No More Fighting

My mother-in-law Brenda stood in my laundry room, crowded by folded stacks of my t-shirts and my pants and my drawers, carelessly eyeballing the amount of detergent she poured into my washing machine. I'd told Jasmine before and after we'd given her mom a back-up key that it was a bad idea, that she'd see it as an invitation. And there she was in my house, in my laundry room, pretending she didn't see me staring her down from the doorway.

“Did Jasmine ask you to come over?” I finally asked.

“I thought that was your car I heard pulling in. I'm doing laundry, honey,” she said.

“So you're here unannounced,” I said, my tone tighter. “Again, without me or Jasmine being here.”

“Can you pass me that lil' box of those dryer sheets over there?”

“Stop ignoring me. You're in my house, messing in my shit. We've asked you countless times not to do this, man. This is NOT your--”

“You don't have to raise your voice at me, I heard you. Y'all are the one that gave me a key, Frankie.” She continued to fold my laundry, refusing to look my way.

“I knew it! I told Jasmine you'd see that key as an invitation to come and go whenever. I need that key back, Brenda.”

She dropped the t-shirt she was folding and faced me, a hand on her hip, and said, “Well I guess I'm just the worst mother ever. All I was doing was trying to give you and Jazzy a nice lil' surprise to come home to.”

My eyes snapped open. “Are you serious right now? No one asked you to do that. No one asked you to come to our house and do our laundry, rearrange our stuff, or throw away shit you think we don't need!”

“Don't raise your voice at me, I'm not--”

“This is my fucking house, and I'll talk as loud as I fucking want in here. Are you even real? What sane person actually acts like this? What kind of normal human being thinks what you do is OK?”

“I am a mother,” she says. “I like being a mother, and I like helping my babies. I don't see nothin' wrong with that.”

I let out a long sigh. “What...? Brenda, what does that even mean? You practically broke in here, and you think you have the right because you have a spare key? You invade our privacy, over and over again, getting in the way of plans we make, getting in the way of sex – wait, you know what? Fuck this. Give me the spare key.”

Brenda stared at me with her brows knit for several long seconds, then reached in her back pocket for the spare key. I snatch it from her a moment later, and Brenda scoffed.

“I honestly can't believe I'm getting treated this way,” said Brenda.

“I'm tired of explaining why what you're doing is inappropriate. Please leave.”

She turned back to the laundry. “At the very least let me finish the laundry.”

“Please leave, Brenda.”

She shook her head. “You are so disrespectful.”

“Suck my dick,” I say. “How's that for disrespectful?”

Brenda turned to me again. “Well, Frankie, if that's what'll get you to stop being so angry, I will.”

I forget how to use words. What did she just say?

“I'll suck your dick, I'll fuck you – whatever you want,” she said, as if answering the thoughts in my head. “I don't want us to keep getting into spats like this, it's tiring.”

I swallowed hard, wondering if she'd planned this. Work would keep Jasmine for the next several hours, after all. What signs had I missed? Dropping by is one thing, but I'd never witnessed a seductive glint in her eye, or a deviant smile flash across her face until now.

Suddenly I considered her heavy, bright-red lips. I observed her top's generous neckline, showing off pillowy, creamy-white cleavage. She's got the mom bod going, but she fills out nicely around the hips and ass and thighs. Like Jasmine, just chubbier. I realized I'd fuck the hell out of Brenda.

Brenda went to her knees, working at my belt buckle. I froze, watching her. I could feel my cock getting heavy, draining all the blood and good sense from my brain, and pressing against my khakis. What is – how is this happening? I snatched myself away, back slapping the wall behind me.

“What are you doing?” I say, my voice as shaky as my arms and legs.

“I'm trying to make things right with you, dear.” Brenda walked to me on her knees, and finished undoing my pants. My cock throbbed fiercely, and sprang out when she freed it from my boxers. She made a pleased sound.

“You have such a lovely dick, honey,” she says. Brenda's hand strokes my length slow, staring up at me with mischief in her smile. Her warm, wet mouth swallowed every inch of me, making Play-Doh out of my knees. The visual alone made me want to shoot off in her throat. God, my mother-in-law's throat. She bobbed back and forth, tongue slathering my balls each time her nose brushed my pelvis.

“Oh fuck!” I holler.

Brenda gasped for air. I lowered my eyes to find her staring up at me with her oddly matronly smile, brushing soft lips against the slick underside of my penis. Her touch battered my lower half with shivers, and fed her my cock again. She happily slurped me back into her throat, submitting to the unforgiving rhythm of my hips. I fucked her mouth and her gleeful eyes never stopped watching me.

She gasped for air once more, rising to her feet, then pulling her leggings down to her thighs. I followed her lead, and we were bottomless in seconds. Moments later I had her bent over the washer, rubbing my swollen bellend against her clit.

“Sick bitch,” I say through my teeth, dragging my hips back. “Fucking your son-in-law.”

“I am a sick bitch, son,” she says. Hearing her call me son makes my cock twitch. “I want to make you happy, so I'll do anything.”

I drive my hips forth again, and Brenda moans.

I'm in a haze. I'm not thinking about getting walked-in on by my wife, or the neighbors hearing us. I didn't care if it was wrong, or sick or whatever you want to call it. What mattered was the moan Brenda made, feeling my dick slide against her pussy. What mattered was the squeaky gasp she made when I finally entered her, the way her pendulous breasts jounced free of her top, and her deep, gutteral pleas for me not to stop.

“Yes,” she growls.

I palmed, as best I could, both her bubble-shaped cheeks, and drove deeper. I took it slow, but deep, nudging at her cervix with every thrust.

“Faster,” she breathed. And I did.

“Harder,” she said. “Yes, just like that.”

Fistful of silver hair, I tugged her head back and pounded her. Our bodies clapped together, piercing through the roar of the dryer beside us. Brenda howled as an orgasm trembled through her, I felt her walls squeeze and shove me out, followed a gush of liquid that sloshed my thighs and feet, and down the front of the washer.

I stroked myself, allowing Brenda to recover. She turned to face me on those thick, quivering legs, and I lifted her onto the washer. Her thighs swung open, and electricity raked over the nerves in my gut. I wondered if I had the self-control to pull out down the line.

Brenda's thick legs wrapped around me when I entered her again. She watched me stretch her hole and a long cry escaped her. Her clit, hooded and swollen, spasmed excitedly as I pumped into her over and over, fighting the urge to come too soon.

“God your pussy feels so good,” I say.

“I need your cum, Frankie.”

My thrusts were long, slow, and hard. “Fucking bitch, you think you deserve my cum?”

“Please, honey, give me your cum!” She lifted her top and bra over her large breasts, and cupped them in her well-manicured hands.

My hips move faster. “You're a slut.”

“Ohhh god, keep fucking me just like that! Keep talking nasty to me!”

I go deep, smashing her cervix.

“Fucking slut, mom. Fucking your daughter's husband. Begging for his cum like a real whore.”

“Oh my god,” Brenda cried. She was leaned back on her elbows now, head thrown back. “Just … like … that.”

“Every time you show up unnannounced like this I'm gonna tear your pussy up.”

“Ohhh – I'm gonna cum on your dick!”

“Cum, bitch,” I growled. Her pussy gripped me something fierce, and holding back almost became impossible. She was so wet, so nasty.

A moment later her walls squeezed me out, and she hosed my t-shirt with her juices. I slapped the underside of my cock against her clit a few times before shoving it back in her pussy, fucking through her orgasm.

Brenda screamed like she's being murdered.

This time I gripped her thighs, pulling her into my thrusts, stretching her open all over again. Leaning in, I kissed her lips and she kissed back, whimpering as I slammed into her cunt.

“Fuck your mother good, Frankie,” she breathed, her hand cupping my cheek. “Fuck your mother good. Give her that cum, baby.”

I started getting close. She continued whispering nasty shit to me, calling me her son, driving me nuts. She kept begging for my cum, and I desperately wanted to give it to her. I wanted to fill her up. I wanted to see it ooze out of her hole and onto my washer.

“Fuck! Fuck me, I'm gonna cum,” I warn her.

“Cum inside my pussy. Don't stop till you cum inside my pussy.”

I exploded, howling in pleasure. I trembled, and my dick spasmed inside her pussy. I let out a quivering moan as she squeezed her walls around me again, milking every last drop of cum out of me.

“I'm always going to be here for you, Frankie,” Brenda says, and kisses me on the cheek. I just stood there, my cock still inside her, taking deep breaths.

As the haze of lust lifted, the horror of what we'd just done loomed in my head. I pulled away.

“You have to get out, Brenda.”

She hopped off the washer, and stepped past me to gather her clothes off the floor. “I mean it, Frankie. I'll always be here. And I'll always make you happy. Jasmine doesn't have to know.”

I didn't say anything.

Brenda got herself together, and left. I sagged even more on the washer when I heard her car leaving the drive-way.

“I just creampied my mother-in-law,” I said to myself, staring at the wall. And as horrible as I knew that was, I knew I was going to do it again.