I awoke in my dorm, my sleep was interrupted by the buzzing notification from my phone on my dresser. My hand reached out and fumbled around to reach it, trying not to knock over a half drunk cup of water. I pulled my charger out and thumbed through my notifications, the last an email from the faculty Dean. I ran my fingers through my hair and tried to focus on the screen as my head pounded as a result of the previous nights frivolity.
I read only the first few paragraphs and my heart sank… “Miss Thomas, please see attached your current academic transcript. It is with deep regret that we wish to inform you that as a result of your academic performance in your second year of college, your scholarship has been revoked. You are currently still enrolled in your bachelor of science degree, however will be required to become a full fee paying student to complete your studies..”.
I couldn’t believe it… I was dux of my high school, awarded a scholarship to one of the finest Ivy League Colleges in the country, achieved exemplary results in my first year but then had become completely unraveled… I had discovered a social life and partying in my second year. For the first time in my life I had good friends, boys were interested in me and I actually had a sex life. I discovered drinking, sometimes drugs and having fun.
I sat up in bed a re-read the email a few times with a startled gaze. “This can’t happen, simply not an option”, I said out loud. I could never tell my parents, they’d be heartbroken. It’s amazing how quickly you can become sober with the appropriate wake-up call. I sat in the shower for possibly an hour or more. Every possible situation and outcome running through my mind. “The Dean… I needed to go and see the Dean”.
It was a Monday which was fortunate, as I’m pretty sure she’d be in. Sure enough I walked into her chambers and approached her PA at the reception desk. “Umm Hi…” I said with zero confidence. “I was wondering if I could please speak with Miss Lynch??”. The older women shuffled in her cardigan and looked at me over her thick rimmed glasses, “name?” she questioned. “Milly Thomas” I said with as much confidence as possible. She glared at me, “take a seat” she snapped as she picked up the direct line to Miss Lynch. “Milly Thomas to see you” she questioned. She looked at me a motioned for me to go through.
Not my first time in her office, the others for more momentous reasons. I walked in and paused. “You got your email I take it?” She said, whilst not shifting her gaze from her computer screen. “I did” I stammered. “Sit down”. I did. “Millicent…. you are one of the most promising students I’ve seen in this faculty. However I’ve never seen grades diminish as much as yours over such a short period of time. I know why you’re here, but I’m sorry there is little I can do. Your grades are your grades, and that is that”. She spun around to look at me, I didn’t have much to say. “I’m sorry, there is nothing I can do, it’s clearly stated in your scholarship requirements”. “I can’t afford tuition here, I don’t know what to do” I replied meekly. She forced a glum smile, “I’m sorry, Milly”. I dipped my head and stood up to leave. “Milly” she called out, I turned around. She slid a business card across her desk, I stared at it for a moment. All it read was, “PP” in calligraphy and a phone number. “I’m putting this card on my desk, its up to you whether you take it or not, I don’t know who or what it is, but all I know is it may have helped girls in your situation in the past, let’s leave it at that”. I looked at the card, then at her, then the card, then took it and left. I was at rock bottom.
The next few days I must have looked that business card 50 times. Weighing up all my options, that was literally it. I had no money, I couldn’t tell anybody and certainly couldn’t seek assistance from my parents, I decided to ring the number. I was breathing heavily as the phone rang, finally somebody answered, “Hello” said the female voice at the other end. My was beating out of my chest…”umm hello..” I stammered. “I got this number from a card…”, “Hold please…”. A moment passed before another female answered the phone, “Where did you get the card..?” the stern voiced ask. I knew the Dean said not to mention her so I fumbled a response, “Uh..someone at college gave…” before she cut me off. “You’ll receive a text message shortly with meeting details, reply ‘yes’ if you plan to attend, all will be explained, good day”. She hung up. Still didn’t really know what had just happened, I sat on my bed for a few minutes processing it before my phone buzzed. Sure enough, a text message with an address and time, 4pm that day.
I couldn’t stop thinking about it all day. What to wear? Who was I meeting ? Was it safe? Should I go? Do I have a choice? After much pondering, I decided to go. Now what to wear? I figured this was an interview of sorts, financial too. So I decided to put on a full face of makeup, heels, skirt and nice top. I put my long dark hair up in a tight bun before I phoned an uber. This was it, last chance.
It was approx a 20min drive, just out of town from college. I looked out of the window as the streets became quieter and the residences became more extravagant. The uber began to slow as we approached an enormous compound, high brick walls clad in Devil’s Ivy. The uber stopped, I thanked the driver and made my way to the extravagant steel gate. The text message had told me to enter a 1off pin into the pin pad, the steel door buzzed and opened. I walked through the gate as it slammed behind me. Before me was the most picturesque, manicured estate I had ever seen. A top of the hill was a gothic style mansion that was similar to a french chateau, it was simply beautiful. Who would’ve known properties like this even existed. The long winding driveway was adorned with trees and an adjacent stream that trickled.
I approached the front door which automatically opened as I approached it. I stepped through the enormous threshold nervously clutching my handbag. My heels echoed on the checkered tile floor. Suddenly, a female figure appeared at the end of the hallway. A tall slender woman dressed in a black jumpsuit approached me. Maybe late 30s, she stood well over 6ft in heels, immaculate makeup and the most precise copper bob haircut you could imagine. “Miss Thomas, I assumed..” she queried sternly. She looked down at me, I nodded, “follow me please’.
We walked along the hallway, walls adorned with beautiful paintings and decadent chandeliers hung from the ceiling roses. We stopped at what appeared to be an elevator, she reached out and pushed the brass button gazing back at me in judging fashion. The art deco style elevator opened and we walked in. Once more I clutched my bag and looked at the ground as my the elevator ascended. The doors creaked open, a large dimly lit foyer presented itself. There was a large mahogany Chesterfield couch in the corner of the room, with a lamp on a side table. “Wait here”, said the woman as she disappeared through large double doors. I straightened my skirt and sat on the plush couch, who knows how old it was. Looking around at the art, ornaments and taxidermy. A minute passed before she returned, “you’ll be seen now, follow me”. I stood up and followed her through the double doors, she exited as the doors closed behind me.
Another extravagant room to digest. Everything more elaborate and decadent than the last. A woman sat behind large desk on what could best be described as a plush leather throne, enormous glass arched windows as the backdrop. Probably in her 50s I would guess, immaculately presented, suit jacket, white shirt, red lips, thick black rimmed glasses and the sleekest black bob with heavy fringe. Once again, not a hair out of place. “Sit”, I did. She glared at me, I felt her eyes like laser beams.
“What happened, Miss Thomas, why are you here…?”. I was shocked that she knew my name which kind of threw me. “Umm well.. I um… ” she cut me off. “I see girls sitting in this chair everyday, tell me why you’re here, what went wrong, don’t waste my time”. My mouth was so dry, “well… I had a scholarship and lost it.. I cant afford my tuition and cant tell my family…”. “Better, succinct. Drugs, alcohol, boys???” she queried looking over her glasses. “Um.. well maybe a combination.. I’m from a country town and haven’t experienced the city before..” I offered. “I see”, she took a drink of whatever not averting her gaze. “So Miss Thomas, I suppose you’re wondering why you’re here and what I can offer to you…?”. I nodded nervously still clutching my bag. “I am the daughter of a Russian oligarch, my family have since passed and obviously left me their wealth. I am the owner of this estate and run a world famous club for the female elite, The Pleasure Palace…. Do you know what BDSM is, Miss Thomas?” I was caught out on the spot racking my brain…”umm.. well sort of…like 50 shades?” She stared briefly before smirking, “sort of…this is one of the most famous BDSM clubs in the world, only accessible to the world’s most wealthy woman. Billionaires, actresses, politicians, sportswomen… all with a naughty kink. A place where their wealth buys them the anonymity to fulfil their deepest and darkest fantasies.
So much information to compute, i exhaled. “So Miss Thomas, I engage young woman like yourself to service my members. In exchange I pay for your college tuition, house you here, feed you, guarantee your grades and arrange job opportunities at any fortune 500 company you wish when you graduate, I’m on the board of most of them and their directors are mostly all clients. I’m going to give you the chance to leave now if you wish, if not I will continue”. I didn’t leave, I was frozen in shock. “I assume you’re staying?”, I nodded.
“Very well. Miss Thomas, if you agree to join us you will be exposed to scenes that you would never imagine or thought possible. Your safety will always be preserved, but you will be subjected extreme scenarios of a sexual nature. How does that sit with you…?” She looked directly. Still in shock, I reached up to touch my hair that was in a perfect bun, I blushed “well, I guess I’ve never thought about it…. but to be honest I’m desperate and don’t have many options..”. She sipped her cup again and smiled, “very good, so do we have ourselves a deal…??”, I nodded. “I’ll have my EA prepare a contract whilst I show you a tour….”. I forced a smile, kind of relieved, kind of scared to death. “Miss Thomas, I run a very strict regime here. My clients and our reputation are of highest importance. Any misbehaviour, poor performance or tardiness will result in severe punishment. I strongly suggest you avoid that. Are you attached to your hair, miss Thomas?”. I was a little taken aback and not prepared for the question. “Well not overly, its been long forever, I haven’t had money or a chance to visit a salon recently…” I trailed off. “You will soon meet Ivanka, my most senior girl. Your appearance will be completely at her discretion, I’ll warn you, she is quite ruthless and a stickler for tradition and client needs…, she’s been with me 15yrs. Come with me…”
She stood up, I couldn’t believe how tall she was. At least 6ft3 in heels, imposing. She buzzed her EA, Miss Brown, please prepare papers Miss Thomas and have her belongs transferred from her college dorm”. I sat patiently before following her as she walked through the large doors. Seemed like an eternity walking through long corridors, lifts etc until will stopped outside a door. The door opened, “this will be your living quarters, I will leave you here for now to relax and refresh. Ivanka will be down shortly to introduce herself and also commence your induction… I will see you later tonight… it’s nice to have you as part of our family..”, she turned and the door closed behind her.
The room was opulent and lavish in consistency with the rest of the manor. A king size bed, walk in robe and ensuite with bathtub, little different to the dorm. I sat on the edge of the bed a glanced out the window onto the beautiful grounds. Suddenly the door burst open and in walked a woman adorned in a black leather catsuit which zipped up between our cleavage. Her black leather boots laced up to her knees and echoed on the floor boards. She had a perfect, long high ponytail that was expertly coiffed. “On your feet!” she hissed. I was taken aback and stood bolt up right. The imposing figure stopped inches from my faces and glared down at me.
“My name is Ivanka, you will call me number 1. I am Madame’s longest serving girl…. You will report to me and I will be responsible for you as long as you are here. I will monitor your performance, presentation and college grades. I will also dress you, train you and groom you. Any slip in these areas and I will administer your punishment personally. I’m sure any of the other girls will tell you, this is unadvisable. A session on the rack with me and you’ll wish you were never born”. My eyes were wide open processing all the information, I wasn’t really sure what a rack was but it didn’t sound nice…”Seeing as you are the last girl, you will be referred to as number 20 until someone else leaves. We have long standing traditions here at PP. One of which pertains to the new girl, number 20……now, come”. She turned on her heel and walked out the door, I followed.
After a few minutes of walking we stopped outside a door. “Barber” was scribed on the door in gold leaf. She looked at me with a smirk, time for a haircut…” She pushed the door open to reveal a fully functioning barbershop, I felt sick. The floor was black and white tiles, walls were clad in black subway tiles, in the centre of the room was of course the chair. Gleaming chrome barber’s chair with red leather cushioning, studs adorning the perimeter. A full height mirror was fixed to the wall behind a timber work bench littered in tools, all laid out perfectly in surgical order.
“Sit”, she snarled. I looked at her, eyes piercing. I was too scared not to comply. I hesitantly walked towards the large chair before hesitantly lowering myself into it like a hot bath. My hair was still up, I had no idea what was in store but a major change seemed probable. I stared at myself in the mirror, at the beginning of the day I certainly wasn’t expecting to be in this scenario. Ivanka then sidled up to the chair and glared at me with a kind of sadistic glaze. Once again she moved in close as my head moved back and hit the leather headrest. I could smell her floral perfume, “I own you now, I own everything about you……. Sooooo. Induction haircuts” she mused whilst biting her bottom lip, “…my fucking favourite. The fear is palpable, the shearing theatrical, the aftermath so shocking and raw…..” She smiled. “There’s something glorious about watching a slave submit to her new life… I cant fucking wait….”.
My heart was beating at a million beats per minute by now. I even thought about leaving and calling my parents. I didn’t want a haircut, I definitely didn’t. Sadly I’m not sure that was an option as I felt paralysed by Ivanka’s gaze.. As I gripped the arm rests tight the door swung open. Another tall woman entered, this time in a red leather cat suit and matching heels. Her makeup perfection and hair also in a similar high dead straight blonde ponytail like Ivanka’s. “A new number 20?” She quizzed in a broken Russian accent, “how fun…”. She walked on the other side of the chair to Ivanka, both staring at me. Suddenly she firmly grabbed my jaw in her hands and pushed my head against the headrest, I gasped in shock as she turned my head from side to side, “pretty, ….American girl…” she quipped. Her manicured red nails dug into my cheeks until she finally let go. I’ve never been more terrified in my life. The two of them conversed in Russian briefly before the lady in red walked to another room.
She returned into the room, striding purposely with a large grey cape tossed over her shoulder, it fluttered behind her. I knew what that was for and swallowed nervously. She stood behind me and slipped the grey gown off her shoulder holding it by the collar. “crack” went the material and she whipped it in the air twice before moving in and floating the silky grey fabric over me not even blinking. Instinctively I closed my eyes and raised my chin. It enveloped me, the chair and foot rest. She draw it back from behind and let it sit idle on my shoulders. Ivanka proceeded to video and take photos of the moment on her phone. The barber then walked to the counter and drew a generous length of what looked like tissue. She ran it back and forth through her fingers as she repositioned her self behind me. She leaned forward again and stretched the soft tissue around my petite neck before folding it tightly. The cape was then pulled tight and closed with a few snaps, I winced in slight discomfort. “Get used to it little one, I think we will be seeing a lot of each other..” she smiled. I look ahead once more, a sea of grey and my tiny head protruding.
At that moment, my hair was released with a tug. The brunette mane spilled out with a swish against the cape, just past my breast in length. The barber raked her nails through my thick waves. “Induction haircut…Ivanka?” queried the barber. “A proper number 20, Nadia…” she smirked. My heavy breathing continued and I looked at both women, then my caped lap, I was worried I was going to vomit. From nowhere, Nadia produced a pair of razor sharp 8″ shears. Opening and closing them a few times she looked at the camera, “snip snip” she cooed in a thick Russian accent, “Number 20 coming up…”.
I could feel my pulse against the neck of the cape. My heads so sweaty and stomach churning with butterflies. My hair was forcefully pulled back into a ponytail, the barber gave me a sadistic gaze in the mirror, she was loving the theatre No turning back… Finally the sheers. They plunged into my brunette locks and sliced my ponytail with ease. She held it aloft. I had the feeling this was being recorded as she was definitely putting on a performance for a third party. It was strewn across my lap. I look down in shock at the once healthy virgin tresses. Ivanka walked in front of the hair and pick up a long strand off the cape with delight. “Now we begin”.
Nadia walked to the counter in front of me as my hair swung in a shaggy uneven bob. She picked up hair clippers, blowing the loose hairs off them. “Best not to resist little one, it’ll be over sooner” she quipped with a smile. Positioning herself behind me, the leather clad woman lent forward and clutched my jaw in our very strong hands. I whimpered. “Now…hold still…”. Pop. Went the clippers and a hum reverberated around the small room as her perfectly manicured red nails dug into my cheek most unpleasantly. I knew what was coming next and closed my eyes, she moved in closer and proceeded to place the buzzing teeth at my hairline. Teasing me she left them there for what seemed like forever. I could hear the camera taking multiple shots as she stood their posed. My covered in a sea of grey fabric, leather-clad dominatrix clutching my face in position with clippers at the ready. Suddenly they surged through my hairline and I let out a most audible gasp. The two Russians seemed entertained. I wasn’t game to look but immediately could feel cool air down the middle of my scalp. Idle tears began to roll down my check and onto the grey nylon. The passes continued as a closed my eyes and felt the hairs sprinkle past my eyes and nose, occasionally making a plop on the cape, or rolling off my shoulder to meet their fate on the tiled floor next to her high heeled boots. The clippers got hot against my scalp as she continued to peel whatever hair was left. They giggled, conversing in Russian she briefly stopped to pose for another photo.
Finally her vice grip was released from my jaw and changed to a firm palm placed on my new newly shorn scalp. “You will be cute…bald” she mused as she started to slide the clippers up my temple and around my ears. For the first time I opened my red and water eyes, I couldn’t recognise the person looking back. The entire top of my head was stubble and the right side was quickly joining it. Mounds of hair sat idle on my shoulder until gravity took over and they slide into my lap against the nylon cape.
Violently my head was then forced into my lap. I breathed heavily as the warm vibrating machine were passed up my nape. Chills went through my whole body as my neck was quickly exposed. Finally the process was repeated on the left side until my entire head was stubble. The clippers were shut off and there was silence briefly. She aggressively dusted my head with a brush whilst talking in Russian again. I stared at my bald head, tiny filaments of clippings were speckled through the tissue around my neck and on my face. The cape covered in a sea of brunette locks. I blew upwards to try and dislodge a few of the itchy hairs before a blowdryer blasted all the hairs from the cape and my neck. Next a steaming hot towel covered my head, they were shaving me.
The hot towel stung momentarily but cooled down quickly. Next she lathered my whole scalp generously with a bowl of shaving cream that had been prepared next to the chair. I stared at my small head protruding from the cape covered form, covered in white cream. Nadia put a white towel on my shoulder and flicked open a straight razor. “Now, don’t make me cut you…..hold still”. I swallowed as she expertly began to scrape the foam away, it was like anything I had experienced. Pass after pass she would deposit the excess foam onto the towel on my shoulder. Minutes passed and she had removed everything. “Again”, called Ivanka. My head was re-lathered and the process repeated. She took a fresh steaming towel and removed any excess cream after the second pass. Ivanka approached gallantly. She reached out and inspected my scalp with her index finger. “Perfection…Nadia, as always”. The cape was unbuttoned, tissue removed and dropped to the floor. Nadia whisked the cape away before Ivanka took me by the wrist and marched me out the door before I could even touch. Not that I wanted to.
We arrived at my quarters. You have a client waiting for you. Go in, apply the makeup in the bathroom, change into the outfit laid out for you. I will be back for you in 10mins sharp. I entered my room and burst into tears. Walking into the bathroom I saw the make up laid out. My stark bare reflection looked back at me in the mirror. I sighed, at least my head was an ok shape I guess. I reached out for the first time and touched my nude scalp. Like nothing I had every felt before, not a hair left. Noting the time, I quickly applied the makeup provided and made my back into the bedroom. All that was on my bed was a pair of black heels and what looked like a collar. I unchanged and slipped the heels on, fully naked so painfully nervous about what was to come. Which client? what for? So many unknowns.
Shortly there was a knock at the door, Ivanka. She burst in a looked me up and down as I cowered. I held my collar, she took it off me and proceeded to fasten it around my neck with two buckles. It was thick and cased my chin to stick up. There was a ring on the front which Ivanka attached a leash to. “Come”.
After walking through a maze of dimly lit corridors and down some stair wells we arrived at a number of numbered doors. She pushed one open, it creaked as she pulled me in by the leash. It was a dark, red brick room, a dungeon with candles burning on the wall. Endless types of BDSM furniture and equipment adorned the walls, most of it I had never seen before and had no idea what it was for. I felt sick. She dragged me to the centre of the room where there was some cuffs on chains hanging from the roof. She aggressively grabbed wrists and buckled each one into the suspended cuffs. Next my ankles were cuffed from the floor. She moved out of site. Beads of sweat ran off my bald head into my eyes as my heart pounded, it stung. Next there was a mechanical noise, the restraints from the roof and floor shortened and stretched me into a starfish position. I tried to fight it but it was no use. The leather bit into my wrists and ankles until the machine finally stopped and I was spread idle barely being able to touch the ground, my arms fully stretched. Ivanka walked behind me. “Open wide…” I’m not sure why but I complied, feeling helpless. A large red rubber ball gag suddenly filled my mouth and was quickly buckled against my smooth nape. I thrashed my head but it was too late. I bit down on it but it was no use, drool started to seep out the side of my mouth.
“You’re ready….. your client is waiting” she smirked, turned on her heel and exited the room. What seemed like an eternity passed before the door creaked open again. High heels slowly echoed on the concrete floor. I tried to turn my head to look but the collar restricted my movement. My jaw ached. Whoever it was took their time fiddling with something on the wall. Once again I could see. Finally she walked past me and stood in front of me with her back turned. She wore a black leather catsuit adorned in metal spikes. Her hair in a sleek high pony tail. In her hand she held what appeared to be a cane. She ran it through her fingers occasionally forcing it to bow, testing its flexibility. I still hadn’t see her face. “Milly……….. I’ve been waiting for this a long time….” . I was in shock as my jaw throbbed, “how did she know my name?”. She turned around to reveal herself, moving to within inches of my face. My eyes grew like saucers, the Dean, Miss Lynch…. ! My screams were muffled by the gag as she assessed me walking around my suspended, vulnerable state, thrashing her cane through fresh air with a whoosh. She walked behind me and whispered in my ear…”Time to give you some stripes…..oh and I do love your new haircut……”