Amanda seized his ankles, tying them to the foot of his bed with her electric blue hose. Again, Tom pulled hard at his restraints, powerful legs straining to free themselves to no avail.
“How’s that?” She said. “How’s that feel? Do they feel nice now?” Tom looked at her, mouth full of the taste of his mother’s sweat. “Are you going to tell me the truth now?” He nodded. “Good.” She plucked the sodden nylon from his mouth.
“Why didn’t you throw these out like I asked you to?”
“I…I liked the way they felt,” he said. “I had them in my hand and- and I just, I just couldn’t. I had to touch them, feel them on-”
“I know where.” Amanda said curtly. “What about these?” She gestured at the head of the bed. “When did you steal these?”
“Last night,” he said in a quiet voice.
“Last night?” His mother echoed. “Last night? While I was asleep?” Tom nodded. “You mean you saw- you saw me wearing my blue hose?” And nothing else, his mother left unsaid. She sat on the edge of the bed, one hand on his bare calf.
“I only stopped to close the door,” he said. “But you were there, and they were there and you looked so-” he groped for words. “I mean, I know it was wrong but I saw you and you looked so-”
“Saw me?” Amanda raised an eyebrow. “You mean you watched me – watched your own mother – pleasuring myself?” He nodded again. “And then you took them?”
“Yes,” he said. “I’m sorry mom, I’m so sorry. You just looked so… beautiful. I had to feel them.”
“Is that why you took these, too?” She fingered the pantyhose wrapped around his ankle. “Did you…use them?”
“I’m so sorry mom,” he said. “I couldn’t help myself. I couldn’t stop it. They felt so good and you looked so fuc- so beautiful. I picked them up and I started thinking of you and how you looked and I just-”
A queer look crossed her face, pride and uncertainty and excitement. She shrugged off her cardigan, revealing smooth, bare arms.
“What about these?” Amanda asked, standing. Tom looked at her as she hiked up her abbreviated skirt until the hem was above the welts of her stockings. “Do you like these?” Tom stared as her stockings glimmered, eyes chasing the pattern as it raced down her legs, vanishing into the vamps of her black pumps. He nodded. “Were you planning to steal them later, to touch them?” Another nod. “To touch yourself with them?” Again.
Amanda regarded her handsome son. “Do you want to feel them right now?”
He grunted, then nodded emphatically.
On shaky legs, his mother stepped out of her pumps and onto the bed. Crouching between Tom’s outstretched thighs, Amanda extended one shapely leg and brushed his cheek with her toe.
“How about that?” She asked. “How does that feel?”
“Good, mom. It feels real good.” Tom’s voice was a ragged croak.
She dragged her big toe across his lips, dragging a needy moan out of him.
“Kiss it,” she husked. Tom craned his neck forward and slurped his mother’s toe into his mouth. As his tongue slid across the sheer nylon, Amanda gasped sharply; she could see the pattern radiating up her leg now, fast and brighter than ever. He bathed each toe, suckling them reverently, then dragged his tongue across her arch.