Kadey's Bar

"Are you sure that you can afford that Ian?"

I was pulling on the door to Kadey's when I heard those words, whereupon my hand released the handle as if it were on fire. Turning in the direction of that voice, I saw Emma, my Mother-in-Law, stepping out of the shadows. More correctly, Emma is my ex-Mother in Law; my wife Anne, Emma's daughter, having died two years previously.

Anne had woken up one Saturday morning complaining of a headache, dizziness and feeling queasy. We'd been to a party the night before -- Emma had baby-sat for us that night too -- so we put it down to Anne having had too much to drink. Anne spent Saturday and most of Sunday in bed, but insisted that she was sufficiently recovered for me to go to work on the Monday.

Having been unable to raise Anne on the telephone at lunchtime I came home in the early afternoon. Other than being hungry, our girls were playing contentedly, with Anne laid unconscious on the floor beside them. Eight days later Anne died from a brain tumour; twenty-seven years old with twin four year old daughters... Life's not always fair.

Back to the present and what couldn't be disputed, was the answer to Emma's question; No, I couldn't afford to visit Kadey's. Though that didn't answer my own questions: What the hell was a genteel lady like Emma doing in this part of town and perhaps more immediately, who was looking after my daughters... Emma's grandchildren?

While Kadey's is notionally a pub, everyone knows that this is just a cover for the brothel within. It's an open-secret, that Kadey's is frequented by working girls and that they rent out their upstairs rooms by the hour. Even the police know it, but as with all the other sleazy dives along Market Street, it makes things... tidier for them to have all the trouble-spots in one area of town, so they turn a blind-eye.

Rather than giving Emma the answer that she was looking for, or at least expecting, I looked toward and beyond Emma as I voiced my own questions: "What're you doing on Market street Emma and where are the girls?"

"Calm down, Marjorie from number eleven's keeping an eye on them... I'm here to see if you appeared again. A friend of mine, Melanie Talbot, thought she'd seen you here on a couple of occasions, so she mentioned it to me; both times were on mid-week evenings when you'd asked me to babysit..."

"So, when you asked me again last month, I got Marjorie to take over once I saw your bus pulling away, jumped into my car and came down here to see for myself. I was parked right across the street when you went through that door and was still there an hour or so later, when you came out again; I was able to drive back and relieve Marjorie before you got home yourself."

I couldn't meet Emma's eyes as I mumbled an apology; an apology that perhaps wasn't very well worded and which Emma promptly over-ruled. "Oh God Ian, there's no need to apologise for your wanting to get laid; I don't expect you to remain celibate for the rest of your life and Anne wouldn't have expected that of you either..."

"But why go with one of the... tarts in Kadey's; surely you could find yourself a proper girlfriend?"

"I probably could, but as you well know, the girls are only just coming to accept that their mum's gone to heaven and won't coming back again. I don't want to risk them getting upset again at the thought of a new, mother perhaps coming into their lives; maybe in another couple of years, but not just yet..."

"... Besides and as you've already alluded to Emma, I can't afford it right now. The cost of a prostitute, in there isn't much more than that of wining and dining a girl and to be blunt, I can at least guarantee to get my rocks off with the women in Kadey's."

At that point our conversation was interrupted by some drunken Welsh bloke. He began telling Emma that if I wouldn't pay whatever she was asking, then he would. In other circumstances I would have burst out laughing at the look of horror which spread across Emma's face, when she realised that he'd thought she was a working girl.

More pertinently, that chap's intervention had drawn us to the attention of the real hookers and more worryingly, a couple of their pimps and minders; interlopers are not welcomed on Market Street. I grabbed Emma by the arm and quickly steered her away from Kadey's and back towards where she told me she'd parked her car.

Having got Emma safely back there, I couldn't fore-shame to return to Kadey's, so I climbed into the passenger seat for a very... quiet, drive home. When we arrived, Emma instructed me to "Go straight upstairs and stay there until Marjorie's gone; we don't want to risk any confusion in the explanation that we give to her."

I did as Emma suggested, visiting the bathroom and then looking in on my darling daughters until I heard Marjorie leave. After taking a further minute to gather myself for the anticipated... uncomfortable conversation to come, I headed back down to join Emma in the lounge; it was a slight relief to see her smiling and proffering a stiff whisky as I stepped though the door.

I made some bland enquiry about the well filled glass that Emma retained, to which she replied "G&T... a shot of Dutch courage." Though it was much later when I grasped the significance of that response. Emma followed up by repeating the story which she'd spun for Marjorie, to ensure that I said similar should the question arise.

There followed a protracted silence and perhaps unsurprisingly, it was Emma who finally broke it: "So... How often to you visit Kadey's?"

I couldn't see any point in prevaricating or lying about anything; I might just as well give Emma straight answers and get things out in the open: "Once a month... It's always on the first Wednesday. That's enough to keep me sane and it's as often as I can afford."

"And what do those girls charge you?"

"I can generally negotiate ninety-quid for forty minutes; including the room."

"Wow! Not nearly as much as I would have thought. A buyers market I suppose; there seems to be no shortage of women hanging around outside there... And do you always wear a condom?"

"Yea... The selection of girls that'll go bareback isn't that great and it's an extra thirty pounds if you do; not that I would anyway... Safe-sex and all that, I can't afford to risk catching anything."

"So do you try to go with the same girl each time; I know that you've been with Mel three times."

That threw me, who the Hell was Mel? Emma no doubt saw the confusion on my face and quickly clarified: "Sorry, I think it's Christine or Kristen or some such when Mel's working."

I was gobsmacked! "Do you mean Kirsty? Is Kirsty that Melanie Talbot woman you mentioned? How the heck do you know her?"

Emma gave a small burst of laughter; it eased some of the tension at least. "Yes, that was it, Kirsty... I was five when I met Melanie, the first day of school for us both. We went all the way through school together and while our lives took very different paths after that, we've remained good friends..."

"I know for a fact that you'll have met Melanie at a few of our parties and summer barbecues; though I'll concede that Mel looks rather different when she's not... dressed for work."

My level of gobsmackedness had not reduced one iota; prim and proper Emma, the lifelong friend of a hooker, What the Fuck! The grin on Emma's face showed how much she was enjoying my discombobulation. "So, is Kirsty one of your favourites?"

I was slow to reply, still trying to stop my brain spinning, but Emma waited me out.

"Yea, I suppose she is, a bit.. classier, than most of the girls and she's kind; if Kirsty's around, then yes, I'd always choose her."

"Albeit that she's rather older than you. Though in her Kirsty persona, Mel does bear something of a resemblance to Anne; is that perhaps a factor too?"

It probably was, but I wasn't prepared to admit it; nor did I feel it prudent to mention that the same could be said and indeed more accurately, about Emma herself. I settled for a non-committal shoulder shrug.

Now it was Emma's turn to pause, seemingly lost in thought; until she broke free from it with an outburst: "OK, so where's the money? Ninety pounds... I didn't give you the chance to spend it at Kadey's"

This abrupt change in Emma's tone and subject threw me once again. Without thought I reached into the pocket of my jeans -- I never took my wallet into Kadey's! - and pulled out the cash. Emma snatched it from my hand and looked around; her gaze settled on an ornamental ceramic jar on a high display shelf and she slipped the notes inside that.

"There! You're only to spend that on the girls... And not on any day to day stuff either, it's just for days out and treats..." I didn't answer, though suppose I must have given an affirmative nod.

Emma threw back what remained of her G&T, put down her glass and continued to speak as she closed the space between us: "Right then... Time for me to start earning it."

I remained statue-still and open mouthed as Emma efficiently and very quickly unfastened my belt and jeans; I still hadn't moved when Emma slid those and my boxer-shorts too down past my knees, sinking onto her own knees as she did so.

My brain still hadn't caught-up so my cock was still flaccid in the moment that Emma wrapped her hand around the shaft... It didn't remain soft for very much longer. Emma emitted an almost feline purr and muttered -- presumably to herself? - "You weren't kidding Mel." in the moment before she wrapped her lips around the crown of my cock.

My response was a liquid gurgle, morphing into a gasp and then a growl as Emma's tongue pushed back my foreskin and began circling around the head of my cock. That growl rumbled on as I dropped my hands to Emma's shoulders; not to hold her in place but to prevent my now trembling legs from buckling beneath me.

I was back to the gasps as Emma pressed forward taking me deep into her mouth and probably beyond; those liquid gurgles returned, along with a few whimpers, as Emma began pumping back and forth on my erection. My mind was by then turning somersaults; FFS, my reserved and conservative mother-in-law was sucking me off!

Hell, it was more than that... Emma was clearly no novice when it came to fellatio! Anne had been an... eager, cock-sucker and Kirsty, or perhaps I should say Melanie, was very... skilled; but Emma's blow-job was a whole different ballgame... she was both adept AND enthusiastic! Where and when had Emma learnt to do that?

Now was clearly not the moment to enquire, so I instead stopped thinking about it and just enjoyed the experience... And it was some experience. When my cock speared into Emma's throat; I could see it distending and her tongue never stopped working on my cock as it slipped in and out of her mouth.

It was two or three minutes before Emma eased off; finally needing to recover her breath perhaps? Even when she did so things just got better; Emma's tongue went into overdrive and she started using her cheeks to... pump on my shaft, while her teeth began nibbling at my foreskin. Anne had only been an enthusiastic amateur, but it was her mother, rather than Kirsty who really could 'suck like a whore'.

After a couple more minutes working my cock within her mouth, Emma granted me another thirty seconds of those slow, deep, throat-penetrations, her fingernails teasing at my balls as she did so. The ending when it arrived was abrupt; I wasn't far away from my climax and I suspect that Emma had realised that before I had.

Pushing her hands against my thighs, Emma's mouth broke free of my cock; her lips making an audible pop as they sprung clear. Turning her face toward mine, Emma's expression was... lewd and a wicked sparkle shone in her eyes as she spoke: "Do you want to spend the whole ninety-pounds in my mouth, or... make a deposit somewhere else?"

My tongue felt too big for my mouth, I could barely speak, but managed to force out a thick and in hindsight, crude reply: "Your cunt Emma... I wanna fuck your cunt."

Some of that wickedness in Emma's eyes transferred to her lips; the smile that followed was salacious: "Good answer Ian, I want you to fuck me too." Emma grabbed onto my forearms to pull herself back to her feet and was walking me backwards, before she was fully upright; though with my pants still around my ankles I guess it was more of a waddle than a walk.

Four or five steps and my calves bumped into the edge of a dining chair, I fell onto it in an ungainly heap. Emma kept one hand on my arm to help steady me, but her right hand was wrapped back around my cock by the time I was sitting upright A second later Emma straddled my thighs and sat; my cock and her hand both disappearing beneath her skirt.

I immediately felt my cock-head brushing through the coarse hair crowning Emma's pussy. In that first second my mind registered that Emma's bush was lush and very damp; it was during the subsequent second that the thought 'Emma's not wearing any knickers!' coalesced; but by then my cock was sliding into the warm, inviting channel beyond.

Jesus but Emma was slick; her downward progress barely seemed to slow as my cock sank deep into her accommodating cunt and I bottomed out on that first stroke. A penetration which I announced with yet another liquid-gurgle, though this time, the heavy gasp which provided the punctuation was Emma's

A hiatus followed and for long seconds Emma sat trembling on my lap as we both revelled in my cock pulsing inside her. I wasn't completely idle: Emma's breasts were sat right in my eye-line, better yet, the top three buttons of her blouse were open offering a glimpse of her cleavage. Perhaps the best one I'd ever had and believe me, I've looked often over the years.

I couldn't resist and with trembling fingers began fumbling at the unopened buttons below. My heart missed a beat when Emma slapped my hands away and yelled "No!" It only re-started when Emma concluded: "You're going to rip my blouse; let me do it."

I rocked back in the chair and happily watched as with a similar efficiency to that which she'd employed on my trousers, Emma unfastened her blouse and divested herself of both it and the wine-coloured bra she wore beneath. Emma's tits bounced beautifully in the moment that she casually cast both garments aside.

I've spent a lot of time contemplating Emma's breasts over the years, they're by no means 'huge' but they are a couple of sizes larger than Anne's ever were; one-up on Kirsty's too for that matter. More palpable however, are Emma's nipples; those tend to be... obvious, at the best of times, but sat here on my lap, they'd been pressing through her blouse like a pair of truck wheel-nuts.

Despite my high level of expectation, the revelation of Emma's nipples did not disappoint, they were magnificent; looking for all the world like two over-ripe strawberries sitting proudly against the pale skin of her breasts. My appreciation must've been visible in my expression; Emma gave an almost childlike squeal as she pressed my face against the left one.

"Do you like my boobs? Show me... suck on mummy's titties." Emma's words were squealed rather than spoken, whereafter Emma dragged my face back and forth between her breasts for more than a minute, perhaps several, while verbally incited me assail them ever more... aggressively. Who was I to refuse? It was certainly no hardship.

I saw the imprint of my own teeth marks appearing on the skin of Emma's breasts and the angry weals that my fingers left behind; those would surely leave bruises? But Emma still continued to goad me, demanding that I bite, squeeze and twist ever harder; Emma's demands were invariably levelled towards 'mummy's' tits, breasts or boobs... something which I long contemplated after the event.

At some point during my... ravishment of Emma's breasts, she began to fuck me; or perhaps herself? Sliding easily along my sweat-slicked thighs, while her hips pitched, twisted and writhed to presumably better grind her clitoris between my shaft and her pubic bone. I was so engrossed in Emma's -- or Mummy's? - breasts that it was some while before I'd even realised.

Perhaps that was for the best... Once I did become aware of Emma's efforts, I doubt it was above another ten seconds before I exploded in climax. Emma wailed like a banshee and ground down even harder as my semen began belching deep inside her; she shook and shuddered in the aftermath, but I was still unsure as to whether Emma had reached an orgasm of her own.

After only a few seconds Emma slid back to the floor and a moment after that, my cock was back inside her mouth; Jeez but the lady loves sucking cock! It wasn't just my cock either, Emma's eager tongue laved my balls and inner thighs too; cleaning-up every drop of our spilt emissions; Emma's eyes again displayed that wicked sparkle the whole while.

Despite all that'd gone before, I was beginning to stiffen again by the time that Emma was licking away the final traces. It was not to be; the lascivious grin was still there, but Emma sat up and gave my cock a playful slap. "Oh no, that's enough... Geoff will be wondering where I've got to. Get yourself dressed and tidy up in here while I make myself presentable."

Emma was out through the door in less than five seconds and I heard her in the downstairs wash room a few moments later. I stayed sprawled on my chair for some while, metaphorically pinching myself until I could eventually accept that 'Yes, that did happen... Emma's just screwed me.' Only once I'd got that resolved was I up to complying with Emma's instructions.

Barely five minutes passed before Emma waltzed back into the lounge and I found myself once more questioning whether I'd just imagined it. Standing before me was the 'real' Emma, the one that I recognised as my mother-in-law and grandmother to my kids: conservatively dressed, impeccable make-up with not a single hair out of place.

I was speechless and unmoving while Emma put on her coat and picked-up her handbag, Emma was rifling inside that and in the same movement gesturing toward the jar on the display shelf when she began speaking: "Remember, that money is only to be spent on treats for the girls; nothing else..." I mutely nodded my understanding, whereupon Emma continued.

"...I'll be here as planned this Saturday..." I noticed that Emma was flicking through her diary as she spoke -- a traditional, hard-backed diary, complete with a silver pencil, nothing so common as a smartphone - "... And I've no engagements on the first Wednesday of next month..."

"...So I'll get here after the girls are asleep, sometime just after eight and I'll want to see another ninety pounds going into that jar." I'm sure it was that gobsmacked expression which had returned to my face, but perhaps Emma misread it?

"What's that look about? I'll probably be giving you twice as long as you'd get with Melanie and there's no extra charge for going bareback. Besides, I know for a fact that there are some things which Melanie doesn't allow... Whilst I'll do anything you want... Any way, any where, any how... your choice, just ask."

I was again trying to catch up mentally when I saw the change in Emma's mien; concern, chagrin or perhaps disappointment? "The first Wednesday of April's not until the sixth; that's five weeks away... Can you last that long?"

With the New year it'd been six weeks between my December and January visits to Kadey's, so I'd cope.

Emma was again scanning her diary, but finished before I could voice that thought and continued: "Here we go, the seventeenth; two weeks tomorrow... I'm driving Geoff and a couple of his pals to a Masonic meeting, then collecting them again at about 10:30. Rather than my driving home in between, I could come here on that night if you like?"

My cock had already begun rising at the suggestion of another round with Emma, those words completed the job. Though my pleasure proved short-lived and I was obliged to reply: "I'd love you to Em, but I can't afford ninety-quid more than once in a month."