If it’s not one thing, it’s the mother-in-law

This is a slightly odd post, I know, as it’s really someone else’s story and one in which – as yet – I haven’t done anything of note. But bear with me, as it’s interestingly weird, I think.

I was invited to accompany a gentleman friend to a slightly odd lunch event, held just after Christmas. Each man was expected to bring a ‘glamorous’ lady companion and it seems that this was widely interpreted as meaning an escort, although one man I met there was with his secretary. Just so you have the idea, I’d agreed to wear the exact outfit you see in these photos – including the long gloves and ankle bracelet (save for the fact that I wore a ¼ cup bra and in the photos I’m wearing a white bullet bra).

My gentleman proudly introduced me to a number of other men there and he was fairly open in praising my “hand relief” skills and described me as “a Masturbatrix”, a few times and encouraged those I met to consider making their own arrangements to subsequently meet me, if they desired. And some did very much desire!

One gent who was particularly keen said he had a particular and probably rather peculiar request, which he hoped I would not find off-putting, if we did meet again at a later date. However, he seemed very reluctant to tell me what his particular ‘kink’ was, as he thought I might think him weird.

I joked that if he wanted me to use him as a toilet, the answer was most definitely ‘no’ but he said it was nothing like that, it was simply he’d want me to pretend to be someone else. Intrigued, I tried guessing – schoolgirl, nurse, a celebrity – but he shook his head. “My mother-in-law” he eventually said. He explained that for many years he has had a powerful erotic attraction to this woman and fantasises about her constantly.  I asked if she was aware of this obsession and he laughed a little and said she had died five years ago, yet he still thought about her constantly.

He went on to say that what makes his obsession particularly odd is that she didn’t like him – in fact, it seems she despised him, wished her daughter had never married him and took every opportunity to make her feelings clear. She said he was a waster who would never amount to anything. When in time he built a successful time-share and holiday rental business, she said this just proved he was a crook.

I asked if she had been a sexy lady. He began by saying she wore girdles and corselets and seeing her suspender straps under tight pencil skirts and dresses always greatly aroused him and that she had had a nice figure – big butt and bust is how he put it – but he didn’t think she was overtly sexy and that girdles were just what women wore when she was growing up and she was simply set in her ways and rather old fashioned.

Of course, he was delighted when I told him I have both a white and a black girdle and wear each from time to time and would be happy to do so if we met again or if he took me to a similar social event. And, naturally, he adored the suspender belt straps he could see before him, under my tight, wet-look party dress, which was one reason I had reminded him of Margaret, his mother-in-law, along with the big bust.

And that’s more or less how things were left: we exchanged details and I promised to consider meeting him while role playing his late mother-in-law. And I did want to think about it, as it just felt odd to me that he should be so powerfully aroused by a woman who had obviously disliked him so much and that I was being asked to play the role of a dead woman.

We exchanged some messages and then he told me that everything he had said at the lunch event was true but also incomplete. He’d held back an important detail, as he thought I might either not believe him or it would seem too strange and I would be shocked. I assured him I am pretty much shock proof and of course I was eager to hear this secret but he asked if he could tell me over a drink and so we met in London and after sharing a bottle of Champagne, he opened up about the missing piece of his story. This is what he told me.

When he married, they would alternate between his parents and his wife’s each Christmas. The first year after the wedding, his mother-in-law made clear her distaste for him and even told him to his face that she didn’t like the cashmere sweater he gave her on Christmas morning and suggested he take it back to the shop. Wrong colour, wrong style, wrong buttons, wrong everything.

In the evening, when everyone else had gone to bed, he found himself sat on the sofa next to her, as they finished watching a film on the TV. He said they’d both had a lot to drink and when she made another catty remark, he just told her the truth. He said he knew she didn’t like him, although he had no idea why but nevertheless, he found her an attractive woman and he confessed to his erotic attraction and that he even fantasised about her. He half expected her to slap him but she looked at him and said, “Go on”. So he confessed that this feeling was so powerful that on occasions, when making love to her daughter, he imagined it was her that he was fucking.

He expected her to storm out or slap him but instead she asked, “Are you aroused now?”. When he said he was, somewhat, she said “Show me”. He wasn’t sure what she meant, at first, but when she said, “Show me” and nodded at his crotch he understood. He asked, “Do you mean, get it out?” and she said “Yes. Show me”.

So he unzipped himself and pulled out his cock, at which point she grasped it and began to masturbate him. As she did, she insulted him: not even properly hard, stupid little willy, disgusting, sick, should be ashamed of himself, what would her daughter say … and so on until he gushed over her hand.

She said “There. Look at the mess you have made” and she got up, went into the kitchen and washed her hands and returned to the lounge only to say “I’m off to bed. Goodnight.”

The next day, nothing further was said and that was that, or so he thought. However, it wasn’t. On another occasion when they were otherwise alone at his in-laws, she suddenly said “Right, let’s get this over with” and unzipped him, gave him a rough and furious wank and then held her hand up to his face, his spunk trickling down her arm and said “Look at this disgusting mess” and walked off to wash her hands.

This then became a ‘thing’. He said it wasn’t frequent, as he didn’t see her often – five or six times a year – but each time she masturbated him. On one occasion he decided to see if it could become a regular pleasure and contrived to visit her with some plants for her garden, when he knew she’d be alone. When she opened the door her first words were “You’ve got a bloody nerve, coming here, unannounced” but a few minutes later he was gasping and spurting over her hand again. But when he asked if he could visit her again for more like this she told him no and if he did so she would not open the door to him, so that was the end of that possible avenue.

Nevertheless when I asked him how often she had masturbated him like this he said it must have been well over a hundred times, perhaps as many as two hundred as he’d been married for over thirty years when she died and pretty much each time they met she’d wank him off. He mentioned doing it in her kitchen, in the garden, a church yard and even his car, as places where she’d extracted his seed.

A couple of little details he told me intrigued me. When he ejaculated, she stopped pumping his cock almost immediately and would rush off to wash her hands, almost as if his semen was toxic, as if it genuinely disgusted her. There was no follow though or warming down, it was a case of bang, you’ve cum, now put it away. Another was that on occasions, she grabbed a tea towel and masturbated him onto that and then immediately threw it in the wash. After she’d tossed him off nothing would be said and she continued to let him know that she simply didn’t like or trust him, often ignoring him when he spoke or expressed an opinion about something. All very odd.  

That was his story and I now understood why he wanted a mature woman to replicate this experience for him. And so I told him that I am willing to give this fantasy of his a go. When I told him I though she sounded like she had been an absolute bitch he laughed and said, “That’s why I think you’ll be perfect.”

I will let you know how I get on.