The air in our small Tokyo apartment hung heavy with the scent of impending rain and the faint, lingering aroma of Tina's jasmine perfume—a fragrance that had started to invade my thoughts like an uninvited guest. My wife, Aiko, was in her final weeks of pregnancy, her belly swollen and radiant, but her mood swings had turned our home into a minefield. She'd decreed a month ago that I wasn't to touch myself, not even in the privacy of the shower, insisting it was for "building anticipation" or some nonsense from her pregnancy books. The frustration built inside me like a coiled spring, every denied release making my skin itch with need.
Tina, Aiko's mother—my mother-in-law—had arrived from the countryside two weeks prior, her presence a godsend for Aiko's comfort but a torment for me. At 48, Tina was the epitome of mature allure, a MILF in every sense: curves that spoke of experience, full breasts that strained against her modest blouses, and hips that swayed with a natural, hypnotic rhythm as she moved about the kitchen. Her skin was smooth, lightly tanned from years of outdoor life, and her dark hair cascaded in loose waves down her back, often tied up in a casual bun that exposed the elegant curve of her neck. I'd catch myself staring, my eyes tracing the way her ample ass filled out her jeans, imagining the soft give of her flesh under my hands.
The first few days were manageable. Tina bustled around, cooking hearty meals infused with the earthy smells of miso and grilled fish, her laughter filling the space as she rubbed Aiko's back or prepared herbal teas. But as the nights wore on, my restraint frayed. Aiko slept early, her exhaustion pulling her into deep slumbers, leaving Tina and me to share quiet evenings in the living room. The TV flickered with mindless dramas, but my focus was on her— the way her thighs pressed together when she crossed her legs, the subtle rise and fall of her chest with each breath, pushing her cleavage into view through the V-neck of her top.
One evening, after Aiko had retired, Tina announced she was taking a bath. The bathroom door clicked shut, and the sound of running water echoed through the thin walls. I paced the hallway, my cock twitching at the mere thought of her undressing. I knew it was wrong— she was family, forbidden territory— but the deprivation had turned me into a beast. Heart pounding, I crept closer, the steam seeping under the door carrying hints of her floral soap. The keyhole was old, slightly warped, offering a sliver of view. I knelt, eye pressed to it, breath shallow.
Through the haze, I watched her. Tina stood before the mirror, her back to me, slowly unbuttoning her blouse. The fabric parted, revealing the lace trim of a black bra that cradled her heavy breasts like an offering. She shrugged it off, and they spilled free— full, pendulous orbs with dark nipples already hardening in the cool air, the areolas wide and textured, begging for a mouth. My mouth went dry as she hooked her thumbs into her pants, shimmying them down over her wide hips, her ass cheeks jiggling slightly as the material peeled away. No panties— just the bare, smooth globes of her ass, divided by a tantalizing cleft that led to the shadow between her thighs. She turned slightly, and I glimpsed the neatly trimmed patch of dark hair above her pussy, lips plump and inviting, a faint sheen of moisture already gathering as if she sensed the eyes on her.
She stepped into the tub, the water sloshing sensually, and sank down with a sigh that vibrated through me. Her hands roamed her body under the suds— first cupping her breasts, thumbs circling those stiff nipples, pinching them until they peaked like ripe berries. A soft moan escaped her lips, and my cock throbbed painfully against my pants, pre-cum leaking as I imagined tasting her, sucking those nipples while she arched beneath me. She spread her legs wider, one hand dipping lower, fingers parting her folds with deliberate slowness. The water rippled as she touched herself, her breaths quickening, hips bucking subtly. I could almost smell her arousal mingling with the steam— musky, feminine, intoxicating.
I fled to the couch, palms sweating, erection straining. That night, sleep evaded me, visions of Tina's naked form replaying in my mind.
The tension escalated the next day. Aiko napped in the afternoon, the apartment quiet save for the distant hum of city traffic. Tina was in the kitchen, bending over to retrieve a pot from a low cabinet, her skirt riding up to expose the backs of her thighs. I entered silently, drawn like a moth, and she straightened, turning with a warm smile that made my stomach flip. "Need something, dear?" she asked, her voice husky, eyes lingering on mine a beat too long.
We chatted idly, but the air crackled. She chopped vegetables, her breasts bouncing with each motion, and I positioned myself behind her, pretending to reach for a glass. My body brushed hers— accidental at first, then not. She didn't pull away; instead, she leaned back slightly, her ass pressing into my groin. The contact was electric, my hard length nestling against her soft curves through the fabric. "Oh," she murmured, but there was no shock— only a knowing lilt.
"Sorry," I whispered, but my hands found her waist, holding her there. She set the knife down, her breathing deepening as I ground against her slowly, feeling the heat radiating from her core. "This is dangerous," she said softly, but her hand reached back, cupping my bulge, squeezing gently. The sensation shot through me— her fingers tracing the outline of my shaft, thumb rubbing the head where pre-cum had soaked through.
We froze as Aiko stirred in the other room, pulling apart with flushed faces. But the seed was planted.
That night, after Aiko slept, Tina knocked softly on my study door. She wore a thin robe, loosely tied, the valley between her breasts visible. "Can't sleep?" she asked, stepping inside. The room smelled of her— jasmine and something warmer, aroused. I nodded, my eyes devouring her. She approached, her robe slipping open to reveal one breast, nipple erect. "I saw you watching me last night," she confessed, her voice a sultry whisper. "It excited me."
My control shattered. I pulled her close, mouth crashing onto hers in a hungry kiss, tongues tangling with pent-up desperation. She tasted sweet, like the tea she'd sipped earlier, her lips soft and yielding. My hands roamed, cupping her ass, kneading the flesh as she moaned into my mouth. The robe fell away, leaving her naked— voluptuous, curves illuminated by the desk lamp. I lifted her onto the desk, papers scattering, and buried my face in her breasts, sucking one nipple hard while pinching the other. She gasped, fingers threading through my hair, pulling me closer. "Yes, like that," she breathed, her skin hot and flushed.
I trailed kisses down her stomach, over the soft swell of her belly, until I reached her thighs. Spreading them wide, I inhaled her scent— rich, heady musk that made my mouth water. Her pussy was glistening, lips swollen and parted, clit peeking out like a pearl. I licked her slowly, tongue flat against her folds, savoring the salty-sweet tang. She bucked, a hand clamping over her mouth to stifle her cries. I delved deeper, fingers sliding inside her wet heat— she was tight, velvety, clenching around me as I curled them to hit that sensitive spot. "Oh god, don't stop," she whimpered, juices coating my chin.
She came hard, body shuddering, thighs quaking around my head as her orgasm rippled through her. But I wasn't done. Standing, I freed my cock— thick, veined, dripping with need. She eyed it hungrily, wrapping her legs around my waist. I thrust in slowly, inch by inch, feeling her stretch around me, walls gripping like a vice. "So big," she moaned, nails digging into my back. We moved together, slow at first— building the rhythm, her breasts bouncing with each deep plunge. The wet slap of skin on skin filled the room, her pussy squelching around my shaft.
We fucked like that, over and over— on the desk, against the wall, her bent over as I took her from behind, ass rippling with each thrust. She came again, milking me, and I followed, spilling deep inside her with a guttural groan, the release I'd craved for weeks flooding out in hot spurts.
But it didn't end there. Over the following days, as Aiko's due date neared, Tina and I stole moments— quick, frantic sessions in the laundry room, her mouth wrapped around my cock, sucking with expert precision, tongue swirling the head while her hand pumped the base. Or late nights in her guest room, where I'd eat her out for hours, fingers and tongue working in tandem until she soaked the sheets. Each encounter heightened the risk, the erotic tension coiling tighter, our bodies attuned to each other's desires.
Tina's voluptuous form became my obsession— the way her pussy clenched when I whispered filthy praises, the bounce of her tits as she rode me reverse cowgirl, grinding her ass against my hips. We knew it was taboo, but the forbidden thrill only fueled the fire, our affair burning slow and intense amid the chaos of impending parenthood.
In the quiet confines of our Tokyo apartment, the arrival of Tina, my mother-in-law, marked a turning point not just in easing my pregnant wife Aiko's burdens but in unraveling the threads of my self-control. At 48 years old, Tina embodied the allure of a seasoned woman: her body a testament to maturity's gifts, with generous curves that invited lingering gazes. Her breasts, full and heavy, often strained against the fabric of her everyday attire, their weight evident in the subtle sway with each step she took. Her hips flared wide, leading to an ass that was plush and inviting, the kind that jiggled enticingly when she bent over to pick something up. Her skin retained a youthful glow, lightly freckled from sun exposure, and her dark hair framed a face with knowing eyes and plump lips that curved into smiles laced with unspoken wisdom.
The prohibition from Aiko— no masturbation, no release— had left me in a state of perpetual arousal, my body aching with unspent desire. The air seemed thicker in Tina's presence, charged with an undercurrent of forbidden temptation. Mornings began with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the sight of Tina in a loose robe, the tie barely holding, offering glimpses of her cleavage as she poured a cup. The steam from the mug curled upward, mirroring the heat building within me as my eyes traced the outline of her nipples pressing against the thin material.
As days blurred into one another, small incidents amplified the erotic tension. While helping with chores, I'd brush past her in the narrow kitchen, feeling the soft press of her breast against my arm— accidental, yet electric. She'd pause, her breath catching slightly, a faint flush coloring her cheeks. Evenings brought shared silences on the couch, the TV's glow casting shadows that accentuated her form. I'd inhale deeply, catching the subtle notes of her jasmine-scented lotion mixed with her natural musk, a scent that stirred my cock to half-hardness.
The peeking incident was the catalyst, a slow descent into indulgence. Hearing the bathwater run, I positioned myself at the door, the steam's warmth seeping through, carrying hints of soap and her essence. Through the keyhole, the view was fragmented but intoxicating: Tina disrobing with unhurried grace, her blouse sliding off to reveal lace-encased breasts, nipples darkening as they met the air. She peeled away her pants, baring her ass— two perfect, rounded cheeks with a dimple at the base of her spine. Turning, she exposed her mound, the dark curls trimmed neatly, framing lips that looked plush and ready.
Submerged in the tub, her hands explored: fingers tweaking nipples to stiff peaks, eliciting soft gasps that resonated in my core. Lower, she parted her thighs, water lapping as she circled her clit, hips undulating. The sight of her fingers dipping inside, coated in her slick arousal upon withdrawal, had me palming myself through my pants, biting back groans.
This voyeurism fueled subsequent encounters, each building upon the last in a slow-burning crescendo of smut. The kitchen interlude: her back to me, chopping with rhythmic motions that made her ass shift. I closed the distance, my erection nudging her cleft. She stilled, then pressed back, her hand reaching to stroke me through the fabric, fingers mapping every ridge and vein. "We shouldn't," she whispered, but her grip tightened, thumb smearing the pre-cum beading at the tip.
Nights evolved into stolen trysts. In the study, her robe discarded, body bared: breasts heaving, pussy weeping with need. Our kiss was voracious, her tongue dancing with mine, tasting of mint and desire. I lavished attention on her chest, suckling nipples until they ached, her moans muffled against my shoulder. Kneeling, I parted her folds, tongue delving into her sopping entrance, lapping at her clit with firm strokes. She climaxed with a shudder, flooding my mouth with her tangy essence.
Penetration followed, my cock— girthy, pulsating— sinking into her tightness. The sensation was exquisite: her walls fluttering, milking me as I thrust deep, balls slapping against her ass. Positions varied— missionary, where I could watch her tits bounce; doggy, gripping her hips as I pounded, feeling her ass quake; her riding me, grinding with circular motions that buried me to the hilt.
Subsequent sessions intensified: blowjobs in hidden corners, her lips stretching around my shaft, throat convulsing as she deep-throated, saliva dripping. Cunnilingus marathons, my face buried between her thighs, fingers probing her g-spot until she squirted. Anal play teased in later encounters, a finger circling her puckered hole, dipping in lubricated by her own juices.
Throughout, sensory details heightened the immersion: the slick sounds of flesh meeting, the salty taste of her skin, the vise-like grip of her pussy during orgasm, the scent of sex permeating the air. Our affair, heavy with smut and romance, unfolded in whispers and touches, a taboo bond forged in secrecy as Aiko's labor loomed.