It’s my own damn fault

Ok…I know, you’re sitting here asking yourself, “but how the hell did he get from there…to here?” Trust me…I’m getting to that. But it’s complicated, and a long story, so bare with me. As strange as my wife’s request for me was, especially as she began laying it all out…it took on a life of its own, as you’ll soon see. So…be patient.

**

Ever since Stella and I had officially moved out, it had been her mother’s intention to turn Stella’s old bedroom into a personal sewing room for herself. Something she could truly spread out in, and far better organize than where she was now. Though she now had plenty of income and money to live off, after the insurance and all had been paid out, the last thing Mia needed, or wanted to do, was lay around the house doing nothing.

She’d always been a really good seamstress, and as such…still had several clients that came to her with minor repairs jobs, sewing needs, and on more than one occasion, dresses for the prom, or even one or two wedding dresses. She enjoyed doing that, and more importantly, it kept her busy and kept her occupied doing something she truly loved doing.

I’d been involved in helping out with a bit of the remodeling, extra built in shelves, cabinets, that sort of thing, likewise getting ready to paint. It had been a part-time though steady project that was slowly getting there. Though thankfully, Mia wasn’t in any rush to get it done so it seemed. I think…she just enjoyed having me there, keeping her company as the two of us slowly…yet methodically, worked on the room together. And on some few occasions, with Stella and Chris as well, helping us out.

I sat listening to my wife’s plan. Obviously…she’d been thinking this through for a while, once again a surprise to me as she’d never mentioned, nor even hinted at anything like this before. It became evident that she had been…working out all the little details in her mind, after which, it would be simply a matter of timing before it could be put into effect.

Well…the time had come. It was now or never, so it seemed. We were close to finishing the room off for one thing. And for another, it also required that Chris be away for the afternoon…a critical ingredient as the last thing either of us wanted or desired, was to have Chris inadvertently showing up or something, and thus ruining whatever plans that we had. Strange as they already were.

The thing was…Chris was going to be away at a sorority party that evening. One that she was seriously considering joining. A couple of her very best friends were also being considered, so it was very important to her that she also attend.

A while back, Stella had found some material she really liked for a nice summer dress, but had purposely not gotten quite enough material in order to have her mother make it for her. Something she had again thought of well enough in advance as part of her plan. The idea was, to drag her mom off with her to the fabric shop on the pretense of either getting more and enough to complete the dress, or baring the fact they might be out of that particular pattern entirely, in picking out something else together. Something Stella knew her mother would thoroughly enjoy doing.

The thing was…she would purposely leave that material in the room where I would be supposedly working, having inadvertently forgotten it. Realizing that she had, she would then turn the car around, head back, and somehow convince her mother to come back in and retrieve it.

When she did…she would find me standing there in that room jerking off. But more importantly, even when doing that, actually catching me…seeing me, I’d be using a pair of her mother’s own panties while doing that.

Yeah…something else that had come out of our previous discussion. You see…the quirk wasn’t her dad jerking off all the time, it was the fact that he always did so…pleasuring himself with a pair of Mia’s panties. Needless to say, that’s what Stella wanted me to do, to more “personalize it” if you were, for her. So not only would she see me, catch me, she would have to realize I was doing it…thinking about her while I was.

“So…what’s the whole point of this you ask?” Well, according to Stella, she felt that it would most certainly lift her mother’s spirits up for one thing, a bit of flattery if you will. She felt that knowing her mother as well as she thought she did, she might at first indeed be a bit embarrassed, no doubt surprised…but in reality, flattered that she had caught me…Stella’s husband, wanking off, while thinking about her.

A simple one time, naughty little gesture. Just something quick and easy, something to stimulate, to offer her mom some form of reassurance that she was still sexy, still attractive, and still jerk off material. Ok, so I decided to go along with that, just hoping Mia wouldn’t hit me upside the head with a rolling pin or something.

And though I figured at worst she might yell at me, or just scream and turn and thus run out the door, I also figured Stella would be able to calm her down in the event that she did. She even said, if she had too…she’d confess to her mother that she’d actually set it all up if things went from bad to worse because of it.

I still wasn’t convinced however that this was the smart thing to do. Maybe she was right, maybe Mia wouldn’t be too terribly upset at walking in on me, finding me standing there beating off. But…what if she DID take offense to my doing so, while using a pair of her own dirty panties? What then? What if because of that…she saw me in an entirely different light, and not a good one? Would she even tell Stella about it? Discuss it with her? Or with me?”

There were too many unknowns, and so many things that could go wrong if we actually went through with it.

But as Stella slipped out of her chair, and then her clothes, and then proceeded to give me one of her world-class blowjobs, all thoughts of not doing this for her simply flew out the window.

“Ok, ok…you win. I’ll do it. But don’t say I didn’t warn you,” I told her. “In case anything should go wrong.”

“What could possibly go wrong?” My wife asked as she finished slurping down what had felt like a gallon of cream as it poured out into her mouth. She sat licking her lips, smiling up at me.

“Famous last words,” I responded back.

**