As it happened when he was rubbing my neck, an image leaped into my mind. It was the short clip I'd filmed two months ago, ‘At the feet of my mother'. The limited premise was the son had a foot fetish, particularly for his mother's feet and would jerk off into her stockings and shoes.

At the ‘climax' the son, actor Nick Nasty, was giving his hot mom, Molly a foot rub during which he was hard and eventually his hands strayed up my legs, past my knees, to my inner thighs, then beyond.

My heart beat faster as I watched his fingers move higher up on my calves, he massaged them gently and it should have felt nice, but instead my body tensed. When his fingers worked their way behind my knees, I kicked my right leg out and snapped, “Stop that

“Whoa! Paul exclaimed, pulling his hands away, “Did I hurt you?"

The look of genuine concern on his face made me feel like an idiot, what the hell was I thinking?

“Sorry! I'm really ticklish back there." I said, hoping he bought it.

“You sure? You kind of snapped when I was rubbing your neck too." He frowned, “You don't like me touching you?"

“I'm just kind of snappy because I'm tired." I swung my legs off the couch and leaning over kissed his cheek, “That felt nice, honey, but I need to get some sleep. You do too."

“I'UL go to bed in a few minutes. I have to send a couple e-mails." “okay, see you in the morning. I'll make pancakes?"

“Sounds good, love you, mom."

“Love you too, Paul."

We left the living room and as he sat back down at the dining room table, I kept going, heading upstairs to my room. Grabbing something to change into, I went into the bathroom and took my third shower of the day. At least this shower was only to wash off the smell of food and not cum and shame.

Although it was late, I took my time, letting the hot water soothe my back as I slowly washed up. I watched as a trail of soapy water ran down my flat stomach and firm thighs and couldn't stop thinking it Looked like a thick load of cum.

In my first round as Molly I'd once done a scene where eight men stood around me as I sucked them and they all jerked off on my face and tits, load after load dripping down my body.

I turned around and quickly rinsed off, wondering why I couldn't stop thinking about things like that, especially from that long ago. I might be doing sleazy make believe mom stuff now and yes had just had sex with two men, but no more gang bangs or cum showers or, I shuddered, double penetrations.

Shutting the water off, I stepped out, towel dried my hair and after drying off slipped on a pair of old jogging pants and a loose fitting t- shirt. I looked at myself in the full length mirror and thought, now this is a how a real mother dresses around her kid. Then sighed, at some point Dan or another director would figure that one out and film a ‘what's mom hiding under there?' shoot.

I passed Paul's room, noticing the door was now shut. He must have finished up downstairs. I reached my room and just before I went in remembered I'd left my boots and the stockings down stairs by the couch.

“Fuck it, tomorrow's another day." I muttered, then stopped with my hand on my bedroom door. I thought again of that foot fetish video.

This wasn't the first time Paul had rubbed my feet and each time had been after work meaning I always had stockings on. Why had he asked me to take them off? For that matter why did I7 I thought of how nimbly-and quickly he removed them and how his hands had wandered higher up my leg.

“Stop being stupid." I whispered, this was real life, not a perverted porn clip and my son loved me in a healthy, albeit occasionally over protective, way.

Yet I still found myself walking barefoot down the stairs and into the living room. I flipped on the light and picking up the boots looked around the couch and on the floor, even looked inside the boots. The stockings were gone.

I shut the light off and hurrying up the stairs, knocked on Paul's door. I heard him mumble something and when he opened the door, he was in a pair of shorts and his eyes were bleary, "What's up, mom, everything okay?"

“Where are they?" I demanded.

“Where's what?" He rubbed at his eyes, then ran his fingers through his tousled hair.

“My stockings, they weren't downstairs, you have them?"