Then he quietly called me a whore. How could I possibly do that? With our son? He always knew I was twisted ... but this? More silence. Hubby then too... his hand from between my thighs. He brought it to my face and smeared our son's semen all over my mouth. If I hadn't felt overwhelmed with guilt and remorse, I might have enjoyed this gesture. But not this way. He repeated that I was a whore. A filthy one. More silence. Then, as unexpected as him smearing cum on my face, he pulled his boxers off. "The shorter the skirt, the longer I'll make you hold back, the harder you'll come." Oh hell." He sighed again. "I hate this. I hate wearing this; I feel silly and emasculated. But you make me so crazy; I don't even know what I'm doing anymore!" He leaned over me again and kissed me deeply. "I'm sorry, Boss. I'm sorry. I know you didn't want this, but I love you! I love you so much I can't breathe!" He kissed me again. "I'll wear this, I'll wear a dress, I'll wear a fucking prom dress! Just. More

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