Chapter 389: The Mother of My Children’s Parents

Hmm. Which one is going to give me the most shit?

Camden’s dad, Howard, waited until we were on the sidewalk before he said, “I guess I should be holding a shotgun or something. You got one of my daughters pregnant twice and had sex with the other. It was a bit complicated. Camden said she couldn’t go into it but that she was on her own raising the babies.”

I might as well have some fun.

“I don’t kiss and tell and never have. Not sure how Camden got pregnant from me twice without having sex. Well, unless she said we did. I’m not going to call a man’s daughter a liar,” I told him. “If that is the only issue a woman having my children caused me, then I would be lucky as hell. I know Camden has at least mentioned her Spring Break vacation friends Corwin, Mary, and Skylar. Well, it seems those three women somehow managed to get pregnant at the same time as Camden, and their children are mine too.”

Howard joked, “David, you need to keep your dick in your pants.”

“I agree. Mary and Skylar’s fathers both had harems. When they died, Mary and Skylar effectively inherited them. I don’t think that includes their mother as part of that since she was the first wife. Not that it matters. When they gave birth to my children, both harems became mine, but they must remain at Skylar’s and Mary’s homes. The way I understand it, I am now obligated to service their dead father’s other wives and daughters that are at least fourteen, at least those not promised in an arranged marriage. Fortunately, I don’t have to do anything with their half-brothers. I know they stay in the harem when they are little, but at some point, they get banished from entering the harem anymore. I don’t have a good count, but I think that Mary’s dad had around fifteen wives, and Skylar’s had at least that many. Their families didn’t follow that get it on with the new wife until she gives him a baby, and then the guy goes looking for the next wife. From the number of girls in the harem, they were servicing all their wives anytime they could get pregnant. If I could get away with it, I would send in some boys I know learned how to please a woman. Unfortunately, I find that I’m the only male over ten years old that can enter,” I told them. “From the fact that you are moving into one of these mansions, it appears that I am at least providing her a big house to raise my children and let you live there too.”

Both men looked at me in shock and then burst out laughing. They seemed to think I was kidding and deadpanned it. My phone dinged and had pictures of Skylar and Mary’s fathers with their harems last year before the spring vacation. Then it had one of me in each harem, all of us naked, from a few days ago. They weren’t laughing anymore.

I did my best to explain how the harem stays at the women’s homes versus me having to figure out that nightmare.

I joked, “Can you imagine the school board here dealing with that many girls and women under eighteen, with any that have their period being pregnant, and those under fourteen using sperm not directly from the source.”

“They would love that,” Dad joked in return. “Imaging the craziness in the courthouse for your having dozens of children with different mother’s names, you as the father, and your last name. I wonder how that could even work with polygamy laws.”

Camden’s father replied, “Actually, it wouldn’t be a problem. He didn’t marry any of those in the harem, and this state doesn’t have common-law marriages. We would need a lawyer to be sure, but as long as the girls and women in that harems don’t live in his primary residence, it wouldn’t be much different from screwing his way through a female college dorm, at least until he turns eighteen. You can be sure some busybody would have the police all over him for statutory rape for those under sixteen, even if they only used his donated sperm. They would insist on taking all the children away for their safety. I don’t want to imagine that foster care system nightmare.”

Dad and I both started laughing then. He got the short version of my foster care complex details. Even if I never touched them, all those that the system would take away from me would end up at the place I owned anyway. Howard talked about how that could be a national issue at that point.

I better not mention the virgin vault when staying at the college.

“I’m good with them staying where they are living right now. It has nothing to do with costs to feed, clothe, and house them either. Even being in great shape, taking care of the daily needs of that many pregnant girls and women would wear even me out. I’m not sure that it would be possible to do them all in a single day,” I said. “It isn’t like you two would get kitchen passes to help me out.”

They didn’t want to even think about asking their wives for that kind of permission. Dad joked that his insurance company would cancel his life insurance.

When we got to the mansion, we walked around to the back to see the car in the indoor pool.

I think that might probably be the cheapest repair in this entire house.

Whoever got in here to move everything out must have worked all night with at least two people per room. This place was huge!

“Ah, there you are, David,” a man wearing dusty jeans and work shirt said. “I will let you decide if it is cheaper to bulldoze this place to rebuild from the foundation up or only gut it. Either way, you won’t be getting enough out of the woman that lived here to cover even a portion of the costs to undo all that she did to this place. Everything happened after she kicked her husband out. They called us about a month before to ask about doing some painting, renovating a few bathrooms, and minor repairs. I’ve seen houses where squatters had a family, or three, living in each bedroom, without running water or power. Then there are the places where gangs and the homeless moved into vacant buildings. Those places are art galleries smelling of freshly baked cookies and bread compared to here.”

You are fucking kidding me! What was this woman taking?

On the main level, the crazy woman dedicated a room for each mansion in the neighborhood. She tracked every guest, delivery driver, vehicle, date each time they cut their grass, and about everything else she wanted. She covered the walls with her scribblings. When she ran out of space on the walls, she started using the floor and some sort of rotary tool. Except for a powder room on this main level and one in the master, she decided to start the bathroom renovations herself.

How long did it take her to smash all the ceramic and porcelain into a powder?

All that I found intact in the bathrooms were the pipes, wiring, and mirrors. There wasn’t an outlet or light switch anywhere or bulbs. At least the woman had enough sense to cover the ends of the wires. I’m not sure I would have used cut-up candles, wine bottle corks, the green foam used to make artificial flower arrangements, and what I think were parts of cut-up cigars. The rooms on all the upper floors got obliterated.

In some cases, she had used something to cut holes between levels and then nailed pieces of boards to the walls like it was a giant treehouse. About a quarter of the rooms had pieces of wood nailed piecemeal over the doors to make it look like a wall there now. She bashed holes between areas, including the two-by-fours. Wiring in the way was ripped out or cut with the ends of the wires covered in what might be some sort of melted rubber or plastic. She went so far as to have the windows painted to look like they had blinds or curtains so no one could see that she had trashed the room.

The architect stopped on the stairs to the attic room to warn us, “The movers backed down the stairs after they looked up here. I’ve seen a lot of crazy stuff in my life. I’ve renovated old mental asylums and built custom bondage punishment rooms. What you are going to see is beyond disturbing. Though I will say this, there is no question this woman had a very active sex life or that it began way before she kicked her husband out.”

Are we going to see some bondage gear?

Dad and Howard made it to the top of the stairs a few feet into the first area before retching. They made a fast exit down the stairs, but the architect walked in with me.

“I wish that she wasn’t insane because she is one damn good painter, or at least she was at some point,” the architect told me.

This attic area was one space with various wood supports to hold up the roof. All over the place were eleven by seventeen pictures of this woman with teenagers and twenty-somethings.

She is an excellent photographer as well.

All over the floor, walls, and underside of the roof, she painted with greatly enlarged versions of the pictures. The full-body ones weren’t the ones that were so disturbing. No, it was the ones of the woman focusing on the sloppy cock in her pussy. Or maybe it could be the areas where she made her artwork tactile with pubic hair, cock, balls, and pussy. Her creations included glistening fluid with the associated smell of sweat, pussy juice, and cum. Right as you stepped through the door were graphic versions of her and some guys that were three times life-sized. You were looking into her skanky, sloppy, worn-out, grey-haired pussy. One guy had just pulled from her pussy right as he creamed it with a big blast of cum. She had a long string of goo hanging from her pubic hair stop in mid-drip. A guy’s shit-covered dick hung down in front of him.

Yeah. I guess that wins. I’m pretty sure I don’t even want to see a big turd pushing out with cum all over it ever again.

She made it so detailed that you could see the pieces of food in her turd and on the guy’s dick. She had a painting underneath that “sculpture” and a poster-sized print from the picture someone took at that exact moment.

I don’t want to know what she is using to keep the smells in the air.

The architect said, “I’m not sure how you can stand the smell without retching. I have a buddy who owns a morgue and gets in the ones that are already ripe. When work is slow, I go over there to make a little on the side. I don’t even notice the smell.”

“I have a three-year-old daughter and seven, three-week-old newborns,” I replied.

“Enough said,” he joked.

A thought did come to me, so I asked, “If we take out part of the roof, do you think you can get all of this out of here without damaging it? As crazy as it sounds, I’m pretty sure that some obscenely wealthy people are into this sort of sick shit. I would love to put each of the paintings and this gross, whatever this is, into an auction. The money would get spread out over multiple charities and places that need the money it generates. Take a look to see what you think you can do to getting each one out in one piece, if possible. I’m going to have to spring my friend Molly for the day tomorrow. I’ll have her take a look at this place to see what she suggests. It may help her work through a few issues that go deep under her skin.”

We were about to walk down the stairs when I realized that I didn’t need to spring Molly after all.

She went around the attic to look at everything quickly. I saw a micro-nod as she looked at each one, so I knew she was running at full speed right now. No watch or phone, though.

“Thirty minutes,” Molly said and then pointed to the stairs.

The architect looked at me curiously as we followed Molly’s pointing until we went out the front door, which she closed behind us and locked.

Molly whistled, loud enough to almost hurt my ears, and then kept walking us to the sidewalk.

Dolly, Molly’s older brother, and some of her younger siblings that I didn’t know came running from around the sides of the mansion carrying metal fence posts, what looked like a hollow battering ram, caution tape, and a handful of tools. I watched Molly’s older brother, and Bart put that big thing over the fence post that Dolly held. Nelly brought over another of the fence posts before getting the younger kids to get them from the pile on the side of the driveway. Once they had them driven across along the house side of the sidewalk, Dolly and her younger siblings went crazy with the rolls of caution tape.

“I get the caution, condemned, and do not enter, but biohazard?” I asked Molly when she came down to survey the work.

She nodded and then said, “Sub-basement.”

Dolly took over since Molly rushed off toward the house and said, “It seems this house had a sub-basement that may have been for a bomb shelter at one time. What I saw was that it had a sump that pumped the liquids into the sewer. I didn’t look too closely, but I think it is close to the size of the other floors. From the looks of things, she has been storing all biodegradable items down there for a long time. Stuff was getting pushed to the back and stacked to the ceiling. It seems that she bashed a hole into that foundation for the sump and another into the sewer pipe, where it pumped the fluids. The woman had made sure to put a barrier to keep the smell from getting out of the sub-basement.”

When satisfied they had done what Molly wanted, her family headed back to Chrissy’s new home.

“Who was that?” The architect asked.

“The one that came up to the attic was Molly. Everyone else is her siblings. It looks like your job is about to get done for you. Don’t take this personally, but Molly is one of the top architects in the world, and she isn’t even an architect,” I explained and was surprised when I saw he knew what she said was true.

He smiled and said, “I figured when you mentioned Molly. She is something else. I couldn’t get a crew in to set those posts in a day. It looks like we will have to demolish and rebuild, given the sub-basement issues. So, can I have dibs on the appliances? They were all replaced two weeks ago. As far as I can tell, the only thing she used was the microwave, wine fridge, and freezer.”