“Good boy,” Amanda said in a low moan. Tom watched her through lidded eyes as she extended her other foot for the same treatment. As her son worshipped at her feet, each flick of his tongue sent shivers through her clit, as though his face were buried between her legs.
She reclined on her elbows, watching his pouty mouth working her pinky toe. Somewhere, in the back of her brain, a voice screamed about stopping, about cultural taboos, about resistance, but there was nothing it could do against the radiant pleasure the stockings were wiring straight into her nerve endings.
“You’re making mommy’s feet feel so good honey,” she said, voice ragged. “I think we’ll do this every day after work mmmkay?” Tom groaned into her delicate arch.
“Yes mom,” his voice was muffled by her foot as his tongue sought to cleanse every inch of it. Amanda smiled triumphantly, then dragged her free foot down his chest, under the hem of his shirt, and back up his body, head spinning as her sensitive sole travelled up his bare skin, tracing the contours of his laddered abdominal muscles, up to his lean pecs, toes scrunching over her son’s left nipple. Tom shivered and arched his back, pulling against his restraints.
The sensation of holding power over his sculpted body, of his hot skin flush with her foot, pressing helplessly into it, was intoxicating. Curious, Amanda let her fingers slide up Tom’s thigh, into the leg of his shorts. It wasn’t long before her delicate fingertips were brushing against the leaking head of his swollen cock.
“You love this, don’t you?” She asked. “You love mommy’s feet, mommy’s legs, all wrapped up in their hose?” Amanda ground her foot into his face as he nodded, while her nails danced around his glans. Precum made her fingers slippery against his heated member. “That’s why you had to steal mommy’s hose, wasn’t it? So you could fist this thing,” she wrapped her hand, just big enough to encompass the swollen plum, “and think of me.”
“Yes mom,” Tom mumbled. “You’re all I can fucking think about.”
“Good boy,” she twisted her palm around his head. “Mommy’s legs and toes caught you, didn’t they? Got you all snarled up in her cobwebby nylon trap?” Tom couldn’t answer – her toes were stuffed into his mouth, but the surge in his cock was all the response she needed. Amanda’s fist slid up his shaft, and her son arched up into her fingers, desperate for more.
“Right from the first day I walked in with these,” Amanda transferred the sodden black pantyhose to the hand inside Tom’s shorts, and she wrapped it around his shaft. “You were caught, weren’t you? This big,” she pumped it, “fat,” sharp stroke around the top half of his cock, “young,” twisting her fist, “young cock, all caught up in mommy’s leggy web. I guess- I guess that means it’s mine now, doesn’t it?”
“Wha- what?” Tom asked, head spinning, barely able to tear himself away from Amanda’s toes.
“I said,” Amanda stretched the black nylon across his rampant cockhead and sawed it back and forth. “I caught this cock. It’s mine. Right?”