O.Z. One-Shots - Stress Doll

My name is Lewis Plummer, and I'm a father living in the Bakerton Class 1 Oedipal Zone. This is the story of the transition of power between myself and my son, Edward. It's also the story of my wife Carla's mid-life transformation. Like many other such stories, it's not pretty... Unless you're a huge fan of bimbos, and not a huge fan of strong, loving, fiercely-intelligent women keeping their identity intact.

I'm proud of my son in many ways, but patience was never one of his virtues. On the morning of his 18th birthday, he ran downstairs, pulled his mother into an embrace, and stuck his tongue down her throat.

"Mmgh--Um, happy birth--mph... Happy birthday," Carla sputtered between kisses, flinching as our son cupped her ass. "Congratulations, Ed. I made breakfast--"

"Later," he mumbled, putting a hand on her shoulder and pushing down gently. She sank to the floor, her eyes wide as Edward pulled out his cock. It was fully-erect, and he bounced it against her cheek a few times before pushing it between her lips. "Oooh, fuuuck... Mom..."

I cleared my throat. "Should I serve breakfast, or...?"

"Thanks, but I'm not hungry," Edward said, thrusting slowly. Carla's hands were on his hips, but although she was startled and overwhelmed, she allowed him to control the pace.

"Okay... Do you want to take your mother upstairs, then? I know we haven't talked about the bedrooms yet, but you're welcome to use the big bed for now."

"Y-yeah," Edward groaned, as his cockhead was **** into Carla's throat. "I'll definitely take the master bedroom, thanks."

I waited expectantly, but he just kept thrusting. "Um... I don't really want to watch, so... Would you mind?"

"Oh, sure. You can hang out up there for now, I guess," my son replied. "Actually, you can start moving our things. I'll keep the furniture, but I don't need your clothes and stuff. Maybe put both of our computers in my new room, and I'll decide which I like better. Same f-for... Fuck, that feels so good... Same for the desk chairs."

Stunned, I walked away without a fuss. I wasn't happy to be ordered upstairs (he's the one doing dirty things, I thought, so he should be the one in a bedroom)... But at least I wouldn't have to listen to my beloved Carla **** on a pushy teenager's dick.

In case you're interested: he ended up keeping both computers. He kept using his for Netflix and video games and such, while mine became a "dedicated Minecraft server" for all his pals. Good thing I still have my iPad for work and such, I suppose, although it's not exactly easy to type on.

The next day, Edward took my wife to a salon for the first of many cosmetic appointments. By the end of the week, she had clear skin, blonde hair, and permanent makeup. I dealt with the changes, and so did Carla; she looked a little trashy, in our opinion, but that was a relatively minor adjustment (compared to, say, coming home from work to find my son balls-deep in my wife's asshole).

The next week's project: breast implants. Now Carla and I had dealt with a lot up until that point, but that was the straw that broke the camel's back. We begged and pleaded, ranted and raved, but Edward just shrugged and told us "he needed it."

"Why?" I threw my arms in the air. "Why on Earth would you need this? Your mother's been so accommodating--She's dripping with your cum, for God's sake--But she just doesn't want fake breasts! Is that so much to ask?"

"Yes, it is," Edward replied, leaning back in his seat. We were all at the dinner table, but nobody was eating... Not counting the half-load that Carla had just swallowed. She wasn't sucking now, though: she looked furious as she sat beside me with her arms crossed and a glob of jizz sticking to her cheek.

"Why?"

"Stress relief," our son continued. "I'm under a lot of stress, and I want some big titties to play with. Your appointment's tomorrow."

"Stress?" I clenched my jaw. "You don't work, you're not going to school until next year--What could you possibly be stressed about?"

"Baby," Carla cut in, her tone a careful mix between gentle and stern. "I've never wanted to be one of those... Bimbos. I saw it happen to Joan, and Mrs. Baker, and... Well, they're fine, but they're not like me. I love you, and I want to please you, but I need more. I'd go crazy if I was just... Just a sex-doll, with no respect, and..." She trailed off.

"I think I understand," Edward said after a moment, before pulling out his phone. "I'll send an email, make some changes to the appointment. Come blow me again?"

"Uh, it's dinnertime," I scoffed, but my wife put her hand on my shoulder.

"Of course," she purred, slinking under the table. There was a smile on her face... The smirk of a shrewd negotiator who'd just gotten her way. "Thank you, baby."

The "changes he made to the appointment" weren't what we expected. Instead of telling the clinic that he wanted smaller, more reasonably-proportioned breasts, Edward got them to throw in a short-term mental mod.

The morning of the surgery, my son pushed a pill between Carla's lips and told her to swallow. For the rest of the day, she was in a happy, submissive daze. When she strolled out of the clinic with a pair of beach balls on her chest, she was smiling the same vacant smile as when she went in.

She thanked Edward for the "gift," and thanked him again when he helped her into the backseat of my SUV. Then she thanked him for "sliding his big, strong cock between her new breasts," and finally for "gracing her face with his hot cum." That last one was a stretch, given how much got all over the upholstery.

The mental effects quickly wore off, but the tits were still there... And so was the embarrassment. Carla could hardly look me in the eye... Especially when Edward's friends arrived. Six of them slept over that night, and I don't think anyone in the house got a wink of sleep.

The next morning, I worked up the courage to sit my son down in the living room. We had a long and difficult conversation about family, priorities, and respect. It was made even more difficult by the fact that two of his friends were spit-roasting my wife on the opposite couch.

Edward let me say my peace, but when it was his turn to talk, he came out swinging: "I get where you're coming from, Dad, but you have to see things from my perspective. Mom is my possession, and possessions are supposed to make your life easier... Like Marie Kondo, y'know? 'Does this spark joy?' If Mom brings me more stress than pleasure, our family is doomed."

"Again with the 'stress' talk?" I shook my head. "I still don't understand--"

"We're all living our own lives, Dad. Fighting our own battles. You don't get to decide what makes me feel stressed. You'll just have to trust me."

"I... Well... Okay, but what you're doing is putting stress on us," I pleaded, raising my voice to be heard over the moaning and slapping noises coming from the threesome on the other side of the room. "You have to see that. Your mother is humiliated... Right, dear?"

"Mmgh," Carla grunted through a mouthful of cock. Edward's friend was on some serious Alpha ****, and his member was stretching her throat to its limit.

"I understand," our son said, nodding slowly. "I'll think about what you've said, and do things differently from now on."

"That's all I can ask," I replied, smiling. I was happy that he'd seen reason, and that absolute power hadn't totally corrupted my boy.

I was being naive, of course. By "doing things differently," Edward meant that he'd make permanent mental changes to Carla. The day that he did, we fought again.

"How could you do this? She's your mother," I shouted, gesturing at Carla. She was sitting on the dining table, a collar around her neck and a leash hanging between her huge tits. The other end dangled from my son's hand, and he opened his mouth to yell back at me... But Carla spoke first.

"Don't raise your voice at him, Lewis," she said, her voice high and breathy. "Our son knows what he wants, and he takes it. Isn't that wonderful?"

"No! He can't--He shouldn't just... This isn't what you wanted!"

Edward grinned. "What do you want now, Mom?"

Carla shifted position, leaning back and pulling up her tiny dress. With her pussy exposed, she smiled back at her son. "I want you to stretch Mommy out... And I want you to empty those big, juicy balls into me. They look so full..."

"Yeah, I guess I could bust a nut right about now," he chuckled, unzipping his pants. "Sure as hell beats this conversation."

"J-Jesus, Ed... We're not finished..."

"You can keep talking if you want," Edward continued, stepping between Carla's legs. "But either way, I'm gonna plow Mom."

I tried to keep convincing him, but it was tricky: his face was buried between my wife's fake tits, and she was moaning loudly enough to block me out anyway. I left just after our son blew his first load, and Carla convinced him to take a handful of SpermiZan pills in order to keep going.

The next time we ended up at the mod clinic, it wasn't Edward's idea. Carla kept asking questions like "are my tits big enough?" and "am I the perfect Mommy yet?" Eventually our son gave in to her nagging, and off we went.

Now my wife is... Well, she's a toy. There's no other way to describe it, really. Her body is a cartoon, and she lives to take care of my son's cock. She's getting dumber, too... I'm not sure if that's a side-effect of her mental mods, or just the inevitable result of leading such a boring life, with no real challenges and one simple priority.

Speaking of "no challenges," I'm still not sure what's making my son stressed. He didn't end up going to school this year, and he spends most of his time either fucking his mother or dragging her around to gangbangs, Mom-swaps, body mod trade shows, and other events for young Alphas with nothing better to do.

I tried talking to my wife privately, a few times... Just to get a sense of how she really felt about the situation.

"Why are you so sad? We're finally happy," she said, still doing her daily exercises; that mountain of titflesh isn't easy to hold up.

"I... I'm just not sure we are happy. Not really."

"Of course we are, silly! We raised a smart, sexy son, and now he's in charge." A faint smile appeared on her face. "That's the way it should be. Everything's perfect."

I sighed, trying to think of a way to frame my thoughts without using any big words. She has trouble with those, these days. "Don't you have any self-respect left?"

"'Self-respect?' That's..." Her brow wrinkled. "That's like 'self-love,' right? I only touch myself when Eddy has a sleepover and doesn't take me with him, and that almost never--"

"Okay, no... It's okay. I'll just leave you to your exercises. Would you like anything for lunch? Edward just got home, I think I'll make--"

"Eddy's home? Oh my gosh, why didn't you--I'm sorry, I gotta--" With that she was gone, bouncing out of the room and toward the front hall. I didn't try to stop her, or tell her that Edward was already upstairs. She'd find him eventually, and he could wait a minute or two before using my wife's body.

I ended up regretting that decision later, though. Apparently he'd taken a bunch of SpermiZan Extra Strength, and he ended up leaking all over the carpet before his mother found him and stuffed his spurting cock down her throat.

Now you're all caught up with my family's story... Which brings me to this Sunday. Edward let me have Carla for the weekend: just some genuine quality time with my wife. It was like everything was back to normal--Well, apart from the gigantic tits and the low IQ.

To my shame, I avoided those issues by not letting her talk much, and making love to her from behind. Jesus, even I'm degrading her now... But we had a good time together, even if she did keep calling me "Eddy" by accident.

But the weekend my son gave me came with a price tag. On Sunday night, I gave Carla back to Edward... And as he claimed her on the living room floor, I brought in divorce papers with my signature on them.

"Oh my God," Carla gasped, freezing in place astride our son's cock. "Lewis, honey..."

I got choked up when I saw the raw emotion on her face. For the first time in months, she genuinely cared about something other than Edward's pleasure. She cared about me, and about no longer being with me, and--

"Does this mean... Oh my God." Her jaw dropped, and she looked back at our son. "Does this mean I can marry Eddy now?" Without waiting for a reply, she started bouncing up and down and shouting: "Yes! YES! Please... Oh God, YEEES!"

I've never seen a woman climax that hard. No longer able to support her massive chest, Carla slumped forward and went limp as her husband-to-be climbed on top and started pumping her full of cum. As Edward mounted her, he gave me a smile.

"I think... Ungh... My stress is finally gone. Isn't that great, Dad?"