Son’s Christmas Gift

The thick scent of pine needles and cinnamon candles filled the living room as snow drifted past the bay windows, muffling the suburban street outside. Christian sat on the worn leather sofa, his college textbooks abandoned on the coffee table, and stared at the pair of mocha pantyhose draped over the arm of his mother’s favorite reading chair. The sheer nylon still held the faint shape of her calves and the delicate curve of her toes. He had watched her peel them off an hour earlier after a long day teaching high school English, rolling the soft fabric down her long legs with the practiced ease of a woman who lived in hosiery. The soft whisper of nylon against skin had gone straight to his cock, the same way it always did.

At nineteen he still lived at home, still jerked off almost nightly to the memory of those legs, still felt the hot shame and hotter lust that came with wanting the woman who had raised him. Annabelle—Mom—was thirty-five, a natural redhead with green eyes, full 34DD breasts that strained every blouse she owned, and the kind of heart-shaped ass that made her skirts dangerous. She had kept her body tight through years of single motherhood, and she never left the house without pantyhose or stockings. Even on weekends she padded around the house in sheer black or tan nylon, her painted toes flexing against the carpet, the reinforced heels of the hose catching the light every time she crossed her legs.

Aunt Cassie, four years younger and just as stacked, shared the same addiction to nylons. Where Mom favored classic pantyhose, Cassie lived in thigh-high stockings with lacy tops that peeked out whenever she bent over. Both women were teachers, both had been shunned by their religious family for different reasons, and both had somehow ended up in Christian’s every filthy fantasy.

He had found the old Polaroids in a dusty box in the garage two weeks earlier—photos of young women in pantyhose, legs crossed, feet arched, toes pointed. One of them was Mom at eighteen, smiling shyly at the camera, her legs sheathed in shiny mocha nylon. He had stroked his eight-inch cock over that picture until he came across her smiling face, then wiped it clean with shaking hands and returned it to the box. The discovery had cracked something open inside him. The Oedipus complex his psych professor had lectured about was no longer abstract theory. It was the reason every orgasm he had was accompanied by the mental image of his mother on her knees in pantyhose, begging to swallow his cum.

Tonight was Christmas Eve. Cassie had driven over after her last kindergarten class, still wearing the red wool dress that hugged her tits and the black thigh-highs with the seam running up the back of each leg. The two sisters had polished off a bottle of wine while decorating the tree, their laughter growing louder, their voices lower. Christian had pretended to study upstairs, but the moment the living-room conversation turned heated he had crept halfway down the staircase and watched through the banister.

Mom was on her knees between Cassie’s spread thighs. The black dress had been hiked up, the lacy tops of the stockings framing a smooth, glistening cunt. Mom’s tongue worked steadily, wet sounds filling the room while Cassie held a fistful of red hair and whispered filth.

“That’s it, big sister. Lick your baby sister’s cunt like the son-fucking slut you are. Tell me how bad you want that boy’s cock.”

Mom’s answer was muffled against the wet flesh, but the words were clear enough. “I want him to use me. I want to suck him, fuck him, take his cum in every hole. I want to be his mommy-whore.”

Cassie came with a sharp cry, thighs clamping around Mom’s head, and Christian almost shot in his jeans right there on the stairs. He fled back to his room, stripped, and stroked himself raw while replaying every second. When he finally came, the thick ropes painted his stomach and he lay panting, knowing the line had already been crossed. Mom wanted it. Cassie wanted to help. All that remained was for him to take what had always been his.

Christmas morning arrived gray and cold. Christian came downstairs in sweatpants and a T-shirt, his cock already half-hard from the dreams that had plagued him all night. Cassie sat on the sofa in a short red robe that barely covered the tops of her black stockings. Mom was in the kitchen making coffee, wearing a green satin robe that clung to her curves and a fresh pair of sheer black pantyhose. The reinforced toes flexed against the tile as she moved.

Cassie looked up, candy-cane stick still between her lips, and smirked. “Morning, stud. Sleep well?”

“Better than you think.” He walked over, stood in front of her, and let his cock tent the front of the sweatpants deliberately. Cassie’s eyes dropped, then lifted with open hunger.

“Did you learn anything useful the other night?” she asked softly.

“That my mother is a submissive slut who wants to crawl for her son, and that her sister is just as filthy.” He reached down, cupped the back of Cassie’s head, and guided her face against the hard ridge. “Open.”

She did. Her lips parted, tongue flicking out to wet the gray fabric. Christian pulled the waistband down, freed his thick cock, and watched the head disappear between her painted lips. Warm, wet heat enveloped him. Cassie moaned around the shaft, one hand coming up to cup his balls while the other slid under her robe to rub her stocking-clad thigh.

Mom’s footsteps approached. Christian didn’t pull away. He kept feeding cock into his aunt’s mouth as Annabelle rounded the corner holding two mugs of coffee. She froze. The mugs trembled. Her green eyes locked on the sight of her younger sister sucking her son’s cock with greedy little noises.

Cassie pulled off with a wet pop and smiled up at her sister. “Morning, slut. Your Christmas present is here early.”

Mom’s free hand drifted to the front of her robe, pressing against the swell of her tits. Her pantyhose-covered thighs pressed together. “Christian…”

“On your knees, Mom.” His voice was steady, deeper than usual. “Right now.”

The coffee mugs hit the counter with a clatter. Annabelle’s robe slipped open as she sank to the carpet, revealing the black lace bra that barely contained her heavy breasts and the smooth expanse of sheer pantyhose covering her from waist to painted toes. No panties. The dark shadow of her pussy was clearly visible through the nylon. She crawled the last two feet until she was eye-level with the spit-slick cock that had just left her sister’s mouth.

Cassie stood, shrugged off the robe entirely, and stepped behind Mom so that her stocking-clad legs bracketed the older woman’s shoulders. “Tell him what you are.”

Mom’s voice was husky. “Your mommy-slut. Your cocksucker. Whatever you want.”

Christian rested the wet head of his cock against her soft lower lip. “Open.”

She did. He slid into the wet heat of his mother’s mouth and groaned at the perfect, taboo suction. Mom’s tongue swirled, her green eyes watering as she took him deeper, the nylon of her pantyhose rasping softly against the carpet as she shifted her knees wider. Cassie reached down, pulled Mom’s robe the rest of the way off, and unhooked the bra. Full, pale tits spilled free, nipples already hard. Cassie pinched them while Mom sucked, twisting just hard enough to make the older woman moan around the thick shaft stretching her lips.

“That’s it,” Christian growled. “Suck your son’s cock like you’ve dreamed about. Show me how much you want it.”

Mom bobbed faster, saliva running down her chin and dripping onto her bare tits. The wet sounds filled the living room. Christian tangled his fingers in her red hair and fucked her face with slow, deep strokes, watching the way her throat bulged each time the head pushed past her soft palate. Cassie knelt behind her sister, reached around, and rubbed the sheer nylon covering Mom’s cunt. The fabric was already soaked.

“She’s dripping for you,” Cassie purred. “Her pantyhose are soaked through. Feel.”

Christian pulled free of the sucking mouth with a wet sound. Mom gasped for air, lips shiny, spit trailing from her chin to the head of his cock. He reached down, cupped the hot, nylon-covered mound between her legs, and pressed two fingers against the slick material. The heat was incredible. He rubbed in slow circles, feeling the outline of her swollen clit through the sheer fabric, then hooked his fingers and tore a wide hole in the crotch of the pantyhose. The sound of ripping nylon made both women moan.

Mom’s bare cunt was smooth, pink, and glistening. Christian pushed two fingers inside her while she knelt there with her mouth open, waiting. Her walls clenched around the intrusion. He fucked her with his fingers for a full minute, listening to the wet squelch, then pulled them free and shoved them into Cassie’s waiting mouth. The younger sister cleaned every drop of her big sister’s juice with loud, filthy sucks.

“Upstairs,” Christian ordered. “Both of you. Crawl.”

They did. Side by side, two beautiful women on hands and knees, stockings and pantyhose rasping against the hardwood, asses swaying as they climbed the stairs. Christian followed, cock in hand, stroking slowly while he watched the contrast of black sheer pantyhose and black lace-topped thigh-highs. In the master bedroom he ordered them onto the bed. Mom on her back, legs spread wide so the ruined pantyhose framed her dripping cunt. Cassie straddled her face, lowering her own slick pussy onto Mom’s waiting tongue.

Christian knelt between his mother’s thighs, rubbed the head of his cock up and down the wet slit, then pushed inside in one long, relentless stroke. Mom’s scream was muffled against her sister’s cunt. Her nylon-covered legs wrapped around his waist, the soft soles of her feet pressing against his lower back. He fucked her hard from the start, hips slamming, the wet slap of skin on skin mixing with the wet sounds of Cassie riding Mom’s face.

“Look at you,” he grunted. “Taking your son’s cock like a whore. Your cunt is so fucking tight, Mom. Been saving it for me?”

Mom’s answer was a broken moan. Cassie ground down harder, reaching back to spread her own ass cheeks so Mom’s tongue could reach every inch. Christian leaned forward, captured one of Cassie’s swinging tits in his mouth, and bit the nipple while he pounded the woman beneath them. The bed frame creaked. Snow continued to fall outside the window. Inside, the only sounds were wet fucking and filthy encouragement.

He pulled out of Mom just as her walls started to flutter, switched to Cassie, and buried himself balls-deep in his aunt’s hotter, tighter cunt. Cassie cried out and came almost immediately, her juices flooding around his shaft and dripping down onto Mom’s face. Christian fucked her through it, then pulled free again and shoved back into Mom. He alternated between them for long minutes, never letting either woman finish completely, keeping them both on the edge until they were begging.

“Please, baby,” Mom sobbed. “Please let Mommy come on your cock. I’ll do anything. I’ll suck you every morning. I’ll wear pantyhose to bed so you can fuck me through them. Just fill me.”

Christian slammed home and stayed there, grinding deep. “Come for me. Come on your son’s cock like the incest slut you are.”

Mom shattered. Her cunt clamped down, milking him, her entire body shaking while Cassie held her head in place and forced her to keep licking. Christian gritted his teeth and held back his own orgasm, wanting to last. When Mom finally went limp he pulled out, flipped Cassie onto her back beside her sister, and drove into the younger woman with the same brutal rhythm. Cassie came twice more before he finally let himself tip over the edge, burying his cock to the root and flooding her cunt with thick ropes of cum.

He wasn’t finished. He pulled free, crawled up the bed, and fed his still-hard, cum-slick cock into Mom’s open mouth. She sucked greedily, cleaning every drop of her sister’s juices and his own load, moaning around the shaft. Cassie recovered enough to crawl down and lick the mess leaking from her own cunt, then turned and buried her face between Mom’s thighs, lapping at the stretched, cum-smeared hole while Mom continued to worship her son’s cock.

They spent the entire morning like that. Christian fucked Mom’s mouth until he came again, this time painting her tongue and tits. He made Cassie sit on Mom’s face while he fucked the younger woman’s ass for the first time, watching the way the tight ring stretched around his thick shaft and listening to Mom’s muffled moans as she licked her sister’s clit. He ordered both women onto all fours side by side and alternated holes—cunt, ass, mouth—until his balls ached and the sheets were soaked with sweat and cum and female juices.

By afternoon the bedroom smelled like sex and nylon. Mom’s pantyhose were in ruins, hanging in shreds around her thighs. Cassie’s stockings were still mostly intact, the lace tops damp with sweat. Christian lay back against the headboard while the two sisters took turns sucking him back to full hardness, their tongues sliding together around the head, sharing the taste of his cock.

“Christmas isn’t over,” he said. “I want both of you in the living room. Put on fresh nylons. The sheerest ones you own. No bras, no panties. Just the hose and heels.”

They obeyed. Twenty minutes later he walked downstairs to find Mom in brand-new black sheer pantyhose that clung to every curve, the crotch already damp again, and Cassie in mocha thigh-highs with a wide lacy band. Both wore black stilettos. Both looked like the living embodiment of every fantasy he had ever jerked off to.

He sat in the armchair and pointed at the floor. “Footjob. Both of you.”

Mom and Cassie knelt, pressed the soft, nylon-covered soles of their feet against his cock, and began to stroke. The sensation was electric—warm, silky, slightly rough where the reinforced toes rubbed the sensitive head. They worked in perfect rhythm, one foot sliding up while the other slid down, trapping his cock between four silky soles. Mom leaned forward and spat on the shaft to add wetness. Cassie used her toes to tease his balls. Christian groaned and watched the way the sheer fabric darkened with pre-cum.

When he was close he ordered them to stop, stood, and bent Mom over the arm of the sofa. He ripped another hole in the fresh pantyhose and fucked her from behind while Cassie knelt underneath and licked his balls and the stretched rim of Mom’s cunt. He came deep inside his mother, then pulled out and watched the thick white load drip down the sheer nylon and into Cassie’s waiting mouth. Cassie swallowed every drop, then stood and bent over the same arm so he could take her ass again while Mom recovered on the floor, fingering the cum out of her own pussy and licking her fingers clean.

Night fell. They ordered Chinese food and ate it naked except for the ruined hosiery, feeding each other bites between rounds of sucking and fucking. Christian made Mom sit on his face while Cassie rode his cock, the two sisters kissing messily above him. He fucked Cassie’s tits until he painted her chin and cleavage, then ordered Mom to clean every drop. He bent them both over the kitchen table and took turns ramming their asses until they were both gaping and leaking. He made them sixty-nine on the living-room floor while he stroked himself and came across both of their faces, watching the thick ropes land on eyelashes and tongues and nylon-covered thighs.

Somewhere after midnight they ended up back in the master bed, tangled together. Christian’s cock was sore, his balls empty, but neither woman was finished. Mom straddled his face and ground her cum-filled cunt against his mouth while Cassie sucked him back to hardness one more time. When he was stiff enough, Cassie lowered herself onto him reverse-cowgirl style so he could watch his cock disappearing into her stretched asshole while Mom’s juices dripped onto his tongue. The three of them came together in a messy, gasping climax that left the sheets completely destroyed.

In the quiet after, Mom curled against his side, one nylon-clad leg thrown over his, and whispered, “Merry Christmas, baby. Mommy’s yours now. Whenever you want, however you want.”

Cassie pressed against his other side, her stocking foot rubbing lazily against his calf. “And so is Auntie. We’ve been waiting a long time for you to take what’s yours.”

Christian closed his eyes, one hand resting on each woman’s hip, feeling the soft nylon under his palms, and knew that every Christmas for the rest of his life would start exactly like this—two pairs of silk-covered legs, two wet cunts, two willing mouths, and the endless, filthy privilege of fucking the only women who had ever truly mattered.

The snow kept falling. Inside the warm house the three of them slept in a tangle of limbs and torn pantyhose, already dreaming of the next round.