Roberta Lawrence cupped her palm beneath her plump breast, sampling its heft like a sandbag, and felt her six-inch-tall son Kyle slide another few licks deeper into her cleavage. She smiled to herself and combed her frizzy brunette locks through the recently manicured talons of her free hand. His tiny hands flapped uselessly at the sagging walls around him, only managing to tickle her in the process rather than convince her to end his time-out early.

            But Roberta held firm and gave her breast another soft jostle. She’d allowed herself to cow to that prissy boy all his life, turning a blind eye to every indiscretion and act of disrespect. Now, the tables had turned, and this time, she had the law on her side.

            The steel-white Reduction & Rehabilitation group therapy room took some getting used to with its bonsai trees and blaring fluorescent light; one’s eyes never quite adjusted even after nearly forty minutes of sustained wide-eyed discussion between the normal-sized caretakers and their shrunken charges held at varying levels of temporary imprisonment. However, after two weeks of this now, Roberta was learning to enjoy the experience. Maybe, just maybe, there really was something to all this oddity and its legal parent, the Shrink Act.

            “Well, we’re almost around the whole circle. Why don’t we hear from the Lawrences again?” the group therapist announced, her twiddling fingers bouncing a pen off the edge of a clipboard. Her gaze, along with that of the rest of the room, turned earnestly to Roberta and the near-invisible lump of her six-inch son nuzzled between her tits.

            Roberta smiled at them all, feeling her cheeks blush pink. Given how little recognition she received either at her office job or at home prior to Kyle’s reductive consequences, it was nice to see such a lack of judgment and even admiration in like-minded people. She cleared her throat.

            “Let’s see, now,” Roberta sighed, nibbling her lip. She pressed her thumb on the tiny bulge in her blouse, jamming her son deeper into the tight valley of cleavage. “What was the question again? My main concerns as a parent about my… little ward?”

            “Yes, essentially that,” the therapist said. “If there are none you wish to discuss at this time, that’s fine, though-”

            “No, no. I’m sure I can come up with something,” Roberta said with a note of sarcasm, earning a chuckle from the full-sized parents and elder siblings that composed the guardians. “Let’s see. We’ll just start with the smaller things, shall we? I… know this was mentioned last week, during the full introductions, but my little Kyle… well, he’s not exactly the best student. The brightest bulb in the pack, shall we say. It’s a shame, really, because I know he’s got the potential; he used to bring home A’s and B’s when he was in grade school. But now he’s hit eighteen, and it seems like the illusion of manhood’s made him give up on his studies. All I see are D’s, sometimes F’s, even. To be honest, this new program with the six-month shrinking and all couldn’t have come at a better time. He could use some re-centering. Maybe a full reprogramming as a serious student, not just a citizen.”

            Murmurs of agreement rang out around the room. Roberta’s words were all-too familiar to a good portion of the room and their own tiny delinquents.

            “Of course that’s not all,” she continued. “Kyle’s always had a… well, let’s say he’s had a way with the ladies. It seems like I see him with a new girl every month. And sometimes I see some of those same girls back again, and in the same week. Though he won’t say, just like he never says anything to me about what’s going on with him, I just know he’s juggling these oblivious young women and using them as his playthings.”

            Some commiserating frowns and nods joined in with Roberta.

            The mother took a deep breath. With her thumb pressed on her six-inch boy’s rear end through the fabric of her blouse, she eased him back up toward the surface like an organic push-pop. She let her eyes wander the room as she did so, observing the other unique perches of the shrunken wards. It was easy to judge the current relationship health of the guardians and their shrinkers, merely by noting how they were held.

            About half the room’s parents and guardians hoisted their diminutive dependents out in their lap, either cupped in a hand or crossed over a knee, where they could sit freely and contribute to the discussion. Others, probably in just a little more hot water, were gripped in fists, their tiny bodies coiled between parental fingers, but at least able to breathe normally. Finally, there were several, like Kyle, who were all but invisible, though displayed just publicly enough in their current predicaments to add humiliating insult to injury. Most of these unlucky kids were literally underfoot, either gently squashed by a bare sole removed from its shoe, or in fact sandwiched inside the footwear itself, with their tiny limbs protruding out from beneath a pudgy set of wriggling toes.

            Roberta smiled again. These people understood her. They knew what it was like to raise a little brat and finally, finally have society on the side of the poor, stress-addled parents near the end of their rope.

            “He’s said he’s still a virgin, the last time I confronted him, but… well, like I told him, do I look like an idiot?” Roberta questioned rhetorically. Mild chuckles of understanding rose up in answer; yet another relatable struggle.

            “Where do you see solutions to these conflicts, Roberta?” the therapist asked. “If you feel comfortable saying.”

            “I’m not blind, of course. I can see he’s eighteen. He’s an adult now, and might well be on his own very soon. But the thing of it is, as it’s been just the two of us since Kyle was five years old, well… he’s the man of the house. He ought to be acting as such. And though my time to teach him may be waning, I see it as my responsibility to correct him. To make him into a man.”

            A few parents golf-clapped, while some even jokingly cheered in staunch concurrence. Roberta could see multiple parental toes squeezing around the heads of their shrunken children for emphasis, instructing them to listen to the woman.

            “Hey, I’m sorry, but… is nobody gonna ask us what we think?” Kyle blurted suddenly, his grape-sized head popping up from between his mother’s breasts. He huffed, damp with sweat from both his own aching body and the dense weight of Roberta’s chest.

            “You’ll have your chance, Kyle, rest assured,” the therapist explained in her sugar-sweet tone.

            “See, this is exactly what I’m talking about. He thinks he owns every room he enters. Even when he entered the room from inside his mama’s bosom!” Roberta balked. She surprised herself with the candid stream of words; the woman generally considered herself a more timid figure, but somehow, the energy of this space and these supportive fellow disciplinarians were spurring her on. Opening her hand, she tenderly but firmly shoved Kyle directly back down into the musky depths of her cleavage. His protesting voice was muffled by the broad ceiling of her palm gripping his skull like a marble.

            The room practically cheered again as it laughed along with her. Roberta blushed. It couldn’t hurt to egg them on a little more; plus, it just might put the fear of God in Kyle, which he seemed to be sorely lacking today.

            “No more talking out of turn, Kyle, understand? I operate on a two-strike, not a three-strike system, remember?” she warned gravely. “One more slip-up, and you’re going in time-out.”

            Parents muttered appreciatively, whispering to one another.

            “So this, right now, isn’t time-out for him, is it?” one curious mother questioned.

            “Not at all,” Roberta said with pride, which was a decidedly new feeling for her. She could still feel her son writhing about between her tits, resisting his status and stature alike.

            “I wonder what is?” another parent snickered.

            “Maybe a trip down below? A little time in the submarine?” a woman questioned. She extended her leg, revealing her shrunken daughter’s legs hanging out the leather portals of her summer sandal. “That’s what I call it whenever my little Ellie misbehaves. The submarine.”

            Roberta regarded the rest of the room, raised an eyebrow, and let the crook of her smile tip up a little higher.

            “No, not at all. I suppose I hadn’t considered giving Kyle a little toe-time, though I’m sure it has its many benefits. No, for him, time-out means he goes right where the sun doesn’t shine,” Roberta said casually. Just for good measure, she gave her rotund, pear-shaped rump a sporting slap with the back of her hand. What was wrong with a little white lie, when it obviously did so much good? “I know, perhaps a little unorthodox at first glance, but I can only recommend it to you all. Having a little fella down there? Let me tell you, it does wonders for the chaffing, plus if, say… you have a few too many beans for lunch, he’s right there to block any surprise expulsions of unpleasant air.”

            There was a breath of silence across the room. Roberta felt her son stop squirming in her breasts as he listened. If anything, she felt him shiver, and probably with disgust.

            “Sounds like you use live ammo in your personal R&R program, Roberta,” one man said. Several parents nodded in agreement, and a couple now wore devilish grins. Even the group therapist, for all her school-teacher charms, regarded the woman with esteem.

            “You can certainly say that,” Roberta confirmed, squinting as she looked down to make out the hapless form of her shrunken son’s head poking pitifully out of the birthmark-speckled walls of his sagging, jiggling prison. She could see the terror and revulsion in his eyes. “Yes, you certainly can say that, indeed.”

Mother and son made their way through the department store. Roberta’s low clunker heels clacked on the gleaming tile. As she passed a floor-length mirror affixed to a pillar by the nearest shoe aisle, Roberta couldn’t help but stop to catch a glimpse of herself.

            She was met by the same vaguely disappointing reflection as always.

            Boring gray-and-red top, leather skirt. A pronounced hourglass frame ruined by a little extra pouch in the stomach, plus her less-than-pert breasts and globe-like ass. A prominent nose, thin lips, and seven-year-old glasses frames weren’t doing her plain facial features any favors. Plus, at age forty-nine, she was already beginning to weather under the pretensions of rapidly gaining middle age. Creased frown lines and visible crow’s feet marked her as a bit of an “old maid,” even though the number of gray hairs in her frizzy brown mane was, for now, under control. She sucked in her gut, tried to stand up straighter, and made the best of it.

            Not exactly a vision, but overall, acceptable enough. Roberta hadn’t felt attractive in quite a long time. Today, it seemed, wasn’t going to be any miraculous exception. The woman furrowed her brow again. She felt tiny arms and legs thrashing against the plush inner walls of her warm cleavage.

            “Quit your fussing, Kyle. You know, it’s this precise reason, because you can never follow simple directions, that you’re even in there in the first place,” Roberta scolded. She gave her son a few disciplinary taps on the head with her index finger.

            Kyle groused, ceasing the wrestling match with his mother’s tits, and crossed his arms as he sunk lower inside the vice of heavy flesh.

            “C’mon, Mom! Let me out, okay?” he groaned loudly, drawing a few curious eyes of passerby. “It’s getting super fricking hot in here. I can hardly breathe!”

            “Stay good while I do the shopping, and you’ll come out to try on some new clothes. How about that, huh? You’ll even personally benefit from improving your behavior.”

            “Fine.”

            She could virtually hear the roll of his eyes from that final grumbled pronouncement, but the woman decided to let it go for now. Picking one’s battles was important. A little stick and a little carrot. That was the way. Roberta pressed her breasts back together, embracing Kyle into the clammy pocket of aged skin and stale perfume, and set off at a brisk jaunt for the women’s clothing section.

            As this was one of her first public outings with her legally shrunken boy, Roberta was already enjoying the increased relaxation which came with milling at her own pace. Normally when she forced her son out in public with her, he couldn’t wait to squirm away and either hook up with friends or just make himself a general nuisance, bugging her about when it was time to leave. Well, this time, there would be no squirming. If there was, all Roberta had to do was jostle her bust and fasten the boy’s arms to his sides.

            “Could use some new panties, for sure…” the woman murmured to herself, eyeing the more expensive and garishly pink racks. She thumbed through the options with one hand, while with her other she twirled a fingernail in her puny child’s ruffled hair where it prodded from between her breasts. As expected, none of the higher-priced choices were exactly in her size, nor in her price range, for that matter. Roberta moved on.

            “Can I help you with something, ma’am?” a saleswoman in a smart pantsuit asked pleasantly, appearing from behind a blouse carousel.

            “Yes, I’m looking for the undergarments for the… err, healthier woman?”

            “Of course. Right this way,” the saleswoman said with a smile, indicating toward the back corner of the store. “Anything else?”

            “Actually, yes. If you could point me toward the Big & Tall section for my son, he-” Roberta chimed, but snorted before she could even get her whole joke out. She felt her son fold into himself with embarrassment against the bulging walls of her bosom.

            “Your son?” the salesperson questioned as they arrived in the correct department. “Is he…”

            “Decidedly not Big & Tall. Sorry, I couldn’t resist,” Roberta snickered. She fished into her cleavage with her thumb and forefinger, snatching her son around his chest. He resisted, going limp and automatically turning himself like a corkscrew such that he nearly managed to slide back into the sweat-glazed pocket he occupied. However, his mother’s fingers were far too dexterous, and she had him hooked by the back of his shirt and the beltline of his pants, prying him out.

            “Ah, I see now,” the saleswoman said cheerily, tapping a finger at her chin as she observed the six-inch shrunken young man dangled from his mother’s hand. “He certainly isn’t Big nor Tall, that’s true. Anyway, here’s the section you’re looking for. Will that be all, ma’am?”

            Roberta beamed, observing the beet-red complexion her son adopted at being paraded like this, and nodded again in thanks to the woman. She cupped an open palm beneath Kyle’s swinging feet. This allowed him to crumple awkwardly into her waiting hand; her fingers formed a shallow cage around his hips.

            “Why?” he muttered.

            “Hmm?” Roberta asked, already mostly preoccupied with flicking through the roomier underwear better suited to her robust derriere.

            “Why’d you have to do that? Pull me out in front of her like that?”
            “Well, for one, I was going to be needing your opinion on the clothes I pick, and second, you’ve got to get used to being around people much larger than you anyway, Kyle,” Roberta explained. “You might as well get some practice.”

            “Sure, but… c’mon, Mom. This isn’t cool.”

            Roberta paused, unhooking a pair of black panties from the rack, and looked down upon her son in her hand. She narrowed her eyes, pursing her lips from one side of her mouth to the other. A warm exhale wafted over his body.

            “That might very well be true, dear. But then again, it wasn’t particularly “cool” when you and your hooligan “friends” took it upon yourselves to vandalize the superintendent’s car and his poolhouse. It was anything but “cool” when you chose to jeopardize your academic futures and possibly criminal records over a stupid, silly game or prank or dare or whatever it was you kids thought you were doing. So maybe, just maybe, a little more “uncoolness” is necessary for comparison, so you can begin to understand the magnitude of your mistakes.”

            The strict, motherly benediction all came out in one breath. When it was through, Kyle looked deflated for the time being. He slumped against his mother’s thumb and crossed his arms over his chest, his chin bowed toward his lap.

            Roberta didn’t let him see it, as she was officially in “parenting” mode now, but she allowed herself a sneaky little smirk. In times past, she might well have had to escalate their conflict all the way to a screaming match before either of them backed down. Now, with Kyle at convenient hand-held size, he could be put in his place practically as easily as a button-activated doll. He had the Ken-style good looks, chiseled jaw, and sandy-blonde hair already; this size, then, was just a natural conclusion for him and his marauding ways.

            “All right, dear, you don’t need to play the victim all day. We’ve still got plenty of shopping to do. Now buck up, and tell me what you think of this pair?” Roberta asked. She extended the generous waistband of the midnight-black panties all the way out, letting them hang like a flag from her fingers, though she still kept her palm level enough for Kyle to perch.

            “Seriously? Your underwear?” he snarked.

            “Yes. Is that so strange? I just want an opinion, and I’ve got you here.”

            “Yeah, but… isn’t that a little… I don’t know, personal, Mom? I don’t need to see your underwear.”

            “I suppose not. But then again, I’ve seen yours plenty of times, all those years I spent changing and dressing you,” Roberta simpered. She crossed her thumb over her son’s stomach, subtly pinning him back into her palm. “Maybe it wouldn’t kill you to show a little gratitude sometimes and just play along, hmm? Now come on, tell me what you think. Here, I’ll even let you have a feel of it.”

            “Have a… what?” he sputtered dramatically as his mother’s giant fingers clamped around him. The boy was plopped unceremoniously into the parachute-like folds of the crisp black panties, while Roberta stretched out the fabric like a tablecloth, with her son laid squarely at the center where her hypothetical ass crack would be cradled.

            “Well, Kyle? Does it get the seal of approval? Is it soft enough to keep my tush comfy all day long?” she asked, trying not to laugh aloud at the obvious, fidgeting repulsion she’d visited upon her son simply by placing him in a factory-fresh pair of panties.

            Indeed, Kyle was caught between a full-body dry-heave at the mere concept of his surroundings, and also trying to keep still enough to avoid tumbling off the precarious loft of panty fabric toward the death plunge below.

            Roberta could already tell how much better just about every aspect of public life, shopping included, would be now with her son at his much more manageable six inches. Plus, he was pretty cute in there, too.

            The underwear portion of the shopping trip dragged on for half an hour, much to Kyle’s consternation. Roberta took her sweet time fingering through each and every rack of luxurious plus-size fare. Various cotton and silk fabric combinations in multiple thread counts and increasingly sensuous colors were all tested, first by the woman’s fingertips, then by Kyle himself, who was without fail laid at the center of the billowing folds. Roberta, ever the overbearing parent, simply beamed at him for a few seconds with each new predicament, taking mental pictures of her child hammocked in her potential future undergarments.

            After the tenth or so round, the teen seemed to be fussing less as his mother’s fingers released him into the exact location in the panties where a woman’s, specifically Roberta’s, ass crack might situate. Like he was getting used to it. She hoped he was retreating into a more docile state of being: the kind of man he had to learn to be on his own if he was ever going to survive out in the real world, beyond the reach of his mother’s punitive hands.

            Roberta at last selected the perfect pair of crimson-red panties with a faint leopard-print pattern. She plucked her son out of the underwear and made herself a smug mental note. It was rapidly becoming apparent that if she was to mold Kyle into an upright citizen, then he was going to have to settle down and learn to accept the things he couldn’t change. And the exact way to do that, it seemed, was to give him plenty of what he didn’t want, in spite of his gripes, until he learned to accept it.

            Nestling him in his mother’s panties in broad daylight was just one example. Roberta was certain she could find others as well.

            “Well. I think these will do very nicely,” Roberta said with shopping bag in one hand and her shrunken son in the other. “Now was that really so tortuous?”

            Kyle grunted. His chin bowed again.

            “Hey. Earth to Kyle. C’mon, dear, we’ve talked about this. You don’t have to like it, but you’ve got to pick up a few manners at least through all of this. Now please look at me when I speak to you, all right?”

            Sure enough, Kyle looked up, though that probably had something to do with his mother’s thumb nudging him upside the head for encouragement.

            Again Roberta had to hide a half-smirk. A month ago she would’ve never found the courage to speak to her strapping young brat of a child like this. Now, it was coming as easily as songs in the shower. This R&R program really was making improvements, and not just in Kyle himself.

            “It wasn’t so tortuous,” he grumbled.

            “There’s the sarcastic little boy I know and love,” Roberta sighed. He really was cute when he was angry which, incidentally, was quite often now at his new shrunken stature. “Now, back in your little playpen you go, while I get us over to the boy’s clothing. I heard there’s a new display specifically for individuals in… semi-regular reduced states.”

            “Mom, for God’s sa-” Kyle protested, but he was thrust too quickly between his parent’s baggy breasts to get the words out. Plus he had Roberta’s fingers pinched around his head and neck, making vocal recourse difficult. His mouth squished awkwardly along the nearest warm, musky rounded wall of tit flesh. Practically spitting up with disgust, Kyle settled himself as best he could in his tight nesting quarters, and prepared for the usual steady slide lower in the woman’s expansive brassiere.

            Roberta bustled through the sifting department store crowds, hunting for the specialized shrunken boy clothing display. Sure enough, she found it roughly where the newspaper advertisement hinted: an appropriately small set of racks near the back of the room, but brightly colored and prominently announced by arrows and block letters above saying “MEN’S R&R WEAR.”

            “Oh, isn’t this is just dear,” Roberta squealed as she took in the miniature shelves and carousels containing clothing made for young men at varying degrees of reduction. Easing her son out of the narrow shaft between her clamped breasts, the woman held him aloft so Kyle could get an eyeful of his attire prospects.

            “It’s okay,” he said.

            “Always Mr. Negative, aren’t you?” Roberta flicked through some tiny sweaters. “How about these shirts? The color goes great with your eyes.”

            “Uh, okay.”

            “Oh, and these little pleated pants? These might be just what you need for when your disciplinary hearing comes up in a few months, honey. You’d look smart, I think. Dashing and smart.” Roberta was plucking miniature shirts now by the handful and piling them on the gangplank of her fingers.

            “Whatever you say,” he shrugged, clearly not even looking at his mother’s suggestions for more than a blink. No matter where his Roberta’s probing fingers pointed his six-inch body, he at least had the minor resistance of ignorance still available to him.

            Roberta, meanwhile, couldn’t remember having such a blast selecting clothes in years. Not even shopping for herself was anywhere near this fun, which tended to be a somewhat limiting affair given the added heft she carried in her midsection and rear end. The Plus-Size rack was her constant and drab companion.

            This, though, was more akin to dressing up an expensive designer doll. Roberta supposed she would’ve found great joy as a child in choosing the best outfit for shrunken house-incarcerates. Her son was giving her that little mid-life pleasure now.

            “I guess this is a good start, don’t you think?” Roberta asked Kyle as she palmed at least a dozen papery outfits in her opposite hand.

            “We’re getting all of those?”

            “What? No, do I look like I’m made of money, sweetie? We’re going to have you try them all on and see which ones are the winners.”

            “All of them? C’mon, Mom, I-” Kyle breezed, but caught sight of his parent’s raised eyebrow and death glare. He quickly hushed.

            “That’s better. Now let’s find us a changing room.” Roberta made for the nearest set of booths down a wood-paneled side hall and picked out an unoccupied stall. Ignoring the somewhat unflattering sight of herself in the adjoining mirror, the woman set Kyle down on the side tabletop, along with the tiny chromed heap of her chosen outfits.

            “Well?” she murmured, crossing her arms and taking a seat on the thin stool beside.

            “Well, what?”

            “Aren’t you going to try them on?”

            “Not… in front of you,” he muttered.

            “Honey, what’s the difference? I can turn my head to the side if it bothers you, but I want to make sure we keep this moving along. I thought you were the one who was eager to get home, right?”

            “Yeah, I am. But Mom, this is a little too much,” he said. He shook his head, nudging the pile of clothes with his miniature shoe, and backed away. “I’ll try them on, okay? I’m cooperating. But not if you’re sitting in here.”

            Roberta stopped short of rolling her eyes. A deep breath, then the slow exhale. She was the adult here. She was the mother. And she had some serious mothering to do, it seemed.

            “Kyle, darling,” she said with a forced smile through gritted teeth. “Please, do me a favor, and strip down so you can try on the clothes.”

            The six-inch young man blinked in bleary disbelief at the woman he’d so easily wrapped around his finger for the last eighteen years. Just because she could rescramble his size at will didn’t make her his owner. This was still America, after all. He shoved up his lower lip, squinted at Roberta, and shrugged.

            “No,” he balked.

            “So be it.”

            Roberta’s fingers were as swift as they were precise. In one easy swoop, she had her designer-doll-sized son gripped back in her palm. Manicured nails traced the small of his back beneath his shirt. Her broad thumb scoured up the front of her boy’s tiny washboard abs; instinctively, the woman felt a soft rush of goosebumps tickle up her spine.

            “Jesus, Mom. What are you doing? You can’t just-”

            “Actually, legally, I can, and I will do this, Kyle. I gave you multiple chances first to do it yourself like a big boy.”

            “Okay, FINE! If you’re gonna make such a huge deal out of- stop it! If you’re going to do this, then put me down, and I’ll do it myself now!”

            The woman halted for an instant in her mission. Her fingers were now thoroughly entangled in her teenage son’s shirt, his miniature legs windmilling uselessly in an attempt to fend off her wrists with his puny kicks. She nibbled her lip. Maybe it was enough that he saw his errors and took ownership, even if it took a try or two first?

            Somehow, though, Roberta had a sneaking mother’s intuition cloying at the back of her scalp. She needed to set a precedent. And, in this particular case, she was already halfway there. Shrugging just as callously as her son had before his little rebellion, she hooked her finger up against Kyle’s chest and slipped his garment right over his head, leaving him shirtless in her hand.

            “Geez, Mom. This is ridiculous. I guarantee you, nobody else on the R&R crap is getting treated like this.”

            Roberta ignored the half-naked boy in her fist. She turned her gaze to the pile of clothes she’d collected, sorting and separating them on the table surface with her pinky fingernail, but in reality, she was just buying time. The unique sensation of gripping a body as toned and chiseled as Kyle’s, son or not, in her warm palm was too enticing of a guilty pleasure to skip. His impressively cut abdomen, his bulging miniature arms and delts; his tiny little chest rising and falling with increasing concern against his mother’s thick fingers.

            “This nice little button-up will be a good starter. Here, let’s see how it fits,” Roberta said pleasantly. She opened her hand, allowing her son just enough reach to slide his arms into the sleeves, though of course she didn’t allow him to fold the flaps together alone; her burly fingers easily bullied his busy shrunken hands aside.

            “I can do it, Mom. See, I’m doing it?”

            “I see, Kyle. Very good.”

            Next came the pants. The boy was a little more resigned to his embarrassing fate as Roberta’s fingernail crested its way down his beltline, even if he went more rigid in her grasp. Inch by inch the diminutive denim legs came away, courtesy of her giant fingers, leaving Kyle in his boxers. Once again, Roberta returned to her patient selection process while she cradled her pantsless child.

            This taut, hot little organism was alive in her hand, and right now, Roberta was legally allowed to continue gripping him for as long as she was content to do so.

            The clarification of that fact in the woman’s head, even if she’d known it all along, sent a few extra endorphins shooting to her brain’s pleasure center. Why did no one tell her this whole disciplinary program shindig was going to be so much fun?

            “All right, I suppose you’ve earned back your right to change yourself, dear. Just remember what a privilege this was in the future, unless you enjoy having your poor mother wait on you hand and foot like your servant.” True to her word, Roberta set Kyle back on the low tabletop beside the pile. Then, rummaging through her own shopping bag, she reproduced the crimson underwear from inside and ripped away the tags with obvious intent.

“What… what’re you doing, Mom?” Kyle accused. He had his pants back on practically in the same breath from the time he was released from the captivity of Roberta.

            “Oh, just the same thing as you, honey. I’ve got to know if they fit, after all,” she said, realizing halfway through the sentence it was a white lie. That wasn’t really why she was about to try them on.

            “But… you already bought them.”

            “The store’s just over that way, Kyle. I have the receipt and I’m sure they’d take them back. But I do need to get a feel for them. I’m not a one-size-fits-all kind of woman. Besides, I could use a man’s opinion on these babies.”

            There was no further discussion on the matter. Skin flushed and her hair standing on end from the bizarre and unexpected toe-tingling entertainment gleaned from playing dolls with her son, Roberta stood. She stepped out of her clunker heels, padding in her nylons on the ratty carpet, and commenced pinching and poking beneath the hem of her skirt.

            “Uh… Mom?”

            “Just one second, dear. I almost have it.”

            “Why do I have to watch this?”

            “You don’t, honey. I’m not even getting undressed. Don’t be so dramatic,” Roberta scolded.

            She stepped through the leg loops of her previous pair of underwear, blanched and sweat-stained after dozens of trips in the wash, and let them fall at her ankles. Amused at the sight of her six-inch child turned fully around with his head tucked down into his chest for visual protection, the mother next dangled the much more exciting crimson leopard panties from her thumb.

            “New year, new me!” Roberta chimed happily. She lowered her new purchase toward the floor to more easily slide her generous thighs through the opening.

            “It’s not even the new year, Mom.”

            “Only making light of the situation, sweetie. Besides, I think you ought to try viewing yourself in a similar light. This program you’re in now? I think it’s going to help create a whole new, more productive you. Now, be a doll and tell mama whether you think these panties are doing all they can for me?” With the crimson panties firmly snapped to her hips, Roberta drew back the curtain of her skirt and stepped nearer to the table, for the benefit of her son’s gaze.

            Kyle’s face contorted into a grimace of profound distaste. He looked on the verge of gagging. Indeed, he was faced directly with a rather grim sight.

            Roberta’s prominent camel-toe bulged with its twin crescent-moon shapes against the fresh red fabric, her nether regions clearly either engorged and open for business, or simply hanging slightly agape at all times after too many entrances. Kyle could see the front of the brand-new panties already spotted with dark, sticky liquid through the cloth down the length of her crotch. Centered at the lacy waistband, a veritable shrub garden of glistening brown pubic hair protruded. Its bushy volume contributed to the puffed appearance of the panties between Roberta’s roomy thighs, and a great deal of her pussy’s hairy adornment extended beyond where even plus-size panties could conceal.

            Kyle felt as though his stomach would turn over and rot right inside him.

            “I’m waiting, hon. What do you think?”

            “Looks fine,” he belched, gripping his sides.

            “You’re just saying that, aren’t you?”

            “No, I’m not.”

            “Fantastic. Now the rear, all right?” Roberta narrated pleasantly. She pirouetted around, shifting her fanned hands to the back of the skirt, so that her son was now faced with the pillowy hills of her rotund ass swelling against the hapless panties. Already a significant cluster of the plus-size drawers had sucked into the woman’s crack, merely by her shifting on her toes to turn around. A distinct valley dipped low between the boulder-like mounds of her rump.

            If he was sure of nothing else, Kyle had a feeling no store would accept these panties back, even with a receipt. Merely by putting them on, his mother had subjected them to the violation of two distinctly revolting orifices on her body. He only managed a nod in response to his mother after she looked over her shoulder, impatient for positive reviews on her new crimson-leopards.

            “See? Now was that so difficult, dear? Helping someone out who’s already helping you out by doing all the legwork. All you have to do is put on the clothes. No price checking, no walking around. The way I see it, that entitles me to a little motherly support.” Roberta balled up the old panties and tossed them in the shopping bag like garbage.

            “Uh-huh.”

            “What was that, Kyle?” Roberta questioned sweetly as she slid her pudgy nyloned feet back into their respective black heels. She folded her fingers prayerfully at her waist as she leered down at her half-dressed boy, her frizzy locks forming an imposing canopy around her stoic countenance.

            “Nothing, Mom. Your new stuff looks good,” he grumbled, on the verge of choking with each word.

            “Why, thank you, sweetie. That’s very nice of you to say.” Roberta divided the small pile of usable shrinker clothing from the rejects with her finger, then brought her palm to bear back against Kyle’s legs. In the manner of a forced trust fall, the teen wiped out directly into his parent’s waiting hand, which quickly coiled him up in her greedy digits.

            There was no way any of this was normal, Kyle decided. The whole system had to be warped. That was the only explanation for how he’d managed to find himself in this scenario, as repugnant as it was compromising.

            “I think we can easily call today a successful shopping run, don’t you think?” Roberta asked, though she didn’t wait for an answer either way before she jammed her son back into her doughy cleavage.

            She shoved him in good and deep this time, until she felt his little legs bottoming out against the heaving cup of her bra. Once he was buried in warm flesh and fabric, Roberta took hold of her bust from either side and gave the whole rack a ponderous sway. The lunar texture of her breasts momentarily molded to either side of Kyle’s fidgeting form, briefly forming spread-arm snow-angels into her skin before the weight shifted again and her breasts jostled to the opposite side. With every swing, the six-inch man was subjected to colliding sacs of humid, freckled skin and excess mammary girth.

            Roberta purchased the new doll outfits for Kyle with a smile on her face and a song in her heart. She even made sure to lean further than was necessary over the counter, giving the cashier a generous view of the lucky little boy imprisoned between her breasts.

            After such a major confidence boost in the changing room, Roberta didn’t cast her glance to a single pillared mirror on her march for the nearest parking lot exit. The woman held her head high, her shopping purchases slung over her arm and her fingers coyly teasing her son’s shrunken head budding between her tits.

            What use was there in languishing on her bodily imperfections when, deep inside, where it counted, she felt this stellar?

Week three of R&R therapy arrived decidedly quicker for Roberta than the previous session. Time seemed to be moving just that bit faster, as she’d steadily made adjustments and tweaks to the power dynamic between herself and her son, thus amending their previously stunted relationship. Now, as the boy’s father would’ve once said, they were cooking with gas.

            Roberta idly rocked side to side in her R&R group therapy chair. Its metal hinges quietly groaned under the sifting pressure of her ample keister and roomy thighs. Hands folded in her lap, she nudged her left bosom with her upper arm. She’d almost forgotten Kyle was not wedged between the globes of her breasts today, and felt the momentary, hollowing panic of misplacing something important, such as a purse or a cell phone, until she recalled why he was not there. A gleeful smile toyed at the edge of her lip.

            “Thank you, Lilah and Meredith. It sounds like the two of you have made great strides this week,” the group therapist said with genuine conviction. The rest of the room nodded appreciably at the women to Roberta’s left.

            The previous speaking duo, petite five-foot-two Lilah holding her eleven-inch shrunken little sister Meredith, collectively beamed. There was an obvious mutual affection present between them, as Meredith was allowed to remain in the open air throughout the conversation, without giant hands coiled around her body. She was a remarkable poster girl of self-restraint and manners for the rest of her reduced cohorts. By contrast, already this hour, several other little miscreants were tucked away inside sticky parental shoes.

            Roberta raised an eyebrow at the two sisters. She didn’t look down upon them, she decided; what worked for some wouldn’t work for others. Meredith seemed like a perfectly sweet young woman who had plenty of potential to go forth as a respectable citizen. Thus she didn’t require the educative consequences of others, like those loudmouths who couldn’t keep themselves from yapping long enough to let a single humble thought seep into their rotting brains.

            Like Kyle used to be before his shrinking.

            “Roberta?” the therapist said, scribbling away on her clipboard. The ever-present toothpaste grin was in full force. “Would you and… Kyle like to go next?” Obvious effort was made to locate the shrunken boy on his mother’s person before the leader actually said his name. Coming up dry, however, the woman simply returned her attention to Roberta’s face.

            On the first week of the program, Roberta couldn’t help but fold into herself in the presence of so many new faces and personalities. She’d always been more than a little self-conscious about her weight and appearance. As with any new situation, she had to acclimate. Allow herself to exist on equal footing.

            Today, Roberta had more than overcome the urge to shield herself from view. She’d put extra time into her makeup today and, if she said so herself, was as close to stunning as she could achieve with her naturally plain facial structure. Her hair, courtesy of a thorough appointment at the stylist yesterday, was in prime condition, with an enviable sheen. Plus, the new clothes she’d purchased on her shopping trip with Kyle provided a much-needed confidence boost.

            “Yes, yes. I think my son and I have made some progress this week as well,” Roberta said. She knitted her fingers together across her broad lap. “Not quite so… peaceful, in every respect, but as a biased audience of one, I’m very pleased with how my Kyle has proceeded in the last seven days.”

            “Tell us more. If you’re comfortable, of course,” the therapist said. She settled into her seat, attention rapt, to absorb whatever Roberta said. Most of the parents took on similar postures, and those that didn’t were still toe-wrestling with their spunkier delinquents at floor level.

            “Well…” Roberta began, mentally reviewing her carefully plotted answer, “…we had some difficulty early on in the week after Kyle took exception to my rule that he clean up his new sleeping area at the end of my bedpost. We had a less-than forward-thinking discussion about whether he ought to keep the blankets folded on his sixty-dollar cat bed I bought him. So, he spent a little while in… time-out, and the next day we went shopping, for both of us. Kyle picked up several very becoming new get-ups, and also helped me select some ensembles as well. And, well, we had our usual disagreements pop up, but I do believe he was beginning to see the error of resisting helping out his dear old mama. By the end of the outing, he was willingly offering his thoughts on my purchases and patiently trying on any of his own which I gifted him, despite his slip-ups.”

            “Wonderful,” the therapist said. “You’ll find there are some bumpy days early in the process of the R&R program, when little rebellions may flare up. It sounds like you dealt with them in ways healthy for both you and your son.”

            “I do try,” Robert blushed.

            “Will Kyle be making any comments about his week’s progress, or is he still in time-out now?”

            Roberta’s smile bulged, flaring her pearly whites. She stifled a chuckle.

            “The latter,” she smiled. Many of the parents and guardians adopted the same grin, in memory of her hyperbolic explanation the previous session of Kyle’s rigorous physical discipline regime. Several, even, let their gaze drift to the creaking platform of Roberta’s chair and the meaty pair of skirt-clad buttocks which weighed it down. Imaginations ran wild.

            “Fair enough,” the therapist said. A note scratched into her chart.

            “Though, we did have one of our nice little chats before we arrived today, and I assured him I would personally communicate any of his relevant thoughts and feelings to the group,” Roberta said, not quite defensive, but eager to remind everyone of who precisely was the victim here. “It seemed he didn’t have any thoughts that were particularly constructive, so that will just about cover us as far as weekly reporting.”

            The message got across. Roberta enjoyed a similar round of nods and resolute smiles indicating they’d all taken up her side.

            “I’ll have to keep that in mind,” one great-aunt said.

            “You’re a stronger woman than me, Roberta,” another mother laughed, sharing in the mirth and implied strain of that sentiment. Several other parents chimed in under their breath.

            Roberta flushed even pinker. She didn’t mind at all being reminded in this self-assuring atmosphere that she was, indeed, strong. In spite of the questionable measures she’d been forced to assume as a result of Kyle’s uncontrollable behavior, she was the benevolent force currently occupying this chair. And until her son learned to fully recognize that fact, he’d continue to receive every iota, pound for pound, of tough love she had to give. Today, as it happened, she had quite a lot to give.

            “So where is Kyle?” one woman queried softly in the corner.

            “We don’t necessarily have to-” the therapist began.

            “Only if you don’t mind, Roberta,” the other woman interrupted more sharply, clearly with keen interest. “For our own edification. We’re very curious.”

            Throwing up her hands in mock-surrender, Roberta embraced the attention of this miniature crowd and let them hang in suspense for just an instant. Then, palm open, she brought her hand down with a hard, ear-pricking slap to the bulbous broad side of her thigh. Predictably, she cast a flinch through each surprised onlooker, yet all of their eyes glowed with intrigue.

            “Does this mean you went through what you said last week after all?” the woman in the corner asked. She sounded earnest. Almost hopeful.

            “Not quite, dears,” Roberta announced. Gritting her teeth, she lurched forward, shifting the weight from her ass to her heels. This alleviated enough space underneath such that her six-inch son became visible where he’d been compressed mercilessly into the thin fabric padding of the arched plastic and his mother’s globular girth.

            There was a near-audible sigh of disappointment, followed by the inevitable giggling. Clearly there was pressure pent up in each guardian after another full week with a shrunken grouse, regardless of where they chose to keep their charge. In Roberta’s mind, anything she could do to defuse that build-up would be healthier in the long run for the parents and especially the doll-sized boys and girls.

            Satisfied that everyone had a good enough peek at her secret time-out method, Roberta peered around the curve of her derriere. Catching her bleary son’s little eye, she waggled her fingers delicately goodbye. Then, just as quickly as he was granted a thirty-second reprieve, the red-faced lad was buried in the plummeting depth-charge that was his mother’s rotund, boulder-like bubble butt. The forced expulsion of air from his already empty lungs whistled silently into the dark, airless folds of warm skirt fabric and endless moon of dense, jiggling ass flesh.

“Mom. You’ve got to be kidding me.”

            “Does this look like a kidding face to you, sugar plum?” Roberta asked with her usual sweet-laced mortal seriousness. She rested her chin on the outstretched plank of her interwoven fingers, with her elbows propped up on the lime-stained bathroom countertop.

            Kyle, still with the corduroy tattoo of his mother’s compressed skirt fabric printed across his face, slumped numbly beside her toothbrush cup. He was a young man visibly defeated and probably mostly deflated as well. However, at this latest suggestion, he’d summoned the strength to stand his ground.

            Or at least protest from a seated position, as that was just about all his sleeping legs allowed now.

            “What do you want me to say?” he grumbled. “There’s no possible real reason you can tell me that we have to do this.”

            “Honey, do you see yourself? You can hardly move your legs. You’ll probably need the whole evening to recover. I’d bet you’ve still got pins and needles in your arms, haven’t you?”

            “Well, yeah, but all of that is because you sat on me. You sat on me,” he said, repeating the incremental phrase, probably for his own gradual processing. It still had yet to sink fully in. His eyes flickered in disbelief between Roberta’s expectant eyes and her greedy fingers.

            If he wasn’t so dog-day tired, he would’ve shuddered in disgust at the reminder of having experienced the shape of his parent’s mushy butt the entire day, even if he did have the small favor of billowing cloth to separate him from her blemished skin.

            “You’re getting into semantics, dear. None of that changes the fact that you can’t clean yourself without functioning arms and legs. What kind of a mother would I be, really, to set her only son adrift in deep water with no way to fend for himself? Do you honestly think, after all I’ve done for you, that I’d put you at such risk to drown?”

             Kyle had an answer he so desperately wanted to scream at his parent. Instead he chose the more diplomatic choice, as it would probably spare him another few hours underneath Roberta’s life-squeezing rump.       

            “No.”

            “That’s a good boy. Now go ahead and strip down. You know the drill now. There’s nothing I haven’t seen down there, especially after the refresher course we had in the changing room last week,” Roberta said. She winked, then shook her head at his instantaneous sneer of nausea. “Only teasing you, hon, to lighten the mood. Now get those clothes off. All of them. Chop chop.”

            Having learned the hard and humiliating way what happened when he disobeyed under these circumstances, Kyle complied. He set his eyes to the yellowed sink countertop and robotically whipped his attire away. First shoes, then shirt, then pants, which he discarded in a pile.

            The underwear took a deep breath before he could even muster the courage to tuck his thumbs into the elastic band. After all, he’d been allowed to keep this oh-so-precious garment on during the impromptu miniature outfit fashion show. There was an internal hurdle to leap here. His hand shook as he reached for the waistline cusp of his boxers.

            However, before he could even pinch the cotton, Roberta’s index finger crested into his limited window of vision. With the same precision as her last extraction of the boy’s clothes, her polished fingernail slid down the front of the underwear. The curved keratin surface of her extremity ran along Kyle’s thigh, and then, with a simple crook of her digit, she had it in her grasp. His underwear slid directly down to his ankles, wrapped neatly around Roberta’s fingertip.

            “Sorry, dear,” she cooed. Her finger flicked the papery scrap aside. “Just trying to move this along. I’m sure you’re eager to get through with this so you can get back to dusting the kitchen.”

            “Fine,” he grunted in his telltale reticent armistice. He lifted his chin back up, making quaky eye contact with his parent as he resumed his meager six-inch full height, with his entire form on display.

            Roberta held steady and stoic as she glared Kyle down, but she could feel her pupils dilating almost instantaneously. It had been a very long time since she’d seen the boy naked, and though it was a silly thing to have to distinguish, he’d changed quite a bit since then. Not just in the Adonis-wannabe shape of his sculpted arms, abs, and chest. Though it filled her with impropriety to think this way, from an objective standpoint, Roberta recognized that her son was quite well endowed between the legs.

            The woman’s slimy tongue pressed to her palate amidst a moat of rising drool. The nape of her neck warmed, almost to the point of moistening. Through the layers of her blouse and bra, she could feel her soft, flopped nipples firming. Taking on their more conical shapes like hardened putty. She hadn’t even lifted a finger.

            “Well?” Kyle muttered, hands folded behind his back. His knees shook. “Can we just get this over with, Mom?”

            Roberta swallowed the excess saliva in her cheeks. “Absolutely, darling. Just hold still for mama, and we’ll get through this in as timely a fashion as I can manage.”

            The woman’s open hand hovered pointedly around her son’s naked body for just a moment before she seized him in her fist. A rush of endorphin-drenched adrenaline shot instantly through Roberta’s body, leading from her thick fingertips to the flat-bed of her sole. It was remarkable how you could experience a person’s entirety, when they were small enough to be held like a doll in one hand.

            With all the delicacy in the world, Roberta lowered her prize into the warm water she’d pooled in the basin of the sink. Then, after a few pumps of lilac soap plunked into the bath, the woman dunked him below the drink for a rinse. Her fingers remained taut about his frame.

            Kyle’s delightfully rigid, wet little muscles were just as satisfying as last time against the curve of Roberta’s fingers. She squeezed her palm tighter underwater, savoring the infinitesimal reaction of his every bodily mechanism clenching in response to the motherly trauma. When she withdrew him in her still-coiled hand, suds dripping from the cracks in her fist, she enjoyed the feeling of his tiny chest pulsing for air against her plush palm.

            Another dunk. This time her fingers wrung him out like a soaked sponge, scrubbing his every nude angle. A thumbpad drew figure-eights into his abdomen. Her ring finger sidled along his inner thighs. Not a nook or cranny existed on Kyle which wasn’t treated to several agonizing seconds of gentle rubbing by Roberta’s probing hands.

            Of special note on this novel occasion was, of course, the boy’s little manhood, squashed pathetically into the creased crevice beneath Roberta’s pinky finger. She realized as soon as she caught sight of his member that she wanted to touch it, purely out of ravenous curiosity. Unconsciously, she waxed her digit along the full, miniature shaft. Amongst the splashing water and inflating bubbles, it was likely the boy didn’t think anything of it. Goose bumps primped on the woman’s spine.

            So, again, Roberta took her opportunity. Gathering a stream of foaming bubbles up the length of her finger, the mother stroked the slippery spire of her digit along her son’s half-inch dick. After several repetitions of fondling her finger up the front and back of his micro-member, even propping it up on the spiraled tip, Roberta knew she was just about out of time in her exploration of the boy’s junk. Any longer and he might raise some authentic questions about the necessity of washing his shrunken dick for three full minutes.

            Moving on just as swiftly and innocuously as she’d commenced soaping her son’s undercarriage, Roberta returned to scrubbing his hair and flicking him in the bare buttocks. Nevertheless, she couldn’t help but furrow her brow the next time she pulled him back up from the bath in a spray of lilac-froth. She would’ve bet good money that Kyle’s happy captain hung just a little longer than it did during her initial kneading.

            When the cleaning was complete to Roberta’s satisfaction, she laid her six-inch offspring in a washcloth and thoroughly scoured him dry. However, where ordinarily she might’ve taken her time, in the cause of granting Kyle another humility lesson, she was instead expedient. The woman set him down, let him redress, and returned him to the kitchen to continue his grout-dusting duties.

            Next Roberta lied, telling her son she needed a few minutes to freshen up before she started dinner preparation. Then she was off, careful not to take the stairs at rampage speed, though her goose-pimpled body and the hair-standing electricity spurred her on. Her hardened, dark-cherry nipples were chafing now on the generous bowls of her bra cups. She all but flung herself into her bedspread as soon as the door clicked shut.

            There was no logical rule here, nor acknowledgement of shame. Whatever cravings burgeoned within during that innocently-intentioned bath, Roberta was now following with an animal need.

            The beltline of her skirt almost tore in the carnage. She ripped them down her hefty thighs, yanked through the flimsy folds of her panties, now sopping with pre-cum, and jammed two beefy fingers into the gaping petals of her womanhood. Without a second of additional stimulation, she wormed her fingers in up to the knuckle. She clawed at the gummy, undulating walls of her ribbed cunt. Her juices sloshed and dribbled through the hairy mass of her pussy and down her taint, soaking into the bed sheets.

            Roberta felt a wall-shaking moan swelling in her throat. Thinking fast, she snatched the pillow beside her head and pressed it over her mouth just in time to capture the lustful music of her joy. The woman was taken aback, pausing for a split-second in the rapid rhythm of her masturbation. She hadn’t made a noise like that, pretend or not, in more than a decade. There’d been plenty of fun-filled alone times on this very mattress in the intervening years, using a variety of helpful instruments ranging from garden vegetables to household implements.

            None of it had ever charged Roberta into a state of sheer liquid arousal the likes of which she was drunk on now. Adjusting her grip, she inserted a third finger into her widespread opening. Her pubic hair was matted down by sticky lubricant, making a smooth enough runway for the manic frenzy of her jutting digits. The thumb alternately hammered and circled the fleshy nub prodding through the folds of parted, cum-strung skin.

            All the while, the woman’s mind was distilled to the thought of holding her helpless, naked son in her powerful hands: his muscles and cock temporarily her exclusive possessions. She attempted several times out of latent resistance to shift her thoughts to other attractive men she knew, chiseled celebrities, or even porn stars. None of them fueled the fire. Only when Roberta’s hunger drifted back to that image of her soapy little boy clasped in her palms and at her complete mercy did she permanently reignite the passion swirling within her glorious, thick, hump-crazed body.

            The pillow returned to Roberta’s face in the nick of time to absorb the seismic scream of her orgasm. Her thunderous thighs rocked the bed; the aging furniture creaked beneath its full-bodied host and her thrashing ass.

            Sighing, Roberta eased her fingers out of her still-tingling tunnel. Strands of ejaculate webbed between her digits. For a few moments, she simply petted her hairy mound. At the back of her mind, she felt societal morality and general decency commencing to punish her for what she’d just done and what, precisely, she’d thought of through every bumpy, wonderful second of that ride.

            Roberta put those thoughts consciously aside. For now, she had more immediate concerns. For example, the fact that she actually did have a legitimate need to “freshen up” now.

The dining room chandelier glistened handsomely above the immaculately prepared table spread, steaming and filling the house with its smoky aroma. Roberta had really pulled out all the stops on this meal. She’d cooked for half the afternoon, readying the roast, potatoes, vegetables, and even splurging on a middle-shelf bottle of red wine. Ordinarily, the woman didn’t see a need to introduce alcohol to her diet when she already was in need of shedding a few pounds, but today she was in the mood to make merry.

            After all, Kyle’s rebellious spirit had noticeably quelled in the three days since she bathed him. He’d carried out his chores obediently and to the letter. No remarks were made, even when Roberta invented a reason to insert him back between her breasts, just as a litmus test of his loyalty. He’d fought a lip-quivering grimace but ultimately surrendered to the jostling bumper-cars trip of his mother’s tits. At last satisfied that her son had made some personal advancement, as well as personally satisfied in a couple of other ways, Roberta decided some relief was needed for both of them. So, allowing bygones to be bygones, she informed her son that they’d be having a faux-dinner date at home.

            “Why?” he demanded with a minimum of insulting snark.

            “Because your entire generation collectively forgot how to treat a girl right on a date. Now it’s all about hook-up culture and “swiping” this way or that. Well, not you, young man. You’re going to learn a little something about courtship.”

            “Yeah, but… with you?”
            “Who else but the woman who knows you best, inside and out?” Roberta fired back with her prettiest smile. “No argument here. This is going to be a little privilege for you, hon. I’m even paying for the food. You won’t find a better deal than that anywhere in town. Now what do you say?”

            Kyle waylaid his counter-points. Though cripplingly awkward, a bizarre mock-up date with his own mother would still beat the alternate prospect of spending the same meal sandwiched between the chair cushion and her puffy rear end. Probably all the while treated to a steady flow of escaped, musky flatulence. After all, there were multiple dairy and bean-based products incorporated into the supper cornucopia. Roberta wouldn’t even notice the silent chemical warfare below, but Kyle most certainly would, and he didn’t suppose his stomach nor his soul could withstand another extended time in solitary confinement beneath Roberta’s world-breaking posterior.

            “Sure, Mom, sure,” he wheezed. “Show me how to date.”

            The mismatched couple took their places at the mahogany dining table beneath the sworled light fixture, courtesy of Roberta. She, draped in a luxurious crimson-velvet dress which would’ve been outside her comfort zone even a year ago, cradled her son to her bosom on the approach, then eased him into the doll chair atop the tablecloth. Allowing herself a lingering glance at her svelte little boy with his muscle-fit suit coat and forcibly combed hair, Roberta clasped her hands in gleeful anticipation of the forthcoming improvised private social function.

            Curiously, Kyle found his assigned seat wasn’t anywhere near the opposite end of the table from his mother, as might be in the case with an actual date, but in fact situated amongst the serving trays. She encircled his table with waist-high trays and pans, fencing Kyle in the very heart of the buffet. Like an item on the menu. Which, incidentally, was exactly how she looked upon him now.

            “Bon apetit, dear,” Roberta said; a wink and a sultry blown kiss followed. She speared a gravy-dripping hunk of meat from the nearest dish and hoisted it into her own plate. Sawing through the corner, then, the woman placed a small triangle of meat-flavored gristle in front of her diminutive child.

            Kyle grimaced at the fatty, sour little chunk his mother evidently expected him to eat. Globs of creamed corn and potatoes were soon plopped down on his coin-sized plate as well, but the boy had already lost his appetite to the ether. Instead of force-feeding, he moved food around his plate to create the illusion of compliance. In the meanwhile he witnessed his six-foot-two behemoth parent sink back into her chair and dig greedily into the steaming spoils of her work.

            Roberta had a habit of never chewing with her mouth closed. Her teeth gnashed ravenously, mulching the damp feast into a beige pulp over her tongue. Saliva visibly unspooled amongst the masticated mess, slurped back up before it could exit her lips. Clumps of food were alternated liberally with sips of maroon wine to wash it all down.

            Ordinarily it merely annoyed Kyle to see and hear this character flaw of Roberta’s, but in times past he had the capacity to lean further away in his chair and simply ignore the popping of her lips. Tonight, however, the giant woman had made the spectacle of her feeding into an inescapable show for her son. Even looking down couldn’t save him. She’d placed Kyle such that he had nowhere else to look but upon that towering, rounded torso with her sagging breasts and the inflated bulge of her growling stomach pressed up against the edge of the table. It seemed just about every part of the woman and her plump form was in motion at any given instant, either digesting or savoring the rapid intake of treats.

            “I’m so glad you agreed to give this a try,” Roberta explained with food still hanging from her teeth. She twirled the fork tines gently against the lower pillow of her lip. “You make a fine dinner date, Kyle. I’m impressed so far.”

            “Uh-huh.”

            “What do we say?”

            “Thanks, Mom.”

            “That’s my boy.”

            The remainder of the dinner followed in interminable yet mercifully stunted silence. Occasionally Roberta brought up a new subject and Kyle parried with just enough conversation to keep her from glowering. Luckily, after the woman had drained most of the wine bottle on her own, chit-chat became easier to deflect. What little discussion made it through the loose filter seemed to sate her, judging by her increasingly loopy smile.

            In total, the boy only partook of two corn kernels over the course of the meal; the continuous monument of his mother loudly and wetly mashing two and a half servings of every item into her gullet was simply too much for his already grossly limited hunger to withstand.

            Normally Kyle was content to view his mother on the periphery of his consciousness: just an irritating yet bearable obstacle in the way of living the way he wanted to. She wasn’t exactly attractive or interesting, but she knew how to stay out of his way when he still stood tall enough to declare he was headed out for the night. Now, though, when by design he had nothing but Roberta’s ample corpus and her grubby fingertips to look forward to, the woman actively disgusted Kyle. In fact, she made him want to peel his skin away wherever she touched him. Tonight, he’d been brought to the brink of nausea merely by existing in her aura.

            “That was simply lovely, Kyle. I really mean it. Thank you,” Roberta said, her words a little slower and more musical than when the meal commenced. Grasping the neck of the wine bottle in her fingers, for an instant she appeared to consider taking a swig directly from the source, before she set it hard back down on the table. The woman shakily brushed her frizzy locks over one shoulder.

            “You’re welcome,” Kyle muttered at the minimum level of acceptable politeness. He wandered between the remaining food trays, his hands in his tiny suit pockets. All the while he felt his mother’s wide, eyes boring down on him. “Can… I just go to bed now, Mom?”

            Roberta blinked. Her thumb rolled over the pink cusps of her lips and drummed on her chin. Her cheeks, rosy from the wine, puffed into a warm smile.

            “I suppose it is getting late, isn’t it? Maybe it’s for the best to just call it a day.”

            “Y-Yeah.”

            “C’mon, dear. Let’s at least get you into some pajamas before we tuck you in.”
            Dismayed to hear he wouldn’t be changing in privacy, Kyle shrugged off his mother’s words. At this point, he was willing to weather a little embarrassment if it meant this night could just end.

            He held his arms out wide in anticipation of Roberta’s fingers closing around his frame. When they did so, he noted the sticky residue on the tips from where his mother had so callously licked her fingers mid-dinner, plus a skin-deep lubricant of alcohol-influenced clamminess painted along her palm. By the combination of his double-layered dress clothes and her flushed skin, he was in for an uncomfortably warm ride. Shivering, Kyle was glad he’d only be trapped in her fist for the minute it took to reach the dresser in her bedroom. He’d need at least two showers to wash away the mealy aroma, and maybe a third to swish out his brain of the image of Roberta’s open chomping jaws.

            Roberta made the trip with surprising speed and precision considering the amount of wine she’d imbibed; she even took the stairs gently enough that Kyle was spared the whiplash. However, disappointment evidently came in pairs, at least. Upon entering the bedroom, mother and son did not make their way for the drawer where the shrunken boy’s reduced wardrobe waited, but instead halted near the foot of the bed. The woman’s knees wobbled, and by counter-balance, Roberta let herself melt directly into the mattress. Kyle did his best to lean his head away from his mother’s damp fingers, but there was nothing he could do about his limbs entrapped and numbed by the coiled digits below.

            For a minute, Kyle considered the possibility of wriggling free from her closed hand and leaving his wine-buzzed mother in the sheets while he clambered down the wooden posts to freedom. However, after a preliminary attempt at struggling, the boy realized he was clenched too powerfully into his parent’s fist. She had him. Every part.

“Sorry for the detour, hon. I just wanted to get my head on straight,” Roberta said. She combed her fingers through the splayed-out river of her hair laid in all directions above. “A little too much wine, I think.”

            Kyle rolled his eyes, safe to do so in the dim lighting when his mother wasn’t looking with her eyes half-closed already. How kind of her to keep him updated. He clicked his tongue, now more brain-dead, even, than repulsed. He just wanted away from her now, even if he couldn’t sleep. Just being out of her controlling fingers would be enough.

            “When was your first kiss, Kyle?”

            “I don’t remember, Mom,” he said.

            “Oh, yes you do. You must.”

            “It was probably when I was thirteen,” he said.

            “So young. I had no idea,” Roberta murmured. “It must not have been very good, of course. Thirteen-year-olds are just finding their bodies. They have no idea how anything works, how anything is supposed to feel. You know?”

            “Sure,” he grunted.

            “When was your first real kiss, dear? Thirteen doesn’t count. I mean the first kiss where you and the girl knew what you were doing. I’m just curious.”

            The boy twitched. No reason to panic. The sooner he answered, the quicker Roberta left him alone.

            “I don’t know. Maybe when I was seventeen.”

            “That sounds more like it. But that’s still so little time. You’re young yet, sweetie.”

            “Maybe.”

            “Would you like a quick little lesson?”

            Another weighty silence ensued. For a few pregnant moments Roberta swished her bare skin against the silky bed sheets, until one of the shoulder straps from her dress came undone. Kyle, meanwhile, sulked in her fist.

            “No, thanks,” he forced himself to say, rather than shouting something far ruder and more honest. “I’m okay, Mom. I just want to sleep.”

            “We’ll sleep soon, hon. I promise. I just thought… since we’re already on the date. For educative purposes, you understand. I want you to go back out into the world after this experience a new man, after all. Would it really hurt to get a little practice for that special lady out there?”

            Yes, Kyle decided before his mother even finished asking. Yes it would. A thousand times yes.

            “Just a quick one, Kyle. Honest. Let me do it as a thank-you for being my wonderful little date.”

            Finding a begrudging stoicism in the depths of his soul, Kyle ceased verbal or physical resistance. This, like everything else he’d endured this month, was obviously going to happen whether he wanted it or not. His mother laboriously pulled herself back to a seated position, her nylon fibers swooshing on the sheets, and heaved her broad back against the headboard. The wooden supports creaked loudly, and for a second the tiny boy in Roberta’s hand wondered if the whole structure was about to buckle for the final time beneath her overweight, half-buzzed whims. They remained aloft, however.

            “C’mere, you little charmer, you,” Roberta purred. She united her hands just above her breasts, cupping her dashing dinner date between her thick palms. “Give Mama a big ol’ kissy.”

            Kyle braced himself against his giant parent’s thumb. He winced as he realized the visage of her thin, unappealing lips, still moist from gargled wine and beef fat, was growing ever-wider. She was drawing him to her mouth as one might pool water from a basin for a drink. Eyes open or shut, there was no way to optimize his composure for impact.

            The collision with Roberta’s mouth was as sloppy and haphazard as her speech had become. A literal spray of spit plumed from the slitted opening as the woman simultaneously gathered her lips into a pucker and smothered her son’s head into the rippled surface. A droning squeal echoed from Roberta’s lubricated throat. She blew meat-laced hot air down the front of her son’s jacket as she suckled his face, folding his entire body into an awkward embrace with her full chin.

            Kyle’s hands batted helplessly at the woman’s oscillating dimples. His fingers met the fine upper lip hair flush to her skin just above her squinched mouth, only repulsing him further. As his body lurched back again in Roberta’s trembling, sweaty palms, Kyle was staring straight up the black void of his mother’s nostrils. Prominent nose hairs waved and swayed all the way up the dank tunnel. A chemical reaction stirred in the boy’s stomach. To live under the same roof with someone as sickening as his mother was punishment enough; to find his body helplessly, hopelessly fondled amongst the damp geometry of Roberta’s face was a waking nightmare.

            “Mom… Mom! What are you d-” Kyle wrestled for air, but every time he thought he was free, his mother’s thumb squeezed against his scalp, inviting him back into the soupy pasting of her quivering lips. Speaking a clear sentence was impossible, let alone getting a gulp of oxygen.

            Roberta’s breathing was becoming more irregular. Somewhere between bringing her son to her chin and mashing her lips over his body, she’d abandoned the pretense of the kissing lesson and moved right on to personal exploration. Every tremor of her skin and twitch of her fingers was almost involuntary now; muscle memory resumed from the night before, when she’d introduced her multiple openings to a cucumber.

            Her tongue flickered from over the row of her bottom teeth, lapping at Kyle’s chest and sopping up his clothing. The lapels of his shirt snagged in the enamel-stripped chompers, shedding multiple buttons from his food-stained outfit in one swirl of the woman’s slimy tongue. She sharply sucked in new gulps in between lovingly gnawing at her shrunken offspring, until his soggy shirt had all but turned to wet paper and melted from his body.

            Another opulent swell of her lips, and Roberta allowed her whole tongue fully out to play. Steam rose in greasy rivulets as her red, pulsating organ slopped directly into the center of Kyle’s body. Her taste buds came to electric life as she dragged it up from his beltline to his head. His shirt and jacket shook loose, having become Roberta’s napkins and mobile spittoons, and landed somewhere in her expansive lap below. As it was, the boy’s miniature slacks were already inching down his thighs with the weight of collected slobber. And his mother’s tongue was creeping ever-lower, aiding the thin garb on its descent as she licked and massaged her son’s hips.

            “MOM!” Kyle screeched with one valiant push away from Roberta’s mouth, only to be thrust back so hard by the reactive flip of her fingers that his head passed inside the swampy cave of her mouth.

            “Just be quiet for a minute, baby,” Roberta slurred. His spit-polished head dragged back out from her cheek. She snatched him by his left ankle and dangled him off her palm, leaving him no recourse but to hang helplessly over the wine-breath geyser of her flapping lips. “Mama’s gotta work through a couple of issues. Just think of it as getting lucky at the end of the date.”

            “What the fuck?” he gasped, hollowed in every sense. Despite all the warmth of his mother’s alcoholic sweat and sticky drool, Kyle was chilled to his core.

            Roberta closed her eyes. A sappy grin overtook most of her face, radiating twilight sunshine. The obsessively manicured digits of her free hand clawed around Kyle’s waist and peeled his pants away in two easily shorn strips, so soft had they become from leaked saliva. Another flick of her pinky beneath his boxer band and the boy was hung naked and upside down over his enormous mother’s filthy, thirsty mouth.

            “Mom, please! Don’t do this!” He was humiliated to hear his own voice coming out so desperate and high-pitched as all the blood rushed to his head. Even a crack in his tone thrown in for good measure, putting him on the verge of tears. But at this stage of the game, no tactic was too low.

            “What’s this? Looks like Kyle Junior was curious what all the fuss was about, huh?” Roberta teased. Her words flowed from one magical monosyllable to the next. She nudged a thick index finger at her son’s floppy member, watching it flinch awake. “Interesting, don’t you think?”

             “GOD! Mom, that’s just… just because of all the… the…” Kyle stammered. Even he was beginning to sweat at this point. Only now did he stop to let himself face the revolting reality of his internal biology. It had been a month since he’d gotten action of any kind, which was a far longer streak than he tended to prefer. Even masturbation, a poor substitute by any measure, was hard to come by, as Roberta didn’t allow him out of her sight or often her breasts for more than a few minutes at a time.

            The bill of all that pent-up testosterone was coming due.

            “Let’s just see if we can get him to grow up a little, shall we?” Roberta crooned. With infinite kindness, she propped the boy’s hanging dick against the pad of her fingertip and began to caress, pointedly and without an ounce of the nuance she’d conjured during the last bath. Almost instantly, his rod began to stiffen in response to the woman’s buttery skin stroking side to side with mounting strength.

            “MOM!”

            Her dark eyes bulged and dilated to full saucers. Roberta’s attention, and the stirring down south of her navel, roiled quietly within. The tip of her tongue circled the edge of her mouth like a shark fin.

            “Hush, sweetie. The lesson isn’t over just yet. Now try to hold still. Mommy hasn’t done this in a while, even on one so small as yours.”

            Consumed with existential horror and indecision at whether to faint or vomit, Kyle writhed every direction he could swing his limbs. Twisting his other leg around Roberta’s fingers. Slamming his ineffectual fists on her knuckle. Ripping loose a scream from his garbled voice box. None of it made the slightest difference as he was plunged back against Roberta’s lips, this time with his engorged junk squarely inserted through the puckered opening.

             An instinctive moan escaped Kyle’s lips before he could hope to cover it. Airless and shrill, as though he’d been stabbed, when in actuality his gigantic, half-drunken slob of a mother was sucking his pill-sized cock in the industrial vacuum of her undulating mouth.

            Both parties found themselves at a crippling loss for words. Kyle hung inverted over the crest of Roberta’s chin, every rational thought and blood vessel on the precipice of imploding, with his legs spread to either side of his mother’s nose, while her powerful lips and gooey tongue went to town on his hapless family jewels.

            The climax of the “lesson” took several minutes of messy work, but not as long as either mother or son would’ve expected. Kyle’s brain put up a strong fight to shrivel his erection, given the horrific circumstances in which he was imprisoned, but on the other hand, his balls had been waiting four weeks to get off, and this was a battle his body was going to win handily over his mind.

            Roberta felt as vigorously self-confident as Kyle felt lethally embarrassed. After sensing the tiny salty spurt reaching her uvula, she withdrew him where he’d wrapped like a lemur over the curve of her jaw, caked in drying spit, and collected the six-inch lad back into her palm. Giggling, she batted his wilting hard-on with her pinky.

            With some awkward shuffling and another chorus of nylon-swishing, Roberta clumsily spilled out fully on the bed again. Unzipping the red dress proved an awkward nightmare, but she was more than relieved to let her soft paunch out of its makeshift corset. Left only in her leopard skivvies, the woman pried her breasts apart and tucked her son in between the fleshy bags for a long night’s rest.

            “Thank you, Kyle, for a lovely date night,” she whispered, patting his head. “Don’t let the bed bugs bite.”

            Mother slipped into a sound sleep full of vivid wet dreams, while son spent the next ten hours, tragically committing the precise vibration of his skull mid-blowjob into memory. The morning was slow to come, and when it did, Kyle found himself wishing deeply for the darkness to return again as he retreated deeper into the shameful hovel of Roberta’s tits.

In the morning, Roberta bloomed back into wakefulness with a smile on her lips before she was even fully conscious or coherent. Arms stretched to the sides of the creaking bed, she yawned and stroked her fingers across the hilly terrain of her bulbous chest. The flesh jiggled, warm and glazed with night sweat after she downed most of the wine bottle on her own the previous night. She murmured lovingly at the feeling of her still-naked six-inch son clamped in the plump geometry. Another jostle, just for good measure, and Roberta couldn’t help but giggle.

            At this second nudge, as well as feeling Kyle’s slumber-deprived frame go spread-eagle between the massive hot air balloon shapes of her tits, Roberta noticed something else. An incessant little nub prodding and flopping against the plush walls. Someone had morning wood. The woman stifled another chuckle and craned her neck down; taking hold of each boob, she parted them until she could see all of Kyle’s hapless, ruddy body in her cleavage. Sure enough, his miniature dick was at full mast despite his restless sleep.

            Roberta’s hand arced over the shrunken Adonis that was her offspring. She allowed her pinky to brush ever-so-gently up his pathetic shaft, then simply fastened her thick digits around his hips. Dragging him up the tomb of her breasts, the woman plucked her son out and studied him at eye level between her fingers.

            “Good morning, sleepyhead,” Roberta cooed.

            Kyle blearily squirmed to life again in his mother’s fingers. The air reeked of feminine, alcoholic sweat and a whiff of BO. Upon realizing is location and his precise level of naked exposure, though, the boy automatically curled into Roberta’s nearest finger in defense.

            “Aw, somebody’s a little shy this morning, huh?” she continued.

            “M-Mom…” Kyle whined. His adorable little muscles tensed and shivered against Roberta’s hand, no-doubt struggling with the internal conflict between breaking into tears or screaming in rage. “Please… p-put me down.”

            Roberta couldn’t help but smirk again at the infantile sensation of his athletic frame quivering in her almighty fingers. Still, his mewling whimpers hit her right in the maternal emotions. It was almost too precious hearing her normally headstrong boy stutter just a little, endeavoring to stay in her good graces despite his turmoil.

            “Of course, sweetie,” she responded. Of course she didn’t specify when. Her arm drew in nearer to where her head reclined dreamily on the pillow: her frazzled hair strewn about, her eyes still half-shut and smeared with leftover makeup. Those thin, unappealing lips fluttered between her best attempt at a flirty smile and an anticipatory pucker.

            Kyle flinched, throwing his arms over his head as his mother plied his upper body back into her undulating lips. Suction tightened around his torso, dragging him like a tractor beam into the supple force of the woman’s stippled mouth. The smooch was measured by mounting moisture and a never-ending squeal from the woman’s cheeks. When Roberta released her son from the kiss, her lips billowed open, unleashing a concentrated jetstream of rancid, stale morning breath directly into Kyle’s face. He hacked so hard he nearly choked as his mother’s latent saliva and old lipstick dripped down his chest.

            “Just wanted to say good morning properly to my favorite little date,” Roberta declared. True to her word, then, her hand hovered over the bedside table and Kyle was freed upon its wooden surface.

            With no response, Kyle busied himself shakily batting away the various dried liquids from his mother’s body that he’d accumulated through the night and morning. His erection at least had the courtesy to mostly wither away after that revolting gesture on Roberta’s part. The boy slumped down, wrapping his legs in for some partial protection from any further curious tongue assaults from his mother, and bowed his head.

            “You just sit tight. I’m going to get dressed, and then we’ll go find ourselves some breakfast. We’ve got another R&R session today, you know!” Roberta rose clumsily from the bed in her underwear, combing her fingers through her hopelessly frizzy hair.

            “Can… can I…”

            “What’s that, hon?”

            “Can I… have some clothes? Please?”

            “Clothes?” Roberta repeated back innocently. She opened the closet and withdrew her luxurious house robe and fluffy slippers.

            “Yeah.”

            “Well, Kyle. I’ve actually been thinking about that. Just stay with me for a second. I know you may not be a fan of the idea at first. You know ever since your… legal indiscretions… I’ve been doing some reading on R&R treatments around the country. What works, what doesn’t, what helps heal relationships under the same roof. And you know what I saw an awful lot of, Kyle?”

            “What?” he grunted.

            “It turns out reduced individuals, on the whole experienced a much more effective learning period when they were allowed to be just a little… freer. Outside the usual confines of society, such as wearing clothes, so they could just concentrate on becoming more productive citizens in their own house first. Isn’t that interesting?”

            “Are… you saying…”

            “I’m saying maybe just on a trial period, sweetie, that we’ll see how you do… being free. For now.”

            Kyle glanced down at his nude body in dismay, feeling the creepy glower of his beaming mother studying him in increasing detail. His skin tickled with nausea. Even cupping his hands over his crotch didn’t alleviate the feeling at all.

            “Come on now, sweetie. I thought you were always one for trying new things, setting new standards for yourself. Let’s see some of that spirit now,” Roberta encouraged. She returned to the bedside table as she slid her arms through the openings in the velvety robe. At more than six feet tall, the woman’s waist easily rose higher than the surface of the table where Kyle was marooned.

            The boy chanced an unfortunate look upward again. As he had in the clothing store, Kyle discovered himself staring directly into the barely concealed eye of a storm. His mother’s leopard panties, stretched thin over the riveted lips of her pussy just beneath; this morning, her underwear also happened to sag just a little lower than it did when new, the fabric darkened by ghostly patches of gummy liquid weighing the garment down. And it wasn’t hard to guess what, precisely, was weighing it down. Kyle felt a lurch in his throat.

            “For example, now that you and I are maybe just a little more… comfortable with one another, perhaps I can find a couple more useful lessons to teach you,” Roberta said. She cinched the fabric belt of the robe tight around her broad hips. Her fingers fished below her waist, then, separating the flaps of the robe so that her panties were only briefly hidden in shadow.

            “You know… like how to please a woman?” Roberta teased. Her thumb and index finger pinched the lacy band of the panties and gave them a quick tug toward her stomach. The leopard spots stretched and enlarged, the whole expanse of sticky fabric nearly turning translucent. Her thong strap rode ever-higher against the taint. Densely forested pubes still clogged with wet-dream ejaculate seemed to grow from thin air around the edges of her underwear, bristling audibly.

            Kyle felt his gag reflex warring for survival.

            “Don’t look so grim, dear. I’m only kidding,” Roberta scolded with a playful wink. Her palm laid a final pat upon her nethers. She closed her robe again and lowered a clammy, crotch-scented hand to collect her child.

The bright white glare of the R&R group therapy room was more radiant than usual. Or maybe it was just Roberta, with her head held high and her eyes alight with joy. She cupped Kyle in her palms and allowed him to sit out in the open over her lap: a reward for his lack of complaint last night and this morning. Even if he probably didn’t quite see this as a reward, now that he was going to be kept naked for the foreseeable future and put on inadvertent display for the others in the circle.

            Roberta stirred. Though there was the inevitable awkwardness in uniting with Kyle last night, she’d since let herself off the hook of any remote wrongdoing. After all, it was just a little drunken playing around. A few licks and sucks and the ensuing bodily reaction of a horny little guy. Could’ve happened between anyone, related or not. It wasn’t like they’d actually had sex or something, right? Roberta was almost entirely-fairly-reasonably-pretty sure that there was a line she would not cross.

            “Lovely to see everyone today. Let’s just roll right along, shall we, with some weekly reports,” the group therapist said, with pen tucked behind her ear. “Anything personal advancements, any room for improvement. Who’d like to start us off?”

            “I think we’d like to go first today,” Roberta announced, spurred on by a burning zeal. Ordinarily she just waited for the turn to come around in the circle, as she wasn’t exactly one to draw attention to herself. However, the infectious feeling that she’d made some strides with Kyle couldn’t be contained. She smiled down at her son in her hand, who remained curled into a fetal ball with his head down: obedient and polite, just how she always wanted him.

            “Thank you, Roberta. What have you and Kyle got to say for yourselves?”

            The group earnestly turned in their chairs to face the woman, who had apparently gained some unspoken notoriety for her piercing honesty and jokes at the expense of Kyle’s well-deserved predicaments. Roberta faced a ring of smiles from the guardians and at least the nervous attention of their tiny charges in both hand and shoe. An audience, and an eager one at that. She cleared her throat.

            “It’s been a forward-thinking week, certainly. I’ve talked before about how my son can be a little… stunted when it comes to matters of the heart. Not every boy may be itching to discuss such things with his mother, but, well… who else does he have at this size? Yesterday I thought we’d go back to square one, and try to pass on a bit of my knowledge regarding proper courtship. So we had a pleasant date night, just mother and son, with a wonderful meal and good conversation. Kyle was very well behaved and exemplified the kind of young man I think he’s still so capable of being molded into.”

            “Good for you!” one other mother in the circle commented. Others shook their heads in agreement. From their expressions, it was evident a few more shrunken teens were in for some awkward parental date nights in the near future.

            “That sounds very nice,” the group leader said.

            “It was!” Roberta raised her palms in unison, drawing her son up from her lap and displaying for everyone present his bare body like a newborn prince. She felt his firm little naked butt shivering on the soft palm of her hand, his arms writhing to flatten himself against her fingers and minimize his exposure.

            “And you feel Kyle’s learned a little something from this?”

            “Oh, I certainly do!” Roberta said. She blushed at the feeling of his cock worming against her fingers, especially in front of all these people; it warmed her skin, practically dampening it with the unexpected illicit thrill.

            “Kyle? What’s your take on all this?” the group leader asked kindly, hands folded in her lap. All eyes in the room were glued with immense fascination on the naked six-inch boy throned in his mother’s proud hands.

            “My take?” Kyle mumbled, almost too low to be heard. The trembling ceased. “You want to know my fucking take?”

            “Kyle, language,” Roberta hissed through her gritted smiling teeth.

            “Sorry, Mom,” he said. His volume rose with every word. The boy staggered to his haunches, no longer making feeble attempt to shield his junk from strangers’ eyes. “I guess I got a little mixed up, after you got fucking drunk and blew me last night, you giant insane bitch.”

            Silence split the room. A whispered gasp of shock, seemingly more at Kyle’s outburst than the content of his words, punctuated the quiet. All six inches of the boy now stood strong and confident, unafraid of reprisal upon the gangplank of Roberta’s pudgy fingers. His tiny hands balled into fists. Adrenaline flowed to every extremity.

            Roberta felt her blushed cheeks gush from pink to red. A sharp intake of breath cloyed in her throat. Her own hands shook now as her boy stood stock-still in her grasp. For the briefest instant, the woman felt that same pathetic powerlessness she’d felt for all of Kyle’s adolescence where he could shut her down with a single cruel declamation. Six inches tall, and he still seemed to have that capacity to make her feel small.

            But no more.

            “I’m sorry you didn’t feel you received the same educative benefits from yesterday as I did, dear,” Roberta said soothingly. Her cool, collected voice cut through the disbelieving void of the room. The rest of the participating parents and tinies remained in catatonic surprise; if anything, they were even more taken aback to see Roberta respond with such opposite force, despite her absurd height and strength advantage.

            Kyle turned in her hand. Arms crossed and lower lip jutted, he stared up at her like a miniature naked cowboy in a stand-off. The look of someone defiantly, foolishly courageous.

            “Kyle, dear,” Roberta breathed. “I don’t suppose you recall my last and perfectly fair warning about speaking out of turn? And my two-strike system?”

            The boy’s lip quivered, but he held firm. The room held its breath.

            “Strike one, if I’m not mistaken, was just a few weeks ago.” A raw baritone overtook Roberta’s voice, as though she’d been possessed by more than just a burgeoning sense of self-reliance. “Which, I suppose, means this is your last strike. And the last time you’re going to speak so rudely in my presence ever again.”

            “Wait. Mom? Mo-”

            Roberta’s humid palm enclosed Kyle’s head and neck, her fingers clawing into the small of his back. Gripping her son in one awkward handful such that only his dangling legs and dangerously exposed crotch were in view, the woman stamped her foot and shot back to full height. Every pair of eyes in the room followed her with explicit interest.

            Her free hand was already battling with the waistline of her pants, unfastening them and dragging the garment down her blubbery quads. While the pant legs bunched around her knees, Roberta busied herself by burying her fingers into the folds of her panties. Catching them in a bundle, she unsheathed each of her cellulite-bolstered ass cheeks from their taut prison. Finally, shifting her grip on Kyle so that he popped out the top of her fist, Roberta held her little son a few inches from the steamy abyss while her opposite hand worked on prying apart the fleshy slabs of her megaton derriere.

There was no shade of shame paid to the fact that Roberta had just yanked her pants down right in front of the entire group, nor even a passing thought that no person present seemed to mind in the slightest. If anything, Roberta experienced a heady impression of telepathic solidarity from every parent: every downtrodden guardian who wished they, too, had the guts to teach their little brat a real lesson. Thus any unconscious glimmer of doubt was squelched from Roberta.

            The woman smiled and, blissfully ignoring her son’s high-pitched scream, shoved him into the smelly valley of her rotund glutes. Goose bumps tickled along her skin as she felt his bare chest massage the sensitive, furrowed orifice. He flailed for only a second, but went rigid and docile after a single stroke of his face over the sticky, blemished skin surrounding him on nearly every side. Cupping the boy’s body in place such that he fit along the line between the dunes, Roberta gently released her white-knuckle hold on her left ass cheek, until the mere union of her meaty rear end was enough to keep Kyle snugly in his place: a naked little ornament of her sphincter.

            Wordlessly, she stretched her underwear back over her pear rump, followed by her pants. Confident that her son wasn’t going to budge until she made the effort to pull her juicy cheeks apart, Roberta slumped back into the chair. The fall went a little harder than she intended, but there was no denying the power-buzz she gleaned from the mere act of sifting most of her body weight atop the hapless shrunken loudmouth. With a bed of butt flesh and a lubricant of pickled ass-sweat to keep him warm, Kyle remained silent as the grave.

            “Well,” the group therapist said with hands alit in a prayerful pose. “I guess we can all take some inspiration from Roberta and Kyle’s example on the nature of manners and consequences in the guardian-shrinker relationship. Can’t we?”

            The rest of the circle were stranded somewhere between aghast disgust and studious fascination, as though they’d just witnessed the most impressive car crash of their lives. Still, after a few moments of consideration, everyone nodded their heads. A few mothers’ hands even hovered together, as if considering the social indelicacy of clapping for Roberta.

            “Did you have anything more to contribute before we move on, Roberta?” the leader questioned.

            The Most Valuable Mother of the hour slapped her thigh and wriggled her heavy caboose on the chair. She felt her son squirming for the air and cleanliness he would not be privileged to receive until she deemed him worthy. His limbs thrashed like a fly’s legs in a spider’s web, only ensnaring himself deeper into the pudgy embrace of Roberta’s odorous cheeks with every struggle. If only he understood that the sooner he stopped fighting, the more comfortable he’d be.

            “No, no. That date was the highlight. At least up to now, right?” Roberta declared, to a soft chorus of guilty snickers from the group. She crossed her arms, mocking the posture of her rebellious child moments before he was jammed inside her ass. “Not every week has a happy ending, I suppose. I’d like to apologize, on behalf of our family, for my son’s language and lack of consideration for the rest of the group.”

            “I’m sure your apologies are not necessary,” the leader said. “This is not a space where we can expect every action to yield sunshine and rainbows. All in this space understand that as well. Sometimes, in order to take steps forward, a little punishment is needed.”

            “Thank you,” Roberta said. She daintily patted her lips, swallowing an air bubble leftover from a hearty breakfast of eggs and bacon. The pocket of air seemed to travel rapidly through her digestive tract to the opposite end of her body, until she could feel the airy sensation ballooning warmly within her ass.

            “Do you feel he’s beginning to appreciate the effects of a true time-out?”

            “Well…” she sighed. The boy was still, already two minutes in, writhing about. It tickled her puckered anus, which wasn’t entirely unwelcome, but it was distracting as his fidgeting legs continually prodded her cellulite. It was a bit much, frankly. Roberta’s palm collided with her thigh again, as if granting herself permission to relax those muscles currently tensed for social decorum. She barked: “Stop squirming, Kyle!”

            A vocal fart blurted from Roberta’s ass. Several shrunken delinquents around the room flinched, clearly empathizing with their butt-stored brethren. The faint, haunting aroma of the outburst reached Roberta’s nostrils and she recoiled, which meant her son’s body had acted as the unfortunate blockage for most of its gaseous power. Instantly, Kyle’s thrumming body went still. Almost lifeless. Roberta couldn’t have been more pleased as the next mother in the circle happily took her turn relaying the week’s events.

            Two hours later, when the session was at its conclusion, Roberta repeated the same disrobing process as before, humming a cheery tune as she did. With all the motherly grace in the world, she slid her hand between her cheeks and unwedged Kyle’s body from the buxom sweatbox that was her ass. Dangling him in front of her face, Roberta discovered the boy hadn’t merely quieted himself after her controlled flatulence, but in fact been knocked cold from the combined hell of the rank fart and numbing ass flesh compressing him to paper width. He was, as always, oh-so precious while asleep. Even if said slumber was brought on by extended time in his mother’s posterior; either way, he’d caught up on rest, so it was still a win for both of them.

            Roberta lovingly tucked Kyle in her cleavage, which would surely seem a liberating paradise after one hundred and eighteen minutes beneath her. Clothed once again, the woman straightened her hair, fondled her son’s chest with a curling finger, and followed the rest of the group out the door. Judging by the unholy stench, Kyle would require a bath once they reached home, which was rapidly becoming the highlight of Roberta’s days. Already she itched to scrub him clean of smell and sin alike, sanctifying herself in the simultaneous extension of authority and secret pleasure.

            He’d come around to her way of thinking, one way or another. Most likely another.

Kyle winced as his mother’s creamy fingertip alit upon the top of his head again and made another softly stroked revolution on his mussed hair. He was beginning to pick up on a pattern. As Roberta curled up in the living room armchair, a goopy romance novel in her fanned fingers, her free hand was never unoccupied: either reaching for the glass wine stem on the coffee table or reaching for the grape-sized head of her adored son to give it a twirl. Every time her enormous hand returned above him, her meaty fingers drove him just a little deeper into the valley between her breasts. One by one, from thumb to pinky, each giant finger caressed at his face and hair. At this point, Kyle’s legs had sunk so deeply into the central point of mashed pressure between her bulbous flesh, he was numb below the knees.

            So bored had Kyle become, after nearly two hours of his mother’s silent reading without releasing him from her tits, he’d even tried reading along with her on the pages of the book, though this only lasted so long before the poor writing and sappy characters made him turn away. In the book, a middle-aged woman of ample assets yet average looks embarked on a quest to charm the pants right off one of her young, strapping employees. By the halfway mark of the novel, the cougar seemed to be having luck, utilizing her powerful position over the guy such that he was compelled to date her and, eventually, go to bed for some vigorous and violently controlled lovemaking. Kyle was certain he’d be ill if he had to watch the words on the pages flip by for any longer.

            Not that he was against the idea of some silence, either. These days Roberta spent so much time concocting new conversations to make him uncomfortable, it was a profound mercy to be relatively left alone. At least with the exception of his naked body being jammed deeper and deeper into the crevice of her muggy breasts while her fingers petted his head. Her choice of after-dinner outfit was more than a little familiar as well, in all the wrong ways. That favorite fluffy robe of hers draped around her wide hips and loping curves, while the only other barrier between Kyle and her horrifically naked body aside from this half-adequate coverage was her underwear: an eggshell-white shade, in both bra and panties. An ironic display of purity.

            Unfortunately, too, Roberta was on her sixth glass of wine now. Her fingers trembled mildly when they met Kyle’s head, several of the fleshy pads knocking him upside the cranium in attempt to gently creep up the back of his neck. Worse, her whole body was radiating heat, in greater measure even than that first despicable dinner date. Her skin prickled with goosebumps and grew sticky beneath the reading light with wine sweat.

            The dampness of Roberta’s breast flesh combined with the heat was making Kyle itch, yet as always, he was too repulsed by what he touched to twitch in any direction for relief. Occasionally the woman’s fingers fastened around Kyle’s shoulders, idly trying to reposition and fidget him back to an optimal position in her cleavage, but this only made it worse. Every few minutes now, Kyle’s body was helplessly spun and ground against the firm, sagging walls of Roberta’s bosom. All the motion and moisture eventually awakened his manhood by force, though thankfully, the disgust he felt at his surroundings outweighed his biological urges.

            “Kyle, dear,” Roberta said. Her thumb poised in the papered spine of the book, halting her reading progress. She still held it aloft, perhaps to keep up the illusion that she was progressing and allay her son’s suspicions. This realization alone made Kyle squirm before she even spoke.

            “Yeah?”

            “We’ve grown… closer through this whole rehabilitation process, as I’m sure you’ll agree. But if we’re going to achieve the kind of resolution the R&R people want for us, I think there are a couple of things we’ve got to set straight. Person-to-person, mother-to-son. All right?”
            “Um. Okay.”

            “Just tell me, honey. No more judgments, no more tricks. Have you been with a woman before? And I do mean been with a woman.”

            Kyle wanted to melt right into a paste and seep out from beneath his mother’s breasts: anything as long as he could escape this moment. It was true, in the past couple years, when he’d become a sexually viable player, he’d taken amusing cares to flaunt his potential conquests to his mother without revealing the reality. Whenever she angrily confronted him with this question in times past, he’d answer in the negative, yet always with a flippant air of sarcasm and a smirk that suggested he was hiding something from her. This he’d done utterly for the entertainment factor of watching his mother fret over him.

            “Mom…”

            “And for God’s sake, don’t you dare do that thing you always do when you crack a smile when you answer, like you think I’m some gullible idiot,” Roberta warned. Her voice quavered with the volume of alcohol flowing through her system. “I want raw, unvarnished truth. If you give me anything else, I will know it, because I’m your mother, and I always know. And if I know that you’ve given me something false, there will be consequences, you mark my words, young man.”

            The boy nodded. This was no time for rebellion, not after the tortuous extended period he’d spent between the woman’s ass cheeks during the last group session. He’d eagerly spend the next month between Roberta’s breasts undergoing personal questioning if it meant avoiding even one more minute squeezed between her beefy buttocks.

            “I swear, Mom,” he murmured. “I haven’t been-been with anyone. I’ve played around a little, but never went… through with it, all the way.”

            “Honest-to-God?”

            “Honest-to-God.”

            “I see. Thank you for telling me the truth,” Roberta said. She furrowed her brow and nodded multiple times in rapid succession, mulling it over. “Well, that simply won’t do, will it?”

            Kyle’s heart splashed into his stomach. What?
            “Uh…”

            “Oh, don’t sound so coy, sweetie. I’m just stating what we’re both thinking. Remember, we’re going for openness here?”

            “Y-You… you always talk about how… how I…”

            “Hush.” Roberta rolled her eyes. At last she shut the romance novel and set it down with a hard clap on the coffee table. In the same reach, she snatched her wine glass and brought the rim to her lips, glugging down the final slurp of wine.  She swished the remnants between her cheeks for a moment, her hungry eyes drinking in Kyle far more fervently than the beverage, and set the empty glass back on the table as well. With both hands free, the woman plucked her son’s arms between each pair of her thumbs and forefingers and pried him up the damp slope of her cleavage.

            Held by his arms, Kyle dangled nakedly, flushed pink and wet with breast sweat, in front of Roberta’s face.

            “Dear, you’re very good to remember Mommy’s prior directions, but here’s the situation. Smart parents, like me, will tell their children those kinds of things, just to make sure they stay safe and choosy until they’re of age to engage in adult activities. But now, you, at the ripe age of eighteen? With that… tight little body of yours? Well… you’re a candidate now, aren’t you, hon?”

            “I… don’t know about that.”

            “I’ve taught you a great many things, Kyle. Things you’ll use for the rest of your life. Some of them… fairly recently. Is it really so great a stretch to think that I should be there by your side for all of life’s greatest lessons?”

            “M-Mom… can you… put me down?” Kyle was simultaneously burning up with anxiety and chilled to the core by the shifting direction of his mother’s speech, not to mention the wobbly quality of her diction. That wine had taken a definite toll on her, in obvious excess of her drinking at their first dinner date. Whereas that evening’s disgusting climax had resulted from a merely buzzed Roberta, tonight, she was a different woman.

            She was stinking drunk. There was no way around it. Hung out now before her curiously darting eyes and rosy cheeks, Kyle could see she was more far gone than he’d suspected just from her boob sweat. This was a woman in the throes of a sickeningly good time, and when Kyle really paid greater focus to her dilated pupils, though he didn’t wish it, there was no denying the lust he saw broiling behind her gaze.

            “Put you down?” she repeated back with some obvious disappointment. She feigned a comically low frown, complete with downturned lips, but her hands did in fact lower toward the knee-high coffee table.

            Kyle was planted, staggering, beside the towering wine glass and dog-eared romance. She couldn’t actually be serious, right? This was a woman who’d spent his adolescence prattling on about the importance of waiting until marriage to make love. This had to be one of her usual games to get inside his head by kicking down the usual walls and taboos which separated them from the animals. Nevertheless, almost instantly he began assessing the distance to the floor and the viability of making an emergency exit down the side of the table, should one become necessary. However, his mother didn’t give him long to divert his attention elsewhere before the sheer gravitational pull of her hulking feminine form yanked his gaze right back.

            “All right, I did what you wanted. I put you down. Maybe you ought to hear what I want now.”

            “N-No…”

            “It’s been a long, long time since I’ve had a little relief, dear,” Roberta declared, steamrolling right over his whispered denial. “I know you might not want to hear that about your own mother, but just for tonight, and maybe the rest of this entire sentence of yours in that size, you’ve got to stop… thinking of me that way. Think of me as a teacher. Or maybe your boss. Either way, I’ve got things to impart to you, and you’ve got… some thanks to give me, don’t you? Besides, honey. You’re the perfect size.”

Roberta revolved, like a planetary body unto herself. Fingers hooked into the knot of her robe belt and pulled it undone. Her hips mustered a sway, shaking to some unheard beat. Her ass wiggled, each cheek alternately rising higher than the other, and all of it far above Kyle’s horrified witness like a looming moon. The robe was coming off an inch at a time, all while Roberta beamed down at her tiny shocked audience.

            The boy watched the cellulite of his mother’s thick thighs quivering, then the revelation of the skin ever-higher until the deep crescent of her pale ass in its taut white thong was revealed. The sleeves of the robe fell away from her arms, the entirety of the billowing mass of it flopping down upon the couch where Roberta let go. A warm breeze unfurled with finality from the hem, and then there was only the six-foot-two behemoth of a woman in her coquettish white underwear before her six-inch son-turned-student. The bra strained with the effort to contain the magnanimous bulk of her breasts and the dark islands of her nipples. Then, of course, there was the small matter of her panties, struggling to shield her crotch, though it was mostly a moot effort, as the fabric was soaked nearly to the edges with the gooey shadow of her excitement.

            That was all the prompting Kyle needed to deem this an emergency. When next Roberta turned around for him on her improvised stripper’s catwalk, sashaying her thighs and cheeks, the young man sprinted for the side. The panic of the moment granted him inhuman clarity. Hardly pausing to strategize his descent, he stooped at the edge of the coffee table, hooked his hands into the ornate rail that made up the leg, and climbed down. When he was near enough to the carpet such that he was half-certain he wouldn’t break anything, Kyle leapt for the carpet.

            In her inebriated state, Roberta actually managed another full revolution before she even noticed her son was off the table. As much as she normally enjoyed studying his little nude form, there was too much fun to be had in playing up this show, running her hands over her capacious hips and hoisting up her breasts to create the illusion of pertness.

            “Kyle?” she muttered, squinting drunkenly down at the table. She batted her frizzy locks out of her eyes and steadied herself on the coffee table. Lowering into a squat, the woman located her boy on the floor, cowering behind the leg of the coffee table. “Oh, there you are!”

            Despite his bravado, Kyle now regretted immensely his decision to reach a lower vantage point now that his mother was hunched overhead. The reason being, of course, that her panties were bunched into the center by the volume of her thighs, allowing the proud mat of pubic hair to curl from the corners. A slick strand of her juices gathered into a liquid bead at the epicenter of her panties.

            “Good idea, honey. Let’s get warmed up first, shall we?” Roberta purred. While one hand kept her relatively still on the table, her other hand descended between her legs. It took only the efforts of one thumb to peel back the sopping layer of panty fabric, and suddenly her engorged pussy was hovering over Kyle’s head in all its dripping glory. The fleshy petals of her dense, hair-flecked flower parted with instant willingness when Roberta brought her thumb to bear against the hood. Then, without further regard for comfort or surroundings, the woman plunged two fingers directly into the gaped opening. With some wriggling, she worked them in nearly up to the knuckle. Her syrupy nectar gushed from the folds of skin and ran in slow rivulets down Roberta’s hand.

            Several heavy drops plunked down to the carpet at Kyle’s feet, soaking straight into the ground like acid. The tart odor of fruity soap overpowered by Roberta’s sour fluids rose in an intoxicating haze nearly potent enough to get the boy drunk.

            It took all the strength in Kyle’s body not to double over and wretch. Subconsciously he knew he’d need that energy to run away whenever his body managed to catch up with his mind and will himself despite the fear to flee. Of course his every internal fiber was screaming at him for a retreat, but he was fixed to the floor by the violence and grotesquery of what he was watching. More than anything now, he wished for two drops of bleach: one for each of his eyeballs.

            “Now just look at what you’ve done,” she teased coyly, her breath becoming shallow. The drunken words gargled in her best approximation of seduction. More gummy strings of ejaculate spilled from her pumping fingers. “You’re such a cutie-patootie, I don’t need any games to get me going or even any lube to clear the runway. See? All I need is you, Kyle. My sweet little boy. What do you say, dear? Are you ready?”

            An alarm was blaring so loudly in the boy’s eardrums he could hardly hear Roberta’s slurred proclamations any longer. At last Kyle regained control of his uncooperative muscles and ran breathlessly in the opposite direction, hurling his tiny feet as far ahead of him as they would carry.

            As with the last escape, it took Roberta a moment to register the change. She frowned, apparently letdown by his lack of readiness, but she supposed it wasn’t too much to ask if he wanted to get into a little bit of foreplay now. After all, he had just as large a roll to play in any lesson-learning as she did. Her cum-greased hand extended out, entirely too late to catch him, and she managed a smile.

            “Ooh, somebody’s being a little minx, I see,” Roberta chuckled. Gingerly she worked her way back to full height without falling, then surveyed the expanse of the living room. Her son had only just darted back into the kitchen and was making his way for the hallway doorframe.

            Roberta was quick in pursuit, or at least as quick as she could manage in her state. She caught the walls for balance, her thudding footsteps landing with concussive aplomb. Each time the woman set her soles down on the hardwood, Kyle was rattled from yards away, nearly toppled even, but kept his balance. Just as he felt his mother’s monstrous shadow overtaking him again in the dining room, he dove beneath the crested sculpting of the china set cabinet.

            Giggling with a vengeance now, the lumbering woman dropped back to her haunches and launched her clawed hand directly beneath the underhang. She only just missed the boy, feeling his leg tickle her outstretched finger as he clambered deeper into the dusty darkness. Her ear pressed to the wooden body of the furniture, where she heard him cough for air.

            “Come out, come out, wherever you are,” she entreated. The words felt good in her mouth. The pure power of this foreplay game was on the verge of making her drool.

            Kyle, decidedly more terrified now than he’d ever been in his life, achingly caught his breath and planned his next move. Through the dust bunnies he could make out his mother’s fingers still cloying for him; on the opposite side of the cabinet, another opening offered an exit along the wall. Wasting no time, he slipped out the back and sprinted for the next room before Roberta could get her bearings. Over his shoulder, he saw the woman spreading her ejaculate-caked hand wide in the dark and squinting for a glimpse of him. In her hunched position, gravity invited another few stray droplets to unfurl from her nethers. The woman was obviously ravenous, and whatever part of this confrontation had once been a joke to her was solely serious now.

            “All right, Kyle. I think you’ve had your fun. I want you to feel warmed up, too, after all,” Roberta crooned. She withdrew, sitting on her legs and folding her hands neatly in her lap. Tempted by the near-peaking of her arousal, she swabbed her thumb over her labial lips again, but temporarily resolved not to touch herself again until she had Kyle in hand. A shudder rippled over her. “But it’s time to come out now. Come out and see Mommy now, please.”

            Turning her head to the side, Roberta blinked. A few stray locks of hair hung over her eyes, obscuring her vision, but she caught the unmistakable flutter of little three-inch legs crossing the threshold of the room back into the hall. She sighed.

            “Now, Kyle. I’m coming to get you. So I want you to stay still. I’m going to be gentle. Honest. We’ll take our time, and make sure you understand every step correctly.” Roberta trailed after her doll-sized son yet again, with greater urgency this time. Emotionally and sexually, she was reaching a pinnacle. Now was the time to act for maximum payoff. Any longer, and the boy would just be inconveniencing her and, by extension, himself in return.

            Their contest of cat-and-mouse carried over into the home office. Roberta nearly had him between the storage boxes, but, taking advantage of his mother’s lack of balance, Kyle darted out right between her crouched legs, dodging the microscopic rainfall of her pleasure. In a moment of instinct, Roberta slumped her ass directly into the carpet, hoping to ensnare her son in the globes of flesh and twisted panty strap on his way behind her. Kyle only just missed the meteoric weight of his mother’s rump, though the wind blast of it sent him flying several inches.

            “Almost,” Roberta said gravely, the fun having significantly dissipated from her voice. “I’m beginning to get… impatient with you, dear. I don’t think you’ve yet come to appreciate the scope of the other lessons we could be sharing, if I choose to do so.”

            Kyle sprinted back into the hall while his mother awkwardly rose up. The young man didn’t dare stay long enough to watch what she did next. All he was concerned with now was never, ever learning exactly what those alternate lessons were she was referring to.

            “For example…” Roberta bellowed, to ensure he heard her no matter what room he reached. She yanked open the side drawer in the office desk, rummaged aside the file folder she used as cover, and withdrew the immense glass tube of her favorite toy. “…I’ve got my choice of tools around this house. Cucumbers, markers, and especially my dear little friend here.”

Roberta re-entered the hall, with the gleaming hot-pink dildo held aloft like a scepter, and faced the stairs. She switched off the foyer lights, confusing her son in his hiding place. Moonlight streamed between the window panes alongside the front door, marking the woman’s ample silhouette with an ominous glow. From his encampment beneath the bannister, concealed primarily in shadow, Kyle poised fetally and still as a statue.

            “But I don’t have to use them. Not if I don’t want to,” Roberta grunted. Her breathing was so shallow her voice had dropped by nearly a full octave, packed with frustration and liquid horniness. “Because I have something else. Something much better than them, if I want. Which is why it’s important that you know, my adorable darling, that if you don’t come out in the next sixty seconds, I’m going to make you into my personal full-time dildo.”

            The effort on Kyle’s part to avoid vomiting right then and there was monumental. The sex toy in his mother’s tight fist was easily longer than his entire body. For terror and indecision, though, he held still. In the shadow of the hall, knowing full-well he wasn’t visible to his mother, he watched Roberta peel the thong away from her crotch again and tug it over her legs. The stretch of distance on the panties over her open legs wrung them out anew, causing several new drips to cascade down her meaty thighs.

            “Think of the things we could do, Kyle. Think of the things I could do with a little boy who’s oh-so misbehaved. Mommy’s pussy isn’t the only place in need of attention, after all. My lovely lady lumps, for one.” Roberta’s voice meandered dreamily now in the sick fantasy of it, growing more confident with every word. “And when I wasn’t using you… why, we’d find you a new bedroom: my panty drawer, to get you nice and acquainted with your new role in life.”

            With her womanhood now exposed in the darkness, Roberta gripped the pink dildo like a dagger and arced it from the level of her eye directly into her waiting cunt. A moment of wrestling with the mound, and the dildo squished into the tunnel. Kyle flinched at the sight and sound.

            “I’m counting to sixty now,” she declared. “Why don’t you count along with me, dear? One. Two. Three.” With each pulsed count, Roberta jammed the dildo deeper into her vagina, almost to the hilt of her knuckle. On the even numbers she retracted the glass rod back out, only to return on the odds. Her knees buckled as she grew dizzy with allure, but she remained standing in the front hall, naked save for her bra, knowing her son was somewhere in the blackness and witnessing the entirety of her sensual absolution. The closer Roberta came to sixty, the messier her counting became, and the mightier her dildo-ramming grew, with the smoothness and efficiency of an engine piston.

            At the count of fifty, Roberta’s voice had transformed entirely to desperate, screeched moans.  She staggered to her knees, and as she squeezed the dildo back inside for the fifty-ninth count, she flopped onto her back and practically ripped the toy from inside the squirting devastation of her pussy. Post-orgasmic scream, she splayed her thick limbs out on the floor and went still.

            Kyle remained cemented to the floor under the bannister. The new knowledge and sensory tortures enacted on him now, without even having to touch his mother’s crotch, weighed so heavily that he hadn’t a hope of flight. Watching his mother’s sleepy fingers fondle the cum-drenched dildo, he sobbed dryly in existential horror at the fate that was nearly his as well.

            For an hour, mother and son remained in the moonlit front hall: Roberta in a state of drunken, sexually satisfied repose on the floor and Kyle in a limb-hardened state of petrified paralysis beside the stairs. Some part of him felt he should run and put as much distance between himself and his mother as he could, possibly even outside this house and into the unknown of the night, where he at least wouldn’t be threatened by the immediate danger of being thrust up his parent’s gaping cunt. Yet fear and shock kept him there. In the near-silence, Kyle was treated to the sound of his own waning, panicked breath and his near-naked mother’s latent sighs of contentment.

            In the living room, the mantelpiece clock chimed eleven p.m. As if startled from her madness, Roberta groggily pulled herself back to her feet, the pink, cum-caked dildo still gripped in her fist. Frowning, she let it roll from her opened hand. The glass rod made its way across the floor, stopping just by the bannister, a few inches from Kyle. He tried not to inhale too much, but the stink of his mother’s sex was rampant on the thing and globbed thickly around the shaft. Kyle coughed, drawing Roberta’s loving gaze back to him.

            Her eyes still more than a little hazy from the excess of wine, Roberta stooped down, grasping the railing for support, and closed the same hand around Kyle’s nude body that she’d previously used for the masturbatory assault on her pussy. The smell was even worse here, her skin crusted with thick drops of her ejaculate, now smeared just as heartily into Kyle’s back and chest. He convulsed in his mother’s fingers, feeling as though he was covered on all parts of his form by crawling insects, from which there was no escape. The warm, sticky flesh of Roberta’s palm tightened like a noose around him, straightening him out.

            “What a night, huh, sweetie? We sure have our fun, don’t we?” she teased. Thankfully, the woman’s voice was robbed of its previous wobble. Kyle prayed to whatever gods which obviously didn’t exist that she was on her way back to sobriety and, hopefully, her senses.

            “Cat got your tongue, as usual?” she cooed. She brought her hand up nearer to her face as she lumbered back into the living room, a goofy smile spread on her thin lips. Her six-inch charge quivered vigorously in her hand, drenched with anxious sweat. “Oh, you don’t have to shake so much, dear. I didn’t mean to scare you, of course. Sometimes Mommy just has to let off a little steam, and sometimes too she has needs, just like any woman. Tonight those things just happened at the same time. You understand, don’t you?”

            “I… I d-d…”

            “Eighteen years, you were never at a loss for words, until right now. Isn’t that funny? Anyway, sweetheart, you don’t have to look so serious. You haven’t experienced the reality of this yet, but the fact is that sex is… a beautiful, beautiful thing. Someday, maybe very soon, you’ll learn that for yourself and then you’ll see exactly what I mean. Now. Would you like to go to bed?”

            Kyle stared up at his mother with wild-eyed horror, drained of fight by the mere staid conviction he recognized in her eyes. Every word out of her mouth was logical to her; he could hear it without error. He ceased shivering in her fingers, probably via his Stockholm symptoms, but still felt the same familiar cold despite the sweaty heat of her thick fingers coiled so tightly around him.

            “I said…” she repeated, clearing her throat. “Are you ready for bed, sweetie? Answer me now, please.”

            “Y-Yes,” he said, for once not having to lie. Sleep, difficult as it would be to come by, would be a welcome diversion from his disgusting state of life affairs.

            “Good. Me too,” Roberta said. She spread her fingers wide open again, palming her naked son in the center of her hand, but keeping him pinned under her thumb. Her thin lashes batted sultrily. “Of course, I’m sure you’ve still got a fair share of adrenaline worked up in your system after our little game of cat and mouse. And that’s partially my fault, for confusing you like I did. So maybe we ought to get you gentled back down.”

            “M-Mom?”

            “C’mere, you. Let’s get ready for bed,” Roberta purred. Her puckered lips descended on Kyle’s body. The slimy, hefty mass of her tongue unfurled with a sloppy smack on his thighs. Her lips closed into a surprisingly loving peck upon his wilted cock, then reopened, inviting his member into the hot cave within. Involuntarily, Kyle went limp in his mother’s hand as the giant woman’s ravenous lips pulsed several times around his crotch, softly suckling him like a straw. Just when he began to fear that he’d sprout a fear-erection, Roberta released the grip of her mouth and, with a final wink, spread her tits apart. As her bra was the only article of clothing still adorning her plump, distorted-hourglass form, the swollen masses of her breasts held firmly together as Kyle was tucked into his usual resting place for the night.

            And, for all his self-hatred of it, Kyle fell asleep between Roberta’s enormous breasts not long after she clambered nakedly into bed and clicked off the bedside light.

Roberta regarded her small, intimate audience with a warm smile and a conductor’s wave. Increasingly, this week-to-week confessional before the parents and guardians of shrunken delinquents was becoming her show, and she knew it. Though never verbally acknowledged, the changes were noticeable.

            Where once there was first a voluntary option to share when everyone was seated and settled, by now, it was assumed amongst the group that Roberta and Kyle would take their turn first. And frankly, the woman didn’t envy the rest of them the task of following the first act, because more often than not, this mother and son team had their share of titillating anecdotes to relate from the past week.

            Today, the effect was more pronounced than ever, as no sooner had the bespectacled group leader golf-clapped everyone to attention, every single pair of eyes in the room, both normal and shrunken, was directed to Roberta’s casually reclined form in the chair: enthusiastic interest from the parents, and flinching anxiety from the teens.

            Just to get the crowd warmed up, Roberta eased deeper into her seat. The hinged legs creaked and groaned as she purposefully twisted her rump into the undersized cushion. Then, with just a single pat on her outer thigh for good measure, she folded her hands in her lap and batted her eyes.

            “Sorry about that. Just wanted to make sure Kyle was good and settled,” Roberta declared. She was met with nods of approval from the parents. “You know the drill. A time-out is a time-out, after all. As usual, I made sure to note any… comments he has, for the benefit of the group, before he was put in his place. Which is to say, he didn’t have many.”

            “That sounds just fine, Roberta,” the instructor said with her normal ring of cheer. She thumbed the edges of her clipboard. “So there’s been some disciplinary action taking place under your roof this week, I presume.”

            “You could say that, yes.”

            If she was being honest with herself, though, Roberta realized only now that Kyle hadn’t technically done anything wrong before she shoved him up between her cheeks this afternoon. Her judging process had certainly shifted in the last several weeks, punishing increasingly minor infractions. However, today, the boy was actually clean; he’d even been polite all morning and done exactly as she asked. Yet she still found an excuse, right before they headed out the door to make their way to the facility, to drop her pants and caress Kyle up her inner thigh before jamming him into the valley of her ample ass.

            At the core of it, she knew perfectly well that she did it purely because she enjoyed the feeling of his muscular, squirming little body hugged up against her soft butthole.

            No matter. Who said a crime had to fit exactly with the punishment, one-to-one? This wasn’t the American judicial system. He had an entire backlog of adolescent wrongs clogging up the history of their relationship. The way Roberta saw it, she wasn’t just answering his choices with consequence, but taking an active role in his re-education. Thus, she was in the right to choose when, where, how, and why he was reprimanded.

            “Well then,” said the instructor. “Why don’t you just give us the rundown of your week, Roberta?”

            “Oh, I’m sure you all could rattle it off for me at this point. Baby steps, but a great deal of treading water, if you will. As close as Kyle and I have grown, he still has a lot to learn about being the man of the house. Try as I might to make him one, he resists.”

            “How?” one other mother in the circle chimed in.

            “I was having a little drink, just the other night… as I’m sure we all do from time to time, what with the added stress of being teachers as well as parents. Well, maybe more than a little drink, but I’m a big girl, and I can hold my own. I was hoping Kyle might be receptive to some proper instruction on the birds and the bees, shall we say. Uncomfortable or not for him, I feel it’s my duty to make sure he’s set free back into the world after all this with a conscientious mind and a gentlemanly approach to all his future relationships. Surely I’m not alone in that feeling?”

            Murmurs of concurrence rang out from the circle. Most of the parents leaned further forward in their chairs to listen.

            “God love my boy, but he can be… well, a little selfish sometimes, when it comes to recognizing the needs of others. Especially the needs of the woman taking care of his every need during these months,” Roberta continued. She clenched her buttocks in tighter, feeling the sweat-glazed cellulite bunching comfortably around Kyle’s crumpled form; she tried not to let her grin spread too wide. Gazing around the room full of women with their wide-eyed fascination and cheerful air of solidarity, it finally occurred to Roberta just how free she was in this group. “And to be frank, he’s of a certain… size, which could be useful for more than the ways he’s making use of himself now around the house, if you understand me.”

            More nodding. The circle of shrunken teens in the hands of their mothers, aunts, and sisters looked positively petrified.

            “Sure, I can make do… cucumbers, my favorite pink toy, especially, but in my mind, it’s simply never the same as connecting with a real person, just as I think Kyle, my sweet little virgin boy, at the ripe age of eighteen, no less, has to experience in order to truly make strides forward,” Roberta continued with relish. Her thumb played at the corner of her lip. “So I was raring to get teaching with him, and what did he do? The adorable little runt just ran for it! From me! The woman he should be thanking, above all else, with his cooperation! I tell you, I don’t often get angry, but it certainly inspires something inside you to be treated with such a lack of appreciation.”

            Roberta paused to catch her breath, noting the stirring in her loins merely from recalling the sexual insanity of that evening, not to mention the ripple of goosebumps over the globe of her ass. She could see she had all of them now, absolutely, in the palm of her hand. Every woman was either nodding vigorously or shaking their head in disbelief at Kyle’s insensitivity. Never before had Roberta felt quite so accepted and understood as she did in this circle, at this precise instant, telling a story about chasing down her son to insert him inside her womanhood. What a world it was.

            “But I’ll tell you what,” she said quietly. “Maybe next time, he just won’t have the opportunity to run. And then we’ll see who’s appreciating who after that.”

            Miraculously, one of the women beside Roberta began a slow clap. Within a second, then, the entire room of normal-sized guardians were applauding. The instructor, even, beamed with pride and clapped as well.

            Roberta set her upper lip hard, her brow furrowed with determination and newfound zeal. While she may not have even been certain of where she was headed with that story when she began, there wasn’t a doubt in her mind now that she had the support and faith of everyone present on the conclusion of her tale. And that was all she needed.

            The Lawrence household was silent as the grave and, in Kyle’s mind, roughly as inviting.

            Roberta’s dining room table was strewn with the remains of their latest dinner date, including trays of half-empty chicken, potatoes, and broccoli, most of it eaten by the mother, while the son picked sickeningly at the scraps of meal given to him, trying not to look up and fill his field of view with the slumped masses of his parent’s tits. Now, though, he would’ve given anything to have the opportunity again to shovel in some food. Anything to avoid what was happening now.

            In hindsight, he should’ve predicted something different was going to take place tonight. When Roberta appeared at the top of the stairs in her ill-fitted black leather corset top and tall thigh boots, looking like a low-rent dominatrix with all the confidence of a high-rent dominatrix, it might have tipped Kyle off that she was in a very particular kind of mood. Plus there was the fact she was wearing no underwear, a fact he was only made aware of when she sat down to dinner at last, when he could hear the squish of her vaginal lips. Still, a shield of denial allowed him to hope that she was merely trying to find new ways to make him supremely uncomfortable.

            Now, though, that dream of idleness was shattered. Because Roberta, completely sober and coherent, had Kyle pinned to her palm with her meaty fingers and was jacking his wilted member between her clammy thumb and forefinger.

            “There’s a good boy,” Roberta encouraged softly. The velvety grooves of her fingers glided in a gentle rhythm along her son’s miniature shaft, which was regrettably springing to life after so much stimulation; the opposite thumb, meanwhile, kept him splayed on her opened hand. “Do you want to cum for Mommy? Is that what you’d like?”

            Kyle’s face burned pink, nearly matching the crimson hue of the lipstick stains painted across most of his body, but especially his face and crotch; his hair was sopped and itching with leftover saliva from the last slobbery make-out. There was no pretense any longer, it seemed. No lies about lessons to learn or personal improvements to make. She had strapped his arms to his sides with rubber bands, with an additional binding keeping his hands cuffed behind his back. And his mother, for her part of this disgusting farce, was dressed in a poorly cut S&M uniform and gazing at him with dreamily wide hazel eyes as she forcibly masturbated him: not out of some twisted sense of logic for his development, but because she enjoyed it. He knew that now. His stomach churned as he blearily scanned the length of his mother’s torso bulging out of the leather corset. Her left breast, especially, was making an impressive effort to escape. The dark upper ring of her nipple poked earnestly over the upper cut.

            He bit his tongue, hoping to slow the progress of his erection. It was failing.

            “C’mon, hon. I know you want to show Mommy what you’re made of, after all that bragging I did about you and how you’re going to be the man of this house. You can’t even be the man of my hand yet, can you? Well, we’re going to fix that, if you’ll just relax, and let me show you how to have a little fun.”

Kyle groaned. Sure enough, he was getting close to climax. Even with the sight of his mother’s nipple creeping over the low cut of her corset giving him plenty of inspiration to wither, he was still spurred on by the slick pulsing of her thick fingertips on his hapless cock.

            He sputtered, his chest heaving, as Roberta’s fingers closed sharply around his hard-on, ceasing the toying. Her lips pursed and blew a coursing wind of cold air upon him, flecked with spit, further stunting his race toward orgasm. Half of him deflated with relief, while the other half was ready to writhe with frustration.

            “Not yet, sweetie, not yet. Just a little harmless payback for all the waiting you made me do the other night,” Roberta explained calmly. She raised her flattened palm higher up, at last granting her son’s junk a break from the forceful coddling, and observed him with a raised eyebrow. “You see, I think it’s time we had the rest of that heart-to-heart I’ve been talking about. You’re close to my heart so often now, it only seems right. Doesn’t it?”

            “I g-guess.”

            “Of course it does. So let me just come right out with it,” Roberta said. “It’s been… a long time, hon. A very long time… too long… since Mommy had a good, hard lay. It’s been eating me up inside for some time now.”

            “And seeing as you’re you… a horny little teenage virgin boy with all these changes happening inside his body, ready to burst open like a butterfly and smell the roses… why, sweetie, are you oh-so resistant to your first love when she wants to make love to you? Why did you run like a scared little boy, when I know you’re so close to becoming a man instead? The way I see it, it’s a win-win for everybody. You get to blossom and maybe learn a thing or two, and you get to pay me back for all this hard work I’ve been putting in to make you a better person. It’s not rocket science, baby. So tell me why?”

            Kyle considered whether it was better to vomit right there in his mother’s hand and face the consequences or simply swallow it back down.

            “It’s… n-not right, Mom,” he peeped. His skin crawled purely from the apparently necessity to explain this to her. “You’re my M-Mom, not my… please… this is… this-”

            “Hush for a second,” she interrupted. Her index finger squeezed against his head. “Maybe I’m asking the wrong questions. So try this one, pure and simple: are you tired of being the little boy of the house? Are you ready to be the man? Which will it be?”

            Kyle squirmed as his mother’s fingers closed back around his body. He knew there was a correct answer, and understood there would be dire and probably ass-crushing consequences for providing the incorrect answer. He felt his lips open, no matter how much he wanted to stay silent.

            “Man,” he gulped.

            “And wouldn’t you say, as the man of the house, that it’s the responsibility of the man to… take care of the woman of the house?”

            “I… I d-don’t want… I don’t want to. Please, Mom. Mommy. P-Please, please, don’t-”

            “All right, I think that’s enough of your excuses tonight. From here forward, I don’t want to hear you blubbering at me unless it’s to answer a question. It’s high time you started pitching in around here. And a boy… I mean man… of your size? There’s only so much you can do to be useful. But we’re about to start finding ways right now.”

            In horror, Kyle felt himself descending, though instead of disappearing below the table toward the hell of his mother’s exposed nethers, his tiny feet hit the tabletop and her giant fist opened again. Then, looking up against his better judgement, Kyle watched with some amazement as Roberta reached down into her heaving cleavage and withdrew the entirety of her pink dildo, which had been sandwiched inside the enormous bulbs of flesh throughout the entire meal. With the long toy unsheathed, she slammed its tip upon the tabletop an inch away from Kyle, and held the opposite end steady in her fingers.

            “Hmm. Just like I thought,” Roberta said, closing one eye to square her focus on the differentiation. “You’re a little shorter, a little skinnier… but it’s nothing I can’t work around, with a little extra oomph, if you know what I mean, dear.”

            Kyle recoiled by several steps. He glowered up and down the hard glass shaft of his competition. When next he looked to his mother, her hand was opening up again, her palm coming straight for him. He was collected back into her fingers.

            “That was a lovely dinner date, Kyle. It really was. And like any lovely date, it’s bound to end with someone getting lucky. Come on.”

            As Roberta rose from her chair, with Kyle hoisted far above, he couldn’t help but notice the dark patch of leaked goo pooled on the seat. The woman marched up the stairs with a glorified majesty, a spring in her step. Her son, by contrast, had shriveled up into her fist. A chill glommed over his skin and refused to release its grip.

            In the bedroom, Kyle was so busy looking around in horror at the various scented candles his mother had placed around the room, soaking the walls in a rosy glow and vanilla aphrodisiac fog, that he neglected the real addition. The bench at the foot of the bed, usually reserved for extra blankets, was cleared away, save for two small items. Kyle couldn’t recognize them until they were already standing above the bench, and once he did, he wished he hadn’t. His mother had evidently glued a pair of his shrunken boots straight onto the wooden slat.

            “Try to hold still, hon. I don’t want to hurt you before we even start, and you’re going to want to conserve your strength.” Roberta lowered the boy toward the bench and, pinching his feet in her fingers, wedged his legs down into the mouths of the boots.

            Kyle, still bound with his hands behind his back, stood nakedly in his glued-down shoes and hoped against hope that he’d finally awaken at any instant and find reality shifted back to a more recognizable kind of harmony. It was all he really had left. Instead, this particular reality continued to worsen.

            Up above, with her shadow fallen over her new human dildo, Roberta was working on disrobing. A hook and a zipper came undone from her corset, which she at last released from its punishing fit on her bulbous torso, rendering her fully nude at last. Her wide hips, smooth paunch, and sandbag breasts all burst forth from their leather confines in the same instant. The woman breathed a sigh of relief, letting all of her pear geometry hang at its appropriate, healthily proportioned angles.

            “This will be easy at first, hon, really. I wouldn’t lie to you. All you have to do is stay nice and rigid. Just concentrate on that, and Mommy will do the rest. Honest. After this, you’ll be a man in no time,” Roberta purred as she strutted to and fro in front of the bench, swinging her pale, jiggling thighs and rumbling the floor beneath Kyle’s bench.

            The boy could only look on in staunch horror as his mother turned around, putting the plump moon of her derriere above him, and squatted, separating her legs until her drooling vagina was poised a mere inch above his head. A thick dollop of her cum was already unspooling from her yawning pussy lips. The dense globule of it dripped down to Kyle’s shoulder and ran along his back.

            “Mom, this is fucking insane. Please. Please, Mom. Please don’t do this. I’ll… I’ll do anything. Anything else, I swear. I’ll stay small forever. In this house, with you… Mommy… I promise. Just… just d-don’t make me…”

            “Aw, honey. You’re so cute. You’re already going to be with me forever!” Roberta giggled. “Now try to be quiet for a little while; you’re killing the mood. Trust me, you may be better off with that adorable little mouth of yours closed for this.”

            “Oh my G-God…”

            “Just kidding, of course. Nothing could possibly spoil this mood for me now. You’re about to be a part of one of Mommy’s favorite activities.” Thighs aquiver, the valley of Roberta’s rump opened ever-wider. Another gloppy strand of cum unfurled in a spiral down over Kyle, crowning him and creeping down his cheeks. Her fingers teased back at the soft lips of her pussy, parting them. The air was balmy and alive with the spice of the woman’s patient anticipation. “Believe me, sweetie, you couldn’t possibly make me enjoy this particular method less. Just you wait and see. Riding my normal toys on this bench is a thrill you really can’t appreciate until you’ve been a part of it. Not to mention all this junk I’ve got in my trunk. The sound of it slapping, again and again on the wood? Like a metronome. It’s really something.”

            “MOM!” Kyle screamed, spitting a glob of her ejaculate away from his mouth. He sputtered, nearly buckling forward, despite the rooting of his glued boots. “PLEASE DON’T DO THIS!”

            “What did I say about interruptions that weren’t answers to my very easy questions, dear?” Roberta hissed. By now her fingers were jammed deeply into her vagina, pumping out additional helpings of cum down upon Kyle’s helpless frame. “Now just concentrate on standing up straight. Mommy doesn’t want to be responsible for snapping your little spine, after all. Think of how embarrassing it would be, trying to explain it to the doctor. Believe me, you’ll save us both a lot of trouble if you just stay still and, above all, save your breath. I’ve been known from time to time to be a squirter, so your best bet is to hold tight, hold the air, and try to remember how much I love you for what a good little son you’re being. Okay?”

            “Fuck, NO!” Kyle writhed one last time in his stead, extending his spine just in time for his ramrod body to fit smoothly into the descending tunnel of mushy, drippy hell which consumed half his body within five seconds of practiced wriggling on Roberta’s part. He was inside.

            Roberta’s vaginal lips closed around his knees, his entire torso extended into his mother’s womanhood.

            Roberta’s bulbous hot-air-balloon-ass cheeks slumped down upon the wooden bench with an echo which rebounded about the house. She wasted no time in setting a bouncing pace, rolling her ass from the back of the bench toward the front again as she heaved her entire three-hundred pound weight to and fro, all upon the pivot point of Kyle’s haplessly trapped frame. The legs of the bench creaked for mercy.

            Sensations novel and perfect to Roberta rolled through her being; she couldn’t believe the volume of new feelings and angles she was reaching now with the mere replacement of her inanimate dildo with a live one. Straight as her vaginal cavity kept him, Kyle was in a state of epileptic gyration, knocking his knees and knotted arms against the tender, sensitive terrain within, and it was every bit as effective as Roberta hoped. The woman’s mouth hung blearily open, blurting the occasional involuntary gasp of shocked pleasure.

            Minutes rolled by. Roberta was doing her absolute best to recall that her dildo did require oxygen from time to time. She lurched back up, high enough that Kyle could gulp some air. The sight of his naked form emerging from her gooey opening was akin to watching a newborn expelled from the same department, given how heinously drenched in her juices he’d become.

            Kyle roared in a high-pitch, overcome with animal panic. Ejaculate poured down his body, dripping over the side of the bench in glistening strands. Just after she heard him begin hyperventilating, confirming he was in fact still conscious, Roberta descended again, harder than the initial comedown. In a single concussive plop, the woman’s plump buttocks slammed into the bench. With that fall, Kyle’s body vanished almost instantaneously into her opening, this time even lower than before.

            “Oh, fuck me…” Roberta groaned. The rhetorical comment was baritone and fraught with sticky eroticism, though ugly as anything in Kyle’s tiny eardrums, as he heard her screech through the brush of slick-matted pubic hair and skin. The bucking recommenced. In the low, vanilla light, Roberta and her bountiful curves were beginning to glow with loving perspiration. Her hefty cleavage lubricated like a slip-and-slide, but the real show was the mounting glaze of sweat making its way down her back, collecting beneath her continually bouncing cellulite-ridden glutes. The metronomic slap of her ass on the wood turned wet and harsh.

            Gripping the side of the bench in both white-knuckled hands, Roberta forced herself lower. The end of this game was coming, and she wasn’t going to half-ass the big conclusion. She felt her separated pussy lips sliding over his tiny shins, down past the shoes, until at last the boy’s entire body was consumed by her electrified womanhood. The woman squealed and grunted, her cries of bliss resembling multiple phylums of nature’s fauna. She could feel every square inch of him now, embraced by the skin-tight enclosure of her tunnel.

            With one hand latched on the cusp of the furniture and the other combing through her wildly flailing tresses of dark frizz, Roberta rode the bench like a bull, with her worming son poised perfectly inside. His head had risen high enough inside her now that she could feel his huffed, desperate breaths flowing cool against parts of her inner self she never expected to distinguish. The mere realization of this delicacy caused Roberta to spasm, riding into the sunset of the most intense orgasm of her entire life. Her cunt clinched hard around Kyle’s body, pleading to remain around his body forever as she reared back for the finale.

            Blushed a near-crimson red and wearing several extra skins of gushed love juices, Kyle opened his mouth as he felt the giantess tense in the aching seconds prior to release. Perhaps to scream, perhaps to take in the hail-mary breath before passing out. Either way, his lips were instantly flooded with a half-gallon of cum squirting in a frenzy from his mother’s pressurized pussy. The volume of goo literally muted the sound as his entire windpipe filled with Roberta’s fluid.

            Racing through the final throttling waves of pleasure, Roberta steadied her pace to a crawl. Her moans had swelled, almost to full-on yodeling. She leaned back again on the foot of the bed, mired in a pool of cum and sweat collected beneath her ass. In a zombified haze of victorious gratification and emotional assuredness, Roberta stood up. Kyle’s unconscious body was slurped out of its tight prison, and with it, a last dump of ejaculate bottled inside her pussy, preserved until gravity took hold. The entire liquid mass spilled squarely down upon the shrunken sex toy boy while Roberta caught her breath.

            Her fingers twirled around her hardened, prickled nipple caps, dark with sexual fascination. Thin lips spread wide apart, she inhaled through her throat, drinking in the muggy, candlelit atmosphere of this now-holy room. Her frizzy hair, too, was suddenly a favorite toy for spinning and tugging. All of herself, she wanted to touch: languish upon the riptide of glorious sensations.

            Roberta couldn’t help but smile. Skin still grooved with lingering goose bumps and ever-sensitive even to the lush feeling of the carpet beneath her bare soles, she looked down upon the fruits of her labors. Most of the bench was soaked through with her cum, leading to the center like the mouth of a riverbed; a gray stain was pooled in the carpet. At the head of the gooey wreckage was Kyle, slumped over on his back. His entire body fossilized in his mother’s juices, his feet still hooked into the glued boots. And if Roberta wasn’t mistaken, the middle of the bench seemed to slope just a little lower than she remembered, after the terrific pounding her massive derriere bestowed into the paltry wooden slat. Her thumb found its way back to her swollen labia.

            With a sigh of finality, though, Roberta acknowledged she couldn’t stand here all evening touching herself. Not when Kyle wasn’t awake, and especially not when her body was still atwitter, begging for more than boring old masturbation. That orgasm, if anything, had only cranked up her nerve endings to full sensitivity. Rather than looking for rest, the whole of her bottom-heavy corpus was starved for greater exploration. There were still discoveries to be made. Frontiers to cross. Forbidden fruits to sample.

            “Kyle. Wake up, baby.” Roberta cradled her son’s sticky body in her palms, having pried him from the boots. He was very pink, certainly, but after she brushed the build-up of cum from his breathing orifices and affirmed the rise and fall of his chest, followed by his coughing up of her nectar, the boy was obviously none the worse for wear. Well, maybe a little worse, but he was alive and unbroken, it seemed. Which was more than plenty for Roberta.

            “Thank goodness you’re awake. I admit, I may have gone a little overboard this time, honey. That’s on me, and I’m genuinely sorry about that,” Roberta said with sincere conviction. “But can you really blame me, with all the teasing you did the last time I had a drink? This has been a long time coming. There’s some responsibility to share on both sides, really, when you think about it.”

            It was unclear whether Roberta’s caring explanations were getting through to the boy. He was curled into a fetal ball in her palm, occasionally yucking up another mouthful of her gunk, and not necessarily reacting to the sound of her voice nor her well-based defenses.

            “C’mon, sweetie. I need you to stay with me. I’m willing to wait a minute for you to get your bearings, but this body of mine, well… it’s only going to hold out for so long before the next round.”

            This, at least, seemed to catch Kyle’s attention through the messy reverie. He rolled over with some painful effort in his mother’s hand, laid flat on his back, and gazed up at her with a thousand-yard stare.

            “Next round?” he muttered with surprisingly clear diction despite his obvious shell shock. His pupils shrank.

“Of course we’re going another round,” she murmured cheekily, flashing him another of her famous winks. “What, you thought a little ride on the furniture was the whole she-bang? I suppose you really do have a lot to learn about making love, honey. Which is all right. Lesson number one: sex isn’t a sprint, it’s a marathon. Especially if you’re doing it right.”

            “I… I c-can’t do it… again…” Kyle declared hollowly, his voice nearly lost to his gummed throat.

            “And why ever not, hon?”

            “Please. You’ll… you’ll k-kill me if… if you d-do it… again.”

            Roberta threw her head back and laughed a hearty belly laugh. Her breasts heaved joyously as she savored her son’s melodrama and the feather-weight of his potent hog-tied form in her hand.

            “Oh, sweetie. I love when you can give Mommy a laugh. You’ve always been one for exaggeration, haven’t you? Since you were a little boy. Always making up stories, twisting the truth to suit you. It used to get on my nerves, I admit, but today… well, today is a day full of new things, isn’t it?”

            “Mom, for God’s… for fuck’s sake, this is… I’m-”

            “-you’re the best lay I’ve ever had, honey, bar none,” Roberta interrupted, her chest puffed with pride. By the ingratiation of her tone, she obviously meant it as a compliment of the highest order. “And I’m sorry if you’re a little behind the eight-ball with the lesson this evening, Kyle, but ready or not… I’ve got to have another go.”

            “You’re not LISTENING to me!”

            “Nonsense, dear. I’m listening, and what I’m hearing is a little boy still scared to become a little man. So again, I’ll be taking the lead, until we can get you into the spirit of things. Because I love doggie style. I love how it makes my big juicy ass look even bigger. In fact, I love it so much, that I’m confident we’re about to discover this family has a genetic predisposition toward the practice. You’ll see.”

            Kyle rolled over on the plank of his mother’s fingers. His mind finally catching up to his body, the boy retched and vomited over the side. Roberta blinked, her attention entirely elsewhere.

            “Well, what’s this?” Roberta scowled, obviously more than a little hurt. She nudged her son onto his back again with a pinky and scooped her clammy fingertip beneath his wilted shaft. He wasn’t even beginning to harden. “This won’t do at all, will it?”

            “D-Don’t…”

            “Hey, sweetie, what kind of a hypocrite would I be, after all I’ve taught you about being a giving partner in bed, if I didn’t practice what I preach and give you a little of your own medicine right back to you? You gave me a damn good lay just now, after all. It’s only fair we both reach the finish line this time.”

            With her free hand, Roberta fished between her sweat-glossed thighs. Her fingers hooked back into the soft opening of her pussy, still rife with congealing cum. She brought her thick digits away with a healthy helping of ejaculate frosted all the way down to her knuckle. Then, appropriately lubed up, she gently snatched her son’s limp member between her greased thumb and forefinger, commencing the returning of the favor she promised.

            Despite whatever had overcome him and refunded his dinner, Kyle’s lower instincts fought through the sickness. His mother’s fingers were too soothing and too exact in their disgusting knowledge of precisely how to touch him. She could manipulate him like clockwork. After a minute of focused work, Roberta’s cum-dripping fingers successfully stroked the boy’s puny dick to life. He wasn’t fully erect yet, but at least rising to attention, and that was all Roberta needed for the go-ahead.

            The middle-aged, fat-bottomed goddess threw herself upon the bed, her boy closed in her fist, and hunched onto all fours. Dense, pale cheeks spread apart, she carried Kyle beneath the overshadowing mass of her gargantuan body and turned him upside down. With the blood rushing to his head, the terrified teen/human dildo watched his legs plunged into the still-gaping maw of his mother’s ever-eager pussy.

            In and out. Wielding the little naked adolescent free-handed, Roberta thrust his body within then back to the outside air with greater ferocity. The number of possibilities compared to the bench ride were multiplied exponentially. Any angle was fair game now, with Kyle’s loose legs firmly grasped in Roberta’s sweating fist. After some practice, the woman could insert her son all the way up to his neck: on these slippery occasions, she took the liberty to twist him like a corkscrew in her trap.

            The effect was nothing short of thunderous. A hideous moan was extracted from Roberta’s throat which vibrated the bed. Skin cells of her voluminous pussy never truly attended before were roughed by Kyle’s thrashing legs, not to mention his flopping half-mast hard-on. Her rocky thigh muscles tightened with the effort to keep her perspiring back straight, though her legs and arm still keeping up her pear-torso all trembled with mounting arousal and tickling exhaustion.

            Of course, there was more to concern herself with this time than merely her own blood-pumping, pussy-blooming lust. Though she was doing well in that department as well. But the mission was, at last, to give Kyle the show of his life and prove just how well-suited he was to his role as little man of the house. And that meant, whether he knew he wanted it yet or not, she was going to milk her little boy for all he was worth.

            With uncommon attentiveness, Roberta found her focus within the swirl of stupefying carnality. She arched her back. When next the mother withdrew the boy’s body from her drooling hole, she expressly poised Kyle’s seizing hips up against the delicate roof of her vagina. She squealed again at the tender touch of his erection massaging along the puffed skin above her pussy, even after adjustment feeling the pinhead tip of his cock stroking around the button of her clit.

            Lightning flowed through her bloodstream. Having found the perfect angle, Roberta concentrated her assault, marrying Kyle’s helpless erection with her vaginal roof while loping strands of cum washed down his inverted body. Her pubes tickled and scratched along his face; they parted for the combing of his body. His legs jutted in and out of her crotch, coiling and spinning like a pinwheel. The sensation was turning her inside out.

            Just when Roberta was beginning to feel her son approach climax, out of necessity she released her hold on several tensed muscles. Including her shimmying ass. A vocal fart eased from the sweat-painted hillocks of her heavy cheeks. The sound cut above Roberta’s aphrodisiac huffing and Kyle’s panting for life.

            “Oh, my God,” she groaned, a little mortified at the speed bump in the mood. “I’m so sorry, honey. Please excuse Mommy.”

            Determined not to spoil the moment completely, Roberta returned to her work with a greater fervor. A few seconds later, though the scent of the giant woman’s flatulence had now penetrated the warm vanilla candle mist, Kyle’s body distorted in his mother’s clammy fist as he ruefully climaxed against the roof of her pussy. Despite the rank air and his tired genitals, the boy was still battling for breath, as drop after drop of slimy, vinegary juices poured into his throat from down the ramp of his upside-down body.

            Confident that Kyle had received his just desserts, Roberta resumed her previously scheduled full-body insertion of her son. Her fingers cloyed around his shoulder blades as she jammed him in and out, nearly losing him several times to the greedy pull of her pussy, despite her doggie-style pose and lubed runway inviting him to freedom. The pace quickened. She was well-past the point of no return now. The pleasure was reaching its previous zenith again, and Roberta hadn’t even completed the job.

            Kyle was fighting back less with every repeated entry into his mother’s cunt. If she had to guess, Roberta assumed the boy was running very low on oxygen and muscular control. Certainly her increasingly clamped vaginal tunnel was growing merciless in its grasp. Her womanhood, too, knew the end was in sight. Faster and faster she pumped, with greater strength and fury than she ever had with the vegetables or pink glass monster. When it was humanly impossible to hold on any longer, the woman’s thumb gave Kyle a hard shove, until his body had completely disappeared into the happily parted lips of her pussy.

            Roberta’s second orgasm of the night was nothing short of a natural disaster. A veritable geyser of ejaculate fired from the big-boned squirter’s hanging pussy lips. It would’ve surely drowned Kyle, as the gushing fallout rushed into his nose and mouth, if Roberta hadn’t reacted quickly enough to slide him back out from her opening. It still took her a moment to remember he needed removing, though, as she savored the sharp afterglow in relished peace. Even when she did take hold of his shoulders and drag Kyle’s ragdolled body out, she could feel her pussy tightening back around him. Begging her to leave him inside.

            Some part of Roberta very nearly listened to that desire.

            “Wake up, sleepyhead,” the woman sang with a newfound joy she hadn’t known so thoroughly in years, if ever. She lovingly caressed Kyle’s body along the bedsheets, drying him of his disgusting labors. Planting a finger to his chest, she again confirmed a heartbeat, then laced that finger around his shriveled manhood for a tug, just because she could.

            “W-Wh… Where…” Kyle wriggled in the manner of a newborn infant in his mother’s outstretched hand. He appeared to have been fucked so silly that he’d lost his grasp on his location and, judging by the look in his eyes, possibly most of his mind as well.

            “I really don’t know what to say, Kyle. Honestly. I’m… speechless, baby, I’m speechless. I can never thank you enough for what we just did. You’ve made me so… so happy, in ways I could never truly express to you except to try my hardest to give you back everything you just gave me. And with your whole future like this stretched out before us, well… I’m sure we’ll have plenty of time to uncover every last way for me to say thank you.”

            “F-F…” he muttered, too weary and gargled with her cum to speak at first, as though his digestive tract was full to the brim with honey. “F-Future?”

            “Well, yes of course, silly,” Roberta teased. She rolled over on her back, reclining against the headboard, and settled into the nest of pillows beneath her enormous nude body. “You did it. You’re the man of the house now. Specifically, my man of this house. What kind of sense would it make to let you leave now?”

            “But… but it’s just… just for the three-month s-sentence… you can’t just… just…”

            “Oh, honey, you have so little faith in me, after all this time, don’t you? Do I really look to you like a mother who’d surrender her precious favorite toy to the big, mean world over something so small as a public defacement criminal charge? At the end of the day, I’m your mother, your warden, your teacher, and your keeper. You lost your privileges of belief from the rest of the world, which means I’m the best you’ve got. And trust me…” Roberta drawled triumphantly, her fingers rippling coyly at the boy’s exposed crotch. “…I plan to give you the best I’ve got for a very, very long time.”

            With no existing response available to him, Kyle closed into himself while Roberta closed him into her fist. She made a lap around the room, blowing out the vanilla candles, and reducing the room to the blackness of sifting smoke and stale, sticky air. Rifling with the pillows again as she lay down for the night, Roberta parted the valley of her sagging, sweat-drenched breasts. Easier than ever, Kyle slid into his place, then disappeared, save for his head, in the embrace of his mother’s moist tits.

            Not long after her head rolled over on the pillow, Roberta was snoring gratefully into another night full of wet dreams, while the prisoner entrapped over her heart was smothered by the oppressive weight of his mother’s flesh and the knowledge that he had a probable lifetime of soul-breaking sexual nightmares to look forward to.

Two weeks might as well have been two years for Kyle, as time slowed to the speed of gelling amber. And really, considering the comparable eternity the boy had to look forward to in the clutches of his mother, that wasn’t an altogether poor estimation.

            Today’s R&R group session was even more of a torture than normal. The A/C was broken, leaving the circle to sweat it out in the bright white space. There were fans running full-blast to keep the regular-sized individuals cool, but when a shrunken individual was jammed between a parent’s meaty buttocks under layers of underwear and cloth in a summer-sizzling building with no air, the effect was almost nil.

            Or, as the case was for Kyle today, a shrunken individual tucked safely into his mother’s bra. Which, he had to admit, was better than the usual prospect. His body splayed over the rotund curve of her hanging tit, sharing its moisture. The sweat-dampened brassiere kept him pinned like flypaper to the cup, while his mother’s consistently erect nipple bulged against his strategically planted crotch, with no hope of wriggling to a safer pose. Of course, without the muting barrier of her rump to block his hearing, Kyle got to experience every single sordid detail of his mother’s explanations without the benefit of defending himself.

            In jeans nearly two sizes too small and a low-cut top far too svelte for her hearty figure, Roberta was radiant with glee. It wasn’t just her beaming smile which showed it. Occasionally she’d rub Kyle’s back through her bra, using her thumb to reposition his nethers over her hardened nipple in an attempt to covertly masturbate him. However, her attentions were primarily on the room and its inhabitants, steamy as it was.

            With another two sessions under her belt, Roberta had the size therapy group fully in her pocket. She was the entertainer, the educator, practically a cult leader, and they were her loyal subjects. Though only a few of the women so far had begun experimenting with some of the suggestions Roberta had provided on proper child discipline, she was beginning to see the cracks in their will (and those shrunken kids were probably starting to see the cracks in their mothers). The curiosity and wonderment that maybe, just maybe, this woman’s radical approach to parenting might be the key to overhauling the whole wretchedly imbalanced family dynamic. Even this session alone, Roberta was pleased to note that several shrunken incarcerates were not visible, while their guardians shifted awkwardly on their skirted asses. Progress was happening, even if slowly.

            “And after that position started to get boring, well, wait until you hear what I realized we could do with the side of the kitchen table, a jar of lube, and some melted chocolate…” Roberta boomed, pausing in her story of sexual conquest to take a breath for dramatic effect. She drank in the rapt attention of her audience. “…then again, I suppose a lady shouldn’t kiss and tell every last little tidbit, but what can I say? My little man is fantastic in the sack, and believe me, he knows how to treat his lady. So I should want to celebrate that, shouldn’t I?”

            As per usual, heads vigorously nodded in agreement. The hands of several women unconsciously journeyed across their thighs, pausing an inch above their hallowed regions. From the look in their dilated eyes and the nibbling of lips, it was obvious more than a few of them were living the entire story along with Roberta. The sight of them, in turn, was making the storyteller hot under the collar all over again.

            “Any way you look at it, something has become clear to me now. I am… a different woman. A new woman than I was back when all this began. It might’ve seemed strange to me, if I could cross back through time and tell myself that. After all, this was supposed to be about Kyle’s improvement, not my development as a parent, and certainly not the awakening between us which might be seen as taboo by some of the more conservative members of society…” Roberta continued, crossing one thick leg over the other and idly rotating her foot at the ankle. Her fingers teased at the cup of her bra again, fondling Kyle’s forcefully hardening cock into the plush mound of her nipple. “…but the truth is the truth. I’m an honest woman. I don’t know how to lie to all of you, and I wouldn’t try to. And the truth is that I couldn’t possibly part with him at this size. Not now, and not ever.”

            Though a ghost of hesitation kept her from blowing right through to the next revelation straightaway, Roberta observed the circle again. She still had them. If anything, they were leaning further forward. The parents were engaged and the shrunken criminals were existentially horrified. That seemed just about right.

            “I’m not saying it’s the right course for everyone. All I’m saying is that I’ve got the best kind of lover now. A lover I can fit in my pocket. A lover I can use to fill the void. A lover I can please with just my little finger, literally. The best listener I’ll ever find and, if I can speak frankly, the greatest dildo I’ll ever own,” Roberta declared before God and all the world, or at least the trusting women in the sweltering group-therapy room.

            “What haven’t you tried, Roberta?” one woman piped, too tense to wait for the cliffhanger any longer. Others, clearly thinking similarly, nodded and smiled a daydream-drunk smirk.

            “We’re all friends here, aren’t we? I don’t see why we can’t get a little down and dirty with the conversation, right?” Roberta laughed. She looked questioningly to the group leader, who’d remained silent throughout the entire session so far. The woman only nodded warmly with approval. “I’m sure you’re all thinking it. Especially if you’ve tried some of my… tips, for “rearing” your children right. I’d love to try anal with little Kyle. Just thinking about his arms and legs wriggling around down there, it… well, I won’t get carried away. But I see it in our future, maybe as a surprise. At least as soon as I can convince him not to cry whenever I bring it up.”

            Hearing this, the rest of the group tittered with nervous laughter which broke into full raucous chortles. Roberta joined last, but reverberated the most heartily with pleasure and mirth. By the purity of their voices, and the sincerity of their smiles, there was no doubt in the woman’s mind. There wasn’t a single dissenting opinion in the circle, at least not one which counted, which was to say those people large enough to hold a life in the palm of their hands.

            Roberta Lawrence had truly arrived.

            “Far be it from any of us to direct your parenting style, Roberta…” the group leader said, the irony of her grinning tone earning some giggles from around the circle. “…but maybe, if he’s in reach, we might hear directly from Kyle today, in light of all these changes in your relationship.”

            Roberta nodded knowingly. She had kept Kyle to herself these past several weeks of therapy, meaning she’d literally either had him coddled around her nipple or sandwiched inside her sweaty ass. Perhaps it was time to take him out for a real test run. A litmus test for whether he’d truly become the person she so badly wanted him to achieve.

            The group waited patiently as Roberta rummaged in her bra cup and plucked Kyle out. She toweled him off of her breast sweat around the hem of her shirt, planted a wet kiss full upon his face, and set him on her broad lap. This was it. All her parenting of the past month and a half hinged upon this single moment, as proof positive that she’d truly mothered him into submission.

            “Kyle?” the group leader asked pleasantly of the naked six-inch young man. “Why don’t you give us your side of the story? Anything you’d like to share about your time together with your mom, you can feel free to share. Go on. Let it out.”

            “Well,” Kyle began, his voice staid and robotic. He gazed upward at his mother’s face above, pausing to bask in the hopeful glimmer of her eyes. His countenance remained blank as a freshly dusted slate. “I spent a long time working backwards. Hurting myself, and hurting my mom, who I… I love, with all my heart. And like you say in this room sometimes, you can’t improve until everyone is working in the same direction: forwards. That’s what my mom and I are doing now. I still have some… growing up to do, but I’m happy now, to be understood how I’m supposed to be, and… I’m sure glad I have my mom to help guide me.”

            The room collectively cooed at the rigid, computerized poetry of Kyle’s dead voice. The group leader even looked taken aback, with a hand laid over her heart, though no one in the room looked gladder and more full of life than Roberta. Almost as soon as Kyle finished his comment, the woman swiped her son right back into her hands. So overcome with pride and joy in the work she’d, at long last, successfully stamped into him, that right then and there she took the boy’s penis in her buttery fingertips. Within a minute, she’d coaxed him to erection between the soft, motherly grinding of her thumb and index fingers.

            “Maybe a little practical demonstration is in order,” Roberta concluded beneath her breath in a throaty vow, such that only Kyle could hear it. She felt the goose bumps rising low on his skin, which only spurred her on. Without another thought, she unfastened her jeans and let them slide straight down the powerful, jiggling spires of her legs. Then with a pinch of her thumb came the black silk panties as well.

            The group watched Roberta expose herself and her son to the entire room. No one said a word nor even gasped as the woman laid her tiny son on a cum-soggy patch of her underwear before drawing the garment back around her hips and snapping the waistband in place. Every pair of eyes remained trained on her with intimate fascination, then, as Roberta pulled her jeans up and sat back down in the chair as though nothing at all had happened. Meanwhile her shrunken son was plastered tightly over her crotch, his hardening cock forced inside her lower mouth while the rest of him was buried in curly pubes and a face-to-clit make-out. Everyone, most of all Roberta, knew these facts and accepted them in reverent silence.

            From there the group conversation moved on its usual trajectory around the circle. The stories were more animated than ever, several offering some amusing color as the women explained their attempts to experiment with new punishment techniques and alternative bodily storage methods, sometimes with significant overlap between the two.

            All the while, Roberta enjoyed their tales with just as much attention as she could divert. Though admittedly her energies were far more devoted to the tight, young little body imprisoned in the sweaty, fleshy wedge of her nethers. How much attention, really, could she be expected to pay when she had him wriggling his adorable shrunken heart out, stimulating her with every flinch of his muscles? Each minute that passed, Roberta grew bolder with her willingness to bounce and grind, rolling her jean-clad ass back and forth on the chair, slapping her thighs together, and practically hyper-extending Kyle’s miniature spine as her vagina welcomed him inside its hot, hungry lips. Though she tried to hide it at first, crossing one leg over the other and pretending to adjust the wrinkles in her clothing, eventually she dispensed with the secrecy.

            Roberta swayed in her chair. All his squirming had done her in. Mind swimming with the liquid eroticism of her tiny keepsake, the woman let loose a ballooning moan of pleasure which began as a whisper and ended as a charged cry. Her guttural sounds garnered the attention of the women around her, including one mother still in the middle of telling her weekly story. Bracing against the seat of the chair with both hands, Roberta squinched her thick hips together, forcing Kyle forward until his lower body was swallowed through the barrier of her frothing labia. The entire group’s attention was at last stolen, then, while the woman bucked in her seat to reach orgasm. The crotch of her pants darkened as she gushed all over her half-engorged son, the pungent squirt soaking straight through the denim.

            “Sorry,” Roberta groaned breathlessly, running her fingers over her stingingly warm cheeks. She sifted her weighty hips again and shook her head. “So, so sorry to interrupt. It… it won’t happen again.”

            Indeed it didn’t happen again, at least as far as interrupting the rest of the group. With sustained practice, Roberta experienced two more orgasms over the course of the next half hour without attracting a single turned head. Even as the cum sponged so dark into her jeans that a couple stray drops had beaded on the sallow cushion of the chair. The woman considered this new skill of hers a point of pride and also a promise for future outings. If she could wear her son in this fashion all day, every day, wherever she went, and reach orgasm without alerting a soul, who was to say where the possibilities ended? Would she ever even need to remove him?

            At last this especially entertaining and life-affirming group session came to an end, though Roberta almost didn’t want it to. Most of the guardian-teen pairs had collected their things and filed out of the muggy room, probably eager to return home to cooler air and fresh opportunities for shrunken education.

            Roberta ran her fingernail over the dried cum stains dotting the front of her jeans. She’d definitely need to work out a method for the future which did a better job of collecting her ejaculate without letting it seep through her clothes. It would be impractical to expect her son to drink all of her juices, after all. And once a squirter, always a squirter, it seemed.

            But it was no matter. She’d overcome quite a number of far more vexing problems over the past couple months; solving this one would be a cinch.

            Opening her pants back up, Roberta fished her stinky little offspring out of the humid, succulent embrace of her pussy lips. He’d certainly require a bath later on, if she was to let him back out and about. Then again, though, they’d both come to appreciate those cleanings on a very personal level; even Kyle, she presumed, looked forward now to the prospect of being massaged in the sudsy depths by his parent’s adoring fingers.

            The boy, soaked in the cum of three orgasms and flushed red from coughing for life, splayed in his mother’s hand.

            “You were certainly being a mover and a shaker down there, darling,” Roberta scolded playfully, throwing in a wink to remind him she was only half-serious. “We’ll need to work on your manners while you’re down in Mommy’s special place, especially out in public.”

            “Sorry,” Kyle said. “Mommy.”

            His expression was vacant. Almost that of a cadaver.

            “Oh, how could I stay mad at that precious face?” Roberta crooned. She made her way for the door now, with her jeans done back up, alone at last in the bleached sanctity of this group therapy circle which had given them both so much. With a handkerchief from her purse, Roberta swabbed her beloved son and sex toy back to a state of cleanliness before cramming him right back into her bra cup, swampier than ever now from the stuffiness of the room.

            The mother’s finger hovered over her breast, feeling out the three-dimensional imprint of her perfect boy buried alive atop the summit of her nipple, before she switched off the lights and began the journey back toward home and, she knew, the start of a beautiful new evolution in their lives.