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From: tigger@alices.com (Tigger)
Subject: ASSM: Revised Story: A Go-No Go Test Part 1 of 2 (FemDom, Romance, TV)
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This is a revised version of a story posted to alt.sex.stories 
about a year ago.  It is interesting how stories evolve.  This 
started as a "lady or the tiger" tale (or is that tail?), 
that is, I did not tell the reader how my hero fared in his 
Lady's eyes at the moment of truth.  

Ultimately, that ending offended my tiggishly romantical 
nature, and so, I finished it.  Vickie read it and told me
I had made my Domme-heroine wimp out, and sent me a *much*
better ending idea which is what I have used to make the
story you read here.


A Go No Go Test
by Tigger with Vickie Tern 
(she said I did not need to name her as co-author,
 so I didn't ... sorta)

Part I

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 framed
mirror that hung above her vanity table.  Only the antique
glass of the original piece had been replaced with a one way
mirror.  

Mistress had long ago shown me her secret viewing room.
She'd given me that gift one day after a scene during which
I'd panicked when she seemed to leave me alone in her house,
hopelessly bound.  I had been so upset, so frightened, that
she had, without a second thought, sacrificed that secret,
one 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 in there, behind the gleaming mirror -
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 unabashedly, 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.  And I was
completely nude.  Her last order before leaving me here was
to strip.  She had then taken all of my clothes with her,
and if I'd left after that, I had known with absolute
certainty that 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 have surprised 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, had suddenly gone
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.  Then, 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 training session when she
always makes me repeat it aloud before any training begins.

Some pretty severe scenes have come and gone without that
word being used "in anger".  Her hands relaxed the pressure
on my earlobe 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 tells 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."  

She stood and moved around to stand in front of me again,
lifting my chin upward to lock eyes with me.  "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 carton that she
set beside me on the bed.  She picked up my clothes and then
gave me a tender kiss on the lips.  "This" she said
indicating the UPS-postmarked box resting on the comforter,
"Was to have been part of your gift today, Henry.  Along
with your tuition at Mistress Vera's.  Well, you will use
this part of your gift today, anyway."

Her demeanor suddenly and dramatically changed, becoming
that of the stern, demandingly strict Mistress who owned and
shaped my darkest fantasies.  When next 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 really all
that painful - physically.  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 wardrobe. 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 very
dense.  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 bottle of depilatory
(thankfully, it was nearly full), read the directions and
applied the slippery goo all over my body from the neck
down.  

I silently thanked Mistress for all those flexibility-
enhancing exercises when I had to get the stuff between my
shoulder blades.  While the chemical sauve worked on my body
hair, I shaved off all my facial hair (including <sigh> my
mustache) and then did it a second time to ensure I was baby
smooth.  

Remembering my recent training in cosmetics and hair-care
from 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 that up later as my time was growing
ever shorter.  If, I reminded myself with a near sob, if
there *was* a later for me with Mistress.

I have had body hair since I was twelve years old.  The 
depilatory had done its 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, but 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 short time that remained in this test
period.  

An inspiration struck me and I ran to Mistress's bureau.  I
was after the jeans she wore when her monthly visitor
arrived, the pair that were 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
locked away in the *one* 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 for a male, but I did
not think I could wear any of her tailored 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
sexier 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* - by myself - without help. 
Then I remembered seeing a pro wrestler putting on his
championship belt - he had connected it in front, first, and
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 
only prayed that I would still be under her command later, 
so that I could pay for damaging her property.

I slipped the panties on, luxuriating in the feel of them
grazing up 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.  Well, I mused as I looked once again
into the mirror, that was one thing that was certainly in my
favor.  I would not have to apologize for the way my long,
sleekly muscled legs looked.  I  was getting even more
excited just looking at them myself. 

I had to stop, I ordered myself, and stopped to 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.  

I cowled a towel around my shoulders and neck to protect the
peach colored sweater, and then 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 for 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 highlighting and some
shaping of the eyes was all I had the time or the courage 
to attempt.  

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 cheek-bones,
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 end up smelling like a
stale horse stall in need of a good mucking out?  

Would she even bother to get close enough to me after this
to find out?

Idly, I wondered if the recent training in Good Mistress
Keeping, emphasizing, as they had, her daily toilette, might
have been pointing to this day.  Had those lessons been the
hints and clues I had thought she had not given me?  If so,
I had been too thick-headed 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 their hair quite 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 together, down against my head.  That was as close
as I was going to come.  

As I finished 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, and I did not know if that was going
to be enough this time. 

Technically, I knew I had done everything correctly, exactly
as Mistress had taught me.  If I had been dressing and
making up Mistress, 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 occurred to me in those last,
frantic, nearly hysterical seconds - I no longer had the
problem of a hard-on. Not with the outcome of next few
seconds determining if the love of my life was going to keep
me 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?


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