MIL 5
As I drove home that evening, after my visit with her mother, I wondered how it might go with Mary Ann.
Something like this, perhaps?
"Hello dear, how it'd go?"
"Oh, alright I guess."
"Was it hard work?"
"No, not too bad. The usual."
"I suppose she treated you to a nice big glass of ice tea afterwards."
"Yes, and after that she showed me your old bedroom, and she pulled one of your old 32B bras out of your dresser drawer."
"Huh? Why?"
"Well, she draped it over her bust to show me the vast size difference between her rather fulsome chest, and your, well, flat, lifeless, washboard one."
"What!!"
"Then she had me get my pants off and made me get on your old bed, where, as she hovered over me in the praying mantis position, we got her shirt open so she could have me leer at her huge 40I bust."
"Stop! I don't want to hear this!!"
"I was whacking off this whole time you see, dear, and couldn't help but shoot my splunk right up into the crotch of her oh so tight blue jeans. Sitting back between my thighs, then, facing me, I watched her rub it into the thin cotton fabric as if she were masturbating her clit. She said it was almost like I'd fucked her."
Mary Ann would likely be hitting and slapping me by this point, but I couldn't stop.
"By the way, dear, she said she killed your Dad by fucking him to death. She said he just couldn't ever get enough of her really big knockers, even though at the beginning of their marriage he apparently had a penchant for collecting skanky skin magazines. She said she didn't like that, and that, back then, she couldn't compete with all those buxom women. She said it all left her no choice but to eventually fuck him to death, once her breasts had become truly huge and intoxicating to him, and thereby collect the life insurance, house, and retirement assets."
Yep! That's how it'd go. Sure. Or try this possible version...
"Anything exciting happen today honey?"
"Oh after I raked her leaves we got your mother's top off so I could leer at her 40I bust."
"Oh that's wonderful sweetheart, anything else?"
"Well we never got her bra off, but we did get my pants off, so I could jerk off while she hovered her unusually large bust over my face."
"Oh, that's so sweet, honey."
"Eventually, dear, I couldn't take it, so I came and shot my jsm up into her crotch, though she had her jeans on."
"Well thank goodness for that!"
"Yes, but she rubbed it into the fabric with the fingertip of her index finger as if she were doing herself."
"My mother certainly can act strange sometimes. Do you think she could become pregnant from that?"
"Oh I doubt it, dear. Wouldn't that be crazy - your mother having my baby. Oh boy. But she said she's on birth control, anyway, so not to worry. "
"Oh, I forgot! She did mention that to me one time, but it never occurred to me Mom would ever need it. And besides, Mom's always been good about watching after her health. I guess that's where I get my good habits from!"
"Yes, sweetheart, your habits are so good, you miss menstrual periods, even. Good job sweetie! No wonder we can't have children, despite my over 2 years of trying with you."
"That's the way the cookie crumbles! Anyway, sweet thing, what would you like for dinner?"
I honestly didn't know how it was going to go, and I had no plan, though I was hoping she just wasn't home. That way I could just take a warm shower and slink into bed and go to sleep.
As it was, Mary Ann was home, and was in the kitchen putting dinner together. She had little, boy-type shorts on, as her behind was rather small and compact, and a plain small t-shirt on, with no padded bra on, I presumed, because it was impossible to tell if she had breasts or not. We did our perfunctory quick kiss upon my arrival - that had still survived, though our lovemaking had become less and less, and when it did occur, Mary Ann seemed to have become what I suppose how some women see their neglectful husbands: She wanted it quick and rather forceful. Like she'd get on top of me and vigorously ride me, getting herself off in less than two minutes and then collapsing besides me, signalling to me that we were done. The "I love you"'s had become less and less frequent, and after a while I began to think I was married to someone who'd become a teenage eunuch who used my cock as a means to have her once weekly or biweekly orgasm. With her short hair, slim hips, hardly any indication of breasts, and hard six-packed abs and toned slim thighs, she could have passed for a teenager of either sex, who worked out a lot.
I suppose that she was changing. With her intense workouts, the caloric intake was not keeping up with the exercise burn, and perhaps this had in turn reduced her body's production of estrogen. Who knows. She still wanted sex, but only once a week or once every two weeks. And it was only when she wanted it, not when we both wanted it. If I tried to initiate it, she wasn't interested. It was weird. When she did want it, she wanted it quick, and she didn't care if I got off or not. And not a whole lot of affection, either. Almost like: A guy. Face it, this is how we guys are, sometimes, if left to our druthers. But this was my dear sweet wife, the one I'd been betrothed to at the altar just over two years ago. Honestly, I was beginning to feel used. Not to mention that her mother recently, with her huge knockers while sitting on top of me, had yanked jsm out of my cock and rubbed it all over the soft vacuous part of her crotch after I'd shot it on her while staring at her I cup knockers.
Were the both of them using me?
Life was going in directions where I had no clue if any of it made sense. The only thing I knew for certain was that I really, really, grooved on staring at her mother's big, large chest, that her mother, in her crazy way, was, unbelievably, getting off on showing it to me, and, that she liked my organ to be exposed while i did it until I shot my stuff out of me for her. She told me she'd killed her husband, in a roundabout semblance of these methods ("I fucked him to death". How endearing.) She referenced several times her own daughter's B cup (at best) bust, calling it "washboard." She'd put me in her own daughter's childhood bedroom, showed me an old bra of daughter's/my wife, took her own shirt off, which of course, was exceedingly tight, ordered me to bare my cock, and then had me ejaculate my splink at and onto her covered crotch. As they say, I was no longer in Kansas.
When I walked in Mary Ann gave me the perfunctory kiss, but on my cheek, not on my lips, and didn't even bring up that I'd just spent the afternoon raking her mother's leaves. Instead she prattled on about how Helen, her boss at the health foods & whatnot store, was going on a 2 week vacation, and she wanted Mary Ann to do the closing shift, 1 to 9, because she didn't trust any of the other employees. Mary Ann said she couldn't, due to her stringent after work workout schedule, but Helen was having none of it.
That night Mary Ann did her 2 minute fuck of me, though stretching it out to what seemed more like 5, minutes, instead of 2. It seemed more of a rage fuck, though than a love fuck, as she kept murmuring, "I so hate Helen's guts; I just hate that bitch," over and over. Still, I would have to class the majority of her fucks as belonging to the "athletic fuck" genre, beholding neither rage nor love. I have to admit, though, as she rotated on me that night, her tits indeed did look interesting. They looked firmer, a tad larger, and harder. Must be that pectoral muscle mass she's been adding, with all her weight lifting. And those needle width nipples looked a bit thicker, and longer. She crossed her forearms above her head as she came, bringing me along with her, and it was truly quite a rousing romp the two of us engaged in.
I fell asleep after it, amidst a post-coital bliss, at peace for once unbeleaguered by the maelstrom of sexual confusion and angst that had lately plagued me. Still, a nagging but hardly discernible thought, felt now and then throughout my night's sleep, was just alive enough to remind me that any peace I believed I'd possessed was, after all, only fleeting and would only turn out to be, in the final outcome, most elusive.
The two weeks which followed left me bereft. Mary Ann was busy working swing shift at the health foods store, and at night would just eat a quick supper then be off to bed with no any kind of fuck. Just straight to sleep with hardly a notice I slept in the bed, too. During the late morning before work, she exerted herself with intense lifting and calisthenic workouts at her gym in addition to continuing with a skill she'd slowly been honing through the years - Kyokushin - a more virulent form of karate emphasising full contact sparring, knee strikes and punches against an opponent's body but not the head, and kicks to all parts of an opponent's body, including the head. It was a part of Mary Ann's life she seemed to bar me from, not that I had any great interest in it. Still, I was just waiting for and slightly fearing the day, where, during an argument, she'd fail to resist the impulse to use these skills, on me.
I'd not heard from Deborah either, not that I expected to. I certainly wasn't going to contact her. One evening while Mary Ann was at work, I couldn't help myself, though, for I found Deborah's bra still up on the shelf in the closet, put it on the guest bed and went at it on myself quite feverishly, devilishly mixing more of my man-cum into the inside part of the massive cups. The last set of tits I'd seen were my own Mary Ann's tiny ones, when she'd done me while sitting on me, and seeing the utter unbelievably large dimensions of Deborah's black bra quite sincerely and easily brought me to thriving flowing fruition. I supposed, some minutes later, that one day Mary Ann could find it - the bra - and take a whiff. She'd then angrily accost me, "Have you been shooting your cum jit into my mother's huge bra cups?!" How to respond, if she did, I hadn't a clue. Eventually, I supposed, with her increasing muscular strength, and skill training in Kyokushin, once she realized that I had, she could literally beat the crap out of me, if she wanted to, and in a weird way, I was starting to wish she would.
As I drove home that evening, after my visit with her mother, I wondered how it might go with Mary Ann.
Something like this, perhaps?
"Hello dear, how it'd go?"
"Oh, alright I guess."
"Was it hard work?"
"No, not too bad. The usual."
"I suppose she treated you to a nice big glass of ice tea afterwards."
"Yes, and after that she showed me your old bedroom, and she pulled one of your old 32B bras out of your dresser drawer."
"Huh? Why?"
"Well, she draped it over her bust to show me the vast size difference between her rather fulsome chest, and your, well, flat, lifeless, washboard one."
"What!!"
"Then she had me get my pants off and made me get on your old bed, where, as she hovered over me in the praying mantis position, we got her shirt open so she could have me leer at her huge 40I bust."
"Stop! I don't want to hear this!!"
"I was whacking off this whole time you see, dear, and couldn't help but shoot my splunk right up into the crotch of her oh so tight blue jeans. Sitting back between my thighs, then, facing me, I watched her rub it into the thin cotton fabric as if she were masturbating her clit. She said it was almost like I'd fucked her."
Mary Ann would likely be hitting and slapping me by this point, but I couldn't stop.
"By the way, dear, she said she killed your Dad by fucking him to death. She said he just couldn't ever get enough of her really big knockers, even though at the beginning of their marriage he apparently had a penchant for collecting skanky skin magazines. She said she didn't like that, and that, back then, she couldn't compete with all those buxom women. She said it all left her no choice but to eventually fuck him to death, once her breasts had become truly huge and intoxicating to him, and thereby collect the life insurance, house, and retirement assets."
Yep! That's how it'd go. Sure. Or try this possible version...
"Anything exciting happen today honey?"
"Oh after I raked her leaves we got your mother's top off so I could leer at her 40I bust."
"Oh that's wonderful sweetheart, anything else?"
"Well we never got her bra off, but we did get my pants off, so I could jerk off while she hovered her unusually large bust over my face."
"Oh, that's so sweet, honey."
"Eventually, dear, I couldn't take it, so I came and shot my jsm up into her crotch, though she had her jeans on."
"Well thank goodness for that!"
"Yes, but she rubbed it into the fabric with the fingertip of her index finger as if she were doing herself."
"My mother certainly can act strange sometimes. Do you think she could become pregnant from that?"
"Oh I doubt it, dear. Wouldn't that be crazy - your mother having my baby. Oh boy. But she said she's on birth control, anyway, so not to worry. "
"Oh, I forgot! She did mention that to me one time, but it never occurred to me Mom would ever need it. And besides, Mom's always been good about watching after her health. I guess that's where I get my good habits from!"
"Yes, sweetheart, your habits are so good, you miss menstrual periods, even. Good job sweetie! No wonder we can't have children, despite my over 2 years of trying with you."
"That's the way the cookie crumbles! Anyway, sweet thing, what would you like for dinner?"
I honestly didn't know how it was going to go, and I had no plan, though I was hoping she just wasn't home. That way I could just take a warm shower and slink into bed and go to sleep.
As it was, Mary Ann was home, and was in the kitchen putting dinner together. She had little, boy-type shorts on, as her behind was rather small and compact, and a plain small t-shirt on, with no padded bra on, I presumed, because it was impossible to tell if she had breasts or not. We did our perfunctory quick kiss upon my arrival - that had still survived, though our lovemaking had become less and less, and when it did occur, Mary Ann seemed to have become what I suppose how some women see their neglectful husbands: She wanted it quick and rather forceful. Like she'd get on top of me and vigorously ride me, getting herself off in less than two minutes and then collapsing besides me, signalling to me that we were done. The "I love you"'s had become less and less frequent, and after a while I began to think I was married to someone who'd become a teenage eunuch who used my cock as a means to have her once weekly or biweekly orgasm. With her short hair, slim hips, hardly any indication of breasts, and hard six-packed abs and toned slim thighs, she could have passed for a teenager of either sex, who worked out a lot.
I suppose that she was changing. With her intense workouts, the caloric intake was not keeping up with the exercise burn, and perhaps this had in turn reduced her body's production of estrogen. Who knows. She still wanted sex, but only once a week or once every two weeks. And it was only when she wanted it, not when we both wanted it. If I tried to initiate it, she wasn't interested. It was weird. When she did want it, she wanted it quick, and she didn't care if I got off or not. And not a whole lot of affection, either. Almost like: A guy. Face it, this is how we guys are, sometimes, if left to our druthers. But this was my dear sweet wife, the one I'd been betrothed to at the altar just over two years ago. Honestly, I was beginning to feel used. Not to mention that her mother recently, with her huge knockers while sitting on top of me, had yanked jsm out of my cock and rubbed it all over the soft vacuous part of her crotch after I'd shot it on her while staring at her I cup knockers.
Were the both of them using me?
Life was going in directions where I had no clue if any of it made sense. The only thing I knew for certain was that I really, really, grooved on staring at her mother's big, large chest, that her mother, in her crazy way, was, unbelievably, getting off on showing it to me, and, that she liked my organ to be exposed while i did it until I shot my stuff out of me for her. She told me she'd killed her husband, in a roundabout semblance of these methods ("I fucked him to death". How endearing.) She referenced several times her own daughter's B cup (at best) bust, calling it "washboard." She'd put me in her own daughter's childhood bedroom, showed me an old bra of daughter's/my wife, took her own shirt off, which of course, was exceedingly tight, ordered me to bare my cock, and then had me ejaculate my splink at and onto her covered crotch. As they say, I was no longer in Kansas.
When I walked in Mary Ann gave me the perfunctory kiss, but on my cheek, not on my lips, and didn't even bring up that I'd just spent the afternoon raking her mother's leaves. Instead she prattled on about how Helen, her boss at the health foods & whatnot store, was going on a 2 week vacation, and she wanted Mary Ann to do the closing shift, 1 to 9, because she didn't trust any of the other employees. Mary Ann said she couldn't, due to her stringent after work workout schedule, but Helen was having none of it.
That night Mary Ann did her 2 minute fuck of me, though stretching it out to what seemed more like 5, minutes, instead of 2. It seemed more of a rage fuck, though than a love fuck, as she kept murmuring, "I so hate Helen's guts; I just hate that bitch," over and over. Still, I would have to class the majority of her fucks as belonging to the "athletic fuck" genre, beholding neither rage nor love. I have to admit, though, as she rotated on me that night, her tits indeed did look interesting. They looked firmer, a tad larger, and harder. Must be that pectoral muscle mass she's been adding, with all her weight lifting. And those needle width nipples looked a bit thicker, and longer. She crossed her forearms above her head as she came, bringing me along with her, and it was truly quite a rousing romp the two of us engaged in.
I fell asleep after it, amidst a post-coital bliss, at peace for once unbeleaguered by the maelstrom of sexual confusion and angst that had lately plagued me. Still, a nagging but hardly discernible thought, felt now and then throughout my night's sleep, was just alive enough to remind me that any peace I believed I'd possessed was, after all, only fleeting and would only turn out to be, in the final outcome, most elusive.
The two weeks which followed left me bereft. Mary Ann was busy working swing shift at the health foods store, and at night would just eat a quick supper then be off to bed with no any kind of fuck. Just straight to sleep with hardly a notice I slept in the bed, too. During the late morning before work, she exerted herself with intense lifting and calisthenic workouts at her gym in addition to continuing with a skill she'd slowly been honing through the years - Kyokushin - a more virulent form of karate emphasising full contact sparring, knee strikes and punches against an opponent's body but not the head, and kicks to all parts of an opponent's body, including the head. It was a part of Mary Ann's life she seemed to bar me from, not that I had any great interest in it. Still, I was just waiting for and slightly fearing the day, where, during an argument, she'd fail to resist the impulse to use these skills, on me.
I'd not heard from Deborah either, not that I expected to. I certainly wasn't going to contact her. One evening while Mary Ann was at work, I couldn't help myself, though, for I found Deborah's bra still up on the shelf in the closet, put it on the guest bed and went at it on myself quite feverishly, devilishly mixing more of my man-cum into the inside part of the massive cups. The last set of tits I'd seen were my own Mary Ann's tiny ones, when she'd done me while sitting on me, and seeing the utter unbelievably large dimensions of Deborah's black bra quite sincerely and easily brought me to thriving flowing fruition. I supposed, some minutes later, that one day Mary Ann could find it - the bra - and take a whiff. She'd then angrily accost me, "Have you been shooting your cum jit into my mother's huge bra cups?!" How to respond, if she did, I hadn't a clue. Eventually, I supposed, with her increasing muscular strength, and skill training in Kyokushin, once she realized that I had, she could literally beat the crap out of me, if she wanted to, and in a weird way, I was starting to wish she would.
