The Inheritance
"Dad's been dead three months. His stepmom and stepsister have been competing for his attention since the funeral. Tonight, they both show up in his room. No more games. Winner takes all—unless he wants them both to win."
The house is too quiet now.
Three months since Dad died. Heart attack, the doctor said. Quick and painless. Small mercies.
What's not small: the inheritance. The estate. The question of who gets what—and who gets me.
Because ever since the funeral, my stepmother and stepsister have been circling like sharks.
Dad married Vivian ten years ago.
She was his secretary. Cliché, I know. But Vivian wasn't the typical affair—she was forty then, a widow herself, with a twenty-year-old daughter from her first marriage. She was also massive. Three hundred pounds of curves that my father worshipped until the day he died.
She came with Madison. My stepsister. Ten years younger than me, but old enough to know what she wanted.
And what she wanted, apparently, was me.
I noticed it at the wedding. The way her eyes followed me. The way she "accidentally" pressed against me during family photos. The way she whispered, I've always wanted an older brother, with a tone that meant something else entirely.
Then there was Vivian. My father's wife. Who looked at me the same way Madison did.
I thought I was imagining it. For ten years, I told myself I was imagining it.
Then Dad died.
And they stopped pretending.
It started with small things.
Vivian making breakfast in a robe that was always slightly open. Madison coming downstairs in shorts so small they barely existed. Both of them touching me—hands on my arm, my back, my chest—like it was normal. Like we'd always been this close.
Then the competition began.
Vivian started leaving notes in my room. I think about you. —V
Madison started texting at midnight. can't sleep. thinking about you.
Vivian wore tighter clothes. Madison wore fewer clothes. Vivian baked my favorite cake. Madison bought my favorite whiskey.
They weren't subtle. They weren't trying to be.
And tonight, apparently, they're done waiting.
My door opens at 11 PM.
I'm in bed, reading—or trying to. It's hard to concentrate when you know two women are hunting you.
Madison walks in first.
She's wearing a silk nightgown that barely covers her ass. She's thick like her mother—not as big, not yet, but heading there. Two-twenty, maybe, with breasts that strain against the fabric and hips that could pin a man in place.
"Hey," she says. Like it's normal. Like we do this every night.
"Madison—"
"Don't." She closes the door behind her. "I'm done with the games. I know what you want. What you've wanted since the wedding."
"I don't—"
The door opens again.
Vivian steps in.
And suddenly the room is very, very small.
Vivian is in her own nightgown.
Sheer. Black. Hiding nothing.
Her body is a landscape. Massive breasts that hang to her navel. A belly that cascades in rolls, soft and round and endless. Hips wide enough to block the doorway. She's fifty now, gray streaking her dark hair, and she's the most overwhelming presence I've ever encountered.
"Madison." Her voice is ice. "What are you doing here?"
"What are you doing here?"
"I came to talk to my stepson." Vivian's eyes find mine. "Privately."
"So did I." Madison crosses her arms. "And I was here first."
"You're a child."
"I'm thirty. And I've been waiting for this a lot longer than you have."
They're facing each other now. Two massive women, one doorway, and me trapped in the middle.
"Ladies—"
"Quiet." Vivian's voice is sharp. "This is between us."
"Actually," I say, "it's really not."
They both turn to look at me.
"I've spent three months watching you two compete," I say. "Fighting over who makes my breakfast, who sits next to me at dinner, who gets to touch me." I stand up. "Did it ever occur to either of you to just... ask what I want?"
"What do you want?" Madison's voice is breathless.
"I want you to stop fighting." I look between them. "I want you to accept that this—whatever this is—isn't a competition."
"Then what is it?" Vivian asks.
I take a breath. This is either the smartest thing I've ever said or the stupidest.
"It's both of you. Or neither."
The silence is deafening.
Madison and Vivian look at each other. Something passes between them—understanding, maybe. Or recognition.
"Both of us," Vivian repeats. "At the same time."
"If that's what you want."
"And if we don't?"
"Then we go back to being a normal family. Pretend none of this ever happened." I shrug. "Your choice."
Madison moves first.
She crosses to the bed. Sits down next to me. Her hand finds my thigh.
"I choose both," she says. "I choose this."
Vivian watches for a long moment. Then she closes the door.
Locks it.
And walks toward the bed.
"If we're doing this," Vivian says, "we're doing it right."
She reaches for her nightgown. Pulls it over her head.
She's naked underneath. Three hundred pounds of flesh, pale and soft and present. Her breasts are enormous, sagging under their own weight. Her belly is massive, hanging down toward her thighs. She doesn't try to hide any of it.
"Your turn," she tells Madison.
Madison stands. Pulls off her own nightgown.
She's smaller than her mother, but not by much. Her breasts are full and round, nipples dark and hard. Her belly is softer than I expected—not flat, not thin, a curve that leads down to thick thighs and wide hips.
Two women. Mother and daughter. Both naked. Both looking at me.
"Now you," Madison says.
I strip.
They watch. Their eyes drop to my cock—hard, straining, leaking.
"I've wanted this for so long," Madison breathes. She reaches for me, wraps her hand around my shaft. "Wanted you."
"We both have." Vivian moves to the other side of the bed. Her hand joins Madison's. "But she's right—I've been waiting longer. Since your father first brought you home."
"That's sick."
"I know." She strokes me. "I don't care."
Madison's mouth finds my neck. Vivian's mouth finds my chest. They're working me together, hands and lips coordinating like they've rehearsed this.
"Lie back," Vivian commands.
I lie back.
And they descend.
Madison takes me in her mouth.
Vivian kneels beside her, watching, guiding—use your tongue, go deeper, that's it. Mother teaching daughter how to suck cock. The image is so depraved I almost come immediately.
"Not yet." Vivian pulls Madison off. "My turn."
She takes my cock in her mouth. Deeper than Madison went, more practiced. Her massive breasts press against my thighs. Her belly spreads across the mattress.
"Fuck." I grip the sheets. "Vivian—"
"Call me Mommy." She looks up at me, my cock still in her mouth. "That's what you really want, isn't it?"
"I—"
"Say it." Madison's voice is hot in my ear. "Say what you want."
"Mommy." The word comes out broken. "Fuck, Mommy, please—"
Vivian moans around my cock.
And I lose control.
What happens next is a blur.
Vivian on her back, my face buried between her massive thighs while Madison rides my cock. Then Madison on her back, Vivian's cunt on her daughter's face while I fuck her from behind. Then both of them kneeling, taking turns sucking me while I grip their hair.
They compete even now.
Make him come first, Madison demands.
Make him come harder, Vivian counters.
But the competition is different now. Collaborative. They're not fighting over me—they're fighting for me. Together.
"I can't—" I'm close, too close. "I need—"
"Inside me," Vivian says. "First time goes to me."
"Like hell—" Madison pushes her mother aside. Climbs on top of me. "He's mine."
She sinks down before Vivian can stop her.
I come inside my stepsister while my stepmother watches.
"That's not fair." Vivian's voice is raw. "I've wanted him longer."
"Then you can have him next." Madison grinds down on me, milking every last drop. "But I needed this. I needed him."
"So do I."
"Then wait your turn." Madison climbs off. Kisses me—deep, possessive. "She can have you now. But you come back to me after."
Vivian doesn't wait.
She pushes Madison aside, mounts me, takes me inside her with a groan that shakes the walls.
"Yes." She's massive on top of me, crushing me into the mattress. "This is what I've been dreaming about. For years."
I'm hard again—already, impossibly. She rides me while Madison watches, her hand between her own legs.
"Come inside her," Madison says. "Then come inside me again. Keep going. All night."
"All night," Vivian agrees.
They look at each other. Something like truce passes between them.
"We share," Vivian says.
"We share," Madison confirms.
They look at me.
"What do you say?"
I don't have words left.
So I grab Vivian's hips and thrust up into her, making her scream. Then I pull her down and kiss her while Madison moves behind us, her hands on my back, her mouth on my shoulder.
This is my inheritance, I realize.
Not the house. Not the money. Not the estate.
Them.
Both of them.
And as Vivian comes on my cock and Madison pushes her mother aside to take her place, I realize I'm okay with that.
More than okay.
This is what I was meant for.
Six months later
We don't hide anymore.
Vivian and Madison share a bed—my bed. The master bedroom, the one Dad used to sleep in. The irony isn't lost on any of us.
"Breakfast in bed." Madison sets the tray down. "Mom made eggs."
"Mom made eggs, and I made toast," Vivian corrects, climbing in on my other side.
"Toast isn't cooking."
"It's contribution."
They bicker. They always bicker. But it's different now—playful instead of vicious.
"What do you want to do today?" I ask.
"You," Madison says immediately.
"Besides that."
"Who says there's anything besides that?" Vivian presses against me. "We have a lot of lost time to make up for."
I look between them. My stepmother. My stepsister. Both of them mine, by some twisted definition of the word.
"No competition today," I say. "We all win."
Madison grins. "We always win now."
Vivian kisses my cheek. "That's what family's for."
And as they pull me under the covers, I realize that Dad's death was the end of one story.
But the beginning of another.
Ours.