Forbidden Weekend with Mother-in-Law
I never expected it to happen. My wife, Sarah, had been called away for a last-minute work emergency—some big conference in Chicago that couldn’t be missed. That left me alone in our house with her mother, Linda, for the entire weekend. Linda was 52, but she looked like she’d barely hit 40. Full, heavy breasts that strained against her blouses, wide hips that swayed when she walked, and long dark hair she usually kept in a loose ponytail. She had that mature, confident beauty that made it hard not to stare.
She arrived Friday evening with a bottle of red wine and a warm hug that lingered just a second too long. “Looks like it’s just us, Matt,” she said with a soft smile. Her voice had always been husky, but tonight it felt different. Charged.
We cooked dinner together, drank more wine than we should have, and ended up on the couch watching some forgettable movie. Her bare feet ended up in my lap as she complained about her ex-husband. My hand rested on her ankle at first. Then slowly moved higher, stroking her smooth calf. She didn’t pull away. Instead, she let out a little sigh and shifted so her foot pressed gently against the growing bulge in my pants.
“Matt…” she whispered, her eyes half-lidded. “We really shouldn’t.”
But she didn’t move her foot.
I leaned in and kissed her. She tasted like wine and forbidden fruit. Her tongue met mine eagerly, and before I knew it, her hand was sliding under my shirt, nails raking down my chest. I pulled her onto my lap, gripping that full ass I’d fantasized about for years. She ground against me, moaning softly into my mouth as her robe slipped open, revealing she wasn’t wearing anything underneath.
“God, you’re so hard already,” Linda breathed, reaching down to stroke me through my pants. “Sarah never mentioned how big you are.”
She slid down between my knees, looking up at me with those hungry eyes as she freed my cock. Her lips wrapped around the head, warm and wet, taking me deeper with practiced ease. I groaned, threading my fingers through her hair as she bobbed, sucking noisily, saliva dripping down my shaft. Every time I hit the back of her throat she hummed, the vibration driving me crazy.
I couldn’t take it anymore. I pulled her up, bent her over the arm of the couch, and hiked up her robe. Her pussy was soaked, pink and glistening. I rubbed my cock along her slit, teasing her swollen clit until she was whimpering and pushing back against me.
“Fuck me, Matt,” she begged. “I need it.”
I thrust in deep in one stroke. She was tighter than I expected, hot velvet gripping every inch. I fucked her hard, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the living room. Her heavy tits swung beneath her as I reached around to pinch her nipples. She came first, crying out my name, her walls pulsing around me.
I wasn’t done. I carried her to the bedroom—her daughter’s marital bed—and laid her on her back. This time I took my time, sucking on those magnificent breasts, licking her pussy until she came again on my tongue. Then I slid back inside her, slower now, savoring every thrust while she wrapped her legs around me.
“Fill me up,” she gasped, nails digging into my back. “Cum inside Mommy.”
That pushed me over the edge. I buried myself to the hilt and unloaded, pumping rope after rope of thick cum deep into her. We collapsed together, sweaty and panting, knowing we’d just crossed a line we could never uncross.
The rest of the weekend was a blur of stolen touches, shower sex, and her riding me on the kitchen counter while breakfast burned on the stove. By Sunday night, when Sarah’s car pulled into the driveway, Linda gave me one last deep kiss and whispered, “Next time she’s away… I’m coming over earlier.”
I still taste her every time I kiss my wife.