The Rise of Rachel Price T-Girl Pt. 35

The final push

"Do I have to?" Rachel said, doe-eyed to Levant.

She had lost count of time. Time used to have a purpose--the months, weeks, and days until it was all over. Now, betrayed by her mother, the only thing she cared about was how long since the last yellow tablet or to the next one. Levant had used them to control her from boozing all day. She was sober these days, but it just made the gap from one pillar of sanctity to the next that much more unescapable. When the sands of the last yellow tablet ran out, she couldn't think about anything else but how to get to the next. Levant had used it with a ruthless efficiency that surprised even Rachel.

Levant looked down at her. "Do you want a pill or not?" he said.

They were still in the penthouse apartment at the Thornbury. The apartment had recovered like Rachel; the trash was gone, and the marks and signs of anger and violence were removed. On the surface, everything had gone back to its serene state. Outside, the morning bay fog had rolled in, leaving some of the skyscrapers to pierce the fog like a strange cloud city. The air was damp, cold with anticipation; the dew snapped to the glass doors leading to the swimming pool.

Rachel was sweating. She desperately needed another tablet. Her body was screaming for it.

"The contract says nothing permanent," Rachel reminded him.

She was up and dressed, her makeup elegantly done. She was alert enough to walk in heels, all to his and the contract's demands.

Levant took Rachel's hand. "The contract says nothing that can't be reversed. All we are doing is covering up your tattoo. I have to see that every night. It's not very you. It's much too cheap, too teenage, too clunky. It's just really ugly. I thought we agreed your brother's tattoo has to go."

What Levant meant was the tattoo was too masculine. If he was going to have sex with her from behind while she was naked, he would have to see it. He was obviously on the edge of convincing himself he could do it. Rachel would probably let him do it for one of the yellow pills.

The collapse inside was a strange mirror of what was happening outside.

Rachel was appearing in magazines, her book put her above other political wags she could think for herself. People wanted to know what she wore. There were near-constant calls to Lucy to do an interview or a photo shoot. Levant liked that his girlfriend was getting such attention; the campaign needed positive attention. Levant had the power to get her to agree to anything; for a few hours, she could be interviewed and pass for her old self.

"Nothing permanent? Don't worry. You were there when he visited," Levant said, his eyes calm as if explaining something to a child. "The tattoo guy says he can cover it up, replace it with a nice one. Then when things are done, he can work that design into the one you chose."

Levant had taken a photo of Denver's tattoo and then asked for proposals on how it could be modified to his liking. Then he had taken the proposals and asked other designers if the proposals could be covered up. Rachel had to choose which of the final designs she liked, not knowing what the middle step was, and it was irritating.

He had given her a day to choose. Yesterday or possibly the day before Lucy had come in to get Rachel to look over the designs and pick one. Apparently, he had paid Philip Stark, Jean Paul Gaultier, and Jony Ive for designs, but she didn't know which was which. She only saw the cover-over designs. She had then settled on the final design, which looked like a larger and better version than the original. Then Lucy had shown her the intermediate design she would wear as Rachel Price. It looked nice; it was symmetrical, as if it had emerged from a geometry textbook. It was complex, bold, and weirdly sensual. A couple of birds orbited it, Levant's additions apparent. Rachel looked at it. There was a hint of the company logo and possibly Levant's name. Given the complexity of the design, you could see what you wanted in it.

Lucy said Rachel would also be getting a few more body piercings. A couple in her ear and another in her nipple. Rachel sat there with the designs. Lucy had small boxes with the new jewelry. Each new jewel was exquisite and shockingly expensive. Rachel sat sweating, knowing that unless she agreed in writing, she wouldn't get a new pill. Levant had deliberately withheld her last dose. He claimed he was trying to cut down to 'clear the poison out of her system', but she knew the reality.

Rachel was feeling terrible; her skin crawled, her stomach was a Celtic knot. She was desperate.

"Fuck it." She had said under Lucy's cruel grin and had signed.

"Not so high and mighty now," Lucy said slowly, taking the documents and then putting the yellow tablet on the table.

Rachel grabbed it immediately and swallowed it without water.

"In five minutes, I'm going to be so high and so mighty I won't even notice you," Rachel promised, waiting for her skin to stop aching.

***********

Tattoo

Come the Day of the Dead, Rachel was accompanied by Levant down to the spa in the Thornbury. They walked in to find a room cleaned to a clinical degree. Two tattoo artists met them, complete with their tools of the trade. Rachel had never heard of them, but given the introduction, they were some of the best. One had done Selena Gomez and Rihanna's tattoos. The other, Halley, had done Cara Delevingne and Rita Ora's.

Halley, the tattoo artist, had a unique aura about her. Her arms were adorned with beautiful, intricate tattoos, showcasing her own artistic expertise. Her dark, flowing hair cascaded over her shoulders, framing her intense gaze that seemed to capture every detail of her surroundings. Dressed in an eclectic mix of art-inspired clothing, she exuded creativity and confidence.

"Oh, I bumped into Cara and told her I was doing yours. She said to say hi, and you should both get together soon again," Halley said with a warm smile. Her face and ears were skewered with metal but in a way that didn't suggest anything too punk or tribal.

"That sounds really nice," Rachel said, going back into girlfriend mode. "You haven't caught me at my best." She looked over at Levant. "In fact, I might be due for some medication."

"Not yet. I'll tell you when," Levant said confidently.

Rachel was dressed down and was able to pull her shirt off, leaving her pencil skirt on. She was naked, her breasts bobbing as she moved to the table. It was then she noticed Levant also taking off his suit and tie, leaving only his trousers on. He then hopped up on another chair.

"What are you doing?" Rachel said as she lay stomach down on the table, while Halley used disinfectant on her back.

"You will see when it's done," Levant announced, showing his taut stomach rippling like dunes in the sand.

A fter the preparation and sketching was over, "Last chance," Halley said needle machine in one hand.

Rachel looked over to Levant. He nearly nodded. She knew she had no choice. She realized she was that desperate--her entire body was desperate. The chairs they lay on were side by side like they were taking a car trip into tribal body modification.

"It's OK to hold my hand and squeeze the pain if you like," Levant said, holding his hand out to Rachel. Rachel didn't take it.

Then there was a dual sound of inking machines; it sounded like hornets orbiting them. Rachel ignored it it she closed her eyes and thought about the color yellow.

It might have been the drugs or the HRT, but the sensation was far worse than last time. Rachel felt a tear forming in her eye. She ended up reaching for Levant's hand. While Halley worked, they talked about people Halley had worked on or others they knew in common.

During a gap in the inking, Halley got out a needle and did three more piercings in Rachel's ear, and then finally did another one in her right nipple. Halley stopped to have a break. Levant subtly passed Rachel a green and yellow tablet. With that, Rachel settled back into her fate.

Eventually, the work was over. Levant was standing by, putting his shirt on. His stomach was covered with a bandage, as was Rachel's back.

"What did you have done?" Rachel said to Levant.

Levant's tattoo artist came over and handed her the scale sheet she had been working from. It started with the same symbol Rachel had on her back. Then above it was writing in a typewriter font. The words were simple.

"And you loved me

like I was the answer

and not the question.

Rachel Price."

"It's one of yours. I saw it in your book. One of the tweets. I saw that and thought it said it all," Levant said, looking down.

Rachel looked, and she could see his stomach and, through the bandage, the trace of her name on Levant's stomach. She realized at that point how insanely in love with her he was.

********

Discovery

A few days later, she looked over her shoulder at the tattoo in the mirror in her ensuite. Douglas was in Brazil for a couple of days. He was taking a break from campaigning to sign a contract with the Brazilian government. The tattoo bandage was off, and the tattoo did look amazing. That couldn't hide that the last visible sign of Denver was gone; Levant had redacted it with a toxic cocktail of brutality and love. Then Rachel realized there was only one part of Denver left which remained. That would be next. She was back at the Asylum, the sea air was refreshing. The tattoo was enough to pull her back to focus, and she was able to pull herself back together again.

She knew had to pull herself out of the flat spin she was in before she crashed.

It was a Sunday, and it was time to attend her own church. She walked to the swimming pool on the terrace. She could still feel the golden ring through her nipple, pressing against her bra. It had become another constant reminder of the feminine form she now embodied. The hormone patches had done their work, and she walked elegantly in her form-hugging swimming costume, showing off the cell-by-cell changes they had wrought. She had long, lithe legs, supporting wide, rounded hips around a flat stomach. Her chest was now curvaceous and sat under her round shoulders, narrow neck, and face so feminine it didn't need to hide behind makeup. Her blonde hair fell casually down about her shoulders.

Levant was away at another rally or interview or something she didn't care. He carried the chemical keys to her mind. As she walked in her pumps, she could feel the security cameras nervously following her small steps. They watched as she approached the glass guardrail separating her from a long, brutal fall. Just after she arrived, someone just happened to come to maintain the pool. The fall down the jagged cliffs to the vagrant sea below might have been impressive, but it didn't have any allure for her. They didn't know she would never do something so dramatic. Partly because the shame would begin at the autopsy and extend to everyone she had ever loved or even known. Rachel had gotten herself into this; she would get herself and those she loved out, she promised. The stuff Levant seemed to be involved with could not go unopposed. The wind on the high roof felt cleansing as it scudded over her face.

"I'm just a valium bride," Rachel admitted to herself. "What could she do about this?"

Rachel stood, knowing that for the next few hours she could think straight. Soon, her cravings would rise like a vampire from their temporary grave. The chemical collar would wrap itself slowly and tightly around her neck and Levant would be holding the leash. She would have to do something herself. Involving others would just put them in danger.

The smart thing to do was to estrange herself from her mother. Playing the betrayed bitch wasn't hard, to be honest. Samantha was important, perhaps Levant had not yet fully realized that. This left Hunter. Poor Hunter, an inmate of his chemical gulag. That meant more money. The rainbow of jewelry over the fence would have to continue.

This meant going into slut Barbie mode for him, well, more slut Barbie than she was already.

To succeed, she needed an edge. Her mind turned to drugs, and she had an idea. Walking back through the asylum living room, she went back to her bedroom. She went to her walk-in wardrobe and checked the makeup cases until she found the old one, one she had used in Qatar. She wondered if Charlie or Peter had left any drugs in the case. It was a long shot but worth a try. She pulled out the case and then checked under one of the bronze pots where she had stashed the tiny plastic bag with Peter's mystery viagra tablets.

With nothing better to do, she took one to see the effect. The pill tasted familiar, metallic-like... like Peter's fingers. It reminded her of how he would always stick his fingers in her mouth before sex. Charlie had weirder foreplay, so she never thought that much about it. She waited for a second, and nothing happened. Feeling no different, Rachel continued to search the bag. It was only when she had finished searching the bag and threw it across the room in frustration that she felt something. Unpeeling the prosthetic pants, she looked down at her dick, Denver's dick, was standing to attention.

"Where have you been?" Rachel said, looking between her legs. "Don't tell me I've developed a fetish for bag searching..."

A minute later she looked down "I'm hard, I'm fucking hard." She said.

Her first thought had been that she could finally jerk herself off. Then the thought hit her like a wrecking ball.

"You idiot Rachel you fucking idiot." She said.

This was followed by. "Peter... you fuck Peter.." She said, feeling betrayed. She realised viagra was too small to noticed swallowing.

Rachel sat down, she needed a drink. "Fuck.. Fuck" she said to herself.

Then she thrashed her fists on the other bags in the wardrobe, drumming like some manic, furious gorilla. The viagra overcame the HRT, Venice wasn't a sign she was more woman it was a sign she was dumb as fuck. Peter had betrayed her. Charlie had betrayed her. Her whole house came down. Her life was real no more than her prosthesis.

Then she stopped gasping for breath. Hate, and rage ran through her veins stronger than any drug.

"Two can play that game," Rachel thought with the fury of hell.

A plan of revenge came fully formed into her mind. She needed a worm, she needed to bait her trap with something which could suffer no waiting. Something which would make him drop everything and come to her.

She was still stiff, so hunted around and after looting Charlie's room she eventually found Richard Charlie's realistic dildo. She brought the dildo back into her wardrobe room as a great prize and then attached it to the wooden arch of one of the cupboards. She twisted a clamp to keep it in place. Getting down to her hands and knees, Gracefully like a striptease artist, she teased out the final stretching butt plug. She knew every camera in the Asylum was watching every inch of her flesh in color and the infrared. Pushing herself up against the tip of the black beast behind her. She pressed the lubricated end of the life-sized post up into the dark star of her ass.

"Fuck me Monster." She said as she pushed her generous ass down and engorged her hole on the dildo.

"Oh fuck, that feels good, Douglas," she said. Actually, she realized she wasn't lying, she was quite hard, it felt great.

It had been for show, but she was buzzing from her sphincter and was truly driving herself to the edge. She also began to play on her own rod in time with her motions. She pushed herself down harder and harder on the dildo letting it fill her upside. She remembered fucking with Logan while she did it. He had the good grace to make this less than one sided.

"Oh shit that's so deep in me", she said again it was true, her voice tinged with soft longing. She felt wrapped around the huge fuck truncheon. Her G-spot tingled at the touch. Slowly she moved forwards and backward on the handle, making slinking appreciative notes with each movement.

She continued the movement, pushing the air in and out of her yielding lungs.

A few more pumps and she could feel herself close to splitting, and then the fake balls touched her ass. She pumped her flesh over and over again. While holding her self up with one hand the other jerked Denver's dick off. It felt good again. Her breasts hung down and swung slowly like a Buddhist's ceremonial bell. One brushed the floor and her taught sensitive nipples sparkled.

Looking down, she felt see herself close to cuming. Her breathing grew deeper and deeper then felt the internal glow of another girl orgasm hit her like a runaway truck into a siding. She groaned and moaned in her most Charlie-like impression. Finally, she spurted a welcome measure of cum on the carpet. With that, she let out a raw long shriek of satisfaction. Every wanton cry in the world was caught on her ruby lips.

The dildo came away from the doorway and not a moment to early.

Then she lay one the floor totally filled and exhausted. She couldn't move or had the will or the wit to stir for a while. It was later than she thought. When she did she realised she had managed to push through the withdrawal barrier. Anger and the need for revenge had helped her surf the waves of witdrawl.

"Oh shit, that was good." She announced to the hidden microphones "I need man cock in me. I so need man cock in me. bad."

With that she texted Levant hiding her hard on.

"HOW SOON CAN YOU GET BACK FROM BRAZIL?" She texted.

"TWO DAYS WHY?" Levant texted back. The response was almost immediate, he had been watching. He would be an idiot not to watch. He would be looping that tape for hours. He would do, but for the next two days she would put on a show like no other.

"I'VE JUST DISCOVERED HOW TO DO SOMETHING YOU ARE GOING TO SO FREAK IN JOY OVER MY LITTLE MONSTER." Rachel texted. "COME BACK SOON THEN WE CAN PARTY."

After sending the text Rachel sat back and caught her breath. She still wasn't sure what her plan was. Part of it was obvious, get him viagraed up the same way Peter had done to her. She would feed it to Levant in champagne or during some tongue work. Possibly two, he was bigger plus these tablets were getting old. Get him so hard then let him have at her ass. Get him totally addicted to her ass the same way he had her to the yellow pills. Then either he would finally get sick like Lucy promised or he would be desperate for more. He would negotiate, she told himself. He will be so ass crazy and desperate for her he would give in to any demand. She would say yes or no, it wasn't in the contract. She would use it. He would cave in reduce time, free Hunter he would be so totally gagging for her he would cave in to any demand. All she would have to do is snap her fingers and he would do what she wanted.

She reached back and began to expel the dildo from within her. It came out and lay on the floor like some kind of mutant black afterbirth. Two days, that would be enough time to practice with it. She would also have to have just the right outfit. Something which was a sexy as hell and said she knew it and didn't give a shit. She looked down and was still hard. She felt like she had just discovered gravity and invented electricity, penicillin and the internet all in one moment. She felt invincible.

She would palm all the yellow pills, too, she decided. He could think he still controlled her. He would get addicted to her. He would do anything for her, anything. She would hold the leash for once.

She sat up. She wanted a laptop. She needed to go shopping now. She knew exactly what she wanted. She would be his slut, the slut to end all sluts.

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

Revenge at sea

Two days later, as the radiant sun painted the skies with hues of gold and pink, Rachel emerged gracefully from one of the smaller, quaint cabins nestled amidst the resplendent expanse of Posidon's Playground, her face adorned with a victorious smile. The air was filled with a gentle breeze, carrying the salty scent of the nearby ocean, as if celebrating her triumphant return.