Whenever I'm with my wife around my mother-in-law, my wife's whole demeanor changes. She becomes noticeably impatient with me and critical of everything I do. She particularly finds fault with my "manners" with respect to her and her mother. I'm constantly chided when I fail to offer to help her Mom with the cooking and cleaning chores in which she engages.
On a recent occasion, the wife was drying her hair with a dryer as she had just emerged from the shower. She already donned her panties and stood in her backless high-heeled mules, but was naked from the waist-up. I was just beginning to leer with desire at her gorgeous breasts which were, for the past several years, off-limits to me.
"Don't just stand there staring!" my wife exclaimed. "Get up and into the kitchen and ask Mom what she needs you to do." This seemed a bit inappropriate since I was just wearing my loose fitting boxer shorts and slippers --- nothing else. My wife quickly anticipated my objection and headed it off with the following.
"Now!" she exclaimed. "My mother has seen a man in underwear before. Don't bother getting dressed. Get out there and do whatever she tells you to do."
As always when her mother is with us, I had been slowly growing more and more resentful. I found her presence an inconvenience and imposition on my schedule and personal agenda. Instead of pursuing my usual activities and enjoyments, I was saddled with errands and chores that my wife assigned me in service to her and her mother's wishes. Nevertheless, I followed the wife's order and headed to the kitchen still in my underwear, where my mother-in-law was at the stove, preparing some kind of dish that I would had no desire to consume. As she went about using and soiling pots, pans and utensils, she handed each off to me, one by one.
"Take this and wash it good, " she said each time. "I'm going to need it in a few minutes.
In each instance, I took the item, brought it to the sink and began rinsing and washing it. This went on for some time. My wife eventually came to the doorway of the kitchen to check on matters. She had not bothered to clothe herself from the waist-up. She held a towel up to provide modest coverage of at least the middle half of each breast, leaving the outer bulge, or "side-boobs" exposed.
"That's what I like to see," she commented. "A nice, obedient husband. Do what we tell you and your life will be easy. And don't let me see your long face. If you so much as roll your eyes, you know what you're going to get."
I gazed down to avoid showing my black mood of resentment.
"Work faster," my wife went on to say. " We have a bunch of ladies coming over this afternoon, and you have to clean this place spic-and-span, so hurry with your dish-washing chores."
I had no idea of the planned get-together. She hadn't even considered informing me of it. That was - to me - just too much! I slammed the pot down that I had just finished drying. The clang it made caused both women to turn to look on me with startled anger.
"How dare you slam a pot in that manner?" the wife exclaimed. "You nasty little brute of a jerk! Who do you think you are acting like a spoiled brat?" she went on.
"He's been acting like that the whole morning," her mother chimed in.
"Oh, has he?" my wife replied with simmering rage. With that, she strode purposefully in my direction. Grabbing a fistful of my hair, she growled, "Follow me."
Pulled along by her tight grasp of my hair, I followed her into the bedroom. As soon as we entered, she yanked me by my hair into a kneeling position. She then stood facing me with her hands on her hips, her plump breasts, now fully exposed, looming over my upturned face, filling me with lust to touch or kiss them, activities that had been denied to me for years.
"The only reason I put up with you is for you to do what I tell you." With that she landed a slap on my left cheek with her right hand. Her left hand remained on her hip, creating the most beautiful figure I could possibly imagine, that of a shapely, middle-aged woman posed in the manner of goddess swatting a miscreant imp.
"The last thing I need from you is display of your macho, ape-like attitude." As she scolded me and landed another slap on my face, the breasts shook deliciously. She quickly noticed, as all women do, that my gaze -- momentarily interrupted when my eyes scrunched closed as a result of the slap -- was directed at the dangling of her breasts as she leaned forward to intimidate me. That's when she caught a glimpse of it. My penis was in semi-erection and starting to protrude from the fly of my boxer shorts
"And what is THAT about?" she questioned angrily, pointing directly at my tumescent penis, half of which was beginning to grow outside the confines of my boxers.
"Oh, you are disgusting. All of you men are," she muttered. "Never underestimate the libido of a man!" she added with scorn.
"Put that away," she growled, while at the same time lifting her foot and roughly tapping the head of my penis with the toe of her high-heeled shoe. I reached down to comply. Meanwhile she turned to where her brassiere was draped over the bathroom stool and lifted it to capture her breasts, camouflaging them from my view. Unfortunately, it turned out to be a "push-up bra," one that pushed the breasts upward so that the entire upper half of each puffed out delightfully which I found maddening to behold. I remained kneeling.
"Don't let Mom see you like that. Put some pants on!" she commanded, adding, "what's wrong with you? Go! Go! Get dressed." i stood and complied.
Suddenly, all the resentment that I was previously feeling disappeared completely. Instead of resenting the imposition that was being imposed upon me, what with being forced to act as a kitchen helper and called all sort of names, and now the planned takeover of the house with a bunch of middle-aged ladies, I now felt a surge of love and respect for my darling wife. And pity, too, for her having to put up with me and my lazy, selfish ways. As I donned my clothing my still half-dressed wife stood in the bathroom doorway, criticizing my choice of each garment.
"Don't put that on. Put this on. Don't think I'll forget this rude behavior of yours. Wait'll this evening after the guests have left. And remember it'll be worse for you if you aren't absolutely gracious to our guests when they come. I want you to serve them hand and foot. Do you hear? I said hand and foot. I'll give the orders on what you are to do. Now get out there and ask my mother what she needs you to do right now."
I gave one more glance at my wife's bosom, proffered up by the push-up bra that she now wore, and headed back into the kitchen with an attitude of supreme cooperativeness, just as her majesty wanted me to feel. I still dreaded the paces through which I would be put when these ladies - whoever they were - were coming to visit. And what was the purpose?
I finished my chores and was excused by my mother-in-law with the final remark, "I'll call you when I need you."
I took a nap that lasted into mid-afternoon, whereupon my wife woke me to say the guests would be arriving around 5 pm, and that I should shower and shave. She's always very particular - actually very critical - of my appearance and attire, not to say, personal hygiene.
After that was accomplished and in due course, the first of these ladies arrived. One was a buxom brunette, about five and a half feet tall and about fifty years of age, although groomed and dressed like a much younger woman. She wore dress sneakers and tight jeans, topped with a fuzzy pink sweater that really emphasized the mounds of her ample breasts. With her was another forty-to-fifty year old sandy-haired cutie, a little slimmer, wearing a casual navy blue pants suit and a white blouse with a white scarf tied loosely around her neck. They both were smiling when I opened the door for them and stepped confidently right in, casting a brief look at me and smiling to each other.
"I guess that's him. That's her husband," the brunette said to the pants suit-wearing, sandy-haired companion, referring to me without greeting or acknowledging me as a person.
Before I could close the door, three younger ladies, probably in their mid-to-late 30s arrived to be let in. One was a pale, freckled redhead, slightly taller the others. She wore one of those sweaters, beige in color, that have a kind of elliptical window opening high up in the chest, just below the neck collar, through which a deep, tight cleavage between her pale, plump breasts was visible. Her eyes followed mine as I took in the sight with male admiration. With her was a slender, olive-complected woman with shiny black hair that fell in straight lines down her back. She wore a very light, baby-blue sweater which had a deep, plunging opening exposing her back which was seen peeking between thick, almost liquid-like strands of her black tresses. The third woman of this threesome was blond, with quite short hair, buzzed into a taper, coming up the back of her head toward her scalp. Heavy chunks of her blond hair fell over the buzzed area, although did not hide the taper completely. The three of them giggled to each other as they glimpsed my presence and walked past me. Since no one else was at the door, I closed it and bid the ladies be seated while I went to get my wife and her mother to host her guests.
"Did you offer the ladies tea?" asked my wife.
"No. I..." mumbled
"Well what's wrong with you?" she muttered and pushed me -- literally pushed me such that I almost lost my balance -- in the direction of the living room where they took up seats. I asked about tea and four of the five said that they wanted some, so I set about preparing them tea. My wife and her mother entered and began chatting and chuckling with the five guests while I tried to eavesdrop but unsuccessfully.
I peered over my shoulder every so often to see what they were up to. The buxom brunette began opening some kind of package that she pulled from a medium-sized handbag. When I came into the living room bearing a tray with the four cups of tea, I handed the cups out to each of the four who requested it.
