tried to figure out what next.

I was very worried about her tank top, but I decided to put that off for now.  I went for the low-hanging fruit instead, going for her skirt which was level with my chest and shoulders.  After a brief search around her tree-like legs and wide hips, I found the clasp to undo the skirt.  Reaching around both sides of her waist, my arms could just barely meet on the other side to undo the skirt and pull it off.

“Hurry up; this is taking way too long,” Kyra chastised.  I couldn’t help it, undressing a woman twice my size!  I tried to pick up the pace as I peeled down her nylons.  As I did so, I couldn’t help but be awed by the sheer size of her legs.  Each one of them stood almost as tall as my entire body, and I knew that my own waist couldn’t be much bigger around than each of her thighs.  I pulled the nylons down, down, until finally reaching the floor.

I hadn’t realized, but the entire time I was undressing her I was becoming more and more aroused.  The feel of her warm, firm body blown up to ridiculous proportions was more than enough to get me going.  No doubt Kyra saw my erection as she continued to study my body like a lab rat.

I took a deep breath as I tried to plan how to remove her tank top.  I extended my arms but could barely even reach the bottom of her spaghetti straps.  I tried in vain to pull them off her shoulders but I had no leverage and her entire top was tight on her body.  “Umm, Mommy, it’s too high,” I whined.

She regarded me coldly.  I added, “Please, could you help me out some?”

She answered with another hard slap, saying, “You’re stalling, aren’t you?  You just don’t want to move on to your punishment, so you’re refusing to take my clothes off.”

“No!  I really can’t!  Please, if you could just stand by the bed so I can get higher…”

She gave an exasperated sigh.  “Fine.  But since I’m being so helpful, I expect you to finish much quicker now.”  I gulped, but knew that it was my only choice.  She stood beside the bed as I quickly climbed up and stood on the bed, just barely shorter than her now.  But now I had the necessary height and leverage.  I bent down and lifted up her top starting from the waist.  It was going fine until I reached those two huge orbs that were her breasts.  I tugged upwards, but her boobs were jutting out so far from her chest that my efforts were in vain.

I looked pleadingly at Kyra, but she just returned an icy stare.  I gulped loudly and then spent the next 30 seconds pulling and tugging with both hands from various angles.  I realized, though, that I still didn’t have good enough leverage, with her breasts at the level of my upper abdomen.  And when I was able to make some headway, the steep slope of her rack would simply pull the tank top back down where I started.  But worst of all, the longer I went on tugging and pulling at her breasts, the more uncontrollably aroused I was getting, especially from this rare vantage point of being able to look down at her breasts and cleavage.

“You’re really starting to piss me off, Jimmy.”  Her gaze was terrifying at this point.

“I’m trying!  It’s just that your … your … breasts are so big.”

She gave a vicious frown.  “My BREASTS are so big!?  Is that what you’ve been doing this whole time!?  It was just an excuse to fondle my big breasts!?”

“NO!” I shook my head wildly.  “Not like that!!  I just can’t—“ WHAM!  The hardest blow yet slammed into my face, causing me to stumble back onto the bed.

“Naughty boy!  Your mother’s breasts are off-limits, do you understand?”

I picked myself up off the bed, dazed by the force of her blow, and through my sobs I said, “Yes, ma’am.”

She then proceeded to easily remove the tank top herself, pulling it over her head and tossing it aside.  “See, was that so hard?” she mocked.  Then she swiftly picked me up and set me down on the floor beside her.  Turning her back to me, she said, “Now finish the job.  And hurry up.”

What!?  Did she want me to strip her naked?  Evidently so.  I approached her with trepidation, but to my shame also a burning desire to see her naked again.  Damn it, what was wrong with me?  I took a deep breath and reached above my head to undo her bra.  To my chagrin, it was not easy, with all the tension from her breasts pulling the straps tight, as well as the poor leverage I had again.  “Jiiimmmmy,” Kyra warned as I tugged away at her bra.   But, to my infinite relief, I barely managed to undo one clasp, then the other.  I stood on my toes to pull the straps off her shoulders, and Kyra let it fall to her feet.

As she turned around, I was confronted with the awe-inspiring sight of her shapely melons hanging above my head.  I found it hard to breath, I was so aroused.  Seeing me ogling her, Kyra impatiently put her hands on her hips and said, “You’re not done yet.”  I realized she meant her underwear.  I quickly pulled them down to her ankles and she stepped out of them, leaving her stark naked in all her feminine glory, the mere sight of which was making me dizzy.

Kyra, on the other hand, didn’t acknowledge the awkwardness of the situation, nor the remarkable effect she was having on me.  Right down to business, she told me to go fetch her sports bra, athletic shorts, and white panties from her drawer.  I obeyed immediately, and she started putting the bra on, telling me, “There’s no way I’ll let your perverted self put this on me and touch my breasts again.”  I hung my head in shame, although she did turn around and tell me to fasten the clasps.

Jesus, and I thought taking her other bra off was hard.  Having to put this one on proved impossible for me; I reached up and pulled the clasps together as hard as I could, but I couldn’t bring them closer than a few inches apart.  “You gotta be kidding me!” Kyra yelled as she brusquely slapped my hands away and fastened the bra herself.  She then put her underwear and tight-fitting short shorts on by herself and turned to face me.

“After all the trouble you’ve gotten yourself into today, you’re still finding ways to piss me off,” Kyra sneered.  I tried to convey to her that I tried as best I could, but she was having none of it.  “Now, to start things off, I want you to pretend that I’m Ms. Adams, and apologize for the horrible things you did today.”

I was thrown off-guard by the odd request, but I gathered my composure and delivered what I thought was a solid apology.  In my clearest, sincerest voice, I said, “Amy, I’m so, so sorry for what happened earlier.  It was an accident, and I promise I’ll be more careful from now on, and I swear it will never happen again.  If there’s anything I can do to make it up to you, anything at all, please let me know.”

Kyra frowned.  “Is that it?”

I looked at her in confusion.  “Uh … yeah,” I answered uncertainly.

Kyra gave a long, exaggerated sigh.  “Oh boy, this is gonna take some work.”  She snatched my wrist and began to tow me out of her room and down the stairs.

“But Mommy, I’m really really sorry!” I cried.

“Hmm, that’s a start at least,” she replied, but didn’t stop pulling me to the living room.  Once we were there, she told me, “I want this whole area cleared,” referring to the living room floor.  I quickly pulled the coffee table aside, with considerable effort, and set aside some loose pillows and papers sitting around.  Then Kyra had me lay out a large, plush blanket over the carpet.  What was this all about?

Kyra went down on her knees in front of me.  Even still, she loomed almost an entire head above me.  “Listen, Jimmy, and listen good.  Frankly, that apology was pathetic.  But I’m going to be nice and give you another chance to convince me.  The two of us are going to have a little wrestling match, of sorts.”  Seeing my astonished look, she added, “Obviously, you don’t stand a chance against me.  But that’s the point; even knowing you can’t win, I want you to give it everything you’ve got, and I mean REALLY try, and maybe, just maybe, through your effort and perseverance you can convince me of how deeply, truly sorry you are.  And if you do well enough, we can even forget the whole punishment thing altogether.  Of course, if you don’t,” she said, cocking an eyebrow at me, “it could be a much more … difficult process.  Understand?”

I gave a puzzled look.  It was certainly an unusual way of proving my sincerity, but on the whole it seemed even better than I could have hoped for – I could even get out of this mess unscathed.  I nodded and said with confidence, “I won’t let you down.”

Kyra almost laughed when I said this, telling me, “We’ll see, little one.  So anyways, I’ll let you start out easy.  I’ll give you a big advantage by staying down on my knees while you can stand.  All you have to do is knock me down before I knock you down.”

I wouldn’t exactly call it an advantage, since she was still taller than me even on her knees, and far bigger in every way, but I would take what I could get.  “OK, let’s do this,” I said, still acting as confident as possible to send Kyra the right message. 

We locked arms on each others’ shoulders, with Kyra having to bend hers way out due to the length difference.  I gulped, coming face to face with the sheer enormity of Kyra compared to my puny little body.  Even though she was only lightly holding my shoulders, I already felt trapped by her long, toned arms surrounding me on either side and her taut stomach and chest filling my vision.  Despite telling myself that just knocking her off balance would be easy, deep down I already knew how this would go.

“Ready, Jimmy?” Kyra asked.  I nodded.  “OK, get set, and … Go.”

I immediately thrust forward with a huge surge of power right off the bat, trying to catch her off-guard.  But instead of propelling forward, I found myself hurling straight backwards, knocking my naked body clean off my feet.  Nothing could have prepared me for the completely opposite effect of my pushing; it was as if all laws of physics had been reversed in that instant, so that pushing became pulling and I was thrust backwards with as much force as I had applied moving forwards.

The reality, of course, was that Kyra was so easily able to overpower me, pushing with more than twice the force I gave.  I lay on my back in a dazed stupor, seeing stars from the blow to my head, trying to find my bearings as Kyra’s hands pressed me firmly into the makeshift wrestling mat.  “Are you OK?” Kyra asked, genuinely concerned.

“Uh … yeah, I’m fine,” I replied after pulling myself together.

Kyra pulled herself back up onto her knees, lifting me onto my own feet in the process.  “Why didn’t you push back?” she asked, concerned.  “I asked if you were ready.  You could have gotten hurt.”  She truly thought I hadn’t even tried.

Was I really that weak?  I guess it made sense, since I was only 65 pounds to her 155 or so.  But I remembered what she said about trying my hardest, so I sucked it up and said, “Sorry.  Let’s go again.”  I just had to pray that she’d go easier on me this time.

“OK then, why don’t you start this time, to make sure.  No need for a countdown; just begin when you’re ready.”

Locking arms again, I put the last defeat out of my mind and focused my strength, glad that this time I would get a chance to push first.  Now I could really get the jump on her.  With just as much force as last time, I suddenly burst forward, digging my feet into the ground to get maximum leverage, and laid into her with everything I had.

For the first second, I felt her give way, and I was glad to see that physics was operating in the correct direction this time.  But I had only moved her shoulders back maybe 6 inches when I felt a tremendous resistance suddenly kick in, and almost immediately I was being pushed backwards again, although this time she didn’t drive me into the ground, only pushing me off of her as I stumbled a few steps backwards.  All my hopes went dark as I realized after my best effort she still wasn’t even remotely close to falling.

“Here we go,” Kyra said with a competitive jeer.  “Now I really want you to try, OK?” she reminded me, her arms braced towards me ready for the wrestling to begin.  It dawned on me that she thought I had only given a small shove to start things off, instead of a mighty heave to win it then and there.

But she would soon find out just how weak I actually was.  As I rushed recklessly towards her outstretched arms, I didn’t even pull close enough to reach her shoulders before her hands clamped onto me and held me at arms’ length.  I struggled mightily against her hands, my face beet red with exertion, as I tried to break loose and push forward, but it was no use as I felt a crushing weight descend upon my shoulders.  My struggles quickly changed from trying to press forward to merely trying to stay standing, but the overwhelming force of Kyra’s arms quickly brought me to my knees.  Another few seconds, and I toppled over onto my back, again pressed strongly into the ground.

“Is this a joke to you?” Kyra said, flustered not from any sort of exertion but from anger at my seeming lack of effort.  “Did I not explain to you what would happen if you didn’t try?”

Short of breath from the herculean effort I just expended, I managed to say, “I tried!  As hard as I could!  You’re just too strong!”

She frowned down at me.  “You expect me to believe that’s all you’ve got?  I didn’t even try last time.”  Picking me up off the ground again, she told me, “I’ll go even easier on you this time, and for your own sake you had better show me something good.”

This was not going well.  I focused everything I had on the next engagement, hoping that I would at least demonstrate my effort even though I could never hope to beat her now.  This time, she let her arms down, still ready with palms facing me, but allowing me to get in closer.  I charged like a banshee, hurling myself towards her chest.  But as soon as I was within grabbing range, I felt her hands clutch either side of my rib cage, halting my progress completely.

Nonetheless, I was at least able to grab her shoulders now and gain a bit of leverage.  I bucked side to side, trying to pull her sideways with me, but there was very little give.  Instead, she shoved me back a few steps with her hands and yelled, “Come on!  Is that really all you've got!?”

Not yet defeated, I changed my tactic and came at her from the side, hoping to topple her where she was most vulnerable.  She was caught completely off-guard by this, and I actually managed to tip her far enough over so that she had to extend her hand to the ground for support.  I kept heaving into her to press my advantage, but her opposite arm easily braced her body against me.

“Not bad, Jimmy, keep this up,” she encouraged with absolutely no strain in her voice, even as I was grunting and struggling with all I had.  But she only allowed a few more seconds of this, until her other arm, the one closer to me, wrapped behind my back and gave me a little push to the side.  This caused me to deflect away from her, and in my desperate heaving I had no way to stop myself from careening forward, toppling ungracefully and landing flat on my face in front of her.

“Whoops,” she quipped, giving a short laugh.  She was clearly enjoying the futility of my struggles.  I picked myself off the ground and looked into her face.  Her haughty smirk kindled a fire within me, or at least a flickering flame, and gave me a renewed determination to prove myself to her once and for all.  My teeth clenched in grave seriousness, I lowered my head and charged again, this time aiming for her midsection.

She allowed me to make contact with her stomach, and although I felt as though I hit her like a linebacker, her abs felt hard as a rock, and my blow produced no effect from her except a giggle.  “Watch where you’re going, little guy,” she jeered.  Furious, I wrapped my arms as far around her waist as they would reach and heaved with all my might.

Kyra remained motionless as I struggled.  After another bout of giggling, Kyra told me, “Hell, Jimmy, do your worst; I won’t even try to stop you.”

She was true to her word; I spent the next couple minutes tugging and pushing on her body from all angles, trying desperately to knock her off balance, while she simply sat up on her knees, hands on her hips, letting me wear myself out.  I tried driving my feet into the ground as I pushed against her, but she just tensed her muscles to compensate and completely negate my efforts.  I tried coming at her from behind, hoping to topple her forward, but she simply leaned back, her weight too much for my 65-lb frame to overcome.  She found my struggles more and more amusing as I went on.  To an onlooker, it must have surely looked like the pathetic struggles of a little boy trying anything he can to get his lollipop back from a big mean bully.  I just prayed that this bully wouldn’t grow tired of me and put me down once and for all. 

Soon enough, she started having fun with me.  As I put my arms back on her shoulders, trying to jostle her side to side, her arms suddenly clasped onto my own shoulders and jostled back.  The only difference was that her jostling tossed my frail little body to and fro as she laughed hysterically.  She began to pull me around in a circular motion, causing my arms to flail about helplessly.  When she finally let me go, I stumbled sideways and collapsed in my dizziness, prompting even more boisterous laughter from Kyra.

“This is so much fun, Jimmy!” Kyra exclaimed in delight.  As I stood myself up for the umpteenth time, I gave a hurt look and hesitated.

“What’s the matter?  Aren’t you having fun too?” she taunted.  I sulked, out of reach of her arms.  “I sure hope you’re not giving up yet,” Kyra chided.  “I would hate to get the idea that you weren’t TRYING HARD, so we would have to move past the fun time into the punishment.”  She gave a mirthfully vicious grin as I grimaced at the suggestion.

Fine.  If she wants to belittle me she can go ahead, but I’m going to keep going and show her once and for all just how hard I can try.  I circled around her slowly, looking for some weakness I could exploit.  The sight of me crouching, tensed, preparing to strike brought another round of laughter from Kyra, but I didn’t let it faze me.

My entire body was worn out from the constant effort I had been putting up, and I knew that I couldn’t possibly use brute force anymore (not that I could to begin with).  Knowing this, though, I came up with a plan that I was sure would work.  Well, pretty sure anyway.  I came at her from her right flank, hoping that she would brace against me so I could catch her off-balance, as instead of pushing into her, I reached out and latched onto her shoulder and the top of her arm, jumping off the ground so that my entire weight would swing around and contribute to a last heroic attempt to capsize this towering giantess.

As if in slow motion, I watched her face change from laughter to surprise as her body began tilting towards me.  I coiled around her arm tightly, finally seeing a glimmer of hope, truly believing that she would fall and I would be absolved of my punishment.

But as she began to topple, she darted her left arm out as a counterweight, and for a few brief moments we teetered on the brink.  Alas, to my horror, I felt her body tilting back to the left, slowly at first, but then finally settling back down on her two knees as her ship was righted.

Her face lit up in triumph.  “Well, that was a pretty good try, I have to admit,” she laughed victoriously.  But before I managed to let go of her arm and descend back to the ground, I felt Kyra’s entire body shift.  I clutched her arm and shoulder tighter than ever, even wrapping my legs around her, as I found myself being hoisted far up into the air.  She stood up, bearing my small weight upwards with her.

Looking down, I suddenly remembered my fear of heights and I gripped her shoulder as tightly as I could.  Giving a second look, I realized I could probably make it, though; I was a good two feet off the ground, which to my small body felt like much more, but even still, if I could ease my way down her arm a bit then I could let myself down with little difficulty.

But Kyra made sure I had plenty of difficulty.  She began to rather violently swing her arm side to side, causing me to hold on for dear life, or so it seemed to me at least.  I had a hell of a time hanging on as she bounced me about, absolutely delighted by what she could so easily do to me.

“P-Please, let m-me down!” I cried, almost losing my grip as she flung my body about.

“What’s the matter, Jimmy?  You’re not going to let go, are you?  You wouldn’t want me to think you have trouble holding on to things, like me, or your FORK with all your FOOD on it, would you?” she taunted.

I closed my eyes and hoped I could keep my grip on Kyra’s shoulder and arm.  But she didn’t make it easy.  She began to hop up and down, rattling my teeth as she did so.  Then, worst of all, she told me, “Hold tight, sweetie!” as she began twirling her body around in a circle.  I shrieked in fear, not just of displeasing her, but in actual fear for my life as I had no idea where I would land if I was flung off, as she kept spinning faster and faster and faster …

Slowly, I felt my grip slipping.  I began to slide down the length of her arm, and I was too weak to pull myself back up.  Finally, the last of my strength gave out, and she slipped completely out of my grasp, flinging me wildly away from her.  I fearfully awaited my impending doom, until…

I landed on the couch.  Shocked, I lay motionless looking up at Kyra, contemplating how lucky I was not to have broken anything in the fall.  I reckoned that she didn’t realize just how dangerous that could have been.  Or else she was just having too much fun to care.

But she didn’t give me long to recover from my fall, brusquely picking me up off the couch and setting me on my feet before her.  She managed to wipe the smile off her face and get right down to business.  “OK, Jimmy, playtime is over.  I know you've just been fooling around so far, but that had better change starting now.  This is your last chance.”

Holy Christ.  I had just put forth every last ounce of my strength trying whatever I could to impress her.  And now that I was physically and mentally exhausted from it all, she wanted even more!?  I had almost nothing left to give.  Dejected, I hung my head and begged, “Mommy, please, I can’t do any more.  I tried my best.”

I felt Kyra’s strong hand lift my chin so I would look her in the eye.  Furious, she said, “Listen to me, you little brat.  Whether you cooperate, or whether I have to beat the living shit out of you, you will learn your lesson today.  I promised Amy I would change your attitude tonight, and so help me God, I am going to live up to that promise.”

I trembled in fear as she turned and stepped back onto the wrestling surface, then crossed her arms and waited for me with cold, brutal eyes.  I stood frozen for a few moments.  But even though victory in this situation was utterly impossible, the hope of lessening my own suffering proved to be a powerful motivator in its own right.  I charged.

Slamming into the bare skin of her massive thigh and rock-hard stomach, I battled ferociously and managed to gain an inch.  Just one inch, though, as the impact caused her to step back slightly before rooting herself in place and watching me struggle below her.  I kept heaving into her for some time, until every last bit of my strength was sapped.  Dizzy and exhausted, I collapsed to the ground at her feet.

“Is that really the best you can do?” Kyra sneered.

I began to sob and grovel at her feet.  “Please, Mommy, please please please don’t hurt me,” I whimpered.  “I’ve given all I can give.”  I felt truly pathetic at this point.  Kyra had beaten my last will and resolve just by standing still.

“Get up,” she commanded coldly.  I slowly rose and looked pleadingly up into her eyes.  “While you are pathetically weak, Jimmy, I will say I am impressed by your effort.”  My eyes went wide in astonishment.  Was she really satisfied!?

“So,” she continued, “you’ve made a good start.  But I need to see even more from you this time.”

WHAT!!  It can’t be!!  She must know I’ve spent literally all of my energy by now!  At this point, I was pretty sure that even if I could give even more this time, she would only expect me to go even harder the next time.  She wouldn’t stop until I was utterly crushed.

I shook my head in despair, but she crossed her arms again and stared daggers down at me, commanding me to try again or else.  I sighed a deep sigh of defeat as I prepared for my impending doom.

I ran, or, more accurately, stumbled, into her, feebly flailing my arms against her flesh and digging my face into her belly.  Knowing she would be disappointed, I began to bawl, tears streaming out of my eyes and wetting her stomach.  “Please, I give up!” I cried.

At that moment my entire world went spiraling out of control.  In a blinding flurry, Kyra lifted me clean into the air and came down on top of me, pressing her entire weight down and pinning me to the ground.

“I told you to try harder!!” she bellowed.  I was completely unable to breathe as this teenager, weighing about 2.5 times my own weight, crushed me into the blanket.  I writhed feebly under her, trying in vain to squeeze a breath into my lungs as my eyes were forced shut from the pain.

Mercifully, she lifted herself off me and sat up, but unmercifully she dragged me up and put me into a choke hold, which she squeezed tighter and tighter around my neck.  As I lay there helplessly in her grasp, she barked, “Why aren’t you struggling?”  I immediately began to flail about pathetically, unable to make any sort of concerted resistance whatsoever.

“You really aren’t sorry, are you?  After all my efforts, you still refuse to let me help you.”

I had to do something, anything.  I found a last reserve of strength from somewhere inside me, and with a last ditch effort I kicked and punched at whatever I could reach – Kyra’s legs, her arms, her stomach – and yelled as loud as I could, though garbled through my constricted throat, “Let me go!!”

“Yessss, that’s it, keep struggling.”  She responded by squeezing my neck even tighter.  Somehow, though my consciousness was rapidly fading, this was able to prompt another burst of adrenaline from me, and I was able to keep up the struggle for what seemed like a lifetime, although in reality it was less than 10 seconds.  The entire time, she continued to tighten her grip, and I soon reached the breaking point as my body went limp and I blacked out briefly.

Her grip loosened, and although she kept her arm bent around my neck I was allowed to breathe freely again.  She let me lay there for a couple minutes, slowly regaining some tiny remnant of strength and willpower.

At long last, she let me slip to the floor as she stood over me.  “Get up,” she said again, and with a herculean effort I managed to rise onto my own two feet, although I hardly had the strength to raise my head to her.  Again, she complimented me by saying, “Good effort again, Jimmy.”

But then I heard the words I least wanted to hear in the whole world: “But I’m still not convinced.  You need to do more to show me you are really sorry.”

That was it.  I couldn’t handle any more.  I broke down completely.  I would tell Kyra anything that she wanted to hear, anything at all.  Falling into a heap at Kyra’s feet, I cried profusely and exclaimed, “I’m sorry!  It was my fault!  I’m just a boy, an immature, pathetic little boy, and that’s why I dropped my food!”

Kyra removed her foot from my groveling, and I thought I was done for.  But through my sobs I heard the dialing of a phone.  A few seconds later, I was lifted up off the ground by a single arm and was plopped down onto Kyra’s lap as she sat down on the couch.

Someone answered the phone.  Kyra replied, “Hi Amy, this is Kyra.  Jimmy here has something he would like to say to you.”

She held the phone to my mouth, and, hardly realizing what I was saying, I blurted out, “I’m so so so sorry, Amy, please forgive me!  It’s all my fault, everything!  I should have listened to you and respected you and treated you like an adult and not bothered you and not eaten near you since I’m so little and weak and helpless and I can’t take care of myself anymore and can you please please forgive me for ruining your clothes and ruining everything???”

There was a pause at the other end, during which I thought I heard her snuffle.  When she did speak, I could tell she was deeply moved by my apology.  “James, sweetheart, I can’t tell you how much it means to me to hear you say that!  I forgive you!  Oh James, you truly have changed since this afternoon, haven’t you?  Now we can finally put all this nasty business behind us and from now on we’ll be closer than ever!”

After my rambling apology, it slowly started to sink in what all I had said.  While I was deeply glad that Amy was now completely back on my side, I wondered at what cost this victory was won.  Would she ever see me the same way again?  I softly muttered, “I-I’d like that ...”

“Oh, you’re just wonderful, James,” Amy said, with great cheer in her voice.  “Now can you please hand the phone back to Kyra?”

Kyra, listening in on our little conversation, pulled the phone to her and asked, “I hope that was sufficient?”

“Oh my God, Kyra, you are a miracle worker!” I heard Amy exclaim.  “I don’t know how you did it, but … well, you did it!”

Kyra laughed affectionately.  “Oh, it was my pleasure, Amy.  I’m just glad I could help.  And just as an extra precaution, I’m going to send Jimmy to bed now to reflect on what he’s learned so we can make sure it sinks in.”  It was only 7:40.

“That sounds like a great idea!” Amy replied.  “Oh, can I say goodnight to him first?”

“Why, of course you may,” Kyra replied, lowering the phone back down to me.

“Uh … hi, Amy,” I said awkwardly.

“Hi, sweetie!  Kyra tells me you’re going to bed now.  I hope you have a wonderful sleep, and I just can’t wait to see you again!”

“Uh … thanks.  You too,” I replied, again unable to formulate a coherent sentence.

“Good night, Jimmy!”

“Good night, Amy,” I replied, although it wasn’t until after I said this that I realized she called me Jimmy again, not to mention how she seemed all too happy to have me treated like a child now.  I just had to hope that she had meant what she had said about moving past this and treating me like an adult in the future.

Kyra took the phone back and told me, making sure Amy could hear, “Alright Jimmy, go brush your teeth and put your jammies [short for pajamas] on, and I’ll come tuck you in soon.”  I just hated, absolutely HATED how Kyra was not only treating me like a child, but doing so in front of my best friend.  And it seemed to be rubbing off on her, too!  But any resistance I had had been thoroughly beaten down for now, so I obediently got off Kyra’s lap and trudged upstairs.  I turned once I got to the top and saw Kyra sitting there, legs crossed, chatting away with my own best friend while I was forced to go to bed early.

I brushed my teeth and put on my pajamas (since I was still bare naked from the ‘wrestling match’), then sulked into my new tiny-ass room and climbed into my tiny-ass bed (though at least it was more than big enough now at my size).  Still rather dazed and confused by what had just happened, and also tired as hell from all the exertion, I was already drifting off to sleep when Kyra came in.  Walking up quietly, she laid a tender kiss on my cheek and whispered, “I’m proud of you, Jimmy, my little boy.  Good night,” then turned out the light and gently shut the door.

********************************

Tuesday: 4’2”

I woke up to the smell of bacon and eggs wafting into my room.  I felt well-rested from my long sleep (just over 12 hours!) yet all my muscles were sore as hell from my full-body ‘workout’ last night.  As I lay in bed for a minute, I remembered something that almost caused me to scream in frustration: I never went to the doctor’s house to get the antidote!!!  Holy balls, I was furious at myself.  Not that I had ever gotten a chance to last night, but still, every day that went by meant another two inches shorter I would be for the entire rest of my life.  It was bad enough now at 4’2”, and I didn’t care to imagine how much worse my life would get if I couldn’t get that antidote!  I got out of bed in a rotten mood, put on some of my kids’ clothes, slipped the piece of paper with the doctor’s address into my pocket just in case, and wandered downstairs, where Kyra had just finished preparing breakfast.

She was wearing an apron over a pair of short khaki shorts and a blue t-shirt with, of course, a very low neckline.  As usual, the mere sight of my daughter took my breath away, and despite my foul mood I found my pecker getting hard, as it is wont to do first thing in the morning.  It also didn’t help that it had been several days now since I had had any sexual release.  Hell, I couldn’t remember exactly when the last time was.

As I approached the table, I realized that there was at least one positive with her outfit: no heels, for once.  So she actually seemed a tiny bit shorter than yesterday when she had heels.  If you can call 2 feet taller than me ‘shorter.’  As it was, though, my eyes were only about even with her belly button.

“Good morning, sleepy head!” Kyra called, in a buoyant mood.  “I made us breakfast!”  I headed for the fridge.  “I’ll get it for you.  What would you like, milk or orange juice?”

“Uh … orange juice,” I replied, finding her generosity rather … unsettling, considering her usual M.O.  “What’s this all about?” I asked distrustfully.

She brought it over as I climbed into my seat.  Setting my glass on the table, she rested her hand on my shoulders tenderly and leaned in intimately, completely filling my vision with her radiant beauty and warmth.  “It’s just a little way to show my appreciation for your good behavior last night, honey.”  She bent down and gave me a kiss on the forehead, causing her gaping cleavage to jiggle deliciously.  Standing up straight, she went back to the stove and served up a single plate.

As she set it in front of me, I realized it was way, way more than I could hope to eat.  Hell, it would have been a hearty breakfast for me when I was 6’6”.  “Mommy, this is really nice of you, but I can’t eat this much by myself.”

Kyra laughed jovially.  “Silly Jimmy, that’s not just for you!”  I was puzzled as to why she set it in front of me, but I would soon find out.  She brought over another chair and sat down next to me, then proceeded to tuck a napkin under my shirt collar and lay another across my lap, like yesterday.  Picking up the only fork, she scooped up a bit of scrambled eggs and said, “Open wide!”

Oh, no.  She was feeding me again.  Thinking quickly, I replied as sweetly and innocently as possible, “But Mommy, I thought maybe after my lesson last night you could trust me to feed myself again?”

“Haha!  Silly Jimmy, you didn’t learn to eat better.  All you learned is that you are ‘little and weak and helpless and can’t take care of yourself anymore,’ remember?”

Shit!  She had a point; after all, she had just quoted me word for word from last night.  Seeing no way out of this, I had to concede.  “You’re right, Mommy, I’m sorry.”

Smiling warmly, she responded, “It’s OK, Jimmy, there’s nothing wrong with needing a little help from your mommy.  Now open up!”  I opened wide as she navigated the food into my mouth like an airplane and had me bite down.  “Mmmm, yummy, isn’t it?” she cooed.  I nodded.

She then alternately fed herself two bites, then one for me, then two for her, and so on, obviously realizing that I needed far less food than her now.

While we ate, she told me, “You know, I was really worried about you last night.  I didn’t think you were going to come around and learn your lesson.  But you did, didn’t you?” She pinched my cheek.  “You must have been tuckered out from your little workout.”

“I’m really sore,” I replied dumbly, not knowing what else to say.

“Aww, poor baby!  Well, it’s a good thing you changed your attitude when you did, otherwise you might have been a lot sorer!” she said playfully.  I didn’t like how cheery she was about it; it seemed pretty freakin’ serious to me.  But, not wanting to sour her mood, I forced a smile and nodded.

The longer she fed me, the more I became entranced by the movement of her body next to mine.  She would lean forward to pick up another forkful then turn her shoulders to me and lean in to put it in my mouth, causing her boob to squish wonderfully into my arm.  More and more I began to keep my head turned toward her, pretending that I was intently listening to her words, but in reality stealing glances at her exquisite breasts at every opportunity.  I just couldn’t help myself, and I hope she didn’t notice my napkin tenting up on my lap.

She kept talking as she fed us.  “Ms. Adams was just so delighted by your change in behavior, young man!”  She pulled me with her arm for a semi-hug, causing her boobs to press oh-so-wonderfully into me.

“Mmm,” a soft moan escaped my lips, and I scrambled to turn it into a sentence.  “Mm-my pleasure.”  She was really starting to get to me.

“I’m just so glad that you were so cooperative; it really sent me and Amy’s friendship off on a great note.  I have a feeling the two of us will be BFFs in no time!”

She gave me another warm squeeze, and through my now intense arousal I barely managed to get off an ‘uh-huh’ in response.  I wasn’t sure I liked the two of them being friends; it could only lead to Kyra’s preposterous treatment of me rubbing off on Amy as well.  But at least it will give me more chances to see Amy, whereas otherwise I actually might never see her again.

I got full pretty quickly, so I just sat there while Kyra finished up the plate.  Her off-hand had begun stroking the back of my neck affectionately, sending waves of sensations down my spine.  She finished eating, but instead of getting up she set the fork down and turned both of our chairs so that we were directly facing one another, and it was quite a struggle to keep my eyes off her chest.

“Jimmy, honey, I’m so glad you’re finally learning your place in the family.”  She leaned forward and took my tiny hands in hers, and in so doing her arms pressed her boobs together.  Combined with the leaning forward, it was now quite impossible for me to avoid glancing down at her chest.

She was far from oblivious to his reaction.  “I saw you looking at my chest all during breakfast, Jimmy.  And I saw what’s going on in your pants.”   Panic bells went off in my head.  To soothe me, she squeezed my hands and continued tenderly, “It’s OK, Jimmy, I know you can’t control yourself around my body.”  I blushed profusely.  “In the past, I haven’t allowed such naughty behavior.  But,” she added, lowering her voice, “you’ve been such a good boy lately that I will allow you to look at me as much as you desire.”

WHAT!  Was she really saying this!?  “I know how eager you are to please me when you’re like this, and I think it could really help strengthen our relationship,” she said maternally.  “And,” she continued, gently laying her hand on my thigh, “I’m sure you remember what happens if you’re a good boy, hmm?  What I would do for you if you’ve behaved yourself for an entire day?”

I could hardly process what she was saying; as soon as she said I was free to look at her as much as I wanted, my eyes just couldn’t seem to peel themselves away from her bosom.  But I heard her enough to nod at her last question.

“Good,” she cooed.  “You see, there’s no need to keep fighting me like before.  Mommy can do soooo much for you if you’re a good little boy.”  With that, she gave my thigh a squeeze while bending forward and planting another kiss on my forehead.  The combined effect was almost too much to bear, and I nearly came right then and there.

But, fortunately, she relented before it was too late.  Pulling me off the chair, she led me over to the wall and measured me.  “4 feet, 2 inches!” she announced, too excitedly for my taste.  “My goodness, I was only 5 years old then!  At least you’re still average for an 8-year-old boy.”  My heart sank at this unwanted news.  Kyra continued, “Now I have a call to make before we head out.  Go brush your teeth and put your shoes on, please.”

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.  Now shoo!” she said playfully, nudging me toward the stairs.

After brushing my teeth, I came back down just as she was dialing a number.  She closed the phone book before I could see whose number it was, though.

“Yes, hi!  My name is Kyra Roberts, and I was wondering if I could bring my 8-year-old son, Jimmy, in today? … Yes, this is his first time there … Uh-huh … Absolutely, I’d be happy to fill out any forms.  And how late are you open? … 6 o’clock? Sounds great.  We’ll be there soon.”  I had no idea who she had called, but despite her pleasant mood I had a bad feeling about this.

We drove for about 15 minutes, although I still had no clue where I was headed.  Was she having a friend watch me during the day?  No, not based on the phone call.  It sounded more like a business, but what kind of business would just let you drop someone off for the day?  … Wait a minute.  If Kyra saw me as a child now, then it would be somewhere you can drop your kid off for the day, and have other people watch after them …  OH NO.  She wouldn’t! … Would she?

My worst fears were realized as we pulled into the Sunnyside Day Care Center.  “Ummm … Mommy?” I said, almost too shocked for words.

“Here we are, Jimmy!” she announced cheerfully, pulling into a parking spot.

“I … uh … but … why?” was all I managed.

“What’s the matter, Jimmy?  This is where mothers drop off their little kids for the day.  And you are a little kid, right?  ... RIGHT?”

Under her still-friendly glance, I detected a note of sternness and authority in her eyes.  I grudgingly told her, “Yes, Mommy,” and my whole body seemed to deflate as I exhaled loudly.

“Well then, that’s settled!” she said all-too-happily.  “Oh, but before we go in, there’s one thing I need to clear up.”  She leaned towards me, probably to tempt me again with her cleavage.  Of course, I checked her out as intently as I possibly could.  “You’re free to look at my body when we’re alone, Jimmy, but it just won’t do to have people seeing my son ogling his mother’s body, especially not a pre-pubescent little boy like you.  So that means when we’re in public you may not look at me in a sexual way, and in particular you may not look at my breasts at all.  Not even a glance.  Oh, and one more thing,” she added, pointing to the erection pushing against my pants, “make sure that your wee-wee doesn’t show any erections; I can’t have people wondering about my little 8-year-old.  OK?”

I was miserably uncomfortable at that point, but I replied, “OK.”  Kyra coughed expectantly, and I realized I was still showing.  “Oh, right.”  My face turned pink as I awkwardly fumbled in my pants to reposition my wiener in a more discreet way.

“Good boy,” Kyra said, back to her cheerful self.  “Let’s go.”  As I reluctantly stepped out, she took my hand and led me inside.

I wanted to throw up.  Seriously, I felt like I would vomit.  I looked around me at the brightly-painted walls of the day care center covered with pictures of ponies and unicorns and cartoon characters.  There were stuffed animals and kids’ toys strewn about the play area.  And, of course, the place was crawling with little kids running to and fro, yelling, crying, laughing, whining, and any other emotion that seemed specifically designed to make noise and be generally obnoxious.  I never really liked little kids; I found them rather annoying and puerile, especially in large groups, and I was never good at interacting with them.  I just … I don’t know, I just couldn’t handle dumbing myself down for them or whatever.  Don’t get me wrong; I loved Kyra to death when she was little, and I could usually cope with one or two kids at a time, but once they hit a critical mass they just seem to go out of control.

But, alas, here I was, about to be thrown right into their midst – as one of their equals, to boot!!!  And as bad as it was having my former daughter treat me like a child at home, it had been even worse for her to treat me as such in front of my coworkers yesterday.  But this!  This was a new low.  At least yesterday she had only condescended to me and acted as if I were a child, even though my coworkers knew better.  But now she was making it official, declaring to all the world that this little guy here, he was never a full-grown man – no, of course not!  He’s merely an 8-year-old child, and who would ever suspect otherwise!

The utter depths of humiliation to which Kyra was now subjecting me I was only just beginning to fathom, though I would have plenty of time throughout the day for it to sink in more fully.  I recoiled in horror, trying to pull back, to escape from this dreaded place.  But Kyra’s hand held me firm as she continued on to the front desk.

“Good morning!” said the receptionist, a decently attractive woman in her late 30s.  She was solidly built but not manly by any means, and from the looks of her one might guess that she was a mother herself and was kind yet strict with kids when she needed to be.

“Good morning to you too!  My name is Kyra Roberts; I just called about 20 minutes ago?”

“Yes, of course!  Nice to meet you, Ms. Roberts.  And you are … Jimmy?” she asked down to me.

They both looked down at me, waiting for my response.  Kyra squeezed my hand forcefully and told me, “Answer the nice lady when she asks you a question.”

My eyes welling up with tears, I managed to softly croak out something that sounded like ‘Yes.’

Kyra turned back to the receptionist and added, “Sorry, he’s really shy around strangers, plus this is his first time in a day care.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it.  Most kids his age haven’t gotten over their shyness yet.  Now here are your forms to fill out, if you don’t mind.  And Jimmy can feel free to roam around in the meantime.”

“Thank you,” Kyra replied, taking the forms and sitting on a nearby couch.

I sure as hell didn’t want to ‘roam around,’ so I followed her, desperately wanting to plead my case and go elsewhere.  “Please don’t do this to me!” I begged, clutching her knee.  “I thought I was being good, and you were happy with me, so why are you punishing me like this!?”

Kyra appeared startled by this.  “Punishing you?  How in the world am I punishing you, young man?  We just talked about this; it’s perfectly normal for me to leave my child here while I go to school.”

I was desperate.  I had to make a stand, right here, right now, to regain what small, tattered shreds of dignity I still clung to.  “This is serious!  I know you think I’m your little kid now” –her eyes went wide in astonished anger –“I mean, I AM your little kid, of course,” I hastily added, trying to avoid utter disaster for myself.  “But I’m just saying that I’m … not like the other kids here, if you know what I mean?”  Obviously she did know, but she made no such indication.

I continued anxiously, “You can’t just put me here like any other kid!  I mean, I’m still … “ –I had to phrase this delicately –“Well, it’s just that I’m a lot … smarter than the other kids, and I know a lot more, and I’m more … mature in some ways, and I can’t just pretend I’m not and play with LEGOs and try to act like them!  Please, Mommy, this is the most humiliating thing I’ve ever done in my entire life!”  My heart was beating a mile a minute by that point.  I had just given an incredibly risky speech which would almost certainly lead to some form of punishment, but I just … well, I just HAD to try.  Even as tamed and domesticated as Kyra has made me in the last few weeks, I still could never live with myself if I didn’t fight to hold onto this last remnant of my manhood.  I was not yet ready to let myself be transformed fully into a child without making some sort of stand.

Kyra regarded me coolly, betraying no emotion except through a few blinks of her eyes as she was no doubt figuring out what to do with me.  I’m sure I didn’t want to find out.  As her silence continued, a sense of dread began to take hold.  Oh shit, how could I have been so fucking stupid!?

Still emotionless, she calmly set her forms down on a coffee table, reached out and grabbed my hand with an iron grip, stood, and walked me back to the front desk.  “Sorry to bother you again,” Kyra said in a completely level voice.  “Is there somewhere I can go to have a little … talk with my son?  He’s been acting very immature about me leaving him here, and I don’t want to make a scene …”

“Oh?”  The receptionist raised her eyebrows as she glanced down at me.  “I’m sorry to hear that.  Well … I’m technically not supposed to, but I’ll let you into the storage room back here.”

“Thank you,” Kyra replied curtly as the receptionist lead us behind her desk and opened a door.

“Take all the time you need!  And, between you and me,” she said confidentially, drawing Kyra’s ear closer, but still talking just loud enough that I could also hear, “if he needs a spanking, go right ahead.  It’s against our rules, but I won’t tell anyone.”

Kyra nodded courteously and led me into the small, cramped room, shutting the door behind me.  Then the terror really began to hit me.  Wishing to retract some (or all) of my statements, I started, “Look, Mommy, I’m really sorry, I shouldn’t have said those things—“

“Shut up!” Kyra snapped in a loud whisper, so as not to make too much noise.  She grabbed the middle of my shoulder and pinched hard, causing me to wince and bunch up my shoulders as I cowered under her.  “Here I thought that I was actually getting through to you, that you were actually going to start behaving yourself.  But then you give that little tirade out there, out in the open no less, where anyone could hear you, and you tell me that you’re ‘too mature’ to be here and you ‘can’t get along’ with other kids,” she said mockingly.  “But I have a news flash for you, Jimmy: you are EVERY BIT as immature as those kids out there, probably even more so.  I’m sure most of them at least know better than to talk back to their parents.  Just how do you think it would make me look, if someone had overheard your immature little rant?  Huh?  How would that make me look as a parent?  Well, I will not tolerate my child embarrassing me, especially not in front of others.  Pants down, now.”

“I’m sorry!  I won’t—“

She pinched harder and repeated in a hoarse whisper, “NOW!”  I scurried to comply with her demand, dropping my pants in record time, along with my tightie whities just to be sure.  With nowhere to sit, Kyra grabbed both of my wrists in one huge hand and raised my arms straight up against the wall.  With her other hand, she picked up a small stuffed animal from the nearby shelf and crammed it into my mouth to silence my cries.  Then she began to slap my ass mercilessly in a short but intense spanking session until my eyes were swollen with tears and I begged through my gag for it to stop.

“I’m letting you off with just a light beating for now, since I have to get to class and you’ve already made me late enough as it is.  But you listen good: I expect you to forget all this ‘macho-man, I’m-so-mature’ crap, and I expect you to be on your ABSOLUTE best behavior today.  If you are, I just MIGHT forget about this little incident just now, and if I’m feeling really, really nice I might even give you your special playtime tonight.”  She reached down and brusquely grabbed hold of my junk for a brief moment as a not-so-gentle reminder.  “But," she added in a dark voice, "if I hear a single word about you acting up, or being mean to anyone, or trying to talk like you’re older than the little boy that you are, then your punishment will not be easy, young man.  I will not have people thinking I don’t know how to raise my son.  Is that clear?”

She removed the gag from my mouth and I nodded vigorously, saying “Yes ma’am!  Absolutely clear!”  I would tell her anything at that point to get myself out of trouble.

“Pull up your pants and wipe your tears,” she admonished.  I quickly dressed then rubbed away the wetness from my eyes all the way down to my neck.  Once I was decent (albeit with puffy red eyes from the crying) she grabbed my hand and led me back to the front desk.

“Thank you so much,” Kyra told the receptionist.

“Don’t mention it.  I trust he won’t be a problem any longer?” she inquired, eyeing me condescendingly.

Kyra gave me a nudge in the back.  I got the hint and spoke up, “No, ma’am!”

She smiled warmly.  “Glad to hear it!  My name is Mrs. Walker,” she told me, extending her hand to me.

I shook it weakly, mumbling, “Nice to meet you, ma’am.”

“Oh, he’s so adorable!” Mrs. Walker.  “I’m sure he’ll fit in just fine here.  I’m looking forward to taking care of him.”

“Oh, my apologies, I took you for a receptionist!” Kyra replied.

“Haha, that’s perfectly understandable, but since we only really need someone to sit here before and after the work day, all of us supervisors take turns covering the desk at those times but then we all devote our complete attention to the kids during the day.”

“Well, I will feel good knowing he’ll have you to watch over him.  Now, I hate to ask this, but … could you possibly keep an extra-close eye on him today?  He’s just been getting himself into SO much trouble lately, and I’m not sure he's mature enough to cope with this new environment.”

“Don’t worry, Kyra, he’s in good hands.  I’ll make sure to watch him myself, and I’ll give you a full report when you return.”

“Wonderful, thank you!  After our little … chat in the closet”—Kyra winks confidentially at Mrs. Walker –“he knows I expect him to be on his best behavior, so you shouldn’t have any problems, but then again you never know.  Until then … will it be OK if I finish these forms this afternoon?  I’m already running late, thanks to Jimmy’s immaturity.”

“No problem, honey, you run along and leave him to me.”

Kyra thanked her again and kneeled in front of me.  “Don’t forget what we talked about, OK Jimmy?”  I nodded and told her OK.  With that, she gave me a kiss on the forehead and headed out the door.

“Well, Jimmy, I’m sure you’re going to love it here!” Mrs. Walker said, crouching down towards me and tousling my hair.  I absolutely HATED when people did that.  “Come on, I’ll show you around.”  She proffered her hand and I grudgingly took it, letting her lead me around the premises.

There was one large room in the middle of the building where most of the toys and activities were.  A few side rooms, as well as the front lobby, were barred by two insurmountably high gates surrounding the entirety of the main play area.  In reality, the gates were merely 5 feet high with smooth bars that prevented climbing by little tykes like me, and, as I was just finding out, the only way to unlock them was by pressing a keycard to a sensor at the top.  And the only keycards were the ones that the supervisors carried around their necks.

After showing me the inside, Mrs. Walker led me to the back of the main room where sliding doors allowed access to an outdoor area.  Some play equipment, sandboxes, and benches dotted the lawn, which was entirely enclosed by the side of the building as well as what truly was a high fence – probably twice my height.

Leading me back inside, she told me, “Right now is free time, when you may play with anything you want inside or out.  The only rules are to play nice and share the toys with others.  We also have some scheduled activities throughout the day, like movies or nap time, which we will announce.  If you hurt yourself or need to go to the bathroom or anything else, come see one of us supervisors in our red shirts.  Any questions, little fella?”

I simply shook my head no, still too mortified at all of this to speak.  “Good.  And remember, if you need anything at all, don’t hesitate to talk to me or another supervisor.”

I nodded meekly, and she gave my hand a warm squeeze before letting go and turning her attention elsewhere.  I looked around me, and finally the horror of my situation hit me with full force.  I was in the middle of a sea of little rascals.  Everywhere I looked, there were more and more of them, and I was stuck in their midst for the entire freakin’ day.  But the most truly appalling thing about being amongst these children was that they were as big as me – and many were even bigger!  While there were quite a few toddlers and preschoolers, many were definitely in elementary school, ranging from around 5 to 11 years old.  And, being only as tall as your typical 8-year-old, some of these kids loomed over me by a solid 6 inches!

Hating my life, I looked about in despair and found a nice secluded corner where I had the best shot at some privacy.  As I headed for it, though, I saw a couple of girls running towards me from the side, playing tag, but I reacted too late and before I knew it I had been knocked onto the ground, with a not-so-little girl falling on top of me.

She didn’t so much as say sorry before she picked herself up and ran off, shrieking with delight as her pursuer finally tagged her.  I slowly dragged myself onto my feet and brushed myself off.  Crap, that really hurt!  It’s not every day that someone your own size tackles you like a football player, even though in my case she was just a little girl!  The only lasting effect was a rug burn on my forearm which continued to sting as I trudged into the corner and slumped down, knees raised, head lowered.  God, what had become of me!!  I almost wanted to pinch myself to make sure this wasn’t a dream, but of course I already knew the truth.  Like it or not, I was here.

I would have stayed right there, huddled up in that corner all day long if I could.  But Mrs. Walker made sure that I didn’t.  “Jimmy, dear, I know you’re shy around strangers, but you should go out and meet some new friends.”  She bent down and laid her hand on my arm softly.

“No, I don’t want to” I replied petulantly, my head still buried in my knees.  I heard her walk away and was pleasantly surprised that she wasn’t going to press the issue.

But I soon found out that I was wrong.  She returned and told me, “I want you to meet Susie here.”

I picked my head up just enough to glance out and see a girl, about my size, standing beside Mrs. Walkers’ huge legs.  But I quickly dropped my head back down and retorted, “Just go away.”  I absolutely wanted to avoid contact with these children whenever possible.

But Mrs. Walker insisted, “She just wants someone to play with, Jimmy.  You should join her.”  I didn’t budge.  “Come on, Jimmy,” she said, growing impatient.  I shook my head no.  “Would you like me to tell your mother you weren’t getting along with others?”

I picked my head up instantly.  She had said the one thing that would make me change my mind.  “I ... I’ll play,” I said reluctantly, rising to my feet.

“That’s more like it.  You two have fun!”  Mrs. Walker turned and left me with this Susie girl.

She was about my height, maybe even a smidge taller, and had fair skin, freckly cheeks, and red hair done up in pigtails.  I would normally have considered her a cute little girl, except that the ‘cute’ connotation kind of breaks down when she’s every bit as big as you.

“I’m Susie,” she told me with a high-pitched girly voice.

“Uh … I’m Jimmy,” I replied, downtrodden.

“Want to be friends?” she asked innocently.  Ah, the good old days, when all you needed was a simple introduction and you were instant friends.

“OK,” I sighed.

“I am seven years old and in the second grade,” she announced proudly.

I grimaced, wanting nothing more than to end this conversation.  But I knew I had to try to blend in, lest I be punished tonight.  “I’m eight.”

“Let’s play Barbies!” she chirped.  Grabbing my hand, she bounded and skipped to her collection of dolls on the floor nearby.  You’ve GOT to be kidding me.  But against every fiber of my being, I sat down with her and watched as she picked up a doll.

“Her name is Sarah.  What should we dress her with?” she asked, pointing to several outfits on the floor.

I was getting choked up from the humiliation of playing Barbies with a 7-year-old.  “C’mon, which one?” she repeated.  I pointed to an outfit and Susie happily dressed the doll.  Then she handed me another doll.  “Her name is Tanya.  You should put her clothes on this time.”

I just wanted this day to END!  I couldn’t go on like this.  But I managed to contain my emotions for now as I picked up an outfit and put it on ‘Tanya.’

Susie then brought over a Barbie-sized car and walked her doll up to it, then pretended that Sarah opened the door as Susie set her inside the car.  “Let’s go to the mall, Tanya!” Susie said, play acting Sarah’s voice.

I held back my tears as I clumsily brought Tanya over and dropped her into the car, not really giving a crap if it looked realistic or not.  “That’s not how Tanya walks!” Susie exclaimed, perturbed by my lack of effort.  But she continued the little skit, making ‘vroom vroom’ noises as our two dolls supposedly drove to the mall.

We ‘got out’ and Sarah, via Susie, said, “Where should we go first, Tanya?”

The lump in my throat made it extremely difficult to speak, so I just sat there.  “Come on, Tanya, where should we go?”  Susie was getting irritated.

I managed to mumble, almost incoherently, “JCPenney’s.”

“Sounds fabulous, dear!  Let’s go!”  Our dolls ‘held hands’ as they walked along towards the store.

“Hey, is that Brad?” Sarah asked, as Susie brought over a Ken doll.  “Here, you should be Brad, too,” Susie told me, handing me the new doll.  She waited expectantly for Brad to say something, but, well, he really didn’t feel like talking at this time.

“You’re supposed to say something!”  She became ever more upset with my lack of performance.  “Come on!  You’re no fun.”

I started to choke out a greeting, but suddenly I couldn’t hold back my tears any longer.  Dropping the dolls, I blurted out, “I’m not playing anymore!”  I scampered back to my corner and hid my head as the tears rolled down my cheeks.

But Susie immediately went to Mrs. Walker and tattled on me.  Soon the two of them were standing in front of me again.  “Susie tells me you are refusing to play with her.  I’m awfully disappointed in you, Jimmy.”

“I don’t want to play dolls with Susie!” I whined through my sobs.

Susie was apparently agitated by this.  “Well, you’re a – a – a big meanie!”  She stomped off.

Mrs. Walker lowered herself to the ground in front of me and told me, “You need to learn to get along with other kids, Jimmy.  Can’t you tell that Susie really likes you?  I want you to take a few minutes to calm down, then you need to go apologize to Susie.”  I didn’t respond as another wave of tears came on.  She stood and walked away, leaving me to wallow in my misery.

After several minutes, I heard her huge feet step up to me as her hand shook my shoulder.  “OK, Jimmy.  Up!”  I complied, and she led me back to where Susie was sitting, playing with her dolls as if nothing had happened.

“Well, Jimmy?” Mrs. Walker said expectantly, nudging me toward Susie.

I wiped my eyes and cleared my throat, then summoned the courage to say, “I’m sorry for not playing with you, Susie.”

Susie just shrugged, already over it.  Then Mrs. Walker put her hand on my shoulder and asked Susie, “Would you like Jimmy to play with you some more?”

“Sure,” she replied offhandedly.  Shit.  I was not planning to keep playing with her!

“Well, Jimmy, are you willing to play with her now?”  She squeezed my shoulder firmly but not quite painfully, just enough so that I got the message.

I hung my head in defeat.  “OK,” I sighed.

“Good boy,” Mrs. Walker replied.  She waited until I got down and picked up a doll, and only then did she turned and walked away.

I spent what could very well have been one of the most excruciating 30 minutes of my life (it was right up there with some of my other experiences in the past couple weeks, at least) playing Barbies with this 7-year-old girl.  But this was a new kind of hell; not one of physical pain or domination, but one of utter degradation.  I did my best to play along, trying to keep Susie happy enough that she wouldn’t call Mrs. Walker back.  Speaking of Mrs. Walker, I couldn’t help but look up from time to time and notice that she was keeping an especially close eye on me as she surveyed the room.

Finally, I was saved by an announcement from one of the supervisors.  “It’s 10:00!  Would you kids like to see a movie!?”  There was a rousing chorus of cheers from my fellow children.  “Give a cheer if you would rather see Finding Nemo …”—another cheer, “… or Toy Story 3”—an even louder cheer.  “OK, Toy Story it is.  Come sit around the TV.”

A mad dash ensued, as every kid in sight suddenly rushed towards the center of the room.  Several kids bumped into me inadvertently, and I found there blows surprisingly painful.  Normally I would hardly feel it when a kid ran into my legs, but at my new height it became a rather serious safety concern.  After the herd of oversized children had passed, I slowly got up and rubbed my arm, knowing there would be a bruise there tomorrow.  I reflected that not only was I their size now, but at my age I was much less resilient than they were.  I would have to be careful.

Despite being jostled about, I was (relatively speaking) very much looking forward to the movie, or at least, looking forward to the 90 minutes of peace it would bring, without having to play with dolls or talk with kids.  I came over and sat behind them all, being the last one there.  As the movie started, I had a hard time seeing the screen around the tall bodies and large heads in front of me.  I used to be the one who blocked other people’s vision in theatres.  Oh how the tables had turned.  But I found a good angle and settled in as the movie began.

It was far and away the high point of the day.  It was nice and relaxing, and surprisingly I actually did enjoy Toy Story 3; it was actually bearable for an adult to watch.  But, all too soon, it was over and I was forced back to the harsh reality of my situation.

Susie came up to me.  “Want to play on the teeter-totter?”

I saw Mrs. Walker standing across the room, and I knew it would be wise for me to play along and keep Susie happy.  Besides, I would much rather go outside and use the equipment then play with God-damned Barbie dolls.  “Sure,” I replied.

She took my hand again, like we were best friends, and ran out the sliding door to the teeter-totter.  As we got on and started swaying up and down, I was dismayed but not really surprised to find that we weighed the same.  I indulged her for another half hour or so as we moved on to the swings then the swinging horse and then the slide.  At one point I even caught myself smiling as I went down the slide, bringing back memories of when I was a kid.  But I immediately sobered up as I realized that, for all intents and purposes, I WAS a kid again, at least in the eyes of everyone who knew me, except perhaps Amy (but only perhaps).

The bell rang for lunch, and we all scampered inside.  The food wasn’t great, but I couldn’t complain. After lunch, I ambled about a bit, clandestinely inspecting the outside fence for any weaknesses.  If only I could sneak out, I could find my way to the doctor’s house, where I would wait all night if I had to.  But, sure enough, being a day care, they would never allow any chance of us little kids sneaking out into the big, scary world outside, I thought sarcastically.

I went up to a supervisor–avoiding Mrs. Walker for now–and told her I had to pee.  I actually did have to, but I also wanted to scope out a potential escape route.  She led me by the hand through the side gate and up to the boys’ room.  I snuck a glance sideways and saw a side exit to the building --which was no doubt why they installed that second gate.  But the supervisor wasn’t born yesterday, and she stood watch by the bathroom door as I went inside and did my business.  Once I was done, I was led through the gate back into the first circle of hell.

To my relief, I saw that Susie had found another playing partner, leaving me off the hook, at least for now.  I looked around a bit, and then my eyes landed on a welcome sight: a Nintendo 64 plugged into a TV in the corner.  Sure, the N64 was outdated by some 15 years at this point, but you couldn’t blame them for not putting a more expensive piece of hardware out for kids to break.  And it sure as hell beat playing with dolls or LEGOs or anything else here.

I made my way over and sat off a ways as I watched two boys duking it out in Mario Kart.  Even being the old geezer I was, I had played my fair share of video games in the past, and I happened to be pretty good at Mario Kart, having played it with some work buddies as a nice way to relax after work.

The two boys looked pretty big, possibly bigger than me, but it was hard to tell from here.  One boy was fairly quiet, but the other one was rather loud and obnoxious.  He won all three races I saw, and didn’t mind bragging about it, rubbing it in the other kid’s face.  I pictured my old self going over there and picking him up roughly and scaring the little shit to teach him a lesson.  But now, I wasn’t so sure I could even win a fight with him …

After the last race, the quiet boy sulked away, with the annoying bully calling “Chicken!” after him.  But, without anyone left to play with, or rather, whoop up on, the bully dropped the controller and walked away.

After he was a good distance away, I moved in and grabbed the controller.  I was just about to start my race when I felt a shoe jabbing into my side.  “I was playing that,” a voice said meanly.  I turned my gaze upward and saw that same bully, returning for more fun.

“It’s my turn,” I said defiantly, not wanting to show any sign of weakness.

“Give it to me!”  He reached over my shoulder for the controller, but I held it away from him.  In the process, though, I took a glimpse at his hands and got the unshakeable impression that they were significantly bigger than mine.

 “You have to beat me first,” I challenged, wagering that I was better than him, plus I was eager to put him in his place in any way I could.

He accepted the challenge, saying, “Ha!  I’m gonna crush you!”  He snatched the other controller as I set up a two-player race.

I beat him handily; after all, he was just a stupid little kid.  I noticed that he didn’t have nearly as much to say as he did when he was beating that other kid.  After a couple more defeats, he threw down the controller in frustration and spat, “You got lucky!” as he stomped off.

“Giving up already?” I jeered.  Luck, my ass.  I sure taught him a lesson, that he wasn’t as tough as he acted.

After a few more races, I saw a couple kids move up and sit beside me.  They seemed nice, not like that other brat.  Having played enough now, I was willing to share.  “Here you go, you can have your turn now,” I said graciously, handing them the controllers.  I smiled at myself as I stood and walked away, regaining some sense of dignity and maturity, feelings that I had been sorely lacking of late.

My good mood continued as I stepped outside and looked out at the kids playing.  Though I may be no bigger than them physically, I felt pride in knowing I was still an adult in mind and spirit.

But in my blissful reverie I didn’t notice the hulking form coming at me.  Before I could react, I felt a heavy arm wrap around my shoulder, and I thought I recognized the hand as my assaulter pressed his weight down onto me.

“Well, well, look who it is,” said a familiar voice.  I turned my head and looked up at the face of the boy I had just beaten in Mario Kart.  Holy crap, I hadn’t realized just how tall he was, and big too!  He was certainly one of the oldest kids here, and probably big for his age as well, standing head and shoulders above my own body which seemed pathetically puny by comparison.  A look of shock and dread crossed my face as I felt myself being moved forward against my will.

I was too startled to yell out as he steered me around a corner and into a small, shady recess in the side of the building.  No doubt, this wasn’t the first time he had brought someone here and bullied them.

He shoved me hard into the brick wall behind me.  “Ow!” I exclaimed, holding the back of my head in pain.

“Not so tough now, are you?” he sneered, pushing me into a corner from which there was no escape.  My knees began to buckle and my head was shaking in fear as I was now completely at the mercy of this towering brute.  Always the biggest kid in my class, I had the good fortune of never, ever being bullied growing up.  But now, at the age of 41, I was experiencing for the first time the shame and horror delivered at the hands of an elementary-school bully.

“No one beats me at Nintendo and gets away with it!  Say you’re sorry.”  I shook my head nervously.  In response, he grabbed me around the neck with one huge arm, and with the other arm he delivered a hellishly painful noogie.  He grinded his knuckles so hard into the top of my head that I had no choice but to squeal, “I’m sorry!”

He let my head go, shoving me back against the wall and taunting me with insults like “Wimp!” and “I’ve seen girls stronger than you!” (yeah, Kyra, for one, I thought to myself).  I could do nothing but just sit there and take it as he continued to shove me around.

Eventually, he said, “Got any money on you?”  I shook my head no, holding back tears as best I could.  “I don’t believe you,” he replied, and proceeded to raid my pockets for loose change.  Fortunately I didn’t have anything in my pockets, except – OH SHIT!

“What do we have here?” he said, pulling out the little slip of paper that had the doctor’s address on it.

Oh God, no!  I couldn’t lose that!  I stupidly neglected to memorize his address, and there was no way Kyra would let me check my email again in the foreseeable future.  My hopes of stopping my shrinking would be shattered without that scrap of paper.  I made a desperate lunge for the paper, but the bully held it away from me.  “Give it back!” I shrieked.

“Why should I?” he snorted, pinning my body with one arm while holding the paper out of my reach with the other.  He casually turned his head and read the contents of the paper.  “It’s just a stupid address!” he exclaimed derisively.  “What’s the big deal?”

Somehow, I had to reason with him, convince him that this was of the utmost importance.  “I need it!  I have to get to that house today!  If I don’t, then I’ll just keep– … I mean, I’ll be in really really big trouble if I can’t find it!  Pleaaassse,” I begged.

“Like I care,” he spat.  But just then a stern adult voice called out, “What’s going on over here?”  As we both turned to look, Mrs. Walker appeared in front of us.  “Sean, are you being a bully again?” she asked sharply.

“No, ma’am, of course not!” he said, acting innocent.  “Me and my little buddy here were just having a little chat.  Right, buddy?”  He turned to me and stared threateningly.

But he no longer had any power over me, now that a grown-up had arrived.  “He was trying to beat me up!  And he stole a paper from me, and I need it back.”

“Let me see it,” she commanded, and Sean had to comply.  Her brow furrowed as she read the paper, and she asked me, “Whose address is this?”

“Oh, uh … it’s just … someone I know.  But I really need to see them!”  I didn’t want to reveal whose address it was, in the chance that Mrs. Walker would report to Kyra.

Mrs. Walker frowned at me suspiciously but said, “Well, OK, I suppose you may have it back.”  I looked into her eyes with deep gladness as reached for the paper on her outstretched hand.

But in a flash, Sean snatched the paper up, and with a vengeful cry of “This is for ratting me out, you little turd” he crumpled it up, tossed it into his mouth, and swallowed.  “Hahahaha!” he laughed victoriously.

Mrs. Walker spun him around and pried his mouth open, but the paper was gone.  “Nooooooo!!!” I cried.  She dragged Sean away by the ear and reprimanded him sharply, but meanwhile I collapsed in a bawling heap of despair.  I was ruined!  I would shrink and shrink and shrink, until Kyra saw fit to stop it.  How long would she wait – until I was the size of a newborn?  Until I was a foot tall?  Until I simply vanished into nothingness!???

I lay there crumpled up, sobbing steadily until Mrs. Walker returned.  “There, there, Jimmy,” she soothed, rubbing her hand across my back.  “Everything will be just fine.  I know you don’t want to tell me what the address was, but I’ll tell your mother about it this afternoon and I’m sure she can give you the address again.”

My sobs ceased as I looked up anxiously.  “No, please don’t tell her!”

“Why not?” she asked quizzically.

“I just … I just don’t want her to know about it.”

“OK, Jimmy, I understand,” she said gently.  “Come along, naptime has just started and that will be just what you need right now.”

She started to pick me up off the ground, intending to carry me.  “I can do it,” I said meekly.  She helped me up and tenderly walked me inside, where the lights were out and all the kids were laying on blankets for their afternoon nap.  Mrs. Walker guided me to an unused blanket and I gratefully collapsed onto it and soon fell into an uneasy doze.

**********

“Wake up!” I jolted awake as the lights flashed on.  Rubbing my eyes, I sat up and found myself in this same hell hole.  Unfortunately, I hadn’t been magically teleported far, far away from here as I had hoped.

At least, they had let us sleep for a solid hour and a half, and the clock on the wall now read 3:40.  Only another hour or so and I would be saved.  Or perhaps just transferred to a new hell in the hands of Kyra.  Time would tell.

After we all got up and put away our blankets, who should approach but my ‘good friend’ Susie.  “Come on, Jimmy, let’s play outside again!”  She started to pull me towards the door.

I held my ground, although her strength nearly matched my own and she almost toppled me over.  “I don’t want to go outside, Susie,” I told her.  Just then, I glanced over and saw Sean, who had also happened to look over at me and pounded his clenched fist into his open palm in a threatening gesture.  I gulped loudly.  I never thought I’d ever be so scared shitless of a 5th grader as I was of Sean.  Turning back to Susie, I told her anxiously, “We can play, but let’s stay inside, OK?”

“OK!” she replied, simply happy that I agreed to play with her.  I led her to a spot on the floor right in front of a supervisor, not wanting to take any chances whatsoever of being trapped again where no one could see me.

There were both Barbies and LEGOs within reach of our spot.  I asked Susie if we could play LEGOs, and she replied that she would play Barbies while I played LEGOs.  Sure, whatever, I thought.  At least LEGOs was a step up from those girly Barbie dolls.

We played for the entire last hour, with Susie providing the doll movements and voice acting, and me providing the scenery and random items with the LEGOs when needed.  Before I knew it, I was actually getting rather engrossed in our little game.  I hadn’t meant to, but I found myself starting to laugh and smile as we goofed around.  Several times, I willingly provided the male acting role when Brad, the Ken doll, was needed, and I actually got into the role quite a bit.  If I could have stepped back and looked at myself I would have been ashamed, happily playing with LEGOs and dolls like a little kid.  But maybe because I had been under so much stress and was just so starved for enjoyment these last few weeks, I found myself letting go and giving in to game, hardly noticing just how much fun I was having.

At one point, after we had been playing for some time, I had built up a wall of LEGOs and suddenly I crashed through it with my fist and cried, “Rawwrr!  I am the deadly Barbie monster, come to eat little Sarah alive!”  Susie shrieked in delight and feigned terror as I chased after her doll with my hand, making little ‘nom nom’ noises, and eventually being beaten down by a surprise attack from Tanya.  I splayed my hand out dramatically and uttered the garbled death throes of my conquered monster.

Two sets of hands clapped loudly behind me, and someone called, “Yay!”  I spun around, and my jaw dropped in abject horror as I looked up at two long, shapely legs, farther up at a pair of white shorts and a blue shirt covering an all-too familiar set of large boobs, and finally raising my gaze to behold the face of Kyra standing over me, with a look of utter glee beyond anything I had seen from her before.  She had come in unnoticed by me and had been standing there next to Mrs. Walker watching the entire show.

“What a splendid performance, Jimmy!” Kyra squealed in delight.  I became dizzy.  My world wobbled back and forth as I was sure I would throw up from the embarrassment of having Kyra, of all people, see me playing, of my own free will, like the child she always wanted me to be.

“And you too,” Kyra added, looking down at Susie.  “What’s your name, little girl?”

“Susie,” she replied, beaming from the attention our show had produced.

“Nice to meet you, Susie, I’m Ms. Roberts.  And Jimmy here is my son.  I see the two of you are getting along just fabulously!”  Susie smiled and nodded enthusiastically as I grimaced and lowered my head in shame.

“Would you believe it,” Mrs. Walker interjected, “Jimmy absolutely refused to play with Susie at first, but now look at them, like best friends already!”

Kyra’s large arms descended towards me and effortlessly scooped me off the ground.  Standing straight, she repositioned me so that I was in my usual position, riding on her hip.  Her skin was ever-so-slightly damp and chilly, a remnant of her sweating during basketball practice.  But that was a small matter, as even in my embarrassment I found her body to be as comfortable and inviting as ever.

“Bye, Jimmy!” Susie said, waving up at me.  “Will I see you tomorrow?”

I turned to Kyra, not knowing how to answer.  “Of course, Susie!  Jimmy will be back here tomorrow, and you two can just play and play to your hearts’ content!”  She was still absolutely delighted at my complete willingness to behave like a child.  “Wave goodbye, Jimmy!”  I grudgingly obliged, forcing a smile and waving down at Susie.

Kyra and Mrs. Walker headed for the front lobby.  “So, how was he today?” Kyra asked her.

“Oh, just fine.  He was incredibly shy at first, but as you saw he really took a liking to Susie.  There was one incident, though …”

“Oh?” Kyra prompted, raising her eyebrow at me.  “What happened?”

“Don’t worry, Ms. Roberts, it wasn’t Jimmy’s fault.  He got pulled aside by Sean, our resident bully, and I’m not sure how far it went but fortunately I found them before it got any worse.”

Kyra turned her concerned gaze to me, though I may have detected a hint of laughter in her eyes.  “Did the mean bully hurt you, Jimmy?  You can tell Mommy.”

I blinked a few times as the painful memories flooded back to me.  Tears suddenly surged forth as I clutched Kyra’s shirt and pressed myself against her, finding warmth and solace in her motherly embrace.

“Awww, poor, poor Jimmy!  It’s OK, Mommy’s here for you.  I’ll make sure that mean bully never touches you again.”  I continued to sob for the umpteenth time today, wetting her shirt with my tears.

“And you have my word that I won’t let Jimmy or Sean out of my sight again,” Mrs. Walker assured us.  “Oh, there was one more thing,” she added, and I grew nervous.  “It seems that Sean took something from Jimmy before I got there.  A little slip of paper with an address on it.”

My body tensed up as I looked at Mrs. Walker, the traitor, my eyes telling her, ‘Et tu, Brute?’  But she calmly peered back at me with a look of haughty indifference and authority, telling me in return, ‘You are but a child and have no right to keep secrets from your superiors.’

Kyra surely noticed my body tense up.  “An address?” she asked, puzzled.  “What address was it?”

“He wouldn’t say, and I wouldn’t have even brought it up, except that he made a big fuss about it and said he really needed to get there.”

“Oh, really?” Kyra turned her judgmental eyes on me, and I had to avert my own eyes from the intensity of her stare.  “Can I see it?”

“I’m afraid Sean managed to snatch it from me and eat it before I could stop him.  I’m terribly sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.  I’m sure Jimmy will tell me what it was …?”  As I glanced back up at her, her eyes seemed to peer into my very soul, searching for the truth.

But I couldn’t let her know, I just couldn’t.  The one fortunate thing from this whole incident was that the evidence was now completely destroyed, and all I had to do was lie about it and Kyra would never know the truth.  I just needed to come up with an excuse, something believable …

I couldn’t think of anything good in the next few seconds.  “Well, Jimmy?” Kyra demanded, growing impatient.

“It was … um … nothing.  Just some guy.  Not a big deal.”  Didn’t I say I was a lousy liar?

Kyra scoffed in disbelief at my insolence.  Then, turning to Mrs. Walker, she said, “Well, I’m not going to hold you up any longer.  I’m sure I won’t have any trouble convincing him to talk when we get home.”  I didn’t like the sound of that.

The two women said goodbye, and Kyra carried me to the car.  She was surprisingly willing to talk with me as we drove home, even though I was sure she would be pissed that I was hiding something from her.  She eagerly asked about every detail of my day, taking great pleasure in finding out all the humiliating situations I was put in as a child.  Unfortunately, the constant talking completely inhibited me from thinking up a good excuse for the address in my pocket.

I was starting to panic as we pulled into the garage and stepped inside the house.  Oh God, why couldn’t I come up with an excuse!?  Maybe I was going to see a friend?  No, because why would I try to hide it?  Some appointment, perhaps?  But what could it be that I didn’t want to share?  And where could I have heard about it and gotten the address, if I wasn’t allowed to use either a phone or email?  I had no idea how I could come up with anything at all convincing.

In fear, I started to slowly inch my body away from Kyra and the punishment I knew was coming.  But after a few seconds, she noticed me and saw my scared expression.  “What’s wrong, baby?”  I didn’t answer.  “Come here,” she said softly but forcefully.  I reluctantly stepped towards her.

Then she realized why I was shying away from her.  “Aww, don’t be afraid, Jimmy, Mommy’s not going to hurt you.”  She extended her arms towards me, inviting me into her embrace.  I timidly inched forward until she wrapped her long arms around me and picked me up again.  “It’s OK, Jimmy.  You don’t have to tell me about the address if you don’t want to.”

She continued to look tenderly into my eyes as I stared back in disbelief.  “Y-You’re not going to make me tell you?” I said incredulously.

“Of course not, sweetie, I can tell you really don’t want to, so I’m not going to make you.”

This was … weird.  When was she ever this nice?  Seeing my puzzlement, she smiled and continued, “You were such a good boy when I went away to school today, Jimmy,” she cooed.  “I’m even going to forget all about that little incident in the lobby this morning.  And Mommy’s going to take extra special care of you tonight.”  She wriggled my nose affectionately.

My cock stirred in my pants.  “You mean …?” I asked timidly.

“Mm-hmm,” Kyra nodded tenderly.  As if she felt my penis move, she began to grind her hips ever-so-slightly into me, producing an incredible sensation in my pants.  My eyes closed in ecstasy as Kyra’s hand squeezed my butt, pressing me tighter into her body.

“But first things first: I need to make us some dinner.”  She walked over to the counter and set me down, allowing me to watch her cook like yesterday.

Once the food was prepared she brought it to the table and then carried me to my seat.  But this time she sat down in my chair and set me on her lap.  I was overwhelmed by the insane size difference between us: even sitting on top of her thighs, my head still only came to her shoulders, and what’s more, her thighs were so freakin’ long I had to lay my legs flat along them and my feet still barely extended past her knees.  I leaned back against her torso and felt the immensity of her bosom as it supported my upper back and neck.

I was far too comfortable to even think of asking to feed myself.  She repositioned my body at an angle for easier feeding; my weight now rested on her left thigh as my legs now draped over her right.  She slung her left arm over my shoulders and pressed my torso protectively into hers.  “Ohhhh…” I moaned audibly, feeling the weight of her jugs against me.

She began to feed me another incredibly delicious meal, this time chicken parmigiana on a bed of spaghetti.  The combination of the savory meal with the warmth and comfort of my seat on Kyra’s lap had an overpowering effect on my psyche.  It just felt so … right.

After dinner, I stood patiently as she cleaned the kitchen, and when she was done she carried me to the couch and set me down softly.  “Wait right here,” Kyra whispered tenderly.  She soon returned with an ice cream sundae and sat on the couch beside me, announcing, “Time for dessert!”  When she motioned for me to get on her lap again I was only too eager to comply.

She dipped the spoon in the ice cream and raised it to her mouth, licking it off sensually with her tongue.  “Mmmmm,” she hummed slowly.  I looked up at her, mesmerized, as she took another spoonful then brought it to my own mouth.  I happily slurped up the ice cream and fudge as she purred, “Jimmy likes his ice cream, doesn’t he?”  I nodded as I looked up almost … affectionately into her eyes.  She just seemed so caring and loving, and all her previous crimes against my humanity were forgotten as I could only think of how wonderful she was.

She continued this process of doling out the contents of the sundae as I became more and more enamored of her.  When finally the last remnants of ice cream were scooped up, as she brought the spoon to her mouth it turned in her grasp, causing some of the contents to drip down onto her shirt and cleavage.

“Oh no!” she said softly, feigning distress even though she likely did it on purpose.  “I made a mess.”  Looking down slyly into my eyes, she invited, “Would you like to clean it for me, Jimmy?”

I looked up at her in astonishment, not with any sort of opposition to the idea, but instead with disbelief that she would actually let me do something so wonderful.  “Really?” I asked hopefully.

She nodded warmly, a broad smile on her face.  With wide eyes, I lowered my gaze to her enormous chest before me.  Timidly, I brought my trembling hand slowly, slowly closer to the swell of her breasts.  Looking up at her a second time for confirmation, she nodded her approval, and I could hardly restrain the shaking of my finger as I brought it up to her and … and …

My body shuddered in pleasure as I swiped my finger across the soft skin of her breast, wiping some ice cream up.  I was about to put it in my mouth when Kyra’s hand wrapped around my wrist and pulled it upward.  Before I knew it, she opened her own mouth and slid my finger in, expertly licking the ice cream off with her tongue.  When she was done, her lips closed around my finger, and she slowly pulled it out with a loud ‘pop’ from the suction.

Then, Kyra said the impossible.  “Hmm, Jimmy, I don’t think that’s going to do it.  Why don’t you lick the rest of the ice cream up?” she asked enticingly.

My mouth gaped open as I looked into her eyes with a mix of surprise and deep gratitude.  “It’s OK, Jimmy.  Go ahead.”  I felt my head being pushed forward gently but firmly by her hand on the back of my head.  The sensations I felt were like nothing I had ever experienced as my lips made contact with the soft, creamy flesh of Kyra’s bosom.

I was like a man possessed as I gave in to my emotions and began to clean her tits with my mouth, gently at first, but more and more fervently as time went on.  I moved from one breast, down to clean up her shirt, and then up to her other breast, my hand reaching up to join in the fun as well.

The ice cream was long since cleaned up as I continued kneading her flesh with my hand while my mouth urgently explored the curves of her chest.  I found my way down to her nipple and felt it harden under her shirt and bra.  Kyra gasped and pressed my head even tighter to her chest as I worked my lips around her nipple.

I was already nearing climax by the time Kyra’s other hand reached down, undid my shorts, and wrapped around my engorged penis.  I groaned in ecstasy as she began to pump me rapidly.  It was only a matter of seconds before I erupted violently in my pants.  My tight briefs managed to contain the large majority of my semen.  And, to be honest, at only 1/3 of my previous weight the volume I ejected was far less than it would have been.

I lay panting on Kyra’s lap for some time as she looked down with an expression that warmed my heart with its tenderness.  She eventually told me, “Let’s get you cleaned up,” as she effortlessly stood and carried me in her arms up the stairs.

We entered Kyra’s bedroom (formerly my own), and she took me to her bathroom and set me gently on the floor in front of her.  All my inhibitions had left me as I let her pull off all my clothes.  She dampened a towel and lovingly cleaned the sticky spots around my crotch.  The cool, wet towel created an electric sensation on my skin, and through her ministrations I found myself again getting hard with arousal.

Once she had me all clean, she carried me back downstairs to the couch, deciding to keep me naked.  As she sat down again with me in her lap I felt a chill as the light breeze from the air conditioning blew across my still damp skin.  I shivered and pressed my body into Kyra, finding all the warmth I needed.

“That’s a good boy,” she whispered, lightly stroking my arm, which caused even more of a tingling sensation.  I clutched at her chest just above her breast and pulled my head snugly into her shoulder.  An overwhelming feeling of warmth and protection enveloped my small, frail body as I squeezed myself against her, trying to pull myself ever closer to her.

“Mommy’s got you, Jimmy, and she’s never letting go.  As long as you’re a good little boy, Mommy will make you happy beyond your wildest dreams.”  I looked longingly into her eyes as she said this, unable to comprehend why I would ever do anything to jeopardize this perfect situation.  She was right; in the last hour I felt more attached to her, more needful of her than anything else I could remember in my life.

“I’m sorry for being so naughty these last few weeks, Mommy,” I told her pleadingly.  “I’ll never do anything bad again, I promise!”  She was moved by my pleas, looking affectionately down at me and wrapping her arms around me in a tight embrace.  I felt her enormous arms protecting me from the cold outside world, and my body move up and down to the rhythm of her own breathing as I pressed myself longingly into her chest.

I was reflecting on how wonderful my life was when I remembered something.  Something I had desperately wanted to do, but which now seemed like folly.  I couldn’t betray Kyra’s trust like that; regardless of the consequences to me, I knew resolutely that I had to tell her.  “M-Mommy?”

“Yes, dear?”

“I want to tell you about the address on the paper today.”

“Oh, really?  What was it?” she inquired.

“I-I’m sorry, Mommy, I was so stupid.”  I looked earnestly into her eyes.  “I had written down the doctor’s address so that I could escape to there and then he would give me the antidote for my shrinking.  I … I’m so, so sorry, Mommy!  Could you ever forgive me?”  I looked up at her pleadingly and prepared for the worst. 

Though I was dreading her inevitable rage and punishment for my grave offense, her face remained impassive.  She sat in silence for a few moments, then asked, “So you planned to take the antidote, directly disobeying my orders?”

“Yes!” I cried, hanging my head in shame.

“But now you have changed your mind?”

“Yes, absolutely!” I eagerly affirmed.

“So now you would refuse the serum, even if I was to offer it to you?”

“If that is your wish, that I should keep shrinking, then yes,” I replied truthfully.

She regarded me for another moment, gauging the honesty of my answer.  Satisfied, she pulled me in even tighter and exclaimed, “Oh, Jimmy, I’m so glad you made the right decision!  I’ve been monitoring your old email account with the password you gave, and I knew about this all along.”

“You did!?” I said, astonished.

“Yes, and I was SO mad at you, but I managed to keep it in and let it play out.  I was even going to let you make your big ‘escape’ then deal with the consequences.  Who knows what I would have done to you if that happened.”  I shuddered at the thought – I’m sure it would have been way beyond anything I had yet experienced.  She continued, “But I just knew you would do the right thing!  I’m so proud of you, Jimmy.”

Still shocked at this turn of events, I stammered, “S-So you’re not mad at me?”

“Well, I still am a bit mad that you even considered it.  But your decision to tell me about it far outweighs any punishment you might have received.  I forgive you, Jimmy.”  A flood of emotions washed over both of us as we embraced for what seemed like an eternity.

At long last, Kyra uncoiled her arms from around me and set me on my feet as she stood up.  “Now, I have a special … errand to run.  Can I trust you all alone for the next, oh, hour or so?”

I nodded but asked, “Where are you going?”

“Just a little something I have to do now.  But don’t worry, I’ll be back before long.  I’ll even let you watch TV in the meantime.”  She picked up the remote and entered the parental control password, turning the channel to Disney.  “Only for half an hour, though, and then you need to get to bed.  OK?”

I nodded, still confused about her sudden departure.  But I began to piece things together when she walked over to her purse and pulled out a small slip of paper to make sure she had it with her for her errand.  I couldn’t make anything out, but I saw a couple lines of writing.  In fact, it looked not unlike the scrap of paper I had earlier …

She walked over to me briskly and bent down to plant a kiss on the top of my head, then she said goodbye and headed into the garage.  A knot formed in my stomach as I concluded that her errand could only be one thing: to pay the doctor a visit.  And it was sure to be no routine check-up.  I shuddered as I imagined the unleashed fury of Kyra descending upon him in his home, where she would have all the time she wanted to ‘teach him a lesson.’  The notion crossed my mind that she had never dealt me any lasting injuries – just spankings and utter humiliation.  But who knows what inhibitions Kyra would cast aside for someone outside the family …

I sat and watched some kid’s show although I was too distracted by my brooding to pay it much heed.  But I did make damn sure not to exceed my allotted half hour, and promptly at 8:00 I turned it off and headed for bed.

I lay in bed restlessly, troubled by my own actions that evening.  On one level I was desperately grateful that it was the doctor and not I who was receiving the punishment.  But I couldn’t help but feel deep remorse for the pain I had indirectly caused him.  Sure, he most likely would have been punished either way, but I was suddenly ashamed of myself.  This was a far cry from earlier in Kyra’s presence, when it seemed I would have literally done anything she asked.  For God’s sake, I voluntarily threw away the possibility of stopping my shrinking just to make her happy!  What was I thinking?  How could she infiltrate my mind and will so completely?

No.  I decided that I was not to blame for the doctor’s punishment.  Kyra was.  She was pure evil, having no reservations about, and even relishing in, stripping me of my manhood and my humanity.  The most basic set of morals intrinsic to every human being was somehow absent from her.  I was her father!  And now look at me.  Any normal daughter would have cared for me in my condition, but also would have respected me still as a father, no matter what.  But for her, it was not enough to disregard my authority. Oh, no.  She had to take it much further, reducing me to her subordinate through pain and humiliation, and finally stopping at nothing to reduce me to a helpless child, solely dependent on her as mother.  She would not stop until my body and soul were utterly hers.

But I would not let her win!  Not while blood still flowed in my veins.  Though I had vowed not two hours ago to obey her blindly, I now solemnly swore with at least equal conviction that I would never give in.  She may force my body to obey, but to my dying breath I would not relinquish my mind and soul to her.

I heard the door open downstairs around 8:45.  I pretended to be asleep as I heard her footsteps ascend the stairs then approach my room.  My bedroom door creaked open as she quietly moved towards me in the dark.  I did not stir as she sat on the edge of my bed stroking my hair tenderly.  “I love you, Jimmy,” she whispered as she bent forward to plant a soft kiss on my cheek, then got up and left my room.

Though I had felt anew the all-too-familiar stirrings in my loins from her touch, and the compulsion to reach out and let her hold me in her warm arms again, I remained strong; I resisted.  She would not beat me.

********************************

Wednesday: 4’0”

I decided to play it cool so I didn’t tip her off about my change in disposition.  I would act like the perfect little son she always wanted – for now.  She had made us breakfast again, and I thanked her and allowed her to feed me yet again.  Of course, I simply couldn’t help myself from getting aroused as she set me on her lap, my eyes inches from her breasts (which were seeming more and more enormous with each passing day as I shrunk), and fed me spoonfuls of her delicious meal.  So what if my breathing quickened; so what if my eyes fluttered in ecstasy; so what if I gave in to her touch and pressed my head back against her breasts to feel their soft weight on my shoulders – I told myself that none of this mattered because I was still resisting her 100% on the inside, and that’s what really mattered.

Just as we were about to leave the house, the phone rang.  “Roberts residence,” Kyra answered.  She had put me on her hip to carry me out, so now as she stood holding the phone I was able to hear the other end.

“Hello, this is Dr. Williams’ office.  Since we have you down for a possible appointment next week, we are calling to inform you that we will have to reschedule.  Unfortunately, Dr. Williams will be out of the office for at least a week.”

“Oh, my, I’m sorry to hear that!” Kyra sounded sincere, but I swear I saw the slightest hint of an evil smile on her lips.  “Did something happen to him?”

“Well, I’m not really supposed to say, but … well, he’s been in a car accident.”

“Oh, that’s terrible!  Is he OK?”

“He’s in the hospital right now, recovering from a broken arm, a few broken ribs, and some minor internal bleeding.”  I knew it was no car accident.  My eyes widened when I heard the extent of what Kyra had done.  ‘You MONSTER!!’ I thought in silence, looking at her in horror.

But she just kept playing innocent, replying, “Oh, no!  Did he say who did it?”

“Just some random driver.  Apparently they drove off after hitting him.”

“Those animals!” Kyra replied, but I saw in her face that she was pleased to hear how the doctor hadn’t ratted her out by telling what had really happened to him.  He was no doubt scared for his life, and I couldn’t blame him.

Kyra told her that she would call back later to reschedule.  Once she hung up, she turned her gaze to me and I quickly wiped the horrified expression from my face in favor of a sweet, innocent stare.  “Well, that’s too bad,” Kyra told me.  “I’m sure he’ll be back soon, and then at some point I can bring you in for your shot.”

She studied my reaction.  I replied in a conciliatory tone, “Whenever you want, Mommy.”  She beamed at my good behavior as we stepped out the door.  Fortunately, she didn’t notice my body shuddering in horror at the care-free way she was able to play off her heinous crime.

I didn’t complain as she dropped me off at the day care center again; I even managed to appear cheerful as she left me to another day of humiliation.  Although, despite my overall hatred of that place, I was surprised to find that I was more than happy to see Susie again.  When she first saw me that morning, she rushed over, said, “Hi, Jimmy!”, took my hand, and led me to her usual spot.  It was quite disconcerting to notice that she was now a full two inches taller than me, whereas we stood eye-to-eye yesterday, but nonetheless I was almost looking forward to playing with her again.  She was just so ebullient and happy all the time, and things were just so simple with her – none of the drama, sexual tension, condescension, or humiliation I had been routinely experiencing.  Although she was a child and of course saw me as such, nevertheless it was refreshing that she viewed me as an equal and carried out her day as if there was nothing wrong with me.

I ended up spending most of the day at her side, playing with dolls and LEGOs, running around outside, and sitting next to each other at lunch.  She didn’t notice our new height difference; considering all the growth spurts kids have at her age, her mind certainly didn’t register anything unusual about it.  Mrs. Walker came by every now and then to check on us as we played, and she was most pleased to see how well the two of us were getting along.

The day went by all too quickly.  Despite myself, I had a lot of fun with Susie.  It wasn’t like I wouldn’t rather be laying back on my recliner at home with a beer in my hand, watching TV.  But compared to the Spartan-like restrictions Kyra had imposed on my free time lately, spending the day playing carefree with Susie was a most welcome change.

Of course, when Kyra came to pick me up she was overjoyed to hear from Mrs. Walker about me and Susie’s burgeoning friendship.  As she drove us home, Kyra told me all about her day, especially about 3 different boys—two of them seniors-- who summoned the courage to ask her out on that particular day, and about how she delighted in turning them down while her friends watched.

Meanwhile, I was having the darnedest time paying attention to what she was saying, focusing instead on her miraculous tits thrusting forward from her chest.  In the middle of her conversation, she glanced at me and saw what I had been doing.  She burst out laughing and said, “Awww, wittle Jimmy just can’t keep his eyes off me, can he?  Well, since he’s been such a good wittle boy, I’ll even let him touch them if he wants.”

I snapped out of it, averting my gaze in embarrassment.  No way I would give in to that; it was exactly what she wanted from me.  I could resist her.

But a minute later, I had a change of heart as I cautiously glanced back over at her body.  It wasn’t a big deal really, I told myself.  It was just a simple act of reaching out and squeezing; it’s not like I couldn’t resist her if I wanted to … right?

I extended my arm, and only after leaning as far towards her as I could was I able to lay my hand on the underside of her boob.  Kyra chuckled but kept her eyes on the road.  I was having to strain to extend myself far enough, but I was able to give a nice little squeeze to the side of her breast, which still gave more than a handful considering each of her tits now easily dwarfed my hand in diameter.

What the hell was I doing?  Look at me, stretching across the seats like a fool just to cop a feel of Kyra’s tits!  How pathetic was I now?  I slumped back into my seat and brooded about this, stealing a few more glances over at Kyra until we got home.

But once we were inside, Kyra told me, “I’m sorry, Jimmy, but I won’t be able to spend time with you tonight.  Steve is taking me out for dinner, and I’m sure I won’t be back until your bedtime.  So I’ll still whip you up a quick dinner, and then I asked a babysitter to come watch over you.”

“Oh … um, OK.  But do I really need a babysitter?  I’ll be good, I promise.”

“Yes, Jimmy,” she repeated condescendingly, “you do really need a babysitter.  Even when you try to behave, you still get yourself into trouble.  You know that.”  I frowned but nodded in acquiescence.

“Anyways,” she continued, “since you’ve been so well-behaved today, you deserve your special treat again,” she said, raising her eyebrows seductively.  “And since I won’t be here tonight, and since I know you’ll be on your best behavior for the babysitter, I’ll go ahead and reward you right now.”  She bent down and picked me up, cradling me in her arms.

I worried that if I let her jerk me off again, it would only allow her to infiltrate my mind with bad thoughts again, eroding my resistance.  I couldn’t allow that.  “That’s OK, Mommy, I’d rather not.”

“Oh, really!?” she said, genuinely surprised at my refusal.  But then her face turned sweet again.  “Are you suurrree…?”  She squeezed my little chest into her bosom, and I knew the longer I tarried here the less chance I would have of refusing her.

“Y-Yes,” I said uncertainly.  She began to sway me gently from side to side, mashing my body into her tits then away from them, and back again.  “Well, maybe …” I added, feeling my resistance waning.

But she suddenly stopped and set me down.  “Suit yourself,” she said simply, turning to the kitchen to prepare my meal.  I sighed (or maybe groaned) in relief at my victory – it was a victory, right?

I stood off to the side and watched her work.  With her heels on, my eyes were now level with her waistline.  Among other things, I was overwhelmed by the sheer size of her legs – each of them was now not much smaller than my entire body as they swung like mighty pendulums, carrying Kyra from one end of the kitchen to the other.  Once, as her towering body rapidly approached me, I even panicked for a moment until she said, “Whoops!  Look out, Jimmy,” causing me to scamper away to a safer location, where I didn’t run the risk of being inadvertently swiped into by her legs and slamming into a cabinet or the floor or something painful.

When the food was ready, I waited for her to serve me, but instead she told me, “Steve will be here soon, and I don’t have time to feed you right now, sorry.  Grace can feed you when she arrives.”  I would have objected that I could feed myself, but I knew she would just remind me of all my spills and refuse my request.

She headed upstairs to get ready for her date.  Not knowing what else to do, I followed her up, although I climbed the stairs much more slowly, having to really lift up my knees and push up with effort to scale each step.  But I managed to get to the top, just a little winded, and I headed for her main bedroom.

She had already taken her clothes off and put on new underwear, a cute lacy black number, and she was just putting on her bra as I approached and clandestinely peered in through the cracked-open door.  But I had another moment of panic as she turned to look straight at me, apparently hearing me approach.

I thought she would be mad at me spying on her, but to my surprise she beckoned me forward invitingly.  I dumbly stumbled into the room and stood before her mostly-naked body, nearly twice my size.  She didn’t speak as she picked me up and plopped me down onto her bed facing her, inviting me to stare to my heart’s content.

Instead of putting a dress on, she slipped her 4-inch heels on and went to the bathroom mirror to apply makeup.  Having heels on in just her underwear was no doubt intended for my benefit, and I made the most of the opportunity.  Leaning sideways to get a better view, I was able to watch her through the open bathroom door as she leaned over, sticking her round yet firm butt out as she leaned towards the mirror and applied her makeup.  She would glance to the side from time to time and smile at me through the mirror behind her.  I would weakly return the smile and get back to my ogling.

She emerged several minutes later after spraying some perfume, her facial features expertly accentuated to give her even more of a radiant glow and allure than normal.  Pulling out a comb, and some hairpins, she stood before the small mirror on her dresser and did her hair, affording me a close-up side view of her dramatic curves which any man would kill for.  Her perfume wafted into my nostrils, reminding me of a warm spring day, with morning dew on the leaves, and an incredibly sexy woman standing before me.  Yeah, that’s a good scent.  She stood barely two feet away from where I sat at the edge of the bed, and the closeness of her supermodel’s body, blown up to ridiculous proportions, was more than enough to erode my resistance and grow hopelessly aroused before her.

By the time she finished doing her hair, I couldn’t restrain myself any longer.  “Mommy?” I asked timidly.

“Yes, Jimmy?” she replied sweetly, moving about the room.

“I’ve … I’ve changed my mind.”

“Oh?  About what, sweetie?”

“Could you give me my … happy time now?”

Kyra laughed and licked her lips as she started pulling out an outfit from her closet.  “Well … I don’t know if there’s time anymore.  And you sure didn’t seem to want it 10 minutes ago …”

“But I want it now!  Please!”

“No, I think we’ll just wait until tomorrow night.”

“I can’t wait that long!”  She had me completely under her spell.  “I – I – I need you!”

She stopped just as she was about to put her dress on, and turned towards me with a wide, seductive grin.  “Well, Jimmy,” she breathed huskily, sauntering over to me, “I guess I could help you out …”

It occurred to me that this may had been her plan all along, in letting me sit there watching her – but I didn’t care at this point.  She leaned over, presenting her gaping cleavage just inches from my face.  After letting me enjoy the show for a few moments, she suddenly reached down and shoved my chest back with unbelievable force.  I lay flat on the bed as she climbed up on all fours directly above me.  She effortlessly dragged my body farther onto the bed and then leaned her own body down until she hovered mere inches above me.

I reached a hand up to grasp her enormous melons, but Kyra’s own hand shot out and pinned my wrist to the bed beside me.  “Tsk, tsk,” she said, shaking her head.  “You have to ask me nicely first.”

“Can I – please, can I squeeze your breasts, Mommy?” I pleaded.

“Very well.”  She released my wrist, and both of my hands now shot up to fondle her.  My hands looked unbelievably small and puny as I explored her tits hungrily.  She remained still, watching my passion with evil delight.

“Would you like me to make you cum, Jimmy?”

I nodded fervently and exclaimed, “YES!  Please, I need you!!”  I felt her hand completely envelop my shaft and balls and rub up and down.  Almost instantly, I began to come, filling my pants with warm fluid.  The entire process, from the time she threw me back against the bed to the time I climaxed, couldn’t have taken more than 30 seconds.  I reflected that if she had really went for speed and started rubbing my crotch right off the bat, it would probably have taken all of 10 seconds to make me come.  “Good boy,” she commended, getting up and dressing as I lay on her bed, panting and sweating.

By the time I had recovered and sat up, she had finished putting on another of her excruciatingly sexy dresses, the yellow summer dress that fit her like a glove and showed off every curve she had.  Seeing the growing wet spot on the front of my pants, she said, “Let’s get you changed.”  But, to my dismay, just at that moment the doorbell rang.  “Oh!  That must be Grace.  Come on.”  She pulled me off the bed and took my hand, not giving me the chance to protest about changing clothes as we went downstairs.  All I could do was tug on her hand a bit, but she just smirked at me and led me forward anyway.

“Hi Grace!” Kyra said, opening the door.  There stood a pretty blonde girl who looked to be about Kyra’s age – though certainly she wasn’t as advanced beyond her years as Kyra was.  Still, she was decent looking, with modest curves and proportions, except that she was clearly quite petite and stood only level with Kyra’s chest as they went in for a quick hug.  I guessed her to be just over 5 feet, maybe 5’2” – but petite or no, she still towered over me.

“So, is this the kid?” she asked in kind of a bratty voice, in my opinion.  As she stood there chewing bubblegum, dressed in a preppy little outfit, I knew she had to be one of the more popular girls at school, probably the type who would walk around with several uglier girls attached to her hip like parasites, bossing them around and just generally acting bitchy, I mused.

“Yep, this is Jimmy.  He’s my little cousin, and my uncle left him here with me while he and my dad went on vacation together.  He’s pretty well behaved, most of the time.  But if he acts up, just let me know.”

“K, cool,” Grace replied after blowing a bubble.

Kyra turned to me and said, “Be good for Grace, OK?  She’s one of my best friends in school and I don’t want you to give her a hard time.  Got it?”

I nodded.  Then, for the first time, Grace looked down and saw the wet stain on my pants.  “Eww, did he piss himself or something!? Gross.”

“Yeah, little Jimmy hasn’t really learned to control himself yet.  Don’t worry, he should be able to change himself.  Just make sure to keep an eye on him, though.  He gets himself into trouble when no one’s around.  Oh, and his dinner is on the stove, and if you want any yourself, go ahead.  And here are the passwords for the TV and computer if you want them.”  She handed her a paper.  “Jimmy’s not supposed to watch more than half an hour.  And he shouldn’t stay up too late, definitely not past 9:00.”  A car pulled up outside and honked.  “Oh, that’s Steve!” Kyra exclaimed.

“Go get’em, girl.  Work that bootay,” Grace said, shaking her butt at Kyra jokingly.  Kyra busted out laughing as she waved goodbye and walked toward Steve’s car.

Grace shut the door and didn’t so much as look down at me as she turned and plopped herself down onto the recliner – MY recliner (well, it used to be mine, anyway).  Flipping on the TV, she entered the password and turned it to MTV, proceeding to ignore me completely for the time being.

Humiliated by so easily passing for a child once again, as well as humiliated by the wet spot Grace had seen, I went upstairs, cleaned myself up, and changed into some dry clothes.  Coming back down, I walked up to her and said, “Um, Grace, I need to eat now.”

“Whatever, get it yourself,” she quipped, waving her hand at me dismissively.  I wasn’t sure I could reach the food on the stove, but I decided to try.  I walked over and reached my hand out.  The stovetop stood just a little lower than shoulder-height, but my arms, barely longer than one foot now, couldn’t quite extend all the way to the back burner where the skillet was located.  But after getting up on my toes and leaning forward, my fingers just barely managed to flick the handle towards me.  Now I was able to wrap the tips of my fingers around the edge of the handle and pull, just barely having enough of a grip to slide the skillet off the burner and up to the edge of the stove.  Fortunately the food had cooled quite a bit so it was safe enough to handle and was OK sitting off of the burner.

But I found a new predicament, one that was truly insurmountable.  “Grace,” I called out.  “I can’t reach the bowls.”  She ignored me.  I tried reaching up and could almost reach the knob on the cupboard door, but I knew that even if I did manage to open it, there was no way I could actually pull a plate down.  I called again as nicely as I could, “Grace, can you help me please?”

“WHAT?” she snapped from the living room, entering full ‘bitch mode.’

“I need help getting a bowl,” I replied sheepishly.

She grunted in frustration and stormed over to the kitchen.  Reaching right over me, she opened the cupboard and pulled out a bowl.  “And a cup!” I interjected.  She ‘graciously’ pulled out a cup and handed me both items.  “Thank you!” I said, trying to sound as nice as possible.  She didn’t respond, walking back to her seat in front of the TV and turning up the volume.

Fortunately, the utensils were in a drawer at shoulder height, so I was able to get those myself and scoop some food onto my plate over the brim of the skillet.  In her hurry, Kyra had made Hamburger Helper, reminding me of the old days when I would regularly prepare such lazy meals.  She didn’t make a whole box, though, as that would be way more than I could eat these days.  But even the half box she made was more than enough for me at my new size.

I filled my bowl and sat on the couch, happy to be able to eat in front of the TV again, like I always used to.  But I soon regretted this decision.  Grace smelled the food in my bowl and said aloud, “I’m hungry!”  Turning her gaze to me, she said bossily, “Give me that.”

I shook my head no, telling her, “There’s more on the stove.”

“Come on, I just want to taste it,” she said in a whiny, bitchy voice.  I sighed but obliged her, bringing it to her seat.

She pulled the bowl towards her and took a bite with the fork.  “Mmm, not bad,” she said.  Then her strong hands latched tightly onto the bowl and pulled it from my grasp.

“Hey!” I exclaimed.

“This bowl’s mine.  Get your own.”

I stomped angrily back to the kitchen as she turned her attention to the TV.  I was about to scoop up the rest of the Hamburger Helper into the bowl, until I realized … I didn’t have one.  “Grace, I need another bowl!”  I was starting to get agitated.

“Whatever, little dude.  You can have my bowl when I’m done.”  What a B-I-T-C-H.  I stomped back to the TV and waited impatiently as she slowly ate MY dinner.  I wasn’t sure if she was purposely eating so slowly, or if she was just absorbed in her show, but it seemed like she would never finish, waiting a good 30 seconds between mouthfuls.

Finally she was done and reached the bowl out for me to take it away.  I promptly did just that, going back to fill it again with the last of the Hamburger Helper.  I sat back down on the couch indignantly and started eating.

“Hey, bring it here,” Grace told me.  What?  Bullshit, this was my bowl.  She snapped her finger impatiently, but I sat there and took a bite.  “Don’t make me come over there,” she warned.

My resolve wavered, but I didn’t give in.  “Screw you!” I said.  That was a mistake.

With a huff, she stood up and stormed over to me.  I tried to hold the bowl away from her, whining, “Stop it!” but her arms were too long and too strong.  She easily wrested it from my grasp then slapped my wrist hard with her hand.  Fuck, that hurt!

“You do NOT talk back to me, understand!?”  Holding my wrist in pain, I nodded grudgingly as she took my second bowl back to her chair and ate it.  I had no choice but to sit idly by as she slowly chewed up the last of my meal.  She probably could win an award for worst babysitter ever, but there wasn’t a damned thing I could do about it.

Eventually, she said, “I’m full.  You can have the rest.”  I eagerly scampered over to see what she had left me.  Not much.  Mostly sauce, with a few bits of noodles and hamburger here and there.  I looked at her angrily, but she didn’t even notice as she was focused on the TV.  Downtrodden, I slumped back to the couch and scooped up every last bit I could, even licking the bowl for maximum efficiency.  I then went back to the skillet to scrape up any fragments I had left behind.

At least it didn’t take much to fill my tiny stomach these days, and what little I was able to eat did help my hunger, but it wasn’t even a third of what I needed, and it was mostly sauce anyway, which was poor sustenance.  I sat back down on the couch and tried to ignore the rumblings of my tummy, but soon enough I couldn’t take it anymore.  “You ate all my food!  I need something to eat.”

“Shut up!” she spat.

I couldn’t just give up so easily, though.  “Seriously, I’m starving!  Make me something else.”  I had no respect for this girl, and I hoped that she would eventually get tired of my whining and give in to my demands.

But she wasn’t one to let people tell her what to do, especially not little kids like me.  “Stop whining!  Gawd.  Get over it.”

“Just make me a hot pocket or something.”  I was getting pissed off.

But she was getting pissed off too, and she was the one with the power to do something about it.  Turning her attention away from the TV for once, she glared at me and yelled, “I already told you, the answer is no!  Now if you don’t shut your little mouth this instant, you’re gonna regret it!”

I was growing worried, but I had to test her limits.  “No!” I shouted back.

“That does it,” she snapped.  Pulling out her phone, she started dialing a number.  “I’m telling Kyra about this.”

“No!” I exclaimed.  She had played her trump card and won.  My attitude had immediately reversed in only a second’s time.  “Please don’t!”

She eyed me superciliously and said, “Well, well, looks like I’ve found your weakness.  You had better stop acting up from now on, ‘cuz we would hate to have to interrupt Kyra on her date, wouldn’t we?”

I nodded obediently.  Damn right, I would hate to interrupt her.  “Good,” she replied, turning her attention back to the screen.  I sat there fuming, silently shouting obscenities at her in my mind, but she paid my dirty glances no heed.

I got up and scrounged around the kitchen for something to eat.  Unfortunately, the fridge was almost empty, and all of the snack-like items in the pantry were on the upper shelves, way out of my reach.  I was forced to eat a small serving of leftover vegetables from the fridge and some crumbled bits of crackers at the bottom of a box of Wheat Thins.  I was still hungry afterwards.

When I went back to the living room, I saw that Grace had her phone out and was having a conversation via text message.  Since she wasn’t paying attention to the TV, and since I loathed MTV, I asked, as sweetly as I could, “Grace, would it be OK if I changed the channel?”

“No!  I’m watching MTV, Gawd.”  I didn’t press the issue.

A few minutes later, she finished texting then pulled out some nail polish and started painting her toes.  After a minute, though, she got a call on her cell phone.  Geez, does she ever put her phone away?  She must be one of those girls who runs up the phone bill with a million minutes and texts.  “Crap!” she said, painting a bit of her skin in surprise at her ringing phone.  “Arghh,” she growled.  Looking at me, she said, “Hey, come hold this.”  I walked over and held the brush for her as she answered the phone.

“Hey, Britta!” Good, at least it wasn’t Kyra.  But Grace cupped her hand over the speaker and told me, “Wipe that up,” then continued talking to Britta.

Still holding the brush, I sighed and pulled a tissue from the box on the end table, then carefully dabbed the spot where she missed her nail.  Having cleaned it up, I walked over to set the tissue on the table and put the brush away in the small bottle.

But Grace grabbed my arm and, turning her phone aside, told me, “This might take a while.”  I was glad since she probably wouldn’t care what I did when she was distracted.  Not that she really cared much anyway.

But she had other plans.  “So why don’t you help me get my nails done?”  She asked sweetly enough, but I shook my head no.  Why the hell would I want to do that?  “Hold on a minute, Britta,” she said into the receiver, then set her phone down on the armrest.  She turned and peered at me threateningly, saying, “Are you sure about that, Jimmy?  I think you really ought to reconsider.”

I got the message.  Gulping, I nodded my assent, and she picked up the phone to say, “Sorry about that.  The little kid I’m babysitting was being a brat.”  As she chatted away, I reluctantly picked up the nail polish and trudged over to where her legs were laying stretched out on the recliner.  This is bullshit.  Who gave her the right to treat me like this!?  But then I realized: of course, Kyra had.  She was the one who had set me up with her as my babysitter, and she must have known what type of sitter her friend would be to me, too.  I had to just hold my frustration in as I pulled out the brush and started painting her toenails.

She had only just started the first nail, so I had 9 ½ left to do.  Never having done this before, I was fairly clumsy at it, but what the hell did I care if her nails weren’t perfectly painted nice and smooth around the edges?

Well, as it turns out, Grace cared.  A lot.  In the middle of her conversation, she whined, “Hey!  You’re making a mess!  Do that one again.”  I wanted to just move on to the next toe and get this done with, but her insistent stare convinced me to take more care in my work.  I redid her big toe, making an effort to paint it as precisely as possible.  One benefit of my size was that my hands were now much smaller, allowing for more precise work, despite the unwieldy size of the brush in my hand.

But just as I was finishing up her big toe, Grace laughed at something her friend said, causing her to unconsciously curl and uncurl her toes.  This caused me to smear a big splotch of paint on the skin above her nail.

It took her only a few moments to look down and see what I had done.  “What the hell!?” she blurted.  “Look what you did to my toe!”

“You moved!” I protested.  “It wasn’t my fault!”

“Oh, so it was my fault?  Are you blaming ME for YOUR screw-ups?”  I started to protest but she cut me off.  “Don’t let it happen again.  …Sorry about that Britta, this little boy is, like, trying to paint my entire toe or something.  Anyway …” she resumed her conversation as I sighed, retrieved another tissue, and wiped up the mess that ‘I’ made.

I finally got her big toe cleaned up and neatened, so I moved on to the next one.  She just wouldn’t stop wiggling her toes, though.  I’m sure it wasn’t a conscious action, but as she chatted with Britta they would move about every few seconds, making it almost impossible to avoid messing up her nails.  She would look down from time to time and see another splotch of missed polish and shout some complaint or insult at me.  I just took her verbal abuse and did the best job I could.

After much toil, I finished her left foot, although it was not nearly as perfect as it would have been if she had kept still; no matter how much I tried, I couldn’t get it any better with all that damned wiggling.  But, seeing that I was moving on to her other foot, she leaned forward for a closer inspection.  Greatly displeased, she told Britta, “Sorry, girl, I’m gonna have to call you back.”  I heard her phone snap shut and her bitter voice ring out, “You’ve got to be kidding me!  Is that really the best you can do!?  I know you’re a little kid, but it looks like a 2-year-old did my toes!”

“That’s not fair!” I shouted.  “I can’t do it right when you keep wiggling your toes all the time!”

Her eyes widened in disbelief.  “Oh my God, are you still trying to blame all this on me!?  Freakin’ unbelievable.”  Before I could get another word in, she lowered the footrest on the recliner and took the brush and bottle from my hand then bent down to the ground, muttering, “Can’t say I’ll be giving Kyra a good report on your behavior.”  At least she was finally getting off her lazy ass and painting her own nails.

But I was dead wrong.  Instead, she pulled the brush out and began painting MY toes!  “Now for a taste of your own medicine!” she snorted, smearing a few globs of paint sloppily across my toes, intentionally putting about half on my nails and half scattered around on my skin.  “Hey, I’m Jimmy, look at me trying to paint a girl’s toes,” she mocked.  “Looks good to me!  Derp derp.”  She was making an awful mess of my feet.  I tried to pull a foot away but she just mocked even more.  “Heeyyy, quit moving your toes, I can’t paint it when you move your toes.  Wah wah wah.”  Even though I stepped back, she just reached forward and painted them even sloppier.  I realized the best I could hope for now was to keep still and mitigate the damage to my toes.

It didn’t take her long; God knows she didn’t try to do a good job.  When she was done, she put the brush back in the bottle and leaned farther to mockingly blow on them, sending a cool breeze on my toes to dry the nail polish.  When she raised herself back up, I looked down in dismay as I saw streaks of pink glittery nail polish going every which way across my nails and running past them onto my skin.  She didn’t even fill in my nails, leaving patches of their surface un-painted.  I counted myself lucky that she had restricted her rampage to the environs of my toenails, not venturing too far toward the rest of my feet.  But still, my feet looked far too ridiculous to be seen in public.

She lied back against the recliner and put the legs up again, telling me imperiously, “I would make you redo all my toes, but unfortunately I don’t have any remover with me, and my toes are too dry now to really clean up.  So I’ll just have to do them again tomorrow, you little brat.”  She snorted, continuing, “Do you think you can do my other foot without making it look like a toddler did them?”

Now that she was off the phone, I knew it would be much easier.  I nodded.

“I’ll hold you to it.”  I sat there dumbly until she said, “Well, get moving!  Geez.”  I began her other foot, doing a very precise job, as she leaned over and watched to make sure it was acceptable.  Satisfied, she opened her phone up again and called Britta back.

“No!” I exclaimed.

“What the hell are you whining about this time?” she sneered.  “Are you trying to tell me I can’t talk to my friend?  Huh?  Are you ordering me around?”

I hung my head in defeat and muttered, “No, ma’am,” as Britta picked up and the two of them got back to gossiping.  My work immediately became just as difficult as before, but this time I tried a new approach.  Certainly, the closer to the edge I painted, the more risk I had of running over when she suddenly wiggled her foot unexpectedly.  So I figured to just paint the middle of her 5 nails’ surfaces for now, and come back later to do the more precise edge work, maybe with a dryer brush for less risk of splotching.

She didn’t look down until I had finished the first stage on all 5 toes, and she immediately assumed that I was settling for that as my finished product.  “That’s not better, that’s 10 times worse than the other foot!!!” she yelled.  I tried to explain what I was doing, but in her frustration she immaturely thrashed her leg about while giving an aggravated groan.

Amidst her thrashing, she brought her foot down a few inches to the right of where she had it before.  As it happens, a few inches to the right was exactly where I was holding up the bottle of nail polish in my hand.  The heel of her foot hit the bottle squarely, knocking it clean out of my grasp and sending it careening to the ground.  The velocity and angle at which it hit the carpet caused it to bounce and spin forward, allowing a sizeable blob of goopy nail polish to fly out and land around my feet.  I looked down in horror at the pink, glittery liquid that was splattered some against the side of my foot, some on the bottom of my pants, but most on the carpet between my feet.

“Son of a bitch!” Grace screamed, slamming her phone shut.  “Look what you did!!”  I was too shocked to point out that it was completely her fault.  She grabbed some tissues and quickly knelt to the floor to clean up what she could.  I started to step back to give her room, but she snapped, “Stay still.  You’ll just make a bigger stain on the floor.”  Brusquely, she scrubbed at the floor, and only once she got as much as possible did she move up to my foot and pants to clean them roughly as well.  Looking at the deep stain that still marred the carpet, Grace cursed and said, “Kyra’s dad is going to kill me for this!!”  I understood the irony of that statement much better than she did.

She stood up before me, and even her supposedly short 5’3” or so frame towered head and shoulders above me.  I started to back away but she grabbed my arm like a vice.  Picking up her phone, she dialed a number, and I could just make out the sound of a familiar voice on the other end.

“Kyra, this is Grace.  I’m so sorry to bother you on your date, but Jimmy has just spilled nail polish all over the floor and I don’t know what to do.”  She sounded genuinely worried about leaving a big stain on my floor; of course, she was really worried that her big scary 6’6” father would fall into some kind of rage and tell her own parents, getting her grounded and who knows what else.

And maybe I would have, under normal circumstances.  But I, being the puny 4’0” weakling I was now, being completely mistaken as a young child, could do her no harm at all.  I merely winced in pain as she clamped down on my arm.

I heard Kyra say something in reply, no doubt astounded at my misbehavior.  Grace answered, “Of course it was his fault.”  Whether she truly believed that, or was simply lying to get out of trouble, I knew that her word was now worth more than mine, certainly in Kyra’s eyes anyway.  “And he’s been causing me trouble ever since you left.  … Uh-huh … yeah … OK, sounds good.  But are you sure it’s OK?” Grace asked again.  “I mean, your dad isn’t going to, like, hurt me or get me grounded or anything, is he?”  I heard boisterous laughter on Kyra’s end as she assured Grace that no, her dad would do nothing of the sort.  “OK then, sorry again about interrupting you.  See ya tonight.”

I gloomily pondered for a moment and realized that I definitely would have gotten Kyra’s friend grounded for something like this, back when I still had any fatherly authority, that is.  But now, instead of punishing someone else, I would be punished, for something that wasn’t even my fault.

Grace hung up the phone then peered down at me.  I just had to plead my case to her, to try to convince her to take some of the blame.  “Please, Grace, can’t you just tell Kyra it was at least partially your fault?  I mean, you were the one who kicked around and knocked it out of my hand!”

She sneered, “Well, I was only kicking around because you did such an awful job doing my toes.”

“But I wasn’t done with your toes yet!  That was just the first pass, and I was going to come back for the edges, honest!  And it was all because you kept wiggling your – Ahh!”  She redoubled the strength of her grip on my arm, causing me to cry out in pain.

“Shut up, you little brat!  How dare you blame me again, after what you’ve done!”

My eyes beginning to water, I cried out in desperation, “Please, just tell her you did it on accident!  She won’t be mad at you!”

She clamped down even tighter, prompting another shriek from me.  “That’s a nice little story, Jimmy, but I’ve got a better one.  After I painted my own toenails, you snuck around the couch, stole the bottle, and tried to paint your own toenails, obviously doing a great job of it.”  She pointed haughtily at my own toes crisscrossed with childish streaks of paint.  I gulped.  This wasn’t sounding good for me.

She continued, “Then, like the little kid you are, you carelessly spilled the bottle, letting it dump onto the carpet.  So, little man,” she continued with a victorious grin, “which story do you think Kyra is going to believe?  Your outlandish tale about ‘trying your hardest’ while I kept kicking my feet around like a kid, knocking the bottle down”-- she raised her fingers mockingly into quotation marks as she said this –“or my account of how YOU acted like a kid and knocked it over carelessly?  Hmm?  The word of a 7-year-old child against her high school classmate and close friend?”

Grace had thoroughly defeated me.  There was indeed no chance in hell that Kyra would believe me over her.  My only response was to break down and cry like the little child I was.  I was embarrassed to be crying and giving in like this, but I couldn’t help it.

 “Pshh,” she scoffed.  “You think crying is going to get you out of this?  Fat chance.  Kyra gave me strict orders to put you in bed right now, and she told me she would deal with you when she got home.”  This only brought on more tears as she began to haul me up the stairs, my arm starting to numb from the tightness of her grip.

She basically threw me into my room and slammed the door, threatening, “And don’t even think about opening this door again!”  As she walked away, I lay in a heap on my floor, sobbing so hard I had trouble breathing.  Where did I go wrong?  Why couldn’t I just go back to the way things were yesterday?  It was so unfair; I had done nothing wrong!  It was all that bitch Grace’s fault!  But, thanks to her, I cowered in darkness, waiting nervously for Kyra to come home and deliver my punishment.

I lay there for what must have been 2 hours, not wanting to move.  But eventually my lethargy was overcome by my need to relieve my bladder.  I cautiously got up and crept forward, pressing my head to the door to listen.  I could hear the TV playing downstairs, but no sounds other than that.  With infinite care, I slowly pulled the door open and tiptoed the short distance to the bathroom.  That was another benefit of being so small: my 51-lb body didn’t make a sound as I walked.  But, no matter how silent I was able to be so far, I was confronted with the fact that peeing into the toilet would inevitably produce some noise.  My best bet was to shut the bathroom door.

I began to pull it shut, but, alas, it complained with a loud creak.  I froze; I heard nothing moving downstairs.  Letting out an almost inaudible sigh of relief, I turned to face the toilet, knowing I would have to risk it with the door open.

At my height of 4 feet, I didn’t have much clearance over the rim of the toilet, but on the plus side it wasn’t a long way down so it wouldn’t make as much noise.  I aimed for the back of the bowl to minimize splashing, although inevitably I wasn’t able to completely avoid it, and besides, it made some sound even against the back.

I had really had to go, and it took some time to finish up and put my Johnson away in my pants.  I turned as I was pulling my pants up, and – Oh, hell.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, you little runt?  I thought I told you to stay in your room!”  I beheld her silhouetted form, standing just outside the door, hands folded across her chest.  She must have snuck up just as quietly as I had, and over the sound of my peeing I didn’t hear her approach.

“I had to pee!” I exclaimed.

“I don’t care,” she scoffed.  “Kyra gave you strict orders to stay in your room, and you broke them.  Period.  I’m going to have to report this, too.”

“But that’s not fair!” I whined.  “Just tell her I had to pee; she’ll understand!”

She said thoughtfully, “Well … no.  Not gonna happen.  I think I’ll tell her … ah, yes, I’ll tell her that you were trying to sneak into her room.”

“WHAT!?  You can’t do that!”  Little did Grace know just how much of a dire situation her words would put me in.  Sneaking about in Kyra’s room uninvited was about the worst possible thing I could do, in my daughter’s eyes.

“Of course I can,” she laughed, “and I will.  And if you aren’t in your room in 5 seconds, I’ll think of some more things you did wrong.”

I clenched my fists and fumed.  But she just stood haughtily and counted, “5 … 4 …”

I bolted towards my room.  The only problem was, she was standing in the doorway, blocking my escape.  “3 …” she laughed down at me as I tried to slip past her.  “2 …”  I gave up that route and lunged between her spread legs.  “1 …”  Frantically crawling past her, I made a desperate lunge for my room, but it was too late.  “Time’s up!” she said mirthfully.  “That’s gonna cost you.”

 “I hate you!” I yelled, as I darted for the door and slammed it behind me.

I heard her giggling through the door.  “Tsk, tsk, Jimmy.  That little outburst is gonna cost you, too.  But I might spruce it up some for Kyra’s benefit.  Hmm … how about, ‘I hate you, bitch!’  Or perhaps, ‘Fuck you, bitch!’  Oh, this is gonna be fun!”

I slammed my fist on the wall in frustration.  Was there anything I could do about this?  No, I realized there was not.  Unless, maybe if I showed Grace I was really, REALLY sorry, she would ease up, maybe forget these last lies.  I saw the shadows of her feet through the slit below the door and knew she was still standing there.  “Grace, I’m sorry,” I said, crying (and not faking it, either).

There was a pause, then I heard Grace reply, “Come out here and say that to my face.”

I opened the door timidly and stepped out to meet her.  But as soon as I left my room, she burst out laughing, exclaiming, “I can’t believe you just fell for that!  You left your room again!”  Turning pale in despair, I spun around and retreated back into my room, shutting the door.  “You’re making this too easy for me, Jimmy!” she jeered.  “Just wait ‘til Kyra hears about this latest offense!  I’ll have to come up with something good.”

I collapsed in anger, despair, frustration, and a hundred other emotions.  My life had spiraled completely out of my control now.  It was bad enough when my own, voluntary rebellion against Kyra’s authority resulted in punishment and humiliation.  But even now when I wasn’t doing anything wrong, when I obeyed Grace whenever I could, I was still going to receive my punishment, probably no less severe than if I were actually guilty.

I eventually trudged over to my bed and collapsed, waiting sleeplessly for Kyra to return.  But she never came.  Probably fucking her boyfriend, god damn it.  Around 11:00 I thought I heard the TV turn off, but I wasn’t about to go out of my room to check.  Hearing no other sounds, I slowly drifted off into an uneasy, nightmare-riddled sleep.

********************************

Thursday: 3’10”

“Jimmy, get down here!”  Kyra’s stern voice snapped me right out of my slumber.  I rubbed my eyes and saw that it was 8:30, which was the time we usually left for the day care center.  Shit!  Fortunately, I hadn’t even bothered to remove my clothes last night, so all I had to do was jump off the bed and run downstairs.  Kyra was looking as incredible as ever in another tight button-down shirt with a short skirt and heels.  But she was pissed – and even more terrifying than ever, since with her heels on and with me having lost another two inches overnight, I was a little dubious that the top of my head even reached her waist anymore.

I approached her rapidly, scared enough just from waking up late and having to face her – but I would soon learn that I was in a lot more trouble than that.

“Do you know what this is?” she queried, holding up a piece of paper that was full of writing in red ink.  I shook my head.  “Grace left this last night.  It is a list, a very LONG list, of all the naughty things you did when she was here.”  She frowned as she read the first couple lines to herself.

It seemed my daughter had likely spent the night at Steve’s and had just arrived here to pick me up, so she was only now reading over the entire list.  It would also explain her letting me sleep in so late.  “And I must say …” she continued ominously, scanning the page, “I find your behavior absolutely appalling.  I am very, very disappointed in you, Jimmy.”  She placed one hand on her hip as she set the paper down and glared.

I cowered under her in fear.  It was a testament to how cowed and afraid I was of her nowadays that I didn’t even bother trying to defend myself – somehow, I knew she wouldn’t believe me, or even if she did she would only use it as an excuse to punish me all the same.

So, quiet and afraid, I lowered my head and whimpered softly, “I’m sorry.”

“Well, your punishment will have to wait until this evening.  You’re already making me late for school as it is.”

My stomach rumbled loudly.  I still hadn’t eaten anything substantial since lunch yesterday; that ‘dinner’ last night had hardly counted as a snack.  “Can I please grab a bite to eat first, Mommy?” I asked as nicely as I could.  “I’m really, really starving.”

She scoffed loudly, and with a look of contempt she read the first entry in Grace’s log of my (supposed) misdeeds: “ ‘Jimmy refused to eat the food you made him, and then he wouldn’t stop telling me to make him something else.  I said it was your food or nothing, so he just took the skillet and dumped the whole meal down the drain.’ ”

“WHAT!!??” I said, appalled.  “That’s a lie!  I never did –“  WHAP!  I felt an incredible pain on my cheek as Kyra’s hand descended from nowhere and slapped me across the face.  I staggered backwards, dazed, my mind reeling as all I could think of for the next several seconds was how terribly my cheek burned from her blow.

“I can’t believe you would do something like this!”  She was furious and completely ignored my plea that it was all a lie.  “After being so well-behaved these last two days, to have gone and done such horrible things!  I really thought you had changed, Jimmy, but now I see I was COMPLETELY wrong.”

I had already made the mistake of defending myself once already, on impulse … but apparently I still hadn’t learned my lesson.  “Mommy, no!  I have changed, you have to believe me!”

I was truly desperate, but she wasn’t buying it at all.  She wasn’t even giving my words the slightest consideration, as if they held no credibility in her eyes whatsoever.

“Come on,” she barked, setting the paper down on the counter and yanking me out the door with her. 

Fuck my life.

For now, Kyra seemed more concerned with getting us where we needed to be on time than with punishing me now.  But I knew it was only temporary – my punishment would surely come sooner or later.

We sat quietly in the car for most of the ride, until Kyra broke the silence.  “So, I’ve read about the incident with your dinner, and I know you spilled nail polish on the floor.  I hope for your sake that, when I read the rest of that note tonight, I will find that those were the two worst incidents of the night.”  She cocked her eye at me inquiringly.

I had to avert my eyes in shame.  Not shame at anything I had done wrong, of course, but shame at … my utter helplessness, as I could do nothing to prove Grace wrong and win back Kyra’s affection or at least temper her anger.  I only prayed that those were indeed the worst things she had written, but I had a sinking feeling that I was in for a looonnnggg night.  Grace had no doubt enjoyed making up shit to get me in trouble, and she had probably only been getting warmed up with that first line Kyra had read.  I could just imagine Grace sitting there last night, grinning wickedly and writing horrible lies with her red pen just for the fun of it.  That horrible bitch.

We sat in silence after that.  Wiping some tears from my eyes, I glanced over at Kyra, now bigger than ever to my eyes.  As we sat, I was only eye level to her unbelievable rack, the two huge swells straining the buttons of her shirt.  I was at just the right angle to see through the gap in the taut fabric between two of the buttons, and I caught a delicious glimpse of her white bra holding in her immense left breast.

My eyes lingered too long.  “Just what in the hell do you think you’re doing?” Kyra snarled.

Hurt by her sudden outburst, I whimpered, “Y-You said I could look at you.”

“Yeah, you can look at me, but ONLY when you behave yourself.  And that’s clearly not the case, is it?”

“No,” I sighed.  “I’m … I’m so sorry, Mommy.”  My only chance was to be as apologetic as possible, but even that probably wouldn’t be enough.  I spent the next few minutes with my head turned completely towards my side window to avoid any possibility of my eyes straying where they weren’t allowed, fearful of the consequences.

We arrived at the day care, and Kyra hauled me roughly through the door by the neck.  All she told Mrs. Walker was, “If Jimmy gives you even the SLIGHTEST problem today, let me know,” as she shoved me towards her and walked briskly, heels clacking, out the door.

It was incredibly difficult, but I swallowed my pride as best I could and made sure I was extremely well-behaved that day.  I went along with whatever I was told to do, playing the part of a small, helpless child at every turn without question.  I even managed, with tremendous effort, to avoid pestering the supervisors for food before lunch.  My hands were shaky from my critical lack of nourishment, but I did my best to soldier through it as I held out until noon.

Thank God Susie was there, though.  I don’t know if I could have handled the mental and emotional turmoil from the last 16 hours without her there to help me forget all my worries.  I lost myself in the little games we played; childish though they may have been, they were a most welcome distraction.  I was aware how humiliating it was to so willingly play along with this little girl, but it was certainly better than the alternative of sitting alone and dreading what was to come that evening.

Everything was just so simple when I was with Susie.  I reflected that she very well could be my best friend in the world at this point.  No, on second thought, that distinction definitely still belonged to Amy.  Susie was nice to hang out with, but with Amy I felt I could share anything, and she was the only one who knew and truly empathized with my situation.  Besides, as much as I hated being punished for spilling on Amy’s clothes, I was relieved that the whole incident was 100% behind us now and we could resume our friendship like old times … at least, that’s what I hoped.  I wondered when, if ever, I would be able to see her again.

Lunch came and went, and I did decide to risk it and ask nicely for another serving.  I was refused, though; the staff was apparently very sensitive to overfeeding us kids, what with all the childhood obesity hysteria.  But, like yesterday, the rest of the time flew right by, and soon enough I was in the car with Kyra heading home.

She was still sour about my alleged misdeeds last night, and a nervous knot grew in my stomach as I watched her drive in heavy silence.  That wasn’t all that was wrong with my stomach, though: I was already very hungry for dinner, since I wasn’t allowed to eat extra at lunch, plus I had worked up an appetite playing with Susie all day.

When we stepped inside the house, Kyra revealed that she had plans that evening.  Being very short with me, she said, “I’ll be heading out in a couple minutes to go to the mall with Amy and Becky -- or Ms. Adams and Ms. Johnson, to you.  We shouldn’t be gone too long.  I called Grace”—I shuddered at the mere mention of that colossal bitch –“but unfortunately she couldn’t babysit you today, and since I can’t get anyone else on such short notice, I’ll have to leave you alone while I’m gone.  Can I trust you to stay out of trouble this time?” she asked, eyeing me imperiously.

“Yes, ma’am,” I said obediently.

With a hint of mistrust, she replied, “Alright.  Now we both know I could easily lock you in your room, or perhaps tie you up under my bed again while I’m gone”—I shuddered at that painful memory from the other day—“but I’ve decided just this once to let you roam freely on your own.  Think of it as a chance to partially redeem yourself from yesterday and to show me you can actually behave yourself if you actually try.”

“Yes, Kyr—I mean, yes Mommy,” I replied nervously.

“I think you know what will happen if you disappoint me even further …” she added ominously, absolutely towering over me as she stepped a bit closer, the top of my head no higher than her pelvis.

I gulped, nodding fervently.  As Kyra turned towards the stairs, she saw the paper on the counter, the one soaked in blood-red ink and reeking of lies.  “I’ll have to wait to read this until tonight, to decide how severe your punishment will be.”  I gulped loudly.  She grabbed the paper and, looking for some place to keep it out of my reach, decided on the top shelf of the pantry.  A good choice, considering even I hadn’t quite stood eye-to-eye with that top shelf back when I was an impressive 6’6”.

Within a few minutes she was ready to leave.  But just as she was stepping out, my stomach growled with the worst pang of hunger yet.  Despite myself, I practically whined, “What will I do for dinner?”

Kyra looked back at me with scorn and snorted.  “What, you’re so dependent on me now that you forgot how to make your own dinner?  I’m sure there’s another Hamburger Helper or something in there.”

Mmm, yeah, just great.  Hamburger Helper, minus the hamburger.  My favorite.

“Just try not to burn the house down, OK?” she added sarcastically, leaving through the garage.

Well, it could be worse, I thought.  Alone time has been hard to come by lately, and now I won’t have to deal with Kyra for the next couple hours.  I breathed a sigh of relief then walked to the kitchen.

Man, it was becoming a real chore to do anything in the kitchen anymore.  I had to use two hands and push off of the counter with my foot just to open the damned fridge.  But, just like yesterday, the fridge was almost utterly devoid of anything useful.  Now that Kyra was in charge of things, she seemed to be slacking on errands like going to the grocery store.  In my mind, it only highlighted how unprepared and unsuited she was to actually run a household successfully; she didn’t have the maturity for it, despite her outward appearance that seemed so convincing to everyone.  But alas, there was nothing I could do about it.  And standing here fretting over it was doing nothing to help my dreadful hunger.

I turned next to the pantry but already knew what I would find: all of the shelves within reach contained staples like flour and sugar, as well as a canola oil and other assorted cooking supplies.  What the hell was I supposed to make, a roux?  All of the food I could actually use was located on the top two shelves, more than a foot above my outstretched hand.

Well, that just bloody figures, doesn’t it?  My eyes moved between the pantry and the fridge, searching for some answer to my conundrum.  My eyes rose to the top shelf of the pantry: there, as Kyra had indicated, was the last box of Hamburger Helper.  The only solution, the only way I could have any semblance of a real meal tonight, was to climb.

As I cautiously reached up to grab the shelf just above me, I began to feel like this was a bad idea.  The shelves were the kind that simply rested on the brackets, held in place by little notches, rather than being securely fastened with screws.  Normally, the shelves worked perfectly fine for their usual duty of holding things placed atop them – but my hands holding and pulling them at one end gave them a small but non-negligible risk of sliding or flipping out of place and causing a spill.

I was about to scrap the whole plan, but just then my stomach rumbled ferociously.  There was no way I could hold out without food for another, what, 2 hours?  3 hours?  Hell, maybe more, considering how long it takes women to shop for clothes.  And I already felt weak from hunger; if I waited any longer, I didn’t think I would even have the strength to pull myself up for the food anymore.  And besides, I really didn’t weigh that much anymore, so it would probably be fine.

My hands were already beginning to shake, more from hunger than exertion, as I slowly hoisted myself up off the ground, clamping my hand on the edge of the shelf in front of me.  I had to climb up two more shelves to reach my goal.  The first one proved fairly easy as I lifted one foot, then the other, up to the next level, then did the same with my hands.  The shelves seemed stable as I climbed, which I guess wasn’t surprising given my paltry weight of 45 pounds.

As I raised myself up a second time, though, my hands almost slipped off the top shelf.  In a brief moment of panic, I looked down at the ground, now a considerable distance below me.  I probably would be OK if I fell, but every foot of distance was to my small body more like a foot and a half or more, and on top of it I was scared of heights.  But the crisis was temporarily averted as I managed to stabilize myself again.

I could see the box of Hamburger Helper sitting on the top shelf, although still out of my reach.  I cautiously lifted my feet one at a time up to the next level and stood up straight so that the top shelf was chest-high.

I reached out and grabbed the box then tossed it over my shoulder so I wouldn’t have to carry it coming down.  The box hit the floor harmlessly.  But before I began lowering myself, I noticed something I had forgotten was there: the paper.  That’s right, Kyra had put it there out of my reach.  Well, not out of my reach anymore…

I tilted my head sideways to skim through it.  “Refused to eat dinner … put it down the drain … blah blah blah … what’s this!?  ‘Kept trying to take the remote from me to change the channel while I was watching MTV.’  Bullshit!  I only asked once, and VERY nicely, to change it while she was busy!”  But, amidst my agitation, I didn’t realize that my grip on the shelf was slipping.

“SHIT!!!” I exclaimed as I flailed my arms about, trying to find something to hold onto to keep from falling.  But my hand settled on the piece of paper, and as I was starting to fall backwards the paper allowed my hand to slip right off the shelf.  I made a last desperate lung for the shelf, grabbing the edge with both hands.  Unfortunately, though, since my body was moving away from the shelf, the sudden force applied by my hands was just enough to tilt the plank of wood forward off of its supports, bringing it, the food it was holding, and my body all crashing down in a messy heap on the kitchen floor.

I cried out in pain as I landed hard on my ass, with the shelf falling on my ribcage for an added bonus.  I thought I might have broken something as I writhed on the floor amidst the scattered boxes of food.  I finally rose to my feet and brushed myself off, still aching in front and back but at least with my bones intact.  As I found my bearings, I looked with dismay at the mess I had made.  There were probably 10 boxes strewn about, and a couple of the cereal boxes had opened during the fall, spilling flakes all over the floor.  It was actually amazing how far some of the flakes had made it from the point of impact.

God damn it.  I cursed at my own stupidity as I set about cleaning up the floor.  My nagging injuries sang out in pain whenever I bent down, making it a long and arduous process.  But at long last I had set all the boxes on the counter and swept up all the spilled cereal into the trash.  The real problem, though, was the shelf.  The oblong plank of wood felt heavier than I had anticipated, thanks to my miniature-sized muscles, and it quickly became obvious that I would never be able to hoist it all the way up there without dropping it or myself again, probably taking another shelf with me in the process.

But after I had lifted the board and leaned it against the wall, I realized that that wasn’t even the biggest problem.  That damned paper lay there on the ground, crushed awkwardly under the edge of the board, leaving it crumpled and slightly torn, and it didn’t take me long to realize what this looked like: that I had tried to climb up and take away the paper, resulting in my fall.  My only hope was to get the paper looking as nice as possible and pray to God that Kyra would believe the truth.

I spent a good deal of time laying it flat, trying to straighten it out, but the wrinkles just wouldn’t really go away.  What’s worse, a large piece had been torn from the bottom, taking most of the last sentence away.  I looked for tape but couldn’t find any, so I just had to be satisfied with setting the piece, unsecured, in its place at the bottom of the page.  I decided to put it on the highest remaining shelf to look less suspicious, but while I had the chance I read what Grace had written on the page.

Oh. My. God.  If Kyra read this, she would literally kill me.  The things Grace wrote ranged from mere exaggerations of the truth, to pure fabrications, and boy they were bad.  I was appalled by the unadulterated malevolence exhibited by that unholy bitch, Grace.  It seemed that Kyra’s own twisted morality had rubbed off on her as well.

What should I do?  Should I leave it for Kyra to read, or should I … destroy it??  My punishment would be severe indeed if she found out I deliberately got rid of the evidence of my supposed crimes.  But I feared my punishment would be worse still if Kyra actually read what was written.  Either way, it was sure to end very, very badly for me.

After much deliberation, I decided to put it back in the pantry.  Kyra would be able to read all the horrible things about me, but if I destroyed it she would probably just call Grace up and have her recount every word.  Hell, she might even come up with new, more malicious lies.  It took a while for me to climb back up the shelves, but I was much more careful this time.  I couldn’t avoid crumpling the paper up some more in my hand as I did so, though.  I reached up and slapped the paper up onto the highest remaining shelf and hopped back down.  Ow!  Bad idea.  My back sang out in pain, still messed up from before.

My stomach grumbled painfully.  The only bright side to my fall was that I now had access to food.  I grabbed the Hamburger Helper box and pulled out the skillet from the bottom cabinet.  But, standing up straight, I found out that my shoulders were now only level with the stovetop, making even the simple task of lifting the heavy cast iron skillet up to the burner quite difficult indeed.  And forget about reaching the knob to turn the stove on!

I dragged a chair over from the dining table, although it felt like it was made of lead.  Even climbing onto it was a challenge now.  How freakin’ helpless was I now!?  But, after climbing up, filling a cup with water, getting down, moving the chair, getting back up, and reaching as far as I could to turn on the burner, I finally managed to cook and eat my meager dinner of sauce and noodles, sans hamburger.

I spent the next 2 hours in melancholy as I resigned myself to my impending torture.  I had absolutely nothing to do around the house to distract me; Kyra had systematically blocked me from all forms of entertainment.  Hell, not just that, she had stolen all of my belongings, leaving me with no possessions except 3 kid’s outfits and a bed.  I wore a perpetual frown as I sat on the couch in boredom and apprehension.

8:30 rolled around.  I had the brilliant idea to go to bed early, hoping to postpone my punishment and thereby giving Kyra an extra day to cool down after reading the paper tonight.  I put my pajamas on, with socks too to keep my feet warm, and I crawled into bed.  But I wasn’t in bed 5 minutes before I heard the garage door open.

“Jimmy, come down here, you have company!” Kyra called out amidst giggling.  I surmised that Amy and/or Ms. Johnson had stopped by to pay me a visit.  Sure enough, as I stepped out of my room I saw all three of the ladies down below, smiling and laughing after a fun ladies’ night out.

“Jimmy!!” Amy squealed when she saw me emerge from my room.  She rushed up the stairs towards me in excitement, a couple of shopping bags in her hands.  As I slowly descended the steps, she swooped down and wrapped me up tightly in a delighted hug, sweeping me off my feet in the process.  “How are you!?” she asked, her face inches from mine.  In her excitement, she probably didn’t realize that, after standing up straight, she was now holding me in her arms like a child, effortlessly supporting my puny 45-pound body.

“Uh … good,” I replied dumbly.

“Glad to hear it!  I thought I’d stop by and try on my new clothes for you to see how you like them!”  With giddy energy, she scaled the last two steps with me in her arms then finally bent down to set me on the ground.  She wasn’t as tall as Kyra, but at a respectable 5’9” in flats she still absolutely dwarfed me, my mouth about even with her navel.  Amy playfully ruffled my hair as she stepped around me and into the bathroom, giving a cute little wave before closing the door.

“Jimmy!” Kyra impatiently called again.  I painstakingly descended the stairs, needing my hand for support as I dropped down one step at a time, each of them not much shorter than my knee.  Kyra and Ms. Johnson watched in amusement at my difficulties over such a routine task.  As I got to the bottom Ms. Johnson beckoned me closer.

“How’s wittle Jimmy doing?” she asked, mussing my hair and clearly treating me like a child.

“Good,” I managed to reply sheepishly.

“Kyra tells me how well-behaved you’ve been.  I must say, I’m pleasantly surprised, Jimmy, after your disgraceful behavior on Monday.”  I gave an uncomfortable nod.  “As a little treat, I went ahead and picked out a nice new outfit for you.  In fact, all three of us chose it together.”

I didn’t respond, so Kyra chided, “What do you tell her, Jimmy?”

“Oh, uh … thank you.”

“Don’t mention it, little guy,” my former boss responded condescendingly.  She reached down and pinched my cheeks with both hands while rocking my head back and forth.  “Adorable,” she said with a sly smile.  “You remind me so much of one of my own kids when he was just starting elementary school.”  I could do nothing but stand there and submissively accept her humiliation.  As a final insult, she wiggled my nose playfully with her fingers and said, “You know, I like you SO much better at this size.  You were SUCH a big, annoying asshole before.  Isn’t that right, Jimmy?”

Mrs. Johnson apparently felt no more need to temper her words in front of me, unlike before when we used to work together.  I grimaced and averted my gaze; the humiliation was just too much to bear.  But Ms. Johnson wiggled my nose more insistently and repeated, in an even more child-like voice, “Wittle Jimmy used to be such a big annoying asshole, DIDN’T HE?”

She just kept wiggling my nose and making me feel so small and pathetic, that I finally just had to put an end to it.  “Yes, ma’am, I was such a big annoying asshole.”

“Aww, yes you were!” she cooed.  “But don’t worry,” she added, “it doesn’t even matter what you say or do, whether you’re an asshole or not, ‘cuz you’ll just be cute and adorable no matter what!  Harmless wittle Jimmy is just too itty bitty to cause any more problems for anybody, isn’t he?”

I didn’t know how to respond, other than dropping my head in shame once she released my nose.

Kyra snorted and smiled in amusement at all of this, of course, but then suggested calmly, “Becky, let’s have a seat until Amy comes down.”  The two of them headed for the couch and started some ‘grown-up’ talk, leaving me completely out of the conversation.  I stood there dumbly as they completely ignored me except for the occasional glance my way.

To my relief, my best friend emerged a few minutes later from the bathroom.  As she came down the stairs, I couldn’t help but be impressed.  She had on a tasteful black pants suit with a white collared undershirt and 3-inch heels.  She even took the time to do her hair back in a neat ponytail.  The overall effect was very professional yet elegant and pretty goddamned sexy at the same time.

“You look fantastic!” I exclaimed truthfully.

Amy blushed a little, looking down coyly and replying, “Why, thank you James!”  She sauntered over to me and twirled around to show off her backside as well.  I nodded in sincere approval of her clothing selection.

“Enjoy it while you can, Amy, it’s only a matter of time until he ruins this one too!” Ms. Johnson joked rather meanly, drawing laughter from Kyra.

But Amy, my friend, merely smiled at her boss and replied, “James won’t let that happen, I’m sure of it.”  She then leaned way down to plant an affectionate kiss on my forehead, having to bend her knees to get low enough.  “Would you like to see the other outfits I picked out?”

I nodded eagerly, but Kyra interjected, “First, let’s have Jimmy try on HIS new clothes!”  Amy nodded in consent then stood back up and turned me around to face the other two, placing her hands gently on my shoulders.

Kyra reached down into her bag and pulled out a set of me-sized clothes.  “Come here,” she told me.  Amy nudged me softly towards Kyra as she held up a shirt, a horribly gaudy black and yellow shirt with a huge logo of Wolverine from X-Men, holding his claws up and giving a corny growl.

I recoiled from the childishness of the design, complaining, “What!?  I … I hate it!  It’s—”

Kyra gave a stern look and said, “Jimmy, don’t be rude!  Ms. Johnson picked this out specially for you, so you are going to put it on, and that’s final.”

I looked up at Amy to back me up, but she just gave a slightly pained look and said, “Sorry, James, they just didn’t have any, um … mature clothes in your size.  This was the best we could do.”  Though I was still leaning back against her hands, she easily overcame my resistance by propelling me forward again, towards that stupid shirt and Kyra’s waiting smile.  Part of me wanted to be mad at my friend, but she really did have a point: I couldn’t avoid kiddie clothes at this point.  And yes, these seemed to be especially ‘kiddie’ and embarrassing, but I had to assume that Amy had had no hand in that.

Instead of Kyra handing me the shirt, though, my daughter told me to raise my arms up as she set the shirt on her lap and reached forward to pull my pajama top off.  I protested, “Can’t I change in the bathroom?”

Kyra sighed.  “Come on, Jimmy, it’s not a big deal.  We’re all adults here,” she said, deliberately gesturing to the other two ladies but not to me.  I turned to gauge their reactions: my former boss was of course more than OK with this degradation, but Amy had a troubled look on her face.

“Maybe it wouldn’t hurt if he just went upstairs to change?” Amy offered.  I gave her an appreciative glance, happy to have one woman on my side.

Kyra gave another sigh, saying, “Well, I don’t really see the point, but go ahead Jimmy.  And wait – here are your pants and underwear, too.”  She held out a pair of corduroy pants with an elastic waist, as kids often wore, and a pair of briefs also bearing the X-Men logo.  I huffed but didn’t bother to complain about the underwear selection, snatching them from Kyra’s hands and marching up the stairs.

But it wasn’t easy going, as I kept tripping over the long pants during my climb, slowing me down even more than usual.  After about 4 steps, Ms. Johnson called, half mockingly but half serious, “I wasn’t planning to spend very long here; could you try speeding it up, Jimmy?”

“I’m going as fast as I can,” I shot back in a huff.

“No need to snap at me,” she scolded.

Kyra interjected, “She’s right, Jimmy, this is taking way too long.  Just come back and change down here, OK?”  It was more of a demand than a request.

“No, I can make it!” I replied, stumbling up to the sixth step.  I heard heavy footsteps behind me as a shadow fell on the stairs.  Before I knew it, two huge hands wrapped around my waist and pulled me back, holding me in the air with the clothes still in my hands.  Kyra roughly set me on the ground, causing my back pain to flare up again.

“You’re wasting time, Jimmy.  Just do it already!” Kyra demanded impatiently.  I looked to Amy pleadingly, and she seemed like she wanted to protest Kyra’s treatment of me but also didn’t want to wait forever for me to get up the stairs.  So she kept silent.

Seeing my hesitation, Kyra took matters into her own hands and gruffly pulled my shirt up, her strength lifting my arms up against my will.  “Stop it!” I whined, but I was unable to keep her from pulling the shirt up through my arms and off my body.  I stood before these three women, embarrassed by my partial nudity and by the way Kyra had achieved it.  Mostly, I was embarrassed that Amy had seen it.

Thankfully, Amy’s better judgment kicked in.  As Kyra was starting to yank my pants down, Amy interrupted, “Jimmy, why don’t you just go behind the counter to change?  We won’t be able to see you there.”

Kyra stopped, still holding the waistline of my pants.  I eagerly assented to this compromise, and Kyra reluctantly released my pants.  I scurried over to the kitchen, bringing my new clothes along.  Although I still felt exposed and somewhat violated having to change in the same room as these women, they at least couldn’t see more than my head over the countertop, and it was greatly preferable to being stripped naked in front of their eyes.

The ladies squealed in delight as I emerged from the kitchen with my new outfit on.  “He looks adorable!” Ms. Johnson exclaimed.  Kyra added, “It’s a bit too snug right now, but tomorrow it should fit perfectly.”  Even Amy liked it, smiling at me and saying, “You look nice, James.”

Bullshit!  I looked nice … for a child, but not as an adult.  Amy should know better, but instead she didn’t seem to dwell much on this distinction.

My face reddened as I approached the ladies.  Kyra and Ms. Johnson twirled me around in their hands, tugging at the sides of my shirt and inspecting the fit.  “Very nice,” Kyra said, complimenting Ms. Johnson’s selection.  She pulled out another outfit from the bag, this one a light blue shirt with a Spongebob Squarepants design in front, with matching underwear as well as a pair of khaki shorts.  “I picked this one out.  Too bad this won’t fit you yet; we intentionally got a smaller size so you can wear it after you shrink again.”  I hated how she talked about my shrinkage so casually, as if it were only natural.

Then Kyra pulled out a third outfit, the worst one yet.  The shirt was bright green, displaying the four Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles in a big design covering the entire front.  The shorts were just as bad: also displaying the Ninja Turtle emblem on the right leg, they were of a soft grey material with a bright orange waistband, complete with a green cord that ties in front to keep the shorts from falling off.  “This is for in a couple days when the other ones are too big.  Amy picked it out for you!” Kyra told me cheerfully.  I darted my eyes at Amy in shock and disappointment.

Suddenly Amy seemed a little hurt by my look and told me defensively, “Well, I’m sorry if you wanted to look more grown-up, but I had to go to the toddler’s section for you and this is the best they had.  Actually, I think the colors match your eyes very well.”  I should have known better than to show dislike for something a woman picks out for you, especially Amy who was sensitive about clothing.

Kyra laid a heavy hand on my shoulder, whispering, “Apologize” into my ear.

It was painful to say it, but I managed, “I’m sorry, Amy.  Thank you.”  Amy sighed but grudgingly accepted my apology.

After an awkward silence, Kyra said, “Ooh, I have to try on my outfit, too!”  She excitedly grabbed her other shopping bag and galloped upstairs, taking about a tenth of the time it would have taken me.

Amy chuckled after her.  “That Kyra is a hoot!  And so nice, too.”  I could hardly believe anyone would call Kyra ‘nice,’ although I suppose she treated others just a bit differently than she treated me.  But most of all, I couldn’t believe that Amy seemed to be falling for Kyra’s deceptions.

“Oh, absolutely!” Ms. Johnson agreed.  “You’re so lucky to have her,” she added, looking at me.  I gave a fake smile and nodded.  “So, little fella, what have you been up to today?”  She leaned in with a condescending smile as if listening to a little kid.

“Um … not much,” I replied, although my mind immediately flashed to the recent debacle in the pantry.

“Aww, come on, speak up.  Where did you spend the day?”  She turned to Amy and added, “I’ve been wondering what Kyra does with him when she’s off at school.”  I didn’t want to answer.  “Well … ?”

“At a … a …”  The humiliation was overwhelming.  “At a daycare center.”

“WHAT!?” Amy exclaimed.  “She put you in with a bunch of kids all day at a daycare center!?”

Amy put her hands to her mouth in shock.  This seemed to finally bring Amy to her senses and realize how much Kyra had been crossing the line with me.  “I can’t believe Kyra would actually do that to you, James.  Oh my goodness.”  She reached for my arm and pulled me closer.  “I’m so sorry, James, I had no idea.  I’ll talk to Kyra about it, and I’ll do anything in my power to make sure you never have to go back there.  I’m sure there’s a better place for you during the day.”

I was overjoyed to see that someone still stood up for my rights as an adult.  Even though Amy had been subtly treating me more and more like a child, probably without even realizing it, it was comforting to know that she still knew where to draw the line.  “Thank you, Amy, I can’t tell you what this means to me,” I said, my eyes welling up with tears of hope and joy.  She wrapped her arms around me and pulled me in for a passionate hug.

Ms. Johnson scoffed at this whole exchange and told Amy, “What’s the big deal?  The little guy obviously can’t take care of himself.  That’s exactly where I’d put him: in a daycare center with other kids his size.”

Still holding me to her, Amy looked at her boss over my shoulder and argued, “But you can’t just treat James like a child!  He deserves better.”  Well, she didn’t quite come out and say that I was an adult, but I guess it was implied … right?  Amy pulled me back from our hug in time to see Ms. Johnson rolling her eyes at us.

We sat in silence for a moment until the door opened upstairs.  All three of us turned our heads to watch Kyra come down the stairs.  First her head appeared, draped in her straight, flowing dirty blonde hair, then as she walked forward her dress came into view and … OH MY DEAR GOD.  I had a minor seizure as my eyes drank in the sight before me.  Kyra, looking down confidently from the top of the stairs, was clad in a purple dress which ended merely an inch below her inseam, revealing the entirety of her impossibly long, toned legs held up by a striking pair of white high heels, as well as a glimpse of her hot pink thong, which itself was slightly visible through the sheer silken fabric of the dress.  Raising my eyes, I almost wondered if the dress was in fact painted on, so tightly did it cling to her curvaceous form.  An audible gasp escaped my mouth as I raised my gaze further still, beholding the two perfectly round orbs jutting out from her chest, seemingly unaffected by the downward pull of gravity – they almost seemed to stand up on their own, as if unrestrained by a bra.  As Kyra began descending the stairs step by step, her features growing ever larger in my view, my eyes almost popped out of my head as I realized, not only was she wearing no bra, but I could just barely make out a slightly darker indentations in each breast – her nipples.

By the time she had reached the ground floor, I was beginning to tremble as adrenaline coursed through my veins from head to toe.  She twirled around for show, revealing her bare back with just three thin lines of fabric running across under her armpits to hold the dress on.  A thin spaghetti strap also extended from the top of her dress around the back of her neck.  The neckline was high enough to cover all her plentiful cleavage, but this only added to the effect of the dress; from the way the dress was molded to her body, her body was as close as possible to being fully nude while still technically covered in fabric.

Amy and Ms. Johnson cheered, giving cat calls and saying, “Hot mama!” and “Steve won’t be able to take his hands off you in that!” to which Kyra replied, “Ha, like he could ever keep his hands off me anyway!”  This brought a round of boisterous laughter from the ladies.  I, of course, remained utterly speechless, gaping in awe at the sight – it was honestly one of the sexiest sights I had ever seen.  The outfit itself seemed almost slutty, but given Kyra’s natural assets it almost seemed acceptable for her to show them off like this – if she’s got it, she might as well flaunt it, right?  Except … I was still her father (biologically, anyway) and I was fully aware that no part of me should be condoning her outfit like I was in my mind right now …

My daughter strutted right up to me, the incomprehensible height difference only multiplying the immense effect her body had on me.  As she stood two feet in front of me, I found myself staring straight ahead at the outline of her tiny pink thong just barely showing through her dress.  In her heels, her legs stood about as tall as my whole god-damned body.  With supreme confidence, she put one hand on her hip and cocked her leg slightly to the side in a sexy pose and asked down to me, “So, I’ve heard from the other two.  How about you, Jimmy?  Do you like my dress?”  She peered down at me inquisitively, although from my stunned expression and slightly trembling limbs she already knew the answer.  But she wanted to hear me say it in front of them.  “Well?”

Dear god.  I was lucky to be facing away from Amy and Ms. Johnson so they couldn’t see the look of awe stamped plainly across my face.  Even more importantly, though, they couldn’t see me tenting my pants in arousal.  I just prayed they didn’t notice my body shaking, either.  My throat felt like a desert; I breathed the words but nothing came out.

“Aren’t you going to tell Kyra how wonderful she looks?  After all, we need a guy’s opinion,” my former boss told me.

Amy added understandingly, “It’s OK, James, don’t feel embarrassed.  We’re all adults here.  You can tell Kyra if you think the dress is attractive, from an unbiased male perspective.”  My eyes widened as I knew I was cornered, with no way out.  Meanwhile, Kyra had just been standing there, loving the entire show, knowing exactly what her body was doing to me.

After a few raspy attempts at speaking, I finally managed to croak, “You l-l-look really g-good.”  The two women behind me cheered playfully at my show of approval, making no indication that they realized the cause of my difficulty speaking.

Kyra laughed and smiled down at me with great relish, able to see exactly what she was putting me through right now.  With a secretly mischievous gaze, she stepped forward and pressed me into her in what to Amy and Mrs. Johnson probably looked like nothing more than an innocently appreciative hug – but which I knew was designed to wreck my composure even further, with her crotch all but pressing into my face …

“Well,” Kyra said after a moment, “now that that’s settled, would you two lovely ladies care for a drink?”  They assented, and Kyra headed for the kitchen.  “I have some wine, or there’s a liquor cabinet if you’d like something a little stronger.”  MY liquor cabinet, with MY booze, that used to be completely off-limits to Kyra – who, by the way, was still several years underage!  But the two other women seemed completely comfortable letting her drink; it was clear that they viewed her as older than she actually was, as an equal, despite being only in high school.

“I’ll have wine, thanks,” Ms. Johnson replied.

“Me, too,” Amy added.  Then, as an afterthought, she looked down at me and added, “Would you like something, Jimmy?” as if it was almost foolish to ask; after all, I had the exact size, looks, and attire of a 6-year-old child.

Ms. Johnson snorted derisively while Kyra laughed and said, “Really, Amy, you’re offering alcohol to HIM!?”  Amy was about to protest that I was technically still an adult until Kyra added with a devilish grin, “Besides, Amy, don’t you know that wine stains just as bad as tomato sauce??”

Amy picked up on the allusion immediately, remembering all-too-well the horrible spaghetti incident in which I ruined her favorite outfit in one fell swoop.  I watched her try to mask a scowl as she answered, “Point taken.”  That was the end of that discussion; I would have to be an idiot to press this sensitive issue with Amy.

So that’s how it would be now – my daughter allowed to drink alcohol while I myself was forbidden.  As Kyra headed for the kitchen, though, I was still facing away from the couch, my boner still at full mast.  “Why don’t you come have a seat, James?” Amy invited sweetly, patting the cushion next to her.

I had to think fast.  “Um … I’ll just sit on the floor, thanks.”  I sat down, and only then did I turn around, much better able to hide things since my crossed legs held my shorts up nicely between my legs.

“Oh,” Amy replied, surprised and a little hurt.  “OK, then.”

Sensing a lull in the conversation, Kyra, like a good hostess, got the conversation rolling by asking Ms. Johnson, “So, Becky, what can I expect when I come to work next week?”  This set off Ms. Johnson talking about various responsibilities Kyra would have, etc.  Fortunately, as Kyra was getting the wine, she was too focused on Ms. Johnson to notice the shelf lying against the wall and boxes of food lined up in front of the pantry, the evidence of my mess-up earlier that I had been too small and weak to put back in place.

Kyra returned with three glasses of wine, handing two to Amy and Ms. Johnson and of course leaving me without.  “Mind if I squeeze in here?” Kyra asked.

“Not at all,” they replied, scooting aside to make way for Kyra on the large two-seater couch.  Then the three of them resumed their conversation, leaving me on the outside looking in as I sat on the floor below in my X-Men shirt and watched the three of them with their elegant grown-up clothes and glasses of wine, chatting away about their grown-up jobs and their grown-up lives.

I tried to pitch in when I could.  For instance, one of them mentioned one of my former coworkers, Kathleen, who was not well-liked in the office.  “Boy, am I glad I don’t have to work with her,” Amy said, to which Ms. Johnson snorted and replied, “Lucky you; I’m the one that has to put up with her crap all day.”  Seeing my opportunity, I interjected, “Yeah, she’s a real stuck up bitch, isn’t she?”

The three of them went silent and turned their heads to me, as if I had said something mortally offensive.  “Language, Jimmy!” Kyra scolded.

Ms. Johnson gave a grunt of disapproval at me and turned back to Kyra.  “As I was saying, you should avoid her as much as possible.”  As they went right back to their conversation without me, it was as if I was merely inconveniencing these three adults with my childish – and potty-mouthed – pleas for attention.  But I listened in disbelief when, just two or three sentences later, Ms. Johnson referred to another employee as “a real asshole,” to which Kyra smiled and Amy replied, “Oh, I know!”

WTF!?  So when I swear, I get scolded, but then they sit there and swear freely, calling coworkers names, and suddenly it’s perfectly OK!?  What a crock of shit!

Nonetheless, I tried again, this time leaving the profanity out of it.  Ms. Johnson asked Amy a fairly technical question about how long it would take to perform a certain task her research.  I was intimately familiar with such work, so I jumped in and, in a fairly long statement, responded with what I knew was a knowledgeable and accurate assessment of the difficulty of the task and what it would entail, and what the best approach would be to deal with it.

I actually managed to grab Amy’s attention during my reply, although evidently Ms. Johnson quickly lost interest in what I was saying and wanted an ‘expert’ opinion from Amy.  Not that Amy was unqualified, but I knew this stuff like the back of my hand.  Still, Ms. Johnson clearly no longer had any respect for my intelligence, and partway through my response she simply turned to Kyra and started up another conversation as if I wasn’t even there!  It was the most blatantly insulting thing I had ever experienced.

I would have pulled my hair out if Amy hadn’t kept her attention on me.  With folded hands, she waited patiently for me to finish, but once I did she told me, very courteously, “That’s an interesting point you made, James, and I’ll certainly take that into account.  But I think it would be more efficient if, instead of that, we –“ but then Kyra grabbed her attention to ask her a different question that came up in their side conversation.  Not wanting to be ignored, I spoke up, “Amy, trust me, this is the best way –“ but she held up a single finger and told me, “Hold on a second, Jimmy,” as she turned back to Kyra and answered her.  But Amy never got back to me.  I guess I just wasn’t enough of an ‘adult’ to warrant these women’s attention, I mused with dismay.

I sighed loudly, partly for attention, but partly because I was just so incredibly frustrated with how I was being treated.  I had given a damned good idea to work with, but my former boss didn’t even listen, assuming I was incapable of any serious adult discussion.  But Amy’s response surprised me the most – she tried to cover it up with a generic conciliatory reply, but really she had just told me in a nice way that my idea was crap and that she now had a better grasp of how things worked than me.  Her lack of respect for my professional abilities stung me to the core.

Dejected, I sat uselessly for quite some time, gazing up at these women as they continued their grown-up conversation without me.  But I soon had trouble focusing on what they were saying thanks to an incredible distraction I soon encountered…

As she sat in front of me, legs crossed, Kyra’s body alone would have been more than enough to draw my complete attention, but I think at one point she noticed me staring at her, and that’s when the real trouble began.  As I looked on, Kyra slowly uncrossed her legs and set them apart a few inches while she continued to chat.  But I had just the right vantage point to benefit fully from this situation: sitting directly in front of her, I was able to look directly down her thighs and right at her panties, exposed beneath the tight wrapping of her dress.  My body reacted with an involuntary spasm, one which I believe Kyra noticed because of the slight smile I detected on her lips.  That was the only acknowledgment I saw from her as she lifted her opposite leg and crossed them the other way.

I sat there (still admiring her body, of course) trying to decide if that had been intentional, when not two minutes later she uncrossed her legs again.  I tried to keep my eyes closed but it was no use; I was mesmerized.  This time, she gave a clear indication of her intentions: under the pretense of adjusting her dress, she pulled the bottom edge of her dress side to side and then up, causing me to gasp as she revealed a full view of her thong between her sleek, sexy legs.  Her eyes darted to mine as she did this, raising her eyebrows at me seductively for a moment before lowering her dress and turning back to Amy.  She was toying with me, and it certainly didn’t help that I wasn’t a part of any conversations since it gave me nothing else to do but stare at my daughter.

It got much worse, though.  Not done having fun with me yet, she broke off her conversation long enough to turn to me, pat her lap invitingly, and say, “Come on up, Jimmy!”

I shook my head no, mostly due to the renewed erection I was sporting.  She repeated, “Come on, Jimmy, you’ll be warmer and comfier up here.”  A twinkle in her eyes told me it was non-optional.

Seeing my hesitation, Amy joined in, “Awww, don’t worry, James, we won’t bite!”  She held her hand out for me to take it.  I figured that if I just tried to walk away Kyra would come over and snatch me up anyway, so there was no point in resisting.  I took Amy’s oversized hand, and she helped pull me up onto the couch (which admittedly would have been much more difficult otherwise) and I began to try to nestle in between the two ladies.  But then I felt Kyra’s arms wrap around my torso as she pulled me onto her lap.

“There you go!  See, this isn’t so bad,” Amy encouraged, apparently oblivious to my embarrassment at sitting on Kyra’s lap next to them.

Kyra, though, still holding her glass of wine, said, “Whoops, hold on a sec,” as she downed the rest of her glass.  “There we go,” she added, handing the glass to Ms. Johnson to put on the end table.  “Wouldn’t want to have any more spills, would we Jimmy?”  She lifted her legs up and down playfully, bouncing me in her lap.

“Oh my gosh, thank you for reminding me, Kyra,” Amy said gratefully, almost matter-of-factly, as if it were simply a matter of course that they should keep food and beverages away from clumsy little me.  Apparently she didn’t even realize how insulting it was to my dignity, as she also quickly finished her glass of wine and set it safely aside.

The three of them resumed their conversation, ignoring me as before.  I looked to either side of me: six long, smooth thighs were laid out in a row, with me in the middle.  As each of them spoke I craned my neck up to see their faces.  Even in the makeshift booster seat that was Kyra’s lap, my head was still only as high as Amy’s shoulders, but still below Kyra’s.

But Kyra was not content to let me just sit there peacefully.  I felt her arms ever-so-slowly wrapping around my torso, pulling me closer to her.  I feebly tried to resist – without letting the other two see my struggles – but it was useless; soon, I found my back pressing firmly against her, her arms locking me in beyond hope of escape.  The fabric of her dress felt incredibly soft, even through my shirt, and the heat of her body warmed me from all sides.  And, of course, the spongy firmness of her breasts squeezing against my neck and upper back felt simply … indescribable.  The tight wrapping of her dress added just the right amount of firmness to her braless chest, and as Kyra continued to chat with the other two she gently brought her hand up and pulled my head back against her, so that her two huge melons formed a sort of headrest, pressing against the entire length of my shoulders and supporting my neck in the space between.

I was becoming deliriously hot with arousal on Kyra’s lap while the other two women carried on, completely oblivious to the incredible effect Kyra was having on me by simply setting me on her lap.  I was now grateful that they were ignoring me, since just a passing glance at my condition would probably tip them off as to what was going on.  I felt my dick poking up urgently against my pants, and as clandestinely as possible I slid my hands down and cupped them over my crotch, making it look like I was just folding my hands in my lap.

Kyra began to shift her muscles slightly in the pretense of getting comfortable, but in reality she did it to jostle my body around and cause her juicy breasts to rub across my shoulders and neck.  I could focus on nothing but the miraculous texture and consistency of her breasts as they mashed themselves into my back from all angles.  I couldn’t ask Kyra to stop, not with Amy and Ms. Johnson sitting right beside us.  I couldn’t hold back her gyrations, as overwhelmingly powerful as she was, nor could I break her hold on me and leave her lap.  I was stuck here, desperately praying that at least Amy wouldn’t notice what was happening to me.  That was all I could do.

Kyra, though, noticed me covering myself up and decided to change that.  “Oh my gosh, your hands are freezing!” Kyra exclaimed.  It was actually true; in my excitement, my body had refocused the blood from my extremities inward, leaving my hands quite cold.  But Kyra’s real purpose was revealed when she reached down and wrapped both of her hands around mine, effortlessly pulling them off my lap despite my muscles straining to keep them there.

“Ooh, let me feel!” Amy exclaimed in concern.  She leaned towards me and took my hand from Kyra, saying, “Wow, they ARE cold!”  Ms. Johnson did the same, and now I had all three women looking down in the direction of my crotch; if they so much as glanced past my hands, they would see my erection poking out all-too-obviously.

I held my breath in apprehension.  Thankfully, both ladies released my hands, but to my dismay Kyra grabbed them again, purposefully cradling them against my stomach with her powerful arms.  “I wonder why he’s so cold?” Ms. Johnson pondered.  “It feels just fine in here.”

“Yeah, it does,” Amy agreed.  “Poor James!  Maybe his small body can’t hold in heat as well anymore.”  I didn’t appreciate how they kept talking ABOUT me, not TO me – but that was the least of my worries right now.

“You’re probably right, Amy,” Kyra told her.  “Maybe that’s why he likes it so much when I hold him – he loves to just snuggle up against my big, warm body.  Don’t you, Jimmy?” she asked tenderly.

I didn’t know how to respond, and in my still-highly-aroused state I only replied, “Yes.”

“In fact,” Kyra continued, “he can’t seem to get enough of it.  He would lay with me for hours if I let him.”  Kyra’s eyes were full of mischief as she looked down at me.

“Awwww, that’s so sweet!  Jimmy never told me that!  The other day he went on and on about how vicious and mean he thought you’ve been treating him.  But now I’m starting to wonder just how much Jimmy had blown things out of proportion.”

Oh dear god.  Oh no, no, no.  I couldn’t have Amy believing that I actually somehow enjoyed or accepted what Kyra had been doing to me lately, as if I had secretly been hiding this ‘truth’ from Amy or something.

But in this position I couldn’t really speak up against it – especially not given my high levels of arousal which would become immediately obvious as soon as I would try to speak up.  So I just stared up at Amy pleadingly, trying to show her that her last statement wasn’t the case.

But Amy just gave me a courteous smile, and I got the sense that she didn’t really feel I was capable anymore of a mature, dispassionate outlook on things or that I could be trusted to be honest with her; she believed she wouldn’t really know the truth until she heard Kyra’s side of things.  Amy patted my thigh condescendingly then raised her eyes to Kyra expectantly – and it absolutely devastated my morale.

“Well, Amy,” Kyra replied, “I must admit I’ve had to be strict with him plenty of times, and Jimmy might think it’s unfair, but it’s really the only way I can help him understand his new place in life.”  She began petting my hair possessively.  “But, despite a few setbacks here and there, I think he’s finally starting to learn to respect my authority and better judgment – and even to enjoy and accept his new place, too.”

Amy nodded in assent but then frowned as a note of discord was now raised in her mind, not yet ready to abandon my side completely yet, it seemed.  “Actually, Kyra, there’s … something I wanted to ask you about, to hear your side of things for once.  James told me you’ve been taking him to the daycare the last couple days.”  Kyra nodded happily, seeing nothing wrong at all about this.  Amy continued, “The thing is, Kyra, I know you have his best interests in mind, but don’t you think it’s just, I don’t know, degrading?  I know Jimmy can’t just be left alone by himself all day”—I grimaced as she said this—“but there must be some place more for … adults, right?  Like, someone you know who can watch him during the day?  I just don’t think it’s right to put him in with a bunch of little kids!”  Amy tried to keep her composure and address Kyra respectfully, but still her emotions managed to seep through a bit.  Maybe Kyra had been mean to Jimmy; maybe she hadn’t.  But surely Jimmy didn’t deserve that.

Kyra acted surprised at Amy’s concerns.  “Oh!  Well, I guess I never thought of it that way.”  That was bull crap and I knew it.

“Really?” Amy replied, taken a bit by surprise.  Fortunately at least to Amy it seemed obvious why me being at a daycare could be objectionable.

But Kyra was playing another angle – and playing it quite well, unfortunately.  “Oh, no, you misunderstand me, Amy,” Kyra replied with a look of sincerity and compassion that could almost have fooled even me.  “It’s just that Jimmy is so happy there, you know?  If you could only see him there, you’d see that he’s not uncomfortable at all!”

It was Amy’s turn to be surprised.  “A-Are you sure??  I mean, can you imagine how it would feel to be treated like a 6-year-old, having to play and interact with actual kids?  Why, if I were him I would just shrink into a corner and cry!!”

By now I was becoming truly agitated now on Kyra’s lap, trying to convey to Amy how totally right she was, that I hated every minute of daycare.  I even began to speak up now, too, and Amy was also starting to take notice of my distress – but just then I felt my daughter’s long, powerful fingers wrap around my chin and press against my lips to silence them, as Kyra explained my agitated reaction by telling Amy, “Don’t worry, Amy – he’s just acting like this because he’s embarrassed to admit it to you.  But the very first thing he told me after the daycare today was how much he enjoyed and can’t wait to go back tomorrow!”

It was the clearest, most boldfaced lie that had ever been told about me, but amidst my futile struggling I could see that Amy was at least partially starting to believe it.  Kyra clamped down even tighter on me, using her strength in a way that Amy probably didn’t fully realize, my daughter sought to press her advantage by telling Amy, “I swear, Amy.  You’re right – apparently he hated it at first.  But you wouldn’t believe how much he’s changed since yesterday!  Every time I come to pick him up, he’s laughing and playing enthusiastically with a new friend of his, playing with Barbie dolls and LEGOs.”

“What!?” Amy replied uncertainly.  “I have a hard time believing that – not that I think you’re lying, of course, but I just can’t picture James enjoying something like that.”

“Oh, if you saw him and Susie playing, you would have no doubts about his happiness.”

Ms. Johnson, who had been listening quietly until then, spoke up, “You wouldn’t happen to be talking about Sunnyside Day Care Center, would you?”

“Why, yes!” Kyra replied as she swiveled her head to Ms. Johnson.  “How did you know?”

“Is Susie about his height, with red hair and freckles?”  Kyra and I both nodded, wondering where this was going.  “Oh my gosh!” Ms. Johnson exclaimed.  “I believe the little girl you were talking about is none other than my niece, Susie Johnson!”

All three of us – me, Kyra, and Amy – said in unison, “What!?”  Ms. Johnson continued, “My sister lives in town and takes Susie to that same day care every day.  And heck, I even saw Susie yesterday, and she told me about this new friend she made named Jimmy, but I never made the connection!  She wouldn’t stop talking about how much fun he was to play with, and she even called him her ‘best friend in the whole world!”

“Unbelievable!” Amy said.

Kyra was giddy with excitement at this new development.  I, meanwhile, was absolutely horrified to have this new information brought to light.  I would say that Kyra must somehow have had a hand in this, but not in this case – it just wasn’t possible.  She couldn’t have known I would have befriended Susie, of all the people there.  No, it appeared that now even the universe itself was conspiring against me.

At this point, I just had to act.  I peeled Kyra’s fingers aside just long enough to tell Amy, “No, it’s not what you think – Susie and I were just … just …”

It was Amy’s turn to raise her fingers to my lips to silence me.  “It’s OK, Jimmy,” she said compassionately, though a bit uncomfortably.  “Don’t be embarrassed!  It’s … uh … good that you found a friend, even if she’s just …”  Her voice trailed off as she tried to absorb this new information – as surprising as it was, she now seemed to think that she had hard evidence of my ‘changes’, both mental and physical.  But she seemed to decide not to judge me for it, probably figuring that I couldn’t help it, after all.  After regarding me, her former colleague, for a few moments as I sat on my daughter’s lap, Amy took a deep breath and proclaimed softly, “Well, I suppose a day care might be just the right place for Jimmy after all.”

My heart sank in my chest upon hearing these words.  I wanted to stand up, pounding my chest to say, ‘This is me!  I am a man!!”  But I could not, because my daughter’s arms were already coiling back around my frail, pathetic body, already squeezing the air out of my lungs, strong enough to weaken anything I might try to say at this point.  And I knew it was futile anyways – Amy apparently no longer trusted my word over Kyra’s.  A flood of shame washed over me as I dropped my head in silence.

Ms. Johnson, sensing an awkward silence, lightened the mood by saying, “Well, seeing how Jimmy and Susie are best friends now, I’m sure they’d just love to get together outside of day care … maybe this weekend?”

Barely above a whisper, I replied, “No,” but my voice was drowned out by Kyra squealing, “Yes!  That sounds like a great idea!”  Kyra squeezed me tightly to her chest.  “I’m sure Jimmy would be delighted!  We’ll have to set up a time.”  So much for my opinion, I thought.  But as she pressed my shoulders against her chest, despite my shame, my attention was instantly drawn back to my erection, starting to throb again and still plainly visible in my lap.  I counted myself extremely fortunate that the other two hadn’t noticed – yet.

All of a sudden, though, my body began to rise into the air.  I clutched Kyra’s arms tightly out of instinct and fright to keep from plummeting to the quickly-receding ground.  Kyra, of course, was simply standing up with me in her arms, a simple action that I probably shouldn’t have been so overwhelmed and frightened by.  Then, Kyra used her enormous arms to maneuver my body towards Amy as she said, “Would you mind holding him for a minute?  I’ll get us some more drinks.”  I was now being held out to Amy, Kyra’s hands under my armpits, like a child.

“Sure, Kyra,” Amy agreed, reaching out to take me in her arms and bring me down to her lap.  Technically, Amy wasn’t quite as big as Kyra, but I couldn’t really tell – they both just seemed really damned big to me.

Amy had a huge smile on her face as she sat me sideways on her lap, putting one hand on my thighs and the other resting gently on my upper back.  She wasn’t relishing her physical superiority over me like Kyra did; instead, her gaze was one of compassion and tenderness.  She enjoyed the close physical connection that sitting on her lap provided, and her body language seemed inviting, soothing, almost maternal.

I admit, it was a bit of a rush being so close to the woman I had desired for so long, and even though it clearly wasn’t a sexual experience for her it certainly was for me.  But I knew that being held in her control like this could only lead to her viewing me as less than a man, as someone who needs her support and care.  “Amy,” I said, embarrassed, “Could you put me on the couch, please?”

Amy frowned in disappointment.  Not wanting to give me up, she replied casually, “Don’t worry about it; Kyra will be back in just a moment.”  Great, now what could I do?  If I protested further, she’d just think I was being a jerk.  Deciding it wasn’t a big deal, I remained seated on her massive thighs as she continued to look down at me caringly.  In a confidential whisper, though I was pretty sure Ms. Johnson could hear, Amy asked, “James, is it true that you enjoy going to the day care?”

This was my chance!  Amy would still fight for me.  I shook my head no and was about to tell her I hated it.  But suddenly it occurred to me that it might be unfair to Susie.  She was expecting me, and … It dawned on me that I might actually miss Susie if I didn’t get to play with her tomorrow.  I was deeply troubled to find this out about myself, but I didn’t tell Amy about it, instead deciding to push this thought out of my mind and tell her, “I don’t want to go back, Amy.”

Amy gave a sympathetic look and replied, “OK, James, I understand.  My mother lives 30 minutes away, and I’m sure she’ll be more than happy to look after you.  I’ll tell her the whole situation and I assure you that you’ll be treated like an adult.  How does that sound, James?”

I nodded eagerly and thanked her profusely.  My friend’s offer almost brought me to tears, despite the humiliating position of being on her lap.

Amy smiled and continued, “OK then, I’ll tell Kyra as soon as she sits down again.”  With that, her hand wrapped around my shoulder and pulled my body into hers, squeezing me in a warm hug.  As her arms enveloped me, my shoulder pressed snugly into her sizeable breasts, and though just half the size of Kyra’s, they were still plenty big next to my miniature proportions.

My cock stirred in my pants.  To make matters worse, Amy had wrapped her other arm around my legs, holding her hand against my side while laying her forearm along my thighs, dangerously close to my member.  I think she noticed the rustling of my penis in my pants because her eyes descended from my face to my lap, then grew wide.  “Oh!” she yelped in surprise, plainly seeing for the first time my dick creating an obvious tent in my pants.  Amy withdrew her arm and recoiled from our embrace, her cheeks just as red as my own from our mutual embarrassment at the situation.

I didn’t know what to say, so I just kept silent while I not-so-discreetly brought my hands to my lap to cover things up.  “Umm …” Amy started but was unable to add any more words.  We sat in extreme discomfort, never before having breached the friend barrier, always having a platonic relationship before now, although, of course, I had always wanted more – and even she had admitted on Monday that she had been interested too!  But I knew I had no chance in hell with her now, not with the body of a six-year-old boy.  I ached as I thought of what could have been; and all that the 2 years of sexual tension between us was good for now was to make this moment all the more uncomfortable.

Fortunately – or, as it turns out, disastrously – our attention was very soon pulled away from all this by the voice of Kyra from the kitchen: “What the--!?  Jimmy, get over here now!”  Kyra was pissed about something.  Something in the kitchen … Oh hell!  I had hoped she wouldn’t find out what I did in the pantry until after Amy was gone …

Amy, now with an inquisitive expression on her face, pushed me off her lap as she and Ms. Johnson stood up and followed me to the kitchen.  As I rounded the counter, I was confronted with Kyra’s piercing glare as she loomed above me, standing beside the propped-up shelf next to the pantry.  “Do you mind explaining to me just what in the hell this is doing here?  And how did you even get to it, way up there in the pantry?”  Of course, ‘way up there’ was only eye level to Kyra, but far, far out of reach for me.

I gulped and replied, as nicely as I could, “I was trying to climb up to get some food to eat when I accidentally slipped and made the top shelf come loose.”

Behind me, I heard Amy gasp softly and Ms. Johnson say, “You could have hurt yourself!”

“Damned right, he could have!” Kyra added angrily.  “Why would you ever try to reach the top shelf, just to get something to eat?”

“I couldn’t find anything on the lower shelves, and the fridge is—“

I was cut off when Kyra exclaimed, “Oh. My. God.”  Her eyes had fallen on the piece of paper containing what was effectively my death sentence, which I had placed on the next highest shelf.  She held it up for all to see as she told me, “I know exactly why you were trying to get up there.  You wanted to get rid of this, didn’t you!!?”  Her eyes pierced my very soul as she glared down at me in fury.

“No!  I didn’t remember that was there, I swear!  I just wanted to get some food and the paper fell down too!”

Kyra wasn’t convinced.  “Oh, how convenient,” she said sarcastically.  “You just happen to climb all the way up there, to the very spot where I hid this.  Of all the places in the house, you just happened to choose that one.”  She snorted in derision.

“What’s on the paper?” Ms. Johnson asked from behind me.

“Yeah, why would James want to get rid of it?” Amy added.

Kyra sighed, shaking her head.  “I wasn’t going to tell you girls this; I was just going to deal with it after you left.  But now I suppose I have no choice … Jimmy was apparently very, VERY naughty for his babysitter last night, and this is the list she left of all the bad things he did.”

I craned my neck to see Ms. Johnson give me a stern, disapproving look while Amy appeared taken aback by this sudden revelation.  “Oh!  … Well, I’m sure it couldn’t be that bad.  I mean, he’s been so well behaved lately, right?”  That a girl, Amy.  “What does the paper say?”

“I’ve only read the first line, but it was not good,” Kyra replied ominously.  She gestured towards the living room and told them, “Ladies, if you wouldn’t mind sitting on the couch, we can all read this together and figure out a punishment.”

I felt like a prisoner being transferred to another cell, the way these three giantesses surrounded me like guards, Kyra in back and the other two in front, keeping a wary eye on me to make sure I didn’t try an escape.  We sat on the couch again, except this time Kyra sat on the end and asked Ms. Johnson, “Would you mind holding him while I read?”  My former boss agreed (rather eagerly, it seemed) and sat in the middle seat with me on her thighs, wrapping me up in a hold which felt loose but which I knew was really no doubt unbreakable.

I knew how bad things looked, so I tried to be proactive and defend myself again while I still could.  Before Kyra began, I exclaimed, “The babysitter lied!  All that stuff is made up!  She just wanted to m—“

A huge hand came up and covered my mouth, stifling my protest.  “I think we’ll be the judge of that, little boy,” Ms. Johnson said dominantly.  No one stopped her as she continued to hold her hand in an absolutely air-tight seal over my mouth and nose.  I was angry at first – but then I began to panic as I was quickly using up my remaining air …

“I won’t let go until you’re calm again,” my frighteningly large boss said above me.  It only took me about two or three more seconds before I was doing exactly as she said.  It was such a simple – and easy – way for her to reprimand me, but it was brutally effective.

Once I had stopped resisting, she released her grip as promised and let me breathe again.  “Now shush,” she chided me sternly, exactly how a grownup would rebuke a child.

“Thank you, Becky,” Kyra told her simply, showing no concern for how I was being treated.  So I turned to Amy, hoping for some sympathy from her.  But she seemed conflicted, seeming like part of her wanted to protest this treatment – but the other part of her wanted to hear Kyra out first before passing judgment on me, not quite trusting me as an adult anymore.  It was this latter part of her that spoke up now, telling me softly, “It’s alright, James.  Please just let Kyra read the note, and we’ll decide from there.”

Just a minute ago, I thought Amy was starting to take my side – but now her confidence in me seemed to be slipping away all over again, to the point where it was out of my hands.  She was literally telling me now to stay quiet as she consulted Kyra and Ms. Johnson to decide my fate.  I once again had no say in the matter at all.

Disheartened, I turned back to Kyra as she cleared her throat and began.  “As I said, I’ve already read the first line, but I will read it again for you two to hear.”  She then proceeded to read the entire letter:

“ ‘Kyra, I’m listing all the bad things Jimmy did tonight.  I’m sure there was much more that I’m forgetting, but there were just too many to keep track of.  Here goes: Jimmy refused to eat the food you made him, and then he wouldn’t stop telling me to make him something else.  I told him it was your food or nothing, so he just took the skillet and dumped the whole meal down the drain…’ “

Yet again, despite my better judgment, I wanted to cry foul and say the truth, that the babysitter was lying.  But now even the mere touch of my boss’s fingers on my lips was enough to send shudders through my body as I knew for certain that speaking up at all would only forfeit my right to breathe once again.  I quivered in silence and fear as Kyra read the remainder of the letter.

“… ‘I was too late to stop most of it from going down the drain, but once I did he took what was left and started throwing it about the kitchen in a temper tantrum.  I had to clean up after him, and the whole rest of the night he kept whining about how hungry he was, only shutting up when I threatened to call you…’ “

I started to turn my head back to Amy to let her see the truth through my eyes, hoping that at least a nonverbal plea would be allowed.  But Ms. Johnson’s hand darted up and easily forced my head back in place.  It was like being tried in court with a prosecution but no defense – none whatsoever.

Kyra continued, “ ‘Then, Jimmy kept trying to take the remote from me to change the channel while I was watching TV.  Once, when I went to the bathroom, I came back and he was watching some nude scene on HBO, then he tried to tell me that he was allowed to watch that stuff.  He’s got some nerve, huh?  Then, I painted my nails and put the bottle back in my purse on the floor, but as I was watching TV Jimmy snuck around the couch and stole the nail polish, then sat on the floor out of my sight as he tried to paint his own nails.  I caught him, but not before he made a mess on his toes.  Then, when I demanded it back, he said no and kept painting, but when he tried to get more paint his clumsy little fingers dropped the bottle and spilled nail polish all over the carpet.  It was completely his fault.’ “

“THAT’S NOT TRUE!!!” I screamed.  Dammit, why couldn’t I just keep my mouth shut …

“Jimmy!!” Kyra and Ms. Johnson proclaimed in unison, as the latter’s hand returned to a more secure position over my mouth.  This time she let me breathe – but only barely – and she kept it there.  Before long, yelling was completely out of the question as I had to conserve what little air I could get just to keep myself from blacking out.

“Just keep your hand there,” Kyra suggested.

“I intend to,” Ms. Johnson replied in a mildly reprimanding voice.  I could sense her hovering over me with a disapproving frown.  “I won’t let him make another rude outburst again,” she added confidently.

I whimpered against my ex-boss’s hand on my mouth, but no one spoke up in my defense – not even Amy.  I could only barely see her face out of the corner of my eye – she seemed saddened, at least.  But perhaps she was only sad because I seemed to have disobeyed the rules yet again …

As Kyra read the rest of the paper uninterrupted, I couldn’t turn my head away from her growing scowl as she learned the rest of my supposed misdeeds.  Somewhere along the way, Ms. Johnson’s utterly unbreakable grip had shifted my head more towards Kyra, so that I could no longer see Amy at all.

But, in spite of everything unjust and cruel that was happening and would be happening soon, as my vision was limited to only Kyra, without hardly even realizing it I began to steal glances at Kyra’s dress, quick glances at first but gradually more and more bold as she kept her eyes down on the paper.  Even now, I was powerless to resist the awesome spectacle of Kyra’s body wrapped in that tantalizingly sexy dress.  What shame and guilt I felt at the weakness of my will, trembling in both fear and lust at my former daughter as she coldly, emotionlessly read my doom.

“ ‘I called you right after he spilled it and sent him to bed immediately.  I had to drag him to his room and he yelled and shouted obscenities the whole way.  Then, even though I expressly forbade him from leaving, when I checked on him a half hour later I found him sneaking around.  He claimed he was just going to the bathroom but I realized your bedroom door was open and he had a crayon in his hand.”

Despite everything, I tried to cry out one more time, but it resulted in nothing but soft, sad mumbling against Ms. Johnson’s firm hand.  All it did was make me dizzy as I quickly ran out of what little oxygen I had managed to store up.  I began to hyperventilate lightly, panicked and afraid, as my daughter read on.

“ ‘When I went to investigate, I found your clothes all splayed out on the floor – who knows what he was doing with them – and, worst of all, the little brat had written in crayon on your wall.  I managed to wipe most of it off afterwards, but in big red letters Jimmy had writt—‘ “

Kyra stopped speaking abruptly.  Her eyes widened in surprise then turned to the two women beside her.  “A large corner of this page is missing,” she told them, shaking her head in disbelief.  “There can be only one explanation for this – Jimmy tore it out to keep us from reading it.”

I tried to shake my head, more vehemently than ever, but couldn’t budge it.  Meanwhile, my daughter’s cold, razor-sharp glare fell to me, making me shudder in fear.  “Ohhh … you are in so, so much trouble mister.  Where the hell is the rest of this page!!?” she barked, clearly tired of playing games.

My fear level skyrocketed.  But this time, I was actually being told to speak up, and Ms. Johnson temporarily released her grip on my mouth accordingly.  “Mmphmm … I-I …” I paused, catching my breath, then added urgently, “The page got torn off when I fell from the pantry!  It was all just a mistake!!  The rest was still there when I set it back on the shelf!”

Kyra’s gaze only soured more.  “You expect me to believe that?  The final part that says what you wrote on my wall just happens to be missing?  No, you destroyed it, didn’t you?  To save yourself?  Come clean now, Jimmy …” she warned ominously, “or else your punishment will be even more severe than it already will be.”

Desperate, I shrieked, “It’s the truth, I swear!”  Ms. Johnson’s free arm began to slowly tighten around my chest threateningly, as Kyra simply continued to glare.  I pleaded, “Please, just let me look for the extra piece, I’m sure it’s still there somewhere!”

Kyra hotly replied, “I think I’ll just beat the tar out of you right now – you deserve that much regardless – and maybe if you’re telling the truth I won’t have to beat you any more after that.”

“Good plan,” my former boss agreed, as if it were the simplest decision in the world.  She immediately started to transfer my 45-pound body into Kyra’s waiting arms.

But then, I heard the voice of an angel.  “Wait!” Amy cried out.  As the other two ladies turned to look at her, for the first time in five minutes I was able to turn my head as well, and I looked upon Amy’s kind face, wrought with consternation and pain.  At first, I feared that her look was due to the pain of seeing just how low I had fallen, but as she spoke her voice filled my heart with gratitude.  “Let him find the rest of the page,” Amy said resolutely.  “And then I think James deserves to defend himself against these charges.  I refuse to believe any of them.”

Apparently, over the last minute or two, unseen to me, Amy had been having a change of heart.  I don’t know what had caused it – perhaps just remembering the person I ‘used’ to be, and remembering all the time we had had together in the past – but when I looked into her eyes now I could see she really was committed to sticking her neck out for me, despite how bad things might be looking for me right now.  She was finally giving me the benefit of the doubt, and that was all I needed.  As our eyes met, I’m not sure I had ever felt such a deep connection with anyone, such a bond of compassion and mutual respect as we shared in that moment.

The other two scoffed at this, fully convinced of my guilt.  But, thankfully, Amy’s words gave me the opportunity I needed.  “OK,” Kyra sighed, “I guess it can’t hurt.”  Ms. Johnson released me and, like a dog who is finally let go after much abuse, scampered at full speed towards the kitchen, around the counter, and up to the pantry.  The three women stood up and sauntered over as I frantically searched the ground.

Kyra and Ms. Johnson just stood, arms crossed, looking on with a frown.  But Amy, wonderful as she is, came over to help.  She turned out to be most helpful indeed, as she quickly spotted the scrap of paper sitting on the shelf below the one that had held the rest of the paper, this shelf being well over my range of sight – although, of course, well below Amy’s.  “Found it!” Amy announced happily.  “You see, he didn’t try to get rid of it, after all.”  Amy patted my head and looked down with a genuinely pleased look on her face, feeling vindicated in her trust towards her little friend.

“Hmph.  Well, we’ll just have to see what it says before letting Jimmy off the hook,” Kyra retorted.  As Kyra set the rest of the paper on the counter, Amy slid the scrap up to the corner to complete the sentence.  As the other two gasped, Kyra read aloud, “… in big red letters Jimmy had written, “EAT SHIT AND DIE, BITCH.”

The room fell silent.  None of them, not even Amy, knew how to respond to that, such was their shock at what I had allegedly written.  Finally, summoning as much restraint as she could find, Kyra said through clenched teeth, “Is that bad enough for you, Amy?”

My angel, my wonderful Amy, she … hesitated.  Doubt had begun to creep in to her mind.  “Well, he has been really mad at you lately …”  My spirits sank like a rock – but then soared anew as she reconsidered, “No.  I think she’s just making this up.  I can’t believe James would do these things.”

Oh … thank you, Amy … thank you …

Ms. Johnson scoffed again, replying, “What, you’re going to take HIS word over the babysitter’s!?  Kyra put her in charge of him for a reason.  And what would she possibly stand to gain from lying about this?”

Amy paused, puzzled by this latest line of reasoning.  But this was my chance to speak up.  Craning my neck as far as it would go to look up at these towering beauties, I recounted the events of the night before, the true story of Grace’s bitchy, power-mongering ways.  Partway through, Kyra had started to cut me off, but Amy raised a hand and implored her to let me speak.  With an appreciative nod, I told all of the important details – how she had eaten all my food, made me paint her toenails, and accosted me when I had to go to the bathroom.  I only bothered to refute the points in her letter, leaving out some minor details like how she had mockingly painted my own toes.  But I had done my best to convey her mean-spirited, bullying approach to babysitting, as well as the delight she derived from making me suffer.  “And that, ladies, is why she wanted to frame me; out of the cruelness of her heart, nothing more.”

Amy was convinced.  “See, I knew there was a good explanation for all of this!”  She pulled me to her, resting her hands on my shoulders protectively as she turned my body towards the other two.

They stood silently, mulling over my defense and pondering a verdict.  Kyra finally spoke up, “Well, I can’t say I believe Jimmy, considering all the naughty things he’s done in the past.  But he had been well-behaved the whole rest of the day.  Hmm.  I’ll have to have a talk with Grace and see what I can find out.”  Whew.  That was certainly better than I could have hoped for, and it was all thanks to Amy.  Perhaps Grace would even be persuaded to come clean, in which case I’d be right back in Kyra’s good graces – and in Amy’s, as well.

Kyra and Ms. Johnson took the paper and turned back towards the living room as Amy bent down almost to my level and turned me to face her.  “I totally believe you, Jimmy.  I’m just so glad you didn’t do those terrible things.  I hate to admit that, for a while, I actually started believing them, and gosh, the anger building up inside me was just –“  She had suddenly gotten flustered, but quickly calmed back down.  “Well, none of that matters anymore.  Can you forgive me for ever doubting you?”

I was beyond grateful for all she had done for me.  “Of course!” I exclaimed.  “In fact, I can’t thank you enough!”  We embraced warmly for quite some time, then eventually Amy stood back up and we walked over to the couch.

The other two had apparently been studying the paper, examining the words for any clues – probably for clues that would prove my guilt.  And the sly grin on their faces as we approached told me that they had found one they thought would catch him.  “Just one thing,” Ms. Johnson said, sounding innocent enough.  “Grace said she had wiped MOST of the crayon off the wall – not all of it.  I propose we look in Kyra’s room for any remnants of red crayon.  If we don’t find any, we’ll concede that Jimmy is innocent, but if we do find some, well, I think we all know what happens then.”

“Absolutely!” I declared, more than happy to prove my innocence once and for all.  The four of us climbed the stairs – well, actually, I was carried up by Amy, who apologized profusely but told me it was out of practicality, which I must say I agreed with.  Inside her room, the three of them pored over Kyra’s walls, deciding that I shouldn’t be allowed to look due to a conflict of interest.  I stood in the middle of the floor, proudly folding my arms across my chest, smugly awaiting a final announcement that there was nothing to be found.

Then I heard the impossible.  “Over here,” Amy gasped, shocked at what she had found.  We all rushed over to look and, sure enough, there on the wall behind the bathroom door was an inscription, about 3.5 feet off the ground, in big childish letters, faded from scrubbing, were still visible the words, “EAT SHIT AND DIE, BITCH.”

I fell back onto my ass in shock and horror.  NO!!!  Impossible!!!  “Th-That’s n-not my wr-writing!” I stammered.  Amy, too, had staggered back and sat on the bed, reading the words on the wall over and over in disbelief.  It was Kyra and Ms. Johnson’s turn to stand up confidently, hands folded across their chests, as they glared down at me with a mix of anger, condescension, and vindication.

Amy, still shell-shocked, muttered, “I believed you, I actually believed you …”

I knew what had happened – it was Grace!! – and I did everything in my power to convince Amy, at least, of the truth.  Snapping out of my daze, I rushed up to her, took her huge hands in mine, and said passionately, “You have to believe me, Amy, I didn’t do this!  Grace must have come in here after I was in bed and made it look like I had done it just like she said in the letter.”  A tear rolled down Amy’s cheek.  “Please, Amy!  You know me!  You know that I would never do any of these things!”  She was still shaking her head woefully.  I pressed on, “And if Grace was willing to write all those things, why wouldn’t she also be willing to set me up like this?”

Amy considered this new logic, and ever-so-slowly a faint smile of relief crossed her lips.  “That does make a little sense …” she conceded.  Kneeling in front of my little body, she looked me straight in the eye and told me, “Jimmy, tell me truthfully: did you write those mean words on the wall?”

“No, Amy.  I swear.”  I held my breath.

But then, a few moments later, she smiled.  “OK, James.  Despite all the evidence against you, I still believe you.”  She lifted her gaze to the other two.  “I still think he’s telling the truth.”

She must have been able to see the emotion on my face, because with another warm smile she whisked me off my feet in a vigorous hug, even making it hard for me to breathe in her enthusiasm.  But I was far too happy to care.

Kyra and Ms. Johnson looked down at us stoically, unenthused by our latest touchy-feely moment.  But, as we pulled back from our hug, I stared back at them defiantly, my case greatly bolstered by the support of Amy, one they treat as an equal, unlike me whom they offhandedly dismiss as a child.

But they were not so easily defeated.  Ms. Johnson whispered something into Kyra’s ear, causing her face to light up with the discovery of a new possibility to bring me down.  Ha!  I scoffed at their futile attempts to prove my guilt, knowing full well that Grace’s letter was pure fabrication.  Folding my own arms across my chest, I confidently awaited their feeble attempts to defame me.

But I was not expecting this.  “Jimmy,” Kyra asked sweetly, “Could you take off your socks, please?”

Taken by surprise, I couldn’t fathom what they were up to.  “Uh … why?”

“Well,” she replied in the same ironically sweet voice, “you said you painted Grace’s toenails and never said you painted your own.  So I’d like you to show us your toes, just to be sure.”

I saw no reason not to play along, seeing no harm in it and thinking it a very odd request.  I reached down and unrolled my socks down to the balls of my feet, then pulling them over my toes, and – Oh Shit.  I had just uncovered a streak of nail polish on my big toe – nail polish that I had totally forgotten about until that very moment.  Adrenaline coursed through my veins as I began to roll the socks back up as nonchalantly as I could.  “T-There’s nothing on them,” I said reflexively, although I immediately realized how foolish those words were – I needed to come clean and tell what really happened, not lie and make myself seem even more suspicious.  But it might have already been too late for that.

But as Kyra gave a stern warning and reached down to pull the socks off for me, I recoiled in a moment of panic and twisted my body to keep my feet away from her.  It quickly proved to be a futile attempt, as Kyra spun me back around with overwhelming force and yanked one of my legs straight out in the air with one hand, bringing her other hand over to forcibly remove my sock.

“No – don’t!!!” I cried, abandoning all reason in my state of panic.  My leg writhed pathetically under Kyra’s vice grip, but nonetheless in the blink of an eye my sock was removed, exposing my paint-splattered toes for all to see.

“Ha!  I knew it,” Ms. Johnson declared victoriously.  “You see, Amy, the little brat was playing us all along!  He thought he was so clever, trying to cover up everything he could – but he forgot just one little detail, and now his whole story has fallen apart, hasn’t it ...”

As Kyra continued to hold my foot up on display, my eyes moved to Amy, my one true friend and confidante.  But my hopes of keeping her friendship all but shattered as I beheld her look of stunned disbelief, so deep was the agony in her eyes as she discovered my supposed betrayal.

Was she really going to let this break our friendship?  Sure, it may seem bad, but it’s not like I did anything to her (or did anything wrong at all, for that matter).  Not yet grasping the severity of my situation, I nevertheless understood that I needed to convince Amy of the truth, at all costs.  “Amy, listen to me!” I said urgently.  “This isn’t what it looks like!  I—“

The air rushed out of my lungs as Kyra locked her arm around my chest and swung me bodily into the air.  “Don’t even try getting yourself out of this one, young man,” she said viciously.  “If I hear one more word out of you, you’ll regret it.”  She stood up straight, pressing my chest painfully against her shoulder in a confining embrace.

But I had to defend myself, I just HAD to.  “It’s all a lie!  I didn’t spill the nail polish, and I didn’t paint my toes!”

“Then WHY THE HELL IS THERE PAINT ON YOUR TOES!!!” Kyra roared.  The strength of her grip suddenly doubled, but in a flurry of desperation I flailed and heaved against her body, freeing up just enough space for my lungs to draw a breath and exclaim, “Grace did it!  Grace painted my toes!”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Ms. Johnson interjected disdainfully.  “You expect us to believe that a high school girl painted your toes like that!?”  Oh hell, she was right: my toe paint looked exactly like the work of a 6-year-old, and I knew I couldn’t possibly convince them that it was Grace, not me, who painted them so.

Now I understood – I really was fucked.  Maybe if I had told them earlier what really happened, they just might believe me, but I had to admit that this latest evidence, along with the writing on the wall, created an overwhelmingly strong argument that I had been lying through my teeth – and if I was lying about this, then there was no reason to believe that I wasn’t lying about everything else, too.

Kyra shifted my body to bring us face to face as her fiery eyes stared into mine.  A rage was building up within her, the likes of which I had never seen, and it would surely be unleashed upon me at any moment.  But, unbelievably, something else happened which was even more harrowing and frightful: Amy beat her to it and descended upon me with her own vengeful wrath.  “YOU … YOU SON OF A BITCH!!!” Amy screamed.  She grabbed my shoulder to spin me towards her – with Kyra helping to spin me around as well – and as her fingernails dug into my skin I beheld Amy’s fury in terror.

“Grace isn’t the liar, YOU ARE!!”  The loudness and proximity of her voice made my ear drums ring as she brought her face within inches of mine.

I tried to avert my gaze by turning my head aside, but Amy’s hand darted out and clenched my jaw firmly, wrenching my head forward again.  With my body completely immobilized in Kyra’s arms and my head clamped tightly in place by Amy, I could do nothing but wriggle feebly and proffer up one last, desperate plea.  “It wasn’t me, I –“

“LIAR!!!” Amy screeched, and suddenly my world was rocked by an enormous hand slamming against my cheek.  As I cried out in pain, I realized that this time it wasn’t Kyra who slapped me; it was dear Amy, my best and only friend in the world!  She continued, “Even now, you won’t admit what you did!  You’re the worst person I’ve ever met!!”  That last line stung me bad, even worse than her slap.  I hung there speechless as Amy went on, “To think, I actually let myself be convinced that you were still a good person and didn’t do any of those things last night!  I had truly believed, James, that you had changed after your punishment on Monday, that you were sincere when you told me you were sorry for all the awful things you did to me.  But it was all a lie!  You don’t give a crap about me, or anyone else; you only care about yourself, you selfish son of a bitch!”

I could hardly wrap my mind around these words coming from the sweetest, kindest person I ever met, my one true friend.  My earlier question, why she was so furious, had been answered.  It was about much more than just me wronging someone else; she saw my (supposed) continual childlike misbehavior and found that even my deepest, sincerest apology on Monday was as much a lie as the denial I had given tonight.  I felt my entire life unraveling before my eyes …

I opened my mouth to speak, but she was done listening to my side of the story.  “Give him to me,” Amy ordered, and Kyra willingly held my body out to her.  It all happened so fast: Amy roughly snatching me up, storming over to the side of the bed, ripping off my pants and underwear, and laying me across her lap, face down.  Before I even knew what had happened, I felt an earth-shattering jolt of pain on my ass.  Amy was spanking me.

Amy surely wasn’t as strong as Kyra, but whether due to my diminished size, the vehemence of Amy’s rage against me, or the incomprehensible anguish of being spanked by my best friend, I would forever remember this spanking as being the worst of my life, far beyond anything even Kyra had been able to dole out.  I resisted at first, exclaiming, “I didn’t do it!  Please, Amy!!!” but this only inspired even harder blows from Amy until I gave up all attempts at communication, my mind becoming flooded with the thought of pain and nothing more.  I struggled uselessly against Amy’s steel grip but soon surrendered even that last little piece of resistance as the blows continued to rain down again and again and again.  I had absolutely no sense of how long it lasted, being completely beaten down both physically and mentally by the very person I loved most in this world.

Amy, too, felt anguish, although of a much different sort.  Her tears nearly matched my own in number, falling because of the egregious betrayal of the dear friend she had once thought trustworthy and kind.  Her wrath was made infinitely worse by the fact that she had stuck her neck out for me so much and had trusted me purely on faith and friendship – and now from her perspective she felt that her confidence had been utterly betrayed.  And this time, I sensed that there was no going back – our friendship was through.

Amy’s blows only ceased once her strength was utterly spent.  As if to cast off my evil ways, she unceremoniously dumped my body in a motionless heap at her feet as she wailed in despair at what I had forced her to do.

Having almost no control over my senses, I hardly noticed being dumped to the floor, then some minutes – or hours? – later being dragged by the arm and left sprawled out on my bedroom floor.  I lay just so, silently, motionlessly, for many restless hours, my mind turning time and again to the events that had just unfolded, and to speculation as to what might lay in store for me in the days to come.

I had been brought that night to an entirely new threshold of pain and anguish.  However, my resistance had not merely been defeated for the time being; no, Amy’s blows had seemed to thoroughly beat down and eradicate every last trace of dignity and self-respect that I had still possessed.  What in this world had I had to look forward to, other than my next chance to look again into Amy’s loving, compassionate eyes and find some measure of comfort in this cruel world?  But now that hope had been utterly dashed; my last chance at being treated as a fellow human being, with my own feelings and desires and unalienable rights, was suddenly torn away, leaving me free-falling into a deepening abyss.  Sure, we would no doubt see each other now and then from this point forward, but never again with the same love and compassion.  On Monday, she had wished to see a permanent change in my behavior, and now, ironically, it seemed that she may have gotten her wish after all, though in a much different sense.  She now truly believed that I no longer held any regard whatsoever for the feelings of others, especially hers, and it had finally left her no hope of reconciliation with me as a friend and equal.  Now, in her mind, I could no longer be trusted to follow the social and moral code of an adult; I was like a child now in her eyes, except even worse, since unlike a child I supposedly knew better than to act the way I did.  And I could only imagine that I would continue to be treated worse than one as well.

********************************

Friday: 3’8”

I didn’t speak a word all morning.  We went through the usual routine of Kyra making breakfast then feeding it to me, but this time the process was much more businesslike, with me still cowed by my experience the night before and Kyra no doubt still greatly upset and disappointed at my naughty behavior – whether she actually believed it, or was just pretending.  Either way, I didn’t dare disobey her, simply out of fear of more physical torment.  But, to be honest, beyond that I didn’t really give a damn how she or anyone else felt.  Not anymore.

As sullenly as an inmate on death row, I let Kyra lead me to the car and eventually into the day care center.  There was now no way to cover up my loss of 6 inches since Tuesday, but after pulling Mrs. Walker aside for a brief explanation, Kyra had no trouble convincing her to keep my situation confidential.  Fortunately I had had no substantive interaction with any other supervisor, quite conveniently leaving them oblivious to my changes amidst a sea of children of all different heights.

Susie, though, finally took notice as well; if she hadn’t been so young she would certainly have noticed sooner, but now that she stood an entire head taller than me it was all too obvious.  “Did you get littler?” she asked off-handedly, as if it wasn’t a big deal.  After all, kids her age changed height all the time, though usually in the opposite direction!

I nodded sullenly, still loath to speak after last night.  Mrs. Walker chimed in, “Yes, Susie.  Jimmy has gotten a bit smaller but it’s nothing to be concerned about.  Just go ahead and play with him like usual.”  As if being smaller would in itself disqualify me from playing with her.

The day wet by more slowly than normal because I simply wasn’t able to lose myself in our fun like I had before.  I went through the motions anyway, half-heartedly acting out my part in the scenes while limiting my lines to a mumbled phrase here and there.  My lack of enthusiasm clearly rubbed off on Susie, too, and I did feel bad.  I knew, of course, that she had had nothing to do with the horrors of last night, and I felt perhaps a thin layer of the icy shell over my heart begin to thaw as I took comfort in the carefree simplicity of spending time with Susie.  As pathetic and miserable as it sounds, Susie was now the closest thing to a friend and equal that I had in this crazy world.  I was able to open up to her a little bit and get more involved with our games, though the hurt was still too deep to allow me more than just a glimmer of happiness that day.

That evening proceeded much like the morning had; we ate in silence, then I was told to do my chores, which I did unquestioningly as well as lifelessly.  It wasn’t long before I was put to bed, ending the first monotonous day of my new life without hope.

********************************

Saturday: 3’6”

The only event of note was the return of Grace, that awful, mean, … --Well, I certainly would have conjured some far more colorful adjectives to describe how I felt about her, but frankly I lacked the energy and motivation to get myself worked up about it.  I just … I couldn’t see how anything mattered anymore, now that I had lost all attachment to any living being – Susie excluded, perhaps – and I was unable to imagine what good could possibly come of my life in the days, weeks –even years – to come.

“Well, well, it looks like I have the pleasure of watching you again,” Grace said sarcastically, once Kyra had left for her date with Steve.  “First thing’s first: for all the terrible things you did on Wednesday, I believe you owe me an apo—“

“I’m sorry, Grace, it won’t happen again,” I said solemnly, even before she could finish speaking.

“Uh … what?”  She did a double take, clearly expecting my usual resistance to her tyrannical demands.  Furrowing her brow in confusion, she continued, “You’re sorry?  You saw what I wrote on that paper, right?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She scratched her head and added, “So you’re, like, not going to tell me that I was lying about all those things?”

We both knew they were lies, but why should I care, now that any shreds of dignity and self-worth were taken from me.  “No, ma’am,” I told her.  Just to be clear, I added, “I’m sorry for spilling nail polish on the floor and putting my dinner down the drain and cursing and disrespecting you.”

She was completely caught off-guard by my radical change in disposition.  “What the fuck??” she muttered under her breath.  Frustrated, she whined, “You little --  Gah!  You’re no fun!”  Then she immaturely stomped away towards the couch and turned MTV on, leaving me in peace.  I shrugged, only vaguely content with how easily I had handled her since I didn’t much care one way or the other.  At least, if Grace gives Kyra a good report, it will mean less physical abuse than otherwise, which is about the only thing that could force a reaction from me now.

Grace tried to provoke me a few times, making me fetch things for her from the kitchen and promising me a bite but yanking it away at the last minute.  It all seemed quite childish, really.  Soon her patience with me ran out, and she resigned herself to watching her TV show while leaving me to do whatever I wanted.  Of course, there was literally nothing for me to do around the house these days, so I just went to my room and lay on my bed staring at the ceiling to pass the time.

Sometime later, I heard Kyra return and ask Grace how I was.  “He’s so freakin’ boring now – what happened to him?” Grace complained.  Kyra gave a vague reply about me receiving a punishment after last time, and after a bit of chit-chat Grace headed out.

I heard footsteps on the stairs then Kyra appeared in my doorway.  “Grace tells me you behaved yourself this time,” she declared, stepping towards my bed.  She was still dressed up from the date she had just returned from, wearing that sexy black dress I had come to love and hate so much over the last two weeks.  As her massive form walked up beside me, I felt a twinge of desire course through my body, more emotion than I had felt all day.  Because good god, she looked immense to me now, my head a bit lower than her ass now (with her heels on, anyway), and all of her sexy dimensions seeming so … big.

But I still had the resolve to keep my eyes trained up at hers and put such thoughts out of my mind.  I had no need for that anymore.  I really would have been quite happy to avoid her for the rest of the evening, in fact.

But, as it turned out, Kyra had other plans.  “Since you’ve been good all day, I will stay true to my word and give you your reward.”  She swiftly bent down, leaned forward, and grasped my crotch firmly with her hand.

“No!” I yelped, pushing her hand away.  The prospect of being sexually serviced by Kyra was enough to bring forth some reserve of willpower that had lain dormant since Thursday.  I no longer wanted any connection, physical or otherwise, with this monster of a woman.

Undeterred, Kyra replied, “It’s not optional, Jimmy.  I owe you for two days now.  Besides, it’ll be good for you.”  I didn’t want to know what she meant by that, but after a brief and utterly pathetic physical resistance to her advances I gave up and let her do as she pleased.  I was helpless to stop her, anyway. 

With a piteous whimper, I lay my head back against the pillow and rested my hands at my sides, succumbing to Kyra’s command.  “Good boy,” she said simply as she unbuttoned my pants.  I closed my eyes as her hands slid my pants down and grasped my soft member.

“Open your eyes, Jimmy,” she commanded.  Why?  What did it matter?  But I obeyed.  “Good.  I want you to look at Mommy when she gives you happy time, OK?”  I nodded confusedly as she began to rub her hand across my shaft.  I couldn’t deny that it felt good – really, really f%$*ing good – but I was still able to resist her temptations.  That is, until my eyes drifted downwards a bit, past her neck and down into the vast valley of cleavage laid out before me.  She was leaning over at a 90 degree angle, revealing the maximum possible amount of her ample tit-flesh, her naturally large boobs having been tremendously increased in size by now from my own shrunken perspective.  Each of them had to be the size of my head or bigger, and their sensuous jiggling as she began to work her hands around my crotch only heightened my arousal.  I was rock-hard in no time.

“That’s better,” Kyra said approvingly as she quickly picked up the pace.  A flood of desire suddenly surged through me, and I suddenly couldn’t help myself.  Despite all my distaste and my shame, she brought me to orgasm easily within 15 seconds.

As I lay panting below her, Kyra calmly wiped a bit of cum off her hand, stood up, and told me, “Now, get yourself cleaned up and ready for bed.  Lights out in five minutes, honey,” before heading out the door.

My mouth hanging open from the sudden sensory overload I was given, I watched her butt wiggle out of my room and across the hallway before leaving my line of sight.  I felt loathing at first – towards her and towards myself – but then, I don’t know what chemicals are released after an orgasm, but they were certainly clouding my judgment, temporarily creating in me a sense of … longing and attachment for the woman who just left.  I was mentally in a warm and fuzzy place for a minute or two, until the effects wore off and I returned to my normal, emotionless self, almost as if waking from a trance.  I knew it was only a result of my emotionally fragile state that my mind even went there in the first place, but I quickly got over it and told myself it was irrelevant – after all, it was just a series of chemical signals interpreted by my brain, nothing more.  No lasting effects.  I would remain a hollow shell of my former self, unaffected by the petty comings and goings of day to day life.  Finding some ‘comfort’ in that thought, I stood and got ready for bed.

********************************

Sunday: 3’4”

Kyra had me clean the house most of the day.  It was already, for the most part, spotless in my opinion, but I didn’t complain.  In fact, it served as a welcome distraction from the trials and tribulations of most of my daily life.  In response to my own distant and melancholy mood, Kyra’s remained somber and unaffectionate.  Whether she had had enough of the crueler sort of torturing me, or whether she was just letting me recover a while before picking up where she left off, I couldn’t tell.  However, one thing was constant – she did insist on ‘rewarding me’ for my good behavior again that night, and after coming quickly I again felt pangs of longing for her, which almost completely subsided by the end of the night … almost.

********************************

Monday: 3’2”

Kyra measured my height first thing in the morning.  38 inches, finally less than half of my former height.  And, assuming my dimensions had shrunk proportionally, that also meant my weight had dropped by a factor of 8, bringing me to … let’s see … about 25 pounds, where I once was a strapping 220.  Jesus Christ, I was puny, weighing about as much as your typical sack of potatoes.  I looked down in shame at my half-pint frame, clad in the gaudy Ninja Turtles outfit Amy had gotten me – the only outfit that fit me anymore.  As Kyra stood in front of me measuring my height, I was completely dwarfed by her leg, not to mention the vast reaches of her torso above.  And though I couldn’t be sure, it seemed likely that just one of her legs exceeded my entire body in weight and circumference, as well as height.  Despite my resolute rejection of all cares and emotions in my life, I found myself getting agitated and alarmed at my rapidly changing perspective on the world, making even routine tasks more and more difficult to perform on my own.  It struck me that I now truly could not fend for myself without Kyra or some other grown-up to help me out.  I could no longer reach the faucet if I wanted water; I could now only climb into my seat at the table with considerable difficulty; and climbing the stairs now required an inordinate degree of effort and exertion.  Even going to the bathroom was a chore – I was now too short to pee standing, and once I managed to clamber up onto the toilet seat I had to take care not to let my tiny body fall into the gaping maw of the bowl.  And what would happen in the days to come?  It wouldn’t be long at all before I was utterly dependent on Kyra’s assistance on even the slightest tasks.

This was serious – how much longer Kyra let me continue to shrink would have dramatic consequences on the entire rest of my life.  I could go back to my emotionless, uncaring ways, but after this one crisis was averted.  As Kyra picked me up and set me in her lap by the table, I decided to break my silence of the last three days.  “Mommy?” I said waveringly, looking up at her enormous facial features.

She was pleasantly surprised to hear me speak.  “Yes, Jimmy?  Are you finally talking again?”

“Uh … I dunno,” I replied weakly.  I suddenly wavered, just from looking up into her eyes.  She just looked so … well, so goddamned incredible.  I dunno, it was sort of … affecting me, even just sitting there and speaking to her now.

“What is it, Jimmy?” Kyra asked with what actually seemed like a beatific smile.  It was lovely.

“Umm …”  I composed myself.  “I … I was just wondering when you might … you know … let me stop shrinking?”  Gone were the days when I would yell and scream for this, important though it was.

“Awww, Jimmy,” she cooed, “don’t worry your wittle noggin over that.  Now open wide!”  An enormous hand holding an enormous spoon with enormous cheerios approached my mouth.

I opened my mouth for this unexpected intrusion and took the cereal into my mouth.  Not to be deterred, I spoke again, although this time my words were jumbled thanks to my mouthful of food.  “Mommy, it’s wery imffphortant to me to stawwph shhwinking.”

This only brought heart laughter from Kyra as she told me, “Silly Jimmy!  You shouldn’t try to talk with food in your mouth; you know that!”

I chewed through the cheerios in my mouth (which took some effort, since a spoonful was really a large mouthful to me now).  But once my mouth was clear, I began to speak again.  “Mommy, please listen t—mmfpmfh.”  Another big spoonful was shoved into my mouth in mid-sentence.

She laughed again.  “Just keep quiet for now, OK?”  I fumed at the offhanded way she was treating my extremely serious concerns.  I would have to wait until after breakfast, but in the meantime I had another problem to worry about.  Kyra continued to put spoonfuls into my mouth, but at a faster rate than I could chew and swallow.

“Pffhmpmh,” I protested while blocking the next spoonful with my hand.

“No, no, Jimmy, open wide!” Kyra scolded lightly.  I tried to tell her that I wasn’t ready for more yet but my mouth was still too full to articulate anything.  By that time, Kyra had gently pulled my hands down and the spoon had reached my lips, forcing its way into my mouth.  I unwillingly took on the new load of cereal and milk, filling my mouth to capacity.  I honestly couldn’t tell if she was doing this on purpose, as a sort of punishment for me asking that question of her; or if she truly didn’t quite realize how easily I was being overwhelmed by something so seemingly mundane as spoon feeding.  From her perspective, the spoonfuls surely seemed way, way smaller than they did to me.

“Come on, Jimmy, eat faster.  We have to leave pretty soon.”  It was clear that Kyra had no intentions of slowing my feeding down, though my jaw was getting sore from the nonstop chewing, and I was also having trouble breathing with all the food in my mouth.

My mouth was still half-full when the next oversized spoonful forced its way in.  I held in as much as I could, but some milk inevitably squirted out and dribbled down my chin.  “Uh-oh,” Kyra cooed, taking the time to wipe my chin clean with a napkin.  Fortunately, this bought me enough time to frantically down the rest of the food in my mouth, allowing me room for the next spoonful.

Luckily, it was the last.  “OK, I think that’s enough.  Are you full?”  I nodded, partly eager to stop this semi-torture, but also actually feeling quite full after only 4 or 5 spoonfuls, another side effect of weighing one-eighth of what I used to.

Kyra then stood and shifted my paltry weight to her hip, moving my legs to straddle her from the side, as she got ready to head out.  Once we were on the road, I had trouble seeing high enough to look out the windows, but I still was able to deduce that we weren’t going to the day care, to my surprise.   “Where are we going, Mommy?”

Kyra smiled down at me and replied, “Why, Jimmy, I’m taking you to my work!”  Seeing my confusion, she added, “My school year ended on Friday, remember?”  I was so out of the loop on anything and everything involving the outside world.  I couldn’t even quite remember the date anymore; I knew it was late May – or was it June already?  I suppose a little child like me didn’t need to concern myself with such things, I mused sarcastically.

Kyra continued, “So, since I’m starting my internship at your old company, Becky – or Ms. Johnson, to you – offered to let me bring you to work as well, so you didn’t have to stay at the day care anymore.  Wasn’t that nice of her?”

I thought about it for a second.  Going to work would mean being around Kyra, and my evil former boss, and – perhaps worst of all – Amy, whom normally I would love to see, but since Thursday I had been dreading our next encounter.  “I … I don’t want to go,” I muttered sadly.

“Oh?  Why not?  I figured you hated the day care.”

Now that I thought about it, the day care was actually, as depressing as it sounds, my favorite place to go these days.  I could escape Kyra and everyone else, and spend time with Susie, who as I’ve indicated is literally my only friend left, if you can call her that.  “Well, actually I … like it there.”

“Oh, really?” Kyra raised her eyebrows in surprise.  “Ah, I know what it is,” she continued with a smile.  “You like playing with your little friend, what’s-her-name, um …”

“Susie,” I answered.

“Yes, that’s it.  Susie.  You like playing with her, eh?”  She eyed me inquiringly.

I was almost too embarrassed to admit it.  But what was the point of lying to Kyra?  She’d get it out of me anyway.  And at least if I admitted this, then it might get me out of visiting the office again – which was the absolute last thing I wanted.

So I nodded sheepishly.  “Y-Yes … can I go there, please?” I pleaded softly.

Kyra frowned.  I decided to lay all my cards on the table in a last-ditch attempt.  Putting on a pouty face, I willingly began to beg her like a child who wants a new toy.  “Please, Mommy, I wanna go play with Susie!  Pretty please!  I’ll be good all day, I promise!”

Kyra’s frown deepened as she replied, “No, Jimmy.  I already told Becky and Amy that I’m bringing you, and I wouldn’t want to disappoint them.”

“But Mom—“

Her tone suddenly became harsh.  “I said no, and that’s final.”  As I turned my head away to sulk, she added, “And you had better be good all day, or else.  I don’t want my new coworkers thinking I don’t know how to raise a child.”  I reflected that everyone there knew I wasn’t just a child, but I didn’t dare object to Kyra.  Instead, I resigned myself to a day of misery.  During the rest of the ride, I realized that the protective armor of emotionlessness and withdrawal I had been using to shelter myself from the horrors of my life were now showing some serious chinks and holes; as we approached my former office, and especially as we approached Amy, the familiar feelings of dread and agony were returning in force.  I tried to remind myself that I didn’t care about anything or anyone anymore – but it didn’t really help much.

Kyra carried me inside the building, hoisting me up more around her upper abdomen since I was too small to be held way down on her hips.  As she walked, I had to admit it felt quite nice to cling on to her enormous torso as it swayed back and forth against my frail body, with the sweet aroma of her perfume filling my nostrils and her soft flesh radiating warmth into mine.  She was wearing another new work outfit, no doubt bought during the girls’ night out on Thursday, and like always her fashion sense was top-notch.  Her black and white skirt suit looked trim and professional, while still bringing out her womanly curves in a tasteful way.  In addition, though her top showed only a hint of cleavage, I was able to benefit from all of it from my superb vantage point on her shoulder.  I decided to adjust my arm, which I had extended towards her opposite shoulder for support, a little closer in so that my elbow also benefitted from a slight amount of soft cushioning courtesy of her ample bosom.

The moment had arrived.  Kyra stepped out of the elevator and walked out amongst the sea of cubicles.  Fortunately, she had made sure to arrive slightly earlier than normal to make a good impression on her first day, so there were few others in the office at that time.  Of course, the ones who were there had no compunctions about staring and gawking at what had become of me.

Kyra headed for Ms. Johnson’s office and went right in.  “Kyra, good to see you!” her new boss exclaimed in delight.  “And Jimmy,” she added flatly, probably to indicate her disapproval at my poor behavior the other night.  “Well, at least you’re dressed well,” she said somewhat mockingly, referring to the awful matching Ninja Turtles shirt and shorts I had been forced to wear today.  “Amy will be pleased.”  Turning her attention back to Kyra, she said, “Arriving early – I like it.”

“Of course, Becky, I’m just eager to get started.  Speaking of which, where should I set myself up today?”

“Ah, I have the perfect place for you.”  She gave a little wink.  “Come with me.”

I was taken along for the ride as Ms. Johnson led Kyra to the far end of the office and stopped at a very familiar cubicle.  “This desk has been vacant ever since Jimmy left, so now it’s all yours if you want it.  Although,” she added with a mirthful grin, “now that Jimmy is back, you should probably ask his permission first, since he’s technically still employed here …”  She laughed and winked at Kyra again.

Kyra burst out laughing as well, then collected herself and replied with mock sincerity, “Oh, of course.” Turning her head to me, she asked with a slight smirk, “Well, Jimmy, would you mind if I took your desk?”

I knew they were just playing games with me, since I obviously had no say in the matter.  But, considering that I would be stuck here with her and, more importantly, Amy all day, I decided to risk a chance at another location.  “Um, maybe we could sit somewhere else?” I ventured timidly.

This brought a round of hearty laughter from the two of them.  “Well, Kyra, since he didn’t give his permission, I guess you can’t have it!” Ms. Johnson joked.

Kyra gave me a partially playful, partially serious squeeze and said in a low voice, “Well, Jimmy, I happen to like this spot, so if you won’t agree to it then I’m sure I can find ways to change your mind.”  She raised her eyebrows at me somewhat ominously, but also playfully since she knew how easily my resistance would fade with a little … motivation.

That wasn’t the type of game I wanted to play today (or ever).  I nodded dejectedly as Kyra replied loudly and sarcastically, “Whew, I was worried I would be left without a desk today!”  The two women laughed yet again at my expense.

“Well, now that that’s settled,” Ms. Johnson said, “go ahead and get yourself situated, and once Amy gets in we have a little surprise to show Jimmy.”  She smiled perkily at me, as if I would expect this ‘surprise’ to be something good for me.

“Sounds good, Becky,” Kyra replied, and to my surprise Ms. Johnson didn’t even complain about Kyra referring to her boss by her first name.  Personal life was one thing, but to let her call her Becky at work was almost shocking, considering how stingy Ms. Johnson always was about formality and protocol.  I guess Kyra was a special case, being groomed for a quick rise to upper management – that is, once she was done with high school and was eligible for a full time position …

For the next few minutes, Kyra sat me on her lap as she logged into my computer (though I guess I couldn’t call it mine anymore) using my password and rearranged things on my old desk the way she wanted them.

It wasn’t long before you-know-who showed up.  “Why, hello!” a familiar voice called out from behind us.  “How’s my office mate doing this fine morning?”

Stupidly, I almost replied without thinking – but then I quickly realized she was referring to Kyra.  Kyra spun us around and replied with glee, “Amy!  I missed you!”  I was abruptly dropped onto my feet as Kyra jumped up and moved in for a warm hug with Amy.

The two of them, seeming like best friends now, started chatting right off the bat, filling each other in on a few details from the last few days while I stood to the side, forgotten.  It wasn’t for another several minutes until Amy finally acknowledged my presence.  “Hello, Jimmy,” she told me rather dourly, folding her arms across her chest.

I grimaced at the all-too-obvious change in her attitude toward me, but I softly replied, “Hi.”

“Do you have something you wanted to say to me?” she asked, looking down at me haughtily, her arms still crossed authoritatively across her chest.

I was caught off guard.  I really didn’t have anything to say to her.  In fact, the last thing I wanted to do was talk to her at this point.  “Uh … well … not really.”

Amy shook her head disapprovingly.  “I expected as much.  In the past, I would have at the very least hoped for an apology for the terrible things you did the other night, but now I know better than to expect any decency from you.”

My face contorted in pain and grief at her words, but I realized that from her vantage point, I did owe her a huge apology.  Of course, since I was truly innocent, the thought hadn’t even occurred to me.  But I was far beyond any hope of convincing her of my innocence now, so I instead tried to summon up a quick apology, though it ended up garbled.  “I was – I mean, I wish – uh …”

She raised her hand up sharply to silence me as she replied, “Save it.  I know you don’t mean it.”  I was expecting things to be different between us, but I did not expect such hostility and condescension from her!  “Look, Jimmy, we need to clear some things up right now.”  She took a seat in her chair.

Kyra interjected, “I can leave if you want some privacy.”

“No, no, of course not, Kyra.  It’ll only take a second.”  Amy turned her gaze to me and patted her lap.  I didn’t pick up on what she wanted at first, still a little shocked from what had just happened.  Impatiently, Amy demanded, “Come here, Jimmy.”  I hesitated for a second, but Amy raised her eyebrows at me threateningly.  Jesus, she was just like Kyra now …

I would have given anything to be able to just run out of there and hide in a corner all day, but I knew that wasn’t an option.  Grudgingly, I stepped forward as Amy scooped me up and plopped me onto her lap.  I gulped, taking in the immense proportions of the cute girl I used to tower over, back in the day.  She sat me sideways across her thighs so that I could crane my neck up to her face.  The whole situation was quite intimidating, especially given my fear of what words she would speak next.

Those fears, as it turned out, were well-founded.  “Let me get right down to the point.  Remember when I told you that I would always treat you like an adult and respect your rights and feelings?”  I nodded apprehensively.  “Well, I’m afraid that’s no longer possible, Jimmy.”  My eyes shot wide open, my worst fears being realized.

Amy continued, “It’s clear to me now that James, the grown man I once knew, is gone forever.  You, Jimmy, are all that’s left, and I know now that the only way to keep you from acting up is to be strict with you.  From what I’ve seen, Kyra has done a wonderful job keeping you in line”—she nodded appreciatively at Kyra—“and she tells me that recently you’ve been good when she’s around.  But as soon as she leaves, you become completely out of control, like you were with me last week in this office, or when you were with the babysitter.  So I’ve realized that I, too, must be strict with you.”

I tried to plead with her that, regardless of what she thinks about me with other people, I would always be good to her.  “Amy, I’m your friend, and—“

“No, Jimmy, not anymore.  From now on, you need to call me Ms. Adams and treat me with respect.  Do you understand?”

“But Amy—“

“There’s no talking me out of this, Jimmy.  Now, answer.”

Grief-stricken, I held back my tears and replied, “Yes.”  She cocked her eye at me expectantly, and I hastily added, “Yes, Ms. Adams.”

“Good.  Now, I don’t mind you being here while Kyra and I work, but—and I’m sure this goes for Kyra as well – while I’m working, I expect you to be on your absolute best behavior.  I won’t tolerate any interruptions like last time.  And I think you know what will happen if you misbehave,” she said ominously, laying her hand suggestively on my rear, which had just recently recovered from the pounding it received from that same hand on Thursday.

I gulped loudly and nodded my assent.  As she pushed me off her lap onto the floor, I was flabbergasted by how she had just treated me – in fact, I was used to such harsh words these days, but never in a million years would I have imagined her sweet voice was capable of speaking them!  She had been instantly transformed from a kind, gentle, loving creature who treated me like a human being when all others saw me as less, to a carbon copy of Kyra herself!  I couldn’t detect even the slightest trace of sweet Amy behind the stern glare and belittling scowl of Ms. Adams, as I was now to call her.

Once Ms. Adams was finished, Kyra gave her a grim smile and said, “I know that was hard for you, Amy, but it had to be done.”  Ms. Adams nodded back at her appreciatively.  “Well,” Kyra continued, “I believe you and Becky had something to show him?”

“Yes, and thank you, Kyra.  Come along, Jimmy.”  Ms. Adams stood and extended her hand to me, which I resentfully accepted.  She practically crushed my fingers in her strong grip as her humongous hand led me out of the cubicle.  She provided no concession for my half-sized legs, walking at a brisk pace towards Ms. Johnson’s office.  I essentially had to sprint to keep up, my hand being held awkwardly above shoulder height to meet her grasp.  By that time, everyone in the office had shown up, and the sight of my now-pathetically-tiny body dashing to keep up while having my hand held like a child must have proved to be quite a spectacle indeed.

With Kyra trailing behind, we entered my former boss’s office.  “Ah, good, you’re here.  If you’ll help me with this …”  Kyra walked around behind her desk and helped her lift up a rather large object that looked like some type of folded-up fence perhaps.  “This will keep him from running around while you’re working,” Ms. Johnson explained.  Oh hell.  I knew what this was: a goddamned playpen, used to contain small children within its small enclosure.

I took a step back in dismay, but Ms. Adams’s hand firmly tugged me forward.  “Let’s get it set up,” Ms. Johnson suggested, and the three of them headed back to the cubicle with me in tow, attracting more than a few curious stares.  There was just enough space between the two desks to set up the 4-foot by 4-foot playpen, and once the four walls were locked into place I felt Ms. Adams’s huge hands grasp me around the waist, her fingers touching in the middle, and briskly lift me over the rail and down into my new prison.

“Come on, there’s more in my office,” Ms. Johnson told them.  As they left, I surveyed my new ‘room’: the four walls were locked into place with no gate or opening; they could only be forced open by someone with much greater strength than I.  The top of the bars was at least shoulder height on me, probably 2.5 feet tall, which I could maybe possibly jump over with a running start – but I didn’t dare attempt it.  It would be very difficult, and I could get hurt, and it would do no good anyway.  I had to face it: I was trapped right here, in my 16 square feet of floor space, for the entire day, unless one of my guardians saw fit to lift me out.

Of course, it only got worse once they returned.  “Well, this was a terrific idea, you two!” I heard Kyra exclaim as they entered the cubicle bearing ‘gifts’: crayons, coloring books, story books, and some toy building blocks (not regular LEGOs, mind you; apparently, I was only old enough now for the bigger, simpler version for toddlers, called DUPLOs).

“Actually, it was Amy’s idea to put him in a playpen,” Ms. Johnson replied.  “I just supplied the materials, stuff I had saved from my own days raising a child.”

So I had Amy – or rather, Ms. Adams – to blame for this latest humiliation.  How fitting.  As the three of them dumped their ‘gifts’ into my prison cell, Ms. Adams bent over me and said sternly, “Now, Jimmy, we’re giving you these things to play with so that you remain occupied today and don’t cause any fuss for us.  But if we let you play with them, you’re not going to cause any mischief with them, are you?”  I hated how she was not only belittling me, but taking the lead in doing so, even over Kyra.  Had I wronged her so deeply?

“What could I possibly do with these?” I asked, and in my bitterness at being given toddler’s toys I made the incredibly stupid mistake of letting a hint a derision sneak into my voice.

She was not enthused.  “Oh, you’ll find a way, I have no doubt of that,” she sneered back at me.  She continued in a threatening tone, “And after that little outburst, I have half a mind to take all your toys away right now.  How would you like that?”

I didn’t really care for the toys, but I absolutely didn’t want to piss her off any more than I already had.  In my sincerest voice, I replied, “I wouldn’t.  I’m sorry, ma’am.”

“Hmph,” she grunted, satisfied enough with my answer.

I looked up to see Ms. Johnson shaking her head condescendingly.  “Already making her mad, eh?  Not a good start …”

“Indeed,” Kyra chimed in.  With that, the three of them got right down to work, with Ms. Adams typing away at her computer and Ms. Johnson going over some things with Kyra.  I listened in, having nothing else to do (besides freaking DUPLOs).  I gathered that Kyra would be handling mostly administrative duties like filling out forms and restocking paper which, as Ms. Johnson had told her before and which she continued to emphasize, was well below Kyra’s level of ability, but since she couldn’t officially hire her yet at her age, this was mostly all she was allowed to do, really.  Ms. Johnson did intimate, though, that she would be sending Kyra around the office periodically, not only for routine tasks, but also to get to know the workers and do some ‘networking’, and even checking up on their work progress for Ms. Johnson.  In short, she would be as much of a manager as possible without the actual title.

Soon, the two of them left the cubicle to begin such tasks, and I was left with no one around but Ms. Adams, the hard-fisted enforcer in the body of gentle Amy.  And I wasn’t even going to consider interrupting her work.  I sat around for probably a whole hour in utter silence until out of sheer boredom I actually resorted to reading some of the books.

That lasted all of 20 minutes, as they were all trite, sophomoric, and very, very short.  I sighed from boredom, apparently too loudly, as it prompted a sharp, “Quiet, please!” from Ms. Adams.  Great, I wasn’t even allowed to exhale in a manner that produced any sound.  I quietly turned to the coloring books and flipped through them in disgust, finding most of the pages already assaulted by wild streaks of color that paid no heed to the outlines given on the pages.  I resisted for another 10 minutes but finally gave in by picking up a crayon and flipping to an un-desecrated page.  I started to color very precisely, in opposition to the unruly ways of the other kids, but soon said ‘to hell with it’ and drew lazily around the page, often ignoring the black lines in favor of creating my own designs, from spirals to geometric shapes to sunsets and animals and whatever else I felt like.  It wasn’t very fun but it at least helped to pass the time.

Kyra returned and saw what I was doing.  “Oh, whatcha drawing there, Jimmy?”

“Nothing,” I replied, partially covering it up in embarrassment – I had started a new page and was idly doodling some free-hand giraffes, elephants, and lions, inspired by that page’s themed outlines.  Now that I looked at it, my drawings were pretty awful, both due to my dearth of skill and the imprecision of crayons as drawing tools.  In fact, now that I thought about it, the way they were coarsely drawn in crayon and scattered randomly about the page, they looked remarkably … childish.

“Let me see,” Kyra said, leaning down to take the book from my grasp.  “Oh my goodness, did you do this?” she asked, giggling in surprise at my juvenile-seeming drawings.  “Wow, this is great, Jimmy,” she told me, trying to hold back laughter.  Ms. Adams turned around and saw them, and even she had to snort in amusement.  Kyra announced, “I need to hang this up.  Do you mind?” she asked me, but without waiting for an answer she ripped the page out of the book and taped it above her desk, handing me the rest of the book.  I grabbed it with flushed cheeks and tossed it to the side of my playpen in bitterness.  Why did I have to keep sabotaging myself?

The rest of the day was almost unfathomably boring.  Endless hours were spent staring absent-mindedly at the towering forms of my two ‘office mates’ as they diligently accomplished their grown-up tasks.  Lunch time was essentially the only change-up, when Kyra lifted me onto her lap and broke off a few pieces of her sandwich to mouth-feed me, nonchalantly telling me she forgot to bring lunch for me and couldn’t spare any more than a few bites on my behalf since she had been working so hard and I was ‘just sitting around.’  I wanted to snarl at her that she had left me no choice to do anything else in my little prison, but by now I was well-trained enough to know better.

Kyra left for basketball practice around 3:00, and before she left she made an offer to Ms. Adams: “Say, Amy, my team has a little exhibition game today to kick off the summer, and I would love it if you and Becky came to watch.  It’s at 5:30, which I thought might give you enough time to get over there after work.”

“Oh, sounds delightful!  Of course I’ll come support my bestie.  Let’s go ask Becky!”

As the two of them got up to leave, I chimed in, “Can I come?”  I didn’t relish the idea of spending more time with either Ms. Johnson or Ms. Adams, but I figured the only other possibility was spending time with Grace again, and I went with the lesser of two evils.  Plus, I had to admit that I was more than a little curious to see how far my daughter had come in the great sport of basketball  --Wait, that was weird; I realized it had been a long time since I had actually thought of Kyra as my daughter, considering how large and dominating she was, both physically and mentally.  When this hint of nostalgia passed, though, I was left all-the-more bitter and dejected at my current state of affairs.

Kyra responded to my request by saying, “Sure, Jimmy.  That is, as long as Ms. Adams doesn’t mind watching after you while I’m playing …”

“Oh, sure,” Ms. Adams replied, almost disdainfully.  “I’m sure I can handle him.”  Her cold eyes turned to me and I shuddered.

After long hours of ennui, the moment finally arrived in which Ms. Adams, Ms. Johnson, and I headed to Kyra’s gym.  Ms. Adams had carried me all the way from my playpen to the car, where I was held firmly on her lap the entire car ride.

There weren’t many spectators; mostly parents and close friends, no doubt.  But, as I sat in Ms. Adams’s lap in the second row near center court, I couldn’t help but feel a bit excited for the approaching tip-off.  The starting fives took the court, and as Kyra’s team huddled up for a few last words I saw that she was the one taking the lead in motivating her team and reminding them of their game plan.  It seemed surprising to me that she could have gone from not even being on the team to being the emotional and spiritual leader of the team, it seemed.

But she wasn’t just there for moral support – far from it.  Kyra, the tallest girl on the team, easily outreached her opponent on the jump ball for the first possession.  I watched her run down the court and muscle her way into excellent position under the basket.  The ball was quickly fed to her, and with a quick drop step she effortlessly overmatched her defender and put it up for an easy lay-in.  On defense, she stepped out on a pick-and-roll and swatted the guard’s three-point attempt, hustling down court in a fast break and racking up a wide-open layup.  I became entranced with her performance, my eyes glued to her and no one else as she glided all over the court, making more than a few spectacular plays out there.  A faint feeling of long-forgotten fatherly pride grew within me as I witnessed her incredible improvement, far beyond even when the two of us had played in our driveway.  I wondered if even at the peak of my 6’6” days I would have been able to match her effort and athleticism on the court.  As I continued to watch, though, my mood slowly became gloomy as I recalled our encounters in the driveway, how my diminishing height and her growing skill quickly overcame me.  Extrapolating those factors to today, I was overwhelmed by the absolutely absurd disparity in physical ability between us now.  In a few short weeks, I had become so utterly inferior to her in almost every conceivable way, and it almost seemed … natural, to be treated how I had been treated.  How could I possibly be worthy of any sort of respect or authority from a girl such as her?  Maybe she was right …

The game was over all too soon.  I lost track of Kyra’s point total at some point, but it was well into double digits, maybe even 20 points or more, which was especially impressive considering the overall low scoring contest between the teams.  She was quite obviously the best player on the court and the main reason her team won so easily.  She was involved in every play, and not just in scoring but in passing and rebounding and defending – you name it.  I would have loved to see a stat sheet on her that game.  She was nothing short of impressive.

After Kyra had showered and dressed she came out and met us on the court.  “Fantastic game, Kyra!” the other two women cheered.  Several opposing players walked by and congratulated her as well.  Then Kyra’s coach approached her and lauded her with all sorts of praise, being quite taken with her new star recruit.  As they talked, a basketball happened to roll my way and bump into my leg as I stood beside Ms. Adams.  I bent down and hoisted up the heavy, beach-ball-sized leather ball, and as I cradled its girth in both arms I could scarcely conceive of how I was ever able to palm such a ball in one hand.  I cautiously bounced it off the ground and batted it with my hands in an awkward attempt at dribbling, awed by my lack of physical ability.

By then, the ladies’ attention had turned to me.  “Looks like your little brother’s trying to follow in his sister’s footsteps!” the coach announced merrily.

“Yep,” Kyra replied.  “Someday he’ll grow up to be a basketball star!”  She looked down at me with a smile as she playfully tousled my hair.

“Go on, little guy, let’s see your jump shot!” the coach encouraged.

I held the ball and looked up hesitantly.  “Go on, Jimmy,” Kyra insisted.

I had to admit I was somewhat curious to see what I was still physically capable of.  After taking a few steps toward the basket, I hoisted the heavy ball up to my chest, and with the full force of both arm I heaved the ball with all I had towards the basket looming impossibly far above me.

It fell well short of even the bottom of the net.  I reflected with dismay that I could no longer even throw a basketball as high as I used to be able to reach bare-footed.  Hell, with a good jump I used to be able to reach well above the rim and dunk the ball with ease.   My abilities had fallen so far …

I was, however, at least given the opportunity to score once again as Kyra handed me the ball and effortlessly whisked me into the air – way, way up into the air, so high that I became dizzy from vertigo.  “Try again!” she encouraged cheerfully.  As Kyra held me up with outstretched arms, I was now within even my own pitiful scoring range, just a foot or two below the rim.  As light as I was, Kyra had no problem holding my body steady, making my shot easier.  I took a deep breath as I lined up what would almost certainly be the last made basket of my entire life.  Putting a good deal of force behind my shot, I shoved the ball as precisely as my undersized hands would allow, and to my tremendous satisfaction the ball elevated above the rim, bounced off the backboard, and rolled in.

“Yay!” the ladies behind me cheered, as if to a child taking his first steps.  As Kyra lowered her arms to bring me in for a warm hug, I felt genuine happiness at my success for the next few moments, but I quickly sobered as I realized the hopelessness of my current state; whereas I was once able to hold my own against any man who stepped onto the court, I was now only capable of making a shot from two feet away, held aloft in the hands of my gigantic (former) daughter, who based on her swift mastery of the sport could probably easily get a full scholarship to college now from some NCAA women’s basketball team.

My worries were soon forgotten, though, as I pressed my frail body into her warmth, feeling a now-strong sense of pride.  But this time it didn’t feel like fatherly pride.  No, as she lovingly cradled me in her arms I began to feel the happiness and security of being in the care and protection of someone so impressive.

The other two ladies said their goodbyes and headed for their respective homes, letting me have Kyra all to myself.  Once we were alone, I whispered into her ear, “You were amazing out there, Mommy,” and I actually meant it.

Her eyes lit up with delight and compassion as she replied, “Why, thank you honey!” and planted a wet kiss on my lips.  Surprisingly overcome with emotion, I wrapped my arms tightly around her neck and wouldn’t let go for anything, until I reluctantly had to let go to be placed in the passenger’s seat of her car.  Rubbing my thigh tenderly from time to time, she drove us home, stopping to pick up dinner along the way.  Once inside, I was all too happy to get back on her lap and let her feed me, softly telling me what a good boy I had been that day.

I wasn’t quite sure what had come over me that evening, but certainly my emotionally fragile state had something to do with it, especially now that I had lost Amy as a friend and wanted to fill that void in whatever way possible, seeking happiness.  So maybe, just for tonight, this was making me want to get along with Kyra and just give in without fighting back.  It was hard work fighting her all the time, and maybe I deserved to relax and be happy just this once.

After a half hour of TV, during which I paid absolutely no attention to the TV – her indescribable body had a lot to do with that – it was time for me to go to bed.  “Go up and brush your teeth, and Mommy will give you a special treat once you get in bed.”  My eyes lit up in delight at this wonderful news.  I was to be rewarded for my good behavior.  OK, I would definitely go along with it for today …

I dashed upstairs as fast as I could, which was actually more like crawling at a snail’s pace since each stair was as high as my knee.  But after that I quickly got ready and climbed up into bed, eagerly lying in wait.

A whole excruciating minute later, I heard Kyra’s footsteps on the stairs.  My cock was already beginning to stir in anticipation.  As Kyra’s glorious form filled my doorway I was at full salute.  “Where’s my good wittle boy?” she cooed.

“Here, Mommy!” I called excitedly.

“There he is,” she answered in a sultry voice, sauntering up and taking a seat beside my prone body, her immense weight pressing down on the bed and pulling me into her.  She lightly traced her fingers along my chest, sending waves of goose bumps across my entire body.  “Have you been a good little boy?” she asked slowly.

“Yes, Mommy!” I replied in earnest.

“That’s right, you have been,” she replied, leaning her torso forward until she filled my vision.  “And what happens to good boys?”

“They get rewarded!”

“Uh-huh,” she chuckled.  “Are you ready for your reward?”

I was about to burst in my pants from the tension.  “Yes!” I exclaimed.

“Mmmm,” she hummed in approval as she slowly dragged her fingers down my stomach and snuck them under the band of my underwear.  I spasmed as her finger lightly brushed my tip, and my convulsions continued as she proceeded to toy with me in this manner, touching me ever-so-lightly yet sending wave after wave of sensation through me.

She giggled at the dramatic effect she elicited by barely even touching me.  “Mommy,” I moaned.

“Hrmm?” she replied sexily.

“Please … I – need you!” I managed through heavy breaths.

“Need me to what?” she asked playfully, continuing to torment me with gentle finger strokes.

“… Make me come!” was all I could say.

“Yesss dear,” she breathed.  “Mommy will reward her good little boy now.”  Suddenly she seized hold of me, easily encompassing my entire shaft and balls with her hand and urgently kneading up and down, up and down, and –

I came violently, my hips bucking every which way as I spewed into my underwear.  It was some time before I settled down enough for her to remove her hand and tenderly lower her body next to mine, encouraging me to coil up next to her as I basked in the afterglow of my glorious orgasm.  As my breathing slowed, I became flooded with feelings of warmth and tenderness towards my wonderful mommy.  My last thought before falling off into a profound slumber – no doubt influenced by endorphins, not thinking like my normal self – was that I was the luckiest boy in the world to have such a perfect, beautiful, loving mother to watch over me and keep me safe.  It was the happiest night I could remember in quite some time.

********************************

Tuesday: 3’0”

When I awoke the next morning, I thought back on the events of the previous night as if they had been a dream.  A dream that was hazy to my memory, but from which I still remembered having strong feelings towards Kyra.  These feelings seemed foreign to me now, and I shook my head as I tried to remember what had happened to make me feel that way for her, the very person who continued to belittle me and dominate me like I was a child.  In fact, the entire day had proceeded far differently than the days before it, as I had apparently forgotten my emotionless rejection of the world under the strong influence of Amy – no, she was Ms. Adams to me now – and Kyra.

I was taken to Kyra’s work again and placed within the confines of my wooden cage, only being allowed out briefly for the bathroom and for lunch, not allowed to make any sound in the presence of the two women who were so ‘graciously’ allowing me to share their office space.  This silent imprisonment was taking its toll on my psyche, being treated almost the entire day as if I didn’t even exist.

Kyra had practice at 3:00 again, and to my surprise as she got up to leave I felt a tiny twinge of sadness, a part of me not wanting to be separated from her.  Of course, even if I felt inclined to share my feelings I knew I wouldn’t be permitted to.

Ms. Adams, though, was allowed to speak all she wanted.  “Hey, we should hang out tonight,” she told Kyra.

“Sure, I’m not doing anything.  Maybe I can have you and Becky over and have a cookout or something.”

“Sounds great!  I’ll ask her and get back with you.”

“OK, see ya later,” Kyra said with a wave.  “And thanks for looking after Jimmy while I’m gone.”  Then Kyra waved at me, and I sheepishly raised my hand in a semi-wave as she departed for basketball practice.

Ms. Adams got up from her desk and left me alone, no doubt to ask Ms. Johnson about their new plan.  She returned a few minutes later, not so much as mentioning what they had agreed upon.  I wouldn’t even be granted that small courtesy.

Once 5:00 rolled around, Ms. Adams got her things together as I stood at the edge of my playpen, watching her expectantly like a dog about to be let out for a walk.  Once she was ready to go, almost as an afterthought she stepped towards me, bent down, and plucked me up with one arm, carrying me towards her boss’s office.

“Want to drive there together?” she asked Ms. Johnson, still not seeing any reason to bother speaking to the tiny person she held at her side.  It hurt me possibly even more than if she had addressed me with anger – because at least then she would be acknowledging me as a human being.

“Actually, I have to stop by my sister’s house first,” Ms. Adams replied.

“Oh, that’s right,” Ms. Adams responded, as if this had all been planned already.  I didn’t bother asking either of them to fill me in since I would probably just be berated or ignored.  But soon enough I discovered that Ms. Adams was taking me to my house.

Kyra, whose practice had gotten out at 4:30, was there to meet us.  Still holding me at her side, Ms. Adams reached out and hugged her best friend with her free hand.  Kyra asked, “Was he good?”

“Yes, no problems,” Ms. Adams replied simply as she began shifting my weight to hand me to Kyra.

“Actually, would you mind holding on to him for now?  I’d like to get the burgers ready.”

“Sure, Kyra.”  I was carried over to the couch as Kyra went to the kitchen.  For the first time all week, I had some one-on-one time with my former best friend, now that she wasn’t completely occupied with her work.  As she sat down on the couch with me firmly secured in her lap, she asked, “So, little fella, how was your day?”

“Huh?” I asked, both surprised that she was talking to me and surprised at the incredible obviousness of the answer.  I fought back the urge to yell, ‘How the hell do you think it was, you bitch!?’ but I knew I had to try to contain my anger, in hopes that she would at least treat me with some decency and respect, even though I was her inferior.  After all, she was probably just trying to be polite.

“There was nothing to do,” I mumbled, looking down at my knees.

“Oh, that’s not true.  Ms. Johnson brought you plenty of fun things to do,” Ms. Adams reprimanded.

Again, I held back the urge to tell her off for taking part in making me play with toddler’s toys when she knew I could handle more.  “It’s so boring, though,” I whined petulantly.  I just couldn’t help myself – my life absolutely sucked.

“You’ll get over it,” Ms. Adams said, dismissing my objections with the wave of a hand.  And then she decided our little conversation was over as she stood up, still carrying me off to the side out of her way, and walked to the kitchen counter, striking up a lively conversation with Kyra as I hung helplessly in her arms.

Another 15 minutes passed until Ms. Johnson came in through the front door.  “Hello!” she called out.  As my carrier turned towards the door, my former boss came into view, followed by a familiar little girl: Susie.

Ms. Adams let me down and I trudged awkwardly towards the newcomers.  But once Susie saw me, she rushed up and threw her arms around me, unintentionally squeezing the air out of my lungs.  Holy shit, she was huge.  I thought back to when I first met her, a week ago today, and she was just barely taller than me, probably 4’2” or 4’3”.  And now, at a measly height of 3’0”, the top of my head didn’t even come close to shoulder high on her, and her waist was about level with my chest.  I began to see stars by the time she released me, and when she did I staggered back a couple steps, my mind trying to cope with the radical change in my height compared with my best –my only—friend.

Due to her glee at seeing me, she only now noticed my diminished proportions.  “You’re little, Jimmy!” she exclaimed curiously.  “Why are you so little?”

The lump in my throat prevented me from responding.  Kyra chimed in behind me, “Well, Susie, Jimmy just gets smaller over time and there’s nothing we can do about it.”  I cringed, suddenly remembering the antidote that was STILL waiting for me at the doctor’s office.  ‘Nothing we can do about it,’ my ass.

“Oh, OK,” Susie replied, completely accepting the explanation of Kyra as she was, after all, the authority figure compared to me.  But Susie, suddenly with a perplexed look, added, “Does this mean he got younger, too?”

I insistently shook my head no, but although Susie saw my reaction she deferred her judgment to the ‘adult’ behind me as she spoke up, “Why, yes, Susie, I suppose you can look at it that way.  He’s littler than you, and less mature than you now too.”  I cursed her silently for brainwashing Susie like this, no doubt deliberately intended to undermine our friendship.  Hell, I had to admit it, Susie’s friendship meant more and more to me everyday thanks to my continual belittlement at the hands of the axis of evil behind me, and especially due to Ms. Adams’s recent defection to their ranks.  Susie was literally all I had left, even as superficial as that friendship may be.

To my dismay, the brainwashing was working.  Susie now wore a disappointed expression and replied, “So I can’t play with him anymore?”  As I looked up I saw tears welling in her eyes.

“Why, sure you can sweetie – it’ll just be a little different between you two now.”

Susie gave a loud sigh.  “I guess so,” she answered uncertainly.  I would have said something in my defense at this point, but what were my words worth, anyway?  In Susie’s mind, the women around her were all adults and I was just a little child – she would never believe my words over theirs, not in a million years.

“Well,” Kyra concluded.  “Shall we head to the backyard?  I’ve got the grill ready to go.”  The three women headed through the kitchen and out the back door, easily outpacing us two little ones.  Taking my hand into her now oversized one, Susie pulled me along after them.  Thanks to my recent shrinking, Susie definitely felt a LOT stronger to me than she had when I first met her – I was completely forced to follow along with her.

And being pulled along like this, I could really start to understand why Susie had qualms about viewing me as an equal anymore.  I mean, the girl really was huge compared to me now – I could only imagine how small I looked to her.  It was a miracle she was even willing to play with me anymore at all.

The three adults chatted around the grill, not letting us kids anywhere near the hot flames.  Instead, Susie told me, “Let’s play tag.  You’re it!” and suddenly she was running away from me through our backyard.  It was a fairly small enclosure as far as back yards go, but it never felt nearly so huge as it did now.  I hesitated at first, but my friend’s hopeful glance back at me convinced me to play along for a bit.  After all, maybe it could take my mind off things.

I took off after her, and a moment later she slipped and fell after almost reaching the back fence, allowing me to catch up with her long strides and tag her, proclaiming, “You’re it!”

I don’t know why I was suddenly so into this game – maybe because I managed to catch my larger opponent so easily, or maybe I was just happy to see her happy, and also happy to play with someone who wouldn’t judge me back.

In any case, I was very into it now.  “No fair!” she exclaimed, and we both let out shrill giggles of happiness in our sudden bout of energy, me throwing my initial reservations to the wind.

But, after I managed to get a nice head-start as she picked herself up off the ground, once she started bounding after me I looked back in dismay at how easily she was outpacing me.  I felt like I was running in slow-motion as I frantically darted around a tree and behind a bush to escape her.

Her huge form was on me in no time, quickly catching up to me and planting what to her must have seemed a light tap on the back, but which during my frantic running was more than enough to knock me off balance and eat a face-full of dirt.

I slowly picked myself up, spitting out bits of disgusting soil and wiping my face clean.  A large dirt stain ran the length of my shirt, but hopefully the grown-ups wouldn’t be mad at me for it.  Meanwhile, though, Susie had made it clear across the yard and was hiding playfully behind a tree trunk.  “Come and catch me, if you can!” she taunted.

I came towards her, jogging slowly at first but quickly picking up steam as I closed in at an all-out sprint.  But she had plenty of time to react, and by the time I reached the trunk she was rounding another corner of the yard.  I scurried after her as fast as I could, but she was quickly pulling even farther away from me.  She waited at the far corner of the yard as I dashed after her, already growing winded from my breakneck pace, but again she easily escaped me and ran to the other end of the yard in no time.

We carried on like this for a few more laps around the yard until I could go no further and dropped my hands to my knees, panting in exhaustion.  “C’mon, Jimmy!” Susie called, waiting impatiently behind a shrub.  When she saw I wasn’t coming after her, she ventured out cautiously, expecting a trap.  Of course, none was sprung, and eventually she approached and said, “You’re it,” as if I needed a reminder.

“C – Can we pl-play something else,” I managed through heavy breaths.

“I want to play this!” she whined.

“I’m s-sorry, Susie, b-but I c-can’t.”

Susie let out a frustrated grunt and told me, “You’re no fun anymore!” stomping off to see if the adults would be more interesting than lame little me.

Feeling emasculated about not even being able to keep up with a little kid anymore, I slowly trudged over to them and was greeted by Kyra’s stern voice telling me, “Young man, are you refusing to play with Susie?”

“No!  I just … wanted to play something else.”  I didn’t want to admit to them that I couldn’t even compete physically with this 7-year-old girl.

“Well, you need to learn to get along with other kids, even if they are older than you.  If Susie wants to play tag, you are going to play tag.  Got it?”

I cringed at this statement.  So far had I fallen in these women’s eyes that I was now to essentially follow orders from Susie now, too?

Thankfully, I was saved just in the nick of time.  “Hmph.  Well, actually, the burgers are done.  Let’s sit and eat first, and then you two can get back to playing.”  She would hear no complaints from me on that point.  I was hungry enough that I didn’t even mind sitting on Kyra’s lap as she broke up my food into little pieces and alternately ate her own massive bites of burger then hand-fed me my little bits of meat and bread, telling me that she was concerned I would choke on anything bigger.

And no one so much as commented or gave us a funny look as she hand-fed me.  Even Amy seemed to think nothing of it at all.  I really was viewed as a child now by everyone there.

The three ladies chatted away happily as Susie and I mostly sat quietly, although Susie played with her food and would occasionally make a face at me when no one else was looking.  Once dinner was over, though, I prepared myself for another humiliating round of tag.

“Would you like to play tag with Jimmy now?” Ms. Johnson asked Susie.

“I don’t wanna,” she replied, sounding hurt from my apparent unwillingness to play with her – or, worse, thinking that I was too boring to play with now.  Though it pained me to see her like this, I didn’t mind her decision – the running earlier had worn me out already.

“OK then,” Ms. Johnson sighed.  But, as she was about to turn away, she stopped and said, “Wait, I think I know how to get them to play again.  I’ll be right back.”  She headed for her car and left me confused and apprehensive.  My life had been a slew of endless humiliation and unhappiness these last few weeks, so at this point I automatically assumed the worst, and usually I was right.

This turned out to be no exception – in fact, this one was perhaps a new low, a new 10th circle of hell that neither I nor Dante knew existed.  It started out innocently enough, with the bringing of a box of small articles of clothing from her car.  As Ms. Johnson set the box on the ground in front of us, I saw a variety of pink frilly dresses and other very tacky outfits.  Was this real clothing?  It looked so … cheap and poorly fitted, and was made of some inexpensive polyester material.  But it was much too small for Susie – actually, come to think of it, it would probably fit me pretty well …

“Where’s Cindy?” Susie asked, creating much confusion among me, Ms. Adams, and Kyra.  Did these clothes belong to a friend of hers?

“Who’s Cindy?” Ms. Adams inquired.  “And what are all these clothes, Becky?”

“Cindy,” Ms. Johnson explained, “is Susie’s My Size Barbie that her mom got her a couple years ago, and these are her clothes.”

More confusion.  “My Size Barbie?” Kyra asked.

“It’s a life-size Barbie doll that little girls can play with and dress up and comb their hair and stuff like that.  It’s only 3 feet tall so of course it’s not exactly ‘My Size’ for Susie anymore, but she still loves playing with it.”

How tall did she say?  I had a baaad feeling about this …

“Well then, where is Cindy?” Ms. Adams asked, something I was dying to know myself.

“Yeah, I can’t play with Cindy’s clothes without Cindy!” Susie interjected.

A wide, devilish grin spread on Ms. Johnson’s lips, and my heart went cold as her eyes briefly met mine before turning back to Susie.  “Well, Susie,” she began slowly, the rest of us listening with rapt attention, “how would you like a real-life Cindy to play with?  One that can move, and talk, and braid your hair, and play whatever games you want?”

The obviousness of what she was suggesting was already hitting me like a ton of bricks … but it still seemed impossible – TOO low, TOO degrading to really be happening …

Susie, meanwhile, furrowed her brow as she considered this new possibility and what it would be like, although her young mind had not yet guessed how it could happen.  But Kyra and Ms. Adams had picked up on Ms. Johnson’s meaning by now, and both sported surprised, delighted grins on their faces.

I became dizzy and my legs suddenly felt weak; my world began to spin as I lost control of my senses, my mind not knowing how to, or not wanting to, process what Ms. Johnson was saying.  Ms. Johnson took two steps towards me, put her hands on my shoulders, turned my wobbly body towards Susie, and told her, “This is your new Cindy.”  My legs gave out and my world went black even before my body hit the grass.

******

I regained consciousness a few minutes later, though it took some time to find my bearings.  I knew I was inside now and being held up on my feet by two massive hands around my torso.  From the feel of the hands on my sides, I could tell my shirt had been removed.

Susie loomed in front of me holding a pink corset-like piece of polyester clothing.  Still woozy, I watched as it was raised above me and, as another pair of enormous hands held my arms up, Susie brought the corset down over my arms, head, and finally my torso, tugging at the edges until it was correctly aligned on my frail body.

As my arms were released, I looked down in horror at the tight-fitting corset covering my chest and stomach, and looking down farther I discovered a frilly, poofy pink skirt made of a fine mesh material resting around my waist and extending down to my knees.  They must have gotten a head start while I was unconscious.

“Yay!  You look so pretty, Cindy!” Susie told me excitedly.

I was loath to respond, so Ms. Johnson warned me sternly, “The new Cindy is supposed to talk back when Susie tells her something.”

“That’s right,” Kyra confirmed threateningly.

Though my voice trembled mightily from the depths of humiliation I was now facing, I managed to squeak out, “Thank you, Susie,” in reply, hating myself for submitting to this depraved game but knowing with certainty that my punishment would be most severe if I didn’t play along.

“This is so much fun!” Susie shrieked in delight.

“Yeah, brilliant idea, Becky,” Ms. Adams complimented.  “I admit I feel a little bad for him, but … well, they didn’t seem to be playing together well earlier, so this should certainly help.  So it’s really not that bad for him, is it?”

“No, no,” Kyra replied casually, clearly believing that she could speak on my behalf here.  “I mean, kids play make-believe all the time, so how is this any different?”

Ms. Adams thought about this for a second then shrugged and nodded in agreement.  “Good point!  Well, this should be fun.  Oh – don’t forget the shoes, Susie.”

“Oh yeah!” Susie replied, suddenly pulling out a pair of glittery slippers and telling me, “OK, Cindy, lift your leg!”  I died a little inside as I raised my left, then my right leg to allow myself to be shod with these Cinderella-like slippers.  The fact that everything, from my slippers to my corset, fit me perfectly didn’t exactly improve my mood, either.

“Make sure to tie her corset tight, Susie,” Kyra suggested.  Great, it seemed even the damned Barbie corset had realistic cords in the back to provide the proper level of asphyxiation to the wearer.  I began to fear for my safety as Susie’s large form walked behind me and picked up the ends of the string, knowing that she was much stronger than me now and might not understand just how easily she could hurt me.

I received a shock as my stomach and ribs being compressed in a way I had never experienced before.  Susie pulled tightly, far too tightly in my opinion, and the already tight-fitting corset became substantially tighter, even constricting my breathing to a small degree as Susie held it taut.  Apparently, though I was short enough for the outfit, I wasn’t nearly as skinny as the doll it was designed for.

“How’s that?” she asked.

“Hmm, let’s see,” Ms. Johnson replied, getting down on her knees and prodding my torso with her hands to inspect the fit.  “No, see Susie, it’s not shaping his midsection enough; it should be nice and curved in the middle and flare out around her hips.  Here, let me show you.”  Before I knew what was happening, every last bit of air was suddenly forced out of my lungs as a crushing pressure enveloped my entire midsection, thanks to the ‘proper’ tightening by Ms. Johnson.

Like she said, the corset had stretched my back straight and squeezed down on my midsection, creating a noticeable curve despite my manly (or rather, boyish) physique.  As I struggled to breathe, I wondered if this is how all women must feel when they wear a corset, or if Ms. Johnson was being especially strict with my appearance.  It felt like shit.

Just for good measure, she gave an additional tug before tying it off, compressing my stomach and chest even more and leaving even less room in my lungs.  As I worked hard to provide myself with short, forced breaths, I looked up despairingly at the three women and one girl towering gleefully over me, not concerned in the least with my pain and suffering.

Susie pulled out a small hand mirror from the box and held it in front of me, saying “You look marvelous darling, don’t you agree?” trying to sound grown-up and sophisticated.

“Yesss,” I wheezed quietly between short gasps.

“Speak up, Cindy,” Kyra demanded sternly.

I strained my lungs to take a less-small breath and exhaled, “Yes, Susie!”

“You need some makeup now,” Susie told me, and I could do nothing but stand there like –well, like a doll, as Susie fetched a small make-up kit intended for use on the My Size Barbie and began powdering my cheeks clumsily, effectively smearing my entire face in whitish powder.  The three women took a seat on the couch to watch the show as Susie applied lipstick to me next, and I could tell it was going all over the place.  I actually felt a little scared that I would get an eye poked out as she dabbed on some mascara to my eyelashes, but as I held my lids tightly closed I managed to avoid anything more than a few uncomfortable pokes on my eyeballs.

The ladies were all-too-eager to help Susie do my hair up in cute little pigtails on either side of my head, tied up with small pink bows from the box.  This whole episode gave me flashbacks to that odious day a few weeks ago when Kyra decked me out in her dress and paraded me around town, but somehow the fact that it was a 7-year-old girl doing it to me this time seemed doubly humiliating.  I was literally now demoted from playmate to plaything for Susie, expected to do whatever she pleased and be the best toy she ever had.

I refused to look in the mirror when it was offered to me again, but that didn’t stop all three women from pulling out their phones and taking pictures, preserving this memory for all time.  I felt like some lowly zoo animal, standing there while people leer all around me and take my picture, leaving me without a moment of peace and solace.

“I bet Cindy would be happy to do your hair for you in return, Susie!” Kyra suggested.

“Yay!” Susie’s eyes lit up at the prospect.  Handing me a brush, she told me, “Cindy, please do my hair.”  Though she said it nicely enough, it was clear that she now saw me as no more than a toy and thought it was only natural that I would obey her every wish without question, like any good toy would.

Well, actually, that was probably true; I had no choice but to do exactly that.  “How would you like it done?” I asked obediently but reluctantly.

“Do it like yours!” she replied enthusiastically.

“Yes, Susie,” I replied, becoming increasingly dizzy from the sustained lack of blood circulation in my body.  It was hard work, reaching so far up to brush and straighten her hair, then attempt to braid it into pigtails – something I had absolutely zero experience with – and all the while trying to avoid blacking out again from the lack of oxygen.

I handed Susie the mirror, and with mild disgust she told me, “You didn’t do it right!  Do it over.”

Despite my sadness, I managed to reply, “I’m sorry,” and redo the whole operation.  To my infinite relief, Susie accepted my work this time, saying, “Good job, Cindy.  Now let’s play a game.”  As she pulled me to the far end of the living room floor, I looked back to see the three ladies sitting on the couch, watching us intently with wide smiles, chatting amongst themselves happily and greatly enjoying the show.  I could imagine Kyra and Ms. Johnson being fine with what was being done to me, but I had still at this point expected at least a little stronger sign of guilt from Ms. Adams, maybe just a glimpse of her former caring, compassionate self.  But the old Amy was nowhere to be found.

Susie had a ‘terrific’ idea for us: “OK, Cindy, we should put on a play for them; doesn’t that sound fun?”  I nodded reluctantly.  “So, you’ll be the beautiful princess Cinderella, and you dance with Prince Charming until the clock strikes midnight.”

I couldn’t believe I was hearing this, and going along with it no less.  “A-Are you Prince Charming?” I asked submissively.

“Of course not, silly!  You pretend you’re dancing with him.”  I stood dumbly for a few moments, not sure how to react to this, until she exclaimed insistently, “Dance!!”  In bitter humiliation, I slowly raised my arms, awkwardly holding them out as I imagined being held by Prince Charming on the dance floor.  I looked at Susie uncertainly, and she nodded for me to continue.  Still hindered by the iron-maiden-like death grip of the corset, I uncertainly began turning about, holding my arms out to my imaginary dance partner as I spun in circles and moved my feet a bit.  After simply letting me ‘practice’ for a solid three minutes like this, Susie continued, “Now it’s midnight, and you run away and drop a slipper on the steps.”  Defeated, I carried out her wish half-heartedly, picking a direction and walking that way.  “You have to tell Prince Charming you’re leaving!”

Damn it.  “I—I have to go,” I said unconvincingly.

“Do it better,” Susie complained.

Steeling myself against my loathsome task, I took as deep a breath as I could manage and said, “I’m sorry, Prince Charming, but I have to leave now.”

Thinking I was done with the scene, I stood idly for a few moments.  “Well, keep going!” Susie insisted, getting impatient with my lack of effort.

Knowing that making Susie upset would only come back to bite me, I put my game face on and got into the role a bit more, running in place and letting a slipper fall off, repeating, “I have to go, Prince, I’m sorry.”  God, what had become of me, acting out the part of Cinderella under the supervision of a little girl.

Apparently, though, Susie still wasn’t satisfied.  “You’re not doing it good enough!” she exclaimed unhelpfully.

I was about to ask her for clarification when the grown-ups interrupted us.  “Susie, honey, we have to go soon.”  Finally, some good news.  “Can you show us your play now?”

“It’s not ready!” Susie complained.

“I’m sure it’s wonderful, dear.  You’ll just have to show us what you’ve got.”

Susie sighed in frustration but assented.  Bringing her doll to the center of the living room, she instructed me, “You need to try harder, Cindy!  I want Aunt Becky to be impressed.”

She stepped away to give me room for my first and only stage performance of my life.  Did I mention I had stage fright?  And, let’s be honest, if I was embarrassed to go on stage in the past, I would never in a million years have accepted the circumstances of this new solo performance, except for the implicit threat of punishment from one of these ladies if my performance wasn’t up to their expectations.

I started off slowly and timidly at first, but this quickly brought angry whispers from my ‘director’ to ‘do it better.’  After a few dirty looks and stern commands from my adult audience as well, I got the message and began getting into my act, twirling faster and in wider arcs as I let my imaginary dance partner carry me around the ballroom floor.  I stumbled constantly and even fell a few times, mostly from the extreme rigidity and discomfort of the corset which hindered my movements and made me constantly very short of breath.  But, by the end of my 3-minute dance, I had let myself go as much as my corset would allow, becoming caught up in the moment and almost forgetting the horrible reality of what I was being forced to do, parading about like a circus clown for others’ amusement.

“Ding!” Susie called out, letting me know the clock was about to strike twelve.  Dizzy from all the spinning, I stumbled forward and delivered my spoken lines as loudly as possible (that is to say, not very).  I was pathetic, acting like a bumbling fool, willingly and obediently delivering every last bit of acting skills and effort that I could muster from fear of the repercussions of giving anything less.

At least, my efforts paid off.  “Bravo!” the audience cheered, loving my performance the way a parent loves their kindergartener’s play, no matter how poorly organized or executed it is.  Even Susie, thankfully, seemed happy with it, and especially with the adults’ reactions.  As I came back to reality after my intense performance, though, the bitter truth of what I had just done began to sink in.  Before this evening, Susie was the one person – hell, the only person – in the world I actually felt some inclination to spend time with, but this latest ‘betrayal’, though perhaps not as severe as the loss of my long-time, true best friend, Amy, was the straw that broke the camel’s back, the end of my very last hope for any sort of equal treatment and respect in life.  I was lost, with no one to turn to, no one to confide in, and now no one to even have a carefree day of fun with.  I was more alone than ever.

The only even remotely positive take-away from this experience, though, was that I was now on the ladies’ good side, at least for now – and Kyra especially had seemed to enjoy my performance, and made sure to give me more than a few approving smiles and a look of appreciation of my efforts that almost seemed totally genuine, like she was actually proud of me for doing this somehow.  It was weird, but this approval from Kyra, being all I had to cling on to now, actually felt pretty good, in some small way.  At the end of the performance, I even returned her the slightest, most sheepish smile in response, despite my overall unhappiness.

Ms. Johnson had Susie gather her things to get ready to leave.  “Can I take Cindy with me?” Susie pleaded.  Ms. Johnson looked to Kyra questioningly, leaving the decision up to her.  This thought hadn’t crossed my mind; I was fully expecting to be freed from my new ‘owner’ for the evening, but the prospect of being under her control for the whole rest of the night and perhaps on to tomorrow made me shudder.

Kyra considered this for a minute, and then her trunk-sized legs filled my vision as she stepped in front of me and whisked me up into her arms.  Regarding me briefly, she did the last thing in the world I would have expected: she let me choose for myself.  “Well, ‘Cindy,’ what’ll it be?  Would you like to go home with Susie?”

Surprised at her apparent generosity – was it a trick?? – I turned my head from Kyra over to Susie and Ms. Johnson then back to Kyra.  I couldn’t decide whether I hated the idea of spending time with Susie now as much as spending time with Ms. Adams; they both just seemed so awful.  But as I wrapped my arms around the familiar form of Kyra’s chest and shoulders, pressing against her warm, soft flesh as she caressed me tenderly, I felt surprisingly at home; she seemed to grant me a sense of comfort and satisfaction in a way that no one else could.  I suddenly, inexplicably did not want to be anywhere but here in her arms.  “Can I stay here with you, Mommy?” I pleaded softly.

Mommy’s face lit up in maternal delight.  “Yes, sweetie, you can stay with me.”  Looking down at Susie, she told her, “I’m sorry, Jimmy has had enough play time for tonight.”

“Oh, OK,” Susie replied, dejected.  I somehow didn’t feel any sympathy for her, though.  I didn’t pay much attention as Susie and Ms. Johnson headed out, and then Ms. Adams soon followed suit.  I was feeling too happy to focus on anything other than the wonderful woman holding me.

Once we were alone, Kyra turned her loving eyes to me and asked, “Well, Jimmy, what shall we do now?”

“Anything,” I replied, just happy to be with her.  I was feeling so emotionally vulnerable right now, but I just went along with it.

Mommy chuckled as she carried me over to the recliner and set me down.  As she pulled away, I held out my arms to her, not wanting to let go.  Seeing my reaction, she smiled and replied, “Don’t worry, little one.  I’ll be right back.”

I waited impatiently as she went to her room, then she finally came back down wearing her nightwear: that sheer white tank top (with no bra underneath) and skimpy blue cotton shorts.  I gulped at the sight of her and eagerly awaited her approach.  I was sure she sensed my eagerness, though, as she flashed a mischievous smile and sauntered in the opposite direction, slowly pulling out a glass and filling it with water in the kitchen to tease me.

She stepped over to the side of the counter and languorously sipped her water, making sure to give me a full view of her incredible figure.  Her eyes smirked at me knowingly as she observed my increasing impatience.  At long last, she set the glass down and walked towards me, her hips swaying and her eyes staring at me intently.  I expected her to lift me up when she got to the recliner, but instead she turned around and lowered her enormous but shapely ass down towards me.

Christ, I was about to be squashed like a bug!  I frantically rolled to the edge of the cushion to give her just enough room to sit next to me.  Seeing my panicked expression, she laughed playfully and said, “Haha, look out below!”  Her antics were quickly forgiven, though, as I climbed up the couch and nestled my tiny body between her arm and chest, laying my own arm across her midsection just under her breasts and laying my head on her shoulder.  “Mmm,” she hummed pleasantly as her arm draped over almost the entire length of my body, pressing me into her tenderly.

I was in heaven as Mommy picked up the remote and turned the TV to TBS, watching some show I couldn’t care less about in my present situation.  I squeezed her as tightly as I could, which probably felt like nothing to her, but I couldn’t seem to get enough of her.  After several minutes of nestling happily against her with my eyes closed, I opened them and my eyes settled on her mind-bogglingly huge breasts lying before me.  My breathing started to quicken as I ever-so-slowly brought my hand up from her midsection to the lowermost edge of her rack, brushing my fingers against her softly, wondering if I was even allowed to be doing this …

I saw her dark nipples poking up through the thin fabric of her shirt as she gave out a soft moan.  Encouraged, I boldly brought my hand up another inch or two to rest half my hand on her immense, soft bosom and give a light squeeze.  Her lips parted with a soft pant, reacting to my touch.  I began to rut my hips slowly into her side, my penis hard as a rock.  Evidently, I had her full attention as she flicked off the TV and turned her eyes to me lustfully.  Her hand abruptly shot up and seized my hand, pulling it higher up and mashing it into her melons, which were many times larger than my tiny hand.  My fingers found her palm-sized nipple, fully erect, and I began to rub fervently into her, eliciting a louder gasp from Mommy’s lips.

“Yessss,” she breathed as she adjusted her arm which was still wrapped around me and brought her hand down to her own crotch, her fingers sliding underneath her white panties.  “You’re a good little boy, aren’t you Jimmy?” she cooed sultrily, turned on by this whole situation.

“Yes, Mommy!” I replied urgently, going along with her 100% now.  I felt her arm moving rhythmically against my body as her fingers began to work their magic down below.

“Mmhmm.  And I’m a good mommy, right?”

“Yes!” I exclaimed honestly.  “You’re the best mommy in the whole world!”  By now my hips were bucking feverishly against her side as I lost myself in passion.

Kyra kneaded my hand passionately into the soft yet firm flesh of her breasts.  Both of us nearing climax, she asked lustily, “Who do you belong to, Jimmy?”

“You, Mommy!  I belong to you!”  This sent both of us over the edge simultaneously, writhing our bodies in ecstasy as we erupted in each other’s embrace.  A flood of emotions washed over me as I snuggled myself into her warm and wonderful body, falling asleep in a few short minutes, happier than I had been in a long, long time.

********************************

Wednesday: 2’10”

I awoke in my bed the next morning, in a haze from the events of the previous night.  But, unlike yesterday morning, I now felt more lasting effects from Kyra’s intoxication.  The feelings of happiness and warmth were still strong.  I told myself that I couldn’t let her control my mind and soul so easily, but my legs didn’t listen as they quickly got me out of bed and down the stairs to greet Kyra again.

Things were just so … nice now.  She fed me a delightful breakfast in her lap, and it might have kinda been my idea when she carried me around the house as she got ready for work, my arms wrapped affectionately around her neck the entire time.  It felt nice.

Even the long hours at work went by quicker, as my eyes mostly remained trained on Kyra’s figure hunched over her desk hard at work.  I was sad to see her leave at 12:30 for an especially long practice, but was all the more delighted when she returned at 5:00 to take me home.  During the ride, it struck me how little I had paid attention to Ms. Johnson or Ms. Adams whenever they walked by or said something; they didn’t really seem matter to me much anymore.

But, after dinner, Kyra hit me with some horrible news: she was going to leave me alone for the rest of the night.  I was actually brought to tears as I begged her to stay; I had been looking forward to our alone time all day long.  But she refused to give up her date that night and was soon walking out the door, leaving me all by myself.  Apparently she trusted me so much now that she felt I could stay out of trouble on my own, not even bothering to give a stern threat of punishment should I stray.

I could think of nothing to do but lay down on my bed in a stupor, unable to sleep but unwilling to do anything that required movement.  Everything just seemed so dull without … well, without her around.

Around 10:00 I heard the door open.  Realizing I was still dressed and lying on top of the covers, I quickly threw my clothes off and tucked myself in, in case she saw I was still up so far past my bedtime.  I pretended to be asleep when, 10 minutes later, she opened my door and poked her head in.  I wanted to jump up and give Mommy a hug, but I also didn’t want to disobey her.  However, after all the lights were turned out I waited an additional 15 minutes to make sure she was in bed, and then I decided to risk it and tell her I couldn’t sleep.

I quietly tiptoed out of my room and across the hallway, ever-so-slowly turning the doorknob and pushing her door open.  I could remember where the creaky spots on the floor were from all my years living in this room myself, back when I was a grown man, so long ago.  I silently approached the bedside and watched Mommy sleep for a few moments, her body turned on its side towards me.

“Mommy,” I whispered almost inaudibly.  No response.  “Mommy,” I repeated, a little louder.  In the darkness, I saw her eyelids slowly open as she found me standing in front of her.

Sitting up, she asked with concern, “What is it, Jimmy?”

“I can’t sleep,” I told her truthfully; in the past I would never have thought to seek out someone else for comfort when I couldn’t sleep, but I had found a new connection with her that I hadn’t felt before.

“Aww, poor thing.  Come snuggle next to Mommy.”

“Thank you!” I said gratefully as her arms reached out and hoisted me onto her bed, a task which would have taken quite some effort on my own.  Still drowsy from sleep, Mommy pulled me tightly into her, turning me around so that her breasts pressed firmly across almost my entire back as her arms completely encircled me.  She was holding me to her like a cherished teddy bear, and I was more than happy to oblige her.  “Good night, Mommy,” I told her.

“Good night, Jimmy,” she said, dozing off a few minutes later.  I was exactly where I wanted to be right now, enveloped by Mommy’s gigantic arms, held snugly against her chest.  The outside world seemed cold and cruel by comparison.  I rested my head on the inside of Mommy’s upper arm and soon drifted off into a deep slumber.

********************************

Thursday: 2’8”

It was the perfect start to my day, waking up in Mommy’s arms exactly where I had fallen asleep the night before.  The only difference was that now I was facing towards her, my vision completely filled with her chest and shoulders, now seeming noticeably bigger after I lost another two inches.  Every inch that I lost now was a significant change, but for the first time I saw this change as almost a good thing, in a way.  It meant Mommy could hold me even easier, and that I had even more of her to hold on to.  She was becoming a bigger and bigger part of my life, both literally and metaphorically.

I kept still for another 15 minutes, enjoying my position immensely, until Mommy woke up as well.  “Why, hello there,” she said languorously.  I craned my neck and looked up into her eyes with perfect happiness.  Her arms uncoiled from my body and extended in a long stretch, which along with the arching of her back caused her sublime bosom to jut forward even tighter into my small chest.  My mouth began to water as I eyed her deep cleavage hungrily, unable to help myself from bringing my hands over to fondle her breasts slowly.

“Oh my, looks like someone’s a little frisky,” she purred lazily, grinning down at me.  She sat up, resting her upper back against the headrest while pulling my 15-pound frame onto her lap.  “I believe I owe you some happy time from yesterday.”  I was overjoyed to hear this, nodding my head in eager anticipation.  I had been hoping for this, but hadn’t said anything.

Laying my back along her upper arm, she cradled me against her chest while slowly rubbing her opposite hand up my inner thigh.  I gasped and writhed in pleasure as her hand rubbed firmly up the length of my shaft, which was now about the size of her pinky.  I felt her electric touch through my underwear as she tenderly worked her hand up and down my crotch.

I came in a matter of seconds, after which Mommy cooed, “There we go.  Gooood boy.”  When my spasms had subsided, Mommy wrapped me up in her arms, carried me to the hallway bathroom, peeled off my wet underwear, and set me into the shower, getting the water running for me.  I had gotten my hopes up that she would let me shower with her, but alas she told me cheerfully, “Don’t take too long, Jimmy.  We’re running a bit late.”  As she stepped away and walked out of sight, I was suddenly saddened to see her go.  I decided to take a quick shower, the sooner to see her again.

We were both happy as can be as Mommy fed me breakfast and got her things together.  I didn’t say a word as she drove us to work and carried me inside the building, not needing words to enjoy my time with her.

That morning was hard on me, watching Mommy from my playpen but unable to hold her or touch her, and having her ignore me most of the time in favor of her work.  But, not letting my mood sour, I looked forward to lunch time, when I would be back in her arms again.

12:00 rolled around, and Ms. Johnson poked her head in to invite Mommy and Ms. Adams to lunch.  “Sounds delightful!” they replied, getting up and heading out of the cubicle.

“Wait!  What about me!?” I called out anxiously, not wanting Mommy to leave without me, as well as not wanting to be left hungry.

The three towering women turned their heads back to my cage, until then having completely forgotten about little me.  “Just stay there, Jimmy.  We’ll be back in a while,” Kyra told me.

“Please don’t leave me here, Mommy!” I whined.

“It’s OK, Jimmy.  I’ll bring back something for you to eat.”

I was unable to express my desire to stay with her as the three of them headed out without further delay.  I plopped down on the floor as they left, disappointed and hungry.  A tear rolled down my cheek, showing how unable I was to control my emotions anymore.  But I didn’t care about that; I just wanted Mommy back.

They sure didn’t rush themselves at the restaurant on my behalf, that’s for sure.  Over the next hour, though, a new, more pressing concern had overtaken my hunger: my bladder was about to burst.  I had held it in as long as I could, but in a matter of minutes there would be no stopping it.  Since it was lunch hour, most people were gone from the office, and those that remained were sitting around in their time off, meaning that I had little chance of attracting the attention of any passers-by.  I had no choice but to take matters into my own hands.

With great effort I managed to hoist myself onto the railing of my playpen and tumble over the side.  It was fortunate that I weighed practically nothing, otherwise the whole apparatus would have probably tumbled down on top of me as I leaned over.  But, free of that obstacle, I dashed towards the restroom, wanting to get back as soon as humanly possible with as few people seeing me as I could manage.

But I didn’t make it far.  As I rounded a corner I slammed right into a towering pair of trouser-clad legs.  “Whoa there, watch it!” a booming male voice said above me.  I looked up and saw my former coworker, Kevin, a guy I always secretly despised.  I fortunately never interacted with him much, but he was one of those wanna-be macho, insulting, lewd frat-boy types.  I always found him kind of a nuisance, but now that I was even shorter than his legs I felt immediately intimidated.

Anxious to get to the bathroom, I tried to dart around him, but, being the jackass he was, he stepped in the side to block my way.  “Say, if it isn’t James!” he mocked.  “Hey, why don’t you stay a while; me and the guys were just having a beer.”  I looked into his cubicle and saw 3 others from the office, with more-or-less similar personalities as Kevin.

“No thanks,” I replied meekly, but as I lunged the other way he easily blocked my path again.

“No, really.  Have a beer with us.”  To make it clear that it wasn’t optional, he reached down and gave me a light shove towards his buddies, although that ‘light’ shove sent me sprawling to the ground in the middle of the cubicle.

I began to understand what frat house hazing was like as I was subjected to a chorus of jeers and snide comments, dressed up as innocent questions due to the workplace environment, but clearly meant to be demeaning – questions like, “How’s the weather down there?” and “Been playin’ much hoops lately?”  I tried to duck out but someone’s hand would always be there to block me.

“How ‘bout a beer, little dude?” Kevin asked, extending a cold 12-oz to me.  When I refused to take it, several pairs of hands began jostling me from all sides, pushing my back and holding my arm up to the can, all the while calling, “C’mon, buddy!  You’re not going to refuse a friendly drink with us, are you?” 

The can was basically shoved into my hands, and someone was ‘kind’ enough to pop the top for me.  Damn, it was the heaviest drink I’d ever held, and I knew there was no way in hell I could finish it.  Sure, normally I could chug a beer no problem, but to my shrunken stomach and liver, it was as big as a whole damned pitcher.  But I couldn’t resist the hands bringing the flagon of ale to my mouth and tilting it downward, causing a massive stream of beer to wash into my mouth.

I gulped instinctively, desperately trying to clear my mouth, but the beer just kept on coming.  I’m sure plenty of it spilled down my chin and several times I gagged and coughed from the endless surge of liquid, but with my head held back by these assholes I couldn’t help but imbibe at least half of the beverage into my tiny stomach.  I must have chugged the equivalent of several beers by the time it was empty, from my diminished perspective.

They gave a round of cheers when I finished, telling me how ‘awesome’ I was for finishing it – not like they gave me any choice.  Pleased by my performance, they finally let me get on with my quest for the bathroom – and by the way, my bladder hadn’t gotten any less full in those couple minutes.  But, as I stumbled out of the cubicle to another round of laughter at my expense, the alcohol was quickly getting to me, and by the time I reached the bathroom I could hardly stay on my own two feet.  It sure didn’t help that my stomach was completely empty, allowing the alcohol to course through my body even faster.

Damn, did I have to piss!  I clumsily reached up for the handle of the bathroom door and tugged, but to no effect.  I reached both hands up and yanked harder, only managing to crack the door open a little bit.  More dizzy with every passing second, I gave one last desperate heave and opened the door a couple inches this time.  But, as I sloppily let go of the handle and reached out to hold the door open with my forearm, I whiffed and fell forward, stumbling against the door in a drunken stupor.

And then it was too late.  I felt a warmth pass down my inner thigh as I looked down and saw a growing wet spot around my crotch.  Son. Of. A. Bitch.  But I couldn’t stop it now, as the rest of my bladder was emptied onto my shorts and all the way down my leg, even soaking my socks and shoes.  And how did I react to all this?  Well, I simply cried like a baby.  My drunkenness certainly didn’t help contain any emotions as I stumbled into a corner and bawled loudly.

“Are you OK?” I vaguely heard a voice call from behind me.  Rolling my head over, I saw Vicky, the receptionist, approach.  As she concernedly turned my body towards her she let out a surprised gasp, seeing my shorts, legs, and socks soaked in urine.  I only managed a hiccup in reply.

“Um …” she said, unsure of how to proceed.  “Maybe … follow me and wait for Kyra to show up?” she offered, her tone serious but sounding quite a bit as if she were speaking to a child.  I couldn’t blame her, though.

She ducked into the bathroom to get some paper towels so that my soggy pants wouldn’t get anything wet while I waited.  And I was too far gone to be able to walk by myself, so she held my arm up above my head and guided me along.  Several times I tripped and would have fallen, except that she easily suspended my 15-pound body in the air to prevent my fall.

By the time we reached reception, though, the three ladies had returned from lunch and were walking directly towards us.  I couldn’t have fled if I wanted, though, being held fast by Vicky’s massive hand, and being too drunk to get anywhere even if my hand were free.

“Oh ... my … God!  What’s going on here?” Mommy demanded sternly.

My tongue and my brain were not on the same page, and a complete jumble of words escaped my mouth.  Vicky spoke up in my stead.  “I found him in a corner by the bathroom after he peed his pants.  And he’s been acting really strange since.”

“I thought we told you to stay put!” Ms. Adams told me, hands on her hips in an angry, threatening pose.

“That’s right,” Mommy agreed.  “What are you doing out here?  And how could you wet yourself like that?”  She took my hand from Vicky and leaned toward me, waiting for a response.  But then she sniffed several times, smelling my strong breath.  “What is that?” she asked, bewildered.  Getting down on her knees and bringing her nose up to my face, she ordered, “Open your mouth.”  I did as she asked, not as terrified as I would have been thanks to my inebriation.  “Oh my God.  Tell me that isn’t what I think it is.”

“Let me smell,” Ms. Johnson said, getting down on one knee to smell as well.  Ms. Adams did the same, and I now had three giant heads in front of my face, sniffing my breath while shooting me vicious stares.

“I’m afraid you’re right, Kyra,” Ms. Johnson assessed.  “That’s the smell of beer, no doubt about it.”

“Yes, for sure,” Ms. Adams confirmed with a dark scowl on her face.

Meanwhile, Mommy’s eyes filled with rage, causing me to recoil in fear even in my drunken state.  “How the HELL did my two-year-old boy get a hold of alcohol!!!?” she bellowed, loud enough for the whole office to hear.  If there were anything left in my bladder I surely would have pissed my pants again.  But, to my relief, the brunt of her wrath was apparently focused on finding the guilty party in the office.  She rose to her feet and, with fists clenched, called out again, “Who did this!!?”

No one spoke up, causing Mommy to get even more animated.  “Speak up!!” she yelled.

Ms. Johnson added, her voice dead serious, “Whoever did this, if you don’t speak up this instant you’re fired.”

“OK, OK, it was me,” a voice called out.  I watched as Kevin emerged from his cubicle and walked up.  “We were just having a bit of fun, right James?”  Being the despicable human being he was, he tried a different tactic.  Turning to Ms. Johnson, Kevin said, “He’s the one who asked for a beer, and he drank it all himself even though I said he shouldn’t.”

Mommy’s gaze fell upon me, gauging my reaction.  Oh no.  I had been in this situation before, when it was the babysitter’s word against mine.  And I remembered all too well how that turned out …

But then Mommy said the unexpected.  “No,” she declared, turning her cold stare to Kevin.  “You’re lying.”

Kevin winced and averted his eyes from the intensity of her stare.  “It’s true!” he insisted, looking very uncomfortable.

“Kevin …” Ms. Johnson warned, but he still refused to give in.

Mommy knew how to respond to that.  She swiftly closed the distance between her and Kevin and, standing to her full 6’6” in heels, towered over the slightly below-average 5’8” frame of Kevin.  As the entire office watched, Mommy grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pulled him upwards, a bit onto his toes though not fully into the air, staring into his eyes menacingly.

She didn’t need any more words, as Kevin immediately spilled the beans.  “OK, I’m sorry!  We forced him to drink it!”

Mommy released his shirt and shoved him backwards, causing him to crash awkwardly against the wall of the nearby cubicle.  If I had been thinking straight, I would have mused that if only she had interrogated Grace, the babysitter, in the same way, none of the horrible events of last Thursday would have happened.  But, partially because I was drunk, I felt nothing but relief that Mommy now trusted me enough to believe me over that grown man.  I was more than a little touched by her fairness and compassion.

The bystanders were shocked at how this high school girl had so easily intimidated Kevin, who had a reputation of being a self-proclaimed ‘tough guy’ as well as a world-class jerk.  This incident would undoubtedly stick in people’s minds as she prepared for a possible future moving up the ranks here in the office.

“Well, now that we know who did it, what should we do with him?” Ms. Johnson asked Mommy, apparently deferring to her judgment in this matter.

“I sure wouldn’t mind if you fired him,” Mommy sneered, glaring back at Kevin’s cowering form.  “But, I suppose he wouldn’t learn anything that way.”

“Very shrewd.  You’ll make quite the executive some day, Kyra,” Ms. Johnson said openly, in front of all the other workers.  But, somehow, I felt that Mommy had the charisma and leadership to overcome any resentment they felt from their boss’s favoritism.  “I have an idea,” she continued, putting her hand on Mommy’s shoulder and looking at Kevin condescendingly.  “I can’t officially have him work under you, but there’s nothing that says I can’t have him do all your work.  There’s really no need for you to do it; it’s just busy work anyway.”  Mommy smiled wickedly.  “Of course, it would be helpful if you could keep track of his progress for me, making sure his work gets done in a timely fashion.  And if there’s anything else that needs doing, you could, well, point those things out to him,” Ms. Johnson said, winking at Mommy.

“Sounds good,” Mommy replied.  Walking up to Kevin, she said with a wry smile, “Come along, Kev.  I have some ‘suggestions’ for what you can do to start out.”  Kevin hung his head as he followed her to her cubicle, the threat of termination keeping him from crying out in protest.

I went to follow her as well, but the large hands of Ms. Adams fell on my shoulders and held me in place.  Actually, she had to stoop just a bit to reach my shoulders, and even then only part of her fingers were low enough to hold me, but they were enough to stop my advance and get her message across.  Not daring to duck away from her and provoke her wrath, I uncomfortably craned my head straight up to look at her, my eyes begging to know why I was being so unfairly retained.  “Not so fast, young man,” she told me sternly, her eyes peering haughtily down her nose to return my gaze.  Her head was so mind-bogglingly high off the ground; relative to my normal 6’6” frame of reference, Ms. Adams now stood more than 1.5 stories tall – and Mommy was closer to two stories!  Holy Christ.

“B-But wh-why?” I stammered.

“Because I said so,” she declared down at me authoritatively.  Geez, couldn’t she just tell me why?  I guess she thought it was something a little child like me didn’t need to know.

The rest of the office had slowly settled back down at their own desks after the excitement had subsided.  After a few minutes of being held back uncomfortably in the middle of the floor, Mommy finally came into view.  As she approached us, I noticed Kevin scurrying anxiously behind her towards his own desk, with a stack of papers in his hands – ‘suggested’ work from Mommy, no doubt.

I was happy to see her again, eager to escape the cold clutches of Ms. Adams and be back in the warm arms of my Mommy.  Grateful that she believed me and got back at Kevin, as she walked up I told her, “Thank you, Mommy!  I’m so glad you—“

“Shut up,” she barked viciously at me, causing me to almost choke on the sudden lump in my throat as I recoiled in shock.  Her enormous heels clicked loudly on the ground and stopped a foot in front of me, and I cowered as I raised my gaze from her knees, chest-high on me now, up to her hips which stood higher than my arms could reach, up to her arms folded sternly across her chest, and finally reaching her eyes which were just visible over the swell of her ample bosom.

She continued, “Just because you weren’t responsible for the beer doesn’t change the fact that you decided to leave your playpen.”  I averted my eyes from her intense stare.  “Look at me when I’m speaking to you.”  I reluctantly raised my eyes again.  She added, “The playpen is there for a reason: to keep you out of danger.  And now look what happened when you disobeyed me.  You are just as much to blame as Kevin.  And for Christ’s sake, you couldn’t even control your bladder until I got back!  What is wrong with you!?”

To see my Mommy’s face, which had shown nothing but the deepest, most heart-warming compassion these last few days, change to a cruel, loveless glare aimed directly at me was more than I could bear.  Sure, she had done far worse to me in the past, but back then I wasn’t nearly so dependent on her for her love and support, so eager to please her in any way that my puny self could.  I suddenly broke out in a loud sob, wanting nothing more than for Mommy to love me again.

And she was absolutely right.  In weeks past I might have argued with her, trying to prove my innocence, but now I almost automatically believed that she was right.  Mommy was always right.  And who was I to say otherwise?

“I’m sorry, Mommy!  I was so naughty!” I exclaimed, loud enough for everyone in the nearby cubicles to hear.  With my contrite expression I hoped to convey to Mommy how truly sorry I was.

Skeptical, she asked, “You’re not going to try to say you’re innocent?”  I shook my head no.  She wasn’t convinced quite yet, though.  “You’re not just saying that to get out of your punishment, are you?”  She studied my face intently, hunting for any sign of defiance.

But I would never dream of defying her.  I shook my head vigorously, saying, “No, Mommy, I-I deserve to be punished for what I did …”

She raised her eyebrows in surprise, apparently convinced of my loyalty to her.  “Well, I’m glad to see you’re behaving yourself now.”  My heart warmed from her praise.  “But,” she added sternly, “you still keep refusing to behave when I’m not around, and for that reason I think it’s still time for some big changes.  Becky, Amy,” she said, nodding to the two women who had been listening silently behind me, “I think we’re going to have to move our plans up to tonight, instead of this weekend.”

Bewildered by this secret plan of theirs, I craned my neck to Ms. Adams as she nodded and replied, “Yes, of course, Kyra.  I’ll cancel my plans for tonight.”

Ms Johnson added, “And I’ll bring my things over.  We’ll stay as long as it takes.”  The two of them gave Mommy looks of concern and support, as if these plans–whatever they were—would be difficult on her.  I would bet anything that these secret plans would actually be more difficult on me, but they weren’t concerned with my feelings anymore.  All the same, though, I knew that Mommy would only do something if it was in my best interests … right?

Mommy turned to Ms. Adams and said, “Could I ask a huge favor of you, Amy?”

“Sure, what is it?”

“Jimmy needs to be cleaned up and changed after the big mess he made on himself, and of course he’ll need to be punished as well.  I would take him home myself but I have practice in a half hour.  If it’s not too much trouble, …”

“Absolutely, Kyra.  I would love to punish him for you – that’s what best friends are for.”  They exchanged warm smiles.  “That is, of course, if I can take the time off work …” They looked to Ms. Johnson.

“Oh, no problem honey.  Take all the time you need.”

“Thanks, Becky!” Ms. Adams replied.  “I’ll try not to let it get me behind on my work.”

Ms. Johnson laughed out loud as an idea popped into her head.  “Maybe Kyra could convince Kevin to take on the extra work?”  She gave Mommy a mischievous wink.

“Hehe,” Mommy laughed wickedly.  Whispering so that no one but they could hear, she said, “I think, if I told him to, he would run around the office naked just to keep from upsetting me.”

The three of them laughed.  “No, don’t do that, because then I would have to fire him,” Ms. Johnson replied jokingly, although there may have been some truth to both points.

Once the adults settled on a time to meet – 7:00 – Mommy went down on one knee and leaned down towards me –down, because even when she was kneeling I was only as tall as her upper abdomen.  She reached down and enveloped my shoulder and the upper part of my arm in one hand, telling me with a grave voice, “After tonight, you won’t be able to disappoint Mommy anymore.”

Her words both stung and mystified me, causing me to burst into another round of sobs.  She took the thumb and forefinger of her opposite hand – since her whole hand was far too big – and pinched either side of my jaw to lift my head back up to her stern eyes.  “But, in the meantime, I want you to show how obedient you can be for Ms. Adams.  Depending on your behavior, tonight can go smoothly, or we can make it very, very difficult for you.  The choice is yours.”

I nodded obediently, saying, “Yes, Mommy.  I’ll be good; I promise.”

 Her two-story frame raised up astoundingly fast (to my eyes) as she stood straight and told Ms. Adams, “Do whatever you feel is necessary to punish him.  Of course, we both know he won’t really learn anything from it in the long run, but it should at least make him more willing to cooperate tonight.”

“Understood,” my former best friend replied.

“Well,” Ms. Johnson chimed in, “before you two leave we should make sure Kevin agrees to help out.”  The three of them headed for his desk, and I had to run to keep up with their normal walking pace.  “You take the lead, Kyra” Ms. Johnson added.

As we approached Kevin’s cubicle I couldn’t see exactly what he was doing, me being shorter than the desk now, but I could tell he was pounding angrily at his keyboard, probably trying to finish some basic data entry task that was originally assigned to Mommy.  “So, Kevin,” Mommy said casually, sitting on the edge of his desk close enough to bump his elbow with her legs, “Amy’s leaving now to take care of Jimmy, and since it was partly your fault I’m sure you wouldn’t mind helping out with her work?”  She asked sweetly, but Kevin knew it wasn’t a question but a command.

“Um … OK,” he replied icily but respectfully.

“Good!” Mommy replied cheerfully.  “Amy can fill you in on the details.  So how’s my work comin’?”  She turned her body around to inspect his progress.  “Hmm …” she said with a frown.  “You really should be farther along than this.  Are you stupid, or just lazy?”

He was too shocked to respond.  “Well?” Mommy said impatiently.

There was no right answer.  “Uh … lazy?”  He squirmed in his chair in extreme discomfort.

“Oh, good; that’s fixable.  There’s no fixing stupid, so I suppose Ms. Johnson would have to fire you on the spot.  But you can get over your laziness; all you need is a bit of … motivation.”  His gulp was clearly audible even from where I was standing.  Mommy looked down and flipped through the stack of papers on his desk.  “Of course, I can’t tell you what to do,” she said, laughing ironically.  “But if I were you, I would finish these today to make sure you don’t send the wrong impression.”  She lifted up a sizeable chunk of the papers and handed it to him.  “I know Ms. Johnson doesn’t like lazy employees.”

His eyes went wide as he saw how much was being required of him.  “A-All these!?” he stammered.  “But this is more than I could do in 3 days!!  And what about my work, and Amy’s work too!?”

She replied unconcernedly, “Well, if you weren’t so lazy you could get it done faster, silly!  Anyway, you should probably get that other work out of the way first, and finish this up afterwards.  And, I suppose, if you really needed more time,” she added disdainfully, as if she didn’t see why it would take more than a few minutes, “there’s nothing stopping you from staying late and staying until you’re done, however long it takes.”  She added extra emphasis to that last part, making sure her threat was understood.

Kevin grimaced, his agonized face looking to Ms. Johnson pleadingly.  But she and Mommy were of one mind.  “You’d better take her advice, Kevin.  If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s a lazy employee.”

Kevin’s mouth dropped open in disbelief.  “B-B-But that’s n-not fair!” he blabbered.  “You can’t just do this to me; I’m an employee and I have my rights …”  His voice trailed off as Mommy’s and Ms Johnson’s vicious stares caused his resolve to melt away.

“Ha,” Ms. Johnson snorted.  “How would you like me to tell the authorities about you giving alcohol to a 2-year-old?”

A look of extreme concern crossed his face, but he replied, “Well, he’s not … I mean, he’s not REALLY a child, right?” as if he was doubting my age as well.

“Yeah, right; tell that to the authorities,” she scoffed.  And she was right: maybe if the police were shown old photos and birth certificates and various other documents proving my 41-year-old identity, then just maybe they might start to suspect the truth.  But, of course, if a woman walked in with what to all appearances was a 2-year-old child and accused a man of getting him drunk, and that man’s defense rested on him calling the child a 41-year-old grown man, then, well, you can rest assured that he’ll get not only jail time but also a visit from a psychiatrist.

These truths were not lost on him, and he immediately shut up and lowered his head in defeat.  With grins on their faces, the three ladies calmly walked out of the office, leaving him to wallow in despair.  Even before they were out of earshot, Ms. Johnson high-fived Mommy and said, “Oh my gosh, that was so much fun!!”

Mommy snickered loudly in reply and Ms. Adams chimed in, “Yeah, you really let him have it!  I just wish you two had left some of the fun for me!”

The other two grinned at her in surprise.  Mommy said, “Well, well, look how much Miss Goody-Two-Shoes has changed!”

Ms. Adams blushed and replied, “Well, don’t get me wrong; I’m still just as nice as I ever was, except now I’ve also learned how to throw the hammer down when needed.  I suppose I have Jimmy to thank for that.”  As we walked, she turned her head down to look at me, her eyes completely devoid of emotion.  I couldn’t help but feel responsible for this change in her; it was my lies and constant misbehavior that overcame her boundless compassion and forced her to view the world with more cynical, hardened eyes.

These thoughts troubled my conscience as we continued towards Mommy’s and Ms. Adams’s cubicle.  In response to Ms. Adams, Ms. Johnson said, “Well, it’s not too late for that.  You can have your fun when you tell him what work Kevin needs to do for you this afternoon.”

“Oh yeah, that’s right!” replied Ms. Adams, the fallen angel.  As we got back to their cubicle, I was placed for the time being back in my playpen.  When Mommy left a short while later, I felt the familiar pangs of longing and unhappiness as she departed from me, despite the somber, brooding mood these recent events had put me in.

What was I to make of Mommy – or should I say, Kyra?  I hadn’t always thought of her as Mommy – though I had for a long time called her Mommy aloud, I used to think of her detachedly as Kyra.  When did this change?  I couldn’t quite remember; it seemed so long ago …

Having seen how meanly Mommy had treated Kevin just now, though, now that I had seen her act this way to someone else and not just me, I began to have doubts about following her with such blind obedience as I had recently grown accustomed to.  Perhaps she wasn’t as wonderful as I made her out to be; maybe, just maybe, I had allowed myself to be brainwashed, like some sort of Stockholm syndrome or something.  On one hand, I couldn’t forget about those moments lately, happening more and more frequently, where she seemed so loving and wonderful to me, making me think that I really had been bad before but now I should try to be good for her … But was all of this just my brainwashed mind talking?  It was all so confusing.

Meanwhile, Ms. Adams, as sternly as ever, told me, “I’m going to pay Kevin a visit.  STAY PUT THIS TIME.”  She shook her finger at me menacingly, causing me to take a step backwards instinctively.

“Yes, ma’am!” I squeaked, nodding obediently.  She was gone for about ten minutes, and when she returned she declared, “God, you stink.  We’re leaving now; I can’t stand it for much longer.”  I was nauseatingly lifted over the bars and back down to the floor; she didn’t want to carry my urine-stained body to the car.  “Come on,” she said forcefully as she headed toward the elevator at a brisk walk – a brisk walk for her, that is.  For me, I literally couldn’t sprint fast enough to keep up, drawing several stern reprimands from her.

Once I reached her car, well after her and out of breath, she was about to open the passenger side door but reconsidered.  “Well, there’s no way I’m letting you stink up my leather interior.”  With haughty strides, she walked to the trunk and opened it, standing to the side and holding it up with her arm.  She couldn’t mean …

I hesitated for a second too long.  “Hurry up,” she commanded.  This was humiliating, but given the circumstances the last thing I wanted was to disobey her.  I jumped up and tried to reach my arms over the bumper and grasp the edge of the trunk.  I was just tall enough to get my fingertips around it but was in no position to pull myself up from there.  Ms. Adams gave an annoyed sigh and brusquely lifted my body by the back of my shirt and dumped me unceremoniously into the trunk, shutting it and leaving me in complete darkness.  I couldn’t believe it.

The floor of the trunk rumbled as the engine was ignited, and before I thought to brace myself the car accelerated backwards and to the left, then forward and to the right as she pulled out of the parking spot.  My tiny body went tumbling to and fro opposite to the acceleration as she continued to veer side to side and change speed.  Whether she was intentionally driving recklessly, or my tiny body couldn’t anticipate when or where it was coming, I was unable to avoid rolling around and slamming painfully into the sides of the trunk.  Soon I realized my safest option was to lie flat with limbs outstretched, but even still the flat surface of the trunk gave little resistance as I continued to slide about, trapped in a pitch black hell with no way to guess which way my body would get thrown next.

We finally arrived at my house.  A blinding light flashed in front of my eyes as an enormous arm opened the trunk and reached for me.  I wasn’t given an option to get out myself, since the huge hand simply flipped my body over and grabbed the back of my shirt again, but this time I wasn’t let down once I was out of the trunk.  All I could see were two legs the size of tree trunks whooshed forward then backward as my captor walked toward the front door.  I lifted my head as far as I could and saw the bottom of the door frame; this wasn’t my house.  It must be Ms. Adams’s.

In our two years as friends, she had never once invited me here; it probably felt too personal, like it would imply romance or something.  But why would she have any reservations about bringing a child, right?  She hauled my 15-pound body up to what must have been her kitchen counter and more-or-less dropped me onto the hard floor.  I didn’t dare cry out in pain, though.  Instead, I picked myself up and looked around.  She had a nice pad: though it was small like a typical 1-bedroom apartment, it was well-furnished (and, who was I kidding, any room looked huge from my perspective).

Ms. Adams set her purse down on the counter and walked toward the kitchen.  Instinctively, I began to follow her until she glanced over and said, “Stay still.  I don’t want your piss all over my house.”  Was this really the same woman I knew the last two years?  I remained perfectly still, even keeping my head and arms motionless for good measure.  I heard the faucet running and assumed she got herself a drink, though she was out of my vision.  Then she left for a few minutes doing who-knows-what, but still I didn’t move a muscle, hoping to send the right message.

After a good bit of time, I heard the shower turn on, and a few seconds later she emerged into sight.  I almost took a step toward her but reminded myself not to just in time.  As if retrieving some dirty laundry, she carelessly bent down and grabbed me by the back of my shirt again, whisking me into the air towards the bathroom.

Setting me down roughly in the middle of the bathroom floor, she turned and closed the door then sat on the edge of the closed toilet seat and pulled me toward her, her calves looming like two mighty pillars on either side of my body.

With both hands she grabbed the bottom of my shirt and abruptly yanked it up over my head, causing my downturned arms to flail painfully up over my head as the shirt was removed.  Tossing it on the floor, her hands immediately started untying the cord that served as a belt for my toddler’s shorts.  “I can do this for you, Ms. Adams,” I told her, phrasing it as a generous offer instead of telling her I didn’t want to be undressed like a child.

“Keep quiet unless I say something to you,” she ordered flatly, briskly pulling my shorts down around my ankles.  Instead of letting me step out of them, she found it more convenient to lift me into the air and shake me a bit until they fell off – after all, I weighed practically nothing to her.  While I was in the air, she held my arms up with one hand then reached the other one down to undo my shoelaces and remove both my socks and shoes, saying, “Gross …” as they had received the lion’s share of my urine.  Tossing them aside, she roughly plopped me down and reached for my underwear.

I desperately wanted to protest since, despite our recent, um, ‘disagreements,’ I still didn’t want my former best friend to see me naked; yes, I once had quite a crush on her and, admittedly, still had sexual thoughts when I looked at her, and recently she had even admitted she had had a crush on my too!  But the way she was doing all of this was so completely non-sexual.  After all, such concerns would never even remotely cross her mind if she were undressing and bathing a 2-year-old, and likewise she now viewed my child’s body in the same way.

But even though I still absolutely abhorred everything about this situation, I had received such a thorough lesson in obedience these last few weeks that I was able to remain silent as she yanked off my underwear, as carelessly as the other articles of clothing.

Then, as I stood inches from her massive form, she began to remove some of her own clothing – first her heels, then her pantyhose, and then her suit jacket, exposing the skimpy white tank top underneath.  Damn, didn’t I tell you I still had sexual thoughts about her?  Her firm, trim body was on full display before me, covered only by a short skirt and partially see-through undershirt.  And now every one of her curves that I had admired over the last two years were blown up to ridiculous proportions.  Her once average-sized breasts had become, from my perspective, absolutely massive, and nearly as big as Mommy’s.

Either she didn’t notice or didn’t care about my reaction, because she didn’t respond to it at all and instead stood up over me.  Literally over me, as for a brief second with her legs on either side of me I looked straight up and saw the underside of her silken underwear with the outline of her cameltoe hanging well over my head.  But that moment quickly passed as she stepped forward, simply walking over me like I was nothing.  Then, before I could react, I went hurling through the air as she carried me to the bathtub and stood me in the middle of the stream from the already-running shower.  I shrieked in surprise and pain at the scalding, boiling hot water.  “It might be hotter than you’d like, but that’s to kill any germs on your filthy body.”  The entire 5-minute shower was absolute hell, thanks to the scalding water and the equally brutal way in which every inch of my body was scrubbed down and thoroughly cleaned.  Though she used a luffa, which would normally be soft and soothing, the rough, workmanlike treatment of her incredibly strong muscles (compared to mine, anyway) against my tiny body left my skin raw and probably bruised, though it was hard to tell if those bruises were more from the car ride or the shower.

It was such a stark contrast to the one or two pleasurable showers I had had with Mommy – there was no pleasure in this one; it was brutal.  And the drying process after the shower was almost as rough, but soon enough she had me cleaned and dried, standing bare naked before her towering form.  But apparently even though I was clean she still didn’t want me walking around her house; her two hands locked around my chest, her fingers easily overlapping, and she swiftly transported me to her bedroom and sat down on the corner of the bed with my naked body in her lap.

“Let’s see, it’s … 3:15,” she said, looking at the clock.  “Almost 4 hours until we have to leave.”  Seeing my frightened expression, she told me, “Don’t worry; your punishment won’t take that long.  Your mother wants me to soften you up, not break you.”  I guess that was somewhat comforting …

“Well, let’s get started.”

Before she began, though, I wanted to convey to her how deeply sorry I was for all the hurt I had caused her.  As I was thinking about since we left the office, I realized it didn’t make any damned difference whether I was ‘innocent’ or whatever; I could only think about the horrible change I had caused in her and, though I knew it was certainly too late to make amends, I wanted to at least tell her how sorry I was.  “Ms. Adams, I just wanted to—“

“No, Jimmy.  I told you not to speak unless spoken to.  That’s going to cost you a few extra spanks.”

I grimaced at the mention of spanks, but nodded submissively.  Then, she calmly turned me over her lap and delivered a fairly routine spanking compared to what I had received in the past weeks, except with one major difference: her hand, which a week ago had seemed like a couple of 2-by-4s slamming into my ass, now was more like a whole goddamned sheet of iron being dropped again and again on not only my buttocks but my upper thigh and lower back as well, so huge was her hand now.  Some blows were harder than others, ranging from holy-shit-my-ass-will-be-sore-for-a-whole-goddamned-week hard to dear-god-I-will-never-walk-again hard.

I have no freakin’ idea how long it lasted; I only know when the coccyx-shattering blows ceased and the intense ache from the accumulated force of all the blows took over, keeping me in agony for quite some time afterwards.  Needless to say, the entire time I was bawling my eyes out, creating a puddle on the floor below my downturned face.

“OK, all done,” Ms. Adams said lightly, as if relieved that this minor inconvenience for her was out of her way, “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”  She rotated me until I faced her, my ass landing on her thigh with a brutal reminder of what had just happened to it.

I didn’t answer, still wiping the tears from my eyes.  It was almost as if I had been spanked too hard; my mind wasn’t able to cope with the pain and therefore unable to convert it into delirious submission and pathetic supplications.  Instead, I was left sullen and dazed, only glad that that ordeal was over.

It was a damned good thing that Ms. Adams wasn’t at all emotionally invested in the procedure herself, since I hadn’t directly wronged her this time and she was well used to my naughty antics.  “Well, I’m sure it wasn’t too bad, since I made sure to be quite a bit gentler this time.”  My eyes went wide for a flash, realizing that the inconceivable pain I had just experienced wasn’t nearly all she could give.  I could only wonder what could have happened if she wasn’t feeling so … lenient.

“I only gave a light spanking since, well, frankly, what you did today wasn’t nearly the worst thing you’ve done.”  No, in her mind that distinction would go to the babysitter incident.  “Besides, we both know you never really learn anything from your spankings, isn’t that right?”

“Yes, ma’am, absolutely.”  I would say yes to literally anything she said at this point.  All I could think was: No. More. Spanking.

“That’s right, Jimmy,” she said, as if teaching a child.  “Now, I’m going to go relax for a while.  Hmm, maybe watch some TV.”

“That sounds good, ma’am.”

“…Yeah, I think that’s what I’ll do.”  With that, she stood and carried my still-nude body toward the living room.  Wow, I thought, though the spanking was brutal, at least I was actually going to be able to lay back and relax for a while, a luxury I practically never had now, unless you count sitting in a 4-foot enclosure with nothing to do all day.  Considering my ass still stinging with pain, I would probably be lying on my stomach, but still.

“What are we watching, ma’am?” I said as sweetly as possible.  Honestly I would watch anything, but I just thought I’d make a little chit-chat since things seemed to be going well.

“We?” she asked sardonically.  After a pause, she laughed and said, “Oh, you thought I was offering to let YOU watch TV.  Oh, dear …”

“But I just assumed, since my punishment time is over …”

“Oh, is it?” she asked, raising her eyebrow at me.  In a questioning tone, she asked, “Tell me honestly.  Do you think you’ve been punished enough for today’s incident?  A little boy drinking beer, AND wetting himself – and all because he disobeyed his guardians and left his play pen.  Have you received enough punishment for all that?”  It didn’t sound like a leading question, more like a genuine inquiry as to my opinion.

I wasn’t sure how to proceed; would she really let me off the hook if I said yes?  I thought about risking it, but then my mind returned to what had been troubling me all afternoon: my heavy guilt from what I did to her last week.  Again, whether or not I was truly ‘guilty’, I felt I owed it to her to at least apologize.

“Um, Ms. Adams …” I started, trying to find my words.

“Yes, Jimmy, is there something you would like to say to me?” she was holding me again with both hands around my chest, suspending me in midair a few inches from her body.

“Yes, ma’am, um … I just wanted to say that … well, I know I can never, ever make it up to you, I’m really, really sorry about what horrible things I did to you last week.  I was foolish and naughty, and I betrayed your trust and I know you might never be the same again.”

Her face wasn’t stern, nor soft – that would imply that I still had any emotional sway over her.  But I didn’t.  Her face remained purely emotionless, showing no feeling either way towards me.  “So …?” she said expectantly.

“Huh?” I asked, taken aback by her bizarre response.

“What’s your answer to the question?” she said, still staring at me blankly.

It was as if my apology hadn’t even registered for her, so little did she value it.  “Oh … uh, no ma’am, I deserve to be punished more for what I did today … and last week.”  I said this, because I had a feeling my punishment would only be worse otherwise.

“Oh good – I agree,” she replied dispassionately.

Still bewildered, I had to ask, “Um … can I ask why you’re so … emotionless?”

She shrugged.  “Well, if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that I can’t trust anything you say, even after a beating.  So your apology is irrelevant to me.  But I will go ahead and fulfill your wish to be punished, since you do at least seem more obedient for a short while after, and that will serve us nicely this evening – it’ll be important then.  So, whether you take it personal or not, I really don’t care – but just know that your next punishment will be serving a very specific purpose.

“Now, let’s see … it should be something that I don’t have to actively participate in, since I do want to relax, but also something worthwhile, something that will make you focus on your punishment and not let your mind wander … hmm.”  She thought about how to torture me as if it were as harmless as what to have for dinner that night.  Speaking of dinner, I hadn’t had a bite to eat since breakfast and I was absolutely starving …

“Ah, I think I have just the thing.  Stay here,” she told me, setting my naked body on the floor next to her.  Opening the nearby hallway closet, she began clearing it out by moving its contents out into the hall.  “There, all clear.  Now if I can just get this board off … Aha!  Got it.”  She pulled down the board that was resting horizontally above the coat hooks, meant for storing things up high.

She opened up a ladder that was already in the closet and climbed up to the ceiling inside the closet.  “Hmm … this light fixture should do just fine,” she commented.  I had a bad feeling about this …

“OK, all set.  Come here please,” she told me as she went back down the ladder and picked up an empty coat hanger that had been in the closet.  Twirling it absentmindedly in her hands, she asked, “So, Jimmy, this is your last chance.  Are you sure you deserve be punished?”

I gulped, not knowing what good could come from this punishment.  “Uhh …”

“Just know that, if you say no, I’m going to expect a good explanation as to why you changed your mind.”  I gulped, even louder this time.  Of course, there was no good explanation, other than being scared shitless of what her corrupted mind had devised for me.  It only made me more afraid of her that she was pretending to give me an ‘option’ in my punishment, just to see what I would say.

“Yes, ma’am, I deserve to be punished,” I replied, lowering my head dejectedly.

“Excellent.  Now, how tall are you exactly?”  All her questions sounded so innocent, but I knew there must be a sinister plot beneath.

“Um, 2 foot 8 inches, ma’am.  I think.”

“Mmhmm,” she said pensively.  “And how high do you think this ceiling is?”

“I-I don’t know, ma’am.”  All I knew is it was way the hell up there.  “Most ceilings are about 8 feet, I think,” I replied, recalling that I used to be able to touch my ceiling at home when I was 6’6”.

“OK, but I know these are higher than normal, so I’m gonna say 10 feet.  So, you were always better at math.  What’s 78 divided by 32?”

What a weird-ass question.  “Umm…”  I thought for a long minute, my mind out of practice after not performing any math for so long.

But finally, I replied, “About … 2.5 I think?”

“Yep, now multiply that by 10, will you.”

I blinked in confusion, but replied simply, “25.”

“Good, good … now try to imagine what a 25-foot drop would be like at your old height – about like falling from a 3rd story window, right?”

A sinking feeling gripped my chest as the realization of what she was talking about began to sink in.  78 inches was my old height; 32 inches was my current height – and multiplying by 10 would convert a 10 foot drop to how it would be at my old height …

“Grab on to the bar, little guy,” she said, not without excitement in her voice, holding out the hanger for me to reach.  I shook my head no, out of pure fear – but she immediately nipped my resistance in the bud by saying simply, “I’ll count to three, then another spanking – full force, this time.”

I yelped in terror and grabbed the bar with both hands even before she finished saying ‘One.’  My heart was pounding as I felt the bar in my hands.  It was a nice wooden hanger used for coats and suits, and the bar was basically a wooden dowel, normally quite thin but now providing a substantial width for me to wrap my fingers around.  I began to tremble in fear as she happily said, “Don’t let go!” and lifted the hanger up, carrying me with it.  I was in the air now, literally holding on by nothing but my two hands around the bar.

It wasn’t long before the veracity of my mental math was confirmed – the sheer distance being put between me and the floor was quickly becoming truly, utterly terrifying, just like hanging from a pole two or three stories in the air with nothing below me.  Could a human being survive such a long fall?  I wasn’t sure, but I had very serious doubts …

As I clung desperately to the wooden dowel supporting my entire weight, I felt one last bounce and then the hanger was still.  Looking up, I saw that she had tucked the hook over the top edge of the base of the light fixture; this particular fixture was not made to look pretty and had an exposed circuit box, the metal frame that holds all the wires and plugs.  There was a nice nook in the top for the hook of the hanger to rest in, allowing it to hang freely from the ceiling.

“There we go,” she said, satisfied with her handiwork, removing her hand and watching me at eye level as I kept a death grip on the bar to keep from plummeting from my height of 25 (effective) feet.  I figured MAYBE I would limp away with only a few broken bones – if I was very lucky.

Surely she couldn’t be serious about letting me hang here – surely this was just a scare tactic, just to scare some ‘sense’ into me … right!??  She would let me down soon, wouldn’t she?  Or catch me if I started to fall???

But if that was her intention, she sure as hell didn’t look like it.  She started down the ladder, all the way to the bottom, pulling the ladder out of the closet along with her – HOLY FUCKING SHIT, I think she was really going through with this … Jesus, didn’t she know I could die – LITERALLY DIE here, if she left now??

All that Kyra had done to me in the past weeks had paled in comparison to this – because my life had never been in danger.  Certainly, plenty of serious, irreparable damage had been done to my psyche from the endless slew of dehumanizing trials I had had to endure – but I never in my life felt so gripped with terror as right at this particular moment …

She was leaving – she was closing the door!!!  “WAIT, PLEASE!!” I exclaimed.  She paused and looked up at me with disconnected curiosity.  “You can’t just leave me here, I could get seriously hurt, o-or DIE!!”

She cocked her head in mild confusion and said, “Well yeah, that’s the point.  You need to think that; you need to feel the seriousness of it, or else you’ll never learn your lesson well enough.  But the human mind can do amazing things when it’s really put to the test – I’m sure you’ll be fine, just keep your hands on the bar.”

“WHAT!!?” I practically screamed.  “I can’t hold on forever!!!”

“Jiiimmmy,” she warned, stepping back up so that her face was even with mine.  “That’s no way to speak to an adult.”

Christ – was she really lecturing me at a time like this?  It was like she just didn’t ‘get’ the peril I was in.

My blood was boiling in a combination of vitriol and dread, but somehow I managed to overcome my debilitating emotions for the sake of pure survival, and say to her in as nice a voice as I could manage, “I’m sorry, ma’am.  I’ve changed my mind; I don’t want to be punished anymore.”

She simply gave a condescending smile and told me, “I already gave you your last chance to back out, remember?”

I was unable to contain all of my emotions any longer as I kicked my legs in frustration and said, still trying to sound nice but my voice clearly strained, “Please, Ms. Adams, please just spank me again, or humiliate me, or whatever you want, just NOT THIS.”

“Are you listening to me?” she asked, slightly peeved at my ‘unwarranted’ resistance.  “I told you there’s no backing out now.  Seriously, Jimmy, you only weight 15 pounds, how hard can it be?  You’re just being melodramatic.”  I opened my mouth to give one last desperate plea, but she put a finger to my mouth and said, “Uh-uh, Jimmy.  Time to be quiet, OK?  I’m going to go watch TV, and I do NOT want to hear anything from this closet while I’m gone.  Got it?”

I didn’t answer, my mind overrun with bitter insults I wanted to hurl at her.  “Alright??” she repeated, more forcefully this time.  I manage to control my temper and nod slowly in the affirmative.  “Good boy,” she replied, playfully wiggling my nose with her finger.  As she descended, though, she paused and looked back up to ask, off-the-cuff, “Oh yeah – would you like the light on or off?”

Why the hell would I want the light on?  It would be bright as hell, plus I didn’t really want to be able to look down and see how close – or rather, far—my impending doom was.  But I remembered her interdiction against speaking and kept quiet.

Ms. Adams gave a short laugh and said, “It’s OK, Jimmy.  I’ll let you speak, just this once.”

“Light off, please,” I replied curtly.

“OK.  I’ll be back at some point to check on you,” she told me with complete indifference, flipping the switch and then shutting the door.  I was in complete darkness, except for a sliver of light from beneath the door, 25 feet below, as if it were a landing strip to guide my death-plunge.  Oh good, I thought bitterly, now when I fall I’ll be able to watch the floor approaching …

Honestly, I didn’t believe that she would leave me hanging her for long.  I still held out hope that she would not be too serious about this and would return in 5 minutes, maybe 10, and ask if I had learned my lesson, to which I would obediently and urgently reply in the affirmative.

But at least 20 minutes must have gone by, with no sign of Ms. Adams.  My hands were already very sore from the nonstop grip I had to put on the bar.  I wasn’t in too much danger of my hands slipping –at least, not yet –but I remained in a constant state of fear and anxiety, knowing how perilous my situation was, and how much more perilous it would become if she left me in here much longer.  After all, I wouldn’t even have to try in order to fall off – I would simply have to STOP trying, effectively; simply give up for just one single moment, just let go, and gravity would do the rest for me.  My breaths were short and my pulse quick as I listened hopefully for any sign of Ms. Adams and an end to my torture.

After I had been hanging there for probably 30 minutes, give or take, I heard the sound I had been praying for: the unmistakable sound of footsteps approaching my closet.  My heart was pounding a mile a minute as I saw the shadows of her feet underneath the door, and then the closet was flooded with light as she opened it and stepped in.  Without speaking, she stared up at me for a few moments, and since she had faced my body towards the doorway I was able to tilt my head down and look at her from my lofty height.  Why is she just standing there?  She’s going to put an end to this, right?

No.  She stepped back and began to close the door.  “Wait!” I exclaimed frantically.  “Please, Ms. Adams, I can’t hold on much longer!”  She peered up at me and paused for a moment, considering what to do with me.  She then walked away but left the door open.  What could that mean?

I soon found out she was just retrieving something for me, and when she returned she brought the ladder with her so she could climb up to me.  This was it – she was going to save me!  I almost felt gratitude for her, though of course she was the one who did this to me in the first place.  But I was just so damned glad to be over this awful episode …

She reached the top of the ladder and told me haughtily, “Well, I was thinking about helping you out a bit by taping your hands to the hanger.”  I saw what she held in her hand: a roll of packing tape.  “But,” she continued, with disappointment in her voice, “it really doesn’t seem like you’ve learned your lesson yet.”

Oh God.  “I have!” I whined.

“No, you haven’t,” she told me matter-of-factly.

“But … I know I deserve to be punished, but this is just insane!”

She shook her head at me tragically and sighed, “You deserve way worse than this, and you know it.”

Something must have snapped in her mind, back when I had ‘betrayed’ her initially – because surely this punishment now was far beyond anything I had really done to her, but she seemed completely incapable of seeing otherwise.  I began to protest, “But—“

“It’s time for you to shut up, now, Jimmy.  I told you not to speak.”  She tore off a piece of tape.

“B-But I HAVE learned my lesson!” I pleaded again, in desperation.

“You’re joking, right?” she replied with utter condescension.  “If you had really learned your lesson, you wouldn’t be yelling at me and carrying on like this – you would have learned to behave by now.  But you haven’t.”

I couldn’t contain my pent-up rage and frustration any longer.  “You can’t do this to me!  Let me down n—“  My words were cut off by the large piece of tape being slapped across my face, completely cutting off all air to my mouth.

“You had better cool your jets by the time I return,” she threatened.  Then she angrily descended, pulled out the ladder again, but left the light on this time as she slammed the door behind her.

Meanwhile, I had continued to shout at the top of my lungs, but this only produced a quiet mumbling noise from my covered mouth.  I kicked my legs in frustration as she closed the door, but I immediately stopped as I felt my hand slip a bit due to my flailing.  In a moment of sheer, utter, unreasoning panic, I forgot my anger and focused all my efforts on regaining my grip and securing it as best as I could.

The light above my head was blindingly bright, only a few inches from my hair and even closer to my hands stretched above me.  I had to keep my head down to cope with the intensity of the light, and as I looked down I saw in perfect detail the deep chasm stretching far below my feet.  I gulped at the very visible reminder of my peril, and my terror was only accentuated by my keen fear of heights that, unfortunately, I had always had.

When I wasn’t thinking about falling, my mind focused on Ms. Adams, that mean, horrible bitch who truly didn’t give a damn about my well-being.  Perhaps she actually didn’t comprehend the danger she had put me in, but I wouldn’t be surprised if she knew exactly how terrified and imperiled I was, and I was sure she was LOVING every second of it, relaxing on the couch and knowing she had me inches from brutal injury or death.  My rage began to boil to such a degree that I unconsciously squeezed the bar far too strongly with my hands, causing a jolt of pain which almost caused me to involuntarily release my grip.  Again, my anger was immediately washed away as I was forced to concentrate solely on my survival and the repositioning of my hands.  My fingers were truly aching at this point, but my resolve was strong enough to maintain my steady grip for now.

After a few minutes, though, a new problem slowly began cropping up.  For the first half hour, the relatively cool air of the closet had kept my hands from sweating much at all, but the heat of the 100 W incandescent bulb mere inches from my hands was starting to have a dramatic effect on the temperature of my hands.  I could feel a thin layer of sweat begin to coat the skin of my hands, causing them to become slippery –EXACTLY the last thing I wanted to happen …

My body began to tremble in fear as I was forced to increase the strength of my grip to prevent slippage.  I didn’t know how long I could have held on otherwise, but this new hazard certainly reduced my chances of surviving much longer.  I probably would have even risked calling out to Ms. Adams and plead desperately, in hopes that she would at the very least turn the light off.  But, of course, the tape stuck securely to my mouth gave no chance of her hearing my muffled cries.  It was sickening, being tortured like this and not even having the privilege of begging or apologizing.  There was simply nothing I could do to summon her back in, for any reason – not until SHE wanted to come back.

An untold length of time elapsed as I continued to struggle, with each passing minute having to summon all my strength and concentration just to survive for a minute longer, only to have to begin my struggles anew, now just that much more tired and sore and that much more likely to have my hands fail.  It was incredible, really, that I had been able to go on so long; I knew I couldn’t keep this up, yet somehow deep within me my animal survival instincts kept me going, allowing me to hold on well after my mind held any hope of surviving this ordeal.  At least Ms. Adams had been right – so far – about the mind being capable of incredible things when put to the test.  But I also knew that everyone had their breaking point …

How long had I been hanging now, without reprieve, having to constantly readjust my slippery hands?  An hour?  Two?  Maybe even longer??  Or maybe it was less, but just felt longer – I had no idea.  All conception of time faded away as my entire being was focused on one thought: Hold.

I heard a noise.  In bewilderment, I opened my eyes and saw the door opening and the huge form of Ms. Adams stepping forward.  I was unsure what to make of this: either she was an angel, sent from heaven to save my life in my last hour of need, or the devil herself, coming to speed my descent down, down, so far down.  It was long since I had felt any anger towards her, my mind being completely overrun with the fear of mortality, not a single other thought entering my mind but that.

As she roughly dragged the ladder under me and climbed, I could tell she was very upset.  Somehow, probably through sheer adrenaline, my mind managed to refocus on the world and on her, able to hear her words.  Once she was at eye level, she squinted her eyes at me and said viciously, “So you don’t think you deserve this punishment, do you?  Don’t think this is appropriate for what you did to me?  Well, why don’t you take a step back from your own selfish worldview and consider for once how I felt.  You were my BEST FRIEND, you son of a bitch, and despite the endless slew of naughty things you did, I still believed in you, I still HUNG ON to our friendship.”  As she said this, she rattled the top of the hanger to make sure I got the analogy; of course, this sudden jostling almost gave me a heart attack as I felt my fingers begin to slide off, a burst of adrenaline being the only thing that gave me the strength to keep from plummeting to my demise – and I knew she wouldn’t even attempt to catch me if I fell.

She continued acrimoniously, “How the hell do you think I felt, hearing you spew lie after lie but trusting in your goodness, CLINGING ON desperately to my hope that you still cared about my feelings and still had some common decency.”  Her hand reached up over my head.  “My faith in you would be RATTLED from time to time”—she shook my hanger forcefully, causing me to scream in terror through my closed mouth and grip my fingers around the bar as if my life depended on it – because it did.  I didn’t even have time to cringe at the terrible puns she was making …

She continued, “But I wouldn’t let go, not for anything, cherishing our bond of friendship above everything else.  And then, finally” –to my horror, she lifted the hanger off the light fixture and dangled it high in her hand, intentionally dipping me slightly up and down in the air as she spoke –“I discovered the truth, unmistakable and undeniable, that you were lying.  About EVERYTHING.”  In my delirium, I fancied I saw her eyes light up in flames; yes, she was indeed the Devil incarnate, and the last remnant of hope escaped me as I accepted death as certain.  “So, now you are going to experience something of the pain I felt, the incredible AGONY as I was ripped from my supports”—A violent shake of my hanger jarred my left hand loose, now leaving me only the very tips of the fingers on my right hand to cling feebly to the bar in the last few seconds of my pitiful existence –“the pain of knowing I could no longer truly trust another human being, the despair of falling helplessly with no one to save me …”

With one last yank of the hanger, my fingertips slipped off the bar leaving nothing but air to hold on to as I began to fall.  In that split second, I was almost glad it was finally happening –No, I was overjoyed, at the prospect of leaving behind my miserable life, which over the last few weeks had become nothing but endless torment and humiliation.  I released myself from the world …

My freefall was suddenly brought to a halt, far sooner than I had expected.  In fact, what was underneath me was far too soft and warm to be the hardwood floor down below.  I thought I had closed my eyes for the last time, yet I opened them again, and my vision was filled with the enraged visage of Ms. Adams, only a foot above me.  She had caught me in midair.  I was wrong – she had actually caught me.

My body went slack as I passed out for a few brief moments.  By the time I came to, she had descended the ladder and was bending down to pick up a few lengths of rope she had brought over, anticipating her need for them.  She dumped me onto the ground – though from a height that didn’t kill me –and tightly bound my arms together, then my feet, and then brought all four limbs together and secured them in a hog tie.  With her massive foot, she slid my body across the floor back into the closet and slammed the door, leaving my arms and legs painfully immobilized in front of me.

For a long time I was left there to wallow in misery, unable to adjust my position in the slightest and unable to put together a complete thought in my agony.  Over the next couple hours, though, my psyche had recovered just enough that I was able to think back in disbelief to the horrors I had just been put through and reflect that this punishment had been by far the worst I had ever experienced.

The only sound I could hear, apart from my shallow breaths, was a faint mumble from the TV as she watched her shows.  It sounded like Wheel of Fortune; I recalled from our years as friends that she loved game shows.  Oh, Amy, she was so wonderful back then, so full of joy and compassion; she was everything good with the world.  And I had just experienced first-hand how deranged and corrupted Ms. Adams had become, a far cry from the woman I used to know.  My mind was broken down and beaten, until finally I began to accept that I was 100% responsible for everything that had been done to her.  And all the horrible things I did to her could never have been done if I were a grown man, able to make moral decisions on my own.  She was absolutely right: I could not be trusted to make my own decisions anymore; I had to be told what to do.

Just before 7:00, Ms. Adams came and collected the sad heap laying on the floor of the closet, tossing me into a duffel bag, carrying me out the front door, and dropping me like a 15-pound sack of potatoes into the trunk of her car, her mission having been thoroughly accomplished indeed.

*********

The trunk was opened back up and I was picked up and hauled in a similar fashion until being dumped onto some unknown floor.  After my bag was unzipped a pair of enormous hands reached in and pulled me out.

“Oh my,” I heard Ms. Johnson’s voice say.  As my eyes adjusted to the light, I discovered I was in the middle of the living room floor at my house, encircled by the sitting forms of Ms. Johnson, Ms. Adams, and Kyra, who were patiently watching my every movement.

“Part of the punishment?” Ms. Johnson added, referring to my hog-tied arms and legs and taped mouth.  “Too bad I missed it.”

“Yep, I could have done worse, but I didn’t want to spoil him for tonight.”  I looked up at her with a pathetic grimace, truly unable to imagine a more severe punishment than what she had delivered.

“Thanks for that, Amy,” Kyra told her judiciously.  But then her eyes met mine and I was struck by the sudden warmth and tenderness of her gaze.  “But it’s time for you to be untied now, Jimmy,” she whispered soothingly.  “Your punishment is over – forever.  You will never have to be punished again.”  What!!?  Did I hear her right???  Like my guardian angel, she reached down and removed my ropes as well as the tape covering my mouth.

She – She had freed me!  I hardly knew how to react to this complete reversal of fortunes.  I had resolved to think of her as Kyra, not Mommy, now that I remembered the countless evil deeds she had bestowed upon me.  I was convinced she was utterly heartless and incapable of true compassion.  But, as I gazed upon her, basking in her warm smile and loving eyes, all my doubts about her now seemed foolish and absurd – this was my mother, and she loved me.

In retrospect, it may have been my unbalanced emotional state getting the better of me, but at the time I was elated.  Once freed, I rushed up to her and threw my arms around her neck, telling her, “Thank you, Mommy!  Thank you, thank you!”

“Aww, you’re welcome, sweetie,” she replied warmly, wrapping her own arms around my frail body in a long embrace.  Afterwards, she gently guided my body into the crook of her arm and cradled me against her chest.  Wearing a soft pink t-shirt which draped loosely over her enormous bosom, her body felt wonderfully warm and soft as I nestled against her happily.  My miniature hand pawed greedily at the top of her breast, marveling at how impossibly soft it felt … Oh my God, she wasn’t wearing a bra.  As I lost myself in ecstasy I reflected that it was only an hour or two ago that I, fearing death, had thrown away all hope of comfort and happiness from another human being, yet here I was, overwhelmed with emotion as I clutched her tightly, never wanting to let go.

After a few sublime minutes, Mommy continued, “That’s right, Jimmy.  Very soon there will no longer be any need to discipline you, not after tonight.”

I gazed up into her eyes lovingly, trusting her completely yet still curious.  “What will happen tonight, Mommy?”

She flashed me another heartwarming smiles and said, “You’re about to find out, little one.  Becky, would bring your things over?  Now is the time.”  I had actually forgotten the other two were there, being so absorbed in Mommy’s presence.

With the aid of Ms. Adams, Ms. Johnson dragged over a huge box which was far taller than me.  I looked up in curiosity as she opened the box and dug around some inside.  “What first?” she asked.

“Let’s do the clothes first, since he’s already naked.”  I had even forgotten about that, and I felt more than slightly embarrassed when I realized I had been lying in Mommy’s arms with a hard-on in plain sight of Ms. Adams and Ms. Johnson.

But, as I saw what clothes were being pulled out of the box, I wondered if I wouldn’t rather remain naked instead of wearing them.  The first article of clothing that emerged was a tiny light blue shirt that said “Baby Boy” in big bubble letters across the front, followed by a matching pair of short fuzzy socks with cute little balls dangling from the top.  No doubt about it, they were baby clothes.

Mommy set me down on the carpet in front of her, and I immediately spun around and pleaded, “Mommy, no!  I don’t want those!”

“It’s OK, honey, they’ll look perfect on you.”

“B-But they’re BABY clothes!”

“Uh-huh!” she replied cheerfully, and though I tried to move away Mommy’s hands held me steady as Ms. Adams raised my arms over my head so that Ms. Johnson could lower the shirt over my body.  The sleeves were just a bit too short, but it was plenty wide enough for my tiny chest –actually, it was oversized.  Next, my feet were lifted one by one to put my socks on, and I looked down in horror at my ridiculous outfit, wondering what was going to cover my private parts …  I heard a rustling noise as Ms. Johnson picked up a clear plastic bag with a label on the front: Boys Small Diapers.  

My knees gave out from under me, but thanks to Mommy’s support I remained on my feet.  Ms. Johnson ripped the bag open and pulled out a white diaper then kneeled in front of me and handed it to Mommy, asking her, “Would you like to do the honors?”

“Sure.  Would you mind holding him down?  I have a feeling he might want to run.”  Damned right, I wanted to run.  I wanted to get the hell away from this whole nightmare.  The thought of it had jolted me from my temporary bliss.  But as I was transferred from one set of giant hands to another my only option was to yell and kick my legs in the air like –well, exactly like a baby.

“Hush,” Mommy said soothingly as my back was lowered to the ground with my legs facing her.  “This will only take a second, honey.”  She paid no heed to the harmless blows of my feet as I continued to kick my legs about as hard as I could, sliding the diaper under my bottom then fastening the Velcro straps around my waist.  “There, all done!” she said ecstatically.  “Oh, this is so much fun!”

I didn’t agree, and I told her so with more loud whining.  “Quiet down, Jimmy; you’re being too loud.”

“I know how to fix that,” Ms. Johnson announced.  “Here.”  She handed something to Mommy who quickly wrapped it around my head and stuck it in my mouth.  My mouth was forced open by a large rubbery object which penetrated past my teeth and rested on my tongue.  What the fuck is this thing?  Though the material of it was soft and fitted my mouth well enough, the idea of having this huge thing stuck in my mouth was incredibly unpleasant.  It wasn’t quite apple-sized to me, but perhaps the size of a small orange.  My hands shot up to my mouth and clawed at it but were unable to budge it a single inch, since it was strapped on much too tightly for my weak arms to contend with.

“I bought this online,” Ms. Johnson told Mommy.  “Most pacifiers don’t have a strap, but I found this one to prevent him from removing it when he shouldn’t.”  Seeing my futile struggles, she added, “And it seems to be working perfectly.”  It was a god-damned pacifier!  It’s used to keep babies from crying, but I’m not a baby, damn it!!  But the irony was completely lost on me as I broke out in a bout of uncontrolled sobbing nonetheless, despite the presence of the large rubber nipple in my mouth which was forcing my tongue to remain on the floor of my mouth and prevented any possibility of articulating.

“There, there,” Mommy soothed, reaching her hand under my back to lift me toward her.  But in a moment of wild despair I rolled my body off her hand and bolted for the door.  “Let him go,” Kyra said.  The three of them stood and casually walked after me, knowing I had nowhere to run.  Reaching the door, I could just barely touch the bottom of the handle by jumping, but after several futile efforts of failing to turn it I gave up and slammed my fists against the wall in frustration.  I was trapped.

But then, to my bewilderment, the door opened beside me.  I spun my head in amazement as I saw Mommy pushing the door open above me.  In my desperate state, I didn’t take the time to contemplate the meaning of this surprising gesture, instead dashing out the front door and running like a mad man – or rather, mad baby – across the driveway and down the sidewalk.

I didn’t look back; I simply ran as fast as I possibly could.  I managed to run past the two neighboring houses by the time my short legs grew weary and I was forced to slow my pace.  At least I was out of sight of my house, and if by some miracle they were letting me go I would soon be free.

“How far should we let him run?” I heard the unmistakable voice of Ms. Adams booming above my head.  I spun my head around in horror and saw that the three of them were literally right behind me, easily keeping up with my frantic dashing by maintaining a brisk but comfortable walking speed.  I hadn’t heard their loud feet behind me as I ran at top speed.

“Let’s let him go until he runs out of steam.  It’ll be good for him,” my mother replied calmly as I kept pumping my legs recklessly at full speed.  Though I of course knew it was useless, I felt compelled to keep going, to fight them to the bitter end.

Passing a row of hedges, I saw an opportunity and took it, darting sideways in an attempt to reach the tall bushes and use my small height as an advantage and try to escape.  But, anticipating my move, Ms. Adams’s huge arm instantly dropped down and forced me back to the middle of the sidewalk.  I was running short of breath even quicker than normal since I was unable to breathe through my mouth thanks to the pacifier, and after passing just two more houses my strength was utterly spent and I my legs took another few wobbly steps before giving way and sending me head first towards the pavement.

But instead of crashing I was suddenly floating through the air as Mommy’s arm wrapped around my chest and lifted me to her shoulder.  “OK, let’s head back,” she told them calmly, not winded in the slightest as I lay in her arms panting heavily through my nose.  As I was carried back, I was reminded of the basketball matches we had played, back when I was around her height.  As inconceivable as it was now to think of myself as anywhere near as tall as her, I remembered that even then my stamina was no match for her, and she almost matched me in strength even when I outweighed her.  But now that even her legs alone were far taller than me and she outweighed me ten-fold, her physical superiority over me was nearly inconceivable.  As I rested in her long arms, utterly exhausted from the pitifully short distance I had run, I marveled at her magnificent body and began to understand just how helpless and dependent I was now, literally the size of a baby.  But as she held me tightly, her bosom pressed against the length of my torso, I realized that being small had its benefits – the smaller I was, the bigger and more glorious her body would feel to me, and the more I could rely on her for even the most basic tasks.  Gradually, over the next few moments as she carried me, I began to think, wouldn’t it be so much easier to relinquish myself to her, to give her complete control of every facet of my life, every decision, every action.  It would be so wonderful, not having to worry about anything, knowing Mommy would take care of it all.

But, as we stepped back inside the house, I was reminded of the pacifier in my mouth and the diaper on my hips, and I knew that I couldn’t give in to this, not at the cost of what tiny speck of manhood I still had left.  Though I couldn’t speak – and I knew it would be useless to anyway – I kept at least a small flickering flame of resistance alive within me.

*Gggrrhllhh*  My stomach rumbled loudly in an urgent reminder of my need to eat.  It was more than loud enough for all to hear.

“Uh-oh, is my wittle baby hungry?”  I nodded vigorously.  “That’s right, you haven’t eaten since this morning, have you?”  I shook my head no.  “Oh, I’m so sorry, baby!  Mommy won’t let that happen ever again, I promise.  Becky, did you bring anything for him?”

“I sure did.”  She fished out several small jars with variously colored contents.  As Mommy sat on the couch and Ms. Johnson brought them over to us, I saw that they were jars of Gerber baby food.  It appeared that my days of eating real food were at an end.

I was too starved to complain, though, and as that detestable pacifier was pulled off my mouth I eagerly awaited my dinner.  “Oh, here’s a bib, too,” Ms. Johnson offered, and it was quickly fastened around my neck.

Mommy removed my pacifier, dipped a spoon into the jar and brought a serving of green mush up to my mouth.  “Open wide!” she told me, very excited at this whole baby situation.  I did as she asked but almost gagged as I tasted the nasty goop.  It was pureed green beans with apparently no flavoring added.  God damn, was this what babies were forced to eat?  No wonder they refused their food so often.  Well, I acted no differently as I turned my head aside and closed my mouth, saying, “Nuh-uh,” in a show of disgust.  This caused what was left of the spoonful to smear across my cheek and down onto my bib.

“Jiimmmy,” Mommy warned with a slight edge to her voice.  “You’re going to eat this or you’re getting nothing at all.”

“But Mommy!” I whined, looking up at her pleadingly.  I only received a stern glare in response, letting me know beyond a doubt that she would carry out her threat if needed.  I allowed her to wipe my face clean, and then I reluctantly opened my mouth as another nasty spoonful assaulted my taste buds.  I quickly gulped it down and prepared myself for the next ‘bite’, though that was a poor word choice since there was no chewing necessary.

I continued to be fed in this manner as I finished the green bean paste and moved on to the slightly better carrot paste and then finally to the far more agreeable applesauce.  I burped contentedly as this last jar was finished, receiving more than my fill from these three small jars of baby food.

Mommy, however, decided I wasn’t done yet.  “Would you mind filling that bottle for me?  There’s some whole milk on the counter; I set it out a while ago to let it warm.”

“Sure, Kyra,” Ms. Adams agreed.

I told my Mommy, “I’m full.”

“Hush, little baby.  Mommy knows best.”  She thanked Ms. Adams as she took the filled baby bottle and forced the rubber nipple into my mouth, squeezing it until the warm milk gushed into my mouth.  I tried to protest again, but my mumbled cries were quickly silenced as I was forced to swallow the liquid to avoid inhaling it into my lungs.

It just kept on coming, faster than I could swallow it, causing milk to dribble down my chin from time to time.  “Whoopsies!” she would call out, dabbing my chin with the bib and giving me a temporary reprieve until she was done and more liquid entered my mouth.  I was way beyond full at this point, and during one of the pauses I pushed the bottle out of my mouth and exclaimed, “I can’t take anymore; I’m going to burst!”

Mommy giggled and replied lightly, “Don’t be silly; this milk is good for you.”  As she effortlessly pushed my hands away and forced the bottle back into my mouth, she added, “Besides, you’re looking awfully scrawny for a baby.  I’m gonna have to fatten you up to make you more soft and cuddly, like a baby should be!”  I was horrified by this news but had no choice but to keeping sucking down the warm milk as it flowed endlessly into my mouth.  I never used to drink milk when I could help it, and when I did it was always skim milk, but despite being overstuffed with it I had to admit that this whole milk tasted surprisingly good.  Perhaps my palate had somehow changed; I had even started to get used to the baby food, especially liking how easy it was to swallow without having to take the effort to chew it.  And this milk was leaving me with a warm, fuzzy feeling as my digestive system became saturated with the thick, rich liquid.

My eyelids were already drooping by the time Mommy decided I had drank enough.  “Aww, wittle baby is tiwerd, isn’t he?” she cooed down at me while lovingly pressing the entire length of my body to her bosom.  I hardly had the strength to nod as my eyelids shut completely and I drifted off into a contented slumber just a few moments later, held in the most comfortable location imaginable, between Mommy’s arms and her breasts.

* * *

I had very pleasant dreams, filled with thoughts and images of Mommy soothing me and caressing me.  It all felt wonderful until my lower body was suddenly and inexplicably submerged in a running stream of warm water flowing like a river in the area of my groin.  I woke up in the dark to find that it was not a river but only a puddle: a large puddle of urine filling the inside of my diaper, the by-product of all that milk I was forced to drink.

Being wrenched from my pleasant dream by this rude and unpleasant awakening caused me to cry out and, yes, even burst into sobs.  Remembering my humiliating conversion to babyhood only made matters worse, and I was unable to quell my baby-like crying while trapped in some unknown, dark room.  I got to my feet and pawed around in the dark, feeling rows of thick, vertical bars surrounding me on all sides, stretching up higher than I could reach.  Where was I, and why was I trapped here, and, most of all, where was my Mommy?  I continued to bawl loudly.

It wasn’t long before I heard several sets of footsteps pounding up the stairs and saw the room flooded with light as the door was opened.  Mommy stepped inside first, followed by the two other goddesses who apparently had stuck around to chat with their best friend.  I looked around and discovered that I was in my own bedroom, but not in my bed.  The bars surrounding me were the bars of the crib, close enough together that I wouldn’t be able to slip between them, and too smooth and tall for me to have any chance of climbing out.

“What’s the matter, baby?” Mommy’s concerned voice asked as she bent down and lifted me out of the crib.  As she put her hand under me she felt the tell-tale sloshing of fluids.  “Uh-oh,” she said.  “Looks like someone needs his diaper changed!”  She wasn’t at all mad at my lack of bladder control; instead, she seemed quite eager to carry out this motherly task for her little baby for the first time.

I managed to regain control of my emotions – probably due to being in the comfort of Mommy’s arms –and was now able to protest, “Please, Mommy, you don’t have to do this for me; I can change my own diaper – I mean, I don’t even need a diaper!”

Ms. Johnson snorted and replied, “So the little baby just wet himself and he still doesn’t think he needs a diaper!”  All three of them, even Mommy, laughed heartily at this, and even I had to admit she had a point.  Of course, I wasn’t the one who poured all that milk into me, but still …

We got back to the living room and Mommy set me down on the carpet.  With a sly smile, she told me, “OK, James”—ironically emphasizing my ‘adult’ name –“if you think you’re such a big boy, then go ahead and change yourself.”  The three of them stood around me, crossing their arms haughtily as I reached down to prove to them that I could do such a simple task.  I grabbed the Velcro straps around my waist, pulled, and …

Nothing happened.  With both hands, I yanked on one strap at a time, but my Lilliputian muscles were no match for the strong bond of the Velcro, obviously designed to prevent such attempts from baby-sized arms.

Ms. Adams snorted derisively while Ms. Johnson chuckled and said, “Not such a big boy after all.  If I were you I’d teach him a lesson after you take his diaper off,” slapping one hand against the other to get her point across.  I gulped, but Mommy, being the good mother she was, instead sat down in front of me, put her hands on my arms, and said with concern and compassion, “It’s OK, Jimmy.  You’re too little to help yourself now, but Mommy’s here for you.  Just admit that you’re too weak to change your own diaper, and that you need Mommy’s help.”

I wouldn’t have expected to agree to this so readily, but when I heard my mother’s soothing voice and heard the wisdom of her words, I found myself nodding and telling her, “Y-You’re right, Mommy.  I need you to change my diaper.”  I didn’t even lower my head in shame as I saw her pleased reaction to my response.

“Good boy,” she soothed, but as she was reaching down she paused and added, “One more thing: I want you to agree that you do need a diaper now.”

My face drooped into a frown.  There was no way I was prepared to tell her that.  “Mommy, I don’t think–“

She covered my mouth gently with two fingers and said softly, “Shhh.  Just think about it, Jimmy.  The toilet is far too big for you now.  And dangerous – think how easy it would be for you to fall in!”

That, I had to admit, was an excellent point.  “Well … OK, I guess you’re right.  But why can’t you get me, like, a little potty trainer or something?”

Ms. Johnson interjected, “Aw, why even bother explaining it to him, he’s just a baby.”

Mommy turned her head and replied, “Because I want my little boy to understand why I’m making these changes.”

“He won’t understand a thing unless you literally beat it into him,” Ms. Johnson snorted, to which Ms. Adams nodded in agreement.

“No, you two, I’m never going to beat him again.  All he needs is Mommy’s love to help him understand.”  My heart almost melted as I heard my Mommy say this; what endless patience and love she had for me!  With my own initiative, I stepped forward and wrapped my arms around her neck appreciatively.  “See?” Mommy told them.

They were unconvinced.  “We’ll see,” Ms. Adams replied doubtfully.

Mommy drew me back and continued her explanation.  “That’s true, Jimmy, I could let you use a training potty, but what good would it do if you wet the bed in your sleep, like you did just now?”  Her logic seemed unassailable to me now, and I nodded.  Mommy added, “I would have to come in the next day and wash all your clothes and your sheets, and that would just be so much trouble for Mommy.  You wouldn’t want to put your mommy through that, would you?”  She blinked her eyes at me.

“No, I wouldn’t!” I exclaimed, mad at myself for ever considering causing my sweet Mommy trouble.  “I’m sorry, I was wrong … I do need a diaper.”  She pulled me in for a warm embrace, pressing my abdomen tightly into her bosom.

Ms. Adams snorted, “Yeah, right.  You can never trust a word he says.  He’s just saying that ‘cuz he knows you’ll make him wear it anyway.”

“That’s not true, Amy,” Mommy defended, still holding me against her.  “Jimmy’s a good boy now, and he’ll do whatever his mother thinks is best.  Right, Jimmy?”  She pulled me back and I nodded enthusiastically.  Ms. Adams was still unconvinced but just rolled her eyes silently.

“Now, Jimmy,” Mommy continued, “is there anything else you would like me to explain?”  I didn’t reply.  “Please, Jimmy, ask me anything.  Really.  I want you to understand.”

I hesitated at first but saw no threat in her eyes, only a genuine concern for my own peace of mind.  “Well … do I really need a crib?  Can’t I just stay in my normal bed?”

Mommy listened attentively as I told her my concern, and then with seriousness she replied, “I understand how you feel, but it’s for your own safety.  You’re so little now; can you imagine what might happen if you rolled the wrong way and fell out of bed?”

That thought instantly reminded me of the 2-story drop I faced that afternoon, and I shrugged as the thought of falling a few feet out of bed seemed like nothing in comparison.  “I don’t think I’ve ever fallen out of bed,” I defended.

Her eyebrows furrowed in concern as she replied, “But just the thought of something bad happening to you, in the middle of the night when I’m not around to protect you!  Oh, Jimmy, I wouldn’t be able to sleep, I’d be so worried!”

I was truly touched by her concern for my well-being.  “Oh, Mommy …” I sighed emotionally.  “… OK, you’re right.  I’ll sleep in the crib.”

Her face brightened in relief.  “Thank you, Jimmy.  Anything else I can explain?”

I appreciated how seriously she was taking my concerns, I really was.  I couldn’t remember her ever caring so much about how I felt, not even when I was a grown man and she was my daughter, so very long ago.  I had forgotten what it was like to be cared about by someone, and that more than anything was what opened me up to her now.

“Um, just a couple minor things …” I continued.  She nodded encouragingly.  “Well … I thought, if it’s OK with you, maybe I could drink skim milk?  And eat some real food, that I can chew?”

“Oh, Jimmy, that’s another safety concern.  With your throat so small, it wouldn’t take a very big piece of food for you to choke.  I would feel so much better if you stuck with the soft food.  Besides, I don’t want my little boy to have to work to eat; the new food will be much easier.  Give it a few days, and I’m sure you’ll love it.”  Again, she seemed to give a perfectly reasonable response.  I nodded in quite genuine agreement.  “Good.  And as for the whole milk, I apologize if you don’t like it – but that’s what you’re getting for now.”

“For now?  What about later?”

“You’ll see,” she replied simply.  But from her expression I trusted that she probably knew what was best for me anyway, so I didn’t press her further.

“OK, thank you, Mommy.”

“You’re welcome, honey.  I know all these changes must be hard on you, but they really are for the best.”  I nodded, agreeing with her completely.  “Is there anything else you’d like to ask, sweetie?”

She was so wonderful: the perfect mother, trying so hard to ease my mind as she helped me through these difficult changes in my life.  Overcome with emotion, I opened my arms and moved in for another sublime hug.  “Please, could you change my diaper now, Mommy?”

“Of course, baby,” she replied warmly, pulling me back and tenderly brushing a loose strand of hair out of my eyes.  “Just lay back and relax; Mommy will take care of everything.”  Wow.  She was even willing to clean up my bodily waste for me.  She DID love me.

I couldn’t help the diaper changing from turning into a sexual experience for me; despite all the urine that I knew was down there, as Mommy cleaned it off my private parts her gentle yet thorough touch sent wave after wave of pleasure through my nerves as she made sure to clean every last square inch of the affected areas.  I was slightly conscious of the other two women staring openly at my obvious arousal, but hell, there was no way I could un-arouse myself with Mommy’s touch, and I was frankly feeling too damn good to really care what they thought anyway.  And at least I managed to avoid coming in front of them; that might have been quite embarrassing, to come so quickly from such little attention, especially in front of my former crush, Amy –err, Ms. Adams.

As Mommy pulled out a clean diaper and was putting it on me, though, I had a thought that gave me pause: why did I need the pacifier?  What good could it serve other than to subvert my will and keep me from protesting things?  Well, surely Mommy had a perfectly good explanation, otherwise she would never do that to me.  But I did wonder what that explanation was.  I would ask her once she was done changing me.

When the time came, though, she whisked me up into her arms and announced, “Well, I think Jimmy has had enough excitement for one day.  I’m going to go put him to bed.  Wanna watch something when I get back?” she asked her friends.

“Sure, we’ll pick something out,” Ms. Adams replied.

But I knew I needed my question answered, otherwise it would bother me all night.  As Mommy started carrying me up the stairs, I asked her, “Can I ask another question first?  Why do I need the pacifier?”

She coolly replied, “That was enough questions for one night.  I’ll answer them in the morning.”

Uh-oh.  I abandoned that plan of attack and tried a different angle.  “Could I watch the movie with you?”  I hoped that would buy me enough time at some point to get my question answered.

“No, Jimmy.  You’re too young to watch grown-up shows.  And it’s already way past your bedtime.”

Suddenly cranky, I didn’t consider the repercussions of my actions as I blurted what was on my mind.  “Well, why do you have to treat me like a baby!”  Mommy stopped in mid-step, looking down at me in shock at my out-of-the-blue misbehavior.  But I had to press the issue; there was no turning back now.  “The only reasons you’ve given are for safety and practicality, but what possible reason could there be for you to put me to bed when I don’t want to and ban me from ‘adult’ things and treat me like an infant!  Huh?  How do you explain that!?”

I immediately regretted my outburst as I saw my mother’s face turn from sweet bliss to bitter disappointment and spite.  She barely held her emotions in check as she squinted her eyes viciously at me, making me genuinely fear her once again.  “You are SO ungrateful, Jimmy.  You’re an ungrateful little brat.  After I was infinitely patient with you and explained everything you asked, you go and shoot your mouth off like this!?  See, this is EXACTLY why I can’t let you behave however you want: this kind of awful behavior always results.”  She spun us around and marched back down the stairs.  Bending down and almost capsizing me, she plucked up the pacifier, stood back up, and yanked it over my head and secured it to my mouth.

“See, what did I tell you?” Ms. Adams said, shaking her head from across the room, having heard the entire conversation.  “He convinces you he’ll be good one minute, and then the next minute he’s the meanest little brat you’ve ever seen.”

Mommy sighed, saying, “I know, I know.”

Ms. Johnson chimed in, “I’d say now is the perfect time for that spanking …”

Mommy shook her head sadly and replied, “No, I promised him I wouldn’t do that anymore, and I’ll be good to my word.  I just have to believe that there’s still some good in him.”  She peered down at me confidently.

“Fat chance,” Ms. Johnson shot back but left it at that.  Meanwhile, my mother carried me to my crib, the pacifier filling my mouth and ending all possibility of dialogue.  Instead, I uselessly squirmed in her arms like a petulant child.

As she held me over my crib, she told me bitterly, “I’m through trying to talk sense into you, little boy.  I’ve seen actual two-year-olds better behaved than you.  And, despite what I said back there, I have half a mind to take their advice and go back to the old way of teaching you.  Although,” she added, lowering her voice ominously, “I think you’ll find that I won’t be nearly so lenient this time around.”  She dropped me from about three feet up onto the floor of my crib, although I wasn’t hurt thanks to the padding of the blankets.  Without saying another word, she wheeled around and stomped out, slamming the door and leaving me in dark silence.

After a while, the terror induced by her last threat more-or-less wore off, leaving nothing but a burning rage.  How could I have been so easily fooled?  Now that I wasn’t intoxicated by her presence, I saw through her lies.  The seed of doubt, which had started as a simple question about the need for a pacifier, had sprouted a whole network of disbelief and rejection of her guise of beneficence.  Everything she said was a lie … Well, I suppose her reasoning was sound enough as to why I needed a diaper, a crib, and baby food – I mean, I still disagreed with her but I suppose from her point of view they were necessary.  OK, fine.  That was practical.  But actually TREATING me like a baby was crossing the line.  She had NO right to do that.  I mean, what could I have possibly done to deserve it?

Whenever I was near her, she was able to cloud my mind with desire and emotion, blinding me to her true nature.  Only now, when she was out of sight, was I able to think straight.  But the cycle ends now – I swore to myself not to be led astray, to remember the truth no matter what happened tomorrow, the next day, or the day after that.  Never again.

********************************

Friday: 2’6”

I awoke with the same seething rage from the night before, hating Kyra and everything about her.  Though I still admitted that she was right about me needing a crib, for safety reasons, I nevertheless cursed the wooden bars surrounding me on all sides, now stretching even higher above my reach after my latest drop in height.

But, as I heard Kyra’s door open and her feet shuffle down the hallway, I couldn’t help but feel a growing terror at the thought of what she would do to me.  I remembered all too well her threat last night before dropping me in here.  And I refused to allow myself any hope for her mercy; she couldn’t fool me.  I knew how sick and twisted she truly was.  The last few weeks had been an endless barrage of pain and humiliation at her hands, and why should I expect anything different.

‘I won’t be nearly so lenient this time’.  Her words echoed over and over in my head as I heard her footsteps approach my door.  Be strong, James.  No matter how hard she punishes you, you have to resist.  But as the door creaked open I had my doubts as to how much of her abuse I could withstand now.

I couldn’t yet see her face in the dim light of my room, but it was no doubt unpleasant.  Her Brobdingnagian form approached my crib, looming far above me.  But, to my amazement, as she leaned down with hands on her knees, I was able to see nothing but the sweetest expression on her face.  I had been cringing in fear until that moment, but as she smiled warmly down at me I suddenly felt at ease, almost happy.  I couldn’t help it; she was just so big, so overwhelming, and her smile was already starting to rub off on me.

“Good morning, Jimmy,” she said soothingly.  “How did you sleep?”

Still in shock, I stammered, “Uh … G-Good, I guess.”

“Wonderful.  Are you ready to get up and have some breakfast?”

I wasn’t looking forward to the day at all and wanted some more time to myself before it began.  But, as her long arm stretched down and rubbed my belly tenderly, I caught a whiff of her sweet perfume and drank in the sight of her milky white breasts spilling deliciously out of the top of her work attire.  … Well, I guess it couldn’t hurt to start my day now …

“OK, Mommy,” I agreed, letting her pluck me out of the crib and carry me downstairs.  Oh my God, she was enormous!  My change in height from yesterday was very noticeable; after all, I was only perhaps 30 inches tall now, so 2 inches of change felt like way more now than it was before.  Her arms were big yesterday, but today they were clearly longer than my entire body as she cradled me.  For God’s sake, as she nestled me in the space under her right breast, I realized that her breasts extended out from her body farther than my entire body’s width!  These two humungous spheres were completely unavoidable as they filled my vision and pressed all along my torso and thighs.

For the time being, I completely forgot about the promise I had made to myself, to resist her at all costs, as she fed me spoonful after spoonful of baby food and then endless gulps of milk, until I again couldn’t handle any more.  As she held my gaze lovingly, I wondered if this could possibly be the same woman I had loathed all last night and this morning.  It didn’t seem possible to be mad at such a wonderful person.

Half an hour later, when we arrived at Mommy’s office, I discovered that my playpen was no longer there.  “Does this mean I get to sit with you, Mommy?” I asked hopefully.

“No, sweetie, I’m sorry.  Mommy has to work.  Ms. Johnson is bringing something for you to sit in – Ah, there she is now.”

Ms. Johnson came into view wheeling a small chair on wheels.  I realized it was a baby chair, complete with two holes for the baby’s legs to fit through and straps to keep the baby in place.  “Here you go.  Enjoy, Jimmy!”  Ms. Johnson patted my head as she pushed it in front of me then took her leave.

Once she was gone, I turned to Mommy and pleaded, “Please don’t make me sit in that!”

As Mommy lifted my body up and slid my legs through the holes, she told me, “Well, I’m sorry if you don’t like it, Jimmy, but you proved yesterday that we can’t trust you to stay in the playpen.”

“Well, I can just sit here.  I’ll be good, I promise!”

“Jimmy,” she sighed, shaking her head.  “Have you already forgotten what happened the last time we let you do that?  If you don’t remember, I’m sure Ms. Adams would be more than happy to remind you.”  I turned my head to see Ms. Adams peering back at me disdainfully.

Point taken.  “OK,” I relented (not like I really had a choice).  The straps were draped over my shoulders and chest and buckled tightly, and they might as well have been steel cables mounted in concrete since my feeble muscles had not the slightest chance of unbuckling them and freeing myself.  My day suddenly got even worse as Mommy fished my pacifier out of her bag and strapped it onto my mouth.

I sat in my tight prison for the entire morning with an ever growing sense of ennui as I watched the comings and goings of the members of this office.  I watched Mommy intently whenever she was around, staring at her backside from my poor vantage point in the middle of the cubicle.  Unfortunately, she was often away from her desk, no doubt managing and networking with other employees.  But whenever she returned, she flashed me a warm smile and even came over once in a while to pat me on the cheek or rub my belly affectionately.  I very much enjoyed those parts of the day, but all the rest were miserable.

Lunchtime rolled around, and she pulled my chair to her desk and was about to feed me where I was.  I begged repeatedly to be let out and have her feed me in her arms, and after much whining I got my wish.  Oh!  To have been so close to her all morning yet unable to touch her and share my affections –that was almost excruciating.  But for the next 10 minutes I was in heaven –that is to say, in Mommy’s arms.

Though I whined and protested, she soon put me back in my baby chair and turned back to her work.  “That’s enough whining, Jimmy.  I really have to focus now.”

“But can I at least sit closer to you?”  I was desperate.

She shrugged and said, “Sure, I don’t see why not.”

I told her, “Thank you, Mommy!” as she pulled my chair up to the edge of her desk, facing her.  But she picked up the dreaded pacifier again and brought it to my mouth.  I protested, “I don’t need—grpmhmpf.”  She wiggled my nose lightly before turning back to her computer.

I was peeved about the pacifier, but quickly I got over it as I enjoyed the view.  I could have reached out and touched her if my harness wasn’t holding me in place so tightly.  But I couldn’t complain; I now had an outstanding view of her graceful figure in all its glory, and for the next two hours I gazed at her dreamily, ignoring the rest of my surroundings and focusing only on her.

Alas, she had to leave for practice again, and I shed some tears as she left me all alone –well, technically, Ms. Adams was still there, but she meant nothing to me now.  I spent the next hour waiting for 5:00 to roll around and fantasizing about what Mommy and I would do together that evening.  Slowly, though, those familiar doubts began to creep into my mind again, and for the first time since that morning I remembered my solemn oath to resist her brainwashing.  But … it seemed rather silly to me now; how had she possibly been brainwashing me today?  All she did was sit there and let me watch her.  She had done nothing wrong; well, I guess, except for the pacifier, but could I blame her?  She had important things to do and couldn’t be distracted.

Still, I felt a twinge of uneasiness as the remaining hours ticked away.  But I suddenly felt much better when Mommy returned to the office and took me home.

**************

I took one last bite of baby food as Mommy wiped off the mess I made on my chin and carried me to the couch.  “No milk, Mommy?” She had fed me quite a bit of baby food but I was surprised to not receive any of the milk, which admittedly I had taking a liking to, despite my earlier reservations.

“Oh, a bit later, sweetie,” she said simply, making me think no more of it.

Actually, I had more important things on my mind, something that had continued to trouble me ever since she put it over my mouth again today.  “Mommy,” I asked politely, trying my best not to aggravate her like yesterday, “maybe now you could explain why I need a pacifier?  And why you’ve been treating me like a baby?”

Mommy smiled down at me condescendingly, as if the answer was obvious.  “But you ARE a baby, Jimmy.  Here, let me show you.”  She carried me over to the kitchen and stood me against the wall with the height marks.  “30 inches –just a smidge taller than your average 12-month-old baby boy,” she announced, like it was an open-and-shut case.

As she carried me back to the couch, I protested, “But that doesn’t mean I’m actually a baby!”

She sighed, sat down, and told me authoritatively, “For all practical purposes, yes it does.  What can you do now that a baby can’t?  You can’t work, you can’t drive, you can’t open a doorway; for goodness’s sake, you can’t even go potty without my help!  You’re completely helpless now, like an infant, and you need me to be your Mommy, to help you.  Why can’t you appreciate all the things I do for you?”  She looked down at me lovingly as she pressed my body tighter to her, causing the immense weight of her right breast to partially envelop my small torso.  She had put on the same light pink shirt from yesterday, and I was able to feel the full softness of her bosom through the loose-fitting layer of cotton.  I suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to shut up and just enjoy my position.  Oh, how easy it would be to just lift my hand up and drag it across her pillowy flesh …

But I knew I had to press the issue before it was too late.  “I do appreciate you!  But being physically weak and helpless is different than being a baby!  I mean, I still talk and act like an adult.”

“Really!?” Mommy replied, surprised by my foolish statement.  “You honestly think you’ve been acting like an adult???”  I nodded uncertainly.  “I don’t believe it.  You’ve done nothing these last few weeks but whine and complain and get yourself into the worst sorts of trouble imaginable!”

“But those weren’t my fault!  I—“

Her enormous hand covered my mouth as well as much of my face as she cut me off to say, “See?  This is exactly the kind of immaturity I would expect from a 2-year-old!”  Her temper was flaring, and I feared the worst, but to my relief she managed to calm herself down and say, “You know, in the past I would have taken it upon myself to teach you a lesson, in hopes that the pain would help you to learn.  But, like I said yesterday, I won’t do that anymore; you’re too emotionally immature now to understand that type of attitude adjustment.  I know the only way to help you now is for you to help yourself.  I want you to take time now to reflect on everything that’s happened since you started shrinking, and I want you to be completely honest with yourself: have you acted maturely, or like a child?”

She removed her hand and I was about to argue again but her stern glance changed my mind.  Well, I suppose it couldn’t hurt.  Although, as I stole another glance at her bosom moving rhythmically up and down with her breaths, I wished she would let me think on my own for a while.  I tried to pull myself up and away, but Mommy rested her hand on my stomach and said softly, “Just relax, Jimmy, and think … That’s it.  Good boy.”  She gently stroked my cheek.

I still had enough wits about me to know how easily she was able to cloud my judgment, but it would be OK for now –I would just have to make a conscious effort to avoid falling into her trap, and it would be fine.

I took a deep breath and thought back to the events of the last few weeks.  So much had happened; it was difficult to sort through it all.  But one thing was still clear to me: whether deliberately or accidentally, Mommy had time and time again misconstrued the facts and found me to be guilty when in reality I was not.  A few recent events came to mind.  First, my escape from the playpen yesterday was only brought on by my urgent need to urinate; if I hadn’t disobeyed her order the floor of her office would now be covered in piss, and imagine how she would have reacted to that!  And what about the spiteful note left by Grace, the babysitter: sure, maybe I had acted a bit immaturely around her, but that didn’t change the fact that the paper was filled with lies.

… Well, perhaps the issue wasn’t so simple.  I remembered how cold and ruthless Ms. Adams had become after she found out about it.  Whether I ought to believe her or whether it was the unspeakable terror I was put through that was making me say it, I had begun to feel like maybe I really was at fault in bringing about Amy’s downfall.  I should have done more to prevent it; hell, I would even go so far as to say I should have admitted to everything on that paper, if it meant that it would spare Amy from the horrible grief I had put her through.  If only I hadn’t been so selfish.

… And, well, I had to admit that I was indeed guilty of a few things these past weeks.  Like how I snuck into Kyra’s room and tried on her clothes and came on them.  And when I spied on her when she was alone in her room that one night.  And it was, of course, my fault for ruining Amy’s favorite outfit … As I continued to think back over the last few weeks, I came up with more and more and more things I was actually guilty of.

But the more I thought about it, the hazier my memory became.  For example, I couldn’t remember what happened to cause me to have to walk home from the mall, so long ago – I feel like she was acting way out of line that day, but wait –wasn’t I the one who kept trying to control what she wore, even though she was clearly mature enough to decide for herself?  I mean, for God’s sake, LOOK AT HER.  As I stole another glance at her womanly figure and confident facial features, it seemed absurd to think that she needed to be told what to do.  So when I kept pestering her about her clothing choices and whining about how long she was taking at the mall, wasn’t she just a LITTLE bit justified in leaving me there and driving off?  Didn’t I kind of … deserve it?

Oh my God.  The more I thought back, the more I realized how childish and immature I had acted towards her.  How much I nagged her about how she looked, how she talked, how she behaved in public –I couldn’t blame her for getting frustrated and telling me how immature I was being.  Because, let’s face it, she was always incredibly mature for her age; I would even argue she was more mature than most adults.  And, as I thought back to how I had behaved these last few weeks, I discovered, without a doubt, that she had consistently acted much more maturely than I had!

Think about it.  When my daughter finally beat me in basketball, I should have been overjoyed to see her succeed, but how did I react?  I hated her.  I felt jealous and bitter.  That was not the behavior of a grown man, a father –I had already been acting like a child who can’t cope with his emotions.  And that was weeks ago; as time went on I had only gotten worse and worse!

Jesus.  Maybe Ms. Adams was right about me never truly changing – did I really change after her beating last week?  No.  It lasted several days, but soon enough I went right back to my selfish, childish ways, and since then I hated all of them as much as ever.

But freshest in my mind was how Mommy had treated me today and yesterday.  Hadn’t she shown every me bit of the love, kindness, and understanding that I had needed so badly after my near-death experience yesterday afternoon had left me barren of hope?  She had proven herself again and again, holding me tightly when I needed support, explaining patiently everything I asked, and, most of all, even after my despicable outburst, she abstained from physical punishment, trusting in my innate goodness despite all evidence to the contrary.  I began to sob as I realized how incredibly stupid and childish I was for betraying her like that.

Of COURSE she must have a good explanation for the pacifier, and for treating me like a baby.  I was just too immature to trust her after she, quite reasonably, wished to postpone that discussion until this morning.  Oh, how foolish I was!  I felt deeply grateful now that she had chosen not to beat me again.  And, to be honest, I couldn’t say I didn’t deserve every bit of punishment she could deliver.

“Oh, Mommy, I’m so so sorry!!  You’re right about everything!!  I’ve been so stupid and immature these last few weeks, and I deserved to be punished!”

Her face lit up in happiness but soon changed to a thoughtful frown.  “Hmm … that’s not the first time you’ve said that …”

“But this time I mean it, really!!  I know you only ever wanted to help me understand.”  Everything was clear to me now; I finally understood the logic behind everything she had done.  It was all for my benefit, to help me see the truth in my misguided ways.  And finally, I had – or was beginning to, at least.

She nodded but still was a bit uncertain.  “So do you understand why you need the pacifier?”  I nodded vigorously.  “I want to hear you say it.”

“Yes, Mommy.  I need the pacifier to keep me from bothering you and saying all the naughty things I say.”

She nodded, pleased with my response.  “Good, Jimmy.  And why do you need to be treated like a baby?”

I eagerly replied, “I need to be treated like a baby because I’m too small and childish to make my own decisions and I need to rely on you for everything.”  As an afterthought, I added, “And thank you SO much for being such a nice and wonderful Mommy!”

“You’re welcome, little baby!” she replied ecstatically, smothering me in a passionate motherly embrace, and I loved every second of it.

But as she pulled me back she paused for a second pensively.  “You agreed that you need to be treated LIKE a baby.  Hmm … I have one final request, Jimmy.”

“Anything, Mommy.”  I was desperate to please her.

Taking a deep breath, she told me in a low, slow voice, “Jimmy, I want you to let go of any memory you have of being bigger than a baby, of being an adult or a father, or of me ever being your daughter.  I want you to promise me you will forget everything that ever happened in your life before this very moment.  You are not simply ‘like’ a baby, Jimmy.  I want you to tell me, from the bottom of your heart, that you ARE A BABY … And then, since babies do not talk, I want you to never speak another word again, as long as you live.”

My eyes went wide and my jaw dropped open.  My heart pounded a mile a minute as adrenaline coursed through my veins.

This was it.  There would be no turning back; I was about to sign my life over to Mommy completely.  Was it fair?  Was it right?  And even if I wanted to, could I even bring myself to take that step?  Could I really submit to her one hundred percent?  I hesitated.  No, I don’t think I can do that; it was too far …

But, then again, why wouldn’t I?  I would be so happy, so content; all my troubles would be taken care of, and I could give in forever to the sweet glory of her embrace, basking in her love for me.  “I … I…”  My body was shaking uncontrollably as I prepared to say the most important words of my life.

But then, something amazing happened, something which could only be described as a miracle.  A small glint of light caught the corner of my eye.  I looked up, up, almost to the ceiling.  There, on the top of the bookshelf, lay a disorganized pile of memorabilia, from my past life.  And, amidst two piles of books aligned just right for me to see through them, I saw a framed picture, previously in the dark but now illumined by some unknown light from outside, coming in through the window.  It may have been the sun reflecting off the car parked in the driveway, or perhaps –and I preferred to think this – it was a light from heaven, shining down in my darkest need to guide my way.  Whether earthly or divine, this beam had lit up a picture of me and Kyra, taken two years ago on a trip out West.  Kyra must not have seen it hiding behind those books, otherwise she would have thrown it away.  In it, I was a full-grown man, sporting a beard and grinning broadly in true happiness.  I remembered now: this was one of my most cherished memories, taken at one of the happiest points in my life, both at work – I would have just met and become smitten with Amy at this point – and at home, with my wonderful daughter, Kyra.  Oh!  How young she looked in the photo, a full foot shorter than I was and still developing but full of wonder and innocence!  My pride and joy, the greatest satisfaction in life: My daughter, Kyra.

The façade of lies and decent had suddenly come crashing down; I was no longer under the spell of ‘Mommy’, seeing in front of me only the little girl in the photo –though, of course, larger in size.  I surprised her with a sudden twist of my body and rolled down her legs, reaching the floor and turning to stand confidently before her, putting my hands on my hips and jutting my chest out proudly like a man.

“NO,” I bellowed in rejection of all she had just asked of me.  Kyra sat silently as if frozen in disbelief at my sudden and complete transformation.  For once, I breathed freely as I shook off the shackles that had held me down so long.  Without the slightest hint of doubt in my voice, I boldly told her, “I am not your baby.  I am a MAN, and I have lived forty-one years on this planet, and though you may take all my possessions, and tie me up in a chair, and force me to eat baby food, you are and always will be my daughter and I’ll always be your father – and you cannot take that away from me!”

I clenched my fists, feeling new energy and vigor coursing through my veins, feelings victorious for the first time in many, many days.  This was for real; this was permanent; I truly felt I had the strength now to withstand anything she could throw at me.  I had been weak before, and even just minutes ago, doubting myself – but the memory of how things once were was enough to keep me holding on strong – forever, I believed.

As I stood proudly before her, Kyra gaped at me in a mixture of profound confusion, shock, and disappointment.  A wide grin slowly crept onto my lips as I enjoyed my moment of glory.  Do your worst, I thought, You have no power over me now.

She stared at me unblinkingly, her mind trying to process the situation.  But, after a great deal of time had passed, her eyes changed to something I couldn’t quite place – I couldn’t tell if they were threatening or compassionate.  But, even as she slowly scooted towards me, I didn’t flinch, despite how utterly massive she was to me now.  She moved within inches of me, sitting on the edge of the couch while stretching her thighs past me on either side of my body, her torso completely filling my vision and her head looming well above me.  But I held strong, matching her gaze with my own unflinching stare, not backing down an inch.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw her hand move and adjust something, but I kept my eyes fixed up at hers and couldn’t tell what was shifting in front of my face.  Once whatever she was doing was done, seeing my refusal to lower my eyes, Kyra’s upper body began inching ever closer, so close that I could feel the warmth of her skin.  I still had no idea what if anything had occurred below her face – whatever it was, she seemed to want me to look, but I didn’t, I refused.  But she began to pant softly as her lips parted while her eyes intensified their stare.  Something big began pushing the back of my head, and I quickly realized it was her hand pressing me into her.

I felt only the beginnings of worry as I started to try to physically resist her now – but my attempts were utterly pathetic and useless against just her single hand.  I tried to duck away and sidestep her hand instead – but her other hand had already whooshed up and wrapped around my back, holding me in place as she continued to pull me closer.

Something huge was now looming below my vision, and though I tried to keep my eyes up to her face, she grabbed my hair and tilted my head down, and I was forced to confront the huge shapes before me.

“GAH!” I yelped as my mind tried in vain to cope with the sight of Kyra’s naked breasts, completely bare, the loose fabric of her shirt having been pulled down while I was looking up.  My complete composure and resolve a second ago was now irrelevant: my mind simply went blank, overloaded by the sight of these two massive spheres of womanly perfection, each of them much bigger than my head.

Mommy’s hand gave me a light nudge on the back of the head.  “C’mon, Jimmy, don’t be scared,” she breathed lustily.  My senses returned just enough for me to flail in panic, trying anything I could to escape this situation, knowing I was utterly doomed if I let it proceed.  My attitude could not have been more dissimilar to what it was just ten seconds ago.  I just couldn’t believe her chest was naked – and I couldn’t believe how big and how close they were to my face …

Despite my best efforts, her hands began moving me steadily closer, making sure to line up my mouth with her left nipple.  I pounded my hands again and again on her arms but to her it felt like no more than a leaf landing on her skin.

“Ooohhhh,” Mommy gasped loudly as my lips made contact with the tip of her nipple.  In panic, I tried to use my hands to shift her breast away from my lips, but, being only a small fraction of her size, my hands merely made indentations into the sides of her tit flesh, causing her to respond passionately to my feeble pawing.  They felt so heavy, so ... full …

The tightening of her grip on my hair was the only warning I had before my head was plunged deeply into her breast.  I sealed my lips as tightly as possible to fend off her stiffening nipple as it tried to invade my mouth, while trying in vain to turn my head aside. This only caused my lips to rub along her hard nipple, and I felt her chest rumble in a loud moan as she breathed me, “Ohhhh mmyy Goddd, Jimmy.”  After a few more seconds of my futile struggling, she told me urgently, “Mommy needs her baby to begin sucking now.”

With renewed vigor, Mommy pressed my head even deeper into her breast, completely cutting off my air supply through my nose.  My only option was to breathe through the side of my mouth, but that would run the risk of allowing her nipple into my mouth.  I began to cry as my air supply ran lower and lower, causing me to flail my arms uselessly against her body.  It was only a matter of time before I had no choice.  I un-tensed my lips to allow in a small breath of air, but the incredible pressure exerted by her chest immediately parted my lips, forced open my overmatched jaw, and thrust her nipple completely into my mouth.  Her nipple was perfect, round, normal-sized for her – but almost alarming large to me, the protrusion wider than a quarter and just as deep, forcing my jaw to open a good deal just to fit her inside my mouth.

My whole body was rocked as she spasmed in a bout of ecstasy.  “That’s it, Jimmy!  Ohhh, God, yesss!  Suck harder!!”  Once I had let such a large object into my mouth, there was no chance of pulling it out.  But, as I tried to suck in what little air I could, several times my mouth involuntarily closed around her nipple, causing me suck on her instead.  Every time I did so, things just seemed to click in my mind for a brief moment, sort of like losing consciousness momentarily and being controlled and driven by something else entirely – pure, animal instinct perhaps, telling me exactly what to do with this swollen nipple in my mouth …

Almost unconsciously, I began to open my mouth less and less for air and began to concentrate solely on sucking her nipple.  And wave after wave of intense emotion washed over me.  I began to jerk and spasm as a great battle was being fought within my mind: Jimmy, the baby, the one giving in to her, reemerging in my mind and fighting back stronger than ever against James, the grown man, the self-respecting father and member of society … But my writhing soon subsided as this latter side began to lose ground, weakening, giving way to my new hunger for her …

My body un-tensed and my struggles ended as I gave in completely to her.  Sensing my surrender, Mommy reduced the pressure on my head, allowing my nose enough room to breathe as I continued to suckle passionately at her teat.  She was moaning constantly now, as lost as I was in the heat of the moment.  “Harder,” she urged.

With her encouragement, I lifted both hands to press in on either side of her breast, causing her nipple to protrude even farther as I sucked with reckless abandon.  Seeing that I wouldn’t dream of pulling my head back now, she released the back of my head and lifted me up, sliding back onto the couch as she cradled me in one arm.  With her opposite hand she hastily unfastened her shorts and slid her fingers down, bucking her hips slightly as she began to finger herself.

I was also approaching orgasm as she used her arm to rubbed me rhythmically into her body, creating a wonderful sensation even through the coarse fabric of my diaper.  Then, suddenly, she withdrew me from her nipple, causing me to cry out in dismay.  But my fear of being left wanting more were quelled as I discovered she was only switching me to her other nipple.  I greedily sucked and sucked and sucked, and though I was completely lost in ecstasy, I still felt like something was missing, something that would make this perfect.

And, just then, it happened.  I felt a droplet of warm liquid form on her teat.  Thinking it was my saliva at first, I licked it up and my taste buds were overwhelmed with the most sublime taste I had ever experienced.  It was thicker than water, but still wonderfully smooth, and as I took in the indescribable flavor I immediately felt simultaneously invigorated and soothed.  As I swallowed this elixir I felt it slide electrically down my throat and fill my body with warmth and happiness.

“WHAT WAS THAT!!?” Mommy whispered hoarsely, feeling incredible sensations of her own.  “W-Was that it – did it happen??”  Had she known?  Had she taken something to make it happen?  I never would find out … but I didn’t care.  Not stopping to answer her, I sucked more fervently than ever, desperately needing another taste of that sweet liquid.

Another drop came, and we both almost lost it then and there.  I savored every molecule of that sweet nectar, that ambrosia, food of the Gods.  It was as sweet as honey, but far more full-bodied and satisfying.  The closest similarity I could think of was warm milk, like the whole milk I had been drinking, but that didn’t even begin to do justice to this perfect substance.

…Wait a minute.  Milk.  It WAS milk!  I had tasted Mommy’s breast milk!  This revelation came just as another drop had splashed onto my tongue, and the unbelievable sensations we had both felt brought us simultaneously into an earth-shattering orgasm, Mommy throwing her head back and shrieking as she mashed my face again into her breast, and me wrapping my hands around her plentiful breast to hold on as I convulsed wildly against her.

Our bodies gradually un-tensed as we basked in the afterglow, though my mouth remained attached to her nipple, sucking idly out of reflex.  I glanced up and saw her looking down lovingly at me, and I temporarily withdrew my mouth to turn my face toward hers and return her affectionate gaze.  There was no need to speak; my eyes told her everything: You are my life, You are my world; there is no one but You.  I am Yours.

We sat just so for the better part of an hour, staring deeply into each others’ eyes, hers telling me I would never have to worry about anything ever again; she would protect me and care for me and nurture and feed me, and all because she loved me.

We both became heavy-lidded after sitting in warm comfort for so long.  Neither of us wanted to bother with our beds, so Mommy stood and sauntered over to the recliner, laying back and nestling her baby boy against her body, tossing a blanket over us for warmth.  I draped my arms lazily across her expansive bosom and began to drift off to sleep, but before I did I took one long look into her eyes and whispered, “I love you, Mommy.”  Those were the last words I ever spoke.

********************************

One year later

********************************

The hour had finally come.  I stared at her endlessly as she drove us home, excited beyond belief on this day of days.  It was the biggest day I could remember, the one I had looked forward to for months on end.  But I hadn’t known exactly how soon it was until Mommy told me, not five minutes ago when she picked me up, “So, Jimmy, today was my last day of school.  Do you know what that means?”

I knew exactly what it meant: an end to the unbearable torture of her leaving me all day to go to school.  All summer long, she would be bringing me into work, where I could be in her presence all day long – though she spent far more time working there than I would have liked, since Ms. Johnson had finally been able to hire her officially after she recently graduated, and I didn’t know many details, but I knew at least that Mommy was making more than enough money for us and was in charge of other people at the office too.

But the last eight or nine months of her being in school had been so hard on me – I had cried every morning when she dropped me off at the day care center, each time seeming like the worst moment of my life.  I needed her so badly – her comfort, her warmth, her soothing voice, seemingly every minute of every day.  The world was cold and dark without her, but when I was with her there was nothing else; my entire body and soul was channeled directly into her.  When she came to pick me up I squealed in delight and felt complete once more.  I listened intently as she would sometimes tell me how her day went, and I would laugh and smile if she told me she got straight ‘A’s again, or when she would get letters from colleges wanting to give her a scholarship to play basketball for them.  I would pout and cry at even the slightest bit of bad news, my emotions being invested so completely in hers.

But, of course, the best part of my day by far was always feeding time.  Well, not always – every now and then Mommy would feed me some green or orange goop from a jar.  I hated it, but I never complained since Mommy told me it was for my own good and I trusted her completely.  But other than that, my only sustenance came from Mommy’s breasts.  I could never get enough of her heavenly milk; I would suck greedily until my tummy was full, and then I would suck some more until Mommy finally told me that was enough.  Her milk never failed to overwhelm me with sensation, and I loved the warmth and closeness I felt during and after, as most days she would allow me to snuggle against her bare flesh until I dozed off in a contented nap.

I still recall vividly that first time I suckled Mommy’s breast and tasted her milk, and I treated it as the beginning of my life.  I remember the next day as well, when Mommy showed me something sharp; a needle of some sort.  She said it would make me stop getting smaller.  I can’t remember why I was getting smaller, but I know I didn’t want it to stop.  I thought it was wonderful – to wake up and find Mommy bigger each day, giving me that much more to hold on to, letting her envelop me that much more completely in her arms, giving that much more nipple for my mouth to suck on and letting her milk flow into me that much faster – Why would I ever want it to stop?  But after a few days she finally decided I was small enough, and I trust that she knew what was best for me.

I could remember some of my past for a while, but not anymore.  I have almost no memory of the before-time now, nor do I have even the slightest inclination to find out.  On a rare occasion, I might hear or see something that gives me a faint recollection of something from my past, but all that remains of these memories is a dark shadow and a general feeling that my life was hard and unhappy then.

I have everything I could ever want.  Mommy looks after me, feeds me, cleans me, and makes sure my every need is met.  She plays with me and cuddles me, and always makes me feel loved.  My mind, body, and soul belongs only to her, and every moment I’m with her is an eternity in paradise.

As Mommy carried me inside and sat on the couch, I met her gaze longingly.  “Is my wittle baby hungry?”  I nodded enthusiastically as she unbuttoned her blouse and removed her bra, allowing her perfect breasts to spill forward and land with a jiggle in front of my lips.  I opened wide to take in the familiar shape of her nipple as it hardened and grew in my mouth.  As her warm milk began to flow in a steady stream down my throat, I could not imagine living any other way.

THE END