Shepherd’s Pie


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 gaziantep minyon escort bayan 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. nizip escort bayan 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,” nurdağı escort bayan 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.

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