Violette Thorngate Exquisite Dominance

Aug 31 2007 Mommy's Little Boy Loves StockingsCategory: General     11:01AM   0

 I don't know when my Mommy/boy fetish came into being. One day, I just thought age play was fun, and the next day, I was reading the Children's Story Book of Manners while touching myself! I love age play in all of its forms: the indulgent, smitten daddy and developing, manipulative Girl play I've spoken of before, the two tough schoolgirls, ready to corner the bully of the yard and take their revenge, or the intimate ritual of diapering between baby and Mother.

I spent some time last night chatting with a friend who has just discovered his Mommy/boy fetish. He told me a tale which has been his recent masturbatory fodder (and now mine, too!) about playing on the floor with his cars right beside Mommy while she works at her desk. In the story, I was Mommy (or rather Mummy, because he's British), in a trim shirtwaist dress from the fifties, an open bottom girdle, these delicious vintage diamond stockings, and very shiny black patent open toed high heels. As junior played, he began to run his cars over the patterns of my sheer stockings, feeling the material and poking at Mommy's glossy red toes, exposed in the slick patent.

"Mummy, why do you wear these shoes? They look scary."

"Because some people like them, sweetheart. Mommy likes them very much. Play with your cars and when I'm done with my work, perhaps you can help Mommy with dinner!"

Eager to like what Mommy likes, to agree with whatever Mommy seems to think is right in the world, he tries to look at the heels in a new way. With his clumsy boy fingers full of awe, he traces the diamonds from my ankle to my knee and back. I stretch to reach something across the desk and when I sit down again, my dress is pushed up by the chair, up just enough to reveal the welt of my stocking. This is a discovery in itself, as junior had never thought about Mommy's skin being so soft and real. It had always seemed that my legs were just naturally patterned with dots or diamonds or long, long lines up the back. Mommies were like that. But he wanted to feel that soft skin, to slide his face along the slippery stocking and onto my thigh, and back down to the glossy shoes and toes. Feeling the difference between the textures made his stomache flutter in a funny way, his underwear feeling scratchy to him all of the sudden. He crashes a car into my toes distractedly.

"Ouch! What are you doing, lamby? That hurt! What do we do when we hurt someone?"

"I'm sorry Mother. I wasn't paying attention, and I'm very sorry. I'll be good and quiet. It won't happen again. I just got this really funny feeling and I couldn't help it. Oh, Mummy are you okay?"

"I'm fine, sweetheart. Mommy is just fine, but what do you mean 'funny feeling'? Show me where. "

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