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.