tagNonConsent/ReluctanceDegradation & Redemption Act 01

Degradation & Redemption Act 01


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.

At 1.00 precisely on Saturday afternoon, I presented myself at grandmother's house, a rather gloomy old Victorian place in the inner suburbs, surrounded by trees and probably worth a fortune in the current real estate market. Grandmother opened the door, looking her usual frigid self and reluctantly admitted me.

"Oh, it's you. Well, come in and let's get this business finished as soon as possible." I brought in my sports bag, saying there were one or two things there that might be useful. She sniffed and led me to a room at the back of the house looking out onto the service area. "All the furniture in here needs to go into the large shed on the other side of the area," she stated and turned to go.

"Some of this stuff is quite heavy, grandmother, I don't know whether I can move it all by myself," I queried.

"Well don't expect me to get myself dirty; that's why I asked your mother to send you over. I think there are trucks and trolleys and such in one of the sheds," and so saying, she left.

I swore under my breath, but there was enough moving gear to assist; the job wasn't as heavy as I originally thought and I was finished in less than two hours.

I went back into the house and cleaned up, then found grandmother in the lounge. She looked up as I entered, then said, "Thank you" rather dismissively.

"Oh, don't I even get a cup of tea for my efforts?" I enquired, and she sighed and said, ungraciously, "Yes, I suppose so," and went off to boil the kettle.

I settled myself in an armchair and when she returned, I said, "I'm glad I've got this opportunity to have a chat, grandmother."

"Oh really," she said, icicles forming round the words, "and just what do we have to talk about?"

"Well, for a start, I'd be interested to hear about your relationship with the Reverend John Prendergast, and how much your husband knew about this."

"You impudent young puppy," she screamed. "How dare you make such an insinuation? Get out of this house now and don't ever show your face here again."

"Very well, grandmother, if you insist, but before I go, you might be interested in these letters and photos that have come into my possession." I spread out a complete copy of all the letters and photos on the table in front of her.

Grandmother turned pale and her face became set as she clamped down on a torrent of emotions seething through her. "Where did you get these?" she demanded in a low hoarse growl.

"Hmm—I thought you might have remembered. They were in an envelope addressed to you, presumably from the Reverend John and hidden in a secret drawer in that monstrosity of a desk that you insisted on giving to mum."

Grandmother gasped and gave a deep groan. "I would have sworn they had been destroyed, burned in the backyard incinerator years ago. Now it seems as if Alex found them and held onto them, keeping his discovery a secret." Now grandmother almost physically drew herself together to face the threat I had made. "Very well, young man, name your price!"

I smiled. "Just out of interest, grandmother, how much do you think they're worth?"

"Oh, I suppose $500 might cover your attempt at blackmail," she said condescendingly.

Now my smile turned to open laughter. "You just don't get it, do you grandmother? You could offer me a thousand times that amount and I still wouldn't sell. In fact, I'm not interested in your money."

"So what do you want, then?" she asked with seemingly genuine curiosity.

"I want what John Prendergast was getting. I want full access to your body, when, where and how I decide."

Grandmother seemed to go through a series of convulsions, her face first flushing a bright red, then turning deathly pale. She made some very odd noises before predictably asking, "What did you say?"

"You heard, grandmother. You are going to be available for sex at any time of my choosing, doing anything I feel like doing."

"You must have gone completely insane." she choked. "Under no circumstances would I contemplate for one moment anything even remotely similar to what you are saying. Now get out of this house before I call the police."

"Grandmother, you still don't understand the position you're in. These documents are dynamite, and I'm quite prepared to use them for my own purposes. Just think for one moment how the Reverend John would react if—or when—I send him a copy. To say nothing of his wife and family. Then there is the archbishop; I'm sure he would find this material quite revealing. Of course, Mrs Potter, your arch-enemy on the state women's committee would find much to use in these documents, and there are another six or seven people who would use this against you. In addition, the gutter press would have a field day; 'Society matron in lust affair with church leader'; can't you just see it? Are you prepared to take that risk?"

My grandmother's previously steely resolve collapsed. "You wouldn't," she sobbed.

"Oh yes I would, grandmother. I've always fancied the idea of having a sex slave and you will fill the bill very nicely. Now, let's start as we mean to continue—get undressed."

"No, Drew, please, I beg you, don't do this to me. You know this is incest and we could both be in serious legal trouble. Besides which, it is totally wrong, morally."

"I don't give a damn about your phoney morality and as to the law, well, I'm not going to say anything, and if you do, you know the consequences. Besides, I can always claim that you seduced me, an innocent 18 year old when I came to help you move some furniture," I replied with a meaningful smirk.

My grandmother's demeanour changed again. "You foul pig," she spat at me. "Do your worst; see if I care."

"Easy on the abuse," I replied, "or I shall be forced to demonstrate just who IS in charge here. On the other hand, if you are really determined to face me down, I'll leave now, stop off at the nearest post box and drop off this batch of letters. Oh yes, and I've got a nice little on-line compilation that I can release onto the 'net any time. That would spread the message far and wide. Okay, grandmother, see you around." And I headed for the door.

"Stop," she croaked. "You can't do that."

"I think I can, grandmother—who's going to stop me? Now if you really don't want me to post these interesting documents, do what I tell you and strip. Now."

If looks could kill, I would have dropped dead on the spot. "You rotten, rotten bastard. You foul pig," she screamed.

I wasn't going to let this pass and jumping out of my chair I reached across and grabbed her by the shoulder, pulling her back towards the chair. Then she screamed her hate and defiance, cursing me as I pulled her sharply forward so that she fell across my knees. She was wearing a tight tailored skirt in a soft, light blue material, and as she squirmed on my lap, her arse wiggled invitingly. Too good to resist, I started spanking her across the beautiful curves of her bottom, landing hard blows on each cheek. I kept this up for some time, enjoying the sweet sensations of my hand bouncing on her tight, firm arse and her squeals and screams of pain. Eventually her curses changed to sobs and I finished, shoving her roughly to the floor where she sprawled in an uncharacteristically inelegant manner.

She eventually picked herself up, her hair in a mess, her makeup streaked and her face red with evidence of tears. Even so, she faced me with some of her old spirit. "How dare you strike a lady?" she demanded. "What sort of a beast are you to hit your own grandmother?"

"Haven't you realised yet, Olivia, that I am the sort of beast that gives beasts a bad name? I've also decided that I'm going to drop the grandmother crap and call you by your given name. Now get your clothes off or I will cut them off—and it would be such a shame to damage your fashionable clothes."

She sneered at me but realised that I was serious and undid the buttons on the front of her blouse, shrugging it off and folding it onto a nearby chair. Her high set breasts looked to be perfectly shaped with little evidence of any sagging but were hidden in a pale lilac bra edged with embroidered flowers.

"Very nice, Olivia, you're already making me drool. Now lose the skirt."

She again favoured me with a look of pure hate seasoned with a generous helping of disdain, but unzipped the skirt and dropped it and a half-slip to the floor, stepping out of them and turning sideways to minimize the view.

She was wearing pantyhose as well as 3" patent pumps. "Oh dear, Olivia, I definitely do not approve of pantyhose. In future, you will wear either stockings and a garter belt or possibly stay-ups, but never pantyhose."

"In future?" she screamed, "What the hell do you mean by that. There is no 'in future'. As soon as I am finished with this whole degradation, I never want to see you or hear from or of you again, you piece of shit."

"Dear me, Olivia, your language is starting to get the better of you. It must be clouding your vision of the future, because you are destined to be my sex slave for as long as I want you. The letters and photos are a guarantee that you will be obedient because you can't face the possibility of exposure and the wholesale public humiliation you will face. Let's put it this way—you can face exposure and ongoing public humiliation from any number of sources, or you can experience private humiliation at my hands with no exposure. Your choice, only make your decision quickly because my patience is starting to run out."

"There must be another way out; there must." By now she was starting to move from enraged to desperate.

"No, Olivia, but I will say this. My interest in you has to do with sex and domination. If you accept the private option, you will submit to me as your master and do everything I demand of you. I have no intention of jeopardising your fashionable status or your business activities. So far as that's concerned, you can continue to be the queen bee and so long as you satisfy my lusts I shall not interfere in your daily life. On the other hand, if you want to take the public humiliation option, you can have no hope of any future social standing. Your previous life will seem like a dream with your present life a never-ending nightmare."

"Doesn't sound as if I have much choice does it?" she asked resignedly.

"Of course you do, but I would've thought the choice was obvious. If it is what I think it will be, take off your bra and let me get a good look at your tits."

Olivia gave me another withering look, and I realised that I was going to have to do something about this. I needed to break her will so that she would do just as I wanted, even to the extent of begging me to spank, whip or flog her; to reveal her truly submissive nature. I was starting to get an erection just thinking about this, and it grew more pronounced when she unclipped her bra and let it fall to the floor.

Her breasts were superb, pale cones of firm flesh with wide pink areolas and long tubular nipples that already appeared to be hard. This interested me; the room was quite warm so there had to be some other source of stimulation.

"Such beautiful tits, Olivia, just waiting for a man to play with them." So saying, I walked over to her and pinched each nipple hard, pulling them forward so that her tits stood out to almost their full extent.

"Aargh, stop, you brute, you're hurting me," she squealed. At the same time, Olivia started to lash out with her hands in a futile attempt to make me stop but I continued to pinch and twist her firm nubs, her screams causing my erection to grow even greater.

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