No Second-Guessing

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: General Erotica  |  House: Booksiesilk Classic Group

How my father and mother–in–law took liberties with me under their roof at Christmas time.

I was so frickin nervous arriving at my in-law's house for the first time. It was made worse by the fact Peter was delayed from travelling with me due to a significant client deal two days from Christmas and his company needing to sign off immediately. So, I headed from warm sub-tropical Brisbane to the bottom end of Australia: Hobart. If Australia is naturally described as the arse end of the world, Tasmania is the pimple on the butt. Oh, my butt, thankfully, is usually blemish-free.

Frick Hobart was cold. There was blast after blast of Southern Ocean air as soon as I arrived by plane in the pretty small city nestled under its imposing, lightly snow-dusted Mount Wellington. I, however, had: the; fuck this, I should have stayed in Brisbane moment: it was freezing. 

Talk about Christmas in the wrong season. In Oz: it's usually shorts, sunscreen and an outdoor BBQ. The southern state seemed to have decided on a rare white Christmas in summer. The old Tassie joke passed through my mind: go to the loo, miss summer.

My taxi took me over the high bridge and down to the burbs—a long drive winding alongside the Derwent River. Hobart is a linear city nested under the hills on both sides of a deep, expansive estuary. I hadn't wanted Peter's parents to think I wasn't independent without my man. So I steeled myself to cope with my in-laws for the first time and on my own.

From their driveway, I took in their spacious well presented home. I had a bottle of wine and flowers from the airport as gifts. I could cope with what Peter had told me to expect: 'staid' was the word he had used: his parents were in their early fifties; he said: respectable, conventional and prim. And Peter had added with a laugh as I packed: "Don't dare wander around the house naked, and we both better make sure we don't stain the frickin sheets in the guest room...and enjoy my old bedroom...they haven't changed it since I left home at eighteen for Monash." 

And with a twinkle in his eye, he said: "Sweetie check out my old bedside drawer" as I got in the taxi for the airport.

Trust Peter to get me excited. He had a kinky side that had caught me out in our early days together. He snared with gorgeous silk-lined cuffs, a feather teaser, a stunningly effective red silk blindfold and some boa pleasure ties. All raunchy, sensually teasing restraints, leaving me exposed and vulnerable to his touch. I had never thought it would be so easy to orgasm tied up in bed. No wonder I married him almost immediately. A guy who takes bondage gear on holiday to Bali is a confident son of a bitch, and confident pricks get the girls fast.

Oh, I'd seen photos of Peter's parents, Don and Jo. Donald and Josephine: Mr and Mrs Morrison. Well, now there were two Mrs Morrisons. Two Mrs J Morrison's, I was Jossie or Jo for short too.

 

Mmm, I'd call her bitch or cow, and she could call me money-chasing skank behind each other's backs. Peter and I had had the whirlwind pre-marriage fuckfest in Bali, where we had met. It was all awesome sex and deeper sensual bondage play from our opening encounter in the bedroom, and there had been our spur-of-the-moment, Kuta Beach first available celebrant nuptials. Whoops, no in-laws were invited or informed. I bet the old bitch was pissed off. She'd probably serve me up a sour meal in revenge.

I was sure, however; I could second guess what would happen this afternoon. First, tea and cake, a tour through Peter's old room and then the guest room, topped off by a polite dinner and the long wait till my man's late flight and arrival around midnight. Then, finally, I could shower and get under some warm water to relieve my tension.

I'd defer and let her be Jo. I'd take the full Jossie.

"Are you sure you don't want another scone?" said Jo, and the bitch was piling on the strawberry jam and cream without waiting for my reply. 

Yeah, I was a bit of a waif around the waist, but she was intent; it seemed like the witch in Hansel and Gretel to fatten me up.

"Oh, come on, let's check out Peter's old room, "said Don, saving me from my third scone. 

I thought he was a tame old sod. Easy to manipulate.

"After you," he said as Jo led the way up the stairs.

I turned on the landing, and the old bloke, my father-in-law, was perving on my cute tight arse in designer jeans.

Well, you never know. Dirty old coot.

Geez, my thoughts changed fast!

Staid mum, eh

I'd have words with Peter tonight or in the wee hours of tomorrow as she opened my husband's youthful bedside dresser and pulled out two long but plain solid braided nylon ropes!

Before I had a chance to think, Peter had to practice his extraordinary skills somewhere before he showcased them to me. Jo pushed me onto the bed and held my legs. Wow, she had a grip and knew where to restrain me, but old Don was the fucking expert. He had my hands above my head and roped and cuffed and tied to the bed head as I desperately and stunned managed:

"What the fuck” while trying to twist and writhe free.

But my squirming was lost as that bitch Mrs Morrison gave me a spray: "You whore tart. Marrying without inviting me to the wedding. You are going to get it good, you skank." 

Don, the smooth old codger, moved deftly to my legs and trussed me. Perfect restraint technique, I had to admit, even better than Peter. But, it crossed my filthy and confused mind. Just where had my hubby learnt his kinky ways? 

Peter tied me up slowly, and it was so damn hot. But I was being knotted and secured roughly and quickly. It had me so wet between my legs. I didn't want to admit the adrenaline rush of my pleasure to myself. 

Jo said, looking at me, "You tart. I can see under your top that you have great tits. Peter picked you well; you have those awesome boobs."

With no further ado, she yanked my top up, my blouse open and pushed my titties over the top of my bra cup.

I yelped, not because of Jo's brusque action but because Don's secure tethering stretched me as my legs were secured to the base of the bed. I could struggle and thrash, but I couldn't get free.

Jo attacked my titties with a relish. A complete indignant assault on my flesh. 

My problem was never having been taken by Peter past the threshold of playful bondage. I was over-excited by the indelicate new. I didn't know the limits of these two experienced players.

I did have great breasts. They were proportionally humdingers with the cutest upward nipple point. Total eye drawing, beckoning titties. I suppose you get genetically lucky, and I get blessed with the perfect pair. Fulsome desire, usually packed in a bra, but a brassiere only enhances nature's flawlessness.

"Oh shit, you bitch," but then I moaned in a gritty blissful half-pleasure, half-pained way as she nipple-clamped me from somewhere. Oh God, the bitch knew how to fine-tune pleasure with bodily resistance. I both loved and hated her tweaking in the same instance.

"Oh Christ," I managed as Don yanked my jeans down my ankles, taking my panties way south in the same swift action.

I felt naked, exposed, vulnerable and unsure of what would happen next. I wanted pleasure, and I wanted my body used. I enjoyed the helpless submission but hell, where the fuck were these kinky in-laws taking me.

I knew I had that look of youthful enjoyment on my face, uncontained, unrestrained pleasure, as the bitch released the nipple clamps and sucked my teats. My mother-in-law was enjoying my titties.

I was enjoying the luxurious attention to my nipples and the massaging of my fulsome breasts. I had forgotten about Don until he blindfolded me.

Now I felt my body wholly unguarded and at their collective mercy. 

I had that moment when I knew it was the lull before a storm. Jo kept pleasuring my tits with delectable fingerwork, copious spit and her pouty pulling, sucking lips.

"Mmm, Mmm," I went softly, soppily happy to sensual blind pleasure.

Then I was guttural: “Oh fuckin Christ...Oh Shit...Orrgh...Orrgh...Ah...Ahhh!"

That fiend Don without warning jammed a vibrator straight into my petite tight arsehole. Luckily he had lubed it, and it was reasonably sleek. But Jesus, it was unexpected, and it caught me right on the line between the acceptable and the unacceptable.

But that bitch Jo was assuaging my clitty, and I was frickin bondage putty in the pair's hands. On the cusp of consent held in the sway of pleasure. Just in front of the uncivil treatment of my delicate little arsehole as its pulses of pleasure were guilty distributed to the puckered rim of my crinkled pink back door.

I was entirely mistaken if I thought they couldn't surprise or jolt my body in some other lewd way. 

"Oh, My, Yes, Yes! Mmmm, Oo, Orrrhh! Fuck! Oh, My God," was the repeated loop from my shameful potty mouth as Don wedged his stiff, fat dick into my arse with even less warning than the vibrator. I was skin shafted to the point of seeming arse bursting tenderness and throbbing abrupt rapture.

I felt the restraints tighten on my wrists and ankles as I squirmed more, as my dainty invaded arse was tugged and stuffed beyond its limits. My clitty was about to burst, too, under the repeated hard pressure applied by Jo.

"You trashy skank, let's test out your starfish," said Jo; as Don clambered over me and stuffed his still rigid meat into my wet, drenched, shaved pussy. 

"Oh, you bitch! You filthy, filthy dirty bitch. Oh! Arragh! Orrgh." 

I mouthed as my arse submitted to a battering by a frickin strap-on—the dirty, vulgar old cow. Still, boy, did she know how to work in tandem with her hubby.

My body was trussed and squeezed, pinched and squashed between two pressing bodies. My big boobies were crushed. My sweet soft slit was taking a cock pounding. My delicate arsehole jostled and jabbed by a big toy, backed by my mother-in-law's gyrating, pummelling pelvis.

I had never been double-played before. Let alone double-teamed, tied up and blindfolded. Yet I could feel it all. Savour it all. The rippling goodness of bad, bad sex dominated me completely.

Fuck, the old cow was grinding my arse into malleable submission. The strap-on was so frickin huge but finding space where it shouldn't have been possible to find space. And my father-in-law. Was the old dog on viagra or something? He had the staying power of a rampant teenage stud. 

My pussy was wet mussy, doughy flesh. I could feel my creaminess oozing out and seeping in the tightness of three packed bodies over what remained of the partition of my perineum. The wetness at least added much-needed lube to my tender, raw arse.

Sometimes the depths of insanely created dirty, dirty pleasure emerge from our hidden bodily and mind depths.

The sexual El Dorado exits. Our golden sexual self explodes outwards and inwards like a sexual Midas touch. Every nasty contact on and in our sensitive holes matters. Every indecent thrust and tug. Every moaning grunt. Every indecorous unfeminine moan released by my filthy excited mouth added to my compounded joy.

Shit, I knew where Lasseter's golden reef was? It spread inside me as my mind and body combined in the sexually imbibed. Slushed in a sleek, slutty, serpentine swathe of pleasure pulsing through me. Slick and brutally filling, as what was seemingly forbidden, gave me more than a girl should get or need from sex.

Don creamed my pussy. My father in laws pleasure was evident in his spurting groaning release.

Oh, Jo, the old cow was happy too and her panting and clammy body, let me know.

The pleasure received, bodies shared, and libido released. Then and only then were the restraints slowly eased off me, and the blindfold removed.

Sweat, buckets of perspiration and sticky skin, with wafts of my musky sex, filled my nostrils. 

Cum secretions dribbled from my pussy, and my arse was so tender. So raw as Jo released the strap-on and fuck, I saw how big, thick, ribbed and dirty the black toy was.

I was more emotionally tied and stuffed, even though I was now unstuffed and untrussed.

Don, the old coot, grabbed his pants and was heading out the bedroom door with a throwback line: "The weather's cleared up. I'll fire up the barbie for dinner," like I was just an entrée.

Jo was wiping the sweat from my aching but happy body. 

Then as she dabbed, she said, "Don't expect a surfeit of tenderness, honey. We haven't started on you or Peter yet. Just wait till we open the Chrissy presents."

I realised there was no second-guessing my horny lecherous in-laws, and sometimes we have no idea what the family is like we have married into. My mind was amok. However, I knew my body was wholly predatory for whatever my in-laws and Peter were going to offer it. 

Tis the season to be smutty: I told myself

 


Submitted: December 28, 2022

© Copyright 2023 Janus. All rights reserved.

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