Father's Legacy Ch. 01

NOTE: This is a story of nonconsensual incestuous sex. If such stories offend you, please read no further.

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My father died when I was 13 years old. That gave me enough time to get to know him, but not really enough time to gain the wisdom to analyze whether he was a good role-model for me. Put another way, my father died before I realized that he was weird. However, my father was filthy rich, and therefore, people called him "eccentric" instead.

For example, I learned that he never had sex with my mother. I was conceived in a test tube and surgically implanted inside my mother's womb. I'm not sure why, but my father gave specific instructions that I be "borne of a virgin" and consequently arranged for a scheduled C-section birth. All that to preserve my mother's hymen...

My father was good to his employees and financial partners, and cultivated much respect, admiration and loyalty from them. In contrast, the only time he would speak to my mother would be to enquire about my care and upbringing, and when he did, he was extremely cold and domineering towards her. He would look at me during those times, as if silently telling me that I was to follow in his example.

My mother grew up in extreme poverty somewhere in the Appalachian mountain area of the United States. Her parents basically sold her to my father on her 18th birthday, whereupon he promptly whisked her away for medical examination and impregnation. She was absolutely beautiful: she had long, golden blonde hair, crystal-ice blue eyes and a fair complexion without being too pale. She was definitely curvy, with flaring hips, a firm round bubble-butt, and huge, seemingly oversized breasts that were so large that they mashed together to form what seemed to be a permanent cleavage. As a child, I once commented that each one of her breasts was larger than my own, big head -- and they were!

I always wondered why I didn't look like the woman who bore me; she was short, standing barely five feet tall, whereas I grew to five foot nine inches in height -- about two inches taller than my own father. Mother is of obviously white European Caucasian descent, whereas I look very much like my dark-skinned, black haired Filipino father, with Asian/Pacific Islander features. I've sometimes been mistaken for some other kind of Asian (Japanese, Chinese, Korean, etc.), Pacific Islander (Hawaiian, for example) or even Native American Indian (particularly when I grew my hair out).

It wasn't until after my father's funeral that I learned why my mother and I bore no resemblance to each other. My father implanted a previously-fertilized embryo inside mother -- one that was fertilized using my own father's sperm with a donor woman's egg -- the donor woman was presumably Asian or Pacific Islander or both. My father wanted his only heir to have as little familial attachments as possible. In his last will and testament, he stated that he wanted me to grow up cold and ruthless, for that was the key to HIS success.

And so I did. Father's death and the knowledge that the woman I called my mother was nothing but a human incubator -- all of this happened during a particularly formative time in my life. My grief over my father's death fueled my desire to resurrect him by living my life as he did his own. For the next five years, I apprenticed myself to my father's former business partners and learned as much as I could about the way my father did business. I studied well enough to get myself through high school and into college by the time I was 18 years old, but for the most part, I spent most of my energy learning from several prominent and successful businessmen. All of them reinforced my father's lesson: to be ruthlessly efficient when it came to business, and that having a cold heart made such a strategy much easier.

Unfortunately for my "mother," she bore the brunt of my lessons. At first, I merely abandoned her. I left her on our private island, alone with no one to speak with, except perhaps on the security-monitored telephone. And even then, she had no real privacy, since all of her telephone conversations were monitored, recorded and transcribed. She kept herself busy with mundane chores: house-keeping, cooking for herself, gardening, taking walks around the island with the family dogs, etc.

I made my first million dollars during my first year in college. I don't know why, but I went home to celebrate. I ignored my mother on my way in the house and into my Father's study. There, I broke down as I talked to the oversized life-portrait of my Father. It wasn't until several minutes after I calmed down when I realized a small, plain, white envelope on the desk. On the envelope was my name.

I opened the envelope and took out the small letter inside. It read:

"Son,

If I know you, then you are reading this after a moment of triumph, most likely your first one. I only wish I was there to share it with you, and I wonder as I write this: What is it that you just did to make me proud of you?

Did you make your first profitable business deal? Did you get into some kind of difficult conflict or contest with one or more persons, and come out victorious? Did you ravage and bed your first woman? If the latter, I hope she was a virgin, too, by the way... It simply won't do to catch some kind of disease reserved for the inferior of our species.

Whatever it is, I am proud of you. I hope that you will see this success as merely the first in many more that shall come to you in your life. Don't waste your time addicting yourself to vices: gambling, vile substances, women... Those are simply worthless, time-wasting activities designed to distract the inferior and the masses. Now that you've tasted the sweetness of success and victory, let your self consciously decide that THIS is your "addiction." Let success and victory fill your heart, body and mind with an undeniable craving for more -- and you will never be a failure, my Son.

Stay focused, and let not the personal interests of others get in the way of YOUR goals. Let them moan and complain as you win and succeed; there are always winners and losers, and such is the nature of the game. Just make sure that it is YOU who wins in the end, or else, it will be you who shall be moaning and complaining.

Win, my Son, at all costs. If you do this, you will forever make me proud.

From Beyond, Your Father"

A multitude of emotions and thoughts rushed through my head. Father was right about my first successful business venture, and in that, he was also right about my winning a contest with other men. I'd never bedded down a woman in my life, however, since I was too busy throwing myself into learning about business. Perhaps I should do that next, I told myself silently...

"John? Are you alright?" Hearing Mom call my name snapped me out of my reverie. Her voice was small and meek, and came from behind me. I looked back and saw her standing in the doorway to Father's study. She wore a green bathrobe, probably over her night gown. She was probably getting ready for bed when I first arrived unannounced. She looked a bit older now than I remembered. Although her hair was still predominantly golden-blonde, several platinum white strands grew together to frame her youthful face. She was still curvy, but her bosom seemed more pronounced, as if they didn't stop growing with age.

I turned around to face her. As I did, I crumpled Father's note in my hand, and threw it into the fireplace. I watched it burn as Father's words came to me, forever etched in my mind. I laughed out loud. Suddenly, a few things became quite clear to me -- things that confused me, and struck me as simply weird when I first learned of them shortly after my Father died.

"What's so funny?" she asked. I detected a hint of fear swimming hidden underneath her confusion. I stepped forward towards her and felt her feelings of intimidation grow as I came closer.

"I didn't realize that you were in bed," I said matter-of-factly, as I eyed her up and down. Her bathrobe did little to hide the contours of her curvy, buxom body.

"I wasn't," she said simply. She just stood there, looking at me, as I visually examined her. "I just got out of a bath and was drying my hair when you came in. I didn't know you were coming -- I would have made sure I had dinner waiting for you... But I'm glad to see you're home. I just wish I was more prepared... I can have dinner ready for you in a few minutes, if you want..."

"No, I think I'd rather just go to bed," I said as an idea formed in my head. "Besides, I have other plans."

"Alright, if you're sure," she replied, she stepped backwards a couple of steps before turning to leave. "Don't hesitate to wake me if you need anything."

"Actually, I do need something," I replied slowly just before she walked away and out of hearing range. She stopped and turned just as I walked towards her and reached for her wrist. "Come with me, Mom. I have a few questions I need to ask."

"Alright," she replied simply. Again, I could sense the fear within her, this time growing to match her confusion. I took her back into Father's study, and sat her down on the leather couch inside the room. I paced a few times while I formed the words in the questions I would ask her.

"Mom, are you aware of Father's last will and testament?" I asked as I finally quit pacing.

"Well, why yes," she replied. "I was there during the reading of his will..."

"What do you remember of the will?" I asked as I stood in front of her, with my left hand supporting my right elbow, and my right hand holding my chin.

"I don't remember the exact words, of course," she said, slightly laughing, perhaps to hide her discomfort. "All I remember is that you are the sole inheritor of all of your Father's wealth and possessions..."

"Right," I said, as if affirming her statement. "That means that this house, this island and everything in it and on it are mine."

"You're not asking me to move out, are you?" She sat up with a puzzled look, her voice slightly alarmed. "If you are, I'm not sure where I would go... Your father left me nothing and I never had a job, so I'm not sure how I would support myself. Are you selling the island?"

"You're right, you would never be able to support yourself on your own," I nodded, quietly affirming her belief. "And for the record, I'm not selling the island."

"Oh, wow, you had me scared a bit there," she said as she audibly sighed her relief.

"You missed my point," I stated, this time looking her straight in her eyes. "Let me repeat myself: EVERYTHING on this island -- including this house and everything in it -- are mine."

"Yes, I agree with you," she replied. I could sense that whatever comfort or relief she felt a mere second ago rapidly evaporated. She looked at me in confusion. "I would never contest your ownership or your inheritance..."

"Mom, you live in this house, and on this island," I decided to spell things out for her. "This means that you also belong to me."

"Well, I AM your mother, so I suppose you could see it that way," she said, still not sure where I was leading.

"No, technically you are not," I told her. "Don't you remember that part of father's last testament reading? You are merely the human incubator that housed me as an embryo and brought me to the birthing stage, whereupon I was harvested by Father's private surgeons. My real mother was some woman who sold him her eggs to be fertilized in a test tube -- as I was."

"I bore you for nine months!" she raised her voice, openly shocked at my statement. "And I raised you since you were a baby! You are as much my son -- if not more -- than whoever squirted you out of their bodies, including your Father!"

Rage overcame my body, and before I knew it, I slapped her hard on the side of her face. The force of the blow lifted her out of her seat, whereupon she then fell on the ground. She looked up at me from where she lay on the plush carpet and held her face where I struck her.

I should have been shocked and ashamed, all at once, of what I just did. Instead, I felt proud of myself. I knew that Father would be proud and he would approve, because this is what he wanted me to do.

"No," I pointed a finger in her face and spoke with all the authority that several legal documents gave me. "You are not my mother. You are my property. I own you, just as I own everything on this island. If you don't believe me, then walk away. Leave this home. Let's see how you fare on the outside by yourself. If you think that any of your friends will help you, then you need to guess again. Directly or indirectly, they work for me, or the main breadwinner in their family works for me. I own them all, in one way or another, and I guarantee you that they will not dare defy me to help you. You have no one -- no one to turn to, no one to call your friend, no one to help you."

I stepped back a pace or two away from her and paused to let everything I said sink in.

"What do you want from me?" Her eyes welled up with tears as she spoke. She's not stupid, so it took her a few seconds to swallow the bitter pill of her reality.

"From now on, you will literally do everything I tell you to do," I said definitively.

"But I did that anyway, didn't I?" She mewled as she got up from the floor and sat down on the couch. She looked up at me as she held the side of her face. I noted with satisfaction that her face reddened with my hand-print. "Why did you have to hit me?"

"I hit you because you are my property, and I can do anything I want to you," I said, this time leering. "Now, I want you to prove that you understand what I just said."

"Alright, fine. I need to do everything you tell me, and you can do anything you want," she said, a hint of defiance and annoyance in her voice, much like a bullied victim acquiesces to her attacker just to get away. She stood up and started to walk away. "I need to go to bed now."

I grabbed her by her sleeve and whirled her around to face me. She squealed in surprise, and immediately held her hands up to her face, as if shielding herself from another blow.

"That's not enough!" I yelled at her as I grabbed her by her hair. My voice lowered to a sinister, menacing growl. "Your mere words are not enough. I need you to prove that you understood what I said."

"What do you want me to do?" Tears streamed down her face as she broke down and cried. Whatever façade she put up simply crumbled away. I let her go and stepped back.

"Take off your robe," I said simply.

"What? I don't have anything underneath -- I told you, I just got out of the bath and was drying my hair when you came in..." She looked around, as if looking for someone to explain what was going on, or perhaps a place to escape.

"TAKE OFF YOUR ROBE -- NOW!" I quickly strode towards her and yelled right in her face at the top of my lungs. Shocked at the realization of what I just said, she backed up a couple of steps and clutched her robe closer to her body. I waited a few seconds for her to comply, and when she just stood there looking at me like a deer in the headlights, I grabbed her by her elbow and dragged her towards the door. "Fine, if you won't do as I say, then you can just leave this island right now. Take the boat and sell it when you get to shore. That's my final gift to you."

"Wait -- I don't know how to drive the boat... Please, stop!" She scurried in front of me, as if to stop my progress with her towards the door. "I'll do it -- I'll do whatever you want! Just please, don't throw me out!"

With that, I stopped and simply looked at her. I could see the thoughts rushing in her head from the pained expression in her face. Her world was crumbling around her, and there was nowhere to run -- except where I told her to go. More tears streamed down her face as she slowly untied and opened her robe.

My eyes feasted hungrily on the sight before me. True to her word, she wore nothing underneath her bath robe. Her huge breasts were each easily larger than the size of my head, and although they hung heavy and round, they were remarkably firm and perky for being so over-sized. Although untrimmed, her blonde pubic hair was sparse and almost reddish in color -- not quite peach fuzz, but definitely not an over-grown jungle by any stretch of the imagination. She had a bit of a tummy that would most likely go away with a more intense exercise regimen.

She sighed, as if gathering some courage to complete the next steps, and then took the robe off shoulders that seemed too narrow to support her gargantuan breasts. Clumsily, she folded the robe and hung it on her arm, probably trying to partially hide her body behind it.

"Give me the robe," I reached out my hand, and she complied after a single moment's hesitation. She crossed her arms in front of her body in a vain attempt to hide her breasts and pubic area.

"I'd like to go to bed now," she said simply, obviously seeking to escape the humiliation of her ordeal.

"What you want to do is irrelevant," I replied, dismissing her request and her attempt to re-validate herself as a person. "Instead, you will do exactly what I want. And right now, I want you to turn around so I can inspect your back side."

She turned around, pleasantly surprising me with her complicity. She did, however, hold her hands behind her, as if to hide the crack of her ass from my leering view. Her hips flared out gently from her narrow waistline and rounded off into her baby-smooth, peach-shaped bubble butt. Her thighs showed no sign of cellulite, and her legs were shapely without being muscular and surprisingly long for someone so short.

"Now what?" Her question seemed too impatient and impertinent in its nature to me, but I thought I'd spend time with the finer points of her training later.

"Come back to the study, I want to talk," I reached for her wrist and led her to walk in front of me. I was pleased to note that there was very little jiggling on her body as she moved. When we got there, I motioned for her to stand in the middle of the room as I sat on an arm chair. "I have some questions for you."

"What do you want to know?" Again, she held her arms crossed in front of her in a vain attempt to hide her breasts and pubic area.

"Have you ever been with a man?" She hesitated, as if confused. I repeated my question, this time, more bluntly. "Have you ever had sex with a man?"

"No." From her facial expression, I could tell that she was wondering why I would ask such a thing of my own "mother."

"Never?" She simply shook her head. I felt like a shark circling its wounded, bleeding prey -- except that I savored the hunt and the stalking much more than a mere animal that does it for pure nutritional sustenance. "So, you're a virgin?"

"I guess," she tentatively replied. "As much as anyone who's ever been pregnant."

"Is your hymen intact?" I asked this question as if it were more my business than hers. Then again, such was the case -- her body was my property, and in that sense, it belonged more to me than to her.

"Yes, I believe so," she nodded, as if she somehow was glad that she knew the right answer for once during this interrogation. "I've never really looked before but the gynecologist your father contracted to give me yearly check-up always makes sure to inspect that it's still there..."

"Good," I replied simply, and then stared at her naked form silently as unbidden, dark thoughts screamed through my mind. Minutes passed wordlessly until she decided to interrupt my reverie.

"May I please go to bed now?" This time, she phrased her request as a question instead of a statement, and I took that as an improvement.

"Yes, you may go to bed," I said almost benevolently. She lifted her hand towards her robe. "And may I have my robe now? Please?"

"No, you may not," I replied simply, tossing the robe onto the nearby couch, my stare daring her to take it. Her gaze followed the robe, and then dropped to the ground. Her outstretched hand dropped back in front of her body in her vain effort to shield her nakedness. She stood wordlessly for a moment, then turned and started walking towards her room. I waited a few moments and simply watched her naked form as she walked away. Before she could escape into the confines of her room, I called after her. "Where are you going?"