Shepherd's Pie Ch. 04

Looking to the left, a family of ducks paddled together through a private lake. To the right, a long series of manicured lawns stretched on for miles over rolling hills, with flagpoles, sandtraps, and men riding in motorized golf carts.

"You think she owns all this," Mom said, staring in disbelief.

"Her husband's a doctor too," I said, making the turn leading to Megan's so-called 'cottage.' "Must be nice."

The humble residence I'd imagined was honestly more like a British manor. Exiting the car, we slowly approached this magnificent, two-story, cobblestone house, with horse stables in the back, fountains and shrubberies decorously leading to the front door.

Greeting us there, the butler graciously invited us in, asking us to wait there for Ms. Sinclair, whose presence was expected directly.

"Can you believe this place?" Mom said, as we stood there in the open foyer, gazing in awe at the vaulted cathedral ceiling. To our right, was a large study, with yet another vast collection of books there as well. To our left, was a large cigar room, with a fully stocked minibar and gorgeous full-sized pool table.

"She must throw some great parties here," I said, turning to see Megan regally descending a winding staircase.

"Ah, wonderful, you made it," she said, dripping with charm. She was dressed in a long black velvet robe, with the letter S ornately monogramed over her left breast.

I awkwardly stood there for a moment, uncertain who should make the introductions, when Mom finally stepped over, doing the honors herself.

"Lauren Shepherd, pleased to meet you," she said, shaking the doctor's hand.

"Megan Sinclair, likewise," she answered, smiling back. "Did you have any trouble finding the place?"

"No, not at all," Mom said. "I must say you have a lovely home.

"Oh," Megan said, feigning humility. "That's very kind of you to say. I do have a flat in the city. But this is where all of my friends and I come to get away. We certainly enjoy it."

"You've obviously done quite well. I'm sure you're very proud," Mom said. "And I must say how grateful I am for your interest in helping my son."

Hearing this, Megan quietly stood there for a moment, raising her chin, eyes casted over us suspiciously.

"Your son," she repeated. "Hmm, I definitely see the resemblance," she added, stepping in closer. "Forgive my confusion, but I was under the impression that Christopher was bringing his roommate."

Mom turned, head tilted, glancing at me.

"Oh, umm...well, I suppose that's true," she stammered, turning back. "I mean, we do live together. So technically, I guess you could say we're roommates."

"I see," Megan said, inching toward me. "Ms. Shepherd, though it pains me to say this, I don't believe your son has been fully honest with me. Have you known him to lie regarding important matters in the past?"

"Well, sure," Mom said. "As much as any teenager, I guess. But honestly, I don't believe lying is his biggest problem. I'm more concerned with controlling his anger and sexual aggression, mainly towards me."

"Yes, of course," Megan said. "I'm quite certain we're dealing with a classic oedipal complex. But frankly, Ms. Shepherd, I can't help feeling there's more going on here than that."

"Oh, like what?" Mom answered, scrunching her brow.

"Why don't you both come with me?" Megan said, leading us upstairs.

Following her to the second floor, we then entered a cold, spacious bedroom, dimly lit, rustically decorated with animal skins, nautical paintings, and artisan wood furniture, all surrounding a lush, four-post, king size bed.

Mom and I stood by the door, as Megan quietly picked up a pair of armless wooden chairs, setting them down by the foot of the bed, face to face.

"I think it's time we sort out the trust in this relationship," Megan said. "Now, straight away, Christopher, I need you to remove your clothes. No grumbling," she insisted, wagging her fingers.

"Um, wait a minute," Mom said, stepping forward. "You want my son to get naked...is that really necessary?

"Ms. Shepherd," Megan said, turning to her head. "I've treated hundreds of women in denial. You are by no means the first. At this moment, it's become exceedingly obvious to me that I know you far better than you know yourself. Now then," Megan added firmly. "Please remove your skirt."

For a moment, Mom stubbornly refused to budge. Then I walked over and calmly stepped in between them.

"Mom, come on, the least we can do is give her a chance," I said, rubbing her arm. "She's only trying to help.

With a heavy sigh, she looked at me, lips tightly pressed together, seeming more nervous than I was. Still, all I could think to do was hold her between my arms and whisper that everything would be okay, gradually helping her calm down, as I stood there for a moment and gently rubbed her back.

"Okay," Mom said, turning back to Megan. "I'll take my skirt off, but that's it."

Meanwhile, I'd already started to strip down, leaving my clothes in a pile on top of the bed. Once naked, Megan instructed me to take a seat on one of the cold wooden chairs. From there, I watched as Mom turned and faced the other chair, timidly reaching behind her back, where she then slowly unzipped her skirt, letting it fall to the floor.

Once seated, Mom seemed to purposely avert her eyes from my direction, holding her knees together, denying me the slightest glimpse of the cotton gusset between her legs, covered in silky nylon, which ironically, in spite of its dull appearance, inspired a dangerous hard-on, straight up, vertical against my stomach, merely from seeing Mom sitting there in a plain pair of ordinary nude pantyhose, nothing more.

"So," Megan said, holding rope. "Christopher tells me you wear pantyhose around the house quite often. Is that so?"

As Mom started to answer, Megan suddenly came up behind her, using the rope to tie Mom's hands behind the chair.

"Um, what are you doing?" Mom asked.

"Nevermind that, just answer the question," Megan replied.

"Well, yes," Mom answered. "Is there something wrong with that?"

"Only when your son has a pantyhose fetish," Megan said, as she crouched down, stringing rope around Mom's ankles. "You do know that, don't you?"

"Yes, he's told me about it," Mom admitted.

"Yet you still continue to dress this way. How do you explain that?" Megan asked standing back up, apparently satisfied with Mom's lack of mobility.

Mom tried to answer, but stumbled. "I, um...God, I really don't know."

Megan laughed. "I find it terribly amusing how Americans are so unwillingly to talk about incest. In some cultures, it's actually considered a rite of passage, when a boy has sex with his mother."

"Oh," Mom said, sounding incredulous. "And what makes you think I want that?"

"Well, to be honest, I'm not fully convinced," Megan said. "But you seem to be trying awfully hard to keep your son from becoming a man, which I believe is either because you don't feel he's capable, or you simply want him all to yourself."

On that note, Megan walked over and tied my arms and legs just as she'd done with Mom. She then slowly opened her robe, revealing a black lace corset, with a lustrous pair of midnight black, seamless pantyhose, wisely enhanced by the implicit power of six-inch black stilettos.

With Mom helplessly watching, Megan then dropped to her knees, slowly crawling between my legs, mouth open, tongue slithering over my balls, making me tremble, with a trail of kisses softly grazing up my shaft, moving up to the swollen tip, where her feathery tongue lightly swirled around the knob, moments before patiently easing my penis into her mouth inch by inch, sucking without urgency, letting me savor the heady sensation of her moist tongue fluttering over the sensitive glans beneath the head of my cock, with a glint in her eyes as she calmly gazed up at me, as if to show me how much she enjoyed feeling my penis swell inside her mouth.

With her lips hovering about the tip, Megan paused for a moment, turning and whispering toward my mother.

"You're very lucky Ms. Shepherd. I have three daughters," Megan explained, blowing warm air down my shaft. "If Chris was my son, this is exactly what I'd do to him, all the time. That's the difference between women like you and me. I've never denied my true nature, how desperately I love cock. Denial is bad for the soul. It keeps you from being who you truly are. And the only reason why Chris is so angry lately is because you won't stop lying to yourself."

"Oh, is that so?" Mom said, folding her arms. "And you figured all this out in one hour," she added skeptically. "Don't be ridiculous. Chris is my son, not yours. We both know exactly who we are. We have no secrets left."

"Hmm, well, in that case, answer this question for me," Megan inquired. "When did you first come to realize your own addiction to pantyhose?"

Before answering, Mom sat there reflecting for a moment, as Megan stepped over with another blindfold, ignoring the frown on Mom's bewildered face, as she pulled it down, covering Mom's eyes.

"What's this for?" Mom asked, fuming with her arms and legs tied to the chair.

"The blindfold is to prevent you from seeing your son's reactions," Megan replied. "I need your answers completely uncensored," Megan explained. "Now, you were saying?"

"Well, honestly," Mom slowly began. "It's only been in the last ten years or so. I'd worn them off and on, before that, mainly for special occasions. I remember when I was little I used to love watching my mother teach ballet. She had her own studio, always wore Danskin tights. I remember thinking she had such perfect legs. I envied them so much. I started gymnastics just so my legs would someday look like hers."

As Mom continued, I sat there listening intently, as Megan turned around, reaching toward the dresser, quietly opening the second drawer, from which she calmly produced a white handheld back massager, with a long plastic shaft, and a bulbous white knob on the end.

"So what happened ten years ago?" Megan asked, stepping over to Mom's chair.

"That's when I started teaching," Mom answered. "Plus, I was single again. My husband had left me for a younger woman. So I didn't have much confidence. The other teachers wore pantyhose, so I figured I should wear them too. Then I started to notice the looks I got from all the men on the faculty, even the male students too. For the first time in years, I was getting tons of attention from men of all ages, all because of my pantyhose."

"I see," Megan said, raising an eyebrow. "So during that time, once you began wearing pantyhose not only for work, but also at home as well, at some point did you come to realize the effect this was having on your son?"

As Mom sat there bound to her wooden seat, the doctor's question rendered her silent for a moment. Watching from three feet away, arms and legs bound to my chair as well, I looked toward Mom, eyes staring straight ahead, anxiously awaiting her answer, knowing she was too smart to come back with anything that wasn't politically correct.

"God, it's been so long. I honestly can't recall," Mom said. "Back then, he was so young, it's hard to imagine. Yet, I'm sure he was just as curious as all boys are at that age."

The calm expression on Megan's face morphed into a deep frown, as she stepped up and stood between Mom's legs, pressing the head of the back massager right up against Mom's crotch.

"Let's try this again," she said, switching it on. Only this time Mom was the one with the vibrator between her legs, as Megan stood there holding the knob against her clit, flat up against her pantyhose, as I sat there helpless, forced to do nothing except watch, grateful at least I was the one without the blindfold.

I vividly recalled first hearing that stirring, familiar buzz, suddenly, loudly, once again ringing in my ears. Within seconds, the rapid vibrations visibly affected the look on Mom's face. Her jaw dropped open, followed by a series of short, halting gasps, as Megan gazed over her, clinically studying her reactions, while Mom futilely struggled against her restraints.

"Now, I'll ask you again," Megan said, pausing the device. "And from now on, your only acceptable answers will be yes or no," she instructed. "Now tell me, Ms. Shepherd, when Christopher was a child did you ever notice him looking at your legs?"

Failing to answer right away, the powerful vibrator struck yet again.

Gasping for breath, Mom softly whispered, "Yes."

"Speak up," Megan ordered. "Were you just as aroused by this as those looks you got from other men?"

Again, the persistent buzzing led Mom to firmly declare, "Yes!"

"And you caught him stealing your pantyhose too, did you not?" Megan asked.

"Yes! Yes!" Mom shouted out once more.

"But you didn't mind, did you?" Megan continued. "All that mattered was feeling like every man wanted you, even your own son. Isn't that so?"

"Yes," Mom tearfully cried. "Yes, it's true!"

"And that is why you're so addicted to pantyhose, isn't it? Deep down, you love the feeling of nylon against your legs...just to remind you of all those cocks you picture inside in your head...throbbing the moment you come strutting along in your high heels and sexy tights...must leave your cunny just dripping, doesn't it?"

"Mmm uhh ohh gawwd yes," Mom said rapidly nodding. "Yes, it does."

"And I have to imagine at some point it must get frustrating wearing pantyhose all day, with your legs constantly rubbing together, teasing you as the hours go by, dying to get home and relieve yourself, leaving them on, sneaking off to your bedroom to masturbate."

At that point, Mom could barely speak, head up, back arched, straining against the ropes, biting hard on her bottom lip.

"Does the nylon feel good against your clit?" Megan continued. "Does it feel good enough to make you cum with your son watching?"

My mother moaned, shouting her answer. "Uhhhh ohh oh gawd yes! Make me cum! `Please make me cum!" she begged.

"I'm sorry," Megan replied. "But I'm afraid that would be highly unprofessional. However, if you are truly that desperate, then allow me to provide you with another option."

With that, she switched off the vibrator, stepping around behind Mom's chair, swiftly unfastening the ropes from her arms and legs.

She then lifted Mom to her feet, leaving the blindfold pulled down over her eyes, steadily leading Mom over to the chair where I sat.

Dropping to her knees, Megan then raised her hand between Mom's legs, using a nail to poke through the front of Mom's pantyhose. After tearing a large hole through the crotch, she then carefully positioned my mother directly above my lap.

"Now, I want you to squat down very slowly," she said. "Keep going until I say otherwise."

Without speaking, my mother then quietly submitted to Megan's instructions, slowly bending her knees.

By then, my penis was historically erect, head swollen, fervently pointed toward Mom's slit.

Completely helpless and desperately horny, I sat there waiting as Mom gingerly eased herself down. Megan stood by the whole time, guiding us step by step, with one hand rubbing my mother's back, the other lightly resting on my shoulder.

"Take your time," Megan said. "I know it's big. Don't try to take it all at once."

In truth, the doctor's description was an understatement. Had Mom seen it, she most likely would have been terrified. As I looked down, my penis had never looked larger in all my life; looming like an ancient pillar, towering in honor of timeless beauty, massively erect.

Pressing the tip against her moist seam, my mother hissed at the thrill of first contact, making me shiver as well. Guided by Megan, Mom steadily continued her quiet descent, as I sat there focused on the muscles tightening in her face. Suddenly, the breaching head of my hard swollen cock must have been larger than expected. Mom gasped, wincing as it sharply punched through, only to warmly fold the head in a soft blanket of smooth, oily, lubricated walls, yielding like rubber as she sank down, taking me inch by inch, only her knowing how far she would let me enter her womb, a daunting challenge given the thickness of my throbbing shaft, as I leaned back enjoying the added pleasure of Mom's pantyhose kissing the sensitive flesh of my bare upper thighs.

"There you go," Megan said. "Take it in nice and slow. Focus on how good it feels," she whispered, patiently coaching our forbidden coupling, as I sat there, tied to the chair, with no choice but letting Mom do all the work. "Do you like it?" she asked. "Do you like having your pussy filled with your son's cock?"

Quickly nodding, my mother's emphatic response took me completely by surprise.

"God, yes!" she said, heating the blood in my veins. "I've waited so long for this."

I then wondered. Could this be true? Had Mom's spirit steadily driven her to this fateful moment? Mother and son joined together in forbidden coitus, joyously reveling in deep-seeded incestuous lust.

"Now, I want you to tell him," Megan said, prompting my mother to turn her head, tuning in Megan's voice. "After all these years, give him the courtesy of knowing your real intentions. After all this time, now is the moment for Christopher to hear your true confession."

Slowly, my mother turned back to me. With her legs hunched, pelvis flush against me, she reached up, raising both arms above my shoulders, gripping the back of my chair for added support.

"Christopher," she whispered, as her hips slowly began writhing back and forth. "This is the reason I wear pantyhose. I wear them knowing you can't look away, knowing it's all you can do not to reach out and touch them, knowing you steal them and jerk off thinking about me. So, I'm telling you, it's not your fault. Your mother is just a slut, plain and simple. It was only a stroke of divine intervention for you to discover that you love pantyhose as much I do."

My eyes opened wide as saucers, reeling from words lifting my soul toward the brink of rapture.

Finally, Megan chose to untie me, as I swiftly stood up, lifting Mom, laying her down on the bed.

Blindfolded, down on her back, brown hair spread over white linen, the sound of her voice sent chills shooting up my spine, pleading with desperation.

"Please, Chris," she begged. "Don't make me wait anymore. Please put your huge cock inside me."

Though I had no intention of making her scream, the results of my forceful entry were no less deafening, grabbing her ankles, high heels pointed overhead, spearing my cock deep in her wet narrow sheath.

"Wwhhuuhh unnggaahh ohh ohh ohhh ffuuuccckk y-y-y-esssss hmmnnggaaawwwwdddd!"

This was the sound which instantly came roaring out of her, as I reared back and threw my hips forward, barreling ahead, full strength, drilling till I hit pay dirt.

With her ass down by the foot of the bed, I reached out and slid my hands over her silky legs, gripping her behind the knees, spreading her legs wide, slamming my cock in and out, lunging my tireless hips back and forth.

Quietly, Megan joined us on the bed, leisurely reclining beside the pillows above my mother, holding the vibrator between her legs.

Soon, both of them were moaning together, Megan with the vibrator humming against the black pantyhose smashed up against her clit, Mom wildly begging to take more cock, head thrashing, hips bucking, squealing like a stuck pig.

"Hmpphh hhuuhh hmpphh hhuhh hmmm yeahh harder fuck me harder," she pleaded, answered by a series of hard, deep, thunderous thrusts. "Yes! Yes! Yes!" she shouted, blissfully absorbing the brutal impact, taking the force of each collision, one by one.

"Ohh uhh huhh," Megan moaned, as I looked up towards her. "Oh, dear God, this is beautiful," she whispered. "Keep going, Chris. Keep fucking your mother."