Homework Ch. 01

"Not again, Steven...this is ridiculous."

Annie Collins put her fists imperiously on her hips and glared at her son with a mixture of anger and despair. For his part, Steven had the grace to bow his head in shame.

"Which part of 'do your homework' don't you get?" she demanded. "Your math score is bad enough, but don't get me started on your English and Georgraphy. And look at you..." - She reached out and put a finger under his chin to tip his face up. "You look tired all the time, and I can't seem to get you out of bed in the morning."

Her question was rhetorical, because she felt sure she knew the reason for his failures at school and the dark patches under his eyes. Furthermore she sometimes heard the cause. Some nights, awakened by her snoring husband, Ken, she would gaze at the ceiling trying to hypnotise herself to sleep. But one night, a few weeks back, she had begun to hear noises. At first she thought it was the central heating pipes - which Ken had still not gotten around to fixing - but then she realized it was something else. The room next to theirs was their 18-year-old son Steven's. The sound she was hearing was his bed creaking. Initially she assumed her son was simply restless and turning heavily. Until the quality of the creaking changed. Became more rhythmical. The creak-creak-creak went on for some time, at first softly and then more assertively and faster. Faster and faster the bed creaked, and then, finally, the noise stopped.

"Oh, God," thought Annie, "when did you grow up, my darling son?"

It wasn't until next morning, when she caught him gazing intently at her while she made coffee, that she realized it had probably been all her fault. Steven had been studying her breasts through her sweater, and she felt his eyes track down to her bottom and then her legs.

She could only pray that she hadn't really been the cause. After all, he would have reached manhood all on his own, without any external encouragement, apart from the sight of all those pretty girls, and maybe some female teachers, at school. But...his own mother? No, that was ridiculous.

All she'd done was to adjust her pantyhose. A perfectly innocent, everything act. Though, now that she thought about it, it may only have been herself who saw it as an ordinary act. She'd been in a hurry to get to work that morning and realised while she was getting her paperwork together that her pantyhose didn't feel very comfortable. Steven was sitting over a bowl of cereal at the kitchen counter through the serving hatch and she was in the lounge. In a rush, as usual.

She'd sighed, reached down and started yanking at the pantyhose, pulling the nylon up first one leg and then the other. The shiny tan nylons made her shapely legs look their best (so her friend, Angela had told her) so she'd always worn the most expensive ones...typically Wolford Suntan. But as she'd reached up under the skirt of her suit, settling the nylon at the top of her thighs, running her finger across the crotch area between the edge of her panties and the top of her thighs, she felt she was being watched. She took a quick glance from under her brows and realized Steven was sitting there pretending not to look though it was obvious where his gaze was fixed. And now, another memory returned: she'd seen his arm moving beneath the counter, just slightly. She might have imagined it then but now she was convinced he'd been massaging himself while watching her adjusting her pantyhose.

Oh, God, she thought, you're such a terrible, thoughtless woman. And a bad mother.

Subconsciously she realized she must have been aware of how her son had been reacting, but some inner part of her had rejected the whole, shocking idea. Now, however, yet another sleepless night - for her and Steven both, apparently - had persuaded her it must be true.

Steven was responsible for his own poor grades, true enough. And Ken was of no help. Whenever she would broach the subject her husband would shrug it off, saying, "He's a teenager, Annie. Bottom line? He can always learn a trade - I'm no genius, and look at how well I've done."

No, she'd thought, perhaps unkindly, her husband certainly was no genius. But his plumbing business had provided well for them and for the most part Ken had always been a thoughtful husband. Except in the bed department. The first year or two of their marriage barely a day went by without sex. Good sex, too, though perhaps not as great as she'd led to believe it could be. Often, after an unimaginative workout during which she had fairly reasonable orgasm, and Ken had ejaculated thickly inside her, she would roll on her side and surreptitiously flick and tease her clitoris until she had a deeper and more satisfying orgasm. Poor Ken, it wasn't his fault. A domineering mother probably made him less assertive than she would have liked.

But her mother-in-law was a veritable angel compared to herself it now seemed. She had been responsible, albeit unwittingly, for helping her son fail his exams and maybe even psychologically disturbing him.

But reading some parent and psychology resources online helped reassure her that her son's reactions, and possible feelings toward her, were normal. Which didn't explain her own feelings toward him.

While trying to put the whole business out of her mind she found herself instead becoming more and more irritable with her son, and her husband. She was now continually giving Steven a hard time about his studies, and she didn't wish to hear any more of Ken's pearls of wisdom in relation to the boy's future prospects.

"If you're so worried about it, honey," he'd said one night after dinner, "Why don't you do something about it. See his teacher, guidance councilor, or help him out yourself, if it comes to that. You're the smart one in the family, after all."

While it was true Annie had graduated from college with a degree in history, she'd never done or achieved anything with the qualification. Apart from get married,that is. Though the degree helped her get work as a PA in an advertising agency, which paid reasonably well, though the work was mostly dull as ditch water.

The Math scores provided to be the final straw. Steven had failed all of the preliminary tests for this year, apart from music and art, in which he'd fared pretty well, scoring particularly highly in music theory (who knew? she mused, believing him to be mainly interested in clubbing and heavy metal music).

Her friend, Joan, had ventured she try a reward system.

She'd said, "You know, when my Katy was doing poor in science I offered her more pocket money, or I'd ask her if there was a special outfit she wanted, and if at the end of term she did well I'd buy it for her."

Annie had replied, "Ken will keep sneaking extra pocket money on Steven. The boy walks all over him."

"Well," Joan had replied, "If you're not both singing from the same hymn sheet, I don't know what to suggest. But threats don't work, I can tell you that much. Talk about inciting teenage rebellion!"

Annie had smiled at that; clearly Joan knew whereof she spoke.

This past weekend had been especially bad for her. Steven's bed had been creaking, as usual, and she'd found a stash of sticky tissues under his bed the next morning. When he'd come back into his room to see her reaching under the bed and scooping up the tissues to throw into the refuse bag she was holding, he went white.

"N-no, mom...please, I can clear up my own mess."

Something squeezed out of the bundle of tissues she was holding, a cold, gluey trickle, which also smelled musky and sweet. For some reason the sensation didn't revolt her. Instead she realized she was slightly excited.

"Don't worry about it, Steven. I can do it." When she threw the damp, stinky tissues into the bag she realized, too, how impressed she was with their quantity. He must have ejaculated many times that night. And the image of her son relentlessly tugging on his hard penis to make the white sperm shoot out of it, made her feel slightly weak at the knees. Indeed, when she went to the washroom a few minutes later, she pulled down her panties to have a pee and discovered the crotch was damp.

"Oh, no!" she said under her breath. Her body, it seemed, was sending messages her brain hadn't fully caught up with. How could she leak like that? Fantasizing about her own son?

She cleaned herself up and, rather weakly, pulled up her panties and pantyhose, the action reminding her the effect this act might have on her boy. She washed her hands, and hand to hold onto the side of the washbasin as she raised her eyes to her reflection. She was a full-figured, dark haired woman with almond eyes and full red lips, at 40 still very youthful looking. Though at the moment she felt she looked dreadful. Or at least a bit worn out.

As she emerged from the bathroom ran into her son. He collided with her gently, but she was aware of the hard muscularity of his body and she had to resist the urge to fling her arms around him and hug him close. Apart from anything else she was still pretty angry with him.

"Well," she said in an icy tone, "how's the homework going tonight?"

"Uh...sorry?" he said. "It's the weekend."

"And your point is...?"

"Well," he shrugged, "I guess it's more about chill out time, mom."

"Like the other days in the week with a letter 'y' in them, you mean?"

He sniggered, "Funny. That's funny, mom."

"Not to me," she said.

So that was that, for the moment. Steven went off to do whatever he did to chill out, while Annie was left fuming at her son, and angry with herself for having other than motherly feelings toward him.

Over the next few days she tried talking the issue over with Ken but he seemed pretty disinterested. She got so irritated with her husband at one point that she said, "He's not too old for a spanking, in my book."

Ken's eyes widened. "I take it you're joking..."

She replied with a smile, "Well, yes, of course I'm joking," though not certain that she meant it. An image came into her head, of draping Steven across her knees, pulling down his jeans and underpants and paddling his bare backside with her hand. She imagined his buttocks quivering and reddening, and...God help her...maybe his long, thick cock hardening against her thigh as she slapped his firm flesh over and over again.

That night, the image came back to her strongly and she turned on her side away from the deeply-sleeping Ken. She pulled up her nightie and slowly stroked and tickled her clitoris, imagining her son's thing twitching and throbbing against her leg as she spanked him. She imagined pulling her skirt up to her waist, reaching down and wrapping her palm and fingers around his shaft and slowly stroking it. And, as she imagined his thick sperm splashing onto the carpet, her insides melted and she was assaulted by a big, dirty wave of orgasm, which hit her so hard her leg and abdominal muscles went tight and her toes pointed down as the explosive sensations ran through her, making her convulse again and again in a deep shuddering series of cums.

Ken stirred, mumbled, "Y'all right, hun?"

"Mm..hmm," was all she could manage, trying to control her breathing. After a few seconds when she was sure her husband was asleep once more, she carefully pulled her satin nightdress down again, aware of the wetness on her thigh.

Feeling somewhat guilty about her erotic thoughts and behavior she spent much of the following day doing chores and cooking. She pushed the vacuum cleaner more vigorously than usual and clattered dishes furiously. But no matter how hard she worked she couldn't entirely escape sexual thoughts about her son. And so it happened that halfway through the day she pictured him with his penis in his hand, his fist bouncing up and down on his testicles that she had to go to the bathroom. Quickly pulling up her skirt and pushing pantyhose and panties to mid thigh, she stood in front of the sink and furiously fingered herself, and her juices wetting her fingertips almost immediately. Within minutes she felt an orgasm rising and suddenly it hit, making her belly clench and her thigh muscles tighten. The hot waves of it made her double over. She had to hold onto the edge of the sink to prevent herself from falling down as her legs weakened.

"Oh my God!" she breathed and looked up to gaze at her reflection. Her flushed pink face had an expression of shame but also of relief.

She was to repeat this sequence of events, or variants of it, over the next two weeks. Sneakily playing with herself in bed and rushing to the bathroom or back to her bed during the day. Her frenzied masturbation only got worse whenever she would hear Steven jerking off in his room.

Once, she threw open the door and saw him in his computer chair, slowly stroking his dick to an image of a woman in stockings and garter belt.

He turned, horrified that his mother had caught him out and quickly tried to cover himself with the tail of his shirt.

"Sorry," she mumbled and left the room fast. But that night she rolled over and put her arm over her husband's hip and began to massage his penis. It came semi-erect, but he mumbled, "Sorry, honey, too tired..." and so she was left frustrated and angry with her husband. And annoyed with herself, too. She didn't masturbate that night, but instead squeezed her thighs together tightly, pressing her vagina, squeezing the lips together in the hope that her arousal would dissipate. However, that next morning, it being a Saturday, Ken woke up and started playing with her. Soon she was aroused and, as he entered her in the usual missionary position she closed her eyes, imagining it was Steven on top of her, and she yelped with excitement.

Ken smiled as she clamped her hand over her mouth.

"Sorry," she whispered, "Only...it's been a while."

"Uh, yeah, I know...sorry."

But then she smiled and kissed him, urging him to fuck her long and slow. Often her orgasms with Ken were ordinary, slightly weak, but this morning, head filled with images of her son engaging in all sorts of perverse acts with her she positively exploded and had to bite Ken's shoulder to stop herself from screaming.

The day came a week later when Steven's latest exam results were in. All of them poor. He would have to resit all but three of his subjects. But, instead of getting mad, she merely sighed and shook her head.

"I feel like giving up," she told him, in front of Ken, at dinner that night.

"Well," she said and fixed her son with a calm steady gaze, "It seems as though your boy here isn't concentrating fully on his studies at night."

Steven's eyes widened and he half shook his head, as though to say, "Please don't tell dad about the porn."

She gave him a sly smile and said to her husband, "I guess he need a bit more encouragement and support, Ken. I know you do what you can, but I could be of more help, too. So, we might have to restrict the computer games for a while."

Ken shook his head, "That damned Xbox again?"

Steven looked hugely relieved. He said, "Y-yeah, dad, I guess...sorry. But my teacher's don't help, either. The stuff I'm good at is the stuff I have great teachers for."

"Well," said Annie, "not much we can do about that, except maybe some home teaching."

Ken replied, "We can't afford a tutor, Annie."

"No, I understand that." Then she looked across at her son and said, "I can give Steven some home tutoring myself."

Ken said, "It's been a long time since you were in college, honey."

To which Annie answered, "There are some things you never forget, though."

Yet another night passed in frustration. On the one hand she was irritated with Steven for being so lazy with schoolwork, and for under-achieving. She herself had been a smart student, and was a university graduate, and she believed at least part of that had to be genetic (her parents had both been university lecturers, mother in literature and father in astrophysics). On the other hand she was frustrated with her life, which may have compounded the sexual frustration she experienced; maybe one thing fed into the other, who knew?

Certainly compulsive sexual fantasies involving her son couldn't be healthy. But she'd tried to put them aside and had largely failed in the endeavor. Still, if she could do little to assuage those feelings, at least she might be able to encourage her son to do much better at his studies.

That next Saturday, Ken would be going away on a camping trip with his buddies. And that Friday, having decided on her course of action, she went shopping. Not in her own town, however, since word might have gotten around what she was shopping for (she hated the small town mindset, but figured she had to live with it and make adjustments accordingly). She made a day trip to her nearest city, Denver, and managed to find the stores she'd been seeking.

On her return she put her purchases in an old suitcase she hadn't used for years - it sat in the back of her wardrobe. And next morning, having kissed Ken farewell and told Steven he wouldn't be spending time with his buddies today, she closed and locked the front door.

Steven got up from the breakfast table with a scowl. "Why don't I get to go out, mom? And how come you've locked the front door? Afraid I'll make a break for it?"

"No," she smirked, though not feeling the bravado she presented, "I just want you to get some homework done. And maybe you can go out later on."

Steven sighed theatrically. "I never do homework on Saturdays."

"Well, young man, you do now. Now, go to your room, please."

With a grunt of displeasure, her surly teenage son complied, stomping heavy-foot upstairs to underscore his point.

Returning to her own room, Annie found she was trembling slightly. She eased out the suitcase and laid it on the bed. Flipping back the lid, she eyed the Secrets in Lace zip-sided girdle and smoke grey seamed stockings, still in their packaging. She peeled off her clothes, except for her black satin high-waisted panties, then unwrapped and wriggled into the girdle. She had to wiggle her hips from side to side to get it all the way up to her waist and breathed in a little to pull up the zip. She was fuller-figured than she used to be, and had never worn one of these garments, though she'd seen her own mother wriggling into a roll on girdle when she'd been a child.

She thought, fleetingly about what women back in the day had to wear and felt a little sorry for them. But, as she slowly pulled up a stocking, and affixed the three fat garters to the wide stocking welts, and ran her palms up the back to straighten the seams, she began to feel a little aroused. Certainly she could understand the appeal of stockings to men, but having only a couple of times previously worn lacetop nylons, the experience of donning such old style garments was new to her.

When she'd fixed the second stocking to her satisfaction, she adjusted her brassiere and put on a translucent black blouse with a low neck. Then she fished through her wardrobe rail and found a skirt she'd several times considered giving to a charity shop. It was a Chanel knee-length thing, which clung like a second skin; or did when she was younger and when her hips and thighs were not quite as heavy as they were now. She struggled to get the thing on, but the fact that the girdle compressed her belly and hips meant that she was able to fit into the thing, even with the black satin underskirt beneath. The sound of the zip reaching the waistline and the satisfaction of hooking the waist closed, gave her a sense of achievement.

When she stepped into her black high-heeled pumps, the look was complete. Well, apart from the makeup. She applied scarlet lipstick and then put mascara on her eyelashes, and pinned back one side of her thick, shoulder-length auburn hair, with a tortoiseshell hair fastener. She put on a pair of small earring to complete the look. She then checked herself out in the wardrobe mirror.