High-Class Hooker Ch. 02

Summary: A society reporter follows Lady Veronica to Hooker Alley

Author's note: This will sound a very immodest start, but I often get requests for sequels and continuations to my stories. It's an incredibly flattering thing as an author, the fact that so many readers love the work enough to want more of it, and I'm so humbled whenever I get a comment or an email asking me to pick up a tale and revisit the characters. My response has generally been a very consistent one - I'm not interested in continuing stories for the sake of it, but I may do more with them if I have a good idea or a new story worth telling. I'm a writer who, first and foremost, wants to write stuff that personally appeals - as you can probably imagine, trying to write a study you've little interest in is considerably harder than one you're invested in!

As you've probably guessed, that's what has happened here - it's time for me to revisit and continue one of my old tales. And it's an exciting instalment, because High-Class Hooker is the story that has received the most requests for a new chapter. If you're one of those people, then I've great news for you - not only have you got this new instalment, but there will also be a third one coming soon-ish (although, in my job, that's a perilous statement to make). I've got the trajectory of this story all figured out now, so I hope readers old and new will enjoy the continued adventures of Lady Veronica!

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High-Class Hooker Ch. 02

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.