Obsessed With BBW Mother In Law Rio Fujisawa.
The arrangement was supposed to be convenient, practical even. Moving in with my wife’s mother, Rio, after her husband passed, was presented as the logical solution. And it was, on paper. But logic hadn’t accounted for Rio Fujisawa.
From the moment she moved in, there was a subtle shift in the house’s atmosphere. It wasn’t anything overt, just a quiet undercurrent. Rio, my mother-in-law, had always been…present. A striking woman, even with time etching lines around her eyes. But living under the same roof, seeing her every day, it was like noticing things I’d only glimpsed before. Her figure, for instance. Voluptuous didn’t even begin to cover it. She was a BBW in the truest sense, a mature woman whose curves had only deepened and ripened with age. I’d always been aware, in a detached, respectful way, that she was an attractive woman. But now, living in such close proximity, that awareness was sharpening into something else entirely.
The incident with her laundry is seared into my memory. She’d left the bathroom door slightly ajar, just a sliver of space. I was passing by, heading to the kitchen for a late-night drink, when my gaze snagged on the opening. And there she was. Rio, struggling with something beneath her nightgown, the dim bathroom light casting long shadows. My feet froze. Curiosity, a shameful, burning curiosity, rooted me to the spot.
She was pulling on shapewear. Not the flimsy kind, but serious, heavy-duty stuff. A full bodysuit, the thick fabric straining against her flesh. And it was her flesh that stole my breath. Even encased in restrictive material, the sheer volume of her was undeniable. Her breasts, enormous and heavy, pushed against the top, threatening to spill out. Below, her hips flared, the shapewear clinging to her rounded belly and the massive expanse of her buttocks. They were huge, truly breathtaking, jiggling slightly as she tugged at the garment.
Heat flooded me, a visceral rush that started low in my gut and spread through my limbs. My own body responded instantly, betraying me with a hard, insistent throb. Guilt twisted in my stomach. This was my wife’s mother. This was wrong, deeply wrong. But my eyes were glued to her, unable to look away, drinking in the sight of her magnificent, mature body. The way the fabric stretched across her curves, emphasizing every roll, every swell, it was intoxicating, forbidden.
The image of Rio, half-dressed, wrestling with her shapewear, branded itself onto my mind. That night, sleep was a distant prospect. My wife lay beside me, oblivious, and all I could see in the darkness was Rio’s voluptuous figure, straining against the constricting fabric. The knowledge that underneath her clothes, under the demure smiles and polite conversations, was this…abundance…it was maddening.
Every interaction with Rio became charged with a new, illicit energy. A casual brush of her arm as she passed me in the hallway sent jolts through me. The sound of her laughter, deeper and richer than my wife’s, resonated in my chest. I found myself lingering in rooms she was in, inventing excuses to be near her, stealing glances at her figure whenever I could.
The obsession took root, insidious and relentless. I started noticing the subtle ways she seemed to carry herself, a slight self-consciousness about her size, a hint of embarrassment in her eyes when she caught me looking. And that, strangely, only fueled the fire. Her vulnerability, her awareness of her own mature, voluptuous body, it was an unbearable temptation.
One evening, my wife was out with friends. Rio and I were alone in the house. The silence was thick, punctuated only by the ticking of the grandfather clock in the hall. She was in the living room, settling down to watch television, the soft glow of the screen illuminating her face. I stood in the doorway, ostensibly on my way to the kitchen, but my feet wouldn’t move.
“Everything alright?” she asked, her voice soft, her eyes gentle.
“Yeah,” I managed, my throat suddenly dry. “Just…getting a drink.”
But I didn’t go to the kitchen. Instead, I found myself walking into the living room, drawn to her like a moth to a flame. I sat down on the sofa, leaving a calculatedly small space between us. The air crackled with unspoken tension. I could feel the heat radiating off her body, smell the faint, musky scent of her perfume.
“Long day?” I asked, my voice huskier than intended.
She sighed, a soft, breathy sound. “It was. Just feeling…a little tired.” She glanced down at herself, smoothing the fabric of her dress over her ample thighs. “And maybe a little…uncomfortable.”
My heart hammered against my ribs. “Uncomfortable?” I echoed, my gaze deliberately lowered to her chest, to the generous curve of her breasts beneath her dress.
She shifted slightly, a flicker of unease in her eyes. “Just…you know. Getting older. Things…change.”
“They do,” I agreed, my voice low and rough. My hand, as if with a will of its own, reached out, hovering just above her arm. “But sometimes,” I continued, my gaze locking with hers, “change can be…interesting.”
Her breath hitched. I could see the confusion in her eyes, the dawning realization, and something else too, something that mirrored the heat burning within me. A spark of forbidden desire.
And in that moment, all pretense shattered. The guilt, the shame, the ingrained boundaries – they all dissolved, leaving only raw, primal lust. My hand closed around her arm, my fingers digging into her soft flesh. I leaned closer, my voice a near whisper. “Rio,” I breathed, her name tasting like sin on my tongue. “You are so…” I let the word hang in the air, unspoken, unnecessary. She knew. She felt it too.
Her eyes, wide and dark, held mine. And then, slowly, deliberately, she nodded. A tiny, almost imperceptible nod, but enough. Enough to unleash the torrent that had been building within me, enough to shatter every taboo, enough to plunge us both into the heart of the forbidden. What happened next was a blur of desperate touches, of gasps and moans, of clothes torn away in a frenzy of lust. Rio Fujisawa, my wife’s mother, became everything I had secretly craved, everything I had repressed for so long. Her mature body, once admired from afar, was now mine to explore, to devour. Her BBW curves, her bountiful breasts, her generous hips – every inch of her was an invitation, a surrender to the obsession that had consumed me. And in that moment, lost in the heat of our forbidden embrace, I knew I was irrevocably, hopelessly, obsessed with my BBW mother-in-law, Rio Fujisawa.
