It was a warm spring morning as I left my house and walked through the run-down estate to drop off some clothes at my daughter’s place. Bianca and Dean had married in the previous summer. Having lived with Sean and me whilst they waited for a council house, they had moved in at the start of the year.

Bianca, now in her early twenties, worked in a supermarket in town. Dean was a brickie, employed by a mate of his dad’s. Arriving at their house, and assuming they both were out at work, I let myself in the front door with my key. The small house was quiet; having put the clothes on the side, I spent a moment looking at some photos on the sideboard. It was then that I heard an indistinct noise from the kitchen.

Startled and confused, I crept to the connecting door, which was ajar. My eyes widened as I stole a glance into the room. There, sitting at the kitchen table, was my son-in-law, work trousers around ankles and manhood in hand. My eyes grew wider when I saw, on his laptop screen, a photo from my social media profile. Taken on our last holiday, it was one of me pouting my full lips at the camera, dressed in a pale blue, deep plunge halter-neck bikini that exposed my belly button and clung to my full, curvaceous, frame. As I looked on in stunned amazement, Dean zoomed in on my pouting face and plunging cleavage.

“Fuck me, Mandy, look at the state of you,” my son-in-law murmured, slowly stroking himself to hardness. “What I wouldn’t do to that body,” he continued, as I watched and listened in disbelief.

“I’d plough you into next week and then dump my load all over your face and tits, you filthy fucking slapper,” he grunted, his impressively large member now fully erect. Oddly aroused by the sordid description of what he would do to me, and transfixed by the sheer bulk of his manhood, my fingers moved almost involuntarily to circle my nipples through the thin material of my low-cut pink t shirt.

Leaning against the doorframe as I watched, my weight shifted, causing a loose floorboard to creak. Dean’s head snapped around; his expression was one of mortified shock. “Mandy…shit…I, err…I can…” he stammered, slamming the laptop shut and covering his lap with a tea towel.

“What can you explain, Dean,” I asked with an eyebrow raised, crossing to where he was squirming on the kitchen chair. “That instead of being at work, you are at home wanking over a photo of me in a bikini,” I continued, standing over him and watching his face flush beetroot red, with his cock still tenting slightly under the tea towel.

“Or that your mother-in-law is a filthy slapper who you are going to…what was it again…plough into next week,” I murmured, leaning over him, with hands placed on the back of the chair, so that my heavy boobs were almost falling out of the plunging t-shirt. Dean gulped, his cock growing again in response to the enormous mounds of soft flesh that were almost touching his face.

“I don’t imagine you have told my daughter that you want to dump your load on her mother’s face and tits, have you Dean.” I winked, sinking to my knees in front of my son-in-law. “Are these the tits you want to cover in your cum,” I purred, slipping the thin straps from my shoulders and peeling the nylon top down so that it hung around my thick waist. “Do you like your mother-in-law’s big fat tits,” I asked, cupping them in both hands. “So much bigger than my daughter’s, aren’t they?”

“Fucking hell, Mandy,” he groaned. With a knowing smile, I removed the tea towel from his lap and licked my lips in lustful anticipation at the sight of his rampant manhood.

“I can see why Bianca looks like the cat that got the cream,” I murmured approvingly, tracing a long false fingernail over his glans. Dean flinched, his cock twitching at the contact. “Who knew you were such a big lad, Dean,” I sighed, running the hard plastic press-on nail down the length of the shaft.

“Oh, my God,” he groaned, when I lightly ran the tip of my tongue up the length of his rock-hard shaft. His breath hitched and his thighs tensed as I teased his mushroom-like head with my tongue, whilst simultaneously raking his scrotum with my false nails.

“The thing is, Dean, you’re right; I am a dirty slapper who loves cock.” I pouted, closing the fingers of my ring hand around his rampant member. Meeting his gaze, I began to pump my fist up and down his length. “And I’ve wanted yours ever since we met,” I purred, brushing my plump lips over the wrinkled skin of his scrotum, and watching his eyes widen when I took a heavy testicle into the warmth of my mouth and sucked hard on it. Releasing the globe with a plop, and continuing to stroke him firmly, I teased my tongue over the sack, before sinking down and flicking lightly up towards his arse.

“Fuck, Mandy, you dirty cow,” Dean groaned, buttocks clenching when I repeated the movement of my tongue across the sensitive frenulum, whilst pushing a long fake nail through his anal ring.

“Your mother-in-law being a slut turns you on, doesn’t it,” I purred, running my mouth back up over his balls and shaft, and pressing the fingernail deeper into his anus. Looking up and seeing him groan in agreement, I sank down onto the engorged head.

With an air of smug, almost arrogant, satisfaction, Dean watched me eagerly bobbing up and down on his rock-hard manhood, pressing my tongue around the sensitive underside of his domed head on each upstroke, and running my wedding ring along his thick veiny girth in time with the movement of my collagen-enhanced lips.

The kitchen was filled with the clucking sounds emanating from my throat as I placed my hands on Dean’s thighs and rhythmically worked him with my mouth. Then, looking up at him, I sank down his shaft until my lips met his pelvis. Having held myself there for a moment, I pulled back up and released him. Eyes twinkling, I dribbled slobber onto his glans.

“Oh, you nasty bitch,” Dean chuckled, as he gripped my hair in both hands and guided me back down onto his throbbing member. Holding me down onto his girth, my son-in-law began rhythmically pushing himself into my mouth. “Fucking take it,” he grunted, thrusting his hips back and forward, driving his cock deep into my throat. Gagging and choking, my eyes began to water as he forcefully fucked my face.

Eventually, coughing and spluttering, mascara streaked down my face, and a long string of slobber and precum running from my collagen-enhanced lips, I was pulled by the hair from his cock. “You love that, don't you, you fucking slag." Dean grinned, slapping his meat against my cheek. Recovering my breath, I used a finger to wipe the viscous strand from my plump lower lip; licking my finger clean, I winked in salacious agreement.

Lifting me by an elbow, Dean pushed me firmly against the kitchen cabinets, planting my hands on the work surface and spreading my legs with his mud-encrusted boots. Cock rampant, he gripped the waistband of the black leggings that stretched tight across my chubby arse and roughly tugged the polyester material over my thick thighs and down around my ankles.

With his work trousers also around his ankles, Dean shuffled into position behind me. Looking over my shoulder, I squealed when a hard slap from his rough hand sent ripples through my ample buttocks. Grinning at me, he used a calloused hand to guide his rigid manhood between my legs, until it nudged up against my sopping mound. Desperate for Dean to enter me, I pushed back against him.

“Gagging for it, aren’t you, Mandy, you chubby tart,” Dean muttered, rubbing the domed head of his cock along my puffy labia. Gripping my fleshy hips, and taking my frantic nods as assent, my son-in-law pressed his massive girth between the folds of my labia.

"Oh, fuck, yes; that's what I wanted, you bastard,” I whimpered, hands flat on the worktop, feeling the walls of my tunnel being stretched and distorted by the bulk of him. Pulling slowly back again, he paused and then rammed the domed head of his cock deep into my sopping quim.

Leaning forward, he cupped my enormous mounds of soft pliant flesh in his rough workman’s hands. “So much tighter than your daughter,” he murmured in a tone of slight surprise as he began to take me with determined thrusts.

“You did marry the estate bike,” I moaned, feeling him plunging into me. “Bianca’s been ridden by most of the blokes around here,” I continued, goading her husband, who was groping my massive boobs whilst fucking me from behind.

“Learnt that from her slag of a mother, didn’t she,” Dean sneered, releasing my boobs, straightening, and landing a hard slap on my flabby arse. Twisting my jet-black hair around his fist and grabbing the t-shirt rucked around my thick waistline with his other hand for control, Dean yanked my head up and drove into me with a grunt.

"Apple didn’t fall far from the tree,” I whimpered as he pulled me back by my hair in time with each drive of his hips. The kitchen was filled with sobs, grunts, and the slap of flesh on flesh. My son-in-law was using me and I was loving every second of it.

"Cum on my cock, fucking slut,” Bianca’s husband growled, his sweat dripping onto my arse. Hands splayed on the worktop, my huge pendulous breasts bouncing with the force of his thrusts, I could feel my muscles spasming around his girth as he continued to pound my chubby body.

“I’m cumming, I’m cumming; I’m cumming; oh, my fucking God, I’m cumming,” I screamed. Then, eyes wide, body pulsating, the orgasm ripped through my juddering curves and I gushed all over the thick shaft embedded in my pulsating quim.

With aftershocks still running through me, I was pulled by the hair and unceremoniously dumped onto the chair. “Bring me off with your tits,” he demanded, looming over me. Cupping my boobs, I wrapped them around the glistening truncheon that was being guided into the channel between them by a leering Dean.

“This is what I caught you wanking to, isn’t it, Dean.” I pouted, pressing the soft mounds of flesh tight onto his shaft with my long fake fingernails, and drooling onto the purple head that poked out from the top of them.

“Your mother-in-law wants you to dump your load all over her face and tits,” I urged, giving him a slutty look. Hands either side of my head for balance, he groaned with lust, thrusting his hips and pistoning his cock into the fleshy tunnel.

“That’s what you told yourself you would do to the filthy slapper, wasn’t it, Dean,” I goaded, as he increased the pace and jackhammered my huge mounds. “So, come on, give me that cum, you dirty little fucker.”

“Fucking have it, Mandy, you nasty slag,” he roared, launching rope after rope of sticky white gunk over my face, into my eyes, and onto my pendulous breasts and the fingers that were pressed against them. Landing one final stream of semen onto my chin, he slowed and stopped, panting and spent.

“Oh my God, how long have you been storing that up for,” I giggled, wiping the cum from my false eyelashes. Sight restored, I glanced up to see Dean had retrieved his phone from the work trousers he had pulled up from around his ankles.

“More where that came from, Mandy.” He grinned cheekily, taking a photo of me, my face streaked with mascara and semen, and my heavy mounds exposed and coated with rivulets of his cum. “But this will keep me going for the odd cheeky wank until I can give you another seeing-to.” He winked, stuffing the phone back in his pocket.

“Cheeky sod,” I giggled, cleaning cum and makeup from my face with the toilet paper he had placed next to his laptop.