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Stacy moves a step further in her marriage.

Your mother thinks you look amazing though she's convinced you've over done the tissue.

'You look like a tart,' she says as you squeeze your feet into Becky's thigh length boots.

'It is a fancy dress,' you say.

She behaves just like a mother would do to a daughter as she combs your hair, straightens your dress and transforms your face with Becky's make-up. She asks about the party and you struggle answering her probing questions. Finally you're done and you desperately try not to get to excited so as to ruin your outfit as you look at yourself in a mirror.

'Oh! Darling if i didn't know you better I'd think you enjoy dressing as a girl.' She steps back and slowly walks around you flicking your hair and pulling off a fleck of imaginary dust. 'You look gorgeous. I can't believe its you. You look like stunning, like a catwalk model.'

But all of a sudden she looks closely at your rump then at you suspiciously as if you're hiding something.

'What have you got on under your skirt darling?

That's a question? Are wearing Becky's soiled panties or your own briefs or are you butt naked?

You blush awkwardly. 'B..., B..., Briefs,' you say. 'Why?'

'You telling your mother the truth.'

'Y, Y, Yes,' you stutter but she's not convinced and to your surprise she grasps the hem of your skirt and with no consideration of your modesty she flips it over your hips.

'Mum,' you holler

She looks down at the spectacle before her.

'See,' you say as you yank your dress down.

'Sorry,' she says apologetically, 'I was a bit worried you may have taken this fancy dress thing a bit far.' She chuckles awkwardly. 'I thought you might be tempted to wear panties.'

'Mother,' You scoff, 'what do you take me for?'

Just before you leave the house you pop into the sanctury of the toilet and lock the door. Convinced she can't hear you hike your skirt waist height and slip your briefs over your lacy suspender straps and down your stockings. You smirk proudly to yourself, flush with your intuition as you unravel Becky's laundered freshly laundered panties from your handbag. Then you step gracefully into each leg. They feel wonderful.

'Bang, bang.' There's a sharp knock on the door and your heart misses a beat.

'Darling, I don't want to be a nag but you'll be late,' your mother calls.

'Coming,' you say unbolting the door but in your haste you leave your briefs crumpled on the floor.

At last you're relieved to get out the house and away from your inquisitive mother but are terrified to find that your car doesn't start.

What are you to do? Go back inside and call the whole thing off or spend the next ten minutes under the bonnet tinkering with the engine, trying not to ladder your stockings or chip a nail.

You can't go back inside as your mother would offer to drive and you didn't want her to know where you where going. With no option you decide to walk. Never before had you walked so quickly but it wasn't easy in Becky's stiletto boots. It's not just the cold. The wind whistles up your mini dress and chills parts that you never thought could be chilled. You walk past a group of lads that are on pub crawl. You smell the overwhelming aroma of beer as they brush up against you.

'Phoar, Sorry Darling,' one of the lads says. They all smirk and you feel very frightened. You clutch your bag, pull you short jacket around you and quicken your pace. A car flashes towards you and hoots its horn. You look up and as it passes you can just make out Tony and Becky on their way out. They wave but you feel awkward and used.

The Wilson's are great. Mrs Wilson welcomes you in warmly and shows you some food that she's left out for you. The baby is asleep and she doesn't expect any trouble. Mr Wilson is fascinated by your leather stiletto boots and is delighted to hear your cars broken as offers you a lift home at the end of the night.

The Wilson's soon get organised and just before going Mrs Wilson gives you a kiss on the forehead.

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