File Delivery

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Author’s note: This story contains extreme degradation and coercion that belongs only in fantasy. Please don’t read this if that’s not your thing.

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Stacy was the secretary. Around 32, she had a young and wholesome face with straight blonde hair about shoulder length.  She was well liked and she was hot.

Brian was the director. About 45 with a square jaw and mean eyes and a well known sadistic streak.

Stacy turned him down too many times.  He called her into his office.  “Your name isn’t Stacy anymore.”
“What?”

“Your name is Stacks now.  Effective immediately you will have a new role here.  You move stacks of paper now.  This will be your only responsibility. I’ve already hired a new secretary. She starts tomorrow.”

Stacy laughed.  Brian cut her off.

“If you choose not to accept your new position, I will frankly wreck your life.” He flashed an old photograph that struck Stacy into a deathly silence. It was true. If that photo was released, she’d be better off dead.

“Come here” said Brian.

Stacy obeyed without a word. Her face was ghostly white and her gaze was fixed with terror.

“Sit.”

She sat.

“We need to make some changes to suit your new role. Your beauty is a distraction. I will remove it today.”

“Stacy gasped once, gripping the arms of her chair with white knuckles. Her breathing was fast and shallow and her eyes were wild as the first tear rolled down her cheek.”

Brian lifted a set of clippers from his desk drawer and plugged them in. they were loud, deep, and powerful.  He pushed them into Stacy’s forehead hard between her eyebrows, rattling her skull.

“Get used to that, stacks.”

She lifted a finger to gingerly check the red mark left by the heel of the clippers.

He shaved her head, then her eyebrows, then her eyelashes.  He gave her a white button down, black slacks, and an ace wrap. Put these on and tape your tits. You’re not a woman anymore, so I don’t want to see them.

She obeyed, red faced, tears and snot flowing freely. He roughly wiped the last traces of makeup from her face.  He quickly swabbed her cheeks with alcohol.  “Deep breath.” With speed, he uncapped a large syringe. Gripping her jaw forcefully, he injected half the contents beneath each cheekbone.

Then he brought her a mirror.  Though she had stayed silent through everything, even the injections, on seeing her reflection she let out an inhuman, gutteral wail.

All her hair was gone. All of it. Her face, somehow still her own face, was changed. each feature was the same, but her cheekbones were gone, disguised by the filler injected beneath them.  Without her hair, her eyebrows, her long lashes, her cheeks, the delicacy that tied her features together, the gestalt of her self, had vanished.  She was doughy, androgynous and devastatingly recognizable. But you had to squint.

The clothes hung loosely. She shuddered when she reached across herself and felt no breast.

“We’re not done. Sit.”

Brian returned to his desk and pulled an epilator from the drawer. a powerful hair-ripping machine. it took about an hour to fully remove every last hair from her head. she had long past running out of tears. the dome of her head was glowing red.

Without a word, Brian returned the epilator to the drawer and fetched a sharpie.

Standing in front of her, a cold smile crept across his face. He gripped her forehead and pulled her face down, exposing the hairless crown of her skull. He wrote across it quickly with the sharpie, then fetched a tall stack of folders from his drawer.

“Here you go, Stacks.”

She held the stack to her flattened chest and slowly walked from his office.  The overhead florescent lights above the cubicles flooded her senses as she rushed to the women’s bathroom.  It was mercifully empty. Desperately, she turned this way and that trying to read in the mirror what he had written on her scalp, but it was impossible. She was trying to see the back of her own head.

Miserably, she fetched her phone. Gritting her teeth, she lifted it above her head and snapped a picture.

There, on her bare scalp, between the tops of her ears, over the divot at the top of her skull, was scrawled “Steve, enter this data by Thursday. -Brian”

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