Chapter 1

Michele Cashmore had raced home from work early to tell her son the good news. She had not only been promoted; she was going to get a huge pay raise. She raced inside their small two-story cottage and quickly climbed the stairs, her high-heels clattering on the wooden treads. She snatched at the doorknob and flung open the door to her son's bedroom.

"David! Guess what? I got a pro..." Michele failed to complete the sentence.

Her mouth agape, Michele stood still as a statue, mesmerised by what she was seeing. Her son sat at his desk his eyes glued to his computer monitor, ear-buds wedged into his ears, oblivious to the anything other than his computer screen.

On the computer screen a short movie was playing over and over again in an endless loop. A mature woman dressed in a business suit was bent over a desk; her legs splayed wide, she hung onto the desk for support, tottering precariously on her high-heeled shoes. The woman's skirt was hiked up her back exposing her thighs and buttocks; they were encased in tan, high-sheen, sheer-to-the-waist pantyhose.

A lanky youth stood naked behind the woman. He had split the seam of the woman's pantyhose and, having pulled aside the gusset of her red satin panties, he was furiously pounding his long stiff penis in and out of the woman's vagina. He gripped her waist, his fingers causing the sheen of the woman's lustrous pantyhose to glisten in the harsh light. The woman turned her face to look at the boy, she had to be at least forty although she was very attractive and wore heavy makeup. She was mouthing something that Michele could not hear because her son had silenced the speakers by plugging in his earphones. She was obviously enjoying being fucked by the young man.

Michele saw that her son was furiously masturbating as he intently watched the movie; his long thick cock stuck up out of his hairy crotch, his jeans and underpants were scrunched around his ankles. What was perturbing to her was that her son had one of her nylon stockings draped over his penis. He held a pair of her soiled satin panties in his other hand and he was sniffing the crotch.

Her son was panting heavily and muttering to himself as he frantically stroked his nylon-sheathed cock. Michele was flabbergasted; she knew that her son masturbated and she even suspected that he had been masturbating with her lingerie; but she never suspected he was sniffing her panties. She felt very confused but as she watched her son gratify himself she also felt a little tingle of excitement. Maybe it was being in the same room as her son while he pleasured himself or maybe it was the video playing on the monitor. The fully clothed woman being fucked over the table in the video looked a little like her. No! She looked a lot like her!

Michele decided that the best course of action was to back out of the room and quietly close the door behind her; and then suddenly her son started to moan. On the computer screen the skinny boy pulled out of the attractive mature woman and ejaculated over her large round arse; globs of semen stuck to her buttocks and then ran down her thighs, soaking her nylons. Her son began to howl and Michele stood rooted to the spot as her son climaxed.

The stocking pulled tightly around her son's glans suddenly darkened and a pool of semen formed on the sheer nylon as his hand pounded away at his cock. He licked the crotch of his mother's panties and then held them tightly against his nose and inhaled.

"Yeah Mom!"

"Take it Mom!"

"Oh fuck me Mom!" David Cashmore howled as his orgasm washed over him.

He continued to stare at the screen as he ejaculated into his mother's stocking and sniffed and licked her panties. He imagined that he was the lanky youth in the video and that it was his mother bent over the desk.

Michele flushed bright crimson as she watched her son climax calling out for his mother to take his load. An intense flash of arousal lanced through her body and she felt her sex begin to moisten. She spun on her heels and quietly retreated, closing the door silently behind her.

Michele Cashmore's high-heels clacked on the wooden hallway floor as rushed to her bedroom. She slammed the door shut behind her; panting and wheezing, she fumbled at the lock. She rushed to the bedside table, flung open the top drawer and frantically rifled through her underwear until she found what she was looking for. Her long, elegantly manicured, red nailpolished fingernails scratched at the base of the drawer and then closed around a slim plastic vibrator.

Michele was trembling and sweating; she hadn't felt this sexually aroused in years. She didn't even bother to sit on the bed; she hiked up her skirt and pulled her pantyhose down her thighs and stuffed the vibrator under the gusset of her panties and pushed the tip of the vibrator inside her labia until it rested on her distended clitoris. She could feel the damp patch in her panties as she hastily pulled the gusset aside and thrust vibrator into her sex and flicked the switch.

Her knees buckled and her feet trembled as an intense orgasm immediately wracked her body; she began to shriek and she stuffed her free hand into her mouth and bit down on it to stifle the scream lest her son overhear her cries of passion. She fell onto her bed and plunged the vibrator inside her vagina and flicked her clitty with her fingers and buried her face in the pillows to stifle her screams. She felt her vaginal walls contract around the vibrator as her clitoris radiated wave after wave of divine pleasure through her body. She could smell the musky scent of her own vaginal secretions.

Michele's orgasm slowly subsided and she flicked off the vibrator and eased it out of her vagina. She seldom inserted the sex toy inside her and she was quite surprised that she had felt the need to thrust it in and out of herself like a throbbing plastic cock. Her clitoris was still very sensitive. She rolled onto her pack and hiked up her pantyhose and panties; she smoothed out her nylons and pulled her white nylon full-cut panties tight around her buttocks. She slipped the vibrator back into the drawer and silently closed it; she stood up and smoothed her skirt.

She went into her ensuite bathroom and washed her hands; she looked at herself in the mirror. Looking back at her was an attractive forty-eight year old woman. She wore black eyeliner, mascara and pink and green eyeshadow that highlighted her pretty hazel eyes. Her cheeks were rouged and her lips painted with plum-red lipstick, silver drop earrings glistened though the nape of her brunette bob. A silver choker hung around her elegant neck; her large breasts swelled the décolletage of her mauve satin blouse and her pinstriped navy-blue jacket; the matching skirt clung to her thighs and buttocks. A shapely, nylon-clad thigh peeked through the kick-pleat tailored into the side of her skirt; she had long toned legs and delicate feet, shod in black four-inch high-heels, her red nailpolished toenails encased in gauzy reinforced nylon peeked out of her peep-toe pumps.

She smiled at herself in the mirror; she wasn't too bad for an old girl. 'But what the hell was that about!' she thought to herself.

What had caused her to become so insatiably aroused? Was she suddenly turned on by the video of the young man fucking the mature woman over her desk, a woman who incidentally looked very much like her? Surely it couldn't have been the sight of her son masturbating! No it couldn't be! But in the dark recesses of her mind she wondered why, when she climaxed, she had recalled the memory of her son shooting his load into her stocking and begging for her to fuck him.

Michele splashed water on her face, fixed her makeup, and brushed her hair. No; this would not do! Her son was not going to abuse himself using her lingerie as a fetish; she would speak to him about it! She wouldn't yell, nor get angry or become judgemental. She would calmly explain to the boy that although it was fine for him to masturbate; he was not to do so using his mother's underwear and it was definitely not ok for him to call her name when he climaxed!

They would have a civil mother and son conversation and that would be that; the matter would be done with!

Michele unlocked her bedroom door and paused to steel herself and cleared her throat. She walked determinedly down the hallway towards her son's room calling his name.

"David! David!" she called, giving him plenty of notice of her pending arrival.

In his bedroom David had just finished wiping his cock with his mother's panties; soaking up the last droplets of his emission from his slowly deflating penis. Lucky he had just pulled the ear-buds from his ears otherwise he might not have heard his mother calling his name. He quickly pulled up his underpants and jeans, stuffed his cock away, and zipped them closed. He bought up a word processing program and stuffed his mother's panties and her stocking into a desk drawer and slammed it shut just as she knocked on the door.

"Come in Mom," he called, pretending to type on the keyboard.

"I'm just finishing an English essay Mom," he lied.

"Really David; let me take a look," his mother said walking across the room towards him.

David quickly closed the document as she leaned over his shoulder; his mother's face leaned in close to his. He could smell her perfume and her makeup and when her hair lightly brushed his face he felt his penis begin to harden again. He blushed.

"No Mom it's not finished! I'll show it to you when it is," he whined.

Michele looked at the screen and underneath the Microsoft Word blank document; she could see a couple of minimised icons. One was a folder icon named 'MILF' and the other was a Windows Moviemaker program titled 'hot mom in p-hose fucked'. Up this close to him Michele could almost feel the heat from her son's guilty red face and she thought she could smell a hint of semen. Michele backed away from her son and as she did she noticed the welt of one of her stockings was hanging out of her son's desk drawer. A silvery trail of wet semen snaked across the chocolate-brown nylon. She couldn't help but smile to herself.

"We need to have a chat David. I've got some good news, but I also want to talk to you about something else," Michele said.

"Turn off your PC and come down to the lounge please."

Michele spun on her heels and walked out of the room unaware that her son was leering at her buttocks and legs.

David walked into the lounge and found his mother sitting on the couch with her legs crossed; her skirt had ridden up exposing a nice expanse of silken-hosed thigh.

"Sit here beside me David," Michele patted the cushion beside her.

David sat beside his mother; uncomfortably closer than he would normally sit.

"The good news is I've been promoted and I've also been given a large pay rise."

"That's wonderful," David beamed a genuine smile at his mother.

He looked lovingly into her heavily made-up face and sighed. He inhaled her scent; his cock was still semi-erect.

"But that's not what I really wanted to talk to you about David," she said a little sternly.

"David do you know what an Oedipus complex is?" Michele asked her son.

He looked quizzically at his mother and shook his head.

"It's when a son becomes infatuated with his mother," Michele murmured and cleared her throat.

David went ghostly pale and then his face blushed a burning bright red. He shook his head vehemently and a single tear ran down his face; he slumped down in the sofa and bowed his head.

Michele put her arm around her son to comfort him; she pulled him against her and hugged him and kissed his cheek.

"It's ok David. Just about every boy gets an Oedipus complex when he goes through puberty."

"But Mom I haven't ... I didn't..." David trailed off as his mother looked him directly in the eyes.

"David I've noticed the stains in my hosiery and knickers. I saw you masturbating with one of my stockings while you sniffed my panties." Michele said calmly but firmly.

David dropped his head into his hands. Michele hugged her son and kissed the top of his head.

"David I was sixteen when I had your sister; it wasn't until another sixteen years later that you were born. Your Dad and I didn't think I could get pregnant again after Jennifer was born and I was thirty-two when I had you."

"You're sixteen now; so that makes me forty-eight. Not only am I your mother, I'm far too old a woman for a young man like you to be interested in."

Michele mussed David's hair and lifted his face so they were eye to eye. She smiled at him to show him it was ok; she wasn't angry.

"But you are the most beautiful woman I know Mom," David whispered.

Michele let out a little laugh.

"Don't be silly David; I'm an old lady! What about all those gorgeous young girls at school; I'll bet even some of your teachers are hot," Michele smiled, trying to diffuse the tension.

"The girls at school don't have your class Mom; they don't dress nice like you; they don't wear makeup and perfume you like you."

David blushed a deep crimson.

"They don't wear nice nylons and high-heels like you."

"They wear jeans and shorts and boring clothes and sneakers or sandals. They are proud that they don't wear makeup and pantyhose; they claim they are emancipated and won't be bound by the past generation's values."

Michele laughed to hear her son so vehemently disparage the teenage girls that were the same age as him.

"But they're still pretty David. I've seen them!" she replied putting her hand on his knee and squeezing it.

"But they are not sophisticated like you. You wear nice skirts and suits and blouses. You wear soft satin blouses. You wear makeup, perfume and high-heels."

"You wear ... stockings sometimes," he murmured.

Now it was Michele's turn to blush.

"Well David I have to wear hosiery at work and sometimes I find stockings are more comfortable than pantyhose. And I always like to look my best."

"Since your father left me just after you were born I have always felt a little insecure and I guess I just dress the way I do so that I can feel confident. That's all it is David."

"But Mom; the women ... well the women in my ... you know ... my videos. Well they wear stockings!" David retorted a little tersely.

"David not all women who wear stockings are sluts! And I noticed the woman you were staring at this afternoon was wearing pantyhose; and that didn't stop you playing with your willy did it!" Michele snapped back, but she immediately regretted it.

She pulled her son closer and hugged him. He buried his face in her breasts and inhaled her wonderful scent.

"I like them both," he said, his voice muffled by his mother's breasts.

"Like both what?" Michele asked.

"Pantyhose and stockings," he whispered and Michele smiled to herself; amused by her son's rambling.