My Mother-in-Law's Forbidden Cure

After my circumcision, my girlfriend asked her mother to care for me.

Unexpectedly, she dressed particularly seductively that day.

I couldn't control myself and tore my stitches.

Seeing this, her mother used a unique method to stop the bleeding.

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My name is Aiden Roscente.

I had been married for less than three months when my wife insisted I get circumcised.

The issue was affecting our intimate life.

Since my wife had to work during the day, she asked her single mother, Isabella, to look after me for a few days.

After learning the reason for my surgery, Isabella wanted to ensure her daughter's happiness.

She consulted a traditional healer who prescribed a special herbal tonic to enhance male vitality.

"Aiden, it's time for your medicine."

Her soft, sweet voice reached me before she did.

A delicate fragrance filled the room as she entered.

She wore white BM athletic shorts paired with a light green patterned camisole.

The outfit accentuated her vibrant energy.

Though in her forties, Isabella had been a folk dancer in her youth.

She maintained her figure meticulously and aged gracefully.

People often mistook her and my wife for sisters.

Her generous curves were particularly striking.

I sometimes wondered why my wife inherited all of Isabella's traits except that striking fullness.

For me, it remained a lingering regret.

"Mom, do I have to drink it today? It's really bitter."

I lay in bed, grimacing as I spoke.

This was just an excuse.

The real reason was the tonic's overwhelming effect.

Every dose left me bursting with restless energy.

An uncomfortable throbbing would build beneath the bandages.

Before the surgery, I would have simply turned to my wife for release.

But now, with fresh stitches, that tension became painful pressure.

Though not risking tearing, the sensation was deeply uncomfortable.

Isabella stood by the bed, holding the medicine bowl.

"This tonic strengthens your body. You should take it for Lillian's sake."

I sighed, reluctant to explain the true reason.

I propped myself up to drink.

She leaned forward, one hand supporting my neck while bringing the bowl to my lips.

Her loose camisole gaped open with gravity's pull.

I had always assumed she wore a bra.

Now I realized she went without—the camisole's built-in pads creating the illusion of coverage.

As I drank her prescribed tonic, my eyes wandered over her pale curves.

My imagination began to stray.

A dull ache pulsed from my stitches.

I quickly looked away, forcing calm.

This was no time for such thoughts—not with healing wounds.

Isabella remained unaware.

After I finished, she set the bowl aside.

"It's time to disinfect the area. Let me check the stitches."

She reached for the blanket.

I gripped it nervously.

"Mom, that's not necessary. Lillian can do it when she gets home."

"Lillian asked me to care for you. Should she exhaust herself after work? Let her rest."

Of course I cared about my wife's wellbeing.

But this felt different—too intimate, too awkward with her mother.

Especially with my lingering arousal still visible.