Secret Visits to His Widowed Mother-in-Law

Fabian was twenty-eight the evening the text came through, and he read it standing at the kitchen counter of the apartment he shared with his wife. Fiona, twenty-six, was already at the airport. Conference in Denver, back Thursday, love you, don't forget the dry cleaning. He typed something warm and ordinary, then set the phone face-down and felt the old heat climb his spine. Whenever she left town, he went to her mother. That was the rule they never spoke aloud and never broke.

Josephine lived twenty minutes west, in a quiet suburban house with a maple in the front yard and a garage door that stuck if you didn't lift the handle just so. She was forty-four, widowed, beautiful in the way that made men look twice in grocery lines and then look away when they remembered the ring she no longer needed. Fabian had been fucking her for over a year. It had begun the first time Fiona flew out after the hard year was over, when he'd stopped by with a casserole dish Fiona had meant to return and Josephine had opened the door in a thin sweater and looked at him like she already knew why his hands were shaking. They had not planned the second visit. By the fourth, the planning was the point.

He drove with the radio off. The neighborhood was the kind where people watered their lawns at dusk and went inside. He pulled into her driveway, killed the lights, and sat a moment with both hands on the wheel. Inside that house they were ruthless with each other. Outside it, they were careful. Fiona called her mother every Sunday. Fiona slept in his bed when she was home and never once suspected that the man who kissed her goodbye at the curb spent the empty nights between her mother's thighs, buried to the hilt, swearing under his breath while Josephine begged him not to stop. The secrecy was part of the ache. Both of them knew what it would cost if Fiona ever found the messages, the mileage, the way Fabian came home smelling like Josephine's soap. They kept the arrangement completely hidden anyway, because neither of them wanted to stop.

He had showered before he left the apartment, changed into a clean shirt, and left his wedding band in the little dish by the sink the way he always did on these nights. The ring made Josephine flinch if she saw it, not from shame exactly, but from the reminder of the daughter who still trusted both of them. Fabian understood. He understood, and he came anyway. A year of secret visits had taught him the map of her body better than he knew his own wife's, and the knowledge sat in him like a private muscle, flexing every time Fiona said her mother's name at dinner. He got out. The porch light was on. His cock was already thick against his zipper, a low filthy throb he had carried since Fiona's suitcase hit the trunk that morning. Her perfume reached him before her voice did, something warm and expensive she only wore when she knew he was coming. He knocked twice, not loud, and the lock turned.

Josephine stood in the warm light of her own hallway in a silk robe the color of cream, belted loose, and it barely contained her. Her full breasts pushed at the fabric, the neckline gaping so he could see the inner curves and the soft shadow between them. Her dark hair was down around her shoulders. At forty-four she looked at him like a woman who had spent the week with her hand between her legs, waiting for exactly this knock. Behind her the house was dim, lamps low, television off. No one else lived there. No one else was expected. Fabian stepped over the threshold, and the ordinary world of his marriage clicked shut with the door.

"Lock it," she said.

He did. When he turned she was already on him, both hands in his shirt, pulling him down into a kiss that had no hello in it. Hungry. Her tongue slid against his, and she made a low sound in her throat, the kind she made when she was already wet and done pretending otherwise. He tasted mint and the faint sweetness of the wine she must have poured while she waited. His hands found her waist, then the generous curve of her ass through the silk, and he hauled her flush against him so she could feel how hard he was.

She broke the kiss only far enough to speak, her mouth still brushing his. "All week. I've ached for your cock all week. I couldn't sit through a phone call with her without thinking about you bending me over this kitchen counter. I touched myself in the shower this morning and it wasn't enough. It is never enough when you aren't here to fuck me."

"Then stop talking and show me how bad."

She laughed, breathless and filthy, and ground against him. Her hips rolled in a slow, shameless drag, the heat of her cunt riding the ridge of his cock through his pants. The robe loosened under his grip. She took his wrists and guided his hands under the silk, up over the bare warmth of her stomach, higher, until his palms filled with her breasts. No bra. Her nipples were tight and dark against his fingers. He pinched one, not gently, and she gasped, arching, pushing her chest into his hands like she wanted him mean with her.

"God, yes. Like that." She caught his lower lip between her teeth, then let it go. "I've been walking around this house half naked since noon, rubbing my thighs together every time I thought about your cock stretching me. I need you in the bedroom. I need you to fuck me until I can't remember my own name."

He walked her backward through the living room, still kissing her, still squeezing her tits, the robe falling open so her body flashed in the low light. Soft belly, wide hips, thick thighs, the dark triangle of hair between her legs already shining. She stumbled against the hallway wall and he pinned her there, one thigh shoved up between hers, letting her ride the muscle of it while he sucked at the side of her throat. She was soaked. He could feel it dampening his pants. Her nails dug into his shoulders and she whimpered his name, Fabian, like a plea and a dare.

"Feel that?" she whispered, grinding harder, her clit catching on the seam of his thigh. "That's how badly I want you. That's how wet your mother-in-law gets the second she hears your car. Don't make me wait. Don't be sweet yet. Take me to bed and use me."

He groaned against her neck and slid one hand down, under the open robe, between her thighs. Two fingers found her slit and sank in with almost no resistance, hot and slick and clutching. She cried out, loud in the quiet house, and rocked onto his hand, fucking herself on his fingers while she fumbled at his belt. The delicious, dangerous tension of it lived in both of them. They knew Fiona's flight number. They knew the hour she would land. They knew they had to keep every moan, every bruise, every soaked sheet a secret from her, and the knowing only made Josephine wetter.

"Bedroom," he said, voice rough. "Now. Before I fuck you against this wall and we never make it."

She dragged him the last few steps, impatient, laughing when he nearly tripped on the rug at the bedroom door. The bed was already turned down, pillows stacked, a towel folded on the nightstand the way she always left it when she expected him to make a mess of her. She had known he was coming. She always knew. The silk robe slipped off one shoulder, then the other, and she let it fall in a pale pool at her feet so she stood naked in front of him, forty-four and gorgeous and shaking with want, her full breasts rising with each breath, her cunt glistening in the lamplight.

"Clothes off," she said. "I want that thick cock in my mouth before you put it anywhere else."

Fabian stripped without ceremony, shirt, pants, boxers kicked aside, and his cock sprang up heavy and flushed, the head already wet. Josephine's eyes went dark at the sight of it. She dropped to her knees on the rug beside the bed with an eagerness that made his stomach clench, one hand wrapping the base, the other sliding up his thigh to grip his ass and pull him forward. She didn't tease. She opened her mouth and took him in, lips stretching around the thick shaft, tongue flat and greedy underneath.

"Fuck," he hissed, one hand sinking into her hair.

She moaned around him and went deeper, wet and sloppy from the first stroke. Spit slicked her lips and ran down his cock in shining strings as she bobbed, hollowing her cheeks, then relaxing her throat and pushing until her nose brushed the dark hair at his base. She gagged once, beautifully, eyes watering, and didn't pull off. She swallowed around the head and took him again, deeper, the obscene sound of it filling the bedroom, wet gulps and the soft slap of her fist working what her mouth couldn't hold. Saliva dripped off her chin onto her breasts. She looked up at him while she did it, forty-four years old and on her knees for her daughter's husband, worshipping his cock like she had been starving for it.

"That's it," Fabian said, hips starting to rock. "Take it. Choke on it. You've been aching for this all week, so take every inch."

She did. She deepthroated him with filthy enthusiasm, pulling back to gasp and spit on the head, then sinking down again until her throat fluttered around him. Her free hand cupped his balls, rolling them, tugging just enough to make his knees weaken. She slurped, messy and loud, licking the underside, sucking the head like she meant to drink him, then plunging down until her lips met her fist and she moaned so hard the vibration shot up his spine. He held her hair and fucked her mouth in short, careful thrusts, watching her full breasts sway, watching spit shine on her chin and her throat work around him. She wanted it sloppy. She made it sloppy, drooling, gasping, going back for more every time he thought she needed air.

When his thighs started to shake she pulled off with a wet pop, a string of spit still connecting her swollen mouth to his cock. She wiped her chin with the back of her hand and smiled, wrecked and proud.

"Not in my mouth," she said, voice hoarse. "I want you to pound me. I want to feel you in my pussy until I scream."

He hauled her up and turned her, bending her over the foot of the bed before she could catch her balance. She went willingly, eagerly, chest down on the mattress, ass up, knees spread on the rug. Her cunt was swollen and shining, pink and soaked, her ass full and soft under his hands. He dragged the head of his cock through her slit, coating himself, and she pushed back with a broken little sob.

"Fabian. Please. Put it in. Fuck me. I've been empty all week."

He gripped her hips and sank into her in one long, thick stroke, burying himself to the hilt in her soaked pussy. The heat of her clenched around him, slick and tight and perfect, and both of them groaned. He held there a second, feeling her flutter, feeling how deep he was, then drew back and slammed in again. The sound was wet and filthy. He set a hard rhythm, deep, powerful strokes that rocked the bed and made her full breasts sway against the sheets. Each thrust bottomed out. Each withdrawal dragged a fresh rush of her wetness down his cock.

"Harder," she moaned, fists knotted in the comforter. "Fuck me harder. Don't you dare be gentle. I want to feel you tomorrow when I sit down. I want you to ruin me."

He gave her what she asked for. He pounded her from behind, hips snapping, the slap of his body against her ass loud in the quiet suburban house. Her cunt gripped him on every stroke, dripping, squeezing, taking him so deep he could feel the end of her. She pushed back to meet him, greedy, her ass bouncing, her voice breaking into raw, shameless cries. Yes, yes, right there, harder, fuck your mother-in-law, fill me up, don't stop. He reached under her and found her clit, rubbing tight circles while he drove into her, and she nearly screamed, her pussy clamping down so hard he had to grit his teeth to keep from coming.

"You feel that?" he said against her shoulder, still fucking her in long, brutal strokes. "Soaked. Dripping down my balls. You've needed this cock worse than you said."

"I have," she gasped. "I have. God, you're so thick. Deeper. Please, deeper."

He grabbed a handful of her hair, pulled her head back just enough to arch her spine, and buried himself to the root again and again, grinding when he was all the way in so she felt every inch. Her moans went high and broken. Her thighs shook. He could have finished like that, bent over her, watching his cock disappear into her shining cunt, but he wanted more of her. He wanted to watch her take it.

He pulled out, cock gleaming, and she whimpered at the loss. "Up," he said. "On the bed. I want you riding me."

She scrambled onto the mattress, breathless, hair wild, and he lay back against the pillows with his cock standing slick and flushed against his stomach. Josephine swung a leg over him, facing his feet, and reached down to line him up. Reverse, the way she liked when she wanted him to see her ass and feel how deep she could sink. She lowered herself slowly, inch by inch, her soaked pussy swallowing him until she was seated flush on his hips and both of them were shaking.

"Oh," she breathed. "Oh, that's so deep."

Then she started to move. She rose and dropped, rose and dropped, her ass bouncing on him in a heavy, gorgeous rhythm, cheeks spreading around his cock each time she came down. Fabian gripped her hips hard enough to leave marks and thrust up to meet her, driving into that wet heat while she rode him. The view wrecked him. Her ass, full and soft, slamming down. The glistening stretch of her cunt taking his thick cock. Her back flexing, her hair spilling down her spine, her moans turning ragged every time he bottomed out.

"Bounce on it," he told her, voice strained. "Use me. Take what you've been aching for."

She did. She planted her hands on his thighs and rode him harder, ass bouncing, the wet slap of her body against his filling the room. Her pussy clenched and fluttered, dripping down onto his balls, onto the sheets. He held her hips and guided the pace, pulling her down onto every thrust, grinding up into her until she was sobbing his name. One of his hands slid around to her clit and she jerked, crying out, riding him faster, chasing it, her ass a blur of motion and her cunt sucking at him like she never wanted to let him go.

"I'm close," she panted. "Don't stop. Don't you stop. I want to come on your cock, I want you to feel it."

"Not yet," he said, though his own control was fraying. "On your back. I want to watch your face when I fill you."

He sat up, still buried in her, and turned her with a strength that made her gasp. She went down onto the mattress on her back, hair fanned across the pillow, breasts heaving, thighs spread wide in welcome. He settled between them and pushed back in, missionary, slow for one stroke so she felt the whole length, then deep again, filling her completely. Her legs wrapped around his waist. Her arms came up around his neck. She looked at him with wet eyes and a wrecked, hungry mouth, and pulled him down into a kiss that tasted like spit and want.

He fucked her like that, face to face, powerful strokes that drove the air out of her in broken moans. Every thrust filled her to the limit. Her full breasts pressed against his chest, nipples dragging. Her cunt was molten, clutching, so wet the sound of it was obscene. She dug her heels into his ass and urged him harder, whispering against his mouth, yes, yes, fuck me, don't hold back, give it to me, I want all of it. He braced one hand beside her head and the other under her thigh, opening her wider, and pounded into her until the headboard knocked the wall in a steady, shameless beat.

"Look at me," he said.

She did. Forty-four, beautiful, flushed from her chest to her cheeks, mouth open, taking every inch of her son-in-law's cock and loving it. The secret of it lived in the room with them, hot as the sex. Fiona was in the air somewhere over the mountains. Fiona would never know that her husband was buried in her mother, fucking her through the mattress, both of them too far gone to be quiet. Josephine's nails raked his back. Her pussy started to tighten in rhythmic pulses.

"I'm going to come," she cried. "Fabian, I'm going to come, don't stop, fuck me through it, fill me, I want to feel you come inside me."

"Together," he gritted out. "Come with me. Now."

He drove into her, deep and relentless, and she shattered. Her orgasm hit loud, a raw cry that filled the bedroom, her whole body locking around him, cunt milking his cock in hard, helpless spasms. The clutch of her dragged him over the edge with her. He buried himself to the hilt and came, pulsing, flooding her, groaning against her mouth as the pleasure tore through him in long, blinding waves. They shook together, loud and simultaneous, her cries mixing with his, her legs locked around him so he couldn't pull out even if he had wanted to. He kept thrusting through it, short and deep, fucking his come into her while she spasmed and sobbed and held him like she meant to keep him there forever.

When the last shudder faded he stayed buried inside her, both of them panting, sweat cooling on their skin. He kissed her mouth, then her cheek, then the corner of her jaw, tender now that the frenzy had broken. She sighed and petted the back of his neck, her pussy still fluttering weakly around his softening cock, warm and full of him.

"I love these visits," she murmured, voice wrecked and sweet. "I love when she leaves and you come to me. I love how you fuck me. Don't ever stop coming here."

"I won't." He kissed her again, slower. "Not while she keeps getting on planes."

They stayed like that until his cock slipped free on its own, a warm rush following it onto the towel she had thought to leave beneath them. He helped her up on shaky legs and they shared a long shower, the water hot, her back against his chest while he soaped her breasts and the tender, swollen place between her thighs. She laughed softly when he got hard again against her ass, and he didn't push for more, just held her under the spray and kissed her wet shoulder until the steam thinned. Clean, dressed, ordinary again, he walked her to the front door with his hand at the small of her back.

"Next time Fiona's away," he said, already turning the calendar over in his head. She had a client trip in three weeks. He would clear his Friday the hour she booked the flight. "I'll be here before her plane leaves the ground."

Josephine smiled, robe belted, mouth still a little swollen, and touched his chest. "I'll be wet before you knock."

He drove home through the quiet streets already scheming it, the date, the lie he would tell if anyone asked where he'd been, the way he would bend Josephine over that same bed and fuck her even harder than tonight. The secret sat warm in his chest. He couldn't wait.