Showing Off For My Wife's Pleasure

So here I was, wearing red high heels, black thighhighs that stopped about a foot below my cutoffs, an orange tube top (which didn't hide my nipple chain), a cheap blonde wig, bright red lipstick, and makeup that said cheap drag tramp from a mile away. The finishing touch was a temporary tattoo that she applied around my navel that said "Cocksucking Slut."

"Where are we going?" I asked getting excited just thinking about what we were going to do.

"I found a bookstore about 45 minutes away that's remote. I think you are going to like it."

Remote was right. It was about a quarter a mile down a gravel road, behind a seedy bar that had several motorcycles in the parking lot. I was glad Ellen was carrying her 38 revolver. We lived in a "Shall issue" state and we both had permits to carry firearms. Ellen always packed just in case someone wanted to get involved in our fun. Needless to say, I was packing something else and it was throbbing in expectation.

The store looked like an old farmhouse and the parking lot held just two cars.

"Boy, this place is remote. I'm surprised they get any customers," I said as I got out of the car and onto my heels.

"Well, it has a clientele that prefers a little privacy. In this part of the country, kinky people have to maintain a low profile. Don't worry; none of them are going to touch you."

We walked up on to the porch and inside into what was once the living room. The walls had displays of fetish wear, whips, and harnesses. The clerk was a woman in her 50s, who had a butch look about her. Ellen greeted her like they had met before. "Sara, here's my friend I was telling you about."

"Hi sweetie. What's your friend's name?"

She gave my name.

"No, not that name. What's his girlie name?"

Ellen looked at me and turned back to Sara. "I don't know. You got any suggestions?"

She looked at me and thought for a minute.