Chapter 1

If you are a parent you have probably read, or even own, What to Expect When You Are Expecting and other self-help parenting books. Many have been very useful over the years, as I raised my two children on my own after my husband's premature death, when Crystal was four and Michael two. The books were helpful when I struggled to deal with my daughter's teenage rebellion phase and they were somewhat helpful as I dealt with my son's coming of age, although truth be told I let my brother help out with that one.

Yet, nothing in any book I have read could have prepared me for what I saw that one fateful day, because I am pretty sure there is no chapter called 'What To Do When You Catch Your Son Masturbating With Your Stockings'.

I sell real estate and for many reasons I am quite successful; I am hard working, a people's person and am still quite attractive. The three together are a lethal combination and I have made a very comfortable living for myself and my two children. Sixteen years after Jake had passed, Crystal was in college a couple of hours away, and Michael, who just turned eighteen two weeks before the incident, was in his last two months of high school.

While Crystal was the wild child who did way more partying than studying and who brought me my first grey hair, Michael was shy, geeky and was way more likely to play some computer game than go to a party. I worried about Michael, who was academically very strong and already accepted by some colleges and all on scholarship, but was socially quite inept. He had never had a girlfriend and the only parties he had ever gone to were with his three equally socially challenged friends and included things like Lord of the Rings night, Star Wars night, the original and not the weak prequels (why does George Lucas attempt to write?), and most recently, at my house, the Harry Potter weekend, where they watched all eight movies, all the extras and made a list of the 100 things the movies got wrong (which they actually read to me very enthusiastically). Which brings me to what started it all...

I came home early after two appointments were cancelled. I slipped out of my heels and was going to my room to undress and shower when I noticed the light of my room was on, and I knew I hadn't left it on. Cautiously, I peeked around the corner and into my room. On my bed stroking his cock with one of my thigh high stockings was my son. I barely caught the gasp that was about to escape my lips. My son was jerking off on my bed and seemingly reading something on his laptop, as his moans of pleasure increased. I was frozen in shock and my legs felt trapped in cement; I couldn't take my eyes off my son and his shockingly large cock.

It was only a minute, maybe two, before my son moaned, "Oh yes, Mommy, suck my cock, be a good Mommy slut."

I couldn't completely hold in the gasp this time, as I realized he was not only masturbating using my stockings, he was masturbating about me. Luckily, he was clearly in his own fantasy world and did not hear my slight sound.

A couple of minutes later, including my son using my name three more times, he grunted, "I'm coming Mommy, swallow my cum." Seconds later his sticky white stuff shot out in the air like a rocket.

I quickly retreated back down the stairs, snuck out of my own house and to my car. I couldn't believe what I had just seen and heard. My son fantasized about me. I was mortified and doubly mortified when I felt an undeniable dampness in my panties.

Why was I wet?

Why was I suddenly so horny?

Did he really call me a Mommy-slut?

I shook the thoughts out of my head and pulled out of my driveway to see if a drive would let me put what I saw in perspective.

An hour later, close to when I was supposed to be home, I walked in the house and called out, just in case, "Michael, I'm home."

Michael called out from his room, "Hi, Mom."

I went to his room, the door open, and asked, while he was on his computer, "Want pizza?"

"Sounds great," he answered, completely unaware of what I knew.

It was hard to believe that what I saw just an hour ago was real. The rest of the evening was normal: supper, watching Jeopardy together and him going to his room and his computer while I watched television, planned showings for tomorrow and relaxed.

At bedtime, I tossed and turned, as the image of my son masturbating, and thinking about me doing it, refused to leave my mind. My vagina was tingling and although I tried to deny the temptation to pleasure myself, I eventually gave in. Closing my eyes, I fantasized, like I always did, of my late husband, the perfect man who left me way too soon. He understood my submissive nature in the bedroom, the polar opposite of my personality in public, where I was in charge and a no-nonsense woman. A feminist in most people's eyes. I imagined myself on all fours, the way he usually fucked me, so he could fuck whichever hole suited his fancy, as when we were alone and intimate he treated me like the slut I craved to be; yet, in public he was the perfect gentleman and husband, putting up the facade of a vanilla life, which was all anyone would see. This fantasy or reminiscing of the 'good times' always got me off quickest and I was close in only a few minutes.

As I got close to climax, my mind played tricks on me and suddenly it was not my husband pounding me from behind, but my son. So close to coming I kept pleasuring myself until the crescendo of pleasure washed through me and I heard my son order, "Come Mommy, come from your son's big hard cock!"

The orgasm was more intense than most I self-created and I collapsed onto my bed a bundle of sweat. As I recovered from the best orgasm in a long, long time, I gasped at what had turned the tide, so to speak. I couldn't believe it was my son replacing his father in the dream. I couldn't believe how hot and bothered it had made me both during the fantasy and what I saw him doing earlier today. After some thought, I realized it was a mixture of exhaustion, loneliness, missing Jake and shocked at seeing my son in such an intimate act. Comfortable with my conclusion, I drifted to sleep and had the best rest I had had in a long, long time.

Next morning, as Michael came down for breakfast, I suddenly realized just how much he looked like Jake. Jake was more built, but he too was rather nerdy in appearance and hid his naughty sexuality quite well. Once my son went to school, curiosity got the better of me. I went to his room and flipped open his laptop. I typed in his password which was as predictable as could be, PrincessLeia, and searched the sites he was on yesterday afternoon. I knew this was wrong, and a major violation of privacy, yet wondering what he was reading or watching while masturbating about me was driving me nuts. His websites yesterday were mostly the usual geek sites, but one wasn't and there were a few of them, all beginning with Storiesonline. I had never heard of the site, but as I looked at the url's, I gasped. They were all stories about incest, with titles like Making Mommy Mine, What Mom Doesn't Know Will Fuck Her, Pet Mommy, Riding on Son's Lap and Mom's Stocking Stuffer.

I wrote down the titles, not wanting to leave any evidence of my parental violation of privacy and logged out of the Internet. Curious, I searched the word 'mom' on his files and noticed a plethora of stories saved. I was shocked at the obvious revelation that my son wanted to have sex with me, or at least it was his biggest fantasy. Yet I could not even begin to fathom how to deal with this knowledge.

I logged out of his computer and realizing the time, headed out for my first showing of the day. Strangely, all day at work I couldn't shake my new-found knowledge, couldn't shake how obsessed I had become with the need to learn more.

Once my showing day was done, I headed home, oddly hoping to catch him in the act again, although completely unsure what I would do if I did or for that matter why I was hoping I did. I didn't want to have sex with my son, did I?

When I got home, he was downstairs gaming with his friend Frederick, the poster boy for geek if there ever was one. I ordered pizza for them and as they gamed, I fired up my laptop, curious to read the stories he had been stroking to yesterday.

As I read story after story, I was shocked at both the content of the stories and what the stories were doing to me. My pussy was on fire and my left hand slowly pleasured myself as I read each incest story. Some of the stories had dominant sons seducing their mothers, while others had powerful daughters dominating their mothers, while others were more intimate in the sexual relationship between son and mother. I had never even remotely considered either of my children in a sexual way, but yesterday's events, as well as these vivid, hot stories brought the thought that was now crossing my mind. I was close to reaching orgasm while reading a story about a son fucking his mom's ass when the phone rang. I grabbed the phone, leaving the bubbling just beneath the surface to simmer and then fade away, as I talked to my overbearing mother about many things, including the never ending conversation about finding myself a man. By the time I was off the phone, I was frustrated, like I usually was after a conversation with my mother, and thankfully no longer horny. Looking at the clock and realizing the pizza would be here any minute, I went downstairs to check on the boys who were still, as far as I could tell, playing the same game and in the exact same spots as they were when I left. I got the boys some drinks and couldn't help but notice my son checking out my legs as I walked away.

As I returned to the kitchen, conflicting emotions swarmed over me. The more I looked at my son, the more I saw his father; the thought that I turned my son on was both flattering and yet wrong ... that being the case why was I not mortified by it? Deciding to test if my son was just turned-on by the idea of incest or really obsessed with me, I decided to showcase my assets.

After the pizza arrived, I brought them slices on plates, being sure to bend down enough to give a quick flash of my breasts and, when moving up, showing just a quick flash of my lace stocking tops. Grabbing my own pizza, I sat on a chair to the left of them and, flipping off my four-inch heels and saying dramatically enough to make sure I got their attention, which I was pretty confident I already had anyway, said, "My feet are killing me."

Reclining my chair and leaning back, my silk stocking-clad feet and legs were on full display for both of the eighteen year old boys. As expected, my joining them caused complete havoc between them, as if these Mensa candidates' boys brains shut off the minute their erections grew. The thought that I had such power over young boys at my age was also quite a turn-on.

I already knew Frederick had a thing for me as he practically stammered every time he talked to me and could never look me in the eye, his eyes always staring at my chest. But watching my son attempt to take quick glimpses of my legs every few seconds was amusing.

Once I finished eating, I stood up and stretched in front of the two horny eighteen year olds, which allowed for my skirt to ride up more than socially acceptable and allowed my large breasts to be showcased in all their grandeur.

Once I assuredly had their cocks begging for release from their pants, I added to their situation by bending down to grab their empty plates lingering just long enough for each of them to peek down my ample cleavage. I dressed to impress on my job, professional but sexy, and leaving lots to the imagination, and I was still in my business attire that showcased all my assets.

Leaving the boys alone, I stopped where they would think I was gone, but was just in earshot. As expected, Frederick said, "Holy shit, Michael, your Mom is such a MILF."

"Fuck off," my son countered, clearly uncomfortable with his friend checking out his mom.

"Seriously," Frederick continued, "I saw both her stocking tops and her bra."

"No seriously, don't talk about my Mom that way," my son snapped, anger riding in his voice.

Frederick, a lot like Sheldon from the Big Bang Theory, could not read social cues and continued, "Sorry man, but you have to admit you have a hot mom."

Snapping completely, Michael said, "Yes, I know my Mom is hot, I live with her and see her every day, but I am sick and tired of my friends and all the other losers at school talking about how they want to fuck my mom."

Finally catching on, Frederick said, "Sorry, Michael, I didn't mean to insult you."

Suddenly calm, Michael said, dismissing the topic completely, "Forget about it, let's finish this game."

I returned to the kitchen, flattered at my son's adamant defence of me and surprised by the crap he apparently had to deal with because I was his mother. I cleaned up in the kitchen, and dealt with the bills when Frederick left and my son went directly to his room.

I don't know why I thought this, but the first thought in my head was 'I wonder if he is going to jerk off'. The second thought surprised me: 'I wonder if I could see his cock again'. The third thought, which I quickly dismissed, was why I was excited by the thought of seeing his cock again? I was beginning to learn once my pussy began tingling, my moral compass quickly pointed due south. I quietly climbed the stairs and listened at the door, but could hear nothing. It was at this moment, my cunt tingling like it hadn't in years, that I decided I was going to make my son's fantasies a reality.

I took a deep breath and opened his door, but was disappointed to see him on his laptop completely dressed, although he did quickly, and guiltily, close his computer. I walked to his bed and sat on the edge beside him, my skirt again riding up just enough to tease, and opened with, "Michael, thank you for standing up for me."

"What?" he asked, genuinely confused and clearly uncomfortable. I didn't catch him in the act, but I had obviously caught him in preparation for the act, which the box of Kleenex beside him clearly insinuated.

"I heard what you and Frederick were talking about," I admitted.

"Oh, God," he said, his face flushed.

"I am really sorry if my looks have caused you problems with your peers," I said, my hand seemingly haphazardly going to my son's leg.

This distracted him greatly as he stammered, "I-I-it's ok. Better to have a pretty mom than an ugly one."

"You think I am pretty?" I asked coyly, as if I was shocked by this.

Still flustered, he answered, "Y-y-yes and so does every friend of mine and the majority of guys in my school."

"Well thank you, Michael. At my age such compliments don't happen as often as when I was a teenager and in my prime," I smiled.

"M-m-mom, I-I-I think you are definitely still in your prime," he complimented me, his face red as a tomato. I could see why he never had a girlfriend, he was nervous as hell just talking to me and I was his mother.

I leaned in and kissed him on the cheek, lingering there just a second or two longer than I usually did, and said, "You know just the right words to say, my dear."

I stood up and said, leaving him with an insinuation he would not yet understand, "Thanks again Michael, you are turning out to be just like your father."

I left his room and counted to ten before re-entering and seeing him close his laptop second time. "Sorry honey, but could you be a dear and unzip Mommy," I asked, my voice syrupy sweet, and using the word 'Mommy' instead of 'Mom, ' just a small, but subtle, change in our relationship.

He moved his laptop off his lap, paused for a moment clearly trying to figure out how to hide his obvious erection before he came to me. I turned around and felt his hands shake as he awkwardly unzipped my skirt.

I turned around and kissed him again on the cheek. "Thanks honey."

He sheepishly replied, "You are welcome, Mom."

I considered allowing my skirt to accidentally fall to the ground, but I thought that might give him a coronary and left the room. Back in my room, I undressed, and jumped in the shower where my shower head and I had a very intimate moment while I planned the seduction of my son.

One thing about me, is once I decide I want something I do everything in my power to get it. And once I had decided I was going to seduce my son, it was all I thought about ... it became an obsession and like most of my relationships with men ... a game of sorts ... where I controlled everything up to the main event before allowing my submissive side out to play.

After he left for school the next morning, I returned to his laptop and this time checked his favorites. Most were game sites, but there were three Storiesonline websites, as well as a pantyhose site. The first Storiesonline site was simply the new list of stories updated each day, the second was the top incest stories by score apparently, but the third was the one that gave me lots of information about my son's kinks. It was a search engine with the following tags: mom, son, submission.

I clicked on the search button and was surprised to see 313 stories with those key words. I read a few, my pussy again on fire and came to realize what he wanted: his mom, in stockings, to be his personal plaything. It should have appalled me, yet instead all I could think about was my long dormant sexual needs being met like they hadn't since my Jake, Michael's father, died. I fingered myself to orgasm while fantasizing about my son becoming the dominant lover I had been searching for and craving for so long. After another great orgasm washed through me, I put his computer away after erasing today's browsing history, and headed out to work.

Staying in my business attire, I made supper and noticed Michael taking glances at my legs all evening. Once the dishes were done, I asked, "Michael, can you do me a big favor?"

"Anything, Mom," he replied like the sweetheart he was.

"Will you give Mommy a foot massage?" I asked with a warm smile, again using 'Mommy' instead of 'Mom', which I noticed was the word most used in stories of incest submission.

Michael's face instantly went red and he stammered, "S-s-sure, Mom."

I grabbed his hands, entwining them together like a couple would do, and led him to the couch. I gently pushed him to the couch, sat on the other end and flipped my silk stocking-clad legs and feet onto his lap. I could read his nervousness written all over his face as he just froze.

I lifted my left stockinged foot and tapped his nose playfully. "My feet won't get massaged by themselves, honey."

His face ruby red, he stuttered yet again, "S-s-sorry Mom." He nervously grabbed my left foot and began to tenderly massage my foot. In seconds, I felt his member grow underneath my right leg. I couldn't resist smiling knowing what I was doing to my son.

I opened my legs slightly, not enough to be slutty and let him see my panties, but enough to get a glimpse of my stocking tops. We were silent for a few minutes as I watched him, amused at his concentration, massaging my feet. Finally, I asked, "Could you do my other foot now, sweetheart?"

"Sure, Mom," he replied, switching feet and not stammering this time, clearly enjoying the task.

I started the conversation. "So do you have a girlfriend yet, Michael?"

Instantly he was sheepish. "No."

"Why not?" I asked, "You are a great catch."

"Girls in high school don't think that," he sighed, continuing to massage my right stocking-clad foot.

"You are smart, sweet and very handsome," I complimented, slyly.

"You have to say that, you are my Mom," he pointed out, not taking my sincere compliment.

"Don't you do that," I said, scolding him.

"Do what?" he asked, startled by my sudden change in tone.

"Put yourself down," I said, moving my foot away and leaning into him for a hug, my hand accidentally landing directly on his stiff cock. My son's eyes went wide, but I didn't move my hand as I leaned in and whispered, slightly seductively, "You look just like your father and he was the sexiest man I ever met. You have the same eyes, the same smile and," I gave a gentle squeeze to his fully erect cock, "apparently you inherited something else from your dad."

Before he could respond, I kissed him on the lips quickly and stood up. Brushing my skirt back down, I said, "Thanks honey, your hands felt amazing on my aching soles, but now I am going for a shower." I started to walk away before pausing, turning around and pointing to his crotch, "you probably should look after that. I think it is about to burst."

My son stared at me in stunned silence as I left him high and hard.

For the second straight day, my shower head and I became very intimate as I continued thinking about the completion of my plan.

The next morning, I was dressed in a black skirt, a white blouse and beige thigh high stockings when Michael joined me for breakfast. We chatted casually about school until I stood up and said, "Dammit, I have a run in my stocking." I put my leg on the chair right beside my very captivated son, and slid the stocking down my leg. My son's eyes watched the entire removal. Changing legs, I took off the second stocking complaining, "I don't have any more in this color, so I guess I'm going shopping before my first showing." I kissed my son on the forehead and left the stockings on the chair as bait, leaving him alone as I headed out.

I waited five minutes and returned to the house hoping to catch him. As expected, he was pumping away on his big cock, with one of my stockings on his cock. I watched for a minute before walking in from behind and saying, "I forgot my purse, Michael."

He quickly pulled up his pants and stammered, "Oh my god, Mom, I am so-so-so sorry."

Hiding the growing desire to grab his cock, I replied, flirtation dripping in every syllable I spoke, "Oh honey, it is ok, masturbating is natural, I assume you did it last night. Actually, truth be told, I did it myself last night ... twice."

"Mom!" he gasped, still frantically fumbling to get his pants on, my stocking still on his cock.

"And feel free to keep my stockings if that is your thing," I offered with a coy smile.

"Mom!" he repeated, still humiliated to be caught in the act by his mom.

"You have a stocking fetish too?" I asked, with a sexy smile on my face. "You really are just like your father," I said, grabbing my purse and leaving before he had time to respond.

I drove away, knowing another seed had been planted.

I returned home after lunch, flipped open his computer, went to the Storiesonline website and opened the story Making Mommy Mine. I left it on that story and returned to work, leaving giving yet one more tease for my son.

A long day of showings, including two last minute additions, meant I did not get home till after seven. I came in, slipped out of my heels, went upstairs and knocked on Michael's door.

I heard a very nervous voice say, "Come in."

I entered and sat on the edge of his bed and rubbed my stocking-clad feet. I wasn't even lying when I said, "My feet are killing me."

He was staring at my perfectly manicured feet and red toenails, unable to make eye contact with me.

I asked sweetly, "Michael, could you please massage my feet again, like you did yesterday?"

"S-s-sure, Mom," he stammered, standing up.

"Come to Mommy," I beckoned, my finger calling him over and my tone dripping with sultry seduction.

He shyly obeyed.

I moved up on his bed to lie on his pillows and ordered, as I patted the bed, "Come join me on the bed."

He did, never once making eye contact with me. He sat at the end of his bed and took my right foot in his hands and began massaging me. My legs were parted more than yesterday and if he looked up he would get a very clear look of my black panties ... which after only a few seconds he did. He quickly looked away flustered. Over the next couple of minutes, he continued to take quick peeks between my legs as he continued the massage, his face redder than hell itself. I purposely would open and close my legs slightly to distract him. As he switched feet, I asked, "So, how was school today?"

He sighed, "Boring as usual."

"Any hotties on the horizon?"

"Not even on the radar," he replied, his confidence still non-existent.

"Why not?" I asked, letting out a soft moan from his massage, adding, "you sure have the magic touch with your hands."

Surprised by the compliment, he stammered, "R-r-really?"

"Yes really, you have me so relaxed now," I said, allowing another moan to escape my lips.

Just then my cell phone rang and I cursed to myself. I grabbed it and was asked if I could show a house in twenty minutes. I agreed and sighed, reluctantly getting up and saying, "Did you know that tomorrow is Nude Day?"

"It is?" he asked.

"Yep. I wonder how average people celebrate Nude Day?" I asked, my smile implying something naughty.

"I-um-I don't know," he answered, clearly rattled by the odd question.

At the door, I paused and asked, "While I am gone, why don't you check that Storiesonline site and read some of those contest stories and see what regular people do."

His mouth dropped like it would hit the floor, and I turned and left, a new plan formulating in my mind.

The next day, I scheduled myself off from 3 o'clock on, declining a 4 o'clock showing, determined to finish seducing my son. I got home, showered, dressed in only white thigh highs and an apron to cover my freshly shaved cunt, and started cleaning the house. At 4 o'clock, I put the casserole in the oven and was just making a salad when Michael came home. When he walked in the kitchen, he froze as he stared at me, my voluptuous breasts barely concealed by the apron. I asked, "Did you know what today is?"

He paused, trying to comprehend the strange sight of his mother almost naked. "Um..."

I explained, "It is Nude Day."

"There is a Nude Day?" he asked, still processing.

"Yes there is silly," I flirted, before adding, "Michael, you are eighteen and old enough to celebrate Nude Day with your Mother. So all clothing is forbidden."

Silence lingered for a while until he stammered, "M-m-mom, this is weird."

I pouted, drawing him in, "Don't you want to celebrate Nude Day with me? Or is your Mother to old?"

He stammered, "N-n-no home that is not it. It is just strange."

"Is it?" I shrugged. "I find it very liberating. It has been years since I went without panties." I quickly lifted the apron to give him a quick flash of my pussy.

"B-b-but you are my M-m-mom," he said, still trying to wrap his head around what was happening, his bulging pants already revealing the impact my body had on him.

"And you are my son. I have seen you naked many times, baby," I rationalized, before adding in my Motherly do-as-you-are-told tone, "Now get undressed, Michael."

"But you are wearing nylons," he pointed out.

"I did that for you." I smiled, walking over to him and kissing his cheek. "Like your father, you clearly have a thing for stockings."

I pulled his shirt over his head and offered, "Unless you want me to completely follow the rules and take the thigh highs off."

"N-n-no, k-k-keep them on," he stammered, shivering at my touch.

"Your wish is my command," I teased, unbuckling his pants, hinting at my submissive nature. He seemed to be holding his breath, so I reminded him, "Breathe, baby, breathe," as I allowed his pants to fall to the floor. His big hard cock was not completely held in by his very unflattering tighty-whities. "We have definitely got to get you some new underwear."

He nodded, unable to speak a word.

"Oh my, Michael, is that because of me?" I asked, my hand going to his cock.

"Oh God," he moaned and went even stiffer the instant my hand brushed his cock.

As I pulled down his underwear, his beautiful cock flopped into the open, giving me the eight inch salute. It took every ounce of my will power to not devour his cock then and there, but I wanted to make him wait a bit longer.

I stood up and went back to finish cutting the salad veggies. Michael hadn't moved an inch since I undressed him so I asked, "Can you pour us some wine?"

"Wine?" he asked.

"Today is a special day, Michael, you can have some wine," I smiled, my tone implying I was soon going to create his very own Storiesonline story.

He did as instructed, while I finished the salad and pulled the casserole out of the oven. I noticed Michael taking quick glimpses at me every time he could, desperately trying not to be obvious, when he was actually being the exact opposite. I suggested, "Michael, take a seat as Mommy gets your dinner ready."

He sat down and I brought him his plate. I went back and grabbed mine, and after putting my plate on the table, I took off the last piece of fabric that was hiding my breasts and just trimmed pussy. As expected, Michael stared, his mouth open, literally watering. I sat down and began eating and created conversation as if this was the most normal thing in the world.