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Satin Love by Georgina Part one, in the beginning. Chapter 1 Hot, soft, scintillating and sensual satin, hot, yet cool, smooth and sexy on the skin. Mother's satin, her lingerie to be precise. I was totally addicted to her gorgeous garments and, at the tender age of fourteen, hormones raging wildly, I was always delving into her drawers at every available opportunity and ruffling through the soft treasures I found there. I was, to put it bluntly, a dyed in the wool, highly perverted and thoroughly unashamed transvestite. Mother was a very beautiful woman, and extremely elegant and sensual into the bargain. Tall, slim and fine breasted, she was the very epitome of a socialite in the heady days of my youth, the sensual, elegant start to the fifties. Father had died in Indo-China two years before, killed by the Viet Minh while serving with the French Forces at Viet Tri, and he had left us very well off. I went, as a day pupil, to the local public school and we lived, elegantly, in a large flat in Knightsbridge, just a stones throw away from Harrods Store with all its opulence and elegance. I was growing to be just like her, tall, slim and, for some reason, I was growing breasts. I was very perplexed at first but soon found that this was a blessing, not a curse and learned to hide them by wearing tight vests. The blessing was that I found that I could gain an enormous amount of pleasure from touching and fondling those delicate budding mounds of sensitive flesh, as well as have screamingly ecstatic orgasms by just nipping the prominent nipples with my fingernails. Gynaecomastia was the medical term, heaven was mine. My features too were very similar to mother's and it was a shock to me when, one day, I found a theatrical wig in a pile of junk at a school fair and on putting it on as a joke, realised that I made a very beautiful girl. That had been four years before and had set me on the road of my transvestite desires. It wasn't very long before the lure of my gorgeous mother's lingerie had taken me down the path of raw, unbridled sexuality and sheer satin fetishism, I was a complete slave to my wild desires. I didn't realise at the time but mother was a complete fetishist too, to fashion, as well as being totally amoral when it came to the matter of gender and sex. But I was to find that out fairly soon. Mother was out for the evening and said she would not be back till the early hours of the following morning. I knew that I was in for an unbridled six hours of hot and lustful ecstasy. It was now just after five and my aunt was picking her up at eight. I knew she would not be back before three in the morning and was all a tremble with anticipation. She was getting ready at present, relaxing in her bath before getting out and putting on her evening finery, of which she had a large dressing room full of the clothes, she was a compulsive shopper and hoarder. So much so that she even kept loads of clothes, especially lingerie to my great delight, in my own room. Little did I know in my naivety that she knew of my sexual proclivities. I thought that only I in the whole world had such desires, and kept them secret. But she knew, and I was going to get the benefit of that knowledge, though I did not know it yet. Anyway, to shorten a long story I was already worked up to a fever pitch even though mother still had a few hours of primping and titivating before she left with her sister to the ball and I was left to my own devices. It was half an hour later that mother called me up to her dressing room; she always wanted me to help her with things like straightening hems and pulling up zips. I went up to her room and, as usual, her beauty stunned me. She always dressed in a very sensuous manner and tonight was no exception. She stood in front of the mirror dressed in the most wonderful ensemble I had ever seen, and it was new. I had never seen it before. She always used either Spencer or Rousell for her corsetry and tonight She was wearing a gorgeous strapless basque by Rousell, Spencer never had the style of the French. It was a magnificent garment in heavy, lustrous black satin, shiny, smooth, scintillating and sensuous, a feast to my fetishistic eyes. She was, as I said before, an extremely beautiful woman, slim, yet curvaceous, small, but firm, breasted and, at five feet and eight inches, quite tall. Her auburn hair was long and she usually wore it up during the day but at home she left it down to fall in a shimmering and dark cascade of wavy, glistening beauty. She was sitting down now and slowly applying make-up to her face, making an already gorgeous beauty even more heartbreakingly lovely. My job was to apply moisturising cream to her back and shoulders, but first to brush, comb and pull back her hair into a chignon, a chore that was not a chore but an incredibly exciting experience for me, each and every time. Mother was sitting down in front of the dressing table, gazing into the mirror as she put the final touches to her intricate make-up. She looked up at me and smiled her sweet smile that always sent the pulses pounding in my head, and my aroused body of course. I always prepared for that by wearing a pair of tight swimming trunks and placing my hard body vertically against my belly to hide my arousal from her gaze. She held out a bottle of perfumed, highly expensive, cream and I took it from her hand. Was it my imagination, I do not know, but this night she touched my fingers and gently caressed them in a way she never had before. I blushed, I know I did as I caught a glimpse of my flushed face in the mirror and noticing it, she smiled. Mother turned back to the mirror and, as I started to rub the perfumed lotions into her skin, she sat still, sighing softly as my fingers massaged her creamy, flawless, silky and soft skin. There seemed to be a new atmosphere in the room this evening, more soft and sensual than usual and I felt a strange tension radiating from her and an aura that seemed to make me want to do far more than usual, almost as if she was wordlessly ordering me to intimacies I only dreamed about. I raised my head and gazed at her image in the mirror, at the same time as my hands slid down and massaged the front of her shoulders and down to the upper parts of her lovely breasts. The cups of the basque pushed her gorgeous breasts up yet they just covered her nipples which, I could clearly see through the black satin and lace, were hard and prominent, much more than usual. Our eyes met, hers strangely hot and humid, mine wide and aroused. She pouted at me, then, amazingly, she parted her deeply carmined lips and her pink tongue peeped out and she slowly, sensuously, licked her lipsticked lips. It was a shockingly erotic sight and I could feel my trapped erect body suddenly pulsate in a wild throb of arousal. My nipples, confined under the tight tee shirt I wore suddenly hardened as well to match hers and I could clearly see them, and so did she. She stretched then, head back and my hands naturally slid onto her titties, cupping them through the slinky satin. Her head was against my throbbing tube of aroused flesh and, slowly, softly, she writhed her body so that her head was caressing my hardness and her titties were sliding through my nerveless, yet all feeling, hands. The feeling of satin and lace encased nipples, hard and excited nipples, through satin and lace, was something I was familiar with from my own titties, so I was aware that mother was terribly aroused. It made me feel even hotter than before. We were now both gazing hotly at each other. I was fascinated in watching my hands come to life with a mind of their own and do things to mother's lovely, firm breasts that they had done to mine. My fingers slid in small insistent circles over her turgid, sensitive nipples and she started to pant in soft, sighing moans. She softly writhed and her hands delved between her twisting thighs and I saw her long fingers glide over the sexy satin crotch of her knickers, teasing the very top of her slit. My dreams were coming true, vividly, passionately true. I was so hot that I knew I was very close to the greatest orgasm of my life. My hands became more insistent and my nails, longer than usual, scraped over her hard nubbins, then delicately nipped them. Mother screamed in sheer passion, her head fell back and she looked up at me, mouth open slightly and glistening with dewy desire. Her eyes, now large and dark, haunted and soft, gazed adoringly at my own features. I couldn't help myself, or resist my desires, and I bent down and did the one thing I had always dreamed of, I kissed her full on her ripe, parted, panting, wet lips. It was a kiss that no son gives his own mother, but it was one that I had always dreamed about. Fantasies are usually better than reality, but not this deep, sinful, incestuous kiss. Mother's lips were incredibly hot, soft and clinging, wet and sleek with her lipstick. For an incalculable time, we kissed, in a deep, incestuous passion, so wild as to be mind blowing, and all the time my fingers and nails pillaged her unresisting body. Oh God, I was so very, very hot. Suddenly, just as hot tongues started to touch, duel in the parody of love, she gasped, stiffened, and screamed into my mouth as a shattering orgasm lashed her body. Trembling, for long minutes, she was held at the peak of her climax and not for a moment did our wetly sucking mouths break the incestuous kiss. Slowly, ever so slowly, she came down from her peak, wracked by minor climaxes every few seconds, I teased her into them by, whenever I felt she was stopping, caressing, nipping and rolling her hard nipples with my fingers. At last, she could come no more. Weekly she leaned back against my hard, throbbing flesh and panted with satiation. Slowly, ever so slowly, I stood back, panting hotly, still hard, still waiting to come. She weakly rose to her feet and came towards me, swaying slightly, a languorous look on her beautiful face. She came up close so that her svelte, lithe body meshed with mine and I felt her lovely titties press against me. Slowly, she raised her hands, taking the hem of my tee shirt as well, and with a smooth motion, pulled it off my body to leave me bare from the waist up. Without any comments she glanced down at my own pouting titties with their hard, throbbing nipples. 'Pretty! very pretty!' she cooed as she then unbuckled my belt and slipped my jeans, along with my swimming trunks, down to the ground. My erection burst out in all its fury, unrequited as it was, and, as mother knelt to pull my trousers, it sprang out to brush her silky cheek. The very touch of her soft skin almost destroyed me, it was a miracle I did not come and with an effort I composed myself. Mother stood up. a soft smile on her lips and, wordlessly, she took my hand and gently led me into her boudoir. Sitting me down on the satin-canopied bed she turned away and slid open the bottom drawer of chest and reached inside it to take out several large, tissue wrapped parcels. These she brought over and, with a soft smile, lay them on the bed. I was totally unselfconscious in my nudity and I had relaxed a little, coming down from the intense and emotional high of a few minutes before, though my erection was still quite hard. 'Here baby,' she whispered, 'Your present for your sixteenth birthday.' I gasped, of course, it was my birthday and I had been so wrapped up in my incipient ecstasy that I had forgotten the date. With trembling hands I opened the top parcel, saw what was inside, then looked at my beloved mother with shock. I was holding a gorgeous satin basque by Rousell in my trembling hands. It was exactly the same as the one that mother was wearing, but one size smaller. I became hotly aroused again as I held it against my body. "You don't mind, mother?' I asked. 'You don't mind me wearing girls clothes?' "No silly,' She laughed. "Cecile and I have known about you for over two years now. Tonight is your night to become the girl of your dreams. I have teased you long enough and you are ready to join us for ever!" "Join you?" "Yes," She smiled. "Join our little love family, we have been waiting for you." I was flabbergasted to say the least. I did know that mother was a woman who enjoyed ladies, not men, I had several times spied upon her and another lady who was her friend, that was interesting! This though was a whole new experience. Mother drew me to my feet and proceeded to dress me in that gorgeous basque. I shivered as the cool satin embraced my body, caressed my overheated skin. I had never worn anything so formfitting, so snug, so sensuous, and so perfect as this garment. My tender titties perfectly filled the satin cups and the boning held me in the gentlest of prisons. It was perfect for me and my hardness nestled so sexily against my belly, held in by the satin panel of the corselet, as it really was only cut away at the front a few inches. The boning also pushed the flesh of my breasts up so that it gave me a very respectable cleavage. Mother sat me down again and proceeded to slide a pair of sheer, seamed, silky black nylon, stockings onto my suddenly trembling legs, I had never worn stockings before, and the sensuously smooth feeling of them on my skin was an aphrodisiac of amazing power. When I stood up again and she fastened them to the six suspenders that dangled down from the basque I almost swooned from the sensations. Mother then brought me a pair of stiletto court shoes with a medium heel. I had worn hers before, but they had been slightly too large for my feet. These were perfect and I found I could walk much better in them. Mother left me alone for a few minutes and I walked about the boudoir swaying sexily as I walked, enjoying the feel of sensual fabric of the corselet on my skin, the tug of the nylons and the pull of the stiletto shoes on my muscles. Mother sat on the bed, holding the next package in her hands and smiling indulgently at me. At last she stopped my narcissistic walkabout and called me back to her side. She held gorgeously scrunchy pair of black satin french knickers. Holding them out for me as I stepped into them she then pulled them up my limbs and settled them about my body. It was, once more, heaven. She then opened a new package and this made me tremble with utter desire. It was a gorgeously opulent gown of heavy, lustrous, shirring, black silk taffeta. Strapless and flowing, it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. With it was a matching stole and a pair of long, black taffeta gloves. She laid it on the bed and took me by the hand. She led me back into the dressing room and sat me down on the pouffe. For half an hour she worked her make-up magic on me. At last, having also styled and cut my, unfashionably, for that time, long hair into a pretty, feminine, urchin style, she allowed me to see myself. I was totally shocked. I looked like a younger version of her, and just as beautiful. Mother had wrought magic on me and standing before the mirror was a very beautiful young girl, with one very important difference. Highly visible to my, and mother's gaze' was a hard bulge under the satin of my basque, my tumescent body that was throbbing with desire. Lost in my miasma of narcissistic pleasures, my hands started to move over my satin-sheathed body, running up and down my flanks and on to my tender titties, excitingly touching my hard and sensitive nipples. I dare not touch my erect body as once more, I was on a knife edge and I didn't want to come and soak the gorgeous satin of the garments I wore. Normally I wore a durex to save any mess. I hadn't heard mother leave me but she must have because when she came up behind me and I saw her image in the mirror I saw that she had changed into her evening dress. She was truly beautiful. Having repaired her make-up, mother had put on a gorgeous silk-satin gown that was beautiful to behold. An opulent confection of heavy duchesse satin, strapless, with a full, flowing skirt, she swished into the boudoir and her heady perfumed presence overwhelmed me. She was carrying in her hands another confection, the taffeta outfit I was to wear that evening. She put the stole and gloves on the bed and then came towards me holding out the gown for me to step into, which I did. The cool taffeta made a soft shirring whisper as she drew it up my body and fitted the bodice to my figure. It was the most sensuous experience of my life and I was totally enslaved in my world of transvestite fetishism. She was wearing long, black satin opera gloves and, as she smoothed the bodice down, after zipping me up, they hissed their way sexily over the fabric, satin on taffeta. Mother was standing behind me and she pressed her delectable body against my back, writhing her firm titties against me as her sensuously begloved hands, captured, felt and fondled my own tender and aching breasts, feeling up my hard little nipples. I leaned back against her and my head was resting on her bare, perfumed shoulder. She reached forward and her sharp teeth, captured, nibbled at my ears and her hot breath wafted over face as she excited me to new heights of hot, throbbing desire. I spun around in her embrace till we were face to face. I was only a few inches shorter than mother and as I gazed up at her wondrous features I marvelled anew at the incredible, heartbreaking beauty of her beloved face. This was the first time that mother and I embraced totally, face to face, breast to breast, belly to belly and, most wonderfully, hot, sucking mouth to wet lipped mouth in a full, passionate, totally forbidden, incestuous kiss. My hand slid up the smooth, rich fabric of her gown to slide over the swell of her firm, hard nippled breast. Her own satin gloved hand did the same, hissing sexily over the shirring taffeta, the sounds of that caress, allied with the wicked susurration of satin skirt whispering over taffeta skirt exciting us both to a fevered pitch. I was totally destroyed and I knew I was about to explode in a wild orgasm of such intensity as I had yet to experience. As mother's delicious mouth sucked the passion out of mine, her deft fingers, captured, nipped and teased my nipple to a wild frenzy. "I'm going to come, Mother!" I panted into her sucking mouth. "Mother, you are making me come!" She stopped, pulled back and looked hotly at me, then gently pushed me down onto her satin-canopied bed. I lay there supine on the gleaming satin, body trembling, mind racing with sheer, perverted thoughts and wild transvestite desires. Mother, as I gazed adoringly at her, stood back and, with a swift, yet smooth and sensual motion, unzipped the gown and let it fall at her feet, stepping out of the circle of fabric to stand in front of me in just satin basque, gloves, stockings, and stiletto court shoes. She had taken off her delicious satin knickers and I gasped as I saw the delicately sculpted centre, exquisitely depilated, of her passion. She came to the bed and knelt on the satin counterpane beside me. I slid up so that I was lying full length, my head on the pillows, and my hands pulled up the full skirts of my gown to leave my sensually stockinged limbs and french knickered front to her avid gaze. I was still on the brink but, as we gazed at each other, I seemed to gain a new stamina, a fresh strength to last that little longer. My delicious, sensual, desirable mother noticed, and smiled her approval. The cool air wafted over my hot body, relaxing me, bringing me down from my peak of passion, and I gazed up with adoration at my delectably gorgeous mother. Slowly now, infinitely slowly, with a softly sensual grace, she straddled my supine body so that my hardness, throbbing and trembling, lay just underneath the slickly gleaming centre of her passion. She looked down, a soft, gentle smile playing over her lush, shining, carmined lips and slowly slid her satin gloved hands over her satin sheathed body, satin hissing over satin, to cup and delicately fondle her lovely, hard nippled breasts. My own hands slid up my own opulently gowned body to do the same to my own tender titties and, as she delicately caressed her own hard nipples, I did the same to mine, delicately teasing them into hard prominence and high excitement. We gazed at each other in mutual adoration and admiration. It was after a few, yet long, minutes that mother's hands descended once more, down her body to reach down to the hard and throbbing length of my erect body, still swathed in the scrunchy, soft folds of my french knickers. Her touch, soft, light as a feather, brought me immediately to full hardness and as she saw my full arousal, mother gasped, delicately slipped aside the slinky covering and took the hot length in her cool, satin gloved hands. Her hot, dewy eyes remained fixed on my hard body as she slowly brought it upright to brush the weeping folds of her hot, incest craving, body. The incredible heat and slick wetness were so exciting that I tried to lift my buttocks up to drive my body past the lips of her sex and deep into the body of my own beautiful mother. She wouldn't let me and she froze me with just a single, burning, glance then returned her hot gaze back to what she was doing, teasing her and me into a wildness none of us had ever experienced before. She started to pant as she gently and infinitely slowly, moved the head of my erection around the entrance of her sex, coating it with the slick moisture of her perverted arousal, weeping in copious amounts from the, by now, visibly engorged labial lips. I had never experienced the utter joy, the total fulfilment, of sliding my hardness into the clasping folds of a woman's body but I knew that it would be, when it happened, be far more exciting, far more fulfilling and infinitely more pleasurable than my own hands. The fact that it was my mother who would be my lover was beyond belief and the most exciting and arousing thing of all. I had dreamed of this moment all my life, since even, it seemed, before I became aware of my own sexuality. Perversion, as the world knew it, did not enter into my conscience, it was just there, a deep and urgent desire to give myself back, totally, completely, to my beloved, deeply desired, beautiful, elegant, hot and sensuous mother. Swaying gently, mother descended onto my steel hard body. As the bulbous head parted the folds of her creaming pussy she threw her head back and moaned with sheer lust, but she never stopped that gradual, slow descent. It was many seconds before I was fully couched within her body but those seconds passed like minutes as her surprisingly tight channel clamped itself around my steel hard tumescence. The sensations were wild in the extreme. Never before had I gone so high, not even during orgasms, yet I did not explode into climax. Mother did not move once she was fully on me and I was sheathed in her tight scabbard to the hilt. Still now, rigid with tension, she just rhythmically tightened the walls around my incestuous erection. I was so hot. Moaning and panting I started to writhe over the luxurious satin counterpane, my limbs, sleekly sheathed in nylon, rubbed against my beloved mother's nyloned limbs, setting up a static sensation that made us both tremble. My taffeta gown whispered over the satin, susurrations, messages of sheer pleasure. My hands mauled my tender titties, exciting my turgid and tender nipples to even greater excitement. The fact that it was MY MOTHER who was loving ME was an extra boost to my feelings. Mother started to cry out as the vibrations of my writhing started to get through her self-imposed trance and the feelings in her grew hotter. Her satin-gloved hands slid onto her delicate nipples once more and she started to post herself on me. The friction of her body on mine was like a lightning strike. I cried out, screamed in ecstasy and, dimly, I heard her cry of fulfilment. I felt the walls of her pussy clamp down hard on my embedded body and then flutter as her wild, incestuous orgasm washed over me. My body, trapped in that molten crucible that was her sex was driven beyond its limits and I felt the hot fluids explode from the end. She fell down onto my own body so that breast to breast we lay. Her hot, ravenous lips met mine in a savage kiss of wild and incestuous heat, sucking up all I had to give to her. Her gorgeous titties, firm and full, were pressed into mine and she writhed them on the shirry fabric of my bodice. I was savagely pistoning my body into her, even while I was spurting my filial seed into the maternal body. Oh God, was it intensely beautiful. On and on our orgasms blew, almost never ending in savagery, or in intensity. I came, and came, and came; till I could come no more and it seemed like an eternity before I started to come down from my peak. Mother, on the other hand, still shuddered, so lost in her wild climax as to be totally senseless, lying on me, her body spasming around my still embedded erection, keeping it still, amazingly, hard. She was still giving out little sounds of passion, moans, whimpers, soft, sighing cries. At last, even that stopped and she lay on my body in a virtually unconscious state, but, she had kept me, through the stimulus of her pussy muscles, hard, and I started to regain my lust for her. Gently I rolled her over so that this time I was couched between her outspread thighs, on top and ready to start afresh. I slid the side zip down and drew the gown off my body to leave me dressed only in the magnificent black satin basque, knickers, nylons and delicious court shoes. She was still lying motionless, panting softly as I started moving in her, back and forth, sliding my hardness in and out of her in a slow, gentle rhythm. At first mother protested her satiation but soon the sensations built up in her and, with a delighted cry, she pulled me down to her and her hot lips met mine in a wild, wet kiss. Her lower limbs lifted up till she was clasping me around my satined waist with her stiletto heels resting on my buttocks as I savagely pounded into that sweet, soft, maternal body. Oh, it was so beautiful, so sensuous, so wild to be going back into the womb I had come our of and it truly excited me terribly. I was in control now and I was enjoying every second of this wild mating, this incestuous, transvestite coupling of mother to sexy boy-girl child of hers. I raised myself up on my extended arms and looked down on her beautiful features. There is nothing so sensuous as a woman in the throes of passion and mother was the most beautiful of all, eyes wide, staring up at my own feminised features, full of lust and love. She was panting and moaning all the time now, seemingly in a permanent orgasm, her delicious, satin corseted body writhing under the incessant attack of my own satin sheathed body, head turning from side to side, but her hands, those knowing, dextrous, satin gloved hands slid hissing over my satin cupped titties, exciting them once more to high passion. The sensations in my groin as I slid my tumescence in and out of mother were growing ever higher, ever more intense as I approached my second and, unbelievingly, more intense climax. Mother suddenly stiffened below me, screamed out and shuddered into her orgasm, the milking motions of her muscles changing to a wild fluttering that almost squeezed me out. After a long minute, the spasms lessened, but I did not slow down my wild rhythmic pounding of her battered body. I was to close to my own ecstasy to stop now, nor want to. She froze beneath me and lay motionless then, suddenly reached up and exposed my titties by lifting them out of the half cups of the basque. Raising the top half of her body off the satin counterpane she licked, suckled, and then nibbled at my hyper excited nipples. I threw my head back in ecstatic agony as the cataclysmic sensation's burst out of my body to flood my mind with a wild, passionate frenzy. It was now my turn to scream with wild abandon as my orgasm joined hers, which had not abated in the meantime. My driving buttocks increased their motion so that my body, incredibly hard, unbelievably sensitive, flashed in and out in a mad dance of incestuous lust. I spurted, my body, now driven deep into the very depths of mother's sex, frozen, motionless, gave a wild judder and I felt the incredible sweetness of ejaculation, once, twice, thrice, again and again till I wondered if it would ever stop. Mother was still savagely mauling my breasts, holding me at the very peak of my climax so that I started to black out from the overwhelming sensations that were ripping through my mind and body. I fainted onto her and my last memory was of my hardness being squeezed right out of her, still spasming, body and the said body collapsing onto the soft and welcoming body of my beautiful mother. I dimly felt her roll me off her body to lie on my side facing her and she turned to me, I think, and enfolded me within her warm and welcoming arms. Chapter 2 We slept all the evening and most of the night. It was the flush of dawn that awoke me and I stretched languidly in the bed, my limbs slip-sliding over the opulently sensuous satin sheets. I was still wearing the constricting foundations and my satin knickers. It was a wonderful feeling, as I had never worn these garments for more than a few, brief hours before. Today was a new day, a day of new experiences, dreams and desires. The days of furtive fumbling, quick passion, stolen orgasms were over and my true desires were to be allowed their full reign of fulfilment. I could not yet understand them, or the compulsion, but I did not ever remember any time that I did not have them. From an early childhood I had felt these sensuous feelings about feminine garments and feminine things in general. Lately I had even had disturbing thoughts about another side of me that frightened me acutely. I was becoming attracted to my own sex, generic sex of course. While still at boarding school last year, before mother moved me to a new day school when we came to London, I had seen two boys in the shower room late one night. The sight had at first shocked me, though it had not repelled me, and now and then, as I dreamily stroked myself while dressed en-femme, I sometimes dreamed not of some beautiful woman doing that to me, but a young, androgynous looking, slim man who caressed me and finally, as my fingers delicately felt the virgin rosebud of my bottom, did to me what those two seniors did to each other in the shower room that night. The very thought made my body erect afresh in its smooth, black satin prison, and my hands slid down to softly caress the throbbing length of sensitive flesh. Enough, I whispered to myself, I would save what I had for later. Now other things were more important. I had to freshen up for the new day that mother had promised me. I slid off the wonderful garments and went into the en-suite bathroom where mother was already reclining in a hot, steaming tub. "Good morning," She smiled up at me and, once more I marvelled at her elegant, slim, beautiful body and exquisite features. "Did my sweet child sleep well after her exciting evening?" I nodded as I slid into the hot suds that filled our oversized bath, big enough for us two and more besides. Her delicious body moulded itself to mine and she kissed me softly on my lips. A delicate caress of full, soft lips to lips that was still powerful in its intensity of sheer incestuous passion. She was adorable at that moment, soft, beautiful, sexy, elegant and adorable. For long minutes all we did was kiss as our bodies melded so closely as to be one. My plump, definitely unmanly titties pressed against her more full and shapely breasts and my belly was pressed against her own belly. My hardness, ever wanting, ever, so it seemed, ready slid unerringly to the soft juncture of her thighs and, as she parted them slightly, slid against the soft folds of her inner body to just part the soft flesh and graze the distinctly hard nub of her clitty. She stiffened in my arms as she too became aroused and she started to writhe against my intruding hardness. "Ohhhh!" she panted into my sucking mouth and her hands slid up and she caressed my hot and tender little titties. "You are such a hot little girl aren't you, Tessa my sweet child." It was the first time that mother had called me by a feminine name and it suited me. Terence had become Teresa, or Tessa, for short. I liked it. It was the first time I had thought of a feminine name and her use of it was wonderful to my ears. She parted her legs a little more and I slowly slid deeper into her maternal body, till the bulbous head slipped between the soft labia and into the hot, milking channel that led to her womb, the womb I had come out of those fifteen years before. It was hot and exciting, going back to where I had come from, almost indescribable in its perverted intensity. Once more we kissed, this time deeply and meltingly intense in a wild and incestuous passion that was, to us, the most natural action in the world. There was no guilt, or remorse. It was two lovers, mother and transvestite son, linked in a powerful and emotional storm that would never end. It was a loving of such intense delicacy and slowness as to be almost imperceptible. Our bodies were almost still. I had slid deep into her soft sheath now and, couched within her body I lay still as she did and the only movement was the flexing of my deeply embedded erection as I clenched and unclenched my buttocks and mother did the same, rippling the muscles of her inner body to massage my incestuous member. It was a sublime feeling. Slowly, ever so slowly, we brought each other to the very peak of passion, as we lay immersed in that hot, soap bubbly, perfumed bath. As her hands slid down and clenched my tensing buttocks, mine slid up and tenderly cupped her gorgeous, beautifully sculpted, small yet perfect, hard nippled breasts, fingers gently, yet insistently, teasing her hard little nubbins. Our passions rose, imperceptibly almost, as our bodies melded even closer together. Panting hot lips kissed, sucked and pointed wet tongues touched, duelled in a parody of what our conjoined bodies did down below our waists. Time slowed, stood still, no sense of its passing and still our passions rose. All our senses were locked into two focal points, lips and below the waist as we lay there in that womb like cocoon of hot, silkily soapy, bath water. It was so intense as to be even above the ecstasy of orgasm and it felt to us as if we were frozen at the very peak of orgiastic feelings, locked almost in a climax of timeless proportions. And, then, it happened. My trapped body, deeply buried within the softly milking walls of mother's body, shuddered, swelled and, as a blinding ecstasy overwhelmed me, I gave up my gift of incestuous seed in what seemed to be just one, almighty, yet incredibly powerful, spurt of lightning like blinding force that momentarily deprived me of my senses. Dimly, through the roaring, thunder of my orgasm I heard mother scream in a high, keening wail of fulfilment and felt her body clamp itself around my hardness in an almost crushing spasm that, incredibly, drew my own orgasm to even greater heights of feeling and love. Time did stop and we lay in each other s arms, only becoming aware that our lust was spent when the cooling water roused us from our reverie of sensual love. Exhausted, limp, spent, we crawled out of that bath and dried each other off, then slid back into the satin slick, slippery, sensuous cocoon of the maternal bed to sleep once more till the sun rose high in that June sky. Chapter 3 Many people would condemn the emotions depicted in this "epistle of love", some the transsexual and transvestite element and others, the deep incestuous content, but human sexuality is so varied as to beggar belief. It happened that my desires were mirrored in my mother. As a child I was deeply loved by my parents and the early loss of my father brought mother and son very close together. I was brought up, during my adolescence, in a totally feminine environment, one even more sensuously and sexually charged than most due to mother's own enormous drive. She once said that if she had been born a man then she would probably have been in constant trouble all her life. Her sister, Cecile, was of similar bent and the two had found each other during a very difficult childhood that they never expanded upon, but must have been quite painful to them at the time. My aunt lived out in the country in a little cottage on the Kent Downs, just outside London. She too was now single, having divorced her husband many years before and lived a life totally devoted to hedonistic pursuits. My cousin, Paula, was her only child, a slim and ethereal whisp of a girl two years my senior. We were very close and had many similarities in our outlook, one of which was our love for acting and theatre. It was Paula who had first found out about my predilections to dressing up in feminine clothes and also was the first one to witness the sexual arousal that happened when I was dressed en-femme. Although our games had never led to full intercourse, we had brought each other to many screaming orgasms while playing our roles in various plays. Paula always took the male lead in these and I was the leading lady. It was fun. We mostly did this during the school holidays and as auntie was away in London most of the week, we had many good days of fun. In fact my first orgasm, and every one remembers their first, was at Paula's instigation and I was only just twelve. We had been playing around and pretending I was Cinderella and she Prince Charming, well, kids will be kids, and it was fine while I was dressed in rags but things happened. Paula had found a gown for me to wear to the ball. It was, in fact, her Confirmation Gown and, in white, heavy, lustrous and rich, duchesse satin it fitted me perfectly. My puberty had started and my Gynaecomastia was showing itself in a little pair of perfect A cup sized, already sensitive, titties. I was also aware that my nether regions were becoming quite restless and, at night, I sometimes awoke with an erection that seemed frighteningly pleasant. I did not yet know how to assuage the torrent of feelings that accompanied that episodic manifestation. It happened as we danced together at the ball. Paula had dressed me up in a very sexy way. I was wearing a very scrunchy pair of white, silk-satin french knickers and a lovely suspender belt and sheer, seamed, fully fashioned nylon stockings, along with a lovely pair of three inch, stiletto heeled, white satin, court shoes. I wore no other lingerie and I was very aware that the slinky feel of the scrunchy satin knickers on my hypersensitive flesh was driving me to distraction. My erect body was still relatively puny in those days, barely four inches when erect, but it was still enough to tent out the slim, sheath type skirt of Paula's gown to a marked degree. As I slid into her welcoming arms, my hardness slid unerringly between the trousered thighs of my delicious cousin who was dressed in my best clothes, a jacket and trousers similar to a tuxedo, as the Americans would say, dinner jacket and trousers as we English would insist on calling. She looked wonderfully androgynous, beautiful, and yet slightly masculine with her fashionable, urchin cut. Paula had spent some time on me, making me up with blushers, creams, lotions and potions, along with scarlet nail varnish and lipstick, so that I looked very feminine and, as she put it, desirable. My cousin was two years older than I in time, but, I realised, far more mature in sexuality and outlook. It was only later that I learned that the three women in my life had engineered all that had passed, but that is the continuation of the story. The gown was wonderfully sensuous, close fitting, smooth, richly slinky and definitely sexy as it held my trembling body in a begloved prison of sheer desire. I was totally enslaved, for the first time in my short life, in a sexual dream of succulent desire. My whole body was totally enamoured of the sensual and whispering caress of the garments that covered it. My nipples, hard and excited, visibly punched out the glossy fabric of the tight bodice, swelling even more under the insistent caress of the opulent fabric. Nyloned limbs whispered, sussurated against the silk taffeta lining of the gown and my arms, begloved in a pair of gorgeous, white satin, opera gloves, wound around the neck of my lovely partner as our bodies swayed to the rhythm of the 'Blue Danube" that was playing on the radiogram. I was totally under her spell. She was my Prince Charming and I was completely lost, totally mesmerised by the passion that invaded my young and excited body. Paula had made one change to the normal dress of a man. Instead of a boiled, starched shirt she was wearing a gorgeous satin shirt blouse, mannish but feminine, along with the usual bow tie. My satin bodiced breasts slid smoothly, satin on satin, over her own small, yet exquisite, breasts. In my heels I was the same height as she was and our nipples bumped each other s, causing flashes of fire to race through both our bodies. It was so exciting to me, this discovery of the utterly beautiful, totally all-encompassing slavery that such fabrics as satin, silk and velvet, in the guise of feminine clothes, imposed on my trembling body, willingly imposed as it happened. I made at that precise moment a promise to myself that I would never, if it were at all possible, wear anything next to my skin but lingerie made in satin and silk. Apart from the odd time when, through reasons beyond my control, I was in a position of compromise, I have kept to that promise to this day. So it was that the music stopped as the record ended, though we did not. Slowly we came to a stop in movement, but not a stop in embrace. Paula seemed to pull me in even closer and we were clasped together in a wildly sensuous embrace as our bodies swayed gently together to a melody that only we two could hear. My eyes, which had been closed during the waltz as she whirled me around the drawing room, opened and gazed into her dewy, sparkling eyes. Her hands, which had been resting in the small of my back, slowly, ever so slowly slid up my back, at the same time pulling my unresisting body even closer to her willowy body. Breast to breast, belly to belly, thigh to trembling thigh we stood, my hardness almost crushed against her belly, shafts of lightning like excitement shooting through my body. Words really cannot describe the feelings of sheer desire, new and awakening desire that ripped through my trembling, feminised body at that moment in time. I seemed to be on fire as I gazed at her beautiful features. Even without make-up Paula was incredibly beautiful and, dressed as a man, she still looked like a desirable woman, albeit with more than a touch of androgyny. Our faces came closer together as we drowned in each other s eyes. My lips, soft, carmined, trembling met, touched, and caressed hers in a first kiss of such incredible feeling as to make me swoon in her arms so that I almost fainted. I was so weak I was I was like a jelly in her arms and She seemed to glide me over to the satin covered chaise-longue to lay me down on its sumptuous upholstery. Still kissing, now deeply and passionately, lips parted, she knelt down beside me and her hands slid over the front of my bodice to delicately trace the contours of my breasts. As her knowing, patiently slow caresses drew me into paroxysms of delight my body writhed upon that sensuous surface, slip-sliding in a slow build up to what I knew not, only that it promised to be incredibly and piercingly beautiful. I was panting into her hot lips as she drew my passions up to a height I could never imagine and I only felt more excitement with one other person, but that would come in the future. First passions are always remembered, first kiss, first caress, first seduction, first orgasm, this was a first for me and I would, and never have, forgotten that first episode of passion. Sitting now, in front of the screen brings it all back. Paula and I are entering the twilight of our lives. I am dressed in a sensible skirt and blouse, my hair rolled up in a chignon, delicately made up and subtly perfumed, yet underneath I am wearing the most ravishing ensemble of silk satin slip, garter belt, nylon stockings and french knickers, all in sexy and sinful black. Paula is sitting on our chaise-longue, still ever the temptress, the seductress of my innocence, still slim, still elegant and sensuous, the years and her genes have been more than kind to her, dressed in a wonderful ensemble of turquoise night-gown and negligee, her hair still long and lustrous, just faintly silvered with grey. My lady looks up from the magazine she is reading and smiles at me, that wonderful, special smile that only lovers have for each other. I smile back as my love for her overwhelms me. We are alone now in auntie s cottage, she passed away shortly before my own mother, and we have become two ageing ladies, living together in comfort and safety. Thank God that modern urbanisation has not caught up with us here in this quiet corner of England. Wise landowners and sensible planning mean that we still live the idyllic life we always have. It is a Saturday in spring, mid February and just after five, the sun is almost down and a warm day, the first of the year. The snowdrops have almost finished, the daffodils are opening their blooms, the first tulip leaves are chasing hotly on. A multitude of tits and finches are lining up to take up their positions on the bird table. In the distance we hear the call of the horn, the hunt is in our area, we both stand up, move to the door and step out into the first real sunshine we have seen in many a week. Suddenly, below us, a slim shape trots out from the hedge, look back, then trots towards us, almost without seeming to hurry. Behind him we hear the call of the hounds as they latch onto his scent. Charlie, the fox, is being hunted and there he is below us. Paula slips her hand into mine and presses closer to me. Will he or won't he, we both think, get away, be given best. I look at her and smile, nodding. This is a healthy and prime specimen, he will make it to the deep drain at the bottom of our garden. Once there he will be safe. But no. A gaggle of camouflaged figures burst through the hedge at the bottom of our garden, trampling over the newly dug vegetable patch, screaming and shouting as they rampage over the freshly turned soil. They are anti-hunt saboteurs, dark and threatening in their camouflaged uniforms and balaclava hats, foul mouthed and execrably mannered. Appalled, Paula and I stand on the porch, trembling with anger, incandescent with rage. We both know what will happen next, and it does. Charlie sees this thundering mass of unwashed humans and turns away, just as the pack of hounds burst out of the hedge in full cry. It is over in seconds and Charlie is dead, neck broken with the single flick of a hound's head. The screaming rage of the saboteurs is surpassed by our deep sadness and rage at what has happened. Charlie had a chance, since extinguished. Soon it is all over, the police have moved the saboteurs on, the hunt is finishing and the whole pack of hounds flops onto our lawn after having gorged themselves with water from our low horse trough. Paula slips away to change while I bring out the whisky bottles. Jeremy, the huntsman, and the rest of the field join us, just half a dozen riders, as the hounds fall asleep, one on top of the other in an untidy pile. I smile at him in sympathy; the untimely end too saddens him. He had already given Charlie best. Paula joins us and I see Jeremy make a small moue of disappointment. He had spotted us together, she in her deshabille, and had hoped to see more, but now she is dressed in an elegant silk shirtwaister dress and her lovely body is unadorned with the exquisite lingerie he had seen her in just a few minutes before. She laughs at him, wags a finger and he smiles. Jeremy has had the hots for her ever since he had met us when he first came to the hunt. I had several times tried to talk Paula into sampling his charms but, although I knew she found him attractive, as I did, she had never indulged his young and vibrant body. At last, the hound truck came, along with several horseboxes and they left us to the peace of a cool, yet extremely pleasant evening. Arm in arm, Paula and I went back inside to pick up where we had left off, but the mood was broken, there was sadness tinged with sorrow and the thread had parted. We went to bed early and Paula held me in her gentle arms, my head resting on her still pert and firm breasts. My mind drifted back to that first bout of sensual pleasure we had indulged in those fifty years before. I was writhing once more on that gorgeous chaise as Paula knelt beside me and carried on with her deep and sucking kisses. Her knowing hands nipped at my tiny, yet incredibly hard nipples, making me so blazingly excited as to defy belief. She seamed then to flow onto my body till she was lying on top of my unresisting body, her hips writhing, bumping against that sensitive, by now steel hard, erection. That slow, languid bumping, setting up that exciting friction that only silk and satin can evince. She still held the kiss, deep, sucking, tonguing wet kiss that was drawing my passions ever higher. I knew that soon something would have to give as I felt the dam of my emotions start to break. Paula too seemed to be feeling the same as I, though I knew that she did not have what I had between my limbs, but she was panting hotly into my mouth with the same deep fervour as I and little mewling sounds escaped from her each time she bumped down onto the hardness that was now so incredibly hard and sensitive as I ever could have believed. Then, it was time. A blinding flash of pure ecstasy ripped through my body and I screamed in shock as the most delicious sensations I had ever felt ripped through my trembling, satin sheathed, feminised body. I screamed into my hot cousins mouth as the immense pleasure of that first orgasm ripped through me. My hands slid up to cup her little titties, feeling skin through the soft silk of her blouse. She was not wearing a brassiere and her tender, throbbing nipples grazed my pals. She gasped at my touch, redoubling her frenetic movements till she too, stiffened screamed out her own orgasmic delight into my own mouth, joining me in a mutual ecstasy. It was done. The flashes slowly faded, the juddering of my abused erection slowly came a minor trembling and I lay supine, panting softly into Paula's still kissing mouth. It was then that I learned a new lesson, the infinite power of a woman to have multiple orgasms as, every few minutes; she was wracked with a fresh orgasmic tremor. At last she too was spent and lay down on my exhausted body. We slept for a few minutes, utterly exhausted, then, wearily, disentangled our bodies and slid upstairs to her mother's room where we slid into her gorgeous, satin canopied and sheeted, bed to fall asleep once more, this time for most of the night. I awoke in the early hours, it was still dark outside, and I was back in the present day. Much has happened since those days, births, marriages and deaths, along with many adventures, some sad and some joyous and full of laughter. My life has moved from despair to joy and back again. The life of a transvestite, especially one who is slightly ambivalent about their sexual orientation, has many of those moments. Though my primary desire was for women, generic ones, I was always turned on by other 'ladies' like myself and also slim, not masculine, rather androgynous, males. In the past that had been difficult, especially in the fifties where the attitude of the population was narrow minded in the extreme. We were, very fortunately, insulated from all that as our family was very well off and so an effective insulation from the more extreme members of society was guaranteed. My education was in a private, day, school and at fifteen I left, having achieved everything I needed for life. Mother and aunt were directors of a well-known corsetry firm and also, on the death of my maternal grandfather in the war, the co-owners. This firm had an extremely profitable bespoke corsetry business that, in the fifties, flourished by offering a measuring and fitting service in the home. This certainly assured my access to wonderful garments that certainly were the 'foundation' of my own fetish. The gorgeous and elegant fifties were, in my mind, the most elegant. This was the period of the great designers who flourished in the decade after the war, and they let themselves go. Amongst our set Balenciaga, Worth, Chanel, Dior, Lacroix in France, and Hartnell in England all vied for the top position in studied elegance and luxury. Satins, silks and velvet were the only fabrics acceptable and furs were de-rigeur. But sexuality in all forms was deeply frowned upon. The wonderful acceptance of to-day was inconceivable then so all our experiments in finding our true selves was, of necessity, deeply hidden and it was usually family that first got an inkling of a persons true orientation. The fact that I can write as such was a sign of my family's open mindedness and sense of acceptance. Although many people have argued the subject to death, all I can say was that I believe I was born as I am and that if I had been born to-day, from the same genetic mix, then I would have turned out exactly the same in orientation and persuasion. Only one thing may have been different. In the freer atmosphere of the late 90's the incestuous atmosphere of my life would probably have been muted, though I do not believe it would have been extinguished. My family was very strongly sexual from the very first and there was always a strong sense of sexuality in our family from whenever I can remember. Mother and I were always gravitating together, even when father was alive, but he never seemed to mind at all and sometimes we all cuddled together in front of the open fire in the little snug room we had. My grandfather on my mother's side was a hateful man and from an early age I had to suffer his boorish and awful manner. My grandmother was, by contrast a wonderful woman, extremely beautiful and very kind and compassionate. I loved her deeply and she had been a wonderful playmate for me. It was a tragic sadness when she was killed in one of the last V2 attacks of the war, along with my grandfather who was not missed. She had had the money and had left it all to me. My life changed after that first, non-penetrating seduction by Paula. Though I had many sensuous trysts after that wonderful episode, we never made full love till after mother had taken my virginity. I learned later that once they had found out my little secret, the three of them had connived totally, planning out the rest of my journey into what I am to day. Chapter 4 1952 was a wonderful year for me. First there was my initial seduction by mother, then there was the broadening of my whole outlook on who I was and what I desired in life. The new Queen was on the throne, if not yet crowned, and she was beautiful beyond belief. Her golden jubilee is my anniversary. Fifty years of adventure, love, lust, desire, heartbreak and all emotions in-between. A discovery of life that I had not envisaged, yet took to like a duck to water. Mother moved in a wonderful circle of eclectic friends. Some of her friends had grown up in pre-war Paris where the heady goings on, Sackvilles and others, had led a life unknown of till the heady days of the nineties. I was born there in 1937; mother was then a young girl of sixteen and had run away to Paris, along with her older sister Cecile when she was just eighteen. Already well into her bohemian lifestyle, as she called it, she had become enamoured of a young female impersonator and married him. His predilection had stirred her undoubted bisexual desires. My father had not given me any idea as to his own delightful fetishes but had certainly passed those genes onto me, as mother had passed her beauty to me. That second day of my true life I remember so well. After our bath mother had dried me off and then led me into the spare room. There, on the bed, was a vast array of bags and packages and, sitting on the bed, I started to pull them all out. On the other side of the bed mother sat and smiled benignly. "Happy birthday, Cherie," She said as I excitedly unwrapped all the multitude of presents. It was a transvestite's dream come true. Within a few minutes the bed was strewn with masses of lingerie of all types and I was eagerly fondling and caressing the opulent and sensuous materials. I, like my mother, was still naked and it was soon that I started to put on the one thing that had truly caught my eye, a wondrous satin confection of such erotic beauty as to send me into a wild need to put on such as I had never felt before. It was a guipure, what we call today, a basque. With trembling hands I put on that fancy piece of sensuous frippery, shivering as the cool satin and lace encased my body in a satin prison that defied all belief. I fitted my tender titties into the cups of the strapless garment and mother pulled tight the lace closure at the back. As the wondrous garment tightened over my sensitive body I shivered again and my dormant body rose, becoming hard, proudly vertical, to rest against my satin-sheathed belly. Mother then bade me sit down on the bed and, kneeling down, she unrolled a gossamer whisp of nylon stocking and, as I extended my legs, she slid them, one after the other, smoothly up my limbs. They were wonderful, the best that money could buy. Silky smooth, fully fashioned, seamed, sheer, scrumptiously elegant, they encased my legs with a clinging, smooth touch of effortless sensuality that made me truly a slave to this feminine garment. The basque had six suspenders attached to it, three each side and these mother attached to the welts of the stockings. Mother leaned forward and gently, softly, hotly, she kissed my hardness and the feel of her full, hot, soft lips almost destroyed me, the molten heat of her kiss transmitting its urgent desires through to the very core of my being. Yes, I was obsessed with sex, but then I always have been. The hedonistic pursuit of pleasure was, without a shadow of a doubt, the most intense need of my whole life and I was, and am, totally addicted to its enslaving power. My hands slid down to touch and caress her long, auburn and silkily perfumed hair, my fingers running through her long, shiny tresses, at the same time holding her beautiful face against my throbbing erection. It was larger now than it had ever been before, certainly thicker, longer and more potent than at the time of my first experience three years before. Though I was never huge in the erection stakes, managing really only a good six inches, nevertheless, on my slim, five foot two body, it seemed fairly awesome. At least none of my lovers, past or present have ever decried its size or hardness. In fact Alison, a one- time lover of mine, once said that the one thing she loved about me was its incredible hardness, like stone, she said. But I digress; the present time of the story is 1952, not 2002. Mother knew what I wanted and, as it was my birthday, she gave me my next present. As my hands continued to caress her tresses she opened her mouth and, grasping my body in her dainty hands she pulled it towards her parted lips. It was a sensation such as I had never experienced before. I had heard of fellatio, but had never expected my cool, yet hot, chaste yet sexy, aristocratic yet earthy, mother do what she did next. She took me, full in the mouth and the sensations were quite awesome in their intensity and feeling. I had felt the incredible heat and milking power of her lower body, but this was so different as to be a new, totally new, sensation. She sucked as she moved her lips over the delicate, steel hard flesh and her tongue lashed the head of my penis in soft flicks, the rough surface setting up an incredible and piercing feeling to flash through my entire body and send my emotions into a peak of total delight. I looked down at her as she knelt, slave like before my trembling body and, moving her hair away from her face I saw her bobbing her head in a rhythmic way and my hardiness appearing and disappearing into her avidly sucking mouth. Time stood still and all my senses were dimmed apart from feeling. I could hear no more apart from a roaring in my ears and what could only be someone screaming in the background. My vision seemed to be tunnel like, focussing only on a pair of carmine lips encasing an almost disembodied male erection and the only feeling was of a complete focussing of intense pleasure onto my male body. It was as if she was drawing out my soul into herself. I glanced across at the mirror that was at my side, on the wall and gasped as I saw the erotic tableau of two figures, one standing in black satin basque and nylon stockings and the other, naked, with long, silky auburn hair held up by a pair of caressing hands and her beautiful features, en-profile with the join of body to body via her full, carmined and luscious lips. My whole body was on fire with the incredibly intense feelings and I could see my mouth, parted lips and all, panting in time to the, dimly heard, screams. I realised that the screams were mine and that I was being overwhelmed by the assault of matriarchal mouth, lips and tongue on filial body. It was too much and my body surrendered to the incestuous assault. I spurted my seed into my mother's avidly sucking mouth and felt her swallowing it down, the movements of her throat intensifying my intense orgasm beyond belief. Once, twice, again and again, in what seemed to be an unending series of spasms I came and the senses, overloaded, shut down. I dimly remember falling back onto the bed behind me to lie in the middle of the pile of lingerie that was now mine. I came to a few seconds later as mother joined me on that bed and wrapped me up in her arms so that my head lay on her soft, gorgeous breasts. I was far better a few minutes later and we resumed my dressing. Satiated for the time being I carried on from where we had left off. Mother, kneeling down at my feet once more, an impish grin on her face as she delicately fondled my limp body, then held out a pair of scrumptious french knickers for me to step into. I had never worn a pair as gorgeous as these. Made of the finest silk-satin that money could buy, french made of course, they hissed up my nyloned limbs as I stepped into them. I digress for a moment to state that one of the most sensuous sounds on this earth is the shirring, whispering hiss of taffeta, satin, nylon and silk brushing one against the other in a symphony of rustling whispers. I once walked down a long and fine staircase at a country house, on the arm of one of my, very few, male lovers, he having just satiated me in our bedroom, we were staying as guests, and I was wearing a fantastic strapless gown in blue duchesse satin, underneath which was an underskirt of silk taffeta and by the time we reached the bottom both he and I were hard and excited again. Fortunately it was his wife who took me back upstairs again, my poor bottom could not have stood another mad pounding as abused as it was. That weekend was a story in itself. It is surprising what goes on in society that no one outside of the participants gets to hear about. Suffice it to say that proud as fathers are of their sons, it is only the mothers who know who the real fathers are. After my initial incestuous start to life I certainly established a small, but extremely interesting and faithful coterie of friends. But, back to those initial days of my coming out of the closet, as we say to day. The touch of that scrunchy fabric on my limp body gave me enormous pleasure, enough that, to both our surprise, my body thickened and became half hard. "I don't believe it