SRU Reforming the Brat
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SRU - A Change For The Better free porn video
SRU: A Change for the Better
The bell tinkled over the door as two men entered. Outside of their
piercing blue eyes, they couldn't have looked more different.
"Wait out here, Terrence," said the taller man. "We won't be long." His
graying blond hair was cropped short and slicked back, his face was
angular and clean-shaven. His outfit, from head to toe, spoke of wealth
and power--from the sharp lines of his tailored suit to his bold Gucci silk
tie to his Italian leather shoes. A sizable diamond glinted in his gold
pinkie ring, matching the ones in his cuff links and tie pin.
"Did you see me roll coal on that fuckin' Prius on the way in here?" said
the shorter man. "Fuckin' classic." His dark hair was spiky and frosted,
poking out from around the expensive sunglasses that he wore atop his
head. His leather-tanned face was covered in a uniform layer of dark
stubble, which coalesced into a thick, dark horseshoe moustache and a
bleached-white soul patch. He wore designer distressed jeans and Armani
thong sandals. On top, he wore a flannel vest with ripped sleeves over a
black t-shirt. On the shirt was a silver logo that read "BIG PIPES GARAGE"
in large sharp letters around a stylized hot rod engine; underneath, in a
different font, it read "MANIFOLD DESTINY?." The "MAN" was in bold type.
"Yes, father would be *so* proud," the first man sneered. He looked about
the shop with an expression of disgust, like just being here was
contaminating him somehow.
"Father *would* be proud, Prez," the second man replied. "Or didja forget
that there ain't nothin' Dad loved more than stickin' it to a smug fuckin'
hippie?"
The first man shrugged. "Then why bring us here, Roderick? This place
reeks of..." for the first time, he noticed the shop's apparent
proprietors, standing behind the counter. One was an elderly man with a
beard, wearing what seemed to be a shabby bathrobe. The other was an
attractive young woman with auburn hair cut into a bob, wearing a low-cut
burgundy top and tight jeans. He gestured dismissively at them,
"...*those* people."
If either man heard what obscenities the young woman muttered under her
breath, neither gave any indication.
The old man in the robe cleared his throat. "Welcome, gentlemen! Prescott
and Roderick Vandenberg, it's not often that visits to our little shop
here are a family affair."
"How does he know who we are?" Prescott asked his brother, glancing
furtively toward the door, where his bodyguards waited just outside.
"Because we're famous, ya moron," Roderick elbowed him lightly. "My
handsome face's been all over this mall for weeks." He walked up to the
counter. "Always love to meet my fans," he said in an affected drawl. "Yer
comin' to the signin' this afternoon, right? I think I might be able to
find an extra VIP pass 'r two." He then looked the young woman up and
down. "An' if y'all don't have a book, I'm sure I c'n find somethin' to
sign."
"Charming," the young woman replied. Roderick would have noticed her
dramatic eye-roll, if he hadn't been making eye contact with her cleavage.
"Actually," the old man said. "Mr. Vandenberg, the reason I know who you
are is because I'm a wizard."
"Oh brother," Prescott said.
"Man, din'cha learn anything in yer MBA classes?" Roderick said, walking
back to his brother. He gestured widely. "This place is brilliant! They're
so committed to lookin' authentic, from the rickety sign to all this merch
right down to the crazy guy at the counter. This is marketing genius,
Prez! Hell, the only thing that looks fake 'round here is that girl's
titties."
The young woman fumed. "Fake?! You'll find out how real they are when
you're *wearing* them, you--"
"Dannie, calm down," the Wizard said, pulling her back. "These are
customers, and we have a procedure."
"You can't be serious." Prescott said. "God, you're easily impressed. In a
month, this whole place will be an IniChem plant, and that'll be a major
step up from this tacky kitsch thrift store trash."
"Tacky?!" the Wizard raged. "We'll see what you think is tacky after a few
years in leopard-print leggings--or as them!"
Dannie dragged him off the counter. "Master, please!"
"Right, right, of course," The Wizard composed himself. "Gentlemen, I
assure you that I'm on the level. I know that you are Prescott Vandenberg,
former CEO and head lobbyist for Vandenberg Energy, a position you
recently left to take over the Environmental Protection Agency. You're
here as part of a project to open this area up to natural gas and chemical
production."
Dannie jumped in. "And you're 'Hot Rod' Vandenberg, host of 'Manifold
Destiny,' a basic cable show where you make pickup trucks belch smoke and
piss fire. You're here to do a signing for your new book, Man-ual
Transmissions: Putting Your Muscle Car on Steroids."
"Ah knew you was a fan," Rod said with a wink.
"As my brother said, you could learn all that by paying attention to the
news. Maybe your 'magic' routine fools the dim-witted rubes who watch car
shows, but even a child could see that it's all a cheap act."
"Would a cheap actor be able to transform my lovely assistant here into
the cable news anchor you fantasize about?" The Wizard waved his hand, and
with a sudden cloud of smoke, Dannie turned into a tall, twentysomething
woman with sharp features, shoulder-length blond hair, and a sleeveless
red sheath dress with a microphone pinned to the low collar. She and
Prescott looked equally surprised.
The Wizard looked to Rod, "Or the woman you slept with on your last book
tour stop?" He waved his hand again, and after another bit of
pyrotechnics, Dannie had become a short, curvy woman with dark, wavy hair
and an oversized black Big Pipes Garage shirt falling off one shoulder,
exposing a tattoo of a rose whose stem became a string of barbed wire
before it disappeared below the collar. If she was wearing anything below
that, it was obscured by the shirt and the counter. She smiled and licked
her dark red lips.
"Or both?" the Wizard gestured again, and suddenly the news anchor
appeared next to the hot rod fan. They eyed each other up and down with
surprise.
"Sheeeeit, man," Rod said. "How'd you do that?"
"Seriously?" the two Dannies asked in unison, with wildly different
voices.
"Let's say I believe this magic nonsense," Prescott said, trying to hide
his dumbstruck expression. "What's the point?"
"This is a magic shop, gentlemen. I sell magic items, mystical curios that
can improve your already extraordinary lives."
Rod was still staring at the two women, who were examining one another in
somewhat more detail now. "That's a helluva sales pitch. Wha'cha got?"
"For you, Roderick, I think I have the perfect thing. After all, you
understand more than most the intimate connection between a man's vehicle
and his virility."
"Ain't nothin' manlier than a truck that's loud, proud, an' spews a
cloud!" Rod said, in a thoroughly rehearsed fashion.
"Oh, absolutely," the Wizard replied, bent over under the counter. He rose
up and slapped a pair of massive chrome-plated testicles down next to the
register. "That's why I think you'll love these."
"Ugh," Prescott wrinkled his nose.
"Truck nuts?" Rod asked. "Man, I got a whole case o' those back at the
garage."
"Not like these, you don't. Go ahead, give them a feel."
Rod picked up the metal testicles. "Huh, heavy," he mused. "And warm. Oh
wow!" A smile grew on his face. "Shit, I feel like a million bucks holdin'
these! Feels like I could bench press a fuckin' semi!"
"I'm afraid you won't be quite that strong, but this ornament will forge a
magical bond between your body and any vehicle you put them on. Your
manhood and virility will be enhanced by tons of steel as your truck's
qualities become tied to yours, and vice versa. I think you'll find that
they provide considerable new inspiration for your show, as well."
"And what do you have for me?" Prescott asked, trying not to sound eager.
"A gold phallus I can put on an oil derrick?"
"Oh, nothing so gauche for you, Prescott," the Wizard replied. He pulled a
small, rectangular velvet case out from under the counter. "Go ahead, take
a look."
Prescott took the case hesitantly and opened it. Inside was a hefty, high-
class fountain pen, with a sizable diamond on one end. He unscrewed the
cap and noted that the nib appeared to be made of real gold.
"What, does it make everything I write come true?" Prescott asked.
"No, no, its power is in persuasion. Anything you write, even just the
papers you sign, will become much more appealing to the people you're
trying to influence. You'll find that it's an effective tool to cut
through red tape and ensure that you never have to hear the word
'compromise' again."
Prescott eyed the pen, his skepticism suddenly overwhelmed by the
possibilities. He lifted his gaze slowly to the Wizard. "How much?"
"I think I could let both items go for a total of $100,000."
"That's outrageous!" Prescott shouted.
"Bein' robbed, man," Rod agreed.
"Surely neither of you can fault a fellow capitalist for trying to turn a
profit. I know either of you could easily afford that sum, and as far as
supply and demand go, you won't find another item like either of those
anywhere else in the world. But I'm sure I could find a pair of
environmentalist hippies who could put these to use, maybe by making other
people's cars more efficient or passing anti-pollution legislation."
Rod and Prescott shared a look. "Fine," the latter replied. He pulled a
platinum money clip out of his pocket and deftly flipped a black credit
card from it. Anchorwoman Dannie took it, and noticed that along with it,
he'd slipped her a business card. She ran the credit card through her
machine, then slipped the business card into her cleavage.
Most people wouldn't have seen the way Prescott Vandenberg melted inside
at that moment, but Dannie was not most people. She handed him the card
and receipt. "If you'd just sign off here," she said, pointing at the line
with an expensively-manicured nail. Prescott signed it with a Mont Blanc
pen from his pocket that suddenly felt cheap and flimsy in his hand,
compared to the sensation of the magic pen he'd held so briefly.
"There's just one more thing," the Wizard said, gathering the magical
items together on the counter. "You can't be wandering the mall with
these; wouldn't want them getting lost, or for someone to mistake you two
for shoplifters." He glanced at them to make it clear that he was joking.
"Dannie, be a dear and get these men some of the nice shopping bags."
Hot Rod Dannie walked into an aisle behind the counter, and Rod's eyes
followed every bouncy, swaying step she took. She was far enough away when
she bent down to pick up the bags that he couldn't tell whether or not she
was wearing underwear, but his imagination filled in what his eyes
couldn't. She returned with two canvas tote bags that sported fancy
"Spells 'R' Us" logos, then packaged both of the items, acutely aware that
Rod was craning his head to try to look down her shirt collar.
"Here you are, gentlemen," the Wizard said, proffering the bags. "Have a
nice day!"
The Vandenberg brothers took their purchases and left.
"I'm not sure I caught what you did there, Master," Anchorwoman Dannie
said.
"What do you mean?" the Wizard asked, smiling wryly.
"Those guys were assholes," Hot Rod Dannie answered.
"And I didn't see any curses on those items. You didn't give them any
warnings or easily-misunderstood directions."
"Just two gifts to make them into even bigger assholes."
"Oh ye of little faith. They'll get their comeuppance, don't worry. You
might say it's already in the bag." The Wizard chuckled. "Do you really
think I'd pass up a chance to make a change for the better?"
The Dannies exchanged a look and shrugged.
"Speaking of which, I'm surprised that you're still in those forms. Do you
need me to show you the restoration spell again?"
"No, no!" Hot Rod Dannie replied quickly.
Anchorwoman Dannie glanced at her smaller counterpart and blushed. "We're,
uh, going to stay like this for a little while." She added hastily, "to
explore the effects of this spell in detail."
"And we're clocking out for the day," Hot Rod Dannie said with a grin. She
grabbed the other Dannie's hand and they scurried into the back, away from
the storefront.
The Wizard laughed softly. "Ah, youth."
***
Rod couldn't concentrate on the book signing. Throughout the event, all he
could think about was the oversized pair of metal testicles in the canvas
bag hanging from the back of his chair. He couldn't get over how strong he
felt for that moment that he held them, like he was twenty years younger.
He wondered what it would feel like to have them actually attached to his
truck.
When it was over, he sent his publicist and entourage off ahead, posed for
a few pictures with fans outside of his famous lifted pickup, and then
crawled underneath it. The cool blacktop was strewn with pebbles and
gravel, but he tried to ignore it; if the Wizard's promises were true,
then the reward was worth a little back pain. He reached into the canvas
bag, receiving a small static shock as he did so, and pulled out the
chrome balls.
Despite his television persona, Rod had never really been a mechanic. His
degree was in marketing and communications, and while he'd worked in
garages for years, it was always in a managerial position. So looking at
the underside of his truck, as he did now, put him at something of a loss.
As he tried to make sense of what he was seeing, his mind wandered,
settling eventually on the behavior of his buzzkill brother. That wet
blanket thought he was so much better because he'd taken over Father's
company, but it's like Prez forgot everything Father stood for. Rod had
gone to the same prestigious colleges, gotten the same advanced degrees,
and set out on his own. He was an entrepreneur building his own brand, the
way Father always expected them to. Prez took the easy way, rising up
through the family company, and now he was just another political stooge
for the powers that be. Even now, he was only in town to do some other
corporation's bidding; he couldn't be bothered to stick around for the
signing or say a single word of praise about Rod's success.
After a few minutes of grumbling, Rod found an appropriate spot to affix
the nuts, and eventually had them attached well enough that he was
confident they wouldn't fall off. He crawled out from under the truck and
admired his handiwork.
The balls were really the perfect complement to the huge chrome pipes on
the sides and back of his flame-decaled man-mobile. He'd worried that the
vehicle's enormity might make the balls look too small, but looking at it
from the back, they seemed somehow perfectly proportional. He could
already feel the effects, a sense of power that radiated out from his
groin and pulsated through his body. He leapt up into the driver's seat
and slid the key into the ignition. The truck roared to life with a deep
rumble and a spurt of smoke from the stacks. Power surged through his
body. His skin tingled, his muscles tightened, and his joints popped all
over.
"Hell yeah!" he shouted, cranking up the Skynyrd station on his satellite
radio. He pulled out of the mall parking lot and gunned the engine,
feeling like he was holding onto a live wire.
***
Prescott sat in the plush seat on the private jet, breathing deeply as the
plane ascended. He kept glancing at the canvas bag next to him, which his
bodyguards and associates had eyed skeptically but wisely not asked about.
He'd managed to resist opening it all through the meetings with the
IniChem lobbyists and representatives, but he wouldn't be able to hold out
much longer.
Once the plane was safely airborne, Prescott ordered a stewardess over for
a stiff drink. Terrence and Carlos, his bodyguards, sat on the other side
of the plane, the former softly snoring. Something about their dull
expressions always reminded him of his boorish brother. He had hoped his
impromptu visit would be well-received, but Roderick was his usual
obnoxious self. The lout had squandered an Ivy League education and a good
deal of startup money on this garage nonsense, acting like an idiot on
cable television and making the family name a laughingstock. Father would
be so disappointed.
And all he could talk about was signing his ghostwritten book at a
dilapidated mall in the middle of nowhere. Not a single word of
congratulations for Prescott's new cabinet position, no appreciation for
what it might mean for the Vandenberg name--not that he'd ever appreciated
*that*--just "look how they put flames around my head on the cover, Prez!"
And what he bought at that store...he was such a child.
That turned Prescott's thoughts toward his own purchase. He reached into
the bag, ignoring the static shock it gave him. He slipped the velvet case
out and opened it up, taking the pen into his hands with reverence. It had
a weight befitting the power it allegedly contained. Prescott wondered at
the best way to test it out.
Just then, the stewardess appeared by his seat, setting his drink down on
the table next to him. "Here you are, Mr. Vandenberg," she said. "Is there
anything else I can bring you?"
Prescott looked up, noting that the way she bent over him, he could see
her bra down the front of her blouse. "Yes, actually. Can you get me a pad
of paper?"
***
The Wizard hadn't lied. Rod could feel the roaring engine, the pumping
gas, the wind against the dangling metal nuts, as though they were parts
of his own body. And his own body felt better than it had since he was a
young man. As the speedometer needle crept upward, so too did his cock; he
hadn't been this hard without pharmaceutical assistance in the better part
of a decade.
Rod's heart pounded in his chest, synced with the rhythm of the pistons in
his engine. The feel of his tires against the speeding asphalt was every
bit as enjoyable as stretching his toes out in warm sand on the beach. He
weaved between other cars, knowing that he had become their king. And what
a king! Ideas sparked in his mind, exploding into bold new plans for new
sports cars and monster trucks and mods that would blow every other
mechanic out of the water.
Both his body and his chassis tingled with the sense of ecstasy and
anticipation and power, building toward an inevitable climax.
That's when he saw the hybrid.
The little half-electric sedan had a "Coexist" decal in the rear
windshield and a bumper sticker supporting some left-wing loser from a
past election. Other decorations haphazardly plastered across the hatch
proclaimed the car's opposition to that global warming bullshit and
support for "Mother Earth." Rod's insides burned like hot gasoline, and he
grinned as he slammed his foot down on the accelerator. He whipped around
the offending car until his rear bumper was within inches of its hood.
Then, with a triumphant burst, his pipes shot their load onto the hybrid,
coating the whole car in a thick cloud of choking black smoke. The smoke
came again and again in spurts, and so did Rod, filling his pants and
barely even noticing. He felt too good, an ecstasy that flowed through
every part of him, flesh and steel.
But behind him, the metallic testicles swayed in the cloud of smoke. A
seam appeared down the center, splitting open just slightly. A thin, green
tendril of metal poked from the opening, tentatively probing the air.
Rod couldn't remember ever feeling this good before, so full of energy,
full of life! Colors seemed more vibrant--the green of the fields on either
side of the highway, the brilliant blue of the sky above, even the soft
tan of his hands took on a new vibrancy. He slowed down, trying to take it
all in, not wanting such beauty to pass him by.
The green tendril crept along the underside of the vehicle, the road
gradually rising up to meet it. It poked out just behind the bumper and
into the sunlight.
Rod rolled down the windows and breathed deeply of the fresh air that
whipped his hair around his face and neck and shoulders. He poked at the
radio with a slender hand, trying to find something that better fit his
mood, his mind pregnant with new ideas. He suddenly realized just how
little it would take to make his car more aerodynamic, more efficient. He
had everything he needed back at the garage.
The green tendril fixed itself to the back bumper, reaching toward the
sunlight. Shining leaves sprouted from its sides.
The cool wind coming into the car made Rod shiver; maybe it was too early
in the year for a sundress and sandals, but Rod liked the feeling of
openness they provided. How difficult would it be to make this car a
convertible? Could it be done with sustainable materials? Would it impact
the battery's performance? Rod shifted in the driver's seat, pulled a hand
away from the radio controls.
There was a gasp inside the cabin when the glittering red-pink bud atop
the green metal stem opened, unfolding its petals in a wide bell shape.
The two halves of its chrome seed pod withered away into nothingness, and
the shining flower danced in the sunlight on the back of the bumper.
Rhoda grinned as the silence between songs allowed her to hear the soft
electric purr of the engine. She traced a slim finger around the steering
wheel, then down to her abdomen. Soon she'd have a constant backseat
passenger, and that meant a whole new focus for her tinkering. Could she
build a better baby seat? She was sure the next season of "Green Light"
would be her best yet.
A little hybrid hatchback pulled up next to Rhoda's electric coupe, and
she waved at the driver--a kindred spirit, she could tell. The hybrid
passed her as acoustic guitar strumming started on the radio. Rhoda
laughed softly and turned it up, then started singing along. "They paved
paradise, put up a parking lot..."
***
There was a spring in Prescott's step as he rushed into his office. It was
after hours, but he was eager to put his newfound power to practical use.
By the end of his flight, Terrence and Carlos were enjoying a torrid
makeout session, one of the stewardesses was making her rounds in the
nude, occasionally stopping to pleasure herself with a wine bottle, and
the other had pissed into a pitcher and served it to the very thirsty
pilot. But all that was kids' stuff, petty manipulations meant to prove
the pen's power to himself. Now, it was time to really see what it could
do.
He pulled the pen out of its case, noticing that it was a deep red, almost
burgundy, rather than the jet black it had appeared to be in the dimmer
lighting of the magic shop and the jet. His mind reeled at the wonder of
what he could accomplish with this pen--especially considering what he'd
accomplished without it!
He tucked a strand of hair back behind his ear as he paced, lost in the
way the pen's shiny wine-red surface distorted his reflection. He'd been
the youngest executive in the history of his father's company, and
naturally had to deal with a lot of skepticism from the old guard. But
even then, he'd refused to compromise, to play the usual games: sucking up
to his older male coworkers, keeping his head down, staying silent.
He sat on the edge of the desk, looking at the jewel at the top of the
pen. It seemed larger somehow, more watery. He tapped the crystal
absentmindedly against his lower lip, trying to decide what he should do
first with this newfound power. Prescott had never been one to play it
safe or take the easy way out; even with his family name, he had to work
twice as hard to get the same recognition as his peers, and he eventually
grew to relish the challenge. He'd taken some huge risks--hadn't he been
the one who convinced the board to begin divesting from coal and fossil
fuels, to begin using carbon capture technology and exploring sustainable,
renewable energy options, well before it was trendy, before tighter
regulations made it necessary? It had been an uphill climb to convince
anyone to get on-board with that plan, but Prescott did it without
breaking a sweat--or a nail, for that matter.
Prescott stepped back around to the big swivel chair behind the desk and
slid into it, slipping the pair of two-inch heels off onto the floor. Toes
stretched against pantyhose as Prescott cursed this administration's
archaic and sexist dress codes. Prescott eyed the pink pen again, with the
clear quartz crystal on one end, reminded of those college years standing
on street corners and outside courthouses with a clipboard full of
petitions, earning Father's ire for "being such a hippie," but also his
respect for being willing to stand up and chart a new path.
That's when those piercing blue eyes focused on the proposal for the
IniChem plant. That was the perfect way to put the magic pen to good use.
What kind of monstrous idiot would suggest building such a potentially
hazardous facility so close to residential areas? There was a daycare just
across the street! With quick loops, the pen illustrated the word
"Rejected" in an attractive pink script across the top of the page.
Priscilla smiled and leaned back in the chair, resting her feet on the
page. She unclasped her hair clip and let the dusty blond tresses fall
around her shoulders. Next, she'd draw up a proposal to turn part of that
old mall into a community space, and to suggest that maybe she could
consult with IniChem to help them transition to greener alternatives and
find success the way Vandenberg Energy had. She imagined that they'd find
her proposal very convincing.
Before that, though, Priscilla would call up Rhoda. Today's short visit
wasn't nearly enough to get caught up, especially now that her sister had
a baby on the way. She thought about how far the two of them had come from
where they started, but despite all the pressures of success, nothing
could change who they really were inside.
***
Dannie walked out of the back room, back in her usual, singular body, and
dressed in a bathrobe. She toweled at her wet hair. "I still think you
went too easy on them," she said.
The Wizard gave her a quizzical look.
"I brought a crystal ball so I could watch from the tub," she answered his
unasked question. "So what's the deal? Usually a couple of rich douchebags
like that would be drooling bimbos filling their g-strings with singles by
now, but you let them keep their cushy jobs."
"Am I really so predictable?" the Wizard asked.
Dannie shrugged.
"As I said, I'd never pass up the chance to make a change for the better."
"They'd be better off dancing around steel poles."
The Wizard shook his head. "I don't mean better for them, but better for
everybody." Now, Dannie was wearing that quizzical look. "They're going to
spend the rest of their lives working to undo the damage caused by people
like the men they used to be. If I'd left them to spend those lives on
their backs, all that damage would still be around, still causing harm to
innocent people."
"In other words, the only change you don't want to cause is climate
change," Dannie said.
The Wizard chuckled. "Something like that, yes."
Dannie buffed her nails on the collar of her bathrobe. "So, how about
showing me that duplication spell?"
Trish
- 03.05.2022
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