Your Mothers Panties

I had been suspicious of your visits to my panty drawer for quite some time, but it wasn't until I bought that nanny-cam that I could confirm it. You can imagine my surprise when I began coming home from work and finding video after video of my nineteen year-old son dressed in my bras, my panties, my dresses and high heels. That was the kind of behavior you might expect from a little girl, not a nearly grown young man. What amazed me most was how often you did it, how shameless you were in what you took. Something had to be done, you had to be taught a lesson you would never forget. I thought hard about what to do, and then it came to me. It would take a few days to prepare. I visited some of my favorite stores and spent a lot of money. I went to the salon to get my hair done, and got a manicure at the manicurist. I stripped naked for a full-body spray tan and got naked again for a Brazilian bikini wax.

Then, on a Wednesday, I left work early. You were at your class over at the community college. I went up to my bathroom and undressed and took a shower. I blow-dried and brushed my hair. I went into my walk-in closet and put on one of my sexiest bedroom outfits: see-through black lace panties and a matching bra; sheer stockings; a garter belt and garters; 4-inch stiletto pumps; my grandmother's pearl necklace; silver dangly earrings. I put on makeup and perfume. When I was ready I looked in the mirrors in my closet. All of the grooming that week had paid off – I looked tan, fit, and hot. Then, dressed only in that skimpy lingerie, I went downstairs to the kitchen to make dinner.

That was where you found me when you got home from class. You stood in the doorway and gaped as I moved about the kitchen, my spike heels clicking on the linoleum.

"Sweetie," I said casually, "Would you mind setting the table? Dinner is just about ready."

I put on some oven mitts and bent down at the waist to pull the roast out of the oven. As I did so I could feel the slight pull of the garters, the thong disappearing deeper between my cheeks, the cool air-conditioned air on my bare skin. I have to admit I stayed bent over like that for longer than was strictly necessary, knowing that the sight of your mother's ass in the air must have been torture for you.

I stood up and placed the pan on the stovetop. I was not surprised to see that you hadn't moved from the doorway.

"Is everything all right?" I asked you. "You look tired. Did something happen at school?"

You were staring at the floor then, blushing a little bit. Every once in a while you would glance up at my body, as though you couldn't help it, then grimace and look down again.

"Oh," I said innocently. "Is it my outfit? Is that what's bothering you?"

You nodded, ever so slightly.

"Well, that's a surprise, Honey. I thought you would like it. Especially since you seem to like wearing it so much yourself."

You looked up shocked. You tried to deny it, but there was no point. Even without the nanny-cam videos I would have known for sure in that moment, just from your expression. I am your mother, after all. I then explained everything to you – the months of misplaced underwear, the nanny cam, and that it was time for you to be punished – and you stood there, staring at the patterns on the kitchen floor, turning redder and redder. I walked across the room.

"Come on," I said. "There's something I want to show you."

I led you into the living room. On the table there were several neatly wrapped packages, all light pink, the name of an upscale lingerie and bridal boutique emblazoned on each box.

"They're gifts," I said. "And they're all for you."

I made you sit and watch as I opened each package, one by one, explaining what everything was. The first box contained a set of lingerie exactly like the one I was wearing, down to the stockings and see-through panties -- but in your size, of course. The other boxes contained more bras and panties in different colors, a necklace like the one I used to wear, clip-on earrings (I hadn't pierced your ears yet then), makeup, perfume, and, last but not least, a pair of patent leather stiletto pumps – just like mine.

"Since you like sneaking into my room and wearing my underwear so much I thought I would you some of your own." I said. "Now get undressed."

You said you wouldn't. You begged and pleaded with me to change my mind. But I played my trump card.

"You know," I said. "The girl at the lingerie store, I think she knows you. Gorgeous little blonde thing. Brittany, her name is. She says she takes a class with you at school."

Your eyes widened. I knew for a fact that you had had a crush on Brittany forever.

I laughed. "Don't look so scared, Honey. I didn't tell her all this lingerie was for you, or show her that video of you in my nightie that I saved on my cell phone. And I won't have to do any of that, I promise, as long as you do everything I say tonight. Ok?"

(I know, I did tell Brittany eventually. I had to. She was becoming very suspicious about all of the expensive things I was buying that weren't in my size. Suspicious and a little jealous, it turns out. But she's kept it mostly secret, hasn't she? And we've had such good times with her. Ok, fine. I've had such good times with her. But sometimes we've let you watch.)

"Take off your clothes," I said. "Now." You began undressing, slowly at first, but faster when I mentioned that Brittany had given me her phone number and that we were meeting for lunch that week. Soon enough you were standing there, pale and naked and scared in front of your lingerie-clad mother. You were so embarrassed. And not only were you naked but you were hard, remember? I almost burst out laughing I was so surprised. I hadn't expected that. Of course, I didn't know then just how much of a sissy my little boy was.

"This set matches mine," I said, holding up the new bra. "I picked it out because I think it's your favorite, right?" I laughed. "You're going to look just like Mommy tonight."

You were quiet and compliant as I dressed you up. I made you hold your arms out as I clasped the bra strap behind your back. The front hung a little loosely on your chest so I stuffed the cups with tissue paper from one of the packages – this was before Brittany gave you those breast pads we use so much.

I knelt down in front of you and pulled the stockings up your legs, smoothing them out as I did so. "No runs," I explained.

Then came the garter belt, and as I pulled it around your waist and started clipping it to the stockings I began making "accidental" contact with the erection bobbing in front of you – my hand would brush it, or my hair. You gasped each time, horrified but aroused by what your mom was doing to you. And to tell you the truth I was starting to feel the same way. For some reason dressing you up was really turning me on. I did the back clips and your little butt was so cute that I had to give it a smack. I laughed when you jumped.

You stepped through the thong panties and I slid them up your legs. Your erection strained against the tiny patch of fabric. I smirked. I could tell you were humiliated by how excited you were, which in turn only made you more excited.

"Come here, Cinderella. Let's see if the shoes fit."

They did, as I knew they would. You were a bit wobbly, as the heels were very high, probably too high for a beginner. Then I put the necklace on you, the dangly earrings, a little makeup, a spritz of perfume. I stood back and admired my handiwork. I was impressed. If someone had looked through the window then, and somehow not noticed the obvious bulge in your panties, they would have only seen two beautiful women in skimpy lingerie.

I made you look at yourself in the full-length mirror on the wall, turning to see yourself from all angles. It hit suddenly me how much I loved what we were doing. And I made a decision then. A decision I got to make because I'm your mother, and you're my son. I decided to buy you lots of bras and panties, and dresses too, and high heels. I was going to throw out your boy clothes. I would teachyou how to put on makeup and keep me company and help me around the house, and all the other things I wanted you to do. I was tired of having a troublesome, perverted little boy. I was going to make you into something else, and if you complained or refused, well, I always had those videos to threaten you with.

I didn't tell you this then, of course. Instead I hugged you, my bra rubbing against yours. "Kiss me," I said, and you, startled, kissed me on the cheek. "No, Sweetie. A real kiss. Like this." I covered your mouth with mine. You resisted at first but gave in quickly. I pulled you into me. I think I knew then that you were really mine, and that you knew it too, that I could do anything with you that I wanted. I grabbed your hand and led you, my baby, up the stairs and down the hall, our matching heels clicking in rhythm on the hardwood all the way to my bedroom.