A Change of Heart

Rachel Adams stepped into the conference room, and found that her client was already there. Except, different from the first time they had met. Gone was the professionally dressed, dignified despite the trauma young woman she had gotten a statement from.

Instead, she was barely recognizable. She sat at the table in a pink crop top so tight her nipples were prominently displayed, powder blue leggings, equally revealing, and cheap plastic pumps. Her blonde hair was teased and blown out. Blue eyeshadow and copious mascara completed the hooker look.

"Madison?"

"That's not my name," the woman said. She regarded her lawyer briefly, then turned her attention to the ceiling.

"Yes, it is." Rachel sat down heavily, and fished a paper out of the file she dropped on the table. "We spent five hours going over what happened, and that's what I called you."

"That used to be my name. It isn't any more. Now I am Cuntkitty Alwayswet." She pushed a piece of paper across the table's surface.

Rachel picked it up, scanning. Her jaw dropped. By order of the Superior Court of Suffolk County, the person who had been Madison Elise Granger was now, legally, Cuntkitty Alwayswet. The court order was dated two days ago.

"I am, you know."

"You are what?" Rachel stammered as she tried to clear her thoughts. No judge would approve... that as someone's legal name.

"Always wet." Cuntkitty started to stand up. "Do you want to check?"

"No! Please, sit down." Rachel pulled the file to herself. "We just need to go over what we are accusing Richard Parsons of, officially, before we submit them to the police."

"Oh, there's no need," Cuntkitty said, sounding bored. "I'm not going to press any charges."

"But..." Rachel's brain ran out of words. She looked through the document she had been about to read. "You said that he kidnapped you. That he took you to a luxury apartment. That he raped and sodomized you for two days." She looked up. "Are you now saying that none of that happened?"

"Oh, no," her client said, matter-of-factly. "All of that happened. But he is my master, and I am his slave. He has the right to do anything he wants to me."

"Anything?" Rachel heard herself say.

"Of course. What's the point of having a slave if you can't do anything you want to them?"

"But slavery isn't legal."

Cuntkitty looked at her like she was stupid. "Legal, schmegal. Real slavery has nothing to do with laws."

"But, if you aren't going to press charges, why did you come today? Why not just call me and save on my fees?"

The blonde rolled her eyes. "For the same reason I do anything. Because my Master told me to."

"Your Master... told you to?"

"Oh, yes. He was really angry that you tried to hide me from him. He said that he would make you pay for that."

Rachel was thoroughly confused. "Make me pay? How?"

"By bringing out your true nature," came a deep, masculine voice. Rachel suddenly noticed a man standing in front of the window.

"My true nature?"

"Yes. Behind this facade of being a high paid attorney, deep down, you are a horny slut who really wants nothing more than to please men and get fucked. Preferably both."

Rachel stood up. "I'm leaving and calling security."

"Sit down, bitch."

She fell heavily into the chair.

"Was that good, Master?" Cuntkitty asked. "Did I do what you wanted?"

"Yes, slave, you have pleased me. You may cum."

Cuntkitty went limp and moaned.

Rachel had her phone out. "I'm still calling security."

"No, you aren't," the man replied. "Put the phone down."

Rachel dropped the mobile into her lap.

"Let's get started," he said.

"Let's you fuck off," Rachel replied.

"Who are you?' he asked.

"Rachel Adams," she replied without thinking.

A deep miasma of dread and emptiness filled her. It lasted between a nanosecond and an eternity, and she wanted to wail her despair, but remained silent.

"What do you do?"

"I'm an attorney here at McFadden & Gilchrist."

Again the pit opened up and swallowed her soul.

She looked at him through tears, and couldn't break from his gaze.

"What do you do for fun?"

"I play squash. I do pro bono work for a women's shelter."

The roar of the void filled her mind, stripping away bits of her self.

"And I cook."

The pressure eased.

"Are you important?"

"Of course I'm important."

She tipped over the precipice and fell off of the earth, never reaching bottom.

Rachel Adams found herself hunched into a ball on the floor next to the chair she had occupied. She shook, and shivered from the cold, weeping.

"Get up," he ordered.

She got to her feet and wobbled.

"Sit down. Facing me."

She spun the chair and sat down.

"We'll try it again. Who are you?"

She closed her eyes in fear. "Rachel Ad..."

She was trapped in a glacier, freezing, but the cold wasn't cold. It was isolation far from anything.

And then she had a thought, one that could free her.

"I am Pussyslut Cumonmyface."

The sudden heat in her clit melted the ice.

"What do you do?"

"I do what I'm told."

Throbbing, insistent fire suffused her loins.

"What do you do for fun?"

"I get fucked and I please men."

The emptiness returned, but only in her empty vaginal canal, pushed there by the fiery need to be filled.

"Are you important?"

"No. I am of no importance. Only the men I serve are important."

Pleasure exploded through her entire body. The orgasm ripped from her toes to her scalp.

Pussyslut's head rested against the chairback as she languidly basked in the afterglow. Clearly, she had pleased her Master and that made her so happy. The only problem in her world was someone named Rachel, nagging her. Criticizing her. Telling her that she didn't belong here.

Rachel clawed her way up from the depths of her own mind. The impulse to concede was seductive, but fundamentally weak. This... thing... this desire, intent on subservience, struggled to fight for control. Pussyslut slipped away, and Rachel opened her eyes.

"You lose, asshole."

"Do not confuse a battle for the war," he replied amiably. Cuntkitty was in his lap, his hand stroking between her legs.

"You won't beat me," she snarled.

"I don't need to. You will defeat yourself."

A rumbling sound came from Cuntkitty's throat. Rachel would have sworn that she was purring.

"I don't want to be your slave."

"Oh, but you do. You think you don't, but that's just the delusion that society has imposed on you. Deep down, all women want to be a man's slave. Isn't that right, Cuntkitty?"

"Oh, yes, Master," the slave sighed. "I am so much happier as your slutty toy than I ever was as a free woman. You'll fight it for so long, but Pussyslut Cumonmyface is who you are. I wish you would save yourself all of that pain, but you won't. I didn't."

Rachel hunched her shoulders. "You aren't happier. He's just brainwashed you."

"Yes, well, this is an irrelevant sideline," he said. "I'm not going to make you my slave. That would be a reward, not a punishment." His voice seemed so reasonable.

"So what are you going to do to me?" She became aware that people were watching through the glass walls of the conference room, and she shifted uncomfortably.

"It's really already done, but you'll develop your natural desire to be a slave, but denied the outcome of ever becoming one. You'll just flit through life, finding short term fixes for your cravings, beset by long term emptiness."

"Never. I'll never want those things."

"But you already do. You know how you want to be treated."

"With respect?"

"No, no. By belittling comments about your mental capacity. By men reducing you to your physical appearance. By their assumptions that using sex is the only way for you to get ahead, and that you are nothing but a slut for them to use." His tone suddenly switched from conversational to stern. "Your name is Pussyslut. It's who you are."

Rachel closed her eyes as pleasure washed through her.

"You are inadequate to be an associate at a prestigious firm like McFadden & Gilchrist, or even a lawyer at all. You only made it through law school because of your looks."

She moaned.

"Look at you. Is that really how a slut should dress?"

Rachel gazed down at her heavy blouse and full length skirt. The arousal drained away, and she stared into the abyss. The awful awareness that she was wrong.

Panic seized her. Terror that she was wrong, balanced against the shame of undressing while her co-workers watched.

"I think you should take it off. All of it."

She tried to hold on to how shameful it would be to display herself to all of McFadden & Gilchrist. To use that as the rock of her resistance. And then the arousal flooded back in, and a corner of her mind realized that the shame itself made her hot, that it made her want to comply.

He smiled at her as she stood up, shrugging out of her suit jacket. She unbuttoned her blouse, revealing fair skin and a cotton bra. Her eyes were fixed on the carpet. She tugged the fabric down her arms, and it fell to the floor.

"Nice," he said, "but a stripper should always make eye contact with her audience."

She raised her head, and found herself looking right into the gaze of Don Kushner. Her supervisor. His face lit up with amusement and contempt.

Rachel shuddered from the heat spreading from her cunt.

Her hands reached behind her and unzipped the skirt. It puddled around her ankles with the blouse.

"Wait," he ordered.

From the corner of her eye, Puss... Rachel saw Cuntkitty slide out of his lap and crawl to her. The sexy [no] blonde slipped her feet out of the flats she was wearing, and then reached up to the waist of her pantyhose. She tugged them, along with the panties, over her hips, and rolled them down her legs.

As the cool air hit her pussy, Rachel became acutely aware of moisture trickling down the inside of her thigh. She saw Don's eyes go wide as Cuntkitty's head pushed between her legs and a tongue swirled along her slit. Someone outside wolf whistled. She flushed with the humiliation. Or with arousal. Both.

Cuntkitty stood up, and twirled to face her. As her hands undid the clasp of her bra, she kissed Rachel, allowing her to taste herself for the first time. Her crotch spasmed at the flavor.

Then she was totally naked, facing a growing crowd. Most of the women turned away in disgust, but the men were all joking. She tuned out the words, but the laughter flowed through her.

"Turn around and bend over. Let them get a good look at your ass."

It was Pussyslut's idea to open her legs, reach back and spread her buttocks, letting the men see her asshole. She could feel the way her cunt glistened with wetness, showing off the display's effects.

"You'll need to have that hair removed. I'll give you the number of a laser removal place that will do all of it. Make your pussy look like a little girl's. And you'll need larger tits, of course."

He stood up, unzipping his fly. She watched, fascinated as Richard pulled out his erect cock. He pushed her forward, so her torso rested on the conference table. His cocked pushed inside her, and Pussyslut moaned. Rachel felt it all, trapped in a corner of her mind. She couldn't make herself fight.

Bliss spread from her genitals. Cuntkitty leaned down next to her, kissing. Pussyslut's mouth opened, and their tongues wrestled frantically. Rachel could dimly hear hooting from the hallway.

Maste... no, he was not her master. She was a slut, but he had rejected her. She was just a temporary cocksleeve. Cuntkitty was so lucky.

She could sense that he was about to cum. Finally, Rachel was able to push him away, only to find herself dropping to her knees, facing him. "Cum on my face. It's who I am."

Cuntkitty grabbed his cock, and jerked it off. White streams splashed onto her face and hair. She blinked, trying to clear her eyes. His slave took his dick in her mouth, cleaning it off, and he zipped himself up.

Rachel stared at the floor. The whole office could see cum dripping down her chin and on to her torso.

He picked up a cloth bundle, and set it on the table next to her head. "Here. These are clothes appropriate for Pussyslut. Put them on while I explain the rest of your life. Tomorrow, you will go shopping for a whole wardrobe, getting clothes altered as needed to befit a slut."

Rachel stood up, pushing Pussyslut into the recesses of her mind. On the top of the pile was a pair of black, seamed thigh highs. She rolled them on to her legs as he spoke.

"Every five minutes, you are going to ask yourself a question. 'Who am I?' 'What do I do?' 'Am I important?' Less fundamental, more specific ones, too. 'Do I like men staring at my ass and catcalling me?' 'Am I slutty enough?' 'Do I like having a cock in my ass?'.

A tight, white satin thong followed the stockings.

'Every time you answer a question incorrectly, your mind will punish you. Every time you answer correctly, your cunt will reward you."

She slipped on a charcoal gray, pinstriped skirt so short her panties were visible in front and back.

"When you go to sleep, your dreams will consist of serving, obeying, and fucking."

She pulled a white short-sleeved blouse over her arms. She buttoned it up, realizing that the top button was low in her cleavage. It was tight, and fell two inches short of meeting the skirt.

"Eventually, your cunt will win that fight. Rachel Adams will disappear forever, and Pussyslut Cumonmyface will live forever."

The suit jacket matched the skirt in color, and the blouse in length. Cum dripped onto the lapels, the white fluid standing out against the dark fabric.

"By all means, continue to come to work, though I suspect your duties will change."

She completed the outfit by stepping into the sandals with five inch stiletto heels.

He stood up, arm around Cuntkitty's shoulders, and headed for the door. "Welcome to the rest of your life." As they were about to exit, he looked over his shoulder. "If you can, find another woman in the office to lick that off of you. If not, wear it the rest of the day."

The pair slipped through the crowd. No one seemed to notice them. They were all looking at her. She squeezed her thighs together at the heat the humiliation brought.

"Who are you?" The question sang through her brain.