The Outfit

I knew she was supremely upset that I had spent the last four months out of her arms, not by design but by necessity. Work was never-ending, the demands of the job translated into an 80-hour week with little time for weekend getaways, much less a candle-lit dinner or evening walk on the beach. She attempted to understand, she said it was all right, that over the long run it would pay off with financial security, but after the 42nd denial I could sense that deep inside she was intensely hurting.

We hardly ever went out on the town, hardly ever had one of those meaningful discussions which had always been the trademark of our relationship. The kind of discussions which went on for hours over coffee or brews. Heck, we hardly ever made love, and even when we did it was a quick release rather than a masterful, love filled sensual experience. Hummmm, I thought, like that old song went I was guilty of love in the first degree...but sometime, somehow I went AWOL and still hadn't been caught.

But work is work, and one has to pay the bills. There's the mortgage, the car payment, the credit cards, the telephone, heck, the list goes on and on while the balances never seem to get any lower. To say nothing about a demanding boss. Our relationship teetered around the hours of 9 p.m. until 6 a.m., the time both of us were under the same roof. Asleep for most of that time, but at least together, so to speak.

That's what I was thinking about when I got the call, late on a Thursday night. Still in the office, working on one damned problem or another, attempting to get out of the building but knowing that I had to hustle to meet the FedEx deadline for tomorrow delivery and still have a wee little bit of my sanity. A second project was due at the West Coast office first thing Monday morning and, in the words of my boss, there would be "no excuses." This was big, really big, William Shatner.

The silence was upended as the telephone rang, and without answering I instinctively knew it was her. Should I take the chance of letting it ring and missing a call from Mr. Big and his bag of revisions? Or should I answer and receive the wrath of an irate, tormented lover-turned madwoman?

I decided to answer and let the cards fall as they might. As falls go, this was an eight-story spill.

"You are still there," lamented the voice on the line.

"Yup."

"Be leaving soon?" she asked, almost begging.

I paused, not wanting to say those lying words of "I'll try." My addition to the world's three biggest lies. It had come to that --- lying to the one you love only to buy a few more minutes at the office. That's what I normally would say, but I realized it was no use. "I'd like to but I still have a few more things to tidy up."

The silence on the line was deafening. I shuffled some papers, then just held the line, not knowing what to say. After a lengthy pause she merely said, "Well, I'm heading to bed so it doesn't make sense for you to hurry home. Finish your work, do what you have to do. And don't wake me when you get here. In fact, why don't you sleep in the guest bedroom?"

Oops, Now I was in for it. Getting the silent treatment complete with the bedibye brush-off.

"And I think I will head down the beach for the weekend," she added. "Maybe we can catch up next week?"

"Aw honey, I'm sorry," was all that I could think of to say.

There was a split second of silence, and then she let go like a Brett Hull slapshot. "Sorry just doesn't make it, Jonathan. I feel like a prisoner. We are never together, we never talk, anything. We aren't in a relationship, we're in a hit or miss affair. I have to tell you I know you are working hard, and that this is all-important, but we are important to. At least I think so. And somehow you have to find time for those that you say you love."

Her words rang true. I haven't been paying attention to her. But the bills, the commitments, the job, well, something had to give and like it or not it was us. Unfair? Sure. Unwanted? You bet. But it was reality. I tried to think of something witty to say, some gems that would make her laugh. But it just wasn't there. I knew I was wrong, I knew she was hurt, but I also knew full well that the situation was what it was. I had to get this job done or else.

Click.

She hung up. She really hung up on me without a word. I guess I should have said something, anything, to let her know I cared. I just wasn't good at that type of thing.

As I glanced around the room I had this feeling of helplessness, of not being in control of the situation. Work had to be done, home had to be taken care of, priorities were set and broken in equal measure. I took a swig of lukewarm coffee, wishing it were an ice cold Corona instead, then looked at the papers on the cluttered desk in front of me.

I thought of calling her back but realized we'd only go head-to-head in verbal conflict. And, as bad as it sounded, that was something I just didn't have the time for. I took a long swig of the rotten brew, knowing full well that it would keep me up for most of the night if I ever did get to bed. As I started banging on the keyboard I knew something had to give and I needed to make it right but...

Brrrring.

This time the ring startled me. It must be Mr. Peterson, checking on how the project was going. "Cross here," I said.

There was quiet, broken only by my clicking of the keyboard. "Hello."

Still nothing. Just what I needed, a crank call at the office. I began to hang up I heard her cold, distant but soothing voice. "Tomorrow night is your last chance," the voice said, matter of factly. I began to stutter out some words when she broke in. "I don't want to hear it, what I want is for you to be at the front door at 8 p.m. sharp, flowers in hand, grin on your face. But make no mistake about it, I'm gonna wipe that grin off, and if you are a good good little boy who really wants to make me happy, then we just might be able to survive this mess. If you aren't, well, it's easy. We just throw in the towel. I need a life, and right now I only have half of one."

There was a long pause as I digested her words. What did she mean? Throw in the towel, like over, kaput?

As if reading my mind, she broke the silence by adding, "Otherwise, we're through."

She again hung up the phone, and this time I quickly did call back, only to be greeted by a piercing busy signal again and again. What did she mean by the ultimatum? She couldn't really mean it, nor could she? Survive? She was pissed, but upon further reflection is sounded like one of our old fantasy dates. An incentive to get the project done. The old Lee Iacocca buy a car, get a check. Get the job done, earn a night of lovemaking. Yes that's it I thought, grinning from ear to ear.

That's my girl.

The rest of the night went by like the 8:32 AMTRAK Metroliner. I finished most of my work, whistling along the way, set things up for the morning, and headed home to her locked bedroom door and then some blissful sleep in the guest room, aided along my a stiff dose of Nyquil. That stuff puts the lights out all the time, coffee or not.

Friday went my like a blur. I finished the second major assignment or the week, had the talented Jill check the works like a Mercedes mechanic shaking down his best customer's pride and joy. Along the way I joked around with Sarah, the cute redhead from Accounting, by the water cooler, casually glancing at her well-endowed sweater.

Back at my desk, Jill and I spruced up here, cleaned up there, and in no time had it ready to rock on. Jeez, I personally dropped off the FedEx package with minutes to spare. A duplicate package went by Airborne Express. Zoomed home to a welcome quick shower and stop at the flower shop on my way to out midtown apartment, but still I was about a half hour late, but the jump in my step, the grin on my face and the confidence in my mind should make up for it.

I took the steps two at a time to her floor, only to be greeted by a note on her door.

"I said 8 p.m. sharp. You are late. You will take the consequences ... if you dare. But here are the rules. Disobey any of them and you will be out the door. There will be no second chance. I've spoken to my lawyer for a restraining order and you will be history.

"Speak any word at all and you will be punished. This is not a game. I am madder than hell and I really am not going to take it anymore. Tonight is it for me, and you, my dear, if you decide to come in, will pay the price of your indiscretions. Make your decision now, cause if you come in to the apartment there will be no turning back."

My first thought was "What" but my second was a big duh combined with utter lust. She clearly was going to make this a night to remember, one which I knew would end in my having the time of my life. We had dabbled in a little discipline before, and her note had the sound of her punishing me with a few smacks before we kissed and made up. I crossed the line, go ahead and throw the book at me, I'm at the mercy of the court. Bring it on, hit me with your best shot, I thought. Yup, I was gonna get screwed, blewed and tattooed as we used to say in the olive green machine know as the Army. Just what I deserved.

I casually opened the door to darkness broken only by a pair of romantically lit candles on a nearby table. Near the candles was another note.

"Well, you are reading this, so that means you agree to the terms of our deal. You will follow the rules as I specify, no questions asked. You will not speak. You will do as I say. Now to begin: undress completely. In the bag on the chair to your right is your outfit for the night. Put in on. And remember the rules. When you are ready I want you to knock on the wall near the dining room and wait for further instructions."

I shook my head and smiled. No empty promises there. She was always up to something, which is why I loved her so much. Surprise was a word she took to heart, and in the old days they came at the most unusual time. Like the time when she was trying on a new dress in Macys' while I sat across from the dressing rooms. I heard a noise, looked up, and there she was, opening the curtain and flashing me sans dress with a huge smile. Ah, the wonders of this woman.

I took off every stitch of clothing, placing it on one the empty side chair then reached over to the bag on the other side. Opening the bag I stopped on a dime as my eyes attempted to pop out. Inside was a carbon copy of an outfit I bought for her a couple years before: a frilly French maid's outfit, complete with black thigh high stockings and a little white hat and the coup de grace, size 10 black heels. "What the..." I gasped before catching myself, looking cautiously toward the door. My mind began spinning, my stomach groaned and my eyes looked around for that candid camera which much be catching the display of confusion.

I quickly came to my senses. Oh, so that's it, I will have to serve her for the evening. I couldn't help but smile. What a doll.

I'm no Marv Albert, but even the specter of being forced to wear silky soft women's clothing made me say "YYYEESS" in my mind.

She had selected well, extra large apparently, as the mini-dress clearly did not fit like an old glove and I am sure looked, well, stupid on me. The top hung strangely as I didn't have the equipment to fill out the bust, and my hips were obviously a little too big even for the 3x fanny.

The stockings took some time to put on, how do you get them on anyway? My only experience was taking them off of a woman! I laughed to myself: at least it wasn't garters. I hadn't had a garter belt on since playing ice hockey, fumbling with the straps and stockings but not knowing that later in life when worn by a woman they could be such a turn on.

Then I realized there were no panties, just the maid's hat. Huuum, I thought, you vixen. I used the attached hairclips to lodge it in my hair, looked at a tiny nearby mirror for naught because of the lack of light, and proceeded to the dining room. It was then I noticed the curtain that was draped across the doorway.

Confused and defenseless, I nonetheless knocked as instructed. I had no alibi, my goose was cooked. As the late Utah murderer Gary Gilmore said on his way to the firing squad, "Let's do it."

I knocked on the wall.

There was no answer at first, so I knocked again.

"Step inside," she said firmly from far inside the room which, when I pulled back the curtain saw was enveloped in darkness. "Remember the rules," she said as she emphatically reminded me to maintain my silence. "Just stand there until I say otherwise."

I felt kind of stupid standing there, who wouldn't in this outfit, but what this woman wants tonight, she gets. The heels, obviously being worn for the first time given their rigidity, were hurting my feet, and a draft was clearly running up my stocking encased legs to my bare private parts. Soft music played in the background.

I was in The Outfit, feeling foolish but excited.

My eyes were beginning to get acclimated to the darkness, still not seeing clearly but recognizing a couple shapes, when a sudden burst of light hit blinded me. "Why, you look adorable," she said as I attempted to avert my eyes from the spotlight. Her shadow moved closer. "Nod your head if you are in agreement with all the rules." I nodded carefully.

As she approached, she quietly spoke. "Turn around, bend over, and touch your toes." Here it comes, I surmised. Oh well, what are a couple smacks when in a few minutes I'll be making passionate love to her? I smiled to myself as I pictured her lips encasing my cock, my hands caressing her ass. A wee bit of punishment...we had dabbled with light spankings in the past as a prelude to passionate lovemaking...would surely turn her on.

I bent over, feeling silly as I waited, then was shocked to reality when there was a whoosh and the resultant smack on my mostly bare butt. I felt her lift my skirt up, baring my ass, then another smack, then another, and another. "OOUCH" I wailed. "STOPPPPP." She ignored my pleas. The spanks burnt by ass, and by the 10th one I felt like my bare butt was steaming. I began to cry, and started to reach back with one hand, but she quickly swatted it and told me to keep "the position."

Oh it hurt, the pain was endless, and she must have alternated hands because the spanks continued. Yet, hurt as it did, it hurt even more when she stopped! That's when she flicked on the light switch. As I turned around all I could hear from snickers and laughter from a nearby table. "Oh shit," I cried as I saw three women sitting at the table, yucking it up to each other with their eyes glued to my now exposed privates.

"I will let that outburst go, but it will be the only one. Next time you say something you will be out of my life. I am serious, Jonathan. Dead serious."

Blood rushed to my head as I cowered back toward the wall, embarrassed like never before. I didn't know whether to run or merely hide. My eyes darted around the room like a caged animal, from person to person. There was her best friend Paulette sitting at a table with a smile upon her face, sitting right across from Sarah, the woman from Accounting at work. Carrie, the cute brunette from the athletic club who I had flirted with from time to time but a woman who knew full well I was spoken for and definitely not available, was sitting to the side. Shit, when word gets about this outfit out I'm toast.

"You like to work, well, tonight is girls night out and we needed a little waitress to take care of our needs," she spat at me. "A two-bit floozy. You fit the bill. Now go into the kitchen and freshen up our drinks."

I gave seconds of serious thought about bolting, leaving this charade in the lurch, but my mind told me the damage had been done. She had made her point. They had already seen everything, I was hopelessly embarrassed, so I would serve the drinks and all would be well.

"Hurry up, Frenchy, we have a knock down, drag out game of cards going on here and we don't have all night to wait for you to attend to us. Now don't dally, get our drinks and don't spill a drop or there will be hell to pay."

Somehow the words rang true. I looked over their drinks and slithered into the kitchen, pouring refills with care. I placed them on a serving tray, which I held above my arm as a good maid would do, smoothed down my skirt and re-entered the room to their head-shaking snickers.

The women were engrossed in their card game, but as I served Carrie I felt a hand caressing my still-warm butt. I glanced over my shoulder I noticed it was Sarah's, not my darling girlfriend's gentle hand. Sarah felt me up like a piece of meat, making snide remarks to her friends as I once again blushed. But not as much as I blushed when Paulette grasped my cock. "Look at this puny thing," she shrieked as it shrunk. "This is pitiful. It wouldn't satisfy a single nun in a convent."

"He's the worst fuck I have ever had," said what I thought was my love. "I get off more with fingers than that thing. Thank god he bought me a vibrator, cause he's a loss in the sack. Once he was a little enthusiastic as a lover, but that was when he was around."

My face reddened as if I had been on the beach for a sunny afternoon. Humiliated, I served their needs. Chips. Drinks. Picked up their cards when they (on purpose) dropped the to the floor. They pinched me, laughed at me, told jokes, you name it. Worse was when they ignored me, leaving me to feel worthless.

One of the bowls of chips accidentally fell to the floor when I was attempting to balance it and several dishes on the serving dish. "We should teach him a lesson," said Paulette to the amens of the rest of the group as my eyes widened. "What do you think?"

The mob concurred. "I think a wooden ruler is in order," she added.

Jackie, the love of my life stood, placed duct tape across my mouth, walked me over to the couch, and bent me over it in one fell swoop. She lifted the skirt, baring my asscheeks to the room, then said in gleeful tone, "This will NOT hurt me more than you."

Thwack went the ruler through the air and against by cheeks, once, twice, three times. After a short pause for effect came a dozen more before she handed over the ruler to Sarah who provided the same number of smacks. Ditto Carrie, playing butt bongo drums on my reddening backside to the tune of Springsteen's Born to Run, and finally Paulette.

If getting caught masturbating by my mother at 14 was bad, this was terror, snakes, lizards and fright rolled into one. Especially when the flash of the camera captured me in all my lack of glory.

The worse part was the laughing; they were actually enjoying it. I was a piece of meat that they were abusing.

Sheer humiliation, that's what I felt. My ass sore as it's ever been. My manhood derided, my gender burst in one fell swoop. And that was only the beginning. She had yet to take her second turn. And when she did, it wasn't a ruler that made its way across my backside, it was my own belt. Followed by Carrie wielding a hairbrush.

The ladies stopped their spanking and got back to their game of cards. They played for a while, with Jackie insisting I remain bent over the couch except for when I needed to serve them more drinks.

Finally, they began wrapping up their game. Thank god, I thought, it's going to end.

"It appears you've won," said Jackie to Sarah.

"She sure did," added Paulette.

"Well OK, that's great," added Sarah, adding a yippee for good luck.

"Get over here," Jackie ordered. I rose, then walked over to the table. "Bend over!"

I bent over the table, my face resting in the splayed deck of cards. Jackie, my love, sat right in front of me, next to Carrie and Paulette. The three watched me, with intense scrutiny. I heard some shuffling behind me, then felt something greasy on my upturned ass. Then, without warning, something was inserted up my ass.