Call it luck, fate or destiny, but I never thought that the huge headache that forced me to come home from college unexpectedly one Tuesday afternoon last fall, would be the cause of such thankfulness for me. But it was this throbbing behind my eyes that caused me to be in just the right place at just the right time. I went up to my room and pulled the thick curtains so that no light shone in from outside and lay on my bed and tried to go to sleep. The house was empty. It was about one in the afternoon and Dad was working a day shift this week and Mom wouldn’t be home until about three o’clock. I must have drifted off because the next thing I remember is being woken by the sound of voices from downstairs.
My blurred eyes told me that my bedside clock was showing 4.10 pm. I recognized one voice as that of my Mom’s but couldn’t recollect to whom the male voice belonged, although I was sure I had heard it before. As my senses came back to normal, it suddenly hit me who it was with Mom in the living room. It was her Dad, Frank; my Grandfather. Grandad in our house, now that was a big surprise. The story I had managed to pick up from whispered conversations between family members over the past six years, was that Mom had caught her Dad coming out of the widow’s house next door to where Grandad and Grandma lived. He was doing up his trouser zip at the time and it was clear to Mom what he had been up to. Mom had no hesitation in telling Grandma what she had seen. A great row developed, after which Grandad was thrown out of his house. A messy divorce followed and he had been an outcast ever since as far as the family was concerned. So to hear his voice downstairs after all this time came as something of a shock.
I bore no ill will towards Grandad. I was too young at the time to know what was happening, and now that I was older, adultery seemed to be commonplace and almost acceptable. So I got up and decided to go down and say hello to the old geezer. I opened my bedroom door and stepped out onto the landing, but what I heard from the living room made me freeze in my tracks. Grandad’s voice was raised. Of course, Mom had assumed the house was empty, so she had no need to ask him to speak lower. They were clearly having an argument and then I heard Grandad say that people in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones. I was curious as to what he meant and from Mom’s question, I realized that she was too. ‘Have a look at these photos’, I heard him say to Mom. There followed about two minutes of silence, which was finally broken by Grandad’s bitter, yet triumphant voice. ‘It’s amazing what a cab driver sees at two in the a.m. I was sure pleased I had my camera that night.
I think you’ll agree, Laxmi, the one where you’re being fucked from behind, and the blow job shot for that matter, are pretty good in terms of clarity.’ He went on to say that it had been worth the wait because now it was his turn to ruin her marriage. Clearly, he had just shown Mom photographs of her with another guy. I remembered she had gone out dressed to the nines last Thursday, while Dad was working a night shift. I must say that to hear of my own Mom’s infidelity like this came as a bit of a shock. I crouched lower to try to listen to how the conversation developed. Grandad went on to say that he’d post a photo to Dad every day until he heard through the grapevine that they had split up. He said that even if she came clean and told Dad the truth, once he saw the evidence she would never be able to hold the marriage together. From where I stood, I had to agree. It certainly looked as though my cozy little family unit was about to be torn apart.
What I heard next shocked me even more. ‘Of course, there is an alternative’, began Grandad, ‘there always is’. ‘What would that be?’ Mom asked. ‘Well, since that day when you changed my life forever, I haven’t been with a woman. My hand has been my only friend. The only way you get to keep your marriage intact, Daughter dear, is to become your loving Dad’s sex slave’. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Grandad was actually trying to blackmail his own daughter, my Mom, into having sex with him. Mom couldn’t believe it either and told him to get the hell out. Grandad came out of the living room and walked towards the front door. I leaned back further into the shadows so as not to be seen. ‘No matter’, he said, ‘either way I win. But it was worth a try. See you in the divorce court Laxmi. It’ll be me on the front row’ Grandad put his hand on the door handle and turned to open it. ‘Wait, Dad’. Mom said as she came into view in the hallway. ‘What will I have to do?’ ‘Everything and anything I want you to do.
That’s the idea of being a slave’. Grandad replied. He went on to tell her that he’d use her once every two weeks when Dad was on night shift. She was to make certain that I was out for a couple of hours on the evening that had been arranged. He told Mom that this would be an indefinite arrangement until he couldn’t get it up anymore or he died. There was silence for a few seconds and then I heard Mom agree to her Dad’s demands, defeated and resigned to a life as his sex slave. ‘Next Friday evening, eight o’clock’, Grandad ordered, ‘Make sure you’re alone for a couple of hours. Hold ups and high heels, nothing else. OK?’ ‘OK’, Mom weakly replied. Grandad left and I crept back into my room. Fortunately, Mom went out. When she came back, I was in the kitchen acting as if I’d just gotten home from college. Mom was quiet that night and kept looking at Dad the way you look at someone close that you haven’t seen in ages; almost hoping that by staring hard enough, you can lock them up in your thoughts forever.
I know I should have felt angry for what Grandad was forcing Mom to become, but all I felt was arousal. Mom was only thirty eight years old and a real looker. Long blond hair, great pouty lips, an hour glass figure, slim legs and all packaged into a five foot four inch frame. I went to bed and jerked off with the thought of Mom as my slave. Next day, I knew what I had to do. I’ve got a friend in the natural history wing of the college, and I told him that I had a foxes den in my back yard. I asked if I could borrow any kind of filming equipment for a while. He was delighted in my sudden interest in wildlife and said that I could use some of the sophisticated, state of the art hardware owned by the college for a couple of weeks. I couldn’t believe my luck. The following Friday came. Dad’s night shift meant that he wouldn’t be leaving the house until about four o’clock, just about when I got home. Mom works late on Fridays and that would give me about an hour alone in the house to get my act together.
I had decided to plant a camera in Mom’s bedroom in the hope that that is where she and Grandad would make out. If I could get them on film, then not only would I have a chance to blackmail Mom as well, but I might just get free cab rides when I liked too. Dad had already left for work when I got home so I set about my business. I took the camera into Mom’s bedroom and looked for a good place to put it. The camera itself was housed in a small black wedge shaped box, about three inches across at its widest point. I placed it on the dressing table underneath Mom’s jewelry box. I was pretty sure that she wouldn’t see it there and the dressing table was bang in the centre of the wall opposite the bed. The cable was the only problem. I draped it behind the dresser and managed to tuck it under the edges of the carpet around the room to the door. I did the same on the landing and threw it into my room, which was next door. The only part that was visible was across the threshold of Mom’s bedroom.
But the cable was the same color as the wooden board and I was pretty certain that it wouldn’t be spotted. I plugged the other end of the camera cable into the back of my VCR and switched on the TV. Wow! I couldn’t believe my eyes. The resolution of the image was as good as a normal television channel and I could pan the camera so that it covered the whole room. I placed a blank cassette into the video and went downstairs. Mom came in just after five. Every day that week she had asked me if I was going out on Friday as I usually did. She asked me again and I confirmed that I wouldn’t be back till after eleven that night. Mom seemed jittery, but who could blame her? Around seven o’clock I said goodbye to Mom and left the house. I walked around the corner to where I could see her bathroom window. When the light came on, I knew I had about five minutes to sneak back into the house and up to my room. I made not a sound as I tiptoed up the stairs and passed Mom’s room.
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