Tom’s life with mom is dull till he finds a pack of pantyhose

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“Fffuck,” she said through shivering lips. “If you’re not gonna fuck me right, hon, then momma will just have to show you how it’s done.” Amanda rolled over onto her knees, righting herself, fingers holding Jim tightly inside her juicy hole. “How’s it feel to get fucked,” she asked an imaginary Brad/Chad, mauling one tit as she palmed her clitoris. “How’s it feel to get fucked by a real woman for once, and not one of your stupid college sluts?”

Amanda gritted her teeth as the pleasure rolled through her body. “You fucking love it don’t you? You fucking love this fucking cunt, old enough to be your-” the hose glimmered. She gasped, had to catch her breath. “That’s right old enough to be your fucking moth-” She humped the humming plastic filling her up with ever-increasing desperation, barely aware of the words falling out of her mouth while the suspender hose glimmered and the pattern raced around her thighs, unseen by the wearer. “Your *fucking* mother!” She gasped. “Your fucking *mother*, motherfucker!” The fire between her thighs, smouldering all day long, burned searingly hot now, achingly so, a dam of white-hot pleasure so ready to burst. “Fuh-fuh-fuck! Motherfucker! Fuck motherfuh-fucker! Fuck your fuh-fucking muuuuhhhhhhHHH!”

The words were lost in a rising shriek as she started cumming, juices pouring out around the pistoning plastic cock, her back arched and hair a wild mane of sweaty loose curls as the orgasm ripped through her body. Ecstasy sang through her legs and thighs, the tingling song of the pantyhose firing neurons through pleasure centres she hadn’t even known she had.

Amanda’s body jerked its way through orgasm, electric shocks coursing through her limbs, leaving behind an irresistible lassitude that ended in her crumpling helplessly to the bed. Too exhausted to move, she let sleep take her, but it couldn’t take the smile from her face.

She fell into unconsciousness even before she could hear a door quietly shut further down the hall.

Amanda awoke early the next morning from a night of pleasantly sexual dreams. Big Jim slid easily out of her as she stirred, cycling her hosed legs in the sheets. The pink plastic glistened and dripped in the morning light and she idly considered sliding him back in again to go another round; but the batteries were dead, she found, twisting the base this way and that.

Oh well. That would have to be a trip to the store later. Amanda sat up, crossing her legs, letting her fingers toy idly with her still-slippery though achy labia. She glanced at the clock; it was way too late for a run, now.

With a sigh, Amanda unfolded herself and stood up, stretching, pushing her milky mature tits up and out. Padding into her ensuite bathroom, she cranked open the shower faucet. It was with great reluctance that she stepped out of her hose, letting them fall to the floor, but there was really no way to wear them to work. Under pants, maybe, but then there’d be no way to show them off, to let Brad/Chad ogle her electric blue legs, invite him back to her office for a little lunchtime meeting.

No, it’d have to be the grey ones again, she decided, towelling her hair. Maybe a shorter skirt this time?

Striding out into her bedroom, Amanda tossed the last night’s pantyhose onto the bed, and looked around for the grey pair. They were nowhere to be seen. Not on the bed, not next to it on the floor, not under it. She couldn’t remember actually putting them away, but she picked up the packaging anyway, and peeked inside.

As before, something dark was tucked away in the corner.

“This is getting ridiculous,” she muttered, pulling out the scrap of fabric. “Where did that kid even get this thing?” It turned out there were two scraps of silky black nylon inside; stockings. Sheer black. Stayups.

Tom rolled over out of sleep when his mother shook him.

“Good morning, lazybones.” She said, smiling gently down at him. Her auburn curls glowed in the sunlight. He just stared, dumbly, into her face for a long moment. Heat rose in his face.

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