NOTE: This story does not reflect the author's views. It is merely an exercise in certain taboo topics and fetishes. The author does not endorse these actions or attitudes.
Ever since her humiliating experience in the pool hall - being tricked and manipulated by her own daughter's boyfriend! - Heather Rutherford had hoped (unreasonably, she knew) that Kent would have been satisfied with the humiliation he'd given her. What had gone through her head that she'd ever gone against her instincts and tried to trust him? Sure, she hadn't imagined he'd actually be capable of the things he'd done that evening on the road trip, but she had always known he wasn't a great guy!
But Valerie had begged her to give him a chance, and for all her strength of will, Heather hadn't been able to pick fights with her daughter over Kent, knowing that she didn't want to cause a rift over her choice of man, especially when she knew her own tendencies to be hypocritical at times. It was astounding to her that her daughter could share her progressive views and still be so blind to Kent's charms. Then again, Heather had given them a chance at the worst possible time, and look where that had led her!
She had woken up the day after that horrid night wondering if she'd hallucinated what had happened. That is, she wondered that until she noticed the baby's pacifier gag on the bed next to her, and the writing on her body. "Honk if MAGA" written in bold letters across her large, heavy breasts, "Failed Feminist" across her rear. She'd almost screamed with rage at the sight of those words on her skin, knowing how much Kent had enjoyed writing them. She'd tried to wash out the letters with soap in the motel bathroom, but they hadn't come off.
Valerie had no idea, of course. She'd woken up late, feeling better from her food poisoning, and had cheerfully asked Heather how she'd enjoyed the night before. Kent had been as innocent as an angel, smiling and complimenting Heather on her skills at pool. Heather had found herself blushing as she'd noticed Kent's knowing smile when Valerie was distracted.
The road trip had gone on without any incident after that, thanks to Valerie's presence. Kent didn't seem to mind, though; he hadn't even made any provoking comments to Heather during the rest of the trip, and Heather was too nervous to rock the boat, remembering Kent's threat concerning the videos and pictures he'd taken of her acting slutty and silly while she'd been high.
Kent might not have done anything or said anything to Heather about her humiliation for the rest of their road trip, but they both knew that was because he didn't need to do either of those things. She was trapped now, and he had a power over her that scum like him only dreamed of having over women like her.
The only thing was that he'd done nothing with that power since they'd gotten back from the trip. Valerie and Kent continued on as they had before, as if Kent had never manipulated Heather into exposing herself, tying and gagging her with her own stolen bondage equipment, and sharing her amongst three strangers. He was as charming as possible with Heather, as long as Valerie was around.
For her part, Heather tried to avoid any alone time with Kent. She'd returned to her job as a sociology professor at Braxtby Community College, teaching classes while Kent and Valerie signed up for universities. They were also busy with their final high school semester, so it seemed like things were returning to normal.
Heather couldn't forget what had happened, though. The hazy memories of being so high on weed, of being groped and spanked and openly mocked, being tied and gagged, and then being used like she'd been, they continued to haunt her. She dreamed about it and was ashamed of herself when she woke up feeling wet between her legs. The fact that her body had taken such joy in her humiliation felt like a betrayal of some kind.
She found herself blushing whenever making eye contact with Kent as the days wore on. She sensed his secret satisfaction at having her in such a vulnerable position, even when he didn't do anything. But the fact that nothing else was happening, not even a mocking text on her phone, gave Heather a bit of hope that the worst was over.
And so, she was regaining her confidence as June was winding down. She wrapped up her Friday classes as usual, except for the last one. In between classes, she'd gotten a text from Valerie that she and her girlfriends were spending Friday night at one of their houses to celebrate the last exam being written, and she would be spending the weekend at her father's house. Valerie didn't mind; she'd be busy into the evening anyway, and she'd been invited to speak at a local election for the mayoral race. Lena Varner wasn't a close friend, but she had long admired Lena for her humanitarian work as well as her career in law for human rights. Heather had been tinkering with her speech for over a week.
All that goodwill suddenly flew out the door when she looked up to see her class stroll inside, only to see someone new join in.
Kent strolled in with a large backpack over one shoulder, looking every inch a young college student. He was wearing the same triumphant smirk he'd worn while he'd shown her the blackmail footage of that horrible night, vowing to ruin her relationships and reputation by publicizing the videos. Heather wanted to scream, to insist that he leave immediately, but she knew that this wasn't going to work. How had she fooled herself into thinking he wasn't going to humiliate her again?
As she began talking, she was aware that she was sweating, blushing, and stuttering as she tried to push through her lesson about ethics within Western society. She could see that her students noticed her flustered disposition, and when she forced herself to glance at Kent, she saw that he was enjoying himself immensely. He was sitting in the back, unnoticed by her students, and one of his hands was slipped into his pants, hidden from sight. Was he masturbating? Heather didn't think so because his arm wasn't moving. What was he doing, then? She felt herself trail off before focusing on her words again.
What was he going to do? Make a scene? Force her to teach her students his politics? She didn't want to let him get under her skin, but she couldn't ignore the hold that he had on her because of her stupid naivety. It made her angry, and even more flushed.
Finally, after what seemed like hours, she reached the end of the lesson, and tried to give a confident smile as she wished her class a pleasant weekend. All but Kent stood to gather their things, and one of them approached her. It was Samuel Jones, one of her favourite students. He was an older man in his 40s, and one of the volunteers working with Lena Varner's campaign.
"Is everything alright, Ms. Rutherford?" he asked, a look of concern on her face.
Heather desperately wanted to tell him what was going on, in the hope that maybe he could stop it somehow, but she knew it was pointless to explain. Kent was grinning at her, listening to their conversation, and he finally communicated to her for the first time. He gave a short shake of his head, grinning wider.
Heather felt herself flush harder as she answered, "No, I'm not feeling great. I must have eaten something that disagreed with me..." she said. She leaned back against the edge of her desk for support.
Samuel smiled sympathetically, "Sorry to hear that. If you want, I can tell Lena that you're sick. She'll understand if you can't be there tomorrow."
Heather almost gasped, desperate to avoid missing out on this important race, but then Kent gave a broad wink and a thumbs down from under his desk. Heather considered strangling him for a brief moment before turning back to Samuel, "I-I'm so sorry-" she began, but Samuel cut her off with a hand wave.
"-Please don't be sorry, it's okay. Thank you for all your time and commitment to this campaign, Ms. Rutherford."
