Paul did his best to listen to his kids talk at dinner, but it was a struggle. Brett didn't have a lot to say at first, but loosened up after a few minutes. Every time he looked at his youngest son, he thought of the tiny body he had held in his hands. And that orgasm with the neighbor kid! Holy crap! He was able to keep it together though, and by the time dinner was over, he was starting to feel more normal again.
After dinner, they scattered and Paul went into the living room to watch TV. He was doing OK until he flipped through the channels to an old episode of Fred Flintstone. He arrived just as Fred was stepping up on the scale, having drunk his new weight-reducing potion. As a result, the cartoon character shrunk quickly down to just a few inches.
Mr. DeSoto felt butterflies in his stomach, and he quickly changed the channel, but it was no use. For the next half-hour he kept having these obsessive thoughts about what had happened this afternoon -- the shrinking, the incredible horniness and subsequent sex, watching Brett grow back. Nothing on TV could hold his attention, so he finally decided to do something about it. Going into the garage, he pulled on some gloves to confront his sudden addiction.
It was dark outside, and he quietly crept over to the patch of shrinkweed where all this had started. He could see by the dim light where he had crushed a few of the plants with his earlier stumble. Most had recovered nicely, but a few were badly bruised. Quietly, carefully, he pulled the dying plants up as close to the ground as he could. Expecting a shallow plant whose roots pulled up easily, he was surprised when a firm tug caused the stems to snap off, leaving the root system still firmly in place.
No matter. The tugging had crushed one of the stems even further, releasing a light aroma that made Paul's head pound. It was the most pleasant thing he had ever smelled. He wobbled for a moment, and then quickly shuffled back into the garage, looking furtively over his shoulder to make sure no one saw him.
Stepping into the kitchen, he let out a little sigh to see that no one was around. Quietly, he rummaged around for wax paper, but all he could find was tin foil. Tearing a sheet, he carefully folded the plant over in the foil to hide it from view, washed his gloves and left them in the garage, and then went up to his room to decide what to do next.
"It is just a plant," he said, sitting on his bed and looking at the shiny square in front of him. But as he said the words, he knew they weren't true. This plant was something else, and it had a hold on him.
Gingerly, he opened the square to look at his new master. A light aroma lifted into the air, and Paul felt his dick stiffening in response. He rubbed his crotch, feeling anxious. What was he going to do?