“Panty Party: Femme Fantasy Unleashed”
It started with a teasing group chat invite:
Cass: “Panty Party. Tonight. Femme only. Bring that pretty little self. We have toys, we have transformers, and we have some very curious boys coming. 💋💞”
Cass was the ringleader. A fierce trans bombshell with flawless curves, jet-black hair, and a wicked sense of humor. Her place had become the unofficial sanctuary for femme energy—trans girls, femmeboys, and anyone delightfully in-between.
I wasn’t trans. But I was femme. And curious. And when I stepped into that candle-lit apartment, I knew I’d crossed into dangerous territory.
Inside, the air shimmered with lavender oil, lip gloss, and anticipation. Nyla was lounging in a lace teddy, her transformation panties poking out beneath sheer mesh. Jules, the androgynous heartbreaker, was adjusting her strap-on beneath a pair of ultra-tight Koalaswim camel-toe panties. Lani, petite and wild, was fitting fresh girls into their suits—cupping, tucking, guiding hands with a sensual authority.
“Strip,” Cass ordered, her voice silky and firm. “You’re not here to be shy. You’re here to become one of us.”
Clothes fell to the floor as soft hands guided me into a pair of “Perfect Femme” gaff panties, snug and seamless, with a beautifully padded, sculpted front. I gasped as I looked down: I didn’t just look tucked—I looked reborn. I’d never seen myself like this. It wasn’t just sexy—it was dangerously convincing.
“Oh honey,” purred Jules, circling me. “You’ve got a pussy now. And you’re going to learn how to use it.”
I blushed. But I wasn’t backing out.
Just then, the knock came. Cass opened the door. In stepped the “judges”: Marc, Cass’s jock ex who always had a thing for sissies; Ben, a tattooed straight guy who swore he was just “curious”; and Devon, Nyla’s sweet, soft dom who brought a camera “for memories.”
They took one look at the scene—gorgeous trans girls, t-girls, and femmeboys all dressed in curve-sculpting, camel-toe-popping transformation swimwear and panties—and froze.
Cass smirked. “Well boys… ready to judge some faux-ginas?”
And then the game began.
We lined up like lingerie models at a kinky runway show. Each of us flaunted our outfits—transformation gaffs with clit bumps, thongs with labia seams, bodysuits that compressed and feminized everything. One by one, the guys stepped up, touching, teasing, testing.
Ben ran his fingers along my inner thigh, smirking. “Feels real to me. You’d fool anyone in this.”
Jules grabbed his wrist, dragged it up to her groin. “Wanna feel something even tighter?”
But the party didn’t stop at judging.
Lani blindfolded Marc and sat him in a chair. One by one, we straddled him, letting him feel us, grind against him—each of us daring him to guess which of us was “real.” His face was flushed, body stiff, tongue hanging as he murmured, “Fuck… I can’t tell… you all feel like pussy…”
Devon had his camera out now, snapping pictures, encouraging us to pose like erotic dolls. I ended up in Jules’s lap, her cock brushing between my cheeks as she slipped a vibrating plug inside me.
“You’re one of us now,” she whispered in my ear, “A pretty little panty girl ready to play.”
Cass had Marc on a leash, crawling, licking the toes of every girl in the room. Nyla was fingering herself through a gaff with a built-in pocket pussy, moaning while Ben fucked her from behind, too turned on to care what was real anymore.
And me?
I was on my knees, getting praised, teased, and touched as I showed off my “pussy,” my panties soaked, my ass filled, my heart pounding. My head swam in a sea of wigs, lipstick, panties, and cock.
By the time the sun started to rise, we were sprawled out on the carpet, tangled in lingerie, transformation gear, and satin sheets. I had mascara streaks, bite marks, and the biggest grin of my life.
I didn’t leave with just a memory.
I left with a new identity.
Panty girl. Femme slut. Pussy in panties.
And I knew I’d be back for the next party.