Executing the Plan for Mother Ch. 01

What a rotten day. In all my days of middle school I never had to go to a parent teacher conference and I have one now, THE DAY OF ALL DAYS! And it had to be on the most important day of all days.

The teacher went overboard. It was just a scuffle, no big deal. Did she have to bring my mom into this? Now we were just both embarrassed. I was standing outside the front door peering inside, I hesitated because I thought Mom might just be angry. Then, I twisted the doorknob and walked in.

I wandered into the den where Mom sat on the couch with all the lights in the room on, watching TV. Dad was away on a business trip and wouldn't be back for a few days. She was wearing the same thing she had to work, black skirt suit and all, her face as stern as it ever gets. She turned the TV off as soon as she saw me.

Mom, honestly was beautiful when she is mad just slightly wrinkling her brows and she had that cool almost glamorous look. She is beautiful of course from the start -- fine featured, strong jawed, white skinned and with a poise. There are clear, deep pools on his gaze that no one should look into too long. Those thoughts must not linger right now, though.

I entered the house exclaiming, "Hey, Mom I am home".

"Come here. Sit," she answered in the same calm voice, still with a hint of controlled rage.

I will be honest, I was kind of nervous.. But deep down, I know she's a rational woman and not once have I seen her go off before hearing me out. This time, I thought I had a nice case and my spirits were up. I tiptoed my way into the living room and stayed low to touch, too afraid to be even on her level while I meekly whispered, "Mommma.... icornory....... sorry... didn't mean it.... I'm sorry."

Just seeing a flash of her feet in those flesh colored sheer stockings that my eyes had set upon betrayed me. The fragile material wrapped around her spotless, white skin and the subtle veins on her instep seemed to almost pulse. Adorable. Tempting.

The slap of Mom's hand hitting the coffee table broke me from my stupor. "Look at me when you talk to me!" She said.

It was disconcerting and I felt rebellious. I looked her in the eyes, and got serious with my friend. "Mom, I'm sorry."

"Why are you sorry?" she demanded, still stone-faced and simmering with rage.

" I looked her in the eye "I humiliated yourself. Even as they blazed with frustration, those eyes were mesmerizing. They called to me, and part of me wanted to heed them.

As were her countenance and voice. "Embarrassed me? Is that all this is, James? You're getting bold, huh? Picking fights now? The main problem is that when you should be studying, you are out being a hooligan. Well you might not get away with anything with your dad gone. Why did you hit that boy?"

This was way more upset than I was used to, and it caught me off guard. "Mom, it wasn't like that. It was just a scuffle. Didn't the teacher tell you? It really wasn't my fault."

She scoffed. "Not your fault? You put that kid in the hospital and you look no worse for wear. I had no idea you were such a bad boy. News to me."

And after a moment, "your teacher talked to me about you. We only know that the boy was being taken to the hospital by his parents, and I went with them.

I challenge you to not smile when reading this -- that my friend had ended up in the hospital, "Here's what happened. It was the cafeteria, and I am waiting in line when this kid just straight up cuts me. I said, 'Yo ass is in the back' He sort of rolled his eyes and didnt talk to me. Mom, the whole class saw. It was half the class, actually What was I supposed to do? Let him walk all over me?"

Her tone softened slightly. Oh, don't give me that little smirk. Meaning, you simply grabbed ahold of him?

She started to calm down so I tried to make my voice sound funny. "Me? I'm a gentleman. I don't just throw punches. I tried to tell him, to pull him out of line. And he pushed me, and I fell. I started to get some snaps in my nose when the entire cafeteria stopped many of which were my class mates. Mama, you know I couldn't do that. You would not at all see me in class if I did.

Slowly, that inkling of realization crept into her expression and a ghostly grin lit up on her face. Haha, sounds like you think highly of yourself. So what did you do? You're a gentleman, right? Gentlemen use words, not fists."

"Words first, sure. "Just try not to make a fist, i saw you punch, us girls cant fight like that" she jests as I begin rubbing her shoulders from behind and putting on my best charming grin in the hopes of sweet talking back into leniency. I stood up, kicked him once and went over and grabbed a tray to hit over his head. You should've seen it, Mom. Soup and water all over him."

I let my eyes move to her neck. All I could see on my end was the smile and gentle curve of her chest, ready to be moonlit. My mom has an amazing body- big boobs, a flat stomach (like scary-flat), and a great butt. She is not the stick-thin girls, her thighs are fleshy, her calves shapely but not stocky- more like a cartoon. There was an artist I read about -- BIYA, a wonderful character designer that got flak for making exaggerated characters and the callous critics couldn't stop talking about how none of it is possible while she replies with photos confirming that all the designs were based off her body. Mom's like that. She's prudish to the public, but at home she has an incredible body.

I continued chattering, trying to remain on point. "He was stunned. Before he knew what hit him I got a couple more kicks in and ran. Didn't think the teacher would catch me.

Mom snorted. I had no clue you were so fiery." I said, "You are my good boy at home.

I smiled, feigning my dutiful son nature. "At home, I'm your angel. Ain't gone act up in front of you.

"Enough sweet talk. Sit down. "Not rubbing in bed," she said, sitting up and moving so she sat me down on her lap between her legs, to put up my face on mine. I will let it go this time" But NO MORE FIGHTING YOU ALL HEAR ME?

"Yes, ma'am," I nodded.

Next time, oh you gon see how I do yo ass.

"Never again, promise."

She sighed, waving me off. "Fine, go study."

"Yes, ma'am!" I saluted and went back to my room.

I was breathing pretty hard once I got back to my room. Thankfully, there was no emergency but plans of grandeur that I had in store would have to be put off. I am James, eighteen years old and in Twelfth Grade. A former excellent middle-school student, who had all his classic book and fictional webnovel slaying mind in the world used to wouldn´t shut up about. My grades gave me a lot of space from my parents. Which is how I found myself reading adult novels. I was surprised by the off-topic themes, especially mother-son stories. My stupid self somehow fought it but the man in me won, not a lot of manhood though to be honest, and I opened the link; only curiosity, and maybe some small part darkly wanted mystery more than common sense dragged me into this. And that was the turning point for me, in my comprehension of emotions toward Mom.

She is Charlotte, has been born on 1981, she is thirty-eight years old and only five and a half feet tall. She had me at twenty, went and got her master's, and teaches classical literature at XX University. I get my love of reading from her, I guess. Is that moment of every day they meet this tall, thin woman on campus when He is arrived the Queen moves around like she owns it: slinky and studied and Dad plays all innocent but he's secretly (smirking; His girls don't play nice) happy to have ''won'' - see her class stuffed with randoms boys from other faculties who queue up at the back for a peek; she's stunning. Dad two years older than her and they met in college. They were high school sweethearts, dated for four years, married immediately after she graduated and then I came along almost immediately after that. Dad works in a factory's quality control, just got promoted to deputy manager, leaving Mom grouching about those business trips of his.

I studied my books like a maniac that I lost track of time and the time was ten, just then. It was still early so my mind returned to my plan. There is a rush to do it now, but the timing feels wrong. And to see what I could find out.

The living room was, as was typical in December, rather dark with a small lamp beside the couch on full volume. She'd showered, was lounging in a burgundy silk slipdress reading. "Hungry?" she asked casually. "Want something to eat?"

"Nah, I can pint some milk down later," My heart was beating so fast when I saw her. Her curves strained the dress, covering little more than her breasts and the light from above made her skin shine. And the gentle light of the lamp threw a bewitched glamour over her white arms and neck, so that they looked like serpents trying to envelop him; while her legs twisted, with crossed ankles. I had seen this a million times before and it never got old.

I excused myself to the bathroom, needing a few minutes. I found her treasures among the laundry: a white cotton bra and panties, and those sheer stockings. I buried my face into the mound of the bra, smelling a memory of her milky smell; I pressed her panties to my nose too -- their musk sent something through me. These were light nudges, the flavor salty and yet prickly, not savory in any sense but somehow stimulating, addictive. And then the stockings -- sleek and of a high-pile standard far beyond that cheap stuff. A vague smell of sweat and leather presented itself from one of the gloves as I brought them up to my face. Feeling my very body throb in desire I implored myself to halt -- Not now.

I had been satisfying myself like this since the eighth grade when I first discovered her clothes, feeding my lustful fancies. But it wasn't enough anymore. I needed more of her--her legs, her feet, her curves,,,,, everything. It was a shot in the dark, not one of those novels where coincidences stack up. Mom's not that kind of woman. I had to act.

With those stories as my initial battle plan. My parents were focused on grades, so I dropped from straight A to mostly D. We thought of leveraging that but it transformed. Grades were not the secret; love was. Mom is tough with it but she loves me... I am her only child. She mostly stays in, saving her energy for me while she works the lights at some teaching gig. Dad is always busy, so she has been my teacher for a long time. My grades leave a lot to be desired, but otherwise, she would tell you that I'm intelligent and hard-working. Through my period of rebellion, I have managed to keep her on at easy arms length, with an ulterior motive.

My phone has been taken off of me, forbidden to read novels, all for how badly I have done this year." I illustrate her bookings with her own clothes and compromise my love for revenge fantasies late at night.

Mine for her are confusing Not romantic love--she's too strict, too nagging. The love of blood, twisted by desire. Just -- free and happy, but also my repulsive fantasy reignites with an insistence to cross every line. It made me feel guilty, especially with how much she loves me. For a while, I felt guilty about having urges like that at all but then guilt was replaced with the reckless hunger as my heart grew more twisted.

Relieved, I exited the bathroom. Mom was still reading. I sat beside her. "Long day teaching?"

She arched her back, her body sprawling out. "Exhausting. All day classes and still running because you were. What do you think?"

I skipped yesterday because she had a full schedule, which gave me more time to prepare myself today. "You work too hard. Let me give you a massage." Before she even answered, my fingers smoothed up and down her slick thighs.

From as long as my interest didn't change, I had been doing this. It is not so difficult as books make it--mothers do not usually think twice about the intentions of their sons. Shoulders, Waist, Calves, Feet -- I was always cautious.. Feet Although I have never kissed Her perfect, beg to be softly)) His favorite) Only after she has showered, never while wearing stockings, OO she doesn't wash those. If only she knew I would never be bothered.

She did not resist, her eyes closed as I massaged her calves. "Homework done?" she asked.

"Yep. Just needed a break. Is this okay?" I asked, and I pushed into the tight areas.

"Right there, you harder," she whispered, moaning softly and making me shiver. Thankfully my school uniform hid the best of what was coming. DocSonographic part 1 "Feels good?"

"Not so talentless a son after..." she teased, letting out a slight moan as I drew her back up. "Gentler now."

"Want to lie face down? That depends," I offered, stilling my hands halfway to enjoy this new cut of her skin; halfway for her to move.

Or maybe the other way around, she rolled over without much complaint -- at least to our ears since this was pretty routine by now. 'You're brilliant at everything but studying', I replied under my breath. "Come on, you come first in your middle school. What happened?"

I took my chance, my gaze following her lines as I stroked. "I don't know, Mom. I can't focus in class. HELEN: I quit reading, games, everything. I'm doing what I can but it's just not hitting the mark.

She sighed. Whereas, it would have been you dad is cap napping you and I grounding you forever if I didnt already know for a fact that you were studying. You know the material when we go through it, but you are getting stuff wrong. What's going on?"

I kept my mouth shut and listened to her legs, my hands trespassing near no-man's land. It was the first time I ever tried, too nervous to do it until tonight. With my fingers were brushing against the soles of her feet, teasingly wriggling her toes that were itching to be savored. He squirmed when I accidentally hit a ticklish spot and he yelped lightly.

"James, stop it!" HER FACE WAS GLOWING IN THE PRIMROSE LIGHT.

Tilting my head to one side, I laughed lightly again and resumed an actual massage. I massaged her feet, teased because I know she's really ticklish and smiled when she gave me a dirty look.

Then, I went for it. "Let me get your back," I said before she could answer, straddling her legs. I must have this before when I have seen just not in my arousal showing. Tonight, she was in that gossamer slip dress, the hem grazing her thighs. She did not stop me, perhaps because she was sore in the lower back or we had been through this too many times.

"Feel good?" "Please," I said, pushing into her lower back, where the arch of her curves strained.

"Just there, oh,, give it to me, yes..." she whispered, eyes closing, mouth clamped shut to muffle any noises. She figured out that me vigorously masturbating in the shower might sound a bit weird.

And seeing her like that, vulnerable, half-naked, moving ever so slightly beneath my hands... I almost lost control. I shifted my weight, moving my hidden hard-on lower, pressing against her. It emptied my head of everything, a surge of wanting, fearing, and daring bubbling in me. I wanted her to be aware and for her son to feel it.

Keeping up a facsimile of composure, I slid over and allowed myself to just touch her, potent shock. She had to feel it. She wasn't naive. At that moment, her eyes flew open and she turned to me. Feeling her catch my gaze, I quickly looked away starting at her back feigning innocence. All gone, she said with a cold tone. "I'm going to bed."

I am wrapping my way around the square of cloth, seemingly I must be at the end now... "Just one bit to go on the left hand side" I said, my hands not stopping as if nothing had happened that sweaty pee soaked evening -- gawd could we smell it!

"James," she said sharply. "I said stop."

"Fine fine," I grumbled, getting off and she gave me a piercing stare. And with that, she got up and made her way to her room.

Well, she wasn't just going to let it go. Traditional, proper Mom would never. I was prepared for this, but my heart sank. No turning back now.

I felt so bloody ready all of a sudden and after waiting moments, probably seconds but they seemed to go on forever, I scurried into the bathroom. I picked up her stockings, unrolled one on my leg, the silk crackling. Tucking one under my chin, I rubbed it on my skin and pressed the other to my face, getting lost in a fantasy of hers. I saw her in that dress, and undressed her in my mind, possessed her completely. The forbidden thrill that shot through me sent me tumbling over my peak with my body obeying the thought. I didn't clean up this time. The plan was in progress, and there is no way back.

The moment I made my way back to my room a horrible concoction of guilt, excitement and fear boiled inside me. I went to sleep not knowing what I had in mind.