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Creampie Leftover Story

  

  

  

I hesitated before writing this, because I was unsure that I wanted to think about what happened again. But now, a little more than a week afterwards, I find I am fantasizing about it and I am thinking about how to do it again.

 

It all came about because my son's soccer club elected to send teams to the NEYSO Alamo Classic. This is an annual tournament, held in San Antonio over Thanksgiving Weekend. We weren't sure what to expect, beyond being annoyed that we couldn't spend Thanksgiving at home doing the traditional meal because our first match was early on Friday.

 

We decided to celebrate Thanksgiving on Wednesday, the day before the official holiday. It was kind of pleasant, skipping work to put up Christmas lights and gorge myself on turkey. We watched the Macy's parade on Thursday (Katie Couric is a BABE!) and then headed off down I-10. We brought our new dog with us, having selected a pet-friendly motel.

 

As it happened, my mother-in-law flew to San Antonio to watch the tourney too. We checked into our motel and then went off to collect her. Originally, my parents were going to come, but when my mom had medication problems, Anne stepped in to attend in their place.

 

Unlike many couples, I get along famously with Anne. We genuinely like each other and accept each other's quirks. I call her 'Bag', short for 'The Old Bag.' So having her along promised to be fun.

 

I was reminded of her loss as soon as we picked her up. My father-in-law and her divorced years ago, and she had remarried soon after. Scott was a wonderful man who treated her great, but he died of cancer about two years ago. Now, Anne was alone in the world again, and not making any effort to find someone else. When we picked her up, she seemed forlorn under her happy exterior.

 

I regarded her in the review mirror as I drove back to the motel. She had given birth to my wife at an early age, and was now in her mid-50s. Objectively, she was a handsome woman, born in a moneyed family and having married money as well. She had enjoyed an easy life, without those worries that age a person. Her face was still not lined, and she took care of herself. She could attract a mate, I was sure.

 

The motel we were at was nice. We originally selected it because they allowed pets, but there were other amenities we enjoyed as well. The rooms had kitchenettes, and we were in a two-bedroom suite (the kids would stay in the living room on the sofa-sleeper). The motel also had a pool and a whirlpool that would feel great after a day playing soccer.

 

We spent the evening surreptitiously drinking too much merlot with the other team parents while the kids swam in the motel pool. Our conversations ranged from soccer to philosophy, but it had to end early so that the players could get a good night's rest. My wife, her mother, and I continued the conversations (and the wine) back in our room.

 

After the first game on Friday, which we lost, we returned to the motel for a lunch of Thanksgiving leftovers. Although the original dinner was delicious, as a family we have an aversion to leftovers. We popped open a bottle of Merlot for the adults to enjoy, and to make the leftovers attractive.

 

All too soon, it was time for the next match. Anne offered to stay behind and finish the dishes. Besides, she said, she felt sorry for the dog and would take a nap. I suspected she wanted to finish the smooth wine in our absence. Without comment, I had watched her drink three glasses already.

 

Another reason we liked the motel is that it was close to the soccer fields. The tournament venue was vast, with 50 or so soccer pitches active at a time. That meant that 200+ teams sought to find parking at one time. Thus, we spent over fifteen minutes just walking from the car to the pitch where our game was played.

 

Of course, it was only when we got to the pitch that we realized we had left the water jug behind. Inwardly dismayed at the trek I had to make, I still offered to return to the motel to get it. I arrived at the motel forty minutes after leaving it.

 

I let myself in quietly, remembering that Anne was going to try for a nap. I was surprised to see that the dog was again in it's crate; I thought one reason Anne stayed behind was to let the dog stay out.

 

If I was surprised at that, I was greatly concerned to hear murmurs from behind Anne's bedroom door. I heard soft cries of "Oh please!" and whimpers of pain. Fearing the worst, that an intruder who had caged the dog was molesting Anne, I burst into her room.

 

I immediately saw that I was wrong, horribly wrong. Anne was not being molested. Well, at least someone else wasn't molesting her!

 

The sight was shocking. Anne was lying on her back, completely nude. In her right hand was a turkey drumstick--the big leg bone--that she was attempting to jam in and out her of pussy, meaty-side in. In her left hand was another drumstick, which she was trying to stuff into her asshole, bone-side in. She was fucking herself with leftovers!

 

Frankly, I was taken aback at how obscene it was. Her pussy was stretched wide open by the large meaty oval. Her asshole easily swallowed the bone, which was jammed deep inside her with just the flesh sticking out partway. Her nipples and clitoris were all red and hard, begging for attention.

 

Initially, she stopped in mid-stuff. "It's... it's not what you think!," she said, mortified. "I...I can explain, pleash... Oh my God." Her speech was slurred, and I suspected the wine removed her inhibitions.

 

"It's okay," I soothed, compelled to be a nice guy in light of what must have been a terribly humiliating situation. "There's no need to explain… I'll not say anything." She seemed to take that as tacit approval of her masturbation. I became an unwilling part of her activity.

 

Which brings me to the most obscene part: her begging. She turned wild eyes to me, flashing imploringly at me, but not quite tracking soberly. "I am so close, but I can't cum!" she whimpered. "Please, pleash make me cum." Over and over she begged, while stuffing nearly the entire drumstick into her cunt. There was nothing languorous or romantic about the situation. She wanted to cum and the room was filled with her desperation. The wine that removed her hesitation probably also made it hard for her to orgasm.

 

Hating myself for what I was about to do, I gripped her legs and pulled her buttocks to the bottom of the bed. I pressed her thighs back, taking her legs over her head to open her inflamed crotch. Had I stopped for a minute to think about how perverted it was, I would have fled. Instead, I brought my lips to her clit and began trying to take her over the top.

 

I took over fucking her with the drumstick as she moaned encouragement. I pulled it out, fascinated at how stretched open her cunt was. Then I spread her dripping liquids onto her clit. Then I fucked her deep and fast with the drumstick as I sucked hard at her clit.

 

"Oh YEAH!" she cried out between gritted teeth. She came as I relentless pulled the turkey leg out and jammed it into her again and again. I shoved the leg in deep, amazed at how sloppy she was. Her gaping opening was leaking sap around the bone that was sticking out.

 

Repulsed at myself and the situation, I stood up quickly and made to leave. I had sucked off my mother-in-law for God's sake! How disgusting is that? To make it worse, I had fucked her with a leftover from Thanksgiving. I had been planning to eat the damn thing as a snack after the game.

 

I looked briefly at her before fleeing. She was smiling in glorious drunken post-orgasmic ecstasy. In other circumstances, I would be puffed up with pride. She was truly well-fucked.

 

As I turned to leave, she called out. "Wait! Come back! I need to explain."

 

Shit. I turned back to look at her.

 

"Scott and I had a very active sex life," she said, watching my reaction. When I didn't react, she continued. "We used to fuck every day, sometimes two or three times. He was a wonderful, fun, kinky lover." Thinking back at his memory, I could imagine he was. No one told an off-color joke like Scott!

 

"The last few years together, we had a ritual," she continued. "After dinner, I would suck gravy off his cock and he would fuck me with the turkey leg. Those were the best years of my life.

 

"When we had lunch today, I just got to thinking about him, and our ritual. I started remembering him, and I used the drumstick to remember him. Can you understand?"

 

I nodded. She didn’t seem a bit embarrassed, lying there nude with a drumstick in both holes. She didn't need to feel embarrassed, because she had just loved Scott in her own way. It was moderately touching, if completely kinky. Besides, I knew people did stuff when they drank that was not normal. The only question I had was whether she drank to do it or did it because she drank. I didn't particularly care about the answer.

 

"I do understand," I said her with feeling. "And honestly, I wished your daughter loved me as much as you still love Scott." I turned to leave again, thinking she would want to be left alone with her memories.

 

"Hold on," she called out, her voice carrying a hint of mischief. "You can't leave me one-down!"

 

I stopped, wondering what she meant. I turned back, and it dawned on me. Last night we had discussed a book I'd read, called You Just Don't Understand by Deborah Tannen. The book describes how men and women differ in conversation.

 

Men strive to be dominant, or one-up. When we talk, we always try to out-do the other conversants. We often will say, "If you think that's good…" and then proceed to try to go one-up.

 

Women, on the other hand, strive to be equal. A woman who always tries to go one-up is considered bossy, or a bitch. By sharing troubles, women try to stay even in stature. If a woman shares a trouble, she is one-down and the other women share their troubles to regain the equal status.

 

I can't possibly explain this complex subject very well, because a whole book has been devoted to it. Suffice it to say that I knew exactly what Anne meant; she was embarrassed and in her view I needed to equalize the status by being equally embarrassed.

 

She saw I understood, and patted the bed. "Come here and fuck me, and then we'll be equal."

 

That was a dreadful idea! "No way," I said.

 

"Come here," she replied, reaching for me.

 

"Forget it," I said. Even while I protested, I took a step towards her. It was reflex.

 

"Let me loosen your belt," she told me, and I stepped another step.

 

"This is sick," I murmured, now feeling aroused. She was a handsome woman, no doubt.

 

She finally got the belt of my shorts, nimbly undoing it. "Scott said I gave him the best head," she said. Ugh! My mother-in-law talked about giving head!

 

It wasn’t so gross, I found. Her lips were soft and supple, and her skills were manifest. She soon had me completely hard, sliding all the way into her mouth until my pubes mashed her nose. We were both moaning.

 

I was horribly conflicted. On the one hand, she was my wife's mother. On the other, she gave a great blow-job. That alone wouldn't explain my extra-hardness though. The fact is that I find great pleasure from fondling the bristly napes of women with bowl-cuts. Anne had a fantastic cut, with blonde frosting over her very dark nape. The two-tone look is another fetish for me, so caressing her nape as she worshipped my cock was the height of pleasure.

 

"I'm gonna cum soon," I warned.

 

"Don't!" she commanded, quickly letting me out of her mouth. "I want you to fill my pussy with your cum," she said. Hot shit! "Don’t' worry," she smiled, "I can't have babies anymore."

 

It didn't take more encouragement than that before I was shoving my meat into her pussy. Her canal was wet and sloppy, stretched from the turkey drumstick. Her face was a mask of pleasure as she pinched and pulled her nipples and enjoyed my fierce pumping.

 

My self-loathing probably contributed to my staying power. Or maybe, it was a son-in-law's performance anxiety. Whyever, I lasted much longer than normal before cumming heavily into her. By the time I pulled out, the entire contents of my nuts were inside her well-worn cunt.

 

And then, the kinkiest thing yet happened. I pulled out, and she immediately shoved the turkey leg back into herself. I watched, amazed, as she pulled it out, all covered with creampie goo, and then began to eat it. Her tongue shot out and she licked the creampie off before eating a bite. Back to her tunnel the leg went, to be covered with cream again.

 

I wanted to watch, because… well, because I am an author of creampie erotica and I never thought of this scenario. Truth is, I wanted to eat it too. Can you imagine the flavor?

 

But, just then my mobile phone rang. It was my wife calling. Where was the water jug? They were about to start. Shit. I blamed my delay on a traffic accident, but said I was on my way.

 

I apologized and got dressed, then left. In my current state, I almost forgot the water jug on the way out. I spent the rest of the weekend trying to forget what I had seen.

 

But now, I wonder. What does it taste like? I wonder if I can convince her to come down to Houston for Christmas?

 

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