The Long Tease

When I heard the key turn in the front door, my heart began to race again and I bit my lip as I heard him open the door to the kitchen. His reaction was better than I could have hoped. He literally dropped his kit bag on the floor. "Shit!" He said. I turned to him and saw his mouth wide open.

"Language Tommy," I admonished him with a gentle smile. "You look like you've seen a ghost. What's wrong?" I asked him, placing a hand on my hip, one foot slightly in front of the other, the toes pointing towards him. He looked down and then away.

"Sorry Mom, just...er...stubbed my toe." He blurted out, clearly as that was the first thing on his mind. I frowned sympathetically.

"Your toe," I said softly. "Poor baby. I'd offer to kiss it better, but I think you're too old for that. Now, come on, put your dirty kit in the laundry and dinner will be ready soon. I turned back to the stove and continued to stir the soup I was preparing. Watching him in the shiny surface of the splashback, I could see that his eyes were fixed on my heels and ass as he walked past me towards the laundry room. I shifted slightly as I stirred, making sure that he got as good a view as possible.

We sat down to dinner and chatted about the day, with some obvious omissions on my part, with him telling me about his game (he won) and about school. I started gently to ask him about Katie and how things were going. He answered my questions but seemed distracted, as if he were thinking about something and didn't know how to ask.

I placed my knife and fork together, wiped my mouth with my napkin and then reached over and touched his hand. "What's wrong Tommy?" I asked gently. "Is there something you want to say? You know you can tell me anything, no judgments, I swear it."

He looked into my eyes and I tried to convey a sense of trust as well as I could. He looked away into the distance and then back again. "It's nothing," he said and my heart sank. "Well, not nothing exactly," he continued. "Just a little thing really. You know..." he paused, swallowed, then looked at me again. "You know you're wearing heels tonight?" I smiled and thrust out my foot from under the table and wiggled my painted toes. Tom seemed to jump a little in his chair.

"What these?" I said lighty. "I forgot all about them. I bought them for a wedding a few years ago and then I found them today in my closet and decided to try them on again," I tried to explain suddenly, my nerve failing. He didn't seem to notice my trying to cover my guilt. Instead he just nodded vaguely, concentrating on trying to say what he wanted without revealing too much of his secret obsession.

"Do...do you like them?" He asked. "Wearing them, I mean." I smiled supportively.

"Sure, I guess I've always liked heels," I said breathlessly, my pulse racing. "I mean, who doesn't like feeling sexy, right?" I giggled and he tried to smile.

"I guess..." he said doubtfully. "But not everyone feels like that," he said in what was half a statement and half a question.

"No? Well maybe not. Wait." I said, eyes opening wider. "Doesn't Katie wear heels? I guess I've never seen her in them." Tom shook his head sadly.

"No, no, she doesn't. She says that she can't wear them very much because of her ankle injury. They hurt too much. Besides," he continued, almost trailing off, "she says they're, like, oppressive symbols of the patriarchy," he said, as if trying to remember the exact phrase she used. I laughed and he frowned, unsure whether to leap to his girlfriend's defense or to join in. In the end, he just looked adorably confused.

"Is that what they're teaching in school these days? Honey, she'll realize soon enough that in this man's world, a woman's gotta use all the weapons she's got." I patted his hand. "Don't worry baby, she'll come round in time. When she's a bit older maybe." I smiled condescendingly and Tom seemed a little happier, if still confused. Whatever else she may be, I thought, Katie wasn't going to be satisfying Tom's foot fetish any time soon. For some reason, that made me glad.

I had a glass of wine over dinner and allowed Tom to have one too. This wasn't uncommon since he'd turned 18, I wanted him to develop a healthy relationship with alcohol before he went to college in the fall. I poured myself another and told Tom that I was going to watch some TV while he did his homework but that he was welcome to join me when he finished. Normally, he'd stay in his room and play computer games or, as I now appreciated, surf the internet for porn but I had a suspicion that tonight would be different given my high heels.

Once Tom had disappeared, I downed the glass of wine and then tipped the remainder down the sink. I felt a little giddy and lightheaded as I carried the empty bottle into the living room and lay down on the sofa. Normally, I wouldn't allow shoes on the sofa but I made an exception tonight. I hadn't been outside in them for months and, also, it was important that I was wearing them for the next stage of my plan for the evening.

I watched a couple of sitcoms, all the while listening out for sounds from Tom's room. Eventually, after an hour or so, I heard his door open and the sound of his footfall on the stairs.

"Mom?" He called out hesitantly. I didn't answer. Instead, I curled up on the sofa, the empty wine bottle and glass conspicuously visible. I closed my eyes as I heard Tom enter the room. "Mom?" He said again, this time more softly as if he didn't want to wake me up. Again, I didn't reply and breathed deeply as if I were asleep.

I could sense him walking around the sofa to get a closer look at me and heard a slight intake of breath when he realized that I was definitely asleep. I could feel his presence above me, even with my eyes closed, like a gazelle might sense the gaze of a lion on her from across the plains. I could hear his breathing and I shifted position slightly, my feet uncrossing and I knew that his eyes, if not trained there already, would have been drawn by that movement. He held his breath, waiting to see if I stirred and, when I gave a sleepy sound of contentment and didn't wake, I heard him breath out again.

He moved closer, seemed to drop to his knees and I heard him take a deep breath. He was sniffing my feet. Oh my God! I felt my tummy do a little flip-flop at the thought. My own son was sniffing his mother's feet. How wrong. He shouldn't be doing this, I shouldn't be letting him do it and yet we both were. Why? Because we couldn't resist it and, on my part, because I didn't want to embarrass my darling boy by waking up now and catching him like this.

I cracked open an eye just enough to be able to see what was happening. He was staring at my feet, his face in the most serene, awe-filled expression I had ever seen. He reached out to touch my toes but then withdrew his hand, clearly that would be going too far at the moment.

Nervously, he cast a glance in my direction. I didn't move a muscle, didn't close my eye as that would be to give the game away. Seemingly, I got away with it for, after a couple more glances, he reached into his pocket and very gingerly began to remove his cell. I saw him click it into silent mode and then point the camera at my feet. His hands were trembling slightly and the light was quite dim (he obviously decided not to risk the flash) so I wondered how good the quality of the photo would be but I had given him what I knew he wanted. A picture, however low quality, of my feet. I wondered, with a secret, illicit thrill, what he'd do with it.

I knew what I had done was very naughty but I'd found it exciting and surely it wouldn't do any harm. It was just a little gift from a mother to her boy. I was helping him in the most harmless way I could. At least, that's what I told myself. I'm not sure even then I believed it.

He stood up and then I felt his hand on my ankle. He was shaking me slightly. "Mom?" He said softly. "Mom, I've finished my homework. Don't tell me you finished the whole bottle. What got into you?" I looked up blearily and blushed a little.

"Oh, it is you sweetie. What time is it? Sorry, I must have fallen asleep." I looked down at the bottle and then up at my son. Guilty I put a hand over my mouth and then grinned. "Sorry, I don't want you thinking your Mom's a lush or anything. I just felt like it tonight. Your Dad's away so much, I guess, well, never mind." Tom frowned and sat down beside me. I scooched up the sofa a little but Tom put his hand on my ankle.

"No, don't sit up Mom, I don't wanna disturb you. But," and he looked at me with a grin. "What happened to the rule about no shoes on the sofa?" I blushed under his gaze once more and then tried one more risk. I gave him a shy little smile, pretending to be a little more drunk than I was.

"Sorry baby, naughty Mom!" I giggled. "Can you take them off for me?" If my feet weren't already over his thighs, I swear he might have taken off so surprised was he. He composed himself quickly enough though and held my gaze once more.

"Uh sure, Mom. If you want." I grinned back.

"I do. It's not every day I have a handsome young man to pamper me is it?"

"Who said anything about pampering?" He retorted as his fingers unbuckled the strap around my left ankle with surprising ease. I thought he'd be more nervous than he was. I liked that confidence. I liked it a lot.

Slowly, agonizingly, he cupped my heel in his palm and gently removed the first shoe then did the same to the other. I could see that he was hard, though he had worked to conceal it and I only knew because I was looking for it. As for me, the touch of his firm hands on me, the first male touch I'd had in ages, definitely heightened my arousal and I could feel my naked pussy secreting its excitement into my purple panties. When he finished we looked at each other.

Both of us were slightly flushed in the face but neither of us said anything further for a moment. I breathed out and then said, "Do you want to choose what to watch honey?" I said softly. My legs stretched out over his, his hands resting on my shins, both of us were content with what had happened. Nothing more could happen tonight. I wasn't ready, yet, to take anything further. I had done more than I could ever have contemplated even a few hours before, before I'd read Tom's heartfelt admissions of love. Tom could only have been counting his blessings at what must, to him, have been a night beyond his wildest dreams.

The next day, after work, I returned home eager to see if there were any updates from Tom on the website. I hadn't slept well and, in the end, I'd had to bring myself off in order to get to sleep. It will not surprise you to know that Tom was part of that orgasm. I didn't usually have a particular face for my fantasies, it was feelings, scenarios which aroused me rather than individual men. That night, though, it was Tom on the sofa. He had my ankles in that firm grasp of his and his green eyes burrowed into mine as he parted my legs and his hand slid up my thigh until it encountered my sopping wet panties.

I had blushed with shame but he had only smiled and peeled them aside with such confidence and ease. I had thrown my head back over the arm of the sofa, my long red hair cascading down until it touched the carpet and he knelt between my thighs and licked me out, my heels draped over his shoulders. It had been an intense orgasm and, with a satisfied smile on my face, I had fallen asleep very swiftly. It was only a fantasy after all, wasn't it?

I showered, washed my hair, shaved my pussy again and used my most expensive body soap. It wasn't lost on me that I was again preparing myself for an online encounter with my son's words as though preparing for a hot date. My body tingled with anticipation as I approached my bed in my ivory silk kimono, my long legs stretching out from beneath the short hem. I knew there was every chance that he hadn't posted anything but Tom had an obsession and that obsession had been given rocket fuel last night. I suspected he might not be able to refrain himself from sharing it with his online support group.

I was right. There was a long post from Tom, together with two JPEG attachments. I began to read.

'Tonight was super weird but fucking amazing. So I came home after soccer practice to find Mom cooking dinner. No change there, she's a great cook and always makes sure I'm properly fuelled up - I guess I should thank her one day, lol! Anyway, she was dressed in some killer stils, purple strappy sandals which matched her nail polish. She's got a good shoe collection, I mean she's a woman right? lol! But she doesn't normally wear high heels in the house. My current girlfriend doesn't wear heels, spouting feminist claptrap about oppression, yada yada, but Mom was real cool when I asked her about it. I felt really grown up talking with her about it while we were drinking wine over dinner, almost like a data (I know, in my dreams right?) but she treated me like an adult and is so mature compared with my GF (obvs!).

'I know, I know I'm crushing majorly, but there was *something* about her I couldn't put my finger on. I went off to do my school assignment and then came down later to find her laid out on the sofa with an empty bottle of wine. She's not a heavy drinker normally but I think she's been kinda down lately with my Dad and everything. Maybe that was why she decided to dress up a little? Anyway, it was too good an opportunity to miss. I mean, when would I get another chance to see her feet close up like that? God they were beautiful, framed perfectly by the sexy sandals! They're so delicate, perfectly proportioned, I wanted just to suck and lick each painted toe and caress that smooth-as-silk instep against my cheek and my lips. She has such high arches and I could just see those gorgeous crinkles. My GF's soles, when she lets me see them, are nice but nothing like as sexy as Mom's.

'I was so close to them, I swear I could have stuck my tongue out and licked them. Instead, I took a deep sniff. I've never been able to sniff her feet or any woman's feet before. My GF thought it was weird when I suggested it. The guys on the fetish website were right, there is nothing like it but, fuck, they don't know what they're missing out in not sniffing their moms' feet! lol! I could smell talcum powder, soap and sweat all mixed together in an explosive cocktail. Fuck, they should bottle it! I could have stayed there for hours but she could have woken up at any moment. I know y'all been bugging me to get a real picture. Well, I didn't let you down, see the attached. Look on my mighty works and despair (or rejoice) to misquote Shelley whom I've been studying for English lit! You can thank me all below, though a warning for the fainthearted on the second one if you don't like tributes...!!'

I didn't think of myself as naive sexually - less experienced than I'd have liked perhaps but not naive. This was a new world to me, though, and I was confused by the term tribute. I guess I'd find out soon enough, I thought, as I opened the first attachment. Up on the screen came a photo of my feet. I had been right, the light wasn't great and Tom's camera phone wasn't the best. The quality was thus sub-optimal but it wasn't bad given that it was a candid photo. I smiled as I admired the picture - they did look good my little feet. I reached inside my gown and found myself nicely moist down below from reading Tom's perspective of the encounter last night. I imagined him doing what he described in his post, kissing and sucking. I could feel my body tingling all the way down to my toes as I strummed my clit delicately.

I knew it was wrong, I knew what Tom had done by putting a picture of my feet online was also wrong but my morals seemed twisted, turned inside out by the discoveries of the last few days. This felt so much better than the repression of trying to forget what I had seen or the monotonous life I had been living before I had first seen Tom's words about me. The waters were closing over my head but I didn't seem to care, I embraced them. I told myself that I could swim to the surface at any time, it was only harmless fantasy but was that really true anymore? I wasn't so sure once I opened up the second attachment and discovered exactly what a tribute was.

It was the same picture as before, but this time it had been printed out in color onto an A4 sheet. Tom had taken a picture of it on his phone but in his hand was, well I think you can guess. His long, smooth young cock. It looked so proud, if an erect cock can look proud, so incredibly beautiful. I fell in love with it at that moment. The woman inside me, the mother too, wanted that cock. I had made it after all, nurtured it inside me, and now I wanted it back. I stared at it, mapping it so I learned every inch. It emerged from a tuft of dark public hair, straight as an arrow and slightly flattened, which added to its girth. It was smooth and unblemished without unsightly veins and then mushroomed into what I understand is called a Vader head which glistened with intent and potency. I swear I licked my lips unconsciously as I studied it.

I don't do inches but it was certainly bigger than Bob's and my pussy twitched as I closed my eyes and imagined all the things I could do with it, all the places it could go -shit I was getting close! My breathing was labored, my face and chest flushing and I could hear the wet noises coming from my pussy as I now drove my fingers in and out. What drove me over the edge? The sight of what else was on that picture. The photo of my feet was spattered with big dollops of white cum. Tom had blown his load for me, on me even. I knew intuitively, of course, that he must have been doing this for a while.

You don't write the way Tom did about a woman and not jerk off over her but seeing it there in front of my eyes, the evidence of his illicit, taboo passion for me displayed for me and anyone with a computer to see was glorious. I should have been appalled, disgusted. I would have been a few days before. But now, in that moment, I felt pride that my son wanted me so badly and wanted to tell and show the world about me. I felt wanted, desired, so fucking sexy and I came. I came moaning my boy's name into the empty bedroom where, 19 years before, my husband and I had created him. I jerked uncontrollably on the bed, like a fish out of water, gasping for air as my orgasm ripped through me.

As it subsided, I fell sobbing into my pillow. I don't know why I wept exactly, there was no one reason. Did I feel shame now the orgasm had left me? Perhaps that was a small part but it wasn't only, or even mostly, that. It was a growing sense of helplessness I think. I was trapped in a loveless marriage and just one room away was a boy who was desperately, passionately, possibly wrong-headedly in love with me. I couldn't love him back, everything about that was wrong in society's eyes, hell, in my eyes too. But I did love him. I was falling for him. That was terrifying, dizzying, exciting. I was falling from the top of a tall building with no safety net. Was I going to fly or was I going to end up pulped on the ground? I didn't know. All I knew was that I didn't want to stop falling.

I wasn't quite sure how to face Tom when he came home that evening. He'd been at Katie's house and I could tell from the satisfied look on his face that he'd got some action. Why did that make me feel so jealous? He wasn't mine, couldn't be mine, so why did I envy Katie something that was off-limits to me? Was that why? Because it was off-limits? Was that why I wanted it so much I could almost taste it now? I felt almost angry with Tom that he had betrayed his passion for me by being with someone else.

I knew this was crazy. Tom couldn't be with me, he knew that, which was why he was trying to live a normal life. I shouldn't resent that, I should have been encouraging it. Instead, I seemed to be developing a Jocasta complex, desiring to kill the girlfriend and claim my boy as my own. I knew it was fucked up, I knew I was fucked up but one can't help what one feels.