Fantasizing about my mother-in-law

The truth is, every time I go to my girlfriend’s house, I find it hard to hide it. It’s not because of her—she’s hot, I’m not complaining. It’s because of her mother, my mother-in-law. My God, that woman has something that drives me crazy. Her name is Elena, and although she must be around 45, she looks 30. She’s only five feet tall, but everything about her is in the right place, especially that ass that stands out even in the simplest dress. She has a sweet face, the kind that inspires trust, but I know that behind that smile there’s a woman who still feels desired.

The worst (or the best) part is our WhatsApp conversations. Whenever I post a picture, she’s the first to react. “My son-in-law is so handsome,” “That shirt looks so good on you.” They could be innocent messages, but I feel a double meaning in them. Sometimes she sends winking emojis or hearts, and my heart races. My girlfriend sees it and laughs, saying her mom is just affectionate like that, but I notice a different spark in her eyes when she looks at me.

The other day I went to pick up my girlfriend and Elena answered the door in a silk robe that, accidentally, opened a little too much. I’d swear she wasn’t wearing anything underneath. She greeted me with a hug that lasted a few seconds too long, and I could feel her small but firm breasts pressed against my chest. Her scent, a mix of expensive perfume and something warmer, stayed with me all night. While my girlfriend was finishing getting ready, the two of us were alone in the living room. She sat on the sofa across from me and crossed her legs with a slowness that seemed deliberate. The robe rode up just enough for me to see her taut, tanned thighs. We talked about trivial things, but her gaze was anything but trivial. She looked at me in a… hungry way. At one point, she leaned over to pick up a magazine from the coffee table and I had a perfect view of her cleavage. I was absolutely sure she wasn’t wearing a bra.

Since then, the fantasy has taken hold of me. I masturbate thinking about the day my girlfriend goes on a trip and I stay at the house under the pretext of looking after her mom. I imagine Elena coming down to the kitchen in the middle of the night, wearing that same robe, and finding me awake. That without a word, she comes to me and kisses me with a passion built up over years. I imagine what it would be like to slowly untie that robe and discover her petite yet curvaceous body. I picture her on her knees, unbuttoning my pants with expert hands and taking me entirely into her mouth, staring intently at me with those eyes that promise heaven and hell. I fantasize about lifting her up and placing her on the kitchen table, opening her legs and smelling her mature woman’s scent before tasting her. I imagine her moaning in my ear, begging me for more, telling me that her son-in-law is the man she always wanted. That she belongs to me. The taboo of knowing she’s my girlfriend’s mother, of betraying her trust in the most intimate way, is what excites me the most. It’s a dangerous game, I know, but every time I see her, I feel like she wants to play too.