The Box Ch. 03 - Final

A/N: I hope this chapter does its job. I didn't have a plan for this one, but I think it's one of my better ones overall. Happy reading!

It had been hours since Drew took a seat on the questionable hotel balcony. He'd consider it lucky if the whole thing fell out from under him. Surly, a fall from five floors up would be enough to avoid the inevitably worse fate he was facing. But of course, the damn thing was as structurally sound as it should be, never once in three hours swaying or crumbling. Suddenly, his phone buzzed.

"Hey babe," he answered. "Yeah, I've been up for a while. Haha, yeah, I know." His wife spoke on the other end, asking how he was feeling, if he was nervous.

"I don't think nervous is the right word," he stretched his neck. "More like, appalled that I even agreed to do this." He chuckled in the most unfunny way possible. Through the phone, Vanessa reiterated the same therapist mumbo-jumbo that got him into this situation in the first place. He needed to allow himself to forgive, to revisit trauma in order to heal. Did he believe it? No, not really. But, who was he to question his wifes intelligence.

"Are the kids up yet?" He asked, already knowing it was far too early for them, especially on a Saturday. "Right well, " he looked at his watch. "I gotta get ready, you're really sure this is necessary?" He knodded as if she could see him through the phone. "Love you too, babe. Kiss the kids for me. Alright, bye."

Drew stood up, his knees popping in refusal.

It took an hour for Drew to get ready -- showering, shaving, and throwing on the suit he brought. As he sat down to lace up his shoes, a pamphlet caught his eye. Lazy Dayz Waterpark. He picked up the advertisement, remembering his thirteenth birthday spent with a few friends going down the neon water slides and playing laser tag but with water guns instead. He smiled, wondering if it was okay to admit that some parts of his youth were good. He'd bring it up to Van later.

"I'd like to check out of room three-twelve." Andrew handed the two key cards to the front dest employee. He signed a receipt and left. Once he got into his car, time moved too fast. He pulled onto the highway to finish his half-hour drive, but it felt like five seconds before he was pulling into the restaurant parking lot. He wished he'd gotten lost or that there was a huge accident -- maybe even involving himself. But alas, the roads were as perfect as he remembered when he was younger. His heart raced, his palms itched, his tie was far too tight, and everything that Van said pointed to anxiety seemed true.

Drew turned his head to try and release some tension, only to find himself looking at a familiar car parked across the way. It felt like his head was suddenly inflated with helium, so full he may just float away and leave everyone to wonder what went wrong. He turned away, knowing if he stared at her car, it would just get worse. Instead, he looked at the colorfully beaded charm hanging from the rear view mirror. Damien and Becca made it for Father's Day -- little did they know it would be their father's very own talisman, offering him strength and courage. He could do this. The fact that when he looked at his kids, all he saw innocence and hope was enough to get him into that restaurant.

"Hello, I'm meeting someone. I believe she is here already."

The hostess walked Drew across the dining room, and all sorts of people were enjoying brunch. He remembered coming to this restaurant for silly family gatherings or frivolous work parties for either of his parents. His dad liked the ocean view from the private rooms; and funny enough, that was right where Drew was lead. He knodded as thanks and stepped inside the rich mahogany room.

A single round table, obviously requested since it was far too small for the space. She stood up, dressed perfectly, and put together like the queen herself.

"Oh god, Andrew, it's you!" Her voice was harsh and shrill. She stepped away from the table as if to approach him, but his one step back stopped her. Her face fell along with her outreached arms, "Oh, I see we're still doing this." She sounded disgusted rather than disappointed.

Drew swallowed as to convince himself to walk forward and sit down, to at least be polite. "Hello, Mother." He sounded almost like a computer, emotionless. He adjusted his tie, feeling again like it was a noose.

She scoffed, "I'm still just Mother?" She mimicked his even tone, doing air quotes around her title. It was obscenely obvious that so many years had gone by. She looked almost like a hanger, holding up her thin, wrinkled skin. He thought once, that she looked so beautiful. Glorious even.

"Would you," he cleared his throat. "Rather, I called you Patricia?" This was an exercise Viv suggested, to try and normalize distancing himself from her.

She swirled her cocktail, "I suppose you can call me whichever you're most comfortable with, Son." She said "son" with so much venom, Drew wasn't sure he could continue.

"Why don't we get started?" He suggested only because he wanted nothing more than to leave this place. He saw a manilla folder on the table between them, obviously filled with papers. He reached for the folder, only to be swatted away by his mother.

"You only came for this, didn't you?" She waved the folder around, yellow and pink papers flying out onto the floor. "You didn't even want to see me, did you?" She stared at him through a veil of sadness.

He rolled his neck, "Mother, you told me we needed to situate your will. That is why I drove out over four hours." She sneered, a look Drew had never seen from her. A look he especially hadn't ever received from her.

"Fine, the damn papers are in there." She threw the folder down, ignoring the scattered ones. Drew got up to retrieve them. As he picked them up, Patricia took a nice long look at her son. He was more handsome than any man she had ever seen. His suit fit perfectly. She remembered something about him being some kind of doctor, but the kind of doctor never came up. He bent over to grab a few scattered receipts, showing off his perfect ass.

She wanted to reach out and squeeze that ass, feel the firm flesh in her hands. She almost did. All that stopped her was her son standing straight again. She took out a compact to touch up her lipstick. Drew looked over the financial statements, the retirements, and the drafted will.

"Mother," he looked up. "I have two kids now." The last time they'd spoken, Damian wasn't born yet. That was over five years ago.

"Oh my god," she lit up again. "Another girl?" She could already imagine the darling frilly things she could have sent over.

"No. We had a boy." He looked away. He didn't like the way her face changed.

"Oh," she took a sip from her cocktail. "Your wife will be lucky." There was a smartass smirk on Patricias face. Drew knew exactly what she was implying.

"Vanessa would never touch him. She's nothing like you. She's good." His hands were just tight fists.

She shrugged, "She'll see. Once he really starts blossoming and maturing. Maybe she'll accidentally walk in on him?"

"Mother, stop!" Andrew pressed his finger to his temple, feeling a migraine coming."

"Or maybe she would get a glimpse of him getting out of the shower," she bit her lip. "All wet and glistening." Under the table, her legs were spread. The silk of her dress easily draped onto the chair between her legs.

"Vanessa is better than you. Everyone is better than you!" His head was throbbing now. The pain went down his neck. Some of the papers in his hands were balled up like trash. He knew this would go badly.

"The best one will be when he walks in on her," she felt a gush of hot wetness between her legs. In reality, there wasn't much wetness. At her age, she was lucky if cotton underwear didn't hurt from how dry she was. She didn't have to worry about that pain today since she wasn't wearing any panties.

Andrew felt his heart speeding up, but he knew it wasn't anxiety alone.

"Your wife, naked on your bed, legs open." Patricia had her eyes closed, remembering. "Three fingers pushed into her sopping wet hole."

Andrew sucked in a breath, picturing his beautiful wife. Her caramel skin, those long lean legs spread wide. That perfect, tight-lipped pussy. He felt his cock jump.

"Your handsome maturing son opens the door to ask his mom a question," Patricia slumped in her chair. The strap of her dress fell off her shoulder and down her front. The fabric was just flimsy enough to reveal one breast. "It wouldn't be long before your darling boy is rock hard and thrusting into his mother."

Andrew's eyes shot up, he was ready to argue. But, he caught sight of his mother with her pale sagging breast on display. On the surface, he was disgusted by her over the top wantoness. But, it was quickly replaced with desire. Even though he was not in the least attracted to "mature" women, it was like every factor came together perfectly.

She saw him staring, so she took hold of her breast and massaged it. "These were so sensitive when you were breastfeeding," she held onto her nipple. "I'm sure your wife will tell your boy all about that."

Andrew's cock was rock hard at this point. He was so angry, but that seemed to help his lust. "Mother, please let's just...," he tried, but he could see her arm moving. He looked around the table, even though every red alarm sounded to just run. Run as fast as possible back home and pretend he hatched out of a rock one sunny spring morning. Instead, he looked.

Patricia had her dress hiked up around her hips. Exposed was her bare lower half. Andrew was transfixed. Her thin, aged hands stroked her slit -- wiry gray hairs sprouted sparingly around her lips and mound. Every time her fingers stroked up, she would spread her lips.

Drew's mouth watered, his cock twitched. How could he let this happen? How could he feel this way, again? He felt eighteen again, in the worst way.

Patricia smirked, "You're lucky you know," she circled her clit a few times. "You have a chance, too."

Drew tilted his head, looking at her face again.

"Your daughter is the oldest. You'll get to have her first."

It was over. Andrew unbuckled his belt, but he turned to the door before actually undressing.

"I tipped the woman to stay away," Patricia assured. She pulled the entire top of her dress down, exposing her other tit as if to further prove they didn't have to worry.

His cock was leading him to pull his pants down. He adjusted so his hard cock popped free from the hole in his briefs. Patricia gasped like it was the first time.

"Baby," she said in the least motherly way. "I'm ready, but I don't get wet like I used to. I'm too dry for all of that." She pointed to his bobbing cock. Without another word, he was on his knees. He pulled Patricia almost off of her seat and buried his face into her snatch.

She covered her mouth to supress a scream. He didn't used to eat her like this. He was gentle before. But now, his hands pryed her open, and he pushed his tongue in so far she thought he was trying to climb back in.

He sucked her like she had some kind of nectar that he needed to sustain life. He only wished he had a straw to guzzle her faster. She was right about being dry. Most of the wetness she had was his saliva. He thought of another way.

He released her labia and used his thumbs to expose her little clit. He latched on. This time, she did scream. She hoped he wasn't trying to suck her clit completely off because that's exactly what it felt like. He sucked so hard that she thought the button may just pop off into his mouth like a hard candy.

Andrew heard his mother over his head. He ignored her. She was mistaken if she thought he was doing this for her.

Suddenly, everything went white. Patricia had her first orgasm in years. She shook and tried to push Drew away, but he didn't budge. He kept pulling on her clit, even using his teeth to nibble.

Tears were in Patricias eyes. She wanted to stop. She needed a break.

Finally, he let go of her nub. He looked at her swollen, red clit. Between her lips, he could tell she was oozing. Perfect.

He stood up, so Patricia leaned forward. She assumed it was her turn to use her mouth. Instead, Drew pushed her onto the table. Papers scattered, her cocktail knocked over. For the first time, Patricia wasn't sure she wanted this anymore.

"Drew, baby, let's talk." Again, she tried to sit up, but he pushed her harder. Instantly, Andrew slid his cock as deep as possible.

Patricia cried out at the intrusive cock filling her. There was nothing behind Drew's eyes. He was possessed by something Patricia had never seen.

He plowed forward hard. His hands found those saggy tits and he relished the feel of her old skin. In his mind, he was disgusted. But, his cock felt at home for the first time in so long. Warm, wet, a little loose. It was heaven.

Patricia started to get tired. Her son's weight on her, and in her, was too much. She pushed his chest and tried to ask him to get up. But he put his hand over her mouth. "No, you're done talking."

His motions sped up and got more forceful. He was close. Suddenly, he had an image in his mind.

An obviously young woman riding his cock. Her olive skin is flawless, and her pussy is so tight. As she bounces, her perfect tits jump deliciously. He grabs hold of those luscious tits and she moans. He finally looks at her face.

She looks like his wife and mother combined. He realizes, it's his daughter.

Instantly, his cock explodes. Cum fills his exhausted mother, laying motionless on the table. Her only sign of life is her groaning.

In his mind, he was fucking his future daughter. He went as far as to imagine her appearance, making her out to be a perfect blend of the two women who shaped his sexual nature.

Andrew guzzled the cool water down his throat. "And that's what I think would happen."

Vanessa looked, wide-eyed, over her glasses. "I mean, that's an extreme worst case. But that doesn't mean it isn't valid." She looked at her husband, then back at her notes. "Next session, I want to get into whether or not you really have violent tendencies or if that's something you're pinning to illusions of your mother."

He nodded, "Right."

As he got up to leave his wifes office, she stopped him. "Oh babe," she called.

"Yeah?" He turned back to face her. She was looking over the notes again.

"Do not ever bring our kids into your cautionary imaging sessions ever again."

He nodded, swallowing a lump in his throat. "Right, I'm sorry, I just-," she cut him off.

"Ever again." He just nodded and left, thanking god he married a therapist.