Grace Gets Ready

With a squeal of brainless rage Grace tossed another outfit into the pile of "no good" clothes. She looked from her "no good" pile (which was about 90% of her existing wardrobe) to her "good" pile (which was not a pile at all because she had no clothes that were "good") and stamped her door petulantly.

Why did she have so many power suits and chunky sweaters? Why did she need so many granny panties and bras that looked like they were from the 1930s? How could she have been so DUMB? Guys didn't like those kinds of clothes. They hid her body and why would she want that?

She remembered then a time when she had wanted to hide her body. She didn't want men looking at her soft pillowy breasts, she wanted them talking to her about...laws...and stuff.

And then, briefly, she remembered the feeling of being obeyed and respected. Of men, powerful men, coming to her for help with questions she only had the answer to. That part of her that James had buried rose up for a heartbeat and screamed behind her eyes.

Grace had to grab the wall as she was rocked by a massive jolt of pain between her eyes.

Duh! That's what she deserved! Thinking HURT! James had taught her that. James her perfect perfect man. Her perfect son-man. Grace giggled as the pain faded remembering James hands on her.

Why had she never let him touch her before? She couldn't even imagine. Her husband was nice and all, but he was so tame. When James touched her...it has been electric. It has been perfect.

Looking in the mirror she realized she was grabbing her breasts with both hands. They overflowed her grip, pouring over the tops and bottoms of her hands, and through her fingers. She posed sexily sticking out her ass, running her tongue over her lips.

She laughed mockingly at the voice inside her that was so upset. It was so STUPID. Why would she want to talk to a man? That was dumb and hard. It was so much easier to just be sexy and do what they said. Look how happy James had been!

Grace shivered in fear and pleasure though, realizing how mad he'd be if she didn't find an outfit to wear. And she had to clean. And cook. How did you even use that stove?

Finally she found an outfit. Tan slacks with a tan vest. The vest came with a blouse but she tossed that away. The whole thing was a few years old and therefore really didn't fit her, which was perfect. She took a scissors to the pants cutting them high at the thigh. It took a great amount of hopping about and finally she had to lay on the bed and squirm about but she got the newly made shorts over her big ass.

The best went on a little easier, but she could barely get half the buttons cinched up. She admired herself in the mirror. Her breasts threatened to overcome the remaining buttons on her vest at any moment. As it was they jutted out of the top and was completely exposed on the sides.

Her shorts were obscene. They hugged her like a second skin, the frayed ends continuing to unravel. The front was so tight her puffy pussy lips were completely exposed. You could even make out the thin trail of hair atop of her cunt. She giggled.

She had only put on a bit of make up, pink lipstick to accentuate her mouth, dark eyeliner to bring out her eyes. Her blonde hair was loose all around her. She thought she looked like Suzanne Somers if not a bit thicker.

THIS was the outfit. This would drive men wild, but more importantly it would drive James wild. Looking down she found her hand at crept down to her crotch. It wouldn't fit into her pants so she had to roughly paw her pussy through her shorts. A growing wet spot began to develop as her pussy grew wetter and wetter at just the thought of her sons eyes on her.

"More..." She moaned to no one, stumbling drunkenly to the bed she shared with her husband.

She jammed her crotch against the bed post at the foot of the bed. The bar wooden knob was rough but the more she ground her clit against it the closer she came to release. Looking in the mirror, the sight of her humping her bedpost, fully clothed and **** turned her on even more.

She couldn't stop. She knew she needed to cook, and clean. She had orders, important orders. But this was the most important. She needed to cum, her frail little female brain couldn't function with all that backed up sexual fervor.

Her orgasm came in a rush that soaked her shorts. Bent over the bed, hair covering her face she giggled stupidly before standing up. It wasn't the orgasm she REALLY needed, only James had the key to that. But it would do for now. She slapped the wet spot on her short earning a sloppy noise which made her giggle yet again, before heading downstairs to start her job.