Hello Everyone, Finally I have another mission accomplished.
Some days you wear panties as a secret.
Some days you wear them knowing you might be exposed.
And then there are days like this…
When you realize the secret isn’t entirely yours anymore.
Task 4 was titled All Day Pretty Boy. I thought it would be another controlled step in my training — wear my pretty panties under my normal clothes, take a discreet photo at work, imagine my Mistress showing me off, and complete the final command before bed.
I didn’t expect real life to step in and take control.
That morning I slipped into my panties before leaving for work. Soft against my skin. Delicate. Feminine. Hidden under my masculine exterior. I reminded myself I was wearing them to be a prettyboy for my Mistress, who enjoys showing me off.
On the SkyTrain, on my way to work, I accidentally met her.
The same girl who once gave me that knowing smile. The one who said she would call me soon.
We exchanged small talk. Then casually, she said we should meet after my work ends. At my place.
She asked if my roommates would be home.
I said no.
She looked at me in a way that made my stomach tighten.
“Be ready,” she said. “Wear your panties. Only panties. When I ring the bell, you open the door like that.”
It wasn’t playful.
It wasn’t flirtation.
It was an order.
And I said, “Okay.”
I knew the consequences if I didn’t listen.
The rest of the day at work felt different. I took the required discreet photo in the restroom, showing my panties beneath my work clothes. But beyond that, I felt feminine all day. Controlled. Like I was carrying an invisible collar under my shirt.
Every interaction felt charged. Every woman I passed made me wonder — what if she knew? What if my Mistress knew her? What if I was told to give her a private show?
The thought both embarrassed and thrilled me.
After work I reached home around 4:30 PM. She wasn’t there yet. I felt slightly relieved. I removed my work clothes, took a bath, tried to calm my racing mind.
Then the bell rang.
My heart started pounding so loudly I could hear it in my ears.
I looked through the window. It was her. She had a small package in her hand.
I had just stepped out of the bath and was wearing nothing. I quickly slipped into another pair of panties and opened the door wearing only that.
She smiled slowly.
“Great. You look very beautiful. I brought a surprise gift for you. I bet you’ll like it.”
I let her in quickly and closed the door, afraid someone might see me standing there exposed in lace and vulnerability.
She sat on the sofa. I instinctively moved to sit as well.
“No,” she said firmly. “You are not permitted to sit while I’m here.”
I obeyed immediately.
It surprised me how natural it felt. No resistance. No argument. Just submission. It was exactly what I’ve learned — when the right dominant woman commands, something inside me responds without hesitation.
She told me to open the package.
Inside was her bikini set. Thin ties. Feminine. Intimate.
“These are mine,” she said. “I want to see how good they fit you. You’ll look more sexy wearing the bra too.”
I asked if I could change in my room.
“No.”
She commanded me to remove what I was wearing and try it on in front of her.
For the first time in my life, I stood completely exposed in front of a woman I know. Not through a screen. Not in fantasy. Real.
She examined me calmly and said I have a good body. Not very fit, but a type some women like — and she is one of those women.
That sentence made me feel small, shy… and strangely desired.
Wearing her bikini felt surreal. It even carried her scent. When I struggled with the back ties, she stepped close and tied them herself. Her perfume surrounded me. I felt handled. Positioned. Owned in that moment.
After adjusting it, she lightly smacked my back and said I have a good ass too.
Then she leaned back and said, “Turn around.”
I turned slowly.
She smiled.
“You are so sexy.”
Then she pulled out her phone.
“I’m taking pictures.”
I said no. I was afraid she would keep them and use them later. I wanted everything to end that day.
Her tone shifted.
“You are not in a position to oppose me. I already know another side of you. There’s no point defending.”
That same slightly evil smile.
She commanded me to pose.
Without thinking, I slipped into the feminine poses I had practiced during my panty training. Soft shoulders. Tilted hips. A subtle arch.
She stared.
“How do you know how to pose like that? Did you do this before? Fashion TV? Magazines?”
I quickly said fashion magazines. It felt safer than exposing my submissive training.
She smiled again.
“Good. You know how to pose like a woman too.”
She saved the photos in her drive. Told me I must answer her calls. Told me from now on, whenever she comes over, I will greet her wearing only panties.
A rule.
After she left, the apartment felt quiet. But I didn’t feel the same.
Later that night, I remembered the final instruction of Task 4.
Before bedtime, I was to follow my command. Imagine women watching. Imagine being ordered.
So I imagined her still sitting there. Watching me. Smiling. Controlling me.
I set the timer.
I obeyed.
And when the command to finish came, I released into my panties as instructed.
Afterward, I pulled those same loaded panties back up and wore them again.
Warm. Used. Marked.
I lay there feeling like a dirty, trained sissyboy — humiliated, obedient, aware that I crossed another invisible line.
Task 4 was supposed to be about spending a day as a pretty boy.
Instead, it felt like someone else now holds part of that secret.
She has the pictures.
She has that smile.
She has expectations.
And I don’t know when the bell will ring again.
But when it does…
I know exactly what I’ll be wearing.
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