Carla's Panties Chapter 1 (femdom,humil,tv,tg)

My life was about to change in a major way, but it started with a simple phone
call. Peter, the soft sexy voice on the other end inquired. This is Cherie, Mr.
Bridge's private secretary. He would appreciate your coming to the house this
afternoon at three. Is that possible? How could I say no to my boss, and his
beautiful, sultry voiced secretary? Good, she replied coolly, we'll expect you at
three then. Also Mr. Bridge asks you not to make any appointments for the rest of
the afternoon or tomorrow. This piece of information made me nervous. First what
did the man want with me. We had  met for my monthly report less than a week
previously, also the nature of my work for him required no appointments with
outside individuals. A knot formed in the bottom of my stomach, that refused to
go away as the day went on. Something was wrong, but I didn't have a clue what it
was. The Bridge mansion is typical of the excesses of the super rich in south
Florida. A palace that defies description. This visit I parked and walked up to
the side entrance without paying much attention to the pink stucco splendor or
the magnificent gardens. My security card let me through the door and I followed
the familiar path through the glittering baroque hallways to Mr. Bridge's office
wing. Good afternoon Peter, Cherie greeted me, as cool as she had been on the
phone. For a moment I wondered if she ever lost her cool, and what she was like
then, but the thought was quickly gone as she indicated I should go straight in
to the man's office. Now I knew something was wrong, he always kept me waiting.
The large double door closed silently behind me. I stood just inside the room
while Mr. Bridge apparently engrossed on the phone sat behind his ornate desk, 30
feet across the room. Covering the phone with his hand he waived me into one of
the two high backed leather chesterfield chairs facing the desk. That was when I
got my second shock, Mrs. Bridge, the beautiful Carla was sitting in the other
chair. Trying to hide my shaking legs and sweaty hands I nodded to her and sat in
the other chair. She rewarded me with one of her dazzling, completely vacant,
smiles and flicked her long mane of silver gold hair, uncrossing and crossing her
long slinky legs so that my heart rate double over its already dangerous pace.
Bridge finished his call replaced the phone and turned to me. Without preamble he
reached down into an apparently open desk draw and threw a pair of blue silk
panties across the desk at me. Care to explain these he asked evenly. When I went
to stammer out my protests of innocence he cut me short. Don't bother to lie,
throwing two more pairs of panties at me. They hit my chest and landed on my lap.
Their Carla's, he stated flatly, and we found them in your apartment. What were
you doing in my apartment I asked, desperately trying to shift the focus away
Retrieving my wife's underclothes, he retorted. My heart sank as a pair of white
high heel shoes appeared from the same location as the panties. And her shoes he
added with quiet emphasis. Mrs. Bridge knew nothing about it I confessed. I stole
them during my visits here. He gave a short humorless laugh. Oh I know Carla
didn't reward you with her panties, she spent too long getting to where she is to
risk it all on an adventure with a nothing like you. I'm sorry, I pleaded, don't
call the police. I don't want to go to jail. You have to pay, Bridge demanded. I
cannot have it spread around that employees wear my wife's underwear. Blushing,
tears running down my face I protested my innocence. I didn't wear them. You're a
liar, he challenged, never raising his voice. We had them tested, your semen was
found in the crotch What do you want of me, I asked, knowing I had no defense or
dignity left. Either jail, or a public humiliation greater than Carla has
suffered. What do you have in mind I asked, hoping that somehow I could avoid
jail. For the first time she spoke up, her voice as soft and sexy as I had always
fantasized, but saying words I had never imagined, and could hardly comprehend
through my fog of fear, embarrassment and humiliation. We think it is appropriate
if we put you into a nice party dress, and you make your grand entrance at the
staff garden party here tomorrow night. My world came to a sudden end as her
words sunk in. That will ruin me, I protested. I imagine so she responded coolly,
but that is what Harold and I want. Who knows, he added, it might be the start of
a new career. I understand there are always openings at the local clubs for
female impersonators. For your sake I hope so, because your career as a private
banker is finished. All pretense of dignity was gone, I sobbed like a child, so
ashamed and frightened by what was going on, please don't make me appear in front
of my friends in a dress. I'll lose my girlfriend, everybody will laugh at me and
I'll never be able to show my face in Miami again. I'll do anything you want in
private but not in front of my friends. To late, Bridge answered, no hint of
mercy in his voice. You should have thought about that before you jacked off in
my wife's panties. You'll do it or you'll go to jail. Which is it going to be?
>From the tone of his voice I knew that the moment of decision had arrived.
Trying to pull myself together I looked over to Mrs. Bridge. Do you understand
what this is going to do to me I asked, pleading with my eyes for mercy. She
looked back at me levelly, no hint of emotion in her beautiful doe like eyes. I
imagine some of the women will find it amusing. Your macho male colleagues will
be shocked and very uncomfortable in your company. Within 72 hours the fact that
you appeared at a Bridge function in full female attire will have made the rounds
of the financial community and I assume your chances of getting any sort of
position other than secretary would be slim. And you think that is suitable
punishment for stealing your clothing. I asked Yes, the thought that a strange
man was performing sex acts in his wife's most intimate underwear caused my
husband a great deal of anguish. Not to mention the embarrassment when he had to
entrust other employees to retrieve them from your apartment. Taking a tissue
from the box beside my chair I tried to pull myself together. Turning to Mr.
Bridge I gave him the victory I knew he craved. Well, I guess I have no choice.
What sort of dress do I have to wear? He smiled. The joy of the kill clear on his
face. Carla is in charge of your wardrobe. You walk free if you cooperate with
her completely, turn up at the party tomorrow evening and leave when we say you
can. Any attempt to run or hide and my bodyguards find you, dress you in Carla's
clothes, break both your legs and drop you off at the nearest police station
where I'll sign a complaint of theft. Is that clear? Very clear, although I kept
quiet, this man didn't like opposition of any type, and my fate was very clear. I
heard the sound of nylon brushing against nylon as Carla uncrossed her legs and
stood up. Bridge dismissed me with a wave of his hand. Not sure what I should do
I followed Carla across the room. Just as we got to the door Bridge spoke again.
By the way you're fired. Your office has been cleaned out and your personal
belongings will be delivered to your apartment. There will be no separation
cheque. Consider that it is going to pay for your dress and accessories. I
followed Carla out of the office without a word, trying to console myself that I
was lucky to be getting away with my body in one piece. As we walked down the
corridor I caught a glimpse of the preparations on the terrace for the party.
Involuntary I shuddered trying to put out of my head the picture I saw of myself
walking through the door into the crowd. Carla ushered me through the labyrinth
of corridors to her office. In the reception area a statuesque woman about the
same age as Mrs. Bridge, attractive with long black hair done bouffant style sat
behind an oak desk typing at a work station. Cathy this is Peter, she explained
taking her phone messages from the girl Ah yes, the girl replied, eyeing me up
and down, a hint of amusement in her eyes. Well, what do you think, can you pull
off a transformation. Cathy looked at me then back to Carla. Mrs. Bridge by
tomorrow evening his mother will swear he was born a girl. Carla laughed, soft,
throaty and totally sexy. I can hardly wait. Turning to me she added, if you
thought wearing my panties was sexy, just wait until Cathy gets you into a
complete outfit. I couldn't help myself. Mrs. Bridge I never wore your underwear.
I swear. She smiled. It was of no consequence to her if I was lying or telling
the truth. The outcome would be the same. Well then we'll correct that tomorrow
evening. I'll have a pair of my nicest lace panties waiting for you when you
arrive. You can slip them on under your dress before you join your friends. With
that now familiar laugh she added. We wouldn't want you embarrassed if you fell
over or your skirt blew up, would we? Seeing the look on my face she leaned
forward and pecked me on the cheek, her perfume enveloping me. Cheer up Peter,
there are worse things in life than putting on a pretty party dress and high
heels. Then to Cathy, OK he's all yours. With that she walked away, leaving me
feeling as if I were going to throw up or pass out. Cathy took charge
immediately. Putting on a jacket from the closet she ushered me out of the
office, through a side door into what I took to be the private parking area.
Indicating a Mercedes roadster she jumped into the drivers seat with a flash of
tanned thigh that under normal circumstances would have raised my blood pressure.
Instead I climbed sadly into the passengers side restraining my curiosity about
our destination quite sure I would get no pleasure from it. As we drove towards
the freeway Cathy talked, friendly without warmth, casual while in control, and
clearly expecting no resistance. We don't have much time today, she told me, so I
have scheduled only preliminary stuff. Tomorrow we'll go into high gear. Have you
ever done this before? I shook my head. That's no problem as long as I know ahead
of time. I'll book a hairdresser, professional makeup session, and we'll plan on
buying you everything. One thing about working for the Bridge's you always go
first cabin, so this should be quite an experience for you. We lapsed into
silence as the car joined the freeway and rocketed towards central palm beach. As
we took the exit into the trendy part of town my curiosity got the better of me.
Where are we going I asked above the road noise. To Elizabeth Arden's she
replied. Mrs. Bridge uses them exclusively, there very good. Is that for makeup I
asked. Perplexed why this was to be the first step and why today. No that's
tomorrow she replied, pulling sharply into the valet parking slot. Walking into
the glass atrium entrance, today is preparation, she continued without
elaboration. A stylish women with lacquered blonde hair rose from behind a tiny
gilt table. As she approached a smile crossed her face as she recognized Cathy.
Right on time, she complimented us. Come this way, were ready for you. She lead
us deep into the building past mysterious closed doors that I would later find
were cubicles where the women of the rich and famous came to be pampered and kept
in top condition. She chatted brightly with Cathy about the season seemingly
oblivious of the fact I was a man in this women's preserve. We came to a door
that the guide opened, indicating I should pass through. As I did Cathy informed
me she would be using the spa and gym and would meet me back at the front later.
I was left alone with the Arden women. She consult some notes on her clipboard.
Please undress completely and lie down on the couch she instructed, Janice will
be your operator today. What am I here for I asked timidly. Not knowing if I
wanted to know or not. Again the notes were consulted. A complete body wax, nail
preparation and breast prosthesis, she informed me without blinking an eye. It
should take about 2 to 3 hours. Tea will be served she added as she turned to
leave the room. For my part I was so shocked I stood as if rooted to the spot.
The room was bright, spotlessly white, with bright overhead lights and a
contoured leather couch similar to a dentist's in the center of the room. Various
doors hinted at cupboards behind, filled with god alone knows what. But my eyes
were taken by a portable table and stand on the far side of the couch, beside an
operators stool. With shaking limbs I walked around to it and lifted the towel. I
had never had a waxing before but the strips of material and tubes neatly laid
out under the towel clearly were reserved for that task. This was no dream. I was
really living it, and with every passing moment it was shaping into a nightmare.
Looking around I tried a door adjacent to the one I had entered through.
Thankfully it opened into a small toilet and I was able to relieve myself for the
first time since this nightmare had started. I reluctantly removed my clothes,
feeling that I should put up some kind of fight. But in all honesty I knew from
the time Bridge had produced Carla's panties I was lost. I had worked for the man
for five years and seen him in operation a thousand times. What he wanted he got,
or else. The thought of my feminization frightened me, but not nearly as much as
the thought of him getting it in to his mind to get even with me for slighting
his new wife. All I could do was to bear the humiliation that would be heaped on
me. After it was over would be the time to look at what was to be done. For now
my job was to become feminine enough to satisfy the Bridge's need for revenge. My
thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a door opening in the main room, before
I could react a statuesque black women was standing in the opening doorway taking
in my nakedness. I grabbed at the small hand towel to cover myself, but the women
introducing herself as Janice seemed unconcerned, smiling as she ushered me back
to the couch. Laying out on the cold adhesive leather I arranged the towel like a
loincloth while Janice discretely made her preparations with her back turned.
Swinging around on her stool she surveyed my body. Well dear she announced in a
soft husky voice dripping with a southern drawl, you're don't have much body
hair, we should have this over with real quick. Now this towel is going to be a
real problem she said. Lift your hips up honey. As I complied she deftly folded
it into a strip slipping it between my legs. OK, that meets your needs for
modesty, then when we become better aquatinted we can get rid of it OK. Seeing
the startled look on my face she tried to reassure me. Honey I see all my clients
buck naked. How else can I give them a nice bikini line?. But not men? Oh honey,
she replied, laying a soft hand on my shoulder. I do at least one man a day.
Elizabeth Arden understands there are men who like to be pretty girls, and we
have the facilities to make it possible. So you lay back and relax, were going to
be good friends and I'm going to help make your dreams come true. I  would be
hard pressed to remember another hour when I had endured as much pain or
discomfort. Working from my ankles Janice started by smearing on what looked like
clear glue. A rectangle of material was then pressed over the matted mess of glue
and hair, then torn off leaving a patch of bare skin that felt as if a hundred
bees had attacked t the same time. By the time she reached my neck the towel had
long gone, the floor was littered with patches of my hair attached to discarded
pieces of cloth and I looked and felt like a plucked chicken. Apart from the hair
on my head and a tiny v pubic patch I was completely smooth and hairless. The
worst is over she assured me as she laid down a bead of lotion along my shin.
This part you will like she said massaging the creme into my leg with both hands.
 I closed my eyes, enjoying the rhythm of her hands and the cool creme against my
burning skin. The smell of roses and vanilla filled the room, I rolled over on my
stomach mindless that her hands were massaging my buttocks with a familiarity I
would not of believed an hour ago, the feeling was simply too pleasant to allow
modesty to intervene. When she had finished it was hard to believe it was my
skin. self consciously I ran my fingertips down the outside of my thigh. If felt
and looked like satin. My whole body had a healthy glow, a light tan and this
incredible feminine silkiness. I would never have believed it possible. Every
time you bathe massage all over with this creme Janice instructed. You'll need a
touch up with the wax in two to three weeks, but for god's sake don't use a razor
anywhere but your face. I thought girls shaved their legs I asked. Seeing the
pained look come over Jane's face I realized the question had been a mistake. Not
Arden ladies she replied her tone making clear that was the last word on the
subject. OK lie on your back, completely flat and close your eyes she ordered
wiping her hands in another of the never ending supply of pink towels. I heard
her moving around. Then she was placing something cold and flat on my chest. It
felt like a rubber material and my curiously began to get the better of me. No
she ordered pushing my head back against the couch. Be patient just a minute
more. And keep your eyes closed. Its a surprise. I smelled glue as she spread
liquid across my upper chest.  Then the pressure of her fingers pressing the
rubber material into contact with the glue. Now it dawned on me what was
happening. I felt the blood rush into my face and neck, even before she told me I
could open my eyes and confirm my chest now supported two well developed
amazingly lifelike female breasts. My field of view was dominated by them. It
seemed they had taken over my chest, pink nipples poking out of the dark erourla,
the breasts themselves melding into my own skin so that I had to look to see  the
join. Instinctively my hands came up and cupped them. They even felt lifelike,
already taking on my body heat. Oh my god was all I could manage, there huge. Not
really Janice informed me, 36B. Which is just the right proportion for your
height. But , but I stammered in a complete panic, they stick out so much
everybody will see them. That's the idea darling, in her slow drawl, can't be a
sexy girl with a flat chest. I flopped back onto the couch, face burning at the
thought of walking around like this. God I could hide my skin but not these
mammies. It started to dawn on me these people were deadly serious in their
efforts to make me look like a women. The scary thing was that they were
succeeding. My head spun and I alternated between hot flushes and a clammy cold
sweat when I thought of the people I worked with seeing me this way. Oh Jesus, I
said, suddenly remembering. Returning to her work station Janice overhead me.
What's the problem. Before I could stop myself, I blurted out I have a date with
my fiancee tonight. Does she know about this interest of yours she asked, one
eyebrow cocked. She has absolutely no idea I replied. How could she I asked
myself, until today I had no idea. Well then she replied laconically, dinner
tonight should be very interesting. Sliding her stool up she took my hand in hers
and went to work on my fingernails with an emery board. 30 minutes later she
changed sides leaving my left hand beautifully manicured with long fire red false
fingernails. Intrigued I attempted to pick up the nail polish  bottle and found
that such an apparently simple task took on a whole new complexity. How am I ever
supposed to do anything with these damn talons the original idea was that ladies
with long fingernails had servants and other ladies in waiting to perform such
mundane tasks as dressing and picking up after them. Nowadays as you will find
out you adapt quickly. Within a week you'll snap zippers and buttons with the
best of them. Tonight you might have to get your fiancee to help you with your
garter belt she teased. I lapsed into silence at the mention of Susan, staring at
the ceiling as Janice worked away at the remaining fingers wondering what I would
tell her and how she would react. You have such lovely hands, she remarked, as
she opened the nail polish. You really should have been a girl. I blushed, unable
to think of anything to say, the fumes from the drying nail polish making my head
spin even more than the inner termoil. OK all done she announced, give your nails
a minute to dry and you can get dressed. That turned out to be easier said than
done. My underpants and trousers took only a little fumbling. Grasping the zipper
proved difficult but I got I got the hang of it after a few attempts. My shirt,
or rather my breasts, proved to be the problem. I got the shirt buttoned but it
formed so tightly around my protruding breasts I  looked grotesque. I could
hardly see through the tears of anger and humiliation to pull on my socks and
shoes. I can't go through with this I sobbed sitting on the closed toilet, my
head in my hands. I had never felt so miserable or alien. I didn't feel like me ,
I certainly didn't look like me, and I didn't know who I was becoming. For the
first time since childhood the tears flowed, and I let my emotions free run. A
girl needs a good weep every so often, a voice from the doorway said. I looked
up. Cathy fresh as a button in white track pants and top stood leaning in the
doorway, casual relaxed and not the slightest sympathetic. I'm not a girl I
protested. Why is everybody so eager to make me into one. Because you'll look so
sweet she answered, then added, I bet when we get you in a dress you'll love it.
Your kidding, right, wiping my eyes with some toilet paper. Oh no she answered,
deadly serious. Your the type Peter. Once you experience the full underwear,
dress, makeup trip you'll be sold. We'll all have to watch out for our panties
then. Your sick. Maybe darling, we'll see. she replied, sweetly, not in the least
upset. Anyway are you ready to go home? Can we go out the back way I asked with
more hope than I felt. Sorry darling, came the predictable reply. I have to sign
us out. But the car is right at the curb. I put on my sunglasses and braced
myself for the ordeal. My stomach had no bottom and my legs felt like jelly. I
willed myself to look straight ahead and ignore the stares of the few people we
passed. It seemed to take for ever for Cathy to complete the paperwork. I kept my
back to the foyer studiously studying the display of cremes and makeup in the
wall displays, my arms crossed in an attempt to conceal my bulging chest. Learned
anything, Cathy asked me, grinning at my attempts to escape notice. Very funny I
answered, blushing despite myself. You'll look back on this and smile she said,
leading the way out to the car, when your walking down the boulevard in a tight
skirt and heels checking out who's looking. Oh sure I answered, slipping quickly
into the comparative anonymity of the open topped coupe. Just wait, she said
slipping into the drivers seat and briskly tooling the car out into the evening
traffic, you are going to take to being a girl like a duck takes to water. I can
just tell. Cathy, how can you say that? I don't mind admitting that I am
absolutely shit scared of putting on a dress tomorrow. Its going to be the end of
my career, most of my friends and probably most of my self respect. We pulled out
of the on ramp and accelerated into the freeway traffic, before she answered. Be
honest, she said, while you have all of those fears, don't you also have a
tingling up the back, a little electric shock in the head when you think of what
the dress is going to feel like or your legs in stockings? No I replied. But from
the sideways glance and sardonic smile on her lips I knew she didn't believe me.
The rest of the trip was made in silence. When we reached my apartment I had her
drive into the underground parking lot and drop me off at the elevator. Have a
good nights sleep, she instructed as I stepped out of the car. I'll pick you up
around 8.30. blowing me a kiss she roared off squealing her tires. I kept my
fingers crossed that the elevator didn't stop on the main floor, but luckily it
went directly to my floor. I checked out the hallway and made a dash for the
door, fumbled the key in my haste. Finally the lock clicked, I pushed the door
open and found myself face to face with Susan.