As you may know from the blog here, we are a monogamous couple, I am the submissive husband, my wife is the dominant wife. I am a strong, macho, Naked Butler who loves to take care of My Lady while dressed in nothing but a leather apron. Cooking, cleaning, windows and garden work are all par for the course. Whatever she needs and whatever she desires she gets, including and especially sexually. I am *not* a sissy-slave, and certainly not a cuckold – My Lady has told me many times that I am “good in bed”. Sexually, we do whatever she wants, but I do take the lead. We finish when she says we are done, not before, and not after.
But I am much hornier than she is. Well, of course, I’m a guy. And M’Lady does like to tease me about this and take advantage of it from time to time.
One day, we were not “playing”, but instead were scheduled to go shopping in the evening. This is regular food shopping at the nearby supermarket. Nothing special, but we prefer to do it together – it’s a good couple-bonding exercise, and incidentally it helps keep our budget under control.
But this night, it seems, M’Lady had slightly different plans. I was waiting for her in the living room, dressed in my usual semi-casual clothes: button-down beige shirt, dark slacks, dark shoes. M’Lady enters the room dressed like it’s a holiday. She has a lively hat on (think Hermione Gingold in “Gigi”), a frilly dress which covers her neck, arms below the elbows and reaches below her knees. She reminded me of the “Gilbert Girls” from the nineteenth century. She also had on my favorite high-heeled sandals with sheer stockings. All-in-all, she looked like an attractive Lady who would feel comfortable in a mansion with many servants – butlers, maids, gardeners, and chauffers. It was, in fact, this latter task that she had in mind.
“Hello, Mister, we are going shopping tonight” she started . . .
“Well, OK, K --- “ and then she interrupted me.
“I beg your pardon, you are to address me as My Lady” and looked at me with the stern gaze of a school teacher. Immediately my sergeant reacted, and she glanced down. She let a small smirk peak out through her demeanor. She knows that I love it when she surprises me, and does not forewarn me we are “playing” .
“Certainly, Ma’am” I respond.
“Well, then, Mister, you will drive me to the shopping venue tonight”, she instructs me.
“Right away, M’Lady” I chime in, embracing my part enthusiastically. But then she pulls a fast one on me:
“Here, get dressed in this hat, and get the car ready for me”. Get dressed in the hat? I think to myself- how does one get dressed in a hat? You put it on, duh !!
So, I put it on and go towards the door.
“Mister!!” she stops me in my tracks.
“Did I tell you to get dressed in anything else?” She lectures me, and her eyebrows go up.
“Well, no, M’Lady . . . .”
“Then do it, Mister. Get dressed in that hat, and ONLY in that hat, with nothing else. You’ll have no need for anything except that hat, your wallet, and your cell phone. Now hop to it!” Oh, wow. That wasn’t the only thing hopping.
I look around apprehensively. We have children in the house and for them to see their daddy dressed only in a chauffer’s hat would have been, eh, a bit awkward.
“Don’t worry, Mister, don’t you remember you put the children to sleep already?”
“Oh, that’s right, M’Lady.”
“Well then, time’s a wasting, Mister – chick- chock!” our local cutesy way of saying ‘move your ass’
So, I go to the bedroom, take off my clothes (she doesn’t even look), get my wallet and cell phone, and put on the hat, and return to the living room.
“Ah, that’s more like it. Do you remember the English Leather commercial?” and gives me a smirk, because she knows I do [“all my men wear English Leather, or they wear nothing at all”].
“Let’s go, driver! Get the car!”
So, I go out the front door, slowly, looking first to the right, and then to the left to make sure no one is around. We live in a neighborhood where everyone knows everyone else, so if I’m seen, it will not be ignored, and will likely be a topic of conversation amongst the ladies, and even amongst the men. I’m lucky. No one is around, so I go down the driveway, open the car, and get in.
“Oh, driver! Yoo-hoo! “ I’m not used to this yet, I’m a Naked Butler, not a Naked Chauffer. MyLady is standing on the walkway and gesturing toward the rear passenger door, with her eyebrows arched. I get the message: our family car is now a limousine. So, I go around, feeling the evening air on parts of my torso that normally don’t, look around again, and open the door for M’Lady, bowing slightly and smiling. I’m searching the area constantly for anybody, and it is clear that I’m nervous. She looks at me and smiles, and walks to the car. As I said, I have embraced the role, so I say “Ma’am”, and she just nods at me and smiles. Doesn’t say a word. But it doesn’t matter anymore, because she has managed to give me a view of her legs as she sits down, and alluvasudden I don’t care WHO might be in the vicinity. Yowzer.
I quickly come out of my trance, close the door, and scamper around to the driver’s door, and get in.
“To the Super-sol, driver.” No please, just a command. I look in the rear-view mirror, and she has already taken out her compact, and is touching up her makeup. Completely ignoring me. She opens the window next to her for a breeze.
I start the car and go, still looking around because I have no back-up here in the car. That is, no back-up clothes. If something happens, as they say, my Mom won’t have to worry about the ambulance crew seeing my dirty underwear, you know . . .
As we leave our village, she sees a friend. In our society it is common practice to offer fellow residents a ride to wherever you are going, if that is convenient for them. I have done it on many occasion, and have received rides in turn. “Driver, slow down”, and I look back for a moment, with panic in my face, but she retains her composure and aloofness. Damned if it didn’t turn me on, as if I need encouragement. I slow down, knowing that if I refuse her order, there will be hell to pay. She sees her best friend, Amanda. We are friendly with their family, and them with us. In fact, my wife helped to find a fine husband for one of their daughters, and now they have a couple of grandchildren.
“Hi, Amanda! Do you need to go to town?” Amanda approaches the car, and I break out in a cold sweat. I’ve got this silly hat on, and my birthday suit, and Amanda is coming to the car. Oh, no.
“Oh, thanks K, but I’m going the other way” as she comes right up to the open window. Man, am I glad it’s dark outside. Amanda glances inside and says “Oh, hi S, how are you?” She is using our first names, giving this interface between our D/S scenario and vanilla life an edge. I nod in acknowledgement “hey, nice hat there!” she remarks, and I mumble a thanks, with sweaty palms and face. I think to myself lucky the headrest obscured Amanda’s view of the fact that I have no shirt on. It would have made for uncomfortable questions.
MyLady looks at me with a smirk, chuckles a bit and says to Amanda “the kids got it for him, do you think it’s cute?” but Amanda says “well, I really can’t see, you’ll show me what you’ve got some other time, S!” and retreats from the car, looking for a ride in her direction. Show her, indeed.
“Carry on, driver” MyLady instructs me, as I feel the coolness of the air evaporating my sweat. Whew.
So, I drive out of our village and on to the supermarket. MyLady places a call to one of her girlfriends on her cell-phone, and chit-chats. Completely ignoring me.
So, I drive to the market. During the whole time, M’Lady is either reading her book, talking on her cell phone, or fooling around with her compact. About half way to the market, there is a roadblock where security forces check who is going through the area. This is standard, not a big deal, and we pass by it every time we travel along the road. But I’ve never done it with no clothes on. So, I once again break out into a cold sweat, and slow down. The person guarding is a fine-looking young gentleman recently out of the Army. Normally, they ask the driver where he or she is coming from, but this time is different. M’Lady takes charge.
She moves over, opens the window, and says “Hello, young man!”
“Where are you coming from?” he asks in a very no-nonsense tone, looking at me.
M’Lady continues, and tells the fellow what village we are from, and, realizing who is in charge, turns to her, and smiles. M’Lady beams at him and says “That’s a nice pin you have there, where is it from?”, taking him off guard. But the poor guy just can’t ignore such an innocent question from such a good-looking woman, and says “from the recent operation in the south”. Now, I’m already out of the service, so I’m starting to stew here, and M’Lady sees this, and milks it a bit. “Good job, lads!”, and the ‘lad’ smiles back at her, but then realizes that there is a line of cars, and he’s got to get back to work. He waves us on by. Whew. Another obstacle passed, more sweat and damned if I’m not even more erect than I was before.
We continue uneventfully to the supermarket, and I drive in to the parking lot.
“Driver, drop me off at the entrance. When I need you, I’ll call you. Don’t go too far.”
“Yes, M’Lady”, and I drop her off. I’m getting used to this.
“Unless you would like to come in and help me, you know. I would be a nice gesture.” Of course, she knows my state, so there is no chance this is happening.
“Well . … “
“Very well, driver, you are just a driver, not a porter. I’ll be back. And oh, driver … “ She opens her hand and gestures it to me. I don’t quite understand what she wants, but then she points to her open palm with her other finger, and says “your credit card. “ An order. No query, no question. So, I take out my wallet, and give her my credit card.
I’m getting used to being nude here in the car, so I don’t even look around for anybody. I watch her go inside, with those very nice legs and high-heels, carrying MY credit card, spending MY money, and wonder for a moment how in the world she’s going to shop with heels on.
So, I go try to find a place to park in the meantime. I feel like the dog who was left in the car, while the owners go someplace. It’s a strangely pleasant feeling, and I’ll have to revisit this thought some time later. But I immediately realize that I have a problem. What if I need to go to the bathroom? What am I going to do then? I can’t just take out the spare tire and wrap it around my torso, you know.
After driving around for a few minutes, I find a place not illuminated by street lamps, and park. But it’s still almost in the middle of the parking lot. A lady comes by and asks me if I’m leaving, and does a double-take at my exposed chest. She backs away a few steps and does not wait for my answer. I turn on the radio to pass the time, and listen to some talk show about recent events. The moderators and callers are rather active, and before I know it, almost an hour has passed.
And then my phone rings. It’s M’Lady. “Hello, M’Lady”
“Driver, go to the side parking area, and wait for me, I’m done” the *side* ?! What is going on? But I know better than to second-guess M’Lady. So, I drive on over to the side parking area and wait.
Not a moment later, M’Lady comes walking toward me, with no shopping cart at all, and I’m confused . . . . until I see a shopping cart a bit behind her, pushed by a teenage box-boy, who could be Brad Pitt minus twenty years, plus a few zits. Poor fella looks a bit cowed, as if he had no choice but to do her bidding, poor chap. I know the feeling, and to tell the truth, I kind of like it. AND I notice a slight bulge in his pants, he he – he likes it, too ! M’Lady is walking in her heels, with an air of dignity, and instructs the box-boy to bring the cart right next to the car. Hey, kid, get out of here I think. Doesn’t help. M’Lady is powerful, but she’s not telepathic. “That will be all, boy, here” and gives him a tip, he taps his head, and turns around to leave .
“Oh, driver, come empty this cart!” WHAT !? Doesn’t she know I’m naked? I hesitate, as the boxboy isn’t out of range yet. “Driver, do I need to repeat myself?”, so I slowly get out of the car, and look around, and see the boxboy glance back at me. He does a double-take, but continues back to the store. I am so nervous and worried that I am no longer erect. Fortunately, we are parked so that the trunk of the car is facing the fence of the lot, and there is not too much of a chance that someone will see us. Well, OK, there’s a slight chance. I slowly proceed to unload the cart. M’Lady is standing there with her hands crossed and a satisfied smirk on her face, tapping her shoes. “Very nice, driver, keep it up” , oh I’m keeping it up, all right. I could tell by the tone of her voice that she didn’t only refer to my unloading skills, as my back was toward her. I pick up my pace, and am soon finished. I close the trunk, and turn to go back to the driver’s door. M’Lady clears her throat, and I glance back, and realize that I was amiss. She raises her eyebrows once again, and I go over to her door, and open it for her. The whole time my sergeant is wagging back and forth in front of me. She nods her head, says nothing, stares right at me, glances down, and gives me a little whack on the tush. I am taken aback, but before I can do or say anything, she sits down in her seat, and I close the door. Woah. Erection is now flaming.
I am, again, transfixed for a few moments, and don’t notice a car driving past, looking for a spot. After about 50 feet, it stops, and starts to back up, and it is at this point that I realize that they saw what’s going on. I run over to the driver’s side, and get in, just in time. The car slowly drives by, and the people inside slow down and point and stare, but then they just move aside, and we now pull out.
MyLady is once again sitting in the back, and says “home, Driver”. She sits back, seems to be a bit tired. I think I should offer her a foot rub when we get home, but I’m afraid to offer this now as I’m the “Driver”.
We arrive at home with no incidents, but I do have a problem – I have to go to the bathroom! I couldn’t get out anywhere without risking getting arrested, but now if I’m going to relieve myself, I’m going to have to run the gauntlet of getting back in to the house with no one seeing me again. I feel like a streaker from the 1970’s, and realize that I like the feeling. But nature is calling, so I hop out, take a quick look around, and start for the house. “Driver !!” She calls. Oh, not again !! I turn around, and kind of bend down and cross my legs, making it clear that I’ve go to go, “Driver, get back here and unload the car! That is the third time I have had to repeat myself this evening, and it won’t go unpunished!” That threat, combined with her attitude and exciting attire made me forget my fullness, and I quickly make my way back to the car and start to unload.
She doesn’t help at all, just stands aside and watches. “Quickly, Driver, quickly !” and after a few minutes, the car is unloaded, my sphincter is about to explode, and MyLady is smiling. All in all, an interesting situation indeed. I approach her and am barely able to blurt out “Will that be all, M’Lady?” And she looks at me with the air of a Queen, waits a moment or two for effect (I know she’s doing this on purpose), seems to be breathing a bit deeply (is she enjoying this, too, I wonder?) and responds “Yes, Driver, you may go now. Go inside and get in the punishment position.” Ooooh, I thought she forgot about those few infractions before. Silly me. “Thank you, Madame”, and I run into the house, straight to the bathroom, where I solve my problem.
After a few minutes, I hear a knock on the door. It’s my wife now, not acting as “M’Lady”, and she says “S, are you going to be long?” Uhhh, “no”, I say. “Well, make sure you clean yourself out well. I’ll be waiting for you. “ I’m sure she is.
And the rest of the story is pretty vanilla (except for the punishment swats), but suffice to say that my wife was very wet, very horny, and very happy. AND she appreciated the foot rub.
Wow, I could sure do this one again.
