How to Dress Your Man

K here...

We all know how we want our man to dress. So we organize it. Suits, jeans, shirts...lululemon stuff is a must, of course. But that's all outerwear.

How do you really want to dress your man?

Fortunately, mine lost his driving licence for too many tickets. That gave me the opportunity. Simply put, in order to ride with me, in my vehicle, and he had to ride with me whilst suspended, he had to dress as I said.

So we started out with the absolute basics.

I let him slip into the passenger seat, and pass me my coffee in the travelling cup. Then I told him he was going to remove everything from the waist down. Then I sipped my coffee, and waited.

It's not as though this was the first time he'd been naked in the vehicle. He had a knack for losing bets. Poker, both normal and strip. Football. Baseball. For a guy who knew sports as well as he did, he lost a lot of bets on games. And some of them involved riding naked, here and there, that sort of thing. And he knew to expect pretty rough treatment in that respect - since he'd written and posted that story, unbeknownst to me, about the sex in the shop.

Yes, I am the manager of a shop. Yes, I did have sex with him in the shop shortly after we met. But no, I did not think of him as a bastard - and he did not leave money and a business card stuck to my perspiring flesh - and most importantly he did not check with me before posting it! So when he lost he rode naked, and did whatever else seemed appropriate to me within the context of the bet.

He wrote stories, naked, under my direction. Quite often. Almost all of the stories posted here are because of lost bets - or fictionalized accounts based on actual lost bet payouts. And they are always always written naked. And to my satisfaction.

But in this instance, he had not yet been informed of the basics outlined above with respect to riding with me. Until now.

And he was dressed in a suit, for work. And it was Monday am. Not later in the evening.

So sipping my coffee, sitting in the driveway, I explained the basics as you know them to be.

Only when he was naked from the waist down, did I start the car and leave the drive for his work. It's a longish drive to his place of employment so he was naked for a long time, in considerable traffic. I took the time to explain all of the terms and conditions.

He was dependent on me for all drives. He was not to use any other source of transportation except me, without my express permission - and he could expect any such permission to involve him being dressed as he was on that morning, if not less even than on that morning. And to emphasize this message, while we were idling in traffic I insisted he remove his suit jacket - and in part because I was bored, and he had sports on the radio, and we were still sitting there, bla-bla-bla. So why should he not pay for the irritation to me? He had no answer to that. So I then insisted he remove his tie and unbutton his shirt. And part the shirt.

He dresses left. For whatever reason the human erection cannot stay straight up for any period of time. So it does this cute little leaning tower thing. I only tell him his erection is cute when I want to offend him. Seems 'cute' has size connotations. Fact is, his erection is gorgeous. Before we had got that far, in an email, because I had asked him, he had told me his fingers fully splayed from little finger tip to thumb tip was 9 inches - and that his erection was that size. Turned out to be true. I have pix to prove it. One from that morning when I drove him to work where I had him use the seamstress tape measure I keep in the glovebox whilst I snapped a few more pix on my phone.

I did not take him into the carpark of his employment of course. Instead I took him the automated carpark over the road. There were cameras dotted around the carpark and lots of traffic coming and going but he was grateful I had not dragged him virtually naked into the firm carpark.

So I exploited the situation. Passing off his gratitude with a smile, I insisted he remove the now sweat soaked shirt - and I gave him the summary chapter and verse then. Thou shalt not. Thou shalt not. Thou shalt not. Thou shalt...thou shalt...thou shalt. He sat there, poor dear, now stark naked, flinching at every echoing car door and foot step, listening - and nodding and agreeing.

I finished and I made him wait, until I was satisfied he grasped the message.

I then got out of the vehicle, rounded to the boot and came back with a lululemon dressy teeshirt to replace his white shirt and tie. At the very least that would mean he would spend the whole day drawing attention because it was such a shift in dress, for him. I also insisted it was a commando day. I then gave him only enough time to slip on the new shirt, the jacket and the slacks before hustling him out onto the cold concrete to fend for himself and peel on his shoes and socks.

That evening, responding to my text instructions, he came to the shop a changed man.

Only you girls know that is not true. So did I. I closed the shop and took him down the road to Le Vie En Rose, where I installed him in one of the changing rooms - and, using sign language, whilst resisting the urge to chuckle or in some other way spoil the 'ambience', I tucked every stitch of his clothes into the shop bag from a much earlier visit. Then I left him stranded. And browsed the shop again.

I bought him a thong. Black. Lace. Perfect. Not only did it show the globes of his tight tush, it also covered nothing out front except his cute testicles. Pardon me, his gorgeous testicles. They are not that small either! It did however, prevent his dress left tendency - once I had communicated what I wanted by sign language.

Not that I minded his dressing left. I thought it cute...and sexy. But if he is a reno - tear down to the bare timbers and do the job right. At least that is what I was thinking, letting my fingertips trace every visible bit of erection...right up to the lovely circumcised head, which was hovering an inch or so up his taut abs from his navel and far enough from his actual flesh that I could slip my fingers into his thick perspiration soaked pubes. And give him a quick tweak.

While he pleaded, mutely, desperately, and on both sides of us women compared notes about this outfit and that item.

And I plucked away for a time, making him dance from one foot to the other, and sweat some more, and savouring the vision as the white glistening pre-cum oozed into view... and I decided to make him shave his pubes. For my amusement - details to be determined later.

Which is also when I came up with the next phase of the process. One piece, all laid out, so to speak. Clear as a bell in my mind.

But no rush. The suspension had weeks to run...

*****

Comments welcome. Let me know if you want me to continue... k...