Diamond Desires: Part 2
Read part one here
Chelsea’s penthouse suite was dripping with excess. Gold accented furniture, designer bags tossed carelessly on a velvet chaise, the skyline of the city glittering beyond the floor to ceiling windows. Maggie stood at the bar, forcing herself to breathe evenly as she poured the sleeping drops into the cocktail glass.
“Make mine strong.” Chelsea had said with a grin as she flounced across the room, her heels clacking against the marble. “I’ve had such a long day of looking flawless.”
Maggie forced a smile, nodding as pocketed the vial. “To new beginnings.” She offered, raising her glass.
Chelsea clinked it lazily. “To you finally learning your place and staying in your lane.”
The next half hour was unbearable. Chelsea prattled on about Tristan, about the new implants she was considering, about moving to Monaco where “there aren't any middle class riff raff.” Maggie nodded, laughed where appropriate, pretending to sip her own drink while keeping a watchful eye on Chelsea’s.
And then, finally, Chelsea began to fade. She rubbed her temple. “Ugh… did you make this too strong? My head feels…”
Her voice trailed off as she slumped sideways onto the velvet settee, legs folded awkwardly beneath her, blonde ponytail cascading over her shoulder. Her breathing slowed. Maggie waited a few heartbeats. Then crossed the room.
She knelt beside Chelsea, heart hammering. Up close, the ring was even more bizarre, unnaturally pink, with veins of glowing crystal beneath the surface. It pulsed faintly. Gently, Maggie slid it from Chelsea’s finger. And then it happened.
Before her eyes, Chelsea’s face began to shift. The glossy lips deflated slightly. The sharp, sculpted cheekbones softened. Her skin tone paled just a little, her tan retreating like waves from shore. Her hair darkened, inch by inch, from platinum to mousy brown. Her chest, once unnaturally full, shrank beneath the silk robe. Even her nails retracted, the long acrylics vanishing as if they were never there.
By the end, Maggie was staring at Claire, not Chelsea, lying unconscious on a velvet couch, draped in a robe that now hung awkwardly on her smaller frame.
Maggie’s hand shook as she held the ring up to the light. The unnatural pink hue frightening and yet captivating at the same time. Maggie almost couldn't turn away from it until the sound of the door opening broke her from its spell.
Maggie turned in horror as Tristan stepped inside the penthouse, his eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses. He stopped as soon as he saw her, the ring in her hand, and the unconscious girl on the couch who no longer looked like his fiancée. He slowly closed the door behind him.
“Well, you’ve made quite the mess.” He said, voice smooth as glass.
Claire stirred with a soft groan, the transformation seemingly made the sleep drops wear off. Maggie rushed to her side. Claire blinked a few times, her brow furrowed in confusion, then her eyes settled on her own hands. She sat up abruptly, the oversized robe slipping from her shoulders, revealing her slim, natural frame. Her hands darted to her chest, her waist, her face.
“What the hell did you do?!” She snapped, her voice sharp and furious.
Maggie stepped forward, confused. “Claire, I… I brought you back. I saved you. You were gone, trapped. That ring was controlling you, it changed you-”
“The ring wasn't controlling me you fucking moron! I wanted it!” Claire snarled, shooting to her feet. Her hair was a mess, her robe slipping, but her fury radiated like fire. “You stupid, sanctimonious little nerd! You think you were saving me? I chose this. I chose her. The blonde hair. The perfect body. The man. The money. The power. I wanted to be Chelsea! I loved being her!”
Maggie flinched. “But… you weren’t you. You were cruel. You were-”
“I was happy!” Claire hissed through gritted teeth. “When Tristan put that ring on me it spoke to me, she spoke to me. Chelsea. The ring made her for me, as my guide, as my aspiration. She showed me the life I could have. The life that I would have! I was worshipped. I had money, beauty, power, a hot fucking husband. I had everything. I didn’t need saving. I had been saved!”
Maggie's eyes were filling up with tears quickly, trying to hold back the deluge of sadness. “No it's not true! You're joking, it's all some sick prank. What about your art? Your dreams?”
Claire crossed her arms and sneered. “My art? Puh-lease, I was sick and tired of painting my shitty little pictures and barely getting by. If my dream was to live on leftovers and stay in a hostel that never had hot water in the pipes then sure I was living the fucking life! Like I said yesterday, I don't do jokes anymore. I knew it was a mistake coming back here.”
Maggie swallowed hard. She couldn't believe what she was hearing but it was clear that this wasn't Chelsea speaking. That it never had been. This had always been how Claire felt. Maggie's voice trembled as she raised the ring in her hand. “If that’s really what you want… then I won’t stop you.”
Claire’s breath caught. But before either of them could move, Tristan stepped forward from the shadows near the door, his eyes glinting with dark amusement and snatched the ring from her hand.
“It’s not so simple.” He said smoothly, voice like silk over steel. “Once it has been taken off, it can't just be put on again. It’s a security feature of sorts. It's meant to ward off indecisive women. No second chances.”
Claire rushed up to him, desperation in her eyes. “Please baby, I didn't do this. You know I am utterly devoted to you, to us, to being Chelsea. Please, there has to be something we can do?”
Tristan seemed visibly put off by her and gently moved her out of his personal space. “Afraid not… Claire.” He said, his nose turning up as if he smelt hot garbage, her original name seemingly disgusting him. “The wedding is off, but think about me! I have to find a new wife now. I will be a laughed at by the guys at my country club for months because of this.”
Claire's eyes were awash with anger, confusion, and desire. She grabbed the ring from his hand and tried it on each finger to no avail. “Maybe... maybe we just need to jump start it. Yeah it just needs-” She said turning on her heel towards Maggie. “A new body.”
Maggie’s eyes widened. “No!”
But it was too late as Claire shoved the ring onto Maggie's finger. Instantly Maggie felt a surge of heat travel from her hand to every inch of her body, igniting every nerve in its path. She cried out, falling to her knees as her body seized with the intensity of it.
“That'll do.” Claire said as she reached towards Maggie's hand to take the ring, hoping that she could hijack the dark magic. However as she reached forward, Maggie's fingers closed tight into a fist.
“No! You stupid bitch, let go! Let-” Claire started before Maggie's newly closed fist rose up fast, clocking Claire in the jaw and sending her falling back onto settee.
“Oh my god Claire, I'm sorry! That wasn't me!” Maggie said as the heat throbbing through her body turned to pleasure. The diamond pulsed on her finger and broadcast a voice that only she could hear.
Don't worry about her. She had her chance. You're mine now.
Then the changes began.
It started with her frizzy, shoulder length brown hair. It shimmered, rippling like silk in a breeze. The color bled away, strand by strand, replaced by a glistening platinum so pale it gleamed white under the suite’s chandelier. Her hair grew longer, fuller, cascading down her back in flawless, voluminous waves, each curl preened into perfect form without a single flyaway.
“No!” She cried, curling inward as her spine arched violently. “Make it stop!”
But you don't want it to stop. I can see into the darkest parts of your soul that you want this!
No it wasn't true, Maggie thought. She was a tomboy. She kept her hair short, practical. She wore hoodies, beat up sneakers, cardigans. She never cared about her hair. She’d rolled her eyes at girls who fussed about contour and lip liner.
Now her lips were swelling into plump, glossy pillows, forced into a permanent pout. Her chest ached, swelling outward with each breath until she could feel the weight of her new breasts strain against her top, except her top wasn’t her hoodie anymore. It was shrinking, changing, becoming something tight, pink and skin baring, pressing and lifting her like she was on display.
Her waist pulled in sharply, her sides collapsing into a cinched, unnatural curve. Her hips popped, her thighs filled, her sneakers vanished, replaced by cruel, towering stilettos that locked her feet into a sexy arch.
Don't fight me darling. Let me inside. Let me free the real you.
“No. No, I’m not this. This isn’t me. This isn’t real.” She choked, trying to raise her hand to her ring finger, to rip off the evil pink diamond, only to be distracted by the pink gorgeous daggers now affixed to the ends of each of her finger tips.
Her nails had always been chipped, half bitten, rarely painted but now they were weapons, instruments for pleasure and pain. She couldn't stop her mind from imagining them digging into some hot hunks back. The fleeting thought was enough to cause a heat to grow between her thighs.
Yesss that's it. Doesn't it feel so hawt to be a bitch like Chelsea?
“No. I’m not her. I’m not that girl.” Maggie gasped, bracing herself against the floor as her center pulsed with growing heat. “I’m not… I’m not Chelsea.” But the thoughts kept intruding. The voice kept whispering. Kept promising.
Of course you're not. You'll be worse. You’ll be me.
“I… no. That’s not me. You’re not me!” She groaned, but her hands were already cupping her new tits, squeezing them as if testing their weight. Her fingers curled and flexed. “God, they’re so big. So hot. Why does it feel so good?”
Because being sexy is powerful, and power is delicious. Addictive.
“I… fuck yesss! Mmmm I feel so nasty! No! Fight it Maggie!” She said to herself trying to resist the immense pleasure she was feeling. It was hard when she could feel how tight her body was now. How flexible and gorgeous it was. How she could feel Tristan’s lustful eyes on her or Claire’s jealous radiate off of her. Both made her feel untouchable for the first time in her life and it was intoxicating. She wanted to see what they saw but deep down she knew it would be the end of her if she did. The end of Maggie.
Just take a little look. I promise if you don’t like what you see, I’ll change you back.
The voice didn't really need to say much to persuade her. Her defensives had been failing the moment the ring was shoved on her finger. The temptation to see her new self was too much, too alluring. Her mind had conjured an image of what she might see, but even she wasn't prepared as she stood up off the ground and looked at the mirror across the room.
Her legs, long and smooth, now tan and toned, gleamed under the lights. Her ass jutted out, impossibly round and proud, like it was made to bounce in a tight skirt or grind on a man’s lap. Her face, her old face, was gone. In its place was a goddess. A smirk curled on her lips before she could stop it. She didn't want to stop it.
Go ahead, get closer to admire your perfection. See the big bad bitch you've become!
Maggie swayed toward the mirror, hypnotized by her own reflection. Her long platinum curls bounced with each step, her heels clacking against the marble like a countdown to damnation. She stood before her own image, breathless, the diamond ring pulsing faintly on her finger. Her lips, glistening and overfilled, parted in wonder.
“Oh my god…” She whispered, tilting her head. “I look like… sin.”
Let me show you the life you’ll have. The life you deserve.
The ring projected visions into her mind where she saw herself lounging poolside in a two piece white bikini that showed off her curves, sunglasses bigger than her face, cocktail in hand. Her skin gleamed like gold. Her nails were deadly and pink. Her mouth smirked at a server who dared to hesitate. Tristan sat beside her, shirtless and perfect, his arm draped over her like property. She was the prize.
“Tristan.” She murmured, eyes half lidded. “Fetch me another drink, baby. This one’s lukewarm.”
The vision shifted.
A massive walk in closet. She walked slowly down the aisle between rows of designer clothes and stilettos, running her talons along the hangers. Every tag read Versace. Balmain. Dior. On a vanity nearby, tabloids lay open with headlines that screamed: MRS STEEL MELTDOWN OVER MAID’S HAIR STYLE. And below: TRISTAN STEEL BUYS WIFE THIRD PORSCHE IN A MONTH.
“I didn’t like the color of the other two.” She purred in her mind, her eyes locked on her reflection. “Is that a crime now?”
Her vision shifted again.
Her lithe legs were wrapped around Tristan's hard body as he pressed her against the wall of a penthouse suite overlooking Monaco. Her hand tangled in Tristan's hair as she giggled wickedly. Her plump lips pushing against his, their tongues doing a sensual dance inside their mouths, while her diamond ring flashed like a strobe with every movement.
“Ohhh, Tristan… I don’t care if it’s the fourth meeting you've missed today, you touch me when I ask you, you kiss me when I tell you and you fuck me when I demand it.”
His voice rumbled low and obedient. “Yes, mistress.”
Maggie’s thighs rubbed together unconsciously, a whimper slipping from her lips. Her pussy ached to have him inside her. Not any man, just him.
“I’ll be his obsession.” She moaned softly. “His spoiled little goddess.”
She saw herself throwing tantrums over the wrong lipstick shade, over assistants who dared look Tristan in the eye, over anything and everything, because she could. Because she loved it. The visions were more than promises, they were certainties. They were her destiny.
Now, my dear, tell me who you are.
“I'm Mrs. Mercedes Steel bitch, a queen, a goddess, a nightmare posing as a wet dream. I’m all that and so much worse.” She purred as the visions evaporated and she was back in the room, staring at her perfectly crafted reflection.
Her tongue wet her glossy lips. Her posture straightened. She tilted her head, admiring her reflection again, dragging a finger down the deep valley of her cleavage. Her shoulders rolled back, tits proud and heaving as her voice dropped into a sultry purr.
“Why did I ever resist this?” She said with a wicked grin as she turned her attention to Tristan. Mercedes' hips swayed as she stepped toward him, her stilettos announcing each step with calculated grace. Every part of her moved like liquid seduction. Every movement designed to ensnare him.
She stopped just inches from him, looking up at him with a coy tilt of her head. “You said you needed to find a new wife.” She purred, trailing a manicured nail down the front of his chest. Her voice dipped low, smooth and slow. “Will I do?”
His sunglasses slid from his face, revealing eyes that were no longer cold and detached, but hungry. Mercedes smirked. He was hooked.
Claire groaned behind them, trying to sit up, but neither of them turned. Tristan reached up and tucked a strand of Mercedes’ flawless hair behind her ear, fingers lingering along her cheek. “You’re not what I expected.”
She let her lips part just enough to tease a breath across his wrist. “Good.” She leaned closer, her perfume wrapping around him like a velvet chokehold. “Wouldn’t want to be boring now would I?”
Claire’s voice cracked through the heat of the moment like a desperate alarm. “No! No, this can’t be happening!” She shrieked, crawling over to Tristan's feet. “Tristan, please, don't listen to her. I can fix this. I’ll get surgeries. I’ll do whatever it takes. I’ll make myself Chelsea again, I swear!”
Mercedes rolled her eyes with an audible groan and turned to face her, acknowleging her for the first time since her transformation. “Ugh. Are you still here?” She said, her tone dripping with disdain.
Mercedes stepped in front of Tristan, planting one stiletto heel between Claire and him, her new body radiating dominance and ownership over him. “This isn’t your ring anymore, this isn't your suite anymore, and he sure as hell isn't your man anymore.”
The venom from Mercedes was enough to make her flinch backward but she kept her eyes looked on Tristan and tried one last plea. “Tristan, please! Please, don’t do this! You said I was perfect! Don't give up on us!”
Tristan’s expression didn’t change. Cold. Impossibly detached. He adjusted the cuff of his suit jacket and stared down at her like she was gum on his shoe. “You heard my fiancée.” He said, each word deliberate and cutting. “Get lost, loser. Before I call security.”
Claire froze, eyes wide, mouth trembling. A strangled sound caught in her throat, but no words came. She turned, staggering to the door, tears already spilling down her cheeks. The door clicked softly shut.
Mercedes turned slowly, one manicured hand trailing down her hip as she approached Tristan again, her smirk gleaming like a blade.
“Mmmm Fiancée. Sounds so delicious.” She purred, slipping her arms around his neck. She leaned in close, brushing her lips just shy of his, her breath warm against his skin.
“But Mrs. Steel…” Her voice dripped with promise. “Now that sounds even better.”
The End…?
Should this be the end of this tale? If this gets enough notes maybe there will be more story to tell...
