The Day to Devour the Ripe Mother-in-Law
“New handbag?”
“Hm?”
Pulled deep into a daydream, she snaps back to reality like waking from a dream. A tea party for close friends, sipping coffee or tea to their tastes. Held in a house far larger than any café during a weekday afternoon, it was luxury in the truest sense of the word—pure leisure.
Naturally, everyone gathered here came from families well-off enough to brag about it. But don't get the wrong idea—this wasn't some grand affair like old noblewomen hosting a lavish soiree. Just a light, casual meetup among truly close friends.
In this small group of three, one friend points right at her white handbag with the phone slotted in.
“Isn't that the hot new release that sold out the second it dropped?”
“No way, for real? I wanted one so bad—how'd you snag it?”
“Ah, well... it just kinda came my way as a gift from someone close...”
“Ooh, did the chairman finally get it for you?”
“Yeah, that old one was getting way too beat up... A guy who rakes in cash like the chairman hates anything flashy anyway.”
Wild guesses followed by unnecessary commentary. She smiles awkwardly, skipping the details. Spilling the full story on that bag would set her face ablaze, so she washes it down with a sip of her Earl Grey instead.
It wasn't just some random gift after all...
Knowing it's a rare item hard to come by fills her with an unexpected swell of pride. Sure, she could've bought a handbag like that with her own money, but a gift carries the giver's heart—something priceless. Like... his affection for her, perhaps.
Bzzz! As impure thoughts bubble up, memories from that time threaten to resurface. She shakes her head to clear them away.
But no matter how hard she tries, they won't fade easily. Her mind keeps drifting off to forbidden shores, so she tosses out some bait to her friends.
“Hey, um, you two...”
“Yeah?”
“At night lately... how's it been? You all still... doing it?”
A question she'd never voice under normal circumstances—pure vulgar curiosity spilling out from pent-up frustration, only safe with lifelong friends.
Catching them off guard, both friends' eyes widen by about 1.2 times. One grins mischievously, like she's prepped to tease, takes a sip of her Americano, and speaks up.
“Almost never.”
“You guys too?”
“Like we'd get the chance. He's out boozing every night till late, his gut's ballooned like a toad with age, stamina's shot. With this mess, if I even hint at it seductively, he dodges like I'm diseased.”
“...”
“Looking back, it's been months since New Year's... heading into years now...”
That serious? Then it hits her—they all have at least a five-year age gap with their husbands. Blame their generation's old-school ways, but men usually prefer younger women who'll follow their lead unquestioningly.
For reference, her own husband is nine years older. Unlike her, stuck managing the home, he's out and about constantly, his face already etched with wrinkles and streaked with gray.
“Well, even if there's no lease on love, we still cross paths with men somehow.”
“Huh?!”
“Whatever your husband's lacking, you fill it elsewhere, right?”
She catches the meaning. A beat late, she startles.
At a loss for words, the other friend jumps in, intrigued by the naughty topic.
“That guy from before... you still seeing him?”
Apparently common knowledge between them. Leaning in as the friend stalls with another sip of coffee.
“Now and then. Whenever I feel like it.”
She giggles mischievously. “Young guys have that extra drive. Three rounds is the baseline when we meet.”
““...♥””
That single line turns the air thick with erotic tension. Her own recent escapade—the massage that spiraled—flashes back, a faint heat stirring low in her belly.
“You okay? Not... anxious?”
“Never gotten caught so far. Nervous at first, sure, but act confident and nothing happens. Just stay alert when the thrill wears off.”
“Still, guilt...”
“What, you don't know how it really is with entrepreneur husbands?”
She slams her coffee down with a thunk! “If they're limp at home, it's 'cause they've already blown their load outside. Surrounded by young girls to entertain clients—think they can resist that temptation?”
““...””
No words for that. Ever since marrying into a prominent family, his affairs were an open secret everyone whispered about. She knew, overlooked it for the family's sake. Or maybe she feared peeking behind that curtain.
“I won't stop anyone playing dumb, devoted housewife. But we're still keeping ourselves up, looking good—and he won't even glance our way? It's a goddamn waste.”
“...”
“Life's once, girls. Think hard about your situation and fuck well.”
She silently drains her teacup. The subtle counseling session pulls her in deeper, an irresistible temptation she can't shake.
Click!
“Late again tonight, dear.”
“...What, suddenly playing the wife card?”
White hair enters through the apartment door. Neck ringed with yearly creases. Patriarchal in vibe—rare smiles, stiff expressions pulling his mouth corners down, cold eyes sharp on numbers.
“Water's ready. Wash up and rest.”
“Thanks, you rest first.”
Half a lifetime's routine: he hands off his suit, turns away. Reeking of cigarettes... and a woman's faint perfume.
“...Dear,”
She knows it all. In their distant-yet-close marriage, she steels herself once more.
His lean frame reveals an undeniable paunch sans suit. She swallows hard.
“Or... should I wait up instead of resting?”
Face burning post-utterance, ears smoking with shame. Self-scolding for the uncharacteristic move, yet a flicker of hope blooms in her chest. Heart pounding, she lifts her gaze slowly.
“What?”
A curt, stiffer-than-usual reply. Exactly as her friend described—no consideration, no desire. Something in her snaps.
Reading volumes in his eyes at her unusual gesture, she pivots fast.
“N-no! Go wash up and rest, dear.”
Backpedaling like nothing happened. Smoothing over the slip, she retreats alone to the bedroom.
Squeeze. Collapsing into bed, burying herself in the covers. At the end of their frayed marital trust lay only pathos.
“Welcome, Mother-in-law!”
“...”
“Thanks for coming all this way again today.”
“...”
“Uh... Mother-in-law?”
Still admiring those ample breasts, he calls out joyfully, but So I-seol steps from the car lost in thought. Her beauty, still blooming like a flower, creased faintly with worries.
Grab!
“Ah!”
Whatever's on her mind, he takes her hand first. Now familiar, he pulls her close, escorting her inside. Only then does she look up.
“You look troubled. Shall we head in and talk?”
“...♥”
She follows shyly, easily led. Her girlish blush burns especially red today.
His meets with So I-seol are always in a rented hotel room. A cozy spot away from prying eyes for honest chats, slicing steaks over small talk. Deep down, a ploy to deepen their bond.
Click.
“Room service not to your taste?”
“No... just not feeling it today.”
Fork and knife set down lightly on the plate. But So I-seol seems off overall. A woman who hates waste, yet she barely eats half before dabbing her lips.
Even his movie suggestion gets a lukewarm shrug. Little games prepared? Rejected, like she's craving something else.
Today's different. Deflated like a punctured balloon, energy sapped.
So he tries the trick that lit her up before.
“How about another energizing massage, then?”
The elite wife unresponsive to everything else.
“Massage...!”
Her eyes widen at the word. Ashamed of her blatant shift, she turns her pale neck away.
“Your massage... felt good last time.”
...Huh? What's this?
A tone like she'd forgotten that desperate frenzy. He'd blatantly groped her pussy under the guise of a massage, mounted her—unforgettable acceleration. Yet So I-seol plays coy.
Grin. No mistaking it now. Whatever happened, her desires today are obvious. He texts downstairs for the massage bed pronto.
Gear from last time set up, she emerges from the changing room in a white gown.
“Quick setup.”
“...♥”
Silent, she fastens her gown and climbs onto the bed. Uncharacteristic eagerness—mystery fueling it.
“I'll serve you thoroughly today, Mother-in-law.”
Slap, slap! Premium massage oil squirted generously into his palms.
No real expertise—just foreplay, caressing her body pleasurably with oil and lotion instead of saliva.
Squeeze, squeeze!
“Ah, aaah...♥”
Yet she reacts intensely. Man's hands on her soft white skin—her prominent shoulder blades and spine ripple. Extra lonely today? She endures deep presses silently, writhing with shallow moans.
Grazing intimate spots? Toes curl in delight.
He kneads the tasty bitch's body at will, savoring every response.
“Mother-in-law.”
“Haa, haa...♥ Wh-what...?”
No holding back—he decides to advance full throttle. To the bitch radiating female musk, he commands as a male.
“I'll lotion your front too—flip over?”
Her body tenses. Gown already slipped halfway down, baring her back for the lotion.
Turn now, and those massive tits will be fully exposed. Panties still on, but voluntarily baring that huge rack to her son-in-law.
Sweet fruit unseen by any but her husband.
“F-for the massage...”
But today's engine is revved proper. Lame excuse added, she slowly rolls over.
Unable to resist instinct, shyly exposing herself. Her huge, beautiful white female form.
Heave, heave... Overwhelming satisfaction crashes as she turns. Words aplenty, but first:
“Your body's gorgeous, Mother-in-law.”
“...♥”
Face starved for praise, lips joyful yet shyly covered by hand—like this devoted service is what she craved.
The MILF he'd teased mercilessly now signals raw hunger for cock. Before the young stud salivating, she hides nothing of her heat.
Drip...♥ Through the disheveled gown, her lewd lace panties are soaked straight through.