Shepherd's Pie

"Sorry if I'm a little under dressed," she said, as she knelt down and bent over beside the radiator.

From that angle, as she leaned over to check the valves, there was no polite way to keep myself from staring down at her giant hooters. I had recently started kickboxing and looking down at Cynthia's tits reminded me of those heavy bags down at the gym, two of them, side to side, swinging to and fro. The icy temperature of the room did wonders for her nipples too, swelling and poking out like thimbles through the orange satin clinging to her chest.

After hearing her apology for showing up half naked, I did my best to relieve her sense of urgency, hoping not to embarrass her.

"You could have waited," I said. "Mom doesn't usually leave work until five or six. She's more sensitive to the cold than I am. My old apartment was much worse. Not to mention, we trust you."

"Well, I'm glad you feel that way," she said. "But you're actually our first tenants since we bought this place...hate to start off on the wrong foot," she added. "The radiator seems fine, must be a problem with the furnace. We just hired a new nanny and she's kind of clueless, so I need to get back and check on the baby. I can fix it right after that."

"Sounds good," I said. "I'll tell Mom you came by."

"Please do," she said. "I'll also come back and check out the sink too. I just need to put on some real clothes."

"No rush, always good to see you," I said, "though it might be good to wear a little more next time, no offense."

"None taken," she said, glancing at the cleavage where her nightie had helplessly slipped down. "I know the girls can be a little distracting," she said, tugging on the straps, a useless attempt to cover up, making her breast meat jiggle under the nightie, as I stood there fighting to keep my eyeballs inside their sockets.

As I led her back to the door, she paused in front of the office, pointing to the camera on top of the desk.

"Who's the photographer?" she asked curiously.

"Oh, that'd be me," I said. "I'm not that good, but it's always been a hobby. When I was young, I had this dream of working for a men's magazine."

"Really, you mean like Sports Illustrated or something?"

"Hmm, no, more like Maxim or Playboy," I said. "Blame it on Anna Nicole Smith."

"Oh, that's cool," she said, smiling. "You mean like pin-up style. I've always wanted to do something like that.

"No way," I said. "I honestly never pictured you as the type."

"Oh, and why's that," she said. "You think I'm too old or something?"

"No, not at all," I said. "You're never too old. You just struck me as more...I don't know, conservative, I guess."

"Ah," she said. "So because my Volvo has a Mitt Romney bumper sticker, you naturally assumed I was uptight."

"Well, no," I said stuttering like a fool.

The more she spoke, the more Cynthia reminded of the girls I knew back in high school, the ones who'd been spoiled since birth and hid their emotions under a well-practiced smile and an annoyingly bouncy disposition, suitable in this case considering her plentiful bosom.

"Tell you what," she said, cutting me off. "Next month is our second anniversary. I wasn't sure what to get Joel as a gift, but now I'm thinking he'd really enjoy some nice glamour shots, you know, something sexy to add some spice back to our relationship. Could you help me with that?"

I was pretty taken aback by how open she was about her marriage. Still, I couldn't ignore the subtle flirtation of this desperate housewife or the rapidly growing hard-on in my pants.

"Umm, sure, I could help you with that," I said. "We'll have to discuss wardrobe and take some test shots, but otherwise, I should have everything we need."

She then wasted no time stepping into the office, where she leaned up against the wall and slowly proceeded to peel down the right strap of her nightie, letting it fall off her shoulder.

"Will the light in here work for you?"

"I'll use the flash," I said, as I stepped over to the desk, picked up the camera and quickly began snapping away.

From the moment the camera started flashing, I was instantly blown away by her lack of shyness, never expecting so much confidence in front of the lens. The innocent, plucky housewife who'd showed up just moments earlier was instantly replaced by a smoldering minx, with two perfectly pouting lips and a deadly come-hither stare, enhancing the stimulating effect of her steamy blue eyes. Yet, the sultry look on her face, as sexy as it was, didn't entirely prepare me for the moment she crossed her arms together, thrusting her tits toward the camera like dual airbags, completely filling up the frame with more cleavage than my mind could fully comprehend.

She continued shifting through various poses, when I mildly requested that we step over across the hall. She kindly accepted. So I took her by the hand, Ieading her into the dining room, where I then helped her climb up onto the table.

She didn't need much instruction as she stretched out, extending her legs, with her head tilted back, and her chest pointed up toward the ceiling.

"Mind if I ask you a personal question," I asked, as she shifted over to her left side, returning my question with a knowing smile.

"You want to know how big they are."

"Well, yeah," I said, "not to be rude or anything. They look amazing. I was just curious."

"Thank you," she said. "They used to be smaller before I got pregnant. Once I started nursing they shot up to a 38FF. But it varies."

"Wow," I said, staring in awe. "Do they hurt your back?"

"All the time," she said. "Imagine trying to walk with two gallons of milk strapped to your chest. It sort of feels like that."

"No, I can't imagine," I said, shaking my head. "But what about your nipples? Do they ever get sore?"

Cynthia nodded. "Sometimes," she said, "mainly when I'm nursing. But I'd rather do that than use formula, more nutrients."

"Hmm, have you ever tasted it?"

"My breast milk?" she answered. "Yeah, once or twice. It's a bit more watery than regular milk. I try to eat lots of fruit to make it sweeter. Otherwise, it's kind of sour."

"Interesting," I said, realizing she couldn't stay much longer. "Well, I know you have to go. I'll upload these pictures and see which angles work best. Let me know when you have time for a full photo shoot."

"Oh, okay," she said, seeming a bit confused.

"Is something wrong?" I asked. "If you need time to think about it, I understand."

"No, it's not that," she said. "I was waiting for you to ask if you could try some."

The calmness in her voice combined with her level gaze gave me a lightheaded feeling as I set down the camera, then pulled out a chair, and quietly sat down. Just when it seemed things couldn't possibly get weirder, this woman I barely knew was offering to let me taste her breast milk.

How could I possibly say no? From the moment I saw her, my first impulse was to bury my face between her chest and motorboat those melons until I passed out.

My initial shock prevented me from speaking after hearing her offer out loud. Still, there must have been something written on my face which clearly confirmed that I was more than just a little curious.

She seemed to enjoy teasing me as her right hand slowly rose up and deliberately pulled down her left shoulder strap. Sweat beads formed across my brow as she fixed her eyes on me and quietly peeled down the other. My eyes concentrated mainly on the orange satin covering her massive chest, where Cynthia reached up and thrillingly set her hands to patiently ease down the shiny fabric. Finally, with a lump in my throat, I looked on intently as Cynthia managed to pull out her enormous jugs.

Logically, I knew what I was seeing. Still, I couldn't fathom how a woman so small could end up with tits that big. Each one was larger than my head and must have weighed at least ten pounds, as I sat there entranced by the size and shape of these two gigantic globes, hovering inches from my face. Neither was perfectly round, nor even completely smooth, with stretch marks along both sides of her otherwise porcelain skin.

As big as they were, Cynthia's tits were far too heavy to escape the effects of gravity, making them sag just a bit, yet in a rather appealing way, especially when she moved and the soft tissue really started to jiggle.

Needless to say, I was totally stunned as Cynthia pulled her tits out for all their glory, thrusting them at me and smiling from ear to ear like all she wanted was for me to know how proud she was of her huge 38FFs.

Sitting in the chair, my eyes were level with her pink nipples, sprouting invitingly from the raised surface of her dark areolas, no wider than a pair of quarters.

She beckoned me with her crooked finger, stopping me when I leaned in too close.

"Don't put your mouth on it," she said. "Just sit back, open wide, and I'll do the rest."

I respectfully followed orders, leaning my head back, then parting my lips open and waiting for what she did next.

She leaned forward, placing the tips of her thumb and forefinger on each side of her right nipple. Then, using light pressure, she slowly brought them together in a gradual pinching motion. The first sprinkle squirted from her nipple like milky serum from the tip of a syringe. Her aim was perfect, pointing her nipple directly in front of my mouth. I instantly closed my eyes, compelled by the need to burn this moment deep into my memory forever. The flavor seemed to revive something buried in my subconscious. The sweet, tangy liquid filling my open mouth magically transported me back to infancy. She stopped me for a moment, giving me time to savor the creamy droplets lingering inside my mouth. My eyes opened just in time to see her lifting her other breast, which soon began streaming milk over my tongue as well.

As Cynthia continued feeding me, I happily began swirling my tongue through the warm nectar, letting the flavor seep into every corner of my mouth, tingling my taste buds, as the world around me faded into a distant blur.

"Someone seems to be liking this quite a bit," she said.

"Mmm," I whispered. "Best thing I've tasted in months."

"Aww, that's sweet," she said, blushing a bit. "And I really appreciate your help with the pictures. But I should probably head back now. We'll talk again soon though. I promise."

"Yeah, that's fine, whenever," I said, trying my best to seem nonchalant. "You know where I live," I added casually.

While she'd made it clear that she really needed to go, once I realized she was far more liberal than I'd ever guessed, I couldn't help myself from testing the waters just a bit more.

"Before you go, I was thinking about wardrobe for the shoot. How would you feel about maybe wearing some pantyhose?"

"Pantyhose," she said, sneering back at me. "God, I hate those things. They made us wear them all the time at the hospital. You know, like those ugly white compression hose. It makes me itch just thinking about it. What about maybe some stockings and a garter belt?"

"Hmm, that's an idea too," I replied. "I think you'd looked really hot in a sexy nurse's outfit, with white heels and glossy white hose. They really sparkle on camera."

"Sure," she said. "Just make me look good. That's all I care about."

"Shouldn't be a problem," I said, escorting her to the door. She left me with a brief hug and a soft kiss on the cheek, as I closed the door, wiping the sweat off my forehead.

* * *

By the time Cynthia left, I felt like a total zombie. My dick was so hard I could barely walk, like all the blood in the rest of my body had instantly rushed down to my throbbing genitals. I desperately needed some type of release, as I slowly crept back upstairs, looking to find Mom's journal once again.

This time I wasn't just looking for any random passage. Instead, I entered my mother's room, ignoring the frigid air, as I picked up the journal and purposely opened it from the back.

I looked down and read the date of her latest entry. My chest heaved the moment I realized it had just been written the day before.

Since we hadn't spoken about it, I desperately wanted to know how she truly felt about what happened between us the day we moved in. I realized I might not like what I read. Yet, I also had this gut feeling that something inside her wanted it to happen too. In my mind, the possibility was so tantalizing that the forbidden excitement of even thinking about it quickly consumed me. At that point, I wanted a way to make the moment even better. I wasn't sure where the idea came from, maybe from being in such a cold room. Or maybe it was just my natural instincts taking over as I walked over and pulled open my mother's top drawer.

I opened it to find a luxurious pile of high quality women's hosiery, in a multitude of colors, patterns and thickness levels. I studied the pile, breathing heavily over the bounty of nylon undergarments spread out before me like an all-you-can-eat pantyhose buffet. I rummaged through the pile, searching until my hands came across a feather light pair of silky, midnight black pantyhose brushing against my fingers.

Carefully pulling them from the drawer, I made my way over to the bed, removing my jeans and underwear, before nervously sitting down to work out the logistics of getting them on.

Admittedly, it wasn't pretty. Still, I managed to fumble my way through it, taking instructions from the memory of watching Mom put them on under her jeans. With the pantyhose drawn up over my knees, I then had to work out stretching the nylon over my cock and balls. My dick stood up like a flag pole as I stretched the delicate threading to its limit, drawing the waistband several inches away from my navel while I reached down and held the shaft flat up against my stomach. That first moment of total encasement from the waist down filled my whole body with tingling electricity. I wasn't sure why I'd waited to so long to try them on, but the pleasure sweeping through me as I stood there rubbing my own smooth legs took me to a level of excitement I'd never even imagined, by taking her pantyhose and trapping my penis beneath the fabric, making me feel right at home.

Ready to start reading, I anxiously sat down, as my leg started bouncing and twitching from overexcitement. Between my mother letting me cum on her ass, Cynthia showing me her tits, and the crazy anticipation of what I had yet to read, it was a wonder I didn't instantly blow my load as I felt Mom's pantyhose smashed up against my cock.

The intensity running through me, combined with the lingering effect of the weed, sent me into a dreamlike state as I quietly turned down to the page.

September 30th, 2012

I'm really worried about Chris. He's been acting different lately. I love him to death and I can't help feeling responsible for what happened today. I know he's getting older and he's basically grown enough to make his own decisions. Still, it's obvious he has certain tendencies that are far too dangerous to overlook. I was able to look past the piercings and the tattoos. I could even ignore all the pot he smokes and his disturbing appetite for pornography. But how can I possibly ignore this bizarre obsession he has with me? It's almost like he's turned into an animal. The way he exposed himself so brazenly like that, it's something I'll never get over. I'm still not sure why I said those things. It's hard to even stomach the thought of letting him degrade me that way. I know that I've done some pretty slutty things in my life, but this isn't some random guy I met at a bar. This is my son, my own flesh and blood. What kind of mother would I be to let him think what he did was okay? It doesn't matter how much I enjoyed it. There's nothing wrong with enjoying the feeling of someone finding me attractive. I liked seeing him get hard for me. Who wouldn't like seeing that? For once, I was proud of him for having the confidence to pull it out so fearlessly. I never actually touched it, but I must say from a distance it was a pretty decent size, surprising in fact. His body has gotten so ripped since he started kickboxing. Maybe that explains why he's gotten so aggressive lately. I wish there was someone I could talk to about this. Now that I know he likes seeing me in pantyhose, how can we continuing living together? Maybe I should help him find someone, just to get his mind on something else? God, this is crazy. I missed him so much and I just finally got him back. I know there's a way we can work this out, as long as I'm able to control myself better that he can. Guess we'll just have to wait and see...

As I finished the passage, I set down the journal and sprawled out onto the bed. I laid back and shut my eyes, letting her words replay in my head, as I quietly drifted off to sleep.

I was suddenly woken up by the sound of keys jangling in the lock downstairs. I sat up and checked the clock. It was quarter past five. Mom was already home. I leapt off the bed, shoved the journal back in the box, then ran to my room with no time to take off her pantyhose. I threw on some jeans, slid on a pair of socks, and promptly walked down to greet her sudden arrival, staying as calm as I could.

"You're home early," I said, entering the kitchen, where Mom was standing with her back turned, flipping through a stack of junk mail, as I noticed a bag of groceries resting on the counter.

"Got off early," she said, spinning face forward with a quick smile. "I texted you but you must've been sleeping or something," she added.

Like always, she looked rather nice in her stylish gray business suit. The color was a little drab, but the cut was extremely flattering, especially the hemline, which I greatly appreciated for cutting off right above mid-thigh, leaving more than enough leg on display where I could briefly pause to gaze over the neutral color of the sheer off-white pantyhose stretching down to her white leather pumps.

"Sorry, probably smoked too much," I said, shrugging it off. "So what's for dinner?"

"Well," Mom said, as she stepped over and started to empty the bag. "Since it's our first official home-cooked meal in our new place, I went out and got stuff to make shepherd's pie."

The dish Mom referred to was an Irish casserole, made with onions, carrots, ground lamb or beef, topped by a layer of creamy mashed potatoes. It was also an inside joke among our family.

Shepherd was the name Mom took when she got married, the name she'd kept after the divorce so her last name would still be the same as mine. Mom could cook almost anything, but her shepherd's pie was normally reserved for birthdays and other special occasions.

"Cool," I said. "Shall I break out the good china?"

"No, you don't have to do that," she said. "I was just thinking that your father and I had the same thing for dinner when we moved into our first place. I figured since you're the new man of the house, I should make it for you too."

Though it was unexpected, the thought of a tasty, home-cooked meal sounded pretty good. For a second, I didn't know what to say. Considering how she left that morning, I was fully expecting her to be highly upset when she got home. I had spent most of the day stressing over it. I desperately wanted to clear the air and would have said something right then, but the smile on her face was so open and full of affection that it instantly stopped me from pointing out the elephant in the room. In that moment, I could only assume that Mom had made the decision to move on like nothing had ever happened. So instead of confronting the matter head on, I did my best to ignore the tension between us, though it wasn't easy, especially when I could still feel her pantyhose against my legs.

Reacting to my silence, Mom quietly stood there squinting at me from across the room. She must have picked up on the storm of emotions swirling inside my head as she calmly stepped toward me and slowly wrapped her arms around my neck. Her perfume smelled like mint candy as her hazel eyes cut right through me. Her long, steady gaze calmed me to the point where the panic inside me gradually started to fade away.