Make Me Happy
Douglas Greene
douglas_greene@hotmail.com
John worked for me; he was one of fifteen people in the department that I supervised. He was a very strange little man, with thick wire glasses, but he was extremely dependable and relatively easy to work with. The fact is, all of the people that I work with were dependable, but I was being forced by upper management to fire one because of poor business conditions.
For some reason, John was my choice, and I wasn’t quite sure why. It couldn’t be because he was openly gay. I’m an open-minded kind of guy, and that didn’t bother me, but it might have had something to do with his attitude; he never put it in words, but he always made me feel that I owed him something. That somehow, it was my job, as his boss, to keep him happy.
I decided to take him out for lunch to give him the news; to say that he didn’t take it well would be an understatement. He turned bright red, and pounded the table with his fist. I decided to excuse myself and visit the restroom to give John time to collect his thoughts. When I returned, he was strangely calm.
“Well, I don’t really need this job anyway. I have other ways to make a living,” he asserted.
“That’s good.” I took a big chug of my iced tea as we got up to go to the car. “What do you have in mind?”
“Do you know much about hypnotism?” he asked, as we threaded our way through the crowded restaurant toward the door.
“Enough to know that I can’t be hypnotized,” I boasted.
“Is that so?” he replied, grinning. It suddenly occurred to me that I’d never seen John smile; when he exposed his teeth, an ugly combination of yellow and black, I understood why. “I’m trained in hypnotherapy,” he claimed. “I had my own practice for nearly ten years.”
“Is that so,” I said, pausing when we got outside to enjoy the bright spring sunshine. “Why did you quit?”
“It’s rather complicated.’
Suddenly I felt very dizzy; the last thing that I remember was John helping me across the parking lot to the car. .
I have no idea how much time passed. I found myself on a carpeted floor, feeling quite rested and strangely calm.
“How do you feel?” John asked.
I was just fine, great actually. I pulled myself to a standing position and steadied myself by leaning against John’s knee.
“I’m fine,” I said, as I coughed in an attempt to clear my throat. My voice sounded very strange.
“That’s very good Tom,” John intoned flatly. “I want you to feel relaxed and happy. Do you know what I’ve done to you?”
“You made me little. I’m a baby again,” I replied calmly, looking down at the diaper I was wearing.
“That’s right Tom. You’re my precious little baby boy,” he lisped softly.
This simply wasn’t possible. Surely I was hallucinating; he must have put something in my food or drink. I wanted to run away; I needed to scream, but I kept recalling John’s instructions. I was happy. I was relaxed.
“Take a look in the mirror. Remember that when you see yourself, you will be very pleased. Remember that this is exactly what you’ve always wanted.” He motioned toward the full-length mirror mounted to the wall next to his chair.
As I turned, I steadied myself against his other knee; coarse hands, monstrous in size, suddenly descended upon my bare shoulders, guiding me toward the mirror. The image in the glass took my breath away. I was a beautiful little boy, with pale, flawless skin and a full head of hair. From behind, John pulled at the tabs that held my diaper in place and whisked it away.
“You don’t mind being naked. In fact, you like being naked don’t you?” I heard John whisper. The naked baby boy in the mirror nodded his head up and down solemnly in response. “And you want to touch yourself, more than anything, because it feels very, very good. Go ahead, it’s ok” I reached down and caressed my tiny penis, immediately feeling it stiffen under my touch. I buried myself in the sensations, and was mesmerized by the image in the glass at the same time. I couldn’t possibly be that tiny boy with a goofy grin who frantically played with himself.
John watched me for a few minutes, smiling broadly, before brushing my hand away and replacing it with his own. “You like it even more when I touch you. It feels better to you than anything else.” Looking down, I watched as his mammoth fingers curled around my miniscule penis and scrotum, and trembled with excitement. I hadn’t really understood just how little I was until he placed his gigantic hands on body.
“Oh, you have an adorable little stiffy! How cute!” he squealed. Suddenly, I found myself desperately gyrating my hips, thrusting my tiny genitalia in its entirety back and forth across a gigantic open, palm. I felt his monstrous hand effortlessly separate my legs; I squatted quite willingly over his hand, holding his forearm for support, so that his fingers could rake my bottom. “That’s right Tommy, that makes me happy, and, above all, you want to make me happy.”
TO BE CONTINUED?