The Inheritance Test

The reading of the will was supposed to be simple.

Aunt Meredith died at eighty-three, childless, with an estate worth twelve million dollars. Her four nephews—myself, my brothers Thomas and David, and our cousin Marcus—were the sole beneficiaries.

But Aunt Meredith was never simple.

"There is," her lawyer announced, "one condition."

The lawyer's name is Constance Webb.

Fifty-five years old. Three hundred and twenty pounds. Dressed in a charcoal suit that did nothing to hide her curves—massive breasts straining against her blouse, hips that spread wide in her leather chair, a belly that curved out proud and unapologetic.

She'd been Aunt Meredith's lawyer for thirty years. Her confidante. Her closest friend.

And apparently, her final joke.

"Your aunt specified," Constance read from the document, "that before any distribution occurs, each nephew must demonstrate his... worthiness."

"Worthiness?" Thomas leaned forward. "What does that mean?"

"She believed men should be judged by their ability to satisfy women." Constance set down the papers. "Therefore, each of you will spend one hour with me. I will grade your performance. The nephew with the highest score receives forty percent of the estate. The others split the remaining sixty."

Silence.

"You're joking," David said.

"I never joke about legal matters." Constance smiled. "The alternative is the entire estate goes to charity. Your choice."

We huddled in the hallway.

"This is insane," Marcus whispered. "She wants us to fuck her for money?"

"Aunt Meredith was always eccentric." I looked at the closed office door. "Remember her birthday parties? The themes?"

"This is different than themed parties."

"Is it?" Thomas rubbed his face. "Three million dollars each if we split evenly. But if one of us wins—"

"Nearly five million," David finished. "For an hour's work."

We looked at each other.

"Who goes first?" I asked.

Thomas volunteered.

The oldest, the bravest. He walked into Constance's office at 10 AM and didn't come out until 11.

When he emerged, he was sweating.

"Well?" David asked.

"She's... thorough." Thomas couldn't meet our eyes. "Very thorough."

"What's your score?"

"She wouldn't tell me. Says she announces them all at the end."

David went second.

Then Marcus.

Each one came out looking dazed. Disheveled. Thoroughly used.

None of them would describe what happened inside.

At 2 PM, it was my turn.

Constance was waiting at her desk.

The office had been transformed—candles lit, blinds drawn, a chaise lounge I hadn't noticed before positioned in the center of the room.

"Close the door," she said. "Lock it."

I obeyed.

"Your brothers were adequate." She stood, walked around the desk. "Your cousin was... enthusiastic but clumsy. I'm hoping you'll be different."

"What happened with them?"

"That's between me and my scorecard." She stopped in front of me. Up close, she was overwhelming—the scent of her perfume, the heat of her body, the way she looked at me like I was already naked. "Let's see what you're made of."

She didn't undress immediately.

Instead, she sat on the chaise lounge and spread her massive thighs.

"Kneel."

I knelt between them. Her skirt rode up, revealing thick thighs wrapped in stockings, the shadow of her underwear.

"Your brothers started with their hands. Your cousin started with his cock." She grabbed my chin. "I want you to start with your mouth."

"Through your—"

"Through nothing." She reached down, pulled her underwear aside. Glistening. Ready. "Show me you understand foreplay."

I ate her like my inheritance depended on it.

Because it did.

I started slow—kisses on her thighs, teasing licks around her outer lips. She made a sound of approval, and I took that as permission to go deeper.

Her cunt was hot, wet, hungry. I licked in long strokes, circled her clit, slid my tongue inside her while my nose pressed against her mound. She tasted like power and expensive perfume.

"Good." Her hand found my hair. "Better than your brothers already."

I doubled my efforts.

She came on my tongue in twelve minutes.

I counted. I wanted to remember.

Her massive thighs clamped around my head, her body shook, and she made a sound that rattled the diplomas on her wall. When she finally released me, I was gasping for air.

"First orgasm: twelve minutes." She was making notes on a pad. "Excellent technique. Strong attention to body language. Didn't rush the clit."

"You're literally grading me?"

"Your aunt was very specific." She set down the pad. "Now. The main event."

She stood. Stripped efficiently—jacket, blouse, skirt, bra. Her body was massive, beautiful, unapologetic. Breasts that hung to her navel, belly that cascaded in soft rolls, hips wide enough to anchor a ship.

"On the lounge," she commanded. "On your back."

I stripped and obeyed.

She climbed on top of me—all three hundred and twenty pounds settling onto my hips, my thighs, my everything. My cock found her entrance without guidance, and she sank down with a moan.

"Let's see your stamina."

I lasted thirty-four minutes.

I know because she announced it when I finally came, buried deep inside her while she clenched around me.

"Thirty-four minutes active penetration." She was still making notes, still on top of me, still squeezing my softening cock. "Multiple position changes at my request. Maintained erection throughout. Recovered for second round in—" she checked her watch "—eight minutes."

"Second round?"

"We have time." She started moving again. I was hard already. "Let's see what else you can do."

The second round lasted forty-one minutes.

The third—yes, there was a third—lasted twenty-two. By the time the hour was over, I had nothing left. I'd come three times, she'd come five, and I was fairly certain I'd never walk normally again.

"Final score," she announced, fixing her hair, "will be revealed with the others."

"Can you give me a hint?"

"I can give you this." She leaned down, kissed me softly. "You're the only one who made me come more than twice."

The final reveal

We gathered in the conference room.

Four nephews. One lawyer. Twelve million dollars on the line.

"The scores," Constance announced, "are as follows. Thomas: seventy-two out of one hundred. David: sixty-eight. Marcus: fifty-four."

"And me?" I asked.

"Ninety-one."

The room erupted.

Thomas protested. David demanded a recount. Marcus just looked stunned.

"The estate will be divided accordingly," Constance continued over the noise. "Forty percent to the winner—four point eight million dollars. Twenty percent each to the remaining three—two point four million each."

"This isn't fair," Thomas argued.

"Your aunt's wishes were clear." Constance gathered her papers. "I suggest you take this as a learning experience. Perhaps invest in some technique."

I waited until my brothers and cousin had left.

"That was real?" I asked Constance. "All of it?"

"Every word." She smiled. "Your aunt knew exactly what she was doing. She wanted to reward men who actually pay attention to women."

"And you agreed to this?"

"I designed it." She walked toward me. "Meredith and I were close. Very close. She knew what I liked, and she knew I'd been alone since my divorce." Her hand found my chest. "She wanted to give me options."

"Options?"

"Successful candidates are invited to... continue the relationship. Periodically. When I need company." She looked up at me. "You scored ninety-one. That's an invitation."

"And if I accept?"

"Then you visit me once a month." She kissed my jaw. "And I show you what a perfect score looks like."

I accepted.

Four point eight million dollars richer, and a standing appointment with Constance Webb.

Aunt Meredith was right.

Some inheritances are worth earning.