The newcomer has no intentions of waiting

With a new friend in his mom’s grey, opaque tights joining the party unexpectedly and rather quickly, James’ plans to go over that tome he recited from will have to wait.

Well, if it isn’t the consequences of my own actions. Who knew that haphazardly casting a spell could possibly have a radius of effect?- - - - - -

The moment James eyed the new pair of legs escaping from the drawer, a tree of wild possibilities raced through his head. But not a single branch leading to getting this increasingly rogue spell under control presented its leaves to him. Had the range of the magic been isolated to the one pair of pantyhose currently invading his senses, being able to assert some level of control could have been manageable, even considering his physical predicament. The potential range of an entire drawer lined with layers of clothing he can only imagine, on the other hand? That posed a much more likely scenario that the book disappearing would be the least of his worries.

His brain, trying desperately to uncover a favourable theoretical, eventually returned to the fabric reality, courtesy of the tan hosiery pushing its foot down on his denim-clad boner. He huffed out a moan when the sole applied more pressure as it slid up to the tip before slowly breaking contact, reminding him of what currently owns his body's attention. The other foot — hijacking his sense of smell, part of his vision, and his now-protesting hands — didn’t relent and continued to toy with him.

“Hey, stop,” he said, “I need to see this.” The offending foot took one more prod at his mouth with its toes before it gave him the visual clarity to observe the grey tights as the hose stepped aside.

With his newfound ‘freedom’, he propped himself up to watch the new party member exercise its movement options, much like its translucent counterpart did before the intimacy took centre stage. It demonstrated how full the tights were by walking right up to the foot of the bed, turning around to present its massive derrière, and bouncing it up and down — skipping straight to the tight intentions it had for him. Perhaps it had done its simple movements whilst he was deep into his theorycrafting, or that it inherited the moveset from the hosiery to his side. Regardless, it was clear that the tights wanted attention from a certain audience.

“Wow. You sure know what you want to do,” he muttered, watching the tights perform its provocative dance. His second head throbbed at the motions, burning with anticipation.

At this point, the only real objections to what has transpired in a mere matter of minutes James and his lust-lagged brain had to offer were the lack of understanding the spell in full, the fact that this was his mother's clothes, and most importantly, if he gets caught doing any of this — especially by the clothing owner herself. But he was losing the time and mental capacity to voice those concerns fast. A time bomb which started ticking the moment he got other ideas for locomotive leggings that responded in kind.

“Wait, ha-hang on a second,” he started. But his reasoning head had to contend with his raging hard-on for the next words, suspending his initial protest as he gathered his composure. “I, uh, you guys are my mom's—”

Unfortunately for his fleeting attempt to get the situation under control, the pantyhose sat square on his stomach with an outlined camel toe, burying any resolve he had to calm the magic legs down. What were supposed to be his pleas instead became nervous stammers as the clothes backed him into yet another corner, taking full control of the situation.

“How did this even happen,” he finally said to himself after cutting his garbled speech. “Okay, okay, fine, I’ll entertain this.”

James made his resignation apparent when he collapsed from his propped position and slowly brought his hands up to caress the tan nylon that started the entire ordeal, which returned the favour by grinding its outline on his chest. His boner stood at attention again with a desire to escape the denim prison it sat behind during the hosiery's playful torture.

Above all, he could see the tights joining them on the bed and approaching his vulnerable body right through the pantyhose. Like its partner-in-crime straddling his upper body, the tights’ indents onto the bed matched the weight of neither that of simple clothing nor a full human body. Nonetheless, the subtle shifts of the bed only added to his anticipation, having no clue how a second pair of leggings will alter the dynamic.

As much as he didn’t want to admit it, his arousal was through the roof with his mom’s leggings walking all over him, literally and metaphorically. As much as the thought of even more enchanted clothes joining the fray terrified him, his curiosity started growing bolder with how much power he unleashed...

...and as much as he was enjoying the situation, his jeans are really starting to mute that enjoyment. A sentiment the tights standing right over his lower half shared — and it wasn’t going to stand around, waiting for him to rectify the issue.

“Hey, what the—” James’ massage came to a pause when he felt movement around his waist, sharpening his focus through the pantyhose to observe the tights more keenly. Lo and behold, it was attacking his jeans, getting the button unfastened without any troubles.

He watched, stunned by the precision the grey tights had combined with the speed it was working at. It got his brain whirring again at the thought of those soles working him. And once the zipper was down in relative time, all he could muster was a “whoa.”

The tights finally asked for his cooperation as it tapped its foot on the bed and grazed his waist. The request was met by silence as his gaze stayed locked onto his unfastened crotch area and the other foot still manipulating its space. So came more forceful contact to his side, yanking at the waistband to draw his attention.