Feature Writer: Angel Cherysse

Feature Title: THE INSTITUTE: BODY DOUBLE 5

Published: 22.11.2016

Story Codes: MF, Bi, Shemale, TS, Fiction, Cuckold, FemaleDom, Interracial, Anal Sex, Cream Pie, Enema, Oral, Transformation

Synopsis: What if your most cherished dream could become reality? What if the love of your life became a cultural icon? Are you strong enough to weather the storm brought on by these two potentially disparate actions?

 

The Institute: Body Double 5

I awoke late that Saturday morning, feeling groggy and confused. What the hell happened last night? The memories, if they came at all, were disjointed, kaleidoscopic flashes of light, sound and sensation. I remembered coming like there was no tomorrow; the most explosive climax of my life. I should have awoken on a cold wet spot on the sheets, but there was nothing; not a trace that I had even had sex, either on the bed or my person. Did I hurt, ache from the experience? No. In fact, I felt … cleansed, uplifted, physically and emotionally liberated – but why, if nothing happened?

I looked around and … Alexis was gone.

That reality was like a punch in the gut. It was all real. My wife had gone out, gotten laid, brought her toy boy home, did unspeakable things with and to me. Then she had left with him. Would she return? If not, how would I find her? Should I find her? Would I be able to convince her to come back to me after last night? Maybe if I called Mama, she could give me a clue…

Then I saw the handwritten note, folded into a tent, sitting on my nightstand.

My Darling Michael,

You were sleeping so peacefully, I didn’t have the heart to wake you before I left for the salon. Last night was our best yet. I see nothing but good things ahead for the two of us. I have so much love for you in my heart, it hurts.

Be a lamb and pop over and join us as soon as you can, won’t you? Your mama and I have talked, and decided last night was so good, we are going to do it all over again tonight. This time Brandi is going to join us. I think it is high time she and I met, don’t you? We have so much to discuss; especially after last night.

Your One and Only,

Alexis

P.S. Your mama has everything you will need, so just bring your sweet self. She promised me I wouldn’t be disappointed. She has been right about everything so far. I hope she is right about this.

This punch was worse; much worse. She knows! At least she hadn’t left me already. She had simply gone to the salon; one of her favorite pastimes, of late. I re-read her note, then read it a third time. It sounded hopeful. She told me she loved me and we had a future, in spite of this. What choice did I really have?

I took the time to run my usual five miles first, just to clear my head and get my mind in a good place. The bathroom in our master suite contained a marbled shower stall with multiple shower heads, including a hand-held wand at the end of a six-foot articulated stainless steel hose. The wand featured multiple screw-on attachments. I availed myself of the probe attachment to give myself a cleansing enema to make sure I was thoroughly clean inside, then washed the rest. While I was patting myself dry, I wondered if Alexis truly understood the implications of what Mama had promised her?

I had to handle the first part myself. This was short notice and the medication would need time to take effect. I kept the necessary kit duct-taped to the back of a drawer in my nightstand. It took a few moments to prepare and administer the injection of Depro-Gen. The drug was the fastest-acting and most powerful anti-androgen currently available. It was the medication of choice for the Department of Corrections to chemically-castrate hard-core sex offenders. The single dose I had injected would keep me profoundly limp for seventy-two hours; extreme, but necessary for what was to come. I smoothed Alexis’ rich, emollient body lotion over every inch of exposed skin from my shoulders to my feet, then followed with a dusting of scented powder. I dressed quickly, grabbed wallet and keys and headed out the door.

Saturdays are always the busiest day of the week at the salon and this day was no exception. Mama stepped away from her station and closed the portable curtained partitions that had been set up around it. That was unusual, but not unheard of. There was a VIP room in the back for clients who wished additional privacy. The partitions in the main salon would be employed when two VIPs were booked at the same time. To my surprise, the breathtaking blonde hustled me through the shop into the VIP suite in the back. As soon as she shut the door behind us, I buried my face on her shoulder.

“She knows, Mama,” I cried out.

“Yes, Baby, she knows,” my mother confirmed, patting me on the back, “and it’s about time you came out to her. It was wrong of you to hide this from her – just as it was wrong of you to hide it from me so long ago. How do you feel?”

“Nervous as hell,” I admitted. “My stomach is doing flip-flops.”

“I thought so,” she acknowledged sagely, reaching into a pocket. “Take this.”

The small circular tablet went down smoothly, even without water.

“That will help ease those jitters,” she promised. “Now, you get started. Do your body, then get into the new corset I have for you. It’s over there on the counter, with a thong and a wrap. Do the lip plumper, too. That’s also there. Then wait for us. Gayle, Jennifer and I have blocked out the late afternoon for you. We want you to be flawless for Alexis tonight. I already have everything else you will need for that. See you in a bit.”

xxxxx

That Mama was right didn’t make the situation any more palatable. ‘Brandi’ had been a work in progress since childhood. It had begun with those overheard comments from those men. If Mama was that popular, I wanted to be just like her. It had been easy at first. Gramma and Grampa both worked. My uncles were either in school, doing sports or working their own jobs. Mama worked at the salon all day with Gramma. I was the ‘good kid’ who never got into trouble, so she felt secure in leaving me alone after I returned from school.

I used my time alone to go into her closet and dresser. The first thing I tried on was a pair of lacy panties. They felt so good! I had progressed to other intimates, then clothes, then her high heels. She didn’t catch me until I was twelve. She didn’t throw a fit. She just sat me down and we had a quiet conversation. She told me it was wrong to go through her things without her permission, but there was no real harm done. In fact, she thought I made a really cute girl. It was okay with her if I dressed up, and she was pretty sure Gramma would be cool with it, but Grampa and her brothers would not like it. We really needed their support right now, so we would have to keep this our little secret.

‘Brandi’ had evolved with age and experience. Mama had begun giving me ‘vitamins’ – I never knew the source – which would keep me looking and feeling a little more feminine than masculine. When I could ‘pass’, she took me shopping and to the salon. As she had predicted, Gramma was cool with me. So were the other operators and clients. I began spending afternoons after school and Saturdays at the salon, learning new things. My favorite subjects were makeup, hair and nails. Mama and Gramma helped me with the first two, while Gramma’s nail techs helped me with the third. I eventually got a pair of breast forms and padded to make myself look more passable.

In the summer before I went away to college, I earned my certifications as a cosmetologist and nail tech. Also during that summer, I added a whole new dimension to my alter ego. My voice had never deepened; the low-level hormone therapy had seen to that. Still, it needed training, according to Mama. She had acquired a booklet and compact disk for me through the Internet; Speaking as a Woman. Those, plus a tape recorder, set me on the path to develop the perfect ‘Brandi voice’. I needed a benchmark; someone to emulate. Mama had that, too, in the form of videos of another of her Hollywood icons. By the time I left for school, I knew that voice the way D’Arcy now emulated ‘Alexis’.

xxxxx

Alone in the VIP suite, I began my transformation in earnest with my prosthetics. Disposable income – and lots of it – had again been my blessing. These next-generation prosthetics were the best yet; latex-skinned and silicone-gel-filled, they were a visual and tactile delight. Better still, the company that manufactured them could, for the proverbial “extra charge”, custom-make them to the customer’s exact specifications. Extra charge, indeed. I could have bought a used car for what I spent, but they were worth it. Mama had demanded input in my purchase, and it showed, both in price and results.

Pre-positioning the breasts and making the alignment marks on my skin with a felt-tipped pen was the work of a couple of minutes. It took a bit longer to spray the bases with the super-strong medical-grade adhesive, and about five minutes beyond that to allow the sticky stuff to cure to the proper consistency. Then I carefully pressed each breast form into place, smoothed out the thin flange around the base and held it until the adhesive really set. The result was a set of high-profile twin peaks, jutting straight out from my chest, custom-matched to my skin tone. Each had a dark, erect nipple and matching aureole three inches in diameter. After an application of Derma-Blend and powder, there was not a trace of seam between prosthetic and flesh. They looked real; that is, they looked like a real boob job – and a huge one, at that.

The powerful synthetic opioid gave me a rush of physical and mental well-being, similar to what I had felt the previous night. Mama had been right; it did calm my nerves. I felt relaxed, serene, ready for what came next.

The next step was the companion ‘pussy panties’. They resembled a flesh-toned long-line panty girdle, but were heavily padded with silicone gel in the hips, thighs and buttocks. I put each foot through its respective opening, then began working the garment up my legs, pausing just below my crotch. Manipulating my scrotal sac, I isolated each testicle in turn and pressed it up the inguinal canal into my abdomen. Thanks to the Depro-Gen, my cock was small and soft and would remain that way. I guided the tip into the pocket designed for it in the seam of the panties, then pulled the garment snugly into place.

I now had that whole lush Brazilian bottom going on; wide hips, thighs that touched, and a prominent round bubble butt. Where before I had the usual (for a boy) male appendage, I now displayed hyper–realistic, clam shell-shaped inner and outer labia. The tip of my penis was perfectly positioned to become my very-sensitive clitoris. The Depro-Gen was an absolute must while wearing this prosthetic. A penile erection inside this tight garment would be excruciatingly painful for the wearer and could not be relieved without stripping everything off. I could now carry on my illusion of femininity in perfect comfort for the next three days.

I had always regarded corseting as an exercise in pure perverse pleasure. The new one Mama had for me was delicious-looking; black satin with black lace insets and trim. I wrapped the sensuous, steel-boned confection around my torso, fastened the five-point front busk, then inserted the shield down my back, inside the laces, to protect my flesh from abrasion. Then came the exquisite torture of tightening the laces. Looking over my shoulder into the full-length mirror for guidance, I alternated cinching the top, then bottom laces, working slowly, inexorably towards the middle. The familiar constriction felt like my body was caught in a giant vise, being gradually crushed. At last I was laced all the way down to the stops. I tied off the laces, arranged my huge new titties in the underwired shelf cups and took stock in the mirror.

Breathtaking – and that assessment was more than just the function of the corset. I fetched a cloth tape measure from the drawer to confirm the results. 48-24-42. Mama had been very insistent – and mischievous. She wanted anyone who beheld ‘Brandi’ to never have to ask: “Who’s your mama?”

The black lace thong was the perfect complement to the corset’s lace panels. Normally, I would don my stockings first, but if I was getting a pedicure, the stockings would have to wait. The wrap was a mid-thigh-length black silk kimono with brightly-colored flowers. I slipped into it, wrapped it around my wasp-waisted torso and cinched the belt tightly.

Most over-the-counter lip plumpers are junk. Mama had found a high-end product, available only through a distributor, which really worked. The active ingredient was a tincture of bee venom. The downside was, if you weren’t used to the sting, it would bring tears to your eyes. Worse, if you were at all allergic to insect venom, this was not the product for you. The upside was, it really worked and the effects lasted a day or more. I wasn’t allergic and I was used to the sting, but applied the plumper before anything else – and had tissues handy, just in case. In the end, I had Mama’s full-beyond-full Barbie lips. I moved to the room’s single salon chair and sat down to wait.

xxxxx

College was supposed to be a liberating experience for ‘Brandi’. It hadn’t worked out that way. I hadn’t intended to pledge a fraternity, but I was out-voted by my grandfather and uncles. They insisted the brotherhood and fellowship was a vital part of the college experience – and invaluable after graduation as a network of contacts that would help me achieve and advance my career. They lobbied hard and succeeded in getting me into the house they had all pledged – as a ‘legacy’. In the end, they had been right. Because of my affiliation with the house, Brock Maitland had given me a career and Jerry Krykowski had secured my future. That yet-unknown good fortune had been no comfort at the time.

There was no way ‘Brandi’ could come out to play in such an environment. Mama kept ‘her’ in her bedroom closet in the family home. Thank goodness that was only across town, rather than across state – or worse. I was able to get home fairly regularly; at least on weekends and during the week as well, depending my class schedule. By that time, Mama and my grandparents had transformed the recreation room at the back of the house into Mama’s private apartment with its own entrance. My uncles were long gone, pursuing their own lives. Even if Grampa were home, it was easy to slip into Mama’s apartment, dress and paint, then slip out again. ‘Brandi’ was able to work at the salon to earn a little extra money whenever she could get away.

By that time, working and interacting with the salon’s clientele in my femme persona felt at least as natural, if not more so, than being ‘Michael. Mama played her part in nudging me in that direction. She kept me supplied with my daily ‘vitamins’ “just in case you have a change in heart about your life’s goals”. She had also introduced me to Depro-Gen as a way to fight those aggravating and contradictory male urges while dressed.

To emphasize her point, Mama took ‘Brandi’ out for Girls’ Night Out on Saturday nights, along with Mama’s girlfriends. ‘Brandi’ had to be very selective – and very careful – about the guys who came on to her on such occasions. Still, she managed to have a few ‘hot dates’, to the joy of her mama and girlfriends.

Getting my own apartment had meant freedom at last. ‘Brandi’ resided in my closet and could come out to play pretty much anytime I wasn’t in class. That is, until I met D’Arcy. When we decided she would move in with me, I had to choose again; fantasy or reality? I only had to gaze into the depths of my lover’s gray eyes – and get lost in them – to know the answer. Once again, ‘Brandi’ went into hiding; this time, in the storage space in our apartment building’s basement and later, our townhouse. Gone were the weekends working at the salon. She had been able to come out to play once in a while when D’Arcy was enjoying a Girl’s Night Out.

For one glorious month – the month of Alexis’ re-invention – ‘Brandi’ and her mama had re-connected. Brandi had even been able to brush up on her cosmetics and nail skills, working weekends at the salon, just like the old days. There had even been a couple of cherished Girls’ Nights Out, just Mama and me, not experienced since I had met my wife-to-be. That had been a welcome diversion from the anxiety over what was going on in Michael’s life.

I hadn’t intended to hide ‘Brandi’ from my lover so long. I had just been waiting for the right moment to bring my alter ego into the conversation – like Michael Keaton searching for exactly the right way to tell Kim Basinger “I’m Batman.” Right or wrong, that moment was here; thrust upon me from out of the blue. And this wouldn’t be just testing the water with one toe:

She promised me I wouldn’t be disappointed.

My wife was going to see the whole package, head to toe. I could only imagine what Mama had told her. When was that? Last night? Before? That afternoon Alexis had gotten her new ‘do? How could she?

xxxxx

Mama, Gayle and Jennifer all popped in. The latter two were wheeling their portable nail stations. My mother closed and locked the door behind them. They took their places around me.

“We’re ready for you now, Sergeant Pembry,” Mama teased evilly, channeling Hannibal Lector. “Sorry, I couldn’t resist. Gayle is going to do your mani, Jen will do your pedi, and I will do your makeup and hair. You are going to be so absolutely fabulous, Alexis will hate you for all time – for not sharing this with her sooner.”

It had been a while since I had been able to indulge in a Day of Beauty – or even part of a day. One of the most underrated pleasures in the human experience is to be pampered by other human beings who require you to do absolutely nothing but sit back, relax and enjoy. Perhaps, under the Oxy’s thrall, I relaxed a little too much…

Mama gently shook me awake. Wow, I must have been out for a while. Gayle and Jennifer had already departed. Mama was already dressed for the evening in a Royal Blue latex bustier-style mini-sheath and matching high-heeled sandals. She gazed down on me appreciatively.

“Are we … done?” I prompted, looking around.

“Not yet,” the fabulous blonde answered, “but the progress is encouraging. Let’s get you dressed.”

The mirror was covered. That was a game we loved to play with complete makeovers. The “Grand Reveal” is always so much fun.

I understood my wife’s desire for glamour nails completely. Gayle had done a breathtaking set on me. They were two inches long from root to tip, gently curving with oval tips, polished in MAC’s Life’s Blood with glittering gold nail art. I was both delighted and concerned. These were no press-ons; they were full-on acrylic sculpted nails. I wouldn’t be prying these off with an orange stick after an evening of fun. I still had to go to work on Monday and these talons would not be suitable office attire. I extended my arms, palms out, and admired Gayle’s handiwork. I wanted to cry: “it’s too much! It’s too much! My brain was telling me: “WOW, IT’S JUST RIGHT!!!!!!!! They looked exquisite on the long, tapering fingers of my small hands.

After all, Monday morning was such a long way away.

I had acrylic sculpted toenails, as well! They extended about an eighth-inch from the tips of my toes and perfectly matched my stunning new talons. I could keep these and no one at the office would ever know. The gold toe rings added just the right bad-girl touch. Even if I wore my male shoes, where no one would see them, I would know they were there.

Eight loose, dangling garters cried out for a pair of stockings. Pantyhose can be cute for a minute, but nothing says “girlie” like old-fashioned stockings and garters. These were ‘old school’ all the way; sheer black full-fashioned, with reinforced toe, French heel, back seam and dark, reinforced welt at the top. After removing my thong and donning the classic hosiery, I adjusted the gossamer fabric with the palms of my hands until the seams were arrow-straight up the backs of my legs before securing the welts with the garter tabs; four per leg. Those dark stocking tops concealed the already-nearly-invisible hems of my pussy panty legs. The corset already masked the upper extent, rendering the illusion perfect. With the replacement of the thong, my foundations were at last complete.

Sheila, Mama’s client and friend, is the wardrobe mistress and costumer for a local theater company. She also does custom work on the side. For the right price, she can create anything, using any fabric or skin, including leather and latex. I could see her deft handiwork in this. The dress was fully-lined black satin spandex with gathered front. In place and zipped, it was spray-on tight, clearly delineating the cleavage between my profoundly-generous Brazilian bubble butt cheeks. The hem was knee-length. The scooped bodice was barely there. It covered my otherwise-exposed bullet-shaped nipples and dark aureola, but only just, exposing a vast expanse of boob-flesh. The indentations in the fabric caused by those nipples were clearly visible. Wide shoulder straps attached at the sides, rather than in front, and perched securely on the extreme edges of my shoulders.

The shoes were black patent Di Marni open-toed platform pumps with two straps each. The first strapped diagonally across the instep; the second, horizontally, just below the ankle. The one-inch platform soles were mated to Di Marni’s trademark rapier-thin seven-inch stiletto heels with steel caps.

The jewelry was gold. Super-skinny four-inch hoops in my earlobes. A half-dozen neck chains, ranging in length from ten inches to thirty, arrayed in a cascade that dipped deeply into my cleavage. A slender bracelet double-wrapped around my trim left ankle. Mama demurred on handing me the bangle bracelets, saying they would come later.

The black satin spandex opera-length gloves were very obviously intended to go with this dress. Starting with the left, I slipped my hand inside and worked the tight, stretchy material up my arm, all the way to my armpit, then worked out the wrinkles. The gloves were open at the fingertips, revealing my Dragon Lady talons in all their glory. I slipped eight jangly bangle bracelets on each wrist – and my ‘look’ was complete.

But I wasn’t. Obsession is my signature scent. A few spritzes in strategic locations and I smelled as alluring as I looked.

Mama ripped away the newspaper covering the mirror with a little “Ta-daaaaa!” Even I had to gasp. Dark smoky eyes with gold glitter to the inside of the lids. Wide swaths of black eyeliner angling up towards the corners of my eyebrows; a true ‘cat-eye’ effect. The brows themselves were sharply-angled bat-wings. Mama and I had this thing about fake eyelashes. These were the longest, thickest, curliest available. There was nothing ‘natural’ about them; these, like the rest of my ‘look’ were pure drama. The blush in the hollows of my cheeks really brought out the contour of my cheekbones.

Conventional beauty wisdom states, if you go bold on the eyes, you are supposed to go neutral on the lips. Mama had defied convention so long, it had packed up and left town. This was an old, bold look we both adored. My bee-stung lips were outlined in claret. That line had been smudged a little in towards the center. The lips had then been filled in with what looked like two coats of long-lasting MAC LipIntensity in Life’s Blood. The lips, talons and toes were of a piece.

My own hair had been tucked up under a wig that was pure Mama. Platinum Blonde. Lace front. Layered. Huge fluffy curls, draping over my shoulders to mid-back.

Big Hair, Don’t Care

I had no doubt it had been pinned in place. With Mama’s expertise, this hair wouldn’t come off for the End of Days. The hairline looked completely natural; as ‘natural’ as a creation like this could be. It worked really well with my ‘boob job’.

It’s called Rapture. Part euphoric, part aphrodisiac all synthetic and extremely powerful, a Rapture high makes Ecstasy seem like aspirin. The favored delivery system is a dermal injection pen, similar to those used for epinephrine. In fact, a six-dose Rapture injector is designed to resemble an Epi-Pen. Any exposed blood vessel is suitable for induction. The favorite is the vein in the crook of the elbow, although a ‘hit’ delivered to the carotid artery in the neck produces the most sudden, intense rush, as the drug speeds directly to the brain and lasts for hours. That is where Mama injected me, then herself. You didn’t drink alone; that’s anti-social. Why would you do Rapture alone? The sensation of floating on a thick, velvet fog, my entire nervous system in a state of dizzying, giggly enervation, returned. Rapture has always had that effect on me. She slipped that pen into her own purse and a second one into a black patent clutch bag, which she handed to me.

“Everything you will need tonight is already in there,” she assured me.

“What time is it, Mama?” I asked.

“It’s time to meet your destiny, Sweetheart,” she replied with a wink.

She handed me my black rabbit coat, picked up her own purse and chinchilla coat and we were out the door.

I was riding a magic carpet through the clouds. I glided into the main room, my heels clicking on the tiled floor, my bangle bracelets jangling musically. The tight, hobbling dress and killer high heels conspired to make my hips and tush undulate in an exaggerated manner. An aromatic symphony of hairspray and perfume filled my nostrils. I felt like I had lost fifty I.Q. points in the last four hours and couldn’t have been happier.

Alexis was sitting in the waiting area, browsing a magazine. When she saw us approach, she stood, mouth agape, looking dumbfounded. She was dressed in a stunning gold brocade bustier-style mini-sheath, dark stockings and gold platform stiletto sandals. Her dramatic makeup and hair confirmed she had indulged in her own day of beauty – Mama’s other VIP? – while I was enjoying mine. On my Rapture high, I squealed excitedly at the sight of her and scurried across the floor, hugging her like I hadn’t seen her in a year.

“Hi Alexis,” I cooed in my hushed, breathy Marilyn Monroe-esque voice, “I’m Brandi. It is such a pleasure to meet you at last. Michael has told me so much about you. I feel like I have known you forever.”

That snapped her out of her trance. She blinked twice, rapidly. A smile crept into the corners of her mouth and grew.

“Your mama has told me so much about you, Brandi,” she smirked in her clipped ‘Alexis’ voice. “I’m glad we have this chance to meet face to face… at last.”

After exchanging air kisses, she held me at arm’s length, casting an appraising eye from head to toe and back. She took my chin in her hand and canted my head this way and that, noting the expression on my face and in my eyes. She nodded approvingly, a smile on her lips, then looked over my shoulder at my mother.

“You win,” she avowed appreciatively. “She is perfect.”

“I know my daughter,” Mama acknowledged gracefully, “and my business. Now, we had best be on our way. We’ll take my car. Elizabeth will meet us there.”

This was the second time I had heard a reference to ‘Elizabeth’. I thought I knew all of Mama’s friends. I had never heard of this one until last night.

“Who is Elizabeth?” I asked in my girlish ‘Brandi’ voice.

Alexis and Mama looked at each other and laughed.

“Who indeed,” my lover smirked.

The big, fluffy, mid-thigh-length black rabbit coat with the even bigger collar would come in handy. It was early December. A cold front had moved in the previous day and there would be a distinct chill in the air tonight, like last night. I slipped into the coat, leaving it open, black calfskin belt halves dangling, for effect. Mama’s Blackglama mink was equally dramatic. This was Alexis’ opportunity to indulge in a present I had purchased for her after our newfound fortune was realized. If you have never seen a truly attractive brunette in a full-length silver fox coat, you have missed one of the wonders of the world.

THE END OF CHAPTER FIVE