Tidying up my deceased grandmother's house I find a mysterious talisman
The Inheritance
Part One
The Talisman
It was 9:00 in the morning when my phone started ringing insistently. I let it ring for a while, but whoever was calling wouldn’t give up. I wanted to keep sleeping—I had only just fallen asleep at 5:00 a.m. Not because I’d been out partying or anything; I had been working.
You see, my job is developing management software for small businesses, and I often stay up all night finishing deliveries. The silence and solitude help me concentrate. I go to bed late, wake up late, spend the nights alone working—it’s my life and I like it. The one who really has to be patient with this rhythm is my wife. I know she sometimes gets a bit annoyed, but she understands that the nature of my work is like this. Sometimes I spend entire weekends trying to finish a delivery, while at other times I have free time during the week that I try to spend with her. In the end, one thing compensates for the other.
Since the phone had no intention of stopping, I had no choice but to get up, hoping it was a telemarketer so at least I’d have someone to vent my anger on for waking me.
“Hello, Carlitos, did I wake you?”
“Yes, Mom, you know I sleep at this hour.” I don’t know at what point in my life I stopped growing up—I’m still “Carlitos” to my mother, though I suppose it’s not just me; most mothers act this way with their children.
“You should get up earlier, make the most of the day.”
“I make the most of the night—I work better that way and Julia doesn’t mind; she gets her compensations.”
“How lucky you are that your wife understands you.”
“Well, why did you call? Do you need something?” I was hoping to end the conversation as quickly as possible so I could go back to sleep.
“I need you to check your grandmother’s house.”
My grandmother, to whom both my mother and I were very attached, had passed away six months earlier. She left behind a house in a town near the city—a real mansion, actually: a two-story chalet with a gabled roof. On the ground floor there was a living room, a large dining room, a study, a generous kitchen, and a guest bathroom.
On the upper floor, three bedrooms opened onto a central hallway, one of them the master with an en-suite bathroom large enough for a jacuzzi. At the end of the hallway was another quite large bathroom.
But at that moment the house was completely empty. My mother and I had taken care of selling all the furniture, lamps, and clothes she had left behind.
“The house is empty—what do you want me to go for?”
“Well, we forgot to check the attic. There might be something valuable up there.”
The attic—I remember when I was little, I spent entire afternoons there. I called it “the Batcave” with that typical childlike innocence. It was accessed by a small folding ladder located in the upstairs bathroom, and lately it had only accumulated dust and grime.
“There’s nothing there. I don’t think Grandma climbed that ladder to store anything at her age.”
“Please, indulge me. Your grandmother always talked about her treasure, her jewels, and when we went through the house we didn’t find anything valuable.”
“Alright, I’ll go this afternoon.” There was always the possibility that Grandma had hidden her jewels there twenty years ago and they had been left abandoned.
I tried to go back to sleep, without much success, I confess. I started fantasizing about going to the attic, searching, and finding a small chest full of very valuable jewels. I would sell some and with the money I could easily pay the down payment on an apartment and stop renting.
Tired of tossing and turning in bed, I got up, had a coffee, and left a note for my wife telling her where I was going.
After about half an hour’s drive, I parked in front of the house door. A wave of sadness came over me. The garden, once so well cared for, was overgrown with weeds and you could barely see the occasional wilted flower.
I climbed the three steps to the front door. Upon entering the house, the smell of dampness and confinement hit my nose and another wave of sadness washed over me. Little remained of the house I remembered and where I had spent much of my childhood. My footsteps echoed on the wooden floor with that particular echo produced in an empty room.
I went up to the first floor, opened the trapdoor in the bathroom, unfolded the ladder, turned on the attic light (the switch was next to the bathroom one), and began to climb. Once inside the attic, I had to walk slightly hunched over, just as I remembered. There were two shelves, but when I was a child they had been practically empty.
Now, however, one of them held a complete collection of dolls of all sizes and shapes—some crude, made of cloth, others life-sized and made with exquisite detail that made me fear they might magically come alive, stand up, and start walking the moment I turned my back.
On the other shelf there was only a letter opener, a carved wooden chest about 40 centimeters long, 20 wide, and about the same in depth, and beside it, a Ouija board.
Right—Grandma was obsessed with those things. For years I spent afternoons listening to stories about other dimensions, gods that inhabited them, and how sorcerers in this world, knowing the rituals, could invoke their favor. She was also an avid reader and owned the complete collection of H.P. Lovecraft’s works, devouring his texts not as fantasy but as if they were textbooks.
“Eureka,” I murmured to myself, looking at the chest. Surely the jewels were in there. I opened the chest already imagining where I would buy the apartment, only to find, to my surprise, a small black box inside with no decoration except for gold lettering on the lid that read: **sanguis sanguinis mei, tutela tua est**.
Well, I’d figure out what that meant later. Maybe the box contained a necklace, a gold watch, something. Not what I expected, but it had to contain something of value. I tried to open it but the lid wouldn’t budge even a millimeter—surely stuck from age. I needed something to pry it open and remembered the letter opener right there on the same shelf.
I’ve always been a bit clumsy with my hands. I held the box in one hand, the letter opener in the other, and applied pressure. You can imagine what happened: the letter opener slid off the box without even scratching it and ended up burying its tip in the palm of my other hand, which began to bleed.
To my surprise, as the blood fell onto the lid of the box, it released automatically. It wasn’t that stuck, I thought. I’m just a bit useless at these things. I took a handkerchief and pressed it to the wound so I could examine the contents more calmly.
To my disappointment, the contents were limited to a small medallion, a little larger than a coin, about three centimeters in diameter, apparently silver or nickel silver, exquisitely crafted, with another in***********ion around the edge: **Marcum servum tuum**. In the end, the only thing I had found was a collection of dolls of little value and some Latin gibberish whose meaning I didn’t know.
I placed the medallion in the palm of my hand and brought it closer to the lamp to examine it better. At that moment, its texture changed—it was no longer hard, cold metal; it felt malleable in my hand and began to increase in temperature. It was almost burning me when it changed again and I felt an icy cold rising up my arm. I tried to drop the amulet, but it was stuck to the palm of my hand. My arm went numb; to my horror, it seemed the object was melting into my hand.
I tried once more to remove it, but it was impossible. There was no way to grip it with my fingers. In fact, now I could see how, slowly but inexorably, it was melting into my palm. After a few minutes, the amulet was no longer visible; the only trace it left was its design drawn on my palm.
I nearly fell down the ladder in my rush to reach the bathroom and try to wash my hands, but it was impossible—the mark was there, like a tattoo, and there was no way to remove it.
Confused, I closed all the doors and practically fled to the familiarity of my car. The return trip was quite slow because every so often I stopped to look at the tattoo, which was slowly fading over time. By the time I got home, it was practically invisible.
When I arrived home, my wife Laura had already returned from work. I quickly told her what had happened.
“You must have imagined it—look, there’s no mark on your hand.”
Indeed, the tattoo had completely disappeared.
“But it’s true—I don’t know what happened but you have to believe me.”
“I believe you,” she replied.
“Sure, you’re humoring me like you would a crazy person,” I said while taking her by the hand.
At that moment, I felt that same particular numbness in the arm I was using to hold her hand.
“I believe you, I really believe something happened to you. Now let’s get changed—Ricardo and Elena are expecting us for dinner.”
What happened here? How had her attitude changed so quickly? I looked at my hands and the mark had reappeared on my palm, but it was already beginning to fade.
Before continuing, I should mention something about Ricardo and Elena. They are a couple of friends we met through our wives, who work together. We share many hobbies and even, since Ricardo also works in software development, on several occasions when one of us has a project too big for one person, we team up.
However, there are certain topics we try to avoid. You see, they are deeply homophobic, while Laura and I are generally much more open—in fact, both of us are bisexual, something we haven’t even told them. Anyway, no matter how hard we try, as usually happens, the issue comes up—whether because of a news story or a march that took place downtown, the topic inevitably arises.
That night was no exception. We finished dinner and were having dessert with delicious coffee when a news item on television brought the subject to the table.
“They got what they deserved,” was Ricardo’s only comment. Elena added: “They’re shameless.”
“Come on, don’t take it that way. In the end, everyone has the right to live their life as they see fit.”
“In private, yes, but there’s a limit,” he said.
I placed my hand on his shoulder and said: “Come on, it’s not such a big deal. It’s not contagious—or are you going to start dressing like a whore and suck me off now?” Once again I felt that same numbness in the arm I was using to touch him.
“Right,” was his only reply. He stood up and headed to his bedroom.
“Don’t take it badly—he’ll get over it in a bit,” said Elena.
Turning to Laura, I said jokingly: “Are you going to get turned on when you see him sucking me off?”
“Of course,” she replied, biting her lower lip.
A while passed and suddenly Ricardo returned, but completely changed. Now he was really dressed like a prostitute: fishnet stockings, a red miniskirt, a tight white blouse, makeup accentuating rosy cheeks and bright red lips, a black carnival wig, and barefoot—obviously he had used his wife’s clothes and hadn’t found suitable shoes.
It wasn’t a complete transformation, more like a caricature of a prostitute, but that didn’t stop him. He said to me: “Now I’m going to suck you off, my love.”
I saw the excitement in Laura’s eyes as Ricardo virtually threw himself on me and began unbuckling my belt, trying to pull down my pants.
Elena, in a hysterical tone, began shouting: “Ricardo, what are you doing? What’s wrong with you? Stop!”
Trying to hold her back, I grabbed her by the shoulders and said: “Calm down, everything’s fine.”
“Right, everything’s fine,” was her response. She sat in one of the armchairs, watching as Ricardo now succeeded in pulling down my pants and began licking my penis.
Meanwhile, Laura was reclining on another armchair, skirt hiked up, panties at her feet, masturbating furiously.
“Elena, why don’t you help Laura a bit?”
“It will be a pleasure,” was her only reply before positioning herself between my wife’s legs and beginning to lick her crotch.
Meanwhile, Ricardo was giving me a spectacular blowjob. “Get ready—I’m about to come,” I said.
“Give it all to me, please.”
Then I felt my orgasm arrive and came in Ricardo’s mouth. At the same time, seeing this, I perceived that Laura was also reaching her own climax.
“Go take a shower and change. It’s better if everyone forgets this.”
“I’ll go take a shower,” Ricardo replied.
He returned shortly afterward, now dressed more conventionally. “I’m going to take a shower and you all fall asleep.”
“Sorry,” Elena said. “We were very tired. It was an exhausting day at the office.”
What had happened? The marks on the palm of my hand were disappearing again. “What a night, huh?” I said to my wife.
“Why? Nothing special happened. We ate, and then we fell asleep.”
I went to bed—no mark on my hand—but I couldn’t sleep. I knew there was a connection between what happened at my grandmother’s house and the events of the night. Could the amulet and the marks that appeared and disappeared on my hand be the cause?
Little by little I began designing an experiment that would test that assumption.
Part Two
The Tests
The next morning I got up before Laura left for work. The first test would be to verify whether my influence lasted or whether, on the contrary, it had some kind of expiration date. Until that moment I had suggested several times that we move to my grandmother’s house—it was larger than the apartment we rented and we would save money.
However, Laura refused outright: maintaining the garden would be too much work, the house was very large and she couldn’t keep it up alone, she felt uncomfortable there, it gave her chills just thinking about moving in, plus there was the security issue—she wouldn’t be able to sleep peacefully thinking someone might break in at night to rob us.
I decided to try again. “I’ve been thinking—why don’t we move to Grandma’s house? We’d save on rent and I could set up my office in the study.”
“Excellent idea. I’ll start packing right now so we can move this weekend.”
So verified: my influence was still active. I got dressed and headed to Elena and Ricardo’s apartment.
“Good morning,” Elena said when she opened the door.
“Is Ricardo there?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Please call him.”
She went to get him. When they both returned, they stood waiting for what I had to say. The tattoo on my hand was more pronounced than ever. Phase one verified: the first time physical contact was necessary, but once “marked,” instructions alone were enough. Now I would see the scope of those instructions.
“Please sit down and listen carefully to what I have to say.”
Both sat side by side on the sofa, staring at me fixedly.
“Ricardo, in your daily life, out on the street, you will continue as before. However, you are fascinated by dressing as a woman. As soon as you get home you will change and transform into a seductive woman. For that purpose, today you will go buy all the clothing, lingerie, makeup, and shoes you consider appropriate, including accessories like rings, necklaces, and chains.
From now on you will perform all household tasks—washing, cooking, ironing, and cleaning the house. When doing so, you will dress as a French maid, is that clear?”
“Yes, it’s clear.”
“You will shave your entire body and when you transform you will answer to the name Enriqueta. Simply seeing yourself in a mirror will arouse you. To ensure this, every day you will take a dose of Viagra or a similar product. Understood?”
“I understand.”
“In front of your wife, or when you have visitors, you will always present yourself as sensual and seductive. Have you understood?”
“I have understood.”
“Laura, on the other hand, you will find Ricardo unattractive and you will no longer have conventional sex with him. On the other hand, Enriqueta will excite you terribly and simply seeing her will make you want to make love to her. Understood?”
“I understand.”
“Today after work you will go to a sex shop and purchase two strap-ons, anal plugs of different sizes, and to prevent Enriqueta from touching herself when aroused, a chastity device. When you return, you will put the chastity device on Enriqueta and teach her how to apply makeup properly. Is that clear?”
“It’s clear.”
“You will change your style of dress to something more sensual—tight clothing, corsets. As soon as you get home you will change and adopt the role of a dominatrix. You will put on one of the strap-ons and at any opportunity you get, you will sodomize Enriqueta—this will give you great pleasure. Understood?”
“I understand.”
“You will be aroused by the power you have over Enriqueta and will enjoy it when she begs you to penetrate her. You will verify that she always has an anal plug in and is ready at all times to be penetrated. If she behaves correctly, you will grant her the pleasure of an orgasm.”
“Well, you have your instructions. Tonight Laura and I will come over for drinks to check on your progress.”
“One more detail: you will be grateful to me for having shown you the way.”
Once I finished “programming” them, I left. Now all that remained was to wait until dinnertime to see the extent of my power over them.
One last detail was missing. I returned to our apartment just before Laura left for the office. “Darling, tonight we’re having another dinner with Ricardo and Elena.”
“Perfect, no problem.”
“One detail: you may see them a bit changed. That won’t worry you; on the contrary, you will feel excited by their transformation. Understood?”
“I understand.”
The tattoos on my hand began to disappear. The rest of the day I spent trying to concentrate on work without success. Would I find Ricardo and Elena completely transformed tonight, or would they be outraged by the instructions I gave them?
Finally, the moment of truth arrived. We got changed and went down two floors to our friends’ apartment. I rang the bell and was pleasantly surprised to see Enriqueta open the door—she was simply stunning. I could tell Laura agreed because she was virtually devouring her with her eyes.
Let’s start in order: she was wearing tan high heels with at least 12 cm stilettos, natural nylon stockings with back seams, a tight tube skirt also in tan, a long-sleeved white blouse with the first three buttons open so that her large breast prostheses were noticeable—they were of excellent quality and one had to look carefully because they looked completely like natural breasts.
Her nails, perfectly manicured, had acrylic extensions painted deep red; her fingers were adorned with several rings, and around her neck was a cameo tied with a ribbon (surely to hide the join between the prosthesis and her flesh). The makeup was simply exquisite—smoky eyes, false eyelashes, lips the same shade as her nails. Completing the ensemble was a very high-quality black wig styled high, leaving her neck exposed and allowing dangling earrings to show.
“But how beautiful you look, Enriqueta,” I said.
“Do you like it?” she asked, giving a twirl to show off her outfit.
Laura stepped forward. “Of course we do—you’re gorgeous.” As she said this, she took Enriqueta in her arms and planted a kiss on her mouth.
“But please, come in. Elena will be here any moment.”
We went into the living room. She sat in an armchair while Laura and I sat on a three-seater sofa. I looked her over once more, almost ready to order her to assume a position so I could penetrate her, when at that moment Elena made her entrance.
If Enriqueta had surprised me with her feminine appearance, Elena’s arrival left me speechless. Had I gone too far with my instructions? Clearly not.
She was a true Dominant Goddess: long leather gloves almost to the shoulders, a leather corset that accentuated her bust, eight garters hanging from the corset holding up black nylon stockings with seams, and finally knee-high boots with a side zipper that fit her legs perfectly, finished with 12 cm stiletto heels.
Her hair was tied in a high ponytail and her makeup was in dark tones with wine-colored lips. But what stood out most was a strap-on fastened at her waist—at least 25 cm long and 8 cm in diameter, imitating a real penis perfectly, even showing veined texture.
She walked around dressed like that as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
“Carlos, Laura—what a pleasure that you could come.”
“Of course,” I replied. “I wouldn’t have missed this for the world. You look radiant, Elena.”
“Thank you. It has really been liberating. Enriqueta and I can never thank you enough.”
“I see the house is spotless,” I commented. “You must have worked all afternoon.”
“On the contrary, Enriqueta did all the work. She has proven to be an excellent maid as well as an adorable wife. But Laura, why don’t you come with me for a moment and dress in a more appropriate way for the gathering.”
Laura, who couldn’t take her eyes off Enriqueta, stood up immediately. “It will be a pleasure, darling.”
As they were leaving I had an idea. “One moment, please—forgive me if this seems forward, but this weekend Laura and I are moving to my late grandmother’s house.”
“What great news,” Elena commented.
“However, the house is very large for Laura to handle the cleaning alone. I was thinking—would Enriqueta be willing to help us a couple of times a week? Of course, I would pay her a salary for her work.”
“No way,” was Elena’s response.
Had my instructions weakened? I looked at my hand and the tattoo was firmly drawn.
Enriqueta, noticing my confusion, added: “What Elena means is that there is no way I could accept payment from you. After everything we owe you, it would be impossible to charge you for my services.”
“Exactly. Thank you, Enriqueta—that’s what I meant. I would feel offended charging you for her services. With great pleasure she will assist you with cleaning and any other needs you may have.”
“But now, enough talk. Let’s see if we can find a more appropriate outfit for Laura.” She took her by the hand and they headed to the bedroom.
Meanwhile I was left alone with Enriqueta.
“Would you like something to drink?” she asked in a voice and tone so sensual I could barely contain myself.
“Do you have whisky?”
“Of course. Coming right up.”
When she handed it to me, I took a sip and asked: “Aren’t you having anything?”
“Actually, I want other things,” she said as she began unbuckling my belt with her nails and pulling down my pants.
Once my penis was exposed, with sensual movements she put some lubricant on her hands and began masturbating me slowly.
“I want it nice and hard.”
“With how beautiful you are, you won’t have to try very hard.”
Sure enough, I had an incredible erection and was desperate. That beauty masturbating me, bringing me to the edge of climax, moving her hands slowly—I was about to grab her head and guide her when she took the initiative herself. She knelt in front of me and took my entire penis into her mouth. I felt it pressing against her throat and that drove me even crazier.
I was in the best of worlds when Elena and Laura returned. One could say they were twin sisters—Laura was dressed exactly like Elena and was also wearing a strap-on of identical dimensions. I was tempted to order her to penetrate me (something I had dreamed of for a long time) but decided it was better to let events unfold on their own. I would have time in the future to live out other fantasies with Laura. Better to keep enjoying the best blowjob of my life.
“I see you already started without us. Darling, would you like to do the honors?” Elena said.
“But of course—from the first moment I saw her I’ve been dying to penetrate that ass,” Laura replied.
With that, she knelt behind Enriqueta, lifted her skirt, removed the plug she was wearing, and began penetrating her.
“What a delicious whore—she was already lubricated and ready for me.”
“Of course,” Elena commented. “This afternoon she already had her good dose and I made sure she was prepared. Meanwhile, why don’t you suck this beautiful cock a little?” she said, bringing her artificial penis to my wife’s lips.
How right I was to let things happen naturally. In my wildest fantasies I could never have imagined a scene like this: Enriqueta sucking me like a goddess, Laura penetrating her and kissing Elena’s artificial phallus—it was a scene that just remembering it makes me start touching myself again.
We continued like that for a while. Then Laura and Elena switched positions—Elena penetrating Enriqueta and kissing Laura’s artificial penis.
“How hot it makes me to fuck this whore,” Elena commented.
Finally I couldn’t hold back any longer and came in Enriqueta’s mouth. Almost at the same time, she also ejaculated onto the floor from the prostate stimulation.
“Kiss me, beautiful,” I ordered Enriqueta. She immediately complied and our tongues began to play against each other, feeling her pass my semen to me.
Then we got dressed and Laura and I returned to our apartment.
“It was a wonderful evening. It’s been a long time since I enjoyed myself so much.”
“I’m glad,” I said. “I hope we can repeat it—and besides, we’ll have Enriqueta’s help after we move.”
“I’m counting on it,” she replied. “I have quite a few ideas of things we can do with her.”
That’s the end of my adventures so far, dear reader. I would love to read your comments—perhaps continue the story. There are several possibilities