MOTHER-IN-LAW SWEET

"I can't believe we're finally landowners!" Michael Woods stood on the front lawn, looking up at the house, the vinyl siding gleaming white in the sun. A mature oak shaded the big bay window of the living room, but none of the four bedrooms. He immediately began manhandling the realtor's sign out of the turf.

"I can't believe you talked me into that," Kendra motioned at the French window over the garage adjoining the house.

"What?" He said in disbelief. "Are you joking? It's a perfect little guest room with its own bath and everything. Yeah, it shares a wall with the Master, but Nance said it's totally soundproofed, so privacy's not an issue." Mike waggled his eyebrows meaningfully at his young wife.

"I really wish you wouldn't call her that," she clucked her tongue.

"She asked me to," he said. "She's your family friend, anyway. She even gave us a break on the fees."

"It's just...familiar," Kendra huffed, agitated now. "Besides, she's not a family friend, she used to be a friend of my mother's, and the less said about her the better."

"Anyway, what's the problem with the room?"

"I dunno," her brow furrowed. "The name, I guess. How can it be a Mother-in-law suite? My mother in law passed away when you were five, and I haven't seen your mother-in-law since before we met. It's weird. Just thinking about it give me the heebiejeebies."

Mike tossed the sign aside, and walked over to hug his wife. "Ken, it's just a name. It doesn't mean anything. It's not going to summon your mother - though I would like to meet her one day - and we can call it the guest suite or the hobby room or the Velvet Lounge, if you like. Cheer up!" He motioned expansively. "All this is ours! All this space, all this green, all these rooms we can fill up with babies or puppies or balloons or any damn thing we please. No more walkups, no more street noise, no more-"

"...creepy landlords," Kendra supplied.

"No more creepy landlords, or throwing rent money into a shitty two-bedroom apartment we'd never own." He held her face in his hands. "We're finally starting our grownup life."

Kendra's arms slid around him. "I guess things are looking up, after all." She smiled, and pulled him closer. "Well, one thing is definitely up, anyway."

He grinned. "Wanna see how many rooms we can 'christen' today?"

They ran into the house hand-in-hand, giddy and elated.

* * *

Nancy Perillo had, in fact, known Kendra Woods (nee Valentine) her entire life, watching her blossom from a mousy, nervous little girl into a mousy, nervous, unremarkable young woman. She had also, as Mike said, waived a portion of her commission for the purchase of their home; she hadn't told them that she'd also been representing the seller of the house, and took home a hefty commission from the sale of it as well.

She'd even told Mike to call her 'Nance,' a courtesy she'd never extended to Kendra, or ever would. But then, he was a strapping man half her age and much better looking than his shrinking violet of a wife. For Nancy, the attraction had been immediate from the moment the young couple had walked into her office, all wide-eyed and naive. She had given Mike's lean, muscular frame more than a casual glance, taking in his vigor and assessing what he'd be like in bed. Excellent, was the first impression; and he wouldn't have been the first young husband to fall victim to the realtor's well-aged charms. In fact, it usually wasn't long after their first meeting that husbands were making excuses to view properties alone with 'Nance,' particularly after they took a measure of the length of her legs, the brevity of her skirts, and the ample assets hidden underneath her smartly-tailored blazer. Mike, to his credit, didn't even seem to notice her silky blond tresses (shot through with an artful streak of gray), or the glossy plumpness of her mouth. He had eyes only for his wife.

It had taken her almost a minute to notice Kendra was even there, and another minute to realize she was Vivien's daughter.

That had, for once, taken Nancy aback. It was one thing to fuck strapping young men while their wives were picking out window treatments. It was another thing entirely to do it to her best friend's daughter. Not that she ever stopped thinking about it, of course, but even Nancy had her limits. The fact that Vivien was a cutthroat, predatory bitch was probably also a determining factor. A very rich, cutthroat, predatory bitch who happened to to be buying up property on the East Side...

Nancy hit the intercom on her desk.

"Tom-mmmmmy," she cooed. "Can you step in here a minute, please?"

The real estate firm's handsome young intern came galloping in through her door. All his forward momentum came to a halt as he caught sight of Nancy's hand, gently fingering her blouse, unbuttoned far enough to expose a generous helping of well-aged, mature cleavage.

"Yes Mrs. Pirello?" He asked after a long second.

"Can you be a dear and get Vivien Valentine from Valentine Holdings on the phone for me?"

"Um..." he said, watching her fingers slide along the silk. Every now and again he'd catch a glimpse of the lacy pink bra underneath. "Yes?"

"Good!" Nancy leaned back, and kicked her feet up on the desk, revealing miles of leg. She dangled one tall, tan pump from her foot. He stared for a moment, then blinked and reluctantly turned to go.

"Oh, Tommy?" She called, reeling him back. "Are you still seeing that little girl down in accounting?"

"Um," he watched her shoe twitch back and forth. "Janey, yeah. We've been steady for a while now."

"Riiight," Nancy said. "Plain Jane. You know, I don't think she's right for you."

"What?" He said, suddenly snapped out of his trance.

"No, honey. A boy like you needs someone who can take him in hand," Nancy sat up, and leaned over. The yawning cavern of her cleavage drew his eyes like a magnet. "Someone with a little experience in life, someone who knows what a boy needs, someone who can lead and mold him." She let the unspoken conclusion hang in the air. All Tom could do was stare at her enormous, mature chest.

"Anyway," she sat back. "Why don't you go and run my little errand, and think about it?"

"Um, sure. I mean, yes Mrs. Pirello." He took a last longing glance, and left, closing the door behind him. Nancy watched him go, and felt a delicious warmth growing between her thighs.

* * *

"Hey," Mike nudged Kendra as they lounged in the bed, admiring the crown moldings. "Wanna go again?"

"Jeez." She whapped him with a pillow. "Again?"

"Yeah, I figure we haven't properly christened these new sheets yet til we've fuc-"

"Mike," she cut him short. "You know I don't like that word."

He laughed. "Okay, fine. Until we've made love in them a few more..."

"Honey, I'm tired and I'm kind of sore after that last time." She sighed and rolled into him. "We've done 'it' almost every day this week. Maybe we can give it a rest for a few days?"

"Oh yeah? Well, how about I-"

* DINGDONGADINGDONG*

"Is that really what the doorbell sounds like?" Kendra asked. Mike laughed.

"We'll have to change that, I guess. Shall I go or do you wanna?" He gestured towards the door.

* DINGDONGADINGDONG*

"I would, but my robe is over there." She looked at him and pouted. "Pleeeeeease?"

"Alright, alright," he said, whapping her lightly with a pillow.

* DINGDONGADINGDONG*

"Jesus, those Girl Scouts are impatient," Mike said. He swung himself out of the bed and jumped into a pair of pajama pants. "I'm coming! I'm coming!" he shouted, galloping down the stairs as the doorbell went off again.

"Hold your goddamn horses, I'm cum-" he opened the door, and the rest of the words fell out of his brain.

The woman standing on the doorstep snapped her compact shut, and slid it into the pink clutch dangling from an elbow. For the first time, Mike found himself looking up into a woman's eyes, as she towered a couple of inches above his own height. They were green, under a sweep of deep auburn hair that coiled and looped and tumbled lazily down her shoulders. A brief leather jacket was hung around her shoulders, underneath which she wore a simple black t-shirt; the Ray-Bans dangling from the v-neck naturally drew Mike's eye downwards, but that was gilding the lily. The clingy jersey was stretched taut by her sizable chest, and he could just make out the scalloped lace of the bra she wore underneath through the fabric. A smile played at the corner of her plush mouth, painted a shimmering pink.

"Um-" said Mike.

"You must be my new son in law," the woman said. Her eyes raked him up and down, and Mike was suddenly very aware that he wasn't wearing a shirt. "Nancy did say you were a cutie." She swept in past him in a cloud of perfume. "Be a good boy and bring my bags in, won't you? They're in the car" Her hair brushed his face as she strode by, and he turned his head involuntarily to watch her strut, her impossibly long, lethal-looking legs flashing past in skintight olive jeans that did nothing to hide the sinuous curves of her ass. The tall heels of her black leather ankle boots tik-tok'ed ominously on the hardwood. An enormous red Hummer sat in his driveway, the back door open to reveal a host of bloated suitcases.

"Wait, what?" Mike shook his head, and wheeled around in the doorway, closing the door behind him. She stood at the foot of the stairs, one hand cocked on her hip, clutch dangling; brightly-colored nails sank just a little into the perfectly-rounded flesh of her left buttock. She tapped her foot impatiently.

"Where is that girl?" The woman asked, glancing around. "Ken? Kendra, sweetheart, it's your mother!"

Mike's breath caught in his throat. "Mrs...Valentine?" She glanced back at him over her shoulder.

"Oh, you don't have to be so formal, honey." Kendra's mother said with a smile. "You may call me Vivien, for the time being. Now weren't you supposed to be doing something for me?"

"Vivien, I don't think that Kendra's-"

"MOTHER!" Kendra appeared at the top of the stairs, wearing a long white terrycloth robe. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?" She came galloping down, feet hardly touching a stair on the way. "HOW DID YOU EVEN FIND US? MIKE! DID YOU LET HER IN!?"

"Um-" was all Mike got out before Kendra started yelling again.

"GOD DAMMIT MIKE!" He took a step towards her, concern written across his features. "DO NOT FUCKING TOUCH ME."

"Um-"

"Michael, honey." He felt Vivian's hand on his arm. Her voice was smooth as silk, but Mike could hear the steel in it. "Why don't you step outside while us girls have a little family heart-to-heart?" She gave him a gentle push towards the door.

Suddenly, Mike was standing outside watching as his own front door was slammed shut in his face. There was a *click* as the deadbolt slid into place. Raised voices could be heard behind it.

"What the hell just happened?" He asked nobody in particular. The opened door of the Hummer beckoned him from the driveway. He cast one last look towards the front door, sighed in a resigned fashion, and went to work pulling the first bag out.

There were three large Burberry suitcases and a single smaller carry-on bag, packed solid with clothes. It took Mike fifteen minutes of sweating and struggling to get them around to the unlocked back door after his knocks at the front produced nothing. He pushed the door open and poked his head inside. At least the shouting had stopped.

"Helloooo? Ken? Kendra?" With a grunt, he heaved the first bag through the back door. "Mrs. Val- I mean, Vivien?"

"In here, Michael dear." His mother-in-law called from within. Pulling the luggage by its handle through the house, he poked his head into the living room. There, on the couch, mother and daughter were hugging it out. Vivien had her arms wrapped around Mike's wife, and was gently stroking her hair.

"Everything okay?" He asked. Kendra nodded silently. Her eyes looked red and her hair was a disheveled mess, particularly in comparison to Vivien's own silken auburn mane.

"Why don't you carry my bags up to the guest room Michael?" Vivien turned her head to regard him. "We're having a little heart-to-heart here." She turned back to hug her daughter, and the hem of her t-shirt rose up out of the back of her jeans, revealing a long slice of creamy flesh at her lower back; Mike glimpsed some intricate scroll-work around the dimples that framed her tail-bone, and immediately looked away, embarrassed.

"Yeah, I uh, I'll be back," he stumbled out of the living room. His mother-in-law had a tramp stamp! Kendra didn't have any ink, but there was her own mother, tatted up like some co-ed. Mike hefted the handle of the bag he'd dragged in, and began lugging it up over the stairs. Idly, he wondered what Vivien's tattoo looked like. Something tasteful and girly, probably - a butterfly or a tree in bloom - then he realized that he'd been trying to visualize his mother-in-law's ink, and tried to shake the vision away. The spell was broken when the bag finally hit the top stair, and there was just the tiniest ripping sound as if extremely expensive fibers had given way just a fraction.

Mike froze, cursed, then gave the bag a quick once-over. There didn't seem to be anything amiss. Gingerly, silently praying to whomever would listen, he extended the handle and began pulling the bag down the hallway. Halfway down, there was another tiny sound - this time, metallic. He stopped, and fell to one knee beside the bag. It was probably worth more than he made in a month, and there was no way he'd be able to replace it right now.

Closer inspection showed that the zipper had given way on one side, less than an inch or so. He could see a riot of brightly colored fabric just inside. Standing up again, he gingerly pulled it down the hall, even more slowly than before. When he got to the lintel of the guest suite at the end, Mike decided not to tempt fate, and lifted the bag up by the bottom; he gently laid it down on the floor, and gave a quiet crow of triumph.

His elation was cut short by the tik-tik-tik-tiktiktik-tiktiktiktiktik of the zipper's teeth as they all gave way in a cascading failure. He didn't even have time to curse before the top of the bag was pushed open by the pressure of the bag's contents, and they all came tumbling out in a heap on the floor. Before Mike even knew what he was doing, he was back down on hands and knees, frantically scooping up Vivien's belongings and trying to stuff them back into the case. It all seemed to be scraps of lace and nylon and silk and-

He held one up in both hands. It was a thong, in shimmering gold nylon, scarcely enough fabric for an eye patch, with the most delicate lace scalloping in the back. A tiny metal tag along the waistband read "La Perla." Absently, he rubbed the fabric between his fingers - it was richer, sumptuous almost, than Kendra's plan white Hanes. The tag of a lacy pink pair waved up at him, reading "Agent Provocateur." A pair of lavender boyshorts with a tie-dye lace waistband screamed "LOVE PINK."

He ran his hands through the pile in wonderment: he'd never seen such an assortment in his life. Kendra owned one pair of cheap leopard-print briefs for "special nights" (that he was pretty sure she'd chucked shortly after they got married), and her mother apparently traveled with more thongs than Kendra had underwear.

"See something you like, Michael dear?" He looked up to see Vivien standing in the doorway, a bemused smile playing on her plush lips.

"Oh, shit no! I'm sorry I'm so sorry!" He began scooping the panties back into the carry-on at double speed, creating more mess than he'd started with. "The zipper broke and then everything just kind of," he gestured helplessly at the pile of underwear. Vivien toed the pink Provocateurs with her bootie and lifted them off the ground.

"You sure you weren't rifling through your mother-in-law's underwear, Michael?" Vivien dangled the panties in front of him. They swayed gently on the polished leather. "Looking for something naughty, perhaps?"

"Um...no? That would-" His eyes were locked on the silky scrap of fabric. His fingers tingled with the memory of how they felt. "That would be wrong."

"Very wrong, darling." Vivien kicked them into his lap. "I'm practically your mother, after all. But I'm sure you would have seen them at some point." She let the words hang in the air for a moment. "I'm going to be here for a little while, and Kendra tells me you're the one who does the laundry. I suppose it's just as well that you get it out of your system now: I'd hate to find any of them missing."

"Hey listen," he rose to one knee. "I'm not sure what you're-"

Vivien kicked another pair at him, and Mike immediately fell back to both knees to catch them. "It's okay, Michael, dear. I'm sure you've never seen anything like these. My daughter's tastes do not exactly align with mine." She gave him an appraising look. "Most of the time, anyway. Kendra's always had somewhat...simple tastes, like a little girl. I prefer the finer things in life, more...complex pleasures that she's never really understood. I came here assuming the two of you were more or less the same, but perhaps I was wrong about you."

Mike was suddenly aware that his fingers were fondling the slick black panties she'd kicked at him. "Hey, I'm not like that." He dropped them. "I really don't understand what's going on here, but I'm not sure I like it." He began to rise from the floor again.

"There's nothing to be embarrassed about, Michael." She waved her hand dismissively. "It's perfectly normal for a strapping young man like yourself to yearn for something more complex, more mature. My daughter is simply a case of arrested development, but perhaps there's still hope for you."

"I'm sorry your bag broke," he said firmly. "I'll pay to replace it if you like. I'll go get the rest and then this conversation is over."

"Of course," Vivien stood aside so he could leave. "Your house is your castle. Except my little annex in here - my little queendom. Please do remember to knock when you come back up. I'd hate to be caught in a...compromising position." He strode out, and the door shut firmly behind him.

Mike was halfway down the stairs before he realized he had a prodigious erection tenting his pajama pants.

* * *

He didn't see Vivien again til later that evening, not even after he'd struggled the rest of her luggage up the stairs. He'd just left them by her door and knocked; she didn't emerge to retrieve them until after he'd gone back downstairs. She made Mike uncomfortable to say the least, but her effect on Kendra was startling - after their little tete-a-tete in the living room, Ken had retreated to the living room to silently watch reruns of House Hunters International in her flannel pajamas. She didn't seem sad or angry, just kind of numb; Kendra wouldn't even answer his questions when he asked about what her mother had said or how long she was planning to stay. She seemed so out of it that he couldn't even work up the frustration to get mad at her.

It wasn't until he was in the kitchen, cooking dinner, that he heard the pad of bare feet on the linoleum and felt a pair of arms encircle his waist.

"Honey, I'm glad you decided to come out of your funk," Mike turned around to find himself staring straight into Vivien's vivid green eyes."Kendra's still out on the couch, vegetating." Vivien smirked. "I'm afraid you'll have to contend with me." She gave him a lingering squeeze and stepped away. His mother-in-law had dressed "down" for dinner, easing into a loose, heather-gray tunic and a pair of bright blue Nike cropped leggings; her toenails were painted turquoise and for a moment, Mike thought they looked like candy. Not that he had a thing for feet - that was restricted to weird dudes - they just looked, small, soft, pretty. Vivien wriggled them and he looked up to see her smirking again. He turned back to the stove.

"What's for supper?" She asked, coming in close behind him.

"Nothing fancy," he said. "Ken's feeling a little down, so I'm making her favorite - grilled cheese and tomato soup." Mike stirred the pot, and Vivien's tiny sigh of disgust was like a small victory.

"Why don't I go see how my daughter is faring?" She said with a sniff, and padded away. He turned to watch her go; the hem of her shirt dusted just above the round globes of her behind, jiggling ever so slightly underneath the skintight spandex; the muscles of her thighs and calves were clearly visible through the thin fabric of her leggings. He sighed and turned back to the stove.

Moments later, muted voices came wafting out from the living room. "Fuck me," he muttered. What was she saying to Kendra out there?

Mike stuck his head out of the kitchen. Vivien was standing by the picture window with her back to him while Kendra sat on the couch, curled up in her Mickey Mouse pajamas and ratty robe. The sunlight shone straight through his mother-in-law's gauzy shirt, revealing a perfect silhouette, including the dramatic sweep of her waist. A single beam of light shot through the keyhole between her thighs.

"Kendra, honey, why don't you turn that garbage off and go put on some big girl clothes?"

"Mom, please," Kendra said in a quiet voice. "Just leave me alone and let me enjoy my show."

Vivien turned her head, and opened her mouth to reply when she spotted Mike watching them from the door with a disapproving look on his face. She turned around and leaned over the couch; the neckline of her tunic hung low, giving him a good look at the swell of her breasts, constrained by a heavy blue sports bra. "What are we watching, anyway?"

"Real Housewives of Chicago," Kendra said without looking up.

"Sounds fascinating," her mother said. "Michael, why don't you come join us and we can have a little family time?" She indicated the empty seat on the couch.

"I should really look after supper," he said, gesturing behind him.

"Oh come on. Just for a minute, then you can go back to whatever you were doing." Vivien reached down and patted the cushion. "I don't bite, I promise."

"Alright, just a minute," Mike cast a look back at the stove. The soup was bubbling, but the grilled cheese hadn't yet begun to get warm, so he had time. He took a set next to Kendra on the couch. She hadn't bothered to shower yet today, that much was obvious. Vivien hung over his left shoulder, her hair brushing his ear. They sat there in silence; a cast of rich bitches paraded across the screen, variously screaming at and scheming against one another. Mike noted that, although one or two appeared to have gone under the knife, the rest had all aged like fine wines, their bodies still quite slim and tight. One of his buddies who watched with his wife called it "Real MILFs of Chicago." A brassy blond in the world's shortest minidress flounced across the screen, jabbing her finger accusingly at a gimlet-eyed brunette with a deep tan.

"Ooooh, is that...um, Nicola?" Vivien asked over his shoulder. "I believe I was reading about her. I don't watch this foolishness of course, but I occasionally see something online about it." Kendra grunted in the affirmative.

"This whole fight is real," she cooed. "You can't tell because of how it's edited, but they're fighting over her son." Nobody responded. "Nicola's the brunette over there: she's irresistible to young men, or a real 'cougar' as they say, so she's always got some hot young stud hanging on her arm. Well, she was bringing these hung cubs home with her from the clubs every other night, which was fine-"

"What?" Mike asked. "Sounds a little, uh, uninhibited to me."

"Oh sweetie! How else is a fine, mature woman like that supposed to manage her sex drive? Don't you know that ladies our age are in our sexual prime?" Vivien patted him on the shoulder. "We need someone who's...in sync with our natural needs, not some disgusting old man."

"Anyway, Nicola was bringing home all these young men, when one grew particularly attached to her. A particularly delicious young virgin named James who really needed to be shown the ropes, and she was only too happy to lead him around by the co- nose, I mean." She paused for breath while the brassy blond woman took a swing at Nicola on screen, only to be restrained by another housewife. "So this young man is hanging around Nicola's house all the time, when her son comes home from college with his girlfriend, and he just spends his whole vacation just watching his mother with this young man, listening to them in the evening, in the morning, in the afternoon. Completely neglecting his poor girlfriend, who's just steaming the whole time."

"Why?" Mike said. "Who cares what his mom does?"

"Jealousy, perhaps?" Vivien said. "You know boys and their mommies."

"Wait you mean to say you think he wanted to..."

"Maybe not consciously, Michael," she gave him another condescending pat. "But you have to admit that she's smoking hot, and lots of young men have unresolved Oedipal Complexes."

"I don't buy that," he replied, folding his arms.

"I have a great deal of...personal experience in that area, darling." Vivien chuckled. "In any event, there he was, simply green with envy over this James person, or whatever." She gave Mike some side-eye. "When along comes Candice, that lovely blond woman, to film in Jasmine's kitchen. They've always been rivals, and I guess she saw the opportunity for a little revenge. I'm a little vague on the specifics of what happened next, but suffice it to say that he and Candice ended up in bed together."

"What a jerk!" Mike said. "What happened to his girlfriend?"

"Oh, forgotten, I suppose." Vivien shrugged. "I only know what I read online. Anyway, now Jasmine and Candice are fighting like vipers in a pit. Or they're supposed to be, anyway. I don't think Jasmine's even all that angry about it - apparently her son came back to the house once she snapped her fingers, just like a good boy should. It looks like Candice is the one who's pissed that her little trick didn't work."

"But it doesn't even make any sense!" Mike complained. "Who would do that? Why would anybody do that?"

"I think you're underestimating the power of mature-" Vivien began, but was cut short by the wail of the smoke alarm. "Did you forget something, Michael?"

* * *

"Ah, now this is a little more my speed," Vivien said with a smile as they pulled to a stop in front of La Douceur. A valet dashed out from behind a Doric column and around her Hummer, waiting patiently outside the driver's side.

"This is a little...upscale," Mike said, somewhat nervously. He suddenly felt very out of place in his blazer and jeans combo. He stepped out of the car.

"Oh, don't worry about it Michael," Vivien said dismissively as she handed the keys over to the valet. "It's my treat! A thank you for allowing me into your home." She strutted around the rear of the vehicle and hooked her arm through his. "Just think of me as your sugar momma for the evening."

"I still don't see why Kendra couldn't come," he said as they strode towards the door.

"Don't you remember what she said?" She tut-tutted. "'Go on without me, I don't give a fuck.' Such language! Anyway, it gives us a chance to get to know each other a little. Thank you, Andre," Vivien said to the uniformed man holding the door open. Andre manfully tried not to leer at her and failed miserably.

In his defense, it would have been impossible for any straight man not to leer, even a little. Vivien's dramatic curves and perfectly tight body had been wrapped up in a silver-foil bandage dress that seemed to have been poured onto her, matching the silvery streak that shot through her mane. Despite the tightness of the confining spandex, her creamy cleavage threatened to spill out of the relatively modest neckline of the dress with each step she took; the front of the dress was modest only in relation to the back of it, which swept dramatically down her smooth, muscular back until it almost reached the upper slopes of her ass.

Mike got a good long show from that perspective. "Wait here, Michael, honey while I arrange a table," she put a long-nailed hand on his chest, and strode over to an imperious looking man with a pencil mustache that appeared to be the maitre 'd. As she walked away, Mike's eyes were drawn to the sensual beat of her hips and the muscular little dimples that bracketed her tail-bone; as before, a hint of scroll-work, deep blue against her pale skin rose up above the fabric of the dress. He couldn't really look away - the glittering effect of the silver foil in the lights of the restaurant made it impossible not to look. There was a lot of baroque scroll-work, almost like wings, framing what appeared to be letters. Mike could make out an 'M,' a 'Y'...then an 'I' or something...

"Michael, honey?" His eyes snapped upwards. Vivien was watching him with a bemused smile on her face "Marcel here has arranged a table for us. Come, darling."

He had to walk a pace faster to keep up with her as the maitre d' led them on a circuitous path through the restaurant.

"Madame Valentin' and her companion are here, by the fire," Marcel gestured expansively at a large booth next to an empty fireplace.

"Wait, I'm not her-" Mike protested as he slid into the booth.

"Oh, Marcel, this is my son-in-law, Michael, not my date," Vivien interrupted him with a laugh.

"Yeah, I'm married to her daughter, buddy," Mike flashed his wedding ring.

"Pardon, Monsieur," Marcel bowed deeply, "I was mistaken, I'm sure. Jean-Paul will be your server tonight. I'll see to it that he is here shortly."

"Well, that was embarrassing," Vivien said, turning to Mike. "Although I'm sure I can't blame him."

"Excuse me?" Mike said. "You're old enough to be my mo-"

"So? Are you really that sheltered, Michael?" She gestured around the room. "Just take a look around you, dear. What do you see?" As his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting of the dining room, he could clearly see the couples clustered around their candlelit tables. He looked from table to table: the demographics of the place was pretty clear. At almost every table, young men sat with women at least ten, maybe twenty years their elder! In the next booth over, a statuesque woman (who had to be in her sixties at least if the white curls piled high atop her head were any indication) was feeding a bite of her dinner to a slim young man a third her age.

"It's the new hotness, darling," Vivien whispered in his ear. "Every year, more and more young men discover what a more...mature partner has to offer. A woman who not only knows what she wants in this life, but has it, and has no compunctions about taking the rest." Her breath was hot in his ear, and her perfume filled his head, making him dizzy. "A woman in control of her life, who can show him the ropes, teach and lead him in the right way to live. Not some child who can't get her shit together for more than fifteen minutes at a time. And they like it."

"What?" Mike said, turning around. Vivien backed away into the cushion slowly.

"They like having an older woman to tell them what to do," she wrapped the napkin around her finger. "Most of these little boys never quite get over their mothers, you know." The napkin unwound. "Anyway, just to avoid future confusion with Jean-Paul, I think that's what you should call me. Mother, mom, mommy."

"A: I have a mother, and-"

"Of course your have a mother, honey." She smiled. "I mean no disrespect to her. She's clearly raised a strapping, handsome young stud of a man. Maybe you should call me...Mommy Vivien."

"I am not going to call you that."

"Now, Michael-" A young man in a tux hustled up to the table.

"May I take Madame's drink order?"

"Of course, Jean-Paul." Vivien turned to face the waiter, and accidentally swept her clutch off the table. It thudded to the ground. Jean-Paul made a move to retrieve it. She waved her hand. "Nono, JP. Michael, could you be a dear, and get that for me? This dress makes such...contortions difficult."

He huffed, then looked at the waiter, standing impassively with a blank look on his face. "Sure." He said. Biting back his anger, he leaned down under the table. The clutch was near the middle, about a foot away from Vivien's feet, wrapped up in silvery sandals with a five-inch heel, and too far for him to reach. He slid underneath on all fours and crawled forward. To his left, Vivien's clutch leaned delicately against the table; to his right, she crossed her legs, drawing his attention to those long, perfectly muscled stems. She bounced her leg at the knee, and the delicate straps of her sandals glinted in the dim light under the table; the soles of her shoes were bright red, but her toenails were still that bright blue. They reminded him of candy-coated almonds, almost. Mike licked his lips and looked back to her purse. He grabbed it with a suddenly sweaty palm, and she shifted again, bouncing her foot closer to his face. He could still smell her perfume, and it made him dizzy again; he stumbled, and found his cheek brushing against her toes. Her skin was soft and warm to the touch. Suddenly, he was wondering what they tasted like. Vivien wiggled her toes, laughing at something Jean-Paul was saying, and her big toe brushed against his lips.

Mike stiffened immediately, coming out of the trance, and wriggled back into his seat as fast as he could, wiping his mouth as he came up for air.

"Something on your mouth, darling?" Vivien asked with a knowing smile. Jean-Paul just smirked. "I ordered for both of us - I hope you don't mind."

Flushed and embarrassed, Mike just shook his head. In a small voice, he said "here" and passed the clutch across the table.

"Will Madame and her gentleman friend require anything else?" Jean-Paul turned to leave.

"I'm not her gentleman friend!" He protested. "She's my momm- mother-in-law, dammit, that's all!" The waiter looked from Mike to Vivien; she shook her head slightly, and he walked away.

"Don't pout Michael, it's unattractive," she admonished him. Mike sat up. "Thank you for getting my purse back, honey. You're such a good boy."

Silently, he prayed to a swift end to the evening.

* * *

Mike woke up early the next morning; as usual, Kendra was snuggled close, her arms wrapped around him as if she were hanging on for dear life. He watched her sleep. She'd already gone to bed by the time he and Vivien had gotten back. Once they'd ordered, and his embarrassment had passed somewhat, they settled down to have a lovely evening - Vivien turned out to be a delightful dinner conversationalist, having been everywhere and done just about everything. They'd chatted and joked most of the night away, and it was closing on midnight before they'd gotten back through the door.

Kendra snored softly and drooled onto his shoulder. He felt sorry for her. Gingerly, Mike raised his wrist to check the time - there was still a good twenty minutes before the alarm sounded. Something must have roused him. He glanced over at the night stand, to the alarm clock; sitting next to it was a small pink gift bag. A folded sheet of cream-colored paper was attached to the handle. "For Michael," the outside read.

Quietly, slowly, Mike eased his way out of Kendra's embrace. Rolling over onto his side, he took the bag, and unfolded the note.

"Dear Michael,

Thank you so much for a wonderful evening last night. Please accept the enclosed as a token of my affection.

Love,

Mommy Vivien

P.S. - I know you like the color"

Curious, he pulled the handles apart, only to be rewarded with the crackling of tissue paper. Kendra stirred and mumbled something, then went back to snoring. Rolling slowly off the bed, he crept into the en suite bathroom and closed the door. He locked it without even thinking.

Mike opened the bag again, and pulled out the tissue paper. There was a sudden rush of Vivien's scent, enveloping his face and overwhelming his still-sleepy senses. He took a long, deep breath; Kendra hated perfume, but he had to admit that he was becoming fond of the way her mother smelled. Down at the bottom of the bag sat something small and robin's egg blue. The memory of Vivien's toes came flooding back, and the feel of them on his lips, and how easy it would have been to just let one slip inside, just to take a quick taste...

He shook his head, and reached inside. The thong unfolded as he pulled it out, revealing the tiniest blue pouch of silk, framed by lace scalloping. The bow on the front was a shocking red. Mike's heart leapt to his throat. The bag fell to the floor, forgotten; he held the panties with both hands, inspecting them front and back. Like a guilty teen, he checked the bathroom doorknob to make sure it was locked.

It was wrong, he knew. Everything that was going on here was wrong. He shouldn't be holding his mother-in-law's panties. He shouldn't be rubbing the fabric between his fingertips. He shouldn't be inhaling her perfume. There was so much more of it now, filling up the bathroom. Was it coming from the panties? Wherever it was coming from, it was delicious. He brought Vivien's thong closer to his face, following the scent until the touched his face, the gusset draped over his mouth.

Mike's breath was coming in big ragged gasps and his hands trembled like leaves. He'd never done anything so...wrong before. His cock was like a flagpole in his pajamas, harder than he could ever remember it being. He was dying to stroke his aching meat, something he hadn't done since before he'd married Kendra. Just one quick pump couldn't hurt...

He inhaled Vivien's perfume deep inside his lungs, and slid a hand inside the waist of his pants. Mike wrapped one fist around his cock, trying not to think about the way her legs looked the night before (so much longer than Kendra's!), the way her toes had felt against his lips (why couldn't Kendra get a pedicure like that?), those gorgeous milky breasts (easily two cupsizes larger than her daughter!), the prominence of her muscular behind (twitching back and forth in those leggings!), or her sexy smirk (so knowing, like she had already read his mind). Mike could barely restrain a moan as his hand slid from tip to root.

He squeezed hard at the base of his cock and tried desperately not to think of Vivien, standing at the window yesterday, flaunting that squeezable ass all wrapped up in Lycra, just waiting for someone to come in behind and take a globe firmly in each hand, kneading that firm flesh and spreading it before falling to his knees and kis-

Someone rapped sharply on the door.

"Baby? Are you okay in there?" Kendra! Instantly ashamed, he ripped the panties from his face and stuffed them into his pajamas. "I thought I heard you groaning?"

"Sorry, yes honey! Just...last night's dinner isn't agreeing with me is all."

"Mike, that's disgusting." The doorknob rattled. "Can I come in? I've got to get ready for work." Hastily, he flushed the toilet, and turned on the taps. After giving his hands a quick douse with the cold water, he dried them off and unlocked the door. Kendra pushed her way in. As usual, her hair was mussed up in a straggly brown halo around her head, and she was still wearing the Minnie Mouse flannel's she'd been wearing since the day before.

"Morning," she said, standing on tiptoes to give him a peck on the cheek. She recoiled instantly. "Ugh, Mike. You smell like my mother."

"Yeah, she wears a uh, a lot of perfume hey?" He laughed nervously. Hand shoved in pocket, he held his shaft down, praying she wouldn't notice.

"God, so much." Kendra rolled her eyes. "You need to wash that shit off, ASAP. Right after I'm done." She patted him on the face and gave him a sleepy smile.

"I will." Mike returned the smile. "I'll go get the coffee started." Offering a silent prayer of thanks to whomever was listening, he slipped out the bathroom door and closed it. Letting go of his hard-on, it sprang back out, straining against the fabric; he held tight to the panties stuffed deep in the pocket. Head still spinning, he wandered downstairs and into the kitchen.

Vivien was standing at the island, quietly sipping an over sized cup of coffee with her back to him. She was wearing an abbreviated pair of satin shorts with pink pinstripes that seemed to be sucked deep into the welcoming crevasse of her behind, and an oversizes satin shirt in the same color. She stood up straight on her tiptoes, making the muscles of her lean calves bunch, and clenching the perfect globes of her ass. Mike watched her and rubbed the fabric of her panties between his fingers.

"Good morning, Michael," she said without turning around. "Enjoying yourself?" He pulled his hand out of his pocket immediately.

"No,I just came down to make coffee," he said. "Did you make some already?"

"Just enough for me, I'm afraid," Vivien turned around and hopped up onto the island, her mouth twisted into a mocking pout. Her eyes trailed lazily down his chest, to rest on his crotch. "I see someone is having a good morning. I take it you enjoyed my gift?" Her nipples drilled through the loose fabric of her pajama shirt, which was unbuttoned just enough to show off a deep well of creamy tit flesh.

"No, what gift?" He could feel his face turning pink. She curled a finger at him.

"The little present I left for you on your night stand, darling," Vivien purred. "We wouldn't want my daughter finding it first, now would we?" Mike shuffled forward, in spite of himself. "Of course, if you're lucky maybe you can tell her it's a little something for her, couldn't you? Would you like that, Michael? If Kendra started dressing like me? If she slid into some teensy tiny little thong, my thong, just for you? Do you like the thought of my daughter putting on a pair of my underwear, after I've already worn them?"

"What? No, that's disgusting." Mike said.

"Oh I know honey," she said. "Poor little Kendra would look disgusting in my thong; poor child simply doesn't have my genes." Vivien slid one hand down across the broad sweep of her hips. "I'm sure they'd hang off her."

"No, I mean how can you talk about your daughter that way?" He protested, coming within arm's length of her.

"Oh Michael. I'm just having a little fun at her expense," she chuckled. "It's how we've always gotten along. Besides, your protests would be much more convincing if it wasn't for that thing." She gestured at his unflagging erection. "Or..." Vivien hopped down and stepped closer. "...if I couldn't smell my panties all over your face." One hand trailed across his firm stomach, toying with the kinky curls of hair that trailed down into his pants.

"Anyway," Vivien said, plucking one button on her sleep shirt, letting her breasts push it open even further. Mike could see the inside curves of her tits, nipples *just* beyond the limit of his vision. "I suppose I should go and get dressed. I'll be up in my room if you need me, Michael." She walked past him, and out of the kitchen, plucking another button. He watched the shirt sag as it opened all the way and tried not to envision what it looked like from the front.

What had he even come down here for in the first place? "Shit. Coffee, right. Coffee."

* * *

Mike sat at his desk, not really reading the document on-screen. His right hand was buried deep in his pocket, gently rubbing the fabric of Vivien's panties. He'd spent all morning either touching them or thinking about touching them. He hadn't planned to bring them to work, but there just hadn't been any opportunity (or so he said to himself) to hide them properly someplace Kendra wouldn't be likely to look.

His phone rang. "Hello?"

"Hey, Mike. It's Darren, from Security. There's a lady down here to see you. Says she's your mother."

"Mom?" Mike felt his heart leap into his throat. His mom lived on the other side of town. He didn't think she'd ever even been to his building before; there must be something going on. "Yeah, sure Darren. I'll be right down."

"No rush," the security guard said, and her could hear a woman's laughter somewhere on the other end of the line, which disconnected soon after. He stared at the receiver for a moment, then hung up.

"What the hell?" Mike said, then rushed out of his office to the elevator bank. He impatiently tapped his foot through the dozen or so floors to the lobby level, then darted through the incoming crowd once the doors opened. He wove through a crowd of lunchgoers and slipped out the gate; Darren and his partner were both standing in front of the Security desk, busily laughing and chatting. As he rounded the corner, he saw that they were walking to Vivien, who was standing very close to Darren, and lightly fingering his security badge as they spoke. She was wearing a tight, navy blue shirtdress that fell to just above her knee; the buttons down the front had been opened from above and below to reveal a long expanse of smooth inner thigh, and the depths of her cleavage, from which Darren's eyes didn't seem capable of escaping. Her bright red pumps matched the narrow leather belt around her waist and the slash of lipstick across her smiling lips. One of her legs was between the security guard's as she leaned close to say something in his ear.

"What the fuck is THIS?" Mike said, striding angrily towards them. "Darren, what the fuck?" The guard blushed, and both he and his colleague scurried back behind their desk.

"Michael honey, we were just having a little talk while we waited for you," Vivien gave him a million-watt smile and gestured at the other men, while he closed the distance between them, suddenly back within range of her perfume. He took her by the elbow.

"Surely you're not jealous, are you?" She teased, stepping into him and pressing her swelling breasts into his body. Again, he found himself staring slightly up into her cool green gaze. "After all, it would be *so* wrong to be jealous of some young man talking to your mother-in-law. Don't you think?"

"Yeah, yeah I guess." Mike's anger deflated, but he shot Darren a look nonetheless. The security guard, for his part, looked studiously at his monitor. "What are you doing here, anyway?"

"Well," she said, taking one small step back. "I was in this part of town, and just about to take lunch with a dear old friend, and I thought I'd come by to see if you were interested in coming along."

"What about Ken?"

"Well of course she's invited, sweetheart. She is my daughter, after all." Vivien hooked her arm through his. "Shall we go?"

Sure enough, Kendra was waiting outside in the back seat of a town car idling by the door. Vivien slid inside first and Mike squeezed in next to her, trying to maintain a maximum of space between them. The split in her skirt widened as she crossed her legs, showing off an ever-longer slice of creamery smooth, toned thigh. Kendra cleared her throat, and he glanced over to see her shooting him a dirty look.

"Hi honey," he said. She pulled her cardigan tight around her body, and looked out the window. "So, uh. Where are we headed?"

"Well," said Vivien, laying a hand on his knee. "La Douceur does a lovely brunch and I know how much you liked it there last night." Her daughter made a noise somewhere in her throat at that. "So I thought we could meet Nancy and her co-worker there for a friendly family lunch." Her hand lingered on his knee, tracing a figure eight with her index finger.

"Great," his wife grumbled. "Now we've got to put up with the two of you. Just how I wanted to spend my lunch hour."

"Kendra, don't be so ungrateful," Vivien said sternly. "And sit up straight. Driver, La Douceur, please."

The drive was spent in an awkward silence that Mike occasionally tried to break by asking about Kendra's morning, her workplace, whatever ongoing projects she had on the hob, to no substantial effect. It certainly didn't help that every time his wife began to speak, her mother would move her hand on his knee, or recross her legs, or adjust the collar of her dress *just* enough to refocus his gaze back to Vivien, making it difficult to converse.

When they pulled up to the restaurant, the valet was quick to open Mike's door and lend Vivien a hand after he'd stepped out; when he showed no interest in rounding the car to open Kendra's door, she huffed and puffed and let herself out.

"Come on now, Kendra sweetheart," Vivien called out as she waited for her daughter. Mike followed close behind as they walked into the restaurant together; his wife looked like a child next to her mother, dressed in her ballet flats and long, baggy flower-print dress. He'd always appreciated Kendra's slim form before, but Mike couldn't help but let his gaze be drawn to the twitching motion of Vivien's firm, prominent behind as it sashayed back and forth, or the subtle line of her muscular calves, enhanced by the tall heels of her pumps. Even her hair looked especially dull next to Vivien's vibrant mane.

The waiter led them inside, where Nancy and her friend, a tall, buff-looking young blond man were already seated at one of the tables. As Vivien approached, Nancy leapt to her feet, honey-blond curls and mature breasts bouncing in time as she did.

"Vivien, darling!" The estate agent enthused as she came around the table; she was wearing a high-necked white silk blouse that could do nothing to hide the twin globes of her enormous breasts, and a loose but scandalously short red wraparound skirt that looked as though it had been painted onto the delicious curve of her behind, enhanced as it was by the dangerously high heels of her black, peep-toe ankle boots.

"Nancy, it's been *forever*," Vivien replied as they embraced, kissing each other on the cheek. "Who is your young man?"

"Oh that's Tommy," the blond said, letting go of Vivien to embrace Mike in a long, lingering hug. "He's one of our lovely interns at the office, but I'm thinking of keeping him around." Tom smiled, and waved nervously. "And of course I already know Mike and Kendra. How simply *wonderful* to see you both!"

The waiter seated Mike next to Tom, and Vivien between himself and Kendra. They ordered drinks, and suddenly Mike felt something plucking at his pants; glancing down, he saw that Vivien's long fingers were stealing inside the pocket where he'd secreted her panties. As Nancy engaged Kendra in conversation, he shot her mother a panicked look. Vivien simply winked, and he felt the warmth of her hand sliding over his thigh. He sat as still as he could, not saying a word, as his mother in law leaned back slightly in her chair and slid her hand deeper inside his pocket, until her fingers discovered the treasure tucked away in the furthest corner. Vivien chuckled softly, and withdrew her hand again. Mike dropped his napkin in his lap to hide the sudden swelling there. Under the table, he could feel the toe of her shoe lifting the hem of his pant leg and gently stroking his leg.

Their drinks arrived. Tom excused himself to go to the bathroom, and Nancy told him she'd order for him if the waiter returned before he did. In fact, when the waiter arrived, Vivien and Nancy took the liberty of ordering for the whole table. Mike began to object, but Vivien's hand stole back into his lap, and the words fell out of his mouth; Kendra just sighed and rolled her eyes.

"Maybe I should go and see what's keeping Tommy," Nancy said after a few minutes of waiting. She stood, and headed towards the back of the restaurant.

"Kendra," Vivien said in a low voice. "It won't kill you to be civil. This is meant to be a friendly luncheon."

Mike watched as his wife's face twisted into a mask of scorn. "Friendly?" She spat. "Yes, I'll it's real friendly. And if I wasn't here I bet it'd be even *friendlier*." The acid in her voice could have etched glass.

"And what is that supposed to mean, young lady?" Vivien said.

"You know damn well what I mean, mother." Kendra took a long pull of her drink, a seven-and-seven which seemed pretty heavy for a lunchtime aperitif to Mike.

"No, I'm fairly certain that I do not," the elder redhead's face was a mask of impassivity.

"You think I don't know what you're trying to do?" Mike watched as his wife emptied the whiskey tumbler; a handy waiter appeared to take the glass and replace it with a full one. "We both know that if I hadn't agreed to tag along with you on this- this-" she struggled for words, and took another drink. "Whateveritis."

"Michael," Vivien said in an even tone. "Perhaps you should step away from the table for a moment while I have a conversation with my daughter."

"Uh-" he began, then Kendra slammed her drink down on the tablecloth.

"Just do what she says, Mike. Be a good boy and go away for a minute." She sneered at her mother.

"Hey, look-"

"Michael." There was iron in Vivien's voice. "Go and check on Thomas. Now, please." Mother and daughter stared daggers at one another. Gingerly putting his napkin back on the table, as though he were afraid it would set off an explosion, Mike slowly pushed back from the table and got up.

Stepping away from the table, he watched as Kendra and Vivien's heads came together and they began to trade verbal blows at a just-less-than-audible volume. He flagged down a waiter and asked for directions to the washroom, and was waved towards a dim corridor at the back of the restaurant.

He pushed his way through the mens' room door, and found it a finely-appointed affair of marble and gold; the attendant's chair was empty, but a thick wad of bills sat in his tips cup, next to an array of toiletries. As the door quietly *whooshed* closed, Mike thought heard somebody grunting in one of the stalls, and grinned. He'd had those mornings, too. He opened his mouth to call out to Tom but the words died on his lips when he heard a decidedly female gasp.

"Oh *my* Tommy," Nancy's voice wafted out from one of the stalls. "I knew you wouldn't disappoint."

"Mrs. Perillo," Tom grunted. "I don't- I don't think this is a good-" his voice was suddenly muffled by something, and Mike heard the sound of clothes rustling. He could clearly see Toms legs under one of the stall doors; slowly approaching (after he checked to make sure that the other stalls were empty), he put his eye up against the crack between the wall and the door.

Nancy was sitting squarely on Tom's lap, tiny red skirt rucked up over her hips as she spread her legs around his body, the heel of one boot braced against the wall behind him, all the muscles in that long leg standing out as she held herself there. Her arms held his head tightly to her prodigious chest while she rocked her hips back and forth on his lap. After a moment, she released him.

"What," he panted. "What about Jane?" Tom's own hands wandered down Nancy's back to fold themselves around her ass.

"Poor little plain Jane," she said in a mocking tone, "never had a chance, sweetheart. Not from the moment you walked into my door and laid your eyes on these." Nancy pushed his head back into her breasts. Mike watched the other man's hands tighten around her behind, and heard a deep, guttural groan from the depths of her cleavage. "And you haven't even seen them in person yet!" She laughed. "It's okay, Tommy. A young man like you is simply built to need a body like mine, made to please an older woman. It's no wonder you were drawn to my tits like a moth to a flame."

Tom came up for air. "I can't do that to her! What about, what about your friends waiting outside?"

"You can and you will," Nancy said. "It's about time I took ownership of this big young cock you've been wasting on that silly little bitch." Her hand snaked in between them, and Mike heard a zipper. Tom's eyes rolled back in his head. "As for Vivien, she's got that boy out there so twisted around-" she stopped talking, and twisted her head around. Mike took a panicky half step away from the door. "Anyway," Nancy said after a moment. "Don't you worry about them. Worry about this."

"Oooh, Mrs. Perillo," Tom grunted as Mike backed out of the bathroom again, scandalized and feeling spun round. He knew Nanc- Mrs. Perillo was attractive, sure. He had eyes, after all. But this Tom guy must be a hell of a jerk to cheat on whoever Jane was; there shouldn't be a pair of tits on earth that could make a man fall out of love with his girl, no matter what Mrs. Perillo said.

As the door shut in front of him, he felt something warm press against his back.

"Did you find them?" Vivien whispered in his ear. Her hand slid easily back into his pocket.

"Vivien, stop." Mike said in a low voice. Her hand felt hot as her fingers quested deeper into his pants.

"I'm just ensuring you haven't done anything...untoward with my little gift," she said, mouth brushing against his ear. Her fingernails scratched against his thigh.

"No, I haven't," he said, turning around. Vivien's hand slipped back out of his pocket as he did, holding the blue thong he'd secreted there. He watched as his mother in law unrolled them, gave them a gentle sniff, then gave him an approving smile.

"Good boy," she said. "I do so hate to see my things abused." She draped them over Mike's left shoulder and turned on one heel. "Come along, Michael. Kendra insists on behaving like a child, and I refuse to put up with it any longer, so I'm afraid lunch is over." She stalked off without another word, and he couldn't help but watch the hypnotic sway of her behind.

This was his chance, he realized, to get rid of her underwear someplace nobody he knew would find it. Just stash it in a planter or behind something or even go back into the washroom and flush the damn things or maybe-

Behind him, he heard the washroom door opened. Blushing, he snatched the panties off his shoulder and stuffed them back in his pocket.

"Mike, is everything alright?" Nancy asked, smoothing down the hem of her skirt.

"Yeah, yeah sure." He couldn't quite bring himself to look her in the eye. "We're leaving, apparently. Ken and Vivien had a fight."

"Same old story," Nancy said, shaking her head. "They haven't gotten on since Vivien sto- I mean, since Kendra was a senior in high school. "

"What happened?" Mike asked, trying to ignore the disarray of her blouse.

"Oh well," Nancy hedged. "I'm sure Kendra could tell you more. Something about her prom date, is what I was told."

"Vivien didn't approve?"

Nancy just laughed. "Something like that, maybe. Come on, Mike. I'd like to finish my drink before your mother in law sweeps out of here." She hooked her arm in his, and escorted them both back to the table, where mother and daughter sat in stony silence.

The drive back to the office was, somehow, even more awkward than before.

* * *

Mike and Kendra sat on the couch in silence, watching TV. Vivien was upstairs in the mother-in-law suite, making a racket, moving something around. Kendra looked up at the ceiling and rolled her eyes.

"Honey," he began. "What am I supposed to do? What do you want me to do? I can't mediate here if I don't know what's going on."

"Mike," she said. "All I want, all I have ever wanted was somebody to take my side. Somebody I can trust to take my side over *hers*. Can you do that?""Of course!" Mike said, and meant it. "That's what I'm here for. To take your side. I just don't know what your side even is in this."

"Does it matter? It's my side. I'm your wife. That's all you should need to know."

He thought about that for a minute.

"That makes sense," he said. "I promise, I will always take-"

"Michael," came Vivien's voice from the top of the stairs. "Can you come up a moment?" He looked over at Kendra, who rolled her eyes.

"Hang on," Mike shouted back, then sighed. "Ken, honey, I will-"

"Michael? Please." His mother in law's voice took on a stern note.

"Hang *on*."

"Just go," Kendra said. "It won't get any better if you stall."

"I'll be right back," he assured her. "You won't even notice that I'm gone, promise."

"Mhm," was his wife's response as she turned back to the television. "Just...just be careful, okay?"

"Ken," Mike laughed. "She's your mother, not a tiger. I'll be right back. Coming!"

"Sure." Her voice was soft and faraway. Shaking his head, he left the room, and mounted the stairs.

Vivien had retired to her own room, apparently. She wasn't at the top of the stair when he got there. Her door was wide open, casting a warm light down the darkened hall.

"Hello?" He called. "Vivien? Did you need something?" Walking into the bedroom, Mike saw that one of her suitcases was on top of the bed, clearly halfway packed. His heart leapt into his throat as a sudden elation swept through him. She was cutting this visit from hell short and there was light at the end of the tunnel at long last, and he wouldn't have to stumble through any more awkward conversations or hushed arguments he wasn't privy to or weirdly sexual aggression from his wife's own mother.

"Oh there you are, Michael," Vivien walked in from the en-suite bathroom. She was wearing a pair of gray leggings with a subtle geometrical print that took pains to clearly delineate the curves of her lower body, the muscles of her trim thighs, the length of her calves. Her toes were still painted that matte blue, and Mike licked his lips despite himself. She was putting her hair back in a thick pony tail as she entered, thrusting her impressive chest out in the skimpy blue tank top she wore on top. The word "MINE" was spelled out on the front in thick black lettering circumscribed by a heart in black sequins. "I was starting to think you weren't going to come."

"Well," he said, pointedly. "I was talking to my *wife*, your daughter, remember?"

"Of course I remember, silly." Vivien said, walking past him to the bed. Bending over slightly, she reached down and flipped the cover of her suitcase closed. Mike watched the hem of her tank-top rise above the twin globes of her ass, eyes tracing the pattern in her leggings as they dipped deep into the crack of her sculpted behind. Straightening again, she gestured at the bed. "Please, have a set."

"What is this all about?" He asked, suspicious.

"Michael, I just want to talk about what's been going on between myself and Kendra." Vivien gestured at the bed again. "Sit. Please." Somewhat awkwardly, he sat down where she indicated, hands in his lap. "Thank you." She turned and closed the door; the lock slid home with a surprisingly loud click. Turning back around, she leaned against the door, crossing her legs in front of her. She stretched and curled her feet. He shifted, uncomfortably.

"I don't know what you've heard," she began. "I doubt Kendra likes to talk about it."

"Nancy said it had something to do with her senior prom, but not much else." Mike offered, dragging his gaze up from the extended length of her legs to meet her eyes.

Vivien laughed. "Something to do with that, yes." She re-crossed her legs. "Michael, it goes without saying that my daughter and I do not have very much in common." Mike had to suppress the urge to laugh in her face at that. "I don't think very much of many of her decisions, the way she dresses, or her behavior - frankly, I consider her a tiresome bore most of the time, and we have never been particularly close."

"I am not," she said, "a very good mother." Vivien stretched, catlike, drawing the hem of her shirt high above the waistband of her leggings, revealing the flat plain of her stomach, marked only by the faint valley of her abdominal muscles and the dimple of her navel.

"But one thing that my daughter and I do agree on, is that she has great taste in men." One of her hands drifted across her stomach, blue nails lightly scratching the smooth, pale skin. "That mousy child can somehow ferret out and snare the most delightful young studs. Maybe there's something of myself in her after all." Her eyes flickered over Mike, sitting on the bed, and not for the first time, he felt like she was sizing him up like a lioness would an impala.

"But not much." Her hands fell to the waistband of her leggings, hooking her thumbs in and dragging them down half an inch to reveal her hip-bones. "Kendra's a romantic, so she falls in love. And for some reason, they fall in love with her. For a little while." Mike licked his lips. "When Kendra was eighteen, she fell hard for a wonderful young man named Jonathan - they were valedictorians together, though he was on the football team." She uncrossed her legs, and the waistband came down another fraction of an inch; he tried not to think about what kind of panties she was wearing, if any.

"They were inseparable, though he was far out of her league, a beautiful, strapping stud." Vivien bit her lip at the memory. "Basically begging somebody to try and take him away from her." Mike opened his mouth to object, but she talked over him before the words could leave his mouth. "The more time they spent at the house, the more she began to suspect that perhaps Jonathan was beginning to develop an interest in, well, me. There was nothing she could put her finger on, obviously, no evidence for her to find. But she got more suspicious, more angry as time passed; accusing me of trying to steal her boyfriend, trying to ruin her happiness, trying to seduce Jonathan out of her life. I told her she was being ridiculous, of course, but that only made matters worse. She couldn't prove her suspicions, so they only made her angrier and less reasonable."

"Until prom?" He said.

"Until prom, when it all blew up." Vivien nodded. "You see, that child told me that no matter what I tried, I *couldn't* seduce her boyfriend. Those were very dangerous words. I do *not* like being told what to do." A vicious smile crossed her face. "I had no interest in the boy, really. I They're awful lovers, stamina be damned. I prefer men, young men, but men nonetheless. But you see, I couldn't let her be *right*." Vivien chuckled. "You know, I think he really did love her."

"Hold on, you mean you-"

"He showed up in his tux, so tight in all the right places, practically *begging* to be fucked." A shiver ran through her. "And of course it was all so deliciously *wrong*, I could hardly help myself."

"That's sick!"

"It didn't even take very long to accomplish, from the time he arrived until Kendra came down the stairs in her gown and caught us." Vivien's hand drifted between her legs. "I bet you've never done anything so wrong in your life, have you, Michael?"

"Is that a joke? Of course not!" As he spoke, Vivien closed her eyes and pressed her fingers into her flesh through the fabric of her pants.

"Mmmm, I thought not. You're a good boy." She straightened up and withdrew her hand. "For now. Anyway, I'm sure you can figure out the rest of the story. And now you know."

"You're disgusting. If I'd known earlier, I never would have let you into my house. *Our* house."

"No?" She asked, taking a step closer. "You don't think you really had a choice in the matter, did you?" Vivien planted one foot on the bed, between his legs. "Do you think you really could have said no, if I'd decided you weren't going to?" He glanced down at her soft toes with their candyshell paint, and stuffed the memory of how they felt on his lips down as far as it would go.

"Yeah, I do." Mike said, voice a little shaky as he looked back up into her mocking green eyes.

"Michael, you can't even get up now, knowing everything you know." She said. "Admit it: you think I'm far more attractive than my daughter."

"That's ridiculous!"

"Honey, you haven't stopped fondling the panties in your pocket since you came into the room," Vivien threw back her head and laughed. Shamefaced, he quickly pulled his hand out of his pocket. "Go ahead. Try to get up."

Mike grabbed her calf in both hands, intent on removing her foot from where it was planted and storming out angrily; instead, once his hands were filled with warm, firm flesh, touchably smooth in the soft jersey of her leggings, he found his fingers siding up to her knee, then back down again.

"What's wrong?" She asked, softly.

*Everything*, he thought. Mike knew he shouldn't be touching her, knew he shouldn't have kept her panties, knew he should let go immediately and knock her down, run out of the room, find Kendra and tell her what was going on, but...but... he couldn't let go. He knew it was wrong, and that was *exciting*. His hand slid up past her knee, gliding over her thigh, feeling the muscles flex under the fabric. Kendra's legs were thick with fat by comparison.

"Naughty naughty," Vivien cooed, placing her hands on his, and gently peeling them away from her leg. "How about I make this easy for you?" She slid her foot off the bed, and took a step back. Clenching his fists, he stood on shaky legs and walked to the door. Numb fingers struggled with the lock as he heard clothes rustling behind him.

"Michael," she called softly. "Aren't you even the least bit curious about what your mother in law looks like without a shirt on?" Looking back over his shoulder, he saw that Vivien had dropped her tank-top to the floor, revealing a lacy, seafoam-green, mesh-cupped bra that was filled to the brim with milky-white cleavage and just barely offered a hint of the strawberry pink nipples contained within. Mike's hand dropped from the doorknob.

"Poor little Ken-doll doesn't have anything on these, has she?" Vivien cupped one heavy breast, fingers teasing the nipple through the fabric.

"No," he said in a hushed tone, without even thinking about it. His mother-in-law spun on one foot, and hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her leggings. Her back looked as smooth as freshly-poured cream; his eyes came to rest on the tattooed scrollwork rising up above the waist of the yoga pants. The top of the "M" was clearly visible.

"Now," she said. "Do you want to know what kind of panties I'm wearing?" He nodded. "No, say it." Vivien waggled her behind at him, bending slightly at the waist.

"I want to see them. I want to see your panties."

"But what about my daughter?" She said coyly. "What about your wife?" A pained look crossed his face as he struggled with his conscience. He hadn't done anything wrong yet, not really, not anything sexual. He could back out anytime he wanted to, the door was right there, there was nothing keeping him in the room; it was wrong, the whole thing was wrong, but it was okay to be a little naughty, wasn't it?

"Show me your panties," he growled.

"A little aggression looks good on you, darling." Vivien said, and began slowly pulling her leggings down over the perfect curves of her behind. As they came into view, Mike saw that her panties were little more than seafoam-green film stretched tightly into transparency across her hips before ducking deeply into the crevice between her firm, muscular buttocks, only to slip out again into the full pussy pouch in the gusset. He stared as she wiggled out of her pants, eyes locked not on her ass, but the letters stenciled just above it, wrapped in baroque scrollwork - "MYLF".

"What, uh, what does that mean?"

"Oh *that*," she said with a laugh, kicking her clothes away. "It's a little trashy, isn't it? But the boys seem to love it. It's not rocket science, darling." She reached back, and pointed to each letter with a long blue fingernail. "Mother. You'll. Love. Fucking. Really, a silly decision, but it's so very true, Michael."

"I'm not going to fuck you, Vivien," he said in a strangled voice. "I can't have sex with my own mother-in-law! It'll kill Ken-"

"Michael, what did you think you came up here to do?" She gave her behind a little wiggle. "You didn't object to being in here alone with me, even after I left my panties on your doorstep this morning! Admit it: you came up here hoping I'd make you my fuck toy."

"Vivien, look." Mike said in what he hoped was a reasonable voice as he turned 'round to face her. "You're really h- attractive, I can't deny that. I'm not blind. But I didn't come up here to fuck you."

"Oh honey," she said. "I'm the one who decides who fucks whom. Believe me, when I allow that thick young cock inside of me, it will be on *my* terms, and we both know you'll *love* it. You came up here to *get* fucked."

"I don't know what you're talking about!"

"I'm talking about the way you love being told what to do," Vivien said, reaching back and grabbing a handful of ass. "I'm talking about how quick you were to scuttle after my bags when I told you to get them."

"I was being polite!" He shouted. "It's what normal human beings do when-"

"Mhm," she said condescendingly. "That's why you were so excited and hard to do what I told you that the first thing you did when you got them here was open them up to look through my bags and fondle my underthings."

"That was an acc-"

"Sure, an accident." she nodded, dragging her hand down across her thigh, bending over at the waist as she reached down to grab her ankle. "That's why you were so eager to accept my invitation to dinner last night, even though you *knew* how much Kendra would hate it." She dragged her hand back up her body, fingers scraping across ivory-smooth skin. "And then you took the first excuse you could to slide under the table and perv on my legs, look up my skirt. Michael, you went so far as to *kiss my foot* that night. You *like* it when I tell you what to do, darling. I told you to keep the panties and you kept them. I told you to come to lunch and you came. I told you to go watch Nancy and her boytoy fuck in the bathroom and you went." Her hand slid up her side as she straightened up. "Look at you - you can't even leave the room without my permission." She cupped one of her weighty tits in her hand, and Mike craned his neck to see what she was doing. "You come when I call, you do what I say, and it makes you so *hard*, especially when what I tell you is what you shouldn't be doing."

Mike tried to take a step back, and bumped against the door. "That's ridiculous," he said. "I'm a grown man and I definitely do *not* need to be told or want to be told-"

"Ha!" Vivien barked, and released her breast, which dropped a fraction of an inch and jiggled slightly in the filmy cup of her bra. "Every young man wants to be told what to do, deep down. It's encoded in your DNA, honey. You don't really have a choice or a chance. Watch." She shot him a knowing look over her bare shoulder. "Michael, unhook my bra, now."

Mike resolved himself not to do it. He didn't need to do it, he didn't have to do it, no matter how curious he was about what Vivien's gorgeous, perfect breasts would look like, free of their constraints. It's not as if he'd never seen breasts before. Kendra's little chestbumps were perfectly serviceable, even if they did look a little like fried-eggs on a board when she wasn't wearing a bra, unlike her mother's voluminous, creamy titflesh. He wouldn't, and it didn't matter how much he wanted to see them bobbing and jiggling, strawberry-pink nipples thickening and rising in the cool air of her bedroom. No matter how badly he wanted to see her cradling them in her hands, to compare them in the flesh with his wife's insufficient little breasts. To confirm what he already knew: that Vivien's succulent tits simply blew her daughter's out of the water.

He wasn't going to do it, it was wrong, it was terrible, it was disgusting even to think about it, even though it was just a little clasp, straining already and it would take very little to just pop it open. Vivien probably wouldn't even know he'd done it and then he'd get to see them while being able to pretend he hadn't done it and if Kendra asked or found out he'd have plausible deniability. But he would know, and that sent chills of excitement up his spine and an electric thrill through his balls.

He took a step closer, one hand rising of its own accord; it took only one pluck of his fingers to release the clasp, which sprang open under the strain of her breasts. His cock pulsed and strained likewise against the fabric of his pants.

"See?" She said, with a sigh. "Doesn't it feel so good to just do as you're told?" Vivien nimbly shrugged the bra off and turned to face him, one slim forearm holding back her tits. She draped the still-warm lingerie over his shoulder. It brushed against his cheek, and his senses filled up with her perfume, sensual and sweet and dizzying.

"You should kneel now," she said, seating herself on the bed, and spreading her legs. Without even thinking about it, Mike did as he was told, sinking to his knees in front of her. His eyes were locked on the creamery-white flesh spilling over the top of her forearm as she held her breasts back.

"Tell me you need to see them," his mother in law said. "Tell me you need to see them more than you've ever needed to see my daughter's."

"Yes," he grunted. "I want-"

"Not want," Vivien admonished. "*Need*. You need them, you thirst for them, you crave them like you've never craved anything before. Say it!"

"Yessss," he hissed. "I need to see your fucking tits."

"Mm," she appeared to mull it over. "Not enough. What if I said you could never see Kendra's little titties ever again after I showed you mine?"

"Yes!" Mike shouted. "Whatever you say, I'll fucking do it." Vivien flushed as a shiver ran through her body. She lowered her arm, leaning back on her elbows. Mike swallowed, mouth suddenly full of saliva as he watched those beautifully full tits swing free of her grasp, skin so pale it was practically translucent, particularly around her nipples, where the pale blue tracery of her veins rushed blood away as they swelled up to fingertip-size.

"I can think of a better use for that mouth," Vivien said, spreading her legs wider. Through the mesh of her panties, Mike could see the thin line of red hair pointing directly at the opaque gusset, which had become dark with moisture. She hooked one long leg around his neck, and pulled him closer. "Come here, Michael darling. Come here and put your face in your mother in law's pussy." Vivien's thighs were silky-smooth, brushing against his cheeks as he was drawn inexorably inwards. Soon, his slack lips were flush with the sopping wet fabric of her panties.

She said one word: "suck." He opened his mouth and suddenly it was full of her sweet, savory pussy juice. Hungrily, noisily, he began to slurp at her still-hidden lips, his body burning with a desire to fill itself up with the taste of her. With every lap, he knew he was degrading himself, knew he was sacrificing a happy future with Kendra, and that knowledge simply drove him to suck harder, swallow more, jam his tongue furiously against her delicate flesh barely hidden behind the panties. Vivien locked her ankles around his back as he pushed himself deeper into her pussy, heels gently tapping against his spine. He grabbed her hips, pulling Kendra's mom into his face as she sprawled out on the bed, hair spreading out in a crimson fan as her back arched.

"That's a good boy," she cooed. "Suck mommy Vivien's pretty pussy." Her hands ran through his hair and pulled on it as he feasted on her cunt. Mike could feel his chin dripping with an obscene mixture of his saliva and his mother-in-law's secretions and it only made him hungrier for more. Her thighs clamped down hard over his ears, and it was difficult to make out her increasingly urgent encouragements; looking up, he could see her head rolling back through the valley of her incredible, mature tits as she mauled one with her left hand. She ground her pubic mound hard against his face, eagerly humping his mouth as it worked against her, his fingers digging into the firm, smooth flesh of her buttocks.