He issued an instruction today, one that made me anxious. No panties of course, no problem (when I'm not at work). When I'm at work without stockings and only a summer frock, well that's a different story! In addition to a bare arsed girl, he decided that I should go out into the world with no bra. I was silent when I heard the words. Is he serious? He knows I hate this thought and he has not ever demanded it before. He has hinted that one day he might, but until now nothing.
"Text me when it is done."
I am not in my twenties. These puppies have done their womanly duty in child-rearing and girl fun. These fun bags deserve the over-shoulder boulder holder in situ. These boobs, hooters, tits, tatas are shapely and on the larger side, though not enormous. This puts me in mind of the first question asked by most men online, 'bra size?' When I dabbled in online forums I thought it such a strange thing to ask. After all there was no cam involved, I could have said anything, 'big or small, what's your pleasure?' So what was the obsession with the answer to this question? I never really came to a satisfactory conclusion. But I am off the track...
The instruction was explicit. "No bra or panties around the house today, no bra at least once when you go out today." I hesitated, silent. My mind spinning, thinking...too much as I am want to do.
Now I know this is a basic thing, this little task. The thought of going out with the girls swinging free however, bouncing buoyantly, but frankly not as perky as they once were, drove in me an anxiety that threatened to overwhelm my submissve self.
I went out, bra securely in place. Panties not so securely in place.
Later in a large shopping centre car park I sat in the car thinking. Silence. I looked around at the cars surrounding mine. Not a soul in sight. I reached under my shirt to my bra clasp and let it loose. As I watched a motorcyclist in the rear view mirror travelling toward me, my hand slid first up the sleeve of my right arm and pulled my bra strap down and off. The left repeated, I reached up under the front of my shirt and pulled my bra away to decamp my breasts from their comfortable citadel.
I was struck by the tension between the freedom I felt and the anxiety in my breath. Though my next move should have been to start the car, slip into drive and point the wheel to home, I opened the car door and got out. Closing the the door behind me, I stood looking at my reflection in the glass. I drank in the hang of my breast under my tight shirt, the shape of my nipple standing proud. I saw too the shape and pink colour of my areolar though the white of the cotton fabric. I messaged my obedience while I gazed at my reflection. Then, I got back in the car and drove home.
|photographer unknown. Source: the internet|