The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Parents Just Don’t Understand

by Pan

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.