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  1. Hello! Coming in just at the wire on this, but I hope everyone enjoys it. This story has elements of erotic horror, and my entry for the The 4th Kasarberang NON-CONtest! The name here is inspired by an old story by Tainted Sins, but is in no way related to that one. This story is pure age regression. Without Teeth By Operational Systems Chapter 1 The office was located on the edge of a gated residential subdivision and was built in the fashion of modern design principles, it looked like a mix of a one-part coffee house and one part McMansion. Two stories tall, it was layered in red brick and an abundance of tall windows. In a deceptive twist the building did not give a hint of being a dental office from the outside. If one could ignore the kitsch of oversized plastic molars and colorful posters with inspiring motivations in the kiddy waiting area, the lobby of Szekely Family Dentistry and Periodontics went out of its way to hide any evidence of its true purpose. Gerald stretched his arms and repositioned on the gray, blue sofa, casually dropping his barely read copy of Harper’s Bazaar on the coffee table on a pile of W and Tatler’s. His mouth still hurt. For two hours his teeth and gums had been probed by all manner of medieval instrument, pricked, bled, and finally suctioned as the poor dental assistant tried to bring his mouth to something resembling clean. Gerald carefully pawed his right cheek, feeling dull pain in gums and tooth. No matter how hard he brushed the day before, the dentist always found a way to make him feel inadequate. The moment floss touched his delicate tissue, his mouth would turn red like a cherry drink. Dr. Szekely barely looked at his mouth. Normally she would berate him as he felt her clawing fingers maneuver along what was undeniably his most degrading and disgusting part of his body, but today she was silent, thanking her assistant for the excellent work, and sending Gerald to the lobby to wait while his wife had a similar cleaning. At least she did not mention cavities, or gingivitis, or anything. Not even a recommendation to avoid food or drink for thirty minutes. That had worried him. His wife’s insurance was paying too much money to the doctor to just shrug and do nothing. He glanced at the phone again, it was fifteen past five. His wife always had perfect pearls, she should have been in and out in thirty minutes. The office had already closed, and the sun lingered both blinding and angrily in the western facing windows. The receptionist had already turned off the lobby televisions and sorted the array of toys and magazines in the kiddy area. His wife had been gone for close to an hour. Just as he was about to get up and explore the lobby the dental assistant returned, peeking just her head into the room. “Gerald?” He turned to the long-haired woman, confused why she would ask for him in that questioning manner when he was the only one in the lobby. “Come with me please.” He practically hopped up, almost giddy. Not that he wanted his wife to suffer, but he was starting to put it together. Little Ms. Perfect had a cavity. It was the only explanation. That is what was taking so long, and she now needed him to come get her. Maybe she had even taken some Novocain or Nitrous Oxide and needed him to help get to the car. He was going to hold this over her head forever, but first he would have to be the bigger man. He casually rubbed his fingers, getting the excitement out, before calming down and standing straight, walking tall to save his wife. The assistant led him past rooms with empty dental chairs. Deep into the interior of the office, farther than he had ever gone before, the two came to a closed door. She knocked, and then opened it, letting Gerald through before slinking off without a word. The interior had no signs of dental equipment. No reclining chairs, overhanging lights, sinks, or instruments of torture. On the far side of the room was a shaded window, which had framed degrees on both sides. Closer was a set of two heavy chairs with thin padded back and bottom, one was empty and the other had his wife. Across from her was Doctor Szekely behind a stripped down clean wooden desk. Outside of a small form factor microcomputer and monitor on the edge, the desk was empty of distraction. Melody’s golden hair and bright smile invited her husband to her adjacent seat, patting it as he entered. Gerald hypnotically walked to the chair, and slowly sat down, strong tension building in his arms as he waited. The two women eyed him like a snake on a rabbit. This was not about a cavity; he was not here to rescue his wife. This was an intervention. Melody began the assault, “Gerald, honey, sorry for making you wait, Valorie and I were just talking about the old days.” He tilted his head at his wife, he remembered her mentioning that back in college they had been in a sorority together. He turned from his wife to the dark-haired short woman, her thick glasses hiding her thin face, her short hair was kept up in waves of curls. Gerald felt the need to fill in, “Right, so um, are you ready to go, or?” The women stared through him, and he shrunk two inches in the chair. Valorie started first, “Gerald, I’m going to be honest with you. Since I started practice in this neighborhood, you have the worst teeth of anyone I have ever met.” This neighborhood referred to ‘Arborville Manors by the Lake,’ a gated subdivision where plots started at a quarter million dollars, and most houses were in the seven to eight figure range. Thirty years ago, it would have been plagued by McMansions, but the taste and aesthetics of the new rich had been refined in the new century. Now the houses were designer homes, with bleached sandstone-colored exteriors kept to sensible stubby standards, and with gorgeous mono-white insides. At a minimum one could find two oven kitchens with temperature-controlled glass encased wine pantries, and every bedroom attached to a full bathroom. It was the kind of rich that only focused on what mattered, just having the best of the normal stuff, rather than the gaudy or flashy. Gerald’s wife had some money both from family and by working remotely as a production manager in software development at a firm that was now half owned by Microsoft, but Gerald was the one who bought the house. They had met fifteen years ago, when he was working as an IT employee at a local firm that sold its business to various banks and small businesses in the Tulsa area. Back then he spent ten hours a day driving around town and fixing printers. One day after reading a convincing enough blogpost, he bought a hundred bitcoin at ninety-one cents apiece. Four years later he was day-trading novel crypto coins, and by eight years he never needed to work again. He spent a few hours each day staying on top of things, reading twitter, and playing the markets, but it wasn’t a real job anymore. Gerald understood the implication of what Doctor Szekely was getting at. She serviced a community of some of the richest people in Oklahoma, and out of all of them, he alone had failed. Rich people don’t have bad teeth. Yet here he was, nuovo-rich, unearned in his status, and still having the habits of the below middle-class childhood he had grown up with. Out of all the other rich people, he was the one who had gotten here basically by lottery – being an idiot and investing in invisible sham coins at their low point. His neighbors were surgeons, real estate investors, and presidents of banks. They owned oil fields, restaurants, even golf courses, and their wine cabinets were filled with thousand-dollar bottles. Gerald had converted his wine room into a server rack. Gerald carefully ran his tongue across sore gums, “I um… I heard there was a new bacteria treatment. Maybe I could try that.” Valorie gave a high-pitched chortle, “Ha, homeopathic whim-wham,” Her face turned serious, “Besides you’re well past that point.” “Past?” Gerald was concerned, he eyed his wife, and clenched his teeth hard, in his mind they became brittle, and he consciously let up the crushing. Melody reached over and touched his arm gently. “Unfortunately, you’re at a point I think the best move is to take them out,” his dentist coldly offered. Gerald rejected her solution, “Dentures? No. That’s not going to happen.” Everyone looked at him, giving him the floor, he struggled, “I think that’s a bit far. Can’t I just do better? Brush more? Anything. I don’t need dentures. I’m only thirty-seven.” The doctor gave a soft response, “I understand this is coming as a shock, but your mouth is at stage four, and those teeth are going to be a problem over the next year. We can take them out safely and you’ll be good as new.” Gerald turned and pleaded, “Please, Melody, I get this is your friend, but this is too fast. I think we should get a second opinion.” Melody’s smile took away his doubts, “Look I understand you’re upset, but it’ll be OK. Besides, you don’t have to get dentures. We were just discussing this new treatment.” No dentures? Gerald fell back in his chair, that would be a relief, but what was the alternative to dentures? Doctor Szekely rolled on her chair slightly and grabbed with her short arms the monitor on the edge of her desk, rotating it around for the couple to see, she then fiddled with a hidden mouse. The monitor switched from empty shiny blackness to a bright blue. She began her presentation, “Gerald, I’m going to be as blunt as I can. When’s the last time you saw a fat person in our neighborhood?” The man rotated his head up and thought of it. Everyone had a tall fence, but every morning there were still joggers, bikers, and so forth that ran around the streets or walked pets. Many were old, but none were unfit. It was a strange question and one he hadn’t thought of, he shrugged. “And do you know why?” The doctor lingered on the last word, then without letting him respond, moved to the answer, “Because there’s a shot that costs ten thousand dollars that half the people here are taking” With a click of her mouse, the screen on the desk changed to a power point picture, with an open mouth. “What if I were to tell you, there’s an Ozempic but for teeth.” Gerald looked past her thick glasses into her eyes, “I would say I don’t know what that means.” She clicked again, the screen shifted to a shot going into mouth, and pressing into a gumline, “With my new Dentvive Regrowth Therapy, it is possible to convince your mouth to grow new teeth and replace the old ones.” The scene on the monitor shifted, showing teeth beginning to grow and pop out of the gums. Gerald leaned forward, “This is impossible.” The doctor waived him off, “You did it a couple times before, you just don’t remember the first time. The equipment is still in there, the procedure just convinces your mouth it’s time to grow new teeth. This is also why we need to take your old teeth out, both to get access to the gumline, and to give the new teeth room to come in.” Melody leaned over to him, “Honey, if this works, it’s a billion-dollar idea. She just needs a bit of help in these early stages, just get some of the kinks out, and this is your chance to really fix yourself up.” Gerald’s shoulders fell, Doctor Szekely wasn’t showing this because she believed in the treatment to cure him, she was showing this to him because she wanted him as an investor. He was the first person who was both rich enough to afford the treatment and would understand how life-changing and important it would be. He looked back to his wife, and she was eager to get his approval to help her friend. Four eyes stuck on him, desperately needing him to agree. Gerald resigned himself. This is what it meant to live in the future, not flying cars, but 100 gig internet and biohacking the body. This was just science. He put his trust in it. “OK, let’s do it. What’s the next step, what do you need me to do?” “Well, we can start the surgery as soon as Friday morning if you’re up for it, but I need to program the booster-cells with your genetic tissue. I can collect that sample now if you’re ready.” Gerald started to roll up a sleave on his arm, “What like blood?” The doctor gave another chuckle, “Ha, no I need gametes,” she leaned over and started fiddling with a desk drawer below her. Melody leaned forward and whispered, “That’s your sperm, honey.” Gerald nodded, clenching his swollen teeth again, “Do you want me to get a magazine and go in the bathroom, or…” Melody talked down, “Oh honey, don’t be gross.” The doctor flopped a large cylinder on her desk. It was open on one end and closed with black machinery and cords on the bottom. The doctor smiled while waving over the strange device “We have more practical methods of extraction.” Goosebumps went up Gerald’s arms and his member tightened. He took a long breath before smiling. His teeth rattled. Melody gripped his arm with one hand, “I know going to the dentist is scary, but what if, I just hold onto you for this.” Her other arm reached over towards his belt and jeans. He softly released a groan, “I don’t,” this was going too fast, but before he could complain his jeans were being pulled down. His instrument started to probe his dark cloth boxers in excitement. There were two ladies here, and they wanted him to perform. “I, uh” “You can do it baby, just relax, let us handle everything,” Melody spoke as Doctor Szekley’s short figure came around her desk. Her small breasts were barely contained by her green scrubs, in contrast to Melody’s copious melons. The doctor twirled her strange cylinder like a hypnotist’s watch as she slowly walked towards him, and finally she kneeled before him. Her glasses picked up a strong blur of light from the ceiling, leaving him only to imagine what delight or disgust the woman was showing at presenting herself in such a debasing way. His wife carefully pulled down his boxers around his engorging member. He tried to keep his eyes directly onto her face, rather than on the procedure that was happening below. Melody was calm yet happy, as if this were an everyday occurrence, like checking the mail or cooking dinner. The warm plastic of around the rim of the cylinder pushed into his skin, contrasting with the cold glass surface that bumped into his penis from shaking small hands. A flick of a switch was soon followed by a familiar whir of suction. The same sound he had heard for nearly two hours straight while they cleaned his teeth. Jets of air pulled at his hair, scrotum, and phallus. “Just relax baby, let it out,” Melody scootched closer, letting her hand come down around the base of the cylinder, touching sensitive skin at the base of his member and bottom of his testicles. He was uncomfortable close. He forced himself over the edge. Every muscle contracted and relaxed in order from the top of his head to the bottom of his toes. His hips pushed deep against the cylinder, causing markings where the cup pressed into his skin. “A little more,” the doctor said, white ooze coating what was once a clear container. It was starting to hurt, but it kept going, like he could not turn it off. His eyesight faded to blurs and blackness, while painful pulling continued. Whatever pleasure he had had was transitioning to terrible pain as it felt all the sperm in his balls were being sucked out. After an eternity or ten seconds, Doctor Szekley turned off the pump and lifted away the cylinder. Fishing out a cap from her pocket she closed the precious cargo off. The doctor held up the ugly coated tube before her patient, and with professional detachment spoke to them. “This should be good enough for now. If I need more, I’ll let you know.” Gerald kept quiet on the car ride home, dual pains of his mouth and groin came at every movement of his body. He eyed his wife suspiciously when she stopped the car, lingering at the exit to the dental office. “Now, since you’re getting brand new teeth, you know what that means right?” He mumbled something that sounded close to a response, he just wanted to get home and throw a blanket over his head. Her face tightened, serious and commanding, and the voice shifted lower, “Every day you’re going to be brushing and flossing. Every day and after every meal. We are not doing this procedure again, you hear me?” Chapter 2 There are some nightmares that are universal. Falling from a great height, giving a speech, and standing in front of class naked. Many of these are subject to ethnicity and cultural bias. But there is one that is universal, which all humans can have across time and space. It’s the dream where the teeth fall out. On the evening following his operation Gerald awoke to this nightmare. His tongue flicked across an empty void; his lips were propped up against nothing. His cheeks had plumped up after the operation and he could feel nothing in his face. It was a giant cotton ball. Drool accumulated on his chin. He tried to stand up, but he was locked in, his eyes wandered around an empty dark room. He was not in the master bedroom, he was in the guest room by the garage. “Melody.” He tried, only his mouth could not form sounds right, spewing out something closer to Memmoy. It was slurred too and came out more like a loud gurgle. There was no clock in the darkened room, but he suspected it was not too late. He tried again “Memmoy.” No sounds came from the house. Gerald rotated slightly against the pillows and immediately felt dizzy. He closed his eyes and shouted for Memmoy again, but all that came out was a groan. He could not get up or move without assistance. His heart rate started to rapidly increase and between his legs there was a small but growing concern. He took a large breath through his nose and tried one last time, “Melody!” He stopped and listened, feeling the pressure build. He crossed his legs, and slowly started shuffling them back and forth under the blanket. Today was already one of the worst of his life, but this would elevate it to the worst. “Memmoy! Memmoy!” Sweat built in his underpants. There was nothing to be done. He waited an eternity, but no one came. He tried again to slowly stand up, but his body shut down, dragging him back into the bed. Sweat formed on his forehead, and his eyes crushed shut. He was not going to do that. He felt it first as pleasure; hot release of his building tension, but his ears noticed the light sounds of liquid bouncing against cloth. Soon his member was soaked, he could feel the warm liquid falling along the insides of his thighs, creating an acidic warmth that would fade to stickiness. His nostrils picked up the rich odor of fresh urine as the last drops fell through his boxers into the mattress cover. His butt was covered in quickly cooling wetness. “Honey did you need something?” He tried, “I peed myself.” But what came out was more of an Uh Eeh Muh. Wetness was building over his overstuffed face. Within moments she was over him, her nose told her enough. “Oh baby, it’s OK, the doctor said this might happen. Here let me help you to the bath.” She pulled him up and the world was a blur of colors and shapes. His head was somewhere around his feet, but also hanging against her shoulder. “Up we go.” Gerald was unaware of anything other than quickly cooling clothing. His eyes were stuck shut and his head was full of cotton balls. He leaned hard against Melody, and she slowly held him up, bringing his legs to the floor and carefully carrying him on wobbling legs to the door. Gerald was barely aware of the shift in lights, but soon found himself in the guest bathroom. In a minute he was propped up against cool acrylic, as small hands were disrobing his limited clothing, including his soiled underpants. He focused his energies on staying propped against the wall. This was probably the first time this bath had ever been used since they moved into the house four years ago. Between the relaxing bubbles and vapors of warm almond and butter, Gerald found consciousness hard to maintain. He would linger on throbbing sensations along his cheeks and gums between smooth washing from his wife’s cloth. Either between the drugs or her delicate approach, he hardly felt as she moved soap along his sweaty and soiled skin. The motions of the water and her hands, or perhaps the gentle humming she was doing, was enough to cause him to lose consciousness. Not for long, he told himself, just a few seconds, or minutes. It was long enough for Melody to shave his adult hair below the face, and long enough for his hands to shrivel while the bath water turned cold. He awoke hearing the water start to glug into the drain but was unsure of what was happening. His wife’s hands gently guided him up, and upon command he stepped out of the shower. “OK time to get your new jammies on, and you can come join me to bed.” “Careful with my mouth.” He tried, mumbling more like aeul weh ma mouw. A gentle fluffing of a towel patted his shoulders, then stomach, and finally waist and legs, leaving him a shivering mess. He stared briefly at his thin exposed member but his eyes could not focus on the hairless monster. He kept them closed as his wife guided him to the toilet for a seat. Up came the soft front, and around his sides came tight plastic. Gerald heard the soft crinkle of tape on plastic and his balls tucked into new underwear that was fluffier than the toilet paper adjacent to his seat. The delightful garment was pulled tight along his waist and cupped over his equipment protectively. His hand came down just after Melody’s and felt the smooth plastic front. He glanced down to see the bright light green, the color of a shamrock shake. “What is this?” Melody did not know what he said, but answered him all the same, “Your medication is pretty strong baby, just a little bit of a safety net. No more accidents.” “I don’t need this.” Even he knew it was just a blur of unheard words. His eyes were getting heavy, he would have cried if it didn’t hurt his mouth too much. “Just for tonight OK, I promise.” She handed him a thin robe which draped over his shoulders. He did not bother to close or tie it, “I know it’s hard. I know this is the hardest thing you’ve ever done, but just a few weeks and you’ll be better than new. You’ll be perfect. Now, tell me, what’s the first thing you’re going to eat when you get your new teeth?” “Eayg” “Eggs?” She answered confused. “Eaayg” She still did not know what he said, but she came prepared with her own suggestion, “OH, that sounds exciting, but how about an ice cream sandwich?” “Eye eeam” “Hmm, maybe if you’re good we can try some Eye Eam tomorrow.” She smiled, her baby would be eating lots of ice cream, and sauce, and soups, and purées. He had told her to pick up something like what those pilots ate in the spy planes, with the straws and tubes. She had instead stocked the cabinets with jars of something more down to Earth. As far as Gerald was concerned, his stomach did not exist. He knew he should have been hungry; he had not eaten since the middle of last night, but all he wanted was to close his eyes and end the day. He hinted at this to Melody by closing his eyes and nodding his head. She helped him up, letting him lean against her shoulder as she guided him across the house. It was slow getting to the master bedroom, but once there he was easily guided to the bed and laid down on his side. The last thing he remembered was that bright green undergarment, poking out and rustling against the blanket as he fell into a deeper sleep. Chapter 3 The bed was warm and comfortable, and Gerald had been propped up against four pillows, elevating his head and chest. When his bladder woke him throughout the night, he hardly needed to move. He would not remember the specifics in the morning, but the first time, was a tired release, a surrender. He was rewarded with a soft trinkle of warm urine reflecting against absorbent padding, swelling the midsection around his crotch and falling down towards the plastic rear. He would repeat this a second and third time through the night, waking late in the morning to find the spot where his wife slept empty, and a thick plastic spreading his legs apart. Gerald reached down confused looking at the yellow stained green diaper that he had been dressed in, hands reaching down to smooth plastic landing zone, deformed and heavy, but surprisingly light in dampness. He wiggled briefly on the soft padding, before stretching himself to the edge of the bed. Blood seemed to fall quickly from his head and Gerald paused on the edge. To him it felt like two hours he sat there with his eyes closed, but it was not long before Melody came into the room and touched his shoulder. “Hey, I got you setup down in the family room by the television, and I made you some breakfast. Are you ready to try to eat something?” His stomach growled an answer. Gerald reached out his hand and was guided to the kitchen, each step an awkward waddle as the thick expanded padding below distorted his already dazed movement. He crumbled into a kitchen seat, barely registering an odd strap coming around the edges and holding him up. Melody gave him a short smile, brushed his hair aside and another kiss on the forehead before going to the fridge. Gerald wobbled back in forth on his protected bottom, eager for the first meal in over two days. It was white, sloshing in a clear glass container. Melody had even topped it with a yellow-tan rubber nipple. “What’s this?” Gerald hated milk, and this may have been the first time he had seen it this close in years. Soft air bubbles collected sporadically along the edge, and he watched the liquid cautiously like it was a poisoned cauldron. His question was muffled, but Melody understood it. “You promised we would start things off right with your new teeth, and this is starting things off right. You need this, it has everything to grow strong beautiful teeth.” “And the nipple?” An e Nilalah? He needed to point at it to get her understanding. She came in close, “I thought it would help with your gums. Honey, you’re still drooling,” bringing a napkin up to his swollen face. “Tonight, if your stomach is good we can try some food, but just liquids for now.” He nodded and slowly reached out and grasped the bottle. It shook in his hand, and he reached a second to stabilize it, dragging it across the table to before him. His fingers lifted the chilled surface to his face. It was cold, he assumed with his pain meds he would feel nothing, but the chill was delightful. He locked gums on the end and began to suck and pull, letting the silky liquid land on his tongue. It was heavenly, sugary, with the hint of melon, but thinner than he expected. As it poured into his stomach famished singles reached his brain and he felt compelled to keep pouring it into his mouth. Greedily he sucked, drinking, and it assuaged her. She placed two large pills the size of his thumb and encouraged him to swallow the chalky white circles between gulps. He watched Melody wander out of the room and return, bringing first her laptop, and then a large carrying bag. He expected her to explain herself, but she never did. After placing her bag down, she again left him alone in the kitchen. So preoccupied with the drink and her strange actions, he did not notice it until it started. Without pants on the pouring of liquid into his diaper roared in his ears. Gerald froze, trying to stop the stream, which briefly worked before he lost concentration, and his grip let go. He set the bottle down and briefly touched the warm outside of the now ugly green-yellow diaper, the liquid slowly absorbing into the cloth. It felt naughty, and the pleasure of embracing that naughtiness matched the joy from the bottle. He quickly returned to the glass and sucked on it until it was empty. Melody returned, giving an odd sniff, and then scruffed his hair. It was still messy from sleeping on it while wet, and she played with the stray clumps that refused to stay down. “Gerald, honey, I think we should get you changed and then you can see what I setup for you.” She pulled at his hand, leading him out of the kitchen to a wide spot in the living room previously reserved for yoga. A large blanket had been placed on the floor, its light soft blue a contrast to the dark wooden floors. To the side was a set of clothing for him, and a bag of supplies. She pointed, gently pushing him down on the shoulders, “Sit.” He followed, and his now overly large garments rustled loudly as he came down to the floor, the blanket barely softening the hard cold surface below it. She fell to her knees to join him, bringing her hands to his tapes, each pull a sharp contrast to an otherwise quiet room. Soon cold air was washing over his crotch, and she pulled the diaper out and wadded it into a ball to her side. She reached into her bag, before bringing a single wet tissue up for him to see, giving it a slight tug, and then going down to his exposed member. Her hands moved over hairless testicles and penis, cleaning up to his stomach and below his tush. He felt like a king, washed, fed, pampered, and loved. He started reaching over to the shirt she had left, but her hand came up. “Honey, we need to put a second diaper on.” “I don’t need a diaper.” He tried – I on nee a iah er. Close enough she could see it. “You promised just last night.” “I know, I know, but this is just in case, OK? You don’t have to use them. I noticed you leaked a bit at breakfast, that can be a side effect of the pain medicine you’re on.” He nodded defeated. Gerald was soon pampered, a fresh green wrapper as the basis of his outfit for the day. Gym shorts came up next, and a simple white t-shirt on top. She helped him put it over his swollen face and lifted him up, slowly guiding him to the family room, which was located down a set of stairs in the cool basement. There a couch had been setup with a pillow and blanket. She gave him strict instructions, “So, here’s the plan for the day. Sleep and television. That’s it. No work.” His work was not hard, but he could take time off. She had insisted on having him move everything into stable coins just before the surgery – just in case something happened, and he could not get back to it for a long time. He fell onto the couch as he got closer. “Now, I know we had planned for me to be here, but I need to head into work for a few hours.” He blinked confused, “What?” “I know, I know, my boss is coming in and I need to meet him, and we’re interviewing candidates for a new position. It won’t be more than a few hours.” She handed him the remote from the table, “Will you be OK here? I promise to come back soon.” “Phone?” (Oohne) “I’ll drop your phone off before I leave. Now you get some sleep in, those pills are going to do a number on you.” He nodded and closed his eyes, falling into a light sleep. He would awaken an hour later. Gerald turned slightly, drool having built up on his pillow and shirt. On the coffee table was a large one-and-a-half-foot tall ape – a joke gift she had picked up for him at the height of the NFT craze – with chubby strong arms, and dark gray to black fur. It was sitting on his phone. He pushed aside the toy and pulled at the phone, checking the time, and tried to connect to the internet. The phone struggled, before he looked up at the top right. A small symbol <! next to 5G indicated he had no internet in the family room basement. He flicked over to network settings and tried to connect to the wifi. The phone whirled for a bit, before letting him know it was unable to connect, he had an invalid password. “Melody!” He shouted, to no avail. Memmy (Mommy) wasn’t home. He put it back on the table and reached for the TV remote instead. The large sixty-inch television flicked silently to life. He maneuvered around the menu. He clicked on Netflix. Like a guard at the gate the television questioned him, “Who is watching?” Gerald, Melody, and Damien. Melody had watched her sister’s seven-year-old son, Damien, a few times last summer. He would spend hours in the family room, just watching television he could not get at home. Gerald clicked his own name, only to find a password lock. He did not watch Netflix often, and nothing came to mind. He tried a few simple combinations but after three tries he gave up. He found a similar password lock on Melody. Finally, he clicked on Damien. Melody had setup parental controls on the television in an attempt to keep Damien from accessing inappropriate content. The only shows available where cartoons and educational programs. Disappointed, he flicked out of Netflix and tried Amazon, only to find a similar set of locks. Disney and Hulu were also set on kiddie mode. For the first time in ten years, he flicked to basic cable. The cartoon was flat, but clearly made with the help of a computer. A brown striped tiger sporting a red jacket hopped into a car along with his mother. “Open your mouth and do a quiet roar,” the television told him, taunting him at a simple task even he could no longer do. Gerald flipped the channel but was blocked by a channel lock out. He flipped the other way and got the weather. Disappointed, he reached over to his phone and sent a message to his wife. After a minute she responded to his text message. “Oh, sorry honey, the password is in my book at home. I must have locked the TV when Daniel was here and forgot to unlock it. Can you still find something to watch? 😊 😊” With nothing better, he returned to his tiger show, falling asleep within minutes. Hours later he awoke to a rumbling pressure in his stomach, the show had switched to a young girl with sharp white skin, bunny ears, and red overalls. Painfully Gerald brought himself to a straight posture against his pillow, his shorts had bulged slightly in the front, and pulled padded cloth tightly into his butt. The action pulled at his bowels, which had just awoken for the first time in close to three days. “I need to poop” Gerald talked to himself, “You can do this. Get up. Get up.” He leaned over the couch and placed his hands to his side to push himself up, his goal was to walk to the basement bathroom on the other side of the room. Instead, there was a plorp sound from his abdomen. “No!” He wanted to cry. It felt like when he had gone to fart, but a poop had escaped as well. It lingered in the crack of his butt, stuck between the pad and his skin, unable to fall. He shifted angrily, plucking a hand at his back, before falling over back to his pillow. The accident felt like a mountain, and it slowly fell down before getting squished by his posterior. His mind amplified the smell, and wetness came to his face. “Melody!” He tried. Nothing. No response. “Mommy!” He tried again. Again, nothing. He stayed there for an eternity, being judged by the rabbit on the television and his ape, the soul witnesses to how he had messed himself like a pathetic baby. He slapped the monkey off the table and hid himself behind his pillow, eventually falling back to sleep. Melody tried to comfort him later as she changed him. “It’s just the size of a pea. It’s hardly something to get upset about.” Melody understood what to say, to bring him back down. She cleaned and replaced his diaper without a fuss and brought him back to the kitchen for dinner. Her meal was a chopped salad, filled with field greens, zucchini, squash, and mushroom. The avocado and vinaigrette tantalized his senses. For him she presented a purée. “Is this the pilot food? The one I asked you to get?” “Oh sorry, this is something local, I think you’ll like it though,” she said, taking a thin small spoon and mixing the orange color. Carefully she brought the spoon up his mouth, “Mmm.. Mmm.. Smells good, what’s my baby boy going to have?” Gerald’s mouth hurt to stretch but he tried his best. It was unexpectedly grainy, but he picked up the flavor immediately –room temperature sweet potato. There was a hint of squash as well. He wanted to spit it out, but Melody tilted the spoon back and it slimed down his throat. “Good job,” she said, returning to her own salad, and leaving the spoon in the thin bowl in front of him. Hunger forced his hand, and he reached out with shaking hands towards the spoon. With careful movement he slowly brought it up to his mouth. Slime and plastic bounced off his cheeks as he missed. Shaking hands tried again, this time reaching his lips. He sucked slightly on his dinner, before his lips and jaw lost control and dropped the spoon in a drooling mess. Orange and brown liquid smacked the table and splattered across his white shirt. Melody was fast grabbing the spoon before it rolled off the table, “Whoopsie. That’s OK, but it looks like we’ll need a bib in the future. How about I take over spoon duties for you.” Her hands wiped the spoon with a napkin and then restocked it. She brought it up to his mouth. Gerald shook his head. The aftertaste of squash and potato lingered in his mouth. This was too much for even him and he would rather starve than eat anymore of the goop. Melody would not take no for an answer. “Choo choo. Come on honey you can do it. Please, this is important. You need to get something in you, you’ve been on medicine for two days and your stomach can’t handle it. No more pea sized loads.” She shook the spoon before his face “Choo.” Gerald reluctantly opened again and quickly had his mouth stuffed. “Milk?” Gerald asked, hoping for anything to wash out the disgusting taste. “After dinner. If you finish it all, I have a surprise for you.” Melody hinted. When dinner was finished, she took her husband back to the master bedroom, sitting him down on his side, before moving over to hers. She undressed her shirt and bra and propped up a set of pillows, letting her sit vertically against the bed board. She signaled for him to come over and he rolled closer, confused. “I’ve been taking some pills Valorie gave me, can you tell?” She waved over her thin body, but Gerald saw nothing out of the ordinary and said nothing. “They’re getting me all bothered and excited, and I want to try this. This might be the only time I get to try this. Lay yourself on my lap.” She commanded. Her hands gently brought him down, and he stared up at her, his back laying against her thighs. With both arms, she reached around him, and slowly dragged him up. “What are we doing?” He tried. A ah ee oin? She heard. “Just, be careful, and do what feels natural, open wide.” He stared at fleshy fatty orbs as she slowly guided his heavy head to the right one, her left. He was without practice, but eager, and after a couple tries his toothless mouth latched down around the nipple. She winced as the pressure pulled at her fatty orbs, but soon began to draw out the nectar in a fashion more comfortable than when she had used a pump this morning for his breakfast. Gerald could smell the fatty silk. It was different from the morning brew, being room temperature but also fresh, but similar in thin suaveness that had a hint of fruity familiarity. Shivers of joy began to flow through him, as he pressed into the fatty breasts of a woman. He brought one arm up to stabilize himself around her back, and she in turn released her own right arm to massage his diaper. Dull throbbing came through his plastic protection, bringing him to an edge, his penis forced into the partially damp interior. Soon a long shiver ran through his body, and into her nursing breasts. Exhausted by the experience, Gerald’s body fell into a soft slumber, and she cradled her baby for several minutes before setting him gently down on his own side of the bed. Chapter 4 Doctor Szekely held the tablet close to her and smiled as she filtered through his x-rays. The three had retreated to Valorie’s office to review the progress in secret. It had been a week since the surgery, and in that time Gerald’s control below seemed to only worsen. He was grateful the thick diapers his wife has bought were not visible even under his dark shorts; though they were definitely audible when he wiggled in his discomfort on the padded bottoms. “Your new teeth are coming in just fine, here take a look,” She rotated the tablet over for Melody and Gerald to see. Melody pointed to the small bones, “oh they look like little baby teeth. How adorable.” Gerald winced at word baby. He had not been feeling very adult the past few days. “Have you noticed any pain yet? There are some devices I can recommend to help normalize your natural bight.” Valorie threw out casually. Melody answered, “I bought some already. He likes to leave the therapeutic mouth rings in the freezer, gets them all cold and he’ll suck on them for hours.” Gerald shrunk his posture at her mentioning his teething rings. He could use one now. He did not even want to go to the dentist today, he was missing his cartoons. Still he had a question that needed answer. He interrupted their conversation, “What about my incontinence. Why can’t I hold it in anymore.” Valorie tilted her head, not having understood a single word he had said. Melody stepped in to help, “He’s been having potty issues. We thought it was just the medication but he’s been off the pills a couple days now and it’s getting worse.” Behind heavy glasses Valorie seemed to drill into Gerald like he was a cavity to be filled. Gerald shuttered under the pressure and looked down at his slightly bulging shorts. Melody had just changed him before they had left, and his member scratched at the dry padding. Valorie began with a jocular scolding, “You should have told me this was happening!” “Really? Is it bad?” Melody began. “No this is amazing, wonderful. Exactly a sign the treatment is working as intended.” The dentist shook her tablet and brought up a painting tool and started to draw a rudimentary picture. “You see, we put the new stem cells in Gerald’s mouth here. And over time some of them will go into the stomach and digestive tract. Your cells are doing their job, making new baby cells as they go.” Gerald’s mind suddenly flashed with a nightmare image of teeth growing in parts of the body they shouldn’t, a shock image from the early days of the internet. “Am I going to grow teeth in my stomach?” She waved her hand, “Oh no, don’t be ridiculous. The cells got to your bladder and colon and just basically cleaned everything up. You’re getting a brand-new bladder! Isn’t that exciting?” Melody brought up her hands, “Oh that’s wonderful! This is great news.” Gerald shook his head, confused. He did not want a new colon, just new teeth. “What if the cells get into my heart, or my brain?” Melody reached over and pat his thigh comforting. “Don’t worry honey, It’ll be OK, Doctor Szekely is the best.” Gerald nodded, but his concerns were not alleviated. Melody turned to the dentist, “Maybe there’s something you can give him. Like a S – H – O – T.” Gerald turned to his wife, unsure why she thought spelling the word made it unknown to him. Valorie nodded, “Sure, that’s a good idea.” Her voice picked up and directed towards the room’s lone man, “Gerald, I’m going to go get something that will help you feel better, it should keep the cells from doing anything we don’t want them to do. Sound good? You’ll be all better in a few days.” She exited the room and returned with a needle like the kind used for numbing the mouth before a procedure. Melody helped roll up Gerald’s sleeve and hold him, as Valorie poked and dumped the substance into him. There was a brief bit of pain, followed by euphoric numbness. Their meeting concluded; Melody helped Gerald up from his bliss inducing stupor. Below his diaper and shorts had built up some sag but were dwarfed under the length of his oversized shirt. Melody made a note He barely noticed as the two gals led him out that his wife had surpassed him in height by close to two inches. Gerald had to wait near the oversized toothbrush flipping through a Highlights magazine, as Melody scheduled a follow up appointment. A strange signal came to his head as he stared at the colorful images. His eyes lingered on two identical ones, and he struggled to find the differences between the two. His mouth started to throb from a dull pain and he pressed a thumb on the gums to relieve it. Gerald did not even notice as he bent his legs slightly, kneeling closer to the magazine. The man on the left picture had a hat, and the dog on the right picture was pointing the other way, that was only two differences, but the picture insisted there were ten. He carefully moved a finger along the first image, trying to spot more, barely registering as his buttocks expanded pressing outward into a large gaseous mess. The relief caused his eyes to linger upwards before he dragged his attention back to the magazine. She had to pull it out of his hands as they left, he had only found three differences, but he was so close! He started to cry, just like he had the day before when she helped him cash out his digital assets to their shared bank account. A slight whap at his tush was enough to get him back on track. In the car he clung to his monkey angrily, bringing its soft black fur to his lips. The tickling fur offered little comfort to the slight throbbing pain. He would return to the dentist several more times over the coming weeks, but today would be the last time he would sit in the front seat of the car. He had already shrunk half a foot in the first week, and with each follow up shot, more of his body shrunk. By the fourth booster, little Gerald was barely two feet in height. The house quickly changed over the next month, toys littered every room, and Gerald was relegated these days to sleeping in the guest room, now a nursery. She leaned over the heavy white railing of the crib, the wooden bars a straight cage for her baby. Melody easily picked up the sleeping ball laying on his flat mattress, one thumb loosely at his lips. Where a month ago, a grown man had worn green elite briefs, Gerald was now in white parasols, his underpants adorned now with stoic black outlines of bunnies, cats and dogs. He stirred awake and smiled, mouthing the outline of her name without a sound. Melody brought the man over to a rocking chair, carefully undoing her shirt, and pulling down her bra below her engorged breasts. By now Gerald was well practiced and sucked greedily at her tit. There was a knock on the nursery room door, which did not stop the boy, but brought the attention of his new mother. Valorie did not linger at the door, “How’s our little Jerry doing,” she threw out to her partner as she walked across the room. She paused just above the rocking chair, before coming closer to Melody’s face. Gerald paused slightly in the sucking, his wandering eyes pausing on the sight of the two ladies kissing, but this new show of affection was not enough to quell his stomach and he returned to sucking from Melody’s breast. “He’s just the perfect little baby. I think …” her eyes jumped, and she pulled Gerald off her breast in a hurry. “Owe!” She practically yelled. “Are you alright?” Melody turned Gerald’s head, and his gaping milk-soaked mouth yawned widely up at his other mommy. There right on the top of the gum was a brand new piece of pearly stone. “No, the baby bit me!”
  2. This is my own submission to the 4th Kasarberang Non-Contest. It’s been well over a decade since I’ve written anything, and coincidentally, the story I wanted to write fit well into the contest. Also, it seemed like fun to add someone else’s rules to my own idea. Unfortunately, writing doesn’t seem to be quite like riding a bike and I didn’t complete nearly as much as I would have liked. Still, I’ll post the few chapters I did write over the next few days as I rewrite them. I hope you all enjoy it, and I plan on continuing after the contest is over. Chapter 1 Margaret sighed, her trembling hand guiding the key into its lock with a mix of dread and resolve. Her heart was pounding in her chest, each beat echoing the gravity of the moment. The weight of Bridget’s presence beside her only heightened her anxiety. “This is what I’ve been trying to explain,” Margaret said, pressing against the door as beer cans rattled on the other side. A heavy, putrid stench enveloped both women as they entered the apartment. They waded through channels carved through stacks of molding pizza boxes and crumpled beer caps. The sticky squelch of the floor muffled the thud of Bridget’s ankle boots as she carefully stepped over yellowing, brittle Kleenex strewn across the floor surrounding a deeply stained couch. They followed the path to the other side of the room. “He’s-” her voice cut off by the foul air assaulting her senses. She turned to face Bridget, clenched her fists, and persevered through the distressing feeling. “He’s not a bad person, he’s just…” Her tone dwindled as she fought the urge to swallow the horrid air. “Lost.” Bridget, her face masked with stoicism, nodded. “I understand Margaret,“ she stated, her voice maintaining an impressive composure against the chaos surrounding them. “Some people just need a guiding hand to set them on the correct track.” Turning to the next door, a soft smile briefly graced Margaret’s face, grateful for the glimmer of hope Bridget’s reassurance provided. However, as she prepared to open it, a twinge of guilt returned, mixing with her embarrassment. The thought of showing Bridget the state of Ethan’s bedroom weighed heavily on her conscience. Opening the door was like witnessing the aftermath of a homeless camp exploding. Dirty, wrinkled clothing piled over a dresser, desk, and chair, spilling onto the floor. The air carried a familiar heavy acidic smell mixed with sweat and desperation. Sheets of cardboard stapled to the window trim blocked out the light, keeping the room dark enough for its inhabitant to sleep through the day. Other than the light bleeding through the open door, the only light source in the room was a glowing phone next to a passed-out, face-down man snoring in a drunken stupor. Careful to avoid the half-drank cans of beer, Bridget approached the bed and knelt, her eyes scanning over the naked form before her, she confirmed what the state of his apartment already told her. Without his mother’s constant care, he lost all semblance of healthy habits. The pads of his feet had turned grayish and blackened from trampling the layers of filth. His belly protruded from nearly four years of surviving off nothing but beer and takeout. His overgrown chestnut hair clung to his face, slick with sweat and grease. His skin, likely last washed when his mother had last ordered him to while he still lived with her, had developed an oily crust around the armpits and crotch. Turning her attention to the phone at Margaret’s son’s side, Bridget’s face contorted at the sight on screen. A man raising a cat o’ nine tails style whip above his head. Ready to strike a sobbing woman strapped to a bench. Her fair skin was shredded by a level of abuse far beyond any limit Bridget would even dare consider. Swiping the video off the screen, Bridget scrolled through the list of videos saved onto the phone. As she read the list a knot in her stomach twisted with disgust. Each title contained one or multiple combinations of slut, anal, whipping, BDSM, crying, whore, extreme, and cruel. A sudden gasp snapped Bridget’s attention back to Margaret, who now hovered over her shoulder. Margaret’s fists were clenched in rage, tears streaking her makeup after witnessing the list of videos her son had saved for his pleasure. Her mouth was open as if she were silently screaming at him, desperately pleading for answers less horrifying than the grim truth before her. Margaret reached out with a trembling hand, slowly uncurling her fist and gently resting it on his back. It was as if this distraught mother were trying to heal the blight that had taken hold of the man she had raised. Comforting someone in such distress did not come naturally to Bridget. Her usual methods would be wholly inappropriate in this situation. Yet, she felt the weight of the moment pressing deeply into her heart as she watched Margaret, who was quietly sobbing as if mourning a son already beyond saving. Rising from her kneeling position, Bridget extended a steady hand to Margaret’s trembling shoulder. Her tone was soft and reassuring as she said, “Come with me, Margaret. We’ll find somewhere nice to talk, okay?” Margaret looked up, her eyes red and swollen, as Bridget guided her away from the chaotic nest her son lived in. As they stepped out onto the open street, both women inhaled deeply, savoring the fresh air as if emerging from drowning underwater. The city’s sounds, car horns blaring, people chatting, and a distant dog barking, felt almost melodic compared to the clattering of beer cans and crunch of pizza boxes that came with navigating the filth her son had amassed. Needing to air out the cloud of dirt that haunted them from the apartment, both women walked until they found a small park a few blocks away—they made their way to a secluded bench shaded by the yellowing leaves of a large oak tree—a perfect place to hold a conversation unfit for the public ear. Margaret’s focus drifted from Bridget, latching onto a young couple walking hand in hand in the distance. The mother, waddling along in the late stages of pregnancy, her face glowing with anticipation. Her husband, smiling down at her, overjoyed with the endless possibilities the future holds for their budding family. Both poised to welcome a blank slate to the world for them to impress upon. Both completely unaware of how horrible the result could become. “It must be nice.” Bridget followed Margaret’s gaze to the couple before asking, “What must be nice?” The silence was all that Margaret answered with, instead her grim expression conveying an internal dialogue that Bridget could only guess at. When Margaret’s eyebrows lifted, Bridget wondered if someone had made a surprising statement or a valid point. As the surprise turned into a frown, it seemed an argument had been defeated. The gentle lines on her face turned to a scowl as the conversation grew heated. Then, finally rested on a more neutral but determined expression as her eyes flickered with a burning passion. “I don’t want Ethan to treat some poor girl like that… Pig.” Margaret’s tone was blunt, emphasizing that word, Pig. He didn’t deserve a name; a pig is all he is, “But maybe Ethan is worse.” “I see why you called me,” Bridget stated with a sign. When Margaret first called Bridget had expected screaming or threats, looking for someone to blame other than her husband. Instead, Margaret had seemed almost apologetic, as if she were somehow the one in the wrong. Still, Bridget wouldn’t have ever considered meeting Margaret again after their first encounter, but when Margaret offered more money than Bridget had earned in the last decade, she reconsidered. “At first I assumed you were exaggerating,” Bridget turned to Margaret. “But it does seem like he needs an extreme shift in direction.” “You know, it’s almost funny,” Margaret whispered, fighting back another wave of tears. “Over the last year that Pig started to act like a decent husband. He started trying to be better and treat me better. Listen to me, noticing and complimenting my efforts. Even being more mindful of my needs. Little did I know it was you… helping.” Bridget sat quietly, she was used to hearing David, Margaret’s husband, speak about her. How proud of himself he was, almost laughing as he explained the mind games he’d play. Deliberately ignoring Margaret’s attempts to be more appealing to him. Even going as far as verbally slapping her with back-handed compliments. When she would indulge in salon treatments he would question why she never put effort into her looks. If she cooked him a meal, he would immediately ask if she had ever considered taking classes. Men proudly mistreating their wives wasn’t new to Bridget, but this was the first time she witnessed the other side of it all. To see firsthand how their victim suffered and how slowly working that out of these men only satisfied her own desire and still contributed to the destruction of these women’s lives. “That Pig infected him. Corrupted my baby.” Margaret said through clenched teeth, her rage obvious. Finally, turning to Bridget directly she asked, “Can you do it? Can you help him?” Bridget recognized the glare Margaret’s face carried immediately. It was the same as the night they first met. David had confessed to calling Margaret a bitch that week, a word that Bridget had planned to remove from David’s lexicon completely when the hotel room door burst open. But it wasn’t the blind rage Margaret initially wore when she first witnessed the two together. It was the swirl of confusion that mixed into that fury when she came to understand the position her husband was in–on his hands and knees, dressed in a plaid miniskirt, with his pink satin panties pulled down to his knees. Then came the horror as Margaret watched Bridget slowly pull all eight inches of her strap-on from the depths of Margaret’s husband. With a long sigh, Bridget’s eyes softened as she met Margaret’s gaze. “Usually when…” Bridget paused, choosing her words carefully. Giving her best effort to be delicate in addressing what her clients paid for and not to remind Margaret too much of that night. While she certainly didn’t respect those men, she didn’t want to add to the suffering she already caused. “Usually when clients meet with me. It’s for a specific type of experience. It is always consensual. Just, over time, they learn to be more respectful and to appreciate the kind of fun that I feel they deserve.” Training someone who hadn’t sought her out originally was not Bridget’s normal approach. She wouldn’t have ever considered attempting it if it wasn’t for some strange debt she felt to Margaret. On top of that, if Ethan had adopted and exacerbated some of his father’s most appalling traits, it seemed prudent to address these issues before he harms another woman. “I’ll help you, but first,” Bridget had always assumed she could keep her own emotions out of her chosen profession. With clients like the aptly named Pig, it was easy, but here she felt she owed Margaret. “We’ll proceed on my terms, with no room for negotiation.” “Whatever I need to do,” Margaret quickly replied. “Good, then we’ll get both of their behaviors corrected.” Chapter 2 Margaret had exhausted every conventional approach. Despite hiring therapists, offering larger financial incentives, and even engaging a motivational speaker, her efforts to encourage her son remained fruitless. The only forward momentum came from a desperate measure when she threatened to terminate the lease on Ethan’s apartment if he didn’t agree to at least start college. Yet, she remained wholly unconvinced in his devotion to bettering himself. Adding to her mounting stress, Margaret had been receiving increasingly urgent complaints from the apartment management. The stench emanating from Ethan’s apartment had become a serious issue. Each complaint came with a warning that eviction was imminent if the situation wasn’t addressed. Desperate to avoid her son’s eviction, Margaret found herself paying more and more to the management in the hopes of buying additional time and preserving Ethan’s living situation. Still, his lack of enthusiasm was evident in every interaction. When she texted about what Ethan needed for his classes, she often received no reply. On the rare occasions, she managed to get him on the phone, he would brush off questions about his courses or his intended degree. This persistent disengagement deepened Margaret’s frustration and despair, leaving her feeling as though her efforts were being callously ignored. Now, with only a few days until college started, she turned to the only woman who had made meaningful changes to her husband’s behavior. Hoping that the same type of intervention could be applied to her own son. Bridget, with her ever-stoic demeanor, suggested that he required a more stringent path. Transitioning from his current static, careless lifestyle to one filled with schedules and assessments would prove extremely difficult for someone severely lacking discipline. It wouldn’t be as simple as guiding Ethan through the acclimation process to his new life. He first needed his current attitude towards his future dismantled so that it could be rebuilt from the ground up. Her methods were unorthodox at the best of times and when necessary, brutal. But they were effective. However, Bridget explained that the key was to make these men believe they wanted to improve their behavior, motivated by the promise of rewards for good conduct and punishments for missteps. The real art was subtly persuading them that it was their own idea to seek more intense pleasures and accept increasingly severe consequences. But this process took months, even years, and time wasn’t a luxury she’d have with Ethan. For him it would need to be instantaneous, it would be an all-or-nothing situation and she was confident that her experience, combined with improvisational skills, were fit for the job. Margaret, feeling both a flicker of hope and a pang of apprehension, nodded slowly. She knew Bridget’s approach was radical, but her own efforts thus far had led nowhere. If anyone could break through to Ethan, it was Bridget. “Thank you, Bridget,” Margaret said softly. “I trust you.” Bridget gave a curt nod, “We’ll start immediately.” Coming to a final agreement, both women rose as the sun dipped beyond the horizon, painting the sky with hues of orange and pink. Margaret’s heart was heavy with apprehension, but she could now look to Bridget, whose calm, resolute expression provided a sliver of reassurance. Despite the uncertainty, for the first time, Margaret felt she may have found the solution to her son’s stagnation. As the sun set, casting long shadows across the park, Bridget and Margaret walked back towards the apartment. The faint chirps of crickets filled the cooling air, amplifying the silence that returned to the two women as they walked. Margaret’s mind raced with thoughts of the upcoming days. She felt an uneasy mix of relief and fear. A part of Bridget's plan required Margaret to stay completely separated from Ethan until Bridget deemed it safe for him to see her again. The idea of such a drastic separation was daunting, but Bridget’s confidence sparked a fragile hope that maybe this time would be different. The reality of their situation pressed heavily on her shoulders; it was clear that Ethan’s transformation needed to be as swift as it was profound. When they arrived at his door, Margaret hesitated, looking back to Bridget. Then, after receiving an affirming nod, gathered her courage and knocked at the door. From inside came the sounds of beer cans rattling beyond the door, and then after a few muffled obscenities, the door creaked open. Ethan, disheveled and bleary-eyed, clearly just woken up despite the late hour, peeked through the crack. “Mom?” Ethan mumbled, rubbing his eyes. “What the fuck do you want?” “Ethan… This is a friend of mine,” Margaret stated, motioning towards the woman at her side. “Could we please come in?” The eye beyond the door narrowed when its blurry gaze met Bridget’s. “I don’t need another one of your doctors. I told you I’d go back to school.” With a forceful bang, the door slammed shut in Margaret’s face. Margaret stood in stunned silence, reaching her trembling hand out as if to knock again. Before she managed to bang on the door Bridget placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry Margaret,” Bridget’s voice was steady and comforting. “I was hoping he’d at least talk to you for a bit, but I think it’s time for me to take over. Hand me the keys and wait out here.” Quickly retrieving the keys from her purse, Margaret handed them to Bridget. “Just… please be gentle with him,” Bridget gave her a reassuring nod, though it did little to ease Margaret’s worry as she watched the woman disappear into the apartment. But Margaret had no idea that for Bridget, domming was like jazz-it’s just as much about the beatings you don’t give as much as the ones you do. Furious at the sound of his apartment door opening behind him, Ethan spun around and barked, “Mom! Get the fu–” his words cut short by the sight of the unexpected mystery woman approaching him. Standing tall and confident, Bridget commands attention the moment she enters a room. Her long, raven black hair cascaded in glossy waves down her back, contrasting starkly against her glowing porcelain skin. With high cheekbones and a sharp jawline framing her striking features, she drew focus to her piercing, ice-blue eyes that bore through anyone they rested upon. Bridget took in Ethan’s appearance with both amusement and relief. This time, he stood shirtless in his living room, wearing stretched-out pajama pants that hung loosely around his hips. It was hardly an improvement to her first encounter with the naked him, but at least it was some effort at decency. Regardless of how minimal the effort was. “Ethan, your mother cared about you. That’s why she hired me to help you.” her voice carried a subtle, dominating undertone, perfected in her years of experience dealing with men who didn’t yet know they needed to be stripped of their own volition. “Look, I don’t know what she told you, but I don’t need help.” The snapping tone Ethan freely took with his mother had disappeared. Reduced by the humiliation of this woman, for what he believed to be the first time, witnessing the squalor he dwelled in. “Everyone needs a little help, Sweetheart,” Bridget stated, her tone softening just enough to convey understanding without losing its edge. “And accepting that is just the first step to progress. Ethan shifted uncomfortably, unsure how to respond. Normally, he met these therapists in their offices, where they had never fully seen the extent of filth he wallowed in. Instead, he watched as the woman’s toned legs glided her toward him. He admired the dark-washed jeans that hugged her curves perfectly. Her deep green blouse was made of soft, luxurious fabric, draped elegantly, hinting at the shape beneath without revealing all her secrets. Her full lips, painted in a bold, seductive red, curved into a knowing smile. Unbeknownst to Ethan, everything about her appearance, down to the simple yet elegant leather belt cinched around her waist, was a deliberate show for his benefit. Bridget, much like a spider hanging in its web, only needed to wait for her prey to be fully entangled before taking a bite. “I want you to relax.” Bridget’s warm breath poured over his ear. Her perfumed hand brushed an unwashed, greasy lock from Ethan’s face. Caught in the intensity of the moment, Ethan fought to swallow the lump building in his throat. His heart raced; he was out of his depth face to face with a real, non-pixelated woman. One who he still mistakenly believed to be a therapist, and he struggled to reconcile her commanding presence with the more professional yet less personal approaches of those who had tried before to worm their way into his life. “It’s okay to be vulnerable.” Her silken voice brushed past his ear as she dragged her fingers down his cheek. “I’m here to help you.” Ethan’s breaths were shallow, his chest rising and falling unevenly. The intoxicating blend of deep, exotic spices and velvety florals of her perfume filled his nostrils. His gaze shifted from the pristine, composed figure before him to the familiar chaos of his surroundings. The stark contrast made him momentarily uneasy. The disarray echoed the unsettled thoughts stirring within him, hinting at a reality he had long ignored. “Starting college is a good time to… restart,” she said, taking a moment to appreciate her foreshadowing of the journey they would both soon embark upon. Bridget’s light but deliberate touch continued to trace down to Ethan’s bare chest. “But finding that motivation can be so difficult.” “For some, it’s all about the reward,” she continued, her hand moving to the edge of his pajama pants. “The carrot, so to speak,” she explained, her hand trailing down his thigh. “But for others, well, they need a different kind of incentive.” The back of her hand purposefully grazed against his clothed cock to punctuate her statement. “For others, it’s the stick.” As her hand brushed against him, Ethan’s face flushed with excitement. Igniting every nerve ending with a jolt of electricity, his heart raced, struggling to maintain composure against the strange methods this unknown woman employed. “And that motivation is key,” Bridget whispered, her voice maintaining the command that came naturally to her. “Change can be difficult, but I can be a wonderful motivator.” His mind churned with resistance. The familiarity of his lifestyle, unambitious as it was, provided a unique comfort. The idea of leeching off his family’s wealth as he drifted through life was infinitely more enticing than confronting his issues and cleaning up his act. Still, he found this woman irresistible, the rush of her touch and what he believed to be promises of rewards drew him closer. Sensing his wavering conviction, Bridget capitalized with another step towards him, pressing her body against his. “I could make your time in college so much more… exciting.” The words hissed as her mouth closed the gap until her lips tickled his ear and cupped his genitals in her hand through the pajamas. Once his cock began to swell, Bridget’s hand quickly withdrew. “But I’m a lady. I can’t live in this.” Gesturing to the grotesque state of Ethan’s home with the same hand. “However, if I returned tomorrow and it was cleaner…” Her hand returned to his crotch. Wrapping her fingers around the bulging fabric. “Cleaner? I can do that.” Ethan blurted out. His mind was so clouded with lust that he felt he was prepared to agree to almost anything. However, almost anything paled in comparison to everything she planned to take from him. With that, Ethan watched as the enigmatic woman left his apartment with the same swift grace with which she had arrived. Her long, flowing hair cascaded like a dark wave with each confident stride, creating a striking contrast to the turmoil she left in her wake. In the hall, Bridget found Margaret, leaning to the side as she stole a glance of her son through the closing door, expecting to find him bruised and collapsed on the floor. Margaret breathed a sigh of relief when she saw him simply unharmed at the center of his chaotic apartment. “Thank goodness he’s okay,” she murmured with the first real relief she had felt all day. “How did it go?” “As well as could be expected. I gave him a day while I retrieve some things from storage and prepared my own home for his stay.” Bridget replied, “Also, as a bonus. I may have convinced him to clean up a bit. Maybe it’ll save you some money on whoever you have clear out that nest.”
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