Title: My House My Rules Keywords: mF, mdom, anal, mat Author: Caesar Summary: Newly widowed, man agrees to let mother-in-law live under his roof - but with his rules. A remarkable race are the Persians; They have such peculiar diversions. They make love the whole day In the usual way And save up the nights for perversions. My House My Rules by Caesar, copyright 2001 Edited by Isaac Newton, circa 2005, Revision 1.14 $Revision: 1.16 $ $Date: 2007-12-02 07:47:45 $ I could smell the disgusting smell of tobacco in the air. That fucking bitch! Slamming the door behind me, I rapidly stomped through my home to where I knew the smell originated. Banging on the door, my temper near the breaking point, I shouted, "Open this fucking door right now!" It opened, much to my surprise. "Put it out." Cautiously she answered, "I did when I heard your car pull up." She was still wearing her black dress and heels. Her eyes were tear-filled and missing ... something? Her compliance did not still my burning anger. "This is my fucking house, and I hate the smell of smoke!" I was nearly yelling. "If you want to stay here you will do what I tell you! My house, my rules." There it was said. In all the time she had lived with my wife and me, I always looked for ways not to be around her, to say as little as possible to her, and effectively ignore her very existence. My wife had always been the peace-maker in our home, the buffer between two polar opposites. That is no longer the case, much to my great heartbreak, as only this morning we had buried my wife. Then I recognized what I had seen in Amanda's eyes. There was something missing that had always been there before her daughter's death - her self assurance. And perhaps I detected a little fear mixed in as well. She had been my wife's mother, after all; as long as her daughter had been alive, she had a secure comfortable life. I growled in anger as I spun about and strode to my own room, the tears rolling down my cheeks even before I slammed the door behind me. -*- Amanda cooked and cleaned for me those next couple of weeks - saying little and staying hidden as much as possible. For my part, I ignored her completely, never saying a single word to her. If she had to live in my home then this was the existence that I preferred. Immediately after the funeral I tried to dive right back into work, but it was impossible. My soul was filled with grief. I had to take more personal time, and thankfully my employer was supportive and generous. I ignored my wife's and my friends as well. This left me spending my time of grief around the home. I simply wanted to be alone with my grief, hiding behind the closed door to my large, comfortable home. That left Amanda acting more as a housekeeper than the less-than-perfect mother-in-law she appeared to be that time right after the funeral. I hated her guts and wanted her to leave as well. However, I had made my dying wife a pledge, though her mother didn't know it, to care for the elderly woman. She had easily forced the pledge from my lips, as my wife always knew how to use my love to get what she wanted. When you loved a person, it did not matter. My wife had told me something else at the time, something I felt was absurd - that her mother loved me and would do anything for me. Even though the setting for our conversation was sobering, a critical care ward in the hospital, I practically laughed at my wife's statement. Seated outside in the cool fall air, my steaming mug of tea refilled every ten minutes by my silent mother-in-law, I remembered those last weeks of my wife's life. At one point, just after Amanda had slipped silently beside me to refill my mug and was just walking away, I turned to watch her for the first time in weeks. What I saw was not an irritating old mother-in-law, but a slim shapely ass encased in denim, walking away from me. Quickly, with a rising pool of guilt in my heart, I turned away. -*- Amanda silently picked up her dirty breakfast plate and turned back to the kitchen sink. Normally I came to the table, ate the prepared food and disappeared while the old woman was out of the room taking care of her morning "necessaries." Today I remained until my mother-in-law returned from her toilet. Clearly startled to find me still seated at the table, she recovered quickly and went about her normal morning routine, picking up my dirty dishes and moving towards the counter. I could not help but notice the condition of her old, ratty pink housecoat and said my first words to her since I had growled at her on the day of her daughter's funeral, "Why don't you get a new housecoat?" Amanda stopped half ways to the counter with my dirty plates and slowly turned, as if she was distrustful of her ears. "Pardon me?" She was never so polite when her daughter was alive. "Forget it." I stood and turned to leave the room when she quickly interrupted my non-graceful exit, "Please...!" She had rushed over to stand before me, soiled plates still in hand. "It's just a housecoat and no one ever sees me in it." She had successfully barred my exit, whether she meant to or not. "Well, I see you in it." She only blinked as if I was speaking a different language. This was exactly why I wanted to be alone - I have zero patience for the incompetence in others! Amanda must have seen my frustration and quietly replied, before I could move around her to make my way out of the kitchen, "It's not in my budget." She blinked quickly, walked back to the dishwasher, and continued in her chores. Now, my wife's father had passed away years before, and his pension cheques were the only income my mother-in-law had. In fact, I knew my wife had been sneaking her mom money every month; it had sparked numerous arguments in the last years. Amanda's statement, though, sounded much more real than the self-pitying comment I would have expected. Within five minutes, I returned with a cheque and strode up to her as she was filling the dishwasher with detergent. "Here." She just looked down at the slip of paper as if not comprehending its meaning. "Take it and get a new housecoat... and anything else you want." She reached out for it but her hand quivered as it stopped before touching it. "I said take it, goddammit, and get some clothing that won't offend me!" Amanda finally took it from mid-air when I simply let it fall from my grasp. I immediately turned and strode out of the room, feeling her questioning, surprised gaze on me as I left. -*- Things didn't exactly change between us after that. But when I took the effort to look toward my mother-in-law, I found her dressed in clothing more suitable for going out for dinner at a nice restaurant or entertaining guests around the house - as if we dared to have guests - than her usual every-day attire. I knew I had had something to do with that. The clothing she wore now was new, and I guessed that I might have given her the wrong impression, as well as way too much money. It was weird that she worked so hard to impress me. Her care for me even put my wife's home-making skills to shame. I mean, in the last three years that Amanda had lived with us, before my wife died, I never saw the old lady lift a finger around the house in any sort of domestic way. Now she had turned into some type of fucking homemaker or something. I thought perhaps the old bat was having a late-life crisis! I put the paper down on my lap and watched Amanda as she opened the door to the wood burning stove across the room. It was a strange sight, let me assure you. She wore a white sweater, black knee-length skirt, and black nylons as she squatted facing the open fireplace. It was strange to see her in that new outfit, stoking the fire before adding more wood to it. Her new clothing was sure to get dirty. In the dim light (the only electrical light source currently on was a small bulb over my shoulder for reading), the shadows seemed to hide her true person from me. In fact, the woman squatting a mere meter before me looked ageless; the curve of her bottom was delicious, the smallness of her waist perfect, her ankles and heels delicate and her square shoulders youthful. I must have stared at her with these thoughts for some time before I looked up to see her eyes looking over her shoulder toward me. That killed the moment. Perhaps it was the shadowed light, but I swore her gaze looked pleased. -*- Sick fucking pervert right? Well, was it any wonder that I got a little numb when looking at a woman - yes, even my mother-in-law? Though my wife was in the ground only weeks, she had been sick nearly the last year; and in that time I had barely been able to be intimate with my own hand, let alone the flesh of a woman. That was the excuse I sold to myself in fact. Though no longer young, Amanda is an attractive woman. It was her personality that had always grated upon me, not her looks. I tried hard not to look at my mother-in-law in that way again, but that resolve lasted less time than it took you to read this - in fact just until the next time she bent over away from me. After that, I openly looked upon the only female form I had admired in months, the only woman that was in my vicinity - my mother-in-law. I think she knew and possibly felt embarrassment, but she never said a word or changed a thing about the way she dressed. But ... maybe it was because I was more aware of her, because I found my eyes wandering to her bottom, legs, waist or conservative breasts, but it seemed to me she came around me more often, finding chores in the same room where I was. Did she think that by attracting my lonely gaze, her place in my home would be secure? The weakness of my gaze disgusted me. -*- It was the one month anniversary of my wife's death, and it was a very bad day. It started with shells in my eggs, which almost caused me to break down and cry (luckily Amanda was not in the room at the time). Then the news carrier forgot my house on his route ... again. I could not find the book I wanted to read in my library. The phone company called asking about fucking services, and of course my politeness quickly disappeared at their demanding tactics. It was raining fiercely outside so I could not retreat to the sanctuary of the lawn chair out back. But topping all of that, at only ten in the morning I stepped into the shower for my regular daily cleansing ... and the fucking water turned cold! I rinsed the soap from my face with freezing water and jumped immediately from the glass cage. Grabbing a large towel, I stomped noisily down the hall to Amanda's bedroom door and hammered on it. "There is no hot water, bitch!" Practically kicking it open, I saw that it was empty, though very messy. Amanda had hung wire across the room where her new skirts, blouses, sweaters and undergarments hung. It looked as though a blizzard had run through the small room. After the spotless precision of the rest of my home, the sight of this disintegrated domain fuelled my anger even more. I slammed the door and kept looking for her, now even hotter than before. I found her trembling in fear in the basement near the washing machine. Evidently it had been running a cycle, using up the last of the hot water in the moderate sized tank. She simply stood there waiting for my blast of anger. I did not disappoint her. "You fucking cow! How could you forget that I take a shower every fucking morning at the same fucking time?" Though based on her history before my wife's death I would never have expected it of her, she wisely kept her mouth shut. I roughly snatched my dirty tee-shirts from between her trembling, white-knuckled hands and threw them at her feet. Although I had never raised a hand in anger at any other time in my life, I could have struck Amanda at that moment. She cringed away from me as if I was about to hit her. It angered and shocked me at the same time, enough to pause my outburst. Grabbing her thin upper arms in my big hands I shook her roughly, "I am not going to hit you, you stupid cow! But can't you do a thing right?" And then the stupid thing to say: "If you want to continue to live under my roof, you will never make me mad, ever again!" Her eyes were wet with tears but they burned into my own. "And if you can't do even that right, you might as well get the fuck out right now." We stood in that strange embrace with dirty clothing about our ankles before I finally let her arms go. It only took another second for her to rush past me, sobbing all the way up the stairs to her messy room. My own tears washed down my cheeks and I dropped to the cement floor, bawling like a baby. -*- After my grief cleansed the anger from my soul, I slowly stood up and returned, as if from the ether, to the upper levels of my home. I was looking for Amanda, not to apologize (I've never done such a thing with her), but just to see that I did not hurt her. It was the male thing to do after all. I found her behind the closed door to her bedroom. Without regard to privacy or a single thought that she could use space for her own grief, I opened the door to her room. Amanda stood at the foot of her bed, wearing only a black bra, panties and thigh-high stockings. I realized that I could see the shade of her nipples as well as her pubic hair beneath the semi-translucent fabric, but I also realized she was in the middle of packing. A suit bag was open and she was in the process of shoving in all her old garments - nothing that she had purchased with the money I gave her, I noticed. I also saw a few of the thinner garments that had been hanging previously were now torn and ravaged. She turned at my entrance, with hands at her sides, and sobbed silently, her eyes glaring at me in fear ... and anger. The defiance in her demeanour was reminiscent of the 'old' Amanda, and I did not care for it. A spark of my anger returned at the sight of her packing and at the damage done to some of the things I had given her money for and had come to enjoy seeing on her person these last days. "Where the fuck are you going?" My anger dominated hers, and any thought of using her shrill voice, the one that came out when she was angry or drunk, on me subsided. In fact, her eyes lowered to an invisible spot on her messy floor between us. I could see she wasn't going to say a word. We both knew she was leaving in anger and that she had neither a place to go nor the means to create a new home for herself. Effectively, without her daughter's widower - me - she was destitute. Striding the two steps into her room, I found myself directly before her. Amanda might have thought I was there to hit her or to again verbally thrash her with my angry voice, but what I did must have frozen her heart - if only for a second. I wrapped my arms about her and held her tightly, until finally I felt her hands slide around my back and her face press into my shoulder, as she began to sob uncontrollably. Amanda didn't leave that day. In fact, after the long time we held each other, we went our separate ways and did not see each other for the rest of that terrible day. No chores were done, and I ordered a pizza for myself for supper. -*- It was the next day that I sought her out. She stood before me, surprised at my calm, commanding voice as I ticked off the things I wanted her to do about the house. (Number one was no washing till after lunch!) I can't remember how many instructions I gave her, but she agreed to every one, looking very thankful all the while. She appeared to feel my ordering her about was equal to my accepting her in my home. My next instructions did not roll off my tongue so easily. "As for the clothing you destroyed yesterday..." She swallowed nervously. "...I want you to buy more of the same kind of garments you were wearing when I interrupted your packing yesterday." I saw a puzzled frown and then the spark of surprise when she realized what I meant. "Also pick outer clothing along the same theme." I prayed she understood, as this was awkward and embarrassing enough as it was. How else could I tell her I thought she looked wonderful dressed not as a teenager but as a mature sexy woman? It was not meant to mean anything beyond my trying to be nice to the old woman so she would take better care of herself and my selfish desire to look upon a shapely ass around my home again. And it was not inconceivable that she might increase her self-worth by making herself up each day. I pushed forward my hand. In it was a credit card - my wife's actually - the mate to my own on a joint account. Amanda took it with a slight tremble in her hands, and then her eyes returned to my own, as if gauging my words and trying to see if I was serious. My hand again pushed forward, this time with the keys to my wife's Jaguar. Amanda took longer to take the keys - perhaps reading too much into the offer? -*- The woman who lived in my home became a stranger to me. No longer was she the shrill, opinionated mature woman who hid behind her daughter. instead she was the silent, dutiful, sexy woman who did all that her daughter's widower wished. It was the little things - things like her soft smile that, when it first appeared, seemed to me to be alien upon her face because I had never seen it before. When I saw it I told her that she should smile more, as it complemented her so very much. After that, she seemed to wear it more than her normal, thin-lipped expression. In the days that followed, I found reasons to compliment her person, the way she dressed and moved. Amanda had certainly replaced her torn clothing and then some, having generously abused my credit. Where my compliments fell, she seemed to acquire more clothing for that part of her person. And my compliments focused primarily upon her legs and bottom. My eyes partook of her expensively-clad, mature, shapely legs generously, and any thought to be gentlemanly to my mother-in-law was dispelled when it was apparent she desired my admiring looks as much as I wanted to give them. She dressed to please me. Amanda spent so much time in my vicinity, usually doing her chores or attending my wishes, that I knew she wanted to be near me, to be seen by me. Amanda wanted to make me happy. It brought the first smile to my face in a very long time. I was like a very old wise man smiling at the antics of a child. That was how I was feeling in my own home. -*- Weeks later, while the hem of Amanda's skirts rose and the jeans and slacks all but disappeared, I began to wonder if my reasoning had been faulty. I started to wonder just where her boundaries lay. I realized this was probably more than a platonic response on her part. She had misread my offer to continue living in my home, using my wife's car and credit card and enduring my admiring gaze. I had convinced myself that my motives, in the form of my directives, were pure; her response was far more than I had intended. Truly this was not the outcome I wanted. I had only intended to raise an older woman's spirits, to get her to the level that living in my home would not be cumbersome to either of us. Did she mean to replace her buried daughter? -*- I (wisely, I thought) stopped all compliments, but the hem of her skirt did not drop. I tried very hard to read my paper or book and not put it down when she came into the room, so that my admiring looks were not so open. This was difficult as she took great care to look very fine, and I was but a starving man. Yet, when I woke one gray morning to find her soft smiling face and the short hem of her skirt near the edge of my bed, I dropped to a new low. Perhaps I was still half asleep or perhaps simply a starving man staring at a banquet for too long. Amanda leaned over me to lift my blanket to my chin and to set down the mug of tea on the low table next to my head. When she had finished placing the tea, I reached for the free hand and held it firmly. Our eyes met and she smiled softly, until she felt me place her warmed hand on my naked chest. Her smile vanished, but she did not resist as I pushed the hand down my nudity, beneath the thick blankets, down to what lay awake and at attention. I wrapped her fingers about my hardness and closed my eyes. It started with small movements - her warm, thin hand moving up and down with barely a centimetre of distance travelled. Then, I felt and heard my mother-in-law as she knelt on the floor next to my bed. Her other hand lifted my blanket from my naked form so that the chill morning air caused a brief shiver to run up my spin. In seconds I swore I felt her warm breath on the head of my raised manhood, and then I imagined I could feel her gaze upon it, in the same way as if it was a physical touch. All this while, her hand moved up and down gently. The effect was electric. It was the first hand besides my own that had touched me there in months, certainly the first since my wife's funeral. Coupled with the half-slumber of my mind, I could not help but enjoy. My hips began to move up and down so as to get more movement out of her hand. It worked, and Amanda stroked me generously and steadily, with the precision of experience. It could not have been long - indeed it felt as if but seconds had passed since her fingers wrapped about me - when I felt tightness beneath my balls and the churning of juices as I prepared to boil over. Just as I froze in position, gasping and holding my breath while the peak came upon me, I felt warm moist lips wrap about the crown of my sex. That was it, and I released myself (as if I was really able to control it) and jerked and spurted a flood of sperm into the loudly swallowing mouth. My body and mind felt as if they were slowly descending through a thick cloud; I felt slumber returning. Distantly, I felt a smooth, warm, wet tongue slid about me, searching and cleaning dutifully. Then the blankets were again raised to my chin and lips kissed my brow as sleep returned. -*- It was I who was embarrassed when I finally reawakened. I hid in my room for hours afraid of my actions and how to confront Amanda with the reality of the morning. Yet, it could not be denied that I felt wonderful upon waking that second time, more refreshed than I could remember. Eventually I took a deep breath to still my resolve, and, dressed in only a robe, descended to lunch. The wonderful smell guided me to the kitchen and my mother-in-law. I sat as quietly as I could. When Amanda saw me, she turned and gave me one of those wide soft smiles before returning to her work. With a sigh of relief, I realized that was to be the extent of the much-feared confrontation. Then I looked over at the mature woman and admired her as I had tried hard not to do in days. She wore a tan skirt that ended inches above the knee; white silk encased her shapely legs, and black expensive slippers covered her feet. So engrossed was I in admiring the lower half of her, that I did not even bother looking above her waist until I found those legs standing right next to my chair. Amanda slid the steaming bowl of chowder before me, along with a small plate of freshly baked biscuits and a tub of butter. It looked as delicious as it smelt. My attention, however, was focused in another direction. In those seconds it took for her to place her burdens on the table, my hand moved, nearly unconsciously, to the legs I had admired for the last weeks. I grasped the inside of her calf at about the same time she was placing the butter on the table. Amanda stood still, staring at the marble table as if waiting. A quick look up at her face revealed nothing - she wore neither pleasure or disgust. There is nothing as sexy to me as the feeling of smooth shapely legs encased in nylon or silk. Amanda's were no disappointment. My big paw slowly slid upwards, enjoying the intimate touch of her person and revelling in the primitive touch of a man on a woman for the first time in oh, so long. Her thighs beneath the silk were soft, well-shaped by the fabric, and very sexy. And when my hand came to the end of the stocking and touched the unrestrained flesh of her middle thigh, life returned to that place between my legs. Quickly, my hand yanked itself from that hot, soft, inviting flesh, and I leaned into the table to start my lunch, my face crimson with surprising embarrassment. Still, Amanda stood next to my chair for nearly another minute before she turned and strode back to the counter. My eyes rose from my chowder to enjoy the movement of her bottom beneath that tight skirt. I knew in that minute that there was no limit for her. Was there one for me? -*- With only the one light left on over my shoulder to give me enough light to read by, the rest of the house was dark. It surprised me when I looked up to find Amanda standing just by the side of my chair; I had thought her long asleep. I jerked in surprise and set down my book before I noticed what my mother-in-law wore. The mature woman had spent my money well. She was wearing a white, very sheer, silk nightgown, so sheer that I could see the lace of her French cut white panties beneath as well as the elastic white band of the top of her thigh-high white stockings. Nothing else but one of those soft smiles ... and hard nipples. For the first time since that eventful morning and lunch, I was able to relax my defences because I now knew it was not her that I needed to be worried about - it was me. "Amanda! You surprised me?" I said, after staring boldly at her near-nudity for nearly a minute. "I could not sleep and wondered if you would like anything?" The soft, dare I say it, loving smile boldly looked at me. Perhaps I was wrong in only worrying about my own offences? As my gaze moved downwards, I noticed that the nightgown had small discrete buttons down the front; buttons which were unbuttoned to her navel. Her mature, small breasts, low due to age, with small dark nipples hard and thrusting invitingly toward me, took my breath away. The fabric was so sheer that I could see the wrinkles that her hard nipples spawned. She was offering herself to me, that was obvious. She stood there before me, late at night, dressed in clothing meant to reveal and enhance her ageing body. I saw that her fingernails, newly painted with red polish, lightly scratched upon each outer thigh. I looked closer and saw that her breathing was laboured, her shoulders were trembling and, most obvious of all, the familiar scent of feminine musk filled the room. Amanda was, much to my surprise, very excited! How could this be; hadn't she succumbed to my advances just to ward off being banished? At first I had thought myself a scoundrel for forcing myself upon this woman while I was half-asleep only that morning. After the incident, I had felt guilty for suggesting she bare her body in seductive and sexy clothing, though I had rationalized that my original intentions honourable. Was I now finding that she was more anxious than I for more of my bawdy attentions? This was my wife's mother for god's sake! What about that anyway - how did Amanda compare with her attractive daughter? The knees were a little wrinkled, her small breasts sagged, her face was aged. "Turn around slowly Amanda," I commanded and saw that her bottom no longer firm either. Wisely, she stopped while facing away from me. Much of my visual inspection of her recently had been upon her legs ... and her bottom. Now here that lay, exposed to my eyes and within arms' reach. The sheer silk nightgown hid nothing; the skimpy panties ran between the cheeks of her ass and left no mystery. The middle-aged ass before me was mine for the taking. So I reached out with my arm and grasped one cheek roughly. The old lady sighed. It was not the first ass I'd ever fondled, but it was the eldest. It was nothing spectacular, looking better in expensive skirts than without, and very soft to the touch. I squeezed that cheek, pinched it, pulled it from its sibling and generally toyed with it. My mind was awash in thoughts all the while I fondled her. Part of me was disappointed that the reality was not up to the expectant fantasy of my starving spirit. Another part of me was horrified that although I had hated the mere sight of this woman only weeks before, here we were, each highly erotically charged for the other. Could sexual starvation drive my path to such a bawdy outcome? This was my dead wife's mother that I was feeling up! I dropped my hand and took another longing look at that ass before lifting my book and muttering, "Go to bed, Amanda." While I pretended to read, I felt her eyes upon me for some time before she slowly left the darkened room. When I knew her to be gone, I dropped my book and took a long deep sigh. I knew that if not for my morning orgasm, I would have succumbed to my desires and used Amanda's ageing body. I sat for an hour afterwards, looking blankly into the corner of the dark room. -*- Amanda served breakfast, much as she has for the last weeks - silently and perhaps a little submissively. Again I was expecting something, anything - perhaps a show of emotion - from the denial to her offer. It was confusing; after thinking her hot for my attentions, the light of day caused doubt within me. When she stood clearing my dishes from the table, I again let my hand reach out to fondle her now-covered ass. Silently she stood and allowed herself to be mauled by my paw, showing neither interest nor disgust. After I let go of her backside, she returned to cleaning up the breakfast dishes. A couple of hours later, as I stood in the office looking for a new book to read, she crossed the open doorway. My attention was diverted. "Amanda?" Immediately the older woman slipped into the doorway and gave me a patient look, waiting for the reason for my summons. "Turn around and lift up your skirt." I took a book from the shelf and opened it to study the brief on the inside cover. When I looked up Amanda was facing the open doorway with her brown wool skirt about her waist showing off her white cotton panties. Her legs, today, went uncovered, and I had to admit that for an older woman, she had very sexy legs. As casually as if asking for a drink of water I added, "Take your panties off, please." There was a short pause before she hooked both thumbs into the elastic waist and then bent over as she pushed them down to her slippered bare feet. A second later, she was standing as she had been, facing away from me, holding her skirt about her waist. At her feet, upon the dark hardwood floor, lay the bright clean cotton undergarment. There was her naked bottom fully exposed. Taking a few steps forward, I grasped one soft cheek in my free hand and bent down to her opposite ear to whisper, "No more panties, Amanda." Still she did not move or reveal a thing about what may be in her heart or mind. "Finish with your day." I almost called her a 'cow', my old hatred returning with my frustrating questions of her intent. The skirt dropped; she stepped through the door and down the hallway without a backward glance. I looked down at the bright white forgotten panty, confused about many things - my obligations to my dead wife, my long-standing hatred of my mother-in-law, and the throbbing between my legs. -*- The next morning I awoke to the most delightful of sensations - a mouth was slowly and lovingly sucking my cock. Consciousness reluctantly returned, and my hazy mind came to realize who was doing this thing. For a brief second I considered allowing my anger to grow so that it would build enough that I could sit up and stop Amanda. Yet the delicious mouth felt so wonderful that any such thought quickly dispersed in the joy of the moment. I opened my eyes, eventually, to look down at the top of my mother-in- law's curly brown hair as her head slowly moved up and down above my pelvis. My blankets were pulled down to my knees and my nudity was fully exposed. Had she enjoyed the sight of me while I slept naked? Was this a planned event on her part? God that mouth knew how to suck a man! Amanda knelt beside the bed and leaned over me. With her in this position, at times I could see her profile as she moved her face up and down. I noted that she wore the same sheer white nightgown as before, and her legs were encased in the thigh-high white stockings again. But nothing else; no bra or panty! This knowledge caused a jerk of my dick between her lips, and Amanda opened her eyes to look at me without breaking her rhythm. I pushed her hair from her face to see her eyes looking at me. It was so strange that I had trouble reading this woman that I'd known so many years, but I had no idea what lay in her heart or mind at that, or any other, moment. Amanda closed her eyes and accelerated her attentions upon me; her patience seemed to be gone with her realization of my being awake. I could see my thickness as it pressed past her red wet lips and pushed out the cavity of her sucking cheeks. On each upward motion, I felt her thick smooth tongue fondle the soft head of my manhood, always ending by pressing into the small hole at the tip. I sat back and closed my eyes, allowing the pleasure to build within me and forcing my mind to empty to anything but the hungry mouth sucking me. The inevitable was only a minute away! -*- It took a few minutes for me to return to full consciousness after flooding my seed into the hungry mouth, all the while fighting the urge to return to slumber. Sitting up, I saw that Amanda had disappeared, but not before returning my blanket back up to my waist and closing my bedroom door behind her. Donning my robe, I strode down the hallway to the doorway to her room. Though it was closed, it seemed like such a minor indiscretion at this point to ignore her privacy and simply open it. It slid open silently and it only took a millisecond to find her in her messy room. There she was, seated on the hard wooden chair, the only chair in the room by the way, next to the doorway to her private bathroom. She wore only the white thigh-high stockings and nothing else. One heel, the closest to me, was on the edge of her seat while the other was spread wide away from the first. Her head lay back against the wall and her eyes were tightly closed, causing her wrinkled ageing face to appear almost comical. What she was doing was not funny - Amanda was masturbating. One of her small hands held a breast, a thumb and forefinger rolling her hard pointy nipple aggressively. The other was down between her spread thighs and I could see it moving. Though in profile so that very little was revealed, she looked deliciously raw and very sexy. I became aware of the sound of her deep raspy breathing and the liquid, bawdy sounds of the hidden sex between her legs. She was very wet if I could use the erotic sounds I remembered from her own daughter as a gauge to her pleasure. It felt strange thinking about my wife at that moment, though I had never seen her masturbate in all our time together. I have no idea how long I stood in the doorway watching my mother-in-law play with herself, but it had to be several minutes at least. It was a delicious sight, and one that caused my tired manhood to awaken. Amanda was beyond aroused and there were clear signs of her becoming very agitated - the soft skin about her stomach rolling with exertion, sweat causing her body to shine in the morning light, the flexing and rolling of the toes of her raised foot. It was obvious that her own peak was approaching. Stepping out of the doorway as quietly as I could, I retreated down the hallway to the kitchen, leaving the door open so she would know that she had had a witness to her self-pleasure. -*- The sight that I had witnessed resolved any questions I may have had about Amanda's interest in me - whether it had been necessary desperation or genuine lust. The sound of her pleasure as well as the scent of her juices - a bit sharper than her daughter's had been - was ingrained into my consciousness. Amanda came down to fix breakfast and looked rather embarrassed to find me at the table smiling silently and staring at her in amusement. She turned pale of face as she attempted to create French Toast with maple syrup. She had worn a rather conservative, ankle-length skirt and thick sweater. Yet, the skirt could not hide the sexy curves of her ass and legs. When she set the plate before me, I took her hand in my strong paw and held her firmly next to me, not that I thought she was going anywhere. Amanda could not meet my eyes but turned her pale face toward me. "Maybe you should leave the door to your room open from now on, Amanda? I would hate to miss another show!" As soon as I let go of her hand, she spun and retreated to the counter and away from me. I chucked to myself at her humiliation while feeling the new limits to our relationship - none. -*- Amanda made herself scarce around the house for the next couple of days, spending long hours in the corner of the basement pretending to do laundry. And since that morning, the door to her room had not been closed, as per my instructions, although it usually had less than two centimetres of opening rather than being wide open. A couple of times, I stood in her doorway watching my ageing mother- in-law sleep, as I often go to bed long after she has. Once, I stood watching her change from her day-clothing to her skimpy nightgown. All the while her face was white and her body shivered in embarrassment. But her ability to anticipate the times I passed the doorway to her room, planned or not on my part, ensured that I saw little of anything that greatly excited me. That had to change. She was hanging up a pair of white thigh-high stockings over the mirror to her dresser. They were wet from being hand-washed in her private bathroom sink. "Amanda?" As I stood in the doorway to her room and spoke up, she jumped in surprise. She stood still, facing me with a single dripping stocking in her hand, looking rather startled - like the proverbial deer in the headlights. After supper I had disappeared to watch a couple of hours of television. When it was the normal time that I go to the office and read till an hour or two after midnight, I had come up to the doorway to her room before going to the office. "Before you go to bed tonight, I would like you to come to the office. OK?" She nodded after a lengthy pause. The obviously remembered that the last time we had crossed paths in my office, she had left her panties upon my floor. I slowly looked down to see that the white stocking in her hand was most probably what Amanda had worn today - her bare legs and feet stuck out of her knee-length brown skirt. Of course she saw my leering gaze. As I spun around to leave, confident that she would do as I ask, dominant bravado overtook my senses and I turned back toward her. "And Amanda... since you will be doing what you did to wake me up the other morning, I would like you to wear the same 'uniform.'" I resumed my retreat to my office, a stupid, confident smile upon my face. -*- Amanda slid into my brightly lit office without a sound and with only a faint scent of her vanilla perfume. I didn't even pretend to read; my book lay on the low table next to my easy chair. Amanda stopped when she stood before me, hands at her side and face set into an incomprehensible mask. Openly I took in the aged body revealed beneath the sheer white nightgown with only a lacy pair of thigh-high stockings as undergarments. Even as I looked, her nipples tightened and thrust proudly from her old breasts that were so unlike her daughter's bountiful chest. My gaze moved downwards to the dark bush between her thighs. It looked like she never trimmed its naturally-curly, triangular jungle - again, unlike her daughter. When I looked up to her face, I saw that she was looking at the throw pillow upon the hardwood floor at my feet. She glanced toward me and caught me staring at her. Her mature face took on a look of near virginal embarrassment. "On your knees." I spoke so softly that it came out as barely a whisper in the quiet room, yet I knew she had heard it like a clap of thunder. Quickly and awkwardly she rushed to her knees, kneeling upon the throw pillow and staring toward me with anxiety beginning to show in her face and eyes. Her breathing was coming in long deep gulps, and, being this close, I could see random quivering hit upon different parts of her barely hidden skin. I'd anticipated this moment so very much - controlling the woman to extract what I had already enjoyed from her, demanding the same but under my conditions. I spread my knees and my old red bathrobe slipped off both of my hairy legs. I was revealed to the waist. Amanda's eyes slide down to my groin and did not blink or move from that destination. Pausing only a lengthy moment, she laid both of her cool palms upon my hairy knees and slowly leaned in. Amanda licked at my soft member till it rose to its proud height. Then, she closed her eyes, opened her mouth and engulfed me. Let me not bore you with the long time that my mother-in-law made slow, passionate, oral love to my manhood. Just know that she used her mouth and two hands to ensure that my pleasure, when it came, was exquisite. Her three husbands, the last younger than her daughter, had evidently taught this woman to use her mouth like none that I've ever felt or imagined. As she sucked, licked, and kissed me, I played with her brown, curly hair, holding it from her busy face so that I might watch an artist at work. As the inevitable orgasm drained the juices from my body, I saw her throat hungrily gulp down the slimy tribute. Amanda did not lift her face from my lap until I had shrunk to an embarrassingly small, exhausted size. At that point she allowed my pleasured appendage to slip from her wet lips and slap down upon my sweaty thighs and balls. Thinking the encounter finished, I was surprised when she leaned in, eyes still shut, and licked the abundant saliva from my soft shaft as if searching for only one more drop of my nectar. It took my firm handful of her thick hair to lift her from my exhausted dick. Finally, with me still holding her hair in my hand, Amanda's eyes opened and we shared a knowing, contented look. Her position in the household, one of subjugation to my desires, was not only accepted but gave her what she felt she needed. We said all that in a single shared gaze! "Stand up." I let go of her hair and she rushed, with less fumbling this time, to stand before me between my spread knees. The quivering I saw earlier was more violent now, and I could see her sticky, wet, soft thighs through the white sheer nightgown. As it only went to a few inches above her knee, it took little effort to slip my hand, palm upwards, beneath her garment and between her knees. There was no resistance - I did not expect any - but her soft, nylon-covered thighs hindered my path past the edge of the elastic edge of her stocking. I grasped the side of her leg and revelled in the warm moist nylon, so unlike her daughters meaty thighs. I realized that it was odd that I even thought of my dead wife at such a time. I did not even look up as I said, "Spread your legs, Amanda." Quickly she stood with her white-nylon-covered feet on either side of the cushion, directly upon the hardwood floor. The inside of her sticky thighs quivered in anticipation. Now my hand easily slid up past the edge of the stiff elastic band of the stocking to the hot, wet, soft flesh above. It felt as though there was thick, slippery oil applied to her hot flesh. My hand easily accelerated the last inches till it held a hot, wet, hairy woman in my palm. Amanda sighed and bent her knees outwards, to open the valley between her legs for me. I looked upwards to see that my mother-in-law's eyes were closed and her mouth was open with her tongue comically hanging out the corner of her lips. The old woman was really getting off on this! Bending my two middle fingers, I slipped them effortlessly into the slick, smooth channel beneath the jungle; they were suddenly swallowed into Amanda's body. As the heel of my hand hit the top of her slit and my two middle fingers disappeared to the third knuckle inside my wife's mother, she loudly sighed, froze every muscle in her body, and then let out a long high-pitched screech. The old bat had just cum on my hand! Hidden, secret feminine muscles clenched around my fingers and that feeling brought a smile of remembrance to my face - her cunt was just like her daughter's. A wash of fluid came out of her so that my hand was drenched to the wrist. Her body was suddenly jerking in waves and looked like it was about to topple over. Yanking my hand from between her legs, I reached out and pulled her to my naked lap by grasping her soft hips. Her body jerked and quivered, slowing down but leaving her a mass of flesh upon my person. Her head tilted back and my lips found hers; I tasted myself upon her tongue as I devoured her orally. Later, when I took my mouth from her ravaged wet red lips and opened my eyes, I saw her surprised but thrilled gaze looking up at me with nothing less than total love. -*- Sending her to her own bed that night was rough. I wanted to feel her warm, soft body next to my own; I wanted her available female charms to only be an arms-reach away from me. I tasted her juice from my slick hand after she disappeared and groaned with the memory of my own wife. They were so alike and yet so different. A huge breakfast awaited me next morning. Amanda wore the shortest skirt and the sheerest blouse and stayed near me as much as possible throughout the meal. She was completely available and anxious for attention - the message was obvious. I'll admit I enjoyed the offer. As a fifty-something woman, she was no teen hard-body; but she was indeed sexy and available, and she brought back fond memories of a healthy wife. There was one thing about Amanda, however, that did not remind me about her daughter - her submission. "I'd like you to go shopping for me today...?" Amanda quickly came over to stand obediently before me, smiling and nodding in agreement. "After lunch I am going to sit in the living room and you are going to wear absolutely nothing as you lay on the table..." She licked her lips anxiously and nodded her head dumbly. "...legs spread, using the dildo you are going to buy to bring yourself off." A little of her smile disappeared, but only for a brief moment before it returned as strong as before. "I would love to!" She meant it. I gave one more command that did not even cause her to bat an eyelash. The afternoon promised to be fun. -*- Until I watched Amanda masturbate the other evening from her doorway, I had never truly seen a woman in self-passion before. That one glimpse was enough for me to mortgage my soul to the devil to see it again. That glimpse and the willingness of this woman to do whatever I asked was enough for my desires to surface. The leather couch was very comfortable, but any movement would cause a rude noise. It was a playful fact that my wife and I enjoyed coupling in this room if only for the comic factor of movement on the leather. A low marble table dominated the rectangular space before the couch, and I knew from experience that it could hold the weight of two people. Amanda cleared her throat behind me, near the entrance to the room, to announce herself. I did not even turn to watch her. "Come here, Amanda." My mother-in-law had spent more of my money evidently. Four inch heels on new black slippers echoed loudly on the hardwood floor, logging her advance toward me. She wore a silk, pearl-coloured kimono that barely covered her hips but generously covered the rest of her to her throat. In her hand was an eight-inch, fat, clear dildo that actually shone in the afternoon light. She stopped when she stood between my denim-covered thighs, hands by her side but breathing heavily. "Do you do all that I ask?" "Yes sir." Her voice was husky, breathless; and I liked her use of 'sir' toward me. "Show me." With her empty hand she reached before her and pulled a flap of the kimono to the side revealing her body beneath. My instruction to trim herself had been taken to an extreme. Smooth skin shone back at me. Gone was the jungle, and I marvelled that that part of Amanda was ageless. "Lose the kimono." A quick flick at the slip-knot about her waist and a jerk of her shoulders, and the expensive fabric fell to her heeled, slipper-clad feet. I admired my mother-in-law's small feet in the slipper, and decided to let her leave the shoes on during her exhibition. I looked slowly upwards, admiring every mature centimetre, but I froze when I came to her neck. There, around the wrinkled skin of her neck, was the very expensive pearl necklace that I had given my wife for our fifth wedding anniversary. Memories of my wife bitching about her mother's lack of respect for privacy hit my soul. The naked woman before me was not my not-so-long departed wife, but was wearing her jewelry in such an intimate fashion. Anger began to well up in my heart, overwhelming the lust. I could not tear my eyes from about Amanda's neck. "Where did you get that?" My voice projected as much venom as I could generate. Amanda brought her free hand to the necklace as if to protect it from my new, threatening mood. There could be little doubt what 'that' was. The virgin dildo fell to the hard wood floor, but neither of us made notice of its loss. "I thought you would like it?" I could hear the fear and anguish in her voice. The old cow had invaded my room, gone through her daughter's walk-in closet and searched her jewelry case. She had invaded what could not be touched - my wife's favourite things. Her life may have been gone, but I was far from letting her go! "Give it to me. Now!" I held out my hand until the quivering wrinkled paw dropped it into my palm. Bringing my hand before me, I stared with a weary, torn soul at the necklace, trying hard not to tear up at the fond memories that were flooding into my consciousness, including the one in this very room when I had given it to her. Amanda's heels made a terrible racket as she tried to retreat, causing my mind to return the cow now trying to creep from the room. "Stop!" It was nearly a shout and the old woman did just as I ordered. "Get your fucking ass back here!" No mistaking the anger and danger in my voice now, but the old woman had little choice. She stood before me, hands folded before her, hiding those teen-like loins from my heartless eyes. "Touch another thing of my wife's and..." I remembered the promise she had made me give her upon her death bed. "... and you're fucking out of here!" A long and very awkward pause before Amanda tried to explain, "I did not mean to...!" "Shut the fuck up, cow!" My shout echoed off the walls of the high ceiling room. The sight of her made me sick; my lust for her body now embarrassed me, shaming the memory of my wife. They were so different but then there were things that were so much the same. Then, I remembered that one main difference I had discovered this morning. "Turn around, cow." She did, sobbing like a child with tears ruining her mascara. It didn't matter. I did not have the patience to look at her face again. "Now get on your knees," (which I knew she was very good at), "and bend over the table!" My voice held no option, but if I had given even a small thought to it, I would have known Amanda would never disobey me - not now, not after submitting to me thus far. Just the position she was in, like the last time my wife and I ... The table was strong, so firm that it had taken all of our abuse. Shit! I had thought to rape my rage using Amanda's old body, but the memory of my wife in exactly the same position stole that revenge from me. I needed something new, something my wife and I never did, to recover the cathartic impulse I had set out on. I saw the clear unused dildo upon the floor next to the new kimono, and immediately dismissed it. That was for the cow's pleasure, not mine - at least not now. I felt the hard round pearls in my hand, hurting me as my fist clenched it so tightly, and I opened my paw to look down at the shiny beads. Suddenly I was hating them - hating that they stole my current pleasure away, hating that they brought so many memories of a fonder time, hating that it hurt so much just to look at them. If the cow wanted them so fucking bad, she could have them! Leaning forwards I easily reached the raised bottom, which I used my free hand to spread. Sobbing against the marble table, the cow did not even acknowledge my touch. Any doubt I had evaporated! "Hold your ass apart, Amanda." It took some seconds before I even realized she heard me, but slowly both hands came around to grasp a cheek in each and spread wide. Her wrinkled small hands were a contrast to her smooth white ass, and I knew it to be the duality of a mature woman's sexuality. I had learnt much in the last weeks with Amanda. It was my first sight of her this way, and in happier moments I would have devoured it with elation. Though different in body, including back sides, both mother and daughter had round sexy bottoms that led deep to a wrinkled brown sphincter. Amanda's clenched as if in fear of what was coming. Heartless, I shoved the first two fingers of my free hand into Amanda's cuntal passage and raped her mercilessly with the digits. Being the submissive cow she is, her body warmed quickly to the invasion - her sobs disappeared; her breathing became rapid, with a familiar erotic tempo; her stomach pressed down into the marble beneath, arching her back and pressing out her sex; and, of course, the liquid of her pleasure coated my fingers. I added a third finger and shoved it aggressively and mercilessly, though the old woman was far from asking me for mercy. Panting with pleasure, she was pressing her hips back to meet my thrusting digits. The sight was drowning my anger and causing my cock to harden. The inner lips of her sex clung to my digits as I dragged them roughly from her body. It was as though she was afraid of losing them. The sight and feel of her distended lips clasping my finger was enough to mesmerize me. But not enough to disregard the purpose of my soul. With the pearls held in my other hand, I slipped its index finger along the slippery soft thighs until it was coated with the lubricant. Lifting it to between the soft spread globes, I aimed it perfectly toward the clenching anal ring and, amazingly, it seemed to open to accept my thrust. Her body was denying me even this revenge. She was positively buckled with passion now. Amanda's ass seemed to suck my finger, clenching and sucking on it as she shoved her sex back to meet my other busy hand. I wanted her to be humiliated, to cry out in anguish at this indiscretion, this rape of her person. Instead, she was starting to go wild with lust - enjoying not only the three fingers in her normal entrance but also the single one in the other part of her person. Yanking both hands from her, I sat back and calmed my own breathing, hating my hard manhood for its weakness and staring at the feast before me. Amanda pulled her cheeks wider apart, something that I thought was not possible, so that the rear hole was level with the rest of her flesh and not hidden in its usual valley. She relaxed and allowed her back passage to press outwards, easing my work. She knew what I was doing; she had to feel each round hard pearl as it slipped past her hard anal muscle. I did not stop until only a few centimetres of the expensive necklace were visible. That caused a pause in me and I stared down at the blasphemy of the moment. My wife would not have ever allowed me to do this to her - to befoul her treasure in such a way, to abuse her body in that place, or even to look upon her in such an intimate way. They were the same but different. My belt quickly opened, as did the buttons to my jeans. I kicked Amanda's knees together so that the sight was delicious. I yanked her hands from her ass and threw them back onto the top of the table. Like I had done it a hundred times, and perhaps I have, just not with Amanda, I knelt down behind her kneeling form. One reason my wife and I enjoyed this room, with its leather couch, and low marble table and bright light was that it was a room made for many possible sexual positions. One of my favourites was the one Amanda knelt in. I looked down at the round white globes before me and saw an obscene white tail sticking out. It nearly caused a burst of laughter, or perhaps a sob, to escape my lips. With one hand grasping a soft hip, the thumb pulling a cheek apart enough to allow my gaze to reach the start of the white tail, and with the other hand holding my manhood in position, I leaned forward. My cock sunk effortlessly, to the root, into my mother-in-law's body. --