Under Starters Orders

I'd moved in with my wife Rachel and her mother, Joan, even before we got married; it'd never even been a point of discussion, they shared a huge rambling house at the stables the two of them owned. Except in extremis I'm not involved with their business; horses never seem too keen on me, apparently I don't 'have an affinity' with them? I have a plumbing business, though that too is based at the stables.

The Gerrity stables were opened by Rachel's great-grandfather; he'd been a successful jockey then began training race horses, with equal success, in 1960. It became a family business when Joan's father took up the licence thirty years later, with the lady herself inheriting it at the tender age of twenty-six, when her father died in 2009. Joan's mother had died in a riding accident fifteen years earlier, when Rachel was only nine years old.

Until I married Rachel two years ago, Grandpa-Joe had been the only man in Joan and Rachel's lives. The story was that Joan had fallen pregnant at sixteen to an apprentice jockey from Italy who worked for Joe, but he'd skipped the country, the moment he found out. Around the village pubs, less kindly folk suggest that several lads had skipped town when word of Joan's pregnancy spread and that nobody, not least Joan herself, knew which one of them she ought to be trying to track down.

Whatever, at twenty-six with a primary school aged daughter in tow, Joan had a sixty-box racing stable to run. Joan retained, indeed still retains a Trainer's Licence, but knew that she didn't have the knowledge or experience to be successful, so rapidly transitioned the business: They still house a few second rate steeplechasers in the yard, several point-to-pointers and hunters too, along with ponies of varying sizes of their own, for Rachel's riding school side-line.

For the most part however, the stables are filled with injured horses and pregnant mares from other racing yards. While Joan didn't know the racing game, even at twenty-six she'd gained a reputation for foaling mares and nursing sick and injured horses back to race-winning form. Joan's reputation has since spread far beyond the local area and over the years several Group One winning horses have been born or nursed back to health at the Gerrity Yard.

The yard's a seven days a week, often twenty four hours a day undertaking, but Joan and Rachel, along with their dedicated staff keep it going and very profitably too. Whilst free-time's in short supply, Joan and Rachel do give each other a break at the weekends, with Joan getting a lie-in on Saturdays and Rachel enjoying her morning off on a Sunday. Being a Monday to Friday sort of guy, I of course get to lie-in on both mornings.

This tale starts on a Saturday morning last August: I was laid in my bed at about nine o'clock, covers thrown back, eyes only half-open and a hand sliding leisurely along the length of my erect cock. The bedroom door was slightly ajar, but I hadn't given that much thought; Rachel probably hadn't closed it when she'd got up at five-thirty. Or at least I didn't give it much thought until I saw, or perhaps sensed, movement beyond it.

I couldn't see through the doorway, but the dressing table mirror in the corner reflected a partial view onto the landing. It was far darker out there than inside my bedroom so I couldn't really 'see', anything or anyone, but there seemed to be an area of slightly lighter shadow just beyond the doorway and I sensed that it moved. Rachel was out in the yard, I'd heard her shouting only a few seconds earlier; it could only be Joan.

Joan's thirty-nine, but still as fit as a butcher's dog, green-eyed, copper-blonde hair, around five-six and athletically slim. Save for Rachel's more Mediterranean colouring the two women could be mistaken for sisters rather than mother and daughter; their lithe frames being much as you might expect given their shared heritage from a long line of steeplechase jockeys.

The notion that Joan might be watching me whack-off put a whole new twist on my fantasising. Taking care not to look directly towards that mirror, I resumed stroking my cock and made an effort to be more... demonstrative about each stroke. I don't recall who or indeed what I'd been fantasising about in the first place, but by the end it was Joan who was filling my thoughts.

My climax wasn't long in arriving and that too was showy; rather than wrap my cock in the handkerchief that lay beside me, I blew my load straight up into the air, from where it sprayed down onto my thighs and belly. In that moment I thought I heard a small yelp -- beyond the satisfied groan which I released myself - but that too could've been just wishful thinking.

I stayed where I was and listened... all was silence for another ten or fifteen minutes until I heard Joan go into the bathroom and a few minutes later head downstairs. In usual circumstances I would likely have followed soon after, but that morning I stayed in bed until I heard Rachel returning from the yard; I wasn't confident that I could maintain a conversation or even just control my expression in the kitchen with Joan alone.

I needn't have worried, when I went down at about ten thirty the girls were deep in conversation about the stable yard and neither one, Joan most especially paid me much attention at all. Throughout that day and indeed the whole of the following week, Joan never once gave any indication that she might've been out on the landing watching me. I would've noticed If she had, I watched her closely.

Despite that, I couldn't bring myself to accept that it had just been a figment of my febrile imagination, so as I went to bed on Friday evening, I opened the blind on the landing window. It was at the opposite end to our bedroom doorway and overlooked the stable yard, so for privacy it was rarely opened. I didn't roll it up entirely, so not obviously open, only perhaps a third of the way up, but hopefully sufficient to shed a little light.

I was awake when Rachel went out in the morning and she fully closed the door behind herself; when I next woke up at eight-thirty it was ajar, by a good five or six inches. I took care not to glance toward the dressing table as I made a big show of stretching, yawning and rubbing the sleep from my eyes, then throwing off the covers I began stroking my shaft in the same elaborate manner as I had the week before.

Though it wasn't quite the same, my cock was already bar-hard and I didn't want to waste my erection if I was proved right. While the action was flamboyant, my hand was actually barely brushing against my shaft during the three or four minutes I gave it before risking a sideways glance toward the mirror. Bingo! Joan was out there watching.

I could make out Joan's shadowy outline and over the next minute or so it resolved itself as my eyes focused: Joan was wearing a shapeless cream-coloured nightgown, her left hand was massaging her breasts -- possibly tweaking at the nipples? - while the right massaged at her groin. As I watched Joan's right hand scrabbled to raise the hem of her gown and when the fabric fell back, Joan's hand remained beneath it.

I continued to watch for a couple more minutes, the lively movement of the night gown's fabric around Joan's crotch indicated that her right hand was working feverishly and the expression on Joan's face suggested that it was achieving results. I took a deep breath to calm my nerves, then called out in a clear voice: "It's rude to peer through doorways. Come in here Joan."

Joan froze in the instant, her expression betraying a mixture of embarrassment, shock and perhaps more than a little fear. Joan jerked her right hand free of her nightdress -- and presumably her panties too? - as she glanced first toward the staircase and then back towards her own bedroom; I didn't allow her the time to decide: "I won't ask you again Joan... Come here... Now!"

Joan shuffled through the door, her face beet-red and eyes downcast; once inside the room she looked sheepishly toward me beneath half-lowered eyelids. "Not there... Over here!" I waved her toward the right side of my bed, then held my arm rigid as I pointed to a spot on the floor almost beside me. Joan hesitated and glanced back toward the landing, as she did so, I snarled "No! Over here... Now!"

Joan advanced slowly, her eyes never once leaving the carper even once she'd arrived at the position I'd indicated. I withdrew my arm as Joan approached, allowing her room to stand on the precise spot that I'd decreed. Joan stood there trembling and silent, her eyes resolutely avoiding mine; save for an increase in her tremors, there was no change in Joan's demeanour even as my hand returned.

Neither of us said a word as my right hand reached and clasped Joan's taut calf muscle; though Joan produced a mewling whimper as my hand slid upward to her knee, my forearm lifting the nightdress' hem as it rose. That whimper became a small yelp as my hand continued to her thigh and when it stopped perhaps five inches above, Joan's trembles returned with a vengeance.

Neither of us uttered a word, but I could feel my heartbeat racing and hear Joan's heavy gasping breaths as I loitered. As my hand next began to stroke the soft flesh of Joan's inner thigh, she began to emit a quiet, almost feline purring sound; with each upward stroke my hand slid a little higher, while on the downstroke, my hand never quite returned to where it'd started from.

After a half-dozen such strokes my index finger bumped lightly against the damp fabric of Joan's panties; that impact garnered another of those small yelps. When it returned to deliver a second impact, I didn't afterwards lower it again; instead I swept the finger right, left and then right again across the damp fabric and yielding flesh which I could feel beneath.

Joan responded by shuffling her feet and releasing a protracted groan; rather than clamping her thighs against my intruding hand, that foot-shuffle eased them further apart. A twist of the wrist and my hand encapsulated and squeezed Joan's mons, while my fingers pressed into the soft folds of her vulva; Joan's groans became a louder and much heavier; a sound which could only be signifying pleasure.

It took but a moment for my index finger to flick Joan's panties to one side and allow my fingers to slide directly through the soft, moist valleys on either side of her labia, while the middle digit slipped easily into the centre of Joan's womanhood. Joan's channel was liquid and burning hot; she greeted the incursion with an almost primeval moan and a jerk of her pelvis.

When I added a thumb, circling across Joan's clit the pitching and jerking of her hips redoubled. I'd timed things just right... Joan had been close to an orgasm when I'd interrupted her on the landing, she was now striving to bring it to conclusion. I doubt that another ten seconds passed before Joan screamed like a banshee, dropping one hand onto my chest and grasping the bed-head with the other to aid her faltering legs as the climax tore through her.

I held station while Joan recovered and then began to utilise both hands; my right stirred the cauldron between Joan's legs, while the left once again, but now more forcefully, began to stroke along the length of my shaft. Joan's gaze had lifted from the floor, it moved back and forth between my face and the hand pumping at my erect cock; Joan's primal moans and groans began to pick-up again about then too.

Joan really was fired-up, the heat between her legs was almost volcanic and Joan's juices flowed in a steady stream across my hand, wrist and even down my arm as she reached a second and then a third powerful a noisy orgasm. Shortly after Joan's third orgasmic squeal I felt a pulse and the building pressure which warned me that my own climax was imminent too.

The expression in Joan's eyes suggested that she'd sensed it too and a moment later Joan pushed my left hand away from my cock and grasped it with her own. In the same instant Joan's head lowered, I clearly saw her lips parting and her tongue reach out; the sight undoubtedly accelerated my own approaching climax. But then, at the last, I saw Joan check her momentum as an 'oh shit' spark appeared in her eyes.

If Joan had simply allowed events to unfold that would've been fine, but her movement and the promise it held had changed that irretrievably; I bellowed "Do it Joan! Finish me off!" Joan's response was immediate, but now a second too late; my first emission arced through the air to land across her cheek, left eye and even into Joan's hair.

Joan caught my second spurt though, her lips were already around my cock head and closing when that was released, to be swallowed along with those that followed. There were plenty to sate Joan's thirst, I don't remember when, if ever, having come that hard or so copiously; while the event itself wasn't... remarkable, sharing it with my Mother-in-law certainly was!

Joan suckled on my fading cock for perhaps thirty seconds more, before snapping her head away with a shriek. When our eyes met, Joan's expression was way beyond regret, she looked mortified; tears were bubbling in her eyes as she wailed "Oh God... What have I done!" A moment later, Joan turned and fled from the room. There'd been moans, groans, yelps and squeals, but those were the first... and last, words that Joan had uttered.

I heard Joan's bedroom door slam, but thought it best not to follow. Twenty minutes later I heard Joan traipse to the bathroom and soon after head downstairs, as with last weekend, I kept my own head down until I heard Rachel returning for her breakfast. I was tempted to stay in bed longer, but that would've seen Rachel coming up to enquire why and I didn't want to suggest that anything... out of the ordinary, had transpired.

Breakfast proved reassuringly tranquil, the girls were discussing horse and plans for the day. I was included in their conversation too and when Joan offered and served me coffee, she seemed not to have a care in the world. Same old, same old, just like any other day... until Rachel headed back out into the yard and Joan began to clear the table:

I stretched out an arm and caressed Joan's thigh as she passed by me and her response was instant. The hand was slapped away savagely as Joan glared at me with equal violence in her eyes and snarled "Don't you dare touch me like that again... Not Ever!" then stormed out of the room. That was me told! I kept a low profile until the evening, by when thankfully, Joan was 'just like always' once more.

I certainly didn't 'forget' about what had taken place -- I never would! - but I made every effort to behave as if it'd never happened and Joan appeared to do likewise. I got the impression that Joan was making a better job of that than I was, which was perhaps why I was so surprised to be awoken on the following Saturday morning, by a knock on the bedroom door.

Joan was standing in the open doorway, wearing another, albeit rather shorter cream-coloured nightdress. I shook myself awake and sat up as Joan strode purposefully across the room and had just opened my mouth to enquire what was going on, when Joan pressed a hand over it and whispered "No... Don't say a word."

An instant later Joan dropped to her knees, threw back the bed covers and wrapped her hand around my cock. In less than a second it was as hard as a truncheon and disappearing between Joan's lips; contrary to Joan's proscription on speech I couldn't withhold a growl of "Oh fuck yessssss." but thereafter I managed to restrain myself to just gasps, growls and moans.

On the previous weekend my climax had been on its way even as I entered Joan's mouth, her simply being my Mother-in-Law was all it took. This morning Joan quickly showed that there were more strings than that to her bow, she was a VERY accomplished cock sucker; definitely a case of 'like mother like daughter'

My cock repeatedly slid deep into Joan's throat and whenever its crown resurfaced, she teased at it mercilessly with her lips, tongue and even teeth. Joan's fingers gently tugged and twirled my pubic hair, or stroked along the exposed shaft, her fingernails were brought into play along that too, when they weren't scratching at my rapidly tightening scrotum.

Joan was good, bloody good! Within only a few minutes I could feel a climax beginning to build and that reawakened the plans and dreams that I'd enjoyed in the aftermath of last Saturday's wank and blow-job. Grabbing Joan by the hair I pulled her free of my cock and pleaded "No; you're going to make me come... I want to fuck you."

Joan tossed me a wicked smile and replied "I want you to fuck me too... but I want it to last; don't worry, when this one's drained, I'll soon get you hard again." I was open mouthed and silent as Joan shook herself free and devoured my cock once more; I was exploding inside her mouth only seconds later, was that from the blow-job or the promise in her words?

Having suckled me dry, Joan climbed to her feet and peeled off her nightdress; she was naked beneath and revealed a trim, tight body that looked even more muscular than Rachel's. Despite the age gap Joan's pert tits still sat high and proud on her ribcage and the mound between her legs was shaved smooth; how had I not noticed last week and why was I surprised? Rachel's pubis is similarly bare; the interaction between pubic hair and saddles on jumping horses can apparently prove a painful combination.

Joan threw off the bed covers completely and then as if to confirm the strength in her slight frame, grabbed me by the ankles to drag me a foot further down the bed with a single jerk. I was still contemplating that manoeuvre when Joan leapt onto the bed herself, straddled me and lowered her pussy toward my face; by the time full realisation dawned, my cock was back between Joan's lips.

Joan's pussy was glorious, the outer lips so very reminiscent of her daughter's, but of a paler hue and gaping slightly, to reveal a salmon-pink channel already glistening with beads of expectant moisture. I didn't hesitate in accepting their invitation; grasping Joan by her hips I pulled it down to meet my rising tongue, when the two collided Joan released a similar primeval moan to the one I recalled from last weekend.

The task proved easy; I'd been well schooled by Rachel and quickly discovered that this was another case of like mother like daughter, their preferences and responses proved remarkably similar. Both ladies purr with pleasure if I draw cool air across their open pussy, tremble if nibbled on the soft petals of their labia and positively squeal with delight when a tongue crosses the divide to tease at the tight starburst of their bums.

Joan's mouth had never left off working on my cock, but within only a few minutes she'd achieved two thigh-clenching and tremoring orgasms, each announced by a protracted, bestial moan of release. I was making plans to explore deeper with my fingers in search of a third when Joan smartly climbed off me and spun around, announcing "Enough, I want that fucking you promised me."

I was slow to react -- not that it mattered -- having been so engrossed in Joan's sweet pussy I'd not even realised that my cock was hard again; how'd Joan managed that, surely it'd only been a few minutes? Before I'd finished pondering that, Joan straddled me for a second time, though now facing the right way around, grasped my cock and settled herself onto it.

I penetrated Joan to my full length in a single, smooth motion - Jesus but she was wet in there! - and the intrusion was welcomed by another of Joan's bestial moans, followed by heavy shudder and a rasped "Oh fuck but that's nice." A sentiment I tended to agree with. We enjoyed the sensation for many seconds before Joan began to move -- to ride me?

It wasn't just an up and down movement, Joan incorporated a steady slide back and forth, grinding hardest against my shaft whenever it pressed directly upon her clitoris and whispering a muted 'yes' every time it did. It felt pretty good from my side too, most especially when Joan also began to clench and release the walls of her pussy; that was a new and enjoyable one for me.