Love Me (ManxMan)

Prolouge <Esmeralda>

It was cold out. Rainy per usual. But luckily my fur coat kept me warm and it's hood prevented my freshly curled hair from getting wet. My mother held my hand while my father held her waist. We were rushing to an old bar where supposedly we would be hidden.

When we got inside, it was filled with less than a handful of people. A couple of guys sat at the bar chugging a couple of beers together. Two women were at booth flirting with each other, it seemed, while drinking some cocktails. The dance floor hand a small group on it but that was it. The waiters and waitresses looked bored.

"Sit at that booth with your mother," My father ordered sternly. He was a handsome man for his age, which was 49. His black hair had some streaks of grey but occasionally, he would dye it back to black which the was only thing he really needed to fix. His glasses were a solid black that sat fittingly on his slightly crooked nose and framed his tan face nicely.

My mother, she was some sort of model. If she wasn't so sour yet affectionate, I would actually look up to her fully. But I only look up to her beauty and hygiene. She was a skinny women with pale skin, blonde hair that reached her waist when down, and blue eyes.

My parents looked perfect. If you saw us on the street somewhere you'd think we were perfect. But we aren't. I sported my parents good looks but still just as awful, I believe.

But sitting in the booth, my mothers hand draped along my thigh and a cigarette in her other hand, made my thoughts disappear. I looked over at my father who was speaking to a large bald Hispanic man. They shook hands and took a shot together after smiling and laughing. Must be good friends, I thought before turning my attention to my mother. She puffed out smoke and rubbed her hand up and down my thigh.

I looked at her hand keeping mine flat on the table.

"Darling, would you mind if I had you tonight with me? Your father might be out in the bar late to discuss some business and I was your company," Her voice chimed out, seemingly more like a order.

I could only nod and answer, "Yes mother." That was all I could really do.

Later that night my mother and I ventured to the rooms above the bar. We quickly made ourselves at home in the rundown suite and scrunched my nose up at the stench of foul garbage.

"This place is a shit bag..." I muttered and scoffed, "Why aren't we staying at a nicer hotel? Do they even have a pool here? What if I want to go take a swim or relax in the hot tub? Do they even have a spa here?" I pestered my mother with an irritated glare.

It earned me a hard slap across my face before she grasped it roughly. Her long red nails stabbed into my cheeks painfully, "Have some respect for your mother! I have to go through these hard conditions as well you slutty brat!" She nearly complained and pushed me away, irritated and mopey.

I rubbed my cheek and then my eyes before taking a deep breath. As I sighed I looked around the place. It wasn't much. It had two beds, an old box TV, a small kitchen, and one bathroom. At least there was a walk-in closet.

I began to undress and run my fingers through my hair, messing up my curls. I remained in my briefs as I rubbed my aching feet and sighed laying down. My mother sat down next to me, I could tell. The bed dipped slightly and she began to stroke my hair, humming a gently tune. I closed my eyes and pretended that she was like the mothers you saw on movie screens.

But movies are fake. Mothers touch their sons to make themselves feel pleasure when their husband isn't—or even is—around. It is a sons soul purpose to please his mother. And that's was she requested, though it felt like my stomach was doing loops, I let her have her way. I let her acrylic nails slowly drag across my half-naked body down to my briefs which were a nice lace and silk that barely caused my skin to chaff. Mother and Father always bought me stylish clothing, unisex (mostly feminine). They were extremely expensive, but the business father ran could afford them. In our old mansion I slept in my very own king sized bed but of course, there were night I never was allowed to sleep alone in it.

Many men and women would be sent my way because I was a popular object or specimen. My parents liked to sell me to their acquaintances, then they would sell the children and teenagers they kept, trafficking them, auctioning them. But never I, never ever. They would never dream of selling their son in an auction. It annoyed me for some reason. Maybe it was because I was in a way jealous of those unfortunate children. However, I was probably more fortunate in their eyes. They had no idea what Mother and Father do to me.

No one has any idea.

"Esmeralda, your skin is softer than silk, just like your mothers," My father whispered in my ear. Involuntarily, I shut my eyes. Waking up to my horny father was never really new to me, this was normal. His callused hands wrapped around my bare thighs and he spread them, taking in his "favorite part" of me. My eyes drifted away from him towards my mother who sat in her lace robe as she smeared some red lipstick onto her plump lips. Unlike my father, her favorite part of me were my plump lips I had inherited from her. She would often trace her fingers along them while holding me to her bosom after sex.

Was it really sex, Esmeralda?

I ignored the small thought in the back of my mind and gritted my teeth in pain as my father suddenly pushed his erection into me, completely dry. My hand clamped over my mouth per usual and I felt tears forming.

Be silent unless you want another punishment.

As he began to thrust his hips, moaning and groaning in my ear, praising me for my skin and ass, I bit down on my tongue. Blood flooded my mouth.

"Oh darling, it's alright, I'll be there to join you and your father in a moment," My mother smirked over at us, mistaking me tears as pleas for her own body again mine.

This was and is my life.