My Mother's Nylons

Author's Note

The slow burn continues.

Fair warning: If you don't have a nylon fetish, you this story may not be for you. But if,

- your nylon fetish calls to you from a place deep, deep inside your brain; or

- the very thought of slipping nylons over your skin, of garters locking nylons to your body; or

- you think of sliding your nylon limbs together for that slippery, sexy feel; or

- you dream about making love to a woman, both of you clad in the sheerest, sexiest French nylon; or

- that oh so luring

SWISH

sound of nylon legs crossing and recrossing wraps around your brain and squeezes out every little morsel of your inner slut;

Then this chapter is for you.

So if you don't regularly Jerk or Jill to nylon, if you're not enslaved by nylon in any of her erotic, sensual, inventive forms, then perhaps you should look elsewhere.

I love comments. They help me decide where to go next. I've even filed revisions based on comments.

~~

Chapter Two

Wednesday

I decided to sit in on another of my mother's - Anna's - lectures.

I had recently gained a new appreciation for my gorgeous mother and her quirky vintage 1940's style.

But it was what she wears under that vintage exterior that rocks my world. I was looking forward to seeing that again, and so much more.

Today she's wearing a slightly higher heel, maybe three inches. She'd modeled them for me this morning.

"See my heels, Danny? I just snagged them on eBay. 1940's vintage red snakeskin 3" pinup swing pumps with a closed toe. Size 7. Aren't they delicious?"

She turned this way and that, and I got to admire her legs clad in (what I now understood to be) fully fashioned nylons with a glossy sheen. Her skirt was still cut below the knee, but from her calf muscles to her slender ankles, her legs still compelled the eye to stare and admire.

A modest size 7 to accept her delicate, sexy feet.

From the back of the lecture hall, I watched her move across the presentation floor with an easy grace, befitting her health and vitality. Today's outfit was a form-fitting silk dress that hugged her hourglass curves, with a "jaunty" flared hem. The dress made her bum stand out a little more than yesterday, and it was very high and round. Her very large breasts were also a little better defined under the clingy fabric, though not overly so. Her hair was shaped in wavy curves, which she described to me as "Victory Rolls,” the classic wartime style fad.

I thrilled in the knowledge, exclusive only to me, that beneath that soft vintage dress, she wore a skin-tight silk corset with French Cervin nylons attached to four garters per leg (which she let me attach this morning, by the way). Little did her horny male students know that even as they admired the shapely swell of her breasts within the confines of the silk dress, the two halves of her corset were held together so tightly that it was ready to burst apart. They had no idea of the magnificent treasures confined so modestly within her slim five-foot nine form.

But I do.

She definitely had upped the sexiness quotient of her wardrobe from yesterday. I wondered if I had anything to do with that.

I spotted the same co-eds that I had followed yesterday. Eager to hear their reactions to today's version of my mother, I followed them to the cafeteria and found a seat at the same long table, a couple of chairs away.

This time there were four of them. They were in animated conversation.

"Did you see Prof Grant today?"

"Fuck yeah. That bee bee's the drippiest hunty ever."

Clearly these girls were enamored with my mother. I knew that "hunty" was slang for honey cunt.

"See her nylons today? She's got me horny as fuck struttin' around like that."

"Whadda the guys think? Hey Jess, get your ass over here a minute."

I recognized one of mom's students who sits at the front of her class. I had noticed he never once took any notes. He just stared at my mother the whole time.

"Hello ladies, how y'all doin'?" Jess stood at the end of the table with the four women looking at him.

"Hey, Jess. We was just talkin' about Professor Grant. Whaddaya think of her?"

"Fuck," Jess said. "I could sure use some of that."

"Think she'd come out with us?" said one of the women. "You know. Let loose a bit?"

"You think she leans left?" said Jess. "Cause that would be a total crime against humanity."

"The hell you say. Get with the times, bro."

"I dunno. She's pretty stuffy. I mean, she got it all, but I dunno if she knows it."

Jess made a show of looking under the table. "You ladies wearing nylons now? In summer?"

The women all looked at each other and laughed. They turned away from Jess and he got the idea.

When they were alone again, one of them spoke up. "I don't know about you guys, but these nylons are sexy as fuck. I mean, idiots like Jess may not get it, but..."

"Tell you what," said another. "When I got my first pair last semester after seeing Granty wearing hers, I couldn't get myself out my bedroom without Jilling myself off."

"I know, right? From the day I got mine, I'm pretty much horny all day long."

"What do you think? Maybe we can ask Professor Grant for some nylon tips? Think she'd help us out?"

"I wanna see what she's got under that vintage stuff. I'm soaking already thinking about it."

"Come on. Let's go find her."

The women packed up their stuff in a flash and rushed out of the cafeteria.

All their talk of my mother's sexy style had given me a monster boner. I imagined my mother in bed with all those horny co-eds. Maybe me in the middle of the pack, all of them oohing and aweing in delight at the erect monster between my legs. Hands all over me, fighting for position, each one determined to ride me on and on and on until they'd all had their way with me.

Fuck. This wasn't helping.

Normally, I'd hit the bathroom and jerk off some relief.

I had a better idea.

***

I rushed home. My plan was to find some of my mother's sexiest nylons. Hopefully I could build some resistance to their power over me, so that I wouldn't cum like a babbling, horny fool within a minute or two of exposure. If I had a repeat performance of yesterday's premature cum, I was afraid my mother would give up on me entirely.

I ventured into my mother's closet to get a feel for her nylons, maybe try on a few as a first step to building some resistance to the erotic feeling of nylon on my skin.

No way I was ever getting to fuck my mother if I couldn't stop myself from cumming uncontrollably whenever she asks me to indulge in her favorite fetish.

It felt strange going into my mother's private area alone. Her scent was pervasive. I could feel her presence everywhere. It made me doubly horny to know that tonight she would lead me in here for my first lesson in being a great lover.

What were her plans for me? I was so excited to find out, I couldn't think straight.

I wondered how much experience she had in teaching about sex. She and Dad have been together since I was born. And I have no suspicion that Mom was unfaithful. She's only ever had one partner. Does she really know that much about loving relationships and how I can be a fantastic lover? After all, her one and only relationship failed.

Right?

I wondered about her sex drive. She said Dad left her because they weren't compatible sexually. That usually means the man isn't getting enough. From what I've read, sexual problems are usually because the man wants to fuck, but his wife is cold, or too tired, or whatever.

If that was the case, what kind of sex teaching was Mom thinking about? Was she going to teach me how to be less demanding for sex? That part she said about responding to a woman's needs: that could mean anything. As in "leave me alone, I want to sleep."

Well, if that's what a woman wants, I guess I'll listen to Anna's ideas. That didn't mean I'd follow them to a "T" though.

In truth, I just wanted to see her naked. And if while teaching me to be a great lover, that meant I'd get to fuck her, well, that I was up for. That was something worth any effort or humiliation she had in mind for me.

Even if it meant wearing her nylons.

Which is fucking sexy though, I could not deny.

The thought of my mother's nylons on my legs was giving me another boner. I looked around for some to try on before she got home, to take the edge off.

She has an amazing set up. A dressing room, where she can do her makeup. An area to try on clothes with a low platform and a three-mirror set up. Beyond that is her closet with her shoes, dresses, and underthings.

I couldn't help but feel I was invading her private space. This is her sanctuary. This is where the sexy, gorgeous woman turns into the nerdy math professor. And back again. But I convinced myself it was all in the name of research.

I thought maybe I'd need some stamina to get through tonight's lesson.

I started at one my mother's dressers. She has an entire six-drawer high boy dresser dedicated to nylons and underthings.

My idea was to start with something everyday, something less sexy and more practical. Then I'd work my way up to the really sexy nylons from France and England and Italy as my resistance grows.

I opened one of the drawers and looked inside. To immerse myself into the really slinkiest luxurious nylons, my reasoning went, I would try on her everyday nylons and try not to cum wearing them. Then I'd move to higher levels of luxury, resisting their power over me with each escalating level of sexiness.

If I could learn to last longer wearing my mother's sexy nylons without cumming, I might have a hope of convincing Anna that having sex with me wasn't a waste of time.

The first drawer was a good guess. It had a score of little dividers, each with a rolled-up pair of pantyhose. I assumed that each drawer would be filled with a different type of nylons.

I pulled open the second drawer. This one was less organized. It was stuffed with panties, bras (I did a quick check and confirmed it - my mother's a total babe with a 34DD bra).

I was about to close the drawer when my eye caught a glimpse of the corner of an envelope, deliberately hidden from prying eyes.

Since I'm the only other person living in this house, that means me.

I told myself I shouldn't pry. That reading this letter would be an egregious invasion of privacy.

Carefully, I extracted the letter from the envelope and gingerly opened the single folded sheet. I recognized the handwriting.

My father's. It was dated last August.

Anxiously, I began to read.

Anna

There's no way to sugar coat this: I am leaving you.

When you read this letter I will be on a plane to a new life and, if you grant me a divorce without obstacle, a new wife.

I didn't want to do it this way. We've been together for - can it be true? - 20 years. We were so young when Dan arrived. I don't think I ever got a chance to figure out what I wanted in life.

You must have suspected. We simply are not compatible. I cannot keep up with you. I never could. My sex drive isn't in the same universe as yours.

Last Friday was so typical of you. Thursday night, you demanded sex until I had nothing more to give. And still you came after me. Four hours of non-stop sex. It's not normal Anna!. I had to go to work that Friday dog tired. I thought at least you'd be satisfied until Friday night. But no. Friday morning, you called my assistant at 9:00 AM to book a lunch appointment with me. I thought: wow, a normal lunch with my wife in a nice restaurant. But there was no lunch. Instead you lured me into a hotel room, close to my office, for sex. When you released me at 2:00PM, I returned to work in a complete daze. I was home at 5:30, whereupon you attacked me before I dropped my briefcase, when Dan was out with friends. Did you plan that? Only with the miracle of the ED drugs, that you insist I take every damn day by the way, could I have got an erection. I begged you to stop, but you kept coming and coming and coming until you had my rock-hard dick in your mouth. Again.

Still not enough, you begged for sex yet again when we went to bed. I refused. But that didn't stop you, did it? It's not pleasant waking up in the middle of the night with a soaking wet pussy on my mouth, Anna! Again!

How many times did we nearly crash the car when you insisted on going down on me while I was driving?

Anna, it isn't safe!

You told me once you have an obsession for the mouthfeel of cock. That you are practically addicted to the taste of cum.

Well, I have no more to give you.

No more electric dildos up my ass. No more blowjobs in the McDonald's restroom. No more cock rings, ultrasound vibrators, male edging machines, tit fucks, Shibari, handcuffs, Astroglide. I'm done.

There are laws that protect wives from husband rape. But there are none that protect the man from a relentless, sex-addicted wife. Can you imagine the laughter, the snarky talk behind my back if I brought charges against you for insisting on blowing me at work? Do you have any idea what shit I'd have been in if my boss had caught you under my desk last week?

And then there's your nylons. I can't wear them anymore Anna! I don't like it when you try to act out all your sexy little fetishes on me.

No more nylons. No more makeup. No more corsets, no more panties, no more skirts and dresses. I'm over it.

I hope you understand. I hope you will find someone who can satisfy your insatiable hunger for kinky sex, cross dressing, and other perversions. Because I cannot.

I advise you to get some help. Nobody fucks 4 times a day and still begs for more.

Please don't try to change my mind. You can keep the house; we'll settle everything else amicably.

Please tell Dan I love him, but I have to think of my health.

- George

I felt faint.

Dimly, I ran my fingers along the faint rippling of the paper.

Tear stains.

My heart broke.

I was literally holding my mother's tears in my hands.

I let the letter fall to the floor.

I never knew.

I've come to realize how gorgeous and sexy my mother is. Having been at Uni for the past year, I'd seen a lot of beautiful women. But seeing my mother again, after all these months, seeing the real Mom under the 1940's vintage clothing she loves so much, it changed everything I'd ever thought about female sexuality.

This woman, Anna, eighteen years the senior of the college women I see every day, she's by far the sexiest, most beautiful creature I've ever laid eyes on. I just never before realized it.

Now, knowing this incredible sexpot woman that raised me is so constantly horny, that she's so sex-addicted she drove my father away, it was almost too much to comprehend.

Yesterday I'd asked her if she was looking to meet anyone since Dad remarried. It had taken her a long time to answer.

"Right up until your father's wedding three months ago," she'd said, "I'd held out hope he'd see reason and come back to me."

That was so sad.

She'd explained that it had taken her this long to finally realize she needs to get over his sudden departure and move on. My father left nine months ago. A woman with that level of sex addiction must be climbing the walls without sex for nine months.

I thought about last night. Anna stripping down to her corset and stockings. Her pussy-soaked panties. Teaching me about her nylons. Having me try them on for her.

Suddenly it all became clear. She's been holding out; she's been waiting for my return from school.

My mother - Anna - has plans for me. Lustful, sexy plans.

There's no other reasonable conclusion.

If I'd had any doubts about making a move on my mother, they were completely gone now.

I was also doubly aware that if my mother chooses me to satisfy her sexual hunger, I must not disappoint her. I had to prepare myself. She'd worn Dad out with her relentless onslaught. If she attacks me and I cum within two minutes, she'll grow bored and find someone else.

A woman that horny won't wait much longer to satisfy her desperate need for sex. I needed to position myself as the worthy outlet of all that desire. Dad's letter had even shown me the way. The secret to Mom's affections would be to embrace her nylon fetish completely.

I stripped naked to prepare myself for my mother's nylons, her garters, her panties, and anything else she might want to get me into.

I turned my attention back to her nylon drawer. What to pick? There didn't seem to be anything at all that wasn't incredibly sexy.

And then, I spotted Mom's massive chest of spent nylons. Whenever one of her nylons gets snagged or damaged in some way, she strips it off and puts it into that chest. The chest is huge - at least four feet long and three feet high and deep.

She's probably been doing this for a decade - maybe fifteen years.

The last time I opened that chest with Anna present, I went into a kind of trance.

I knew there were a LOT of nylons in there. I opened the chest and looked inside.

I kneeled in front of the huge cedar chest that held my gorgeous mother's nylons and opened the lid. I was immediately overwhelmed by a rush of her sex. My naked cock immediately sprang to full hardness. Her pheromones were infused on every nylon, every diaphanous stocking. Long sealed inside this cedar prison, only to be opened briefly a few times weekly to accept new members fresh from my mother's spectacular legs, each one freed from its service to their beautiful mistress after having gained some visible flaw. Not to be unceremoniously discarded as no longer useful, but treasured for their faithful service, their numbers had grown steadily over the years. They had been waiting, bursting with life and energy, busting to get out, plotting their escape, combining their feminine power, building themselves, waiting for some hapless male fool to open the chest and release them, to unleash their power, eager to pounce on their unwitting victim, to engulf me, to smother me, to render me their hapless slave.

They silently commanded me to reach inside and I did. I took up two overflowing arms' full and held them to my face, to my body. I lifted them out of the chest to freedom and pulled the masses of them to my naked form. Stunned, I fell back onto the floor, buried in untold numbers of my mother's nylons. They were free! They swarmed over me, assuming control, taking me prisoner in their striving, clutching embrace, wrapping themselves around my dick, my arms, my legs, my neck, my brain, driving me mindlessly horny, drawing me into them, holding me, coiling around me. Every one of these filmy, sexy nylons had once clung to my mother's long spectacular legs, absorbing her womanly essence, her sweat, her pheromones, the lucky welts absorbing the sex-saturated juices from her ever-horny pussy. When they tumbled over me, burying me in their masses, the smell of her feet, the leather in her shoes, her dried sweat, tiny amounts of her pheromones on every stocking, their power multiplied by a thousand, two thousand, the collective essence they wielded was huge, irresistible, relentless. Thousands of nylons powered by years and years of absorbing and retaining my mother's essence, long imprisoned but now free, snagging me with their forty inch reach, then leaping upon me, curling around every available target: limbs, hands, neck, face, cock, balls, wrapping me, binding me irretrievably within their magical tendrils, constantly in motion, jerking, squeezing, rubbing, tickling, their constant manic assault turning me mindlessly horny, a helpless, pathetic, needy slut.