A Go No Go Test

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

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 seemed to leave 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 tell 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 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?

The hall was empty. I was alone, and I would now have to face a life alone without her. Tears burned at my eyes, and I blinked hard to hold them back. Not now, I thought, and not here. I could hold out until I was in my rooms, couldn't I?

Maybe.

Slowly, I turned toward the stairs and began to move stiffly in the strange high heels.

"Oh Henry?"

Her voice echoed softy, teasingly from behind me. I spun about quickly, almost falling, and saw her standing there, partially hidden by the still opened 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.

"It feels different, doesn't it, darling, almost like a woman kissing a woman, doesn't it?"

"Yes Mistress".I felt so relieved my eyes began to tear up again. She noticed and handed me a tissue.

"Careful of your mascara," she said. "We wAnt to keep it looking nice, don't we. You worked very hard to give that to me and I don't want you to damage your gift to me."

"Yes, Mistress," I blotted it gently,

"I see that you've given me all your body hair, even your moustache, so that you've now dedicated the way you look to pleasing me. Never mind what others may think about how you look. Isn't that so?" Slowly I nodded and she grinned, teasingly. "You'll have a lot to explain in the office on Monday, but you have nothing further to explain to me, do you?" With the terror-driven adrenalin rush waning, the full impact of what I had just done to my appearance hit me. I had made major changes to my appearance, and many would not wash away like the cosmetics highlighting my features.

A devilish smile answered my look of confused horror, but then, her hand touched mine in an almost surreptitious show of support. That one moment, those two seemingly discordant gestures, were like an epiphany for me, a revelation. It was all there for me, at last. On one hand, she was testing me, pushing me and the limits I thought I still had, and yet, with her other hand, she supported me and assured me that she was there for me.

I only thought that I had given myself to her before that instant. I had been wrong in that, because I had not fully understood before that the giving went both ways. Yes, she would test me in the future, and she would still be able to find those little dark places in my soul that frightened me. And she would take me to those places because it gave her pleasure to see me accept those torments, to see me fight those dragons, but that was all right. She was my Mistress - I would do those things for her and she would protect me even as she pressed me to give more than I thought I had to give.

In that moment, the gift was truly given.

"No, Mistress." I said quietly. "I am so very happy that you have accepted my gift."

"No, Henry, what you gave me was really already mine. What I have accepted is what your gift represents to you, and the fact that you chose to give it. Remember, your hair was always mine to dispense with as I chose. But this time, you chose to live without it, to make yourself a more credible woman, not me."

"Yes Mistress." I wasn't sure where she was going, but she wasn't angry with me, so I was content. Content to listen, content to see where she wanted to take us, and content to follow where she led.

"Because that is what I wanted for you. Because your soul is mine. You gave me a part of your soul I had never asked for, until now, and you gave it without my asking. Come, let's go back into my bedroom."

Once there again, she stood me in front of her full length mirror and stood just behind me, caressing my blouse, adjusting my skirt, massaging the still tense muscles in my shoulders and back.

"What do you see, Henry.?"

"A woman." Then I realized that was wrong. Surprised by what I saw, my voice dropped to an awed whisper. "Two women, Mistress."

"Yes, dear. That is what I see, too. Do you see Henry there?"

"No."

"No, and neither do I. If I had seen anything of Henry when you walked into the hallway just now, you would have walked down the hall and out the front door, to make your way home looking like Henry in women's clothing. The inside door to your apartment above the garage is locked. No matter the embarrassment to you if anyone had seen you creeping up the stairs to the apartment. I wouldn't have cared because you would not have been able to care enough for me to give me this part of you. You would have been of no further interest to me. But to become this woman you see, you had to sacrifice all of Henry's appearance, didn't you?"

"Yes." The word barely got out as I realized how close I had come this day to losing her.

"No one can see Henry in this woman." Again, she soothed me, brought me back just a step from the edge of my terror. "Her hair needs work, it needs to be longer and maybe just a touch lighter, but it isn't too bad, It's a woman's hair. You'd want it to look even more like a woman's hair if you knew how wouldn't you? For me?"

I could not speak, I could only nod my agreement to anything that would make her happy.

Pleasure at my nonverbal agreement shown in the eyes of the other woman in the mirror. "And for anyone who might see you, in the street, as well. In the mall, for example. A woman dresses to be seen. She makes herself beautiful to be seen and valued by many, knowing she belongs to just one person and is all the more valuable for that. Isn't that so?"

"Yes Mistress." I put my hands together in front of me to stop the sudden shaking of my fingers.

"Well, now that you are quite presentable, I want you to be seen. I want your soul's new look appraised and found fully feminine. My soul's new appearance. Do you understand?"

"Yes Mistress." A pang shot up in me, but it wasn't terrifying, not at all. I stared mournfully at the woman I had made myself in the mirror. She was standing legs apart and hands at her sides a little awkwardly,. I raised one hand to the front of my waist and held it there, as if a purse were clutched under my elbow, and I pushed an unruly lock of hair back into alignment with the other hand. I wished I could look prettier for her . "I wish I could be prettier for you."

"You will be, sweetheart," she told me. From nowhere she suddenly produced a purse. "Let's go!"

"Where?!" Suddenly I panicked. "Into the street? Dressed like this?"

She kissed me again, lipstick on lipstick. "That's right, dear. We'll leave my slave Henry behind, that silly, hairy man who was so afraid to become what I wished him to become.that he used his safe word. I don't see him here, do you?"

"No," I had to admit, looking into the mirror.

"I want now to be served by a beautiful woman. Do you wish to become that woman?"

"Oh, god! Yes, Mistress."

"Then let's go. Just a moment while I pick up that tape I made of you dressing yourself, through the one-way mirror. It will help Mistress Vera set up a schedule for you, so she can teach you what you need to learn all the more efficiently, and return to me looking not merely acceptable, as you are now, but as I said a short while ago, superb. I want nothing less and I will accept nothing less." Her face went momentarily stern but then broke into an enthusiastic and excited smile. "There are so many new things we can do together when you and I are women out together," she almost gushed, shocking me at this glimpse of another facet of the woman I loved. "And I have no reason to be ashamed to be seen with you, because you have no reason to feel ashamed of what you are. Come on. I phoned Mistress Vera and told her that we'd be late, but she's waiting for us now."

"Mistress!" I don't know what I wanted to say. I felt a little proud of my reflection in the mirror, with its slim legs and coifed, neatly made-up face, but I was still frightened by the unknown.

She heard what I could not say. "No fear, love. I see you. You see you. Henry has seen you. You are already a woman in other people's eyes, and that confirms what you are in your own eyes. Besides," and her eyes sparkled wickedly, "You don't really know if I was alone behind that one way mirror, watching you, do you? I have friends I might have called in to ask for advice. Your feminine self may now already exist in other women's minds, already. Maybe not only women's minds. I do have some men friends, too, darling. Do you mind now? Does that really matter so very much to you now, my soul's delight?"

I wasn't perfectly sure. I wasn't upset, but neither was I overjoyed.

She saw that, too, and nodded, and then took me gently by the elbow and led me out the door and down the hall. As I started down the steps, I looked back at that room Henry had entered just two hours earlier, frightened and desperate, where this incredible transformation had then taken place. Where the thought of being seen by anyone other than his beloved Mistress had frightened him so much he had risked all, and almost sacrificed all to his fear. The room was now empty. There was no sign of Henry, not there, not in the hall mirror either where I glimpsed my hairdo once more as my beloved Mistress opened the front door to her house and held it open for me, waiting for me to pass through. A little unsteady on my heels, I clutched my purse in both of my hands and stepped past her.

"Darling?" her voice said from behind me as I stepped out the front door and into the light. "I promised you that I would wait until you were ready. That is a very big first step you just took. Are you ready?"

Only one answer came to mind. "Yes, Mistress. Very ready."

The smile that answered my own was one I did not often earn, soft and full of love. "So am I, darling, so am I. Now, move that cute butt, darling. Just wait till you see the outfits Mistress Vera has laid out for you." Her voice dropped into a credible impersonation of the singer, Cher, as she sang. "She was a V A M P, Vamp."

My secret fantasy. She had done it again! The tremor that ran chills up and down my spine reminded me of the very important lesson I had learned earlier in the morning. She would always find a new way to reach me, to teach me and to love me. And it would be grand.