Dutiful Son

Inspired by Andy

* * * * *

It came as a big shock to both Mum and I when Dad died suddenly of cancer two years ago. He was only thirty eight years old, and had never had a day sick in his life. He and Mum had been childhood sweethearts and it devastated her so much that she grieved for over eighteen months. During that time, as Dad had made me swear on his deathbed, I became the man of the house. I saw to it that food was put on the table, that our clothes were clean, that the house was always tidy, and that Mum didn't drink too much. Fortunately, Dad had left us financially secure, and so I didn't have to leave school to get a job. But, nevertheless, cramming for exams and running the house was no easy task.

But then, about six months ago, something changed; I got myself a girlfriend. Laurie was a bright, pretty girl with long blond hair and an awesome body. I creamed every time I saw her, and longed for the day when she would finally let me get to her cherry and put an end to the state of virginity for both of us. But Laurie was a bit of a prick teaser too. Even though we had been seeing each other three or four evenings a week, after the first two months I still hadn't had much more than a fleeting touch of her tits. With her coy smile and flimsy, sexy clothes, she always promised more than she gave. As you can imagine, this made me just a little angry and frustrated at times, resulting in a lot of hand work when I got home and safely under the sheets.

Laurie and I had been dating for about three months when I first detected a change in Mum as well. At first, she hardly seemed to notice my absence during those evenings that I was out with Laurie, and could barely raise a greeting when I came home. But suddenly, Mum's mood changed. Before I'd go to meet Laurie, she would make some very sarcastic remarks about my choice of girlfriend and complained that the promise that I'd made to Dad about being the dutiful son was looking to be broken. After a while, I got sick of Mum's nastiness and suggested that her grieving over Dad should come to an end. It was about time she started to look to the future and not the past. The first time I said this, Mum came up close to me, with an angry look in her eyes, and slapped me hard across my face with the palm of her right hand. The blow stung my cheek and I felt my blood boil, but I reminded myself that this was my own Mother and I managed to stop myself from striking her back.

Something I'd said that day must have registered in Mum's mind though, because from the next day onwards, she began to come out of her gloomy shell. It began in small ways. She got a sense of pride back in the appearance of the house, and I found that I was having to do fewer chores. I then became used to having dinner ready for me when I came home from school. This, of course, gave me more free time in which to meet up with Laurie. Mum would look at me as I was about to leave for the evening 'with that girl again', and suggest that I should stay home with her more than I did. Eventually, I laid it on the table for Mum, and explained that I had reached that age where a steady girlfriend is an important thing in a guy's life, and that her son was growing up.

From that point on, about three months ago, Mum's changing ways became more and more pronounced. I came home from school one afternoon and had to look twice at her to see what was different. Of course, that was it, Mum was wearing make-up and had obviously been to the hairdressers and was now sporting a short, black bob. She was only thirty nine years old, but the way she had been looking since Dad had died you would have thought she was in her mid fifties. But now, with this chic new look, she appeared even younger than she was. I gave her a wolf whistle and told her how terrific she looked. Mum blushed and smiled and I could tell she was pleased at my reaction. It was only when I told her not to cook any dinner for me because I was going out with Laurie that her face, once again, turned to thunder.

'Her again!', Mum exclaimed. 'You're always out with that girl. I suppose it's because she's pretty and cute and sexy, isn't she?', Mum shouted at me furiously.

I became angry and said that Laurie was all of those things and definitely better company than she was being at the moment. Mum's anger just grew and grew. She shouted that 'that girl' was probably also prettier than she was, more intelligent, more fun. In my own frustration at another row developing, I shouted back at Mum that she was right in everything she had just said. To my complete surprise, Mum went very quiet and then looked at me with an expression I had never seen before and said:

'Does she also have nicer legs than me, honey?'.

'I don't know', I replied, with genuine anger, 'I've never seen your legs completely'.

Mum began to smile. It was a wicked, naughty smile that was beginning to make me a little excited.

'Would you like to see all of my legs then, just for comparison reasons?', Mum asked me. I was now very intrigued and also having feelings that felt wrong and strange, but nevertheless, I asked Mum what she meant.

'Well, I thought that if you were to stay home with me tonight, instead of going out with that girl, I could put on a short skirt and wear it around the house so that you could get a good look at my legs, and then decide if they are better than hers'.

I was starting to get hot under the collar at the thought of what Mum had just offered me. It was wrong, I know, but she was a very attractive woman, and I was a hot blooded male, even though I was her son. So, with a wavering voice, I heard myself say:

'How short would the skirt be?'

With a question like that, Mum knew that she had me around her little finger.

'Why don't you come upstairs to my wardrobe, pick out a skirt that you would like to see me wearing, and I'll hem it up as short as I possibly can', Mum offered.

I thought about it for about a minute or so, but we both knew what the answer would be. I mean, given the chance, who would turn down an opportunity to see a beautiful woman walking around in a micro skirt, even if it was your own mother. I looked at Mum and nodded, but I told her it would be for just this one occasion though. Mum smiled triumphantly, and told me that I must first of all get on the phone to cancel my date with Laurie. We only have one phone in the house, in the hall at the bottom of the stairs, and Mum stood close by whilst I offered my excuses to a disappointed girlfriend.

'Good. That wasn't too hard, was it honey?', Mum said rhetorically. Then she took hold of my hand and led me up the stairs and into her bedroom. Mum flung the doors to her wardrobe wide open and invited me to pick the skirt that I'd like her to wear. Although she hadn't bought any new clothes since Dad had died, there were still about a dozen or more skirts for me to choose from. In the end, I thought to myself, do I want to see Mum in a short tight skirt or a short flirty skirt. I love the way tight skirts crease around the hips from the repeated action of bending or sitting. And of course, tight skirts do have a tendency to ride up even higher when the wearer is seated. But a flirty skirt will move as the woman walks, and offers greater opportunities for upskirt views of panties and stocking tops. In the end I decided upon the latter. I picked out a free flowing white skirt with a black pattern that made it look like cowhide. It was a long skirt, well past the knees, but Mum had said she was willing to hem up any skirt as short as possible. So I picked it up off the rail and handed it to her.

Mum smiled at me and threw the skirt onto the bed. Then she asked me what type of shoes I'd like her to wear. Did I want to see her in flat loafers, knee length boots, bare feet, sling backs, high heel sandals or stilettos. When I told her that they had to be high, Mum gave me a wink and said that they were Dad's favourite too. So, from her shoe rack, I pointed out a pair of white pumps that must have had about a five inch heel, and also fastened with a wide strap around the ankle. Mum took them out of the rack and said that I'd made a very good choice. Then she looked at me seriously and said:

'Now, honey, I know that you'd probably like to see me wearing stockings with this outfit, wouldn't you?'

I nodded agreement, silently.

'Well', Mum continued, 'I'm afraid I haven't bought any nylons for a long time, and the ones I have left all have runs in them. Would you be terribly upset if I were to leave my legs bare, but with a thin coating of baby oil all over them to make them shine?'

'That's fine by me, Mum', I replied with a lump in my throat. By now, with this matter-of-fact way of speaking that Mum had adopted, I had become very aroused.

'That's a good boy. I promise I'll wear some stockings for you in the future.' Mum said apologetically.

Then, pushing me out of her room, she told me to wait downstairs while she got ready.

I went back into the living room to wait for Mum's return. It gave me time to think about what was happening. This was crazy, I thought. I had kidded myself into believing that this was some sort of comparison test that Mum had devised so that I could judge her against Laurie. Yet here I was, waiting for my own mother to come into the room, with the deliberate intention of turning me on by flaunting herself in a short skirt and high heels, that I, myself, had picked out. The truth of it was that Mum was trying to seduce me, and judging from the hardening inside my pants, I was enjoying it.

The smart thing to do I thought, as the sound of Mum's sewing machine drifted down from her room, would be to get out of there now before things got out of control. But, I'd been going out with Laurie for a few months now and she hadn't even given me a hand job yet. I was more frustrated each time I left her. What if something were to come of Mum and me? Surely it would be natural. A frustrated teenager and a sex starved middle aged woman living together in the same house had to develop into something. And, let's face it, neither Mum nor I would be about to tell anyone else.

In fact, we would be doing each other a favour. Mum's experience could teach me the things that I would only get from sleeping around with many other girls, and all the risks that are attached. Whilst I could give Mum a good boner whenever she was hungry for it, without her having to trawl bars and clubs looking for decent men.

What was I thinking? I must be nuts. Fantasy Island is where thoughts like those belong. Keep them inside your head, I told myself. But my hard resolve began to melt again as I heard Mum's bedroom door open upstairs followed by her footsteps approaching the living room. I thought it was better to stay seated, as by now my prick was almost at full size and making a huge lump in my jeans. Play it cool, I thought to myself. Just wait till Mum says something and then play it with all the nonchalance that I can muster.

I was pretending to read a paper, but kept one furtive eye on the door. Suddenly, it slowly started to open. I tried to keep on reading as planned, but then I saw Mum's left foot appear, encased inside that white high heeled shoe, and the paper just fell away from my hands. The height of the heel had made the shape of her arch almost vertical, and as her calf came into view I could see how taut Mum's muscles were.

All at once she was standing there in front of me, posing with her weight on one leg and left foot turned slightly outwards.

Slowly, I ran my eyes from her feet upwards. I had never expected Mum's legs to be so good; I mean she was nearly forty years old. They were slim, but not bony, and glistened with the baby oil that she had applied, and I so badly wanted to touch them. In her heels, Mum stood about five nine, so her thighs, as you can imagine, were nice and long. I hardly recognised the skirt that I had picked out earlier. Mum had shortened it to a belt! What there was of it flared out from her waist and hung in light folds around the very tops of her thighs. If Mum had been wearing stockings, then the flesh at the top would certainly have been visible.

My eyes must have been popping out of my head when Mum asked me what I thought of her pins.

'Mum, you've got the best legs I've ever seen in my life', I said honestly.

'Even nicer that Laurie's?' she teased.

'Better than anyone's, even the models and movie stars.' I replied.

'Thank you, honey', Mum began with that matter-of-fact tone in her voice again.

'I'll wear this skirt around the house all night, so don't be afraid or embarrassed to look at my legs whenever you want to. Now I'll just go and make us some dinner.'

My eyes followed Mum's legs on her walk into the kitchen. The ruffles in her skirt were so light that they moved easily and freely as her hips swayed to and fro, every now and then exposing Mum's white knickers as the hem lifted up. The light caught the sheen on her skin and I wondered what it would have been like to rub the oil on for her.

I followed Mum out into the kitchen and brazenly asked if I could watch her while she prepared dinner. Mum smiled that same wicked smile that I had seen for the first time a little earlier and told me to be her guest. Whilst cooking, she made every effort to give me a good show. At one point she stood on a stool and balanced on one leg to reach into a high cupboard for an ingredient that wasn't there. Then she thought that it might be in a bottom drawer and, in an effort to find it, bent over from the waist giving me the clearest possible upskirt shot of her slim, white panties. Then, standing at the sink to prepare some vegetables, Mum alternated between rubbing her thighs together and kicking a leg behind her to balance on one of those gorgeous white high heels.

Mum knew exactly what she was doing to me, and as I had paid the price for this show by cancelling my date with Laurie, I figured that I was owed a lasting momento. So, without any shame, I asked Mum if I could get my digital camera and take some photos of her legs.

'Well, I know that you're almost a man now,' Mum began, 'and I know why you want pictures of me in this short skirt. So, providing it remains our little secret, you go ahead and flash away.'

For the rest of that evening, I must have downloaded about sixty shots of Mum's legs onto my hard drive. She was very obliging in her poses, and was more than willing to cross her legs at my instruction, or bend over, act coy or sexy or anything else that would make me happy.

By ten o'clock I could stand no more and realised that I had to go upstairs for some relief. As I said goodnight to Mum, she looked down at the bulge in my pants and, with that wicked smile on her face again, told me not to stay up all night on my computer. I went very red in the face and quickly went to my room. By the time I went to sleep that night, I had pulled myself off about three times looking at various pictures of Mum's beautiful long legs.

Next day I was out before Mum got up. When I arrived home after school, Mum shouted down from the top of the stairs that dinner would be ready shortly and for me to wait for her in the kitchen. I shouted up that I didn't want too much as I had a date with Laurie in about an hour.

I took a seat at the breakfast bar and helped myself to some milk and cookies. I heard Mum enter the kitchen behind me and turned around to say hello. Man, I almost choked when I saw her. Mum was wearing a tight white T-shirt, a pair of red hotpants and some black patent, high heel pumps. My jaw dropped open as my eyes followed her walking to the refrigerator. From behind I could see that her hotpants were very, very hot. They were cut so tight, that her butt cheeks were hardly contained by the material. And of course, combined with her stilettos, the shortness of them only made her legs look longer.

Mum took a bottle of beer out of the fridge and climbed onto the high stool on my right. I stared without shame, as she slowly crossed her right leg over her left in such a way that her right shoe now dangled in between my own legs and gently rubbed against them. Mum slammed the bottle down on the bar to focus my attention on it and away from her legs. Slowly, her right thumb and forefinger gripped the base of the bottle. I sat mesmerised as her long, red fingernails moved up the shaft to the neck. Then, Mum began to gently move her hand up and down the slim beer bottle, stroking it, caressing it tenderly. I watched as she played her thumb around the opening, every so often allowing a fingernail to gently slip inside. Mum's hand was wet now from the condensation on the outside of the bottle, and I grew even harder as she brought her hand up to her lips and stuck out her tongue to sensuously lick her fingers dry. Then Mum covered the top of the bottle with her thumb and gave it a couple of shakes. As she let the air out, a gush of beer came with it. Mum quickly brought the bottle up to her mouth and took a drink. Her eyes never left mine as some of the froth escaped her lips and ran down her chin and onto her T-shirt. She looked down as the beer stained the material and gave me that smile again. Then, Mum brought a long, slender finger up to her face and teased the drops of beer from around her chin and into her mouth.

I was breathing very hard now and Mum could tell. I almost came when she put her hand on my knee and huskily said:

'Is there anything at all I can do to make you stay in tonight, honey?'

I told mum that I had cancelled last night's date with Laurie and that she wouldn't be too pleased if I did the same tonight.

Mum asked me if I liked the hotpants she was almost wearing. I said that I liked looking at her very much. She said that she had found the them at the back of a drawer that afternoon and that she thought I might like to take some photos of her wearing them to go with the ones of her in the micro skirt. Then she took her hand from my leg and started to fondle the beer bottle again. When she knew my attention was on her actions, she coyly said:

'Then, at the end of the night, honey, I thought it might be nice if I kind of helped you to relax, if you know what I mean. It would be my way of thanking you for being the man of the house since your Dad died'.

Mum's hand had made it very clear what she meant by the phrase 'helping me to relax'. I must admit that I was very excited at the prospect of a woman's hand around my cock for the first time. I mean, it wasn't as though there was much chance of Laurie giving me a wank; she hadn't shown much interest so far. But the thought of taking that first step with Mum made me feel a little uneasy and I told her so. Mum simply said that if that was the case, I could just close my eyes and pretend it was Laurie. She could see that my resistance was wavering and to help me decide, Mum began to stroke the inside of my right calf with her dangling high heel. I let my gaze fall once again to Mum's long limbs. They were glistening again with a layer of baby oil. I longed to put my hand in the gap that was between where her right leg crossed her left and run it all the way up to the crotch of her ultra tight hotpants. But instead, I contented myself with gripping her calf to stop her rubbing me. Her skin was slippery and soft and smooth, and Mum gave a slight gasp at my sudden touch. I let my hand linger on her leg for a few delicious seconds, before pushing her to one side to allow me to stand up.

As I walked to the hall, I felt Mum's gaze upon me. She was still unsure as to what I would do. When I got to the front door I turned around and looked at her, still perched cross legged on the high breakfast stool. I put my hand on the front door handle, ready to open it. Mum got off the stool and started to walk towards me, slowly and sexily, placing one patent high heel in front of the other. I looked down at the bulge in my groin. It was already throbbing so bad that it almost hurt. I knew there was only one thing I could do. I let go of the door and took the two paces to the telephone. I dialled Laurie's number and she picked up.