Satin Love
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Satin Sex free porn video
He was pouring two glasses of wine when she called to him. His mother, spending the weekend with him
near the fifth anniversary of his father's death. They were leaving soon for an evening at one of the few
remaining jazz clubs in the city, and he was thinking that a quick bit of Pinot Grigio might get them feeling
mellow sooner.
"Could you help me with this zipper, Dave. It's on the back of my blouse and seems stuck."
He was recorking the wine, and didn't turn for a moment. When he did she was just a couple steps away.
He started. She laughed and asked if she had startled him.
"I guess," he replied.
But that wasn't it. It was the blouse. And it was the skirt. Both were made of extremely soft and shiny
satin charmeuse, of the kind normally found in the finest lingerie. And he would know. He had a fetish for
silk and satin. He had been that way even before he knew what sexual feelings were. For him, sex and
satin were one whole thing, each a part of his basic needs. It was as if she had appeared nude to
someone without the fetish. And she was his mother.
"Do you think the satin is too much? Some people seem to think it's a bit tacky outside a wedding or a
formal ball, but I like it. Especially for a jazz club. It's just got a certain 'eff you' air about it, don't you
think?"
He couldn't think. His mother was in her late 40's, but she was slim and very fit. He was already an adult
when she had gotten the very well done breast implants just a year before his father died. At times when
his thoughts were roaming freely, it had occurred to him that it was a pity that his father had gotten ill so
soon after they were placed. They had transformed her always nicely full, but getting slightly too round,
breasts into the taut, pointed fullness of a much younger woman. He was mesmerized by them now. The
blouse, which he was right then zipping up, had a high neck at the front. From this, a sheet of smooth,
shining fabric spread from puckered waves at the neck, to smoothly d**** across her revealingly
outlined, highly textured, puffy aureolas, and long hard nipples. Her nipples swung and danced inside the
silky fabric as she turned to face him again.
"I feel like dancing. Will you dance with me at the club tonight? If you're not afraid of being seen with an
older lady," she laughed.
He wasn't afraid of being seen with an older lady. But he'd seen her dance. Even at a place with
mellower, slower music, there was always an air of the "hot girl in front of the stage trying to get laid by
the guitarist" to her movement. And in a revealing satin blouse and swirling satin skirt? God help them if
they played anything even resembling swing jazz, and got those eye-catching breasts started on a
struggle to escape through the flimsy silken walls that imprisoned them.
No, he wasn't afraid of being seem dancing with an older woman, he was afraid of having to endure the
watching eyes of everyone in the club, and they would definitely be watching her, while his pants lost
the ability to disguise a growing erection. He knew that her being his mother wouldn't help him a bit in
that regard.
The satin itself was a sexual being to him. People didn't understand that fetishists usually had a perfectly
normal dose of appreciation for the eroticism of the naked body. A perfectly normal level of excitement
during a nice blow job. Not to mention the pleasure of sliding an erect cock into an excited woman and
dancing inside her. But the satin was an equal thing. The teasing and sensations of his naked body
dressing and moving in satin clothes, and between satin sheets, was equally, if not more, erotically
fulfilling. Satin on a woman was like a threesome for him. The satin would seduce him, even if the person
inside it happened to be his mother.
"Well, it's not that at all," he stammered helplessly, "It's...it's just... almost too attractive, if you know..."
"I think we both do," she interrupted, "Dave, while you were out this afternoon I found a key lying behind
a chair in the living room. I wondered what it might be for, and thought I'd just try it in the door of the
spare bedroom you keep locked. Because, like you said, you keep all your important papers and your
father's gun collection in there."
He felt a flush of heat climbing his face. He could almost see the redness himself. The spare bedroom.
The secure room. His satin room. The walk-in closet full of satin clothes and lingerie. The round bed in
the middle of the room, d****d in satin sheets. The mirrored walls and ceiling.
His mouth felt like it should say something, but his brain had nothing on offer to send. The chokng
silence was broken by his mother.
"Dave, I know what a satin fetish is. Your father and I shared one. It's not very common in women, but
we do exist. I suppose genetically you didn't have much chance to avoid it. And I'm glad of that, because
I know how much pleasure it can bring. I miss your father that way. We had an amazing sexual
relationship built around, or should I say, experienced through, our passion for satin sex. What I'm going
to say now may shock you, but we never raised you to follow society's norms, to hold its religious
superstitions, or to respect its demonization of a physical reality we all share, the love of a sexual touch.
I've known you your whole life, and I knew you were a satin fetish from the time you were a c***d. You
weren't as stealthy as you imagined, and I smile inside at the number of times I had to have your
adolescent precum dry-cleaned out of my silk blouses."
Dave made another attempt at speech, but she shushed him,
"Be quiet, and listen. I see the way you look at me when I wear satin. Why do you think I dressed this
way tonight and threatened to dance? It's time we shared what we both really crave, the satin touch of
someone who understands our needs. Our lusts. Someone who shares a shameless bond with us. This
isn't 30,000 B.C., Dave. We're not mating. We don't need to worry about spawning a village of inbred
babies. We can just love each other and please each other and comfort each other. I miss your father,
and I miss satinsex with a man who knows how to please me. You've probably never had sex with a
woman who really has a satin fetish. I know you can buy an imitation, and probably have. If you pay
enough for a satin escort, it's a pretty good imitation. But I want you to know the joy, the shameless lust,
of satinfucking a woman who has a fetish too. A woman whose body gets aroused by the look and the
feel of satin d****d around her satinman's cock. I want you to fuck me, Dave. I want to tease your satin
hardened cock until you ache to stroke it inside me."
He had no words, but he didn't need them. She knew his passion better than he knew it himself.
"Now don't even try to get your thoughts or words together right now. Just take me to your satin
bedroom, let me dress you in satin too, and lets explore our bodies and our fetish together."
So they did.
Claire was already dressed in satin. In less than a minute from her proposition, Dave's naked cock was
sliding into his satin-lined fuckpants for what promised to be the satin session of his life.......
To be continued...
near the fifth anniversary of his father's death. They were leaving soon for an evening at one of the few
remaining jazz clubs in the city, and he was thinking that a quick bit of Pinot Grigio might get them feeling
mellow sooner.
"Could you help me with this zipper, Dave. It's on the back of my blouse and seems stuck."
He was recorking the wine, and didn't turn for a moment. When he did she was just a couple steps away.
He started. She laughed and asked if she had startled him.
"I guess," he replied.
But that wasn't it. It was the blouse. And it was the skirt. Both were made of extremely soft and shiny
satin charmeuse, of the kind normally found in the finest lingerie. And he would know. He had a fetish for
silk and satin. He had been that way even before he knew what sexual feelings were. For him, sex and
satin were one whole thing, each a part of his basic needs. It was as if she had appeared nude to
someone without the fetish. And she was his mother.
"Do you think the satin is too much? Some people seem to think it's a bit tacky outside a wedding or a
formal ball, but I like it. Especially for a jazz club. It's just got a certain 'eff you' air about it, don't you
think?"
He couldn't think. His mother was in her late 40's, but she was slim and very fit. He was already an adult
when she had gotten the very well done breast implants just a year before his father died. At times when
his thoughts were roaming freely, it had occurred to him that it was a pity that his father had gotten ill so
soon after they were placed. They had transformed her always nicely full, but getting slightly too round,
breasts into the taut, pointed fullness of a much younger woman. He was mesmerized by them now. The
blouse, which he was right then zipping up, had a high neck at the front. From this, a sheet of smooth,
shining fabric spread from puckered waves at the neck, to smoothly d**** across her revealingly
outlined, highly textured, puffy aureolas, and long hard nipples. Her nipples swung and danced inside the
silky fabric as she turned to face him again.
"I feel like dancing. Will you dance with me at the club tonight? If you're not afraid of being seen with an
older lady," she laughed.
He wasn't afraid of being seen with an older lady. But he'd seen her dance. Even at a place with
mellower, slower music, there was always an air of the "hot girl in front of the stage trying to get laid by
the guitarist" to her movement. And in a revealing satin blouse and swirling satin skirt? God help them if
they played anything even resembling swing jazz, and got those eye-catching breasts started on a
struggle to escape through the flimsy silken walls that imprisoned them.
No, he wasn't afraid of being seem dancing with an older woman, he was afraid of having to endure the
watching eyes of everyone in the club, and they would definitely be watching her, while his pants lost
the ability to disguise a growing erection. He knew that her being his mother wouldn't help him a bit in
that regard.
The satin itself was a sexual being to him. People didn't understand that fetishists usually had a perfectly
normal dose of appreciation for the eroticism of the naked body. A perfectly normal level of excitement
during a nice blow job. Not to mention the pleasure of sliding an erect cock into an excited woman and
dancing inside her. But the satin was an equal thing. The teasing and sensations of his naked body
dressing and moving in satin clothes, and between satin sheets, was equally, if not more, erotically
fulfilling. Satin on a woman was like a threesome for him. The satin would seduce him, even if the person
inside it happened to be his mother.
"Well, it's not that at all," he stammered helplessly, "It's...it's just... almost too attractive, if you know..."
"I think we both do," she interrupted, "Dave, while you were out this afternoon I found a key lying behind
a chair in the living room. I wondered what it might be for, and thought I'd just try it in the door of the
spare bedroom you keep locked. Because, like you said, you keep all your important papers and your
father's gun collection in there."
He felt a flush of heat climbing his face. He could almost see the redness himself. The spare bedroom.
The secure room. His satin room. The walk-in closet full of satin clothes and lingerie. The round bed in
the middle of the room, d****d in satin sheets. The mirrored walls and ceiling.
His mouth felt like it should say something, but his brain had nothing on offer to send. The chokng
silence was broken by his mother.
"Dave, I know what a satin fetish is. Your father and I shared one. It's not very common in women, but
we do exist. I suppose genetically you didn't have much chance to avoid it. And I'm glad of that, because
I know how much pleasure it can bring. I miss your father that way. We had an amazing sexual
relationship built around, or should I say, experienced through, our passion for satin sex. What I'm going
to say now may shock you, but we never raised you to follow society's norms, to hold its religious
superstitions, or to respect its demonization of a physical reality we all share, the love of a sexual touch.
I've known you your whole life, and I knew you were a satin fetish from the time you were a c***d. You
weren't as stealthy as you imagined, and I smile inside at the number of times I had to have your
adolescent precum dry-cleaned out of my silk blouses."
Dave made another attempt at speech, but she shushed him,
"Be quiet, and listen. I see the way you look at me when I wear satin. Why do you think I dressed this
way tonight and threatened to dance? It's time we shared what we both really crave, the satin touch of
someone who understands our needs. Our lusts. Someone who shares a shameless bond with us. This
isn't 30,000 B.C., Dave. We're not mating. We don't need to worry about spawning a village of inbred
babies. We can just love each other and please each other and comfort each other. I miss your father,
and I miss satinsex with a man who knows how to please me. You've probably never had sex with a
woman who really has a satin fetish. I know you can buy an imitation, and probably have. If you pay
enough for a satin escort, it's a pretty good imitation. But I want you to know the joy, the shameless lust,
of satinfucking a woman who has a fetish too. A woman whose body gets aroused by the look and the
feel of satin d****d around her satinman's cock. I want you to fuck me, Dave. I want to tease your satin
hardened cock until you ache to stroke it inside me."
He had no words, but he didn't need them. She knew his passion better than he knew it himself.
"Now don't even try to get your thoughts or words together right now. Just take me to your satin
bedroom, let me dress you in satin too, and lets explore our bodies and our fetish together."
So they did.
Claire was already dressed in satin. In less than a minute from her proposition, Dave's naked cock was
sliding into his satin-lined fuckpants for what promised to be the satin session of his life.......
To be continued...
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