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From: "Jamie Bruce" <brucejamie@hotmail.com>
Subject: Carla's Panties Chapter 1 (femdom,humil,tv,tg)
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here is Carla's Panties Chapter 1 (femdom,humil,tv,tg)

Although inspired by a news story about a hapless employee of 
Donald Trump being jailed for four years for stealing a pair of 
Marla's panties and a pair of her high heels this story is a work of fiction 
and the characters bear no resemblance to actual persons living or 
dead.  

Copyright 1998 Jamie B.  All Rights Reserved.

The story is intended for mature audiences that enjoy male humiliation, 
feminine domination and cross dressing themes. Later chapters will 
contain strong sexual encounters. If these things offend you, or  you 
are below the age of majority  or stories of this kind are against the 
law in you  jurisdiction read no further. 

Otherwise enjoy....

Carla's Panties by Jamie B.

Chapter 1.

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.

To be continued....


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