The Red Panties Test Pt. 06

I tried to think of what on earth to say. All of the strain of the past few weeks and months bore down upon me. How could I possibly explain the course of events that had brought me to this place? What was I to say for myself? Who even was I now?

The woman staring at me shook her head, more in sorrow than condemnation.

"Seriously," said Trudie, "you can tell me." The chairs in her apartment were comfortable enough, but my seat seemed to be getting hotter by the minute.

I threw my hands in the air. "I really can't."

"You really can," she insisted. Her usual smile was noticeably absent, although it was ready to return, I sensed, if she could just persuade me to trust her. "I told you my story, seems only fair I get yours in return."

"Yes, but you didn't ... you haven't ..."

"Haven't what, Nikki?"

"I ... I ..." Honestly, I didn't know what to say. I had thought I might be ready to talk, but when the crunch came, I simply couldn't. So I tried changing the subject. "So you really haven't heard from Ayla? Not at all?"

Trudie's face darkened and I felt a pang of guilt for asking. I knew how sore a point this was, given how close she was to her elegant co-worker.

"Nope," said the usually bubbly blonde. "I've called her, messaged her every way I know how. Nothing. It's been three days now ..."

"Look, she must know it's not your fault, right?"

"Well, yeah, but -"

"Trudie!" The petulant voice that interrupted her came from the far end of the small apartment. "You said half an hour and it's been ages!" The last word was stretched out considerably longer than the two syllables should have allowed. "Come to bed!"

"There in a minute honey!" called Trudie in response. She turned back to me with an apologetic expression. "I'm really sorry, Nikki, but -"

I cut her off. "Don't be. It's really good of you to put me up, especially with ..." I gestured towards the bedroom. "I mean, it's not that I don't have a home to go to, even, it's just ..."

I took a deep breath and came to a decision. "Look, I'll tell you everything in the morning, okay? I just need to sleep on things. And you need to go and ... not sleep." I mustered a grin and got a beaming smile and a typically enthusiastic hug in return.

"Okay sweetie, you'll be alright on the couch?" she asked.

"Sure. Am I gonna need ear plugs though?"

She looked puzzled for a second, then giggled. "For the noise you mean? Yeah, gonna be plenty of that. Whether I survive the night? Whole different question ..."

Trudie shook her head, her expression returning to that look of dazed wonder that I'd seen a lot of over the past couple of hours, since showing up on her doorstep. With a last wave, she headed off to the bedroom.

After cleaning off my makeup and brushing my teeth, I settled myself down on the couch, admiring as I did so the feel of the satin nightie that Trudie had lent me against my smooth, hairless torso. Sleep didn't come easily, however, not with the sound effects echoing through the apartment. They didn't leave much to the imagination, and if I'd been so minded I might even have tried to keep a running count of the orgasms.

When I had arrived at Trudie's door earlier that evening, asking if I could possibly stay with her for a couple of days, it hadn't been a complete surprise to find that she had company. When last I had seen her the previous week, she and Ayla had been leaving the bar to which we'd gone for my first night out in female garb. I hadn't minded. since I'd met a new friend, Emmy. And Trudie and Ayla had quite clearly hooked up with a pair of pretty young redheaded girls. It was one of those, Mikayla, who was there when I arrived.

Trudie had insisted that I wasn't interrupting anything, despite some looks from Mikayla that seemed to suggest otherwise. But as the evening wore on, and the younger girl showed no sign of leaving, it gradually dawned on me that this might be more than just a casual connection.

It was only when Trudie sent her new girlfriend off to bed to wait for her that I finally got the story - or part of it at least.

At the bar, it had been Mikayla and her lookalike friend Vonda who, noticing Ayla's frequent glances, had come over to introduce themselves. It became clear pretty quickly that they were interested in the two women sexually. That delighted Ayla, who couldn't believe her luck. Trudie, on the other hand, with no previous interest in her own sex, did her best to politely decline the offer. But a combination of the girls' persuasiveness and Trudie's reluctance to ruin her friend's big opportunity led her to "go along for the ride."

I didn't get the details of the ride. But clearly Trudie had way more fun than she was expecting. And the surprising sequel was that she and Mikayla had been pretty much inseparable since. Even when Trudie was at work, the redhead came to see her at the lingerie store - and walked away with a good deal of heavily discounted apparel, which she subsequently took great delight in modelling for her new flame. This despite a habit of dressing in sweatshirts and jeans, and never previously having owned anything that could be described as lingerie.

"She's sexy, she's fun, she makes me laugh," Trudie explained. "And I make her laugh too. And the sex, Nikki, oh my God ..." She gave an embarrassed grin and shivered deliciously. "I mean, I'm not going to turn or anything, I still like the idea of being fucked. But with her ... I never knew I could come so much!"

And yet, because nothing can ever be straightforward, there was a catch. Ayla too had been captivated by Vonda. But the young redhead, unlike her friend, had no interest in anything beyond that. As far as she was concerned, it was strictly a one-night stand. When Ayla realised that her affections were not being reciprocated, she was devastated. And the fact that her previously straight friend was somehow now in a relationship with Mikayla just rubbed salt into the wounds.

Trudie tried getting Mikayla to talk Vonda into at least seeing Ayla again. But Mikayla refused. Vonda liked to fuck around she said, and that was that.

And now Ayla was not talking to Trudie and hadn't come to work for the past few days either. I was genuinely sorry about that. But, as the lovemaking in the bedroom stretched well into the small hours of the morning, I reflected that Trudie was not exactly getting the rough end of the pineapple. Whereas I ...

After a few short hours' sleep, I was awoken by the sounds of yet more sex. Shaking my head in a combination of irritation and admiration, I got up, made a pot of coffee, and was on my second cup by the time Trudie emerged. She looked exhausted, yet at the same time she positively glowed with the aftereffects of her latest climaxes.

We munched on some croissants and chatted idly for a while. But I could see she was waiting for me to open up, and I knew it was something I had to get off my chest. I had been bottling things up for too long, and I needed to unburden myself about all of it - not just what had happened over the last few traumatic days.

Eventually, I called a halt to the casual conversation. "Trudie, I don't think I can stand any more of your patience! You can be really annoying that way, you know?" I smiled to rob the words of any offence. "You want the story, right?"

She laughed. "Oh, I was about to start threatening you if you didn't open up soon!" Her expression grew a little more serious. "If you're ready though?"

I put my cup down, stood up and walked behind her chair. Stooping down, I kissed her on the top of her head. "You're a darling. Nearly ready. I just need to put my face on first."

It was strange, but it just didn't feel right not having any makeup on. Or, more especially, going without shaving my (fortunately) light and patchy stubble. Before last night, and aside from our fateful night out, Trudie had only ever seen me as Emile. Yet it was not just that I'd spent the past few days as Nikki. I really wanted to talk to her girl to girl.

My new proficiency with makeup meant that it didn't take me long to get myself looking the way I wanted. I rummaged in the suitcase I'd brought and found a floral blouse and a denim skirt. I hadn't had room for a lot of footwear, but my favourite wedge-heeled sandals worked perfectly well, showing off my brightly painted toenails. I added some gold jewellery, including some pretty anklets that I'd shamelessly filched from my wife's collection.

"Wow Nikki!" said Trudie admiringly when I walked back into the kitchen. She had moved to the sofa but was still in her nightwear. "You've really got the hang of this, haven't you?" She paused, then gave a mock frown. "Maybe too good though. Now I'm worried about Mikayla trading me in for a younger model ..."

I laughed. "I'm not that much younger! And I don't have your ... assets." I gestured at her impressive breasts, which were on full display beneath her lacy black peignoir. It said a lot both for our relationship and my state of mind that I had not been staring at a sight which not so long ago would have had me instantly aroused.

She jiggled her boobs, giggling. "True. Those aren't what she's interested in though. Not mostly, anyway."

"Really? Is that what she tells you?

"It's what her eyes tell me. Same way yours say you don't want me. Which is fine. But are you going to tell me who you do want? Or who wants you?"

I sighed and collapsed into an armchair, kicking off my sandals and drawing my feet up under me to get comfortable. "Well ... it's complicated."

So I told her exactly how complicated it was. Once I had turned the tap on, it all came flowing out of me. At some point, Mikayla came out of the bedroom and joined Trudie on the couch, sitting more on her lap than next to her. She was wearing jeans, and nothing else. But somehow neither her presence, nor her skinny body and small but shapely breasts, served as any kind of distraction. Stopping me only occasionally to ask for clarification, the two semi-naked women listened intently to my tale.

I started with my brief but fateful stay in prison, and the red panties test I had failed - or, from another point of view, passed. I explained how I had been coerced (or, if I was honest, encouraged) into feminising myself to work for my stepfather-in-law, Warren. Then I talked about the role Trudie and Ayla had played in not just helping me to become Nikki but pushing me to go way further than I might have done on my own.

"Not saying it's your fault or anything," I emphasised. "I'll always be so grateful for what you did. You're like Daddy, you could see something I had no idea was there. It's amazing how that can happen." I smiled fondly and my eyes twinkled as I deliberately looked from one to the other of the young women sitting across from me. The two of them grinned, a little sheepishly in Trudie's case, and shared a tender kiss.

I moved on to my first night out as Nikki, and the tale of what I got up to with Emmy, the tall transsexual who had introduced me to the delights of cocksucking, courtesy of a gloryhole in a sex club right above the bar. Trudie's eyes widened as she listened to me describing my first taste of a man's dick, while Mikayla affected disinterest. But they were both hooked on the story now. I could almost feel proud about that - even if the truly painful part was still to come.

Mention of Emmy also reminded me that I had thought very hard about going to her last night to seek both refuge and counsel, rather than to Trudie. But as fabulously as we had got on, she just didn't know me well enough. She had only seen the nervous crossdresser on her first public outing, trying to figure out her sexuality. She had no idea who Emile was. I had messaged her a couple of times to make it clear that I wanted to catch up with her - but after I had "worked some stuff out." That had to be the understatement of the year.

It had all come to a head on my next day of work at Warren's luxury penthouse apartment. I had been going there for months to act as his personal maid and secretary, and each and every day he had forced me to dress in female clothing. But this was the first time that I had worn makeup as well - and introduced myself to him as Dominique, or Nikki for short.

It had gone terribly at first. Distracted by his refusal to show any interest in my transformation, my work had suffered, and I made mistake after mistake. It was only after the pain and humiliation of a second spanking, and the arousal I felt when he was spreading a soothing lotion on my smarting buttocks, that the reaction came - but from me, not him. When he called me Nikki and began to milk (there was no other word for it) my stiff little dick, I was forced to tell him what I really wanted.

I had feared all along, from the very first time he demanded that I come to work for him in a pair of red panties, that he would use me sexually. I had become obsessed about what this powerful and ruggedly handsome older man would do to me, especially as it became clear that he had criminal connections and very likely personal experience of the prison environment that had exposed my sissy tendencies. I had fixated in particular on what I was certain was his excessively large manhood.

But it turned out that it was me who desired him, not the other way around. I had begged him to let me suck his cock, then exulted when he granted my wish.

It had not been as huge as I had imagined. But it was still big enough. And the load that he pumped all over my face was no less impressive.

I had thought then that we were on the verge of a new and exciting phase in our relationship. But how little did I know! Because the first thing he did was to send me off to answer the front door with his cum still sticking to my face and hair, while my own seeped out of my sodden panties and ran down my stocking-clad legs.

And who was the visitor? None other than Jillian, Warren's stepdaughter. And, of course, my wife

"Holy fuck!" exclaimed Trudie, even as Mikayla expressed her shock in similarly obscene terms. "Did she recognise you?" demanded the wide-eyed young redhead, peering at me intently through her horn-rimmed glasses.

"Yep," I said. "And she was ... well, shocked would be an understatement."

We had stared at one another for several seconds, before Warren's powerful voice sounded through the intercom. "Don't keep our guest waiting, Dominique, bring her up." Dominique, I noticed, not the less formal Nikki.

Fear and the habit of obedience fought a brief battle, which the latter won. I opened the door wide and stood aside. Jillian hesitated, then walked inside. Her eyes raked up and down me, taking in my dishevelled, cum-stained appearance.

I waited for her to ask why I looked the way I did - makeup, stockings, high heels, all of it. But to my surprise, she said nothing. After her initial consternation, she had recomposed her expression. But there was a hint of ... trepidation, perhaps? But also anticipation.

As for me, my insides were in turmoil. But that was nothing new.

"In here," called Warren from the lounge. I saw that he had put away the cock I had just so enthusiastically serviced, although it would not have surprised me in the slightest if he had left it hanging out of his unzipped pants. He gave an easy smile as he saw us. "Jillian, darling, so good to see you. Dominique, please take our guest's coat."

I turned automatically. My wife hesitated and shot her stepfather an inquiring glance. I didn't see his reaction, but whatever she saw there made her flinch slightly. Before I could ask what was wrong, she gave a shrug and unbuttoned her coat.

Underneath, she was wearing nothing but lacy black lingerie. No blouse, no skirt or pants: just underwear.

It was the kind of bra, panty and suspender belt that I had taken to wearing myself. Except that where I invariably chose an opaque material, this was fully see-through, exposing the wide brown nipples of her beautiful breasts - and also the fact that she had shaved off all her pubic hair. I couldn't help but stare at her smooth slit, wondering when she had done that. In the years I had known her, she had always trimmed her bush, never defoliated it completely.

But more importantly, I wondered why she was dressed this way. She was also, I noticed, wearing her highest heels. I should know, because I'd practiced in them often enough. But she generally only brought them out for special occasions ...

"Here you go ... Dominique," she said, thrusting the coat at me.

"Thank you, uh ..."

"Ma'am," prompted Warren. I could almost hear the grin.

"Ma'am," I repeated dutifully.

"Good girl," he said approvingly. "Now, come and give Daddy a nice big kiss."

I hesitated, but not so Jillian. She strode across the room to him, threw her arms around her stepfather's neck and kissed him. But it was not a stepdaughter's kiss. It was full on the mouth and with her lips parting to accept his tongue. As they embraced, she pressed her body into his. And his hands were not lightly resting on her waist. They were grabbing her ass, fondling her plump buttocks.

I stared open-mouthed at the sight of my scantily clad wife in the arms of my employer. And not just my employer, but the man who had come all over my face just minutes ago. A man whose cock, I now realised, I had been craving for weeks. And the man who had so effortlessly put me into feminised servitude.

I simply couldn't process what I was seeing. The embrace went on far past the point, in both duration and physicality, where it could be interpreted as a casual greeting. It could only say one thing about their relationship. Yet my brain baulked at the obvious conclusion. It was not just that I didn't want to believe it. I simply couldn't.

Except that I had to.

Even as he was kissing my wife, Warren was watching me wrestle with my altered reality. He didn't bother to disguise his amusement. When he had finished, he nodded at me, as if accepting and at the same time excusing my state of shock.

"Go and get yourself cleaned up, Dominique. And you'll want to get back into your maid's apron. You'll be cooking dinner for us. And then I think we might get a few things straightened out, don't you?"

I nodded automatically, but I was still in a daze. When I made no move, he raised an eyebrow and inclined his head towards the door.

I hesitated - and here it was yet again. The chance to take a stand, to resist his hold over me - and perhaps whatever hold he had over my wife as well. Perhaps the last chance I might have.

But there was no chance, not really. I didn't have it in me, and he knew it. And so, I realised with a sickening certainty, did Jillian as well. The look she gave me as I nodded in obedience and departed said it all. There was no disdain there, or disappointment. Just ... recognition.

And I understood too in that moment that she had known about me - about how I was dressing and what I was becoming. She had certainly been surprised to find me here, that was clear. Warren must have led her to believe that I would already have left for the day. Just as I had thought she was away for a few days at a conference. But her look was not the stare of a woman shocked to find her husband dressed as a woman. Whether she had found out herself or Warren had told her, I couldn't be sure. But find out she must have done.

The next few hours were painful, as much for what didn't happen as anything that did. After cleaning off Warren's spunk and repairing my makeup, I put my classic black and white French maid's outfit back on and resumed my duties. Besides wiping up the trail of cum I had left, I was required to serve pre-dinner drinks and then rustle up some food. "Surprise us," was my employer's only instruction.

I had been doing the bulk of the cooking at home for months, I knew pretty well what Warren liked, and the kitchen and larder were well stocked. So it wasn't too hard to whip up some seafood pasta and a Greek salad, with a lemon syrup sponge to follow, all of which were well received.