If you’ve read my blog in the past, you will know I have an odd arrangement with a gentleman, wherein I role play his late mother-in-law who, by his account, gave every indication of disliking him intensely and yet for years would give him quick, quite rough hand jobs.
If you’ve not already read about this, I strongly recommend you start with the links below before reading on, as what follows might otherwise not make much sense.
https://ladyinseams.home.blog/2023/01/16/if-its-not-one-thing-its-the-mother-in-law/
https://ladyinseams.home.blog/2023/01/25/take-my-mother-in-law/
I’ve not seen much of Phillip of late and I thought our little game might have reached an end. The reason I thought he might have lost interest is that I had persuaded him to allow me to try something different on one occasion when we met. Instead of a slightly ‘dowdy’ appearance, I met him wearing an outfit I felt more comfortable with, namely seamed stockings, five-inch heels and plenty of make-up and I also wore some short cotton gloves. And instead of a very quick wank which ends almost the moment he ejaculates, I adopted my more normal slow build-up and continued to stroke him for some time after his climax. I was still ‘in role’ and pretending to be Margaret, his mother-in-law, and roundly abused him as I masturbated him but the look and approach were more in my style.
However, his feedback was that while physically it had been sensational and visually stunning, emotionally it had not been as powerful as when I was more like her – low heels, hair pulled back in a pony tail, no make-up and a fairly brutal hand job lasting only a couple of minutes and her more disdainful manner. It’s absolutely clear that his greatest sexual fetish is simply recreating the strange experiences he had with his mother-in-law before she passed away.
So I was a little surprised when, a couple of weeks ago, he got back in touch and was very keen for a repeat performance if I was agreeable to doing so in the original style. As they say, ‘he who pays the piper calls the tune’, so I readily agreed.
The ‘set-up’ for our meeting was that I – or rather Margaret – had mentioned the book choice for her Women’s Institute reading group and that he had said he had a copy and would bring it over for her.
As I opened the door, I hoped he might notice the ‘bumps’ of my girdle beneath my sensible pencil skirt and even my RHT stockings.
“What do you want?” I asked as I crossed my arms and glared at him.
“I brought you that book, you mentioned.”
“Come in then. In the lounge – put it there,” I said, pointing at the dining table. He put the book down and turned towards me.
“Look, we both know why you’re here, so let’s just get this over with as quickly as possible. Some my friends from the Institute are due here shortly for tea and I don’t want them to see you here.”
“Oh, am I that ugly?”, he asked and gave a little laugh.
“Yes, you are, actually. But more to the point, they know I don’t like you, so I don’t want them to see you here or they may ask questions. Just remove your trousers and let’s be done.”
He stepped out of his trousers and hung them on the back of a chair. So sensible!
I pulled his boxer shorts down and grasped his already erect cock. And I went at is like a steam engine, pumping the living daylights out of it. As I did so I told him what I thought of him.
“You really are repulsive. You make me sick, do you know that? You’re a disgusting pervert, forcing me to do this.”
“Hey, I’ve never forced you to do anything.” He sounded genuinely hurt by my accusation.
“Shut up!” I shouted. “Don’t argue. Do you think I want to do this, you disgusting little man? I do it because I have no choice.” I was adlibbing wildly at this point but it seemed to be working because he was completely hard. “Come on, come on, I haven’t got all day.”
After a few more very firm strokes he gave a gasp, said “Jesus Christ” and spurted over my fingers and wrist.
Previously, at this point, I would rush to the kitchen and quickly wash off his semen, as if it was toxic waste but I suddenly had an idea, which we had not discussed or agreed. I wiped my hand back and forth over the front of his shirt and said “There, you can clean up your own disgusting mess.” With most of his spunk now smeared across his shirt I said “I’m going to wash my hands and you’re going to leave. Immediately.”
He didn’t argue. He’s such a meek soul. But after he’d left I realised I was very aroused by our little role play and I knew it was time for a little finger action and an orgasm of my own.