Here's a shout-out to the cool FF writers who inspired me to push out this chapter. Keep the comments coming, and thanks for reading as always.

Bulma staggered around retrieving various articles of clothing and jewelry strewn throughout her office. Her formerly coiffed hairstyle now resembled a bale of lavender hay. Vegeta had left her a hot-ass mess. Then he had the nerve to leave her spread-eagled on her desk like a scarecrow, with her arms and legs draped over both sides. How would she explain to the manicurist about the artificial nails missing from ring finger and thumbs?

"That bastard!"

Self-conscious about her destroyed underwear, she walked out with her legs pressed tightly together. Her wobbling march to the main house should have prompted the estate's flock of wild ducks to follow behind. All she needed were brown feathers and webbed feet. It was getting late, and she tried to craft an appropriate excuse for not meeting Dr. Brief at the mountain lab. She wasn't motivated to go before Vegeta's intrusion and now even more so. She rarely lied to her father, and she didn't want to this time either.

She used her speakerphone without activating the video screen. Her father usually didn't care either way. "Hi, daddy. Yes, I know I'm late. I just can't come. I know, I know. I'm sorry. I got distracted and lost track of time. I'll be there bright and early tomorrow, okay? I'll bring leftovers from dinner too. I think mom will have a good dessert, too. I love you."

Her bedroom welcomed her. She flopped on her bed to remove the remainder of her clothing - and find a new pair of panties. Steam billowed from the bathroom shower, which she eagerly ran into. The pressure from the heated water felt so good that she leaned back against the tiles, letting it flow down her midsection and between her open legs. She began to stroking one of her breasts while touching the place where Vegeta skillfully sent her body into convulsions. She panted heavily as her hand moved faster, then slower, and then faster. It wasn't too long before she shivered. The sensation was nowhere the same, but it would get her through the next few hours. She could continue the self-gratification in her bed later that night.

"What are you willing to do for me, Bulma?"

The nerve of that egotistic man galled her. From day one it had been about Vegeta and his needs, and she had no one else to blame but herself. Now his desire to control her body had infected her psyche like a brain-eating amoeba. This wasn't a card game, and she refused to be his royal flush. Her father conceded to most of her choices out of pragmatism, scientific curiosity, and survival. He kept his eye on the prize, reminding Bulma almost daily of their primary mission to help the Z-fighters keep everyone else alive. The Briefs were to keep Vegeta around so they could stay out of harm's way in the not-too-distant future. It had become the older man's mantra.

The smell of food improved Bulma's emotional state once she arrived in their giant kitchen. She slouched into her seat at the stove-top island in the center of the room. She always liked watching her mother cook. Panchy usually had one giant glass of Sauvignon Blanc ready for her on these nights, too.

"Hey mom. If you don't mind, I'll take my food later to the lounge to watch a few movies, and where's the rest of the wine? I want another glass… or maybe three."

"But why, dear?" Panchy handed her the wine and poured a glass for herself. "Is something wrong? The dinner table will be too quiet without your father. I have feeling Vegeta will gobble everything I'm making and leave quickly if you're not around, and it's too late to invite my poker partners here for dinner."

"I don't think Vegeta's choice to eat with us occasionally has anything to do with me, mom."

"Oh come now, Bulma. You're being silly. That boy likes you. Haven't you noticed that he talks to you the most?"

"Mom, please. Don't do this with me. According to your standards, any man close to my age who stands upright, has a few muscles, and can string together more than two words is a potential boyfriend. Vegeta has the manners of a…"

"I have the manners of a prince, Bulma. You honor me with such a generous compliment."

Bulma cringed, but she didn't turn around. "You know, I am sick of you sneaking up on me like that, Vegeta. It's rude."

"I certainly do not have a lock-down on rudeness compared with others I have met here. I can think of one in particular."

"Calm down, you two crazy kids," Panchy said, waving him over to sit next to Bulma. "Disagreements before meals can cause stomachaches and gassiness later on."

Vegeta stayed where he was, watching Bulma's tongue circle the rim of her wine glass. Her involuntary movement confirmed what he needed to know about their afternoon rendezvous together. He had set her body on fire - or so he thought. His conceit prevented him from thinking otherwise. Sex would come soon enough, but he wanted to finish grooming her for it. Then he could have her anytime and anyplace he wanted, until he found another woman to play with. Some of her girlfriends were attractive as well.

Already feeling tipsy from her second bowl-sized glass of wine, Bulma's speech slurred somewhat. "I've never had that issue, mom. Vegeta, on the other hand, almost killed me one day in the lab with one of his poisonous farts. I don't know what he ate, but it smelled like something had crawled up inside of him and died."

"Bulma, darling, it is inappropriate to discuss bodily functions at the table."

"Mom, you started it!" She began to giggle. "I just followed up with real-life scientific commentary."

Vegeta's entire body darkened to a shade of crimson and violet, while a serpentine string of throbbing veins crisscrossed along his temples. "How dare you! You, you, you… disrespectful, ill-mannered, vulgar little bitch! You know what I'm capable of, yet you continue to goad me!"

"Who are you calling a bitch, you little bitch?" a voice thundered.

Bulma dropped her wine glass on her lap, while Vegeta's eyes widened to the size of serving bowls. Panchy twirled her knife like a sword master, driving it down into the wooden chopping block in front of her. Onion and garlic pieces sailed into the air, falling down like snowflakes.

"See here, you spiky-haired cretin, you are living in my house, eating my home-cooked food, and sleeping on my luxurious furniture. My husband and daughter have done nothing but cater to your endless demands and colossal ego since you got here. We even had our home steam-cleaned to keep you from choking to death from a cat allergy - a cat allergy! If you call Bulma out of her name like that ever again, I'll page my husband right now to blow every machine we have to pieces!

"Mommy! Stop! Please!"

"You think I'm nutty, Vegeta?" Panchy threw her head back and laughed maniacally. "He would kill us all rather than let you extort our family like a common street thug. Threaten me or anyone else on Earth all you want, but you will get nothing! You came here with nothing, and you will die here nothing! Now get the hell out of my kitchen!"

By this time Bulma had grabbed her mother's shoulders from behind as the tiny blonde-haired woman swayed from side to side. She pointed two crooked fingers as if she were cursing him to hell.

Vegeta threw his towel over his shoulder. "Tch. That woman should be locked up somewhere, Bulma. There is something seriously wrong with her. My suspicions were correct, it appears. I will find a meal elsewhere since it is clear that I am not welcome here for now. There are plenty of animals and plants to consume in the forest."

"That's a good idea, Vegeta." Bulma nodded at the door, signaling for him to leave. "Avoid the mushrooms outside. They can kill."

Bulma's evident embarrassment over Panchy's rant satisfied Vegeta's need for vindication. Yet he also felt some discomfort over his reaction and the language he used. Fighting back like that had never been a problem for him before. It also bothered him that he felt more than just insulted. For all of their heated arguments and insults and cursing at each other, not once had he ever thought Bulma could be so mean to him - but then again, she had witnessed some of his out-sized capacity for meanness to others who crossed him. She hadn't seen anything close the worst of it, though. He had an entire lifetime of the worst. He didn't have room to criticize anyone. Her jibe at him would never come close.

Bulma silently mouthed "get out now," which he found mildly amusing despite these intrusive thoughts. He winked his eye and licked his bottom lip. She relieved that her mother didn't see his little tease before he left. The enraged woman's eyes were now fixated on the chopping knife, further frightening her shocked daughter.

"Mommy!" Bulma snapped her fingers and shook her. "Mommy! Calm down!"

Panchy's head popped up. "What is it, dear?" Keeping her eyes on her mother, Bulma moved backward to grab the wine bottle from the fridge. After she began to guzzle from it, her mother snatched it from her grip and chugged.

Panchy wiped her face with an apron and handed the empty bottle back. "How many times have I told you about sharing? I taught you better than this, Bulma. Now are you having dinner with me? Maybe there's time to invite one of my poker partners. I just don't know what I'm going to do with all this food."

"Um, yeah, I'll stay for dinner. Let me have the knife and I'll finish chopping. I'll grab another bottle of wine from the cellar, too."

Panchy smiled. "That's thoughtful of you, dear. I guess I was wrong about Vegeta. I apologize, sweetie. That was foolish of me. Perhaps you should reconsider Yamcha for a boyfriend again."

"Apology accepted, mother. I'm ignoring the rest."

The dinner was fantastic as usual. Panchy and Bulma left it to the bots to store the leftover food. Neither one of them was in good shape to do much else after the amount of alcohol they consumed together. Even her stupor, Bulma knew there would be hell to pay the following day if she didn't show up at the mountain lab. She would just have to pay then, because sleep and sobriety were more important. She felt entitled to a break before arguing again with her father about their plans.

She held herself up by leaning on the wall, sniffing and humming a song she couldn't remember the name of, but that was fine. The path to her room was dimmer than it should have been, and it was in the opposite direction from her parents' bedroom, but she would make it there. At least she was in a better mood than earlier. How much wine did she consume? The alcohol level must have been higher. No, how could she have forgotten about those sinus pills she took! Damn it. Her room seemed farther away than normal. How stupid. So sleepy. Her body leaned heavily against the wall until a sudden rush of warmth swallowed her. She soon felt light, as if she were floating in the air. Yet she also sensed sturdy support under her legs, making her felt protected as if she were still in her mother's womb.

So sleepy.

So sleepy.

The next morning she woke fully dressed and underneath the comforter on her bed. Her shoes had been removed. The bedroom window had been partially opened, which brought in fresh air, but the drapes were pulled closed enough to block high-intensity sunlight from streaming in. A giant pitcher of water had been left on her nightstand. She didn't fully remember how she arrived, and she certainly didn't recall taking off her shoes. She fell back to sleep, pulling the comforter over her head and sinking into her pillows. There would be hell to pay.

A shadow crossed beneath her door. Footsteps from the outside grew softer until they couldn't be recognized or heard anymore.