The Institute: Body Double

"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.

Chapter Seven

I had spent Sunday afternoon in a closed-door session in my mother's salon chair for the first phase of my makeover. With my wife bearing witness, my shoulder-blade-length sandy blonde hair had been transformed into a huge, layered explosion of Platinum Blonde puffery, worthy of an 80's rock video. It would require work on my part until the following week, when it could be permed. Then I would be able to wash, dry, fluff and forget. My evil 'twin' added two more features right from her own heart; arched, microbladed eyebrows and a set of long, thick curly false eyelashes, affixed with a new adhesive, very similar to that which I used to attach my prosthetics. Result: a set of showgirl lashes that would remain in place a month or more, through showers, tears, repeated makeup applications and removals and anything else I might throw at them.

Monday morning found Alexis, my mother and I in Mama's Lexus, headed into the hills at the edge of town. With the salon closed on Monday, as usual, Mama had insisted on accompanying us. Under instruction, I was dressed casually in T-shirt and sweats. The hair, eyebrows, eyelashes, talons and toenails all shouted "Brandi". Otherwise, I wore no makeup or prosthetics, which felt really weird. They had been deliberately evasive of my inquiries, saying only I wouldn't be sorry we made the trip.

The high stone walls at the end of a private access road, far removed from the nearest neighbor, gave it away. We parked outside the main building, which resembled a huge French chateau, and made our way inside. We were expected, and escorted down the hallway to a door leading to an anteroom staffed by an attractive secretary, who announced our arrival via telephone, then ushered us into the inner office.

The sign on her desk said it all:

Elizabeth Masters, M.D., PhD.

Director

The dazzling redhead stepped out from behind her desk to greet Mama, Alexis, then me. Then we took our seats.

"I have to say, Brandi," this truly exceptional woman began, "I have been quite intrigued hearing about you, first from your mother, then from D'Arcy -- I'm sorry, Alexis. I am proud of the results we have accomplished for each of them, just as I am proud of what we have done for all our clients. Your case is of particular interest to me. Mind you, we have performed gender-transformative procedures in the past, both male-to-female and the reverse. In each case, the client was well pleased with the outcome. What sets you apart is the level you have already transformed yourself, with the help of your mother.

"Hearing her description of you is one thing. Seeing you with my own eyes Saturday night, watching the way you comported yourself in a public setting, was another matter. If I hadn't known better, I would have surmised your transformation was already complete, rather than just getting underway. The Harry Benjamin Protocols require an initial period of counseling to determine whether the subject is a suitable candidate for transition. After observing you Saturday night, I have already determined you are, and we can progress to the next phase.

"Alexis chose surgical procedures to make her appearance mirror that of her idol. As it happens, that woman is also a client of ours and we had already digitally mapped her physiognomy to fractions of a millimeter. The procedures themselves were exacting, and the recovery arduous, but the results were a foregone conclusion. You, too, enjoy a similar benefit. We already have your mother's dimensions mapped, from head to toe. Your results are, as they say, a 'shoo-in'. Given the almost-surreal resemblance between you two already, the cosmetic procedures to transform your face into hers are actually minor and can be accomplished this afternoon on an out-patient basis. The... adjustments to the dimensions of your lower body can be performed the same way.

"Normally, Hormone Replacement Therapy is the longest, most drawn-out portion of the transition. It might take a year to see noticeable results and two years to see appreciable ones. Professionally, I do not condone the subterfuge you and your mother conducted, although I understand the motivations. You have been on low-level HRT for ten years now. Your bloodwork confirms..."

Bloodwork? How... I turned to my wife. She continued looking at the Director, a coy smile on her lips. Okaaaaayyyyy...

"... your body is ready. In fact, it is at a tipping point. With the application of higher-level dosages of next-gen synthetic female hormones, plus a new medication we have recently developed, your physiological changes will be rapid and profound. Our computer modelling projects you will be ready to undergo your final surgical makeover in six months.