Suburban Milf's Transformation

First thanks for all the great comments. And in answer to the questions, yes, it is a true story. At your encouragement, I'll continue with what happened.

The next morning -- after my fateful lost bet payoff to Rod -- was ironically enough, a Sunday. I got up feeling a.) very sleepy since I had been out running around on a football field in the buff in the middle of the night at great personal and professional risk and b.) very guilty and ashamed for exactly the same reasons. Nonetheless, I got up, got dressed in a minimizing bra and my very conservative skirt suit, gathered my son and drove over to the Baptist megachurch we attend. Sitting there in the pew, I found I couldn't fully pay attention to the lessons or the sermon, mostly because I was replaying the humiliating events of the night before and feeling a guilty cringing distraction. The whole thing had been completely against my nature, like nothing I had ever even considered or done before. As I looked around at all the good church people, I felt an aching sense of shame and my face reddened like it had when I stripped off my sweatsuit on the athletic field at Rod's direction.

Looking down though I found that the outline of my nipples, even through my bra and the thick material of my top were sort of evident. I folded my arms in complete shame and felt a flood of resentment and anger toward Rod. How could he have done that to me? I thought. How could he have made me debase myself like that. I am a career woman, decent, churchgoing, upper middle class, and a mom no less. That should have counted for some element of respect and restraint on his part.

And yet, the big smirking, "I won" look on his face came right back to me as I recalled the details of my risky public exposure.

I crossed my legs defensively. I knew, I had to call him up after we got home and let him know that while I had made good on the lost bet and he had gotten his jollies, I was calling it all quits. I would not be seeing him anymore. I suddenly felt so much better. I relaxed, and unfolding my arms, I saw that there was no indicting shape of my reaction to my bust anymore. Like a truly self-respecting 21st century woman, I was taking my power back.

After the service, I walked back to the car with a confident stride. I drove my son home and as soon as we had changed, and he was involved in an online game in his room, I picked up my phone and walked into my home office and closed the door. I was going to lay down the law with Rod and show him what a strong, confident woman did when someone tried to manipulate her. I was going to tell him off... and then tell him, good-bye.

The phone rang once, then twice, then a third time, then a fourth. Then it went to voicemail. I hadn't expected that. Now, as you know, I am verrrrry Southern. I have the accent and everything. I also have an ingrained sense of propriety and leaving a hostile or rude message violated my very sense of decorum, so instead of blasting him verbally, I found myself awkwardly stammering, "Uh yes, uh, Rod, uh, hi. This is Brittany, and uh, I was wondering if you could give me a call back, at your convenience. There is something we need to discuss."

I hung up feeling deflated and frustrated. I had built up so much courage and emotion and was so ready to let him have it that, the power of it all had sort of vented into the air around me. Into nothing. Now I just felt a kind of tooth-grinding frustration and emotional diminishment.

I set the phone down with an exasperated, "Uh," that sounded like I was 17 again and had been told I couldn't go to a friend's house or an after school function."

It was not the kind of state I needed to be in when the phone rang and I saw the video call indicator under the name "Rod." In retrospect I know it was a mistake, but reflexively I tapped up and answered, "Hello, Rod."

He was standing with a towel around his waist. His hair was wet. Far from what I was expecting his tone was pleasant, neutral and enthusiastic, like I might have expected after a perfect date with someone. There was nothing mocking or even remotely close to what I remembered from the night before.

"Hey, so sorry. I was in the shower when you called," he said.

I instantly flashed back to what his big manly penis looked like as it towered over my face.

"Oh," was all I managed to say.

"Yeah, listen, I have to tell you, I have never had more fun with someone. You are an amazing woman." He smiled.

Once again, circumstances were at odds with my sense of politeness and feeling completely confused as to how to respond, I spoke with an equally civil tone. "Oh, uh,I, uh"--then defaulting-- "thank you, Rod," I said.

"I have never met anyone so classy, so gorgeous, so accomplished and still able to be so erotically adventurous and brave. I haven't been able to stop thinking about you. I think we are perfectly compatible, and you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Last night was just incredible. I could tell you felt the same."

Now I was completely befuddled. He was right. My body had reacted, but he had also put me in such a vulnerable and insulting and humiliating situation. Just like the night before, I felt a sort of dwindling self-control and determination, of will power just then.

"Uh, yeah uh, thank you," I said, "but Rod, I mean it was so risky. If I had been caught--"

"Exactly," he interrupted. "I could tell you needed that push and I have been thinking."

"Thinking? About what?"

"About our date this evening"

"What?" said with a slight sense of outrage.

"What is that you have on right now?" he said as if it meant something.

The old adage, "cat got your tongue" was never more appropriate than for me at that very moment. I was feeling a desperate surge of outrage, a need to reclaim control from him and yet for the life of me I couldn't imagine how he was just sort of overwhelming me, this conversation, and how he was just taking the helm of this relationship.

"Relationship." It was a word that surprised even me, the one who was mentally using it.

"Uh look Rod. I don't think I should--" I said feebly trying.

"It's that sweatsuit, isn't it?" His tone had a gleeful kind of similar note to last night.

I looked down. My lower lip dropped and trembled. I had put it on, but really only because it was so comfortable and right there on the foot of my bed as I changed out of my church clothes.

"Yes," I said haltingly.

He chuckled. My nipples stood out like thick bolts. I blushed even though I was all alone, and he was telephonically removed.

"Perfect." His voice just oozed a sexually aroused, dirty confidence. "What else do you have on."

Somehow, maybe because I hadn't realized that I had reached for this outfit and maybe it did mean something, I just couldn't say anything but, "Uh, a sports bar and thong, socks and running shoes."

"Oh yes," he exulted, "and you do look so good running." He chuckled again, and I suddenly felt a crippling sense of embarrassment.

"Where are you in your house?"

"In my office," I answered with a growing sense of helpless dread.

"The one that faces the gold course out back?" he asked.

"Yes," I said.

He had seen it one evening when I invited him in after our date. My home backs up to a fairway and the 3rd hole green of a private golf course. In fact, most of the homes in my neighborhood had a similar setup. The one downside was that the homeowners association will not let us build a privacy fence across the back so most people have low growth shrubs and back berms for things like their swimming pools or spas. The result is that anyone playing through out there could see somewhat into my backyard, depending on where I was. The window from my office was completely unobstructed.

Rod chuckled again. "Take off the sweat suit."

I gasped. I was absolutely not about to do this.

Rod, no. It is broad daylight and a Sunday! I can't do this."

"Brittany," his voice was not harsh. It had the same tone and light mocking note from the night before and despite myself I felt a weakening as he added, "Take...the sweatsuit...off."

"Rod, come on. Don't. Please." It was all I could think to say.

"Brittany..." The tone, the look on his face was just so assured and calmly, patiently insistent.

Don't ask me why. Don't try and get me to explain it. The fact is I didn't want to. I really didn't. I hated Rod again, just then, just like I had the night before. I wanted to scream, "Go to hell, you patriarchal ass," and cut off the phone call. I wanted to not be dominated like this. But something had changed in me. Something like a switch being flipped, a switch flipped by Rod, and his attitude and insufferable, mocking expression and tone had irreparably happened last night on that football field when I was soooo subordinated and shamed and also aroused by it. It was all right back in that moment. With a combined sense that was devastatingly humiliating and electrically tense, I set the phone down and reached for the lower edge of my sweat top.

"Hang on," he said. "Prop it so I can see you."

I tilted the phone, so I was in full view.

"Perfect... continue."

Blinking with embarrassment, I reach down and pulled off the top.

"Oh God," he groaned. "I love that. "Now the bottoms."

I stood up and pulled them down and with a steadying hand on my desk pulled them over my shoes.

"Oh God that is perfect!" Rod was actually laughing at me.

I looked down. I had on an old cotton UGA thong. It was red with the classic G over the front panel. I blushed. It was too perfect for him. My UGA football bet had been what led to last night's humiliation and we both realized the irony of this now. In my defense, however, I actually have a bunch of these and usually wear them when a game is on or as casual panties like under my gym clothes. That didn't matter to Rod, it was just another happy discovery as I obeyed him again.

"Hey... you used to be a cheerleader?"

"Yes," I said standing in my bra, thong, socks and shoes.

"Do a little cheer for me." His grin was too much. It was a really sophomoric thing and if I went along with it, it would set a whole new precedent.

"Rod! No way!" I said.

"Brittany..." That tone and look were back.

With a sinking feeling that my self-respect was dying a little, I stepped back and to my own inner disbelief I heard my own voice chanting the cadence of "Two bits" along with the sense memory reawakening of its choreography. I kicked and moved my arms like I had pompoms.

Then when I came to the end, without thinking, I jumped up and down and ended with a little "Herkie" move kicking my legs wide apart. I landed and even with the support of the sports bra my big 32E's bounced ridiculously.

Rod's towel was off now and I could see how erect my performance had made him. That huge, gorgeous cock was almost pulsating.

"Rod!" I said with a kind of residual propriety.

"Hey, we have seen each other before and I don't mind." He waggled his hips making it sway tauntingly on camera.

"Oh my God," I gasped.

"He likes you," mocked Rod, referring to the cock I had sucked to the very root the night before.

"Yes, I recall," I said flatly.

"Okay, now take of the bra, but leave on the thong.

I didn't want to, and I even shook my head no. The look on my face was a pleading agony, but still I reached down and grabbed the bra and pulled it up and over my tousled blonde head. My augmented breasts dropped to their "settled" position almost at the lower edge of my ribcage.

"Fuckkkkkk," said Rod groaning. "Give them a shake.

"Rod, no," I said sounding like I meant it.

He paused.

"Okay then... do the cheer again."

I looked around. "Are you kidding? Anyone walking on the course could potentially see in here. At least let me close my drapes.

"No," he said. "Leave them open. And do the cheer again. Now."

I swallowed hard. Hating myself and him. I started in with the routine.

"Two bits..." My arms went up and my tits swung slightly.

"Four bits..." I twisted making them bump each other and bending into a side stance.

"Six bits, a dollar..." I kicked slightly and the result showed my slight pooch of tummy over my thong.

"All for the bulldogs, stand up and holler..." I finished and facing the phone, kicked up showing my inadequately covered crotch and then I leaped upwards in another Herkie. The results of my tits rising and dropping heavily along with my extreme leg parting as I jumped was too much for him.

As if responding to the mantra of the cheer he stood up and the screen filled with is erect cock.

"Okay perfect," he said as I stopped, panting slightly.

I have mentioned that I am not built for running or sprinting or really anything that makes me bounce. As such I mostly do swimming or ride my bike for cardio. Now, I was out of breath from all this. Rod was loving it.

"Okay," he said finally. "You know what is left."

I looked down at my UGA panties.

"Rod, no. I can't. Someone could see!" I looked nervously over my shoulder at the direct view of the fairway.

"Brittany..."

"No Rod, come on. Please?" I sounded whiny.

"Brittany," he said sounding like my Dad when I was a kid and being chastised for something I did wrong. "If you don't do as I say right now. It will get worse."

My hazel eyes went huge. He had tapped into something neither of us anticipated, and had it not been a video call, had it not been his perception he might not have seen potential.

"I'm counting to five," he said. "One...two...three...four...."

"Wait," I said emotionally and started to grab and drag down my thong in panic.

"Five."

I was just pulling them off over my running shoes. One side had caught on the tongue of the shoe and I was bent over hopping awkwardly. Again, my tits collided on camera.

"Too late," he said. "Penalty time."

"What?" I said standing there, with my curly, edged, dark muff that stopped just above my obviously shaved lips almost in close up.

"Oh man, that is a total screen saver," he said.

"What?" I said.

"You have a penalty for not doing as told on time," he said calmly.

"A penalty???"

"Mm hmm," he crooned. "How many errant golf balls end up in your yard?"

I had no idea where he was going with this.

"I don't know," I said. "There's always a couple."

"Okay good. Here's what you have to do. Just as you are... run outside... find a golf ball....run out onto the green and drop it in the hole..."

I listened with my eyes growing wider and a sense of utterly helpless, complete reluctance welling up inside. My jaw dropped.

"Then... run...back."

I sat down stunned.

"Rod I am begging you--"

"Pen-al-tyyyyy," he said in a singsong like threat that insinuated I could have to do even more.

"Okay, okay," I said desperately.

"Tilt the phone so I can see through the window to the course."

With a sense of complete shame, I propped the phone. My back yard and the course were both showing.

"Oh Rod, what if I am seen?" The awful potential was a real possibility.

"Well, you are a nice Southern girl, all friendly and everything, right? Guess you'll just have to smile and wave." He laughed mockingly.

I groaned with humiliation.

"Now...go," he said.

I went to the door. I could hear the blaring combat sounds that meant my son was in his own little world of online conflict in his room so there was no risk there. Then I slipped out to the living room completely naked and went to the patio doors.

Outside the sun was blazing, which meant that there would be golfers out. I took a deep breath to try and bolster my fortitude, then opened the door and rushed outside. The warm humid air was all over parts of me that weren't supposed to feel it. My nipples were standing up like number one erasure tips and the warmth and slight slick feeling of my pussy made me loathe myself for the reaction this treatment was having.

I was being disrespected, objectified, mocked and played for a man's smug amusement. And it had me hot. I hated him, I wanted to spit in his face and yet, I was being obedient, helplessly so. I felt like I was surrendering and being conquered, and my own body was betraying me.

I looked around and to my despair, saw not one golf ball. I stepped out into the yard knowing that at any moment, someone out there could appear and see all of me. Not to mention next door neighbors couldn't see directly in, but the upper story windows looked down into my yard so there was that risk. I searched frantically and then just when I was on the verge of losing it saw the little white Titleist next to my poolspa.

I ran over and squatted down to get it. A breeze caught my slick pussy and anal area and the sensation was like an atmospheric goosing and sent me right back to a startled standing position. I was in a panic again and forgetting or at least not worrying about how it looked, I sprinted across my yard to where the small shrub bordered the property line with the fairway. My tits bounced and banged, and my buns jiggled as I ran up and stopped to check if the coast was clear. I didn't see anyone and knowing time was not my friend, I charged out onto the clipped grass and up onto the green. I was just bending over and had dropped the ball into the cup when I heard a voice say, "Now that is definitely a hole, I'd like to get in one."

I almost choked and stood up, horrified. Two older men, easily in their 70s,were standing just below the edge of the green where they were playing a bad lie. From the angle of my yard, I hadn't been able to see them, but just now they had seen plenty of me.

For a second, I just stared at them, nude, full frontal, eyes big as a doe in the headlights. Then I realized and turned and fled for my life. It was too late to fly for my dignity.

"Go, baby go, " laughed one old man.

"No wait, come back, pleasssseeeeee" laughed the other.

I didn't even look back.

I ran to my yard and taking a hurdling leap, crossed the low shrubs and sprinted back across the lawn to my house, with my as obscenely baubling anatomically as displayed as it had been when I was running vigorously for thrown passes the night before.

I crossed my patio and ran to the doors. I opened then and dashed inside. I crossed the living room and ran into the office, where a laughing Rod greeted me on my phone screen.

"Oh...my...God," said between chuckles. "That was fucking fantastic."

"I was caught!" I agonized.

That only seemed to turn him on more.

"Humiliated you, didn't it?" he said.

"Yes," I groaned.

"Saw everything didn't they. What a nice girl never shows."

"Yes."

"An act totally beneath you morally, professionally, personally?"

"Yes, yes, yes," I almost choked out the words.

"Felt violated and degraded and hated us both."

"Yes," I said with amazement and shame.

He laughed with a self-congratulatory tone. "That makes you undeniably a little subbie, a sex object, a pet for a strong dominating personality.

"What?" I said incredulously. It sounded like a protest.

"You don't want this do you?"

"No," I said vigorously.

"Yet you need it."

"No," I protested. I meant it.

"Okay," he said. "Tell you what. Position the camera, put both feet up on the desk, and spread your legs so I can see a close up of your pussy and asshole--"

"What?" I said in outrage.

"--if you aren't wet and puffy down there, I'll take you at your word, apologize and never try anything like this again. If you refuse or if you are wet, then you do what I say when I say from now on."

I blinked, looking completely stunned.

"Get those feet up, Brittany."

I think we both knew. I had a look on my face like I had surrendered something I didn't fully even understand in that moment. I just knew I was lost. My self-respect, my decency, my middle class morality was on the line. I sat down in my desk chair, propped my feet on the edge of the desk, and moved my crotch into the frame. Just the toes of my running shoes, my inner thighs, and whole perineum were showing along with the tuft of dark bush above, and my slightly out of focus face in frame.