Standing in heels at the ironing board was also taxing. I didmanage to finish ironing in time to make her bed before going to thekitchen to help Cook...with the evening meal.Dinner was much like the prior night. I served wine. Mrs. had threeglasses with her meal. There was only a bit left in the bottle when shefinished. The main course was baked chicken. Mrs. Whitman certainlydid live well. As I stood in silence at the side table, I wondered ifsomehow some day I would be sitting at a fine. I sang in my best falsetto voice with the recording as I drove carefully through the night. ‘Do you look like a slut? Un huh…shut up!’ My boi clitty became harder as I seat-danced to the song, wishing that I had boobs to undulate as I drove and danced under the clear night sky. I played with my nipples and the lace-covered cock as I drove.I stopped at a deserted interstate safety stop shortly before entering the City, pulling off my heels and replacing them with sneakers. I pulled on the sweat. More

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