The Scent of her Stockings

I walked into the kitchen and froze in my tracks.

Mum had her back to me but was bending down adjusting her skirt.

It was hitched up high on one thigh showing the top of a sheer black nylon stocking. I stepped closer and saw she was fastening a stocking top to one of three thin black suspender straps.

I stood speechless, my eyes transfixed on the long straight seams of her stockings, following them down to those deeply erotic 'fuck me' heels.

Her skirt was hitched up just high enough to show one tantalizing cheek of her ass and the sheer black lace of her knickers.

Still bending over she craned her head to one side, her eyes working down my body, finally fixating on my bulging crotch.

"Are my seams straight love? Check them for me. They should be perfectly straight from the stocking top to the heel. Adjust them for me if they need it," she asked innocently.

"Y..yess Mum," I stammered.

"Do you really like my legs Jack?" she said with a smile.

I just nodded, my mouth agape like a village idiot. This couldn't be my Mum! She didn't do stuff like that. I mean, I'd never heard her swear, even once, in our whole lives.

Then she straightened up, smoothed down her skirt and turned towards me.

"Are these the right colour stockings and suspenders you were telling me about yesterday love? Is this how I look in your dreams? Am I wearing them properly?"

I nodded, not knowing what to say.

"Anyway," she said, "You go and lay the breakfast table love and I'll do that fried bread for you. Get a move on or we'll both be late."

Then my brain switched on and I said,"What d'you say I take a photo of you in that glamour pose, y'know, to go towards my portfolio Mum? Y'never know, the photos might come in useful in the future?"

She smiled and nodding said, "Better make it quick love, I don't want to be late for work." As I left the room she added, "These photos are just for us Jack, definitely not for any portfolio!"

"Okay Mum!, No problem!" I shouted back, racing into the next room to recover the camera from my college bag.

A couple of minutes later I was shooting photos of her while she pretended to adjust her stockings, firing off instructions to her like a pro.

And in turn she responded like a trained model, moving to catch the light, posing to emphasise her most photogenic features.

My best shots were taken at stocking top height. I managed to catch the morning sun streaming in through the kitchen window and creating highlights on the black silk.

These shimmering lines on the taut stockings emphasized the erotic curves of her shapely legs, so fascinating to stocking fetishists like me.

I was surprised when she agreed to one pose that definitely pushed the boundaries of any normal mother son relationship. But she didn't hesitate for a heartbeat when I described what I wanted.

She stood with her back to me, skirt hitched up to her hips, legs spread in a wide 'A'.

The seams of her stockings formed two sides of an equilateral triangle. Her ankles turned sharply inwards, further drawing the eye to the height and slenderness of her seductive stiletto heels.

Her ass and stockings were a joy of erotic curves, lines and symmetry. The black suspender straps drew the dark stocking tops into perfect geometric curves, tracing the bewitching globes of her sexy booty.

I positioned her to catch the streaming sun light, creating contrasting highlights that traced her curves and cast deep shadows under her butt cheeks and the sensuous 'V' between her thighs.

But there was still something not quite right in the composition. It was those lacy nickers. She had put them on correctly over her suspenders and normally they would have looked sensational.

I must have been totally absorbed in my photography otherwise I would never have dared ask.

"Can you, er... just take those nickers off for this shot Mum? I want to capture the beautiful curves of your butt and they spoil the effect I want?"

This time there was a slight hesitation, then, while keeping her back to me, she slid down her silk nickers, slowly and deliberately like a stripper, one long leg at a time. Unknown to her I kept taking burst shots, trying to catch a magic moment. But try as I did, I couldn't get a look at her mysterious pussy. As I couldn't see any velvet from a bush I concluded she must shave herself there.

I can still remember thinking this was what I wanted to do after college, spend the rest of my life creating mind-blowing images of the female body.

For a few minutes I was lost in a fascinating whirl of camera flashes and deeply meaningful eye contact.

Then it was over. She had put her nickers back on, smoothed down her skirt and we were standing close together, reviewing the shots with her on the camera LCD display.

"I don't want you to keep any photos that could identify me Jack," she said seriously. "I've seen the consequences when intimate photos get in circulation. They wreck lives. Promise me you will delete them love?"

I promised.

I thought carefully about what she had said and later deleted several good shots that showed her face and could easily identify the interior of our house. It made sense.

"I hadn't realised what a flair you have for glamour photography," she said studying one particularly striking photo of her legs and ass.

"You even managed to make my tired old legs look good!" she added.

I didn't think she was fishing for compliments, just telling me how she felt about herself.

"Honestly Mum," I said, "Your legs look so cool, I'm sure you could get some modelling work for your own catalogues if you only pushed yourself a bit more?"

"You're just saying that to make me feel good?", she said with an odd rising intonation which made it sound more like a question.

"Tell you what, I'll print some of these off tonight, and if you bring home a couple of those cool lingerie catalogues your team make, then we can, like, compare your legs with those of professional stocking models? What do you say?"

"If I can remember love?" she said casually. But I caught a glint of exhilaration in her eyes that assured me she would.

By the time I had put away my camera, laid the table and sat down, Mum came in with a pot of tea in one hand and my hot cooked breakfast in the other.

I glanced down at her legs only to be disappointed. She had replaced her heels and stockings with boring tan tights and her usual flat work shoes.

Tan tights? Jeez! Who the fuck cares about tan tights and flat shoes? Tights are airless, sweaty, inaccessible and fucking ugly. Flat shoes lower the hips and destroy the erotic silhouette of a beautiful woman.

But as usual I said nothing, my eyes now fixated on the cooked breakfast. But inside, my mind whirled with dreamy images of her posing for me in those alluring stockings and suspenders, and the tantalising glimpses of her sexy ass.

Surely there couldn't be one guy in a million who could get his sexy mother to take off her nickers for him!

Did I imagine it?

That was my Monday morning.

It was impossible to concentrate at college for the rest of that day. My mind kept returning to Mum. Each time I thought of her stockings I had another erection. I was so close to seeing her pussy that I had to jerk off twice in the lavatories to ease the overwhelming thrills of excitement filling my imagination.

Mum was already waiting in the car at the college gates when I came out in the late afternoon.

Almost without thinking I glanced down at her legs and was electrified to see she was again wearing stockings.

Her working skirt was hitched up just enough to reveal stocking tops and the straps of her fastens. Her shining raven hair was styled in a classic elegant french twist, emphasising the beautiful arch of her neck.

Before starting the car she asked me to pass her handbag to her from the back seat.

Releasing my seatbelt I twisted around, stretching an arm across to retrieve the handbag from the rear seat. It was then I saw she had brought a small stack of lingerie magazines. I smiled inwardly knowing we would be discussing our lingerie preferences later.

Turning back to face front again I handed her the handbag.

"Jeez. What do you keep in there?" I said, "It must weigh, like a ton!"

"A girl must keep some secrets from her man,"she said, shooting me a smile. "Besides, you don't want to go rooting in this dustbin love, you never know what you'll find!"

Then she rummaged around in the bag for a half minute or so before retrieving a lipstick and perfume atomiser.

Aware I was watching, she reached up and twisted the rear view mirror towards her. Then slowly and deliberately she removed the top of the lipstick.

Gradually she twisted the base of the golden cylinder, allowing the glossy red stick to reveal itself, like a penis getting an erection.

The top of the lipstick had taken on the curve of her lips through regular use. I watched, hypnotised as she meticulously applied the colour, first sweeping the curve of her lower lip, then following the sensuous outline of her top lip.

As she moved her head, the sun caught the fine lanugo hair above her top lip, creating a spiritual halo around her profile.

She finished with a gentle wipe of her little finger to remove a slight imperfection on her bottom lip. She paused to examine her work in the mirror before returning the lipstick to her bag.

Then, seemingly oblivious of my attention, picked up the perfume atomiser and gave a quick spray to both sides of her neck, beneath her ears.

Just then, quite involuntarily, I auto-ejaculated in my trousers, it surprised me and my body writhed a little in ecstasy. I groaned aloud as her perfume filled my head, and began to hallucinate images of her taking off her nickers.

When my ejaculation had ceased I became aware that the faint smell of my semen was mixing with her heady scent.

Obviously aware of my embarrassment she said, "I think I better freshen up those trousers and boxer shorts your wearing when we get home love, if that's alright?"

It was all so matter-of-fact and every day. I had just come hard and pulsing in my pants at the sight and smell of my mother. Impossible to miss, she seemed to understand how I felt and sensitively made no humiliating comments.

"Put my bag back on the seat for me my love," she said, readjusting the mirror and starting the engine.

I just grunted something, clicked on my seatbelt, returned the bag then turned my head to look away. But I too could smell congealing semen on me.

In the window I focussed on her reflection and saw Mum smile to herself, turn on the car radio and we drove home without speaking further.

Unknown to me at that time, far from being repulsed at the odour of my semen, she was secretly aroused and emboldened to realise my seed had been spent in erotic desire of her.

While she got tea ready I sat at the table and completed some written work to accompany my college project. For the first time that day I was able to concentrate and somehow I managed to get it all done. But in the back of my mind I knew I had another close encounter of the erotic kind awaiting me later.

"Are you ready to eat love?" she called from the ktchen, snapping me out of my concentration.

"Yes Mum," I called back," I'll like, just go upstairs to take a shower and change."

By the time I came back to the dining room 20 minutes later she was already seated opposite my place at the table, looking completely different than when we had driven home.

She had changed into figure hugging jeans and a tight sleeveless army green vest without a bra, her nipples standing proud through the thin material.

Her hair was in a different up-do, beautifully arranged at the back, and there again were the ivory-white earrings.

However it was her face that transfixed me. She had put on delicate green eye shadow and her lips were made up with perfectly applied red wet-look lipstick. Her expensive Chanel perfume filled my head, making me feel slightly intoxicated.

She looked so much younger. So beautiful. So sexy.

I wanted to touch her, run my hands over the curves of her delicious breasts and smother her lips with passionate kisses.

"Still like what you see Jack?" She asked softly. "Does it do the job for you love?"

"Jeez yes Mum'" I said, my eyes fixated on her firm breasts and the blunt pegs of her erect nipples.

"This morning you asked me to fetch home a selection of the lingerie and makeup catalogues and brochures we produce at work."

"Yeah, cool," I said, trying to sound offhand as if it didn't really matter, "So did you remember?"

"I thought you'd already spotted them in the car love," she said with a smile.

After clearing away the meal things and helping her to wash up, we settled at the table. I carefully laid out all the photos I'd printed off earlier and those taken on the night she went out with friends.

I could tell she was fascinated with my photos of her. And there was no doubt they were good, making her look like a regular mature model.

After comparing the shots of her with those in the catalogues she had to agree she did look good.

"D'you really think I could get work as a mature model?" she asked.

"I'll tell you what we can do,"I said, "We could work on a cool portfolio of you that you can take and show your boss?"

CHAPTER 4

Tuesday was always the only day Mum didn't drive me to college. She had to leave early and I took the bus. More often than not I didn't see her before she left, but she always shouted goodbye up the stairs to me before going out the door .

This Tuesday was different. I was still fast asleep when she called me from her bedroom.

"Jack! " she called.

"Yes Mum," I answered sleepily.

"Come here and zip me up will you love?"

Still half asleep and wiping grit from my eyes I padded barefoot into her bedroom wearing only a 'T' shirt and shorts.

Mum was standing with her back to me, her head turned in profile studying herself in the dressing table mirror.

She was wearing a new kingfisher blue dress which was open to her lower back.

"Zip me up will you love, I can't quite reach it?"

"Yes of course Mum," I said, all the sleep suddenly gone from me.

My heart began beating like a train.

My hands trembled at my proximity to her inviting bare back.

My throat went dry.

I took my time raising the zip, allowing me to study her underwear. Low down was the line of a black 'G' string and the lace of a suspender belt.

In the middle of her back were two small moles almost hidden by thin bra straps.

Unable to restrain myself I put a hand on her back, running it gently up under her bra straps then down, following the curve of her spine to the base of the zip.

Then, hesitating only for a second, slid my hand down inside her dress, to the crack of her ass. Having circled her firm warm cheeks I slid a finger deep into her crack, searching out the small rosebud of her butt.

"Last time I checked the zip didn't go that low Jack," she said, giving her ass a sexy wiggle, "Come on, zip me up love or I'll be late!"

Reluctantly I withdrew my hand, but took a quick sniff of my finger before returning to the zip. It smelled of shower gel, perfume and just a tiny hint of her rosebud.

Inevitably I got an erection and was sorely tempted to put my arms around her and kiss her neck.

The zip hesitated near the top so I stepped forward to gain more purchase, my prick pressing against the cheeks of her curvy ass.

Mum must have felt it as she seemed to press back onto me increasing the erotic sensation I was already trying to control.

She shimmied sexily as I took hold of the small zip and slid it up to the top. With the back of my other hand I caressed the soft lanugo hair on her pale neck.

After the zip was secured she turned around and blew my mind.

The dress had a graceful but low-cut neckline. She must have been wearing a push-up bra which forced her breasts together and upwards, like those 18th century paintings of French aristocracy beauties whose breasts pushed out like small melons.

I think that was the moment I first needed to fuck her. I don't know where the urgency came from but it washed away any satisfaction with just looking at her and her clothes.

The primeval instinct to rut.

My heart thumped hard against my ribs, rushing blood to all the muscles, ready for me to grab her with animal strength and raw lust. My prick was rock hard and pulsed against my stomach - ready for action.

A madness.

Quite how I held back from forcing her down on the bed and pushing up her skirt I shall never know. Those breasts were so inviting, so close to touch. I knew I could rip the front of that dress open with both hands then slake 18 years of desire in a couple of minutes.

I was close, very close to the point when the animal brain blanks out any thoughts of guilt or conscience and becomes deaf to cries of pain or suffering.

My face must have changed as the blood drained away, needed elsewhere urgently.

Luckily Mum must have realised that at that moment I was not her obedient son, but a huge, hairy, Viking warrior intent on rape and pillage.

Then she broke the tension by asking softly if I was feeling okay?

If she had made the mistake of even brushing a hand against my prick I would have raped her without a moments thought.

Instead we stood looking into each other's eyes, saying nothing, hands down to our sides.

Gradually the madness passed. My heart rate slowed and muscles began to relax.

Colour slowly flowed back into my face.

My breathing slowed as I stepped back from the abyss.

After a while my erection became flaccid.

But from that moment we both understood that one way or another we would have to fuck, and very soon.

The hard way or the easy way.

That the teasing had become close to taking.

Much later, Mum confided that she had sensed my overwhelming desire for her, and recognised I was about to lose control.

She had been pushing my turbulent emotions too hard and realised she had to ease off the pressure on me, or her plans would be destroyed in one moment of brutal orgy.

She also knew that she had succeeded in taking over my young mind, filling it with a great passion for her. One part of her head was thrilled by the power she now held over me, the other feared the tsunami of lust she had created and wondered if she had the defences to withstand it's landfall?

At that moment, fate decided to turn it's wheel, her hand went to her stomach and she buckled slightly, eyes wincing in pain.

"Sorry to spoil this moment love,"she said anxiously, "Women's problems. My period has come a few days early."

Then she went into the toilet in search of tampons.

I didn't know what to do. She had never actually mentioned her menstrual cycle to me before.

But I was aware of the changes in her for a few days each month.

I slumped onto her bed, my head in my hands, unable to take it all in. Tears of frustration were just beneath the surface.

My heart rate gradually slowed and my mind cleared into sanity.

After a few minutes I heard the toilet flush but she didn't come out for another 20 minutes or so.

When she did she had washed off her makeup, combed out her hair and changed into sober working clothes. She looked pale and in some discomfort.

"Get me a couple of ibuprofen and a glass of water would you please Jack, my stomach cramps have started," she said, one hand on her stomach, the other holding her blue dress.

I hadn't realised that another seismic shift in our relationship had just occurred, she was talking to me as if I were her husband. Nevertheless my heart went out to her and I quickly switched from would-be rapist mode back to loving son without thinking.