The Honeymoon Suite

The knock comes at eleven.

My wife—my wife, I still can't believe I can call her that—is passed out on the king-size bed. The wedding reception got away from her. Champagne, then wine, then shots with her bridesmaids. She barely made it to the honeymoon suite before collapsing.

I'm standing at the window in my tuxedo pants and unbuttoned shirt, watching the city lights, wondering if I should be disappointed or relieved.

The knock comes again.

"Just a minute." I cross to the door, expecting a bellhop or room service. I open it.

Diane stands in the hallway.

My mother-in-law. My wife's mother. Still in her dress from the ceremony—emerald green, straining at every seam, struggling to contain a body that must weigh close to two-fifty. Her breasts are barely contained, spilling over the neckline. Her hips are wide enough to brush both sides of the doorframe.

"Is she asleep?" Diane asks.

"Passed out."

"Mm." She looks past me to the bed. To her daughter, unconscious, still in her wedding dress. "She always was a lightweight."

"Is something wrong? Does she need—"

"She doesn't need anything." Diane steps into the room. I back up automatically, and suddenly she's inside, closing the door behind her. "But you do."

"Diane—"

"Mrs. Hartwell, if you're going to be formal." She moves further into the room. Toward me. "Though I think we're past formality, don't you?"

"I don't understand."

"Don't you?" She stops in front of me. Close enough that I can smell her perfume—something rich, dark, nothing like the light florals my wife wears. "I've been watching you all day. During the ceremony. The reception. The first dance."

"Watching me?"

"Watching you watch me." Her hand finds my chest. "You think I didn't notice? The way your eyes kept finding me in the crowd?"

I should deny it. Should step back. Should insist I was looking at my bride, at my wife, at the woman I just promised to love forever.

I can't.

Because she's right.

From the moment I met Emily's mother, I couldn't look away.

Emily is small. Petite. Delicate. She takes after her father, apparently—a thin man who died when she was young.

Diane is the opposite. Massive. Overwhelming. A force of nature wrapped in soft flesh. Every family dinner, every holiday, every visit, I found my eyes wandering to her. To the way her breasts strained against her blouses. To the curve of her belly beneath her dresses. To her thick thighs, her wide hips, her ass that could smother a man.

I married her daughter.

But I dreamed of her.

And now she's in my honeymoon suite, her hand on my chest, and my wife is unconscious three feet away.

"One night," Diane says. "That's all I'm asking. One night before you belong to her forever."

"I already belong to her."

"Do you?" Her hand slides lower. Finds my cock through my pants. Finds it hard. "This doesn't feel like it belongs to her."

"We can't—she's right there—"

"She won't wake up. I know my daughter." Diane's fingers trace my length. "I know exactly how much she drank. She'll be out until noon."

"This is wrong."

"I know." She unbuttons my pants. "That's what makes it irresistible."

I should stop her.

Instead, I watch as she frees my cock. As her eyes widen at the sight.

"Emily's a lucky girl," she murmurs. "Luckier than she knows."

"Diane—"

"Shh." She drops to her knees. Her dress bunches around her thighs—so much fabric, struggling to contain so much flesh. "Let me give you your wedding present."

She takes me in her mouth.

Her lips are soft. Her mouth is hot. And she knows exactly what she's doing.

She takes me deep—deeper than Emily ever has—and holds me there. Her throat works around me. Her eyes look up at mine, challenging, daring me to stop her.

I don't stop her.

I tangle my fingers in her hair—carefully styled for the wedding, now ruined—and I let my mother-in-law suck my cock three feet from my unconscious bride.

"That's it," she says, pulling off to breathe. "That's what I wanted to see. The real you. Not the dutiful husband. Not the nervous groom. The man who's been undressing me with his eyes for two years."

"I didn't—"

"You did." She licks from base to tip. "And I loved it. Every glance. Every lingering look. Knowing that while my daughter had your ring, I had your desire."

She swallows me again. Faster now. Sloppier. Spit running down my shaft, dripping onto her dress, onto the floor.

I'm close. Too close. I try to pull back.

"Don't you dare." Her hand grips my base. "Don't you dare come yet. We've barely started."

She rises.

In heels, she's almost my height. She cups my face in her hands and kisses me—the first time her lips have touched mine. She tastes like champagne and hunger.

"Unzip me," she commands.

My hands find her zipper. I pull it down, and her dress falls away, and—

Christ.

She's wearing nothing underneath. No bra. No underwear. Just Diane—two hundred and fifty pounds of forbidden flesh.

Her breasts are enormous. Bigger than I imagined. They hang heavy to her waist, nipples dark and wide and already hard. Her belly is soft, round, cascading in gentle rolls. Her hips flare wide, her thighs are thick, her pussy is—

Bare. Wet. Glistening.

"I got waxed for my daughter's wedding," she says. "But not for my daughter."

She pushes me backward. I hit the bed—the opposite side from Emily. I sit on the edge, and Diane straddles me, and all that weight settles onto my thighs.

"Look at her," she whispers. "Look at your wife."

I turn my head. Emily is right there. Passed out, mouth slightly open, still in her white dress. Innocent. Oblivious.

"Now look at me."

I look at Diane. At her massive body, her hungry eyes, her lips curled in a predator's smile.

"Choose."

"I already chose. At the altar—"

"Choose now." She grinds on me, her wet pussy sliding along my cock. "Choose who you want tonight. The girl you married, or the woman you crave."

I grab her hips. Pull her down. And make my choice.

I'm inside my mother-in-law.

Three feet from my bride. On my wedding night. And I don't care.

Diane rides me like she's been waiting for this. Maybe she has. She bounces on my cock, her breasts swaying wildly, slapping against her belly, slapping against my face when she leans forward. She's not quiet—she moans, she gasps, she calls my name.

"That's it—fuck—that's what I needed—"

"Quiet—Emily—"

"Won't wake up." She slams down harder. "I told you. I know my daughter. She sleeps like the dead."

I grab her ass—two massive handfuls, overflowing, dimpled and soft. I pull her down onto me with every thrust, burying myself as deep as I can go.

"You're bigger than her father," Diane gasps. "Bigger than anyone I've had—fuck—right there—"

She comes. Clenches around me, shaking, flooding. I don't stop.

I flip her over.

She lands on her back, spread out on the bed, and I'm on top of her before she can react. My cock finds her again—slides in deep—and I start to fuck her in earnest.

"Yes—yes—yes—"

Her legs wrap around my waist. Her nails rake my back. I'm pounding into my mother-in-law on my honeymoon bed, three feet from my unconscious wife, and nothing has ever felt this good.

"Make me come again," she demands. "Make me—fuck—make me scream—"

I slam into her. Again. Again. Again. The bed shakes. The headboard hits the wall. Emily doesn't stir.

Diane screams.

She comes so hard her whole body shakes. Her pussy milks me, her nails draw blood, her voice fills the room. And I keep going—keep fucking her—until I can't hold back anymore.

"Inside me," she gasps. "Come inside me—fill me up—"

I do.

We lie tangled together.

On one side of the bed, my mother-in-law. Naked, satisfied, still dripping with my cum.

On the other side, my wife. Unconscious, innocent, unknowing.

"One night," Diane says softly.

"One night."

"Unless..." She trails off.

"Unless what?"

"Unless you want more." She rolls onto her side, her massive breasts shifting, pooling on the mattress. "Emily works. Long hours. Lots of travel. A wife like that... a man gets lonely."

"I just got married."

"I know." She smiles. "And I'm so happy for you both. Really."

Her hand finds my cock. I'm already getting hard again.

"But when you get lonely—and you will—you know where to find me."

At dawn, Diane slips out.

She leaves nothing behind but the smell of sex and a lipstick stain on my collar. I shower, change, and order room service.

Emily wakes at noon, exactly as her mother predicted. She's sheepish. Apologetic. "I ruined our wedding night," she moans, head in her hands.

"It's okay." I bring her coffee. Kiss her forehead. "We have the rest of our lives."

"You're not upset?"

"How could I be upset?" I smile at my wife. At the woman I love. At the daughter of the woman I fucked six hours ago. "Last night was perfect."

She believes me.

And when we finally consummate the marriage that afternoon, I close my eyes and think of her mother.

The honeymoon is a week in Maui.

The beaches are beautiful. The sunsets are gorgeous. Emily is happy, playful, in love.

And every night, after she falls asleep, my phone buzzes.

Diane: Miss me yet?

Diane: Thinking about you.

Diane: When you get back, come see me. Emily has that conference the weekend after your return.

I delete the messages. Every single one.

And I count the days until we're home.

The conference is in Chicago.

Emily kisses me goodbye on Friday morning. "I'll miss you."

"I'll miss you too."

The moment her car turns the corner, I'm in mine. Driving to Diane's house. Running up her front steps. Knocking on her door.

She opens it in a silk robe. Nothing underneath—I can tell by the way it clings to her curves, the way her nipples press against the fabric.

"Took you long enough," she says.

I push inside. Kick the door shut. And take her right there in the entryway.

This becomes our pattern.

Every trip Emily takes. Every late night at work. Every moment she's not watching, I'm with Diane. In her bed. On her couch. Against her kitchen counter.

I fuck my mother-in-law more often than I fuck my wife.

And I can't stop.

One Year Later

Emily suggests we visit her mother for the holidays.

"We haven't seen her since the wedding," she says. "She must be lonely."

"Sure," I say. "Let's go."

We arrive on Christmas Eve. Diane greets us at the door in a red dress, and I have to look away to keep Emily from seeing my reaction.

That night, while Emily sleeps in her childhood bedroom, I slip out. Down the hall. To the master suite.

Diane is waiting.

"Merry Christmas," she whispers, pulling me into her bed.

"Merry Christmas," I reply, and give her the only gift she wants.

In the morning, we open presents as a family. Emily is happy. Oblivious.

Diane catches my eye across the room and winks.

And I know this will never end.

Not until one of us is caught.

Maybe not even then.