Mommy’s Need A Big Dicked Son

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“I-I-I,” he stammered.

“It’s alright, honey,” I said, for some reason really enjoying teasing him… something I used to enjoy doing to his father with my nylon-clad legs back in the better days of our marriage. “Without your father here to have these conversations with you, I probably should step forward. You can just think of me as your loving surrogate father figure… except I have a vagina.”

“This is so weird,” he said.

“This conversation or watching porn?” I asked.

“This conversation,” he clarified.

“Ah-ha, so you do watch porn!” I declared as if I’d just solved a challenging case.

“You did say it was natural,” he pointed out, getting a little more comfortable.

“Yes, I did,” I concurred. “Everyone does it.”

“Even you?” he asked, gaining some confidence from this conversation.

“I plead the Fifth,” I replied coyly, even though my tone admitted the answer was obviously yes.

“No pleading,” he said.

“I used to love to plead,” I responded in a seductive voice that didn’t even try to hide the innuendo I was bluntly putting forward, my twisted mind overriding my moral mother side.

For a boy who fantasized turning his mother into a sex slut for himself, he sure wasn’t catching on to the plethora of hints I was throwing at him. He asked, “What do you mean?”

“Sorry, I probably shouldn’t have said that,” I replied, meaning it, yet also wanting him to dig deeper. I couldn’t explain it, but my long-dormant sex drive had been awakened like a lightning strike directly to my libido, and I was like a cougar on the hunt.

“You can’t say something intriguing and then refuse to clarify it,” he said, looking at my freshly painted (well, yesterday) red toenails.

“It’s a little inappropriate,” I said coyly, wanting him to ask, or perhaps even order me to tell him.

“I think we crossed that particular red line back when you accused me of watching porn,” he pointed out,

“Which you do,” I countered.

“Perhaps,” he shrugged, “but that doesn’t mean you can chicken out of explaining your innuendo.”

“Fine,” I sighed over-dramatically and then blurted out, “your father used to make me beg for his member.”

“Oh!” he said after a long pause that seemed like an eternity.

“I said you wouldn’t want to know,” I pointed out.

“It’s okay,” he said, staring at my feet again.

“How long until supper?” I asked.

“About twenty minutes.”

“Can you do me a favour?” I asked, wanting to keep this conversation going as long as I could.

“What?” he asked, still unable to make eye contact.

“Well, for one thing, look me in the eye,” I said.

“Sorry,” he apologized, as I realized he wasn’t embarrassed by the conversation, he was just perving on my sexy feet.

“It’s a bit of a weird request,” I said, again wanting to draw him in.

“You can ask me to do anything,” he said.

“Can we delay dinner and you give me a foot massage?” I requested. “I haven’t had one since your dad left the picture. It was the one thing he did that I miss.”

“Sure,” he said a bit too quickly, confirming my 99% deduction that he was a nylon foot fetish guy. The fact he jerked off with my nylons just added weight to my conclusion.

“Thanks, honey,” I said, as I took his hand and led him into the living room.

I sat down at one end of the couch and he hovered, not knowing what to do.

“Sit on the couch with me,” I said, pointing to the other end.

“Okay,” he said.

I then swung my feet onto his lap.

He put his hands on my right foot and started vaguely massaging it. “Begin with each toe, please,” I instructed.

“Okay,” he repeated, a little nervous.

“It really relaxes me,” I said, which was true.

“Okay,” he repeated again, in awe of what he was doing. If I was correct, he’d fantasized about doing this many times, and now that he was, he was in a bit of a pinch-me-is-this-really-happening mindset.

“So… happy to be home?” I asked.

“Yeah, it’s nice not to have school,” he said.

“Not nice to spend time with your mother?” I asked.

“It’s obviously always nice to be with you too,” he countered.

“It’d better be.”

“It is, it is,” he overstated his case.

“That feels very nice,” I said. “Thank you for doing this.”

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