I was refilling my punch glass when Sophia walked by with one of the bridesmaids. "Oh, we were just talking about you," she said lightly. "Now, look at him," she said to the bridesmaid, Linda. "Don't you agree?" Linda blushed a bit and looked away, but Sophia continued, "Wouldn't he look so much nicer in one of the bridesmaid's gowns than in that stiff tuxedo?"
I stared at her and instantly blushed a bright scarlet-I have always been easy to embarrass, and my tendency to blush at the drop of a hat has caused me a lot of teasing in the past. Linda smiled awkwardly and walked on to get a piece of cake, but Sophia paused and whispered (a little loudly, I thought), "Maybe you'd like to try my dress on later, dear."
Sophia walked away, and Linda looked back at me quizzically, and I blushed even more. What made the moment all the more embarrassing was that I had been with Debi and Sophia when they shopped for the attendant's gowns and for Sophia's dress, and Sophia had made a point of asking my opinion and getting the one I preferred: a gorgeous mint green satin tea-length slipgown with a matching Rachael lace overdress.
The idea of wearing a dress-any dress let alone such an elegant one-made me feel . . . odd. I quite suddenly had a rather vivid daydream in which Sophia was zipping me into her dress. It gave me chills. Debi walked up to me at that moment, and I shook myself out of my musings. What had just happened? I asked myself.
I'm ashamed to admit it, but that first night of wedded bliss I found myself dreaming about my new wife's mother. During one especially vivid dream I looked in a mirror and I was Sophia. I woke up ejaculating, much to my chagrin and Debi's distress; I had not performed that well earlier in the evening.
My dreams continued, becoming if anything more elaborate. I was beginning to obsess just a tiny bit, and then came that fateful day when Sophia asked if I would mind house-sitting.
I don't remember the details now, but it made sense at the time-or perhaps I wanted it to. At any rate, that weekend I found myself alone in Sophia's house. After I had been there awhile, I found myself walking upstairs in something approaching a trance. When I got to her room I immediately walked into her large walk-in closet. Her mother-of-the-bride dress was the first thing I saw. I took it down, carefully removed it from its protective covering, and laid it on her bed.
It all seems a dream now. I vaguely recall tearing off my clothes, and I remember that first moment of letting the heavy satin slipgown slither down my slight, trembling body. I will never forget that feeling. Getting into the lace overdress was more difficult, and when I finally did so I found that I was unable to reach the back zipper. I whimpered slightly in frustration, then gasped as I felt someone pulling the zipper up my back.
I looked in the mirror and saw that it was Sophia. It was the vision I had from the reception! My orgasm was sudden and strong; the zipper caught and tore the soiled dress as I stumbled and fell in a heap on Sophia's bedroom floor.
Sophia was on me in a flash, kissing me and rubbing against me feverishly. I was hard again in a matter of moments, so when she hiked her ruined dress up over my hips my erection popped free. She lifted her skirt and yanked down her hose and panty, then straddled me and lowered herself onto me. She was hot and moist-wet, compared to her daughter-and knew what she was doing. She rode me skillfully, pulling back at just the right time, then plunging ahead with renewed vigor. When I finally came she continued humping me till I was dry, hungrily French kissing me at the same time.
We continued to kiss for a long time, then both of us just lay there, weak as kittens. "I've been waiting in my car, outside," Sophia finally said, startling me out of my reverie. "I just knew you would . . . mm, that you were a, a sissy. . . ." She reached down and fondled me through the lace and satin of her ruined dress, and to my surprise I began to get hard again. Up till then, I had always been a "one-shot-a-night" lover.
"Every time you let me dress you up," Sophia whispered, "you will get sex like that. The more . . . elaborate . . . the outfit, the more elaborate the sex. . . ."
My eyes widened. "Oh, my," I breathed.
She smiled a triumphant smile. It had only just begun.
