If you're a parent, you've probably read, or even own, 'What to Expect When You're Expecting' and other self-help parenting books. Many of these have been very useful to me over the years as I raised two children on my own after my husband's premature death. He died of a sudden illness when Crystal was four and Michael two. The books were very 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 me out with that one.
Yet nothing in any book I've ever read could have prepared me for what I saw that one fateful day, because I'm pretty sure nobody has ever published a chapter called 'What to Do when you Catch your Son Masturbating in your Stockings with your Name on his Lips'.
I sell real estate, and for many reasons I'm quite successful; I'm hard working, a people's person, and although I'm in my early forties, according to many people's compliments I'm still very attractive. These three qualities working together for me are an unstoppable combination, and I've made a very comfortable living for myself and my two children. Sixteen years after Jake passed, Crystal was attending college on the West Coast, and Michael, who'd just turned eighteen two weeks before the incidents I'm about to describe, was in his final two months of high school.
While Crystal was the wild child who did way more partying than studying and who drove me to 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 who'd already been accepted by several colleges with all of them offering scholarships, but he was socially quite inept. He'd never had a girlfriend, and the only parties he'd ever attended had been with his three equally socially challenged friends. All of had been theme parties like Lord of the Rings Night, Star Wars Night (the original series and not the weak prequels... why does George Lucas attempt to write?), and most recently, at my house, a Harry Potter Weekend where they watched all eight movies plus all the extras, and then they made a list of the hundred things the movies got wrong (which they read to me very enthusiastically while I attempted to listen politely and show a little enthusiasm). Of course, all these parties were just the four of them, with no pesky girls. Sigh.
Which brings me to what started it all...
I came home early one afternoon after two of my showings had been cancelled. I slipped out of my heels near the front door like I always do and was going to my room to undress and shower, when I noticed the door to my room was open and the light turned on. I knew I hadn't left things that way. Cautious of perhaps encountering a burglar, I crept up and peeked around the corner into my room.
On my bed, stroking his cock with one of my nylon stockings, was my son! I barely held back a gasp. My son was jerking off on my bed, and he was looking at something on his laptop as his now audible moans of pleasure became more intense. I was frozen in shock, and my feet felt like they were trapped in cement; I couldn't move, and I couldn't take my eyes off my son and his shockingly large cock.
I watched for only a minute, maybe two, before my son moaned, "Oh yes, Mommy, suck my cock, be a good Mommy-slut for me."
I couldn't completely contain a gasp this time, as I realized he was not only masturbating using my stockings, he was masturbating while imagining my servicing him! Luckily he was in his own fantasy world and didn't notice my faint sound.
A couple minutes later, while I continued watching and heard my son addressing his mental image of me as 'Mommy' three more times, he grunted, "I'm coming Mommy, swallow my cum!" Seconds later, his sticky white stuff shot into the air like a rocket.
I quickly retreated down the stairs, snuck out of the house and back to my car. I couldn't believe what I'd just seen and heard. My son fantasized about me! I was mortified, and doubly mortified when I noticed an undeniable dampness in my panties.
Why was I wet?
Why had I gotten so horny?
Had I really heard Michael call me a Mommy-slut?
I shook the thoughts out of my head and pulled quietly out of my driveway to see if a drive might help me to put what I'd seen into some perspective. Unfortunately, I didn't get anywhere.
An hour later, close to when I normally arrived home, I walked into the house and called out just in case, "Michael, I'm home."
Michael called back (from his own room, thank God), "Hi, Mom."
I went to his room, found the door open, saw he was on his computer and asked, "Want pizza?"
"Sounds great," he answered, appearing relaxed and therefore unaware of what I knew.
It was hard to believe that what I'd seen just an hour ago had been real. The rest of the evening was normal: supper, watching Jeopardy together, and his going to his room and his computer while I continued watching television, planned a couple showings for tomorrow and relaxed with a couple glasses of white wine.
At bedtime I tossed and turned, as images of my son masturbating and pretending to order me around while doing it, refused to leave my mind. My pussy was tingling, and although I tried to withstand the temptation to pleasure myself, I eventually gave in. Closing my eyes, I fantasized, like I always did, about my late husband, my perfect man who'd had to leave me way too soon. He'd understood my submissive nature in the bedroom, which was the polar opposite of my personality in public where I was always in charge and a no-nonsense woman. A feminist in most people's eyes. I imagined myself on all fours... this was the way he'd usually fucked me. We'd both wanted him to fuck me in whichever hole suited his fancy, since when we were alone and getting intimate he treated me like the slut I craved to be. And yet in public or with our kids, he was always the perfect gentleman and husband as we presented a façade of a vanilla life, which was all anyone else would ever see. This fantasy, this reminiscing of the 'good times' always got me off quickest, and I was close in only a few minutes.
As I neared my climax, my mind played tricks on me, and now I wasn't seeing my husband pounding me from behind, but my son! So close to coming, I just went with it and continued pleasuring myself until the crescendo of pleasure washed through me while I heard my son ordering me to "Come Mommy, come on your son's big hard cock!"
This orgasm was more intense than most I self-created, and I collapsed into my bed, a puddle of sweat. As I recovered from my best orgasm in a long, long time, I gasped at what had turned the tide. I couldn't believe that my son had replaced his father in my fantasy! I also couldn't believe how hot and bothered Michael had gotten me both during the fantasy and when I'd spied on him earlier today. After some thought, I decided it must have been a mixture of exhaustion, loneliness, missing Jake, and being shocked upon seeing my son performing such a personal act while picturing me. Comfortable with my conclusion, I drifted off to sleep and had the best rest I'd had in a long time.
**********
The next morning as Michael came down for breakfast, I noticed how much he looked like his father. Jake had been more athletically built, but he too had been rather nerdy in appearance and hid his naughty sexuality quite well.
Once my son had gone off to school, curiosity got the better of me. I went into his room and flipped open his laptop. I typed in his password (which was as predictable as could be, PrincessLeia), and checked out the sites he'd been on yesterday afternoon. I knew this was a major violation of his privacy, yet my desire to know what he'd been reading or watching while he was masturbating about me was driving me nuts. The websites he'd visited yesterday were mostly the usual geek sites, but one of them wasn't, and soon there were a few of them in a row, all hosted on Literotica. I'd never heard of the site, but as I opened the URL's I gasped. They were all stories about incest, with titles like Backseat Mommy, Making Mommy Mine, What Mom Doesn't Know Will Fuck Her, Riding on Son's Lap, and Mom's Stocking Stuffer.
I jotted down the titles, not wanting to leave behind any evidence of my violation of his privacy, erased my history and logged off the Internet. Still curious, I searched the word 'mom' on his files and found a plethora of stories he'd saved. I was shocked by the obvious conclusion that my son wanted to have sex with me, or at least that was his favourite fantasy. Yet I couldn't even begin to fathom how to deal with this knowledge.
I shut down his computer and realizing the time, rushed out for my first showing of the day. Strangely, all day while I was at work, I couldn't shake off my new-found knowledge, couldn't shake off how obsessed I'd become with the need to learn more.
Once my day of showing houses and condos was done I headed home, hoping to catch him in the act again, although completely unsure about what I would do if I did, or for that matter, why I was hoping I would. 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 us and as they gamed, I fired up the laptop in my bedroom, curious to read the stories he'd been stroking to yesterday.
As I read story after story, I was shocked both at the content of the stories and by what these stories were doing to me. My pussy was on fire, and my left hand slowly pleasured myself as I read each incestuous story. Some of the stories had dominant sons seducing their mothers, while others had powerful daughters dominating their mothers, while still others were more intimate and egalitarian in the sexual relationships between sons and mothers. I'd never even remotely considered my children in a sexual way, but yesterday's events of my son's masturbation and my own later one, as well as these vivid, hot stories, induced the thought that now entered my mind and that was exciting me as my fingers continued their work.
I was close to reaching orgasm while reading a story about a son fucking his mom's ass while calling her names, when the phone rang. I grabbed it, leaving the bubbling just beneath my surface to simmer and then gradually fade away as I talked to my overbearing mother about many things, including her never-ending topic about my finding myself a man. By the time I finally managed to get off the phone I was frustrated like I almost always was after a conversation with my mother, but thankfully I was no longer horny. Checking the time 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 sitting in the exact same places they'd been when I left. I got the boys some drinks and in a large mirror on the wall, 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. Ever since yesterday, the more I looked at my son, the more I saw his father; knowing that I turned my son on was both flattering and yet wrong... but with the latter being the case, why didn't I feel mortified by it? Deciding to test whether my son was just turned on by the idea of incest or obsessed with the real me, I decided to showcase my assets somewhat.
After the pizza arrived I brought them slices on plates, being sure to bend forwards far enough to give Michael and his friend a quick flash of my breasts and, while I was standing back up, gave them just a quick flash of my lace stocking tops. After fetching 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 confident I already had anyway, said, "My feet are killing me."
Reclining my chair and leaning back, my stocking-clad legs and feet were now on full display for both of the eighteen-year-old boys. As I'd expected, my joining them was causing havoc between them, as if these Mensa candidates' boys' brains switched off the minute their erections began growing. The thought that I could wield such power over teenage boys at my age was also quite a turn-on.
I'd already known Frederick had a thing for me, as he stammered practically every time he spoke to me and could never look me in the eyes, his own eyes always focused on my chest. But watching my son attempting to sneak quick glimpses at my legs every few seconds was amusing.
Once I finished eating, I stood up and stretched, my arms reaching for the ceiling in front of these two horny eighteen-year-olds, which caused my skirt to ride up higher than was socially acceptable, and which also showcased my breasts in all their grandeur.
Once I was confident I had their cocks begging for release from their pants, I added to their discomfort by bending down to retrieve their empty plates and lingering just long enough for each of them to peek down my ample cleavage. I dressed to impress for my job, professional but sexy, leaving enough to the imagination but also showing a fair amount of leg and cleavage, and I was still in my business attire, so with very little effort I could showcase more of my assets than usual.
Leaving the boys alone, I stopped where they would think I'd gone completely away, but I remained just within earshot. As I'd expected to hear, Frederick said, "Holy shit Michael, your Mom is such a MILF."
"Fuck off," my son countered, uncomfortable with his friend checking out his Mom.
"Seriously," Frederick continued, "I saw her stocking tops and her blue bra."
"No, seriously don't talk about my Mom that way," my son snapped, anger growing in his voice.
Frederick, a lot like Sheldon from the Big Bang Theory, couldn't read social cues, so he continued, "Sorry man, but you have to admit you have a hot Mom."
Snapping completely, Michael said, "Yes, I fucking know my Mom is hot, I live with her and see her every day, but I'm sick and tired of my friends and all the other losers at school talking about how they want to fuck her!"
Finally catching on, Frederick said, "Sorry, Michael, I didn't mean to insult you."
Suddenly calm, Michael said, dismissing the topic, "Forget it, let's finish this game."
I returned quietly to the kitchen, flattered at my son's adamant defence of me and surprised by the crap he had to deal with because I was his mother. I cleaned up the kitchen and dealt with some bills until Frederick left, and my son went up to his room.
I don't know why I thought this, but the first thought in my head was, I wonder if he's going to jerk off. The next thought surprised me: If so, I wonder if I could see his cock again. The third thought, which I quickly dismissed, was Why am I so excited at the thought of seeing his cock again? I was beginning to learn that when my pussy was tingling, my moral compass pointed due south. I quietly treaded up the stairs and listened at Michael's door, but I could hear nothing. Nevertheless it was at this moment, my cunt tingling like it hadn't in years, that I decided to turn my son's fantasies into a reality. With the first preparatory step beginning now.
I took a deep breath and opened his door without warning, not flinging it open rapidly like some detective about to cry, 'Aha!' but quietly. All to no avail: I was disappointed to see him on his laptop completely dressed, although he did quickly, and guiltily, close the lid. I began initiating my seductive plan nevertheless: I walked over 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, confused and uncomfortable. I hadn't caught him in the act, but I'd caught him in preparation for the act, which the box of Kleenex sitting beside him attested to.
"I heard what you and Frederick said just after I left," I admitted.
"Oh, God," he said, his face flushed.
"I'm really sorry if my looks are causing you problems with your classmates," I said, my hand, apparently haphazardly, touching down on my son's leg.
This distracted him as he stammered, "I-i-it's ok. Better to have a pretty Mom than an ugly one."
"You think I'm pretty?" I asked coyly, as if I had no idea.
Still flustered, he answered, "Y-y-yes, and so does every friend of mine, and most of the guys at school."
"Well thank you, Michael. At my age such compliments don't come as often as they used to when I was a teenager in my prime," I smiled.
"M-m-mom, I-I-I think you're still in your prime," he complimented me, his face as red as a tomato. I could see why he'd never had a girlfriend, he was nervous as hell just talking to me, and I was his Mother, with whom he interacted every day.
I leaned in and kissed him on the cheek, lingering there just a second or two longer than I usually would, and complimented, "You know just the right words to say, my dear."
I stood up and said, leaving him with an insinuation he wouldn't yet understand, "Thanks again Michael, you're turning out to be just like your father."
I left his room and counted to ten before re-entering and seeing him furtively close his laptop for the 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 subtle change in our relationship.
He moved his laptop off his lap, paused for a moment, trying to figure out how to hide his erection, before realizing he didn't have any options, so he simply stood up brazenly, blushing furiously as he came over to me while I pretended not to notice. I turned around and felt his hands trembling as he awkwardly unzipped my dress.
Holding my bodice in place with one hand, I turned around and kissed him again on the cheek. "Thanks honey."
He replied sheepishly, "You're welcome, Mom."
I considered allowing my dress to accidentally fall to the floor, but I thought that might give him a coronary, so I just left the room. Back in my own room, I undressed and jumped in the shower, where my shower head and I shared an intimate interlude while I plotted the next step in my son's seduction.
**********
One thing about me is once I decide I want something, I do everything in my power to get it. And once I'd decided I was going to seduce my son, it was all I could think about... it became an obsession. Most of my prior relationships with men had begun as games of a sort where I allowed them to wine and dine me while I asked them about their lives, dreams and philosophy to learn everything I could about them. Then once I was certain I wanted to submit to them, I did my best to set up the perfect evening in a perfect location. Once everything was in place, I launched the Main Event, where I allowed my submissive side out to play. I decided to play my son's seduction in the same way. Although in this case I already knew everything about my target's life, dreams and philosophy, and the location would be here at home. All that remained was for me to invest some time planting seeds before orchestrating the perfect evening.