I was happy now that Kasia and I had moved in together. Not only did it mean that we no longer had to take turns going to each other’s place, but it also meant that I had closer access to a supply of her soiled panties.
Kasia was a cute Polish girl, 23 years old, with deep blue eyes, shoulder-length hair trimmed in a cute bob, and a body to die for. We had decided trying to live together to see how we would manage as a couple, with the intent of marrying the following year if all went well. So far, I was delighted.
After a couple of months living together, having rampant sex practically every evening before bed and most mornings before waking up, I couldn’t have imagined a more idyllic situation. At times when I felt horny while she was out shopping or seeing friends, I would take a trip to the laundry basket and jack off while sniffing the stickiest and smelliest pair of her panties that I could find.
On some occasions I had worn one pair while smelling the other, always being careful to place her panties back in the hamper exactly where I found them. Still, I was worried that I would be caught.
Only a couple of days previously Kasia had made a remark to the effect that she couldn’t find one of her favorite pairs of “knickers” - as she called them, which sent my heart racing for a few minutes until she remembered that they were in the wash. Kasia teased me, saying that she thought I might have borrowed them. I tried not to blush when she added that “some men get a kick out of wearing their girlfriend’s knickers”. I was young and innocent, and wasn’t about to tell her that I had been sneaking into the laundry basket behind her back. I certainly didn’t want to expose myself as a panty pervert.
That was not the only incident I’d experienced so far in relation to her underwear. Earlier that year she had suggested I wear her bikini bottoms to go swimming while we were on holiday. We were on a day-trip in Asia and I had forgotten to take my trunks with me. Kasia had been very matter-of-fact about it, stating that she didn’t want to swim anyway, and that nobody would care.
The problem was that I cared a lot, and didn’t want to admit that I was too aroused by the idea, so I declined her offer. On another occasion before we lived together, she had asked me to help her fold her washing, saying that I could take care of the easy things, which basically consisted of folding her “pretty little knickers”. She took great care to show me exactly how to do the job properly, insisting that I take my time.
When I had completed the pile, she said that I was the perfect helper and that every girl would be delighted to have their knickers folded so delicately. Since then, she had always asked me to help on washing days, and inevitably asked me to take care of folding her knickers before assisting with any of the other items. I loved helping her with this task, because it made me feel even closer to her in a seemingly innocent way.
That afternoon, Kasia was repairing clothes. She had learned from her mother how to be frugal, always preferring to darn and sew rather than throw anything anyway until it was completely worn out. It was quite sweet, even though we could have afforded to replace most of the garments and especially my three socks that she had just completed. She set them to one side, walked over to the wardrobe and returned with a pure cotton white summer dress with puffy sleeves.
I loved seeing her wearing that dress, because it was quite see-through, and despite me telling her several times that it absolutely wasn’t, I enjoyed watching her cute little butt swaying as she walked, her panties clearly visible through the skimpy material. My favorite memory was when she was standing on the balcony of our hotel in Asia, the sun setting over the horizon. From the chair behind her on which I was seated, I could see the outline of her legs and even the curve of her pussy through the material as she bent forward over the railings to watch people playing in the pool below.
I was wondering what was wrong with the dress when Kasia told me that she needed to repair the hem. The stitching had come undone, and the material was dangling unevenly. She fumbled about with the dress for a few minutes, and then declared it was impossible to sew the skirt correctly around the full circumference without marking it first. I suggested that she place it flat on the ground, but she told me my idea wouldn’t work because it wasn’t a perfect circle and wouldn’t stay flat.
Apparently the back of the dress was supposed to be slightly longer than the front, and the only way to do the job properly was by marking it on a model. I told her that I could mark it for her if she wore it and told me what to do.
“I’ll tell you what,” said Kasia, “Why don’t you put it on? In that way I can mark it and I don’t have to give you instructions. Besides, if you’ve never done any dressmaking before you’d probably get it wrong.”
I flushed bright red, not sure if she was joking or seriously asking me to be her dressmaker’s dummy. My sisters had dressed me up as a girl for fun when I was very young, and later I had tried on their clothes in secret on my own, but those days were long gone. Even though I remembered those past experiences as being highly pleasurable, I had come to terms with the fact that I was a guy, and that guys should not dress as girls. At least, that’s what my mother had told me when she caught me completely dressed in my eldest sister’s clothes at fourteen years old. Since then I had reserved dressing up to wearing only panties and only in order to masturbate.
“You’re blushing!” said Kasia, smiling at me.
I tried to hide my embarrassment by saying that I was blushing because it was a silly idea. The truth of course was that I felt turned on by the idea of wearing Kasia’s dress and was reminded of those times gone by; twirling in front of the mirror in my sisters’ pretty dresses, imagining that I was really a girl.
Moreover, I was reminded of the shame and embarrassment of having been caught and told that I had been doing something very wrong. The idea of putting on a dress, even with Kasia’s consent, stirred conflict in my mind.
“It’s not a silly idea at all,” said Kasia, “Besides, I want to wear this dress to the barbecue this evening. Come on, it will only take a couple of minutes.”
I mumbled an “OK”, took off my shirt, let her slip the dress over my head, and pushed my arms though the sleeves. Kasia adjusted the dress, tugging at the collar and sleeves, the waist, and finally the hem of the skirt.
“You’ll have to take your jeans off,” Kasia declared after she’d finished arranging various parts of the dress material, “They’re too bulky for the skirt to flow naturally and I won’t be able to mark it properly.”
I gave her a pleading look to let her know that I was feeling uncomfortable, but it didn’t seem to register. Instead she responded that I was making far too much fuss over something simple, adding that I should remove my boxer shorts too because they would also interfere with light cotton dress material. I didn’t want to argue, because she was absolutely right inasmuch as it was a simple operation, but I was scared that the same feelings I had had many years ago would come back, and that I would be ashamed and embarrassed once again. I didn’t want Kasia to know about my cross-dressing past, and certainly didn’t want to potentially break our future.
I hoped for the best, quickly removing my jeans and boxers, and waiting for Kasia to mark the material with the chalk she had just removed from the sewing kit. She walked around me a couple of times, pulling gently at the material here and there, humming and hawing. I could tell she wasn’t altogether satisfied with something, but I didn’t want to speak because I was too focused on ignoring the fact that I was standing there wearing one of her prettiest dresses, and especially the one which had already created so many erotic memories in my mind.
“I think it would look better with knickers,” she finally declared, running off toward the laundry room. “Wait a moment.”
My head was about to explode. She hadn’t given any explanation why the panties were necessary and had disappeared before I could say or do anything. I wondered if she was somehow testing me, or setting me up for some kind of prank. Maybe she had suspicions about my cross-dressing, or maybe she was going to punish me for having masturbated with her panties. I ran through all the scenarios, trying to think if I had made any obvious mistakes, but I couldn’t find anything. I feared what might happen next.
Moments later, Kasia came back smiling, a pair of stretch cotton white panties with a pink pastel trim twirling on the end of her index finger.
“Don’t worry, they’re washed,” she said as she handed them to me, “Though who knows, maybe you would have preferred the dirty ones.”
I did my best to ignore her reference to dirty panties, and asked if she really wanted me to go through with wearing them and why. She said “Yes”, and that she wanted to see if it was true that you really couldn’t see the panties through the dress material. At that point I realized that I was about to be busted, hoping that it was the only thing she knew or would ever know about.
I slipped into the panties, pulling the soft material over my thighs and up to my waistline. They fit snugly. The same feeling I had had as a child started to embrace me. It was an overall light buzzing feeling accompanied by a sensation of extreme happiness, as though that is how I was supposed to be. It felt natural to be wearing girls’ clothes, and yet at the same time my logical mind told me something was wrong. For the first time, I looked down at myself wearing Kasia’s dress, and realized that I had missed that feeling for many years. I wanted to ignore the logic and let that glorious feeling of being truly alive take over, if only for a few moments.
Kasia sat on the edge of the bed watching me. She seemed to have noticed that something had happened to me, waiting there silently waiting for me to say something. I was speechless for at least a minute or two. I stood there breathing deeply and slowly, trying to think about what would happen if I told her, and how I could have possibly lived for so long in denial of my fundamental needs. I wondered what she might say and whether she would still want to know me. After all, I was still the same person at heart. I could still be a good husband and provider, and I would still help her in every way possible. If only she could understand.
Kasia finally broke the silence by saying, “You actually look quite good in that dress.”
I couldn’t think of anything significant to say at that moment, so I responded simply by saying, “Thank you.”
“We’ll have to get you some clothes of your own,” Kasia continued, “We can go shopping together whenever you’re ready.”
I went over to her and gave her a big kiss. We smooched for a moment and then she asked me to turn around. I knew the game was up on the see-through dress, but in consideration of her great kindness I was ready to make it up to her in any way she wanted. As I turned around, she gave me a massive slap on the backside which stung my buttocks for minutes thereafter.
“That’s for being such a pervert!” Kasia laughed.
I turned back to face her, pinned her arms playfully to the bed and we rolled about in a joke fight which ended up in another of our wonderful lovemaking sessions.
As we lay there resting, I asked Kasia if she had suspected that I enjoyed dressing up as a girl. She told me that there had indeed been some signs; that I seemed to take a great interest in women and their clothing; I was gentler and kinder than most men she had met; I had some feminine mannerisms, including the way I brushed my hair; but especially that I blushed every time she teased me about girly things.
Kasia also told me that she had always been attracted by softer men and intrigued by the idea of having a lesbian relationship. In return, I told her all about my cross-dressing past and how my mother had caused me to hide it away for many years, to which she said it was a great pity that I hadn’t been helped as a child. We had a real heart-to-heart, and I even admitted to her that I had sniffed her soiled panties, to which she quickly responded, “I wouldn’t have expected anything less.”
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<a href="http://www.lushstories.com/stories/crossdressing/dressmakers-dummy.aspx">Dressmaker's Dummy</a>