A young college student explores the roots of his pantyhose fetish through a series of memories and encounters with his seductive, divorced, long legged mother.
By Earth Angel
It all started when I was 10 years old, the year my parents got divorced, a normal age for a lanky, soft-spoken only child to have his obsession with Grand Theft Auto blindsided by his first crush.
I had just started junior high, where they made us read boring stuff like Romeo & Juliet, though I was too young to understand the dangers of forbidden lust, yet old enough to notice how my mother would often do the sexiest things without knowing it.
Things might have been different had my mother been more willing to let me out of her sight. Instead, I was treated more like a pet, expected to literally follow at her heels everywhere she went. Naturally, by forcing me to spend all my free time with her, it wasn’t long before I started observing some of her more peculiar tendencies.
She had an extensive shoe collection, most of which were high heels. She loved wearing heels so much that even when she took them off, I’d often catch her walking around on her tiptoes, like she was purposely training her leg muscles around the house, by practicing in invisible stilettos.
No matter what she was doing, she always seemed to need something inside her mouth. When we went out to eat, she couldn’t drink anything without a straw. If she was sitting at home grading papers, she’d sit there for hours sucking on the end of a pen. She watched football every Sunday, though she knew almost nothing about sports. She just enjoyed wearing her fitted jersey and a pair of tights, rooting for whichever team had the cutest quarterback.
Whenever I got lint in my eye, she would lean down, pout her lips together and gently blow until it was gone. The feeling excited me so much that I eventually found myself actually looking forward to it.
By the time I finished high school, I was so used to being by my mother’s side that leaving for college less than an hour away filled me with highly mixed emotions due to all the amazing memories left behind.
By my third year at Emerson, the novelty of living away from home had worn off almost completely. With each passing day, I was growing more lonely and homesick, with no girls and only a few male friends to help kill the boredom.
One dreary afternoon, my mother called me completely out of the blue, with the radical idea of finding a new apartment for us to live together.
Even at 42, my mother was still an incredibly striking woman, with long, flowing, chestnut brown hair, hazel eyes, flat cheeks and skinny lips set between her oval chin and the downward tip of her nose.
At 5’6”, 120 lbs., she’d fully outgrown the red leotards from her glory days of high school gymnastics, where she’d collected multiple trophies, mostly for balance beam. Still, she kept her body in tremendous shape, wearing trendy outfits that proudly displayed her pert breasts, tight ass, and best of all, her long, head-turning legs.
To put it bluntly, in my own personal opinion, my mother was the hottest woman I’d ever seen. I jerked off thinking about her so much that it soon developed into a full blown obsession. I tried my best to keep her from catching on to how often I fantasized about her. Yet, over the years, she started to worry that I seemed to have no interest in other girls.
I had just started college two years earlier, so the thought of moving back in with my mother initially felt like a step backwards. Admittedly, I was living in a small, dumpy apartment. My roommate was a total slob. Yet, in spite of the headaches, and as much as I missed seeing her every day, I’d still managed to survive on my own and part of me had gotten used to fending for myself.
At 19, I was eager to spend my junior year getting hammered every night and screwing as many co-eds as possible. At least, that’s what I’d always imagined college would be like. Though in reality, I was still the same skinny kid from Rhode Island, with a tendency to fidget and make awkward jokes around girls my own age, to the point where even the ugly ones started avoiding me.
The day Mom called I was in lying in bed going through my favorite pictures of her on my cell phone. I never knew when I might get the sudden urge to rub one out and nothing made me cum faster than looking at pictures of my gorgeous mom, even fully clothed.
For as long as I could remember I had always been captivated by my mother’s legs. When Dad left, because of all the travel, she gave up event planning to teach marketing at a nearby community college where the women on staff often wore pantyhose under their skirts. By that time, for all I knew, Mom had been wearing pantyhose for many years. Yet, it wasn’t until she started teaching that I really began noticing how this basic element of her daily business attire distinctly brought out the remarkable beauty and dimension of her long, sinuous legs.
Maybe it was genetic, or perhaps it was just puberty, but around that time, I became so fixated on my mother’s legs that I started to question why I was so helplessly drawn to them in the first place. As flawless as they looked by themselves, their hypnotic effect immediately doubled whenever I saw her in pantyhose.
It was as if this ordinary undergarment was imbued with extraordinary powers luring my eyes to linger over the supple tone of her lean, slender calves, moving up to the meaty flesh of her firm sculpted thighs, where her long, shapely legs gradually expanded leading to the fullness of her hips, topped by a set of luscious round asscheeks beautifully encased under sheer, shimmering threads of nylon.
Though I’d long forgotten the very first time that I noticed Mom wearing hose, the one thing that never left me was an urgent impulse to look down and gaze over the dazzling aura emanating from her legs. From the bottom of all her short skirts, down to the tips of her toes, each pair she wore had the power to enthrall me with its own seductive sparkle.
Not a single day went by where I wasn’t sitting at home waiting for her to walk in and kick off her sexy heels. My dreamy eyes followed as she tiptoed around the house, lost in the warm glow of her lustrous pantyhose, completely spellbound. The longer I stared, the more I became desperate to feed my growing obsession at all cost.
Growing up, Mom and I traveled quite a bit. Wherever we were, it wasn’t unusual for me to pull out my camera and get her to pose for me out in public. She’d always been the type of mother who gladly encouraged any hobby I developed, especially my growing interest in photography. Eventually, I managed to collect dozen of pictures, all of which focused on her long, gorgeous legs. I was certain she never suspected what I actually did with her pictures after she went to bed, considering I was so young, not to mention being her son.
My favorite pictures for jerking off were the ones that involved Mom sitting down and crossing her legs. Before teaching, working in corporate America had given her many years to develop this particular skill. As a trained professional, she was far too elegant to take one leg and carelessly flop it over the other.
Instead, with her head up and her perky breasts pointed straight out, she’d gracefully sit down, sweep her hands under her skirt, then with full extension, flick out one leg, flexing the tip of her shoe, as she leisurely elevated her long, silky stem, the lush contours visible though the pantyhose, as she draped it ever so gently across her lower thigh, all this in one rousingly fluid motion, seamlessly merging her firm shapely calves in deliciously perfect alignment, as I stood there completely riveted, listening as one leg brushed up against the other, sweeping against the grain, a thrilling sound that instantly made my dick throb hearing that subtle swish.
Deep down, I knew it was wrong. Still, I often tried to convince myself that it wasn’t so unusual to see my mother as the hottest woman on Earth. Her voice alone sent chills down my spine, with the perfect diction and dignified restraint of a well-trained, highly confident educator, with only the slightest trace of a typical New England accent.
Despite being over forty, her nutritious diet and friendly demeanor gave her a youthful glow. She barely ate more than two bites of anything, loved yoga, and jogged two miles every morning. While it was clearly a positive thing, her healthy lifestyle only encouraged my physical attraction to continue building and become more powerful each day.
Her bra size was an average 34-B. Yet, her modest chest proudly stood out in contrast with her petite waistline, jutting from the flimsy material of her tight blouses and low-cut tops.
Despite being a hard-working single mom, I had to imagine she still had needs. Yet, to my limited knowledge, after the divorce, she had no men in her life. Perhaps, if she hadn’t spent so much time worrying if I was getting laid, she might have had time to date. She should have had offers lined up considering how hot she was. But then again, I might have been somewhat biased by my own forbidden infatuation and my ever increasing lust for pantyhose.
I had already started loosening my belt, as I lied in bed, eager to stroke my cock. My phone started buzzing and Mom’s cell number flashed up across the screen. The timing was terrible as I’d just settled on one of her better pictures, taken in Times Square. She had on this beautiful, wine-colored blouse, with a black miniskirt, black pumps, and a radiant pair of suntan pantyhose gleaming in broad daylight.
I snapped the picture just as Mom walked over to pose next to a tall New York streetlight. It was like she could read my thoughts as she suddenly stepped over and purposely draped her arm around it. Her face was only half visible under her long hair, as she leaned forward and pressed her forehead against the rusty pole. She rotated just enough to smile toward the camera, flexing her left knee behind her back. She stood there holding the pose for several seconds, with one shoe playfully lifted off the ground and a smile on her face as bright as the pantyhose on her legs.
“Hey Mom,” I said, holding the phone up to my ear, as I leaned back hoping her well-trained hearing had failed to detect the noisy jangle of belt, which I’d tried to unbuckle as quietly as I could.
“Hey Chris, got a minute?” she said quickly. “There’s something important I need to ask you.”
There was something urgent in her voice that told me it must be serious. Still, I’d just spent the last five minutes drooling over her sexy photos. I’d even pulled out a pair of pantyhose I’d recently stolen from her dresser on my last trip home. She had over a dozen. So I easily convinced myself that she wouldn’t notice if I only took one. My dick was already throbbing. All I could think about was taking her pantyhose, sliding them over my hand, then taking my silky fingers and wrapping them gently around my cock. Naturally, the more she talked, the quicker I found myself doing just that.
“My lease is up in two months,” she said. “I just got a letter that my rent is increasing by almost 200 dollars. There’s no way I can afford that.”
“Okay,” I answered, trying to refocus, as I slowly began stroking myself with her stolen hose.
“No, it’s really not okay,” she said. “I’m going to have to move out. I was actually wondering how you’d feel if I moved up to Boston.”
At that particular moment, I probably should have been listening more carefully, but her pantyhose felt so good around my cock that I almost blurted out yes without thinking, just for the chance to be up close and personal with her amazing legs again.
“I understand if you need to think about it,” Mom continued. “I’ve barely given it much thought myself. I’m just not sure what else I can do.”
Again, my mind drifted off. I lied there trying to imagine what she was wearing. I purposely asked her a random question hoping to get a clearer picture.
“So, um, where are you?”
“In the teacher’s lounge,” she said. “I’m on my lunch break. Why?”
“No reason,” I said, smiling to myself, as I pictured the image of her sitting there with her legs crossed, knowing the way she typically dangled one shoe off her foot, especially when she was stressed.
“You seem distracted,” she said. “Is everything all right?”
“Yeah, everything’s fine,” I said. “I was just thinking that living up here would be even more expensive. How would that make things easier?”
“You’re right,” she said. “That’s actually the real reason why I called. I know how you feel about your roommate. And I’ve never been crazy about the neighborhood you live in. So I was actually thinking of finding a nice place for the two of us.”
It took me another moment to respond. I was still lying there quietly teasing myself with the smooth velvety texture of the nylon. My hose-covered fingers were gently grazing up and down the length of my shaft.
“Oh, umm, yeah, that’s an idea.”
By then, I could barely concentrate. I was too busy wondering what her free hand was doing as she sat there with one hand holding the phone. Was she gently rubbing her fingers over the nylon like I’d caught her doing so many times at home? Was she dipping one foot in and out of her shoe, or wiggling her hose-covered toes? There was no way to know for sure. Still, I pictured her doing all three, right there in the teacher’s lounge, in full view of anyone walking by.
“Come on,” Mom continued. “It’ll be just like old times. I can always find work at another campus. Plus we can find a place with more space for your camera equipment. I’ll even do all the cooking.”
There was a thought, Mom in the kitchen, bending over to reach inside the oven. I could already see her skirt riding up, framing her heart-shaped ass, with just a hint of her pantyhose gusset peeking out between her legs.
“Hmm, I don’t know,” I said, trying to keep myself from breathing too heavily while I kept beating off. “I’ll have to talk to Jimmy about this,” I said, knowing that I couldn’t just bail on my roommate, even if our lease was month to month. “Plus, we’ll have to lay down some ground rules,” I added, when I started to realize the freedoms I’d be giving up purely to see her legs every day.
“Oh, I see,” she said. “So you want to make the rules now, huh? Okay. Like what?”
“Nothing major,” I explained. “I’m just not a kid anymore. I want to be sure we’ll respect each other’s privacy. That’s all”
“I get that,” Mom said. “But it’s not like I’m bringing guys home or anything. There hasn’t been anyone since your father. You won’t have to worry about that.”
My rhythm was getting faster as the conversation went on. My grip was tight, but thankfully her pantyhose provided a smoother, more delicate friction to my teasing hand strokes.
“I know. It’s not that,” I said, clenching my fist. “I’m talking about respecting each other’s space.”
“Oh, I see,” Mom answered. “Like giving you space to smoke weed and play with yourself all day. You think I don’t know about all the porn you have on your computer? You’re my son, Chris. There’s nothing you can hide from me.”
“Mom, what the hell,” I said, voicing my annoyance. “Have you been checking up on me?”
Clearly, I wasn’t amused. Yet, her first reaction was to giggle. Then, she started to explain, parsing her words carefully.
“Let’s just say I’ve poked around a little bit,” she said. “And if you don’t mind me saying so, you really should get out more. You’re very handsome. It doesn’t make sense that you’d rather sit at home surfing for hot MILFs online, when there’s plenty of real women out there.”
“Great,” I replied. “So you’ve checked out my history too? Jesus, Mom. What else did you see on there?”
“Enough,” she said, in a sobering tone that made me a wee bit nervous. “I never knew you had such a thing for older women,” she continued. “Maybe I should introduce you to some of the teachers here.”
“Yeah, maybe you should,” I said, playing along. As mad as I was at the thought of her checking my computer behind my back, by then my head was literally spinning as I jerked off more vigorously.
“So,” I asked, switching the subject to something more stimulating. “Did you like the new shoes I sent you?”
Mom paused for a second, as I lied there waiting for her answer. The lift in her voice told me she was smiling on the other end.
“You must have been reading my mind,” she said. “I’m wearing them right now. I’ve had nothing but compliments all day. It was nice telling everyone my son picked them out.”
“Cool,” I said, picturing her in the five-inch black strappy sandals I ordered from Amazon. “I can’t wait to see how they look.”
“Well, you’re in luck,” she said cheerfully. “You can see them tomorrow if you want. I’m driving up to look at places in the morning. You should come with me.”
“Mmm, I’d love to come,” I said, catching myself. “I mean, that sounds good. It’s supposed to be cool tomorrow. You might want to wear something warm.”
“Oh, I’ll be fine,” she said. “I normally wear pantyhose under my jeans. That usually helps. Though I seem to be a missing a pair,” she added surprisingly. Naturally, I avoided the subject.
“Really,” I said. “Pantyhose under your jeans,” I repeated, resisting the urge to moan. “I guess that would probably help.”
“Yeah, it really does,” she said. “But anyway, sorry for rambling, I’m sure you’re not interested in that.”
“Oh, it’s fine,” I said, knowing it would only be another minute or so before I exploded all over my hand. “So, about tomorrow,” I said, holding it together, “were you thinking of swinging by here first?”
“Yeah,” Mom said. “I should be there around nine. Just make sure you tell Jimmy to wear some pants this time. It’s a little awkward seeing your roommate with an erection.”
“Yeah, sorry about that,” I answered, stroking like a fiend. “But then again, you can’t really blame him. That skirt you had on was pretty short.”
“Oh, you think so?” Mom said, scoffing a bit. “It was normal length. The skirt I’m wearing today is shorter than that.”
“Well that explains all the compliments,” I said. “How do you keep your students from hitting on you?”
“Never said I did,” she answered. “It’s kind of flattering honestly, especially at my age.”
“Stop it, Mom. You look great. You know you do.”
“Why thank you,” she said. “But I’m just like any other woman. We all like to hear it.”
“Well, it’s true,” I told her. “I think you’re beautiful. In fact, if you weren’t my mother, I’d probably…um, nevermind,” I said, stopping myself. Who knows what I was thinking. By then, my penis was doing all the talking.
“No, go on,” she said. “If I wasn’t your mother, you’d probably what?”
That was the pivotal moment. In 19 years, my mother had never asked me a question as directly sexual as that. My balls were practically about to burst. My fist was pumping non-stop. Yet, even then, I still couldn’t bring myself to voice my unnatural desire to run my hands over her soft silky pantyhose and cum all over her sexy legs. Still, I somehow managed to respond with an answer intended to hide my true feelings.
“Wow,” I said, rubbing my forehead. “This is starting to take a weird turn. I really don’t think we should go there, do you?”
“You brought it up,” Mom answered bluntly. “Go on, tell me,” she added, with a boldness I found intimidating, yet highly erotic at the same time. “Seriously, I want to know,” she pressed, as I held back what felt like a massive eruption. “Do you think I’m a MILF…like the ones you look at on those dirty websites?”
My body trembled. I honestly couldn’t tell whether she wanted the truth, or whether she was just testing me.
“Really Mom, stop,” I said, assuming the latter. “I don’t think we should talk about this anymore.”
“Okay, fine,” she said. “I wasn’t trying to make you uncomfortable. Just tell me one thing. Which part of a woman’s body do you like most? Wait, let me guess, you’re a leg man, right?”
Now she was pushing it. My best option was to push back.
“Yes, Mom, I’m a leg man,” I answered flatly. “There, I said it. Can we drop it now?”
To my amazement, she didn’t stop there.
“With or without pantyhose?” she said, pushing me to my wit’s end. By then, I was jerking off so hard if she hadn’t already gathered the state I was in, she was only seconds from figuring it out.
“Definitely with pantyhose,” I said. “Now seriously, stop it. I can’t take this anymore.”
“So you’re really into pantyhose,” she said. “I guess that makes sense, considering how often I wear them. I suppose it’s good that I found out. Maybe we should reconsider this whole idea. It’s bad enough you can’t find a girlfriend. I’d hate to do anything that makes you feel even more frustrated.”
“Look Mom, for the last time,” I said, starting to lose it. “If I really wanted a girlfriend, I’d get one.”
“Oh, really?” she said. “And when will that be? When I’ve already got one foot in the grave? Seriously, Chris, I’m worried about you, especially with this pantyhose fetish I’m just now hearing about. You know I wear them all the time. I certainly don’t want you having sexual thoughts about me. Surely, I don’t have to tell you how inappropriate that would be.”
Of course she didn’t. I’d known all along how inappropriate it was. In that moment, I honestly didn’t care. By then, I was pummeling my cock with a vengeance, bent on ruining her pantyhose no matter what, dying to soak every thread with a massive wad of thick greasy spunk, purely out of spite.
I closed my eyes, instantly reliving the indelible memories that triggered my fetish in the first place.
I vividly pictured Mom strolling through the house wearing see-through pantyhose with no skirt on. I could see her returning from work in her black fuck-me pumps, the stale odor of damp, sweaty nylon spreading through the air as she took off her shoes and asked me to rub her swollen feet. I could even picture the way she smiled as she walked down the street, hips switching from side to side, pretending not to love how men spun toward the sound of her spiked heels clicking on the sidewalk, only to come home, peel off her pantyhose and carelessly toss them in the hamper, leaving them for me to salvage, as I secretly pulled them out, slid my tongue over the wet spot, and deeply inhaled her strong, musky scent.
My lurid memories pushed me right over the edge. With each violent spurt, I was forced to stifle my urge to groan, watching jets of semen blast into the air, surging from the head of my cock, splattering down, drenching the nylon around my hand, while my mother patiently waited on the other end, with no idea what was happening as I lied there shamelessly enjoying my reckless act, her pantyhose swimming in a pool of cum.
Finally, I managed to collect myself, leading with a heavy sigh.
“Look Mom, I’m sorry,” I answered wearily. “You asked me to be honest. I wasn’t trying to upset you. Maybe we should just hang up now.”
“No,” she said, softening her tone. “Don’t hang up. I know you were just being honest. I realize that’s how I raised you. But before we make such an important decision, I think you should tell me everything. Tell me the truth, Chris. Have you ever fantasized about me?”
As soon as she asked, I instantly knew that I was stuck. On the one hand, by saying no, she’d most likely sense that I was lying, which would only make her angry and potentially spoil any chance of us moving back in together. On the other hand, telling the truth would most likely freak her out so much that she might not speak to me again for months, and that was even worse.
Normally, in situations like this, where I wasn’t exactly sure what to do, the first thing I usually did was try to imagine what Mom would do if she was in my position. That’s when it hit me that the best way to answer her question was to turn it around and ask her a question of my own.
“I’ll be honest,” I said, pausing before slyly attempting to redirect. “But first I’d like to hear what you think?”
“What I think?” she said, pausing for a short breath. “I think that all that porn you’ve been watching is starting to mess with your head. I think if we’re going to live together, then you have to promise to find a girlfriend and start living in the real world. Can you do that?”
“Sure Mom, I can do that.”
“Good,” she said. “I’ll see you in the morning. And don’t forget to bring back my pantyhose.”
* * *
The next morning, Mom showed up right on schedule, in a form-fitting, black, V-neck sweater, fairly low cut, with her first initial, L for Lauren, dangling from a silver necklace which failed to keep me from noticing the cleavage swelling over her plunging neckline. Her blue skinny jeans sat low on her shapely hips, hugging every curve under skin-tight denim, leading down, just as promised, to her brand new, high-heeled, black leather sandals, with thin straps spanning over her naked feet.
Looking down at the cuff of her jeans, the first thing I noticed was the disturbing absence of pantyhose I’d been expecting. Naturally, I was disappointed, especially after spending my whole night tossing and turning in anticipation of seeing them the next morning.
My first instinct was to say something about it. Then, I remembered how concerned she was talking about my fetish. So the last thing I wanted to do was call any undue attention to it right away.
We stood there enjoying a warm hug, when my roommate, Jimmy, promptly emerged from his room. The grin on his face told me he liked what he saw, as Mom reached over and greeted him with a polite handshake. For a few minutes, she and Jimmy stood there making small talk, until Mom finally excused herself, turning to ask if she could speak to me in my room.
I led her back to my bedroom and there she explained that she’d accidentally put a run in her last pair of pantyhose with a sheer heel and toe. Fortunately, I’d remembered to rinse out the pair I’d taken from her dresser. So I promptly fished them from the pile of laundry thrown on my bed and handed them right over. She then asked if I would give her a moment to put them on. So I quickly stepped out and waited for her out in the hallway.
She must have been hurrying too much to realize that I’d purposely left the door slightly ajar. I stood there peering through the narrow crack, knowing it was wrong, yet still unable to tear my eyes from watching her undress.
With her back turned, I stood there watching as she reached down and pulled off one shoe at a time, enjoying the lovely sight of denim smothering her tight round butt. I then heard the sound as she yanked down her zipper, then continued watching as her hands went up to her sides. She hooked her thumbs into the narrow waistband and promptly began squirming and wiggling her hips side to side. I fully expected to see panties, or at least a G-string, resisting the urge to gasp as she peeled down the jeans, revealing her naked ass. My dick instantly started to swell. Then she bent over, folding at the waist, presenting me with a clear view of her outer pussy lips, smooth, pink, and fully-shaved.
I worried that Jimmy would walk by and see me standing there at any moment. Still, my incredible fortune was too good to pass up, as I stood there watching and waiting to see even more.
I gulped with anticipation as she wisely removed the jewelry from her fingers, then reached over and lifted her pantyhose off the bed. Within seconds, her nimble fingers rolled up the first leg. She then lifted her left foot, then reached down and slid the ring of nylon over her sharply pointed toes. She then carefully slid the delicate fabric up to her slightly bended knee. She set down her left foot, then steadily raised the other, pointing her toes once again as she slowly eased her right foot inside the opposite sleeve, leaving me breathless as she patiently slid the pantyhose over her knees, drawing the nylon inch by inch over her supple thighs, and finally squirming to squeeze her shapely hips under the straining waistband, making one final adjustment to line up the stitching along her narrow butt crack, where her high-toned asscheeks, under a wondrous layer of tan, glossy, sheer-to-waist pantyhose, shimmered like a pair of half-moons.
I could have stood there watching forever, but my instincts told me to quit while I was ahead, knowing she could turn around and catch me at any moment.
I went back to the living room to find Jimmy rolling a joint, which I’d come to expect as part of his morning routine. The night before, he and I had sat down for a long talk where I’d delicately broken the news to him that I was moving out. To my surprise, Jimmy took it in stride, explaining that he had already been planning to move in with his girlfriend in a few weeks anyway. Fortunately, there were no hard feelings between us, especially when I stopped to consider who my new roommate was soon to be.
Moments later, my lovely mother finally returned from my room, smiling cheerfully, as I looked down grinning over the sight of pantyhose covering her pretty feet. I promptly turned and hurried toward the door, hoping to shield my raging hard-on from her view. We left my apartment and set out to find our new place, quickly escaping so Mom could avoid Jimmy staring at her ass, and practically cumming in his pants.
We made our way down to the car, where Mom got in behind the wheel and turned on the local eighties station. The song on the radio thankfully managed to calm my erection as I road beside her, shifting my focus toward the highly ironic lyrics.
“Every little thing she does is a magic. Everything she do just turns me on…”
We then proceeded to spend the next couple of hours going from one ugly, over-priced apartment to another, before finally stopping at a newly-renovated, second floor walk-up, on a quiet, tree-lined street in Roslindale.
The house was owned by a young, newlywed couple named Joel and Cynthia, who conveniently lived on the first floor. Joel was a successful contractor in the city. Cynthia was a former nurse turned stay-at-home mom who’d recently given birth to their first child. Looking at Cynthia, it was pretty obvious she’d just had a baby, judging by the size of her enormous tits which seemed to account for nearly half her body weight, especially considering how short she was. If I had to guess, I would have said she was easily a G-cup…With a capital G, as in “Goddamn, those are some big tits!”
Compared to Mom, Cynthia was easily three or four inches shorter, as I stood at Mom’s side and watched them converse with each other, instantly hitting it off, smiling and hugging like long lost friends when they quickly discovered that Cynthia had graduated from the same high school as my mother, only eight years later.
Cynthia led us up to see the apartment and we couldn’t believe our eyes. The place had literally everything we wanted, high ceilings, hardwood floors, with tons of space, including a large eat-in kitchen. As we walked in, on the left was a combination dining and living room area, divided by sliding double doors. On the right was a small office, a small guest bathroom, then the kitchen, followed by a small storage space, with a door to the back porch, and stairs leading up to the attic. The attic had been completely remodeled for new tenants, with two bedrooms, and a large master bath.
Mom and I signed the lease in a matter of days, agreeing to move in by October 1st.
The move itself went fairly smooth. Mom hired movers to handle all the big furniture. Then, on Sunday the 30th, we rented a U-Haul, loaded up everything else, and got it all moved in within a few hours. Sometime around noon, Mom figured I was probably hungry and realized we had no food. I offered to start unpacking while she went out and got us some lunch.
I headed back down to the truck and pulled out a box labeled “Mom’s bedroom.” I carried the box upstairs, setting it down in her room, where I opened it and start removing the items inside. It was mostly packed with old books and photo albums, until I noticed something buried underneath.
Curiously, I reached down and pulled out an old, dusty, leather-bound journal which I’d never seen before. I stood there alone in the empty room and quietly cracked open the first page.
The first entry was dated November 7th, 2003. If memory served me correctly, it was only six months after my parents’ divorce.
The first few entries weren’t particularly interesting. She started off talking about leaving the old marketing firm she’d worked at during her marriage. She’d already completed her teaching certification and put in her two-weeks notice. She was clearly still hurting over Dad leaving her for someone else, blaming it mostly on her own ambition when all Dad wanted was someone more traditional and submissive. Personally, I never understood why he felt that way. Still, he did seem much happier with his new trophy wife. So there really was nothing else for Mom to do except move on.
I read through the first five or six pages, when things started to pick up a bit.
November 13, 2003
Something crazy happened today. I made out with Mike Sullivan in the stairwell over by his office. I’m not even sure why I did it. He’s almost 10 years younger than me. Plus he’s so full of himself, really not my type. He hasn’t stop flirting with me ever since he heard I was back on the market, as he put it. It’s not like I did anything to encourage him. It wasn’t my decision to move the copier outside his office. I love how he always comes over and drops his pen on the floor. It used to make me uncomfortable, but now I just play along. At first, he would drop it and pick it right back up. Now he likes to linger down there and stare at my legs for a while. It’s pretty funny to watch. Chris doesn’t know it, but I’ve actually caught him doing the same thing. He must really like my legs. I know he’s my son and I should probably say something to him, but he’s been through enough lately. The last thing I want to do is embarrass him. I guess he’s just at that age. Anyway, I’m not sure what to do about Mike. Kelly and Robin are throwing a goodbye party for me tomorrow night. Mike said he’d be there. I really liked kissing him. I could tell he liked it too. His dick got really hard when he rubbed it against my leg. It felt pretty big too. No wonder he’s fucked half the women in the office. He probably thinks I’m next. It’s tempting, but I don’t know. We’ll see…
November 15, 2003
I can’t believe I spent $80 dollars on a brand new party dress and that son of a bitch didn’t even show up. Oh well, his loss I guess. God knows there were plenty of other guys there who liked it. Never thought I could pull off zebra print. Maybe I’ll wear it again next week. It was kind of odd being the center of attention, but I think I could get used to it. I know Robin was pretty jealous. I told her to stop buying me shots. Besides, no one puts stripper poles in a bar full of drunken women expecting nobody to use them. It’s not like I was up there flashing my pussy for everyone. I did wear pantyhose. I’m sure Mike would have loved that. I wore them just for him. God, I can’t stop thinking about his cock. I really need to get fucked. I should probably invest in a good vibrator. I would have bought one months ago, but I’m just afraid Chris would find it. He’s always sneaking into my room. I’m not sure what he’s looking for. I hope he’s not going through my panty drawer. I’m sure he’s learned how to masturbate by now. The last thing I want to find is a huge cum stain on one of my satin thongs. I guess at some point I’ll have a talk with him. I just don’t enjoy thinking about my son’s penis. I really wish his father were here…
I would have kept reading but I knew Mom was on her way back. So I packed everything back inside the box and quietly left the room. I headed back downstairs trying to process all the twisted thoughts scrambling through my mind. Clearly, my mother wasn’t as clueless or innocent as I’d always believed. She seemed to enjoy getting attention from younger men. She also knew way more about me than I’d ever realized. The thought of Mom willingly behaving like a slut really got me excited. I stepped out onto the back porch, where I lit up a cigarette, trying to calm myself down.
The view from the back porch overlooked the garden in the backyard. I stood there leaning over the railing, as I looked down and noticed that the curtains were drawn on our new landlord’s bedroom window downstairs. In the corner of the room, I spotted an empty rocking chair, next to what looked like the railings on a baby’s crib. I flicked my cigarette, then looked back again, when Cynthia appeared carrying the baby in her arms. Even from such a high angle, it was virtually impossible to look down and see anything other than her humongous tits. The image reminded me of those IMAX movies where they show you the Earth from space and you can still see the Himalayas only because they’re so fucking big.
I couldn’t help grinning at the light blue button up sweater she was wearing. The fabric was stretched out so much it looked like she bought it from Baby Gap. I took another drag of my Marlboro Light, watching as she sat down, only to gasp in disbelief when she started unbuttoning her top.
By then, I was already horny as fuck, as I watched Cynthia reach up and unsnap her bra from the front, letting her left breast flop through the opening of her sweater, before lifting it up and pressing her baby’s mouth over her swollen nipple. My whole life I’d never seen anything like it, as she sat there rocking back and forth. I’ve always preferred legs, but there was no denying the beauty of Cynthia’s phenomenal jugs. The size of her breasts reminded me of my days back at the pizza shop, where we laid out the dough until it rose into soft, round, flesh-colored mounds. The longer I watched, the more I found myself jealous of her little boy and the blissful look on his face as he eagerly suckled his mother’s tit.
Just when my dick couldn’t possibly get any harder, Mom finally returned as I heard her opening the front door. I wasn’t about to let her see what I was doing, so I quickly hustled back inside.
I met her in the kitchen where I found her wearing a short, heather gray, New England Patriots T-shirt, with black spandex yoga pants, and a pair of brown fur-lined boots. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail, with no make-up, yet I still wanted to bend her over and completely fuck her brains out.
“How’s it going?” she said. “Get much done?”
“Umm, not really,” I said. “Went out for a smoke. Figured I’d wait for you.”
“That’s fine. You must be starving,” she said. “I brought you a turkey sandwich, no tomatoes.”
“Thanks,” I said, looking around at the piles of junk everywhere. “Where should we sit?”
Mom looked around as well. There was only one chair in the kitchen. The rest were all stacked in the dining room.
“Good question,” she said. “Why don’t you sit here? If I get tired of standing, I can always sit on your lap.”
Assuming she was just kidding, I grabbed my sandwich and took a seat, while Mom leaned against the counter and started to eat.
After one bite, she strolled over toward me, walking around in front of the chair, where she then settled down, with one arm draped around my neck and her legs stretched out across my lap.
“So,” she said. “This is it. This is our new home. Are you excited?”
I would have answered, if only she hadn’t chosen that exact moment to set her ass on top of my groin. The frown on her face instantly told me she could feel how hard I was. I expected her to jump right up. Instead, she just sat there for a second, looking at me with this tortured look on her face like I’d murdered someone.
Finally, she whispered softly, with this cold, distant look in her eyes.
“Uh, Chris…is that what I think it is?”
It was just like the phone call over again. Only this time, there was no clever way for me to spin it. I was far too humiliated to look her directly in the face. Instead, I quietly looked down and slowly nodded my head. I wanted to say something, but all I could focus on was the smoothness of her leggings as she pressed her ass firmly against my cock.
Intended for yoga, the leggings felt more like velvety tights, not sheer like pantyhose, yet every bit as soft to the touch. On the plus side, the fabric was made from Lycra spandex, which visibly made them fit like a glove.
Finally, Mom pulled her arm away and slowly stood up, folding her arms in front of her.
“Maybe you should tell me what you were really doing while I was gone,” she said in an accusing tone.
Still unable to face her, I lifted my sweaty palms and started to rub them against my shorts.
“I wasn’t doing anything,” I answered meekly. “Sometimes it just happens. I’m only 19.”
“I see,” Mom said, nodding her head. “Look, I understand that you’re young and you need sex. But I can’t have you walking around the house like that. We talked about this once already. I hope you remember what you promised me.”
“Yes, I remember. But finding a girlfriend isn’t that easy. It takes time.”
“Okay, maybe you’re right,” she said. “So in the meantime, what should we do?”
“I don’t know,” I said, shrugging it off. “I’ll just have to deal with it on my own.”
“Fine,” Mom said. “Why don’t you go ahead and do that so we can get back to work.”
Granted, the logical thing to do in that situation would have probably been to stand up and go to my room. Instead of doing that, I chose to make light of the situation, hoping to cut the tension by seeing if Mom was willing to have a sense of humor about the whole thing.
“So what,” I said, staring back defiantly, “should I just whip it out right here?”
She had already started to turn away. Then she slowly twisted her head back, arms folded as she glared at me through the narrow slits of her eyes.
“You haven’t got the balls to try anything like that.”
Her response hit me like a punch in the gut. My whole adolescence was littered with people calling me a wimp. I’d never been good at sports. In school, I got picked on for being the skinniest boy in class. Girls pointed and laughed at my scrawny build, knowing I was too chicken to fight back. I’d been putting up with bullies for as long as I could remember. I wasn’t about to sit there and get bullied by my own mother.
Instead of looking down, I looked Mom square in the eye, as I jerked down my zipper, reached in and promptly pulled out my cock.
“Okay, time out,” Mom said, putting her hands up. “This has gone far enough. Put your dick back in your pants, right now. I’m not joking.”
“Neither am I,” I said, pointing the tip straight at her. “You told me I needed to cum. So that’s what I’m going to do. If you don’t like it, don’t watch.”
“Don’t watch?” she said, raising an eyebrow, with a mild laugh and an obvious smirk on her face. “So you just expect me to ignore you while you sit there touching yourself? You want me to act like this is normal?”
“Sure,” I said, “as long as you stay where I can see you.”
“Wow, you’ve got some nerve,” Mom said, dropping her head to her chest, before wearily rubbing her forehead. After a brief moment, she slowly raised her head up, responding with a short nod, as she quietly answered. “Fine, do what you want. I can’t stop you. But don’t even think about trying this again. Once you get off, we will never mention this again.”
Admittedly, it would have been easy to stop right there. I could have easily controlled myself, if only Mom had done something besides walk over, snatch my cigarettes, and light one up right in front of me. She wasn’t a smoker and she’d obviously chosen to ignore her own rule about smoking inside the house. Still, after clearing a space for herself on the table, she propped herself up, then slowly inhaled, with an air of sophistication that only made my dick harder as she gracefully crossed her legs in black spandex.
“Don’t take all day,” she snapped over a puff of smoke. “You’re lucky I’m allowing this at all.”
I wasn’t expecting any sympathy, yet I still felt compelled to explain why it was taking so long.
“Sorry, my hand’s pretty dry,” I said.
She sat there thinking for a second, startling me as she sprang up, with cigarette in hand, as she marched back over toward the counter. She flicked her cigarette, tossing it down the sink, then reached over and opened her purse, pulling out a small plastic bottle. She screwed off the cap, then boldly walked over and stood above the chair where I was sitting. Bottle in hand, she leaned over the head of my cock, squirting out a generous glob of creamy lotion, which dribbled down all over my shaft.
“Will that help?” she said, with a grin on her face which I instantly read as mild amusement.
“Very much,” I said, gripping my penis around the base, making her watch as I slid my balled fist up to the head, spreading the lotion over my veiny foreskin, making it glisten from all sides, enabling me to enjoy the feeling of my own slippery hand, rising and falling around my rigid shaft, as I sat in front of her and boldly continued to jerk off.
I sat there hoping she would study my technique, imagining one day to feel her hand instead of my own. The look on her face lacked any form of expression, as if to prevent me from noticing any signs of interest in her cold, lifeless eyes.
“Um, we should really speed this up,” she said, dropping her hands to her hips. “Is there something else I can do?”
“Sure,” I said, hoping to push this even further. “You could turn around and show me your butt.”
“Oh, I could, huh?” she said. “Will that get you off…if I turn around and show you my ass?”
“Mmm, yes please.”
“Oh,” she said, smiling openly. “I like it when you say please. Go on, little boy. Say ‘please Mom, may I look at your ass?’”
Hearing her sexy, commanding voice, with its air of implicit power, prompted the increased rhythm of my hand, as I looked up, begging with enthusiasm.
“Please, Mom,” I said earnestly. “Please, may I look at your beautiful ass?”
“Hmm,” she said with a snicker. “You did that very well,” she added, slowly turning around. She arched her back slightly, with her ass sticking out less than three inches from my face.
“How’s that?” she said, poking it out. “Tell me how good it looks.”
“Mmm, so good,” I answered quickly. “Your ass is perfect. Really, it’s perfect.”
My mouth watered at the sight of her black leggings stretched taut over the curve of her firm shapely rump. She kept her feet together, accentuating the slope where the small of her back arched over and her asscheeks strained under the tight fabric, so amazingly round and full, I could barely hold back from reaching up and squeezing that plump, sumptuous bubble.
“I’m glad you approve,” she said. “Now hurry up and cum before I lose my patience.”
“I’m getting close,” I said. “Just bend over a little further.”
“Oh, I don’t think so,” she said. “I’m not taking any more orders from you today. You’ll cum when I tell you. Understood?”
“Okay,” I whispered, losing my breath. “I’ll do anything you want.”
“That’s better,” she said. “Now I want you to stand up. We’re trading places.”
With no hesitation, I jumped out of my seat, expecting my mother to turn around and slowly sit down. Instead, she held out her index finger, directing me to stand in front of the chair. Then I watched as she set her knees down on the wooden seat, keeping her legs together as she slowly leaned forward, her ass pointed back towards me.
“Is this where you’d like to cum,” she asked, flexing her tight glutes, “right here, all over your mother’s ass?”
“Oh, fuck yeah,” I moaned, stroking intently. “You have no idea.”
“Then show me,” she said. “Show me how horny you are right now. Let me feel it. Let me feel that hot load all over my ass. Go on, Chris, cum for me.”
My knees buckled as the sound of her voice nearly caused me to pass out from overexcitement. I had never imagined that my mother was even capable of acting this way, let alone seeing it first-hand.
Was she really begging me to jerk off in our brand new kitchen? Was she actually ordering me to cum all over her black yoga pants?
I should have accepted it for the privilege that it was. Instead, I got greedy, giving her no chance to react, as I lunged forward and slammed my cock smack up against her butt, a forceful collision softened by the leggings and the meaty flesh underneath, the perfect cushion for my throbbing penis to grind against her smooth, velvety rump.
She let out a terrified shriek, as I grabbed her by the waist, ignoring her vocal protest as I violently started thrusting my hips back and forth, viciously humping her from behind.
“No, Chris don’t!” Mom cried. “Chris, stop! Oh my God! Please don’t do that!”
Of course, I could hear her. But I wasn’t about to stop, not for anything.
“You told me to cum on your ass. You said it Mom. I heard you say it!”
She said nothing in return. Yet, her ass clearly pushed back against my cock. Her voice was raspy and out of breath, with her head forward, hair swinging all over.
“Oh, God,” she moaned. “God, your dick is so hard. Oh my God, don’t stop. Yes baby, I said it. I want you to cum. I want you to cum sweetie. Please let me feel your cum!”
In 19 years, I’d never felt an orgasm quite like that, let alone seen so much spunk come gushing out of my cock like a broken water main. The force of each spasm was so violent that I stumbled over and collapsed on top of her as my legs gave out. My face was buried in her hair as I felt Mom trembling beneath me. Even then, with our bodies mashed together, the lingering sensation of her soft cheeks pressed up against my cock milked out the remaining semen flowing from my aching balls.
As I looked down and slowly rose to my feet, the black leggings spread over Mom’s ass were completely coated under a thick layer of white creamy foam, rolling down the black spandex, then pooling in the crack of her ass, before slowly dripping down to the cleft of her moist pussy.
Covered in sweat, I quietly zipped up, lost for words as I stood there scratching the top of my head.
“Umm, maybe you should go change,” I said, clearing my throat.
For a second, Mom remained quiet. I watched as she reached back, sliding her fingers through my creamy sperm.
“Yeah, good idea,” she said, slowly rising to her feet. “Just try to avoid getting another hard-on in the next ten minutes, okay?”
* * *
For the rest of that afternoon, Mom and I barely spoke. I could only assume she needed as much time to process what had just happened as I did. We spent the rest of the day quietly arranging furniture and unpacking most of our things. Mom spent most of her time in the kitchen, while I worked in the living room hooking up our television and stereo. We ordered pizza for dinner. Then sat on the couch and quietly watched football. Around nine o’clock, I went out to meet some friends from school who were hanging out downtown. By the time I got home, Mom had already gone to bed.
The next morning, I woke up and walked downstairs to an empty house. It was Monday and Mom had apparently already left for work. I’d woken up with barely enough time to grab a quick shower, throw on some clothes and race off to get to my morning class. It wasn’t like her to leave without waking me up. I started to worry that my foolish actions had managed to ruin everything on our first day. Before leaving, I’d noticed a note with a list of things Joel needed to fix, written in Mom’s handwriting on the fridge.
When I finally made it to class, the fear of Mom telling me to move out made it virtually impossible to focus on anything else. I stared off into space, tapping my pencil against the desk, dreading the thought of going home, certain of what was destined to come.
My final class ended at noon. Fortunately, before moving out, Jimmy had kindly given me two ounces of Blue Dream. So I figured the best thing to do was go home, smoke a bowl and have a couple beers, just to prepare myself for the foul mood my mother was sure to be in when she got home.
The moment I walked in the house, I instantly remembered my mother’s journal, as I headed up to her room and luckily found it in the same box where I’d left it, right at the foot of Mom’s bed. I opened it up and thumbed through a few pages, stopping at a passage that instantly caught my eye.
December 10th, 2003
Today I caught this guy following me around the mall. I was kind of scared at first, but he looked fairly harmless so I chose to ignore it rather than causing a scene. He was well dressed for a younger guy with a nice business suit like he could have been a lawyer or something. I needed some coffee so I went into Starbucks where I saw him sitting by himself. There weren’t many tables as I took my seat, which ended up facing him directly. From the moment I sat down, I could instantly feel him watching, as I looked over and caught him peeking at my legs. I could have got up and found another seat, but he wasn’t being terribly obvious about it. So I sat there and kept my legs crossed, waiting to see if he’d move on. After a minute, I realized he wasn’t leaving. So I glanced over and looked him straight in the eye thinking he’d take the hint and go away. He must have thought I was flirting when he looked up and smiled back at me. For a moment, I was expecting him to walk over and say something. But the longer he waited, the more I realized how nervous he was to approach me. I was kind of insulted, but then I figured if all he wanted was a show then why not give him one just to fuck with his head. When he looked over again, I picked up my coffee, turned my hips toward him, and slowly uncrossed my legs. I paused for a moment, holding them open to show him the black thong I’d worn under my pantyhose. I did this three or four times, crossing my legs back and forth. Each time, I held my legs open for a second, letting him see up my skirt. Finally, I stood up and quietly went on my way, never thinking he’d actually have the nerve to follow me down to the shoe store.
I’d found a great deal on a black pair of Jimmy Choo’s with a peep-toe and a nice glossy finish. I sat down to try them on when I looked up and saw him watching me through the window. The bench was so low that sitting down opened my skirt up even more, exposing not only my black thong, but most of the pantyhose covering my legs as well. Still, I wasn’t about to let some pervert keep me from buying shoes. So I sat there on the bench thanking myself for wearing underwear, with my legs open and my skirt up around hips, working my feet into the shoes. When I looked up again, I couldn’t believe he was still standing there trying to play innocent with his back turned. At that point, I probably should have confronted him. Instead, I just paid for the shoes and walked out, thinking he’d never follow me outside.
I reached the exit and turned around to see if he was still behind me. Sure enough, he walked out with a smile on his face like he hadn’t done anything wrong. By then, I was so irritated that I walked over and asked if I could help with him anything. He smiled back and said no. He just enjoyed seeing a woman with beautiful legs. I asked if he got off peeking up women’s skirts. He said only women who looked like me. I said it was too bad he was such a pussy or maybe he could have seen more. He offered to take me out for a drink to see if he could change my opinion. He looked a little angry when I turned him down, making the mistake of asking if I was just a tease. So then I decided to teach him a lesson and asked him to walk me to my car. When I got in, I rolled down the window, quickly undid my blouse, then told him to take out his cock. He looked around for a second. Then he stepped over to the window and nervously pulled his dick out. I spit in my palm, taking his cock in one hand, while using the other to slowly pull up my skirt. I reached down inside my pantyhose, rubbing my clit, while using the other to stroke his cock hard and fast. I jerked him until he started to groan. Then I aimed the tip directly above my legs and instantly started to cum as I watched his load rain down across my thighs, spraying all over my pantyhose.
Satisfied, I pulled down my skirt, started the car and drove off without a single word…
The passage ended there, but the rousing effect lingered in my vivid imagination longer after I set down the journal.
Out of everything I’d read so far, this was without question my first clear evidence that the women who raised me and handed down all of my morals was willing to engage in extreme, high-risk, sexual behavior with seemingly any young man with a cock. But more importantly, there was also something in the look and feeling of pantyhose that clearly brought out her inner slut, as if she found them to be just as big a turn-on as I did, possibly even more.
Instead of feeling completely panicked and terrified over what had happened the day before, suddenly I was bent on exposing my mother’s dark side, determined to see how far she was willing to go to satisfy her deepest sexual desires.
One hour later, I was stretched out on the couch, feeling pretty faded from the bowl I’d just finished smoking and the three beers I gulped down pretty quickly. I was just about to nod off, when I heard footsteps coming up the stairs. I slowly stood up, shaking the cobwebs from my head, as I walked toward the sound of someone knocking on the door.
Recalling my mother’s note, I fully expected to see Joel standing there wearing his tool belt. Instead, in my hazy, weed-induced state, I almost choked as I opened the door and saw Cynthia standing there, with her bra-busting melons spilling out of a bright orange satin nightie.
“Good morning,” she said, over a deep yawn, like she hadn’t slept all night.
“Hey,” I said, with a puzzled look, as I glanced down at her fuzzy pink slippers. “Actually, it’s afternoon, but that’s okay. How are you?”
“Exhausted,” she said. “Alex is teething. I would have come sooner, but I woke up about ten minutes ago.”
“Oh, no problem. I was actually expecting your husband. But that’s cool. Come on in,” I said, pulling the door open.
“Joel had a job out in Framingham,” she explained. “But I’m pretty handy with a wrench myself. Your mom told me about the radiator.”
“Oh,” I said, forcing myself to focus on her face. “That’s actually kind of hot,” I said awkwardly. “Yeah, Mom gave me a list of stuff…smoke alarm, radiator, bathroom sink, and one of the light switches in the attic.”
“No worries,” she said. “Smoke alarm probably needs a new battery. If the light switch isn’t working, I’ll have to tell Joel. He handles all the wiring. Otherwise, I can probably help.”
With that, I followed her back to the living room, focusing mainly on her ass. Unlike Mom, Cynthia had short blonde hair, in one of those trendy bob-style haircuts, parted on the left, creating a lovely frame for the fullness of her round, chubby face. Knowing how critical some women are, she might have described herself as overweight. In my opinion, the extra baby weight just made her look more voluptuous. Her hips were fairly wide, yet her stomach was still pretty flat, with a pair of incredibly huge knockers, giving her a perfect hourglass figure.
“Sorry if I’m a little under dressed,” she said, as she knelt down and bent over beside the radiator.
From that angle, as she leaned over to check the valves, there was no polite way to keep myself from staring down at her giant hooters. I had recently started kickboxing and looking down at Cynthia’s tits reminded me of those heavy bags down at the gym, two of them, side to side, swinging to and fro. The icy temperature of the room did wonders for her nipples too, swelling and poking out like thimbles through the orange satin clinging to her chest.
After hearing her apology for showing up half naked, I did my best to relieve her sense of urgency, hoping not to embarrass her.
“You could have waited,” I said. “Mom doesn’t usually leave work until five or six. She’s more sensitive to the cold than I am. My old apartment was much worse. Not to mention, we trust you.”
“Well, I’m glad you feel that way,” she said. “But you’re actually our first tenants since we bought this place…hate to start off on the wrong foot,” she added. “The radiator seems fine, must be a problem with the furnace. We just hired a new nanny and she’s kind of clueless, so I need to get back and check on the baby. I can fix it right after that.”
“Sounds good,” I said. “I’ll tell Mom you came by.”
“Please do,” she said. “I’ll also come back and check out the sink too. I just need to put on some real clothes.”
“No rush, always good to see you,” I said, “though it might be good to wear a little more next time, no offense.”
“None taken,” she said, glancing at the cleavage where her nightie had helplessly slipped down. “I know the girls can be a little distracting,” she said, tugging on the straps, a useless attempt to cover up, making her breast meat jiggle under the nightie, as I stood there fighting to keep my eyeballs inside their sockets.
As I led her back to the door, she paused in front of the office, pointing to the camera on top of the desk.
“Who’s the photographer?” she asked curiously.
“Oh, that’d be me,” I said. “I’m not that good, but it’s always been a hobby. When I was young, I had this dream of working for a men’s magazine.”
“Really, you mean like Sports Illustrated or something?”
“Hmm, no, more like Maxim or Playboy,” I said. “Blame it on Anna Nicole Smith.”
“Oh, that’s cool,” she said, smiling. “You mean like pin-up style. I’ve always wanted to do something like that.
“No way,” I said. “I honestly never pictured you as the type.”
“Oh, and why’s that,” she said. “You think I’m too old or something?”
“No, not at all,” I said. “You’re never too old. You just struck me as more…I don’t know, conservative, I guess.”
“Ah,” she said. “So because my Volvo has a Mitt Romney bumper sticker, you naturally assumed I was uptight.”
“Well, no,” I said stuttering like a fool.
The more she spoke, the more Cynthia reminded of the girls I knew back in high school, the ones who’d been spoiled since birth and hid their emotions under a well-practiced smile and an annoyingly bouncy disposition, suitable in this case considering her plentiful bosom.
“Tell you what,” she said, cutting me off. “Next month is our second anniversary. I wasn’t sure what to get Joel as a gift, but now I’m thinking he’d really enjoy some nice glamour shots, you know, something sexy to add some spice back to our relationship. Could you help me with that?”
I was pretty taken aback by how open she was about her marriage. Still, I couldn’t ignore the subtle flirtation of this desperate housewife or the rapidly growing hard-on in my pants.
“Umm, sure, I could help you with that,” I said. “We’ll have to discuss wardrobe and take some test shots, but otherwise, I should have everything we need.”
She then wasted no time stepping into the office, where she leaned up against the wall and slowly proceeded to peel down the right strap of her nightie, letting it fall off her shoulder.
“Will the light in here work for you?”
“I’ll use the flash,” I said, as I stepped over to the desk, picked up the camera and quickly began snapping away.
From the moment the camera started flashing, I was instantly blown away by her lack of shyness, never expecting so much confidence in front of the lens. The innocent, plucky housewife who’d showed up just moments earlier was instantly replaced by a smoldering minx, with two perfectly pouting lips and a deadly come-hither stare, enhancing the stimulating effect of her steamy blue eyes. Yet, the sultry look on her face, as sexy as it was, didn’t entirely prepare me for the moment she crossed her arms together, thrusting her tits toward the camera like dual airbags, completely filling up the frame with more cleavage than my mind could fully comprehend.
She continued shifting through various poses, when I mildly requested that we step over across the hall. She kindly accepted. So I took her by the hand, Ieading her into the dining room, where I then helped her climb up onto the table.
She didn’t need much instruction as she stretched out, extending her legs, with her head tilted back, and her chest pointed up toward the ceiling.
“Mind if I ask you a personal question,” I asked, as she shifted over to her left side, returning my question with a knowing smile.
“You want to know how big they are.”
“Well, yeah,” I said, “not to be rude or anything. They look amazing. I was just curious.”
“Thank you,” she said. “They used to be smaller before I got pregnant. Once I started nursing they shot up to a 38FF. But it varies.”
“Wow,” I said, staring in awe. “Do they hurt your back?”
“All the time,” she said. “Imagine trying to walk with two gallons of milk strapped to your chest. It sort of feels like that.”
“No, I can’t imagine,” I said, shaking my head. “But what about your nipples? Do they ever get sore?”
Cynthia nodded. “Sometimes,” she said, “mainly when I’m nursing. But I’d rather do that than use formula, more nutrients.”
“Hmm, have you ever tasted it?”
“My breast milk?” she answered. “Yeah, once or twice. It’s a bit more watery than regular milk. I try to eat lots of fruit to make it sweeter. Otherwise, it’s kind of sour.”
“Interesting,” I said, realizing she couldn’t stay much longer. “Well, I know you have to go. I’ll upload these pictures and see which angles work best. Let me know when you have time for a full photo shoot.”
“Oh, okay,” she said, seeming a bit confused.
“Is something wrong?” I asked. “If you need time to think about it, I understand.”
“No, it’s not that,” she said. “I was waiting for you to ask if you could try some.”
The calmness in her voice combined with her level gaze gave me a lightheaded feeling as I set down the camera, then pulled out a chair, and quietly sat down. Just when it seemed things couldn’t possibly get weirder, this woman I barely knew was offering to let me taste her breast milk.
How could I possibly say no? From the moment I saw her, my first impulse was to bury my face between her chest and motorboat those melons until I passed out.
My initial shock prevented me from speaking after hearing her offer out loud. Still, there must have been something written on my face which clearly confirmed that I was more than just a little curious.
She seemed to enjoy teasing me as her right hand slowly rose up and deliberately pulled down her left shoulder strap. Sweat beads formed across my brow as she fixed her eyes on me and quietly peeled down the other. My eyes concentrated mainly on the orange satin covering her massive chest, where Cynthia reached up and thrillingly set her hands to patiently ease down the shiny fabric. Finally, with a lump in my throat, I looked on intently as Cynthia managed to pull out her enormous jugs.
Logically, I knew what I was seeing. Still, I couldn’t fathom how a woman so small could end up with tits that big. Each one was larger than my head and must have weighed at least ten pounds, as I sat there entranced by the size and shape of these two gigantic globes, hovering inches from my face. Neither was perfectly round, nor even completely smooth, with stretch marks along both sides of her otherwise porcelain skin.
As big as they were, Cynthia’s tits were far too heavy to escape the effects of gravity, making them sag just a bit, yet in a rather appealing way, especially when she moved and the soft tissue really started to jiggle.
Needless to say, I was totally stunned as Cynthia pulled her tits out for all their glory, thrusting them at me and smiling from ear to ear like all she wanted was for me to know how proud she was of her huge 38FFs.
Sitting in the chair, my eyes were level with her pink nipples, sprouting invitingly from the raised surface of her dark areolas, no wider than a pair of quarters.
She beckoned me with her crooked finger, stopping me when I leaned in too close.
“Don’t put your mouth on it,” she said. “Just sit back, open wide, and I’ll do the rest.”
I respectfully followed orders, leaning my head back, then parting my lips open and waiting for what she did next.
She leaned forward, placing the tips of her thumb and forefinger on each side of her right nipple. Then, using light pressure, she slowly brought them together in a gradual pinching motion. The first sprinkle squirted from her nipple like milky serum from the tip of a syringe. Her aim was perfect, pointing her nipple directly in front of my mouth. I instantly closed my eyes, compelled by the need to burn this moment deep into my memory forever. The flavor seemed to revive something buried in my subconscious. The sweet, tangy liquid filling my open mouth magically transported me back to infancy. She stopped me for a moment, giving me time to savor the creamy droplets lingering inside my mouth. My eyes opened just in time to see her lifting her other breast, which soon began streaming milk over my tongue as well.
As Cynthia continued feeding me, I happily began swirling my tongue through the warm nectar, letting the flavor seep into every corner of my mouth, tingling my taste buds, as the world around me faded into a distant blur.
“Someone seems to be liking this quite a bit,” she said.
“Mmm,” I whispered. “Best thing I’ve tasted in months.”
“Aww, that’s sweet,” she said, blushing a bit. “And I really appreciate your help with the pictures. But I should probably head back now. We’ll talk again soon though. I promise.”
“Yeah, that’s fine, whenever,” I said, trying my best to seem nonchalant. “You know where I live,” I added casually.
While she’d made it clear that she really needed to go, once I realized she was far more liberal than I’d ever guessed, I couldn’t help myself from testing the waters just a bit more.
“Before you go, I was thinking about wardrobe for the shoot. How would you feel about maybe wearing some pantyhose?”
“Pantyhose,” she said, sneering back at me. “God, I hate those things. They made us wear them all the time at the hospital. You know, like those ugly white compression hose. It makes me itch just thinking about it. What about maybe some stockings and a garter belt?”
“Hmm, that’s an idea too,” I replied. “I think you’d looked really hot in a sexy nurse’s outfit, with white heels and glossy white hose. They really sparkle on camera.”
“Sure,” she said. “Just make me look good. That’s all I care about.”
“Shouldn’t be a problem,” I said, escorting her to the door. She left me with a brief hug and a soft kiss on the cheek, as I closed the door, wiping the sweat off my forehead.
* * *
By the time Cynthia left, I felt like a total zombie. My dick was so hard I could barely walk, like all the blood in the rest of my body had instantly rushed down to my throbbing genitals. I desperately needed some type of release, as I slowly crept back upstairs, looking to find Mom’s journal once again.
This time I wasn’t just looking for any random passage. Instead, I entered my mother’s room, ignoring the frigid air, as I picked up the journal and purposely opened it from the back.
I looked down and read the date of her latest entry. My chest heaved the moment I realized it had just been written the day before.
Since we hadn’t spoken about it, I desperately wanted to know how she truly felt about what happened between us the day we moved in. I realized I might not like what I read. Yet, I also had this gut feeling that something inside her wanted it to happen too. In my mind, the possibility was so tantalizing that the forbidden excitement of even thinking about it quickly consumed me. At that point, I wanted a way to make the moment even better. I wasn’t sure where the idea came from, maybe from being in such a cold room. Or maybe it was just my natural instincts taking over as I walked over and pulled open my mother’s top drawer.
I opened it to find a luxurious pile of high quality women’s hosiery, in a multitude of colors, patterns and thickness levels. I studied the pile, breathing heavily over the bounty of nylon undergarments spread out before me like an all-you-can-eat pantyhose buffet. I rummaged through the pile, searching until my hands came across a feather light pair of silky, midnight black pantyhose brushing against my fingers.
Carefully pulling them from the drawer, I made my way over to the bed, removing my jeans and underwear, before nervously sitting down to work out the logistics of getting them on.
Admittedly, it wasn’t pretty. Still, I managed to fumble my way through it, taking instructions from the memory of watching Mom put them on under her jeans. With the pantyhose drawn up over my knees, I then had to work out stretching the nylon over my cock and balls. My dick stood up like a flag pole as I stretched the delicate threading to its limit, drawing the waistband several inches away from my navel while I reached down and held the shaft flat up against my stomach. That first moment of total encasement from the waist down filled my whole body with tingling electricity. I wasn’t sure why I’d waited to so long to try them on, but the pleasure sweeping through me as I stood there rubbing my own smooth legs took me to a level of excitement I’d never even imagined, by taking her pantyhose and trapping my penis beneath the fabric, making me feel right at home.
Ready to start reading, I anxiously sat down, as my leg started bouncing and twitching from overexcitement. Between my mother letting me cum on her ass, Cynthia showing me her tits, and the crazy anticipation of what I had yet to read, it was a wonder I didn’t instantly blow my load as I felt Mom’s pantyhose smashed up against my cock.
The intensity running through me, combined with the lingering effect of the weed, sent me into a dreamlike state as I quietly turned down to the page.
September 30th, 2012
I’m really worried about Chris. He’s been acting different lately. I love him to death and I can’t help feeling responsible for what happened today. I know he’s getting older and he’s basically grown enough to make his own decisions. Still, it’s obvious he has certain tendencies that are far too dangerous to overlook. I was able to look past the piercings and the tattoos. I could even ignore all the pot he smokes and his disturbing appetite for pornography. But how can I possibly ignore this bizarre obsession he has with me? It’s almost like he’s turned into an animal. The way he exposed himself so brazenly like that, it’s something I’ll never get over. I’m still not sure why I said those things. It’s hard to even stomach the thought of letting him degrade me that way. I know that I’ve done some pretty slutty things in my life, but this isn’t some random guy I met at a bar. This is my son, my own flesh and blood. What kind of mother would I be to let him think what he did was okay? It doesn’t matter how much I enjoyed it. There’s nothing wrong with enjoying the feeling of someone finding me attractive. I liked seeing him get hard for me. Who wouldn’t like seeing that? For once, I was proud of him for having the confidence to pull it out so fearlessly. I never actually touched it, but I must say from a distance it was a pretty decent size, surprising in fact. His body has gotten so ripped since he started kickboxing. Maybe that explains why he’s gotten so aggressive lately. I wish there was someone I could talk to about this. Now that I know he likes seeing me in pantyhose, how can we continuing living together? Maybe I should help him find someone, just to get his mind on something else? God, this is crazy. I missed him so much and I just finally got him back. I know there’s a way we can work this out, as long as I’m able to control myself better that he can. Guess we’ll just have to wait and see…
As I finished the passage, I set down the journal and sprawled out onto the bed. I laid back and shut my eyes, letting her words replay in my head, as I quietly drifted off to sleep.
I was suddenly woken up by the sound of keys jangling in the lock downstairs. I sat up and checked the clock. It was quarter past five. Mom was already home. I leapt off the bed, shoved the journal back in the box, then ran to my room with no time to take off her pantyhose. I threw on some jeans, slid on a pair of socks, and promptly walked down to greet her sudden arrival, staying as calm as I could.
“You’re home early,” I said, entering the kitchen, where Mom was standing with her back turned, flipping through a stack of junk mail, as I noticed a bag of groceries resting on the counter.
“Got off early,” she said, spinning face forward with a quick smile. “I texted you but you must’ve been sleeping or something,” she added.
Like always, she looked rather nice in her stylish gray business suit. The color was a little drab, but the cut was extremely flattering, especially the hemline, which I greatly appreciated for cutting off right above mid-thigh, leaving more than enough leg on display where I could briefly pause to gaze over the neutral color of the sheer off-white pantyhose stretching down to her white leather pumps.
“Sorry, probably smoked too much,” I said, shrugging it off. “So what’s for dinner?”
“Well,” Mom said, as she stepped over and started to empty the bag. “Since it’s our first official home-cooked meal in our new place, I went out and got stuff to make shepherd’s pie.”
The dish Mom referred to was an Irish casserole, made with onions, carrots, ground lamb or beef, topped by a layer of creamy mashed potatoes. It was also an inside joke among our family.
Shepherd was the name Mom took when she got married, the name she’d kept after the divorce so her last name would still be the same as mine. Mom could cook almost anything, but her shepherd’s pie was normally reserved for birthdays and other special occasions.
“Cool,” I said. “Shall I break out the good china?”
“No, you don’t have to do that,” she said. “I was just thinking that your father and I had the same thing for dinner when we moved into our first place. I figured since you’re the new man of the house, I should make it for you too.”
Though it was unexpected, the thought of a tasty, home-cooked meal sounded pretty good. For a second, I didn’t know what to say. Considering how she left that morning, I was fully expecting her to be highly upset when she got home. I had spent most of the day stressing over it. I desperately wanted to clear the air and would have said something right then, but the smile on her face was so open and full of affection that it instantly stopped me from pointing out the elephant in the room. In that moment, I could only assume that Mom had made the decision to move on like nothing had ever happened. So instead of confronting the matter head on, I did my best to ignore the tension between us, though it wasn’t easy, especially when I could still feel her pantyhose against my legs.
Reacting to my silence, Mom quietly stood there squinting at me from across the room. She must have picked up on the storm of emotions swirling inside my head as she calmly stepped toward me and slowly wrapped her arms around my neck. Her perfume smelled like mint candy as her hazel eyes cut right through me. Her long, steady gaze calmed me to the point where the panic inside me gradually started to fade away.
“Why are you so tense?” she said, massaging between my neck and shoulders.
“Not sure,” I said, “just been a strange couple of days.”
“Yes it has,” she said. “But it’s also been pretty nice,” she added. Then, out of nowhere, she leaned in close enough where I could feel the warmth of her breath. Then she softly kissed me on the lips. It wasn’t long a kiss, more like a peck. Still, it wasn’t something she’d ever done before.
“What was that?” I said, praying she wouldn’t feel my hard-on against her this time.
“Just my way of saying thank you,” she answered. “I’ve never told you how much I missed you all this time. It means so much that you’re willing to give up your freedom to live with your crazy, old mom. I want you to know no matter what happens, you’re still my son and I’ll always love you.”
It was all I could do not to grab her and kiss her as hard as I could. The twinkle her in eye gave me the feeling she might not pull away, as I boldly prepared to lean in and press my lips firmly against hers.
“So what’s with the camera on the dining table?” she said, throwing me off.
I stammered for a moment, quickly blinking, trying to collect my thoughts. In hindsight, perhaps I should have lied about it. Instead, I stood there pressed up against her chest, with a mild grin on my face, as I calmly proceeded to explain how Cynthia had stopped by earlier, noticed the camera in the office and thought it would be cool to give Joel some sexy photos for their anniversary. I assumed Mom would understand it was all in fun, but the frown on her face immediately told me otherwise.
“You seem nervous about it,” she said, quirking her head to the side. “Are you sure she just wanted pictures, or did something else happen that you’re not telling me?”
The tension in her body felt like she was bracing for a major shock. Her eyes stared intently as she quietly held her breath.
“I never touched her, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
Mom blinked back at me, eerily quiet as she sniffled and flipped her hair.
“She was telling me something about the baby,” I continued. “Then somehow we got on the topic of breast milk. At first, it was all pretty standard. Then she asked if I wanted to try some.”
Mom’s eyebrow shot up as she looked back and suddenly blurted, “Did you?”
She knew my answer the moment I turned away. Before I could stop her, she angrily pushed me back, turned to her left and promptly marched down the hall.
“What are you doing?” I said, chasing her toward the dining room.
“Deleting those pictures before Joel hears about this,” she said. “The last thing we need is a reason for him to throw us out.”
As I entered the dining room, Mom had already picked up the camera and powered it on. I came up behind her reaching for it, as she scanned through the pictures one at a time.
I could hear the hurt in her voice as she looked down and studied the pictures with disbelief.
“Why would you do this?” she whispered.
“Mom, it’s nothing,” I said. “You know that I’ve always wanted to do this for a living. It’s just a way to start my portfolio.”
Slowly, she turned around, head down, as I reached up and held her by the shoulders. The hair falling over her face made it difficult to see her expression, as I stood there and quietly rubbed her shoulders, trying to console her.
Finally, with tears welling in her eyes, she looked back, voice trembling as she softly whispered, “Then why didn’t you ask me?”
Her words struck me like a bolt of lightning. Without thinking, I lunged forward and kissed her with more passion than a soldier returning from war. Her lips parted, surprisingly accepting my tongue, returning my lust-filled explosion with the same intense urgency.
We stood there feverishly making out with each other for God knows how long. Our hands roamed everywhere, groping each other’s bodies in a wild frenzy. The wonderful texture as I ran my fingers through her silky brown hair, combined with the thrill of feeling her pantyhose pressed up against my cock, stirred me to reached down and shove both hands under her skirt, running my hands over her skin-tight pantyhose with no apologies, as I boldly switched between sliding my fingers over every inch of that silky nylon and firmly gripping her hose-covered ass, with her supple cheeks yielding to the pressure of my clenching fingers, as I stood there squeezing her fleshy buttocks through a thin layer of pantyhose like I’d dreamed of doing for so many years.
I flinched as Mom reached down and quickly unzipped my fly. I was tempted to stop her, knowing the secret inside my jeans. Yet, I still couldn’t bring myself to reach down and grab her by the wrist. I was too distracted by the softness of the nylon against my fingers, helpless to stop my hands from steadily caressing her hose-covered hips and thighs, as she urgently reached through my open zipper, trying in vain to feel my cock, only to be blocked by a pair of her very own pantyhose, gasping in shock.
There was nothing I could say, as she looked up and squinted at me once again. As I felt her fingers softly caress me through me through the nylon, a moment of silent recognition passed between us, where placing her hand against the smooth, dark fibers of the pantyhose hidden inside my jeans opened a portal leading to the shadows of forbidden sex.
Slowly, my mother began tracing her fingers over the outline of my bulging shaft. I could hardly believe my gorgeous mother was actually touching my cock, let alone smiling as I felt her hand slowly begin rubbing and squeezing my hard-on through the pantyhose.
“How long has this been going on?” she asked.
“Not long,” I said. “I’ve actually never worn them before today.”
“Oh, really?” she answered. “Well, how does it feel?” she asked, as I stood there reeling from the pleasure of her delicate touch, with her fingers gliding over the ridges of my stiff, pulsating shaft, light as a feather, never stopping to look up, focusing intently on every twitch, as if learning my weak spots, while brushing the tips of her fingers against my sensitive glans.
My answer described the feeling of both her hand and the pantyhose, pausing to savor the dizzying sensation, letting the pleasure absorb through my genitals, spreading through every cell of my body, as I faintly whispered, “Soft, warm, maybe a little tight, but not uncomfortable.”
The point of her nail circled around the tip of my cock, slowly moving down to my aching balls. Her voice returned, thrilling me with her sultry tone.
“Well, sometimes a little restraint can be good for you,” she said. “But I do have to say one thing. I can’t deny my feelings any more than you can. So I’m willing to let us play with each other but only so much.”
“Okay,” I said, nodding respectfully. “So what exactly does that mean?”
“I don’t know,” she replied. “Let’s just take this one step at a time.”
“That’s fine,” I said. “Just knowing you’re okay with my fetish is good enough for me.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” she said. “As they say, the acorn doesn’t fall far from the tree.”
With her white heels still on, she then lifted her left leg and lightly began grazing it against my shaft, bending her knee and dragging it up and down over the nylon in a grating motion, as if purposely trying to increase the friction, mounting the pressure inside my balls.
I swooned with pleasure as she pressed her knee up against me, grabbing her from behind, forcing our bodies to fuse together as closely possible.
“Like that?” she whispered, knowing full well the effect she was having on me.
“Best feeling in the world,” I said, making her smile.
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” she replied. “I’m sure I can convince you otherwise. Tell me what else you like.”
“I like looking at you,” I answered sincerely.
She liked hearing that, smiling brilliantly, with a dazzling flip of her hair, as I watched her quietly step back toward the dining table.
Slowly, she turned around facing away from me, keeping her heels together, as she leaned forward and seductively arched her back. My eyes settled where the humps of her ass pushed back against her skirt, as she reached back and quickly pulled down the zipper. With one hand on each side of her skirt, she forcefully ripped it down. As it fell to the floor, she placed her hands over the pantyhose tight up against her butt. The nylon control top that stretched out across her ass was thicker and even whiter than the nylon extending down her legs.
“Is this a good angle?” she said, smiling over her shoulder.
“It’s beyond good,” I said, shaking my head.
“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” she said.
I heeded her words promptly, leaning over to pick up the camera where she’d left it on the floor. She patiently waited, holding the same pose, as I did my best to keep my hands steady, fighting through shaky nerves.
I shifted the lens vertically, wanting to capture the full extension of her legs, ensuring her heels were visible in the frame. My excitement was so overwhelming I could barely maintain my concentration. The embodiment of all my fantasies stood just a few steps away. Clearly, she could see how badly I wanted her. There was hard physical evidence straining under the pressure of her restrictive pantyhose. Yet, I sensed her distinct enjoyment of our forbidden foreplay by the seductive manner in which she playfully indulged my fetish.
I continued taking pictures as she leaned all the way over, laying her chest across the table. Her prone position beautifully emphasized the curvature of her ass, while the lean muscles of her legs seemed to elongate even more.
From there, she returned to an upright position, turning to face the window. She noticed a chair inches away, then raised her left leg, setting her heel on top of the seat. She flipped her hair, striking another pose, letting her blazer slide down over her left shoulder. While I continued clicking away, I couldn’t help watching the motion of her hand rubbing back and forth against her leg. She seemed to enjoy feeling the fabric against her skin, caressing the nylon with such tenderness that I suddenly became drunk with lust.
The blazer came off as I watched her lay it down neatly on the table. Beneath it was a sexy demi-cut bra, bluish-green, with lace semi-circles covering the lower half of each breast, combined with an underwire to push out the alluring fullness of her bust, setting her tits high atop her chest.
She turned face forward where I then noticed that the bra was part of a matching set. The sheerness of the nylon enabled me to make out a high-cut thong of the same lacy fabric and color. She didn’t wait long to shift into yet another striking pose as she hopped onto the table, swishing the nylon with another rousing leg cross, as I held up the camera and focused on the white heel dangling from her left foot.
Finally, with her shoes still on, she leaned all the way back, keeping her legs perfectly straight as she lifted them up, holding them together, with her heels pointed toward the ceiling. I watched as she crooked her head to the right, snapping another picture with her legs elevated and the side of her face peeking back at me with the naughtiest grin I’d ever seen.
I asked for one more and she happily complied by spreading her legs in a “V” formation, where she reached down and placed her left hand over the cotton panel between her legs. I held up the camera for one last pose, framing the final shot so her face was centered between her open legs, as she scrunched her eyes together, parted her lips, and bit down on one of her knuckles, feigning an expression of orgasmic bliss which left me completely speechless.
The vision was so compelling that I instantly tore off everything including my socks. She instantly saw me coming as she sat up and greeted me with open arms. Our lips melted together as I rushed my hands down to the nylon, rubbing the pantyhose against her thighs with her legs wrapped around my waist.
I went down and suckled her neck, quickly removing her bra. She leaned back, giving me enough room to reach up and fondle her breasts. She let out a moan as my fingers made contact with her swollen nipples, rolling and pinching them as I watched her eyes roll back with ecstasy.
By then, my penis was begging for release. Still, I wasn’t certain how far she was willing to go. I tested the waters by gently easing her off the table, spinning her around, then pressing my aching hard-on flat up against her butt. She leaned back, keeping our steaming mouths bonded together, swirling her tongue against mine.
Keeping one hand firmly attached to her breasts, I took the other and slid it down over her stomach, wedging my fingers inside her panties, where I reached down and penetrated her pussy with my middle finger. Her lips parted as she moaned deeply against my mouth. The wetness inside her confirmed the critical condition of her arousal. Her hips slowly began to swivel as I pulled out my finger and lightly proceeded to rub her clit.
Within seconds, she was panting heavily. Her whole body started to tremble. It seemed I was on to something so naturally I rubbed faster, causing her to shake even more. For once in my life, I was actually in control, using my fingers to work Mom’s pussy into a foamy lather.
“Are you ready to cum?” I whispered, stoking the flames even more.
Her answer came with a series of fits and stutters as she reached up and grabbed me by the hair.
“Huhhh, yes, oh God! Oh God, I’m cumming. Yes, I’m cumming!”
From there, I heard nothing but a long, steady groan. Her face grimaced as her mouth flung open, moaning and wailing through violent tremors vibrating against my cock. Her heaving breaths gradually became more normal as the smell of her warm juices permeated the room with the musky aroma of her sex.
Swept by the current of forbidden lust, we hastily made our way toward the living room. Mom led the way, taking me by the hand as I followed her over to the couch. Mom stood over me as I lied down and stretched out lengthwise over the cushions. Once I was settled, she knelt down beside me, placing her hand against my cock.
The pantyhose felt like a cock ring keeping my shaft fully engorged under tight, restrictive bondage.
“You’re leaking,” she said, referring to the pre-cum forming like dew around the head.
She reached down and gently squeezed my balls, aiding the flow of watery liquid as her hand continued its journey along my shaft. Grabbing the waistband, she graciously tugged it down just enough to let my penis feel the air.
I deeply inhaled as she leaned forward and lowered her head, feeling her warm breath around the tip. She flicked out her tongue, tasting the liquid, mopping it like a sponge. I could barely move as she calmly proceeded to graze the tip of her tongue along the veiny ridge, patiently licking it all over, bathing my cock with spit.
I moaned as she gently took hold of my cock, balling her fist around it, using the moisture left by her tongue to leisurely stroke it up and down.
I studied her face as she quietly jerked me off. Her eyes widened as the shaft extended under her skillful manipulation. She seemed to know exactly what she was doing, never once checking to see my reactions as she blissfully continued stroking, just her and my penis, quietly bonding like it was more attached to her that it was to me.
I had learned my lesson from the day before, choosing to be patient, instead of being too greedy, letting her go at her own pace.
“Do you mind if I try something?” she asked, flicking off her shoes.
I nodded back eagerly. She could have put clothes pins on my nipples and that would have been fine. By then, I was hers for the taking.
Instead, she did something far sweeter and more generous than that. She sat down on the opposite end of the couch, swinging her legs up to rest them against my groin. Bending her knees, she nestled both feet around my cock, placing the shaft between her delicate soles, grazing the nylon against it, as her silky arches softly continued to jerk me off.
Finally, my mother was giving me first foot job. I honestly wasn’t sure which was better, the feeling of her feet covered in nylon sweeping up and down my cock or just the idea that my mother was actually doing at all. Still, to this day, I don’t know how I was able to keep myself from nutting all over her feet right then and there.
“That’s a good boy. Let Mommy jerk you off with her feet,” she said. “You like how those pantyhose feel around your dick, don’t you?”
I honestly couldn’t speak. I was too busy trying not to cum. I wanted to hold out as long as possible, never wanting it to end.
Using her strong leg muscles with persistence, she continued pumping her feet up and down my cock until it turned purple. Finally, she needed a break, so she stood up and walked over to my end of the couch. She climbed up over my shoulders, straddled my head and lowered her crotch smack down against my face.
She must have intended to muffle my groans as she bent down, wrapped her lips around my cock, then swallowed most of it straight down her throat. With one hand around it, her head started bobbing, jerking and sucking all at once. My hips started bucking and writhing off the couch as she noisily sucked me with her eager mouth. Meanwhile, my face was smothered between her legs, where all I could breathe was the air venting through the nylon smashed up against my nose. She literally started humping my face as I felt her saliva drip down, leaving warm puddles around my balls, all the while maintaining a steady rhythm as my penis continued plunging down her throat, slurping and sucking with reckless abandon till she finally came up for air.
After a series of hard, frantic breaths, she sat up and stepped back down to the floor, giving me room to stand up beside her and bend her over the couch, with her knees together and her ass served up for the taking.
Wasting no time, I knelt down and smothered my face between her legs. I knew it was risky. Still, I reached up and started to pull down her pantyhose and thong.
“What are you doing?” she said, somewhat fearful.
“You’ll see,” I said, exposing her naked cheeks, before palming them with both hands, then spreading them wide open.
I dove in head first, lodging my tongue deep inside her asshole and holding it there until her rectal muscles started to contract. She squealed from the moment of sudden insertion, mashing her cheeks firmly against my face. I kneaded the supple flesh as my tongue slowly began wriggling deep inside the narrow crease. The briny flavor deeply aroused me, worming my tongue in and out. Soon she was squirming and clawing at the cushions as her anus started to glisten from all my spit. I was eating her ass, my beautiful mother’s ass, slobbering and licking it clean. From the sound of her moans, I knew that she loved it despite how filthy it might have been. I was starting to lose all sense of reason, with no regard for how far I was starting to push my luck, instead pushing my tongue farther into the depths of her spongy butthole, stabbing it in and out, determined to make her pussy flood until reason had abandoned her too.
Finally, when I was satisfied that there was no spot left in her asshole where my tongue hadn’t fully explored, I slid up her pantyhose, turned her over, then pulled her to the edge of couch, with her legs folded and her feet lifted off the floor.
Possessed by a need to take full advantage of my mother’s thirst for perversion, I pulled out my cock and sandwiched it between her knees, gripping her thighs, with my hips sawing back and forth, feeling her pantyhose tickle both sides of my cock.
I pumped my dick between her knees, staring down at the wanton pleasure burning in her eyes. I savagely continued thrusting until finally it wasn’t enough. Then I stood her up, spun her around, and shoved my cock right between her thighs. Not once did she utter a single complaint as I stood there thrusting between her legs, blanketed with pantyhose on both sides.
Without her saying it, I slowly realized that my mother’s submission was actually demonstrating her power to release all of my pent up frustration. In that moment, it suddenly became clear that she loved wearing pantyhose simply to be worshipped by men each and every day. For years, she’d subconsciously instilled me with the same twisted obsession, as I grew up under the spell of nylon cast by the beauty of her shimmering legs.
Finally, with my hands locked firmly around her waist, driving my dick between her silken thighs furiously pumping back and forth, only then was I truly able to see how fully she possessed my soul.
Eventually, the rising pressure building inside my balls rose to a level much too powerful to contain.
“I think I’m about to cum,” I said, losing my rhythm.
Heeding my warning, she turned around and sat facing me, legs extended so her snowy white pantyhose stretched down straight to the floor. Staring me in the eye, she reached over and firmly took hold of my cock. She leaned forward, briefly taking it inside her mouth, using lots of spit as she generously slobbered the swollen head. She then closed her fingers around my shaft, tightening her fist as she firmly began milking my rod, jerking it with persistence as she gazed up into my eyes, giving clear instructions as she held my penis directly above her legs.
“I want you to cum as hard as you can,” Mom said. “I just want to look down and see nothing except your hot creamy load all over these pantyhose,” she added, pumping away. “That’s it. Come on, baby. Don’t hold back. You don’t have to anymore,” she continued breathlessly. “I’m yours now, understand?” she whispered, spurring my release. “These legs,” she said vividly. “These pantyhose,” she offered oh so desperately. “They’re all yours, baby,” she stated earnestly. “Now, go on. Make Mommy’s pantyhose nice and wet. Cum all over my pretty legs.”
In that moment, if I’d ever questioned the existence of God, the sound of her voice made it blindingly obvious I was wrong. Nothing felt more transcendent than hearing those words echo through my head with such sincerity that my balls imploded like ground zero, resulting in an epic cum shower, sheeting down wave after wave, sparing no part of my mother’s body, as she sat there stroking without letup, draining me from the inside out, gaping as one furious blast followed another, when I finally looked down, stunned by the sight of cum oozing down not just her face, but also dripping from her wet sticky tits, while oozing over every stitch of pantyhose glued to her glistening thighs, seeping down into the nylon where Mom ran her fingers through the greasy slime, smiling as she reached up to savor the salty residue, slurping it in her mouth like she’d never tasted anything quite so sweet.
It took me a moment to get my bearings, leaning against the arm of the sofa as I patiently waited for the room to stop spinning. As I looked over, Mom was still busy cleaning the pasty film off her fingers.
“Mmm,” she said, licking her lips. “There’s nothing better than teenage cum,” she added, shooting me a wink. “Oh, that reminds me. I almost forgot about dinner. You must be starving.”
“I’m good,” I answered, with a mild shrug. “Actually, I was thinking maybe I should cook for you.”
Mom quirked her head. “You want to make dinner?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “Are you sure you know how to make it?”
“I’m sure I can manage. I’ve seen you make it a hundred times. It can’t be that hard.”
“Hmm, okay, if you insist,” she said, standing up. “I’ll text Cynthia and tell her to come by tomorrow. If you need any help, just let me know. But first, I should probably jump in the shower.”
“Go right ahead. I’ll probably step out and have a cigarette first anyway,” I told her.
“Sounds good,” Mom said. “In the meantime, please think about cancelling that photo shoot with Cynthia. I really think you’re playing with fire.”
“Mom, I swear, nothing will happen,” I said. “You can trust me.”
As soon as I said it, Mom reached over and touched me on the shoulder.
“Chris, how can I trust you?” she said. “You haven’t exactly been the model of self-control lately.”
“Oh, and you have?”
“Well, maybe not, but that isn’t the point,” she said. “We just found this place. And I know you like it here as much as I do. Why would you want to risk losing it so soon?”
“Fine, I’ll think about it,” I said, nodding my head.
“Thank you,” she said. “That’s all I’m asking.”
With that, she headed upstairs, leaving me to figure out dinner on my own.
It took me some time, still I managed to produce something resembling shepherd’s pie, when Mom came over wearing her bathrobe, joining me at the table. She sat down, poured two glasses of wine, then reached down to bravely take her first bite.
The look on her face as she slowly began to chew immediately told me something was wrong.
“Umm, did you season this?” Mom asked.
“Uh yeah,” I said, frowning at her reaction. “Yeah, I think so. Is it bad?”
“Well, it’s the thought that counts,” she said, as she reached over and patted the back of my hand.
“Um, why don’t we just go out to eat?” I suggested. “I know you’ve been wanting to try that Mexican place in Cambridge.”
Mom instantly perked up. “Oh, that’s right,” she said. “That place with the big margaritas and the salsa dancing. I’ll even wear one of my really short dresses so you can show me off.”
“Perfect,” I said, smiling. “Just don’t forget the pantyhose,” I added, like she needed to be reminded.
“Oh, trust me, sweetie. You’ll be seeing me a lot of me in pantyhose from now on,” she replied. “Just try not to tell anyone I’m your mother when we get there, okay?”
“Um, okay,” I said, feeling a bit confused. “So what should I tell people if someone asks?”
“Easy,” she said, as she looked up, flashing her sexy smile. “If anyone asks you who I am, then all you should do is tell them the truth.”
“Oh, and what’s that?” I said, as she glanced up over the rim of her glass, whispering her answer as she slowly set it back down.
“Exactly what you’ve always wanted me to be,” she said, as she stood up, walked over and slowly sat across my lap. She leaned in for a wet, lingering kiss, sliding her tongue inside my mouth, filling it with the sweet taste of wine, before slowly pulling her lips away.
“Technically, I’m still your mother,” she said. “But from this day forward, I want you to think of me as your girlfriend. I’ll wear whatever you want me to wear. I’ll do whatever you want me to do. I’ll be your personal slut, your very own flesh and blood fantasy. And I promise to never stop wearing pantyhose as long as you promise to save all your cum just for me.”