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Dad died. Over the following year, there was a void in the family that it seemed could never be filled. He was too young to have just died; at 55 he was strong and in great health. One minute he was here, the next he was gone.

Mom kept the big house up and told us that she would never move out. Dad had bought a house when he was young, before he and mom married. Over the next years, he built a front to the house that was amazing.

It was like he put a house in front of a house. The back house was red brick and traditional. The new front was built like a rustic ranch, with a huge living room. There was a big stone fireplace and stone floor. It had high ceilings and big wooden beams across the walls and ceiling.

Dad had bolted iron rings onto the beams, and mom would change the look of the rooms by running cloth and ribbons through the rings, hanging ornaments from each that reflected the holiday or season.

Red and white cloth and big hearts celebrated the coming of Valentine’s Day, bright pastels and eggs were for Easter, and in the summer, plants would be hanging from every ring, thriving in the bright light from the 4 large skylights. The room was festive and lively. It always felt like home.

The bedroom was built the same way. A large king size bed was big enough for all 4 of us kids to cuddle with our parents, even into our teens. We had movie night sleepovers from time to time, all in their bed watching the big television, munching on snacks.

There were a lot of good memories in the house, but none better than the kitchen. Since the new front had the living room and master bedroom and bath, dad extended the kitchen in the main house.

There was a big butcher block table and cooking island, a big heavy round table with 8 chairs, and it was open and airy. The island was a counter on the other side, with stools along the front. Most breakfasts and lunches were at the counter, most dinners at the table.

Beyond the kitchen, dad had a study, and behind these, there were 3 bedrooms and a large bath. Dad had remodeled every room by himself, and the house was amazing. Dad did the building, mom did the decorating, and the team effort worked.

Dad finished the basement, and one end held a laundry room. The other end was a large storage room. The center was a gym on one side, a play area on the other and a family room in the middle. A large couch, 2 big armchairs and 2 love seats gave full view of the large television, no matter where you sat.

In many ways, we all thought dad was an amazing man, not just for his building skills, but for his demeanor. He made good decisions, dispensed the best advice, and taught us to grow into confident, prepared adults. None of us ever got into any serious trouble, but when we broke the rules, dad dispensed a firm justice.

Our street was bypassed when an adjoining road was expanded. As people moved away, dad bought the abandoned properties, until our street was owned by him, and became a dead end dirt lane. We were in the city, but isolated. Our friends were always surprised when they saw our house. We had country living 500 yards from a big town, surrounded by trees and gardens.

Dad wasn’t rich, he just had good financial judgement. He had bought good insurance and had locked in a tax rate by taking over the maintenance of the street. Other much smaller houses and properties paid 4 to 5 times the taxes of our rate. Dad had also made a monthly payment to 2 local colleges, and by the time us 4 kids were ready to attend, we were in a position where all 4 could afford to attend without ever taking out a loan, or 2 of us could attend for 4 years without ever paying a dime for anything, including books.

He had owned a large store in the center of town, and we sold it not long after he died. Between the sale, insurance and dad’s financial planning, mom, at just 45, could spend $2,000 every week for the rest of her life and never run out of money, even if she lived to be 100.

All 4 kids were out of the house. My older sister, Jennifer, had went from intern at the local radio station to producer to talk show host in 6 years. She was a local celebrity, and had recently signed to do features at the local television station. She had a good contract, she was financially secure for the next 5 years, and had a small house midway between the 2 stations.

Jenn was a pretty girl. She was 26, blonde, slim but curvy. She had big natural breasts and a nice ass. She wasn’t that tall at 5′, 6″, but always wore heels, so she was eye to eye with most of her male counterparts. She worked out at least 3 days a week, and walked or ran nearly every morning.

Her private life was social, but unremarkable. She had steady boyfriends here and there, but never took that next step to living with any or professing undying love. That wasn’t unusual for any of us. Dad had coached each of us carefully about relationships.

He taught us his own philosophy about life and love and each of us were open kartal escort bayan and honest and avoided typical pitfalls of relationships. I wondered if Jenn was actually looking for someone that measured up to dad, or if she was just gay and being careful about hiding it.

I was next in line, 24 on my last birthday, and happy. I had gone from stock boy at 18 to manager at 20 to owning my own franchise at 22. I was preparing to open a second franchise location. Life was good. I dated a girl for 3 years and recently became single. It was a good time, but in the end, she wanted to move forward, and I didn’t.

I had a ranch style house, not far from Jenn. My girl and I had never lived together, so there was no long drama in ending things. She went her way and I went mine. I thought things over and decided to rent out my house and move back in with mom.

Heidi was 21, in her third year of college just outside of town. She lived in the dorms and thrived in the atmosphere. She made good grades and played soccer for the college team. She dated, but nothing seriously or exclusively. She was tanned and tight, a small lean body on muscular legs. She had light brown long hair and was a free spirit, planning on traveling after graduation.

Jackie was the middle sister, attending a college on the opposite side of town. She lived in an apartment with 2 other girls and worked part time off campus. She was the girly girl of the family, always in a dress or skirt, a cheerleader, always being chased by the boys.

Jackie avoided getting caught up in relationship drama by avoiding it. She dated in groups and kept busy with activities and never slowed down long enough to get caught by any one guy. A rumor circulated through the family that she was dating a black man and keeping it quiet. Another rumor was that her boyfriend was married.

We were all close enough to visit mom, and each of us came home every week. It wasn’t often that even 2 of us were there at the same time, but mom was never alone for long. Still, she was living alone in a big house, and I wasn’t too happy about that fact. I knew that she missed dad, and she had no interest in seeing anyone, even a year after dad was gone.

Mom looked great and was in good shape. She walked every day, either outside or on the treadmill in the basement. She would pop in a dvd and spend an hour walking through Rome or Paris or London. She was small at about 5′, 5″, and always wore tennis shoes or sandals. She had full breasts and a nice ass, with toned legs and no flab, even though she had a little of that mom belly that had never gone away.

More than once, I caught sight of her and one of my sisters in a weepy embrace. I knew it was the absence of dad that brought out their emotions. He spent considerable time with each girl every day. Once they hit 18, he took each one into his embrace, guiding them into adulthood.

I talked my plans over with mom and my sisters, and everyone agreed it would be a good idea. I offered to pay at least half of the bills, but mom flatly refused. Mom had no use for the back of the house, so I was free to rearrange it any way I wanted. It was rare that any of us spent the night, so I took over the back master bedroom that Jackie and Heidi had shared.

I moved their beds and personal things into my old room and set up my new bedroom. Things I did not want to leave in my house I moved into the basement family room, and over the next week or so, I moved things around to my liking. Mom and the girls had searched through the house several times, and had sold off or donated a lot of dad’s things.

The storage closet was a different matter. One side was neatly stacked and labeled, mom’s treasures for her holiday decorating. It was wall to wall and floor to ceiling storage boxes, each packed with great care and clearly marked with the holiday or season and the contents. The other side was obviously dad’s stuff.

The boxes were unmarked, and although it looked as though someone had gone through them, it appeared none had been moved. My best description of the contents was junk. Dad never liked to throw away anything that he thought he might be able to use in the future. For all of his great qualities, hoarding a box of wires seemed inconsistent with his personality, but here it was; a box filled with odd lengths of old speaker wire, extension cords with one end cut off, and chargers for long gone appliances.

I started a pile of boxes outside the closet of boxes that I planned to make vanish. The wire box was joined by old plumbing fixtures, video tapes, a box of magazines and a few boxes of cheap glass, planters, jars and old chipped vases. Upon moving the last box, I noticed a panel.

To the naked eye, it looked like a just part of the wall. I moved it up, and it came easily off, opening to an open space. I got a high beam flashlight and shined it into the space. Dad had built the front ranch part of the house over level ground, but had left a escort maltepe crawl space to access the plumbing under the new bathroom. The space went in about 10 feet, ending where some pipes came down and turned into dirt beyond.

The space was also open on the left, and 3 large storage boxes were stashed there. I pulled the first one and peered in. It appeared to be more junk, some ropes and lengths of chain and pieces of leather, maybe an old harness. I opened the second box and stopped dead. It was a box filled with pictures. On top was a picture of mom, naked.

The third box was more pictures, some notebooks and sex toys. Concerned about my discovery, but curious and a little turned on, I took all 3 boxes up to my bedroom and hid them in a corner of my closet. I replaced the panel and moved some of my boxes into the empty spaces, again effectively covering the panel to the crawl space.

Over the next week, I spent less time at the business, explaining that I had some meetings about the new franchise. I left my manager in charge with directions to handle things and call if I was needed. I went in every day for a while, but spent most of a week going through the boxes. I bought some binders and plastic sleeves for organizing photos and began to inspect my discovery.

I made discoveries I never expected. First, the pictures of mom spanned her life with dad, from a teen to right before he died. There was not a single picture where she was not at least partially nude or engaged in some sexual activity.

Dad obviously tied her up and beat her regularly. I found the other reasons for the iron rings bolted to walls and the ceiling. In many pictures, she was tied and spread open in various positions in every room of the house. In many photos, she was covered in red stripes of many sizes, from thin ones to wide ones, from her impressive tits to her knees, front and back.

There was a set of pictures of her tied to the butcher block in the kitchen, hot wax being dripped on her nipples. There was a set of a poker party on our big kitchen table, mom being passed from man to man in various stages of dress, eventually sucking each cock and being fucked by every man, laying on her back across the table.

There was a set of mom stripping on stage in what looked like a sleazy bar. The pictures went from there to sucking a black cock, then fucking several black men. Dad didn’t just use and beat her, he passed her around to others to use.

There were pictures of her with women, licking pussy and being licked. I thought I recognized 1 or 2 of the women, but couldn’t place them. I hit the next set of pictures and went back quickly. The woman mom was licking looked familiar because it was Jackie. I couldn’t see her face but there was no mistaking that body.

Besides, the next set of pictures showed me all of Jackie. Heidi’s forearms were duct taped to Jackie’s thighs. Heidi was attached to her sister, mouth to pussy, by a rope attached to her leather collar that ran under Jackie’s body. Jackie’s legs were tied spread open to the corners of the bed, and I could see it was the king size bed in the master bedroom.

All 3 girls were in here, tied, whipped and having sex with dad or mom or both. I was upset about being left out of the action, but I guessed that dad had his reasons. The notebooks were in dad’s writing mostly, but I found parts written in different styles, and I believed that mom and my 3 sisters had written also. They expressed love and thanks and appreciation for his role in their lives.

Under the sex toys, I found about a dozen unmarked discs. These were more telling than the pictures. First, I saw every woman in the family in action. Second, I saw the progression of each woman in their training. Third, I saw how they had become so strong and confident in the outside world. They had a place to let go of everything, to submit to another, facing every demand and challenge.

I also saw why they seemed so lost and why they missed dad. I was determined to do something about this. I watched the discs over a few times, read and reread the journals and letters, and looked up things on line. Dad had gone to a level I wasn’t sure I could match, but I was determined to try, and I decided to start with mom.

The next morning, I got up and showered. I walked into the kitchen naked. Mom wasn’t there, so I poured a cup of coffee and walked around, looking for her. I had been hard as a rock many times over the last week, but I did nothing about it. I was more than ready for some action.

I found her in the basement, walking on the treadmill. Her eyes were locked on the screen in front of her, walking through the Scottish highlands. She felt, rather than heard me, and turned to look at me. She was sweaty, dressed in a white shirt and grey sweats, white socks and tennis shoes. Her mouth fell open at my nakedness.

“You are unacceptable.”

She stared and her mouth fell open again to say something. Her surprise nearly pendik escort made her stumble, and she caught herself just before she went face first. She switched off the treadmill. I set my coffee down and was on her in a flash. I dragged her off the treadmill by her hair and forced her to her knees. I yanked her head back and spat in her face.

“Strip, slut.”

She again opened her mouth to say something and I slapped her face hard.

“If I have to repeat myself, you will regret it.”

I kept my voice level and controlled. I pulled her head back to look me in the eyes.

“Do not open your mouth until I am ready to put my cock in it.”

I stepped back and waited. She started slowly, taking her shirt off. Her sweats, shoes and socks followed. She hesitated, hooking her thumbs under her sports bra, reluctant to peel it off.

I cleared my throat and she peeled the bra off. Her tits jiggled and swayed. Her nipples were hard. She hesitated again before peeling her panties off. She made herself as small as possible. I put my foot in the center of her back, pushing her forward. She caught herself, landing on her hands.


She blinked. A confused look came over her face. She didn’t know what to do.

“Put your face in the carpet. Reach back with both hands and spread your ass and pussy. Keep your face down and your ass up. If I say ‘inspection’ anytime, anywhere, you get in this position. Do you understand?”

She said nothing. She followed my direction and spread her cheeks and pussy lips. I saw that she was hairy. She probably hadn’t shaved since dad died.


I picked up the cat o nine tails I had stashed earlier and dragged the leather across her back. Her hands went to either side of her head, flat on the floor. I hit her ass hard. Red stripes appeared across her cheeks.

“Count, slut.”

“Oh, oh, one.”

“I can’t hear you.”

“Uh, oh, two!”

She registered emotion with each count. Toward the end, she wiggled in anticipation. Between 9 and 10, I saw shiny wetness on the lips of her pussy. Her eyes were glazed over. She never moved when I finished.

“Go prepare yourself.”

She got up and went up the stairs without a word. I went up a few minutes later. I poured myself another cup of coffee and went into the bedroom. I heard various sounds coming from the bathroom. I looked at the unmade bed, arranged the pillows, and stretched out in the center of the bed. She came out 20 minutes later.

She looked better than I had ever seen her. Mom was scrubbed clean and smelled sweet. Her hair was styled and her make up was perfectly applied. Her eyes were down, looking at the floor.

“Service me, slut.”

I knew I’d get a reaction to this. Her eyes fluttered and a look of surprise came over her. This was right out of dad’s playbook. I saw it many times on the discs. Her hands went out to her sides and she moved her mouth over the head of my cock. She was trained to never use her hands. Only her mouth could be used.

She was well trained and skilled. She sucked, swirled her tongue and sucked my balls into her mouth. She got off to a slow start, but quickly recovered and fell into what she knew well. My denial of myself and her skills had me shooting cum into her mouth within minutes.

She kept sucking and licking as I softened, and I knew she had been trained not to stop until dismissed. I grabbed a handful of hair and pulled her off. She scrambled off the bed and rummaged through her closet.

At the foot of the bed, she went to her knees, holding out a paddle in one hand, a belt in the other.

“For taking too long in preparing myself for you.”

She was looking down at the floor.

“How would you like this slut?”

I pointed at the foot of the bed. She spread her legs wide apart and bent forward, face into the mattress. I saw the red marks on her ass from the earlier punishment. I brought the belt down across her ass.


“Sir, this slut has been trained to count only when properly beaten.”

I thought I saw a little wiggle to her ass. I hadn’t hit her hard enough. I brought the belt down hard. She began to count. When she hit 10, I turned her over. She stretched out her arms and spread her legs, preparing to be fucked.

I saw the wetness on her pussy again. I brought the belt down hard on her tits. She groaned in pain, shock and lust for 5 hard blows. Her legs never closed, and I brought the belt down once more on her exposed pussy. She jumped and looked up at me.

“For the unmade bed.”

She blinked in surprise and I walked away.

I called over my shoulder.

“Call one of my other sluts and get her here.”

I knew what had been happening, but I didn’t know why or how it started. I wasn’t sure I cared that much, but I had a few questions. I called my mother in and asked how they were able to keep this from me and how they were able to keep this part of their live private with 4 kids always around.

She explained that my dad had prepared her for day to day life, and broke each girl in when they turned 18, teaching them the same lessons. I wanted to know how they kept this hidden from me, and why I wasn’t broken in at 18.

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