Debauchery Pt. 01

How would you react to finding out your loving parents were, in fact, hardcore swinging bisexual creatures? It would change you. That's what occurred to me one day, and the story formed in my head. I had to squeeze that pimple. And here it is.

Before you read this, please know this story will re-introduce a character I first introduced in my story "Virginia Beach Romance" and who you saw again in "Outer Banks Vacation", if you read those stories. You don't need to read them first, but it may change your perspective a little with this story. This is an origins story!

Please enjoy.

Love,

Lana Ocean (Estcher)

P.S.: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. All fictional characters engaged in sexual acts are eighteen or over.

P.P.S. As always, I welcome CONSTRUCTIVE criticism. And that doesn't mean trying to school me on my use of the English language. I'm proud of my half-assed editing on Literotica. This is fun shit, not work. I tidy things up as best as I feel I should and then publish it here. All for free. You're welcome.

Prologue

My parents died two weeks after I turned twenty-two. It was a head-on collision with a drunk driver while they were on vacation in New Orleans, Louisiana. They died instantly, or so the Virginia Beach police said when they arrived at my door. I'm not so sure and sometimes imagine them suffering before they died. I have nightmares about it and wake inconsolable. I miss them so much. They had been a constant presence in my life, always, and their sudden death left me dangling, unsure, lost, abandoned, and afraid.

The trip had been their lifelong dream to visit the city and experience the food and music they both loved. Their death and the confusion of dealing with it as an only child, and repatriating their bodies, the funeral, the wake, and then the lonely days sobbing in our great big house missing them so completely; all remain in a fog of memory. I know it all happened; I just can't seem to recall any of the details. Just an endless sea of faces. So many people came to mourn my mom and dad, and I knew almost none of them. Faces blurred and then faded into obscurity, and then the house went silent.

My parents' lawyers had me sign so many documents in those first months that they were all a blur. I signed so many things having no idea what they were or represented. I only worried about the house and belongings. They were all mine after probate, which wrapped up quickly. Then I never heard from them again and I was thankful. They assured me my parents' affairs were being managed by their small firm and I needn't worry. So, I didn't.

It was four months before I could see fit to go through their belongings. I started small, hesitating over every small item, memories flooding me, and I almost always ended up curled up on my side and crying all over again. Being an only child meant my parents were also my best friends. My everything. And they were gone and never coming back. It wasn't fair. I didn't deserve to be abandoned.

My only best friend was there at first when I needed her. She would come over with a pint of ice cream and a couple of bottles of wine, and we would eat, drink, and I would mostly cry. Most nights, we would end up curled up on the couch in our onesies, her holding me tight, covered in a fleece blanket, and my mascara streaming down my cheeks. I don't cry pretty.

After a time, she demanded I start to move on. When I didn't, she stopped coming round. After month three, she stopped taking my calls and texts. She had better things to do. Better friends.

I was alone. Completely.

Then I started going through the contents of my parent's master bedroom and my life changed forever.

Part One

My parent's house is a monster in a rich area of Virginia Beach, Virginia. It doesn't matter where exactly it is, but it's eight thousand square feet on four acres, gated, and surrounded by a high stone wall. My parents call it Bradley Manor. The lawns are immaculate, tended by our gardener. The house is run by an estate steward called Javier Taylor. The head housekeeper is Hailey Rivera. The full complement of staff is rather large, from chefs to housekeepers, to a chauffeur and someone just for laundry. I have never interacted with the staff. I rarely see them, and it has only been Javier who has approached me and brought me my meals. Most of the staff live on the grounds in the staff house; detached, and to the side of the property. They come and go and tend to the house, and I, like a ghost, wander from room to room, remembering the good times with my parents.

Even now, as I walk through the house, I keep expecting to find them, sitting, and reading. Or watching television. Or laughing in the kitchen over a glass of wine. My parents were always together. Always touching and giving soft kisses. Their absence in the house was almost a physical loss to me.

I was supposed to start my final year at George Mason University (GMU) in Fairfax in September, but instead I submitted a leave of absence and deferred my degree and wandered the house. Everywhere I looked were reminders of my former wonderful life. I had been so nurtured and loved and now abandoned. Alone. Depressed. Orphaned.

I slept in my own room. I had decorated it with all my passions: Horse posters, K-pop posters, World of Warcraft, Skyrim, and Halo posters, Lord of the Rings books and paraphernalia, my righteous PC gaming rig, a PlayStation 3, and even an XBOX 360. Stacks of paperback fantasy and sci-fi books, along with comics, lined the walls and bookcases. Everything I had wanted; my parents had provided.

It's my dad's fault I love geeky and nerdy stuff. I love him for that. And I'm crying again.

One day, I wandered past the master bedroom, which meant I walked down the corridor on the upper floor down to the double doors that opened into their massive master bedroom suite and the en suite. My parents were obviously very wealthy. Both came from rich parents, and when my grandparents died before I was born, my parents had inherited everything. Including an international consulting firm. Which I now owned, I suppose, but left the day-to-day to the new CEO, a friend of my mother's, to run with the lawyers. He was a thirty-something, nice looking single man. Clearly homosexual, or so I thought at the time.

Mostly, I was alone with my thoughts. The outside world was gone as far as I was concerned. And I never wanted to return to the harsh reality of being an orphan. I wrapped my head in fantasy and my delusion at that point was solidifying. But their bedroom awaited. I would have to do something with it and all their clothes and belongings. I had looked up several charity organisations that excelled at this. They all recommended I go through everything by myself first or with friends and remove the items I most needed and wanted to keep. They would come for the rest and take it away to sell or donate.

I started with my mother's side table. I don't know why. It seemed safe. As a woman, I could deal with my mom's stuff the best. I sat on the edge of the bed and reached out and opened the drawer.

There it was.

Purple, horrific, and bloated and disgusting. I fled in horror and tears.

Some thirty minutes later, I returned and stared back into the open drawer. There on a red silk cloth lay the largest, most obscene vibrator I had ever seen. It was shaped like a larger-than-life penis with the tip bent up. It lay so serene and yet so repulsive. I knew what I was looking at. I knew what my mother had used it for.

I reached out with a trembling hand and poked it. When it didn't bite, I picked it up with the tips of my right index finger and my thumb like it was a dead rat. It had surprising weight, and I hoisted it by the base. Then, shocking even myself, I brought it to my nose, and sniffed it. I have no idea why.

In horror, I dropped it back in the drawer and fled. I ran to my own bathroom and washed my hands and scrubbed at my face. I could smell her. I swear I could. The unmistakable scent of a woman. A scent I knew well, lying in my bed, and pleasuring myself. But that was my mother. My dead mother, and I was disgusted and shocked to my core. This was my mother!

Much later, I summoned the courage and returned to the room and my mother's bedside table. I stared down at her purple monster and then removed it and placed it on the bed next to me. I lifted the red silk cloth and covered my mouth as a cry escaped me. Underneath, I found more items.

The simplest was a large bottle of water-based lubricant. The more disturbing items were a large strap-on, latex gloves, blindfolds, collars and chokers, a large silver metal butt plug, a ball gag, a mouth spreader, nipple clamps, and a large leather paddle. I had to look some of them up. Soon I had an assortment of sex toys laid out on my parents' bed. I stared at them in shock. Everything I knew about my parents had vanished in an instant. My parents had clearly done some weird shit, all while I slept down the hall blissfully unaware. Flashes of imagined carnal images crowded my thoughts, and I pushed them aside with difficulty.

These items were used. I could see the wear and tear. At some point my mother had been gagged, blindfolded, sported a leather collar, and done questionable things here in the sanctity of their bedroom. My mind could not fasten onto the strap-on. My mind would consider it and then flee in horror at the implications. Did mom use it on dad? If not, on who? Another woman? It was perhaps a true reflection of the love my parents had for each other. To their only child, it felt like a betrayal. Their perfect image shattered into a thousand pieces like a broken mirror.

I left them there and went down to the cellar and grabbed a bottle of wine. I went upstairs, opened it as fast as I could, and watched and listened as the bottle gurgled forth its contents into a large red wine glass. I stopped an inch from the top and then gulped the wine down in large chugs. I gasped for air, grabbed the bottle, refilled the glass emptying the bottle, and stood in the kitchen, leaning my hip against the quartz countertop, and stared outside at the pristine backyard porch.

The leaves of the trees in the distance hills were already starting to turn to brilliant reds, yellows, and oranges, including the large oak tree in the backyard. The wooden swing hanging from a large branch was weathered grey and swung aimlessly in the gentle breeze outside. A dirt track under the swing seat marked where my feet had scuffed the grass clear over the years. I had been pushed on that swing by my father on so many occasions. Hands that had pushed me had done unspeakable things to my mother... I shuddered and gulped down a large swallow of wine.

I ended up finishing the bottle, and I grabbed another, opened it, and slowly climbed the stairs back to my parents' bedroom. I stopped in the doorway, looking across the large room to the bed. The sex toys gleamed on the bed. They were real. They were still there.

I sighed and went over and sat next to them. My head swirled with alcohol. What other secrets will I find in here? I shuddered at the thought. I looked around the room. Across from the bed, mounted to the wall over a gas fireplace, was a large flat screen television. Before the fireplace, like a scene out of The Friendly Giant TV show, were two comfortable chairs with a small table between them. As a child and young teenager, my parents would often retire in here. This was their sanctuary. Their space. I felt like I was invading that space. Sticking my nose into something I would regret. I already did feel regret.

"Mom. Dad. What the actual fuck?" I muttered, my drunkenness letting me curse freely. I crossed to the other side of the bed and sat where my father had slept. I placed my wine glass down on his side table and stared at the handle of the drawer. I wasn't sure I was ready to find out what was inside. After a long moment, I finally reached over to the handle and drew open the drawer enough to peer into the opening crack of the drawer. I saw papers and in relief, I opened it further.

A large cylindrical object rolled forward and banged against the front wood of the drawer. I knew what it was at once. Part of looking into my mom's sex toys revealed other toys. Like the Fleshlight my father apparently owned. I pulled it out and marvelled at the size of it. There was an opening roughly and obscenely resembling the lips and opening of a vagina. I shuddered again. I held it in my hands and imagined images of my father--or my mother, for him--using this on himself for pleasure, and it was beyond my ability to process. I sniffed it against my better judgement and caught a faint strawberry smell.

Disgusted, I placed it next to my mother's toys and then opened my father's drawer fully. At the back was a strange device. It looked like a small, two-headed vibrator. I opened my phone and searched for it, and then stared at my screen. It was prostate massager. It had a silver disk for remote control. The most horrifying thing about it was that it could be used by two people at the same time. Normally two men at the same time.

"No fucking way," I murmured. "My dad is not gay."

I stared at the device.

"Was he?"

I set it down, rummaged through the drawer, lifted the papers, and put them aside after seeing they were just financial reports from the consultation company. Under the papers I found a cock ring, a tube of strawberry flavoured Anal-ese lubricant, another silver butt plug, two types of anal beads, and three dildos of varying thickness, ribbed, and covered in a skin-like, latex material.

I fled the room crying and hid in my room for a day. I was drunk and upset, and I passed out.

The next day, with my head throbbing, I returned with a cardboard box, shaking with trepidation but resolved with more wine inside me to kill my terrible hangover. I had only looked through two drawers so far. I took all the sex toys and threw them in the box and put it out in the hall. I returned and stood at the entrance to their walk-in closet.

The closet had dozens of more drawers, and I was afraid of what I would find. I summoned my courage and stepped inside. I flicked the light switch and the room lit up, revealing racks of fine clothes, shoe trees, mirrors, and the rows of cupboards and drawers.

I found my parents' porn collection first. Lots of old VHS tapes, DVDs, Blu-rays, and a dozen thumb drives sat on top of a dozen hardcore pornographic magazines. The tapes and disks were all themed around swinging, anal, group orgies, and featured lesbian and gay sex. I was crying without even knowing it. A large tear splashed on my arm, and I angrily wiped at my eyes.

"This is bullshit! Bullshit!" I screamed. "No way! No way my parents were into this! No way!"

I threw a tape across the closet, and it smacked against the double doors of the entryway. The VHS tape flew free of the commercial case and a plain tape dropped to the floor. It had a label on it, and I recognised my mother's handwriting.

I crawled over and picked up the tape and read what my mother had written: "FMM Threesome October 1998". That was three years before I was born and the year my parents were married at age twenty-five.

I knew what FMM meant. It meant one female and two males.

Before I knew what I was doing, I stood before the TV in their bedroom and opened up the entertainment unit inset into the wall near the fireplace. My parents had always owned a VHS player, a relic from bygone days. I remembered watching children's animation movies lying back in their massive bed, crushed between my loving parents. I would fake falling asleep and my father would carry me back to my bed. I would try hard not to smile, and dad would tuck me in, kiss my forehead, and tell me he loved me.

I wiped at more tears and pushed the VHS tape into the slot. Motors whirred, and the tape was sucked into the machine. It made all sorts of sounds and then I saw it was playing. I found the TV remote on the small table and sat in mom's chair by the fireplace and pressed power to the television.

The television had already switched to the VHS input. The TV sound was surprisingly loud in the empty bedroom and what I heard first was a younger version of my mother's voice.

"Albert! Stop that! Derek's had enough!" laughed my mother.

I watched the television as it brightened, and the images slowly emerged.

I watched in horror as my father sucked the penis of a stranger. There in full, shaky colour, was my father intentionally putting another man's cock in his mouth. It didn't seem real. It had to be faked. But there it was: my father sucking with what appeared to be true desire. His eyes gleamed. His mouth and lips sucked and licked another man's cock. The stranger moaned hard and pressed his hands on the back of my dad's head.

My mother was filming with an unsteady hand and the video moved around. My father was lying next to the man named Derek, both naked and positioned so they lay in opposite directions. A much younger version of my father, Albert, was leaning over Derek and sucking on the engorged head of a rather thick and long penis. I could see--and mom obliged by zooming in--that dad had a lubed finger pressed inside the poor man's asshole, and was finger fucking him with long, slow strokes. Derek moaned harder and his ass pushed off the bed while his hands pressed harder on dad's head. Derek bucked and cried out in pleasure.

To my continued horror, dad lifted his mouth free of the man's cock and smiled. Fresh white cum poured from his mouth and ran down his chin to splash on Derek's cock. I cried out in shock.

No, no, no! I covered my eyes for a moment and then looked again. I was being drawn to the obscenity. I could not not look.

"Margie, I can't help it!" laughed my dad on the screen. His tongue darted out and swept up the cum running down Derek's shaft and balls. "He tastes so good!" Dad tongued the man's balls, and I watched the balls shift and draw tighter. Derek lifted his head and smiled at the camera.

The video jostled and suddenly the side of mom's face appeared. She was holding the video camera like for a selfie. She leaned forward and with a loud and obscene sucking and slurping noise, helped my father clean his face of the remaining cum.

"Yum, true," giggled my mother. She looked so young to me. Her eyes bright. Wrinkles gone. Her skin flawless. Her hair thick and luxurious. She was gorgeous and hot, even to my eyes.

My parents are both extremely good looking and I inherited those same genes. I shared my mother's dirty blond hair, high cheek bones, and almond-shaped blue eyes. Mom and I were the exact same size six. We could even wear the same bras if we wanted to.

On the video I watched as mom and dad kissed. Their tongues and lips glistening with Derek's cum. Derek moaned and mom lowered her mouth to his cock and sucked hard and then popped her mouth free.

"Delicious as always, Derek," praised my mom.

"Your husband is the best cock sucker..." murmured Derek.

Dad pulled his finger out of Derek's ass and, to my added disgust, popped it into his mouth and sucked on it. Mom kissed him again, her hand jostling the camera. The image jerked around and suddenly it was dad holding the camera. He swung it toward my mother, and I gasped.

I have seen pictures of my mother when she was only five years older than I am now. But seeing her on film, alive and breathing, I couldn't help but admire just how beautiful she was. She was naked, her perfect breasts lifted high and firm. Her stomach was flat, not yet exposed to the damage a pregnancy can do to a woman. Her groin appeared, hair free. She grinned at the camera.