A Unique Arrangement

From Create Your Own Story

You are Adam Paulson, a relatively normal 12-year-old boy having just celebrated his birthday two weeks ago. You're a bit of a nerd, though your sharp sense of humor has kept that from earning you much ridicule. You're a pretty good kid, a bit more awkward than most at your age. Your only major flaw is you're a bit of a horn-dog, and not particularly smooth about it. You got in trouble for it once, when you spaced out staring down your hot teacher's blouse.

Your mother, Sarah Paulson, is 32 years old. She was a massive nerd in her youth, a fact that can still be seen in how she decorates her house; you're the only kid at school whose house has swords on the walls. She's patient and honorable, always keeping her word even when she doesn't have to. She's also not much for modesty, which is not at all good for your unfortunate horn-dog tendencies; with a curvy body, naturally round DD boobs, a shapely butt, wide hips, and perfect thighs, your mother is hot. You've seen her in lingerie countless times, and during the summer it's not unusual for her to go around in nothing but tiny shorts and a loose tank top, braless and all.

It's Saturday morning. You sit on your couch, Magic: The Gathering collection laid out on the coffee table as you try to piece together a deck around some cool new dragon cards you acquired recently. Your mother plays some game on the family computer, hacking away at monsters with gory effects when a knock comes at the door. She gets up and gets it. You think nothing of it until, after some initial chat, you hear her gasp. You look back and see a man in a black suit with a briefcase, handing your mother an envelope. She pulls out the contents, two pieces of paper covered in small text. She sighs and thanks the man, closing the door. She gives you a resigned look and walks over, sitting on the couch beside you.

"Hey buddy," she begins. When she starts a conversation that way, you know she's serious. "So, um... have you ever wondered where we get all our money from? I know you've noticed I don't exactly have a 9-to-5 job..."

As long as you can remember, your mother's never worked more than two or three days a week at a hobby shop in town. Still, you live comfortably, never wanting for necessities and affording a luxury or two every so often. "Kinda... why?" you ask.

"See... when your father and I were together, we had... an arrangement." You never really knew your father. Your parents divorced when you were only 4, and he died shortly after in an accident. Your mother continued, "When we got married, we found out he had a lot, and I mean a lot of money coming to him, but only if he met certain conditions." Sarah began to blush. "Basically I... had to be his slave. Do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted, and so on. If I did that for him, he would get access to bits of that money over time for as long as I continued to uphold my end. After he died, the money technically went to you, but since you were so young, the money went to me instead."

"So what did that man want? I guess it was about the money, since that's what you're talking about?" you ask.

"Yes, sweetie. See, when you turned 12, you gained the rights to the money according to your father's will, but in order for you to get the money, you have to have a slave."

You turn it over in your young mind for a moment. It sounds like stupid grown-up stuff, but you followed it easily enough. "But where am I going to get a slave?" you ask.

"You don't," Sarah says. "I don't want someone living in this house with us, and besides, who's going to agree to be a boy's slave, money or no?"

"So what are we going to do?" you ask, genuinely confused."

"The only thing we can do," your mother says. "I'll be your slave."

You stare at her for a long moment, blinking absently. "So," you finally say, "you'll do anything I say?"


"Anything?" you ask again, still not believing it.

"Absolutely anything," she replies. "And I mean that."

You don't know what to think about this, so you just say the first sensible thing that comes to mind. "Well, um... I'll tell you if I want anything, then."

"Okay sweetie," she says, patting your head. "Just remember. I'm still your mother, so I can still tell you what to do, too. There's a provision for that in the will." Seeing you still looking unsure, she continues, "This doesn't have to be weird. Just relax and don't overthink it. Whenever you want something, whatever it is, you tell me and I'll do it as best I can, okay? Okay." She returns to her computer as you sit and process what just happened. What do you do now?

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