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Mom: Yes. I can see that. Would you like to play a little game?
Son: Um, sure. What kind of game?
Mom: The rules are quite simple. The loser is whoever cums first.
Son: Oh? Okay. And what if I lose?
Mom: If you lose, then I might make you bend down and lick Mommy's asshole. I'm sure it's built up a nice stench back there, all hot and sweaty, trapped in these pantyhose all day.
Son: Hmm, and if I win?
Mom: If you win, well...then Mommy will give you nice blowjob, and maybe I'll throw in another surprise.
[Mom spreads her legs, slowly masturbates. Son pulls out his cock, stands there, jerks off watching her.]
Son: God that looks so fucking hot.
Mom: Does it? Tell me why.
Son: Because...it's the way you look in those pantyhose. They make you look like a slut.
[The word "slut" causes Mom to moan, rubbing her pussy faster.]
Mom: Say it again. Call your mother a slut. Please, call me a dirty slut.
Son: You are, Mom. You are a dirty slut. That's why you like this game. You like watching your son jerk off.
Mom: Yes! Yes! I love it. I love seeing you stroke your big cock. Jerk it for me, son! Jerk it while I finger my pussy through these pantyhose!
[Mom starts to get off. Son wins the game]
Son: I win, Mom. Time to pay up.
[Mom crawls over and gives son a wet, sloppy blowjob. For full effect, she does this kneeling in front of her mirror; son can see pantyhose from behind. After a minute, before letting him cum, she pauses, getting him right to the edge]
Mom: Now, about that surprise...I need you to go and wait for me in the kitchen.
[Cut scene: Mom enters kitchen topless, wearing black heels, with black pantyhose, holding a bottle of lube. She pulls up a chair then places the seat at a 45 degree angle toward the camera, then sits down and crosses her right leg over the left.
Mom: So, for your reward, I want you to stand over here while I jerk you off.
Son: Really? Is that why you changed colors for me?
Mom: Mmm, absolutely [she rubs her thigh]. I want to see all of your cum on Mommy's legs.
Son: Mmm, sounds perfect. I'm almost there. I promise to shoot a big load.
Mom: Oh, I'm sure you will. [Son walks over behind the chair, cock pointed toward the camera. Mom applies lube, stroking, talking dirty] I know how much you love pantyhose. I know how hard they make your cock. And I'm sure nothing would make you cum harder than giving your mother exactly what she needs...a huge load covering her long, pretty legs...all over these soft, shimmering, silky black pantyhose...all over this pantyhose slut!
[Mom strokes till son finally groans, cum splatters down on her legs. Scene ends as son quietly exits. Final shot, with one finger, Mom scoops jizz off her thigh, finger slips in her mouth.]
Mom: Mmmm [She smiles, slipping finger out] Never fails.
"So," I asked, over Mom's shoulder. "Like it?"
Eyes to the screen, she quickly answered. "How soon do you think we can get everyone out of here?"
In spite of rekindling our forbidden lust, as we traveled from one family gathering to another, the holiday schedule denied us the chance to have make-up sex.
Still, I did remember to mention my offer to help Bethany with her band, though till then I hadn't had any luck with booking them a venue on my own.
Turning to Mom, she frowned with concern, as I came to her looking for help.
"You realize you're asking me to help you do the same exact work as your father?"
Actually, until then, it hadn't occurred to me at all, though it helped to explain why her face suddenly filled with dread.
"Doesn't mean I won't help you," Mom said. "But it could run the risk of bringing up some old wounds..."
* * *
Friday night, headed to Oasis, I'd gone a whole week without sex.
Initially, I hadn't planned it that way. But the way things had been between me and Mom, living like actual roommates, combined with the hectic pace of Thanksgiving, and Mia planning Mom's party, seven days after my subway handjob, I sat there in Megan's apartment, with Emma applying some last minute eye shadow, feeling unusually backed up, with a steady pressure inside my balls, as I looked up and saw Emma's mother return, apparently, back from shopping.
In a black, V-neck, leotard top, blue jeans, black knee-high boots, after busting in, Megan jumped back, stunned by what she'd just seen.
"My word, what have you done to him?"
"Mom, would you hurry up," said Emma. "We're supposed to be there at ten."
Desperate to see myself, Emma insisted I wait till she finished, keeping me away from all mirrors.
After three hours of painful waxing and plucking, then more time letting things set, not to mention a knee-bruising lesson on walking in heels, all in all, the whole lengthy process left me with a powerful new respect for women, though all the work would be meaningless, if the end result didn't look hot.
Nerves wracked by Megan's reaction, giving no indication of what she thought, I sat there and listened, hardly amused, as Chelsea and Emma coldly evaluated me like an object.
"So, what do you think?" said Chelsea, in a deep purple, off-shoulder, sexy, silk dress, the one Emma modeled at the store.
Beside her, her sister, Emma, filled out black lace; with hauntingly deep brown eyes beautifully matching the mystery of her long, wavy dark hair.
"I think he looks like Jennifer Lawrence," Emma remarked.
"Oh, no way," Chelsea argued. "She's got a chubby face. Definitely more like Paris Hilton."
"Actually, you're both wrong."
After changing quickly, Megan returned, draped in shimmering gold sequins. Drooling, my eyes dropped to her large, motionless D-cups, boldly protruding as she walked forward, dress strapless, hemline short, tight and sparkly like champagne.
"Damn," I said, eyelids snapping like camera shutters.
"You like?" Megan twirled. Emma sucked her teeth.
"Seriously, Mom...do you always have to upstage us?"
Megan smiled. "Um, what's that expression the kids use...'don't hate, appreciate.'"
"Anyway," Emma rolled her eyes. "If we're so wrong, please educate us, oh wise one."
"Well, I think you're both very close," Megan said. "But I see more of a young Gwyneth Paltrow," she noted, nodding with approval. "How does the dress feel?"
"Great," I said, hand running down my sleeve. "Almost as smooth as the pantyhose."
"Almost?" Megan smiled again.
Crossing my leg, the friction against my cock made my spine tingle.
"I've only worn them once before. But I think I'm spoiled for all other brands."
Chelsea nodded, voicing her opinion. "If you're planning to do something like rob a bank, then buy American. If you want genuine pantyhose to wear on your legs, then buy Italian. Mom taught me that."
Agreeing with Megan's learned opinion, I turned back and noted her sheer nude hose, from the hemline down to her feet, with clear polished nails and rolling arches, propped up in gold, high-heeled sandals.
About to comment, Chelsea urgently noted the time, sending us off in a rush.
In red stilettos, I scuttled along, struggling to ignore the pleasure of exquisitely fibrous Italian nylon blanketing my cock, surprisingly, much harder to take than simply walking in heels.
On the road, Emma drove, Megan beside her, as I sat in back seat, next to Chelsea, legs twitching at every red light, as Chelsea and Emma concocted a friendly wager on the way.
"So let's make this a drinking game," Emma said. "If any guy comes over and tells Chris he looks like a famous celebrity, then we'll all do a shot, except for the person who got it right."
Ten minutes later, with Megan's connections, we entered the club through a secret VIP elevator, never checked for ID.
Roped off, surrounded by guys, all of us nicely buzzed, with bottle service, we took up one couch, dance floor in walking distance.
Flocking in greater numbers than expected, pick-up lines swarmed in from men of all ages. And just as predicted, the first dozen all referenced some famous blonde.
Long-sleeved, the dress hid my arms, with a mock neck over my Adam's apple. A shell of red velvet swelled from my chest, bra padded, seemed like real tits.
On Emma's advice, I spoke very little, smiling, nodding a lot, as I stood there with men comparing me to all sorts of famous blonde women, from Gwen Stefani to Scarlett Johansson, and every girl on our list.
"Has anyone ever said you look like Gwyneth Paltrow?"
"For a second, I swore you were Paris Hilton!"
"This might sound cheesy, but I really loved you in 'The Hunger Games.'"
Over my shoulder, as the four of us lifted our shot glasses up, I turned right and quickly recognized Cynthia, or I should say, she recognized me.
Where some blondes might have been threatened faced with another, compared to most women (real women that is...) Cynthia's assets gave her good reason to feel no one there could compete.
In white hoop earrings, blonde hair teased to the roof, wearing form-fitting Lycra, tight on the hips, Aunt Cindy walked in, dropping jaws, in a scant, teal blue, open back, halter dress, side boob left and right, barelegged forgivably, while wearing the same, strappy white platforms from our infamous photo shoot.
Gawking, she stopped over, swearing out loud several times. "No fucking way! No fucking way!"
"Astonishing, isn't it?" Megan said, sipping her drink.
Behind Cynthia, astonished is how I reacted too, when Mia appeared next with shocking effect.
In porn star couture, I imagined Mia had no problem getting past security, wearing nothing but only a pink fishnet top, with nipples piercing though her tangerine bra, and pussy lips outlined by white spandex pants, propped up on bright yellow heels.
Walking toward me, head slightly tilted, her green eyes spread open wide.
With barely a second to revel in that exciting moment, my mother, the guest of honor, arrived.
Accompanied by likely her two best friends, she walked up flanked by a striking redhead, and a snobby yet fuckable blonde, all of them matching in black and white outfits, drawing the focus toward their legs.
Similar in height, each of them stood there in black bras and open white shirts. Half unbuttoned, their shirts came down, too short to cover their hips. Yet, standing out most, even in shadow, were legs darkened by misty black pantyhose raised over shiny black heels.
Kelly had big, curly, long, auburn hair; Robin, a dull sandy blonde. Ear length, all in place, part to the left, like newswomen with short business cuts, the style was very fair and balanced. Nonetheless, though she wasn't the hottest, combined with Kelly and Mom's beautiful, shoulder-length, wavy brown hair, the slim-figured, white-on-black, forty-something trio, overall, still took my breath.
Scanning the group, it took Mom all of two seconds to look my way, flash her eyes open, face turning white as her shirt.
"Um, excuse me," Cynthia said, waving her arms. "Could somebody please get this woman a drink?"
Instead of approaching, or turning to Kelly and Robin, explaining what she'd seen, to dull her senses, Mom went to Megan, each downing vodka martinis, as Mia came over, Cynthia too, both of them visibly impressed.
Palms up, Cynthia enunciated each syllable.
"You look SO hot!"
Mia followed, hinting regret. "Yeah, you really do," she nodded. "Wish I'd thought of it."
As we were talking, since Mom had forgotten her manners, leaving her friends stranded, with Chelsea and Emma to my left, Kelly walked over and introduced Robin as her girlfriend.
"Hi, I'm Chelsea," the girl in purple said first. "This is my sister, Emma. And that lady over there on her third martini...that's our mother."
As Chelsea pointed toward Megan, I turned and saw Dante between her and Mom, leaning in awfully close.
"Nice to meet you," said Kelly, turning to me. Up close, she really looked like a young Julia Roberts. "So are you friend or family?"
"Family," I said, not thinking. Cynthia smartly jumped in.
"This is my niece, um...Christine. She's visiting for Thanksgiving, figured I'd bring her along."
The small talk continued. Meanwhile, my eyes shifted back and forth between them and Dante flirting with Mom. For ten minutes, not only did Mom allow this man to run his familiar hand from her arm, to her shoulder then slowly down her back, her laughter and hair flips, lips wetted every few seconds, clearly encouraged him using every seductive tactic in Megan's book.
"Does anyone else want to dance?" Mia said, as I turned back and caught her smiling at me.
In five-inch heels, I'd barely survived walking from the car, choosing to stay back and watch.
"I'll dance with you," Cynthia said, leading Mia off to the floor.
Kelly and Robin followed as well. Meanwhile, I stood there, staring at Mom, jealousy fueled by tequila.
Turning to Emma, I bluntly asked. "So what do you think's going on over there?"
"What, with Dante?" Emma said, turning toward him and Mom. "From here, it looks like your standard power play...two people obviously flirting on purpose, trying to get what they want."
"Oh," I said, fearing the worst. "Should I be worried?"
"I doubt it," said Chelsea. "I'm pretty sure it's all business. With Dante, it usually is. The bigger question is what's going on over here," she said, pointing to the floor.
Turning my head, in full embrace, Kelly and Robin grinded each other through their pantyhose, legs spread, pelvises thrusting, flashing their sexy black thongs.
Beside them, illuminated by strobe lights, Mia and Cynthia weren't just dancing, but full on tongue kissing in plain view of everyone.
"So, earlier you said something about you and Mia being exclusive," Emma said, shaking her head. "I don't think she got the memo."
"Come on, sis," Chelsea said, grabbing Emma's hand. "Let's show 'em how it's done."
Granted, at that point, I couldn't fully ignore how Mom shamelessly threw herself at Dante, seemingly done out of spite. Yet, something happened as Mia looked over, two of us gazing eye to eye.
Aided by Rihanna, Mia faced forward, Cynthia standing behind.
Letting me watch, Mia as they say 'dropped it low' then slowly rose up, flipping her reddish-blonde hair. Turning around, she stuck out her ass, arms over Cynthia's shoulders. Hips popping on the one and the two, she turned her head, mouthing the words.
Come here, rude boy, boy...can you get it up?
Come here, rude boy, boy...is you big enough?
Take it, take it, baby, baby
Take it, take it, love me, love me...
Spinning forward, lost in the beat, she rolled her slight torso like a serpent. Blown away, I couldn't stop watching, penis bracingly hard beneath the hose.
Helpless, the call of her siren-like movement finally compelled me forward. Then Mom marched over, followed by Megan, announcing a change in plans.
"Everyone back to the limo," Mom said, leading us all outside.
"So where are we going?" Mia wondered, sitting to Cynthia's right.
"Hopefully, a male strip club," Cynthia followed. Megan smiled, patting her leg, bloody charming speaking in her accent.
"Sorry, love. Nothing as exciting as all that. Just going back to my flat."
Having said goodnight to Chelsea and Emma, who'd made plans to stop at another party, I sat legs crossed, facing my mother, Kelly and Robin to her left.
Heat and pressure all through my crotch forced me to shift around often. To cool off, I spread my legs, watching Mom's eyes, flashing quick peeks at my cock.
White blouse down to her waist, black pantyhose from waist down, as if to beat me at my own game, she leaned back and looked off, clearly on purpose, then fluidly began crossing and re-crossing her legs, thighs rubbing, pantyhose swishing, back and forth, five or six times.
As Mom intended, within seconds, the hemline of my short dress slowly rose up, legs spreading to accommodate my bulky erection beneath the hose, a full, undeniable, massive hard-on extended so far that any second Kelly and Robin were sure to notice the head peeking out.
"So, um," Mom said, starting to squirm. "Before we go up," she said, turning to her left. "There's something the two of you should know."
"Okay," Kelly nodded.
"Well, it's about Christine," Mom said. "She's not exactly what she seems," she added, turning to me. "Is it okay to tell them now?"
With goose bumps, I sat there, lost for words, silently nodding back.
"Okay, here it is," Mom said, exhaling first. "Christine was actually born a man. Right now, she's in the process of...what do they call it?"
"Transitioning," said Megan, perfumed beside me.
"Yes, transitioning," Mom repeated.
Looking up, skeptically, Robin quirked her head. Kelly looked back and smiled. Then Mom turned and gave me this hot, subtle wink, letting me know it was on.
* * *
With a grand view of Boston Harbor, right on Rowes Wharf, what Megan humbly described as her 'flat' was a luxury penthouse condo, easily worth one or two million.
A study in opulence, the front doors opened to a set of Greek pillars raised over white marble floors. Bedrooms left, kitchen right, straight ahead, the floor stepped down to a plush beige carpet, chandelier bright overhead.
"God, this place is like a museum," Kelly said, noting the art-covered walls. "Is that a Monet?"
"Renoir," Megan said, "a gift from my husband."
Passing a long, white, soft leather couch, Kelly continued, crossing the room, toward a fireplace in the far left corner, leaning in toward the mantle.
"Is this your other daughter?" she asked, pointing at one of the pictures.
Megan nodded back. "Yes, that's Daphne."
"She's beautiful," Kelly said, holding the picture up close. "And who is she with? Is that your sister?"
"Oh, no," Megan shook her head. "That's Daphne's godmother."
"Oh. Oh, okay. She looks kind of familiar."
Robin walked over, taking the picture from Kelly's hand.
"That's Nigella Lawson," said Robin, turning to Megan. "You know her?"
"Oh, yes. We're old friends," Megan replied. "We took that photo in London on holiday. Would anyone care for a drink?"
Cynthia flopped on the loveseat, facing the window.
"I'd love a glass of red wine," she said. "Just one though...doctor's orders."
"Coming right up," Megan said. "Lauren, would you care for something?"
"No, thank you," Mom said. "I'm just enjoying the view. Do you mind if I step out here on the balcony?"
"Not at all. Make yourself at home." Megan said, turning to Kelly and Robin. "Ladies, can I bring you something?"
"Sure," Kelly said. Mom quietly stepped outside. "Any hot British men back there...maybe Jude Law, Christian Bale, someone like that?
Robin shot her a look. "Ignore that. She only likes dick when she's drunk."
Shaking her head, Megan turned and walked toward the kitchen, while outside, Mia joined Mom, beginning what looked like an oddly deep conversation.
"No offense," Cynthia rebutted. "But I have to agree with Kelly. It's not a party till someone pulls out a cock."
"None taken," Robin said. "I might be gay, but I do know how straight girls think."
"Well," Cynthia challenged, blue eyes turning to me. "Are you just gonna stand there and look pretty, or show these ladies what you've got?"
To question my manhood, with no sex for one whole week, underneath my light, silky, pantyhose-draped exterior, Cynthia's statement had rudely awoken the sleeping giant between my legs.
As four cougars watched from all sides, I stood there square center, palms over thighs, pantyhose shiny and bright, then reached down, focused on Kelly, and slowly eased up my dress.
