Virtual Sex with FIL – Part 1

My father-in-law, Ramesh, was a man of simple tastes, living a quiet life in Kerala. When we visited home from Abu Dhabi, we brought with us a new iPhone. It was my husband’s thoughtful gift to keep his father connected with his far-flung family.

My FIL’s fingers danced over the screen with agility as I patiently explained the features. He was eager to learn to stay in touch with his loved ones. Initially, it was just a casual question here and there, an innocent inquiry into my day.

But as the weeks rolled by, the tone grew more intimate, the messages more frequent. The general queries about my and my children’s well-being began to feel like an intrusion into my personal space.

I, the dutiful daughter-in-law, replied with a polite smile. My thumbs danced over the screen as I tried to maintain the façade of familial warmth. Yet, I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something more beneath the surface of his digital overtures.

One morning, after my husband had left for work and the children had been dropped off at school, my phone buzzed with a message from my FIL. It was a photo of him, dressed in a simple white dhoti, standing in his garden. The sun casts a golden hue over his form.

He looked at the camera with a knowing smile, his eyes sparkling with mischief that made her heart flutter. The accompanying text read, “Today’s dress, What’s yours, Molu?” I stared at the message, my mouth agape, unsure of what to make of it.

I felt a strange mix of confusion and excitement. It was a question I had never expected from my father-in-law. Yet, it was one that I found myself eager to answer. I don’t know why. The following days brought more such messages, each one more daring than the last.

Photos of my FIL in various states of undress, each one accompanied by a cheeky inquiry about my attire. I felt a thrill I hadn’t experienced in years, a thrill that was tinged with guilt. After all, this was my husband’s father.  But I couldn’t deny the allure of his youthful spirit, his playful banter.

The way his gaze seemed to penetrate the screen and reach out to me. It ignited a fire within me that she had long thought extinguished. Our video calls grew longer, the conversations more personal. We talked about our desires, our fears, and our deepest secrets.

He spoke of his longing for intimacy, the passion that had faded in his marriage over the years. I found myself opening up to him, sharing my unfulfilled desires and the loneliness that often engulfed me in my marriage.

Our bond grew stronger with each passing day. The digital barrier between us felt less and less substantial. The first time it happened, I was in the kitchen. My apron was tied tightly around my waist. The video call notification popped up on my screen, and before I could even think, I accepted it.

He was there, in his bedroom, his bare chest on display, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. I looked down at my attire, the simple cotton blouse and sari I had worn that day. I knew what he wanted, what he was asking for.

And so I slid my blouse and showed the red bra strap. His eyes widened, and he let out a low whistle. “Very nice, Sandhya,” he said, his voice thick with something that I couldn’t quite place.

The next day, the messages grew bolder. He sent a video of himself, his dhoti hiked up, revealing his firm thighs as he walked towards the camera. The message that accompanied it was simple yet explicit: “Your turn.”

My heart raced as I thought of what to do. I had never been one for such games, but the thrill of it all was intoxicating. I found myself eager to please him, to satisfy his curiosity.

In the quiet of my bedroom, I took a deep breath and unhooked my blouse, letting my breasts spill out in my bra. They were heavier than they used to be after having nurtured three children. But they still had a youthful perkiness to them.

I picked up my phone, the cool glass pressing against my skin as I angled it just right. With trembling fingers, I snapped a photo, my nipples peeking out from the lacy red fabric. My cheeks burned as I hit send, my heart pounding in my chest like a drum.

The anticipation was unbearable. I waited for his response, the seconds stretching into an eternity. Finally, the message came through: “Beautiful, my dear. Just as I imagined.”

His words were like a sweet elixir. They filled me with a sense of power and desire that I hadn’t felt in years.  I craved more of his attention, his approval. The lines between familial affection and something far more carnally thrilling began to blur.

The next day, my FIL’s message was more direct. “Show me more, Sandhya,” it read, the demand clear in his tone. I felt a thrill of excitement mingled with a pang of guilt. Yet, I found myself unable to resist. I retreated to my bedroom, my heart racing, and unhooked my bra.

But as I looked down at my bare breasts, a sudden wave of self-consciousness washed over me. My hands trembled, the bra still cupping my modesty. I didn’t feel beautiful or seductive; I felt exposed and vulnerable. I took a deep breath and held the bra over my chest.

I was creating a tantalizing frame for my husband’s father’s eyes. I snapped a photo, the red fabric contrasting sharply with my brown skin. It was a compromise, a way to satisfy his hunger without fully revealing myself.

I sent the image with a brief message, “Is this what you wanted?” My screen remained silent for what felt like an eternity before his response finally came through.

“Yes,” he typed, his message punctuated with a series of heart emojis. “But next time, I want to see those beautiful nipples. I miss watching my granddaughter drink from her mother’s milk.”

My mind reeled with conflicting emotions. The guilt of betraying my husband, the thrill of the forbidden. The strange, twisted comfort of being desired by someone who had seen me in my most natural state. I stared at the screen, unsure of how to respond.

“Your grandkids are almost ten years old now, uncle,” I replied, my voice shaking. “They don’t drink milk from me anymore.”

His response was swift and unapologetic. “Doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy the sight of them, does it?”

This had gone too far. But before I could respond, he sent a message again, “Don’t be shy, Sandhya. please, do this with me too?” His words hung in the air, a silent plea that seemed to echo through the empty house. My resolve wavered, the weight of his gaze, though digital, heavy upon me.

With trembling fingers, I let the bra fall away, revealing my full breasts to the cold lens of my phone. The click of the camera was like a gunshot in the quiet room. I stared at the image, the blush of my nipples stark against the darkened areola.

It was a sight that should have been reserved for my husband. But here I was, sharing it with his father. I sent the photo, my heart hammering in my chest, waiting for his reaction. The message notification chimed, and I read his response with bated breath.

“Ah, my beauty,” he wrote, his words like a warm embrace. “You have no idea how much I’ve wanted to see this.” His words sent a shiver down my spine, and I felt a strange sense of accomplishment. It was as if I had passed some secret test, one that no one else knew I was taking.

The days that followed were a blur of daring photos and increasingly explicit messages. Each day, he would demand a new part of me, insisting that he needed to see more. First, it was my legs, the smooth skin of my thighs peeking out from under my sari. Then, it was my midriff, the soft curve of my stomach that had borne three children. And then, the day came when he asked for more.

I hesitated, my fingers hovering over the keyboard. The weight of his gaze, though unseen, was palpable. I took a deep breath and stood, my heart racing as I slipped off my sari and petticoat, leaving me in nothing but my panties.

I positioned the phone low, the camera capturing the curve of my hips and the swell of my mound. I sent the photo with a trembling hand, my heart in my throat. The response was almost instant. “Perfect,” he wrote, his words a warm caress. “Now, I want to see all of you, my lovely daughter-in-law.”

The following day, I found myself standing in front of the full-length mirror in my bedroom, the sunlight casting a soft glow across my skin. I had picked out a pair of red lace panties, knowing they would drive him wild. I took a deep breath and turned to face the reflection.

With trembling hands, I slid them down my thighs, feeling the cool air kiss my skin. I stepped out of them, the fabric pooling around my ankles like a crimson waterfall.

Continued.