Owned By My Father

OWNED BY MY FATHER

My name is Alex Hanson. I'm 28 now and I'm taking a good look at my life as it is and also looking back to where it came from, its genesis and how things actually got to this point. At 6'5" and 220lbs with blonde hair and ice-blue eyes, just like my mother, I am what would be considered by most people to be the epitome of someone in the lucky sperm club.

My mother Penny is the daughter and primary heir to the Vanderbilt fortune that ranks in the top-25 wealthiest in the world, according to Forbes. She's 5'4", a very petite woman. As beautiful as she is, and she really is, she's also got the hardest, iciest face that you can possibly imagine when displeased, like a wicked witch ice queen from your worst nightmare.

My father Bruce is a stock-trading genius who runs his own fund. I get my size from him, but not his brown hair and grey eyes, the coldest, cruellest eyes I've ever seen. He's always pissed off at something, or someone, his current anger directed at Forbes for not listing him in the top 10 wealthiest people in the world, again, a serious ambition of his. They're not counting my mom's fortune when measuring his; if they did, they'd definitely be pushing the top 5.

Like I said, serious lucky sperm club winner. Except. There's always an exception or a but, it seems. You see, when I was 5, I was standing on the dock at one of our vacation estates in the Rocky Mountains, looking out at the lake and the mountains beyond with my sister April, a year younger than me at 4. Somehow, April fell from the dock into the icy water of the lake and drowned. I could only watch helplessly, not knowing how to swim and there being nothing on the dock that I could have thrown to her, if I had even thought to do so, something that the police who investigated mentioned in their report; the lack of any safety equipment, which was required by code.

But that didn't change the fact that April was dead. I don't really remember her, except for the way her death changed my life. You see, my father had to blame someone. Nothing was ever his fault. He never made mistakes. Since I was the only one there with April, the choice became obvious.

Before I knew what was happening, I had been shipped off to a very strict, private, military-style boarding school. I only saw my parents a few times after that until I graduated high school, always left at school with the other abandoned students when it was allowed, or being sent on some vacation when it wasn't instead of being allowed to come home. The few times that I went home, for reasons that I don't know to this day, it was anything but pleasant. They barely spoke to me. I actually prayed for the day that I could go back to my prison school, which is how I had always thought of it and still do to this day. But then I graduated and there was nowhere to send me, no more convenient reasons not to allow me to come home, short of just simply telling me to fuck off.

Like the few times that I had been home since being sent away, my parents sent a limousine to pick me up at the airport instead of one of their helicopters. It was a way of letting me know that I wasn't that important, that I'd have to endure the 11/2-hour drive to their estate in the foothills of the Angeles National Forest. When I finally got to the house, five miles up a twisting, private, gated and secured road, a sprawling 12-bedroom, 15-bath mansion with a swimming pool, tennis court, and stable, all situated on over 15,000 acres, I was nervous about what was going to follow.

I was shown to the game room by the liveried doorman where I was surprised to find my father without a jacket, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, watching as my mother leaned over the pool table to take a shot. I did a double take, not believing what I was seeing, my mother wearing a short, 1920s-style of sheath dress covered with sequins and a fringe at the bottom, and clearly no panties.

Her naked pussy and ass were totally visible. I could see the glistening pink interior of her pussy as her outer lips spread apart, her inner lips tiny and delicate with a small clit. Realizing that I was staring slack-jawed, I pulled my eyes away, almost standing at attention in front of my father, who had a sardonic smile on his face, not having missed where my eyes had been focused.

"So, you're home," Bruce said, his distaste clear at seeing me.

"Yes, sir," I replied crisply, having to resist the urge to salute.

"You're 18 now," Bruce said.

"Yes, sir, 3 weeks ago, sir," I replied.

"That means that legally we have no further obligation towards you," Bruce said, his grey eyes cold, distant, and cruel.

Glancing over at my mother, I saw that she was just standing there watching me, her pool cue in her hand, the butt resting on the floor, no expression at all on her icy, cold face. I could now see that the front of her dress draped down to expose her entire chest down to her nipples, which were obviously jutting out against the material of the dress.

"If you say so, sir," I said, my heart pounding in my chest.

"We'd be completely within our rights to show you the door and never have to see you again," Bruce said coldly.

"Yes, sir," I replied, a sick feeling in my stomach.

"What would you do if I did that?" Bruce asked.

"Figure it out, sir," I replied reflexively, the word impossible having been literally beaten out of me in my years of schooling.

"I could also offer you an alternative, one that might be far worse in the long run," Bruce said ruminatingly.

"What do you want, Alex?" Penny asked, her voice like a little girl's, only flat, no inflection or emotion whatsoever.

"To understand," I replied, having had this conversation in my head thousands of times over the years.

"Understand what?" Bruce asked.

"Why you hate me so much," I replied, struggling to contain my emotions. "What have I done to deserve your hatred?" I asked.

"Because of what you remind us of," Bruce replied coldly.

"But it wasn't my fault," I protested.

"That doesn't matter," Bruce replied. "You remind us of it."

"And that place, that house?" I asked.

"Sold," Bruce replied.

"What do

you

want, Alex?" Penny asked again.

"To be your son," I replied, "to show you that you were wrong to send me away, to exile me to that...place, that prison."

"I don't know if your father can do that," Penny said.

"And you?" I asked, fixing my eyes on her.

"Your father's wishes are my wishes; his feelings, my feelings," Penny replied.

"What have you learned in your schooling that's at all useful?" Bruce asked.

"Useful to whom, sir?" I asked. "That's too broad and subjective a question. I studied history, philosophy, mathematics, computer programming, military strategy and history, self-defense, weaponry, and how to follow orders. I never failed to be at the top of any of my classes."

"What do you think of me?" Bruce asked. "And let me warn you, never lie to me."

"I don't lie, ever. That's something else that they beat into me in that prison. I hate you," I replied evenly. "I think that you're the cruellest person that I've ever met, including some of the ones from that prison school."

"And your mother?" Bruce asked.

"I-I'm not sure," I replied. "I wonder how she could hate me so much. I'm her son. She gave birth to me. What did I ever do wrong to deserve such hatred?"

"You were there," Bruce replied simply, coldly.

"Well, I know the way out," I said, starting to turn and leave.

"Just a minute," Bruce said. "You haven't been dismissed. Your mother wants to find a middle ground. Now

I

ask you, and knowing how you feel about us and how and why we feel the way we do about you, what do you want?"

"The chance to prove how wrong you were, that you were unfair," I replied after a moment. "That I'm worth knowing."

"And how would you do that?" Bruce asked.

"I have no idea, other than you being around me, seeing what kind of a person I am," I replied. "Give me something to do and judge me by my actions."

"We'll need to discuss this," Bruce said. "I'm a very busy man. For now, pick a room at the east end of the house. Dinner will be served promptly at 6:00. We'll talk more then," he said, turning away dismissively.

For a guy whose entire fortune and success in life had been founded on solid mathematical principles and a huge amount of luck, I found it confusing that my father could be so obtuse when it came to me. I was his only son! His oldest and only child as far as I knew! How could he be so heartless as to deliberately treat me like this for something that he had to know I was entirely blameless for?

Making certain to dress in a jacket and tie, I went to dinner, reluctantly, even though I was starving, having eaten nothing since the flight. I knew that I was about to learn my sentence, having already been prejudged.

"I see you remembered how to dress properly for dinner," Bruce grunted when I showed up precisely at 6:00, my father in a coat and tie and my mother wearing a very low-cut dress which revealed quite a bit of décolleté.

Sitting across the 12-seat, pink ivory dining table from my mother, my father sitting at the head of the table on my left, we were served by a silent, young, Hispanic-looking woman wearing a short, mid-thigh white shift along with white serving gloves.

"Your mother has asked me to be lenient with you, to give you a chance," Bruce said after almost 10 minutes of silent dining. "I have reluctantly agreed. But I am not ready to accept you or to make you feel welcome. In that I am traveling much of the time, you will be your mother's responsibility. You are to obey her without hesitation in all things. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," I replied, surprised to find that I was actually relieved, having anticipated being turfed out on my own.

"Disappoint your mother or me in any way and I'll see the back of you, forever," Bruce warned.

"Yes, sir," I replied, amazed at the anger which blazed from him as he spoke.

"Your mother will give you some basic instructions," Bruce said as he finished eating and stood up, then left without another word or a backward glance.

I sat there, watching my mother sitting back in her seat watching me.

"The first thing is that you speak to nobody who doesn't speak to you first," Penny said. "Do you understand?"

"Yes, ma'am," I replied.

"The second thing is that you hear nothing, you see nothing, you know nothing," Penny said. "Do you understand?"

"Yes, ma'am," I replied. "Confucius's Code of Conduct."

"Let me warn you, your father has had people's lives...erased who violated that principle," Penny said. "It never pays to be his enemy. He only fights to win and there are no rules except getting away with it. In light of his feelings, I don't doubt that he'd do the same to you."

"Yes, ma'am," I said, shocked at the implications of her words. My mother had just told me in so many words that my father had had people killed who pissed him off. I suddenly realized that I was in a different situation than I had thought.

"The first thing we need to do is get you a proper wardrobe," Penny said. "I have certain criteria that I expect of my personal servants. We'll go in to town tomorrow for that."

I looked out the window when I heard the helicopter suddenly rev, then saw the shrubbery being buffeted by the backwash of the rotor blades.

"Your father has to go to Geneva for a few days," Penny explained. "Do you have any questions?"

"Yes, ma'am, I do," I replied, steeling myself. "I understand that he's the way that he is, but why are you so hateful towards me?"

"Hateful! You are my son and I love you, but I am your father's...creature, in spite of my own personal fortune and the power of my family," Penny replied. "As sure as he owns this house, he owns me, as he does you. I told you, it doesn't pay to make an enemy of your father. Do what he says, act as he expects, don't ever disagree with him. The best way to survive your father is not to be noticed."

"Well, shipping me off to that prison certainly did that," I replied caustically.

"That might have saved your life! It was very difficult those first few years after...after April. I had lost my precious daughter, and my son, and was a virtual prisoner of my husband," Penny said. "I've suffered my share of indignities because of him. But I learned to be his mirror whenever he was around and that's exactly what you're going to learn to do, or else be invisible. There is no middle ground if you're to survive."

"Do you love him?" I asked.

"That's irrelevant," Penny replied, then laughed, for the first time, the beautiful face that I remembered finally shining through the frigid mask that I had seen her wearing up until that moment. "I give him what he wants, whenever he wants it, and he allows me to live as the most luxurious prisoner in history."

"Maybe I'd be better off on my own," I said.

"Maybe, but that would be impossible if it wasn't what

he

wanted," Penny said. "He's decided that you can stay, therefore you will stay. If you tried to leave against his wishes, he'd find you. And punish you. I've seen him ruin the best of men because they decided that they didn't want to work for him anymore or do things his way. You must never do anything that could be construed as crossing him. I can't emphasize that enough. Do you understand?"

"I'm not afraid of him," I declared.

"Then you learned nothing in all these years," Penny sighed, "because there's nobody on this planet that you should be more afraid of. Please, do not be foolish when it comes to disappointing or crossing your father."

"How much freedom do I have?" I asked.

"You can do whatever you like when I don't need you," Penny replied.

"Does that include going into town on my own?" I asked.

"It's a long walk," Penny replied. "Until your father gives his express permission, you cannot use any of his cars, certainly not the helicopters. When we go in to town tomorrow, we can see to any needs that you might have beyond my needs for you."

I was shocked the next morning when I appeared for breakfast in a jacket and tie to find my mother at the table in nothing more than a peignoir, a rather diaphanous white one that did nothing to hide the large pale nipples of her breasts.

"There are two dress codes," Penny said, her cheeks flushing slightly when she saw me staring at her when I sat down across from her, the seat at the end of the table where Bruce had sat the previous evening being left vacant, "one for when your father is here, another for when he's not."

My mouth actually dropped open when the same young Hispanic woman who had served dinner the previous evening entered to serve our breakfasts, wearing an identical peignoir as my mother, her large breasts with their big dark nipples clearly visible through the diaphanous material. But what was even more remarkable was the fact that the peignoir only came down to her hips, leaving her ass visible, as well as her shaved pussy, a fat clit bulging out from between her thick outer lips.

"Your father prefers things to be more formal, I take a more hedonistic point of view," Penny explained as I forced my eyes to my plate. "Also, there is state-of-the-art perimeter security that can be lethal. One of the pitfalls of extreme wealth is kidnapping. We'll take care of that when we go to town."

At my mother's urging, I told her a bit of what my life had been like all those years exiled in the military school, her face showing no reaction as I described some of the brutal punishments and hazing that were a constant part of that life.

"And girls, were there girls?" Penny asked.

"Yes, ma'am, but not at the school," I replied, "and if we messed with them outside of school, we had to be very careful not to be caught. It was an infraction to fraternize."

"And did you get caught?" Penny asked.

"Yes, ma'am, a few times," I replied, shaking my head.

"And you were punished?" Penny asked.

"Yes, ma'am, I was," I replied, relieved that she didn't ask any more about it.

"Change into something that you can easily change in and out of," Penny said as we finished eating, then getting to her feet, her eyes not missing my eyes widening when I saw that her peignoir was just as short as the server's and that her shaved clamshell pussy was totally visible, not that the diaphanous material of her peignoir would have hidden anything.

I was shocked when I realized that we were going in the helicopter, a 11/2-hour drive reduced to a 15-minute flight in the helicopter, landing on the roof helipad of the tallest building in town, which my father happened to own and where his offices were. Then it was down to the basement where a chauffeur was waiting, the rear door to the Bentley open so that we only needed to take a few steps from the elevator before entering the plush, white sable interior.

It was only a couple of minutes before we stopped at the first shop, where I stripped to my boxers and was measured, my mother giving instructions and directions. Three more stops, never driving for more than a minute or two between them, before we finally went into LaCirque for lunch, a lunch that included appetizers of Beluga caviar served with an iced, boutique Russian vodka, followed by a dozen oysters on the half shell which was complemented by the Krug non-vintage champagne that was served with it.

The main course was cold-water lobster served with Alaskan king crab and Maryland blue crab. By the time that they brought the dessert, mixed berries with a crème de Grand Marnier sauce, which they served with an incredibly delicate-tasting Château d'Yquem Sauternes, I was stuffed, not to mention my head was definitely feeling all of the wine. I had never eaten such a rich meal before and I wasn't accustomed to drinking anything more than a very occasional beer.

The most remarkable thing about the lunch, though, was the fact that my mother was totally normal, chatting with me like we'd been having lunch together like this forever. It was a very confusing juxtaposition from the icy treatment that I had been used to my whole life.

We were then driven for 10 minutes and stopped at a fairly secluded, black-marble-clad, five-story building with no windows, which my mother informed me was also owned by my father. There was a small brass plate embedded in the front wall which said IntelliGen. The front door was an opaque sheet of black glass with no discernible handle or lock in an entrance niche ten-feet deep. There was a black, hemispherical security bubble above the door. When Penny reached out and pressed the discrete black button to the right of the door, it silently opened inward, then closed behind us as we stepped through. My eyes widened when I saw that the black glass was at least 6 inches thick.

"Madam, it's a pleasure to see you again," a white-smocked man in his 50s said. "Everything is set up and ready for you."

We followed him to the elevator, which to my surprise descended several levels before stopping and the doors opened onto what was clearly a very hi-tech medical facility. Very curious, but saying nothing, knowing that I'd learn whatever I needed to know in its own good time, I followed down a hallway into a smaller room, a miniature operating theatre.

"Madam, nice to see you again," a surgically clad woman greeted us. "Is this young man going to be the recipient?" she asked.

"Yes," Penny replied.

"Very good," she said, smiling, her face mask pulled down onto her chin. "If you'll just undress and lay on this table on your back."

"Uh, what exactly am I receiving?" I asked.

"This will let the security systems at any of our properties recognize you," Penny replied.

"And it also acts as a locator beacon," the woman said. "I'm Dr. Jaynes. I'll be inserting the device," she said, holding up a small petri dish with what appeared to be a piece of black rice in it. "The titanium shell is non-reactive so there will be no auto-immune reaction from your system."