Pretty Mama
Chapter 1

Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Heterosexual, Incest, Mother, Son, Masturbation, Voyeurism, Leg Fetish, Slow,

Desc: Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Young artist secretly depicts his hard working mother's unguarded moments. How will she react when she discovers she's her own son's favorite model?

A half sipped glass of white wine sits on the coffee table. The woman lying on the sofa seems pretty, but it's hard to tell with her raised arm draped across her eyes. She's dressed for the office, not a secretary but a boss, elegant and confident, but now her crisp suit looks rumpled after a long day. The simple, black skirt isn't short, but gathered high on shapely legs in sheer black hose. One leg rests on the carpeted floor while the other is flung against the back of the sofa, knee raised as she lies back, letting the stress of another day subside.

Blake took a few steps back to look at his new print from a distance. It was his best yet. This one truly brought out the model's unconscious sensuality. He'd caught her legs in an alluring, unguarded position. They were perfect, shapely and just thick enough to convey strength. Her lips were parted ever so slightly, causing the viewer to wonder if she's sleeping or daydreaming of something luscious.

The young lithographer felt his pulse leap. This one would establish the whole series he'd been working on. It was striking enough to be the one to set off his career. He'd finally be able to quit the graveyard shift at the all-night gas station.

Blake heaved a sigh of resignation. None of this would ever be possible. He'd have to get his model's permission to use her image. It might not be a problem under normal circumstances, but he was afraid of how she'd feel about these images she didn't even know she'd posed for. Even if she approved of the print, the image would reveal too much about the way he saw her, and that was the one thing he could never allow. He was in love with his model and she didn't have a clue.

Just then, his mother's car pulled into the driveway, drawing him to the window of his second floor studio see. Her car idled directly below while the garage door under his studio groaned open. She drove inside, and Blake crossed back to the display board to remove the new print.

By the time Teagan walked into the studio, Blake had the new print tucked safely away in a portfolio and another in its place. He was washing his hands in the cramped bathroom and heard her call his name. He watched her from a corner of the mirror as he leaned over the sink. She took off her suit jacket and laid it over the back of a chair, then tossed back her straight, chestnut hair as she settled onto the broad sofa and surrendered to the day's fatigue.

Blake stepped into the doorway, and greeted his mother with a warm smile that barely scratched the surface of what he felt. She leaned back in unguarded repose and toed off a brutal looking pair of shiny black heels. Her dark business skirt rose to mid-thigh, and he felt a lump in his throat as he scanned the gracefully feminine shape of her thighs and calves. In sheer, black hose, her legs gave off an image that was both conservative and cloyingly sensuous.

"Another tough one?" he said, pulling his eyes back to her face.

She smiled wistfully and nodded. "It won't be like this much longer," she promised. "Just a few more weeks."

"Sure," Blake replied with a mild tone. "I won't remind you you've been saying that for the past six months."

"Good," she sighed, "because that would really depress me."

Blake was already moving to the small hotel refrigerator where he retrieved a half full bottle of white wine. He snagged two glasses off the top of the fridge and brought them to the couch, where Teagan shifted to make room for him.

While he filled the glasses, she brought her foot up tighter, raising her knee and causing her skirt to pool around her lap. She looked almost as she did in the new print, except more of her thigh was revealed. Blake felt self-conscious since she watched his face as he poured. He struggled to keep the wine from spilling across the coffee table.

"You've always been so good to me," she sighed. "But lately you've been especially wonderful. I just want you to know I notice. And how much I ... appreciate what you do for me."

"That's just so you won't raise my rent," he quipped, handing her one the glasses.

She chuckled. He didn't pay rent, but the brief distraction allowed his gaze to drift across her raised, hose-encased thigh. He knew she didn't like having thighs that size, but to him they were enchantingly supple and firm, with graceful, feminine contours. He couldn't explain why, but something about the sleek, smooth surface of her hose made his palms feel sweaty.

"Well someday when you're famous for your prints you'll buy a big, fancy estate and give me a whole wing to myself," she sighed.

"And why would I want you off in your own separate wing?" he smiled wryly.

"So I don't see what goes on at the wild parties you'll throw for all your celebrity friends."

She was smiling so sweetly Blake barely realized he was touching her nylon cased foot and gently squeezing.

"Oh god," Teagan sighed. "Don't do that unless you mean it. It's been a hell of a day."

Blake's heart shivered, though he fought to show a calm exterior. "Let me take care of you," he said, his voice nearly cracking as he moved to the end of the sofa and took his mother's feet in his lap.

He held her left foot in both hands and started pressing his thumbs up and down the entire bottom surface. Teagan's relaxing sigh had such a sexual tone Blake had to wonder if he was hearing things. It was enough to send a rush of pleasurable tingles buzzing through his cock.

"Oh, Blake, darling," his mother exhaled. "You have no idea."

He thought the same thing as she threw her arm over her eyes and shifted slightly. He took the opportunity to openly scan her exposed legs and inhale the air around her. His fingers and thumbs continued their patient massage and press along her foot, including her ankle and toes.

When she sighed even more deeply and pressed the toes of her other foot into his thigh he felt his cock grow thicker with every warm pulse coursing through it.

Teagan arched her spine briefly, causing her full, mounded breasts to stretch the buttons on her blouse. Blake was aching to reach across and open those buttons one by one, until he could reach inside and pull her lush breasts free of her bra. Even more, he wanted to kiss the full lips that parted ever so slightly as she drew deep, audible breaths.

With trembling fingers, Blake slowly massaged along his mother's ankle and chanced taking hold of her shapely calf. When his fingers pressed into the meat of her calf, she cooed softly and ground herself deeper into the cushions.

"Oh, Blake, that feels wonderful," she drawled lazily.

"I just hope it's helping you relax."

"Perfect." It sounded as much like a breath as a word.

The slick texture of his mother's leg under his gently digging fingers sent waves of heat washing through him. His cock was quickly swelling against his tight briefs, straining to push free. He was dying to push her foot against his hard shaft and slide his hand up her thigh to cup her pussy. It was completely impossible, of course, yet the desire poured through him like a waterfall.

Blake finally set his mother's foot down, safely away from the throbbing bulge in his pants. He took the other foot in his hands and repeated his patient massage, slowly working his way from her toes to her ankle and as far up as her calf.

He liked imagining he might be making his mother's pussy just a little bit wet, but by the time he finished the massage, her body was so limp and her breathing so deep he was sure she was almost asleep. He set her foot down and walked promptly but quietly to the bathroom, keeping his back to her in case she might uncover her eyes and discover the throbbing erection distorting the front of his pants.

Before closing himself in, Blake chanced a backward look at his near-comatose mother. He didn't know when he'd ever seen anything so lovely, sensuous or vulnerable. He felt a strange urge to stand guard over her until she came back to full consciousness.

The leg resting against the back of the sofa was cocked up halfway, while the other stretched into the spot where he'd just been sitting. Her skirt was bunched around her hips, and he realized he needed exactly this image for his next print in the series he'd been working on.

He decided to risk it. He slid off his shoes and padded quietly to the table where his digital camera was. He double checked to be sure the phony shutter click was disabled, and then slowly padded toward the sofa and his sweetly slumbering mother.

Although he felt reckless and shaky, he couldn't stop his hand from reaching toward her blouse to open the top button with agonizing care. He chanced opening one more, until the lacy edges of her pale yellow bra were revealed. The sight of her full, smooth breast mounds sent a fresh rush of heat through his cock.

He started snapping off pictures randomly, hardly even looking at the LCD to see what he was getting. He was trying to get as many shots as possible, hoping to get lucky enough to get a couple of good ones. He moved quietly from one end of the sofa to the other to get her from different angles.

He chanced pushing the camera close to her breasts and thighs, as well as back from a distance, but he finally realized he could only push his luck so far. With his heart thudding in his chest, he padded softly into the bathroom and shut the door. He turned on the shower and undressed, finally liberating his cock, aching and engorged with shameful desire.

While he waited for the water to reach the temperature he liked, he picked up his camera and took a few moments to view the latest shots of his napping mother. He gripped his straining cock with his free hand and absently stroked his flesh as he realized these were the most revealing images he'd captured so far.

Blake finally shut the camera down and tucked it away on top of a stack of clean towels. He stepped into the tiny shower stall and let the spray wash over him as he closed his eyes and stroked his cock. Images of his reclining mother swept through his mind.

His muscles tensed as his hand moved faster. He could see himself pressing his lips against his mother's thigh, brushing them upward and savoring the Teflon friction of her hose on his mouth. He saw himself pushing her skirt up to her waist as his mouth closed over her mound, grinding on her through hose and panties until her wetness was seeping through and he could taste her.

Blake was soon pounding his cock wildly to unstoppable dreams of his pretty mother. Was it so bad to dream of making her cum? To dream of making her feel beautiful and loved?

He braced himself against the stall with one hand while he pumped his spurting cock until his mind went blank.

Teagan woke up with a start from a very unsettling dream. Wet heat throbbed in her pussy. It was disorienting to realize she was still dressed and lying on the sofa in Blake's studio. There was a blanket covering the lower half of her body, and she realized only Blake could have put it over her.

Oh, Blake.

The last thing she remembered was the way he'd massaged her feet and calves that afternoon. He had such strong, wonderful hands. He'd touched her with so much care and – she searched her mind for the right word – affection.

It was the only explanation for that insane dream in which his hands kept moving higher, massaging her fleshy thighs until her body was floating on a cloud of sensation. It seemed so real when she lifted her ass to let him roll her hose and panties all the way off and touch her bare skin.

As if by reflex, Teagan reached down to touch herself, making sure she was still wearing her pantyhose. It felt so strange to feel how wet she was, knowing her own son had done it to her in a dream she never should have been having.

Maybe she shouldn't have let him massage her feet that way. But it felt so good. It was just what she needed after a long day. She couldn't imagine what he'd think if he suspected his foot massage had caused that warm honey to flow from her pussy, even before his touch sent her off to erotic dreamland.

She'd been wearing those pantyhose, so it wasn't like he was actually touching her skin. That was something she was sure she could never allow. If his hands felt good enough through her nylons to make her wet, letting him actually touch her skin was unthinkable.

But those hands. They'd touched her like a caring lover.

She fished her phone from her purse to check the time, already knowing it was past his time to go to work. She wished he'd woken her up before he left. She didn't like sleeping so long so early. Now she'd be up half the night, and even worse, her pussy was aching with desires she had no business feeling.

As she sat up, she realized the top buttons of her blouse had come undone. They probably came undone while she was tossing and turning over her dream.

She finally got up from the sofa and began pacing aimlessly around her son's studio. It wasn't the first time she'd done this. She liked spending time there, even when he was off at his job. She didn't feel as alone as she did spending nights in the main house. At least here she felt surrounded by him. She'd slept more than a few nights on that sofa, even a few times while Blake slumbered in his bed up in the small sleeping loft.

She stood by the window above the garage and thought of her son standing there, watching her car drive in at the end of her day. She smiled and indulged a playful thought of how much she enjoyed looking at his face, especially when he was excited to show her one of his latest prints.

Without thinking, she opened the rest of the buttons on her blouse. Then she slid down the zipper on the side of her skirt and let it pool around her feet. She knew she was treating her son's studio like it was her own bedroom, but she found comfort in the way it made him feel closer. She didn't like his going out to work the graveyard shift, but he insisted. He wanted to be able to work on his prints in good light, and he also felt it would keep her from working as hard as she did.

Teagan sighed aloud and slipped her hand inside her open blouse to touch her warm breast through her bra. Her nipple already formed a tight knot under the lacy texture, and her other hand drifted to cup her aching pussy, feeling her warm honey soaking through panties and hose.

"Oh, my darling Blake," she whispered, pressing her fingers into her flushed mound. She knew she'd die of shame if he ever knew how she invaded his space when he wasn't there, how she ached to have him close, admonishing her for working too hard, looking at her with that devastating smirk, fetching her wine, massaging her ... feet.

She thought of her single friends with sons in their early twenties, and how they got none of the love and support she got from Blake. Could he be nothing more than a grown up mama's boy? No. He was a man. A responsible man. A loving man. Such a handsome man.

She turned and leaned against the wall by the window. She imagined him sitting on his sofa, watching her with his dark, attentive eyes.

"Baby, what's happening to me?" she asked his admiring image. She then shrugged off her blouse and shed her bra, leaving them in a pile with her skirt. She massaged her aching breasts with one hand, while the other slid down inside her pantyhose, slithering beneath her saturated panties to appease her demanding slit.

"It's nothing wrong," her beautiful dream vision spoke to her, smiling, relaxing with his long, defined arms stretching in each direction across the top of the sofa. "You're just feeling all the hot, sexy beauty I see in you every day."

"Oh, Darling, you're talking more like a lover than my son."

She could barely whisper the shocking words, but her finger slid through the slippery wet folds of her aching pussy. Her clit felt like it was buzzing, made of pure electricity. She let a fingertip roll back and forth across the burning nub while tormenting a nipple with her other hand.

"Don't you think Mommy's acting like a whore?"

Her vision threw his head back and laughed while her finger pushed into her frothing sheath.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" the vision teased. "You want me to tell you what a naughty, slutty mother you are."

"Yes, Baby, ohhh yesss," Teagan moaned at a daringly normal volume, her voice growing husky.

"But you know I'd never use words like that for you," her dream said what she yearned to hear. "You can act like one, but you'll never be one. Not when you're only this way for me."

It gave her a bittersweet thrill to admit she'd never known a man like her own son, and probably never would. Teagan almost didn't care about spending even more years of her life tossing and turning in an empty bed. Her finger pumped a steady rhythm in her dripping pussy, her desire mounting, sending her on a shamefully delicious journey.

Suddenly, she yanked her hand from her pantyhose, leaving her yearning pussy unsatisfied and catching her breath as she leaned against the wall.

"My god, what's happening to me?"

The question was only to herself this time. The vision of Blake was gone, and the sofa completely empty.

She decided the wise thing would be to go to her own room. She could take a pill and get back to sleep. It wasn't too late for that.

She bent down and gathered her clothes up in a ball and went to the chair where she'd laid her jacket that afternoon. She caught sight of Blake's new print and decided to take another look before going to the main house. Leaving her clothes on the chair, she went to the wall switch and turned on the lights.

She went to stand in front of the print and admired her son's talent. She knew he'd catch on sooner or later. As she studied the print with pride, a sense of confusion gradually came over her.

She began to realize it was the same one he'd had on display the last few days. She knew he liked to make prints in series based on a repeating image, but this was the same one. She knew he had to have been working on something else these last few days, but she didn't understand why he wouldn't display them. He always seemed so anxious to show her his latest projects.

Then a feeling of profound embarrassment came over her. The last thing she needed to be doing was standing in her son's studio at midnight in nothing but panties and nylons, trying in vain to force her nagging pussy to cool down while she indulged a brazen whim of nosiness about what he was working on.

Even though her mind was already on its way downstairs and through the garage doorway into the house, Teagan's body remained where it was. She spotted the large, black leather portfolio leaning up against the leg under Blake's work table. A feeling she couldn't name came over her, and before she thought about what she was doing, she knelt down and laid the portfolio flat, drawing the zipper around each corner.

Teagan gasped, bringing her hand to her throat as she opened the flap and saw the first print lying atop several others. The last thing she expected to see was an elaborate image of herself napping on the very sofa she'd just arisen from. She was shocked to discover her own son had secretly captured such an unguarded image and went to such obvious care to portray her showing far too much of her semi-thick legs and full breasts pushing too hard against her blouse.

The next thing Teagan realized was she looked much too perfect. All her lines and contours appeared unconscious but perfectly aligned. There was a soft glow around her as if she were emitting light in her sleep. Although she was looking at an image of herself, on another level she was taken by the way the artist portrayed a beautiful model. The print was a celebration of beauty and femininity.

"Is this ... how you see me?" she asked the empty room. Then she turned the print over and looked at the one beneath. It was similar to the first, but from another day, another office outfit rumpled and loose as she dozed away her daily fatigue.

She wanted to be beside herself with anger. She was convinced that's what she was supposed to be feeling, but the question she'd just posed aloud kept rewinding and replaying in her mind.

"Is this how you see me? Your own mother?"

Teagan didn't think any man had ever looked at her the way her son apparently did. Certainly not his smug, narcissistic father, but Blake was nothing like him.

Her eyes grew moist and soon overflowed. At the same time, she felt that nagging ache deep in her body. The more she tried to sweep it under the carpet, the bigger the lump there was to trip over.

"Oh, my darling Blake," she crooned hopelessly.

Kneeling on the floor of his studio before the prints of her he clearly never wanted her to find, she let her hand drift back inside her pantyhose to stroke the hot petals flushed with unspoken desire. This time she pushed two of her fingers up her channel, slipping and sliding them deep and steady.

"Oh Blake, oh Blake, my darling boy," she sang plaintively. "Is this really how you see me?"

She thought of him touching her feet again, his fingers pressing into her meaty calves. Her pumping fingers were slick with her dew as she thought of his face and voice and laugh. And as she drove herself toward an unavoidable peak, she couldn't stop her mind from swirling thoughts of his cock.

"My baby," she mewled desperately. "Did it make you hard touching me like that?"

Teagan soon lost the power to string words together as wave upon wave of sweet, long denied release crashed over her shuddering body.

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