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(Webster: 3.a, :that which excites a desire of seeing, or deserves to be seen, as novel and extraordinary.)


By Dreadlocks

Innocent Until Proven Interested


I suppose the best way to start any story is at the beginning. Let’s start by explaining that I am not your average girl. My interests run to the wild side of crazy, so people have come to expect behavior from me that they might find shocking to see in others. Once you have read my story, you will understand why. My name is Sherry Taylor.

The premise for this tale begins during my freshman year at university. It was the first time I had been away from home for an extended period of time, and the freedom it granted was just starting to settle in. I was nineteen, and there was no one to tell me what to do, when to come home, how hard to study, or what and what not to eat or drink.

So, as long as my grades remained solid, no one would be the wiser. That was one thing I insisted upon. I was no fool, and knew the sole reason I was there was to do well and graduate. The first ‘C’ I received on a paper was the wake-up call on that score.

Still, even with my partying cut back to weekends, it left me with an incredible amount of freedom. Something my parents were adamant about, was my use of the internet. Saying that it was the root of all evil, they monitored everything I did online while living at home. It was the ultimate annoyance.

To start with, and this was nothing I had shared with my parents, I had absolutely no interest in boys. Honestly, I really didn’t have too much interest in girls either, although I did find them more attractive than boys. I wasn’t certain, but I think I was a bit of a narcissist, finding my own body more sexually arousing than anyone else’s. I’d heard the term autosexualism, and even autoromanticism describing how I felt, but I would argue that I was more complex than that.

I did spend an inordinate amount of time masturbating, and as it was, and had been, the only form of sexual expression to which I was accustomed, I found other peoples’ criticism of it, aggravating. For most, masturbating was an indication that one was simply not attractive enough to score a date, although I’m pretty sure that most of them did it, regardless.

I had every confidence that I was good-looking enough to date almost anyone I pleased. I simply enjoyed masturbating, and the concept of involving another body in the process was daunting and, for the moment, unnecessary.

One thing that was starting to gnaw away at me was porn. Without my parents to oversee my perusals, I found myself falling further and further into the ‘Gooner’ lifestyle, as it is called on the net. What made this even more of a problem was the fact that my roommate had dropped out after three weeks, leaving me alone in my dorm room.

As anyone who has dabbled in pornography can tell you, it is addictive. The more you watch the more you want, and the more perverse your appetite becomes. Soon, it began to affect my grades, and that was something that I was not willing to accept. I forced myself to shut it off about halfway through the semester. That’s not to say that all that information just went away, it did not. It all got stored away in my mind.

Some of the physical things I had done during that time, stayed with me as well. One of the first things I did after my roommate left was to shave my pussy. It had been something I had been wanting to try anyway, and so one evening I set everything up in the bathroom and removed my bush. It was thrilling to watch my mons and labia appear as the scissors snipped away at the bright blonde curls.

When I finally took the razor to the stubble that remained, and the smooth sensitive flesh was revealed, I knew that I would never again have a hair between my legs. Masturbating took on a whole new meaning with nothing in the way.

Other things were more permanent, like the tattoo I had engraved on my left breast just under the nipple, and the piercings in both my nipples and labia. All these were things I would never have done at home, and it pleased me to have that independence. I never gave any thought to what my parents might think, because, none of them were in places they would ever look.

I humorously imagined what my mother would say if she ever saw my ‘Slut’ tattoo. Then, just as quickly, I would lose that spark as scenarios unfolded in my mind where she might be allowed a glimpse. It wasn’t going to happen, so that was that.

Now that I had essentially cut myself off from porn, my weekends were a bit boring, so I found myself looking for ways to pass the time. That was when I read the advertisement for a particular club on the east side of town. It was something I had just begun to explore on the web, and there it was, in real life.




Skeleton was an underground establishment, in that, you didn’t get in unless you knew someone, or were attractive enough to sway the doorman. I hoped I fell into the latter category, as I knew no one other than a few friends on campus.

The Uber driver asked if I knew what I was doing as he pulled up in front of the establishment. I gave him a look, indicating that I did and to mind his own business. He pulled away, leaving me staring at the rather frightening façade. The entrance was the open mouth of a skull, and inside I could hear the pulsing of electronica. I was in a pretty seedy part of town, so I quickly made my way to the door.

“Do I know you?” It was a little ironic, the small sliding porthole in the door sliding open, like something from a movie. I shook my head, no, but then something crept over me. Opening my blouse, I lifted my tattooed breast for his approval, the stainless post glinting in the streetlight. “That tattoo ain’t real. You probably drew it on.” He complained.

“It’s real.” I must have been convincing, because he opened the door, allowing me to enter.

“Have fun, ‘slut’.” He chortled, sliding his oversized hand over my butt and pushing me through the black curtain.

I had gone for a ‘goth’ look, thinking it would be best. I wasn’t wrong. The place wasn’t all that crowded, but everyone that was there was dressed in black leather and very little of that. Some people wore nothing at all, and that was only the first thing I noticed. The naked ones were obviously submissive, and most had a collar and some, a leash, controlled by their dominant.

I tried really hard not to stare, but it was almost impossible. I could feel myself getting wet under my faux-leather pants. This was the real thing. Not having a liquor license, there was no bar, but the air was thick with pot smoke and soft drinks seemed to be on the house.

Trying to distract myself, I grabbed a cola from the ice it was buried in and was immediately confronted by a tall man, his features gaunt and almost sickly. “The pop’s for the tops.” He said, rolling off his tongue as if he’d said it a hundred times. “I’ve not seen you before. So, are you a top, or a bottom?”

I was thirsty, so I lied. “I’m a Domme.”

“Very well, Mistress…?”

“Sherry.” I couldn’t believe I’d used my real name, but it was too late.

He clapped his hands together, and the place seemed to come to a halt. Even the music stopped. I felt like running. “Ladies and Gentlemen, …slaves,” the last part oozed from his tongue as if mentioning them was insulting, “I have the pleasure of introducing… Miss Sherry.”

There were golf claps all around before the music kicked back on and the place resumed its previous hum. As the man walked away, he looked back in my direction. I hadn’t fooled him at all.

An intimidating woman approached me, and I was so enthralled by her presence that I failed to notice the slave she had in tow, crawling at her feet.

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Sherrie.” She held out her gloved hand for me to shake, but I hesitated a bit too long and she withdrew it. “My name is Melanie, but you may call me Mistress.” She was gorgeous, her jet-black hair cascading over her shoulders like so much spun obsidian. I couldn’t place her accent, but it was decidedly European. I settled on French.

Was I that transparent? My eyes automatically fell to the floor, and I was forced to look upon her slave. I had assumed they were male as their head was shaved quite bald. To my surprise, a pendulous set of breasts hung beneath their chest, and I couldn’t prevent the gasp of surprise from escaping my lips. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mistress.”

“She’s really quite harmless, you see…” Melanie reached down and stroked the slave’s head. “…but, she so loves attention.”

I had seen porn where a woman’s head was shaven bald, and had to admit to masturbating on the idea once or twice. Here it was, real, and right before my eyes.

“I think you would like to try, yes?” She encouraged, taking my hand and bringing it to rest upon the girl’s smooth scalp. “She hated it at first, but now… I think she has grown accustomed to the simplicity.”

At first, I thought she was inferring that I would want my hair shaved, but it became clear that all she wanted was for me to stroke her slave. As my fingers moved over the slick surface, the girl looked up. Our eyes met and something happened that, to this day, I am left bewildered over. I imagined being her; switching places and having my waist-length hair shaved as hers had been. I saw myself naked as she was, totally exposed and humiliated. Enslaved.


Guilty as Charged


“Come.” Melanie purred, leading me by the hand and her slave behind at her heels. Coming to a door, she pushed through, and we were instantly in silence, the beat of the music only just audible through the insulated walls.

The room was lavishly decorated in reds and purples, and we were quite alone. The slave scurried to a large dog bed, where she curled up, her bald head resting on her hands, watching, as her Mistress led me to an overstuffed sectional sofa.

“Sit or kneel; whichever you are most comfortable doing.” She insisted. For a moment, I thought about sitting, but I didn’t. “I thought so.” She admonished.

“Sorry,” mewling, not knowing what else to say.

“For how long have you been a submissive?” She asked, as if knowing I wouldn’t be able to answer.

I thought about the question and spoke the only truth that came to my mind. “About thirty seconds.”

“Thank you for not lying…again.” She smiled. “There isn’t a dominant bone in that delicate body of yours, and there’s no point in hiding it.” I shook my head in agreement.

“No.” I managed.

“No, what?”

“There isn’t, Mistress.” There. I had said it, and I knew something had just clicked in the room.

“Remove your clothing.” She ordered, as if nothing could be more normal.

Remaining on my knees, I slowly stripped out of my clothes. My top was first, followed by my skinny-cut pant and heels. She waited to comment until I was again kneeling upright before her. Almost instinctively, my eyes fell to her feet as I knelt naked before her.

“Delightful.” She gushed, reaching out to examine my tattoo. “Yes, that is quite apparent.” Agreeing with my self-assessing demarcation. “I think you would like to worship me. Is that the problem, Sherrie?”

I followed the lines of her stocking to their conclusion, imagining my tongue splitting her labia and tasting her. It was the moment I realized that I had been kidding myself all along. I was gay, a lesbian, and there was no retreating from that. “Yes, Mistress.”

“That’s all well and good, my little Sherrie, but what of Dominique?” She indicated her slave, who had perked up suddenly. “I cannot have you worship me until you have worked your way up the ladder, as it were.” Her slave, Dominique, I had learned, slid off her bed and crawled over to me. In the lewdest way imaginable she laid back on the floor, allowing her legs to fall open wantonly.

Her scent was strong but enticing as I was drawn to her, falling onto my own hands and crawling between her open legs. I allowed my naked body to slide along the floor, until my mouth was perched only inches away from Dominique’s hairless sex.

“Ah, ah, ah, little Sherrie. You must wait until I give you permission.” Mistress chided. I could see a ribbon of arousal sliding from within her, my mouth opening in anticipation of my very first taste of pussy. How fitting, I thought, that this tumultuous moment would be won by worshipping a slave, and a bald one at that.

“Dominique? Aimeriez-vous que cette salope vous fasse plaisir?” Mistress dug the point of her boot into the sole of my foot, causing me to gasp.

“Oui Maîtresse. Sera-t-elle aussi glabre que moi?” The slave answered, thrusting her hips upwards so her hairless mons bumped my nose.

“Perhaps, my slave. Perhaps.” Melanie slid down next to me as I lay poised and ready. “She has given you permission to please her, Sherrie. I suggest you do a good job.” Digging her fingers into my hair, she pressed my mouth against her slave’s open sex, the salty-sweet flavor of her filling my senses. I moaned as Mistress ran her hand between my legs, touching me. My pussy had only ever known my own fingers, and hers felt so very different.

Dominique gasped as my tongue encircled her clitoris, swirling the swollen nub until it felt as hard as a pebble against my worshipping tongue. “Elle est très bien, pour un débutant.” The slave sighed, on the verge of orgasm.

I could feel it coming, as her thighs squeezed together, trapping me there, a willing victim of her lust. It was Dominque who now fisted my hair, pulling me almost painfully into her pussy, my lips surely swollen and bruised from the pressure. She gasped silently, as if instructed to come that way, over and over until at last, she released me.

By now I was on the verge of an orgasm myself, as Mistress thrust her fingers inside me. As lewdly as Dominique had, and free from my service of her, I allowed my legs to fall open as she had, giving Mistress the access she demanded. My simpering moans and squeals were in sharp contrast to the controlled release Dominique had exhibited only a moment before.

“What a lovely contrast, you two.” Mistress mused as she observed Dominique and I slither over one another in our post-orgasmic afterglow. “What a shame it is then, that I am seeking a matched set.”

I knew all too well, to what she was referring, and at that moment, I almost would have allowed her to take my hair. I looked up at Dominique who was over me now, her lips brushing gently over my own. Reaching up, cautiously, I caressed her naked scalp and wondered just what it might be like.

“I am knowing, you want it like moi.” Dominique managed in broken English.

“You are a good fit, little Sherrie.” Mistress entreated. “It is too soon for you now, I think, but you will make… the right decision.” She snapped her fingers and almost instantly, Dominique was again at her feet, her leash attached and held by her Mistress. The roar of the club echoed loudly through the door as they left, followed quickly by the silence, enveloping me as I lay there, naked and alone.




I don’t remember how I got back to campus. I don’t even remember leaving the club. Laying in my bed, in my dorm, I knew somehow, I must have managed. I could still taste Dominique on my lips and in my mouth; smell her on my fingertips. I had nowhere to be on a Sunday, so I simply lay there taking in everything that had happened.

Smell is a wonderful memory jog, so as I thought back, I laid my fingers over my face, allowing the night to replay itself in my mind, over and over and over. It was, after all, my first sexual experience involving another human. And what an experience it was.

I knew I eventually had to get up, shower, and clean myself up. I surely must have reeked of sex. The thing was, I didn’t want her scent to simply be washed away. For whatever reason, I wanted to hang onto that for as long as I could. What did that mean? At that moment, I was more enraptured by Dominique and her strange hairless appearance than I was by my Mistress.

‘My Mistress?’ There it was again. That strange but wonderful admission. Was this my fate? Shaking my head, I desperately tried to rid myself of the overwhelming desire to run back to that club and seek her out.

It wasn’t realistic, I decided. How on earth could I simply just walk away from everything I was, everything I’d achieved to get to where I was? It seemed completely ludicrous to throw it all away to become a slave. Not just a slave, but a slithering creature, hairless and bizarre, drawn by a leash at the feet of her Mistress. No, it was too much.

I struggled with classes that week, trying to get the images of Dominique out of my mind. Each night I was obsessed with images of her, masturbating furiously as I felt her, smelt her scent, and tasted her sweetness. This was not going away, and it had to.

So, it was with some great dismay that I received a small parcel in the mail the following Thursday. Not knowing from where it came, I took it back to my dorm and set it aside, almost afraid to open it. “It’s from her,” I said out loud, as I picked it up and shook it gently. Something rattled inside.

After nearly thirty minutes of indecision, I grabbed the box, deliberately tearing the seal as I did so. Falling to the floor at my feet, was a strip of black leather. Curious, I bent down to realize that it was not just a strip of leather.

A small stud at the middle encased a ring that dangled below the edge of the strip, while each end appeared to be cased in steel. The leather was quite thick, and the entire thing was not light at all. I looked inside the box for anything else, but there was nothing.

I examined the steel ends, which seemingly wanted to mate. A male and female end, with plastic protecting them from each other. They were magnetic. I was fascinated. I wondered about trying it on. Surely the magnets could be separated from each other. I removed one of the plastic ends, examining the fastening more closely.

The female end simply slipped over the male end, encasing the tab and encircling the wearer’s neck. I figured a good yank would release the hasp. Playing the part, I stripped out of my clothes, fingering myself for good measure before tentatively placing the leather collar around my neck.

I felt the ends slip away from my fingertips as the magnets found each other, managing to pinch a healthy strand of hair between them as they did so. I pulled at the hair, which came away in my hand, severed from the rest. “Oh, my God.”

The collar fit quite tightly. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but managing to fit anything more than one finger inside it was impossible. I suddenly realized that there was no way this thing was coming off. Pulling at the other end of the hair that had been caught, it finally came free, considerably shorter than it had been.

I looked at myself in the mirror, wondering how on earth I was going to show up for class the next day with this thing around my neck. It was incredibly hot to look at, not for what it was, but for what it represented. So, I decided to be sick on Friday, with no important tests or papers due, it was of little concern.

I spent the entire day, Friday, naked. For a time, I tried moving about on my hands and knees, but on the cold linoleum floor, it was less than enjoyable. As the evening approached, I imagined going back to Skeleton, the collar firmly about my neck. I was instantly wet.

I stood in the bathroom mirror, my hair pulled back tightly, actually wondering how I would look bald. Stomping back into my room, I tried to convince myself that this whole thing was beyond mad. Was I so set on going through with this, that I had to imagine my head being shaved?

That was when my door vibrated, a knock on the other side, rattling it against the jamb. “What the fuck?” I quickly threw on a pair of jeans and a tee. “Just a minute.”

Looking through the peephole, I saw what appeared to be a man in uniform. “The cops?” What now? I wondered, as I opened the door. It wasn’t the police.

“Melanie sends her regards, and requests that you join her this evening.” The man said, taking in my appearance, his eyes immediately going to the collar that still encircled my neck.


And So, Down Through the Gates, Go I


I was surprised with myself for actually agreeing to go with the man. I wondered how she managed to find out where I lived, although a woman of her stature would probably have countless avenues and resources at her fingertips.

The limo was comfortable, although being in the back of it unsettled me. I had no idea where we were going, but I doubted it was the club. I wondered if Melanie lived locally. Something told me that she did not. When we pulled up in front of the expensive-looking hotel, my suspicions were confirmed. Was she visiting from France?

I slipped a finger beneath the collar, the smooth leather causing my skin to perspire underneath. I hung my index finger through the ring that dangled from the front, imagining a leash. Again, I was instantly wet.

As we approached the concierge, the chauffeur simply nodded in the gentleman’s direction and we passed without impedance. An elevator required a key, which the man produced, taking us to the top floor. Penthouse. She was indeed a woman of some significant importance. As the doors opened, I was immediately struck by the sheer opulence of my surroundings. A running fountain graced the foyer, and the two-story ceilings lent to the atmosphere.

“You are to disrobe and kneel here.” Indicating a raised marble pedestal that sat empty in a small alcove, like a statue was missing. Then it struck me, I was the statue. The man nodded to me as he backed into the elevator, disappearing behind the hardwood paneled doors.

As neatly as I could manage, I removed my clothing, placing the garments in a small marble box that seemed convenient to the pedestal. Stacking my heels on top I slowly backed into the alcove and knelt. The marble was cold and even more uncomfortable than my dorm room floor.

I felt on display, because I was on display. Naked and kneeling on a marble block, the humiliation was very nearly overwhelming. I remembered from my internet perusals a position that slaves seemed to take while waiting for their benefactors.

I opened my legs slightly, sat against my heels, and lowered my head until my hair hung down straight to my knees. My palms were opened upward, my hair tickling slightly as it brushed against the inside of my upturned fingers. It felt like yoga, but a bit more than a simple pose.

“You came. Oh, my little Sherrie. It is delightful to see you again.” Mistress glided into the foyer, Dominique walking just behind, still naked and leashed, but no longer on her knees. “I see you received my gift.” She reached in to tug on the stainless steel ring, but not hard enough to pull me out of my pose. “By now, I’m sure you have discovered that it will not come off.”

I felt the unmistakable clink of metal on metal, knowing that a leash was now attached to my collar. I worried that I might leave a puddle on the pure white marble, my excitement was so intense.

“Come, little one.” She pulled ever so slightly, easing me from my perch and onto the hardwood floor. “Unlike Dominique, you must crawl, my Sherrie.”

I looked up momentarily to find that it was Dominique who held my leash, and it was at her feet that I crawled. A slave to a slave, I thought. I could feel my juices running down the inside of my thighs as I crawled behind her. This was just as I had imagined it. I could just make out that delectable scent that had coated my fingers, her sex only a few inches from my face. Obediently, I stared at her bare feet, padding delicately on the polished wooden floor.

“I think you understand what this means for you, Sherrie? You must sacrifice your every hair, just as Dominique has done. You must also leave your life behind. No going back, and no contact with anyone. Do you understand?”

Dominique bent down and looked me in the eyes. “Sherrie. All Mine.” Her declaration was surprising, but not unexpected, and it sent a chill through me. I looked up at Mistress who seemed nonplussed by her slave’s declaration. Pulling at my hair, Dominique lifted me from my knees, our tongues sliding in and out of the other’s mouth. Our breasts and hairless mounds pressed together, I was taken back to that first night at Skeleton and it was all I could do to stay standing.

Dominique soon took care of that, pressing me down by my shoulders. “Come.” Back on all fours, I was led to an ornate bathroom, the leash roughly pulling at my neck. She pointed to a spot near a marble basin, where I knelt up, her control of my leash all the direction I needed. I knew what came next.

“All this,” Dominique grinned, playfully running her fingers through my luscious blonde hair, “…it is mine, too.” Raising a menacing pair of scissors, she began to carefully remove my crowning glory, laying each generous strand before me on the counter. I felt my head grow lighter as the pile of hair grew larger only inches from my tear-filled eyes.

I knew this was coming. But the knowledge did nothing to quell the anguish and humiliation of having it all stripped away. I shivered as the scissors pressed closely to my scalp, and the last strand of long blonde silk was deposited on the counter. I let out a heavy sigh, to which, Dominique merely smiled.

She bundled the hair carefully, being sure not to miss a single fiber, leaving me there to examine the disaster that now stared back at me in the mirror. Her harvest had been ruthless, leaving me with bald patches all over. I raised my hands to it, rubbing the haphazard crop with my fingers.

When Dominique returned, she carried the ultimate weapon of depilation. Mercifully, the clippers removed all that remained of my hair, save for the finest sheen of stubble. It looked considerably better than the crop. I had to admit to being aroused by the feeling against my scalp, the insistent whir of the machine sending waves of pleasure, culminating in my sex. We weren’t finished yet.

Dominique was most skilled with the straight razor, and I was certain that she had honed this skill on her own scalp. If the clippers were foreplay, then the razor was the ensuing orgasm. Each stroke against my already sensitive scalp was almost too much to take in.

It was as though my naked scalp was an extension of my clitoris. How was this possible? The more stubble was removed, the more aroused I became. Of course, Dominique couldn’t resist running her fingers over the glass-smooth surface when she was finally done with me. My brows were the last to go, almost as an afterthought, she deftly sent them into oblivion, along with my hair.

As if on cue, Mistress appeared in the doorway, a very long and fancy leash in her hands. “Marvelous!” She gushed. “At last, my matching set!”

Dominique guided me down, joining me on the marble floor, kneeling side by side before Mistress Melanie. Our leashes were removed, replaced by the new one. It was obviously designed for two, the chain splitting with only enough slack to allow us to crawl together. What had I done?


Epilogue: In the City of Light

(Eighteen months later)


I hadn’t seen the sun in three days, and I began to wonder if my transgression really warranted my sequestration. I watched as Dominique approached, her long blonde hair cascading around her shoulders, giving her an elegant look so fitting for one so beautiful.

Of course, beneath it all, she was still as hairless as I was. Only in Mistress’s presence was she required to be bald. It still sent chills of arousal through me when the hair she wore swept over me as we kissed or made love. There was no mistaking it, for it was once my own.

When we served our Mistress, we were now simply ‘Un et Deux’, One and Two, my own position being decidedly beneath Dominique’s. I couldn’t have been happier than to serve her, she was my first, after all.

I had grown accustomed to her scent, her touch, and her seemingly undivided devotion to me. Of course, Mistress was always first to receive our attentions, but when we were excused, or Mistress was involved with her other slaves, we were devoted to one another.

Even though Dominique gently exerted her dominance over me, I was expected to obey, and punishment for not doing so was swift and decisive. And so, I sat, in the small windowless room, waiting patiently for her to release me. Her being here was a good sign that my punishment was at an end.

“This evening is La Balle Nue, you know, my Sherrie.” Dominique grinned, her English improved to the point that her command of it surpassed even that of our Mistress. It had been something she had insisted upon, my teaching her. In turn, she had taught me French. “Mistress expects us.”

“Together?” I asked, knowing the answer.

“Un et Deux, bien sûr.” She giggled, slipping the wig from her head, and revealing her permanently hairless pate. I had yet to go under the electrologist’s needle, but I knew it was only a matter of time. Dominique slipped the wig onto my head, adjusting it kiddingly. She frowned, removing shortly thereafter. “Your hair looks better on me.” I couldn’t have agreed more.

Our leash was attached before we exited the limousine, the only attire we were afforded, the matching collars we both wore. The solid silver chain was heavy, but we had both grown accustomed to its weight. As the door was opened, we knew we would be on the street for a moment. That was the difficult time. Once we were inside amongst those with a similar ilk, it was easier to be so exposed.

Mistress exited with the help of the chauffeur, and a quick tug on the leash brought the pair of us tumbling out of the car. We were a spectacle to behold as the cameras flashed and jaws dropped, amongst the naïve in the crowd that surrounded to port cochere entrance to the hotel. Two naked and utterly hairless females to delight the eye and tickle even the wildest fantasy.

Dominique rubbed against me, and I in turn pressed up to her, in a very animalistic display. I could smell her, and I was certain she could smell me, our excitement piqued by the abject humiliation. Mistress reached down and stroked both our heads in turn and then together before pulling along the sidewalk.

I never would have dreamed of being where I was then, but in being there, I had to admit to enjoying my predicament beyond measure. I had no ambitions, no aspirations, and my ego well in check; a far cry from the eager college student I had been not so long before.

With so many eyes upon us, the humiliation we felt under their leering gaze only confirmed that we were nothing more than a curiosity, strange and unusual, an extraordinary display of the most basic degree of lust. For what could be more arousing than a female stripped of all she had been, and exposed, so completely. A matching pair, perhaps?


Mon Plaisir,




4 responses to “Curiosity

  1. Absolutely love the long, slow build up in this one, and the details in the epilogue of her eventually becoming permanently bald and Dominique wearing her hair as a wig.

    And French accents are never a bad touch.

  2. Merci beaucoup pour ecrire cette belle histoire chère Mme Claire.

    Thanks for this one, I loved it and it and already read it a few times. As Klaatu48 wrote: nice that the hair of the one (deux) is reused, I love that idea as I am currently using that theme also. Should be done more often, instead of throwing it away… I almost forget that it is a story 🙂

  3. Thank you so much for the kind comments. This one was really special for me, as it touches a deep dark fantasy of mine that I rarely talk about. Pour Gabriel: Je me suis interrogé sur l’usage de la langue française sur ce forum. C’est une deuxième langue pour moi, ayant passé un été enfant en Provence. C’était une saison que je n’oublierai jamais. Merci.

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