The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

In the weeks following Lady Veronica Cartwright’s car breaking down, she found herself having the most vivid dreams.

It had been an unpleasant experience, breaking down in a rough part of town, and it had clearly tired her out. She woke up in the morning, exhausted, clearly having slept in her car in that street—the experience had taken a lot out of her. She was clearly too tired to have even called for help, but that was soon put right—members of her staff soon appeared with mechanics, and she was soon back on the road to Carrington Hall.

A quick bath when she got home became a long bath, as she was suddenly incredibly turned on, and she found her fingers straying between her legs, and she came harder than she remembered ever having cum before.

As far as she was concerned, it was an unpleasant experience that she could now put in the past.

Yet, as night fell, memories of that dirty alleyway kept rearing their heads in her dreams.

She dreamed of a life far away from her own—a life where poor, common women sold their bodies for sex. They dressed up like cheap hookers, barely wearing a stitch, and they weren’t treated like people—they were pieces of meat, ready to be fucked by any man who’d pay. She was the daughter of an earl, and this life was so far away from her own, but it was on her mind every night. Those dreams of being fucked hard by disgusting grimy men, treating like she was nothing—they were so hot, so sexy… so real...

As the weeks went by, those thoughts in her dreams gradually started forcing their way into her waking moments.

The brunette went about her usual daily routine, attending events, shoots, parties, all manner of things that she had to be present at physically if not mentally, but she found her mind constantly drifting to other, more exciting things.

More awful, depraved, sexual things.

She had sex on the brain—she was starting to think of nothing but sex. Good, hard fucking—no love, just getting fucked. Fuck, she thought one night, I need a good fucking, and soon. As always, her hands made their way between her legs, and she pushed herself through several orgasms, cumming hard and feeling more alive than ever when she did.

But it never seemed to sate her craving.

And, when she finally got to sleep, she had that same dream once again—she was a cheap, lower-class whore called Ronni, getting fucked for spare change in a place called Hooker Alley…

Diane Madison was working late in the office, updating her society gossip column with the latest scandalous information she’d acquired. A city banker, cheating on his wife—and with a premier league footballer, no less. She’d been in this game for a long time—it was worded carefully, providing full anonymity to the people involved while leaving no doubt as to who they were.

She smiled as she sent the final copy off to her editor, and leant back in her chair. This was a job she loved, and she was on top in her field.

Society reporters were normally older people, who’d spent their lives living in high-class circles, making the kind of connections that would help shape their columns. By contrast, Diane Madison was a very young woman, having only just turned 31—she’d benefitted from the fact her parents were extremely wealthy (as a result of business, not heritage), and that she’d attended private school with many of the people who would become the social elite of tomorrow.

Of course, it helped that, as well as boasting a significant amount of family wealth, she also had the other attribute that curried favour in the upper crust—she was attractive, and incredibly so. She was model-esque, with long blonde hair framing a carefully made-up face and piercing blue eyes. She always dressed professionally but with a hint of freedom—today, she wore a dark blue floral summer dress and low heels, a striking look on her thin frame, and one that emphasised her breasts and pert ass just enough. It was a style that all the ladies in her social set had perfected—modest and sexy at the same time.

As far as any outsider would know, Diane could have easily been an heiress herself—there was little to differentiate her from her many titled connections and friends, in looks or in the way she carried herself.

And it was one of those connections that put Diane on the trail of her next piece of gossip—earlier that evening, she had received a call from a contact of hers, Lady Amelia Reynolds.

Lady Amelia had invited Lady Veronica to a dinner party on Friday, and the heiress had declined—she said she’d check her diary, before telling her friend that she was at a private showing with an artist friend of theirs, Evelyn Pierce. Ordinarily, that would have been fine, and Lady Amelia would have been happy to leave things there, but for one big problem—Evelyn Pierce was already attending her dinner.

The aristocrat didn’t mind that Lady Veronica wasn’t going to come—what she didn’t like was being lied to.

Lady Amelia posed a few questions, and learned that Lady Veronica never seemed to be available on any weekend. Her calendar was always blocked out, and yet no-one knew why—as far as Lady Amelia could see, her friend simply disappeared come the weekend.

She wanted to find out what was going on.

And, if anyone could find out what was going on, she knew that Diane Madison would—she was a woman who could somehow discover anything and everything about their shared social circle.

Diane had put out a few feelers with some of her more informed contacts, but they’d come up with absolutely nothing at all. That was unusual, to say the least—there was little in their world that was so covert, no-one knew anything and hadn’t even a rumour to hand. That suggested that Diane may be on to something big—if only she knew what it actually was.

She moved forward in her chair, and typed Lady Veronica’s name into her search engine. Pictures of the auburn-haired heiress were plentiful—at social events, smiling with her friends at Ascot, hosting meets at Carrington Hall—and Diane tapped her fingers on her desk as she thought. What secret lay behind those warm brown eyes?

It seemed as if there would only be one way to find out—a bit of good old-fashioned investigative journalism.

Wherever Diane Madison expected Lady Veronica to come, it certainly wasn’t a place like this.

The society reporter had trailed the aristocrat since she left Carrington Hall. Her father was ill, diagnosed recently with some kind of illness that was likely to kill him soon, and Diane hadn’t known if Lady Veronica would remain at home with him or embark on her mysterious Friday night sejour. She’d parked outside the house, hidden away, waiting, and Lady Veronica had not disappointed—an hour or so after darkness fell, she dutifully left the estate in a dark car, and Diane started the pursuit.

She’d anticipated something salacious—there were whisperings that the young Jack Rochester was likely to propose to her, and Diane was worldly enough to know that a late-night rendezvous usually meant there was someone else in the picture too. Someone that the guilty party would rather their other half never learned about.

Diane trailed Lady Veronica as carefully as she could, eager to make sure she didn’t know she was being followed. Of course, as part of her job, she knew where all the members of the upper crust lived, and with every turn that the heiress took, Diane tried to calculate whose homes were left. In her experience, people of Lady Veronica’s status weren’t the kind of people who met for flings in sordid hotels.

Having said that, as the heiress took her next turn, maybe Diane needed to re-evaluate her assumptions.

This was a part of town that Diane had never ventured to—it looked rough. Grey industrial buildings were barely illuminated by flickering lamp posts, and the light filtered through broken windows. There didn’t seem to be anyone on the streets, and Diane really didn’t blame people for staying away—this was a grim place.

Which really begged a big question.

What was Lady Veronica Carrington, of all people, doing in a place like this?

It appeared that, as she entered this neighbourhood, her car was slowing down. She was crawling, slowly, as if she was looking for something. Or looking for someone, perhaps. Neither option seemed particularly plausible to Diane, and yet Lady Veronica was here for a reason. And the reporter was not going to rest until she learned what that reason was.

Lady Veronica’s car was slowing, and eventually stopped, in a side road that didn’t seem any different to all the others. It was grey, with the few other cars looking damaged and the buildings looking derelict—there were no signs of life, and Lady Veronica’s bright red sports car stood out as completely in the wrong place. Diane passed her, and did a turn in another side road just ahead, so she had the perfect vantage point to watch.

And she waited… and waited.

But nothing seemed to happen—other than the flickering of a nearby light, the scene was completely frozen.

Diane watched, and was confused by what she saw. Lady Veronica was just sitting in her car, a vacant expression on her face, looking ahead at nothing in particular. The reporter wondered whether Lady Veronica would notice if she walked right up to her—her face was that empty. Diane snapped a couple of photos with her phone, but she didn’t understand what she was witnessing.

Was the heiress meeting someone here? Hell, with that clueless expression on her face, was she high or something? Diane thought she knew everyone in Lady Veronica’s social set who did drugs (she knew a few countesses that were partial to more than a little coke every now and again), and she didn’t count the aristocrat among them.

But then, what was going on if not that?

She couldn’t even fashion an answer—all she could do was watch.

Diane didn’t know how long they were both there, but eventually, things started to happen—albeit seemingly in slow motion. Lady Veronica’s car door slowly swung open, and the heiress got out, a graceful manoeuvre perfected by all ladies in her social set to the extent that it was as natural as breathing.

She was dressed impressively, a knee-length navy blue dress and a pair of matching heels, with her auburn hair hanging loosely down her back. She could have been attending any social function on the calendar looking like this, Diane thought, but it certainly wasn’t an outfit for an industrial area in the rough part of town. Diane wouldn’t have got so dressed up for this place—she didn’t frequent areas like this, but she knew the threat of muggings or worse was high, and she thought Lady Veronica would have too.

It seemed, though, that she wasn’t thinking much at all—after closing her door, the heiress froze again for a few moments, her face one of blankness as if she didn’t have a single thing on her mind.

And then, Lady Veronica started walking away, slowly and still with no real sense that she knew where she was going. Diane was still confused, but she was ready too—she gave it a moment, and then got out of her car, intending to follow the heiress and find out where she was going.

Diane had dressed for the occasion—black tights, flat shoes and a black dress—and pulled her hair back into a ponytail. It was an outfit selected with a dual function in mind—it was appropriate for almost any situation she may encounter, from social gatherings to sitting in the car all night, and its dark colour helped Diane conceal herself in the shadows.

Not that she really needed to—the way Lady Veronica was casually sauntering down this depressing street, vacant grin on her face, it was clear the thought of being followed wasn’t on her mind at all. She just continued on her way, the click of her heels on the bleak concrete pavement as she walked.

The reporter trailed her as she strolled through a number of streets, her casual demeanour completely contrary to how dangerous and rough Diane judged this place to be, until she stopped. She was staring at something or someone, but Diane couldn’t get into a good enough position to see what it was.

Was this what Lady Veronica was after?

She walked forward, and Diane followed, ready to learn what was happening.

Diane stood, hidden around the corner in the spot the heiress had just vacated, watching as Lady Veronica entered what she now saw and judged to be a hotel. The curtains were drawn in all the windows—they were brown, and they looked old. There was a flickering neon sign above the entrance—Diane couldn’t make out the writing above the door from this distance, but she was in no doubt as to what sort of building this was. She was baffled, and she was a little excited—this could be the story of the century. Someone of Lady Veronica’s status, coming to a cheap hotel and using prostitutes—it was unthinkable.

Diane pulled out her phone, and took a few photos of the building. If she knew the street name, she would have tried looking the place up, just in case there were any surprises on the horizon—that it was some kind of underground art gallery, perhaps.

But she knew that that wasn’t the case—she had enough about her to place exactly what was happening here.

Diane remained out of sight, weighing up her next move. Did she try and sneak inside, find more evidence of what was going on? Or did she even need to? What she had already had was a lot—at best, she’d find more proof of what she already expected was going on, and at worst… she didn’t even want to imagine.

She didn’t like it—she liked Lady Veronica in their previous encounters—but she knew she had to see this through. In the darkness, she thought about how she’d approach this—this was a world completely divorced from her own, and she didn’t want to just rush into it.

She wasn’t to know that the decision about how she’d enter the building would shortly be made for her.

As Diane weighed up her options, a figure snuck up behind her. They were careful to be quiet, and Diane was a dangerous combination of naive about this place and distracted by the Lady Veronica situation.

The figure used that to their advantage.

Diane didn’t even know anyone was there until she felt a hand and a rag around her face. She didn’t struggle too long before the chloroform did its job.

Diane winced in pain as she woke up—she was conscious of a flickering light above her, not too bright, but it was too much for her muddled head and her adjusting eyes.

She went to bring her hand to her head and rub her temples, but she couldn’t. There was some kind of force keeping it there—she was tied down. She tried her other hand, but no luck again. She tried to blink some life into her eyes, and she let out a groan of distress. She tried to kick her legs, but she found that her legs were tied down too.

That wasn’t good.

She tried to move, and she became aware that she was lying on something comfy—a bed—but one that felt far more used than her own silk sheets. She blinked more life into her eyes, and lifted her head both to get a look at her surroundings and to pull her eyes away from the dull yellow light hanging above her.

It was a bedroom, and not a very pleasant one. It all felt brown—the wallpaper was old, barely clinging to the wall in some places, and it looked as if it had been white a long time ago. Tattered dark yellow curtains were drawn, and a dressing table with cracked mirror sat in the corner next to them. She could just about make out a bedside table to her right, but she didn’t have the ability to turn and properly look.

Diane could still smell, however, and she was really picking up on the smell now. It was awful—it stunk of people, and it stunk of sex. She bucked on the bed, realising she was attached to something that must have seen countless sexual encounters, but it was no use. She was thankful that she was still dressed—that was no small mercy in these circumstances.

Okay, she thought to herself, this isn’t good. What can I do? She thought about pulling on the restraints, but she knew it was unlikely to have much effect—she could feel their tightness, and she knew that there wouldn’t be any slack. She’d have to be going for hours, and she surely wouldn’t have that much time before someone appeared.

Could she scream for help? Maybe, but she’d figured out where she was. Who was going to save her in this place? The streets were empty outside, and this building would only be full of sex workers and their clients—would they come to her rescue, given they were likely the ones to capture her in the first place?

And that left, what—waiting. Lying on the bed, waiting for someone to discover her or for the person who tied her up to come and deal with her. She rationalised in her mind that it was the best option—she could only be gone for ten hours or so before she had meetings and appointments, so people would start to wonder where she’d gone. They could track her movements easily enough, given the information she’d left behind, and if the worst came to the worst, it was a waiting game.

So she waited, and kept waiting. There was no hint as to how long she’d been there, not even the ticking of a clock—just the distant hum of machinery, probably that sign on the building’s front. She could have been there for hours, or it may only have been minutes—Diane just didn’t know, and she didn’t like that at all.

She tried to pull herself free from her bindings, but no luck—they were tight, as expected, and they were going to give way. She couldn’t even force her body into a different position—she was tied down so well, she expected she’d rip her limbs from their sockets if she forced it. Currently, it was uncomfortable, and she didn’t fancy pushing that into painful.

Diane closed her eyes, and tried to listen, seeing if she could hear anything. The walls here were thin, and they just about muffled the sounds of grunts and screams of sexual activity, but Diane could make them when she really focused. Instinctively, she sneered in disgust—she was closer to that kind of thing than she ever wanted to be.

There was a creak at the door. Finally, something was happening.

Diane wasn’t sure whether to be excited at the signs of life or terrified that her captor was finally here. There was every chance that she could make her case, convince them to let her go, and that would be the end of this—but she also knew that things could go even further downhill if she played her cards poorly, and she didn’t have too good a hand as things stood.

She just hoped that the man responsible for this would be reasonable enough to see that keeping her tied up would be bad in the long run.

But it wasn’t a man, far from it.

Diane had just assumed that her assailant would be a man, but it was a young woman who entered the bedroom, glass of water in her hand. She was how Diane would have imagined a cheap prostitute—platinum blonde hair, face coated in excessive amounts of make-up, and an outfit that left very little to the imagination. She was wearing a denim miniskirt (with emphasis on ‘mini’, Diane thought) and a red tube top that just about covered her ample breasts.

She looked like she oozed sex—Diane expected that male clients probably loved her in any way they could, if they were willing to pay for the privilege.

“You’re finally up, then? Problem with you rich types, isn’t it—you piss around in bed all day.”

She spoke with a common tone, but Diane hoped she could appeal to her.

“What’s going on?” Diane asked. “Who are you?”

The woman walked up to Diane: “You want some water?”

Diane didn’t respond, but she was then acutely aware of how parched she was—how much this situation had taken out of her. The woman brought the glass to Diane’s lips, and the reporter greedily took a few mouthfuls.

“They call me Chloe,” she shrugged as she stepped away, “but that’s not really the question. I wanna know who you are, and why you’re following Ronni.”

“Ronni?”

Chloe smirked, and effected a mocking posh voice: “Oh, sorry, I mean Lady Veronica. Who are you? Friend? Relative? Something else? Come on, I need to know.”

“If you let me go,” Diane said, measured in her tone, “maybe we could discuss this. All I want to know is what Lady Veronica is doing here—you don’t have to tell me anything else, and I certainly won’t pursue it.”

Chloe crossed her arms: “I didn’t hear you answer my question.”

Diane wasn’t sure that she should provide an answer, but she didn’t see what other option she had.

“My name’s Diane Madison. I’m a society reporter for the Country Times—you may have heard of me?”

Chloe snorted with laughter.

“Yeah, because we’re always reading that shit down here, obviously.”

The prostitute wandered over to the dressing table, and opened one of the drawers. She removed an ashtray, placing it on the bottom of the bed, and some cigarettes. She held one with her lips, and lit it, inhaling with a noise of pleasure. Diane, who was not a smoker, hated the smell, and tried to distract herself by firing some more questions.

“I answered you, Chloe, so maybe you can answer one of my questions—why have you tied me up?”

“Isn’t it obvious? I had to know who you were, and why you were following Ronni. And now, I do—you wanted some story on her for your snooty paper, right? The rich snob, moonlighting as a call girl at the weekend—I guess your audience of snobs would lap that up, right?”

Chloe started walking around the bed—Diane kept looking forward, thinking out loud as she tried to piece everything together.

“So that’s it—Lady Veronica is a secret prostitute? But I know her—she’s not the sort.”

“Maybe not,” Chloe said, “but down here, we’ve a way of changing that. We’ve got a drug, something that gets into your brain, changes it in ways you don’t even realise. Stuck-up Lady Veronica would never fuck about, you’re right, but once she took the change-maker, she was putty in my hands. And the hands of any passing john with some loose change to spare.”

Diane said nothing for a moment—the idea of some magic drug seemed ludicrous, but then the whole situation was ludicrous. Lady Veronica Carrington wasn’t a cheap whore, and yet, she’d come to this place for some reason.

“You drugged her and, what, turned her into a prostitute for the rest of her life? Surely that’s not going to work—surely you’ll eventually get found out? I’m not going to be the last person to be interested in this, you know.”

Chloe took another drag from the cigarette.

“Lie there and listen, and I’ll tell you a secret, Diane,” Chloe smirked as she continued to pace about the bed. “The thing with Ronni, it was only meant to be a one-off. Her car breaks down here, and she starts mouthing off at me—I wasn’t taking that shit from anyone, not at all, so I thought I’d teach her a lesson, knock her down a peg or two. She looked down on me, she mocked me, so I turned her into the kind of cheap hooker that disgusted her. Smug Lady Veronica, for one night only, was Ronni, streetwalking trash, getting fucked like she’d never been fucked before.

“As far as I was concerned, she did a night’s work and she could fuck off back to her palace and I’d never see her again. But then, next week, she was back—she didn’t know why, and she didn’t remember what had happened, but she knew she had to be here, in Hooker Alley. Fuck me, that was a surprise—I didn’t have enough change-maker the first time round, and I didn’t know a partial dose would have that kind of effect. She didn’t even know what she wanted, not consciously, but she knew deep down.

“She knew she wanted to be a whore—she wanted to be fucked like a cheap piece of meat. Well,” Chloe smiled, “who was I to say no? A little more change-maker each time she appeared, and she got into her routine. She’s happy being fucked hard, and she’s making us a mint here—everyone’s a winner. Turns out the snooty bitch was a natural whore all along, and she doesn’t even know it!”

“You’re saying that Lady Veronica Carrington is a prostitute, and she doesn’t even know it?” Diane wanted to laugh at how ludicrous it all sounded, but she didn’t dare. Instead, she tried to sound authoritative, her posh tone really coming out as she spoke. “But that doesn’t answer my question, Chloe—people will find out. You can’t keep this up forever, and people will see what’s going on.”

“As if I give a shit if people find out her royal highness in the other room is a fucking whore,” she laughed. “Let them find out—maybe you could even write it in your fancy magazine, so all the snobby fuckers know about it.”

Chloe stopped pacing, and stood at the foot of the bed again.

“But then, who’s going to believe you? If you pump out a story about mind control drugs, and Ronni being a whore, they’ll think you’re mad, won’t they? They’ll think it’s total bullshit. You’ll be out of a job for writing shit like that, even if it’s the truth, and then what would you do? You’ll be poor, looked down on all, and all your fancy friends will abandon you—and then what? Maybe you’d even have to become a cheap whore yourself, just to pay the bills?”

Just the idea sent a shiver down Diane’s spine—for the first time since being trapped here, she felt genuinely afraid. She eventually asked the question she had been most dreading: “Just what are you going to do to me, Chloe?”

Chloe didn’t answer immediately—she just looked at Diane, a terrifying smile creeping into the corners of her painted lips. She took another drag from the cigarette, and exhaled slowly.

“You know, Diane, I’ve been thinking about that. You came here because you wanted to see what Ronni was up to, so why not get the full package? Why not go out whoring with her? You’re a fit woman, aren’t you—a bit of make-up and a better outfit, and I reckon you could rival Ronni for the men’s attention. How much d’you reckon they’d pay for a bit of two-on-one action?”

Diane couldn’t help it—she let out a dismissive laugh at the absurdity of it.

“That’s not going to happen, Chloe. I’m not going out on the street and sleeping around, and you’re certainly not going to drug me and somehow make me do it.”

“Really?” Chloe raised an eyebrow. “Am I not? And how are you going to stop me?”

“I’ll fight you. I may be tied down, but don’t think I won’t put up a fight and stop you.”

It was Chloe’s turn to laugh.

“You really think so? You don’t understand how fucked you are, do you?”

Diane felt a little uneasy—she didn’t like Chloe’s confidence.

“What do you mean?”

Chloe took one final drag, and stubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray. She walked around the bed, and leant over, whispering in Diane’s ear.

“I untied you five minutes ago.”

The statement hit Diane like a punch to the stomach. She looked at her arms and her legs, and saw that Chloe was right—she was no longer secured to the bed, yet she hadn’t noticed, and she still couldn’t move them. She was trapped, but it was her body holding her back.

“How…?”

“I told you to ‘lie there and listen’, and you followed my instructions, like a good girl. I told you—the change-maker always works its magic.”

Diane’s expression changed to one of panic—it was about all she could control now. She was scared because she felt helpless. No, she was helpless—her body was completely under Chloe’s control.

“You coulda turned down the water, Diane,” Chloe said, offhand. “The moment you didn’t, I knew we were going to have some fun.”

Diane felt tears in the corners of her eyes—for all her sense of bluster, she had fallen at the first hurdle.

And now she was going to pay for it.

“Don’t cry, Diane,” Chloe smiled at her, “you’re going to have a fucking wonderful night. And a wonderful night fucking.”

Chloe climbed onto the bed, on top of Diane, and gave her a gentle quick peck on the lips. She hooked Diane’s arms, and pulled her so the reporter was now sitting upright. Diane couldn’t move, so she just watched Chloe.

“But first, we need to get you changed, Diane. For a start, you can’t be Diane on the streets—that sounds like some posh, snooty bitch, not a whore who wants the men to come and fuck her. You need a new name, don’t you?” Chloe thought for a moment. “Diamond—you can be Diamond. There’s a hooker name for you.”

Diane didn’t respond—she looked at Chloe, her eyes burning with fury and fear.

“Go on,” Chloe smiled, “tell me how much you love it.”

And Diane didn’t want to, but somehow, as Chloe gave her an instruction, she felt like she had to.

“I love my new name,” she said, her face looking surprised as she did. “I love being called Diamond—it’s a good whore’s name.”

If Diane could have brought her hand to her mouth in surprise, she would have done. But she remained still, her body just waiting for Chloe to tell it what to do.

“You’re a reporter, though, so you’re not really Diamond, are you? You know what I think’s going on here, Diamond. I think you’re going undercover, Diane. You’re going to go out there, and you’re going to act the whore, and you’re going to do a fucking amazing job. When a client appears and wants to fuck, you’ll say ‘sure, and you’ll fucking love it. As far as anyone knows, you’ll just be Diamond, the cheap hooker, selling her body on the streets.”

Chloe tapped Diane’s forehead gently.

“But inside, in your mind, you’ll be Diane. You’ll be watching it all—you’ll be watching Diamond, fucking like a slut, and you won’t be able to do anything. But who knows, while Diane’s trapped in her mind, maybe she’ll even start to enjoy how degrading the experience is. And if Diane wants to get involved with Diamond, how could we say no? What do you think, Diamond? Are you ready to start whoring your body out like the cheap slut you are? Why don’t you tell me?”

Another prompt, and another one that Diane was unable to resist.

“I’m so ready,” she said. “I want to go and sell my body—I want to be a cheap, nasty whore.”

“Good girl, Diamond—so many men are going to want to fuck you.” Chloe lept back off the bed, and stood up with a big grin on her face. “In that case, time to get ready—you can’t go out looking like that, can you? On your feet, and out of those clothes, Diamond.”

Diane did as commanded—it almost felt like a dream. Like she was watching from somewhere else, somewhere distant, as she kicked off her shoes, and unzipped her dress. She let it fall to the ground, and then perched back on the bed so she could remove her tights. Soon, she was just in her underwear, a matching white bra and pants, and Diane hoped that would be enough. But her body had different ideas, and it fully stripped, until she was standing there completely naked.

She was trembling a little—Diane hoped it was the cold, but she knew that the room wasn’t particularly chilly. She didn’t want to entertain her other thought—that she was trembling a little with anticipation for what was to come.

“Fuck, you do have a hot body, Diamond—the punters’ll love you. And no hair down there—you musta been preparing for this all your life.” Chloe ran her hands over Diane’s body, touching her just enough to send sparks of pleasure through the reporter, and then she moved towards the door. “Wait here—I’ll get you something to wear.”

Chloe vanished through the door, leaving Diane with her thoughts. She should have been panicking, but her mind was elsewhere—she was preoccupied with the smell of the stubbed-out cigarette, which somehow stunk despite the smell of the room, and how sticky and unpleasant the carpet felt beneath her bare feet. She’d have preferred to sit on the bed, but she knew her body wasn’t going to do anything unless Chloe told her.

And soon, Chloe reappeared, clutching what barely looked like a full outfit. Diane thought she dressed immodestly earlier—she didn’t know what was coming her way.

“Here’s what I think, Diamond,” Chloe was speaking as she laid out the clothes on the bed. “You’re a bit new to the game—you fell on hard times, and you needed some way to pay the bills. You started whoring and, you know what? You loved it—like, really loved it. You stopped looking for any other jobs—you wanted to be a full-time whore. You realised this is your calling—you’re a natural-born slut.”

Diane could feel herself nodding in agreement. She knew it wasn’t the truth at all—she knew who she was—but the more she thought about it, the harder it became to remember that.

“Go on then,” Chloe smirked, “get dressed.”

Suddenly, Diane could move again, and she looked at the clothes Chloe had brought her. She started with the underwear, a battered dark-red bra and a pair of skimpy lace pants that felt dirty. She put it on, and slid the pants up her legs.

“Sorry,” Chloe commented, “I had to borrow the knickers from one of the girls.” She smirked a devious smirk. “But they’ll help you feel well-used down there, Diamond.”

She wanted to be revolted, but Diane couldn’t deny how excited that thought made her body.

On her top, a short black corset top that left little to the imagination—it was snug to wear, and it made her look like her tits wanted to explode from it. She paired it with a denim miniskirt—one that was so short, it was essentially a belt. As Diane sat back on the bed, she was aware that the slightest movement exposed her pants—and what would it expose when they were off, she thought with a hint of arousal.

She had a pair of fishnet stockings, and she rolled them up her legs, closely followed by a pair of vinyl thigh-high boots with an impressive heel. Diane was of average height anyway, and those boots must have added inches to her frame.

On autopilot, she walked about the room, those heels and the outfit changing her demeanour as she moved. She strutted about, sex on legs, and walked through a mist of awful perfume as Chloe sprayed her.

Her companion looked at her with a smile.

“You’re good with make-up, Diamond,” Chloe placed a make-up kit on the dressing table, “so I’ll let you do it. Just copy my look, like you always do—you know the punters love it.”

Diane sat down, and got to work.

As a reporter, she normally favoured an understated look. ‘As a reporter’, she thought, as if that was an alien thought—Diamond crept further into her mind, and it was hard to imagine that life.

She applied the make-up, liberally and heavily. Thick eye-shadow and eyeliner, complemented with big false lashes. Red rouge on her cheeks, and liquid lipstick full of gloss that make her lips sparkle in the flickering light, bringing them out. Cock-sucking lips, she thought, and she struggled to be horrified by the idea.

Diane caught her full reflection in the mirror and, for the first time, she realised that Diane was now no longer in the picture.

“Let Diane go,” Chloe was saying, “now, for the rest of the night, you’re Diamond. There’s only Diamond.”

She was Diamond—a cheap hooker, who was about to go and sell herself. That was all she was good for. Any thoughts of her other life had now vanished completely—she was nothing but a whore, and she was ready to get fucked. She wanted to get fucked—this was her life, and she couldn’t imagine anything else.

Chloe smirked at her.

“You look incredible, Diamond—fucking incredible. C’mon, let’s get you to a room.”

Diamond followed Chloe as she led her from the bedroom, down a dingy hallway that looked every bit as seedy as she would have imagined. Behind each of the many doors, Diamond thought, one of her fellow hookers would be getting fucked. God, she envied them—she wanted to get back to work.

The two of them stopped outside an aged door, much like all the others. But somehow, this felt special—Diamond knew that it was her room.

“I know you’re inexperienced, Diamond, so I’ve got someone to show you the ropes.”

Chloe pushed open the bedroom door, and revealed a woman sitting on the bed. Her hair was auburn, framing a heavy made-up face much like Diamond’s. She was barely wearing a gold leopard-print minidress, with string straps making clear she wasn’t wearing a bra, and its lack of length showing that she certainly wasn’t wearing any underwear. On her long legs, a pair of worn laddered stockings and some much-too high heels.

Her focus was elsewhere—she had a cigarette dangling from her red painted lips—as the two of them entered the room.

Chloe closed the door behind them, and Diamond instinctively made her way inside, sitting on the bed next to the other woman.

Diamond knew who it was before Chloe made the introduction, a smirk on her face:

“I believe you already know Ronni?”

“You were right,” Diamond said, “he did grunt like a fucking pig when he came.”

Ronni’s first client since Diamond arrived was a regular. She didn’t know his name—he didn’t want to give it—but she knew him all too well. He was overweight, he wore thick glasses, and he always stunk, like he hadn’t washed for a few days prior to coming. He was a boring fuck—he wanted a quick missionary fuck, lying on top of her with his fat body and verbally degrading her as he pounded away at her. She didn’t give a shit—he paid, and she was happy to have any cock inside her.

Fuck that, more than happy—she needed cocks inside her.

Ronni stepped out of the dirty bathroom, readjusting her dress after cleaning up: “I know, he’s a disgusting fucker, but he pays great. Shame he can’t last long enough for a double fuck, or we’d have got you some money too.”

Diamond shrugged: “Fuck it, the night’s young.”

“My next guy’ll love you, though—you’ll get a load out of him.” Ronni smirked. “A load in both senses.”

Diamond laughed, and looked at Ronni as she sat on the bed. The bed that Diamond had just watched her be fucked on, and felt a sting of jealousy. Sure, it was hot watching Ronni get fucked by a grimy man, and Diamond could feel herself getting turned on, but she was jealous—she watched Ronni and wanted to be her. To be the cheap whore getting fucked—that’s why she became a whore, isn’t it?

Ronni pulled open one of the dressing-table drawers, and removed a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, just as Chloe had done not even an hour ago. Diamond didn’t remember that, of course—as far as she knew at this moment in time, she’d only ever been Diamond. There were no memories of Diane to be pulled from her conscious mind.

But she knew that she found it hot, watching a hot woman smoking. It was cheap and it was disgusting, and that made it all the sexier—Chloe and Ronni had been working, the latter unknowingly, to reshape her mind, and reshape it quick. Pushing it to the inevitable moment.

For now, Diamond just watched as Ronni pulled a cigarette from the packet, and held it between her lips. She flicked the lighter to life, and brought that captivating, dancing flame before the end of the cigarette. Her sculpted cheeks indented as she drew in hard, bringing the flame to the cigarette and lighting it. The end of the cigarette glowed brightly and, after a moment that lasted forever, she removed it with her fingers. She exhaled, expelling the smoke from her painted lips, and making a noise of sheer unadulterated pleasure as she did. Ronni loved smoking, maybe even as much as she loved fucking.

She took a second drag, and noticed Diamond watching her, a look of fascination and growing arousal on her face. She knew what to do.

As she exhaled, she offered her cigarette to Diamond: “Here, you finish this off.”

Diamond didn’t consciously know how to react at first, but her heart leapt at the offer. Somehow, even as she thought she should somehow be rocked by indecision, she was aware of a voice inside that she couldn’t ignore—‘you want this, you want to smoke, smoking is hot, smoking is sexy’.

And it was right. Ronni was fucking sexy when she smoked.

Diamond would be so fucking hot when she smoked too.

The men loved it, and that would make them want to fuck her even more. Oh, she wanted to groan in pleasure at the thought of being fucked, like the cheap whore she was.

Diamond took the cigarette from Ronni’s hand, and held it between two fingers, copying her friend.

She looked at it. It was barely smoked, and there were clear traces of Ronni’s bright red lipstick around the filter. There was a small tingle in the back of her mind about how wrong this was, and how foreign the cigarette felt in her hand, but she could barely hear it—she wanted this. She knew that she wanted this, in her heart and her mind and in the growing wave of arousal coming from behind her legs.

There was an instinct inside her—she knew how to do this, even though Diane had never touched a cigarette in her life. Diamond copied Ronni, bringing the cigarette to her lips and dragging slowly. The smoke filled her mouth—she let it hang there for a moment, before expelling it with a careful exhale.

One of the effects of the changemaker was how it interacted with cigarette smoke—it made it taste delicious, and prevented the body from coughing or choking as it learned to adapt to the new experience. It was all pleasure, with none of the negative reactions.

Diamond didn’t know any of that, of course. She just knew how wonderful that smoke felt. She knew that she needed more smoke. She knew why Ronni loved it so much.

She took another drag on the cigarette—she knew she’d need more of these. She had a vague memory of Chloe telling her that the best hookers smoked—she was going to be the best hooker, no doubt about that. She’d prove herself as a whore.

Diamond heard a click. She looked up, and saw that Ronni had just lit up a new cigarette of her own. She caught Diamond’s eyes, and smirked with the cigarette in her lips.

“Hey,” she said after her first drag, “if you think you’re having a smoke, and I’m just standing around and watching, you can fuck right off!”

There was a smile in the corner of her mouth, and it made Diamond laugh a little. She thought Ronni would have laughed too, but her focus was elsewhere—on her need to smoke. Ronni started double- and triple-pumping, and Diamond copied her, smoking like she’d been doing it for years. Chloe once told Diamond to look to Ronni—she was a great whore, and she wouldn’t go far wrong to see how Ronni did things. Diamond must have internalised that advice.

The two women smoked, and lost themselves in the moment, loving their cigarettes and thinking of nothing but the pleasure of smoking.

But eventually, they were done—Ronni was through hers first, stubbing it out in an ashtray, and Diamond shortly after. Already, she was flicking the top of the packet, ready for another, but she was stopped by a ping from her phone. Ronni checked the message, and smiled.

“We’ll have to fuck the cigarettes for now, Diamond,” she smirked, “we’ve got bonus clients.”

“Clients?”

Diamond smiled, and felt the tingle between her legs. She liked the sound of that very much.

“Two of ’em,” Ronni looked her in the eye, “and they want a girl apiece. We’re gonna get fucked.”

Diamond could hardly wait: “Send them up, Ronni.”

The two men were there maybe a minute later.

Sometimes men shuffled into the room—when it was their first time, or when they were married and felt guilty about what they were up to behind the wife’s back, or they were just embarrassed. Some men were fuckers like that, but they still always came hard at the end.

Not these two, though.

There was nothing shy about them. They were a pair of lads, cocksure and brash and full of energy, and the two hookers didn’t find it hard to imagine the kind of metaphorical dick-measuring contest that would have led them here.

They were also fairly handsome—the kind of guys who wouldn’t have any issues picking up women when they were on the town. One was blond, one had black hair, but they were otherwise cut from the same cloth—bodies sculpted at the gym, a face full of charm and conceit in equal measure.

Diamond and Ronni didn’t give a toss about how handsome the clients were, as long as they had the money to pay. But they couldn’t deny that it would be a pleasant change from the overweight losers and the creepy perverts that seemed to make up the lion’s share of their clients.

“Phwoar, look at you beauties,” the black-haired man said. “We got a pair of fit fuckers here.”

Ronni growled playfully at him as she sized him up: “You’re not too bad yourself, hot stuff. You and your friend are fine.”

“Fucking fine,” Diamond added, a smile on her lips.

She caught the blond guy’s eyes as she said it, and he smirked back at her. It was a smirk full of confidence, and one that he shared with the black-haired man.

“I want the blond, Chris,” he said. “She’s one fit whore.”

“Fine by me, Josh—I’ll fuck the redhead.”

Chris and Josh—probably not their real names, but that didn’t matter—stood there, discussing the two women like they were nothing. Just pieces of meats, bodies there to be fucked for pleasure and nothing else. They didn’t matter—all that mattered at this moment was what these two clients wanted.

The two whores knew that, and they loved it.

“You wanna stand there chatting all night,” Diamond smirked at them, “or you wanna fuck us?”

Ronni hitched up her dress slightly, exposing her pussy. Her fingers dropped to it, and started rubbing, slowly but invitingly.

“I need your cock inside me, hot stuff.”

Chris’ tongue darted about his lips, a predator ready to fuck his prey. But his friend had other ideas to kick things off.

“Fuck that, we paid for a show,” Josh sneered. “You two can have a bit of fun first, get us in the mood.”

Chris stomped his foot twice, and let out a little howl of excitement. He was baiting them, trying to prove himself as the biggest lad in the room—the girls had seen this kind of behaviour before.

But the clients had paid for a show, and they were going to get one.

Ronni was laying on the bed, and Diamond crawled over to her, initiating a kiss. One kiss became many, and the two women angled their heads carefully so the two men got a great view of their clashing lips, their duelling tongues. They made noises of pleasure as they kissed, and more as Diamond’s hands migrated to Ronni’s tits, massaging them through her dress.

There was little in it for the two hookers, but they could hear the effect it was having on the two men—they were cheering and whooping and throwing out sexist and sexual remarks, working themselves up in the process.

They certainly knew how to put on a good show.

“Yeah,” Chris shouted, “those lips are gonna look great around my cock. Get over here, you redhead bitch.”

The two hookers stopped kissing, and looked over at him. He’d already fished his erect penis out of his trousers, and had it in his right hand—he was slowly wanking, getting himself more in the mood as he watched the whores, but now he wanted some attention.

His twitching cock certainly did.

Ronni climbed off the bed and moved over to him, giving him a small peck on the cheek as she took over the wanking.

“Attitude like yours,” Ronni said, holding it with her hand as she got to her knees, “didn’t think you’d have the dick to back it up.” She teased him: “Such a big, sexy dick. You want me to put your big sexy dick in my mouth? You wanna face-fuck me?”

Diamond watched as Ronni started sucking Chris’ cock, moaning with playful pleasure as she did so. She wanted a piece of that action, and Josh was ready to go.

He kissed Diamond, roughly as the sexual tension kept building inside him—she returned the kisses, and worked on unzipping his trousers. She did it, and smirked in delight as she fished out his erect cock—he was clearly gagging for it. And soon, Diamond thought with an excited grin, she’d be the one who was gagging.

They shared a couple more kisses, but Josh’s demeanour changed once Diamond wrapped her hand around his cock and lightly pumped it. He wanted a blowjob from this cheap hooker.

He broke away from her, and put his hands on her shoulders, pushing her downwards.

“On your knees, bitch—I want you to suck my cock.”

Diamond didn’t even need to say yes—she was quickly on the ground, wrapping her painted lips around his cock.

She loved giving blowjobs—she loved the feeling of a cock in her mouth, sucking and playing with it with her tongue, bobbing her head up and down happily like the whore that she was. She loved it when she heard the moans of pleasure from her client. She loved it when the men took her head, forcing his cock down her throat until she was gagging on it.

Yes, she loved giving blowjobs, but a blowjob normally meant that something even better was on the horizon—getting fucked.

“Urgh,” Josh grunted, “this is hot, but that’s enough of it. I didn’t pay to cum from a blowjob—I want a fuck, now.”

As Diamond rose to her feet, Josh almost threw her onto the bed. He was manhandling her roughly now, his actions dictated only by sexual frenzy and his need to fuck Diamond. She didn’t care—she was a whore, and she wanted to get fucked. She needed it.

Josh forced the small denim miniskirt upwards, exposing the used red pants, now also wet with Diamond’s increasing excitement. He pulled them down her legs—not particularly far, but far enough to expose her glistening pussy. That was all he was here for—he was quickly on top of her, lining up his erect cock and starting to fuck her.

She groaned in pleasure as he entered her—a groan for his satisfaction, and for her own. She loved groaning like a cheap whore, because that’s what she was—nothing more than a cheap, dirty whore. She loved being fucked.

Of course, this was all about the client. The grunting man on top of her, pounding away at her semi-naked body, thinking only of his own pleasure. She could feel the warmth of his body, the sweat on his brow, his focus and his rhythmic moans as he got to work, thrusting in and out of her needful pussy.

It was all about the client—it was all about him getting what he wanted.

Diamond getting fucked was just an added bonus.

“You like that, bitch?” he grunted at her.

“Yeah,” she moaned back, a mixture of genuine pleasure and playing up to the situation, “yeah, I love your cock inside me. Your big, hard cock.”

She let out a playful noise, one she knew the punters loved. It was a noise of pleasure and playfulness and sexual excitement, and it never failed to get the men going even more.

Diamond heard a similar noise from Ronni—Chris was clearly getting what he paid for as well. That was hot, the two friends fucking the two whores.

She was conscious that Josh’s pace was increasing, his breath becoming short, sharp pants as he got closer, ever closer to his own climax. That cocky charm was gone now—his only interest was in cumming, pumping his cum into Diamond’s eager body.

He grunted like an animal as he came, and it pushed Diamond over the edge too—she loved being fucked, because of the wave of pleasure when her own orgasm hit her. It was so hot, the feeling of Josh’s cock inside her, the sound of moaning from Ronni and Chris next to her, and then she was cumming and shaking with pleasure too. Josh just collapsed on top of her, and she smirked in sheer sexual ecstasy as that feeling hit her.

She loved it, cumming like the whore she was.

Diamond just laid there, thinking of nothing and everything at the same time. She was vaguely aware that Ronni and Chris had reached orgasm too, but she was lost in her own pleasure. This was always the best part—that wonderful feeling, that glow after cumming. No matter how many men fucked her—how many men came inside her—she’d never stop loving that feeling.

After some time, Josh withdrew from Diamond, leaving her pussy feeling empty. Next to her, Ronni laid on the bed, and Chris did the same. It was Ronni who spoke.

“One last treat for you dirty fuckers.”

Diamond saw Ronni’s hand reach between her legs. She brought a finger to her lips, coating in Chris’ cum, and she sucked on it, making little noises of pleasure as she did. Diamond followed her lead, eating Josh’s cum straight from her pussy.

“You know,” Chris said, “you really are a pair of disgusting whores.”

That comment sent a wave of excitement through Diamond.

The two men dressed themselves again, smirking as they watched the two women, and shuffled out of the room. A little of the swagger had gone, but they left the same two confident men who’d come in. No-one would know where they’d been, nor what they’d been up to. The whores were just a dirty secret—that’s all a place like this was for.

After they left, the two women cleaned themselves up a little, readjusting their clothing after a small bathroom break. They lit up another cigarette, and smoked it as they talked about what had happened. It was all business when the clients were gone, nothing more.

To the two men, this would be a story they’d probably flex with when they were with their male friends—‘you should’ve seen the two dirty whores we fucked’. For the women, they were just customers and nothing else.

There was a ping on Ronni’s phone—another client or two. The more, the better—after all, what was a whore for if not being fucked?

“You ready for another?” Ronni asked.

“Fuck yeah,” Diamond said back. “Never been more ready for anything.”

Ronni smirked at her, and replied to the message.

For Diamond, there was a growing excitement in the pit of her stomach—the night had only just begun.

The punters came all night, in every sense of the word.

Diamond had no idea how many men she and Ronni fucked that night. Every time a client had cum and shuffled out of the room, there was another to take his place—then another, and another. Some wanted them both, some just paid for Ronni, some just for Diamond. They didn’t care about that, though—while the other one was getting fucked, they could sneak in a few cigarettes and maybe even play with themselves, their hands migrating to their pussies so they didn’t miss out on the sexual activity of the moment.

That was what they did, after all.

They were whores—cheap whores, meant for fucking and being fucked, and nothing else.

People like Diamond and Ronni, that’s all they needed.

And, as yet another man came between her legs, grunting at her in sexual pleasure and calling her all sorts of names to make himself feel like a man, Diamond felt alive. This was what she lived for—the moment when she felt like a true whore, pushing her client to satisfaction.

It was what she was good at.

It was what she loved.

Any suggestion that she was respected society reporter Diane Madison was nowhere in her mind—the changemaker had eliminated those memories and ideas entirely for the time being. All she knew was this life—that she’d been done on her luck, and she’d fallen into whoring just to make ends meet. And then, she’d swiftly realised that she was a natural whore—she was good at it, and she fucking loved it.

She couldn’t picture another life, but why would she even want to?

But soon, as always, the night would have to draw to a close. Although Diamond wanted to fuck and nothing else, she couldn’t go forever—the shift would come to a close, and she had to go home and get rested before the next one.

Ronni and Diamond were smoking on the bed. They’d reapplied make-up and readjusted their outfits in the night, but they both looked like they’d had a long night of constant sex. Fuck, it was hot to even think about it.

They’d cleaned up, but Diamond could still feel the cocks in her pussy, and the cum of who-knows-how-many men as it dribbled out.

“I wish we could go for longer,” Diamond said as she exhaled, “I don’t even feel like I’ve started.”

Ronni let out a little chuckle.

“Fuck me, how do you still have the energy?”

Diamond shrugged her shoulders: “I just love what I do.”

Ronni smirked a little in response.

Chloe had told her earlier that she’d been training Diamond for a few months now, showing her the tricks of the trade (and, of course, turning tricks was one of them). She was a little foggy on exactly how long it was, but if Chloe said it, it must have been right. But she’d quickly learned that Diamond needed little in the way of teaching—she, like Ronni, was a natural whore.

And now, it was time for them both to get paid for the privilege.

It was brilliant, Ronni thought as she finished off the smoke—she loved getting fucked, and she got paid for it too. She knew it was the same for Diamond too—the two hookers were really in heaven.

“Right,” Ronni said, crushing the remains of the cigarette in an increasingly full ashtray, “let’s cash up and fuck off home. It’s been a good night—so many fuckers, and so much fucking.”

Diamond smiled at the comment.

Ronni led Diamond down the main building stairs, into a back office, where Chloe was waiting for them both, a big smirk on her face. Ronni loved this room for a reason that she couldn’t quite put her finger on, but Chloe knew what it was. It was here that she’d given Lady Veronica the changemaker for the first time.

It was here that Ronni was born.

And tonight, Chloe knew, it would be the start of a whole new chapter for her and her business, thanks to these two women in front of her.

These two snooty bitches, who didn’t even know what whores they were.

Chloe made a show of looking at her phone, and a bunch of money on the table. It was a sizeable pile, reflecting the night’s work.

“You whores did good—look at all this fuck money,” she smiled, “you’ll get your usual cut of the takings.”

This was Chloe’s deal with her hookers—they took home half of what they made, and referring to it as their ‘usual cut’ helped further subtly rewire their minds. After all, if they had a usual cut, then they must be fairly prolific whores, right?

She counted out some money, and gave it to them both. She knew it would never leave the building—Ronni would leave it behind with her clothes and her other hooker materials when she changed and became Lady Veronica again.

As usual, Ronni left the room after takings, ready to go home. And she’d emerge as an heiress, without the slightest memory of what had happened in the building, and resume her high-class life far away from here.

At least, Chloe thought with a sadistic grin, until next week, when she wouldn’t be able to help herself.

What about Diamond? Chloe placed a stack of money on the table in front of her, and then, casually: “We need to talk, Diamond—take a seat.”

Diamond did as instructed, a little panic on her face.

“What’s the matter, Chloe? Am I not doing a good job?”

Chloe smiled: “Oh, no, it’s not that—you’re such a great whore.”

Diamond looked relieved.

“Then what’s the matter?”

“I know you’re a great whore,” Chloe said. “I just need you to tell me yourself.”

Diamond was confused, but she could never argue with Chloe.

“I’m a great whore,” she said.

“Is that it?”

“I’m a great whore.”

“Where’s your energy?” Chloe asked. “I thought you loved this job?”

“I do—I really do.”

“Then be proud about it. Be proud of being a cheap whore.”

“I am proud,” Diamond said. “I love being a whore—it’s great to be a whore.”

“Louder,” Chloe encouraged. “Tell me what you love about being a whore.”

“I’m love being a cheap fucking whore,” Diamond shouted. “I love getting fucked. I love having men fill all my holes, and I love making them cum—making them cum inside me, and letting it all dribble out like a disgusting bitch. I fucking love it when I get treated like the cheap piece of meat I am. I’m here to get fucked—that’s all I’m worth. That’s all I need. I need to be a whore.”

Chloe smirked at her.

“Do you, Diane?”

She said it casually, but she knew the monumental effect it would have on the other woman. Diamond’s body froze in the seat, unmoving as it ceased to be the body of a hooker. Diane took back control, and her mind was full of everything that had happened that night. The transformation Chloe had manipulated.

And the things Diane had done as a result.

She wanted to cry, but she couldn’t find the tears. But the horror was etched on her face—Chloe could see it all too clearly.

“What’s the matter, Diane? Don’t you wanna tell me how great a fucking whore you are?”

“What…?” She just about managed to spit the word out. “How?”

But she already knew the answer to the question—all that stuff about magic chemicals that rewrote your mind, it was all true.

“Didn’t you enjoy it, Diane?” Chloe asked. “Didn’t you love being a cheap hooker? Didn’t you love fucking and sucking with Lady Veronica?”

Chloe laughed.

Diane wanted to say something, but she was struggling to articulate anything. She wanted to be ashamed of what she’d done, and of the gutter trash Chloe had turned her into, but she couldn’t find it within herself. She was horrified at the things she’d done.

And she was horrified at how much she’d enjoyed it all. She didn’t want to admit it, but she knew that this night had been incredible—forced to let go of Diane, Diamond had been sex unleashed, and it had been wonderful.

“What are you going to do?” Diane creaked out the question.

Chloe took a moment to think, and then smirked.

“Here’s what’s gonna happen, Diane,” Chloe said, looking directly at her. “You’re gonna leave here, just like Ronni did. You’ll get changed, you’ll drive off home and you’ll go to bed. And when you wake, you won’t remember any of this. You won’t remember putting out like a filthy whore, and all the men you pleasured. All the big, fat cocks that came inside you.”

Without even realising, Diane’s tongue darted from her lips and licked them slightly. Chloe noticed, but she didn’t say anything.

“You won’t remember it, but you’ll dream about it. It’ll be in your mind, but you won’t even realise. Whenever you look at a guy, just for a moment, you’ll be Diamond. You’ll be thinking about his cock, and how happy you’d be if he’d fuck you like a dirty whore. And then you’ll be Diane again, like a flash.”

Diane could feel herself nodding, and getting a little wet at the idea.

“It’ll build inside you, like a fucking tap. And you won’t know what to do with it, so you’ll play with yourself, every night. At day, you’ll be a fancy snooty bitch, and at night, you’ll be a dirty bitch instead. You’ll want to cum—you’ll need to cum.

“And then, it’ll be the weekend. You’ll make sure you’ve got it off, and you’ll come back here. You won’t know why, and you won’t know what this place is, but you’ll come anyway. And then you’ll be ready to make so many men cum too, like the cheap whore you want to be. You like the sound of that, Diane?”

She wanted to say ‘no’, but she couldn’t. Chloe’s words were having an effect on her—they were turning her on. She knew that Chloe could see the colour rising in her face, and her breathing becoming more shallow as the ideas sunk into her mind, but she couldn’t fight them.

At that moment, she didn’t even know if she wanted to fight them.

“I only want one thing from you, Diane—a present, to say ‘thank you’ for helping you find the whore buried deep down inside.

“You’re gonna bring me your contact book. You’re gonna give me the details of all your posh friends, snooty bitches who need knocking down a peg.” She smirked. “You know, I’ve been learning how snobs like you make the best fucking whores—so let’s get some more girls in! What do you say?”

Diane wanted to protest, but all of Chloe’s words were like music to her ears. The effects of the changemaker erased all of the horror she should be feeling. She could only agree with Chloe, even though she knew she shouldn’t. Chloe needed a present—Diane could provide the gift she wanted, and it was only right that she should.

“I’ll bring you their contact details,” Diane said.

Chloe smiled at her: “Fuck off then, Diane—go get your rest. A whore like you needs it.”

The prostitute watched as Diane left the office, clad in the outfit of Diamond the hooker. An outfit she would be wearing again very soon, when she unknowingly made a return to Hooker Alley.

Chloe smiled.

Things would soon be taking a very exciting turn.