Exposure

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Exposure

 

By Dreadlocks

 

Waiting…

 

My name is Samantha, Samantha Maris. Everyone calls me Sam, although I hate the sound of it. Hah! Here I am being miserable over my unfortunate name when I’m about to experience the most incredible humiliation imaginable. There is no stopping the inevitable now.

The light from my seventh-story corner office streams in from behind me as I sit at my desk, waiting for my undoing. Well, I should say, the great reveal. I hadn’t given any real explanation for my sudden leave of absence. I didn’t have to; I ran the company.

My heart is pounding relentlessly in my chest, and I am, quite honestly, frightened by the prospect of what is to come. This is it, the culmination of what had been the strangest and most erotic three weeks of my life.

 

Three Weeks Earlier

 

“You had better have that report on my desk by eight am tomorrow, Phillip, or it’s your job,” I remember spitting, the older gentleman stammering his response.

“Yes, Ms. Maris. I’ll have the revisions completed and, on your desk, before you arrive.” Backing out of my office, he averted his eyes as he had been taught.

It was no mystery in the office that I held the men beneath me in contempt. They all knew it and if they intended to stay in my good graces, they knew better than to test me. My word was law.

As a direct result of my ‘bitchy’ attitude, I found myself alone. I had no need for dating, or men, and any sexual gratification I desired came at the end of my industrial-strength vibrator.

I was guilty of few vises in my life, but the one glaring exception to that was pornography. Be it the written word, which I far preferred, or other media such as film or imagery, I was a complete addict.

I wasn’t proud of my little perversion, but it had stayed in the closet as it were; at least up until that one night when I came across something so titillating that I was totally taken in.

It was a bit of a truth or dare type of drama which would prove to invade my life more than I dared allow; until then. The link was very conservative in nature, promising endless hours of fun and excitement.

“Welcome to ‘Exposure’, the experience that will surely change your life.” The opening line read. If I wasn’t already masturbating, I would have clicked off the sight at once. As it was though, I was particularly hot that evening and was hard pressed to say no. “Click the link below, and we will begin to explore your deepest and darkest desires.”

 

Exposure

 

I hovered over the damned thing for what must have been ten minutes as the vibrator drove me to make the biggest mistake of my life. A small green orb spun at the bottom right of my screen, one I had never seen before. I suspected it was theirs. I almost didn’t believe my finger had moved yet, but it must have done, because my screen went entirely black for a moment, before coming back to a very ominous-looking page. You know, the one you see when you’ve done something really, really bad.

Every security alarm I had on the damned computer lit up, and then the dreaded blue screen appeared. My vibrator hit the floor as I rushed to switch off the computer. Panicked, I reached for the power outlet and yanked it from the wall, causing the entire system to go silent.

I sat there, naked as the day I was born, my erotic buzz all but eradicated. Reaching down the floor, I switched off the vibrator and cautiously plugged the computer back in. The surge protector powered up, and I hesitated to hit the power button, for fear of having done some real damage.

I watched with trepidation as the screen lit up, going through its paces as all the systems booted up. Everything seemed to be going well and by the time my home screen appeared I was confident I had averted disaster.

I was just about to put it to sleep when a small scrolling message appeared across the center of my screen.

Welcome to Exposure, and rest assured, you have been exposed. Make no attempt to shut down the system again. Doing so will result in the immediate release of some very sensitive material. Following our instructions to the letter is the only way to ensure your eventual release. Hit the return key to indicate your compliance.

I must have read the damned message six times as it ran through my vision. I was shocked at my own stupidity. How could I have done something so ludicrously stupid? I began to think about just what these clowns must have gained access to. Then I remembered that nearly all of my financials, both personal and professional were linked on this computer. “Fuck!” I grimaced, as I resisted doing as they demanded.

Then, there was a countdown: 10…9…8…7…6…5…4. I almost let it run down before I slammed my finger down on the return key. Would they really have done what they were threatening to do? I had no reason to believe they wouldn’t. The scrolling message returned.

Your camera has been activated. We see you are already naked. Make no attempt to cover the camera. This is our window on your world and your new master. The camera will become the center of your world. Everything you do will revolve around it.

         I immediately tried to cover myself, but realizing the futility of the action, let my arms fall to my side. These people were very quickly taking control of me. Strangely enough, and in spite of the disaster unfolding before me, I found this arousing. I cursed it, but there it was.

That was the last message I received from them that night, but the entire ordeal had left me both frazzled and strangely aroused. I masturbated myself to sleep imagining what ‘these people’ had in store.

The next day started as though nothing was out of order. I woke up, showered, dressed, and had my usual breakfast of coffee and toast. I was just finishing up my hair, which I wore up, when the computer sprung to life. Once again, there was that insidious message scrolling across the screen.

That won’t do at all. You will wear the blue mid-thigh pencil skirt and the satin form-fitting blouse.

How on earth did they know what I had in my closet. Then I realized that if they had access to all my finances, they would also see my receipts. For a moment, I actually thought about ignoring the message, but then remembered their threat from the night before. I imagined that all still applied.

I disappeared into my walk-in closet and donned the required outfit. As I gazed at myself in the mirror, I knew that it was totally wrong for the office. No doubt, there would be some titters amongst the staff. Another ‘ding’ from my nemesis.

Hair Down. No panties.

         The short, almost terse command seemed to tweak my already swollen clitoris. This was certain to raise some eyebrows. I had never worn my waist-length blonde hair down at work, ever. It would be totally unprofessional. After having chided all the female staff for doing the same thing, this was going to be difficult to explain.

Reluctantly, I pulled at the bun until the long tresses came pouring down over my shoulders. The panties were next, finding their way to the floor, where they would remain. What the hell was I doing?

You will receive more instructions at ten. Make certain you are at your computer, Samantha.

         I was momentarily stunned by the use of my name but realized that this was the least of the information they were probably privy to. Leaving the computer on, I rushed out of my townhouse and climbed into my Porsche, the comfortable solitude of the snug cockpit deceptively comforting.

As I suspected, all eyes were on me as I walked through the office, quickly disappearing into my large, corner office. The view was the best in the building, offering the shore of Lake Michigan, disappearing north into the suburbs.

On my desk was the report I had chided Phillip about the previous day. The information within seemed almost trivial in comparison to what I was going through. I quickly paged through it, disinterested.

When I logged into my computer, I was immediately reminded of the last message from Exposure. At the bottom of my screen, that small orb spun ominously, the same one that appeared on my computer at home. Were they watching me? Looking to the top of the screen, the tiny blue light indicated that they were.

         Not exactly professional is it?

         My screen went blank, save for the message which scrolled across my work computer. Of course, it’s not professional, I typed, surprised when a text box appeared at the bottom of the screen. I looked at my watch. It was ten o’clock.

We’ve made an appointment for you to remedy that issue. If you leave now, you may just get there on time. 4574 West Ambrose.

         Did they really expect me to simply get up and leave in the middle of the morning? Obviously so. Not wanting to incur their wrath, I quickly made my way out of my office, once again being subject to the scorious glances of my underlings. If they only knew what was under my skirt, or what wasn’t.

 

Stage One

 

Once in my car, I quickly entered the address. Nothing came up under the address and I wondered what sort of establishment this was.

Sixteen blocks later, I pulled up to what appeared to be a rather seedy-looking establishment, nestled between a tavern and an eastern deli of some sort. There wasn’t even a sign over the door. I parked my car, a little fearful of the neighborhood I was in, and made my way inside.

“My name is…”

“Samantha Maris? Yes, we’ve been expecting you. Right this way please.” A rather frightening-looking woman directed. What remained of her hair was cropped unevenly and the other half shaved to the skin. “We don’t usually accept appointments on such short notice, but the incentive was much appreciated. I’m Ashley, by the way.”

I wondered just how much of my money they had offered to ‘squeeze’ me in. “I’m in a rather precarious situation, Ashley, so…”

“It’s alright. You don’t have to explain. Women are often a little timid about making such a…” She eyed my long blonde hair, “…drastic change.”

“Drastic?” I asked.

“Don’t worry. We won’t let you back out. You said you might balk at the last second, so we’ve arranged some special accommodations for you.”

She led me to what could only be described as an old-fashioned barber’s chair, the chrome frame and red leather surprisingly well maintained. “Have a seat.” She offered, collecting a length of red rope that was all too conveniently hung on the wall.

“What’s that for?” I asked, as I reluctantly slipped into the cool leather seat.

“Just in case you change your mind.” She pointed out, slipping the rope around the arms of the chair.

“What exactly are you going to be doing with my hair, that you’ll need to tie me down for it?” I asked, tersely.

“Don’t be silly, Samantha. You were very specific in your email, and we aim to please.” I couldn’t help but feel a bit excited by the rope biting into my wrists as Ashley fastened them securely to the arms of the large swivel chair.

Once I was helplessly bound, both wrists and ankles, she swept a jet-black cape around my shoulders, requesting that I hold my hair up. “Last time you’ll be doing that for a while, eh?” Ashley chuckled, as she brushed through my hair, the blonde locks in sharp contrast to the cape, and nearly as long. “We’ll be donating it locks of love, as you requested.”

“I… I just…”

“Oh, don’t be silly. We can’t just toss this lovely stuff, now, can we?” She chided, as she busily secured the hair close to my scalp, high on each side. Several rubber bands were used, and they were so tight that I swore my cheeks were drawn up in a mock facelift.

“Isn’t that going to be pretty short?” I asked, finally getting a word in.

“It sure is. I bet they’ll get at least two wigs out of this, maybe even three.” Ashley bubbled.

My heart skipped a beat as I heard the telltale whine of a set of clippers winding up. “Wait. I… Wait!” I screamed, but it was too late. Ashley had slipped the blades of the machine behind my ear and carved it out, a two-inch-wide path of destruction in their wake. The stubble left behind couldn’t have been more than a quarter of an inch in length. The tightly bound hair lifted away, revealing my scalp which shone through easily. I could feel myself physically slump into the chair, the rope suddenly feeling much tighter than it had.

“There. No going back now, Sam.” The girl giggled as she removed a second two-inch swath right next to the first. “Good thing you warned us ahead of time. Something tells me you would have been out of my chair and halfway down the street by now.”

I felt like scolding her for what she was doing, but it certainly wasn’t her fault. She was only doing what the people at Exposure had requested. All I could do was watch, in horror, as one side of my head was reduced to practically nothing.

When Ashley finally hefted the heavy hank of silvery blonde hair, I was too mesmerized by my appearance to react to her dangling it teasingly before me. The contrast between my shorn head and the side which had yet to be touched was astounding. “It’s really short.” I managed.

Ashley rubbed her fingers over the stubbled surface, eliciting a sensation that was very close to that brought on by my vibrator. Between the thrill of her fingers and the rope cutting intensely into my ankles and wrists, I couldn’t help but thrust my hips upward with an audible grunt escaping my lips.

“Oh, I think someone is enjoying this.” She laughed, digging her nails into my scalp and very nearly sending me over the edge. This girl was destroying me, and I was as close to orgasm as I had ever been without direct stimulation. How was this even possible? “Well, we can’t very well leave it like this, can we?” She asked, slipping her hand beneath the cape and quickly finding my open legs and exposed pussy.

I groaned as she slipped two fingers inside of me. All I wanted at that moment was to reach up and feel the side of my head that was now so rudely exposed.

“You are a nasty little slut, aren’t you, Sam.” Ashley scolded, bringing her fingers to my lips, sopping with my excitement. Instinctively, I opened my mouth allowing her to insert them. “Suck.” I did as she commanded. “That’s it, Sam. Suck all that filthy slut juice off like a good little whore.”

I was so close to coming that I was eating up her insults, as I had watched and enjoyed so many times on the internet. The only difference: this was very, very real. I sucked her fingers as she slipped them in and out of my mouth as though she was fucking it with them. Again, my hips thrust upward, as my drooling sex thirsted for attention.

“Tell me to do it, Sam. Tell me to rid you of the last of your luscious mane.” Ashley commanded, tugging on the long blonde pony, viciously.

“Cut… it… off.” I stammered, staring at my reflection in the mirror as she fired up the clippers once again. “Anything…” I pleaded. “…just make me come.”

Ashley giggled as she ran the evil machine along the border between what was, and what was so starkly in the present. One tortuously slow pass after the next, she peeled away all that remained of my pride and joy, my crowning glory, until all that remained was a tightly spun crown of bristles.

The look was stark and almost ghostly, my snow-white scalp all too evident, and in shocking contrast to the tanned complexion of my face. The long dangling earrings I had worn that morning seemed so out of place now. My ears, which projected from the sides of my head like clam shells needed no such adornment to draw attention to them.

“I wonder what they’ll think of you now, back in that fancy office of yours?” Ashley prodded. Still tied to the chair, and desperately needing to come, I looked at her, feeling as submissive as I had ever felt in my life.

“How do you know where…”

The girl whipped a card from the counter and held it out so that I could read it, my hands still bound to the chair.

 

Exposure

Hair Service Partner

“Ashley”

 

“Stage one complete,” Ashley said into her phone as she slipped a box knife through one of the loops securing my hands and sliced through it. By the time I had released myself, she was gone, along with my hair. As I made my way out of the shop, it seemed deserted, most of the décor having been stripped away. The place was a front, and I was the victim.

I self-consciously ran a hand over my head, still aroused and still very much in need of an orgasm. The feel of the course stubble sent chills down my spine and right into my sex. I could still taste myself on my lips as I quickly made my way to my Porsche. There was no way I could go back to the office now. I’d be the laughingstock. I made the call, giving myself the rest of the day, and headed home to masturbate.

 

To be continued…

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