Loving Care: The Stories of Lola Trechlyn

Chapter 19
C8 - Bad Family Planning

Chapter Description: M and F, F/D Incest, Physical AR and AP. / A teenage girl with the hots for her stepfather regresses him to her own age... but neither of them are prepared for the wrath of a jilted wife and mother. / From an anonymous mind. / Originally published on August 21st, 2014.

The following story comes from the mind of someone who wishes to remain anonymous. It is a complete work of fiction and all its characters, quotes, and events never happened, nor will they ever. Discretion is nevertheless advised.

a.k.a. "A Single Wish"

F A C E S

His mind was there, but his spirit was not.

He sat at his computer and stroked idly, the juices of arousal slickening four inches of stiffness and permitting his palm smooth motion. Clay Bracken had been alive for 34 years, and in all that time, he could not recall a single instance during which he was hornier… not even on his wedding night. Those were good times, all right. But today, as the afternoon sun beamed through the window of his home office and cast a distracting glare on his monitor, his balls felt like 10-pound lead weights and his cock, small as it was, ached to deliver the payload.

The glare on the monitor was round and fixed upon the smiling face of the girl in the .jpg.

She looks just like an angel, Clay thought. Just like a…

All control was denied him as he suddenly passed the point of no return. He spread his legs apart and tightened their muscles and curled the toes at their ends. He bit his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. And, from the javelin between his thighs, enormous wads of white, youthful cream flew uncontrolled into the air and splattered across the screen, along the keyboard—everywhere.

Clay couldn’t recall having made a sound, but certainly something brought his wife into the room.

“Clay? What are you doing?”

The alarmed man, his afterglow denied, lunged for the power button on the monitor and swatted at it. The image of the young girl disappeared.

He had no idea whether Tricia had seen the girl’s face before he cut the juice.

“Can I have a little privacy, dammit?” Clay hissed, more out of frusration than in anger. Frustration and worry.

Tricia wordlessly took her leave of the room and closed the door behind her.

Still heaving, his smooth, hairless body sheathed in a patina of sweat, Clay looked at the blankness of the monitor. Every time he saw a reflection of himself, it was a nightmare renewed, however much he knew what he’d find.

A 14-year-old boy stared back at him. His 14-year-old self. And he knew it was only a matter of hours before his regression would cease at thirteen.

Thirteen—the age of Bradley, his stepdaughter. His stepdaughter, who had seldom hid the crush she had on Clay since he had become part of the family. His stepdaughter, who had gone to an occult shop three weeks prior and wished twice: Once for her stepfather to regress one year each day, and once for him to grow increasingly attracted to her, just as she was to him.

Bradley. His stepdaughter, whose smile had graced Clay’s cum-streaked monitor only moments before.

W I S H E S

Tricia could scarcely conceive of how her daughter managed to locate such a tiny, run-down shop in the midst of an urban jungle. Her mother’s natural instinct caused her to be almost as upset at the image of Bradley wandering up and down dangerous alleys as she was that of her tweenaged husband’s spunk dribbling down her digital smile.

“How may I satisfy your desires today?” the wrinkled old lady asked with as much of a smile as her exhaustion could muster.

“My daughter came in here about three weeks ago,” Tricia began, hardly believing the words that were spilling from her lips. “I think she used your power to make my husband get younger every day. And… I think she wished for him to fall in love with her.”

The lady nodded knowingly. “I did tell her she’d paid enough for a third wish, but she insisted on saving it for later.”

“Well, I’m going to use that third wish,” said Tricia.

The old lady nodded again, listened to Tricia’s desire, and instantly made it happen.

D E S I R E S

Tricia was on her way out of the city while Clay washed dishes and handed them to Bradley to dry.

“So, uh…” Clay found himself at a loss for words. He was blushing. He just needed Bradley so badly, and he often hesitated for saying the wrong thing. “What did you do in school yesterday?”

“Yesterday was Sunday, Dad,” Bradley grinned, giving her stepfather a wink.

The crimson in Clay’s face deepened. “Right, right.”

“Something on your mind?” asked Bradley, setting down the last dried dish. Clay looked like such a child, an inept seventh-grade hormone factory, and she couldn’t help but torture the adorable object of her lust.

“N-no,” stammered Clay. “Why do you ask?”

Bradley looked down to Clay’s khakis and nodded in the direction of her target. Plain as day was Clay’s dick, standing painfully erect and straining against fabrics that struggled to absorb his liquid arousal.

Clay looked downward, too, and wanted to die on the spot.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Bradley cooed. “All little boys get that way around developing girls. Here—just take my hand. We’ll bring you to your bedroom and give you a much-needed change.”

Clay didn’t know what to say. So he took her hand and she led him.

B O D I E S

When Tricia flung open the door to the bedroom, the image that greeted her was not a surprise. Her 13-year-old daughter and 13-year-old husband were completely denuded and curled around each other like a knotted cord. They grasped at one another and the thick scent of intimacy hung high in the air.

“Clay!” shouted Tricia, still in the door frame. “Get off of her right now… look at me! Your wife!”

The sound of the door opening had spoiled the mood for Clay in that moment. He looked over his stepdaughter’s legs and his eyes fell upon his wife.

She had used Bradley’s final wish to become 13 years old. She waited until she could hear Clay and Bradley thrashing across the upper hall and had snuck into her daughter’s room to claim the closet’s sexiest outfit as her own.

Clay nearly burst into laughter.

“What are you wearing!?” he huffed between breaths. “Something of Bradley’s?”

Tricia nodded, but she was at a loss with regard to her husband’s reaction. It only came to her when she glanced at the full-length mirror in the corner of their bedroom.

Bradley’s mother was a late bloomer, and she had picked the worst possible outfit to betray the fact. It hung limply from her frame like linens. Where breasts were meant to stand proud, there was only emptiness. She looked as though she was many years her junior, playing dress-up.

Clay flicked one of his stepdaughter’s nipples playfully as the smiling pubescent pair cast junior-high-grade daggers at the deflated young girl at the threshold.

“Could you close the door on your way out, please?” asked Clay, his voice cracking.

“We’re busy, Mom,” Bradley heaved. “Come back in a year or two.”

Tricia turned around and left. She didn’t start crying until she was sure she couldn’t be heard over the pounding, gasping, and wailing emanating from what was once her own bedroom.

T O . R E V E N G E

“I want one more wish,” Tricia demanded, slamming a fat wad of bills she’d withdrawn onto the heavy mahogany of the occultist’s desk.

The old lady granted it.

H E L L . H A T H . N O . F U R Y

When Tricia returned home, she could immediately hear the sobbing of two children coming from her bedroom. She mustered up a smile at the sound—one that accompanied her all the way up the stairs and through the closed door that had so recently muffled the sound of Clay and Bradley’s coupling.

Both of them appeared to be eight years old. They were no longer on top of one another, but lay side-by-side, horrified into stasis.

Tricia, for her part, nonchalantly went to the closet to change her clothes. She looked rather ravishing in a dress she hadn’t worn since she was 22 years old.

And that’s exactly how old she was.

“What have you done to us?” Clay whined, snot dribbling down his nose. His body shrunk in size as he became six years old.

“I didn’t do anything,” Tricia sneered. “You made your bed and, well, no pun intended, you’re gonna have to lay in it.”

The terms of the wish were simple… simple enough for the pair of four-year-olds on Tricia’s bed to grasp. She had taken nine years from each of them and added the years to herself, bringing her back to her original age of 31 years.

“And speaking of your bed,” she smiled at Clay as she led the pair of little kids into the restroom to be bathed, “I ordered a race car. One with a waterproof mattress. I didn’t forget that little secret you shared with me about your nighttime toileting troubles.”

At this, Bradley laughed the giggle of a girl picking on a boy. Clay cast an icy and impotent scowl at her that looked as petulant as he.

“I wouldn’t be so quick to mock, my dear,” said Tricia. “You’ll be wearing Pull-Ups to bed, too.”

“B—but I never had a bedwetting problem!”

Tricia smiled grimly. “Worded correctly, a single wish can do so much.”

About This Story

Ahh, flash fiction. Stories of 1,000 words or less. That’s what I wanted this tale to be from the get-go-- in fact, its origin lies in a promotional contest I held for those who chose to pre-order little trip’s book-length anthology, Twist of the Knife. A random drawing was held for early adopters and the prize was a thousand-word story (usually ample for simply-staged scenes of humiliation or sexuality).

My next story (Loving Care XII) will be an original creation, so stay tuned for that! Also, I encourage you to e-mail me at littletrip at live dot com with your own feedback and commentary. Being aware of what people want adds some insurance against failure.

Thanks for reading. -lt