Chapter 37

I stood in my room wearing nothing but a poorly tied housecoat, having returned very late from a night of wild debauchery where two men had their way with me. It would have been clear to anyone who saw me: my hair was messy and had dried cum in it; my body stank of sex and was still leaking someone’s bodily fluids on the ground; and I was bruised, sore, and still kind of drunk. Getting caught red-handed climbing back through your window after 6:00am by your own mother, though, there was no way to talk around that.

She stood wearing a short purple nightgown by my open closet, her arms folded over her chest. In my rush to get home and my compromised state, I must not have noticed her. She may have blended in with some clothes in my closet, and I couldn’t tell the exact expression on her face. It looked like a combination of anger and disappointment. She shook her head at me.

“Well, anything to say for yourself?”

“Don’t tell Dad, please?”

She took a step closer, and my bed sat between us. I felt her eyes examining me, looking intently at my face. I could only assume I had big bags under my eyes from a lack of sleep and a worried look on my face. I wasn’t worried for myself, I didn’t care about me, I was worried for Brad.

She must have seen something. Her face softened, and her scowl disappeared into one of concern. “I won’t, baby. I thought we agreed you’d be honest with me, though. Why didn’t you tell me about Brad? How long has this been going on?”

“A while. Look, Mom, I’m exhausted. Can we do this later? I promise I’ll tell you everything, I just need to sleep.”

Mom put her hand over her mouth to stifle a chuckle. “Yeah, it looks like you had a rough night. You need to get cleaned up first. You look like hell.”

I shook my head, “It’s fine, Mom. I’ll deal with it later.”

Mom was quick to counter, “If the drying messes on your face and hair are any indications, you need a shower, baby. Come on, before your father wakes up. Trust me, you’ll feel better.”

“OK, a quick one.” I’d thought about it and figured I would probably feel better washing off a bit. I started to feel how gross my body was. I was sticky, like the floor of a movie theater on a weekend night.

I went to take a step around the bed and fell over onto it. Everything seemed to hit at the same time, as my actions from the night sought their revenge. My head hurt, my legs were sore and cramped, and all my muscles ached. I nearly threw up on the floor. I guess my body had been running on adrenaline, and the supply ran out.

Mom rushed to my side, “Are you ok?” She reached down to try to help me up, but I waved her away.

“I’m fine, I’m good. The night’s just catching up with me is all. Just give me a minute.” I lay there trying to summon enough energy to stand back up. I failed. Now helpless and pathetic, Mom had to put her arm around me to assist me to the washroom.

As she hoisted me up beside her, she couldn’t help but remark, “Ppewww, you definitely need a shower. You smell like a stripper’s ass, Jane.”

“Oddly specific,” I replied. “Something you’re familiar with?”

“Shut up,” she joked. “Let’s get you into the shower, then I can murder you.”

Mom turned the door handle and supported me as I hobbled toward the bathroom, shutting my bedroom door behind us. Walking seemed to help a bit, like when my muscles got sore after a run. I was still worried Dad would wake up any minute, and I couldn’t think of any lies that would cover this. We managed to cross the hall and make it inside. When Mom shut the door behind us, we both breathed a sigh of relief.

I sat on the toilet with the lid down while Mom turned on the water for the shower. It was embarrassing that I didn’t seem capable of taking care of myself, but Mom didn’t say anything. She just did what she could to help me. Putting her hand under the water to check the temperature, she nodded.

“Water’s good. Ok, let’s get you cleaned up.”

I stayed seated, expecting her to leave so I could get into the shower, but she just stood there. I awkwardly looked around, hoping she’d get the hint, but she didn’t seem to.

“Uh, Mom? Can you go?” finally just saying it.

But she didn’t leave. She cooked her head to the side, looking at me like I was crazy. I wasn’t crazy; I was insanely tired, but not crazy.

She said, “You’ve got nothing I haven’t seen before, and besides, we have two problems. One, you can barely stand up, and two, won’t your father think it’s strange you’re taking a shower this early and then go back to bed?”

She had a point, and I hated it. I tried to come up with another solution but couldn’t. Regrettably, nothing came to mind. It was one thing for others to see me naked, but my own mother? This was the first time since I woke up yesterday that I felt ashamed. I stood on unsteady legs, tugged on the barely tied knot on my housecoat, and let it slip down my shoulders.

I looked at my fully naked body in the mirror. Under the familiar, bright white lights of our bathroom, I could see the remnants of the night on me. Bruising around my breasts and chest, my usually pink nipples are red and sore. There looked like finger mark bruises on my hips and thighs, from someone holding too tight, and my face and hair had noticeable patches of dried and flaking cum. Worst of all, though, were my inner legs and thighs; they had light bruising, were coated with both dry and still wet cum, as well as my own lubricants. Since I could see it, so could Mom.

“My God, Jane,” she said, looking me over. “I was going to ask if you at least used protection, but clearly not.”

“Mom, I don’t feel like-”

She stopped me. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have...” she paused, looking me over again. “I’m just worried about you ... maybe Brad ... maybe we’ll talk about this later.”

I pulled back the curtain, my blurred mind taking longer to process her words. But when I realized she thought Brad was abusing me. I had to say something.

“It wasn’t ... a lot of this wasn’t Brad...” I sighed and collected my words. “We weren’t alone.”

I watched as a slow recognition crept across her face, a quiet and surprised “ ... oh...” escaped her lips. I think she realized I truly was my mother’s daughter.

I said nothing else. I struggled to lift my left leg over the lip of the tub to climb into the shower. My right leg couldn’t handle the strain and buckled. Mom managed to catch me before I bounced my head off the toilet. She pulled my one leg away from the tub and stood me up.

“Ok, stay still for a second,” she said. As she moved away I used the wall for stability. I turned my head to Mom and was shocked to see her pull her nightgown over her head and then kick off her underwear.

“MOM! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” I said too loudly.

“QUIET!” she snapped back with whispered precision. “You’ll get us both in trouble. Look, you can barely stand and the longer this goes on, the more likely your Dad will wake up. I’ll need to look like I showered too, before I leave.”

But I still had an obvious question, “How are you getting me out of here without Dad knowing?”

“How the hell should I know? I’m figuring this out as I go.”

As bizarre as it was, I couldn’t help but look at Mom’s body. For being in her forties, she looked surprisingly fit. Her breasts were bigger than mine, a C-cup and had started to droop, but not badly. Her areolas and nipples were much larger, I’d guess about two inches and a pinkish brown. Her stomach was toned and flat, much like mine, and her legs were sturdy. It was probably from walking around in heels while looking at her phone all the time for work. Unlike me, though, Mom sported a perfectly groomed upside-down triangle of hair above her slit. It was short and neatly trimmed, like a golf green, only a light brown to match her hair color. For her age, she was still a good-looking woman who could probably get any guy she wanted. I could only imagine what she looked like at my age, or when she used to go partying which I’d recently learned about.

Mom walked behind me and put her arms on my sides, just below my tits, to brace me as I tried again to step into the tub. This time with her help, I got one leg in, then the second, as she climbed in behind me. She pulled the curtain closed, and we both stood in the shower together.

Mom had her back to the shower head. She thought it would be the best way to keep me from accidentally slipping. She made me feel like an invalid, but I know she was just trying to help. She turned sideways and let the warm water splash against my sore skin. It did feel good.

“See, I told you you’d feel better. Let me get some soap.” Mom reached down and picked up a wash cloth and some liquid soap. She squirted some on and brought it to my shoulders.

“I can wash myself, you know?” I said, trying and failing to snatch the cloth from her hand.

“Can you? Lift up your arms.”

I tried, but only got them to below head height, and it hurt to do that. I don’t really know why that hurt, I didn’t remember doing anything that bad with my arms. It seemed to prove Mom’s point though, and I didn’t have the energy to fight about it. I just had to accept the awkwardness of this situation.

As she moved down my shoulders and arms, it wasn’t too bad. But it felt pretty strange when her hands returned to my chest and started shaping up my boobs.

“Ouch!” I yelped, when she rubbed a little too hard over one of my nipples.

“Sorry, honey. They’re tender, aren’t they?”

I nodded.

“Men don’t seem to know how to touch a woman’s breasts, do they? They’re always so rough, like they need to twist them off for some reason,” Mom said softly, like we were having a conversation about sandwiches or something. She just kept talking like this was normal. “ ... not like women, women know the best way to touch you ... so gently, yet so...” she trailed off, lost in a dream.

The discomfort of the conversation was only compounded by her slowly and softly washing my tits in small circles with the cloth. I didn’t know what to make of it. I wasn’t in the right headspace to analyze Mom’s ramblings, nor would I ever want to. Being felt up by my Mom while she talked about being with other women was not what I wanted to deal with at that moment.

“ ... uh, Mom...?” I asked, trying to snap her out of it.

“Yes, honey?” she seemed to catch herself, “Oh, sorry.”

She took her hands away to add more soap to the cloth while I stood there uncertain what to do. The worst thing was it felt really good; soothing even. If it had been Crystal or Riley, there would have been no way I’d have asked them to stop, but it was my Mom. She continued down my body to my stomach and then my legs.