Blackmailing My Old Mother In Law free porn video

This fantasy is based on fact. Betty did get into money troubles just as described and I did bail her out. The pity is that I didn’t take advantage in the way described here!

Blackmailing Betty

I had been working from home when the call came. I had a mountain of paperwork to catch up on and little time to complete it so I wasn’t in the best of moods as I rang the doorbell of my mother-in-law’s small bungalow twenty minutes later. My mother-in-law, Betty, had phoned and begged me to come over and that in itself was strange – relations between us had never been particularly close; she was a woman who was very prim and proper and I knew that she found my brand of humour “vulgar”. We managed polite conversation but never had any great friendship. For her to phone me up – and do so when she knew my wife was at work – was a rarity. I figured she must have some emergency – a burst pipe or some problem with her washing machine. There had also been a strange tone to her voice – she had almost pleaded with me to come over – I remembered what she’d said, “Can you come over as soon as you can…Please Christopher!” Unusual – Betty wasn’t the type to beg.

The door opened and Betty greeted me with, “Oh, thank God! Come in Christopher.”

This WAS odd! I didn’t remember her being that pleased to see me before. Whatever the problem was it must be serious. She was flustered and her eyes were red as if she had been crying. I followed her down the hallway – trying to ignore the faint but persistent smell of cats that always hung around her house. Betty had never been what you would call “houseproud” – she vacuumed rarely and dusted less and the place was cluttered with unopened junk-mail, dirty cups and saucers, clothes awaiting ironing – all manner of stuff. She might be a pillar of the church but she was a slut about the house.

She was muttering as she led the way into the sitting room – “I don’t know what I’m going to do! I never realised…” – wittering on but I wasn’t listening. I was watching her large buttocks as I followed her down the hallway. One of my biggest regrets was that Betty wore long dresses all the time now. She was approaching her 75th birthday but when I had first known her – some 30 years ago – she had always worn above the knee dresses or skirts. Even when I had first got married to her daughter I had often fantasised fucking Betty – sometimes I even imagined it as I was fucking my wife – because Betty had been a handsome woman in those days. Adding to her allure was the fact that she had been widowed for some while and had never had a man since. Nothing had changed – Betty was still unfucked some 12 years later.

The major benefit from her wearing shorter skirts was the fact that, whenever I could, I would sneak peeks up between her legs. I had been investigating the contents of her underwear drawer from the very first time I had been trusted with a key to her house when she was away on church coach holidays. That was just a year after I first met her daughter and I soon had a secret duplicate key cut for my own use. Using this I had followed her progression from the last days of nylon knickers (for just a year or so during her mid 40′s), through medium sized cotton briefs in pastel shades of blue, pink and yellow with white trim at the legs (during her 50′s). In her 60′s she moved on to larger cotton knickers with a tiny flower pattern which I suspect she bought in bulk at some time during her early 60′s and wore until the elastic finally gave out. For the last few years she had worn the big, white, cotton “belly-huggers” that she bought from Marks and Spencers – in common with most British women over 60.

My mind was on her knickers as I studied her large arse because I could imagine the outline of them through her flowered dress. As usual my cock stirred slightly as I imagined parting her big, soft bum-cheeks and plunging my shaft between them. It was never going to happen, of course. Betty thought oral sex “disgusting” – she once told my wife that it was not something indulged in by normal people – so the chances of her allowing anyone to fuck her in that hole were on a par with Accrington Stanley winning the Premiership. The chances of her allowing any man anywhere near her cunt were similar and the chances of her son-in-law being the man in question were nil. But I could dream, couldn’t I?

We entered the sitting room and Betty flopped down into her old armchair. Like most of her furniture it had seen better days and it sagged badly. Not that I minded. In the DBLS (Days Before Long Skirts) the sagginess of that chair had provided me with lots of upskirt views of my modest and prudish mother-in-law. I had taken every opportunity to see the knickers I had seen in her underwear drawer “in situ” – especially when she rose from her chair. At that moment, no matter how tightly her knees had been clamped together up until then, they would part and give me a glimpse of heaven.

The memory of those gusset views flashed through my mind as I waited for my mother-in law to get to the point and tell me what the problem was. No chance of seeing up between her legs today as she was wearing a flower-print dress which came halfway down her calves - although it was a button-through type and it gaped at the bottom to show several inches of lace trimmed slip. That day she had chosen a pink cardigan to wear over her dress.


I risked a quick glance at her tits and saw, as usual, that her large nipples were just making their presence apparent. Ironically, for such a prim and proper woman, Betty is blessed with a pair of 40E breasts (I don’t confine myself to her knickers when I investigate her underwear drawers!) surmounted by large teats. Much to her obvious embarrasment her nipples seem to have a mind of their own and, never less than semi-erect, they stiffen and swell if the temperature drops in the slightest. Often she will cross her arms across her chest to hide these obvious swellings but that day they were only just visible and she was obviously too pre-occupied to worry about them.

Her bottom lip was quivering – she rarely wore make-up but always allowed herself a smear of lipstick – and I saw a tear run down her cheek as she wailed, “Oh Christopher – what am I going to do?”

It took a while to get the story out of her but it was depressing but common when I did. To pay for my sister-in-laws wedding some years ago she had taken out a loan. When she got into difficulties with that she had taken out another to pay it off – from a nice man who called every week to collect the money. Now she owed a couple of thousand pounds – which she didn’t have – and the man was talking about court proceedings.

I was watching her sob – an activity that made her tits move in a very attractive manner – and thinking that we could afford to bail her out and I could probably get the money by the end of the week when she blurted out something that totally altered my half-formed plan. Through her tears and with many hesitations and false starts it emerged that if she was “nice” to the loanshark (actually, he was just an employee of a national company) he would pay half her weekly payments and cancel the Court proceedings.

“He wanted….he wants me to…..to………every week….to……..”

Eventually I managed to work out that the collector was demanding a weekly blow job

in return for paying half her payment each week. That worked out at £20 a time – a bargain!

I looked at my mother in law as she sat huddled and weeping in her chair. I was furious with the loan collector. Not because he wanted to fuck my mother-in-law’s mouth – hell, I’d wanted to do that from the first day I met her – but becauseI’d been trying to get into Betty’s knickers for 30 years and this bastard had almost got there first!

“What am I going to do Christopher?” she wailed.

“Don’t worry, Betty”, I said reassuringly, I think I have a plan!

Part 2

I took Betty’s payment book. The name and address of the agent was written on the inside of the cover and it seemed he lived a couple of miles away. Betty looked up at me, desperation on her tear-streaked face.

“Can you pay him off, Christopher? I couldn’t bear the shame if they took me to court and if I lose the house…………” The rest was lost in another bout of sobbing.

“Heaven’s, Betty, we don’t have the sort of money to pay this off” (A lie but she would never suspect). “I’m sure if I reason with him we can work something out. Now – you stay here and wait for me to come back.”

The look of gratitude she gave me almost melted my heart (but only “almost”). “Please don’t tell Claire anything about this – she mustn’t know. Please Christopher!” She was begging again. I could feel my cock stirring. It was such a turn-on to have the old cow in my power like this after so many years of her snooty, superior attitude towards me.

“I won’t tell Claire.” I said. Of course I wouldn’t tell my wife – she would just pay the silly old woman’s debt off!

“Oh thank you! Thank you!” she whispered as I left.

The agent lived in a smart detached house in a leafy avenue. Business was obviously good. I rang the doorbell and it was answered by a smartly dressed man in his early 50′s.

“Can I help you?” he asked.

“Yes – you’ve been blackmailing my mother-in law. You wanted her to suck your cock in return for you paying off half her weekly repayments. That’s a criminal offence and it carries a maximum sentence of 10 years in jail. I have her statement here and I think we should talk.” I waved the envelope (which contained a letter to my bank that I had intended to post later) and his face went white.

He blustered for a while but when he realised that I wasn’t going to go to the police (while understanding that was an option I was prepared to consider if I had to) he relaxed enough to pour us both a glass of whisky. I’d had a good look through Betty’s payment book and recognised the scam. Over twenty years in the Police force had given me an insight into all these doorstep cons and it came to me where I had seen his smiling face before. I was retired from the force but I had a good memory.

“So, Harry – still playing the old “widow’s mite” con?” I said and Harry’s bluster disappeared completely. He knew he was rumbled. Harry had set up a loan company (doubtless under his wife’s name or some alias of his own) and appointed himself an agent – the man who made the doorstep collections and enticed the customers deeper into debt. Find a financially naive and trusting old woman, add on various bogus “administration charges” to an already high interest rate and collect a handsome income. Sooner or later the customer wouldn’t be able to pay up and Harry – the Widow’s Friend – would offer another loan but over a longer period (like forever!) for a slightly smaller weekly amount. The threats of court proceedings and house reposession was just to add a little urgency. The women never knew that Harry was the loan company – “If it was down to me dear………!” – Harry’s added little twist was to blackmail his female customers for sex when they fell behind with the payments. Harry had a record and had served time. Now he was back in the old routine hoping that the “widows might” give him sexual favours to avoid losing their houses.

“Don’t worry Harry – I won’t tell anyone. As long as you let me collect a few of your “debts” now and again – and I’m having sole rights to all “collections” from my mother-in-law. What attracted you there, Harry?”

Now we were partners in crime Harry became expansive and chatty. “Well,” he said with a leer, “It was those tits, wasn’t it? She used to stand on the doorstep and those fat old nipples of hers would be poking out at me and I thought she’d be game for a bit of fun. Not been a man round there for years, has there? Then she gets all prudish and disgusted. I get a few like that but you’d be surprised how soon they come round once they have a cock inside them!” He winked.

I laughed with him. Somehow I didn’t see Betty turning into some sort of nymphomaniac overnight but I didn’t care. As long as I got what I wanted out of it. I explained to Harry how our new partnership would work and exactly what I wanted from him. He chuckled as I explained my plan. He was still chuckling as I left.

“See you soon Christopher!” he called as I walked to my car.

Betty must have been looking out for my car because the front door was open before I got to it. Her anxious face searched mine for signs of hope. I looked suitably serious and walked past her into the lounge. She followed and collapsed into her armchair. Years of interviewing suspects had taught me all about how to gain and keep control of an interview so I remained standing, looming over Betty as she sat anxiously in her chair.

“Did you see him? What did he say? Will I have to go to Court? Will I lose the house?” her voice was choked with emotion.

“If you shut up I’ll tell you!” I said – now was the time to let her know who was in control here.

“Sorry, Christopher,” she muttered. Excellent! Now we knew who was giving the orders.

“I saw the agent and it’s not good,” (she gave a little whimper), “However……” (I paused to let her have a spark of hope), I managed to get him to postpone the court proceedings for a week and it might just be possible to save the house but……”

“Oh Christopher – thank you! Thank you!” Now I had her hopes up – time to reel her in.

I walked over to the display cabinet where Betty kept wine glasses. She didn’t keep alcohol in the house and, apart from a single glass of sweet sherry on Xmas Day and at weddings, she was effectively teetotal. I pulled a bottle of sherry from the bag I had collected from home and poured us both a large glass.

“Drink this – it’ll help you calm down a bit.” She protested but was too cowed at the moment to make any real protest. “Down in one – best way” I cajoled her.

With a look of distaste she raised the glass and drained the contents. Her face screwed up as she swallowed. She didn’t know it but she’d just downed a quadruple measure – and although it looked like sherry I had added vodka to the bottle before leaving home. Betty now had the equivalent of a treble vodka and a single sweet sherry inside her – and on an empty stomach too. Oh dear!

I waited for her to stop spluttering before I continued.

“This man has the law on his side as far as the money is concerned. He CAN take you to court and he CAN make you sell the house. You’ve been very stupid Betty.”

“I know, I know!” she wailed.

“OK,” I continued, “I ‘ve promised him a couple of hundred from my own account to keep him quiet for the next few days……” (I cut short Betty’s thanks with a wave of my hand), “It means I will have to borrow it from my bank but Claire need not know. So at least we’ve postponed the threat but we need to think what you are going to do to save the house.”

“Can’t we go to the Polisshhh…Po……Police?” she slurred.

I was surprised that the alcohol was taking effect so fast but then I remembered how fuzzy she had got after one glass of wine last Xmas Day. She had no tolerance for alcohol at all.

“No – he laughed when I threatened that. He’ll just deny ever asking you to do ………what he wanted you to do to him. He’ll say you made it up to get out of paying. You’ve got no witnesses – his word against yours – and I know who the Police will believe. Women who owe money try that all the time. I saw lots of cases when I was in the force. Without evidence they’ll believe him.”

I knew Betty would have been hoping that I could use my contacts in the force to help her. I saw her misery deepen as I stamped that little spark of hope out. .

“So – to avoid him coming back with a Court Order and compelling you to sell the house – you’ve got these options – Betty”. She wasn’t paying attention – she was visualising her house being sold.

“Betty! Listen to me!” Her head snapped up and she looked (a trifle unfocused) into my face.

“First, could you get a loan from the Bank?”

“No – I asked but I’m overdrawn and they won’t let me have any more until my pension comes in….I asked and asked…….” A couple of fat tears rolled down her cheeks.

“OK – so, Second, you go to court and they will either sell enough of your stuff to pay the debt………”

“But……but…” She was sobbing again now, “I don’t have anything……issss all…….furniture……all……..” I saw her trying to concentrate through a fog of alcohol and despair.

“So…..third option…..you do what he wants. He comes round every week and you pay half the amount…..and suck his cock every week, let him maul your body and shoot his sperm into your mouth week after week until he gets tired of it and calls the debt in anyway.” I saw her flinch at the crudity but I wanted her to be in no doubt what degradation she would be letting herself in for

“Nooooooooooooooooooooo!!” It was cry of utter despair and I knew I had her totally in my power.

“Or……we could get him to back off for good……….but…..no…..you wouldn’t do it……”

I appeared to be talking to myself.

It was almost pitiful to see the flicker of hope cross my mother-in-law’s tear-streaked face.

“I couldn’t ask you to do it – it would be the only chance but……”

“I’ll do it! Whatever it is! Please Christopher!!”

And that’s when I told her of my plan – the only way to get the loan-shark out of her life. She would have to appear to go along with his suggestion. I would phone him (I told her that the agent was waiting for her decision even now) and get him to come round as soon as possible. I showed Betty the small digital voice recorder I had brought from home.

“We’ll get him on tape. If we have a recording of him demanding that you suck him off……”

Betty looked pained. “Please don’t use that expression, Christopher!”

“A bit late to get all prim and proper now Betty!” I snapped – she needed a reminder of her place in this situation.

“Sorry” she muttered contritely

“Once we have the evidence we’ve got him!”

I explained that we didn’t need to go to the Police with our evidence – Harry would certainly run away once he knew we had a tape and photographs. Betty was horrified – photographs!!! I explained that photographic proof was needed too. By now she was too defeated and squiffy to think straight anyway.

“It won’t be pleasant – but it will only be once and then all this will be over. I’ll listen at the door and as soon as he puts his cock into your mouth (the look of disgust on my miserable old prude of a mother-in-law’s face was a joy to behold) I’ll burst in, take a photo of him forcing you to do it against your will and that will be the end of the story. He could go to prison for years once we have the proof – so he’ll agree to cancel your debt. Agreed?”

Betty was beaten and she knew it. She had only herself to blame for this situation and if the solution went against all her upbringing and morals – what choice did she have? She nodded miserably.

I picked up the phone and dialled. “Mr Robertson? My mother-in-law agrees with your terms. She’s waiting for you now.”

Part 3

While we waited for Harry to arrive I went over the plan with Betty one more time. I had poured another glass of “sherry” and my mother-in-law had downed it in two gulps. Knowing her lack of tolerance for alcohol I knew that she must, by now, be fairly inebriated. I didn’t want her passing out so I had made the second measure smaller but she was obviously well on the way to being drunk as a skunk. By the time the doorbell rang she was finding it hard to focus and was obviously dreading what was to come.

I ushered Harry in. I was curt and businesslike. This, I had told my subdued mother-in-law earlier, was where we got Harry on record demanding sex with menaces.

“So, Mr Robertson, let’s be quite clear what you are suggesting. How much does my mother-in-law owe you and what will happen if she can’t pay?”

“She owes £4300 and if she doesn’t come up with at least £500 this week the Company will take her to Court. After that she’ll have to pay the rest off at £50 every week and if she can’t do that the Company will demand that the house is sold to cover the debt.” (I heard Betty give a little sob)

“Or…….” I left the question hanging

“Or she can be nice to me when I come round on Wednesdays to collect. I’ll persuade the Company to call off the demand for the £500 and she can pay £25 a week. I’ll make up the rest.”

“When you say, “be nice to you”………….?”

“Nothing much – give me a wank or suck me off. Maybe a tit-wank now and again. Oh, and a cup of tea afterwards – two sugars!” He chuckled at his own wit.

I had been watching Betty flinch as Harry described the sexual acts he was demanding of her. She tried one final negotiation.

“Not…..what you said….in my mouth….” she mumbled pleadingly. I knew why – she had always considered oral sex “disgusting”. I was willing to bet that even her late husband had never managed to get his cock into her mouth. She had probably worn rubber gloves to wank him off.

Harry played his part magnificently. He leaned down until his face was inches from Betty’s tear-stained one. “Suck my cock or lose your house!” he growled. Betty shrank back.

“Well? What’s it to be?” he demanded.

Betty nodded. “Yes” Her voice was a small defeated whisper.

“No time like the present,” Harry said. He turned to me. “Want to watch?”

I saw the look of panic on Betty’s face. Her humiliation was bad enough without her son-in-law witnessing every moment of it.

“Certainly not!” I said stiffly. “But I’ll be just outside and if I hear any sign of you hurting her or………”

“Oh don’t be so stupid,” said Harry.

As I left I saw Betty give me a last, pleading look. She was relying on me to burst in at a critical moment, take the incriminating photo and confront Harry with his crime. Unfortunately she was so pissed by now that she then started staring openly at the micro-recorder I had hidden under the coffee-table. I left the room and shut the door behind me.

Harry was enjoying himself. “Right, Betty. Close your eyes.” The old woman did as she was told and was startled as she felt something being wrapped tightly round her head, covering her eyes. By the time her drink-fuddled brain had processed this thought it was too late to struggle. She started to raise her hands to pull the blindfold off but Harry grasped her wrists and prevented it.

“Just a little insurance, Betty. If you ever get stupid and cry **** they’ll ask you to describe my body, any birthmarks, what did my cock look like. This way you won’t be able to – and that means they won’t believe you!” Harry had come up with this explanation himself when he and I were fine-tuning our plan and I had to admit that it was a small piece of genius.

Betty now had a 2″ wide strip of Duck tape preventing her seeing anything.

“Now, stand up!” Betty tried but the room seemed to spin and she fell back onto the sofa.

“Just one more little precaution….” said Harry and he went across to the door. Silently he opened it and let me in.

“What…..?” murmured Betty.

“Just making sure we aren’t interrupted. Wouldn’t want anyone bursting in on us would we?”

I could see my mother-in-law trying to work this out. The alcohol was clouding her brain. Wasn’t the idea that her son-in-law should burst in?

Harry and I were now standing side-by side a few feet in front of the blindfolded old woman. Harry grabbed her wrists and hauled her to her feet where she stood , swaying slightly. “Right, Betty. Let’s see what I’m getting for my money” He leaned forward, his face inches from hers. “Strip!”

With hesitant fingers, her task made all the harder by the fact that she had drunk the best part of half a bottle of vodka, Betty started to remove her cardigan. When it was off she dropped it on the floor. Harry and I were both staring at her chest – we could see the outline of her bra through the material of her dress where, I was gratified to see, her elderly teats were already half-erect and pushing at the material.

Betty was too lost in her own little world of misery to register the sound of two zips being undone as Harry and I pulled our cocks out and stroked the as we watched her undress. She certainly didn’t register the tiny “click” that my digital camera made each time I recorded this for future pleasure. I took snap after snap as Betty discarded the cardigan and, after only a momentary hesitation, started to unbutton her dress, starting at the top. She was very drunk now and her fingers fumbled with the buttons. Harry, ever the gentleman, waited until all the buttons were undone and helped her shrug the dress off. It fell to the floor to join her discarded cardigan. She stood, unresisting as Harry grabbed the hem of her slip and pulled it up. Like a sleepy c***d being undressed by a parent Betty lifted her arms high and the slip joined the growing pile of clothing at her feet.
“Now the bra!” Betty just sat there. “Do it, you old cow – take your bra off”. Betty was wearing one of her favourite front-fastening bras and she fumbled with the hooks and eyes between her breasts the demands of four fiddly hooks and eyes were now well beyond her drunken capabilities. The process did, however, thrust her big, elderly tits out nicely and both Harry and I (and the snapping camera) were enjoying the show.

I put my finger to my lips to caution Harry to be silent and reached down to the coffee-table to get the pocket-knife that Harry had used to cut the tape. It was razor sharp. I hooked my fingers between the cups of Betty’s large M&S brassiere, pulled forwards slightly and sliced through the material between the cups, just to ne side of the fastening. The bra fell apart and her large, heavy breasts dropped out. The word “dropped” was accurate – the bra, with it’s wide shoulder-straps had held my mother-in-law’s tits high and handsome and the udders that had fed four c***dren during her c***dbearing years needed a lot of support. Without that support they dropped almost to the waistband of her large knickers although the dark red-brown nipples with their wide, pimpled surrounds still pointed straight ahead.

I reached out and took her left teat between my thumb and forefinger. She raised an unsteady hand to stop me but I slapped it away. I could hear the subdued “click…..click…..click” as Harry got shots of Betty’s fat old udders being “milked”.I’d managed a few sneaky glimpses of her breasts over the years but now I could study and handle that soft elderly tit-flesh at my leisure. Best of all, in Betty’s befuddled mind, she was being mauled by a con-man while her son-in-law was outside in the hallway. “If she only knew!” I thought.

I released her now fully-erect nipple and motioned for Harry to take a turn at her. I had explained when we laid this plan that I was to have first go at my mother-in-law but I was happy for him to join in once I had been the first man for 12 years to feel her tits, pull her nipples etc.

Harry was rougher than me. He pulled Betty’s heavy tits up by holding onto her teats. She gave a small whimper but any thoughts of resistance had vanished now.

“Nice pair of titties you’ve got there, Betty. I ‘ll look forward to getting my cock clamped between them soon – but not yet, not today.”

He released his hold on her nipples and her breasts wobbled slightly as they slapped back against her body. Betty toppled backwards as he released his hold.

“Stand up!” He had to haul the old woman to her feet and she stood swaying, almost falling and grabbing wildly, blindly, until she found the arm of her chair for support.

I took the camera from Harry and framed the shot. There was my prim and proper old prude of a mother-in-law standing before us, the tattered remains of her bra hanging from her shoulders. She was unsteady on her feet and her heavy tits swayed and wobbled slightly as she fought for balance. She was wearing a laddered pair or knee-high pop-sox and, incongruously, she still had her sheepskin slippers on her feet. The only thing that was protecting what little was left of her modesty was a large pair of white M&S knickers and they would shortly be joining her slacks on the floor. I knelt in front of her and slid my hands into the elastic at the top of her knickers. I could feel her skin, the softness of her flesh. The waistband of her knickers was cutting into the swell of her belly. I pulled down slowly – the knickers sliding down, down the underside of that fat belly and then, the first few long, sparse, straggly hairs of her cunt-mound appeared. I had waited so long for this moment. A couple of stolen glimpses in the past had sustained my fantasies but now I was actually uncovering her elderly cunt. I was about to see what no man had seen for almost thirty years……..

Part 4

I could feel Betty trembling. She might have been drunk but this was the first time she had been naked in front of a man since her husband had died 12 years before. I knew what a prude she was – a couple of times she had caught me peeking up her skirt and had slammed her legs together so fast. I remembered the look of tight-lipped disapproval on her face as she had done so. Well tough luck Betty! Any moment now two men will be having a good look at that fat old cunt of yours and there is no way you can stop them. I smiled as I thought what her reaction would be if she knew that the man stripping her of her knickers was her son-in-law.

Then those big white knickers were clear of her cunt and I could get my first good close-up look at it. I knew her mound was plump – I had seen the shape of it on the rare times I had seen her in a swimsuit and my glimpses up her skirt had also shown me that tempting fat bulge between her legs.

I knew that she had posessed a really hairy bush in her younger days – swimsuits and knickers often failed to contain it and tufts of curly cunt-hairs would escape at the legholes.

Now her plump mons was a lot more sparsely covered. Betty’s pubic hairs may have been fewer in number now she was in her mid-70′s but they were longer and stragglier. The hair on her head had hardly greyed – she was a natural brunette – and her bush matched it perfectly although it was sprinkled with a few greying strands. Her belly overhung the top line of her pubic triangle and the hairs were still thick where the very top of her slit just showed before dipping out of sight between her thighs.

There was a red line round her belly where the waistband of the knickers had been but those big M&S “bellyhuggers” were now around her knees. I looked down and could see the marks her elderly cunt had left in the cotton gusset. She had her legs pressed tightly together and the knickers slid down over her knees to end up around her ankles.

My face was inches from her elderly sex and I could smell her – a mix of old cunt-juice, sweat and piss. She was swaying dangerously and at that moment she lost her balance completely and toppled backwards again. She crashed down heavily onto the armchair and her feet flew up in the air. Her knickers flew across the room and her legs flew apart. I moved forward and grabbed her legs just above her knees – preventing her from closing them.

Betty’s fat old cunt was totally displayed. I could see the wrinkled inner lips just peeping out from the depths of her fat slit. Her fanny-hair, so sparse on her mound, was denser at the very top of her slit and continued each side of her cunt-slot, disappearing between her fat arse-cheeks. The inner lips were dark – a contrast to the veined white flesh of her flabby thighs. I reached forward and touched her lightly, the tip of my finger stroking the small amount of labia that protruded from her unexplored old minge.

She whimpered – “No!” but it was no more than a token protest. She couldn’t even stand up unaided, never mind fight me (or, as she thought, Harry) off. I was severely tempted to ram my finger up her – end her 12 year drought then and there – but I wanted my mother-in-law sober and fully aware when I became the first man up her since she was widowed. The sight of her slumped back in the chair, brassiere in tatters, large udders hanging to either side and that neglected old cunt on view for the first time in years sent me over the edge. Harry was standing beside me, his eyes fixed between Betty’s spread legs, pumping at his cock as he enjoyed the view.

Betty, if any coherent thought was passing through her alcohol-clouded brain by this time, must have wondered when her son-in-law was going to come through the door, camera in hand, and save her. She was doomed to wait in vain.

I reached forward and grabbed my blindfolded old mother-in-law by the hair. Her lips were pinched hard together (her usual expression) but I pinched her nipple hard and, as her mouth opened to voice a drunken protest, I grabbed my cock, thrust my hips forward and forced the head of my cock into her mouth. In truth it wasn’t a blow-job as I would expect it from any other woman. I just fucked my mother-in-law’s mouth hard and fast and held her head steady with a firm grip on her permed hair. I was too aroused to savour it – the thought that my cock was in Betty’s mouth was such a turn-on. No man had ever done this to her before. As I felt the spunk begin to pump I thrust deeper and held onto her as tightly as I could. Nevertheless, when she felt the first jet of sperm hit the back of her throat she managed to tear free from my grasp and was coughing and gagging as my second and third spurts hit her flushed cheeks and ran down her chin. Harry let fly at the same time. He was aiming at her face but the first hard spurt went into her hair and the subsequent ones splattered down on her heaving tits.

Harry had put the camera down in the excitement but I picked it up and got a lovely shot of my sperm-covered mother-in-law. I zipped myself up and headed silently for the door. Harry followed me and shut it silently behind him. Then he wedged a dining chair against the doorknob.

He walked over to where Betty lay slumped in her chair. Her legs were back together she was trying to arrange the remains of her brassiere to preserve a little of her lost modesty. She was also trying to spit out the last of the mouthful of spunk that I had shot into her. The result was a very un-ladylike dribble of mixed saliva and sperm that hung from her chin. Harry took the end of the silver tape in his fingers and, before Betty realised what was happening, ripped it off. It must have been painful but the old woman was anaesthetised with alcohol and hardly reacted. I was banging on the door, doing a passble impression of a man locked out. Betty looked across the room, trying deperately to focus – so THAT was why her son-in-law hadn’t come to her rescue.

Harry picked up the discarded knickers. He lifted the to his face and breathed heavily as he inhaled her odour from the gusset. “Mmmm – lovely! I think I’ll keep these as a souvenir. They’ll remind me what that fat old cunt of yours smells like. Oh……and what I dumped on those fat udders of yours!” He leaned forwards and wiped some of the spunk from her tits with the large cotton knickers. He threw her cardigan and dress at her. “Get dressed, Betty. Wouldn’t want your son-in-law to see you naked would you?”

He had to help her into the cardigan. Betty could hardly stand now. Harry buttoned the cardigan up and hauled her slacks up over her big hips. “There!” he said as he let her subside back into her armchair. He went to the door and lifted the chair away. “You can come in now. We’re finished.”

Betty was certainly finished. The large unaccustomed amount of alcohol had finally overcome her and she had passed out.

“See you later, squire,” said Harry, pocketing Betty’s spunk-soaked knickers as he left me alone with my u*********s, ravaged other-in-law.

After Harry had left I had tidied up and then dragged my u*********s and snoring mother-in-law over to the sofa (no easy task as she was a dead-weight). Then I spent an hour with her, carrying out the next, vital part of the plan. Eventually I left her to sleep it off after making sure she was in the recovery position. I left a note propped up against the kettle in the kitchen: the first place she would go when she woke up – I never knew a woman who drinks as much tea as my mother-in-law does. The note said:-

Betty,Everything didn’t quite go according to plan but hopefully you won’t have to worry about the loan after today. I will be round to see you at 9am and we can discuss it then.
I looked in on her on the way out. Still gently snoring and dressed in her pink cardigan and flowered dress, Betty lay on her side on the sofa. She’d had a busy day!

Part 5

Part 5

The following morning I arrived at her door bright and early. I had my computer case in my hand containing my laptop and a few other “essential items”. My digital camera was loaded with fresh batteries too and was in the side-pocket of the bag. I let myself in with a duplicate key to Betty’s house that I had possessed for many years. Betty, of course, had no idea that, when she was away on holiday or on day-trips with her church women’s group, her son-in-law was letting himself into her house, rifling her underwear drawer (I had kept up with her changing sizes and tastes in bras and knickers for many years) and generally enjoying himself. In future I would be calling to enjoy myself when she WAS at home.

I found her sitting at the kitchen table nursing a cup of tea. She looked hung-over and was wearing her ancient dressing-gown. I knew and hated that dressing-gown. In the past, when we had lived further away from her than we did now, she had thrown it on in the mornings to come downstairs to make herself tea when she was staying with us. I much preferred to catch her as she was on her way to the bathroom for her early-morning pee. Then, straight from bed and with no time to spare, she would be dressed just in her old cotton nightie. This garment, although it was high at the neck and reached down to her calves, had the major advantage of being old and thin. In her “just got out of bed” braless state her teats would stand out like thimbles through the thin cotton and her unsupported udders would bounce and sway as she hurried along the hallway. This morning, however, even her large nipples couldn’t make themselves apparent through the thick flannel of her dressing gown.

She looked slightly befuddled still. “Was the door not shut properly?” I ignored that and took control. I knew that she would be feeling insecure, ashamed and I needed to dominate her again – gain the upper hand right from the start.

“Never mind that. Listen to me. I have got your loan greatly reduced and that loan shark won’t be round again if you do what I tell you…….”

“Yes, yes……anything!”

I waved her to silence.

“I said…..LISTEN!” She flinched but shut up. “Now, there are things to arrange, agreements to be made and it’s going to be a busy day. I want you looking your best so go upstairs, have a shower,brush your hair, put some make-up on. Make sure you wear a dress – something smart. Got it?”

“Yes, but why….where are we going…..who…?

“I’ll tell you what’s happening when you are ready. Now go and do as you’re told!”

After years of snooty dispproval it felt good to make the old bitch jump to my every word. She scuttled upstairs and soon I heard the shower running. I set up the laptop on the kitchen table and arranged a chair in front of it so that Betty could sit and watch the little presentation I had prepared for her. She was a complete technophobe and was sometimes confused by the remote control for her TV. Computers and the internet were a total mystery to her. After some 20 minutes I heard her coming back down the stairs. She was dressed in her “Sunday best” – literally. It was her “going to church” outfit – a mid-calf skirt in dark blue, a pale green blouse and another of her bloody cardigans - this one also in a light green with four buttons down the front and a ribbed pattern across the shoulders and halfway down her tits. She wore pale tights (they had to be tights – she didn’t possess any stockings) and she had run a brush through her permed hair and applied foundation. My mother-in-law rarely wore much make-up and today was no exception. Just lipstick – which made her thin lips look a little fuller.

“Where are we going…what…..?”

I motioned her to sit down. Her face was full of hope. It was almost a shame to burst her little bubble.

“OK. Here’s where we stand. Yesterday I managed to get an agreement out of Harry Robertson. The interest on the loan has been dropped considerably and as long as I keep up the reduced payments and keep to another arrangement I made with him he won’t be calling here again.”

“Oh Christopher, thank you, thank you! If you knew………”

I cut her short again. “So you see, Betty, whether you get Harry back with his nasty little demands or not is down to me and what I decide to do”

I could see her face brighten as she worked this out. It appeared that her son-in-law had got her off the hook. There was the disgusting business with the loan shark yesterday and her son-in-law must have guessed what was going on but Thank God he was the other side of a locked door. At least HE hadn’t seen her naked, hadn’t seen her………(I watched a shudder pass over her face as she remembered how a cock had been thrust into her mouth) The memories of yesterday were a little hazy and she couldn’t remember how she came wake up on the sofa but……

“I’m very grateful, Christopher…..I……”

“We’ll see how grateful you are in a minute” I said casually. “Nice blouse, by the way. I’ve always liked you in that blouse.”

“Thank you Christopher – but you still haven’t told we where we’re going …”

“We aren’t going anywhere.”

“So…I don’t understand. Why did you ask me to dress up like this?”

I looked down at her puzzled old face. She thought she was safe now – she thought she had been reprieved. No condemnation from the neighbours when she appeared in Court, no mutterings and whisperings when she walked into church on Sunday. It was time to tell her the price of her “respectability”.

“Because I thought you’d like to look smart for your first fuck since you were widowed” I replied calmly.

Her face reddened. “But…..how dare you…….what……..?

“I’m going to fuck you Betty and you’re going to let me. I own your debt, I got that loan shark off your back, I can “forget” to pay and drop you right back in it. But I don’t have to do that. All you have to do is show how grateful you are. I’ve wanted to fuck you from the first day I met you but I don’t want to fuck some scruffy old bitch in a manky dressing gown do I? Now you are a lot more presentable.”

“But…but….” she spluttered, “I couldn’t…not with…..with……..my daughter’s……….”

“Funny – you were keen enough last night. Or is it only after you’ve had a few drinks that you get randy?”

“I didn’t do anything with you…….I wouldn’t……!” But I could see the doubt in her eyes. She didn’t remember anything after she’d passed out yesterday. I decided to show her.

I pushed the space bar on the laptop and the screen sprung to life.

“Welcome to your Website, Betty” Betty’s face, taken from a family photo, smiled from the screen. Under it was the legend – “Betty’s Sex Site”

I pressed the space bar again and the first of the photos that I had taken after Harry had left came up on the screen. There was Betty, laid back on the sofa with her pink cardigan pushed open, her dress undone. She was, of course, braless and her elderly udder was flopped out. Her dress was up around her waist and her legs were apart. One liver-spotted hand appeared to be busy at her crotch.

“I don’t know what old Harry did to you but it certainly seems to have got you going doesn’t it? I come back from sorting him out, playing the evidence, getting him to drop the Court proceedings and there you are – wanking like a horny teenager!

I could see Betty about to deny it but the picture was there in front of her. Then the next photo came up on the screen.

“I put the camera on the coffee table and set it to automatic. Come out well, haven’t they?

The second shot showed me standing beside my mother-in-law as she lay on the sofa. Her hand was reaching for my flies and I was holding her wrist. The cardigan was off now and her big 40E breasts lolled invitingly.

“Pity your face is a little obscured in that one but it’s a nice shot of your tits, isn’t it?”

Betty was staring at the screen in horrified silence. If she knew the truth behind these images – that it had taken me ages to pose each shot so she looked natural and part of the action rather than a comatose, unresponsive puppet – she might have called my bluff. However, her memories of the previous day were hazy at best. She was convinced by the “evidence” in front of her.

I pressed the space bar a few more times and let her see the results of my hour’s work the previous day. There was Betty wanking Chris while he groped her tits (I’d held her hand onto my shaft but it looked convincing ), Betty opening her mouth to take Chris’s cock (I was proud of that one – her mouth was gaping open anyway and it seemed like the obvious thing to do. The fact that her eyes were closed just made it look like she was enjoying proceedings).

Betty turned her face away but I put my hand on the top of her head and turned it back. Now she could see herself with her legs spread and her son-in-law busy between her plump thighs. Her head was thrown back (it had taken me a while to set her up in that position) in what appeared to be ecstasy.

” I won’t mention what bad manners it is to allow your son-in-law to lick you to orgasm and then pass out! Still, now the website is up and running I’m wondering if I should keep these to myself. The Vicar’s got internet access now hasn’t he? (Betty was at least aware of this – she had been instrumental in introducing me to the vicar and I had helped him set up the site.) Should we e.mail him – give him the address and let him see those nice big titties of yours? (She gave a stifled sob and a tiny shake of her head)

“I’ve always liked looking at your tits, Betty. I remember the first time I saw the naked. You really should be more careful when you get changed under a towel!”

I saw the look of horror cross her face as she cast her mind back. She hadn’t realised at the time that I had got a good look at her tits that day. Now she knew.

I was standing behind her and I slid my hand down the front of her blouse, inside the top of her slip. I felt the swelling of her right breast and followed it down to where it met the top of her bra-cup. She was trembling but made no move to stop me. No hope for her now – no “forget it ever happened”. I had her just where I wanted her. Her fat old tits left little space in the bra-cup for my questing fingers but I found her semi-erect nipple and rolled it between thumb and forefinger. I smiled as I felt the rubbery teat stiffen to full erection as I manipulated it.

“Looks like your titiies are loving it Betty” No answer – but I didn’t care. I slid my hand out of her bra, picked up the camera and pulled her to her feet.

“Upstairs – now!”

I helped Betty up from the kitchen chair. She looked to be in shock. I had given her hope and then dashed it and she was struggling to make sense of it all. I knew that look – I’d seen it before plenty of times during my years in the force. Betty had reached that resigned state that I had seen when criminals finally realised that they had run out of options. Betty now knew that her son-in-law had control over her. If she wanted to stay out of Court or, worse still, have pictures of her, naked and abandoned and performing the most disgusting sex-acts on her own son-in-law, viewed by the vicar and half the congregation of her church she had no option but to give in to me.

She rose unsteadily to her feet and headed slowly for the stairs. I followed her fat rump and, on a whim, when she was almost at the top of the stairs I told her to stop where she was. I sat down on a lower step and leaned forward so I could see up her skirt. She realised what I was doing and instinctively reached down to pull the hem into the back of her legs.

“Leave it!” I barked and, meek as a lamb, she let her hands fall to her sides. I remembered the times when she had caught me peeping up between her legs. I recalled the look of prim disapproval and the way she had hastily closed her legs to deny me a view. Now I was calling the shots. I tapped her ankle.

“A little further apart” She shuffled her feet apart on the step. I had my head between her feet and was peering up between her legs. In truth, I had actually seen more the day before when she was lying naked on the sofa. Now I could see right up to the top of her legs to where her white knickers were visible through the sheer nylon of her light tan tights. Betty had always been a “knickers under” woman. The erotic charge came from the power I was exercising over her. I kept her standing there for several minutes while I studied the bulge at her crotch. Then I let her proceed up the stairs to the bedroom.

Betty stood by the bed – crushed and subservient now, awaiting her instructions. I took out the camera. There was a chair in the bedroom, festooned with sweaters, skirts, cardigans etc. – she always had been an untidy cow. I swept the garments onto the floor.

“Sit!” Betty did as she was told. The chair was an old easy chair. I knelt and pointed the camera at her. “Open your knees a bit,” There was no resistance now. The disdainful old prude was now totally defeated. She opened her knees as instructed. “Click”.

“A little wider” I soon had a lovely series that captured the view I had enjoyed so many times in the past. The tempting bulge between those nylon-clad thighs. When I had enough pictures – including some nice close-ups – I got her to stand up.

I decided to undress her myself. Yesterday I had watched her strip – she, of course, had no idea that I was in the room at the time. Now it was my turn to remove her clothes. I smiled as I thought of it as unwrapping a present I had promised myself for years. I undid the cardigan, removed it and then began unbuttoning her blouse. I yanked it out of the waistband of her skirt, pulled the front open and peeled if from her shoulders. I let it fall around her feet. She was wearing a full, length slip – a cream nylon garment with a thin lacey trim. I slipped the straps from her plump shoulders but the fitted nature of the garment ensured that it stayed in place. I took the bodice in both hands and ripped it open.

“You’ve heard of “bodice rippers” Betty. Now you’re starring in one!” She didn’t respond. The camera was now on its tripod and clicking away automatically every 30 seconds. I made sure I positioned myself so the camera had a good shot at what was going on.

“Undo your bra”. Yesterday I had cut through the material of her brassiere to enable quick access to her tits but today I had all the time in the world. She was wearing her best bra – a 40E Marks and Spencers one that she had bought only a few weeks before. The cups were lacy and I could see the outline of her nipples through the material. I couldn’t be bothered to struggle with 4 hook and eyes. My elderly mother-in-law had a lifetime’s experience in unfastening her brassieres – let her do it. I smiled to myself as the last hook and eye came undone. Her tits dropped several inches – Betty’s bra’s had to work hard to hold those big udders up. The bra had dropped with the tits. I hooked it between the cups with my finger and lifted it away from her body to expose her elderly breasts. God they were an amazing sight! I could stare at her tits all day. The soft, white tit-flesh with the blue vein showing through the skin at the end of each one. The red/brown darkness of her wide areolae, the pimpled texture leading to the rubbery nipples – now fully erect with the small milk-hole apparent. I loved the way her teats appeared ready to be milked at any moment despite her 74 years.

I held her behind the head and pulled her towards me. I kissed her on the lips with no response until I pushed my tongue into her mouth. She tried to resist but then obviously thought better of it. It seemed that french kissing was not part of her repertoire but her thin old lips parted to allow my tongue access to her mouth and I made the most of it, tasting her lipstick and sliding my tongue in and out of her mouth in clear imitation of a cock entering a cunt.

I pushed her gently back so she was sitting on the edge of her bed. I unzipped my jeans and hauled out my rock-hard cock. Betty was looking off to the side – steadfastly looking everywhere but at my face or my cock. I held her by the chin and turned her face towards me, tilting it down so she was gazing at my cock.

“Remember when you last saw a hard cock, Betty?” She didn’t answer. I gripped her jaw a little more firmly. “Answer me Betty. Don’t annoy me – remember what happens if you annoy me. Now – when did you last see a man’s cock?”

“My huband….before…….” She whispered.

“Have a good look Betty.” I pulled back the foreskin and the swollen purple knob slid into view.. Despite herself I could see that my mother-in-law couldn’t help staring. Poor bitch – she hadn’t had one of these near her for years. A small bead of clear pre-cum oozed from the end. I leaned forward and smeared it against her cheek where it glistened against the foundation powder.

“Wank me!” I breathed and lifted her hand to my shaft. She began a rhythmic mechanical pumping.

“Is that how you wanked your husband?” She was silent. I gripped her hair and twisted it. Not hard enough to really hurt but…….

“I thought you understood, Betty. When I ask a question – you answer! Now – is that how you wanked your husband?”

“Y….y….yes. I didn’t like doing it but when he wanted me too……I….like this……” Her voice was low. She hated discussing anything to do with sex. Too bad. I wanted to talk about it and she would do as she was told.

“Hold it properly. The most sensitive place is here,” I moved her hand so her thumb rested just where I wanted it. “Now, like this,” I put my large male hand over her liver-spotted old one and moved it back and forth. Once she had the rhythm I took my hand away. I reached down and started pulling on her elderly teats as she wanked me. I enjoyed the sensation for a minute or so – I would have to teach her to be an expert wanker but for now she was doing OK. My cock was inches from her mouth.

“Suck me!” I saw her start to shake her head in protest but she wasn’t going to be allowed to refuse me anything. She would do whatever I wanted. “Do it!” I growled.

The protest was purely token – she knew where the power lay in the relationship now. I pushed my hips forward and forced my cock into her mouth. I could see the look of disgust that passed over her face as my cock slid over her tongue. I held her head and pulled her onto me, moving her head back and forth slowly as I had done with her hand. She picked up the rhythm as quickly as she had before. I looked down. The sight of my prim and proper mother-in-law, the disapproving old bitch who thought I wasn’t good enough for her daughter, sucking on my cock was one I would have paid a lot of money to see. Now it was something I could see any time I wanted. Click……click…click. The camera was capturing it all. I couldn’t last much longer. I would soon erupt into Betty’s mouth and I wanted my spunk to be shot elsewhere this time. There was a soft “plop” as I withdrew my cock, shiny with her saliva.

“Stand up!” She did as she was told and stood in front of me. I undid the button and zip at the side of her skirt and it fell to the floor around her feet. Now she was naked to the waist with her big droopy tits hanging to the waistband of her tights. Her belly pushed the tights out and I could see her huge white knickers under the tan nylon. I knelt down and hooked my fingers in the waistband of tights and into the top of her elasticated knickers and pulled both articles down around her knees. My face was level with her cunt, the sparsely haired mound slightly overlapped by her belly. Without being asked she stepped out of the tights and knickers. Now she was naked – totally. I leaned forward and buried my face in her elderly bush. I gripped her bum-cheeks and squeezed them hard, pressing her mound against my face. She was trembling slightly as my fingers slid into the deep cleft between her cheeks. Looking up past the bulge of her mons I could see the swell of her belly and, above that, those gorgeous hanging udders. I released my grip and looked up at her worried face.

“Sit on the bed again” She was obeying every command instantly now and sat docilely on the edge of the bed. I pushed her back until she was lying on the bed with her feet on the floor and her arse just on the edge of the mattress. Her tits flopped to each side, the area around her teats wrinkling as her breasts flattened.

I pushed her knees apart. A momentary resistance was soon abandoned and she was lying there wide open and exposed. I went to the camera and focussed on her revealed sex. The entire length of her slit was on show, from where the fat mound first divided to where the plump outer labia met her fat buttocks. The wrinkled inner lips just peeped out. Although her cunt-hairs were sparse on her mound there was a thicker growth at the top of her slit and a line of curly hairs grew on each side of the plum.p slot between her thighs. I reached forward and used the thumb and forefinger of my left hand to spread the fat outer labia. The fatness of her cunt made for a deep slit and, once pulled open, I could see that her inner piss-flaps were quite long and dark with crinkled edges. I peeled the apart with the middle finger of my right hand and exposed the old cow’s clit. I wondered how often she had stroked that. Had she lay in bed only a few days ago and rubbed herself? I often found marks on her nightdress during my visits to her house that indicated that she had pressed the material into her slit – presuably during a masturbatory session. I spread her wider and saw her tight, long neglected fuck-hole. I ran my fingertip down to the entrance. She was dry as a desert – no point in trying to force a finger up there yet. Her legs tried to close reflexively but I was locking them apart with my own.

“Put your hands behind your head and keep them there!” I lowered my head between her thighs and ran my tongue slowly from her hole to her clit. I flicked the tip of my tongue over the fleshy nub and felt her stiffen. I slid my tongue back down between those fleshy lips and dipped the tip into her tight fuck-hole. I could taste her cunt – at the moment it tasted slightly of piss. y tongue slid back up her slit and I took her clit between my lips and sucked gently on it. It was growing. I glanced up at her face. My old prude of a mother-in-law had her eyes screwed tightly shut. Her face said she was hating ever moment of this (I remembered her remark about oral sex being “Disgusting” and how “normal people don’t do it”) but her body told a different story. I continued my attentioned to her clit and felt it grow and stiffen between my lips. I slipped my tongue down to her entrance yet again and was rewarded with a tangy, salty taste. I felt the slipperiness against my lips. Betty was getting wet!

I tried her hole with my fingertip. She wasn’t exactly dripping but there was enough lubrication to allow my finger to slide inside her. I pushed it up to the second knuckle and felt her cunt contract to grip the invading finger. She was tight enough anyway – it was going to be like fucking a virgin. I knew about “vaginal atrophy” – the way a cunt that wasn’t regulary fucked would literally “shrink”. Obviously Betty’s hairy hole hadn’t been used at all. I wanted her good and ready. I reached into the bag I had bought with me and brought out my wife’s favourite vibrator. I switched it on and applied it to my elderly mother-in-law’s erect clit. I felt her try and close her legs but I was prepared and kept them open.

“Just relax, Betty. You know you’re enjoying this!”

I heard her breathing becoing more rapid. Got you, you old bitch!

“Turn over!” I was in a hurry now. I wanted my cock inside her as soon as possible.

She rolled onto her belly and I got her to kneel on the edge of the bed, her face pressed into the mattress. I nudged her legs wide. Her arse was thrust high into the air and her big droopy udders dangled, the erect teats almost touching the duvet. I prised her buttocks apart. I could see her fat, hairy old cunt thrust back towards me, the entrance to her vagina glistening with her cunt-juices. I could see the brown, puckered ring of her old arsehole. Now there was a hole that I was willing to bet was totally unexplored. For a moment I was tempted – but that was a pleasure to be saved for another day.

I positioned the head of my cock against the entrance to my elderly mother-in-law’s cunt. I had waited for this moment for as long as I had known her. I was going to take my time. I pressed forward and watched as the purple head parted her fleshy cunt-lips. The head was testing the tightness of the entrance to her body. She was tense but well-lubricated and my own oozing pre-cum added to the slippery wetness. My cock was as hard as a steel bar and forced itself inch by inch into Betty’s aged vagina until I was buried deep inside her. I looked down and admired the view. My cock was buried to the hilt and I feeling of her elderly cunt gripping my penis.

I reached under her body and tyook one pendulous tit in my hand. I squeezed it firmly and, leaning forward, whispered in her ear.

“Can you feel it, Betty? Can you feel my cock in your fat old cunt?” She didn’t answer so I squeezed a little harder. “I asked you a question, Betty”

The words came out with an effort, “”Yes,” she whispered, “I can feel it”