That day, Mother Elowen placed a choice before me, her voice steady and unyielding. "Do you want to come with your mother," she said, "or live with your grandmother?"
We stood in the main hall, just inside the great gates of the mansion. A wagon waited beyond the threshold, already loaded with her luggage—everything she intended to take. To Elowen, in that moment, nothing else held meaning: not the opulent, wealth-soaked walls of the estate, not her husband, not the rest of the family. Only me.
To her, the question was the final test of whether she still mattered to me, whether I still mattered enough to be saved. She had to offer the choice. If I chose her, it would prove I possessed some flicker of independent will, some ember of my own mind. It would show I was not wholly an empty puppet dancing to the strings of that old hag.
But Morwenna had always been one step ahead. She had already poured poison into my thoughts—whispers that my mother had betrayed my father, that she had cheated on him in secret. My father swallowed every word without question. I struggled to accept it; part of me recoiled, refused to believe her capable of such a thing. Yet another part—smaller, weaker, more obedient—wondered if Morwenna could be wrong at all. How pathetic I was, already half-convinced by the very woman my mother was fleeing.
I stood there, locked in Mother Elowen's gaze. Her mind seemed calm, almost serene, but her eyes hovered on the edge of everything—silent, fervent prayers flickering behind them, begging whatever god might listen for her son to choose rightly.
Then I turned and ran back toward Morwenna.
That single motion delivered the answer she had dreaded, the one she had hoped with every fiber would fall the other way.
Tears stung my eyes; I wanted to spin around and sprint back to her. I wanted to leave, to flee with her—I was so close to breaking free—but Morwenna's arms clamped around me, iron-tight, anchoring me in place. It was already too late, yet I kept wishing I had fought harder. I never saw Mother Elowen's face in that final moment, but I knew her pain cut deeper than mine.
Her eleven-year-old son had just surrendered her. All she could do was walk away.
After she left, I cried almost every night. I pleaded with Father and Morwenna to bring her back, my voice raw and desperate, but they never listened. Why would they? Eventually I stopped asking. In secret, I wrote letters to Mother Elowen—small, trembling confessions poured onto paper—but no reply ever came.
I never learned what became of her after she left. She vanished as though she had never existed at all. In the end, I had to surrender the search, convincing myself it was for the best.
From that day forward, I grew quiet—unnaturally so. Morwenna and Uncle Rowan made certain to keep my mother's memory alive in the cruelest way: by reminding me of her absence while spoiling me even more lavishly. A gilded cage, the life of a perfect puppet.
Puberty arrived earlier than anyone expected. How it managed to take root in such a frail, sheltered body as mine, I still don't understand. I could read and write fluently, but Morwenna ensured that sex education remained forbidden territory. It was effortless for her; private tutors came to the mansion, and she dictated exactly what they were permitted to teach.
She forbade me even from playing with Tamsin, convinced that if I grew too close, I would fall in love with her and she would become the sole center of my world—stealing my attention from the family that owned me. Mercifully, Morwenna never discovered my true sexuality. I kept it buried so deeply that no one ever suspected.
How did she manage to keep all of it from me for so long? Biology, of course, has its own limits—and none of them bend to a grandmother's will. I discovered it on my own, in stolen, fumbling moments of curiosity. I had no idea what I was truly doing, nor did I understand the meaning behind the urges that overtook me. I simply felt them, acted on them, and remained ignorant of their name.
I was perpetually frustrated in those days. Mornings greeted me with a hard, aching erection—so rigid it bordered on pain. The slightest glimpse of an adult woman, or even the mere thought of one, triggered the same relentless response. I despised my body for it, yet it refused to be ignored.
I was eighteen and knew nothing about adult things. Then came the day I played hide-and-seek with Tamsin. Yes, I was immature enough to play a toddler's game. You can say I played for nostalgia or something like that.
I chose Uncle Rowan's room—far larger and grander than mine—as my hiding place. I slipped behind the narrow gap between a towering flowerpot and the heavy cupboard, pressing myself into the shadows.
I never imagined I would witness what came next.
Uncle Rowan entered, leading one of the household servants by the hand. He turned the key in the lock with a sharp click. I froze—not daring to breathe, let alone move an inch. To shift would be to ruin the game; to be discovered would be unthinkable.
He moved with frantic urgency while the woman spoke to him in measured, unshaken tones.
"Wait—my lord. I'm not going anywhere. Calm yourself down for a bit."
Her voice carried quiet authority, unruffled. Uncle Rowan answered with a low, disgustingly eager rasp.
"Can't afford to waste time."
Uncle Rowan seized the woman's arm and guided her toward his massive, rumpled bed. It was already shocking enough to see him with another woman at all. I knew his wife had left him years ago, but now the reason stared me in the face: he was a cheater.
The bed stood directly in front of my hiding place. From the shadowed gap between the flowerpot and the cupboard, I had an unobstructed, painfully clear view. The darkness cloaked me completely.
"Ahhhh, so eager, my lord," the woman purred, her voice low and deliberately seductive as Uncle Rowan flung her onto the mattress.
I caught a fuller glimpse of her then. She was the most striking among all our servants—long black hair spilling loose, no elaborate gown, no trace of cosmetics—yet her natural beauty needed none of those things to command attention.
A slow, predatory smile curled across Uncle Rowan's lips as he climbed over her, his movements deliberate now, savoring the moment. At that instant, my cock stiffened painfully in my trousers, straining against the fabric. Curiosity surged through me like fire—what were they about to do?
Uncle Rowan stripped her with frantic, impatient hands, giving me no time to even process the sight. My breath came in shallow, ragged bursts. He peeled away every last piece of clothing while she giggled low and seductively, the sound vibrating through the dim room.
I had never seen a woman naked before—this was my first time. Every curve, every secret fold of her body lay exposed before me. My eyes widened, unblinking, drinking in the sight as though the world had narrowed to her bare skin alone.
Then Uncle Rowan yanked his own trousers down in the same hurried frenzy. His cock sprang free—thick, long, rigid with need, the swollen tip already glistening with pre-cum that dripped in slow, heavy beads. The moment I saw it, realization slammed into me: I was about to witness something I absolutely should not see. Yet the thrill of it burned hotter than shame. My own erection throbbed harder than ever, aching, insistent, betraying how badly my body wanted to stay right where it was—hidden, watching, hard as hell.
The woman spread her legs wide, her fingers sliding down to part the soft vertical lips of her sex. I remembered asking Tamsin once, out of pure childish curiosity, what girls had down there. She hadn't been awkward about it at all; she'd simply answered, "Nothing."
That answer had never satisfied me. But now—now I could see everything clearly. She hadn't been entirely wrong, yet she couldn't have been more wrong.
"Come on," the woman breathed, her voice thick and trembling with need. "I can't hold it any longer. My pussy is calling."
Pussy. The word lodged in my mind like a spark. A new word. A secret word.
Uncle Rowan didn't hesitate. He thrust forward, burying his thick cock inside her in one deep, forceful push.
"Ahhhh~"
She let out a long, needy moan that seemed to ripple through the air and straight into my bones. My own cock jerked violently in response, throbbing so hard it felt alive, vibrating with urgent pulses. Pre-cum leaked heavily now, soaking through the fabric of my trousers in a dark, spreading spot. I couldn't stand it anymore—the pressure was unbearable, the outline of my erection painfully obvious against the tight material.
I had to free it. I had to pull my cock out before it tore me apart from the inside.