Mother-in-law Sweet

"Kendra's still out on the couch, vegetating." Vivien smirked. "I'm afraid you'll have to contend with me." She gave him a lingering squeeze and stepped away. His mother-in-law had dressed "down" for dinner, easing into a loose, heather-gray tunic and a pair of bright blue Nike cropped leggings; her toenails were painted turquoise and for a moment, Mike thought they looked like candy. Not that he had a thing for feet - that was restricted to weird dudes - they just looked, small, soft, pretty. Vivien wriggled them and he looked up to see her smirking again. He turned back to the stove.

"What's for supper?" She asked, coming in close behind him.

"Nothing fancy," he said. "Ken's feeling a little down, so I'm making her favorite - grilled cheese and tomato soup." Mike stirred the pot, and Vivien's tiny sigh of disgust was like a small victory.

"Why don't I go see how my daughter is faring?" She said with a sniff, and padded away. He turned to watch her go; the hem of her shirt dusted just above the round globes of her behind, jiggling ever so slightly underneath the skintight spandex; the muscles of her thighs and calves were clearly visible through the thin fabric of her leggings. He sighed and turned back to the stove.

Moments later, muted voices came wafting out from the living room. "Fuck me," he muttered. What was she saying to Kendra out there?

Mike stuck his head out of the kitchen. Vivien was standing by the picture window with her back to him while Kendra sat on the couch, curled up in her Mickey Mouse pajamas and ratty robe. The sunlight shone straight through his mother-in-law's gauzy shirt, revealing a perfect silhouette, including the dramatic sweep of her waist. A single beam of light shot through the keyhole between her thighs.

"Kendra, honey, why don't you turn that garbage off and go put on some big girl clothes?"

"Mom, please," Kendra said in a quiet voice. "Just leave me alone and let me enjoy my show."

Vivien turned her head, and opened her mouth to reply when she spotted Mike watching them from the door with a disapproving look on his face. She turned around and leaned over the couch; the neckline of her tunic hung low, giving him a good look at the swell of her breasts, constrained by a heavy blue sports bra. "What are we watching, anyway?"

"Real Housewives of Chicago," Kendra said without looking up.

"Sounds fascinating," her mother said. "Michael, why don't you come join us and we can have a little family time?" She indicated the empty seat on the couch.

"I should really look after supper," he said, gesturing behind him.

"Oh come on. Just for a minute, then you can go back to whatever you were doing." Vivien reached down and patted the cushion. "I don't bite, I promise."

"Alright, just a minute," Mike cast a look back at the stove. The soup was bubbling, but the grilled cheese hadn't yet begun to get warm, so he had time. He took a set next to Kendra on the couch. She hadn't bothered to shower yet today, that much was obvious. Vivien hung over his left shoulder, her hair brushing his ear. They sat there in silence; a cast of rich bitches paraded across the screen, variously screaming at and scheming against one another. Mike noted that, although one or two appeared to have gone under the knife, the rest had all aged like fine wines, their bodies still quite slim and tight. One of his buddies who watched with his wife called it "Real MILFs of Chicago." A brassy blond in the world's shortest minidress flounced across the screen, jabbing her finger accusingly at a gimlet-eyed brunette with a deep tan.

"Ooooh, is that...um, Nicola?" Vivien asked over his shoulder. "I believe I was reading about her. I don't watch this foolishness of course, but I occasionally see something online about it." Kendra grunted in the affirmative.

"This whole fight is real," she cooed. "You can't tell because of how it's edited, but they're fighting over her son." Nobody responded. "Nicola's the brunette over there: she's irresistible to young men, or a real 'cougar' as they say, so she's always got some hot young stud hanging on her arm. Well, she was bringing these hung cubs home with her from the clubs every other night, which was fine-"

"What?" Mike asked. "Sounds a little, uh, uninhibited to me."

"Oh sweetie! How else is a fine, mature woman like that supposed to manage her sex drive? Don't you know that ladies our age are in our sexual prime?" Vivien patted him on the shoulder. "We need someone who's...in sync with our natural needs, not some disgusting old man."

"Anyway, Nicola was bringing home all these young men, when one grew particularly attached to her. A particularly delicious young virgin named James who really needed to be shown the ropes, and she was only too happy to lead him around by the co- nose, I mean." She paused for breath while the brassy blond woman took a swing at Nicola on screen, only to be restrained by another housewife. "So this young man is hanging around Nicola's house all the time, when her son comes home from college with his girlfriend, and he just spends his whole vacation just watching his mother with this young man, listening to them in the evening, in the morning, in the afternoon. Completely neglecting his poor girlfriend, who's just steaming the whole time."

"Why?" Mike said. "Who cares what his mom does?"

"Jealousy, perhaps?" Vivien said. "You know boys and their mommies."

"Wait you mean to say you think he wanted to..."

"Maybe not consciously, Michael," she gave him another condescending pat. "But you have to admit that she's smoking hot, and lots of young men have unresolved Oedipal Complexes."

"I don't buy that," he replied, folding his arms.

"I have a great deal of...personal experience in that area, darling." Vivien chuckled. "In any event, there he was, simply green with envy over this James person, or whatever." She gave Mike some side-eye. "When along comes Candice, that lovely blond woman, to film in Jasmine's kitchen. They've always been rivals, and I guess she saw the opportunity for a little revenge. I'm a little vague on the specifics of what happened next, but suffice it to say that he and Candice ended up in bed together."

"What a jerk!" Mike said. "What happened to his girlfriend?"

"Oh, forgotten, I suppose." Vivien shrugged. "I only know what I read online. Anyway, now Jasmine and Candice are fighting like vipers in a pit. Or they're supposed to be, anyway. I don't think Jasmine's even all that angry about it - apparently her son came back to the house once she snapped her fingers, just like a good boy should. It looks like Candice is the one who's pissed that her little trick didn't work."

"But it doesn't even make any sense!" Mike complained. "Who would do that? Why would anybody do that?"

"I think you're underestimating the power of mature-" Vivien began, but was cut short by the wail of the smoke alarm. "Did you forget something, Michael?"

* * *

"Ah, now this is a little more my speed," Vivien said with a smile as they pulled to a stop in front of La Douceur. A valet dashed out from behind a Doric column and around her Hummer, waiting patiently outside the driver's side.

"This is a little...upscale," Mike said, somewhat nervously. He suddenly felt very out of place in his blazer and jeans combo. He stepped out of the car.

"Oh, don't worry about it Michael," Vivien said dismissively as she handed the keys over to the valet. "It's my treat! A thank you for allowing me into your home." She strutted around the rear of the vehicle and hooked her arm through his. "Just think of me as your sugar momma for the evening."

"I still don't see why Kendra couldn't come," he said as they strode towards the door.

"Don't you remember what she said?" She tut-tutted. "'Go on without me, I don't give a fuck.' Such language! Anyway, it gives us a chance to get to know each other a little. Thank you, Andre," Vivien said to the uniformed man holding the door open. Andre manfully tried not to leer at her and failed miserably.

In his defense, it would have been impossible for any straight man not to leer, even a little. Vivien's dramatic curves and perfectly tight body had been wrapped up in a silver-foil bandage dress that seemed to have been poured onto her, matching the silvery streak that shot through her mane. Despite the tightness of the confining spandex, her creamy cleavage threatened to spill out of the relatively modest neckline of the dress with each step she took; the front of the dress was modest only in relation to the back of it, which swept dramatically down her smooth, muscular back until it almost reached the upper slopes of her ass.

Mike got a good long show from that perspective. "Wait here, Michael, honey while I arrange a table," she put a long-nailed hand on his chest, and strode over to an imperious looking man with a pencil mustache that appeared to be the maitre 'd. As she walked away, Mike's eyes were drawn to the sensual beat of her hips and the muscular little dimples that bracketed her tail-bone; as before, a hint of scroll-work, deep blue against her pale skin rose up above the fabric of the dress. He couldn't really look away - the glittering effect of the silver foil in the lights of the restaurant made it impossible not to look. There was a lot of baroque scroll-work, almost like wings, framing what appeared to be letters. Mike could make out an 'M,' a 'Y'...then an 'I' or something...

"Michael, honey?" His eyes snapped upwards. Vivien was watching him with a bemused smile on her face "Marcel here has arranged a table for us. Come, darling."

He had to walk a pace faster to keep up with her as the maitre d' led them on a circuitous path through the restaurant.

"Madame Valentin' and her companion are here, by the fire," Marcel gestured expansively at a large booth next to an empty fireplace.

"Wait, I'm not her-" Mike protested as he slid into the booth.

"Oh, Marcel, this is my son-in-law, Michael, not my date," Vivien interrupted him with a laugh.

"Yeah, I'm married to her daughter, buddy," Mike flashed his wedding ring.

"Pardon, Monsieur," Marcel bowed deeply, "I was mistaken, I'm sure. Jean-Paul will be your server tonight. I'll see to it that he is here shortly."

"Well, that was embarrassing," Vivien said, turning to Mike. "Although I'm sure I can't blame him."

"Excuse me?" Mike said. "You're old enough to be my mo-"

"So? Are you really that sheltered, Michael?" She gestured around the room. "Just take a look around you, dear. What do you see?" As his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting of the dining room, he could clearly see the couples clustered around their candlelit tables. He looked from table to table: the demographics of the place was pretty clear. At almost every table, young men sat with women at least ten, maybe twenty years their elder! In the next booth over, a statuesque woman (who had to be in her sixties at least if the white curls piled high atop her head were any indication) was feeding a bite of her dinner to a slim young man a third her age.

"It's the new hotness, darling," Vivien whispered in his ear. "Every year, more and more young men discover what a more...mature partner has to offer. A woman who not only knows what she wants in this life, but has it, and has no compunctions about taking the rest." Her breath was hot in his ear, and her perfume filled his head, making him dizzy. "A woman in control of her life, who can show him the ropes, teach and lead him in the right way to live. Not some child who can't get her shit together for more than fifteen minutes at a time. And they like it."

"What?" Mike said, turning around. Vivien backed away into the cushion slowly.

"They like having an older woman to tell them what to do," she wrapped the napkin around her finger. "Most of these little boys never quite get over their mothers, you know." The napkin unwound. "Anyway, just to avoid future confusion with Jean-Paul, I think that's what you should call me. Mother, mom, mommy."

"A: I have a mother, and-"

"Of course your have a mother, honey." She smiled. "I mean no disrespect to her. She's clearly raised a strapping, handsome young stud of a man. Maybe you should call me...Mommy Vivien."

"I am not going to call you that."

"Now, Michael-" A young man in a tux hustled up to the table.

"May I take Madame's drink order?"

"Of course, Jean-Paul." Vivien turned to face the waiter, and accidentally swept her clutch off the table. It thudded to the ground. Jean-Paul made a move to retrieve it. She waved her hand. "Nono, JP. Michael, could you be a dear, and get that for me? This dress makes such...contortions difficult."

He huffed, then looked at the waiter, standing impassively with a blank look on his face. "Sure." He said. Biting back his anger, he leaned down under the table. The clutch was near the middle, about a foot away from Vivien's feet, wrapped up in silvery sandals with a five-inch heel, and too far for him to reach. He slid underneath on all fours and crawled forward. To his left, Vivien's clutch leaned delicately against the table; to his right, she crossed her legs, drawing his attention to those long, perfectly muscled stems. She bounced her leg at the knee, and the delicate straps of her sandals glinted in the dim light under the table; the soles of her shoes were bright red, but her toenails were still that bright blue. They reminded him of candy-coated almonds, almost. Mike licked his lips and looked back to her purse. He grabbed it with a suddenly sweaty palm, and she shifted again, bouncing her foot closer to his face. He could still smell her perfume, and it made him dizzy again; he stumbled, and found his cheek brushing against her toes. Her skin was soft and warm to the touch. Suddenly, he was wondering what they tasted like. Vivien wiggled her toes, laughing at something Jean-Paul was saying, and her big toe brushed against his lips.

Mike stiffened immediately, coming out of the trance, and wriggled back into his seat as fast as he could, wiping his mouth as he came up for air.

"Something on your mouth, darling?" Vivien asked with a knowing smile. Jean-Paul just smirked. "I ordered for both of us - I hope you don't mind."

Flushed and embarrassed, Mike just shook his head. In a small voice, he said "here" and passed the clutch across the table.

"Will Madame and her gentleman friend require anything else?" Jean-Paul turned to leave.

"I'm not her gentleman friend!" He protested. "She's my momm- mother-in-law, dammit, that's all!" The waiter looked from Mike to Vivien; she shook her head slightly, and he walked away.

"Don't pout Michael, it's unattractive," she admonished him. Mike sat up. "Thank you for getting my purse back, honey. You're such a good boy."

Silently, he prayed to a swift end to the evening.

* * *

Mike woke up early the next morning; as usual, Kendra was snuggled close, her arms wrapped around him as if she were hanging on for dear life. He watched her sleep. She'd already gone to bed by the time he and Vivien had gotten back. Once they'd ordered, and his embarrassment had passed somewhat, they settled down to have a lovely evening - Vivien turned out to be a delightful dinner conversationalist, having been everywhere and done just about everything. They'd chatted and joked most of the night away, and it was closing on midnight before they'd gotten back through the door.

Kendra snored softly and drooled onto his shoulder. He felt sorry for her. Gingerly, Mike raised his wrist to check the time - there was still a good twenty minutes before the alarm sounded. Something must have roused him. He glanced over at the night stand, to the alarm clock; sitting next to it was a small pink gift bag. A folded sheet of cream-colored paper was attached to the handle. "For Michael," the outside read.

Quietly, slowly, Mike eased his way out of Kendra's embrace. Rolling over onto his side, he took the bag, and unfolded the note.

"Dear Michael,

Thank you so much for a wonderful evening last night. Please accept the enclosed as a token of my affection.

Love,

Mommy Vivien

P.S. - I know you like the color"

Curious, he pulled the handles apart, only to be rewarded with the crackling of tissue paper. Kendra stirred and mumbled something, then went back to snoring. Rolling slowly off the bed, he crept into the en suite bathroom and closed the door. He locked it without even thinking.

Mike opened the bag again, and pulled out the tissue paper. There was a sudden rush of Vivien's scent, enveloping his face and overwhelming his still-sleepy senses. He took a long, deep breath; Kendra hated perfume, but he had to admit that he was becoming fond of the way her mother smelled. Down at the bottom of the bag sat something small and robin's egg blue. The memory of Vivien's toes came flooding back, and the feel of them on his lips, and how easy it would have been to just let one slip inside, just to take a quick taste...

He shook his head, and reached inside. The thong unfolded as he pulled it out, revealing the tiniest blue pouch of silk, framed by lace scalloping. The bow on the front was a shocking red. Mike's heart leapt to his throat. The bag fell to the floor, forgotten; he held the panties with both hands, inspecting them front and back. Like a guilty teen, he checked the bathroom doorknob to make sure it was locked.

It was wrong, he knew. Everything that was going on here was wrong. He shouldn't be holding his mother-in-law's panties. He shouldn't be rubbing the fabric between his fingertips. He shouldn't be inhaling her perfume. There was so much more of it now, filling up the bathroom. Was it coming from the panties? Wherever it was coming from, it was delicious. He brought Vivien's thong closer to his face, following the scent until the touched his face, the gusset draped over his mouth.

Mike's breath was coming in big ragged gasps and his hands trembled like leaves. He'd never done anything so...wrong before. His cock was like a flagpole in his pajamas, harder than he could ever remember it being. He was dying to stroke his aching meat, something he hadn't done since before he'd married Kendra. Just one quick pump couldn't hurt...

He inhaled Vivien's perfume deep inside his lungs, and slid a hand inside the waist of his pants. Mike wrapped one fist around his cock, trying not to think about the way her legs looked the night before (so much longer than Kendra's!), the way her toes had felt against his lips (why couldn't Kendra get a pedicure like that?), those gorgeous milky breasts (easily two cupsizes larger than her daughter!), the prominence of her muscular behind (twitching back and forth in those leggings!), or her sexy smirk (so knowing, like she had already read his mind). Mike could barely restrain a moan as his hand slid from tip to root.

He squeezed hard at the base of his cock and tried desperately not to think of Vivien, standing at the window yesterday, flaunting that squeezable ass all wrapped up in Lycra, just waiting for someone to come in behind and take a globe firmly in each hand, kneading that firm flesh and spreading it before falling to his knees and kis-

Someone rapped sharply on the door.

"Baby? Are you okay in there?" Kendra! Instantly ashamed, he ripped the panties from his face and stuffed them into his pajamas. "I thought I heard you groaning?"

"Sorry, yes honey! Just...last night's dinner isn't agreeing with me is all."

"Mike, that's disgusting." The doorknob rattled. "Can I come in? I've got to get ready for work." Hastily, he flushed the toilet, and turned on the taps. After giving his hands a quick douse with the cold water, he dried them off and unlocked the door. Kendra pushed her way in. As usual, her hair was mussed up in a straggly brown halo around her head, and she was still wearing the Minnie Mouse flannel's she'd been wearing since the day before.