Ducklings

By: Rosie

I must admit, it took a lot of adapting from my side, but in the end, it was all
worth it. I mean, what goes on in the privacy of the bedroom should remain
between husband and wife. The intimate lingerie worn to the bedroom should also
not be seen outside the bedroom. Granted, it can’t be completely hidden from the
world – someone has to make it, after all, and then there’s the salespeople that
handle it. But that should be it, right? No one else should know, especially no
one this close to you? So naturally, it was very difficult for me to accept the
fact that my own mother knew what was worn in our bedroom. To make matters
worse, not the morning after, but beforehand, before I even laid my eyes on the
lustrous lingerie and the silky night gowns and baby dolls, she knew all about
them. After all, she was the one who provided them.

But then again, if there’s an expert on such things, it’s my mother. She knows
about clothes, especially sexy clothes, she knows hair, she knows makeup and all
other beauty tricks. Though when I let her take care of our wedding wardrobes,
all my reservations were swept away by the gorgeous gown she had made, and the
trousseau…

I was returning from a week long business trip. My mother in law picked me up at
the airport.
“Hello, Marcia,” I said, kissed her on the cheek.
We got into her car. She was wearing a very elegant green silk wrap around
dress.
“Nice dress,” I said, “My mother’s, I presume?”
“Oh, you know Beatrice,” she chuckled, “Every since your wedding she won’t let
us wear anything but her designs.”
“Yeah, she does tend to get overbearing,” I said, “Though it’s worth it, isn’t
it?”
Marcia sighed.
“Look, I don’t mean any disrespect to you mother, she has been very kind to me,
taking me in when I wanted to live close to you two, but I think moving in with
her was a mistake.”
“Come on, Marcia, it can’t be that bad?” I said, though suspecting it just as
well could.
“Well,” she sighed, “On one hand my wardrobe has doubled since I got there, I
can’t complain about that, can I? On the other, she just won’t leave me be until
I’m dressed like she has envisioned. I mean, I know she means well, but I’m a
grown woman, for Chrissakes, I can dress myself.”
“Yep, that’s my mom,” I commented.
“You know I don’t even dare to wear my own clothes anymore. She even started
altering them. My blue polka dot dress?”
“What about it?” I asked.
“She’s shortened the skirt to a mini!” Marcia replied, “My yellow floral
sundress? Now it’s a jumpsuit.”
“Oh dear,” I said.
“Yes. So now I either wear the clothes she’s made for me or she lends me her
own. God, I don’t remember when it was the last time I wore a pair of jeans. Not
after I moved in with your mother, that’s for sure.”

I kept silent for a while, not knowing what to say. My mother was like that, no
one could do anything about it.
“Well, the past week’s been easier on me,” she said, “She had Ashley to fuss
over.”
Ashley, my husband had been staying with both mothers while I was away. He
wasn’t too thrilled about the idea, but I felt it was better than him being all
alone in our house.

Ever since my mother learned he was the boy I wanted to marry, she had worked on
him, so to speak, until his image was to my liking. Truthfully, she made him
look primarily to her tastes but as much as I had to object on grounds of
privacy and her interference in our lives, I had to admit I rather enjoyed the
results. Marcia on the other hand wasn’t too thrilled about the changes – he was
her son, after all – but as she had lived quite a distance away at that time,
the first time she had seen him in a long while was just before our wedding.

By that time mother had already made all preparations for the wedding and
despite Marcia’s fierce protests, it was too late to change anything. In time –
and probably under my mom’s influence once she had moved in with her – she
learned to accept her son’s new look, though. Lately, even she had started
participating in my mom’s attentions to Ashley. She had to admit, as much as she
found my mother to enforce her views, that she made anyone she worked on look
much better than before. That, and she was glad to get my mom off her own back,
I suppose, even if it meant getting her on her son’s back.

My mother was in her living room when we came in.
“Dolores, honey,” she called out and got off the sofa. As she rushed towards me,
he the silk of her full skirted black dress fluttered about her thighs. I swear,
I had never seen her dressed in anything else than what she considered ladylike
clothing, and always immaculately made up. As long as I lived under her roof,
that was my dress code as well.

She wasn’t too conservative, she did allow me to wear short skirts and low cut
tops (she did wear them herself), though certain basic rules always applied.
Such as “A lady never shows bare legs,” which meant that no matter how hot it
was, I always had to wear at least the thinnest of nylons. Preferably not flesh
toned, at least not the thinnest ones. This rule wasn’t too popular with me,
though it did earn me many admiring looks in the summer. Also, socks and knee
highs were only allowed with pants. Even with floor length skirts I had to wear
full length stockings or pantyhose – God forbid my skirts should rise and the
tops of my socks come in view.

“I’m my own first and last product,” she used to say, meaning she was a walking
commercial for her services. She used to treat me the same way until I had moved
away, though I never fully got out of her grasp. Lately, I suspected she started
to view Marcia in that way.
“How’ve you been?” she asked, “Everything worked out okay?”
“Even better than I expected,” I replied. I decided beforehand I wouldn’t boast
about my business success, though I was starting to find the urge almost
unbearable. My mother stopped me, in her own way.
“I’ve made a new dress,” she said, “Maybe you’d like to try it on?”
“I think what Dolores wants the most right now is to see her hubby,” Marcia
said, “Isn’t that right?”
“Yeah,” I chuckled, amused by Marcia’s choice of words, “Where is my ‘hubby’
anyway?”
“Oh, I assembled a very special welcoming outfit for Ashley,” mom said, “To
welcome you back home, you know? But first, Marcia? Would you make us some tea?”
“Sure,” Marcia said and went to the kitchen.

My mother turned again to me. “Now, where were we? Oh yes!” she said and knocked
on the door that led to her office.
“Ashley, dear? You can come out now,” she said.
This was one of her favorite tricks, having her models enter the room at her
cue. That’s how she had him reunite with his mother. At that time I thought it
demeaning, though in retrospect I guess it made sense. Marcia probably wouldn’t
have recognized him otherwise, without introduction I mean.

And now I was waiting for him to come out, pleasantly nervous with anticipation
of his new outfit. Not for the first time in my life, and I suspected not for
the last time either.
He stepped out the door, shyly, demurely. I gasped in surprise when I saw him.
Not that I hadn’t seen him dressed like that before – I had, though in different
surroundings, and certainly not with his mother nearby.

At first it appeared as if he was naked from his waist down. He was wearing a
grey satin corset top with a black embroidered floral pattern. The corset
cinched his already slim waist and made his breasts almost spill over the top.
His hair was now dyed a champagne blonde, and fell in gentle waves down his
shoulders, barely touching his breast. His lips were painted crimson red, his
eyes sultry darkened. He wore silver pumps that had a four inch heel and matched
his top. However, between the top and the shoes, all he was wearing was shiny
translucent pantyhose. Only at the second look I saw that he was wearing black
lacy panties over the pantyhose, supposedly functioning as an outer garment, not
lingerie.

I could not contain myself. I ran over to him – as fast as my tight skirt
allowed – held him by the waist and kissed him, trusting my tongue into his
mouth as deep as I could. The heels of my shoes were lower than his though I
still had some height advantage over him and we assumed our usual embracing
stance – me bending downward slightly, he snaking his arms around my neck,
tilting his head backward in full acceptance of my advances. Eventually we broke
our embrace, but not before I thoroughly inspected his back with my hands,
spending the biggest portion of time on his barely clad backside.
“Oh, honey, I missed you so much,” I cooed in his ear.
“I missed you too,” he said.
“How’s mummy been treating you?” I asked, my hands still on his shoulder.
“Well, I think your actions speak louder than words,” my mom said, “We’ve had a
marvelous time, haven’t we?”
“Yes, mummy,” he said.
Even though he had started calling my mother ‘mummy’ even before our wedding, it
never failed to amuse me. Marcia didn’t think it so funny when she learned about
that but my mother made it up to her by making Ashley call her ‘mummy’ as well,
as opposed to ‘mom’. In case of doubt, Marcia became ‘mummy dearest’ while my
mom was just plain ‘mummy’.
“And you, Dolores? I take it you like what you see?” she asked me.
“You bet, mummy,” I said, “Though didn’t I see you wear that top at Shauna’s
birthday party two years ago?”
“That’s right,” she said, “Not just the top, though.”
“I figured as much,” I replied, then turned to Ashley.
“How about that?” I said, pulling him in to another embrace, “My husband wearing
my mother’s hand-me-downs?”
“Oh, like it’s the first time he’s wearing something of mine,” mom sighed.
“I know. I’m just teasing,” I said.
Mummy dearest returned to the living room. She nearly dropped her tray when she
saw her son’s new getup.
“Jesus, Beatrice,” she said, “Isn’t this a little too forward?”

It was an awkward situation to both her and him, though despite her
embarrassment, she couldn’t keep her eyes of his curvaceous body.
“These are just panties he’s wearing over the hose, right?” she said, snapping
the elastic at the leg of his panties.
“Come on, Beatrice. Don't you think you should have allowed him some more
modesty?” she protested, though the pride of her son’s good looks was decisively
present in her voice.

Under our amused glances, she took a good look at her son again.
“Well, at least he has the legs to carry that outfit,” she said, sitting down
beside my mother.
To my bewilderment and amusement, and to Ashley’s discomfort, my mother put a
possessive arm around Marcia.
I tried to engage in a conversation, though I was too distracted. Fortunately,
Marcia spoke up first.
“I’m sorry, but I just don’t feel comfortable with my son practically undressed
among us,” she said, “No disrespect, but it’s not even dark yet.”
“It will be when our lovebirds get to their home,” my mom said.
“Come on, Beatrice, you can’t possibly mean he’s supposed to go out like that,”
she said.
“Of course not,” my mom replied, “I have a nice light coat for him.”
“The one you showed me?”
“The same,” mom said.
“But that thing will hardly cover his backside,” Marcia protested again, “Can’t
you give him something that will attract less attention?”
“Marcia, we’ve talked about this…” mom said with a threatening tone.
I raised an eyebrow, bemused by the developments.
”Oh please, be reasonable,” Marcia said, though sounding almost as if she was
begging my mother, “Let him at least wear one of my old dresses, the ones you
don’t let me wear anymore.”

Mom looked at Marcia for a minute, then relented.
“Oh, alright,” she said, though not sounding very pleased, “Ashley? Go see if
your mother has any suitable skirts.”
“Yes mummy,” he said and got off the couch.
I lustily watched his shapely behind as he made his way up the stairs.
“I’ll have you over my knees for this, Marcia,” my mom said to my mother in law.
“I know, Beatrice, I’m sorry,” she sheepishly replied.
“Not as sorry as you will be,” mom dryly retorted.

Ashley reappeared soon enough, with a short but very full black skirt that came
down to his mid thighs. Somehow, I couldn’t imagine that ever belonging to his
mother.
“Not bad,” my mom said, “Mind you, I don’t approve when people interfere with my
work, but I have to compliment you on your choice, Ashley. Looks like something
did brush off to you.”
“Thank you,” he said, then dropped a small but perfect curtsey.
I got up, walked up to him, put my hand on his thigh then possessively ran it up
under his skirt, until I was groping his buttocks again.
“Well, I guess we’ll be going,” I said, “Thanks again, mum.”

Later that night, perhaps not fully sated but our energies surely spent, we were
lying in bed in each other’s arms.
“You didn’t tell me, really,” I said to my husband, caressing his tummy through
the chiffon of his baby dolls, “How was your stay at my mother’s? You all got
along?”
“Well, my mom’s still can’t get over how your mom…” he began.
“Who?” I stopped him.
“Sorry. Mummy dearest still finds mummy too enforcing in regards to wardrobe,”
he said, with a softer voice even, “Though other than that, we got along fine.
Mummy dearest even began helping mummy with the dressmaking.”
“How many times did you have to get over her knees?” I asked.
“Just once,” he said, “I forgot she had a customer coming and I wasn’t wearing
the dress she made in time.”
“She used you for a model?” I asked.
“Mummy dearest too,” he said.
I paused for a while.
“You think I’m in trouble for not trying on that dress?” I asked, “You think
she’ll spank me tomorrow?”
He shrugged.

The next day we showed up at her door again. We were both wearing mummy’s old
clothes that she had given us. I was wearing a cream and coffee polka dot silk
dress, mini skirted but long sleeved. Ashley was wearing a pink short sleeved
blouse and a dark blue A-line skirt that reached to just above his shoulder.

“My my! Look at you two,” mummy said as she ushered us in, “I almost hate
sending you off to change.”

Though she did. Each of us was sent to our own private room to change.
Not wanting to anger my mother any further, I quickly divested of my clothes and
started to put on the lingerie laid on the bed. Pink satin, lavishly lined with
lace – panties, bra, and a merry widow corset. Also I put on pink-hued
stockings. Then the dress. It was also pink, made of taffeta, with a square
neckline and full, puffy short sleeves. The knee length skirt was very full and
retained the same pleated look even after I put on a very full petticoat
underneath it. Embarrassed by this humiliating garment, I made my way
downstairs.

Ashley and Marcia were already in the living room – and they were both wearing
dresses identical to mine.
Shamefaced, I came up to them, hugged them.
“You look kinda cute, you two,” I said.
“So do you,” Marcia said, sounding equally embarrassed.
“I’m glad you like your new look,” I heard mummy say as she entered the room.
It was as if we all stiffened with fright, then we quickly turned to face my
mother. She was dressed in a black pantsuit with a dark red silk blouse.
“Come to me, girls,” she said, spreading her arms.

Accompanied by loud rustling of our dresses, we all snuggled up to her embrace.
She kissed us each on the forehead, then planted a full kiss on Marcia’s lips.
“Well, my little princesses, why don’t we go out for a while?” she said, “Let’s
go for lunch, then maybe a walk in the park?”
All of us knowing it wasn’t really a question, we cued behind and left the room.
As we passed a mirror, I stole a glance. The picture was perfect – three pink
ducklings led by a serene, powerful black duck. I turned around and kissed my
husband, then minced to my mummy’s car.