Mother-in-Law's Massage Chair

"Mike, are you ready?"

I heard my mother-in-law shouting from our living room. She had been in there for ages, setting up the thing some movers brought over earlier. I took the rest of the sandwich I was munching on and wandered in there, wondering what she had actually been doing all this time.

"What's up, Christine?"

"Still not calling me 'mom', huh?" she replied, slightly annoyed that I still hadn't adopted what she saw as a typical family tradition.

"Uhm, well..."

"Never mind, that's not what I wanted right now. Here, what do you think?"

Over by the wall was a big chair. Really big. So big, in fact, that she'd had to move most of the furniture over to the other side of the room to make space for it. It looked really thick and heavy, with solid frames all around. Made in dark brown leather, with some kind of footrest built into the frame, it now stood some distance away from the T.V., with only a small table for company. Resting on the table was a remote control, connected to the chair by a cable.

"A massage chair. So... this is what you wanted my help with?" I asked.

"Yep. What do you think?"

"Well, it's... big."

"Or your living room is small."

"No, it's big."

"Well, it

is

the top model. Oh, and I've put it here so you can sit in it and get a massage while you're watching T.V."

"Cool. So what was it I was going to do again?"

"Just test it."

"Right."

"Thoroughly. That's why I had it moved over from

my

house to yours."

"Oh, so you've tried it already?"

"Of course. I've been using this thing for weeks."

"So why do you need

me

to try it?"

"Not

try

it.

Test

it. Like I told you last week, I get a commission on each one I sell, and although I've tested it quite a bit myself, I want to know what an outsider thinks about it. Someone who hasn't read the manual. Someone who hasn't been to the official manufacturers' sales course. I want to know what the average customer will think of it when they try it. I've been told what I

should say

to potential buyers, but I want to know what the buyers

should know

."

"Know your product. I get it."

"Exactly."

She reached into a bag on the floor and put some brochures and papers on the table, along with a thick book that said "Manual" on the cover.

"Are those ... the instructions?" I asked, hesitantly.

"Yeah, that's just the sort of thing I wanted you to check for me, actually." she replied.

"Oh."

What, did she want me to check the spelling or something? Me, an army sergeant? What do

I

know about grammar? I could feel my heart sinking as I thought about the amount of time it would take to read through that brick. Christine, though, was ahead of me on that one.

"Obviously, nobody's actually gonna

read

this thing. So, what I wanna know from you is: are the controls intuitive enough? Can people just sit down and click their way through the menus without getting all confused?"

"Ah, I get it." I said, relieved.

"Then there's another thing ... the settings. You gotta test those, see if they're fit for all kinds of people. The height adjustments, the auto programs, the seating position, the ... everything."

"That'll take time, I guess."

"Yep. Days, weeks, depending on how much you use it. There are over a dozen different programs in this thing!" she said, excitedly.

"Good thing I'm home on leave for a while, then."

"Exactly. So, ready to hop in?"

"Oh, wait... now?"

"Sure, why not? No time like the present. Shoes off. In you go."

I did as she said and placed my feet in the footrest before sitting back in the massive chair.

"A bit tight." I said as I squeezed myself into it.

"That's 'cause you're a hunk with muscles on your muscles. Hang on a sec."

She walked around to the back and adjusted something. A couple of straps were pulled and two leather cushions on either side were moved back slightly, giving me a bit more room for my shoulders.

"Ahkay, cool."

"Your arms go in there." she said and pointed to the insides of the armrests - which clearly weren't really armrests, then.

I slid my arms in there and felt them being enveloped by some kind of leather sleeves, like I was wearing a thick jacket or something.

Christine stood beside the chair and picked up the remote off the table. She then took me through the buttons.

"This one starts it, then you gotta wait for the thing to detect where your body is..."

I could hear the electric motors in the chair buzzing around, and I felt a series of lumps moving up and down my back. There were clearly some kind of balls connected to something inside it, and when the balls moved, they pushed against my body and massaged the areas they moved against. After a few seconds, the machine asked for instructions.

"First you set the shoulder height. Just try different ones until you find the one that feels best. Then you choose the program. How about starting with the automatic ones?"

"Sure." I replied.

She clicked a few buttons, showing me how I could select the program I wanted. Then she suddenly changed her mind, saying:

"Actually, I shouldn't show you. You do it. See how easy it is."

It was actually very easy. I selected one of the auto programs, sat back and relaxed, and if I wanted to change the tilt of the back or footrest, there were big buttons on the remote, clearly marked with arrows. The chair was pretty good too. The rolling balls went up and down my back in all sorts of motions, depending on which program I chose. It also massaged my legs by pumping air into the leather cushions on each side, effectively squeezing my calf muscles for about ten seconds before releasing the grip. My arms got the same treatment; the leather "sleeves" being pumped full of air in sequence, first squeezing my upper arms, then the lower - first the right arm, then the left.

"Each program lasts 20 minutes. You can stop them early, of course, by clicking the 'off' button here."

"Right ... could we do this later, then? I was gonna watch the game..."

"Well, you can watch it and keep testing, can't you? I'm eager to hear what you think ... In fact, let me get my laptop and we can get started right away?"

It was framed as a question, but definitely wasn't one. Christine ran out and I heard the door slam behind her. She lived just across the road from us. Initially, when we moved in here, I had thought it was a bit of a curse to have my mother-in-law live literally a stone's throw away. On reflection, though, the benefits outweighed the downsides. She respected our privacy and it was pretty useful to have her around if we needed help with the kids or something.

She was back in a flash, sitting down on the floor with her legs crossed and her laptop in her lap. Then she asked for comments on everything from the feel of the massage to the settings on the remote. As it turned out, while the automatic programs were pretty easy to set up, it was more difficult figuring out how you could program the chair in detail. There were all sorts of settings and tweaks you could make, but I couldn't work out how to select them properly. As I explained what the issues were, Christine eagerly took notes on her laptop.

"This is great, keep going. What was the problem with the shoulders?"

"Well, the remote has a thing where you can change the 'shoulder width', right? But when I try to change it, nothing happens?"

"Oh, yeah, it has to be done before the program starts. And it doesn't work on the auto programs."

"Ah, right. Okay. And what about this tilt thing - the back can clearly go back farther, but when I try to tilt the legs down, I can't have the back horizontal?"

"No, that's true. There's a maximum angle between the back, the seat and the footrest. When the back gets tilted all the way back, the legs have to come up a bit as well."

"Okay. I'll get the hang of it."

Over the next few days, my mother-in-law was practically living in our house. It was actually pretty nice having her here to keep me company, since my wife had taken our kids camping for a week. I also appreciated her cooking, which was a lot better than mine. She also seemed to enjoy coming over just to chat. I felt like we had been getting closer since I came home after my tour. Most of the time, though, she had me test her massage chair, taking notes whenever I had something to say.

One evening, I was reclined in the chair while enjoying one of the automatic programs that massaged my upper back muscles. I was also beginning to enjoy the sleeves that squeezed my arms; having been working out pretty hard lifting weights in the basement, it felt really good to have my biceps and forearms massaged like this. I hadn't really thought about it before, but whenever I had gotten a massage, it was mostly on my back and shoulders - which was great, but I was really beginning to like having my arms done as well.

The balls in the back were rolling continuously up and down along my spine, and the gentle buzzing of the motors made me feel relaxed and sleepy. And a bit horny. It had started to happen occasionally, this. I just felt so relaxed and enjoyed the feeling of being pampered in this massive chair, that I started to get an erection that began throbbing away in my pants. Not that I could do anything about it right then, but ...

"Enjoying yourself?" I heard Christine's voice from across the room - she'd let herself in and joined me in the living room.

"Mhm... it's really nice, this

'neck and back' program

." I replied, sleepily, with my eyes still closed.

"Yeah, I can tell." she said in a quiet, soothing voice.

"Mh?" I was still half asleep.

"Is it the massage that's getting you hard?"

"What?"

I was suddenly awake and acutely aware that I was pitching a tent which was clearly visible to any onlookers, including my mother-in-law. I felt my face reddening.

"Pretty nice bulge." she went on unfazed. "Is it the massage? Does it feel so good that it makes you horny?"

"No..."

"Don't be embarrassed, it's normal to get a hard-on when you're enjoying yourself."

"I wasn't... I mean..."

"Well, it's not exactly a vibrator, sweetie, but I know it's really good getting your lower back massaged like that. Just one thing: if you're gonna cum, try not to mess up the leather."

She gave me a wink and giggled as she walked out of the living room. She was always so direct. And so ... experienced. Talking about sex seemed so easy for her. She just said that thing and then went back into the kitchen, like she'd just asked him what he wanted on his burgers or something.

She returned a few minutes later, with a plate of sandwiches, cut to triangles just the way I liked them.

"Hungry?" she said, and I nodded.

"The chair's got a few minutes left to run, I think."

"Oh, no need to wait for that. Here, I'll feed you, open wide."

I did as she asked and chomped down on the juicy BLT sandwich she held for me. I was laughing internally at the idea that I was being hand-fed like one of those rich guys with servants in T.V. shows about ancient Rome.

"Tunkx..." I mumbled with my mouth full as she fed it to me a little too quickly.

"You had some more notes for me?" she said as I finished the sandwich.

"Yeah, I put them over there. The notebook you left earlier..."

"Ah, great. It's really helpful, this, thank you. It's useful to have a man's opinion and not just my own... I still wonder if it feels different for you than it does for me, so keep tweaking those settings."

"How would it feel different?"

"Oh, I'm just wondering if men are thinking differently about getting massaged. I mean, me - I like certain massages better than others, and it also depends on my mood. If I want to relax, I like the 'relax' mode. If my muscles ache, I like the 'full air' mode. If I need to cum, I like

internal

massage."

I felt my cheeks blush again.

"Internal...?"

"Oh, that's not a setting on the chair, sweetie. No, I use my kegel balls for that - or a vibrating egg. It's an amazing feeling when I combine it with a good massage."

There she went on again, talking about sex like it was the most natural thing in the world. I wondered if it would ever not feel awkward to have conversations like these with her.

"So you did that a lot..? In the chair...?"

"Oh yeah, it's a great way to exercise your pelvic muscles. Besides, orgasms release endorphins and are generally good for your physical and mental health. Sure, I'm in my late forties, and I've had two kids, but you wouldn't believe how tight my pussy is."

"Sure..." I mumbled, swallowing hard.

"Oh, yeah. Sometimes I just sit in this baby and enjoy the massage while orgasms roll through me, one after the other until I'm so wet I'm almost sliding out and onto the floor. It's not the massage that makes me cum, though, it just gets me in the mood. So yeah, I'm wondering if it's the same for men."

I guess she could be right. We probably were affected in the same way. Right now, though, all I could think about was what she said about having done this herself. She had made herself cum while sitting in this very chair. She had been sitting here, cumming over and over ... As I thought about this, it started to feel like I was sitting in a wet puddle. My mind imagined sitting in her juices, feeling her wetness rub all over my skin. She had cleaned it, of course, but hearing her talk about it so vividly just made my brain picture it more and more clearly. I almost felt like I could smell her.

The chair finished its program. I immediately clicked the 'on' switch again, like a man hitting the 'snooze' button on his alarm, not even giving it time to chime properly. I wasn't even thinking clearly, I just wanted another round of this. The bulge in my pants was growing again at the thought of sitting in my mother-in-law's juices, and I just wanted more time being in this state.

"Another round, eh?" Christine said as the chair started a new cycle.

"Mhm. Just one more and then I'll take a shower."

"Can't say I blame you. Do you mind if I do my stretches in the mean time?"

"No, not at all."

She stood up and went over to the opposite wall, just to the side of me so that she wasn't directly in front of the T.V., but so that I could still see her in my peripheral vision. Then she started bending over and touching her toes, spreading her legs and stretching her hamstrings. She moved around in several different poses, working through her daily exercises. I wasn't really watching at first, but as she bent over again and again, my eyes started wandering.

Christine really had a killer body. She was busty, had round hips and a really nice ass. Her waist was that of a wholesome woman in her late forties, meaning she wasn't exactly slim, but still giving her a slight hourglass figure. She also had the most beautiful face, with full lips, a gorgeous set of blue eyes, all framed by a long, flowing hair. Thinking about it, she really was just like the archetypal MILF that would have gotten me all worked up ten years ago, when I was still in my teens.

Now I was watching her bend and stretch her limber body in my living room. She had also started moaning ever so slightly - I almost got the feeling that she was doing it on purpose just to tease me. She turned to face me, continuing her exercises, confirming my suspicions.

"Enjoying the view?" she said, smiling.

"Mh..." I just muttered, trying to make it come out in a non-confirmatory way.

"I see somebody certainly likes it." she went on, looking down at my crotch, where the tent had once again been thoroughly pitched.

"Uhumm..." I cleared my throat, still trying not to agree too eagerly.

As she bent forward, I could see her large breasts push against her blouse as if they were about to burst out.

"When was the last time you and Helen had sex?" she asked, perfectly straightforward.

"Oh... uhm... recently."

"How recently? She's been away a few days now, but you were taken care of before she left, right? How often do you guys do it?"

"Uhm... sorry?"

I pretended not to hear her. She was still stretching and showing off her attributes. I was getting really hard at this point, my bulge no longer bothering to hide.

"How often do you and Helen have sex?"

"Uh... I guess..."

"Let

me

guess, it's not even once a week, is it...?"

She was right. It wasn't. She took my silence as confirmation and gave a big sigh as she sank down on the floor, still stretching her legs. She gave me an earnest look.

"Sweetie, when was the last time you had an orgasm?"

"Uhm... I dunno... like, last week..?"

"And when was the last time she made you cum?"

"Well... not too long ago. We had sex and ..."

"No." she interrupted. "Fucking your wife in the missionary position doesn't count. When was the last time she did the

work

? When did

she

make you cum?"

"Oh... um... I uh ... huh. Don't ... remember?"

"Damn, that daughter of mine sure didn't inherit my slut genes. I've tried to tell her that men have needs, that she should do her best to please her man, but I guess she still believes that just means she should lie on her back and spread her legs."

I knew she was right. My wife just wasn't into the sex thing. Oral was certainly off the table - she just didn't like it, neither giving nor receiving. But I thought I could live with that. Helen and I loved one another, we had two great kids, we enjoyed each other's company, we loved going hiking together ... Our relationship was perfect in every way, it was only the sex that was a bit lacking. Christine, however, seemed to think that this was a bigger problem than I realized. She sighed again.

"If she had just learned how to suck cock like a proper slut ..."

"Aheum..." I cleared my throat as the fantasy image of my prim and proper wife sucking me off flashed before my eyes.

"I mean ... where did I go wrong? It looks like she thinks that having dirty sex means she's a bad person or something."

"Well, I guess you're pretty different ..."

"Yeah, she takes after her dad. The prude. That's one of the reasons I divorced him, actually. Not that he's a bad man - he's good, really. Warm and kind. Just not really much of a tiger in the sack. Not very interested. I just got bored after a while. Not having had sex for weeks just didn't work for me. I mean, if a massage chair can give you orgasms more often than your partner can, something's seriously wrong somewhere ..."

She stood up, having finished her stretches. As it happened, the chair finished its program and started tilting forward to its starting position.

"Shower." she said.

"Yeah, I was thinking about taking a shower..."

"Hm? Oh, sorry, I was thinking out loud. I need a cold shower. Watching that big bulge of yours for so long got me all worked up. I'll ... yeah, see you later."

Then she left.

I went to the bathroom to take a shower as well. Images of my mother-in-law's curvy body in full stretch floated past my eyes, giving me a massive hard-on that only a really cold shower could fix. Damn, she was hot. And it looked like she was intentionally showing off for me. In one of the more twisted parts of my male brain, there was something that fantasized about her coming into the bathroom right now. She'd come in, say there was something wrong with her shower, ask to use mine and suggest that we shower together. Then she'd take off all her clothes, show me her busty figure in all its glory and proceed to do all sorts of dirty things with her son-in-law. Things my wife would find unappealing. Mouth things. Butt things. All sorts of things. Yeah. This cold shower really couldn't get cold

enough

.

The following morning, I came downstairs to find my mother-in-law in the massage chair. She had her eyes closed and was clearly enjoying a relaxing massage, so I quietly went to the kitchen to whip up some eggs for breakfast. The sound of the frying pan and kitchen fan drowned out any sounds coming from the living room, but I swore I could hear her making some noises out there. Was she singing? Humming? I couldn't tell. I dismissed the thought and finished making us both some toast and scrambled eggs, which I brought out to her.