Two
Once the match started and I was really playing hard, I could more or less ignore my revealing girlish costume, even though I knew that the extremely short skirt Kept flipping up to expose the bright gold of my sexy panties.
Sometimes the bra cramped the movements of my arms and shoulders, but I tried to ignore it and ardently hoped that it would not break a strap and reveal my imposture as a girl.
When I sat down to rest between sets I was acutely aware that the gleaming gold in my crotch was attracting attention, but by keeping my thighs clamped close together I hoped I was hiding the fact that I had much more of a bulge there than any girl should have. Even so, my masculinity was compressed uncomfortably tight, for the tiny firm panties were designed to be snug over a much less voluminous area.
Ever since I’d left the locker-room I had been speaking
as little as possible, and what few words I said, I tried to keep my voice as high and light as possible so my true sex would not be revealed. Even so, as the match progressed I noted that members of the State College group were staring at me questioningly, as though they suspected that something was wrong but couldn’t figure out just what it was.
Eventually I won the match, and I heaved a sigh of relief that my ordeal of public transvestism was over. I wanted only to get out of this ultra-feminine costume, find out how Joan’s ankle was, and get on with my plans for the big weekend of fun. The girl I had beaten came over to congratulate me, and, as many females do on meeting or parting, she kissed me lightly on the cheek.
Suddenly an alarmed expression came over her face, and I knew that my deception had been discovered. I had shaved that morning, but by mid-afternoon there was bound to be a definite stubble of whiskers, easily identifiable by any girl kissing me.
Mary, my former tennis opponent, ran back to her team-mates, and I saw them whispering excitedly together. I started for the gym to change out of my girlish disguise. As I glanced worriedly over my shoulder, I saw the whole group of a dozen State College girls coming after me, running. Our joke was discovered.
I stopped and waited for them, ready to admit my guilt, and we’d all have a good laugh over it. So I thought,
but as they gathered around me I realized that they did not consider my substituting for my twin sister a laughing matter at all. The other girls felt my stubbly face and then grasped my ersatz breasts, confirming their suspicions that I was not a girl, in spite of the dainty feminine tennis costume I was wearing.
“OK, girls. You’ve found me out,” I told them lightly.
“I’ll have to forfeit the match. I only did it because my twin-sister, Joan, twisted her ankle at lunch time. Let me get back into my regular clothes, and we can all go and join in the parties planned for this afternoon.”
“T think we’d like another kind of party,” announced Mary as all the girls glared threateningly at me. “WE don’t think it’s a laughing matter when a fellow gets dressed up as a girl and competes against us.”
“Don’t get all uptight about it,” I told them, trying to calm their anger at discovering my deception. “It was only a gag. No harm done. Except to Joan’s ankle.”
“You can figure it that way if you want to,” said one of the girls. “But we are still going to take you to our special party back at college, where you’ll sort of be the guest of honor. We’ll give you lots of very special attention.”
They started to lead me over toward the parking lot, and I couldn’t resist without actually fighting with them, something I could not bring myself to do. After all, I was guilty as charged. But they were over-reacting to what I considered a joke.
When we got to their car, they opened the trunk and told me to get in. As I started to protest at being kidnapped this way, half a dozen girls got behind me and boosted me into the gaping metal cavern. The lid was slammed down and I was a helpless prisoner. When we arrived at State College after a short but very uncomfortable ride for me, the trunk was unlocked and the lid rose a few inches.
“Stick out one of your hands,” came the stern order. “And don’t try anything tricky or you’ll regret it.”
Reluctantly I thrust out one hand, and my wrist was immediately encircled with a steel chain slave-bracelet such as many girls and some fellows wear. But instead of a normal catch, this was held in place by a small but strong padlock. Then came the next command, “Now stick out the other hand. We’ll have you all fancied up with jewelry like the sexy feminine girl you’ve been imitating.”
As the second slave-bracelet was fastened around my wrist, the two manacles were secured together by a double-ended snap-hook so that I was in effect wearing decorative but very real handcufts. The trunk lid was now raised and I was told to get out. Surrounded by my captors, we looked like any group of girls as I was led into the nearby building, a girls dormitory on the State College.
They took me to a sizable double-room on the second floor, where one of the leaders, a big girl named Doris, said, “Now, Joannie, we want you to take off that darling tennis dress and those cute gold panties, so we can find out exactly what our guest of honor looks like. Don’t be shy. After all, we’re all girls together, aren’t we?”
I objected to stripping before this bunch of angry sneering girls, and before I realized what they were up to, they had looped a rope between my fettered hands and pulled the rope over the top of a closet door, and slammed the door, jamming the rope tightly. I was held upright against the door, my hands stretched over my head, and defenseless.
When I tried to kick out to hold them off, they reached up under my short flaring skirt and pulled my gold panties and my jockey shorts down around my Knees, making my legs useless for defense. With a big pair of scissors they cut the shoulder-straps of the dress I was wearing, and that fell about my ankles. When they unsnapped the padded bra and hitched that bizarre feminine garment up around my neck, I was naked and shamed before my tormentors. They all stared at my exposed masculinity and laughed heartily at my embarrassing state of helpless nudity.
Doris, the boldest of the girls, reached out and grabbed my flaccidly dangling male member, shaking it vigorously as she giggled, “That’s a funny thing our Joannie is wearing. I wonder what she uses it for? Tell us how you use this little gadget, Joannie.”
I blushed and groaned in embarrassment and then Mary, my tennis opponent of an hour before, said, “Let’s us get undressed, too, so we can see if Joannie is so much different from us.”
