We Were In The Kitchen At Home…

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It was in the summer of 2001 and we were in the kitchen at home, it was mid-afternoon, my husband had just poured something sticky over me, when the kitchen door opened and my mother stepped inside. “Diana,……..I…………I am so sorry!” She turned and was gone in an instant.

Bob looked at me, shocked, he’d been caught doing something unmentionable to her daughter, would she ever forgive him? The fact that I had started the food fight had no relevance. My mother had seen what he was doing with that tin of Golden Syrup and it wasn’t spreading it on his bread. I kicked his shin and laughed “Serves you right!” I snorted at him.

“What do you think she’ll say?” he asked rather glumly.

I laughed again, “What she’ll say, I cannot tell.” I told him, “I’d be more interested in what she’ll think!”

“Should I go after her?” He asked.

“In that state?” I asked. He looked down at himself. He was wet through, with Yoghurt in his hair and custard down his shirt front. “Look, give her time to get home and I’ll ring her to explain.” I added

“What is there to explain?” He asked, “It was obvious what we were doing!”

“We hadn’t finished, – er….. had we?” I said with a cheeky grin on my face.

“In that case…” He replied, “Take that!”

I groaned as he covered the Golden Syrup in my hair with a pound of flour. I groaned for two reasons, Firstly it was groan of pleasure as I love it when he makes a real mess of me, but I also groaned when I thought of the work involved in getting the flour and syrup out of my waist long hair. I didn’t have long to think about that, as he pulled out the front of my top and emptied a squeezy bottle of tomato sauce into my cleavage, covering my push-em-up bra and the tops of my breasts with the smelly substance. (I hate the stuff, but Bob insists on having it with almost every meal). In my opinion, having it poured over my tits was probably the best thing to do with it.

He hadn’t finished with me yet though, he gathered up my hair that was hanging down my back and plunged that into the mess inside my top. Having mopped up a lot of the sauce, he piled all my hair on top of my head and rubbed the mixture of syrup, flour and sauce well in. I was in no position to retaliate because, perhaps I forgot to mention that I was tied to one of the kitchen chairs, only my legs below the knee were free to move. I was about to give him some lip when the contents of a pot of yoghurt was applied to my face. He rubbed it all over my nose, eyes and chin, forcing some of it into my mouth. Now I like yoghurt, but having it forced down your throat with floury fingers does affect the taste somewhat. However I was enjoying the experience a great deal, especially as the next thing that made it’s way between my lips was a stiff prick. This of course (!) meant that I began to suck it and I continued to do until it spat several strings of white semen into my mouth and after I had savoured the taste, down my throat.

I found this immensely satisfying, but I had not come yet. Bob was aware of this and pulled up the front of my skirt, he despatched my panties by the simple device of cutting them away with my best carving knife. He then cut away the tea-towels that held my thighs to the chair, spread them and squirted a lot of spray cream directly at and into my pussy (It was cold!) and vigorously rubbed my nether regions until I came, shouting obscenities at him.

This chain of events was triggered by me. I rather foolishly, (knowing what was likely to happen as a consequence), had attacked him with some yoghurt, a pan of water and some (specially prepared) custard. Needless to say I gave him no warning. He grabbed me, tied me to the chair and poured Golden Syrup over my hair. It was at that point that my mother walked in.

I will give you some information about me to start. My name is Diana Johnson (Neé Watson) I am an only child, at the time of this story I was twenty two years old and married to Bob. We were wed just over twelve months before, having lived together for eighteen months prior that. I am five feet four inches tall, slim build with hardly any tits, well, 34A anyway, which is one reason I was wearing a padded bra that afternoon. Bob is over six feet tall and broad, in his student days he used to moonlight as a doorman at a nightclub, – Get the picture? We have enjoyed a little bit of WAM (mostly wet in the early days) since we started going out together. Indeed that is how we met.

I was out with the girls one night and we went to a club where they used to have wet-tee shirt competitions. We had all had more than a sniff of the wine cork before we had even arrived at the club. When the MC asked for volunteers to go into the competition, dares were flying back and forth in our group and it soon seemed that you were “chicken” if you weren’t going to enter. All of the girls were better endowed than I in the breast department, and whilst not particularly shy about showing my tits in public, (I liked going topless on holiday) I was conscious that I didn’t have much to show. Nonetheless, my friends would not hear of me backing out, so up on xslot to the stage I went with the others. I hung around at the back, letting the others go first, but eventually it was my turn.

It was humiliating. My lack of tits (compared to the others) brought comments of “Who is that bloke?” and “I thought this was a tit show!” there were other comments too, but you’ll no doubt get the drift. The MC was having trouble keeping things in order, so reinforcements were sent for. Bob was one of the three who turned up. Whilst the other two sorted out the miscreants, Bob took care of a snivelling topless woman who had run off the stage. I had been so upset that I missed the door to the room where we had left our clothes, went through the wrong door and found myself in the body of the club. I was immediately surrounded by drunks, some of whom were genuinely trying to help me, but others were trying to cop a feel and/or make nasty comments. It was not long before I was crying my eyes out. Bob appeared and literally propelled me into a private area. My light tan pencil skirt was soaked, so had become a much darker colour and I was naked from the waist up. He hugged me and tried to comfort me. He also told me that the other girls had wanted to come off stage with me, but the MC had pleaded with them to carry on with the show as the consequences of not doing so were too horrible to contemplate. Anyway that is how we met and a few days later I gave him his own personal wet tee shirt show in his flat.

We would play with water and get each other soaking wet on a fairly frequent (if not regular) basis after that. The messy stuff came in one day when I accidentally spilt some instant custard on my shirt. Bob laughed came over and rubbed it into my chest, something that we found we both enjoyed, so it didn’t stop there. Later on, either of us could instigate a food fight without warning the other. If you both plan an event like this, it loses all spontaneity. So that is where we are today. On our wedding day, I pushed a cream pie into his face, so he threw me, wedding dress and all into the hotel pool. This did not go down well with some of the older members of my family, I can tell you. But in the end everyone got over it.

My Dad was not at the wedding because sadly he was killed in a road accident when I was fourteen. I was not getting on with him at the time, (Typical fourteen year-old I suppose) however, when we lost him, I realised just what a super bloke he was, and how much I really loved him. After the accident my Mother and I became much closer, hence her sudden unannounced arrival in out kitchen. Er… about that, I braced myself to ring her, whilst I was still trying to get the lumps of solidified flour out of my hair.

“Hi Mum!” I said brightly.

“Diana.” She replied cautiously, “Are you OK?”

“I’m fine Mum honestly.” I assured her.

“It was just that when I saw……” she stumbled over her words, “….. what Bob was doing to you…….. I ……….”

“It was just a bit of fun Mum!” I insisted.

“It certainly looked at though Bob was enjoying it!” She remarked tartly.

“So was I Mum.” I tried to convince her.


“Honestly Mum.” I reassured her.

“But you were in such a mess.” She protested.

“You should have seen me later!” I said under my breath, but not softly enough.

“What was that you said?” She asked.

“Just that we carried on after you left as we were enjoying it so much.”

“I see.”

“Come on Mum, didn’t you and Dad ever do things to each other?” I asked, pleading.

“Not like that we didn’t!”

“Didn’t you ever go braless for him and accidentally get your blouse a bit wet?” I asked her directly

“You forget that we were courting in the seventies, nobody wore bras much of the time then, even under cotton voile dresses.” She began.

“So they were see-through!” I exclaimed.

“Sometimes. It depends on where we were.” She explained. “The nearest I came to getting wet was in 1967 in Hyde Park. The Rolling Stones gave a free concert and they made this big foam arena and some of us went into the foam. One older girl was famously photographed having her mini dress taken off and having sex in the foam. I was only fourteen myself then, so didn’t do anything like that. But my friends and I were photographed in the foam too and your grandfather was very annoyed with me.”

“How did you feel when you were in the foam? Did you enjoy it? I asked her directly.

“Yes, I suppose I did.” She finally admitted.

“Look Mum,” I told her, “I started it earlier today, knowing full well that Bob would mess me up, so I’m sorry if you were upset, but there’s no need to be. We both had fun.”

“I was more shocked or surprised than upset dear. Now you go and pour something over him and see how he likes it!” She told me with more passion that I expected. We said our goodbyes and I as I rang off I was thoughtful.

“How did it go?” Bob asked when I joined him in the sitting room.

“She told me to come and pour something over you.” I told him.

“Are you going xslot Giriş to do as she says?” He asked, smiling.

“No. Because you are sitting on our new settee and I don’t want to ruin the carpet.” I replied, “But just you wait, I’ll get my own back on you.” As I said it I knew that I would inevitably come off worse as I had no chance of overpowering that hulk of a husband of mine. I grinned as I thought what would become of me. I don’t know why I get a sexual thrill of being messed up, but I find it to be a tremendous turn on, so gladly, does Bob.

I went over to Mum’s a few days later and whilst not explaining fully our fetish, I think I got her to understand a little. We got to talking about her dresses in the sixties and seventies. I was amazed to hear that she still had some stashed away in the house. It seems that she made most of them, so couldn’t bring herself to throw them away.

“Of course it is ridiculous, I shall never wear them, I don’t know why I’ve kept them.” She admitted.

“Can I see them?” I asked

“Of course, dear,” I just never thought you’d be interested!”

“Wow!” these are really thin!” I exclaimed a while later.

“We would sometimes wear a body stocking underneath, and …………” She grinned, “Sometimes not.” She added quietly.

“We?” I asked.

“The group of girls I went around with, -my friends. Your Grandfather always said I made them too short, but we got round that by making panties out of the same material.” She told me. Then astounded me by asking, “Would you like to try one on?”

“I was obviously a lot taller than you.” She said a while later as I paraded around her bedroom in one of her flimsy dresses.

“Why do you say that?” I asked her.

“Well for one thing the standard length from waist to hem would be no more than ten or eleven inches.”

“Mum!” I was amazed, the dress was above my knees, but she was advocating it should be shorter.

“Look.” she said “I’ve found some old photographs of us girls wearing our dresses.”

“Bob would love to see me in one of these,” I said, “Without the bra of course.” I was conscious of my underwear showing through the material.

“Then he shall.” She announced, “but I’ll have to make them fit better first, Let me measure you up. Would you like me to make them the right length?”

I laughed, “Make them as authentic as you like.” I told her.

“They’ll all need a gentle wash too, after being stuck in that trunk for all these years.” She said, “Shall we do that now?”

“They go completely transparent when they are wet!” I exclaimed, some time later as I unloaded the dresses from the washing machine.

“You’ll just have to be careful then.” She said with a sly grin on her face.

A few days later, I had a phone call from her. “Would you like to come over for a fitting?” She asked. “I think I’ve got the measurements right.”

I went over the following day. One of the things that Bob and I had both done was to shave our pubes, I had not mentioned this to Mum, not having had a reason so to do. But she saw that I was shaved when having pulled the dress on she handed me a pair if skimpy panties made from the same material as the dress, so I had to remove the ones that I was wearing. “I understand that shaving down there is something of a trend with the young.” She said, but made no further comment.

“Wow Mum, It’s so short!” I exclaimed.

“That’s why you need the panties.” She replied, “Is it too short? I could make the others a little longer if you don’t like it.”

“Mum I love it!” I assured her, “Although whether I will ever wear this is public, I don’t know!”

“Choose your event my dear and it will be fine.” Was all she said, and she was right, all I needed to do was to be careful where I went whilst wearing a dress as short as this.

“Then make them all the same please Mum, I feel an adventure coming on. How many of them are there?”

“About a dozen or so in total.”

“It’s not as see through as I expected.” I said, pressing the material to my torso trying to make my nipples protrude.

“If you go out on a sunny day, I think you’ll find it is transparent enough.” She replied, “But in a dark disco, you’ll get away with it –until that is, the flashing lights pick you up. Then it can quite fun!”

“Or even in a foam disco!” I laughed.

“In that case, if you get it wet, it will seem that you are not wearing a dress at all.” She told me, “Which is what your grandfather got so upset about. The day in Hyde Park was a very bright sunny day. I was wet, and although the sun dried the material very quickly, it was not quickly enough to satisfy him!”

“What were you wearing underneath? A body stocking?” I asked.

She smiled and just said “Panties and perfume! Tell me Diana you will wear them for Bob at least won’t you?

“Of course Mum, I’ll get Bob to bring me round on Sunday for tea and I promise I will help you relive a bit of your past.”

When I got home, I couldn’t help teasing Bob about Mum’s reaction to a full(?) account of our activities. “She wants xslot Güncel Giriş you to mess her up as well.” I lied to him. He gulped and look a bit frightened of the prospect of doing to his mother-in-law what he was caught doing to me. “She especially wants you to cover her tits in custard and chocolate and smear it all over them.”

“Are you being serious?” He gasped.

“Are you not able bring yourself to do it?” I asked with a serious look on my face. I could not stop myself from twisting the knife. “You remember how much she helped us when were setting up home? She’s never asked us for anything before, and not even hinted at a grandchild. Yet you seem reluctant to do this one little thing for her!”

“If it’s that important to her, – you do it!” he retorted.

“It wouldn’t be the same.” I told him “She hasn’t had any fun with a man for years, but she is worried about approaching any male friend of hers.”

“Well if you put it like that.” He said, then hesitated. “You’re sure about this?”

“She’s waiting for your call.” I told him handing him the remote phone handset.

He dialled her number. “Caroline.” He said in a somewhat non-committal way.

“Hello Bob.”

“I understand that you want to see me.” He said.

“Bob I’m always glad to see you. Diana thought Sunday afternoon would be a good time.”

“Well, yes I suppose……. Caroline are you sure you want to do this?” He almost begged her.

“Absolutely! I am looking forward to it, I am hoping it will bring back memories of my youth.”

“Your youth?” He spluttered. “Have you done something like this before?”

“Of course! Where do you think Diana got her idea from?”

Suddenly he was suspicious. “What idea was that, Caroline?” he asked suddenly looking daggers at me.

“Why for her to wear some of the dresses I wore in the sixties and seventies. The ones that her grandfather got so upset about. What were you thinking?

“I daren’t tell you Caroline, but when I’m finished with your daughter, she may not be available to come round on Sunday!” He now looked really annoyed.

“Oh dear, will it be just the two of us then?” She asked.

“Diana suggested that you might want to see me in private.” He told.

“In private? Whatever for?” she asked surprised.

“I think I’ll get her to explain on Sunday Caroline.”

“Oh so she will be coming after all – good! Good. See you then, Bye!” she said to him.

“Bye Caroline.” He said quietly then rang off. “Diana! Come here!” I was already hiding – in the bedroom. It did not take him long to find me. I was lying on the bed. He pounced on top of me and held me down.

“What on earth were you thinking?” He demanded.

“What’s your problem?” I asked, “She’s a good looking woman and fit for her age, I hope I’m as trim as she is when I’m forty-seven!”

“I know she’s a good looking woman, and she’s got some nice tits, but if I’m going to smear chocolate over a forty-seven year-old’s tits, they aren’t going to be my Mother-in-law’s!”

“The custard.” I gasped beneath his weight, “Don’t forget the custard!”

He looked at me astounded for a moment and then we both began to laugh.

“Diana Johnson I love you!” He said, before kissing me hard.

“That’s just as well.” I told him after coming up for air. “Because you are married to me!”

There was something very sexual being pinned beneath his huge frame, being unable to move my small body under him. I could feel myself getting a more than damp labia being as helpless as I was. I was completely under his control, feeling both safe and sexy beneath him. “Make love to me Bob.” I whispered. “I’m yours.”

“Then stop wearing those ridiculous bras!” He grunted. “I love your little titties.”

“I thought you like the cleavage they gave me.” I whimpered. This was just before he pulled open my blouse, tore my bra away and clamped his mouth over one of my (now quite prominent) nipples. I am sure that the sheer suction he employed caused my breast to inflate to twice it’s original size. “I love that.” I told him. He responded by moving to the other breast and doing the same. It was lovely.

He wriggled about on top of me pulling my skirt up to my waist, then I felt his big knob pushing into me. With him being so much bigger than me, the first time we ever made love I was nervous of the size of the thing. I soon found that he was a great and (usually) gentle lover, which allowed us to enjoy each other to the full. Today however was one of those occasions when he was going to fuck me rotten, to hell with foreplay, he was going to satisfy his greed by pumping me full of his fluid. I came several times before he stopped.

When he had finished, I resembled a sweat rag used by an all male wrestling team. I was limp and wet through. My clothes (what remained of them) were quite literally soaked and were wetting the bed. “I need a shower.” I told him. He dragged himself off me and then carried my sated body into the big double shower that we had installed in our bathroom. He placed me on the floor of the cabinet, I had no energy to stand, and turned on the warm water to flow over me. As the water fell on to us he gently undressed me, getting soaked himself in the process. I slowly recovered and let my body be anointed by the tepid water. He had got the temperature just right.

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