Mom's Stocking Stuffer

If you clicked here from the contest page, stand warned that this is an incest story. Now's your chance to run for the hills if that creeps you out.

This is an entry in the 2011 Literotica Winter Holiday contest.

****

It started out innocently enough — but I guess it always does.

As long as I can remember, Mom had always greeted me and wished me goodbye with a little peck on the lips. Naturally, I tried to avoid it as I got older out of embarrassment. Eventually, it was something rare that only happened at home.

That changed when Dad walked out on us. Mom was devastated, and I did everything in my power to help her through it. On a whim, I brought back the old ritual. The way it made her smile convinced me to keep it up.

I didn't realize at the time the effect it was going to have on me.

A look at the clock told me that I was right on schedule. Mom would be home any minute, and dinner would be waiting for her. I'm not much of a cook, but it wasn't rocket science to heat up the leftovers from Thanksgiving dinner. I had the day off from work, but Mom worked in a high-end department store, and this was the kick-off of her busiest time of year.

The car pulled up in the drive, and I winced at my reaction.

I'd come to anticipate those welcome kisses far more than I should have. I knew that what I felt was wrong, but that didn't change it. Hearing her heels clicking on the porch, I made my way to the front door.

"Welcome home," I said as she opened the door.

She gave me a weary smile as she closed the door behind her. I could tell she was exhausted as she put down her purse and walked toward me, running fingers through honey-blonde hair slightly mussed by the wind. My breath caught in my chest as I noticed something new.

The store expected employees to dress well, so Mom was in a nice button-down blouse with a vest and a skirt. The outfit drew attention to her curvy figure, which I'd begun to notice shortly after resuming the kissing ritual. I knew that her breasts were a large C-cup, because I'd peeked at her bras and discovered that she wore C in some brands, and D in others. They were a perfect compliment to the swell of her hips.

What had caught my eye were her legs, though. I got an even better look as she removed her long coat, draping it over the back of the couch. She'd always had gorgeous legs, but I'd never seen her wearing stockings, and I couldn't believe how sexy they looked on her.

As she reached me and leaned in for a kiss, I realized to my shock that I was getting hard. Our lips touched ever so briefly, and I swelled even more.

The last thing in the world I wanted was for Mom to notice that, so I said, "Go sit down. I warmed up some leftovers."

"Thank you, honey."

I gave my cock a squeeze and adjusted it once out of sight in the kitchen, and I could feel my ears burning. I could still see her legs clad in dark nylon in my mind's eye. Something about those stockings was pushing my buttons, and it took me a minute or two to get myself under control.

I made us both a plate and took them back into the front room. "I got the sink in the bathroom unclogged."

"Thank you, Justin," she said as she took her plate. "I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't taken over as the man of the house."

"Just helping out."

"And you do a good job of it."

Her smile almost made me break out in goose bumps.

We didn't really talk much as we ate. Once finished, I took both plates to the kitchen and rinsed them before putting them in the dishwasher. When I returned, Mom had taken off her heels and reclined on the couch. The sight of her feet in the dark nylon stockings had the same effect on me as her legs. I'd never seen anything so arousing in my life, and had no idea why it turned me on so much.

She started to pull her legs up, but I waved to stop her. "You're okay. There's plenty of couch left."

She nodded and let out a sigh of relief as she stretched her legs out again. "I certainly can't tell that the economy is down from the way things were today. Ohh, my legs are so sore. And my poor feet. I barely had a chance to sit down all day."

After a moment, she looked at me with pleading eyes and asked, "Is there any chance you could give me a foot rub?"

Somehow, I spoke around the lump in my throat. "I could try, I guess."

I sat down, lifted one of her heels, and started rubbing her right foot. Mom let out a groan, and then a sigh, leaning her head back on the arm of the couch. The sexy sound gave me chills, and the motion drew attention to her breasts, but the feeling of her foot in my hand was what really got me.

"Oh, honey. That feels so good."

I was careful of the delicate, slippery fabric as I kneaded and caressed her foot. She curled her toes as I worked, occasionally moaning. I was hard again — and not just halfway — in no time. I moved up to her calves, working out the knots in the muscles. My eyes darted every so often to the hem of her skirt, my fingers eager to move higher still — beyond that line.

Mom chuckled, and then sat up a little. "You're putting me to sleep."

"So?" I responded, realizing I had a smile on my face as I continued to knead her leg muscles.

"So, I need to have a shower. I think I'll turn in early. Thank you, Justin. You're good at that, honey."

"You're welcome," I said as I reluctantly uncurled my fingers from around her leg.

As she sat up and swung her legs off the couch, I got one last reward for my efforts. Her skirt bunched up just high enough for me to see the top of her left stocking in the shadows beneath her skirt, and the clip attaching it to a garter belt.

"Goodnight," she said as she stood, straightening her skirt.

"Night," I replied.

The moment she turned to walk toward the bathroom, I once again found my eyes doing things I hadn't told them to do. I don't know whether it was natural, or something she'd practiced. All I knew is that I'd never seen another woman move quite like her. The way her butt danced beneath the skirt with her every step was mesmerizing. Even the way she held her hands was sexy. When she passed out of sight, I turned on the T.V.

I don't know what was on, because I couldn't get her out of my head. The thoughts made me tingle and cringe at the same time. I mean, who has sexual thoughts about his mother? Granted, I was in a slump several months long between girlfriends, but that wasn't enough to explain why I couldn't ignore how sexy Mom looked in her work clothes. Finally, a favorite show distracted me.

The house was quiet when I turned off the T.V. It had been over an hour, and Mom had already gone to bed. I stretched and thought that I should probably do the same. I didn't have to work the weekend, but I knew from experience that staying up too late would come back to haunt me when I did go back to work on Monday.

Besides that, as soon as I turned the television off, I had started thinking about Mom in the shower. Shaking my head vigorously, I pushed the thought aside as best I could and went to bed.

****

The next day, things played out much the same. Mom was wearing stockings again, and it was the very first thing I noticed when she walked in the door. If anything, her legs looked even better than the day before. After we'd eaten, she again asked me for a foot and leg rub.

Despite my best efforts, I was rock hard before I even touched her foot.

A moan that had a note of finality, similar to the sound Mom had made before getting up the previous day, left me torn between relief and disappointment. I expected her to say that she was going to take a shower and go to bed.

"Do you think you could do my shoulders, too?"

My expectations turned completely around, it took me a second to answer, "Yeah."

I stood up and walked to the other end of the couch, where Mom was reclining against the arm. She scooted back a little, sitting up straighter, and said, "Thank you, honey."

"No problem, Mom."

Of course, I did have a problem, and I prayed that she hadn't noticed the bulge in my jeans when I stood up. What's more, she'd undone a single button at the top of her blouse. As I settled my hands on her shoulders, I could just see the upper valley between her breasts in the shadows beyond the parted cloth.

As I kneaded her shoulders, she arched her back a little. The combination served to pull her blouse tighter against her body, thrusting her breasts up toward me. I tried not to look, but it was nearly impossible to take my eyes off them. Most of the girls I'd been with had been pretty flat, and Mom was anything but.

The gorgeous, mesmerizing globes moved ever so slightly whenever my fingers squeezed over the bra straps, further drawing my eyes. My cock was throbbing, and for a few minutes, Mom's tits were the only thing I could think of. My imagination took over, peeling away the bra and filling in the details of what was beneath.

I snapped out of it when Mom let out a moan and leaned her head back. I panicked and backed up when the top of her head bumped into my raging hardon.

"Oops. Sorry, honey."

My heart pounding and my ears burning, I managed to say, "Huh?"

"Didn't mean to headbutt you," she answered, and then let out a little laugh. "Oh, that's so much better. Thank you."

"You're welcome." I moved in behind the couch, letting the high back hide my erection.

"Well, I'd best get in the shower and to bed. Goodnight, honey."

"Night, Mom."

It was quite some time before the swelling in my pants went down.

****

Mom didn't have to work on Sunday, so she was dressed casually. To my embarrassment, I missed her legs terribly the whole day as we put up the tree and decorated the house. The jeans she wore did hug her hips and bottom, and I was about half mad at myself for noticing.

What's wrong with me? She's my mom, I remembered thinking. By the end of the day, I'd convinced myself to stop thinking about it, and had some success.

It lasted right up until she came home from work again on Monday.

I was having a little luck ignoring her gorgeous legs, sheathed in white stockings this time, but out of the blue, she upped the ante. After our kiss of greeting, she did something that I swear bordered on witchcraft. Mom reached behind her back, and then in a series of coordinated movements, slipped out of her bra and pulled it out the sleeve of her blouse.

Even as she sighed in relief and dropped the bra on an end table, my manhood was swelling to full attention. Two buttons popped open on her blouse this time while I was in the kitchen heating us up something to eat. I felt as if I had to concentrate all my will each and every moment to keep my eyes from drifting to her as we ate. Then came the newly minted ritual of the evening massage.

I could feel a slight chill in my underwear when I moved from the foot of the couch to her shoulders, and knew it was because I had been leaking pre-cum from touching those incredible legs. I could see more of her cleavage this time as I caressed and kneaded her shoulders. Knowing that only the barrier of her blouse remained between my eyes and her breasts kept my gaze fixed on them.

Mom's moans mingled into my imagination, taking on a far different tone. I was lusting after my own mother, and there was nothing I could do about it. I wanted nothing more than to let my hands slip lower, off her shoulders, and into the part of her blouse to the globes beneath. Her nipples pressed against the cloth, tenting the material, and I silently wished it was transparent enough for me to see more.

When she got up to go to the shower, I was still trapped in my imagination. She leaned in for another kiss before leaving the room, and my lips wanted to linger. I wanted to wrap my arms around her, pull her close to me, stroke my fingers over her legs — far higher than I'd dared while massaging them. I found myself standing outside the bathroom door, listening to the shower run, imagining her standing beneath the cascade of water. I barely snapped out of it enough to hurry to my room when the shower stopped.

Lying on my own bed, I was still thinking about her, and still rock hard. One too many glasses of tea caught up with me, and I had to go to the bathroom.

The room was still a little warm and steamy from Mom's shower. Beyond a second door, I knew she was lying in bed, and I wondered what she was wearing. It took me forever to talk down my erection enough to pee, and it didn't last long after I flushed. When I turned back toward the door, I saw Mom's stockings draped over the top of the hamper.

I couldn't resist, and picked them up to feel the slippery material between my fingers. They too were still a little warm. I lifted the lid of the hamper with my other hand, and there they were. Before I could even form the thought, I reached in and pulled out Mom's panties.

They were simple cotton briefs, with just a little lacy accent. When my fingers stroked over the crotch, they felt a little damp. I lifted them to my nose, taking in the warm, musky scent of a woman that permeated them.

There was no way out.

I pulled down my pants, filling my lungs with the scent of Mom's sex from her panties as I wrapped her stockings around my cock. I was so worked up that I didn't even last a minute. Clenching my teeth against making any sound, I shot thick ropes of cum toward the toilet, amazed by how hard I was spurting.

I had to support myself by leaning against the sink when the long, intense orgasm finally waned. I opened my eyes to find that I'd shot cum all over the lid of the toilet where it stood open, up onto the tank, and a sticky trail even decorated the wall behind. Looking down, I realized I was dribbling on Mom's stockings, too.

In a panic, I grabbed toilet paper and cleaned the mess up, blotting the evidence of what I'd done from the stockings. Once satisfied, I carefully replaced Mom's panties and stockings, and made my way on weak legs back to my bedroom. Somehow, taking the step of masturbating had broken down a wall inside me. The shame I had felt in varying degrees since starting the kissing ritual faded almost completely away, leaving behind only desire.

I lay down in my bed, welcoming the dreams of her that started even before I had completely drifted off into sleep.

****

A week went by, and I inserted good morning and goodnight kisses into the now familiar routine. Mom seemed happy about that, and didn't protest at all as my kisses lingered a little — though not too long, and certainly not as long as I wanted.

Every evening, I would drink in the sight, sound, and feeling of her as I relieved the tension of her weary muscles. Mom seemed to relax, and the sounds of pleasure she made as I massaged her grew louder — more frequent. She would reach up to stroke my hands as I worked on her shoulders and reveled in the sight of her breasts rising and falling with her breath.

Then, when the house was quiet and I was sure she was asleep, I would relieve the pressure with her stockings and panties. Though I lasted longer, I still spurted with a ferocity unlike anything I'd ever experienced before.

The weekend left me feeling down, as Mom wasn't dressed up for work. I might have normally gone out, but I didn't want to miss a moment, even if I wouldn't have the pleasure of seeing her in her stockings. I stayed home, watching television with her, ecstatic when she remarked about how much she enjoyed spending the extra time with me.

On Sunday night, she dozed off as we sat on the couch. In her sleep, she leaned against me with her head resting on my shoulder. My hand was so close and my desire so strong that what happened next was inevitable.

I reached up, cupping her left breast in my hand. I had just a moment to feel the weight and softness of it before a moan caused me to snatch my hand away. Not long after, I again cupped the breast that had once nursed me. This time, her moan was louder, and her back arched slightly.

It was my first time touching her in what was a purely sexual manner, and it set me to throbbing. It was a bit of a reach, but my hand moved toward her legs. I only rested my fingers on her leg at first, feeling the warmth through the pants she was wearing. Need got the best of me, and my fingers moved higher, to her thighs — a place I had yet to touch her. Still a couple of inches from the V of her legs, I stroked my forefinger and thumb over her for a moment.

I probably would have gone on all night — maybe even gone further — if her eyes hadn't fluttered open.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to fall asleep."

"It's okay, Mom. You were tired."

"I'm the one who's supposed to cradle you, not the other way around," she quipped, and then yawned. "I should really get in the shower and get to bed."

She sat up straight, and I did the same. Mom leaned in, and our lips met. As she was pulling away, she said, "Thank you, honey."

"For what?"

I noticed her cheeks growing a little red as she answered, "For keeping me company. Goodnight."

****

The days passed by. I remember that it felt a little like when I was a kid, anticipating Christmas and feeling like it would never come. Every day seemed to drag on and on, right up until the moment when Mom came home from work. Then, the time seemed to fly away, a few fleeting moments when I could have just a taste of what I really desired.

Those little tastes weren't nearly enough to satisfy me any longer, either. Ever since I'd touched her in those far more intimate places as she slept, I'd wanted more — far more. My urges grew stronger, more difficult to resist. Though I wasn't afraid of my feelings any longer, I was afraid of what would happen if Mom found out about them.

It was a battle I nearly lost on the final Friday before Christmas Eve. Because Mom had worked Black Friday and there were several seasonal workers below her, she had earned a four day weekend for Christmas. I was looking at four days of not seeing her dressed up for work, so sexy in her stockings and skirt. Four days of not touching her.

That was somewhere in the back of my head as I kneaded her tired muscles that evening. I had to get as much from that night as I could, to tide me over for those days that I knew would each feel like an eternity.

For the first time while she was awake, I slipped my fingers past the hem of Mom's skirt and touched above her knee.

I could feel her start, and she sat up a little, but when I squeezed the muscle, her eyes rolled upward and she let out a long moan. I smiled at her, hoping my nervousness didn't show through, and thankfully, she smiled back at me before reclining again.

I stayed low, just above the knee at first. Slowly, I worked my way higher, my heart rate increasing with every inch. The feeling of her nylon clad legs and skirt on the back of my hands was invigorating. When I reached the top of her stockings, I felt the lace and clips holding them up with the tips of my fingers. The warmth beneath her skirt matched that rising within me, and it only seemed to increase as I switched legs.

Quiet at first, Mom began to moan again, and her legs even parted a little, giving me better access to the muscles. It was all I could do not to move higher still. I wanted to seek out the source of the warmth I felt — to see if the dampness of her panties I breathed deep of each night was real.

"Thank you, honey," she suddenly said when the tip of one finger crept past the top of her stockings, to the soft, bare skin above.

"Did that feel good?" I asked. Almost immediately, my heart stuttered. There was far more to my tone than I'd intended.

"Mmm hmm." Her next words sounded a little rushed. "I think I should get in the shower and to bed."

"Don't you want me to do your shoulders?"