After that night I pretty much knew when I could ask to wear her clothes. About once a week seemed to satisfy her. It drove me to near madness. I jerked off constantly, filling every scrap of cloth with cum, desperately alert for her next moment of naked availability.
About once a week, mother would strip in front of me and dress me in her clothes. Then she would proceed to act like a little girl who desperately needed love and attention from her mommy.
My own role in these games were so anti-altruistic, they were killing me. I lost no end of sleep frantic to put my hands on her in less than a loving way. It's fair to say I wracked my adolescent brains to discover a way past her innocent sweetness. At the same time, I was gradually responding to her overt show of affection during these events. I had begun to love my mommy/daughter, and sometimes I wondered if I were the little girl playing for attention from my nakedly erotic mother. I doubt the clothes had much effect on my untested masculinity, but our scenarios would have confused Hercules. When Mother acted like a little girl, I knew the feelings of a protective father. When she looked into my eyes and called me, "Mommy", I had to look twice to make sure I hadn't grown breasts overnight.
During her off times, when she was very much my mother, she never mentioned our debaucheries, but it became plain that she considered them bouts of evil she needed to purge from her soul. She worked harder than ever to make me an upright, god fearing boy. I wasn't allowed to bring friends home, as only she was good enough company for me to find examples. I worked like a dog at the house, with my mother working twice as hard beside me.
It was when emotional and physical exhaustion set in her bones, did she slip from one personality to the next. On the days she stripped her body bare of her station and placed it loosely upon me, those were her days of rest. They occurred more and more frequently on a Saturday. Sunday just wouldn't have worked out.
One Saturday, while we were drawing with crayons at the kitchen table, my cock was about to burst. For two hours I had watched mother pour over her drawing, naked tits brushing occasionally against the tablecloth. I felt like chewing on a book cover to keep my teeth from grinding. My own picture was filled with rape scenes of stick people. One particular figure was screwed again and again, always between her circles for tits. I drew crazily, but I had to be careful I didn't draw over my dangling black sleeves. My illustration was a rare pastime I could use to offload my growing sexual frustration. It wasn't enough.
"Look, Mommy, I drew a horsey!" Mother exclaimed, and she held up her previously, carefully guarded paper.
Mother's horse picture was as fabulous as her piano playing. She had gotten really good, and her music was actually able to tame my wild beast. Her carefully colored and shadowed and lit figure of a lithe, paint horse gliding over a meadow could have won a prize for best crayon art of the year, out of the nation's professional crayon-ers.
"It's beautiful," I told her, trying to kept lust from eroding my voice.
When she hugged me, I lost all control. Her warm arms around my loose clothing, her plump tits pressed into my chest, her gleeful mewling in my ear unleashed the monster caged within me. My hand pulled up the skirt and fished cock from out of my pants. I jacked on my iron hard prick about a dozen times for every two seconds and kissed my mother on her bare neck as she held me. My free hand crossed between us and snapped at her closest titty.
Immediately, she released me and recoiled my frantic grab, adultly aghast at my action. She instantly composed herself for a blast of holier than thou, but not before my dick erupted with long jets of high pressure cum. White ropes shot between us and doused her girdle. She jumped away, scream piercing the air, and two more blasts arced over the table and sprayed her drawing.
"What in heaven's name are you doing?" She hollered most un-little-girl-like. "Get out of here right now! I'll see you in ten minutes, young man!" She drew herself high and mighty, indignation masking her awareness of her own nakedness. I watched her tits change from pleasant pillows to amazon armor.
I couldn't even respond until I had jerked the last of my cum load onto the kitchen's tile floor. Only then did I jump. I didn't look back. I raced for my room to ready myself for armageddon.
When the hammer came down, I was still praying for a way to escape of this mess. Mother entered the room, totally concealed in a thick bathrobe.
"I have to have a good talk with you young man. How could you have betrayed your mother like this? You defiled the last thing that was good between us. I should abandon you to the state and join a Christian woman's retreat."
Her plea for sympathy fell on deaf ears. I wish I could have responded with a few blasts of my own, but I was just an eleven year old kid about to turn twelve. I curled up in a fetal ball on my bed. Mother's widow dress splayed across it like a death shroud.
I kept purposefully silent, pouting. Honestly, I believed everything she said. I felt I deserved everything she threatened. I just couldn't admit it to her, because deep down I knew she was just as responsible as I. Unfortunately kids rarely get the chance to examine their root motives.
Perhaps that is why, mother gave me another chance, or at least she said she would. "Calvin, honey. I know this must be very strange to you. You can't imagine how mixed up I feel about our little secret, but I'm as helpless to stop myself, as I imagine you are to ignore the devil that lives inside you. Never-the-less, you must fight against it. That is our only path to salvation, eternal vigilance and continual askance for forgiveness."
She worked ourselves harder than ever for the next six days. She even excused me from school to give me even more time to pay penance for our crimes. On the seventh day, she fell harder than ever from her lofty goal.
Mother woke me up from a desperately needed, deep, dreamless sleep. On my way to the surface, I began to dream of being suffocated, and I awoke gasping for breath. A thick pile of dark cloth buried my face. I scrambled around in bed and flung the offending threads off of me. Mother stood in my room, naked to her girdle. She wasn't even wearing her thick but slightly transparent stockings. The girdle was her last hold out. Of course the dark veils that had smothered me awake were her clothes. When I came to my full senses, I realized they smelled freshly washed, with only a hint of my mother's odor on them. She must have put them on in her room and immediately stripped them in mine.
"Wake up, Mommy. Wake up! I need you so bad!" She cried like the little girl I had grown perversely familiar with. She rushed to my side to assist me in donning her mantle. My dick may have already have been hard in preparation for the morning, but now it was like steel. We had long realized that I was eternally erect while she played her escape role. We had psychically agreed not to recognized it.
I now wonder what would have happened if I had resisted her. I was stronger than her on that day. I could have resisted her temptation, but we must remember I was just a kid. Besides, she might have gone off the deep end if she didn't get her measure of relief from her inner conflict. What that conflict was I didn't discover until the end of my story. For now, I will tell you that I accepted her help. Yet while she fussed with how her clothes were arrayed on my naked form, I ceased pretending to ignore my blood filled cock. I would reach out and adjust it, right in front of her. I didn't actually feel like jerking to a cum, because I was still mostly asleep. She glanced at my fiddling between my thighs and tried to ignore it. I noticed she gently bit her lip. A light rain ran down my bedroom window.
Finally we managed to assemble her garb on my ill fitting figure. She plunked her whole body down on my bed and nestled her head into my chest.
"I'm so sorry, Mommy. I've been really bad. Please help me." There she began to release a reservoir of tears. She quickly soaked her own blouse and skirt as she tried to bury herself deeper into them and my body.
"I held her. I had learned to love touching her. The little girl inside my mother was desperate for human contact. Me too, but most of my desperation originated from a fraction of my body's meat. Her soul was bereft of any comfort. I never learned about her childhood. She refused to speak of it. Whenever I asked she promised my childhood would never want for anything. She meant anything she decided that was good for me. I think my father once said she might have been a whore's illegitimate daughter. To this day, I sorta, kinda doubt it. I think she was abandoned within the confines of her parent's home.
I knew as long as I held her, she grew strong in her heart. I held her for at least an hour that drizzly morning. I held her close against my never slacking prick. For some reason, that day I looked not at her breasts but at the wide patch of white that clung to her hips. Oddly enough, the sight of her beautiful tits trembling against my chest was not as compelling as the spike of curiosity that stabbed my imagination. Just what was there behind her plain, white girdle? It seemed odd to me then, that I had never before wondered. I wasn't old enough to have received the state's program of sex education. I never asked my mother anything about sex, and my father had left me a legacy of tits, ass, legs and face. He died before he was ready to talk about more serious parts. My mother had all of those others in spades, and only her ass was kept from me. I must therefore conclude I wasn't much of an ass man back then.
So when I spoke up at the end of our lingering hug, I knocked at a new door between us. I was fairly blunt for my age.
"Honey, I'm not sure I can be your mommy for real." I spoke plainly.
Her reaction was anything but plain. She recoiled like a rifle, jerking in my arms like a gun had been fired. She looked fearfully into my eyes, but she never broke character. "What do you mean, Mommy? Of course you are." She tried to assure herself and me.
I let her notice my gaze upon her girdle. "Don't I have to wear that too?"
My mother kept still for longer than a moment. I actually felt her nudge my hard cock with her hip, where she was resting against it. She must have been near a panic about what could happen if she was truly naked before a son who had proved himself to be a sex maniac. But the woman that was my mother was a dozen miles away. It would take the rest of the day to gain enough comfort to allow her return.
My little girl gulped and trembled anew in my arms. She then nodded, unable to answer my question with a vocal assent.
All I did was sit up slightly, and she fell into the motion. She released me and sat up on the edge of my bed. Her feet fell to the floor. I watched her hesitate and gather her courage. She hooked her thumbs in the girdle's tight waistband and began to peel it slowly down her hips. Then as if a latch had fallen free, she pushed the gripping garment from her thighs and kicked them off her feet. It sailed across the room and out the door. With a sudden giggle, my mother turned to me and said. "Mommy, promise me you'll never wear that one."
What could I say? It was probably the only item of her clothes that wouldn't hang loose. I hugged her firmly then, almost a man's hug. And I reveled in her full nakedness. First I felt her nipples, uncharacteristically firm, press into my blouse. A photo finish second, I looked purposefully into my mother's loins. She blushed, but my little girl did not deny me. Again I wanted to touch her there, but I knew my limits. I released her and hung my head low to examine her new revelation as closely as I dared. My mother was dark-haired through and through. Her brown pubic hair was a thicket of briars wherein there possibly lurked braer foxes. I couldn't discern any other features because she kept her legs together. I didn't think to pry them apart. I doubt I would have been allowed to touched her knees.
I placed my hand on her shoulder and met her eyes. She was now bright crimson, and she grabbed me for a reassuring hug.
We played all day at whatever game struck our fancy: lawn darts, Parcheesi, cops and robbers… The house was our play house. I was often distracted as we moved about, for I began to catch glimpses of some very interesting anatomy. Somehow I had known that between her legs I would not find a cock. Curiosity provoked my eyes to see what they could of the mysterious triangle that jungled my mother's loins. There had to be something fundamentally different about man and woman, and tits weren't quite up to the job. When I noticed the strange lines and lumps hidden in her dark thicket, I grew confident I had discovered the missing link. That night, I masturbated to relieve my backed up lusts, thinking about the new flesh that taunted me with its mysteries. I came with powerful bursts in my head and jets of juice from my cock.
We both were innocents, I striving to conquer my chosen mate and failing, while she sought successfully to escape her power and responsibility. It is the day I remember most fondly, when mother capitulated wholeheartedly and I relented my ardor. In days thereafter when my mother wore her garments, we both felt freer. She did not obsess over punishment, although she still believed our swap offended God in Heaven. She must have understood, like I did that day, that as innocents we could be wrong and forgiven at the same time.
— 5 —
This crystal period caught its first crack weeks later. I turned twelve, and for an entire day, mother acted as if she were the kind of mother I was to my little girl. She took me out to celebrate in child style. We saw a movie and ate ice cream in a parlor and danced at a street festival and rode on roller coasters and rode our bicycles. It was my best birthday, ever. That day was the peak of our joyous new lives. My stomach was full, my legs were tired, and my head was filled with contentment. When night fell and we rested on the couch sharing a coffee table book about race cars (one of my birthday presents), mother asked if there were anything else she might do for her birthday boy before he had to go to bed.
"Yes mother, but I don't think you'll like me if I asked you." I answered meekly.
Mother was no fool. She guessed what dangerous ground I would tread upon. "Then don't ask me." She said seriously. "Just say it."
"I want my sweet little girl, my darling daughter to wish me happy birthday." I said.
She was quiet for a moment. Then she began to sniff and whimper. Her eyes doled out painful drops of water, and then she let loose a flood. Mother's adult morals still wanted to eradicate the sick alter-ego that claimed her life once a week. Although her mind had made a truce with itself, that truce was dependent upon the right day. My birthday hadn't occurred on a Saturday.
"Honey, please try to forget about her. Today was the first time I let myself be like her without being her. I know we can let her go, if only you'll help me."
If my mother had been talking to another adult, she might have convinced me, but a twelve year old boy, even one who had tasted parental responsibility, is hardly very adult. Her tears moved me, but my own youthful selfishness prevailed. I didn't say anything. I just reached for my mom and began to unbutton her dress.
She turned slightly at my touch, hoping her flinch would give me pause. I did not. Her sobs grew to shudders, although her tears lessened. I wanted my daughter's blessings on this day, and I would not be denied.
I had trouble with the small, tight buttons on her blouse, but by the third one, their difficulty lessened. I revealed the top of her bra and I continued. Already my youthful cock responded. I had to gulp mouthfuls of drool forming under my tongue. Her blouse fell fully open and I knew again the full mounds that filled it. I reached around, beneath her top and hugged her covered breasts while I sought the clasp behind the. I had considerable more trouble unlatching it, but as I fumbled behind my mother's back, I felt her shudders take a new form. At the time I didn't know it, but my white shirt was stimulating her tits through the bra's thick material. She was helpless to fight me or her body's reactions. It was a critical moment for her. During her transition from prudish mother to innocent girl, there was a time when she was neither. It was not a true personality but an amalgam. To become innocent, she needed to unwrap the binds of her strictness, but before she reverted to a girl, she had to cross that gap of years. In the middle, I found my chance of a lifetime.
Before I knew that I had succeeded, her bra clasp unsnapped and the two cones pressing into my young chest slackened. I felt the full softness of her titties behind them. Only they were fully soft. Two hard points jabbed through the now slack material. Before I attempted to fully remove both bra and blouse, I had to see my mother's erect nipples. I drew back and lifted the cream colored breast pockets. Mother grew tense, realizing her transformation had been interrupted. Before either of her personalities could decide to rebuke me, I fell to her titty and sucked in the hard knob crowning it. At the same time, I came in my pants.
Mother's breath quickened and suddenly she was aware of feelings she had never before experienced. She had never felt the joy of breastfeeding. Her strict nature had required that I be bottle raised. These new feelings took time to examine and classify the evilness of their nature. My arms returned around her waist, and I hugged her and hugged her as I sucked on her tit. My cock spurted time and again, until she finally tore away from me and fled to her room.
I waited on the couch, for there was no where to run from her certain wrath. Yet when she did not appear, I went to her room and knocked once.
"I'm sorry, Mommy. Please forgive me."
"It's late Calvin. Goodnight." was all she said. I heard nothing else through her tall door. Eventually, I washed out the wetness in my groin and and went to bed.
Mother's puritan ethics returned with a vengeance. For an entire month, she worked me and herself to the point of exhaustion. She never allowed either of us enough energy to escape. Only when she collapsed, hoeing our fully replanted garden did we both rest. I helped her to her bed and fell asleep beside her.
When I awoke, I was already dressed in her black clothes. My shirt and pants had been stripped prior to changing me. From the electric clock on her chest of drawers, I learned nearly a day had passed. I heard a rustling nearby and turned my head. Mother sat fully naked in her chair at her dressing table. She was brushing her long hair in the mirror. She saw me rise from the bed in its reflection.
"Oh, Mother, come look what I found!" She exclaimed and twisted around in her seat.
I moaned lightly and dropped my bare feet to the carpet. Stabilizing myself on the mattress, I stood. I didn't answer her, stunned by my daughter's sudden reappearance. Still sleepy headed, I walked slowly to her.
She looked up at me with a smile, her hand waved at a row of glittering things on mother's dresser. There were lipsticks, and earrings, and powders, and tints, and bracelets and broaches. There was a necklace of beautiful fake diamonds and one of real pearls. There were brushes and files and combs and clippers. I'd never seen such luxury before. Mother must have hidden these jewels away, unable to bear their evil influence, yet unable to destroy their beautiful pleasures. Up until that time, I'd seen only a plain hairbrush there or a damp washcloth. The rich mahogany wood came alive from so many gold and silver and black cases.
For the first time, I noticed that my naked girl had already sampled the fruits from the collection. She wore a small gold chain around her neck and had applied a light red blush to her cheeks, possibly to hide her real blush behind it.
"Mother, I want you to look beautiful for me, today." She informed me and very quickly she stood and guided me to her seat, supporting me once when I tripped on her skirt.
"You want me to wear this stuff?" I asked incredulous. I sat down before I had decided what to make of this situation.
The little girl next to me laughed and leaned closer. She raised a tube of lipstick and pressed it to my face.
Every nuance of my past assault on her was repaid three times. I fidgeted, flounced, and sneezed, but before the stronger girl let me up, I was marked, highlighted, primped and dusted. I watched the mirror, dumbstruck and trapped, as my face took on unnatural colors and exaggerated lines. All in all it was a mess. My crayon drawings all looked better than my daughter's latest masterpiece. The poor results were really all my fault. If I had remained calm and still, who knows how I might have turned out? Yet for all of the nightmarish enhancement of my boyish femininity, my daughter looked extremely pleased with herself.
"There, you're perfect." She beamed and hugged me, careful not to rub any of her beautiful, pale skin against my face. I was free then, free to rush to the bathroom and scrub every streak off, but all I did was stand and return her hug. My daughter had returned to me and she had forgiven me.
We spent the rest of the day, it was a Thursday, cavorting around the house like two best friends. I remember then I began to take more seriously my duties as mother. I began to give advice when I thought her girlish antics were too ridiculous.
"Don't take more than you can eat!" I told her at lunch. She had piled on her plate enough cookies to make both of us sick. I made her a ham sandwich and returned most of the cookies to the jar. For myself, I ate only one cookie with my sandwich and glass of milk.
That afternoon, mother and I were rolling around the floor, pretending we were trees in the forest, newly felled by the lumberjack. We bumped into each other and yelled together, "Log jam!" We laughed.
Then the big, little girl rolled into me again, her tits flying around and smacking in to my hip. I grabbed them only out of defense to push them away, but my own sexual protuberance had other ideas. I was as hard as ever, and although she and I had been ignoring it all day, I couldn't help but make the connection. My boner wanted to make a real connection. I fell instantly silent while mother's body continued to bump into my own.
"Log jam!" She shrieked playfully, until she realized my hands hadn't let go. They were pressing into her breasts, and they started kneading them. She grew quiet also, and flashed me a warning look.
I let go.
"Maybe we should get ready for bed." I told her.
"Okay," She agreed, solemnly. "First I have to clean your face. You have to use the right stuff. Soap and water aren't good enough."
She let me to her room, and sat me before her dressing table. Then she surprised me once more. She left me and went to her closet. From within, she grabbed a nightgown and quickly slid it over her full, naked body. It was a silky film of amber that clung to her breasts and hips like a shimmering force field. I'd never realized that clothes could make my dick harder than could perfect nakedness. Returning to me, she opened a drawer and withdrew several face cloths.
On the table before me were a couple different jars of cold cream. She opened them and proceed very carefully to remove the horrible makeup that coated my face. Already, some of the colorful goop had been wiped by the furniture and the carpet and bath towels. Already, I was dreading the return of my mother, after she found those messes. My daughter was very thorough, and I didn't budge until she had removed every last speck.
My face was now clean and clear, just a boy's indistinguishable features again, but my little girl wasn't finished with her mother. She stepped away from me and went to her bed. With a little hop she bounced on it's soft covers and twisted around. She slid to the edge and sat up.
"Mommy, would you come here for me?" She patted the quilt's wrinkles beside her.
Only slightly wary, I got up and sat down next to her dazzling figure.
She blushed deeply and tried very hard to look at me. I'd never seen my daughter so shy before. "Mommy, can I ask you something?"
"Uh-huh, sure honey." I shrugged, continuing to look through the gossamer glint of her nighty.
"Why do you have one of those?" Her nose wrinkled and she pulled her lips away from my direction.
"Have what?" I looked at my empty hands.
"No, that!" She pouted and and pointed. She pointed right at my tenting penis.
It was my turn to get flustered. "Oh, um. Gosh, I…" I didn't know what to say. I had just assumed that my jutting dick was off-limits to our pretending. Except for the fact that I jacked off like crazy when my mother's naked body had been put back into her adult mind, I'd tried really hard not to think about it during our games.
What could I say. I was her son, and son's had cocks! I wasn't a mommy, really. Then all of a sudden, it occurred to me, what if I was her mommy, and I tried to imagine what it would mean if I was only pretending to be a boy.
I shook my head from the painful morass my brain had entered. That would have been pure insanity. My daughter's question remained. She was still pointing at the tall lump in my skirt, her blush deepening. I had to say something.
"Mommy doesn't know what it is either." Denial was always better than discussion, in a pinch.
"Can I look at it?" Was her next question. She hardly flinched before asking it.
I'm still amazed that I didn't shoot two balls full of cum into her black dress, right then. Here was the tantalizing full figure of my mother, all of her charms present, if thinly veiled. I was her son with a hard-on desperately trying to resist her innocent beauty. My cock jerked and I gulped noisily. "Golly, um I-I… okay." I shifted away from her slightly, but I turned my hips in her direction. The skirt drew farther up on the bedspread.
My daughter deftly lifted the edge of my skirt, and I felt it's soft weave brush up along my leg as she pulled it away. The peak standing firm in my loins tilted as she separated cloth from flesh. With a gentle toss, she flung the long piece of linen away and exposed my naked manhood.
"It looks like a cock, mommy." She put a sharp emphasis on the word, cock.
I could only sit there like a doctor's patient being examined.
"I don't like cocks." My daughter almost spit when she said it. She raised up to her full sitting height and waited for my response.
"You wouldn't hurt it, would you?" I grew understandably concerned.
"I don't know, Mommy. Would it hurt me?" She spoke gravely. "All the other ones hurt me. I just don't like them. Why can't you have a cunny, like me?" She asked her final question, and to add emphasis she raised one leg higher on the bed and turned her wide hips towards me. She lifted the end of her nightgown and for the first time, I saw the shape of her sex.
I wanted to cum, looking at the beautiful, dark lips peeking out at the base of her pubic hair. My cock thumped between my legs and my balls churned, but something inside me clamped down like a vise. I knew I'd never have another chance to look upon it if I didn't say exactly the right thing.
"Sometimes, Honey, God has reason to confuse us." I told her, but there was more I had to say. "We only have what we are given and should always try to make the best of it. Um, you see it doesn't really matter if you have a pretty cunny, and I have a mean ol' penis. What matters is what you do with it. I promise you – your mommy will never hurt you with her cock. I'll aways let you tell me what I can and cannot do with it. Can you promise me something too?"
My daughter was plainly overwhelmed that I had learned the lesson that she once had, as my mother, mentioned to me. "What do you want me to promise?" But even as a little girl, my mother was wise enough to not offer her son a blank check.
"Can you promise that you'll let your mommy play with her cock, when she plays with you. I've already promised I'll never let it hurt you."
The person before me sat quietly while she considered my request. I saw her eyes change several times, between innocent and knowing.
"I shouldn't…" She spoke, not yet done with her thoughts. "But I bet I couldn't stop you no matter how much I wanted. After all, you are the mommy, and I'm just your poor little girl."
At the words 'poor little girl' my body unclenched and cum burst forth from my rampant flesh. The first white rope shot out across our open loins and splashed on her farther leg. Mother flinched at my sudden ejaculation, but this time she willed herself to remain passive. The second jet hit her squarely in her tangled triangle of dark fur. One rivulet of incestuous sperm dripped down to her pussy. The warm liquid tickled her and she shivered, while the rest of my juice spurted in weaker and weaker shots onto my upended skirt. The now, not so innocent little girl swiped her fingers up her crotch and caught my dripping cum. She wiped her hand on our skirt.
"I guess that wasn't too bad, but it's awful sticky stuff." My daughter frowned and stood up carefully. She wandered into the bathroom to clean up.
After the powerful orgasm subsided, I sat numb, unable to leave my mom's bed. Only when she returned and sneaked under the covers did she speak to me. "Mommy, please turn the lights out when you go."
I left and turned out the lights.
Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/2p8pjo/ill_be_a_mommys_uncle_45_fm_inc_regression_xdress