“I…” I stared at her blankly, my mind scrambling for words that refused to come.
“What’s the matter with you? Did something upset you?” Mom asked, her voice laced with genuine concern.
“Yes!” I blurted out loudly. “I’m stimulated!” The words tumbled free before I could stop them. “It’s all because of your new hairstyle—it’s so ugly!”
“What?” Mom startled, her hands instinctively rising to touch her freshly styled hair. “Ugly? But you said it looked beautiful just a little while ago.”
“What does it even look like now?” I pressed on, my voice thick with duplicity. “Hurry up and change it back. It’s terrible.”
Mom rolled her eyes and let out a soft hum of disbelief. “Why should I? Just because you suddenly declare it ugly doesn’t make it so. I think it’s pretty, and I like it.”
“Fine, you like it—whatever you want,” I muttered under my breath. I turned and headed toward my bedroom as if fleeing the scene, but I could still hear her murmuring behind me, “There’s definitely something wrong with him today.”
Once inside my room, I shut the door and leaned against it, gasping for air. My heart pounded wildly. I had no idea why I felt so restless, so utterly unreasonable. I tried to calm myself, but Mom’s graceful figure kept invading my thoughts. Her new hairstyle framed her face in a way that only heightened her mature allure, and the memory of it refused to fade.
Desire burned through me like wildfire, growing hotter with every passing second. I fought a final, desperate internal struggle, but it was futile. The insistent hardness in my crotch demanded release. While Mom busied herself cooking dinner in the kitchen, I surrendered to the temptation. On tiptoe, I slipped into my parents’ bedroom, carefully searching for the stockings she had changed out of earlier.
Her suit jacket and narrow skirt hung neatly, but the stockings were nowhere in sight. They weren’t in the laundry basket either. In such a short time, she couldn’t have washed them. They had to be hidden somewhere nearby.
I rummaged through the room with painstaking care, a pang of guilt twisting in my chest. Why does she have to hide things from me like I’m some kind of thief? Don’t I deserve her trust?
After several tense minutes, I finally found them—tucked deeply beneath the mattress. The pair of sheer black glass silk tights felt warm and slightly damp from her wear. I lifted them to my nose and inhaled deeply. The rich, intimate scent of a mature woman flooded my senses: a subtle mix of her skin, faint perspiration, and the delicate leather from her shoes. It sent shivers racing up my spine.
I knew I was descending deeper into perversion, but the thought only fueled the flames. After one last moment of hesitation, I stuffed the stockings into my pocket and quietly slipped out of the room.
I was certain Mom would discover the theft eventually, but with lust clouding my judgment, nothing else mattered.
Back in my bedroom, I resisted the urge to masturbate immediately. Dinner was approaching, and I didn’t want a rushed, unsatisfying release. Even this act deserved some sense of ritual. Besides, Dad was away on business and wouldn’t be home tonight, leaving the house quieter than usual.
During dinner, I sat distracted, my mind consumed by the forbidden treasure waiting in my room. Every nerve felt electrified. I could barely focus on the food. Mom kept glancing at me, her brow furrowed with worry. My erratic behavior today had clearly unsettled her.
After the meal, I retreated to my desk under the pretense of studying. I forced myself to endure the wait until Mom went to bed and the house fell silent. Only then could I indulge fully—wrapping her warm, scented stockings around my aching cock and losing myself completely.
As I struggled to concentrate, Mom entered with a steaming bowl. The rich aroma of herbal soup filled the air.
“Are you still making me drink this?” I frowned.
“Of course,” she replied gently, setting the bowl before me. “You’re in the last year of your high school—the most stressful time. You need proper nourishment. Zyan's mother has been making soup for him every day after work since last year, and look how much his midterm grades improved.”
“Zyan improvement came from hard work, not soup,” I grumbled. “You mothers and your superstitions…” This chapter is updated first at g.com.
“Why wouldn’t it help?” Mom countered, hands on her hips. “We only want what’s best for you. Now drink up.”
“It’s too hot,” I protested weakly.
“Then drink some water with it,” she said firmly.
I sighed, feeling both exasperated and helplessly aroused. “You’re being completely unreasonable.”
“Me? Unreasonable?” Mom’s voice rose slightly. “I work all day at the company, come home to cook for you, and then spend extra time preparing this soup. And I’m the unreasonable one?”
“I was just saying it casually. Fine, I’ll drink it.” I pinched my nose and downed the entire bowl in one go. Warmth spread through my body almost immediately. This wasn’t just brain food—it felt like it was fueling the fire in my veins, stoking my already overwhelming lust.
Mom didn’t leave right away. She sat beside me, her presence intoxicating. “Have you been behaving yourself lately? No trouble outside, right?”
“I’ve been honest. No issues at all,” I replied, avoiding her eyes. The guilt from stealing her stockings weighed heavily on me.
She reached out and gently stroked my hair. “Hang in there just a little longer. Grit your teeth and get through this final year.”
Her touch, combined with the soft, feminine fragrance that always surrounded her, made my head spin. My erection strained painfully against my pants. To hide my reaction, I grabbed a pen and jabbed its tip hard into the back of my hand. The sharp pain helped clear my mind for a moment.
“What are you doing?” Mom exclaimed, startled.
“Just… trying to concentrate,” I lied.
“You don’t need to hurt yourself to focus. Oh… wait, don’t move!” Her expression shifted to one of alarm. “You have a nosebleed!”
I wiped my nose and saw the blood on my fingers. “Do I stay still or raise my head?”
“Raise your head—quickly!” She tilted my head back with gentle but firm hands, grabbing tissues to stem the flow. As she leaned over me, her loose home clothes shifted. The neckline of her yellow vest dipped low, revealing the full, soft swell of her breasts. They pressed together invitingly, pale skin glowing under the light, smooth and impossibly tempting. I couldn’t tear my eyes away.
“Ugh! Why is it flowing more?” Mom sounded worried as she pressed tissues firmly against my nose.
I barely registered the bleeding anymore. My gaze remained locked on her cleavage, drinking in every detail—the gentle curve, the subtle movement with each breath. I imagined burying my face there, losing myself in her warmth.
“Why is your face so red?” Mom asked suspiciously. She followed my stare downward and gasped, her cheeks flushing bright red. She slapped the side of my head lightly. “Where are you looking?!”
I covered my nose with one hand and rubbed my head with the other. “I was just… reminiscing about childhood.”
“What?” She looked puzzled.
Mom stared at me, caught between scolding and amusement. Finally, she shook her head with an exasperated laugh. “I really don’t know what to do with you anymore.”
“Your father was never this shameless.”
“Is it really shameless? It’s just a normal, healthy reaction for a man.”
“You call that normal?” She grabbed more tissues, patted them onto my face, and muttered, “Clean up your nosebleed first.” Glancing at the empty soup bowl, she added under her breath, “I shouldn’t have given you any more. It’s making me angry now too.”
Mom fetched the medicine box and tended to me carefully. Once the bleeding stopped, she insisted I rest early instead of studying.
The moment she left, my restraint shattered. I retrieved the stolen stockings, locked the door this time—or so I thought—and sat on the edge of the bed. I yanked down my pants and underwear in one swift motion. The earlier images of Mom’s breasts still burned vividly in my mind. I wrapped the sheer black silk around my throbbing cock. The smooth, delicate fabric glided over my sensitive skin, sending waves of electric pleasure through me. I trembled, nearly climaxing from the first contact.
Steadying myself, I gripped the silk-wrapped length with my right hand and began stroking slowly at first. With my left, I lifted the toe end of the stockings to my nose and inhaled deeply. The faint, musky scent—slightly tangy from her long day—filled my lungs. I pictured Mom lying on my bed in her office uniform, her elegant feet encased in these very stockings, slowly stroking me with expert rhythm. My free hand imagined tracing her long, silky legs, savoring their texture.
The prolonged buildup had left me desperate. I abandoned any pretense of savoring the moment and pumped faster, harder. Pleasure coiled tight in my core. Just as the peak approached, the door suddenly swung open.
Terror shot through me. I grabbed my school uniform jacket and tried to cover myself, cursing my stupidity for not double-checking the lock.
Mom stepped inside. “Any dirty clothes in here?”
“N-no,” I stammered, my body rigid, legs clamped together.
She scanned the room, picked up my discarded school pants, and complained, “These are filthy and you didn’t even mention them.” As she turned to leave, her eyes caught the jacket awkwardly draped over my lap. “Is the jacket dirty too?”
“It’s fine! Totally clean!” I prayed silently for her to walk away.
She paused, suspicion darkening her features. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing! I’m… meditating. Concentrating. That’s all.” My voice shook.
Without another word, she grabbed the sleeve and yanked the jacket away.
The fabric flew off, exposing everything—my rigid cock still sheathed in her stolen black silk stockings. The sudden shock and overwhelming arousal pushed me over the edge. With a violent shudder, thick ropes of hot, sticky semen erupted, soaking the delicate material. Pulse after pulse spilled out, the pungent scent filling the air. Every detail unfolded helplessly before Mom’s wide eyes.
I couldn’t bear to look at her face. I heard her sharp, heavy breathing. After a long, agonizing moment, she hurled the bundle of dirty clothes at my face, turned sharply, and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her.
The lingering spasms of orgasm faded, leaving only a cold wave of dread. I slapped a hand against my forehead. Caught again. This time, there was no escaping the consequences
Author's Note