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

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Her nostrils flared. She drew herself up to her full height and bellowed, “Tom! Thomas Michael Kennedy! Get up here! Now!”

Her son appeared in the doorway, seconds later.

“Mom? What-” She turned to face him, nylon dangling from her fingers.

“What.” Her words were clipped. “Is. This?” Amanda thrust her hands out accusingly. He blushed, then paled, mouth working but unable to produce any sounds. “Sit down, young man!”

In a rush, he seated himself on the bed.

“Explain yourself, please.” Amanda gestured at the pantyhose still lying where his pillow had been.

“Mom,” he started, licked dry lips, then started again. “Mom, I don’t know. I was home and I was cleaning up and I saw them and I picked them up and I just liked, I just liked the way they felt and I put them there for safek-”

“Do *not* lie to me, young man.” She waved the grey nylon under his nose. “These were missing from my room when I woke up this morning. Those,” she pointed, “I told you to throw out yesterday. *Those* I left lying on my bed when I went to work this morning.” Tom squirmed under his mother’s glare. She fumed, waiting for an answer.

When none came, she said, “lie down.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Lie. Down.” Hands on her hips, Amanda stared down her lanky son until he complied. She grabbed hold of one wrist.

“Mom, what are you-” a twist of her hands, and the grey pantyhose was looped around his wrist. She yanked it up, and fed the loose end through the spindles of his headboard. “Mom?” Not saying a word, she tied the other end around his free wrist and let the nylon snap back.

Tom looked into his mother’s face. Her features were set, angry, but her eyes fairly shone with manic energy.

“This is cr-”

“Shut up,” she said, snatching the ruined black hose from behind his head before stuffing it into his opened mouth. Tom’s eyes rolled back in his head, and he pulled at the pantyhose restraining his arms, biceps standing rigid as he did. Somehow, the hose held.

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.

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