Lady In Waiting

by John Roberts

 

At first she blamed it on stress at work, but the truth was Harry was merely using work as an excuse. Things hadn't been right with them since she got pregnant again: another child after a 16 year gap must have been a social embarrassment for the local bank manager, who would be regarded as antiseptic and asexual as a doctor. The truth was he'd only got amorous after a drunken office party to celebrate a clerk's retiral. His unimaginative humping had gone on for some time before a few weak spurts went inside her. Weak, but enough to do the damage.

Christine had rolled over and flicked her clitoris surreptitiously until she had the small orgasm that would allow her to sleep, or drown out Harry's snores.

Her son, Paul, assiduously avoided the subject of her pregnancy, even when it became highly visible. His eyes told another story, however. He kept glancing at her enlarging belly and, once, seemed inordinately interested in the fact that her breasts had swollen. At least he looked at her breasts, which was more than her husband did these days. Even the male tellers in Harry's bank showed more interest and consideration. One of them had offered her a chair while stealing a look down the front of her dress. He was an attractive boy and, fleetingly, she imagined offering to nurse him. This image was to come back to her one night after, again, failing to seduce her husband. She went to the bathroom and, pressing her crotch against the edge of the sink, pulled down her night-dress to fondle her breasts, imagining the teller kneeling on the floor at the bank suckling her like a baby.

As the pregnancy progressed into its third month, her belly now quite distended, she became physically needy. Her sexual desire increased as Harry's dissipated. She was only 38, still a young woman, but being another generation to the flower power set must have made her seem matronly. The fact that she wore mini skirts certainly caused some ripples amongst her suburban peers. The women were more judgmental than their husbands. The husbands were disapproving in the presence of their wives, but Christine could feel their eyes travelling up her legs all the same. She chose to find this amusing, and gave her a useful feeling of superiority over these women.

She challenged her husband once: "You don't think my skirts are too short, do you, Harry?", Who merely shook his newspaper disapprovingly. She paraded in front of the couch, where her son was sitting, and joked: "What about you, Paul, aren't your old mum's legs still fit to be seen?" The boy blushed and said, "Oh, mum," dismissively while he slyly appraised them. Again, his eyes were on her a fraction too long, and Christine suddenly felt the black tights she had chosen that day to be inappropriate.

She'd wanted to be deliberately provocative when she went out shopping, the hot pink mini dress and white knee boots made her feel a bit tarty, which she enjoyed if it annoyed the neighbours. What she hadn't anticipated was provoking her teenage son.

Lately, too, she had noticed dried stains on Paul's bedsheets, and tissues stuffed under his pillow. When he went to school one morning he obviously forgotten he had left anything there. The paper wad was still a sticky mess, and had left a wet patch on the pillowcase. She threw the tissue away, knowing full well that he hadn't been blowing his nose. The sour-sweet smell was unmistakable. Another time she was tidying his room and accidentally knocked over a pile of his school books. A small booklet fell out of one of them. It was called "Beautiful Britons" and contained page after page of women showing their legs and underwear. The women looked the girl-next-door type, and dressed similarly, though all of them wore stockings, which had gone out of fashion not so long ago. The girls got their skirts conveniently snagged in car doors or on fence posts so that their knickers, suspenders and stocking tops could be revealed. One or two bolder models, photographed in their kitchens or bedrooms or lounge, even went as far as taking their dresses off for the photographer, though still protected by their underwear, bra and panties or sometimes a girdle. She put the booklet back, a little annoyed at the content, but deciding, too, that her son was at an age when his penis was a now a more treasured possession than the expensive train set his father had bought him for his 14^th birthday. And, as often as he had played with that train, he would doubtless play with this toy much more.

Paul was at an age when demonstrations of affection made him uncomfortable, but she had always enjoyed cuddling her son, and lately had begun to admit to herself a slight sexual frisson between them.

There came a week when Harry was away on a conference. One night, as she was getting ready for bed, and feeling restless, she decided to chat to Paul about her pregnancy. She hastily tied a floral-patterned housecoat over herself. Beneath it were a white brassiere, panty-girdle and tan-coloured tights, and when she sat on her son's bed she realised that the housecoat had fallen open, exposing an expanse of thigh. Paul's gaze flickered to her leg and withdrew quickly. Enjoying his discomfort and perhaps feeling something else...a sense of power, perhaps...she made no attempt to close the gap in the housecoat.

"Do you mind that i'm going to have a baby, Paul?"

"No, of course not. Why would I?" Paul was sincere in his surprise. "I thought either you would be jealous or the thought of me and your dad...you know...doing it...would embarrass you?"

Her son looked uncomfortable. Then said: "I wouldn't be jealous. I think i'll like being a big brother." "you friends don't think I'm too old to have sex, then?" She said in a light-hearted way.

"No, they think you're..."

"What?" She smiled.

"Gorgeous...."

"Really?" She felt an excited flush. "But that's not the word they used, is it?"

"Yes, it is...really." Paul had overheard someone in the cloakrooms referring to his mother as "a real ride". This both annoyed and titillated him. "Ok...I believe you," she answered, making it clear she did not. "Tell you a secret, Paul...your dad and I haven't...you know...done it...since I got pregnant. I think he went off me. Maybe he doesn't like my belly."

And with that she opened the housecoat to show her son her distended abdomen pressing tightly against the elastic panel of her maternity panty-girdle. Christine noticed a bulge in Paul's blanket, between his legs, and he quickly rolled on to his side, facing her, perhaps self-conscious in case she had noticed. She took his left hand and placed it on her belly, just above her mons venus. "You don't think it's ugly, do you?"

He shook his head no. He was trembling.

"Paul, I love you" she said, and leant forward to give him kiss on the cheek. Then she moved her head slightly until her lips were above his and, without thinking, pressed them softly against his. She felt her son tense, then part his lips slightly, which sent a tingle of electricity through her. "it's okay, love, we all get these feelings sometimes..." And she moved her hand across the top of the blanket until it brushed against the firm bulge. He tried to move away, but she said: "It's okay, son, I know...I know all about it, don't be afraid. I love you. I won't hurt you. You trust me, don't you?" "O-of course I do, mum. I love you."

"And when I asked you the other week if I still had nice legs, you didn't answer me. You can be honest, you know." "Yes...yes, you do have nice legs." Paul was shaking visibly now, so she moved him on to his back to help relax him.

"Just take it easy, Paul. There's nothing to worry about."

Paul smiled weakly

"Here," she said, pulling his right hand onto her thigh, "you probably wanted to know what it feels like, a boy of your age is naturally curious. Tights on a woman's legs...soft nylon." And she moved the boy's hand up and down the top of her thigh gently.

"Just keep doing that, son" she said, and leant forward to kiss him full on the lips, now flicking the tip of her tongue out and wiping it across his upper lip. The palm of his hand against nylon made a whispering sound. Paul moaned involuntarily. Christine felt her insides melting and her abdomen churn. She reached down inside the bedclothes until her fingertips felt a twitching hardness. Paul again tried to wriggle out of the way.

"No, don't..." Christine almost shouted, startling him. "you don't want your mum to stop, do you Paul?"

"N-no..." And she reached down further and wrapped her whole hand around her son's cock.

It felt quite large, longer than his father's but a bit thinner. Slowly, she peeled his foreskin back, until it was stretched to its limit, and held it there. She could feel the blood pulsing in the erect penis.

"Paul, if I let you look at my breasts, will you let me look at your..."

"Y-yes, m-mum, if you....if you want to."

Christine wriggled her housecoat off her shoulders, letting him see the broad-strapped circle-stitched brassiere, her full breasts pushing the cups to their limit.

"Just pull the straps down, son." As he did so, she moved his foreskin upwards, releasing the pressure. Her son was breathing heavily, and clearly on the verge of an orgasm. But she didn't want him to have one just yet. So she took her hand away. She felt him thrusting towards her.

"Not yet, Paul."

"S-sorry, mummy"

"Here, let me do it," she said and yanked down her brassiere straps and rolled the cups down from her breasts, which quivered slightly as her erect nipples first caught then sprang free from the edge of the material. The aureoles were wide and dark brown, the nipples felt as hard as corks. She wanted so much to have them touched. She was aroused by her son's hot gaze, and drew both of his hands to her breasts, shaping them to their curvature. "Like this..." she explained, making his hands squeeze her breasts and moving his thumbs gently across the nipples, flicking them from side to side.

"Oh, God," she gasped. The shock of the touch was unexpectedly intense. She had never felt this degree of sensation with Harry. Perhaps it was the forbidden nature of what she was doing. At the moment she was too carried away to think about consequences, but felt in any case that Paul would say nothing about this.

"Suck them, baby," she said, and rolled onto the bed, face down so that her left breast was over her son's willing mouth. "and use your tongue a little" Paul's face was shining with fear and desire. She felt his adolescent hotness consume her, and gave in to her body's wishes. Paul sucked a licked with little expertise at first until she whispered instructions as to what he should do.

Words escaped her in whispered urgency: "Lick around it...nip it...suck harder...." Christine's head pounded with the rush of adrenaline, and she found herself working her panty girdle off as Paul suckled her. The tights gave her pregnant belly the support it needed and, though she wanted to pull the waistband down, some instinct told her to keep the hose on. The image of the girls in their stockings that Paul had been wanking over came to her mind. Clearly that is what he liked.

"You can feel my bum, Paul. Go on."

And she straddled him, pushing the bedclothes back so her thighs were across his hips. She felt his hands slide up the back of her nyloned thighs and massage her buttocks lasciviously.

Paul's eyes kept travelling to her thighs, and to the wrinkled nylon behind her knees, and to her belly, the reinforced hips of the tights a darker brown than the rest of the nylon. She felt the seam that ran up between her legs catch against the edge of her clitoris.

"You can look at it, Paul, it's okay..."

Christine raised herself up and arched her back so her large belly and damp, hairy bush pressing against nylon, was almost against his face. As her son drank in the sight with a corrosive stare, she looked over her shoulder.

Her son's long, slender prick, with its taught, hairless balls and foreskin at half mast (showing the tip of his engorged glans) made her even more aroused. Christine felt herself to be on the verge of cumming. But somehow she felt she could go no further. She moved back and accidentally felt Paul's prick catch on the stretched nylon between her legs.

He was whimpering softly over and over again.

She pushed his pyjama jacket upwards and ran her fingernails down his smooth chest (he never wore pyjamas trousers for some reason), then leant forward and moved back so the underside of his rigid cock brushed between her cunt lips and across her clitoris. Only a thin gauze of nylon prevented things going further. She rocked back and forth, feeling herself beginning to boil. Her clitoris felt rubbed raw by the nylon, but the pleasure of her son's sweet cock against it was more intense than the pain. She jerked her hips up and down, and felt Paul's hands move to cup her pregnant belly, as if supporting it. His thumbs touched, making an inverted v-shape just below her belly button. And it was that, a caring moment perhaps, which sent her over the edge.

Paul 's trembling lessened, and his body started to stiffen, his thighs tighten and his breath held in that blissful microsecond before the crisis.

Then the eruption... "Ooh, aaaahhhhh.....oooooh.....sssss.....mmmmmuuuummmy!" hissed her son as his

cock spurted, and thick ropes of creamy cum streaked across her crotch and belly, smearing the taught nylon.

She reached down and grabbed his cock and pressed the tip against her clitoris, then wiggled it from side to side very quickly, a vigorous motion which flicked her clitoris mercilessly. And the wave overtook her, a huge hot spasm starting at the base of her spine, spreading through her vagina and up through her whole body. She yelled out, moaning and squealing like a teenager. "Uhyeah...uhyeah...oh, Jesus....f-u-u-u-ck....ohgod Paul, mummy wants it so badly.....eeeeeeaaaaarrrgh!" Then a second wave hit her, less intense and she simply pressed the tip of his cock into the entrance of her vagina and held it there while her anus contracted with the gradually subsiding orgasm.

She waited until she could get her breath, and looked down. Paul looked

beatific, as if he had made the discovery of a lifetime. But he couldn't

look her in the eyes. So she turned his head and made him look. "You still

love me, don't you Paul? I'll die if you don't"

"More than ever, mummy" he said, finally relaxing then, reaching his arms around her, gave his mother a long, passionate kiss on the neck.

 

THE END

  

  

  

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