Crystal's StorySite


Satin Love




Part one, in the beginning.


Chapter 1


Hot, soft, scintillating and sensual satin, hot, yet cool, smooth and sexy on the skin. Mother's satin, her lingerie to be precise. I was totally addicted to her gorgeous garments and, at the tender age of fourteen, hormones raging wildly, I was always delving into her drawers at every available opportunity and ruffling through the soft treasures I found there. I was, to put it bluntly, a dyed in the wool, highly perverted and thoroughly unashamed transvestite. Mother was a very beautiful woman, and extremely elegant and sensual into the bargain. Tall, slim and fine breasted, she was the very epitome of a socialite in the heady days of my youth, the sensual, elegant start to the fifties. Father had died in Indo-China two years before, killed by the Viet Minh while serving with the French Forces at Viet Tri, and he had left us very well off. I went, as a day pupil, to the local public school and we lived, elegantly, in a large flat in Knightsbridge, just a stones throw away from Harrods Store with all its opulence and elegance.

I was growing to be just like her, tall, slim and, for some reason, I was growing breasts. I was very perplexed at first but soon found that this was a blessing, not a curse and learned to hide them by wearing tight vests. The blessing was that I found that I could gain an enormous amount of pleasure from touching and fondling those delicate budding mounds of sensitive flesh, as well as have screamingly ecstatic orgasms by just nipping the prominent nipples with my fingernails. Gynaecomastia was the medical term, heaven was mine. My features too were very similar to mother's and it was a shock to me when, one day, I found a theatrical wig in a pile of junk at a school fair and on putting it on as a joke, realised that I made a very beautiful girl. That had been four years before and had set me on the road of my transvestite desires. It wasn't very long before the lure of my gorgeous mother's lingerie had taken me down the path of raw, unbridled sexuality and sheer satin fetishism, I was a complete slave to my wild desires. I didn't realise at the time but mother was a complete fetishist too, to fashion, as well as being totally amoral when it came to the matter of gender and sex. But I was to find that out fairly soon.

Mother was out for the evening and said she would not be back till the early hours of the following morning. I knew that I was in for an unbridled six hours of hot and lustful ecstasy. It was now just after five and my aunt was picking her up at eight. I knew she would not be back before three in the morning and was all a tremble with anticipation. She was getting ready at present, relaxing in her bath before getting out and putting on her evening finery, of which she had a large dressing room full of the clothes, she was a compulsive shopper and hoarder. So much so that she even kept loads of clothes, especially lingerie to my great delight, in my own room. Little did I know in my naivety that she knew of my sexual proclivities. I thought that only I in the whole world had such desires, and kept them secret. But she knew, and I was going to get the benefit of that knowledge, though I did not know it yet. Anyway, to shorten a long story I was already worked up to a fever pitch even though mother still had a few hours of primping and titivating before she left with her sister to the ball and I was left to my own devices.

It was half an hour later that mother called me up to her dressing room; she always wanted me to help her with things like straightening hems and pulling up zips. I went up to her room and, as usual, her beauty stunned me. She always dressed in a very sensuous manner and tonight was no exception. She stood in front of the mirror dressed in the most wonderful ensemble I had ever seen, and it was new. I had never seen it before. She always used either Spencer or Rousell for her corsetry and tonight She was wearing a gorgeous strapless basque by Rousell, Spencer never had the style of the French. It was a magnificent garment in heavy, lustrous black satin, shiny, smooth, scintillating and sensuous, a feast to my fetishistic eyes. She was, as I said before, an extremely beautiful woman, slim, yet curvaceous, small, but firm, breasted and, at five feet and eight inches, quite tall. Her auburn hair was long and she usually wore it up during the day but at home she left it down to fall in a shimmering and dark cascade of wavy, glistening beauty. She was sitting down now and slowly applying make-up to her face, making an already gorgeous beauty even more heartbreakingly lovely. My job was to apply moisturising cream to her back and shoulders, but first to brush, comb and pull back her hair into a chignon, a chore that was not a chore but an incredibly exciting experience for me, each and every time.

Mother was sitting down in front of the dressing table, gazing into the mirror as she put the final touches to her intricate make-up. She looked up at me and smiled her sweet smile that always sent the pulses pounding in my head, and my aroused body of course. I always prepared for that by wearing a pair of tight swimming trunks and placing my hard body vertically against my belly to hide my arousal from her gaze. She held out a bottle of perfumed, highly expensive, cream and I took it from her hand. Was it my imagination, I do not know, but this night she touched my fingers and gently caressed them in a way she never had before. I blushed, I know I did as I caught a glimpse of my flushed face in the mirror and noticing it, she smiled. Mother turned back to the mirror and, as I started to rub the perfumed lotions into her skin, she sat still, sighing softly as my fingers massaged her creamy, flawless, silky and soft skin. There seemed to be a new atmosphere in the room this evening, more soft and sensual than usual and I felt a strange tension radiating from her and an aura that seemed to make me want to do far more than usual, almost as if she was wordlessly ordering me to intimacies I only dreamed about. I raised my head and gazed at her image in the mirror, at the same time as my hands slid down and massaged the front of her shoulders and down to the upper parts of her lovely breasts. The cups of the basque pushed her gorgeous breasts up yet they just covered her nipples which, I could clearly see through the black satin and lace, were hard and prominent, much more than usual. Our eyes met, hers strangely hot and humid, mine wide and aroused. She pouted at me, then, amazingly, she parted her deeply carmined lips and her pink tongue peeped out and she slowly, sensuously, licked her lipsticked lips. It was a shockingly erotic sight and I could feel my trapped erect body suddenly pulsate in a wild throb of arousal. My nipples, confined under the tight tee shirt I wore suddenly hardened as well to match hers and I could clearly see them, and so did she.

She stretched then, head back and my hands naturally slid onto her titties, cupping them through the slinky satin. Her head was against my throbbing tube of aroused flesh and, slowly, softly, she writhed her body so that her head was caressing my hardness and her titties were sliding through my nerveless, yet all feeling, hands. The feeling of satin and lace encased nipples, hard and excited nipples, through satin and lace, was something I was familiar with from my own titties, so I was aware that mother was terribly aroused. It made me feel even hotter than before. We were now both gazing hotly at each other. I was fascinated in watching my hands come to life with a mind of their own and do things to mother's lovely, firm breasts that they had done to mine. My fingers slid in small insistent circles over her turgid, sensitive nipples and she started to pant in soft, sighing moans. She softly writhed and her hands delved between her twisting thighs and I saw her long fingers glide over the sexy satin crotch of her knickers, teasing the very top of her slit. My dreams were coming true, vividly, passionately true. I was so hot that I knew I was very close to the greatest orgasm of my life. My hands became more insistent and my nails, longer than usual, scraped over her hard nubbins, then delicately nipped them. Mother screamed in sheer passion, her head fell back and she looked up at me, mouth open slightly and glistening with dewy desire. Her eyes, now large and dark, haunted and soft, gazed adoringly at my own features. I couldn't help myself, or resist my desires, and I bent down and did the one thing I had always dreamed of, I kissed her full on her ripe, parted, panting, wet lips.

It was a kiss that no son gives his own mother, but it was one that I had always dreamed about. Fantasies are usually better than reality, but not this deep, sinful, incestuous kiss. Mother's lips were incredibly hot, soft and clinging, wet and sleek with her lipstick. For an incalculable time, we kissed, in a deep, incestuous passion, so wild as to be mind blowing, and all the time my fingers and nails pillaged her unresisting body. Oh God, I was so very, very hot. Suddenly, just as hot tongues started to touch, duel in the parody of love, she gasped, stiffened, and screamed into my mouth as a shattering orgasm lashed her body. Trembling, for long minutes, she was held at the peak of her climax and not for a moment did our wetly sucking mouths break the incestuous kiss. Slowly, ever so slowly, she came down from her peak, wracked by minor climaxes every few seconds, I teased her into them by, whenever I felt she was stopping, caressing, nipping and rolling her hard nipples with my fingers. At last, she could come no more. Weekly she leaned back against my hard, throbbing flesh and panted with satiation. Slowly, ever so slowly, I stood back, panting hotly, still hard, still waiting to come. She weakly rose to her feet and came towards me, swaying slightly, a languorous look on her beautiful face. She came up close so that her svelte, lithe body meshed with mine and I felt her lovely titties press against me. Slowly, she raised her hands, taking the hem of my tee shirt as well, and with a smooth motion, pulled it off my body to leave me bare from the waist up. Without any comments she glanced down at my own pouting titties with their hard, throbbing nipples.

'Pretty! very pretty!' she cooed as she then unbuckled my belt and slipped my jeans, along with my swimming trunks, down to the ground. My erection burst out in all its fury, unrequited as it was, and, as mother knelt to pull my trousers, it sprang out to brush her silky cheek.

The very touch of her soft skin almost destroyed me, it was a miracle I did not come and with an effort I composed myself. Mother stood up. a soft smile on her lips and, wordlessly, she took my hand and gently led me into her boudoir. Sitting me down on the satin-canopied bed she turned away and slid open the bottom drawer of chest and reached inside it to take out several large, tissue wrapped parcels. These she brought over and, with a soft smile, lay them on the bed. I was totally unselfconscious in my nudity and I had relaxed a little, coming down from the intense and emotional high of a few minutes before, though my erection was still quite hard.

'Here baby,' she whispered, 'Your present for your fifteenth birthday.'

I gasped, of course, it was my birthday and I had been so wrapped up in my incipient ecstasy that I had forgotten the date. With trembling hands I opened the top parcel, saw what was inside, then looked at my beloved mother with shock. I was holding a gorgeous satin basque by Rousell in my trembling hands. It was exactly the same as the one that mother was wearing, but one size smaller. I became hotly aroused again as I held it against my body.

"You don't mind, mother?' I asked. 'You don't mind me wearing girls clothes?'

"No silly,' She laughed. "Cecile and I have known about you for over two years now. Tonight is your night to become the girl of your dreams. I have teased you long enough and you are ready to join us for ever!"

"Join you?"

"Yes," She smiled. "Join our little love family, we have been waiting for you."

I was flabbergasted to say the least. I did know that mother was a woman who enjoyed ladies, not men, I had several times spied upon her and another lady who was her friend, that was interesting! This though was a whole new experience. Mother drew me to my feet and proceeded to dress me in that gorgeous basque. I shivered as the cool satin embraced my body, caressed my overheated skin. I had never worn anything so formfitting, so snug, so sensuous, and so perfect as this garment. My tender titties perfectly filled the satin cups and the boning held me in the gentlest of prisons. It was perfect for me and my hardness nestled so sexily against my belly, held in by the satin panel of the corselet, as it really was only cut away at the front a few inches. The boning also pushed the flesh of my breasts up so that it gave me a very respectable cleavage. Mother sat me down again and proceeded to slide a pair of sheer, seamed, silky black nylon, stockings onto my suddenly trembling legs, I had never worn stockings before, and the sensuously smooth feeling of them on my skin was an aphrodisiac of amazing power. When I stood up again and she fastened them to the six suspenders that dangled down from the basque I almost swooned from the sensations. Mother then brought me a pair of stiletto court shoes with a medium heel. I had worn hers before, but they had been slightly too large for my feet. These were perfect and I found I could walk much better in them. Mother left me alone for a few minutes and I walked about the boudoir swaying sexily as I walked, enjoying the feel of sensual fabric of the corselet on my skin, the tug of the nylons and the pull of the stiletto shoes on my muscles. Mother sat on the bed, holding the next package in her hands and smiling indulgently at me.

At last she stopped my narcissistic walkabout and called me back to her side. She held gorgeously scrunchy pair of black satin french knickers. Holding them out for me as I stepped into them she then pulled them up my limbs and settled them about my body. It was, once more, heaven. She then opened a new package and this made me tremble with utter desire. It was a gorgeously opulent gown of heavy, lustrous, shirring, black silk taffeta. Strapless and flowing, it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. With it was a matching stole and a pair of long, black taffeta gloves. She laid it on the bed and took me by the hand. She led me back into the dressing room and sat me down on the pouffe. For half an hour she worked her make-up magic on me. At last, having also styled and cut my, unfashionably, for that time, long hair into a pretty, feminine, urchin style, she allowed me to see myself. I was totally shocked. I looked like a younger version of her, and just as beautiful. Mother had wrought magic on me and standing before the mirror was a very beautiful young girl, with one very important difference. Highly visible to my, and mother's gaze' was a hard bulge under the satin of my basque, my tumescent body that was throbbing with desire.

Lost in my miasma of narcissistic pleasures, my hands started to move over my satin-sheathed body, running up and down my flanks and on to my tender titties, excitingly touching my hard and sensitive nipples. I dare not touch my erect body as once more, I was on a knife edge and I didn't want to come and soak the gorgeous satin of the garments I wore. Normally I wore a durex to save any mess. I hadn't heard mother leave me but she must have because when she came up behind me and I saw her image in the mirror I saw that she had changed into her evening dress. She was truly beautiful. Having repaired her make-up, mother had put on a gorgeous silk-satin gown that was beautiful to behold. An opulent confection of heavy duchesse satin, strapless, with a full, flowing skirt, she swished into the boudoir and her heady perfumed presence overwhelmed me. She was carrying in her hands another confection, the taffeta outfit I was to wear that evening. She put the stole and gloves on the bed and then came towards me holding out the gown for me to step into, which I did. The cool taffeta made a soft shirring whisper as she drew it up my body and fitted the bodice to my figure. It was the most sensuous experience of my life and I was totally enslaved in my world of transvestite fetishism. She was wearing long, black satin opera gloves and, as she smoothed the bodice down, after zipping me up, they hissed their way sexily over the fabric, satin on taffeta.

Mother was standing behind me and she pressed her delectable body against my back, writhing her firm titties against me as her sensuously begloved hands, captured, felt and fondled my own tender and aching breasts, feeling up my hard little nipples. I leaned back against her and my head was resting on her bare, perfumed shoulder. She reached forward and her sharp teeth, captured, nibbled at my ears and her hot breath wafted over face as she excited me to new heights of hot, throbbing desire. I spun around in her embrace till we were face to face. I was only a few inches shorter than mother and as I gazed up at her wondrous features I marvelled anew at the incredible, heartbreaking beauty of her beloved face. This was the first time that mother and I embraced totally, face to face, breast to breast, belly to belly and, most wonderfully, hot, sucking mouth to wet lipped mouth in a full, passionate, totally forbidden, incestuous kiss. My hand slid up the smooth, rich fabric of her gown to slide over the swell of her firm, hard nippled breast. Her own satin gloved hand did the same, hissing sexily over the shirring taffeta, the sounds of that caress, allied with the wicked susurration of satin skirt whispering over taffeta skirt exciting us both to a fevered pitch. I was totally destroyed and I knew I was about to explode in a wild orgasm of such intensity as I had yet to experience.

As mother's delicious mouth sucked the passion out of mine, her deft fingers, captured, nipped and teased my nipple to a wild frenzy.

"I'm going to come, Mother!" I panted into her sucking mouth. "Mother, you are making me come!"

She stopped, pulled back and looked hotly at me, then gently pushed me down onto her satin-canopied bed. I lay there supine on the gleaming satin, body trembling, mind racing with sheer, perverted thoughts and wild transvestite desires. Mother, as I gazed adoringly at her, stood back and, with a swift, yet smooth and sensual motion, unzipped the gown and let it fall at her feet, stepping out of the circle of fabric to stand in front of me in just satin basque, gloves, stockings, and stiletto court shoes. She had taken off her delicious satin knickers and I gasped as I saw the delicately sculpted centre, exquisitely depilated, of her passion. She came to the bed and knelt on the satin counterpane beside me. I slid up so that I was lying full length, my head on the pillows, and my hands pulled up the full skirts of my gown to leave my sensually stockinged limbs and french knickered front to her avid gaze. I was still on the brink but, as we gazed at each other, I seemed to gain a new stamina, a fresh strength to last that little longer. My delicious, sensual, desirable mother noticed, and smiled her approval.

The cool air wafted over my hot body, relaxing me, bringing me down from my peak of passion, and I gazed up with adoration at my delectably gorgeous mother. Slowly now, infinitely slowly, with a softly sensual grace, she straddled my supine body so that my hardness, throbbing and trembling, lay just underneath the slickly gleaming centre of her passion. She looked down, a soft, gentle smile playing over her lush, shining, carmined lips and slowly slid her satin gloved hands over her satin sheathed body, satin hissing over satin, to cup and delicately fondle her lovely, hard nippled breasts. My own hands slid up my own opulently gowned body to do the same to my own tender titties and, as she delicately caressed her own hard nipples, I did the same to mine, delicately teasing them into hard prominence and high excitement. We gazed at each other in mutual adoration and admiration. It was after a few, yet long, minutes that mother's hands descended once more, down her body to reach down to the hard and throbbing length of my erect body, still swathed in the scrunchy, soft folds of my french knickers. Her touch, soft, light as a feather, brought me immediately to full hardness and as she saw my full arousal, mother gasped, delicately slipped aside the slinky covering and took the hot length in her cool, satin gloved hands.

Her hot, dewy eyes remained fixed on my hard body as she slowly brought it upright to brush the weeping folds of her hot, incest craving, body. The incredible heat and slick wetness were so exciting that I tried to lift my buttocks up to drive my body past the lips of her sex and deep into the body of my own beautiful mother. She wouldn't let me and she froze me with just a single, burning, glance then returned her hot gaze back to what she was doing, teasing her and me into a wildness none of us had ever experienced before. She started to pant as she gently and infinitely slowly, moved the head of my erection around the entrance of her sex, coating it with the slick moisture of her perverted arousal, weeping in copious amounts from the, by now, visibly engorged labial lips. I had never experienced the utter joy, the total fulfilment, of sliding my hardness into the clasping folds of a woman's body but I knew that it would be, when it happened, be far more exciting, far more fulfilling and infinitely more pleasurable than my own hands. The fact that it was my mother who would be my lover was beyond belief and the most exciting and arousing thing of all. I had dreamed of this moment all my life, since even, it seemed, before I became aware of my own sexuality. Perversion, as the world knew it, did not enter into my conscience, it was just there, a deep and urgent desire to give myself back, totally, completely, to my beloved, deeply desired, beautiful, elegant, hot and sensuous mother.

Swaying gently, mother descended onto my steel hard body. As the bulbous head parted the folds of her creaming pussy she threw her head back and moaned with sheer lust, but she never stopped that gradual, slow descent. It was many seconds before I was fully couched within her body but those seconds passed like minutes as her surprisingly tight channel clamped itself around my steel hard tumescence. The sensations were wild in the extreme. Never before had I gone so high, not even during orgasms, yet I did not explode into climax. Mother did not move once she was fully on me and I was sheathed in her tight scabbard to the hilt. Still now, rigid with tension, she just rhythmically tightened the walls around my incestuous erection. I was so hot. Moaning and panting I started to writhe over the luxurious satin counterpane, my limbs, sleekly sheathed in nylon, rubbed against my beloved mother's nyloned limbs, setting up a static sensation that made us both tremble. My taffeta gown whispered over the satin, susurrations, messages of sheer pleasure. My hands mauled my tender titties, exciting my turgid and tender nipples to even greater excitement. The fact that it was MY MOTHER who was loving ME was an extra boost to my feelings.

Mother started to cry out as the vibrations of my writhing started to get through her self-imposed trance and the feelings in her grew hotter. Her satin-gloved hands slid onto her delicate nipples once more and she started to post herself on me. The friction of her body on mine was like a lightning strike. I cried out, screamed in ecstasy and, dimly, I heard her cry of fulfilment. I felt the walls of her pussy clamp down hard on my embedded body and then flutter as her wild, incestuous orgasm washed over me. My body, trapped in that molten crucible that was her sex was driven beyond its limits and I felt the hot fluids explode from the end. She fell down onto my own body so that breast to breast we lay. Her hot, ravenous lips met mine in a savage kiss of wild and incestuous heat, sucking up all I had to give to her. Her gorgeous titties, firm and full, were pressed into mine and she writhed them on the shirry fabric of my bodice. I was savagely pistoning my body into her, even while I was spurting my filial seed into the maternal body. Oh God, was it intensely beautiful.

On and on our orgasms blew, almost never ending in savagery, or in intensity. I came, and came, and came; till I could come no more and it seemed like an eternity before I started to come down from my peak. Mother, on the other hand, still shuddered, so lost in her wild climax as to be totally senseless, lying on me, her body spasming around my still embedded erection, keeping it still, amazingly, hard. She was still giving out little sounds of passion, moans, whimpers, soft, sighing cries. At last, even that stopped and she lay on my body in a virtually unconscious state, but, she had kept me, through the stimulus of her pussy muscles, hard, and I started to regain my lust for her. Gently I rolled her over so that this time I was couched between her outspread thighs, on top and ready to start afresh. I slid the side zip down and drew the gown off my body to leave me dressed only in the magnificent black satin basque, knickers, nylons and delicious court shoes. She was still lying motionless, panting softly as I started moving in her, back and forth, sliding my hardness in and out of her in a slow, gentle rhythm.

At first mother protested her satiation but soon the sensations built up in her and, with a delighted cry, she pulled me down to her and her hot lips met mine in a wild, wet kiss. Her lower limbs lifted up till she was clasping me around my satined waist with her stiletto heels resting on my buttocks as I savagely pounded into that sweet, soft, maternal body. Oh, it was so beautiful, so sensuous, so wild to be going back into the womb I had come our of and it truly excited me terribly. I was in control now and I was enjoying every second of this wild mating, this incestuous, transvestite coupling of mother to sexy boy-girl child of hers. I raised myself up on my extended arms and looked down on her beautiful features. There is nothing so sensuous as a woman in the throes of passion and mother was the most beautiful of all, eyes wide, staring up at my own feminised features, full of lust and love. She was panting and moaning all the time now, seemingly in a permanent orgasm, her delicious, satin corseted body writhing under the incessant attack of my own satin sheathed body, head turning from side to side, but her hands, those knowing, dextrous, satin gloved hands slid hissing over my satin cupped titties, exciting them once more to high passion. The sensations in my groin as I slid my tumescence in and out of mother were growing ever higher, ever more intense as I approached my second and, unbelievingly, more intense climax.

Mother suddenly stiffened below me, screamed out and shuddered into her orgasm, the milking motions of her muscles changing to a wild fluttering that almost squeezed me out. After a long minute, the spasms lessened, but I did not slow down my wild rhythmic pounding of her battered body. I was to close to my own ecstasy to stop now, nor want to. She froze beneath me and lay motionless then, suddenly reached up and exposed my titties by lifting them out of the half cups of the basque. Raising the top half of her body off the satin counterpane she licked, suckled, and then nibbled at my hyper excited nipples. I threw my head back in ecstatic agony as the cataclysmic sensation's burst out of my body to flood my mind with a wild, passionate frenzy. It was now my turn to scream with wild abandon as my orgasm joined hers, which had not abated in the meantime. My driving buttocks increased their motion so that my body, incredibly hard, unbelievably sensitive, flashed in and out in a mad dance of incestuous lust.

I spurted, my body, now driven deep into the very depths of mother's sex, frozen, motionless, gave a wild judder and I felt the incredible sweetness of ejaculation, once, twice, thrice, again and again till I wondered if it would ever stop. Mother was still savagely mauling my breasts, holding me at the very peak of my climax so that I started to black out from the overwhelming sensations that were ripping through my mind and body. I fainted onto her and my last memory was of my hardness being squeezed right out of her, still spasming, body and the said body collapsing onto the soft and welcoming body of my beautiful mother. I dimly felt her roll me off her body to lie on my side facing her and she turned to me, I think, and enfolded me within her warm and welcoming arms.



Chapter 2


We slept all the evening and most of the night. It was the flush of dawn that awoke me and I stretched languidly in the bed, my limbs slip-sliding over the opulently sensuous satin sheets. I was still wearing the constricting foundations and my satin knickers. It was a wonderful feeling, as I had never worn these garments for more than a few, brief hours before. Today was a new day, a day of new experiences, dreams and desires. The days of furtive fumbling, quick passion, stolen orgasms were over and my true desires were to be allowed their full reign of fulfilment. I could not yet understand them, or the compulsion, but I did not ever remember any time that I did not have them. From an early childhood I had felt these sensuous feelings about feminine garments and feminine things in general. Lately I had even had disturbing thoughts about another side of me that frightened me acutely. I was becoming attracted to my own sex, generic sex of course. While still at boarding school last year, before mother moved me to a new day school when we came to London, I had seen two boys in the shower room late one night. The sight had at first shocked me, though it had not repelled me, and now and then, as I dreamily stroked myself while dressed en-femme, I sometimes dreamed not of some beautiful woman doing that to me, but a young, androgynous looking, slim man who caressed me and finally, as my fingers delicately felt the virgin rosebud of my bottom, did to me what those two seniors did to each other in the shower room that night. The very thought made my body erect afresh in its smooth, black satin prison, and my hands slid down to softly caress the throbbing length of sensitive flesh.

Enough, I whispered to myself, I would save what I had for later. Now other things were more important. I had to freshen up for the new day that mother had promised me. I slid off the wonderful garments and went into the en-suite bathroom where mother was already reclining in a hot, steaming tub.

"Good morning," She smiled up at me and, once more I marvelled at her elegant, slim, beautiful body and exquisite features. "Did my sweet child sleep well after her exciting evening?"

I nodded as I slid into the hot suds that filled our oversized bath, big enough for us two and more besides. Her delicious body moulded itself to mine and she kissed me softly on my lips. A delicate caress of full, soft lips to lips that was still powerful in its intensity of sheer incestuous passion. She was adorable at that moment, soft, beautiful, sexy, elegant and adorable. For long minutes all we did was kiss as our bodies melded so closely as to be one. My plump, definitely unmanly titties pressed against her more full and shapely breasts and my belly was pressed against her own belly. My hardness, ever wanting, ever, so it seemed, ready slid unerringly to the soft juncture of her thighs and, as she parted them slightly, slid against the soft folds of her inner body to just part the soft flesh and graze the distinctly hard nub of her clitty. She stiffened in my arms as she too became aroused and she started to writhe against my intruding hardness.

"Ohhhh!" she panted into my sucking mouth and her hands slid up and she caressed my hot and tender little titties. "You are such a hot little girl aren't you, Tessa my sweet child."

It was the first time that mother had called me by a feminine name and it suited me. Terence had become Teresa, or Tessa, for short. I liked it. It was the first time I had thought of a feminine name and her use of it was wonderful to my ears. She parted her legs a little more and I slowly slid deeper into her maternal body, till the bulbous head slipped between the soft labia and into the hot, milking channel that led to her womb, the womb I had come out of those fifteen years before. It was hot and exciting, going back to where I had come from, almost indescribable in its perverted intensity. Once more we kissed, this time deeply and meltingly intense in a wild and incestuous passion that was, to us, the most natural action in the world. There was no guilt, or remorse. It was two lovers, mother and transvestite son, linked in a powerful and emotional storm that would never end.

It was a loving of such intense delicacy and slowness as to be almost imperceptible. Our bodies were almost still. I had slid deep into her soft sheath now and, couched within her body I lay still as she did and the only movement was the flexing of my deeply embedded erection as I clenched and unclenched my buttocks and mother did the same, rippling the muscles of her inner body to massage my incestuous member. It was a sublime feeling. Slowly, ever so slowly, we brought each other to the very peak of passion, as we lay immersed in that hot, soap bubbly, perfumed bath. As her hands slid down and clenched my tensing buttocks, mine slid up and tenderly cupped her gorgeous, beautifully sculpted, small yet perfect, hard nippled breasts, fingers gently, yet insistently, teasing her hard little nubbins. Our passions rose, imperceptibly almost, as our bodies melded even closer together. Panting hot lips kissed, sucked and pointed wet tongues touched, duelled in a parody of what our conjoined bodies did down below our waists. Time slowed, stood still, no sense of its passing and still our passions rose. All our senses were locked into two focal points, lips and below the waist as we lay there in that womb like cocoon of hot, silkily soapy, bath water. It was so intense as to be even above the ecstasy of orgasm and it felt to us as if we were frozen at the very peak of orgiastic feelings, locked almost in a climax of timeless proportions.

And, then, it happened. My trapped body, deeply buried within the softly milking walls of mother's body, shuddered, swelled and, as a blinding ecstasy overwhelmed me, I gave up my gift of incestuous seed in what seemed to be just one, almighty, yet incredibly powerful, spurt of lightning like blinding force that momentarily deprived me of my senses. Dimly, through the roaring, thunder of my orgasm I heard mother scream in a high, keening wail of fulfilment and felt her body clamp itself around my hardness in an almost crushing spasm that, incredibly, drew my own orgasm to even greater heights of feeling and love. Time did stop and we lay in each other s arms, only becoming aware that our lust was spent when the cooling water roused us from our reverie of sensual love. Exhausted, limp, spent, we crawled out of that bath and dried each other off, then slid back into the satin slick, slippery, sensuous cocoon of the maternal bed to sleep once more till the sun rose high in that June sky.



Chapter 3


Many people would condemn the emotions depicted in this "epistle of love", some the transsexual and transvestite element and others, the deep incestuous content, but human sexuality is so varied as to beggar belief. It happened that my desires were mirrored in my mother. As a child I was deeply loved by my parents and the early loss of my father brought mother and son very close together. I was brought up, during my adolescence, in a totally feminine environment, one even more sensuously and sexually charged than most due to mother's own enormous drive. She once said that if she had been born a man then she would probably have been in constant trouble all her life. Her sister, Cecile, was of similar bent and the two had found each other during a very difficult childhood that they never expanded upon, but must have been quite painful to them at the time. My aunt lived out in the country in a little cottage on the Kent Downs, just outside London. She too was now single, having divorced her husband many years before and lived a life totally devoted to hedonistic pursuits.

My cousin, Paula, was her only child, a slim and ethereal whisp of a girl two years my senior. We were very close and had many similarities in our outlook, one of which was our love for acting and theatre. It was Paula who had first found out about my predilections to dressing up in feminine clothes and also was the first one to witness the sexual arousal that happened when I was dressed en-femme. Although our games had never led to full intercourse, we had brought each other to many screaming orgasms while playing our roles in various plays. Paula always took the male lead in these and I was the leading lady. It was fun. We mostly did this during the school holidays and as auntie was away in London most of the week, we had many good days of fun. In fact my first orgasm, and every one remembers their first, was at Paula's instigation and I was only just twelve. We had been playing around and pretending I was Cinderella and she Prince Charming, well, kids will be kids, and it was fine while I was dressed in rags but things happened. Paula had found a gown for me to wear to the ball. It was, in fact, her Confirmation Gown and, in white, heavy, lustrous and rich, duchesse satin it fitted me perfectly. My puberty had started and my Gynaecomastia was showing itself in a little pair of perfect A cup sized, already sensitive, titties. I was also aware that my nether regions were becoming quite restless and, at night, I sometimes awoke with an erection that seemed frighteningly pleasant. I did not yet know how to assuage the torrent of feelings that accompanied that episodic manifestation.

It happened as we danced together at the ball. Paula had dressed me up in a very sexy way. I was wearing a very scrunchy pair of white, silk-satin french knickers and a lovely suspender belt and sheer, seamed, fully fashioned nylon stockings, along with a lovely pair of three inch, stiletto heeled, white satin, court shoes. I wore no other lingerie and I was very aware that the slinky feel of the scrunchy satin knickers on my hypersensitive flesh was driving me to distraction. My erect body was still relatively puny in those days, barely four inches when erect, but it was still enough to tent out the slim, sheath type skirt of Paula's gown to a marked degree. As I slid into her welcoming arms, my hardness slid unerringly between the trousered thighs of my delicious cousin who was dressed in my best clothes, a jacket and trousers similar to a tuxedo, as the Americans would say, dinner jacket and trousers as we English would insist on calling. She looked wonderfully androgynous, beautiful, and yet slightly masculine with her fashionable, urchin cut. Paula had spent some time on me, making me up with blushers, creams, lotions and potions, along with scarlet nail varnish and lipstick, so that I looked very feminine and, as she put it, desirable. My cousin was two years older than I in time, but, I realised, far more mature in sexuality and outlook. It was only later that I learned that the three women in my life had engineered all that had passed, but that is the continuation of the story.

The gown was wonderfully sensuous, close fitting, smooth, richly slinky and definitely sexy as it held my trembling body in a begloved prison of sheer desire. I was totally enslaved, for the first time in my short life, in a sexual dream of succulent desire. My whole body was totally enamoured of the sensual and whispering caress of the garments that covered it. My nipples, hard and excited, visibly punched out the glossy fabric of the tight bodice, swelling even more under the insistent caress of the opulent fabric. Nyloned limbs whispered, sussurated against the silk taffeta lining of the gown and my arms, begloved in a pair of gorgeous, white satin, opera gloves, wound around the neck of my lovely partner as our bodies swayed to the rhythm of the 'Blue Danube" that was playing on the radiogram. I was totally under her spell. She was my Prince Charming and I was completely lost, totally mesmerised by the passion that invaded my young and excited body. Paula had made one change to the normal dress of a man. Instead of a boiled, starched shirt she was wearing a gorgeous satin shirt blouse, mannish but feminine, along with the usual bow tie. My satin bodiced breasts slid smoothly, satin on satin, over her own small, yet exquisite, breasts. In my heels I was the same height as she was and our nipples bumped each other s, causing flashes of fire to race through both our bodies. It was so exciting to me, this discovery of the utterly beautiful, totally all-encompassing slavery that such fabrics as satin, silk and velvet, in the guise of feminine clothes, imposed on my trembling body, willingly imposed as it happened. I made at that precise moment a promise to myself that I would never, if it were at all possible, wear anything next to my skin but lingerie made in satin and silk. Apart from the odd time when, through reasons beyond my control, I was in a position of compromise, I have kept to that promise to this day.

So it was that the music stopped as the record ended, though we did not. Slowly we came to a stop in movement, but not a stop in embrace. Paula seemed to pull me in even closer and we were clasped together in a wildly sensuous embrace as our bodies swayed gently together to a melody that only we two could hear. My eyes, which had been closed during the waltz as she whirled me around the drawing room, opened and gazed into her dewy, sparkling eyes. Her hands, which had been resting in the small of my back, slowly, ever so slowly slid up my back, at the same time pulling my unresisting body even closer to her willowy body. Breast to breast, belly to belly, thigh to trembling thigh we stood, my hardness almost crushed against her belly, shafts of lightning like excitement shooting through my body. Words really cannot describe the feelings of sheer desire, new and awakening desire that ripped through my trembling, feminised body at that moment in time. I seemed to be on fire as I gazed at her beautiful features. Even without make-up Paula was incredibly beautiful and, dressed as a man, she still looked like a desirable woman, albeit with more than a touch of androgyny. Our faces came closer together as we drowned in each other s eyes. My lips, soft, carmined, trembling met, touched, and caressed hers in a first kiss of such incredible feeling as to make me swoon in her arms so that I almost fainted. I was so weak I was I was like a jelly in her arms and She seemed to glide me over to the satin covered chaise-longue to lay me down on its sumptuous upholstery. Still kissing, now deeply and passionately, lips parted, she knelt down beside me and her hands slid over the front of my bodice to delicately trace the contours of my breasts.

As her knowing, patiently slow caresses drew me into paroxysms of delight my body writhed upon that sensuous surface, slip-sliding in a slow build up to what I knew not, only that it promised to be incredibly and piercingly beautiful. I was panting into her hot lips as she drew my passions up to a height I could never imagine and I only felt more excitement with one other person, but that would come in the future. First passions are always remembered, first kiss, first caress, first seduction, first orgasm, this was a first for me and I would, and never have, forgotten that first episode of passion. Sitting now, in front of the screen brings it all back. Paula and I are entering the twilight of our lives. I am dressed in a sensible skirt and blouse, my hair rolled up in a chignon, delicately made up and subtly perfumed, yet underneath I am wearing the most ravishing ensemble of silk satin slip, garter belt, nylon stockings and french knickers, all in sexy and sinful black. Paula is sitting on our chaise-longue, still ever the temptress, the seductress of my innocence, still slim, still elegant and sensuous, the years and her genes have been more than kind to her, dressed in a wonderful ensemble of turquoise night-gown and negligee, her hair still long and lustrous, just faintly silvered with grey. My lady looks up from the magazine she is reading and smiles at me, that wonderful, special smile that only lovers have for each other. I smile back as my love for her overwhelms me. We are alone now in auntie s cottage, she passed away shortly before my own mother, and we have become two ageing ladies, living together in comfort and safety.

Thank God that modern urbanisation has not caught up with us here in this quiet corner of England. Wise landowners and sensible planning mean that we still live the idyllic life we always have. It is a Saturday in spring, mid February and just after five, the sun is almost down and a warm day, the first of the year. The snowdrops have almost finished, the daffodils are opening their blooms, the first tulip leaves are chasing hotly on. A multitude of tits and finches are lining up to take up their positions on the bird table. In the distance we hear the call of the horn, the hunt is in our area, we both stand up, move to the door and step out into the first real sunshine we have seen in many a week. Suddenly, below us, a slim shape trots out from the hedge, look back, then trots towards us, almost without seeming to hurry. Behind him we hear the call of the hounds as they latch onto his scent. Charlie, the fox, is being hunted and there he is below us. Paula slips her hand into mine and presses closer to me. Will he or won't he, we both think, get away, be given best. I look at her and smile, nodding. This is a healthy and prime specimen, he will make it to the deep drain at the bottom of our garden. Once there he will be safe. But no. A gaggle of camouflaged figures burst through the hedge at the bottom of our garden, trampling over the newly dug vegetable patch, screaming and shouting as they rampage over the freshly turned soil. They are anti-hunt saboteurs, dark and threatening in their camouflaged uniforms and balaclava hats, foul mouthed and execrably mannered. Appalled, Paula and I stand on the porch, trembling with anger, incandescent with rage. We both know what will happen next, and it does.

Charlie sees this thundering mass of unwashed humans and turns away, just as the pack of hounds burst out of the hedge in full cry. It is over in seconds and Charlie is dead, neck broken with the single flick of a hound's head. The screaming rage of the saboteurs is surpassed by our deep sadness and rage at what has happened. Charlie had a chance, since extinguished. Soon it is all over, the police have moved the saboteurs on, the hunt is finishing and the whole pack of hounds flops onto our lawn after having gorged themselves with water from our low horse trough. Paula slips away to change while I bring out the whisky bottles. Jeremy, the huntsman, and the rest of the field join us, just half a dozen riders, as the hounds fall asleep, one on top of the other in an untidy pile. I smile at him in sympathy; the untimely end too saddens him. He had already given Charlie best. Paula joins us and I see Jeremy make a small moue of disappointment. He had spotted us together, she in her deshabille, and had hoped to see more, but now she is dressed in an elegant silk shirtwaister dress and her lovely body is unadorned with the exquisite lingerie he had seen her in just a few minutes before. She laughs at him, wags a finger and he smiles. Jeremy has had the hots for her ever since he had met us when he first came to the hunt. I had several times tried to talk Paula into sampling his charms but, although I knew she found him attractive, as I did, she had never indulged his young and vibrant body.

At last, the hound truck came, along with several horseboxes and they left us to the peace of a cool, yet extremely pleasant evening. Arm in arm, Paula and I went back inside to pick up where we had left off, but the mood was broken, there was sadness tinged with sorrow and the thread had parted. We went to bed early and Paula held me in her gentle arms, my head resting on her still pert and firm breasts. My mind drifted back to that first bout of sensual pleasure we had indulged in those fifty years before. I was writhing once more on that gorgeous chaise as Paula knelt beside me and carried on with her deep and sucking kisses. Her knowing hands nipped at my tiny, yet incredibly hard nipples, making me so blazingly excited as to defy belief. She seamed then to flow onto my body till she was lying on top of my unresisting body, her hips writhing, bumping against that sensitive, by now steel hard, erection. That slow, languid bumping, setting up that exciting friction that only silk and satin can evince. She still held the kiss, deep, sucking, tonguing wet kiss that was drawing my passions ever higher. I knew that soon something would have to give as I felt the dam of my emotions start to break. Paula too seemed to be feeling the same as I, though I knew that she did not have what I had between my limbs, but she was panting hotly into my mouth with the same deep fervour as I and little mewling sounds escaped from her each time she bumped down onto the hardness that was now so incredibly hard and sensitive as I ever could have believed.

Then, it was time. A blinding flash of pure ecstasy ripped through my body and I screamed in shock as the most delicious sensations I had ever felt ripped through my trembling, satin sheathed, feminised body. I screamed into my hot cousins mouth as the immense pleasure of that first orgasm ripped through me. My hands slid up to cup her little titties, feeling skin through the soft silk of her blouse. She was not wearing a brassiere and her tender, throbbing nipples grazed my pals. She gasped at my touch, redoubling her frenetic movements till she too, stiffened screamed out her own orgasmic delight into my own mouth, joining me in a mutual ecstasy. It was done. The flashes slowly faded, the juddering of my abused erection slowly came a minor trembling and I lay supine, panting softly into Paula's still kissing mouth. It was then that I learned a new lesson, the infinite power of a woman to have multiple orgasms as, every few minutes; she was wracked with a fresh orgasmic tremor. At last she too was spent and lay down on my exhausted body. We slept for a few minutes, utterly exhausted, then, wearily, disentangled our bodies and slid upstairs to her mother's room where we slid into her gorgeous, satin canopied and sheeted, bed to fall asleep once more, this time for most of the night.

I awoke in the early hours, it was still dark outside, and I was back in the present day. Much has happened since those days, births, marriages and deaths, along with many adventures, some sad and some joyous and full of laughter. My life has moved from despair to joy and back again. The life of a transvestite, especially one who is slightly ambivalent about their sexual orientation, has many of those moments. Though my primary desire was for women, generic ones, I was always turned on by other 'ladies' like myself and also slim, not masculine, rather androgynous, males. In the past that had been difficult, especially in the fifties where the attitude of the population was narrow minded in the extreme. We were, very fortunately, insulated from all that as our family was very well off and so an effective insulation from the more extreme members of society was guaranteed. My education was in a private, day, school and at fifteen I left, having achieved everything I needed for life. Mother and aunt were directors of a well-known corsetry firm and also, on the death of my maternal grandfather in the war, the co-owners. This firm had an extremely profitable bespoke corsetry business that, in the fifties, flourished by offering a measuring and fitting service in the home. This certainly assured my access to wonderful garments that certainly were the 'foundation' of my own fetish.

The gorgeous and elegant fifties were, in my mind, the most elegant. This was the period of the great designers who flourished in the decade after the war, and they let themselves go. Amongst our set Balenciaga, Worth, Chanel, Dior, Lacroix in France, and Hartnell in England all vied for the top position in studied elegance and luxury. Satins, silks and velvet were the only fabrics acceptable and furs were de-rigeur. But sexuality in all forms was deeply frowned upon. The wonderful acceptance of to-day was inconceivable then so all our experiments in finding our true selves was, of necessity, deeply hidden and it was usually family that first got an inkling of a persons true orientation. The fact that I can write as such was a sign of my family's open mindedness and sense of acceptance. Although many people have argued the subject to death, all I can say was that I believe I was born as I am and that if I had been born to-day, from the same genetic mix, then I would have turned out exactly the same in orientation and persuasion. Only one thing may have been different. In the freer atmosphere of the late 90's the incestuous atmosphere of my life would probably have been muted, though I do not believe it would have been extinguished. My family was very strongly sexual from the very first and there was always a strong sense of sexuality in our family from whenever I can remember. Mother and I were always gravitating together, even when father was alive, but he never seemed to mind at all and sometimes we all cuddled together in front of the open fire in the little snug room we had. My grandfather on my mother's side was a hateful man and from an early age I had to suffer his boorish and awful manner. My grandmother was, by contrast a wonderful woman, extremely beautiful and very kind and compassionate. I loved her deeply and she had been a wonderful playmate for me. It was a tragic sadness when she was killed in one of the last V2 attacks of the war, along with my grandfather who was not missed. She had had the money and had left it all to me. My life changed after that first, non-penetrating seduction by Paula. Though I had many sensuous trysts after that wonderful episode, we never made full love till after mother had taken my virginity. I learned later that once they had found out my little secret, the three of them had connived totally, planning out the rest of my journey into what I am to day.



Chapter 4


1952 was a wonderful year for me. First there was my initial seduction by mother, then there was the broadening of my whole outlook on who I was and what I desired in life. The new Queen was on the throne, if not yet crowned, and she was beautiful beyond belief. Her golden jubilee is my anniversary. Fifty years of adventure, love, lust, desire, heartbreak and all emotions in-between. A discovery of life that I had not envisaged, yet took to like a duck to water. Mother moved in a wonderful circle of eclectic friends. Some of her friends had grown up in pre-war Paris where the heady goings on, Sackvilles and others, had led a life unknown of till the heady days of the nineties. I was born there in 1937; mother was then a young girl of sixteen and had run away to Paris, along with her older sister Cecile when she was just eighteen. Already well into her bohemian lifestyle, as she called it, she had become enamoured of a young female impersonator and married him. His predilection had stirred her undoubted bisexual desires. My father had not given me any idea as to his own delightful fetishes but had certainly passed those genes onto me, as mother had passed her beauty to me.

That second day of my true life I remember so well. After our bath mother had dried me off and then led me into the spare room. There, on the bed, was a vast array of bags and packages and, sitting on the bed, I started to pull them all out. On the other side of the bed mother sat and smiled benignly.

"Happy birthday, Cherie," She said as I excitedly unwrapped all the multitude of presents. It was a transvestite's dream come true. Within a few minutes the bed was strewn with masses of lingerie of all types and I was eagerly fondling and caressing the opulent and sensuous materials. I, like my mother, was still naked and it was soon that I started to put on the one thing that had truly caught my eye, a wondrous satin confection of such erotic beauty as to send me into a wild need to put on such as I had never felt before. It was a guipure, what we call today, a basque. With trembling hands I put on that fancy piece of sensuous frippery, shivering as the cool satin and lace encased my body in a satin prison that defied all belief. I fitted my tender titties into the cups of the strapless garment and mother pulled tight the lace closure at the back. As the wondrous garment tightened over my sensitive body I shivered again and my dormant body rose, becoming hard, proudly vertical, to rest against my satin-sheathed belly. Mother then bade me sit down on the bed and, kneeling down, she unrolled a gossamer whisp of nylon stocking and, as I extended my legs, she slid them, one after the other, smoothly up my limbs. They were wonderful, the best that money could buy. Silky smooth, fully fashioned, seamed, sheer, scrumptiously elegant, they encased my legs with a clinging, smooth touch of effortless sensuality that made me truly a slave to this feminine garment.

The basque had six suspenders attached to it, three each side and these mother attached to the welts of the stockings. Mother leaned forward and gently, softly, hotly, she kissed my hardness and the feel of her full, hot, soft lips almost destroyed me, the molten heat of her kiss transmitting its urgent desires through to the very core of my being. Yes, I was obsessed with sex, but then I always have been. The hedonistic pursuit of pleasure was, without a shadow of a doubt, the most intense need of my whole life and I was, and am, totally addicted to its enslaving power. My hands slid down to touch and caress her long, auburn and silkily perfumed hair, my fingers running through her long, shiny tresses, at the same time holding her beautiful face against my throbbing erection. It was larger now than it had ever been before, certainly thicker, longer and more potent than at the time of my first experience three years before. Though I was never huge in the erection stakes, managing really only a good six inches, nevertheless, on my slim, five foot two body, it seemed fairly awesome. At least none of my lovers, past or present have ever decried its size or hardness. In fact Alison, a one-time lover of mine, once said that the one thing she loved about me was its incredible hardness, like stone, she said. But I digress; the present time of the story is 1952, not 2002. Mother knew what I wanted and, as it was my birthday, she gave me my next present. As my hands continued to caress her tresses she opened her mouth and, grasping my body in her dainty hands she pulled it towards her parted lips. It was a sensation such as I had never experienced before. I had heard of fellatio, but had never expected my cool, yet hot, chaste yet sexy, aristocratic yet earthy, mother do what she did next.

She took me, full in the mouth and the sensations were quite awesome in their intensity and feeling. I had felt the incredible heat and milking power of her lower body, but this was so different as to be a new, totally new, sensation. She sucked as she moved her lips over the delicate, steel hard flesh and her tongue lashed the head of my penis in soft flicks, the rough surface setting up an incredible and piercing feeling to flash through my entire body and send my emotions into a peak of total delight. I looked down at her as she knelt, slave like before my trembling body and, moving her hair away from her face I saw her bobbing her head in a rhythmic way and my hardiness appearing and disappearing into her avidly sucking mouth. Time stood still and all my senses were dimmed apart from feeling. I could hear no more apart from a roaring in my ears and what could only be someone screaming in the background. My vision seemed to be tunnel like, focussing only on a pair of carmine lips encasing an almost disembodied male erection and the only feeling was of a complete focussing of intense pleasure onto my male body. It was as if she was drawing out my soul into herself. I glanced across at the mirror that was at my side, on the wall and gasped as I saw the erotic tableau of two figures, one standing in black satin basque and nylon stockings and the other, naked, with long, silky auburn hair held up by a pair of caressing hands and her beautiful features, en-profile with the join of body to body via her full, carmined and luscious lips.

My whole body was on fire with the incredibly intense feelings and I could see my mouth, parted lips and all, panting in time to the, dimly heard, screams. I realised that the screams were mine and that I was being overwhelmed by the assault of matriarchal mouth, lips and tongue on filial body. It was too much and my body surrendered to the incestuous assault. I spurted my seed into my mother's avidly sucking mouth and felt her swallowing it down, the movements of her throat intensifying my intense orgasm beyond belief. Once, twice, again and again, in what seemed to be an unending series of spasms I came and the senses, overloaded, shut down. I dimly remember falling back onto the bed behind me to lie in the middle of the pile of lingerie that was now mine. I came to a few seconds later as mother joined me on that bed and wrapped me up in her arms so that my head lay on her soft, gorgeous breasts.

I was far better a few minutes later and we resumed my dressing. Satiated for the time being I carried on from where we had left off. Mother, kneeling down at my feet once more, an impish grin on her face as she delicately fondled my limp body, then held out a pair of scrumptious french knickers for me to step into. I had never worn a pair as gorgeous as these. Made of the finest silk-satin that money could buy, french made of course, they hissed up my nyloned limbs as I stepped into them. I digress for a moment to state that one of the most sensuous sounds on this earth is the shirring, whispering hiss of taffeta, satin, nylon and silk brushing one against the other in a symphony of rustling whispers. I once walked down a long and fine staircase at a country house, on the arm of one of my, very few, male lovers, he having just satiated me in our bedroom, we were staying as guests, and I was wearing a fantastic strapless gown in blue duchesse satin, underneath which was an underskirt of silk taffeta and by the time we reached the bottom both he and I were hard and excited again. Fortunately it was his wife who took me back upstairs again, my poor bottom could not have stood another mad pounding as abused as it was. That weekend was a story in itself. It is surprising what goes on in society that no one outside of the participants gets to hear about. Suffice it to say that proud as fathers are of their sons, it is only the mothers who know who the real fathers are. After my initial incestuous start to life I certainly established a small, but extremely interesting and faithful coterie of friends. But, back to those initial days of my coming out of the closet, as we say to day.

The touch of that scrunchy fabric on my limp body gave me enormous pleasure, enough that, to both our surprise, my body thickened and became half hard.

"I don't believe it!" mother gasped in amazement as her fingers brushed gently over the tumescence for a moment. 'You are getting hard again."

She stopped caressing me and I protested, weakly may I add. She laughed.

"There is time for that later." She said as she stood up and then led me across to the wardrobe, the doors of which she opened with a theatrical flourish. "Ta taaa, my lady's new ensemble awaits her pleasure."

My mouth dropped down in total astonishment. The wardrobe, more of a built in closet really was full with a massive collection of dresses, gowns and other items of feminine apparel. Shoes were lined up on the floor, all types and colours. Full slips and cami-knickers were hung up alongside evening gowns and cocktail dresses. Day dresses were jostling for space with slim sheaths that were alongside blouses and skirts. Even a couple of two piece suits and several coats, one of which was a fantastic evening coat with a massive laid down collar of black, silk taffeta with a crimson silk-satin lining, Scrumptious. It was just mid-day so an afternoon dress was the correct garment to wear. It didn't take me long to find one. My natural hair colour was the same as mother's, auburn and with that colouring; emerald green was a lovely, matching shade. It was a lovely sheath dress of plain, heavy silk with a skirt that came to three inches below the knee and with a close fitting bodice with a boat neckline and three quarter sleeves. To match this was a small black chapeau, with a gauze veil that came down, over the eyes, to just below the tip of the nose, black, kid leather, mid arm length gloves and a pair of black suede court shoes with a lovely pair of three-inch heels. I have had some experience of wearing heels, but not for a lengthy period of time. This was going to be interesting, I thought.

Fifties make-up was elaborate and bold and mother was a master at its application. She led me through into her boudoir and sat me down at the dressing table and proceeded not only to make me up, but also she taught me how to do everything properly. She was a far better teacher than Paula who was more into the young, teenager styles, than mother who was into the elaborate artistry of the aristocratic model/matron of the age. The time passed quickly, but the results justified the time spent and over an hour later I was looking at a younger version of my mother staring back at me in the mirror. My hair, longer than usual at that time, she styled into a very pretty urchin style and the make up was perfect in its colouring and application. A matt foundation, pale and creamy, was delicately shaded with faint rouging around the cheekbones, delicately emphasising their prominence. Mascara had elongated my already long lashes, another blessing of my genes, to a length that was perfect for my large, green eyes. Bold shades of green and aquamarine did further service in the emphasis of them, as did the delicate shaping of my eyebrows that mother had emphasised with eyeliner pencil. Finally my lips, and how wonderfully she had emphasised them, were full and glowing, starkly lush in the brightest, boldest, most eye-catching scarlet lipstick I had ever worn. It was a symphony of such sights as to be almost awe-inspiring. I was of course totally biased, everyone thinks they are beautiful, but other people have told me the same, so it must be true. Sadly, to day, nature and age have made heavy inroads into that beauty, but I grieve not, I made full use of it, and even do so with what I have left to day as I go and collect my first pension of my life. Paula says she hates me. She says that the imbalance of hormones in my body means that I have far less wrinkles than she and that I sag much less too, but, forgive me, gentle reader, I digress once more.

For long, everlasting minutes I gazed at myself in the mirror, lost in a narcissistic reverie of such intensity as to loose me in a totally autoerotic world. I really fancied that girl in the mirror, the girl who mirrored every action, from the raising of an eyebrow to the slow, soft pout of intense, sexual lust. Her hands followed mine as they cupped, caressed, then fondled my soft, satin cupped, tenderly sensitive breasts, nestling so softly, so completely in the cups of the satin basque. My nipples were hard and visible, alive to the delicate touch of my fingers on the hard nubbins, as were hers and, panting, intensely, I gazed as her actions, mirroring mine, became more blatant, more erotic as every moment in time passed. I could see her hardness, swathed delicately in the shimmering folds of her satin french knickers, rise hard and proud, visibly trembling at the caresses to her titties, as mine did, to my caresses. It was a wild self-loving, totally selfish and thoroughly wicked in its all-enclosing nature. This was self-love at its wildest and most erotic. As her right hand toyed with her nipple, so did mine, totally synchronised with her movements. As her left hand slid down to lightly caress her sensitive erection, so did mine and as her lips parted, pouted and kissed, so did mine, back at her. Dimly, in the back of my vision, I could see mother settling down on the the bed, she had dressed herself in the meantime in stockings, basque and stiletto heeled courts, and gazing intently at our images, mine real, the alter ego, my reflection in the mirror. For a moment I gazed back at her and she smiled softly, encouragingly, at me as her own hands started to mimic my motions. Her fingers toyed with her hard, pouting nubbins, so much larger, so much more kissable than mine and her hand slid down to the juncture of her thighs, finger extended, to slide between her hot, slickly glistening, labial lips. We were both so hot again and I had never felt so sexy before. But my first love was still my alter ego in the mirror and I turned back to her as she did to me.

She was gasping and panting with sheer desire as I was and we were close to an orgasm again. I knew that I had to keep myself under control so I slowed down, and she mirrored me exactly. With total, mutual adoration in our eyes we communicated and I knew what Narcissus felt, as he loved himself while gazing at his reflection in the pool. Yes it was selfish of me to ignore my mother but, as she later told me, she had done so herself many times in her life. If you don't love yourself, she said once, how can you love anyone else? True, and valid to day as then, so many years ago. It was a very intense moment for me as the emotions could not be controlled and, with a scream of pure delight, for the third time to-day, I climaxed, this time spurting my hot, sticky seed, not that much of it either, into the delicate, scrunchy fabric of those delicious french knickers. The orgasm was so intense due to the fact that I had so little to give and the pleasure was so painfully pleasing as to send me into a comatose state. I barely heard, in the background, as mother herself climaxed, her panting moans distant and barely heard within the storm of silence that invaded my ears and mind.

Satiated, spent, I weakly arose from the pouffe and staggered over to the maternal bed. Mother herself was lying back on the opulent fur counterpane and I joined her on that bed for a cuddle and a light doze. I slid into her welcoming arms and we snuggled down, burrowing under the rich, fine sable the satin backing next to our skins, delighting in the slippery feeling of the lining and the wonderful warmth of the thick, smooth and erotic fur. Clasped together in a tired embrace, satiated Bt our mutual orgasms, we dozed off for the rest of the afternoon.



Chapter 5


That first four weeks of my 'conversion' went by in a daze. We never did anything else but dress up, make-up and make love. Mother went out of the house several times, for food and some shopping, I never did. It was the sweetest of self-imprisonment, and a crash course in femininity. I was being groomed not only to be the girl of my dreams at home, but also to go out as a woman, dressed, powdered, perfumed, confident and proud. It seemed to be frightening at first, the fear of discovery, but mother soon convinced me that I could pass perfectly and only an intimate examination would show the fact that what a woman had in her knickers I had something different, and it would be well nigh impossible, given the corsetry of the time, to do that without extreme violence taking place. In the circles that we moved in, and the time of the fifties, this was unheard of in Knightsbridge and Chelsea. Times have certainly changed. It was the following month that mother decided to broaden my horizons. As I said before, mother and auntie had moved in very racy circles and a title made for something. My father had been the eldest son of some impoverished count in France, one of those families almost totally destroyed by the French Revolution and the hard times following the Franco-Prussian, First and Second World Wars, along with all the revolutionary troubles in between. All they had was the title, no lands, manors, chateau or money, at times not even shoes to put on their feet, they were strangely proud of that. One was a labourer, in the 1870's, another a cobbler in 1896. Several served in the French Foreign Legion, usually as rankers, not officers, and mostly got killed before their children had reached adolescence. It was my Great Uncle, youngest brother to Grandfather on my Father's side who pulled the family out of the mire by judicious investments on the stock exchange just after the turn of the century and through the First World War, but that was only money, and Daddy had to get himself killed during a particularly minor battle in French Indo-Chine. When uncle Louis passed away, he had no children so the money passed to father and then to me.

Paula and her mother were away in America on a cruise and life was very lonely without them, but mother had invited a friend for a few weeks. I was quite thrilled as the friend was a female impersonator from Paris and had also been a friend of my father, albeit ten years younger. This was to be the first time I was to be seen by anyone else but my family and I waited in trepidation that evening for his/her arrival. We were to have a quiet evening at home, just cocktails and a light supper. Claude/Claudine would be staying in our guestroom for a few weeks while he did a show in Soho, at one of the few revue bars that were allowed at the time. I was simply, but elegantly, dressed in a simple cocktail dress of dark green duchesse satin. It was a lovely garment, consisting of a slim fitting bodice, with a scoop neckline that just showed the hint of my décolletage, made more prominent by a gorgeously sexy, strapless, long line, white satin brassiere. I also wore a lovely, tight, matching white satin, high waist corset with six suspenders. This kept my ever-ready body firmly against my belly and out of sight. A pair of sheer, seamed, fully-fashioned, beige nylon stockings adorned my long, slim, lithe legs and on my feet was a lovely pair of strappy, and three inch heeled, sandals. I had a very flouncy lace petticoat under the dress and this helped to fluff out the calf length, full, swirling skirt of the dress. My hair was growing longer fast and soon mother would be able to change my style from urchin to pageboy, a style I have worn almost up to this day. Mother had made me up to the nines and I felt absolutely fabulous as I swished restlessly around the room. Mother watched me, an indulgent smile on her beautiful features. She knew of my cravings for someone like me and she had talked to me about 'the other kind of love' as she put it, with a lot of understanding.

I glanced back at mother as she sat on our chaise longue and marvelled again at her beauty. She was dressed for cocktails, as I was but hers was a different dress. Her gorgeously sensual, slim, small-breasted figure was simply adorned with a beautiful, yet impressively rich, pure silk velvet sheath in a fabulous shade of royal blue. Strapless, almost backless, with an incredibly tight skirt, reaching mid calf as they did in those days, she was severely elegant. She wore little jewellery, as I, just a simple, yet incredibly expensive, real pearl necklace, of graded pearls, of the highest quality. Her earrings were matching, simple pearl drops, and on her hands she just wore a wedding band and engagement ring, both father's legacy, and nothing else, yet the gold band was of ducat quality gold and the solitaire diamond was of a hefty five carats. She had her hair styled in a typically fifties style, clubbed back in a chignon that nestled closely to the back of her head, just above the neck. Just then we heard a car pull up outside the flats. I rushed to the window and looked out to see a taxi parked outside. I expected a man to get out of the car, but it was the most gorgeous looking blonde I had ever seen in my life. I was ready to turn away, not expecting her, just a man, when mother joined me at the window.

"Ohhhh!!" She gasped. "That's Claude, he's come as Claudine."

I gave another look. Our flat was on the second, and top, storey of an old Georgian house, and it was the only one as the ground floor was occupied by one of the exclusive wine merchants that dotted the area, but our outlook was to the back, onto the mews that was also such a feature of Knightsbridge. I watched in amazement as a pile of cases and boxes ended up on the pavement. I wondered how Claudine would get them up, but I should have realised that a taxi driver is just as much influenced by a beautiful woman as any other male.

"If only he knew." I remarked to mother who chuckled at the thought.

Claudine looked extremely beautiful, even from my heightened perspective, and was dressed accordingly. She was dressed in a lovely, primrose yellow, day dress in what appeared to be silk, with a lovely boat neckline, short sleeves, slim bodice and an exuberantly flowing skirt. On her head was a pretty little straw hat and on her feet a pair of straw coloured, high heeled, court shoes. On her hands she wore a pair of mid arm gloves in what was probably delicate, kid leather. I was, in LOVE! She glanced up and saw us at the window, waved, turned to the taxi driver and he shouldered and picked up all the luggage, or most of it, only letting Claudine carry two light suitcases. A few seconds later mother and Claudine were embracing like long lost friends and the taxi driver made another trip to pick up the rest of the luggage. After he had been paid, well tipped, kissed by a Claudine with devilment in her eyes, it was more than a peck as she had plastered her superb body against his as their lips had touched in a, more than friendly, peck, I was introduced.

"He was young and very dishy," "As Claudine had later remarked, "And I am, French!" As if the explained everything

Claudine looked at me and came forward on our introduction to embrace me.

"La," She said as her large eyes swept over me. "The last time I saw you, you were a grubby little child and now I have to look around me to stop you taking my lovers!"

Did she really find me beautiful, I wondered for a second just before I was wrapped up in an embrace of such wonderful delight as to make my head swoon. For long seconds we stood together, kissing, bodies touching, breast to tender breast as I sank into that deeply sensual kiss. She explored my lips with her tongue and my mouth opened to let the invader in, to lash at my trembling tongue. Hot, sucking wet kisses that made my trapped body tremble with deep desire. Claudine was no man to me, whatever her biological equipment that I felt rise and push, hard and proud, against my own, corseted, belly, slip-sliding over the shuddering hardness that rested against my belly. My hands slid up her bodice and I cupped her breasts. I felt them, soft, full and hard nippled, I was shocked, expecting false breasts, but these were real, and fuller than either of ours. She later told us that she had been one of the first to have had this type of breast surgery in France, if not the entire world. At my touch, as my fingers explored the softness, delicately nipping at her prominent nipples, she was not wearing any brassiere; she broke the kiss, throwing her head back with delight. She had the same feelings in her titties as I had in mine.

"Hey, enough, children." Mother's laughing words made us come back down to earth. "No sex before cocktails, this isn't France, you know, where anything goes."

"But isn't that the reason for cocktails?" Claudine laughingly replied. "The end of the 'Cock Tale'!"

With that sally we broke our embrace, all three of us laughing gaily and I was captivated by this saucy, sexy and very beautiful, 'woman'.



Chapter 6


Claudine went away to unpack, bathe and change, while mother and I sat down and, for the first time, I had a drink. My first gin and tonic, I thought as I raised the tall glass to my lips and sipped at the cool and quenching drink. Mother did a good 'G & T', with plenty of gin and it was not the chemical rubbish you get to-day, but the best, from Fortnum's, and the type of quality that is totally absent in to-days gin unless you do as I do, crush finely some juniper berries, lemon zest and a few cloves. Cover with half a litre of Polish Pure Spirit, 95% alcohol, neat vodka, keep for six months, and then add, 10 mls to a bottle of normal gin. Expensive, but rather good, just like old style, pre chemical additive, gin. Still, once more, I digress, taking every one away from the story, though Paula frequently says that I should write my own cookbook. This would be called the 'Politically Incorrect, Totally Diet Free, Thoroughly Unhealthy and Utterly Decadent, Short Cut to a Myocardial Infarction and Apoplexy, Cook Book!' Who am I to argue against such resounding recommendations? Suffice to say that we have two olive groves in Tuscany and three hectares of garlic patch supplying me with first cold pressings of extra-virgin olive oil, and all the elephant garlic I desire. It may be gross, and we may ooze garlic from our pores, but we bonk like bunnies, even at our advanced age, and manage to keep foes at bay. You only live once.

Half an hour later Claudine came back, and what a wow of a change. She was sumptuously resplendent in a magnificent cocktail dress in rustling, shirring, heavy, sexy, shiny, silk taffeta. Instantly, I wanted it, to wear and to enjoy what was inside it, namely, Claudine. Like mother's dress, it was strapless, yet like mine, it had a full, flowing skirt, held out with what appeared to be a full, lace and net, petticoat. It was shorter than both of our calf length skirts by several inches and occasionally, as she moved, we saw the delicate flash of a pair of decidedly pretty, dimpled knees, covered in a fine sheen of black, diaphanous, sheer silk, stocking. The silence was such that every time she moved the whispering swish of the sexy fabrics was loud as the thunder of a storm to our ears. Silent we were as we, mother and I, gazed at this heavenly creature that stood before us in her full magnificence. Her blonde, long, silky hair was upswept into a lovely creation and her flawless features were further enhanced by expert make-up so that we were speechless with awe. The colour of the dress emphasised her incredible, blonde beauty, a gorgeous shade of aquamarine, and she wore a matching pair of long, shoulder length, taffeta, opera gloves. It was obvious that she was basking in our adoring admiration as she gave us a long, slow twirl that showed off her sensual body to perfection. My body trembled as I gazed at her. I was in love, lust, desire and complete enslavement to this creature that blatantly seduced us with her deeds and actions. I glanced at mother and saw that she too had the same feelings as I for this lovely whisp of a being. At least, I thought, we would not be competitors as the differences between us were sufficiently wide as to stifle competition.

After Claudine's show we had long, slow cocktails, followed by a simple yet excellent, light meal, where we all talked and laughed together and Claudine and I became good and fast friends. After supper we went back into the drawing room and we put on some slow, smoochy music and I sat down and watched as mother and Claudine danced together. That was an arousing sight. Mother and Claudine started to seduce each other as I watched. There was no jealousy or envy, as I knew that my time would come, but, for the first time I became aware of the sheer excitement of being a voyeur, something I have never lost. They were close together in the middle of the room, swaying to the gentle strains of the music, bodies touching, breast to breast, thigh to thigh, belly to belly and lips to lips as they traded hot, wet, open-mouthed kisses. Hands caressed each others bodies and I knew that Claudine was hard, proudly erect because mother was writhing her belly against what was an obvious intrusion against her own body. The seduction was slow, mutual and gentle, this was no wild and rough male type lovemaking, this was a softly sensual, delicately decorous and wonderfully slow, lesbian seduction, with a difference, and hotly arousing to watch too.

My hardness was throbbing and incredibly sensitive under the satin of my Rousell corset and I slid my hands under my voluminous skirts and gently slid it out from under its sensuous prison. Fortunately for me, Rousell always cut the bottom of the front of its corsets high, to expose the juncture of the thighs and my vibrant erection was free to lay proudly against my belly, still swathed in the sensuous silk of my silk-satin knickers, yet free to whatever pillage it would be exposed to. Free and comfortable at last I lay back and enjoyed the show that developed. Mother was first to start the slow disrobing of Claudine and she delicately undid the hook and eye at the back of her dress and slowly, ever so slowly, she slid down the zip. They were still pressed together so that her dress was still held up by the pressure of their embracing bodies. Then, mother pulled away and the dress slowly fell down to glide to the floor. Delicately Claudine stepped out of the circle of frothy lace and taffeta and then she elegantly caught it with the toe of her shoe and flicked it across to where I was reclining on the chaise longue. I though had only eyes for her incredibly beautiful body as I gazed only at her. I had gasped in amazement at the sight as she had worn nothing underneath but a simple garter belt and long stockings and her naked body was a sight of such sheer beauty as to leave me dry mouthed with arousal, desire and admiration. Her body was slim, tiny waisted without any corsetry help, yet delicately curved. Almost, yet not quite, boyish in appearance with delicately curved hips and small, perfectly formed buttocks. Her breasts were the startling dichotomy to the hardness that arose from between the smoothly sleek thighs, a sensuously firm pair of tip-tilted pears, with long, pink, mouth-wateringly delicious nipples that made me want to rush over and suckle.

Mother turned Claudine to face me and, standing behind her delectable body, still fully dressed in her velvet dress, she nibbled at her shell like ear as, at the same time, her still begloved hands, she of all of us had not taken her long, satin gloves off, began to tease the tender, hard nipples of our new lover. Claudine had her eyes closed, panting hotly with her arousal. I shifted my gaze down to her erect body, her oversize clitty, as I like to call it nowadays, and my breath caught in my chest. For the first time I was looking at a male body with more than just curiosity, I was looking with hot and powerful lust. Later in life I realised that the only way I could respond to such a sight was if it was on a person such as Claudine and myself and not on a generic man, unless, extremely rarely, the man had many of the attributes of a woman, delicacy, gentleness, a certain androgynous beauty. I was, and always have been, a true lesbian. I watched that hard tube of engorged flesh judder and tremble as mother caressed her tender nipples. Suddenly I became aware that my own nipples were hard and demanding similar attention so I slid my own trembling hands up my satin-sheathed bodice to cup the tender flesh of my own little titties. Cupping my breasts, feeling the hard nipples stabbing into the palms of my hands, was a sensation I never tired of, even to this day and the flashes of desire that swept through my body were incredibly powerful in the sexually charged atmosphere of our ménage a trois. Dreamingly occupied with my own pleasures, as I was it was several minutes before I became aware of Claudine's and mother s piercing gaze, but eventually I did.

Things had changed since I had descended into my sensual reverie and mother now stood facing me with Claudine behind her with her hands caressing her lovely breasts. Claudine had slid off mother's opulent velvet gown so that she stood before me dressed only in her sensuous corsetry and stockings. She was a scintillating symphony of smooth, slickly sensuous, black satin and sheer, seamed, long, black nylon stockings. She still wore her long gloves and she hid her lovely centre of passion with her hands, as the basque she wore would have exposed that to me. My breath caught in my throat as Claudine, who had slid off her gloves, scraped her long, carmined, nails over the hard nipples that peeped over the lace fringes of the half cups, making mother writhe as the sensations washed through her sexually charged body. This was my first time at playing voyeur and I was staggered at the charge of sexual heat that, lightning like, flooded my body with a wild lust. I knew what I wanted, and so did they. My hands descended off my tender breasts and, taking hold of the hem of my skirts I slowly pulled them back to expose firstly, my knees, swathed in white nylon, and then, progressively, my slim thighs till, at last, I exposed my thrumming, trembling hardness, still under the silk-satin knickers, to their gaze.

I looked down, and slid it out from underneath the shiny, delicate fabric. As I exposed my body to the heat of their gaze, just for a moment, seeing the engorged tube of adolescent flesh trembling between the white suspenders and soft skin of my thighs. I knew that I was on a very unstable high and would soon have a blinding orgasm, even without touching myself, and they must have been aware of it too as they both, hot, dewy eyed, moved slowly towards me till they, mother and Claudine, were standing, one each side of me, and then slowly sank to their knees, their superb bodies just touching my nyloned thighs. I was aware of many things at that moment, the soft press of their breasts against my thighs as they both leaned in towards each other, the mixture of the three scents that we were wearing, mine Chanel 5, Claudine, Dana's spicy Tabu and mother her favourite, Guerlaine's Ode. My two lovers slowly reached down and both gently caressed my ready and unruly member while at the same time both touched lips to lips in a soft and devastatingly sensuous yet delicately amorous, kiss. I could also feel the hardness of Claudine's ready body pressing against the side of my nyloned calf and I could tell she was as erotically charged as I by the wetness that seeped through the diaphanous fabric. She was as close to exploding into orgasm as I. A sudden devilment took a hold of me and I reached forward and down to grasp her body and gently milk it with my hand. The touch of my hand surprised her, and destroyed her entire composure.

She reared back and upright, her face turning towards me with her eyes hooded in passion and her lips parted with surprised delight at my forwardness. Mother took advantage of this and her satin-gloved hands totally took over my trembling body. The time was here, and now. As I glanced down at the beloved presence of mother, she leaned down and her hot, lush, lipsticked lips parted as she took me into the blazingly incandescent heat of her mouth to suck me in deep. Trembling, writhing tongue lashed the hypersensitive head of my penis and I cried out with the ecstasy of my approaching climax. Claudine, recovering herself with difficulty, leaned forward and hotly kissed my panting mouth, stifling the incipient scream of fulfilment that rose in me, hot panting, wet lips to lips. Her hands, with those incredibly long, carmined nails, slid up my satin bodice to cup, caress, find and nip my hard and sensitive nipples, finally sending me over into the wildest, spurting and totally exhausting orgasm of my life to that day. I came, my hot, incestuous seed spurting so wildly that it felt as if my entire life force was leaving my body through that hard tube of flesh. The piercing, powerful, contractions of my loins were so sensational as to bring me to the very edge of blackness and the roaring in my ears almost drowned out the scream of sheer and unadulterated ecstasy that exploded from me, even through the stiflingly hot and luscious kiss that Claudine still held me in. It seemed to start in my toes, this outpouring of my spirit, and from the very pit of my stomach, and from the very inside of my head. My entire body was focussed on this ecstatic climax of all my love and emotional energy, channelling it to the very tiny opening of my, maternally suckled, deeply kissed, flesh. Mother seemed to suck the very soul out of me as I gave her all I had. An eternity, or so it seemed, later my spurting orgasm started to slow down, then trickle to a stop and it was then that I felt Claudine stiffen and moan into my mouth.

Her hardness still clasped in my hot hand trembled and then twitched. She broke the kiss and threw her head back, just as mother left my own wilting body and stood up to come round to her side. Mother slowly sank down onto her knees beside her and embraced her. Breast to breast they embraced, kissed and I could feel that Claudine was an instant before her own orgasm but I wanted much more than seeing the hot juices exploding from her long, slim, extremely hard clitty, I wanted to have them both satisfying each other. I was now over my initial, wild, passion but mother and Claudine were both still high and excited. I wanted to see them both joined together, two hot lesbian lovers with a real, flesh and blood, dildo sinking into the hot depths of mother's body. My hand sprang free of that, silkily smooth, tube of engorged flesh, just in time to stop her orgasm. Claudine broke the kiss as she gasped her disappointment and turned to me, her eyes full of reproach.

"Make love to my mother, Claudine." I whispered. "I want to see."

Her face broke out into a joyous expression as she realised that not only would I not be jealous, but also that I was willing to share mother with her. It was, for her as well as for me the very peak of our desires. Mother too was overjoyed. She was going to be satisfied as well, having previously resigned herself to waiting till we had both recuperated from our own orgasms.

I stood up and drew them both to their feet. Mother and Claudine were a contrast in looks, though not in figure as they were both slim and high breasted. Holding each by the hand I led them through into our boudoir and approached our satin canopied and sheeted bed. Mother and I had prepared the bed well. The sheets, of the finest, heavy, duchesse silk-satin, were in a deep sinful black, gleaming dully in the light of the two bedside lights that were all the light that was on in the room. Mother had had them made several years before the war but this was their first outing since that time and she had told me that they had only been used twice before. Once on their honeymoon, they had spent it at home and once, when I was conceived. I found it so deeply exciting to make love to mother and Claudine in the same bed, on the same sheets as I had begun my own life. The bed was opposite the door and on the wall above the head was a large mirror. It was an amazingly beautiful sight, and very arousing at that, to see our threesome reflected back to us as we entered the boudoir. I was, of course, the only one fully dressed and the dichotomy of that struck us all. For several seconds we indulged in a narcissistic viewing of our threesome. Then, after a few minutes I let go of their hands and moved back to sit down and lay back on a chaise longue that sat against the wall at the foot of the bed.

I watched as the two gorgeous people slowly slid onto the satin-sheeted bed, their slim, sensually curved bodies dressed only in long stockings, garter belts and high-heeled court shoes. The nylon of their stockings hissed over the rich and heavy satin as they started the slow build-up to their own ecstasy, embracing so that there was not an inch of their perfumed bodies not touching. Hot and sucking mouths met in a long, clinging kiss. Tongues touched, duelled as hot breath mingled. Hands caressed, explored and excited, the resulting sensations bringing soft moans of passion and desire, I lay and watched, my passions building up again as the actions aroused me to a new height of passion. A true voyeur was born. My own hands slid up the soft satin bodice of the dress and touched, caressed my tender and sensitive titties, fingers sliding teasingly over my hard nipples. I realised that I was vastly overdressed, but dressed I wanted to be. I decided to change into something more comfortable so I silently stood up and slid out of the boudoir and went into my own room. There I quickly divested myself of the dress, petticoats and corsetry and put on a lovely, deep, black satin garter belt. I changed my stockings for a pair of gorgeously silky, shiny, black nylon, seamed stockings by Aristoc, still, in my mind the best manufacturers of quality nylons in the world. Then I slid on a wonderful present that mother had given to me just this very afternoon, a long, sensuous, black, silk-satin night-gown, french knickers and negligee. These garments, brought from France, were so elegant and sexy as to make me tremble with desire. I then slid on a pair of high heeled, black satin court shoes and looked at myself in the mirror. I did look beautiful, even if I say so myself.

My make-up was fine, it just needed a slight touch up and I was ready to go back to the action in mother's boudoir. I did one last thing; I slid on a pair of long, opera length, black satin, evening gloves. I adored these articles of clothing and wore them as much as I could; satin is soooo sensuous on satin, and skin. Ready at last, I went back into mother's boudoir. It had not changed much, I had been gone only a few minutes, but it had deepened in intensity. Claudine was suckling on mother's lovely breasts as mother, head thrown back, moaned softly, her hands caressing Claudine's hair as she held her head to her titties. Their legs were entwined and as they moved together the hissing of nylon on nylon and satin was loud in the quietness of the room. I decided that I would see more if I joined them so I sat on the bottom edge of the bed and saw that Claudine's hard body was nestling against mother's hot cleft, the head teasing the very apex of her labia, just where her clitty nestled. Their buttocks were twirling gently as they excited each other. I decided to slide up onto the bed and I lay down on the other side of mother so that my belly pressed against her back. Her writhing buttocks moved deliciously against my satin-sheathed body, sending powerful flashes of arousal through me. I lifted myself on one elbow and looked down at the almost conjoined bodies as they lapped, sucked and caressed each other to a wild and delicious denouement of desire. It was almost time.



Chapter 7


My whole body trembled with anticipation of the act of carnal love between my mother and this delicious new playmate of mine, Claudine. I was not jealous, I never had been. My own nature is such that I know my own sexuality and needs, accept them and the fact that how can I, with my desires, condemn someone else with theirs. No, I wasn't jealous, I was excited with the anticipation of joining fully in this gorgeous ménage-a-trois, as the French so delightfully put it. My satin-gloved hand slid delicately over mother's shoulder and slid down to cup her firm, perfectly formed, hard nippled tittie, to touch, glide, caress and excite her hard and sensitive nipple. She broke the hot kiss and gasped as I gently nipped the hard little nubbin. Claudine took advantage of this to lean forward and nibble at her long neck, just on the sensitive part and mother moaned with wild desire. She slowly rolled over onto her back and now we both rolled into her sides. As I attacked, if that is the word, her right breast with my satin-gloved hand, Claudine did the same to her left. As I moved my lips down to softly kiss mother's panting mouth Claudine nibbled on her neck. When I moved down to nibble and gently suckle on her tender nipple, Claudine hotly kissed her. This combined assault on mother was enough to drive her into paroxysms of want and need and she started to beg for the final loving that would bring her to an orgasmic ecstasy as she had only dreamed of, never attained. My right hand slid its satined path down her slim and taut belly to the soft juncture of her writhing, nyloned thighs. I reached the very tip of her desires and softly parted the delicate folds of tender flesh to dip a questing finger into the softly wet and slick depths. She cried out, a low, piercing wail and writhed even more as my finger slid deep into her hot depths. She was so excited and ready that the muscular walls contracted strongly around my digit in a frenetic milking fashion and seemed to suck me in even more. Her wail turned to panting entreaties for one of us to slide our ready, hard and excited bodies deep into her creaming and wanting body.

Her long, lithe, nyloned limbs were parted wide, writhing in a wild passion and Claudine caught my eye with a burning look. She motioned for me to slip between those delectable thighs and slide my body deep into that of my mother. And, though I would dearly have loved to do so, I shook my head in the negative and leaning across I cupped her beautiful face with my hand and reaching across, kissed her panting and dewy, softly lipsticked, lips. At the same time I gently pulled her across and she came willingly, to couch herself between mother's thighs. As Claudine lay above mother, braced on her extended arms, her hard body resting on her belly, just above the juncture of her thighs, I reached down with my satin gloved hands and, with my left hand, parted the weeping folds of mother's hot cleft while, with my right hand, I grasped the hard tube of blood engorged flesh that was Claudine's centre of passion and lust. Slowly I brought the purple, bulbous head of Claudine's body against the slick body of my mother, parting the folds of her labia with it. They both gasped and their heads turned to me, both of their pairs of eyes wild and hot with desire and, I realised, the same mad pleasure in the sheer perversity of what we were doing. A transvestite son helping his own mother's transvestite lover gain entry into her body by first exciting his own mother and then, taking said lovers penis in hand, guiding it into her body. I shuddered with the deliciously illegal emotions, relishing the feelings of not only flying in the face of convention, but also of breaking one of the most stringent laws of society, that of the last taboo, of incest. Yet, what is this law that is so vile as to make most people shudder, yet seems to fascinate a vast majority of them. It was, mother once said, invented by fathers jealous of their sons and mothers jealous of their daughters. I begged to agree with that statement. As that thought flashed through my fevered mind I gently guided Claudine's vibrant hard body to the very opening of mother's body and gently pulled down. I lay down again so that I had a perfect view of their almost conjoined bodies.

"Yes, Claudine, yes," I murmured hotly. "Take my mother, Claudine, make love to mummy, Claudine, make mummy scream as I have made her scream."

Fascinated, excited, I watched avidly as Claudine's slim hips moved and her rock hard, velvet skinned body slid deep into the clasping furnace that was mother's sex. Mother arched her back at the welcome invasion, gasping and panting in her wild excitement, her hands flying up to cup Claudine's perfect, firm, tip tilted titties, teasing, nipping and caressing her prominent, hard nipples. Claudine proved to be a master, or should it be, mistress of the art of love. She, ever so slowly, moved her hips, sliding the instrument of her love in and out of mother's body, at the same time gently twirling them in a delicate circular motion, bringing mother to fresh paroxysms of delight. I lay quietly beside them, as they, lost in their long denied desires, danced their love dance to a tune no one else could hear, gently caressing my own hardness through the satin of my night-gown, my nyloned limbs rubbing, one against the other, setting up that hissing friction that seemed to charge my body with the static of high emotion. It was incredibly arousing lying there, watching, listening and partaking in the act of love with more than one other person. Every so often I would stretch out one satin gloved hand and touch one or the other of the bodies beside me, a gentle caress on flank or breast, a slide over a hot, hard, turgid nipple, questing, cunning little touches that made them gasp in turn as I added my pennyworth of sensation to their already sensation overloaded bodies, and minds.

Claudine knew how to pleasure a woman as she took mother higher and higher, easing off and holding her steady as orgasm after orgasm, each more intense than the last, threatened to overwhelm her. I watched and learned, seeing how that marvellous girl/boy slowed, sometimes stopped, then speeded up to frantically wild thrusts, only to pause and just lie there, deep in her body, clenching her buttocks to twitch her deeply buried body in that tight scabbard that sheathed it. Mother at first tried to keep up, thrust meeting thrust, twirl meeting twirl, pause meeting pause, all the time gazing up at the incredibly beautiful features of her lover as they both attempted to pull each other over into a wild and frenzied climax. It was a battle almost, a battle of the senses, yet a battle where both participants won, even though one had to give in. It was mother who gave in at last, lying supine on the satin sheeted bed, panting wildly as Claudine started to slowly, deliberately and powerfully bring her to her long awaited climax. It was incredibly sensuous to watch a woman go over into such a powerful orgasm such as Claudine gave my mother that day, and highly exciting.

Claudine had timed it perfectly and, as mother suddenly stiffened, threw her head from side to side, shuddered and screamed out her ecstasy, Claudine to did the same, her head thrown back and panting moans of her emotional cataclysm joining mother's sounds of passion. Deeply buried as she was, her buttocks spasming in wild, clenching motions as she shot her stream of white, sticky come deep into the clenching cavern of mother's hot and clasping sex, I could see that the powerful contractions of mother's ecstatic orgasm were actually pushing out Claudine's body from hers till she was fully expelled from her body and I could see the last, few, weak spurts dribble out from the twitching erect body to pool on the black satin sheets. She slowly slid off mother's, still writhing, still climaxing, still shuddering body to lay beside her, panting wildly as her body slowly softened and lay wetly against her belly, wet, sticky and satiated.

Mother though, like all women capable of multiple orgasms, well God had to give them something back for all the trouble he gave them, like periods and child bearing, was still deep in the throes of her climax and, now bereft of the invading body, was sliding her hands down to clasp and caress her spasming cleft. I knew what I wanted to do and I slid the peignoir from my body and, sliding up the satin of my nightgown, exposing my own hard body, I slid between her slim, nyloned thighs. Kneeling above her I took my hardness in my gloved hand and then, leaning down, resting on one extended arm, slid the glans over her labia, coating the tip with the combined fluids of their passion. At first mother seemed oblivious of what I was doing but, through the mists of her waning orgasm she felt that a fresh and willing instrument of pleasure was waiting to slide deep into her still spasming body. She opened her eyes and gazed up at me, her feminised son, and her hands reached up to cup and caress my face.

"Ohhhh," She moaned softly. "Is my sweet child ready to take her mother back into heaven?"

"Yessss, mother," I whispered back as I lowered my face down to her. "Your little baby is waiting to go back to where "she" came from."

Beside me I heard the exhausted Claudine give a gasp of sheer delight at my perverted words and she turned onto her side to face us as we prepared to make passionate, illegal and highly exciting, incestuous love. It was so rare, she later told us, for an outsider to witness such a private and secret act such as the sexual love between a mother and her child. Though far more common than previously suspected, due mainly to the willingness of the child to submit to a mother's wishes, and the new and emerging sexuality, acknowledged at last, of the woman in the twentieth century, it is still the rarest form of incest. Also, because of the willingness of both participants, it is the most secretive and hidden of acts of love. The sheer nature of the act, along with its illegal standing, has fascinated mankind since the dawn of time, and it is a well known fact that a boy's emergent sexuality is almost always first geared towards his female, or if an alternate, homosexual, proclivity emerges, then towards his closest, male relatives. Claudine later told us that she too had felt a sexual pull towards her mother and father, but never consummated either desire, though now, with her experience, she had more than a sneaking suspicion that her father would reciprocate if she approached him.

I though was not pontificating along those lines at that present moment in time. My entire persona was focussed totally on the slim, svelte, deliciously silky and delicately curvaceous body of the woman who had carried, and given birth to, me. She lay there now, pulling my head down so that our lips, parted, wet, panting with desire, met in a lusciously soft and sensual kiss. That contact of lips to lips, tongue to questing tongue, electrified us, as always and her loins lifted up to meet my descending loins and, as if made for each other, my hard body, trembling, rigid, solid as stone, slid, unerringly, smoothly and powerfully into the molten cavern, hot, clasping, tight, yet softly open, of her body. We moved together, slowly, passionately, mother and I, glorying in the wild flashes of desirous sensation that flooded our bodies and minds, We were totally and exclusively involved with ourselves, even Claudine was banished to the further periphery of our minds, her gasping moans, she had obviously become excited again, barely registering upon us, as we loved and loved. I raised myself back up on my extended arms and gazed down at her wondrous, passion wracked beauty as she writhed beneath me, wild, almost senseless, in an almost total and unending, orgasmic state. Slowly and powerfully, I started to move within her sheath, the friction building me up to my own explosion of feeling and sensation, my own orgasm. It was then that I felt another pair of hands touch and caress my body. Mother was touching and caressing my tender breasts, nipping and rolling my nipples through the lustrous satin and delicate lace of my night-gown, boosting my senses to fresh highs, when another pair of, softly questing, knowledgeable hands slid over my satin sheathed body. Claudine's hands gently and cunningly slid over my satin-sheathed back, running up and down its length. She had got up from her position beside us and had slid in behind me, straddling mother's writhing limbs. She was close, very close and I felt the heat of her naked skin on my own flesh.

I knew that soon I was going to lose my second virginity but, strangely, I knew no fear, only a wish for it to happen. I had wondered what it would be like and mother had started to prepare me by sliding certain objects teasingly into my rosebud, as she called it, and, though the larger ones had been painful at first, by the dint of relaxation, I had managed to enjoy and accept with comfort an object that was larger than what Claudine was about to present to me. Claudine, totally unmindful of our preoccupation with each other, as she afterwards said, "No one, Cherie, who enjoys our particular peccadillo, would pass up such an inviting, petite bottie." She was certainly not about to it seemed. I arched my back at her touch, sheathing myself fully inside mother, and freezing into stillness as Claudine caressingly lifted the satin folds to expose my french knickered bottom to her hot gaze and hands. She couldn't take them off as I was couched deep in mother, but she slid aside the silky and sensuous material and exposed my twitching "petite 'bottie' ", as she so charmingly put it, to pillage. I felt her hardness glide up the centre of the two cheeks and, from the slickness I could tell that she had put some slick unguent onto her to help in her entry. I felt the bulbous tip slowly and gently push against the sensitive entry to my inner self and, slowly sinking down onto mother, I withdrew myself till only my glans was inside of her. This meant that my 'bottie' was well presented to Claudine's advances and she slid her body against my back, laying herself fully against me. I was in heaven at that moment as her titties slid over me and her weight pushed me down so that my sensitive titties meshed with mother's, so perfectly in fact that our respective nipples touched and excited us more.

It was time, and I was eager and hot. My body was trembling in anticipation and my incipient climax eased off slightly, though mother's did not, as she seemed to be in a permanent state of climax now, just shuddering and moaning with pleasure and ecstasy. Slowly Claudine teased the puckered entrance to a state of readiness, the soft thrusts making the ring of flesh relax and gently open to each, tiny pressure. It is funny really. If that same action was being done by a harsh, uncouth man then I would have been totally repelled to the very core of my being, but this was one of my own kind, and an especially beautiful one at that, a perfectly passable woman in all respects but one, and that one was evident in the extreme as it gently, in infinitesimally tiny movements, insinuated itself into me. A man would, and it did happen to me once, I hated it, and him, have just thrust into me with no thought of gentleness or tenderness, only wanting to take his own, brutal pleasure. The head slowly slipped in, the tiny bit of discomfort, and that is all it was, dispelled by the pleasure that flooded through my body. This was a different kind of pleasure than the usual that I had when making love to mother. It seemed to wash through my body and take me over into a state of unutterably delicious heaven as my whole body became charged with electrifying flashes of ecstatic feeling. Mother later told me that this is what women feel when they make love. I totally relaxed and allowed Claudine to slide deep into me till; at last, she was fully couched within the hot confines of my body. She paused then, for a moment, then pushed gently, pushing me back into mother, and slowly withdrew till she was almost out of me, then stopped, braced on her arms, her delicious breasts now just brushing over my back.

I slowly withdrew myself from mother, and then slid back, establishing that cadence of movement only that this time, as I moved, impaled myself each time on Claudine's delicious body. Totally relaxed now, my sphincter accepting her hardness easily, I gave myself up to a delicious new feeling of sexual desire and ecstasy so novel and intense that I was almost fainting. I could almost feel that Claudine had impaled my body all the way through and into mother, exciting and weird, yet delightfully sensuous. We moved, ever higher and the pleasure grew so intense in all of us that the moans and whimpers of delight grew ever more in intensity. Time stood still and all awareness of outside stimuli receded so that all was just that small cocoon of writhing, thrusting, kissing, perfumed bodies as we slowly, inexorably moved towards our mutual climax. Mother reached up and cupped my face and kissed me, as Claudine bent down and her lips and tiny teeth nibbled hotly at my ear. Those final two assaults, mother's hot and sucking, incestuous kisses and Claudine's delicious nibbles were enough to drive me to total frenzy and the very pinnacle of pleasure. My body now moved under its own volition, the slow cadence gone and an increased tempo of thrusts started to build up towards my climax. Within me I felt Claudine's impaling body start to tremble and twitch as she too matched my movements and levels of excitement. Below us mother started to softly moan and cry out as she approached her own ecstatic release and it came, for all of us, and so suddenly as to catch us unawares.

A bolt of such pleasure suddenly exploded through my body, as I had never even dreamed of. My body stiffened and I felt all my openings tighten so much as to cause almost physical pain. My hardness, deeply buried inside mother seemed to swell even more and harden to adamantine solidness, then twitch uncontrollably as I started to spurt my incestuous fluids deep into my beloved mother. She, in turn, felt my trembling ejaculation and clamped down about me so much as to lock me in place as her piercing cry of fulfilment joined mine. Claudine too was, through the catalysis of my clamping around her body, driven into her own spurting orgasm and I felt the incredible heat of her spurting ejaculation deep within my body. It probably sounds boring now, this story of ever increasing pleasure, but it was the start of my sexual odysseys through life and things would change, disappointments would come; yet pleasures never abate their exciting and deliriously sensual hold on me. I am a gentle soul, with abhorrence to pain and dominance. Whenever I meet these two disagreeable traits in humans I fight it, or run away if it is too overpowering. To me gentleness and sensuality are the motivations behind my life and I have, thank God, succeeded in maintaining my life the way I wanted to. But, at the moment in time I am writing about now, all that was in my mind was not pontificating, it was the piercing, illegal, remember, gentles all, homosexuality and incest were crimes in England, and overpowering ecstasy of my first ménage a trois. At last the spasms stopped and my body slowly wilted, as did Claudine's, and we slowly, gently slipped out of each others respective bodies to collapse in a tangled mass of limbs to embrace and kiss, and then to slip into a dreamy doze of total, absolute and complete satiation.


End of Part One.




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