Leila’s Fall From Grace

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Leila’s Fall From Grace


By Dreadlocks


Leila Carrington lived a life of avarice. She was blessed with wealth, intelligence, and incredibly good looks. She was tall, slender, and had glorious golden hair that caressed the tops of her perfectly shaped hips. There wasn’t a man or woman for that matter, that didn’t either lust for her, or long to be her.

She lived in what was once her father’s house, which she had inherited upon his untimely death. Despite all her assets, Leila lived a life of relative solitude. Of course, she would be seen from time to time, at events, or traveling to and from the airport, destined for places unknown.

She would continuously shun the advances of men, who wanted nothing more than to spend an evening with her; to know what it was like to be with her. There were always those with less than noble intentions, and for whatever reason, she nearly always offered them more credence than the rest. The more crass the advances, the more she responded.

It was a fault, she knew, this subtle lust for less than upstanding morals. It was something she had wrestled with many a time. Each time she would stop herself before the interaction became too threatening, however, and that spot of foresight had saved her in the past.

Leila was tired of being alone. Ever since the death of her father, she had been sequestered in that mausoleum of a house. He had taught her restraint and good judgment, but now she was on the verge of disregarding all her instincts.

It was one certain woman, who had managed to catch her eye and her imagination. It was during a trip to Spain, the fall of the previous year. She only knew the woman as Aitana, but she had been a revelation to Leila. Aitana had captivated Leila during her short stay in Madrid, opening her eyes to a world so foreign and enticing that she had been overwhelmed.

It was then that she ran. She ran back to her mansion, to the safety and seclusion it offered. She had come so close to losing herself entirely this time. Had it been the fact that this was a woman? Aitana was lovely, but Leila had never before been so attracted to another woman. She began to question her sexuality. Was it possible to be attracted to both men and women? It must be, because she was proof of it.

Now, a letter from Aitana had announced her imminent arrival. Leila didn’t know what to do. Would she continue to hide herself away, or would she welcome this woman into her most private sanctuary, and in doing so lose the very safety it had offered for so long?


Six Months Before – Madrid, Spain.


Leila sat at the small outdoor café, the expresso she drank stimulating to her. She was not oblivious to the chocolate-colored eyes that watched her intently from across the patio. The woman was ravishing. From her long black hair to her perfect mocha complexion, she was truly a sight to behold. Several times, Leila had looked up, their eyes meeting repeatedly.

Finally, the woman stood, nodded in Leila’s direction, and left the café. For whatever reason, Leila was unable to stop herself from following. Old Madrid was a maze of narrow streets and alleys, and Leila knew she was not in a good section of the city. She continued to follow, thinking little of her safety, her only thought was of this woman who strode several steps in front of her. She was aware of Leila’s presence, and would turn to spy her with sideways glances.

When the tall dark woman entered a courtyard, Leila was hesitant to enter. This was no longer the street, but a private space to be sure. The woman turned when she reached the opposite side of the garden, nodded again, and stepped through an open door, leaving it ajar, deliberately.

As if her legs were carrying her without intent, Leila approached the doorway. Something inside her told her to run; run as fast and as far as she could from this woman. She was unable to heed the warning, stepping through the dark opening and hearing the door close behind her.

“Why did you follow me?” The woman asked, her Mediterranean accent thick and luscious.

“I… I don’t really know.” Leila responded, honestly.

“Unlike you, I know exactly why you did. You are looking for something. Tell me your name.” The woman demanded, subtly.

“Leila.” She responded, without a hint of reticence.

“My name is Aitana, and this is my home. Tell me what you want, Leila.” Aitana crossed the foyer and illuminated it with the flip of a switch. The décor was ancient, almost medieval and it frightened Leila for a moment. She backed up to the door. “You would be making a mistake if you left without learning what I can offer you.”

Leila stood, frozen to the spot, knowing that this was perhaps the very thing that she had sought. “I need… I need to…”

“Feel?” Aitana finished for her. “Come with me, Leila, and let me show you something.” Aitana moved slowly, deliberately, but so very gracefully through the sizeable home, coming at last to a large wooden door. “Once we move through this opening, you are mine. You will cease being who you are, and become who I want you to be. Do you understand?”

Leila nodded, every emotion and instinct she possessed telling her to run. She ignored them all, allowing the waves of arousal coursing through her sex to control her. The door opened, the hinges crackling with age as it revealed a stairwell, dimly lit with gas lanterns.

Aitana waited until Leila had crossed the threshold, before closing the door behind them and following Leila down the stairs.

The room was like something out of a movie, set up like an ancient torture chamber. Whips and crops hung from the walls, along with every imaginable restraint Laila could fathom. “What is this place?” Leila finally asked.

“You will speak only when spoken to, but I will allow it this once. This is my dungeon, my playroom if you will.” Aitana explained. “It is a place of pleasure and pain, lust and denial, dominance… and submission.” Leila nodded, heeding Aitana’s warning. “Do you know what I need from you, Leila?”

“My submission.” Leila offered, and then without being asked, fell to her knees before this strangely exotic woman.

“Very good. Now, let us assess my property in the best light.” Aitana moved Leila so she was directly below one of the glowing lamps. “Remove your clothing.”

Leila could sense her arousal, the moisture between her labia seeping out to dampen her lace panties. This was something that Aitana noticed at once. When Leila had reached that point, Aitana held out her hand. Leila placed the garment into the open palm. She was surprised when the woman raised the panties to her nose and inhaled her fragrance.

“You are fresh, unspoiled. How delightful.” Aitana reveled, dropping the undergarment into the pile that was Leila’s clothing. “Turn.”

Leila did as she commanded, as though she was a puppet on strings, Aitana holding the cross brace. She had never felt more aroused, but at the same time, humiliated in her entire life.

“Your hair is much too long,” Aitana said, offhandedly as she walked away.

“But I…”

“Silence!” Aitana bit. “No servant of mine will have hair longer than my own. It is simply unacceptable.” She returned with a menacing pair of scissors in her hand, and Leila felt her heart race within the confines of her ribs, desperately trying to beat its way out. She could run, she could stop this. She could…

The indelicate crunch of the shears shocked Leila out of her panicked reverie, and she realized that it was too late. She felt the cold metal of the instrument against her shoulders as it severed her coveted blonde tresses shorter than they had been in many, many, years.

Leila felt the soft caress of the hair against her bare feet as it piled up against them, surrounding her in a sea of gold. A tear escaped, running freely down her cheek as she sensed the loss. Aitana set the scissors on the floor amongst the locks she had so cruelly tonsured.

“There. That suits you much better. Not so haughty and proud anymore, I think.” Aitana supposed, as she caressed the hair that now only just grazed Leila’s shoulders. “If you weren’t a novice, the cut would have been far more severe.” Aitana relented. “I offered you a kindness, allowing you keep so much.”

The days that followed were a blur for Leila. Each day she would report to Aitana’s doorstep, remove her clothing in the secluded courtyard and step through the door. Aitana was not alone in her house. There were other servants and associates that frequented the house. Leila learned to feel at ease amongst them in her nakedness. At first, it was incredibly humiliating, to be so displayed. Aitana had shown her how titillating the experience could be if she only allowed sexuality to rule her mind.

There were many hours spent in the dungeon. Leila was shown how best to please Aitana, with her tongue and mouth. When she was less than perfect, she was punished, Aitana’s lash finding her exposed back a delectable target. Leila realized the reason for the haircut she had received. Aside from being humiliating and degrading, it laid her open to her Mistress’s attentions, be they pain or pleasure.

After a week of her erotic devotion, Aitana had approached Leila with a proposition. “Come live with me, Leila. Be my slave.”

Leila offered the best answer she could give. “Please let me think about it.” That day, Leila ran from Spain, catching the first available flight back home. She had escaped, or so she thought.


Today – Boston, Massachusetts.


Leila had never told Aitana of her situation. As far a Leila knew, Aitana was completely unaware of her financial stature. Now, with her imminent arrival, Leila realized that all would be revealed. She would be exposed as the rich debutant that she was.

Of course, Leila had been in sexual withdrawal. The week she had spent with Aitana had been the most erotic of her life. She had resorted to masturbation, thinking back on all of her trials under the severe tutelage of her Mistress. She imagined the lush dark covering that held such a wonderful scent, and her tongue parting those curls, to worship the delicate folds beneath. The kiss of the whip on her back, and the sting of the crop against her pert creamy breasts; those too were food for orgasms.

Leila had to admit to missing her Mistress terribly. But did she want the life that Aitana offered? She knew that this was why she came. Aitana would renew her offer, only now, she would understand the gravity of Leila’s decision. She would understand everything Leila would be sacrificing to become her property. Would this be a good thing?

Static from the intercom shook Leila from her thoughts. Aitana was there. Leila immediately panicked, wondering what she would do. If she allowed Aitana into her world, she knew that she would be lost. There would be no way Leila could refuse her. That week, six months before, had ruined her for anything else.

Again, the static, a familiar voice hidden amid the white noise. “Leila?”

Unable to stop herself, Leila hit the button, opening the gate, and allowing Aitana inside. She waited, knowing all too well, that Aitana would find her. Leila suddenly realized that she was inappropriately presented, stripping quickly and depositing her clothing into an ornate trash receptacle.

“You have made me wait, slave.” Aitana accused, stepping into the luxuriously appointed space. “I see you are no stranger to riches.” She picked up a small statuette, but then allowed it to slip from her fingers, smashing to bits as it collided with the granite floor. Leila was startled by the noise, but remained penitent.

Leila very nearly spoke, but wisely checked herself. She observed the shattered remains of the piece; one of her father’s favorites.

“I see you are ready to make the commitment, yes?” Aitana supposed, as she walked around Leila’s naked form. With all that she was, she tried to fight her insane sexual urge to serve this woman. In the end, all she managed was a nod. “So, all of this…” Aitana waved her arm about her, “… you are ready to give it up?”

The following days were spent signing over everything that she owned. All the while, Aitana played deviously with Leila’s mind and body. Each time she would sign another part of herself away, Aitana would run a deft finger through Leila’s sopping labia, paying special attention to her throbbing clitoris.

“There. Now, all that was once yours… is mine. Now, you truly are a slave.” Aitana stood, beckoning for Leila to follow. “I’m quite certain we will find what we need in here.” They stood in a white marble bathroom, surrounded by the trappings of beauty. Aitana opened a few drawers, finally finding what she sought.

Leila knew what was coming. She had let her hair grow, and it fell well beyond her slender shoulders. She tensed as she felt the scissors enter her hair.

“You are no longer a novice, slave. It is time.” Aitana declared.

Leila felt the scissors as they caressed her scalp, the cold metal closing mercilessly and sending a rain of blonde silk to the floor. Aitana had positioned her in front of the mirror; the same mirror where she had primped and fawned over her beauty, caring meticulously for her hair.

Aitana was careful to close the shears as close to Leila’s scalp as possible, and she reveled in the expression on her slave’s face as she realized how devastatingly short her hair would be.

Leila could see her scalp beneath the haphazardly cropped hair that now covered her head. It was hideous. All her hair lay in an undignified mass on the floor. As if to add insult to injury, her Mistress insisted upon her cleaning up the mess her hair had made.

While Leila was doing this, Aitana searched through Leila’s clothing. She knew it when she saw it. It was perfect. Leila was once again kneeling on the floor when Aitana found her, still naked and well stripped of her pride and possessions.

She observed her for a moment, enjoying her new acquisition, and the realization of her apparent wealth. “Put this on, slave. I cannot parade you around naked, even though I know how much you would enjoy it.” Aitana held out a flesh-colored bodysuit, offering it to her new slave.

Still on her knees, Leila swiveled around so she was sitting and donned the skintight leotard. Although quite opaque, it offered absolutely no forgiveness, its elastic weave clinging closely to Leila’s skin. Her breasts were quite defined, and there was an obvious camel toe where it hugged her sex intimately.

“I think we are done here.” Aitana sighed, indicating that Leila stand.

Leila was quite panicked as they exited her estate, her naked body so very nearly displayed by the spandex suit she wore. On her feet were the skimpiest sandals, and she felt truly naked. She was grateful for the warmer weather, as her nipples would surely be hard as diamonds and poking lewdly through the paper-thin material.

The rental car was not luxurious, but it served the purpose. Aitana was looking for something, and she very quickly found it. Leila trembled as she was led from the car, knowing that with her notoriety, she was surely recognized even with her hair so brutally shorn. Several people stopped and stared, talking amongst themselves, knowingly.

Leila saw where they were headed, but she was powerless to stop it. She was powerless, completely and utterly powerless, for the first time in her life. AS they entered the small shop, all eyes turned to observe the statuesque Latin beauty, leading a rather pathetic woman who had been poorly relieved of her blonde hair.

“Can we help?” One of the barbers asked.

“Yes. I’m hoping you can straighten out my servant, here. She seems to have ruined her hair.” Aitana offered, pushing Leila forward into the shop.

“Not sure how much I can do there.” The barber said, taking a closer look at Leila’s head.

“Shave it, then,” Aitana said, nonchalantly, sitting in one of the plastic chairs that lined the wall opposite the large swivel chairs.

The man looked at Leila, who seemed shaken. “Is that what you want, young lady?” The barber asked. Leila looked at Aitana, who simply nodded in her direction. Leila nodded in answer to her direction and the barber escorted her into his chair. The clippers seemed brutal as they ran back and forth over Leila’s emerging scalp. He used no guard, and the blonde stubble was nearly invisible after the naked blade peeled all that remained away.

When the clippers stopped, Leila thought the humiliation was over. But as the warm lather was spread across her head, she realized that the barber intended to shave her, as she had agreed to.

The razor felt oddly erotic as it slowly and methodically scraped the last vestiges of her pride away. She equated it to what she had done the day before, as she gave all she owned to her Mistress. Leila felt her arousal, the moisture surely apparent on the thin film of fabric between her legs. It was an exquisitely definitive humiliation, to go from a gloriously beautiful princess to a bald penniless slave. Leila regarded her Mistress, a petulant expression gracing her beautiful face as though she was repulsed by her hairless appearance.

Once they had returned to Madrid, all Leila’s papers were destroyed, and for the first time, she felt at peace. The reduction in status was absolute, and she was nothing more than a hairless sexual toy. A fitting end to her opulent life.

5 responses to “Leila’s Fall From Grace

  1. To all my readers. Unfortunately I seem to have picked up a lurker, who is attacking my work personally. I write here as a release, a respite from the constraints I am faced with in my job as a romance author. I always appreciate positive comments, but I will not tolerate personal attacks either on my writing style or my personal preferences. This is fantasy, and I think some people want to take it too seriously. I have, and will continue to delete the comments from this ‘person’, so others do not have to put up with the negativity. They only seem to comment on my work, (and I have checked) so I can only come to the conclusion that the attacks are of a personal nature, either due to my sexual orientation, or the fact that I am a female writing in a predominantly male dominated genre. Sorry for this rant, but I felt I needed to say something.

  2. Claire,

    Hi, my name is Jenna. Like yourself, I have been writing haircutting stories (always with sexual overtones) for the past two decades. At the old Haircutting Story website I used the pen name of ‘Fantasy Girl’, and also for awhile at HSN. At some point, I changed that to ‘Insatiable’, and then just recently to ‘Suicide Girl’ … it seemed appropriate. Anyway, I have been a big fan of your work at both sites for the entire time I have been writing. And, I would like to add, I have learned so, so much about how to write unique, compelling short stories directly from reading your thoughtful, well written stories. Thank you!

    One of the things that I like most about your stories is that they often take place in a multitude of different locations and scenarios. Personally, that concept has always resonated with me. Perhaps, because most of my stories are based at least partially on personal experiences over the years, and I have never gone to a salon, or barbershop. Anyway, I just want to reiterate … I love your stories. And, I love your style.

    On to the situation at hand. I absolutely hate to hear what has been happening to you. Unfortunately, as we’re both acutely aware, there is little that can be done to stop it. Personally, I have tried through the HSN Forum and directly with the HSN Administrator, to act quickly and decisively when situations like this develop to not only eliminate the source, but at the same time make a statement to others that the worst of what the internet has to offer simply will not be tolerated at HSN. Again, unfortunately, easier said than done.

    That said, I truly empathize with your situation … and your comments. I suspect that you will be hearing from many others over the next few days to offer their support during this stressful experience. In the meantime, please try not to let this get to you, as it has to all of us at one time or another. Just know that you are much appreciated, and loved, by us all.


  3. Thank you, Jenna.
    I really appreciate your comment, and your loyalty. I know that most people here wish me nothing but the best, as evidenced by the vast preponderance of positive comments I receive. I am also flattered that you have used my work as an inspiration for your own. We all have authors and writers that we admire and emulate, and my spirit is truly lifted by your words. I will continue to write, and post my stories here as it brings me too much joy to ever stop.
    Be well, and stay safe,

  4. Wow Claire that was yet another exciting story! I always love to read about the Mistress-slave dynamic, and your story was definitely one of the best!

    I am very troubled that there is someone out there who is attacking your writing on a personal level. I think that is unacceptable, and I sincerely hope that this person can be dealt with appropriately. Your writing is always valued and appreciated by me, and I hope there are many others who feel the same way.

  5. Hi Claire

    I’m really sorry to hear that you’re experiencing something like this. I was on the receiving end of a lurker who denigrated my stories over a period of years, so I can empathise up to a point. My “lurker” abused the rating system, which was annoying, but not of the magnitude that you’re experiencing. I’ve not seen any of the comments, but they’re clearly upsetting for you.

    I reacted to my lurker by removing my stories (and haven’t worked out how to put them back without causing disruption!), but I hope that you don’t feel the need to do the same. You’re a stalwart of this community and set the standard for the rest of us. Chin up!

    All the best


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