mommys helping hands pt 2
- 2 years ago
- 54
- 0
Mommy's Darling 3: Halloween Surprise free porn video
Mommy's Darling 3:Halloween Surprise - by Billie Lovelace
One Saturday morning as I was dusting and vacuuming mother's room,
she called to me. "Come down for a minute, dear," she said. "Margie's
here and she wants to take some measurements."
Besides being mother's best friend (and the girl of my dreams),
Margie was an expert seamstress. She worked for a theater company and
made all its costumes.
As I descended the stairs, Margie greeted me with her usual mocking
smile. As always, she was heavily made up and wearing the kind of bra
that made her large, sweater-clad breasts look like missiles.
"Halloween's a bit more than a week away," mother said, "and Margie's
offered to make you a costume.
"Stand still, sweetie" Margie said as she placed a tape measure
around me chest and began taking my measurements while mother wrote
them down.
"What would you like to be for Halloween?" mother asked.
"I appreciate the offer, mom," I responded, "but at 13 I think I'm
getting too old to dress up for Halloween."
"Nonsense!" she replied. "Margie and I are dressing up. We're going
to a Halloween party -- and you're coming with us. So you have to
dress up too. Besides, you like candy and you can go trick-and-
treating before we leave. So I'll ask again. What do you want to be
for Halloween?"
As always, I wanted to be a cowboy or pirate or soldier. But I knew
better than to say it. Mother hated masculine aggressiveness and
would never approve of an aggressively masculine outfit. "Maybe a
hobo," I answered, "or a clown or a leprechaun."
Pretty wimpy, I thought, but at least they were all males. If mother
had her way she'd probably want me to be a princess!
Mother smiled. "Those are all good," she said.
"Which will I be?" I asked, resigned to the fact that, as always, the
choice would not be up to me.
"Let's make it a surprise," mother said. "Margie and I will decide.
You'll find out on Halloween."
"All right," I said knowing better to argue with her.
At that point Margie was holding one end of the tape measure to the
floor and running the other up the inside of my leg. She pressed the
back of her hand against my crotch and moved it around. Then she
looked up at me with a mocking smile. "Hasn't grown much, has it,
sweetie?" she said. "I can hardly feel it -- your little pee wee.
Maybe we should dress you up as a girl."
Margie and mother both laughed as I blushed with shame and looked
away. I was a teenager and approaching manhood, but Margie was always
teasing me about my 'pee wee' making me wonder if I'd ever get there.
The days passed quickly. I rushed home from school on Halloween
wondering whether I'd be a clown or a hobo or a leprechaun. When I
entered the house Margie and mother were having tea. "Did you finish
my costume?" I asked Margie.
"Yes, dear," she said. "Ready for your surprise?"
"Yes," I said impatiently. "I've been waiting all week!"
"It's on your bed. Let's go see it."
So the three of us went up to my room. I opened the door, looked in,
and could hardly believe my eyes.
There, on the bed, was a sexy French maid's outfit -- complete with
fishnet stocking, spike-heeled shoes, and a lacy apron and cap! I had
a terrible feeling in the pit of my stomach as I stared at the frothy
petticoats, the mini-skirted black satin dress, and the matching bra,
panties, and garter belt.
"Well, dear," mother asked with a broad smile, "what do you think? Do
you like it? Margie worked so hard making everything exactly your
size."
I couldn't speak. On the one hand, I hated the maid's outfit and
would be totally humiliated if I were to be seen in it. On the other
hand, I knew mother would be furious if I were to say what I really
felt. And I was scared to death of mother's fury. For a minute or
so I was dumbstruck. I looked at mother's face and noticed that her
bright expectant smile was being replaced by a stern frown. Her eyes
became narrow slits that glared at me and seemed to penetrate my
thoughts. She folded her arms under her ample bosom and clenched her
fists. This loosened my tongue.
"Oh," I said, trying as hard as I could to force a smile, "it's
darling, mother -- perfectly darling and I can't wait to try it on."
As soon as the words left my mouth I could hardly believe what I'd
said. Guys never call something 'darling.' It's a girl's word. But I
had said it. What in the world was happening to me? Why did I say
'darling'?
Then I turned to Margie. "Thanks, Margie," I said, "it's an adorable
outfit. I love the frilly petticoats -- and the darling bra and
panties. It must have taken so long to make -- and all for little
old me!"
I went up to Margie and gave her a girlish hug. She leaned down and I
kissed her cheek. When I looked at mother her frown had been replaced
with an approving smile. Then Margie drew my head between her large,
pointed breasts and praised me for being so sweet. She lifted my chin
and bent down to kiss my forehead. "Now, sweetie," she said, "let's
see how it fits."
As they were dressing me up, Margie said to my mother, "Look at his
nipples, the way they're standing up. It's so cute -- so femmy! I
told you he likes dressing up. It turns him on. Don't let him tell
you otherwise. The body doesn't lie."
Then she took each of my nipples between her thumb and forefinger
began, ever so gently to stimulate and caress them. It felt heavenly.
But I didn't want to admit it. How could I ever think of myself as a
man if I turned on to having my nipples fondled like a girl? "He's
got a girl's nipples," Margie said to mother. "Look how much he
enjoys it. They're standing up even more."
Then she spoke to me. "Say that I'm right, sweetie," she said. "Tell
me you love it. Tell me you love having your titties fondled and
stroked like a girl, and I'll give you a special treat."
At first was tongue-tied. It was humiliating enough to turn on like
this. It was even more humiliating to have to admit it -- to say I
loved it. But I had no choice. "You're right," I said. "I love it. It
makes me feel so exquisitely girlish. I love having my nipples
fondled and stroked like a girl."
Margie smiled. Then she bent down and placed her heavily painted lips
around one erect little nipple and French-kissed it. I was thrilled
by the touch of her hot, wet tongue on my sensitive nipple. She
seductively sucked and ran her tongue all over the stiff little
mound. Then she moved to the other nipple and did the same thing. I
closed my eyes. "Oooohhh," I softly moaned, "Aaaahhhh, oooooohhh!"
"That's enough for now, dear," Margie said after breaking away. "It's
your reward for being so sweet. If you're a good little girl, maybe
there'll be more later on."
Then they resumed dressing me. Before long I was standing before the
mirror in my "darling" outfit. Mother and Margie added false
eyelashes, eyeliner and eye shadow. Then rouge, bright red lipstick
and nails, and glittery, clip-on ear rings. As I looked into the
mirror, I was captivated by the look and feel of my large bust.
Margie had padded the custom tailored DD bra so my breasts were
proportionately as big and pointy as hers. My nipples still tingled
from being stimulated by Margie's hands and tongue. And I started to
identify the pleasant sensations with their becoming bigger. Maybe
someday, I found myself wishing, I'll have a costume with a bosom as
big and as beautiful as Margie's!
By now it was nearly dark. Some of the neighborhood children had
already started going trick-or-treat. Mother gave me an empty black
purse. "Time for mommy's darling to go trick-and-treat, dear," she
said. "I'll go with you to make sure you don't fall down in your
heels. You haven't walked in heels for a while. Margie'll stay here
to give treats to the children who come to the door. You can use this
purse to store your candy. You can't come back till it's full."
My knees got weak and I nearly fainted. I'd forgotten this wouldn't
be a little secret between the three of us. I'd have to go out and be
seen by other kids and their parents and our neighbors and, worse
yet, by some of my pals! Oh no! What was I going to do? Everyone
would think I was a sissy or -- even worse!
Sensing my panic, mother took my hand. "Come with me, dear," she
said. "Remember you're in heels. You can't walk like a man. You have
to take dainty, mincing little steps. And wriggle your hips like you
did when you played dress up in my clothes. It's easier that way. You
did it once before. It should come back to you with a little
practice. Hold your purse like a woman. And be sure to curtsey and
say thank you when people put candy in it."
I was in a daze as mother gave me the purse and led me outdoors. All
of a sudden it dawned on me that Margie hadn't included a wig. If she
had, maybe people would have mistaken me for a girl they'd never seen
before. But this way -- without a wig -- they'd not only know I was a
boy, but they'd know it was me! It was so humiliating! It couldn't
have been an accident. Mother and Margie must have planned it this
way so people would know it was me dressed as a bimbo French maid!.
Mother led me next-door to Mrs. Taylor's house. Luckily there were no
other kids there. Mother prompted me to ring the bell. Then Mrs.
Taylor came to the door. She was a good-looking divorcee in her
early-forties. "Trick-or-treat," I said in a weak, high-pitched
voice.
I girlishly held out my purse and Mrs. Taylor put candy into it. Then
she looked at me more carefully. "Billy?" she asked, "is that you?"
I was totally mortified. I couldn't respond. All I could do was to
shyly nod my head up-and-down. Then I curtsied, said "Thank you, Mrs.
Taylor," and left. As I was girlishly mincing away, mother emerged
from the shadows. "Yes," she said. "It's Billy. All month he's been
pestering me about dressing up like a girl for Halloween -- and not
just a girl, but a sexy French maid. Finally, I just gave in. I'm
hoping it's a stage he's going through and that he'll outgrow it --
like the terrible twos. In the meantime, what's the harm? It's just
pretend. Right?"
It was a lie she would repeat all evening to the neighbors, her
girlfriends, and anyone who knew me. It was so humiliating. At least,
we didn't run into any of the guys from school. It was only the
neighbors and their children who would now give me funny looks as the
kind of boy who liked to dress up as a French maid and pretend he was
a girl!
Before long I was able to get my purse filled with candy. Fortunately
a number of the neighbors were pretty generous and gave me lots of
it. Who knows? Maybe they felt sorry for me. In any case I returned
home with a purse full of candy in about an hour.
If I thought my ordeal was over when I returned home, I was mistaken.
Mother and Margie left me to eat some of the candy from my purse
while they went upstairs. Thirty minutes later they came down dressed
as sexy witches. They were heavily -- garishly -- made up with exotic
eye makeup and the darkest red lipstick and matching long pointed
(press-on) fingernails. They wore black sweaters and skirts, black
stockings, and sharp stiletto heels that, like their fingernails,
seemed like weapons -- talons to fend off aggressive men. To top it
all off they wore black capes and pointed witches hats. They were
sexy and scary, at the same time. They turned me on; but they also
frightened me. "We're going to a party," mother said, "and you're
coming with us."
We drove to a street in a run-down part of town and entered a bar or
nightclub. It seemed strange. The windows were permanently blackened
and there was no sign on the outside. Inside a party was in progress.
People were drinking, talking, and dancing. I didn't notice any men.
And the women were all dressed as witches. "You should feel honored,
sweetie," Margie said to me. "Except for you, there aren't any men
here. But then again you're not much of a man, are you dear? And with
a pee wee like yours, you're never going to be one. Right?"
Mother introduced me to some of the other women and encouraged me to
model my pretty outfit for them. They could hardly contain their
giggles as I girlishly minced about in my 4-inch heels and performed
a delicate little curtsey. Then they complimented me on my pretty
outfit and hugged me and kissed me and got me a Shirley Temple to
drink. They suggested that as a maid I should do some of the serving.
So while mother and Margie and some of their friends sat on a couple
of sofas in the corner, I daintily minced around serving them drinks
and cheese and crackers and lit their cigarettes.
As the alcohol got to their heads some of the women took to treating
me as men often treat cocktail waitresses. They gently pinched my
bottom, ran their hands up my stocking-sheathed legs, and teased me
about my large bosom. At one point Margie pulled me onto her lap and
began feeling me up as if I were a woman, saying I was a "cute chick"
and "really stacked" and wouldn't I like to go back to her place for
the night. The ladies all giggled and laughed and, though I wouldn't
admit it, I enjoyed it too. It was a real thrill being the center of
attention of so many pretty ladies and being touched and caressed and
turned on by them.
At one point Margie took me into a dark corner and said it was a good
thing I had such a small pee wee. "If it were bigger," she added,
"and if you were a normal man and forced it on women, I'd cut it
off." She she drove her long red nails into my penis till tears
filled my eyes. She made me promise never to be like my father and
force myself on women. Then she French-kissed me and fondled my
heavily padded bosom.
I was thrilled as her touch was transmitted through the bra and
padding to my hard little nipples. "Now isn't that better than being
a normal man?" she asked as she slipped her hand under my skirt and
ever so gently ran her long red nails up and down my stocking-
sheathed thighs. "Isn't it?" she asked again.
"Yes," I softly whispered, "yes, yes, it is."
Margie smiled and gave my panty-clad "pee wee" a little squeeze. Then
she took me back to mother and her girlfriends. Mother was beaming
with pride as they sang my praises. "He's perfectly darling," said
one woman. "How do you do it?" asked another. "I'd give anything to
put my little roughneck in skirts."
"What an adorable little boy!" said a third. "He's going to make some
lucky girl a sweet hubby. He'll cook and clean and wash and iron and
turn his entire paycheck over to her. If my husband had dressed and
acted like him, I'd still be married." "If all men were like that,"
added a fourth, "a lot of us would still be married. And the world
would be a much better place."
After we left, we dropped Margie off at her apartment and mother and
I drove home. She told me to undress, brush my teeth, put on my
pajamas, and get into bed. Then she'd come up to say goodnight.
As she was tucking me in, mother stimulated my sensitive nipples.
"This has been a big night for you, hasn't it dear?" she said.
"There've been a lot of big changes and they'll take some time
getting used to. But that's okay, honey. We don't want to rush
anything. There's plenty of time. You just do whatever you want to
do, whenever you want to do it. As long as you're sweet and gentle
and delicate and girlish -- as long as you're mommy's darling --
mommy will love you for ever and ever."
Then she kissed me. I was more than a little confused. Despite all
the humiliation, I had to admit I felt safe and secure, sexy and
exciting, dressed as a French maid. Mother loved me as a maid and so
did her girlfriends, who kissed and caressed me and said I'd make a
"sweet hubby". If Margie was right, I'd never be much of a man. So
maybe, I thought as I drifted off to sleep, being a maid isn't so bad
after all. Maybe it was the only way I'd be able to please and be
loved by the kind of glamorous, full-bosomed, domineering women I was
now falling hopelessly in love with.
To be continued . . . .
Cheryl
- 14.05.2021
- 37
- 0
