This story contains elements of gerontophilia, BDSM, incest, blackmail and reluctance. If you are offended by any of these issues, please read no further. Everyone in this story is aged over 18.
I should also like to thank Hatsuda for his support and editorial expertise.
"I really don't know why we agreed to take this monstrosity from your grandmother, Drew. It's an eyesore and just clutters up the house." My mother was voicing an old frustration over a pseudo-antique desk inherited, indirectly from her father, my now deceased grandfather.
I had tended to keep out of this issue, but realised that I might be able to use it. "Mum, if you really don't want it around, I'll take it to house my PC and other assorted junk."
"Done", said my mother enthusiastically, and after we'd dismantled it as far as possible, we both manoeuvred it into a convenient corner of my room.
I sat looking at the collection of drawers, desk-tops and other paraphernalia and was puzzled by an apparent inconsistency in the sizes. There seemed to be a part of the desk that hadn't been dismantled but I couldn't account for its dimensions. So I rolled around on the floor under the desk and saw what appeared to be a hidden drawer. Feeling around its edges, there was a recessed lever which, when pushed, opened the drawer with a click. To start with, this was just an amusement but reaching in, I discovered a large brown envelope addressed to my grandmother. This, in turn contained a packet of papers that looked potentially very interesting indeed. I closed the drawer and opened up the large brown envelope.
As I scanned the documents, to say that I was amazed would be the understatement of the century. There were a dozen or so letters between my grandmother, Olivia Delahunty and Rev John Prendergast. I soon discovered that these were not just ordinary letters but extremely passionate and very graphic love letters in both directions. A quick calculation told me that they would have been written within two years of my grandparents' marriage. In addition, there were two or three photographs of Olivia in what could only be called slutty poses, hot enough today but unbelievably scandalous thirty years ago.
This was very heavy stuff, the more so when I suddenly remembered that Rev John Prendergast had recently been appointed suffragan bishop of the central province.
"Well, well, well, grandmother," I mused to myself, "you have been a very naughty girl. The question is, what am I going to do about it?"
A few words about our family might not go amiss here. My maternal grandfather, Alex Delahunty, made a great deal of money in the late 1960s and early 1970s, mainly, I gathered from speculation on the stock exchange. My maternal grandmother, Olivia came from "old money", based on wool growing. She was a quite remarkable woman, strong but arrogant, certain of her own views and never afraid to voice them. Olivia never suffered fools gladly and could be quite caustic if challenged. Among other things, she hated country life and quickly sank her claws into Alex when he was invited to her parents' place at Upson Downs for a visit. They were married when she was only nineteen, and I understood later that her parents breathed a sigh of relief when she left.
My mother, Beth, was the oldest child; the oldest daughter, who got herself pregnant by my father when she was only seventeen. I understood that this caused near catastrophic family conflict, with Olivia demanding that the pregnancy be terminated. I was remarkably grateful that that didn't happen because I was the result.
My father was a hard man. Hard living, demanding of his family and ultimately, hard dying. He ran his car into a tree on a country road, travelling far too fast, with way too much booze in his system. I suspected that it might have been suicide as his business was not travelling too well, but it could never be proved, and substantial insurance policies were paid out to mum. Mum was something of an enigma to me. Very much the obedient little wife and homemaker, I nevertheless wondered how much real love there was between my parents. After my father's death, mum seemed to be increasingly uncertain about herself and regularly turned to me for advice, sometimes about what I thought were quite insignificant things. Without dad's forceful direction, she seemed lost.
I am Drew, my parents' only child, twenty years old, and taking a year out of university after a serious illness earlier in the year. I have been studying IT, and did well in the first year. Now I'm spending a lot of time just bumming around and working on assorted computer projects. As part of my rehabilitation, I keep myself fit in regular gym sessions and cross-country running. I've got a pretty good opinion of myself, although in retrospect, I'm not at all sure that it was justified.
After my amazing discovery, I thought for a long time about the implications of the letters, and then a thought struck me like a bolt of lightning. The dates on the letters bracketed a date exactly nine months before my mother's date of birth. Was it possible, I thought, that I was actually the grandson of the Reverend John Prendergast? It would certainly solve a few family riddles; why the man I had always believed to be my grandfather had been so hard on my mother and generally quite distant from her? Why was my mother so physically unlike her father, and her mother for that matter? I hurriedly sought out a photo of the reverend gentleman, taken at the time of his elevation to the bishopric, and I could detect something of a family likeness to my mother. Not compelling evidence, perhaps, but maybe a place to start.
My thoughts became increasingly salacious and ruthless. It wasn't that my grandmother was the sort of woman portrayed in the usual slutty magazines, far from it. She was now aged 57, tall with a statuesque bearing, elegant and graceful with quite square shoulders that emphasized well-developed breasts. She had thick silver hair that fell down in waves below her shoulders and brilliant blue eyes, which were usually as hard as stone. She tended to camouflage her generous mouth with limiting lipstick, but she was always immaculately groomed, made up and dressed. A superficially highly attractive package, but with a heart as cold as a witches kiss.
To my amazement, I started growing an erection just thinking about my grandmother in the sorts of positions shown in the photos, and the potential for me to recreate some of these scenarios. I had always tended to avoid her wherever possible as we grated on each other, and I almost always came off worst. Now, though, the tables were turning, and I knew I had the leverage to make her do my bidding. The thought of that bidding kept me hard and gave me opportunities for highly satisfying masturbation.
One problem was that I somehow had to find an excuse to visit grandmother; mum was unlikely to be convinced if I just turned round and said, "Hey, mum, I'm off to visit grandmother." Her suspicions would be aroused immediately.
Fate intervened a week or so later when mum caught me playing games on my PC, saying, "Drew, if you haven't got anything better to do, your grandmother needs a hand to move some furniture."
My heart leapt, but I didn't want to appear too enthusiastic. "God, mum, do I have to visit the ice maiden? I know she doesn't like me and we always niggle at each other."
"Look, Drew, she doesn't ask too often, and if it keeps her from nagging me, you will be doing me a favour, too."
"Okay, mum; look, just out of interest, is it my imagination, or is grandmother getting worse; getting more severe, more aloof, more—I don't know, more bloody difficult?"
Mum sighed. "I don't think it's your imagination, Drew. She's become more withdrawn and more selfish over the last few years; it seems to have been a gradual process."
"I see. Oh well mum, let her know I can go over on Saturday afternoon around 1.00, and I'll do whatever needs doing," I consented, "Plus some," I thought to myself.
It was now Thursday and I had some arrangements to make. First and foremost, I visited a highly specialised store in one of the seedier parts of the city. It catered to less than conventional physical appetites and I was able to purchase a range of items with very specific purposes. These I packed in a sports bag and kept it in the boot of my car.
