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Logan Adams
Logan Adams

Mom Caught Me Looking Up Her Skirt

Mom had to dress appropriately for her job; a strict dress code was enforced. As a legal secretary she was required to wear a suit or a skirt-blouse-blazer combination, heels and hosiery; this was the Seventies so pantsuits were forbidden for professional women, skirts were short and makeup was heavy. Pantyhose had replaced stockings for most women, and although a lot of men complained, women liked the convenience of pantyhose and I liked the look of sheer nylon encasing a woman's legs up to the very top of her thighs.

Mom Caught Me Looking Up Her Skirt

Sometimes Mom was so tired she didn't even bother to take off her jacket or high-heels. Inevitably she would be lying on the lounge snoring within a few minutes of getting home from work, and inevitably her skirt would ride up. I would sit across from her for hours looking up her skirt at her nylon encased legs, the gossamer hose stretched taut around her fat thighs. Sometimes she would get uncomfortable or agitated and fumble around on the couch until she was comfortable again and her skirt would ride right up so high on her hips that I had an unobstructed view of her pantyhosed legs and knickers.

I was late reaching pubity and had only just started to get erections; the erections mostly came on when I looked up mommy's skirt as she lay snoring on the lounge. I didn't know what was going on with me; and as I didn't have a Dad and was a loner at school, I had no one to talk to about sex. I decided to ask my sister if she knew what was happening to me. She was a year older than me and worked at K-Mar. K-Mart had a dress code and she wore short A-line skirts and pantyhose to work every day. She was lying on her bed reading some inane teen girl magazine when I went in to her room to ask her about these strange feelings I was getting, and about this strange thing that kept happening to my penis. Her skirt had ridden up and I could see her hosed thighs and the Vee of her panties; I stood there mesmerised by the sight; an erection growing in my pants. She saw me looking up her skirt and picked up the nearest thing at hand and threw it at me telling me that I was disgusting; just like all the boys that she knew, and to get out of her room.

My cock was now throbbing and I lowered the pantyhose back down to it. I opened the hose and pulled one leg over my cock and started to slowly rub the fabric against my erection. The feeling of the gossamer nylon of my sister's pantyhose on the nerve endings of my erect member was wonderful. With my left hand I gathered up the rest of the silky garment and began to slowly massage my scrotum. My thoughts drifted to the sight of my sister lying on the bed with her skirt rucked up; and then suddenly my thoughts shifted and I locked onto a scene from last night; my mother lying on the couch with her skirt hitched high up on her thighs. As I slid the diaphanous hosiery up and down my cock I imagined that I was sliding my cock up and down my mother's silken encased calves.

And so it went for the next few months; Mom's arse got wider and her thighs got fatter but she still wore those business suits with the short skirts, nylons and high-heels and far too much makeup. On the rare occasion that she spoke to me or we had anything like intimate contact (a birthday hug or pat on the head for passing an exam) she reeked of cheap perfume and cigarette smoke. She was doing it tough; I knew that. Sometimes I would listen to her talking on the phone to my aunt; telling her about how hard she worked and how the guys at work hit on her because she was a divorcee. She hinted that she might have given in to one or two of the senior partners in the firm to try and advance her career but she stayed in the same shitty job, working the same shitty hours, getting the same shitty wage.

And most evenings I would sit in the same shitty chair looking up her skirt as she snored on the couch, having fallen asleep in front of re-runs of American TV shows such as Star Trek or Sonny and Cher or BBC offerings such as Thunderbirds or The Avengers. I had no time for such inane distractions as they flickered on our small black and white TV; I stared in concentration at my mother's nylon encased legs, examining how her hose wrinkled behind her knees; staring at her painted toenails eclipsed by the reinforced toes of her pantyhose; at how the nylon stretched taut around her heavy thighs and glistened in the dim light of the TV. I studied her panties when she offered me a view, they were often frayed at the waist or leg-holes, but they were always clean, the satin material contrasting with her flesh-toned nylons.

I spent my weekday evenings sitting in the same chair staring up my mother's skirt pretending I was watching TV, but I didn't really have to worry about being caught. We never had visitors during the week. My sister had dropped out of school to follow a career as a checkout-chick at K-Mart, giving blow jobs to garage-band rock stars on the weekends. She wore short A-line skirts, platform shoes and too much makeup; she was a well known slut but she didn't care about her reputation as long as she had enough money for cigarettes, makeup and clothes and had the latest 'it' guy hanging off her arm. K-Mart because they had just started opening during the evenings and my sister worked long shifts; taking as much overtime as she could get. After work she would be off with her current boyfriend and it was not unusual for me not to see her for days at a time. Even when we did see each other we seldom spoke; she thought of herself as a 'sophisticated woman of the world' and I was the gawky, pimply-faced nerd; who wore cheap, thrift-store clothes and had no friends.

One day in December I was in K-Mart. The week before my sister had proudly told Mom that she had been promoted from cashier to 'floor walker' and that she had her own section in the store to attend to; she was perched at the top of a ladder fixing Christmas decorations to the ceiling. My English teacher, a fat balding man in his late fifties, was pretending to look at a display of inane knickknacks whilst furtively looking up my sister's skirt; stroking his cock though his trouser pocket. He was sweating profusely, his eyes locked up my sister's skirt, and I watched him gasp and splutter as his hand furiously worked away inside his pocket until a wet stain darkened the material at the front of his trousers. He looked around and then surreptitiously reached for his handkerchief and dabbed at the wet spot and then adjusted his jacket to cover the stain before sneaking away red-faced and self-conscious. I glanced up at my sister and saw that she was watching my English teacher walk away; she was grinning to herself in a smug self-satisfied way.

My sister had taken her Christmas holidays and had gone away for the week with her latest boring boyfriend and I faced a lonely existence for the next few weeks, at home alone, a gawky, inadequate teenager with no friends, living in a house devoid of warmth or affection. I was still a virgin and except for my nightly masturbation ritual, I had no means of sexual gratification. I possessed a single stroke magazine; pictures of a large, heavily made up, middle-aged woman dressed in a corset, knickers, stockings and high-heels, staring at the camera with a false expression of lust on her face as she posed legs akimbo on a ratty bed. I sometimes looked at these pictures as I spent my seed into my sister's crusty hosiery; but mostly I recalled the image of my mother asleep on the lounge, her skirt hiked up, with her fat nyloned thighs spread apart as she snored the evening away.

Mom came home drunk from the office Christmas party. She was dressed in a navy-blue business suit with a white satin blouse. The hem of her skirt rested about six inches above her knees, she was wearing sheer taupe pantyhose and I noticed one leg had a small ladder that had started at her ankle and ran up her calf, stopping just short of her knee. She was heavily made up with red lipstick and blue-green eyeshadow; her eyes were heavily lined and mascaraed and her cheeks were rouged. She reeked of cheap perfume and alcohol. Mom was going to fat; the material of her skirt was stretched tight around her thighs and buttocks and the buttons on her blouse bulged around her breasts.

I had prepared our dinner, the usual stodgy meat and three veg, which she scoffed down each evening in silence before adjourning to the couch. I realised that Mom was drunk and my sister was away; I would never get a better opportunity to make my fantasy come true. Mom went to the hallway closet to put away her jacket, her high-heels clattering on the wooden floor as she drunkenly rambled on about how one of the partners had put his hand up her skirt at the party and what did he think she was; some kind of office slattern just because she was divorced! This was the most that Mom had spoken to me for over a month.

I stripped naked and sat in my chair looking at my Mom. Her makeup was smeared across her chubby face and her skirt was hitched way above her knees just covering the tops of her thighs. Her nylons glistened in the lamplight and I couldn't wait any longer. I walked over to the couch and caressed her leg, I stroked the diaphanous nylon where it wrinkled at the back of her ankle and with my finger I followed the run in her stocking up to the top of her calf. My cock was rock hard and leaking drops of clear pre-seminal fluid.

I picked up her foot and nestled my cock in the reinforced nylon covering her toes; I slid my cock back and forth delighting in the sensation of the silky nylon against my cock. I knew that I would climax soon but I didn't care. I was a young healthy male and I could come three times in an hour, no problems. I reached out and pulled Mom's skirt all the way up so that it was rucked up around her waist. I had to lift her fat arse to get at the skirt and for the first time I realised how heavy my Mom was. I had planned to fuck her and then undress her, put her in her nightgown and then put her in bed, hoping that she wouldn't remember how she got there because of all the booze she had drank. I quickly realised there was no way I was going to be able to move her off that couch by myself. Well fuck her! She was getting fucked anyway; hang the consequences!


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