We hit the road to Auvergne, my mother-in-law Madeleine at my side. I’m 28, she’s 46, still turning heads with her curves and confident stride. Two hours in, we pull up to her folks’ old stone house—empty, worksite vibes. Unload the trunk: mower, tools clanging like suitcases in a motel lot. Plumber’s hammering inside. Masons due at noon. I dive into yard work, sweat building.
Afternoon: we dash to town for plumbing bits, plants, flowers. Her lists are sharp, decisions quick. Back by dusk, exhausted. ‘Restaurant?’ she says. We lock the creaky door, drive off. At 8 PM, excellent meal, Côtes du Rhône flowing. Alone, she’s not the reserved wife—laughs loud, eyes sparkling. Post-dinner stroll in the old town. Cool air. She presses close for warmth. My arm over her shoulder. Shop window mirror catches us: couple vibes. ‘We look like lovers,’ I tease. She blushes, ‘Hush.’ I lean in, peck her cheek. ‘You okay?’ ‘Love your attention.’ Her smile’s melancholic. I hug her quick, whisper, ‘Madeleine, you’re stunning.’ She pulls back gently. ‘Home? You’re tired.’ ‘Not at all. You cold?’ ‘A bit.’ Silent walk to the car.
The Stopover
Drive back, hand on her firm thigh. No pushback—her hand covers mine. Eyes shut, breaths deepen. Leg twitches under my presses. At the house, ‘I dozed off.’ ‘Sweet dreams?’ ‘Very sweet.’ We laugh. I crank the electric heater in her room. She slips into bed. I shower, pyjamas on, enter her room. No surprise in her eyes. I slide in. Lights out. Side by side, tense quiet. ‘Busy day,’ she says. ‘Loved sharing it with you.’ ‘Me too.’ ‘Can I kiss you?’ She turns. Our lips meet. Hand on hip, stroke her back, ass. Erection throbs. Her mouth hungry. Fingers find bushy pubis, soaked vulva. Circle her swollen clit. She moans, bucks, screams orgasm. ‘So good!’
Rip off nightie, pyjamas. Small tits, suck nipples. Nose in her hairy armpits. ‘Don’t shave but summer.’ ‘Love it, soft.’ Down to belly, salty pussy scent. Tongue probes. Legs clamp, then part. Lick her to second shattering cum. My turn. Slide cock into drenched cunt. Slow thrusts. Switch positions—she rides wildest. Squeeze cheeks, tease anus. She climaxes loud, tears flow. ‘Pure bliss. Never felt this—virgin bride, one lame lover.’ Finger her ass. Pull out, doggy. Explode inside.
The Transit
Sleep short. Wake to warm body. Stroke perfect ass, thighs. Finger slick pussy. Guide her hand to my hardening cock. ‘Stroke me.’ Spoon her, enter from behind. She grabs my hand to clit. I rub, pound. She grunts, cums hard. Slip to her anus. Push in slow. ‘Wait!’ Pain cry, then adapts. Fuck her ass till I flood it.
Coffee aroma wakes me. She enters in robe: ‘Breakfast awaits, sir.’ Pull her to lap. Deep kiss. Eat hearty, plan Sunday: plants, lunch, nap, drive home. Drag her to bed, daylight fuck. She learns fast—sucks me dry after hour of grinding. Shower together, soap slick bodies. Garden till spent. Quick lunch, back to bed. Slow, tender. Multiple orgasms, then my load.
Pack car. Hand between thighs as she dozes. Home, dinner with family. ‘Come back in weeks,’ she hints. Wife okays it. ‘Last time,’ I say, but eyes lock with Madeleine’s—next stopover awaits.