Mother's Dreams

This is the story of a Mother who suddenly found she wanted something different from her life.

*

First of all there is the question of what Mother did in her past... Did she start at University, experimenting, finding that she liked being in control of both men and women? Did she enjoy the sensation of lowering her pussy onto a willing servants mouth and having him or her lick her to ecstasy? Also there's the question of how Mother got her fetish from, the one for stockings and heels? Did she fall under the influence of a strict female professor, one that dressed very severely, who made Mother bend over her desk and receive her cane over the back of her short skirt?

Then after she has her Son, finding herself alone raising the teenage boy the best she can, under pressure from work and disappointed by a series of forgettable dates... She starts to have flashes in her mind, back to the days she thought she'd left behind... Then one day it happens. He's 19, attending University. She goes to a drama performance being given by her Son and his fellow students. It is some interpretive theatre, but at one point, her Son, stripped with his shirt off is held down against a post and made to watch a dance unfold in front of him. All of a sudden she forgets the 'story' and where she is... Him being held there, restrained, suddenly makes her tingle like she hasn't in a long time. That night, she returns home and frigs herself off hard and fast, needing the cum as quickly as she can get it. That image burned into her brain.

The next day she goes out to the shops at lunch. She walks into M&S, smiling at how the letters reversed make her think of something quite different and buys three pairs of stockings, two black, one tan, symbols of the way she now feels. On the way back she passes a shoe shop and spies a pair of patent black leather shoes with a three inch heel. She hasn't worn anything that high for years. The Mother can't stop herself and walks in to try them on. She relishes how tall they make her, how good her legs and ass look. She retrieves her credit card and buys them, these are important now, her weapons, her badges of her status.

That evening before her Son returns from college she finds a shorter skirt to show off her legs. She rolls on the stockings, the touch of the nylon making her wet. Admiring herself in the mirror in her new heels, confident, empowered and soooo turned on. When her Son arrives home it has the desired effect. His mouth is open as he looks at his Mother in a new light. Mother appreciates this, even flirting with him a little, but surprises herself with the feeling she gets when she instructs him to tidy his room. A later conversation drifts by her as he talks about his coursework, in her head the Mother is working out the best place to tie him up, overpower him, have her worship him and it scares her when she realises, but... she knows that tonight, the orgasm she'll have will be incredible...

And that night Mother cums as hard as she has all her life... in her thoughts she is sat in her armchair in the living room, her legs spread wide over each leg. Her Son is naked save for his black collar, the lead for which is entwined in her fingers. Her tan stockinged legs rub against his cheeks as he comes up for air, kissing the insides of her thighs. But then she is needy, she wants to cum badly and her Son feels his Mother's fingers push against the back of his head and his lips and tongue crush back against her hungry pussy. Mother lets the cum build within her, her finger being her Son's tongue, flicking and twisting her clit, the pressure rises and soon she can't contain herself... Mother cums against her Son's face, moaning with pleasure as the feeling takes her over and over and over...

Mother feels great the next morning. She gets to work earlier, finishes quicker, more efficient, more decisive, she feels more in control, a little giddy at times, but excited. Mother returns home and scouts her surroundings. As she click-clacks in her heels through the house she makes certain assessments. Her Son couldn't be tied up in the armchairs of the living room, but could be restrained on the kitchen chairs, his hands and legs bound by stockings or cuffs. Mother steadies herself on the kitchen table as she stares, hand drifting to her pussy. Her Son, bound, naked, his young smooth muscular chest rising up and down in anticipation. Mother stands in the kitchen licking a wooden spoon covered in honey, letting it drip on to her fingers. She dresses in a tight white blouse and leather skirt, black stockings and heels, black leather gloves. A fetish version of Nigella Lawson, a domestic goddess.

Mother pastes the honey on her Son's chest and then leans in to lick it off, her tongue sliding slowly over his chest, he gasps, breathing shallow. Mother then lets her wooden spoon drip the honey onto the tip of his erect cock. It slips down the sides of his penis as the cold viscous liquid makes him shudder. Mother licks her red lips. Should she give him what he wants? The choice is hers to make. But, oh, look at the size of him... Mother drops to her knees and lets her mouth engulf his penis, sucking on the sweet stalk enjoying his cries, knowing how long she can keep him on the edge...

And then suddenly he's home and the spell is broken... But today Son wants to stay nearer to his Mother, he's sneaking glances at her legs again and Mother begins to make a cup of tea... but then, she's in the bathroom, hands on her pussy, rubbing with such urgency and back in the kitchen, the domme Mother rides her Son to another earth shattering orgasm...

The following day Mother chooses a pencil skirt she hasn't worn for years, her stockings have seams, something she hasn't done since her student days. Underneath she wears a white body shaper, the closest thing to a corset she owns... at present. Mother wants to feel constricted, smart and in control. Her hair is tied back into a bun... it feels exhilarating to have everything neat, tidy and yet all restrained, a ticking clock, a time bomb.

At work, Mother tries to up her efficiency, but her fantasies interfere. She calls in an executive on her team to take notes. He arrives polite and a little nervous at her appearance. Mother feels the rush surge through her again and swishhhh go her stockings as she crosses her legs. She notices him blush and decides that she likes this game. Mother makes the point of crossing her legs four or five times in the during the brief meeting, occasionally mapping her Son's face on to the young man in the suit.

After he leaves she feels the need to do something, anything and quickly finishes up the rest of her tasks for the day, her bosom heaving with need and expectation, restrained by the body shaper. On arriving home she goes straight to the computer and looks up corset suppliers, Mother loves the feeling constrained, the potential energy waiting to be unleashed, she is a present to be unwrapped, a tiger in a beautiful cage. Finding one that suits her needs she plumps for red leather, the attention-grabbing beauty of the piece is exquisite, just right for getting the looks she craves.

Next she needs boots, devilish, tall and commanding. She stumbles on theatrical costuming sites and then a plan forms in her mind... Could she actually do what she's thinking? Reaching for spare paper, Mother prints off a page of boots from a supplier, leather, PVC, black, white, red. Standing up, she nervously holds the print out and leaves her study.

Her Son is doing his college work on the kitchen table. Swishhh Mother sits down next to him. Her explanation is light-hearted, a Christmas party, a pantomime theme, she's thinking about boots, above the knee, thigh-high boots, but which ones should she get? Her Son looks at her quizzically and then smiles as he considers the print out. Mother watches him carefully, breathing deeply, so tight and constrained, but oh so alive. He settles on a pair of black, thigh-high boots, shiny leather, three inch heel. They both joke nervously and Mother thanks him. Rushing back to the computer she orders them immediately knowing that once they've been ordered she will have to model them for him.

It is done... Mother locks the door and eases the pencil skirt down, stepping out of it she quickly unbuttons her blouse and lets it drop to the floor. her hands snake down to her sex and Mother imagines herself in the corset and the boots parading around her Son's bedroom, he is naked stood before her. Mother stalks around her Son before falling back on to his bed. She pokes at a dirty pair of boxer shorts with her riding crop, tossing them on to the floor. Her Son scurries over and drops them into his hamper. Mother mock scowls at him and clicks her fingers ordering him to her side. As she lies back on her Son's bed, the bedroom reeking with hormones, sweat, relishing the feeling of teenage sap. He laps at her boots, his tongue shining the black leather, attentive. Mother looks down and spies his erection, his cock hard, fully engorged.

As Mother strokes her open pussy in the sanctity of her study, her Son licks her pussy in his bedroom. The tongue snakes around her labia, just she like she trained him. It flicks over her clit, back and forth, sending shocks of pleasure through his Mistress Mother's body. Mother writhes on the bed gasping with the pleasure of her Son's incestuous lapping. She encourages him, telling him things she never dared tell him... a little higher... a little faster, not to stop... he mustn't stop, Mother spurs him on, makes him work her tongue faster, leans forward to grab his head and bring him closer and closer and closer and OHHH...

Downstairs her Son looks up as hears the noise, the first time he's heard his Mother cum... and his erection grows more and more urgent...

To be continued...