Homework Ch. 01

Not bad, she thought, for your age.

As she padded along the corridor, though, she began to feel terrifically self-conscious and at one stage almost turned three sixty degrees to go back to her room. She was so conscious of the way her nylons whispered as her thighs brushed together. And the fact that her garter straps and garter buttons were etched in outline in the too-tight skirt all seemed a bit ridiculous.

What the hell are you doing, woman? she wondered. And as she arrived at her son's door her urge to turn and walk away was powerful. She took several deep breaths, placing her hand on her abdomen to try to calm down. She was aware of the firm elasticated fabric of the girdle beneath her blouse - it was high-waisted, to compress her belly the more firmly, and it felt peculiar. She recalled her own mother struggling into roll-on girdles when she was a girl; she even remembered at the time feeling what she knew later to have been slight arousal at the sight. And a strange butterfly sensation in her stomach at the age of seven or eight watching her mother pull on stockings.

She took a final breath and, now with a sense of determination and excitement, she knocked on the door.

"Come in, mom."

Of course Steven had known she would have been standing there. He had been expecting her, it seemed.

He was sitting at the desk beside his bed, apparently studying. His course books were spread on the desk, and he laid his pen down on the notebook in which he'd been writing. He was wearing shorts, a t-shirt and sports socks. Annie was conscious of his firm muscles, his flat belly and muscular legs. She felt proud of his looks, at least, if not his brain.

"Well," she said, "I'm glad to see you're starting to take things more seriously, young man."

She grinned, shook his head. "Well, if it means I can get out of here later..."

She walked up to him and glanced at his notebook. The opened pages were blank. She flipped back a page and saw there were only a few badly-scrawled jottings, in which he'd managed in several sentences, to understand where an apostrophe went.

She sighed, pointed and said, "That's easy. If it's plural, no apostrophe. If there's a letter missing, or your talking about something that belongs to something else, you need an apostrophe. Here - " She leaned closer, picked up his pen and wrote "Steven's mother helped him with his homework. Steven has two pencils and two pens on his desk." "See - pens and pencils don't have an apostrophe. Simple, don't you agree?"

But her son was paying even less attention than usual when she would try to help him. Instead, she saw he was gazing hard at the front of her dress. She followed his gaze and saw he was staring right where her wide garters were outlined in the tight fabric.

She ruffled his hair. He was red faced when he looked up.

"Don't worry about it. I already know what you like. I saw you..." She hesitated, terrified she might be going too far.

"Wh-what?" Steven mumbled, as though afraid of the answer he might get.

"Well," she said, "I caught you looking at me in my pantyhose, for one thing..."

"Ah, no, mom!" Steven pushed back his chair and launched to his feet. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"So you're denying it?"

"Of course I am. You're my mother, for God's sake."

She put her hands on her hips. "Sit down, please, when I'm talking to you."

An expression of defiance on his face was shortly replaced with a meeker submission. He was angry, humiliated, and no doubt racked with guilt at having been found out.

She said, "That's better. Ok, let's just forget what I said. You'll only continue to deny it. So let me try something else."

A huge surge of fear knotted Annie's stomach. But it was accompanied by an equally huge feeling of excitement at what she was about to do.

Half dreading her son's reaction, she stood with her legs apart and slowly reached down until her fingertips touched the hem of her skirt. Then slowly, ever to slowly, she gather the skirt and underkirt, gripping them in her clawed fingers, and drew the skirt up above her knees.

Her son's eyes widened. She felt his gaze hot on the shiny nylon on her knees and lower thighs. Then, inch by inch, she pulled the garments higher. She had to wiggle a little because the skirt was so tight. The lower part of her stocking tops came into view first.

Steven's breath sounded ragged. Which, oddly, filled her with a sense of relief. This was the right course of action after all.

Finally, she wriggled and wrestled the skirt and underskirt all the way up until they were bundled around her waist. Her son's eyes practically popped out of his head as he drank in the sight of her dark stocking tops, fat garters, girdle and the crotch area of her black panties. Although slightly self-conscious of the way her motherly thighs bulged where the edge of the stocking tops bit into them, it was clear that her son didn't mind. He didn't mind one little bit, in fact.

A soft whimper emerged from him and his breathing grew labored.

She bent forward and spoke softly, skirt still raised for inspection. "Women on the internet aren't the same as real ones, honey."

"M-mom," said Steven weakly, "I...what are you doing?"

At this stage she wasn't entirely sure herself. But, after a moment's consideration, she said, "What I'm doing is trying to tell you that you could have options in your life." She pulled her skirt and petticoat down and went to sit on the edge of the bed next to her son's chair. He had his arms across his upper thighs, trying to hide the erection she noticed growing there. In fact, she had spotted the tip of his firm penis poking out from inside the leg of his shorts. He had tried to cover it quickly, but must have realized his mother had seen. The sight had made her breath catch a little though she also did her best to cover up, metaphorically speaking.

"A mother knows what her child wants, usually," she ventured.

Steven wouldn't catch her eye. He turned aside, in fact, and began shuffling his school books.

She put her hand on his bare leg and continued, feeling braver now, "I know what you want might seem a little...different...but, trust me, Steven, you're not so different from other boys your age."

"Mom, shut up, please. I don't wanna hear this."

He appeared to be growing angry. Though Annie knew full well this was mere bravado on his part.

"What," she persisted. "Are you trying to tell me you've never wanted to touch a woman?"

"Mom!" He seemed horrified. Though his expression suggested she was absolutely correct. Steven didn't have a girlfriend, at least she believed not. She'd always thought him too young for one, though his firm penis and the way he'd ogled her suggested otherwise.

"Listen, kid, I'm your mother. Nothing shocks me. And I love you, don't forget." With that, she reached forward,took his head in her hands and planted a sticky, lipsticked kiss on his cheek.

He shouldered her away. But half-heartedly, she felt. So she stood up, pulled him out of his chair and hugged him tightly. In so doing she levered her left thigh between his legs and felt the bulge of his cock against her.

Oh, sweet Jesus, it's so hard, she thought, but said,"I'm only trying to help you, my love. You know that, right?"

Steven pulled back, almost reluctantly she felt. He nodded slowly.

"I..g-guess so," he offered.

"Well, then. So we're agreed that mother knows best, right?"

She almost wanted to laugh at herself for coming out with that little gem, as she stood there, tight girdle and stockings beneath her skirt, and her son's cylinder of erect cock in the shiny blue satin of his shorts. It all seemed so ludicrous. And so deeply erotic all at once. Never before in her life had she felt so completely in control. Ken wasn't the domineering type, but somehow whatever he said went. She'd somehow acceded to his wishes through the years and had put her own dominating traits on hold. Now it was time to change that.

Steven put his hands defensively before his crotch. She pulled his hands away.

"No need for that, son. I already saw it." Then, bracing herself inwardly for what she knew must be her next course of action, she reached down, pulled up the leg of his shorts and wrapped her hand gently around the shaft of his cock.

Steven twitched, and let out a low whimper. But he didn't say a word. Then Annie pulled the thing out to its full length. It curved upwards to a sizeable six or more inches, the foreskin already peeling back a little from the already-red glans. then she brushed a fingernail up the skin between his testicles, making the whole penis convulse in her hand.

She looked down and saw already there was a small moist patch at the tip, a tiny trickle leaking out of the hole. All it would take, probably, was for her to stroke it a little, and...

Thinking the better of it, though, she flicked the shaft aside, gave it a gentle pat with the palm of her hand, and said, "Well, you've settled that dispute, honey. But you'd best put that away now, or you'll never get any studying done."

Steven's expression was priceless. He was horrified on one level, it appeared, humiliated, too, but also profoundly excited.

Good, thought his mother.

Then, turning on her heel and giving her ass a little wiggle and letting him see her stocking seams stretched across her calves, she said, "I'm off to make lunch. And I want to see some good writing in that notebook of yours later."

When Annie shut the door behind her she felt her legs go weak. She stepped over to the bannister on the walkway above the lounge and gripped the rail, letting out a long breath. She found herself trembling slightly. An overwhelming sense of having done something terrible induced in her a flush of panic. What if her son called the police? Or, equally bad, told his dad? Was she a terrible person for doing this?

"No," she told herself, and aware after a second she'd spoken aloud, "This is all okay."

He's my son, she thought, and he loves me. He knows I'd never harm him. Besides, he seemed to want what she was offering.

And, she understood that she in turn wanted what her son might be offering.

Back in her room she felt weak and had to sit down on her bed.

Oh, sweet Jesus in Heaven, she thought, she'd just held her own son's throbbing cock in her hand. And she'd loved it.

She half stood then and hiked her skirt up to her waist. She reached down and clawed at herself through her panties. She dug her fingertips into one side of her pubis and her thumb on the other, and squeezed as hard as she could, mashing her vaginal lips together as though she were squeezing an orange. And, like and orange, juice came out. She saw the silky material darken with the liquid that seeped out of her and experienced an erotic agony like nothing she'd ever felt before. She had such guilt about what she'd done with Steven that she wouldn't allow herself to masturbate. She did, however, stroke her middle finger up and down her slit, through the panties, a few times. She did it slowly, ensuring she caught her clitoris on the upward stroke. She shivered. Then, reluctantly almost, stopped. She then peeled off her shoes and stockings and removed her skirt. Struggling out of the girdle, she pushed it down and kicked it away from her across the floor, angry with herself for many reasons, all of them jumbled in her mind.

Finally, it dawned on her that she'd been sitting on the bed in her bra and panties, she got dressed. In jeans and a blouse, socks and running shoes. This was more usual momwear for the weekends, after all.

Finally she returned the offending garments to the secret suitcase and put the case back inside the wardrobe.

That evening, after she'd served up dinner to Ken and her son, she asked Steven to help her wash up. Her husband, as usual, was glued to the baseball on TV. The kitchen was open plan and only a worktop divided it from the lounge area, from where she could see the TV - and the back of Ken's head as he lazed, arm outstretched with a can of beer on the back of the couch.

Every so often as he dried and stacked the crockery Steven would glance up at her. Once in a while his eyes would flick across her breasts. Her nipples were still hard from earlier and she were creating bumps in the front of her t-shirt (the tight t-shirt she'd changed into just before dinner). She'd worn a half-cup brassiere and had hooked the edge just below her nipples deliberately to make sure something would show beneath the t-shirt material; Ken wouldn't notice, she was certain. What mattered was that her son did.

She said, "How did you get on with your homework, Steven?"

"Uh, okay, I guess. You want to see it?"

She nodded, "Uh-huh. Why don't you bring it down and me and your dad could look at it together."

Was that disappointment she saw on his face?

Inwardly smiling, she added, "Who knows, if it's any good you might get some extra...pocket money." She winked, as though hinting that "pocket money" might be a euphemism.

As Steven headed upstairs she finished putting away the dishes, wiped her hands on a dishcloth and joined her husband on the couch. He was to preoccupied with the game to look at her, but he managed to acknowledge her presence by saying, "There's a good movie on later, if you like."

"Sure," she offered, though a Saturday night movie was the last thing on her mind right now.

When Steven returned he stood behind the couch and proferred his notebook.

"What's this?" asked his father, craning back his head to address his son directly.

"Homework," said Steven. "Mom's gonna check it for me."

"On a weekend?" Ken shook his head theatrically, "Jeez, what's the world coming to?"

Annie chuckled, "Yeah, I mean really, Steven; this is a first."

Steven, wisely perhaps, made no reply. Instead he came around the couch and sat on the armchair nearest his father.

"Why don't you grab a soda, Steve?" Ken shook the empty can, adding, "And another Bud for me, if you don't mind."

Steven got to his feet, took the empty can from his father and headed for the refrigerator. While he was there Annie opened the notebook to the appropriate pages. It was the start of an essay about the play "Death of a Salesman" by Arthur Miller. The opening sentences were pretty good, too, albeit with the odd spelling mistake. As she read on, she was pleased to learn that her son had managed to grasp the essence of the play, but deviated from formal essay style.

When he returned to his seat and popped open his can of Coke, she said, "Pretty good, son. Though I don't think you should describe Willy Loman as a 'looser'."

Ken laughed, "But he is, though."

Annie bristled slightly. "Not at all. Besides, you need to write essays formally, Steven. Anyhow, good job."

Closing the notebook, she held it out for her son to take from her. And, a he reached out to take it, she winked at him.

TO BE CONTINUED...