The Rise of Rachel Price T-Girl Pt. 28

Ever since the incident, in Qatar, Rachel had been desperate to keep Levant in a good mood. Rachel knew she had gone way over the limit with Hunter, and she had to do something to restore the balance in their relationship. She knew she desperately needed the medical bills to be paid, and it sounded like her mother was going through a tough time. Now, more than ever, she needed Levant both financially and, now she admitted, emotionally.

So Rachel pushed herself into being super submissive and the most fun she could possibly be when around Levant. She also kept her distance from Peter, who seemed equally hurt that she had effectively double-timed on him. The submissive and obedient trick worked, as the therapist and Charlie had advised. Samantha had been the minority voter against and was being proved wrong. Slowly but surely, Rachel felt herself rebuilding trust with Levant.

Rachel was the silent girlfriend sitting in the corner, looking cool. She did whatever she was told or even hinted at or suggested. If he wanted something, she got it. She worked hard to always look her best. Given a choice, she would always wear the sexiest thing possible for him, no heel was too high, no clothing too tight, too revealing or too objectifying.

However her primary trick was a liberal use of hand jobs backed up by strategic blow jobs. She had grown adept at both, and learnt how to get his trousers down quicker than you could sneeze. She spoken repeatedly with Charlie and Mimi on the phone getting more pointers on what to do. She tried them all and added a few things of her own. She even made notes on her phone about what worked and what didn't. The dedication worked, she just needed to get her hand near his package for it to start work.

Along with this she surrendered herself totally. Her body was his, they would touch, kiss, even with tongues. Hunter was her Rubicon; she found that she had nothing left to object to. It seemed foolish to be reluctant or timid about minor things. Rachel's list of limits was burned up, and if she were honest, she would say that she was enjoying every minute of it. Perhaps it was acting enthusiastic and smiling, but it had an effect on her. She did feel lively and energetic. Levant responded, and they chatted animatedly, laughing at each other's jokes. He took her out on one fun activity after another.

She focused her moral limits on sodomy. Well boy on boy sodomy, girl on girl or boy on girl sodomy was OK, obviously. Anyway, she needed the French dildo to allow herself to cum on her own occasionally. It was her only route to any relief from this long, dark tunnel. Levant seemed okay with Rachel's attention; he never suggested going any further and remained the perfect gentleman in this regard. In truth, he wasn't missing much.

All this began to work. At first Levant wouldn't let her out of his sight. She would sit in the car when he visited people. There were typically at least two people with her at all times. She concentrated on being as vain and dull as possible. They would tire of it eventually, she decided.

She also lied with the abandonment of a professional con artist. She lied to Dr. Cooper, bragging about how huge Levant was. She used a fire hose of descriptions to express how happy she was and how blissful it was being with Levant.

She danced on the edge of believability, describing herself as finally liberated. She even lied to Charlie, providing a redacted version of the truth. She claimed to have had an epiphany and to be in a better place now. The only downside of being so enthusiastic and articulate about her newfound life was that she started to believe it herself. She became completely neutral about anything Levant did to her.

Then she started to enjoy kissing him, she even felt a little damp when he came on her. She genuinely laughed at his jokes. Over dinner or in bed she could forget about what had happened and it really did seem like old times again.

The dick swallowing eventually worked. Rachel had just managed to master deep throating and Levant was so delighted he declared their relationship rebooted. Eventually as they flew about Europe again, Rachel felt things were back on track.

During all of this, the one thing that had kept her sane was that throughout the whole ordeal, Levant had kept the spy pen. He always kept it in an inner pocket. Rachel sat in the car outside the company headquarters, putting her headphones in and quietly listening to the conversations. Most of them were dull, discussing the setbacks and progress of the Emperor hotel refurbishment. Levant was also interviewing tech people for project Zeitgeist. Eventually, Hunter would come for her, and she would have more material to provide him. It was these small acts of defiance that truly kept her sane. When she needed strength the most, she would close her eyes, open wide, and try to imagine giving Hunter the mother of all apologies. She believed he would be okay with this once she explained she was saving his life. He still had the recordings, and back home, the FBI would be building a ball crushing case.

This weekend, they were in Great Britain before heading back. Charlie had flown over, she had been in New York and came over to have some in-person meetings in London and Russia. She was taking over more of Levant's empire to let him concentrate on spending quality time with Rachel. At least, that's what he said. He told her he hadn't had a true vacation in ten years. He was in his thirties and the short breaks he littered his travels with were no longer enough. Charlie was in her element with plans to rationalised the aggregation of hotels and building projects into one single comprehensible company.

Seeing Charlie again just reminded Rachel how much she had missed her. It was clear they couldn't do anything after the Qatar incident the surveillance was to unblinking, but it was good just having a friend around.

Arriving in Great Britain, Rachel was extremely worried about her accent. Her femininity coach had initially started as a voice training coach, but they had shifted to focusing on her accent as a way to continue their sessions. Rachel had picked up the lessons fairly quickly, but occasionally, she would still use the wrong word, like "faucet" instead of "tap." She felt a bit nervous that people might notice, but the English people she did meet seemed to treat her as if she were a native.

London was fabulous and not as rainy as people would claim. Rachel wished she had more time to explore the city, but instead, the morning after flying in, they left the grand hotel at St Pancras station, got into a Range Rover, and departed from the city.

Technically today was her fake birthday. It was whatever date whoever forged her first driving licence had made up. Rachel wondered if they would celebrate it, she wasn't expecting to. Still, there was a lot to get up to in London. Charlie had told of a sex party she had attended with Logan. It had been held with a level of sophistication only the English could produce. Rachel wondered if Levant had any surprises like that.

**************

"We have arrived," Levant announced, looking out of the Land Rover. They appeared to be driving into some sort of historic village where the weight of history could be felt in every brick.

"Where are we?" Rachel asked, looking up. She paused her doom scrolling of Instagram and her phone was also becoming quite warm.

"I've got a delightful surprise for you," Douglas said, a mischievous glimmer in his eyes, as they gracefully slowed down.

Rachel's heart skipped a beat, her imagination running wild. Her first instinct was to anticipate that he had gone to the extreme and actually purchased a magnificent castle. Oh, how absurd that would be! She couldn't help but feel an overwhelming sense of uncertainty whenever she was near Levant. His reactions were unpredictable, and she could sense the simmering frustration within him. Perhaps he was upset because she had chosen Hunter over him, favoring her commitment to her mission.

As they stepped out of the Land Rover, Rachel's eyes fell upon an astonishing sight--a picturesque and remarkably historic building known as the Cottages. The quaint charm exuded by its weathered stones and centuries-old architecture filled her with relief. Gone was the daunting prospect of a castle looming over her. It appeared that, for once, Levant hadn't recorded her conversations with Cooper.

Curiosity tinged with trepidation filled Rachel's voice as she inquired, "Where are we going?" The intensity of her worry caused her to instinctively grasp Charlie's hand, seeking solace and support.

Levant met her gaze, his eyes sparkling with excitement, while a faint smile danced upon his lips. "We're going to meet your parents," he replied, his voice carrying a blend of anticipation and uncertainty, as if he were about to step into a sacred and unknown realm.

As they approached the quaint English cottage, a sense of nostalgia and warmth enveloped Rachel. The thatched roof, adorned with a colorful array of blooming roses, seemed to embrace the essence of timeless charm. The stone walls stood steadfast, emanating a sense of history and the stories they held within.

With a delicate touch, Levant pressed the doorbell, and a melodious chime resonated through the air, sending ripples of anticipation through Rachel's being. Could Grandpa even fly? Would her mother have the energy during therapy to go anywhere?

The door creaked open, revealing a vision from another era. Standing before them was an old woman, her once vibrant hair now faded to a soft shade of silver, delicately styled with a touch of timeless grace. Her face bore the marks of a life well-lived, etched with lines that spoke of wisdom and resilience. Despite the passage of time, her eyes sparkled with a youthful twinkle, harboring a wealth of experiences and untold stories.

"Yes?" she said looking from the door at the group of people beyond it.

"I'm Douglas Levant." Levant answered "my PA Lucy should've told you we were turning up."

"You're here good. You better come inside." The woman said as she welcomed them into her humble abode, her warmth and hospitality enveloped the room like a comforting embrace. There was an undeniable strength in her demeanor, a steadfastness that had weathered the storms of life's challenges and emerged unyielding. In her presence, one couldn't help but feel a deep sense of reverence for the generation that had paved the way, preserving traditions and imparting invaluable wisdom to those fortunate enough to be in her presence.

They walked into a room that felt like it had been transported back in time. A majestic grandfather clock stood proudly, its rhythmic ticking echoing through the air. Adorned on the walls were vintage pictures, capturing moments frozen in history. The atmosphere exuded an aura of timeless nostalgia, as if the place had remained untouched for at least a century. But what truly captured Rachel's attention were the bare wooden beams, painted in a rich black hue, gracefully crisscrossing the ceiling, that added an extra layer of rustic charm.

"Wow, this is a truly enchanting place," Levant remarked, his tall frame slightly bending as he maneuvered beneath the low beams.

The old woman, with a gentle smile, extended her invitation to sit down. In the opposite armchair, there sat an old man, seemingly lost in a half-slumber. The woman tenderly roused him from his drowsy state.

"Rachael, I would like you to meet your mother, Gwendoline Price," Levant introduced, his voice filled with warmth. "And that man is your father, Richard Price. He once served in the US military and worked at Greenham Common during the Cold War. Now retired, he lives here with his English wife, Gwendolyn. Gwendoline graciously offered to stand in as your mother."

As the words settled in the air, Rachel felt a mixture of emotions swirling within her, a delicate tapestry of curiosity and uncertainty woven together.

"I understand she's not well," Gwendoline said kindly, her voice laced with concern to Rachel. "Your real mother"

Rachel nodded.

"I hope the arrangements were alright," Levant replied, his tone filled with genuine sincerity.

Gwendoline nodded in acknowledgement. "Yes, thanks. Very generous of you."

As Rachel glanced around the room, her eyes were drawn to the numerous photographs and pictures adorning every available surface. An uncanny realization dawned upon her--some of the images featured her, captured in frozen moments of time. It felt peculiar, as if she had stumbled upon a collection of memories intricately intertwined with her own existence.

Drawing nearer, she observed the photographs closely, noticing her younger self posing alongside the two individuals present in the room. It was a surreal discovery, and the gravity of the situation settled upon her.

Charlie, ever observant, chimed in. "He has a group of Photoshop experts called Santa's little helpers to do it."

Rachel's gaze lingered on a particular photograph placed near herself--a family portrait. She could hardly recall the original moment captured by Charlie's camera, yet here it was, seamlessly woven into the fabric of the image before her. The meticulous craftsmanship was evident, even down to the lighting and subtle fading of the picture and frames, as if time itself had left its mark.

In that moment, Rachel felt dislocated in time and space. This sensation felt undeniably real, as if Denver were some bizarre nightmare she had experienced. Truth was dissolving like a sugar lump in fresh tea.

The man woke up, his drowsy eyes searching for clarity. "Who are you?" he asked, his gaze fixed on Gwendolyn.

"I'm your wife, Gwendolyn," she replied, placing her hand flat on her chest, conveying a sense of certainty. Her words carried a matter-of-fact tone, attempting to reestablish a connection. The man nodded, a glimmer of recognition flickering in his eyes.

Gwendolyn gestured towards Rachel. "This is your daughter, Elizabeth."

"Liz?" the man responded, a hint of confusion lingering in his voice. "I'm sorry, I don't recognize you. But it's really good to see you. I've missed you so much," he added, his charm shining through. The remnants of an American accent colored his speech.

"Hi," Rachel greeted, her voice filled with a mix of emotions.

"You... you've grown," the man observed, his words trailing off. "My... my... my... what is it... my thing, it's not what it used to be."

"Memory," Gwendolyn interjected, providing the missing word.

"Yes, that's it. Memory," the man confirmed, his voice tinged with a touch of resignation.

"This is Elizabeth's boyfriend, Douglas," Gwendolyn said, enunciating each word slowly and clearly.

"Hello, have we met before? I'm Richard," Richard replied, extending his hand to Douglas. His voice was fragile, showing the effects of time.

Levant reached out his hand, shaking Richard's. "Good to meet you. I'm Douglas Levant," he introduced himself. Richard reciprocated the handshake.

"Nice to meet you," Richard said with a slight repetition. "I'm Richard."

Gwendolyn glanced around the room. "Would anyone like tea?"

Levant nodded genially. "Yeah, that sounds good."

Gwendolyn departed, and Richard focused his gaze on Rachel. "Liz, go and help your mother. Chop chop," he directed.

Rachel stood up, responding, "Sure." She followed the path Gwendolyn had taken, exploring her surroundings. A staircase caught her attention, leading to another room. Passing through the hall, she discovered a small dining area that opened into a small kitchen.

"You don't have to help," Gwendolyn reassured, surveying the room. She placed an old kettle on the worn gas stove.

"No, no," Rachel insisted. "I'm quite happy to help. What can I do to help, Mom?"

Gwendolyn smiled warmly. "I think you should start calling me Mum, not Mom--Mum. And I'm the one who should be thanking you."

"I... I..." Rachel began, unsure of what to say.

"You've seen Richard. It's just me looking after him. He's been declining for the past five years, starting with little things," Gwen said, her gaze fixed on the flame beneath the black kettle. "I think it was the chemicals in those rockets. My family has been here for generations, three of them that I'm certain of. My father and I were born just over there. My husband needs more care, and I'm not... well, I'm not as young as I used to be. There comes a point where you realize you're an old lady and wonder where all the time has gone. But then you look at Richard, and you smile because you know."

Gwendoline attempted to reach under the table, but her limited mobility hindered her.

"Let me", Rachel bent down to help her.

"Thanks... Up in that cupboard are the cups and saucers, the good ones," Gwendoline said, pointing with her knotted, thin, wrinkled finger.

Gwendoline continued, "I was thinking I would have to sell this place to get money for a care home, you see, for both of us. But then your man came along. It took him a while to explain what he wanted, but when he actually said it, I agreed immediately. You see, I don't want my husband to die somewhere he doesn't know. It's so tiring looking after someone every day and night. No holidays, no weekends. He wakes up at night sometimes and thinks he needs to go to work. I can never rest. Your money is going to help with that. With what your fiancé is going to give us, I can get some live-in help. I'm so grateful."

With this, Gwendoline came over, crying, and put her arms around Rachel. Rachel put her arms back to comfort Gwendoline.

"It's okay," Rachel said.

Rachel was now facing the dining room and she noticed a collection of photographs of a young girl with the younger versions of Richard and Gwendoline, smiling from photographs on family holidays.

"I'm sorry. You must... you must forgive me," Gwendoline said. "You just can't give up looking after the ones you love, can you?"

"No," Rachel said, as if she had heard a profound revelation. "No, you can't." She needed to change the subject, otherwise, she would start crying herself.

"They did a really good job with the photoshopping," Rachel said, looking at the photos. Gwendoline looked up. "No, it's real. We had a real daughter, Elizabeth."

"Where is she now?" Rachel asked, wondering how they had been abandoned.

Gwendoline pursed her lips. "She died cycling to school one day. The lanes around here are narrow, and people can get very lazy and be in such a rush. The farmer who did it was very apologetic at the time. I saw him a year later still driving 50 in a 20 zone. Richard took it pretty hard; she was our only daughter. It's just been us ever since."

The kettle began to steam, but Gwendoline let it carry on. "My mother said always let it whistle. I don't know why. I never asked. No one came to the funeral, not any of Elizabeth's friends. They were also young; the parents had just said that Elizabeth's dad had been reassigned to another division and had left in a hurry. A lot of them came from the Air Force, so they knew that could happen. No one wanted to spoil the fun memories with the truth. I had one of her school friends knock on the door eight years ago."

"I'm sorry," Rachel said.

The kettle now whistled, and using an old tea cloth, the woman picked it up and poured the tea carefully into an old, battered, cracked pot. At one point, it had been painted with strawberries, but like so much else over the years, time had faded it. It still worked, so Gwendoline didn't give up on it.

"You don't need to be sorry," Gwendoline said, looking at Rachel. "Looking at you, you look like how I could imagine she grew up. Beautiful, helpful, you know, good people."

While the tea brewed, Gwendoline walked over to one of the pictures. It was older than the others, a faded Polaroid image.