tagIncest/TabooGuardian Ch. 01

Guardian Ch. 01


Third story time! This is my first attempt as a multi-chapter story, though the only reason I've split it up is I had written about 30,000 words by the time I figured I should split it all up. I've written four complete chapters and I'm in the middle of a fifth at the moment.

Because the story is split up, it will be a bit slower than my first two stories but hopefully there'll be enough development etc to keep you all interested.

As usual, feedback and comments appreciated (if you want to.)

Chapter 1.1

They were arguing again. They always seemed to argue nowadays whenever he was home. And, unfortunately, I got used to it growing up. It wasn't every night, as he travelled a lot for work, but I learned at an early age that dad had a temper. Or he was just an asshole. While I was on the receiving end sometimes, it was nothing compared to my poor mother.

I guess I need to give the pair of them some context. My father is 44 years old, about 6'2 but isn't what I would call intimidating as he was tall but lean. But to my mother, who is a foot shorter, he would be intimidating through height alone. Mum had just recently turned 40 years old and made a bantamweight boxer look like a heavyweight. She wasn't scrawny or too thin, but even I towered over her though I was only 5'10 myself. I didn't inherit my fathers' height, but years of rugby had certainly broadened me. Not that anyone would dare call me 'stocky' to my face.

I took up rugby for a specific purpose. To not be intimidated by larger or bigger men. When you're one of the smallest players on the pitch, with guys who are 6'4 and built like a brick shithouse running at you at full pace, you can only do one thing. Meet them with equal force. Sure, I came off the field bleeding numerous times, had a concussion or two, but I'd proven myself over the years. My teammates loved me because I never backed down, always the first to get into the ruck and maul and never afraid to trade blows with someone who towered over me.

So years of rugby had definitely toughened me up. I was now 20 years old and worked as a mechanic. I loved getting my hands dirty, pulling apart engines, learning how machines worked. Not that my father encouraged me. It all came from my mother. She was the one who constantly showed me support through school, always encouraging me to try and do new things. She was the one who always drove me to rugby training during the week, and to games on a Saturday, standing on the sideline through bitterly cold winters, always cheering me on. She was the one who helped me with homework and my studies, and was the drive for my own self-improvement.

I loved my mum.

But I was always left the feeling my father resented me. I think he may have been jealous of the attention mum gave me. I think he was just a jealous and petty man, understanding from an early age that he wanted little to do with me, barely acknowledging my presence at times. No matter what, my mother raised me right in how to act and be a man.

However, all through my childhood years of living in that household, they constantly bickered. I had no idea if that was what other married couples did, but the older I got, the worse the relationship between my father and mother. I asked friends, and they suggested they were staying together until I was 18. Well, it was two years past and they were still together. And they still fought.

Once I hit 18, I thought I should start involving myself. I never saw my father raise a hand in anger, but I've walked into the room more than once to find him stooped over my mother, a finger in her face, as he accused her of all manner of things. She'd returned to work once I hit high school and he was adamant she was having an affair with someone. All this despite the fact she only worked part-time, was still at home when he left for work and was usually home by the time I'd finished school.

I often wanted to approach mum and ask her why she didn't leave him. But it wasn't my place. I'd walked into the kitchen to see her in tears more times than I cared to remember. The only thing I could do was give her a hug each time. She appreciated the gesture. Once or twice, maybe more, definitely more, she'd knocked on my door and crawled into bed with me. That was awkward when I was going through puberty. Why?

Well, if I was to give him a modicum of understanding, there is the reason of my fathers' supposed jealousy. My mother is gorgeous. Brunette hair without a streak of grey. Ocean blue eyes that even I can't help admit add to her beauty. A cute little nose and full lips that any man would want to kiss. She looked after herself with exercise and yoga, with small B-cup breasts and a tight little arse... Shit, this is my mother I'm talking about, but I'm sure you've now gathered that even her own son sees her as an attractive woman.

I sat back in my chair as I heard the shouting increase. Mum gave as good as she got some nights, but more often than not, the longer time went on, the fight was going out of her. How she didn't show the stress of the situation, particularly on her face, boggled my mind. Still as youthful as ever, I always told her, which just made her smile and that nearly melted my heart, knowing what she went through. He was accusing her of wasting money tonight. Un-fucking-likely, considering he controlled nearly all the money that came into the household from the pair of them.

I'll be honest, there were only two reasons I still lived at home. One, trying to live by myself as a single man was next to impossible on my wage, and most of my friends were living with their own girlfriends. Two, I was terrified of leaving my mother alone with him. I didn't think their relationship would suddenly improve once I was out of the picture. I was very rarely the topic of arguments nowadays. He pretty much ignored my existence entirely, which suited us both fine.

His voice continued to rise and I sighed, feeling frustration bubble up inside. "That's enough," I said quietly to myself. I'd interrupted before and it never ended well. Usually I'd end up arguing with him, but at least that took some of the pressure off Mum. I got to my feet and strode down the hallway. Dad was on his feet, leering over my mother, who was sat timidly on the couch, as he continued to heckle her. I simply strode towards him and moved myself between him and her. He looked stunned by my appearance.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" he demanded.

"You're going to stop yelling at her," I stated calmly, feeling anything but inside.

His jaw actually dropped, stunned further that I'd had enough. Then his eyes narrowed. "Who the fuck do you think you are to tell me what to do in my own home?"

He may have had a good couple of inches on me in height but I was broader. The day where we would come to blows was approaching. It wouldn't be tonight. I didn't particularly want to give him the pleasure of a fight. But I also didn't know what I'd do to him once I did actually hit him. Years of anger and frustration were building up inside.

"I'm your son, if that means anything to you. And the woman you're yelling at behind me is your wife and my mother. And I'm tired of hearing you yell at her. Give it a rest."

"And what are you going to do about it?"

I stepped forward until I was barely inches from his face. "Oh, trust me, I know you want me to take a swing, give you an excuse to kick me out. I won't give you that much satisfaction. But I warn you. One day I won't need your so-called hospitality, and then it's going to be on like Donkey Kong."

"Mark, don't," Mum said quietly behind me.

"Shut up," my father yelled.

I lifted a warning finger to his face. He grabbed it and attempted to bend it back. I simply laughed in his face. My strength exceeded his. I noticed his other hand ball into a fist. "Go on, tough guy. Take a swing. Do it. Because, I tell you what, that will be the only swing you'll ever take at me," I warned.

He let go of my finger. "I suggest you fuck off now."

I held back the 'Or what?' Instead, I gestured behind me. "Mum, get to your feet. We're going out."

"She's not going anywhere," my father stated.

"You don't get to decide." I didn't move my eyes from him. "Mum, do you want to go with me?"

"Yes," she said quietly.

I resisted smiling at him. Instead, I shuffled forward and he actually stepped back, allowing enough space for Mum to get to her feet. "Grab your coat and purse. We'll find somewhere to wait until he's gone to sleep." I heard Mum leave the room before saying anything else. "I suggest you calm yourself down by the time we return."

"Or what?"

"I'm tired of listening you do nothing but berate her. You've done nothing but bully her for years. I've listened and I've even intervened. But, you know what, no more. I should have done something ages ago. It stops right now."

He smirked. "Afraid of me, were you?"

Now I laughed in his face. "Not fucking likely. But I know you. I know you very well. As I said, as soon as I raise a hand, I'm gone. But, you know what? The price may just be worth it."

Now he stepped forward, trying to reassert authority. "You wouldn't dare?"

I motioned to headbutt him and he flinched. I laughed again as he balled both fists and his eyes narrowed. "Try it, tough guy. Just try it," I suggested, hoping he'd do it, "Just remember, though. I'm not your wife. I hesitate to think of myself as your son. But I am now an adult and won't listen to the shit you put her through any longer."

"I'm ready," Mum said quietly. My heart broke at how timid she sounded.

Without looking away from him, I stepped backwards until I could sense her presence next to me, before I put a hand on her back and escorting her outside. Because I still lived at home, I'd been able to afford to buy a very nice car. I opened the door for Mum, who smiled at me as she got in, before I got behind the wheel, started the car and drove away.

I'd barely driven for two minutes before Mum told me to stop the car. Once I did, she simply leaned over and hugged me. She didn't say a word, simply hugging me tightly for at least a couple of minutes before letting me go, gently stroking my cheek as her eyes glistened with tears, before she settled back into her seat.

I didn't have a clue of where to go, the idea to get out of the house being spur of the moment, so it was Mum who suggested we simply grab a coffee. I drove us to the nearest mall and, after parking up, we headed inside to find the place still full of shoppers. We avoided the chains and found an independent shop down on one of the lower levels.

Mum took a seat as I bought us a pair of coffees, sitting across from each other. I noticed her hands were shaking as she stirred in some sugar, so I just grabbed her hands and rubbed my thumbs softly over them. She looked me in the eyes then burst into tears. I moved my chair around and simply wrapped an arm around her.

"Sorry," she mumbled.

I simply shushed her. I took a deep breath and finally suggested, if not told her what to do. "Leave him."

"I can't."

"Why not?" She said nothing for a few seconds so I prodded her. "Why, Mum?"

"I think he'd try and kill me," she admitted, then shook her head, "Okay, maybe I'm being dramatic. But what can I do? He'll just make my life a living hell."

"Over my dead body. The man's a coward, Mum. A bully. But you're right about one thing. He's done nothing but make your life hell for years. I'm still not sure why you never left him."

"As long as I had you, I could see it through. I gave my vows to the man. I just... can't bring myself to break them. Somewhere within him is the man I still married."

"How many more nights of this? It's been getting worse for years but it's definitely been bad lately."

"It's not that bad." I scoffed and she looked away, probably knowing I was right. "He's always provided for you and me. He's... not always been the most affectionate..." I scoffed again, "But he's always provided for his family."

Her hands had stopped shaking enough so she took a sip of her coffee. I moved my chair and had a sip of mine. "No more, Mum. And I mean it. I won't listen to him belittle you anymore. If I have to be the target, then so be it."

She shook her head. "No. Don't get involved. You'll only make things worse."

"Worse than they are now? How much worse do things need to get?"

"Just... promise me you won't get involved... At least not too much. Please, Mark. Promise me you won't do anything stupid." I loved my mother. I'd do anything for her. And I hated it when she pleaded with me like this, because she knew I'd give in and agree. I couldn't help sigh and shake my head as she grabbed my hand and squeezed. I met her eyes and they still glistened. "Please," she pleaded quietly.


We finished our coffee in near silence, Mum asking a question or two about work but saying little else. I simply went over things in my head. I had savings that I could use to get us out. I could easily afford something like a loan. There were options, but it was simply convincing Mum about leaving. And I'm not sure how much convincing it would take.

I checked my phone and, seeing the time, I suggested it would be okay to go home. The lights were off once I parked up, suggesting the old man had pissed off to bed. Once inside, I headed straight to my bedroom as mum headed to the kitchen. Having calmed down enough, I had a quick shower and was getting ready for bed when I heard a quiet knock at the door. I opened it to see Mum standing there in her pyjamas. She didn't even have to ask as I stepped to the side and allowed her in. It happened so often nowadays it was almost a ritual.

The next morning was slightly awkward upon waking up, my right hand looped over Mum and I'd grabbed her breast without realising it. What made matters worse was the fact I had the usual morning wood and was definitely poking her with it. I made to move my hand away, and my body, but Mum actually grabbed my hand.

"It's okay, don't worry about it."


"It's fine. Scoot your body closer."


She laughed. "So you have an erection? All young men wake up with one. Whether their mother is in their bed or not."

"Well, yeah, but..."

Since I wouldn't move, Mum shuffled over until her butt was nestled against me once again. Then she placed my right hand on her breast again. "There. Nothing to be concerned about. Now, are you going back to sleep or what?"

Figuring I couldn't do anything else, I simply snuggled back into her.

"Thank you for last night," she eventually whispered.

"No problem."

The chances of me going back to sleep were slim. As I said, I've always thought my mother was attractive, and although I'd had the thoughts many young men may have about their mothers, particularly if they were young, I generally paid them no mind. Just fantasies, nothing more. But, that morning, with her pressed up against me, my erection resting against her, I had numerous other thoughts that, I'll admit, would have shocked her. I eventually shook my head of them and tried to think of anything else.

It didn't work.

So I lay there with Mum until she was ready to get up. She eventually turned around and looked me in the eyes. Then she smiled and kissed my cheek. "Think it's time you got up for work."

"Shit, I thought it was Saturday." I looked at my phone but thankfully it wasn't too late. "Fuck, I'd better grab a shower."

Wearing only boxer shorts, I leapt out of bed, forgetting I still had an erection, walking around the bed.


I looked at Mum, who looked me up and down. I noticed she then blushed. "What is it?" I wondered.

"Nothing. Go have your shower."

While showering, I willed my erection to go away but for some reason it wouldn't. So I figured I needed to jerk off. I used my overactive imagination but, for once, it didn't seem to work. Then images of Mum appeared in my mind, nothing terribly sexual, but for whatever reason, that seemed to work. I came like thunder. What the fuck was all that about? I don't really want to fuck my mother despite the fact I think she's beautiful. Well, maybe not. Shit, I don't know. I've thought about it plenty. Hard not to considering how beautiful she is. Why doesn't Dad see it?

Dad had already gone to work so Mum simply made me some toast and coffee, a plate and mug already in place by the time I appeared. The food barely touched the sides before I sculled the coffee, feeling it necessary to rush considering I was running late. Just as I was about to head out the door, Mum stopped me and pulled me in for a hug. Not unusual, but she held onto me for just that little bit longer.

"Thanks again, Mark," she said quietly.

"No worries, Mum. I have your back, no matter what."

She grabbed my head and dragged me down, kissing my cheek. "Have a nice day," she stated cheerfully, before she turned me around and smacked my bottom as I walked out the door. I just shook my head as I walked to my car but was glad to see Mum was in a much better mood. Long may that continue.

Chapter 1.2

Life continued as normal after that night. By normal, I mean the arguments continued, growing ever more one-sided. So, any time I heard an argument start, I let it go for perhaps five or ten minutes before I walked into the room, daring my father to do something. I'd collect Mum and we'd head out. Sometimes we'd go for coffee. Sometimes we'd grab a little food. Sometimes I'd drive us around until we simply stopped, perhaps talking though sometimes we'd just sit in contented silence.

Every time we'd return home, I'd have my nightly shower and head to bed. I'd nearly always receive a knock on the door. Mum would usually wear her pyjamas but it soon turned into a nightie, showing off her legs and arms. As I've said, Mum keeps herself fit and it took a lot of self-control to not see her as anything other than my mother.

What didn't help was the fact I was single. I had one or two steady girlfriends before, but I hated bringing them back to my place because of the arguments. Eventually we broke up as they were convinced I simply didn't want to introduce them to my parents and therefore wasn't that serious, despite my explanations of what my home life was like.

So, considering my mother was the only female companionship I had, it wasn't long before my body started to react to her presence, particularly once she started to wear her nighties and I could feel her skin underneath my palm, as we no longer slept on separate sides. Mum had no problem snuggling into me. What made it even more awkward was I would generally already have an erection by the time I got into bed.

What would stun me is that Mum would make little mention of it when she snuggled into me. And, trust me, I know she would have felt it, either pressing against her back or against her arse. Once or twice in the morning, I'd take a peek and check out her legs, while she continued to hold my hand against one of her breasts each time, which didn't help the whole erection thing. At other times, she'd purposely wriggle her arse against me and I swear she was doing it on purpose.

One morning she turned around as I was already awake. "Mark, can I ask you a question?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Do you find your mother attractive?"

I didn't really want to answer that question. I'm sure she already knew, so why she needed that verbalised... "Yeah, sure," I repeated, probably not sounding terribly convincing one way or the other.

"What about my breasts?" she asked, squeezing them together. My eyes immediately lowered towards them, "What do you think about them?"

"Why are you asking?"

"I just want to know if a man would still find me attractive. I can't remember the last time your father touched me."

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