Summary:
A photoshoot helps son fuck his mom.
Note 1:
This is a Nude Day Contest story so please vote.
Note 2: Please note there are two versions of this story being released today. One from the point of view of the son (this story) and another from the point of view of the mom. While it likely doesn't matter which order you read them... the mom one does give a little more of a set-up to get into the mother's mindset.
Note 3:
Thanks to
Sams_Island
for editing and enhancing this twisted tale.
Forever Incest: A Son's Story
Mom sighed, as she sat across from me during the supper meal she had prepared.
"What's wrong?" I asked. Sighs like this had become unconscious signals that sadness was wearing Mom down and I always tried to bring the issue to light to keep it from quietly undermining her recovery from the depression that had gripped her when my asshole of a father had cheated on and then left her - left us.
"Your aunt thinks I should start dating again," Mom said.
I looked into her blue eyes; eyes that still looked so vulnerable nearly two years later... Dad's departure had really broken her. I responded strongly to her comment with, "Damn right you should."
"You think so?" she asked, seemingly surprised by my reaction.
"Mom, you can't let that bastard continue to ruin your life," I insisted, "he's had an invisible hand making you miserable for far too long."
She sighed again. Then she looked at me with a strange sense of awkwardness, it was obvious she wanted to ask me something else... but then I got a text. Which I ignored. Although I was eighteen and living in the era of instant gratification through a phone, I respected my mother's rule of not answering a phone at the table, plus I was way more interested in this conversation than whatever likely redundant text, or update was waiting on my phone.
"Mom, you can tell me anything," I said, moving my hand across the table and placing it on hers. Since he'd left, it had just been the two of us. I knew of his selfishness, his casual philandering and I saw how it broke her, how it changed her from a confident professional to a woman who constantly doubted herself. Yet, of late I had been seeing small actions that hinted at her finally beginning to move on.
"Gloria said you would be supportive," Mom said.
Gloria was my aunt, my mom's older sister by two years. "Well, Gloria is right, I would do literally anything for you mom. You mean the complete world to me."
"That is so sweet, honey," she said. "You are a good son."
"I'm a great son," I said playfully, trying to change the mood a little.
"Yes, you are a great son," she agreed, "in fact you should get a trophy that says so."
"Yes, I really should," I agreed. "Now, there is obviously something you want to ask me." Of course, what Mom didn't know was that I was dealing with my own internal demons, though of a quite different nature than hers. And my demons were sincerely hoping that what Mom wanted from me was to take her to bed and make love to her. Well, of course they did, my mother was gorgeous and had become my ultimate stroke fantasy. Part of that revolved around another personal issue I'd just started coming to terms with. I was a fetishist. My fetish also related to my mom, although I certainly didn't blame her for it. Mom had a high-profile position on a U.S. Senator's staff and as such, dressed professionally but fashionably every day for work. In fact, she was still in her work clothes now. Such fashion included dresses or skirts with nylons or stockings, and very often, open-toed shoes that displayed foot-model quality toes wrapped in such hosiery... no real surprise what my fetishes were.
My silk-stockings-loving demons must have broadcast my perverse desires to my mother, because she suddenly turned her chair to the side to get clear of the table and stretched out her whole body as if she needed to shake off stiffness before being able to answer my question. Her long, lovely legs came out past my side of the table, and I had a perfect view of her shoeless, pretty, size-six feet, pink-painted toenails encased in shiny, mocha-coloured nylons. It instantly made my cock harden and I slyly adjusted myself under the table where she couldn't see her impact on me.
"Well, your aunt seems to think I should get on a dating website," mom said.
"She's probably right," I nodded, thinking she would get her fair share of responses for sure.
"Would you take a few photos of me to put on?" she asked.
"Of course," I said. Although I would be going to college next fall as a Political Science major, I currently had my own photography business on the side. In fact, I had a wedding to do this upcoming weekend. I chuckled inside on thinking about the beautiful Nikon I used for my work. A Christmas gift from my scumbag father that I'd almost rejected until Aunt Gloria had whispered to me that he'd only gotten it for me at my mom's suggestion.
"Thanks," she said, "I know you have a great eye for photos."
"Thanks," I said, excited for the opportunity to snap photos of my hot mom. "Why don't we do it right away."
"Okay, I'll go change," she said.
"Actually," I said, "why don't I take a few of you in this outfit and then take some in two or three other outfits?"
"Really?" she asked.
"Yeah, we can show different sides of you," I suggested, although truth be told I wanted to make sure I got some of her in these nylons. I'm not a complete creep, but I do have on my laptop a couple of hundred photographs of my mom's feet in different outfits, colours of nylons, colours of painted toes. I have close-ups of her toes, her soles, her calves, her heels, her legs. Okay, okay, it is creepy, and part of the reason I started doing photography, but I had never seen her with pink painted toenails until today and I wanted a few snapshots for my growing collection.
"Um, okay," she said.
"We will do a whole photoshoot," I said. Then, half-joking, half-hoping that perhaps we could take a couple slightly provocative photos, "Some may need some alcohol."
"I already had one," she said lifting up her glass with a sly smile, as she finished her Coke which obviously wasn't just Coke.
"Well, in fancy photoshoots it's usually wine or champaign, but they both taste like shit anyways," I said, finding both of those gross in taste, but they did look extravagant in photos... a whiskey and coke less so.
"I'll stick to my JD," she smiled, as she got up and walked over to the alcohol cabinet and pulled out the bottle. She poured herself one, added the mix as I admired her long legs, the black skirt just above the knee. "Do you want one?" she asked. As she turned to me, taking a sip of drink two, I wondered if she noticed I was staring at her legs... I often wondered if she knew the obsession I had over her. I mean, women were pretty observant and my lengthy looks, my constant glances were likely almost impossible to not notice I imagined.
"Sure," I agreed. Yes, I was underage in a weird world where I had to be twenty-one to drink alcohol, but only eighteen to go to war for my country or to vote for the leader of the free world, but mom thought that was nonsense too and often allowed me a drink or two when we were home. In truth, she didn't treat me as a child too often, but usually as an adult, which I legally was after my birthday three months ago.
She poured me one that looked a little stiff from where I was sitting, added the mix and walked it over to me. Then she sat back on the dinner table, extending her legs right alongside me.
"Thanks, Mom," I said, taking the drink while glancing down at her pretty pink toes in the sexy, sheer hosiery. I took a sip and my eyes went wide. "What are you trying to do, get me drunk?"
"If we are doing a photoshoot, I am definitely getting drunk," she said, downing half her second short glass. "You know I don't love having my picture taken."
I smiled; if she only knew how many pictures of her I had taken without her knowledge, usually with my phone, after turning it on mute so no sound was made. But I responded, "You are a beautiful woman, and should not be at all uncomfortable with photos being taken of you."
"You're sweet," she said.
"You do know what my friends call you, right?" I asked, sensing she was ready for a stronger compliment to aid her liquid courage in building her confidence.
"I don't think I want to know," she said, taking another sip as I followed suit and had my second strong sip.
"A MILF," I said.
"Is that even a word?" she asked.
"I'm not sure it's in the dictionary, but it's definitely a common word out there," I said.
"I'm scared to ask what it means," she said. Then, still leaning against the table, she crossed her legs in front of me, making me involuntarily glance down to see her one set of toes sitting on top of the other... a perfect double decker toe show. My dick begged for attention. I also wished I could take her photo right now. This was a pose I had never seen before and it was perhaps the epitome of nylon toe poses.
"Wait here," I said, deciding I needed this shot, "and don't move."
"Don't move?" she asked, as I stood up and hurried to my bedroom for my professional camera.
"Not a muscle," I said, disappearing.
I quickly grabbed my camera and hurried back, my mom surprisingly in the exact same position as I had left her in. "What are you doing?" she asked, even as she saw the camera in my hand.
"There is something about this pose that is so natural, sexy and sensual it needs to be photographed," I said.
"Really?" she asked, her cheeks going a little flushed at my words, "This is pretty basic."
"It shows you in your natural state," I said, as I snapped a few pictures before she could even say anything.
"I'm even still in my work clothes," she said.
"Authenticity," was all I said, as I took some close-ups of her face, then pulled back to get her entire body, then, of course, zoomed in for close-ups of the toe tower... that was now its official name... as all ten toes were perfectly in view close together.
"Should I smile or be doing anything?" she asked.
"Don't move your legs but feel free to drink your whiskey."
"Okay," she said, as I continued snapping pictures. She knew that I would take twenty-plus pictures of every pose, as she knew I was a perfectionist and knew this was not going to be a quick request.
After another minute, she warned, as I had taken over fifty photos at least, including over twenty of just her legs and feet, "I can't hold this position much longer."
"One last idea," I said, thinking this would be sexy and likely what I jerked off to tonight, "can you lift your right foot up to your shin?"
"Um, sure," she said, clearly thinking it was a bit of an odd request, but doing it.
