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From: thedisciplen@yahoo.com (DiscipleN)
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NNTP-Posting-Date: 29 Jun 2003 00:52:41 GMT
Subject: {ASSM} I'll be a Mommy's Uncle! [2/6] (Fm,Ff,ff,incest, mom, son, role reversal)
Date: Sat, 28 Jun 2003 23:10:03 -0400
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I'll be a Mommy's Uncle!  (2/6)

by DiscipleN
Copyright (c) 2003, by DiscipleN. All rights reserved.

Multiple codes represent the characters' gender quandaries. Otherwise,
the story is a slow strip tease for incestuous, power transgression
fans.

--------------------------


--- 2 ---

My littlest victory was so sweet, stripping mother down to her bra, I
didn't wait another week. Three days later, just about the time my bum
was able to sit down in a hard chair again, I stole her skirts.

Mother retrieved her clothes straight away, this time wearing only her
blouse and a heavy cotton girdle. I wasn't nearly as excited by this
state of undress as a more experienced boy or man might have been. Yet
I didn't miss the shape her full-length, black stockings assumed. If
Pepsi had made their bottles in the shape of my mother's legs,
Coca-Cola Corporation would be a penny stock today. My goal however,
was motivated by my memory of one of her naked breasts. I'd never even
heard of cunt. If I succeeded in exposing both of her nursing bottles
to me, I would title myself Calvin the Conquerer. Her tall, sturdy
girdle left far too much to the imagination. Her reaction to my second
theft left none.

Expecting the worst, I awaited her in the living room 'in one minute'.
Mother entered and sat down beside me on the couch. She had not put on
a skirt to conceal her dove white girdle. Her semitransparent
stockings smoothed over each of her legs without run or blemish.

"I'm not going to beat you again Calvin. This strange obsession of
yours has me worried, and I want you to know that I will try whatever
it takes to cure you. Obviously, physical punishment has failed." She
left the conversation open ended.

Take off your bra mommy, and let me jack off all over your tits, and
I'll be fine, I heard the base of my skull comment. I sniffed to
conceal my internal chagrin.

"But mommy, all I want to do is wear your blouse." I tried pouting.

She looked at me strangely.

"Calvin," Mother asked me very slowly. "Do you wish you were a girl?"

"No!" I blurted, then I hesitated, "I-I don't think so." I suddenly
wondered if there was an answer that would move her closer to my goal.
Unfortunately, my first outburst came from a straight boy's natural
commitment to his sex. Fortunately, I shrouded my words with a shred
of doubt. Unfortunately, I was sporting the hardest erection my pants
ever had to contain.

"It isn't right for a boy to want to be..." She glanced down at my
zipper. "...be uh, something other than uh, a boy." Her voice fell to
a whisper. "But sometimes God has reason to confuse us." Her eyes
confronted mine patiently. They held no shame at their brief
distraction at my erect dick.

"What does God want me to be?" I tried to play the innocent, striving
to casually cover my lap with my hands.

"He wants you to be good and not steal your mother's clothes."

Round Six: Mom - 6, Calvin - Zero. I guess she'd earned the previous
point too.


Round seven didn't happen for another two weeks. My mother's reaction
had blown me away. Still, I didn't let pass that brief moment when
mother noticed my hard cock tenting my pants. It was important, I knew
it instinctively, but having only an upper body centric eroticism I
was unable to understand either her glance or her willingness to wear
underwear right next to me.

I acted without purpose or plan when round seven finally occurred. One
early morning, I got up to use the bathroom, but mother was showering.
My piss hard-on wasn't desperate so for some reason I wandered into
her bedroom where I found her clothes neatly laid out on her bed. I
picked up the bra and wrapped it around my chest, but I didn't fasten
it. I simply held it together behind me. I didn't even put my arms
through the straps. They fell down against my belly and sides. I was
imagining her breasts filling this inexplicable contraption, not my
own flat chest. After a few moments I returned the bra as closely to
it's original place as I remembered. I turned to her less fascinating,
but still intriguing girdle. I picked it up.

"Go ahead and try them on." Her soft voice surprised me. Mother had
entered the room behind me.

I turned around, ready to bolt through the door, but her quiet
composure reassured me. She was wearing three towels. I was wearing my
jockey shorts.

"Uh, I guess I don't really feel like it." I fumbled once again.

"Okay, that's fine." She nodded plainly. "Now scram. Mommy has to
dress."

Exactly one week later, I asked her again.

"Mom, can I wear your clothes?"

Mother looked surprised for the very first time. "Calvin, what do you
really want? Can't you just simply ask for that?"

I very much wanted to ask her to strip naked for me so I could beat my
rampant cock in front of her and spew my cum, hopefully dousing her
with it, drenching her with my cum. Instead, I asked her an even
stupider question.

"Can I wear those clothes?" I said, and I meekly pointed at her widow
black, extra plain blouse.

"Do you mean, the clothes I'm wearing right now?" Mother asked
apparently beguiled by the possibility. Later on, I learned that she
never considered the idea that her son just wanted to strip her naked.
That sort of motivation wouldn't have occurred to her. Not only was
she a prude herself, she naturally assumed that I was sufficiently
indoctrinated and far too young to harbor anything but innocent evils.
Instead, she had constructed an entirely different rationale for my
requests to wear women's clothes. She thought her only child was
confused about his gender or possibly his sexual orientation.  Mother
didn't know what to make of my more specific request. "This?" She
queried and plucked at her upright collar.

I nodded meekly.

She just looked at me, incredulous. A few eternal moments later, an
odd gleam lit in her eyes. "Calvin, do you wish you were the mommy?"
Evidently she had been extremely careful before wording her question.

The idea never occurred to me. Why would I want to be a mommy? I could
easily see myself as the new daddy in the house, but her question was
so strange, I had to consider it, and all that she might have not been
asking. Even if I was the last boy on the clue boat, nothing could
have stopped me from grabbing the tiller.

"Would you let me be the mommy?" I asked as cautiously as cats
stalking a baby bird fallen out of her nest.

My mother should have hesitated, right then. She should have at least
let her lip tremble. She continued to meet my eyes.

"What would you do if you were the mommy?"

I'd send you to bed without any clothes, tie you up, and fuck your
sweet tits! My hard-on was merciless with possibilities. My eyes cast
low and I paused for frantic thinking. What could I do? Suddenly a
whole world of possibilities opened up before me, but I was far too
inexperienced to be handed the keys to the kingdom of heaven.

"I-I dunno." I had to say something.

"Don't ask about my clothes again until you know." She shut the
conversation down with a knife.

Round seven: Mother scores again.


As scary as our last round had wound up, I was ready for another by
the following week. We had been working in the yard that day, and both
of us were sunburned. The house was hot and one tablespoon of butter
each was our only relief.

Mother still wore her plain black dress. It was somewhat soiled with
grass and earth. I had on a pair of cutoffs and an old, worn out,
short sleeved white shirt. My arms felt like they were about to
shrivel up from heat and fall off. Before I knew it I began the next
round.

"If I were you, mom I'd make you do all the work out there."

"Would you now?" She looked up, unimpressed. Working hands intimidate
the devil.

"I'd make you wear stupid clothes and tell you when to go to bed and
decide what to eat and when to go to church which would be never." I
was in a bit of pain and feeling sorry for myself. I looked at my
feet. I half expected her to step over and slap me.

When she didn't, I looked up and that weird, cautious expression had
scrunched her face. This time I was ready for her, or so I thought.

"Mom, can I wear your blouse?" I asked as calmly as I could manage.
Already my young prick was hardening. I continued to imagine her
unbuttoning her top right in front of me and exposing her wonderfully
filled bra.

"You want to wear this blouse?" She asked in return, pulling out the
middle of her top into a tiny tent that could have fit four times in
the tent in my shorts.

"Yes mommy."

"Would that make you the mommy then?" She asked again.

"Uh-huh." I nodded.

"Well... okay." She said, and then, right before my eyes, her fingers
began working at her buttons. It took her all day to unfasten every
one, but in reality it took about a minute. Their tiny, tight black
dots were finicky to undo. The smooth material began to sag and lower,
and the vee at her neck opened wider and deeper.

One minute later, my mother stood a step away from me, almost entirely
bare above her skirt, with only the thick frame of a brassier
shielding my ultimate fantasy from my eyes. She held out the blouse.

I crossed over to her and accepted it graciously. "Thank you."

I began to don the loose fitting garment. It was clearly cut to fit a
woman's shape. It hung unkempt over my shoulders and cast rumples down
my arms. The front dangled like loose cloth. I remember how soft it
felt, like silk, but it was probably rayon. The thing that unsettled
me was the smell. I had never before noticed my mother's smell, until
I wore her blouse. Like impending rain, or the fresh upturned earth
that dotted the garment, her smell was everywhere infused within the
threads. I stood nearly stupefied by it's heavy bouquet.

"What does it make you feel like, honey?" My mother asked when all was
in its improper place. She then noticed the bulge in my shorts. If she
had noticed it before I wore her clothes, she might have said
something entirely different. But it's extended glory seemed to settle
something for her.

"I feel okay." I told her. Mother ignored my default answer.
Apparently, she decided right then I was simply a transvestite, a man
who got his jollies from dressing up like a woman. She seemed
disappointed.

"Can I wear that too?" I asked overeagerly and pointed at her jutting
bra.

"I think we've worn enough of mother's clothes for one day." She had
collected herself and answered firmly. Then she left the living room
for her own. The last I saw of her naked upper flesh was her pale
back, smooth and nearly unblemished. I raced to my room and blasted
the contents of my balls at the ceiling.

Round eight: game called due to rain.


The next week I tried a different approach. When I sought her I was
garbed entirely in her clothes. She sent me packing, no questions
asked.

"Get out of those right now, young man!" She pointed at her bedroom
door from the living room couch.

Round nine: 9 to nothing. I had begun to accept the inevitable.


To Be Continued...

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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