0 comments/ 49348 views/ 7 favorites A Story of Forbidden Love Ch. 01 By: frillypanty 1. Rowan: the Awakening of a Dark Desire I love cock! There I've admitted it! I love cock; the trouble is I don't like men! The only man I've ever known that I could get alongside was my grandfather; with one other exception, he and my grandmother where the only ones in my family who understood that we all need to find our own morality. For the most part men are selfish bastards, at least the ones I've come across are. Only really interested in one thing 'getting their end away'; and then departing as quickly as possible to avoid emotional baggage – the modern and local equivalent of 'wham, bam, thank you ma'am, I've got a date in Vietnam'. Women make so much more thoughtful and accomplished lovers, with their own unique insight into how to please members of their own sex and where, when and how to apply the ultimate stimulations. Maybe gay men have the same affinity with each other. Certainly they often appear to posses a general sensitivity and perception well beyond their heterosexual fellows. The problem with female lovers is that a dildo or strap-on, however skilfully used, cannot replicate the evolving sensations of a flesh and blood cock. That feeling of a growing and stiffening member within your body, throbbing and thrusting until the ultimate lunge and outpouring, followed by the regression in potency as that same member, shrinks and subsides inside you, and finally slides out to become the absurd, pathetic, shrivelled piece of gristle that constitutes the proportions of most men's cocks for at least 23 of the 24 hours that make up each day. Men may think their using me, little do they know. I have only one use for them – to fill the void between my thighs with their throbbing meat, gratify me by prolonging the episode long enough for me to experience at least one real, eruptive orgasm, and then getting out of my life as quickly as they want me out of theirs. At least, that was my position until ...... ********* I experienced my first cock when I was sixteen years and sixteen seconds old, in a hay barn attached to a farm on the outskirts of Chester, where I lived and still live. The experience was enough to indicate to me that my body would desire constant repetition of the feeling, and I set about the task of fuelling that desire – with a variety of boys of my own age, and older. Within three months I was pregnant, my son William was borne on my seventeenth birthday, named after my grandfather. To be truthful, I wasn't to sure who the father of my child was; anyway, none of the boys I'd been with appealed to me enough to allow myself to be 'tied down to' for the rest of a dreary, conventional middleclass existence, and I refused point blank to implicate anyone. This set the cat among the pigeons with my conventional middleclass family and both my parents, and my elder sister and brother would have disowned me if they could. Fortunately, Gran and Grandad came to my rescue ... or rather, all of our rescues and invited me and William to live with them. An invitation I readily accepted. The only other exception to the family hostility was my mother's sister's youngest daughter Hazel, my cousin, almost exactly a year younger than me. She began to spend more and more time at our mutual grandparent's home with them, me and William. Of course that didn't go down to well with her family either, who'd expected her to follow the usual trail of GCSE's, A-levels, university and 'worth while' career; as mine had expected from me – and had been so sadly disappointed. And when she made a miserable showing in her A-levels that too was regarded as my fault, my 'bad influence'. Gran and Grandad to the rescue again, and Hazel came to live with us. It quickly became apparent to both of us that Hazel's view of men, and their proudest possessions, more or less coincided with mine. Almost inevitably, within a short while, we became lovers, in a covert surreptitious manner as we were unsure how our grandparents would react. We needn't have worried. Gran and Grandad were of the opinion that life was there to be lived; and that everyone was entitled to follow their own ideology – provided always that they ensured that they did harm to no one, and afforded everyone else the same prerogative; even our semi-estranged middleclass families. Our need for the occasional dose of 'hot cock continued, of course, which we satiated during the odd night out and on shared holidays to the more racy parts of Spain, Portugal and the Balearic Islands. Mostly, we more than content to rely upon each other's practised fingers, lips, teeth and tongues – and the occasional dildo or vibrator. For the first two years, under Gran's sympathetic guidance, I'd been William's 'full time' mother. He was shortly into his third year when Hazel joined us and Gran declared that she was willing to assume responsibility for his day-to-day care. Hazel and I joined Grandad in his own private business – a perfumery that had three local outlets and, unbeknownst to the rest of the family, a substantial country wide reputation with significant continental contacts. Neither of our mothers had ever got involved. Like Gran, they'd never worked from the day of their respective marriages, and both married men already set on a serious career path – brothers who worked in, and eventually took over, their father's solicitors business. My relationship with Hazel was as near incestuous as could, without our being full blood sisters. Maybe, that's what made what eventually followed easier to me ... to us. Grandad died suddenly, after I'd living with him and Gran for about seven years. Even whilst grieving for her life-long lover and best friend, Gran continued to live life 'to the full' as they had done together. Professing to know nothing about the business, she was insistent that Hazel in I should take complete charge of the perfumery and make all the necessary decisions. Daunted but excited by the prospect we did our best to justify her confidence and, with one or two false starts and traumas, largely succeeded. Gran died nine years later; in a tandem powered glider flight she'd booked herself to celebrate her eightieth birthday! Hazel and I were her only beneficiaries – inheriting the perfumery business and a one-and-a quarter million pound house, plus an estate worth a further four-and-a-half million pounds. That, of course created further family ructions. No one had realised that Gran and Grandad, who had never employed a servant in their lives, not even a gardener, were so rich. We resolved the outcry by sharing the four-and-a-half million three ways with our respective parents. Its strange how that seemed to improve the family relationships! ********* The discovery came about quite accidentally, triggered by my leaving two theatre tickets on our dressing table. Hazel and I, trusting our staff with the business, had taken a Saturday off for personal shopping, a meal in town and a visit to the local theatre. Fortunately I discovered the lack of tickets in time, before we'd finished our shopping in fact which we cut short, to 'nip back home to fetch them'. Hazel decided to accompany me back into the house for 'a quick wee' rather than staying in the car whist I made the recovery. We were not conscious of being particularly quiet as we mounted the stairs to our suite but, whatever, we'd been quiet enough not to disturb the figure seated at our dressing table; the figure of an auburn haired young woman of about William's age intent on making up her face with the aid of the mirror. I immediately assumed she must be my son's girlfriend, possibly repairing the ravages of an n intimate 'session' with him. 'Good luck to the pair of them' I thought, 'I hope he's treated her properly'. Slowly the figure arose and, still intent on the image in the mirror, straightened her hands down over the line of her crisp white blouse, cupping her breasts for a moment as she did so, then down over her thighs, over a short, slim black, grey and white 'dog-tooth' skirt secured at the waist by a scarlet belt. Below the hem of her skirt grey nylons moulded a pair of pretty knees, calves and ankles and disappeared into a pair of scarlet court shoes that matched her belt. For a brief moment I appreciated the form before me and half amusedly, half jealously envied my son his luck. Then I realised; this wasn't my son's girlfriend, it was my son! My gasp was echoed by Hazel. William spun round at the noise, his already pale complexion blanched to a sickly white and he fell to floor in a faint. As he fell he lost control of his bladder and saturated his femininity below the waist, leaking a pool that seeped into the carpet. Quickly retrieving a large bath-sheet from the en-suite to spread on the bed, we lifted him up and made him as comfortable as we could, and sat on the bedside awaiting his recovery. Coming to after a few minutes, William tried to sit up and scramble off the bed but was restrained initially by his own debility then, as his recovery progressed, by our hands on his shoulders. His complexion changed colour again, this time in a pretty schoolgirl blush that suffused his face and neck. 'Please,' he said, as his whole situation became apparent, including the warm wet mess around his genitalia, 'I'm sorry, I was just ... er, experimenting. I'll never do it again. I need to go and get out of these things and shower. I promise I'll clean everything up.' 'Not so fast,' it was Hazel who responded, 'little girls who wet their knickers sometimes have to spend an uncomfortable few minutes, maybe longer, before they can tidy up. That's my skirt I think, and I'm pretty sure that's your mother's blouse, shoes and belt. We'd be quite interested to see just what you're wearing underneath.' William hesitated before he stood up, uncertain as to whether we would make him comply with Hazel's inferred request to undress in front of us. 'Come on,' Hazel was in no mood to be defied and I too was more than a little interested. 'Oh come on!' Hazel insisted, 'get on with it. We're all girls together now, after all. Get those things off and let's see whose knickers you're wearing!' William's demeanour changed. He stood up and, with a sudden assumption of dignity and assurance, he began to undress. Neatly and with considerable expertise he removed his blouse, folded it and set it aside on a chair; to be followed equally carefully by his skirt. Now he stood before us clad in a short slim fitting slip, short enough to qualify as a chemise, in delicate pearl-grey satin with lace cups over his breasts, with a matching trim of lace at the hem of the skirt. The minimal skirt of the slip, that covered his panties but fell short of his stocking tops, was a darker hue where he'd wet himself. Without further hesitation he swept the slip upwards and off over his head to reveal a matching bra', supporting some kind of breast forms, panties and suspender-belt; with lace topped pearl-grey stockings. As with the slip, his panties were darkened by his mishap. As he made to unfasten his bra' it was my turn to intervene. 'Just a moment,' I interjected, 'whose is the lingerie? It's certainly not mine, or Hazel's.' 'Mine.' William replied with just a hint of amusement in his tone. 'Yours; you mean, you went out and bought yourself a set of female underwear!' 'Well no, actually Gran bought it for me. This set and several others besides. You see,' William continued now apparently fully at ease, 'Gran caught me one afternoon about four years ago dressed up in your clothes, like now but including your underwear then. She told me that top clothes were all very well but it wasn't fair to use your knickers and such. She said it was obvious that that wasn't my first time and, that if I wanted to keep dressing up as a girl I'd better get some of my own. She took me shopping with her and bought some there and then – with me still dressed in your clothes. It wasn't the only time she took me out either. I've got quite a selection of 'girly undies' now. It was Gran who taught me to make my face up too, and do my hair like a girl. She said it's no good doing half a job. She taught me to do my bra' up properly behind my back, as well, and how to adjust and fasten my suspenders. I haven't had the nerve to go out dressed up on my own since she died, so all my things are at least two years old. She even helped me to make my breast forms. Well, she showed me what to do, but she made me do them myself.' The last was said with a considerable degree of pride. And, when he reached his hands up behind him and released his bra' clasp in one assured movement and let the bra fell forward revealing two perfectly shaped and tailored breast forms, I understood why. They were formed into a pair of pretty A-cup breasts, each bearing a semi-engorged nipple surrounded by a slightly puffy aureole. 'This pair is made of cream satin, tipped with pink,' William told us, handing them to us. Then, with a schoolgirl giggle, 'the breasts are stuffed with bird seed, the nipples with gauze and cotton wool. I've three other pairs.' 'Wow,' was my immediate first thought, they were certainly pretty authentic, particularly held and veiled as they had been in bra' cups. I even acknowledged that, glimpsed though a semi-opaque cup, the nipples would be pretty life like, too. 'You mean you've been dressing up as a girl for four years now, and Gran knew and helped you?' My question was rhetorical; but William's shrug and the contented expression on his face, answered it anyway. 'Well you might as well get those wet knickers off now, as well,' Hazel told him and, with another slight shrug, he complied sliding his panties down over his flanks and allowing them to slide down to the floor around his ankles. Carefully he stepped out of them, and placed them with the remainder of his discarded clothes. It was the first time I'd seen my son naked for six or seven years, before the onset of puberty. I was suddenly struck his beauty; his pale freckle dusted slender form, with the pearl-grey lace trimmed suspender-belt around his loins, and with his long elegantly shaped legs and feet clad in stockings and scarlet court shoes, plus a feminine hair style and subtly understated make-up, created a vision of fresh girlish femininity that was no way deflected by the incongruous masculinity of the gradually swelling and stiffening cock between his thighs. And his slender build obviated the lack of feminine definition at his waist. He looked every inch the girl he'd sought to emulate – thanks in a large part no doubt to Gran's tutoring, but the raw material she'd had to tutor was exquisite. And that cock! I watched fascinated as it grew and hardened. What with work, the protracted business of settling probate on Gran's estate and the necessity of keeping the household buoyant I hadn't had much cock between my thighs for some time! And an imp of desire awoke within me, a desire that I tried in vain to vanquish. We sent William down stairs, clad as was in stockings suspender-belt and shoes, to place the soiled clothes in the washing machine followed by a shower, and told him to return to us before attempting to dress in any other outfit. Hazel crossed the room into the en-suite to continue her interrupted comfort break. As usual with us she left the door open as she reached up under her skirt to slide her panties down and squat on the toilet seat. 'I've made a bit of a mess of these,' she said, looking down into the crotch of her knickers, 'and the responsibility for that lies with your son. It was quite a shock catching him dressed up like that. And ... er, interesting watching him take off his clothes.' So saying, she slid her panties down off her ankles and tossed them onto the top of our laundry basket, adding 'William wasn't the only one of us to wet their knickers this afternoon.' I'd had my mind on other things up to then but, suddenly, I too was acutely aware of an uncomfortable stickiness in my own panties. I had also been quietly creaming myself at the concept of my son's transformation into a pretty and desirable young woman and at the sight of his manhood framed, as it had been, in elegant femininity. My knickers joined Hazel's in the basket as we both cleaned ourselves up with toilet paper, a warm damp flannel and talcum powder. Back in the bedroom I made to select clean underwear but Hazel stopped me. 'Leave it for the moment,' she said, 'lets see what transpires. I think we should take William out with us this evening 'en-femme'. If he's out with us wearing knickers, it might be quite fun for us to be knickerless!' William returned to our room just as I finished phoning the theatre to exchange our two tickets for three and after, a moment's reflection, agreed with Hazel's suggested outing. All three of us had fun collaborating on William's outfit. In the end, in deference to the early autumn temperature, we selected my slim skirted, high necked, long sleeved bottle green jersey- wool dress with matching court shoes, over a set of his own delicate pale green, lacy nylon lingerie – slip, bra', suspender-belt and stockings with matching panties cut high over the hip with a trailing lace fringe – topped off with Hazel's short rust coloured sued jacket. Hazel and I retained the clothes we'd been wearing minus our panties of course which, in an unspoken but mutual concurrence with Hazel's earlier suggestion, we didn't replace. William may not have been out dressed for two years but, possibly assisted by our presence, his demeanour for the rest of evening – during our visit to the theatre and afterwards at supper in one of the City's hotels – was exemplary. I'm sure that no one had any suspicion that he was anything other than he looked; a pretty, modest, assured young woman out with two older companions to whom she bore sufficient resemblance to suggest some form of close blood relationship. During our visit to the theatre William ducked into the toilet, remembering to use the ladies, leaving the two us together at the bar. 'Well,' said Hazel, 'he's got this down to a fine art. Gran's training I suppose. He certainly doesn't seem like your son and my cousin, or what ever he is. I feel more as though we're a couple of old dykes out with a young bit of stuff that we're hoping to seduce later. Do you think its being knickerless that does it? Perhaps that was a mistake. I knew what she meant, dressed as he was William didn't seem a bit like the son I'd borne, nor like the eighteen year old young man I was used to. I couldn't help dwelling almost continually on the memory of his slender femininity under his clothes and of the beautiful cock I knew was contained with his pretty panties. I think Hazel was right; being knickerless myself didn't help. That imp of illicit desire that I'd felt earlier was in no way vanquished – it was growing all the time. It wasn't until we were eating our supper that we got around to discussing what name we should give to our beautiful new companion. We couldn't continue to call him ... her William, and Wilhelmina seemed just to obvious and mundane. Then Hazel solved the conundrum. 'It's obvious,' she said, 'all the girls in our family are named after trees; Gran was Olive, your mother is Linden and your sister is Holly; my mother is Cherry and my sister Aspen. Even our sister's daughters are William, when he's ... she's dressed like this, will be Willow.' And Willow he ... she became. That night our love making, mine and Hazel's was intense. We both played a symphony on each others bodies: our faces, our throats, our shoulders, our mouths, our breasts, our nipples, our stomachs, our pudendas, our quims – along the line of our eager labia and back along our perinea, our rapidly respondent clits and deep, deep inside our pulsating and salivating vaginas – with our fingers, lips, teeth and tongues. But I know that, even as Hazel was penetrating me with the so expertly directed and controlled 'strap on' I was longing, to the point of experiencing a vivid and graphic fantasy, for the feel of William's ... Willow's flesh and blood cock in the bursting cavity between my thighs – son or no son, incest or no incest! A Story of Forbidden Love Ch. 02 2. Hazel: Desire and Opportunity Develop So William, now more or less completely transformed into Willow, joined the family business. Try as might I couldn't think of that darling, sweet beautiful creature as my cousin's son. And the even closer juxtaposition that ensued from a shared family and work life, the constantly recurring vision of his slender lithe body underneath the neat, feminised exterior and the memory of the cock that resided in his delicate panties, continued to fuel the desire that had been awakened the afternoon of our discovery. By now William ... Willow had secured an extensive wardrobe of feminine external clothing, in addition to the extensive array of female underwear that our grandmother had helped him to acquire. If his ... her choice of external clothing was conservative and conventional, her underwear was always exquisitely feminine and delicate; lace trimmed nylon and satin sets of expensive lingerie, all in pastel shades of blue, green, yellow, lilac and grey -- mostly acquired from Bravissimo in the Westgate -- with matching stockings and court shoes. Equally, her make-up was always subtly understated and her thick auburn hair washed, brushed and arranged to perfection. There was no denying that William, as Willow, was a beauty; and a remarkedly self assured and composed one, at that. Rowan told me later that she too had the same disturbing reaction to William's ... Willow's continuous presence. In her case of course, the mental anguish that accompanied the reaction was even greater. After all Willow, as William, was her son! [The description of Hazel and Rowan's relationship and of William's transformation into Willow, can be found in 'A Story of Forbidden Love, Ch.1 ... fp] It was Rowan who suggested the holiday. After Willow had been with us for some six months, by which time I was nearly out of my mind with the frustration of our situation -- the ever close proximity of such a desirable young creature, who carried an extra and so equally desirable secret in her panties, but with whom I was forbidden to seek congress by convention if not actually by law -- was becoming to much for me. I'd come to the same conclusion as my cousin; the circumstances of our grandmother's death, with the extended period of probate; the consequent dispute with the rest of the family, partially resolved by our voluntarily dividing our grandmother's estate with them, but rekindled when they discovered that we were content to allow William to adopt and develop his alter ego, and live openly as Willow; the guiding of Willow in establishing a feminine lifestyle; had resulted in neither of us getting our accustomed ration of 'hot cock' for a period in excess of two years! As devoted a pair of lesbian lovers as we were, we were both 'bi' enough to need the services of an occasional man -- without any of the emotional baggage that that can involve, thank you very much! 'What we need is a holiday,' Rowan told me. 'I think we'll go to the Algarve and see if we can't get ourselves well and truly fucked!' ********* My cousin doesn't often resort to obscenity but when she does she means it. 'Get ourselves well and truly fucked' we did! It started from early on. She came into our room as I was packing ... or rather, beginning to pack and was contemplating my underwear draw. 'Don't bother to pack any knickers,' she told me ... ordered me, 'we won't be wearing any for the next fortnight. And get your Fanny shaved, or at least your bush trimmed. Oh! And don't bother with bras' either. Your tits, like mine, are still pretty firm and don't flop about if there not supported. We're on a mission girl. We might as well display what we've got to the best advantage.' It simplified packing no end! Minimal underwear, just a few pairs of stay-ups, and a collected of short ... very short skirts and skimpy tops, light shoes, a selection of swimming costumes, and a few short skirted 'fuck me' dresses for the evenings -- plus make-up, jewellery, etc. Even so, I blanched a bit at the prospect of travelling from Chester to the Algarve sans knickers, sans bra', and then spending two weeks there in the same condition. My hesitation must have shown. 'O cheer up,' Rowan told me, 'if we get desperate they sell female underwear in Portugal -- 'as cuecas' and 'o soutien'; I've looked it up. Still, the thought of the length of the hem lines of my skirts or lack of length, and their ability or otherwise to protect my naked quim from view, was more than a little disconcerting. 'Oh well' I thought, 'in for a penny in for a pound'. But it did occur to me that the law in Portugal might take a less than tolerant view of any too public a display of nudity, at least away from the beaches. In the event, we didn't meet with any official kind of censure or sanction, but we got a lot of admiration from a large percentage of the male portion of the population -- and some of the female. William ... Willow drove us to Liverpool for our flight to Faro. The Stewardess in first class was a slender young woman, in a trim flight uniform of crisp linen blouse and tight skirt. Her pale complexion, small but perky breasts and glowing auburn hair were disconcertingly reminiscent of Willow. She busied herself addressing the needs of her passengers before settling herself in a seat to complete some paperwork. I gradually became conscious that her eyes were, surreptitiously, darting towards me; more specifically towards the hemline of my skirt. I was pretty sure that, at the angle between our two seats, she had a view up my skirt to my naked quim. I could feel my nipples, already stimulated by the pull of my blouse over my bra'less breasts, burgeoning and stiffening. Glancing down I could see them quite clearly defined against the fabric that covered them. I shifted my legs as though unconsciously, by reaching for a paper affording her a better view of my shaven pussy lips. The pretty young stewardess now shifted her own legs in turn, to give me a sight up her skirt to her own panty covered labia. A tiny smile momentarily flickered across her face before she stood up to busy herself with the passengers again. After completing her rounds she disappeared for a while and I began to think that maybe her duty period was over. But she reappeared and again made a round of her charges. Satisfied, she returned to her seat and again immersed herself in paperwork. As I watched her legs again began to move gradually widening the tunnel up her skirt until I could see, quite clearly, that during the interval she had shed her dark blue, lacy panties and her quim -- like my own -- was open to view. And a pretty little quim it was too; a well defined slit edged with slightly puffy lips and pointed by a trimmed auburn bush, shaped into a narrow arrow the tip of which just touched the end of her slit where, imagination or not, I thought I could define the snub of a nubbly, stiffening and growing clitty. I became conscious of Rowan's quizzical look in my direction; and the expression on her face confirmed that she had been witness to our mutual game of 'fanny flash'. The imprint of her nipples, on the front of her blouse, indicated to me that she hadn't found it to distasteful. Before we left the aircraft at Faro the stewardess made her final round, handing out the airline's courtesy bags that, for the female passengers, consisted of a small bottle of perfume, a cologne stick, a pack of face wipes and a small fan. Tucked into the bottom of my bag was a plastic wallet containing a pair of dark blue lacy panties with a card bearing the name Louise, and a Runcorn telephone number; Rowan's bag contained the matching bra' and the same number. We picked up a car at the airport and drove to our hotel in Praia da Manta Rosa. The Portuguese equivalent of a young 'bell boy' escorted us to our suite and deposited our cases on the table. After asking us if we needed any other assistance he made to withdraw but was stopped by my cousin. 'Tell me,' she said, 'my cousin and I are concerned that our sun-tans should be as even as possible. Is there any where within the hotel precinct that we can sunbathe ... er, without clothes, 'sem as roupas'?' He perked up considerably, and there was the beginning of a promising stirring in the front of his rather well fitting trousers. 'But of course senhora,' he replied, 'there is a discreet sunbathing area with its own pool, in a secluded part of the grounds. Should you wish, I will escort you there as soon as you are ready and I will await you in the hotel foyer.' As good as his word, when we returned to the foyer he was there and led us to remote part of the ground, enclosed within a grove eucalyptus trees, where there was a swimming pool set in a lawn surrounded with poolside chairs. There were three people already there -- two women and a man, all three completely naked; a young woman, no more than twenty, and an older man and woman of perhaps fifty or so. It transpired that they were a family and it was their practice to sunbathe naked as often as possible. All three were slender and fit, the mother could have passed for no more than forty as regards to the shape and firmness of her breasts and buttocks; a little thick around the waist perhaps but not unpleasantly so. Our escort stood aside as we stripped off the light sundresses we had changed into and sat on two of the cushion chairs -- all our assets clearly displayed. 'Is there anything else?' He inquired politely, before turning to depart. 'Well,' Rowan said, looking him full in the face, 'should you be free later this evening, my cousin and I may well desire a little ... attention in our suite; particularly if you have a friend, a male friend, who could join us, too.' 'But of course, senhora,' he replied for the second time. 'And I will invite a friend of mine, if he is free. He is known as 'o honem de ferro' 'the man of iron'. Which does not refer to his physical appearance; and I myself am known as 'o honem sempre pronto' 'the man who is always ready'. I'm sure you will not be disappointed.' And the 'iron man' and 'the ever-ready man' proved to be as good as was promised. Both men, of slender and fit build, were provided with magnificent cocks that were practically inexhaustible. Within no time after shooting their prodigious loads into our eager vaginas, they began to recover and were quickly ready for service again. 'Service' was the right expression. Like most men of that 'cock-proud' type, they had little finesse in copulation -- in no way could it have been called 'love making'. It was like almost as if we were a couple of prize cows being serviced by highly potent bulls. For the next two weeks our prize studs visited our suite and rammed into us with the minimum of foreplay and preparation, commensurate with us being actually lubricated enough to allow them entry. Our breasts and nipples became sore and numb from heavy usage and our clittys and cunts tender from the pounding they received. No matter, it was what we wanted; we'd come to Portugal to get 'well and truly fucked' and we'd achieved that end [no pun intended]. We hoped it was sufficient to allay the feelings we'd both developed for Rowan's son William, following his transformation into Willow. There was no Louise on the flight back; only a very pleasant and solicitous male steward, whose carnal interests were directed towards one of the male passengers -- whom, I'm glad to say, appeared to be responding 'in kind'. 'And the best of luck to them both', I thought. And I meant it. It only took me one look at Willow, as he ... she stood there in the arrival lounge, to convince me that the experiment in satiation had been a failure. ********* Rowan and I settled back into running the perfumery after our holiday. It was obvious that the intricacies of the business were admirably suited to Willow's particular talents. In our absence the business had been run by our most senior manager, Marjorie, who reported that William ... Willow had more than adequately assisted her and had come up with a few suggested solutions to the inevitable problems that arose that had saved both time and resource in settling those minor difficulties. Marjorie was the only member of our staff who was aware of Willow's true identity. 'I think you'll find that he ... she will be a major asset before very much longer. The long term future of the business, as a continued family concern, is beginning to look pretty secure to me,' was her verdict. It was nice to know; and it was that that gave me the opportunity to pursue the plan that had been germinating in my mind for a while. Following our experiences in the Algarve, and the acknowledgement that it hadn't really solved very much, Rowan and I had taken up the offer made by our air hostess and had rung the Runcorn number and arranged a date. Louise's pretty little quim tasted as sweet as it looked; so did her pretty little pink tipped breasts; both of us we certainly took our pleasure there and, judging by Louise's reactions, gave equal pleasure in so doing. And her tongue was a revelation -- reaching far down inside our eager and salivating snatches and creating havoc with our clittys. The careful and delicate caresses she bestowed on our breasts and nipples and the rest of our bodies, told their own story of experience and of a desire to give as much pleasure as she received. It was the start of an occasional relationship that has continued ever since, to our mutual delight and satisfaction. But it still wasn't enough to dispel the demons. The main problem being that, her absence of a cock and her possession of a pair of natural breasts apart, her similarity to William ... Willow was even more remarkable when she was unclothed -- as we all were most of the time we were together. I was rapidly coming to the conclusion that you can only ignore an itch for so long. Eventually, the only way to eradicate it is to scratch it! The opportunity to 'scratch the itch' came sooner than I expected. A meeting was required with one of our associated companies in Mont-de-Marsan on the southern edge of the Gironde/Landes. It was something that normally either Rowan or I would handle by our selves. This time it was my turn. My tentative suggestion that perhaps Willow should accompany me met with my cousin's approval. 'After all,' I said, 'we did have that holiday; William ... Willow hasn't had a break yet. We could extend the trip for a couple of extra days. And anyway, it won't do him ... her any harm to start getting the feel of the continental side of the business.' We were both still a more than a bit undecided in how we thought of him ... her at that time. Sometimes he was William, at others she was definitely Willow. Two mornings before our departure, early, Rowan and I lay wrapped in each other after a night a love making when I asked her the question that had been at the forefront of my mind, more-or-less since our return from Portugal. And I was deliberately blunt in the way I phrased it. 'What would you feel if I seduced your son?' Rowan's answer was a long time coming, but at least she didn't pull away from me, or explode, as I'd feared she might. 'I think I'd be both jealous and relieved,' she said. 'Jealous, because I really want it to be me that has him first; relieved, because if he succumbs to your seduction, it will make it easier for me to take him to me afterwards. I know you've been struggling with this for ages', she continued, after another lengthy pause, 'so have I. Ever since I first saw that beautiful cock restrained within those pretty, delicate panties I've longed to feel it inside me. I've resisted it of course. Seeing him dressed and acting like the dainty creature he's ... she's become, hasn't helped. It made it worse, by removing him ... her from the past. In defiance of all convention the conclusion to this is becoming inevitable, and I think it's perhaps best if you're the one to initiate it!' From that time on, probably subconsciously in defence of our intended actions, my cousin's child became permanently 'Willow' in both our minds and her change in gender became established; having said that, almost immediately Willow had to revert to William for the flight to Bordeaux in order to conform with his passport. But we hadn't travelled far into the Gironde in our hired car before he stopped me and asked me to pull into a secluded parking area where, going round to the boot and opening his case, he quickly shed his jeans for a light skirt and his tee-shirt for a bra', padded out with breast forms, and a blouse. Before settling back in the car he applied make-up and released his glorious cascade of hair from the pony tail into which he'd twisted it for the flight. Willow was back, she'd already been wearing panties, suspender-belt and stockings under her masculine exterior. If Rowan and I felt more comfortable with her femininity, Willow obviously did so to. At the hotel half way between Mont-de-Marsan and Dax, the hotel concierge showed us into the double bedded room that comprised our suite. I'd made the booking in advance to ensure the double. A Story of Forbidden Love Ch. 03.1 3.1 Willow: My Cousin, My Lover At the hotel, halfway between Mont-de-Marsan and Dax, the hotel concierge showed us into the double bedded room that comprised our suite. Hazel had made the booking in advance to ensure a double. She didn't admit to that until later, of course, not until we'd become lovers. Additionally, Hazel and the concierge entered into a charade of a dialogue on the unavailability of either separate rooms or a room with twin beds -- all, I was later to learn, for my benefit. I also learnt later that my cousin and the concierge, Marianne, a striking looking woman in her late forties or early fifties, were lovers of some standing; as were my mother and Maria, when either or both visited the area. The first thing Hazel did once Marianne had left us was to start removing her clothes. 'I'm for a shower and change,' she said, 'before a quick stroll outside and then dinner. Oh! By the way, one of the services here is that anything you drop in this basket ...' indicating an 'Ali Baba' type linen basket ... 'will be laundered and returned in twenty four hours. It saves us taking back a lot of dirty clothes.' By now she was naked. Hazel and my mother are only a couple of years different in age and are daughters of sisters who married brothers. They're very much alike. It was a bit like ... quite a lot like seeing my mother naked, slender but womanly. The same slightly sallow but flawless skin, pretty firm little breasts -- B-cup at most -- with pert nipples and bubbling aureole, flat stomach and slim waist descending into a slightly mounded and cleanly shaven pudenda, and shapely hips and legs. The whole surmounted by an elfin face and rich chestnut hair cut in 'Pageboy' style. The outer lips of her quim were clearly visible at the point of her naked crotch. The curse of my pale complexion, I could feel the blood rising in my face and I knew that I was flushing a deep scarlet. My face wasn't the only part of my body affected either; blood rushed into my cock, I could feel it stiffening and growing at an unprecedented rate; thrusting against the non-existent restriction of my lacy panties and overtly tenting out the light fabric of my summer skirt. 'Oh my,' Hazel exclaimed, catching sight of my double predicament, 'I forgot! I've got too used to thinking of you as Willow, I kind of consider you to be a girl! I just didn't think!' [Willow's transformation, from William, and the relationship between Willow and Hazel and Rowan, Willow's mother, are described in 'A Story of Forbidden Love Ch. 1 and 2' ........ fp] She turned and I was treated to the sight of her neat, pert derriere as she retreated into the bathroom, from where I soon heard the sound of the shower. I barely had time to bring my raging erection under control, beneath the shroud of my femininity, before I registered the sound of the shower turning off ... or, I suppose, the sudden cessation of the shower noise, when she returned this time decently with a large bath sheet wrapped around her body secured with a twist and tuck above her breasts. The sheet was wide enough to fall below her thighs but afforded a fair view of her elegant legs. 'Okay,' she said, 'showers free. I'd stick your travel clothes in the basket with mine if I were you.' Was it some kind of a challenge? Slowly I removed my skirt and blouse reducing myself to bra' (complete with breast forms), panties, suspender-belt and stockings. My rebellious cock was beginning to slip out my control again; I contemplated retiring into the bathroom in my undies, when Hazel spoke again. 'Come on,' she said, 'you've seen mine; it's only fair that I should see yours.' Thus challenged, again, I unclipped my bra', slid out of my panties, unshipped and removed my stockings and shed my suspender-belt. My cock, free at last, sprang to attention again and thrust out before me like a little signpost as I made for the bathroom door. Hazel's giggles prompted me to turn towards her, just in time to see her loose the knot in the bath sheet allowing it to slide off her body, treating me to another view of feminine assets. My giggles now echoed hers, as I finally turned towards the shower. It took me some time to get my body under control, shower properly and dry my profuse auburn main. By the time I returned to the bedroom, draped in a towel in the same manner as I'd seen my cousin, Hazel was sitting at the dressing table adequately, if not exactly decently, clad in lacy satin bra', panties, suspender-belt and stockings brushing her short chestnut hair and making up her face. A matching full length slip, in the same burn umber colour, lay on the bed. 'I've fished our dresses, skirts and blouses out of our cases,' she informed me, and sent them down to be pressed. They'll be back in about an hour. Meantime, I'm getting ready for a short stroll before dinner. Obviously,' she giggled again, 'not quite like this; after our clothes are retuned, of course.' It seemed as good a plan as any. After deciding that I'd wear a skirt and blouse that evening, and which skirt and blouse I'd wear, I made my choice of underwear a set in pale lemon, lace trimmed nylon, and shrugging my towel off I clipped on the bra' and slipped in my breast forms, fastened the suspender-belt, drew on my stockings and fastened the suspender clips, bent to step into my panties and pulled them up around me and settled my cock comfortably in the front. I lay my slip on the bed besides Hazels and finally joined my cousin, at the dressing table, to brush my hair and arrange my face. 'Before you joined us in the business,' Hazel said, 'that evening we saw you dressed up for the first time, you told us that you'd then been dressing for four years and that Gran had caught you quite early on and helped you buy suitable clothes and taught you how to act and carry yourself like a girl. What you didn't tell us was why? What made you want to become a girl in the first place?' A Story of Forbidden Love Ch. 03.2 Willow: My Mother, My Lover As the door to their bedroom was half open, I barged in without pausing. My mother, Rowan, was standing with her back to the room talking into her mobile, her naked body reflected in the mirror of the dressing table. My heart gave a jump. It was like looking at a reflection of my newly found lover and, true to its reaction to that reflection, a reaction acquired over the past week, my cock began to stiffen and grow and thrust against the flimsy confines of my lacy nylon panties and the light summer skirt that I'd exchanged for my jeans on my journey back from the airport. 'Might have been better if you'd knocked,' my mother rebuked me mildly, as she caught sight of my reflection in her mirror. 'Mind you' she added with a little grin on her face as she looked deliberately at my tented out skirt front, 'it's nice to know that, even at my age, a girl can still evoke that kind of reception.' I suppose there comes a moment in everyone's life when they realise that their parent is a sexual being in their own right, that they have needs and desires and that they have bodies that react and function like everyone else's. That moment for me came at the sight of my mother's reflected naked beauty – her sallow but flawless skin, pretty tight little breasts, B-cup at most, with pert nipples and bubbling aureole, flat stomach and slim waist descending into a slightly mounded shaven pudenda, and shapely hips and legs; surmounted by an elfin face and rich chestnut hair cut in 'Pageboy' style – a beauty that filled me with a sudden, bewilderingly intense desire. The same desire I'd experienced when I'd stood on our hotel room balcony with a naked Hazel, and looked at the star studied night sky. And that desire had led to Hazel and me becoming lovers within minutes of that arousal. My mother and Hazel, whom I'd called 'Aunty Hazel' for the first twelve or so years of my life until her true relation ship of cousin to my mother and therefore to me had been explained, that woman who had become my lover ... my first and only lover, were children of sisters who had married brothers. By their looks and temperaments they could have been sisters at least, if not twins. Until Hazel and I shared a bedroom and a bed in that hotel in France, I'd never really been consciously aware of any sexual desire for any specific woman ... or man. Maybe, my sexuality had been satisfied by my transformation from William into Willow, subsumed into the effort needed for me to continue maintaining that feminine alter-ego; a transformation that had begun nearly six years before in experimentation following the use of a chance sobriquet by a master at school. By now most of the time I felt as much feminine as masculine ... maybe more feminine. Now I was faced with the sudden knowledge that the very masculine arousal and desire that Hazel had awakened in me was now replicated by equally masculine feelings for my mother – as a woman, as a lover. [Willow's relationship with Hazel and Rowan, and the explanation of Willow's transformation from William, are recorded in 'A story of Forbidden Love, Chapters 1, 2 and 3.1' fp] I didn't realise then of course that, like the exchange between Hazel and Marianne in the hotel in France, the whole episode that led to my discovering my mother naked in her bedroom was staged. Hazel had been in constant contact with my mother since we'd landed, and during the drive back home, by text. It was my mother who had ensured the phone rang as we entered; and Hazel had ensured she was first to cross the threshold and pick up the hall 'phone. And my mother had had plenty of time to ensure she was naked, place herself in front of the dressing table mirror and arrange the open bedroom door. ********* Still troubled by my arousal I left the room to enter my own, unpack, strip, shower and change for the evening meal that my mother had prepared. With my body back under control – under a slim skirted, sleeveless, collarless summer dress and lacy satin lingerie – I descended the stairs to find the two of them waiting to start eating. During the early part of the meal we reported the outcome of our meetings and discussed the implications for the family perfumery business. Hazel was fulsome in her appreciation of my efforts to assist, particularly in the area of translation. 'Willow was invaluable,' she told my mother, 'it'll pay us to make sure she's ... he's always with us when we're over there – and probably anywhere else on the Continent for that matter.' We do a lot of work with European growers and perfumeries. Towards the latter stages of the meal we got to talking about the trip generally; and Hazel let slip that we'd shared a double room, and a bed. My mother grinned. 'How did that work out? Remember I know your sleeping habits, particularly what you like to wear in bed', she said. 'Tell me, did you remember to take a nightie with you?' Hazel grinned in turn. 'No, I didn't think about it,' she said. 'I tried borrowing one of Willow's nightdresses and wearing that and my panties. But I couldn't cope with it. Willow had to get used to me sleeping in the buff we ... managed okay.' For a moment there my heart had been in my mouth, wondering if she was going to admit to our intimacy. It seemed not, and I wasn't about to admit it either. I needn't have worried; my mother was already well aware of the Hazel's planned seduction, and of the successful outcome. It was strange, after a week spent sleeping with my cousin – in both senses – to retire that night to a solitary bed. It wasn't helped by the sounds of a lover's reunion that emanated from their suite, but eventually I drifted off to sleep. I was awoken by a sense of movement in my room. As I started and raised myself my cousin slid into my bed beside me, naked as usual, making reassuring noises in her throat and beginning her now accustomed routine of caressing and arousing my body through the lace trimmed satin of my nightdress and French knickers. My body's response was immediate; I could feel the nerve ends of my dermis tingling and electrifying, the tiny nipples and aureole on my masculine breasts expanded and stiffened, my breasts themselves tingling; blood and adrenaline pulsing into my cock. However, I knew better than to impose my desire on my cousin. Within that last week she had taught me to linger over her delicious nakedness, using my own body – my fingers, lips, teeth and tongue to ensure that she too was aroused and stimulated almost to the point of agony, before she consented to straddle me and take me into the deep velvet strength of her innermost being. I knew better too not to remove either my nightdress or my knickers. My cousin liked to posses my masculinity as it reared up out from the delicate femininity that had become my established adornment, surrounded at its root with the frothy lace trim of my loose knicker leg and the disrupted skirt of my nightdress. We eventually slept. Again, I was awoken by a sense of movement I my room. Sometime in the early hours Hazel had left my bed to return to my mother. Dawn had now broken and the room was flooded by early morning sunlight, to reveal both Hazel and my mother stood beside by bed, both as naked as had been the night-time visitation of my cousin. The vision of those two sallow skinned but flawless almost identical figures, pretty, pert nippled breasts and bubbling aureole, flat stomachs and slim waists, slightly mounded shaven pudenda, firm buttocks, shapely hips and legs; each surmounted by an elfin face and short but rich chestnut hair, called up an instant response in my body. My mother raised a finger to her lips as the two of them slid into my bed on opposite sides. As they relaxed into the bed I felt two hands, one from each side, gently burrowing under the skirt of my nightdress to find and gently grasp and caress my, by now, massively tumescent cock. 'It's not to surprising that Hazel wanted this inside her,' my mother murmured in my ear, a warm smile on her face. 'My darling, we've got so used to thinking of you as a girl; that it comes as a bit of shock to realise that you've got ... "other attributes" that make you more than just our own darling Willow, but as a separate and unique sexual creature in your own right – and a highly desirable one. We wouldn't want you to change because you've become your cousin's lover, not unless you desire it. And,' suddenly, it was though my mother was in some kind of confessional, as her tone took a subtle transformation almost into an attitude of supplication, 'I want ... I need you to become my lover, too! But again only ... only if you want it, too!' ********* When my Great Grandfather had inherited the family perfumery trading laws had been such that Sunday opening wasn't an option. He had seen no reason to alter the situation when Sunday trading laws relaxed. He considered that, completely regardless of any individual religious belief, all staff needed one set day when they knew they could all relax – together if they felt so inclined. He also ensured that all staff members had one complete extra day off during the week. Now dependent upon personal belief, or lack of it, that could be either Friday Saturday or Monday. Work schedules and staff numbers, inclusive of part time staff, were arranged to accommodate this. In their turn, my mother and Hazel had seen no need to change those conditions. Great Gran and Grandfather were both irregular attendees at the central Methodist Church. Without exerting any pressure they encouraged us, my mother Hazel and me, to follow that same attendance pattern – a habit we retained even after Gran's death. This day was a Sunday. The three of us had no reason to prepare for work; preparation of any kind was also, if not forbidden, at least discouraged on rest days; and we had not planned to visit the Chapel that morning. In any case, in the event, we didn't arise until after midday. It was the first time that I shared my bed ... a bed with those two precious and caring women; those women who knew me intimately, had witnessed and assisted my transformation from a closet transvestite into an assured feminine being – albeit one with a masculine body – and with whom my life was shared and centred. I had during the previous week or so become used to the alternately softly yielding and thrustingly demanding body of my cousin; now within my bed and sharing their bodies with me and mine with them were the two people who had become so much to me. Learning to loving and be loved by Hazel had been a revelation and a delight; now the experience of two such assured and experienced lovers using their bodies and mine to pleasure one-an-other and me, and to teach me how to respond, how to conserve my limited masculine capacity by interlacing the feminine arts my cousin had introduced me to, produced an even greater ecstasy. It was difficult, in the growing euphoria of the experience, to remain fully aware of whether I was caressing my mother's body, or my cousin's – who's firm tight, bullet pointed breast was in my mouth or under my fingers; which of the two sweet, musky havens, or tough, throbbing little stalks, my lips, tongue and teeth were addressing; which sweet lips were enfolding my cock, or which sweet quim was allowing me to possess it. Of course, I didn't learn how to participate fully immediately, but it quickly became our custom to continue to share our sleeping arrangements – just as we shared most of our working and leisure hours. As my mother had suggested, I didn't change my adopted life-style, even though I'd now become their lover. I was too used to the assurance I'd developed by assuming a feminine persona. I continued to dress and deport myself as a girl ... a woman both daytime and night time. Both of my lovers preferred to sleep 'au natural', despite my newly acquired status as their consort – or maybe in part because of my somewhat ambiguous male/female role in that position – I preferred to sleep in nightdress and matching French knickers, a mode of dress that they both professed to prefer. Maybe, to, on their part it was an unconscious acknowledgement of their own predilection for their own sex – bisexual as both them were. ********* A few weeks after our return from France, our new situation having become more-or-less established, I descended the stairs on my way to work. Hazel and my mother had already gone, to the shop in the centre of the city, I was going down to our outlet on the quayside. As I stopped to check my make-up and pick up a light jacket, the door bell rang. I opened the door. I could have been looking in a mirror, down to the waist at least. The slender, small breasted form, in a tidy, long sleeved white cotton blouse, was surmounted by a pale, slightly freckled, subtly made-up face, with a cascade of deep auburn hair swept back into an abundant pony tail, secured with a single emerald green ribbon. Only below the waist was there a difference. I was clad in a short, slender fitting skirt, the same colour as my hair ribbon, and pale green nylon stockings. She was wearing a pair of neatly tailored, closely fitting trousers – also emerald green. Our feet were shod with identical light flat shoes that, again, echoed the colour of our respective skirt and trousers. A Story of Forbidden Love Ch. 04 A Story of Forbidden Love Ch. 4      by frillypanty 4. Cedar: A New Perception It is probable that this will be the last chapter in this particular story. We will see.