You're Filling My Blouse with Sticky Cum    by Prim

Claire Scanlon was buzzing as she stood in the porch of her old school friend Joyce MacDonald. She knew this would be an exciting day, thanks to what Joyce was doing with her son-in-law. To tell the truth she couldn't help but flutter her clit each time she re-read Joyce's Whatsapps about her treatment of him, and now she would see in the flesh how submissive she'd made him. "Joyce darling, thank you soooo much for your invite: I can't wait to see him - and join in." "Come on then," chuckled her friend, closing the door and taking Claire's arm. "He won't be thanking me for inviting you to see his distress, but at the same time, I suspect he'll secretly love to be dressed - and humiliated - for you to see him in my things." She led her straight into the bedroom, but there was no sign of the object of their entertainment. There were blouses and skirts waiting on a rail, but where was the boy himself? Joyce held her finger to her lips and they stood with their ears to the glass doors of the closet, until they heard clear evidence in the form of long moans of pleasure that the occupant was in paradise and close to an orgasm. When Joyce slid one door to the side, the approaching orgasm had come much closer, so much so that the hidden worshipper, unaware of their presence, spread his hands round the dresses to embrace an armful of silk, satin and taffeta, then clearly humped and pumped into the dress in front of him. It was a long climax with long, delirious bliss, followed in full by his audience as they lifted their brows and shared smirks of irony. It was time to bring him down to earth. "Well, Robin pet, did you enjoy that little pleasure?" cooed his Mother-In-Law, parting the dresses and helping him to disentangle himself and step down from the wardrobe. "Let's see what you have done, shall we?" She had placed him earlier with instructions to make love to her silk-satin evening dress, and it was evident that he had done just that, with a long, wide run of semen down the bodice and skirt, while his flaccid penis dangled through the unbuttoned front of his own skirt in shame-faced guilt. "I - I couldn't help it, Momsy," he began, "your perfume filled me with desi- " He stopped, suddenly aware that they were not alone. Claire had met Robin Telford before on a couple of occasions, but she had never seen his face change to a deep shade of crimson like this before. "Hello Robin," she said: "I like your ivory satin ruffled blouse. I suppose it is one of your Joyce's?" "Y-Y-Yes, ma'am, it is," he stammered and hung his head in shame. After all, it was so obvious that it was him who was responsible for the messy front of his Mother-In-Law's dress. "I can see how lovely you find her clothes, Robin." Her lips were pursed in an ironic smile. "I'd love you to give me a demonstration." "Oh dear! - Oh, I couldn't!" he protested, but Joyce squeezed his hand and drew him to herself. "I know what you would like to do for Claire, to show her the direction of your dreams. Let's show her how you long to make love to my blouse while I'm wearing it." He gasped with disbelief, and so did the visitor, but moments later Joyce was sitting on her buffet, with her son-in-law standing between her opened legs for Claire to watch as he slid his rampant penis up and down the front of her blouse in pink silk crepe, much to Joyce's delight and to her son-in-law's pleasure. It was going to be a lovely afternoon, with both women wearing nice blouses and panties for him to caress with his manhood, until his wife came to pick him up at five o'clock. She loved to sit down with a glass of Chardonnay facing her husband, to hear the catalogue of blouses, skirts and panties that he had fucked with blind intensity for the pleasure of their owners.

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