Feature Writer: Angel Cherysse

Feature Title: THE INSTITUTE: BODY DOUBLE 6

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 6

Alexis and I rode in the back seat of Mama’s leased Lexus. She held my hand in hers and stared straight ahead, smiling that notorious, unnerving Cheshire smile. I felt like we should be talking about everything; my history as ‘Brandi’, her recriminations over my hiding it from her, my reasons for doing so, her perceptions of this new ‘me’ and its effect on our relationship. She didn’t seem at all inclined to discuss it, as though this, all of it, was the most natural thing in the world.

Essence was the ‘it’ club of the moment; the place for the beautiful people to see and be seen. The line of hopefuls extending down the block bore testament to the venue’s popularity. The valet hustled the Lexus away as the three of us advanced directly towards the door. The catcalls and wolf whistles from the line were immediate and vociferous. The hunky sentinels at the gate took one look at us and the velvet rope parted like the Red Sea for Moses. Was that fair? It was to us. The coat check was open and exchanged our wraps for tokens – and a fee, of course.

If club owners could figure out a way to charge the rabble for breathing, they would do so.

Taking me firmly by the arm, Alexis hustled me into the Ladies Room. She again took my chin in her hand and looked me directly in the eye.

“Do you love me?” she challenged.

“More than my life,” I acknowledged.

“Do you trust me?”

“Implicitly.”

“And I love you more than my life,” she avowed solemnly. “Remember that. Now, let’s go have a good time.”

The club was more expansive than most. The dance floor was big and equipped with the obligatory thundering sound system, lasers, light trusses, fog generators and so forth. Multiple bars with multiple waitresses slaked the built-up thirst of the masses. There were tables and standing areas, as well. Upstairs, via a conventional staircase in back and a spiral staircase in front, disappearing through the floor directly to the dance floor, was a VIP seating area, equipped with enough acoustic insulation in the walls and floor that it was possible to carry on a normal conversation. The area had an array of low-slung tables and a line of high-backed, semicircular upholstered booths along one wall.

Mama led us directly to the middle booth and slid in, followed by myself and Alexis. The booth was already occupied by a spectacular emerald-eyed redhead. She looked to be in her prime; perhaps early 30’s. She and Mama air-kissed, then did the same with Alexis. Then Mama introduced her to me as Elizabeth Masters. The other three fell easily into conversation, as though they had known each other for years. Elizabeth made a point of drawing me into it as well. She didn’t pry, per se, but without realizing it, I was opening up freely about my past and present. Her obvious poise, confidence and worldly-wise demeanor were that of a woman a decade older than my original estimate. Alexis held my hand and squeezed her encouragement. The way she gazed lovingly at me made me melt, as it always had.

They approached our booth with an ease born of habitual, unshakable confidence. Then again, it was easy to see that was the natural state of affairs for these two. Had it not been for the drugs carrying me aloft among the clouds, I might have dived under the table to hide in shame. Even though I was seeing his face clearly for the first time, there was no doubt the one on the right was Jean-Claude, the hunk who had made me his bitch the night before. He was a handsome hunk at that; perhaps six-foot-four or –five, two hundred fifty pounds of sculpted muscle under that designer suit, GQ-handsome, shaven head and smooth ebony skin. His companion was… Brock Maitland!

Alexis slid smoothly out of the booth, holding out her arms. Brock swept her up in his and kissed her with easy familiarity, as though they had rehearsed this ritual a thousand times. I had no time to make anything of it. Jean-Claude swept me out of the booth like a rag doll and into his powerful arms. I felt so helpless – and alive! Alexis introduced him formally as Jean-Claude Chrétien of New York, Paris, London and Port-au-Prince. She also introduced Brock as her ‘date’. The way her eyes bored into mine as she announced his status confirmed we were playing our ‘hot wife’ game for real – with an unexpected twist.

We re-arranged and re-seated ourselves. Alexis was next to Elizabeth, with Brock on the outside. I was seated next to Mama, with Jean-Claude taking his place as the other muscular bookend to our little coterie. From the course of the conversation, it appeared I, and possibly Jean-Claude, were the only strangers here. The other four clearly knew each other well.

“Jean-Claude, I have barely heard a word out of you,” Alexis teased. “Do you approve of the companion I have selected for you?”

“Now that I have had a chance to see her in the light,” he began with an intoxicating Caribbean-French accent, “I most definitely approve. She is everything I could have hoped for, and more – and she has a twin!”

“I don’t know anything about Brandi,” Brock leered, “but I can personally vouch for Tiffany’s charms.”

That remark earned him a well-deserved elbow to the ribs, causing him to raise his hands in mock surrender.

The evening was magic. Champagne and conversation flowed with equal aplomb. I danced with Jean-Claude. Alexis danced with Brock. Mama and Elizabeth both danced with admirers who approached them. My partner may have been a man-mountain, but he was graceful as a panther on the dance floor. As we danced, he was remarkably candid about his less-than-humble origins. He had been born into that rarest of breeds; Haitian Old Money. His family had done business with their French overlords during colonial days. Their holdings and influence had spread throughout the Caribbean, to the French colonies on the North American continent and to France itself, then the rest of Europe. More recently, they had entered the Asian market. Jean-Claude himself had been educated at the Sorbonne and the London School of Economics; groomed to take his rightful place as the next patriarch of the family business empire.

Brock had introduced himself at a Mr. Olympia event they had both attended; Jean-Claude as a contestant. Brock was familiar with the Chrétien family’s global holdings and had solicited my companion to manage a portfolio of the family’s investments. The worldly Haitian had, of course, heard of Maitland and Associates and was impressed with its track record. The recent Genesee Industries coup had been of particular fascination. He had accepted Brock’s invitation to come to town and discuss the matter further.

We couldn’t help but notice Brock and Alexis on the dance floor. They seemed intent on making sure everyone noticed. The song playing was a popular Trance track; slow, rhythmic, compelling. They were spooned together, his front to her back. His hands were on her hips. Their lower bodies undulated in time to the pounding beat. She had reached behind his head with one hand and was gazing at him over her shoulder with heavy-lidded, bedroom eyes.

Déjà vu.

On one hand, the erotic display was intoxicating. But for the effects of Depro-Gen, I would have been writhing in erectile agony within the tight-fitting prosthetic. On the other hand, I felt a gnawing in the pit of my stomach. They looked so good together. The dreamy expression on her face – the one she had, in the past, held only for me – indicated she was certainly enjoying herself. I had fretted in the past about losing this woman to a more ‘manly’ man – especially if she had learned about ‘Brandi’. Was my worst-case horror now playing out before my eyes, with me helpless to do anything about it?

“They make an attractive couple, no?” my dance partner observed, as if reading my thoughts. “She reminds me of that actress; you know the one. She and I had the opportunity to talk last night. In addition to her spectacular beauty, she has a warmth, an… empathy that makes a man want to tell her things, unburden his soul. I revealed things I have never told a stranger before. I am a complicated man, cheri. I have … appetites. I cannot deny my feelings, any more than I can deny the air that I breathe or the morning sun. She listened to me, ma cher. Then she told me she knew a girl she wanted me to meet; the perfect girl for me. That girl is you, my Brandi, and you are perfect; in what you are now, and the promise of what you can be in the future.”

As he spoke the words, I could feel the massive bulge snaking its way down his pant leg, half-way to his knee. I could only imagine how uncomfortable he might be with that monster trapped within its cloth prison. Pressed up against it, and him like this, I could feel the growing attraction between us. He had taken me the night before, made me his bitch. It had been the most intense sexual experience of my life.

In my Rapture-fueled frenzy, I wanted, craved more.

When we returned to the booth, Alexis corralled my arm, offered our excuses and escorted me to the Ladies Room. I did my business in the stall, then joined her before the mirror, where we touched up our makeup.

“You and Jean-Claude looked good out there on the dance floor,” my wife complimented with a warm, understanding smile.

“As did you and Brock,” I replied non-committally.

She detected the hitch in my voice, turned, and took my chin in her hands.

“This is not the time to get into all of this,” she attested, an expression of concern on her face. “I realize this is a lot to throw at you all at once, a lot to process, but the timing is what it is. Look at it from my perspective; you have had your entire life to prepare yourself for this moment, while I have had a lot less. Everything you have seen, everything you are yet to see and experience tonight is just the love life we have enjoyed, taken to its next logical step.

“Do you remember what I told you when we arrived here tonight?”

“Yes,” I verified.

“Remember it now,” she urged. “I am asking you to take all your doubts, all your fears and uncertainties, put them in a box, close the lid and set it outside the door. Tonight, just be. Let the night take us where it will. Tomorrow, we will make time to discuss all of this, and where we go from here. Okay?”

She hugged me tightly, emphasizing the emotions running between us. Without missing a beat, she reached into my purse, withdrew my injector and hit me with another dose. As always, I was reduced to the giggling little bimbo I reflected in the mirror. After packing up, we returned to the booth, where the other four, plus the flavor du noir Mama had picked up, were engaged in conversation about football; specifically the relative merits between FIFA-rules football and its American counterpart. Not surprisingly, the three men were dominating the conversation while Mama and Elizabeth were doing their best not to look bored.

After allowing me entrance, Jean-Claude re-took his seat. Taking Alexis’ advice, I snuggled up to him, slipped my right hand between his thighs to gently, suggestively stroke his massive trouser snake and otherwise hung on his every word. All my drug-besotted brain could think was I wanted this beautiful man, a real man’s man, so bad. Across the table, my wife was putting on a similar display with Brock. She caught my eye. The expression in hers, and the coy smile – almost a smirk – on her lips sent me conflicting messages.

I felt other eyes on me; Mama’s and Elizabeth’s. At another time and mental condition, I might have felt embarrassment, even shame. In my current state, I felt like I was on stage; the star of the show. That was good for an endorphin rush in and of itself. Mama’s smile and almost-imperceptible nod of approval reinforced that feeling. Elizabeth’s attention was more neutral, detached, as though she were just observing.

This party broke up, as all parties eventually do. The next one, featuring Brock, Alexis, Jean-Claude and myself was about to get underway. We all made our way to the coat check to recover our wraps. Mama was clearly going home with her new toy boy. The redhead took me aside and slipped her hand into mine.

“It was such a pleasure to meet you, Brandi,” she intoned sincerely. “I will look forward to chatting with you again soon.”

Bimbo Moment. We hadn’t ‘chatted’ all that much and I had done most of the talking, prattling on about myself in Brandi-centric terms, not wanting to dish my dirt to everyone – especially my boss. To the best of my perception, he had not recognized me and I wanted to keep it that way. I remembered what Jean-Claude had said about Alexis’ warmth and empathy. I had felt that from the moment we met, through all her changes. Now, I was feeling it even more strongly from the attractive redhead, whom I had just met and barely knew. Where, when and under what circumstances might we possibly meet again?

We four made our escape in Brock’s black S55. The powerful Mercedes whisked us away in plush, leather-upholstered elegance. My date seized the opportunity to take me in his powerful arms and kiss me deeply, passionately. I threw my arms around his neck and returned his gesture, passion for passion. Out of the corner of my eye, I noted my wife’s head disappear from view, headed towards Brock’s lap. A near silent zip, and a chorus of quiet sucking sounds followed.

That we pulled up in front of our townhouse was a surprise. That there was an available parking place right in front on a late Saturday night was beyond amazing. Our quartet made its way up the walk to the door, two by two, snuggled together, and directly upstairs to the Master Suite. In a flurry of kisses, gropes and other movement, Brock was soon naked. The beyond-beautiful brunette stunner wore only a garter belt, stockings and designer heels. I could smell the musk of her rut from where I stood.

Snatching her up in his arms, he deposited her in the center of our bed, spread her legs, then assumed his kneeling position between her thighs. His rod jutted straight out from his crotch. ‘Big Cock Brock’ indeed! I judged him to be a thick, meaty ten inches. It took a moment to realize there was to be no foreplay; no kisses, caresses, little love nips and certainly no oral. First stop: the Main Event itself. My wife’s eyes were not on her lover-to-be’s, but on mine. I saw want, need, desperate desire in those icy gray orbs. I knew then what she wanted; the ultimate act of affirmation – and betrayal. I stepped forward, grasped that monster in my hand and guided it slowly, determinedly towards its goal. In those long moments, her eyes never left mine. Flesh touched flesh, then moved on, and in. I stepped back and was immediately enveloped in my escort’s arms. He massaged my fake tits and pussy. I massaged his very-real anaconda. Together, we watched.

There was nothing tender about their coupling. There, before my eyes, Brock took her, rode her hard, claimed what had been mine – or, at least, Michael’s. I could hear the staccato slap-slap-slap of his loins against her pussy. Her legs crossed over his behind his knees. Her talon-ed fingers clenched his steel-hard butt cheeks, pulling him in deeper still. Her yelps and curses morphed into a high-pitched keening as her eyes rolled up into her head. As Jean-Claude held me in his powerful arms, I witnessed Brock Maitland shout out loud, lunge forward and dump his load into my wife’s greedy snatch.

The whole thing seemed over before it had begun. I hadn’t been watching the clock on the nightstand, but it certainly wasn’t the hour, or two, or more Alexis and I typically made love. Both came, to be sure, but…

The now-sated conqueror withdrew his dripping dong and turned towards me.

“Brandi,” Alexis mewed, “Sweetie, show my lover how much you appreciate him satisfying me the way he has. You know what to do.”

With an evil leer on his face, the lothario shuffled towards the edge of the bed on his knees. After Jean-Claude released me, I knelt at the side, looking up expectedly. The one-eyed monster dangled tantalizingly close to my lips. I parted them, and he closed the short distance between us. It was the same sharp, pungent taste as from my wife’s pussy the night before, but not the same as the cock I had sucked later. That hadn’t occurred to me then; it did now. My tender ministrations were overridden by a hand clutching the back of my head and pulling me forward. He began skull-fucking me with the same callous disdain he had shown Alexis. He came in my mouth, forcing me to swallow his load. It was easier than I expected; even with my limited experience, the load wasn’t a particularly large one. When he was sated, he threw my head back with contempt.

“Now me, Darling,” my wife implored, ignoring her lover’s actions. “I need you, too; more than ever. Show me how much you love me.”

I did love her! I should have been ashamed. I should have been mortified. I should have fled the room, screaming. At least, ‘Michael’ should have done all those things. All I could see was my needy, freshly-fucked beautiful-beyond-compare wife – the woman with whom I had shared all manner of sordid sexual adventures for nearly three years – now needing my tender ministrations to complete this scene we had started so long ago. I took my place between her thighs and began my reverent worship tentatively, then with fervor. She locked her thighs around my head and held it in place with her hands; not savagely as Brock had, but with determination born of extreme arousal. I felt the jerk of her first orgasm, followed a few minutes later by the second, then third.

About the same time, I felt hands shimmying the tight hem of my dress over my hips. Once again a jelled finger entered me, followed by a second, then a third. The fingers withdrew, followed by the same awesome fullness I had felt the night before. I had no frame of reference; only my instincts. Instinct told me this invader was bigger than the one that had taken my wife and my mouth; a lot bigger. That it wasn’t Brock was manifested in yet another way. This man was firm in his conquest, yet gentle towards his partner. He seemed as concerned about my enjoyment as his own. Between eating out my hotwife and being taken from behind by a stone-cold Adonis, I was enjoying plenty, as my own shrieks of pure pleasure confirmed. I came massively; again without touching my ‘clit’. Alexis announced her own explosion with a scream that rattled the windows. I collapsed in a heap next to her, our arms entwined.

When I awoke the next morning, I deliberately kept my eyes screwed firmly shut. I fully expected to find everything – the experience of late Friday night, the salon, Essence and the violent love-making afterward – to have been a hallucination. When I opened my eyes at last, Alexis was gazing down at me, smiling, clad in her garter belt, stockings and heels, just as she had been the night before. She was a bit the worse for wear, which was understandable. I could only imagine what I looked like.

She wore the strap-on around her loins with an air of casual confidence, one half of the monster buried within her own pussy. Without so much as a by-your-leave, she popped the cap on our tube of lubricant jelly, inserted the neck in my bottom hole and squeezed. After she had deposited a more-than-generous amount of slick gel inside me, she tossed the tube onto the nightstand and shifted her body behind me, positioning the head of that marauding monster at the entrance to my love cave. She penetrated me, filling me beyond full in one smooth, fluid motion.

It was like flipping a switch. Even without the drugs, I was instantly in full ‘Brandi’ mode. It had been that way since I was old enough to walk into an adult book and novelty store and buy toys for myself. As Alexis had surmised that first time, I was really, really sensitive down there. Now I was in bed with the woman of my dreams and I was her bitch, as I had been for Jean-Claude the night before. Nothing else mattered. Nothing else existed. My entire universe was my wife, my sissy pussy, and the diabolic double-dong that connected us.

“Your mama told me this was the way to your head, Brandi,” my lover purred mellifluously as she plumbed my depths. “I wouldn’t have believed it was this simple until I saw it with my own eyes. This is you; the ‘you’ you were meant to be. We won’t waste time on recriminations, other than to repeat what your mother has no doubt already told you. It was wrong of you to hide this from me; especially in light of all the other games we have played since we met. Then again, I have been a ‘work in progress’ these past months, just as you, Brandi, have been most of your life. I might not have been ready for this then, but I am oh, so ready for it now.

“I have never considered myself a hard-core lesbian and still don’t, but I had some delightful dalliances with sorority sisters and other student nurses before I met you – well, ‘Michael’. This ‘you’ has re-kindled those urges and multiplied them many times over. That is just one more piece of the mosaic that is ‘Alexis’; the ‘me’ you helped construct. I feel so complete now; the woman I have always dreamed of being. I have you to thank for that and love you now more than mere words could ever express. Now, our love and our life together is going to take a new and exciting turn; a turn for the better for both of us.

“‘Michael’ is gone from Maitland and Associates. I have arranged a nice severance package for you, in appreciation for your service. Effective this coming Thursday, you, Brandi, will be working full-time for your mother at House of Benét. In addition, your mama and I have arranged to facilitate your transition to ‘Brandi’ for real. As much as this version of you makes my mouth water, I am so looking forward to your next iteration.

“No, we won’t have to worry about your pay cut. Beginning Tuesday, I am becoming Brock Maitland’s personal assistant. I will occupy the office adjacent to his and work directly with him on a daily basis. I negotiated a compensation package that will more than make up for what we lose by you going to work for your mother, so our lifestyle will not diminish one iota. Brock and I have an… arrangement. I will be his companion for all office and/or outside social events, as he requires it. In addition, I will be spending a lot of personal time with him in the weeks ahead. It will be just like you and I play-acted before, but for real.

“I am not moving in with him. My home and my life are here with you, Brandi, and always will be. We will continue to attend to each other’s sexual and emotional needs as we have since the night we met – with some important differences. The first is my relationship with Brock, as I have already outlined. As you transition, you will lose your ability to satisfy me as a man should. That in no way diminishes us, or my devotion to you, my wife. Our sex will be as fresh, exciting and fulfilling as ever; just in a different way.

“The second is your continuing relationship with Jean-Claude. I am not turning into some kind of ogre, Darling. I am not going to keep my ‘boy on the side’ and deny you yours. I don’t think you understand just how hard he has fallen for you. While he will not be moving to town full-time – his far-flung business interests preclude that – he will be returning often; in no small part, to spend time with you. He will be back next weekend to attend the company’s Winter Wonderland ball. You will be his date, and I will be Brock’s. Jean-Claude has made some specific requests, which we will attend to in the coming days. I have no doubt you will be as excited about them as your mama and I already are.”

Sensory Overload. This – at least, some of it – had been my dream, my fantasy for as long as I could remember. Now Alexis, my dream woman and the love of my life, had hijacked it, amped it almost beyond recognition, and adopted it as her own. The rumbling began somewhere deep in the pit of my stomach and accelerated outward in all directions, seemingly at the speed of light. My vision blurred. There was a roaring in my ears. My heart pounded savagely in my chest. My whole body convulsed with the most monumental orgasm I had ever experienced.

THE END OF CHAPTER SEX