The Red Panties Test Pt. 05

THE RED PANTIES TEST - PART 5

Dani Sweets

It had not turned out the way I'd expected.

"One!"

Not that I'd had any particular vision for how this day might play out - my first not just dressing in female clothes for my stepfather-in-law, but wearing makeup. In fact I'd imagined many scenarios, each of them plausible in their way. But none of them had gone quite like this.

"Two!"

It was a day for which I'd meticulously prepared. When Warren first told me what he expected, I'd asked for and been granted time to "do it properly." But I'm not sure either of us expected me to take the challenge quite so seriously. This wasn't just a matter of slapping on some lipstick and eye shadow. Under Ayla's careful tutelage, I hadn't just learned how to apply an array of powders, creams and paints that just a few weeks ago I'd known almost nothing about. I'd become able to use them in ways that didn't just make me prettier than I had any right to expect, but to conceal or at least downplay my masculine features..

"Three!"

After arriving that morning at the downtown penthouse where Warren lived and worked, it took me nearly an hour of careful work to put on my face and paint both my fingernails and toenails. I was even feeling confident enough to manage without a wig. When I'd had my first public outing as Nikki, two nights earlier, I'd worn one from Ayla's collection, as much as a form of security as anything else - something I could pull over my face and hide behind, if need be. But in truth, my dark brown-coloured hair had grown long enough that it could be styled in a reasonably feminine way. After wetting it and making some judicious use of styling mousse and a hairdryer, I looked with some satisfaction at my reflection. If I was honest, I had come to like how big my eyes looked, the extra arch in my brows, the rose in my cheeks, and the glistening of my lips. I probably wouldn't fool anyone into thinking I was actually a woman. But the look was unquestionably feminine and somehow that felt... good.

"Four!"

Next came the clothes. For the secretarial work that would take up the second part of my day, I laid out a turquoise silk blouse, and a tight black skirt with a slit that would show off my stocking tops. Initially, Warren had not just supplied all my outer clothes but dictated what I wore. Now, I had my choice from a well-stocked wardrobe in the room I used to get dressed each day I came to work. It must have cost a lot to acquire so much high-quality apparel, though from what I knew of Warren's business (the lawful parts anyway), he was clearly doing well enough to afford it.

"F- five"

I was already wearing a set of lacy black underwear, comprising a bra, panties, garter belt and stockings, which as usual I'd donned hurriedly at home before a typically fraught drive into town with my wife. I'd stopped worrying about Jillian being able to see through my drab male shirt and pants to the underwear beneath. But I couldn't shake the feeling that at some point she would notice one of the tell-tale signs of the crossdressing that was now a routine part of my week - and not just on the days I worked for Warren. Still, as I slipped the realistic-looking gel inserts into my bra that would fill out the cups and pulled the laces taut on a waist-narrowing corset, I reflected that I seemed to have made it this far without detection.

"Six!"

For the cleaning duties to which I would attend first, I selected a French maid's outfit in a traditional black and white, all satin and lace, with the classic tulle petticoat to lift my skirt, and a matching headpiece and choker. Eschewing comfort for appearance, I also wore black pumps with a white trim, and four-inch heels in which I had become surprisingly well versed at staying upright. Overall, I was more than satisfied with the look, especially with my shapely legs clad in black stockings inlaid with sparkling golden threads. It was a look that would surely impress Daddy.

"Seven!"

It was a look that somehow didn't. When I finally emerged from more than an hour of preparation and went to find my employer in his study, he looked me up and down for no more than two seconds, his face impassive. "It's about time," he commented, then returned his attention to the computer monitor in front of him. About time? What did that mean? About time that I showed up for work properly made up as a woman? Or was it just a comment on how long it had taken me to be ready to start work this morning?

"Eight!"

I stood there irresolutely in the doorway. Eventually, he looked up again and lifted a quizzical eyebrow. "Um, I came up with a name. For me, I mean." The words felt strange coming out of my mouth, which suddenly felt dry. I cleared my throat. "It's, um, Nikki. You know, with an I on the end, not a Y? Short for Dominique. But I mean, you could call me either, you know, whatever..." I trailed off. He gave me a steady look, then nodded and returned to his work. I waited for a few beats more, then headed off to the kitchen, feeling... disconsolate. That was the only word for it.

"N- nine!"

There were so many emotions that I had imagined my fully feminised appearance might provoke. Surprise. Amusement. Revulsion. Disappointment. Admiration. Or even perhaps, God help me, desire. The one thing I hadn't anticipated was indifference. For the rest of the day, my mood veered between puzzlement and anger. What I simply couldn't figure was why my stepfather-in-law would have pushed me into working for him as a woman, if he didn't actually want something from me. It surely couldn't be the work itself. I was making a reasonable fist of my allotted tasks, but he was paying me much more than my actual duties demanded. And if he'd simply wanted to put me in my place by having me undertake a menial job, well, he could easily have bullied me into doing that without needing to feminise me as well. Presumably then the point was just to humiliate me. But if so, where was the mocking?

"Ten!"

What made me angry, at myself as much as at him, was that I had put up so little fight. No, worse than that, that I'd been so willing to go along with this charade. It was one thing to be intimidated into wearing a pair of red panties or putting on a maid's uniform. It was quite another to try to look good as a woman. To practise doing makeup, and walking in heels, and sitting in the right way, and raising the pitch of my voice. To go to all the trouble of going out in my female guise, even if it was to a bar frequented by crossdressers. To risk being identified by someone I knew, as so nearly happened with Liam, the closest I'd had to a friend at the law firm where I used to work. And all that on top of the constant risk of detection by Jillian.

"Eleven!"

And then there were the lengths to which I'd been prepared to go on my night out, in exploring the preferences of my female alter ego. I'd fully expected to spend a nervous evening chatting and drinking with Ayla and Trudie, the two lingerie store workers who had so kindly agreed to help with my transformation. But it hadn't worked out that way. I'd made a new friend, in the form of Emmy, a tall and vivacious transsexual, and opted to stay out with her after the others took off with two attractive young women. That was a satisfactory outcome for Ayla, a confirmed lesbian. But it was quite the surprise for Trudie, judging both by her expression, and her lack of any previous expression of interest in her own sex. When I messaged them the following day, all Ayla would say was that the rest of the night had been "spectacular," while I could get nothing from Trudie beyond an indecipherable string of emojis. I was looking forward to getting the full story at some point.

"Twelve!"

My own evening had taken an even more unexpected turn when Emmy brought me to some sort of private club that included a set of glory holes. A fact I only discovered when a cock came through the wall of what I'd thought was just a bathroom cubicle. A cock from which I could have run screaming - or at least politely declined to service. But once again, I had simply kept moving down the path on which my employer had set me. I had chosen to put it in my mouth.

"Thirteen!"

It had felt... right. I couldn't say why. Maybe because after weeks of fantasising about Warren and wondering about my (or Nikki's) sexuality, I'd somehow convinced myself that sucking another man's dick was both a logical and desirable thing to do. The actual feeling of having one in my mouth was more awkward than pleasurable, what with trying to avoid catching it in my teeth or gagging when it went a little too far into my throat. The taste and smell were okay, as far as they went. There was a faint musky aroma, though the main odour was of some kind of perfumed soap. (Emmy told me afterwards that each of the "givers" using the other side of the glory holes were encouraged to clean themselves before using their cubicles.) But I found it far from easy to hold my jaw open for the fifteen minutes or so that I worked away on my giver, and my neck muscles also started to ache from the unusual strain of bobbing my head forwards and backwards.

"Fourteen!"

Yet despite the physical challenges, what I couldn't ignore was the evidence of my own arousal. In the space of just a few seconds, between recognising what was being offered to me and engulfing it with my lipstick-covered mouth, my own little organ became hard. And it stayed painfully erect throughout my first ever attempt to deliver a blowjob, straining at the fabric of the lacy red boyshorts in which it was tucked away. It was all I could do not to pull it out and play with it. I wasn't actually sure why that was a bad idea, I just somehow knew that it was. Still, I couldn't help the surge of excitement that ran through my body as I felt the giver's breathing quicken and his organ quiver, before moans from the other side of the wall were ringing in my ears and my mouth was being filled by jets of warm, salty cum. I knew that if I'd been touching myself just then, I'd have been spurting as well.

"Fifteen!"

Shame, excitement and satisfaction warred for supremacy as I took in what I had done. But I would leave the judgement on that for later. For now, I was just following my instincts. And they weren't telling me to rear back in disgust or spit out the goo that I hadn't reflexively swallowed. Instead, I found myself gently squeezing and caressing the warm and slowly deflating shaft, as I carefully claimed the last drops of spunk oozing from the tip, before gulping down what was left in my mouth.

"Sixteen!"

For a moment I kept the cock in my mouth, not so much to savour it, as to try to make sense of what I felt about it. But eventually I released it. As it was withdrawn, I heard a low voice murmur: "That was fucking awesome!" The tone was almost reverent, but it gave me no clue as to the man's age or appearance. In the dim light I couldn't even see the colour of his skin. Not that knowing would have made a difference, but it brought home just how impersonal and anonymous the exchange had been. It was that, rather than the compliment itself, that made me blush underneath my face powder.

"Seventeen!"

I used my very best Nikki voice to thank the giver, then grabbed a tissue from a dispenser on the wall to clean the drool that had spilled from my mouth. I shook my head wryly as I realised that I didn't seem to have lost a single drop of cum. It was only then that I noticed that tissues were not the only items supplied. Besides wet wipes, condoms were also available. I wondered about the etiquette of using them. At the very least, it should have occurred to me to think about the health aspect.

"Eighteen!"

Emmy was waiting for me when I emerged from the cubicle, glancing down to confirm that my cock, which remained hard, was still safely tucked away between my legs and not making my leopard-print skirt bulge. As my place inside was taken by a fresh-faced young man, whose expression was nervous yet determined, she arched an eyebrow at me. All I could manage was an embarrassed smile, but it seemed to tell her everything she needed to know. She beamed and then caught me up in a hug. "So," she asked as she released me and then led me back to the bar, "how was it?"

"Nineteen!"

How was it? I pondered the question as Emmy went off to buy us drinks. I was mortified at what I'd done, and yet there was a sense of accomplishment as well. "I think," I said cautiously when the tall blonde returned, "that I may need to try that again." She laughed at that, patted my hand encouragingly, and promised that we'd have another go soon enough.

"T- twenty!"

We resumed our earlier conversation and I felt bold enough now to ask more about her. I discovered that she'd been taking female hormones since she was sixteen and had recently had her growing breasts augmented. She asked me, with a twinkle in her eye, whether I wanted to "give them a feel." I politely declined, understanding as I did so that there might be more than just a fondle on offer. Emmy was attractive, that was for sure, and I could hardly now say I was turned off by what was inside her panties. But at the same time, I had the sense that this might be the start of a really important friendship, which I didn't want to risk or complicate. It only occurred to me afterwards that what I hadn't considered was any question of fidelity to Jillian. That, it seemed, was something for Emile to worry about, not Nikki.

"Twenty-one!"

Over the next couple of hours, I went back to the glory holes three more times. Each of the cocks I serviced were protected by condoms when they came through the aperture in the wall, a fact that left me feeling obscurely disappointed, although Emmy had firmly advised me to insist on them if need be. By the third one, I was struggling to muster the energy necessary to keep my head and mouth working, and for the most part used my hands instead. But it didn't seem to bother the giver, who kept up a stream of obscene commentary throughout. Most of it was encouraging and complimentary, but he also addressed me as "bitch" and "slut." I should have been humiliated by that, and to some extent I was. Yet it also gave me a thrill, as the continuous pressure in my panties attested.

"Twenty-two!"

And that, in a nutshell, was what disappointed me most about Warren's lack of reaction to my willingness to feminise myself. I had gone to extraordinary lengths to transform myself into Nikki for him, even to the extent of becoming - there was no other term for it - a cocksucking slut. And for what? To be ignored, it seemed.

"Twenty-three!"

And so, my work that day predictably suffered. Distracted, I made mistake after mistake. I smashed not one but three glasses, which I'd been cleaning up after some sort of party in the apartment the previous night. I ran the wrong program on the washing machine, ruining some of my employer's gym wear. And my typing and filing were riddled with errors.

"Twenty-four!"

Which was why I was bent over my employer's powerful thighs, endured my second spanking of the day. As usual when he administered this kind of correction, I was required to count out the heavy blows that he was administering to my bare buttocks.

"Twenty-five!"

My voice broke as I marked the latest slap on my burning ass-cheeks and I couldn't help punctuating it with a sob. Tears were streaming from my eyes, not so much from the pain - though that was real enough - as from the sense of humiliation that had been accumulating throughout the day. I waited for number twenty-six, but after a pause Warren murmured: "I think that will do, don't you, princess?"

I had been expecting twice this many, and it was all I could do not to howl with gratitude. Instead, I forced myself to say: "Yes Daddy. thank you, Daddy." My voice sounded as shaky as I felt.

As he had done each previous time he had spanked me, Warren squirted some kind of cool and soothing cream onto my reddened flesh and began to spread it over my buttocks. And just as on those earlier occasions, I felt my cock start to harden. I let out an involuntary moan, partly out of relief as the burning pain from my chastisement eased, but also from the chagrin of being unable to control my reaction to the treatment. And perhaps too, though it was hard to accept, because I had been waiting all day for some kind of intimate contact.

If Warren had previously noticed my reaction, he had never shown it. But on this occasion, after tugging my lacy black panties back up over my bottom, he surprised me by flipping me over so that I was sitting on his lap. It was so effortlessly done that I felt like a child in his grasp. I had taken my tight skirt off so that he could administer my punishment, so that there was nothing to hinder him as he slowly ran one hand up my nylon-clad leg, until he was resting it on the stocking top, gently caressing the pale and hairless skin above it.

I looked up into his stern face, noticing for perhaps the first time that where his goatee was grizzled, his eyebrows were still as black as the hairs that covered his arms. I wondered, inconsequentially, what he had looked like when he was younger, and just when he had started shaving his scalp. But as his steel blue eyes caught and held mine, and I felt his hand move up between my legs, I knew that I had more immediate concerns.

"What do we have here?" chuckled Warren, as he traced the outline of my erection. It had originally been tucked away between my legs, with my balls also pressed down inside their cavities so as to keep my lump as small as possible. But my cocklet had sprung free when my panties were pulled down for the spanking, and it was now standing up, pressed flat against my belly, with the head almost peeking out from the waistband of my boyshorts. Warren gripped the shaft through the red lace, pinching the top between his thumb and finger. I gave an involuntary moan.

"Do you like me touching you there... Nikki?" he asked.

He started manipulating the head of my stiff little organ, squeezing and releasing it, and at the same time causing my foreskin to move up and down over the helmet beneath. He was still just using his digits, rather than his whole hand - just as I had done when I first started to masturbate as a boy, before graduating to closing my fist around the shaft. "Your clitty certainly seems very excited, doesn't it?"

Oh god. The sensation was overwhelming. And he had just used my new name. And called my penis a clitoris. "Yes Daddy," I gasped helplessly, answering both questions at once.

"So you want me to keep rubbing your clitty?"

No. Yes. Moan.

"I'll take that as a yes..."

He squeezed just a little harder, at the same time pressing down with the palm of his hand so that my cock was being rubbed against my belly. All the tension of the past few weeks and months, of this frustrating day, seemed to have been collected and channelled into my throbbing member. I had allowed Warren to manipulate me into this position, and now he was taking that process beyond the metaphorical realm. I was in his hands, quite literally.

"Is there something you want, Nikki? Tell Daddy what it is."

I want this to stop. I want my life back, as Emile. I want to stop thinking about you. I want to be a real man. I want... I want...

"I want to come, Daddy. Please. Oohhhh... Please make me come..."

"Is that all you want, Nikki? Really?"

Yes. No. I can't say it. Please don't make me say it.

"I... I want..."

"Tell me, Nikki."

"I can't... It's not... I - I want to suck your cock Daddy, I want your great big cock in my mouth, I want you to... Oh god, yesssssss..."

The climax was like nothing I'd ever felt before. It was more than an orgasm, closer to... a catharsis. It wasn't just spunk that poured out of my cock, flooding through the lace of my panties to coat my belly. It was all that was left of my uncertainties, my doubts and reservations, my old attachments. Because in that moment at least, I felt that I knew both who and whose I was.