Fiction: Becoming a Body Double

Christina opened the door to my padded cell and walked in, wearing nothing but the bikini she wore when I ogled her at Alex's cottage last Summer.  She's a very sexy girl, with long, slim legs, firm but smallish breasts, and a fine, curvaceous figure.  I couldn't believe my eyes.  It had been weeks since I had seen any woman, much less had any sexual gratification.  

"Are we ready to begin?" she asked the two burly guards who watched over me.  They nodded and held me down as she strapped me into a bikini very similar to hers.

"What are you doing to me?" I whimpered.

She laughed as she tied up my bra and began to explain.  "You've surely heard about how my life is in danger?  Well, we need a lookalike to take some of the heat away from me.  We've run out of suitable women to imitate me, and you're the best of the rest."  

Christina is about 8 inches shorter than me, and 50 pounds lighter.

"But I don't look anything like you!"

"You'd be amazed what we can do these days with plastic surgery and makeup. . ."

"But I'm not even a girl!"

"That's the only snag.  And it's the first thing we'll work on.  C'mon, you'd better change your attitude, or you'll never get to be like me!"

With that, the men rubbed me down with some depilatory cream, and made me swallow some pills.  This continued for weeks.  Every day.

At first I resisted.  It took me a long time to get used to it.  Christina was very nice to me though.  She really wanted me to be just like her.  I loved to stare at her body, and I guess that pretty soon, her plan started to make a strange sort of sense to me.

The first few weeks were absolutely demeaning.  I wore all sorts of different female garments.  I got to experience it all: bikinis, one-piece bathing suits, leotards, panties and bras, garter belts, stockings, and all sorts of lingerie.  Every time, Christina would make me examine her body, admire its every curve, and smell it and touch it and feel it.  She didn't have to tell me how gorgeous it is, but she did.  She also told me that I would soon have one just like it, if I was good and co-operated with her.  This would make me horny as a toad, so she would bring in the goons to jerk me off, and fondle me like a girl.  Then when I came she would make me admit that I liked it because I felt like a girl.

Eventually, it became routine: a new set of undies to wear, more exploration of Christina's body, and the infamous rubdown.  By then by body was hairless and getting soft.  My nipples were starting to get sensitive from the hormones they fed me.  I started to look at her with envy rather than lust: I could relate to her underwear, because I wore it too, and I stared longingly at her crotch, admiring its shape not as something to fondle but to emulate.  

Finally, she let me get dressed by myself.  And I didn't hesitate.  I actually looked forward to it.  It dawned on me at last that I was going to be a girl.  I rather liked the idea.  I figured that I might as well enjoy it.  She noticed my enthusiasm, and began stage 2. . . .