“Can we delay dinner and you give me a foot massage?” I requested. “I haven’t had one since your dad left the picture. It was the one thing he did that I miss.”
“Sure,” he said a bit too quickly, confirming my 99% deduction that he was a nylon foot fetish guy. The fact he jerked off with my nylons just added weight to my conclusion.
“Thanks, honey,” I said, as I took his hand and led him into the living room.
I sat down at one end of the couch and he hovered, not knowing what to do.
“Sit on the couch with me,” I said, pointing to the other end.
“Okay,” he said.
I then swung my feet onto his lap.
He put his hands on my right foot and started vaguely massaging it. “Begin with each toe, please,” I instructed.
“Okay,” he repeated, a little nervous.
“It really relaxes me,” I said, which was true.
“Okay,” he repeated again, in awe of what he was doing. If I was correct, he’d fantasized about doing this many times, and now that he was, he was in a bit of a pinch-me-is-this-really-happening mindset.
“So… happy to be home?” I asked.
“Yeah, it’s nice not to have school,” he said.
“Not nice to spend time with your mother?” I asked.
“It’s obviously always nice to be with you too,” he countered.
“It’d better be.”
“It is, it is,” he overstated his case.
“That feels very nice,” I said. “Thank you for doing this.”
“Any time.”
“Be careful what you offer,” I smiled. “You may have your mother’s feet in your lap all summer.”
As I said that, I felt his cock flinch underneath my feet.
“Any time,” he confirmed, as he finished all ten toes.
“Rub my soles now, please,” I asked.
“Sure,” he said, and he began doing just that.
“You’re very good at this,” I said, encouraging him.
“Your nylons are really soft,” he said.
“Sheer silk,” I explained. “I order them online from Europe.”
“Cool.”
“Yeah, they’re called tights over there,” I explained. “But they make much better quality than we Yanks.”
“So I can feel,” he said.
“Not many girls wear them anymore,” I continued, enjoying the conversation, the massage, his hard cock occasionally twitching beneath my feet.
“Tell me about it,” he said, all worldly wise.
“You like nylons?” I asked, though I already knew.
“Yeah,” he nodded. “I think they’re sexy.”
“They really do accentuate a pair of legs,” I said. “Feminine ones, of course.”
“Agreed,” Jason said, as he checked out my nylon-clad legs from the hem of my short skirt down to my feet.
“Most women don’t wear them.”
“And almost no college girls do either,” he said.
“Figures,” I said. “Girls today are lazy.”
“Some professors do though,” he said.
“That’s good,” I said. “Nylons are sexy and they also look professional.”
“Many older women still wear them,” he added.
“Are you calling me old?” I pouted.
“No, no,” he apologized. “I just meant that most women who wear them are older than me.”
“I guess I am old,” I said.
“Since you’re my mother, it’s kind of unavoidable that you’re a couple decades older than me, but you’re still very beautiful,” he complimented.
“Thank you,” I said. “You’re sweet. A liar, but sweet.”
“I’m not lying at all,” he said. “Not only do I think you’re the loveliest woman imaginable, but all my friends in high school said you were a MILF.”