Boring Weekend

My wife was not due until Monday. Though she's regularly sent on a business trip, I can't get used to the arrangement because being alone on a Saturday is still the thing I dread most. What is there to do but clean the house and arrange the living room. For a consolation, I had made plans for the afternoon anyway. It's good to meet my drinking buddies once in a long while.

I took a bath after lunch and was dressing up when someone knocked. My disgust was wiped off when I saw our neighbor's face in the gaping door. Since I am known as the know-it-all guy in the neighborhood, she wanted to consult me regarding investments. Her husband is working in a foreign country for quite a time and they had been duped twice of their savings.

I asked her to come in. She was wearing decent shorts but her blouse has that revealing cleavage. Having teenaged kids doesn't show in her figure and in her face as well. She's a flirt with her smile especially so when she remarked that she liked the perfume I was wearing.

After offering the settee, we went down to business. Interest in the bank is meager but safe while other investments promise a rosy income though they are risky. I explained the mechanics of long-term investments in treasury bonds and she agreed that it is a good option. I was trying to lengthen the conversation and it seemed that she was supporting my idea. She asked the whereabouts of my wife and where I was going.

The conversation went the way of our lives, particularly the loneliness of staying alone in the house. Once in a while she stooped to fix the broken lace on her slippers, giving me an ample view of what's inside her loose blouse. I knew she was soliciting an advance from me when she asked, "Suppose you don't go and we just play scrabble, the two of us. Do you think you can beat me in 10 games?"

I couldn't answer because I was already developing a mild hard on. Just then someone appeared on the door. The smiling face of my mother-in-law irritated me no end. Our neighbor hastily bid goodbye, a bit embarrassed, leaving me in the boring hands of my dear mother-in-law. As I expected, she has a problem. She quarreled with her other daughter with whom she is living with.

"I'll be leaving soon," I said to cut off her litany and pointed to my shoes to support my statement. "She hit me with a pan," she said crying as if she didn't hear me. One thing's going against me is my soft spot for a melodrama. She showed the slight bruise on her left shoulder while complaining that the impact might have sprained her arm.

She stopped sobbing when I offered to apply oil on her shoulder to relieve the pain and advised her that she could not take a bath for at least a day. I consented when she suggested that she would first take a bath before I apply the oil. She went to the spare bedroom for the towel and her extra clothes while I myself changed to a comfortable undershirt and took off my shoes.

My mother-in-law is around 50 at that time and a long-time widow. She's a nice woman except for her vice - she's a chronic liar who enjoys inventing sad stories. This bad trait made her an outcast such that all her children avoid talking to her whenever they could. And it's only me in the family who gives her time so I am always her refuge in times of crisis.

She came out of the bathroom wrapped in a big towel and her hair was dripping so I asked her to wipe her hair lest it will mess the floor. I made her sit on the settee and started applying oil on her damaged shoulder. It made her feel good as to close her eyes and I didn't have the heart to hurry. Besides, my mood was already ruined so I had decided against going that early anymore.

Not content with the shoulder, she raised her left arm while her right hand was holding the end of the towel. Since I was kind of pissed off with her unannounced coming, I was thinking of a way to get even. "I think the wet towel is not good. Better you change to dry clothes." My tone was business-like so she obliged. I then locked the main door and shut the windows. It was a cool afternoon anyway and there's no need for extra air.

She came back with a loose white tee shirt that reached her knee. Her brown aureola can be gleamed on the tansluscent white fabric. That gave me an idea in getting even with her. I began applying oil on her arm, sometimes pulling, sometimes kneading. She was sitting with eyes closed and head reclined on the back support of the settee.

I inched my hand inside the wide sleeve of her shirt and touched the side of her breast, wary of any protest. And since there was none, my hand caressed the side of her breast. She spoke without opening her eyes, "Is that necessary?" I replied with a simple yes then followed up with "The muscles need this to prevent any complication."

I continued massaging the whole side of her breast and not once or twice did my hand brushed on her nipple which was much bigger than my wife's and it was hard to my touch. She let out short, suppressed moans as I caressed the side of her breast. I was thinking of cupping her breast when she spoke, "The heat has gone out on me. At my age, there's no more desire left."

To me, that remark meant she was not sexually excited although the oppposite was obvious. Fifty is not that old and her body looks all right to me. With a few wrinkles, her face was smooth as my wife's and she had what I call matured beauty. But instead of being challenged, my hard on wilted to the thought of rejection. "I think that's enough," I nonchalantly said and stood up. She appeared dumbfounded as if she had said something foul. "I got to be going," I added and headed straight to the bedroom.

I dressed up again and when I came out of the room, my mother-in-law remained in the settee, unmoving but with her eyes fixed on me. I was already at the door when she spoke up. "Can I spend the night here? Just want to avoid the temper of your sister-in-law." Since she knew the way around, I didn't see any problem. "Sure," I said, "but can you cook dinner for yourself? And no need to wait for me, I might come home late."

I proceeded to my friend's place where our other drinking buddies normally converge on weekends. When evening came we went to a bar. It was truly an enjoyable evening for me. It was quite a time since I last joined my drinking buddies. We split up at almost midnight.

Feeling tipsy, I was surprised to see our main door unlocked. My mother-in-law was watching TV. "You didn't have to wait for me," I said with disgust in my voice. She was still wearing the white tee shirt but her hair was wet. In a reprimanding voice, I said, "You shouldn't have taken a bath. I told you it's bad for the muscles."

She just sat there motionless, looking at me. With a sneer, I proceeded to the bathroom but I almost lost my balance so I backtracked and sat on the other end of the settee where she was sitting. "I think I'm dizzy," I unconsciously said. To this, she stood up and proceeded to the kitchen. I didn't know why I feel angry at her. Maybe because she interrupted my close encounter with our sexy neighbor.

I lit a cigarette and my mother-in-law came back before I finished my smoke. She had a steaming cup of black coffee in her hand. She sat beside me and assisted me with the coffee. My lips almost got scalded and this added to my spite. "Just let me, okay?" She handed me the cup.

A few more sips before she spoke, "I'm sorry if I have been a bother. I think you need a sponge bath," she said apologetically. I gave her a sharp look that immediately waned because I saw the tears in her eyes. Again, she hit me in my soft spot. And before I could say a word, she stood up and came back with a face towel and a basin of tap water.

She started wiping my face with the wet towel. "I didn't take a bath, just shampooed my hair," she softly said. I could smell the aroma of her hair and the image of our sexy neighbor got back to haunt my imagination. "Okay," I said and grabbed the face towel from her. "It is you who need this." It was more of a command than an offer that I was sure would intimidate her.

And I was right. She didn't resist when I wiped her right arm, saying that it is all right but not the left arm and shoulder. The towel went inside her tee and into her back by way of the neck entrance. It took a while before I got a nice idea. I nudged the hem of her tee, a signal for her to remove it. I wasn't looking at her but I was sure she saw my poker face.

With obvious reluctance, she turned her back to me and removed the tee. I could espy on her sagging large breast and the sight of her bare back seemed inviting such that I was beginning to develop a hard on. The towel traversed the length of her back for a time before it glided on her side and into her front. We were both seated with her back on me. I noticed that she was holding the tee shirt serving as cover for her front.

With deliberate precision, part towel and part of my hand slyly moved to her breast causing her shaking hand to give way and expose one of her upper jewels. I seized the opportunity and slightly tagged her right hand downwards. Again, she gave way and the tee shirt, together with her hand, fell on the arm rest.

I was already rubbing the entirety of her right breast when I felt very uncomfortable with my stiffening masculinity. And before I could wonder why the hell it was rising, my left hand moved and unzipped my pants. Another idea hit my numbed head. Why not toy with her?

Once more with her back, the towel reached the garter of her panty. I nudged her to stand up and she obliged without a word. The small towel got inside her panty and rubbed her butt and then a little at the front just above her bushy mound. I knew it was a tease and I was enjoying it, not sexually though but emotionally. Now I'm getting even, I said to myself.

The towel in my hand took a complete tour inside her panty except for the main fare. The wet cloth and my exposed forefinger glided from her butt into her sides and then to her front that reached the upper portion of her crack. I was delighted with what I was doing. Giving my mother-in-law a "forced" sponge bath was a sweet revenge indeed.

I could hear gasps and suppressed moans whenever the towel would touch her mound. Accidentally, the towel got out of my hand and my bare fingers touched the protruding something in her crack. And evidenced by her loud "ow!" I was sure it was her clitoris that my fingers were massaging. It went on for a short while.

Slowly she faced me. And yes, her eyes remained closed so I had the liberty to take stock of what she had to offer. She was holding my head for support and was mushing my hair once in a while. I can't help but notice her sagging breast and hardened tits, the largest I have seen until this day. It looked like worn nipples of a baby's milk bottle where the pores are visible. The tan brown color of her aureola caused a tingling effect inside of me such that the opened pants became unbearable to my swollen and hardened masculinity.

I grabbed her crotch outside the panty, with no finesse at all, wetting my fingers in the process. A louder moan and still with eyes closed, her hands moved to pull down her panties. This is something, I said to myself.

I grabbed the dangling panty on her shin and her feet moved to get away from it. She was now stark naked and my hard on was asking for more. I made her lie down on the settee but the space was so small that she could not open her legs. In a commanding voice, "Stand up," I said. I got her big tee shirt and lay it on the floor then pointed it to her. Without a word she lay prostrate on the white tee on the floor.

In a mad rush, I was able to take off my pants and everything but the upper clothing. And without warning, I positioned myself on top of her and took the invitation of her wide open thighs. My hard, solid member was banging the wideness of her crack in no time at all. The once in a while artificial tightness that she applied heightened my animalistic desire, making me reach the climax so sooner than expected.

Her butt movement was beginning to rise in a cresendo and her moans were getting louder when I pulled out my softening stick without warning. As I stood up, angst was painted all over her face as if telling me that I deprived her of orgasm. Treading my way to the bathroom, I glanced at her. She remained on the floor, holding her lower abdomen, a clear sign of an orgasmic abortion.

It was nice to savor my sweet revenge while washing off the sticky fluid on my wilted appendage. No remorse whatsoever albeit I was ecstatic upon reminiscing her failed orgasm. It was nice, real nice to get even with her that way.

She was in the dining area just beside the door when I got out of the bathroom. I avoided her eyes but took cognizance of her serious face. Since I didn't know what to say, I went straight to the bedroom and the previous feeling of exhaustion came back. I lay on the bed to relax a bit before changing clothes but I fell asleep in that position, even forgetting to close the door.

I woke up to a nudge and saw my mother-in-law's smiling face. "Betsie is on the phone," she said of my wife. "Tell her I'm asleep," I lazily replied, "call me again later." She went out of the bedroom. I looked at the clock, it was already ten that Sunday morning and I was with a big headache. "Ah, what a night," I said to myself, suddenly remembering what transpired the previous night.

My mother-in-law came back at once. "She will call back at noon. Are you hungry? I'll make you breakfast." No answer from me because my mind was wandering but I noticed that she was wearing a loose dress and that she had just taken a bath, or maybe just a shampoo again. She repeated her offer of breakfast and I meekly said, "Go ahead, I'll follow."

No talks at the dining table. She was preparing the laundry and I was tinkering the leftover egg with my fork. Then I stood up and got a beer. "That's too early," she remarked. "This will take care of my hangover," I said without looking at her. I still felt so exhausted and my member remained wilted even when I got a glimpse of her healthy breasts whenever she would stoop on the washer.

I went to the living room and turned on the TV. The beer changed cans from one to another until I was already holding the fourth can when the phone rang. The sweet voice of my wife said she will arrive early Monday morning. My mother-in-law heard our conversation on the speakerphone. It made me wonder why she was humming a lively tune afterwards.

I felt relaxed after a hot shower. My head cleared although the fatigue was still there. So I thought of asking a massage from my dear mother-in-law but changed my mind. I went to the bedroom, turned on the airconditioner and lay on the bed. But my eager mind was competing with my tired body, I couldn't sleep and I was getting tense. The event of the previous night was bugging me. For what? I don't exactly know.

I called my mother-in-law. She came rushing in and I motioned her to take the chair while I was seated on the bed. "I want to talk to you," I started. "What about?" she asked agitatedly. I looked at her to realize a trace of her lost beauty. She looked younger than 50 and her figure is just about right, not too lean but not too fleshy.

"Is there regret on what happened last night?" my voice was quivering. She smiled. "None, none whatsoever," was her curt reply. She was now holding the hem of her house dress like a nervous child. I looked at her face and caught her eye. I smiled. She smiled back then bowed her head and stared at the floor. Confidence filled my innards and my face got numbed.

"I know you didn't enjoy," I continued, "but it was not my fault. You see, I was overwhelmed by the sensation you were giving me. So it's not really my fault if I reached the climax way ahead of you." I bit my lip unconsciously, thinking that it wasn't me who was talking. I never had the gall to talk about sex even with my wife.

She remained motionless with her hands on her sides now. I was getting some sort of enjoyment in my short monologue so I continued. "That was the best..." I could not say the 4-letter word, "sex I had in my life, you know." Her face moved in my direction and with a smile, she said, "Really? That's very flattering."

"No, I'm serious," I defended my premise. "At my age, no, I cannot agree," she replied. I was afraid that it would turn into a debate so I changed course. "At your age, the tightness was still there and..." She interrupted me with her irritating chuckle, "That's muscle control. Why, don't you know muscle control?" I felt the provocation but I tried to remain calm. I stood up and lit a cigarette.

"So, that's it, ha? How many men have you had?" my tone was full of sarcasm. "Believe it or not, you are just the second to penetrate my pussy," she said point-blank. My hard on was sudden and I didn't need to look down to see the bulge in my shorts. Dirty talk really turns me on, the reason why I enjoy going to sleazy bars. And especially so with the vulgar word pussy.

"You mean to say you had no..." again she interrupted my sentence. "I had a lot of men before but I really am careful. Perhaps I'm afraid to get pregnant. And I still had some after I got married, just for kicks maybe." It is getting clearer to me. She's a teaser herself. Talk of giving her a dose of her own medicine last night. Ha! The stiffness in my shorts was waning.

"I normally allow a guy up to my waist, I mean from up down to my waist only."Her manner of talking was very casual. "I let them lick my tits to their heart's delight. For my part, there were times that I masturbated them." My hard on was returning now. "Just that?" I asked just so she would continue. "Oh, more sometimes. Yes, I have sucked a dick a number of times for a number of guys." I seemed to explode with her language.

"Do you enjoy it when they suck your nipples?" I was trying to get back to a mild talk. "Of course," she was getting excited with her story as if she was being interviewed by a TV reporter. "Sucking my tits can make me cum, you know." That was the last straw for me to lose my senses. I stood up and reached inside her cleavage and pulled out one of her breasts.

"Like this?" I said before her nipple disappeared in my mouth. I sucked like I had never sucked before. "Yes, just like that. And then while sucking, the guy would mash my other hooter and I really liked it when the hand goes wild." I didn't know what she meant but I obliged to her innuendo. My mouth was sucking her tit, that's what she called it, and my hand was squeezing tightly on her other hooter. The taste of her nipple hastened the build up of my hard on to a dangerous level of explosion so I had to pause.

I pulled up the hem of her dress and was surprised to see that she wasn't wearing panties. Her nakedness stared at me and like the night before, she had her eyes closed. I was confused on where to continue so I pulled down my shorts and briefs and sized up my prey. Her glistening tits caught my fancy.

She was caressing my back and I could hear her rhythmic moans and contiuous panting while I was sucking dry her nipples and squeezing her breast. She slowly reclined on the bed and my head followed. I was on top of her, feasting on her upper jewels. She was enjoying it and I was surprised that I too was enjoying the chore.

My mouth moved down the stretch of her abdomen and straight down to her mound. Her legs automatically opened and I could smell a mixture of tangy and sweet odor coming from her crack. I momentarily stopped. She opened and her eyes and looked at me questioningly.

"Can I" referring to her crack. She smiled then bit her lip and closed her eyes again. My tongue wended its way inside the bush and immediately hit the protruding flesh. My mouth scanned the length of her crack, feeling the soft plump walls that kept on moving in a sideways direction. The exotic odor pumped more adrenalin in me but I persevered. I had planned to give my mother-in-law her due. And it didn't take long before she let out a loud moan and that familiar gasp coupled with the fast rhythm of her butt.