Ursula stood by the doorway, clutching her phone tightly, her eyes narrowed as she overheard Steve whispering in the bathroom. The walls seemed to close in, amplifying each word he uttered to another woman. Her heart raced with a familiar blend of anger and disappointment, the air between them thick with unspoken accusations.
"He promised he would change," she muttered under her breath, pacing anxiously.
Steve emerged, oblivious, adjusting his shirt and grinning at his reflection.
Ursula typed furiously into Google, desperate for a solution. The search results were bland until one caught her eye: “Online Voodoo – Digital Retribution for Cheaters.” Her curiosity ignited, she clicked the link, and strange symbols flickered on the site’s homepage. The instructions beckoned her to upload a photo and choose a punishment.
"Maybe this is exactly what he needs," she whispered, her fingers trembling.
Ursula scrolled through the punishment options: pinpricks, fire, head shrinking. None seemed satisfying enough. Then, under “What’s New,” she spotted “Age Regression.” A pop-up appeared, asking for the age. With a wicked smile, she typed “1-year-old” and pressed Enter.
"Let’s see how you handle this, Stevie," she said, the air charged with anticipation.
Steve[/@ch_2], prepping for his date, suddenly clutches his head and staggers. The atmosphere thickens as invisible spirits swirl.]
Steve felt a dizzying sensation, his limbs shrinking, his clothes ballooning around him. Within moments, he was reduced to a helpless infant, wailing and flailing in his oversized underwear. Ursula entered, her eyes wide with astonishment, then narrowing in satisfaction.
"Poor baby! Disobeying Mommy," she mocked, scooping him up.
"Looks like little Stevie is grounded," she added, carrying him into the bedroom, where pastel blankets and stuffed animals awaited.
Ursula spent the evening diapering Stevie, feeding him strained rice cereal and Enfamil, and tucking him in repeatedly. Each time he tried to crawl away, she gently but firmly returned him to his crib, her patience unwavering.
"No more dates for you, little one," she cooed, stroking his head as he finally drifted to sleep. The newfound power over Stevie filled her with a strange sense of contentment.
Ursula called Stevie’s workplace, her tone calm and authoritative. She prepared a fresh bottle and listened to the receptionist’s questions as Stevie’s cries echoed from the bedroom.
"He won’t be in today because he was on the bottle all night and is in no condition to do his job," she replied, a mischievous smile on her lips.
"Will he be in tomorrow?" the receptionist asked, as a loud cry emerged.
"No! More like 20 years," Ursula answered, delighted at the prospect of uninterrupted quality time with her wayward boyfriend, now firmly under her care.
