2 comments/ 9285 views/ 4 favorites The Scent of Her By: muppit This story was written as a request from my Editor, for the purposes of anonymity will called her Alex. I have used her description, photo and personality as my inspiration for the lead character. The location and settings, and some of the characters are factual as is some of the scenarios myself and Alex find ourselves in, but a lot of the story is personalised just for Alex. I hope you enjoy and as always please feel free to vote and pass comment either on the story or via emailing me. Many thanks. ***** Before you begin to read this may I please make you aware that this particular story is not one of my own experiences. I do prefer to write about what I have physically and emotional experienced as I personally believe that real life stories are better than imagination as although thrilling to read at times you cannot really relate to it. I was asked to write a story for a lady who left me feedback. Although the setting location and some of the characters are people I know or have encountered in my life the lead character comes from a description and picture that was given to me by my new favourite editor. I hope I did her justice. It was raining again and I was reluctant to go out; the rain hadn't stopped in a week and although I was enjoying my new hobby, I kicked myself for choosing something that kept me in the rain all day. What hobby could I be referring to...? To be honest, it may not be considered the most masculine hobby by my fellow Marines, but I have taken up horse riding. No, I'm not referring to the Western style that most Americans consider horse-riding; rounding up bulls and chasing Indians. It's what you may class as 'English style:' a much more casual affair. I have been riding for about three months now; I consider it peaceful and a very useful distraction from my working life. Even though I come back to the flat stinking of horses (and frequently horse piss, due to mucking out) I enjoy the tranquillity of riding out in the forestry around my camp. It may sound nuts but it's also good to have someone to talk to that won't judge you. My last tour of Afghanistan left me a little disillusioned with my chosen career, and for a while I found myself lost. I couldn't work out if it was the futility of what we achieved over there, the guys we had lost or whether it was just time for a change. I decided I needed some escapism, learning a new skill would provide a welcome challenge during my post-tour leave. I'd decided to do some travelling, but saw a course advertised for basic horse riding and thought I'd try it out in the meantime, just to see what it was like. The barracks had its own stables, ideally located just across the road. Anyway, that particular Sunday morning, as I said, I was reluctant to head out due to the rain. Thankfully I did, as it began a chain of events I would never forget. I got to the stables around 0730 and went through the usual routine, going to my locker and getting into what I would call my yard gear. I liked the chilled atmosphere and had got to know most of the people at the stables, but their horsey style failed to rub off on me; I didn't like walking around in jodhpurs and tops with horsey emblems on. My kit of preference was jeans and a t shirt with an old pair of high leg combat boots. Don't get me wrong, I'm not averse to wearing the standard horsey getup, but I only really bother with that when I'm actually riding. Arriving at the yard, I could see that there were only two other people there that morning; Becky who was the manager and another guy called Chris. Chris was a mate who was camper than the Pink Panther in high heels at Pride. He was also a shameless perv, who regularly tried to get a look at me whilst I was getting changed, which had become something of an in-joke between a few of us. I was in the middle of mucking out, happily listening to my iPod and not really paying attention to anything, when it hit me. The first I knew that someone had entered the yard was when the air was cut by what can only be described as the scent of a woman. During mucking out you tend to get a variety of smells, on hot days it tends to be a humid, musty smell, with strong layer of ammonia as the horse urine evaporates in the heat. Mix with this the dust from the hay and freshly laid straw and not much else manages to penetrate the air. In the coldest and wettest months, the air is moist, damp and pungent. Everything gets so wet and the crap sticks to your boots. It's virtually impossible to sweep everything into the yard as the rain drives the horse shit into the drains, clogging them until it becomes necessary to unblock them. Not my favourite job. This morning was different. I was bent over sweeping the stable when the smell hit my nostrils. Without sounding too crass, it's a similar reaction to when someone has farted- completely unexpected and you are unsure where it came from. I instantly stopped sweeping. I was transfixed for a moment and closed my eyes, breathing in deeply through my nostrils. At first the only explanation I had was that Becky, or to be honest, possibly even Chris, had put on some perfume. The smell cut through the smell of the stables and hung in the air for a moment. I stuck my head out of the stable and looked around. It took a split second for my eyes to adjust to the sunlight from the darkness of the stable. Still raining. As I looked across the small yard, I saw someone walking in the direction of the changing room. In her right hand she held an umbrella to protect her from the rain. She was about 5'3", although her heels made her seem taller. I pulled a headphone from my ear and amongst the music I was listening to I heard the distinctive light click of a woman's heels on concrete. I couldn't quite see her face, her hair was long and dark she wore a thick woollen scarf around her neck, partially covering her features. The cropped brown leather jacket she wore contrasted with her dark jumper, accentuating her waist. My eyes dropped to take in her jeans, hugging her every movement. Over her right shoulder was a handbag that swung as she walked, which she kept trying to steady. This mystery girl stepped into the changing room, as she turned I saw her ass was petite, tight and perfectly formed. She disappeared into the doorway and from sight. My pulse was racing as I deliberated whether to pursue her. A very large, very cold drop of rain from the top of the stable doorway brought me back to my senses as it dripped down the back of my neck. "Fuck!" "What's up?" Chris said, as he came around the corner. "Nothing, just bloody rain going down my back." "I hate that." "Roger that, it's a honking feeling. Hey, did you know some girl just went into the changing room?" "Who?" "Mate I haven't got a clue, I've never seen her before. She looked essence though." I was distracted as I spoke, trying to stop the drop of freezing water going further down my spine. Chris walked over and peeked into the changing room. "Oh, hiya!" I heard him say. Chris was talking to the mystery woman from the doorway of the changing room, but I could not hear her voice. He chatted for a while, laughing occasionally before he turned and walked back to me. "It's ok, it's just Alex," he said, as he began to walk off. "Who's she?" I tried to keep my tone nonchalant, but feared that I was failing miserably. My curiosity was aroused now, not only physically but mentally. I wanted to know more about her, most importantly if she was single. He stopped and explained her name was Alex, that she had been riding for years and used to have a horse at the stables. Due to a work move abroad she had to sell the horse, but she had recently returned with a new mount, Cedrick. Cedrick was a brown and white cob that I had noticed around the yard from time to time. I wanted to know more about her, but I didn't want to let on how much she had piqued my interest. Chris was possibly the least subtle person in the world, especially when it came to gossip, and he would have just made things awkward. I decided to bide my time and try to get to know her from afar, then charm the shit out of her. I would later find out that this would be harder than I ever expected... I turned back to the stable and continued mucking out. The rain had finally stopped and the sun was just threatening to break through the clouds. It had been thirty minutes since Alex had arrived. I was in a position that I could see the entrance to the changing room, and was eagerly anticipating her coming out. Becky came over to me and started to ask about dates I could attend a few practice sessions for the upcoming Tri Service Dressage Championships. To be entirely honest I wasn't really listening to her; I just nodded and agreed with her, completely distracted as Alex appeared at the doorway. Becky was stood directly in front of me, so I could see straight over her shoulder. Alex was stood in what seemed to be a beam of sunlight meant only for her. She stood talking to Chris, and although I couldn't hear what they were saying, judging by her wide smile, something clearly amused her. I couldn't help staring at her; her smile was fantastic and she looked like a wet dream in her yard gear. Her knee high tan riding boots and short navy waterproof jacket complemented her jodhpurs, which showed the sensuous curve of her ass. My cock instantly began to swell as I imagined what she was wearing underneath. Becky was still chatting away to me about what we would have to revise. I was just responding without thinking, still looking Alex up and down. Suddenly, Chris and Alex looked straight at me. Chris was pointing at me and they both smiled and chuckled, I realised I was still staring and looked to Becky for my salvation, pretending I was listening intently to her instruction. I couldn't escape the fact I started to blush like a little school boy caught doing something he shouldn't. After a few minutes, Alex crossed the yard to Cedrick's stable and led him into one of the pens, tying him before collecting her tack. I began to boil the kettle, then went to the door and shouted to Becky and Chris, asking if they wanted a cup of tea. "Don't I get one?" I paused for a second and looked around, at first I couldn't see who had spoken, then Alex emerged from the opposite side of Cedrick. She smiled at me as she ran the brush down his back. "I said...don't I get one?" "Yeah, course. How do you take it?" I asked, the inflection in my voice suggesting things other than tea. She raised an eyebrow, and I was sure I'd landed myself in trouble. "White, no sugar." Becky broke the ensuing silence as she came out of the office, talking loudly into her mobile. I turned and went back into the restroom and made the tea, then brought it out into the yard. "Teas up!" I shouted. Becky and Chris came over, taking theirs into the office. I looked around to find Alex but couldn't see her. She suddenly emerged from the tack room behind me carrying a saddle and bridle. She placed them down over the fence rail next to Cedrick and took the tea from my hand. "Thanks." "You're welcome. I don't believe we've properly met. I'm Daz." "I know, Chris said," she replied, her face unreadable. "Oh, really? I hope he didn't say anything too damning?" "Not really; he just told me who you were..." she tailed off, ambiguously. I hadn't realised until now, but her soft voice had a hint of a Yorkshire accent. Her smile was warm and she seemed at her ease talking to a new person. "Why were you asking who I was?" I enquired with a smile, as I took a sip of my tea. "I wasn't. Chris was telling me you were checking me out when I arrived," she grinned, placing her saddle on Cedrick. The cat was out of the bag. I began to blush and tried to hide my embarrassment, mentally searching for a witty retort and coming up with fuck all. "What do you expect when you make an entrance like that?" I tried. "Like what?" She had done up the girth and was placing the bridle over Cedrick's head. "I meant you looked good when you came in..." I stuttered, not knowing where to go next. "What and I don't now..?" she said as she placed her helmet on. "I'm just digging myself a massive hole here, aren't I?" I replied, as the rain began to fall again. She chuckled and handed me the mug, then took the Cedrick's reins and began to walk to the gate. "Thanks for the tea, it was great. Your chat up lines need some serious work though..." "Er who said I was trying to chat you up? I might be happily married for all you know!" I moved under the overhang to escape the rain. "Chris told me a little bit more about you than your name," she winked. She disappeared up the yard and out of the gate. I stood for a moment watching the rain and pondering what the fuck just happened. She had the upper hand and she knew it. I ran through the conversation in my head, trying to make sense of it. I normally get to know someone before I attempt to flirt with them, but she came at me with both barrels. What's more, she could counter anything I had. I wanted to know exactly what Chris had told her. After returning the mugs to the restroom I went to the office and spoke to Chris and Becky. "Mate, you could have told me Alex was a feisty as that!" "Well...I thought it would be fun to see how you got on Daz; she's more than a match for you," Chris said with a knowing smile. "Yeah right we'll see. What did you tell her anyway?" "Not much. Just your name, that you were single and that you were based here. Oh, and that you couldn't take your eyes off her when she arrived. I saw you staring so don't deny it!" He said with a smirk. "Gen? Cheers mate; way to make me seem like some weird dickhead!" "Nah she found it funny, she said you were cute." "Really that's hoofin, is she single?!" I smiled, considering the possibilities of our next verbal sparring session now I had this information. "Don't know? I think so? I'll find out." "Hoofin', make sure you do!'' Becky wasn't listening to the conversation; busy writing appointments in the diary and placing instructor's names next to each client. I could see over her shoulder she had me down for my usual sessions, one on a Thursday evening and one Saturday morning. To be honest I was more interested in trying to ascertain when Alex would next be at the stables. Unfortunately it didn't seem that she needed lessons and I was reluctant to ask about her, as I knew I wouldn't hear the end of it. I decided to finish my work and get back to the flat and go for a run, if I hung around the stable to much longer I would be in danger of seeming desperate to see Alex again, which I was, but I wasn't about to let on. It had been a long day and I was looking forward to a quiet, chilled evening. The flat was empty; most lads go home for the weekend on Friday, returning late on a Sunday evening. I stripped off my running gear and stepped into the shower, my third that day. The water was warm and steam filled the room despite me having the window ajar. The hot spray hit my back and I tilted my head so it covered my face, allowing the water to course down my neck, chest and abs. I watched as the water ran down my aching thighs, some of it diverting on to my limp cock and trickling from the end. I took the shower gel and got started on my hair first, and then my face and neck. Another handful and I lifted each arm, rubbing it over my armpits and arms and around my chest. I worked the soapy water into my thighs and around my balls cupping them as I massaged the gel into them. I moved down my shaft and pulled my foreskin back cleaning around my head. The shower gel was a cream soap; it felt soft as I worked it along the length of my cock. Alex suddenly popped into my head and I began to squeeze my shaft, stroking my hand back and forth as I imagined her in the shower with me. The image of her in my mind was so vivid that my cock twitched and hardened immediately. I thought of her in her riding gear, and imagined peeling it off her piece by piece. I imagined what her nipples would be like, and how responsive they would be to my fingers, tongue and teeth. I thought about whether she shaved, how my cock would feel pressed between her tight ass cheeks as she leaned back against me whilst I worked the soapy lather into her body. I imagined trailing my fingers down her neck, over her breasts, taking time on her nipples making them harden and rolling them between my fingers. My hands would explore her body thoroughly before I gave in to her and gently touched her soft pussy. I imagined working my finger into her, strumming her clit harder in response to her moans. All the while as I imagined this, I stroked my cock faster and faster, harder and harder, having to brace myself against the shower wall with my left hand. I began to build to a climax, imagining her leaning forward and standing on tiptoes, then opening her legs to receive my cock. The thought of entering her was too much and I couldn't hold back, with one last tug I pulled my foreskin back as my cock twitched and I released a huge shot of cum toward the drain. I dragged my hand forward and pulled my foreskin back again to release a second load. The water beat heavily on my back and rolled down my legs as I stood motionless for a moment. The endorphins moved up me like a wave. I let my cock go and it hung in the air as if expecting me to continue. I cleaned the remains of my cum from the end of my cock and finished washing myself. Turing off the shower, I wrapped myself in a towel and went to my room. Relaxed after my climax, I fell backwards on to the bed. I lay there, the image of Alex still in my mind and I knew I wanted her more than a fat kid wants a cookie. It had been three long weeks since I had seen Alex, and she was a constant presence in my mind. I knew she'd been to the stables, but somehow we were never there at the same time. The most frustrating days were when I had just missed her by an hour or so. Today was a Friday, we had been given a long weekend at work, meaning that we could go home on a Thursday evening if we so wished. Unfortunately I am a camp orphan, meaning I never really go home. The only people left in my family are my mother and granddad and I caught up with them most leave dates and holidays. On weekends I was content to do my own thing and live on camp. I decided to go to the stables early, as I knew Alex often rode early on a Friday morning before she went to work. If I didn't see her today then the only other time would be at the Tri-Service championships the following weekend, as I had found out that she had offered to compete. It was about 0630 and the light was just breaking on the horizon. I knew by the time the sun rose I would be able to tack up and be on my ride if I hadn't bumped into Alex. In case I saw her, I had a whole scenario planned in my head; I would casually approach her, have some witty banter as we did before and then offer her to join me on a ride. Where I would find out all about her and hopefully show her how charming I was. I felt like a school kid as I left the gate and crossed the road to the other side of camp, an excited smile on my face. I reached the stables and looked expectantly towards the car park for her car, but couldn't see it. I felt a bit deflated, as I'd expected her to already be there. No matter, I thought to myself, I may have just beaten her here. I decided to take up Dale and enjoy my ride nonetheless. I went into the yard and over to the changing room. The door was ajar, which was unusual as I knew the staff normally locked up. I entered cautiously and looked around, half expecting Chris to jump out at me, given his penchant for winding me up. I noticed movement through the gap in the door where the girls got changed. Alex. My heart lurched and I went to say something, but found myself struck dumb. She had not noticed I had entered and was about to change. I looked around, checking that nobody else was there, then lent carefully against the door frame peering through the gap. My cock was instantly hard and I had to adjust myself as I was wearing tight jeans. The Scent of her Stockings AUTHORS NOTE: Here is my second offering in the taboo/Incest category. This time the story builds on the passionate love of a son (18+) for his mother through a fetish for her makeup, hairdo and lingerie. It then goes on to explore how such an incestuous relationship might be sustained for the rest of their lives. ***PLEASE LEAVE FEEDBACK OR VOTE IF YOU LIKE MY STORY*** ***** PROLOGUE Sigmund Freud is a name I know, but I've never actually read any of his work. Although I am aware he proposed what he called the Oedipus complex. It seems he came up with a theory that all small boys select their mother as their primary object of desire! He also believed that this occurs between the ages 3-5 years old. As someone who fell passionately in love with his mother and became her lover at the age of 18, I have to disagree with the old guy on that point. I never had carnal thoughts for her until I became a man. I also have problems with Freud's assertions that boys wish their fathers dead- so as they can replace them in their mother's bed! Again, not true in my case. I really cared for my Dad, that was until he fucked off and left us for a fat redhead. Then I wanted him dead. I think my desire for Mum came to me by a circuitous route. Probably beginning when I discovered thrilling sexual stimulation from holding and smelling her makeup and lingerie. But looking back I can't honestly pinpoint any specific event that imprinted this fetish on me. Anyway, here's my story, so you can judge for yourself. CHAPTER 1 When I was 18 our family life changed irrevocably after dad met another woman and decided to leave Mum and me without warning. One day we came back to an empty house. All our suitcases had disappeared, as had his clothes. And to put the cherry on the cake, he had emptied their joint account, leaving us penniless. The only item of any value he left behind was his wedding ring, which he had left on Mum's pillow. Fortunately the deeds of the house were in Mum's name. Otherwise he would probably have kicked us out and installed his whore! Somehow we coped and survived that seismic upheaval in our lives. The consequence was that Mum had to take a job, which left me alone in the house for long periods after returning home from college. But at least I was still in education and hadn't had to leave and take a job. I was in my second year of a photography course I hoped would eventually help me set up my own photographic studio. In a happy coincidence mum had managed to get herself taken on as a back office assistant by a busy studio producing catalogues for some of the better known UK manufacturers of quality lingerie and makeup. She liked the work and they seemed to take to her. Looking back I still can't imagine why Dad left Mum for a chubby red-headed tart ten years older than himself. While Mum was no film star, at 36 she was slim and attractive with a head of shiny jet-black hair. And while she mostly dressed down for work, she scrubbed up really well at weekends, when she put on makeup and wore stockings under quite tight skirts. I knew she was proud of her figure, often commenting how she was still the same weight and dress size she had been at 17, just a year before I had been born. More than once I had caught her standing side-on at her bedroom mirror, checking out her figure. And sometimes she even asked me how she looked, and if I thought she was getting old. I always told her the truth that I thought her the most beautiful woman in the world. Most times that got me a cuddle against her firm breasts, a closeup smell of her perfume and lipstick and a kiss on my forehead. Those were the moments I cherished most in my life. They were possibly one reason I gradually fell in love with her. But there were other reasons. At this point it might help the describe myself to you as I was at the time of my story, as it should add some fun to any scenes you might care to imagine. Many of my friends thought me a throwback from the Mediterranean, because my skin was darker than theirs, despite my mother having the pale sallow skin of the indigenous English. By biggest embarrassment came initially in the school showers and later in the gym, when everyone saw the skin of my circumcised penis and testicles was considerably darker then that of my body. Of course the jibes and jokes were remorseless, but the oddest thing was the number of guys who came up to me to look at my dark prick and tell me how the girls would love that in them. But at the time I just I couldn't see it, and tried to hide myself whenever possible. But my main characteristic was,(and still is) I'm a hairy man, black curly hair on my head, constant Bluebeard chin and curly hair growing thickly over my chest, back, arms and legs. A gene inherited from my father's side of the family. Whenever I wore sleeveless `T` shirts, girls I knew came up to me and twirled or pulled at the hair sticking out from my shoulders chest and back. Some loved it, some found it repulsive. Not too surprising in a world where men are preferred with their bodies shaved clean, like porn stars. So I looked more like a Sicilian pimp than the diligent, but shy, English photography student (and virgin) I was. However the was one girl, Simone Andretti, AKA 'Simmi', who was always hanging around me. Seems It was obvious to everyone (except me) that she was hot for me. While the other girls were tugging my body hair she was the only one caressing my arms, as if she loved the touch of my wiry hair. Simone, half English, half Italian, was a tall, elegant girl with curly black hair like mine. She liked to wear her hair big, exploding outwards onto her shoulders. And she was tall, if anything a smidgen taller than me. Her height, svelte figure and intense beauty she inherited from her mother, Selena Andretti, whom she always called Mama. I'd met Mama a couple of times when I called for Simone. Selena was a true beauty, quite breathtaking, one of those magnificent women that hush a room when she enters, everyone turning just to glimpse her grace and radiance. While Simone had undoubtedly inherited the awesome gift of beauty from her Mama, she lacked the finesse, charm and heart-melting femininity that differentiates a beautiful looking woman from a truly beautiful person. Like her Mama, Simone could hush a room with her looks, vivacious smile and flashing eyes when she entered. But should any sexual predator move in on her, instead of finding grace and gentleness, they faced the bared fangs of a young she wolf. It was that same height, same big hair, tough self-confidence and disarming aggression that intimidated many of the guys on the course. Indeed, most people kept their distance from her because Simmi had a bite. And when she was going to bite she would snarl and curse her victims in crude Italian. Yet she never bit me - nor snarled. Some said she was a psycho bitch, but I really loved being in her company. She purred at me. Indeed, she was always warm, patient and caring. On the other hand, she could be a delight to be with. During various course photographic projects we tended to drift together, and had often taken portraits of one-another. The camera loved Simone. A couple of times we had dated, but she had always been keener on our friendship than me. Although I liked her very much and did enjoy her company, I found her a bit too touchy-feely. But I must confess I did enjoy just looking at her, the symmetry of her face, her firm body and wonderful breasts. We had never got as far as intercourse. I had always suspected sex was on offer - if only I had had the courage to make the first move. Simmi came around to our house a couple of times and had even met Mum. Once, while looking at photographic magazines in my bedroom she had come on to me very strongly. If Mum hadn't have interrupted she would probably have taken me by force! Despite my Latin appearance I actually liked how I looked. I smiled a lot, loved joking around and girls told me I was attractive - but in a dangerous sort of way? Whatever that meant? Truth is, I was a pussy cat that only looked like a tiger. And at just over 6' tall with a powerful body, most guys didn't push the animal wisecracks too far. Anyway, enough about me and back to the story. I had always been a curious young man. Whenever Mum was out I would check through all the draws and cupboards in the house. It took a long time as I took great care to put everything back exactly as it was. My prying was never discovered. To aid me I often took digital photos of drawer or cupboard contents and used them to double check everything was put back correctly. Eventually I came to know where all the secrets were hidden. My favourite place to pry was the dressing table in my mother's bedroom. In the drawers, boxes and bottles there were so many fascinating and forbidden things to touch and smell. I loved inhaling her perfume and the smell of face powder. I got particularly aroused exploring her lipsticks, twisting them open and delighting in their gloss and colours. It was almost irresistible not to lick and taste the lipsticks, but doing so would have certainly led to my discovery. As was the temptation to rub her skin creme on my penis. Sometimes I could get off just by sniffing her hairbrush or sucking strands of her raven hair. But best of all was her intimate underwear draw. It was literally a treasure chest of erotic things to fondle, sniff for her body odour or stroke against my lips and cheeks. Among the erotic contents were packs of expensive nylons, black lace suspender belts and a shoe box containing two pairs of gorgeous 'fuck-me' stiletto heels. At the bottom of one draw I found a sealed plastic bag containing a used condom, still with semen in it. I assumed it was a tangible and tactile reminder of the last time she and Dad had sex. It smelled musty and was cold to the touch. These shameful forays into her most intimate places were also my only real-world connection to the lingerie worn by the sexy women in my men's magazines. Her bedroom was a dreamland that I longed to return to whenever I was alone in the house. At first I was content getting erections from her stuff. However it didn't take long for me to begin jacking off into a handkerchief while sniffing and caressing her underwear. I got particularly aroused sniffing the soiled nickers and stockings she had in her laundry basket. My growing sexual desire for her lingerie didn't go away when I closed her bedroom door. Lingerie consumed my thoughts throughout the day and became even more vivid when alone in bed. At night I always dreamed of Mum dressing for me in her black silk lingerie. These images were so vivid that it felt that I could actually reach out and run my hands up her seamed stockings. These nightly erotic images became so intense I could ejaculate without even having to touch my penis! Wet dreams. Once, not long after Dad had left, a group of her girlfriends persuaded her to go out with them for the evening. As if in an act of defiance against her situation, Mum made a special effort to look her best. When she came downstairs I was wowed with her appearance. She had chosen a simple black dress that hugged her in all the right places, and was short enough to hint at stocking tops and suspenders. Her hair was styled into a casual up-do with a few loose strands hanging over her ears. I don't think I'd ever taken notice of her long neck before, and I felt a thrill of sexual pleasure just by looking at her. Also, and a first time for me, she wore those high heels I'd first seen in the shoebox. She also had on a pair of white button earrings that somehow made her look years younger. I told her truthfully that she looked stunning and smelled good enough to eat, then asked if I could take a photo of her. She agreed and I spent a couple of minutes shooting her from several angles on my college DSLR camera. Mum went along with my photo shoot, making sexy poses for fun, like models do in TV programs. I immediately regretted not anticipating this photo opportunity and preparing backdrops and lights. But what the hell, if I wanted to be a professional photographer I had to deal with whatever came along. Then her friends arrived at the front door. But before she left Mum gave me another of her wonderful affectionate hugs. It allowed me to get close enough to inhale her dreamy Chanel No 5 perfume and smell her face powder. But more importantly, she pressed her breasts tight against me. A seemingly innocent hug to her, but to my sex-obsessed mind, it felt like foreplay. A clear signal that she wanted me! It would have been so easy to lift her dress and run a hand up her silk stockings. Unknown to her I took a couple of quick snaps of her sexy ass and stocking seams as she left the house. Immediately I ran upstairs to begin editing the photos on my PC in PhotoShop. Several were good enough to print so I sent them to my A3 photo printer. Soon I was lying across her bed, jerking off at the large full colour photos of her while sniffing the panties and tan work stockings she had left on the floor. Then I transferred the photos of her to my smartphone so I could jerk off at them during college breaks. They must have had a powerful effect on me as I began to lose all interest in girls of my own age. I even gave my slightly soiled collection of men's magazines to a dorky guy at college. One afternoon, confident I was alone, breathing in the scent from a pair of her silk stockings, she came quietly into her bedroom behind me. Dressed in her plain work clothes she looked very ordinary. I guess she must have watched me for some time until eventually I groaned and writhed with pleasure, ejaculating hard into a handkerchief in my trousers. When she cleared her throat I could have died with embarrassment. But she just stood there watching me. Not looking at my erection, nor her lingerie, but intently at my face. I said nothing, feeling only shame. "Just for a moment I thought it was your Dad," she said wistfully, while running her long fingers through my curly black hair. "You're so much like him Jack. Same slim body. Same beautiful face an same hairy skin." "Jeez, I'm sorry Mum, I didn't mean to..." "How long have you been getting off on my underwear love?" she asked softly. Then I blurted it all out, the whole sordid story of my fixation with her makeup, perfume and lingerie. Remarkably she said nothing, just nodding as she listened. She was so patient, so understanding. At one point she sat down on her bed and, holding my hand, indicated me to sit beside her. It felt surreal to be talking of her erotic lingerie and me getting erections and ejaculating at the slightest thought of her wearing those stockings and suspenders. In another way it was a great relief that at last she knew how I felt about my bedroom obsession with her. When I had finished my story she leant forward, kissing me gently on the cheek. She explained that she understood how I felt and reassured me it was quite natural for a boy to feel like that about his Mum, and it would be alright if I continued to use her lingerie. She added that Dad used to love sniffing her pants from the linen basket and she understood the power female pheromones held over some men. Then further shocked me by saying she didn't mind me masturbating with her lingerie as long as I washed my hands first and didn't actually come on them or the bed! Then, still gently holding my hand, she lightened the moment by saying at least now she knew what to buy me for my next birthday present! Almost as an afterthought she asked if I had told anyone about my lingerie secrets and how I felt about her. I tried to reassure her that it was a deep secret kept secure in my head. If I had have mentioned my kinky fetish at college I would have been labeled a pervert for sure, and it would never have left me. She nodded, but I had the feeling she didn't really believe me. So, after relating my most cringe-worthy, intimate and shameful sexual fantasies about her, she simply smiled and told me to go get ready for our evening meal. Later that evening a couple of my college friends came round our house to compare homework projects. We sat and chatted as usual but I was intrigued to watch how the other guys reacted to Mum. I needn't have worried. When she came in with hot drinks and biscuits they thanked her as normal then just got on with what we were doing. Neither seemed even remotely aware she was anything other than my Mum. But I studied her closely as she moved among us on the pretext of tidying up. On the face of it she appeared her usual cuddly Mum, but I followed her eyes as she scanned the guys faces for any signs of their knowledge of my secret, sniggering or for any overtly sexual interest in her. But there was non. In hindsight she probably assumed I must have taken my friends upstairs for them to ogle at her lingerie. Then, just as she was leaving the room through the door behind my preoccupied friends, she paused for a moment, framed in the doorway, twisted her body three quarters towards me, stretched her sweater tightly to show the exciting curves of her breasts. Then with one hand, lifted her hair off her neck in a casual up-do, with the other she held up a pair of her black seamed stockings and pretended to inhale. On her ears she wore the white circles of her alter ego's ivory-white earrings. For a couple seconds I was stunned and I think my jaw dropped. Then she winked at me and smiled as she let go of her hair. Then she was gone. CHAPTER 2 After that, my head was in turmoil. I had of course got the usual ramrod erection and struggled to gain my composure lest my friends saw my confusion and began asking awkward questions. But I somehow managed to make it appear I was doing my course project work. Eventually my erection subsided. Later, when my friends had left we sat watching TV together on the sofa as if nothing had happened. Mum said nothing of my earlier sexual confessions, nor of her provocative tease at me in the doorway. Towards midnight we turned off the TV, said goodnight and I drifted off to my bed as she got things ready for breakfast in the morning. I lay in bed listening to her moving around downstairs. After a little while I heard her switch off the lights, come quietly upstairs and heard the click of the bedroom door closing. She moved around her room for a few minutes then I heard a draw slide open and soon after the house went quiet. With nothing to hear but plenty to think about, I switched off the light, curled up in the fetal position and tried to go to sleep - but it was impossible. My mind was a maelstrom of desire and emotion, churning the events of the day over and over, like an endless video. But at some point I must have drifted off because I was wakened by Mum calling me to get up or I'd be late. On college days she always made me a cooked breakfast, to 'set me up for the day,' as she was fond of saying. After showering, shaving and dressing I made my way downstairs, but hesitated on the last couple of steps to gain my composure. But needn't have bothered. She must have heard me and shouted her usual, "Good a morning love, did you sleep well? Breakfast is almost ready." "Thanks Mum", I shouted back from the dining room, "D'you think you do me a piece of fried bread please?" "There's something tastier than fried bread here for you love, come and see!" she called back. The Scent of her Stockings I walked into the kitchen and froze in my tracks. Mum had her back to me but was bending down adjusting her skirt. It was hitched up high on one thigh showing the top of a sheer black nylon stocking. I stepped closer and saw she was fastening a stocking top to one of three thin black suspender straps. I stood speechless, my eyes transfixed on the long straight seams of her stockings, following them down to those deeply erotic 'fuck me' heels. Her skirt was hitched up just high enough to show one tantalizing cheek of her ass and the sheer black lace of her knickers. Still bending over she craned her head to one side, her eyes working down my body, finally fixating on my bulging crotch. "Are my seams straight love? Check them for me. They should be perfectly straight from the stocking top to the heel. Adjust them for me if they need it," she asked innocently. "Y..yess Mum," I stammered. "Do you really like my legs Jack?" she said with a smile. I just nodded, my mouth agape like a village idiot. This couldn't be my Mum! She didn't do stuff like that. I mean, I'd never heard her swear, even once, in our whole lives. Then she straightened up, smoothed down her skirt and turned towards me. "Are these the right colour stockings and suspenders you were telling me about yesterday love? Is this how I look in your dreams? Am I wearing them properly?" I nodded, not knowing what to say. "Anyway," she said, "You go and lay the breakfast table love and I'll do that fried bread for you. Get a move on or we'll both be late." Then my brain switched on and I said,"What d'you say I take a photo of you in that glamour pose, y'know, to go towards my portfolio Mum? Y'never know, the photos might come in useful in the future?" She smiled and nodding said, "Better make it quick love, I don't want to be late for work." As I left the room she added, "These photos are just for us Jack, definitely not for any portfolio!" "Okay Mum!, No problem!" I shouted back, racing into the next room to recover the camera from my college bag. A couple of minutes later I was shooting photos of her while she pretended to adjust her stockings, firing off instructions to her like a pro. And in turn she responded like a trained model, moving to catch the light, posing to emphasise her most photogenic features. My best shots were taken at stocking top height. I managed to catch the morning sun streaming in through the kitchen window and creating highlights on the black silk. These shimmering lines on the taut stockings emphasized the erotic curves of her shapely legs, so fascinating to stocking fetishists like me. I was surprised when she agreed to one pose that definitely pushed the boundaries of any normal mother son relationship. But she didn't hesitate for a heartbeat when I described what I wanted. She stood with her back to me, skirt hitched up to her hips, legs spread in a wide 'A'. The seams of her stockings formed two sides of an equilateral triangle. Her ankles turned sharply inwards, further drawing the eye to the height and slenderness of her seductive stiletto heels. Her ass and stockings were a joy of erotic curves, lines and symmetry. The black suspender straps drew the dark stocking tops into perfect geometric curves, tracing the bewitching globes of her sexy booty. I positioned her to catch the streaming sun light, creating contrasting highlights that traced her curves and cast deep shadows under her butt cheeks and the sensuous 'V' between her thighs. But there was still something not quite right in the composition. It was those lacy nickers. She had put them on correctly over her suspenders and normally they would have looked sensational. I must have been totally absorbed in my photography otherwise I would never have dared ask. "Can you, er... just take those nickers off for this shot Mum? I want to capture the beautiful curves of your butt and they spoil the effect I want?" This time there was a slight hesitation, then, while keeping her back to me, she slid down her silk nickers, slowly and deliberately like a stripper, one long leg at a time. Unknown to her I kept taking burst shots, trying to catch a magic moment. But try as I did, I couldn't get a look at her mysterious pussy. As I couldn't see any velvet from a bush I concluded she must shave herself there. I can still remember thinking this was what I wanted to do after college, spend the rest of my life creating mind-blowing images of the female body. For a few minutes I was lost in a fascinating whirl of camera flashes and deeply meaningful eye contact. Then it was over. She had put her nickers back on, smoothed down her skirt and we were standing close together, reviewing the shots with her on the camera LCD display. "I don't want you to keep any photos that could identify me Jack," she said seriously. "I've seen the consequences when intimate photos get in circulation. They wreck lives. Promise me you will delete them love?" I promised. I thought carefully about what she had said and later deleted several good shots that showed her face and could easily identify the interior of our house. It made sense. "I hadn't realised what a flair you have for glamour photography," she said studying one particularly striking photo of her legs and ass. "You even managed to make my tired old legs look good!" she added. I didn't think she was fishing for compliments, just telling me how she felt about herself. "Honestly Mum," I said, "Your legs look so cool, I'm sure you could get some modelling work for your own catalogues if you only pushed yourself a bit more?" "You're just saying that to make me feel good?", she said with an odd rising intonation which made it sound more like a question. "Tell you what, I'll print some of these off tonight, and if you bring home a couple of those cool lingerie catalogues your team make, then we can, like, compare your legs with those of professional stocking models? What do you say?" "If I can remember love?" she said casually. But I caught a glint of exhilaration in her eyes that assured me she would. By the time I had put away my camera, laid the table and sat down, Mum came in with a pot of tea in one hand and my hot cooked breakfast in the other. I glanced down at her legs only to be disappointed. She had replaced her heels and stockings with boring tan tights and her usual flat work shoes. Tan tights? Jeez! Who the fuck cares about tan tights and flat shoes? Tights are airless, sweaty, inaccessible and fucking ugly. Flat shoes lower the hips and destroy the erotic silhouette of a beautiful woman. But as usual I said nothing, my eyes now fixated on the cooked breakfast. But inside, my mind whirled with dreamy images of her posing for me in those alluring stockings and suspenders, and the tantalising glimpses of her sexy ass. Surely there couldn't be one guy in a million who could get his sexy mother to take off her nickers for him! Did I imagine it? That was my Monday morning. It was impossible to concentrate at college for the rest of that day. My mind kept returning to Mum. Each time I thought of her stockings I had another erection. I was so close to seeing her pussy that I had to jerk off twice in the lavatories to ease the overwhelming thrills of excitement filling my imagination. Mum was already waiting in the car at the college gates when I came out in the late afternoon. Almost without thinking I glanced down at her legs and was electrified to see she was again wearing stockings. Her working skirt was hitched up just enough to reveal stocking tops and the straps of her fastens. Her shining raven hair was styled in a classic elegant french twist, emphasising the beautiful arch of her neck. Before starting the car she asked me to pass her handbag to her from the back seat. Releasing my seatbelt I twisted around, stretching an arm across to retrieve the handbag from the rear seat. It was then I saw she had brought a small stack of lingerie magazines. I smiled inwardly knowing we would be discussing our lingerie preferences later. Turning back to face front again I handed her the handbag. "Jeez. What do you keep in there?" I said, "It must weigh, like a ton!" "A girl must keep some secrets from her man,"she said, shooting me a smile. "Besides, you don't want to go rooting in this dustbin love, you never know what you'll find!" Then she rummaged around in the bag for a half minute or so before retrieving a lipstick and perfume atomiser. Aware I was watching, she reached up and twisted the rear view mirror towards her. Then slowly and deliberately she removed the top of the lipstick. Gradually she twisted the base of the golden cylinder, allowing the glossy red stick to reveal itself, like a penis getting an erection. The top of the lipstick had taken on the curve of her lips through regular use. I watched, hypnotised as she meticulously applied the colour, first sweeping the curve of her lower lip, then following the sensuous outline of her top lip. As she moved her head, the sun caught the fine lanugo hair above her top lip, creating a spiritual halo around her profile. She finished with a gentle wipe of her little finger to remove a slight imperfection on her bottom lip. She paused to examine her work in the mirror before returning the lipstick to her bag. Then, seemingly oblivious of my attention, picked up the perfume atomiser and gave a quick spray to both sides of her neck, beneath her ears. Just then, quite involuntarily, I auto-ejaculated in my trousers, it surprised me and my body writhed a little in ecstasy. I groaned aloud as her perfume filled my head, and began to hallucinate images of her taking off her nickers. When my ejaculation had ceased I became aware that the faint smell of my semen was mixing with her heady scent. Obviously aware of my embarrassment she said, "I think I better freshen up those trousers and boxer shorts your wearing when we get home love, if that's alright?" It was all so matter-of-fact and every day. I had just come hard and pulsing in my pants at the sight and smell of my mother. Impossible to miss, she seemed to understand how I felt and sensitively made no humiliating comments. "Put my bag back on the seat for me my love," she said, readjusting the mirror and starting the engine. I just grunted something, clicked on my seatbelt, returned the bag then turned my head to look away. But I too could smell congealing semen on me. In the window I focussed on her reflection and saw Mum smile to herself, turn on the car radio and we drove home without speaking further. Unknown to me at that time, far from being repulsed at the odour of my semen, she was secretly aroused and emboldened to realise my seed had been spent in erotic desire of her. While she got tea ready I sat at the table and completed some written work to accompany my college project. For the first time that day I was able to concentrate and somehow I managed to get it all done. But in the back of my mind I knew I had another close encounter of the erotic kind awaiting me later. "Are you ready to eat love?" she called from the ktchen, snapping me out of my concentration. "Yes Mum," I called back," I'll like, just go upstairs to take a shower and change." By the time I came back to the dining room 20 minutes later she was already seated opposite my place at the table, looking completely different than when we had driven home. She had changed into figure hugging jeans and a tight sleeveless army green vest without a bra, her nipples standing proud through the thin material. Her hair was in a different up-do, beautifully arranged at the back, and there again were the ivory-white earrings. However it was her face that transfixed me. She had put on delicate green eye shadow and her lips were made up with perfectly applied red wet-look lipstick. Her expensive Chanel perfume filled my head, making me feel slightly intoxicated. She looked so much younger. So beautiful. So sexy. I wanted to touch her, run my hands over the curves of her delicious breasts and smother her lips with passionate kisses. "Still like what you see Jack?" She asked softly. "Does it do the job for you love?" "Jeez yes Mum'" I said, my eyes fixated on her firm breasts and the blunt pegs of her erect nipples. "This morning you asked me to fetch home a selection of the lingerie and makeup catalogues and brochures we produce at work." "Yeah, cool," I said, trying to sound offhand as if it didn't really matter, "So did you remember?" "I thought you'd already spotted them in the car love," she said with a smile. After clearing away the meal things and helping her to wash up, we settled at the table. I carefully laid out all the photos I'd printed off earlier and those taken on the night she went out with friends. I could tell she was fascinated with my photos of her. And there was no doubt they were good, making her look like a regular mature model. After comparing the shots of her with those in the catalogues she had to agree she did look good. "D'you really think I could get work as a mature model?" she asked. "I'll tell you what we can do,"I said, "We could work on a cool portfolio of you that you can take and show your boss?" CHAPTER 4 Tuesday was always the only day Mum didn't drive me to college. She had to leave early and I took the bus. More often than not I didn't see her before she left, but she always shouted goodbye up the stairs to me before going out the door . This Tuesday was different. I was still fast asleep when she called me from her bedroom. "Jack! " she called. "Yes Mum," I answered sleepily. "Come here and zip me up will you love?" Still half asleep and wiping grit from my eyes I padded barefoot into her bedroom wearing only a 'T' shirt and shorts. Mum was standing with her back to me, her head turned in profile studying herself in the dressing table mirror. She was wearing a new kingfisher blue dress which was open to her lower back. "Zip me up will you love, I can't quite reach it?" "Yes of course Mum," I said, all the sleep suddenly gone from me. My heart began beating like a train. My hands trembled at my proximity to her inviting bare back. My throat went dry. I took my time raising the zip, allowing me to study her underwear. Low down was the line of a black 'G' string and the lace of a suspender belt. In the middle of her back were two small moles almost hidden by thin bra straps. Unable to restrain myself I put a hand on her back, running it gently up under her bra straps then down, following the curve of her spine to the base of the zip. Then, hesitating only for a second, slid my hand down inside her dress, to the crack of her ass. Having circled her firm warm cheeks I slid a finger deep into her crack, searching out the small rosebud of her butt. "Last time I checked the zip didn't go that low Jack," she said, giving her ass a sexy wiggle, "Come on, zip me up love or I'll be late!" Reluctantly I withdrew my hand, but took a quick sniff of my finger before returning to the zip. It smelled of shower gel, perfume and just a tiny hint of her rosebud. Inevitably I got an erection and was sorely tempted to put my arms around her and kiss her neck. The zip hesitated near the top so I stepped forward to gain more purchase, my prick pressing against the cheeks of her curvy ass. Mum must have felt it as she seemed to press back onto me increasing the erotic sensation I was already trying to control. She shimmied sexily as I took hold of the small zip and slid it up to the top. With the back of my other hand I caressed the soft lanugo hair on her pale neck. After the zip was secured she turned around and blew my mind. The dress had a graceful but low-cut neckline. She must have been wearing a push-up bra which forced her breasts together and upwards, like those 18th century paintings of French aristocracy beauties whose breasts pushed out like small melons. I think that was the moment I first needed to fuck her. I don't know where the urgency came from but it washed away any satisfaction with just looking at her and her clothes. The primeval instinct to rut. My heart thumped hard against my ribs, rushing blood to all the muscles, ready for me to grab her with animal strength and raw lust. My prick was rock hard and pulsed against my stomach - ready for action. A madness. Quite how I held back from forcing her down on the bed and pushing up her skirt I shall never know. Those breasts were so inviting, so close to touch. I knew I could rip the front of that dress open with both hands then slake 18 years of desire in a couple of minutes. I was close, very close to the point when the animal brain blanks out any thoughts of guilt or conscience and becomes deaf to cries of pain or suffering. My face must have changed as the blood drained away, needed elsewhere urgently. Luckily Mum must have realised that at that moment I was not her obedient son, but a huge, hairy, Viking warrior intent on rape and pillage. Then she broke the tension by asking softly if I was feeling okay? If she had made the mistake of even brushing a hand against my prick I would have raped her without a moments thought. Instead we stood looking into each other's eyes, saying nothing, hands down to our sides. Gradually the madness passed. My heart rate slowed and muscles began to relax. Colour slowly flowed back into my face. My breathing slowed as I stepped back from the abyss. After a while my erection became flaccid. But from that moment we both understood that one way or another we would have to fuck, and very soon. The hard way or the easy way. That the teasing had become close to taking. Much later, Mum confided that she had sensed my overwhelming desire for her, and recognised I was about to lose control. She had been pushing my turbulent emotions too hard and realised she had to ease off the pressure on me, or her plans would be destroyed in one moment of brutal orgy. She also knew that she had succeeded in taking over my young mind, filling it with a great passion for her. One part of her head was thrilled by the power she now held over me, the other feared the tsunami of lust she had created and wondered if she had the defences to withstand it's landfall? At that moment, fate decided to turn it's wheel, her hand went to her stomach and she buckled slightly, eyes wincing in pain. "Sorry to spoil this moment love,"she said anxiously, "Women's problems. My period has come a few days early." Then she went into the toilet in search of tampons. I didn't know what to do. She had never actually mentioned her menstrual cycle to me before. But I was aware of the changes in her for a few days each month. I slumped onto her bed, my head in my hands, unable to take it all in. Tears of frustration were just beneath the surface. My heart rate gradually slowed and my mind cleared into sanity. After a few minutes I heard the toilet flush but she didn't come out for another 20 minutes or so. When she did she had washed off her makeup, combed out her hair and changed into sober working clothes. She looked pale and in some discomfort. "Get me a couple of ibuprofen and a glass of water would you please Jack, my stomach cramps have started," she said, one hand on her stomach, the other holding her blue dress. I hadn't realised that another seismic shift in our relationship had just occurred, she was talking to me as if I were her husband. Nevertheless my heart went out to her and I quickly switched from would-be rapist mode back to loving son without thinking. The Scent of her Stockings The bathroom now clear, I showered, shaved off my overnight growth, changed for college and made my way downstairs. There was a lot of stuff fogging my thinking and those 20 minutes helped restore my sanity. I found Mum sitting at the table holding a heated pad against her stomach. I sat opposite her, feeling a mixture of sadness and concern. "Y'never said why you were all dressed up this morning," I said softly, handing her a cup of hot coffee. "There's an important lingerie photo shoot at the studio today, so I thought I would ask the art director if I could be considered for some modelling work," she said, sipping her drink. I reached across, placing my hand on hers in an act of pure love and concern. After a couple more sips of coffee, she continued, "But I always feel so rotten on the first day of my period and don't think I could face him today." "How long do they last," I said without a hint of embarrassment, "Your periods I mean?" Mum looked relieved that I was prepared to talk openly about her menstrual discomfort and gently squeezed my hand. "I'm one of the lucky ones, I get one day of bad cramps and a heavy bleed, then it's gone within 2 or 3 days. Not like my mother who suffered terribly for 7 or 8 days," she said. "So I should be back to my old self by Thursday night of Friday Morning at the latest." She had almost finished her coffee by then and glanced anxiously at her watch. "Sorry I'm not at my best Jack, I do love dressing for you but you'll have to wait until the end of the week for more," she added. Driven by what ever emotion I didn't know, I stood up and walked around the table to her. Then I held her beautiful face in both hands and kissed her softly on her lips. She closed her eyes and a tear rolled down her cheek. "I love you Mum. I love you, not your clothes," I said softly, returning my lips to hers. "But your cool stockings and suspenders do help get me fired up," I added with a wide grin. "Want me to drive you to work my darling?," I said, using that term of intimacy to her for the first time in our lives. Mum nodded, smiled and stood up wiping away her tears. "Come on my lovely Jack," she said, taking hold of my hand. "Help me on with my coat and grab your college bag." "Text me at college during your lunch break," I told her, "I'll be thinking about you all morning," and held up her lips for me to kiss again. Then I drove her to work. 'Pow!' We had fallen head over heels in love, just like that! At lunch break my phone vibrated, so I took it out to read her text: 'I've had a rotten morning love. Can't wait to get home again. Pick me up just after 5pm as the shoot is taking longer than we anticipated. I love you. Sue.' I read and re-read her text, trying to take in, 'Sue' and 'I love you.' My heart pulse quickening and my chest felt like it would explode with passion. Instead of seeing Mum in my minds eye dressed for sex, for the first time I could only see her sweet face and I longed to kiss her soft lips. My hands shaking with emotion, I composed and sent my reply: 'My heart's bursting with love for you Sue my angel. I can't wait to kiss your soft lips and caress your beautiful breasts. Your son and lover Jacko' When the `message sent` indicator flashed on, I began to question if what I had written had been appropriate? A minute later my phone vibrated again, it was from Sue: 'I feel the same love. But you must take more care what you write. Don't forget who I am and what we are doing! And remember what you promised about not sharing certain photos!! Can you delete all our messages, just in case? Sue.' As ever she was the one with both feet on the ground, the one thinking ahead, the one acutely aware of consequences. And she faced an upwards struggle to get the immature me to see the real world and the terrible risks she was taking. I immediately deleted our messages then from both my 'sent' and 'deleted' folders. Chapter 5 As agreed, I was waiting outside the studio a little after 5pm. A couple of minutes later Mum came out chatting animatedly with a tall guy who I recognised as Mike Jeavons, the studio boss. They shook hands, said goodnight and Mum got into the car beside me. It was hard for me to resist kissing her, so I settled for squeezing her hand. She gave me a long squeeze back. Checking she had clicked on her seat belt, I indicated and drew the car out into the rush-hour traffic. "Guess what!" she said still animated. "I plucked up courage to ask Mike about some modelling work and he wants to give me a test shoot and look at my portfolio on Friday!" "But that's terrific," I said checking my mirror and changing lanes. "Will you be up to it?" "I should have finished my period by Thursday night", she said, "But can we have a portfolio ready by then?" I thought for a moment then said, "I think I can put together something pretty cool, but we've only got two nights left so we'll have to start shooting, like tomorrow night?" I quickly turned to look at her and she gave me a nod of agreement. "Let's start planning the poses, makeup and lingerie after we've had dinner tonight. I'll have to buy a few new things in my lunch break tomorrow. Now get me home love, so I can use my heat pad on these horrible stomach cramps!" That night I cooked our meal and washed up while Mum showered and changed into silver-grey pyjamas with matching night bra to protect her sensitive nipples. Having washed her hair she wrapped it in a twirl, forming a sort of turban. I then showered, putting on a sleeveless black `T` shirt and running shorts. With the TV switched off we settled down together on the sofa. I had a note pad and pen. Mum had a heating pad on her stomach as well as her lingerie brochures and an envelope with all my photos of her. We kissed affectionally before she curled up into to my body, her back into my chest, my legs under hers. She smelled of fresh rain and simple cream soap. I nuzzled my head into her wet neck, kissing her fresh skin and told her I loved her. She purred with pleasure. I had one hairy arm around her which I reached around and cupped her left breast. Sue snuggled in tighter to me when I held her breast, but she whispered for me not to touch her nipples as they were always very tender during her period. I could have sat like that forever, but she wanted to work on the plans for our own photo shoot. Slowly we worked through the brochures, circling the sort of poses she thought would best suit her figure. I jotted down notes of the backdrops, lights and reflectors I would need. Some of it I knew I could loan from my college tutor. Sue was surprisingly interested as I explained what I knew of the various techniques used in boudoir photography. I emphasised that early morning light is the illumination of choice for portraits. However I planned to borrow a soft light box for her close ups. I suggested we take a series of shots with her sitting on the stairs, lit only by the window on the upper landing and a single Lupolex light subtly positioned through the handrails. But she asked most questions about the shots I planned of her posing naked and those wearing lingerie on her bed. We discussed how we could best use the warm early morning natural light from her bedroom window and a single backlight to give a halo to her hair and body. Gradually we drew up a schedule of shots, clothes, backgrounds and settings. We also agreed, given available time and limited equipment, that many of her portfolio images would be in black and white. As we chatted I explained how much time I would need to work on each image in Photoshop before printing and mounting. I anticipated working most of Thursday night, but said it would be worth it if she got modelling work as a result. Sue seemed pleased with our plan and had a shortlist of underwear, stockings and makeup she planned to buy next day. Every few minutes she turned her face up to mine and we kissed as only lovers can. Occasionally I slid my hand down her thigh to her feet, tickling them and receiving playful jabs in the ribs as my reward. We felt so good, so natural, as if we were meant to be together. I instinctively understood not to touch her private area because she had told me earlier how she felt unclean there while wearing tampons. Later she unwound the towel from her hair and I helped rub it dry. A couple of times I got up and made us a hot drink. Each time Sue shouted me to hurry up and come and kiss her. I'd never seen her look so wonderful. It was a magical time and I knew from her kisses that she loved me totally and utterly. When we had completed our plan it was getting quite late, Sue stood up, held out her hand and we went up to bed. Her bed. We spent all that first night together wrapped in each other's bodies, just kissing and getting used to the feel and smell of each other. Naturally I got several hard erections which I pressed between the cheeks of her ass. Each time she pushed back on me and squeezed my hand. Once when I got too frisky she pulled the hairs on my thighs, which quickly cooled my ardour. For a while we just lay together, but both of us were acutely aware of the elephant in the room - the big question waiting to be answered. Then, in the early hours of the morning I had a particularly hard erection which I pressed quite aggressively into her and whispered, "I want you now!" Sue turned over in bed, brushed a hand gently over my face, leaned forward and kissed me. "I know how you feel Jack, I feel the same. But we are straying into deep waters. I want you to sleep with me as much as you do," she whispered. I said nothing but my heart thumped hard inside my chest cavity. "But I have to get it right. Don't worry my angel, one way or another we will make love, safely and soon. We can't ever risk me having your baby. I have to think more about it," she said, turning away from me and snuggling in close. I answered by kissing her neck and gently fondling her breasts. The question asked but not really answered, we both drifted off to sleep. Chapter 6 It was early when I woke with a jolt. Early, cold, I had a 'morning wood' erection that threatened to break my neck, and someone was leaning on my chest. "God, but you're a hairy ape!" a voice said. I opened my eyes and was instantly in paradise. A beautiful angel had visited me and taken hold of my prick. As I focussed on the silhouette of a woman's face lit in a magical halo by light from the early morning sun, the voice said with a giggle, "And you fart like a herd of cows!" "A hairy, silverback gorilla with a smelly bum," it went on, "just like your Dad, the traitor!" A hand moved down the shaft of my prick and squeezed a handful of thick black pubic hair. "Jeez," I said, struggling to sit up, "What time is it?" I raised my free hand to shield my eyes from the streaming sunlight. "I'm fucking freezing!" It was Sue, one elbow pinning my other arm to the bed and scrubbing at the thick stubble on my chin. "A grumpy, hairy silverback with a smelly bum, a black penis thicker than my wrist, and in need of a shave!" she giggled again. She had removed her night bra and her breasts were brushing the thick curly hair on my chest. After a moment she leaned forward and gently kissed my lips. I smelled a bouquet of toothpaste, lipstick, soap and perfume. "A smelly bum gorilla with bad breath and pubic hair like a wooly mammoth, expecting me to masturbate him!" Now I was wide awake and looking at my splendid mother who had put her hair up, showered and applied faultless make up before the summer sun had hardly risen above the rooftops opposite. "What time is it?" I asked again, one eye squinting in the sunlight. "Just after 5:30 am you woolly baboon, and well time you were up" she said. I groaned at the time but it was obvious there would be no more sleep for me that morning. "If you want to share my bed you have to share my life young man," she said. "You forget I've been getting up 2 hours before you since you were in nappies. Better get with the programme." Then I felt cold liquid running down the shaft of my erection and craned around to see her drizzling baby oil from a bottle onto my shaft. "If rape is inevitable," she said, "Best to lie back and enjoy it!" I slumped my head back onto my pillow and gave in to her. In truth my prick was only about a couple of inches longer than average but much thicker than most guys I'd seen in the showers. Dad had insisted I be circumcised at birth, the bare pink head on a dark shaft still looked somehow out of place to me. Now my prick stood hard in her hand, the glans filled with blood and turning purple. It pulsed with anticipation. Sue was busy dribbling more oil over my prick. "You have a beautiful penis Jack," she said. "Your dad's, was this same dark brown and black sort of mottled colour, but yours is thicker than his. I love to just look at it. I can't understand why the girls at college aren't queuing up to ride this beauty?" Once the shaft was well lubed she rubbed oil into her hands from my shaft and gently began to circle the rim of my glans. "If I'd been a guy with a penis like yours I think I'd have been a porn star," she with a wicked grin. At first I bucked and jerked at her hand. Then I began to enjoy the new heighten sensation that her touch brought. After a few minutes I was able to bear her stroking both head and shaft. It was new, incredibly erotic and I felt myself begin to come. "I'm coming! I exclaimed!" But she began to gently squeeze the head until the thrill subsided. After a moment or two she began massaging me again, first with one hand then two. Overhand. Underhand. Twisting. Fingernails faintly tickling the head. Fingers forming a ring around the rim. Palm of hand on head. Squeezing low down on the shaft. Massaging my balls. Then I gasped as I started to come again, stronger and harder this time. Again she skilfully checked the ejaculation. Then resumed, this time starting low on the shaft, then gradually increasing speed and lengthening her stroke until her fingers began to touch the rim. Then I started to writhe in ecstasy, and the muscles in my thighs and abdomen began to ripple involuntarily. Then it was coming, like a tsunami wave from deep under the sea. I groaned aloud and almost screamed, "O'h Jeez, Fuck, Fuck, faster, faster!" I came, shooting strings of semen hard against Sue`s hand that was cupping the head like a small umbrella. As the waves of ecstasy began to wane she collected the discharge onto her hand and began to gently stroke me again, my semen now the lubricant. At first I didn't think I could bear the sensitivity any longer, arching my back off the bed and trying to squirm away from her. For a while her vigorous hand movements verged on pain, making me feel like screaming. Then. As she slowed down her long strokes up and down my shaft, I felt strangely excited again, the head still intensely sensitive but wanting more. Sensing the change in me she began to work the rim around the head until I moaned that I could feel myself coming again. My face screwed up and both eyes shut as the ejaculation began to erupt for a second time. My abdomen convulsed as, in one glorious moment, more strings of semen shot from my prick. "Jesus, fuck, fuck, I'm coming," I gasped. But this time the jet stream was directed at me, most of the load dropping hot on my chest, some reached my neck and one shot landed on my lips. It tasted strangely earthy and salty. Then it was over and Sue began wiping the cum from her hands and rubbing it vigorously into the black mass of my pubic hair. The remainder of the semen she wiped onto the hair on my chest. I lay back, the head of my still erect prick radiation sexual pleasure. Opening my eyes I saw Sue had now stood up on the bed above me. Other than for black briefs she was naked, sunlight bathing one side of her beautiful figure. Her nipples stood erect on her firm breasts. "Well, how was that, smelly bum? Any better than you could do yourself?" She said, smiling down at me. "Not bad for a MILF!" I said. "Hmmm, MILF," she said thoughtfully, Mother I'd Like to Fuck. I like that, but don't you think MIGF would be more accurate?" (BTW, that was the first time in my life that I'd heard her use the 'f' word!) "MIGF, I repeated slowly?" "Mother I'm Going to Fuck!" she said bouncing up and down on the bed. "Now shift your smelly arse off the bed and wash all that cum from your pubes," she said with a mischievous squeal, then bounced off the bed and made for the door. For a mature 36 year old, she had the moves of a teenager. At the bedroom door she stopped and turned, making monkey sounds and moving her arms at me, like a Disney cartoon orangutang. "Red haired MILF," I called after her, throwing my legs out of the bed and heading after her. "Smelly bum silverback!" she called back, sounding like a playful child, "and don't forget, we need to use this early morning light to take some portfolio photos!" Chapter 7 Twenty minutes later we sat together around the breakfast table, sipping coffee and enjoying the hot buttered toast she had made. It took a further 15 minutes or so before the shutter on my DSLR clicked on the first pose for our portfolio. I had feared that Sue might freeze or look wooden through the lens. But I needn't have worried. She was a natural exhibitionist and the camera loved her. As so many times before and since I had underestimated her intelligence and resourcefulness. I hadn't realised that in her day-to-day work in the photographic studio she was helping professional photographers set up and conduct complex shoots. Nor did I know then that sometimes she assisted with makeup and hair in their discreet boudoir studio. But as soon as I saw her instinctively turn three-quarter to the camera, arch her lower spine and use gentle `ballet hands` to her face and hair I knew we could get it done. For me this was to be the first time I see my mother completely nude, and better still, touch her as we adjusted the various poses. When she walked into the bedroom the sight of her caught my breath. But she just padded passed me, her face beaming and following my eyes - daring me to break the contact. The streaming golden light glowed on her lithe body, softening her skin, and smoothing out any minor imperfections, like a fabric softener. I knew then why she had given me the hand job before we started. If she hadn`t, I would have struggled to concentrate with a permanent hard-on. Smart woman. Smart and very much in control. As agreed the night before, both Sue and I had brought a couple of props with us. It was quite normal to give the model something to hold or cover areas of imperfection or modesty. I had brought a spare camera, a pair of women's spectacles and a Paisley pattern scarf to drape over her should she feel the need to be covered. In the end we used only the spectacles to make her look like a sexy secretary having a steamy affair in her lunch hour. And boy, did she look the part. We began working down our pre-prepared list of natural light poses beginning with breasts, ass and lower back. To get the best possible butt shot I half closed the window blinds, restricting the light into a narrow shaft. Then to add maximum sensuality to the shot I used a water spray to apply glistening drops to her curves. The effect was stunning. I used a similar shot to catch the curves of her breasts and nipples. Both shots tightly cropped below her neck and above her crotch.