Dominating Mormon Mother In Law Ch 01

Author's note: This is my first foray into the world of a Dom/Sub relationship. I've reached out to several editors of this genre and have had no success in finding one to help. So, if you're reading this because of the Dom/Sub topic, please give me some feedback if you see something I need to address.

As always, all players are 18+ and no camisoles were harmed in the writing of this story.

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"That's great news, honey," he said sarcastically. "I'm SOOOO fuckin excited."

"What're you whining about?" I asked. "I'm the one who has to deal with your mom." He grimaced. "And ... I was hoping you'd be happy for me," I said snidely.

He softened. "You're right. I'm sorry, babe," he said, hanging his head in shame. "You know I'm proud of you and the hard work you do." He gave me a heartfelt hug. "And I'll take care of my mom."

"That's better," I said and kissed him. "Now you can whine."

"Nah, I'll get over it," he replied. "Can we go get busy creating that family we've talked about?" he grinned. I gave him THAT look. "Oh, come on," he whined.

"Family, my ass. Do you think of anything but sex?"

"Only when I have to," he smiled and pinched my nipple. "Why?"

I screeched and smacked his hand away. "You're gonna be a very HANDsome man if you don't knock it off," I said.

"Yeah, yeah," he scoffed and grabbed his cock through his pants. "You want this."

"I do, huh?" I said with a laugh. "I can live without it." I groped my tits. "You, however, wouldn't have a clue how to live without these girls."

He knew he was beaten. "Fine. But we're gonna have that threesome one day," he said triumphantly.

"You better be hoping I'll let you in on the twosome, HANDsome."

"So, can we go make a baby?" he said with the face of Ralphie in "A Christmas Story" every time he asked for the "Official Red Ryder carbine-action two-hundred shot range model air rifle."

"No!" I said as his face changed to the disappointment look after his mom says, "You'll shoot your eye out."

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My name is Mandy. My hubby, Ron, and I are in our mid-thirties, we're fit, motivated, and successful. He works as an executive for a national bank. I've been working my way up the corporate ladder in a technology company. Today I was promoted to Senior VP of Development. It's a great career move and a huge feather in my cap. I'm the first woman VP the company has hired.

The downside for Ron is the promotion means picking up and moving to Utah, where he was raised. Ron was raised in the Mormon church and his family was less than excited when he fell in love with a "Gentile" and married me. For Mormons, marrying outside the faith is a big deal. It's not against their rules but it's highly frowned upon.

Ron's family has accepted his decision and they mostly treat me as one of their own. His siblings call me "sis" and his dad always called me his daughter up until he passed away a few years ago. His mom, Diane, however, has never been accepting of me. She's always been rudely polite. She's very condescending and never gives me credit for having any home skills.

Because Ron chose to marry a woman with career goals, we've put off having children. Diane has always been pissed off that we aren't expanding her list of grandkids. She believes a woman's place is in the home, something I agree with, but I also believe a woman should have a choice. Aside from my career, I'm generally passive, so I don't fight back often.

Ron has talked to her a few times about her behaviors and it makes things better for a while. Then she eventually goes back to her old self. I try to stay out of the mix and usually end up hurt and crying but never in front of her. I will never give her that satisfaction.

Moving to Utah isn't all that exciting for me but the headquarters of my company is there. Outside of Silicon Valley in California, Utah has its own version called "The Technology Corridor." If I want this promotion, I must suck it up and move to Utah. Even worse, Ron's childhood home is within five miles of my company's location. There's no way to avoid her.

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As the days drew closer to the day for me to check-in at HQ, it became obvious that Ron wasn't going to be able to make the trip with me. His job, as well as all the logistics of selling our house and getting all our belongings on the moving truck, would keep him in Denver for at least two weeks after I needed to be there.

Worse than Ron not able to be a buffer between Diane and me, she insisted that I stay with her until we can find a place of our own. She wouldn't take no for an answer. I had no better reason to say "no" other than I don't like the bitch. I'll be stuck between my dislike for her and keeping peace in the family.

When the day arrived, the last thing Ron said to me before I got on the plane was, "Don't take her shit. Be nice and polite but let her know you don't appreciate her being rude." We kissed, hugged, said our goodbyes, and I was on the plane and on my way.

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"Hiiiii sweeeeeetheart," she said with that fake, singsong tone as she reached out to tent-hug me.

"Hi Diane," I replied nonchalantly with my own fake smile and rolled my eyes as I hugged her back.

"Oh, call me mom. How was the flight?" she sang.

'As if you give any kind of fuck how the flight was AND nope, I will never call you mom,' my inner voice replied. "Boring, as usual," I said as we broke the hug. I reached down to pick up the bag I had dropped to hug her. We made our way to baggage claim and waited much too long as she tried to make awkward conversation.

No matter how I felt about Diane, I have always been in awe of her. She is a queen. She looks the part. She dresses the part. She acts the part. Although she's fifty-two years old, she's fit and gorgeous. She has a sexy full figure which filled out much better than other women with four kids. One reason Ron is so fit is from the habits he learned from his mother. She not only took care of her family, but she also taught them the value of healthy living and eating. I hate her.

The drive from the airport to her home was thirty-five minutes of pure hell. Diane wouldn't shut the fuck up and constantly talked about her grandkids while letting me know, without ever saying the words, how much she was disappointed in Ron and me. When she would ask a question, I answered with the fewest words possible.

We arrived at her home and I nearly leaped from the car, grabbed my bags, and ran for the bedroom I would call mine for the next few weeks. I locked the door behind me and sat on the bed and cried in frustration.

'Why the fuck did I agree to this,' my inner voice yelled. 'If I make it through this without killing this bitch, I'm going to treat myself like a queen at a spa.'

It only took about ten minutes for Diane to come knocking. "Mandy are you hungry dear?" she called out. "I know you don't like to cook so I made up some chicken enchiladas."

'How would you know if I like to cook, bitch? As if you've ever visited us at all,' my inner voice said. "I'll be out in a few minutes, Diane. Thank you," my mouth said.

"Okay dear," she sang. "I'll keep them warm for you." I heard her footsteps receding down the hall.

"God, I hate you!" I said barely above a whisper. "How about a nice tall cup of LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE!" I threw a pillow across the room.

This was going to be the longest two weeks of my life. I looked at my watch. "Ten FUCKIN fifteen?" I muttered. I took an early flight so I could be prepared when I arrived to work on Monday. Today was Saturday. I have all day today and tomorrow to be annoyed out of my skull by this woman.

I rested for an hour or so before changing into a t-shirt and shorts. I walked out to get a bite to eat. The enchiladas smelled amazing. 'I guess if I've gotta be here, it doesn't hurt that she's an expert cook.'

"Oh, there you are, dear," Diane said with that fuckin fake smile when I walked into the kitchen. "I wondered if I'd see you again today."

'Call me "dear" one more time and you'll be wearing these enchiladas, bitch.' I smiled. "If I weren't hungry, that may have been the case. I'm so tired from the move."

"Moving can be difficult," she said almost sympathetic. I should have known better. "We moved a few times when Bill found a new job or took a promotion. Of course, I handled everything for him since he worked so hard to provide for us. Women should be in the home to support the breadwinner, doncha think?" she condescended with a fake smile.

'Where's a fuckin knife? I'm gonna stab this bitch in the eye.' I smiled again. "You do a fantastic job, Diane."

"Oh, poo with Diane, dear," she gushed. "Call me mom if you feel more comfortable."

'I'll be dead in hell before I ever call you mom, bitch.' I smiled at her without answering.

All her other kids-in-law call her "mom". I never have and can't think of any situation that I would. It's obvious she takes it personally. She lets me know every time I see her. It's about my only way of getting under her skin so it won't end anytime soon.

I sat down to eat and hoped for a reprieve from conversation. But, no. She scooped up a small plate and sat down beside me.

"What's your plan today, dear?" she asked.

I closed my eyes and imagined punching her in the face. "I'm going to spend the afternoon looking at a few houses we saw online," I answered. "You sure you're okay with me using Bill's pickup?" Ron already arranged for me to use it, but I wanted to verify it. That pickup was Bill's pride and joy. She babies it.

"Of course, dear," she answered. "I don't know why you won't let me drive you around. I'm free all day."

'Lady, if I have to spend one extra minute with you today, I'm gonna slit my wrists with a rusty spoon.' I smiled. "Thanks, Diane, but I also have a few personal errands to run. I don't want to inconvenience you."

"It would be no inconvenience, dear," she smiled. "It would be my pleasure."

'Open your piehole one more time, bitch.' "Thank you all the same," I smiled.

I finished my plate, got up and took my dishes to the sink. I started to clean them, but Diane wouldn't allow it. "No, no, no, dear. I take care of the workers in this family, remember?"

'How the hell could I forget, bitch?' I smiled. "Thank you, Diane. I need to go get ready and get going. Thank you for the lovely meal."

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**** **** Diane **** ****

I've always been a good judge of character. I see the beautiful qualities in most everyone I meet. Mandy is a blank canvas for me. I can never get any deeper than the surface with her. I try to be nice and kind, but she fights against my attempts. I can see the strength in her that she can't see. I know my Ronny sees it too.

Mandy has been my challenge. She's smart, bright, brilliant, and a great catch. Ronny was lucky to find her. Because of our religion, I think she has put up walls. I don't think she gives me a chance because I chose to be a mom while sacrificing a legal career.

I can see and feel the ill regard she has for me. I try to be nice, but I think it comes across as shallow and condescending to her. Whenever I try to do anything for her, she resents me more. Ronny always tells me to back off and let her come around. I've tried that. Nothing seems to work.

I love that my son found a woman to share his life with. A woman of compassion and spirit. She has made different life choices than I did at her age. I respect her choices and respect that she has carved a path for a long, successful career. She thinks I'm worried about her bearing more grandkids. I love being a grandma, but I love her for being strong and independent.

Hopefully, these next two weeks to ourselves will be productive for our relationship. I hate that she resents me. I just want to be a good mother-in-law to her.

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I went to my room to get ready to go. I remembered I brought some clothes that I needed for Monday that I needed to launder. The last few weeks have been such a whirlwind I hadn't had a whole lot of extra time. More than half of my clothes needed to be laundered. I gathered them up, walked out to the living area and asked Diane if I could use the washer and dryer. She, of course, said it was fine but she, as the "PERFECT HOUSEWIFE" could do it for me. I told her I would start it now and finish when I returned.

As I loaded the washer, I found one of my frilly nighties. 'Where did you come from?' I wondered. I shrugged and tossed it in. Once loaded, I was gone.

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**** **** Diane **** ****

I sat in the dining room and pondered my relationship with Mandy. I wanted so much to find common ground. After ten years it seems like something would come to me. I was at a loss.

I heard the washing machine spinning then go silent as the cycle completed. I know she didn't ask for help, but what harm could come of putting her things in the dryer? Without much thought, I grabbed everything and moved it all to the dryer. I tossed in a dryer sheet, turned the knobs and started it.

Feeling fatigued from a morning of trying way too hard, I made my way to my bedroom to take a nap. As my head hit the pillow, I prayed that God would give me some inspiration. Tears fell as I pleaded with God to help me have a better relationship with my daughter-in-law.

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I opened my eyes and realized I had slept a good portion of the afternoon. I was foggy as I sat up and tried to clear the cobwebs in my mind. I stood and went out to see if Mandy had returned from her errands. I walked into the laundry room and looked out the door. Bill's pickup was still gone.

As I walked back toward the kitchen, I remembered putting her laundry in the dryer. Feeling bored, and wanting to be helpful, I began unloading her clothes into a basket. When emptying the dryer, I always remove items one-by-one to straighten and drape over the edge of the basket. This helps to prevent wrinkles.

I pulled out one of her tops. As I did, something bright caught my eye. I draped the shirt over the basket, reached back in, found the bright pink item hiding under the other clothing, and pulled it out. I held it up and was pleasantly surprised. It was a silky, full-body camisole. It was lovely with lacy trim and spaghetti straps.

"This is sexy," I said to myself as I turned it this way and that.

My mind wandered back to the last time I wore anything so sexy. It was a month or so before Bill passed away. He loved me in sexy lingerie, but I rarely wore any. As Mormons, we have special undergarments we wear nearly twenty-four hours a day. We only take them off for special occasions; sporting activities, showers, and making love. Now all my lingerie is in a drawer I never open.

"I wonder if it would fit me," I said aloud, but knowing it wouldn't. I have a membership at the local gym, and I go regularly. I try to stay fit. My body has matured over the years. I don't look like a twenty-year-old, but I am fit and healthy.

I draped the camisole over the basket, started to reach in the dryer for the next item, then looked back at the camisole. "What the heck?" I said and began undressing. My blouse, then bra, then skirt. I picked up the camisole and realized it would look rather silly with my special underwear on under it. I quickly removed them and stood naked in the laundry room.

I straightened the camisole and began pulling it over my head. I quickly learned that Mandy is a few sizes smaller than my old baby factory. I had the camisole over my head but could get it no further. I tried, being careful not to rip or tear it, but it was going nowhere.

"Oh well," I resigned myself, "it was worth a try."

I started to pull it off when it snagged on one of my earrings. I tried pulling it down to free it, but it was staying put. I tried to reach it, but my arms were stuck above my head. I couldn't pull it up nor could I pull it down. I was covered by the camisole from the top of my shoulders to the top of my hands. I couldn't reach my ear to unhook the snag. There I stood, naked, in the laundry room doing a panic dance, blind and bound.

Just when I thought I knew what panic is, I heard the door open, footsteps entering the room, and the door closing. Because of my panic dance, I was disoriented. I didn't know which way I was facing so I couldn't try to make a run for it. I simply stood there and continued trying to work that darned camisole off my head.

My worst fear was my neighbors. The Petersons next door have been my greatest support since Bill passed. Brent and Susan have no problem coming over and walking in through the carport.

'Please let it be Susan. Please let it be Susan.' I thought to myself over and over.

After the door closed, I heard two footsteps. Then nothing. Silence.

'Oh drats. It's Brent.' My worst nightmare. 'What could he be thinking?'

"Who's there?" I said. Silence. "Brent?" I said. "Brent, please don't stand and stare at me. Please go get Susan to help me." More silence. "PLEASE!" I was nearly in tears.

In my panic, I decided the fabric be damned. I had to fight my way out of this camisole. I stepped up my dance and was probably near ripping my way out when I heard a giggle. I stopped.

"MANDY?" I shrieked. Silence. "Mandy? Please, is that you, Mandy?" She giggled again.

"Diane," she laughed. "What the hell are you doing?" Her laughter was a welcome sound to my ears. And quite contagious. I started laughing with her.

"Oh, Mandy," I said through my laughter. "This thing is caught on my earring and I can't get it off. Please help me."

At this point, Mandy was laughing so hard I didn't think she could be of much assistance. I was also laughing but, in my state, it was starting to hurt.

She finally walked over to me. "What the hell are you doing, Diane?" she asked as she lifted the camisole above my eyes. When she grabbed the fabric, her fingers brushed against my nipples. Lightning flashed through my body. I haven't been touched for over two years. I gasped, and the tried to hide my shameful reaction.

"Just help me," I begged as I continued trying to reach for the tangled earring.

"Stop moving," she said and reached for my ear. It took about five seconds for her to figure out how to disengage the earring. The entire time, my breasts and nipples were rubbing against her breasts. I finished pulling it off.

"Thank you," I said with a laugh. "That was a nightmare." I suddenly realized that I was fully naked, standing in front of my laughing daughter-in-law. I tried to cover myself with the camisole, which was woefully inadequate for the job. My breasts were covered but nothing else.

No sooner had I covered up than Mandy grabbed the camisole and yanked it out of my hands.

"Is this mine?" she asked.

I tried to get it back, but she was too fast. She held it away from me with one hand while trying to keep me at bay with the other. Her hand was pushing squarely on my boob.

"MANDY!" I shouted. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" I pushed her hand away.

"No, Diane, what are you doing?" she asked for the third time, still laughing.

I finally came a little to my senses, realized all my clothes were on the floor, reached down and gathered them up, then stood and again tried to cover myself.

With all my bits covered, I looked at Mandy. I had to laugh again. She could hardly contain herself.

"You were trying on my camisole?" she chortled. "What were you thinking?"

Through my laughter, I tried to answer. "I thought it was sexy." As the words escaped my lips, the humor left me. I was suddenly slammed by over two years of being sad and lonely. "I wanted to be sexy again," I said softly and sadly diverting my eyes to the floor as tears welled. The weight of the words overwhelmed me.