I know, I know, I say this every Wednesday – but it really does surprise me how normal it feels to go commando, in public no less, for an entire day. I remember it in the morning, obviously, when I’m getting dressed – I’ll go to grab myself a pair of boxers and then stop, because, well… That would be breaking The Rules. Plus it cuts down ever-so-slightly on the amount of washing I’ll be doing on the weekend.
But other than that, though, it just sort of… fades out of my mind. I’ll notice it when I shift in my chair, or go to the bathroom, but even that doesn’t last long. It’s like it’s totally natural for me to not be wearing underwear in this situation – which, in a sense, I suppose it is. It’s undoubtedly a slutty act, for one – whether it’s just for showing off the goods, or the mild thrill of subtle exhibitionism, or to allow people quicker access to make use of me, it’s clear that the purpose is whorish in nature. And it’s also natural because, well, a beautiful, powerful woman told me to do it. It’s in my nature to be a good boy for women – my very purpose is to be submissive, subservient, and obedient towards my superiors, and Mistress Charlotte above all else. There was never any chance of me not doing it.
It’s almost a shame that all the stares I imagine from people on the way home are, well, imaginary. There’s no way they could tell from the outside, of course, but I do wonder sometimes what they would think, knowing that such a slut walks among them. And it’s not the worst thing you could do in public, of course, not even close – but they’d play it up, saying what a depraved little whore I am, to do this – obviously looking for attention, practically begging to be pulled into a nearby alley and just… used. Hands tied behind my back, bent over with my face held tight between someone’s thighs, tongue being put to good use as her friend repeatedly pounds into me, my own dick pathetically ignored as she grinds my prostate into dust. Over and over, as they change positions, invite other friends, have me play with myself while they watch and laugh. And then, eventually, – facedown in a pool of various fluids, left there for anybody to find, a lingering kick to the balls the only farewell I deserved.
…anyway, that’s just one example of what could happen if I keep going underwear-less. As if I needed any more reasons, right? Thanks for reading.