On Friday I had a day off work and dressed as normal in panties and bra (a matching set in ink no ivory lace), black stockings, skin tight jeans and a loose white tee. I had a shock when my mother called round with another load of clothes for the spare room. I helped her take them from her car upstairs, terrified she would notice what I was wearing.

when we took the last load upstairs, she rested her hand on my back and moved it up until she was tracing my bra straps.

i thought you were, she said with a little smile. I felt so ashamed, blushing madly. Couldn't think of anything to say.

she slipped her hand inside the waistband of my jeans and touched lace. Are you wearing pretty knickers s well? She asked.

Show me

i took off my thirst. "Such a pretty bra, darling. Are the knickers as cute? Show Mummy"

i haven't called her that for 30 years. I undid the jeans and stood in front of her in bra, panties and stockings, my sad little clitty so stiff inside the panties but so easily held in by the delicate lace.

"let's put on something more comfortable" and she picked out a lovely floral summer dress and held it open for me to step into before pulling it up and zipping me in. Then she kissed me on the moiuth and laughed at the lipstick she left on my lips. I was Mummy's pretty little daughter. My voice trembled with shame and passion when I told her my girlie name.