Parents Just Don't Understand
Copyright© 2020 by Pan
Chapter 5
Mind Control Sex Story: Chapter 5 - Ever since Mathilda started seeing her new hypnotherapist, she's been treating her daughter Tiffany more and more like a teenage rebel.
Caution: This Mind Control Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Ma/ft Mult Hypnosis Mind Control Reluctant Slavery Heterosexual Fiction Sharing Mother Father Daughter DomSub Humiliation Rough Sadistic Group Sex Anal Sex Cream Pie Exhibitionism First Masturbation Oral Sex Sex Toys Tit-Fucking Voyeurism
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.
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