(Originally written 9/21/2009)

Olivia

by Trevor

            Eight o'clock, December 23rd. The traffic on Park Avenue had slowed to a trickle after the mayhem of rush hour. A few taxis and limousines passed by the Mortimer building at 53rd St, their headlights illuminating a light falling snow, as a security guard behind the granite front desk read a men's magazine and waited for the shift to end.

            At 8:05, just like ever night, Ms. Olivia Howard came in from the chilly December night. The black-suited security guard dutifully checked her ID, and logged her into the building.

            When she first started coming back to the office after work, he used to ask what she needed to do upstairs. She used to tell him that she’d forgotten something in her office. After a while he stopped asking, and now the exchange went on almost without any speaking. He knew that the only person still in the offices of Dean & White, on the 57th floor, was the co-owner, Mr. Dean. And the guard knew that Ms. Olivia Howard would be up there for at least an hour, and then come down, her hair tousled and lipstick freshly applied, and then a few minutes later Mr. Dean would emerge from the elevator, looking very tired and satisfied. Maybe she knew that he knew, or maybe not, he thought.

            The guard gave Ms. Howard a curt nod, and sat back down to read his magazine as she walked across the grand marble lobby of the building, past the Christmas tree in the center, to the bank of elevators, her coat over her arm. He watched her until she got in and hit the button, admiring her curves and dark hair. Damn, he thought, what a woman. It was a good thing that Mrs. Dean didn’t know what a woman Ms. Howard was. That could get ugly.

            In the privacy of the sleek elevator, Olivia leaned against the wall, and checked her reflection in the polished hardwood interior. She was twenty-five, a few years out of school. She was fortunate to be very smart and very beautiful, and after joining Dean & White, her ascent through the ranks had been quick. Now she was working in the CEO’s office, and sleeping with the CEO himself. It wasn’t really an affair, she’d convinced herself, or anything so tawdry. She was genuinely in love. In a few more weeks, she would ask him to leave his wife. She firmly believed he would.

            The elevator decelerated and stopped, and the doors opened on the vacant reception desk of the legal firm. Ms. Howard stepped out onto the plush carpet, and surveyed the glass and chrome offices, all empty and dark, save for another Christmas tree, its lights unplugged for the night. The rows of desks were given a gray glow by the lights of other office buildings and the Moon.

Off in one corner of the office, she could see a low golden light where, she knew, Jeffrey was half working, half waiting for her to arrive. She liked being waited for. She knew how excited he got when he saw her in the morning, the growing anticipation throughout the day, and finally these quiet intimate moments, on the enormous couch in his office, the lights turned low, the icy streets of New York far away, beneath them. This was the closest they would be together this Christmas. She understood that Jeff needed to spend Christmas with his wife, to keep up appearances.

            As every night, she laid her coat down on the desk near reception, and took her handbag with her into the ladies’ room. She liked to freshen up her makeup and perfume before Jeff saw her.

As she approached the oak door marked Women, the door started to open slowly, and the cleaning lady emerged, mop-bucket rolling beneath her. She was very old, Latina, and wore a sort of sad blue cotton uniform that seemed so foreign to the office, with its oaks and stainless steels and frosted glass.

Olivia was slightly startled, but the cleaning lady seemed not to be. She looked up the younger woman, and smiled and nodded; she might not speak much English, Olivia thought, as she herself smiled and nodded in awkward acknowledgement, and edged past her into the restroom.

The young brunette breathed a sigh of relief as the heavy door swung closed, and she walked over to the sink and looked at her reflection in the mirror. She knew it was awful to think this way, but she knew she was beautiful. Her face had never quite lost its girlish roundness as she’d grown up. Her nose was cute and pert, her lips full, her cheekbones high but not too high. Her skin was still smooth and almost flawless. She never had to put on as much foundation as the other girls, just perhaps a bit of rouge and a touch of lipstick.

She had managed to stay fit despite the long hours she worked, and her clothing showed off her curves. Dark pantyhose, a dark blue skirt and blazer, and a white silk blouse that could show off just as much cleavage as she needed to. Her wardrobe had changed slightly since meeting Mr. Dean. She didn’t used to wear so dark a shade of pantyhose, but she knew it was something that excited him.

Happily engaged in applying the makeup, she didn’t notice at first when the door to the restroom slowly opened, and the cleaning lady tip-toed in. Then her sneaker squeaked against the tile, and Olivia snapped around, smearing her makeup, to see the older woman standing there, looking very apologetic for scaring her.

In an instant, Olivia’s temper flared. She gave the cowering figure a venomous look, and glanced down at the woman’s nametag on her uniform. Delores. Well, Delores was going to hear about this. Maybe not from Olivia, but definitely from the building management. Delores could see the young woman’s eyes dart down, and knew what she thinking. She smiled a sad smile, and walked over to one of the stalls.

Olivia tried to clean up the makeup she’d smeared with tissues. It almost worked, but up close she could still see the red. She felt very frustrated.

Then, suddenly, she felt a quick intense prick in her ass, as though she were getting a shot. She looked around, to see Delores standing there, a syringe in her wrinkled hand. She was smiling. Olivia went to open her mouth to shout in anger, but nothing came out. Her tongue felt enormous, and her vision started to blur.

As she lost her grip on the sink, and her knees weakened and buckled, the last thing she saw before losing consciousness was Delores rush to catch her. The last thought she had before losing consciousness, was how unusually strong Delores had to be to catch her mid-fall, so effortlessly. Then the evening vanished and turned to black.

With great care, Delores laid Olivia down onto the tile floor, and checked with a withered hand for a pulse at her neck. It was there, slow but steady. With movements much quicker than what an older woman could ordinarily perform, she went over to the door of the large restroom, and locked it. Then, opening the door to one of the stalls, she lifted out a black garbage bag, and gently removed the contents, laying out each item on the long countertop.

Then, Dolores stepped over to the sink, and quickly unbuttoned and removed her blue shirt. Then, her shoes and pants, and soon she had stripped down to what looked like a white spandex leotard, leaving only her neck and face, forearms, feet and ankles visible. The leotard covered her old woman’s body, saggy and a bit overweight. Raising one hand to the zipper at the neck of the leotard, she gave a pull downwards.

A very remarkable thing happened. The leotard itself began to unzip, but it wasn’t a suit of thin material stretched over the old woman’s body, it *was* the old woman’s body; her fat and curves fell away as the suit was unzipped, revealing that underneath, Delores had the body of a very thin, fit young man; then, after the suit was taken off, two withered old female hands reached up behind Delores’ face, and with a gentle pull, the head and neck and hair came off; Delores was a mask, perfectly realistic, made of latex and makeup. Beneath the mask was the face of a young man with short, dark hair.

With the same care, the man removed the latex arms and feet, carefully laying them out on the countertop. He was now nearly naked, except for a sort of thong that held his manhood tight against himself. Now the more exciting part of the night would begin.

Moving with a practiced speed and economy of motion, he unwrapped the first item he had taken out of the garbage bag. It was made of latex, a sort of pair of shorts, but the outside appeared to be the upper thighs, crotch and ass of a young woman. The rose of a vagina and a tuft of dark hair above. He gently slipped them on, using a paste from a small bottle to adhere them to his own body. When they were pulled all the way up and secured in place, he had the wide hips and cute behind of a woman.

He unwrapped the next item; a sort of corset, but made of the same latex, reinforced with bands of thin polymers on the inside. It was open in the back, with a sort of Velcro-like seal. Taking a deep breath, and then exhaling, he brought the corset around his torso, and quickly secured the thin Velcro-like adhesive in the back. The seam was made nearly invisible; the corset was perfectly colored to match his own skin, and the join became invisible. From the neck down, he now had the body of a shapely, but utterly breastless woman.

The next item was larger than the other two. After he unwrapped the package, he laid the contents carefully on the countertop: two breasts, separate, with small areolas and pert nipples. These would have to be applied with great care. First the left, to which he gingerly applied the adhesive, and pressed against himself; then the other. He held them there for a full minute, to make sure they were secure. Then, his hands dropped to his sides, and they hung there, as though they were a part of him. The seams where the appliance met his skin were undetectable. From the neck down, he had the body of a fit, young, naked woman.

His attention turned back to the unconscious Olivia, who looked almost as if she were just taking a nap there, on the tile floor.  With a grunt he lifted her up, and gently laid her down on top of one of the toilet seats. First he removed her shoes and jacket, then her blouse, then her skirt, laying each garment carefully on the countertop, until Ms. Olivia Howard sat there, breathing shallowly, naked on the toilet seat, leaning over into the wall. The person with the face of a man and the body of a woman checked to confirm that, yes, from the neck down, he was the body double of the real girl before him.

Closing the door to the stall, he walked back over to the counter. Taking a deep breath, he started again to assemble the clothing Ms. Howard had been wearing, on his own body. The underwear, the bra, the blouse. The navy blue blazer, which showed off his newly narrow waist. The pantyhose, which showed off his naturally sexy legs. Then the shoes, which brought his height up to hers.

A few elements to his disguise remained. Going over to the largest remaining item on the counter, he slowly lifted it up, and, smiling, began to unwrap it.

With each layer of the wrapping material that came off, he became more excited. Even he was still amazed with how successful the process had been. Before him could have been the neatly severed head of the woman who sat naked and unconscious in the stall behind him. The hair was there, with the exact same style, the nose, the lips, every tiny detail. It would look as genuine in sunlight as by candlelight.

With great care, he raised the head-mask over him, and slowly brought it down over his own face, being careful not to trap any of the long brown hair between the latex and his skin. Soon Olivia’s features had fit over his own, and, still keeping his eyes shut, he firmly pressed and massaged the mask’s neck onto his own, until the join was invisible.

Opening his eyes, he saw the young Ms. Howard before him. His actions were hers. He smiled, and she smiled; he made surprised and angry faces, and her features followed his perfectly. Below the counter, the manhood under Olivia’s skirt twitched in delight and anticipation.

Three more things to go. He opened up a small plastic tablet, and carefully removed two contact lenses. After putting them on with his dainty fingers, with nails already painted, his eyes perfectly matched the hues of hers. Then, from another compartment he extracted tooth-caps that fit over his own teeth, and re-created the fortunate Ms. Howard’s pearly whites.

The last element of the disguise was, to him, the most important. Nothing is as unique and identifiable and intimate as a lover’s voice; his needed to match hers perfectly. From the final package on the counter he extracted a small black disc with an attached cord like dental floss. He put it in his mouth and let it slide down his throat; the string attached to the teeth-caps and would hold the disc there in place over his vocal chords. After clearing his voice, Olivia spoke: “Hello Jeff.”

The young man in Olivia’s body grinned once more at the beautiful reflection. After making one last check of his appearance, and his sleeping twin in the stall, he left the bathroom, and walked out into the dark, deserted offices of Dean & Smith, towards the amber glow of Mr. Dean’s office, off in the corner, his hips swaying gracefully in the skirt as he walked.

Jeffrey Dean stood by the window to his office, and looked out at the lights of the New York skyline. He had worked incredibly hard to attain this, his own successful legal firm, had to put up with all kinds infuriating issues and people. Not the least of which was his goddamned wife, he thought, probably at home in Westchester fucking the pool guy. Even in wintertime. The best thing that had happened to him in a long time was meeting Olivia. She was smart and beautiful and sexy, and best of all, she loved him as much as he loved her.

Social appearances were just part of the game, though, he thought, which meant that for now these clandestine meetings with her in his office were all they could have. He couldn’t be caught with a younger woman, or his wife would begin divorce proceedings, and knowing the legal system as well as he did, he knew the bitch would get everything.

His reverie was interrupting by seeing, reflected in the glass, Olivia open the door to his office and saunter in, pausing at his grand oak desk. Wordlessly, he walked over to her, and they embraced and kissed deeply. After a moment, he felt one of her delicate hands slide downwards, between his chest and his belt, and tenderly grasp his manhood. He immediately began to grow hard.

Their kiss broke off, as she led him over to the grand couch, her hand still down his pants, slowly jerking him off. Removing it, she gently pushed him into a sitting position. Taking and placing his hands by his sides, she knelt, and smiling at him through the hair that had fallen by her face, unzipped his zipper, and reached into his boxers. He grunted in pleasure as she pulled out his engorged penis.

After a few playful licks, she wrapped her lips around it, and started to go up and down the shaft, expertly bringing him slowly to climax. She swallowed his seed hungrily, and then got up and lay down next to him on the broad couch, her dainty feet in his lap.

She looked into his eyes, as her head rested against the armrest. She knew how much he loved this part of each evening, as he slowly undressed her, and she slowly undressed him. He leaned over, and first undid the last button on her blazer, then each button on her blouse, until finally he gently pulled her shirt open, revealing her flat belly, and white lace bra. It was the kind that opened in front, and he undid the clasp, letting her perfect young breasts lay on her chest. He leaned down and kissed one, and she moaned in pleasure.

With a few more pulls, he had gotten her skirt off, and then gently rolled down and tossed away her black nylons. Now she lay there, all his, young and perfect, in nothing but black lace panties. Now it was her turn.

Sat back as she moved to straddle him, sitting on his lap. One by one, she unbuttoned his shirt, until she could pull his shirt off him. Then, she slowly slid his pants off of him, until he too was naked except for his boxers. His penis, still hard, stuck out of his boxers. Now, she pulled her panties off, and started to impale herself on his member, and groaned in pleasure as she took the full length of him within her. She was so tight, he thought, as they began to buck against each other, as tight as a teenager.

            As he neared orgasm, she leaned forward, hugging him, kissing his ear and neck. He was in ecstasy. As he came, he felt a strange light prick in his neck, near where she held him, and he began to feel incredibly relaxed and sleepy. Before he knew why, he had fallen unconscious, the beautiful Olivia on top of him. With two red-nailed fingers, she felt at his neck for a pulse; and it was there, slow, and steady.

            Lifting herself off of him, and letting his manhood slide out of her, she stood, and surveyed the scene; their clothes scattered everywhere, and Jeff, post-coital, asleep on the couch. She grinned.

            The man within the girl smiled to himself, and glanced at his reflection in the mirror. Flawless. No wonder Jeff hadn’t noticed.

            The evening had one more chapter. Olivia left the office, still wearing just her black panties, and walked down the aisles of still, dark desks and chairs, back to the reception area and the darkened Christmas tree. She entered the door marked Women, and saw that things were as she’d left them; the real Olivia still unconscious in the stall. She quickly through the remains of Delores into a garbage bag, and threw it out the room, towards the janitor’s pushcart. Then, with great care, she lifted her twin up, tossed her over her shoulder, and cautiously opened the door to the bathroom, making sure not to his the sleeping beauty’s head on anything.

            Slowly, she made her way back to Jeff’s office, where the tall, handsome man still lay there, naked, his cock hanging out of his shorts. The fake Olivia smiled, as she lay the unconscious real girl down next to him.

            Taking a deep breath, she reached down into herself, and gently pulled aside the strap that held her own cock, hidden behind the false vagina that Jeff had enjoyed so much. With a tiny sound of latex stretching, it popped out, a masculine appendage so incongruous on the feminine form of Olivia’s body. It was already hard with anticipation.

            Kneeling down on her knees, she positioned herself in front of her unconscious twin, and grasped the real woman’s hips. Then, she pulled her own body into the other, penetrating her. A wave of pleasure came over the man behind the delicate features, as an evening’s sexual tension was released; the beautiful Olivia was fucking herself, right here besides her sleeping lover; the absurdity of the scene, and the intense pleasure in his loins made the man beneath the female identity laugh, and the sound came out as a girlish giggle.

            The two Olivias pounded together faster and faster, until finally the conscious one grunted and ejaculated into the other. Breathing deeply with exertion, and smiling what the man beneath knew was a beautiful post-coital smile, the woman with the male appendage pulled out of her twin, and stood, carelessly wiping her cock clean on her doppelganger’s chest.

            Not even bothering to tuck her manhood back inside herself, the false woman began to quickly redress. Pantyhose, skirt, blouse, blazer. She gave a final glance back at the two sleeping lovers, who would awake in the morning to find they had clearly had an intimate rendez-vous, with no memory of the event, and one without a thing to wear.

            Then, from behind a book on a shelf, she took a small camcorder, still recording, and turned it off. She carried it with her back through the empty office, put it in her handbag at the reception desk, picked up her coat, and took the elegant elevator back down again to the lobby.

            Before the door opened, she saw that her manly secret made a visible bulge in the front of her skirt. She smiled, and held her jacket on her arm in front of her to cover it.

            She walked back out through the large marble lobby, and signed out with the security guard, who was still admiring the beautiful brunette as she went through the revolving doors of the building, and out into the cold December night.

            It was only a few seconds before the limousine that had been waiting for her pulled up to the curb, and the back door opened. Being careful not to slip on the snow, she got in.

            Sitting on the large chair in back was a beautiful woman in her mid-thirties, blonde, dressed in an evening gown. The false Olivia sat down next to her.

            “How did it go?” the older woman said.

            In response, the imposter pulled the camcorder out of her handbag. The white-clad woman took it, and played back the events of the evening at double speed. It clearly brought up many emotions for her, which made sense; she was Mrs. Dean, Jeff’s wife.

            She tossed the camera off  to the side, and it bounced around before settling on the carpeted floor. A tear rolled down the woman’s cheek.

            The young woman-imposter raised her hand up to the other woman’s cheek and wiped the tear away. The crying woman reached up and held the hand, and looked into the other’s eyes.

            “It’s amazing. You’re amazing at what you do,” she said. The beautiful young woman smiled.

            “Thank you,” she said, in her young woman’s voice.

            Her coat had fallen open, and she took it off. The limousine was much too warm for it. As she did so, she saw that her manhood was still raising the cloth of the skirt up a bit. She saw the eyes of Mrs. Dean follow it. She could see the woman was getting excited.

            “May I…” Mrs. Dean said.

            The young woman smiled reassuringly. “Of course.” She leaned back, as Mrs. Dean tentatively stroked her member through the fabric, sending waves of pleasure to the man beneath the mask.

            Mrs. Dean, with her other hand, reached to caress the young woman’s face. “Amazing. You look just like her. I met her at a company party once, you know. She was a real bitch.”

            The false Olivia smiled. She slowly leaned forward and kissed Mrs. Dean, and the kiss became a deeper kiss, an embrace, and soon Mrs. Dean was on top of the younger woman, her hand still caressing the male member under the dark skirt. Then, the other hand reached down, and began to hike up the skirt, finally pulling down the pantyhose to free Olivia’s penis. It sprang out, a strange masculine thing squeezed between the two beautiful women

            “Just think of it as a very realistic strap-on,” Olivia said, in a whisper, as the wife pulled aside her own panties and lowered herself onto it. They bucked against each other, two girls fucking, in the back of the limousine, as it headed over the Brooklyn bridge, the lights of New York sparkling in the distance.