Mother of the Bride

I couldn't see what panties she wore and I didn't want to bend down to peer as she left, so I used my imagination. In my private world, she wore tight white satin briefs that showed the lines of her body; her mound and an indentation underneath with two perfectly round buttocks.

I showered and used the toothbrush, then wrapped a towel around my waist to return to the bedroom to get dressed.

Olivia was now sitting waiting on Trudy's bed waiting for me. Her curly hair was brushed out and she wore no make-up. She looked as pretty as her daughter with the T-shirt not even trying to conceal the outline of those breasts. Bronzed thighs stretched out before her and her feet were bare, still displaying the varnished toenails from the previous evening. "Good morning to you. Trudy has had to go out for a couple of hours and I wanted to have a chat, as I mentioned."

I was puzzled; the dress code was a little informal for a meeting so I remained silent for the moment.

"I want to tell me about a family tradition. About something that all the mothers have done for their daughters for generations. My mother did it for me, now I'm going to do it for Trudy."

I leaned forward, interested. I could clearly see the outline of her nipples and the T-shirt had ridden even further up her thighs. If it went any higher I'd be able to see her panties.

Just then it did go higher and I still couldn't see her panties. Because she wasn't wearing any.

I could now see her smooth lips with dark thin lines of crinkly inner labia just peeking out where her underwear should have been. As the garment moved again a thin landing strip of hair came into view.

I looked back up to her face; she was following my eyes closely and knew exactly what I was looking at. She moved a thigh sideways in a leisurely manner so that I could see her even more clearly.

"Trudy has mentioned that she loves you. We mothers want the very best for our daughters in all areas and that includes sex. What the females in this family do is to educate the boyfriends of their daughters and so it is down to me to teach you how to make love and bring joy to Trudy. You see, having sex is easy. Anyone can do it. Humans have been having sex for millions of years quite successfully, that's if reproduction is your only measurement of success. But making exquisite love whenever you both desire it is a skill that can be taught."

I was barely paying attention to this speech that should have astonished me. I was fascinated by the sight of her pussy.

"Trudy tells me that the build-up is great, the romantic setting and conversation is fine. You make her laugh and take care of her. But when it comes down to it, clearly no-one has given you an education in the anatomy of a female. I'm not criticising you, no-one ever does and that's why there is always scope for greater satisfaction in bed. 'Wham, Bam, Thank you, Ma'am' is not the required standard and not what we're aiming for here."

One leg was now lifted so that her foot rested on the edge of the bed. There was no longer any pretence of modesty, I could see her inner labia slowly start to separate with the movement and heat of her body. "Now, the erogenous zones of a woman are varied. Sometimes a lady might love to have the side of the neck kissed, or the inside of an elbow. It might be the inner thigh, or behind the knee. You'll just have to find out what does it for Trudy."

And with that, Olivia began her education of this poor innocent lad. She told me to sit next to her and of course I obeyed. She told me to place my hand on her soft breast and I obeyed that instruction as well.

She showed me how to hold her underneath the boob, supporting the weight. How to brush a finger across the nipple so that it sprang out, visible against the thin fabric of her T-shirt. How to slide a hand underneath her clothing, up over her belly and then to do the same to the warm bare flesh of the breast itself.

She instructed me in the joys of lightly stroking a breast for hours under her shirt and then when she was relaxed, the removal of her last pieces of clothing. Then starting again, caressing the sensitive skin in the area underneath the boob and almost reaching the nipple before retreating. The art of the tease, ending the move by stroking along the length of the now erect and puffy nipple.

She taught me how to stroke her back, then scratch a fingernail gently down the spine, one vertebra at a time finishing right at the end of her coccyx between her buttocks. How to do the same with two fingernails either side of her spine. How to snuggle whilst cupping and taking the weight of a breast whilst allowing the nipple to pass between the fingers without being pressed.

Oh, she didn't do all this at once. This took many sessions over several weeks. We sat and talked for maybe an hour each time, then she would grasp my erection firmly. A hard squeeze to signify the end of the lesson, than it would be back home for me.

Each time I visited I had to reprise the previous lesson to her satisfaction before progressing to other techniques. Eventually, I was taking at least an hour on foreplay. When she finally allowed me to enter her I was still not allowed to finish for a further hour -- and another five lessons.

She made me kiss her inner thigh -- her particular favourite -- up into the hollow just below the groin where she had to spread wide to allow access. The obvious vulnerability of the position, the vicinity of her most sensitive area that felt the warmth of my breath showed the development of complete trust between us. Eventually, I was shown how to touch the clitoris, with two fingers either side pressing gently inwards, masturbating her like a tiny penis.

Naked, she was easily as beautiful as her daughter. She had a deep scar across her lower belly but was not ashamed of it -- all part of a lifetime's experiences, she said. Whilst her outer labia were the palest of pink, the inner labia contrasted with dark pigmentation. Her landing strip was always freshly maintained with soft, smooth skin down there. And I confirmed that her freckles were confined to her cleavage.

She simply loved having a tongue repeatedly along her vulva, flicking her clitoris and back again down as far as the edge of her anus. I'd never imagined a woman would pull her legs so far apart, welcoming me to press my face into such a soft and personal place.

Towards the end of my tuition, I was instructed in the art of sliding my penis between her labia, slowly press against her point of entry until she was relaxed and dilated, then finally to plunge in balls-deep.

I found that her body wasn't as tight internally as her daughter's. She was much easier to penetrate and she could take me by merely squatting over me and sinking down whereas Trudy had to position herself precisely and always hesitate at the entrance, only descending over me when she was relaxed and breathing out. What she could do though was to increase her internal muscular tension, gripping me firmly once inside.

When I was finally allowed to shoot my load she held my balls to feel me ejaculating inside her. Afterwards, she made me stay still before withdrawing, extending the period of fullness and her enjoyment, then making a ceremony of watching the escape of fluids from our bodies.

* * *

Trudy was appreciative of the consequent improvement in my performance as the weeks passed. She became very relaxed in our sessions and several times even fell asleep whilst being eaten out. Feet on my shoulders, knees wide apart, eyes shut and little snuffly snores from her nose. It was a sweet sight.

Once Olivia walked in on us in this position - me with my ass in the air, face in pussy, Trudy oblivious to the world. Olivia said nothing and put her finger to her lips to indicate the same to me. She put her hand underneath my ass and gave my balls a gentle squeeze before giving me a smile and a wink. Then she silently left the room. Trudy was none the wiser when I woke her as usual by sucking on her clitoris until it was fully distended. Like a cat, she would stretch every muscle as she roused.

Shortly after that, we became engaged, and the following year we were married. The wedding was a lovely little celebration of our love and Olivia beamed with happiness throughout. Trudy's father wore an Irish kilt and made an excellent speech with several amusing observations. I didn't know until then that he had Irish ancestry and inherited the gift of the gab that was so typical of that nation. But what I remember best was the bachelor party that had preceded that day -- which was the reason for my raging hard-on throughout the ceremony and what gave me extra impetus throughout the night that followed.

I had arranged with my friends that we would have just a quiet evening at a local bar, merely having a drink and swapping old war stories. I had promised Trudy that there would be no wild debauchery that I couldn't invite family to, especially as it was the evening before the wedding and I didn't wish to be severely hungover. And that is exactly how it turned out.

We had been in the bar for a couple of hours, so we had all had a few beers; well oiled but not yet incapable. Then the bar owner announced that we were to adjourn to a private function room which was equipped with a tiny stage complete with lights. When we were settled there music started to play and a lady dancer appeared. She was dressed entirely in white as an Arabic belly dancer, her face veiled so that just her eyes were visible.

She wore a white shawl over her shoulders and a wide belt covered with bells wrapped around her hips, shimmying and jingling as she moved. Thin white panties under the belt and matching high heel shoes were all else that she wore - except that these weren't the substantial, bikini type panties that you might expect. These were the sort of panties that you used to see on grandmother's washing line; modest and high-waisted but of a thin fabric that followed the lines of the body and left only a little something to the imagination.

As she swivelled her hips in time to the music, her breasts swung loosely under the shawl which slipped slowly every few seconds.

She moved from side to side and the shawl slipped further, eventually revealing one nipple. She continued and the garment finally fell to the floor. Now topless, both soft breasts swung gently together with every beat. Then the tempo increased and the flesh bounced with her movements, clashing in the centre and rebounding to the sides.

She removed two tassels that were clipped to her belt and fastened them to her nipples. They span together clockwise, then anti-clockwise before one changed direction to go the opposite way to the other.

As the music slowed she leaned backwards, thrusting her pudenda towards me with her white panties showing the crease between her legs. The material had been pressed between her labia to emphasise the line of her vagina.

Then the music stopped, she picked up her shawl from the floor and left the room dragging the thin cloth behind her. From above the veil, she gave me a distinctly familiar smile - just as familiar as the brown nipples and the dusting of freckles across her cleavage.

Has anyone ever suffered from such blue balls during their wedding? I kept her identity secret from our guests of course but she knew that I knew that she knew...

* * *

That was many years ago now. Many things have happened in that period, but I remember those early times well. Especially now that we have a daughter of our own who is growing up rapidly into a young lady. She is now old enough to have a boyfriend of her own who she seems to like very much; he is a nice lad but incredibly nervous in my company.

Trudy has taken to wearing tight clothing whenever he visits; jeans that could have been sprayed on, T-shirts that should (but do not always) show her bra. Whether underwear is detectable or not, she has boobs that may now be a little softer and lower than they used to be but are certainly still gorgeous.

I suspect that she has met the boyfriend a few times now when neither myself nor our daughter was present. I hope he makes the grade.

* * *

Post-script by Trudy

Having read this account of our courtship, I wanted to add this note.

I now understand a few things that have puzzled me over the years, although my mother did explain to me shortly after my wedding what I should do to make sure that any future daughter that we might have will live a happy and satisfying life.

The day before the wedding we had all gone to a luxurious spa day to have a full waxing and beauty treatment, so I was fully smooth for the day. On the morning of the day itself, my mother and her sister dressed me. But first they rubbed scented oils all over my body, then did my hair and make-up.

I wore stockings and silk panties under my gown of the same material. My dress had a hook and ribbon feature that fastened at the rear to give the appearance of a lacy corset. I really liked it. As everyone could see my back through the ribbons, I couldn't wear a bra but the dress was well fitted and supportive so that wasn't an issue. I was given a single garter to wear on my right thigh during the ceremony.

Immediately after the signing part of the ceremony I was taken to a side room and told to remove my panties which were tucked into the garter. So for the rest of the day I could feel them hanging against my leg reminding me that I was bare underneath whilst the speeches and everything went on. As time passed I realised that the oils had made my pussy super-sensitive and I had an overwhelming need to give myself some relief. Of course I couldn't. That would have been just a little inappropriate.

As soon as I was alone with my new husband in our room in the hotel, I made him remove my dress which I couldn't manage with all the hooks down the back. When he found that I was naked underneath he pounced on me on the spot but I had to force him to eat me out and bring me to orgasm before I could even think about removing my shoes and stockings and getting properly fucked. As I remember it was at least two days before either of us wore so much as a dressing gown and by that time I was walking like John Wayne and he had a knob that resembled a dried strawberry.

It didn't take long for me to become pregnant and I still have the recipe for the oils and spices to anoint our daughter for her forthcoming marriage. In the meantime her fiancé is certainly progressing nicely. I might even start making arrangements for the bachelor party.

But much more has happened between us. One day I'll either get John to write some more of our lives together, or if he doesn't I'll do it myself.

Thanks for the memories. Trudy.

* * *