Looking Up Moms Skirt Novels & Stories

I was prepping the ceremonial cloak for our seventh mating anniversary. The front door suddenly banged open. My son rushed inside, tears streaming down his face. "The teacher yelled at me," he sobbed. He shoved the wrinkled drawing into my hands before burying his face in my shirt. I smoothed out the paper to see what the drama was about. It was a sketch of a faceless woman titled: The Substitute Mom. My heart stopped as I read the scribbles underneath. "Daddy said she is the backup."

Kaden looped his arm through my mom's and shot me a smug look. "Want to know the truth? Mom bought this house five years ago for me. She was just waiting for you to pay off the mortgage so she could transfer it to me. We're not here to ask. We're here to tell you." I looked at my mom in disbelief. "Is that true? Was this whole thing just you manipulating me from the start?"

"Mom, I didn't score that low back then. I-I scored over 1,350." I forced the words out with everything I had. Mom froze for a second, then stared at me for a long moment before speaking. "Regina, what kind of fantasy are you living in? Are you out of your mind, or am I?" The way she said it made me panic. "No, Mom. I still have the slip from back then. It's saved on my phone. I'll find it…"

With little energy, I brushed my teeth and showered, clinging to the walls and hoping not to fall. In forty minutes, I was done and dressed in brown yoga shorts with a cream T-shirt with capped sleeves before I wobbly trudged downstairs. To my surprise, Mom was sitting on the living room couch, sipping her tea and reading the morning's paper. “Look who is up,” Mom said sarcastically, looking up with her steely blue eyes from her paper with a grimace. Every time she turned her head, her black, precisely coiffed hair bob swung. Her legs were cross in her stunning in a navy midi wrap dress with a short under-layer and long flowy, sheer high-low skirt.

Mother is going to kill me if she sees me in this state. With the tree as support, I manage to get up to my feet. I then look down at my long skirt which has a flair at the hem, as well as a slit by the side that aided my running. A weird-looking skirt, I know. But I can see that it has been ruined in most part.

"Val, what are you doing?" Mom entered the mess of my clothes. "Jesus! What have you done, girl?" She gasped. "I can't find anything good to wear today" I grabbed one dress but it's too short and probably not good for a bike. I huffed and threw it on the bed. Mom searched through my dresses and picked one jumpsuit. It's sky-blue with flared legs and spaghetti straps. "This one is perfect" It will be comfortable for a bike ride and day date. "I love you, mom... You are a life saviour"

She looks amazing! "Mom you are literally the best!" I squeal and hug her, "Travis is going to see what he is missing!" "I have a dress for you too dear," Mom smiles as she walks back into her design room. She walks out with a dress in her hand and ushers me to change into it. The dress is a halter and the top is a vibrant red. The skirt is white with red roses with a green stem. It flows past my ankles and poofs out slightly.

I was sad she couldn't get ready with us, but it’s nice she was able to come over for drinks beforehand. Skyla is wearing a beautiful flowing blue dress, a lace-up corset bodice held by delicate shoulder straps, and flairs dramatically at the bottom, letting it all flow around her. She looked stunning. Mum and dad make their way through the crowd holding a camera and waving it in the air. "We need to get a few photos of you kiddies before you head off," she calls, smiling between the girls and me, leaning in to give me a big hug. "You're not wearing it?" she asks quietly, pulling back and putting a stray hair back in its place.

That thought presses some of the weight off my chest. My late fiancée and Mom never clicked. Mom never said it out loud. But she’s good at hiding. Too good. I scroll through more photos. A smirk tugs my mouth. Ruffled gowns. Tank tops. Plain black dresses that look like they survived a time capsule. Skirts made for librarians. I almost laugh but hold it in.

The outfit was kind of reckless; a short black skirt that barely covering up the top of my thighs, clinging to my ass every time I move and a long sleeved black crop top that hugged every curve, the deep v neck dipping low enough to show my cleavage with a black head band. Everything matched: dark, slutty, ready to be ruined. No panties, exactly as he ordered. The little finger sized vibe was already inside me, remote controlled, turned off for now. Every step I took reminded me it was there, pressing down against my walls, waiting. The door creaked open. It was my mom. She leaned against the frame,her arms crossed while she studied me with that soft, knowing look she always had. “Going to a