Penelope wants to see other people.

The plunger sunk its full length into the tube, and so the last of the **** cocktail slips into Isabella's left breast. In the dimly-lit silence of the basement, she quivers and winces in wordless, hopeless protest at the added pressure in that swelling flesh, now a pleasant D-cup that could no longer tolerate any of her bras or most of her old wardrobe. Isabella didn't lose shirts just because of her swelling breasts, of course; her lithe torso makes even her near-imperceptible baby bump visible, and her thighs and ass have all gotten a bit fuller now that she has an appetite for two. "How are you feeling, Isabella?"

"I'm... okay." Her words drip with melancholy, enough to encourage you to further investigate.

Of course, it would be for pretend: you already know what's bothering her, and it's all thanks to the spurning lover upstairs. "Is it something to do with Penelope?"

She looks up at you with surprise, but slowly relaxes again as you approach with handfuls of cocoa butter. "Yeah... she... she doesn't seem to... to..."

"Be honest with me, sweetie. You know you can trust me with anything... besides, you're already in timeout, so there's no reason to hold back right now."

"I know," she whispers as your hands gently caress and grease her tiny baby bump. "I just thought she was... y'know... the one. I love her so much, daddy-yyyy." Her voice warbles as you finger her clit and labia with buttered fingers.

"You'll just need to go back up and try again... and honey, if she says no? Just send her down here and I'll see if I can't talk it out with her... alone."

"A-Alone?" You squeeze her tender breasts as you coat them, reveling in how much softer they've become, swelling with fat and enlarged mammary glands. You've done only basic research to better appreciate the things you're doing to her body, but you know she'll likely be ready to nurse long before there's any child to feed. How much longer would they tease you, you wonder as you pinch more cocoa into her nipples.

"Yes, baby, alone... if she isn't honest with you alone, how would she be honest with me while you're present?"

"Are you going to... to put her in timeout, too?" Her voice was unabashedly worried; somehow, she knew this wasn't normal... but how?

"Of course not; she's not my daughter, or my wife. If her father wants to put her in timeout then that will be for him to decide when she moves up there with them."

"She... she said she never heard of timeout like this..." Ah, so there it is: your daughter-wife's reality put into question by that meddling ex-lover.

"Her father probably employs a very different kind of discipline, one Penelope can't tell you... probably one of the secret disciplinary techniques that she mustn't tell you. So don't take it personally, honey: that means she cares enough to protect you, at least." With new understanding, she nods quietly while you wrap up your treatment by massaging her inner-thighs and shoving a generous finger into her ass. She's getting used to it, given that she barely flinches when you do this, so you decide to sneak a second finger to enjoy her renewed squirming. Soon, she's take you wherever you pleased without batting an eye. "Now head up there and try your best, baby. If it's meant to be, I know it will work out."

You watch her glistening ass march up the steps, the single fluorescent bulb above the staircase dancing on her every greased curve save that dark, beautiful darkness between her fattening, milk-chocolate thighs. She started her new life built like a gymnast... and she's still exercising hard to try and lose all the extra weight motherhood inevitably puts on her. What would she look like in a year? How far would your influence take her body? You clean your hands off just to pleasure yourself absentmindedly, staring at no kind of pornography save for the silent argument that might soon erupt in the bedroom above.

Your phone comes alive, and sure enough your precious new wife walks into the scene with sitcom-grade timing. Without audio, the silent play begins: Isabella trying to put on the charm while greased and naked for her lover, all in hopes to "talk" with her as you encouraged. Penelope, giving a single look to those heavy breasts and growing stomach, turns away from her in naked disgust. A one-sided exchange, with a distressed Isabella pleading to an irascible Penelope who snaps at her in obvious, sudden yells. You weren't willing to pay the extra cash for a system that could provide audio as well, but you don't need it to appreciate where this is all going: downhill, quickly, and precisely as you planned. At last, with her last hopes for rekindled love or conversation sapped, your daughter mutters something with almost invisible lip movements. Damn the resolution on this thing! Penelope brightens up... and, still dressed in one of her t-shirts and her favorite pair of jeans, leaves Isabella to weep into her old pillow, alone.

Twenty-six seconds. You count them, waiting for your next visitor. The basement door opens, and you try to control your breathing as she finally arrives. "Lock the door behind you, Penelope; it's soundproofed that way, so you can be here alone, privately, with me." The idea was a massive relief to the girl who trusted you absolutely, and you hear three satisfying clicks as two deadbolts reinforce the regular lock. Gingerly hopping down the concrete steps leading into your chamber, her eyes are wide as she takes in the "timeout room" for the first time. That's a natural reaction, given everything you bought with the latest life insurance payment: metal and wooden beams, chains, handcuffs and enough rope to create, with the help of the Internet and all the free time your current life afforded, a proper DIY sex dungeon. Her eyes fall on the pillory, with tight-fitting holes burrowed through them for lithe wrists and a scrawny neck, both of which she possessed. It isn't meant for her, strictly speaking, but the application had crossed your mind while building it.

She looks all around and, with the frankness that erodes the humanity in how you perceive her, narrates her day. "Thank you, sir. I can't believe that fat cow is still trying to sleep with me! I mean, it's strange because I feel a deep love for her, and I once had a girlfriend much heavier than she but... but ugh! If she cared at all she would know it won't work between us!" She turns to you, smiling with shivering lips and tears running down that pretty, pale face. "It hurts so much, refusing and hating her when I love her as much as I do! Doesn't she care at all?"

She looks to you, knowing your words will always be a panacea, healing and good and wonderful. You pause to consider them, taking care to do nothing to dispel this terrible burden you've placed on her, not yet at least. She's like an animated doll in this fashion, continuing on without concern until you open your mouth to impart what she considers wonderful benevolence.