Her Hosiery Holiness

Author's Note:

After getting some feedback on the forum from

Annie of The Writing Group

I realized that I wasn't happy with the original story. First, I fucked up and forgot to remove the tags from the original document when I submitted it for publication. Second, and more importantly, there was a massive exposition dump at the end, the contents of which should have been spread across the entire series in a more organic manner. So I decided to rewrite Hosiery Holiness Chapter One into something I hope is much better written, and modify the title to something I think sounds better.

I apologize to anyone who enjoyed the original story.

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"Reservation for two, under the name Heather Macintosh," She told the waiter staffing the front. He looked at the reservation list, then looked back up.

"Follow me, ma'am," the waiter said. Heather followed, heels clicking on the hardwood floor. As she walked, she enjoyed the feel of her nyloned thighs rubbing together. She was taken to a two-person table at the front, right by a large window through which she could see the city street.

"Thank you," she told the waiter, before taking off her purse and jacket. Heather glanced at her watch. It was seven fifty-one. It was late for dinner, but Harold, her son, had gone to the gym after work. He kept his fitness up even though he no longer wrestled or kickboxed.

Immediately, a waitress stopped by, pen and pad in hand. "May I get you anything to drink, ma'am?"

"Just water for now. No ice, please." Heather told the waitress, who obediently went to get it. Heather looked through the window. Outside the street was bustling with pedestrians, going to and from wherever it was they were going to and from.

To Heather's disappointment, she only counted four women who were wearing hosiery and high heels like herself. Otherwise it was all pantsuits, jeans, leggings and bare legs.

One day that will change,

Heather thought to herself.

As she waited Heather adjusted her outfit. She unbuttoned her cardigan and ensured that the chocolate brown blouse underneath was properly tucked into her skirt. As she did so Heather's fingers ran between the top of her tights and her skin. No panties got in the way, since she never wore them anymore.

Heather closed her eyes and breathed in. She loved the silken sensation of the top-quality tights on her legs and fingers. It was a second skin, one much more attractive and sensual than her bare flesh. She continued to rub her tights under the guise of fixing herself, and she started to tingle.

No, Heather, now is not the time for that.

She stopped rubbing and buttoned her cardigan up. The waitress came back with a jug of water and two glasses. "Thank you," Heather told the waitress, who smiled at her and went off to another table. Heather poured herself a glass and drank.

After a couple more minutes, Heather saw Harold walk by, wearing a dark blue business suit. She got up and walked towards the entrance. She had been lucky. Now there was a giant line-up waiting to get tables, that extended outside.

Harry is going to wait a while standing here,

Heather realized. She pulled out her cell phone from her skirt pocket and sent a quick text:

I've already arrived, dear. Just go past the line and come to the front desk. I'll be waiting there for you.

7:58 PM

She closed her phone and put it back, then turned to the full-length mirror standing opposite the desk. Heather gave herself one last look over before Harold came in. She wanted to ensure she looked good for tonight.

First, her hair and face. Heather's glossy brown hair had been neatly tied into a low bun. Her pretty oval face was still perfectly smooth and unblemished, the skin a pale ivory tone. She wore no makeup, since she preferred her natural beauty. Framing her face was a pair of rectangle-framed glasses. She moved down to her lower half, since she had already fixed her tops.

The pleated skirt she was wearing matched the heather grey of her cardigan. The pleats flared out in a full silhouette, and the hemline reached to mid-calf. Her legs were sheathed in opaque tights the same colour as the blouse. On her feet were Oxfords made of patent brown leather, complete with three-inch heels.

Looking at me most people would think me prudish and old-fashioned,

Heather thought to herself.

But that doesn't matter. What matters is what these clothes represent to Harold and I. It was what I was wearing on the most important day of our lives.

Satisfied that her appearance was in good order, Heather turned back to the restaurant entrance. She saw Harold walking up to her, bypassing the line and receiving glares for it. Heather couldn't help but notice his eyes were focused on her legs.

Harold embraced his mother. Heather hugged him back, feeling his firmly toned arms, chest and back through the suit jacket. She looked at his face. Harold was a handsome looking young man, sharing Heather's hair and skin colour.

If he didn't have his father's blue eyes, he would be me as a man.

She thought.

"You look beautiful, Mom." Harold told her. Heather could hear nervousness in his voice. He broke off the hug, looking up at her.

Heather smiled at him."Oh, stop it, you're just flattering me. I'm an old hag."

No, I am beautiful, and we both know it.

She turned around. "Let's go sit down, honey. You must be starving." She walked off back to the table, Harold following.

They sat down. The table had been set, and there was a menu beside each plate. Heather picked hers up. "Feel free to get whatever you want, Harry. It's my treat tonight."

Harold frowned. "You don't need to do that, Mom. This place isn't too expensive, and I work at a bank-" He stopped as Heather cut him off with a finger to his lips.

"Don't be like that, dear. I like indulging you. You're still my son, you know. Besides, I'm hardly short of money myself. I can buy you anything you want."

Harold shrunk back in his seat. "Mom, please, let me pay for myself. Having you pay for everything, it's-it's emasculating. I'm fully independent now, I don't need you or anyone else to pay for my meals."

Heather pursed her lips. "Oh stop it. You men and your need to look strong. Please, Harold. Let me pay for dinner. Do it for me. Be sure to spend your money on something else."

Harold shrugged his shoulders and picked up his menu. Heather leaned back in her chair, relaxing. "So, how has work been for you, darling?"

"It was a bitch today if I'm being honest. I almost had to stay late." Harold poured himself some water. "That fucking asshole Carlos. I can't stand him." He drank the water. "So, how's business for you? Has Northern Heights been doing well?"

"It's going wonderfully. We filled up almost instantly. The work is easy too, especially with that manager I hired." She refilled her glass. "Really, all I'm doing now is signing the paychecks and counting the money as it comes in. It's better than managing a hotel, that's for sure."

The waitress came back, pen and pad in hand. "Are you both ready to order, or do you need some more time?"

"I'll take the steak special, please. And I'd like the stout for a drink." Harold told the waitress.

"The salmon salad for myself. And I'd like a glass of champagne, please." Heather said, handing her menu back. The waitress took their menus and left.

"So apartment rental's that immediately profitable, huh?" Harold asked with some interest. "Normally investments take quite some time before you can turn a profit. I guess divorcing Dad was worth it, huh?" There was an edge in his voice.

"Harold, you know very well why we broke up."

More than most children of divorced parents ever do,

she added to herself. "Besides, he landed on his feet in the long-term. He and whatever creature he's with now will be fine." Heather crossed her legs and put her hands on her lap. "So, is there anything else you're doing at the moment?"

Harold smiled. "I'm planning on getting back into kickboxing. I need some new gear for it, but it's nothing I can't afford."

Heather's mouth opened and her eyes widened. "After what happened in your last match? Harold, honey, you spent nearly a month in hospital. If not for your father your employment contract would have been terminated. Why get back into fighting after that? What are you trying to prove?"

"I'm not going to compete again, Mom. I'm just going to train a couple times a week. It's a fun way to exercise, that's it. Maybe I can even get into coaching, make a few extra dollars here and there."

Heather didn't respond to that.

It's his life, he can do what he wants with it.

She reasoned.

Still, I don't like it. He could still get hurt.

Harold swirled his glass around. "And what have you been doing, Mom? Since you don't really have to manage your business yourself anymore, and you're flush with cash."

"Mostly I've just been reading. I left too many books to rot on a shelf the past year, what with the divorce and starting up Northern Heights. And I've been looking into investing elsewhere. There's a small shopping mall I've been looking at." She adjusted her feet. "I don't just want to do real estate, though. It's easy money, but the actual business is boring. I want to start a passion project."

Harold raised an eyebrow. "And what is that passion project? A book store? Publishing company? Restaurant?"

"Fashion. I was looking outside while waiting for you, and I couldn't help but notice just how unattractive women today are. Even if they're pretty enough, their clothes are just awful. It's like nobody taught them how to dress. I want to change that, have women be properly feminine again."

"Well, you always knew how to dress, Mom." Harold replied. "And yeah, I agree. Women haven't cared about their appearance in years. Present company excluded, of course." He drank some more and refilled his glass. "Are you sure it will be a good idea financially, though? This country isn't exactly a fashion centre, and you'd be competing with New York, Paris, Milan..."

Harold was cut off by a wave of her hand. "It's a passion project, as I said. I'll be doing it for the fun, any money I make will just be a little bonus. I make more than enough money to keep it afloat."

The waitress came with their food and the two started eating. As Harold dug into his steak, Heather scowled at him. "Really, you couldn't have gotten more vegetables with that, Harry? You need a well-balanced diet to stay healthy. You won't be twenty-three forever."

Harold shrugged. "I just came from a workout. I need the protein. Besides all I had for lunch was a salad with no meat. I'll have enough fibre for today."

Heather rolled her eyes. Young men like him always had excuses for poor dietary habits, no matter how seriously they took their health otherwise. But she didn't press the issue. "Well if you're so sure...How is Samantha? She's not treating you badly, I hope?"

Harold paused, a forkful of potato an inch away from his mouth. "She's doing well. She went out with friends tonight. Now that midterms are over she has a lot of spare time." He put the fork in his mouth and chewed.

Heather frowned. "And she doesn't want to spend it with you? That's not the mark of a good partner, dear. Maybe she could have come here. I'd have paid for her as well."

Harold shot his mother an angry look. "You know better than that, Mom. We've had a lot of good times together and she deserves it. Besides, I wouldn't be able to eat dinner with the both of you. Every time you've been in the same room as her you both start sniping at each other." He finished off the potatoes, glaring at Heather.

This time, Heather did press the issue. "You aren't still considering proposing to her, are you? You're still young, your career only just started. You still have plenty of time to find a suitable wife, not some strumpet who needs free money to get through grad school."

Harold set his knife and fork down. His eyes were burning with anger. "Mom, stop it. Now. I know what I'm doing. We've been together for three years, it's now or never. Women these days are so demanding that I don't know if I can find someone else." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet case. He opened it up. Inside was a ring, made of filigreed gold with an emerald in the centre.

Heather looked over the ring. "That looks expensive, honey. It must have set you back quite a bit."

Harold shut the case and put it back into his pocket. "It was nothing I can't afford. I work at a bank, I know how to handle money." He picked up his beer and chugged it, glowering at his mother.

Heather picked at her salmon. "I'm just looking out for you, love. If you do go through with it, you're opening yourself up to being financially ruined if she divorces you."

Harold didn't say anything in response. Heather smiled to herself. She was on the way to having him. The two finished off their meal in silence. The waitress came back, picking up their empty plates. "Can I get you anything else? The dessert menu, perhaps?"

Heather looked at the waitress. "Just another glass of wine for now."

"I'll have another beer, too." Harold said, resentment in his voice.

After the waitress went to get their drinks, Heather shifted in her seat. Now was the time. "Well, dear, if you want to commit yourself to marriage, that's your decision to make."

That's not true. It will be ultimately be my decision, and the answer will be no.

"But this...girl...will she be able to satisfy you? Can she quench your

thirst

?"

Harold leaned back in his seat. His eyes widened, and Heather could see fear in them. "Mom, please, let's not talk about this in public. It's-it's inappropriate."

Beneath the table, Heather brought her feet up into Harold's lap. Immediately, she felt his hands on her ankles, rubbing them tenderly. Beneath her tights she could feel a small bit of wetness. Heather smiled.

I have you now, my love. I know that you still get off on this. After all, that floozy you live with never wears hose and heels, does she?

Harold's face blanched as he realized what he was doing, and stopped touching his mother's legs. "Mom, please, let's not do this in public."

The waitress returned with their drinks and went to another table. Heather moved her right foot onto Harold's groin area. She could feel him stiffening with the tip of her heel. She smiled with satisfaction.

You can't resist me, dearest. No man can, not if I set my will on them. But with you, it's all natural. That's what I love about you.

Heather put her feet back down on the floor. "My love, I know that you've never been truly satisfied since you left. I know every time you and that harlot are done, you go into the bathroom and have yourself a nice little wank." She sipped her champagne. "Not just with your hands, either. You do it with those tights I slipped into your laundry."

Harold push his chair back and stood up, downing his entire glass. "We're done. This isn't the time, or the place. Besides, what we did was wrong. You know it, I know it. If I had sided with Dad during the divorce you'd be rotting in prison right now."

Heather smiled. "Well, if you're uncomfortable talking about it here..." She clicked her right heel on the floor. Suddenly, the lights went out, then turned back on. They were no longer in the restaurant. Now, the two of them were in a living room. Heather was sitting on a couch with Harold standing just a few feet in front of her.

Harold's eyes were wide open. "How-wha-what just happened?" he stammered out.

Heather leaned back and crossed her legs."Just a little change in scenery, love. Since you felt uncomfortable talking about your sex life in public. Do you remember this place?"

Harold gulped. "Y-yeah, I do. This is the living room of the old house. Before you and Dad divorced."

Heather stood up."Yes, it is. I'm glad you remember. This is where it all started, after all."

"How did you-"

Heather cut him off with a finger to the mouth. "Before you get to ask me anything, you will answer my question first." Her skirt began to rise up her legs, defying gravity purely by her willing it. "Will this girl be able to satisfy you, the way I did?" Harold glanced down, transfixed. Heather could see the bulge grow. Even without his answer she knew the truth.

The skirt continued to rise, showing more and more of Heather's nylon-clad legs, until the hem reached right below her crotch. Then, the skirt billowed around her. It stayed there, rippling in the air. Now Harold could see that his mother wasn't wearing any panties. He could also see the growing damp patch on her gusset and the swollen glans of her clitoris poking through.

Unable to resist, Harold started to rub his hands on Heather's nyloned thighs. He moved his hands around, his left going to her rear while the right rubbed her clitoris. Heather gasped softly, delighted. This was what she had wanted for the past three years.

As he continued to rub her legs, Heather reached down and unzipped Harold's fly. His penis, fully erect, sprang out. She stepped right in front of him and closed her legs, gently pressing the shaft of his penis between her thighs. Harold gasped with what sounded like both fear and pleasure.

Heather moved her thighs back and forth along Harold's shaft, slowly and tenderly. Harold moaned, the fear replaced with pleasure. After a minute Heather felt precum come out of his tip and onto her legs. She then stopped and brought her face right in front of this. "Now, again-and be sure to answer me this time-are you sure that Samantha will be able to satisfy you?"

Harold tried to look away. Tried. Fear and desire burned in his eyes. "...No. I don't believe so. Not the way you did."

Heather bared her teeth in a self-satisfied smile. "That's all I wanted to hear," Heather said smugly. She stepped away from him and let her skirt fall down. She put Harold's penis back inside of his pants and zipped up the fly. Then she kissed him, full on the lips, for several seconds, before fixing him with a determined stare.

"When you leave Samantha and return to me, you'll never want for anything. You'll be the lover of a goddess, never aging, forever beautiful, wearing tights and high heels all day every day. Just like you want, need, and deserve. And you'll stay forever this time." Heather stepped back and sat down. "Feel free to come to my home any time. I will be there for you."

Before Harold could say anything, Heather clicked her heel and caused the lights to turn off. Then they came back on. The two were back in the restaurant, seated at the table with their waitress standing beside them. The bill was in the centre of the table.

Heather took out her wallet and paid the bill, making sure to leave a generous tip. She finished off her champagne and stood up. "I hope I've given you a lot to think about, dear." She put her jacket and purse back on, and walked to the restaurant entrance.

Heather stepped outside the restaurant onto the city sidewalk. The street was bustling with pedestrians and the traffic was busy, not that it concerned her. With a thought, Heather began rising into the air. Everyone around continued to walk by, completely oblivious in accordance to her will. Heather continued to rise, until she was around a hundred feet up above the highest building.

She took note of the city below her. Traffic was lined up all around, barely moving every time the light in front of them turned green, waiting to go to homes at least an hour away. Every few blocks, there was a bus stop, filled with people waiting to get onto crowded buses that were late more often than not.