Family Inheritance
If there’s one thing you should know about me, it’s this; I’m just a lawyer, nothing more, nothing less. I do what I’m told and I act in the best interest of the family. The patriarch had passed away and I was named executor of the estate. Not a godly fortune, but a substantial one, enough to make dignified people do crazy things.
All of this happened in the aftermath of the patriarch’s passing and the family was waiting for their inheritance. As individuals, they’re wonderful people, I’ve always gotten along with them, but as a family there are some underlying toxic dynamics. That’s okay, many families have that.
Per the instructions of the trust, my orders were as follows:
i) That I would have control of distributing funds
ii) The family must remain close to receive an annual allowance
iii) A morality clause must be followed. No drinking, drugs, shameful behavior
This started at a high-end political event which Margaret also attended. She looked as beautiful as ever, wearing a long red gown and her hair was tied, which had streaks of white. Tall and thin. She was 52 at the time with the confidence of a woman who knew her worth. She was no longer tethered to a husband and that freedom allowed her to mingle as she pleased.
As the night went on, Margaret found me and pulled me aside, a gleam in her eyes.
“I may have a chance to run for Governor,” she said. “The other candidates are polling horribly. So big donors want someone fresh, even at my age.”
None of that surprised me. Margaret wasn’t some typical socialite or housewife. She was a known business woman and had spent the last few years doing philanthropy at high profile events. The media loved her. Charisma had always been on her side. I’d heard whispers of her wanting to run for local office, her husband had always been uneasy about that, but with the husband gone, she was unstoppable.
“Well then, you have my vote.”
“That’s what I’d like to talk about,” she said. “Some donors won’t support me until after the primaries. They don’t want to piss off their friends. So, I’ll need to fund my campaign early on.”
“And you want the money from the trust account.”
“It’s my only chance to win a primary contest. Apparently I test very well in focus groups.”
“What’s the dollar amount?”
“$10 million.”
We talked for a good amount that night. The family is rich, but not wealthy, and the trust was designed to take care of them over the decades. In order for Margaret to pull that kind of money, the other beneficiaries — the adult children — must agree to change the trust.
“You must think I’m crazy,” she said.
“No, not at all. I admire people who run for office with a specific worldview. You could do a lot of great things.”
“And the amount of money I’m asking for? It’s a risk.”
“Even if you lose the race, your increased name recognition could benefit everyone, financially speaking.”
“This is a dream of mine,” she said. “The stars have aligned.”
“I’m happy for you, but Daphne is a lavish spender, so is Oliver.”
“He’s back on drugs, you know.”
“Are you sure?”
“The signs are there,” she said. “Ever since his father passed, he’s gone back to his old ways.”
“Well there you go. Oliver could be disqualified from the inheritance because of the morality clause. More cash for you.”
She smiled, “No, I could never do that.”
“Would you like me to talk to them? See how they feel about this.”
“Please. I was hoping you’d offer.”
The next day I visited their family home, a modest estate outside the city. Margaret was busy on the phone and the maid let me in. I took what Margaret said to heart, about her eldest son and drugs. I had plenty of experience with spoiled young men who lacked direction and I interpreted Margaret’s comments that I should intervene.
I went to Oliver’s bedroom and searched around. Did I feel guilty for going through his closets and drawers? No. It was for his own good. Oliver was a bright young man with potential, but he’s what happens when you have too much energy, access to everything, and a neglectful father. You get someone with a burning passion but nowhere to put it.
No drugs were found that day, though I found something that would change their lives forever — a novel from the 1970’s written by an author named HeyAll, a worn paperback with the cover torn off. A quick skim revealed that it was erotic. A closer look revealed that these were short stories involving family members. With a deeper inspection, the main focus was the mother.
Young men reading porn usually means nothing, but this is a bargaining tool.
A few minutes later I sat across Margaret in the home office and showed her the novel. It was funny seeing her reaction. It was like pills or ecstasy would have been easier to process, because at least she could understand drugs; how is a mother supposed to deal with a son’s incest fantasy?
“This is gross,” she said.
“Oliver is a complicated young man.”
“Fair enough, but why are you showing this to me?”
“Think about it,” I said. “Oliver is going through a rough time. He’s lost his father. He seeks validation with wild friends. So it’s either that… or this.”
I pointed to the novel and Margaret scoffed that same second.
“You want me to fuck him?”
“Be pragmatic. The only leverage you have is being a mother.”
Right then and there, she knew I was right, she didn’t like it either. For the next hour we discussed potential next steps. Her main priority was amending the trust, her second priority was maintaining her dignity in the household. She refused to denigrate herself. But she also knew that vigorous young men like Oliver are easily manipulated by women. He built quite a reputation as a ladies man on the party scene. Everybody in our social circle knew that.
“Wait here,” she said.
She was annoyed and didn’t try to hide it. I waited there for a while and Margaret returned wearing a form fitting black dress, smaller than anything I’d ever seen her wear before, with her arms and legs showing. She also wore red heels and sheer stockings.
“You look fantastic.”
“My husband loved this outfit. I only wore it for him.”
When she sat down, I’ll never forget the sound of her heels clicking on the floor. It was the music of a dignified woman. The force of each step. The confidence and rhythm. She sat with upright posture but she wasn’t relaxed. Sitting there with her legs crossed, I could tell she was embarrassed being dressed like that around me.
“If you want my advice, I suggest you speak with Oliver today, discuss your desire to run for office, see if he’d be open to amending the trust.”
“Okay, fine, I’ll speak with him.”
“Lose the bra, too.”
“You must be kidding.”
“For this to work, you have to entice him. Ditching the bra would hit the sweet spot.”
“That’s trashy.”
“Young men like him would respond to that. Want to bet?”
She pursed her lips. “Fine, I’ll do it, but if this goes sideways it’s your fault.”
“I’ll take full responsibility.”
Margaret didn’t try anything that night, instead she took a few days to read the HeyAll novel her son had hidden, wanting to understand the interest behind it. I remember talking to Margaret on the phone over a variety of issues, and she’d go on rants about the obscenity of that book, how uncomfortable it made her.
On the night she made the move, Oliver was the only sibling home, and Margaret had texted me selfie pictures of her outfit, wondering if she looked slutty. That was the word she used in the text, ‘slutty,’ and I responded that she was overthinking this, that men are simple creatures. She wore a tight black dress with stockings and heels.
Later that night, she texted me: We need to talk. Tomorrow at 10 am
I arrived at the estate at the exact time and the maid escorted me to the library room and arranged coffee and pastries. A few moments later, Margaret came with that annoyed expression I saw days earlier. Whatever conversation she had with Oliver must have gone sideways.
“How did it go?” I asked.
She sat down and took a sip of coffee.
“The good news is, Oliver is open to amending the trust. In fact he’s open to giving me his entire share.”
She didn’t say anything after that. She took an angry bite of a cheese danish to calm herself. Then she had another sip of coffee to wash it down.
“And the bad news?”
“It was a disaster,” she said. “I told him about my opportunity to run for governor, that I’d have strong backing if I won the party nomination first. Then we talked about money. That’s when all hell broke loose. A lot of pent up anger came out yesterday. Things I had no idea he felt. We argued for an hour straight, I’m not joking about that. He blamed me for lots of things, especially things about his father, I gave a rebuttal the best I could.”
“What did he want?”
“He’ll amend the trust if I give him a blowjob.”
“Seriously?”
“Oh yes, he’s serious. As serious as I’ve ever seen him.”
“He must have been furious to make a request like that.”
“The offer was calculated,” she said. “Oliver noticed how I was dressed and figured I had his porn book. He knew I was trying to seduce him. Anyway, he wants to reconcile our relationship, but he wants to humiliate me first, to make me prove myself.”
“I can imagine how complex this must feel.”
“Yes, but I think… as a mother… I finally understand Oliver’s frustrations. I disagree with them, but I see his point. Am I crazy for entertaining this?”
“I think you’re a woman trying to keep a family together.”
For the next week, everything was on a need-to-know basis. I was kept in the dark about the intimate details of their family conversations, but she’d email me the latest terms because I was responsible for writing the trust amendment.
We had a phone conversation around 11 pm and she sounded at peace with everything. She talked about the upcoming filing deadline so she could run for office. I told her I supported her in whatever she decided, and when the line went quiet, I knew there was a change of plans.
“I’m hoping Oliver has come to his senses,” I said.
“No, he knows exactly what he wants. But you know how siblings are, they talk.”
“York knows about the offer?”
“He’s become the jealous younger brother.”
I remember the shock I felt that Margaret was entertaining the idea and I could tell that the plan was very much in play. It was a delicate dance we did on the phone, where I didn’t want to be judgemental of her, and she wanted to maintain the moral high ground.
“What are the new terms?” I asked.
“Before we get to that, I need to know, are you still in? Or have I scared you away?”
“I’m loyal to your family. I’m serious, however I can be of service.”
There was a long pause on the line.
“York wants the same deal, blowjobs were mentioned.”
“Is this about Oliver and York getting some kind of revenge? Or is this about being horny young men?”
“Both.”
“Are you considering it?”
“Yes.”
“Do you think this will ruin your family? I don’t know if it’s worth the money.”
There was a long pause.
“Just the opposite,” she said. “I get the impression that this could save my family. I know, it’s twisted. You’re the only person I’ve told about this.”
“This will always be safe with me.”
“I’m glad. And obviously there’s another issue we have to deal with.”
She’s talking about Daphne, the only daughter.
In order to amend a trust, all beneficiaries must agree, and so far we haven’t confirmed a plan for the daughter. I thought the best approach would be finding an alternative way to entice her into agreement. Perhaps a good paying job somewhere down the line. Or a larger share of the estate.
But the mother was right about one thing, siblings talk, but at the time I remained hopeful that the brothers wouldn’t inform Daphne about the unholy agreement. In fact, I assumed the brothers would come to their senses and abandon this idea of getting sexual favors from their mother. That everyone could return to being a normal family.
How wrong I was.
I next saw Margaret at a French restaurant for a lunch event. We traveled in the same social circles, though now she’s raising her profile by building a political campaign, seeing who’s interested in working for her, and for what price. I had lunch and talked with some friends, she worked the crowd in between entrees.
That was the day I knew she had a chance of winning any kind of election. Her charm was magic. Gorgeous, yet relatable across social and economic lines. She knew how to talk to people and came from a genuine place. When she asked you a question about how you’re doing, she really wanted to know, or at least it seemed that way.
As everyone finished their meal and headed to the parking lot, Margaret pulled me aside and we talked further down the street.
“Draw up the paperwork,” she said. “They’ve agreed to fix the trust. I want the money as soon as possible.”
“$10 million.”
“Yes, that much.”
“And they’ve all agreed to this? I’m assuming this includes Daphne.”
“Yes, that’s correct.”
“What I meant was, Daphne knows about the arrangement?”
“You’re going to think my family is clinically insane.”
“Not at all.”
She sucked a deep breath. “Apparently Oliver and Daphne are… you know…”
“Doing that?”
“For over a year, apparently,” she said. “Daphne explained everything to me.”
“I thought she hated her brothers.”
“This makes up for that. Apparently. Welcome to the world of spoiled rich siblings, where the rules of traditional society don’t apply.”
“What does she want?”
“To be an influencer on my campaign. You know, follow me around, make news content or funny videos. And if I win, she wants greater access. She thinks her online career and followers will skyrocket.”
“Smart girl.”
“Way too smart.”
Margaret’s lips pursed and there was a slight shiver when she said that. I didn’t want to inquire further because we were on a public sidewalk with top donors and political operatives nearby. And again, I’m a lawyer, I can guide, I give advice, but passing moral judgment isn’t my role. People like Margaret are capable of making their own decisions.
Two days later I went to their estate in the morning and sat in Margaret’s bedroom chair. She showed me her phone, pictures that her daughter had sent to prove that an incestuous relationship with the brother was real. It was a bargaining chip by Daphne to get extra benefits for amending the trust.
I’d always known Daphne to be vivacious, so full of life, your typical Gen Z influencer who strives for social media attention. She’s like the jack of all trades, she does a little bit of everything. Smart. Occasionally bratty. Always warm-hearted.
Swiping images on the phone, I saw pictures of her pink pussy being spread and penetrated by her brother’s big cock. That was my first exposure to real incest and I didn’t know how to react to it. How is anybody supposed to feel seeing that? No faces were shown, but it looked like her body, athletic with a light tan, and the male figure did look like her brother.
Her orgasm was prolific. The last thing I swiped was a 14 second video clip with her pussy gushing and squirting, her hips and thighs trembling while she was being pounded.
I put the phone down on the table because Margaret was nervously pacing the bedroom. So obvious that she was humiliated by this. Finally she shrugged and went through her closet, unable to look at me knowing that I’ve become part of their dark family secret.
She rummaged through the closet for undergarments and stockings. Grabbing them without care and tossing them on the bed. Her frustrations had reached a boiling point, not just with her family, but her political ambitions and what she wanted to do with the rest of her life. A woman with talent like hers should be destined for great things. That’s what pushed her to the edge.
“Are you sure you want to continue?”
“Believe me,” she said. “I want nothing to do with this. But I’ve been thinking about it everyday. I’ve always been the best mother I could. To all of them. Love requires sacrifice. Oliver thinks he’s right. He’ll never change his mind.”
The selection on the bed were things she’d never wear in public. They were so far away from her public persona. Sheer undergarments. See-through bras. See-through panties. They were in different colors but mostly black. These were items worn for her late husband, found at the end of her closet because she hadn’t worn them in a while.
She didn’t look at me. She got naked like it was a doctor’s appointment, with no emotional attachment or feeling, and held different items of lingerie in front of her to see what her mood dictated. Or maybe she was thinking which her sons would prefer.
What a wild thought for a mother to experience, thinking which lingerie a son would most be excited by. Having to serve two brothers must have been a whirlwind inside her heart. I could only imagine and the look on her face showed an inner-conflict the average woman could never understand.
The night of the deal she gave her maid the weekend off. The brothers were home and Daphne was at her college dorm. Under normal circumstances, the signatures must be done together and have witnesses, but we bypassed that and I had a friend notarize it later.
Margaret settled on red high heels, stockings that rolled up her thighs, a black bra and panties set, and a transparent robe to finish the look. She wore thick framed glasses. Her hair and makeup looked ready for a ballroom appearance, something with an extreme amount of class and she applied the makeup herself.
To this day I believe she took great care in her appearance so she wouldn’t feel like a whore. It was something for herself, a way to preserve dignity while performing undignified acts.
She didn’t look nervous or jittery, instead she was like a woman seeking closure, wanting to get this over with. She applied perfume on her neck and that was a telling moment. Wanting a nice fragrance for her sons was unnecessary but she did that for a reason. She wanted it to be memorable. I began to wonder if this secretly aroused her.
“Ready?” I asked.
“No, but why does it matter? Let’s get this done.”
I took the stack of papers and a pen, then followed Margaret’s lead down the hallway, her heels announcing her presence with each step, echoing in the large home. She maintained a formal posture with her chin held high. How real her confidence was is anyone’s guess. I could hear her breathing. I was enticed by her body and could only imagine how the brothers would feel seeing this. They’d never seen her in this form, by the way. She’d always guarded herself from them.
The bedroom door to Oliver’s room was open and the brothers were sitting around in their underwear. Their builds were similar, tall, broad shoulders, though the older brother had more muscles. They were the typical all-American white males from privileged backgrounds and they were about to get another privilege of a lifetime.
Both of them sat upright when their mother walked into the bedroom wearing that barely-there outfit. The ultimate irony of the situation was, the brothers appeared more nervous than she was. In fact, they looked so nervous it appeared they regretted ever asking for this. After all, this was the woman who raised them.
Their mother.
I put the documents on the table with the pen on top.
“That’s everything we’ve discussed,” I said. “We’ll handle the obligations first, then I’ll need your signatures. After that we’re done.”
Margaret was the only person in the family with any courage, standing there like a mature porn star ready for a scene. She looked ferocious, like she was daring them to get started, taunting them almost, using the sharpness of her eyes and the tilt of her chin. A mother has that kind of effect on a son. For a moment I thought they’d cower and put their clothes on and immediately apologize. That everyone would come to their senses and they’d be a proper family.