Dang, You Clean Up Good!

Syren stands in front of the mirror, sliding the silk stockings up one leg at a time, the fabric whispering over her skin. Madi lounges on the bed nearby, out of sight, chatting about some stupid teacher. They're easy together like this. "You remember when I used to pack your lunches?" Syren says, adjusting the second stocking. "Feels like a lifetime ago." "Yeah, I thought you'd never work again," Madi answers. "Kinda nice having you home, though." Syren fastens the garters with quick fingers. She's been wearing sweats for years. Today everything feels different. Iridescent blouse clings to her curves, skirt barely covers her ass, and those stockings stretch up her thighs like an invitation. One last glance in the mirror. She steps into the room. Madi's face goes slack. Mouth actually opens. "Holy shit." Syren raises an eyebrow, waiting. "Mom. You look... I mean. Wow." Madi swallows hard. "Your legs. I didn't know they looked like that." Syren's surprised by the heat in her stomach. She's never had Madi look at her like this. "It's just work clothes." "No. It's not. Jesus." Madi's staring. Can't stop. "I've never seen you dressed like this. You have no idea what you do to people." Syren's about to laugh it off when she catches the slip: 'to people.' Madi's face reddens. "Wait," Syren says, voice dropping. "To you?" Silence. The air thickens. Madi's breathing's changed. Syren feels it hit her like a drug. Someone wants her. Needs her. She stands taller. The power fills her chest. "Come here," she says, softer now. "We have time before my shift."