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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.

 

 

Chapter End Notes:

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