Two Forms Of I.D. Part 4 free porn video

Two Forms of I.D. Part 4 By Joe Six-Pack "Hello?" David called into the colossal, opulent and tacky living room. He hadn't been back for nearly three months. Most of his business he handled over the phone now and liked it that way. Harvey had insulted him enough. With time and distance, things would heal, so he had given himself plenty of both. A pounding beat came from another room, and David followed. Harvey had asked him to be here for a meeting, so he had expected him to be waiting. But he still didn't see anyone. He turned a corner, and the beat got louder. Suddenly, Donyell appeared and halted his progress. "Why hello, David." He said sanctimoniously. "You're here to see Ms. Angel?" David never liked this guy. "Yes." he responded, trying to make it sound like he wasn't going to take any attitude. "Hmm." Donyell considered it. "Well, all right, she's in there, but she's very busy." Donyell then froze in place. David had expected him to move out of his way, but he didn't. So David grunted when he had to walk around Donyell as his eyes followed him disapprovingly. In the next room, the girl who was obviously Harvey was doing a high-energy exercise routine in front of a wall of mirrors. "Hello David." The girl said, stopping. "How was your flight?" As she turned around David lost a breath. She was different. Her leotard emphasized a super-trim physique, a tiny waist and a supple butt. She was walking on the balls of her feet, arching her back and pushing forward her bosom. Her new, D-cup breasts. She was incredible. "Harvey?" David said. "Don't be like that, Davy. I'm Krysti Angel." Krysti said. As she got closer, David could see her face better. Her eyes were bigger. Her nose was smaller, her lips were fuller. She had a perfect face. "The bandages came off two weeks ago. There's still some redness." David's head imploded. What had happened here? Krysti slowly walked up to David and stopped, brushing her breasts against him. She draped an arm around his shoulders and rested her head on his chest. "What do you think, baby?" David pushed her away gently, and backed off. "Ha," he said, trying to find humor. "That's very... It's just..." Krysti walked back up to him, stood on her toes, and grazed her finger along his lips slowly. "David, please don't be afraid. I just wanted you to see the new me. Don't you love it?" David's body tensed up in fear. He didn't understand this. Krysti hung her arms around David's neck and kissed him. He didn't respond. Krysti tried to use her tongue. David shook her off, and put a healthy distance between them. "What the fuck are you doing, Harvey?" "Oh David! Don't you want me?" She mocked. "I'm so horny for you." A sudden thought hit David hard. He looked at Krysti's spandex-covered crotch. Had he? Krysti caught it. "Oh, it's still there, baby. I know you like it." The color of David's face vanished. "You don't want anybody to know, but I do. I could always tell." Krysti approached again. "You love cock, don't you big boy?" David was so far outside of reality, he had actually considered the offer. But whatever Harvey had become was sick and twisted. The real world - what was left of it for David - made his course of action clear. Harvey was beyond help now. David gathered up all of his courage for one final statement. "You're psychotic. I don't even know you. And I don't think I ever did." David turned and left. "You ARE jealous." Krysti teased. "Admit it." David flipped her off. --- The new, brighter, younger face of Krysti Angel was a photographer's dream. It looked good from any angle - sweet, innocent and pure. Her face spread like a virus through the media. Magazines were publishing as many Krysti covers as they could. Posters were selling like crazy. Websites of Krysti images were popping up everywhere. Record stores were stacked to the rafters with Krysti CDs, and still selling out. Triple platinum in eight months. But there were rumors. Some claimed that Krysti was a slut, a girl who would do anything for fame. Some even suggested that she was some sort of nymphomaniac. But no one really believed these wild tales. After all, she was a sweetheart of a girl - just sixteen - and the living embodiment of all that was good. She was on TV at every opportunity. She did the local shows first, then the national shows. Late night, mid day, morning. Krysti was a guest in demand. If you had her on your show, your ratings doubled. She was clearly the newest, biggest thing in the United States. Next, the world. But it wasn't just savvy publicity that had gotten her so far. It wasn't her talent. And as good looking as she now was, it wasn't her looks that had shot her to the top. It was what she was willing to do with her assets that made the magic. Behind closed doors she was a shameless tease. She was all over helpless producers and directors. Five minutes with Krysti Angel would get her anything. And her victims were all too happy to pay the price. Nobody said no. Krysti was on the set of her first commercial, a promotional spot for a teen TV network. It was a short 30- second thing, but it was exactly the sort of audience that Krysti needed to reach. As the crew finished setting up, she was in her trailer, trying different outfits on. "What do you think?" She asked the director. She was dressed in daisy duke denim shorts and a torn American flag T-shirt that only had one sleeve left. All it did was cover up the areas you couldn't show on TV - and little else. "Krysti, this is a promotional spot, not softcore porn." He protested. Krysti pouted. What fun was it to be on camera, if she couldn't look like a tramp? Taunting the world with her body was such a rush. Fortunately, she had learned a few tricks in the business. It wasn't hard to win arguments. You just had to know what buttons to push. Literally. She undid two buttons on her button-fly shorts, and pulled up the pink thong underwear so that the top was visible above the already super-low belt line. "No, Krysti. Please try on something else." "But Krysti wants it sexy." She said. Then she smiled and massaged her breasts, gasping in ecstasy. "Do you like Krysti sexy?" No answer was coming. She advanced on the man, and pushed him back onto the floor, where she crawled onto him. "Krysti always gets what she wants." She said slowly and seductively. The director stumbled out of the trailer a few minutes later, with a silly grin on his face. "All right! Let's get it ready!" He yelled to his crew. Inside, Krysti re-did her hair and smiled at herself in the mirror. "Isn't it great being me?" She asked her reflection. She freshened her lip gloss made sure everything was perfect. Then she pinched her nipples so they would be hard and very visible underneath her shirt. "It sure is, Harvey!" She said before leaving the trailer. --- A deranged figure leapt at Krysti, its' hands ready to claim whatever prize they could. "I LOVE YOU KRYSTI!!" It screamed. The gauntlet of crazed humanity that Krysti had to pass through whenever she wanted to move anywhere was like sailing a tornado of flesh and sweat. The hands grabbed and clutched at her, the faces pleading and desperate for recognition. At the heart of the swirling, feverish, screaming mob of teenagers, it sounded like one was trapped inside the engine of a jet plane. Krysti took her time, occasionally taking something offered, signing it and giving it back to whoever claimed it. "Thank you!" She said. "I love you all!" She went on slowly, kissing, smiling and waving to the crowd. "Krysti! KRYSTI! Please, Krysti! Krysti Krysti!! KRYSTI!! Please!! Krysti! I love you!" With a loud thud, the door closed behind Krysti's entourage. The sound of the crowd was muffled down, as the activity of being backstage at a concert took over her senses. A camera crew and interviewer dove in, the lens and microphone probing for anything it could catch. "Krysti! What kind of show can we expect tonight?" The man asked. "It's going to a fantastic show! I hope everyone loves it!" Krysti squealed. Another question: "What will you be wearing tonight!?" Krysti giggled. "You're just going to have to wait and see!" She turned, following her bodyguards down into the bowels of the amphitheater. Another microphone was stuck into her face, with a blinding camera light that turned her world white. She didn't even blink. She just kept smiling. "Krysti! The show is sold out! 60,000 people have come to see you tonight! How does that make you feel!?" Another interviewer asked. "I'm so humbled! I'm glad people like my music! It's going to be a great show!" Krysti said. "I'm sorry!" She pouted. "I have to get ready!" Finally, her bodyguards cut off access to the throngs of people following her, and ushered Krysti into her dressing room. Inside - as was contractually required in Krysti's rider - were four couches, two easy chairs, three full-length mirrors, one 44" projection TV, two CD players, two large coffee tables and a buffet of food. An iced tub of 24 spring water bottles, one quart of cranberry juice, 12 cans of Coke and assorted Gatorade flavors. A kettle of hot water and a box of lemon tea and a tin of assorted international coffees. There were two deli platters, a plate of fresh fruit, a plate of veggies with ranch dip, four tunafish sandwiches, two bags of Cool Ranch Doritos, one box of Captain Crunch, one box of Fruit Loops, 12 assorted candy bars, and a small box of Andes chocolate mints. Krysti spent twenty minutes counting everything, making sure that all of her petty whims and desires had been met to the letter. She was positively overjoyed to note that they had forgotten her required 20" x 30" oriental rug, and whispered it into the ear of one of her attendants. He left, and Krysti was a twitter with the knowledge she could throw a wonderful fit when the stage manager came to apologize. Donyell and a couple of his helpers came in with two racks of glittery, gauzy scraps of clothing for tonight's performance. There would be seven costume changes, each outfit more revealing than the next. Her first outfit was a white men's dress shirt that tied closed under her breasts and pleated plaid skirt. Of course it was dressed up with sequined highlights and made from slivery, shiny materials. Krysti took off her black tank top and slipped out of her jeans, when a young stage worker entered the room. His face was red, blushing at his mistake of entering Krysti's dressing room while she was only in her underwear. Immediately her bodyguards blocked his path. "Get out of here!" Donyell barked. "Get the fuck out of here!" Krysti slowly came forward, blocking Donyell from making a move. She motioned to her bodyguards to back off. This was just another thrill for Krysti. "It's okay, guys. I'm sure it was an honest mistake. She pranced over to the stunned nineteen year old in her lacy pink underwear and planted a kiss on his lips. "Besides, he's kinda cute." She could feel his dick stiffening against her hips. She smiled and looked deep into his eyes, smiling vapidly, as if she had suddenly fallen in love. She then turned around and headed back to her dressers. "Kick his ass, boys." At which time the startled boy was slung outside the room and beaten black and blue. As she modeled her outfits in the three full-length mirrors, she loved everything she saw. He tight ass, her big breasts, her tiny waist, her perfect face and hair. She was the singular incarnation of everything people wanted, but would never have. Krysti giggled and laughed until it was time to go on stage. She loved every single second of this life. Being Krysti was intensely intoxicating, as if every cell were infused with ambrosia. --- "Teen Starlet Comes From Broken Home" was the headline. It appeared in one national tabloid. Then another. Then it was a story on Hollywood Tonight. And all of the sudden, a storm of whispers threatened to taint the purity and wholesomeness of her image. The plan, pushed by Mr. Cannon, was for Krysti to make sure - at all costs - that any family liabilities were brought "on board." And to make sure the public knew everything way okay in her family. The questions about her past had to be answered, to remove the distractions from the marketing steamroller that was the Krysti Angel phenomenon. Krysti was seated aboard Mr. Cannon's private Lear Jet, a few hours out of LAX, on her way back home. Secretly, she was excited. Excited to see the places and people she had one been so close to. And excited to see the jealous, bitter look in their eyes as an untouchable teen princess like her strode through that little podunk town, doing anything she wanted to, and throwing around her money like holy water purifying the unclean. "Krysti. What does it feel like, going back home after all your success?" A camera crew and reporter were tagging along, promised an 'exclusive' look at Krysti's trip. The 'all-access' and 'candid' story was of course, heavily choreographed. But the story would dispel once and for all any hints of a family problem. "I have kinda mixed feelings, Dirk." Krysti said, trying to look thoughtful. "Can we try that again?" "Sure Krysti." The man known as Dirk was maybe in his late thirties, trying desperately to look young and hip with his goatee and spiky frosted hair. He's a VJ for NYX, a New York-based music video program that falling all over itself to get this opportunity. "Let's pick it up from your response." "I..." Krysti looked thoughtful and reflective. "I guess I sorta have conflicting feelings, Dirk." She sighed. "It's going to be a lot of fun to see all the people I love so much. But, I'm still a little nervous." Krysti had built up a little tear in her eye. "I just hope they don't have any... Well, I just hope people don't think I've changed because of success. I'm really just a small-town girl at heart." "Okay. Brilliant. I think that's all we need for now." Dirk said. The cameraman and soundman deactivated the equipment and packed it away. They then retreated to the rear of the plane. An hour or two later, the plane had landed and was taxiing to the gate. Before they got there, the camera crew was let off so that they could set up a shot of Krysti coming off the plane from the outside. And Krysti found herself alone with Dirk. "I can't tell you how much I like your work, Dirk." Krysti said. "I've always thought you were the cutest guy on NYX." "Really?" Dirk said. "Thanks Krysti. And I appreciate all you're doing for us." Krysti got closer. "Is that shirt silk, Dirk?" She rubbed her hand up and down his chest. "Ooh! It is!" She started to use both hands. "You know, I won't sleep on anything but silk anymore. Its' touch is addictive." "Krysti? I mean, is this..." Dirk was unsure of her intentions. Krysti erased any questions by kissing him. "Your goatee tickles." She giggled. Dirk grabbed her by the arms forcefully. "So, you're a dirty girl?" He said with more than a hint of interest. He then grabbed her loose shirt and tore it down her body, exposing her breasts. Krysti looked into his eyes and saw lust. Fine. Less work for her. This wasn't going to be very hard now, was it? Dirk then pinned her to her seat. He tore the shirt completely off and started to suck on a nipple. Krysti let out a moan, partly for show and partly because she had to. The sound energized Dirk, making him even bolder. Before she could stop him, he had grabbed the top of her jeans and started to try and undo them. "No!" She yelled. He couldn't go there. That would destroy everything! She squirmed, and she bucked. Dirk held onto her tightly, keeping her from escaping. "Get off me!" She yelled. One of Dirk's arms got too close and she bit it, forcing him to release his grip. She then got a leg between them and kicked him off. From the floor, Dirk rested on his arms, knowing he didn't have to move. She had nowhere to go. "You like it rough, Krysti? You like biting?" He taunted. Krysti had refastened her jeans and positioned herself near the door. "Don't come near me, Dirk." Krysti said forcefully. "I'm stronger than I look." Dirk stood up and dusted himself off. "We don't have to fight, Krysti." He grinned a malicious grin. "Because I know you want this." He grabbed his bulging crotch. Krysti was sickened. She used men the way she wanted to. She was in charge. "You can kiss your exclusive goodbye, dumbshit." Dirk lunged at Krysti, tackling her, and sending her to the ground. Dirk grabbed her long hair and pulled it like a bridle, causing Krysti to yell in pain. Dirk trapped her, keeping a knee on her chest. She was at his mercy. Dirk then used he free hand to pull down his pants. "We're going to have a party, Krysti." He said, short of breath. "You look like a party girl. Am I right?" The pilot's cabin door opened, distracting Dirk. Krysti pulled her head free and slid halfway out from under Dirk. The captain gave the two a look of concern. "We're at the gate." He said. "Time to disembark." The pilot stood his ground, unable to discern what exactly was going on, but definitely disapproving of it. Dirk silently but indignantly got up off Krysti. She rose to her feet quickly, grabbed a coat from the luggage rack, and hurriedly put it on. She looked at Drik, who had taken a seat, staring at her with hatred. Krysti then nodded to the door, and the pilot walked over to open it. A crowd of excited teenagers waited outside, and when they saw Krysti emerge from the plane, a scream that shook the ground erupted. Flash bulbs were going off like lightning. Krysti smiled as best she could to the crowd, but quickly pressed on through, not stopping until she got to the limousine. Dirk, meanwhile, collected his stuff and departed the plane to little or no acknowledgment. When he got to the airport pickup curb, he wasn't surprised to find nothing but a single dingy taxi waiting for passengers. He and his crew piled themselves and their equipment in, and headed for the nearest - god help me, Dirk said to himself - motel. He spent the short drive thinking of what he was going to tell his producer, when he'd have to admit he lost the exclusive. He'd be lucky to have his job tomorrow. Once they all settled in, the two other members of his crew left to go get something to eat, leaving Dirk to sulk in his room. He tried to just let TV wash away his problems, but after an hour, it proved to be no shelter. Especially the crap that they had out here in the middle of nowhere. Since when was "Supermarket Sweep" in prime time? Finally he gave up and headed out for a bite. He hadn't gotten far when a sleek black limousine pulled up behind him. "Dirk?" A meek voice came from the window. Dirk didn't turn around. He knew who it was, and he was a little surprised to say the least. But he had no reason to turn around. "Dirk? Please look at me Dirk." The voice of Krysti Angel sounded like it was begging. "I...I'm so sorry, Dirk. Don't be angry." Finally, Dirk turned around to face Krysti, and saw the look of regret and guilt he hadn't expected to see. Not after what had happened on the plane. "I really need that report of yours to get on the air. I'm sorry for what I did. I want to make it up to you Dirk." She bit her lip. "I've been bad." She then removed her coat and let her bare breasts spring forward. Dirk thought about it for a moment and then lurched to grab the door handle. This was no time to think too much. Once he made his way inside, Krysti reclined on the seats, making herself the most convenient thing to lie down on. Which Dirk did. Krysti started to undo his belt and fly, carefully but quickly. Dirk had already helped himself to Krysti's boobs, tuning then like radio dials. "Do you have a cigarette, Dirk?" Krysti whispered in his ear. Dirk hurriedly checked his shirt pockets for the pack he knew had to be there. It was. He offered it to Krysti, who removed her cigarette using nothing but her tongue. Dirk was trying to hold himself back, a feat which he was not accustomed to. "Light me up?" She said. Dirk found his light and flicked it. Krysti took a long, seductive drag. She then blew it out of her mouth in one full-mouthed puff. The smoke lingered around Dirk's head. He closed his eyes and inhaled it all in. Krysti then flipped Dirk, turning him on his back and her on top. She then forcefully yanked Dirk's black jeans and briefs down, letting his swollen dick point to the sky. Krysti sat up on Dirk's legs, taking another long breath of smoke, and exhaling it out her nose. "Now, promise you'll be gentle with me, Dirk." She said in a little-girl voice. "I make no promises." Dirk said, smirking. Krysti smiled back, and took her fire-hot cigarette and extinguished it on Dirk's testicles. As the limousine squealed away, Dirk lay in a fetal position, rolling around in the ditch by the side of the road. Pain beyond pain was his only emotion, his only thought. Krysti watched in the rear window as the car pulled away. She hadn't had a good laugh like this in a while. "It's a childless summer for Dirk!" He howled in laughter. "Oh my God, he fell for it all the way." Krysti tugged her coat back on. "It's too bad, you know he was kinda cute for an old guy." "Yeah." Krysti said, "But he deserved a that." "We still might have gotten a good fuck out of that before we did that." Krysti just giggled. "Maybe next time." A few minutes later, Krysti had gotten hold of herself. She brought her emotions under control and focused. The limo was now parked outside Jean's house, and Krysti was making her final plans. Her plan was to offer Jean a role in her life, albeit a small one, as her real mother. The papers and certificates had already been drawn up, creating the family that Krysti never had. Jean might be very willing to jump on the gravy train, but then again maybe Krysti would have to shell out a bribe up front. But if Jean was really stubborn, all she'd have to do was threaten her with whatever laws she had broken getting those estrogen pills. Once they had an agreement, she'd be back later with a camera crew for the tearful reunion. She had already arranged for a local news crew to take Dirk's place. "I'll call for you to come pick me up." Krysti said to the driver. She didn't want the limousine to be spotted before she was ready. She left the car and walked up to the old house. Oddly, she felt a little nervous. She hadn't felt nervous for a little while now, and she didn't like it. It didn't take long before the door opened. The woman who answered was unrecognizable. Gone was the skin & bones Jean, the frazzled thirty something she had last seen the day Harvey had signed the contract. This woman was outrageously domestic. A smile reached from ear to ear. And she was happy, bubbly, and motherly. The perfectly idealized mother. From her home permanent on her short hair, to the housedress, to the frilly apron she had on, she was all mom. "Oh, Krysti!" She held out her arms. "My baby's come back home!" Jean's embrace practically lifted Krysti into the house. Inside, it had been transformed as well. The sparse, functional furniture had been replaced with antiques. The tables and bookshelves were crammed with silver-framed pictures. Pictures of Krysti. "Mommy's so happy to see her baby!" Jean cried, engulfing Krysti in her hug. "Did you have a nice flight?" She asked. Krysti looked at this woman who was once her sister. Nothing remained of her. Had she gone mad? Had she slipped into believing the lie that she herself had created? "Mom!" Krysti suddenly burst with happiness. "Mommy!" Krysti hugged her and clung. "I missed you so much! I missed you, I missed you, I missed you!!" Then she started to break down and cry. From another room, Patrick arrived. "Short stuff!" He said. "Daddy!" Krysti squealed. She minced over to Patrick and squeezed him tight. "I missed you all so much!" "I'm just finishing with cooking dinner now, sweetie!" Jean said. "Why don't you and Father talk and I'll have everything on the table in five minutes! I hope you like tuna casserole!" "Oh, you're the best, Mom!" Krysti twittered. But then her faculties seemed to come back to her. She couldn't explain what had just come over her. "Confused, Harvey?" Patrick said. "Here. Come sit on Daddy's lap." Harvey? What did Patrick know? Why couldn't she control herself? Even struck scared as she was, Krysti found herself following Patrick to the couch where she sat on his lap, quietly. Patrick patted her on the thigh. "You're absolutely sexy when you have that dumb look on your face." He said. Krysti tried to speak. "Unh-unh." Patrick interrupted. He stopped her from talking by placing his finger on her lips. "Let Daddy talk. I've been waiting a long time to tell you, Harvey." He wrapped his arms around her as he started to whisper in her ear. "Did I ever tell you how I met your Mother? Well, I was passing through your town when I stopped off at the drug store for some sunglasses. Your Mom was there, trying to talk the pharmacist into giving her estrogen pills. "Good god, she was ugly then. And a total basket case. But I was curious. What did she want the pills for? I had to buy her a few drinks at a bar, but eventually she told me. And my God, it was the craziest thing I had ever heard. But it interested me." "Do you know what Daddy does for a living?" He asked. Krysti shook her head timidly. "Daddy finds girls who will do anything for fame. I take their ugly, pathetic lives and reshape them into whores. Whores for fame. You take a shy country girl and give her the looks of a porn star and she's yours for life. At least until you find the next girl. "But I was bored. When your Mommy told me what she was doing, you know what? I knew I had found my greatest challenge! "A grown man, to be turned into a cockteasing little girl. Well, the idea was incredible. But not impossible. The more I thought about it, the more I was hooked. Once I slipped Jean some of my favorite little hypnotic drugs and she was mine totally. I could tell her to do anything and she would do it without question. Even feed you the same drugs and convince you to be her daughter. "You know, you scared your mom and me when you left like that. I was really worried for a moment. But when I looked in your eyes, I saw that I had nothing to worry about. You were mine. Body, mind and soul. My finest creation. He kissed Krysti's ear, gently. "You're almost like my own little girl! I made you totally. I got you sent off on that six month tour. I fed you the pills, I drugged you up, and got you a record contract! And then, I made you want it. You're doing it all yourself now. Turning yourself slowly into a fragile, pretentious starlet." Patrick bent forward to make eye contact. "Who am I, honey?" He asked. "You're..." Krysti wanted to answer. "My name. Simple stuff." He tweaked one of Krysti's thick nipples. "You..." It was coming to her... "C'mon, princess." She had no other answer in her head. "D-D-Daddy." "I didn't even have to do that to you. You can't control it now, can you? You're no longer who you think you are. You actually believe you're Krysti now." He got his mouth as close as he could to Krysti's ear. "Daddy's so proud of you." Krysti stared to shake. Patrick could feel her fear and he loved it. "Just one more thing, short stuff." He placed his hand in between her legs. "It's the last thing you need to do." Krysti leapt up from Patrick's lap. Something had snapped loose inside. She backed away slowly, like a caged animal. "N-N-No!" She cried. "Dinner's ready!" Jean said, coming into the room with a casserole dish in her oven-mitted hands. Krysti found the door behind her, and managed to open it and run. She streaked into the darkness, unaware that she wasn't running from anyone but herself. "But I made pie!" Jean called out after her. --- Rain fell from the pitch black sky, invisible at night. The sound of the drops on the ground was a white noise with no pattern or tone. Harvey ran, a scrambled mess of emotion, down the middle of the blackened street. He knew the streets well, having grown up here. Because even without thinking about it, he had arrived in the last place he should have been. He was beating on the door. "David! David! Please, be home!!" He hollered. "DAVID!!" he screamed. No one answered, but he kept beating. He kept pounding. Then a sound came from inside. Harvey continued to pound the door, as rainwater poured over him. "David!! Please!!! I need you!! I'm sorry!" The door slipped open, cautiously. "Hello?" A weak, nervous voice replied. "Please, David. I need your help." An eternity passed before David's lone, visible eye blinked. Lightning flashed in the sky, illuminating the scene. David didn't move. Then, seized with energy, he suddenly opened the door all the way. Harvey ran into the dark, unlit room, grateful to be out of the rain, out of the unknown, out of the insanity. "Take your clothes off." David said with little emotion. Harvey quickly stripped in the darkness, grateful to take the cold, wet things off. "Do you have a blanket?" Harvey asked. Without waiting, he followed the dim lights down a hall into the bathroom. He had spent a lot of time in his old friend's apartment, and knew it well. He grabbed a towel and started to dry himself off. As he did, Harvey noticed a tube of lipstick on the sink counter. David had a girlfriend? "David?" Harvey called into the darkness. He wrapped the towel around himself and returned to the living room. "I'm sorry, David. I'm sorry for what I did to you. Are you in here, David?" Harvey then reached for the light switch. The lights revealed lunacy. Every available inch on the walls and ceilings were plastered with posters. Posters of Krysti Angel. Garbage littered the tables and chairs, made of fast food bags and wrappers. In the center of the room was David, who had disposed of his clothes. He was now wearing the coat Harvey had just removed, and he was now trying unsuccessfully to pull Harvey's miniskirt onto his large male frame. "David?" Harvey asked. David's head jerked up to meet Harvey's eyes. "I'm Krysti Angel." David said. "David?" Harvey asked again. "NO!!!" David screeched at the top of his lungs. "I'm Krysti Angel! I'm Krysti and no one else!!" He leapt at Harvey's face with his claws. "You're all impostors!" Harvey ran a few steps away to get clear, but David came right after him. "I'm the REAL Krysti!!! I'll kill all the impostors!!" He shouted. Harvey ran for the door, and David tripped in the skirt. Harvey had it outside, and ran as fast as he could. He heard the pounding footsteps behind him, in the dark. David was following, screaming and cursing. Harvey could hear the gasps and grunts David made as he ran, putting the fear of God into him. He was getting closer with every step. Harvey took a shortcut through a yard, and leapt over a fence into an alley, losing his towel in the process. He kept running down the alley until he reached the street again. He thought he heard some scuffling in the gravel of the alleyway, and took off in another direction. After what must have been a couple of blocks, Harvey couldn't hear any more noise. It was hard to tell over the pounding of his own heart and his belabored breathing, but he thought he was in the clear. Harvey looked around to see the familiar surroundings of Whitaker Park. Harvey stumbled through the street lit walkway to the one building on the grounds, the public restrooms. Inside, the bright fluorescent lighting hit him like sack of nickels. He leaned against the sink for support, and to catch his breath. All he could hear was the huffing and wheezing he was making. "Poor baby." A voice said. Harvey looked around. He checked the stalls. He was alone. He stood perfectly still to hear what he could hear. Nothing. He went back to the sink. When he saw the mirror, he saw the mess he had made of his face. It revolted him. Everything about him was revolting. The hair, the underwear, his very body. Harvey turned on the faucets and used his bare hands to scrub the makeup off. The true horror of his life had finally caught up to him. He had been at the mercy of jackals, preying on him and laughing at his pain. He had been giving in to his darker urges, slowly killing those who loved him and selling his own identity away, chunk by chunk. With the scrubbing, Harvey was trying to wash the world away. The world was no longer a place he wanted to live in. He scrubbed until his face felt as raw as his spirit. He grabbed a load of paper towels and wiped his face dry. And he looked in the mirror. What he saw wasn't his scrubbed, red face. Not his clean, makeup-free face. Not his feminized face. In the mirror, was Krysti Angel. It was the face he had seen in his dreams. The perfect, ultimate vision of Krysti Angel. The real Krysti Angel. With her vapid expression, her platinum blond hair and her dark, defined make-up. She was the unrivaled, absolute vision of sexual desire. "Poor Harvey." The reflection said. "Poor little Harvey." Harvey flew from the restroom and ran again. He ran in panic and raw terror. "You're not going to ruin it for me, Harvey." The high, bubbly voice said. It giggled. "I've worked too hard for it." Harvey suddenly came upon a building. The same building he had just left. He turned around and ran the other way. In only a few steps, he came upon the building again. It was impossible. He turned again, but now suddenly found himself back inside. The voice came from the mirror again. "I'm right here, Harvey." Harvey turned to look. Her near-white hair was fluffed out for maximum volume, virtually exploding from her scalp. Harvey placed his hands to his head, and found that his own hair was now exactly the same. He ran out the door again, but instead of finding himself outside, he was back in his Beverly Hills home. He was in his exercise room, with the giant wall of mirrors. And in the mirror he could see Krysti again. He turned away, but the mirrors were on all the walls. There were infinite reflections of the girl in the mirror. But no reflections of Harvey. The girl was dressed in tight, skimpy clothes. A miniskirt that seemed to deliberately show the panties underneath. A bikini top held her enormous boobs to her body. Harvey felt his body and felt the very same clothes on himself. "Oh God." He whimpered. "Don't cry Harvey. It's what you wanted." The voice said. In the reflection, the girl drew her fingernails down her body. Harvey looked at his hands, to see the long red fingernails on his hand grow even longer. "Don't. Please." Harvey cried. "Harvey, you were going to take it all away from Krysti. Krysti can't let you do that. So, it's not your life anymore." The high-pitched, childlike voice said. "Silly Harvey." Harvey fell over on to his side, not able to stand any longer. "It's Krysti's world now. Just like we wanted it to be. Only now..." The voice giggled insipidly. "...I'm no longer a dream in your head. YOU'RE the dream in MY head." Harvey grabbed his scalp and screamed with all of his energy, until the voice in his throat became even higher than it had been before. --- The exploding balls of flame splintered into a thousand white-hot embers that fell gently over the heads of the crowd. They went wild. Krysti led her dancers on the most difficult routine of the show. The finale. After they ten dancers moved in unison, strutting their long legs and thrusting their slim waists to the crowd, Krysti's body rose up over the stage, and she flew above the crowd, as if she were what her name implied. An angel. Her popularity was still peaking. Everyone was talking about her. And everyone either wanted to be her, or be with her. Now eighteen, the restraint of childhood was gone. She lived on her body and her face. Impossibly, while her body got more and more lush and fertile, her face seemed to become younger and younger. It was an irresistible combination. The Krysti Angel phenomenon was now a global enterprise. Girls all over the world dressed like her, talked like her and wanted nothing less than to be exactly like Krysti. But it was with her second album "Krysti's World" that her critics decried her abuse of such power. Her new look, dubbed 'Call Girl Camp' by the media, was made up almost entirely of PVC rubber clothing. Tight, short skirts, and tiny bikini tops. Rubber opera gloves and chokers. And Krysti's trademark: her rubberized six-inch heeled, 2-inch platform knee-high boots. The parents, priests and politicians were shocked with the new look. But before they could mount any opposition, the girls had already started to pick up on it. Before anyone knew what was happening, every girl in America seemed to be dressing in the rubber clothes and boots. Every attempt made to stop the craze from spreading was met by the rebellious teens with even more extremes in replicating Krysti's look. They imitated Krysti relentlessly, even copying her odd habit of referring to herself in the third person and not using words of more than two syllables. In interviews she proudly admitted to using plastic surgery to enhance her appearance - and almost immediately, fourteen year old girls demanded that their families pay for surgery. And the business for surgeons skyrocketed. Krysti's songs, like "Sell Yo'self", "Toys for Boys" and "3way" seemed to have overt messages of sexual promiscuity and the degradation of women, but Krysti's record company insisted that it was all done in satire. Still, it swept through America like a plague. Soon, all the singers and actors had picked up on the new look. Even the 'family' TV shows started to show their teenage female characters in plastic bikinis as if nothing was amiss. It became the status quo. "Do you want Krysti now, Daddy?" Krysti asked her father. Patrick was busy signing off on a small stack of papers. "Daddy's busy honey. Your movie contract needs a little more work." Krysti pouted, playing with her see-through pink baby-doll nightie. "But Krysti's ready now, Daddy." "If you really want it, princess, why don't you go ask Mr. Cannon?" Patrick said. "Eddie doesn't like Krysti ever since he found out about Harvey." Krysti sulked. Patrick chuckled to himself. "Mr. Cannon just needs some time, Krysti. He's not as open minded as your father. Why don't you just check and see if he's interested?" Krysti skipped down the private, secret hallway to Edward Cannon's office. Krysti checked the light to see if it was okay to enter, and saw that it was green. It took her a few minutes to remember if that meant it was all right or not. "It's going to be hard to top yourself, Krysti." Mr. Cannon said, when he found his breath. Krysti wiped the goo from her mouth and bent up to talk. "But Krysti can always try harder, Eddie." She then went back to her task. "Uhhh... Yes. But... Oooh. Krysti." Mr. Cannon found it hard to think. "I don't think we can push the envelope any farther... Euurrrr....uhhh..." Krysti finished her licking and started to move slowly up the naked body of Mr. Cannon. "Daddy has an idea he told Krysti about." She positioned herself atop his dick. "I just don't know, baby." Cannon said. "You've already turned the girls of the world into junior whores." He laughed. "Now those airheads will buy anything! Dumb sluts!" Krysti let Cannon's rigid, rock-hard shaft slip into her. "But Daddy has an idea!" She then started to make little 'eep' noises, as she bounced up and down. "The girls are all sluts now. Just like Krysti... But what about boys?" She started to scream as Mr. Cannon's hot semen jetted into her. Cannon's eyes lit up with inspiration and orgasmic ecstasy. "Yes!" He yelled. "YES!!" "Oh goodie!" She giggled. Krysti took her bosses' exclamation as the approval she was looking for. "Krysti was getting bored!"