Mother-In-Law Rules Part One

Hello, this is my newest story, and it is about a dominant mother in law. The introduction is kind of long, but it is important for setting the stage. However if you would like to skip it, here is a quick plot summary of the intro. Basically a submissive guy marries a dominant woman with a widowed rich matriarchal mother who becomes the ruler of the household and slowly turns the husband into a proper servant. Hope you enjoy.

Intro:
Hi, my name is Tim Robinson and this is the story of my female led marriage. I met my wife Lauren Buren in college, and for as long as I have been with her she has always been the one calling the shots in our relationship. I always went along with it because I have always been a passive guy and I love her. When I met her mother Linda, I learned that she has always been the head of the household, and I understood why Lauren was so dominant. Lauren is an only child and her father died when she was young. They were very wealthy and when her father died, her mother inherited all of the wealth.

A little about what we look like: I am very average looking in every way, but my wife looks like actress Leah Remini and her mother is a very attractive older woman with blonde hair and always dressed in designer clothes. She still has a very good figure even if she is approaching 60.

Anyways, when I got married I was made to understand by the both of them that Linda would have a big influence on our marriage. She is the matriarch of the household and she calls the shots. I was uneasy at first, but it was the only way to be with Lauren so I became ok with it. I was an accountant, but after we got married, Linda said that there was no point in me going to work since Lauren made enough money for the both of us at her law firm. Linda suggested that I become a stay-at-home husband and take care of the house.

It was two against one, so I complied, but I quickly realized that being a stay-at-home husband also meant going over to my mother-in-law’s house and “helping” her out with her house hold chores. I had basically become their maid; in fact, Linda even fired her own maid and gardener because she had me tending to all of her house chores. A few years into our marriage, my mother-in-law started becoming more assertive and demanding. By now, half the time, I was at her place tending to her chores. She told my wife that I would become more obedient if she put a chastity cage on me. And so it was, I protested at first, but after a firm slap delivered by my mother-in-law, I complied and they both shared the key. She was right, because after that, I became much more obedient and easy to boss around due to the fact that they controlled my release.

At first, they would unlock me about once a week, and that soon turned into once a month if I was good. When I was at home or at Linda’s house, I was required to wear nothing by my chastity device, boxers, and an apron (They also made me become very physically fit by now), unless of course I was doing chores outside or I had to go out in public. Things escalated even more quickly when my wife told me that I could no longer please her sexually and she was unhappy. This was mostly due to the cage, but my wife claimed that even if I took it off I wouldn’t be enough for her. She told her mother and her mother came up with a very simple solution. I would move in with Linda full time, got to Lauren’s house part time to tend to her chores, and in the mean time she would be allowed to go out and meet any guy she wanted. I was heartbroken, but I was too weak to resist. I couldn’t divorce her because I would be left with nothing, and besides, I loved her too much to never be allowed to see her again, something that Linda knew all too well. So, I moved in with Linda and basically became her full time servant.

This brings us to present day. Linda is lounging on her couch in the main living room while I am folding some of her laundry when I hear the bell (she rings a bell to summon me).

I go downstairs and stand in front of her, head bowed as I was required to do, and say “Yes m’am?”
“Have you finished with your chores boy?”

To which I reply, “Almost M’am, I just need to finish the laundry.”

“Finish that later. I’ve had a long day on my feet and I want to relax with a foot massage. But first, go fetch me a glass of wine.”

“Yes M’am.” and I scurry over to the kitchen to get her a glass of wine.

I hand her the drink with my head bowed and kneel in front of her to take her black pumps off.

“Should I get the lotion, M’am?” I ask, since she sometimes enjoyed her feet being massaged with lotion.

“No, just get right to it,” she says in a commanding tone.

“Yes, M’am,” I say as I begin kneading her size 8 feet.

Her feet are in very good shape for a woman her age, due to the constant pampering from me, but there are still some calluses in certain places and they reek. As I am massaging her feet I observe the work I had done a few days earlier on her nails. She had me give her pedicures very often and tonight, her nails are unpainted but perfectly pedicured. I still can’t get used to the potent cheesy smell after all this time but I have to make sure I don’t show it because she did not like it when I complained. She always required me to do my chores with a smile on my face.

I listen to her while performing my task because I have learned from the past that the sounds she makes are a good way of telling if I am doing a good job. I have become so desperate to please her. After about ten minutes she tells me to get her a refill and I hurry over to the kitchen to get her another drink. This goes on for a while and after she has had a few drinks she turns off the TV and turns her attention to me.

“Come on, massage harder, you know how I like it!”

“Yes M’am, sorry m’am,” I say as I begin massaging harder.

The smell is unbearable, and my hands really hurt, but I must please her if I want release. I can tell she is getting tipsy and I am afraid of what will happen next. As I massage her feet, she pulls them away and tells me to stop. Then she spreads her legs and takes off her panties, throwing them at me.

“This wine got me in the mood. I need some attention; you know what to do, boy.”

“Yes M’am.”

Sometimes when she’s in the mood she just uses me to get some oral pleasure. I have done this many times and these days this is the only form of sex I get. So I begin to move my head closer to her stinky hairy crotch. God it smells, but once again I don’t show what I am thinking. She grabs my head and begins to guide me. I stick my tongue deep inside and begin to suck as I move my tongue around. I hear her moan as I swirl. I have learned to do it the way she likes it, she has trained me well. I start swallowing some juices and hair.

“Mmmm yeah, that’s right, get in there good, boy.” She taunts me as I go as deep as I can.

When I married my wife, I never would have imagined that this is what my sex life would have been reduced to. I remain down there for over an hour until she finally tells me to lick her clean. She then grabs my head, shoves me to the ground and tells me to go back to my chores. That puts an end to another day in her service.
The next day during the evening, I am on my knees in the kitchen scrubbing the kitchen floor when she storms in.

“Get up!” she says with an angry tone. I get to my feet and look at her in fear.

“Didn’t I tell you to wash my car yesterday?”¬†Oh no! I forgot to do that.

“Y-yes, m-m’am.”

“Then why didn’t you do it?” I stay silent with my head bowed.

“I had to go shopping today with a dirty car! You know how that makes me look?”

“I’m S-sorry madame, I was going to do it but then I fo-” and just then she delivers a powerful backhand slap to my face, so powerful that I fall on the floor. My eyes well up with tears. “Quiet boy!” she says as she slaps me again. “You forgot? Well, I am going to make sure you never forget again!”

She grabs my neck and slaps me repeatedly, putting me in a lot of pain so I start crying. She tosses me onto the floor violently. “No food for you today, boy! And you can forget about the next two months of release!”

Oh God no, I already lost the last month for not pleasing her properly; I can’t live like this for another two months. “Please M’am, I’m sorry! Please, it will never happen again,” I beg in fear, but she cuts me off with another slap.

“You call that begging, boy?”

Hoping that there is maybe a chance, I throw myself at her feet, bow my head and say, “Please madame, I am very sorry. I will do anything you want to make it up to you.”

“Not good enough, make it a year.”

One year? Oh no, I will not survive for an entire year; what is she doing to me?

“I like your begging, maybe if you convince me that you know your place I’ll reduce it to five months.”

Five months is still too much, but it is way better than a year, so out of pure desperation I get on my belly and put my forehead to her toes.

“Please, I beg you to have mercy on me. I know my place in this household; I only want to please you and your daughter,” I say in pure fear.

“Keep going,” she says.

At this point I can’t help it as tears start streaming down my face. I gently grasp her ankles and start kissing her feet in humility as I grovel before this woman who has turned me into a groveling house maid for her and her daughter.

“You are the ruler of this household, you call the shots, I am only your humble servant, please have mercy on me, I am your loyal dog!” I can’t believe what I am saying while I am kissing each and every one of her toes. This is a new low, even for me.

“You’re so pathetic. You’re a worm, aren’t you?”

“Yes, m’am,” I say as I continue kissing her feet.

She kicked me in the face as I kissed her foot, but she put it right in front of my face again for me to kiss, so I try to kiss it again and she kicks me again. This game goes on for a few minutes before she kicks me away and tells me to crawl after her to the living room.

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