Some Strangeness In Proportion

There is no excellent beauty that hath not some strangeness in proportion.


The moment Chip had hurried away, Cassandra had stood and stretched as far as Rose's limbs would allow her. Stiffness, she was going to have to get used to that, but still, she welcomed it. She'd forgotten what it was like to have a proper body, with legs and arms and all those other little parts. Especially those other little parts. Oh, her little trampoline had enough nerve endings, but she'd sacrificed the truly potent ones to maintain her figure. Could you possibly imagine a piece of perfection like she had been, with a pair of saggy breasts hanging off the front? No, it'd had to go, all of it. And then she was perfect.

Of course, that was before the little chav had murdered her.

She'd burst in the heat, nothing left but a brain and a mess of gooey remains. She'd used all of her best skin the first time; what she had now was saggy and covered in stretch-marks and generally just unpleasant-looking. No, she had to start over. All the way from the beginning, with a new body.

A body like this. Far from perfect, maybe, but that was what surgery was for. She remembered Rose on the observation deck, telling her she'd rather die than go under the knife; now, she wouldn't have much of a choice in the matter. Besides, she needed it, badly. Though the rear bumper could stay; that, and maybe these...

Cassandra gripped the hem of Rose's blue shirt and lifted it over her head, casting it aside in favor of smoothing her hair. Just hanging there, in desperate need of some proper styling; something else she'd have to take care of. But that wasn't what she was stripping off garments for. Turning her attention to the mirror, she stretched her arms over her head—ew, the chav needed a shave—and eyed the mirror across the small room. She had to admit, Rose had a nice rack. She reached behind her back and unclasped her bra, letting it fall off, freeing the blonde's bosom to the cold air. Oh, yes, make that a very nice rack.

Delicately Cassandra cupped Rose's breasts—'mine now', she thought with a smirk—and brushed her thumbs over the rosy nipples. The resulting sensation made her shiver and gasp a tingle running in a long line down her body, heat pooling between her legs. With a shuddering moan she dropped to the floor, legs splayed out beneath her, grasping at the fleshy mounds of her breasts, pulling the nipples hard enough to hurt and, oh God, she missed this! The place between her legs throbbed insistently, and she shifted her position so her leg was pressed tightly against the area, rocking back and forth as strangled mixes of gasps and moans escaped her lips. She angled herself to come down hard on her heel, and the resulting cry was loud enough to wake her from her little stupor; she gave a little gasp and scrambled into a more acceptable position, flinging her hands away from her breasts as though they were on fire.

'Look at yourself,' Cassandra scolded internally, 'spread out on the floor, humping your own leg like a little slut. That's no way for a lady to behave!'

It took a moment for her to realize that she was not the only one who didn't approve of her actions. A nagging, at the back of her mind, slurred and barely-aware, but present nonetheless. It was Rose; she was still there, still conscious, sharing all of Cassandra's little indulgences. And she wasn't happy.

"Don't like this, do you, chav?" Cassandra found herself speaking aloud, unable to contain a little smirk. "Don't like me touching your little body? Well, guess what?" She shoved a hand between her legs, a non-indulgent grip meant merely as a statement, any sensation hindered by fabric. "It's my body now! And I'm going to do whatever I want with it..."

The moment she said it, Cassandra paused. This certainly not been her intended course of action. And yet, in some sick way, it struck her as quite appealing. From Rose's end, she felt a rush of embarrassment, possibly a little shame. But stronger, there was anger, flat-out rage. And fear. Terror, actually. Cassandra fingered the button of the jeans, and the girl's need to shake nearly overtook her; she countered it by fulfilling her need to laugh out loud, and nearly ripped the jeans in two as she tore them off.

Rose was warm and slick between her legs, and the sheer extent of the wetness struck Cassandra. She'd certainly never been wet like this. Actually, she'd never been wet at all, not without some added lubrication. Was this always what it was like, for natural-born women? She filed away a mental note in the back of her mind to go see a doctor once this was all over with. Better safe than sorry.

Her manicured fingers stroked the entrance, dabbing in the gooey wetness, getting a feel for the skin so different than what she had ever been used to. On some level, she supposed this counted as touching another woman, something she'd never been particularly interested in. But when she finally found Rose's entrance and slipped a finger inside, she decided she no longer cared.

Inside, she found no resistance—she hadn't expected to, these chav-tastic types were well-known to throw themselves into bed with the first man who'd have them, after all. Another finger joined the first, and a little shudder overcame her; whether from her own pleasure or Rose's shame and disgust, she didn't know. She wiggled the fingers a little, testing the waters, perfecting her technique before she finally started up a rhythm that suited her.

Rose was deep, deeper than Cassandra could remember herself being, taking her fingers to the knuckle. She started slow, pushing in and twisting, maneuvering around the manicured nails as this body was no good to her damaged, on any portion of the anatomy. The tempo increased with her growing arousal, her fingers pumping faster. Cassandra bucked her hips to meet her own thrusts, gasping and moaning in Rose's deeper vocal tone. She changed the angle of her hand so her thumb was free, and when she thrust the digit against Rose's clit that was all it took, and she spasmed as she came for the first time in several million years.

On an over-all scale, it was a mediocre orgasm, rudimentary and over far too quickly. But after all these years, it felt like the best time of Lady Cassandra's life.

"God," she panted at last, propping herself up on shaking elbows. It was official: finding a bloke and having a good shag had bumped itself to the first slot on her agenda of things to do once this was over with. With the money she would certainly get out of these conniving pussycats, she could go into the city and find herself a handsome man, someone with class. They could have a nice dinner (on him, of course, she needed to save her money for surgeries) and she would sway him with her feminine wiles. Of course, this body wasn't exactly flattering, not yet anyway; she'd have to do some serious work on herself first. Maybe she would have a bit of surgery first, make herself more presentable. And once all that was—

"I have the perfume, Mistress!"

That was all the warning she got before Chip stumbled around the corner, and Cassandra scrambled to her feet before she could remember that Rose's jeans were tangled around her ankles. She found herself quickly back on the floor, on her front this time, landing rather painfully on the concrete. Clothes, that was something else she'd have to get used to again.

For a moment she felt an overwhelming sense of embarrassment, as a lady should, both at her lack of grace and at being caught in such an intimately private situation. But when she finally made herself look at Chip, she saw nothing to indicate that he realized what he had walked in on; an instant later, she realized he didn't. He hadn't have the slightest idea what she'd been doing, all spread out on the floor. Good lord, did he even know about the birds and the bees? Well, certainly Cassandra wasn't going to explain it to him. He was just a half-life, it wasn't like he'd ever have use for such information. She managed to shed most of her embarrassment as she pulled Rose's clothes back on, but kept a touch for dignity's sake. She was a lady, after all.

"Right," she said, and cleared her throat once for good measure. "Well. Let's be off, then."

And she tucked the bottle down her shirt and marched off to find the Doctor.