A Mommy's Need: A Big Dicked Son

Summary: Mom spies her son's dick on a surveillance camera and....

Note: This is a 2019 Nude Day Contest Story.

Note 2: Thanks to Tex Beethoven and Robert for editing this story.

*

Walking in on my husband fucking his much younger secretary had gotten my pussy as dry as the Sahara Desert.

I now hated men.

I'd lost interest in sex.

The only thing that made it worse was I'd made my discovery while I was dressed in sexy lingerie and a trench coat because I'd decided to surprise him, since he'd been working late nights trying to close a big deal. I'd stripped off the coat, flung open his office door and cried out, "Surprise!" Well, it had most certainly been a surprise for all concerned.

That was eight months ago.

I'd given my husband the boot, and the judge had awarded me the house and car. Our two kids were old enough they didn't need to be awarded to anyone, and they both pledged all their love and support to me, the sweethearts.

But my pussy had remained a desert.

Dry.

Ignored.

Unexplored.

Living, metaphorically, in a desert.

So I continued working as a nurse, now picking up every shift I possibly could, both because I was now the only breadwinner, and also to fill up my days and nights with activity instead of moping around.

I'd put a security system in my home for a few reasons:

1. I was about to be living alone, my just graduated from college daughter Eleanor spending the summer in Europe, and my son Jason had just done his first year of college (although he was home for the summer and thus my empty nest syndrome wouldn't come in and kill me to the core until late August).

2. The home would be empty a lot with my working more and no kids at home.

3. There'd been an increase in break-ins in the area during the last year with the downturn in the economy.

4. It lowered my home insurance enough that now it was only a nineteen dollar per month cost.

So I had hidden cameras in most rooms of the house except for the bathrooms and the kids' bedrooms. A burglar can't spray-paint a camera he can't detect.

Today I was on my break at the hospital and figured I'd check out my new system; it had been installed last month, but until last night I hadn't figured out how to use the app.

In no way did I intend to spy on my son... although what I witnessed shocked me to the core. He was in my bedroom, naked, stroking his cock using one of my nylons and appeared to be talking to someone while his laptop was open (assumedly to porn, but the screen was facing away from the camera).

I stared in shock.

Realizing I was watching my son jerk off, I quickly exited from the app. After a moment though, I decided to check on him again with the idea that I needed to see if he was talking to someone. It was one thing to masturbate at home, even on your mother's bed, but quite another to invite someone over for sex.

I grabbed my ear buds from my purse and went to the washroom.

I sat on the toilet, put my earbuds in and pulled the app back up.

My son was still on my bed, still jerking himself off, but what I heard next was way more shocking than seeing him masturbating with one of my nylons on my bed.

"That's it, Mom, suck my dick," he groaned, his eyes closed. There was no stranger in my house, he was pretending to have sex with ME!

I let out a loud gasp at such inappropriate words from my mild-mannered son... the inappropriate words being about me. In a way, he was inviting his Mother over for sex.

"Oh yes, beg for it, Mommy-slut," he moaned, furiously beating his meat.

Mommy-slut?

I couldn't believe what I was hearing... yet instead of closing the app and confronting him over his foul language and inappropriate declarations about me when I got home, I kept watching and listening, which included, for the first time since he was ten, taking a better look at my son's cock.

His damn big cock. Or at least it seemed pretty damn big on my small phone screen.

Shit, clearly I needed to get laid if my son's cock was fascinating me... and, oh my God.

My eyes went wide as he grunted, "Get ready for my load, Mommy cum bucket."

Okay, now I definitely was spying on my son. Perving, even. Riveted to the screen, I watched in voyeuristic awe, unable to tear my eyes away from his cock. I knew it was wrong, but I was visually paralyzed and to make matters worse, my pussy was on fire. Before I knew it, my hand was under my dress, happy I'd worn thigh highs today like I often did (my secret rebellion against a hospital dress code requiring pantyhose) and rubbed my pussy, suddenly needy and begging for attention, over my wet panties.

"You want my cum, don't you, you cum-hungry Mommy-slut?" he asked, as if expecting an answer in the affirmative.

I automatically whispered "Yes," then was mortified to hear what I'd just said.

Yet truth was, I'd always loved sucking cock, loved swallowing cum, even loved taking warm loads on my face... it was part of my natural submissive persona that only a few of my previous lovers knew about. But in a relationship with a partner who was open to being dominant, I was a very obedient girlfriend or later, wife. I'd sucked cock in a number of kinky taboo places including:

-taxis (twice) and an uber once, just a few months before my husband's betrayal

-at my future mother-in-law's house in the kitchen under their table while he chatted with both his parents (thank God for a long tablecloth that hid me completely)

-in a few different locations in my high school and in college (including the Dean's office accepting a wild dare)

-and the wildest: while hiding inside a church podium up on the dais as my boyfriend at the time, the son of the Minister, preached sexual blasphemy (such as 'Honour your father and mother with your dick in their mouths') to empty pews as I bobbed on his cock. This nasty act was even hotter since across the hallway was occurring a Christmas dinner feeding the homeless.

It wasn't my son's cock I wanted specifically... clearly, I just needed a cock.

Now!

I was furiously rubbing myself, staring at his hand stroking his cock, imagining myself eagerly obeying every nasty command emerging from his mouth.

"Oh yes, Mommy looks so good with my big cock in her mouth," he groaned, as I envisioned being on my knees devouring that big cock.

"Or maybe Mommy prefers it in her tight cunt," he said, hearing him say cunt somehow more shocking than all his other shocking words.

"Oh yes," I moaned, my own orgasm imminent. Fuck, I needed that cock inside me. I mean... a cock inside me.

"Want to be my Mommy-slut?" he asked.

"Yes, yes," I moaned a little too loud as my orgasm was about to erupt.

Then in a crazy moment of serendipity, we both came at the same time, he oblivious to the special mother-son moment we were sharing, as I came just as he grunted, "Take my load, Mommy," before massive bullets of cum shot up in the air.

I collapsed back onto the toilet and allowed the orgasm, my most intense on my own that I could remember, to course through me.

I just sat there for a couple of minutes, trying to regain some energy after my epic orgasm before opening my eyes and seeing that he was putting my stocking and its presumably clean mate in my laundry hamper. He'd obviously thought his subterfuge through, so this probably wasn't the first time.

I shook my head, now mortified at what I'd just done.

I'd watched my son masturbate.

I'd gotten turned on watching him masturbate.

I'd masturbated watching him masturbate.

What the hell is wrong with me?

Yet as I stood up feeling excessive wetness I smirked, thinking... my barren desert finally got some rain.

I washed my face and hands, sure couldn't be dealing with patients with pussy scent on my fingers, and I returned for the last four hours of my shift... which were crazy hectic but allowed me to push my sick sin out of my head.

My day done, I did what I did every day when my shift was done since Jason had returned home, I texted him: Be home soon.

He responded a moment later: Great. I'll start supper.

I smiled at his thoughtfulness; this was the Jason I knew: caring and thoughtful... a Momma's boy in the best sense... not a mother fucker.

Oh, fuck... what a nasty term.

As I typed him a response, his big cock popped into my head. I shook my head as if my memory were an Etch-a-Sketch I could erase (wouldn't it be nice if we could get rid of unwanted memories that easily?) and I responded, trying to believe the words I was typing: Thanks, honey. You're such a good son.

Now what should I do?

Confront him?

Then he'd know I was spying on him.

Scold him?

What would that do but humiliate him?

How would I even bring it up?

'Hey, honey, I saw you jerking off on my bed with my stocking and calling me nasty slut names'.

The only thing more confounding than my son's fantasy of using me as his slut was the way my pussy was once again undeniably wet as I replayed in my head what I'd witnessed earlier.

Why?

Sure, I hadn't had sex in months, not even an orgasm... I'd literally stopped having any desire for sexual pleasure.

And truthfully, I hadn't missed it.

I mean my husband had seldom gotten me off even before we were married. He didn't go down on me ever, the way I came best and most intensely (I learned that in college from a very eager pussy pleasing boyfriend, as well as during a few lesbian encounters where I both gave and received oral pleasure), since hubby thought it was disgusting and unsanitary... of course he didn't see it that way when he wanted me to give head.

He had a decent six-inch cock that could get me revved up, but his lack of stamina usually meant he was done long before I was.

On the other hand, although maybe my mind was playing tricks on me, Jason's cock seemed bigger than his dad's.

A lot bigger.

Longer.

Thicker.

And man, did he shoot buckets.

Although I looked pretty prim and proper, I loved sucking cock... and unlike many girls... I loved cum.

I loved its salty taste.

I loved its sticky, slippery texture.

I loved the feeling as it glided down my throat.

I loved its warmth as it splattered on my face.

I loved rubbing cum all over my face, having read somewhere that cum helped a woman's complexion, and for years I'd lived by that theory. Upon reflection, my complexion hadn't been as pure recently, and although I thought it was from stress and lack of sleep from all my double shifts, maybe my face was just missing its homemade whipped cream.

I shook my head after slamming on the brakes at the last moment for a red light. What was happening to me? I see just one cock, and suddenly I'm horny as fuck. Worse... the cock I'm focussing on is my son's.

Shit.

I managed to concentrate on the road for the last couple of minutes driving home and pulled into the driveway.

I went inside and declared a little louder than usual, "I'm home."

"So I hear," he called back, mocking my volume.

"Sorry," I laughed, walking into the kitchen. "I'm a little off today."

"Not feeling well?" he asked.

"Why do you say that?" I asked, as for some involuntary reason I glanced down at his crotch and just as quickly looked away.

"Your cheeks are flushed," he pointed out.

"Oh," I said, now feeling guilty, even though he should've been the one feeling guilty.

"You okay?" he still wanted to know, looking at me concernedly.

"Yeah, yeah," I said, waving him off. "What did you do this afternoon?" I asked, changing the topic to see what he'd say.

"Just surfed on the net," he answered, as again I felt my gaze go lower. How could he hide that big tool of his in those shorts?

"Is that lingo for porn?" I joked, something I'd never remotely implied before. Sexual teasing was completely out of character for me, and I noticed him staring at the floor, or rather directly at my feet.

"What? No," he replied too quickly.

"It's okay, you must watch porn," I generalised. "You're almost nineteen."

"I wasn't, really I wasn't," he repeated, his eyes trying to remain on me but repeatedly detouring to my feet, just like my eyes were continually drawn to the impressive package hiding in his shorts. A package that seemed forever burned in my brain.

"It's okay," I said, wiggling my toes, wondering if a stocking-clad foot fetish could be hereditary. His father had loved me in them... of course he'd also liked his secretary in them. Asshole. "You're eighteen, you can look at porn. Watch videos, read hot stories..."

"Mom!" he gasped, surprised by what I was saying, and I saw his cock flinch in his shorts.

"I'd be concerned if you didn't," I added playfully.

"I can't believe we're talking about porn," he said, shaking his head in disbelief.

"What?" I asked, wiggling my toes and getting the immediate attention I was anticipating. Also a flinch in his crotch and a stammering of distraction. I continued the playful onslaught, "So, my innocent son, you're saying if I searched your browser history I wouldn't find any porn sites?"

"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."

"Any time."

"Be careful what you offer," I smiled. "You may have your mother's feet in your lap all summer."

As I said that, I felt his cock flinch underneath my feet.

"Any time," he confirmed, as he finished all ten toes.

"Rub my soles now, please," I asked.

"Sure," he said, and he began doing just that.

"You're very good at this," I said, encouraging him.

"Your nylons are really soft," he said.

"Sheer silk," I explained. "I order them online from Europe."

"Cool."

"Yeah, they're called tights over there," I explained. "But they make much better quality than we Yanks."

"So I can feel," he said.

"Not many girls wear them anymore," I continued, enjoying the conversation, the massage, his hard cock occasionally twitching beneath my feet.

"Tell me about it," he said, all worldly wise.

"You like nylons?" I asked, though I already knew.

"Yeah," he nodded. "I think they're sexy."

"They really do accentuate a pair of legs," I said. "Feminine ones, of course."

"Agreed," Jason said, as he checked out my nylon-clad legs from the hem of my short skirt down to my feet.

"Most women don't wear them."

"And almost no college girls do either," he said.

"Figures," I said. "Girls today are lazy."

"Some professors do though," he said.

"That's good," I said. "Nylons are sexy and they also look professional."

"Many older women still wear them," he added.

"Are you calling me old?" I pouted.

"No, no," he apologized. "I just meant that most women who wear them are older than me."

"I guess I am old," I said.

"Since you're my mother, it's kind of unavoidable that you're a couple decades older than me, but you're still very beautiful," he complimented.

"Thank you," I said. "You're sweet. A liar, but sweet."

"I'm not lying at all," he said. "Not only do I think you're the loveliest woman imaginable, but all my friends in high school said you were a MILF."

"Really?" I asked, although I already knew a couple of his best friends had the hots for me.

"They talked about you all the time," he said.

"That must have been annoying," I said.

"I got used to it," he said. "Actually, I was rather proud of you."

"Well, that's good to know," I said. "Since your father left, I haven't felt very beautiful at all."

"He's a dumbass," Jason said.

"Agreed," I laughed as the phone rang. "Thanks, honey."