Same Game, Same Rules?
A Change of the Rules, Part Three
I had to admit to having mixed emotions about leaving Camp Brindlewood that year. The relationship that had developed between Natalie, whom I was forced to address as Ms. Burns, and myself had become almost overwhelming. As her slave, I was forced to do some of the most humiliating things.
To be honest, the whole idea of submitting to one of my archrivals from the camp, had been so titillating that I had become lost in my role, completely giving myself to her. Promises had been made, and future plans devised, but with my attending Dartmouth in the fall, I sincerely doubted that anything would come of it.
Of course, it took some serious explaining when I arrived home. Natalie had made sure to give me a fresh shave the night before camp ended, I think so she could revel in the idea that I would have absolutely nothing on my head when I arrived back home. It was hard to explain, so I just didn’t, chalking it up to personal preference.
When I arrived at Dartmouth and made my way to my new home in the freshman dorms, I only had the slightest stubble on my head, which made for some interesting looks, and even some offhand comments. My eyebrows were easily penciled on, and after practicing, I found that they were quite convincing.
As predicted, the first semester went by without hearing anything from Natalie Burns. Friends and relationships that develop at camp, nearly always dissolve once that sequestered atmosphere is missing, and I knew that this was no exception. Even though I missed the intense humiliation and stark manner in which I was used by Natalie, I was somewhat relieved that I had been able to grow my hair back and life once again seemed to return to normal. Well, almost.
My penchant for submission never did leave me entirely, and by the beginning of the spring semester, I found I was constantly horny. Most of my pent-up frustration seemed to revolve around my blossoming tresses that hung in a sort of curly, chin-length bob, bouncing annoyingly in the periphery of my vision.
Every barbershop that I passed seemed to beckon me inside. All of my fantasies seemed to revolve around getting it all cut off again. When I had the dorm room to myself, I would often masturbate imagining the barber brutally peeling it all off.
I had even ventured off campus, managing to find a small BDSM group that held munches once or twice a month, which I attended religiously. I hooked up with a Domme, Lisa was her name, who put me through my paces a few times, and although it was somewhat fulfilling, didn’t hold a candle to what I had with Natalie Burns. She was beautiful and loved inflicting pain, but seemed reluctant to use humiliation as part of her routine. By the time spring rolled around, we had drifted apart.
About a week before I was to head home for summer break, I got the most unexpected letter in the mail. Simply addressed to Tina Roberts, c/o Dartmouth College, Hanover, NH, I was surprised a letter so vaguely penned even found its way into my mailbox. Judging by the sparse wording, I think they weren’t sure it would find its home either.
I will be there for the second session at the beginning of July. I trust you will be too. See you then, camper.
I immediately felt my pussy grow moist. Even this simply worded note had done more to me in a few seconds than all of my romps with Lisa, combined. I quickly hid the note, as if anyone might see through the words to their true meaning.
“Camper?” I said out loud as I slid the note into a text. How on earth was I going to pass as a camper? Last summer I had only just turned eighteen, so the idea of arriving as a camper wasn’t all that far-fetched. This time, I would be nineteen, and I sincerely doubted that Ms. Ashland would be receptive to my attending in that capacity.
I flipped open my notebook when I got back to my dorm room, trying to hide what I was searching for from my roommate, who was chatting on the phone with her boyfriend. Boyfriend, I thought. Gone were the days where I could ever imagine a man satisfying my quirky needs. I wasn’t entirely certain I was a lesbian, but I was well on my way.
Camp Brindlewood popped onto my screen, the website in desperate need of an upgrade. I clicked on registration and then on rules. Up popped the oh-so-familiar dress codes, and I began to search for anything pertaining to the maximum age of registering campers. Then I found it.
What’s New At Brindlewood?
This year we are proud to announce our adolescent age grouping. The teens will be housed separately from the younger campers and will partake in a more challenging routine. We are happily accepting registrants from age sixteen through nineteen in this category.
What I had feared might be impossible was actually being specially catered to. I knew that my underwear was completely ruined at this point and worried that my roommate might actually smell me as I pulled up the online camper registration form. Quite literally giddy, I typed in all my information, including the infamous haircut waiver that I had missed the previous summer.
I ran my fingers through my hair and imagined what was now inevitable, clicking the send button and sealing my fate.
“I got an invoice from Camp Brindlewood this morning, Tina. Wasn’t last year was going to be it?” My mother questioned. “Aren’t you a little old for summer camp?”
“They have a new category now, one that I fit right into.” I insisted, switching my phone to speaker, so I could continue brushing my hair. For whatever reason, ever since learning of my imminent return to Brindlewood, I had become obsessed with my hair; the style and the care of it. Perhaps I was compensating for something, but I didn’t really care. In two weeks, it would all be coming off anyway.
“Tell me you’re not going to cut all your hair off again.” My mother grumbled.
“Hey, it’s my hair.” I chided.
“Hey, it’s my money that’s paying for this camp. Are you sure you want to go back there? You seemed so miserable when you came back last time, and you were literally bald.”
“Yes, to answer your question, I’m sure.”
It felt a little weird arriving at Camp Brindlewood, driving my own car. It wasn’t much, but it had gotten me back and forth to school second semester. I hauled the familiar footlocker out of the trunk, and carried it without too much effort to the main office.
“Miss Roberts. I didn’t expect to see you back this year after last year’s incident.” Ms. Ashland commented.
I wasn’t sure if she was referring to my haircut, my head shaving, or the masturbation incident that had landed me in Natalie Burn’s cabin for the duration of the camp. “Well, I’m back.”
“I see you drove your own car. For the duration of the camp, we’ll hang onto your keys. They’ll be returned to you at the end.” She reported, tritely.
And so, the humiliation began. However subtle, this small gesture was only the beginning. I pulled the keys from my pocket and deposited them into her outstretched hand. She smiled as her fingers closed around the keys, as if she had gained some satisfaction in doing so.
The adolescent cabin is set back away from the rest of the group, but there has been a development. It appears that we have overbooked, so you will be housed with your counselor. Considering your age, and that slight incident that took place last summer, you were the obvious choice.
“And who is the adolescent counselor?” I asked, hoping.
“Ms. Burns has returned to us this summer, and we are grateful to have her. You will be staying with her. You two got along fairly well last summer, as I understand?”
Just the mention of her name was nearly enough to cause my knees to buckle, and I knew that I was just sopping as well. Hell, I was wet before I had pulled down the driveway. “Yes, we did. We used to camp together before she became a counselor.”
“Yes, I hear there was quite a rivalry between the two of you back then. It would seem she has the upper hand now, though.” Ms. Ashland smirked.
“She’s always been better than me.” I had no idea why those words even escaped my lips, besides the fact that they were true.
“I’m sure she has, Miss Roberts. I see your hair has attempted to grow back since last year, but not nearly as long, is it?” She prodded.
My hair had grown into a thick curly bob that nearly touched my shoulders, and I couldn’t help but run a hand over its length. “No, it’s quite a bit shorter.”
“It’s never easy to grow it back once that much hair has been cut, is it, Miss Roberts?” She teased.
“No, it isn’t.” I wanted to say something along the lines of, you have no idea, but I held my tongue.
“Well, it’s of little consequence. By tomorrow it will all be gone, and you’ll have to start over again, won’t you.”
“Yes, Ms. Ashland.” And I couldn’t help but feel a little of the same submissiveness to her as I did towards Natalie Burns. The door opened behind me, and I sensed her presence. Her heady fragrance unmistakable, I very nearly fell to my knees right in front of Ms. Ashland.
“Let’s go, camper.” Was all she said as I turned. Natalie was as radiant as ever; her luscious blonde hair even longer than it had been the summer before.
“Yes, Ms. Burns.” Was all I managed. Grabbing my footlocker, I followed her out the door, three paces behind as I had been drilled so many times. As soon as we were inside her cabin, I did fall to my knees, and then so my face was pressed to the floor, prostrate before my Mistress.
“I see you’ve missed me, slave.” She kicked off her sneakers, and brought her sockless foot to my mouth. Automatically, my tongue emerged from my mouth and began bathing her toes, forgetting that I had ever despised feet. “My, my. Is it my imagination, or have you sunk even lower than where we left off?”
“No, Mistress, it is not your imagination.” I sighed, my sex absolutely marinating in my juices.
“I can smell your pussy, slave. You know, I could smell you in Ms. Ashland’s office too. I wonder if she knows what an absolute slut you are?” Mistress pressed. “I think you want everyone to know what a depraved little lesbian whore you’ve become, don’t you, Tina.”
Natalie sounded crueler, harsher, than she ever had been before. If this was how things were now, God help me. I audibly groaned with her debasement. By using my given name, she invoked her power over me which stretched back to that summer when she first took my hair.
“Yes, Mistress. I am your lesbian whore.” I groveled, allowing my tongue to work up to her ankles, having thoroughly bathed her feet.
“What’s all this?” Natalie questioned, pulling up on my hair, yanking on it until it made me wince in pain.
“My hair, Mistress,” I answered.
“Whose hair?” She spat.
“Your hair, Ms. Burns.” I couldn’t help but use the name that conjured all her superiority over me.
“Yes, slave, my hair. Hair that you will soon be sacrificing at the altar of your devotion to me, isn’t that so?” She insisted.
“Yes, Ms. Burns.” I slithered, laying flat on the floor, and allowing her to press my face into the harsh wooden planks with her bare foot. I could feel my face pinch as she pressed harder, spittle leaking from my distorted lips.
“How delightfully revolting.” She sneered, looking down at me in my lowly state. “By the end of these two weeks, you’ll be begging me to take you away. You’ll see, slave. You will indeed, beg me to take everything from you.”
The scariest part of that statement: I knew that if this was what she wanted, I would never be able to refuse.
That evening, and several orgasms later, both hers and mine, I found myself standing in a line outside Ms. Ashland’s office. Most of the girls had no idea what awaited them inside. A few of the older ones seemed resigned. None were actually looking forward to the experience, except for myself. I had begged Ms. Burns to allow me to wear a pad, not only for the leaking of my insistent pussy, but because I wasn’t entirely certain I would remain continent during my shearing. I say shearing, because I already knew what awaited me and my too-thick hair.
Above the tittering voices, I could hear the snapping of the scissor blades, and occasionally, the hum of the clippers as the barber worked. I wondered if it would be the same fellow as the previous summer. Part of me actually worried that if it was someone else, they might find a way to leave me with a respectable amount of my hair.
So, it was with some shock and amazement, that I saw Natalie wielding the clippers as I rounded the corner and got my first glance at the ominous chair. I had seen several young girls emerge with quite professional-looking pixie cuts, so I wondered what mad skills my Mistress now possessed.
Obviously, she knew how to cut hair, and as such, Ms. Ashland had employed her services. That was all that mattered. The fact that it would be Ms. Burns cutting my hair, made me sincerely happy that I had been granted the use of a pad.
“Tina Roberts!” Ms. Ashland called out.
Stepping forward, I sat, allowing Ms. Burns to cover me with the bedsheet, slash, barber cape, and bend down to whisper something into my ear. “You didn’t know I was a beautician, did you?”
I shook my head, no, as she lifted the clippers from the table.
“Not that I’m going to need any skill to do what I’m going to do to you, slut.”
My eyes popped open wide, and I wondered if anyone else had heard her. Surely, they had, because it had not been said all that quietly. Ms. Ashland had certainly heard it, as she smiled with approval, the clippers snapping to life.
“You’re a zero, right.” Ms. Burns asked, snidely.
“I’m a zero.” And I knew I was.
I almost came as the clippers, sans any guard at all, made their first biting pass over the top of my head. Masses of reddish-brown hair cascaded all around me as the wonderfully sinister machine passed over my crown, one neat row after the next. I could feel Natalie’s breath on my scalp as she worked, pressing firmly against my head so the whirring blades cut as close as they possibly could.
No one’s hair had been cut this short, and I could hear the gasps and murmurs of the girls behind me as I was shaved. When the clippers finally fell silent, I slowly stood and brushed what remained of my hair off my shoulders and arms. Reaching up, I felt the nearly smooth surface under my sweaty fingertips. I knew full well that my scalp would soon know the scraping of the razor as Ms. Burns rendered me bald.
“If I didn’t know better, I would almost say you enjoyed that, Miss Roberts.” Ms. Ashland accused.
It took all my willpower to prevent a smile from erupting on my face as I walked past her. I knew that several girls were remaining to be cut after me, so I made my way back to Mistress’s cabin alone. Knowing that Ms. Burns would want me naked when she returned, I stripped, neatly folding my clothes and putting them away. Of course, even with the pad, my panties were damp with my excitement, so I ran some water in the bathroom sink and put them in to soak.
Needless to say, I was shocked when Ms. Ashland walked into the cabin to find me naked on the small cot, where I would sleep.
“You are the little slut, aren’t you, Tina?” She spat as she walked over to stand before me. “Do you think I was completely ignorant of what went on in here last summer? You must think me a fool.” Ms. Ashland ran a hand over my sandpaper scalp, and I couldn’t help but swoon a little as she did, pressing into her fingertips as she toyed with me. “God, how I wanted to force my way into that little tryst you two maintained.”
She fiddled with the snap on her khaki shorts, finally opening them and pushing down the fly. I could smell her arousal, and it was very different from my own or Natalie’s scent. As she pushed down the shorts and underwear, she revealed a think mat of pubic hair, and no sooner had I seen it than she had grabbed the back of my bald head and pressed my face into it.
My lips could feel the moisture her hair clung onto, the musty scent almost overpowering, but arousing because of it. I allowed my tongue to slip between the well-hidden folds of her pussy, tasting her salty-sweet nectar. She moaned as I explored her, and she pressed on the back of my head harder, forcing me to flex my neck and lock onto her sex with my fully opened mouth.
“That’s it, slut. No wonder Natalie was so excited to join us this session.” She gasped between her spasms, as she came in my mouth. Releasing the pressure on my head, she allowed me to pull back. She smiled as I licked her pleasure off my lips. “This is going to be a very entertaining two weeks, slut.”
“Entertaining, for whom?” Natalie’s voice boomed from the doorway as she walked into her cabin. “Who gave you permission to use my slave?”
“I don’t need permission, Natalie Burns. I run this camp. Perhaps you’d like to be demoted to camper? Wouldn’t it be fun watching all that luscious blonde hair of yours fall to the floor of my office?” Ms. Ashland bit, pulling up and fastening the snap on her shorts. “Yes. We’ll have to see about that.”
I was surprised to see that Natalie hardly batted an eye as Ms. Ashland strode past her and out of the cabin.
“Go wash that filth off your face, you disgusting little tramp.” She growled. “How dare she just waltz in here and take advantage of you like that.” Mistress, slammed the door closed, and took a position behind me in the bathroom. “I’m afraid our plans will be on hold, until I figure out what to do about Ms. Ashland.”
“Don’t let her cut your hair, Mistress,” I begged. The thought of my beautiful Mistress being shorn both horrified and excited me. It horrified me, because of the incredible respect and admiration I had for her, it excited me more for the spectacle of watching it happen. Deep down, I prayed that it didn’t.
“I have no intention of allowing that bitch to get the upper hand here. I think she underestimates me.” Natalie insisted. “Put something on, we’re going to straighten this out right now.”
I followed my Mistress as she made her way to Ms. Ashland’s cottage, which sat above the camp on a small knoll. Without knocking, Natalie pushed through the front door, finding a very surprised and very naked Ms. Ashland, pleasuring herself on her sofa. “I see you’re every bit the slut as my Tina, here, Delores.” Natalie pressed, pouncing on the older woman who seemed a bit defenseless in her repose.
“Stop it!” Ms. Ashland demanded, but her order fell on deaf ears as Natalie produced a pair of handcuffs, and promptly secured the woman’s hands behind her back.
“We’ll see who gets demoted to camper, Delores,” Natalie grumbled, pulling the naked woman to her feet. “Let’s go for a little walk, shall we.”
I followed behind them as Mistress pushed Ms. Ashland in front of her, making our way down the path to the office. Thankfully, for Delores Ashland at least, it was full dark, and most if not all the campers were in their cabins.
The door to the office was open, as it always was, and Mistress pushed our apparent captive through the door and sat her on the haircutting chair, which still stood at the center of the room. There was still a light dusting of hair coating the floor from the earlier shearings, and I watched as Ms. Ashland’s bare feet pushed the clippings around as she struggled to stand.
“You’re not going anywhere, camper.” Natalie barked, pressing down on the woman’s shoulders, and forcing her back into the seat of the chair. I saw her reach for the clippers which were still out, and switch them on, causing Ms. Ashland to jump. The bun that she wore at the crown of her head was quickly unraveled, revealing her long chestnut hair, which cascaded down to her waist. With her hair down, the woman appeared far softer, more feminine, even attractive for her age, which I assumed was in her thirties.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Ms. Ashland screamed, which caused Natalie to grab a handkerchief from the counter and shove it into her mouth, forcefully. From that point on, all Delores Ashland could do was moan as Natalie worked the clippers through the woman’s hair. There was no guard, as it had been with me, so the results were the same. Ms. Ashland was about to be bald.
I watched in amazement as my beautiful Mistress rendered the woman hairless, even stripping her of her eyebrows as an afterthought. Defeated, Ms. Ashland slumped into the chair. Mistress pulled out her phone, showing Ms. Ashland a photo she must have taken as I was servicing her. “I wonder how the rest of the campers are going to feel when I post this photo on the announcement board?” Natalie gloated. “Now, camper, why don’t you run on back to your cottage and play with yourself some more. You’ve got that bald pink knob to run your hands over now. I suspect you’ll be enjoying that.
As soon as Natalie released the handcuffs, Ms. Ashland’s hands flew straight to her head. Her eyes popped open as if what just happened hadn’t been real. “You shaved me.” She said, forlornly.
“Yes, I did. Consider it payment for every poor girl you have reduced to tears.” Mistress pressed close to her, running her fingers over the freshly shorn skull. I wasn’t all that surprised to find a large wet spot on the chair seat after Ms. Ashland ran out of the office, still naked, and very bald.
“That was amazing, Mistress.” I mewled, fawning into her side.
“She’ll be leaving us alone, now, slave. Let’s head back to the cabin and pick up where we left off.” Mistress tugged at my shirtsleeve, bidding me to follow her. As I shut off the lights, I couldn’t help but look down at the sea of brown hair that surrounded the chair.
“Now to tend to you little Tina.” Mistress fawned, running a hand over my head. “You’re a good slave, but you must be punished for allowing that bitch to have you like that.”
I wanted to speak up in my own defense, but thought better of it, knowing that whatever punishment she might dole out would be enjoyable for me. She moved me into the bathroom and set about razoring every single hair from my body, from the top of my head to the tips of my toes. She even took a pair of manicure scissors and cut off my eyelashes.
When she had finished with me, she moved me to the bedroom and examined her handiwork. “Yes. You are so hairless now, that I would even say that you might slide right off the planet, were you greased sufficiently. Not that I would ever wish for such a thing. No, my punishment for you will be doled out tomorrow, slave Tina, and I will relish that.”
I had to laugh as Ms. Ashland tried her best to cover up her bald head with a camp ballcap the following day. It was almost hilarious. Every time Mistress would look at her, her eyes would immediately go to the ground, defeated. Retrieving my keys from the office, Mistress has me drive to a town nearby.
What she had me wear was revealing to say the least. The shorts were so short, that I knew my ass cheeks poked out the bottom. The shirt, if you want to call it that, was little more than a glorified sports bra. I had my suspicions as to what she was looking for, and when she had me pull into a small plaza, my hunch was correct.
“Tattoos by Stanley.” Mistress chuckled.
So, I was to get a tattoo. I tried to imagine what she might have in mind for me. I wouldn’t have to wait long to find out. The place was seedy, to say the least, but even so, it appeared to be reasonably clean. Out of the back, a squirrely-looking guy emerged, obviously finishing whatever it was he had just been eating. “Can I help you?” He asked.
“Maybe. Do you use new needles?” Mistress asked, at least looking out for my wellbeing.
“We may be in the sticks here, but we operate under health department guidelines, like everyone else.” He said, offended.
“Well, good. My sl… my friend would like a tattoo… here, if you can do that.” She pressed her hand against my pussy through my abbreviated shorts.
The guy’s eyes lit up, and he nodded. “Sure I can.”
Mistress sat me down on the upholstered bench, which had seen better days, and pulled the guy aside. Whispering something in his ear, his eyes grew wide.
“Are you sure you want that, there?” He asked, looking at me.
“I lost a bet. It’s whatever she wants.” I lied, hoping to grease the wheels a little. Mistress smiled.
“Okay then.” Let me close up so we’re not disturbed or anything. “Better whip ‘em off then.” He said, nonchalantly.
I wore no panties, so I was bare almost instantly, exposing my smoothly shaved pussy to him, something that made me very nervous.
“Looks like you’re already smooth, so I won’t need to shave you first.” He said, seemingly disappointed.
“You don’t get to look until it’s done, Tina, is that understood.” Mistress instructed.
“Yes, Mis… alright.” I laid back and the pain started almost immediately. The guy wasn’t shy about pulling and handling my pussy, and I think he was taking liberties he shouldn’t have been. But, as Mistress did not correct him, it wasn’t my place to complain.
After nearly an hour, the buzzing stopped, and I was finally allowed to see what had been irrevocably scribed on my pussy mound. There, in letters nearly an inch tall was the inscription:
The lettering was precise and clear, and I could tell the man actually had some skills. Mistress leaned down and patted my sex with her fingers, and smiled. “Good work.”
“Thank you.” The man offered. “That’ll be one-fifty.”
“Pay the man, Tina,” Mistress commanded.
I looked in my purse, knowing that all I had to my name was the one-hundred eighty dollars I had left from the money my mother had given me. I counted out the one-fifty, but then was told that I needed to tip the man generously. At that point I simply handed him the entire wad, leaving me basically penniless.
Once we were on the road, Mistress asked the inevitable question. “How do you like it, slave? You may speak freely.”
“Well, it pretty much closes the shop to boys, for the rest of my life.” I chortled.
“I think we crossed that bridge some time ago, don’t you?” She pressed.
“Yes, Mistress, we did. I love the tattoo.” I managed
“And do you love what it represents?” She asked, curiously.
“I do, because it’s the truth. I am your slut.” I said, somewhat self-consciously.
“There’s no going back now, is there slave?” She forced.
I simply shook my head, not wanting to verbalize the inevitable truth. Not yet, at least. It was still only the second day of camp.
To be concluded…