Driving Her Home

Alan smiled at the perky blonde college student in the passenger seat of his sedan. "So Catelyn, have you figured out what your major is going to be yet?"

"Mister Denny, are you wearing makeup?" It wasn't a question, it was a challenge. Her brown eyes watched him without flinching, waiting to see how he'd respond.

The question was so unexpected, it knifed through him, jolting him with adrenaline and fear, leaving him breathless. Earlier tonight he was wearing makeup. A full face of makeup that he wore to a BDSM play party. Did he not get it all off? He had scrubbed and scrubbed in the club's bathroom, but in the dim lighting, maybe he hadn't gotten it all wiped away.

He made the mistake of glancing in the rear view mirror to see if there were any traces left on his face. Catelyn laughed, loudly. What is it about a woman's scornful laugh that's so piercing? A lifetime of humiliation and submissive need rose up deep inside Alan, flooding him with panic.

"It's OK, Catelyn," he stammered, desperate to play it off. How could he have been so stupid? Or gotten caught? He was twice Catelyn's age, but now he felt as vulnerable as a teenager getting caught with his pants down.

"No, it's not you pervert. Why are you wearing makeup? You told me you needed a sitter so you could go to the movies. You didn't see a movie, did you, pervert?" Oh god, her tone was steel, cold and crushing.

The streetlight turned green, but Alan was so distracted, he didn't move at all. "Catelyn, it's not a bad thing, it's..." He stammered for words, babbling, really, while Catelyn grabbed her tank top and ripped it with two hands. One of the shoulder straps torn through completely, revealing the strap of a black, lacy bra underneath.

"First off, it's not Catelyn anymore. It's Miss Summers now. And you're going to tell me why you're wearing makeup, or I'll run to the police and tell them you attacked me while trying to sex me up. And if you think they'll believe a forty two year old pervert wearing makeup, you've got another thing coming."

Alan's heart was pounding so loudly, he was sure she could hear it. This young girl, maybe five feet two inches tall with a plain college girl's ponytail, was in complete command. At the party that night, Alan was serving his wife. He was a submissive and a crossdresser, and tonight he had dressed as she had commanded, in a long sleeved black wrap dress, dark hose, and knee high boots. Dark eye make-up, wine colored lipstick, and elegant silver jewelry completed the outfit. Tonight, he was under orders to not speak or make eye contact with anyone, and to mutely serve his wife while she whipped a naked, well muscled male submissive.

He loved his wife dearly, especially because their kinks fit together so perfectly. She wanted him chaste and submissive at all times, and watching her scene with studly submissives was an indescribable sexual charge. But here, as he idled at a stoplight, his mind just drew blanks. How do I explain this? Maybe as few words as possible?

Unsure of what to do, Alan simply did what he was told. "Yes, Miss Summers," using her demanded honorific automatically, the training from his wife kicking in. "I am wearing makeup. I am a crossdresser, and I went to a dress-up party tonight."

"Where are your clothes now?" She showed no mercy, eyes flashing.

"In the trunk Miss Summers." Alan's heart was about to pound out of his chest. He couldn't come up with any kind of convincing lie. Best to tell the truth and keep it short. Just get away and damage control can come later. As long as it doesn't go any farther, maybe this will be OK.

"Are you wearing panties right now? I bet you are, you sissy."

"Yes, Miss Summers." Fuck. The answer to that question just came without thinking. He still was wearing panties. And his pantyhose, too. A cold sweat prickled up his back. Over the years of serving his wife, honesty had just become a habit. Her stern tone alone was enough to push him into sub space, and the warm, floating, flushed feeling was sweeping over him. He tried to fight it, I can't go there now, not in front of the babysitter.

"Are they silky panties? Or lacy panties? I know you sissy boys just love to talk about your panties. So tell me."

Alan thought his cheeks my actually combust from the shame of being caught. "They're lacy panties, Miss Summers. Black, and cut like the boy short style." That lovely feeling of being empty wouldn't stop growing inside him. Her tone was so commanding it pushed him deeper, and his fear and shame couldn't stop it. His wife had trained him too well, had gotten him too used to slipping away when commanded.

"Pull into that parking lot and show me." She twirled the torn strap from her t-shirt, taunting him.

"Please don't make me do that."

"Look, sissy, I'll call your wife right now in tears, crying about how you attacked me. So if you want to keep this quiet and quick, you'll obey."

Silence again in the car. Alan's head was spinning from shame and adrenaline. His wife couldn't possibly believe this girl, but they did have an argument after they left the club tonight. His wife accused him of staring at one of the other women in the club, and denied him permission to cum tonight. Alan whined about it, saying he wasn't looking, and as best as he could recall, he absolutely hadn't, and his feet were killing him from standing in his heels for hours, holding Her whips and crops and he'd been promised an orgasm and in all honesty, he was a little bitchy about being denied. She wasn't having it, and told Alan that it would be another week before he would be allowed to cum. It wasn't a big argument, but Alan had definitely pouted on the drive home, and felt a little silly still wearing his panties and pantyhose under his male clothes for the ride if he wasn't going to be allowed to cum tonight. It didn't seem fair.

Alan obediently pulled into the shopping mall parking lot. He drove to the edge of the lot, as far from the street lamps as he could and parked. and stopped at the far end of the asphalt.

"Good boy. Now show me."

Quickly, he unbuckled his belt and opened his jeans, showing the control top of his pantyhose covering the black lacy panties, now bulging out with a shameful erection. That's all I'm going to do, he told himself. I haven't done anything wrong, it's not illegal to wear pantyhose, I'm not going to let Miss Summers push me any farther. He kept repeating that to himself, but he was already locked into calling her Miss Summers, and he had a sinking feeling if she asked with the right tone, he'd obey.

Miss Summers laughed again. "Oh my god, you really are a pervert! You're even wearing pantyhose! That control top really does a good job holding in that little beer belly, doesn't it? Come on, take those pants off, let me see."

Alan wiggled his jeans down over his thighs and past his knees, enough to reveal his shaved legs. Miss Summers clapped her hands in delight. "You even shave your legs, just like a girl! Isn't it a bitch to keep your legs smooth and soft?"

He kept his hands firmly on the steering wheel and his eyes straight ahead. Just like his wife trained him, you never looked a Dominant in the eyes. Polite and obedient. The subspace was swallowing him, now. He thought about the argument with his wife, and thought if he just did what he was told, that she might understand.

Miss Summers ran a finger up his hosed thigh, smiling. Alan could see the chipped nail polish on her index finger, and all he could think was if he could offer her a manicure in return for her silence. She pinched his thigh and spoke. "Your baby went to sleep early, so I had time to explore your computer. You have a very interesting browser history, Alan. Or should I call you Alicia? I found everything you've been looking at lately, and you're a real piece of work."

"It's Alicia, if it pleases you, Miss Summers." Hands on the wheel, keep them to myself, and I'll be OK. Just do what I'm told, his thoughts spinning around in a loop.

"It does, for now, pervert. Now hold still." She reached down into his pocket and pulled out his phone. Before he could stop her, Miss Summers swiped his phone open and snapped a picture of his bulging panties with her hand on the inside of his thigh.

"What are you doing!"

"Just a little memento. It's your phone, don't worry about it." Her fingers flew with teenager's speed over the keyboard, and the phone whooshed as a message sent. "Although maybe you should worry a little, Alicia."

Terror flooded him, this was going too far now "please no!"

"Don't worry, Alicia, there's no face in that picture. But I'm sure your wife will recognize you anyway."

"My wife? What did you do!" His voice raised, almost cracking. Oh, shit. She texted this picture to his wife? The subspace shifted into the cold sweat of fear. His mind raced through his options. Nobody could ID this picture as him, he glanced down at his pantyhosed crotch, it's generic, it could be anyone, he tried to reassure himself. The waistband of the control top suddenly felt like it was digging into him with an unrelenting bite. Cold sweat prickled all over his body now.

The phone beeped as a text message came in. Miss Summers she glanced at the phone and smiled. "Here, it's for you." He at looked at the phone, and it was a message from his wife.

GOOD SLUT. YOU MAY SERVE.

He inhaled sharply and shifted in his seat. This is OK? She's OK with this? Does she know what's happening? Before he could fully get his head around this, Miss Summers crawled into his lap, straddling one hosed thigh, wedging herself between him and the steering wheel.

"Your wife said she'd give me an extra hundred dollars if I got a picture of you in your panties." She was so close to him, he could feel all of her weight on his lap, pushing him back into the driver's seat, the inches of space between their bodies charged with heat.

"But I don't understand, how... how..."

"Who do you think gave me the password to your computer, Alicia?"

Understanding flooded through him. Oh my god, my wife set this all up. For a moment, he was so grateful, he almost forgot his training and looked Miss Summers in the eyes. Then he exhaled, letting the sub space flood through him completely. His bulge swelled just a bit more, if that was even possible. Miss Summers brought a knee up to his throbbing member, pressing into it slightly.

"You're not allowed to cum, and she's asked me to give you a good spanking for being a little bitch tonight. So I think you should put your heels on and bend over the hood of this car. We don't have all night."