Shudders of fright ran through Meredith Staines, and no wonder as he saw his appearance in Sheila's bedroom mirrors. Yesterday he would have felt blissful in his new floor-length dress in pink nylon, especially with the heavenly smoothness it brought to his stockinged legs. But when you are about to be marched into the presence of two fifty-year-old women, contemporaries of your Mother-In-Law, that pleasure would be turned on its head.|
She stood behind him to fasten his bows, her perfume seducing his nostrils as it always did, as well as the soft flow of her chestnut bob which he glimpsed in the mirror between the high frills on the shoulders of his dress. "I hope I've made myself perfectly clear, my boy," she told him. "You will answer every questions my friends might ask, with a full confession of these girly desires that are so strong in you. Tell them what you have told me."
He felt his blushes. How could he divulge what he had said to Sheila to two of her friends. They would laugh in his face. The least he could expect is for them to lift their brows with astonishment and - well, pity. They would see him as a freak - a husband without male sex.
He was standing at this very mirror three weeks earlier when it had happened. The day he was busy installing her new dressing table, with Sheila out of the house, down town shopping. He would much rather she was in the house, of course, because he adored her and wanted to feast his eyes on her and feel that barely concealed disdain she held for him: the second-rate upstart of a fiancé who had dared to imagine he could be a match for her daughter. He could easily have married Sheila instead of Suzanna, although he loved his wife madly and knew she loved him too. But she wasn't in the house, so this was a chance for him to do what he had dreamt of doing so often: taking a sneak peak into her closet to stand in glorious closeness to all those dreamy fashions he loved to see her in.
He set his power driver aside and stepped across the carpet. How could he possibly resist opening this lower drawers in her porte-manteau. Ohhhh! the sight that met his eyes was exquisite. Neatly folded satin and silk, polyester and nylon - all with lace. He wasn't familiar with them before, Sheila's smalls, but my God he was now.
He lifted out a delicate, folded pad of champagne material and held it by the pale green ribbons linking breast cups to shoulders. It slid from his fingers into a flare of liquid satin. That soft, sweetly scented petticoat decided him in three terribly naughty seconds to take off all his clothes and feel the sensuous dynamite of its silkiness against his skin. Moments later he was completely naked as it dropped like a cascade of holy water over every inch of his body until his knees were shrouded in the softest lace. In front of the mirror he wanted a bust. But the upward and forward tension of his cock seized his imagination with a new sinful urge: which drawer would be home to her panties, because he had to wear them?
His first choice was right, and he was faced with lavender, apricot and oyster panties that fanned the already lustful longings in his petticoated cock. It seemed like everything she owned belonged in paradise. His legs soon thrilled to the smooth drape of strawberry pink panties edged with black lace and his cock begged with all its stiffness to be imprisoned in their gusset. He simply had to open her closet to find a dress that would suit her intimates.
He explored the burden of each and every hanger, from one end of the rail to the other. He could die with pleasure wearing any one of a dozen of her dresses. But this was the one that particularly shouted out to him. I am so feminine - so completely Sheila. Wear me!
The sweet white lining of the dress dropped over his head at the mirror and slid onto his hips, bringing a moan of passion form his heart. "Ohhh Sheila!" he cried, "I love you and your heavenly clothes!" and as he turned side-on to admire his shape - THERE SHE WAS!
He didn't get as far as explaining, or saying sorry. His mouth just dried up, leaving him in a terribly naked state of red-handed guilt. Sheila glared, lips pouted and hands on hips, and "Hmmphed." "Well, Meredith? What are we going to tell Suzanna about this?"
I reversed my dressing, my head disappearing into the dress as I pulled it off. "You can't tell her. You mustn't."
"Oh but we will. We're not keeping secrets from my daughter, your wife. And if you don't toe the line in how I want to follow this up, we'll be telling them at school too."
Oh God! Oh horrors! What would the life of a schoolmaster be like if it was generally known that he wore slips and dresses. Not just his colleagues would look down on him, but his students would too. Every last one of them would find out on the first day, on their social media. His life would be unliveable.
So here he was three weeks later, being marched into the sitting room to face the amazement of the guests. If he wasn't sweating it felt like it as he stood in the middle of the armchairs. "Hold your dress out - here, and here - and curtsey," she told him. "Up," she ordered, "and turn round so that we can see your dress."
Rebecca Nunn and Frances Tucker sat upright to survey him, wearing soft smiles of unspoken scorn. They were ladies who lunch, Sheila's contemporaries from college, and were as keen as stiletto blades while wearing their fashions without attitude. They didn't need to. Meredith rotated on his hidden gold sandals, outwardly blushing and inwardly squirming. His dress and slip held his legs in close encasement: in stockings inside oyster pink nylon inside pink silk chiffon. A quiver of femininity rippled through him as he was aware again of his shoulder frills, dipping to the front of his empire waist, rising high outside his ears and meeting again between his shoulder blades. That was where, as he knew because he was conscious of every stitch and ribbon of Sheila's clothes around him, that his dress zip was hidden above the hooks and eyes of her brassiere. A cute little gilt padlock fastened him into his dress, with the key dangling from her neck on the breast of her blouse. His costume was plainly a take on Stepford femininity, down to the wide brimmed picture hat in matching silk chiffon.
"Sit," said Sheila, patting the armchair beside her own.
Her son-in-law's legs sizzled with girlyness as his layers of lingerie and dressing crushed and slithered round his knees. His nervous glance showed him that both visitors sat demurely with their vapers in the laps of their skirts and with patronising smiles from ear to ear. Rebecca was in powder blue and Frances wore a beige check skirt with knife pleats to below the knee.
"So, said Sheila, "obviously taking up a conversation from half an hour earlier when Meredith sat in anguish upstairs waiting for her to come up and dress him, "I found Meredith wearing my clothes in my bedroom - I got home faster than he expected."
Both women's mouths dropped open in disbelief. Rebecca asked the culprit a question.
"What were you wearing, dear?"
His heart pattered with fright as he confessed. "Sheila's panty, petticoat and dress, ma'am."
This caused eyebrows to arch with astonishment. "What was your dress like?"
"It was a purple silk dress with white spots all over."
Frances interrupted. "I know the one," she said. "Such a feminine style in glossy fabric."
"It has a silk lining too," pointed out Sheila. "It's so smooth to wear. Like his dress this morning."
Frances breathed a cloud of vapour and smiled at Meredith. "I'm taken with your dress today, Meredith. Is it silk?"
He gazed at his knees and plucked at the sides of his skirt with dainty fingers. "Er, it's floor length and in rose pink nylon overlaid with silk chiffon - with burgundy satin ribbons." He hung his head so that his face was hidden beneath the brim of his Stepford hat.
"Is it one of your Mother-In-Law's, dear?"
"No - we bought it - in Harrod's."
There was a moment's pause before Rebecca asked: "Did Sheila buy it for you?"
"N-N-No, I had to buy it, and I had to ask if I could try it on t-t-to see if it would fit me."
Frances was perplexed. "But wouldn't you need to be wearing suitable underwear to test for that?"
"He was wearing my lingerie at the time," said Sheila, "and one of my dresses. Lift your head, Meredith. It's rude, looking at the hems of your visitors' skirts."
"Oh how lovely. Tell us which dress you were wearing, Meredith?"
He had to swallow his embarrassment first. "M-Mother's slim-line sheath in cream satin."
They let this sink in before Rebecca asked: "Was it lined in satin for you?"
The tears were beginning to prick his eyes. "Yes."
"So did you try on the dress in the store?"
"Yes. Then we bought it."
Both women glued him with their eyes. They asked their questions with such innocence and Meredith's whimpering moans simply provoked more questions.
"Do you like wearing it for us today, dear?"
"Is it arousing you?"
"Are you feeling lovely now that you're wearing Sheila's lingerie underneath your dress?"
When he was sitting in tears in front of them Sheila told him it was time he served their guests with drinks. "Stand up and pass me your Stepford apron."
It was on a hanger from the picture rail. He brought it to Sheila and turned for her to put him into it. It was in white satin and as frilly as his dress. It's shoulder frills fitted beneath his dress frills and met at the back of his high waist, where Sheila clicked his second padlock together, then fastened his waist ribbons into a large sissy bow over it.
"Meredith has to be kept in his dresses now, don't you dear?" she said.
His hat sank forward again in mortification. "Yes Mother."
"Tell my friends why you must be dressed constantly in Mummy's long slips and skirts."
He swallowed, blushing and churning in the pit of his stomach. She had told him to speak to the visitors the way he spoke the truth to her. "Because I want to feel feminine - at all times - for Mummy."
"Good boy. A kiss for Mummy." She lifted his chin with her crooked index finger and inserted her face under his hat, until her lips met his in a delicate kiss, as if between modest, lesbian lovers. But it was followed immediately by a second, a third and a fourth, which added up to almost a minute during which her friends were treated to this exhibition of the control she held over him. When she withdrew she sank her own chin onto her blouse in a coy smile of intimacy, her face still almost under his hat. He knew what was expected of him.
"Thank you Mummy." His voice was tiny and shaking. How better could he have confessed his adoration of his wife's Mother. "I could easily be happily married - and dominated - with you instead of Suzanna."
Sheila turned her glowing smile to her friends, and just to prove the point she moved slightly behind him, gathered the sides of his apron in two hands and drew it back until it showed without any possibility of doubt that Meredith Staines was madly in love with his Mother-In-Law when she had him dressed in the most feminine apparel in the house. In fact she pulled on one side, then the other, so that the maid's dress and apron slid this way and that in a gentle, feminizing rhythm across the tender bulb of his genital.
"Darling," exclaimed Rebecca, sitting even further forward than before, "look at that point. He absolutely loves you to kiss him. And his lingerie - Well, it must - "
"It must be making him feel so-o-o-ooo lovely," intervened Frances. "Look what it's doing to his dress, and his pretty apron."
The three women studied the point in question as slip, dress and apron slid to and fro and had to agree. Meredith shook with sobs and lived up to his name as a patch of damp, glistening cum spread down the front of his Stepford Wives uniform and his arms and hands bent into the most fetching pose of uncontrollably effeminate sweetness.
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