Those Pesky Shoelaces Pt. 01

[Everyone is 18+]

"God, you're such a bad influence. You want me to fuck my son, don't you? Naughty!"

Secret quickly types back, "Don't go putting words in my mouth! I just want you to look your best."

You laugh at her lame attempt at plausible deniability. "You're right," you type. "I was making assumptions. Maybe you don't want Jake to see me in my cute outfit and order me to kneel, right in front of his sister. Showing her he's in charge now..."

"Fuckkkkkk! You're killing me!"

Yeah, you and me both, Secret. But you can't help it, can you? You're feeling extra spicy tonight. Secret's story, Kneel, didn't help--especially since she said she wrote it just for you.

The bitch. She's trying to get you in trouble.

You laugh and toss your phone aside.

You know you shouldn't, but you decide to go ahead with your plans and get all dolled up in a cute outfit. Not for Jake, necessarily, but also not not for Jake.

You start with a nice bra to draw the eye. And some silky, black pantyhose. The kind Jake likes so much. Not that he's ever said anything. But you've noticed how his eyes follow you when you wear them.

You give yourself the once-over twice. You don't like your skirt, so you swap that out for... oh yeah. This one. You slide that red plaid skirt on that you love so much. The one that makes you feel like a Catholic schoolgirl. Because what boy can resist that look?

Oh yeah. That's the ticket. Short without being obscene. Flairs out just enough to give a hint at what lies below...

But now the pantyhose have to go. Yeah, no, they're all wrong for this. You slide them off your legs with a sigh. Pity Jake couldn't be the one to pull them off you. With his teeth.

Okay, focus.

Where are they...?

Bingo.

Black thigh-highs.

You slip them on, first one, then the other. You work them up, up, up, relishing how they encase your toes, your feet, your heels, your ankles, your calves--oh, god, how you love that silky feel on your calves--your knees, your lower thighs...

You admire yourself in the mirror.

Mmm...

That zone of naked thigh between the skirt and the nylons...

Fuck, you feel so sexy.

You so want to go without panties just to feel extra dangerous, but ultimately decide you don't want to push it. It's fun to approach your boundaries and all, but you don't actually want to cross that line.

Not tonight anyway.

You slip into some nice red lace panties... no. Let's go white. Just in case Jake catches a glimpse, you want him to notice.

You check yourself out again and flip up your skirt.

That's it. That's the look.

Your face turns red.

Maybe you should go rub one out real quick. You don't want to be light-headed and lose yourself. You know how you get when you're too hot...

"Hey, Mom," Jake calls from the living room, "what's for dinner?"

Ah well. No time to rub one out. What a pity.

Oh wait. You need a top.

That would have been embarrassing.

You know just the one. A white cardigan. It's so soft and cozy. And it shows off your tits so well.

"Mom?"

You turn, and there he is, standing in your bedroom doorway. Good thing you got your top on in time.

Or is it?

"What do you think?" you ask, but you don't need to ask. You know what he thinks. The moment you turn and pose for him, one hand on your hip, one leg in front of the other, a pouty look on your face, you see a flash of confused desire play across his beautiful face.

And it makes you so wet.

That's it, baby.

You inhale and relish how your tits rise and fall in your soft, soft sweater.

Jake likes that, too.

"Well?" you purr.

He swallows.

"Nice, Mom."

Eyebrow.

He laughs. He knows that eyebrow.

"I mean, you look good, Mom."

"Thanks, baby."

Come on, Jake, you think. Make your move. You weren't planning tonight being the night, but if Jake made the move...

All you need to say is one word, Jake. One word and I'm all yours. It begins with a K and ends with an eel...

Instead, he says, "Um." Which isn't the worst thing. It means he's confused. Interested and confused. You imagine him running upstairs and whacking off to you after dinner.

Speaking of dinner...

"What's for dinner?" he asks.

"Pizza. It's on the way..."

"What's wrong?" Jake asks. He sees your eyes drifting down his body.

"Your shoelaces," you say. You take a step toward, as if by instinct. You know, motherly duty and all.

He looks down. "Oh, yeah, they keep coming und..."

You stop in front of him and give him your eyes. You've been practicing these eyes. Big. Wet. Inviting.

"Allow me," you say before you can stop yourself.

Fuck. You should have rubbed one out. You're too horny. Abort! Abort! Abort!

You're not aborting.

You're kneeling before your son. One knee on the carpet. The other up and under the scrutiny of Jake's stunned gaze.

Your fingers go to work. First, you untie. Then you work the laces, tightening them near the toe, pulling them tighter and tighter as you work your way up his foot. Now that you have a little extra material, you can tie a solid knot, pulling it tightly. We wouldn't want this to come undone again, would we?

You look up, allowing your eyes to land on his groin just for the briefest moment before gliding up his body and settling on his lips. Then you give him the eyes again. Big. Wet. Inviting. And looking up at him. Your mouth only inches away from his dick...

"How's that?" you whisper.

He's not shaking, exactly, but you feel the air around him burble with excitement.

"Good," he finally manages.

You give him a nice warm smile with just the teensiest hint of naughtiness. Your lips part, the ASMR sound tickling your ears.

"Shall I fix the other?"

He nods.

"Okay. Hold still."

You adjust your position slightly--ever so slightly--so that you're now another inch closer to him.

You feel his heat radiating off him in waves.

Your eyes drift down, down, down, pausing at his cock, which... oh would you look at that... A bulge. Yeah, there's no doubt about it. A bulge where there had been none before.

Your panties are getting damp.

Your fingers go to work again. As you untie his shoe, you smile. This shoe was tied perfectly already. There was no need for your handiwork.

Oops.

This time, as you tighten the laces up his foot, from toe to tongue, you lean forward. Just a little bit. And your hair. On the top of your head. Oh no. It's pressing against your son's groin. How did that happen?

Your fingers shake as the pressure increases. A little more. A little more still.

You're not moving.

Your son is.

You decide to meet him halfway. You move forward--what, an eighth of an inch? But oh, what a difference that makes.

Your head meets something. Something hard. Something that definitely wasn't there before.

And it's shaking.

In fact, his whole body is shaking.

You're done tying his shoes, but you keep working. You bob your head up and down ever so slightly, rubbing along that something as you move.

His gasp is barely audible.

But it might as well be an explosion.

Because it rocks your world.

Once again, your lips part. You finish "tying" his shoes. You lift your head, the pressure on his something increasing just a little before you pull away.

You give him your eyes. Big. Wet. Inviting.

Your plush lips centimeters from his cock.

"How's that?"

He nods. Words? What are words?

You smile.

"Good."

You stare at each other for what seems like forever but is probably only a few seconds.

You so want to reach out and unbutton his pants... but, no. Something tells you this isn't the moment. He needs to take charge.

"Little help?" You hold out your hands.

He takes them. His hands are warm. Very warm.

You slide your foot under you and rise. You stand before him. Your lips inches from his.

The doorbell rings.

Good thing you weren't in the process of blowing your son...

... Then again, the delivery guy could have waited. You doubt it would have taken long.

You wink and whirl away, hoping your skirt flares out just enough to let your son see your white panties on your tight ass.

You wink at the delivery guy, too, making his night.

You close the door and sigh. Oh well. Tonight wasn't the night. Probably for the best. No, definitely for the best.

But there's always tomorrow...

Maybe you should order your son some shoes. A whole bunch of them. You would have to help him try them on, of course. Oooh... that would be deliciously fun.

You smile a naughty smile and turn around.

Your son stands before you. He gives you his eyes.

Big. Wet. Inviting.

Hoping you'll notice...

"Oh, look." You tut. "Those pesky shoelaces."

You toss the pizza box onto the hallway table, not caring how precariously balanced it is.

You and me both, Pizza, you think.

"What are we going to do about that?" you say, catwalking toward your son.

Jake pries his eyes from your chest and looks up at you. You stand before him, your mouth inches from his.

His lips part. There's that ASMR sound you love so much.

"Little help?" he says.