Birthday Bewitching

I was roused from my sleep by a banging on the door. "Alfred, come on down! Breakfast is ready." I heard my mom call from the hallway.

I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and put my feet on the floor. "I'll be right down," I mumbled out. Through the door I heard heels clicking on the hardwood floor. That must have satisfied her. I looked at the clock on my nightstand. Almost quarter past seven. I normally get up at six o'clock sharp. I must have forgotten to set my alarm last night.

I got up out of bed and went to the bathroom, still dressed in my pyjamas. All I had time for was a quick shave and putting on deodorant. The full morning routine would have to wait if Mom and Emma had already made breakfast. At least with the teachers having meetings all day I didn't have school.

I went downstairs and headed to the kitchen. Mom was standing at the stove, back to me. Her raven black braid hung over her left shoulder. Through the slit of her tan knee-length pencil skirt I could see that she was wearing opaque black tights, thick ones that didn't become any less opaque on her thighs. Her feed were shod in shiny black pumps complete with stiletto heels around four inches high.

Mom put a pancake on a plate and walked over to the kitchen table, heels clicking on the tiling. She put the plate on the table and looked at me. She smiled, pretty round face beaming with delight. "Happy birthday, darling." She said.

I went over to her and gave her a hug, feeling the white silk of her blouse. It felt great. She returned the hug and kissed me on the cheek. "Thanks Mom," I told her.

Mom sat down, rolling down the sleeves of her blouse and covering as much of her pale ivory skin as she could. "Emma had to get something ready for school. She said it won't take long." I nodded and poured myself a cup of coffee.

After a minute, I heard a clopping sound outside the kitchen. I turned my head and saw Emma striding towards us. The clopping was caused by the block heels on the ankle boots she was wearing, around the same height as Mom's.

Like with Mom, I glanced at her legs, also sheathed in opaque black tights. Mom and Emma had entire dressers filled with tights, and there was almost always a pair or several hanging in the bathroom drying. It was understandable, they never wore pants or wore skirts with bare legs, even in summer.

Emma smiled. "Happy birthday, Alfy." She said, spreading her arms wide. I hugged her as well. I loved her, but I also loved the feeling of the sleek black turtleneck she was wearing. It was made from very fine material, cashmere I thought, marvellously soft to the touch.

We broke off the hug and went to the table. I took notice of how Emma's flared midi skirt swished and swayed as she moved. It was black, like the rest of her outfit, but covered with vine and rose patterns. She and Mom were classy dressers. Not like the girls at school, or even most of the teachers.

Emma looked like a younger version of Mom. The differences were that her hair was glossier and tied into a ponytail, and she wore thick aviator glasses that framed her face wonderfully and made her beauty stand out even more.

We both sat down. "Sorry about that. I almost forgot about a due date for an assignment." Emma said, bringing up her skirt as she sat.

"Don't worry about it," I told her. "Right now school needs to be first priority for both of us." With that, we began to eat. The breakfast was great. Pancakes with homemade whipped cream and maple syrup, scrambled eggs, and a freshly-made fruit salad. We don't normally go through this much effort for breakfast, but today was special. My eighteenth birthday.

"What do you two have planned for today?" Mom asked as she cut up a pancake.

"I've got an exam at nine thirty, and when that's done I have a gymnastics class." Emma said as she picked at her fruit salad.

"And what about you, Alfred?"

"I told you yesterday," I said with some annoyance. "The faculty are having meetings all day. No classes. They gave us some homework, but that'll take an afternoon at most. I'm staying here since I have nothing else going on."

Mom nodded. "I'm okay with you spending the day at home. As for me, I'm going to try and get the afternoon off. My department has been performing excellently and the policy is that we get either the morning or afternoon off if it's a special occasion." She smiled. "And I want to spend as much of your birthday with you as possible, Alfred. I don't want to waste this day writing emails and nonsense office reports."

"So Alfy," Emma said. "You're eighteen now, a man in legal terms. Do you have any plans on getting a girlfriend anytime soon?"

"Not particularly," I replied, making sure to give my voice an edge. "Why, worried I'm going to start spending less time with you?"

"No, Alfy, it's just-" Emma set her fork down. "I know this will sound weird coming from your sister, but you're really quite handsome. The fact that you're, well, still a virgin at eighteen just doesn't add up. I'm sure you could have your pick of any girl at school."

"You're two years older than me and I've never seen you with a boyfriend," I responded.

Emma shrugged. "Just haven't found the right guy yet," she said noncommittally. Uh-huh, sure. She was a unicorn-a young lady gorgeous enough to walk on runways in New York, Paris or Milan, who had never dated. As far as I knew, she was still a virgin as well.

Truth was, Emma was also deeply introverted. She only had a couple of friends, neither of whom were particularly close, and she spent all her spare time either on schoolwork, reading, watching anime, or doing something or other with Mom. Maybe she was asexual, although I doubted that.

"I think it's a fair question, Alfred." Mom said as she picked at her eggs. "Men these days have a hard time finding romantic partners. You'd have an easy time of it, at least in the short time. You should take advantage of it."

I shot Mom a glare. Instantly she looked down at her plate. Mom hadn't dated in over a year. Since Dad was killed. Sure, it had been horrific-getting gunned down outside your office isn't as nice as dying in your bed of old age-but she had to move on at some point. And as attractive as she was-she was forty-four but looked thirty-she must have had suitors approach her.

I didn't want to tell them what I really thought. The reality was that I had no interest in the sluts at school. All of them, even the ugly or fat ones, were promiscuous beyond belief and had a different dick in them every weekend. I had zero interest in dating someone like that.

The really fucked up thing, which I didn't want ANYONE to know, was that my mother and sister were my point of comparison. I've said this a lot, but they really are very beautiful. Heavenly, even. And they dressed well too. Always wearing skirts or dresses with tights and high heels, even when it was unnecessary or impractical.

They didn't flaunt their tits and asses either. The skirts were always at least knee-length, and their tops were always long-sleeved with high necklines, or buttoned up. They were elegant and feminine women. Not like the girls at school, or even some of the younger teachers, who always seemed to push the boundaries on what was acceptable to wear in public.

Hell, they had lovely personalities too. They had always treated me kindly, never cruelly or capriciously. Lots of my friends have been mistreated and bullied by their moms and sisters. They've outright told me that they're jealous of how kind Emma and Mom are.

If I was to have a girlfriend, I wanted someone like them. Nobody says that, though. You don't want to say you use your mother and sister as the baseline for a girlfriend. You just don't.

We finished eating not long after. I picked up my plate, only for Mom to slap my hand. "Please don't bother, sweetie. We can clean up without you."

I raised an eyebrow. "You sure, Mom?"

She nodded her head. "Of course. It's your birthday, and you have today off besides. I want you to enjoy yourself. Please, honey, do it for me."

I put my plate back down, got up and went back upstairs. As much as I wanted to kick back and relax, I needed to get my homework done. That way I'd have the rest of the day, not to mention the weekend, to do as I pleased.

Not long after I got to doing my homework I heard the front door open and close. It happened again twenty minutes later. Mom and Emma were gone. I had free reign of the house until they returned.

I spent the rest of the morning on the homework. Most of it was pretty easy, but I had a history essay due on Monday, and that one required a lot of research. Around eleven-thirty, I shut my computer off and headed downstairs to make lunch.

At seven past twelve I had eaten and cleaned up. I sniffed my armpit. It reaked. Normally I shower after waking up, but since I had forgot to set my alarm I didn't have the time for a proper morning routine. Besides, I was still wearing the same grey t-shirt and sweatpants I had worn to bed last night. I needed to put some proper clothes on.

I went back upstairs and entered the washroom. I took my pyjamas off and hung them up on the door hanger. Turning towards the shower I noticed a couple of towel racks. One was where we actually kept our towels, but the other had a bunch of tights which had been carefully folded. There must have been at least two dozen pairs, in several different colours.

Some were in dull professional colours-black, brown, beige, grey, navy blue-that must have been Mom's. Others were in more vibrant colours-purple, red, green, burgundy, magenta, white-or patterns. Emma's, no doubt. She liked wearing a different colour every day, saying that Mom's palette is boring. I didn't blame her. She looked good in bright as well as dark colours.

I gently clutched one pair and began rubbing it. The tights were so soft and pleasant to feel. Mom's silk blouse didn't feel as silky as these. Whenever I hear the topic of hosiery getting brought up at school the girls always complain that they're scratchy and uncomfortable. They were idiots.

Honestly, I kind of wanted to try them on. Emma is skinnier than me, but Mom has kind of similar proportions, at least in the legs, and more than once I had entertained the thought of trying on a pair myself. After all, boy's and men's clothing never gets this soft.

I never had. At least since I was around six or seven. I stole a pair of Emma's from her bedroom. They were ruined completely just from putting them on, and everyone was pissed. And since Mom only bought tights from the best brands I didn't get any allowance for nearly two months. That had stung.

Besides, I know that women have completely different anatomy. I didn't know how I'd fit my ballsack and dick in there. And it would have been completely unhygienic as well. Best to leave it alone, as much as I wanted to.

I entered the shower and turned the water on, making sure it was steaming hot. It was fall, and today was unusually cold, practically winter. I spent a few minutes both shampooing and conditioning my hair, then spent more time washing my body carefully. After nearly ten minutes I turned the water off and stepped out of the shower, drying myself off.

Before putting my clothes back on I noticed one particular pair of tights on the wall. This pair was black, like what Mom and Emma had both worn this morning. More unusually, they didn't have a crotch. I didn't know if they had come like that, or if they had been cut out.

It hit me, then and there. I could try them on with the room for my privates to breath. Sure, as a kid I had ruined Emma's tights by pulling them on like a pair of pants, but I knew better now. When you've lived your whole life with two women who wear tights daily, you pick up a few things.

I grabbed the tights and pulled them off the towel rack, then sat down on the toilet. I held the tights out in front of me by the waistband and rolled them up until I could see the inside of the toes. Then I slipped my feet in and rolled the tights up to my knees, stood up and continued rolling them until the tights came up to my waist.

After making a few adjustments the tights felt snug, in a comfy way. I turned to the mirror and looked myself over. The fabric was perfectly opaque, and my man bits were hanging loose with no discomfort.

If the tights were nice just to touch, they were divine to actually wear. The only comparable thing I wore regularly were compression shorts, and they weren't anywhere in the same league. Not even the same planet. No wonder why Mom and Emma wore them every day.

I placed my hands on my hips and ran them up and down, gasping as I did so. Now that they had some kind of structure behind them the tights were even nicer to touch. They were perfectly smooth, which enhanced the soft silkiness.

As my palms went along my nylon-sheathed legs, I felt blood rush and my cock stiffen. The feeling was sexy. Sexier than anything else I've ever experienced. Looking at myself in the mirror I also realized that the dark fabric provided definition to my legs, as well as making them look thinner. If I had been a woman wearing high heels, it would have made my legs look a thousand times better.

Shifting around, I felt my thighs rub together, and heard the material rasp. That felt even better! The silken nylon against silken nylon with my bare flesh underneath was so intensely pleasurable. My hard-on got even harder, curving upwards.

As I rubbed my nyloned legs together, I grasped the shaft of my erection and began stroking. I sped up and slowing down as needed, since I wanted this to last. Over the course of about ten minutes I felt the pressure build up. I sped up with no intention of slowing down. I would reach climax soon.

Or at least that's what I thought. I could feel the pressure to release my cum and let it shoot out all over the bathroom, but no matter how hard I stroked, I couldn't release.

After about fifteen more minutes of trying to get off, I stopped. I was just getting my dick sore. Besides, Mom or Emma would be returning home soon and I didn't want to explain this to them. I put my hands on the waistband, intending to put my thumbs inside and roll the tights off.

Only I couldn't. I looked down, grabbed the waistband with both hands, and yanked down. The tights stayed perfectly still. It was like someone had glued them to my skin. Did Mom or Emma do that in some kind of fucked up prank?

No, they've always been kind and gentle, and any discipline Mom delivered to me was straightforward. Besides, they took pride in wearing only the best clothing available. They wouldn't just ruin a pair of expensive tights like that.

I turned to the door. If I couldn't get them off the normal way, I'd cut them off with the scissors in my room. Then throw them in the trash. Stuff got mixed up or lost in the laundry all the time, a single pair of tights wouldn't cause much fuss.

But I couldn't move. I looked down at my legs again. My feet were perfectly still, even though I was willing them to walk. I closed my eyes and concentrated, bringing up all my reserves of strength. Still, I wasn't moving, like my legs had been turned to stone. What the fuck was going on?

Then I felt something envelop my right hand. Turning my head, I saw it was another pair of tights, navy blue. The waistband had gone over my wrist, and inched it's way up to my shoulder until my arm was fully covered, like a glove, and one leg dangled loose.

Another pair, charcoal grey, came off the rack and floated over to my left side, covering my other arm the same way. The rest of the tights on the rack flew off and wrapped themselves around my body, binding my arms to my sides.

Finally, a pair of red tights floated right in front of my face. The panty section balled up and put itself right into my mouth. The legs went around my neck, and I felt them tie into a knot at the nape of my neck.

My whole body, other then my head, neck and crotch, was now enveloped in opaque nylon. Honestly, if I had done it myself, it would have been sexy. But with my inability to move, much less the fact that the tights had done this on their own somehow, it was just terrifying.

And then, my legs started moving. Against my will, I walked up to the door, and the leg dangling from my right side reached out. The foot wrapped itself around the handle, turned it, and opened the door. I stepped out into the hallway, despite doing using all my strength to resist.

Then I turned right, towards the master bedroom. Mom's bedroom. The loose leg again opened the door, and I walked right into the bedroom against my will. I went over to Mom's bed, a massive thing big enough for three or even four people, and sat down on the edge.

My legs swung up onto the bed, and I laid down in the centre of the mattress, a pillow under my head. I felt the tights wrapped around me loosen, and my arms brought up. Looking to the right, I saw the loose leg stretch out to the headboard, wrapping itself around the frame and tying itself into a knot. Turning to the left I saw the same happen with my left arm.

I was tied to the bed, completely helpless and cock still erect. The only things I could do was move my head, close my eyes, and let out muffled sounds. The clock on Mom's nightstand read 12:57. Either her or Emma would be home any minute now. What was I going to tell them? That their tights put themselves on me and made me enter Mom's bedroom, hard as a rock? The only silver lining was that the curtains were shut.

I thought if there was any way out of this. Maybe if Emma caught me first I could get her to help me. I'd owe her a favour-multiple favours-but it would be better than getting kicked out. Or arrested.

And then things got even worse. Downstairs I heard the front door open and close shut, and high heels on hardwood flooring, clicking and clopping. Fuck! I should have realized that Mom would pick Emma up.

The clicking and clopping got louder. They were coming upstairs. I prayed to whatever god may have been listening that Mom was just going to the bathroom, and Emma would go to her room. It was my last hope, however thin.

That was promptly dashed when the doorknob turned and the door swung open. Mom, now wearing a blazer matching her skirt, walked right in front of the bed. She was smiling smugly, and put her hands on her hips. "Well well well, what have we here?" She said, with a tone that implied she knew exactly what was going on.

Emma entered the room and walked beside Mom. She looked down at my exposed and still erect cock. "It looks like you have a degenerate for a son, Mother." She said, grinning wickedly.

Mom looked down at my legs. "Ah, I washed those just last night. I decided to leave them hanging since I had no immediate use for them." She tut-tutted mockingly. "It seems like my perverted little boy took advantage of my negligence and decided to have some fun while at home by himself."

Emma gasped theatrically. "And look at that thing of his," she said in a faux-dramatic tone. "He's been beating it raw. Probably since we both left. And if he's in here, he's probably been doing it into your underwear. Maybe mine as well." She looked at me with a cool expression. "You haven't been using our lingerie as masturbation aids, have you Alfy?"

Mom put a hand to her forehead as though she was shocked. "And to think I believed you've always been such a well-behaved boy, too. Now we have to worry about cum stains on our clothes, runs and holes in our tights. You do know how expensive they are, don't you?" I did. The cheapest pair cost at least as much as one week's allowance.

Emma put a hand under her chin. "It's not like he needs to, either. You're a handsome man, Alfy. The girls at school must fall head over heels for you. You could be banging a dozen cheerleaders at once if you wanted. Why would you do this to your poor mother and sister?"