Mother, I Now Protect You Pt. 01

A son decides to put an end to the mental torture and bullying his mother has been suffering at the hands of his father.

Further chapters will continue the story. All involved are 18 years old or over.

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Ch. 01

My name is Oliver, Ollie to my friends. Every boy reaches a point in his life when he turns his back on the years of his youth and steps into a new era.

I reached that point a week before my 18th birthday.

As I walked the halls and corridors of the complex of buildings that had been my home for the past six years I thought back to when I came here. I had just turned twelve when I arrived at the school. A nervous, weedy, gangling boy.

My growth had outgrown my strength and I had the physical appearance of a nerd. Insecure, my best company was myself.

Home life had not been easy or happy. I have not been home since I arrived here, six ago.

My mother was only 17 when I was born, my father was 22. From the beginning he hated the sight of me, I was the last thing he wanted in his life, my mother being a close second. He was the only son of a very wealthy banking family. Old money begat new money and that in turn generated more money, a never ending cycle. The only thing it could not buy was a son with a human streak.

My father grew up having everything a young man could wish for in life.

The only areas in which he failed was his total lack of conscience and any degree of empathy. His misfortune is to be, "vertically challenged." All 5ft 4ins tall and puny, he suffers from a bad dose of short man syndrome. He makes up for it by being obnoxious, mean and a total bastard.

He had knocked my mother up and, so far as he was concerned, it was her problem, nothing to do with him. One thing led to another and he got the shock of his life when his committed Catholic father told him that he would marry the girl, or he would be disinherited.

2

His God was, and still is, money.

Having to choose to marry and keep the money, or spurn the girl and have no money, well that was a non-starter. Money won the day.

He married her, did not fuck her to consummate the union, and thereafter ignored her and treated her like shit.

That attitude was then also applied to me when I arrived six months later. I was told that he took one look at me and never so much as glanced at me again. I did not exist.

They had separate lives, separate beds, separate wings in a very large house. His life was business and leisure. Hers was constant humiliation and bullying.

Growing up in that environment drove me very close to my mother. I worshipped her.

She was not allowed to have friends. He even told people that she was mentally ill, and he had hired a psychiatric nurse to look after her. He told everyone that her 'condition' meant no visitors allowed.

It was all bullshit, but the less people saw of my mother, they less they thought about her. She was all but forgotten.

I had home tutoring and never left the estate. There was no contact with other children, I was just a vague memory in the minds of a very few people.

The only other people Mom and I saw were our housekeeper and groundsman, a lovely couple, Mr & Mrs MacInnes.

They had worked for my grandfather and when he died, they just remained as part of the scene, but now working for my father. They treated me very well. Because of their Scottish background they called me Wee Ollie.

Mrs. Mac. was like a grandmother to me, always giving me treats from her baking when I was in the kitchen. Mr. Mac. was the only man in my life, other than tutors, that spoke to me. My father simply did not acknowledge me.

3

Mr. Mac. talked to me about the natural world and taught me many things about life on the estate, which was largely given over to shooting parties that made sport out of blasting defenceless birds out of the sky. Birds that had been specially reared to die like that, driven from their roosts and ground cover into the range of the guns. Those 'enjoying the sport' were always business clients of my father. I never heard of him having proper friends. Normal people hated him for his arrogance and rudeness.

He knew that he was disliked, but in his warped mind money would be all he needed to be accepted.

These 'hunting' jerks had no choice but to pretend they were his friends, they needed his money in their business lives. Being a ruthless bastard, he could, and would, bankrupt them if they said anything that offended him. To ask about his wife was as no-no.

They never asked about me, probably they did not know of my existence.

All these shooters were much taller men than my shorty father. I guess that was what turned him on, big men having to take shit from a squirt, because the squirt had the financial power to break them.

Being largely unaware of an outside world I lived quite happily, but as I grew older, I sensed that something was wrong. My mother almost never smiled.

Shortly before my 12th birthday she told me that I would be going away to a boarding school to complete my education. That was a real shock and I said I wanted to stay with her.

She explained that I, and she, had no choice in the matter. I was to go to the same school my father had attended. It was not local, it was a few thousand miles away, in a foreign country.

My father had never spoken a word to me since I was born. Even on the day I left, accompanied by my mother, he did not appear, let alone say goodbye.

Well, to cut a long story short, I arrived at the school six years ago, frightened and very nervous, and found myself among 400 other boys ranging in age from 12 to 18. They were from countries all around the world.

It was a huge shock, I was an only child, now I was thrown into this whirlpool.

4

Mr. Mac. had talked to me about how I should cope. He told me to keep my head down for a couple of months and take my time picking the boys I wanted to know better. He also told me to participate in everything. I was not to shy away from any sport or activity as, he told me, my willingness will be recognised, respected and increase my popularity. He told me to never be arrogant with my achievements, to always make sure a weaker boy on any team I was in got his fair share of any accolades. Above all, he told me to make a point of being fulsome and sincere in my praise of others.

On the day I was leaving he took me on a walk across the estate and gave me his final advice.

"Wee Ollie, when you are a senior at the school you must treat the juniors with respect. Be an example to them. Protect them from bullies. Never expect them to do something that you would not be prepared to do yourself. Be cheerful, and a gentleman in all you do. Make your mother proud pf you."

I noted that he did not say I should make my father proud. Mr. Mac. new what a shit he was. He shook my hand and wished me good luck.

My mother and I flew to Europe, and the next chapter of my life opened.

The next six years were transformational as I gained confidence in my myself and my abilities. I tried everything, every game, every pastime, every opportunity to test myself. In some I failed, in most I succeeded. As Mr. Mac. had said would happen, I became known as the boy that was willing, brave, an all-round decent guy, a team player.

I arrived at the school, a tall gangly boy with the stick-like development of a 12 year old. All knees, bony shoulders and elbows, knobbly knees and big feet. I really did not know how I would cope, but the words of Mr. Mac remained with me. I resolved to do my best and launched into my new life.

Shortly after I arrived there had been a reunion at the school of past students. I was walking down a corridor, the walls of which were lined with class photographs of past pupils, when I overheard a group of men in their 40's. One of them pointed at a photograph and said, "That was my year. A good bunch of guys, except for this little shit. God, how we all hated him. I wonder where he is now."

5

He then placed his finger on one face. It was that of my father.

I kept on walking. Never, in all the time I was there, did I tell my school mates that my father was a past pupil.

My very active life coincided with a few growth spurts and I shot up by a few of inches each year, until I topped out at 6ft 4in. At the same time my frame filled out and muscles started appearing at a rapid rate. My strength kept pace, by the time I was 16 the gym was seeing me every day, my body responded, and I soon became the biggest and most muscular boy at the school, towering in height and size above my contemporaries. The juniors just about hero-worshipped me, some of the younger ones did! To them, I was some sort of God. Any illusions I had were deflated by my peers telling me I was a cunt. Best friends can do that, and it is always mutual! All about being accepted.

Academically I was not brilliant, but I maintained my place in the upper quarter in all subjects. I was a high achiever in all sports, excelling at rugby, cricket, tennis and swimming. Victor Ludorum, in each of my last three years.

In my final year I was appointed Head Boy and Leader of the School.

I never returned home during those years. My mother came to Europe during my holidays to be with me and we travelled the world together. She told me that my father refused to have my name mentioned. She did not tell him how I was doing and developing. He would not look at any photograph in which I appeared and would not allow any photo of me to be displayed in the house. He had zero interest in seeing me. So far as he was concerned, I did not exist.

As it turned out, that was the worst decision he ever made.

Those holidays with my mother were fabulous. We visited many countries and saw amazing places, met interesting people. We travelled by air, sea and road. I am sure that aged 16, and looking like I did, I could have fucked a few women of all ages on every cruise, and at every spa, resort or hotel. The opportunities were there, but my mother knew the effect I was having on women. My hormones were calling the tune, she managed to "protect" me.

With all that available pussy around me, I remained a virgin.

So I masturbated a lot.

6

Just before my 18th birthday Mom came to be with me on my final day, when I checked out of the school for the last time.

She would miss her regular visits to Europe, the only times she ever got out from under the thumb of the bastard.

Before returning home, we spent a few fantastic days on the French Riviera.

Wherever we went we seemed to be the centre of attention. The petite lady and the muscular young boy stood out in the crowd. Mom just simply glowed when people complimented her. "Your son, such a handsome young man".

At the pool, wearing swim shorts, I knew I was attracting a lot of female attention. If I had been on my own, I would have had ample opportunity to lose my virginity with my pick of pussy, young and old. Some were blatant about their availability.

Mom told me some of them referred to me as "eye candy." They asked about the "handsome young man" who was travelling with her, some were convinced I was her toy-boy. Then she would introduce me as her son, and delight at the buzz of envy that caused.

I was quite at ease with the various people and situations we encountered. The school had provided an excellent education. They taught adolescent boys all the social skills and graces, how to behave in different circumstances. We learnt how to be courteous and respectful, how to dance formally and for fun. How to play Bridge, how to make interesting conversation and a variety of current topics. In short, essential life-skills.

Displaying those skills in company drew older people to me, especially the ladies.

I was the handsome, muscular, well-mannered young boy who was at ease in any social situation. My education had cost a fortune, but it was money well spent. We were mostly meeting people of mothers age or older. But because I was at ease with them, courteous and well-mannered it did not seem to matter that I was 18.

I rather liked the attention!

Now I was to be, briefly, allowed into the family home again. Mom told me that Dad made it very clear that he did not want that "nerdy boy" around, and I would have to be on my way damn soon, better if she did not bring him home at all.

7

She told me many things, a lot of which I had long suspected.

How he constantly humiliated, bullied and ignored her for weeks on end. Kept her isolated from his circle of friends.

Did I tell you he was a shit? Let me repeat. He is a mean piece of shit and treats her like shit.

I knew he fucked anything that walked, and he lets my mother know what he is doing. She told me he even brought bimbos home and fucked them under the marital roof. You see, an out and out shit.

The night before we were to fly home, I was in my room of the hotel suite when I heard her crying.

I went to investigate and found her lying on her bed, sobbing.

Going to her I put my hand on her back, "Mom, what's wrong?"

She turned over, her tear stained face looking at me.

I knew it had to be something my arsehole father had done, it always was.

"Mom, what has he done now?"

I kissed her forehead, telling her not to cry, as I cradled her against my chest. So fragile in my arms as her warm tears wet my pecs.

I have never felt more loving of anything.

Her sobs grew quieter and then ceased. In a sad, deflated voice, she said. "Oliver, darling. If only your father was like you."

"Mom, I am here for you, you know that. Has he hit you? I promise you, if he has laid a finger on you, I will break his legs".

She wriggled against me before saying, "There has never been physical violence, just constant mental torture. He is just so mean and hurtful. Darling, leave him alone, he is not worthy of you."

When the car turned in at our gate's I was glad to see the familiar sights again as we travelled the long driveway to the house. There was no one waiting to meet us, just another of his deliberate nasty snubs.

8

We stopped under the porch. Mr and Mrs MacInnes, our long-serving housekeeper and her groundsman husband, appeared and hurried over to Mom, while I assisted the chauffeur with the luggage. There was a lot of it!

They greeted Mom with great affection. I have always liked them. They have been with us all my life, always taking an interest in, and spoiling, me.

As I was piling the luggage, I saw that Mrs. Mac was looking at me in a slightly puzzled way, she was probably wondering who the large young man was. I saw her turn to Mom and say something.

My Mom smiled and beckoned me over.

I was about to say hello when Mom said. "Oliver darling, come here."

Mr and Mrs Mac did a double take, as some recognition dawned.

"Ollie dear, is that really you?" Said Mrs. Mac, as she put her hands to her face. "Oh, my goodness, how you have changed!" I smiled, hugged her and lifted her off her feet to twirl around before setting her down with a kiss on the cheek. She smelt the same as I remembered her, motherly and comforting.

"Yes, it is me. I am so happy to see you again. I have missed you very much".

Old man MacInnes grabbed my hand and pumped it in delight. "My god, Sir. Welcome home Sir. Well I never. You are a grown man Sir, so changed!"

I shook his hand. "Thank you, Sir. Changed? I guess I have, well just a bit. But please, I am still Wee Ollie, so no more of this 'Sir' stuff from you to me."

As he looked at me his eyes crinkled, I swear there were tears not far off.

"You were always our special boy All these years my wife and I have missed you. You may have changed in shape and size, but your true self remains the same, I can see that. A credit to your mother, she is so proud of you, just as we are."

He just managed to catch himself as he was about to say "Sir" again, when he paused and said, "Wee Ollie, is what we knew you as, so with your permission, although we cannot possibly call you "Wee", we will call you Ollie. If that is alright with you, may we address you as Ollie?"

9

I tower at least a foot over him. I touched his shoulders, looking down into his lined face. "Of course, Sir, I would not have you do otherwise, but you will always be Sir, to me."

Mutual respect sealed. That education prepares one for such occasions!

When the luggage was in the house Mom said that my bedroom was where it had always been. I ran up the stairs and threw open the door. I was back in the bedroom of a twelve year old boy. Nothing had changed in over five years. Superman and Batman posters on the walls. Model 'planes and ships. Collected treasures and books of my childhood on the shelves. The only thing that was different was the bed. Gone was my little boy bed, in its place stood a big double.

Mom was behind me. "Darling, I changed nothing. Every day I sat in here for an hour thinking about you, looking at your possessions. Only last week I had the bed changed, you would never have fitted in the old one."

Now it was my eyes prickling with tears.

I scooped her up in my arms and hugged her.

Mom had come in here every day for each of those years to connect with me. I had no idea she had been doing that. Holding her I sat on the bed and cradled her in my arms., I did cry. It was a very emotional moment. She kissed my tears away.

After a while she left me and I sorted out my clothing, unpacking some suitcases.

Then I heard his voice, bombastic, demanding attention and obviously talking, or rather shouting, at Mom.

"So, you are back are you. You needn't have bothered. You should have taken your damned brat and left me in peace. I was hoping you had got rid of it, that I was rid of both of you."

I determined there and then that this had to stop.

Mom had told me that, because he refused to look at any photos of me, she had deliberately not told him that their returning son was somewhat different to the son he had last seen six years before.

I had changed into a tee shirt and shorts. The tight shirt strained across my chest, every muscle defined, my arms pumped, the shorts tight around my thighs.

10

Barefooted, I padded down the stairs and found him yelling at Mom in the hallway. His back was to me. Seeing Mom's eyes move past him, he turned around. Seeing me he took a step back, there was absolutely no recognition.

"Who the hell are you, what are you doing in my house?" He had to crane his neck back to look up at me. I had a good view into his nostrils. Not pleasant.

He whipped around to face Mom again.

"I demand to know who this is. Something you have picked up on your travels? You whore! A boyfriend, a toy-boy? You pathetic creature! You must be paying him well; no self-respecting man would want to touch you. Get him out of here!"

I was about to speak when Mom, stopped me.

Walking over to me she stood next to me, sheltering under my protective shield.

With obvious relish she then stepped to one side and pointed at me.

"My dear, meet your son, Oliver."

His jaw hit the floor, his mouth moved, but he was not able to talk.

I walked over to him and extended a hand. "Hello Sir, it is good to be back. I am glad to be back. It seems to me that Mom needs me here."

I was towering over the short, weedy twat. In his state of shock, he automatically raised a hand to take mine. I took it and gave him a smile as I crushed his hand in my fist. The pain in his eyes was good to see, he whimpered as I let him go.

He stood nursing his hand, not believing what he was seeing.

Looking down at him I said. "Let us go into your study Sir, there is something we need to discuss. Excuse us mother, this will not take long."

I called him Sir, I always had.

Good manners again. He had paid for my education, he now saw the result.