Tale of Teenage LustChapter 7
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Rosebud free porn video
Rosebud
By XoYo
The man looked around the room, his hands linked behind his back,
his expression blank. He looked like a banker, Rachael decided,
balding and shapeless. There was a slight trace of a Scots
accent when he spoke, but it sounded like he had been in England
for some time. He was probably in his early fifties and he was
dressed expensively, if not too fashionably. Money can't always
buy taste, Rachael thought.
The bland looking ones were always worst. Rachael's theory was
that the more normal someone tried to appear, the more
frightening they were on the inside. This one certainly looked
like he'd make her earn her fee.
The man bent his knees and squatted in front of a shelf that held
a number of interconnected grey, plastic boxes. Rachael found
herself admiring the strength of the stitching in the seat of the
man's trousers. Why did so many of her customers have to be fat?
She worked hard to keep herself in shape. The feeling of wearing
a flabby body repulsed her.
"So this is the machine that exchanges our minds?" the man asked.
"Not exactly. I take it this is your first time with a proxy."
The man nodded without looking around. Rachael had given this
talk enough times for it to become a chore. She didn't like some
of the kinky stuff that usually happened afterwards, but it was
still better than boredom. "It simply redirects our sensory and
motor impulses. They get read from each of us and routed through
the controller here straight into the other person's brain. It
seems like we're each other, in control of the other's body and
feeling everything they feel, but we're still really ourselves."
"Oh." The man sounded disappointed.
"You wouldn't know it, though. For the time it's running you
might as well be me. You won't be disappointed, trust me. No
one ever is."
"So what do I have to do?"
"Not a lot." She opened up the little mahogany box she used to
store the pickups. "I'll help you put these on. Don't worry
- you'll hardly notice them. Your mind will probably be on other
things." She gave an approximation of a saucy grin. "Once
that's sorted we'll run a few tests and then if everything checks
out we'll do whatever you have in mind."
"Fine. What are the restrictions on what we can do?"
Unconsciously, Rachael bit her lip. Her bad feeling about the
man worsened. "Well, my basic ground rules are no other people,
no animals, no drugs, no watersports and the like, and no serious
S & M."
The corner of the man's mouth twitched slightly. "And what do
you call 'serious'?"
Shit, she thought. Definitely bad things coming. "Nothing that
draws blood. I don't mind spanking, either giving or receiving,
but I won't have you leaving any bruises. My body is my
livelihood."
"Hmmm..." The man looked uncomfortable. "If I were to ask you
to do some things to me, while I was you that is, that might
involve bruising, could we come to some arrangement? I could pay
for your time while you recuperated."
Rachael tried to smile, but her lips didn't seem to want to
respond. "I'm not sure that you could afford to do that. My
time is rather expensive."
"That's no problem," the man said, reaching into his inside
jacket pocket and pulling out a smart card. "I think you'll find
I can pay for quite a lot of your time."
And, to Rachael's dismay, he could.
* * *
Rachael turned the card over and over between her fingers, like a
prelude to some magic trick. If she took all the money the man
was offering then she would be able to finish paying off both the
flat and the proxy controller. It was more money that she had
ever been offered for a single job before. She told herself it
would be stupid to turn it down. The sooner all the debts were
covered, the sooner she could get back to saving for her
retirement. Her looks weren't going to last forever, and short
of writing an autobiography, she wasn't sure what else she knew
what else she could do.
That was it then. She tried to put her misgivings aside. After
all, it was only one job. How bad could it be?
* * *
"Is there anything in particular you'd like me to wear? I have a
good collection of lingerie, as well as a few exotic costumes.
You can look through them if you want."
A distant expression crept into the man's eyes, like he was lost
in thought, or trying hard to remember something. His lips
smacked silently. "Could you manage a pair of jeans and a
loose-fitting jumper? They don't have to be too smart."
Rachael found herself blinking in surprise. "Really? I'm sure I
can find something. Hang on." Frowning, she went through to her
private bedroom and had a look through her mufti wardrobe. Jeans
and a sweater? There had to be a first time for everything.
Before she'd invested the money in the proxy hardware, she had
been an ordinary, if somewhat expensive prostitute. During that
time she had done a lot of work that involved fantasies and
costumes. Since she had adopted her new line of business she had
found that it was mostly just the lingerie that got used. Most
of the men who wanted to have a taste of life on the other side
had pretty fixed ideas of what a woman was. Most of them tended
towards a glamour-girl look that bordered on tarty. Her new
client seemed a bit different, though. Maybe this was a good
sign.
Rachael tended to overdo the makeup and perfume before a session
and was a bit surprised when the man had asked her to clean it
off. He liked the fresh-faced look, he said. It made Rachael
feel vulnerable; the makeup was like a professional mask, hiding
her real face from her working life.
There was a tightness in her stomach as she anticipated the hours
ahead. Over the years she had developed enough detachment from
her work not to be affected by the ordinary stuff, but the
prospect of weirdos still made her deeply uncomfortable. Sex
itself meant little to her, and once she had got the hang of the
male anatomy, of tricks like masturbating herself to maintain an
erection, the work became relatively easy. Most of the sessions
simply involved the client prancing around in her body for a
while, trying on clothes and playing with himself, before
launching into a clumsy seduction that offended Rachael's
professional sensibilities. A fair few didn't want to bother
with her at all and were happy enough with a vibrator or their
hands. Rachael just provided an audience and lost herself in her
own thoughts. It could be easy money sometimes, if a bit dull.
She found an old pair of designer jeans, now a bit faded, and a
jumper that her mother said made her look like Dennis the Menace.
It felt strange putting them on for work, almost like the careful
wall she had created in her mind between work and her real life
was crumbling. She finished off the outfit with a pair of
trainers that had been stupidly expensive once, but now looked
ready for Oxfam.
After giving herself a quick once-over in the mirror, she decided
that she was ready. There was no delaying it any longer.
* * *
"Will this do?" The man looked Rachael over carefully, and
nodded.
"Close," he said. "The hair still needs sorting."
Rachael put a hand up to feel her hair. It was elaborately
sculpted and lacquered, in accordance with the current fashion.
"What's wrong with it?"
"Can you make it a bit more natural? Messy, even."
"Whatever," she shrugged. "You're paying." She went in search
of a hairbrush.
After a few minutes' work, Rachael's hair looked shaggy and
unkempt. She looked in the bathroom mirror and made a face at
herself. It was lucky that the range of the controller wouldn't
let them leave the flat. She couldn't bear the idea of anyone
she knew seeing her body like this.
As she walked back into the room, the man's face came alive. His
eyes opened wide. For a moment Rachael thought it was with fear.
"Perfect," he said softly. "Absolutely perfect."
Rachael nodded silently and picked up the box that held the
pickups.
* * *
"Do you suffer from motion sickness at all?" Rachael asked as she
attached the last pickup to the man's head.
"Not really. Why?"
"Oh, it's just that some people can feel a bit poorly when they
switch. It's disorientating having your perspective shifted
suddenly. Nothing to worry about in general." Surreptitiously,
Rachael wiped her hand on her jeans, trying to clean her fingers
of the oils from the man's face. Just touching him had revolted
her for reasons she couldn't really describe. He wasn't the
ugliest client she'd had by a long way, but the prospect of
finding herself inside his body made her feel slightly ill. She
clenched her teeth and reminded herself she was a professional.
"I think we're ready for the tests. Stay seated for the moment.
You may feel a bit dizzy and confused while it goes on, but
that's perfectly normal. We just need to know that your nervous
system is up to the strain before we put it under any real
pressure."
The man nodded impatiently. "Will it take long?"
"Don't worry," Rachael said as she knelt in front of the proxy
controller. "It'll be over before you know it." The button gave
a small click as she pressed it. Almost immediately the man's
eyes glazed over and his whole body twitched gently, if
uncontrollably. The first time Rachael had seen this done she
had panicked, thinking something had gone very wrong. Now she
simply waited for it to finish. After a few minutes it did.
The man sat back in the chair, panting, his eyes closed. He
looked pale and even sweatier than he had done earlier. He
gripped the arm of the chair so tightly that Rachael thought he
might tear holes in the soft leather.
Rachael knelt beside him. "Are you OK? Should I call an
ambulance?" At the mention of the ambulance the man's eyes
snapped open.
"No. I'm fine," he said, his voice strained. "It was just a bit
more intense than I expected. I'll be all right in a moment."
"If you say so." Rachael watched the colour return to the man's
face in slow increments. "Do you need some water?"
"No, nothing, thank you."
After a few minutes the man looked recovered. "Are you up to
telling me what happened yet?" Rachael asked.
"It was just the shock of that thing playing with my mind." The
man indicated the proxy controller with his thumb. "It's passed
now and I'm ready to do it for real."
Rachael snorted without meaning to. "You're joking. There is no
way I'm letting you risk it. You're obviously not fit enough to
take the strain."
With a movement faster than Rachael would have thought possible,
the man grabbed hold of her wrist. The strength of his grip
brought tears to her eyes almost immediately. "That doesn't
matter," he said, his breath hissing through his teeth. "I'm
willing to take the risk."
"Let go!" Rachael tried hard not to scream. "Now!" Almost
reluctantly, the man loosened his grip. "Ow! Shit! What the
hell are you playing at?"
"Sorry." The man looked away from her, hiding his expression.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you. It was an accident. I
was just anxious."
"Anxious enough to leave marks." Rachael twisted her wrist,
testing the pain. "I don't think there's any permanent damage,
but I've still a mind to call the police."
"Look, I said I was sorry. I'll make it up to you. What do you
say? Another ten percent on top?"
A small shiver built between Rachael's shoulder blades. "You're
insane. I'm not going to take your money now. It's for your own
sake. I don't know what's wrong with you, but I don't want to
take responsibility if anything bad happens."
"What we agreed before? I'll double it. I'll sign any
disclaimer you want. Whatever it takes, we're going ahead."
"Look, this is stupid." Rachael looked up from massaging her
wrist. "I mean, why should I..." She caught the man's eyes and
her words died in her mouth. For the first time since he
arrived, his eyes held something human, almost childlike. They
echoed a need which moved and frightened her. "What is it?
What's so important to you that you're willing to take that kind
of risk?" He just sat there silently. "Being a woman for a day
just isn't worth it. Trust me. I've been one for years."
"I don't think I could explain," the man said eventually. "I
mean, I could try, but it wouldn't make any sense to you. It's
just something that I need to do. To tell the truth, I'm not
even sure that I know why myself."
The late afternoon sunlight caught the dust in the air, making
Rachael think of pollen. The room seemed very quiet, the noise
of the traffic muted and distant. Time passed.
"All right. I'll do it. I just hope it's worth it."
The man's eyes moistened. The corners of his mouth lifted in a
bittersweet smile. "Thank you, Samantha," he said.
"It's Rachael."
"Oh yes, of course. Rachael."
* * *
There was a time delay between activating the transfer and it
actually starting, which gave Rachael a chance to sit down.
After a year of working as a proxy she still dreaded the moment
of exchange. Back when she was a teenager, an old boyfriend had
taken her on the rollercoaster at Blackpool pleasure beach. She
had protested all the way through the queue, but it had been
playful. The real fear hadn't started until the car started
moving. On the cusp of the first big drop, an overwhelming sense
of vertigo grabbed hold of her. Without even realising it was
going to happen, she had vomited in freefall, an embarrassment
she had never been able to forget. The experience had left her
with a cold fear of losing control. Every time, now, that
she programmed the controller to reroute her consciousness she
had to face that fear. She told herself that doing so made her
stronger, but she was still waiting for the strength to present
itself.
She looked over at the man, sitting in the padded leather
armchair, and made eye contact with him just as the world was
pulled out from under her. There was no feeling of falling, just
a sudden movement in a direction the brain was never designed to
perceive. The feeling of disorientation was as bad every time as
it had been on the first. It was like being woken violently from
a very deep sleep. Rachael closed her eyes hard and pushed
herself back in the chair, willing it to pass. Slowly, she
became aware of the feeling of soft leather under her hands. Her
breath felt laboured, weighed down by an unfamiliar layer of fat.
She consciously released the tension from her muscles and opened
her eyes.
The man had recovered more quickly than her and was already on
his feet. One wall of the room was dominated by a large, full-
length mirror and the man stood in front of it, examining
Rachael's body. She watched him silently. Every client she had
ever had started examining her breasts or groin first, playing
with the new toys. This one didn't even move his hands. He just
stood there, examining his borrowed reflection. His lips moved,
as if he were talking to himself, but Rachael could hear no
sound. Finally, he brought a hand up to his face and traced the
shape of it. He nodded in approval and turned around to face
Rachael.
"It really works. I knew it was going to, but I suppose I didn't
really believe it until now."
Rachael stood up slowly, surprised by the pain involved. The
sick ache of arthritis gripped her knees and lower back. She
walked over to where the man was standing with small, awkward
steps. "How do you like it?" she asked, reaching out to stroke
his face.
The man flinched. "Not yet," he said. "Give me a few minutes."
Rachael nodded and left the room.
By the light of the fluorescent tube in the bathroom, the man's
skin looked even more pale and sickly. She splashed some cold
water on it in the hope of making herself feel a bit more alert,
but it made no difference. Everything ached. She felt sluggish
and tired. Just to top everything off, she could feel a nasty
dose of indigestion building.
After drying herself off, Rachael made her way back and stood in
the doorway of the room. The man was still looking in the
mirror. Something about the intensity of his expression
disquieted her. It wasn't an expression that looked like it
belonged on her face. Trying not to make any noise, she padded
over to the leather armchair and sat down.
The man noticed her after a couple of minutes. "My God. This is
remarkable," he said. "It feels absolutely real."
"Good. I like to think I offer good value."
"While I'm like this," the man indicated his torso with a sweep
of his hands, "I have a favour to ask. Can you call me Samantha?
It's important that you do."
"Yes. Of course, Samantha." At the sound of the name, an
expression of fear flashed across the man's face. Slowly, it was
replaced with a tentative smile.
Rachael crossed her arms and waited. The man just looked at her,
almost timidly. She had seen this a couple of times before,
where formerly forceful men became frightened bunnies when placed
in a female role. She wondered if it was just a matter of
suddenly becoming so much smaller. "So what do you want to do
next?"
After a moment's consideration, the man nodded towards the
bedroom. Ah, there it is, Rachael thought with some amusement.
Maybe he's not so different after all. She followed him through
in silence.
The man looked around the room quickly and then sat on the edge
of the bed. "I'm not sure how to explain this," he said. "I
want you to hit me."
"What, like a spanking?" Rachael thought of the schoolgirl
costume she had tucked in her working wardrobe. It had been a
while since it last saw any use.
"No." The man shook his head. He spoke very deliberately. "I
want you to attack me. You need to pin me down on the bed and
punch me in the face and body." .
Rachael tried hard not to shown any reaction. "Why?"
"It doesn't matter. It's just something I need you to do."
"If I'm going to do this, I'm not going to hit hard. The last
thing I want is to do some real damage."
The man looked distracted. "It wasn't that hard. It could have
been, but it wasn't."
"I'm sorry?"
"Again, it doesn't matter. Do you understand what you have to
do?"
"I think so. Am I supposed to say anything?"
"I don't remember," the man said quietly. "I should remember."
"OK, I won't speak. After I'm finished hitting you, then what?"
"Then you leave the room." There was something about the man's
tone of voice that made Rachael think she was already supposed to
know this. She swallowed hard, hoping the saliva would take some
of the bite from the acid in her stomach.
"All right, Samantha." She pulled back a fist. "Whatever you
want." The first blow caught the man on the cheekbone and sent
him tumbling backwards. He almost fell off the bed, but Rachael
pounced on him and held him down. He looked up at her with such
an expression of wide-eyed terror that she hesitated,
"No," he said, his voice trembling. "You can't stop now."
Willing herself not to feel anything, Rachael hit the man in the
stomach, winding him. The blows came faster and easier. She
could feel herself becoming distanced from her actions, her arms
pumping like pistons in an unthinking machine. The face and form
trapped underneath her seemed alien and unimportant. Her pulse
started building in her ears.
It wasn't until the pressure hit her in the chest that Rachael
realised that something was very wrong. Suddenly she couldn't
breath properly and her arms failed underneath her, and she fell
onto her own body.
"What's happening?" With difficulty, she looked up to see
herself leaning over, an expression of panic on her face.
Disoriented, she could no longer tell who she was supposed to be.
An incredible feeling of distance compounded the pain. Was this
it, then? Was this death? She tried to fight it, something
irrational in her mind telling her that if she could at least
hold onto conscious thought then death could never be able to
take her.
There was a flicker as her perspective changed violently and she
was looking down at the man on her bed, pale and sweating, a look
of terror distorting his pasty face. Sickeningly, the view
snapped back. She felt herself falling, even though she knew she
was already lying down. Somewhere, half out of sight, a young
woman collapsed. Everything flashed around her, like the room
was lit by a stroboscope. She almost wished for death to come at
last, to end the chaos.
And then it was over.
* * *
Rachael felt soft carpet under her cheek. She forced herself to
open her eyes, straining at the effort. A quick inventory of
sensations told her she was back in her own body, shaken and ill.
Her client. Of course. She sat up as quickly as her body would
let her and looked at the prostrate form on the bed. The man
looked too still to be alive. A single trickle of sweat ran from
his forehead, down his cheek and onto the bedspread. Rachael put
an ear to his mouth to listen for breath. The man groaned
slightly and Rachael jumped so hard she almost fell off the bed.
"Stay alive," she said quietly. "I'll get an ambulance. Just
don't go and die."
She ran back in the next room and called the emergency services.
Everything was on autopilot. By the time she hung up she
couldn't remember a single word she had just said. Should she do
some kind of first aid? She went back through to the bedroom and
looked at the man, trying to remember if this was the right time
to do mouth-to-mouth or CPR. Shaking, she realised even if it
were she didn't really know what to do anyway. The image popped
into her head of the paramedics turning up just as she finished
killing the man with botched kindness. Hot tears started pouring
down her cheeks and her breath broke into sobs.
"I'm sorry, Samantha." The man's voice was little more than a
whisper.
"Don't worry about it. Don't talk." Rachael sat on the edge of
the bed and took hold of the man's hand. It was horribly cold
and clammy. He squeezed back limply.
"I'm so sorry. I never meant to hurt you."
"It's all right. Really." Rachael ran her hand over the man's
face.
"And you forgive me?"
"Forgive you?"
"Yes." The man started trying to force himself up on one elbow.
"Do you forgive me?" Every word sounded like it took an
impossible amount of effort. "I need to know."
"Of course I do."
A look of absolute peace crept over the man's face. "Thank you,
Samantha."
Rachael thought for a moment about correcting him, but somehow
knew if she did it would be the worst thing she had ever done in
her life.
* * *
By the time the ambulance arrived the man had been dead for
several minutes. The paramedics made what looked to Rachael like
a valiant attempt to revive him, but it came to nothing. Without
knowing exactly why, she was glad that they failed.
After they left, everything suddenly became very quiet and still.
Time slowed down a few notches and her mind felt capable of
rational thought again.
Rachael caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and for a
moment she looked like a stranger, with her untidy clothes and
wild hair. She thought about going through to the bathroom to
clean herself up. With a bittersweet half-smile, she ran a hand
through her hair. Maybe not, she decided. She still didn't know
who she was supposed to be, but somehow it seemed fitting that
she should be that person for just a little while longer.
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