Caught Ch 01 7

For some time, I had been going on camera so my son and his friends could watch me. They did not know who I was, but I knew them. I knew who each of them was and learned about the things they liked and what they enjoyed watching. I have written before about being online with them. This all occurred when they were in high school -- they were eighteen or nineteen years old.

I learned very soon that they also enjoyed seeing the "real me" when I got home from work. I usually wore skirts or dresses to work and always wore hosiery. I most often wore pantyhose. My favorite was L'eggs sheer energy sheer to waist -- suntan or nude.

The skirts I wore were not very short -- usually just to the top of my knees. When I sat, they would slide up a few inches. I had known for quite a while that men enjoyed seeing hose-covered legs, and I did not mind them looking.

I noticed my sons' friends watching me when I got home from work. They often watched me get out of my car, looking at my legs as I reached out with my leg.

When I got home that day, the guys were shooting baskets in the driveway, so they had to stop to let me into the garage. I smiled as the guys stood near the car as I drove by them. I slid my skirt to mid-thigh as I waited for them to move. I knew they were looking through the open windows and staring at my legs.

I thought I was looking good that day. I wore a black pencil skirt that hugged my figure without being too tight and reached to just above the knee. I also wore a white silk blouse that showed my figure as well showing the lacy white demi-bra I was wearing. I had unbuttoned several buttons so I gave the appearance of showing cleavage although I did not really show much at all. The black jacket of the suit completed the look.

When I sat for a while, like when I drove home, the skirt rode up almost to mid-thigh. I knew I was showing a lot of leg as I sat there with the door open to put my shoe back on since I had taken it off while I drove. I peeked to see if the guys were paying attention -- they were. I guess they usually did. The basketball had stopped.

As I sat there with my left foot and leg out of the car with my skirt well above mid-thigh I leaned back into the car as if I was looking for something. This caused me to lift my leg and I pointed my toe straight out. I am pretty certain that the guys could see nothing by my long hose-covered leg.

As I looked back at the guys through the tinted windows of my car, I was pleased to see them paying very close attention, including my son, Ricky. I saw a few of the guys touching themselves -- rubbing a little.

I swung my other leg through the door and, as I slid out of the car, my skirt slid up -- or should I say, my legs slid out of my skirt. As my feet touched the floor of the garage, I stood up. My skirt was well above mid-thigh at this point, but I acted as if I hadn't noticed yet. I turned to face the car with the door still open, leaned over, and reached in to get my purse. I kept my legs spread a bit, so the skirt did not slide down. As I bent over, my bottom was on display for the guys as the fabric of my skirt was pulled tight. I was certain I heard one of the guys issue a low moan and another quietly said "wow." I was glad they appreciated the little show I was giving. I know I enjoyed myself

As much as I enjoyed the attention, I decided I had to go inside the house. I turned to face the guys and, with my hands on my hips, smoothed my skirt. As I did so, it slid down my hips until the hem reached just above my knees. I saw the disappointment in their faces as I apologized for interrupting their game. I felt their eyes staring at me as I walked away.

Walking into the house I dropped my purse on the kitchen table and picked up the small pile of mail. As I stood there, I removed my jacket and absent-mindedly began to pull my blouse from my skirt and began to unbutton it from the bottom. As I stood there with my blouse almost unbuttoned the back door opened and my son Ricky came in and headed for the sink. He picked up a glass and filled it.

"Hi hon," I said, "how was your day? Who's winning the game?"

"It was good today," he said. "We weren't really keeping score....just spending time."

"That's good then," I said, smiling, " I was afraid I'd interrupt the game at an important part."

"Don't worry, mom," he said, blushing, "the guys don't ever mind when you interrupt us when you come home."

"They don't?," I asked, "why is that?" I thought I knew the answer, though.

"Well," he said, blushing again, "they guys all think you are hot."

"That's nice," I said with a smile, "but what difference does it make?"

"Well," he said, "they love watching you get out of the car when you get home."

"They do?," I asked, hoping I sounded surprised. "Why is that?"

He blushed, then blurted out, "They like to look at your legs . . . when you get out of your car they can always see your legs."

"They do," I asked, again hoping I sounded surprised, "why is that?"

"Mom," he said, really blushing now, "they all think your legs are hot....especially when you are wearing nylons."

"And what about you?," I asked, "Do you think my legs are hot?"

"Mo--om." he said, "Why do you ask that?"

"I'm just curious," I said, "I like to know what mt little boy is thinking." I smiled at him. He was blushing bright red.

"Come here, Sweetie," I said holding my arms apart to give him a hug. As I did so, my blouse opened a bit, held together by one button. We embraced.

" I was just picking on you," I said, "I didn't want to embarrass you. You know how I like to tease you." I smiled at my mixed message.

"It's okay," he said, returning my embrace. As he hugged me, I felt his hand lightly rubbing my back. It felt good, and brought back a memory

"Well," I said, "you don't have to answer. I know you did when you were little. Or at least my hosiery." I laughed.

"What do you mean?," he asked.

"When I got home from work you'd always stand next to me and your little hand always found its way to my leg. I think you thought it was like the ribbon on your 'blankey.'" I smiled at the memory.

"Wow," he said, "I don't remember that. I wish I did." He smiled, and blushed again.

I hugged him again, pulling him closer. As I did so, I felt his hardness against me. It felt very nice, but I thought it might not be a good idea to let things continue that way. It felt good, though.

I decided I'd better get that thought out of my mind. I moved away and went to the refrigerator and took out a cold drink. I walked to the counter island and pulled out a stool to sit on. Putting my right heel on the bottom rung, I lifted myself onto the stool. I sat there with my right foot on the bottom rung and my left leg stretched out with my foot lightly touching the floor. Sitting that way, I realized my skirt slid up my legs a bit, almost to mid-thigh on my right leg.. As I sat, I moved my head around trying to loosen my shoulder muscles.

Seeing me rolling my head around, My son came up behind me and began to rub my shoulders and neck. It felt great.

"I do, Mom," Ricky said.

"You do?," I asked, "you do what?" I was not sure what he was talking about.

"I think your legs are hot, Mom," he said. "I think they are incredibly sexy, especially when you are wearing nylons." His voice sounded hoarse. His hands were rubbing my shoulder a bit harder.

"Mmmmm, Ricky," I said, "that feels so good. I should hire you to do that every day." I smiled and almost purred.

"I'd work pretty cheap," he said. "In fact, I may do it just as a favor." He chuckled.

"Oh," I said, "what sort of favor." This sounded interesting -- I wondered where he was going.

"Well, I was getting jealous of myself a few minutes ago," he said, "when you said how I used to touch your legs when I was little. I'm surprised I don't remember. It's hard to believe I'd forget something like that."

I laughed. "Legs are just legs, hon," I said, "everyone has two -- or almost everyone, I guess."

"Yours are different, Mom," he said. "Go ask the guys -- they will all tell you how hot yours are. I can't tell you the things they say about you when you are around and wearing a skirt. They go crazy watching you get out of the car."

"I noticed," I said, laughing.

"Does that make you mad?," he asked.

"No, hon," I said, " I think it's a compliment. As long as they don't go too far and become embarrassing.

"And you?," I asked, "do you watch me get out of the car too?"

"I do," he said, "whenever I can. I don't want to get caught staring."

I laughed. "Don't worry, Ricky," I said, " I don't mind, especially if it's you looking."

"Thanks, Mom," he said, "So, what about this daily shoulder massage -- can we work out a deal?"

"I get a nice neck massage every day, is that right?," I asked. "What do you get?"

"Well, like I said, I was jealous of my younger self -- touching your legs when you got home from work everyday." He hesitated, then said, "I'd like to be able to do that now."

"That sounds like a deal," I said, laughing. "You can touch and I get a neck massage when I need one?"

"Well," he said, " I was thinking more than just one time touching." I turned my head to look at him and he was blushing bright red.

"Okay, for now we'll try just one time," I said. I took his had and placed it on my left leg, just above the knee. His hand did not move.

While I was sitting there, I had lifted my left leg onto the bottom rung of the stool. My skirt had ridden up a bit to about mid-thigh. Ricky's hand did not move for a while, then it slowly began to slide along the top of my thigh until he reached the hem of my skirt. His hand rested there and then slowly moved back toward my knee, where he stopped again.

Ricky then began gently touching my leg with his fingertips just above my knee. His fingertips slowly moved from the top of my thigh to the inside of my thigh just above the knee. He then began a slow advance along the inside of my thigh. I had been watching his hand while he touched me and looked up to his face. His eyes were closed and he had a quizzical look on his face -- I could see that he was chewing on his lower lip.

Ricky's fingertips began tracing circles on the inside of my thigh. With each circle, his fingertips moved a little farther up my thigh. His progress was almost imperceptible. I wondered if he was trying to be sneaky. I smiled to myself, but I enjoyed his touches all the same.

As I sat there, my legs were not close together. As Ricky's fingertips moves so slowly higher and higher on my thigh, I felt my legs parting slightly. It was almost an unconscious act on my part. I enjoyed his feather-light touch.

As Ricky's fingertips moved slowly but steadily up my thigh, I began getting excited. I knew I should not, but his light touch was addicting. My own eyes were closed as I enjoyed his touch. I moaned quietly as I felt his fingers advance.

Time passed slowly as I felt his fingertips moving higher and higher along my thigh. His fingers moved slowly as well. After many minutes, I felt his hand touch against the hem of my skirt. I knew I had to do something.

"Whoa, cowboy," I said, feeling like I had been in a trance. Ricky's fingertips had just barely gone under my skirt. I reached down and put my hand on his...stopping his advance.

"Sorry, Mom," he said, opening his eyes. "I didn't mean to get carried away."

Don't worry, Ricky," I said. "You don't hear me complaining, do you?" My hand was still covering his, but I was not moving his hand back toward my knee. "That shoulder massage was not that great," I said, laughing. He did not move his hand, though.

He did not laugh, either. I looked at him -- he had a strange look on his face, as if he wanted to say something but he was afraid.

"What's the matter, hon," I asked. "Are you okay?"

"I have something to tell you, Mom," he said, looking as if he was going to cry.

"Baby," I said, "what's the matter?" My hand was still covering his, although he had not tried to move it.

"I know it was you I was watching on cam, Mom," he said.

I had heard of people saying their blood ran cold, but until that moment I did not know what that phrase meant. I was in shock, I think, afraid I would faint.

"What?," was all I could say.

"The guys have been watching this amazingly sexy woman online for a while," he said. "They told me about her, so I started watching. It wasn't long before I recognized your room in the background."

"Oh my God, Ricky, I am so embarrassed," I said. I couldn't think of anything else to say. "Do your friends know it's me?"

"Don't worry, Mom," he said, "They would never recognize your room and you've done a good job of keeping your face out of the picture."

"I guess that's something to be thankful for," I said. "I'm really am embarrassed, though, and ashamed."

"Please don't be," he said. "I know everyone thinks this woman on cam is the hottest woman they've ever seen. I agree," he said, smiling now.

"But Ricky," I said, "what am I going to do?"

"Why do you have to do anything?," he asked, "nothing's going to happen. No one knows."

"I know, Ricky," I said, "and you know. That's more than enough."

I leaned over and cradled my head in my hands with my elbows on the counter. As I did so, I released Ricky's hand that I had been holding against my leg. His hand began moving again, his fingertips lightly touching my thigh. His fingertips reached the hem of my skirt again, but this time I did not stop him. I was enjoying the sensation of his touch and I was curious to see how far he would go.

"Wow," he said, sliding his fingers slightly under my skirt. "I wish I had remembered doing this when I was just a kid. This feels wonderful."

"I'm glad you are enjoying yourself," I said. Looking down, I noticed his erection in his basketball shorts. He did not seem to notice me seeing him in hat condition. His shorts were rather thin, so his condition was noticeable.

It seemed he was lost in thought -- and I had little doubt of what he was thinking. His eyes were closed and his hand was gently caressing my leg. As his hand slid a little farther under my skirt, more of my thigh became visible. As he continued caressing, he leaned into me and leaned his body against my thigh. I could feel his erection through his shorts. Slowly he began rubbing himself against my thigh. The combination of my sheer hosiery and the polyester material of his basketball shorts let him rub himself with little effort. "Ricky," I said, " now what are you doing?"

My voice must have wakened him from his trance. All of a sudden he stopped and blushed. Then he just said "Mom" and he tightened his grip on my thigh and pressed himself against me. Apparently, the combination of his thoughts and the physical sensations of caressing my thigh and rubbing against me was too much for his youthful body to take. I felt him spasm against me.

"Oh Mom," he said, "Oh mom!" He leaned into me and put his head on my shoulder. He was gasping as he pushed himself harder against my thigh.

I looked down and saw a growing wet spot on the front of his shorts. As I watched, the wet spot began to leak though his shorts. I could see the thick hot liquid seep thought his shorts and begin to drip down towards my thigh. I know I should have wiped him with a napkin, but I just watched as it made a trail down the front of his shorts.

Ricky's head was still buried in my shoulder. He was gasping -- btu I could not tell if it was from the strength of his orgasm or if he was crying. As I watched, his juices reached the bottom of his shorts and dripped onto my thigh. I slid my skirt up a little so it would not get on my skirt. Before I knew it, there was a nice teaspoon sized puddle on my thigh. Ricky had stopped spasming.

"Oh, Mom," he said, "I am so sorry."

"Don't worry, Hon," I said, "it's okay. I think you were just overcome with the feelings we had." I neglected to tell him that I had been a bit overcome myself. "Why don't you go clean up," I said, "we can talk more later after things have calmed down." I smiled at him.

"Okay, Mom," he said. "That was amazing, though." His eyes appeared to be red, so I guess he had been crying.

He took a napkin to cover himself and left the kitchen. Luckily, he did not notice what he had left on my thigh. I scooped it up with my finger and put it on my tongue.