Nissa's Nylons

"Sprite is good, that sounds perfect right now. Thanks." She walked back over and handed me the soda from the fridge. I resisted the instinct to press it against my forehead for cooling and cracked it open. "So umm, did you want to watch another episode of Jane the Virgin?"

"Are you sure? I know you don't like that show." (It's true, I'm just not a fan.)

"Well, maybe, but you had a rough day. Let's watch something you like, so you can wind down."

"Okay, you sold me."

I took my time turning on the TV, the streaming box, the sound bar, and looking for the right streaming app.

"It's on here, right?" Stalling for time, I clicked Hulu, which I knew was the wrong one.

"What? No, it's just on Netflix."

"Oh right." I switched over to Netflix, found the show, and cued up an episode. After a minute or two, I feigned surrender. "Okay, you're right, this is more of a 'you' show. I'll go play a game or something and leave you to it." With just enough cooldown time to be able to move (although already feeling the discomfort of blue balls), I could now make it out without waving an erection in my mom's face. Not that I didn't want to, of course.

"There it is, I knew you'd make your escape soon." She smirked at me. "All right, have fun. I'll bring you some dinner in a bit." I got up to leave, executed my calculated dick-hiding hip-twist, and started to walk out. There's step 3-

"And honey?" I stopped and looked over my shoulder, careful not to turn my hips back and give her a profile view.

"Thanks again. That felt really good. You really turned my day around."

Secured in my room, I locked the door, fired up a stream of some guy playing Battlefield for noise cover, and immediately took my pants and boxers completely off. The boxers were already sporting a dark spot of pre-cum despite the fact that I hadn't even touched my cock yet. I grabbed my favorite satin boxers out of the drawer - used far more often as a cum rag than actually worn - laid out on my bed and immediately began stroking my shaft back to full power. I gave myself over completely to a reverie of the warm, silken feet I had been fondling just minutes earlier. In my mind I could see, I could feel my rigid rod thrusting between those nyloned arches. In no time I was gasping, spasming... Fucking fuck! FUCK!

I orgasmed so hard it hurt. Stroking furiously with my left hand, I bit hard into my right arm to keep from screaming in ecstasy. Even satin had nothing on the divine texture of my mother's hosed feet, but my imagination closed the gap, picturing me frosting her shins and ankles with thick ropes of my glistening jizz. Soon, the boxers were soaked through and hot cum began coating my hand and dripping between my thighs. With a practiced hand, I touched every nerve, drew out every pulse of pleasure. I kept stroking and stroking, groaning with satisfaction, drenching my hand, my legs, my sheets with cum, until my aching cock was finally drained. When it was over, I looked down at my arm. Holy shit. I gave myself a hickey from jerking off to my mom. My mom. God, what the hell am I doing?

By the time I went to bed that night, I'd blown two more loads to the same incredible memory, and was already getting hard again when I finally drifted off to sleep.

__________

After the otherworldly experience of that Thursday night, I hoped against hope that she would ask me again the next day. But my hopes of an immediate repeat were dashed. Everything was normal on Friday. Nissa walked in after work carrying her shoes in her hand as usual. My eyes lingered below the hem of her skirt for just a moment, although she didn't seem to notice. She disappeared into her room and quickly reemerged in a loose t-shirt and sweats, and called in a pizza. Okay, no problem, of course it wasn't going to be an everyday thing. That would be crazy of me to expect. Maybe just every couple of days. Maybe I shouldn't try to put a schedule on it anyway.

The weekend started, and mom was off work, but busied herself running errands and doing chores on Saturday. Sunday she was away at mass, then brunch with a couple of her girlfriends. We didn't see much of each other. I busied myself with a little homework, one trip to the gym, and a lot of gaming. Despite myself, I was feeling increasingly frustrated. Nothing a little porn can't fix, I thought. But it didn't hit the same now that I'd laid hands on the real thing.

When Monday came around, my spirits were renewed. Mom's back to work, she still has to deal with those jerks, maybe today I'll be able to "help her out" again. I arrived at school with plenty of energy, paid attention to the professors, gave a good presentation in speech class. But then I got called in to work a half-shift at the sandwich shop. That meant I wouldn't be back until well after mom had gotten home, changed, and probably knocked back a drink. My good mood immediately soured; my hopes were dashed. As much as my dirty fetish dreams gave me life, I couldn't afford to turn down any work and still keep up with tuition this semester. I grudgingly put on my apron and slung badly-made hoagies until 8 o'clock, then closed up and went home to find mom two beers in and watching a bad reality show in her sweatpants.

The next morning, I slept in until almost 9, damn near skipping class and completely missing Nissa's morning outfit show. I felt like a complete idiot; I was pining for my mother's attention and craving her incestuous touch like an addict in withdrawal. After a few minutes of grumbling and feeling sorry for myself while I threw on some clothes and got out the door, I resolved to just keep beating off to some other fantasy until I could get my mother out of my mind. All day long, all I could think was what a fool I'd been. What the hell is wrong with you? Hoping and praying to get your dirty hands on your mother's body? Getting home from school, I loaded up my regular porn site, and was just resigning myself to having a boring and perfunctory wank session when I heard the front door open again. No problem this time, I hadn't even whipped it out yet, so I just closed the browser and got up to return to the living room. What I saw stunned me.

Mom's outfit was the very picture of classic office lady attire. She wore a thin white blouse, through which I could see just the hinted outline of a dark bra. Her jacket and above-the-knee skirt were a heather gray with a few wide, stitched pleats on either side that drew in the fabric and accented her curves. Below them, she had on coffee-colored hose that looked like a delicious espresso drink over her tanned legs. The ensemble was completed by simple, close-toed black pumps nearly 4" tall. Unbidden, my mind went to the video she had nearly caught me watching, imagining how she would look crossing her legs and dangling her heels in front of me. She quickly doffed the jacket, then lifted her knee and raised her calf behind her to peel off a shoe with one hand, posed for a moment like a 1960's pinup. As she took off the heels and set them on the narrow table behind the couch, I finally came to my senses enough to return my gaze to her face. She looked even more upset than she had on Thursday. I'm ashamed to admit that it gave me a sudden burst of hope.

"Uh, mom. Hey, welcome back."

"Carson! Do you know what I had to put up with at the office today?" I looked as attentive as I knew how, and waited for her to tell me. "Finally the HarperWest guys signed. It's over, right? I'm so relieved, all this bullshit is done with. ¡gracias a Dios! Right?" I nodded. "I worked on this all day. And then my boss comes in and says 'Thanks for all your help, Nissa' and takes them all out to a fancy fucking dinner without me! That bastard is taking all the credit for my work while they go out drinking! God, what an asshole. 'Thanks for your help' my ass, I did all the work. You didn't do shit, puto!"

This time, I really thought she was going to cry. She held it together, barely.

"Fuck them," I said, letting her see that I shared her frustration. "Fuck HarperWest and their army of douchebag lawyers, and fuck your stupid boss. Let them get shitfaced together. I hope they get in a..." I stopped before I said "car accident." Maybe I had no love for dad, but I still couldn't disrespect his memory like that. "...in a traffic stop. And get thrown in the drunk tank with the gang washouts."

"Baby, you are damn right. Fuck those guys," she huffed.

"That's right. Fuck those guys!" I echoed.

"Fuck, fucking, fuck!" she screamed. Suddenly my breath caught, as I realized that scream would find its way into my dreams.

I paused in case she needed more time to vent. She drew and exhaled a few deep breaths, releasing stress. I watched her ample chest rise and fall, breasts pressing against the fine fabric of her blouse. Finally, her breathing calmed, and her expression softened.

"See, doesn't that feel better?" I said, giving her a comforting smile. She gave a final deep exhale, then cracked a smile back.

"Yeah, it does. Heh, thanks baby." She walked slowly up to me, then reached out to wrap me in a hug. Gently, I returned her embrace, keen not to pull her in too tightly for fear of how my cock might instinctively react.

After a time, she pulled back a little, and looked up at me with a warm smile. I smiled back at her. For a moment, we held each other's gaze. What... is this? She broke into her signature mischievous grin. "You were right, sometimes it's nice to just let loose." Then she turned and stepped back toward the couch. Suddenly I wondered what her really letting loose would look like.

"Oh, I know what you mean," I said. "Remember, you can let loose on me any time, I don't mind."

"You're so sweet. Thank you baby."

"You're welcome. So, is there anything else I can do? To help you relax?" Come on, say it. Please say it. Please tell me you want my touch again.

"Actually, you know what would be great?" Yes. Say it. "...A glass of wine!"

My stomach churned with disappointment. The flames of hope sputtered. I struggled to keep my composure. Don't let it show.

"Of course, I'd be happy to pour you one. Pinot grigio?"

"Actually I was thinking pinot noir."

"Sure. Coming right up." I stepped over to the kitchen, took a wine glass from the cabinet, and grabbed a bottle from the small wine rack.

"Pour yourself one too," she said.

"You sure? I'm a little young for that," I teased.

"I won't tell if you won't," she furtively replied. There was something about her voice, an edge to its sound. Not just furtive. Naughty. After a few moments to uncork the bottle and pour just the one glass, I turned back to the living room to see her already seated on the far end of the couch. She took the wine glass in hand, thanked me, and then drained half of it in a single draft. My eyebrows rose, then settled back down as she smiled at me. "And now, my son, what I really need," she said, "is another one of those excellent massages."

Instantly, the flicker of hope burst into lustful flame. I had wished for it. Prepared for it. Dreamed of it. But I was still momentarily stunned. Yes. God, yes. Mother, I want to make you feel so good.

"Yes. Uh, yes. No problem. I'd be happy to."

I regarded her wine glass for a second, giving Nissa one more Are you sure this is okay? look to which she only grinned. Slowly, I sat again on the rightmost cushion of the couch.

"Here," she said. Setting her wine on the edge of the table, she pressed her legs together, grabbed the sides of her skirt and tugged it up several inches.

My heart jumped in my chest, and my eyes leapt immediately to her thighs. The blend of tanned skin and brown nylon made them look dipped in mocha that I longed to taste. She held the hem of her skirt, and slowly raised her knees, folding her legs up in front of her. Gradually she turned toward me and unfolded one leg, then the other, placing both beautiful feet - shoeless and swathed in nylon - in my lap. I breathed deeply. My eyes traveled slowly up her smooth calves, tracing the line where the swells of her thighs pressed together, into the inviting darkness beneath her skirt where I suddenly hungered to bury my face. My eyes lingered only a moment before finally rising up to meet her gaze.

"Do something nice for your mother, won't you?"

Right now, I would do anything for my mother.

With tender care, I once again took her right foot into my hands. Anticipation made the touch of her warm, silky, nyloned feet even sweeter than it had been before. The object of my desire, of my obsession, was again within my grasp. Given confidence by my prior experience, I pressed firmly into her arch with my thumbs, as my palms and fingers curled around her smooth instep and grazed her toes. Nissa began making low moans of pleasure. Trained by four more days of self-stimulation to the idea of these very sounds and sensations, my cock immediately began to thicken up in my pants. I began to cross my leg as before to hide my excitement, but Nissa pressed her leg down against mine.

"Why are you tensing up so much? When you're nervous, it makes me nervous too. Relax, baby." What the hell is she doing? I'm going to be way more tense if my mom sees that I have an obvious boner from touching her! I drew and released another deep breath, and continued her massage. At least her eyes seemed to be unfocused as she was lulled by my firm ministrations. As long as she doesn't see...

Slowly, I worked from the arch, to the ball of her foot, to the toes. My best mask of bored disinterest in place, I secretly savored every touch. The casual intimacy and innocent seductiveness of the massage felt fiercely erotic. My jeans tightened over my left thigh as my cock swelled to its full length and girth beneath. I could barely control myself. All I wanted to do was unleash my rigid, thickened meat and rub it obscenely on her feet. That's right. I can't deny it. I'm a filthy foot fetishist who wants to fuck his mother's soles.

But I couldn't. There was no way I could have what I wanted. Even as my hopes of touching her again were fulfilled, my ultimate desire was denied. My mind was overrun with lustful thoughts, and my body tingled with an electric charge. What could I possibly do? The only way I could channel that erotic energy into my mother's body was through my hands. I gripped hard, digging into her heel.

"Mmmff!" She squirmed under my touch. Chagrined, I backed off a little.

"Too much?" I asked.

"No, no, it's great. I was just surprised is all. Keep going," she replied, her eyes closed in relaxation. I obliged her. My hands transitioned slowly to her other foot, keeping up the intense pressure. Her moaning continued as she started rubbing her legs together slowly in enjoyment. The ever-so-soft swishing sound of her nylons as they slid against each other was fiendishly seductive. My cock was fully erect, outlining a seven-inch slab beneath my pant leg.

As her legs rubbed together, her feet inched closer to my crotch. Oh god. Please stop. But please, please don't stop. And then it happened. As she slowly wriggled in my lap, her foot reached my denim-covered rod. I bit my lip to stifle a gasp. Oh fuck. Oh... oh god. There was no way I could stop now. I kept massaging her left foot, as her right rubbed against my crotch. I could barely believe what was happening. Does she really not know what she's doing? I looked again at her face, but she seemed oblivious, head lolled back in repose. My eyes slowly closed as I absorbed myself completely in the feeling of friction. Yes. Yes, mommy. Your son loves feeling you pressing against his cock. My balls fattened with a full load of incestuous semen. I could feel my boxers getting damp with precum. The longer I drew it out, the more I wanted to give up trying to hide it, trying to suppress it. I wanted to moan with pleasure just as she was; I bit my lip harder to try to stop. God, mom, you're driving me insane. How can I possibly keep this up? My whole body tensed up from the conflict raging in me. I can't fuck my mom. I must fuck my mom.

"Hey, I told you. Relax."

I froze. My eyes popped open in terror. I turned my head.

Nissa was looking right at me, her trademark smirk across her face.

"Why don't you unzip those jeans? They look a little tight."

I looked down. She continued to slide her foot against my crotch, not absentmindedly brushing it but slowly, deliberately stroking my member through my jeans. I looked back up.

"But... you...you're-" I stuttered.

"Shhh. Talk later." I looked down and back up again. My mind was racing trying to figure out how this could be happening, but my body took over. Gradually, I let go of her left foot, and reached up to my waist. Nissa withdrew her right foot from my crotch. I released the button, and undid the zipper. As I started to slide my jeans down to my knees, my cock jumped up, pitching a warm, wet tent in my boxers. I looked up at her again. This couldn't be happening.

"Those too." She tilted her chin at my lap.

"Are you... are you sure?"

"Are you? Because you certainly look like you are."

"I..." My voice trailed off. But I nodded. Holy fuck. Holy fuck.

I reached down... grabbed my waistband... and slid my boxers off.

My cock immediately sprang free. It was the biggest I'd ever seen it, so thick and hard it was turning red. It twitched with my pulse in the cool air. It was free. My manhood, the rigid organ that betrayed my disgusting, incestuous lust, protruded into the air, its very presence proclaiming to my mother: "Yes, your son is hard for you. Your son dreams of you. Your son masturbates to you. Your son wants to fuck you."

Now that it was free, what would she do? I could only look to her face. Her gaze was locked on my throbbing rod.

"Mmm. It's been a while since I've had a juicy teenage cock. Tell me, is that for me?"

"...Yes," I whispered.

"Louder. Tell me, 'My hard cock is for you. For my mami.'"

"My... my hard cock. Is for you. It's for... my mommy."

"And what do you want to do?" she asked. Her foot rested on my thigh, inches away from my manhood, so close yet leaving it untouched. Could I really tell her? Could I tell my own mother about the fetish I'd never revealed even to girls I'd had sex with? Was there any way to stop now? She looked into my eyes. "Tell me what you want to do with mami's body."

No, there was no way to stop.

"I want... I want to fuck your feet."

"Say it again. Tell me what you want."

"Mom, I want to fuck your feet."

"Mmmm. That's good. I like a man who knows what he wants and says it. And I like a son who tells his mother the truth."

She lifted her right foot and placed it over my abs. Her left foot slid up my thigh, until its arch cradled the base of my shaft, which twitched again at the silken touch of her hose. Then her right foot slid slowly down, over my waist, down my crotch, until finally it enclosed my rod. Her heels and the balls of her feet touched; her arches formed a perfect tunnel of warm, nylon-sheathed flesh enclosing my fat, stiff prick. And slowly, she started moving it up and down.

This was it. This was everything I had ever wanted. I felt like every porn movie I'd ever watched, every time I'd ever pleasured myself, every hot fantasy I'd ever had was leading up to this. By all rights, I should have blown my load then and there. Just seeing it - seeing my own mother's warm, soft feet stroking my engorged penis - should have sent me over the edge. But something in my body said: You've done it. You've made it here. Now you're going to enjoy it. I went into a trance. Somehow my impending orgasm held off and I stayed right there in that moment, sustaining the surreal experience.