HairApparent
This story serves as a sequel to A Date with Destiny, Part 1 – Hannah, and one may enjoy it independently without the need to read the original story.
Isabelle had been leading a humdrum existence for fifteen years, running the unexciting “Cut & Style by Isabelle” hairdressing salon where customers younger than sixty were the exception. Reinventing herself as “Destiny”, she has since enjoyed a new lease of life, helping women express their deep desires and then remodelling their appearance according to their wishes.
The Voice of Isabelle/Destiny
transforming
Following my successful and enjoyable transformation of Hannah, I refined my service offerings. I listed a wide variety of services in a menu format, although I always emphasised that custom work was available for those with specific visions. My concept was that prospective clients should review my menu and then think carefully before we met about what they really wanted and, equally importantly, where they wished to establish their boundaries. Then, once we had finalised their requirements, the client could simply ring my doorbell, allowing me to take charge without further discussion.
However, “Destiny’s Dolly” was one packaged offering where I deliberately did not elaborate on the elements of the menu. I had conceived it in a late-night reverie, imagining the ultimate expression of my own deep-seated desires. However, while its ambiguous nomenclature frequently attracted curiosity, I would never divulge the details, so interest would usually dissolve.
That ambivalence changed when Cassandra messaged me. Without asking for details, she simply confirmed her availability and her willingness to undergo whatever I deemed appropriate.
The Voice of Cassandra
accepting
For twenty years, I have built a prestige career in corporate law. I have argued cases in courtrooms across the country, negotiated deals worth hundreds of millions, and built a reputation as someone who never loses her composure. In every measurable way, I am a success. The red business suit I wear is my armour, my signifier of power and competence. The crisp blouse and the bow at the neck are the trappings of a woman who knows exactly who she is and projects that knowledge to everyone around her.
But underneath the armour, there has always been another self. It was one I discovered years ago, in the privacy of my own home, exploring fantasies I could not admit to anyone. A self that wanted someone to control them, to be powerless, and follow someone else’s decisions.
I tried therapy for a while, thinking there must be something wrong with me. The therapist suggested that my desires represented a natural counterweight to my professional life. She told me that everyone needs a release valve, a space where they can be someone other than who the world expects them to be. While she had an inkling of how I was feeling, she did not understand the depth of it or the intensity of my longing. What I wanted was not just a relaxing of control, but a complete surrender of it. I wanted someone to deconstruct me and remake me into something completely new.
When I first heard about Destiny, I knew immediately that she was offering what I sought. Her profile was careful and suggestive, but I could read between the lines. A transformation according to fantasy. Complete surrender to someone who would take charge. It was exactly what I had been searching for, and I did not need to know any more details about what “Destiny’s Dolly” entailed.
My only concern was recognition. I have a high-profile job, and while Destiny guaranteed the anonymity of the experience, there remained a risk. But I convinced myself that the risk was part of the appeal. The thrill of doing something forbidden and becoming someone unrecognisable. I decided the potential reward was worth the danger.
arriving
The Sunday afternoon of my appointment, I dressed carefully in my business suit. I sensed it was the final time I would wear it for a while, as I had taken the following two weeks from work as annual leave. The drive to the salon was tense with anticipation, my hands tight on the steering wheel. I parked in the designated spot behind the salon, and I confidently stepped out and rang the doorbell next to the discreet metal door.
The door swung open, revealing a dimly lit short corridor. I followed Destiny into her brightly lit private studio, a separate space from the salon I had seen bordering the street as I drove by.
Destiny was not what I had imagined when I pictured the woman who would remake me. She looked slight and delicate in a black lace minidress, as if she were on her way to a cocktail party. However, her sleek topknot gave her features a hard edge. And there was something hungry in her eyes, something that made me feel immediately vulnerable despite my power suit and professional bearing. She looked at me the way a sculptor looks at marble, assessing, planning, seeing the form hidden within.
Pointing to a small, raised dais in front of a large white screen, Destiny uttered her first words to me. ‘Cassandra, strip.’
displaying
I remember hesitating for just a moment when Destiny ordered me to undress, my old self temporarily reasserting itself. I was a woman who did not remove my clothes for strangers, maintaining boundaries and stayed in control. But that, I reminded myself, was precisely what I had come here to escape.
I stepped onto the small stage and unbuttoned my jacket, while Destiny moved slightly away to laze on a nearby sofa from where she observed me closely. I slipped off my skirt and folded both garments with the precision of habit. My blouse followed, and finally I stood before her in my undergarments, feeling ridiculous and exposed. Her pointed glance at my expensive silk and lace bra and panties set meant they immediately found their way to the floor.
‘Now, Cassandra, release your hair,’ she commanded next.
My updo had taken half an hour to perfect that day, my signature style that conveyed authority and my attention to every detail. I unpinned it now, feeling my hip-length black hair cascade down past my pale body. It was my one vanity, the feature that received the most compliments. Standing there with it loose around me, I felt suddenly and completely naked in a way that had nothing to do with my state of dress.
Destiny’s eyes ran over me with an intensity that was almost physical. She was breathing faster now, shocking me when I realised that she was pleasuring herself openly, employing dextrous fingers, as she mentally ravaged my body. The audacity of it, the complete disregard for common decency, was unbelievably arousing. Arousing to me! I found myself gyrating on the dais, tossing my hair with wild abandon, wanting to please her and desperate for her approval.
Once fulfilled, Destiny slowly raised her arm to halt my erotic performance.
‘Sit,’ she commanded, gesturing to the scuffed steel and worn leather barber’s chair that had pride of place, positioned like a throne in the centre of the room.
I perched on the ancient seat, and Destiny held up a haircutting gown, revealing the holes to insert my arms. Without instruction, I dutifully slid my hands through the openings, recoiling from the rigid consistency of the material. I was familiar with decorative silk or fine cotton gowns in the elegant salons I frequented. However, this cape possessed a thick, rubbery, utilitarian texture and stiff structure that was quite unlike those protective garments from the past.
As I obediently thrust my hands to the end of the sleeves, I felt an unexpected resistance. She had stitched the sleeves closed to prevent the passage of arms, trapping my limbs in place. Destiny was behind me, and I heard her exerting herself as she pulled hidden cords firmly that held my wrists, finally pulling my whole body tight against the back of the chair. Encased in rubber, I heard clasps tighten around my torso, securing my mummified form to the chair. I was unable to move, and as she pumped the chair up high, my feet dangling, I had no chance of escape.
Accepting my vulnerability sent a spike of adrenaline through my whole body, and my body reacted with the warmest sensation of purest lust.
Destiny slowly circled me, adjusting a buckle here and a clasp there. Her expression was a mask of business-like detachment as she verified that she trussed me up to her liking. Yet, despite her impassive features, I detected a flicker of a smile playing at the corner of her mouth, an exaggerated sparkle in her eyes. I suspected Destiny was as aroused as I was.
Then, the glow in her eyes brightened as she picked up her scissors. But these were not the precision instruments used by salons. Instead, they resembled the massive shears used by a dressmaker wishing to rapidly chop up a large expanse of delicate cloth into something much sharper and bolder.
As Destiny flexed her fingers through the cold metal, her focused and determined expression indicated that was precisely what she intended for my hair.
cropping
I had expected to feel grief at the impending loss of my hair. After all, that is what everyone feels, isn’t it? The tragedy of the cut, the lament for fallen locks, and the loss of identity after so many years.
But I felt no grief. Instead, I looked forward to liberation. With the first snip of those ridiculously large scissors, they were severing part of my former, professional self. I had been the woman who wore expensive outfits and battled to win complex legal cases, always maintaining perfect composure. However, as each black strand fell away, floating over my rubberised body and down to the floor, the heavy weight rose from my mind with every lock that fell.
The sound of those ridiculously large blades chopping off my hair was impossibly loud in the quiet room. Destiny was ruthless in the way she devoured my locks without apparent care. She dispatched small chunks at a time, not rushing, prolonging the agony… or was it the ecstasy?
Initially, I heard my thick tresses swishing past my body and hitting the floor with a resounding plop. But as the mounds of black hair grew higher around the chair, they joined the fallen strands with more of a whisper as the pile grew. Each snip of the scissors sent ripples of sensation through my entire body. I was trembling with a heady mixture of fear and desire, totally lost in the emotion.
As she dispatched my hair from the back and sides of my head, I felt the metal thrust against the skin as she cropped it as short as the large blades would allow. On the crown, I did not experience the same sensation, suggesting she was leaving the hair slightly longer. With all the length removed, I gained the impression she was styling what remained. However, “styling” was an exaggeration as she positioned the scissors horizontally against my side of my skull, high above my ears. A loud crunching swiftly followed, and short snippets of hair floated past my eyes. Appearing to be satisfied with what she had accomplished, she rapidly followed precisely the same line around my head, including high up on my forehead. I had the crumb of comfort that she appeared not to intend removing all my hair.
Destiny aroused me from my musings with a selection of well-chosen words that heightened the sensation. ‘Thank you, Cassandra. With your sacrifice, you have furnished my floor with such a beautiful black rug. Soft underfoot and attractive to view,’ she praised, rubbing the sad remnants of my harvested tresses. ‘So much more beneficial there than decorating your scalp.’
I was unused to anyone talking to me in such a dismissive and mocking tone, and my mind reacted before my brain re-engaged. ‘This has gone –’
My tormentor casually placed her finger against my lips, immediately halting my flow. ‘This has gone extremely well so far, and it will continue to do so, Cassandra. You are incapacitated, and you are feeling vulnerable because you are vulnerable.’
Her relaxed response to my predicament really irritated me, so the assertive Cassandra of old was still attempting to come to the fore. I cleared my throat but never got as far as uttering a single word.
Destiny sighed. ‘Keep in mind that I will need to do something about that unfortunate tendency in due course,’ she promised.
I was so confused, and, although I felt a creeping dread, I had no idea what she was referring to or what she intended. She relieved me of the need for thought about the future.
‘But shush now,’ she warned, as she put down the large scissors and reached for a set of ancient red hairclippers. ‘You must prepare yourself,’ she explained, holding up the device threateningly. ‘Your scalp must be shaped, bared, and smoothed!’
She flicked the switch, and the aged motor coughed hesitantly. Then the blades began to spin with increasing enthusiasm, until the device filled the room with a raucous whine that put my teeth on edge.
shearing
The teeth of the hairclippers were far less uneasy as they performed their duty, hammering against my scalp. It was a sensation that was simultaneously terrifying and transcendent.
The awful buzzing continued. With my mind struggling to function as it battled against the harsh whine of the motor, I heard myself making sounds I did not recognise. Whimpers, moans, and expressions of pleasure so intense they barely seemed to come from me. My whole body was trembling, quivering with arousal, and between my hot thighs I was wet with my own juices.
‘Please,’ I heard myself whisper, although I did not know what I was asking for. Did I want more? Would I prefer less? Or did I wish my bewildered torment to continue forever?
I suspected Destiny understood what I was going through without needing me to spell it out. In recognition, she gave me a quick smile and patted me on the shoulder comfortingly. Or was it condescending? Then she simply continued to her own agenda, ignoring my murmurs.
She had thoroughly clipped the back and sides of my head to the extent that the hungry blades sounded unable to locate even a bristle. Then, using the device in an edging motion, she sharpened the line of remaining hair around my head that she had initially cut with scissors. Forcing the blades tight against my skin, she carved a precise horizontal perimeter, although I was unclear as to her purpose.
Finally, Destiny turned off the hairclippers and the silence in the room was palpable. She lulled me into thinking I could relax for a couple of minutes. But within seconds, she slapped a creamy lather on my neck that stretched up the back of my head. Similarly, she coated the expanse of skin above my ears.
Brandishing an old-fashioned razor, my barber deftly scraped away the foam covering my sensitive scalp, along with any bristles that had had the temerity to escape the clipper blades. As she shaved, the rasping of the razor was loud. When she did so again after a fresh application of lather, there was barely a whisper. The third time she shaved me, the blade glided over my bare skin with no resistance at all.
shaping
Although the greater proportion of my hair was gone, leaving vast tracts of my scalp bare and gleaming, Destiny intended to do more. Much more.
She retrieved a comb and small scissors, and then she made careful and precise adjustments to the little hair that remained on my head.
Stepping back, she adjusted my chair so that I could clearly see in the mirror what she had done. She held up a hand mirror so I could see the back. ‘The “Dolly Cut”,’ she announced proudly.
Given the name that Destiny had coined for my transformation, I had always had an inkling as to what her intentions would be. But absolutely nothing had prepared me for the severity of what she had sculptured on my head. My remaining hair had a severe bowl-like shape that resembled a helmet. It sat above pale, unblemished skin like porcelain that had never seen the light of day.
Below the harsh perimeter of the bowl, she had exposed my ears entirely. I had always hidden my ears with my carefully constructed updos when in public. I knew they were larger and more prominent than average, a feature I had been self-conscious about since childhood. Ponytails had dramatically exposed them then, so I had convinced Mother to braid my hair into two plaits every morning until I was eighteen. I acknowledged it was an immature style, but it was one that served to cover my ridiculous ears. The large pair of “space buns” I styled in college functioned similarly. Occasionally that look was fashionable, but, even when not, it always gave me a unique identity. But in science-fiction terms, I had become more “Spock” than “Princess Leia”.
But after the drastic transformation of my hair, there was nowhere for my ears to hide. They were fully on display, and Destiny was touching them, smirking as she cruelly tugged at them like jug handles. I suspect I had mentioned my insecurities surrounding my prominent ears when completing her questionnaire, and she was determined to capitalise on my revelation.
‘I wonder, Cassandra, do you pick up more channels on these large, matching satellite dishes?’ she questioned innocently, with barely concealed sarcasm.
The humiliation should have been painful, but instead it was electrifying. I had never felt so keenly observed in all my uncomfortable vulnerability. I grinned awkwardly to acknowledge her remark, as it was what she expected, even if I felt no compulsion to laugh with amusement.
‘Keep in mind, Cassandra, that I will be doing something about those ears of yours in due course,’ she promised with a tight smile.
I was so confused, and, although I felt a creeping dread, I had no idea what she intended.
However, I was relieved when she went on. ‘But for now, it has all been rather intense, so we will take a short break.’
polishing
While I remained mummified in the rubberised straitjacket and immobile in the barber’s chair, Destiny wandered away behind me. I assumed she would be releasing me from my bindings. But I heard a banging, rattling, and hissing that combined to sound uncannily like an elaborate coffee machine. The noise left me wondering what diabolical instrument of torture she was preparing.
The anticipation was short-lived as she reappeared in front of me and pulled out a stool by the wall on which she perched. From around ten metres away she simply stared at me and sipped from a delicate cup of espresso that she carried across on a saucer.
It felt presumptuous to ask where mine was. In the former life, I paid my staff to know when I wanted a coffee before I even knew it myself, prepared and delivered in the way I preferred. I was starting to realise that those days were gone. My eyes flickered longingly from Destiny’s scrutinising gaze to the cup and saucer she held in her hand. Her expression did not change.
After ten minutes Destiny stood, putting down her empty cup and saucer. ‘Ah, that is much better, Cassandra. Nothing like a good cup of coffee, is there? Now let us proceed.’
‘Thank you,’ I croaked dutifully, my mouth dry.
finishing
Destiny wheeled over a metal trolley on which sat a wide selection of jars, brushes, and other implements. Then she tilted the chair backwards so that I was looking up at her as she began plucking my eyebrows.
She did so with a rhythmic intensity, unworried by any pain I demonstrated between each one. With watering eyes, I lamented the small fortune I had paid my beautician to shape and maintain my eyebrows to perfection over the years. Given the diligence that Destiny applied, I wondered if she intended me to be browless.
‘There, there, sweet one,’ she cooed, dabbing the damp corners of my eyes. ‘I imagine it is painful but is entirely necessary.’
‘Why?’ I managed.
She paused and looked at me questioningly, as if she had no understanding of what I meant. Then she gave a mirthless sardonic laugh, shook her head, and continued with her task.
She applied a pale foundation to my face before emphasising my eyes with liner and shadow, making them look huge. She rouged my cheeks but did not blend in the bright colour, giving the impression that I was perpetually blushing. After further skilful refinement, she lined my lips with scarlet gloss, giving my mouth an unnatural pout. She exaggerated my lips further when she forced a silicone implant over my gums that held my mouth in a perfect and permanent, questioning “O”.
‘How does that feel, Cassandra? Destiny asked excitedly. ‘Comfortable?’
‘Yeth, but thtrange,’ I said, but with a peculiar high-pitched whistling lisp that caused the words to be barely discernible.
It was not the voice of a senior partner in an international corporate law firm. I looked around, hoping it was someone else who made the peculiar and ridiculous utterance. I was devastated to discover that it was me.
‘Oh, how adorable!’ Destiny claimed, clapping her palms together with glee, the first lapse in her composure.
She raised the back of the chair so that I was looking in the mirror at someone I did not recognise. I had seen that the “Dolly Cut” had turned me into someone I did not recognise, but her expertly applied makeup had made me unrecognisable.
Someone wide-eyed, with thinly arched brows and a questioning red pout, was staring back at me, holding my attention. Strange, almost otherworldly, but with an untainted innocence.
As I tried to come to terms with the reflection of the peculiar creature, Destiny stepped behind me and pushed a jelly-like object against the back of each ear. Although I would have been unsure of their purpose, I hoped they were earbuds. Sadly, it was not to be.
‘Finishing touches,’ Destiny chuckled as she stepped away.
In the mirror I saw my prominent ears splayed out even further than normal. Not comically wide, but enough to dramatically increase my alien appearance and my humiliation.
Destiny began unbuckling the cape. ‘Time for “Destiny’s Dolly” to find her feet.’
stumbling
I had completely lost track of time, but my unconstrained limbs complained when I tried to stand up from the chair. I glanced in a full-length mirror on the wall, and I quickly looked away. My plump naked body looked completely wrong with my shorn head and elaborate makeup.
‘Put this one on, Cassandra,’ Destiny urged, holding a strange-looking flesh-coloured bodysuit.
I fingered the strange material, noting it had a strange texture, resembling foam padding but a great deal thinner. Despite its oddness, I reasoned that it would be better than walking around in the nude. But I was wrong!
I forced my limbs into the stiff one-piece outfit with Destiny’s assistance, and then she zipped it up at the back, so it cocooned me. It hugged my curves and it gave my body decency, but it was so restrictive that walking and moving my arms was like navigating treacle. The strange material appeared insubstantial but had a strength and structure that belied its appearance.
‘Dethtiny, I can thcarethly move,’ I complained using my unintelligible voice, courtesy of the gum insert. I yelled in frustration, but that simply came out as a comical high-pitched squeak.
‘What’s that?’ Destiny asked distractedly as she selected more clothing. ‘You cannot move? Oh, yes, that is just as it should be… now, put this on.’
It was impossible to do as she asked with my limbs so stiff from the body suit. So, around my waist she fitted the blue miniskirt with white polka dots. It comprised layers of silk and lace. Being so full, it flared out ridiculously above my knees.
She rolled a black leather corset around my upper body and pulled the cords tight from behind, a knee resting against my plump bottom. The pressure emphasised my cleavage and pushed up my bust in such a way that it thrust my ample breasts skywards, close to tumbling out. But the strong leather and boned structure ensured my nipples remained in position.
‘Superb,’ Destiny’s voice rang out with praise as she stood back from me, surveying her creation. She gestured to the long mirror that I had shunned ten minutes earlier. ‘Just look at yourself, Cassandra.’
In a clumsy approximation of my usual way of walking, I waddled over to the mirror on stiff legs with my arms sticking out from my sides. The restrictive body suit prevented me from doing anything else. No longer naked, my severe bowlcut hair and heavily made-up face looked less strange. Indeed, one could go as far to say that Destiny had chosen an outfit that perfectly balanced the rest of my appearance. With the short lace skirt and tight corset, I barely recognised the woman staring back at me. Why had Destiny done this to me?
All I could was stare, trying to make sense of what I was seeing. I adjusted my position, attempting to view my silhouette, my movement bouncy and exaggerated. Leaning forward to inspect my thin eyebrows and pouting lips, I hardly dared to believe what I saw. I gently pressed back my left ear against the silicone moulding behind it, and it immediately bounced back out when I released it.
‘Beautiful!’ I wheezed, careful to choose a word that did not introduce a high-pitched sibilance through my gum insert. ‘I am beautiful,’ I repeated wondrously.
‘You certainly are, sweet one,’ my transformer agreed. ‘Let us welcome “Destiny’s Dolly”,’ she added, clapping her hands together with glee. I tried to do the same, but the restrictive clothing prevented my palms from meeting, serving to reinforce my new identity.
The dolly in the mirror was gorgeous. Bouncy and exaggerated, exhibiting bountiful curves and gleaming skin, wide and staring eyes, and red questioning lips. She looked nothing like Cassandra Beaumont, senior partner and corporate lawyer. Destiny’s Dolly looked like a fantasy made into flesh, a creature designed purely for visual pleasure.
While I had been revelling in my appearance in the mirror, I saw Destiny reflected in the background. She had settled on the sofa, reclining languidly. From somewhere she had found a glass of chilled champagne, which she sipped slowly while avidly watching me come to terms with the creature she had created.
I spun around awkwardly and smiled, intent on thanking her with a hug. I began clumsily swaying towards the sofa, my arms comically outstretched at my sides. She lifted her arm and pointed to the dais in front of the white screen where I had displayed myself earlier. ‘Dolly. Pose!’
posing
I lumbered over to the dais and hauled my resisting legs onto it. In contrast to my fluid movement and flowing hair when I had arrived, my performance was an extremely laboured display. Flicking my bowlcut with my hands pleased her and scraping the bare skin of my nape with a fingernail excited her. At the same, I was turning myself on with all the new and delicious sensations that I was experiencing.
Although struggling to move in my stiff and limited way, I tried to do everything I could to please her, desperate for her approval. Destiny’s eyes ran over me with an intensity that was almost physical. She was breathing faster now and, as I had expected after my earlier display, she had thrust her hands up between her clenching thighs. While pleasuring herself openly in front of me, her eyes were mentally ravaging her “Destiny’s Dolly”. Her undisguised and rampant enjoyment urged me on, gyrating foolishly on the dais with wild abandon, driving my own mounting arousal.
pleasuring
With her eyes wide with anticipation and biting her lip painfully, Destiny was unashamedly approaching her peak.
‘Dolly!’ she commanded urgently, pointing between her legs, now opened wide.
I clambered off the dais and almost fell on top of her, knowing instinctively what she required from me. Using my tongue, along with fingers, I obeyed with an eagerness that shocked me. I had found what I had been searching for my entire adult life; for someone to use me, to transform me, to allow me to be someone other than who the world expected me to be.
Destiny bucked and squeezed, the bare skin on my temples gliding over her smooth thighs. Her fingers tugged at the rim of my bowlcut, forcing me closer, her nails deliciously grazing my nape. Without me needing any further physical stimulation, I climaxed in perfect synchronicity with my destiny!
waking
We both fell into a deep, contented sleep, not waking on the large sofa until early the following morning. What Destiny had given me was indescribable, far surpassing my expectations. But my analytical mind kicked in even before my first coffee of the day. What now?
I wondered what would I tell my colleagues and my clients? What explanation could I offer for the drastic change to my appearance? How would I account for the strange absence of my signature hair? I could hardly walk into a contract meeting with an international client looking like a facsimile of a dolly!
‘Dethtiny?’ I said, placing a cup of coffee next to her as we sat on the sofa side-by-side. I mentally told myself off for using a sibilant word, even if it was her name, when we had serious matters to discuss.
‘Yeth?’ she laughed, and I hung my head, humiliated. ‘Sorry, I imagine you’re worried about what people will say about your stunning new look?’
‘True,’ I said carefully. ‘I –’
‘It won’t be a problem for a while,’ she interrupted. ‘You have taken time off work,’ she reminded me, but I wanted to tell her that I have a life outside of work. However, she placed a finger on my lips to silence me. ‘I keep my dolls in the spare room of my apartment upstairs. That is where you will be bedding down at night.’
The words should have been alarming. They should have triggered an instinct of self-preservation, a recognition that I had entered territory better left unexplored. But instead, I felt a wave of relief so profound it nearly brought me to tears. I would not have to go back. Not yet. Not until I was ready to face the world again as something other than what I had been known as.
As she sipped her coffee, she peered at me expectantly as I absorbed and reflected on her words.
After ten minutes, I spoke. ‘Thank you.’
resting
Destiny finished her coffee, took me by the hand, and led me up the stairs. She opened a door, flicked on a light, and pointed to a narrow bed against one wall. It appeared little wider than a sofa… or a shelf. I waddled over and carefully sat down facing her, careful not to crease my stiff, multi-layered skirt that flared up around me.
‘Your duties will begin after I finish work in the salon today,’ she said breezily, sliding across the glass door of the display case in front of me. ‘But rest for now, Destiny’s Dolly.’
I stared blankly through the glass wall hemming me in as Destiny walked to the door. She turned to face me, smiling broadly. ‘Night, night,’ she said, before she switched off the light.
unchanging
Over the following week, Destiny and I established a routine. A strange routine, but a routine, nevertheless.
Each morning, I prepared breakfast and sat down opposite Destiny and watched her eat it. Naturally, I accepted that with the gum implant, I could not join her for the meal. She would run through her appointments book in the salon, reciting names like Ethel and Doris, whom I pretended to know. She listed treatments they had booked for that had gone with the ark. I could not believe any woman still willingly asked for a shampoo and set, a blue rinse or, worst of all, a perm.
As Destiny prepared herself for the day ahead, she permitted me time to eat and deal with my other bodily functions. Then, before she opened the salon, she would, quite rightly, return me to the Dolly shelf in the spare room, securing me inside the glass display case until the evening.
I lived for that hour after I had watched her eat her tasty supper and drink a couple of glasses of delicious-looking red wine. Those incredible sixty minutes made it all worthwhile.
returning
A week after my transformation, Destiny announced that she would restore my appearance to something that could function in the real world. She had decided that there might be too many questions if I were out of circulation for too long. And unsurprisingly, she had others waiting for the “Destiny’s Dolly” experience.
However, she said I could forget the designer skirt suits and flamboyant blouses that provided a feminine counterpoint to my noted hardness in the boardroom. I donned the charcoal trouser suit, the crisp white shirt with a stiff collar, and the sober tie that Destiny provided. She had tailored the clothes to my measurements, but they disguised my voluptuous female body completely.
The severe bowlcut remained, shaved every day at least once to ensure the back and sides were smooth. While my eyebrows remained thin arches, she completely toned down the rest of my makeup to give a neutral appearance. My ears were still naturally prominent, but the moulded inserts remained unused. These all served as a mark of my allegiance to the brand of Destiny.
Reluctantly, under pressure from Destiny, I left aside the gum insert that enhanced my appearance even if it dramatically affected my speaking.
After my “reversal”, I knew I looked very smart but very boring, and I looked just like a man. However, undeniably, I was very neat and tidy. But Destiny had deconstructed the Cassandra from a week earlier, and she had rebuilt a creature that had changed irrevocably. However, a part of that change would persist no matter what happened to my external appearance.
So, on Monday morning, I returned to my occupation, to my legal cases, and to my carefully constructed life. But in the evening, and every evening, I found myself drawn back to the spare room, desperate to see what new adventures Destiny had in store for me.
The transformation was never complete. Each session was simply another iteration, another step towards an ongoing process of remaking Cassandra. In the interim, I spent my nights on the shelf in the display cabinet. I had become one of Destiny’s dollies, and I never wanted to be anything else.
The Voice of Destiny (Isabelle)
epilogue
Reflecting on my growing collection after a month of starting my new enterprise, I feel a satisfaction I have rarely experienced in my adult life. Cassandra – the first “Destiny’s Dolly” – is resting on her shelf, behind the glass screen, in the spare room. She will be ready for more this evening, I think. She always is.
Mid-morning, I sit with a coffee on the stool by the reception desk in Cut & Style by Isabelle. My regular salon had kept me occupied for the previous fifteen years and furnished me with a modest standard of living. Ethel and Dora – two of my younger clients, now in their late sixties – are cooking under the hood dryers for their weekly shampoo and set. They are chatting about their grandchildren and the weather, oblivious to what goes on in the back room after closing time.
I looked through the large window that provides a never-changing view of the perfectly average urban street. I am waiting for the timer to ping to signify that Ethel’s hair is ready for her comb out. Normally, I would occupy the waiting period with a Sudoku or another time-wasting puzzle to prove to myself that my brain was not stagnating. But today I was thinking hard and jotting down my ideas in a blank space in the dog-eared appointments book.
What else could I offer prospective clients who wish to meet Destiny in my back room?
Were there any new modifications that might appeal to my existing clients?
For Cassandra specifically, I am considering various possibilities. The silicone mouldings, giving more prominence to her ears, significantly enhanced her doll-like appearance. It is her signature look now, so I wonder about a surgical intervention making the protrusion permanent without requiring daily application of the gel.
I have wondered about refining her body suit too. The current version restricts her movement adequately, and it induces a wonderfully awkward doll-like movement to her limbs. But I have been experimenting with various materials to create a truly altered silhouette. The doll aesthetic I am cultivating requires not just clothing but a reshaping of the physical form, and I am only beginning to explore what is possible.
Then there is the question of her mouth. The gum implant works adequately, but I think we could go further. While the “O” shape is evocative and the voice modification sweet, a permanent fixture that would require professional installation and removal would be ideal.
I have also filmed and photographed my clients for my growing portfolio, tracking the progression of the dreams I have realised. The images serve multiple purposes, not least for my own enjoyment later. They also demonstrate my abilities for potential clients who are considering similar transformations for themselves. Cassandra photographs beautifully, her strange face and modified body making for compelling images that are a perfect showcase for my artistic vision.
Sometimes, late at night, I wonder if my new endeavour is what I was always meant to do. I consider whether my failed relationships and the difficulty forming connections were simply prerequisites for helping women like Hannah and Cassandra explore their deepest selves. I still do not have friends or a partner in the conventional sense, but I have clients who wish to become “Destiny’s Dolly”.
Transformation is my purpose now, what I was always meant to do. While there are women who dream of surrender and reconstruction, I will reshape them according to their very own wishes. Deep desires they dare not speak aloud. I will create beauty from their surrender, art from their submission, and connection from the profound intimacy of the work we do together.
My humdrum existence is over, as what I have now is something far more interesting.
The End
A Note from the Author
Further to sharing a selection of my stories here, they are also published on my personal archive
Also freely shared on my archive are many additional stories, not published here or elsewhere, where you are welcome to contribute your thoughts, with no login or registration required
