Had I been expecting her to wear the red lace nightie? You’re damn right I was but I wasn’t devastated when she entered the living room wearing her regular flannel pajamas. She’d not washed her hair in the shower yet it was wet around her face and neck, loosely tied back, long strands framing her cheeks. Her feet were bare as she drew them up onto the couch alongside me, toenails painted red.
“What are you watching?” Her eyes remained fixed to the screen as she gripped the mug in both hands, sipping and finding the temperature to her liking and drinking more.
“Nothing really, some cop show,” I informed her. “I can change it if you want.”
“It’s fine, I’ll go to bed after this,” she nodded to her tea.
“It’s only just gone 8:30,” I reminded her and she shifted in her position, both legs bent at the knee, one raised. If I was to stare for longer than the seconds I was comfortably able, I’d see her pussy pressed hard into the crotch of her long pajama bottoms. “Tired from today?” I added trying to keep our conversation going.
“Ugh, you have no idea,” she replied and I did once again use up my allotted few seconds. Was she wearing panties beneath them? I wondered. I thought of her in the kitchen, rising after the meal and our underwear talk. Yes she wore no bra, that was obvious by looking without her needing to admit. But she’d left out the fact she’d not worn panties to work that day as well. No pantyline or shadow as there’d been the night before. Of course she may’ve been wearing some kind of micro g-string but the camel-toe she displayed when I stole a peek from the front pretty much convinced me otherwise. I didn’t blame her for not discussing this morsel with her son. What mother would?
Her feet arched on the couch beside me, making ‘fists with her toes,’ to quote Bruce Willis and I wondered if it was a subliminal (or to be honest, blatant) reminder of her foot massage suggestion of the night before?
“Feet hurt?” I casually asked, looking at the television to suggest I wasn’t completely obsessed with her.
“Killing me,” she admitted. “I’ll wear the other pair tomorrow, see if they’re any better.”
“Well come on then,” I grumbled, reaching out for a foot as she gasped in surprised delight. “You could’ve just asked.”
“Oh Honey I wasn’t serious,” she laughed. “You don’t have to do that,” she added, I noticed not attempting to drag her foot away from my hands.
“It’s alright,” I chuckled. “The first one’s on the house.”
She stretched her right leg out and it enabled me to pull her foot up onto me, her heel pressing my thigh as I pushed my thumbs into the sole.
“Ooh, God,” she moaned as I ran them up her arch to her toes. “I’d pay anything.”
I looked back at the television as I began to get hard, laughing. “You can’t afford it Mom!”
From the corner of my eye I watched her take a last sip and place the mug on the floor before getting into a more comfortable position, laying on her back.
“Well not on the hours I’ve been given,” she sighed.
I looked across to her, one thumb caressing the sole while my other hand manipulated her toes, fingers sliding between each individually, the act swelling my cock even further.
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