Like Her Mother?

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Will she look like her mother in twenty years?
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imhapless
imhapless
3,580 Followers

There's an old saying that like most old sayings probably has a lot of truth to it even if it's not entirely accurate: if you want to see what your girlfriend will look like in twenty years, look at her mother.

When I first meet Tiffany's mom, Charlene, I really hoped that the old saying was true. I had fallen head-over-heels in love with Tiffany almost at first sight the day that we met in the graduate school cafeteria six months before that, and I dreamt of a long term future with her. When I met her parents at graduation I was bowled over by Charlene's looks. While she wasn't the most beautiful woman that I had ever seen, or the sexiest, she was "pretty" and there was something mysterious about her that would make most men pop their zippers.

Charlene was in great shape; she had to work out daily. She was obviously concerned about her appearance, dressed as provocatively as anyone her age (which I estimated to be forty five) could get away with, and had all the basic equipment. She had ample, though not massive, tits, a firm-looking round ass, and despite the fact that she was probably only five feet four inches tall, long shapely legs. When I shook her hand it was electric! I immediately determined that if Tiffany looked like that in twenty years that I had to bag her, because I'd be the most envied guy that I knew.

In just one dinner with Tiffany's 'rents I found that Charlene was about as outgoing and self-assured as any woman I had ever met. She was intelligent and obviously kept up on current affairs, and had no problem dominating a conversation. It was during that same dinner that I realized that Tiffany's father, Austen, was completely subservient to Charlene. If he ever espoused an opinion that Charlene let be known that she didn't agree with, Austen immediately backed off. Although I found myself agreeing with most of what Charlene said, it disturbed me that she seemed to have Austen under her thumb.

Tiffany's parents treated us to dinner and breakfast the next morning before they flew back to their summer house on Martha's Vineyard. After they left Tiffany asked what I thought of them.

"Well, your Mom certainly is striking looking and very intelligent, and your Dad seems like a really nice guy," I honestly replied, hoping to stop there. No such luck.

"Is that your only impression?" Tiffany laughed. "Come on, give it up, I saw the look on your face when Mom 'corrected' Dad's opinions."

"Well," I started off cautiously, but then decided to spill the beans. "Your Mom does seem to be very domineering and used to getting her way – but if your Dad is OK with it, that's his choice. It just wouldn't be something that I could put up with."

Tiffany laughed again and then gave me a big hug and a very nice kiss. "I hope that I'll look like my mother in twenty years," she chuckled, "but I'll never be like her. I spent most of my teenage years trying to get my Dad to stand up to her – she has him wrapped around her little finger. I can't understand it – my Dad is a very successful business man, the CEO of a Fortune 1500 company, and has thousands of employees that he seems to handle just fine; but when it comes to her he has no spine."

"Maybe she's so good in bed that he'd rather suffer in silence in public while enjoying life to the fullest in the sack," I retorted with a diabolical smile.

"That must be it," Tiffany laughed. "Still, I wish that he could have stood up to the great pussy at least once when she insisted on naming me Tiffany."

"What's wrong with your name?" I asked.

"It's pretentious and upper crust, and that's about the opposite of who I am and what I'm about," Tiffany replied, now serious.

That was a true statement. Tiffany started her own charity when she was in High School, raised money for good causes all through college, and got her Master's degree in non-profit management. She wanted to save the world – which was one thing, aside from her kindness, vivacious personality, and physical beauty – that I loved about her. She was about the least pretentious woman that I knew.

"All this talk about your Mom's pussy controlling your Dad has made me uber-horny," I mumbled as I brought Tiffany in tight and kissed her hard. "With your parents in town we didn't get to celebrate our graduation last night the way that I wanted to," I continued between kisses. "Let's go back to my place."

"You bastard," she giggled as she stroked my crotch. "Wow, you're not kidding, are you?" she chuckled when she felt my hard-on almost busting out of my pants.

Our clothes were off within thirty seconds after we got into my apartment. Thirty seconds later I was sucking on her clit while massaging one of her thighs with one hand and pinching one of her nipples with the other while she pulled my hair. Once her first orgasm hit courtesy of my tongue action and finger stimulation of her G-spot, without giving her any chance to recover, I turned her on her stomach and shoved my rock hard cock up her soaking wet cunt and proceeded to bang away until we both screamed with virtual simultaneous climaxes.

It actually probably would have been about the best fuck of my life except for one thing. As I was injecting my semen into her honey pot a vision of what Charlene would look like naked flashed through my brain. As I lay next to Tiffany, with her head on my shoulder, that thought really disturbed me.

Within the next week I found out that Tiffany was as much in love with me as I was with her. We went on a ten day trip together, driving out West and fucking up a storm, to reward ourselves for having done so well in graduate school and to bond. When we returned we immediately started looking for jobs in the same city.

For good, or for bad, the best job offers that we got – when both of our offers were considered together – were in the same city that Charlene and Austen lived in. Since Tiffany's brother, and my sister, also lived in that metropolitan area, we decided that it would be a good place to start out. We got an apartment about fifteen miles from the palatial estate where Tiffany had grown up and Charlene and Austen still lived, about four miles from the modest house that my sister and her husband lived in, and about six miles from Tiffany's brother's apartment.

Tiffany and I lived together for only a month before we knew that we were meant for each other; I asked her to marry me on a rowboat in the middle of a small lake and after she put on the ring we were so active that the damn thing tipped over, and we ended up in the drink – soaking wet but as happy as we had ever been.

It was during wedding planning that problems started to surface – not between Tiffany and me, because every day we became closer. The problem was Charlene. She wanted to be in control of everything. Her only daughter was getting married, she had tons of money, she had perfect taste in all things (actually she probably did but I refused to admit that), and her personality required that she be in charge.

Tiffany tried her best to redirect her Mom and soft-pedal things, but that wasn't working. Tiffany cried many nights because of her Mom's overbearing nature. Finally, I had had enough, and unannounced went to see Charlene one Saturday afternoon. Fortunately I was wearing sunglasses because the butler led me out to the pool where Charlene was just emerging from a swim.

"How in the fuck can someone in her late forties look like that?" zoomed through my pea brain when I saw her in a string bikini. Her body looked like what Aphrodite's must have. Fortunately I gained enough composure to not make an ass of myself with my initial comments, and was secure in the belief that my wrap-around mirrored sunglasses did not give away the reaction my eyes must have had.

"What a pleasant surprise, Jeremy," Charlene said when she saw me. "It was so beautiful out this morning that I had to have my daily swim now rather than in the afternoon," she continued as she started putting her shoulder-length shiny auburn hair up. The blond highlights that she had in her hair set off her facial features and silky neck perfectly – I don't know if the lights were natural or she just had a great colorist, but they looked great, especially when combined with her steely azure eyes. "Why don't you have a swim too?"

"Uh, well – I didn't bring my trunks," I finally bumbled out.

"I'm sure there's a pair in the swim room that will fit – come on, join me, it's so nice that after I have a cup of tea I'm going back in."

This wasn't the way I expected the "confrontation" to go; while I was intending to be as pleasant as possible I was prepared for an all-out slug-fest. I certainly didn't expect her to be so welcoming, however.

We swam a couple of dozen laps mostly on our backs while chatting, we had a four lap race that fortunately I won just by brute strength because she was a better swimmer than I was, and then we were served lunch with a bottle of wine. She put on sunglasses too, but I swear that she was appreciating my six-pack and broad shoulders almost as much as I was appreciating her tight midriff, sleek thighs, and impeccable cleavage; we both remained in our suits.

I don't really drink alcohol so I just sipped one glass while Charlene polished off the rest of the bottle and then had started on a second one before we stopped talking about politics, local sports teams, a charity fund raiser that she was hosting in a couple of weeks that I volunteered to help with, and how we were both opposed to several local projects that had been proposed that seemed to be destructive to the natural environment.

Finally – a good two plus hours after I had arrived – I got around to the purpose of my visit.

"Charlene," I started out – that is what she insisted that I call her, wanting me to call her anything besides 'Mom' even though I had lost my mother four years earlier; "I need to talk to you about the upcoming wedding planning."

"It's nice that you have an interest in it – most men just want to show up," she chuckled.

"Well, actually, it's a concern that I have about Tiffany. She comes home upset every time she gets back from meeting with you about the wedding. She gets the feeling that you don't care what she wants, that you're in charge and she just needs to go along."

"Why isn't she talking to me about it?" Charlene huffed.

"Probably because your entire family has been subservient to you for decades, and it's hard to break away from that mindset," I replied, trying to sound genuine and not accusatory.

"I guess that you think that you can speak for her because you're a stud who does a good job fucking her; but being in charge of her pussy doesn't give you the right to think that you can take charge of anything else," Charlene sneered.

"WOW, what brought that on?" I replied, completely gobsmacked.

"I'm the one in the family with taste, and with the most smarts," she continued, "I don't need you or anyone else questioning me."

I don't have Austen's personality – not even close. I got the body that I have by being a pretty decent, and very dedicated, Division I lacrosse player in college. I don't have a lot of give in me.

"Listen, Charlene, Austen may take your shit with a smile on his face, but I'm not him. I'm interested in Tiffany's wedding to be the best experience possible for her because I love her unconditionally. So I'm not out of line in asking you to let her make all of the major decisions, and you can handle all of the details that you want and otherwise fulfill your need to be in charge."

Our conversation degenerated from there. We went at it tooth and nail for another half hour, including with a significant number of swearwords, some of her salty language fueled by alcohol as she still continued to drink wine, while mine was fueled by anger. I saw the maid and butler peeking out the window with awe on their faces – apparently Charlene and I weren't that quiet and they weren't used to their boss being challenged.

Finally I called an end to the proceedings. As I stood up I said "Look, Charlene, I've made my opinion known. One word of caution – if you keep acting like you have you'll drive Tiffany away and we'll end up eloping."

She stood up and went nose-to-nose with me; at least as much as a five foot four inch woman can go nose-to-nose with a six foot two inch guy. "You elope and I'll make your life miserable," she snarled. "What you need is someone to twist your nose back into joint."

"What you need is for someone to fuck some sense into you," I snapped back, obviously without thinking. "Where in the fuck did that come from?" I asked myself, totally chagrined by my comment.

"You're not the guy to do it though, stud, so just go back to fucking your sweetie and leave the business of life to me," she sneered as she poked her finger into my chest.

"Too bad that your personality and sense are not as nice as your ass," I replied as I pinched her butt and she smacked me in the chest in return.

Charlene was strangely silent as I picked up my clothes and stormed out. The butler and maid – whom I had conditioned to call me "Jeremy" instead of "Mr. Dawson," especially since I was ten to fifteen years younger than either of them – both wished me well, with looks on their faces somewhere between bemused and shocked.

The entire way back I vacillated between appreciating Charlene's body and wanting to smack the shit out of her – that is until the two thoughts strangely merged into me fucking the shit out of her.

When I got back to our apartment, Tiffany was just returning from playing tennis. "Where were you, Hon?" she chirped.

"I went for a swim at your parents' house," I quickly replied. I stared at her sleek thighs still with a light glow of sweat on them from her tennis match, and then continued "and swimming makes me as horny as hell."

I swept my giggling fiancé off her feet, carried her into our apartment, and after undressing her and mauling and nibbling on her fabulous perky tits, bent her over a padded chair in the living room and fucked her senseless. Disturbingly, as I was pumping in and out Charlene's ass and thighs consumed my thoughts, and for the second time since I had met her I thought about fucking Charlene while I was fucking my fiancé. As Tiffany lay on the living room rug, panting, with my jism leaking out of her pussy, a sense of guilt and dread overwhelmed me.

________________

I never told Tiffany about my "meeting" with Charlene, and based upon my subsequent interaction with Austen, I'm sure that she never said anything to him either – and she certainly said nothing to Tiffany.

Despite the uber-acrimony of my swimming pool confrontation with Charlene, it actually had a positive effect on her. She did relinquish enough control over the wedding so that Tiffany was satisfied – even if not entirely happy. Also, neither Charlene nor I showed any animosity toward each other if anyone else was around, although we did throw verbal barbs at each other if we were alone, or if just the servants were around.

_________________

The wedding actually was spectacular. Much too ostentatious for my tastes, but all of the guests were awed by the beauty and class of the decorations, the succulence of the food, and the quality of the drink and band. Tiffany looked spectacular and to my surprise Charlene didn't try to upstage her by dressing what for her was quite conservatively. There was only one disturbing thing during the entire event – both Tiffany and Austen insisted that I dance with Charlene and in an obvious setup with the band director the song being played morphed from a lively waltz into a slow passion song as we danced, fortunately with other couples around us. Charlene stuck her right thigh between my legs as she glommed onto me while methodically moving her feet in her five inch heels. She couldn't help but feel my instantly raging hard-on when she did that, and when the song ended and we broke contact she looked at my crotch, and then into my eyes, with a smirk on her face. With a chuckle she turned and walked away.

I was busted!

The bitch!

Fortunately, I was able to purge my mind of Charlene, and Tiffany and I had a passionate wedding night and a wonderful fuck fest masquerading as a honeymoon. Once we returned our sex life stayed excellent both in quality and quantity even though, like everyone else, we couldn't sustain the passion of our honeymoon.

____________________

Tiffany and I had been married about five years when she got pregnant; not entirely planned, but not unwelcome either. We bought a house as soon as we found out, although it was not as nice as the one that Charlene wanted us to buy. During our marriage we had successfully stayed financially independent of Charlene and Austen, and refused their attempts to buy the nicer house for us. However, over the years they did manage to lavish some luxuries on us, including a nice though fuel-efficient car, and they talked us into letting them buy solar cells for our house and sign a Power Purchase Agreement with them, on such favorable terms to us that it was virtually a gift.

My relationship with Charlene had stayed about the same since our swimming pool confrontation. We were pleasant to each other in public, never really said anything bad about the other person to anyone else (at least I didn't, and I am quite sure that she didn't either), and continued to trade barbs in private. The private barbs sometimes took on sexual overtones since Charlene was quite smug that she had "busted" me at the wedding reception, something that she never let me forget.

Complications started when Tiffany was in her fourth month of pregnancy. Despite treatment the complications continued to get worse until she had to quit work when into her fifth month. Finally, the doctor put her on bed rest and we hired a nurse to help her during the day.

Charlene was very concerned, and put aside all of her other activities whenever we needed her help. In fact, she took over for the nurse about four o'clock each day until I got home, then had her cook bring over dinner for us. She also was around large parts of the weekend to help out. Although our relationship still had an edge to it, in fact I was grateful for her help.

What I was not grateful for, however, was the way that Charlene dressed. She claimed that her skimpy outfits were necessary to keep cool since it was summertime and our air conditioning was not the best. However, by the time that I had gone without sex for four months because of Tiffany's condition the blatant display of flesh was a little hard to take, and I swear that I saw knowing smiles on her face when I would spontaneously sport a boner and have to leave the room.

Things got bad when I came home from work one Friday about six o'clock and ran up to our master bathroom to take a whiz, while Tiffany was napping. Our toilet was on the opposite side of the bathroom from the shower stall, with a barrier next to the toilet. After relieving myself and flushing, as I was zipping up going into the main part of the bathroom Charlene stepped out of the shower, stark naked and drying her hair with a hand towel.

"Sorry, I didn't hear you come in," she said in a sing-song voice, making no attempt to cover up. I instinctively looked at her tits and then her pussy. Both were beyond the pale for any woman, let alone one in her early fifties. Her tits were as perky as Tiffany's, but with oversized and puffy nipples. Her pussy was shaved with prominent labia and an even more prominent clitoris, one that I could easily see from five feet away. I instantly got rock hard.

I think that she continued with "The shower in the other bathroom is so uncomfortable and I really needed one – I hope that you don't mind," but I can't be sure because the blood had left my big head for my little one. Strangely, Robin Williams' famous line flashed through my mind: "The good Lord gave me a brain and a penis but only enough blood to use one at a time."

imhapless
imhapless
3,580 Followers
12