My Mother, my Lover. Her Satin, my Sin

by: Georgina

Chapter 1

The house was quiet and still. I was on my own and the evening shadows were lengthening as the sun sank in the west. We, mother and I, lived alone since father had left us two years before, to find himself, as he intimated to me, but as far as I was concerned that brutish, oafish and generally awful man could stay lost for ever. We were very happy in our solitude and had drawn close together after the awful times we went through till he went away. But tonight, and for the next three nights, I was on my own. Mother’s father was seriously ill in hospital and as this was the mid fifties, and he was far away in Scotland, mother had a long way to go. I wasn’t, at least during the day, alone as we did have Julie, our maid coming in the morning and she did leave food for me during the day. But, from the late afternoon till the next morning I was on my own in our town house in Knightsbridge, London, and I truly intended to have fun!

I was then fourteen, just two months off my fifteenth birthday, and a very precocious child. My mother was quite well off but because she was uncertain of how life would turn out she had a job that was quite unusual. She was a foundation consultant for a corset company and she went to peoples private houses and measured them, and sold, bespoke corsetry. If I had been anyone else then I would not have bothered about this, or even mentioned it, but, I was very interested in the feminine side of life, right up to the fact that I had a veritable fetish for ladies clothes. of course at that age, and in that time, those were not the thoughts, and words, that came to me. Then it was something rather shameful, secret, almost dirty and not to be mentioned. But the fact of the matter was that I was not just interested in these things, I positively worshipped and desired them. I was, I now know, a confirmed transvestite from a very early age.

Having seen mother in her lingerie, especially her corsets and slips, I became addicted to the wonderful fabrics that encased her slim, svelte and extremely beautiful body. As you can imagine, I was enthralled by her beauty and nameless desires, that I did not yet understand, washed through my adolescent body and invaded my young, very impressionable mind. I tried to get close to the very things that excited me, especially the garments and, only a year previously, I had tried on some of her samples. Her own were too large for my own slender frame, but several exquisite pieces in her sample bag fitted me perfectly. I swooned, fainted, the first time I felt the cool constriction of satin foundations as they encased my hot and aroused body and my painfully hard, trapped underneath the glossy satin, body spurted without even the benefit of any caress. That was the seal on my desires and needs.

Tonight was to be my first night alone, and I was going to make the most of it. Already I had luxuriated in a long, hot bath and now, dressed only in one of mother’s negligees, a lovely sky blue diaphanous confection in delicate silk, I slid into her bedroom, and stopped. It seemed different, it was different. Instead of the usual candlewick bedspread there was a spread of dark, gleaming fur. I knew what it was. When father was still around, God rot him, he had once brought back this spread for mother as a present. It was real mink fur, in a deep chocolate colour, but this was the first time I had ever seen it on the bed. I went across to the window and closed the drapes. I tuned around to the wardrobes where she kept her samples and other things associated with her job. I got a second shock, there was a new, brand new bag there. New samples, I thought as I pulled it out and carried it over to the bed. Laying it on the luxurious counterpane, I opened the bag. it was full of white tissue wrapped garments but what stopped me for a moment was an envelope that rested on the top of the pile. I recognised mother’s handwriting, but what stopped me was the fact that it was addressed to me, but in my feminine name of Georgina.

With trembling hands I opened the cream envelope. Inside was a plain cream card and on it were written a few simple words, words that both shocked me and yet heartened me. They said, simply;

Mother knows, my darling child.
Don’t worry, just enjoy.
When I get back, we will talk

All my love
Mother

For long, long minutes, I sat there , staring, almost blindly at the stiff piece of pasteboard in my hand. She knew, everything. I started to shake with fear, and then, puzzlement. The message was unequivocal. ‘Don’t worry, just enjoy?’ Did she really mean that? Shaking my head I started to take all the tissue wrapped garments out of the bag, and there were many. I laid them out on the bed and started to unwrap them. After a few minutes a veritable treasure trove was displayed on the bed. The most gorgeous thing was that they were all of them in my favourite fabric, satin, and favourite colour, black!

It was a feast of fetishistic delight that met my eyes. Firstly there was a gorgeous, high waisted girdle with six suspenders, in heavy, lustrous black satin and with it a matching strapless, long line brassiere. Several smaller packages followed, containing slips, knickers, nylon stockings and night-gowns. At the end, all nicely wrapped up was a small parcel that contained a long pair of satin evening gloves and a small foil wrapped packet with contraceptives. Finally a little card, like the first, that simply stated that the rest of my presents were in the wardrobe in the spare bedroom.

With trembling hands I picked up the foundation garments and slid them onto my smooth, slim, excited and trembling body. They were a perfect fit, even the cups of the bra fitted the small titties I had been blesses with since puberty. I suffered, and still do, from a condition called Gynaecomastia, a condition where the male breasts grow into female breasts. Although the doctors wanted to sort this out I had successfully fought them off. Mother, thank God, concurred. So I was untouched by the surgeons scalpel, and so pleased. I had, early on, found that my nipples were extremely sensitive, so much so that when I was very aroused, I could bring myself to a screaming orgasm by nipple stimulation alone. But this digresses from this tale of a young boys full initiation into the total art of feminisation.

The smooth, cool, sensuous satin encased my trembling body in its luxuriously decadent embrace. My body, hard, trembling, rigid with arousement, rested against my belly, held there by the delicate pressure of the corset. My titties, aching, tender, nestled in the boned, satin cups of the strapless brassiere. my nipples, tiny, but hard, were visible as tiny points, punching out the glossy fabric, aching for the touch of soft, knowingly delicate, softly insistent, scrapingly intense, long, carmined fingernails to tease and torture them into a blinding maelstrom of utter desire. So I raised my hands to them and cupped those small, budding breasts and the sensations shot through my body down to my groin. If I wasn’t careful, I thought to myself, I could come, but, I wanted this to be a long g and drawn out seduction of my new, female body. This, I wanted to last.

So, I sat down again on that wonderful bed, Mother’s bed, the one I was conceived in, and started to complete the initial dressing up. First I took out the foil packet. I knew by now what these latex sheathes were for, but for me it was an easy way to keep my new found garments dry and clean. Gently, so as not to precipitate an accident, I pulled my throbbing body out from under the corset and rolled the latex sheath on, then slid my tumescence back underneath the corset. Then, with trembling hands, I picked up one of the packets of nylon stockings and opened it. It was the very first time I had ever tried to put on a pair of these wonderful creations, and it was just that. Carefully, delicately, I rolled them in my hands, just like mother did, and slid them onto my legs. Smoothing them up my trembling limbs was a delirious experience in itself as they caressed my sensitive skin. When I had done both, pulling them up my thighs, I stood up and gently pulled them tight, then attached them to the suspenders of the corset.

I still hadn’t looked at myself in the mirror, it was not yet time. I reached down to the floor, where I had placed a pair of her court shoes, and taking them I slid my feet into them. They were a pair of mother’s best, stiletto heeled, black leather, evening shoes, and my feet fitted them perfectly. Then, on tottering feet, I tried to walk in them. It was difficult at first, but then, very quickly, I got the hang of it. Soon I was walking about the bedroom, swishing around, the whispering of nylon on nylon as my thighs brushed, one against the other, loud in the quietness of the room. At last I stood in front of the long mirror that was at one end of the boudoir. I gasped as, for the first time, I beheld my image. I was a pretty little thing, even to my own biased sight. I started to pose, turning my left leg in to strike a coquettish pose, one hand resting across my corseted tummy, the other gently caressing the hard little nubbin of my right breast.

I was a pretty little thing, slim, elfin, with what was a short little urchin cut. My features were actually quite pretty and, looking down onto the dressing table, I could see the distinct similarities between my own beautiful mother and I. I was a much younger, slightly boyish, version of her. My body, encased in those gorgeous garments, was taut as a strung bow and I was on the verge of a mind blowing orgasm. But, I told myself, not yet. Reluctantly, I moved away from the mirror. I wanted to dress fully and, remembering what mother’s second note told me, I glided, fully aware of my attire, relishing, glorying in the feelings, to the guest room and the treasures that were promised within. On reaching the wardrobe I slowly opened the door. It had always been empty, but tonight there was a whole rack of gorgeous fripperies for me. Gowns and dresses, all in luxurious fabrics, were there, and all new. Not one had I seen before. I took one out and looked at it. I knew my mother’s size and these were a size or two, smaller. They were truly for me!

The dress, well gown really, that had caught my eye, was a lovely strapless gown in rustling, shirring, scintillating silk taffeta. Its colour was a deep, midnight, blue and, as I held up to my body I knew that this would be a fitting first gown to wear. It came with a matching stole and a pair of long, matching, blue opera gloves. Taking this confection back to the boudoir I reverently laid it on the bed and then turned back to the rest of the packages. There was something I had noticed. Along with the lingerie there was a wig, this, ash blonde, like my mother and I, was in the pageboy style, just like mother’s hair. I picked it up and slid it on to my head. When I turned to the mirror and saw myself, I gasped in total astonishment. I was, without any shadow of a doubt, the very image of her as a teenager. Reluctantly I turned away from the mirror and picked up a lovely satin half-slip and slid it onto my body. It was calf length, just like the gown I had picked and it felt wonderful on me. Then I slid my body down onto the pouffe that was in front of mother’s dressing table. I had to make myself up.

Again, I had watched my beautiful mother many times as she put on all those lotions and potions that were a woman's prerogative, and I started now. Soon, having put on foundation, blusher, mascara and eye shadow, I was ready to try my hand at lipstick. This, I found, was the most difficult of all and It took me a long time to get it right. The evening shadows were deep by the time I had finished my make up and I was ready to slide into that shirring, sexy, silk taffeta evening dress. It was the very epitome of fifties fashion as I said before and, when I had put it on, and the gloves and stole as well, I felt like a true princess going to the ball. The dress fitted to perfection, bodice hugging my body, skirts whispering naughty things to my receptive ears. There were a few last things to do and I would be ready to face whatever the night would bring. I reached into mother’s jewellery case and took out a gorgeous diamond necklace and bracelet. These I put on, the bracelet fitting over the satin taffeta glove, the necklace dipping into my décolletage, which was, due to the superb support of the strapless satin brassiere, quite pronounced.

At last I was ready to face the mirror in my full glory. For the first time in my life I had dressed, and made up, completely as a woman. My whole body tingled with desire. I was in a new world of sheer fun. I felt truly complete, well almost. I still needed someone to share in my new adventures, and it was my beautiful mother whom I wanted just then. She had given me the opportunity, now, when I was fully dressed, I wanted only her to appreciate. There was no conscious desire in me then to have any kind of sexual relationship with her. That was something still unknown in me at the time. All I was aware of was this wild feeling of sweet tension that seemed to exhilarate me and send me into some sort of ecstatic, explosive heaven. Slowly I approached the mirror. The darkness of the night was fast approaching so I moved across to the windows of her room and drew the heavy, damask curtains. Then I switched on the subdued lights that mother preferred. All was set, well almost. I suddenly realised that I had not partaken of the final feminine delight. Perfume.

I reached down and picked up a bottle of perfume. Mother only had the best, and in those days the best was Guerlaine’s "Ode". It took just a second for me to open the bottle and slip a finger over the top. I then transferred my wet finger to my neck, smearing tiny touches of the scintillating, spicy scent over my hot skin. The exquisite fragrance filled my nostrils and seemed to permeate the entire room, a true fragrance, not like today's insipid offerings that seem to hang for a second, then disappear into a general, nondescript scent. This was real, this was powerful and this was priceless in its effect on me. I was a woman, dancing on heels that drew my calves tight, throwing my body into a posture that made me want to dance forever. I never wanted this to end, and it seemed that I had always had these desires, these needs in my body. And so it was that I approached the long, cheval mirror and presented my image for inspection once more. It was truly amazing. I was stunned as with almost disbelieving eyes, I watched a beautiful, sensuously gowned, exquisitely made up and thoroughly excited girl present herself to my disbelieving eyes. Disbelieving, oh yes, because that was me!

My hands, softly gloved in shirring, sensuous, silk taffeta slid up my silk taffeta bodice, the sound hissingly thrilling in that quiet, dimly lit room. I swayed slowly to an imaginary rhythm that only I could hear. My trapped body seemed to pulsate beneath the layers of sensuous fabric. It was then That I first had the thought that this was far more deep than I had ever suspected. I seemed to have changed into my mother, and she was staring back at me. I wanted her, needed her, desired her, lusted, yes, lusted after her. The true instincts of my body knew where that hardness that nestled within the confines of my corset was really destined to go. I knew then That I wanted to lie, to sleep with my own mother!

It was then, when my senses finally went into detonation mode, as we would have it today. My legs weakened and I felt as if I would collapse onto the floor, but I didn’t. On suddenly weak limbs I staggered up to the mirror and lay my hotly pulsating body against the image that was me. I could feel my entire being wracked by spasm and it all seemed to centre in my belly. my trapped harness seemed to grow more rigid and I knew that my climax was about to blow me apart. Yet I had never touched it at all apart from when I adjusted it under the sensuous satin of the corset. I hadn’t even touched my nipples. And I blew up. Words cannot describe the intense feelings that blasted through me, the most intense being in my hard body as it spurted its white seed into the latex condom that I had slid onto it so long ago. I found myself on the floor, still trembling, still feeling the wild flashes of ecstasy, my hand now wildly rubbing the hard tube of flesh as it seemed to go on forever. Till blackness overtook me and I knew no more.

I seemed to come up from s deep, dark pit to find myself lying in a crumpled heap on the floor in front of the mirror. The skirts of my wonderful garments mussed up around me. Weakly I got to my feet and looked at my image in the mirror. I, surprisingly, didn’t look as much of a mess as I feared. The edge was now taken off my urgent desires, though I felt my body was still quite hard, and I knew that soon I would do even more justice to the clothes, and feelings I was experiencing. I went across to her bathroom and started to clean myself up down below. It didn’t take long and soon, my body once more protected by a latex sheath, or should I say, my clothes, I was ready to continue with my "Games".

© 2001
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