Feature Writer: Angel Cherysse

Feature Title: THE INSTITUTE: BODY DOUBLE 8

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 8

Saturday was crazy-busy. You would have thought everyone was going to a Winter Wonderland ball that night. All of my appointments had been front-loaded into the morning and early afternoon so Mama and Gayle could prep me for my date that night. Topic Number One was on everyone’s lips. TMZ had dropped the bomb that morning, setting the Internet ablaze. Brock Maitland had been spotted at Essence the night before, canoodling with a stunning Joan Collins look-alike. The digital images confirmed it. That was enough to set tongues wagging. But it was the photo of them clinking their champagne flutes together that had transfixed me.

She wasn’t wearing her wedding rings!

The media hyped, as they had with each one of his previous floozies: Would this one be The One? More to follow…

Jean-Claude had returned the previous afternoon. We spent the evening together at home. We had done things together that blew my mind, as well as my libido. Then he took me again with his magnificent member. He would have gone all night – he certainly had that capability -, but I kicked him out, pleading I had to get some sleep if I wasn’t going to be a zombie at the party the next night.

Alexis never came home. I hadn’t seen her since she left for the office Friday morning. The little number she was wearing for Brock, the one on such prominent display in the Internet images, certainly wasn’t what she had had on when she walked out our front door. For that matter, I didn’t remember ever seeing it before. Was it something she had purchased and worn only for her new lover?

I was doing a full set of acrylics for another client when the star of last night’s drama, currently The Most Beguiling Woman in the World, breezed through the door into the salon and was immediately seated in Mama’s cushioned chair, to be fussed over by Mama, Gayle and Jennifer. The four were soon abuzz in conversation, oblivious to the rapturous attention being heaped upon them from all sides.

Was she even planning to say “hello”?

Since she was wearing something different now, she must have snuck in after I left for work. She was wearing her rings again, too, as though nothing were amiss. Was that for our benefit? Did she think no one would have noticed their absence in the publicity photos? No harm, no foul.

I knew full well how the scene was intended to play out that coming evening. She would be in Brock’s arms; I would be in Jean-Claude’s. Brock would monopolize her attention all night, as he usually did with his women. At some point, he would whisk her away back to the office, the private elevator, and his penthouse palace. I could envision her with my former boss, clawing desperately at the flesh of his back as he made her his bitch, and how much she enjoyed it. Meanwhile, Jean-Claude, I and everyone else would be left to our own devices.

Jean-Claude. I suddenly had a really creepy feeling in the pit of my stomach. After he decided to break up the act, a famous folksinger, part of a duo, had penned a farewell song with an oblique reference to his soon-to-be-ex-partner as his way of saying goodbye. The thing is, the partner didn’t find out about the song’s hidden meaning until after the split. They had recorded it and performed it live, in front of multiple audiences, without him knowing he was being publicly disrespected. The Haitian heartthrob’s sudden appearance in my life, followed so closely by this, took on a whole new meaning.

Now that she had the life she had always wanted, was Alexis tossing me a bone on her way out the door? Good doggie! Say “bye-bye, Mama.”

If that was her intent, she had sadly miscalculated. That ‘bone’ wasn’t chump change in any respect. For all his good press, Brock Maitland was, essentially, a big fish in a small pond. The Chrétien Group was global, and their balance sheet reflected it. I knew; I had assiduously tracked the conglomerate’s earnings in my former life. Apparently, my hard work had factored into Brock’s decision to solicit Jean-Claude’s business. Jean-Claude and I had only been together twice; three times, if you counted our late-night ‘introduction’. The way he was treating me, the things he was saying, the look in his eyes said he wanted more; a lot more. That was crazy, given where I was at that point in my transition.

The thing was, Jean-Claude was really into that. The sight of this amazing hunk of a man sucking my ‘clit’ while fondling my empty scrotal sac the night before, and doing so with both skill and tenderness, had blown me away. He had confessed; the idea of a beautiful boy, transforming himself into a breathtakingly beautiful, voluptuous woman for him made him crazy with lust.

I had made clear that the circumstances of my life, not the least of which was that transition, tied me here to this city; at least, for now. He understood, and regretted the circumstances of his life precluded him being here with me every day, sharing the journey with me.

“But after that journey is complete, ma cher,” he had intoned in his rich, mellifluous baritone, “then our journey can begin.”

I had dismissed his protestations of devotion as mere pillow talk. Now, in light of what I had learned, they were taking on new appeal. As much as I loved Alexis, I no longer had to live vicariously through my mate’s ‘hot wife’ exploits. I had my own Adonis who seemed hell-bent on making me forget about anyone else, including Alexis.

Was it real? Was anything real in my life at that point?

If push came to shove, I didn’t need a lifeboat at all. I had plenty of money; now tucked safely away in a numbered offshore account. The irony was, that had been Alexis’ idea. Given the ever-increasing frequency of financial cyber-hacks, she had wanted our newfound wealth protected as best as possible from the predictions of others. I had fully intended to add her name to the account, but had not yet done so. I might have to split the money with her if we divorced, but I would make her work for it.

Whatever the case, I would now keep my ‘Jean-Claude Option’ open.

A phone call informed me my next client had to cancel her appointment. She was to have been my last appointment of the day. What luck! I was just wrapping up my current task. A quick glance confirmed; so was Mama. I went to lunch – alone. Cowardly? Perhaps. I just didn’t want to deal with it right then. I texted Jean-Claude, knowing full well I wouldn’t hear back from him immediately. He had mentioned he would avail himself of his health club’s nation-wide membership privileges to work out at the club’s local outlet before tonight. Who was I to complain about a hunk who wanted to look his best for me?

xxxxx

“Where have you been?” Mama chided sternly. “Alexis was beside herself. She wanted to talk with you after we finished with her. She waited as long as she could, then told me she had to hurry home and start getting ready for tonight.”

“How sad,” I dead-panned. “She spent all that time in your chair and never thought to say ‘Hi’ to me when I was sitting ten feet away. Oh well; we will just have to catch up later.”

My mother gazed at me queerly, then hustled me into her chair. My nails didn’t require a fill yet; just new polish and artwork. The big question was what to do about my hair; up or down? A classic up-sweep would have been an elegant exclamation point to what I would be wearing. The smell from the perm was just now abating, and I really wanted to make a statement.

Down – and out!

Sheila had finished the dress the day before. Mama had it hanging up in the back room. I had brought everything else I would need. The original plan was for Alexis and I to dress for each other separately, so we could admire the result in a mutual ‘Grand Reveal’. Now, Jean-Claude would be the beneficiary of my efforts. He deserved it. The gown was a dazzling silver, snug-fitting, floor-length, halter-topped with a deeply-plunging neckline and front slit to mid-thigh. The matching armpit-length gloves were fingerless, covering the back of my hand with only a loop around my middle finger to hold them in place. The black corset, thong and full-fashioned stockings were a reprise from the previous weekend. The silver ankle-strap platform sandals featured rapier-thin stiletto heels that reached for the heavens. I had done the makeup myself, copying an ultra-glam look from one of my favorite You Tube makeup artists. I was going for ‘drop-dead sexy’ and could already sense hearts failing all over the world.

My Nubian prince had messenger-ed a big box to the salon while I was dressing. There were a series of smaller boxes inside. The faux diamonds blazed, even in the salon’s artificial light; drop earrings that would nearly brush my shoulders, a multi-tiered necklace, multi-strand bracelets for each wrist, even a single-strand anklet. Then I read the label inside the lid:

Cartier

I thought my heart would go into arrest. It had been a big box for a reason. If you thought a stunning brunette looked good in Silver Fox, wait until you see a Platinum-Blonde goddess in full-length Russian Sable. Mama just sighed at the sight of me. Contentedly? Wistfully? I had no trouble interpreting the love and pride in her hug. My clutch was already packed. I grabbed it and was out the door.

Jean-Claude had ‘messenger-ed’ the coat and jewels in a limo, which awaited me at the curb.

It’s too much! It’s too much!

Yeah? Well, what do you call the split of champagne and chilled flute that awaited me in the limo’s bar? I called it: “I fell down the rabbit hole and it’s getting more curious and more curious, so I think I’ll just hang out here for a while and please tell the Boy Scouts to hold off on that search.”

Snick went the injector pen. “Ahhhh,” I sighed expressively, as the warm, tingly rush enveloped my senses.

I texted my escort that I was on my way to his hotel, and when and where he was to meet me. I didn’t know how well he knew American movies, but there was a scene I was dying to act out. There would be some obvious differences, but that would only add spice to an already erotic tableau.

You know the one.

Black Adonis in designer tux, meet voluptuous Blonde Venus lounging languorously on a high-backed stool at the hotel bar – with every eye in the place already locked on her like radar. If my eyes sparkled with anywhere near the intensity of the diamonds I was wearing, I hoped they would convey the message I was happy to see him. I slid sinuously to my feet upon his arrival. Even in my sky-high heels, I had to look up to him. That was as it should be. I felt so good in his powerful arms, my body pressing into his. As we made our way to the exit, my arm in his, I watched the eyes track us. The unspoken message was clear. Every man in the room wanted me. Every woman wanted to be me.

I wondered what they would think if they knew.

Jean-Claude was staying at this particular hotel for a reason. Brock had rented their Grand Ballroom for Winter Wonderland. Although it was billed as a semi-formal affair, it didn’t surprise me the least we weren’t the only couple to show up black-tie. Brock looked appropriately spiffy in his own tux. Alexis was radiant in a floor-length black velvet bustier sheath and matching opera-length gloves. I did not see the outline of her rings on the appropriate finger.

The coo-some twosome was playing host and hostess just inside the door, welcoming their guests. I knew she had watched me shed my coat at the coat check across the hall from the entrance. Out of the corner of my eye, I had seen hers open wide with surprise as I revealed my gown and jewels – and me. My wife and I air-kissed, as I also did with the snake beside her. A quick check of the room confirmed what I had already expected; she and I were the stars of this show, hands down.

“We have to talk later,” she whispered in my ear.

“Oh, absolutely,” I agreed earnestly, as I drew my date past them and into the room.

Just like we did at the salon, Bitch!

For the next hour, I had the time of my life mingling and chatting with my former co-workers. They either had already met Jean-Claude or had been primed to expect him. Brock is very thorough about such things when there is big money on the line. By prior agreement, my escort introduced me as “Brandi Benét”. My transformation was already so profound, no one recognized me. My ‘Marilyn’ voice certainly wasn’t giving me away. I spent the time regaling them with old office war stories, as though I had known them for years – which, of course, I had.

“Do you remember Joe Lister? He nearly sank the firm a couple of years ago when his pet ‘buy’, Bradford Industries, tanked? I hear he has a hot dog cart over in the park now.”

I could read the perplexity on their faces. How did this airhead with the bodacious ta-ta’s know so much about them?

Jean-Claude had a natural charm with other people that bordered on hypnotic. Even I was spellbound, listening to him speak of his experiences, from his youth in Port-au-Prince to school in Europe to managing his far-flung holdings. Our little clique expanded as people gravitated towards us – and stayed.

I kept my eye on that other happy couple. He kept his right arm around her waist possessively as they chatted with various groups. She placed her left hand atop his right, as any woman would to passively mark her territory. I knew she knew where I was. She occasionally flicked her eyes in my direction. I studiously avoided making eye contact. It wasn’t that difficult when your escort was The Most Interesting Man in the World, and a damn good-looking one, too. I didn’t want to fawn openly, but damn…

We drank champagne. We ate from the buffet. Okay, I nibbled. Tight-laced corseting is a more effective appetite suppressant than any pill, potion or plan available on the market. Besides, I had inches to lose. We danced – to a live band, not a DJ. Brock goes all-out for these affairs. Once again, I felt… right in the arms of this gentle giant with the cat-like grace. Once again, Brock vied with all comers to be the center of attention. With Alexis in his arms, that was guaranteed. I grudgingly had to admit; they did make an attractive couple, as Jean-Claude had pointed out the previous weekend.

“Yes, they fit well together,” my partner sighed, as if to confirm my thoughts. “I thank God for that. Through him, I met her. Through her, I met you, ma cher. I do not understand this game you play, you and her, but I am grateful for it; grateful for this opportunity to know and be with you. I am not accustomed to losing, cheri, or settling for second place. Brock has set his sights on your lady – and I fully intend to make you mine.”

I sat on the commode in the stall in the Ladies Room, dazed. Sure, I had a nice champagne and Rapture buzz going, but it was much more than that. In the past week, everything I thought to be constant in my life had been turned upside-down. My dreams of ‘Brandi’ were, at long last, coming to fruition. My high-pressure job at Maitland? Poof – gone! In its place was my other cherished dream; to be working for Mama at House of Benét. On the other hand, Alexis was no longer mine exclusively and may not be mine at all. Out of nowhere, a black stallion gallops into my life and indicates my wife’s fidelity is no longer relevant, that I am to be his.

Rod Serling appeared in my mind, prefacing the scene that was to follow. Do-DO-do-do, Do-DO-do-do…

I idly flicked through the picture gallery on my iPhone, gazing at photos of D’Arcy and me in simpler times. As ‘Brandi’, I had been able to indulge myself in a few guilty pleasures I never could have done as ‘Michael’. The new accessory to my cell phone was one of them; a protective sleeve that resembled a perfume bottle.

Suddenly, the bathroom door banged open and someone – it sounded like more than one ‘someone’ – came in. There was silence for a moment, and then:

“We are not supposed to be in here,” teased that cultured, oh-so-familiar voice. “Well, I am; you are not. What if someone sees us?”

“They are supposed to see us,” the equally-familiar male voice replied. “That’s the point. That stringer from TMZ who thought he snuck in undetected has been all over us like a cheap suit for the past hour. There’s a camera lens inside his shirt cuff. Can you believe that? It’s like something out of a bad spy novel. We will be all over the Internet again tomorrow!”

“This is amazing! I feel like a movie star with all the attention we are getting, but aren’t we overdoing it a bit? I mean, so soon after the first time?”

“Publicity makes the world go ‘round, Babe. You can never get too much of the stuff. Just ask the Kardashians. We are the hot couple and I want everyone talking about us. We’ll string the rubes along for a while with the ‘Will they? Won’t they?’ line before we announce our engagement.”

“That’s going a little too far, Lover. I am already married, remember?”

“Yeah, but they don’t know that. Good publicity is good business. Hell, even bad publicity can be good business if you spin it right. The only publicity that is bad for business is no publicity, and that is never gonna happen to yours truly.

“You are a star; the best publicity a man could ever have. I thought you looked good before, but now that you have had your surgery, you are breathtaking. Little Mikey was such a fool to let you go, but his loss is my gain.”

“Brock, I adore you,” my wife purred in a voice like velvet-wrapped steel, “but if you disparage my husband that way again, this night is over before it has really begun. He didn’t ‘let me go’, as you put it. You demanded I get him ‘out of the way’ and I made the appropriate arrangements. You and I are free to pursue this… relationship as long as it suits us. Michael will not be a hindrance to us, as long as you honor the terms of our agreement. Do we understand each other?”

“Yeah, yeah, okay; the agreement. I got it.”

“And what is Point One of our agreement?”

“Mikey is off-limits. We don’t abuse or humiliate him publicly, regardless of what steps you take to get him out of the way.”

“Very good! As for his loss and your gain, I should like to point out he was the author of your Genesee Industries coup. You should show a little more gratitude for that.”

“Oh, I am very grateful,” he acknowledged. “Grateful enough to have given him a big bonus to keep him working for me – and keep you close. I was grateful enough to allow you to marry him so we could get control of his money.”

“You allowed me to marry him? How generous of you! Besides, I would have thought you already had more money than you know what to do with.”

It’s like they say, Sweet Cheeks; you can never be too rich. The way I see it, he has my money in his pocket and I want it back. He worked for me. He accepted a salary from me. The fruits of his labors all belong to me. That includes you. You want ‘grateful’? I am very, very grateful he couldn’t hold on to his woman – and I was there to catch you when you fell. He never did find out about us at Spring Fling, did he?”

“To my everlasting guilt, no, he did not. I ‘fell’ because I drank too much – drinks you had been plying me with – and you took advantage of me; on the table in that empty conference room.”

“Yeah, but you came back for more, didn’t you? All those ‘nooners’ in your marital bed in that spiffy new townhouse of yours, while Mikey was slaving away for me at the office?”

“With you holding all of that over my head, threatening to ‘out’ me to my husband? I did not have much choice, did I?”

“What difference does it make how we got together? The only thing that matters is that we are together – and the little faggot is now that big Haitian gorilla’s bitch. Did you see the way they were making eyes at each other? That’s disgusting!”

“Brock, I am warning you…”

“Well it’s true, isn’t it? I don’t know how you conned him into it, but when I told you I wanted him out of the way, I never dreamed you were capable of something so cold-blooded. Seriously? You cut off his balls? I mean, sure, I always thought he was a little fey, but this…”

“She is really sweet and has been nothing but good to and for me since the day we met. That is why I married her, not you, and why I am keeping her. Let us not forget; she just handed you the Chrétien portfolio on a silver platter – and she does not even work for you anymore! If you just spent a little time with her…”

“Ewwwww, NO WAY! Listen, Toots; Jean-Claude may be queer as a three-dollar bill, but I am a straight-shooter. Just the thought of being near ‘her’, as you put it, makes me shudder. I thought I was going to puke when she made kissy-face at me when they arrived tonight. I let her blow me that one time because you wanted it, and it was all part of taking you away from her, which was a real turn-on for me.

“You say you want to keep her around? I don’t know why, but fine; you can have the little fairy. She is no threat to me any longer. You belong to me now in all the ways that really matter. I am willing to put up with her for your sake, and I will even let you spend ‘quality time’ with her when I’m busy. She’s a great little carpet-muncher, isn’t she? That’s another job I will gladly let her have. I’ll even ‘bake’ a fresh, hot cream pie for you to take home to her. Just keep her the fuck away from me – and for God’s sake, shower before you come back.”

“You are such a pig,” my wife sighed with quiet conviction. “I really do not know what it is I see in you.”

“Yes you do,” he gloated, “and we both know it.”

“Be that as it may, we will now get off the subject of your masculine superiority and get back to our party. I still need to talk to Brandi…”

There was a lull, and what sounded like a brief struggle.

“Let go of me, you bastard! You are hurting me!”

“Feel that?” Brock challenged. “That is what you need until I say otherwise. The ‘lovebirds’ can look after themselves. I need to get you back to my place and show you what real loving is all about. Let’s not forget who is in charge here, okay?”

“Believe me,” the now-ice-cold British voice responded, “I know full well who is in charge here.”

I had heard enough. I waited a couple of minutes after the outer door opened and closed, then put myself back together, flushed again, fixed my lipstick, then went in search of my date. By pure idiot luck, he was just coming out of the Men’s room. I pressed my body against him, rubbing my sex back and forth against his and eliciting exactly the response I had been hoping for.

“It’s time to go, Sugar,” I purred enticingly. “We have put in enough ‘face time’ for one evening. Now it’s our time.”

“A splendid idea,” he agreed wholeheartedly. “I’ll just say goodnight to our hosts…”

I placed one exquisitely-manicured finger to his lips, silencing him.

“Fuck good manners,” I quibbled, massaging the anaconda in his pant leg directly. “They are big kids now and know the score. Let’s collect my beautiful new coat from the coat check. Then take me up to your suite and fuck me. You know you want it. So do I.

“Let me paint you a picture, Big Boy. Imagine me in corset, stockings and heels, all wrapped up in that gorgeous fur, rubbing up against you in the elevator and down the hall to our room. All you have to do is open up the coat, like unwrapping a Christmas present. Then you have free access to this body; a body you are paying for, for your own pleasure. How does that strike you?”

Apparently, it struck the right chord. We collected my new fur at the coat check. I then made a second, quicker stop at the Ladies room to shed unnecessary cloth (it more or less fit in the coat’s inner pocket) and touch up my lipstick. From there, it was a straight shot to the elevator bank – and Fantasyland.

THE END OF CHAPTER EIGHT