Adventures In Satin And Lace free porn video

Adventures in satin and lace. By Georgina. Chapter 1 Trembling hands slid the Chubb key into the door of the one bedroomed flat just at the back of Victoria station in London. The door opened and I slid inside and placed my few possessions on the floor, then turned and closed the door firmly behind me. I was in heaven. For the first time in my young life I was at last on my own. I was nineteen years of age and for the first time I was going to live in my own place since the day of my birth. It was six months now since the death of my parents in a car crash and everything had been disposed of and my bank account was replete with the final proceeds, after inheritance tax of course, of the family home and all the properties, shares and accounts of my parents. This flat had been bought for me a year ago by my father as base from which I could commute to my new course at the LSE to study finance and business in preparation to entering my father's business in the City. Two days before I started that course my father had unwittingly decided to corpse both himself and my mother in their Porsche Targa on the infamous A303 in Wiltshire at a speed, the police dourly noted, of a hundred and thirty five miles per hour. I, as an only child, became a millionaire overnight. But, I became bereft, my beloved mother, and my great confidante, my beautiful mother was dead. Her I mourned deeply, my father, a course and brutal man I only passed of as a blessing to me that he had passed away, but why, I cried, did he have to take my gorgeous mother away from me. I took after her, almost completely, rather than my father who was tall and well built, though not fat. My mother on the other hand was petite, blonde and very beautiful with a slim, almost boyish figure with high, firm breasts, a high cheekboned face and full, sensuous lips. As a child people who had known mother at my age said I was almost the spitting image of her at the same age. The only difference was that instead of natural ash blonde hair I had a head of light brown hair and a penis. The rest, and yes, even to a pair of almost B cup breasts was all mother. Gynaecomastia was my problem, well not a problem really as, due to my proclivities, more of which I will tell you later, turned out to be a joy, not a curse. My body hair, apart from pubes and axilla, was also non-existent so that I never really had to shave more than about once a week. I had one other problem, well to father it was a problem, but not to mother and I. The fact was that I adored the look, feel and delicate nature of women's clothes. To me the coarse and ugly clothing that men wore was so off-putting that I actually wore them as little as I could. Yes, I was a transvestite and both mother and father knew, but father thought it perverted and disgusting whereas mother did not and even encouraged me in my proclivities to the extent that when father was away she and I spent many hours playing at being girls together. That was fun, and very exciting too after I had passed the age of childhood into puberty. I wandered into the small sitting room and sat down on the couch. In front of me was a neat pile of cardboard boxes and luggage that had been delivered to the flat the day before by the delivery men, the last remaining effects of my life as a son to my parents. It was all I wanted to keep. I gazed at the pile and pondered on my fate. I was now alone and in total command of my life. I would never have to work again, the business I had put up for sale and a large city firm had jumped at the chance offering me over twice what I and my solicitors had expected, a cool ?25 million pounds in cash. This, after our labour chancellor's cut, had left me with enough to invest in a large stock market portfolio of well spread blue chips that would net me a firm income of ?1 million a year. I started to unpack the boxes and put away the treasures I had brought with me. As could be expected of a trannie, most of it was a mixture of mother's, grandmother's and my feminine clothes. I adored, as mother did, all the fine fabrics that encased the female form, silk, satin, velvet, fine cashmere, in various garments but especially lingerie and evening wear. There were slips, nightgowns, French knickers, suspender belts, corsets and guipures. Cocktail dresses and sumptuous gowns vied with sheaths and flowing daydresses, a mass of feminine frippery. I only had a small amount of male attire, mostly jeans, tee shirts, a few boxer shorts and a couple of suits and shirts. I intended to be a girl most of the time, in private that is. The flat was simply furnished and yet elegantly. It was large, though not huge. The bedroom was about 20 ft square, one wall of built in wardrobes and drawer units and it was en-suite. A large double bed, silk-satin sheeted, mink canopied, a dressing table, already full of make up and perfumes, a chaise longue and bedroom chair, along with a large flat screen television and a DVD player along the wall completed the furnishings. The lounge was about 20 ft by 30 and the kitchen/dining room was about the same size with a large bathroom and separate toilet. All the main rooms led out, through large patio doors onto a 20 ft by 120 ft patio which was actually the roof of the supermarket above which the flats were built. It was not overlooked by anyone close and was a very private area in the centre of London. Light and airy, it was a perfect place to live, along with the advanced security demanded of living in the capital of today. That first day I unpacked everything, adding to what I had already brought with me. It was a long job but finally everything was done. Dresses, lingerie, skirts, blouses, slacks, shoes, gowns and make-up, all neatly placed in its proper place. My few male clothes, I still had to wear them at times, took up but a tiny part of the rest of the space. The large bed was laid with glistening silk-satin sheets, luxuriously heavy and sensual and in deep, sinful black. Over this was spread a caponierre of soft, chocolate coloured mink, so sensuous to lie on and had been a favourite of my mother's, and mine of course. It was late and I was hungry so I made myself a quick meal of linguini with a delicate tomato, garlic and chilli sauce. Then it was to bed. I was tired so, having a quick shower I slid onto my slim, willowy body a luxurious nightgown of lustrous black, silk-satin that was so slinky and sexy, with ecru chantilly lace and crossover spaghetti straps, that even in my tired state, lifted my spirits, and my overlarge clittie to a condition of semi arousal. It was decidedly chilly that autumn evening, I hardly ever have heating on wherever I live, and the feel of the satin sheets on my satin body, cool, sensuous, along with the heavenly warmth of the heavy mink soon excited me to full tumescence. My hand slid up and captured my satin sheathed breasts, fingers idly teasing my turgid, hard nipples, sending flashes of fetishistic desire through my body. My mind glided softly back in a journey of remembrance to what had been, with a few exceptions, an idyllic childhood and coming of age. My first orgasm, at my own hands, we all remember that. My first orgasm at the hands of someone else, my first act of love with someone else, even my first raping, odious though it was still had its weird moments, exciting and, at the end, surprisingly ecstatic. My first orgasm out of the home, dressed as a girl. Yet they were so insignificant compared to the hurt and grief that I felt at the demise of mother, killed by that awful, brutal man, my father. I had no one left but my aunt Sophia, mother's identical twin sister and her son Julian who lived far away in a cottage in France having escaped from the awful brutality of her husband, my uncle, father's twin brother. Yes, it was a case of twins marrying twins in a double wedding twenty two years before, and what a mistake that was to the two beautiful ladies who were my mother and aunt. Julian was younger than I by three years, similar in build to me and also delicate and ethereal in looks and manner though I did not know if he had the same proclivities as I, we had never explored that side of our relationship. Mother and Aunt Sophia had been very close and, Aunt Sophia had confided in me at the funeral, with a very knowing and gentle smile, that they had discussed everything once the true nature of their husbands had become evident. Like two peas in a pod, she murmured in my ear as the sole surviving object of her hate glared at us, his basilisk stare across the open grave accusing and heavy. The fact that mother had outlasted father by six weeks, albeit in intensive care, meant that his possessions passed to her and then to me on her death and he, his brother was left with nothing. Aunt Sophia had virtually beggared him at the divorce and he was now relatively poor compared to what he had been before the acrimonious divorce two years before. Still, that was now well past and I had a life to lead, did I not? The first orgasm of my life? Ahh, that was something. I had always been attracted to feminine clothes and especially the opulence of satin, silk and velvet. I had been playing in our attic at home, my favourite hiding hole from my father when he was in residence, doing the usual fantasy things when I knocked over a small pile of boxes. Behind it there was a small pile of trunks and, curious as kids are, I opened one to find out what was in it. It was a hot day and all I was wearing was a pair of shorts. What I found was a whole trunk-full of girl and women attire in the most exquisite of fabrics. In fact it was a complete collection of lingerie, mother's lingerie to be precise from when she was a young girl to adolescence. I was then barely twelve but already I was feeling the first stirrings of my latent sexuality, though I knew not what it was at the time. These beautiful garments fascinated me, so shiny, pretty and delicate. I picked some out and held them against my naked body and turned to an old mirror that was at the end of our large attic. For a moment I was stunned. Just that piece of frippery against my young slim body, draped as if I was wearing it, seemed to change me from an "elfin, pretty boy"; my mother's words not mine. It was the time of long hair for boys, the seventies and eighties and I was no exception, my hair, which my mother styled in a pageboy cut, framed my face and the lilac slip I was holding against my body, sumptuously garnished with ecru lace was in slinky and shiny satin. I fell in love with that image and knew at once that my life had changed. I just had to wear it. Just the cool satin brushing against my skin was making me tremble and the feeling of that exquisite softness against my tiny nipples was making me breathless with a nameless excitement. I realised that my tiny penis was tiny no more but had suddenly hardened to a hard tube of throbbing flesh that, tiny though it was at that age, became a good three inches of tumescence that tented out my shorts, seemingly reaching for the satin that draped my front. I had to feel that cool softness against the whole of my body. I lay the glistening garment down on the trunk and quickly skinned my shorts off to leave me totally naked to the world. I then picked up the delicate piece of frippery and looked at the label. It said "Children's size 4, age 10 - 12," Quickly I slid it over my head and felt the delicious slither of the satin over my overheated skin as it flowed over my trembling body. The spaghetti straps settled over my shoulders and I was encased in heaven. I turned and looked at the mirror and gasped. Just that one garment changed me from, an albeit pretty, boy to a very pretty girl with long, tousled hair and an elfin smile on my pretty face. I fell in love with that image, totally and completely, and knew that this was the true me. The satin shimmered in the soft light that came through the dusty window at the end of the attic. I felt this delicious tension as it swept through my trembling body and my head buzzed with a strange feeling of warm softness. It was like angels had enveloped me in their radiance. I knew not what it was, just that it felt so pleasant, and so very right. It is true that many of us are born this way, not forced or pushed. We all, even the most masculine of men, and most feminine of women have a small percentage of the opposite genders' hormones in us. I felt like a girl, when dressed as a girl, yet felt like a boy, well sort of, when dressed in jeans and t-shirt. My orientation was towards girls, almost completely, but more about that later. My first orgasm was a spontaneous and dry affair. I just felt this enormous feeling of piercing pleasure in my hard and throbbing body. It trembled, spasmed and the feelings expanded in a wave of such ecstasy as I had never felt before. I remember a blackness overtaking me as the whirlwind of orgasmic emotion floored me, literally. I had not touched or caressed myself. It was just the soft feeling of the delicate satin encasing my body and the sight of my reflection in the mirror that had sent me into a faint. I awoke on the floor, still trembling in the aftermath of that powerful climax. I was jerked back to the present day as my dream faded. My body warm, cocooned in that heavenly bed, my tumescence throbbing against my belly, my hands sliding over the hard length in soft and gentle movements. I was close to exploding in actual reality but I did not want to soil my gorgeous lingerie. I reached across to the bed table at the side and sliding open the drawer, took out a small foil packet. It took seconds to slide the latex sheath on my coquette and so save my garments from my come. I so hate having to lie in sticky clothes overnight. Fastidious, yes, so many men are utterly rancid, dirty creatures, as are some women of course, but far more are men. I am not surprised, nor should anyone else be that I find the feminine spirit far more attractive. I settled down again and my mind slid back to the first time I actually ejaculated. It was about a year later, I was just turning fifteen. The previous 12 months had been spent in the semi-furtive pursuit of becoming a lovely girl, dressing up and learning to use make-up. It was a year of exploring the pleasures of narcistic adoration. I had graduated from the darkness of the attic to the privacy of my own suite at home. I was thankful that I, as an only child, had my own little world that was private to me. The house in the country was an old manor house which at one time had servants' accommodation in one wing. At thirteen I was given my own little apartment which consisted of a bedroom, bathroom, study and small living room with a tiny kitchenette. Knowing how fastidiously clean I was, though not, thankfully, obsessively so, my parents were quite happy about this and father, with whom I did not get on with, said that it was quite a relief not to have the little "Pansy" under his feet all the time. Little did the bastard know that this little "Pansy" was soon to encroach on his territory? In my naivety I had believed that my new privacy was sacrosanct, little knowing that my mother would, while I was out at school, check up on my little apartment. I moved a lot of the garments I had found from the attic and hung them in one wardrobe, quite openly, and had also started to keep a diary, a quite explicit diary in fact. A lot of the clothes I found were actually my grandmother's, mother was, as I have said previously, a great hoarder. Nan had been a great society beauty in the fifties and many of her gowns and lingerie had been saved by her. Though at that time they were too large I was soon to grow into them, perfectly at that. The utter glamour of that period was something that enthralled me and does so, even to this day. My favourites were a lovely selection of satin corsets, brassieres, guipures and garter belts, some by Spencer, English Rose and Rousell. All were exquisite and I knew that I would soon fit them perfectly. Some of mother's adolescent clothes and lingerie fitted me now. But I was almost impatient to fit into grandmother's totally delicious garments. The first time that I actually ejaculated properly was after I had an enforced abstinence of several weeks while we were on holiday with a friend of mother's who had a lovely estate in the lower part of Tuscany. I slept in a bed with her son and so my desires were not assuaged in the slightest. On getting back to our house I managed to get away fairly early, having pleaded travel headache and a bit of a cold. Father was quite pleased that I was out from under his feet as mother had stayed in London to see a few friends and was not due back for two days. After a long bath and a bit of primping I took out the garments I was to wear this evening. My hair was long and luxuriant, thank god for the fashions of the day, and this I styled in a pretty, fifties, chignon. I then slid on a small brassiere that fitted my growing titties perfectly. It was in shiny, white satin and had been made for grandmother by Spencer's when she was about my age. I then slid around my waist a matching little hi- waisted girdle that fitted me like a dream, encasing my trembling body with its smooth constriction, my tumescence laid flat against my belly so that it was almost invisible. I had grown those last twelve months and was now a credible five inches of slim, but incredibly hard, velvety skinned erect flesh. Sitting down on the bed I proceeded to indulge myself in one of my most beloved of pleasures, that of sliding a gorgeous pair of sheer nylon stockings up my smooth, long legs and then attaching the welts to the six suspenders that dangled from the bottom of the girdle. Standing up I slid a pair of three inch heeled mules on my feet and then, with practised ease, glided across to my wardrobe and took out a delicate white satin slip and slid it over my head. I had longed for this. Over a month had passed and I had restrained myself from secret pleasuring, waiting for the time when I could come back to my own world. Now it was here and I was so excited that I trembled with lust. The delicate, smooth, slinky satin settled over my hot body, embracing it with perfumed softness. I settled my satin sheathed titties in the cups of the slip and smoothed the sensuous fabric over my willowy body. It was heaven to feel the lace hem brush over my nyloned knees, whispering sweet susurrations of nylon and satin as I glided around my boudoir. My hot hands slid up my satined torso, cupping my throbbing breasts and my nails scraped across my hard, sensitive and prominent nipples. I was hot, so very, very hot as my climax of narcistic lust approached, but, I wanted more, and found it in the next garment I took off the hanger. It was grandmother's confirmation gown. I knew because I had seen her wearing it in a photo in mother's album. It was a gloriously opulent gown of heavy, duchesse satin, smooth, dully gleaming, and in virginal, opalescent white, a beautiful miniature of a grown up wedding gown. It fitted me perfectly and as I slid it over my overheating body the cool and heavy fabric brought me down a touch so that I could admire myself once more in the long mirror. A small shimmy, hands behind my back, then over the shoulder to my neck and it was done. With the long back zip closed the bodice encased me like a glove, perfectly fitted to my slim body. The long, A line skirt reaching down, almost to the floor so that all that could be seen were the toes of my mules peeping from under the hem. A small tiara, with a fine gauze veil, along with above elbow long satin gloves, made the final garnish and I was ready to admire my image in the mirror. By all standards, not just my own biased view of myself, I was a very pretty girl. No longer a boy but a young girl, gowned luxuriously in smooth satin, opulently elegant and ready for the wedding, but to whom. Not a man, but another elegantly gowned woman, cool and beautiful but dressed in a black satin trouser suit with a fine white satin blouse under the form fitting black satin jacket. This androgynous vision was still, to me, just a formless shape as I dreamed of her taking me into her arms and sliding her own full breasted body against mine. Then, as full, pouting, carmined lips slid closer to mine the misty shape became that of my own beloved mother. It was at that moment that I realised that I held such deeply desirous thoughts about my own beloved mother. The emotions in me multiplied a thousand-fold at that awesome revelation. My body, trapped inside this cocoon of satin and lace, seemed to swoon with the piercing, utterly all-encompassing and perverted emotion. Incest, pure unbridled, totally forbidden and deliciously ecstatic, incest. From svelte, elegant, opulently encased and confident young mademoiselle to trembling, yearning, bag of nervous desire in one easy thought. On unsteady, weak limbs, I tottered over to my bed and almost fell onto the satin counterpane. I fell back onto it and stared up at the ceiling in mild consternation. I had always loved my mother, as a child does, and she was, totally unlike my father who was brutal, unfeeling and uncaring, a soft, ethereal, sensuous creature, incredibly beautiful and sweet. I fell, from filial love into filial lust and desire. I fell, deeply, passionately and totally, in love with my mother. I imagined her and I, locked together, limb to limb, body to body, breast to breast and lips to lips, arms around each other's satin and silk sheathed bodies, hands touching, teasing, caressing as my hard and excited flesh slid deep into the clasping and welcoming centre of her passion, going back to where I had been created, back to that warm, safe womb. It was clear to me that I was actually living the dream. My hands, begloved in that wonderful satin, took over as mother's hands, caressing my satin flanks, teasingly touching my hard and throbbing nipples, sliding down to delicately, sensuously caress the trapped tumescence that rested under the satin of that delicious corset. I wanted more though and so I slid up the rustling skirts of the gown to expose my long, nyloned limbs to the coolness of the soft air, up and up till I could reach under the corset. It took but a second to slide that throbbing tube of engorged flesh from under the panel to rear proudly, aching for the touch of my clasping hands. Not long before I had found a stash of father's mucky tapes so I was aware of what the act of love was all about. Now I was yearning for that myself. With a groan of sheer want and desire, I rolled over so that my body was pressing deeply into the very depths of my bedclothes, feeling the heat transmit itself to the satin of the counterpane making it hot and slick. I could feel liquid oozing out of my body and knew instinctively that I was going to do what I had seen men do in those films. I was, for the first time going to come. I dreamed that I was between my mother's lithe limbs. I had pulled two pillows down so that they were lying lengthwise on the bed, under the counterpane, and I lay on them, imagining that my own body was pressed on my mother. Hips writhing, simulating the act of love, the sensations coursing through my body, the wickedly arousing, whispering susurration of satin on satin and nylon, the warmth of the satin surrounding the heat of my thrusting flesh. It all coalesced into a mad, ecstatic and exciting heat in my entire body. The pressure built up, higher and higher, then exploded. I was caught unaware as my whole body shuddered in its climax. The feelings raced through my body, enveloping me in a heat and light I could never have imagined, then coalesced in my loins. That first, piercing contraction, followed by more was the start of a chain of events I would never forget. I remember muffling my screams of fulfilment by burying my face in the satin as my fluids pulsed down that rigid tube of passion excited flesh. I spurted, once, time and again and the scalding viscous fluids soaked the satin, rendering it more slick, more exciting, almost as if I was in a woman's nest in reality, mother's in fact. It all gelled together, my satin fetish, my desire to be a girl, my unholy and forbidden love of my mother and my vivid imagination. The feelings that wracked and pounded my body were really indescribable. How can anyone describe heaven? It blew away my body and overwhelmed my mind and I did really faint, awakening as the last spasms weakly dribbled out of the twitching end of my hard flesh. It was over but I knew that I was now a total slave to my passions and my deviant, so many people would say, wishes and desires. I wanted to possess my own mother, and her to possess me in a mutual and fulfilling relationship. That of Oedipus and his mother I knew about, but that was not a willing meeting. Mine was far more unholy as I wanted to do it with the full acknowledgment of our mutual desires. But I knew it would never happen, would it? It was over eighteen months before the next major event happened. I was over sixteen now. Though my body had not changed much over the period two things had changed. My titties had become a definite size B and my male organs had become adult in size and shape. I was just a bit smaller, in size and shape, to mother but my penis. I saw father's both flaccid and erect, was a good two inches larger than his when erect. I sported a credible seven inches of erect flesh that was always excited and waiting for the chance to prove itself, or so I hoped. I was fortunate in going to a public school on a day basis, we lived barely ten minutes walk from Haileybury in Hertfordshire at that time, so bullying from the boarders was non existent. My androgynous build and features did not excite the attention of the school mafia. During the evenings and weekends I managed to perfect my looks and indulged in my fetishistic activities. My father was away a lot at the time, ostensibly away on business in the States, where he was, supposedly, setting up a new office of the firm. Their marriage was not going too well at the time and arguments were quite frequent, some almost violent. They had taken to sleeping in separate rooms and mother was quite emotional at times, seeking me out for comfort. We became quite touchy-feely and spent hours together just cuddled up on the sofa as she cried herself out of the emotional stress that he put her under. The bastard now ignored me totally and referred to me as the little queer, to which mother violently objected and this is what the arguments were about. He had wanted another little tyke and hard man as he had been at my age, an all sporting, high achieving, go and get it, moronic Neanderthal twit. I, on the other hand, could not do sports due to a mild case of asthma so I studied instead. My one sporting pleasure was horse riding, which I was very good at and at weekends hunted foxes on horseback with a local hunt. Father, of course, hated horses so we were still at loggerheads, as usual. By this time I had grown out of my long hair days and sported a short haircut but I became quite adept at keeping it just long enough to be able to style it in an androgynous urchin cut. My interest in femininity was now almost totally developed. Mother's and granny's clothes almost fitted me and I managed to indulge myself to the point that I slept at night in gorgeous nightgowns of silk and satin and wore camisoles and knickers under my male clothes more often than not. I wore a tight vest under my shirts and this minimised my titties to the point where they were almost invisible but it was a relief to take that off in the evening and let the lovely orbs of sensitive flesh free ready for my caressing hands to touch and caress. I was solitary, but very happy. The next major event was when mother found me dressed up one day. Father was away on one of his business trips and would not be back for a week and mother had gone up to London to do some shopping. I had the house to myself. It was a Saturday and the cleaner was not in over the weekend so I thought that it would be safe to come out from my apartment and have a whole day in the house. As I have said before the fifties were my favourite decade, sensuous, feminine and full of the most wonderful fabrics. I was especially finely dressed that morning. By this time the massive need for sexual gratification at every moment had drastically receded. I felt just so comfortable that I could do a whole day dressed and made-up, I had perfected that little exercise and could mimic the bold and heavy make up of a fifties model, along with the classy urchin hairstyle of that period. My dressing was also geared to the time of day. This particularly fine and warm spring morning, it was just after ten, I was dressed in a light white satin slip, under which was a pair of matching, scrunchy satin French knickers, a deep garter belt to which were attached a pair of lovely, seamed dark beige nylon stockings. My dress was a lovely skirt of pale lemon fine silk. Light and flowing, it was teamed with a matching coloured silk voile blouse with a large square collar and darted at the bodice to fit me almost like a glove. The cloudy opacity was just enough to show the delicate lace of the slip as a hint of tracery. On my feet were a pair of matching, two inch heeled court shoes in lemon satin. I felt gorgeously feminine in this outfit, yet not urgently aroused. My unruly coquette was just pleasantly thickened to a point where any movement made it tingle as satin and silk whispered its sensual, not sexual, message of pleasure. My braless titties were now a very nice B cup and the nipples were quite large, tracing pretty points through the soft fabric. It was as I was at the Aga, making my breakfast of bacon, fried egg and toast, by that traditional Aga way of dropping a slice of bread, white of course, onto a perfectly hot part of the stove top. It is, if you get it right the only way you can get an evenly, honey brown piece of toast, the best in the world. At that moment I heard a small gasp. Suddenly, feeling very cold, very frightened, very weak, I spun round, almost fainting with shock and surprise. Terror made me almost drop the plate I was holding but I managed to put it on the table and sit down in the chair. Tears of dismay and fear clouded my eyes as I saw mother standing in the doorway looking at me in a quizzical but not at all angry or accusing way. I was trembling but not in terror, just an anxious resignation looking at her with the feelings of a trapped mouse. I saw a slow, lovely smile spread over her face and once more I realised how utterly beautiful she was. For a mature woman of thirty six she was incredible. At that age, what children, and I was still a child really, we think of them, our parents as really ancient. Slowly, she walked, glided more like, into the kitchen, her stiletto heels tapping lightly on the tile floor. She was a beauty and her dress sense was perfect. She too had a love of fine fabrics and was wearing a long, mid calf, swirling dress in light, printed powder blue silk that was loose yet elegant, setting off her blonde, long, wavy shining mane of hair and her peaches and cream complexion to absolute perfection. Not a word passed as she reached the table and sat down just at my right hand side. The soft smile started to reassure me and slowly a wave of languorous arousal suffused my body. I felt my nipples harden and mother noticed. Her eyes widened as the hard points blatantly pushed out the delicate fabric of the blouse. "Pretty," She whispered. "How utterly pretty." I blushed; I know I did as the heat suffused my face. I had been looking down at the table but at those whispered words I raised my eyes to hers. They were soft, they were glowing, above all, I realised, they were understanding. The soft and gentle smile still played over her lips. "You knew?" I whispered. She nodded. "For how long?" "Two years," She answered, her smile still soft and reassuring. "But I never realised how beautiful you would turn out to be," She reached across and took a piece of toast and bacon off the tray. "If you won't eat this delicious meal I will, before it gets cold!" As she ate, I was no longer hungry, I asked her why she had not said anything and did father know. "Oh yes," She replied. "Father knew as well. We didn't say anything because firstly we discussed it with Alistair, (He was a psychiatrist friend of ours.) and he told us everything about what you were and what you were going through. My seeing you to-day was just an accident. I had forgotten my purse." "And father?" "That took a lot of persuasion from Alistair and I before he settled down, but he has literally given up on you now and has virtually disowned you." I must admit that did not worry me at all, but I felt an enormous weight off my shoulders. Father was away for the whole of next week and as it was the school holidays, half term to be precise, I would be free of his awful presence, only seeing him briefly when I came back from school in the evenings. Meanwhile I had a whole week to adjust to mother knowing about my little games. We talked for the whole morning, well into the afternoon and it was nearly five in the evening that mother and I came to the decision that I could be what I wanted, whenever I wanted and all would be open and free. Little did she know of my deep and darkest thoughts that slid through my mind, those deep and sensuously sexy thoughts of loving my own mother, deeply, passionately and sensuously. So I thought. It was five in the evening and the autumn sun was low in the sky. Night was drawing in and the innumerable cups of tea and snacks had kept us going but now mother pushed back her chair and stood up. She knew my feminine name by now, Christine, not Christopher and it was a thrill when she used it. "Come on Christine," She said, swatting my arm playfully. "It's time to pretty up for the evening. All we girls like to be fresh and pretty when the evening comes. Go and dress for cocktails." I went back to my rooms and had a hot bath and as I relaxed in the water my mind played over the events of the day. She knew everything now, well almost. My love of the fifties. My thoughts on femininity, girls, boys, ugggh! etc. she had told me of her desire for a daughter but after I had been born, she had had complications during pregnancy and my birth, she had been told that she would never have children again. That had hit her very badly although father had been quite happy, he had a son, quite. He was, I gathered, an unhappy bunny. Well! Tough shit, I thought. I couldn't give a flying fuck!!!! As I soaked in that bath I knew that a new and exciting chapter in my life was beginning. After that long talk the urgency of my desire for mother had gently abated till it was barely in my thoughts, there, quiescent, but not forgotten. I was now content to let whatever was going to happen, happen. It was a reflective time that half hour, and I was mulling over the prospects of this coming week. Mother had promised me that I could be a girl all week and that she would teach me all she could. She admitted that as far as clothes and make-up were concerned there was little she could teach me but I was not so sure. She had such a wonderful dress sense that I knew she would impart a lot to me. Anyway, enough I thought and I got out of the bath and dried myself, admiring my svelte body in the mirror. Naked I was a slim, coltish and very graceful boy, with a slim but adequate penis, which I adored, playing with it that is. My bum was tight and trim, my shoulders not wide and my bone structure fine with high cheekbones, which gave me a very androgynous look. I was, quite truthfully a very pretty boy, or a coltish, adolescent girl. My titties, the benefit of a small hormone imbalance, were quite large, just nudging a B cup with perky nipples that hardened with the gentlest of caresses to a stiff hardness twice their normal size. The feelings were quite intense, they were sensitive and I could, if I was in the right mood, which was often, especially when dressed; bring myself to a shuddering orgasm just by touching them alone. I caressed them now and my body started to gently writhe as the soft feelings flowed through my body. I struck a sexy pose, that classic one that women so often used, placing my left knee in front of the right one and bending my leg slightly. My hands swept up and gathered my growing hair back and I posed in front of the mirror, turning slightly from side to side. I did this for a few minutes, admiring myself and enjoying the sexy look of my reflection with the incongruous addition of an erecting penis. God, I did fancy myself, maybe also another 'girl' like me? After a few minutes I started to dress myself. Firstly I slid around my waist a deep panelled garter belt. This, in heavy and luxurious black satin, was almost a waist cincher. Then I sat down and, with delicate hands, slid on a sheer pair of seamed, fully fashioned, shiny, black nylon stockings. These, by Aristoc, I had acquired on a shopping trip into town at a small lingerie shop at the south end of the town. I had bought 12 pairs and they were my favourite. They were from some ancient stock that the owner had in her cellars below the shop. She had invited me to look through her stock there as she had acquired it from the previous owner when she bought the shop almost forty years before, and all the stuff had gone out of fashion since but she had not got rid of it, just forgotten about it. Natalie was now a friend and she did not seem to be in any way surprised at my interest and was the only other person who knew of my fetish, but did not in any way interfere or molest me. She was now almost seventy and quite a lovely woman. I had promised her that I would explore one day and was planning to do so this week. She had promised me first refusal on anything I wanted. She also understood. Next I picked up a gorgeous, strapless, long line brassiere, also in the same rich black satin. This, made to grannies measurements, fitted me perfectly now and I loved the way it clasped my titties and the way the boning held its slinky sensuousness to perfection against my skin. I then sat down and proceeded to firstly get my hair to a pretty style and then put on my make-up. My lashes I once more lengthened with mascara and then applied a gorgeous matt foundation to my skin. This, pale as the fifties girls liked to wear, gave me a lovely parchment skin and I highlighted my cheekbones with rouge and blusher. I was fortunate in having quite prominent lips and these I emphasised with the classic, rich, deeply lush, carmine lipstick. When I had finished I examined myself critically in the mirror. By any critique, I looked good. I stood up, padded across to my wardrobe and took out a pair of lace trimmed and delicate black satin French knickers. I put my feet into them and slid them up my nyloned limbs, relishing the whispering susurration as the silk-satin slid up and then encased my bum, erotically encasing my tumescence. Then I picked up the black satin matching slip. This, generously embellished in Chantilly lace like the knickers was also a perfect fit. I knew I had a slight problem though as my hardness was now full and I had to hide it so I slid my hands underneath the slip and pushed it underneath the satin garter belt so that it rested against my belly. I was ready now for the final dressing. The dress was a plush black silk velvet sheath with a figure hugging bodice and a slim skirt with a decorous boat neck and three-quarter sleeves. The bust was so formed that it was as snug fitting as the rest of my garments. It gave me a lovely shape and, when I had slid my feet into a pair of strappy, black patent, stiletto heeled evening sandals; I gave a twirl in front of the mirror. I had never looked and felt so grown-up and lovely and I fell in love with myself once more, as always. Oh, we are so vain are we not? I added the final adornments. A lovely pearl necklace was on my neck and a matching bracelet adorned one wrist and a dainty Rolex watch the other. A final spray of Arpege and I was ready to meet my mother as her daughter Christine. With a click of heels on parquet floor I walked out of my rooms and down the corridor to enter the drawing room. Mother had already set up the drawing room with a wood log fire and soft lighting. With curtains drawn the room was warm and elegantly comfortable. There were two chaise- longues flanking the fire and a small mahogany table in between. On the table was a solid silver champagne cooler in which rested a freshly opened bottle of Krug 1959. Mother was standing at the fireplace, resting an elegant arm on the mantelpiece. I stopped at the door and admired her beauty. She too had dressed a la fifties and was in a lovely strapless emerald green satin cocktail sheath, with her long hair clubbed at the back of her swanlike neck in a tight chignon. Her legs, what I could see of them as the skirt ended three inches below the knee, were sheathed in fine beige nylon and on her arms was a pair of the slinkiest long, black satin above elbow evening gloves. Her beauty took my breath away. She smiled at me, that lovely, soft, gentle smile that I knew so well. Slowly, she pushed herself away from the fireplace and undulated towards me. Her eyes caressingly swept over my own body and I knew she liked what she saw. I moved forward to meet her and her arms opened to accept me. We hugged, my mother and I, but not sexually. She kissed me delicately on the cheek, and then I kissed her back. The heady aroma of our perfumes mingled, my Arpege, her Opium, in a delicate mingling of fragrance that was a total joy to breathe in. I had lost the urge to make love to her. Instinctively I knew now was not the time, maybe later, I thought. We broke apart and sat down on the chaise longue, opposite one another and mother reached forward and took the bottle of champagne out of the cooler. The tinkle of ice cubes was a melodic jingle in the silence of the room. She poured out two drinks, the light golden liquid foaming in the tall flutes. I had never really drunk alcohol before, I rarely do now, just a small flute of champagne at special occasions, and this was the first. She raised her glass to me, I raised mine to her. "To my lovely new daughter," She whispered. "So beautiful, so ethereal. I hope you become the truly happy person you deserve to be." "To you, mother," I raised mine back. "The most understanding, wonderful, beautiful and sexy woman in the world," That last one slipped out. She had stretched out on the chaise and at my last word, as we drank the delicious, sparkling liquid she turned to me, a twinkle in her eye. "Sexy?" she pouted. "Your old mother, sexy?" I just nodded. "But I am your mother, I'm old," To emphasis the absurdity of that remark she stretched out her body even more and arched her back. The dull lighting gleamed off the satin and nylons, setting up a play of colours that enhanced the beauty of her body. She was looking at me boldly now. "Don't tell me my own child fancies her mother, does she?" Was it wishful thinking, or did I detect a touch of wistful longing. During our long chat she had told me that, although she did love father, in her own way, she did have several lovers. They were not, surprisingly, men but other ladies. She loved, what she described as, "Lesbian trysts," Much safer, more gentle and more satisfying than men, she added, and cleaner, with none of the complications, she finished. I knew about lesbians. Recently I had, through various means, amassed a small library of sexy films. A few were about transvestites, or transsexuals as they called them, but apart from one or two, they were about trannies making love with other trannies or real women. Quite a few were also straight films, mostly shot in the early seventies and most of them French, from the studio of Marc Dorcel. I liked the fact that all the women were beautiful and all of them were dressed most of the time in pretty and elegant clothing or lingerie when making love. Four, and these were my favourites, were the first four films of the taboo series. The theme of incest fascinated me. Quite a few of the French films had that as well. Finally, another large tranche was of lesbian films and these I also loved to watch. An image of mother, dressed in elegant lingerie, making love to another beautiful woman swept through my mind at that moment and I was shockingly aroused. My own body had, when it had softened, slid out from under the garter belt and now nestled in its satin cocoon of knickers and slip. It rose and hardened and I had to move quickly on the chaise to hide the tumescence from mother. She noticed, and laughed gently at my discomfiture but there was a tiny, or so I thought, touch of speculation in her eyes. "You mustn't fancy mother, sweetheart," She murmured. "But mother can help her little girl to feel better." With those words she stood and slowly walked around the coffee table and sat down on the chaise as I lay on it, my head resting on the satin side, reclining back, my legs beside her as she perched on the side. My body, hard erect and throbbing tented out the plush silk velvet, resting on my belly as I gazed at mother's beauty. "Why not?" I asked. "I think you are truly beautiful." "Because it is incest, darling, and that is forbidden." "But who is to know, mother, I won't tell anyone. I don't think you would either?" She smiled again, enigmatically and rested a hand on my shin, gently caressing the nylon stockinged limb. I gasped as the heat of her hand sent shivers through my body. "No, my darling, that is not possible," She shook her head, a little regretfully, I thought. "But other things are." She stood up and pulled away her hand. I felt the loss of the caress most deeply. I made a moue of disappointment and she found it so comical she laughed. "Come, sweetness," She reached down and, taking hold of my hands she raised me to my feet and led me through to the dining room where she had laid out a light supper. Having eaten, sparingly but well, we retired to the drawing room where we relaxed back on the chaise longues and sipped a small 'balloon' of cognac. It was the first time I had ever tried that drink and I was amazed at the way its pungent taste and warmth, rather than fire, infused my body, strangely calming down my unruly passions. In a slow and languorous I lay back on the satin chaise and dreamily gazed at the delightful sight of mother opposite me. We talked, mother and I and, under the hypnotic effects of the fine, noble even, amber spirit, I poured out all my secret and hidden desires to the most beautiful friend I had in the world. Mother listened, only occasionally interjecting as I poured out all of my emotional feelings and needs. She blushed as I told her of my dreams, especially when I whispered to her of my desires to sleep with her and, strangely, as I described what I wanted to do, her body seemed to tremble and I knew that she too had forbidden feelings about me, not as a male lover, that would be very difficult for her to psychologically accept. But as a lesbian lover, and I certainly looked the part, she would have less difficulty going the whole way, I hoped, though I knew it could turn out to be a long and difficult, if not impossible, seduction. The evening drew in and turned to night. We were both tired and in a strangely erotic mood. My roller-coaster ride of emotions, from sheer carnal desire to gentle pleasure, and back again had levelled out to a pleasant glow of contented softness and languor. We both yawned at the same time then giggled at the similarity of our moods. Mother stood up and, with a sibilant whisper of satin on nylon and satin, swished across to me and, extending a languid hand, drew me to my feet. As I stood up my body met hers and, for a long moment breast touched thrusting breast. She shivered at the touch and her face came towards mine. I felt her soft breath on my lips and I closed my eyes, parting my lips slightly, hoping for a kiss. My wish was granted as I felt her lushly lip-sticked lips touch mine and settle softly in a long, gently sucking kiss. I had dreamed of that kiss for years and when it happened it was more than I had hoped for, and less. It was soft, sensuous and warm. It was calming and loving, erotic not passionate. My body trembled, not with lust but with a deep love that transcended that. It was a long waft of ethereal peace that promised much, but not just yet. It lasted seconds and seemed like hours. I had become quite flaccid and the kiss did not cause me to harden, yet a warm and flowing feeling spread through my body that seemed far more meaningful than a wild and passionate orgasm. I trembled, so did she. We were devastated by the sheer feelings of love that passed between us and as we both drew apart, our lips clinging till the last moment, we were both aware that something beautiful had been born that would stay with us for ever. I turned to go to my rooms when mother stopped me. "Where are you going? She asked me. "To bed, mother," I answered her. "I'm tired now." "You can stay with me tonight," She whispered, blushing slightly. "As long as you promise to be a good little girl for mother, you can sleep with me tonight." My heart pounded in my chest and I almost fainted with the shock. "But, you must not go beyond the boundaries I set for us." I nodded my agreement. She turned on her heels and slowly walked to the stairs. I watched her body, gleaming in the soft light, the satin so smooth and glistening, the slow shimmy of her hips and the grace of her carriage. She turned at the foot of the stairs and beckoned me towards her. She took my hand and led up to her boudoir and as we entered her sanctum sanctorum I gasped. The two lamps at the sides of her double bed were lit to cast a soft glow over the richly opulent bed. She had laid a fantastic mink caponierre over the top and this was pulled back to show that her sheets were of the finest, gleaming, heavy, black silk-satin. My breath caught in my chest and I felt the slow suffusion of emotion gather in my body. My breasts tingled and my penis slowly thickened, though not to full erection as I saw that she had laid out two ensembles on the bed. There, laid side by side was a gorgeous black nightgown and negligee, in the finest of lace and slipper satin. Next to it was a similar gown in a sensuous dove grey. "Your choice first," She said as she turned her back to me. "But first be so kind as to unzip me." "Can I have the grey one?" I asked as I moved up behind her and slowly slid the zip down the back. She smiled over her shoulder at me and placed her hands over her bosom to stop the dress from falling down. She turned towards me and then said. "Turn around sweetheart and I will unzip you." As I turned away from her I realised that I could see her image in the mirror. Dry mouthed I watched as she slid her hands away and heard, in the utter silence of the room as the dress hissed, satin on satin, as it fell to the floor. She was dressed in a lovely guipure of heavy, boned ivory satin. Strapless and gleaming, it held her nylon stockings with six suspenders and the cups of the lace trimmed bra were barely half cups so that I saw her nipples peeping over the top of the ecru lace. A scrunchy pair of delightful, ivory, silk-satin French knickers covered her secret parts. She was a symphony of classic beauty. I felt her hands slide the zip down my back, then unhook the top of the back of the dress. Her hands slid inside to slide up the satin of the slip till they brushed over my hard and tenderly sensitive nipples. I groaned and my desire flared at the soft touch. Her long nails, encarmined and polished, scraped over the tender nubbins and I arched my back as the wild sensations arrowed their way down to my coquette making it thicken and rise against my belly. I looked down to see the shape of her hands now cupping my titties and then past them to the throbbing hardness that tented out the plush fabric that encased it. I was in a miasma of intense, transvestite lust. It felt so right to me, so natural, so normal and I gloried in the sensuous feelings that spread wildly through my body. I was a girl, a boy, a sexual plaything, an entity that was not of specific gender. Just as I was approaching a peak of orgiastic lust mother stopped and slid the lovely velvet sheath off my body. It fell with a sibilant whispering hiss to the floor and my body shivered to the cool air in the room. Next mother slid the straps of my slip off my shoulders and that joined the pool of rich velvet on the floor. I was now dressed only in my strapless brassiere, garter belt, nylons and French knickers. If I was to wear the dove grey ensemble these too would have to go, but I became shy at stripping completely so, as mother reached to undo the hooks and eyes of the bra I moved away. "Oh, tush!" She laughed. "Darling, we are girls together." I spun round and faced her. My consternation and shyness must have been visible to her as she gently smiled. "Ok, my lovely one," She whispered. "Take what you need and go change in my bathroom. Keep the stockings on, there is a small suspender belt under the lingerie." I loved wearing stockings to bed. The nylon protected the satin by stopping rough nails and skin from snagging and also engendered a lovely smooth swishing when rubbed against that fabric, bliss indeed. I went across to the bed and picked up the lovely pile of frippery. I walked across and went into the bathroom. It took seconds to drop the bra and waist cincher onto the pouffe and slip on the sexy suspender belt, reattaching the nylons, pulling them firmly smooth. I then stepped into the scrumptious French knickers. The sexy silk-satin was absolutely gorgeous and smooth on my body, even more so than the ones I had just discarded. The gorgeous gown, dove grey with beige lace trim slid over my heated skin and the coolness as it draped itself over my body served only to excite me more. My titties fitted the satin cups of the bias cut nightgown to perfection and I loved seeing my reflection in the large mirror at the side of the bath. I finally slid on the negligee and, having touched up my make-up, I had smeared my lipstick with the kiss, I turned and sashayed out of the bathroom. Mother was in bed, propped up on the pillows and smiling at me. I posed in the doorway and gave her a hot and sultry look. Her smile changed to awe as I slowly placed one hand on an out thrust hip and the other on the door jamb. "You are awesome!" She gasped. "So beautiful and so very sexy. I might not let you sleep with me," She added, mockingly I hoped. "In case you take total advantage of me. Remember your promise darling. Promise me again that you won't push me too far." "I promise mother," I said, nodding my head and she smiled and patted the bed beside her, pulling back the mink cover to make a place for me. I slid in beside her and shivered as the coolness of the silk satin caressed my body. She covered us both over and then lay down beside me. She switched off the lights and as the darkness took over I was aware of her turning and facing me. I turned to her and I could just see her body in the darkness beside me. Slowly my eyes adjusted to the absence of light. It was, I remember, a night clear and cool. The full moon was up and shining through the large window, she had drawn back the heavy drapes and soon I could see her fully. We were about two feet apart and just gazing at each other, drinking in our respective beauties. If you think I am vain, you are so correct, dear reader. I am, and proudly so. If you have it girl, or boy, then flaunt it I say. There are few on the net that I can call superior, and even then only slightly. Savannah is one, that girl is a cracker. The other one, who has sadly fallen of the net, is, or was Aubrey. I miss her gentle site. Enough of that. Back to bed. Mother and I just seemed to flow together, imperceptibly, like two pools of oil slowly drawing together till we were just inches apart. Gently her hand came up and a finger traced along my jaw line and then slid over my lips in a gentle caress. Emboldened my own hand came out and I slid it over her long, swan-like neck. As hers traced over my cheek, I, greatly emboldened, slid down to caress the cleavage that was exposed to me. She gasped and her body trembled involuntarily, moving so that her breasts grazed mine in a satin kiss. Her full lips parted as she moved towards me and her hand slid off my face to cup my chin. We kissed, soft as delicate thistledown, we kissed. A soft, long, sucking and panting, kiss. It was a most un-mother-child kiss imaginable. It was more thrilling for its loving eroticism than it would have been in raw passion. My head swam with the feelings of languorous love. Passion was there, but muted and delicate. Lust barely raised its head above bottom, yet it was so powerful emotionally as to stun us both. Soft desire and silk smooth passion duelled together. Words really cannot describe that first forbidden embrace of mother and child. It was innocent, almost, yet so intensely erotic. The sounds of muted desire were joined by the wicked susurration of nylon brushing nylon and the sibilant hiss of satin on satin. Panting breaths mingled as the kiss deepened, yet not brutally so. I was lying back now and mother was above me. Her hand slid off my face and began a slow journey along my neck, brushing ever so lightly over my silky skin, sending tiny jolts of sensation through my undulating body. It was the most beautiful feeling in the world to be en-femme, mother's words, in a lusciously satin sheeted bed, gowned in satin, nylon stockinged and in the arms of a beautiful woman and mother, both of us in an ecstatic daze of pure, satin delight as we deeply kissed in a haze of sensuous passion. Her hand traced along the lace edge of the gown top, delicately running along the skin of my breast. I shivered and felt my nipples become hard points of desire. I was in no hurry to come to my climax. I think that I was in a warm orgasm of unending timelessness, without actually spurting into the opulent fabrics that encased us. My own hand, greatly emboldened by my own mother's action slid up to gently run along the underside of her soft breast, fingers gliding over the soft, sensuous silk-satin, delighting in the slinky feel of the fabric against my nerve endings. She exhaled gently into my parted lips as the touch stoked the smouldering fires of her own passion. I felt her tremble in my arms and her own hand slid, cupped my own meagre tittie. It was my turn to gasp as the soft palm of her hand grazed my nipple. I cupped her breast and a soft moan whispered softly as I felt her own nipple instantly harden to my touch. She trembled anew, time seemed to stand still, then she stiffened in my arms. That one tiny touch of hand on breast and she orgasmed, not violently, just gently came in a long flowing, shuddering come. She pushed herself away from me and lay on her back. Her hands delved between her thighs, cupping her sex as she shuddered, soft panting screams, barely audible, brushed my ears with entrancing sound. I had never seen a woman in a real orgasm before and it was an awesome sight. Her breasts heaved and her mouth parted as she panted out her pleasure and her face was a mask of sheer emotion. What really made me jealous was the fact that instead of one wild and pulsating period of intense spasms as we men had, a woman's orgasm goes on and on till at last she lies, spent and satiated, a long time after a man has finished. If I had intended to break my promise to her I could have done so there and then. I knew that she would not have either the will or the strength to resist me if I had slid my own lissom body on hers and slid myself deeply into her. I wanted to so much, and I did not. At last she stopped, sighing softly till the last the last tremors faded and she lay there, her face turned to me, eyes dark pools in the soft moonlight. "You are lovely," She whispered "I have never had such a piercing come. You truly excite me my pretty girl." Her eyes moved down my supine body till they rested on my midriff where my hardness jutted up from the juncture of my thighs, tenting out the slinky satin and trembling with the need to come. "Ohhhh," She whispered, eyes large and amazed. "What a large clitty my hot little child has," She turned to me, resting on her side, her body touching mine, and her hand drifted across to rest on my belly just above that obvious item of my body that had drawn her eyes. Gently she started to caress me, soft and delicate hand on the smooth satin of my gown. Her hand then drifted up towards my tender titties. "I love titties," She breathed as she cupped my left one and then leaned across, raising herself up on her left side to lean down and kiss the hard nipple of my right one. I bucked as the sensations of hot mouth and caressing palm re-awakened my urgent desires. Then, she nipped the nipples between her teeth and long, beautifully manicured nails. My hands rose up and captured her head, glorying in the feel of her full, softly silky hair against the palm of my hands. I held her to me like a mother holds a nursing infant to her own breast. I was now in a miasma of total sensuousness. I knew that I was going to orgasm soon without any touch to my coquette, just the whispering feel of the satin that grazed the sensitive flesh as I writhed in my passion. "I'm going to cum, mother," I panted and she raised her head from my breast and gazed hotly at me. I realised that she was aroused again and I turned on my side to face her. Our bodies met and this time my satin swathed hardness delved between her satin thighs, searching for her centre of passion. We kissed again, this time a hot and deeply passionate kiss as the wild flames of lust exploded in our bodies. Breast touched, caressed satin sheathed breast and hips moved, writhed against hips and I felt the hot wetness of her own lust join the seeping fluids of my own pre-cum as my body insinuated itself against the weeping folds of her sex. It was not penetration but it was as close to it as you could get. I pushed her over and slid between the soft thighs, bunching up the satin with my tumescence so that, for a tiny moment I felt as if I was going to actually slide, satin and all, into her, but the barrier was just too impervious. At first she was startled but then, even in her arousal a hint of her impish humour came through. She giggled as she broke the kiss. "No way, Jose," She laughed. "Do your worst, you can't get in." I raised myself up on my arms and looked down at our almost conjoined bodies. The two gowns had side slits and both of them had moved so that, unbeknownst to mother the only barrier to my entrance to her depilated body was just my pair of dove grey satin French knickers. I writhed my buttocks and that caused the head of my coquette to slowly slide up and down the pouting slit of her dewy pussy. The caress of coquette on pussy brought her to a fresh peak of passion and she lay back, a dreamy smile on her face. Her hands captured my titties again and as she toyed with them, nipping my nipples, she started to move her hips in time to my movement. She was unaware of her nakedness to me and I became aware that as I moved slightly from side to side my body was slowly escaping from the heavenly confines of the knickers. The head slowly escaped through the wide legs of the garment and suddenly my naked flesh was touching hers. In fact it was wedged between the furrow and poised just at the clasping entrance of her deep channel. I froze. "Don't stop, baby," She mewled like a kitten. "Please don't stop." I started to move again, up and down and she seemed unaware of our skin to skin touch. The heat that arose from her was so melting in its intensity that I could no longer control myself. She was close to coming ag