So You Want a Satin Story...

[TomThompson]

Wrote this for a friend who has satin fantasies about a family member...

DAVE'S STORY

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He was pouring two glasses of wine when she called to him. His mother, spending the weekend

with him near the fifth anniversary of his father's death. They were leaving soon for an evening at

one of the few remaining jazz clubs in the city, and he was thinking that a quick bit of Pinot Grigio

might get them feeling mellow sooner.

"Could you help me with this zipper, Dave. It's on the back of my blouse and seems stuck."

He was recorking the wine, and didn't turn for a moment. When he did she was just a couple

steps away. He started. She laughed and asked if she had startled him.

"I guess," he replied.

But that wasn't it. It was the blouse. And it was the skirt. Both were made of extremely soft and

shiny satin charmeuse, of the kind normally found in the finest lingerie. And he would know. He

had a fetish for silk and satin. He had been that way even before he knew what sexual feelings

were. For him, sex and satin were one whole thing, each a part of his basic needs. It was as if she

had appeared nude to someone without the fetish. And she was his mother.

"Do you think the satin is too much? Some people seem to think it's a bit tacky outside a wedding

or a formal ball, but I like it. Especially for a jazz club. It's just got a certain 'eff you' air about it,

don't you think?"

He couldn't think. His mother was in her late 40's, but she was slim and very fit. He was already

an adult when she had gotten the very well done breast implants just a year before his father died.

At times when his thoughts were roaming freely, it had occured to him that it was a pity that his

father had gotten ill so soon after they were placed. They had transformed her always nicely full,

but getting slightly too round, breasts into the taut, pointed fullness of a much younger woman. He

was mesmerized by them now. The blouse, which he was right then zipping up, had a high neck

at the front. From this, a sheet of smooth, shining fabric spread from puckered waves at the neck,

to smoothly drape across her revealingly outlined, highly textured, puffy aureolas, and long hard

nipples. Her nipples swung and danced inside the silky fabric as she turned to face him again.

"I feel like dancing. Will you dance with me at the club tonight? If you're not afraid of being seen

with an older lady," she laughed.

He wasn't afraid of being seen with an older lady. But he'd seen her dance. Even at a place with

mellower, slower music, there was always an air of the "hot girl in front of the stage trying to get

laid by the guitarist" to her movement. And in a revealing satin blouse and swirling satin skirt?

God help them if they played anything even resembling swing jazz, and got those eye-catching

breasts dancing in a struggle to escape through the flimsy silken walls that imprisoned them.

No, he wasn't afraid of being seen dancing with an older woman, he was afraid of having to

endure the watching eyes of everyone in the club, and they would definitely be watching her,

while his pants lost the ability to disguise a growing erection. He knew that her being his mother

wouldn't help stifle his satin-loving cock a bit in that regard.

The satin itself was a sexual being to him. People didn't understand that fetishists usually had a

perfectly normal dose of appreciation for the eroticism of the naked body. A perfectly normal level

of excitement during a nice blow job. Not to mention the pleasure of sliding an erect cock into an

excited woman and fuckdancing inside her. But the satin was an equal thing. The teasing and

sensations of his naked body dressing and moving in satin clothes, and between satin sheets,

was equally, if not more, erotically fulfilling. Satin on a woman was like a threesome for him. The

satin would seduce him, even if the person inside it happened to be his mother.

"Well, it's not that at all," he stammered helplessly, "It's...it's just... almost too attractive, if you

know..."

"I think we both do," she interrupted, "Dave, while you were out this afternoon I found a key lying

behind a chair in the living room. I wondered what it might be for, and thought I'd just try it in the

door of the spare bedroom you keep locked. Because, like you said, you keep all your important

papers and your father's gun collection in there."

He felt a flush of heat climbing his face. He could almost see the redness himself. The spare

bedroom. The secure room. His satin room. The walk-in closet full of satin clothes and lingerie.

The round bed in the middle of the room, draped in satin sheets. The mirrored walls and ceiling.
The place he brought his satin whores when he needed to immerse himself in shameless satin sex.

His mouth felt like it should say something, but his brain had nothing on offer to send. The chokng

silence was broken by his mother.

"Dave, I know what a satin fetish is. Your father and I shared one. It's not very common in women,

but we do exist. I suppose genetically you didn't have much chance to avoid it. And I'm glad of

that, because I know how much pleasure it can bring. I miss your father that way. We had an

amazing sexual relationship built around, or should I say, experienced through, our passion for

satin sex. What I'm going to say now may shock you, but we never raised you to follow society's

norms, to hold its religious superstitions, or to respect its demonization of a physical reality we all

share, the love of a sexual touch.

I've known you your whole life, and I knew you were a satin fetish from the time you were a child.

You weren't as stealthy as you imagined, and I smile inside at the number of times I had to have

your adolescent precum dry-cleaned out of my silk blouses."

Dave made another attempt at speech, but she shushed him,

"Be quiet, and listen. I see the way you look at me when I wear satin. Why do you think I dressed

this way tonight and threatened to dance? It's time we shared what we both really crave, the satin

touch of someone who understands our needs. Our lusts. Someone who shares a shameless

bond with us. This isn't 30,000 B.C., Dave. We're not mating. We don't need to worry about

spawning a village of inbred babies. We can just love each other and please each other and

comfort each other. I miss your father, and I miss satinsex with a man who knows how to please

me. You've probably never had sex with a woman who really has a satin fetish. I know you can

buy an imitation, and probably have. If you pay enough for a satin escort, it's a pretty good

imitation. But I want you to know the joy, the shameless lust, of satinfucking a woman who has a

fetish too. A woman whose body gets aroused by the look and the feel of satin draped around her

satinman's cock. I want you to fuck me, Dave. I want to tease your satin hardened cock until you

ache to stroke it inside me."

He had no words, but he didn't need them. She knew his passion better than he knew it himself.

"Now don't even try to get your thoughts or words together right now. Just take me to your satin

bedroom, let me dress you in satin too, and lets explore our bodies and our fetish together."


So they did.


Claire was already dressed in satin. In less than a minute from her proposition, Dave's naked cock

was sliding into his satin-lined fuckpants for what promised to be the satin session of his life.......

To be continued...

[Jester1203]

When's the next part?

[ilikeitshiny]

Mmmmmm Just imagine that... Bring on part 2

[TomThompson]

Part 2 now up.

[TomThompson]

Or would be but it won't post.

[TomThompson]

Was too big, split into multiple posts.