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.