Christopher narrates:
Our sleeping arrangements that Friday night was a bit of a comedy, like a Three Stooges film.
Albeit a sexy Three Stooges, with kissing, groping, but . . .
Backing up a bit.
After Beth and I had both climaxed heavily in bondage, Cynthia was all for continuing our BDSM session, since my cock was still in play. I gather her plan was to tie me to a chair and ride that pole until it was worn down to a nub. Perhaps with something in my ass. Beth was to watch while bound and vibed in “pretzel” mode, whatever that was.
My body was willing, but my mind wasn’t; this was all new to me and I was felling bit overwhelmed.
Why? Because:
In the previous few hours, I had been: flirted with at dinner, groped in the swimming pool, hand-stroked (NOT to completion) while restrained in the hot-tub, jerked off while bound in the shower, fellated (again, NOT to completion) while strapped to an X-frame, reverse-cowgirl ridden on a bondage table, suspended and flogged with my wife, and finally, “forced” to fuck her as we hung there helplessly, until we spurted all over each other and all over Cynthia’s “playroom.”
Time to wind it down.
Cynthia, still in her Dominatrix costume and mentality, coldly reminded us, “By mutual agreement, I’m in charge this evening. I say we continue.”
Beth spoke up. “Now, mother, we promised Chris we’d take it at his pace this weekend. THAT was the earlier agreement. He’s done everything we asked for, and more.”
Cynthia gave a little humph and rolled her eyes, but she backed off and semi-stomped into the small living area just outside the dungeon proper.
Beth and I cleaned up with a quick shower. Cynthia, as usual, was careful not to mess up her perfectly done makeup and hair. We all then donned somewhat-matching blue shorts and tee-shirts.
Cynthia climbed the stairs to close the curtains and dim the lights, and as she ascended, Beth noticed me noticing her shapely ass, thin waist and great legs. My mother-in-law is a striking, voluptuous, mature redhead in peak physical condition thanks to tennis, yoga, good genes, and presumably, a lot of vigorous sexual exercise over the years.
“Even Mom’s lounging wear is tailored for her figure,” she whispered to me. “They’re also designed to tear away fairly easily, for quick access. Both Julius and I have tested it.”
She held me back to talk in private.
“Chris, I know I kinda dragged you into this thing, and I know Cynthia is a force of nature, but …” She didn’t know quite how to phrase it, so she just said it. “… please don’t fall in love with my mother.”
I held her by the shoulders, kissed her, chuckled and nodded back into the dungeon where we had been thoroughly used and dominated.
“Not a chance, honey. Your mother … uh, intimidates … me.”
She smiled at that. “I think the word you’re searching for is ‘scares,’ babe.”
“Plus,” I reminded her, “despite the sex games we’ve been playing, she took an instant dislike to me the moment we met. And I don’t think that’s really improved.”
I met Beth about a year previously, and Cynthia had been continually rude and dismissive of me, implying I was neither handsome, rich nor ambitious enough for her only child. I made allowances, since she was newly a widow, but I’d not forgotten. Or entirely forgiven.
“She and I will get there,” I told Beth. “We kind of buried the hatchet last Saturday, but we’ve still got a ways to go.”
“Yeah,” she smirked. “Because you buried your ‘hatchet’ deep inside her pussy.”
I smirked back. “Which you approved of and encouraged, which I’m beginning to suspect was mostly a set-up to rope me into this crazy threesome.”
“I didn’t hear you complain when you shot your load inside her and then me this evening,” Beth pointed out.
A bit later, we three sat in the elegant living room, consuming our favorite adult beverages under a huge portrait of Cynthia and Julius taken at their wedding. We spoke not of the wild sex we had just shared, but of the past. Before I came into the scene, so it was all about the girls.
As she drank, Cynthia got more uninhibited—if that’s even possible—and reminisced about how successful and handsome and sexy Julius was.
She also boasted about how smart Beth was, and talked about her daughter’s wonderful past boyfriends in high school and college:
“Remember Johnny what’s-his-name? He was a catch.”
Of course, while they went through photos, I could only sit there like a third-class lump, a not-unfamiliar feeling when Cynthia the Queen was holding court.
“Where should we all sleep tonight?” Beth eventually asked, trying to divert the conversation and end the conversation. “Chris says he’s never slept with two women on either side of him, spooning him, and would like to try it.”
“Then my bed is the obvious choice,” Cynthia said. “Plenty of room, and the restraints are still in place from last Saturday if we want to go that route.”
She was referring to the afternoon I had found her on that bed in a botched self-bondage scene. Beth had been away on business while I checked in on the dame, but advised me by phone it was okay to fulfill Cynthia’s kidnap fantasy, which I did. Which included fucking her while she was restrained.
Soon I was in the middle of that oversized king, with Beth on my right, Cynthia on my left.
Thus began the comedy.
At first, I spooned into Beth’s back, like I did at home, but Cynthia complained that she was feeling left out, so I turned to face her.
Of course, the randy wench started playing with my genitals through the thin material of my shorts. I reminded her that we had agreed to no funny business after lights out—it was time for sleep—but she pouted and was undeterred.
So we got up and put Beth in the middle, but the red-headed vixen was soon playing with her daughter’s smaller (but still wonderful) tits, and reached her other hand over her to fondle me. I rotated away, but now I had no warm body to cuddle in front, which defeated the whole point of this fucking exercise.
Putting Cynthia in the middle was the only option left, but then she’d have unlimited access to both of us. Giving Cynthia unlimited anything was a bad idea.
As I fumed, I heard some decidedly non-familial kissing going on behind me. I could feel Beth squirming; she was getting either annoyed or aroused. Knowing my mother-in-law, it was probably both.
And once again, I was the odd man out.
Fuck it. That was it.
I bounded out of bed, turned on a lamp, and witnessed my wife and my mother-in-law sharing an amorous cuddle.
“If you two want to be alone together,” I said, in peevishly, “I can go sleep in Beth’s old room.”
(Beth had explained to me that she and Cynthia had shared “intimacies” with each other—fingers and vibrators—in their threesomes with Julius. But they had never gone all the way, i.e. cunnilingus. I never totally believed that, but that was the story they were telling.)
“People, I’m still in charge here,” Cynthia reminded us as Beth also stood up. “We all agreed; me tonight, Beth Saturday, Christopher on Sunday. So get your asses back into MY bed.”
“It’s one A.M.,” I noted. “It’s already Saturday.”
“With Julius,” Beth pointed out, “we always carried the ‘who’s in charge’ thing until dawn, just to avoid these kinds of disputes late at night.”
“Yeah, but I’m not Julius,” I shot back. “I say we amend the rules, and Beth’s in charge. Show of hands.”
Like a good wife, Beth joined in the revolt, and Queen Cynthia was deposed. But she didn’t go quietly.
While she fussed about her house not being a fucking democracy, Beth and I laughingly pulled her arms out to each side and slid them into the leather cuffs that were still attached to the corners of the headboard.
The cougar’s breathing got a little rapid and her nipples perked up beneath the thin fabric. “What are you going to do with me, children?” she asked, still trying to assert dominance.
“Well, we could just go to sleep, like we had planned before,” I offered. “Or we could …” I glanced significantly at the tent my cock was making in my shorts. I might be ready for a another round, after all.
“I thought you were …” Beth began with a smile. “Tell you what. I’m not really tired, and we left the dungeon in a mess, which is going to drive me crazy. I’ll go down to the basement and clean it up, and then I’ll just go to bed in the studio apartment down there. Chris can spend some … quality time … with mother.”
As she kissed me goodnight, she whispered in my ear, “Jekyll and Hyde.”
I smiled. It was an unstructured mind-fuck strategy we had touched on during the drive up here from the city.
I turned out the lamp, and only the very dim light of the clouded half-moon shone through the window behind me to illuminate the bedroom. My mother-in-law could not see my face plainly. Well, that suited my purpose.
“So, Cynthia,” I began, standing beside her, “looks like we’re right back where we were last Saturday. You’re strapped to the bed, helpless and entirely dependent on my kindness and gentlemanly restraint again.”
“Restraint?” she snorted. “You fucked my mouth and then you pounded my pussy.”
“Both were upon your request and at my wife’s urging. And I put my cock in your mouth, then fucked you fairly gently. You wanted me to portray the dastardly villain that day. Now that I know you like to play rough …”
I reached down and ripped her t-shirt in two. Yep, those nipples could have cut steel.
“ … I would have been much harder on you that day. I would have—what do they call it—face fucked you? And then I would have pounded your cunt until you screamed. Several times.”
As I said this, I tore her shorts away, leaving her naked. I pulled the ankle restraints from the baseboard and yanked her legs wide apart. She was spread-eagled and taut as a drumhead.
From her sex toy drawer I found a pair of nipple clamps with jagged edges. They wouldn’t penetrate skin, but they were definitely gonna sting.
Keep in mind, this was all uncharacteristic behavior for the kind, considerate doormat of a son-in-law.
Dr. Jekyll had become Mister Hyde, per the plan. Let the adventure, the fantasy, begin.
I lay down beside Cynthia, who was now breathing hard. I considered blindfolding her, but fuck it, I wanted to watch her eyes, even in the dim light.
I calmly applied a clamp to her erect left nipple. She winced at the bite, trying not to give me the satisfaction of letting the pain show. The clamp on the right nipple elicited a deep groan and a stifled “fuck.” She started to squirm.
For a moment, my resolve wavered—by nature I’m not a sadistic man—but this wench had whipped and teased and used me down in her basement. Then humiliated me in the living room.
She started this game. I was just playing catch-up.
“And then Cynthia,” I said, “after I had fucked you face up, I would have turned you over and fucked you in the ass. As a matter of fact, that’s exactly what I’m going to do to you later today. And twice on Sunday.”
“Fuck you,” she whispered. “Beth won’t let you do that.”
I laughed. “It was her idea, bitch.” She startled a bit at the epithet.
“Don’t tell me a slut like you has never been ass-fucked. I know you girls have strapons down there. Big ones. We’ll put you on your knees. Beth will ream your ass, I’ll fuck your throat. Then we’ll whip your back and butt, and then we’ll switch places.”
As I was describing this debauchery, I twisted the nipple clamps and observed her reaction. They were having an effect, but I think my words, and the fantasy it created in Cynthia’s mind, was stronger than the pain.
“Julius might have protected you from the worst of the sadistic crap my wife can come up with,” I told her, “but Julius isn’t around any more. You’ve been rotten and rude to me from the day I started dating your daughter. I have no reason to hold back, Cynthia.”
By now, I had moved one hand down to her pussy, which was slick with her juices. I slid my fingers over her trim lips—God she had a gorgeous snatch—and tickled her engorged clit while I continued working on her nipples.
“And Beth has some other things she’s dying to try out on her dear mother. You don’t think that you’ve haven’t pissed her off now and then over the years, raising her alone after her father left? And then you drew her into a three-way sex cult with your second husband?”
“Christopher,” she gasped, “I’m sorry for hurting you. I was angry. Angry at the universe for taking my Julius away.”
She winced as I gave the right nipple clamp a twist.
“And I was scared,” she whimpered. “Scared that my life was over. That I’d be alone for the rest of my life.”
“Too late, Cynthia,” I sneered, laying it on thick. “Beth has some electric shock toys that will send you to hell and back. Toys that she said you two used on Julius but that he forbid using on you. Because he loved you.”
I leaned in close and whispered, “But that’s the thing. I don’t love you, Cynthia. That’s why I’m going to punish you, and hurt you, and use you until you’re a fucking broken mess.”
I picked up the pace on her clit. The lady was squirming, hard. In sexual fervor or in fright. Maybe both. I got another inspiration.
“And that’s why we’re not going to stop this weekend. Beth and I are going to lock you in that dungeon all the time we’re breaking you. We’ll move in and tell your neighbors that you’re away on a world cruise, and we’re watching the house while you’re gone.”
Cynthia’s eyes, as best I could see in the dim light, were unfocused, and her body was shaking. She wasn’t using the safe word we’d agreed upon earlier. Or even telling me to stop in plain English, which I would have done. The lady was slipping into, as Beth called it earlier, “subspace.”
“We’ll research every perverted and disgusting sex act we can dig up, use your money to buy equipment and try them out on you as the weeks pass.”
More groans. More inspiration on my part.
“And then we’ll bring in some dudes with big fucking dicks. Big black cocks to pound the ever-loving fuck out of you. Beth can go out to the bars and pick them up and bring them back to the dungeon. Those guys will just love you, Cynthia. Emptying their balls into your pussy and mouth and ass. You’ll be drowning in cum, swimming in dicks.”
A growl started in her throat as her body stopped writhing. She tensed up, pulling on the ropes that already held her tightly. My middle finger was focused totally on her clit now, flicking brutally hard and fast.
“You’re not thinking of cumming, are you, Cynthia? You’re not actually going to fucking orgasm, are you, bitch? That would be the worst thing you could possibly do while I’m torturing you …”
At the mention of the word “torture,” the growl shot down her body, through her chest cavity, and into her pelvis.
And Cynthia Hemmings, that elegant, beautiful, rich widow, pillar of the community, mother to my darling wife, exploded in an orgasmic blast.
It was … spectacular.
A nine-point-five on the Richter scale.
Mount Vesuvius.
Oppenheimer’s bomb.
A massive jet of fluid squirted onto her legs and the bed. Her growl had morphed into an animalistic wail. Her body rocked from side to side, so much so that I threw myself on her to keep her from wrenching her arms in the cuffs.
It was simultaneously awesome and frightening. I’d never witnessed any orgasm like that.
Certainly not any orgasm that I had been responsible for.
Eventually, the freak-out wound down. As she gasped for breath, Cynthia looked at me with an uncomprehending, unfocused gaze. I’m not sure she recognized me.
Then she closed those eyes and went limp.
No sound, no movement.
No inhale. No exhale.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!
I tapped her cheek for a few seconds, and she thankfully started breathing, but those eyes stayed shut. Cynthia was out for the count: she was no longer a passenger on this plane of consciousness.
As I hurriedly raced around the bed and undid her restraints, I was babbling to myself, “What am I going to do? What am I going to tell Beth?”
“How can I tell her that I broke her mother?”
——————
To be continued.
