Packing

"Care to explain those?" my wife asked, sitting on the bed. I looked over at the boxer shorts on the bed next to her. 

"They...they're boxer shorts," I said.

"I know what they are," she said, "care to explain where they came from?"

"I...I had...I had a few pairs in a box in the closet," I stammered.

She glared at me, glanced at her watch. "I suppose we can discuss that in the car," she said. "For now, let's start with why those were in your suitcase."

I looked down, face red. "I...I packed them," I said.

"You packed them. I suppose there's a good reason why you packed boxer shorts."

"I...your mother...she's always...always doing our laundry when where there and...and I thought...I mean...she might wonder why...why I didn't have underwear for her to wash."

My wife looked at me, considered my answer. "You thought you'd bring those to leave out so she assumed you were wearing them."

I looked down again, didn't answer.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" she asked. "You were going to wear those?"

"Amber..."

"Answer my question. Were you planning on wearing those?"

"Amber, I...I just thought..."

"And here I thought I was being kind and considerate and only having you bring plain briefs and you repay me by packing these?"

"Amber..." I said, thinking of the panties she'd packed, "they...they were..."

"Stop," she hissed. She stood, scooped the boxers off the bed. "These go right to the trash." She went to the closet, opened up one of my drawers, took something out, brought it back to the bed.

"Amber, please," I begged, seeing the pink flower bra and panty set.

"I was going to let you just wear plain panties," she said, "an obvious mistake on my part. Those are for today, I expect sets that are similarly feminine in your suitcase for the rest of the weekend, hose, too."

"A...Amber..."

"I believe our agreement is quite clear, is it not? You're forbidden to wear male underwear. Not when it might be convenient, not when you might be otherwise uncomfortable, but at all times forever more."

"Amber..."

"And since you seem to be ashamed of it, we can address that as well. You'll offer to help my mother with the laundry. Not do it, but help. Tell her I require you to hand wash all our lingerie so you're more than happy to take care of that while we're there, hers included."

"Amber, she'll...she'll insist on..."

"Supervising. That's quite the point."

"What...what if she asks...asks..."

"You'll tell her the truth, of course."

"The...the truth..."

"The truth."

"But...but she'll...she'll think..."

"That you're a sissy," she said. "The truth, dear, the truth."