Shepherd's Pie Ch. 04

Perhaps, she was afraid of ending up like her grandmother on her father's side, the one who lost her husband at 45 and spent the rest of her lonely life earning minimum wage as a high school lunch lady, only to end up dying alone in a nursing home. Or, maybe she was simply jealous of her own happily married parents, who'd stuck together through thick and thin for over forty years. Yet, then again, maybe she was just as angry as I was that her own husband was willing to walk away from his only child.

The thought of it still made my blood boil even then. After nine years, the painful wound left by my father abandoning me had never completely healed. Then, as if pouring salt on it, my mother decided to start seeing someone else, who'd most likely leave us high and dry in far less time than it took my father to reject us.

Filled with anger, I needed to show her that I wouldn't simply be brushed aside like I was nothing. By default, she'd forced me to become the new man of the house. Still, I wasn't about to let her unseat me from my rightful position, no matter whom she brought in to challenge me.

Lying there pinned to the bed, trapped beneath the nylon covering my mother's sturdy legs, watching her playfully enjoy teasing my cock, it was clear she had no idea how each one of her soft, lingering strokes was gradually stoking the rage burning inside me, which I did my best to hold it back as long as possible.

I couldn't help noting the amused look on her face, enjoying her power, as she hunched over me, squeezing my penis in her tightly balled fist, fingers dripping with pre-cum and saliva, filling the room with a rapid series of squish-squish noises, edging me toward the pinnacle of my release.

"Ready when you are," I said, knowing how close I was. She answered with a devious smirk.

"Oh, it won't be that easy," she said, taunting me. "I will let you cum, but only once I know I can trust you," she stated flatly.

I found it ironic her mentioning trust at that moment, considering all that had happened with Doug and Cynthia over the weekend. Yet, suddenly her reason for being so possessive finally dawned on me.

My mother had always had issues trusting men, especially when she learned that my father had cheated on her more than once. With that in mind, it wasn't such an enormous leap to understand her motivation for claiming my cock and balls as her property. Still, in spite of that, I couldn't see why I needed to prove anything to her at that moment, knowing full well that she was just as capable of fucking someone else as I was.

"Don't worry," I said, in a weak effort to ease her mind. "'I'd never let anyone come between us either."

Her eyes narrowed, returning my statement with grim silence, staring right through me, as if taking a moment to measure the level of my sincerity.

"Are you sure about that?" she asked pointedly.

"Yes, one hundred percent," I promptly answered.

Upon hearing this, she reached down and cradled my balls in an almost threatening manner, steely eyes gazing back at me, as she coldly replied, "Are you willing to prove it?"

Frowning back, I answered with a nervous stutter. "Um, sure...what do I have to do?"

She reached back under my blanket and pulled out a second pair of nude, sheer-to-waist, pantyhose, dangling them over me.

"Nothing unpleasant," she said, with one hand locked around my cock, raising the flimsy garment in the other.

With no intention of offending her, I innocently asked, "So you want me to wear those?"

Shoulders slumped, she answered sucking her teeth. "Not when you make it sound like a chore," she said, shaking her head. "Is there a problem? You seemed to enjoy wearing them last week."

From her tone, I gathered this was more to her than simple foreplay. The risk of public embarrassment was something I assumed she wanted me to face only to show her how far I was willing to go in order to demonstrate my loyalty.

"It's not that I don't like wearing them," I explained. "I'm just not sure about wearing them outside the house, especially to school. How will this prove you can trust me?" I asked, needing to hear more.

Her voice was glib as she jokingly answered, "It probably doesn't. But as long as you wear them, you're less likely to forget that your penis belongs to me."

"Hmm, I see," I said, mulling it over. "And what's to stop me from taking them off later on?"

"Good point," she said, with a slight nod. "You could send me a picture when you get to school," she suggested. "Or better yet, you could send me a picture, say, every two hours."

I considered this quietly for a moment, using the time to try and convince myself that I might actually enjoy it. Finally, I relented, throwing in one condition of my own.

"Fine, I'll do it," I said. "But only if you get me off first," I insisted.

"Even better," she said, with the tip of her tongue flicking the corner of her mouth.

With that, she slid over the side of the bed, where she knelt down, pantyhose in hand, curling the gauzy fabric around my cock, using the nylon to augment the friction of her soft, feathery strokes.

From her servile position between my legs, she looked at me with a sparkling glimmer in her eyes, lips pouting, as she softly whispered, "Now where were we?"

I was somewhat confused as she settled down to the floor, yet thoroughly enjoying the delightful sensation of her exquisitely soft, silky, pantyhose, which only someone who intimately knew the euphoric pleasure of nylon could turn into such an effective tool for jerking me off as well as Mom did.

Mildly distressed, I looked down and asked, "What are we doing? I was this close to cumming on your legs."

"You will," Mom said. "But first I need you to stand up," she added, as I slowly rose to my feet.

From the side of the bed, I looked down into her warm hazel eyes. Then gazed further down, enjoying the sight of her tawny nipples, swollen like plump raisins, sprouting from the tips of her small, pert breasts, with brown freckles dotting the glowing surface of her supple white skin. Finally, my eyes scanned all the way down to the rousing image of her toned, lustrous, hose-covered thighs, instantly taken by their vibrant shimmer, with sparkling bands of warm, radiant light wondrously illuminating each glorious thread of her sheer, flesh-colored, seamless pantyhose.

"What now?" I asked sheepishly, as she glanced over the tip of my cock, lips curling to a devilish smile.

"I want you to fuck my throat," she answered directly.

Though I'd clearly heard what she wanted, I wasn't entirely sure how to go about it.

By then, my hard-on couldn't possibly extend any further, as I slowly proceeded to slide it between her quivering lips. The steam from her open mouth warmly surrounded my shaft as I gently pushed toward the narrow walls of her resistant throat. Her fingers crawled up my legs, placing a tight grip around my ass, where she suddenly pulled forward, choking my dick down to the base.

Her chest heaved, eyes wide open, balls flush to her chin. Her nostrils flared, forcing air to her lungs, gagging herself on purpose. Her eyes watered as her throat muscles strained to handle my girth, moaning with obvious pleasure as my thick shaft clogged up her weary throat, spit bubbles foaming from the corners of her mouth, slowly rolling down her chin.

Finally, her head flew back, coughing and groaning, spit wiggling off her chin, snapping and landing on her tits, then rolling down, falling to her lap, where tiny bubbles of pearly saliva dripped down and seeped through the glistening nylon over her pantyhosed thighs.

The sight of Mom painfully choking on my cock was visibly disconcerting given my lack of experience. Quick to ease my concern, she took my hands and calmly placed them around her head.

"I'm okay," she said, gasping for breath. "I only did that so you'd know not to stop," she added, leaning in once again.

I looked down, holding her by the head, noting the lack of fear in her eyes. With a deep breath, I then eased my dick back inside her mouth, slowly pushing in, pausing as her throat muscles tightened around my shaft. With one anxious thrust, I then breached the walls of her narrow throat, making her gag for only a moment, as she gurgled and quickly moaned with pleasure, swallowing my dick whole.

With her moist lips and spongy tongue desperately clinging to my shaft, I patiently took my time sliding my penis back out. Her eyelids narrowed in displeasure as she reached up and grabbed my ass with both hands. Before I could blink, she wolfed my cock down to the root once more, squeezing my ass, holding on tight, shoving my dick in and out.

Seething with lust, I peered over her, watching Mom scarf down my cock repeatedly.

"Is this what you like?" I said, fucking her throat. "You like being treated like a slut?"

She answered with her mouth full, chin up, mumbling, "Mm hmm."

Needing no further motivation, I pushed down her hands, yanked her by the hair, then promptly began sawing my hips back and forth, face fucking my mother, thrusting in and out, balls slapping her chin, ignoring her strangled whimpers and clucking noises, spit pouring down her chest.

"That's it. That's a good slut. Take my fucking dick down your throat."

If only she'd known the ravenous beast that her own deviant nature brought out in me. Maybe she would have thought twice before asking me to treat her in such a demeaning way. Then again, the whole scene could have easily been viewed as her treating me like a piece of meat, feasting on my cock, gorging on it, feeding her own depraved appetite.

Knowing her love of pantyhose might have even exceeded my own made it fairly easy to accept my role as her new live-in sex slave. If her long legs belonged to me, then it was only fair that my long dick should belong to her just as much. Even if it meant wearing her pantyhose in public just to prove it.

That's when I realized the incredible opportunity I had right in front me. It didn't matter what she asked me to do, as long as she backed up her previous statement that no other woman could fulfill my fantasies like she could. If that statement was true, then I'd happily give Mom all the cock she could handle, anytime, anywhere, as long as she was content with being my pantyhose slut.

After five minutes drilling her tired throat, her limp body finally weakened from my relentless thrusts.

"Need a break?" I said, sliding my dick out with a loud pop.

She nodded softly, spit running down her face, as I smiled and asked her to lie on her back. Lifting her legs, I then slowly dropped to my knees, resting the tip of my cock against her moist slit.

"Mind if I try something?" I whispered, echoing Mom's words from our previous tryst on the couch, as I pushed her legs down to her chest, then slowly began rubbing my swollen knob over the thin layer of pantyhose guarding her cunt.

Not waiting for an answer, I hunched forward, wedging my dick inside her, the nylon acting as a condom as I looked down and watched my cock force its way in. The heat of her pussy was evident as I felt the nylon yielding to my slow penetration, stretching around my shaft, boldly invading my mother's womb for the very first time.

"Mmm, that feels nice," she said, letting me take my time.

I paused for a moment, relishing the thought of Mom wanting me to fuck her this way.

"I've always wanted to try this," I said. "These pantyhose really stretch, don't they?"

"Mmm, they really do," she answered. "Why do you think I love them so much?"

As much as I wanted to tear through the hose, the seamless fabric was softer than any rubber I'd ever worn. I could still feel the wetness of her pussy soaking through the threads. Steadily, I started pumping in and out, balancing on my hands and knees. With each thrust, her pantyhose continued to give way, stretching until my dick penetrated balls deep.

"Fuck me, Chris," Mom begged. "Fuck me through my pantyhose."

Her blunt direction spurred me to thrust harder, filling the room with the sound of my hips slapping against her upraised thighs, pounding incessantly as Mom lustfully cried out for more.

"Huhh, huhh, hmph, oh God, oh yes baby, don't stop! Uh, oh yeah! Oh yeah baby, that's it. Take it. Take what you want. That's right, fuck Mommy. Fuck Mommy good, sweetie. Fuck Mommy good through her pantyhose. Oh fuck yeah! I can feel how hard you are. You love Mommy's pantyhose, don't you?"

Through gritted teeth, I snarled over her, drilling her pussy through the floor.

"Mmm, you know I do. It's the only reason you love wearing them so much. Knowing how hard it makes me."

"Ohh, God yes," Mom answered emphatically. "I love making you nice and hard. I wear pantyhose every day just to see the bulge in your pants. I know you steal them and it makes my pussy so fucking wet. It might make me a bad mother, but one time I watched you jerk off with them in your old bedroom. I know it's crazy, but I really loved watching you cum; though nothing's better than feeling your huge load on my legs."

As if she'd echoed my own thoughts, I took her words as an invitation to force my cock further inside. Her seamless pantyhose may have been highly resilient, but at that point, even the stingiest nylon was no match for the relentless pressure of my hard-driving cock, tattering the delicate weaving, rupturing the threads one by one, helpless against the imminent threat of real, full-on penetration.

"Chris, stop," Mom said, pushing her hands against my shoulders.

Though I felt her resisting, in my mind, nothing else mattered. She'd been teasing me far too long. I was going to fuck Mom no matter what.

"Chris," she repeated, raising her voice, feeling her muscles tense up beneath me. "I think, um...I think you've torn a hole in my pantyhose..."

Regardless, blinded by anger and lust, I continued thrusting my pelvis non-stop.

"Christopher, I said get off me!" she yelled, swiftly connecting with an open slap, spinning my head to the right, instantly snapping me back to reality, where I then realized, filled with remorse, how much I'd completely lost control.

"Mom, I'm so sorry," I said, reaching down to her. "Did I hurt you?"

"No," she said, shaking her head. "But you really scared me," she added, rolling me off, setting me down on my side. With her arms wrapped around her knees, she sat there next to me on floor, turning her head, looking me square in the eye. "This is isn't the first time you've snapped like this," she continued. "This isn't good, Chris. I can't be afraid to have you living here, never knowing what you might do."

"You're right," I said. "I just get so angry sometimes. I'm not sure why."

With a frown on her face, she reached over and touched my hand. "Is it me?" she asked, staring intently. "Are you mad that I'm trying to take this slow?"

"Could be, I don't know," I said, shrugging back. "Everything's gotten harder since Dad left," I added, turning away. "Then we moved here... and I felt like maybe this was my chance to take care of you. Still, it's only been a week and I already feel like I've been replaced."

Mom sat there, quietly listening for a moment, slowly nodding her head. "I understand, Chris. I really do," she whispered softly. "Maybe you should talk to someone...help you deal with your feelings."

"What," I said, squinting back at her, "you mean, like a shrink or something?"

"Mm hmm," Mom said, nodding again. "They really help sometimes. Cynthia has one. Maybe we could call her?"

For a moment, I tried my best not to overreact, struggling to avoid letting her see that I was offended, sitting there thinking how much she'd willingly indulged my fetish, as if I was the only one who needed help.

Thinking I could use an ally, I turned back to Mom, nodding my head.

"If you get me the number, I'll call," I said, feeling the need to take charge.

Pleased to hear me agree so quickly, she hopped up, grabbed her phone, and texted Cynthia right away. In under two minutes, Cynthia promptly sent back the name and number of her therapist. I called that afternoon.

Surprisingly, due to a cancellation, the doctor's receptionist informed me that there was opening for a primary consultation, Thursday morning at 10:00 AM. She then stated she would transfer me to the doctor's voicemail, advising me to leave a message with my name, number, along with the reason for my visit.

Leaving my message, I then explained that I was suffering from an unusual form of sexual addiction brought on by an obsession with women in pantyhose. I followed this adding that my roommate willfully enabled my addiction by purposely wearing them around the house, while never actually wanting to have sex.

The next day, I got home from school, curious to learn more about this woman I was meeting in just two days. I was fairly surprised by just how much information I quickly found, with only a few minutes of online research.

For starters, in recent pictures, I couldn't believe she was 46. The woman was hot as fuck. Though what struck me on top of her gorgeous face was the city listed as her place of birth: Birmingham, England.

Some people liked claiming British women were ugly, but those people hadn't been paying attention to Kate Middleton, who was not only one of the most stunning women in the world, but largely responsible for bringing pantyhose back in style.

As I read through the doctor's bio, I learned even more information about her background. Her birth name was Margaret Oliver. Her father was an oral surgeon. Her mother was a former author turned housewife, who raised Margaret, along with her two older sisters, Katherine and Linda. At 21, Margaret graduated pre-med, then married a British naval engineer, with whom she also had two daughters, Chelsea and Emma, before landing her first publishing deal for her own series of best-selling children's books. She then began working on a series of erotic mystery novels, for which she and her editor decided to publish under the pseudonym, Megan Sinclair. At 28, after divorcing her first husband, she then moved her two children to Tampa, Florida, putting her writing career on hold in order to pursue her doctorate.

For her dissertation, she spent a year interviewing over a hundred escorts, porn stars, and strippers, all over Tampa, a city known for having more strip clubs per capita than anywhere in America.

At 32, she published the results of her research, in a non-fiction book entitled, "The Empowerment of Objectification," which quickly became a controversial best seller. Two years later, she married her second husband, a wealthy, high-profile, plastic surgeon named William Bennett, with whom she gave birth to a third daughter, Daphne.

The success of her latest book prompted an offer to join the faculty at Harvard. At 38, she moved her whole family to Boston, teaching psychology for three years, before finally leaving to start her own private practice.

I then went to YouTube, surfing through countless interviews, stopping at one with Katie Couric. For thirty minutes, I was riveted by the whole presentation, watching her patiently instruct the audience on vital topics like how a woman should enter a room, how to walk in high heels, how a woman's clothes should fit, and even the most basic lessons on hair flipping, PDA, and proper leg crossing techniques.

"Essentially, men are like dogs," said Dr. Sinclair, in a low-cut, burgundy, wrap around dress, perched on a high-back stool, her left leg neatly crossed over the other, exposing a fetching eyeful of sheer, smoky, light gray pantyhose, with the slightest hint of control top, peeking below the hem, marked by a visible tell-tale line, high on her full, shimmering, upper left thigh. "In order to illicit the desired response, as women, we must learn to condition the male psyche through the proper application of sexual stimuli."