Enjoying the lesson

The bell signaled that class was over, and both students and teachers could breathe a sigh of relief as it was the last bell of the week.
As usual, once all the students left the institute, the teachers retreated to the school’s staff room to complete the preparations for the following week’s lessons and correct any homework or tests from the previous week, spending the last hours of the working day.

So Pamela Smith, the school language arts teacher, also joined her colleagues by sitting at one of the multiple tables in the room, taking out a substantial bundle of foolscap sheets, ready to underline every mistake with the teachers’ fateful red pen. Or at least she hoped she could do it…

At that moment, the principal, Mrs. Antoinette Grimm, entered the staff room and headed straight for Pamela’s table.

“Pamela, do you have a minute? I need to discuss something with you.”

“Sure. I‘m just finishing correcting the last two tests and then I’m free.”

“Good… Join me in my office as soon as possible then; It’s something I absolutely want to get rid of as soon as possible.”

“Ok…” Pamela said, perplexed to see all this concern on the part of her boss.

In all the years since she had been hired at that school she had never seen before Mrs. Grimm so eager to talk to her. She still remembered her job interview, the clothes she was wearing and all the rest, even the butterflies in her stomach. For that day she wanted to be at her best and shortly before the interview she had gone to have her perm touched up. Once she left the salon, the soft ebony-colored curls fell on her back as if they had no weight, which seemed entirely true cause the enormous amount of volume that absolutely did not weigh on the roots, giving her an air of absolute elegance mixed with youthful resourcefulness.

How many years had passed since then, and despite this, around her natural expression lines, after 20 years of teaching, everything about her recalled that joy and passion that she had always had towards her profession. Always impeccable in her clothing and hairstyle, which since then she did nothing but shorten by just a few centimeters to fix the pompous hair that many of her envied, even among her younger students.

No one could speak better of her than the headmistress who had wanted her so much to teach at her institute. Mrs. Grimm was also always impeccably dressed, with her usual suit and high heels. Since the day of the interview with Pamela she had always had her iconic haircut: a one-length bob reaching her shoulder. Never had a day gone by without that hair exceeding that standard length, or even being shorter than that.

Pamela’s hair rested on her desk, brushing the papers she was focused on, which was a common event. Every time she always had to sit at a free table, she had to make certain no one else was around, as her hair would have annoyed the other professors and it certainly wasn’t Pamela’s intention being considered rude.

She quickly put all the papers back in her bag and left them there on the table, while standing up and throwing her hair behind her, she released a strong scent of conditioner that always made all her colleagues dizzy. In the corridor, empty due to the time, the loud footsteps of her heels echoed. Who knows what the principal wants to talk about… it’s strange that she would summon me on the spot without warning.

KNOCK KNOCK

The knuckles rattled the door of the principal’s office.

“Come in.”

“It’s me, ma’am.”

“Ah, Pamela… finally…”

“Did you want to see me, Mrs. Grimm?”

With a wave of her hand, the principal invited her to sit in front of her. In their midst was a solid wood desk, still stable despite the multitude of principals that it had accompanied throughout its years of service. Pamela sat down, adjusting her skirt.

“Yes, exactly Pamela, I was looking for you.”

The teacher really didn’t know what to expect from that tête-à-tête.

“The results of satisfaction surveys of the school staff have come out. Nothing to fear since in the last 8 years you have always been at the top of the rankings…”

Pamela had always been able, with her passion for teaching, to reach the hearts of students and their parents. Furthermore, she was also very popular among her colleagues, who she was not afraid to call ‘friends’: she was always available, always kind, to everyone.

“…until now…”
“Excuse me?”

“Yeah. This year you dropped 6 positions in the teacher rankings. 6 positions. Not bad for someone who’s used to looking down on everyone from the top.” Mrs. Grimm’s tone was sarcastic.

It was as if a boulder fell on poor Pamela’s stomach, her gaze darkened and her lips parted, doubtful of how she could respond to that news, if she ever could of course, cause she didn’t even know how it had been possible.

“I don’t understand… I’ve never received a complaint from my students or from other staff’s members, let alone parents. I don’t understand how it was possible, I just don’t understand. I’m sorry to have disappointed you, headmistress, ma’am…”

“I’m as surprised as you are, Pamela. When I saw that your name wasn’t in position number 1, I also rolled my eyes. It is clear that something has changed this year. Can you tell me what?”

The boss’s stern eyes were fixed on Pamela, waiting to hear what she had to say to her in the face of the evidence of that unseemly result.

“I don’t think I’ve changed anything. My teaching method has always been considered impeccable and I have not had any disagreements with anyone. As far as I’m concerned, nothing has changed, ma’am.”

“Exact. This is exactly the point in my opinion. Nothing has changed. Nothing since I hired you, not the lessons, not your behavior, nor even your appearance for that matter.”

What does my look have to do with all this now? Pamela wondered.

“Maybe it’s time to make a change in your life in here, what do you think?”

“I do not…”

“Not that you have much choice in the matter, judging by the results” and the principal returned to indicating Pamela’s name in seventh position on the ranking.

“W-What… What should I do?”

“Maybe a small revolution. It’s clear that your methods no longer seem to work, nothing seems to do so anymore, and in this sheet there is proof. It’s now been 20 years since I hired you. Now it’s time to move on. I will not tolerate these old-fashioned ways of yours any longer. And I have no difficulty in thinking that you have remained the same even just by looking at you. By now you are the only one in here who has always kept her appearance unchanged and this, in my opinion, is intolerable. It is an indication of inadequacy in adapting to the surrounding environment. Intolerable for a teacher of your caliber.”

What is she talking about? I have also never seen her differently from how I met her the first time at my job interview. Pamela’s thoughts gave way to a perplexity she had never felt before towards the person in front of her. Where did she want to go with this?

“I therefore invite you to change your teaching methods. Be more severe, you are no longer a newbie who has to ingratiate yourself with the kids to make them feel good and composed. Be inflexible, this is not a school for weak people, and this applies to both the teachers and the students. And then…”

Some soft locks began to fall from above Pamela’s ear to fall on her shoulder, as if in defiance against the principal’s harsh and frank words.

“…it would be a good idea for you to tidy up your appearance too.”

“Why? What’s wrong?” the poor woman asked softly.

“What’s wrong, you say? Do you think it’s appropriate to wear your hair the way you wore it 20 years ago? Oh please… it’s clear that you need a refresher. Students certainly don’t expect to see such a retro, youthful style when they sit at their desks. Times have changed, and so will you… starting with your hair.”

“What? My hair? But… but I don’t want…”

“I’m sorry my dear, but I strongly advise you to do as I ask, or I will be forced to take disciplinary measures against you for insubordination.”

Pamela’s hands wrinkled the fabric of her skirt resting on her knees.

She felt totally oppressed by all that talk which seemed senseless to her. Why would her methods suddenly no longer be effective? What was the reason for all this? No one had ever come to talk to her about any of her grievances against her, and yet here she was now, sitting in front of the one who had wanted her so much, listening to what she should do with her life. All because of a stupid piece of paper with numbers and names written on it.

“For Monday I want things to change radically, once and for all. Did I make myself clear?”

With a final wave of her hand, she dismissed Pamela from her office.

Once alone and the door closed, the Mrs. Grimm’s gaze turned towards the window behind her, thinking about how difficult it had been to falsify that paper. Obviously Pamela’s name dominated all those of the other teachers, but the principal was tired of hearing how Pamela was the best in the institute, only she wanted to be, and as long as Pamela was everyone’s favorite she couldn’t aspire to this title. At least not with the Pamela of now.
He had to make everything about her change. And now she just had to wait to see in what state she would show up in the following week.

The night passed too quickly and Saturday morning was already there, waiting for Pamela as the sun rose.

What to do after that sort of outburst from her boss? She couldn’t believe she really had to give up years and years of perfectly styled, curled hair just for a higher place on the list. And then what did her headmistress expect her to do to her hair? It seemed more like a sort of punishment that she was subjecting her to.

Pamela had to find a solution as soon as possible, she only had two days and since the next day would be Sunday, all the shops would be closed. The cutting had to be done that same day. But the doubt remained.

What cut did she have to get?

It was certainly a problem that needed to be resolved as soon as possible. I can’t go to my usual salon and ask for a different cut than usual, they’d think I’m crazy. And, I can’t book a last minute visit! I have to look for another one, definitely.

In fact, the salon that had been doing her hair for practically all her life wasn’t very familiar with cuts other than perms and various beauty treatments, the good old ‘Club-Coif’. A place remained in the 70s, with large spacious armchairs and huge helmets for the perms of all the loyal customers. No more than a few centimeters were cut by the hairdressers who ran the shop, and then the customers’ hair was immediately rolled lock after lock into curlers, now larger or smaller depending on the desired effect. Pamela used to have them rolled into larger ones, so that her perm would give her those shiny soft waves that had made her friends so envious.

A quick glance at her alarm clock, a slow movement of her hand to move her hair out of her face and immediately she began to get fully dressed. Her beloved heels are a must, but not before putting on a white blouse and a knee-high skirt. A style that didn’t differ too much from her teacher outfit. For her they had always been a symbol of elegance, and who could blame her. That clothing seemed to have been created especially for her.

She left the house around 9:00am, locked the door and headed towards the streets of the city center by foot. She needed to take time, and above all a breath of fresh air. On the other hand, she still didn’t know what to expect from that unplanned day.

She thought about all the products smells in her usual salon, wondering if she would have find them in the place she would choose shortly thereafter too.

She wasn’t sure what to feel, it was all so confusing and sudden; the day before she had found herself at the mercy of a totally unexpected situation and now she ‘had to pay the consequences’.

It was a good half hour before she reached the center of the city, with all its streets and all its colorful shops. Even though she was used to wearing heels all day, she quickly realized that maybe it wasn’t a good idea to wear them for a walk, and so she found herself praying to find a place that would suit her as soon as possible. After another 10 minutes of walking, a sign caught her attention. Not particularly colorful as the rest of the street was, to be honest. But the name seemed promising. ‘Practi-Cuts by Helene’. The name said it all, or at least, it seemed so to Pamela. Maybe I can find what I’m looking for here…

She took courage, and with one hand pushed the door to open it and enter.

The place was definitely more spartan than what Pamela was used to. Always just two stations, like in her usual salon, but much less colourful, less playful. Perhaps more classic, she would have said. The strong scents of hair products were here replaced by flashes of alcohol used to disinfect the work tools used by the owner. Only one wash basin, not even in good condition. It was clear that it wasn’t used as often as the three always busy in the ‘club-Coif’. The cashier counter, just to the right of the entrance, was empty. No one to welcome customers. But ultimately it was difficult to be at work and welcoming at the same time, especially when you are alone running a shop.

In front of Pamela, or rather on the left wall of the room, the only two stations stood out, one of which was occupied. Sitting in front of the mirror, a young customer, in her twenties, at the mercy of the hairdresser, apparently the owner and sole manager of the shop. A tall woman, approximately 185 cm, with generous breasts and well-rounded body curves. Her long heeled leather boots reached halfway up her thighs, her miniskirt short enough to leave part of her thighs bare, leaving a few inches exposed between her boots and her fabric. The short-sleeved black shirt was unbuttoned across her chest, leaving a noticeable cleavage gap. Her plump lips were adorned with warm-colored lipstick, a purple red shade. To top it all off, a one-length blonde bob slicked back with gel, leaving only what appeared to be half of a fringe on the forehead just above the right eye. The length of the bob left the woman’s thin neck entirely bare. Her slightly amber skin contrasted very well with the light color of her hair. Something that both she and her current client had in common.

Perhaps the bare neck was something that actually the young girl sitting at the station would not have wanted at that moment, or at least not with that new cut of hers. In fact, Helene (this is the name of the hairdresser), was admirably carrying out her duty on the girl’s hair, or what to Pamela seemed to be the shadow of what perhaps her hair had been until a few minutes ago.

With her eyes glued to the mirror, the young client did nothing but stare at her exposed temples, and the close shave that faded into a few centimeters of hair at the top, while Helene helped herself shape the flattop with comb and clippers.

It didn’t exactly look like a cut that this young client might have requested, and in fact her look suggested that was exactly the case.

To confirm everything, the lake formed on the ground by the client’s light hair was too large to be from just a normal trim.

Pamela didn’t seem to have been noticed by either of the two in front of her.

Suddenly, Helene turned off the clippers, a sign that the cutting was over.

“It’s much better now, isn’t it, dear? All that mess you had on your head, it really wasn’t the case to maintain it anymore. At least you’ll think twice before letting it grow so wildly and forgetting about seeing me for regular trims.”

With a sharp tear she removed the cape from her client, still astonished by what she had been subjected to.

“Now you can go, just leave the money on the counter and don’t forget the tip, a big one this time!” the hairdresser said sternly.

“Y-Yes madam…”

“Good girl.”

The girl quickly got up, walked towards the counter and left a generous amount of banknotes on it, apparently without noticing Pamela or looking anywhere other than at the floor and the cobblestones of the sidewalk once she left.

Now only Helene and Pamela were left in the shop.

“I’ll tend to this later,” Helene said, looking at all the hair on the floor. Without paying too much attention to who else had entered the shop, she headed towards the checkout counter, almost to her amazement finding Pamela in front of her. Pamela sat nervously, touching her hazelnut-coloured waterfall running down her entire back and part of her breasts. Although she was taller than average, Helene struggled to see the shop door in front of her, partly covered by the woman’s voluminous hair. She looked her up and down for several seconds.

“And which castle did you come from now, huh, princess?”

Pamela turned red in the face from her embarrassment. In all her years of teaching, she had never heard anyone, not even one of her more disobedient students, address her with such shamelessness, even more shocking was that this person was a stranger!

She steeled herself and answered.

“G-Good morning. I’m here for a cut-“

“I can tell…”

“Sorry?”

“Yeah, I mean … looking at you, it’s exactly what you need, a nice cut. I’m Helene, also, if you hadn’t realized”

“I-I…”

Pamela didn’t have time to think of an adequate answer before Helene immediately took her by the wrist and took her straight to sit on the only clean seat left in the shop. Usually when she sat on one of the armchairs in her usual salon she always found it warm because of the previous customer they had just served. It was so crowded that there wasn’t actually time for the seats to cool down. Here, however, everything was different.

Quickly, Helene picked up the striped white cape still partially covered by the hair of the girl who had just left and secured it around Pamela’s neck. She had never before been seen wearing a cape of a color other than pink. It was almost strange. It seemed to no longer be her anymore, in a certain way…

With a brush, the hairdresser began to comb her long hair from the roots to the ends, trying to smooth it as much as possible.

Only the sound of brushing now filled the room.

“So?”

“What?…”

“Did you have something in mind for this unsightly bouffant on your head?”

“I-I need a new cut for my job. That’s what my boss told me…”

“Your boss? Why, what work do you do?”

“I’m a teacher.”

“I see.”

The brush strokes were totally smooth, not a knot in Pamela’s hair.

“There’s a lot of them I see… your hair I mean.”

“Thank you!”

“My remark wasn’t a compliment.”

“Oh…”

“We’d better get to it. Looks like there’s a lot of work to do here,” she said, picking up one of the locks on her forehead.

“Wait! You still haven’t asked me what cut I would like-“

“I can imagine. Of course you can’t go around like this anymore.”

Before Pamela could begin realizing it, a pair of scissors were already positioned halfway down her back, ready to close and cut off anything that dangled below the blades. SNIP SNIP SNIP. The sound of dry hair being cut now echoed in our teacher’s ears. From her mirror she could only see soft silken locks falling at her feet, the ones that were hers a few seconds ago.

“I bet you’ve always worn them like this, haven’t you? And no one ever told you anything about it, right?”

Pamela didn’t know what to answer. It was all so strange, so absurd. At a certain point she also wondered if she was really there, sitting to suffer that cut that she would never have hoped to see or receive.

“I can see why they told you to cut them, can’t you see how retro they are? Nowadays, no one is interested in this type of style anymore. And then it’s not right to stay in the past. You should have cut them off a long time ago. Good thing you came to me, princess. I know about cuts and you absolutely need to get rid of all this hair.”

“But I actually-“

“Silence! It’s clear you don’t know what you need to do. And it is right that you now receive this treatment!”

Pamela didn’t know what to say, but something was dawning in her.

Why hadn’t she gone away before, even though she had witnessed that tragic scene with the young woman receiving a flattop? And not even when Helene had addressed those mocking words to her just minutes before? Yet the door had always been open, no one would have stopped her from going out and looking for another place more congenial to her. Something had drawn her there. And that something now hadn’t allowed her to leave.

She was totally helpless to what was happening to her. She clearly felt every movement of the scissors, the blades opening and closing with her locks in between them. Soon the floor was partly covered with Pamela’s soft curls, while Helene seemed impatient at the sight of all that sea of hair still intact on the head of her ‘prisoner’.

She always repeated the same movements: from right to left she drew a straight line on Pamela’s tresses and she ran the scissors through them, cutting everything that came across that imaginary line. Thus, locks of more or less the same length were piled up on the ground.
Seeing that sight, Pamela tried to come back to her senses. Why was she accepting all this? Was it that good to see someone strip her of what she had always been? Or maybe she was discovering something in herself that even she didn’t even know how to explain?

Pamela couldn’t give herself an answer, or perhaps she simply didn’t want to say it.

The only thing she managed to do in that moment, almost unconsciously, was put her hand between her legs, caressing her inner thigh.

“Your students must laugh behind your back when they see how you look at school. You’ll see how they’ll do it even more when I’m done with you, princess…”

Helene turned Pamela’s head, adding “You don’t see much hair like that around anymore… It will be a pleasure to get rid of it!”

Helene continued undaunted in her task. No comb in hand, no clips to hold up her hair: just scissors, to get rid of the superfluous locks.

Pamela was sitting very still there, staring at Helene’s hand which was slowly climbing higher and higher on her, finally reaching her shoulders.

Now, Pamela’s manicured hands instead were making themselves wider and wider, further and further inside her between her legs, each severed lock was an explosion of pleasure. Why am I reacting like this? I shouldn’t like all this…

With her middle finger, she gently moved her panties to the side, revealing her sex soaked in her juices, slowly inserting her index finger. She began to slide it slowly in and out of her lips, searching for her clitoris, so that it would give her back pleasure.

Pamela’s long, thick hair had reached her shoulder height. They had never been this short before, and Helene was the first to have the honor of cutting them this short for the first time in Pamela’s life.

The teacher’s cheeks became redder and redder, and little moans of pleasure came out almost involuntarily from her mouth.

“This is already much better!”

“Mmmh…”

“It doesn’t matter if you don’t like it’s length like that, I’ll decide when it’s good and short enough anyway.”

Strange words came out of Pamela’s mouth at that moment.

“A little more…” she said as her index finger was joined by her middle finger.

“You don’t need to beg me. It wasn’t my intention to stop here.”

With her left hand, the hairdresser grabbed the hair at the nape and positioned the scissors right on the hairline, as close as possible to the roots, and without ceremony cut it all off, leaving here and there patches, now shorter, now longer, roughly cut. In some areas the scalp was clearly visible.

Pamela’s eyes narrowed, focusing only on herself and her hand, while her head became increasingly lighter under Helene’s scissor strokes.

She runs the scissors all over the back of her head, going over her ears, both left and right, higher and higher above the ears, too.

The sound of Helene’s heels echoed throughout the room, deaf to the teacher’s ears. Pamela was sure that she had wet the chair she was sitting on too much and she had promised to clean it with her skirt just before getting up, but this would be a problem to deal with later.

Just over a few millimeters now remained all around Pamela’s head. Small strands of her hair had remained stuck to her ears and shoulders, while decidedly longer strands had fallen on her cape, bouncing off on that hand of hers that was now giving her new pleasure.

Quick passes of Helene’s hand caressed Pamela’s entire head, now delicately scratching with her nails on the nape of her neck, now brushing the lengths left ‘intact’ on the top of her head.

Moving in front of her client, the hairdresser positioned her scissors just above Pamela’s temple, meticulously cutting the entire contour of her head, expertly defining an ‘above’ and a ‘under’. A few hairs also ended up on the panting lips of the teacher’s mouth but this didn’t seem to matter much to Helene.

The fingers inside her vagina clung and writhed, the muscles of her legs contracted: Pamela had entered a feverish state that belonged only to her, heightened with every snip.

Satisfied with the shape she had given to that now pathetic hair at her eyes, the time had come to define what would be her final cut.

Helene placed the scissors in front of her mirror. From one of the large chests of drawers she took out a pair of clippers, perhaps the same one that she had worked on the first client’s head before her. She turned it on loudly and began to run it not too quickly on the ‘under’ area. Passing over her temples, Pamela couldn’t help but enjoy that humiliating spectacle in which she was the protagonist. She was now being sheared like a lamb! The hum of the machine as she pressed it against her skin sent her into ecstasy. That paleness of the scalp that she had never seen the light now stood out, almost shining in contrast with the colored locks, decidedly longer now that that area seemed shaved to a minimum.

The teacher no longer knew how to bear those emotions of hers and she began to bite her lower lip until it turned red, while under the cape she was careful to move only her wrist, so as not to be noticed too much.

The clippers never stopped cutting off all that hair that had done nothing but thicken over the years around and above her ears and over her nape. Helene stopped, saying “The clipper isn’t enough here… I’ll have to go harder if I want to get rid of all this hair.”

A couple of kids were looking the shop window from the street, laughing at that macabre show of humiliation. Who knows if they were Pamela’s students?

A stark contrast was now visible on Pamela’s head: all of her was shaved from the temples down, and on the top of her head just about ten centimeters reamined, giving her a decidedly unusual and extreme bowl cut.

Helene moved away from her customer for a moment, going to the back of the shop. Pamela immediately took advantage of her absence to take her left hand out from under the cape and touch the few shaved stubble remaining on her head. This gave her so much pleasure that a rapid flow of juices squirted from her vagina. I hope I can clean everything…

The hairdresser came back carrying a can of shaving cream and a straight razor.

She covered the shaved portion of Pamela’s head with a generous amount of white foam. Then with the razor she began with short and rapid strokes of the blade to get rid of every stubble covered by the white substance. Her teacher felt her head pulling with every stroke of the razor, feeling that Helene was totally in control of what she was doing, and of her too. Pamela had never had any say in her hair once she entered that store. And perhaps she was now grateful that it had gone this way.

The elimination of the perm had freed a much bolder and perhaps wilder side of Pamela, a side that she had always hidden from everyone, even from herself, feeling afraid of being judged for this perversion of hers. But now, there was no hiding it.

The blade was very precise not to go over the still intact hair. The irritated skin due to shaving was a new sight in the teacher’s eyes, which she hoped would never end. A couple more passes of the razor totally freed her of any remaining stubble, leaving room for hairless, smooth skin like she was used to feeling on other parts of her body, but never on her head before.

Once she finished shaving, Helene made Pamela get up abruptly and take her to the hair wash. Oh no! I hope she didn’t notice her stain! thought Pamela. Very quickly a shampoo was performed on her. With no hair left around her head, she could now feel her nails running directly across her skin, and the warm warmth of the water flowing over her without friction. Before returning her to her mirror, she ran cold aftershave over Pamela’s head, sending a shiver down her spine.

“It’s to close the pores,” she told her.

Once the wash was over and they returned to the station, Helene picked up the hairdryer and roughly dried the few remaining hairs on the top of Pamela’s head. Once they were completely dry, she took a round brush from one of the dressers and began styling her hair. Pamela saw her hair swell more and more with each stroke of the brush, giving her a somewhat grotesque appearance. The hairbrush pulled her head left and right picking up the short locks on the top of her head. Helene circled around her for several minutes, until she deemed the result satisfactory.Then, she retrieved a can of hairspray from a drawer, soaking Pamela’s hair until it hardly moved.

“Now that’s fine! This is the right cut for a submissive teacher like you! I hope you learned your lesson, walking in here with long hair and showing up like a princess! A nice mushroom will please your boss, no doubt!”

From the crown of her hair to a couple of centimeters above her ears, thick, rounded hair grew, decidedly unusual even for a bowl cut. That excessive volume did not allow the hair to lie flat on her head. This made the shape of her face almost identical to that of a real mushroom! No matter from what angle she turned her head, the shape was the same!

What will they think of me at school now? She didn’t have time to answer. At that moment her emotions were too strong, and she just wanted to go home to vent them…

Freed from her cape, she said nothing to Helene and quickly left the money on the counter as well and headed straight home.

Helene noticed the stain Pamela had left. She could at least hold back a little, dammit!

Her heels bounced almost like a drum on the cobblestones of the street, ignoring the pain in her feet.

She searched frantically for the keys in her bag, opened the door and threw everything on the sofa, going to lock herself in the bedroom.

She undressed, throwing all her clothes on the floor and lay down on the bed. She put her fingers back inside her sex and ran her left hand over her head. She had to touch it. She had to feel it. That contrast between long and clean-shaven that she felt between her fingers was too much for her. She didn’t hold back any longer. Her moans became louder and louder. That grotesque appearance of her mushroom bowlcut together with the humiliating experience of being controlled by someone had reduced her to this. To an infinite whirlwind of pleasure all for her. She felt free. She felt strong. Her fingers pushed in further and further, faster and faster, until the bed was soaked too.