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Sunday morning and my wife Angela and I had driven over to her parents’ house; they didn’t live far away and we often visited for lunch. Besides Angela’s parents — Martin and Heather — we were usually joined by Angela’s two younger sisters; the twins, only fifteen, but could pass for twenty-one… Jail-bait in the first degree.
Angela has an older bother too, but beyond Christmas or perhaps on his mother’s birthday he was rarely in attendance. He too lived only a few miles away, but his parents, most especially Martin, didn’t approve of his lifestyle choices, so their relationship was strained; I already knew that he wasn’t going to be there today.
The usual format was for Martin and I to walk down to his local pub for a couple of beers while Heather and the three girls finished preparing lunch; but not today it seemed. We arrived to discover that the twins wouldn’t be joining us at all, as they’d gone off to play an away match with the tennis club and that Martin was currently down at his golf club and would be late.
Yesterday had apparently been the Golf Club’s monthly-medal competition (whatever one of those is) but the competition had been abandoned due to thunder storms in the late afternoon; we’d had those at our place too, they’d been pretty lively. So Martin, along with a dozen or so other members, had needed to return to the club this morning to complete their rounds.
Martin had apparently phoned Heather before we arrived, to get lunch deferred until one-thirty and tender his apologies to me, for not being able to join me in the pub beforehand. Not going to the pub would be no hardship; I’d always thought the regular customers there were a bunch of unapologetic ‘Little-Englanders’… Much like Martin himself really.
I declined Heather’s suggestion that I go down there alone and instead offered to help with making lunch. That proposal was firmly rejected by my Mother in Law… Men don’t cook, or indeed do anything around the house, such things are woman’s work. I could see Angela standing behind her mother, struggling to stifle her laughter as Heather explained the way the world – or her version of it at least — worked.
I’d long known that this was how Martin saw the world, but hadn’t until then realised that Heather was equally… onboard with his thoughts; I’d always assumed that Heather just went along with him for a quiet life. With that explained to me, I proposed that I would instead get my laptop out of the car and check a few emails while I waited for lunch.
“Oh, that reminds me… there is a job you could do for me Steve.”
“What, do you want something checking out online Heather?”
“No, nothing like that, but you could perhaps fix our big computer; it stopped working on Thursday and nobody in this house has the first idea of how to fix it. I was going to call the computer-man tomorrow, but as you’re here and you know all about computers… I’ll bet you could sort it out in a jiffy.”
Angela was once again fighting to quell laughter behind her mother’s back, this time at the suggestion that I was any sort of expert, at fixing computers. But I’d got nothing better to do and what’s that old adage: ‘In the kingdom of the blind, the one-eyed man is king’. I headed for the staircase, tossing a wink to Angela as I went.
The ‘big computer’ lives on the dressing table in the guest bedroom and to be honest I hadn’t realised anyone ever used it; it was always sat with a cover over the keyboard on the odd occasions we stayed over. Heather used an iPad, and while the twins had those too, they seemed welded to their phones; Martin of course claimed to have no interest in such modern fripperies and ‘never looked at the damned internet’.
I sat down and turned on the power; it seemed to take forever to warm up, was it steam driven? When it eventually came into life, I saw the problem immediately; or one of them at least: Everything was frozen and a banner across half of the home-screen advised of some hard-drive threatening fault, which could only be rectified by sending $250 via Western Union.
Yeah, right, sure it will; this problem was perhaps within my limited abilities. I restarted the computer in safe-mode, searched for the most up-to-date restore point prior to the previous Thursday and let it whir. Five minutes later and we were up and running, albeit at a somewhat pedestrian pace; the computer was far from new, but it shouldn’t have been this slow.
How much crap was on this computer? I downloaded — eventually — the free version of the Avast virus-scanner programme and let that run through the system. That took ages too, though to be fair, that was less surprising given the ever growing list of Trojans, Viruses and Malware it identified; once it’d finished I quarantined and then deleted the lot of them.
The computer felt much refreshed, but how had they all got there? Whereabouts on the internet had the family been going? Based on personal experience zara escort I had a fairly good idea and headed straight for the search-history to confirm my suspicions. Yep, and they hadn’t even had the sense to use the Windows ‘incognito’ setting.
From the titles alone it was clear that the History list was wall to wall porn sites; mainly videos by the look of things, but Literotica and some other story sites had got their fair share of visits too. I opened a few stories at random and they were almost all reluctance/non-consent or BDSM, even those few that weren’t tended toward the rough/male-dominant end of the spectrum.
The videos that I checked out too were all predominantly Male-Dom, some including bondage with a few showing threesomes and gang-bangs. It seemed that Martin perhaps wasn’t quite so unfamiliar with the internet as he’d claimed? I also noted that few of the women in those videos were young; was that perhaps a little too close to home when you’d two teenaged daughters?
Martin wasn’t just a casual porn-surfer either; I found two regularly visited sites that he was paying subscription fees for and it was that discovery which made me pause. I went back to the Desktop screen and confirmed what I thought I’d seen earlier: I knew that Heather took care of the household accounts and it was this machine that she’d recorded them on.
How had Heather not spotted any of those internet searches when she was using the computer? Similarly, if Heather were the one who checked the bank accounts and paid credit card bills, why hadn’t she noticed and queried those subscription fees; what electronic equivalent of a ‘plain brown wrapper’ were they being charged as?
A return to the computer’s search history, but now with a ‘what if…?’ mindset answered those questions: The visits had without exception been made on mid-week days, though rarely on a Wednesday and almost always between 1:00 and 3:00 pm. Martin would’ve been at work then and the twins at school; but Heather only worked in the mornings… except for Wednesdays.
I was still getting my head around that revelation – OK, I was checking out a few more stories and videos too… looking especially for those that had been re-visited — when I got a call to say that lunch would be in ten minutes. I made a few notes, closed down the computer and headed downstairs to report that all was again working as it should.
I’d given Angela and Heather a rundown of what’d gone wrong with the computer — though not why! – and a précis of how I’d fixed it and set up the Avast programme to scan automatically. By the time Martin arrived that conversation was over and never mentioned again, instead we got a shot-by-shot recap of how Martin’s golf-round had gone, so lunch was even more boring than usual.
Well, it would’ve been, had I not been distracting myself with memories of those stories and videos and imagining Heather in a starring role. I was – hopefully discreetly – looking at my Mother-in-Law in a very different light during lunch and indeed afterwards too; I must’ve been pleased by what I saw, as I don’t think my cock ever dropped below half-mast throughout that whole afternoon.
Heather’s no super-model, but once I began looking past those mumsy clothes and the sensible shoes and hairstyle, I realised that she was quite fit… Definitely ‘shagable’. A slim, brow-eyed, brunette with a reasonable pair of tits and — from what you could see of them — a cracking pair of legs; definitely worth a fuck and clearly not as prim and proper as she pretended.
As usual, we left just after four o’clock; I excused myself to use the toilet as we did so, thereby ensuring that Angela and Martin had already gone out to our car when I said my goodbyes to Heather at the front door. Heather always waves us off from the doorstep, while Martin watches us reverse safely out onto the road; I don’t think he’s heard about reversing cameras.
Heather and I exchanged gentle hugs and polite kisses on the cheek and as I’d expected, or at least hoped, Heather thanked me once more for fixing the computer.
“No trouble at all, my pleasure; but I’m glad you reminded me, I forgot to give you this when I’d finished…” I pulled a folded sheet of paper from my shirt pocket and handed it to Heather as I concluded “That virus-blocker I installed is good, but not infallible; most of the crap on your computer looked to have come from these three websites, so it might be best if you tried to avoid them in future.”
I was walking away even as Heather opened the page and was sitting in the car’s driving seat before I looked back. Heather was as white as a sheet and staring straight at me; until the moment that I grinned, winked and gave her a wave. I saw the colour rising on Heathers cheeks from fifteen feet away; she was to distracted or perhaps embarrassed, to return my wave as we reversed out and drove away.
Beyond Martin’s rambling about his round zeytinburnu escort of golf, which went on for too long to ignore completely – thank God he’d only played the last six holes this morning – I couldn’t remember a single thing we’d talked about that afternoon. Whatever Angela and I discussed during the thirty minute drive home is lost to me too; I was too distracted with thoughts and fantasies about Heather.
Those thoughts and fantasies continued into the evening; I left Angela to the TV and headed into my home-office. I’d snapped a dozen photos of Heather’s internet history and spent my evening reviewing the pages that she’d visited in more detail. It was almost midnight when I finished; by which time I’d stopped fantasising and had begun making plans.
I often drove past Martin and Heathers when on my travels for work and if Heather’s car was parked out front, I’d sometimes call-in for a cup of tea and a slice of cake. I could have easily done that the following afternoon, but guessed that Heather would likely be… wary, of my perhaps doing so. I thought similar about Tuesday too and on the Wednesday of course, Heather would be working all day.
But Thursday… I figured that Heather’s concerns about my discovering her secret would’ve eased by then. In addition, it would have been a full week since she’d have been online to get her… fix of porn videos and stories, which might mean she was frustrated and horny by then too? I certainly was when I parked my van nearby just before 2:00pm.
Rather than go to the front door I walked around the side of the house, checking through the windows as I went; I didn’t see Heather, but her car was parked out front. Angela and I have a spare set of keys for her parent’s house, I’d brought those with me and used them to quietly let myself in via the kitchen door.
I slipped off my shoes there, then wandered quietly through the ground floor of the house; with still no sight nor sound of Heather I tip-toed up the stairs. I was about three-quarters of the way up those when I heard voices and those voices brought a smile to my face; they were emanating from the guest-bedroom and none of them sounded like Heather’s.
I reached the landing to find the guest bedroom door closed, but not latched; a gentle push was all it needed to swing it open. Not completely, but far enough to provide a clear view of the computer’s screen and Heather sat in the swivel chair before it. I was positioned behind Heather and to her left, so not a clear view, but it was sufficient to paint a picture.
The screen was showing a film I’d seen on Sunday evening; one which Heather had often watched before: A slim, brunette was knelt naked atop a man, his cock deep inside her pussy and his hands gripping her wrists to pin her arms straight out behind her; while a second man grasped the woman’s hair with one hand, whilst his other steered a swollen cock towards her mouth.
Heather’s eyes were locked rigidly to the screen and whilst I couldn’t see either of her hands, the movement of her clothing revealed where they were: Heather’s right hand was inside her unbuttoned blouse, roughly groping at her left breast — just as the guy with his cock now inside her mouth was doing to the woman on-screen – while her left one was moving frantically beneath her skirt.
Heather was completely oblivious to my presence; I stood and watched undetected for a couple of minutes or more. While the woman on screen struggled and begged for release at every opportunity, Heather in response was growling encouragement to the men; advocating that they “Ream the little slut… Fuck her brains out… and Fill her with cum!”
The guy with his cock in the woman’s mouth did just that – albeit that most of his load spewed across the woman’s face — in the instant before Heather herself climaxed; perhaps one had triggered the other? As her orgasm arrived, Heather’s chair swung a few degrees to the left and in that moment, she belatedly became aware of my presence.
While the expression of sexual ecstasy on Heather’s face immediately morphed into one of horror, she wasn’t able to control her fingers quite so quickly; lost in the throes of her climax, the hand between her legs continued to claw at her pussy for several seconds more. I couldn’t control the grin that watching Heather’s futile efforts to stop herself brought forth.
It was several further seconds before a red faced and gasping — from the orgasm or her embarrassment? – Heather managed to speak: “Wh… When… Why… What are you doing here Steve… And what do you want?”
I nodded towards the computer screen as I replied “Well, a blow-job like that will do for starters.”
“What! No… Angela… You… I… I can’t… I don’t, not even with Martin… I’ve never done… Done… That!”
I nodded toward the screen once again “I’ll bet you know the theory though; you’ve spent enough ereğli escort hours studying that.”
Heather had slumped forward, hands on knees, her eyes no longer meeting mine and her head shaking slowly from side to side “You just can’t… can’t ask me to… do that.”
“Of course I can’t and I wouldn’t dream of doing so…” Heather’s head snapped back up, an amalgam of surprise, confusion and to my mind… a hint of disappointment evident in her expression.
“My ‘asking’ you for a blow-job isn’t what either of us wants is it Heather… I’m ordering you to suck my cock.” I stepped forward, grasped Heather by her hair and jerked her upright, whilst my other hand released my cock and guided it towards her mouth; a mouth now opened wide in both protest and accommodation.
As my cock slipped between Heather’s parted lips, her hands came up from her knees and clasped onto my hips; Heather’s grip was firm, but it offered no pressure to try and push me away. Perhaps she felt no urgency to do so, my cock had only penetrated an inch or so into Heather’s mouth; I was hardly choking her with it.
After a couple of seconds, to both my surprise and delight, I felt Heather’s tongue swirl firmly around the head of my cock. A moment later Heather’s right hand lifted off my hip, grasped my shaft and drew back my foreskin, where after her tongue made a second and equally firm circuit of my now exposed crown; that drew a growl of delight from my throat.
I’d been right! Heather was hot to trot… this was just what she craved. I stayed still and allowed Heather to take things at her own pace; my hand was still entangled in Heather’s hair, but even then I could tell it wasn’t necessary. Heather wasn’t looking to escape… She was exactly where she wanted to be; I was too for that matter, this was fucking awesome!
Don’t get me wrong, Heather was no great shakes at sucking cock, or not to begin with at least; but you couldn’t fault Heather’s enthusiasm, nor her eagerness to learn. Heather responded immediately to my suggestions and demands, though none of those called on her to take my cock ever more deeply into her mouth and throat; that was entirely of Heather’s own volition.
I’d planned on screwing Heather, with this blowjob being nothing more than a precursor, but I hadn’t allowed for how strongly I responded to her attentions. Not so much the ‘how’ of it — Heather wasn’t nearly as accomplished as her daughter in this department — but the ‘who’: This was my strait-laced Mother-in-Law with her lips wrapped around my cock.
It’s more than once been said that ‘butter wouldn’t melt’ in Heather’s mouth; that maybe true, but my cock certainly did! I doubt Heather had been working on me for above two or three minutes when I felt that tell-tail rumbling in my groin; I was going to shoot my load and sooner rather than later. Pulling back on Heather’s hair I called out a warning to her.
While Angela gives a great blow job, she never lets me come in her mouth and begins retching at even the taste of semen; thinking ‘like mother like daughter’ I wanted my cock out of her mouth. It was not to be, though through no fault of my own; Heather slapped my hand away and pressed her mouth back over my cock, I think in that moment I penetrated her deeper than I’d ever been previously.
When the first gout of semen exploded from my cock, it was deeply buried in Heather’s throat; the result was every bit as messy as you might imagine: Heather gagged on that torrent, jerked away coughing her airway clear, while the subsequent spurts hosed over her face and hair. I’d gone off like a fire-hose, one more indicator of how aroused I’d become at Heather’s submission.
It was almost a minute before Heather recovered herself; a long while to wait when you’re stood there thinking ‘Oh shit, that’s torn it’. When Heather finally did, she turned her face away and in doing so — as I only realised afterwards — caught sight of her reflection in the dressing table mirror; spinning back toward me Heather waved her hand frantically and snarled “Your phone! Quickly Paul, your phone!”
I was dumbstruck, what the hell did my phone matter? I was no nearer understanding that when a wild-eyed Heather repeated her demand; but I was at least pulling the phone clear of my shirt pocket. Only then did Heather clarify: “A photo… take my picture… I want a picture.” I couldn’t believe what she was asking, but I took a photo of her cum-bespattered face.
Actually, I took a twenty or more over the next sixty seconds, too befuddled to think straight it was only afterwards that I realised what I should’ve done was video the scene. Heather was moving around as I took the pictures… she was striking poses for the shots; for the last few Heather even fed my softening cock back into her mouth. With cum dripping from her nose and chin, Heather looked a total slut.
When we’d recovered our equilibriums — and good sense! – Heather asked me to copy the photos to her computer and then delete them off my phone, insisting that they were never to go on-line. That only took me a few minutes and I made a point of showing Heather their being deleted from my phone… OK, I didn’t invite Heather to watch as I’d forwarded the pictures to my private email address.
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