He Loves Mommy's Blouses    by Prim

The door opened and I was pushed forward with Joanne's hand in my back, until I was right in the sitting room with about a dozen women staring at me. "Here he is," she said. "He wants to show you how much he loves Mommy Delia's blouses." The women gasped with disbelief, covering their mouths or holding their cheeks. They'd never seen anything like it: a man - Delia's son-in-law - dressed in a blouse and stockings with high heels, and done up in make-up with jewellery to match. They were too polite, or maybe too embarrassed, to burst out laughing. Delia stood up and came towards us. "Hello Nancy," she said, her carmined lips pursed into a scornful smile. "My friends won't believe me that you want to spend all your time playing with my blouses and skirts. It is a bit unusual, isn't it?" I bowed my head in shame and nodded, murmuring a quiet "Y-Yes Mommy." A shiver ran through me, and another. It was a frisson of feminine pleasure like I always felt when Delia was putting me into her blouses and panties. But last week, when she showed me to other women for the first time, this quivering of girly sweetness became so much stronger. It was an ache of pleasure, right through my body. Today I loved wearing her floral bow tie blouse, but it was a hundred times nicer when there were other women looking at me - and grinning. "We want you in the middle," she said, "where everyone has a good view of the husband in his Mother-In-Law's blouse and panties. Hold the hem of your blouse, here and here, and lift it up to show them your pleasure." My 'pleasure' shot up by ten notches as I realised everyone was going to see the stiffness of my erection. "Ohhh!" gasped the whole company as Delia's white satin French knickers came into sight, pointed high up my middle, stretching the lacey legs and the smooth gusset upwards. "We want him to show the Ladies how he plays with your blouses, Mother," said Joanne. "He can use your cream cocktail blouse or maybe your lilac satin." My heart was suddenly thumping like a jack hammer beneath the flowered bow at my neck. They were expecting me to masturbate myself in front of these women - Delia's friends. "Hmm," pondered Delia, fingering through the hangers on the blouse rail. "Yes, he REALLY loves this one, girls." My heart practically stopped on the spot. It was her lilac satin blouse, which gave me instant ejaculations every time she dressed me in it. I was close to fainting as she brought it closer to me, with a no-nonsense look of dominant control on her face. She took my hand and put the hook of the hanger into it. "There we are, girls," she said, turning on her heels and taking her place amongst her friends. "He knows what to do with it." I did. I knew that Delia makes me stand in front of her when she has me in her bedroom, with one of her skirts, or corsets, or blouses in front of me, so that I can slide it up and down, up and down over the point in her panties. And that was what I had to do for the entertainment of her guests. I brought every ounce of my strength, weakened as it was in this company, to controlling my urge to kiss and caress her blouse. I fought in my cock, as the satin slid up and down over my blouse-covered knob. I cringed to bring extra strength into my loins. But the waves of pleasure were too great: her slippery blouse, her and Joanne sitting there, all these women watching me with mouths hanging open and eyes like saucers, as my pantied cock grew as hard as a stick of pink rock - until I could bear it no longer, and my climax burst into a long, agonised peak or blousing pleasure. Ohhh! I got that oh-so-familiar sensation of hot cum streaming down the inside of my legs. As I sagged into a worn-out slouch, my hands motionless as I clutched the blouse to my front in a loving embrace, my ears were greeted with polite applause from all sides as the Ladies smiled politely at me - and then asked from this side and that: "Can he show us how much he loves another of your blouses, Delia?"

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