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.