(Standard disclaimer. All those in the story are over 18.)
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I woke up in a strange place with no memory. Where was I? Who was I? Why was I naked?
As I looked around, I saw a large TV in front of me, with a paused video ready to play. Ready to speak...was me.
"Hello. You don't remember who you are. That's OK. Your name is David. You are on holiday. You've paid a lot of money to be here, without any memory. This is what you...I...we...want."
"Welcome to your Blank Slate Holiday"
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48 Hours earlier -
"Do you ever wonder where they go on their annual vacation?"
My sister asked me as we sat in the living room with our takeaway pizzas.
Erica was 19, and had just finished her first year at university. She curled her naturally brunette but chemically blonde hair between her fingers as she asked me. A small amount of brown roots showing she was due to visit the hairdresser again soon. She had a curvy but short body that would probably look a lot better if she didn't love to wear baggy dungarees and hide every feminine aspect of her.
"Why do you ask?" I replied as I wolfed down another slice. I was a couple of years older than her, and trying to decide what to do with myself, after completing my BA in English Literature.
"Don't you think it's a bit weird?"
Every year for about the last fifteen, our mum and dad had gone away for a short, 7 day holiday without us. When we were younger, our aunt would come babysit us. For the past few years, we hadn't needed anyone to watch us, as long as we promised not to burn the house down or do anything too stupid.
"No" I replied, but she'd got my attention now. I turned away from the above-average movie (2 guys who don't like each other, race cars and decide they do like each other, so decide to rob a bank together, using cars) and looked at her, wondering what she was thinking about. She was pretty good at her hunches.
"Well," she began "They pack hardly any clothes for the week. Maybe just one change of clothes. Certainly not enough for 7 or 8 days. And they never talk about where they are going, or where they went. If you ask them, they usually change the subject."
That was true. I tried to think back, but couldn't remember a single place name for where they'd been.
"Plus" my sister added "They never leave a contact number for them, if there is an emergency. We have to call Aunt Louise."
"And they have the weird numbers on their hands!" I added. "Every time they get back, they've got different numbers on the backs of their hands, written in ink or some form of temp tattoo."
We sat in silence as the movie continued, until Erica picked up the conversation again.
"You know what we should do?"
"No..." I replied slowly "...What?"
"They only left yesterday. And I've learned a lot from my investigative journalism course. We should, like, investigate them."
"Then what?"
"I guess that depends on, like, where they are, and what they're doing."
"I don't WANT to know what they are doing. I can guess what they are doing." I made a circle with my left hand, and slide a finger from my right hand in and out. International sign language for fucking.
"Well, yes" she replied sheepishly. "but are they in a nice hotel? Are they hiding on some remote island in Scotland? Are they secretly nudists? Are they in some weird cult? Don't you want to know?"
I tried not to think about my parents fucking, but it was too late. Mum's hourglass body, a model 30 years ago, but now past her prime, being fucked by dad's overweight English body, his slight beer belly slapping against her.
Dad's bald head but bearded face lying on the pillow as mum slowly squats her naked pussy onto his face.
Dad jerking his cock until he shoots his cum over mum's saggy tits, some hitting her large red birthmark on her shoulder.
"Oh god" I said to Erica. "I'm imagining it".
"Imagining what?"
"Them fucking! Eww! FINE! I'll help if it distracts me from that awful mental image."
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A couple of hours of investigation got us into Dad's email account, and finding a confirmation of two separate bookings with some company called "Blank Slate Holidays".
"Why two separate bookings?" I mused to my sister. "Why not one?"
"Yeah, that's strange. Both for seven nights. But one is booked for John (Dad) and the other for Valentina (mum). And booked minutes apart."
We traced Dad's emails back a year, and found they went with the same company the year before. And the year before that. And the year before that etc. etc.
We looked at the website. It didn't have much on it. Only that it promised a unique holiday you'd never believe. The location was apparently only about 2 hours drive away.
"You know what we've got to do?" My sister asked me in a way that suggested I had no choice in this. "We should book a night there too. To find out what it is. Apparently we both get a huge discount because of our age bracket."
I lifted one eyebrow quizzically. "And how will Mum and Dad feel if when they see us? Plus it says here it's a two night minimum stay."
"They won't see us. We will be sneaky. I'm a trained investigative journalist. Well, trainee. And we can book under fake surnames or something."
"I'm not sharing a bed and pretending I'm married to you" I said flatly.
"EWWW! Disgusting. No." She stuck out her tongue in disgust. "Separate bookings, separate rooms. But look, you can't book a double anyway. It looks like it's single person bookings only."
I rolled my eyes at her. This was a bad idea.
"PLEASE David! I don't want to go alone..."