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Book Of Change - The Continuation free porn video
Book Of Change -- The Continuation
by Dee Eon
A sequel to Thomas the Tame's "The Book of Changes"
FOREWORD:
Greetings All!
I very seldom dabble in magic stories, but this one long ago caught my
fancy. It's a story shoehorn-composed in a very tight and harried life,
so pardon any errors which I'll rewrite if too many find them blatant.
This story begins immediately after the last line in Thomas the Tame's
"The Book of Changes". I thank Thomas the Tame for permission to continue
his story. This upload's version been nip and tucked for corrections.
It's not proof perfect, but I'll do whenever I've the time.
This is my first work on Fictionmania since its return online, so a much
belated and heartfelt welcome back!
Dee
##############################
This story immediately continues the last line in "The Book of Changes"
# # #
But why even bother and just go ahead and dump Alexander Summers'
memories as long as I own the book? Like, they've been really pesky with
the nightmares and a hassle for Mom to keep up with her lotion. Worst,
they sometimes spoil it when Chuck and I are making love by making me
cringe from his touch like it was dirty or disgusting.
But what really tore it was last week when they suddenly made me puke all
over him while rocking impaled atop his bucking hips.
Like, why should I put up with that??
So that's why I dug the book out and ordered the ingredients from herbal
and occult supplies web sites and batched up this concoction a few nights
ago. I would've taken it right then but held off till I was sure Google's
Latin translator translated the right spell from the Book. It shouldn't
hurt since like, it won't be shriveling bones and crunching organs down
to size like when Alex first turned into little me.
So I'll just go ahead and take the concoction out which smells god-awful,
but after this, like there'll be no more nightmares, no more lotions, and
no more ruined joy rolling with a boy.
Won't Mom be surprised that I could master the Book all by myself?
So I'll just wrap up this diary letter as the last one before my new life
free from the ghost of Mom's old hung-up hubby begins.
And afterward we both can have a real laugh over it.
#
Swirling up from sudden nothingness.
Christ!!!!....
My head was exploding.
It felt like my brain was on the electric chair with sparks arcing
between every neuron, and in back of the pain flashed visions of my body
writhing and convulsing on the floor. But it was fading, and like the
foamy surf rolling back from a wet beach I felt sudden quiet and relief
and...and...
I blinked awake a weird swirly confusion like I was assaulted by all
manner of different thoughts of surprise at once. Dazed, I staggered off
the floor and dropped on my bed, my bosom heaving as I wheezed as though
from a race. I looked around my bedroom, bewildered by the bizarre
sensation that it'd been repainted and refurnished only it hadn't.
Everything felt like that. At once intimately familiar yet somehow alien
and out of place.
Like -- me...
Get a grip, man! Get a grip!
Man??
Oh My God...
My face buried in my slim hands which were still shaking then I looked in
the mirror at my pale awed face.
Jesus Christ...
I remember.
Everything.
Once being Alexander Summers.
No, not 'Once'.
AM!
Yes...yes!
I'm back -- totally!
God!
The last hard thing I -- Alex -- remembered from totally being Alex was
lying tiny on Marilyn's bed, raptly gazing a mirror at an adorable creamy
white little girl in a pink top and blue shorts and frilly pink socks and
blue sneakers, her snapping blonde curls draped her pillow like a golden
halo and framing a rosy pudgy-cheeked face with huge sleepy blue eyes and
long pale lashes held rapt by mommy's soft soothing voice while a minty
fog teased my button nose and filled my lungs with hot heavy tiredness...
No.
Not 'mommy'.
Marilyn.
Sly tricky bitch witch Marilyn.
A witless surge of outrage bumped me from my daze and totally awake as
Alex with crystal clarity.
No--
"Awake"'s not the right word. I'd been "awake" as Miranda for ten years,
only amnesic of the fifty years I'd lived before. I -- when I was only
Miranda -- always sensed my -- Alex's -- thoughts and feelings in the
back of my -- her -- mind, but they were just dormant memories as passive
as the bits and bytes on a hard drive. Now suddenly they were re-
energized living experiences whose older greater mass pushed my Miranda
fraction off the throne of consciousness, but not without a buffeting
battle for the drivers seat in the mother of all migraines.
Damn!
She's -- we're -- one!!
My feathery eyelashes squeezed tight as I concentrated to stifle my alien
younger rebellious thoughts. My suppressed Miranda fraction realized she
blotched her attempt to erase my Alex memories and was desperately trying
to buck me off, but I held on to consciousness like a bronco buster. It
didn't help having the seductive hormones, glands and brain of a sixteen-
year-old girl stacked against your male will and ego, and it was only the
blaze of alarm at receding into a vain selfish adolescent that fired my
frantic grab for any straw of an edge to override her, and I ironically
and ruefully found it in her most ardent memories.
With high chagrin and appall, my desperate fresh Alex Will forced my
thawed male ego to face scathing memories of sweaty fumbling tyrsts with
Chuck. And with Jake. And Allen.
And Kevin.
And Franklin.
And Donald.
And Eddie and Tyrone and Maxwell, and other junior high and senior high
school jocks and studs, peeling me -- panting Miranda -- before my eyes
in all their strapping stud humping wonder.
O Jesus --!!
My male ego and gut convulsed and I doubled over and vehemently puked,
and as I gasped and rasped I felt the other pressure on my mind draw back
as though cowed by a raging beast.
"Right, you know it, girl!' I rasped aloud while wiping my lips, relieved
that I at least momentarily purged the sordid teenage thoughts fighting
me, but in dismay I felt like -- was -- a self-professed macho man
regularly gang raped by her torrid teen tangles with the full fidelity of
living each experience as my own.
O God, how can I live that down? Letting kids -- punks -- do all that
shit to me, even if I wasn't in control? How can I look myself in the
mirror and even think that I'm a man when I turn back?? Yet, to my
dismay, a fraction of my mind wasn't just unfazed by those demeaning
experiences, but craved them.
It's her.
Stupid giggly Miranda's habit of fawning over all her slobbering
boyfriends.
Damn!
At least I'm still mostly Alex right now while my outraged male ego keeps
the fool girl at bay! Sounds weird, but it didn't feel like two souls
battling in my head, but rather conflicting states of mind trying to
reassert themselves as ruler of my consciousness. True, I was mostly Alex
again now, but I couldn't stave off my autonomous female fraction for
long; I woke in foreign territory whose hormones and alien instincts were
even now smothering my original core identity.
In a half-daze I staggered off the floor to the Book on my -- Miranda's -
- dresser and idly leaved through its pages. Like a typical teen she
relied too much on computers to do her thinking than good old fashioned
research; Google's language translation was as accurate as a bi-lingual
five-year-old at the U.N. It was my good fortunate that her slight error
went in my favor. Her misfortune -- for now. But I wasn't sure exactly
how to proceed. Just whipping up a concoction was out of the question,
and exactly for what was a question too. Returning my original form
seemed ideal, but oddly enough, ten years as a girl blossomed its own
brand of body and gender pride too, so changing back just because I'd
soft curves and firm upswept boobs and a cute blond face instead of a
tall husky hairy bod now didn't feel all that critical -- in fact it felt
slighting in a way, like a girl told she was an ugly bitch.
Yea, weird, but that's how it feels now. That's not to say I -- Alex me -
- want to surrender life as a teenage girl, but I must grudgingly admit
that right now I feel far more freshly accustomed to being a girl.
Whether I'll one day fire-up enough male ego willpower to overwhelm my
fresh female self-esteem and have Book and concoction at the ready to
chug and chant was up in the air, and it wouldn't happen at all if she
continued fighting to be top dog, though I could understand her appall at
being bodyjacked.
So right now I need an immediate solution before my Miranda fraction
returns like a beast in the night creeping closer to a dying campfire to
undermine me, and before Marilyn got home and sniffed something different
about me and checkmated me with some spell from a copy of the Book I'm
certain she had. I couldn't even run away somewhere safe until I tempered
this inner teen trying to tug our mind's steering wheel from my grasp.
I paced the empty house, straining to steel my defrosted mind over a
flailing child's while desperately pondering a solution, and as my old
reflex mindlessly reached for the old ashtray on the mantle I startled at
a plucked chord of memory and wild hope.
#
It felt eerie watching yourself on your shrink's office VCR, sitting prim
and stiff on the coach in my -- Miranda's -- most 'conservative' dress
which was my -- 'her' -- seldom worn Sunday ensemble, your deep blue
glassy gaze tracking Dr. Jain's stubby finger before they snapped and
your pale feathery eyelashes fluttered and your eyes looked up with
nonplused wonder before politely smiling as he turned off the vidcam.
Then the session log tape ended.
Ejecting it to hand me, Dr. Jain said, "As your father will see, you
responded exceptionally well. Though I must say, you exhibit remarkable
willpower to undermine Miranda so powerfully, Miss Summers."
"'Randi', please??" I sweetly requested with a coral-glossed smile in my
best French accent which must've worked by his badly veiled ogling of my
unteen poised demeanor, and I was pretty sure he mostly taped this
session to assure me and 'dad' that he hadn't messed with my Barbie bod
while I was deep under. "I'd good reason to, Dr. Jain; I don't want to
wake up late out in a bar when I'm supposed to be at church choir
rehearsal again!" I answered "Now, just to be sure, Dr. Jain, you blocked
Miranda from taking over my mind anymore, right?"
"Well, I have to admit that I've never seen an as well-developed multiple
personality as Miranda outside a fugue in my whole career, Miss -- er,
'Randi', but I believe I've fortified your subconscious will enough that
hers won't subjugate yours for the time being, though you might sense her
thoughts and feelings lurking in the background like a tiger in a cage.
Understand, my -- forte in disassociated personality disorder is rather
limited."
Of course! Being a habit-breaking shrink rolls in way more mula than
clinic cases!
"Oh no, you've done well, Dr. Jain. I feel better already, so Daddy will
be thrilled!" I related with renewed confidence now that I wasn't
buffeted by my Miranda mindset for conscious control. It was a good thing
Jain never thought of interrogating my stabilized Alex mindset or else
he'd REALLY think I was a freak!
"So how's your father doing, Randi?" he curiously inquired. "I haven't
seen him over ten years! Last I heard he was kidnapped by terrorists!"
I lightly laughed. "If that happened to daddy, you could be sure you'd
heard from Mom, right??" I chaffed, knowing he'd heard the wild rumors
flying way back that Alexander Summers had been embezzling and flown the
country. True, I'd been ruthless and underhanded and even unscrupulous in
my day, but robbing was beneath my dignity.
"Actually, daddy came to Switzerland to support me through my multiple
personality treatments at the convent, but lately he's become so
disappointed with their results that he decided to fly me all the way
here just to see you. That's why I have my suitcase with me, fresh from
the airport! Daddy wanted to come along too, but he's been having all
these meetings about some secret government contract stuff, you know?"
"Yes, he always was a very busy man, Randi. I'm pleased he has that much
faith in my help. I hope my anti-smoking treatment worked well for him."
"Believe me, Dr. Jain; a good drag is the least thing on his mind right
now!" I replied and his brightened smile erased his looking at me if at a
rich man's discreetly ensconced schizo bastard. That was alright. I was
used being called one.
#
After an hour at a cybercafe I picked up a Western Union moneygram from
my Swiss account for several thousand dollars then celebrated my new
freedoms with a royal dinner at Applebees -- minus the wine the waitress
refused me. I had the Book and my original personality back (along with
the juvenile memories of another) in a fresh new bod to go another
seventy or so years, which was a no-brainer keeper since immortality
unfortunately wasn't in the Book.
By now Marilyn knew I -- Miranda -- wasn't home, but she'd just assume
'I' was capriciously spending the night with a boyfriend again before
calling the police by noon tomorrow, and by that time I'll be in
Honolulu. I didn't use any of Miranda's traceable plastic and all I
needed was a student i.d. for the plane which I'll burn soon as I landed
in paradise and cab over to my former corporate retreat's North Shore
bungalow where the locals will just shrug at seeing another exect's
stashed secret mistress being shacked up. There, with the internet and my
Book at hand, I can finally relax and start forging a new life.
My all too intimate memories of watching my child/"sister" being
corrupted with the passive consent of her mother humbled me of my past
transgressions as a MIA father. Still, even as I knew I shouldn't feel
so, but I wasn't going to miss Katie one wilt since she'd grown one
conceited gold-digging tramp whose predatory promiscuity not only scored
other girls too, but even her own victim-protegee sister, whom she also
coached at sacking schoolboys since seventh-grade. Grimly recalling those
appallingly sick episodes with and by my own daughter churned my gut and
raked my soul even more than knowing the smallest lurid details of
Miranda's teenage trysts, and made me wish I'd gone ahead and swapped the
birth control pills in Katie's drawer for Tylenol.
As for Marilyn, I can't even begin to express my contempt for hers -- and
my insane stupidity for allowing her to cast a spell on me for any
reason. I'd never ever find myself behind the eight-ball in business or
society like that, so I chalked it up to the infantile gullibility of my
kindergarten mindset at the time. God knows I'd never been an angel, but
I'd never used the book to injure anyone in leaping to the top. In fact,
all my spells were self-inflicted and never touched another living thing;
At most my -- corporate rivals, lost promotions, stocks, or reputations,
but never their minds and souls.
Like Marilyn's 'loving' kiss of death on my kiddie forehead for Alex's
soul even while she was laving my chest with her insidious mystic goo to
smother it.
No, Marilyn had to pay one day when her guard was down, and it wasn't
just my deeply wounded masculine pride getting back. I shudder to think
that Marilyn is sure to pass her certain scans of the Book on to Katie,
and just for that reason alone its legacy obliged me to devout much of my
life to becoming a virtual sorcerer of its most arcane spells and
incantations to counter anything Katie's haughty vicious personality
might evoke upon the world. Even Miranda's lurking mind-shadow, with the
clarity of Alex's 'outside' perspective and arbitrary morals, concurred
that notion with a shiver, much to my relief.
You'd think our "merged minds" would end up a blended consciousness but
oddly it wasn't quite that way, rather it was like Miranda suddenly woke
with a whole new batch of older memories which overwhelmed her mind with
its own self-awareness which regenerated my return to full consciousness.
In a sense, my mind had "morphed" from Miranda's which itself was "born"
from my original amnesic self, and what remained of her were voiceless
urges and feelings shadowing my thoughts like a ghost. At least Miranda
was still somewhat "conscious" in my head; Alex was totally frozen out
when she was in the drivers seat!
Still, my Alex self-esteem and ego wasn't that cocky about my dominance
since it was in peril on Miranda's home court in a female body with
gender identity molding glands and neurons and instincts. Given time, my
Alex-self was doomed to dissolve in a bath of estrogen and maternal
instincts evolving back into a smugly seasoned triumphant Miranda.
Naturally my male ego was alarmed, but intellectually I also know out of
sheer practicality that I'll have to accept more of my girly Miranda
instincts and wiles to successfully live in her world's age and sex until
my self-esteem was content and flexible enough to even think of returning
as Alexander Summers or even a man. But that didn't mean I'd totally lost
some old virile impulses.
Like gazing the smoky mirrored wall across from my table at the pert
poised blue-eyed coral-smiled chick curving out a Sunday outfit where
wavy golden tresses roiled over a nicely rounded bodice above sleek
crossed silken legs...
Jesus!!
It was only a few moments after I drew a panting breath did I realize
that I was and blushed at my wild impulses.
It was as though I was ogling my own reflection the same way I once ogled
women, only it was both wistful and titillating in a weird narcissistic
daughter-incest way, and ironically it didn't help my struggling male ego
any by taking Miranda for a looker. Then, I -- when just Miranda -- was
never modest about recognizing and exploiting her knockout assets to get
my -- er, her way, and it just might come in handy in finding a new
stepladder boss or drooling partner, just like my earlier stint as a much
less endowed female to bag a rival, only not so temporary.
Alexanda Winters.
I like the sound of that! Way more distinguished than that Mirnada-
soothing compromise 'Randi', especially since that fraction of my mind
wasn't hassling me anymore. Besides what serious firm hires anyone named
'Randi'??
Alexanda Winters. Lady C.E.O.
Why not?? 'Tween these looks, the Book and my seasoned guile, I could
even surpass my success as Alex! As a shrewd businessman I intimately
knew the chumps and suckers men were while Miranda's precocious nymphette
wiles sure knew all too well how to manipulate them!
I inwardly grinned in wild titillation as the blond siren across from me
cutely pouted like Marilyn Monroe then dropped a shy angelic kid look
that'd turn the Pope into a pedophile.
Breathlessly awesome!
With sass and skills and looks like that, I'll make my first million
before I'm twenty, easy! Yea, I'll miss strutting my six two frame and
eight-inch junior, but sashaying a curvy young foxy bod is the ticket to
a whole fresh game, and passing Alex's torch on to Alexanda to win again
doesn't bruise my male pride at all!
Yea!
Save one or two pukey exceptions I can totally do this girl thing!
After all, I'm my own daughter now, right?
Miranda's impulsive girly giggle escaped my sly chuckle, and far from
smarting my male ego it sounded kinda cute coming from me.
BUMP!!!
Someone shoved into the bench next to me and before I could even turn to
see who, a face practically slammed into mine and arrogant lips clamped
over my gasp of surprise while hefty arms twined me to pulled up against
him.
WHAT THE FUCK -- ??!!
Even as I cringed trapped under the brazen kiss, the chicklette back of
my mind instantly sensed who it was.
Chuck.
The same prick who -- who --
My pried mouth and male ego bridled to recoil and slug back, but the
impulse was reined back by shock and by the rush of Miranda's swoony awe
just in time before his wet sharkish grin pulled back. Maddeningly,
confusedly, my dismay felt my well-rounded bodice thump beneath my
stifled smirk while my male ego flared with chagrin. Still, Jain did a
good job of tempering my freshly melded mind from spitting out the
bastard's vile saliva and wiping my wetted lips to instead face the prick
with Miranda's fool giggily smile.
"Chuckie! Like, what are you doing here??" I Miranda-twittered, trying
not snicker at her default ditzy Valley Girl twang.
So bizarre!
I loathed this smug junior jock's guts, yet my plump bosom was thumping
high as a kite. It was rather dismaying to see how Miranda's smaller cut
of my experience and conscious could so briefly totally counteract my
will and feelings, yet I was grudgingly thankful here because I would've
tore Chuck into a bloody pulp. Maybe for Miranda it's a heavenly
experience, but for me, vividly remembering spurting pricks being jammed
and pumped and humped in me ten ways to Sunday for hundreds of times was
the absolute insult and unforgivable trashing of any real man's soul.
Ironically, that I still felt so vehement about it in Alex's state was
kind of a relief.
But I can't afford to get into trouble now! The police will haul my
pretty ass back to that witch Marilyn, and I and any second chance
escaping will be royally screwed!
My mind strained to keep from retching at his fondling paws and to rein
Miranda impulses back from dragging me along with her pubescent desires.
Sad for me to admit like a bimbo's dad, but while Miranda was a polished
teen temptress, she wasn't all that bright in the common sense and reason
department, so it was fortunate that my greater mind largely took over
her intellectual faculties if not her more primal emotional ones.
"Oh, just checking out the chicks!" Chuck gibed, leaning to nibble my
tender ear, and despite my cringing male core, I felt tickled to giggle
while struggling not to indulge Miranda's habitual giddy thrill as he
moved in for a deep French kiss while groping my plump marshmallow
bosom...
Fuck --!!!
My mindless arm pulled to shoot up to slug him but he grabbed it high
like I was coyly faking a slap and effortlessly pulled it down.
Shit!
This Barbie bod's weak as a damn kitten!
I can't take it! Sorry!!
I was about to violently wrest myself away when he broke off, grinning
like a smug cat. "Hey, babe, why so uptight?" he asked. "What you all
dressed-up for? A funeral? Hey, what's the suitcase for? Running away
from home with me or what?"
I smirked, and despite myself, felt my fiery ire mellow into a weird
demure simmer gazing back at his grinning mug with shimmer instead of a
blaze.
Christ!
Miranda's damn estrogens must be basting my male ego like a Thanksgiving
turkey! It's bad enough I -- she -- can't ever get enough of this prick,
but her damn fluttery feelings are going scramble my wits at time when
they've got to be sharp! Like, this dickhead can blow my whole plan!
Chuck sticks to me -- er, Miranda -- like mated mayflies, and she never
refuses him because he's also her best sugar daddy-in-training so I can't
just shake him off or grab a cab to the airport or appear different to
him without his wondering why leaking it to Marilyn in a cell call. The
last thing I need is for L.A. or Honolulu customs to grab me on the
threshold of freedom!
Think, Man, think, while you're still mostly one upstairs!
"Well??" Chuck prodded, and frantically rifling ideas, I turned my hot
face and lightly shrugged.
"Uh, yea. Like, kinda. I'm -- I'm like, going to my cousin's place to see
his grandma at the hospital for a couple of days. She has, like,
melanoma, you know?"
"Melony huh? Oh. Uh, sorry about that..." Chuck said with specious jock
comprehension and sympathy, but at least he dropped his grubby arms. "Uh,
is there anything I can do for you?"
Yea -- put a .45 'tween them teeth smile and pull!
I faced Chuck with a cute cloy smile holding back gnashing teeth. "Er,
like, as a matter of fact..."
* * *
END OF PART 1?
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