Replacing Angelina

by

Jean M. Chambers

 

"Buy a lady a drink, mister?"

Her smile was warm and easy. I studied the woman's face. Something about her was familiar. I sized her up with a glance. She stood even with him at five feet, nine inches tall in flats. Her legs and build were muscular for a woman and the black sequined cocktail dress she wore fit like a glove. The sleeves were sheer black nylon and the deep plunge back exposed the top of her black lace panties. The diamond chocker around her neck, and matching bracelet must have cost thousands. They contrasted beautifully with her long, deep red hair. She didn't need anyone to buy her a drink. She was classy. Her name was Angelina.

Sure, why not, I thought and said as much. She was pretty. She was very pretty. I was just passing through town and a one night stand would be welcome. Her large, diamond, wedding ring set told me she was married, but I didn't care. One man's loss was another man's gain. Her smile was easy and her laughter, light and airy. We talked for an hour about the weather before I asked her to dine with me in the hotel's dining room.

"I have a better idea." she said with a hint of mischievousness, "Why don't we go to my place? It is much more comfortable and private."

That excited me. She was definitely a keeper and I was going to get lucky tonight. I escorted her to the front door where we waited patiently for the car hop to retrieve her car, a black, BMW sedan. She drove. I couldn't keep my eyes off her legs. Few women had legs like hers. The hem of her dress had ridden up to the top of her thigh high stockings when she slid into the driver's seat. She didn't bother pulling it back down.

An hour later she turned into a gated, tree lined, private lane. It was late evening by then. The lane was pitch black until the trees gave way to a large clearing in front of very large home. I was impressed. The house was dark and it was obvious that we were the only ones there. Once inside, she offered me a drink in the drawing room. The late night air was chilled. Angelina kicked off her shoes, lit the fireplace, and snuggled up close to me on the sofa where I lounged. I took a long swallow from the glass she had handed me. She sipped her drink. A large smile spread slowly across her face, followed by a look of confusion, then horror. as She put a hand to her forehead, then tugged at the collar of her dress. Her eyes turned frantic just before she slumped back, onto the sofa. The room started spinning just before I blacked out.

I opened my eyes cautiously and found I was laying on my back in a bed. The room was dimly lit and femininely decorated room. A man sat, waiting patiently, in an arm chair a few steps away. I looked around the room while trying to prop myself up on one elbow. My elbow slid out from under me on the silky sheets.

"As you well know, nylon against silk has a way of doing that, my dear Angelina" the man commented.

I glanced at the sheer, black, nylon sleeves covering my arm that had so easily slipped from under me. Long, red, manicured nails on my right hand caught my eye immediately. Shiny black sequins, on the outfit I was wearing, caught my eye a second later. So did my black nylon clad legs and the shiny, black, patent pumps which adorned my feet. The man in the chair saw my confusion.

"My house keeper's handy work. She's quite good with makeup, nails, and all that womanly rot. Saved me countless dollars keeping my wife looking respectable."

My head throbbed. I thought I was dreaming and let myself slip back down to lay on the bed. Something was definitely wrong. I could swear I was wearing Angelina's cocktail dress. I rolled over and felt my legs, arms, and body slip smoothly across the silky sheets. A lock of long, dark, red hair, from the wig I realized I was wearing, fell across my face. It stuck to the lip stick on my lips. I concluded I wasn't dreaming. Someone was playing a joke on me. Angelina must have drugged me, then dressed me in her outfit for laughs. It was a sick joke

"I'm glad you are awake, Angelina. I was starting to worry. Drugs can be so unpredictable."

I tried to sit up but couldn't

"Where am I?" I demanded. "Where is Angelina? What has she done to me? Why am I dressed like this?

My anger swelled as I lay on the bed, reeling from whatever she drugged me with.

The man in the chair moved to the side of the bed and strapped some type of leather cuff around my wrist.

"Oh dear, I was afraid something like this might happen. It always pays to be prepared."

The slim man walked quickly around the bed and did the same with my other wrist. The cuffs were attached by straps to the corner posts of the bed. A small, but strong, hand grasped my left ankle and easily pulled my nylon clad body across the silky sheets towards the bottom of the bed making the straps attached to my wrist taunt. I was helpless to stop the man and lay there while he buckled two more leather cuffs around my ankles. He tied the attached straps to the corner posts at the foot of the bed. I was helplessly tied in spread eagle position to the bed, wearing Angelina's black, sequined, cocktail dress outfit.

There was nothing left to do but scream for help. I did.

"No one will hear you, Angelina," said the man, moving back to the side of the bed, "but just the same. I prefer a quiet and obedient wife. As much as I hate to do this, I must, until you calm down."

He leaned over me, forcing a long, solid, rubber tube into my mouth. It was a gag of some type. The man fastened the gag's straps around behind my head head. The shape of the solid, rubber, tube felt familiar. I realized why. It was shaped like a penis, the tip of which was thrust into the back of my throat, making it impossible to make anything but grunting sounds. I had thrust my penis in many a women's mouths during sex. Now I knew what it felt like.

"We will have this discussion once. Then it will never be mentioned again, ever."

"Mmmffff! Mmmmm!" I grunted my objection as loudly as I could, which wasn't loud at all. For the first time I realized I must be wearing makeup because I could feel my lips moving slickly against the rubber penis and my eyelashes seemed shaded. The scent of perfume filled my nostrils. I recognized it as Angelina's perfume.

"I guess I should explain. I am Gaston Waldorf. Angelina, my wife, is no longer with us thanks to you. May God rest her soul. Since you are responsible for her demise, you will have to replace her. You will spend every waking hour learning to be her, right down to her smallest idiosyncrasy. She had a dark side. You will learn that too. Angelina liked being tied to the bed and gagged for hours. Angelina liked being tied, just as you are now. I don't know why. That looks a bit uncomfortable, if you ask me. In time you'll learn to like it, as you will with everything she liked. The gag, by the way, was one of her favorites. It must be a woman thing, but I digress. Your only concern from this day forward is to walk, talk, dress, act, and look like Angelina. You will become her. Do you understand? From this day forward, you are Angelina."

I glared incredulously at the man and his words and thought he must be crazy. Especially if he thought I was going to pose as a woman, his wife no less. A knock sounded on the door. The man opened it a few inches, just wide enough to accept an envelope from someone.

"My house keeper, Carmelita." he explained after closing the door. He smiled as he approached the side of the bed; withdrawing several eight by ten photos from the envelope he had been given. Slowly, one by one, he showed them to me.

"In case," the man chuckled coldly, "you have any doubts of doing exactly as I instruct.

A whimper escaped me as the feeling of fear and helplessness swelled up inside my chest. The pictures were of me and Angelina. I wanted to cry and vomit at the same time. One picture depicted Angelina lying on the floor in a pool of blood. I was kneeling beside her with my hand on the hilt of a knife which protruded from her stomach. Others depicted similar grisly scenes. Obviously the photos had been faked. I knew I hadn't killed Angelina. Gaston had, after drugging us, but who would believe me? The pictures told it all.

The man put the pictures back into the envelope.

"I had to do it. She left me no choice. I neglected her too much. She became suspicious and found out I was having an affair with someone else. Angelina was going to divorce me and ruin my reputation. I couldn't let her do that. When I saw the two of you together, I knew what I had to do. I was going to kill you both. Then I realized how much alike you both looked. If not for that, you would be dead right now. I decided, for your punishment, you would take her place. Quite fitting, don't you think? After a few cosmetic adjustments at the clinic tomorrow, you'll easily pass as her. From this moment on, you are Angelina. I suggest you do your best to be convincing." He waved the photos he held in his hand. "I can imagine how they would treat a man as pretty as you'll be, in prison. They might even see fit to put you in a woman's prison. Wouldn't that be fun? No. I think not. Not for a man, anyhow. Carmelita will be in soon to acclimate you to your new role."

 

I waited for a long time hearing nothing but silence. Pulling on my bindings was useless. Between being clad in nylon and the silk sheets I couldn't get enough traction to even give a good tug on the straps. It was like lying on a sheet of ice.

"Be still and I will release you." a soft, Hispanic voice startled me.

Carmelita, the housekeeper had quietly entered the room using a door by the head of the bed behind me. She moved silently, not making a sound. Her small hands worked quickly to free me.

"I am to help you to prepare you for dinner. Mr. Waldorf is waiting for you in the dining room." she said meekly, tugging at the back zipper of the low cut dress I was wearing.

"No!" I glared, turning around abruptly and pushing her hands gently away. "Forget it. If you hadn't noticed yet, I'm a man. I'm not into playing some rich guys bitch. I certainly won't be his wife."

Fear flared in her eyes.

"Please!" she begged, spinning me around to face her. "You do not know him as I do. You do not know how vicious he can be. Believe me. If you do not do as he says, he will arrange for you will be charged with murder of his wife."

"Nonsense," retorted Steve, "I didn't murder anyone."

"That does not matter. Mr. Waldorf is very, very wealthy and shrewd. He will do what he says if you do not comply with his wishes. If I do not prepare you for dinner as he requested, he will punish me."

"If he is so bad, why are you here, Carmelita?"

Carmelita spun me back around and unzipped my dress.

"I had a promising future at one time." she choked a little on her words. "I was an Attorney. We had an affair. Now I am a Servant. That is all I wish to tell you. I suggest you do as he says and pretend you are his wife. Being his wife is not such a bad thing, considering the alternative. You will be totally pampered, as she was."

As if on cue, the dress loosened from around my waist and slipped to the floor, laying in a pile at my feet. Carmelita quickly pulled a white, slinky, sleeveless, sequined diner gown from the closet and held it for me to step into.

"I see what you mean. Only the finest clothes to wear. The finest women's clothes!" I said mockingly. "The problem is, I'm not a woman."

She begged me with her eyes when I didn't step into the gown immediately. I gave in, putting one foot into the dress, then the other. It was lined in white silk and slid effortlessly over my skin. It sent shivers up my spine. Carmelita pulled the zipper up and the dress closed in around me like a second skin. The sequin laden gown was heavy, but I was amazed at how nice it felt. It actually made me feel sexy.

Carmelita handed me a pair of elbow length, white silk, evening gloves to put on.

"Oh, come on. This is ridiculous. I'm a man for heaven's sake."

"You used to be, but no more. I beg you to forget about your past. Now you are Angelina, the very pretty wife of Gaston."

Carmelita fastened a diamond studded ladies watch onto my left wrist and a diamond bracelet onto my right before guiding me to a brightly lit makeup vanity. She made me sit in the chair facing the mirror. I caught my breath. My similarity to Angelina was uncanny. I raised a gloved hand to my cheek to make sure the reflection was not some kind of trick. Angelina had been a sexy, beautiful woman. With the makeup and wig, my resemblance to Angelina was striking. Then I knew why she look familiar to me in the bar. She could have been my sister. Carmelita pushed my hand away and quickly redid my makeup. It was like watching Carmelita put makeup on Angelina. My cheekbones weren't as pronounced, nose as petite, or brows as arched as Angelina's, but if you weren't real familiar with the original, you would never know the difference.

Carmelita finished by coating my lips with a thick layer of deep, red lipstick and misting me with a strong, alluring, perfume.

"There. You are beautiful." she giggled, "Almost as beautiful as the original Angelina Waldorf. Now. Please. I must call you Angelina from now on. Mr. Waldorf will punish me if he hears me call you by anything else."

She pulled me towards the door stopping momentarily to let me slip into a pair of silver sandals. I was amazed they fit.

"Oh! I must not forget!" She handed him a small glass of clear liquid. "Drink this. It will help your voice. You must at least try to sound feminine or you will be lost."

"Sound feminine?"

"Please. Please, trust me and just drink it."

I did. It didn't do anything.

"It takes a moment, but it will raise the pitch of your voice an octave or so. The effect will be permanent after several doses."

"Permanent?"

"Yes, permanent." she repeated.

"Well, I don't…" I stopped in mid sentence and tried again, "I don't…" I stopped again, a little scared. My voice sounded like it was stuck in falsetto. I was alarmed. "I don't want to sound feminine." I announced in an angry, feminine tone..

Somehow, in the higher, feminine pitch, I no longer sounded threatening. Carmelita pushed me out the bedroom and into a wood paneled, double wide corridor. She tugged me by the hand, trying to hurry me. I stumbled a little in the heeled sandals and restrictively snug dress. The dress had a high, side slit, but it still managed to hinder my stride. I clomped down the wide stair case, across a foyer and into a dimly lit dining room. Carmelita leaned close to my ear as she fixed my napkin across my lap.

"If you are wise, you will assume the role of Angelina and not mention anything that happened before you awoke."

She was gone in a second. Gaston Waldorf sat a short distance across from me, partially obscured by a centerpiece. The table was large.

"Late as usual my dear, but then, you are as lovely as usual also, and worth the wait. Did you pick the dress, or did Carmelita?"

"Carmelita" I responded femininely, taking Carmelita's advice.

"Yes. I thought so. She has such good taste."

Carmelita served our dinners and poured some wine. She was quiet and efficient. Never once did she fail to call me Mrs. Waldorf. We ate in relative silence. When we finished, Gaston reminded me I had an appointment at the clinic the next morning and asked me not to be late, then retired for the evening. I wandered around the big house while Carmelita cleaned up the dirty dishes. The high heels I wore clicked on the marble and wood floors, reverberating in the big rooms. A shiver ran down my spine every time I passed a mirror. Instead of seeing myself in the reflection, I saw Angelina. Angelina was beautiful and wealthy. Most women would have killed to be in her shoes. That was the problem though, wasn't it? I wasn't a woman. I admired beautiful women, but that didn't mean I wanted to be one. The best thing would be to escape while I could. Tomorrow, when I went for the appointment at the clinic, I would make my move.

 

Carmelita woke me early the next morning. She picked out a short, white skirt suit and a lace panty, garter belt, and bra set to for me to wear. I was irritated.

"Carmelita," I asked hotly, "why must I always wear stockings and garter belts? Why can't I wear panty hose like normal women wear? Stockings and garters are uncomfortable!"

"Angelina hated panty hose. She said they were too binding. Besides, Mr. Waldorf likes them. He would insist you wear them anyway."

"Why? He's not the one who has to wear the things?"

"Exactly." she smiled. "You do. He liked Mrs. Waldorf to be… How can I put this… easily accessible, anytime, anywhere. Yes, easily accessible, would be appropriate. The was one of their unspoken agreements."

Her words painted a clear picture. Accessible was exactly how he felt wearing the short skirts, garters, and stockings.

Carmelita chaperoned me to the clinic where we were met by an orderly and a nurse. They shuffled me from the car, directly into a wheel chair. I looked for an opportunity to slip away and escape, but never found one. Someone was tending to me every second. Before I knew it I was in a hospital gown. Then I was lying flat on my back on a gurney being ushered down a brightly lit hall with a slow dripping, IV sedative stuck in my arm. I blacked out long before the operating room. I found myself lying in a hospital bed in Angelina's bedroom back at the mansion when I finally awoke. How I had gotten there I could only guess. I panicked and tried to sit up only to find restraints attached to my wrists and ankles. Struggling was useless. I had seen people strapped to hospital beds in movies, but never thought I would find myself in that position.

Carmelita came in a short time later to check on me, carrying an armload of folded clothing. She busied herself with putting the items away.

"Carmelita. Why am I restrained to the bed like this? What have they done to me?"

"You've been under sedation for the past three weeks while you recovered from the surgery, Mrs. Waldorf. Sometimes you would thrash about in your sleep. Mr. Waldorf thought it best to restrain you for fear of you hurting yourself. "

Carmelita released me from the restraints and helped me to sit on the edge of the bed. My chest felt heavy. Carmelita read the confusion on my face.

"Mr. Waldorf thought you should resemble Angelina as close as possible, physically."

"What? What do you mean?" I asked, gently probing my chest.

"Angelina frequently entertained guests at socials. That requires a lady to wear suitable attire. A slinky gown or swim suit, for example. Your former physical attributes were not suitable for that, if you understand my meaning. The doctors made the required adjustments for you."

I froze solid. Carmelita had acknowledged my worst fears.

"The doctors made adjustments? I didn't ask for any adjustments!"

I pressed his hands firmly to my chest and found two soft, firm, mounds there.

"Breasts? Breasts! They gave me breasts?"

"Size thirty six C, to be exact. The same as Angelina's, of course."

I pulled the neckline of my nightie open to peer inside and stared incredulously at the two voluptuous breasts adorning my chest. They jiggled when I moved. I was speechless. My hand slowly dropped to my crotch. I was wearing a pair of Angelina's lace underwear, but the familiar bulge between my legs was gone. I probed the area gently with my finger tips, not wanting to verify my fears. I only felt a bandage where my penis had been.

"They've turned me into a female!" I cried out. "I don't want to be female. I don't want to be a woman."

"Oh, dear, I'm afraid you don't have any choice in the matter. The changes have been made. I assure you, you have nothing to worry about. From what I have seen, your new features look quite genuine. Only a doctor would know the difference. Speaking of doctors, there is a page of instructions on the dresser you'll need to follow for a few months to take care of your new anatomy."

I fought down the urge to start screaming and sat still. Resisting at this point would do me no good. My best bet for now was to cooperate. Carmelita waited patiently and smiled as I slowly regained my composure.

"Being female is not that bad, dear. It hasn't hurt me any. Being a woman actually has many advantages, but you'll learn that in time."

I stood for a moment then wobbled across the room to a dressing mirror with Carmelita's help. My legs were weak from being sedated for three weeks. I stared into the mirror. Angelina stared back. I looked exactly like her. The small, initial differences were gone. There was no question about it. I was now, permanently, Angelina Waldorf. There would be no escape after all. How could I escape from myself? I would sound crazy if I tried to tell anyone I wasn't Angelina Waldorf. Gaston Waldorf would just have me committed to a mental hospital. He would be off the hook for murder and I would spend the rest of my life locked up as Mrs. Angelina Waldorf, in an institution.

I spent the next few months learning to be Angelina. Carmelita hired a small group of trainers to teach me to be a lady. They were merciless and treated me like a school girl. I learned how to walk, talk, and even laugh as Angelina had. Every trace of my former, male self was eradicated within a few months. I accepted the fact that there was no going back. I was now a she and she was named Angelina. All of my legal documents said so. I had only wanted to make love to a beautiful woman. Now, against my will, I had become that woman. Gaston Waldorf had gotten away with murder.

  

  

  

*********************************************
© 2004 by Jean M. Chambers. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, and compilation design) may be printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without the express written consent of StorySite and the copyright holder.