Author's note:
This is a short story and the first story I have ever written. Feedback will be welcomed in the comments. I've been reading on this site for over 10 years and I think it's about time I had a go at my own short story. I hope you like it!
If you're reading this, you're probably wondering how I got myself into this situation. So let me explain. My name is Sam and I grew up in a small town outside of Boston. As an only child my upbringing was carefully structured and as you can imagine, I received endless attention from my parents growing up. That was until I 'became of age' as they say.
My mother Maria, and my father George had brought me up the best they could. Without being too full of myself, i'd like to think that they did a pretty good job on me. I get straight A's, I'm rarely in any sort of trouble and I always do my chores when asked and on time.
You could say that I'm the perfect child. The son that most parents dream of. The truth is, I'm far from it. Like many people, perhaps yourself included, I am an addicted masterbater. It started when I came across my first nudey mag. It then progressed to hours of porn watching and many more hours of jerking my meat.
Now at nineteen, I'd watched all kinds of porn. Girl on guy, girl on girl, group sex, threesomes, step-siblings, mature women, petite women, large women, interracial... you name it, I watched it.
It was around this time that I found out that I particularly liked watching older women. It felt so taboo to watch young guys like myself, fucking and being pleasured by these beautiful older goddesses!
So, you could imagine it was very frustrating to live with a mother like mine. Mom is what us young guys like to call MILF materiel. At forty-three, she stood as though she was a women ten years younger. Her chestnut brown hair hung down to her shoulders and curled pleasantly on either side of her face. Her lips were a constant shade of lipstick red and her blue eyes sparkled amongst her brown curls.
Her weight was that of most women in their early forties. No longer thin and slender, she wore her curves well in all departments. Her chest was what most men noticed first. Her breasts pressed out against any t shirt she wore and her ass filled all of her pants to bursting point.
I still remember the morning when she had come running into my bedroom completely topless. I'd been late for school that morning and slept in by almost an hour. In my mothers panic, she must have forgotten to throw a shirt on before coming to wake me.
That morning gave me plenty of stock for the good old wank-bank as they say. I still remembered her full breasts swinging as she marched into my bedroom. Her nipples pricked and pointed in the cold winters air.
Given all of this, you'd think that most men would feel eternally lucky to have a woman at home like my mother. Not Dad though. Dad spends most of his time in his office or on business trips. "Supporting the family" He calls it.
Last year had been their 20th anniversary and still he hadn't worked up the effort to propose. That's right, my parents aren't married. Which now gets me to my point.
It was on one Thursday night that my life changed forever. I had just sat down to watch the end of the lakers game with my dad when the telephone buzzed loudly in the corner of the room. My mother, who'd been cooking dinner, wrapped her apron around her wrist and marched across the room to answer it.
I knew straight away. Her figure seemed to almost slump as she stood. Her breath shot back into her lungs and her hand darted to her mouth as she gasped.
"What is it, dear?" My father asked, doing his best to seem uninterested.
"Uhuh... okay... I understand. Thank you for letting me know." She said, calmly.
When she hung up I could feel the atmosphere quickly shifting in the room.
"It's my Father... he's dead." She said it with a real lack of emotion
I know what you're thinking. How on earth could my mother be so emotionless to finding out that her father had just died? Notice that I did not call this man my grandfather. That was because I'd never met him. He'd sent me many birthday presents and cards of course. But he never did bother to show his face around these parts.
Mom never liked to talk about him and whenever my father mentioned his name it was always with disgust or distain. The topic of my mother's dad was very rarely discussed and it had always intrigued me as to why.
Naturally, I quickly gave my mother a hug and did my very best to ignore the enormity of her breasts against my body. It was all very odd to me. My mother didn't seem to be so upset but there was a definite wetness in her eyes and I knew that deep down she must be hurting.
For the next few days leading up to the funeral my mother seemed to grow more and more stressed. Nothing like her usual happy go lucky self. She was agitated and on edge. Even my father knew to stay clear of my mothers wrath when she was like this.
The following week we took the three hour journey to get to his funeral. I saw cousins I'd never met, uncles and aunts that I'd not seen for over a decade. All in all, it was a very awkward experience for me. The service was pleasant enough and he seemed to have a good turn out of people.
What did make me suspicious was the very tall man, all in black, who was stood at a distance from the mourning crowd. He was dressed rather smartly in a three piece suit with a top hat and shades. My mom seemed to notice him too as she nodded in his direction, to which the mysterious man tipped his hat to her, exposing his bald head.
The after gathering was a little warmer. I got to talking to some of my distant family and decided that they weren't all that bad after all. My mother had made them all out to be crazy people. That they were all part of some secret cult or something.
Though, I didn't think there was anything wrong with them. Maybe they were a little forward with each other. I watched one of my older cousins, Lisa, kiss her father fully on the mouth. I hadn't done that with my mom for years. I also watched one of my aunts taking a rest on her sons lap. That seemed a little odd but nothing too wild.
Not weird enough to freak me out. And so the day pressed on and the tall dark man finally approached our table to introduce himself. It was the first time in my life that I'd ever saw my mom so nervous.
"Hello, Mr Anderson. It's a pleasure to see you again." She said, ecstatically.
He kissed both of her cheeks in a warm gesture before sitting down.
"The pleasures all mine, Maria. This must be your son, Samuel... isn't it?" He asked with his hand outstretched.
"It's just Sam." I said, as I took his hand.
The look in my moms eyes as we shook hands will stay with me forever. She seemed scared, frightened, yet excited for some bizarre reason. For a while he sat down and talked with my mom. My dad took this opportunity to survey the buffet once more. That was when the man turned to talk to me.
"We need to talk. You may not have known your grandfather well, but he did have something that he left for you."
This shocked me, but somehow it didn't seem to shock mom.
"Me? Why would he leave me something?" I asked, now very confused.
"I'll explain it on the way home. I fear I may need to travel home with you and your mother to finalise the transfer of possession."
My first thought had been money. As much as that would have been nice, I can't deny that what was awaiting me was something money couldn't buy.
And so we took the three hour journey with the mysterious man seated in the passenger seat, across from my dad. My dad was always eager to drive. Although, he did offer my mother the job before leaving.
Nothing was said during the drive, though my mother had reached for my hand in the back seat, she held it sweetly all the way home. At one point her thumb rubbed against the inside of my palm and regretfully I felt a familiar twitch in my pants.
Once we were home, dad locked himself away in his study. He wasn't all that pleased to be taking this man home with us but he didn't seem to have much of a say in the matter. My mother made us drinks and before we all sat down to discuss anything, mom had asked me to help her with something in the garage.
That was when I noticed how stressed she truly was. We locked eyes and she gripped my shirt and pulled me close. "Whatever it is you hear about me. Whatever it is you may think. It runs much deeper than just me and you..." She said.
"What do you mean? Is this about your family?"
"It is.." she sighed, "it's about them and it's about us now."
"Mom, I don't understand." Was all I could say.
"Mr Anderson will explain it all. Just trust me and whatever you choose to do, I will support you fully."
With that, mom pulled me into an embrace. I hugged her tightly and again I felt her breasts against me. Her hands found the width of my back and she squeezed me tightly before releasing me.
When we returned, Mr Anderson had spread sheets of paper across the small table that centred the living-room. We sat down together and my mother took a nervous sip of her drink.
"Your mom was kind enough to let me know that you are unaware of why I am here." Mr Anderson started.
"No... unfortunately, it's not about money. But I have to ask before I begin; I am sure your mother has talked about an odd side to your suburban family. Did you happen to notice anything out of the ordinary today?" His question seemed serious enough and so I answered.
"Well... there were a few things..."
"Like what?" My mother asked, encouraging me.
"Well... I saw my cousin, Lisa, kiss my uncle on the mouth."
"Anything else?..." He asked.
"And that my aunt seemed to enjoy straddling my cousins lap." I chuckled, nervously.
"So you have noticed." Mr Anderson smiled.
"I knew you would." He said. "You have a keen eye, just like your mother. I suppose there is no easy way to tell you this, Sam. But your family are apart of a secret family tradition. A tradition that goes back hundreds of years."
"What kind of tradition?" I almost hesitate
"Slavery." He said.
I blinked. In truth it felt like a punch to the brain."Slavery?..."
"Yes, slavery. Though not the kind that you'd think. You see, it is tradition within your family that there is a sort of heritable ownership. Your aunt was seen on her sons lap because she is owned by her son. Lisa was seen kissing her father because her father does in fact own her."
