Take my mother-in-law …

Well, I’ve done the deed: I’ve pretended to be a dead woman, the infamous mother-in-law. If that means nothing to you, you MUST go back and read this blog entry, otherwise what follows will make little sense to you:

https://wordpress.com/post/ladyinseams.home.blog/437

A lot of what I did, even the outfit I wore, went against everything I normally like to do but for once I wasn’t actually being me at all, I was a different person doing a different thing. For example, normally if I’m meeting a man for hand relief or similar types of fun, I’ll wear heavy make-up but for this encounter I wore just a gentle touch of pink lipstick and I had my hair pulled back and tied in a bun, and I thought I looked suitably severe, similar to the way Margaret, his mother-in-law, looked in some photos he’d shown me.

I wore a little pink sweater over a 1950’s style bullet bra and combined this with some strings of pearls. I had a tight pencil skirt, past my knees and of course I wore my black girdle but for once not with fully fashioned (seamed) stockings but with plain reinforced heel and toe stockings, as I had been informed by Phillip that he had never seen Margaret in seams. And probably the hardest choice of all was my shoes, as normally I’m selecting between five-inch or six-inch stilettos but sensible, strict Margaret preferred a modest heel, so I had to dig out a pair with just two-inch heels that I last wore to a church carol service. And although I had gloves and lube in my clutch bag, I knew they’d be staying there. My husband looked me up and down before I left the house and said I looked as if I was off to a Women’s Institute talk, rather than going to a man’s house to masturbate him.

I had decided in advance to remain ‘in role’ throughout but had not told Phillip this, as I preferred to catch him somewhat unawares. When I rang the doorbell at his rather grand house, he opened to door and put his arms out to hug me, saying how wonderful it was to see me again and how kind it was of me to come. I shoved him out of the way and strode into his hallway. He looked shocked.

I said “Look, we both know I don’t want to be here, so can we get this over with as quickly as possible?”

I took my coat off and hung it by the door and then went straight into the first room I could see off the hallway, which appeared to be a rather large dining room. I saw a sofa and sat down. He stood at the door and seemed to hop from one foot to the other and said “Oh, I thought we might go through to the piano room, as it doesn’t face onto the road.”

I said, “I don’t care what you thought, sit down here and take down your trousers.” Meekly, he sat down by my right and dropped his trousers, revealing boxer shorts and socks with a golfer motif. I took his left hand with mine and placed it on my right thigh and moved it up and down a little so he got the idea – feel my girdle straps – and with my right hand I grabbed hold of his penis, which was soft but rising quite quickly.

“Pathetic” I said as I began to pump it. As he continued to feel the outline of the straps of my girdle and the tops of my stockings, I went at it with a cold fury, my hand moving very quickly. Without any lubricant or oil – my normal technique – it felt harsh, brutal almost but I carried on almost as if trying to pull it off. After a minute or two he gasped “So good” and swallowed hard but I retorted “Shut up, idiot”. After another minute or so I said “Come on, come on, I haven’t got all day you know” and almost immediately at this point I sensed he was about to climax, so I held my left hand in front of the tip of his cock and he spurted into my palm, followed by another smaller spurt and then another and then his cock began a gentle flow of semen onto my hand.

For me, this was probably the most difficult part of the whole encounter. I pride myself on continuing to stroke cocks after climax, sometimes spending five minutes or more gently ‘warming down’ until the cock is flaccid and I know from feedback that many men find this to be almost as pleasurable as the moment of climax itself, as the waves of their orgasm continue to ripple through their bodies. But not today. So even as his cock continued to ooze ejaculate, I got to my feet and looking at my hand and his semen dribbling down my wrist and arm, said “That is absolutely disgusting” and marched out of the room. I suddenly realised I might have made a tactical error, as never having been in this house before I had no idea where the bathroom or kitchen might be but at the end of his hallway I found myself in an enormous kitchen and quickly managed to rinse his fluid off my hand and arm and washed my right hand too.

He stood at the kitchen door and watched me drying my hands on a tea towel and, doing up his trousers, started to say how wonderful that had been but I just brushed past him and went to collect my coat.

“Won’t you stay and have a drink with me, we can chat about everything”, he said in a rather beseeching voice.

“Don’t be ridiculous” I replied.

I put my coat on and stepped out onto the driveway but then I turned around and looked up at him in his doorway. “Do you know something?”, I asked. He smiled and waited. “You are the only man I have ever met who makes me feel physically sick.”

And with that I was off, into my car and driving away. And do you know what? I felt terrible, guilty at how I had treated him, guilty that I had been in his house for all of ten minutes, guilty that he’d gifted me most generously in advance and yet that was all he got – ten minutes and insults and a rough hand job and a semi ruined orgasm  … and yet, and yet I also felt elated, delighted I had remained ‘in role’ and thrilled at what a callous bitch I had been throughout. And in a way I did despise him, for getting his sexual thrills in this way with his mother-in-law and that this was his most powerful sexual fantasy.

Before I had even got home, he had messaged me to say it had been beyond his greatest hopes, I had been ‘Margaret’ with such accuracy he felt I must have known her or been possessed by her spirit. And he begged to do it again, soon.

*****

But I am left puzzling over something – why did she do it? I can understand why he found it very erotic and her distain for him somehow must have added to his excitement. It’s a power thing and I know from my own experience my husband can find it very exciting when I tell him how pathetic his dick is and I taunt and humiliate him. So I get his part of this relationship.

But what was in it for her? Was she secretly aroused by masturbating her son-in-law, a man she appeared to have despised? Or was it simply her way of controlling and making him feel even more worthless? Perhaps she didn’t dislike him at all and was putting on a front to hide her own powerful attraction to him, secretly hating her daughter instead, for marrying a man she loved for herself but could never have. I asked him if he knew her motivation but he was equally at a loss. I asked if he thought she might have dealt with her husband, his father-in-law, in the same way and he thought this was possible, as he was very much under her thumb and did as he was told. I even asked if he thought it was possible that, secretly, she had been a Masturbatrix, doing hand domination in the same brusque manner with clients. He admitted he’d never even considered this and acknowledged that she always seemed to have plenty of money, but on reflection he was almost certain this could not be the case as “she wasn’t like that” and I knew he meant she wasn’t a sex mad slut like me.

And now she is dead, we will never know why she chose to masturbate her son-in-law at almost every family gathering, dozens and dozens of hand jobs, pumping out his sperm and his seminal fluid and then declaring it to be a disgusting mess and rushing to wash it down the plug hole. Such are the mysteries of human sexuality.

Please note, none of the photos used here are from this encounter and I’ve added them just to illustrate the results of semen extraction/hand relief when (unusually) I was not wearing gloves.