Suburban Milf's Transformation Ch. 03

Thanks for the comments and the interest in my continued confessions.

The wardrobe items in the box that arrived that afternoon before our date were not what I was expecting at all. I don't mean that in terms of size or brevity. I suspected Rod was enjoying the idea of skirts that would be challenging when it came to involuntarily exposure of my most private areas, and tops that were too tight. No, it was style and what wasn't in the box that caught me off guard and made me almost break out in a sweat. For one thing, the micro mini skirt was faded denim. Next to it was a pair of western, cowboy style boots, ankle high socks and a red and white checked "country girl" style snap button blouse. What was missing was even more disturbing.

What was missing was a bra and any underwear at all.

I don't know which was worse, knowing that I was going to have to go out dressed like some slutty, redneck, hillbilly milf or the fact that without a bra my big boobs would be obscenely banging around under the top and without panties, under so short a skirt, I was almost assured I'd flash someone.

Regardless, I knew I had no choice. He had told me to wear what he sent and only that. I went into the bathroom and undressed, took a shower, trimmed down below and dried off before getting almost as a delay before the inevitability of getting "dressed." Just putting the skirt on was a struggle. At first, I pulled the waist up to the normal anatomical margin, but that actually exposed the briefest hint of shaved labia. I pulled it down to right at my hip bones and found that the hem ended up just above mid-thigh.

It was not a modesty assuring compromise.

I picked up the top and slipped it on. It was almost sleeveless and made from a cheap material. I snapped the buttons. Snaps. Those were dangerous. One good tug and they would pop open. As I finished snapping them closed, I caught a look at myself in the mirror and almost couldn't take it. I looked like some slutty extra from the Dukes of Hazard or a poster girl for red state hussiness. I sat down on the edge of the tub and picked up a cowboy boot. Raising my leg to put it on I saw something that made a slight gasp of outraged alarm escape me involuntarily.

At that angle, with just that simple a move, I saw a complete flash of pussy. Absolutely no doubt at all what was on display. There was an undeniably very intimate, very definitive view of bald lips made even more noticeable by the stark tanline paleness. I instantly dropped the boot and closed my legs tightly.

Then I hazarded a look at the mirror again

Even seated in as guarded and prim a manner, my vulva was barely protected from view. Any move at all and it would be, Hello Brittany! I crossed my legs, the transition was a flash, but once crossed even though a great deal of upper thigh, and almost bunnage was showing, my vagina was hidden. I tried uncrossing so as to minimize the interval of exposure, but it was depressingly futile. In this skirt, I was going to give someone an insight they didn't deserve, and I didn't want to provide. The helplessness of it was overwhelming for me.

With a sinking sense, I picked up the boot and pulled it on. My thighs parted and I gave a mini gyno show, as Rod had laughingly called it. Once I had both on, I stood up, but again the transition from seated to standing showed me that in the future it would be an opportunity for any pervy observer to cop a look where they shouldn't.

In a way I wished I hadn't had the insight into what others could see. On the other hand, I had some consolation that I did know how to minimize the exposure and shame. Of course, that depended on what exactly Rod had in mind for our date. If I had known what was coming, I am not sure I could have gone through with it.

Making sure that my son was in his room and engaged in his interactive online game, I slipped out of the bathroom and walked to the den at the other end of the house. I waited. It seemed like forever. Then I heard the knock on my door and with a strange sense of comingled relief that I was going to be getting out of there and avoiding an encounter with my son, and with the dread that I was about to be seen like this by Rod,

I jumped up and opened the door.

The look on Rod's face almost made me knock-kneed with embarrassment. He did a comprehensive look up and down and then... he grinned. The wave of vulnerability and helpless embarrassment washed over me again, and my nipples tensed and knobbed ridiculously. It did not go unnoticed.

"Whew, guess someone just took a little chill," he all but chuckled. "And yet you look so hot"--his grin widened as he added with a slightly snarky note-- "in a Kentucky Fried, banjo-shaped, marital aid kind of way."

I wanted to slap his face, but before I could manage to say or do anything, he leaned in, wrapped an arm around my lower back, planted a hand squarely on my ass and kissed me deeply on the mouth. It took me completely by surprise and I yielded to it, as though my submissive nature was just taking over.

Now this may make zero sense to some, but ever since the escapade on the football field, and his attitude and handling of it and me, the dynamic of me as a self-assured, confident, powerful career woman and mom had just been completely subverted and neutralized. Around him, I found myself powerless, obedient even as I really was protesting against it in my mind and soul. I was baffled at myself. And even more outrageous than that, the more condescending and snarky and smug he was with his casual domination, the more my body reacted. It was so conflicting! I just seemed incapable of resisting now.

Before I could indulge in any more analysis, I felt his hand slip downward and he lifted the hem of my skirt. That didn't take much until I felt the draft on my most private area followed by his inspecting hand. He broke off the kiss.

"Oh, perfect," he said and then he looked down at my big barely supported tits that were still knobbed out like couple of number two erasers. "I got to see you walk"

He stepped back indicating I head to his car. It was a warm sunny day, and he had the top down on his sport coupe. I took a step. My big tits heavily but gently bumped against each other in a very obvious response to my ambulation.

Rod groaned with delight and stood there as I walked past so he could also get the backside perspective. Reflexively, I reached down and tugged at my hem for some futile effort at modesty. I was dying. It only got worse when we arrived at the car door and Rod rushed around to open it for me. His car was very low clearance, which was good in that I would not have to step up to get in, a move that would all but amount to a pornographic display. On other hand, as I turned and prepared to climb in, I realized that the act of lowering myself, would give anyone who saw me entering or exiting a wide-legged anatomy lesson.

Blushing to a new shade of red I stepped in. The hem rode up and as I lowered into the seat I saw Rod's eyes go right between my legs. I could tell. It was a total pussy display. The bulge in his pants was a dead giveaway. As soon as I was in, I crossed my legs. The damage was done but somehow it did make me feel slightly less slutty.

Rod jogged around to the driver's side and hopped in. Then he turned on the engine and looked down at my very amply displayed legs. Another grin pulled at the corner of his mouth like some pervy boy that has just discovered a hole in the girl's shower room wall.

"Hungry?" he asked putting the car in gear and backing out.

I just sort of shrugged. Outside of a fast food drive through, I could not imagine any place where I could go with him dressed like this that I wasn't going to be humiliated by my outfit. It didn't take long for me to realize what he had in mind and frankly to appreciate what an evil genius he really was.

Now, as I have said, this story is true, but I have changed names to protect careers and other things. The place we were heading toward has a reputation of its own, but for propriety's sake, let's just call it Wingees. You know the place or the type. A slightly more suburban friendly version of the meat market of a strip club masquerading as a "family" restaurant. You know what I mean. Mediocre bar fare served by cute, docile, bubbleheaded women and desperate single moms in outfits that could best be described as almost decent. We hadn't gone too far, when I saw the telltale signage for Wingees and my heart sank. That explained my outfit. Dressed like I was, I could easily pass for some newly retired or worse, senior staff member of the place who was going there on a date, on her day off.

"Oh no, not there?" The words just spilled out of me.

I shot a look at Rod who was loving my reaction.

"I thought, where can we go that is casual and yet reflects the sensibility of our relationship," said Rod. "And then it hit me. Wingees! I mean"--he looked over at me-- "you will fit right in, and you know, given that I was just betting that you didn't have anything but the most uptight of date wardrobe, well..."

I reflexively reached down and pulled my hem down again.

He pulled into the parking lot which, based on the number of cars, seemed to be doing huge business that day. My eyes went wide. The very idea of walking in there, dressed and undressed as I was, was almost too much to contemplate. I think Rod sensed how big a deal this would be for me. I mean, yes, he had made me get naked in public. And yes, he had set me up to be caught nude on the golf course by two old men, but this was different. This time it would not quick. This time I would not be able to run away and this time it would be with a crowd around. On the plus side, yes, I had some clothes on, but the exhibition of me would still be so outrageous. I think Rod sensed that. He turned off the ignition and looked at me. His tone was very patronizing.

"Now, listen to me. You do understand that you will do exactly as I say, don't you Brittany?"

I swallowed hard. Under any other circumstances, with anyone else I would tell someone talking to me like that to take a flying leap. But Rod had made pushed me into so much, the blowjob, the masturbation on the video call... barking. I just felt... powerless.

"Yes," I said, looking down embarrassedly.

"Yes, what?" he pressed.

"Yes, Sir," said still looking down at way too much displayed thigh.

"Good girl," he said. "Now, give me the deepest, most romantic kiss you have ever given a man."

I looked at him. It was another evil genius move. I am a sucker for good kissing. It stirs me up like nothing ever has, well, nothing except for this newfound, odd arousal at being exposed, manipulated and humiliated. I leaned over and tilted my face up so that our lips met. Then pressing, opening my mouth softly I extended my tongue and gave it up. He moaned and kissed back. It was too intimate. I couldn't help it. All the tension, all the shame, the conflict of this new eroticism that I both hated and that got me so completely, and the old standby, go to trigger for arousal of good kissing was having an effect. I moved slightly in the seat and felt a sense that I was giving up any manner of self-defense when it came to pride and decency and that there was no way I was ever getting it back with Rod.

We kissed and kissed, making out in the parking lot at Wingees. It was such a low rent thing to do that it completely matched the character of the wardrobe he had chosen for me. After we had been at it a few minutes he pulled back.

"Okay, now I have an appetite," he said happily.

He climbed out of the car and walked around to my side just as a pickup truck loaded with golf bags in the back pulled up. He seemed to have timed it perfectly because the passengers of the truck, a group of suburban looking Dad types had just gotten out when Rod opened my door and held out his hand to help me up. I looked at him with my eyes welling up with shame, pleading "not just now." He knew and grinned and nodded. In an excruciating move, I took his hand, leveraged one spread leg out onto the pavement and climbed out. There was no other way to do it, but the timing was just so bad. Two of the men had noticed me and were already looking my way. One had nodded to a third buddy who turned his head just in time to witness a full-on spread shot just before I stood up and straightened my skirt. Now not only Rod, but three total strangers had seen my pussy and worse yet knew I was going commando under that ridiculous denim skirt.

It only got worse from there. Leaning in close, Rod whispered for me to look at them and give them a big southern belle smile, all polite and friendly like. Wincing at the order I turned and made eye contact with the three of them. Forcing a big old southern smile, I felt like an utter bimbo.

"How are you?" said one of the golfer-dads.

I shot a look at Rod and knew what I had to do.

"I'm just fine. How are y'all?"

"We are good now," he said. "Just going to grab a little something at one of our fav places."

"Come here a lot?" It was Rod.

"Oh, you know, when the wife lets us," said golfer-dad.

"We just love coming here. In fact, Brittany here keeps asking me if she should put in an application."

"Oh really?" said the dirty golfer-dad.

The way he said it and the way they grinned in response, made me feel like they had all just lifted my skirt and taken a long look. I shot a look at Rod. He was loving it and worse, the embarrassment made my nipples bolt, furthering my humiliation. The golfer-dads' eyes all dropped right in line with the overt physical change.

Once inside it was as bad as I anticipated. Antiquated rock music blared loudly as, at the many crowded tables, groups of men pretended to eat while they really ogled the waitresses whose ultra-short shorts were wedged so far up the cracks in their asses that almost a third of each one's buttocks were on display, and that was before they leaned forward or, god forbid, bent over, which many seemed to be doing to pick up dropped forks and other items. I almost groaned in solidarity for their situation. Then I noticed something far more alarming.

Some of the tables were elevated and arranged around them were very tall stools with struts so that a heel could be propped or as in someone like my height's case, the could use it to mount the stool. The unavoidable display given my skirt's length and the move that would be necessary would equate to another obscene flash. My eyes went back to Rod with sudden alarm. He was grinning.

"We'd like one of those," he said to the bleached blonde simpleton hostess.

She grabbed two menus and led us to the tall table. With sinking feeling, I looked around hoping that all those men would be so engrossed in the waitresses or their food that they would not notice the display I was going to have to provide as I stepped up to my seat. As if in answer to a prayer, no one seemed to be looking. Seizing the opportunity, I lifted a booted foot... up.

The best way to describe what I experienced downstairs was akin to playing battleship and hearing, "that's a direct hit." In a karmically unforgiving moment, the a-c kicked on and the sudden blast of cool air right on my pussy was almost like being goosed by old man winter. I gasped and stepped up in an ever-widening stance that I knew was both obscene and unavoidable. As luck would not have it, just as I was plopping my barely covered buns on the seat, and clamping my thighs together, I glanced over and saw that the hostess had seen it all and beyond her a younger guy in a camouflage baseball cap was staring slackjawed. The waitress gave me a "you slut" smirk and the guy just looked like he had dropped a few IQ points. Rod noticed too.

My face was a burning red and at first, I was almost tongue tied. Before I could think of how to respond, though, our waitress, "Heather" arrived. At least that is what the small name badge on her ample chest declared. She looked to be about my height (5-3) and a similar build, with a very emphasized, obviously augmented bosom. She had blonde hair but had neglected her dye job so that the roots were showing a telltale dark brown stripe. With half her ass displayed and those monster boobs, it was unlikely that anyone, but another woman would notice that. What bothered me most though was that on top of her personally disempowered presentation, she looked to be in her mid 30s, and maybe even a little beyond that. Her face bore a smile, but accompanying it was a kind of defeated, resigned quality that I was starting to relate to myself. I glanced past her to where the men at the next table were looking at her from the back. Their eyes were all fixated on her ass and as she leaned forward, it was apparent they were enjoying the display. I inherently felt it was at her expense.

I was about to indulge the empathy of a single mom trying to make it in a man's world, though in her case it was even more objectifying, when I heard Rod say, "So my friend here was wondering if she could also get a job application with her order of wings."

I hadn't expected that. Suddenly in her eyes we were exactly the same, women of a certain age willing to dress way down to make ends meet, no matter the humiliating baggage.

"Sure," she said suddenly eyeing me with an obejectifying estimation. " 'Course Buddy, the manager, is who you'll have to convince."

"Convince." "Buddy the manager." Those words had a really unsavory, kneeling-on-the-50-yard-line, sensibility for me.

"I'll get the application too," she said and walked away showing a full on half-a-ham shot to the grinning lechers at the tables in her wake.

I glared at Rod.

"What do you mean application? I have a job! A career!" I was really offended. "I am not working here!?"

"Of course, not," said Rod. "But I want to see you have to apply. And since when do you get to say...'No'?"

I looked like I realized my error. He glanced around and smiled.

"You know that seat is really high. I think you should put one foot up on a rung. You know, so you don't fall or something"

It was punishment for snapping at him and worse, it was a directive I knew I could not refuse. Even so putting that foot up would provide a total upshot of my commando-style vulva to anyone at the other two lower tables across the aisle from us. I blinked at Rod, big hazel eyes welling up with shame.

"I, uh, please, Rod." I think I even shook my head in a pleading 'no' manner.

He just smiled and waited. In what will always be one of the biggest surrenders of my dignity, I slowly raised one foot until I felt the heel of my boot catch on the rung. I didn't need to look. I didn't even need to see the expressions on those voyeur faces at the next table. I didn't need to see the expression on Buddy the manager's face as he walked up. All I needed to know how explicit my exposure was, came from the sensation of circulating air across my nether area. Dying of embarrassment, I looked at the nearly slobbering face of the dumpy middle-aged manager clutching the application.

"I understand you are looking to apply." He said it way too loudly. The group of guys at the lower table grinned like possums.

I quickly looked at Rod. I knew what I had to say. "Yes, please."

The lecher actually overtly looked me up and down. The outfit had him convinced I was some low rent older mom desperate to do whatever to cover the mortgage. It was so obvious I wanted to scream, "I have an advanced degree you troglodyte." Instead, I just took the document and smiled humbly.

"Well, I look forward to, uh, reviewing your, uh, qualifications," he said to my unfettered tits. Then he handed me a pen.

Looking at Rod I began filling it out. I had only written my first name when I looked up and saw him grinning at Rod. When he saw that I saw he kind of coughed and walked away. I glanced back at Rod.