Andrew did her best to stay quiet. She couldn’t stay here, but until she found a way to get out without being regressed anymore, she had to keep quiet. Mrs. Weaver had her eyes on Andrew for the whole day. Andrew, in her oversized dress and loose shoes, kept her head down and pretended to write notes.
“I know you’re pretending,” Mrs. Weaver said. From that moment on, Andrew wrote down everything that Mrs. Weaver said.
At the end of the day Andrew was exhausted. She sat in the desk, unsure of what to do. This game was certainly treating her harshly. She hadn’t even found out what the goal was, and she was only half her normal size, and a girl to boot. “I have to figure some way out of this, but how?”
“Andrew…”
Mrs. Weaver was right behind her. “I’m sorry! I’ll be good, I swear.”
“You’re not in trouble, I’m just asking why you’re still here.”
The classroom was empty. Andrew cautiously hopped off her chair, clutching her loose dress so that it didn’t fall off. “Have a good day…”
“Wait a minute.” Mrs. Weaver walked to the back of the classroom. They had a screen like the kind they use in hospitals. “Come here.”
Andrew shook her head.
“I’m not going to yell at you. Come here.”
Mrs. Weaver drew the screen around them and unbuttoned her blouse. “Sit on my lap.”
“W-why?”
She sat on the stool and took out a long pink pill out of her fanny pack. “You look hungry.”
“Oh no—“
“Andrew, sit.”
“Please, I’m sorry…I won’t make trouble anymore—“
“I said sit!” Mrs. Weaver plunked Andrew down on her knee. She swallowed the pink pill.
“Please, I’m not hungry! Let me go, let me go!”
Too late. The pill turned Mrs. Weaver’s dirty blonde hair bright gold. She grew long silky curls that stretched and bobbed like springs. Her face softened from a hard frown into a warm smile, but most shockingly, Mrs. Weaver’s bra tightened.
“Wha…?”
“Oh, Andrew…” Mrs. Weaver moaned. “I’ve been caged up for so long. Let me look at you, you beautiful little child! Did I hurt you?”
Her breasts swelled up. Her eyes grew fan-like eyelashes. They reflected light like blue glass. “Poor baby. Don’t cry! Oh, don’t cry!”
She rocked Andrew in her bosom. She smelled like warm bread. Her breasts were like rising dough swelling around Andrew’s head.
“Have a drink, child.” She opened up her bra. Her pink teat was leaking a stream of milk. She wouldn’t take no for an answer. Her scent was intoxicating. Andrew, unable to resist, wrapped her tiny lips around Mrs. Weaver’s lips and drank.
And she drank, and drank, and drank, and drank…