Don’t you just hate it when he hasn’t filled up his tank the night before, and immediately after you
Don’t you just hate it when he hasn’t filled up his tank the night before, and immediately after you’ve been forced onto your stockinged knees to takes his load in your mouth, you have to drive down to the service station in your stockings, high heels and diminuitively prissy maid’s dress, to fill it up. It seems like an eternity, as you stand there, filled with shame, your mouth still experiencing with that lingering salty aftertaste, as other motorists watch an emasculated sissy maid in women’s clothes, fill its owners car with fuel. And then the bemused smirks and sniggers from staff, and other patrons, as your mince, effeminately in your stilettos, to pay and then return to the car. When you’ve surrendered your manhood to live as a fulltime sissy in stockings, women’s clothes and maid’s uniforms, life is filled with shame and humiliation, but when you start the day like this, it is heavily amplified. -- source link