“All my mother needs is a good fucking,” my wife Beth had told me the previous night. “I know her: it would put her in a much better mood. Maybe you should volunteer, Chris. Despite the unkind way Cynthia treats you, I think she lusts after you a bit.” 

I thought about that conversation as I was driving over to my mother-in-law's house on a Saturday afternoon at Beth’s request. It would be the first time that Cynthia and I would be alone together.  

If she was even home. I didn’t know what to expect. 

“I’m going to be here all weekend,” Beth had told me on the phone an hour prior, from a manufacturing plant a hundred-some miles away. “They fucked this unit up pretty badly and need me to get it online by Monday.” 

Beth was an engineer for a company that had equipment at that facility, and she had been called away for an emergency a couple of hours previously. 

“I need you to go check in on Mom,” she had asked me. “She told me if I didn’t hear from her by two o’clock this afternoon, to go over and make sure she was okay. I didn’t know that I’d be here, and not there.” 

“Why would she not be alright?” I asked my wife. “Is it a medical thing?” 

“No, but I can’t go into it right now,” Beth replied. She wasn’t alone; there was machinery noise and voices in the background.

“It’s probably nothing. Maybe her phone just died, or she got tied up. Just take the spare key to her house from my dresser and make sure she’s okay.” 

Well, that was just great; I was giving up my Saturday afternoon on a mysterious welfare check, driving forty-five minutes to the house of a woman who drove me crazy.  

Crazy in two ways: 

One - Cynthia didn’t think I was good enough for her daughter and had made it very clear at the wedding reception just a month prior. And on other occasions as well. That was irritating. 

Two: I was reasonably sure that Beth had been joking about Cynthia being warm for my form, but I secretly felt attracted to the forty-six-year-old widow.  

Don’t get me wrong, I love Beth. Deeply. But she and her mother are opposites in many ways; my young wife is kind, slim, and dark-haired, whereas Cynthia is snarky, voluptuous, and red-headed.  (Curvy bodies and red hair are definite turn-ons for me. That sharp-tongued thing, not so much.)

Also, Beth is adventurous in bed. Far more than I am, as I was raised in a fairly conservative family.  

For example, during the honeymoon, Beth had wanted to explore some BDSM stuff like bondage and spanking, but I was afraid that others in the hotel would hear and misunderstand, sparking a confrontation with the local police.  

Besides, I love her, and I just couldn’t see myself abusing her like that, even with her consent. Plus, I’m considerably larger than her and was afraid I’d end up hurting her. 

Beth was kinkier than me, for sure. She had even made it clear that we could have an open marriage, so long as there were no secrets and we got approval for the occasional prospective fling. I hadn’t yet agreed and wasn’t planning on taking advantage of that, but I knew that she might push the issue eventually.  

That was a condition I was willing to accept for having such a great wife.  

Whereas her mother... 

Despite being an attractive and shapely middle-aged widow, she had not dated since her husband Julius—her second husband, not Beth’s father—passed away a year previously. I hadn’t known him, as I met Beth only a few months ago. He'd left her financially well-off.

Relatives told me that Cynthia had become moody and bitchy only after his death. I could understand a few weeks of bitterness after his fatal car accident, but, lord, she needed to get on with her life. 

So, as I arrived at the house, I remembered the conversation with Beth—it was pillow talk after a nice romp in the sheets—telling me that her mother needed to get laid.  

I now wondered if Cynthia had notified Beth that she was finally getting some sex action. Maybe she was shacking up with some guy for the weekend but wasn’t entirely sure that he was trustworthy. 

I could be walking into something … dangerous. Or at least, sketchy. 

I rang the doorbell and got no response. After letting myself in, I searched the ground floor and basement, and found nothing amiss. I’d been inside this house only once, for an engagement party that I did not enjoy, thanks to sarcastic remarks from Cynthia. 

I searched the upper floor. Outside the final room to check, I heard faint meditation-like background music and a very muffled human voice. Entering the bedroom, what I saw there in the dim light—the drapes were drawn—froze me in my tracks: 

There was a naked woman, spread-eagle, on the king-sized, four-poster bed.  

Well, not entirely naked; leather cuffs on her wrists and ankles were connected by locks to chains that pulled her limbs to the four corners of the bed frame. She also wore high heels on her feet and a dog collar around her neck. Her face was mostly obscured by a gag and a blindfold. 

The latter two were not just simple cloth wrappings like you might see in a cheesy old-time movie; these were substantial leather bindings that ensured the victim would not be able to speak or see.  

The woman had heard me come in and was squirming and grunting, trying to say something. As I approached, I saw a vibrator had been tied to her crotch with a leather harness that fastened around her hips and thighs. It was one of those powerful Hitachi massage devices with a large, soft ball at the tip that was pressed tight to her bald and wet pussy.  

It was inactive at the moment, but it was plugged into a nearby metal box that had some dials and switches, which in turn was connected to a wall socket.  

I tip-toed around the room, checking the closet and the connecting bathroom for the intruder that had done this; I found nothing.  

Suddenly—and it startled the fuck out of me—the vibrator started up again with a buzzing sound. The woman groaned and wriggled in her bondage again.  

Looking closely, I saw of course that it was Cynthia herself. I had seen her in a bikini once at the beach; her fair skin, ample bosom, slim waist, wide hips, and strong thighs were unmistakable.  

And gorgeous, especially for a lady in her mid-forties, two decades my elder. 

I took my time looking her over: she had been there for a while, I sensed, and a few more seconds weren’t going to hurt. I needed to figure out what kind of situation I had stumbled onto. 

That’s when I saw the key on the end of a string that was dangling from the bed’s canopy. It was hanging a few inches over Cynthia’s tethered right hand, not low enough for her to reach it.  

It finally dawned on stupid old me. 

Cynthia Hemmings, my mother-in-law and a shrew of a woman, who I didn’t realize had an ounce of fun or adventure in her life, had shackled herself to her bed with a vibrator between her legs.  

It was self-bondage for sexual pleasure. 

But the key to her freedom was just out of reach. Why would she do that?  

I examined the setup more carefully. There was a small wet spot on the bedspread near her right hand and a tangled bit of cordage halfway up the string.  

Now it made sense. She had frozen a loop of that string in an ice cube as a time-release mechanism, so that when it melted, it would drop the key into her hand. She could then be able to open the lock on the chain near her wrist, and then unlatch the others. (When Beth started pressing for some light BDSM action, I did some research on the internet. I had read about self-bondage among other things.) 

However, I could see that the unfrozen loop had become tangled and had kept the key from falling all the way down into her reach.  

Again, it all made sense. That’s why she arranged with Beth for a welfare check at two o’clock; in case something went wrong, which it obviously had.  

Speaking of Beth, the device that controlled the vibrator, turning it on and off, appeared to be hand-crafted, not store-bought; the kind of thing my electrical engineer wife could easily build in her workshop.  

So, Beth was an accomplice in this...what would you call it?  

Activity? Hobby? Fetish? Fantasy? 

Cynthia’s grunts were getting louder, more insistent. I tried to pull the gag from her mouth, but it would not come loose. She turned her head away from me and I saw that it was buckled behind her head.  

I undid the gag and lifted it away; there was a one-inch rubber plug, like the head of a penis, that had rested between her teeth, stifling her speech.  

She worked her jaw a bit to loosen up her mouth.  

“It took you long enough, Christopher,” she complained. She was the only person in the world who insisted on calling me Christopher, which I detested, and not Chris. 

“What are you doing here? Where is Beth?” 

I paused before I gave her an answer. And then, instead of apologizing like I normally would have, or keeping quiet to fume and sulk, I did something I had never done before. 

I burst out laughing at her. Loud and long. “Guffawing,” I believe is the term.  

I could not believe that this controlling, patronizing bitch would have the temerity to criticize me when she was engaged in risky, kinky sex play from which she needed rescuing, due to her screw-up.  

I could not see her eyes behind the blindfold, which was still attached, but from the rest of her face, I could tell she was shocked at my uncharacteristic behavior. (Not that I was ever a total wimp around her; I had just always endeavored to keep the peace between the two of us as a favor to her daughter. And I made allowances for a grieving widow.) 

When my laughter died down, I remained quiet and did not move to unbind her any further. Let her squirm, I figured. I’ve learned that you can sometimes say more with silence than with words. 

After a long pause, Cynthia spoke again, her tone much softer. 

“I’m sorry, Christopher. That came out...harsher... than I had intended.”  

I let a few more seconds go by before I spoke, quietly and firmly.  

“If you want Beth to rescue you, I can leave any time, Cynthia. She was called away by her company and will be back sometime tomorrow night. I’m sure this vibrator thing will keep you company until then.” 

Just then, that gadget turned itself off. It was obviously designed to tease but not bring the recipient to climax.  

“I’m sorry, Son,” she said quietly, “I’m just so embarrassed at you finding me here like this.” 

I laughed again; more of a controlled chuckle this time. I noticed her nipples were hard and pointy. 

“I don’t think you’re embarrassed, Cynthia. I think it turns you on to be found; for your little secret self-bondage session to be discovered.” 

I told her what had happened to the string that held the key.  

“Oh, good,” she said. “Now you can release me.” 

“I could do that...” I started.  

“Or, seeing as how I didn’t hear a ‘please’ anywhere in that request, I could set this control panel to continuous mode and leave you here while I go downstairs and fix myself a snack. Maybe catch the game on your big-screen TV. I could catch most of the second half.” 

"Christopher,” she said carefully and respectfully, “if you don’t release me when you’re able to, that's kidnapping. Or at least unlawful imprisonment.” 

“Cynthia,” I replied, equally carefully and respectfully, “I still haven’t heard a ‘please.’ I drove all the way over here, and you’re the one who tied herself down with a vibrator between her legs and fucked it all up.”  

Of course, the smart thing to do would have been to hand her the key and go downstairs, wait for her to free herself, put on some clothes, and come down to let me know she was alright.  

But, according to Cynthia, I was not the smartest tool in the shed.  

Fuck it. This was an opportunity to push back.  

I grabbed the string and yanked it, breaking it and pulling the key free. I dangled it over the space between my mother-in-law's wonderful breasts and let her feel the cold metal on the skin there. She let out a small gasp at the sensation.  

“Of course, you’re right about the law, Cynthia’ I said. “I’ll let you go now if you tell me one thing. And I want the absolute truth.” 

“Go ahead. Ask it,” she said, shaking a bit.  

I leaned in close to her face. She still couldn’t see me, but she could sense my nearness.  

“Tell me,” I whispered. “What do you really want right now? This moment? Truthfully.” 

“Right this moment,” she whispered, “I want you to do something very intimate, Christopher. Something I really need. Something that’s driving me crazy.” 

She paused.  

“I need you to scratch my nose. It’s been itching like a son-of-a-bitch all afternoon.” 

She couldn’t see the laugh that I was stifling.  

“Please?” she added with a smile; the first genuine, warm smile she had ever given me.  

With the tension temporarily broken, I complied and put my finger on her nose. She wiggled it around until she was satisfied. 

"Do you want me to release you now?" I asked.

"Not yet," she replied, her voice a little shaky.

I leaned back in and quietly asked, “Is there any other part of your body that itches?” 

She drew a breath. This was the moment of truth.  

“My nipple needs a little attention,” she said. 

“Which one?” I asked. 

“Take your pick,” she replied. “Either. Or both.” 

I took her two nipples in my fingers, lightly pinching and twirling them. She sighed. Given the setting she had arranged for herself, I figured she could take more.  

I plucked them harder. I was tempted to take them in my mouth to lick and nibble them. 

“Oh, god, that feels so good,” she moaned. “Could you turn on the vibrator? There’s a ‘continuous’ setting on the control box. Or better yet, take it off me and …” 

She barely knew how to say it.  

“... put yourself inside me. Please.” 

This was getting out of hand.  

“Cynthia,” I said, “maybe I should just give you the key and leave. I’m not sure this is right.” 

Just then, with perfect timing, my phone buzzed. It was Beth calling. I stepped out into the hallway and answered it.  

“Calling to see if everything’s all right, Chris,” she said. There were still voices in the background. “Did you find Mom?” 

“Yes, honey,” I replied. “I found her in the bedroom. She got herself into a bit of a bind, but she’s okay. She couldn’t get to her key. She’s a little frustrated, but she’ll survive.” 

Beth chuckled. I figured she couldn’t speak candidly with people around her, so she asked, “Have you gotten her out of that … bind … yet?” 

“Uh, not yet. We’re still talking. She seems to be in a more ... respectful mood ... than the last few times we’ve been together.” 

Beth laughed. “I’ll bet she is. Sorry I didn’t warn you properly earlier.” 

“Beth,” I said seriously, my voice shaking a bit, “she’s asking me for … a favor. An intimate favor.”  

I knew that I could speak candidly on my end, but somehow I couldn’t quite put her request into plain words.  

“Chris,” she said, “listen to me. My mother has been unhappy and unfulfilled since Julius died. If you’re okay with it, and I suspect you are, do anything you want to make my mom happy. I love you both, trust you both. Deeply. Understand?” 

“I understand, honey,” I said. “I will do my best.” 

I could hear the smile in Beth’s voice. “I know you will, honey. As a matter of fact, I wish I was there to help you brighten her day. Maybe next time I will.” 

WTF? My bride was full of surprises.  

I went back into the bedroom where, of course, Cynthia was waiting for my return.  

“What did she say?” 

I did not respond directly; I figured she knew the answer. Instead, I sat on the bed next to her and began untying the straps that held the vibrator to her pussy. The device had started up again and was buzzing her clit. 

"So, I asked, “What was your fantasy when you tied yourself down like this? I’m sure you had one in mind.” 

“Christopher,” she said, “please don’t make me say it.” 

By this time, I had freed the massager from her crotch. Feeling very bold, I grabbed her by her long red hair, pinned her head down, and brought the dome of the vibrator up to her lips so she could feel and smell her own body juices.  

“What...was... the...fantasy?” I repeated, sternly. “Was it me, or someone else?” 

She gasped and rapidly spit it out: “Kidnappers tied me down and called their boss so that he could come over and ... have his way with me.” 

“How? Be more specific.” 

She hesitated. I took the key, still in my hand, and scraped the ridged portion over her right nipple. She gasped; still blindfolded, she didn’t see it coming.  

“Please...” she whispered. 

I moved over to her left nipple and rubbed it in harder. Another gasp. 

“You put yourself in this situation, woman. What does the boss-man do?” 

The words came softly. “He makes me suck his dick and then fucks my pussy with it.”  

“That sounds like something I could do,” I replied in a deep voice.  

-------- 

“And what happened then, honey?” Beth asked.  

It was the following night, shortly after Beth had returned from her engineering emergency.  

The moment she had walked into our house a few minutes prior, she was stripping off her clothes while she raced to our bedroom, demanding I do the same and to meet her there. By the time I complied, she was naked and on her knees. 

“Bring that over here, stud,” she growled. 

Beth sometimes has these horny spells, but I had never seen her quite so feverish. I knew better than to waste any time, and I gave her my already-hardening cock to play with.  

As soon as I was fully hard, which wasn’t long, she sprang up onto the bed, grabbed her ankles, and presented her wet pussy.  

Again, I wasted no time on preliminaries. She was obviously in no need of foreplay, or more likely, she had done her warm-up by hand in the car on the way home. 

Beth climaxed, hard, after only a couple of minutes of pumping. I had not. 

She made me lay on my back and put my hands over my head, saying we needed to slow down a bit. She pulled out a pair of handcuffs from a drawer in her nightstand. Threading the connecting chain through an iron pole in the headboard, she clamped them to my wrists.  

I had let her do this to me a couple of times, and frankly, the experience had felt a little odd and disconcerting. This time, however, my erection got even harder, and I was looking forward to whatever she had in mind. 

While she played with my cock, still wet from her juices, Beth made me tell her everything that had happened at Cynthia’s house, from the beginning, in detail. When she felt I was leaving anything out or hedging the reports of my inner dialogue during the session, she would lightly slap my balls.  

I had just gotten to the “good part,” where Cynthia had confessed that her fantasy was fellatio and fucking, while bound.  

“And what happened then, honey?” Beth asked, and then went back to using her mouth to lick and suck me, slowly. 

I described in some detail how I had taken off my shirt and draped it across Cynthia’s naked torso so she could feel it. When I stepped out of my pants, I pulled my belt free and did the same.   

“I think she was expecting me to … whip her ... with the belt, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I just wasn’t mentally prepared for that, I wasn’t experienced, and I didn’t know if she’d freak out.” 

I then described to my wife how, portraying the crime boss, I knelt over her mother’s head and put my cock in her mouth while I reached down to massage her clit with my fingers.  

Beth pulled away from my dick long enough to ask, “Does she suck cock as good as I do, honey?”  

“Not at all, babe,” I replied. That brought a slap to my balls.  

"Liar,” Beth said. “I happen to know that my mom is a great cock-sucker. Best in town.” 

“That might be so, baby,” I explained, “but she was at a bit of a disadvantage, being on her back and not able to use her hands.”  

Beth accepted that caveat.  

I then described how I then disconnected Cynthia’s ankle cuffs from the chains that held her to the baseboard, knelt between her legs, and lifted them with my arms. I then proceeded to enter her and vigorously fuck the horny MILF. (Only this time, the “M” stood for “Mother-in-law.”) 

It took Cynthia very little time to build to a loud and convulsive climax; she was obviously wound up by the earlier stimulation of the vibrator on her clit, and the novel thrill of having her son-in-law pounding her pussy while she was blind and bound. 

I told Beth that it took only another minute or so for me to explode in Cynthia’s cunt, with equally noisy results.  

“When I recovered,” I continued, “I released her blindfold and wrist cuffs and collapsed next to her. She held me in her arms, wrapped herself around me and we kissed. A long time. Then we showered together, not talking, not discussing what had happened, just caressing and caring.” 

Beth sensed a change in my voice, in my attitude, and paused her blowjob to listen closely.

“Beth, I sensed that a great weight had lifted off her shoulders. That a … a kind of sadness, a bitterness … had drained away.” 

With that, Beth kissed me, lovingly and deeply. Her eyes were moist as she looked into mine.  

“Thank you so much, honey,” she whispered. “I love you.” 

Then she called out, “Did you hear that, mother? Is that what happened?”  

From Beth’s phone on the nightstand—a phone that I did not know was active—came Cynthia’s voice on speaker after a short pause.  

“Sorry, I had to unmute this thing,” she said. “I was playing with myself and came while listening to his story. It’s true, Beth. I feel so much better now. I’m ready to live again. Your husband is a sweetie.” 

Damn her, Beth didn’t tell me that Cynthia was eavesdropping the whole time.  

“Just a ‘sweetie’?” asked Beth, with a grin. 

“And a tiger in the sheets,” replied her mother. “Although …” 

Here it comes, I thought. She can’t resist criticism. 

“I understand that this was new and unsettling to him,” she continued, “but Christopher really could have been rougher with me. Maybe next time we could crank it up, with a little guidance from you, Beth.” 

“Uh, next time? What is she talking about?” I asked my wife.  

“I have a confession to make, Chris,” Beth said. “You never met him, but Julius is the one that turned mother on to BDSM. He built a secret bondage and sex playroom in their basement; one that’s behind a securely locked door. I added some electronic equipment.” 

“In the months before his accident,” Cynthia’s voice added from the phone, “Beth would join us in playing down there. We three would bind each other in various combinations; two would gang up on one, or one on the other two. And then we’d really have some fun.” 

I was stunned. Not totally surprised, given Beth’s hints that she and her mother had shared this hobby.  

And shared Cynthia’s husband, Beth’s stepfather. 

“I’m hoping,” said Cynthia, “that since Chris and I have broken the ice, so to speak, that I could re-open the playroom, dust off the equipment there …” 

“And you could take over Julius’ role,” Beth said.  

She could see my hesitation. 

“We’d take good care of you, Chris, and teach you so much. We’d take it as slow or as fast as you wanted.” 

“Yes,” added Cynthia. “I might need a regular set of injections from Doctor Christopher to keep my blues away.”  

I considered it while my wife lightly played with my cock. 

“You’re okay with this, honey?” I finally asked Beth. 

“Oh, yeah,” she said. “It was kinda my idea.” 

I suspected now that Beth had planned the whole encounter with her mother so that she and I could, as Cynthia had put it, “break the ice.”  

I don’t think she’d admit her scheming. Not freely. I might have to get the two women tied up and then “persuade” them to come clean.  

I smiled. Yeah, the ice had broken, because now, that sounded like something I could definitely see myself doing.  

So, of course, my next words were, “Clean up the dungeon, Cynthia. I’m all in, and glad to help.” 

We made tentative plans to get together at my mother-in-law's place the following Friday night and spend the weekend there. 

After Cynthia disconnected, presumably to continue masturbating, I asked my wife, “Could you finish this blowjob, babe? I’d like to come sometime before I have to go to work tomorrow.” 

“You leave around seven, right?” asked Beth, resuming her slow, deliberate hand job. I was still in handcuffs and at her mercy. It was about ten PM. 

“I’ll let you orgasm by six o’clock so that you have time to shower and shave in the morning.”  

I figured she was kidding. Or maybe not; there was a tiny, devilish gleam in her eyes. 

Either way, it was shaping up to be a long, interesting night; a perfect way to cap off an amazing weekend.  

The first of many amazing weekends, I hoped.