This was it. IT! THE chance of a lifetime. The sort of evening I’d been waiting so long for. A couple of times I’d thought my chance had come but each time something had gone wrong, someone had changed their mind. Either Mum, or Dad, or Stephanie, someone had decided to stay in. Or decided that I should go out with them. But this time it was going to be OK, it was going to work.
Stephanie – well, no problem. She was away at college now. She was a year older than me. I was heading off on my own soon, just hoping to end up in some sort of accommodation which would allow – you-know-what.
Mum was away for the evening, probably for the night even. Some sort of planning for her summer school, I didn’t know all the details. But the last two occasions had kept her out until well after midnight. She’d already said sorry to me and to Dad because this one was going to have to be the last, so it would last even longer. Maybe up until two or three in the morning, but she said it just had to be done. I didn’t mind, not one bit.
And this time Dad was out too. With City playing in the Cup a long way up in the North-East, and all the after-match drinking and so on, they were going in a coach. I knew damn well it wasn’t due to set off back until just before midnight, so he was out until about two as well.
So from 7 pm, when Mum had to set off for her drive to Oxford, I would be, to coin a phrase, ‘Home Alone’. Did I mind? Hell I didn’t. This was going to be – IT.
I knew about it almost three weeks in advance, just after the draw for the next round of the Cup. I had realised what it meant, and I’d put the plan I’d had in mind for about two years into action. Lots of it was sorted already, I had SO wanted the chance for this. I had to buy a few extras, raided my pre-college account in the bank a bit. I knew I’d have to do some extra overtime at the store to replace it pretty soon after so Mum and Dad didn’t realise what I’d done. But it would be worth it, I knew it would.
I was also aware that there would be some hiding to be done afterwards, not wandering round the house in shorts, that sort of thing. I’d have to be careful not to reveal my hairless legs. I’d also have to work out something with my eyebrows. I was determined to pluck them, to look as good as possible. I was going to stand out, this night was going to be perfect.
The preparation started within a minute of Mum driving off, at exactly five past seven that Saturday evening. I’d warned all my friends I was going to be busy, made some excuses about helping parents with something and so on. I was sure nobody would call round, inviting me to the pub or out to a club. I had my own brand of fun in mind.
I went through the routine, fitting together all the bits I had done before, it was going to take me about three hours I reckoned. That with all the new aspects of my change-over, the extras I’d bought specially for that evening. Not cheap but, again, worth every penny. Breast-forms at over £200 the pair, but they looked so great, so realistic, I’d paid for quality. They felt good and looked good too, a very good colour-match to my own skin. And the latex multi-gaff, that’s what it called itself, that had been expensive too but that was going to feel just fantastic. The colour and texture, even in its bag, looked just about right. I was so excited by the thought. My own vagina!
The shower took me twenty minutes, washing away my body hair, leaving a baby-smooth skin. The hair-removal gel was expensive but it did a great job. And yes, I had remembered to wear swimming trunks while using it. I didn’t want to lose THAT hair, though I had trimmed it slightly in advance. It was going to be needed to curl round the edges and to make the gaff look good.
And it did look good. Why I was wanting to wear it I didn’t know. I mean, all that area was going to be covered up, under my panties and my short skirt. But I needed to do it for the sake of ‘completeness’. It stuck in place, with my penis squashed flat and padded round, to give as female-looking a shape as was really possible, with a thin tube leading from the condom-like fitment down between my legs to my ‘vagina’. It tucked into place, the pubic hair covering the join.
The breast-forms too, I did those next. Again, stuck on, for the very first time. I’d worn them before of course, but only indoors when I was dressing up just for me for a couple of hours. And I’d never stuck them into place before. This time I did, and I spent ages on the make-up over the join. They’d cost me a packet, very best quality silicone and as near as made no difference matched to my own skin tones. The result was more than satisfactory, I just couldn’t see the join. They felt good too, I imagined someone holding them, caressing them, getting aroused by the …
‘Calm down, Luke!’ I thought to myself. ‘You don’t want to bust your gaff, do you!’
I settled down and set to getting on with my transformation. I sneaked into my mothers’ bedroom, actually I don’t know why I was being so careful since nobody else was around, nobody was due back for hours and hours yet. Taking the black bra and panties my father had bought her the previous Valentine’s day, I slipped them on, pulling the tiny thong up tight over my new ‘cunt’ and tucking my boobs into the cups of the uplift bra. I’d got the size right, I guessed I was about a 36-DD then, tightly held in by the 36-CC silky bra.
I hurried through the next bit, this was so easy and so much fun. Again I raided Mum’s lingerie drawer for her black suspender belt, another present from Dad of course, she rarely wore it herself. I’d bought my own stockings, sheer and black and seamed, and luxuriated in the experience of gently and carefully sliding them up my smooth legs and clipping them to the belt.
Usually at this stage I slipped a skirt on but, with the increased confidence I’d got from the effects of my prosthetics I decided on the wig next. It had taken some finding but it had been worth it, I’d always got a buzz before from wearing it. My mother has always been my role-model, in common with lots of other trannies, I think. And I’d sought out a wig of the same length and a very similar colour to her own natural hair, or at least the colour she wore most of the time.
I turned to look at myself. Again I became aroused, I was looking in the mirror at my mother! Even, to an extent, without the make-up the effect was remarkable. OK it would need make-up to do the job properly but this was so close. Yet again, I tried to calm down, I needed to relax and to continue.
Eventually, nearly an hour later, my change-over was complete. Luke was gone, Lucy had arrived. Mrs Lucy Masters, wife of Peter, mother of Stephanie and Luke. I stared open-mouthed at the final, overall effect. I was looking at my mother! At Lucy! Well, not quite Lucy. Despite deliberately going over the top with the make-up to give myself some sort of older-woman look, extra mascara and eye-liner and so on, it wasn’t quite right. But it was so bl**dy close! A somewhat younger, tarted up version, yes, but there were so many similarities. And I did so like thinking of myself as my mother when I dressed up.
It really was going even better than I’d hoped. Wearing clothes similar to what my mother often wore, indeed some of them were hers, made up in a style very like her own, though with the sheer stockings and my own very high-heeled black spiked heels and of course Stephanie’s tight leather micro-skirt – I could easily have been my own mother! I moved around a bit, leering at my reflection in the tall mirror, posing, watching myself feeling my boobs, lifting my skirt and sliding a red-taloned thumb along the inviting reddish line between my legs – my own vagina! – it really did look as if I was watching my mother playing with herself With her cunt! I shivered. It was surreal really – I’d never really had any sort of Oedipus complex. I loved my mother of course but not in THAT way.
I tried to calm down again, pulling my skirt down and carrying on with my admiration of my reflection. I really DID look like a slightly younger version of her. Well, if I was going to actually BE her for a couple of hours, there were another couple of ways I could enhance my fantasy. I found her best shoulder bag, plain black soft leather with a gold clasp and a long gold chain. I slung it over my shoulder. And then I went into her jewellery tray, got some items I’d always liked the look of but never actually dared take.
But this time, I dare. Two gold chains, the thick gold bracelet Dad had bought her last Christmas, four of her ‘dress’ rings, not real gold but good-looking. The earrings were a disappointment, only then did I realise all Mother’s were for pierced ears – of course they were. But then I remembered something, and crept back into Stephanie’s room. Again, I don’t really know why I was creeping, no-one else was in the house. I hunted a little through her dressing-table drawers and found what I wanted, the big pair of gold-effect dangling clip-on earrings she had got before she had her own ears done. I clipped them on too. I shivered a little, I wanted to see the full effect now.
For quite some time I’d been dressing up, not fully you understand, just an item or two. Always in secret when the rest of the f****y was out for some time. Always in my bedroom, safe behind closed doors just in case someone came back early. And, of course, always alone. But I wanted to extend my fantasy, to go further into the realm of womanhood somehow. First off, this one I had thought ahead about, I could go downstairs into the kitchen and the lounge, be a sexy wife or something like that.
I looked carefully into the long mirror. Yes! I could do this.
I switched off the bedroom light and carefully made my way downstairs. This was new territory for me, as ‘Lucy’ anyway. I’d closed the downstairs curtains at the front of the house before starting on my dressing activities. I put on the lounge light and steadily walked forward, careful on my sky-high stilettos. I was shivering, tingling, excited, terrified, all at once.
I felt the thrill of each step as my sheer nylon stockings smoothly glided past each other at the top of my thighs. I wondered at the sensations I was feeling as my ‘boobs’ gently bounced with each step, and as my long red hair swirled past my ears and cheeks. And I gazed in amazement at the reflection of my long lithe female body in the dark glass of the full length windows.
I stood, staring, sliding my hands down my tight plunging top, past the belt and over my skirt towards my stockings. I shivered in excitement. I smiled. ‘Lucy’ smiled back at me. Could life be better? Yet I wanted it to, to be even better. I wanted to be my mother, to lead the life she led, to have the chance to wear clothes like these, to wear make-up and extra-high heels, instead of my own unbelievably boring shirt and trousers and so on. I looked towards the clock on the wall. I had time, hours yet. More, I wanted more.
I walked, more steadily now as I became accustomed to the heels, towards the kitchen. In the top drawer of the dresser I found what I expected there. A pack of Mum’s cigarettes. No, actually, I thought. My cigarettes. After all, I was Lucy now, wasn’t I? I went back into the lounge and poured myself a drink, a small gin and tonic. I knew there would be problems if I had too many. Mum or Dad would notice if the level in the gin bottle went down much, but I knew I’d be OK here. I sat on the sofa with my cigarette and my drink, feeling every inch the woman. I crossed my legs, imagining what just would happen if someone came in, if ….
No! I felt myself becoming slightly aroused.
‘Calm down, Lucy,’ I told myself. ‘Have another gin.’
So I did. Then I did something even more daring, OK it wasn’t really, but I was going further than ever before. Women – especially attractive women, ‘like me’ I thought, didn’t usually like to go out alone. Usually it was with a man. Well, that wasn’t on. But I was feeling so good – what about it? Go out, I mean. Actually BE my mother. I’d thought about it before, but this time. I’d gone so much further than before, and I felt SO good. Yes! I NEED TO DO IT.
Within a minute I’d assembled what I’d need. My mother’s mock leather jacket, a little money – I had a couple of fivers, that would do me, mother’s handbag, the black leather one with the gold chain. And I hesitated, but not for long. Mother’s car keys. Since she’d gone with a couple of friends to her planning meeting, her little car was still parked at the side of the house. That was the reason for the hesitation.
Though I wasn’t too sure about some of the things I’d done I didn’t think that up to then I’d actually broken the law. But I was about to. I mean, no insurance, no driving licence, if I got caught there would be hell to pay somewhere along the line. But the gin-and-tonic I’d had was clouding my judgement. I did consider the ‘drink driving’ aspect of what I was thinking of but – I’d only had the one.
I slipped the coat on, grabbed the keys and – went out of the front door! It was late Saturday evening, and I knew there would be very few people about, certainly none of the neighbours. Deliberately I didn’t switch on the light outside the garage. I had to fumble a bit in the dark with Mum’s keys but I did get it open, slid in quickly and closed the door. I was a little relieved when the interior light switched itself off. I pushed the key into the ignition. I turned it. The engine started first time. I breathed in deeply a few times, struggling a little to clip on the seat belt over my bulging breasts.
I took some doing. OK so I’d had a dozen or so practice driving lessons with Dad, but only once in the dark. For the first couple of hundred yards, up to the end of the road that is, everything went OK, but then I realised I was going to have problems. The foot-pedals I managed fine, I didn’t have any problem at all driving in the high heels, in fact I think I coped better than usual. But everything else, the lights, the gear changing, steering, doing all those things at once, quite quickly I knew I was going to be in big trouble. I had to get out of it, and quick.
So I turned left onto the superstore car park just past the end of our road. I’m glad it was to the left, there were a few other cars around, if I’d had to turn right I might well have hit one of them. I pulled up to a halt not far from the store entrance. I hadn’t intended stopping there. I’d been thinking more of going to somewhere smaller about half a mile away but I knew that wasn’t really on. It was this or nothing. I switched off the ignition. I sat there for half a minute. Thinking.
Why was I so hesitant? Well, this was MY store. Where I worked, part time at least, Thursday and Friday evenings usually, filling up shelves and taking away boxes, that sort of thing. The usual student jobs. Being paid a pittance but it was work, it was money, it was better than nothing. Heck, it had paid for my heels, and for my tits and my pussy come to that.
But – actually going into the store? Dressed like that? Well, I thought. Why not? Late on a Saturday night, I didn’t think there would be any of the staff I knew in there at that time. With the 24-hour opening and all that, all the staff were on shift-work, even the full-timers. None of my colleague shelf stackers, Keith and Mary-Ann and Tina and Gemma, none of them would be there. I knew for a fact that none of them worked Saturdays. Gemma did Fridays and Sundays, I couldn’t properly remember the rest. But not Saturdays, none of them.
And as for the more permanent staff, the Manager and the assistants and so on, none of them knew me very well. I was totally sure that even if someone I had worked with saw me, in no way would I be recognised. Not dressed like that, nicely ‘made-up’ looking really female I thought. It was a risk but a calculated one.
And there would be yet another vicarious thrill walking into Fresco’s in a short tight leather skirt and a top, in high heels and long red wig. I just had to. So I opened the door and swung my legs out, standing carefully in the 6" spikes, and turned and locked the car door. Then I set off on the twenty-yard walk towards the entrance. The feeling was almost beyond belief. All the things I’d been imagining, the coolish breeze on my nylon-covered legs, the tightness of the skirt, the swinging of my ‘long hair’ – the whole thing was just – amazing. My heart was going nineteen-to-the-dozen as I approached the automatic door. I slid open and I was in.
I had forgotten – not that it mattered. The video cameras! I was being filmed on the security system. Either John or Larry or one of the other security team might be upstairs now, watching me on the cameras. My heart fluttered just a little but I managed to stay calm, to gently stroll over towards the kiosk in the corner. It was the experience, the shopping thing, that was what I’d come for. I didn’t care one bit what I bought, I just wanted to see and be seen. I really didn’t want to go all the way round the store, basket in hand, picking up beans and butter and stuff like that. I had decided as I walked in that the easiest thing to do was to go to the lottery kiosk.
I headed towards it, recognising very vaguely the girl behind the counter though I didn’t know her name. I was safe, she wouldn’t recognise me at all. I handed the five-pound note across to her.
"Five lucky dips, please, for midweek."
Not much of a first, that. Not much of a memorable first sentence for the new ‘Lucy Masters’, first-time-out-as-a-woman. But it worked. I had managed to keep my voice quiet, hopefully to blend into the surroundings in a rather female way. The girl accepted my money and pressed some buttons on the terminal, handing back to me my printed-out tickets. I smiled and muttered a quiet ‘Thank you’, opening my handbag to slide them in as I turned. My heart really was thumping by then, I should have taken more care ….
And I bumped, quite hard, into someone standing right behind me. The tickets went flying, as did several items from my handbag, my lighter, my cigarette pack, a comb, something else….
"Oh my, sorry madam. Here, let me help you."
And the guy I’d bumped into bent down and quickly collected together my strewn items. He stood and offered them to me. I was standing there, in front of him, in front of a man. It must have been the gin, I just giggled. Not a lot, not loudly, I took the proffered items and looked at him.
It was Larry McNeal, one of the security staff. And one who, according to my friend Gemma, was not averse to a bit of playing round with the female assistants. I looked down again towards my bag, sliding things in, suddenly not too keen to look him in the eye. Then I realised what it was he was looking at, it was the other item I’d dropped. It was one of Mother’s credit cards, one she didn’t use much, one I’d taken with me just for some comfort, maybe for some sort of ID. Obviously I had no intention at all of using it.
"Really, I am sorry – Mrs Masters?" he said.
He’d looked at the card. He’d seen my mother’s name and come to the obvious conclusion. But then….
"Lucy Masters? Do you know Luke, Luke Masters? He works here sometimes, you must be his s****r."
I looked at him. As an actor, he was bl**dy awful. So transparent. He knew damn well I wasn’t Luke’s s****r, he was – hell – he was hitting on me! On Luke Masters’ mother!
Before I had time to reply, he moved in, slightly towards me.
"Look, I’m really sorry, that was my fault entirely. Please, can I get you a coffee?"
I was tempted, really tempted. But, despite the drinks and the sheer ecstasy of the whole event, of being mistaken for my mother, I decided against it. Larry was standing there waiting, I just tucked my things into my bag and smiled weakly at him.
"Thanks but – er – I’d better go."
I skipped quickly past him, not an easy thing in those heels, towards the door and I didn’t stop until I’d got the car door open and I was inside. I switched on the engine and sat, quietly, just for a few moments. I could see Larry looking after me from the doorway. I was glad I hadn’t actually said ‘yes’ to either of his questions, to the offer of coffee or to his query about me being Luke’s s****r. Or mother, rather, that’s what he’d really meant. So maybe I had some sort of get-out if the topic ever came up at work.
There were only a few cars in the car park at that time of night so I was able to carefully drive out forwards, without reversing, and steer my way back home very gingerly after negotiating the two turns and pulling into the driveway. Again I sat for a moment. Wow! What an evening this had been. I really didn’t want it to end but I knew it had to. I couldn’t see the time on my ladies’ watch in the dark but I knew it wasn’t far from midnight. I’d better start changing back to ‘Luke’.
I didn’t want to, I’d had SUCH a great time, I was amazed at how far I’d gone, in some way along the road to femininity. I thought about Larry watching me walking away from him, what he must have thought looking at my sheer black nylon stockings, my tight bum, my high heels. I was SO happy. But all good things have to come to an end, I knew that.
So I got out of the car, closing the door as quietly as I could and locking it. I knew I’d be able to check it over the next morning before Mum and Dad were up, to make sure I’d not dropped anything. My heels clicked on the concrete as I moved towards the front door, I enjoyed the final swish of nylon thigh against miniskirt. I pushed the key towards the lock, but fumbled a little, unused to the long red nails. I tried again, concentrating, the key moved in and I began to turn it.
"Hello love."
I didn’t turn. There was someone behind me! Again! It couldn’t be Larry, surely. It wasn’t. As the door swung open we both fell in rather, he was holding me upright as I partly lost my balance. The moving door, the high heels, the surprise, all contributed to my temporary instability. I stood up and turned, even though I knew the voice. I nearly said ‘Hello Dad’. I’m so glad I didn’t.
If my heart had skipped a beat or two earlier, during my dressing up, during my outing – it missed hundreds right then. Just about my worst nightmare. In fact, yes, my worst. If mother had caught me, that would have been awful but to be actually caught by my father, well that was just terrible. I waited for his reaction, I just couldn’t speak. Which is just as well. Again that’s what saved me. Dad just slid a hand round my waist as he pulled the door closed behind me, and eased me through into the living room. Then – he squeezed my waist tighter and moved in closer, to kiss my neck – rather amorously.
"I know I’m early, Lucy, the coach driver had to get back. He’s off on holiday tomorrow and didn’t want to be late. So we had to cut our drinking time. "
I realised that, he wasn’t due for well over an hour! OK so he’d not d***k as much as sometimes but he’d had a few pints, I could tell.
"And on top of that I’ve lost my glasses, I think I left them in the pub."
Lucy! He’d called me Lucy. What with being a bit d***k and with not having his specs – he thought I was my mother! He thought I was his wife! I still couldn’t say anything.
"Come on, love. Let’s have another drink."
And he kept his arm round my waist. He moved me into the living room and over towards the little drinks cabinet, pouring himself a scotch I think, and getting a gin and tonic for me. He held it out towards me. I had to look straight at him, I had to say something. Anything.
I spoke quietly, trying desperately not to give myself away. I had to get out of this, somehow.
"Thanks."
That was all I said. We sat down – together, side by side – on the long sofa. Dad looked towards me again, from much closer this time. I could see him trying to focus, to screw up his eyes a little. But with the drinks and the lack of glasses, he really couldn’t see me clearly.
"So. Your stuff obviously finished early as well. What about Luke? Is he in bed?"
A get-out! I could get away, go upstairs. I stood up. But before I could move I felt my father’s hand, touching my knee, sliding up my thigh towards the hem of my skirt, moving slowly under the skirt.
"Streuth, Lucy, you look really sexy tonight. I bet your friends at the meeting were impressed, specially the guys."
He pulled me down again onto the sofa.
"Wait a bit, love. Leave Luke for a minute," he muttered, his mouth very close to my ear.
And he moved his head towards mine, sliding his left hand round my back and the right gently up towards my ‘breast’. There was nothing else for it, I was just going to have to kiss him! I braced myself. I realised, all evening I’d been wanting to ‘be’ mother, to be Lucy in some way. OK, I just had to find a way out. But first.
I moved my lips closer, opened them slightly, and touched his. I had to put my own hands round his neck as we embraced, as my mouth began to work. I’d fantasised several times about kissing a man though never my own father. I began to open and close my own lips more sensuously, to slide my hands round over his body.
I was in heaven, I WAS Lucy. Kissing my husband. Quite quickly I knew it was getting a bit out of hand, but I wanted it to so much. We were rolling on the sofa, me on top of him, I was taking the initiative. I was being a loving wife, this was so much what I’d always dreamed of, actually being a woman, being with a man.
"Peter…" was all I could say.
I slid a leg up to balance myself and felt my ‘husband’ moving his own hands again, over my knee and my thigh, up to the bare flesh at the top of my thigh, touching my stockings. I managed to shuffle sideways a little to stop him exploring further but I didn’t want that kiss to stop, I was opening my mouth, pushing my tongue between his lips. I was French kissing him, feeling his ardour, his passion. My father’s passion!
He pulled me to him and kissed me harder, probing the inside of my mouth with his own tongue. His arms were around me now, and while his left arm pinned me to him I felt his right hand begin to explore my bottom. He managed to lift my tight skirt high enough to slip his right hand under the hem, and gain access to the naked flesh of the back of my left thigh above my stocking top again. With only my skimpy black thong separating that hand from my soft, warm flesh, he probed a finger or two up under the elastic of the leg hole. All the while the kissing just went on!
I knew, something would have to give. He was going to fondle my ‘vagina’ – there and then, on the sofa, groping his wife, nothing wrong with that. But what I’d been thinking, that was most definitely wrong.
Suddenly he separated and stood up.
"Hang on love, loo."
I was relieved. After all that, on top of several pints probably, and a scotch too, I wasn’t surprised. Thankfully he didn’t go upstairs, he might have looked into my room. Instead he walked past me towards the door into the hall, into the small downstairs loo.
Now was my chance. I tripped past the door, I could hear him ‘performing’ inside the smallest room. I stepped quietly up the stairs and into my room. Into Luke’s room, that is. Then I realised, this wouldn’t do. If he came up and into his own bedroom he’d find stuff that shouldn’t be there. Make-up on the dresser, some of my own clothes, Luke’s clothes, on the chair and on the floor. I had to move them.
I opened the door and moved out, just as ‘Peter’ came up the stairs. He saw me but now he was just a little more sober. I couldn’t let him see into his bedroom yet – ‘our’ bedroom, that is. I sidled up towards him and slid a hand up his chest inside his shirt, feeling the muscles reacting to my touch. I leaned gently towards him and whispered quietly in his ear.
"Peter. Darling. I’ll be down in a minute, will you get me another gin? Please?"
He looked pleased. I was still getting away with it.
"OK. Is Luke asl**p?"
He’d seen me coming out of his son’s room, he obviously wanted to know if I was awake, if I might come out in a minute or two, if I might interrupt him.
"Er – yes. He’s sound asl**p. He’s been studying tonight, I think. Poor dear, he looks tired out."
I kept thinking. The whole direction of the evening, of the night, had changed. I really was enjoying myself so much. And so was Dad! He didn’t know what was really happening, of course, but he knew what he knew. He knew that his wife was looking particularly sexy and he could tell she was felling sexy that night, indeed that she was horny as hell, that she was ‘up for it’ all right. So why not?
Why not?! I’ll tell you why not. Basically because he had been kissing and fondling his son, that’s why not. Hell, driving without a licence may have been i*****l, I wasn’t sure what I was doing was actually strictly i*****l but it was certainly immoral. It wasn’t right but it was such FUN. However – I knew – it had to stop. I had to get out of this. But how?
I just couldn’t walk down the stairs, face my Dad, take my wig off and say ‘Sorry, I’m not your wife, I’m your son’. That just wasn’t on. As he went down I quickly slipped into my parents’ room and grabbed my stuff, having a very quick look round to make sure everything looked reasonably OK. Then I shoved it behind the bed in my own room, out of sight, to be sorted later.
I went down the stairs and into the living room. Dad was lying on the sofa, he’d taken his jacket and his club tie off, he always wore that at away matches. He was sipping his own drink, and grinning rather naughtily at me. With his glasses on I’d never have got away with this, but I was doing so, and doing a good job of being Lucy though I say so myself.
I grabbed my bag, for the first time in my life I actually needed another cigarette. I lit it and sat on the end of the small armchair, crossing my legs so that the hem of my skirt slid up to reveal a large area of nylon-clad thigh. I really shouldn’t have been doing it, I know. But Dad was just looking across at me, still grinning. He was enjoying the ‘show’ as much as I was enjoying doing it.
Then I got my own drink – I’d lost count, was this my fourth gin-and-tonic of the night I think. Way too much for me, but it tasted good. And it was definitely having an effect on me. I sat beside ‘Peter’ on the sofa and leaned down to caress his lips gently again with my own. Very quickly this time a sensual kiss turned into heavy petting as my husband squeezed my bum and my ‘tits’, as we writhed together, first with me on top, then with him on top of me.
I had to say it, somehow I’d hoped to finish off before I had to make that suggestion but I realised time was beginning to get on. And what must NOT happen – mother coming home and finding us like that. Well, it was still unlikely but it was becoming possible. There was only one way out. I knew what I had to do.
"Peter. Time for bed, I think, darling."
One last kiss, then I went up the stairs and into my parents’ bedroom. I looked round. I finished tidying up any incriminating evidence very quickly. Peter came in behind me and slid his arms round my waist. I realised, between husband and wife there are some things which are unspoken. Like they say, actions speak louder than words. His actions made it obvious, I knew what was coming next.
Peter stripped down to his pants, then headed for the bathroom again, I heard him peeing in there again. Quickly I removed my own top and skirt. Yet again I stood there. Thinking. Thinking hard. I decided. There was indeed only the one way out, Dad was aroused, and so was I – I just had to go ahead. My flesh-coloured stick-on latex gaff, top of the range, the one with the ‘peeing-vagina’ tube, was going to be given the ultimate test and so was I. I thought back, pointless really, wondering whether there had been a moment after Dad had sneaked an arm round my waist on the doorstep, trying to think if I’d missed a chance to escape. No, there really hadn’t been. It didn’t matter now, anyway, this was going to have to happen. My ‘husband’ and I were going to get into bed together.
I stripped down to bra and panties, stockings and heels. For some reason it seemed a good idea to keep my jewellery on, the necklace and earrings, and my rings. I switched off the main bedroom light, just leaving on the small one on the dressing table. I knew this could still go so badly wrong, Dad was sobering up slowly despite the extra scotch but I was coping well with the gin I’d had. I pulled back the duvet and waited, standing by the bed.
Dad came in from the bathroom. He stood just inside the door, the main stair light on behind him. He was naked! I looked. I could see his body, strong and muscular, and I could make out the shape of his long erect cock in the dark. I breathed in deeply and sidled towards him.
"God Lucy, you really are totally sexy tonight!"
I was trying to think just what mother would say in that sort of situation. Clearly I’d never seen or experienced any of my parents’ most intimate moments, but I knew them both pretty well. Obviously. I’d seen them being friendly, in the kitchen or the living room, even interrupted them cuddling and so on a few times, I even had one photo of them in a semi-compromising position.
I had to make a guess as to how ‘Lucy’ might react. I put my arms round his neck and began to slide them down his back, appreciating for the first time a woman’s view of my father. I’d admired his body – no, not admired, I’d envied his body, he was well muscled, toned. I’d always been on the weedy side, slim really, I probably took after my mother in that respect. I got up close, aware that without his glasses it would be difficult to focus from that range.
I posed in what I thought was a provocative feminine manner.
"You like what you see, Peter honey?"
I knew she called him honey sometimes, it seemed appropriate to do so in that situation. I was getting excited – of course I was – as I allowed my hands to slide down and round. To the front! I could feel his erection! Hell, I was feeling my Dad’s cock!
"Ooh honey, I can tell. You do like that don’t you?"
So I French-kissed Dad again. He took my arm to gently tug me towards him and led me towards the bed. Our bed. My own penis, in its pocket tucked into my latex gaff, was now becoming aroused too, I just hoped the gaff would hold it in enough. I wanted him. I wanted my father to shag me, hell no, I needed my husband to shag me. I needed to feel the length of my husband’s cock plunging in and out of my own ‘vagina’.
I was more than aroused by all had happened, all that was happening, and gradually began to realise what COULD happen to me that night! I let all control of myself go, and jumped headlong into it.
Peter was kissing me again, probing all the while at the inside of my mouth with his delicious tongue. This time, however, his hands had free rein to roam unchecked over all of me, and roam they did! The sexual and sensual excitement that I was feeling was all but overpowering. I squirmed playfully and felt his now-hard cock pressing even more deeply into the soft flesh of my thigh.
I was doing what I had always wanted to do, becoming what I had always wanted to be!. I was sexually arousing a man as a woman. I was a woman in every way that it was possible for me to be a woman at that moment. I was living the most incredible night of my entire life. I wanted to savour every instant of it. I needed him. My husband. I needed him to carry out his marital duties.
I didn’t give him a chance to say more. I just threw my hands round his neck, this time sliding a hand quickly down past his waist and between his legs, cupping his balls and prick in my fingers. He pushed me down onto the bed and lay on top of me as we continued our petting. Needless to say his hands were still all over me. I slipped off my heels and pulled the covers over both of us, I really didn’t want him inspecting my body too closely.
I knew that – if this was going to happen – it had to happen fast. In the semi-darkness Dad couldn’t see me well, he was moving more by taste and touch. OK I looked like my mother but I wasn’t sure I could carry off the impersonation in the dark he would be bound to notice any differences in my voice, or in the way my body felt. I was glad I’d used Mum’s perfume, at least that sense was basically covered.
I kept my mouth open as I tongued him more, then opened my legs to present the hole in my latex gaff towards his cock, hoping he was still d***k enough. When I thought it was in just the right place I slid both hands down to his arse, dug in my long red nails, and heaved. Yes!
Now, I won’t pretend it wasn’t painful even though I’d tried to raise my arse so that it would be easier for my lover to enter me. I gasped deeply when its head popped past my sphincter, and I moaned loudly as he thrust the seven or eight inches of its thick shaft up inside me. He waited for a moment while I caught my breath, and began a slow, rhythmic, in and out motion, moving me to further heights of passion. My mind reeled with it all. At last I was being laid like a woman, I just didn’t want it to stop. The feeling was incredible! I was being fucked, actually fucked! My Dad was fucking me!
His cock very quickly started to grow warm and twitch inside of me, and I knew that he was close to cumming. I didn’t know whether I should say something or indeed what to say. I broke our kiss briefly and gripped my lover’s bum hard as he pumped and pumped.
"Darling, yes, cum for me my love, cum hard in me. Oh yes, yes, YES. Fuck me, Peter, FUCK ME!"
My penis too was responding to being rubbed between our bellies as he shagged me. Suddenly Peter thrust his cock’s full length into me! I felt it spasm hard, and then a sticky warmth grew deep within my bowels as he reached orgasm! He was cumming so hard and so hot, and I eagerly received his full load of semen! I had fulfilled the woman in me! My man had fucked me, and I enjoyed every second of his cumming!
My Dad’s cock, my lover’s, my husband’s, Peter’s cock – whichever – slipped from my arsehole as he fell back exhausted on the bed next to me.
"Streuth, Lucy, that was SO good, that was the best …."
I caressed his lips gently once more with mine. At last the beer and the scotch – and the sex – caught up with him. He was totally knackered. He slept. Within half a minute he was breathing very deeply, almost snoring. I could easily have laid there for quite some time, enjoying my own satisfaction, revelling in the pleasure I’d given my husband. But I had to move. Quickly. VERY quickly.
I slipped out of the bed smoothly and gathered up my shoes – and my thong. Back in my own room I looked in my mirror one last time. I was shaking. Of course I was!
Then I set to. It had taken me hours to get myself ready, though I’d interrupted my preparations several times for various admirations and so on. Even working meticulously carefully I was me again in maybe just over twenty minutes. I was a bit scared Dad would wake up and catch me mid-strip, but he really was flat out. I was also concerned Mum might get back earlier than she’d thought. I wasn’t sure which one I’d rather have find me out. Neither, obviously.
Within 30 minutes of starting I was done. I was sitting on my own bed in my shorts thinking through where I’d put things and what I’d put back where and so on. My s****r’s skirt and earrings were back in her room. I’d crept very quietly into my parents’ room and put Mum’s undies and stuff back where they should be while Dad still slept. My make-up was cleared carefully away, my own clothes and prostheses properly hidden behind other stuff in my room. I crept downstairs to look round and check, locked the doors…. And then I went to bed.
I couldn’t sl**p. Obviously, again. I tossed and turned for half an hour or so. Then I heard the front door open and Mum creep in. A little moving round, then my door opened, I sensed light shining across the corner of my room. I lay still and kept my eyes closed. Could I have forgotten anything? I saw the hall light go off a few minutes later. Then silence. I slept.
I got up very early myself the next morning, showered and dressed as quickly and quietly as I could. I didn’t shave, I wanted to look a bit scruffy, as far from the person I’d been the previous night as possible. Mum and Dad usually slept in a bit on Sunday mornings. Their door was slightly ajar, indicating they were not doing – you-know-what. I listened. Dad was speaking quietly. Then I heard a brief snatch of his conversation.
‘Mumble mumble mumble – fantastic dream – mumble….’
YES!