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Subject: A Go No-Go Test (TG, FemDom, FM)

A Go No-Go Test

The soft, slippery satin of her bed's comforter slid against the
skin of my buttocks and the backs of my thighs.

I felt so very alone.  Which is silly, I guess, because I knew I
wasn't really alone.  I even knew exactly where she was.
Furtively, my eyes stole over to the large, antique mirror that
hung above her vanity table.  It is a one way mirror.  She'd
shown me her viewing room the day I panicked when she'd left me
alone and bound.  I had been so upset, so frightened, that she
had sacrificed that secret, which I am sure she derived a lot
of pleasure from, for my peace of mind.  I think I fell
irrevocably in love with her that day.

And I knew she was there - watching, waiting, evaluating, judging.

I had never noticed before how intensely feminine her room was
before that very moment.  Frills and flounces, pastel colors, and
sweet, spicy potpourri are abundant in her special place.  Even
the bed canopy is stridently, blatantly feminine - like something
out of one of the Regency romance novels she insists I read aloud
for her listening pleasure.  I had never felt more out of place
in my life.  I was completely nude.  Her last order before
leaving me here was to strip.  She took all of my clothes with
her, and if I left after that, I knew I would not find them.

None of my previous lovers even guessed at my secret, and yet to
her, it was as if I had painted it on my forehead - "Secretly
wants to be dressed as a woman".  I guess it should not surprise
me.  She seems to see everything, and seems to miss nothing - at
least where I am concerned.  Still, her plans and schemes for
today came as a complete shock.  Maybe, if I had been prepared
for it, maybe if she had dropped some hints about what she wanted
me to do, I would have reacted differently, more positively.  She
had not prepared me, and I blew it.

This morning she told me we would be going to Mistress Vera's
where I would begin my training in the feminine arts.  Stunned, I
had argued with her. Mistress, who had been smiling when she told
me of her plans, became very cold and distant.  I could feel her
withdrawing from me emotionally even as she stepped up and got
into my face.  "Henry," she said very, very softly, "I have
already paid for your schooling and you *are* going - period!"
The last word was an explosion of sound that rocked me back on my
heels.  She grabbed my ear and started to march me to the door,
when I did something that shocked her.

I used my safe word.

All color drained out of her face, and she went stock-still, my
ear still pinched tightly between the nails of her thumb and
middle finger.  "What did you say?"  Her tone was disbelieving,
which is understandable.   In the six months since she first gave
me the word and explained its use and purpose, since I first gave
over my pride to her keeping and moved into her home, the only
time she has heard that word was at the start of a session when
she made me repeat it.  Some pretty severe scenes had come and
gone without that word being used.  Her hands relaxed when I
repeated the word.

"Why, Henry?  Why now, and for this?  Mistress Vera doesn't use
pain, and everything will be completely in private - I've told
you that.  You know cross dressing fascinates you, moves you.
Why have you stopped me?  Make me understand, love, please."  Her
voice took the soft, crooning tones that always gentled me, that
told me that everything was going to be all right.  I took my
first deep breath in what seemed like hours and shuddered.

"It is too much, Mistress.  It is too close.  I can't share that
with someone I don't know.  I can't do that, Mistress.  Please, I
just can't."  The emotion was too much and I looked away.
Gripping my arm, she led me to a chair, made me sit, and then sat
down opposite to me.

She sat staring at me for the longest time, just looking at me,
into me.  I fought to keep from squirming on my seat.  Finally,
her eyes cleared and she spoke to me.  "You said that you cannot
share it with someone you do not know, Henry.  The important
question is this. Can you share that part of yourself with me?"

I looked at her cautiously, and tried to make sense of what she
was saying, what she meant.  She gave me a grave look.  "You gave
yourself into my keeping, Henry.  If you can't share this with
me, then you must mean you don't know me, so how can you trust me
enough to continue as my slave?"

Oh God, was she going to send me away, make me leave?  I started
to speak, but she cut me off.  "I will accept, for now, what you
say about Mistress Vera, but you will give me this part of
yourself, Henry.  It is mine, just as the rest of your soul is
mine.  You gave it to me and I will have it all.  It will just be
more difficult for you to perform properly without Mistress
Vera's expert assistance, but you *will* learn to dress as a
woman.   You will become *superb* at dressing and you will serve
me in that role when I so desire it.  In return, I promise to
honor your limit not sharing that with others, until you say that
you are ready."

My heart was thudding out of control.  A piece of me was
crumbling, cracking under the strain.  "Henry, go to my room and
strip.  Neatly fold and stack your clothes then wait for me."
She stood and strode from the room.  After she left, I had taken
a few minutes to calm myself.  I had always feared that using the
codeword would have lead to my dismissal.  That hadn't happened,
but what had?  I really wasn't sure, but training took over and I
went to her room to follow her orders.

When she came for me, she carried a shipping box that she set
beside me on the bed.  She picked up my clothes and then gave me
a tender kiss on the lips.  "This was to have been part of your
gift today, Henry."  she said pointing to the UPS-postmarked box
beside me.  "Along with your tuition at Mistress Vera's.  Well,
you will use this part of your gift today, anyway."

Her demeanor changed, becoming that of the stern, demandingly
strict Mistress who owned and shaped my darkest fantasies.  When
she spoke, her voice was coldly unemotional and hard.  "This is a
go-no go test, Henry.  You have two hours to dress yourself, to
make yourself as convincingly feminine as you possibly can.  That
box, and anything else you can find in this room are available
for you to use.  Make good use of them, but in two hours, you
will walk through that door."  She indicated the bedroom's
hallway door.  "If I am pleased with you, I will meet you.  If
you do not try, or if you have not tried hard enough, I won't be
there, and you know what to do then."  Without another word or
backward glance, she spun on her heel and swept out of the room,
leaving me alone and bewildered in her feminine queen-dom.

A "go-no go" test is Mistress's form of a fealty test.  It means
that safe words have no meaning.  The tests are never physically
demanding or painful, but they are always emotionally difficult.
They also butt right up against the boundaries of what I believe
my limits are at the time to the test.  My first such test was
when the I had presented myself for correction for the very first
time - a bare bottomed, over-the-knee, hand spanking.  As I said,
the test had not been painful at all.  It was my ego that took
that beating.  My face had been far redder than my ass ever got,
but the emotion of that act had nearly unmanned me.

Failure of a go-no go test means that Mistress has determined
that we had reached an incompatibility impasse that would
preclude our continuing together.  In that case, I am required to
go to my apartment over her garage and close the door to her
home.  The dead bolt on the house side of the door will then lock
behind me.  The garage apartment will remain mine to use until I
can find another place, but she has assured me that I will never
again be allowed in her home.  Even the thought of such an exile
chills my soul.

I opened the parcel to find two other boxes inside bearing the
name "Michael Salem".  In one box was a pair of high heeled
shoes, while the other contained two realistic, silicone gel
breast forms that jiggled eerily in my shaking hands.

I noted with relief that the shoe heels were only a couple inches
high, not like the stilts Mistress preferred.  They would still
be a challenge for me, though.  A quick check showed that they
fit - perfectly.  I should not have expected otherwise.

Setting her gifts aside, I went to the mirror and examined
myself.  Six months of nightly aerobics and tri-weekly weight
work under her supervision had tightened me up and taken off any
excess weight.  What I saw was a six feet tall (ok, five feet
eleven inches), 150 pound male.  The aerobics had left my muscles
long and lithe, like a runner, instead of bulky.  At this weight,
my torso is quite slender, so I did not worry about finding
something that would fit in Mistress's clothes.  Everything would
be short on me, but it would fit around me.  I sighed again.
Lord, but it was just so very hard.

I shook myself.  The clock was ticking, and I had to get moving.
Unfortunately, I am dark haired, and my body hair is profuse.  It
has amused Mistress to have me remain hairy, except for my cock
and balls which are shaved and inspected regularly.  I would have
to do something about that. Checking the clock, I knew there was
not enough time to shave all over.  I grabbed her depilatory
(thankfully, it was nearly full), read the directions and applied
the slippery goo all over my body from the neck down.  I thanked
Mistress for all those flexibility-enhancing exercises when I had
to get the stuff between my shoulder blades.  While it worked, I
shaved my face (including <sigh> my mustache) twice.

Remembering my lessons in caring for Mistress, I used her
tweezers to thin and shape my brows as she had taught me to do
for her.  By the time that was completed, the depilatory's
waiting period had passed and I was starting to burn from the
chemicals on my skin, particularly between the cheeks of my ass.
I showered, soaping down and rinsing twice to soothe my skin.  I
was amazed at the mass of hair caught in the trap.  I would have
to clean up later as my time was growing ever shorter.  If, I
reminded myself, if there was a later.

I have had body hair since I was twelve years old.  The chemical
had done it's work well.  No hair was visible below my brows.  My
body was tinged pink and still burned slightly from the
chemicals, but I was a hairless as a babe,... as hairless as
Mistress.

What to wear?  My deepest, darkest fantasy is that of the slut,
the vamp, the female as the voracious hunter.  I discarded that
with a shrug.  I wasn't up to that.  I wasn't skilled enough,
brave enough or confident enough to pull that one off in the time
that remained.  A thought struck me and I ran to Mistress's
bureau.  I was after the jeans she wore when her monthly hit, the
pair that was a few sizes larger than her normal jeans.  That
drawer was locked.  The only pants Mistress wore were jeans,
preferring to emphasize her femininity in her dress so the effect
of her dominance was all the more overpowering.  And all of those
jeans were in the drawer that was denied to me.

That meant I was going to be in a dress or in skirts, but which
outfit?  On careful consideration, I elected to go
conservatively. My chest is slender, but I did not think I could
wear any of her dresses or her fitted blouses with the breast
forms she obviously intended me to use.  I got out one of her
stretchy, knitted cowl neck sweaters, then added a frilly bra and
panty set, and a matching garter belt and hosiery.  I looked
longingly at the more sexy lingerie in her drawer - the corselets
and the teddies - but passed them by.  This was a test, and I did
not dare screw up by lampooning myself.  She had said - feminine,
not caricature.  I pulled a matching skirt from the closet, one
that I knew was longer and looser than she normally wore.
Mistress did not have anything to reduce my waist measurement
that did not require lacing.  I did not dare waste time figuring
out how to do that without her assistance.

I started to dress.  In front of the mirror, I pulled the
brassiere on and tried to hook the clasp behind me, trying to
stretch and strain to make those infernal hooks meet.  I had
never seen Mistress put one on because helping her dress was a
function I performed whenever I was with her.  A bra was easy to
fasten on someone else, but I was stumped as to how I would get
one on *me*.  Then I remembered seeing a pro wrestler putting on
his championship belt - he connected it in front, then spun it
around him.  I did the same with the bra. Getting the shoulder
straps on and straight was another trick, but finally, I made it.

I had been correct in choosing the sweater instead of a blouse or
dress - the breast forms were only B's and while Mistress was a
C, the bra was still very . . . prominent once the forms were
inserted.  It occurred to me that I was probably ruining the bra,
but I had no time to change.

I slipped the panties on, luxuriating in the feel of them against
my hairless, sensitized legs.  I looked at myself and suddenly
felt quite silly - a hard on stretched the panties as badly as my
chest was stretching out the bra.

I started to get worried - I did not look at all feminine to me.
Oh god, please don't let me fail!!!

Recent experience with dressing her helped me get quickly into
the hose.  I did not think I could get harder, but the
indescribable sensation of the silky stockings gliding up,
unrolling onto my legs almost made me lose control and orgasm
right there.  One thing was certain.  I would not have to
apologize for the way my long, well muscled legs looked.  I was
getting even more excited just looking at them myself.

I had to stop, and take some cleansing deep breaths. I did not
have permission to orgasm, and this was a test.

A look at the clock showed only twenty minutes left.  Where *had*
the time gone to??  I slipped the sweater on and zipped up the
side zip on the skirt.  I ran to the vanity to make up my face.
Putting a towel over my front to protect the peach colored
sweater, I did a double take at the sight of breasts protruding
from my chest.  Unconsciously, I raised my hands to cup and feel
them, to test their weight in my palms.  The mismatch of
sensation in my hands that said "tits" and the lack of sensation
in my chest gave me a momentary pause to regain composure.

I elected to try what I call Mistress's "going shopping, semi-casual
look".  A little color (I really didn't need much I was
blushing so hard), a little highlight and some shaping of the
eyes was all I had the time or the courage to try.  A quick
foundation coat covered the remnants of my beard.  I used a light
liner to darken my eyes and bring out their green/gold
highlights.  I darkened my brows and lashes and then used her
lightest blusher to highlight my cheekbones, but with fire red of
my blushes, it was hard to see what good it did.  I used a pink
lipstick to coat my lips and then added a slightly darker shade
with a brush to outline the lips.  I added light touches of her
everyday scent behind my ears and at my wrists.  Would it combine
favorably with my body chemistry, or would I smell like stale
flowers?  Would she even bother to get close enough to me after
this to find out?

Idly, I wondered if the recent lessons in Mistress caring,
emphasizing, as they had, her daily toilette, might have been
pointing to this day.  Had those lessons been the hint I thought
she had not given me?  If so, I had been too dense to pick up on
them.

A look at the clock showed I had only five minutes left.

My heart nearly stopped as I realized I had done nothing about my
hair. Precious seconds were lost in nearly blind panic as I tried
to recall if Mistress owned a wig.  I had never seen her in one
and I didn't have time to look.

I looked at my own, longish (for a male) dark brown hair.  It
wasn't much over my ears, but didn't some very feminine women
wear it short these days?  I grabbed her hair dressing mousse and
worked a liberal amount into my hair.  It became wet looking and
shiny in the light.  Frantically, I combed it into several
different looks, trying to find something that looked "feminine".
Finally, I combed against the normal lay of my hair, so that the
hair had to lie backwards from its normal training.  That gave me
a wave effect on the top of my head with the mousse holding the
ends down against my head.  That was as close as I was going to
come.  Combing the rest of my hair over my ears, I saw another
deficiency. I had no jewelry on.  Earrings were out of the
question - Mistress's ears are pierced.  Mine aren't yet,
although she has indicated that was in the plans.  I had to find
something.  Pulling off the towel, I made a dash to her jewelry
box.  A frantic search for suitable accessories yielded a long
gold chain necklace that I put around the cowl, and let fall
between my (????) breasts, along with a matching bracelet that I
slipped onto my wrist.

Less than a minute to go by the clock on her bedside table.  How
many seconds?  Not enough.  I slipped on the shoes and minced
back to the mirror. I saw a tall, wavy haired person, wearing a
peach colored sweater and skirt.  I felt mostly foolish and, at
best, androgynous.  I stood there, peering into the mirror,
staring at myself, trying to find a feminine person, if not a
woman in my reflection.  I looked for whatever Mistress would
look for in judging me at this test.  All I could see was me.
Technically, I knew I had done everything correctly, as Mistress
had taught me.  If I had been dressing and making up her, she
would have looked great.   But then, she always did look great.
The problem was that I knew how to make her up, but what worked
for her may not have been correct for me.  Oh, God, please.

One almost positive thing - I no longer had the problem of a hard
on.  The next few seconds were going to determine if the love of
my life was going to keep or reject me.  I was limp.

From the hall, the bell sounded.  My two hours were up.  Taking a
deep breath, I walked carefully to the door, pleased that I could
manage the heels with so little trouble.  I gripped the doorknob,
and stopped again.  Would she make me go away???  Oh god, please,
no!  I steeled myself, turned the knob, and opened the door to
find........

The Lady or the Tiger?

I opened my eyes, and saw only the hallway wall opposite her
bedroom.  Slowly, I turned to the stairs.  I would do this right
at least.  I would not cry until I was alone.

"Oh Henry?"  Her voice echoed softy, teasingly from behind me.  I
spun and saw her standing there, partially hidden by the door.
She was *smiling*.  I did not dare ask, but she spoke first.
"Well done, darling."  She walked up and stood on tip toe to kiss
my lips.  It felt so . . . different when the lipstick was on my
side of the kiss.  "Now, run along and change into the clothes I
have laid out in your room.  We have to go shopping for some
things of your own, don't we?"  Her brow quirked in challenge.

Joy bubbled forth, the sudden switch from the black depression of
only seconds before was almost orgasmic.  "Oh, god, yes,
Mistress.  Thank you!"  She permitted and returned the tight hug
I could not restrain.

Releasing her reluctantly, I turned to hurry down the hall to the
room that was mine when she wanted me in her house.  She giggled
and then called to me.  I stopped and turned back to her.  "Don't
forget to clean off your makeup, darling."

I laughed happily.  She was right.  I would not have thought to
remove it.  I was just so very, very happy!

 It *had* been the Lady.

Only, this Lady was also the Tiger.

