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Shepherd's Pie

By: EarthAngelXXX



Summary: 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.

Story codes: (F/M, mom/son, pantyhose, cum, oral, voy, exh, solo, slow, plot, cons, rom)




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.


Shepherd's Pie Ch. 02



Chapter 02

The Photo Shoot

Pantyhose nearly ruined my life. Yes, that's right, pantyhose. One day, I was living in Boston, a junior at Emerson with a solid B average. Then, before I knew it, I was skipping classes, putting off studying and homework, so I could spend each day looking, rubbing, and spraying cum all over the pantyhose worn by my beautiful, long legged roommate, also known as my mother. That's where the trouble all began.

Since puberty, I'd been helplessly drawn to the sight of pantyhose over a pair of long, sexy legs. Generally, any woman in a short skirt with a pair of high heels instantly caught my eye, though usually it was merely a passing glance, that is, unless she wore pantyhose. Then I couldn't look away. 

From the glossy sheen, to the smooth, feather light texture, everything about pantyhose instantly made my dick hard, even the sound they made when the object of my attention suddenly crossed her legs, brushing her silky thighs together so the nylon threads briefly rustled -- music to my ears. 

At school, I was lucky to have several teachers who wore pantyhose fairly often, some of whom despite their age were actually still pretty hot, perhaps instilling my lifelong preference for older women. 

Of course, none of them had any idea what a massive hard-on I was sporting under my desk, as I sat there drooling over the sight of their luscious legs. Yet, as hard as I was, there still wasn't anyone who made my dick throb to the painful degree that Mom did.

For some reason, she seemed to enjoy wearing pantyhose and showing off her well-toned legs more than any woman I'd ever met. In fact, it was Mom who started my whole obsession with pantyhose in the first place. 

Before I discovered porn, or even knew what it meant to have a pantyhose fetish, each day after school, I would sit at home and count down the hours till my mother got home from work. 

Then, around 5:30, she'd swing open the front door and stamp her heels firmly on the carpet, leading my eyes to the sight of her long, wondrous legs, dazzling in any color, nude, black, or suntan, if I was lucky. 

With her tits propped up, brown hair falling in waves down to her shoulders, and her effortless power to draw my gaze with her provocative sense of style, at 42, my mother still embodied everything a woman should look like to my young, impressionable mind. Her tight dresses and form-fitting business suits presented a woman who prided herself on looking perfectly fuckable at all times.

No matter how tired she was, seeing me always brought a smile to her face, mirroring my own reaction, fueling the unsaid connection between us -- Lauren and Chris Shepherd against the world. 

From the sofa, I'd watch in silence as she slowly removed her shoes. As much as they seemed to hurt, apparently no outfit was ever complete unless it included a striking pair of five-inch stiletto pumps.

Relieving the soreness of her aching feet, she'd step out one shoe at a time, exposing the nylon shrouding her high-arched soles, flexing them up and down, rolling her weary ankles, as I noted the vibrant color of her toenail polish sparkling through the hose.

Eager to undress, she'd then hurriedly pull down her skirt, while I quietly sat there, eyes level with her thong, or sometimes no panties at all, as she innocently stripped down to just her pantyhose, usually control top, though sometimes sheer-to-waist, as I failed to avoid stealing quick glances at her pussy showing through the nylon.

As an ex-gymnast, she had a habit of tiptoeing around the house, which only drew more attention to how lean and shapely her legs had been since high school. 

Though most women needed pantyhose to give the appearance of firmness and definition, with one look at my mother's legs, it was easy to see that every inch of her from the waist down had been vigorously trained to look that way, toned and curvaceous, suggesting she might have worn pantyhose for other reasons, reasons I wouldn't discover until after I left for college.

Nine years later, after jerking off countless times thinking back to those days, nothing sent more cum streaming from my cock than the thought of Mom strutting around the house in her high heels and sheer, sexy pantyhose -- a vision of womanly perfection with her warm hazel eyes, long, full-bodied, chestnut brown hair, and adorable brown freckles born from her Irish roots; not to mention a pair of legs so perfectly sculpted that I often stared at them from the distance when we went shopping, comparing them to every mannequin in the women's department, imagining they were jealous.

As I said earlier, I was a junior at Emerson, eager to sow my wild oats, when Mom found an apartment near campus and asked me to move in with her. Without thinking, I quickly agreed, never guessing how things would change between us from that moment on. 

To my amazement, what started as childhood fantasy soon escalated from harmless flirtation to the very brink of forbidden sex, all after finding my mother's journal and reading the lurid details of her past encounters with younger men, all of which involved pantyhose and the joy of teasing them with her long, scrumptious, nylon-buttered legs.

Though it wasn't clear exactly who seduced who, knowing her secret made it easier for me to accept my unnatural urges and share them with her more openly. Still, I never admitted to reading her journal, especially after she shocked me by offering to be my girlfriend and promising to wear pantyhose for me all the time. Once that happened, there was no way I'd ever say anything to risk losing out on that.

As she sat in my lap and promised to fulfill all of my pantyhose dreams, it was hard to believe the words coming from her mouth, not to mention the urgency she displayed earlier that evening, when she brazenly insisted that I cover her pantyhose with cum, strangling my cock, jerking my foreskin raw, head back, chin up, desperately waiting to be baptized under a fountain of cum, gasping and smiling as the first blast shot out and streaked straight across her face.

With reverence, her hazel eyes dimmed to a close, basking in the pouring rain of hot teenage sperm, showering her face, drenching her neck and chest with rolling rivulets of pearly white cum sliding over her pear-shaped breasts, then dripping down onto her lap, soiling the off-white pantyhose she'd willingly offered to soak up my warm creamy spunk.

In return for being my own personal slut, all Mom required was total ownership of my long, instantly hard, teenage cock, along with my large, hefty, cum-filled balls, insisting that I save them only for her. 

At the time, her one rule sounded fairly easy, given that I'd never felt so lucky in all my life. She'd essentially handed me a winning lottery ticket, assuming I'd be smart enough not to give it away. Still, as the weeks continued, my insatiable lust for pantyhose proved to be far stronger than either of us could have possibly imagined.

One Saturday afternoon, I was home alone, procrastinating as usual, while Mom was gone for the weekend at a training conference down in New York. 

It'd been almost a week since that first encounter in the living room I mentioned earlier. Since then, she'd been more than willing to use her considerable talents at making my penis spray like a water hose, treating me to everything from slow, merciless handjobs, using lots of spit, bringing me right to the edge before stopping, then starting all over again; to frantic, slobbering, deep throat blowjobs, which typically ended with Mom kneeling in a foamy pool of warm jism and saliva splattered all over the rug; yet, nothing compared to the times she pleasured me with her beautifully pedicured feet, patiently milking my swollen cock, nestled between her perfectly high-arched soles, stroking with the aid of her heavenly soft pantyhose right until my thick load came spewing and spurting all over the silky nylon shrouding her pretty little toes.

Still, despite all that, for obvious reasons, my mother was still reluctant to take my penis inside her. Even with a condom, she wasn't ready to risk getting pregnant by her own son. To be honest, I was fairly nervous about it myself. So, for both reasons, I purposely never forced the issue. Having said that, on this particular afternoon, I was starting to lose patience as I eagerly waited for her to get home and pick up where things left off.

I should have been working on the Psych paper I had due that Monday. Instead, I was on the web surfing through pantyhose videos, when my phone starting buzzing next to my laptop on the coffee table. 

The call was from Cynthia, our short, blonde, voluptuous landlord downstairs. The sound of her voice brought back visions of the moment she'd pulled out her ginormous tits for me in our dining room.

Over the phone, she told me she had something she wanted to show me. My pulse quickened and my dick instantly started twitching from the suggestive tone of her cheerful, high-pitched voice. I sprung off the couch, grabbed my camera, and then rushed down to find her front door unlocked.

I promptly entered, where her living room appeared to be something out of Laura Ashley catalog, brightly decorated with antique vases filled with real flowers, adding a hint of color to the beige walls and matching wall-to-wall carpet, with a white floral print sofa and love seat, plus end tables made of sparkling chrome and glass. 

I'd expected her to greet me, yet found only an empty room. With a hint of uncertainty, I called out, "Hello?" then stood there waiting for a response.

"I'm in the bedroom," she answered from somewhere further down the hall.

Following the direction of her voice, I walked down toward the kitchen, finding the bedroom on the left, directly below our living room upstairs. 

There I found Cynthia standing by the bed with a huge grin on her face, greeting me in a skimpy white medical lab coat, strategically unbuttoned with her breasts pouring out of a red push-up bra, head tilted, hands on her hips, with her right leg angled outward, exposing the lace trim of her sexy white thigh highs, complete with a gleaming pair of white platform stripper heels, open-toed, with straps buckled around her ankles.

At first, I was too distracted by the size of her tits, pushed up and pressed together like asscheeks in tight jeans pulled half way down. Then I looked down and noticed there was something else shimmering between her legs. Beneath the lab coat, just where the lace trim ended, was a second layer of nylon much darker than her skin, like caramel spread over every inch of her thick, juicy thighs. 

I was so taken aback that she'd actually remembered to wear pantyhose for me that the sound of her voice barely registered when she finally spoke.

"So," she said, slowly turning to model her outfit from all angles. "How do you like my costume?"

For a second, her question caught me off guard. I stood there blinking for a moment, taking a second to recognize my good fortune as she looked back, smiling over her glorious bosom, proudly presenting her well-fed figure, barely concealed by her slutty nurse outfit. 

With her head tilted, she blinked back, quirking her eyebrow over the blank expression on my face.

"You didn't forget about our photo shoot, did you?" she asked pointedly.

The air around me slowly got warmer as I rushed to gather my thoughts and answer her question without stuttering.

"No, of course not," I said, as I struggled to figure out exactly where to look. 

At the moment, her eyes were so big and blue that they somehow managed to overshadow her enormous tits. From the way she stared, it seemed obvious that the real meaning of her question had nothing to do with whether I'd forgotten the shoot, but whether I'd completely forgotten about her. 

"The truth is I couldn't wait," I said, trying to save face. "It's just that my mother found out about it and she wasn't too happy. She's kind of overprotective that way."

"I see," Cynthia said, inching forward. "So you always do what your mother tells you?"

"Umm, no," I said, noting the bold tone of her voice as she steadily approached. "I mean, not always," I added, swallowing a bit. 

"Good," she answered through a faint smile. "I didn't take you as a Momma's Boy," she added bluntly. "Though you did seem to enjoy tasting my breast milk the other day," she noted playfully. "I see you brought your camera," she added, glancing down at my hand. "I was out shopping for a Halloween party when I found this outfit," she further explained. "Then I remembered what you asked me to wear the other day. I thought you should be the first one to see me in it."

Naturally, I was flattered beyond words as I stood there scanning her up and down. 

"It's perfect," I said, nodding with approval. "I just hope there's enough space on my memory card. We could be here awhile."

"Oh, it's fine. Take all the time you need," she said. "Joel won't be home for at least a couple of hours. Miles is with his grandmother all weekend. But I have to be honest," she whispered inches from my visible erection. "I didn't invite you down here just to take pictures," she said, as she reached out and boldly squeezed my cock. "I think you and I have some unfinished business."

Of course, everything about that moment spelled trouble with a capital T. Alarms went ringing inside my head as I fought desperately to tune them out. Still, there was no escaping from Cynthia who literally held me in the palm of her hand.

"If we do this, you have to promise not to tell anyone," I firmly answered.

"Who would I tell?" she calmly replied. "As far as I'm concerned, there's no else here but you, me, and this nice, hard cock," she added, gripping the shaft through my baggy sweatpants.

"Good," I said, "but you don't get to have that yet. First, I want you to stand by the wall. But leave the coat on till I tell you to take it off." 

I had taken a chance giving her such direct orders. Thankfully, her reaction seemed more than willing to comply. I turned on the camera, framing her evenly inside the lens, and then proceeded to snap pictures while Cynthia shifted into her first pose. 

"Lean forward," I said, knowing the angles I wanted most. "Now lift your hands up and place them over the buttons," I added, watching her follow along. "Perfect. Now arch your back a little more. Very nice," I continued, praising her as she got more into it. "That's it. Not too much. Just open the coat a little more. Show me the bra. Good. Now slowly open the last few buttons. Yeah, that's hot."

The more I talked, the more she seemed to enjoy herself. She was still carrying a few extra pounds of baby weight, but her confidence blossomed the more I continued praising how good she looked. Soon her lab coat was opened up all the way, allowing me to get some amazing shots of her neatly-trimmed landing strip, using the flash to make it more visible beneath the hose.

I tried to focus on her face, yet I just couldn't tear my eyes away from the nylon waistband pulled up above her navel, cutting into her doughy flesh, with her naturally wide breeding hips spread out in both directions, and a small roll of baby fat held back by the highly resilient, bronze-colored threads of her glossy control-top pantyhose.

Curiously, I asked her what brand of pantyhose they were. She then admitted she didn't know much about them, explaining she'd needed assistance from the sales girl at the store.

"All they carried was a brand called 'Leg Avenue,'" she said. "My only choices were black, tan, or fishnet. So I went with tan."

I answered back with an instant smile. "Great choice. Tan are my favorite. Really enhances your skin tone," I said.

"Thank you," she answered back. "But I still have a bone to pick with you," she added frankly, flipping her hair. "I'm still a little insulted that you thought I was such a prude when you first met me."

"You're right. That was wrong," I said, nodding again. "Most women are generally anti-porn. I assumed you were too. I apologize."

She smiled again, taking a moment to briefly clarify. "Mmm," she replied, pursing her lips. "I don't know that I'm pro-porn exactly. But I don't have a problem with men with who enjoy looking at me. As a matter of fact, would you like to hear how I got into nursing in the first place?"

I was instantly intrigued, as I stood there continuing to take pictures, listening while she recalled a memory from her sordid past.

She then proceeded to tell me about her late Uncle Stewart. His wife had apparently passed on years before he did. Her whole life she'd always struggled with her weight, eventually dying from ovarian cancer. Because his wife couldn't get pregnant, the two of them never had children of their own. So Stewart began spoiling his favorite niece with clothes, jewelry, and money for college.

When Cynthia was 18, Stewart became highly depressed, which his doctors attributed to a tumor discovered in his brain. Once Stewart became sick, Cynthia would often visit him in the hospital, which never failed to lift her uncle's spirits. Cynthia knew that her uncle had always been a breast man, since he often mentioned how much he adored his wife's bodacious rack. By then, Cynthia was already well-developed in her own right, sporting a set of tits twice as big as the other girls her age. During her visits, Stewart would often lavish her with compliments, advising her to always take pride in her shapely figure, often reminding her that real men liked women with curves, since that was how God intended for women to look. 

Soon, Cynthia was showing up in outfits chosen just for him. Her jeans were much tighter. Her skirts were way shorter also. Her tops opened much wider so her cleavage spilled out when she purposely leaned over him lying in bed. Before long, Cynthia began to see the visible effect she was having on him and found it arousing despite the fact that he was her father's brother. 

One night, she came in wearing a long overcoat, with nothing showing save for a pair of black five-inch pumps. Beneath it, she had on a black bustier with a lace garter holding up matching silk stockings. She sat on the bed, opening her coat to reveal her seductive ensemble. Within minutes, she noticed her uncle had a visible erection. Nervously, she reached down and placed her hand over it, feeling it swell from her touch. There amidst all the patients and hospital staff milling back and forth, she then slid her hand under the sheet, gripping his surprisingly hard cock, needing only a minute to quietly jerk him off and enjoy the feeling of warm cum seeping down over her soft teenage fingers.

To his doctor's amazement, within weeks her uncle's tumor started to shrink. The longer Cynthia's visits continued, the more Stewart's health seemed to improve. She even convinced one of the male nurses to give her a pair of scrubs, making it easier to sneak in after visiting hours to give her uncle a much needed hand release. The ruse only worked on the drugged up patients sleeping beside him. So Cynthia needed to get in and out quickly, learning to perfect the art of a first-rate handjob in well under a month. 

By the time Stewart got released, no one could believe his miraculous turnaround, that is, except him and Cynthia who knew exactly what had helped him return to normal health. That was the point when Cynthia realized she'd found her calling, informing her parents that she planned to apply for nursing school the following year. 

She and Stewart never continued their taboo relationship once he got home. Cynthia was too focused on school, not to mention it just didn't feel the same when he wasn't helplessly laid up in his hospital bed. He went on to live almost 20 years before finally dying from lung cancer. Meanwhile, Cynthia began her career at a veteran's hospital, applying her unique brand of hands-on therapy to nurse many of her male patients back to health just as she did for him.




Shepherd's Pie Ch. 03



[Author's note: For this chapter, I've chosen to tell the story from a different character's perspective. The story is told by Cynthia, the busty landlord/nurse, featured in Chapter 2 (The Photo Shoot). The events of this story lead up to the beginning of Chapter 1. The story of Chris and Lauren will continue in the following chapter. Meanwhile, hopefully, this chapter will add context to the rest of the story...Enjoy!]

Couples Therapy

(Part 3 of "Shepherd's Pie)

By Earth Angel

The day I announced my engagement, my mother gently pulled me aside, gazing at me with love in her eyes, lightly squeezing my hand.

"Cynthia," she said, holding back tears. "I want you to know that I'm extremely proud of you for choosing to marry such a decent and honorable man like your father."

At the time she said this, I still had yet to discover that the man I'd chosen to marry, this 'decent and honorable man' whom both Mom and Dad spoke of with such admiration and respect, was also undoubtedly the biggest pervert I'd ever met in my life -- a man whose ultimate pleasure was secretly jerking off watching younger men with huge cocks fuck the shit out of his wife.

Perhaps, I should have picked up on the signs. Then again, maybe I chose to ignore them. My girlfriends always warned me about the quiet ones, probably to protect me from a city filled with odd-looking, socially awkward, creepy middle-aged men, who always saw me as more than just a pretty blonde, thus always seemed to be just my type

The day Joel and I first met, I'd been working as a registered nurse for over ten years. At the time, I was working down at the veteran's hospital, near Fenway, when I pulled up one morning and parked facing the new wing under construction, where Joel had recently been hired to work as a sub-contractor.

Initially, he kept his distance, always watching from afar. For three weeks, I showed up every morning, certain to see him in his yellow hard hat, tracking me with his eyes, as I looked over, smiling politely, before quickly making my way inside.

Usually, all I had on were baggy scrubs, as I quickly jumped out of my car, with no make-up, and a velvet scrunchie loosely tied behind my head, holding back the frazzled nest of my shoulder-length, naturally golden blonde hair.

As I walked toward the front entrance, I marched with purpose by the new wing next to the main building, ignoring the horde of obnoxious construction workers, who instantly turned into a pack of drooling Neanderthals, with their annoying cat calls and tacky whistles, stopping to stand there and ogle me like a piece of meat, in spite of the fact that I'd literally just rolled out of bed, dressing quickly, before racing out the door, only to sit through thirty minutes of rush hour traffic, faced with another endless 12-hour shift, looking like holy hell.

I didn't know it then, but the quiet guy standing apart from those grunting animals, the one with the nerdy glasses and receding hair line, had just moved to Boston from Portland, Maine three months earlier.

His name was Joel Hanson. What struck me about him had nothing to do with his looks. Compared to that group of leering savages, he was the only one who never did anything but smile when he saw me walking by. Not that his coworkers' behavior really offended me. As far as dealing with the opposite sex, I honestly wasn't so different than most women. Certainly, there were times when I did find it highly exciting to notice a man's eyes roaming over me. Ever since high school, I'd always been known as a tremendous flirt. In fact, I'd bet my life's savings that most, if not all, of the people where I grew up, believed that I was a total slut.

Admittedly, I did get around a lot back in those days. It all started when I woke up one morning at 14. I looked down and my eyeballs nearly fell from my head. My once ordinary palm-sized tits had suddenly ballooned without warning, visibly reminiscent in both size and shape to a twin set of large, hovering, air-filled blimps, round, heavy, and woefully uncontainable, forcing me to throw out all of my old, useless bras and haul around these huge, awkward, back-breaking, bowling balls, in a 38DD.

Three years later, I found myself wondering if my enormous tits would ever stop growing at all. By then, I had already gone up a full cup size. Needless to say, I had to get used to men staring at me wherever I went, from the time I woke up in the morning, to the time I finally went to bed.

Even the men in my own family had no willpower when it came to keeping their eyes off of me. All of them seemed to think I didn't notice, but every man in my whole family had all been caught sneaking a quick peek at my massive hooters more than once.

In high school, my father started his own towing service, eventually growing it into one of the largest towing companies in town. I'll never forget the day when I strutted down to his first little neighborhood shop, proudly displaying the first outfit I'd ever bought with my very own hard-earned money. Perhaps he didn't want to know. Yet, strangely, my father never asked me where I got the cash. Not that I would have told him anyway. To me, it was better to lie about it, than force my poor father to picture his only daughter kneeling in front of the Connor twins from next door, who'd each given me $50 dollars to jerk them off and let them cum on my tits.

With my father still nowhere in sight, I waited for him outside the shop, leaning under the hood of an old pick-up. I waited there chewing a stick of bubble gum, bending over in white cut-offs, deeply wedged up my ass, allowing my cheeks to hang out considerably, as I stood there quizzing myself on the names of each auto part, till I heard footsteps come up behind me, turning as Daddy called my name.

Wearing a hot pink tube top, I spun around, smiling like Christmas morning, greeting my father showing more cleavage than a Vegas hooker, innocently grinning as my huge tits heaved over the cups of my strapless bra.

The look on his face was this unforgettable combination of panic, lust, and a sudden heart attack. I watched as he stood there stuttering, mopping his sweaty brow, all the while trying not to stare, when a half dozen other drivers promptly emerged out of the woodwork, whispering and snickering to each other, obviously pointing in my direction.

Later that evening, as I lay in bed, touching myself between the sheets, through our thin walls, I couldn't help overhearing the rusty springs of my parents' bed, noisily screeching, accompanied by their audible moans.

Beneath the covers, I quietly fingered my pussy while they fucked, listening for close to an hour, before finally whimpering through a shuddering orgasm, proud to feel solely responsible for giving my Daddy such an urgent hard-on, jealous of Mom, who clearly made good use of it that night.

Of course, after that day, I noticed my father got highly protective of me all of a sudden; teaching me how to fire a pistol, long before teaching me how to drive.

I started my career in nursing straight out of college. Even in ratty scrubs, as ugly and unflattering as they were, it seemed as if every man at the hospital could easily see me coming a mile away. By then, my tits had gotten so big that they practically entered the room before I did.

Given the Christian values passed down to me by my parents, at first, I was deeply conflicted over all the attention I got purely because of my looks. Then, one day, my father's brother got really sick. Upon which, I spent several weeks traveling alone to regularly see him at the hospital. Those private visits with my Uncle Stewart led to his full recovery, which I personally believed was all due to my frequent visits, giving him reason to live, knowing that several times a week his favorite niece would swing by and happily jerk him off, which ultimately helped me appreciate the gift of my voluptuous figure, along with the implicit power of all my alluring feminine charms.

Soon, I was reveling in all the attention, especially after a grueling 12-hour shift. To help me recharge, all I needed was a few hours surrounded by single men, making the most of every opportunity to proudly show off my broad, sumptuous, milky white tits. I started frequenting local bars, where tons of guys eagerly lined up to pay for my drinks, which I chugged down one after another, till by the end of the night I didn't care who it was drunkenly thrusting into me, or for that matter clearly remember which one had freely unloaded his warm, sticky load all over my big, round, beautiful jugs.

Honestly, I never really felt guilty about being such an easy lay back then, save for the fact that only a handful of guys ever called me back.

I knew things were different when Joel finally asked me out. Then again, I was the one who actually made the first move. I'd grown tired of waiting for him to do something other than smile at me from a distance. So, finally, one morning I decided to flip the script. I got up an hour early, making the extra effort to shampoo, condition, and blow out my sunny blonde hair. Pleased with that, I went to the mirror to patiently put on my face, where the application of lavender eye shadow really made my blue eyes pop. After a few strokes of bold, lengthening, dark mascara, with black eyeliner, and a generous coating of shiny pink lip gloss, I was finally ready to put on my naughty outfit.

It was mid-April and the weather was fairly warm for New England. So I threw on a bright yellow tank top, ignoring the fact that my bra straps kept sliding out underneath. For a second, I did consider going without a bra, then opted to be a little less obvious for once, remembering how shy he was. I then spent the next two or three minutes wrestling my stubborn hips into a skintight pair of sexy, blue, low-rise jeans. I spritzed on a little perfume. Then I looked down, inspecting the condition of my red toenail polish, pulse racing as I quickly slipped on a pair of flip flops, grabbing my scrubs, before finally hustling out to my car.

Along the way, I stopped and picked up a dozen donuts, just to have some sort of valid reason to walk over and introduce myself.

I pulled up in front of the hospital around 7:30. My shift didn't start until eight. With butterflies in my stomach, I stepped out and promptly sashayed toward the construction site, offering a smile toward every curious glance, amused by the sight of every man within eyeshot freezing dead in his tracks.

Worried that one of my co-workers might see me, I walked over so quickly that my boobs start bouncing and jiggling uncontrollably, tumbling like power balls beneath the sheer fabric of my flimsy yellow tank top.

From a short distance, I could already see Joel grinning at me just as usual, green eyes looming wide behind his thick glasses. Clearly, he'd noticed me right away, as we quickly exchanged longing glances toward each other, ignoring the watchful eyes of those standing nearby. Though he most likely had no clue whatsoever, by then I'd already decided that soon I'd be giving him an open invitation to fuck me. Hence, I had no intention of wasting any more precious time.

Standing in front of him, he must have stood at least six feet tall, ruggedly able-bodied, with a sturdy, muscular frame. I offered him a donut. Then he looked down, pausing for a moment, before reaching down, pulling one out and promptly taking a large bite.

I stood there watching him chew for a while, before finally accepting it'd be up to me to start up a conversation. Otherwise, I'd be there all day.

"Sooo, what's your name?" I asked, breaking the ice. His lips curled into a friendly smile. Before he answered, he reached up with his right and wiped his chin, then reached out and warmly extended it toward me.

"Joel," he said. "Joel Hanson. What's yours?"

"Cynthia," I replied, accepting his handshake. "But you can just call me Cindy."

"Hmm," he said, wrinkling his brow. "I sort of like Cynthia better. Honestly, I can't put together a grown woman like you with a name that sounds like a little girl," he said, with a short glance down at my tits. "Really doesn't do you justice," he added, with an innocent smile.

For him to flatter me so openly was not only a big surprise, it was also a huge turn-on. Not only did it make me want to spread for him even more, it was all I could do not to drop down and instantly start blowing him right then and there.

After exchanging numbers, it took him only one day to call me and set up our first date. He might have been somewhat shy, but at least he had enough balls to call me right away.

While I appreciated his initiative, I wasn't nearly as impressed by his imagination. However, as girls often do, I cheerfully played along with his tired idea of dinner and a movie, letting him plan the whole evening, since it honestly didn't matter to me where went anyway. Regardless of where the evening started, my mission would only be accomplished once I got him in bed.

Our first date was set for Friday night. I must have spent over an hour trying on various outfits. By 8:30, I'd finally settled on the perfect slutty ensemble. I put on a pink satin demi-cut bra, over a white-collared shirt, fully unbuttoned, tied beneath my tits, creating a sinful combination of eye-popping cleavage and bare midriff. I then slipped on a black pair of studded, high heel clogs, with black thigh high stockings slid up over my curvy legs.

At the last minute, I checked my face, pleased with the look of my cherry red lipstick. After fluffing my hair, I then headed out, where Joel was patiently parked outside.

Ten minutes into the movie, I was already feeling restless, as Joel sat there eating his popcorn, making no effort to touch me whatsoever.

I needed to take matters into my own hands. So I reached over, set my hand on his lap, and then shamelessly inched my fingers down toward his crotch.

With my head face forward, I felt his hand curling around my wrist, palm sweaty, as I noted the tension in his tightening fist. Taking the chance that someone nearby might notice, I carefully pulled down his zipper, with one eye focused on the screen, and the other checking his reaction as his head slowly turned facing me.

I calmly reached down into his briefs, fingers warmed by the steam rising from his heated groin. Then my hand continued to explore further, where I then discovered what must have been the root cause of his dreadful shyness.

Being a nurse, I'd learned to develop compassion for people with anatomical defects. In his case, Joel simply wasn't well hung. To put it bluntly, his penis was very small, barely the length of my index finger, which was how I measured it, as I felt it growing inside my hand.

Filled with sympathy, I couldn't help thinking back to my Uncle Stewart, whose penis wasn't so large either. Not that it mattered, since I loved him dearly and would have done anything to make him smile.

Sitting there next to Joel, with his puny hard-on pulsing inside my hand, the feeling was eerily similar to my vivid memories of visiting my uncle in the hospital and getting him off.

As we left the theater, by then I was so worked up that I couldn't bear the idea of sitting still in some boring restaurant. So I asked if he would take me to a bar, just somewhere to hang out and have a few drinks.

We stopped at an Irish pub in Jamaica Plain, which wasn't too busy considering it was Friday night.

At the far corner of the bar, we noticed an empty pool table. The one beside it was being used by three guys who looked like ZZ Top. After one round of beers, I could tell that Joel was finally starting to loosen up. I did my best to tease him as much as possible, deliberately bending over for every shot. His eyes grew wide as I playfully tempted him with my shapely body from various angles, letting my shirt gape open in the front, to the point where I probably didn't need to be wearing one at all, since everyone was getting to check out ninety percent of my rack anyway.

As if that wasn't enough, I turned around and boldly stuck out my big ass, getting so wet any minute I fully expected to start feeling warm juices running down my leg. Of course, had I worn panties, I could have avoided this little problem. Instead, as I leaned over the pool table, cooled by the air between my parted legs, I learned to embrace the idea of flashing my glistening pussy in front of strangers, convincing myself that I had no choice, as my tight denim skirt slowly proceeded to creep its way up over my moist hairless snatch, till finally it wasn't the alcohol that had me intoxicated, liberated by the conscious decision to flash my cunt, drunk off the pleasure of willfully doing something so wrong, while only concerned with maintaining Joel's healthy erection and increasing the vital flow of lubrication between my legs.

As the night went on, my slutty side just got bolder, as Joel and I continued to drink even more. I had always been a pretty good pool player. My father taught me when I was young. Eventually, I learned the game well enough to beat my older brothers. Still, I enjoyed convincing Joel that I had no clue what I was doing, waiting for him to come up behind me and press his little hard-on against my butt.

Leaving the bar, we pulled up to my empty apartment, completely hammered. I made no secret that I wanted him to come inside. I leaned forward signaling for him to kiss me, where we then started to make out, before finally rushing inside, enjoying some of the best sex I'd ever had. His dick might have been small, but he clearly knew how to use it, and he ate pussy like he'd never tasted a home cooked meal.

After dating for six months, we then discussed marriage, agreeing that we should both get physicals before taking such an important step. Though I came back with a clean bill of health, the other shoe fell off when we learned that Joel had a low sperm count.

For me, it had taken so long just to help him get over the diminutive size of his penis, only for him to suffer another blow to his ego, right when things were starting to feel normal.

On the plus side, my father treated Joel like a son. He respected the way Joel treated me and really admired his strong work ethic. He liked Joel so much that he even loaned him the money to start his own construction business. It started small, but within a few years, he was able to grow a loyal client base by outbidding major companies for large contracts.

After our wedding, we spent several months trying to get pregnant, with increasingly frustrating results. Finally, with help from a sperm donor, I gave birth to my son, Miles, on September 18th, 2011.

By then, Joel was comfortably earning six figures. So I decided to take an extended leave of absence from the hospital. We needed more space than our modest starter house in Hyde Park. So during the day, while Joel was working, I started calling realtors and house hunting online.

It took some time, but eventually we settled on a brown, two-story, fixer-upper, in Roslindale, with a nice yard, in a top-rated school district.

Between jobs, Joel spent the entire summer renovating the house from top to bottom. To help him, he hired a black architecture student from MIT. His name was Byron Thompkins, smart, witty, very handsome, with brown eyes, no facial hair, and a warm, easy-going smile, which went nicely with his bald head, mellow voice, and radiant brown skin.

The first time we met, I'd been up all night dealing with a crying baby. I woke up barely conscious, hauling myself out of bed. Then I slowly shuffled my way toward the kitchen to make some coffee.

I opened my bedroom door and stepped out wearing these little red boy shorts, with a white cami-style top stretched tight across my braless chest. I never saw Byron as our bodies suddenly collided into each other. I squealed from the blinding chill of freezing cold ice water instantly soaking through my shirt.




Shepherd's Pie Ch. 04



Rite of Passage

(Part 4 of "Shepherd's Pie") 

Sunday morning, after spending the night alone in our empty house, haunted by lingering thoughts of Cynthia, struggling to escape the memory of her begging me to cum inside her, I jumped out of bed and frantically started cleaning every corner of the house, partly to keep from sitting still, but largely also to ease my guilty conscience.

The day before, I'd not only fucked my landlord without a condom, I'd also fallen for one of the oldest tricks in the book, letting her convince me she was on birth control, easily my worst decision ever, beyond reckless, completely inexcusable, yet also impossible to take back.

To make matters worse, Mom called from New York on Saturday night, asking how I was doing, and then making some cryptic comment about meeting some really great guy whom she couldn't wait to tell me all about.

After two hours dusting, mopping, and scrubbing every surface in sight, I turned my attention to Mom's closet, spending at least thirty minutes organizing all of her shoes, pleased to discover out of 26 pairs that 23 of them were high heels.

Admittedly, the simple task of organizing Mom's shoe collection should have taken no more than ten minutes, if only I hadn't stopped so often, smelling them one at a time, hoping her fragrant aroma would hold me over just a few more hours until she got home. 

By noon, I was so looking forward to Mom's return that I lost count of how often I checked the time. The house was spotless. Still, I couldn't just sit there. So I took Mom's car and quickly sped off to the gym, hoping to burn off my nervous energy with a long, strenuous workout.

Shirtless in the locker room, standing in front of a mirror, it was easy to see how six months of rigorous training had really paid off, having slimmed down to almost zero body fat on my hard, lean, wiry frame. 

My abs looked completely shredded, as I stood there admiring my well-earned six-pack, a testament to eating mainly fish, chicken, and protein shakes, along with a whole ton of raw fruit and vegetables. In addition, for increased stamina, my trainer started me on daily regimen of vitamins and supplements, including testosterone, all of which had a visceral effect on my volatile teenage hormones, to the point where a stiff breeze in the right direction could easily produce a massive erection, rivaling the might of any towering skyscraper in the city.

Around 3 PM, I hit the showers in order to meet Mom at Logan by 4:15. Once dressed, I walked to the car, where I sat in the parking lot, casually rolling a blunt, hoping to calm myself down, as I quietly proceeded to sit there and smoke the whole thing. I rolled down the windows to let in some fresh autumn air, feeling no less anxious, not when I knew how good Mom was at telling when something was clearly on my mind.

Around quarter to four, I started making my way through Boston traffic, which thankfully wasn't too bad, reaching the terminal just as Mom texted me from baggage claim.

She walked out rolling her Gucci carry-on, in full make-up, hair down as usual, in a black leather, waist-length jacket, over a thin, white, pullover sweater, with sandy brown riding pants, so tight I could see her cameltoe as she stood there waving from the curb in sexy, brown, spiked-heel boots.

On a 45-minute flight from LaGuardia, she had no reason to look so incredibly hot. Yet, that's just who she was. After helping her put her bag in the trunk, she hopped in, leaned over and gave me a kiss, moaning while greeting me with her soft lips, reaching down, sliding her hand between my legs, making my balls tingle as she lovingly squeezed my cock.

"Mmm, I missed you," she whispered under her breath, as I sat there enjoying the floral scent of her perfume. "Did you want me to drive?" she asked curiously, as I turned and gave her a puzzled look.

She'd always been sensitive about her car, especially when I was driving, which only made me feel more agitated than I already was.

"I'm good," I answered through a half-hearted smile. "How was New York?"

She leaned back in the passenger's seat, voice pitching with teenage enthusiasm. "New York was uh-ma-zing," she said, drawing out each syllable. "Of course, it would have been better if you were there, but I still had a really great time."

"Cool," I said, pulling off, headed toward the expressway, when I bluntly decided to ask her the one question stuck in my head. "So who is the guy you met? Tell me about him."

"His name is Doug Vincent," she said glowingly. "I met him at the conference. He was one of the guest speakers. He's from Albany, also divorced. He started his own chain of department stores than sold them to Macy's for a small fortune. He lives in Manhattan now, makes most of his money on investments. He's only 45, very smart, really funny too."

The longer she spoke, the more my temper slowly kicked in. It was only supposed to be a weekend business trip, not an excuse to go out and meet other guys. What happened to all her talk about being my new, live-in girlfriend? Was it all bullshit? By then, I was so pissed I had no idea how fast I was driving.

"Slow down, sweetheart," she said, touching my arm. "You're making me nervous."

"Don't worry," I said, snapping at her. "I know what I'm doing. I'm not going to wreck your precious car."

"Excuse me?" she said, clearly displeased with my tone. "I think you know better than to speak to me that way. Nothing happened between us, if that's what you're worried about. We had some drinks. We talked for a while. He took me dancing, and that's it."

"He took you dancing?" I said, raising my voice. "Then what, did you go out to the parking lot and jerk him off like that other guy?"

As soon as it happened, I instantly knew I'd fucked up. Nothing was said for several seconds, as my hands tightened around the steering wheel, eyes staring through the windshield, as Mom turned, voice incredulous, holding back imminent rage.

"Um, I'm sorry...what guy?" she said. "What are you talking about?"

Swallowing hard, I paused for a moment, bracing myself for the shit storm sure to follow my confession.

"The one I read about in your journal," I said, letting the statement hang there for a moment, fearful of saying more.

"So that's what this all about?" my mother eventually responded, as I felt my heart pounding in my chest. "You read my journal behind my back. Do you have any idea how hurtful that is?" she asked, voice cracking a bit. "Why would you do such a thing?"

I knew how badly I'd betrayed her trust, not only by reading her journal, but worse yet, fucking Cynthia too. My mother had always been a forgiving person, but not with people who were blatantly dishonest. That was the main reason she'd left my father, not because he'd cheated on her, but mainly because he'd lied about it for so long.

Still staring straight ahead, avoiding the shameful look I knew she was giving me, I answered weakly, slowly shaking my head.

"I don't know. It's hard to explain," I said. 

"Well, you'd better come up with something in the next ten minutes," Mom threatened, "or I may have to reconsider this whole arrangement."

Since our first memorable encounter in the living room, I'd feared hearing her say something like that. I needed a way to defend my reckless behavior, but how could I possibly justify committing such a thoughtless and humiliating violation?

"To be honest, I don't have a good excuse," I said, hoping she'd sense that there was no malicious intent behind my actions. "I found it when we moved in. Lately, I've grown so attached you, sexually, that is...I just couldn't help myself."

The sincerity with which I tried to account for my regrettable behavior seemed to produce the desired effect as Mom gradually began calming down, gently setting her hand against my upper thigh, then slowly rubbing back and forth, voice filled with a healing tenderness normally reserved just for me.

"Sweetheart, it's not like I haven't noticed that. By now, you should know that I feel the same way. I'd never let anyone come between us. You know that, right?"

"Then what about this new guy?" I asked directly. "What does he want?"

"Doug just likes me, that's all," she answered with a shrug. "I like him too. He makes good money and has lots of connections in New York. He even said he could help you find work when you graduate, maybe even an internship with one of those men's magazine you love so much. I'm just saying...this could be good for both of us."

"Oh," I said, nodding my head. "So, you're just using him...is that it?"

"No," she pronounced quickly. "It's not like that at all. He's just a very generous person. He likes helping people. We actually talked about you quite a bit. He's eager to meet you."

"Really," I said sarcastically, taking the exit near our street. "And what happens when he finds out about our so-called 'arrangement'"?

"Why would he?" Mom answered. "You obviously know how good I am at keeping secrets. I think you should just give him a chance. You might like him. His daughter goes to school here too. Her name is Mia. He even mentioned us all getting together for Thanksgiving."

"And you're okay with that?" I said, frowning at her. "You hardly know this guy!"

Before answering, Mom took a deep breath, obviously weary of the whole topic, as I swiftly turned onto our quiet street, moments away from home.

"Look, I get that you're upset," Mom said, as I pulled up in front of the house. "Let's just go in, okay?" she added, changing the subject. "I bought some new pantyhose from Wolford's while I was there. I'm sure I can find some way to get your mind off this..."

Regardless, despite her efforts, the rest of our evening didn't go well at all. For once, I was actually not in the mood, as she sat on the sofa in a white, fitted, Tom Brady jersey, with nothing below but a sexy pair of blue opaque tights, legs stretched across my lap, as she kindly offered to give me another footjob, hoping to make me feel better. Instead, I told her I needed to finish writing my Psych paper and get some sleep. Then I stood up and left her there by herself, quietly heading up to my room.

* * *

Monday morning, lying in bed, naked and half asleep, before opening my eyes, my nose sharply detected the familiar fragrance of Estee Lauder perfume. The smell of fresh orange blossoms lulled me from my peaceful slumber, upon which I felt a sudden chill. Slowly, it hit me that Mom must have quietly entered my room, carefully peeling back the covers, thus leading to the rapid drop in temperature around my cock. 

Though she'd never been the mischievous type, clearly she was up to something. Nonetheless, I remained still, never peeking, as I felt her crawling over the foot of my bed. 

I knew it was coming. Still, my eyes instantly popped open as I felt the warmth of her steaming crotch softly descending over my morning wood. The room was cold, yet my hard-on wasn't for long, as I felt the light pressure of Mom straddling me below the waist, blanketing my penis with the downy fabric of warm, velvety soft pantyhose.

Waking with double vision, I squinted at dual images of Mom smiling down over me, hair matted, fresh from the shower, water dripping from her tits.

With no hesitation, I reached down, returning her smile, sweeping my fingers over the lush, comforting fibers clinging to her silky thighs. The texture delighted me as I lingered over the smooth nylon seemingly waiting to be touched. I reveled in the moment, choosing to remain silent, as Mom wisely followed suit, both of us choosing to avoid talking about the previous night.

Her eyelids fluttered in response to my leisurely caress, encouraging my hands to venture further, freely exploring her lower body, sliding my fingers where the nylon molded the curves of her jutting hips, never expecting her stirring reaction as she slowly began writhing on top of me, rolling her hips in slow, circular motion, curling her lips with killer intentions, like a kitten waiting to pounce.

Her hips temptingly rocked back and forth as she looked down and warmly whispered, "Good morning, Mr. Shepherd."

For a moment, I had to remind myself that this stunning, fair-skinned, hazel-eyed seductress was the same woman who'd carried me in her womb for nine months, the same woman who'd taught me the alphabet, fed me chicken soup when I was sick, and beautifully sang 'Happy Birthday' to me every year. 

Still, as I looked up into her beaming face, feeling the smooth texture of pantyhose over her naked skin, I couldn't help wondering if she'd purposely planned this in advance. Though I admitted reading her journal was wrong. Perhaps, after sleeping on it, she'd come to realize how much she'd also let me down, knowing how much she'd made me believe that the future was all about me and her. By then, I wasn't sure what to believe. Not to mention completely guilt-ridden that another woman, the one who conveniently owned our house, was most likely pregnant with my unborn child. 

Clearly, the stress was getting to me, even as Mom did her best to distract me in the hottest way possible.

Slowly, she reached down and slid her cold hands over my naked chest. Then leaned over, pressing her tits against me, grazing my sensitive skin with her raised nipples, sweeping her moist hair across my face, as I went up to kiss her, deeply inhaling her fruity scent.

As our lips parted, I could almost taste the hunger inside her, tongues swirling and worming in each other's mouths, as a breathless series of moaning and spit swapping ensued, feverishly trading our shared DNA, sealing the bonds of our unspeakable relationship with a long, steamy, French kiss.

Reluctant to pull away, our lips briefly pulled back, leaving threads of spittle bridging the gap between them, only to reunite and feast on each other once more.

After several minutes, our intense make-out session left us completely breathless. Though I didn't want to be late for school, the conflict swirling inside me left me with no desire to get up and face the world. By then, my dick was hard enough to cut glass. I needed to get off, for no other reason than to ease the tension mounting between us with each passing moment.

"Hmm," I moaned, stretching my arms. "Now that's how I like to be woken up."

Mom smiled at my warm reception. I watched as she slowly sat up, fluffing her fingers through her limp brown hair. Her high-wasted pantyhose covered most of her stomach as she reached down and snapped the waistband against her skin.

"I kind of figured you might enjoy it," she said, with a playful wink. "I'm wearing new pantyhose today," she added, sliding her fingers between her legs. "Notice the seamless crotch," she said, leading my eyes down to a patch of brown pubic hair, neatly trimmed and plainly visible through the sheer, flesh-colored hose. 

I listened as Mom continued talking, voice dripping with affection, as she held her legs open, shamelessly rubbing her clit on top of me. "There a little pricey," she explained, fingers massaging up and down. "Mmm, but they're so worth it," she added, rolling her eyes orgasmically, squeezing her pussy above my lap.

"Very nice," I said, blinking in disbelief. "Are you wearing those to work?"

"Oh, absolutely," she said, twitching her eyebrows. "It'll give you something to think about until I get home, assuming you can wait that long."

"I see," I said, responding to her challenge. "So you're saying I can't go a whole day without jerking off?"

"No, I'm not saying that at all," she said. "But maybe you'll get another visit from Cynthia. Maybe this time she'll want a little more. You may think it's just business. But I know women. And it's pretty obvious she wants more than that."

"So," I answered defensively. "What would I want with her when I already have you?"

"My point exactly," she said. "Like I told you last week, from now on we're not only mother and son. We're a couple. The connection we have goes way beyond family. I've seen how you look at me. I know what goes on inside your head. I've known it for a long time. What I couldn't face until recently is how much I secretly wanted the same thing. Not until we moved here. But now you know. And now we're free to enjoy each other as much as we want. And because I'm your mother, I know that no other woman can fulfill your fantasies like I can."

Her speech ended as she reached down and took my penis softly in hand. Her eyes pierced deeply into mine as she gently cradled the shaft between her fingers, slowly beginning to stroke.

"Don't you have to finish getting ready?" I said, though all I wanted was to lean back and let her jerk me off.

"We have time," she said. "I was thinking maybe I should drain you before I go, you know, to help you focus."

By then, I could barely focus on anything besides her hand. At first, she started off teasing my cock with long, delicate strokes. Then she slid her hand down to the base and slowly began rubbing it against the hose, brushing my rigid shaft against the nylon, back and forth, back and forth. 

I lay there squirming under the weight of my mother's legs, covered in pantyhose, soft and light as a feather, with sheer, luxurious, finely-woven threads sending a tingling sensation through my hard, sensitive prick, down to the tips of my toes. 

"Does this bother you?" she whispered, seeming to notice my disadvantage, as she playfully smiled and continued grazing my penis over her pantyhose. "If it does, I'll stop," she said, sweeping her hand up to the head, then slowly dragging it back and down. "Otherwise, you do have another option," she said, piquing my interest. "That is, if you feel like sending me to work with a fresh cum stain under my skirt. I've always wanted to show up at work with a huge load splattered all over my pantyhose, just to see if anyone would notice," she added, head dipping, dribbling saliva from her lips, slowly letting it string down, moistening the head of my cock. "Can you see me sitting in front of my students, slowly crossing my legs, wondering who'd be the first to notice the crusty blotches all up and down my pantyhose. Doesn't that sound hot?"

As she painted her vivid picture, her curled fingers firmly enveloped my shaft, gradually sliding them down toward the base. Using gentle pressure, with a light twisting motion, making me shiver as her clenched fist slowly slid up to the head. "Normally, I sit on my desk a lot," she continued, "but the guys up front would probably notice the cum on my legs pretty quickly, don't you think? Especially if I just happened to spread my legs," she said, demonstrating on top of me. "Not on purpose, of course," she promptly added, with a devilish grin, "but it might get a little distracting to sit there with all that cum stuck to my legs, constantly reminding me that only my son could produce such a giant load, making me remember how hot it was jerking you off this morning, dripping from overexcitement, with no cotton panel to soak up all of Mommy's juices in these seamless pantyhose," she breathlessly whispered, drunk off her own words. "And I do have to say, young man," she continued, churning her moist fingers around my throbbing erection. "I'm not sure what you've been eating lately, but I've never seen anyone cum as much you do. It's rather amazing," she told me, "not to mention quite tasty," she added, ending with a wink.

Certainly, hearing my mother talk dirty was incredibly hot. Yet, the thought of her flaunting herself wantonly in front of her students didn't excite me as much as she probably intended. In fact, I was starting to feel a little jealous, even somewhat angry, unable cut off my increasing need for an explanation of why she had chosen to date someone else.




Shepherd's Pie Ch. 05



Chapter 5: of "Shepherd's Pie" 

A funny thing happened after Mom and I returned from Megan's house on Sunday. I stopped stressing about school. I stopped grieving over my dead beat dad. And I certainly wasn't thinking about Cynthia. 

Overnight, all of my fears and insecurities seemingly disappeared, leaving me feeling completely invincible, not a single care in the world.

After nine years, my mother had finally admitted that her greatest need, after basics like hunger and thirst, was the powerful feeling of making men weak with desire, controlling their actions and their thoughts, feeding this need on a daily basis, to the point where nothing was going too far, purposely flaunting her gorgeous legs, in high heels and pantyhose, fatefully leading to the ultimate taboo, fucking her own son.

One afternoon, sometime in mid-October, I was sitting in one of my more boring classes, struggling to stay awake. It didn't help that Mom and I had pretty much spent the entire night fucking till 2AM. Hence, I could barely manage to keep my eyes open. Sitting there, each time my eyelids started to dim, the first image that popped up was Mom either riding me on my bed, sucking my cock at the dinner table, or jerking me off, begging for a huge load, soaking her pantyhose, usually while watching TV. 

These vivid daydreams naturally left me horny as fuck, as I jumped up, shaken by my cell phone, suddenly vibrating in my pocket. I reached down, pulled it out, surprised to see that I'd gotten a new email from Megan. 

The message was an invitation to the party she'd previously told us about. It showed both of our names, along with the date, time, and location, with an option to accept or decline. Below this, at the very bottom, was a link reading, "Click here to view auction."

Curious, I scrolled down, tapping the link right away, opening a new page, loading up promptly on the screen. 

My eyes widened at the sight of a gorgeous half-naked model named Brandi, with olive skin, almond-shaped eyes, and long, curly black hair. Below her picture, the caption read, "not available," as I scrolled down, continuing to scan over the remaining list. Following Brandi was a dark-skinned black girl named Jasmine. Her tits were enormous, practically leaping from the screen. Holding the phone between my legs, surrounded by over a dozen students, I sat there in class, with no desire to stop looking, noting the caption beneath Jasmine read, "bidding open." Following her, I came to this cute little Asian girl named Kim, great rack, jet black hair, with bidding open on her as well. Next was this scorching hot Spanish chick named Monique, also available to my disbelief, with brown skin, brown eyes, and beautiful, blonde highlights, an alluring contrast to her long, wavy, brown hair. 

Lastly, I came to the final girl, with a red banner flashing across the top reading, "New Girl." Instantly, I started choking, as the whole class spun around and looked at me. Clearly, it was Cynthia, with "bidding closed" in bold red letters under her name. 

Dumbfounded, staring at the screen, for a moment I couldn't believe my eyes, seeing her wearing her white lab coat, red bra, white heels, and white thigh highs over glossy nude pantyhose, the same exact outfit from our photo shoot, erasing all doubt from my mind. 

At that point, I realized there were only two options. I could rush home, hopefully making it back before Mom and Joel. Though I wasn't exactly sure what good it would do to confront her. Or my other option was to wait it out, knowing our paths were certain to cross again at Megan's party, where I'd simply play dumb; with the added benefit of getting some much needed payback. 

The choice was obvious as I promptly accepted Megan's invitation, smiling to myself, quietly tucking my phone back inside my pocket.

* * *

Two days before the party, nearing the pinnacle of morning sex, Mom and I languished in bed together, pausing to discuss costumes, orgasms held in abeyance. 

By then, our relationship had grown to the point where she and I had begun sleeping together in her bedroom, cuddled up with each other every night. 

For several minutes, I passionately lobbied to see her in her old gymnastics outfit, which Mom argued was simply too boring and unoriginal. 

Wearing thick, durable, navy blue tights, soft as cotton, torn at the crotch, she peered over me, as I lay there squirming, gazing up toward her naked breasts.

"It needs to be something that gets people's attention," she said, writhing with my dick inside her. "Something fun, something flashy," she added, clenching her pussy to drive her point. "But mainly something you can't wait to fuck me in later on."

Caving to the pressure of her warm snatch tightening around my cock, squeezing insistently, after taking a moment to mull it over, I softly stuttered, shuddering between her legs.

"Um...what about a superhero?" 

Her eyes instantly lit up. "Ooh, that's got potential. Anyone in particular?"

Nodding my head, in a moment of sheer inspiration, I quickly asked, "Have you ever heard of Elektra?" 

She looked down, frowning with dismay.

"You mean the one from that horrible movie...with the girl from Alias?"

"Jennifer Garner," I nodded back. "But you're way hotter than her."

"I don't know," she said, shaking her head. "I mean...of all the characters you could think of...why her?"

"Simple," I said. "For starters, you wouldn't have to change your hair. Plus most women usually go for someone like Batgirl or Catwoman. This would be something different. And, last but not least, I'd still get to see you in your leotard," I added, twitching my eyebrows. "All you'd need is a red scarf, some long red gloves, and a pair of red ankle boots."

"And pantyhose," Mom threw in. "I do get to wear pantyhose, I hope."

I'd assumed this was a given, noting the earnest look on her face, as I quietly stared back at her.

"What if I said no?"

She looked down, quirking her head, apparently not expecting this.

"Seriously?" she said, scrunching her face. "Hmm, okay...then, I guess I'll just have to convince you."

I instantly loved the direction this was going, as I then decided to put her to the test. If she was truly addicted to pantyhose, like Megan said, then nothing was more exciting than the idea of making her prove it.

Staring up boldly, noting the wheels turning in her head, I challenged her to come up with something worthy of being a pantyhose slut, or more specifically, my pantyhose slut. 

As if she'd already had an idea, she curled the left corner of her mouth, sniffing as if insulted by my arrogant tone, when I looked up and smugly answered, "Try me?" 

"Okay, hot shot. How's this?" she suggested. "If I can wear pantyhose with my costume, then after the party, you can tie me up and have your way with me when we get home."

Not bad, I thought. Still, I knew she could do better.

"Hmm, I'm not really into the whole bondage thing. What else you got?"

Shaking her head, she then pressed her lips together, dropping her head, straining for something better. Finally, she answered, lifting her head with a smile.

"We could drive into the city and take pictures. I'll wear whatever you want. You could even fuck me out in public, say...down at the arboretum."

Not only was she getting warmer, but her pussy was also getting much wetter around my shaft, feeling her juices seep down, tickling my balls. 

I looked up, tension mounting in my bloated sac, nodding with approval. "You're almost there. Keeping talking..."

By then, the extent to which I had penetrated her cunt seemed to inspire her with new ideas, along with a stream of hushed, warbling, incoherent speech. 

"Uhh uhh oh oh okay...what if I g-g-give you a f-f-free pass at the p-p-party," she stammered. "Any woman you...ohh oh gawd...any woman you...want!"

Now, she was on the right track. Still, I purposely muted my enthusiasm, carefully treading a potential minefield of jealousy and insecurity.

"Hmm, I don't know..." I answered mildly, both of us nearing our peak. She looked down, flashing the whites of her eyes. "I'm just saying," I explained. "My goal is to make everyone jealous that you're with me. That's the only reason I want to go," I said, "to show you off. Then, we can come home and fuck like rabbits."

Her insides quivered, groaning from the pit of her stomach. My hands rushed up, gripping her taut buttocks, squeezing hard, fingers clamping over the nylon, balls waiting to detonate on command.

"We could have a threesome," she whispered. "You, me and Megan...I'm sure you've thought about that."

I blew my load right then and there, hips hoisting off the bed, both hands clutching Mom's cheeks, clawing her meaty ass, pulling hard, slamming our privates together, willing my eyes to somehow remain open, as I looked up, watching Mom's head swing back, moaning toward the heavens, as I lay there beneath her, gritting through a brutal series of dizzying spasms, lost in the throes of my searing hot, sperm-rich, baby batter jetting off somewhere deep in the furthest reaches of mother's womb.

* * *

The night of the party, my mind was racing with so many lurid thoughts of what was to come, ironically, making me the one frantically running around, trying to get ready. Could Mom really pull off a threesome with her and Megan? How would Cynthia react when she got there and saw us? Was Joel coming with her? If so, what would he think? I was so busy worrying that Mom eventually seemed annoyed that I wasn't paying her much attention?

"Sweetheart, what's wrong?" she said, all ready to go, modeling her outfit by the front door. "This costume was your idea. Don't you like it?"

I had just stepped out of the bathroom, after two minutes rubbing lotion all over my body, then another few minute, primping in front of the mirror, spiking my hair with extra gel. I'd wanted to go as another character from the Marvel universe, like Rorschach or Daredevil, but Mom hated that idea, insisting on something more conducive to admiring my chiseled physique. 

Turning toward the sound of voice, I entered the hall, wearing a white satin robe, shirtless, baring my chest, pecs glistening from all the lotion. Giving Mom time to examine me, I stood there watching the gradual descent of her calm, steady gaze, from my firm, shiny, naked torso, down to the fake UFC championship belt strapped around my slender waist. 

"Hot damn," she said, grinning with approval. "Anderson Silva needs to watch out."

I was pleased to hear that Mom liked what she saw, yet I couldn't ignore that I was having trouble trying to walk, after taking her suggestion to cut off some of her black leggings at mid-thigh, wrestling my hefty package into them instead of shorts, a decision I questioned as I stood there sporting a full erection, with no room for underwear beneath the spandex, knowing that Mom and everyone else would easily make out the outline of my bulging cock.

"Hmm," she said, openly gazing at my hard on. "Guess my costume is working for you after all."

Smiling, I stood there thinking she couldn't possibly have any idea, burning her smoking hot image into memory for all eternity, certain this evening was sure to be something I'd never forget. 

Inspecting her outfit from head to toe, I stood there, patiently marking each item off my checklist list; bold, pouty, red lips, check; long, windblown, chestnut brown hair, check; sleek, skintight, sexy red leotard, brimming with cleavage, God help me, check. Red scarf tied around her head, red gloves slid up over each arm, and red latex boots, pulled up over her knees, fuck me. After all that, what could be hotter? Oh yes. That was the moment my eyes lingered over the bronze nylon covering her shimmering thighs, the ex-gymnast nailing the dismount, in sheer-to-waist, suntan pantyhose, earning Mom a perfect ten.

* * *

We drove off to Wellesley, arriving at Megan's cottage, cheerfully greeted by a cute blonde, dressed like a sexy elf, instructing us to turn right off the main road and park with the other cars near the stables. 

There, I helped Mom out of the car, where she looked up and noted the distance between the row of cars steadily lining up outside and the long walk some thirty yards back to the front door.

"There's no way I can walk that far," she said, shaking her head, "not in these boots."

"No problem. Let's just go through the back," I said, noting the people gathered on the back patio.

With a number of guests obviously there already, as we walked up, Mom turned and gave me a puzzled look. "Are we late?"

"Hard to say," I answered, "though it does sort of seem like we're the last ones here."

"Well, if anyone says anything, then I'm blaming you pretty boy."

Clearly, she was kidding, yet I still felt bad for taking so long to get ready.

Reaching the house, I led Mom up a short flight of steps, leading to a varnished deck, with smoke rising from an outdoor grill, the smell of burgers to our left, smooth jazz playing overhead, steam rising from a built-in hot tub off to the right, arriving at what seemed to be a rather posh affair, or at least more than Mom and I were used to, as we joined hands, entering the kitchen through an open sliding glass door.

"Bienvenidos," we heard, turning to the sound of a charming Hispanic accent, pleased to be warmly greeted by a vivacious, brown-eyed, Latin hottie, in a black, A-line, mini-dress, tits heaving from the plunging neckline, bordered by white lace, with a white apron tied around her waist, and black garters holding up matching black stockings, as she stood there holding a full glass of sparkling champagne, proudly displaying some tasty-looking curves of her own.

For a second, I almost reached for the glass, stopping the moment I recognized her face, just before making the embarrassing mistake of thinking she was really the maid.

"Hi, I'm Lauren. This is Chris," Mom said, reaching out her hand.

"Monique," she said, glancing toward me, with a look like she was drinking me with her eyes. "You don't look familiar. Are you new?"

"Yes, it's out first time," Mom replied, "looking forward to it though."

"Oh, me too, especially now," Monique said. "You know what they say about skinny white boys."

"Come again," Mom said, squinting at her.

"Exactly," Monique giggled. 

Noting her double entendre, Mom nodded back slowly. "Oh, um, forgive me," she said. "I should have explained...he's actually with me."

Monique sniffed, nodding her head. "Ah, lo siento señora. I meant no offense. However, since you're new here, I should definitely warn you...if you don't like to share, then you've probably come to the wrong house."

Clearly insulted, my mother stepped forward, red boots toe to toe with Monique in her black slingbacks. 

"Excuse me?" Mom said, arms folded, glaring defiantly.

I jumped in, hands up, hoping to avoid starting things off with such an unnecessary confrontation.

"Listen, I'm really sorry. She gets a little defensive sometimes. Any idea where we could find Dr. Sinclair?"

Without speaking, Monique raised her glass, pointing it forward toward the long hallway, leading to the front door. 

"Take this," she said, offering me the glass. "She needs it more than I do."

Taking the glass, I graciously thanked her, handing it to Mom, who instantly gulped it down, as I then led her through the spacious kitchen, red boots clicking over white tile, noting the sterile appearance of the white cabinets, with top of the line, digital appliances in every corner, stainless steel, sparkling as bright as the grey-on-black marble counters.

Leaving the kitchen, we then passed a group of guests mingling together in the dining room off to the left. Over to the right, as Mom and I continued our way down the hall, I couldn't help turning to glance at a young, gorgeous brunette, with huge lofty tits, and a long, dark, braided ponytail, flawlessly mimicking Lara Croft, ass smothered in tight camouflage shorts, nipples poking through a strip of white cotton, arguably a bra, with black holsters holding huge guns, the whole works. Unable to keep myself from staring, I looked on watching her lean forward, locking lips with a second smoking hot brunette, wearing a costume inspired by a top female pop star, both of whom, if I wasn't mistaken, seemed to be older, more shapely versions of the same girls posing in all of the family photos hanging behind them. 

Seeing the pictures made me assume they were sisters, leading back to memories of Bethany and Kendra Saint-James. 

Bethany, the girl who gave me my first kiss, was an innocent freshman, half Dutch, half Irish, one year behind me in school. It happened one day when I went over to hang out with her brother Austin, my one and only friend at the time. Austin and I traded comics and played video games almost every weekend. Bethany was a shy, flat-chested, tomboy, with green eyes, and long, sandy blonde hair. She never got in the way, so neither of us minded if she hung out and played with us in Austin's room, especially since she knew more about comics and video games than most girls her age. 

One afternoon, Bethany and I were sitting alone in Austin's room, when she turned to me and randomly asked if I'd ever kissed a girl. Surprisingly, at 14, I honestly admitted that I never had, to which she confessed that she'd also never kissed a boy either. Austin had stepped out to use the bathroom, so I knew that he'd only be gone for a minute. Still, I never expected for Bethany to lean forward and gently kiss me on the lips.

Prancing along, fresh home from cheerleading practice, Kendra, her older sister passed by right at that moment, catching the two of us red-handed. At 17, Bethany's older sister had already blossomed into a blonde, top heavy, major league piece of ass, like a younger and thinner version of Cynthia, only meaner and more conceited. 

When she wasn't shaking her pom-poms at every high school sporting event, or working part-time, shamelessly flirting for commissions at Hot Topic, evidently, her third favorite activity was tormenting me as often as possible. 

As Kendra busted through Austin's door, Bethany quickly ran out, while Kendra stood there, dead sexy, in spite of her usual smirk, with legs to her neck, and large, full on, bodacious tits, raised like a shelf, stretching the limits of red and white straining polyester.

"Having fun?" she said, glaring, hands on her shapely hips. 

I was so embarrassed I could barely speak.

"Stand up," she ordered, urging me to my feet. "Let's see if you've got a chubby," she said, as she stepped over and squatted in front of me, yanking my shorts down to my ankles, gasping in shock.

"Holy shit!" Her eyes bulged at the sight of my semi-hard penis. "How the fuck did you get such a huge cock?"

From that moment, and only from her encouragement, what started for Kendra as just another humiliating practical joke quickly changed everything between us. 

Within a week, I was asking permission to sleepover at Austin's, the perfect ruse for me to go over and fool around with Kendra, who purposely left her door open, when everyone else had gone to sleep, as I crept in, climbed in her bed, and lost my virginity to her that first night. 

Over the summer, Kendra was more than willing to teach me all about sex, giving me the confidence to finally seduce her little sister, taking her cherry, as Kendra had taken mine.

Reaching the foyer, Mom and I eventually found Megan cordially greeting her guests by the front door, her buxom hips cinched tight in a black leather corset, over a white blouse, with ruffles on the sleeves. 

She hadn't seen us as I quietly took a moment to study her festive outfit from behind. Her ass admittedly did look pretty nice, though it really didn't have anything on Mom. Nonetheless, she clearly knew how to draw my attention, with no complaints at the sight of her in black, unforgiving, horse-riding breeches, squeezing her shapely buttocks, with black leather, spike-heeled boots, cuffed below the knees.




Shepherd's Pie Ch. 06: Daddy's Girl



Leaving my first orgy, I walked out feeling my insides ready to burst, chest swelling like a full body erection, filled a new sense of power and triumph.

When Mom and I first arrived at Megan's party, greeted by nothing but young, beautiful, half-naked women, all presenting their own unique version of the perfect slut, I figured, at some point, even by accident, my dick would likely end up in someone. 

Yet, I never expected to hook up with two gorgeous sisters, beyond slutty, centerfold hot, and also the eldest daughters of my British-born, deviant therapist, a statuesque, brown-haired beauty in her own right, blessed with remarkable genes. 

Somehow, in one night, I'd thoroughly cum-drenched five different women, white, black, and Latina, all left shuddering in my wake, including my mother, who outclassed all rivals in looks, body, fashion sense, and her willingness to try almost anything, making her the hottest mature single mother to ever wear pantyhose, hands down. 

Reaching the car, after drunkenly stumbling through the field, she slurred telling me I needed to drive, then got in and turned oddly quiet, barely saying a word, with no explanation for her random and disturbingly sudden change of mood. 

No longer feeling like a conquering hero, her clipped answers led me to question how genuinely proud and content she'd seemed when we left.

Frustrated, curious, stricken by insecurity, the longer I drove, the more time it gave Mom to sober up, as I mildly attempted to break the silence, cautiously testing her mood.

"So I guess the cat's out of the bag."

As I waited for an answer, I lit up a cigarette and watched from the corner of my eye. With a deep breath, she answered softly, head sunken to her chest.

"Guess so." Her head barely moved, nodding just slightly. "To be honest, at first, I was kind of hurt that I had to find out from her. But considering all that's happened lately, it's really not worth getting angry about."

Turning my head, I squinted back, no longer watching the road. I could understand her being worried or nervous, but definitely no more than that.

"Angry," my voice went up, "what for?"

Clearly, it pained her to say the words out loud, sighing heavily again.

"I heard what Megan said earlier. I know you fucked her without telling me. But it's okay. Like I said, I was hurt for a moment. I'm fine now."

I knew she was lying. Once again, I also realized I'd fucked up, wondering how many chances I had left.

"Oh, um, yeah," I stumbled, lifting the cigarette between my shaky fingers, taking an extra long drag. "Probably should have told you about that." I cracked the window, blowing out the smoke. "The day I went to her office something did sort of happen. Not what you think. We didn't have sex. I swear."

Mom sucked her teeth. "Who are you, Bill Clinton? She tasted your cum. That doesn't happen without sex."

"Well, yeah, I know that," I answered, struggling to explain. "But you've met her. You know what she's like. She pretended she was you. She made me jerk off. It was all part of the therapy."

"Oh, I see," Mom said, shaking her head. "So she was just helping you get closure, is that it? Including the part where she was like 'Okay, now I think it'd be really beneficial for you to jerk off and cum in my mouth.' You honestly expect me to believe that?" 

"Mom, please," I replied, sighing as well. "It's not like I went there knowing what would happen. And I can't explain her reasons any more than you. But I do know we're much closer now thanks to her. Isn't that what matters?"

Mom rolled her eyes. "What matters is whether or not I can trust you," she said. "You know what happened with me and your father. I won't go through that again."

As soon as she mentioned my father, my tone softened right away.

"You're right," I said, nodding my head. "I know how badly he hurt you. That's the last thing I want to do."

Halfway home, after riding quietly for another minute or so, I went back and gently broached my original concern.

"So what about Joel and Cynthia?"

"I don't know." Mom shrugged. "What about them?" 

"Well, they must know what's going on now. What do we do about that?"

"Hmm," Mom sniffed. "Unless they make it an issue, I don't see why we have to do anything."

"Oh," I said, pressing my lips. "Yeah, I guess you're right. Still, I can't figure out the whole auction thing. I mean, how did she know those girls? She must have some secrets too."

"Exactly," Mom said. "So the best thing to do is wait it out...see if she brings it up. Otherwise, what we do is none of her business."

It was almost midnight by the time we pulled up to the house. Walking through the door, I turned back and caught Mom reaching in her purse. At first, it appeared she was just putting away her scarf. Then I caught her smiling, turning my stomach, as she slid off to the dining room, cheerfully answering her cell.

Like a paranoid father, spying from the hallway, I fumed thinking who could be calling so late.

"Hey, handsome!" she said, turning my way, pausing to cover the mouthpiece. "It's Doug, sweetie. Go hop in the shower. I'll be up in a minute."

Steaming with jealousy, I bristled at the sight of Mom waving me off, standing there, all smiles, one hip pressed against the dining table, as I watchfully stood guard, admiring her costume: red boots, red gloves, legs gilded in suntan pantyhose, along with the same skintight, glossy, red leotard, dating back 18 years, to the countless hours she'd spent training her body to vault, tumble, and balance on a four-inch beam, molding her soft, formless, teenage figure, shaping it into a work of art. 

Presumptuous though it might have been, after hours of fucking, hearing Mom beg for my cock, filling her pussy with cum, in my mind, my rightful inheritance had been firmly cemented. Yet, her wagging fingers shooing me off struck like a punch in the gut; making me summon all of my will to quietly turn and walk away.

Ten minutes passed, as I stood in the shower, rinsing off sweat, pussy juice and dried semen. Feeling slighted, I resigned myself that Mom wasn't planning to join to me, as I stepped out, grabbed a towel, and heard the footfalls of Mom's boots noisily clomping up the stairs.

Leaving the bathroom, head low, towel around my waist, I turned left, slogging toward my room, spinning toward the sound of her voice.

With a pleasant smile, she waved me over, standing outside her bedroom door, as if either she hadn't noticed, or worse, didn't care if I was passed.

After hearing Doug's name, I'd initially pictured myself rushing over to strangle her just like Jasmine. Still, as hurt as I was, I reluctantly stepped forward, drawn toward her outstretched hand, as she stepped back, leading me in, soothed by her delicate touch.

Standing there, face to face, warmed by the sound of her voice, I gradually started forgetting what had gotten me so angry in the first place. 

"Sorry I took so long," she said, lips full, begging to be kissed.

Ever the good son, I smiled back, shrugging it off.

"Oh, it's fine. I'm sure he misses you."

"He does," she said, nodding back. "He doesn't like knowing I'm having fun without him. It's cute," she said, with a flicker in her eyes, leaving a mild sting.

Letting it slide, I made the excuse that she wasn't thinking, though part of me felt like a wuss.

"So what did you tell him?" I asked, moving on.

"Not much," she said, "told him we went to a Halloween party. Told him what I wore. Told him the whole thing turned into a massive orgy. You know, nothing major," she said, expecting a smile. "I'm kidding," she quickly followed, noting my face unchanged. "Why don't you lose that towel?" she hinted. "I'll rub some lotion on you. Maybe that'll loosen you up."

Resisting briefly, I nodded back, won over by temptation. 

"Um, okay," I mildly answered. "But after that, can we get some pictures of you in your costume?"

Focused on her eyes, the subtle hint of brown there normally boldly darkened, spreading all throughout. Luring me toward the bed, her voice softened to a rich, honeyed, seductive tone.

"What's the rush?" she whispered. "We've got all weekend. For now, I need you to lie down and relax." 

Dropping the towel, I sat down and leaned back, sprawling over Mom's king-sized bed.

Head propped, I nestled over her fluffy pillows, tracking her elegant motion as she breezily floated over toward her dresser.

From the neck down, like Eve's apple, her red gloves, red boots, and red spandex leotard rigidly adhered to her graceful movement, vividly shifting from the normal, buttoned down, single mom to the living embodiment of superhero-cum-mother of all sluts, thrillingly brought to life through the resonant maturity of her rich, low-pitched voice; combined with her sweet, spicy cinnamon scent; as I patiently waited to touch her all over, from her broad hips, to her slim thighs, to her long, tapered legs, every inch bright and shiny, with more curves than a red Ferrari, gleaming with the high-gloss shimmer of suntan pantyhose, like a fortune in gold, laid out just for me.

Turning her back, she leaned forward and reached for a bottle of lotion, extending her arm over a colorful assortment of nail polish, eye shadow, and more lipstick. Bending over, I watched from the rear, leotard wedged up her butt, red spandex stretched over golden nylon, sucked up between her cheeks.

Holding the bottle, she walked back, motives unclear, only a cold, blank stare. 

Joining me on the bed, she came back, sat down, and slowly began unzipping her boots. Methodically, she slipped off one, then the other, seemingly oblivious to my increasing restlessness, as I started anticipating the feeling her soft, perfumed body pressed up against me. 

Determined to test my patience, she slowly peeled off her gloves, then rolled over, thrilling me with her scent, leaving barely an inch between us, as she leaned forward, nuzzled my ear, and warmed me with her hot, steamy whisper.

"So what was your favorite moment from the party tonight?"

Flipping the bottle, she squeezed hard, lotion squirting in her hand. She briefly rubbed her hands together, warming them first, then reached down and gently laid them against my skin.

Trembling beneath her touch, the smell of lavender rose to my nose, as Mom used her smooth fingers to spread the lotion over my bare chest and shoulders. 

From neck to navel, she painstakingly coated with me her floral scent, leaving nothing untouched, as if she intended to mark her territory.

"That's easy," I said, shuddering as she tickled my nipples. "Watching you make out with Chelsea and Emma...the look on your faces...cum dripping all over you...so fucking hot." 

Finally, she looked up, eyes connecting with mine. 

"Really," she smiled. "I was thinking the same thing. I know we wanted a threesome with Megan, but I never expected to meet her daughters... and I certainly wasn't expecting them to be so hot. Who did you like better, Chelsea or Emma?"

Slowly, her hand trailed down to my stomach, sliding between my legs, carefully avoiding contact with my swollen balls.

"Hmm," I said, breathing in, thinking on the question. "I'd have to say Emma was a little prettier, but not by much. Chelsea though...something about her...I don't know...just sexy as hell." 

The question led me to picture Chelsea in her sexy costume, stunning from head to toe, complete with pantyhose, spawning a firm erection. 

"But God, Emma's pussy..." I flinched, as Mom's fingernails grazed my left nut. 

"Did you like it?" she candidly asked, leaving me uncertain how honest I should be. 

Hesitating a moment, I answered cautiously.

"Uh, yeah...I mean, obviously not like yours, but, um...it was pretty tight."

"I bet it was," she said, fingers curling around my shaft. "She's only 21. I'm sure mine was just as tight at her age."

Again, grabbing the lotion, she held the bottle over my cock. Squeezing harder than necessary, a huge glob poured down my shaft, covering her hand.

With no hesitation, my quick answer prompted her smile. 

"Trust me. It still is," I replied, feeling vulnerable, cock held in Mom's hand.

"Oh, you think so?" she said, with a playful grin. "Does it feel just as tight as this?" Her moist fingers clenched firmly all of a sudden.

"Errrrmm," I groaned from the sharp pressure. "Not quite!"

Mom laughed, clearly enjoying herself. "Can I ask you another question?" 

Covered in lotion, her slick, creamy fingers casually slid up and down. Along with her query, with feather light strokes, she baited me, watching me squirm.

"Yesss!" I shuddered, head swinging back. "Please don't stop your hand!"

Under her breath, with her legs close enough to feel her pantyhose rubbing against me, I picked up a subtle half-snort, half-laugh, with all the bemusement of a trained interrogator plotting to extract information from a known felon.

"What happened in the stables? Why were you gone so long?"

Squeezing tighter, my silence led her to stroke even faster, jolting my hips off the bed. Caving quickly, groaning for relief, I yielded to the pressure of her demanding fist. "Because," I said, clenching my eyes. "Megan took Joel and Cynthia out there with Dante and three other guys. Joel went with Megan. Cynthia stayed with Dante. She took on four guys at once."

Her eyes opened full alert. "Wait, what?" Mom said. "Did you just tell me Cynthia was in a gang bang...and you saw the whole thing?"

"Swear to God," I nodded. "I shot the whole thing on Joel's camcorder."

Loosening her grip, Mom absently continued working my shaft, clearly distracted, lazily stroking up and down. 

"And who were these other guys?" she asked, right hand folded around my cock, soft, teasing, floating up and down. 

Breathing harder, I could hear the excitement in her voice, pantyhose rubbing, faster than before.

"One of them was Joel's construction part..." 

"Byron!" she blurted, cutting me off. "God, I'd fuck him in a minute. Who were the other guys?"

"Friends of his..."

"So they were all black? Fuck, that's even hotter! Did they all have big cocks?"

I answered with a nod.

"It was one of the wildest things I've ever seen. She even did double penetration...Dante in her ass...Byron in her pussy...Cynthia just went nuts."

Mom shook her head. "I have to see this video."

"I'll see what I can do," I said, changing the subject. By then, Mom's unwillingness to quit rubbing her pantyhose against me had nearly driven me insane. "So now can I ask you a question?"

"Sure," she said, smiling away, knowing each brush of her smooth, angel soft, heavenly pantyhose would only continue to send chills racing through my nervous system.

"When I was at the stables, how did you hook up with Chelsea?"

Changing position, she sat up, resting on her knees, squirting another fistful of lotion.

"You saw her costume," she said, with a twinkle in her eye. "As soon as you left, the first thing I asked her was 'Where did you get those tights?'"

Nodding back, I smiled as Mom patiently continued manipulating my aching hard-on. I should have figured it was something hose-related. 

"Oh, so I guess you had no trouble finding something in common."

"Not at all," Mom said, talking and tugging all at once. Like most single mothers, she'd always been able to multitask. "She's actually a designer. She made that whole costume herself. She just opened her own boutique over in Inman Square. We work like three miles from each other. She even said if I came down she'd give me a discount on pantyhose. How awesome is that?"

"Pretty awesome," I said, losing focus, rapidly nearing the brink. "So what then," I asked, clutching the blanket, grimacing over the pressure her hand stimulated in my balls. "You just ran off to Daphne's room, stripped down and started munching away?"

Kneeling beside me, blushing in her old uniform, the look on her face turned so innocent I briefly forget how old she was, picturing her back in high school, down in the locker room, jerking some random cock, yearning for cum on her leotard.

"Well, yeah," she answered, somewhat embarrassed. "I mean, there may have been a couple glasses of wine involved," she added, smiling again. "But you missed seeing us in Daphne's room, stripped to our pantyhose. We did this thing where we scissored our legs together and grinded our pussies against each other over the hose. God, I came so hard. I'm wet just thinking about it."

Painting a vivid picture, her words had me ready to spunk.

"So how many girls have you been with?" I asked, listening intently.

She paused for a moment, flexing her fingers, lubing her opposite hand.

"Just one, back at the agency," she said. "Remember my friend, Kelly Eubanks, the redhead."

"Hmm, not really," I frowned, shaking my head. "I remember the name Kelly from somewhere, not sure where."

Mom laughed. "Probably when you were sneaking around, reading my journal...I still owe you for that," she casually threw in. "Anyway, when I worked at the agency, my best friends were Kelly Eubanks and Robin Nixon. For the most part, our co-workers had no idea they were really a couple. To my knowledge, Robin's never been with a guy, but Kelly's actually bi-sexual. Long story short, Kelly and I hooked up one night, when she and Robin had a falling out."

"Did Robin ever find out?"

"Not right away," Mom answered. "But I guess she had her suspicions. Kelly's a total flirt," she said, tilting her head. "It's all in my journal. You must have skipped that part."

Despite my lingering guilt, I suddenly wished I'd read through it more carefully.

"I honestly didn't read that much...just a few passages here and there."

"Oh," Mom said, increasing her pace, making me quiver. "Did anything in particular stand out?"

Heavily breathing, I dipped my head, shutting my eyes briefly while I thought. Opening my eyes, I looked up and saw Mom leaning forward, hanging on every word.

"I used to think you wore pantyhose around the house to keep me from seeing you naked," I explained. "I never expected to read all those crazy things you did...you really were quite a tease."

Pursing her lips, Mom quietly reflected for a moment, hazel eyes holding me in thrall.

"I see," she whispered. "Is that what you think? You think I'm just a tease. Interesting..." She stopped there, lips curling to a smirk. "Okay, that's fine. But then again, if I'm just a tease, do you think I'd ever do this?"

With her left hand fastened around my cock, she leaned forward, head bending over my crotch, spitting a huge wad of warm saliva. Letting it roll down the head, she closed her fingers, squeezing tighter, quickly starting to pump. The combination of spit, lotion, and dribbling pre-cum created a sound like mouthwash swishing back and forth, as Mom speedily fucked her own fist, milking my slippery pole.

"Now, I know you've had a busy night." Her voice simmered with rising expectations. "It honestly doesn't matter to me how many times you've already cum. I'm still your mother. I still get to drain you whenever I want. So don't even think about holding back. I want every drop."

Grueling would best describe the intense pleasure gripping me at that moment. Her persistence was so undeniable that even after already climaxing twice that night, I knew that I'd still have to cum or die trying, not a bad way to go out.

Roused by the sound of words spoken in her sultriest tone, I listened as Mom taunted me while jerking me off, tightly squeezing beneath the head, blurring my eyes, stroking with relentless determination.

"Come on, you can do it?" Mom whispered. "Remember the story I read to you when you were young...the one about the little engine..."

I think I can... I think I can... I think I can...




Shepherd's Pie Ch. 06: Daddy's Girl



"That's it, concentrate," Mom continued. "I'll even countdown from ten. When I reach one, I want you to cum for me as hard as you can."

Leaning back, I turned my head, biting down hard on the pillow. With my eyes tightly shut, I sensed her movement, weight shifting by my feet.

Blind to her location, I still couldn't mistake the texture of nylon, as I pictured Mom repositioned, straddling my leg.

"Ten..." Mom began, feeling her pussy grind steadily against my lower leg.

"Nine..." I felt her pantyhose pressed softly against my naked skin.

"Eight..." She switched hands, pouring more lotion down my cock.

"Seven..." Her right hand quickly took over, stroking double time, left hand given a rest.

"Six..." My mind went elsewhere...Mom and Chelsea...rubbing their clits together on Daphne's bed.

"Five..." If only I'd shown up sooner...Chelsea in silver Lurex tights...Mom in suntan hose...

"Four..." The image was just too much. Mom on the bed, one leg suspended mid-air, Chelsea on her back, legs open, wet pussies grinding together over sticky nylon.

"Three..." All I needed was a couple more seconds. I think I can... I think I can... I think I can...

"Two..." Hmm, was I crazy? Were Mom's pantyhose really that wet? Was her pussy juice really dripping down my leg?

"One..." Wait! What? No! Don't let go! Fuck! NO! Oh, oh shit! No, you fucking BITCH!

Mouth gaping, vision blurring, caught between heaven and hell, my dream turned to a nightmare, cursing in agony, groaning through bitter pain, able to make out the fuzzy image of Mom, clinically watching me suffer, as I lay there under her pantyhosed legs, penis flopping, spurting against my stomach, like an errant water hose, spraying without warning, showering sperm on my chest.

That satisfied look on her face pissed me off more than anything, cheerfully grinning, as I lay there covered in my own spunk. 

"That'll teach you not to sneak around behind my back."

Though it may have been all in my head, for a moment, I swore she'd actually snickered under her breath.

Ten minutes later, after taking another quick shower, I came down to find Mom sitting in the living room, idly flipping channels.

"Are you staying up for a bit?" I asked, joining her on the couch.

"Yeah, I'm a little too wired for bed right now."

I understood fully. Lucky for her, I had the ideal remedy. 

"Wanna smoke a bowl?"

Her eyes lit up. "Sure!"

I hopped up, eager to help her relax. "Say no more," I said, running upstairs, returning quickly, after fully packing my bong.

Within minutes we were high as fuck, laughing at South Park reruns, eating Captain Crunch.

"That was fucked up, what you did to me," I wanted her to know.

"I know. I'm sorry. But you have to admit, you did deserve it."

"Hmm, yeah," I nodded reluctantly. "Maybe a little," I added, changing the subject. "So what's happening with you and Mr. Wonderful? Your phone call went on for a while."

"Oh, well, um," she started slowly. "I was actually planning to tell you tomorrow, but, uh, since you brought it up...he'll actually be in town next weekend. He's planning to take us all out to dinner next Friday. Then Saturday he's taking me to the Berkshires to see the fall foliage. We're staying overnight at a bed and breakfast."

"Oh," I said, biting my tongue. "So dinner will be me, you and him?"

"And Mia," Mom said. "He said we can pick any place we want. I was thinking somewhere in the North End."

While Mom was busy thinking of restaurants, I was busy pondering the rate at which all this was happening so quickly.

"So him and his daughter?" 

Finally, she stopped rambling, turning her head. 

"Yeah," Mom replied. "We both agreed that if we really intend to move forward with this relationship, then both of our children need to be part of it." Even high, I could tell she was completely serious. Her voice lowered to a sobering tone. "Now, Chris listen, this is very important. About six years ago, two years after his divorce, Doug's ex died in a car crash. She was killed by a drunk driver. Doug basically raised Mia by himself. So when it comes to his daughter, as you can imagine, he's very overprotective, worse than me. You get what I'm saying?"

"Keep my dick in pants."

"Exactly," she said, nodding her head. "I mean it, Chris. I swear, if you even lay a finger on her, God knows what'll happen, but it won't be good."

If nothing else, I had to respect Mom's honesty. Yet, inside, it felt like I finally understood her priorities. Above all, she was more concerned about Doug's feelings, along with protecting her own security, which solidly placed me last on the list, sealing my decision to break up her relationship with Doug, by any means necessary, leaving no doubt that Mia Vincent was going to be my next conquest.

* * *

Saturday morning, Mom and I planned to sleep in and go out for breakfast. Then Cynthia called and woke us up around 7:30.

Half awake, I listened as Mom slowly got up, mumbling into her phone.

"Mm hmm...sure, sounds good...yeah, I'll bring him. Uh huh, we'll be right down."

"What was that about?" I asked, one eye open.

"Cynthia wants us to come down for breakfast. She sounded stressed. Guess she wants to talk."

"Really," I said, with a light flutter in my stomach. "Why so early?"

"I'm sure it's about last night." She stood up and walked to her closet, fully naked. "Anyway, get dressed. It shouldn't take long."

Hauling out of bed, I rubbed my eyes, sighing, as Mom rifled through her shirts.

"Shouldn't I shower first?"

Frowning, Mom peered at me behind her closet door. "You took two last night. I think you're clean enough."

With most of her make-up worn off overnight, brown hair long and frizzy, she came out wearing a light denim shirt, no bra, no panties, shirt buttoned half way. After hustling downstairs, she waited for me by the door, where I came down barefoot, in khaki shorts, and a black Walking Dead T-shirt. 

On the first floor, we let ourselves in, Mom leading me down the hallway, headed toward the kitchen, where we found Cynthia busily preparing breakfast.

Over hip-hop coming from the living room, Cynthia combined looking sexy and domestic, dancing to "The Motto," hips popping side to side, with fresh fruit and orange juice waiting on the table, her son, Miles bouncing and giggling in his high seat, smiling on our arrival.

Half asleep, I walked in, shuffling like a zombie, noting how Cynthia's tits jiggled as she spun forward, greeting us with energy likely from too much caffeine. 

"Good morning," she smiled, speaking a mile a minute. "I have to tell you, I'm not the best cook. But Joel went to Natick to buy supplies. My nanny has the weekend off. So it's just us...and I really needed to see you guys."

"It's fine," Mom said, giving her a hug. "Last night was crazy for everyone. I think we're all still in shock. What are you making?"

"Oh, um, I thought I'd try making some blueberry muffins," Cynthia said. "I just put them in. Meanwhile, help yourself to some fresh strawberries or a glass of orange juice. There's coffee too. Make yourself at home."

Moving toward the table, Mom sat first. Then I walked over and sat to her left, facing the cabinets. Glancing up, I watched as Cynthia turned around, reached up and struggled to pull down a coffee mug high above the sink. Raised on her toes, her little arms stretched overhead, with white letters spelling out "Juicy," on the back of her hot pink boy shorts. 

In full agreement with the apt description stretched out across her butt, my eyes fell from the plentiful thickness of her bulging asscheeks, to the fatty region where ass meets thigh, and the sudden hike of her shorts, where in spite of her soft, fleshy, visible lack of muscle, my dick was still throbbing as I looked over and saw Cynthia's buns pop out, jiggling as she came down and set her heels firmly on the floor.

Mug in hand, she turned back, stopping to take the coffee off the brewer. Filling her mug, she walked back, setting the mug down on the table.

"Did you want some coffee?" she asked Mom.

"Oh, no thank you. I was about to ask if you have tea."

"Sure, we've got Lipton. I'll just have to boil some water."

"I'll get it," I said, jumping up, stepping around the baby.

"Oh, okay," Cynthia said, scooping Miles out of his seat. "I actually need to feed him, so I really appreciate your help," she said, sitting down, leaning toward Mom. "You don't mind if I do that while he's in here, do you?"

"No, not at all." Mom shook her head. "It's perfectly natural."

As she untied the knot, Cynthia reached up behind her head, causing the apron to slip down over her mountainous breasts. Standing by the microwave, I looked on as Cynthia sat there in front of Mom, chatting away, huge tits plainly visible, even from behind, heavily sagging from her chest. With the front of her tank top pulled down over her right nipple, Miles clamped his little mouth, sucking and cooing, happily nursing from his mother's breast.

"So I want you to know how lucky we feel to have you both living here," Cynthia said. "We honestly couldn't ask for better tenants. I really mean that."

"Thanks," Mom replied. "Chris and I feel the same way. It feels almost like..."

"Family," Cynthia assumed, finishing her thought.

"Exactly," Mom nodded back. "Definitely feels like family."

"Right, I totally agree. So I guess that's why after last night, I feel like we need to clear up a few things."

Standing by the counter, I closely followed their conversation. The microwave went off. Then I reached in and took out a steaming mug of hot water.

"Well, yeah," Mom answered. "I definitely left the party with a few questions. I'm sure you did too."

"Okay," Cynthia said. "So let's just put everything out on the table. I'll let you start. What do you want to know?"

Placing a tea bag in the steaming cup, I turned back and asked Mom a question.

"Honey?"

"Yes, sweetie?"

"No, I meant...would you like some honey?"

"Oh," I caught her blushing. "Um, yes...just a little."

"Wow," Cynthia said, holding Mile's head to her breast. "I hope my son's as good to me when he's your age."

I smiled, shaking my head. Keep pulling those tits out. See what happens.

Looking through the cabinets, I came across a plastic bottle, filled with honey. Knowing Mom's diet, I poured in just a few drops. Then I placed the mug next to her on the table.

"I have a question," I said, taking my seat again. "What's up with you and Dante?" I asked, leading both women to blush. 

For five minutes, in great detail, Cynthia explained how she and Joel went through what she described as a "rough patch" in their marriage, before meeting Megan, who helped them to be more open with each other, improving their trust, allowing each other the freedom to enjoy more sexual exploration. 

"So Joel likes to watch you with other guys?" Mom asked.

Cynthia nodded. "Mostly black guys, gets him off...I don't ask why."

"Okay, so Megan introduced you to Dante. I get that," Mom continued. "But last night you told Jasmine that Dante was paying you two thousand dollars an hour. So what is he, like...a pimp, or something?" she asked, prompting me to butt in.

"He's not like a pimp. He is a pimp," I said, raising my voice. "Why would you work for him? You've got a kid."

"Because," Cynthia replied. "Megan trusts him. So I figure I can too. He's not a bad person. He's really no different than your average executive. He's smart, safe..."

"And extremely sexy," Mom added. "I'm sure that's part of the appeal."

As I listened, I reached out and helped myself to a strawberry. After one bite, I turned and offered the rest to Mom.

"Mmm, these are good," I said, raising it toward her lips. 

Like a reflex, Mom instantly took the berry in her mouth, biting down, juices rolling down her chin.

"Mmm," she said, still chewing. "Thank you."

Raising her eyebrows, Cynthia sat there, silent, staring at Mom.

Swallowing, Mom turned to Cynthia, questioning again. "So, I don't get it...I mean, don't you have any qualms about working for him...won't it hurt your career?"

Cynthia shrugged. "Not really." She lifted Miles to her shoulder. "This is my job now." She gently rubbed his back. "Joel and I want another baby. So I probably won't go back. Working for Dante one night a month, I can easily earn the same salary, probably more. Plus, I like that I don't have to be so dependent on Joel for money all the time."

Hearing her logic, I purposely refrained from comment, though it actually did make sense.

"Hmm," Mom said, slightly nodding. "I guess those are all good reasons. Plus, if it makes you happy, and you're sure Joel's okay with it, then that's all that matters...as long as you're being careful."

"We are," Cynthia said. "Dante knows what he's doing. And I meant to tell you, he really liked you." The oven timer went off. "I mean, he really liked you...asked me about your situation and everything."

"Oh," Mom frowned. "You mean, like...working for him...me?"

Cynthia stood up, cradling Miles near her head. "Sounded it like it to me. If I were you, I'd think about it, especially being a single mom."

"There's no way," Mom said, shaking her head. "The school where I teach is run by the city. If anyone found out, I'd be fired on the spot. It's not worth it." She reached for the baby. "Here," she offered. "I'll take him for a minute."

"Oh, thanks." Cynthia handed the baby over, upon which she offered Mom a cloth napkin. Gratefully, Mom accepted, draping it neatly over her left shoulder.

Perhaps Megan could have explained it. Yet, I instantly felt a connection between Mom's innocent offer to take Cynthia's baby, holding him lovingly like her own, and the suddenly rampant condition of my painful erection, throbbing inside my shorts.

Cynthia turned and walked toward the oven, as Mom gently relieved the baby's gas, softly rubbing, lightly patting him on the back

"I can go put him down for his nap, while you finish getting things ready," Mom said, standing up, moving toward the bedroom.

"That would be great," Cynthia smiled, pulling the pan from the oven, laying it on the stove. "I need to let these cool for a while. Hope you're not starving."

Mom turned. "We're fine," she said, moving toward Cynthia's room. "We stayed up last night and had cereal before we went to bed. No rush." 

As Mom slipped off, Cynthia joined me at the table, leaning forward, whispering for some odd reason.

"Can I ask you something?" By the time I nodded, she'd already launched into her next sentence. "I just find it kind of weird that you and your mother are so close. I mean, it's cool and all. But didn't it feel awkward having sex in front of her last night?"

With a mild grin, munching another strawberry, I turned back, answering with a sniff. 

"Hmm, I was wondering when you'd ask me that. You know I've been going to Megan for counseling too. She's really helped us a lot with our relationship, being more open with each other, like you and Joel, same thing."

Cynthia furrowed her brow. "How is it the same thing? Joel and I are married. You two are mother and son. Am I missing something?"

I leaned forward, clearing my throat, sensing an opportunity. "Okay," I whispered back. "I'll explain everything on one condition...you have to show Mom your video."

As I leaned back, Cynthia's eyes gaped wide open, turning as Mom returned.

"Baby's sleeping, snug as a bug," she said. "Did I miss anything?"

"Cynthia wants us to watch her video," I said, speaking up first.

Clearly unnerved, Cynthia glanced at the table, where both of us saw the same fork. I could see her in face she was tempted to reach, resisting the urge to stab me. 

Looking puzzled, Mom stammered. "Oh, um, okay...I usually like my porn after breakfast, but...what the hell," she shrugged, "why not?"

The three of us moved to the living room, where Mom and Cynthia sat down on opposite ends of the couch, leaving an open space for me in the middle. Taking a couple minutes to hook up her laptop to the TV, I then walked over and sat down between them.

As the footage began, for my first effort, I had to say the video was pretty damn hot. From the opening moments, beginning with Cynthia stripping, then kneeling down, sucking four cocks at once, the challenge for me was sitting there, one eye focused on the screen, while the same blue-eyed, big-titted blonde sat half naked, inches away, with thin straps barely hiding her nipples under her white tank top, leaving 38 inches of huge supple breasts broadly exposed to my frequent glances. 

With her lush bosom pressed up against my arm, Cynthia leaned in, turning her head, clearly more interested in my reaction than the screen.

Meanwhile, siting to my left, the sight of Cynthia gobbling down four giant cocks had Mom totally riveted, one leg folded beneath the other, flashing the landing strip over her hairless cunt.

Moments later, Mom finally offered her first comment.

"So you and Byron look pretty friendly. When did that start?"

"Oh, um, right before you moved in," Cynthia said. "It happened purely by accident, but, um...I don't know. There's just something there." Her cheeks flushed.

"Oh, I can see that," Mom grinned, "and it's pretty huge."

Cynthia smiled back. "I know right. It makes me nervous. We have this great chemistry. It all started as something I did just for Joel. He loves watching me with other guys. I'd never do anything to hurt him. It's just confusing, you know. I mean, I haven't told him yet, but the other night, Byron offered to take me on a real date."

"Wow," Mom said. "What did you say?"

Cynthia sighed, scratching her head. "I told him I'd think about it. But I'm nervous about that too. I mean, he's only 22. His dick is like a foot long. What if I can't keep up? Or what if he realizes how much I suck in bed? Before last night, I couldn't even deep throat..."

"Hmm," Mom said, glancing at me. "What if we helped you practice?"

Cynthia frowned. "Practice? You mean, like, right now?"

"Uh huh," Mom said, nodding emphatically. "You watched Chris with Jasmine last night. You've seen his equipment. I'm pretty sure if you can handle that, you can handle anything."

Cynthia went quiet, mulling it over. Meanwhile, Mom scooted over, nudging my arm.

"It's okay. Pull it out," she mildly insisted. "I think we should help her."

Following orders, I reached down and calmly unzipped my shorts. Fully erect, same as every morning, knowing she'd seen it before, I pulled out my hefty cock, proudly seizing it through my open fly. 

Turning my head, struck by the color of Cynthia's sparkling, blue irises, I caught how she gazed down, watching me haul out my lumber, eyes yawning, feigning surprise, as I reached up, gripping my veiny shaft by the base, head flaring, cock throbbing, flagging between my open legs.

Looking down, her right hand trembled, curling her fingers below the head. Her lips parted, as she slowly bent over, eyes lifting toward Mom. 

"Don't focus on me," Mom whispered. "Focus on feeling it throb in your mouth."

Cock in hand, sizing it up, seeming uncertain where to start, unlike the ravenous slut on screen, the real Cynthia took a more tentative approach. 

As her head timidly bowed over my lap, I assumed Mom's presence, combined with a lack of alcohol, lessened her usual confidence, lips quivering, closing gingerly over the broad mushroom tip.

My greatest pleasure was feeling her nerves as my cock slipped gently into her mouth. With reverence, her fingers trembled, softly gripping the shaft, as if almost questioning if she was worthy of having my dick in her mouth.

Sliding the knob over her tongue, she took me down halfway, lightly sucking, with wonderful pressure, needing a bit more spit. Bobbing and sucking, she built up her rhythm, age difference fading as she serviced me. Regardless of being in her mid-30s, I was the one training her to deep throat, placing me fully in charge.




Shepherd's Pie Ch. 06: Daddy's Girl



"Too much hand," I said, refusing to cut her any slack. "That's cheating."

She sprang up and tossed her hair with a huff, voicing her visible frustration.

"I'm sorry. I was just working my way up. It's not as easy as you think."

Ever the teacher, Mom spoke up, offering sage advice. "You're not getting it wet enough," she said, clearing her throat. "Here, watch this..."

Cynthia frowned, watching as Mom took charge, diving head first in my lap.

Swooping in, Mom went on the attack, with Cynthia wide eyed, holding her breath, as Mom selflessly instructed her how to please me, poising her gaping mouth inches above my cock, lips hovering dangerously close to the bulbous head, as she glanced up and briefly instructed me with a simple statement.

"Hold my hair."

In the waiting moments, before enjoying the sublime pleasure of penetrating her bottomless throat, after heeding Mom's instructions, she widely opened her mouth, warm breath heating my loins. The air from her mouth led me to think of her hot pussy steaming as well, seething with taboo excitement, burning to suck my cock, wantonly, in front of our landlord.

Sitting there, somewhat distracted by the video, I couldn't help marveling at the broad expanse of Cynthia's asscheeks filling up the screen, bouncing and jiggling in ripped pantyhose, slamming on Byron's cock. 

Suddenly, Mom stole my attention, noisily spitting, hawking up phlegm, stunning me with her freakish talent for salivating in heavy volume. Reminding me who was the biggest slut, I watched how she dribbled, spewing over her bottom lip, threads wiggling, foaming with tiny bubbles, drooling all over my meaty cock.

With all the hunger of true carnivore, apparently wanting sausage for breakfast, Mom gulped my dick down without a flinch. By then, she'd been plunging my dick down her throat for weeks, not that I was jaded. Still, it was different, with Cynthia beside me, watching it all first hand.

Despite what happened with her uncle, or anything she'd seen at the party, I imagined Cynthia must have been shocked, as Mom willingly bent over to suck my cock, openly committing an act of incest, right in her own living room.

As Mom began bobbing and slurping away, I frowned as Cynthia leapt off the couch, head down, rushing toward the kitchen. 

Reluctantly opting to make her stop, I tapped Mom lightly on the shoulder.

With a wrinkled brow, she sat up, noticing Cynthia's was gone.

"Where'd she go?" 

"Think she went to the kitchen," I said, pointing to my left. "She looked pretty freaked out."

For a moment, as Mom promptly chased after Cynthia, the boy in me needed to get up and join them as well. Yet, Cynthia's video offered a second compelling option, as I sat there debating whether to stay put or follow, torn between needing to be at Mom's side, or being mature enough to sit there and let them talk, along with the bonus of watching Cynthia get tag teamed by Dante and Byron, stuffing her pussy and her ass, taking huge black cocks and brutally stretching her holes wide open.

Opting for the real thing, I hopped up, dropped my shorts, and paced toward the kitchen, semi-erect, penis flopping, slapping between my legs.

"Talk to me," I overheard. "What's going through your mind?" Mom whispered.

As I entered the kitchen, the two of them stood face to face near the sink. Cynthia stared at the floor. Mom stood at an angle, showing only the side of her face.

"It might sound weird," Cynthia muttered, shaking her head. "As soon as you started, I couldn't stop thinking about Miles. Not like right now," she explained. "But it scares me to think what could happen when he's older, you know? I mean, I'm such an exhibitionist. I can't help it. I don't know what would happen if Miles ever looked at me the way Chris looks at you."

Watching from a distance, I listened as Mom responded with empathy.

"It's not weird." She reached up, rubbing Cynthia's arm. "When Chris was young, there were so many times when I caught him staring at my legs. From the moment I got home, he was always watching me, always making excuses to come in my room while I was changing, dropping things on purpose, anything to peek up my skirt. Still, the whole time, even when I knew what he's doing, even when I started having all kinds of twisted fantasies about him every night, I still couldn't bring myself to act on it." 

"I buried my feelings for years," she continued, "writing them all in my journal, wearing more pantyhose, teasing him on purpose, waiting till he turned 18." Turning her head, Mom gazed at me over her right shoulder, smiling with her eyes. "But look at him now," she whispered fondly. "My little boy's all grown up now, isn't he?"

Cynthia's head slowly rose up, eyelids opened half wide. Speechless, I stood there, unable to blink, lost in a sea of blue eyes. Staring back, probing to read her thoughts, my ego quickly took over, deeply emboldened by her unsubtle downward glances and her inability to look away from the growth of my lengthening hard-on, craning upward, filling with blood, surging as hot as my temperature, till finally Cynthia's answer came, voice sultry, eyes level with mine.

"Does he still like to watch?" 

Turning back, Mom fully expressed the urgency of her lustful thoughts, with only a slight nod and devilish grin. "Yes. Yes, he does," she said, wetting her lips. Turning forward, she stepped in, leaning for a kiss, mouth pressing firmly over Cynthia's lips.

Time faded watching the two of them mash their lips together, tongues darting in and out. Quickly, when kissing wasn't enough, they reached up and feverishly groped each other over their tops. 

Stripping first, shucking her tank top, Cynthia's tits flopped out. Honey in hand, Mom helped Cynthia peel down her shorts, before leading her back to the table.

Tracking her walk, I studied the muscles rippling in Mom's slender calves, with Cynthia face forward, hard nipples out, sitting up straight on the table. Silently poised between Cynthia's legs, Mom slowly raised her right arm. The back of her shirt slowly rose up, baring her smooth naked thighs.

Pouring the honey, Mom leisurely dribbled it over the bumps circling Cynthia's throbbing left nipple, where Mom eagerly bent down, lips clamping over Cynthia's pink areola, taking it all in her mouth.

Physically, Cynthia showed her enjoyment, instantly arching her back. The sight of it tempted me to leap over and shove Mom out of the way, logically staying put, not easy seeing the upward thrust of her chest, tits shooting straight up, nipples peaking from the mounds of her soft, pillow-shaped, 38FFs, slathered in honey, shining like liquid gold.

The image was so enticing it wasn't surprising to see Mom's similar reaction, seeming to come unglued. With Cynthia's left breast firmly in hand, her hazel eyes narrowed half slit. I already knew from first-hand experience how Mom savored having large objects stuffed in her mouth, as I stood back, smiling, noting her commitment, lips stretching like pink rubber bands, clearly ignoring her slight disadvantage, Cynthia's tits dwarfing her head.

Sucking like a newborn, Mom switched from one nipple to another, honey hardening as it cooled. Forced to work twice as hard, Mom simply sped up the swirling and flicking motion of her tongue, grazing both nipples with her teeth, slobbering spit all over, with Cynthia begging for more.

"Oh, good God! Yeah, suck those tits. Suck 'em nice and hard!"

Thinking two mouths were better than one, I made my way over, ready and eager to help, as Mom grabbed the honey, pouring half a cup in her mouth. 

Cynthia sat up, wagging her tongue, knowing what Mom had in mind. Pausing mid-step, I watched in amazement, as she and Mom wildly sucked face, moaning in union, sharing the honey, passing it back and forth, with excess syrup dribbling down, forming a shiny glaze, then each of them took turns cleaning their chins, one tongue mopping the other.

Having seen enough, I stepped forward, both hands clutching Mom's waist. While she and Cynthia lingered over their long, steamy, honey-glazed kiss, I slowly entered Mom from behind, easing my dick inside. 

Hot, mushy, yet tight as a glove, the fear of Mom getting more pleasure from her heated lip lock faded as I filled her warm pussy, walls spreading like melted butter, filling me with reassurance.

Unable to see Mom's face, my eyes rose toward Cynthia's, which anxiously shifted from me to Mom, while gnawing her bottom lip.

Instead of rushing like a conjugal visit, desperate to make it count, by taking our time, we'd purposely chosen to let Cynthia in, letting her absorb our passion, hoping to fill her with the faith of sharing the same passion with her son one day.

"Is this what you thought about?" I asked gazing at her. 

Turning her head, eyes blinking, she took in a long, deep breath. Apparently, she wasn't expecting such a bold question, at least, not from me. 

"Oh, um...you heard all that?"

With Mom between us, leaning forward, nuzzling Cynthia's neck, I nodded back, over Mom's heavy panting, slicing my dick in and out.

"Like Megan says, you shouldn't deny your true nature," I replied, winding my hips. "Mom and I did that for years. All it did was fuel our addictions. But thanks to her, we now have an outlet. And we've never been closer." Mom quivered as I hit bottom, balls flush to her snatch. "Don't you want that for you and your son one day?" 

Dimming her eyes, I gave Cynthia a moment to think before she answered, turning my focus back to Mom. 

By sharing our secret with someone else, we forged a much stronger bond, deepening our trust, at last finding the elusive will to release any lingering shame.

Gripping Mom's waist, spurred by the jolting suction of her spongy twat, I leveled her with a series of short, driving thrusts, hips churning, sweat beading, pelvis smacking against her butt. 

Doubling the speed of my thrusts, I listened as Mom encouraged me with raw, filthy, incestuous language, gasping between each phrase. 

"Hmmphh huhh oh oh yeah...oh yeah, right there. Yeah, that's it...God, you're so fucking hard this morning...yes, Chris fuck me...fuck me baby...you know how I like it...come on, give it to me...yeah, that's it...fuck Mommy how she likes it...nice and hard...shove it all in there...mmm, God yes, fuck me sweetie...you know Mommy loves your big cock so much...Mommy loves to get bent over just like this...come on, baby... that's it...fuck my pussy...fuck Mommy's pussy good...make Mommy cum on your big fat monster cock!" 

Triggered by her voice, a switch went off, shifting me into beast mode. 

Groaning in submission, losing all power of speech, Mom threw her arms around Cynthia, holding on for dear life. Breaking her spirit, I threw my hips wildly, making her take it like a slut. Shaking all over, her body surrendered, shock waves hitting full force, cock buried, rock hard inside her, rabidly pulsing with life. 

Hugging Mom's shoulders, Cynthia shuddered, listening behind closed eyes, lost somewhere else, drinking it in, seeming to cum by osmosis. 

Catching her breath, Mom pulled away. Cynthia eyed me again. 

"Wow," she said, shaking her head. "You two are something else. I've never been so jealous."

"So your answer is yes?" I asked bluntly, staring at her big blue eyes.

Nodding with conviction, she answered with no hesitation. 

"Oh, absolutely," said Cynthia. "I mean, let's face it. I'm just as big a slut as your mom. We both share the same taste for forbidden fruit. So it's probably inevitable. But 18 years is a long time, assuming I can wait that long...what do I do in the meantime?"

Feeling warm, I pulled off my shirt, dropping it down to the floor.

"Honestly, if you're serious about it, quit working for Dante. That's number one. I know you like him. I know he's got tons of swag. But there's a dark side to him. I can see it. I'm sure you can too."

Cynthia smirked, arms folding across her chest. "And walk away from all that money...you think it's that easy?"

I glanced at Mom, moving toward the sink, filling a glass of water.

"There's other ways to make money," I said, turning back.

"Oh, like what?" Cynthia said, tilting her head. 

Sipping her water, Mom eyed me skeptically, leaning against the sink. 

Unfazed, I then proceeded to explain my new vision.

"Last night, during the party," I began. "I got this idea for a magazine called 'Eye Candy.' Then, when I was shooting the video, I realized how cool it would be to make my own movies. All I need is the models."

"Models," Cynthia frowned. "Meaning who, us?"

"Exactly," I said, nodding and smiling. "There's a huge market for fetish porn. Trust me, I know. I'd even be willing to split the profits evenly. Plus, it's a lot safer than prostitution," I added.

Mom and Cynthia turned to each other, quietly thinking it over.

Finally, Cynthia stepped off the table, pulling a chair up beside me. 

"That actually sounds pretty interesting," she said, offering me a seat. "But I'll only consider it if Lauren agrees," she said, standing in front of me. "And there's one more condition," she added, curling her fingers around my cock. "As of this moment, I forbid you think of me as your landlord," she whispered, squeezing the shaft. "From now on, it's Aunt Cindy." Her other hand came up and rested on my shoulder. "Now, sit down," she boldly insisted. "Aunt Cindy wants to ride your cock." 

Doing as told, I quickly sat down, as Cynthia turned facing Mom, who promptly stepped over, dropped to the floor and knelt down between our legs.

Cynthia squatted, sheathing my hard-on deep in her squishy twat. Carefully observing, Mom leaned forward, adding a playful remark.

"Don't mind me," she said, heating my scrotum with her mouth, "just thought I should make myself useful." 

From Mom's position, crouched down, leaning so close, the juices I felt seeping down my shaft must have been easy to see... with every inch deeply sinking through Cynthia's dripping wet cunt. 

With a whooping sound, Cynthia gasped, head swinging back on insertion. The weight of her body pressed down against me, leaning all the way back, tickled by soft hair brushing my neck, breathing her strong citrus scent.

Settling down, in no rush at all, Cynthia winded on top of me, patiently swiveling, bathing me in juices, like her pussy was some sort of hybrid sexual kitchen appliance, a dishwasher for my cock. 

Like a hand in glove, my dick felt incredibly snug in its cozy new lodgings, with Cynthia doing all the work, letting me savor the warmth, friction, and slickness of her tight, oily walls. 

Opening her mouth, Cynthia leaned in, twisting her head for a kiss. Coated with honey, she wormed her sweet tongue inside my mouth, urgently seized between my lips.

Meanwhile, Mom kept herself busy, slurping and sucking my balls. 

With her face inches from Cynthia's cunt, I briefly considered warning Mom to keep her distance, only to realize this would only put me in as much hot water as Cynthia's epic squirts. 

Even with Cynthia writhing against my crotch, the distraction of Mom's agile tongue dragging and fluttering over my balls brought up a question leading me to break off our kiss, while keeping a firm grip over Cynthia's huge, putty soft tits.

"Tell me something, Aunt Cindy," I hotly whispered. "Do you really think you're as a big a slut as my mom?"

Returning a soft moan, Cynthia whispered, "I know I am."

"What makes you so sure?" I asked, hips undulating, matching her rhythm.

"It started when you moved in," she explained. "Lately, I've had this recurring dream where Miles goes off to college. Every weekend he comes home with all of his dirty clothes. I'm down in the basement getting ready to work out. I see him coming downstairs. He tosses his laundry down on the floor, as if he expects me to wash them. I tell him he's old enough to do it himself. Then I go back to stretching out. He picks up the bag and dumps his clothes in the washer all at once. I get up and help him sort the colors as he stands there staring at my tits. I lean over, smelling the body odor on his shirt. I wiggle my fingers and tell him to hand it over. Slowly, he takes it off. I tell him we might as well wash his jeans too. He takes them off. I can't help seeing his gigantic hard-on, way bigger than his dad. He catches me staring, pulls down his briefs, then stands there and points it at me between his hand."

Quietly listening, similar to Mom, the perversion of Cynthia's own words heightened her excitement, panting and quivering as she bucked harder, vigorously rocking back and forth.

"He starts jerking off right in front of me," she continued. "Before I can stop him, he grabs my tits, groping them all over. He spins me around, rips down my shorts, and bends me over the washer. Next thing I know, he's pounding the shit out of me from behind. I don't want to like it but it feels so good I can't help squirting on his cock. Finally, he pulls out and pushes me down. Then he shoots this enormous load down my throat." 

"Hmm," I said, probing further, fucking her mind as well. "Is that what you want? You want Miles to grow up and treat you like a whore? Do you really believe you're such a slut that you'd even fuck your own son?"

"Hmphh huhhh yesss uhh uhh ohh gawwd you're gonna make me cum!" 

"No!" I barked vehemently. "Not until you say it. Not until you scream it out loud."

Her inner walls seized around my cock, clamping, as Mom pitched in. 

"Ohh fffuuccckk!" Cynthia shouted, throwing back her head. "Ohh yeah that's it! Suck it! Suck my clit! Yeah right there! Hunphh huhh ohh oh gawd Lauren just like that! Fuck yeah SUCK it! God you suck it SO good! Ohhh gawwwd! Ohh gawd, Chris, please let me CUM! Please I can't take it! Not with your MOTHER sucking my CLIT! Hmmmggaawwwd I'm gonna EXPLODE! Let me explode on your COCK! I'll do anything as long as you share your HUGE cock!"

"Will you work for me?"

"YES! Yes! Whatever you want!"

"Will you let Miles fuck Mommy too?"

"Hmmyessss all the time!"

"You've always thought about incest, haven't you? That's why you want me to call you Aunt Cindy. That's why you started having those dreams when we moved in. You pictured me upstairs fucking my mother and you liked it, didn't you?"

Hitting a nerve, I cringed at the piercing decibel of her response, screaming out frighteningly loud.

"OHH! FUCCKK! YESSSSSS!!" Cynthia combusted with an ear-splitting scream, so alarming I worried the neighbors would dial 911. 

Forcing me out, her hips lurched, jolting like my dick slipped and jabbed her up the ass. Head back, legs spread, fingers buzzing over her clit, she wailed through a series of frantic convulsions, each of which culminated in a sudden burst of hot, gushing, transparent fluid. 

Rearing back, Mom gasped, snapping her head back on reflex.

Hazel eyes gaped with terror, Mom hotly slid out her tongue, as a fountain of girl-cum rained down splashing her face, lips parting with subtle excitement as well.

With each subsequent blast, Mom went from shrieking to giggling to mewing, fully aroused, face riddled by multiple spurts.

Trickling down my shaft, droplets zigzagged and dripped off my balls, cock drenched on all sides.

Standing up on shaky legs, Cynthia wearily stumbled toward the table. 

"Holy shit," she said, breathing hard, shaking off a head rush. "That was really intense."

From the next room, woken by the noise, I overheard Miles crying.

"Great," Cynthia sighed. "I woke the baby."

"It's fine," Mom said, hopping up, face shining with filmy residue. "He probably needs to be changed. I'll get it," she said, waving her hand. "Stay here and finish getting the food ready. Be right back."

As Mom hustled off, her unsettling eagerness to run off and change a diaper made me wonder if all of a sudden she'd developed a mild case of baby fever.




Shepherd's Pie Ch. 07: Girl's Night Out



The yellow cab pulled up to our house after eleven. Hair matted, face wet, dress dripping with cum, reluctantly Mia stepped out, heels clicking to the ground, after shallow praise, earnest looks, and subtle hints of rejection led her to stroll over, slide in up front and pump out the cab driver's load, ending our date with jizz on her fingers, most his, some mine. 

The next morning, smelling honeysuckle lotion, I woke up fearing my plan had backfired. With one arm around Mia's shoulder, feeling her soft hair and skin, we lay together, spooning each other in my bed. 

She should have found me disgusting. She should have run off and begged her father to leave me and Mom alone. Yet, she'd asked to sleep over. She'd even accepted the offer to share my bed. On one condition, for some reason saying she wouldn't get naked. She said she was cold. But that was a lie. She obviously didn't quite trust me. Or maybe she might have been on to my fetish, but purposely didn't let on. 

Either way, I openly welcomed her decision to sleep in her pantyhose, as Mia climbed in under the covers, rolled to her side, with her soft buttocks, warm beneath nylon, pressed up against me all night. 

Nestled between my arms, by morning I smelled the musk, as her warm body roused from sleep, pantyhose sealing her pussy in its own juices, brining all night. 

Hot, humid, covered with this greasy film, overnight, moist air steamed through the hose, leaving the gauzy nylon slippery with sweat. 

Sandwiched between her supple cheeks, hard-on stiff as a brick, slowly writhing, she pushed back, brushing my sensitive glans. Scratchy, yet silky, all at once, numerous times, the grainy fabric swept up and down, dueling sensations so thrilling it made my head swim. 

Turning her head, her eyes blinked open, greeting me with a smile, then sprang up, grabbed a near pillow and clocked me upside the head. 

Laughing, I smiled back, reading her annoyance. 

"Let me guess, you're still angry about last night." 

Arms folded, eyes slit together, Mia scowled at me in her white strapless bra. 

"No, of course not," her eyes rolled. "All girls love jerking off smelly cab drivers." 

"Oh, really," I said jokingly. "Where do I sign up?" 

Mia smirked. "You're such an asshole." 

"Mmm, so I've been told. But look at the bright side, at least it only took a few seconds." 

This time I saw it coming, flinching as the pillow struck again. 

"Yeah, laugh it up," she said. "You're lucky I didn't smother you in your sleep." Pointing left, she raised her finger toward the dresser. "And what about my dress?" she whined. "It's completely ruined. How the fuck did you cum like that anyway? You realize you're not normal, right?" 

"Normal," I said, frowning back. "How would you know?" 

"Because," she shrugged. "If every guy came that much, I would have heard it from someone by now." 

"Hmm, yeah, that's probably true. And I am sorry for ruining your dress. Sometimes I do get carried away. But I'm also grateful that you chose not to smother me in my sleep," I said, bringing a smile. 

Flipping her hair, her lashes fluttered, softening her tone. 

"Well, there's still time," she said, rubbing her arm. "But before I kill you, there is something I'm still curious to find out..." 

"Oh, what's that?" 

"How hard it is to fit you inside my pussy?" 

"Oh," I said, ten degrees warmer. "Um, okay, we can do that. Are you sure that's what you want?" 

Mia nodded. "It's my first year of college. I don't care what my Dad thinks. I'm not spending the next four years as a virgin." 

Frowning, I sat up and clutched my head, voice raised in distress. 

"Hold on, are you serious?" 

Mia smirked. "Do I need to wear a sign? I told you I've never had a boyfriend." 

"Well, yeah, I get that. But I figured at some point you hooked up with someone." 

"You've never met my d..." 

"I know," I said, cutting her off. "What does your dad to you anyway? Lock you up in some tower with a chastity belt?" 

"Worse," she said. "If he ever found out I had sex before marriage he'd totally cut me off." 

"Wow," I swallowed. "He'd really do that?" 

"In a heartbeat," Mia nodded. "My father's the type of guy who believes he can buy anything, including love. He met my mother at a fashion show in Milan. She started as a runway model. To this day, I wonder if she only stayed with him so long 'cuz he spoiled her so much. He probably does too." 

"I get that. When my parents divorced, my dad went and picked up a trophy wife too. But that doesn't explain why your father would treat you the same way he treated your mom." 

"That's all he knows," Mia shrugged. "To him, I'm just a prize...and losing my virginity would only decrease the value of my stock." 

"I see," I nodded, curious to hear her motives. "So, why now?" I asked, "why me?" 

"Two reasons," she said, tilting her head. "For one, out of all my options, you're easily the safest and most convenient. As long as my father's still dating your mother, he'll probably convince himself that I only see you like an older brother, which gives us the freedom to hang out as much as we want, without arousing any suspicion." 

"Okay," I said, nodding along. "And what's the other reason?" 

"Well," she said, dropping her voice. "Like I said before, it's my first year of college. I came here to learn. So I also need someone with experience." 

"Hmm," I said, scratching my head. "You do realize what you're asking, right? It's not as simple as piano lessons. You can't just learn to be a slut." 

Mia nodded. "I realize it won't be easy. And I won't lie. I'm extremely nervous about it. But that's why I've waited this long to find the right teacher. The question is have I found him or not?" 

Checking the clock, I estimated Mom would return in less than two hours then turning back I promptly decided to waste no more precious time. 

"Take off your bra." 

I waited expectantly, shoulders leaned against the headboard, watching in silence, as Mia's arms slowly unfolded, reaching behind her back. 

Turning her head, Mia looked off, slowly undoing the clasp. Shoulders hunched, her bra fell off, softly landing in her lap. 

Head down, nipples swollen, her waifish body trembled shoulders to waist. Perhaps she felt a chill. Or perhaps she really felt naked; as I did, stripped down by Kendra. 

Recalling that moment, I relived the vision of Kendra's surprising smile, remembering the way it lifted my panic and filled me with such tremendous confidence, to see her eyes grow wide with amazement, speechless in sight of my cock. 

Paying it forward, I smiled back at Mia, eyeing her palm-sized tits. Newly sprouted, high on her chest, her teenage breasts sat up like cupcakes, with hard, pointy, blush-colored nipples instead of candles. 

To help her relax, I looked up and kindly whispered. "Beautiful. Now, close your eyes." 

With some reluctance, Mia obeyed, eyes finally closing after a long, deep breath. 

"Put your hands on your breasts." 

Trembling, Mia did as told, hands set atop her chest. 

"Touch yourself." 

Her eyes flew open, pupils shaking with fear. 

"You heard me," my voice dropped. "Keep your eyes closed." 

Saying no more, I patiently waited, taking things step by step. 

Before I'd even consider having sex, after learning Mia was a virgin, I needed to know how truly innocent she was. If something as basic as masturbation was that uncomfortable, then knowing so allowed me to understand just how much work we had to do. 

Hands up, fingers spread, Mia's hands rested lightly against her breasts. Flattening her palms, she placed them both softly over her pert nipples, circling slowly in opposite directions, eyes closed, breathing more heavily through her mouth. 

"Do you like your breasts?" 

Chest heaving, she seemed to enjoy the pleasure of her own touch, as she whispered back, slightly breathless, shaking her head. 

"No, not really...wish they were bigger." 

"Not unusual," I said, keeping things positive. "Tell me something you do like about them." 

"Hmm," Mia answered, moaning as she kneaded them softly. "They're firm." 

"Good." 

"They're perky." 

"Yes." 

"And they're actually really, umm..." 

"Sensitive?" 

Mia nodded, prompting me to delve further. 

"And what are you feeling right now? Describe it to me." 

"Gosh, I don't know." Fanning her fingers, she then flicked them over her nipples, both swelling, red as plump raspberries. "I feel warm inside, tingling all over," she said, fondling herself. 

"No," I rebutted. "I didn't ask how you feel. I want to know what you feel." 

"Oh," she inhaled. "Well, my nipples are really swollen. Not used to them feeling this tough...sort of hurts...in a good way." 

"Do you play with them often?" 

She shook her head. 

"Let me guess...your Dad doesn't like you to touch yourself either." 

"Hell, no," Mia frowned. "He caught me once. My ass was red for days." 

The image made me jealous. "He spanked you?" 

"Yes," she sighed wearily. "My father spanked me for masturbating...not exactly a turn-on." 

I begged to differ. 

"I don't get it," I said. "It's not like you're out sleeping around. So what's the problem?" 

Her answer came with obvious sarcasm. "In his logic, if you want to call it that," Mia explained. "Sex is about love, not pleasure. And people who do things only for pleasure can be easily manipulated." 

"Hmm," I sniffed. "That's one way to see it. But some could say masturbation is actually one of the truest expressions of love...as in loving yourself...celebrating the way God made you." 

"Oh," Mia let out a grin. "So by sitting here pinching my nipples in front of you, I'm actually making love to myself?" 

"Well, yeah...in a manner of speaking, that's exactly what you're doing. And if you believe all creation was made totally different, then until you actually learn your own body, you'll never be able to show someone else what makes you so special and unique." 

"Ah," she nodded. "So you're telling me I'm going to have to do this before we can have sex?" 

"No," I shook my head. "I'm not saying you have to. I'm saying you need to. I'm saying it'll help." 

Showing keen intuition, she then startled me with her next question. 

"You're nervous, aren't you? You're worried about hurting me. You're trying to keep me calm." 

"Um, yeah, maybe a little," I had to admit. "Just do me a favor. Lie back and keep your eyes shut. Clear all your thoughts. Imagine being alone." 

Over the covers, scooting down, Mia laid all the way back, as I rolled over onto my stomach, feet hanging off the edge, poised in between her open legs, directing what happened next. 

"Should I keep my hands up here?" she asked, cupping her breasts. 

"Just one," I said, thinking she'd take the hint. 

"And the other," she said, playing coy, or faking it very well. 

"Between your legs," I answered. Mia quickly complied. 

Eyes level with her pantyhose gusset, I then followed the motion as her right hand slowly reached down over her stomach. 

Knees up, legs wide open, her French-tipped nails slowly slid down toward her navel, only to stop at the band of nylon cutting into her pale, supple, white flesh. 

My whole life I'd rarely seen a more sensuous article of clothing, as Mia lay there in pantyhose, sheer to her size zero waist, with no control top, hot neon pink, tight as a bubble gum wrapper. 

Just as I noticed the tips of her fingers sliding beneath the hose, I stopped her hand, slowing things down, giving decisive new orders. 

"Don't do that. Keep it outside. Rub the nylon against your clit." 

With one hand mauling her tiny left breast, the other between her legs, she flattened her fingers over the hose then labored breaths followed as her hand began rubbing in circles against her clit. 

"That's it. Nice and slow," I told her. "Do it just like that. Don't just rub the nylon. Use it. Use it until you cum. Rub your clit through your pantyhose and don't you dare fucking stop!" 

"Haahhh haahhh haahhh," her ragged breaths came faster and harder. Still, I kept talking. 

"God, you look so hot. And you're not even really touching your pussy. That's what great about pantyhose. You can still be a good girl and be bad at the same time. Or maybe you wanna be bad?" 

Mia worked her fingers to a blur. "Huhh huhhh ohh ohh gawd yess make me bad...make me dirty...make me your dirty slut!" 

"Soon enough," I promised. "We have to get you completely ready. We want it to slide in easy. Now don't stop rubbing your pussy. Keep going. Tell me how good it feels." 

"Hmphh huhh," her hips bucked, struggling to form sentences. "Mmm gawwdd f-f-feels g-g-good so nnguhh g-g-good." 

"Yeah, you like it," I smiled. "Are you sure about that? Isn't it just a bit frustrating? Wouldn't you love to just rip them open, really get at that clit? Or maybe you love teasing yourself, the way you loving teasing me?" 

Mia nodded, gritting her teeth, pinching her left nipple. Over her pussy, her energy focused, zeroed in hard on her clit. Over the gusset, her manicured fingers vibrated side to side, like speedy fingers using dull sandpaper, scratching her horny itch. 

Though Mia wasn't in Mom's league, the act of succumbing to the illicit pleasure of masturbating in pantyhose showed me she'd reached a new level, wildly abandoning Daddy's sweet angel and wantonly submitting to the lustful power of nylon, drawn up over her open wide legs, like shimmering tubes of glowing pink neon. 

Hearing her moans, I waited on purpose, eyes focused down on her crotch. 

Though only a blotch, a wet spot appeared, enough to show she was close. Starting to tremble, her hand lost its rhythm, moments from starting to cum. Right then, I reached down and pulled back her wrist, hand rudely snatched away. Climax denied, Mia looked down, hissing and gnashing her teeth. 

The glare of her half-slit, murderous eyes spoke much louder than words. Angrily, like a mouse trap, her legs snapped together, clamped tight around my head. 

Head scissored, I struggled in vain, locked ankles behind my back. Neck straining, her thigh muscles proved stronger than they looked, as she forced me to breathe through the gauzy fabric over her steaming wet twat. 

Squeezing hard, she arched her back then used the leverage to roll me over, shoulders pinned to the bed. 

Moist gusset mashing my face, Mia fumed with hostility. 

"You think that's funny!" she said, pressing with all her weight. "Try laughing now, you piece of shit! Maybe I'll sit here and smother you till you pass out!" 

Lips muzzled by nylon over my mouth, I couldn't answer as Mia vengefully humped my face. 

As I struggled for air, I found it ironic how fragile pink tights could easily become a weapon, as worn by Mia, squatted down, pantyhose snuffing me out. 

Riding my face, Mia continued, nylon chafing my skin, grating against my morning stubble, scratching and burning like hell. 

"That's right," Mia snarled, squeezing her thighs. "You're my bitch now! How does it feel?" 

Small as she was, I could have easily pushed her off. Yet, instead I lost myself gazing at her tits, nips hard, pointed straight out. Above this, her reddish blonde cascading hair set off her eyes emerald green. 

Trapped underneath her smooth, sturdy legs, the salty odor of unwashed sex tingled inside my nose, steaming through the thin layer of Mia's pantyhose gusset, as I lay there inhaling a musk formed by hours of perspiration, lips clinging to a salty film, moist from the flow of her juices, along with her loud, pungent, feminine odor, where a virginal sweetness, fresh with its own distinct flowery scent, fragrantly still came through. 

From the moment I saw Mia come out half naked, laced in her sheer white dress, I'd purposely laid on the compliments heavy, openly praising her legs, with no attempt to hide my extreme adoration, wanting to send her a clear message that walking out in white heels, pink pantyhose, and legs sculpted like a ballerina would entice me to pop her cherry even if she really was my sister. 

Still, in spite of this, with our relationship in its early stages, I never explicitly used the word "fetish," hoping she'd learn on her own. 

Above my head, gracefully Mia spun forward, facing my proud erection, where her vocal reaction suggested that finally the light bulb might have come on. 

With only a second to catch my breath, upon her rotation, she hunched down, soft tush squashing my face. Smiling beneath her, I sniffed her anus, hearing her sudden gasp. 

"Good God, look at your cock!" she said. "It's even bigger than it was last night. You really are a freak, aren't you?" She leaned back, wiggling her butt. "You like this, huh? You like when I rub my ass all over your face!" 

Taken by seeing how well she could shake it, I enjoyed seeing her plump cheeks jiggle, but only till Mia brought down her weight, where dressed like a bunny her playful shimmy turned suddenly aggressive, as she hopped up and down, giggling as she brutally smacked her butt against my face. 

"I should say 'this is what you get,'" she said, bouncing fast over and over. "But it's pretty obvious you enjoy it," she added, threatening payback. Maybe I'll sit here and watch you jerk off. Or then again, maybe I'll suck your cock, not that you deserve it, not when you're probably still thinking about Bethany." The thought hadn't crossed my mind. "Gosh, it's really a tough decision. I really enjoyed giving you my first blowjob last night. When you started to cum, I know it probably seemed like I was grossed out. But honestly, it was only because you caught me off guard. And you know what else...while you weren't looking...I tasted the driver's cum too. But honestly, it was pretty sour, no way as good as yours. So, I'll make you a deal. If I let you fuck me, promise you'll cum in my mouth." 

In the second it took me to process what I'd just heard, Mia lunged forward, reached down and firmly grabbed my cock, then surprisingly shoved half of it deep in her hot little mouth. 

With wet, noisy, popsicle slurps, Mia voraciously demonstrated her new sizzling appetite for cock. 

Gripping the shaft, with warm, slippery fingers, her hand slid up, stopped then squeezed beneath the head. Wisely, Mia extended the narrow passage formed by her mouth, jerking and sucking at once. 

Legs spread, crotch in my face, pushing as far as she could, Mia eagerly choked down my cock, gurgling and slobbering with all the zest of a true, natural-born slut, fist tightening on the upstroke, then back down, doubling the pressure, hand and mouth working as one. 

Wildly maintaining her rampant pace, left hand juggling my balls, humming away, spitting all over, I listened as Mia blubbered like an infant, sucking her favorite rattle. 

"Hmmfff shhhlick hmmpphh hmmpphh hmmnnguuhh uhh gawd I luvvdishcock hmmgawdd isshoofuckin big hmmphh shleek heessh hesshh hmmphh hnnguhh isshoo so hawwd immamouth mmm fffuccckk can't shtoppp can't stoppp shucking disss sshuugge ffucckiingg ccoocckkk!!" 

Feverishly, Mia worked herself into a lather, cock drunk, foaming at the mouth, gagging and spitting, hell bent on making me pop. 

Moments from shooting, knowing we couldn't take all day, I tensed up and stifled my release. Still, Mia kept sloshing my dick in and out, sucking with tireless vigor, potentially ruining the sex before it even happened; calling me to action. 

Desperate, with two hands, I reached up and clawed my nails through the thin fabric over her precious cunt. With a loud pop, the nylon ruptured, nails punctured through. Reinforced nylon, tightly-stitched, put up a decent fight, till I flexed my forearms for one hard jerk, threads pulled and snapped apart. 




Shepherd's Pie



"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?"




Shepherd's Pie



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.




Shepherd's Pie



"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.




Shepherd's Pie



"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.