Sunday, February 7, 2010 is a day i will always remember. New Orleans won the superbowl, but that was not the defining aspect of the day.
It started out routine enough. i made Lady Her coffee and prepared breakfast, all while dressed in the babydoll nighty that i had worn to bed, along with some cute polka dot wedge heels that serve as my slippers.
As Lady allows, Sunday morning i am allowed the luxery of a relaxing bath in our spa tub. Of course, i shave my armpits, chest and legs. Oh how i love the feminine act of shaving my legs; i take great pleasure in getting all traces of hair off my legs. Then i finish my bathing by touching up the little landing strip of hair that gives me a sissy look “down there.”
Next i applied my skin care products. When it was time to dress, i went to the bedroom and saw that Lady had a tight control thong panty out for me to wear. The Rago control top is one of my favorites as it helps flatten my tummy, hides my boytool and allows my cheeks to feel free. (Lady always selects my panties for the day, i have no say in the matter.)
Lady was aware of my plans – i would go to my buddies house for his 11th annual Superbowl Party. Lady chose not to attend this year; She is not a sports fan and does not care for the other women that would be there.
i slid on some jeans and a football looking jersey, some sneakers and was ready to go. “Not so fast, what are you wearing?” She asked. It was pretty evident what i was wearing, but i still stammered something stupid, like “i don’t know, should i change?”
“Let me take a look at you.” i shuddered; i was allowed to maintain a vanilla male look when around my old buddies. “Okay, if that is what you want to wear you can. But we need to work on your underclothes. Follow me.”
Lady led me to my dressing room and instructed me to strip back down to my panties. “Those jeans look so baggy on you, you know you have no butt. Here, put these on.” With that She handed me a pair of my padded butt panties. “And these,” as She handed me another pair of the same. Then she handed me yet another pair. So now i was wearing a very tight control thong covered by three pairs of padded butt underwear that all were made out of a stretch fabric. The combined effect really flattened my tummy.
“If you insist on that frumpy sweatshirt you may as well wear this – put it on.” Lady handed me a camisole trimmed around the neckline with a lace band. “It won’t show under your heavy shirt”
“Just a few more things.” Lady continued to go through my drawers admonishing me for the messy condition she found. “Look at your clothes, it not properly folded. You need to care better for the things i buy you. Ah-ha, this will be perfect.” Lady handed me a garter belt and a pair of fishnet stockings. i was so shocked. How could i wear stocking to a Superbowl party? i knew better than to argue, but i must have shown my feelings; i felt like i would cry. She sensed my concern, and being as kind as She is went on to explain. “You have nothing to worry about. It’s a party, you can just stand around with you buddies. When standing your pants fall over the tops of your shoes and the garters don’t show. Trust me.”
i finished dressing; the camisole, the garter belt, the stockings, then my jeans, sweatshirt and stockings. Lady was right, when i faced the mirror all looked fine. i ran my hands down the leg of my jeans and could feel the garter hardware, but looking at my reflection they did not show. Also, my ankles were covered by my pants. SO the solution was simple, just stay standing.
i kissed Lady on the hand, did a polite curtsey and headed to the party. All went pretty well. The game was progressing, New Orleans was looking good after a slow half. i was on my third beer late in the game when one of the Wives exclaimed, “Wow look at that butt, no more beer for you!” If i had in fact had a naturally big butt, this would have been only mildly embarrassing, but the realization of what i was wearing flashed in my mind. i could clearly see the image of me before i put on the jeans and shirt - lacey camilsole, padded girdle panties, garter belt, stockings - just what every guy wears to a Superbowl party. Just thinking i might be outed caused me to turn beet red. What if She cam over and gave me an teasing pich?Nothing else was said, but the bravado i had exhibited for the first 90 minutes turned to fear. i carefully stood near a back wall and found myself fidgeting, rubbing my pant legs to check the garters. As soon as the game ended i made a hasty exit and fled home.
Tags: Humiliation
