Mom tries on miniskirts in front of  Son to tease him- Incest story by Salty Vixen

Lisa stood in the hallway mirror with the shopping bags at her feet, the late-afternoon light cutting across the carpet. Vacation had left her restless. Two weeks of resort pools and short dresses had done something to her that the flight home hadn’t undone. Chad was on the couch in the living room, long legs stretched out, headphones half on, the way he always sat when he was pretending not to listen.

“Chad,” she called. “Come here a second.”

He pulled the headphones down. At twenty-two he was already too big for the house she’d raised him in—shoulders that filled doorways, hands that made ordinary mugs look small. He came down the hall barefoot, in a worn T-shirt and gray sweats, and stopped when he saw the bags.

“You bought more clothes?”

“I bought things I didn’t have the nerve to wear down there,” Lisa said. She was forty-four, still lean from the morning runs she never skipped, hair dark and loose past her shoulders. The sundress she had on was ordinary. She kicked it aside in her mind already. “I need an opinion. Stay.”

He leaned a shoulder against the wall. “Opinion on what?”

She opened the first bag and held up a black miniskirt. It was barely a band of fabric. “This.”

Chad’s mouth twitched. “That’s a belt.”

“It’s a skirt. Hold this.” She pushed the hanger into his hand and went into her bedroom, leaving the door open a crack the way she always did when she was only changing. She stripped the sundress, stepped into the skirt, and zipped it. The hem sat high on her thighs. No stockings. She didn’t bother with a different top; the thin tank she already wore would do. When she walked back out, the skirt shifted with every step.

Chad was still holding the hanger. His eyes dropped, then came back up too fast.

“Well?” she said.

“It’s short.”

“That’s the point. I wore longer ones at the resort and still got looked at. I want to know if this is ridiculous or if I can actually leave the house in it.” She turned once, slow, so the hem lifted at the back. “Be honest.”

“It’s not ridiculous,” he said. His voice had gone lower. “It’s just… a lot of leg.”

“Good.” She took the hanger back and dropped it on the console. “There’s another one. Denim. Wait.”

She changed again with the door open wider this time. The denim skirt was even shorter, frayed at the hem, and it sat low on her hips. She had to tug it down after she zipped it. When she came out she didn’t stop at the mirror. She walked past him into the living room, bent to pick up a magazine from the coffee table, and stayed bent a second longer than she needed to. The skirt rode up. She heard him shift on the carpet behind her.

“Chad.”

“Yeah.”

“Does it look cheap?”

“It looks like you’re trying to get looked at.”

She straightened and faced him. “I am. That’s what vacation did. I spent two weeks watching other women walk around like they owned the sidewalk and I kept my cover-ups on like an idiot. I’m done with that.” She sat on the arm of the couch, knees apart just enough that the denim gaped. “You’re the only one home. Tell me if I look like someone’s mom who lost a bet.”

He was standing now, hands in the pockets of his sweats, and the fabric there wasn’t lying flat. Lisa let her eyes go there and stay. She didn’t pretend she hadn’t noticed.

“You don’t look like you lost a bet,” he said.

“Then why are you standing all the way over there?”

“Because if I sit, you’re going to see something you don’t want to see.”

She laughed once, soft. “I already see it. Come here.”

He crossed the room. She reached out and hooked two fingers in the waistband of his sweats, not pulling, just resting there. The heat of him came through the cotton.

“I used to change in front of you when you were little,” she said. “You never looked. Then you got huge and I started closing the door. That was stupid. You’re not a kid. And I’m not going to act like I don’t know what this skirt does.”

“Mom.”

“Lisa,” she said. “For the next hour, Lisa. I want to try the rest of them. You’re going to watch. If you get hard, you get hard. I’m not going to yell about it.”

She stood, close enough that the frayed hem brushed his thigh, and went back to the bags. The third skirt was white, pleated, the kind that flipped if she turned too fast. She changed in the doorway this time, back to him, stepping out of the denim and into the white one without shutting anything. Her underwear was plain black. She didn’t take it off. Not yet.

When she turned, Chad had sat on the couch. His sweats were tented hard. He wasn’t hiding it anymore.

“Better,” she said. She did a slow spin. The pleats lifted and settled. “At the resort there was a bar where the servers wore these. I kept thinking about bending over the rail on our balcony. Didn’t. Should have.”

“You would’ve had half the pool looking up.”

“That was the idea I didn’t let myself have.” She walked to the couch and stood between his knees. The white skirt ended well above the point where his eyes had stuck. “Put your hands on my legs. I want to know if it feels as short as it looks.”

His palms were hot and rough from the gym. They settled on the outsides of her thighs, just under the hem. She felt the tremor in them.

“Higher,” she said.

He slid up until his thumbs met the edge of her underwear. Lisa’s breath caught. She hadn’t planned the next part out loud, but her body had. Two weeks of watching strangers and coming home to an empty bed had left her skin too awake.

“I used to tell myself I was just proud of how you grew,” she said. “Broad. Tall. That cock you’ve been trying to hide since you were seventeen. I saw it once when you came out of the shower and the towel slipped. I shut the door and didn’t sleep. That’s on me.”

Chad’s thumbs pressed in. “You saw.”

“I saw. And I didn’t say anything because I’m your mother and I’m supposed to be finished wanting things that big.” She reached down and covered one of his hands with hers, pushing it fully under the skirt until his fingers cupped her through the cotton. She was already wet. The fabric clung. “Feel that. That’s from you watching. Don’t take your hand away.”

He didn’t. He rubbed slowly, the pad of his finger finding the seam and dragging. Lisa’s hips rolled once, small, chasing it.

“The last skirt is leather,” she said. “I bought it drunk on the last night. Help me.”

She didn’t go to the bedroom. She unzipped the white skirt right there and let it drop. Standing in the black underwear and the tank, she opened the last bag and shook out the leather mini. It was tight, glossy, the zipper running up the back. Chad took it from her. His other hand stayed between her legs, working her in lazy circles while she stepped into the leather and he drew it up her thighs. He zipped it. The leather hugged everything. When she bent forward to brace on his shoulders, the skirt compressed and the crotch of her underwear pulled tight against his fingers.

“Walk,” he said.

She did. Across the living room, to the window, back. The leather creaked. Every step made his eyes track the hem. She stopped in front of him again and turned, presenting the zipper.

“Unzip it. Slowly. I want to hear it.”

The zipper came down tooth by tooth. Cool air hit her lower back. He pushed the leather off her hips and it pooled at her ankles. She stepped out. Now it was only the underwear and the tank. She pulled the tank over her head and dropped it. Her breasts were still high, nipples tight from the air and from being looked at. Chad’s hand had gone still on her mound.

“Don’t stop,” she said.

He hooked the underwear and dragged it down. She kicked it away. Naked in the middle of the living room, late light on her stomach and the dark hair trimmed neat between her legs, she put one knee on the couch beside his hip and reached into his sweats.

He was enormous. She had known he would be—the towel, the way he filled every pair of jeans—but her fingers didn’t meet around him. Thick, heavy, already wet at the tip. She stroked once, root to head, and felt her own cunt clench on nothing.

“This is what I thought about on the balcony,” she said. “Not strangers. You. Sitting out here while I tried things on. Getting this hard because your mother wouldn’t close the door.”

“Fuck,” he breathed.

“Later.” She shoved the sweats down his thighs. His cock stood up against his stomach, long enough that the head reached past his navel when she pressed it flat. She climbed fully into his lap, straddling him, and let the length of it ride between her lips, not inside, just slick and hot along her slit. She rocked. The head nudged her clit on every pass. “I want you to watch me use it. Like the skirts. Just looking until I say.”

She braced her hands on his chest and ground down, spreading herself on him. Wet sounds filled the quiet house. Chad’s hands locked on her ass, spreading her so he could see the way her cunt kissed the underside of his shaft. She reached back, wrapped her fingers around the base, and slapped the heavy length up against her clit, once, twice, until her thighs shook.

“Look at me,” she said.

He looked. Face flushed, mouth open, eyes on the place where she was soaking him. Lisa lifted enough to notch the head against her entrance. The stretch was immediate, blunt, too much and exactly what she had been walking around the house imagining. She sank an inch. Then another. Her breath broke.

“God, you’re thick.” She eased down, taking him in slow pulses, stopping when the burn peaked, then pushing again. Halfway she had to pause, forehead against his, panting. “Don’t move. Let me.”

He held still, muscles jumping under her hands. She worked the rest of the way down until her ass met his thighs and every inch was inside. Full. Stuffed. She rolled her hips in a tight circle and felt him throb.

“Vacation’s over,” she said against his mouth. “This is what I came home for. My huge son’s cock in me while I still smell like the miniskirts. You can fuck me now.”

Chad gripped her hips and thrust up. The first stroke lifted her. The second punched a sound out of her she hadn’t made in years. She rode him there on the couch, leather skirt forgotten on the floor, white pleats crumpled beside it, black and denim kicked toward the hall. Every time she rose, the wet length of him shone. Every time she dropped, she took him to the root and stayed, grinding her clit on the base.

He flipped them eventually, her back to the cushions, one of her legs hooked over the back of the couch so she was spread wide. He fucked her like that, deep and steady, watching her face, watching himself disappear. Lisa pulled her own knees higher and told him not to be gentle. The slap of skin got louder. She came with two fingers on her clit and his cock buried, cunt gripping so hard he had to stop moving or finish. She didn’t let him stop. She locked her ankles behind him and pulled him in through the aftershocks until he swore and came, pulsing thick inside her, heat spilling out around him when he finally eased back.

They stayed there, breathing. Her thigh still rested over his. The shopping bags were half spilled in the hall. Lisa traced the line of his stomach with one finger.

“Tomorrow,” she said, “I’m wearing the leather one to the store. You’re driving. And when we get home, you’re going to watch me take it off again. Slower.”

Chad’s hand settled on her hip, possessive, already half-hard against her leg. “Yeah,” he said. “I’ll watch.”

She smiled at the ceiling, skirtless, used, and already thinking about which hem would ride up first in the passenger seat.