Richie Rich Vaults of Mystery
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Richie Symonds Goes To Hell free porn video
Richie Symonds Goes to Hell
By Apple
Heya! This is a concept I came up with for a role-play
character, it just kind of developed and fits in pretty
well here. It doesn't really have an ending, it's meant to
be a beginning, but, well, you'll see...
***
Sometime in the future...
Richard Symonds, Richie to his mates, which included most
people he met, looked out through the pebble-effect glass
of the bathroom. Being a bathroom window, it was designed
so that you couldn't see much through it, but he could see
all he needed to - grey. It was always grey. Not
particularly nice, not particularly foul, just... grey. He
couldn't remember when it wasn't grey. Not just the weather,
that just reflected his mood, but everything. Food tasted
bland, people bored him these days, nothing seemed to grip
him the same way it used to.
He sighed, turning away from the window, and caught a
glimpse of himself in the mirror mounted on the wall. He
still looked the same, which almost surprised him, it felt
as though he should be marked somehow. The well-muscled
body that looked like it belonged to a man ten years his
junior, black hair cropped to an inch in length,
emphasising his blue eyes. It was there, if anywhere, that
there was a difference. His eyes had always been his
favourite feature, he'd been told that they were the colour
of the summer sky, but now they looked like the blue of
deep arctic ice, cold and uncaring. His eyes couldn't help
but glance down his reflection, past the smooth chest, the
still-hard abdominals, to his crotch. Not amazing in size,
granted, but it was nothing to be embarrassed by, and it
had done him proud over the years.
He lost himself for a few seconds in memories of past
encounters. He'd never been one to sleep with anyone he
could, but the several partners he had had were all
stunning in their own unique ways, from Lisa's angelic face,
to Sara's demonic sex drive, and a gamut of pinnacles
between the two. And, of course, Lucy. Always Lucy. Her
memory broke him from his reverie, and he shook his head at
his vanity. Sure, he had trained so hard, a master of
Ninjitsu, but, at the end of the day, it hadn't meant
anything. All the press-ups in the world couldn't have
saved her from being raped and beaten to death while he sat,
oblivious, in his tiny office. Almost by reflex, he went
over that day in his head once again, looking for some way,
any way, he could have made a difference. There wasn't any,
there was absolutely nothing he could possibly have done.
After the funeral, he'd held it together for a while, long
enough to make sure that Rebecca, their daughter, was, well,
at least stable, she would never fully recover, Richie
accepted that, but he had made sure that she would be OK
before he had made his decision. Inspired by his
helplessness, he arranged for Beccy to transfer to a
private boarding school out in the country. Beccy had hated
the idea, and it had cost him most of the money from the
life insurance, and all of their savings, to pay for all
four years she would be there up front, but at least she
would be safe.
With Beccy effectively out of his life as well, things
started to fall apart. He hit the bottle, hard. After work,
he'd come back to the empty house, rooms filled with
memories, and he couldn't stand to be there. He'd go to the
local bar and try to drink himself into oblivion, just
to escape his misery for a few hours. It wasn't just that
they were gone, he realised, it was that they had been the
things that gave his life meaning, gave him something to
make his achievements mean something. Now he had nothing.
No-one would really care if he wasn't here, so he tried not
to be.
It was a Friday night, or maybe Saturday, when he ended up
talking to this guy, Marcus. Despite his slurring and
nearly passing out several times, he had managed to tell
Marcus his story. It didn't make him feel better to tell it,
but it at least stopped people from trying to tell him
their own problems. Marcus had surprised him by suggesting
an alternative. Richie had heard of Better Than Life chips,
or BTL's, but only as a dark rumour, a substitute drug used
by the pathetic and desperate. Well, right now, he thought,
he was pretty damn desperate and pathetic, so what did he
have to lose? That was how he had ended up at Marcus' place,
a wire mesh over his scalp sending electronic signals
directly into his brain. Signals that simulated the
thoughts, feelings, the very being of someone else. For a
few minutes, he was a surfer catching the biggest wave, a
climber hanging upside down, even a female porn star with
one man sucking on each artificially-inflated breast. He
had been afraid at first, but then the artificial signals
had swamped his own fear, and he was lost in a wave of joy,
lust, of love for life.
He had come down hard when the trip ended. To return from
the highest peaks of human feeling into a mundane life
would have been hard enough, but to return to his shambles
of a life was devastating. That's what made BTL's so
addictive, that they could instantly give you the best
feelings a person could have, and they felt just as real as
if you had done it yourself. Surely enough, like countless
others before him, Richie became hooked. He spent the last
of his money to buy a cheap player from Marcus, who knew a
guy who could insert the socket into his head that would
make the signals clearer, even more realistic. The socket,
a data-jack, was used by plenty of people who had
legitimate reasons to interact directly with computers, but,
looking back, Richie doubted if any of his co-workers had
been convinced when he told them he had had it done to make
him more eligible for promotion.
Shortly afterwards, it stopped being an issue. Too many
times waking up, a string of drool connecting his face and
knee, the alarm clock deactivated, and the management had
stopped tolerating his collapse, they had been forgiving up
to a point, but suits are only so flexible.
By this point, he could hardly make himself see that
getting fired was a bad thing, it freed up more of his time
for being someone else. For days on end he lay in his own
filth, only moving when the chips refused to play,
informing him of his 'poor physical stature'. Hell, it was
obvious, no dealer wanted to lose a good customer, so the
makers had built in this safety feature that stopped him
killing himself with pleasure. He hated waking up on those
days, not sure where or even who he was, stumbling to the
corner shop, eating cold tinned food. He would always swear
that the next time would be the last, but it never happened.
Of course, he didn't tell Marcus he'd been fired, or any of
the rest of it, just called him up to order a new batch of
chips, promising that he'd happily give him the cash come
payday...
Soon enough, he owed Marcus more than he used to make in a
month, then more than he made in three months. Things were
going from bad to worse, Marcus was refusing to give him
any more chips, and he had no way to pay back what he
already owed, let alone to sate his craving. He'd sold
everything, even his wedding ring, just for one more fix.
Then, one dreary autumn morning, he'd been forced to face
what he'd become.
A broken wreck of a man, body still hard from the years of
conditioning, but the mind a crumbled wreck. A man who owed
more than he had to very serious people. A man who would
rather lie unconscious than be alive. He knew what he had
to do.
Richie Symonds finally looked away from the mirror, towards
the hot bath he had drawn. His final attempt at pleasure.
And the row of small white bottles lined up next to it, for
when his attempt inevitably failed. He wondered, one last
time, if writing the letter had been the right thing to do
- would Beccy find it a comfort or a torment in the days to
come? He shrugged to himself, it was too late to worry
about it now. On impulse, he pulled his mobile from the
pile of discarded clothes, and hit the autodial. As always,
the phone was turned off, so he left a message. Unlike the
usual begging messages he left for Marcus, this one was to
be the final one, his last words in this world. When he had
finished howling abuse into the receiver, he slipped into
the bath, a fragile satisfaction lending a madman's
smile to his face.
The water was scalding hot. It did no good. The only slight
pleasure it brought him was to see his reflection vanish as
the mirror clouded over. He couldn't help but see the
mirror as a metaphor as he unscrewed the first plastic
bottle.
***
Oh, God, he wished he was dead... And then he remembered,
he should be. His vision was fuzzy when he opened his eyes,
so he decided it wasn't worth the effort. He began to wish
he could shut his ears as well when his hearing started to
'focus in', and the background noise resolved into the
screaming of medical equipment. It reminded him of hospital
drama shows, and he smiled at the absurd thought.
In fact, he found the background squeal so amusing, he
tried to imitate it, but all that came out was a gurgling
cough. He didn't really mind. Instead of being upset by his
apparent inability to copy the noise, he decided to go to
sleep instead. Sleep would be nice. A long, long, sleep,
just nice, and comfy, and relaxed here...
***
He realised he was awake. Not a sudden, jolting awakening
like he'd experienced before, this time it was more like
he'd been awake for a long time, but he'd only just
realised. There wasn't much difference between awake and
asleep, but he was sure he was awake. He couldn't see
anything, he couldn't even really feel much, but he knew he
was awake. The feeling reminded him of those horrible times
as a child when he'd woken up, but been unable to force his
body to move. His adult mind told him it was due to the
muscles relaxing while he was asleep, and it would just
take time to sort itself out, but it couldn't convince him,
the part of him that was in charge. If he could have, he
would have screamed. but worse, far worse, he just lay
immobile under what felt like a rough blanket, nearly
choking with hyperventilation, but not quite managing even
that release.
After an infinity, he realised a voice was speaking. At
first, he wasn't sure whose voice it was, let alone what it
was saying, but he soon realised... Marcus... It was Marcus
speaking... That should have meant more, but, for the time
being, he was oddly pleased that he'd worked out who was
speaking. But, as with most things in life, he'd just
realised how happy that made him, when the contents of the
words shook him out of his serenity.
"Hey, Richie? Richie? You awake? Uh... Yeah, this thing
says you are, 'course you ain't got any way to show me...
Heh, gives me an idea, that does..."
A weird feeling, he was proud to remember how to feel, and
he was even more proud to know that the feeling was Marcus
touching his skin. He was sad that it cost him so much to
know this, but he was still pretty proud as he faded out
again.
"Right, right, sorry about that, got a little, eh, carried
away there... No worries, mate, you'll get used to it soon
enough. Here, this thing says you're up to it, so let's
give you a bit of a view, huh?"
His sight returned. That is, his eyes were already open,
but it was like they had been suddenly reconnected to his
brain, like he suddenly remembered how to see, even though
he'd been doing it all along. Admittedly, there wasn't much
of a view, just Marcus' ceiling, like he'd seen when he
woke up so many times before, but it was better than
nothing. He looked around. Or at least, he tried to look
around. He couldn't actually move, not even his eyes. They
were so dry, he wanted desperately to blink, but he
couldn't even do that. His vision was fuzzed over almost
completely, all he could see was a vague figure leaning
over him. then, he felt a spray of water hit his face,
shocking in it's cold, but at least it wet his eyes a bit.
His vision cleared somewhat, showing Marcus leaning over
him, holding a mister, grinning slightly to himself.
"Ah, yeah, um, didn't think about that, yeah, not used to
this, still, I guess you ain't either, huh?"
He could feel again, Marcus' hand resting on his leg, but
it was still fuzzy, spread out, like Marcus' hand was
bigger than he knew it really was. He tried to blink again,
but couldn't, his muscles still not responding.
"Well, yeah, so now you're awake and you can see me, well,
I guess I got a bit of explaining to do, huh?"
Marcus gave a sheepish grin, one that made him look like a
little kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar... It was
weird to think that Marcus must have been a kid once...
"Yeah, well, you're so gonna hate me for this, but, it's
well, business, yeah? Man, you should have told me how bad
it was, but, no, you had to just run out on what you owed
me...Shit! This is... Well, this is gonna fuck you up a lot
more than me, but it's such a fucking head-job man!
Seriously, when I was a kid, we were happy for 3D on a
screen, man!"
More than anything, even more than he wanted to stop his
eyes from being so damned dry, right now, he wanted Marcus
to get to the point. He'd never been like this before, he'd
had weird new products plenty of times, but he'd never
bothered explaining when he knew Richie was going to buy
them anyway...
As if sensing his impatience, Marcus continued.
"Right, where was I? Oh, yeah... Well, you shouldn't have
done what you did, Richie, trying to run out on your debts
like that... I totally had to change my view of you, man, I
thought we were friends, I'm pretty cut up that you
couldn't talk to me about this, that you called me a, well,
you know what you said. Now, I'm willing to chalk that up
to the drugs, and we can figure out some way for you to pay
me back what you owe. There's just one, uh, complication,
though... When I got to you, you were pretty much gone,
hell, if you hadn't called, I'd never have got to you in
time. Well, to cut a long story short, I called in a few
favours from a street doc I know, you wouldn't know him,
and we dragged you back here."
He was pacing in and out of Richie's view now, waving his
cigarette to punctuate his monologue, looking for all the
world like a suit dictating a letter.
"Now, this is the fucked-up bit, dude, we couldn't save
you... Your body's fucking dead, man! But, well, you know
all the recording kit I've got here? As you were on your
way out, me an' the doc, we ripped your brain to disk! Shit,
I mean, I knew it was possible, but to actually do it? So,
yeah, I'm left with a corpse, and your mind on the mother
of all chips. Well, we ditched the stiff, but you left me
with a pretty big problem, I mean, this cost a lot, I don't
even know why I did it, and there was no way you were
earning your keep on that disk..."
He misted Richie's eyes again, before wandering out of
Richie's sight, probably towards the bank of old computers
that used to line the wall, still speaking.
"Well, the way your brain was saved, it was kinda like the
chips you're used to, we could slot it into anyone, and
they'd have your memories, your mind, hell, they'd be you!
Or you'd be them, not really sure which way round it is.
But we kind of had a problem, you see, we could grab anyone
and stick you into them, but there'd be nothing to stop you
killing yourself again, then we'd be back where we were
before. So, well, I did some digging around, and I've got a
real peach for you!"
Suddenly, Richie's nerves lit up like the city at night,
every point of his body screaming for attention as he
spasmed, gasping for air, trying to scream with the feeling,
like the worst pins and needles he'd ever had, but in every
square inch of his body at the same time.
"Whoops!" Marcus didn't sound particularly upset. "Yeah, uh,
might want to turn that down a little..."
The screaming pain died away as fast as it had arrived,
leaving just the ache from over-clenched muscles, and
Richie realised he could move. Of course, his first action
was to blink as much as possible, and try to rub some
moisture back into his eyes. But as he moved, something
felt incredibly wrong with his body. Instead of the well-
muscled arms he was expecting, he felt light, too light,
like he'd been filled with helium, but at the same time, he
felt incredibly weak, and his blurred vision showed him
arms that were much to thin. He assumed it was from being
out for so long, before Marcus' words filtered through to
his brain. He realised that the reason his arms were so
wrong is because they weren't his. His head whipped round
to stare at the twisted dealer and again his body moved
differently. He felt so much smaller, lighter, and that in
itself made him feel more naked than he ever had before.
Marcus' face split into a grin, like he hadn't really been
expecting Richie to be able to move. Maybe he hadn't, but
that was something Richie really didn't want to contemplate.
"Well? Go on, then! I went to a hell of a lot of trouble to
get you your new look, at least check it out!"
Richie wondered how Marcus was planning on having him work
of his debts, a huge amount even without including what
this must have cost. Still, he decided, he would cross that
bridge when he came to it. For now, he forced himself to
take in the body that would be his until he could find a
way out of this.
His arm, a stranger's arm, was as painfully thin as he'd
expected. Whatever Marcus intended for him, it wouldn't
involve any heavy lifting. Barely a third as thick as his
old arm, he couldn't help but tense it, the barely visible
twitch nothing, compared to the powerful bulk he was used
to. And then, from his arm, his gaze was drawn inexorably
to his chest, to the grossly out of proportion muscles
there. And then he realised, as his had moved, lightning-
fast, to the strange formation, that this wasn't muscle.
His other hand moved shakily over his unmuscled stomach,
coming to rest in the gap between his legs, confirming what
his sight refused to accept. He had breasts. He was a woman.
Marcus had made him into a woman!
He gasped, recoiling, but Marcus had crept up alongside him,
and pinned his arms with an ease that Richie found horrific.
He realised how vulnerable he was, how small, as, with a
grin, Marcus transferred both Richies wrists into the grasp
of one hand, and gently ran his fingers down the side of
Richie's face, pulling them back just in time to avoid the
snapping teeth, and Richie began to feel a sickening
realisation of how Marcus intended him to pay his way.
Marcus spoke, again seeming to read Richie's mind, as his
other hand trailed lazily over his captive's soft stomach.
"Yeah, man, how else did you think you were going to earn
that much cash? Shit, you don't even exist anymore, you're
dead! So, I figured, there's always people wanting to get
chips of, y'know, different stuff, and there's some things
my usual girls won't do... that's where you come in. Hell,
if you play along nice, you can pay back everything you owe
me in, what, a couple of years... Oh, and I know you're
wondering, how am I going to stop you killing yourself
again, breaking the chip? Well, take a look over there..."
As Marcus let go of his arms to gesture towards a tall
mirror on the other side of the room, Richie turned to see,
pushing himself up to see his new prison. His first thought
was surprise that his hair was so boyishly short, but then
he realised that it would probably have been shaved when
they put the chip into him. With that thought, he started
patting around his skull, trying to locate the socket, only
to hear Marcus chuckle once more.
"You won't find it. This one's an internal jack... Only way
to get it out is a certain operation... Oh, and in case you
wondered, it's booby-trapped, anyone messes with it, a
small explosive charge... well, you get what I mean..."
While Marcus had been talking, Richie had been staring at
the image in the mirror. An instant after his thought about
the hair, it occurred to him that this body wasn't a woman,
as he'd first thought, but that of a young girl, barely
more than a child. He guessed she was about twelve or
thirteen, and was almost too distracted with thoughts of
how disgusting Marcus was, when he realised how Marcus
would stop him killing himself. Why the image in the mirror
looked so familiar. With the beautiful dark hair cut so
short, it had taken him a moment to realise. He was Beccy.
His new body was his daughter's! Richie collapsed onto the
bed in despair, realising that his selfish actions had
dragged his daughter into this mess, that Marcus wanted to
pay for Richie's debt with his daughter's body.
"Yeah, I figure this is one way to stop you doing it
again... You were always on about trying to be a good dad...
Well, I think you've kind of cocked that one up already,
man, but I know you won't risk hurting her more you have
already. Shame she's so young, it's gonna be, uh,
'specialist' chips only for a bit, but you'll soon grow
into it, huh? Actually, there's this guy I was talking to,
kind of pre-ordered some chips, so we'll get started real
soon, yeah?"
Now that Marcus had let go of his arms, Richie realised
that he wasn't restrained in any other way, and gave a
silent prayer of thanks for Marcus' arrogance. Of course,
it wasn't as if Marcus would be scared of a thirteen year-
old girl, and a small one at that, especially given that
Richie couldn't see her get hurt. The dealer's only mistake
had been to think that Richie would let him turn Beccy into
an underage chip-star. Of course, it was just a sign of
Marcus' depravity that he wouldn't consider that as her
being 'harmed', but Richie vowed that he would soon realise
his mistake.
Richie sat up on the couch, still unused to the alien
feeling of his body, the way he felt so light, the way his
small breasts bounced slightly as he moved, the sheer
vitality of the young body. His training kicked in, and,
while he knew he would be in shock later, he had to act now.
His mind kicked into overdrive as he blocked his emotions,
appraising the situation. He was a lot smaller than Marcus
now, and didn't stand a chance in a fair fight. So, he
decided logically, he would have to be unfair. If he could
surprise his opponent, or find some sort of weapon, he
could incapacitate him long enough to run away, and he was
certain that, if he could get out the door, he could get
away for good and begin to sort this mess out.
Luck was with him that moment, as Marcus had clearly
decided to 'sample' his new goods. The hardest part was
waiting for the right time, he knew he'd only get one shot
at this, but to hold still as the dealer began to run his
hands over his body, over his daughter's body, was
nearly beyond him. He gasped as Marcus groped his breasts,
a feeling totally different to anything he'd ever
experienced before, the gentle softness of his new body a
study in contrast to the honed planes of his old physique.
As Marcus tweaked his nipples, it was all he could do to
hold in a moan, even despite the horrible situation, it was
a feeling so intense, like an electric shock running
throughout his body. He felt his new sex begin to react to
the stimulation, his body betraying him, and he couldn't
wait any longer, couldn't let this human filth abuse his
daughter's body any more than he already had.
From his position perched on the edge of the couch, it was
a simple matter to slam his knee upwards into the bigger
man's crotch, but his luck began to desert him as Marcus
folded forwards, stunned, but not helpless. He folded
Richie in his arms, enveloping him in the
smell of stale beer and sweat, and for a brief moment,
Richie thought his new body's limited strength had cost him
dearly. Reflex, though, had made him reach one arm up as
the dealer came at him, and that arm had escaped entrapment,
so he brought it round, knowing that he was in no position
to punch Marcus, but instead clawing at his face, pushing
slender fingers into soft flesh he couldn't see.
Marcus staggered back, hands covering his eyes, and Richie
knew that this was the best chance he'd ever get. As he ran,
he snatched one of the dealer's shirts from where it had
been hung to dry next to the open window, which Richie
threw himself through, praying that the bins that were
usually below would be full enough to break his fall. They
were, and his new body was light enough to take the fall
without even being winded. Richie ran, the screams of the
dealer sweet music in his ears.
Vera
- 09.07.2022
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