Damn Near Forgot!

Guess that Sunday crept up on me and I wasn't aware.  I got some nice comments about Kammi's post last week - but so far have been underwhelmed by anyone else wanting to jump in and post.  I hope that she is seeing the comments as well - I just don't know how things work.
In terms of my own serial - it follows.   (I did have a "What If" in my mind - but damned if I can remember it.  Maybe next week.)  But, the serial is next, followed by a couple of Rosie's 'Bits'.

BTW - and before I go any further?  Readership is about 150,000 now - and seeing that I just made 100,000 in last year - it looks as if I've picked up quite a few more readers.  Welcome to you all - I just wish that you were more inclined to post than last years readers!

Part 2

"VERY impressive Samantha!  But although my boss and I are living in a hotel we've rented a large house for the meeting.  It's furnished, I know, and a lot bigger than we need.  I don't mean any offense – but I'm in the process of hiring workers  for the house.  Would one or more of your ladies be willing to . ?"

"Come work as servants?" she interrupted.

I nodded.

"PERFECT!" she said.  "Of course they wouldn't be offended.  It's only short term anyway – and I assume you are generous employers?  The girls would enjoy THAT, I'm sure.  How many maids etc. are you thinking of?"

"Haven't got around to it  yet.  What I was going to do? Hire a competent housekeeper and have her advise me."

"That makes sense"  she said approvingly.  "I have a perfect suggestion for that position.  One of my senior girls – Angela.  Would you like to meet her now?"

I coughed nervously into my hand – found myself blushing again.  "That's fine – but there's something else – well something. I don't know how to broach the subject . ."

"Please?" she said.  "We have a business relationship. I don't want there to be any subject you can't discuss openly with me.  I sense something of a sexual nature?"

I coughed again. "Yes.  Well?  The housekeeper should clearly understand that some of the  . . . maids we hire?  . . will have other duties?"

Samantha nodded, then leaned forward.  "In other words?  Some of your maids will be expected to provide sexual gratification to Mr. One?"

"Exactly!"  I said – but weakly.

"But?  That leaves a question hanging." she said.    "Not you?"

"Yes.  Well.  Kinda.." I stammered.

She shook her head as if to admonish me. "Mr. Capp?  This world runs on sex.  My business is BASED on sex.  Do you think I frown on using it?"

"I don't know WHAT to think" I admitted honestly.

"You are not homosexual?" she asked.

"No!  No!  Of course not!" I spluttered.

"Just checking Ray.  No offense.  Any particular fetishes you enjoy?  Bondage perhaps?  Spankings?  Shoes?  Latex?"

She was talking about these things as if discussing available fertilizers at a gardening nursery!  I tried to act as nonchalantly as she did. "No.  Not particularly."  I managed, although to my shame, I could feel the heat from a blush rising above my collar.  A smile played delicately around Samantha's lips, so I was certain she was well aware of my embarrassment, but she said nothing for a moment or two – which allowed me to regain my composure.  Then she nodded her head as if agreeing with herself.

"If you have the time then Ray?  Why don't I have you interview Angela first?  If she is satisfactory to you, she can give you a tour of my little organization, and you can meet some of my other ladies.  If Angela has a good idea of what you're looking for, she'll be able to provide you with some excellent suggestions I'm sure."

"I don't understand?"  I replied.  "If she's satisfactory, why would I be talking to other ladies?"

"For the positions you described.  Maids, cooks.  That kind of position."  She said.

"You mean . . You are suggesting that I staff the whole house with your people?" I asked, astounded.

"Absolutely! The more dominas I can pack into your house?  The better chance I have of getting a perfect 'match'  for your boss.  Doesn't that make sense?"

"I guess so"  I agreed – though I was beginning to get a strong feeling of unease.

"Very good!" she said enthusiastically.  "Let me get Angela in here.  If you don't mind?  I'll introduce you, then leave you alone with her.  While the two of you are talking, I'll call some ladies who may be of interest to you.  Get them to come in here to the house.  You can meet with them later if you wish.  I can assure you that Angela will be a great help in the screening process."

Things were accelerating a little faster than I had expected, but there seemed to be no earthly reason I could think of to slow things down.  In actuality?  What she was proposing made nothing but sense.  Sure, she was going to make more money – but I'd have been paying for maids and suchlike anyway, so I was not going to be hit for any extra dough.  On top of that?  It was going to save me a lot of time, not having to look for maids – something I'd no experience at.  But then I thought of something.

"Look Samantha? You don't seem to have any hang ups about talking about sex.  Well, I'm not used to talking  about it with a high class dame like yourself.  But these maids . . .?"  I paused.

"Yes?"

"Will probably be expected to . .  to  . . . to . .  put out -  for the other executives when they arrive."

"So?" She cocked her head quizzically.

"Just thought I'd mention it." I said weakly.

"Thank you for bringing it up.  There's no problems with that aspect of course," she said smoothly.  "But it does raise the question of how many girls you are going to need.  Let me see.  One for you and one for your boss.  That's two.  How many of your executives will be coming?"

"Five." I answered.  "That includes the don, and the other four at Mr.  One's level

"No staff?  No consigliories? "

"No.  Just the Heads of the families – executives!"  I hastily corrected myself.

She pondered this. "Okay.  If I assign one girl to each man, so including you,  that'll be seven maids altogether.  Far too many for a household like that."  She thought for a minute.  Then laughed.  "AHA!  Got it!. Angela as Head Housekeeper . Four of my senior ladies as the maids – then two of my trainee dommes – acting as trainee maids – at no charge to you of course.  They'll gain experience as they see the older girls in work."  Then she cast a shrewd look in my direction. "Though I will expect renumeration for their services from the moment your executives arrive.  Is that fair?"

"Eminently!" I agreed.

"Good!" she said, rising.  "Let's get Angela in here, shall we?"

She then proceeded to ring Josephine and tell her to hunt Angela down , wherever she was, and have her meet us in the office forthwith.  A few minutes later, a knock at the door was followed by Angela's entrance.

 She was a little taller than myself, wide shouldered, small in the waist and practically no hips to speak of.   Blonde hair, medium length.  Big hands. A determined aggressive walk, evident even in the short distance she covered crossing the room.  Large white teeth she showed, smiling at her boss.  "Hi Sam!  What's up?  New customer?"

"More of a client,  Angie.  I'd like you to meet Mr.Capp."

The woman turned to me, her expression changing into a sort of leer.  "Hi sweetie!" she crooned.  "Going to be one of Mistress Angela's little pets?  Hmmm?  I'll betcha that . . . "

"Oh Angie!" Samantha interjected, laughing. "I said CLIENT, NOT customer,  for goodness sake!  Maybe even a valuable client, involving quite a lot of our younger ladies.  If he agrees, you'll be the senior girl.  Now I have some business to attend to, so will leave you so that you can get to know each other."  She turned to me.  "Ray?  Anything you need?  Fresh coffee? Soft drinks?"

"No thanks Samantha.  Everything's fine." I said.

"Good!  Angie?  If either of you change your mind, just ring for Josephine.  Okay?"

By now you'll have got a hold of the idea that I'm a gangster and have probably came to the conclusion that I'm somewhat dangerous.  In all honesty though, I must admit that I'm not dangerous at all.  Yes, I work for the Syndicate, the Mafia,  Cosa Nostra – what ever you want to call it.  But I'm a businessman, no more, no less.  I'm heterosexual, but certainly don't have any weight to toss around.

I have to also admit that sharp aggressive women scare me.  Naturally, I hide this fear as well as I can – and feel that I have become quite a skilled actor in projecting a certain amount of bravado – copied in large  part from my gangster cohorts.  I had been in on quite a few gang bangs – not rape – but social gatherings when we'd find a bunch of blonde bimbo's provided by the local 'host' for our pleasure. 

These girls may have been tougher than they looked, but to me they were stupid – only concerned with makeup, clothes, or getting the most valuable presents they could from their 'boyfriends'.  So if I admit that the doctor, and now this girl Angela, were very far outside what I'd become used to, the reason for my discomfort should be obvious to any discerning eye.  Naturally, I hid my discomfort but, to tell the truth, felt that Angela was just as aware of my fear as Samantha had been.

Angela kept quiet as I described what I had in mind – and the conclusion that Samantha had reached.  Once I had finished she asked a few questions.  Would it be a good idea fir the girls all to be blonde, or should we get a redhead or brunette thrown in?  I opted for an all blonde crew.  Angela nodded.  Then she got down to brass tacks about the accommodations that would be made available for the girls.  I assured her that accommodations would be prepared to her specifications – and that none of the girls would be mistreated in any way, shape, or form.

She grinned.  "Physically, you mean?"

"Yes." I said.

"Not to worry ducks.  My girls can handle themselves pretty well.  Trust me."

I wondered.  Did she have any idea of who – or what –  her girls would be dealing with, but her high level of confidence sort of bugged me to the extent that I didn't see any reason for going into any kind of details that would enlighten her.  Let her find out for herself was what I thought.  Then she suggested we take a tour of the establishment. There were a couple of girls she thought would be of interest to me – and she was positive that Samantha would have called some more in to meet me.

The first thing I noticed was how scrupulously clean the house was.  Normally I don't pay any attention to stuff like that, but the whole place shone – I mean there was a sort of 'glow' to everything.  I mentioned this to Angela. She grinned and said  "Samantha's pretty clean.  I tend to having the same point of view.  In fact I've heard that most dominas are clean freaks, and the fact that we have sissies constantly coming through here, provides us with all of the cleaning power we'll ever need."  She grinned and shrugged her shoulders. "Why waste a natural resource, huh?   We usually have the housecleaning crew under a few of the most junior dominas – good practice for them, as they get to punish the sissy maids for any infractions of house cleaning rules."

Again I cringed.  After all, these women all seemed to be of one mind – that all men were made to be dominated – especially by women!  Later, as she showed me around the house – even into a few workshops were being conducted, I started to realize what a young broad must feel when introduced into a large group of male athletes – because I was eyed hungrily  by all of the women we met.  Not  necessarily for sex purposes I felt.  More as someone to be 'taken' under their control – and their demonstrated confidence that they could subordinate me in little or no time – did excite me – though I think I acted  the part of a nonchalant, macho, male very well.

We met up with Samantha again, who quickly introduced us to three young ladies she had asked to come in and meet me.  They joined Angela and myself as we traveled through the house, talking to other ladies.  She and I quickly picked up a series of signals where we communicated our degree of interest in the girl we were talking to, asking some to join us, then ignoring others.  We finally ended up as a party of ten.  Myself, Angela, and eight women.

The ladies were uniformly good looking, but on the staid and cool side I thought. This bothered me, and when we ended up sitting in the library, I voiced this concern.  By that time, Angela had explained what scenario outline was and, during our stroll, only one girl had turned the idea down.  The rest had seemed to accept the fact that they'd be acting as bimbo's.    Didn't seem to faze them one bit.

"Before we go much further?" I said.  "There's a concern I have.  Think we'd better address it."

"You do?"  Angela asked.  "I thought we were doing just fine.  But fire away."

I coughed nervously into my hand.  "The problem? I'm thinking that you ladies . . ?  You're too 'ladylike'.  These 'executives' I'm talking about?  They're not exactly gentlemen you know. They'll be expecting  . . well, bimbo's – if you know what I mean?  Showgirl floozies.  That sort of thing!"

"Ah!"  Angela said brightly. "Good point Ray!  But these ladies are talented in many ways.  Aren't you girls?  What do you think?"

One of the girls got up from her chair and walked over to a CD player, and looked through the CD cases.  Turned around.  "I'm So Excited?  That old Pointer Sister number? Sound okay?"

Every one of them nodded and got up from their chairs – Angela included.  "Here Ray.  Come and sit here, would you?"  She had pulled a chair out into the middle of the clear area of the floor.  "Sit on this, if you don't mind.  But remember please?  This hasn't been rehearsed.  Okay?"

"Sure.  Okay.  But what are  . ."

I didn't get a chance to finish.  The music started – and all at once the room was filled with pandemonium – all of the women turning into excited, whirling dervishes – shoes kicked off,  skirts lifted – squealing screaming, undulating – tops being removed – then bras – and then I was engulfed by the group.  Some waggling bare breasts in my face, others tousling my hair.  One or two giving me sensuous lap dances.  I damn near fell off my chair with surprise – and was instantly sexually excited – a fact that was not missed by a few of the girls who made sure that their hands lightly touched the bulge under my pants as they surrounded me.

The music stopped.  The dancing and noise ceased immediately.  The women proceeded to dress themselves again and within twenty seconds it was if the incident had never taken place. If anyone was disheveled it was me.  "Jesus H. Christ!" I said, astounded.

"That was FUN Angie!" one of the girls called out. Then she addressed me.  "Mr Capp?  Will we get to do that sort of thing? At your house to entertain the guests when they get there?"

"That was very impressive!" I said, still panting.  "I'm not sure – but I think these gentlemen . . might really like something like that.  Make them feel right at home.  Break the ice, sort of thing.  Don't see why not!"

All the ladies there applauded quietly and smiled.

It didn't take much longer then to rough out the details.  Angela would head up the original party of four who were going to report first.  Herself and three others Rose, Cynthia and Dorothy.  Rose and Cynthia were relatively senior, while Dorothy was more of a junior.  I still wasn't completely convinced that we needed so many dominas but, as Angela pointed out, the more there was of them, the better the chances would be that Mr. One would find a perfect match for his desires.  On top of that?  If we then proceeded to hire in 'normal' girls right before the meeting, there was a possibility that the hired maids would show up the dominas as not being 'standard' servants.  I still wasn't overly taken with the idea, but the thought of not having to go out and hire a bunch of English women as servants was very acceptable to me.

*          *          *

Mr. One  was impressed when I told him of my success in getting one 'agency' to staff the house.

"Hope there's a couple decent lookin' broads amongst them" he said, his black eyes gleaming.  " About time I was getting laid.  When's the head broad – what's her name – Angie? – gonna be arriving.?"

"Tomorrow boss."  I said  "But Angie's only the housekeeper.  Head girl if you want to think about it in that way – but she's not the head of the organization."

"Well, I hope that one of them – at LEAST one of them will put out." He said, smiling wolfishly.

"I'm pretty sure of that,"  I said, grinning inwardly.

The following day, I hardly recognized Angela.  Hair brushed back under a felt hat, a tailored gray woolen skirt suit, white blouse with ribbon ties at the neck, she looked a very prim and proper English lady.  I had a hard time believing that she was one of the crazy group of females who had cavorted around me the following day.  I could see that the boss was anything but impressed.  If he had been – I'd never got the chance to drive out to the house we'd rented to stay in.  As it was, we left my car parked at the hotel after he'd had a cursory interview with her, and she drove out into the country – her being a lot more acquainted with driving on the crazy side of the road – and especially those things they call roundabouts.

She was surprised at the size of the house I think, and curious why we'd taken such a long term lease on it without living there.  I explained that it was exactly what we needed – a large house in good condition – furnished – and having a state of the art security system.  I also explained that we were taking the long lease on it for another reason.  The Lord or whatever that owned it, was tied into a bunch of deals with the organization.  "And one hand washes the other.  Know what I mean?" I asked Angie. She nodded.

 She was most efficient though, pulled a small notebook from her purse and started making notes.  There was a large room at the back of the house that she commandeered for the 'maid's lounge'.   She chose a reasonably nice bedroom for herself, then three more for the girls.  "They're not used to bunking together, poor dears, but there's quite a competition to get a spot on this team, and maids don't normally get rooms all to themselves, so they're going to have to take the rough with the smooth."  She looked at me, an arch smile on her face.  "Working with Yank mobsters like you  is a LOT different than what we're used to."

There was something in her voice that made me wonder.  A sort of mockery?  But I ignored it.  She  drove us back to London by a series of back roads.  It was a lovely day, and we stopped for lunch at a quiet little pub that provided tables with umbrellas on an outside patio.  I had a Budweiser and she had tea along with our lunches.

"I don't think I impressed your boss.," she said frankly.

"He maybe doesn't see you as a bed partner," I laughed, "But I think you should be glad of that."

"Yeah. I think I am." she said seriously.  "I agreed wholly with Samantha's voice analysis on him, but seeing him in the flesh?  He's a scary little bugger.  Uses those dark eyes very effectively.  Don't think I'd like to get on his bad side."

I leaned back in my chair, a little worried.  "Thought you ladies were confident that you could dominate him?  If I can remember correctly Samantha thought it would only take a few hours?"

Angela grinned. "She's good – damned good, but not THAT good.  She was probably showing off a little. It's very, very, important to have the proper personality that the submissive is looking for.  That's why it's such a good idea for us to be bringing so many girls into this.  They're all different types.  For example?  Cynthia.  Remember her?"

"The cheerful one?"

"That's her.  She's the athlete.  Bouncy and strong – you would NOT believe how strong that girl is.  If the customer is proud of his athletic capabilities, she'll take him on.  He'll win at first – because she'll let him.  But then she'll start to beat him . ."

"Bring him down a peg or two?"  I asked.

"Exactly!" she said.  Laughed. "Maybe three or four pegs if she has to.  We always find where the little darlings have their pride, then take it away from them.  After that?  They're as good as being in panties."

I thought for a second. "But all guys don't consider themselves jocks - surely?"

"True." She agreed.  "But take Rose for example.  She has a fantastic IQ – way up there at the genius level.  Have some subbie who thinks he's brainy?  She'll bring him down to earth quickly enough."

"Subbie? Mean what I think it does?" I asked.

"Probably.  An affectionate term for a submissive.  I just love the little dears when they've finally accepted their proper station in life.  They're SO cute!"

End of Part 2

And now for ROSIE!

#26XXXXXXXXMAR

Just like Marjorie said, there was a nightgown waiting for me on my bed. As it was neatly folded, I couldn’t really see what it was like, except that it was pink in color, so I picked it up to examine it. As I lifted it off the bed, it unfolded and masses of gauzy material suddenly slid to the ground. Gasping audibly, I almost dropped it on the floor out of fright.

The short bodice was made out of silk, with a square neckline and frilly short sleeves. The neckline – and the front of the bodice – was lavishly decorated in lace. The skirt consisted of layers upon layers of gauzy pink chiffon, starting out at the high waistline and running all the way to the floor. The hem left the ground only when I held the nightgown high up in the air – higher than my shoulders, by all means.

I put it back on the bed and went to turn on the bed light. Then I turned off the light on the ceiling. Only in semi-darkness did I dare to take off my robe and put on the nightgown. As much disliked the sheer idea of doing so, I had to admit it felt incredibly sensuous as the gauzy materials slid over my now perfectly smooth skin. Even so, I didn’t dare to look in the mirror, I felt I was humiliated enough. However, my humiliation was soon increased when I tried to make my way to bed. As I had suspected, the nightgown was too long for me and after just a few short steps, I became entangled in an impossible mess of chiffon. Furthermore, it was impossible to lift the hem just by holding the skirt at thigh height. Before I could even begin to lift the inner layer – which I was standing on – the slippery material of the outer layers slid out of my fingers. After a few attempts, I gave up and sat down on the floor, the chiffon billowing about me. First I dug out my legs out of the gauzy mess, then I took hold of what I thought was the hem of the longest layer and stood up. It turned out I was wrong as some material slithered from under the one I was holding and fell around my feet. I let out an annoyed sigh, but I was able to gather the remaining material without sitting down again and make the remaining couple of strides to my bed.

As I let go of the material of my skirts and rearranged it a little around my legs, I noticed that the multitude of layers didn’t make the whole garment opaque. I could very well see my legs through my skirts and while I didn’t look, I was sure both my backside and my privates were also visible. Suddenly I felt sorry for refusing Marjorie’s offer of panties. I still thought of them as an impossibly frilly and feminine garment yet they would have at least covered my exposed areas. The same could be said about the high heeled slippers, I suppose, which would have given me the extra height necessary to keep the hem of my nightgown of the floor.

However, whatever was done was done, I said to myself as I climbed under the sheets and turned off the night light. I didn’t turn around much while I nervously awaited Marjorie’s entrance, though enough that I was forced to admit she had been right on another count – the silky nightgown did feel more appropriate under the satin sheets than my pajamas.

I must have been very tired because despite even stronger trepidation and anxiety I felt that night, I fell asleep before Marjorie came in. However, when she woke me up by pressing into me from behind, I instantly became fully aware of myself and her.

“Shhh,” she whispered in my ear after I had advertised my awaking with a shudder that ran throughout my body and slid her thick arm from my shoulder down to my chest, then slowly moving it to my belly. I knew that even with my both arms I couldn’t stop her from reaching wherever she wanted, so I just gently held on to her arm, as if I wanted to express my affection towards her. I noticed she was wearing her long sleeved pajamas which delighted me. Stroking her through the silk of her pajamas felt considerably less repulsing than touching her bare flesh. I felt relieved that the trick worked and she seemed placated by massaging my chest and toying with my nipples. However, that served only to excite her and thus lasted not nearly as long enough as I had hoped. Although it did last for what seemed to me was an eternity, as soon as she pressed her fat lips to the nape of my neck, I wished it could have lasted until the end of time. Marjorie on the other hand had other things on her mind and soon her palm slid down my front again, kneading my belly as it passed it until she finally groped between my legs. I sighed softly but otherwise made no sound, which is more than can be said for her increasingly loud breathing and the loud rustling of my skirts.

I hated myself for it, but my penis was responding to the situation with far more enthusiasm than myself. Under Marjorie’s crude, but masterful touch, it soon turned into a rock hard pole. Obviously satisfied, Marjorie relented her hold of my manhood and turned her attentions to my buttocks while slobbering on my neck.

After a few long moments, she tugged gently at my shoulder, signaling she wanted me to roll on my back. I didn’t even wish to look at her, much less fully expose my front side to her.

“No, please no,” I whimpered.

I could hear her swallow, then lick her lips and breathe lustily. With a single pull, she had me on my back. As saw her face slowly descending upon mine, I knew she was going to get what she wanted. Resigned, I closed my eyes and parted my lips to welcome her invading tongue as it thrust into my mouth.

Shortly thereafter she straddled me and, although I kept motionless the whole time, pinned me down by holding my wrists in her hands, kissing me some more. Then she started to hike up my skirts. All of the sudden, I was extremely thankful for the dozens of slippery layers my skirts comprised of. Even she, obviously used to this type of garments, had trouble raising my hem. Eventually however, I found myself with all of my nightgown’s fabrics bunched up above my waist, my erection protruding upwards.

“Please don’t…” I whimpered again, but she paid no attention to my pleas.

“Hold your skirts,” she hissed in my ear, guiding my hands by the wrists onto the masses of chiffon. With a satisfied grunt she then took off her pajama bottom and – too excited to take the top off as well – straddled me again.

As she fitted herself around me, it seemed that her massive thighs were going to swallow me completely. As soon as she was in position, though, she pressed my hands back on the pillow and the gauzy material puffed out, obscuring the action from my view. I leaned my head back against the pillow and soon enough her probing tongue was greedily exploring my mouth again.

As much as she repulsed me, I couldn’t deny Marjorie was a masterful lover. Minutes after I had – against my free will – entered her, I had my arms wrapped around her neck, clenching to her any way I could, sucking feverishly on her tongue and moving my hips wantonly in the rhythm she directed until I exploded in a scream of sheer delight.

The delight was all gone after I had regained full awareness of my actions and surroundings. Marjorie was still bending over me and I turned my head away in shame, trying to burry it into the soft satin covered pillow as much as I could. She wasn’t going to let me diminish her victory, though. With her hand she exerted an almost vice-like grip around my jaw and forced my head to face her again. I tried to look away by at least adverting my eyes, but she strengthened her grip to a very painful level until I relented and looked her in the eyes. I could feel tears welling up behind mine. She stared at me victoriously until I felt a single tear trickle back down my cheek. I started to sob.

“Oh, cry now,” she whispered menacingly, “But you liked it, didn’t you?”

I fought with all my strength to stop my sobbing, to control my breaths.

“Didn’t you?” she hissed.

I couldn’t help it any more and started weeping uncontrollably.

“You don’t have to answer,” she said, “We both know what happened. You liked it. You like being treated as a girl.”

She got off me, rearranged my skirts and my blankets, then left the room as I continued to cry into the pillow.

She was right, though. She had just raped me, and I enjoyed it. I enjoyed it immensely.

#27XXXXXMAR

I guess the worst part of Nicole taking over our marriage is that I lost my driving privileges, as she called them. I could easily cope with the clothes she makes me wear if she only drove me to work. It’s only eight o’clock in the morning and it’s already hot. This is the third bus I got on since leaving the house. I’ve still got a long way to ride, but at least I don’t have to transfer anymore and I’ve found a seat. The last bus was much worse. Crowded, hot and stuffy, the ride was rocky. I could hardly get near the handle bar to brace myself and even that after two stops. High time, as right after I got a good grip on the sweaty metal bar, the driver suddenly hit the brakes and it took all my strength not to fall down on the floor but that was all that I could prevent. I could only hold the handle bar with one arm, the other was already occupied with my handbag and my jacket that I had to take off. It took me by complete surprise when the bus stopped abruptly and the tug of inertia spun me around the vertical handlebar until I crashed into a man standing by the door, squealing with fright and surprise as I did so. I suppose I could have kept my ground even on my four inch heels if it only wasn’t for the tight skirt that prevented me from spreading my legs sideways by more than a foot. As it was, however, the only comfort I could find was that I left no traces of my elaborate makeup on the man’s shirt, as I apologized under the amused glances of fellow passengers.

Even without my clumsy antics, I get the same glances as people pass my seat. Most recently from a couple of schoolgirls. I can understand them, they’re all dressed either in shorts and tank tops or light summer dresses whereas I sit there in layers of clothing – Nicole insists I wear full lingerie and so I have to endure the morning heat with a full slip between my satin corset and my silk blouse. However, the heat gets to me the worst inside my panties. Even though I’m wearing stockings and not pantyhose, it’s quite hot and sweaty down there. The slip ends just below the hem of my skirt and the material of the skirt is too thick for this summer weather. Absently, my mind floats to the day Nicole bought me this suit. I remember her joy when she saw it on a mannequin and even more later on, when I modeled the yellow skirt and jacket ensemble, first at the store, then few days later at home with three different blouses, ‘all perfect’ that she bought me to wear along with it. Unavoidably, my mind revisits the night that followed and various ways how Nicole satisfied her lust. As if I’m not uncomfortable enough inside my tight panties, my penis start to respond to those thoughts. Half to try accommodating its slightly swollen size, half to let at least some air in under my skirt, I cross my legs, keeping them as far apart as manners permit as I do so, discretely hiding my actions from view with my jacket.

I open my handbag, take out my compact and check my make up. Still immaculate. I snap the compact closed and put it back inside the handbag. Another bunch of young girls pass by, I notice another pair of eyes viewing me half with pity, half with scorn. This time the object of attention is my crispy white blouse, with a long sash tied at the collar, lavish frills running down the bodice but still just enough transparent to hint at my lacy lingerie.

“Just wait a couple of short years, girls,” I say to them in my thoughts, “Then you’ll be in my shoes, every morning all prettied up, going to work.”

I pat my permed hair, then without thinking drop my hand in my lap again, as I’ve been so thoroughly trained to do.

“Then again, maybe you’ll have your husbands prettied up instead,” I add.