﻿Parents Just Don’t Understand (Alternate Ending)

by Pan



Published: 2016-03-19
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2024-02-16 22:48:50
Chapters: 10
Words: 11,705
Publisher: mcstories.com
Story URL: https://mcstories.com/ParentsJustDontUnderstandAlternateEnding/index.html
Author URL: https://mcstories.com/Authors/Pan.html
Summary: Ever since Mathilda started seeing her new hypnotherapist, she’s been treating her daughter Tiffany more and more like a teenage rebel.
Erotica Tags: mc, md





TABLE OF CONTENTS


Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10



	Chapter 1

This is a rewrite of [Parents Just Don’t Understand](https://mcstories.com/ParentsJustDontUnderstandAlternateEnding/../ParentsJustDontUnderstand/index.html), with a (slightly) nicer ending for Tiffany and her mom. The first 7 chapters are identical; the story diverges at chapter 8.

The moment my mother entered the house, my entire body tensed. The entire scene played out in my head—she’d storm into the living-room, find me finishing a report for my boss (I do social media for a local theater) and find _some_ reason to pick a fight.

Reality didn’t disappoint.

“Tiffany,” she said, clucking her tongue—a habit I hated, and not only because it meant a lecture was coming. “Did you drive my car this morning?”

“Yes, mother.”

“What on earth were you thinking? You know that you’re far too young to be driving without supervision.”

I raised one eyebrow.

“Seriously?”

“Of course, young lady. I don’t care what your friends are doing, but I don’t want you on the roads unless I’m sitting by your side.”

I stared at her for a few seconds—she must have seen it as some kind of challenge to her authority, because she leaned forward, unblinkingly staring back at me. In truth, I was just gobsmacked, and it took me a while to assemble the words for my reply.

“Mom,” I said, unable to believe I actually had to say it. “…I’m _23_.”

“Well that’s as maybe, but you’re still my daughter.”

After dropping what she clearly thought to be the definitive last word, she sauntered out of the room, head held high. I turned back to my textbook, utterly bewildered by her behavior.

* * *

The next day was almost an exact repeat of the first. This time, Mom was furious that I’d brought wine into the house—no, sorry, into _her_ house. Again, I pointed out that I’d been legally able to buy and drink wine for almost two years now (and refrained from mentioning that I’d been drinking it for over three years before that) but it had no effect.

Maybe I should have dropped it. I was moving out at the end of the year—I didn’t have a place yet, but my friend Britt and I had already started looking for a place.

And—as well as being obnoxious—Mom’s new attitude was starting to weird me out. I guess since Dad passed she’s been a little bit more protective than normal, but she’d started pushing it past the extreme. Acting horrified if I swear, yelling at me for staying out past “curfew”…it was truly ridiculous.

But the next day, when she caught sight of my tattoo—the tattoo I’d gotten when I was 19, the tattoo that she’d seen _a thousand times before_ —she freaked out, and I started to seriously wonder what was happening. It wasn’t normal, I knew that for sure.

After the lecture (a short, stern one, and a promise that the cost of getting it lasered off was coming from _my_ allowance…an allowance that had ended over half a decade ago) I went upstairs and did some thinking.

When my father passed, Mom didn’t handle it too well. For the first few months, she totally refused to get out of bed—when she’d finally felt up to facing life again, she started seeing a therapist.

A part of me wondered if she was simply regressing—when I was a teenager, she’d still had a husband, and so maybe she was just retreating back into that world to protect herself. But then I remembered—a couple of weeks back, she’d mentioned that her therapist was moving away, and from now on Dr. Williamson was going to be helping her.

Maybe this new doctor was trying something new, or maybe he just wasn’t very good. And even if he was completely on the level, he should know about this bizarre change in her behavior.

It didn’t take me long to decide that if I was going to get to the root of the problem, I needed to meet Dr. Williamson.

* * *

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Mom said when I suggested that her new attitude might have something with her new shrink. She was cooking—something else she hadn’t really done since Dad’s death—and I’d caught her in a rare good mood. “Firstly, I haven’t been acting differently; you’re just growing up, and so of course the world seems like it’s different. You’ve gone through so many changes lately…”

I desperately hoped that she wasn’t going to start telling me about my “changing body”. It had been awkward enough when we’d gone through that the first time;.

There was a pause, and Mom’s lips twitched, like they were resisting the urge to again explain to me that I was going to find hair where there’d been no hair before, and talk me through a period.

She fought through it, and asked something that completely took me by surprise.

“I’m seeing him on Monday—why don’t you come with me?”

* * *

Monday was only four days away, but in that time Mom managed to take me to task for:

  * hanging out with Britt (who Mom was worried was “a bad influence”)
  * listening to my music too loud
  * sleeping in
  * not making my bed
  * drinking coffee (“It’ll stunt your growth”)
  * spending too much time on my phone
  * playing video games
  * arguing back (when I tried to explain that Tinder wasn’t a video game)
  * not focusing enough on my studies (??)
  * refusing to come to church on Sunday



By Monday morning, I was exhausted. I couldn’t even be bothered debating it with her any more, and whenever she decided to fault me, always replied the same way:

“Yes, mother.”

She’s not stupid—she worked out what I was doing—but, in what must have been an act of superhuman self-control, she didn’t confront me about it.

I tell you, by the time we got to the therapist’s office, I was starting to _feel_ like a rebellious teen.


	Chapter 2

“Wait,” I said, looking back and forth between my mother and Dr. Williamson. “He’s a _hypno_ -therapist?”

“That’s right,” the doctor said, his calm demeanor making me wonder if I was just wildly over-reacting.

No. Mom’s strange behavior, the way she’d been constantly picking on me lately…

Surely I wasn’t being crazy to maybe suspect the man who’d been _hypnotizing_ her of being responsible for the changes in my mother..

Now I don’t know much about hypnotism. My understanding is that you can’t make anyone do anything they don’t want to do…but hell, maybe Mom _did_ want me to be a teenager again, someone she could control, order around. Someone who listened to her, respected her.

Not that I didn’t respect her, of course. But…well, maybe Mom wanted to go back to a time when I was a kid, instead of a young professional, on the verge of moving out.

On the verge of leaving her.

Don’t get me wrong—I’d thought about how much it would hurt Mom, her only child moving away, leaving her alone in a house where she’d had so many good memories with Dad.

But, I mean…I deserve a life as well. And I planned on coming back for dinner at least once a week, and had tried to spend more time with her before I left (at least, before she turned into the controlling mother from hell).

So the moment I learned Dr. Williamson’s specialty, I was pretty worried about what he was doing to my mother.

My fears must have manifested on my face, because he looked at me, a small smile on his face.

“You’re worried,” he said, and I barely refrained from snapping “Fuck yeah” back at him.

Instead, I just nodded.

“I’ll tell you what,” he said, gesturing to his office. “Why don’t you come and watch one of your mother’s sessions—don’t worry Mathilda, we won’t go into anything you’re not comfortable with—and then you can tell me if you’re still apprehensive about my methods.”

_You’re being ridiculous,_ I told myself as I realized I was still hesitant. _Your mother will be right there…and besides, he can’t make you do anything you don’t want to do._

“Fine,” I said, and a shiver ran down my spine as his smile broadened. As I followed him and my mother into the small, sterile office, I wondered if I was making a huge mistake.

* * *

The session started out simply enough. Dr. Williamson had a comfortable chair set to the side—almost as if he knew I was coming—for me to sit in, and I perched on the edge to watch him work.

My mother lay down on the couch (turns out it’s not just an expression). There was a small machine on the table in the middle of the room, and the doctor turned it on.

Immediately the room was filled with a strong throb. I want to say it was a noise, but I couldn’t actually tell you what it sounded like—my ears _felt_ it more than heard it, and soon my whole body did as well.

The throbbing got more and more intense. I could feel it in my head, in my heart, in my gut. I could feel it in my legs, between my legs—my entire body suddenly wanted to tune into it, wanted to understand it.

The strange sensation filling my being immediately became an obsession—I didn’t know what was happening, but I desperately wanted to. The room melted away, my senses shut down. All that remained was the throbbing.

And then, all at once, I was back.

“Are you okay?” Dr. Williamson asked, smiling at me. I paused, not knowing what to say, and when he saw my hesitation, helped me out. “Tell me you’re okay.”

It was exactly what I wanted to be able to say, and so I seized upon the opportunity.

“I’m okay.”

I glanced over at my mother—she was staring at Dr. Williamson, rapt.

“That machine was nothing to worry about,” he said, and I nodded enthusiastically. That was exactly what I wanted to hear in that moment, that I didn’t need to be worried. “You trust me to take care of your mother.”

A wave of relief washed over me. I’d come here because I was worried about my mother, and he’d just told me exactly what I wanted to hear—that I was able to trust him, that I could leave her in his more-than-capable hands.

“I can help you, too.”

My eyes widened slightly at his words. Here was something I hadn’t even _known_ I wanted—until he added that, I’d been ready to pack up and go, but now he’d sweetened the pot. Not only was my mother taken care of, but it turned out that I could be helped as well.

“Sit back,” he said, and I did what he said without question. As I felt myself relaxing into the chair’s padded back, I realized that he really knew what he was doing—I’d been sitting forward, not letting myself be as comfortable as I could be.

Dr. Williamson was going to help. He was going to make everything better.

“You’re going to start coming to each session with your mother,” he said, and I nodded. “I’m going to help your life become simpler, become less stressful. But it will only work if you do everything I tell you, without question. Will you do everything I say?”

I nodded, and he smiled. That same smile that had creeped me out so, but this time…this time, it felt fine.

“Tell me you’ll do everything I say.”

“I’ll do everything you say.”

“Tell me you’ll obey me without question.”

“I’ll obey you without question.”

“Good,” he said, and I beamed in response.

“Now, your impulse is going to be to resist my commands. You’re not going to want to do everything I say—it’s going to sound wrong, or strange. That would be bad, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes,” I said in a whisper.

“So let’s make sure that doesn’t happen. I want you to shut your eyes—I’m going to count down from ten, and when I get to one you’re going to slip into a deep trance. While you’re in this trance, you won’t be able to question me; you’re going to do everything I tell you to do, whether you want to or not. That’s the best way to help you, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Yes,” I repeated. Everything he’d said made sense.

“Great,” Dr. Williamson said. “Remember, this is what you want.”

“Of course,” I nodded, and he began counting down from ten.

When he got to one, everything blurred away again, and I was gone.


	Chapter 3

We didn’t speak on the drive home.

Part of it was that I was embarrassed—I have no idea why I’d thought Dr. Williamson was out to get my mother. I completely trusted him, and it was obvious that he was just there to help her.

Just like he’d helped me.

That was the main cause of my quietness—I don’t know what he’d said to me—when I woke up, the hour had passed, and my Mom was beaming at me, tears in her eyes.

Ugh. Lame.

Why didn’t Mom get that I wasn’t a kid any more? Didn’t she get that she was _embarrassing_ me?

And so for the drive home, I sat and stared out of the window.

I wasn’t sulking. Mom just didn’t _get it_.

As soon as the front door was unlocked, I ran upstairs into my room, slammed the door, and turned my music up as loud as it would go.

* * *

“Tiffany, you are _not_ going out like that.”

“ _Mom_! God, you just don’t _get_ it!”

“Tiffany! I am your mother, and you cannot speak to me like that.”

I looked down at my outfit. What was Mom’s _problem_? I was wearing a thin white tank-top and a hot pink bra. The bra was pretty clearly visible under the top, but that was the _point_.

She was probably just jealous.

“I’m just going out with my friends!”

“With who? Brittany?”

“No…”

“Don’t lie to me, young lady.”

I actually wasn’t lying. For some reason, the idea of hanging out with Brittany just seemed so… _boring_. She’d probably want to sit around and talk about politics or her lame boss or whatever.

No, I was going to the mall.

Whether Mom wanted me to or not.

Instead of replying to her stupid accusation, I walked past her and picked up the keys.

“Tiffany! Tiffany, put those keys down this instant.”

Ignoring her, I began walking to the door.

“Tiffany! I am your mother, and you will do what I say. Get back here right now.”

Shocking even myself, I stepped outside and started towards the car. My mother followed me to the door, her voice getting higher and higher the more disobedient I was.

“Young lady! Get inside this house _right now_.”

As I unlocked the car, I turned to her, and mockingly said something I’d heard her say so many times in my life.

“What will the _neighbors_ think?”

Mom flushed slightly as she realized how loud she’d been, and—sure enough—turned to see the elderly couple next-door watching, bewildered.

Turning the key in the ignition, I backed out of the driveway—knocking over a trashcan in the process, the tires squealing as I zipped down the street, adrenaline pumping through my body.

* * *

“And I just feel like there’s nothing I can do to get through to her!” Mom said, tears running down her cheek. I rolled my eyes, but at the same time I couldn’t help but feel bad—after all, as obnoxiously controlling as Mom was, I didn’t really want her to _suffer_.

“That’s okay,” Dr. Williamson said soothingly, and his eyes flicked towards me for a moment. I preened slightly at his glance—I was wearing a tight strapless dress. I’d expected him to check out my cleavage, but to my surprise his attention seemed to be drawn to my legs.

I wriggled slightly, letting the tight dress ride up my thighs a little further. What was the harm in letting the good doctor take a peek at my panties?

“I’m sure I’ll be able to help you two reconnect. After all, that’s why you both started coming to me in the first place.”

_Was it?_ I asked myself, my forehead crinkling. Something about that didn’t sound right. But before I could say anything, he flipped the switch on his machine, and the thick throbbing again began to fill the room.

* * *

The ride home was again awkward, but this time I broke the silence before we arrived at the house.

“Sorry,” I said gruffly, and couldn’t help but laugh as Mom comically raised her eyebrows in shock.

“That’s something I never expected to hear,” she said, and as she stopped at a set of lights, turned to me. “Thanks, bubba.”

* * *

The next day, a headache hit me while I was at work.

My job’s pretty cruisy. I take care of the social media accounts of a local theater, make sure that mailing list stuff goes out on time, blah blah blah.

For some reason though, I’d been finding it a struggle all day. Every time I clicked through to Facebook, I’d find myself browsing my feed for an hour before I realized I hadn’t been getting any work done. Whenever I visited Twitter, I found myself wondering what Katy Perry or Taylor Swift were up to.

And going on Instagram, I found myself scrolling through endless photos of cute outfits and hot guys.

Every week I have to do an email summing up new followers, popular posts, all that boring stuff. For some reason though, I found it super hard this week—all I wanted to do was alt-tab back to Justin Bieber’s wall and see if he’d updated since I’d checked five minutes ago.

Finally I shut everything but email down, and sat down to work—that’s when the throbbing in my head started.

_If I wasn’t such a stupid bitch,_ I told myself, _I wouldn’t be having so much trouble._

The thought alarmed me, but there was something about it that really rang true. I _was_ having trouble.

_God,_ I repeated. _What a stupid bitch._

For some reason, I found the thought comforting, and kept repeating it until 5 o’clock hit and I gave up on trying to send the stupid fucking email.

* * *

“So things are getting better between you?” Dr. Williamson asked, and Mom and I nodded in unison. “No issues at all?”

Mom froze, and Dr. Williamson lowered his glasses to look at her.

“Well, Mathilda? What is it?”

“It’s…really, it’s nothing.”

“Go on,” he pressed, and Mom sighed. She couldn’t disobey him—neither of us could.

After all, he was just here to help.

“I found her crying the other day.”

“ _Mom_!”

God. She was so _embarrassing_.

“I think it’s her job. I told her when she started it would be too stressful—she works herself too hard. She’s so young, and it’s not like she needs the money. A girl her age can easily live on the allowance I give her…”

My head began to swim. Something about what Mom was saying totally sounded wrong.

_You’re probably the one getting it wrong, idiot._

I didn’t say anything. The voice in my head was right.

_Fuck you’re stupid._

“Hmmm,” Dr. Williamson said, nodding thoughtfully. “That makes sense. Maybe it’s time for Tiffany to admit that a job is too much stress for her. How about it, Tiff? Feel like throwing the towel in?”

Quit? Quit my job? But…I’d been there for years now.

No, that didn’t add up.

_Stupid bitch._

If I quit, how was I going to afford to move out?

_Dumb-head. How are you going to move out? You can barely take care of yourself._

But I needed a job. I couldn’t just…couldn’t just…

I realized my breathing had grown ragged. Then Dr. Williamson flipped the switch of his machine.

As the room began to swim, my breath grew calm, and I knew everything would be fine.

Dr. Williamson knew what he was doing.


	Chapter 4

I think my boss was really weirded out when I turned in my resignation.

It was hard to tell though—he was already kinda surprised by my outfit when I walked in.

My job was at a theatre, not like a fancy office or whatever, so no one ever wore business-wear or anything like that. But I guess I’d never actually come into work wearing a short pleated skirt, knee-high socks and a cut-off T-shirt before.

His eyes kept darting between me and my resignation letter. I’d gotten Mom to help write it; she knows the kind of thing that grown-ups want to read in those kind of letters.

Honestly, she wrote most of it. I signed my name at the bottom tho, when she was done.

“Well, uh,” he stammered when he was done. “We’re going to miss you, Tiffany.”

I don’t think he even noticed that he licked his lips while saying that.

“Call me Tiff,” I said with a smile, and he nodded in response.

Before I left, I couldn’t help but give him a big hug. He was almost thirty, and so I guess he’d always been a bit like a father-figure to me.

* * *

I was so glad when I got home. No job, no school, no obligations. It was like an endless summer holiday—I could do whatever I wanted!

I spent most of my time on my phone, seeing what everyone was up to on Facebook. I got a bunch more followers on Instagram (mostly guys) when I started posting more selfies—some of them were pretty cute, so I started following them back.

Without any reason to leave the house, I basically stopped getting dressed. For some reason I had hardly any colorful underpants, and so I spent the money I’d been saving for a broker on getting new panties and bras, and basically just wore those around the house.

Mom disapproved, of course, but it felt like Mom disapproved of _everything_.

Ugh. She just had _no_ idea.

No matter _what_ I did, Mom would lecture me for it. She caught me sneaking into her liquor cabinet once and I got the longest, most boring lecture ever.

Me and Britt sort of fell out of contact. One day while I was at the mall, I found a group of girls who I _really_ click with though. Kate, Ella, Lily…I was walking past when they stopped me to say that they _loved_ my outfit (I was wearing fishnet stockings, a tight pink t-shirt and the cutest pair of denim shorts).

The four of us really got along, and we’ve been hanging out a bunch. Sometimes I’ll pick them up after they’re done at school (they think it’s soooo cool that I have a car—I haven’t told them it’s my Mom’s) and we’ll just go somewhere and hang out. Two of them have boyfriends; I’m super jealous. One of them is a high-school kid like them, but the other is a freshman in college! So cool.

Sometimes we’ll hang out at mine, and Mom will totally embarrass me by hovering around, like she wants to chat or try to hang out with us or whatever.

Ugh. She’s the worst.

The first time I had everyone around, Mom came up to me after they left. I was fully expecting her to tell me that I couldn’t have them around or that I had to clean up her makeup after we finished using it, but to my surprise she just wanted to tell me how much she’d liked them, how much she’d enjoyed seeing me spend time with people my own age.

“Thanks, Mom,” I said, surprised by her reaction.

“That’s okay,” she said, and pulled me into a tight hug.

If there’d been anyone else around, I would have squirmed and tried to get away, but since it was just the two of us…it was sort of nice, y’know? I put my head on her shoulder, and it was like I was thirteen again.

“I love you,” she whispered, and I smiled despite myself.

“I love you too.”


	Chapter 5

It was on the drive home from another session with Dr. Williamson that I put my finger on it.

God he’s good. He’s just so _helpful_ —you’d think that someone as old as Dr. Williamson (he must be like, 80) wouldn’t know anything about being a teenager, but somehow he just _gets_ it.

I’m so glad Mom and me found him. We really needed it.

Anyway, it was after another one of his sessions that I worked out what had been stressing me out lately. I mean, my life is pretty stress-free; when I’m not laying around in my bra and panties, I’m taking selfies for Instagram or going to the mall with my besties.

We do a lot of shopping. Mom lets me borrow her credit card (well, she doesn’t yell at me _too_ much when I steal it out of her purse, anyway) and so sometimes I buy clothes for my friends as well. I’m so glad I met them.

_Anyway_ , so the fact that I was stressed at all was pretty weird. I’m more used to being bored than worried, y’know?

But on the way home, I worked out what had me all frazzled:

Mom.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t exactly sit around all day stressing about my mother’s well-being. God, how lame do you think I am? But the fact is, I knew she wasn’t supes happy, and I think I’d worked out why.

She was lonely.

Now, this isn’t Clueless—I wasn’t about to go around setting up every middle-aged sad-sack I knew. But it was my mother, and so I couldn’t help but wonder if there was anything I could do to help.

I was literally in the middle of asking myself exactly that when Mom spoke up, and…I mean, it was almost weird. Like she could read my mind or something.

“Tiff,” she said hesitantly, without taking her eyes off the road for a second. “How would you feel about giving me a makeover?”

I bit back the sarcastic retort that I normally would have relied with, and replied softly.

“Sure thing, Mom. We’re going to get you totally babeing.”

* * *

I may have been a bit generous with that response. I mean, my mother is a billion years old—how babeing can you really get, when there were literally dinosaurs around at your birth?

I’m exaggerating, but not by much.

By the time we were done, I was starting to regret volunteering so enthusiastically. I mean, I did what I could—I used more than half a dozen different makeup colors—but what looks rocking on someone my age doesn’t necessarily work on an…older woman.

The end result looked like exactly what it was—a middle-aged woman trying desperately to recapture the youth she could barely remember.

I turned to Mom to apologize, but to my surprise, she was _beaming_.

“Wow,” she said, her eyes aglow. “Tiff…this looks _amazing_. You’ll have to show me how you did all this.”

“Mostly from tutorials on Youtube,” I mumbled, blushing slightly. I mean, I thought she looked more like Amy Pohler from Mean Girls than anything, but hey—as long as she was happy, right?

“Now,” she said with a saucy grin. “How about you lend me some of those clothes I’ve been paying for?”

“Uh…”

“No time for gawping, young lady. Lead the way!”

* * *

The next hour and a half were _the_ most awkward and embarrassing moments of my life. No, scratch that—the most awkward and embarrassing ninety minutes of _anyone’s_ life, _ever_.

I just sat there, cheeks burning red, desperately wishing I could just melt through the floor or be teleported to another planet or—ideally—learn that I was _adopted_ , while Mom tried on every outfit I’d bought over the last few weeks.

Here’s the thing: if an old fat guy wears a dress, no matter how nice the dress is, it’s not going to look good on him, right?

And so all the clothes that me and the girls had carefully picked out to suit _me_ …on Mom, they just made her look like a desperate tramp.

A desperate, slutty, trying-WAY-too-hard older woman.

But worst of all, I couldn’t say _anything._

“Looks great,” I said through the most forced grin you’ve EVER seen.

I mean, what was I supposed to do? Tell her she looked awful? She would have been _crushed_. And so for almost two hours, I sat there and nodded awkwardly through the worst fashion show you’ve ever seen.

I dunno what was wrong with Mom—it was almost like the _more_ slutty the outfit made her look, the happier she was with it. She put on this pink tank top thing I have—it cuts off just below my tits, and shows off my midriff.

On me, it looks _awesome_. I’ve worn it out a few times, and I’ll tell you, the guys who stare at me while I wear it are H-O-double-T _hott_.

When my Mom wore it…ew. I guess her tits are bigger than mine, but that’s not always a good thing, y’know? It looked like she was trying to find herself a second husband, but with absolutely no standards.

And when she paired it with a pair of dark purple gym shorts that even _I_ would think twice about wearing out of the house, I wanted to be sick.

But Mom? Mom was _thrilled_.

And so I smiled and nodded through awful outfit after awful outfit, and when she made a small pile to “borrow”, I didn’t have the energy to object.

My mother walked out of my room with a pile of clothes meant for teenagers with hot, young bodies—like mine.

If that’s what she was going to be wearing on her dates, I dreaded to see the kind of man she’d attract.


	Chapter 6

I was watching TV when it really hit.

Maybe it was the cute guy on the show I was watching, maybe it was just that I had basically nothing else to do, maybe it was just hormones…whatever it was, I was suddenly juicier than I could ever remember being.

I glanced around the room—I probably should have done a more thorough check to make sure that Mom wasn’t around, but frankly I was too turned on to even care. We’d just gotten back from another appointment, and so Mom probably wasn’t going to be out of the bathroom for another hour or so. Every time we go and see Dr. Williamson, Mom does her weekly grooming straight after.

Believe me, I wish I _didn’t_ know that. Your own mother asking advice about the best way to keep herself smooth…down there…is the last thing you _ever_ want to hear, trust me.

Fortunately I was lounging around in nothing but a pair of orange hipsters and matching bra, so there was nothing to stop from reaching down and slowly stroking the outside of my panties.

My entire body shivered at that first touch. _God_ it felt good. Another quick glance assured me that I was alone, and soon two fingers made their way past the band of my panties and were soon slowly stroking up and down my wet slit.

The credits began to roll as my first orgasm shook my entire body, but I didn’t stop stroking until another five episodes had passed and it was time to change the DVD.

* * *

“Mom!” I cried out. “Doorbell!”

As I heard my mother’s footsteps approaching, I quickly pulled my fingers away from my wet kitty. Ever since that first time in front of the TV, I’d been unable to keep my hands away from my privates. Whether I was watching something, scrolling through social media, or just hanging out in my room, I was always playing.

I guess it’s the…what did Dr. Williamson call it? The “teenage libido”.

Changing body and all that.

My brow furrowed slightly at the thought. Something about that wasn’t right, but before I could really think about what it was, the doorbell rang again.

“ _Mom_!”

“I’m coming,” she cried out. I felt a pang of guilt—I knew how excited she was about this date. She’d been primping herself for like ten hours, just getting ready.

I’d assured her fifty million times that _yes_ , her tits looked _fine_ in the black top that she’d picked out. I say “top”—it was more like a corset. It had looked great on me, and of all the outfits that Mom had “borrowed”, it was defs one of the ones that looked least worst on her.

Her bigger racked definitely help. Plus the corset nature of it was very slimming. Mom didn’t desperately need that, but…well, she didn’t have my metabolism, so she needed all the help she could get in that area.

I sound like I’m being a dick—I’m not trying to be, it’s just…well, Mom wasn’t a teenager like me, so I dunno why she felt like she had to dress like one.

Underneath the corset top she was wearing basically a pair of black panties, and then black socks that came up to above her knee. If it wasn’t for the upbeat, colorful makeup that I’d helped her with, she wouldn’t look out of place in a strip club.

Her white heels clacked down the hall as she rushed to open the door.

“Tiff!” she said, her nervousness apparent in her voice. “Come and say hi to Buck!”

With a sigh, I stood up, slipped on a pair of flip-flops and made my way to the front door.

Ew.

No, seriously.

_Ew._

Buck looked like the worst kind of redneck. He was missing at least a billion teeth, his eyes were red, like he’d been drinking, and his thick stubble wasn’t, like, George Clooney stubble. It was more like…I dunno, Bad Santa stubble.

_Ew._

As I bounced into the hallway, he stumbled back slightly. Normally I’d be all about the attention, but coming from this guy I just felt _gross_. His eyes slowly travelled up my body—pausing at the wet patch at the front of my panties, lingering for an uncomfortably long time at my tits—and finally resting on my face.

“Jesus,” he said, and (as if someone had challenged him to be even _more_ gross) spat into the garden. “This your girl, Margaret?”

“Sure is!” Mom said, not even phased by the fact that the creep couldn’t remember her name. She was positively _glowing_ at how much Buck the Fuck was enjoying the sight of her daughter.

_Ew._

“I’m gonna go,” I mumbled, and without looking back, I could tell that Buck’s eyes stayed on my ass the whole way down the hall.

* * *

Mom came back like…half an hour later? I dunno what old people do on their dates, but I’d expected them to go and see a movie or something.

Nope.

Maybe she’d clued into what a perv he was, and dumped the creep?

The car pulled into the driveway, and I sat up, panicked. I’d taken advantage of Mom’s absence to pull up some porn—not that I really needed it, lol, but I felt like being _naughty_ , y’know?

I quickly erased the history on Mom’s computer, but before I could run back to my own room, I heard her coming up the stairs…

…and she wasn’t alone.

“Tiffany?” she called out, and she sounded waaaay too happy considering she’d probably just spent half an hour fighting off Buck’s wandering hands. I froze, not sure what to do. If I walked out of her room now, I’d have to explain why I was in there (and I did _not_ fancy Mom learning that I knew how to find porn)— _and_ I’d have to talk to that creep Buck.

Nope. That wasn’t happening.

Instead, I ducked into the closet. I knew Mom wouldn’t be getting changed, not in front of a virtual stranger, so I was pretty safe. Hopefully she’d see him out and I’d be able to sneak out once she’d disappeared.

“Tiffany?”

I closed the closet door—just in time, too. I could hear Mom and Buck coming into the bedroom. They must be…

No.

No, it couldn’t be.

Oh Jesus fuck, _no_.

“She must have gone out,” Mom whispered, in what I can only assume was an attempt at a seductive tone.

“Pity,” Buck belched. “She’s a piece of work, isn’t she?”

“You’re so naughty!” Mom giggled, as I mimed putting one finger down my throat. _Blech._

“Now,” he grunted, “let’s see what you look like out of that little black number.

“Oh, Buck!” Mom said again, throatily.

Unable to believe what I was hearing, I pushed the closet door open—just a crack, just enough to see what the _fuck_ was happening.

Buck was crudely groping my mother’s prominent tits, as she tried to wriggle out of the slutty black number she’d randomly decided to wear to her date that night.

And—based on the look on her face—she was _loving_ it.

No. No, this couldn’t be happening.

I slumped back in the closet, trying to be as quiet as I could. I just couldn’t understand what was happening. Mom couldn’t be…could she?

With _him_?

The sounds coming from my mother’s bed were a pretty clear indication of what was going on, but just to be sure I poked my head out.

_Ew._

All I could see was Buck’s hairy ass, crudely pumping up and down on my mother. It looked like she’d only managed to partially remove the corset before Buck ran out of patience and shoved his short, probably-smelly cock into her snatch.

This couldn’t be normal. Could it?

Last time I’d thought my Mom was acting out of the ordinary, I’d been proven completely wrong. Maybe this was something similar.

Maybe…maybe this was just how grown-up dating worked. It wasn’t like me and my besties, where the guy has to at _least_ be a hottie before we’ll let him slip a finger in.

Maybe once you hit a certain age, it wasn’t about _who_ you were dating, it was just about the fact that you _were_ dating.

Maybe Mom was just as horny as I was, and she was using Buck to get off—like I’d been relying on my nimble fingers.

…maybe some day, I’d be doing the same thing.

“No,” I whispered under my breath. “No, no matter what—I’ll never date someone like Buck.

“I’m going to stay 15 forever.”


	Chapter 7

I sat in the closet for what felt like _hours_.

Not even exaggerating. It literally felt like hours. Mom and Buck fucked for maybe half the night…and I was forced to sit there in the closet and watch.

Well, I guess I wasn’t forced to watch. But there was nothing else to do, and once I got over the shock (and the ick-factor)…I’ve got to admit, it was sort of interesting watching Mom get used like a slut.

_Not just _like_ a slut,_ I realized. My Mom _was_ a slut—she’d known this guy for what, 40 minutes before bringing him home and letting him fuck her in like ninety different positions.

I even rubbed a few out myself, just watching them. I know, I know—it’s not like I was _into_ what I was watching, but I’d been so worked up when I was interrupted…and people fucking are people fucking, even if it is your tramp of a mother and the rando that she brought home to do her in the ass.

(Yeah, he did her in the ass. _Gross._ I was so disgusted by it, I almost couldn’t cum while watching.)

Finally, I saw my opportunity to sneak out of there—Mom wanted to be done doggy-style ( _double_ -ew) and soon her face was pressed up against the mattress as Buck pounded her from behind.

Neither of them were facing the closet, so I took that opportunity to sneak the fuck out. Unfortunately, Buck caught me—thank _god_ he didn’t say anything, just gave me the biggest, sleaziest wink, and then stared straight at my bare pussy as he continued fucking my mother from behind.

Oh, yeah—my panties had been getting in the way as I played with myself, so I’d slipped them off, and only realized I wasn’t wearing them when that fucker Buck made eye-contact with my shaven cunt.

Obviously I wasn’t going to go back for them, so I just glared at Buck as he started to cum, then took advantage of the distraction to get out of there before he could say anything.

* * *

I never saw Buck again, thank gawd. Although, admittedly, my mother’s next few dates weren’t much better—“Freddie”, “Stevo”, and a guy who literally just went by “Deep Fried”. He was a hundred times bigger than me and Mom put together…didn’t stop her from fucking her, of course.

She fucked all of them. I didn’t even hide in the closet every time—sometimes I could hear them from my room, the noises of their grunting and my mother’s moans travelling through the walls and into my ears as I played with myself.

Mom never said anything about the panties, although I did catch her wearing them at breakfast one day. She really has _no_ idea about what’s appropriate—it’s fine for me to run around in my underwear, but when _she_ does it, it’s just _gross_.

Sometimes the guys stay the night, sometimes they leave after cumming inside my mother a few times. Either way, Mom always makes sure that they met me—I dunno why. Maybe she knows that her disgusting body isn’t going to get them hard, and they needed a piece of jailbait like me to get off to.

I hope I never end up like her. That’s what I’m most afraid of, and it’s the thought that keeps running through my head as I rub myself: an image of my mother, getting pounded by whatever sleazebag she’s brought home that night.

I never want to turn into that.


	Chapter 8

“Hey Niko,” I said, trying to act like I didn’t know he was staring directly at my tits.

He was a sleaze, just like the rest of them. But something about this guy was different, somehow—he’d been around for a week or two.

A new record for Mom. Maybe she was settling down?

“Hey kiddo,” he grunted. I actually don’t think he’d bothered to learn my name—as far as I was concerned, I was just a piece of eye-candy. I’d heard him refer to me as “your slut daughter” to my mother a few times, which was _totally_ not fair. I wasn’t a slut—I’d never even had sex.

You can’t be a slut when you’re a virgin, right? I made a mental note to check that with Lily or Kate next time we hung out. I learned so much from my friends—I was just glad that they’d decided to take me under their wing, and teach me all the stuff that older girls know.

“Get me the milk,” Niko ordered, and a shiver ran down my spine.

Don’t get me wrong—I am _not_ turning into my Mom, but I’m starting to see what she sees in some of these guys. There’s something weirdly hot about being ordered around, you know?

My Mom is a total slut, and so of course there’s something about that which attracts guys who want to order her around. Probably the fact that she’ll do literally whatever they ask.

Ugh. My mother is the _worst_. But yeah, like I said, I can sort of see the appeal. Even being given basic instructions like “hold the door” is enough to send a bit of a thrill through my body.

Last week, a mall cop told me to hurry up ’cos the store was going to close soon. I spent like a week thinking about that while I was stroking myself.

But I’m not turning into my Mom. I am _not_.

The milk was on the bottom shelf of the fridge, so I bent over, knowing that Niko would be checking out my ass as I did. The thin, pink, checkered fabric would be stretching across my butt-cheeks, and I was sure that…—

“Ow!”

As I was fetching the milk, I _might_ have wiggled my ass just a little. Nothing wrong with that, right? But apparently Niko had taken it as an invitation to reach out and spank me.

Not hard, just a light slap. But _still_. It was totally unacceptable.

“Thanks,” he grunted, and I left the room as quickly as I could, my cheeks blazing.

How dare he. How _dare_ he. I was going to go and tell Mom, straight away.

I mean, just as soon as I’d gone to my room and gotten off a few times.

No, this was an emergency. Once. I’d get off once, just to calm down, and _then_ I’d tell Mom.

* * *

“I don’t know what you want me to do,” Mom said with a shrug. “Niko’s the man of the house now—if he decided you needed to be spanked, there was probably a good reason for it.”

I stared, gobsmacked.

“But Mo-om!”

“I’m sorry honey, but…”

She trailed off, and I looked up from my feet to see what was wrong. There was a look of real worry in her eyes, and a slightly desperate tone when she continued.

“I don’t want to lose him,” she said, and a single tear slowly made its way down her right cheek.

_Really?_ I thought to myself. _Him?_

I didn’t say that, of course. I love my Mom, and if this was important to her, I’d do whatever I could.

We stood in silence for a few seconds, and then finally I nodded.

“Thanks,” Mom said, a hint of hope in her voice. She reached out and adjusted my bra—the right strap had somehow gotten twisted. “You’re my little angel.”

“I love you, Mom,” I mumbled, and she pulled me in for a hug. Her skin was warm against mine, and I found myself relaxing into the hug.

“Well well well,” a gruff voice said, and I rolled my eyes. Niko had found us. “What have we got here?”

“Nothing,” Mom said brightly, and I tried not to shudder as his hand made its way down to her barely-covered ass. More and more, Mom had taken to wearing nothing but a bra and panties around the house.

I couldn’t stop myself from shuddering when Niko’s other hand reached down and grasped mine as well. But, remembering the conversation I’d just had with Mom, I didn’t say anything. I just grit my teeth, and tried to remember what Niko’s hand felt like on my ass, just in case I wanted to think about it later that day when I got off.

* * *

After that, the daily fondling just became something I had to put up with. Slaps on the ass around the kitchen, a quick grope whenever we ran into each other in the hallway, his hand on my leg for the whole trip every time I got him to drive me to the mall.

And whenever I was playing with myself in the living room, Niko would come in and just start touching my tits, like he owned them or whatever.

The worst was probably the shower—it was like he was listening out for me in the mornings, cos whenever I got in the shower, he’d join me a few minutes later. It’s not a big shower, and so I had to keep soaping myself off with his hairy body pressed against mine.

Sometimes he’d get hard, and I’d feel his dick sliding around in-between my ass cheeks. Once or twice my wriggling was enough to make him cum—thank god he always got out of the shower as soon as he did, so I could wash it off and pretend it never happened, and then use the showerhead to get myself off at the memory.

What a fucking sleazebag. Aside from the fact that he was a man, I have no idea what Mom saw in him.

And don’t get me wrong—she _adored_ him. When we were watching TV, his arms around both of us, his hands casually running up and down my body, sometimes pinching my nipples just to annoy me, Mom would spend her time just staring at him, a smile on her face.

She had it bad.

Sometimes she’d get up and get him a beer, without him even asking. As soon as she was out of the room, he’d move his stupid big hands to my face, tilting it up towards him and exploring my mouth with his tongue. When my Mom got back though, he was staring back at the TV, like nothing had ever happened.

I reckon Mom wondered why my skin was flushed and I was breathing so heavily, but she never said anything.

He would get annoyed at me for the weirdest things, too. Like if I ever came while he was in the room, he’d call me a dirty whore. Actually, I might be getting that the other way around—sometimes he’d call me a dirty whore while I was playing myself, and that would be enough to make me cum. Either way, he was a real dick about it.

Worst of all were his friends though. Every week he’d have a big poker night, and of _course_ he’d get me and Mom to serve drinks. Gross. Like we were his maids!

His friends were just as handsy as he was—they would grope and fondle Mom, and she’d just have to pretend nothing was happening, like everything was normal. That’s how scared she was of losing Niko, I guess.

At first, they were waaay too scared to do anything with me. Thank god! I had spent hours imagining what it would be like if they played with my body the way they played with Mom’s, and after each and every orgasm I reached the same conclusion: that was _not_ something I wanted.

But then one day, Niko lied to them and said I was twenty-three. They didn’t believe him, but after a bit of back-and-forth (and Niko pulling out a fake driver’s license he must have got made up), they howled with joy, and suddenly I was fair game to touch during the game as well.

God. It was the _worst_. They’d ask for a drink, and I’d have to sit on their lap while they drank it. Every time I’d pass them, they’d slap me on the ass or honk my titties. And Niko would just smile while they did, acting like he owned me and Mom.

Sometimes I’d look over to Mom for help, but she’d just have this huge grin on her face, like she was proud of me, proud of herself. How could anyone be _proud_ of being used by these louts?

“Get me a drink.” “Pass the chips.” “Feel how hard you make me, darlin’.”

Most annoying of all was how wet I’d get, being ordered around all night. Sometimes I’d have to leave halfway through the poker game to change my panties. Every time I did that, Niko insisted that the wet pair be added to the pot, so every week I had to go buy new underwear…and, of course, Niko insisted on coming with me.

He had really particular tastes, and since Mom insisted I do what he say, I’d have to buy whatever he recommended. Where in the past I’d always gone with a French cut, Niko liked thongs (of course) and so soon I had nothing but thongs in my wardrobe.

Then Niko set a rule that I wasn’t allowed to wear a normal bra while in a thong, and so suddenly I was just walking around the house in half-cups, showing off my nipples to whoever was watching. It was embarrassing!

Every now and again I’d jog to the mall and consider getting some different underwear, something a bit less revealing. But my jogging outfit—a green spandex tank thong—would attract so much attention, I wouldn’t have the guts to go in, so I’d just end up jogging home again.

I couldn’t wait until I was old enough to move out and get my own place. But it really felt like that day was never going to come.


	Chapter 9

“This is going to be our last session,” Dr. Williamson said, and a soft smile appeared on his face as he saw our looks of horror.

Well, my look was of horror. Mom looked horrified, then glanced down disapprovingly at my outfit—I don’t know why _she_ was judging _me_. I was wearing a pair of tight gold shorts, tight enough to show everything ( _everything_ ) and a skimpy black top with panels revealing my midriff.

I didn’t have time to worry about that right now. All I could think was: how could we manage without him? He’d taught us so much, in such a short period of time.

No, wait. We’d been seeing him for years. Ever since I was…

My forehead crinkled as the math somehow alluded me, but before I could think too much about it, Dr. Williamson drew my attention again.

He was talking again, and we had to listen to everything he said. After all, he was a doctor. He was our doctor, and he was here to make our family whole again.

“So before we start, I have to know—is there anything that’s troubling you? Any last worries or stresses that you’d like to work on?”

I glanced at my Mom, and she looked back at me.

“No,” we answered simultaneously, and I knew it was true. I mean, my life wasn’t perfect, but nothing is.

“Good,” he said, his smile filling us with warmth. He leaned over to turn the machine on, and the room grew thick with that familiar, throbbing hum.

“I’ve taught you a lot throughout these sessions,” Dr. Williamson said, even as the room began to fade. “Now, I’m going to put it all together…”

I couldn’t wait.

* * *

“Where have you two been?” Niko said when we got home, and Mom and I shot each other a guilty look.

“Shopping,” Mom said nervously, and Niko loomed over her menacingly.

“Oh yeah? Show me what you bought?”

Mom just stammered in reply, and Niko raised his voice.

“Don’t lie to me, whore!”

Mom’s eyes dropped to the floor, and Niko kept yelling at her, abusive words streaming from his mouth while Mom whimpered like each one was a slap. Finally, when he was done, he nodded.

“Never lie to me,” Niko growled, and Mom nodded, tears streaming down her face. He turned to me and raised one eyebrow, and I ran up to my room and threw myself onto my bed. Laying there, face-down, I reached up my skirt and began playing with myself.

_Mom deserved that,_ I reminded myself, as my fingers quickly became slick with my juices. _She’s nothing but a stupid, dirty slut._

_Just like you._

* * *

After that, Niko would go off at Mom for the slightest thing. It didn’t stop her from totally adoring Niko, of course. It was just that she could never quite do anything right.

That made sense. She was nothing a stupid bitch who couldn’t keep her legs closed, after all. Niko was trash, and Mom wasn’t even good enough for _him_.

_And you’re her daughter,_ I reminded myself, often while I was bringing myself off with my own hand. _You’re just as worthless. You’re just a dumb teenage bimbo, lucky that Niko lets you live in the same house as him._

To his credit, Niko never laid into me like he did Mom. He came close a few times—sometimes when he’d find me in his bedroom, masturbating on the bed where he’d just fucked my mother a few hours ago. Most of the time he’d just watch, instead.

Sometimes he’d mutter some insults, but not with the same ferocity that he’d yell them at my mother—I think he just liked how much they accelerated my orgasms.

One morning, when Mom was out (and I think Niko was a little drunk) he started slurring about my outfit.

“What kind of a slut dresses like that?” he slurred, and I didn’t have an answer for him. “God, you’re worse than your mother—at least she isn’t a fucking cock tease. ’Slong as I’ve known you, you’ve been dressed like trash, with your slut titties and your slut cunt.

“Well you know what? You aren’t going to be a cock tease any longer. Get over here.”

Before his words had even registered, I was obeying him. How could I not? He was the man of the house.

“Your mother told me to keep you in line, wha’ever the fuck that means. So I’m going to keep you in lines. On your knees, slut.”

I obeyed, wet before my knees even hit the tiled floor.

“You ever sucked a cock before?”

I shook my head, eyes wide.

“Pffft. ’Sif. Yer gonna suck your first one now.”

Niko’s words bounced around my head. I couldn’t believe what he was saying—I mean, I knew I was trash, but Lily had assured me that I wasn’t a slut, not as long as I’d never had a cock in me. So how could I have slut titties and a slut mouth?

And why did that description of them feel so _right_?

I stared in awe as Niko pulled out his erection. I’d seen it before, of course—mostly in the shower, but sometimes when he was in a good mood, he’d flash me in the hall.

And, of course, I’d watched him fuck my mother a few dozen times now. They’d never known I was there—hiding in the closet, or watching them go at it in the kitchen from the door.

But I’d never seen it so _close_ before.

“Suck it, bitch,” he said, and a wave of moisture flooded my panties at the command.

Maybe because he was drunk, or maybe because I wasn’t very good at it (which made sense—I felt like such a worthless piece of human garbage) but it took Niko a long time to cum, longer than he’d ever taken with my mother sucking his cock. I tried to emulate what she did, and to my credit, Niko seemed to be having a good time.

He pulled my tits out of my half-bra as I blew him, and played with them, mumbling stuff like “Dirty little slut” or “cocksucker”.

I _was_ , I realized. I’d now officially had a cock in me, so I was a slut, and despite being useless at it, I was trying as hard as I could to suck his cock.

It felt like a lifetime passed as I blew him, but after he grabbed my hair and started roughly fucking my throat, it didn’t take long for him to cum.

I was all ready to swallow it down, but apparently Niko didn’t even think I was good enough for that. He pulled out of my mouth, and sprayed his seed all over my half-naked body.

It was probably a good thing that he didn’t cum into my throat, because I was such a stupid slut, I would have fucked _that_ up as well—as it was, I started choking on my excess saliva, and then when I felt his hot cum landing on my skin, got so turned on that I think I blacked out for a second.

“Don’t wash that off until just before your mother comes home,” he grunted, and threw my bra on the floor for me to crawl after.

As soon as he left the room, I couldn’t stop myself from reaching down and playing with myself.

“You waste of space,” I breathily reminded myself. “You dirty cocksucking slut. You’re not enough good enough to swallow down Niko’s seed.”

The realization that I was getting off on our dirty kitchen floor was enough to send me over the edge, and that morning I came harder than I’ve ever cum before, thrashing around on the floor as my Mom’s boyfriend’s semen dried on my skin.


	Chapter 10

After that, blowing Niko became a regular thing. Whenever Mom was out of the house, he’d push me to my knees and cum either into my mouth or onto my exposed tits. Sometimes he’d take photos and tell me to put them up on Facebook or Instagram—I started getting flagged pretty regularly, but I worked out the rules. As long as I didn’t actually show nip or cum, I was fine. Most of my updates were already of my outfits, my cleavage, but once I worked out the rules, Niko started taking photos of me on my knees, my mouth open expectantly, my hands covering my tits—but no actual cum on my face.

Once I got better at it, he didn’t even wait for Mom to leave the house. He’d send her into the kitchen to start getting dinner ready, grab my hair, and lead me to his cock. One time, she came into the room before I’d even had a chance to swallow his cum.

She didn’t suspect anything, of course. Stupid whore.

One day, I was laying on the couch in the latest set of underwear that Niko had told me to buy (a pair of black crotchless panties and bra that somehow went _around_ my tits without actually covering anything) when he stumbled in, and just spent a few minutes staring at me.

I pretended not to notice, but I probably gave it away the fifth time I “innocently” stretched. Niko may have been a creep, but he was still a guy…and honestly, it was pretty impressive that he thought a cheap little tramp like me was worth looking at.

“Okay,” he grunted, and I was on my knees in front of him before he’d even finished unbuckling his belt.

To my surprise, he picked me up (by the hair—ow!) and threw me back on the couch. Before I could even say anything, he was laying on top of me, his weight trapping me on the couch.

I just lay there, stunned, as his tongue pushed into my mouth. I could smell the alcohol on his breath, and my eyes widened as he reached down to position his cockhead at the entrance to my pussy.

Before he’d come in I’d just gotten off, and so I was still wet as he pushed forward, meeting no resistance.

I lay there passively as Niko fucked me, taking my virginity. I don’t think he even realized what a big occasion this was—as far as he was concerned, I was just a wet hole for him to get off in.

He did all the moving, thrusting in and out as I just shivered beneath him, getting wetter and wetter the longer he fucked me. Finally, he began to shudder—a sign that I recognized from two months of going down on him as a sign he was getting close—and my pussy pulsed with my own orgasm as he unloaded inside me.

Neither of us said a word as he got up. I followed his gaze to see that my pussy was dribbling his cum onto the couch.

“Better clean that up,” he grunted, and left the room. After bringing myself off twice more, I did what he said. I couldn’t get the stain off the couch, but I knew it wouldn’t matter—Mom had long since stopped worrying about those.

* * *

The next morning, Niko came and joined me in the shower, as he often did.

“Not a little cocktease any more, are ya?” he grunted, and I didn’t say anything as he lifted me up slightly so he could fuck me standing up, just held onto the door for support.

That night, after Mom had gone to bed, he came into my room and fucked me again. I bit into my pillow so I wouldn’t scream as I came, and when I was done, he gave me a light slap on the ass and left without a word.

Over the next few weeks, Niko must have blown his load into me at least two or three dozen times. By the end of the second week, he didn’t even try to hide it from Mom any more. She just sat there and watched, a sad look on her face, as I climaxed around Niko’s cock again and again.

I think it was good for them though, like…as a couple. Niko started shouting at her less (only when she _really_ deserved it). I don’t think I ever saw them fucking again after that, although he’d sometimes let her suck his cock.

No, whenever Niko wanted to cum, he’d just find me—whatever I was doing—and slip into my wet pussy. After a while, it sort of felt nice—like, at least I was better than my Mom. I was a mostly-worthless cum-bucket, but Mom wasn’t even that. My young pussy was fresh enough to be used; hers was totally worthless.

Well, not totally.

One year for the SuperBowl, Niko had a bunch of his friends over. Mom and I were serving, of course, and Niko had picked out special outfits just for the occasion—Mom was in a bra that actually covered most of her tits, and a matching thong, and I…

I was in a denim miniskirt and a half-top.

No underwear, but still. It felt weird to be wearing _clothing_ around the house.

It was just the guys from the poker nights, plus one or two of their friends, so everyone knew the drill. Whenever Mom and I were in the room, there were at least a few hands on us, and while the game was on I found myself being passed from lap to lap, with the guys groping my tits or sticking a finger or two in my pussy.

I must have cum at least five or six times by halftime.

That was when things really started to escalate.

“Hey Niko,” one of his mates said. “How about a blowie from your old lady?”

There were a bunch of cheers and jeers, but Niko was fairly wasted by this point, so he shrugged.

“Go for it,” he said in response. “The slut should be good for _something._ ”

There was a sudden pause, and then—before Niko could change his mind—the guy who’d asked had his pants around his ankle, and the back of Mom’s head in his hand.

She looked so _hurt_ —the man she loved had just given her away to one of his friends, without thinking twice.

“What about you?” the man whose lap I was in whispered. “Do you suck cock as well?”

I looked at Niko for approval, but I don’t think he heard what the guy said. At the question, a fresh wave of juices had dripped out of me, and I think the pulse of pussy lips around his fingers was all the guy needed.

Before I could even say anything, I’d been pushed to my knees as well, and a strange cock was in my mouth.

“Hey, check it out! Tits is giving head!”

Tits was what they called me. Honestly, sometimes I forgot that it wasn’t even my real name.

Niko looked up at this, but just laughed. After Mom and I had both swallowed a few loads, the Superbowl was back on, and everyone’s attention was back on that. My legs were shaky as I fetched everyone a new bowl of pretzels—I’d cum twice in just a few minutes, and they were good ones.

The game ended—the Patriots lost, which disappointed everyone, but Niko slurringly offered a round of blowjobs to make up for it.

“Can we fuck your missus?” one guy asked, and Niko—my mouth around his cock—just nodded.

It wasn’t long before I found a strange cock inside me as well, and when I turned to see who it was, Niko shouted at me, telling me to focus on what I was doing.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Mom struggling to take three guys at once. A few minutes later, I shared her struggle. Niko’s friends managed to make it work, and I wondered if they’d done this before.

The party didn’t end until a few hours later, when everyone had their fill and Niko sobered up enough to chase them out.

That was the first time Niko yelled at me. Like, proper yelled at me, like he did with Mom. We just sat there, two naked shivering sluts, while he verbally tore us apart and we sobbed uncontrollably. He was just so mad at us for fucking all his friends, he couldn’t control himself.

We were so lucky to have him. I was so glad that I didn’t have to grow up without a father.


End file.
