THE FOLLOWING STORY IS A WORK OF FICTION WITH NO RELATION TO ANY PERSONS LIVING OR DEAD. DO NOT PERFORM OR IMITATE ANY ACTIONS OR BEHAVIORS DESCRIBED IN THIS STORY. 

CONTENT WARNING: THE FOLLOWING STORY DEPICTS ACTS OF MOLESTATION, MANIPULATION, INCESTOUS PREGNANCY AND OTHER DEGENERACY. 

READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.

My children are only about a decade younger than me. In some ways it makes it   easier to talk to them. But it also means they treat me like an older brother.  It wasn’t my intent to start fathering children when most boys are learning to rub their junk on stuffed animals.  But it happened all the same.

	I wanted to write it all down because I want somebody besides my grandmother and her husband to know how this happened. But its not like I can discuss it with any family outside of those who already know.  So every detail I can remember or think is worth telling I’ll be writing down here. 

	My grandmother is the crux of this all. Caretaker of her low-rent castle and cursed with a sense of ownership over all she sees. 

	Tall isn’t the right word for her. That would imply a lithe body. She had the fullness of life to her. A body that wore the subtle awards of girth and fat that come from running the gestation marathon more than once. Her belly and her breasts told the story of three complicated pregnancies. Her body hides the scars but her youngest son was her largest. 

	The cascade of events that lead me here started small.  A coffee maker in the basement of my boarding school dorm building had a frayed wire. Things get like that after 20 years. The natural rubber barriers break down. The electricity waits for its moment then jumps. What starts as a tiny colony of flame soon begins to conquer anything remotely flammable. It cuts through the floors in search of more.  By the time I and the rest of the students made their way out we knew it was no longer our home. The structure fire was gone with the morning, All of our possessions with it.

	We scattered in slow motion as various friends, families and ride-shares came to pick up the displaced. The group slowly shrunk. My ride came about eleven PM. My grandfather pulled up in his van.  A 500se with a camper. It smelled of his work as an electrical engineer. Grease, plastic, metals.  But it didn’t smell like a burning apartment. I was grateful when we were far enough away that the glow of the fire left the horizon. 

	I had brought nothing with me except the pair of pajamas I was wearing.  I had grabbed my cellphone and wallet but in the confusion somehow lost my wallet.  My phone was the only token of my dorm life and I held in my lap. My Pajamas did not have pockets. 

	I did not know the city she lived in.  I didn’t recognize street names. Residential blocks faded into industry and eventually back into houses again.  We rolled down streets with overgrown grass and cob-webbed porch lights. None of them were inviting but one of them had a driveway for my grandfather’s truck.

	He pulled into the driveway. The motor turned off.  I really didn’t have anything to say. I had tried to write a few texts to my parents but the late hour soured me on the idea. I would call them in the morning.   My grandfather moved like the good mule he was.  He walked to the door and fished out his keys. Unlocked the metal security door and then the beat-to-shit wood door.  He invited me in, 

	The inside of the house had a fragrance.  Stale incense covered by a faint trace of fresh incense. I passed a cabinet near the door. It held dark glass and a mirror that caught sight of me. I saw for a moment how I looked and felt complete in the crumpling and discarding of my former life. 

	Despite its size and decor the house was more or less taken care of. A voice came from the far room.

	“Charlie?” Called an older equine’s voice. Her tone wife-like with curious concern and warmth. She came out of the storage room.  She wore a robe  that curved around her mature form.  Hair with traces of gray came down on both sides of her shoulder and down her back. It curled naturally where it did and it always seemed to be catching up when her head would turn. 

	Her body was veiled in silk robe with furred cuffs. The silk was honest in it’s portrayal of her body. Subtle bulges around her waist.  The flat slope of her breasts terminating somewhere above the naval.  She moved gracefully for a woman of her size. As she approached the couch the collected blankets on it began to shift.  From it stood a feral pit-bull. Tell-tale scars said it was very, very good at being a pit-bull. It side-eyed me and growed faintly

	“Hey babe. I got em. I’m goin for some, uh, some smokes.” Said the Mule. The exchange was perfunctory. He really didn’t seem to care much as he left. His truck starting up started the dog barking and growing.  Eventually the beast curled up on its blankets to sleep.  It became a proverb and I followed the advice.

	“The couch is sorta…Baxie’s bed.  Infact the whole living room is.  Follow me.” My grandmother had a strange sort of physical communication that I did not understand but was greatly influenced by.. I could not ignore this mare’s signals. I followed.  The walls of the living room were painted a matte peach, and the ones in the bedroom a matte burgundy. It made the room feel warm despite the cracked open window. A beat up table fan circulated the air to ensure some oxygen would be mixed into my grandmother’s scent.  

	“Frank isn’t coming back tonight. So you can sleep on his side.” I would have refused. Would have slept on the kitchen floor. I did not have the energy to care. The adrenaline that my brain had been bubbling in finally receded.  There wasn’t much left except a desire for rest.  She climbed onto the bed on all fours. Crawling to her place and showing me her wide equine hips.  She was under the comforter in moments. I was inert the moment I hit the bed. 

*******************************************************************************************

Once you’ve escaped a fire. It gets written into your nightmare book. Two hours into it my attempt to rest a blaze had torn through whatever memories my brain was processing. I woke up breathing hard.  Looking at my grandmother’s unfamiliar ceiling. The blades had a crest of dust on the high edge. I question if it should be cleaned. But its not my house. The bed moved as my grandmother stood up.  

I could see her through the edge of my vision. Watched her dimly lit robed body walk to the bathroom. She flicked the light on and it cast a bright wedge into the room. The wedge collapsed as she shut the door. I could hear in there. I counted the seconds to try to turn off my brain.  She finally finished and flushed after fourty seconds.

When the door opened again the same  wedge briefly illuminated the room before it was dark again. In the shadows she moved in her gravid way. She climbed in bed and the springs strained under her. 

"can't sleep huh?" Her voice carried in a tone that eased a response out of me. 

"Kinda." I tried not to engage with her. I just wanted to sleep. 

"Yer kinda a screamer dreamer. Dunno what's in your head but it made ya flail a bunch." A guilt ran through me. One that reflexed out an apology that she ignored as a matter of conversation.  

I felt the bed creak and shift. Before I realized it she was alongside me. Her hips touching mine. I wanted to sit up. Wanted to get away from her. Take my chances in the kitchen. I had no energy for that. Her soft hand was the only thing she needed. 

She put her finger to my mouth. I could smell her musk on it. She wiped her hand along my throat and it left a faint cologne of her. It hit like bad weed. I coughed. But it still worked. She shifted herself over me. Her breasts swung and nearly rubbed my nose. Their mass caused a constant motion as she balanced. Her breasts settled.

		She Pressed her arms to the bed to steady herself. In the dim light of the nightlight I could see her expression. Her lidded eyes and ready lips. I suppose sexually I was born vulnerable to that kind of woman. I breathed hard. It wasn’t crushing. But it was enough to keep my legs still.   I felt her fingers touching around my crotch. Rubbing and stroking.  I wasn’t entirely eager to see it.  But I felt every bit of her invasive, comforting touch.

	When she exposed my penis it was cold. She quickly folded her fingers around it. Barely long enough to stretch across her palm.  Smaller but entirely the same as every other cock she had.  I couldn’t recognize that I wanted to hate it. It felt too good. My full surrender to her came through a meager reflexive hip thrust. She had convinced my body I wanted her. That was all she needed to do.

“Now ain’t that nicer? You’re gonna learn all life’s problems go away when you stick your face in a momma’s boobs.”	She rubbed her heavy, delicate breasts across my face and chest.  I could smell milk, sweat, oils.  Smells that would’ve been unsettling started to trigger things in my head.  I breathed deeply from her body and she wrapped a strong arm around me.

“That’s it. You just do what comes naturally. You ready to make love to mama?” She came on too strong. For a moment I remembered myself. Wanted to struggle.   Her thighs pressed to my hips.  She rose up slightly but only to get her angle.  That was the very first time I’d ever seen a mare’s clit wink.  It made my meager five inches stiff as a board and I still have no idea why. 

She was dark inside and my cock had no chance of hitting her depths. I could feel a tiny gap above and edges that my glans kept rubbing.  Then she clenched. I felt the pressure from every angle. The heat was like a hot water bottle but infinitely smoother.  She began to grind side to side. Then to rise and ease down agonizingly slowly I don’t remember if I started to cry. But I did start to vocalize my pleasure. 

	“See? You’ll like it. You just need to get used to it.” I tried to respond but all it took was her flexing her birthing muscles to make me quiet. She didn’t even need to move her hips. Despite the vast differences in our knowledge she still felt a need to flex on me.  

	She transitioned into riding my cock again. All of her tricks that she’d shown off came into play and I had nothing to give but my aching penis.  I know I was crying the first time I came in her.  I don’t know what it sounded like.  But 10 year old me could not process this much sexuality at once.  My balls ached as they pulled up.  I will say I am impressed that there was viable sperm in me. But I was an “early bloomer” the adults around me said. 

	What little I could give disappeared into her.  Despite this she kept grinding. Now focused on her own sexual gratification.   It hurt to cum a second time.  I finally started flailing beneath her. She got off. Her breath heavy. Rubbing her winking clit. I shook as she tilted her head back. Moaned as her fingers rapidly shook the folds of her pelvis.  

	She came and it caused her to look at me with this grin. A deep and crooked one. She spread her pussy open. Showing me a whiteness leaking out.  

	I laid back down with a desire to sleep and no way to secure it. Sleep is what I was allowed though. I awoke in her bed. Late morning.   I felt a soreness. Bruises on my body from her rough treatment.  I moved to the kitchen. She smiled and turned around. Resting her butt against the kitchen counter. She held a small white coffee cup. . Her husband sat silently. Catatonic at the table drinking coffee.  An alarm clock on the kitchen counter went off. By habit her husband stood up and walked out the door. The sound of his truck doors and the quieting drone of his engine said they would be all alone.

	“W-why did you do things to me last night?” I said to her. Trying to stand my ground. I felt weak.

	“Oh honey I didn’t do anything to you. It was just a bad dream.  Boys who go through trauma always have bad dreams. Especially naughty boys like you.”  I did not understand the complexity of this woman or that it would lead me to the cherished consequences of our actions. 

~Ch1 End