“That sounds great, mom. That all sounds amazing.” One of his hands was under the table now, in his lap. Amanda could see the muscles in his arm working; he must be itchy.
“Good,” she said again. “Good. I’m glad that’s settled. I’m just going to go to bed now, honey. You have a good night.” Amanda hopped down from the stool, and walked over to her son on slightly wobbly legs. His eyes were unfocused, and a light sheen of sweat sparkled on his brow. She could smell him, a slightly musky, animal smell as she leaned in to kiss him on the forehead. Her lips lingered for a few moments, tasting the sweat before she parted. “Good night, Tom.”
“‘Night, mom.” He replied, watching her, not moving from his chair.
She was unzipping her skirt before she reached the top of the stair, and it *flump*ed to the floor just inside her bedroom door. The air was cool on her damp thighs as Amanda peeled the hose off, skinning them down the sweetly rounded curves of her ass, stepping down out of her heels as she did. The diminutive redhead laid the pantyhose reverently on the bed once they were off, smoothing them out, hands relishing the silkiness of the fabric. No wonder Tom had stretched the other ones across his cock; it took considerable effort for her to stop touching them with her hands. Idly she wondered what they’d feel like, tickling her nipples, or sliding between her pussy lips…
“Get a grip, girl.” She whispered to herself, fingers sliding off the nylon. Casting about, Amanda spied the package on the floor and picked it up; they’d be safe tucked away in there and-
Tucked away in the corner was a wad of bright blue fabric.
“What the hell?” Reaching inside, her delicate fingers drew out a pair of electric blue nylons. They definitely hadn’t been there this morning, she knew that. There was no way there’d been room for *three* pairs in there. It simply wasn’t big enough.
Laying the new pair next to the grey ones she’d just taken off, Amanda looked inside again. Nothing. Blank white cardboard stared back. She laughed, and if there was a slightly hysterical edge to her laughter, nobody said anything about it. She looked again. Nothing.
“Get a grip,” she said again. It wasn’t a magicians’ top pocket. An endless stream of pantyhose wasn’t about to come flying out. That simply wasn’t possible. Right?
Amanda looked at the new pair. There was no way she could wear these to work tomorrow: the colour was too outlandish, too bright. Nonetheless, she smoothed them out, spreading them over the sheets, two long slashes of searing blue, connected at the top by a narrow bridge of the same colour.
These were obviously not her usual sedate work safe pantyhose. There was no crotch in evidence, for starters. They almost looked like stockings and a garter belt, all of a single piece. Her fingers toyed with the fabric. Amanda had never worn stockings before.
She picked them up by the waistband, holding them just under the shadow of her navel. The big black briefs she was wearing looked ugly, utilitarian, against the wild blue. Amanda fingered the nylon. Then, she made a decision. Stepping back from the mirror, she hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her panties and yanked them down.The sudden inrush of air made her very cognizant of the creaminess that stained the gusset of her panties.