Judy observed her naked inch-tall son slung over her finger. Satisfied that no further prompting was needed for him to address her by the proper title, her plush pink lips curled. She drew Scott in closer and tilted her head lithely upward. Propping up his body upon her thumb next, she was able to easily plant his petite frame into the moist pillow of her puckered lips.

            The suction of the giant kiss, already in full effect, was more than enough to keep Scott stuck to his mother’s lips as her finger marooned him on their soft surface. She kept her palm cupped just beneath her chin for safety.

            After a long intake of breath, where Scott found his limp body pulled against Judy’s immense mouth like a vacuum, her lips parted ever so slightly. Caught in his mother’s powerful, warm inhalation, the boy clung uselessly to Judy’s pink skin as his legs and member were swallowed up into her enormous mouth.

            He wasn’t fooling anyone with that apologetic pledge of his before, and they both were aware of that. Scott knew there would be consequences for his actions this morning, but that didn’t mean he regretted it, even now as he prepared to accept them. Considering the way things had gone earlier, he wasn’t at all surprised to find himself in this distinctly educative position, surreal and uncomfortable though it was. Frankly, the only shock was how long it had taken.

            A reporter and camera crew from ELA Channel 2 had stopped by the Stevens household promptly at 10 a.m. for an interview with Judy to get an update on the movement of her campaign, which had picked up immense speed since her announcement a year prior.

            Judy, as usual, navigated the questions like a champion, smiling wide enough to put a toothpaste commercial actress to shame. There were even a few questions reserved for the Senate hopeful’s thoughts on the new Reduction & Rehabilitation therapies currently sweeping the nation in light of, and especially, because of the popularity and attention Judy brought to it the concept in years past.

            And then, just for a few minutes, it was Scott’s turn. Dressed once again in his specially fitted suit and regrown to his maximum twelve inches in height, the twenty-two-year-old looked more than a little silly perched on the end of an armchair as the interviewer sat down for a firsthand account from the Shrink Act’s poster boy. Of course, Judy stood just behind the cameraman with her arms crossed and the most threatening smile glossed over her lips.

            “Now, Scott…” the ELA reporter began as she leaned in close enough with the microphone for her subject to be heard. “…we’ve been enlightened on R&R therapy by your mother, and we’re ready to hear the other side of the story. How has it affected your life?”

            What a question, to be asked how his life was affected by being shrunk, placed inside someone’s shoe, and being told it was therapy. Glancing up at Judy a final time, catching the expectant glint in her eye, Scott swallowed deeply and let his thoughts go to his siblings Maggie and Kyle, both of whom were counting on him without even realizing it. There was no benefit to even the most infinitesimal sabotage here. He sighed, reviewing the pre-programmed answer in his head before letting the words flow.

            “Well, it’s, uh…” he began. “…it’s something a lot of people might not understand at first. But… but it does help. Being like this, it… it gives you some perspective on what you’ve done wrong. And what you have to change to make it better. Kind of… monastic, almost,” he continued, a little proud of that word choice. “Mom just wants things to be better for everyone, to fix what’s wrong with how people are punished.”

            “The practices of R&R often involve correctional acts, depending on the program,” the reporter continued. “They can involve transporting shrunken individuals in pockets, withholding clothing, handling them in ways that might be deemed uncomfortable, or, in many cases, putting them in close and possibly dangerous proximity to a guardian’s feet. Even wearing them inside a shoe. Which I understand you’ve experienced yourself?”

            “Yes,” Scott said.

            “Frequently, even.”

            “Yes,” he responded with some hesitation. “Since I was thirteen.”

            Judy’s eyebrow raised, but she didn’t move otherwise.

            “And you feel that even this is beneficial to your rehabilitation?” the woman asked, keeping a neutral tone. As Scott looked her in the eye, though, he realized her own more liberal political leanings were trying to claw their way out without giving it away. He couldn’t help but envy her that kind of courage.

            “Yes,” the young man replied yet again without letting himself think about it for too long, no matter how loudly his subconscious screamed at him for this personal betrayal.

            “I see,” the reporter said, nodding as she grimly processed the information. She brushed her fingers through her black bob cut. “Now, there are opponents to the use of R&R. They say it’s no better than the treatment many people receive in prison. Perhaps, in some cases, worse. What would you say to that?”

            Scott’s ears perked up at this. He didn’t need to look up at Judy to know her expression had changed again; the interview wasn’t supposed to pose questions like that to him. This reporter must’ve gone off script for her own belief, probably even risking her job right now depending on who was listening. He had no doubt that Judy could pull some strings to get the woman canned if she had a mind to.

            And in that moment, Scott’s gut tightened just enough to give him the bravery to speak up a little louder. Taking a deep and bracing breath, he let the words roll off his tongue: “That’s their opinion, and they’re entitled to it. I guess they just miss the good old days when R&R meant rest and rehabilitation, not shrinking. The name fits though. It’s hard to rest when you’re getting walked around on by the people making the rules.”

            As soon as the words had left his mouth, Scott had some accurate predictions of how his afternoon would proceed. All the same, though, he couldn’t begrudge himself this fleeting moment of satisfaction in the public eye after spending so many months acting as Judy’s campaign puppet mascot.

            She could stick a finger into him and make him talk, but it didn’t always have to be exactly what she wanted to hear.

            Looking up, past the smugly vindicated reporter’s face and the surprised gaping of the cameraman, Scott was trapped in Judy’s aggressively beaming gaze. Her eyes bore right through him and into the chair. He knew in an instant exactly what was coming, and what was more, he didn’t care.

            And he smiled right back.

            So now here he was, nearly six hours later: the length of a thumbnail, stripped to his bare essence, defiant, and clenched gently between his mother’s massive lips as her passive-aggressive kiss sucked him into her mouth.

            Worth it.

            “Don’t worry, sweetie,” Judy whispered calmingly without letting her son slip away like a stray spaghetti noodle. “Your appointment isn’t for another fifteen minutes, and I think you could use a little exercise. And I have plenty of wipes. Now let go.”

            Sighing contentedly, the woman opened her lips just a little wider and slurped Scott back inside. He was dragged across the bottom row of teeth and onto the spongy bulk of her tongue.

            Now more relaxed than she’d felt all morning after the boy’s debacle of an interview answer, Judy pulled the car’s mirror compartment down. She set about adjusting her bangs so she’d look her best once they were inside the Clinic. They’d fallen a bit out of place during Scott’s pep-talk.

            Barely giving it a spare subconscious thought as she focused on her own appearance, Judy swished her miniature child back and forth around her mouth like a human breath mint.

            The boy, miraculously, was just as disengaged as his mother, even as she squeezed him against her mushy cheek and calmly sucked on his body. Even as his tiny face was slaked through a moat of saliva around her gums, choking her froth down his throat. Even as her muscular pink organ scooped him up and let him slide close enough to her throat that his feet kicked into her uvula. Even as his body baked in her syrupy juices while her tongue agonizingly stroked at his exposed member to ensure he was punished in every way possible.

            Scott knew very little in this world that was able to intimidate his mother, and with good reason: very little in this world was in any kind of position to intimidate her, especially now with the meteoric rise of her campaign. She may have stood at a mere five-foot-eleven, but for all the world, she might have been a thousand feet high.

            The fact that Judy felt the need to make this vigorous a point to her son meant his simple joke of an answer in the interview had frightened her.

            And that meant the fight was far from over.