This is another chapter of the story that started with Her Desire. Once again, it was a collaborative effort. My friend, EV, related more of her submissive fantasies to me and then helped me turn them into a continuation of the story.
Enjoy!
AM
*
You look at the clock on your office wall. You were hoping to be out of here by now and there were still two people standing in front of your desk waiting for a decision. You give the matter some thought, ask them a couple questions and ponder for a moment. Then you make a decision, give them their marching orders and send them on their way.
No sooner are they out of your office when another head pokes in with yet another question. Geez, you'd think you were going away for a month, not leaving early on a Thursday to start a three day weekend. You answer his question and look at the clock. You're already fifteen minutes late getting out of here and you haven't started packing up yet.
You think about calling home, but decide to do so from the car. You've got to get out of here and it seems like you're never going to be able to if you don't just go. You pack up your things quickly, one eye on your office door.
A dozen things, last minute instructions and reminders rush through your head. If you take the time to address them all, you'll never get out of here. You have to force yourself to let it go. You can call tomorrow and follow up on those things. Tonight is supposed to belong to you and your husband. You pick up your bags and head out, hesitating for a moment, about to make one last call. Then you shake your head and will yourself to let it go.
Even as you make your way through the office, a couple of your employees stop you, looking to you for decisions or guidance. Your sense of responsibility does not let you rush off without answering. You take the time to give thoughtful answers and make sure that they're understood.
Then you're in your car, homeward bound at last. Only forty minutes later than you had hoped. You reach for your blackberry to call home and let him know you'll be late. Even before you pick it up, it's ringing. Work. You answer, trying not to be impatient. You listen to the problem, make a decision and give the caller instructions. You hang up and try once again to call home, but again the phone rings.
Your commute is less than a half hour, but your phone rings a total of three time in that period and you never get a chance to call to tell him you're running late. When you finally pull into the driveway, he's already home.
You rush into the house and dump your bags unceremoniously by the door.
"Sorry, hon," you tell him. "I really, really tried to get out early. I guess I can just go to dinner in this." Your gray blazer and skirt are not quite as elegant as you would like for a special, just-the-two-of-you night, but it would do in a pinch.
"I picked a dress out for you," he says simply. You look at him. Is he angry you're late? He doesn't seem to be. But he's acting unusual... there's a quiet seriousness. You aren't sure what it means.
You go upstairs and find the dress he's picked out for you. It's one he bought for you quite some time ago, but you've never had the nerve to wear it. It's cut low in the front and backless. Not much support or concealment for your full C cup breasts. It's short too, falling several inches above the knee. It's very elegant, classy. Just a bit too daring for your taste.
"Uh, hon," you call over your shoulder, heading into the walk-in closet. "How about something a bit... uh..." You sort through the racks and find a dress you like. When you come out of the closet, he's standing there with the dress in his hand. He says one word:
"This."
He holds it out to you. You aren't sure what to make of it. His eyes are intense, boring into you, brooking no compromise. You look at the dress in your hand and the dress in his. With a slight hesitation, you return the dress you've picked to the closet. You take the dress from him. It's black, soft, sleek... the kind of dress you wish you had the nerve to wear. You certainly have the body for it, but the revealing nature of it is too unnerving.
Tonight you don't seem to have a choice. You look at him, not sure. He nods to the dress in your hand and leaves the room.
You change into it and look at yourself in the mirror. It's quite amazing and your body has never looked sexier. You might die of embarrassment dressed like this, but you certainly understand why he wants to see you in it.
You pick out a nice pair of three inch heels to compliment it. Yes, a man would kill for you dressed like this! You wrap a light shawl around your shoulders and head downstairs.
He takes one look at you and takes the shawl away and tosses it aside. He does so without asking or even caring what you think. Then he looks you over, appraising the dress and your body in it. You feel practically naked under his scrutiny. The dress barely seems to contain your breasts and the high hemline is just long enough to hide your panties.
He draws a deep breath through his nose, nostrils flaring. He nods approvingly and leads you to the door.
On the way to dinner he doesn't say much. But most of the ride, his hand is on your thigh. It's not the warm, comfortable touch you're accustomed to... he's a bit higher on your leg than normal. And he's pushing your dress up in a way that's making you nervous. Not that anyone can see, but your dress is up high enough to expose your panties.
At one point your blackberry rings again and, without thinking, you answer. He arches an eyebrow at you as you quickly give instructions to the caller.
"Just leave it on my desk Jimmy. Yes, tell Dave I have it and I'll take care of it first thing Monday. Okay, thanks, Jimmy." You hang up, looking apologetically at your husband. He has a peculiar smile on his face and says he doesn't mind. Nevertheless, you switch off the phone and stash it in the glove box.
Your heart rate picks up a little. You don't know what's going on, but he seems to have some sort of plan in mind.
