Post-Thanksgiving, I was dragged shopping. Slut insisted she needed a fresh set of panties. Hell, I agreed! The twist? They were for me to wear. As she started selecting sizes that clearly fit my frame, I voiced my reluctance. That’s when she stopped in the middle of the aisle, looked right at me and pointed out that she knew exactly what was going on, so why did it matter? It completely freaked me out! We wrapped up by picking two shades each of nail polish and lipstick to coordinate with some of those panties, plus a couple new films and series.
Ever since then, I’ve been rocking the panties and makeup at home more often.
What a surprise! I’m a guy who doesn’t have any sissy boy dreams in him; I usually rock ball caps, jeans, and boots. It’s just not my vibe. After I voiced my shock, she recently explained her goal while laying down some hard rules. Slut knows full well this isn’t really my fetish—it actually embarrasses me a bit—and that humiliation is precisely what gets her going. She also sees how girly I look when trying to make it work and finds the fun factor too compelling to ignore. I should mention, though, she won’t humiliate me beyond a certain point. If there’s no enjoyment on my end, she’d lose interest.
Last night she announced my new at-home dress code: panties (along with polish and lipstick) two or three days a week, while the other evenings require colored jock straps. Once her thrill of scaring me subsided, she explained further. She wants me to don girly attire those specific days but keep my rear exposed for her on the alternate nights by slipping into jock straps that hide my clit. She knows I look like an ugly girl and has no intention of making me one permanently; she just wants some fun right now, if nothing else. Sigh… what a relief! Then came the kicker: from here on out, I’ll wear panties to work once a week too. Traditional men’s underwear seem destined for retirement in my closet. Damn this woman is wicked, but I love her.