You have to admit you're impressed as you pull up to the house. Parking the car in the drive you head inside.
"Where the hell, have you been young miss?" A woman asks you, grabbing your arm and dragging you into the living room. Belatedly, you realise this is an act of teenage rebellion. Not sure whether to confess your true identity or not. Passing the mirror, you see the similarities between you and the other woman. Obviously your mother, she holds you in place in front of the overweight man in the armchair.
He sighs before looking at you, "Just tell me you don't have any more tattoos this time..." he grumbles.
Mortified, you stand there your midriff bare and suddenly feeling very immature, afraid and stupid. Partly as yourself, and in part as this young girl.
"Oh..." he groans, "Just take her to her room to think about it..."
With judgement passed, you're dragged from the room, and forced up the stairs. Trying to break loose from her grip. Your strength is inadequate. Your scrawny arm to weak to break 'your mother's grip'. Each escape attempt results in her shaking you. Another reminder of your new youth... and her top is absent a bra, or anything to stop you tautly jiggling inside the top.
Feeling things spiral out of control, you try to explain. Each attempt to talk, earns you a swat on your bottom.
"You're not too old to be punished..." she tells you each time.
Shocked at first, and surprised by the extent of the pain too, you stop the futile attempt for the moment. She reaches the top, and drives you into your bedroom.
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