Mum Caught Me
- 4 years ago
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Mum Knows free porn video
Mum knows.
By Tanya H.
I was only cleaning rooms in between school and joining the RAF - I was
due to start in November, eventually to be an air traffic control
assistant. If I had the right aptitude, and if I got promoted, I was
hoping to end up as a full air traffic controller. I couldn't wait to
start my training and was wishing the next three months away.
You wouldn't have really noticed me in a crowd. I had average coloured
brown hair, worn short, I was average sort of height and normal sort of
build. I didn't wear standoutish clothes or do things to attract much
attention. I liked hockey, books and aeroplanes. My girlfriend had
already left home to work in a creche in a nice resort on the Spanish
Mediterranean cost. I was hoping to get out there for a week over summer,
if I could save enough money for the flight and if we were still
together. I used to make jokes about the all the tanned, muscular Spanish
waiters she'll flirt with and Debbie laughed about the plush, middle-
class women who'll be touching my arse at the hotel.
That day should have started with a fairly steady morning; only three
rooms on my wing had been occupied the night before, so I'd offered to
help Mel on the first floor. Mel was very heavily pregnant, only a month
of so to go, and she probably shouldn't have been in at all, but she was
determined to keep going as long as possible to make the most of her
maternity leave. She was a cheery, red-faced, pudding of a woman and if
you hadn't know for sure you might have wondered if it were a cake baby
she was carrying.
When I'd done my rooms she was only halfway along her corridor, there
were five left. I told her to put her feet up, out of the way in one
she'd already done and leave me with the rest. We both knew I could get
away with stuff - Hazel, the boss, liked me.
While she settled herself I set to with the first room - number 13. That
wing of the hotel was my favourite, the oldest, and though I'd never
cleaned 13 before I liked it for the view it gave across the grounds at
the front of the house. Aside from a few rooftops and chimneys beyond the
copse and river there was no other sign of civilisation. You'd never have
believed we were only a forty minute train ride from the centre of
London.
Room 13 had a single female guest, a rep for a big brewery chain doing
her rounds of the pubs and hotels. I'd seen her when she was checking in
yesterday afternoon - a petite brunette in her middle age, and a very
stylish lady in skirt suit and elegant heels, hair just so and make up
precise even at that time of the afternoon.
There was still a taste of her perfume in the room, and a lingering sense
of her having been in the shower not so long before. Beyond that the
bedroom was very neat; her make up and toiletries were precisely set out
on the desk, her bed was made and towels hung to dry.
Wheeling my cleaning trolly inside I had a quick, furtive look up and
down the corridor before closing the door with a gentle click. As the
guest had not long since driven off in her BMW and Mel was having a cup
of tea a couple of rooms along I was fairly confident I would not be
disturbed.
Though the bed was made it was not up to the hotel standard, the way a
bed should be laid out according to the Cleaning Supervisor who had shown
me the job a month ago. Or that was the rationale I gave myself to have a
peep under her pillows. There was a long dark hair curled across the
uppermost pillow; I brushed my fingers along it and imagined for a moment
that I had such tresses that I could leave traces of my passing like
that, but my hair was cropped and ready for the military.
My explorations were rewarded with a touch of something cool and
frictionless under my fingers. I pulled out a very beautiful, satin
nightdress in midnight blue. Had I seen that lovely rep wearing it I'm
sure her nipples would have been teasingly visible through the lace
bodice, while her thighs and hips and tummy would have felt divine had I
caressed her through them. I held it up to my chest; the hem fell just
to my knee and I circled my hips slightly imagining how the satin would
feel swirling around my thighs, if they were as smooth and I imagined
hers to be.
Maybe she had masturbated last night while she were wearing the
nightdress. Closing my eyes I pictured her on the bed I was standing
over. The covers were thrown back to vent her heat, her legs were spread
wildly and this gorgeous negligee was pulled up to bare her glistening,
swollen pussy. Her fingers were buried inside, moving within her while
the other hand teased her breast through the lace held to my chest.
My own cock stirred and tingled inside my uniform trousers. Female
cleaners had the option of a dress or trousers, but there was no such
option for me. My cock enjoyed the fantasy I was bringing to my mind's
eye, but it was a poor substitute for what I really wanted.
Reluctantly I folded the nightie, replaced it and made the bed, to
standard, around it. As much as I'd love to have thrown my uniform aside
to let my skin feel the cool wash of that satin over it, being caught in
such a state would have been professional suicide.
I tidied her bathroom, picking up all her cleansers and gels for the
simple pleasure of touching them, and imagining they were mine, that I
would use such things to remove my make up after a long day. How would it
feel to run that brush through my own long hair? To plait it, or pin it
into an elegant bun or French Roll with the spare pins and clips she had
under the mirror.
Hopefully the rigours and communal living enforced during my upcoming
military training would focus my mind on reality and not these feminine
fantasies. I could concentrate on overcoming the challenges those
instructors were going to throw at me every day, fill my life with new
rules and routines that wouldn't involve picking up a lipstick belonging
to a woman I had never spoken to and smoothly twisting the base to extend
it while imagining about deftly applying its wine-red gloss to my own
lips.
I almost put some on too, but satisfied myself with smearing a little
across the back of my hand - as though I were testing the colour in the
cosmetics department of some department store. And as I was stood there
wondering whether or not the colour would suit my complexion a gorgeous
sales woman would offer me a seat while she showed me how to do something
new with eye shadow or mascara, or a new wonder formulation for almost
invisible foundation.
I had worn lipstick before - my mum's, when she and dad and my sister
were out. I chose a darkish pink, rose shade that I though particularly
suited her and as we shared the same colouring it would suit me. Courage
had failed me since that little experiment, the thought of being seen by
anybody, especially family, wearing make up was excruciating. I dreamed
of having lipstick as part of my daily routine though and often thought
about some of Mum's advice to Rachel, my sister, about always wearing
lipstick out of the house to boost self-confidence. If only I was a
daughter to be given such advice by my Mum.
But I wasn't, I was her son; though I sometimes crept into her room to
try on some panties, maybe a bra and certainly some tights or hold-ups,
or one of her many skirts - for we didn't often see her in trousers.
Dressing my legs in sheer hosiery, or even sensual opaques, was always my
favourite.
This rep had a couple of pairs of sheer, nude tights in one of the
drawers, alongside some very pretty panties in lilac and cream. I could
almost see her carefully drawing up and over her smooth legs, brushing
them together afterwards with a feminine whisper.
Very carefully I let the gossamer tights fall from my fingers, replaced
them where they belonged, the way she had left them and told myself to
get on with the room, with emptying her bin and replenishing the
beverages and biscuits when I saw a figure at the edge of my vision.
My mouth dried, my heart thrashed for a moment as I went cold with the
thought of somebody having tiptoed in and seen me with a guest's tights
draped across my fingers. But it was only my reflection in the tall
mirror standing just beside the heavy wardrobe, whose contents I hadn't
even looked at yet. About to turn away from the reflection that had so
spooked me I stopped, looked sideways at it and found myself frowning.
That reflection was clearly me, from my position and my left hand still
caught in the guilty act of closing the guest's underwear drawer, from my
tidy hair and curious expression. But the reflection was seriously wrong,
for in it I was wearing one of the lilac dresses issued to female staff
who preferred them to trousers. How could a mirror show an image of me
wearing a cleaner's dress?
Closing with the mirror my heart started thumping again. If this were
happening it meant I was the victim of some complicated hoax, or trap,
which meant that somebody with access to this kind of technology knew
that I sometimes had unprofessionally close examination of some female
guest's things.
My God! What if this were being streamed live on the internet right now!
That reflection grew as I closed the mirror down, the dress moved around
it the way one of those dresses would for a hurrying woman. Four steps
and I was beside the mirror, looking for wires, transmitters, cameras -
anything!
To my untrained eye it looked just like an ordinary mirror.
I took a deep breath, tried to decide what to do. Surely the RAF wouldn't
take me if I were an internet sensation - nobody would. My chest went
tight, it became harder to breathe. Was I having a heart attack?
The buttons down the front of my uniform polo shirt were straining, like
I'd grown to big for it, which was odd because when I looked down there
seemed to be a lot of slack over my chest. But my polo shirt shouldn't
have had buttons right down the front...
I forgot to breathe - I was in a dress.
How could I be in a dress? I could see it flaring away from my abdomen,
where the buttons were straining the most, and the hem was just below my
knee. There were my feet, uncomfortably squeezed into flat, black lace up
shoes and when I lifted one a little I could see the dark hairs covering
my shin pressed flat under a layer of sheer, matt, natural shaded nylon.
Tights!
It was like I'd been drugged, dressed like a cleaner and then woken,
standing up by the mirror.
But the reflection wasn't of some transvestite with a thing for uniforms
any more. When I looked again, with widening eyes, I could see the dress
perfectly fitted the curved figure of the young, dark haired woman
wearing it. She was looking back at me with comical surprise to match my
own.
The dress showed off her full bosom, narrow waist and round hips; beneath
it's hem her legs were smooth and hairless. Were it not for tidy plaits
around her face, one draped over each shoulder, she was me - the same
eyes, chin and nose; even the hook shaped scar over one cheek that came
from a hockey game three years ago.
I looked down, but the real me was still a man in a dress.
"This is way too weird for this time of the morning," I started to say,
and saw my mirrored, female twin's lips move with mine, but I faltered to
a stop after the first couple of words. My voice felt tight in my neck,
the sounds squeaked and high pitched - as though my voice were breaking
again; or unbreaking!
As if that weren't enough I clapped a hand to the back of my head,
feeling as though there were fingers boldly massaging my scalp there. It
felt like sleek,slippery snakes were growing from me, a most unpleasant
sensation, they were twining together and getting longer, pushing eagerly
past my numb fingers. I almost expected to hear them hissing, or trying
to bite me.
My sister in the mirror put her head to one side and watched me. A snake
touched my left shoulder and I squeaked again, squinted down to see some
dark tendril creep into my vision.
It wasn't a snake - it was hair. A few moments later and I had one coming
forward over my right shoulder too. Not only was my hair growing at a
miraculous speed, it was growing into plaits - just like the mirror
girl's.
I swallowed nervously, tweaked one plait and then the other to feel the
corresponding pressure on my scalp. A premonition of how this was going
to end was looking at me from that mirror. It already felt like the
dress's pressure around my middle was decreasing. My chest felt like it
was bubbling, like it was full of fizzy drink, but when I held my hands
there everything felt still and normal. Apart from a curved metal strip,
one on each side of my chest. There was a strap there too, going around
my chest. A bra! I was wearing a bra.
My legs were trembling, maybe I should have been scared, but as I felt
the energy building inside me, as though every breath I took was adding
to the miracle surging inside me, I knew I wanted it to happen. My eyes
were fixed and unblinking on that empty material at my chest, waiting to
see it filled. I trembled with the enormous potential of what must be
building within me - I was going to be like her, the woman in the mirror.
A wide, delighted smile spread over my face to displace the frowning
surprise I'd been wearing. The breasts I'd often dreamed of were an
awesome potential hot within and I wanted them out, I needed to see them.
There - a wave of pleasure washed through me, but not sexual - like
stroking a cat, of feeling the sun on your face or the perfect lyrics
from a perfect song. My bra filled with warmth, I flowed into it, eyes
closed with bliss before I made myself look down, to savour the moment.
The feel, the weight, the way they rounded the previously empty dress
made me laugh out loud with the sheer beauty of what I was seeing,
experiencing, becoming.
I was being made women, before my eyes, under my skin! The sensation of
my pelvis expanding was exquisite - like walking into a warm room from a
cold night. Perhaps I should have reached around, to touch my bum as it
grew to a more womanly shape, but I was entranced by how my breasts felt
in my hands, by how my hands felt around my glorious chest.
There were no hairs showing through my hosiery now, what I could see of
my legs was smooth and flowing down to perfect ankles above my flat
shoes. What would I look like in heels?
With a little smile to myself I let my breasts look after themselves and
teased up my dress's hem; baring my knees and then my thighs, they were a
lovely surprise, right at the top I saw where the nylon thickened for the
body of my tights and there was a pair of cream, cotton panties with a
lace trim and a pattern of pink flowers scattered across them. Best of
all was the way those panties, my panties, cupped the curves of a woman's
sex - there was no sign of the cock and balls I had walked into the
bedroom with. Though my thighs were primly pressed together, I was sure
that if I had sat on the edge of the bed and spread them, if I pulled
down those plain tights and ordinary panties I'd be all woman there too.
Temptation was too much, I was sitting with my thumbs already in the
waistband of those tights when I heard movement in the corridor outside.
Reality came back with a thump and I snatched my hands away, let the
dress fall.
Then laughed again. I was a woman - a woman!
Jumping to my feet I danced a few steps in my flat shoes, just to feel
the dress move around my legs and my amazing breasts shift in their bra.
The girl in the mirror danced with me - we were perfectly synchronised
now, though I tried not to look that way any more in case I should see
the male me looking back and breaking the spell. It was only an ordinary
cleaner's dress, coarse and unfitted, but it felt like a satin ballgown
moving around me as I danced.
I found myself at the dressing table again, looking deep into that
smaller mirror and I giggled at the lovely girl smiling back at me. It
didn't matter that it was impossible, that I couldn't be the woman I
clearly was because such things couldn't happen, because they had. I had
changed my sex; well, my gender had been changed for me; some Fairy
Godmother looking down on my life had given me the greatest gift I could
imagine.
Pouting a little I picked up that lipstick a second time, twisted the
base to expose its lovely rich, dark red colour. Without even the
slightest hesitation I neatly drew across my lips, rubbed them together
and sighed contentedly with the new sensuality. I could wear lipstick
every day now. Who would dare to try and stop me!
There was a knock on the door and I nearly dropped the lipstick.
"Joe? Joe, what are you doing in there? we've more rooms to finish. Come
on, love!"
It was a Mel.
"Shit!" I said, softly, as though I didn't want to my new, pretty voice
to use such language.
"Joe!"
"Just a minute!" I tried to make my voice deeper, but any minute now I
was going to have to go out there and face the world in a dress, and with
boobs. I took a deep breath. It was going to be okay. reach out, open the
door, smile, shrug. "Guess what, Mel..."
"Jesus, chick," said Mel, leaning on the doorframe and cradling her
lovely, swollen belly. "Did you find a winning lottery ticket with your
name on it in there or something?"
"What?"
"You look like the cat that got all the cream, and the mouse. What have
you been doing? Never mind, is it done? Come on, let's get these finished
off then you can make me a cup of tea and tell me why you look so bloody
happy."
Which wasn't how I expected the conversation to go.
I wanted Mel to be amazed as well, for her jaw to drop as she looked at
me in my dress with my curves and plaits and tights - not dull, passive
acceptance, as though being a woman was as ordinary as...
As ordinary as being a woman.
Nobody noticed, nobody cared about the wonder that had changed me. Not
Mel or Janey, who did the reception and conference room, not Helena the
fitness instructor or Gregor the chef. And when any of them asked me what
I was looking so damned happy about I couldn't tell them why. I just had
to smile, and go along with their gentle teasing when we stopped from a
cup of tea after all the rooms were done. We sat in our rest room and I
crossed my legs and made sure my hem was pulled down over my thighs and
let their nonsense wash over me, because I was a woman now.
Then later, walking along a tiled service corridor, one of the places
where the guests didn't stray, heading towards the loo there was the boss
walking towards me. As soon as she saw me, still at the far end of the
passageway, I knew that she knew. Don't ask me how I knew, but I was
certain of it and halted there with my hand on the door to the ladies
room I was now allowed to use.
She kept walking and her heels echoed around the stone floor and brick
walls, but her head was on one side and the lights caught in the silver
and brown of her hair where she had tied back into a round bun.
"Joe?" she said, like she wasn't really sure.
"Hello, Mum."
"Oh my god, Joe? Room thirteen?"
"Mum? What are you talking about?"
Then a big, beautiful smile spread over her face show she looked like a
girl again and not the woman of just over fifty who ran her own hotel.
She practically skipped the last few paces to take me in a deep hug,
squeezing me tight and whispering about how lovely and how happy I
looked.
"What are you talking about?" I said, when I could get her at arms length
and try to fathom why she looked so dazzling.
"Your name badge says Joanne now," she said. She was right, it did.
Joanne? I tried it out, it felt nice on the lips.
"How do you know, nobody else can see what happened?" I murmured.
Mum laughed. "I've been here a long time and seen room thirteen do its
thing before. I was hoping that if you'd get a moment in there it would
do its thing for you."
"What? Mum! This doesn't make any sense."
She shook her head. "Of course it doesn't, but I know what you've been
going through and now you don't have to any more. You can be yourself,
Joanne. Go out there and be really really happy."
"When?" I forced out. My legs were trembling again. My knuckles white
inside her hands where she was still holding me. "How?"
"I'm your Mum," she smiled, then kissed me.
Life went on for me as Joanne, as if I had always been female, which I
suppose I always had been. Only Mum and that mirror in room thirteen ever
saw the potential for me being a woman. After the first few weeks it
seemed strange to think back to life as a boy, then a man.
I joined the RAF as planned and now I'm pleased I did, rather than the
Army of the Navy for the Air Force still likes to see its women in skirts
when they're not on deployments and I still haven't got over the pleasure
of being in a skirt pretty much whenever I feel like it.
After passing my training I was promoted to the heights of Leading
Aricraftswoman and joined my first air traffic control unit in the north
of the country. Of course I didn't realise it at the time, but on my
first day in an operational air base I met my first boyfriend.
Mum likes him.
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