(Please note, there are more fetish scenes in this chapter, so if you are not into it, please ignore this one. You can't please, all the people, all the time. Or, you could think of it, as just another way to humiliate the professor.)
Her daughter takes over
*
"What's wrong mom, you look terrible," Rebecca asked, looking anxious from the sight of her mother. She had gone into the bedroom, looking for some make-up, and found her still in bed.
"Leave me alone," Anne mumbled.
"How long have you been in bed? You stink," Rebecca admonished her, while opening the blinds. For once the roles were reversed, with the daughter moaning, about her mother moping in bed all day.
She had been lying there for two days, escaping unpleasant memories, in a deep, innocent sleep. She only left the warm comfortable pit, to visit the bathroom; even then it was in a state of semi-consciousness.
"You're a mess! You can't roll up and die because father left you," she lectured her mother. Having inherited her mother's determination and controlling nature, Rebecca wasn't going to give in easily.
She pulled back the sheets and gasped. "What? What's happened? What's this?" Rebecca demanded. The immediate reaction of shock turned to outrage. When they shopped together a week ago, her mother didn't have nipple piercings. Rebecca didn't want to look, though she couldn't help noticing something, glinting between the legs.
Anne blinked her eyes, like a mole disturbed from its tunnel, looking myopic. Anne needed to get back into a warm, comfortable, unconsciousness. She pulled her knees up and wrapped her arms around them.
"What have you done to yourself?" Rebecca demanded. It wasn't just the piercings. Her mother had been lying in bed for longer than just a day. She was outraged, by the depressed state her mother had sunk into.
"You can't wallow in self pity all day!" she scolded her. She dragged her protesting mother from the bed, and into the bathroom. "Come on, get in the bath, now! I expect you to be dressed by the time I get back," Rebecca warned.
The communications view-screen was off, when she spoke to her father. The bitch he had run off with was obviously in the room with him, and he didn't want her seen. Rebecca started out being cross with him, though inside she was angry and hurt.
He told her how they had tried to save their marriage, even trying out games, with an implant. It didn't work for him, like it did for her mother, he explained.
Rebecca was shocked on hearing this tacky news. She didn't want to think about her parents having sex, it was all too disgusting. Her anger spilled over, and she lashed out at her father, with harsh words, even swearing at the unknown woman.
Abruptly breaking off communications, she sat with arms folded, looking stern, looking like her mother. They were both at fault. How could her mother let herself be so vulnerable, when playing disgusting bedroom games?
"Oh! My! God! The piercings! She's been playing games with someone!" Rebecca screeched. Running upstairs, ready to hit her mother, she instead wailed in fear.
Anne had retreated into blissful unconsciousness, only this time, by sinking under the water. Rebecca lifted her arms, with a strength born from an emotional crisis. Anne's top half was slumped over the edge of the bath, pressing her stomach, while she retched. Water spilled from her lungs, through her nose.
She coughed and spluttered. Leaning too far over, she slithered to the floor in an ungainly heap.
"Who was it? Who did you play games with? What kind of kinky games were you playing, when you had these piercings?" Rebecca demanded, with the sound of venom in her voice, and spittle speckling her mothers face. She grabbed her hair in one hand, lifting her face close.
"I can't tell you," Anne moaned. "I couldn't stop him," she cried.
"I hope you're up-to-date with the stopper!" Rebecca grimaced.
Anne clenched her eyes tight, trying to think when she last had an injection. The girls called it the stopper, stopping pregnancy. She hadn't needed to be so careful since Rebecca was born, because her husband also took precautions. The terrible thought of becoming pregnant again, was horrendous.
She thought through the list of men who might have made her pregnant, and shuddered. She would have to inform the authorities, listing them all as possible fathers. Such information was confidential; of course it was, yet, such tasty gossip always got out.
Jean had become pregnant even after having the medication. It had been a faulty batch of medicine, not her fault at all. A certificate had to be issued before having a child, to keep the world's population under control. The parents were supervised, if it was thought they weren't responsible enough. The careful guidance ensured the child was brought up correctly.
If the pregnancy was through negligence, rather than planned, both parents had to live together, it was the law. What would she do if she became pregnant, by one of those terrible, young guys in the gang?
It would definitely be a supervised relationship, and she would have to abide by the supervisor's rules. As the father of the child, he would have a big say in how they ran their lives. Under the circumstances, the supervisor would see her as being irresponsible, and so the boy would be given a great deal of control over her.
Being under a young dropout's control, would be devastating. It would be humiliating having to submit to him; asking his permission to leave the house, and being restricted to where she could go. He might decide to purchase her clothes, and it was dreadful, imagining what distasteful outfits he would make her wear.
Would it be any better, giving birth to her uncle's child? Two of the students, from the football team, had taken her. Two businessmen, in that damn club, had taken her.
She was reminded of the horrendous machine they strapped her into. She was puzzled for a moment, wondering why she was rubbing a breast. She felt a throbbing at her crotch, beginning to feel aroused. She quickly shoved the feeling aside, repressing it.
Anne scraped herself off the bathroom floor, and limped to a screen. She breathed in a deep lungful of air, ignoring her daughter's presence. She was covered, and breathed a sigh of relief.
"You're safe, this time," Rebecca scathingly remarked. "The fact you had to look it up means you're not responsible," she told her mother. "I don't want to know who it was with, or what sordid games you played with them," Rebecca harshly stated.
"You're not playing them again," she said, quietly.
Rebecca had been looking her mother over, guessing an implant had to be somewhere in the head. While her mother was distracted, Rebecca stroked her hair, lifting it, to find the switch. It was not easy to spot, but found it at the top of her neck, looking like a mole. She pressed it firmly; no reaction. There, just above the mole, she pressed that.
