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A Story of Forbidden Love Ch. 4 by frillypanty
4. Cedar: A New Perception
It is probable that this will be the last chapter in this particular story. We will see.
I could have been looking in a mirror, down to the waist at least. The slender, small breasted form, in a tidy, long sleeved white cotton blouse, was surmounted by a pale, slightly freckled, subtly made-up face, with a cascade of deep auburn hair swept back into an abundant pony tail, secured with a single emerald green ribbon. Only below the waist was there a difference. She was clad in a short, slender fitting skirt, the same colour as the hair ribbon, and pale green nylon stockings. I was wearing a pair of neatly tailored, closely fitting trousers – also emerald green. Our feet were shod with identical light flat shoes that, again, echoed the colour of our respective skirt and trousers.
I almost gasped in amazement; I’m sure my amazement was apparent in the single word that escaped me ‘William?’
My cousin blushed slightly, prettily, and smiled.
‘I usually call myself Willow, these days,’ he said. Then, ‘you’re Cedar, aren’t you?’
I nodded, dumbly. I’m not sure quite what I had anticipated. I knew my cousin was a transvestite; my conventional family made only to frequent and scornful reference to that fact. My aunt Hazel and my cousin Rowan’s good fortune in inheriting my Great Grandparents wealth, house and business – fuelled by their unconventional lifestyle – still rankled after five years, despite the fact that they’d immediately shared at least the wealth with their … my extended family.
Maybe I was expecting to encounter some painted harridan of a Drag Queen; certainly not this exquisite creature who stood before me.
[The account of Hazel, Rowan and Willow’s relationship, and the manner of Willow’s transformation from William, can be found in ‘A Story of Forbidden Love, Ch. 1, 2, 3.1 and 3.2 fp]
I’m aware that, in view of my opening remark, I could be accused of vanity in describing my cousin as ‘exquisite’. But I’m not particularly referring to appearance, not exclusively anyway. William … Willow had a composite air of composure, assurance and something beside – serenity? Whatever he or she was, had been or had now become, there was an aura of self acceptance and contentment that permeated his … her whole being. Whatever anyone else may think of her, Willow knew who she was and knew her own worth.
We, the two of us had always looked alike. Despite the three or so years in seniority in William’s … Willow’s favour, growing up, we’d been much of a height and build. If anything, he … she had been the more delicate and slender looking but with a more sinuous grace that promised a lithe potentiality. It had been no surprise to learn that, at school, my cousin had been an accomplished gymnast of at least County standard. I was to find out that that ability still remained.
Up to then in my life I’d had no interest in the male gender, other than a vague kind of family loyalty and love for my father, brother and other male relations, and maybe some kind of companionable feelings for a few of the boys attached to ‘my set’. My sexual orientation was definitely centred on my own sex. That’s how I was in the mess I was in now. But this vision before me was awakening feelings and desires within me that I’d have sworn weren’t there. As I looked at my cousin, with my mouth still agape for all I know, I felt my blood beginning to pulse, my skin to tingle, my nipples to stiffen and expand, and my quim and my clitty to thrill and throb. I could feel too, my panties begin to dampen. From that first encounter I knew I wanted William … Willow; whether as a man or woman I didn’t know; but I knew I wanted Willow.’
It was more or less from that moment I found I could no longer think of my cousin as the masculine ‘William’; but as the feminine ‘Willow’.
I only hoped the evidence of my arousal that was rapidly dampening my knickers wouldn’t be sufficient to show through my trousers!
‘Look,’ Willow now took control, ‘I’m on my way down to the quayside, there some business I got to sort out at the booth down there. Mum and Hazel have already left for the Westgate. Why don’t you come with me, you can drive me if you like. I see your car’s there. As we go we can talk.’
And talk we did. After a brief exchange of pleasantries and social niceties, I found myself explaining to my cousin about the mess I’d got into and how I needed a ‘bolt-hole’ of some kind to sort myself out.
It didn’t occur to me until later that it was my patient and thoughtful cousin who had allowed me to overcome my initial embarrassments, before guiding me gently into unburdening my only to obvious anxiety.
For some two months, since leaving school at the end of the Summer Term and completion of A-Levels, I’d been engaged in an affair with one of my erstwhile teachers – my bahis firmaları French Mistress, Amalie.
I don’t think my parents would have minded quite so much if they’d arrived home early from a trip to London, due a slight indisposition on my mother’s part, to find me in bed with a man. But to find me in bed with a woman, and more than just ‘in bed’ – we were both naked and our mouths were greedily engaged in stimulating each others pussy – was the signal for them to go ballistic!
What they threatened my lover with was almost hair rising, even though most of it was to no avail as I was no longer a pupil at her school and already, just, over eighteen. Nevertheless, it reduced her to tears. My mother can be a cat sometimes, and my father is ‘not without influence’, as he so grandly likes to assure anyone and everyone; and does he know how to it!
Then they turned on me.
‘My God, you filthy, filthy bitch,’ my mother screamed at me. ‘You’re just like your Aunt Hazel and her dyke lover, cousin Rowan. What the hell do you think it feels like to come home and find your daughter fucking about with another woman! If that’s how you want to live you’re life, you’d better go and live with them – and with Rowan’s sissy, panty-boy son!’
Amalie gathered her clothes around her and only half dressed, departed – still in tears.
I was cowed enough to feel shame and humiliation in sufficient measure to keep me away from my parents for the rest of the day and into the night. But during the night a different feeling took over. ‘Dammit! I’d live my life as I chose! My parents had suggested I move out to seek refuge with my aunt and my cousins! Okay, I would!’
And early next morning I moved out. Now here I was seeking sanctuary.
At the quayside perfumery the first thing I did was to pick up my hastily packed suitcase and retire to the loo, to take the opportunity of cleaning myself up and changing my, by now, definitely disreputable knickers. Fortunately they’d proved adequate to cope with the evidence of my arousal; my trousers didn’t appear to have suffered, thank goodness, although I had to make strategic use of a liberal dusting of talcum powder and a minimal spray of perfume to negate the oestrus odour that persisted.
I admit, that I also took the opportunity of relieving my pent up feelings by the time honoured method, masturbating my labia and clitty until I came in earnest; which added to both the extent and the necessity for the clean up operation.
By the time I’d completed my toilet my cousin was deeply involved in perusing a computer screen with a striking looking blond woman who answered to the name of Marjorie. What ever they were doing also involved a fair amount of debate – the two of them seemed to be on pretty even terms, and the mutual respect they had for each other was patently evident. I wondered if Marjorie knew my cousin’s secret; whether she was aware that the woman she was conferring with had a somewhat unusual appendage secreted in her panties.
I found out later that she was some kind of manageress in the business in quite a senior position, and that she did indeed know Willow’s true identity. But, like most people who got to know my cousin well, she accepted her for what she was. Although I also learnt she, Marjorie, was probably unique in knowing that Willow was Rowan’s son – not the daughter she appeared to be – amongst the staff.
Eventually, Willow’s business with Marjorie complete and following a short but concise telephone exchange with my aunt and cousin, we made our way back to what was, at one time, my great grandparents house; now owned by Hazel and Rowan.
Willow led me inside and upstairs to the first floor.
‘Looks like you’ll be staying here for a while,’ she said, ‘we’d better find you a room you can call your own.’
‘A room’! Willow ushered me into a full suite; bedroom, dressing room cum study/lounge and bathroom. Far more luxurious than the bed/sit with en-suite shower room I’d had at home.
I found out almost immediately that Willow occupied a similar suite. Hazel and Rowan shared and even bigger set of rooms with two separate dressing rooms, both converted to studies, off a central lounge area – with, of course, a bathroom opening off their master … or rather, mistress bedroom. There was also a couple of additional bed/sits, each with their own en-suite, for guest usage.
I quickly settled into a routine within my new family; a family that absorbed me, accepted me for what and who I was, and surrounded me with love and care. My aunt and Rowan insisted from the first that I inform my parents where I was and made every effort to ensure that I remained on reasonable if somewhat strained terms with them, sufficient at least to remain in contact and to fetch the majority of remaining stuff.
It was difficult, though; due to their treatment of Amalie.
Although, much to my parent’s disgust kaçak iddaa they were unable to institute any legal proceedings against my lover, they were able to ensure that she was dismissed her post in pretty short order and that she wouldn’t secure an alternative position in England. She had to return to France where, in a far more sexually tolerant society, she found employment as an English teacher – in an ‘enseignement superieur pour le fille’.
I also quickly confirmed my initial assessment of Willow’s character ‘a composite air of composure, assurance and serenity’. Willow knew who she was and that assurance transmuted itself to those she met and dealt with. And, provided the implicit trust was reciprocated, it was endorsed by an underlying warmth, kindness and consideration return.
Like Willow before me I was introduced into the family business, the perfumery, and began to learn the intricacies of the enterprise and, gradually, establish my own position within it. It emerged that I had a particular talent for recognising the subtleties of odour in varying the mixing of the various essences and chemicals, with particular reference to varying the same perfume to suit different skin types, and that became my forte.
Aunt Hazel was queen of finance, my cousin Rowan was a wizard at perceiving business opportunities and in negotiating agreements and partnerships, Willow had a gift for managing staffing relationships and in talking to our European associates. Together, with Marjorie, they made a great team. But my special aptitude gradually assured my own place in the business.
It was early in the following December when I’d not bothered to put on my usual white coat whilst experimenting with a new fragrance, when the line broke and I got sprayed with a mixture of undiluted essence and chemicals. Fortunately I’d been provident enough to wear goggles and gloves so my eyes and hands were protected. But I finished up smelling rather like the proverbial ‘whore’s garret’ and with tiny acid burns on the surface of my blouse and trousers.
I went home to shower and change.
Arriving home to what I’d expected to be an empty house I became aware of strange noises from the upper regions; investigating, I found Willow and Rowan in bed together.
Rowan was naked, lying on her back; Willow clad in stockings, suspender-belt and bra’ – padded out with some beautifully constructed breast forms – knees straddling Rowan’s face, elbows either side of her thighs, was nuzzling her mother’s vagina, greedily working with lips, teeth and tongue at the exposed and salivating labia and the emergent pink bud of an engorged clitty. For her part, Rowan was greedily sucking at Willow’s rampant cock which hung … thrust downwards from Willow’s loins.
They seemed totally engrossed in pleasuring each other’s bodies; unaware that they had an audience in my startled, fascinated, disconcerted and envious contemplation.
Startled, because I’d investigated the noises I’d heard with some trepidation, anticipating a break in; fascinated, because I was being treated to an exemplary exhibition of lesbian lovemaking; disconcerted, because I was aware of the ‘mother/child’ relationship of the two people I was watching making love; envious, because, since Amalie had departed from my life, I hadn’t shared an intimate loving relationship with anyone, other than my own fingers – and, anyway, I wanted Willow myself!
I tiptoed away to my own room, stripped off and made for the shower. Under the shower, with the water pouring over my naked body and down over my throbbing breasts and burgeoning nipples, sluicing down my stomach and thighs into my groin, my mind was working overtime. Could I countenance the incestuous relationship I’d witnessed? Who was I to dictate anyway? Did the knowledge of what I’d just seen alter my feelings for my cousins – both of them, or either of them? Had what I’d learnt affected my desire for Willow?
The answer to the last question was obvious. My desire for Willow fuelled now the vision of that beautiful feminine body clad in exquisite underwear, with the femininity incongruously enhanced by the addition of that single masculine appendage, was intensified. I wanted Willow, and I wanted her now!
I unshipped the movable spray from its bracket and began to spray my body with an intense jet of hot water, with the overhead delivery rose still coursing water over my body. Initially I used the jet to tease and thrill my burgeoning breasts and already rampant nipples; then, moving the jet down, I spread my knees, using the fingers of my other hand to part the lips of my quim and expose my throbbing clitty, and directed the insistent, searching flow into the eager pulsing font of my sexuality. My body shook with intensity of my orgasm, so much so that I had to lean against the shower wall for support. I’m not sure whether the intensity resulted more from the jet induced masturbation, kaçak bahis the spectacle seared on my brain of my cousins making love, or the picture of the object of my desire in her dishabille, tumescent cock and all – also seared on my brain.
Eventually I left the shower and dried myself off. Wrapping the bathsheet around me in the time honoured feminine manner, with a ‘tuck-in’ over my breasts, I moved into the lounge area of my suite. As I did so there was a polite, almost hesitant, knock on the door. I opened it to find Willow stood before me clad in a satin wrap.
‘Can I come in?’ My cousin’s request was as diffident as the knock.
Without speaking I gestured her in. Despite what I’d seen and my immediate reaction, I still could think of her in the masculine.
‘You saw us, didn’t you.’ It was a statement; not a question.
I nodded, still dumb.
‘Putting it as baldly as I can,’ Willow said, ‘you know that your aunt and my mother have been lovers for years, don’t you?’ Again, I nodded. ‘Relatively recently, Hazel and I went to France and had to share a room; share a bed in fact. Well, as you can imagine, one thing led to another and we became lovers, too; when we returned I sort of became included into their relationship.’
‘I know it sounds pretty unpleasant, put like that,’ she continued, ‘but it wasn’t. Those two beautiful and generous women have a really deep, almost spiritual, relationship; a relationship they wanted to share with me and embrace me in. Maybe the way I’ve developed, my preference for living in the feminine gender, assisted them and probably me too in rationalising the situation.’
‘I suppose,’ she concluded, ‘putting it bluntly again, we all three love each other.’ Then, not as an afterthought, ‘we’ve learned to love you too, my darling. Please, try not to think too badly of us; try to understand our somewhat unique situation. We sincerely hope you’ll be able to continue to love us in return.’
For an answer, I moved across the room to stand in front of my cousin, untucked the bathsheet and allowed it to fall behind me. Moving my hands to the sash that tied her wrap I undid it, letting it fall open, then pushed it gently off her shoulders.
Although Willow’s taste in external clothing has always been somewhat reserved and conservative, her taste in underwear is highly feminine; under her wrap she had added a pair of matching French knickers to the bra’, suspender-belt and stockings she’d retained earlier. I gently slid my hands into the waist band of the knickers and eased them down over her hips to set them cascading down, in a frenzy of lacy satin, over the silky nylon of her stocking to fall, to subside in a frothy jumble, around her ankles.
Completely released from the minimal constraint of her delicate knickers Willow’s pretty cock hung below her neatly shaven pudenda, framed by the soft lacy tracery of her suspender-belt, the pale satin straps of her suspender-ribbons and the delicate web of her stocking-tops. As before, the beautiful picture only enhanced her femininity.
Kneeling in front of her, I took the dry, warm and vibrant organ gently in one hand, cupping her testicles in the palm of the other.
Before I slid the sweet shaft into my mouth, towards my eager tongue and teeth, I looked upwards into her slightly troubled face.
‘Dear one,’ I said, ‘I can’t do anything but love you, and trust you, and love those you love.’
My first cock; my first act of fellatio; my first taste of the salty, slightly acrid taste of pre-come; but somehow I knew what I had to do. Of course, I’d sucked dildos and ‘strap-ons’ before, either to lubricate them before sliding them into my own or a partner’s ‘cunny’, or to garner the harvest of the sweet, musky honey-dew of my own or my partner’s orgasm. Maybe those experiences; or maybe the recent vision of my cousin Rowan sucking Willow’s pretty cock, impinged upon my sub-conscience. Either way, my reaction was instinctive.
Willow didn’t let me suck to conclusion that first time. She withdrew her by now solid and potent shaft from my mouth before she exploded. Laying me on my bed she proceeded to love me.
She proved to be all the assured, kind, considerate and responsive lover of my fantasy.
She kissed my lips tenderly, then moved down over my throat and shoulders and down to my throbbing breasts and insistent nipples, sucking them softly, making it last, encouraging my nipples to thrust and burgeon beneath her gentle ministrations. Moving on down again, her sweet lips, tongue and teeth continued their exploration over my diaphragm, across my stomach, paying court to my pudenda, then nuzzling the tangled growth of my pubic bush, tugging gently at the hair with her teeth, before settling further into the hot, rapidly moistening nest of my vagina.
Initially she used her lips, teeth and tongue to tease my labia and the pulsating bud of my clitty, before she raised herself on her elbows, wriggled up the bed slightly and began to caress my, by now, soaking slit with the very tip of her rigid cock. I came pretty well instantly in a series of shuddering orgasms that left me weak and breathless.
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