Ian’s Adventure Pt. 02 by Writing_Assignment

Literotic asexstories – Ian’s Adventure Pt. 02 by Writing_Assignment

Rather short one this time, no sex, but awkward situation for our hero. More to come-

While my store manager Rachel motivated me to lose weight and get into shape (see first chapter), I can’t really claim that I did it all on my own. If it wasn’t for mom noticing my sudden zealot like fanaticism getting into shape, I wouldn’t have reached the goals Rachel set for me.

Mom is thirty nine, once the captain of the University volleyball team, and former semi-pro beach volleyball champion, with lots of trophies and awards to show for it. Her shoulder length silky black hair, and startling emerald green eyes made her stand out from the other bleach blonde vixens she competed with. The videos I’d seen of her in her prime were truly something to behold, all sinewy muscle and six pack abs, barely concealed by her almost there bikini.

She didn’t have much in the way of ass or breasts when she competed professionally, but all that changed when dad knocked her up with their first child, my older sister Lily. Pregnancy softened mom somewhat, the breast fairy finally catching up with her and blessed her thirty four ‘A’ cup to a sizable ‘C’ cup. And from how grandpa described it, Mom’s ass fleshed out in equal measure, turning the once wiry twig into a stunning statuesque figure.

Since getting pregnant pretty much crushed her chances at competing in the Olympics, mom retired from competitive sports to become a stay at home mom, a trophy wife, maintaining a strict diet and exercise regime to keep herself in shape, should the Olympic committee ever change their mind.

Then I came along two years later and fucked everything up.

Mom had a lot of complications carrying me to term, necessitating her to reduce her demanding exercise regime to almost zero.

Eight months into her pregnancy, while driving home from a doctors appointment, she was t-boned by some drunk driver. Mom nearly died and they took me by emergency C-section.

To add to her woes, dad filed for divorce. He didn’t want to deal with having to care for a severely injured wife that would never regain her trophy wife status, and decided that his younger secretary was the better option.

Devastated, Mom moved back in with her parents and they nursed her back to health. Despite the doctors saying she would be confined to a wheelchair, Mom was determined, and learned not only to walk again, but run as well. The doctors were amazed by her recovery. She added yoga to her routine, regaining her youthful flexibility as well and became a fitness instructor and in many ways, even more beautiful and athletic then she had before the accident.

So it was weird that her son, who never showed interest in diet and exercise suddenly tried to kill himself getting into shape. Seeing that I was serious, mom took it upon herself to become my personal trainer.

After the whole Rachel incident, we continued to work out together. And we ran. Oh god did we run. If the weather was bad, treadmills at the gym were our instruments of endurance, otherwise we would routinely run to the park and back, a good five miles or so. We entered marathons and fun runs, becoming a common sight in the running community. The mother and son team that was hard to beat. We always paced ourselves to each other, and crossed the finish line at the same time nearly every race.

After a particularly hard afternoon run I saw mom wince and limp as we climbed the stairs to the apartment, and no sooner were we inside when she made a bee line for the couch, and sat down heavily, nursing her foot.

“You okay?” I asked taking off my shoes at the door.

“Foot hurts.” Mom said with a grimace. “That curb at Elm Street.”

I remember. The bane of many runners. It’s a curb that is nearly two inches higher than it had any right to be, and she caught the edge of it while crossing traffic, nearly sending her sprawling onto the sidewalk. At the time she cursed something distinctly not mom like, and after checking she was okay, we pressed on.

“What the fuck?” I exclaimed. “That was two miles ago! And you didn’t say anything?”

“It didn’t hurt then.” Mom said defensively, removing her running shoe and sock to get a better look. “Thought I stubbed my toe. Looks okay. Doesn’t look swollen. Can you bring me an icepack?”

I quickly fished one of the flat compresses out of the freezer, and went to mom’s side.

I knelt before her, and without asking, took her foot in my hand.

Immediately I was assailed with her sweaty foot odor, and I froze.

I absolutely loathed foot odor, and when I worked at the shoe store it was all I could do to suppress the gag reflex at times.

I know that sounds strange for someone that has a fetish like mine, but hey, we all have our likes and dislikes.

But mom’s sweat infused foot odor was like plunging into a cold stream on a hot summer day. She smelled of light musk, of a field of flowers on a sunny day, of woods after rain. Her scent raised me up, showered me in gold.

It was what heaven smelled like.

Holy fuck.

I was gobsmacked.

“My feet stink that bad?” Mom pulled her foot away, embarrassed.

“No, no.” I said, trying to reassure her, taking her foot back. “Nothing like that. Let me look.”

I was confused as hell now. Her scent lingered in my nose, and I felt a multitude of sensations coursing through me as I took her foot in my hand once more.

It was as if I was awakened after a fruitless slumber, dreams of an ancient age, waiting, searching for what I knew not.

Mom’s foot was not something I rated high on my list of attractive feet, not worthy of a second look really, but now that I was holding her foot in my hands, I knew I was holding one of the most perfect examples of feet I would ever know. I was flustered at this thought, trying to determine what made this foot so perfect.

Her arch was rather low and mundane in shape, one toe had grown at an angle, probably broken when young, detracting from the otherwise Celtic appearance of her toes. There were a few callouses to be sure, but these could be easily taken care of. Her nail beds were a healthy color, and her nails showed signs of having been self groomed given the odd angles at which they were cut, which was pleasing in it’s own way. No nail polish, and I couldn’t remember a time when she had ever worn nail polish.

I knew subjectively that Rachel’s feet were more elegant and more beautiful, but mom’s feet had a certain charm that was far more attractive to me, as odd as that seems.

I had a momentary vision of this foot upon my cock, stroking, just Rachel had done.

Much to my horror, my cock twitched, suddenly demanding attention.

“Earth to Ian.” Mom said breaking my daze once more.

“Oh sorry.” I said, gathering my wits, pulling my gaze from those wonderful toes, back to her ankle. The fantasy of loving her foot wouldn’t abate. “Sorry. I don’t see any swelling.”

“Thank god.” Mom said relieved.

“Y-You-” I stammered, unable to believe I would ask the question. “You want me to massage it?”

“What?” Mom asked gazing down at me curiously.

“Your foot. You want me to massage your foot?” I said, gathering my courage, my mouth suddenly dry. My cock straightened even more. Thankfully my growing erection was concealed by my kneeling position at her feet.

What the fuck was I thinking?

“Oh yes! A massage sounds grand!” Mom said.

It wasn’t until she laid back on the couch that I knew I was in real trouble.

Her running shorts had pulled up slightly, revealing just the barest edge of her sweat stained sports lycra undies. The sheer fabric formed to her mound with a tightness that bordered on being made of paint, revealing every detail.

I quickly lowered my gaze to her leg, forcing my thoughts back to the task at hand. Accustomed to giving massages to men that seldom exercised, mom’s legs were long and slender, but so muscular! If anything, the exercise of late accentuated the perfection of her legs.

Fuck!

I had to force myself to imagine that mom’s foot was one of those heavy bastards that I massaged at the parlor, but it was difficult.

I started by tracing my thumbs along the ridge of her big toe, working up to her ankle.

I looked up to see mom leaning back against the couch cushions, closing her eyes.

Once again, my gaze shifted to her sweat coated mound.

My cheeks flushed deeply, and I forced myself to look elsewhere.

I shifted my position slightly, allowing my body weight to assist in the massage. Good. I thought, she won’t be able to see my tented shorts if she opened her eyes. Her foot was near my chest now, allowing me to use my body weight to do most of the work. I realized that if I dropped her foot, she would hit my cock.

Her foot smelt so damn good.

I rubbed the top of her foot three times, finishing each stroke back at her toes.

I turned my attention to her arch, right below the ball of the foot, and applied light pressure, moving one thumb in small clock wise circular motions and the other thumb counter clock wise. After a fantastically long time, probably no more than thirty seconds, I switched to opposite ends of her foot, and massaging the bottom of her entire foot, moving my thumbs toward each other repeatedly.

Finally I followed it up by rubbing the heels of her feet, starting at the Achilles tendon, up into her calf, and back again. I really wanted to explore further up her leg, but I had to control myself, and worked my way back down to her heels.

I found myself wishing I had lotion for this part of the massage as her skin around her heel was a bit cracked and dry. Mom’s feet would be a lot prettier if she just put a little extra effort in caring of her feet.

When I was satisfied that I had done a reasonably good job, I turned my attention to her toes, squeezing and pulling each toe in turn, careful not to jerk on them. Holding her foot right behind the heel, I placed a finger between her toes and slid my fingers from the base of the toes to the tips, drawing forth a moan of satisfaction from my mom.

I was sorely tempted to do a deep tissue massage, but didn’t want to push my luck.