Every Last Thing - Sex Stories

Every Last Thing

Billionaires. Billionaires and their millionaire lackies. You can trace back every single problem in the world today to their greed. House prices, debt, war and famine. They were all connected by tiny threads that joined at the push pin stuck into billionaires on the wall chart of world ills. Lucky bastards who failed to realize that their supposed successes were built on lies and self-delusion. Billionaires were either born into it, born up to it, or fell into it through sheer dint of being at the right place at the right time. For every genius billionaire ready to tell you their system, there were a million failed geniuses with just as good systems who just didn't get the rub of the green. How do I know this? My dad. He's a multi billionaire. And a complete bastard. He's one of the rags to riches types. Worst kind of all. Once he made it, he pulled the ladder up behind him and locked the keep. He married my mom late in life, and had me quickly. Mom and I were closer in age than she was to dad. We were closer in lots of other ways too. She detested his meanness, his willful disregard for those less fortunate, his god given right to do whatever he pleased and fuck over whomever he wanted.

Case in point, I arrived home one day to find mom in the kitchen on a call.

"Hang on a second." She said into the phone as she gave me a quick peck and a warm smile. "Stay on the line and wait for my word." I looked at her quizzically, she smiled and told me to check upstairs.

Not ...

... sure what I was looking for, I mounted one side of our massive sweeping staircase and stopped, listening. That's when I heard the unmistakable sound of fucking. I instantly knew why mom was acting weird. I followed the sounds, careful not to make a noise myself. By the time I tracked the humping moans to the master bedroom, I was sure what I'd encounter. I was right and so wrong. The door was slightly ajar. Like I said, my father couldn't give a fuck about anyone. Pushing it open just enough to look in, I spotted my finance, Barb, astride my dad's naked, wrinkled torso, writhing in ecstatic delight. I watched like you'd watch a car crash. Unable to tear myself away. Disgusted and curiously aroused at the same time.

When mom touched me on my shoulder, I almost screamed. She nodded towards the stairs. In the instant before she stopped me, I had planned on confronting my dad and Barb, hurling abuse and storming out on both of them forever. Instead, I dutifully followed mom downstairs.

Mom, it should be said, was the kind of knockout only billionaires could snag. Short, auburn haired, pale. She had wide hips and big breasts. Everything else looked like it should belong to a Hollywood starlet. She was in her late 30s, very fit and ageless. She was quick to smile and slow to anger. Incredibly smart and more resilient than I ever imagined possible.

When we stopped in the kitchen, she raised an eyebrow as if to say 'So?'.

I began to rant about dad and Barb. She put her ...