My MIL Sex Slavebyjulybear7©
This short novella describes the relationships between a husband and his wife's sister and mother, and how the latter evolved into a master/slave relationship, which eventually included his supervisor at work. It includes oral, anal, and Tantric sex, non consensual m/f and m/m sex, as well as romantic husband/wife sex while they know others are watching. It begins with the disintegration of the husband's first marriage. It's all fantasy (damn) and everyone is over the age of consent. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it. Jb7
Let me admit right up front, I'm no angel. Yeah, I cheated on my first wife, Carol, with my second wife, Beth, and a few other women of no consequence, and no import to this story; maybe some other time. But my cheating was partly Carol's fault.
From September to the following July, the year before we were married, I spent practically every weekend buried in her cunt from seven o'clock Friday evening until two or three o'clock Monday morning. Then I had to get up and drive eighty miles to be to work at eight-thirty. That last fact didn't seem to matter to her, or the fact that we may have had less than ten hours of sleep since I arrived Friday.
One weekend she counted her orgasms; she hit number sixty-five just before I walked out the door. You get the picture, a fucking sex maniac-- before the ring was on her finger.
We were married on July 31. By October first, unless she was already in the mood, and by that I mean tongue out horny, fuhgeddaboutit. Before we were married, I was cumming twelve to fifteen times in forty-eight hours. By the end of September, the frequency was down to twelve to fifteen times a year. We were married, to the day, seven and a half years. I don't think we screwed a hundred times, and that includes trying to have a baby. Do the math--once a month plus the baby making.
She wasn't serious about getting pregnant, either; without discussion, she decided we had tried enough; that, at the age of twenty-nine, it was getting too dangerous for her to have children. End of effort! No discussion, no negotiation!
At the time, I was in grad school, on a fellowship. working on a doctorate in Clinical Psychology. I had arranged with a sheltered workshop to use some of their clients and staff in my research. That's where/how I met Beth, my second wife. It started with drinks, and some frank conversations, after work. Then one day I accompanied her on a visit to evaluate a short term treatment program for one of the workshop's behavior problems. Thank God it was winter and the car windows fogged up when we started making out. We were swapping tongues and everything else we could do with clothes on in public, as well as a few things we shouldn't have, with no regard for where we were.
That was during year three of my marriage. About the same time, Carol was becoming more uptight about anything dealing with sex. If I told one of her male co -workers a sex joke, she'd chew me out when we got home. If I made an appreciative sound when a nice rack was bared in a movie, she'd hiss at me to be quiet, I was embarrassing her! God forbid I should move when those breasts were visible! I forget the movie, but there were several pair showing on the screen. That's all, nothing sexy. I think it was a shower scene. I moved my leg to relieve a cramp; she got up and left the movie, later to claim that my squirming during that scene had mortified her. I never did learn what happened to the horny piece I married; she just disappeared. After the petting session Beth and I had, we started a long off and on affair. Sometimes we were together for a couple of months, sometimes a couple of hours. Whenever I called, she made herself available, even breaking dates with her other married lover, who was legally separated while his wife decided what she wanted to do. Beth eventually broke it off with him to be exclusively with me, even though I hadn't yet made the decision to divorce.
We lived about a five hour drive from Chicago. The Art Institute was hosting a show of privately owned French Impressionists, paintings which hadn't been seen in public for several years. Carol and I had talked about taking a four day weekend and going to see them, but she never made any effort to get the time off. The last Spring we were still married, she took a week's leave to go to a conference in Cincinnati. Beth had family in Chi-town, so I asked her if she'd like to see the exhibit. We went, stayed with her grandparents, sharing a bed over their objections, which she simply ignored. The show was fantastic, plus we also got to see the Wright exhibit (the architect, not the fliers) they have.
Although I didn't tell Carol who I went with, she threw a hissy fit when I told her I had gone to see the show. When I pointed out it had been there for six months and she hadn't made any effort to get the time to go see it, she just increased the hissy.
From my side, the final blow came when she was invited to show some of her work at an art show in LA, to be held over semester break at the end of January. The show offered to pay transportation and lodging for two, and she invited a female friend from work. One of the vacations we had been planning and saving for was a California trip. She justified not taking me by saying she'd be busy working, conducting workshops and giving presentations. Yeah, right.
Sue, her friend, had told us she had given her husband permission to date and sleep with whomever while he was away on a year long sabbatical, finishing and defending his dissertation, saying that's what she'd do. I knew how the pair would be spending their evenings. I was right.
One night, mid-week, when I called to wish Carol good-night, at eleven PM Pacific time, I heard Sue laughing and a man's voice in the background, along with the sound of glasses and ice rattling. Carol passed it off as an after workshop discussion. I didn't remind her she had told me all her workshops were in the morning. First thing, the next morning, I called Beth and made arrangements to move in with her that day.
I met Carol at the airport when she got home. After a week, I would expect at least a hug and kiss, wouldn't you? Not even, just a cheek to cheek air kiss, and "Hi." On the way to the house, she started nattering about the show, things she had seen and done, and some follow-up stuff she had to do, a possible commission to pursue. No questions about me, how I'd been, what I had been doing; all about her, as usual. At the house, I carried her bags in, then told her I was leaving and would be filing for divorce by the end of the week. Then I kissed her cheek and walked out.
She tried to raise some hell, but when I didn't respond the way she wanted, she gave up. My lawyer told me not to appear at the hearing. Her lawyer gave her similar advice, but she went anyway, and had to listen as my lawyer read my statement detailing how I thought our marriage had failed. She tried to blame me for the embarrassment she felt, especially during the passage where I complained about the absence of a real sexual relationship.
One of the conditions of the divorce was that I had to return the house key I had kept so I could get in, when she wasn't there, to get my stuff. The day I showed up to return the key, she answered the door nude and walked with me around the house, helping me gather the remainder of my plunder. Just before I was set to go, she asked if I'd give her one last back rub. I agreed, and as I was finishing up, she turned over so her C-cups were under my hands. Then she spread her thighs and asked if I'd like one for old times sake. I slipped a finger in her pussy; dry as a friggin' bone. I kissed her on the forehead and told her good-bye. As I left I could hear her crying, but, at that point, I was beyond caring.
Five months after I walked out, the divorce was finalized. Two months later, at the end of August, Beth and I were married. A week after that I got to meet her family. I had met her grandparents during the Art Institute trip, and had sort of met her family in passing when I dropped some books off one Saturday when they brought her younger sister down for a two week visit.
But the first long exposure to them was an experience best forgotten. Sean, her father, was an alcoholic Irishman, with the gift of blarney, the empathy of a squid, the temper of a rhino, and the thin skin of an onion. And that was sober. It took a lot of whiskey to get him visibly drunk, but only about three shots to put his temper on a hair trigger. Beth had told me horror stories about being thrown across a room, about full dinner tables being overturned into the kids' laps, about Xmas trees being thrown out of windows on Xmas morning. It took nearly two years, but I got to see it for myself. More on that in a bit.
Betty was eight years and three days older than I, which she took as a sign we were destined to get along. She was also an alcoholic. The only time I didn't see her with her cup of 'tea' was when she visited us. Never visibly under the influence, she was never not under it until she left Sean.
Several times when we visited them, we would go shopping. While walking, she would grab my arm and put it around her so that my thumb was laying along the swell of her breast and my hand situated so it functioned as an underwire, clamping her arm against mine so I couldn't move it. Sometimes, she even held me there with her hand. I never did in those circumstances, but I was sure if I had rotated my hand upward so I was cradling her boob, she wouldn't have batted an eyelash.
The next summer after we were married, I was finishing up writing my dissertation. Susie, Beth's younger sister, asked if she could visit for a couple of weeks during July. Of course Beth said yes. My school schedule left most of my mornings free, so Beth arranged just to take the afternoons off while Susie visited. With most seventeen year olds, it wouldn't have been a problem, but Beth was a thirty year old in a seventeen year old body.
I have never met such a precocious teenager. She arrived on Saturday afternoon, and we spent that night and most of the next day turning away guys she had given our address and phone number with the message they could call anytime. When we told one of them, obviously in his thirties, that she was only seventeen, his response was, "So?" He wasn't going to leave until I threatened to deck him.
We only had a two bedroom place, and the second bedroom was where I was storing my data and writing my paper. Susie was sleeping on the couch in the living room. Monday morning when I came out after Beth went to work, I met Susie coming down the hall, wearing nothing but a smile.
She was tall, about five ten; svelte, with not a half ounce of excess fat; a small A bust, I'd guess 32A, with a 22 inch waist and 30 inch hips; a never been trimmed thatch, matching her hair, a dark cinnamon color, like her sisters'. "Morning, Mick," she yawned. My jaw must have dropped a foot. She just laughed and walked up to within six inches of me, and asked, "Is there a problem, Bear?"
"Yes. You need to put some clothes on."
"Why, it's just us?"
"We 're not an us; you are my wife's seventeen year old sister."
Before she answered, she stepped closer and slid her arms around my neck, then pushed her pussy into my jockey covered groin. "We could be an us. I bet I'd screw you better than Beth."
"We'll never know," I answered, pulling her arms down and pushing her back. "Get your clothes and go get your shower."
"You want me to wear clothes, you get them. I'll go get my shower," she replied in a sullen voice. She went into the bathroom, leaving the door open. I went to her suitcase and pulled out a set of underwear, a pair of shorts and a top which would go with them. I left them on the closed toilet seat and closed the door as I left the bath.
I was in the kitchen area, frying bacon when she came back into the living area, still nude. She just walked past me and threw the clothes I had chosen back in her open suitcase. Then she turned and came into the kitchen and poured herself a cup of coffee.
I semi lost it. I grabbed her arm at the elbow and turned her to face me. "I told you to put on some clothes!"
She just smirked, and said, "I don't have to..."
"Oh, yes you do!" I nearly shouted. I grabbed her and put her across my lap, then smacked her ass as hard as I could. She just laughed.
"That was pretty good, but I've grown up getting beaten by my dad. That doesn't hurt at all."
There was a wooden spoon on the table. I had used it to mix up some muffins I was making for our breakfast. I grabbed it and brought it down on the top of her thigh, next to her vulva. That brought out a scream. The next half dozen were also answered with screams. I pushed her off my lap to the floor, then leaned down and grabbed her by the hair. I pulled her face into my crotch. "Tell me, Susie, what do you think I'm gonna do next?"
"Y-You're going to fuck me?"
"Is that what you want?"
"But you know I could if I wanted to, if I was really totally pissed off at you, and it would probably hurt like hell, because I wouldn't care if you were ready, or comfortable, or liking what was happening. I'd just be taking out my anger on you. If I were angry enough, I wouldn't give a shit if you lived through it. Is that what you want?"
I was holding her face against my crotch, her head tilted back so I could see her eyes, the classic blowjob position, except her eyes were wide with fright. I had just beat her ass, and just told her I was almost angry enough to rape her.
She tried to push her head back while she shook it no. "Maybe I'll just fuck your face, have you swallow me so I shoot my load straight into your belly. Is that what you want?"
Tears were starting now. Whether from the threats, or from the pain of having her hair pulled, I don't know. I decided to make one more threat. "Or I could just fuck your ass. I know you've fucked a bunch of guys; ever take it in the can?"
If it was possible, her eyes got bigger with fright and the tears overflowed. I let go of her hair and grabbed her under the shoulders to pull her up and on to my lap. "I'm not going to hurt you anymore, right now, Susie. But you need to learn from this. For the past forty two hours we've been turning away strangers you came on to, knowing nothing about who they were. This morning, knowing nothing about me or how I might react, you offered yourself to me, and then you blatantly disobeyed me. About the only thing keeping me from beating you senseless and fucking you into tomorrow is your sister."
During this little speech I became aware of her scent, not quite the musky scent of arousal, there was some thing else. I glanced down at her pussy to see her labia open and a cheesy looking substance being pushed out of her vaginal opening. "What the fuck?"
She looked to see what I was talking about. "Shit! I have another yeast infection, or the same one came back. Is there a Planned Parenthood office here?"
We checked the phone book, got the address, called for an appointment, and were able to get her in that afternoon. Beth took her, and, later that day she told me, was surprised at how subdued and cooperative she was. I told her about the morning. Her anger showed. When she turned to go scold her sister for her behavior, I stopped her and told her the lesson had been delivered, that she just needed to accept that and wait to see if it was learned.
The rest of Susie's stay was without incident. When she behaved, she was a bright, charming young adult. She helped cook and clean, behaved in public, not ignoring the guys who tried to approach her, but in a few words dissuaded them from trying to pick her up. When she returned to Sean and Betty, Beth cried, saying she wished Susie could stay with us.
In September, I was offered a job three states away from Beth's parents, and at her urging, took it. By the end of October, we were settled in our new home.
Fast forward to the next June. It's Susie's eighteenth birthday and high school graduation, coincidentally, one day apart. Beth and I didn't make it to the graduation ceremony because there weren't enough tickets available. At the birthday party, Susie asked me to drive her to a grocery store to get some beer.
We told people where we were off to and left. In the car, I pulled her to me for a very unbrother-in-law-like kiss, which she returned in spades. My left hand was cradling her head while my right made its w ay up under her tee shirt. When my hand closed over her breast, she froze, simply became immobile, and unresponsive. I pulled back and was not surprised when I saw the silent tears running down her cheeks. "Susie, who hurt you, how?"
"It was Dad..." She must have felt me tense up with anger. "No, no, he didn't rape me; that's what you're thinking?" I nodded. "Not that, a boy and I cut school one afternoon last January and were screwing in my bedroom when he walked in. He chased the guy out of the house naked then came back to me. I was getting dressed when he came back into my room. He tore my clothes off and tied me to the bed, swearing at me, calling me all sorts of names.
"He pushed the bed pillows under my ass so my crotch was up off the bed and wide open. Then he started spanking my pussy and tits as hard as he could. He must have hit them each fifty or sixty times. I know I was screaming so loud one of the neighbors came to the door. Mom answered the door--she was there and let him do that. Goddam her! Goddam them all to hell."
She began sobbing, huge wracking, gasping sobs, interrupted by more curses. I pulled her to my chest and held her, letting her cry it out. Finally, the wracking sobs quieted, and slowly disappeared. "Oh dear," she said, "look what I did to your shirt." She patted my chest. "This is the first time I've cried since then. Thank you for letting me cry it out, but please don't say anything to anyone about it. After today, I'll never have to see them again unless I want to, and that will be a cold day in Hell. I have a job that starts Monday, and an apartment I'm moving into tomorrow. Some friends are coming to help me move, so none of it matters anymore." She gave me an impish smile. "You still wanna feel me up? Or did you want more? Last time I offered, you objected because I'm your wife's sister."
"No, the last time I objected because you were barely seventeen. You being my wife's sister just makes you more appealing. She was mad at you that day, for trying to seduce me, but she was surprised that I didn't fuck you from one end of the apartment to the other. Told me I should have, so you'd know what a good fuck was. Said if I got the chance again, go for it."
Susie's grin grew wider as she leaned back in her seat and slid her shorts and thong down. "Come to me, big brother!"
Beth was standing in the hallway, outside of her parents' apartment, when we got back. "Did you two have a good time?" she asked with a smile. Susie and I looked at each other and grinned.
"Thank you, Sis. No fucking wonder you're always smiling. What's going on, why are you out here?"
"Your new landlord called and said your place was ready for you to move into tomorrow, and the key would be left with Mrs. Zacharovski, or something like that, in Apartment 1, on the first floor. When Dad heard you were moving, he lost it.
"Now he says he's going to sell the business, go partners with his sister and brother in law in Oak Park, and move into the apartment over their store, a one bedroom place with a Pullman kitchen. Mom said no, she wasn't moving into a smaller place. And the battle was on. Karen and Rick (my other sister-in-law and her husband) left when the shouting started. Let 's go to your room and wait out the storm."