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Inside Job free porn video
Inside Job
By Kelly Hunter
"Mr. Johnson? My name is Rachel, please, follow me."
The young woman led the gentleman past the front counter, past the
tellers that handled the basic bank functions, and into the elevator.
His eyes followed the swaying hips of her tight tan wool skirt, her
long legs gracefully leading the way. Her delicate high heels of her
matching tan pumps began to softly click as they left the carpet of the
lift and onto the cold, marble floor of the lower level vault.
"Here we are, can I have your key sir?" The woman with the raven hair
turned to the elderly looking man, and politely reached out her hand to
receive his safe deposit box key. The woman stood just a little taller
than his five foot seven inch frame; he smiled at her lovely face as
she smiled back. He handed her his key.
Checking the number on his key, she elegantly twirled to face the box;
her white silk blouse flowed, following her delectable curves. Mark
could make out the silhouette of her firm breasts through the sheer
fabric, the strong florescent light reflecting off all the polished
metal. He checked his watch, '10:15, a little bit early,' he said to
himself, as he peered up at the security camera over the door.
"Here we go," she said, pulling out the over-sized shoebox from the
wall. "How does booth number two sound?" motioning to the wall of doors
along the right hand wall. Mark nodded his head and opened the door,
considerate of the fact that the attractive bank employee had her hands
full. He held the spring-loaded door open as she carried the large
silver box inside.
"Thank you, Rachel, was it?" he said, questioning if he got her name
correct.
"Yes, sir, Rachel Willingham. Now, if you need any assistance, just
flick this switch and the light will go on outside the door." She
smiled once again, her perfect red lips curled up softly in the corners
of her mouth. "When the light goes on, I'll know when you're done."
"Thank you," he said, enjoying her pleasant smile, not wanting to rush
her out right away, especially since he had some extra time available.
Rachel stopped, halfway out of the booth's doorway, her right nylon-
covered leg still inside, her toe pointing inward, "Pardon me for
asking, have we met before? You seem awfully familiar."
With a grin on his face, he replied, "No, I don't think so. I certainly
would have remembered someone so attractive." He lied. They've met
before, just not in this form. He certainly didn't look like this the
last time they met, last week when he picked her up at the pub.
"Besides, my wife Renee would probably have a fit."
The attractive woman smiled and blushed at the flirtation from the
mature gentlemen. She politely nodded and slipped out the doorway. He
listened carefully as the high heels once again traversed the hard
stone floor, Rachel's feet distancing themselves from the booth, as he
knew she passed once again in front of the lens of the security camera.
He had been casing this establishment here in London for a few months
now, and today was the payoff. He realized early on the amount of money
going through these concrete and steel walls was vast. In the world of
international finance, it was one of the most prestigious banks in all
of England, let alone Europe. Major investors banked here, millionaires
and royalty used these walls for safe keeping, creating an incredible
opportunity, as well as a nearly insurmountable challenge; but today,
was payday.
He had opened up an account here, acquiring a safe deposit box here on
level 3, where the richest of the rich had security boxes. For the last
two months he would come in twice a week, have his safety deposit box
pulled, and be given a booth to privately add or remove items from his
box. In that time, he managed to determine where all the cameras and
their angles were located. He knew quite precisely which boxes
contained what, and which was the cream of the crop. The owner of that
cream visited regularly on Tuesday at 10:45 am, every week. He also
knew who worked on each and everyday, and knew exactly when Rachel
would be here. He once again glanced at his watch.
Realizing the time, he quickly shed his wool overcoat to reveal an
expensive Italian suit and silk tie. He shed his gloves to reveal
polished, elegant nails. Quickly he tugged at the Windsor knot,
loosening the silk from his neck. Deftly he unbuttoned his shirt,
revealing a tightly wrapped elastic bandage around his chest. Kicking
off his shoes and socks, he undid his trousers and stepped out of the
fine tailored cloth. To the outside observer, the occupant was
definitely an older male, but after shedding his clothes, his shape
definitely proved more feminine. Pulling down his underwear revealed
his wider hips and narrow waist. If anyone was watching they would be
nearly too distracted by his attractive feminine shape to realize his
lack of a masculine appendage. All that was there was a small patch of
finely trimmed black hair.
He checked his watch again, as it now lay on the counter. Reaching into
the inside pocket of his jacket, he pulls out a small atomizer, with a
curious clear liquid inside. He carefully sprayed toward his toes, a
silent mist over his naked feet. He smiled; his test successful, he was
ready. He flipped the switch.
He listened carefully as the familiar heels came closer, then a gentle
knocking on the door. Pulling the door slightly open he peered out with
only his head, his definitely masculine-looking face. Smiling he pulled
the door with entire body, hiding his near naked form, simultaneously
spraying several pumps in the air, right where the young employee's
pert little nose would pass. Rachel, unaware of the mist, as well as
the trap set for her, stepped into the booth.
Her eyes fluttered as the nude form closed the door. Rachel's eyes
finally closed as her body slumped, only to be caught by curious-
looking Mark. Gently he placed the beautiful woman down on the chair,
taking a brief moment to admire his captive.
His watch beeped, snapping him out of his trance; payday was swiftly
approaching. Quickly he knelt down and pulled the 3-inch pumps from her
delicate feet. Reaching around her waist, he undid the button and
unzipped the soft skirt, wiggling it past her hips as they sat quietly
on the chair. Her white silk blouse was now free of its confinement
from her narrow waist, and he swiftly undid the few ivory buttons. He
did not stop as her breasts were revealed, sliding the smooth fabric
off her slumped shoulders.
Not hesitating a moment, he deftly undid the clasp of her bra, her firm
breasts jiggling just a little. He did not stare at them, as he had
seen them before, quite intimately in fact. Carefully he pulled the
waistband of the nylons, over her curvaceous hips, and down off her
lovely legs.
Placing the garments on the small countertop, he reached behind his
head and pulled. With a slight sound of suction, Mark's elderly
features began to disfigure; his jowls wrinkled as well as his
forehead. His eyes sunk inward as he pulled his face forward. He
grimaced as the latex finally snapped clear of his face, revealing a
youthful male visage.
"Now, my dear Rachel," he said, imitating the young woman's voice,
"it's Showtime." Deftly he unwrapped the bandages from his chest,
springing free his false breasts, binding them had hid their
appearance. Pressing against his false patch of pubic hair, he could
feel his arousal grow.
Quickly yet gently he pulled on the silky nylons, careful not to mar
their luxurious texture. He had left the real Rachel with her panties
on; he didn't need them for this brief ruse. Then he stepped into the
taut skirt, pulling it up over his false hips, partially zipping up the
closure. Reaching around with practiced ease, he smoothly slid into
Rachel's lacy white bra, her false breasts a perfect match to the soft
cups.
He thought back to how, just last week, he had followed the lovely
Rachel Willingham into the corner pub. Taking his time, slowly and
methodically, he stalked his prey, the single woman with whom he
flirted unashamedly. Of course he hadn't looked like the old man that
came in this morning to retrieve items from his safe deposit box. Nor
did he look like the young man currently dressing I her clothes, but
rather a muscular looking man, with facial features similar to David
Beckham. After a few flirty compliments, she scribbled her phone number
on a slip of paper; after a few spiked drinks, she was off willingly to
his place. She barely made it though the door before passing out, half
drunk, half drugged, and totally unconscious as he had his way with
her.
Mark smiled as he opened his safe deposit box, reaching in for its
contents. He had to giggle to himself, thinking about how he had his
way with her. It was certainly different then how most men would take
advantage of the gorgeous woman. He did strip her naked, just as any
ill-mannered scoundrel might do, yet he had different intentions.
Pulling his hands out of the steel box, a lifeless face stared back at
his evil grin, that of Rachel Willingham. That night he made a perfect
cast of her face and body, from her cute little nose, to her cute
little patch between her thighs. He had worn the body mask under his
Italian suit today, but had worn his "old man" mask with it. Days
earlier he had left the lovely visage of Rachel in the safe deposit
box, not wanting to draw any attention to himself by carrying anything
into the bank that morning.
His watch beeped again; time was running short. Pulling a small sponge
from a clear plastic page, he quickly wiped his face, and then pulled
his Rachel mask on. The raven hair was expertly attached, as it
cascaded over his naked shoulders. Pressing the face firmly into place,
it held tightly, matching his expressions as he smiled, his, or rather
Rachel's, pout red lips following.
He gently pulled on the silk blouse as he simultaneously stepped into
the 3-inch heels. Smoothing out the hem of the blouse, he tucked it
into the waist of the tight skirt, pulling the zipper all the way
closed. Taking the last of what he needed, he leaned over the nearly
naked form of the real Ms. Willingham, and with slight of hand, pulled
the sparse jewelry from her head and hands. His few years as a
magician's assistant paying dividends.
The transformation was complete. He took a deep breath, and turned the
knob of the door. Realizing he, or rather she, was forgetting one
thing, she reached down and picked up the master key, the one needed to
open all the safe deposit boxes, the key to his payday. She stepped
out, waiting for his bigger prey.
The camera recorded Rachel's exit from booth two, never suspecting that
she wasn't she, but rather he. She gently closed the door, and spoke
"Glad I could help sir," the camera picking up her facial movements.
"Just call when you need me."
Mark smiled as he turned on the high heels, sure that no one would
notice that Rachel was now two inches taller; the high mounted camera
could never discern the discrepancy. He headed to the elevator, knowing
that one Mr. Evan Michaels III would be there in just a moment. He
glanced at the now delicate watch wrapped around his wrist, "10:44" he
said to himself, "He should be here any moment now."
Just as he lifted his head from gazing at his wrist, a 'bing' came from
the elevator. Smoothing out the wool skirt, and pulling back his
shoulders, forcing the false but ever convincing breasts out, he put on
a big smile.
Mr. Evan Michaels III exited the lift as he did every Tuesday of every
week. He came from a prestigious family, one that had generations of
accumulated wealth in international finance. The middle-aged man stood
over six feet tall, with distinguished good looks. He smirked as he saw
the young bird waiting for him.
"Good morning, Rachel" he said, pulling off his leather gloves.
"Good morning sir," Mark answered back, knowing that this was the
ultimate test.
"You look absolutely ravishing today," he said, unabashedly.
The young 'woman' smiled as she nodded, careful not to speak too much,
fearing her voice or accent would give her away. Gracefully, she
extended her lithe wrist, seeking his key.
"Oh, no small talk today?" The imitation woman smiled, and with her
lovely, green contact lensed eyes, motioned to the booth that contained
another patron. He followed her eyes, realizing her gestures, and
mouthing a silent "Oh." He had no idea that the booth contained the
naked form of the woman he flirted with every Tuesday.
Reaching into the pocket of his overcoat, he pulled out a keychain with
several keys attached. After locating the proper key, he handed the
entire mass to her, holding out the single right key. After checking
the key number, and after taking the master key from her wrist, she
opened Mr. Michael's safe deposit box, which she knew was right below
that of Mark Johnson. Without any hesitation, she turned the two keys
and removed his large box. Turning, Mark saw that the distinguished
gentleman was already in booth four, awaiting her arrival. He barely
noticed her walk over as he undid his overcoat and remove it, placing
it over the back of the chair.
The heels clicked softly, the nylons brushed gently against his thighs.
He could feel his arousal growing inside his latex sheath. He felt a
greater sensation as he shifted his false hips side-to-side, right in
front of the camera. The tight skirt made each step a personal ecstasy
within.
She reached the booth, and stepped inside. Carefully she leaned over,
placing the heavy box on the counter. He tilted his head and admired
her firm derriere, her breasts pushing against the white silk, her dark
hair cascading over her shoulders. He arched his eyebrow in
appreciation. He adjusted the groin of his tailored wool trousers.
"Can I get you anything else?" Mark asked in his best Rachel voice.
"Perhaps your phone number? Hmm?"
The young woman stood at the doorway, knowing that these advances were
expected. "Sure," she said sarcastically, "but I'm sure Mrs. Michaels
may have an issue with it."
Taken back by her response, the embarrassed man adjusted his tie, and
just smiled. Sensing his silence, she added, before closing the door
behind her, "Just turn on the light when you are ready." And with that,
she was gone.
Mark could hear the rustling of papers behind the closed doors, before
turning on the elevated heels, towards the elevator. He wasn't going
anywhere, just wanted to get off camera, his hidden erection was about
to burst. He gazed at his feet as he crossed the vault, admiring the
pointed toes of the high heels, and the sheer glow of his legs.
Another reason to get out of view was that he still held onto the keys
of Mr. Evan Michaels III.
Five minutes later the light outside of booth number four flicked on,
and the door clicked open. Seeing the light, proverbially at the end of
her tunnel, Rachel made her way over to the open door. The hidden
erection had not abated in the few minutes, and the walk was
excruciatingly erotic.
"All finished?" she asked, moving past him to gather up the box.
"Yes, all finished," he replied in his proper English accent. The flirt
was gone, having been caught in the act, as he paid little attention to
her.
Smiling she picked up the box and stepped out. She watched as he felt
through his pockets, as if searching for something. "Sir, I have your
keys, if that's what you're looking for."
"Why yes," he said, "I must have forgotten to get them back from you."
"It's quite understandable, you were too busy staring at my backside."
The redness seemed to drain from his cheeks, realizing he was caught
again, worse than before. She turned and passed in front of the
electric eyes once more, traversing over to the wall of small doors.
Placing the box on the small column nearby, she inserted the keys once
more, and opened a door.
Mr. Michaels was busy putting his coat back on, and too embarrassed to
watch Rachel place his box into the wall. The camera could barely see
the wall of doors, but the lovely figure of Rachel was quite apparent.
She then locked the little door and turned to see the middle-aged man,
slightly hunched over in mortification, heading toward her, his eyes
looking downward at his hands.
Mark stood straight up, his false yet perfect breasts pointed straight
out, straining against the sheer white fabric of the silk blouse. He
reached her, and stood up straight himself, regaining his stately
composure. He quietly raised his hand, palm upward to retrieve his
keys.
The young woman smiled, and placed the mass of connected metal
fragments into his outstretched hand, her fingers gently grazing across
his palm teasingly. He smiled back at her and blindly stuffed them into
his overcoat pocket; never realizing the key chain was one item
lighter. Nodding, he turned away from the lovely face and headed for
the lift.
She just stood there, watching her prey leave. "Have a lovely day!" she
said, as the elevator door closed, sending the proper British gentleman
on his way.
Then reacting as if he heard a call from Booth Two, Mark made his
feminine motions as he headed over to the closed booth. The camera
picked up his sultry moves, never realizing the effect those moves were
having on that particular individual. Opening the door, the seemingly
young woman went inside, the spring-loaded door closing behind her.
Leaning back against the door, he pressed against the taut skirt with
his hand, feeling the pressure against his false vagina, he could
barely contain himself. Once again his watch beeped, "Right on time,"
he said to himself, "Now to finish this."
Quickly he undressed himself, kicking off the heels while unbuttoning
the luxurious blouse. He unzipped the skirt and stepped out of it as he
undid the bra and threw it over the still unmoving Rachel. Shedding the
silky nylons, his arousal was unabated, it continued as he slid back
into his pants, slipping on his socks, and stepping back into his
shoes.
No sooner had he shed the female clothes, did he begin to redress the
original occupant. Having a little difficulty with the still-warm
nylons, the sleeping woman was quickly again herself.
The false face of Rachel Willingham smiled one last time as it was
smoothly pulled from Marks real face. The long dark hair lay there limp
as the mask was placed inside the safe deposit box. Mark reapplied the
mask of the elderly Mr. Johnson. The salt and pepper hair was short in
comparison to Rachel's; he already missed the weight on his shoulders.
He deftly wrapped his breasts, holding back their girth, and redressed
in his suit and tie. Deftly he took a scrap of paper out of his coat
pocket and tossed it on top of the lifeless mask.
Sliding his gloves on to hide his delicate fingers, he checked
everything over once more. He closed the box containing Rachel's face,
and straightened out his Windsor knot one last time. Convinced
everything was in order, he gently but firmly stirred the sleeping
beauty.
"Hmm?" the beautiful young woman moaned softly.
"Rachel? Are you okay young lady?"
Sitting up in the chair, the lass blinked several times, attempting to
regain her faculties. "What happened?" she asked, rubbing her forehead.
"I don't know. I called you over to leave, and you passed out when you
entered." Mark said, comforting the young woman, clasping her hands in
his gloved hands. "It was a good thing I was there to catch you."
"Well, this happened to me last weekend too. I think I'd better go make
an appointment with the doctor."
"Perhaps you should," he said comfortingly. Rachel stood up, smoothing
out her tight skirt, and running her hands through her tussled hair.
Standing up from his kneeling position, Mr. Johnson handed her his key,
as she made her way out to the wall of small doors. A little
disorientated, she opened the door that corresponded to the number on
the key, as Mr. Johnson carried the box over and slid it into the
vacant opening.
The camera watched as the young woman handed him his key, and how he
smiled at her. "Well, have a nice day, Mr. Johnson," she said.
"Oh, I will, today's payday." With that he smiled, and made his way to
the elevator. He waved lightly at the young woman, knowing she had no
idea of what just happened, knowing the camera had captured all he
meant it to capture.
Later that afternoon, a beautiful woman named Renee walked into the
bank, here to close an account. With professional dismay, the bank
officer took the auburn haired woman down the elevator to the lower
safe deposit box area. The elderly man reluctantly took her key and
removed the safe deposit box, and carried it over to booth three, all
the while a raven haired young lady watched from the far end.
Inside the booth, the woman grew aroused as she sat, crossing her high
heeled black boots, smoothing out her grey tweed skirt. Sweeping her
long red hair over her shoulder she gleefully opened the box. With care
she placed the box's contents into her handbag. The contents didn't
take up much space, nicely filling her oversized shoulder bag.
Zipping up her bag, she turned on the light and opened the door.
Handing the box over to the young woman, the male bank employee walked
with client to the elevator. He spoke as they walked, her heels
clicking loudly on the cold stone floor. "Well, I'm sorry we're losing
your business."
She just smiled, her tight skirt causing each step to be in front of
each other, her smoky grey nylons rubbing against each leg. The black
turtleneck underneath her leather coat hid her short, excited
breathing.
"Give my best to your husband. Is there anything else we can do for you
Mrs. Johnson?"
"No, you and your staff," she replied, looking past him and into
Rachel's eyes, "have been quite accommodating. Thank you." The elevator
slid closed, the camera watching her leave, leaving the two bank
employees to shake their head in losing a client.
Rachel Willingham took the empty container from her co-worker, and
peered at the elevator as the door closed. "Boy! That's Mark Johnson's
wife? He's old enough to be her father. He must be loaded."
The grey-haired male employee turned his head toward the lift and
smirked. He understood the shallow connection between women and wealth,
replying, "Yes, he is. He's a lucky man." The dark-haired female just
glared at the fellow employee, not realizing how lucky, and loaded,
Mark now was.
The smiling redhead pushed open the front doors to the bank, stepping
onto the bright London Street. The cool autumn air brushed against her
face, but she barely felt if through the thin layer of latex. She
turned to her left, and started down the sidewalk.
The high-heeled steps caused an erotic arousal in her loins, the nylon
swishing silently. She smiled to herself, which erupted in a soft
giggle. Her hidden erection grew stronger as her false breasts jutted
out from her chest, pushing through the opening in her coat. She
laughed victoriously as she thought about how next Tuesday, at 10:47
am, one Mr. Evan Michaels III would discover a surprise. After
realizing that his safe deposit box key was missing, and upon the bank
opening his safe deposit box for him, he would have some serious
explaining to do to his wife.
Finding Rachel's phone number, in her hand writing, as well as a mask
of the young beautiful bank employee would be easy to explain, in
comparison to what happened to the 37 million dollars worth of
untraceable bearer bonds that were gone.
Renee, or rather, Mark, hailed a cab; he couldn't walk anymore, his
legs were trembling. Climbing inside, he squeezed his thighs together
while telling the driver to head to Heathrow airport. He ran his legs
up and down against each other, closing his eyes, grasping the bag
tightly. Suddenly he quivered, letting out a slight moan, his hips
mildly shaking.
"Miss, are you okay back there?" the driver asked in his cockneyed
accent.
The young women slid down slightly, enjoying the comfortable ride,
before answering the polite driver, "Yes, thank you. It's just the
climax to a profitable day in international finance."
Tammi
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