The Long Tease

I read several of Tom's most recent posts, some of which were pictures of women's feet that he liked, often with cum on them. All were mature and of a similar size, shape and texture to mine, something he explicitly referenced on more than one occasion. His pictures drew admiring comments from a number of other posters. It became clear that his foot fetish had developed first but, as it had become fixated on my feet and his feelings for me grew in response, he had been forced away from 'regular' sites that focused on feet and had found a home here, where the incest taboo could seemingly be happily combined with almost any other kink or fetish.

Images and words swam before my eyes and I found myself both appalled and fascinated in equal measure at learning more about this cyber sub-world and my son's place in it. My heart and mind were conflicted. My heart reached out to him, my boy, that he was obviously so confused sexually and had somehow fixated his desires upon me. He'd had girlfriends, had one now of course, so it wasn't as if he were naive but there must be something wrong with him, I thought, and, as his Mom, I wanted to make it better, make him better, like any Mom would when her son was in pain.

My mind, though, was appalled by what Tom had become. I suppose I could get my head around the feet thing. I mean I've known plenty of women never be short of a man because of their breasts. They may be fat or ugly but give a woman big tits and some guy is always going to be interested in her. Why not feet? It's all just body parts, right? But incest? Now that I found much harder to comprehend. It wasn't until a little time later that I really began to understand it and what it really meant to Tom. At this moment, I found it horrifying but compelling. I had to know more, to read more, if only to try to understand more.

I read on and on, opening stories and photos and videos, being sucked ever deeper into these taboo fantasies. I must have been reading for about twenty minutes by the time I realized that my fingers were touching my clit. Subconsciously, I had surrendered to my primal instincts and I now appreciated why I had been becoming increasingly aroused the more I read.

The post I was reading was a description by Tom of a vacation we'd taken to the Caribbean a couple of months ago for some winter sun and of a morning we'd been sunbathing by the pool. I'd been reading a book on a sun lounger, lying on my stomach, my feet in the air. I remembered the morning. I was reading some trashy chick lit novel I'd picked up at the airport and was totally absorbed. Tom had written the following:

'She didn't notice a thing. She had no clue that I was just staring at her naked feet, watching her slowly flex and unflex her toes without thinking. I was imagining what they'd feel like pressed up against my cock and then what they'd be like if she rubbed my cock between those sexy, wrinkled soles. I wanted just to walk up behind her and jerk my cock before spurting all over them and watching the spunk run down her soles, pooling in the wrinkles before oozing downwards towards her heels. I was a man possessed. I wanted her so badly. She's so sexy and so beautiful literally from top to toe. I'd have sucked each one of those digits into my mouth given half the chance and run my tongue between them until she squirmed.'

I swallowed hard at this, trying to imagine what that might feel like, how sensual it might be to have a man suck my toes, to swirl his tongue between them. It was making me rather hot and bothered. What I read next, though, chilled my heart and reminded me that this fantasy I was reading and almost enjoying was my son's:

'Then, and I swear this is true cos you ain't going to believe me but Mom asked me to put lotion on her back. I could have cum in my swim shorts right then and there. It was the most difficult thing in my life thus far, to have to control myself while applying lotion to my Mom. She has such soft skin and so smooth, you'd ever believe she was, like, 45 or so. I've touched seniors in high school with skin less smooth than she has. She was in one of those swimsuits with the back cut out and I was cursing that she wasn't in a bikini so I could have slipped some fingers below the material and onto her ass. I was, like, totally hard and crazed, feeling her skin beneath my fingers and she had no idea. No clue that what was happening in that moment was literally the most erotic thing in my life. I just had to take it further. I didn't stop with her back. I didn't go for her ass, I didn't want to be obvious, plus as cool as her ass is, I wanted to go lower you know? Lol. I went down her legs to her feet. I can still hear her giggle as I touched her soles and telling me that it tickled. Fuuuuuck but was a sexy sound! I had to breathe real hard to stop myself cumming. Her feet felt amazing, as good as I'd imagined. So soft, so delicate in my hands, like they were made of silk. I just wanted to lean down and kiss them and lick them.

'The sun was glistening off them as I massaged the lotion into them. It looked like lube and I was thinking about sticking my cock between them and all the while she was reading some airport novel with absolutely no fucking clue. In the end, I had to sneak away to jerk off. I'm not sure I've ever blown so much of a load. Fuck I wish I'd had the guts to cum on Mom's amazing feet or at least to take a photo of them glistening with lotion. She'd never have noticed. Best holiday ever! Lol!'

I couldn't read any more. With a groan, I dropped the cell over the side of the bath and slid down further into it, the water now covering all my body and even some of my hair. I raised my feet out of the bath and lifted them up, bringing the soles together, staring at them, imagining my boy's cock between them as he'd fantasized that day on St Lucia. The stuff about the lotion wasn't true, he'd made it all up for effect. Given the number of positive votes his post had received, it had worked. What a filthy, perverted, exciting mind my boy had. He must have been imagining that all the time he had been watching me that day.

My fingers worked my clit hard and then slipped inside my aching shaved pussy. The heel of my hand slammed hard against my clit as I pushed myself on towards orgasm. It was more intense than any feeling I'd had in years. The taboo, my own son, his obsession with my feet, that he'd spied on me, wanted me so badly. God, it was good to be wanted again. I rocked my feet back and forth, as if jerking the imaginary cock that was between them. Tom's cock, my boy's cock.

"Yes baby," I whispered to myself, "do Mommy's feet feel good wrapped around your cock? I know they do baby, I know you want this. You think I didn't know that day by the pool? Mommy knew, she's always known. Yes, yes, that's it...cum for Mommy, cum all over my sexy soles. Ahhh, ahhh!" I moaned, glad that the door was shut tight and locked with the extractor fan on. My orgasm hit me, rolling through my body like a wave hitting the beach. I shuddered in the water, my toes curling, biting my lip to stop myself from crying out Tom's name.

I closed my eyes and listened. All I could hear as I returned from my orgasmic bliss was the hum of the extractor fan, the rasping sounds of my breathing and the sloshing of the water around my body as I moved. I draped an arm over the side of the bath to steady myself and then looked down at the phone screen. My son's words, his filthy, taboo, incestuous words stared back at me. My heart sank. What the hell had I just done?

Waves of guilt and revulsion washed over me as strongly as those of illicit pleasure had a few moments before. Drying my hands, I quickly closed the offending Safari page on my iPhone and thrust the phone away as if it were scalding hot. How could I have just done that? How could I have allowed myself to be so weak, so dirty, to say such awful things? I was as bad as Tom, worse for I was older, wiser supposedly and he was only a teenager, on the cusp of adulthood, barely able to control the hormones coursing through his body. I was a monster, a pervert for thinking about my own son in that way. I must never allow it to happen again, I told myself firmly. Never. I stepped out of the bath and, as I did so, I couldn't help but notice my pretty feet again. I tore my gaze away, hurriedly dried myself with a big fluffy white towel and thrust my dressing gown back on and retreated to my bedroom. I knew what I had to do. I had to forget everything that had happened that day. I could do that. Repression was my friend I decided.

I managed a few days, though it took quite the effort not to think about it and to ignore the furtive glances that Tom took at my feet. Once you notice something about someone, it's very hard to un-notice it again. They say that denial is a river in Egypt, well I was well and truly among the pyramids. Everything would be ok, I kept telling myself. Surely it was just a phase he was going through. Teenagers wanted to fuck anything that wasn't nailed down and I had just been the nearest female to him with a pulse and that was why he had fixated on me. Now he had a steady girlfriend in Katie, or at least hopefully a steady girlfriend, then he'd channel his impulses elsewhere and we could just go back to how we were and I need no nothing more about incest or feet.

It was no good. The more I tried not to think about it, the more I couldn't stop thinking about it. I needed to know more I began to tell myself. How else could I help him, I reasoned? It would purely be for research purposes, just so I knew what I was dealing with. Even as I thought it, I knew it was bullshit. It was a siren call dragging me back to the website.

I had been ashamed by what I had done in the bath, how I had jilled myself off to the thought of my son admiring my feet. That was bad enough in itself. What was worse, when I came to reflect on it, was what had happened before I even started reading the website. I had prepared myself for it. I'd added oils to the bath, lit some candles, put soft music on, hell, had even shaved myself down below so I was as smooth as silk when I had started to touch myself. I tried to tell myself that I had been planning to shave anyway and that the other things were relaxants because I'd had a shock. It wasn't really true and I knew it.

Subconsciously, for whatever reason, I'd taken that bath like I was preparing for a date. A date with my son's words and fantasies. Why? Was there something wrong with me? Was that why he was like he was? Liked what he did? Because of me? Maybe it was because I'd been neglected for so long. Surely I was better, though, than to jump at this? At this perverted, twisted lust shown to me by my own son. Was I that desperate? I didn't know anymore and a phone in your purse is so tempting isn't it? I was only a few clicks away from finding out more, about Tom and about me. I succumbed.

Again I prepared myself. Tom was playing soccer after school and I had just got home from work. All the way home in the car I'd been talking to myself, arguing first one way the other. It amused me to think what my fellow commuters would think had they been able to read my lips. The woman, not the Mom, had won the fight, though maybe on reflection we were one and the same. I kicked off my black court shoes in the hallway and hurried softly up the stairs to my room. Once there, I pulled off my black skirt, my pantyhose, and even my black panties, strewing them across the bed. I went into my en-suite and washed my face, between my legs and my feet. I then sprayed a little of my perfume on my wrists, my neck and down below.

Returning to the bedroom, I say at my vanity table and methodically reapplied my makeup. It wasn't 'date' makeup exactly, but it was different from what I wore at work, bringing out my eyes, high cheekbones and lips a little more. I removed the red nail polish on my fingers and toes and then applied a fresh coat of deep purple, a sensuous, wicked color that always made me feel sexy. I caressed my feet lovingly as I stroked on the viscous liquid with the thin brush. For the first time in my life I found myself becoming a little aroused by doing so. I imagined what Tom would be thinking if he could see me now. Part of me wanted him to see me and that I could neither explain nor deny in that moment or since.

When I finished I wiggled my toes, pleased with the effect. I stood up and was about to head over to the bed when I had an idea, a naughty idea. How about I make my feet look even better. I padded over to my closet and opened it. Looking down I saw my shoes and boots lined up neatly beneath my dresses, skirts and blouses. My finger moved up and down the row of shoes before I saw what I was looking for. I smiled as I squatted down and picked out a pair of shoes. They were some strappy purple suede open-toed stilettos. I slipped one foot in and then the other, buckling the thin straps just above my ankles and admiring my legs in the full length mirror on the closet door. As ever, the heels accentuated my calves and my ass and the effect appeared even better given that I was naked from the waist down. I cupped my ass then slid my hands down my thighs and giggled.

"Not bad for 46," I told myself. It was strange how lightheaded and tingly I was given what I was about to do. My purple-painted toes peeked out from the suede strap over my instep as if flirting coquettishly with the mirror and the feet reflected in them. I all but strutted over to the bed, full of confidence, my heart beating a little faster but in anticipation this time rather than trepidation.

I felt girlish, heady as if about to go on the kind of date where I knew I'd be getting fucked at the end. I tried not to think of the implications of what I was feeling. Opening the top drawer of my dresser, I picked out a pair of silk purple panties that I'd wear afterwards. Afterwards, I smiled to myself as I twirled the panties idly from my fingers. I knew very well what I was planning to do while reading the website.

I slipped onto the bed and stretched out my long legs, admiring them and the suede heels as I crossed one over the other and then reached out for my cell which I'd left on the nightstand. It had been a few days but I hadn't forgotten the name of the website nor Tom's username. He had added a few posts since I'd last logged on, including the draft message that I'd found on his laptop. It had garnered several replies, including plenty of suggestions about the best opportunities that might arise to photograph my feet without my knowing. Some of these people clearly had experience of this sort of thing. I found myself shaking my head in amusement. Imagine if I let Tom do it without his knowing I was letting him.

Wouldn't it be fun to get some compliments on my feet? Even if it were from strangers, it would be more than I'd got from my husband in a long time. Tom had discussed a possible photo shoot with another poster and they'd both found the idea really exciting but confessed that it was probably just a pipe dream.

I decided that I wanted to know more about how Tom had come to the site, so I flicked back through the pages of his previous posts until I found his first post. It was on a thread called 'Why are you here?' My heart hammered as I clicked on the link which would take me to Tom's post on the long thread. What I read there was both better and worse than I could possibly have imagined:

'Hi everyone, I'm Tom, 18-year-old senior from Tennessee and I'm here because I'm in love with my Mom. I know from reading that some of you have real experience, some fantasize about family members and some just like the kinkiness of the whole idea. For me, it's simple, I love my Mom and I've just gotta be able to talk about it with some others who might understand. It's not like I can tell me friends or my parents (lol!) is it? Normally, when you like someone, you can talk with someone you trust about it. But when it's your Mom, that's just not possible, right? I mean, I don't have to tell you guys. I've crushed on my Mom for ages. It's not like I haven't liked other girls or women or I'm some loser virgin [First I knew about that, I thought!] it's just that none of them measure up to Mom. I mean, who loves you more than your Mom, right? Who better to teach you, to love you? Who can you trust more than your own Mom not to laugh at you when you tell her what you really like?

'I have a big foot fetish, you see, and I know that Mom would understand. She wouldn't laugh or be disgusted like some girls are. She can't after all, it's not allowed. She's my Mom and they have to love you whatever, right? Besides, she's more beautiful, more loving, more funny and thoughtful than any woman I've ever met. Plus, I know she's lonely and frustrated. My Dad's a total jerk in that he just leaves her all the time for work and doesn't appreciate what he has. I want to give her what she wants and what she needs. She needs to be happy and I don't want her running off with some other jerk. In my heart, she'll always be mine, even though I know that, in reality, it's probably never gonna happen and I'll settle down and marry some chick that reminds me of Mom and she and Dad will just carry on the way they are.

'Shit, that's depressing isn't it? Anyway guys, hiya and sorry if that bummed any of you out. Look forward to connecting and chatting and sharing incest stuff here! If I can't have my Mom, I can at least tell you how fucking great she is and share my fantasies right?'

I put the phone down and felt that my cheeks were wet. I was crying. Tom had opened up his heart to total strangers. It wasn't in the most flowery language of love, he was an 18-year-old boy after all, but he had expressed what was in his heart with an honesty and rawness that only the young possess. Bob had never spoken about me like that, never demonstrated such passion, such desire, such love. Tom cared about me, saw how unhappy I was and wanted to do something about it. For all that he wanted to go about it the wrong way, he wanted to make right what was wrong in my life.

I suddenly didn't want to masturbate any more but I felt so close to my son. I wanted to hold him close, to kiss him, to make it better even for just a moment, to let him know that I knew and understood. I couldn't do that, though. I couldn't let him know that I'd been spying on him, reading his most intimate thoughts. I'd just have to let him know I loved him in other ways.

I wiped a tear from my cheek with a tissue that I took from a box by the bed and then slipped my panties up my legs. I made to remove my heels but I stopped myself. Why not give him a little treat, I thought? What harm would there be in that? He liked feet and he liked my feet. What was so wrong in that? I had feared that his foot fetish had twisted into an obsession over mine as the nearest accessible pair. Clearly, though, that wasn't the case. His love for me was genuine and initially separate from his foot fetish, though the two were now obviously intertwined. I'd let him see them in all their painted and stilettoed glory tonight. It might be interesting, I giggled, to see if he mentioned it. He was realistic about his fantasies, he had a girlfriend, so a little harmless flirting wouldn't turn him into some sort of psychopath would it?

I found a pair of skinny Levi 501s in my closet and shucked them up my legs. I was pleasantly surprised how good they looked and how tight my ass looked as I bent over to re-strap my heels. The jeans ended a little way above the ankles, to ensure that he would get the full effect of my strappy sandals. As I cooked dinner for him, I wondered how long it would take him to notice and whether he'd comment. Could he control himself, I wondered with amusement? I knew, deep down, that I was pouring gas on the flames of an unrealizable fantasy but I wanted to continue to feel sexy and wanted and I wanted to give him a little treat.