Flowering: part 2

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Life without Soraya was certainly different. I reverted to old ways only partially: my clothing became more restrained, though a little more varied than previously. Tomboyish was still my favoured style and I rarely wore skirts. I lost weight, though I occasionally indulged in binges, but the biggest change to my diet was to stop drinking alcohol. It was hugely beneficial, both to my physical health and my mood.

My hair grew out, and I think it’s fair to say I was afraid to get it cut, since I hardly knew what style would suit me. I didn’t have the bravery to get the sort of cut that Soraya would have favoured, and didn’t even dye it to my previously favoured black. The growing out was awkward, with an untidy shapeless style, my mousy natural shade hardly making it more flattering. What I did enjoy was my ordinariness. No one paid much attention to me any more, which was entirely as I liked.

I stayed in the city where I’d studied, and soon found work as a carer in a centre for adults with learning difficulties. It didn’t pay well but I could afford a little flat near the heart of the town. I made a few friends in work and I was happy enough.

But I did miss Soraya. She’d been my mistress, my lover and my best friend. At the distance of six months it seemed unbelievable that our relationship had unravelled so quickly. How could I not have fixed what was wrong? I felt guilt at my removal from the situation, my heartlessness toward her. I could see in retrospect that I’d been depressed too, but it didn’t excuse my behaviour. I thought about her all the time. I often thought about getting in touch with her, but I was sure she’d feel hostility toward me.

I didn’t try very hard to find a replacement for her. I went on a few dates (mostly because one of my colleagues, who was also lesbian, was always trying to set me up with her friends). I found meeting strangers exhausting, seeming to grow more shy as I got older, and none of the dates flourished into anything long-term. I think my greatest fear was revealing my desires to a new lover; I couldn’t imagine ever being as open again as I could be with Soraya.

I didn’t even know if she’d remained in the city. Neither of us were keen on social media, and I consciously avoided looking for any profiles that she might have maintained. And her friends had never become my friends, so once I moved out of our home I ended contact with them too. A full year had passed and I’d accepted that our relationship was a brief flowering of something wonderful but too intense to last.

And then one day I was in a coffee shop and I thought I saw her. I didn’t know how to react. I felt adrenaline take hold of me, but my emotional state was hard to describe: I was anxious, fearful even, but there was also a curiosity, a desire to see her. She had her back to me, standing at the counter, and I couldn’t be sure it was her. Her hair was longer, though not long: maybe two inches through the nape, but long on top. She wore a t-shirt (it was late summer) and it was the sight of the lower part of her tattoo that made me sure it was her.

I was tempted to get out before she saw me. Would she be angry? I hated conflict and couldn’t bear to have to deal with her hostility. I glanced at the door and wondered if I could get out before she saw me.

I hesitated for too long. She turned and glanced at me without recognition. I waved at her and smiled. Suddenly her face lit up, her lovely smile, that I’d not seen for so long that I’d almost forgot it. She almost ran to me and soon she was hugging me tightly. “Oh my god, Kerry-Anne! I can’t believe it’s you! How are you?”

She apologised and said that she’d arranged to meet a friend here, but that she was always late. “It’s no big deal though. I’ll put her off say something turned up. I’d much rather catch up with you. Is that OK? You’re not busy?”

“No, I’d love to.” I was thrilled that she was happy to see me. We left to go to a nearby bar which had been one of our favourites. As we entered I told her that I’d stopped drinking alcohol.

“We should get drunk for old times sake,” she laughed.

“I know, but it didn’t help. I was depressed, you were too, and drinking doesn’t help. I feel better without it.”

“Yeah, and you got skinny again.”

I nodded. “I bet you hate it. My hair too.”

She laughed. “You look well. I mean, really good. Healthy. Your hair is terrible though! You so need a good cut.”

“I know, but I have no idea what to do. Letting it grow seemed the easiest option.”

She went quiet and looked at me, her dark eyes gleaming as she studied me. “I feel like we’ve never been apart. But then I know we’ve been apart for a long time and we’re different now. I was shocked when you left, I didn’t see it coming. I was mad at you for so long but then I got to thinking and it makes sense now.”

I shook my head. “No, I shouldn’t have done it. I was weak and I ran away. I should have tried to fix what wasn’t right.”

“I put all the blame on you too. But that wasn’t fair. I cheated on you. I tried to tell myself it was OK, because you gave me permission, but that wasn’t right. I know you hated it. You couldn’t trust me. After we split I was living with a guy and he cheated on me. He told me it didn’t mean anything, told me it was just physical and that it was me he cared about. But suddenly I realised what you felt. I should never have asked you to let me see other people. You gave me so much more than anyone else. And then I neglected you. I didn’t take the time to appreciate you enough. No wonder you walked out.”

“But we were so good together. You were ill, that’s not your fault.”

“I’m a bitch when I’m depressed though. That wasn’t what you signed up for.”

“Hush! Neither of us was blameless. Let’s just agree to that. We had some good times, that’s what I want to remember.” We clinked our glasses together and drank to better times.

We caught up on what had gone on since we’d last seen each other. Soraya had graduated and managed to set up her own business, doing bookkeeping and accountancy services, and was working toward becoming a chartered accountant. She’d got a contract to do payroll for a local agency and it paid well, so much so that she now employed an assistant.

“I’m so proud of you! Your own business. That’s great. I couldn’t find any work in a lab so I just do care work.”

“That’s good too though. You’re caring. You like to help people. It’s more you than being stuck in a lab. I’m proud of you too.”

Soon the conversation came around to relationships. Soraya was always bolder than me and seemed to have have intense affairs with half a dozen people (all but one were male) since our break-up. “I’m useless,” I sighed. “I can’t find anyone that I feel a spark with. We should give it another chance.”

I blushed as I said it. It was a stupid thing to say. Never go back. It’s never good the second time around. Everyone said so.

Soraya, by now a little tipsy, looked surprised. “Really? I’d got the idea you’d moved on. I wouldn’t be any less demanding, you know.”

I apologised. “I wasn’t thinking. It wouldn’t work. It didn’t work last time, why should it now?”

“We were great together. And this time I’d be yours alone. So that would be different. And yes, I still have times when I’m low and that’s hard to put up with, for me and for everyone around me. But if you want to give it a go I wouldn’t say no.”

Her beautiful dark eyes gleamed mischievously, and I saw once again the love that I’d never seen elsewhere. My caution wasn’t to be so easily forgotten, however. I remembered how hard it was to be with Soraya, how much she pushed me into regions I’d never have believed I could explore. Could I really say yes once more to being heavy and bald?

“Are you scared?” she asked. Her lips quivered. “I am. I know we’re dangerous together, we encourage all those things that when we’re with other people we suppress. But I’ve missed living like that. You’re right, it’s sensible and conventional to take our time, or to avoid each other entirely. But I don’t want to be conventional. We were always happiest when we didn’t think about how others would judge us. I think it was fate that led us together today, when we both have no commitments. You were always bad at making decisions, so shall I just tell you that you’re my girl again? Would that make it easier?”

I gave a humourless laugh. “No! Easy would be to walk away. I’ve had an easier life in the last year, far less complicated and painful than when we were together. But I never stopped loving you. And the fear and the humiliation were always part of something so intense that it’s almost unbearable.”

“We’re like Icarus. We fly close to the sun. It’s dangerous but it’s wonderful, and no one else feels like we do. So yes, Kerry-Anne, I’m not going to let you go again. We’re inseparable now.” She smiled. “We should seal it with a kiss. But you have to say ‘I’m yours, Miss Soraya’.”

She’d won the battle, and I did as she demanded.

“What do you want to do with me?” she asked as we sat on a bench in a park. It was past midnight and the place was deserted. Soraya was slightly drunk, but obviously elated. “Will you make me get a butch crop again?”

I ran my fingers through her thick hair. “Yeah, I’d do that again if you let me. Would it be bad for your business?”

She snorted. “Hardly. I don’t deal with clients face to face that much. As long as I can still look business-like for an occasional meeting it’s OK. I’ll probably cry again though if you make me go all butch.”

“You never cried last time! You loved it, I seem to remember. You were like a machine in bed. I’ve never seen you so excited.”

“Still… I felt so weird when I saw myself with my hair all gone.”

“You still had some hair. Will you make me shave mine again?”

She looked at me seriously. “Yeah, I’m sure I will. I loved you bald. Really loved you. It was so hot. I’m not going to be gentler with you this time, you know. I’ve got plans.”

I sighed. “You’re scaring me. What plans?”

“Well… for starters we need to get you tattooed. That was the deal when you got me tattooed, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, but we never had money then. I spent everything I had on your tattoo.”

“But I have money now, so you’re going to get tattoos for me. And… I want to do something with your teeth.”

“My teeth? What’s wrong with my teeth?” I was more alarmed by every new revelation: bald, tattooed, dental work. I dreaded to hear what else would be revealed.

“I just love the idea of seeing you with a dentist poking in your mouth, changing you for me. Maybe you should have one of your front teeth pulled. A big gap there.” She poked an unsteady finger between my lips.”

“Oh god, Soraya, it’d look awful. Like I was someone who drank too much and got in fights.”

“It’s Miss Soraya, and you would look sexy. Tough. Vulnerable.”

I shook my head. “I do love you. I always did, and I never stopped. But I’m not getting a tooth pulled at the front. I have to have some boundaries. I mean, I have a proper job now. It’s going to be hard enough when I turn up with a bald head and tattoos.”

“They’ll like it. They’ll like it because you’ll look so adorable and beautiful. No one could think of you any other way.”

“Oh they could. Not many people liked me bald.”

“We’ll give your friends a chance to get used to you having less hair. It’s got so long it would be a pity to just shave it all off, amazing though that would be. We’ll start you at the weekend. New cut and colour.”

I could hardly sleep that night. We’d gone to our own homes, and though there remained anxieties about resuming my relationship with Soraya I felt overwhelmingly happy. I’d missed her so much. Despite the comfortable routine I’d settled into over the last year I felt now that I’d put my life on hold and was about to commence living again, not merely surviving from day to day.

It was a couple of days until we spoke again, only on the phone. I worked shifts now, and Soraya was working long hours to get her business established which meant it wasn’t so easy to find time together. Now that we were talking she was keen to give me some news. “I booked an appointment for you at ten on Saturday morning. Come over to mine tomorrow [Friday]. We’ll have a great weekend.”

I agreed but had to disappoint her: I’d be working Saturday evening and Sunday morning, so a night out (or a night in) wouldn’t be possible. She sighed, but then started to laugh. At least it means you’ll be going into work as soon as your new cut is done. You are going to shock them.”

I travelled to Soraya’s straight from work, thrilled to see her again. She discussed us moving in together, but I wouldn’t agree. “We need to take it a bit slower. See that we can still get along. And it’s not practical. My place is too small for us both, your place” (she lived in a suburb at the edge of the city) “is too far from where I work. I’d have to leave at five thirty for early shifts, and that’s never going to work. So it would mean finding a new place that suits both of us. Let’s give it a month and if we’re still happy we start looking for somewhere.”

“So sensible. So mature. And tomorrow you’ll be sexy again,” she said teasingly.

We didn’t sleep much that night, but our elation seemed to make that irrelevant. And it was largely talking that kept us awake, our intimacy limited to caresses and kisses. We took a bath together to prepare for my appointment. “When we get a place together you can take me back to Karen. You can be in charge for a day. Maybe we can do it once a month.”

I was momentarily lost for words. I had a rush of ideas for things I’d love to inflict on Soraya, extreme haircuts, piercings, new styles of dress. “I’d love that,” I whispered.

“And in return you get tattooed. We start as soon as I get my first haircut. And you need to lose this skinniness. That starts immediately. Agreed?”

“Oh fuck,” I moaned. She put her finger to my lips.

“None of that. Acceptance and obedience. You’ll adore the changes. Now smile and say ‘Yes, Miss Soraya’.”

It was to be my mantra for the day. I was astonished with how she dressed me for my makeover: A grey sleeveless dress which I’d bought soon after the beginning of our adventures but had never, so far as I could recall, wore. It was elegant and restrained, and she swept my hair back into a pleat up the nape. My make-up was soft and feminine and I felt prettier and more stylish than ever when I looked at myself. “I love it! I can’t believe you made me look so good. Can’t I stay like this for a while?”

She laughed. “I’m glad you like it, and I do too. But if you wanted to dress like this you should have done it while we were apart. I only did this to give a contrast with how you’ll look in about two hours. You will be surprised.”

We headed out and took a train into the centre of town. We walked to a district at the edge of the city which had been redeveloped and was now filled with boutiques, bars and coffee shops. “I thought I’d find the edgiest salon here,” Soraya said. “You’ve had all your edges smoothed away. We’ll put some back in place.”

The salon she’d chosen was in an old factory space which had been divided into (mostly empty) shop units. Some machinery had been left in situ as a decorative element, but the place looked untidy rather than stylish. The salon was still quiet with stylists outnumbering customers at this early hour. It was apparent that Soraya had visited, since my stylist, Cressida, was obviously familiar with her. She was tall and curvy, dreads over a smoothly shaved undercut, and her arms and neck were densely tattooed. She smiled and welcomed me. “Oh, you’re a real doll! Not at all what I was expecting.” I blushed at her praise.

I was soon sitting in her chair, covered in a red rubberised cape that felt heavy on my neck. Cressida began to unravel my carefully styled hair. I felt a sense of doom spreading through my limbs, my arms becoming numb and leaden, so that I wasn’t sure I could lift them from the arms of the chair. I glanced in the mirror at Cressida. I knew that Soraya must have chosen her specially: she was physically imposing, and the tattoos reminded me that soon I’d submit to being inked. Even though she seemed friendly and outgoing I felt intimidated by her, which I’m sure was Soraya’s intention.

“Remember, Cressida, I don’t want you to tell our poor little Kerry-Anne what we have in store for her. Just cut the style we discussed. She wants this too. She’s very submissive.”

I felt the intense humiliation that Soraya was looking for. “Is that right?” Cressida asked. “You want me to cut your hair to a mystery style that you have no say in?”

My mouth was dry and my voice came out weak and hoarse. “Yes. Miss Soraya is in charge. Do as she says.”

“Well trained, this one,” Cressida laughed. “Shall we get right on?”

I saw her take her clippers from a hook on the counter and apply a drop of oil. Then a small guard was fitted. I couldn’t tell if it was a number one or a number two, but it was no longer than that. I felt my guts tauten and grow cold. I was sure I’d embarrass myself and need the toilet. Was there even a toilet in the shop? Not for customers as far as I could see. I imagined myself having to go to one of the nearby coffee shops with half of my head shorn to near baldness, the rest still long, and asking to use their toilet. Perhaps I wanted this humiliation.

I felt Cressida’s powerful fingers, which were decorated with numerous rings, direct me to bow my head. She combed through the back, and divided it, a tail of hair falling across my neck while she lifted the upper section with the comb. I heard the clippers snap into life, the noise growing more intense as they were moved toward me. I lowered my head a little more, an involuntary action to spare my hair for a moment longer. But then I heard the rattling of the blades as they met my hair. I’d prepared to feel the clippers on my neck, stripping away the long hair from my nape (and it had grown to eight or nine inches now). Instead the blades met my scalp at the occipital and moved upward to my crown. A flick of the wrist at the top of the stroke meant that a huge clump of long hair fell forward, filling my lap with an audible thud.

I felt the comb move up through my hair again, lifting a section, then buzzing it away from underneath. “Oh wow, so much hair coming off,” Soraya said admiringly. Cressida seemed skilled at gathering the cut hair and flipping it forward, so much so that I imagined she must had practised this manoeuvre. I could feel my scalp becoming cool and tight as the hair was shorn from it. The long fringe of hair still covered my neck, but the upper section was rapidly being stripped of any length.

“Can you guess yet what cut you’re getting?” Cressida asked me.

“I think so,” I said. “Is it a chelsea?”

“She’s smart, this one,” she replied, laughing.

I lifted my head now to allow the top to be shaved, but my view was still occluded: the front had been swept forward and a clip placed across it at the height of my eyes, meaning that the mirror was still invisible to me. I felt the comb lift the hair from the top, then felt the clippers press tightly across the dome of my skull from front to crown, and more hair tumbled.

By the time she’d buzzed away most of the hair from the sides I knew that more of my head was buzzed than still sprouted long hair. I felt numb and try as I might was unable to visualise how I might look now. There was a brief dialogue between Cressida and Soraya, which confirmed that my lover was happy with the extent of the buzz and the clippers were silenced.

Now I felt the fringe being combed and Cressida began to snip it to length. I felt the coldness of the blades making tiny chips across the long hair, which fell across my face. After every few snips a soft brush flicked across my face to rid me of clippings, then once more the fringe was combed down and the cutting recommenced.

At last Cressida stood aside and I saw my reflection. I made a vocalisation as I saw the rounded top of my head protruding behind the fringe, shorn to a layer of stiff, short bristles, a few millimetres long and showing my scalp too clearly. I had quite a heavy fringe now, very blunt and cut just above my eyebrows. The sideburns were still long, and looked absurdly lacking in harmony. It took a moment to realise that Cressida was laughing. “You’ve gone white. Don’t you like it?”

“I don’t know. It’s… different. I think I’m in shock.”

She began to cut the sides now, immediately chopping them to chin level, then using the open blades of the scissors to shape them, taking them angled, so that they blended softly into the hard line of the fringe. She worked fast, and soon she was cutting the back, slicing away a lot of length, leaving it just past mid neck.

“All done,” she announced. “Cutting anyway, we still have to colour it.” I turned my head from side to side to examine my new cut. The buzz extended over my ears at the side and they protruded between the feathers at my cheeks and nape. “You’re a skinhead now, Kerry-Anne. You should wear it with pride.”

Soraya ran her hand over the buzz, which felt deliciously soft, like the fur of a small mammal. I had to fight the urge to show my delight. That should wait for privacy.

As Cressida applied bleach to the feathers, Soraya spoke. “Her make-up looks wrong now, doesn’t it? Could you do her a classic skinbyrd look?”

“I’d love to. I’d have to do something with her brows though. You’re OK with something semi-permanent? I’d have to shave them thinner.”

“How about plucking them fully and drawing on brows? She’d like that, wouldn’t you, Kerry-Anne?”

“Yes, Miss Soraya,” I said dreamily. I didn’t know any more whether it was a lie.

Cressida painted my buzz with a darker dye and while my hair took on its new shades she set to altering my face. She scrubbed it clean, then began rapidly (and painfully) eradicating my brows. “Let’s cover the mirror now,” Soraya said. “I don’t want her to see herself until it’s all finished.”

It wasn’t a long pause. My make-up was applied quite swiftly, and soon my hair was being rinsed. It felt so strange, having become used to longer hair, to feel the hot water blasting against stubbled scalp.

“Should I use a toner?” Cressida asked as she combed through the feathers.

“No, I prefer this shade. It goes well with the cut, don’t you think?”

“Sure,” Cressida smiled. “You’re the boss.”

It didn’t take long to style my little remaining hair: the fringe was blow dried over a round brush, the sides and nape treated with straighteners. Then I was freed from the cape and the mirror was revealed.

I felt like crying. If the soft look I’d had earlier made me think I was pretty, this was the opposite. The fringe and feathers were bleached to a brassy, yellow shade, and the buzz was in contrast very dark purple, almost black. And the harshness of the cut was mirrored in the make-up. I had black lips, but the eye make-up was the most severe: pencil thin arches, high and unnatural and my eyes thinly outlined with black liner. My features looked hard and cruel. My transformation was total.

As we walked from the salon Soraya kept staring at me, evidently fascinated by my metamorphosis. “You need a new outfit, don’t you? Finish off the look properly. You look so sexy now. A real tough girl. I think more than ever that a missing tooth is just what you need.”

I was blushing at the idea, imagining myself weakening to the point where I’d give in to Soraya’s wildest ideas. I still felt odd that we were together again; I couldn’t quite believe that we were once more together. It felt like I was in a dream and I’d wake up to find myself still single and long-haired.

“You don’t even say no to it,” Soraya said, her voice breaking me out of my train of thought. “I suppose that means you’re considering it.”

“No!” I said vehemently. “I’d hate it. I’d never smile. Do you want me to look unhappy. To be unhappy, come to that.”

She laughed. “You’re not unhappy though. I know you’re as happy as I am to be back together. I know you love your new haircut too, even though it makes you look so mean. I bet your friends in work are going to get a surprise.”

“Oh, I’m dreading seeing them. They’ll hate it. And how am I supposed to explain it?”

“Tell them the truth, maybe. Say you did it for your girlfriend to prove your love for her, because you get so turned on by submission and humiliation.”

“My worst nightmare is having them know that. I’m sure they’ll start to think all sorts of stuff though, won’t they?”

“I suppose they will. I mean in a few months you’ll be bald. And you’ll have tattoos. It’ll be a lot of changes. They’ll suspect you’re mad or something.”

“Or my girlfriend is and I’m too weak to resist her.”

“Do you think I’m mad? I’m serious. I sometimes wonder about why I need these things.”

“We’re much the same, aren’t we. And we feed each other’s fetishes. It’s dangerous for us to be together, but it’s so exciting.”

“We’re not bad for each other though. We fit. We’re friends as well as lovers.”

“I know. I’ve missed you so much. I don’t think I let myself see how much. It’s like there was a big hole in my life that I couldn’t see until you came back and filled it.”

It was a couple more days before I saw Soraya again, travelling to her house immediately after a long, hard shift. “Oh, look at you!” she said as I entered. “I’d forgotten how lovely you look. How did your new look go down?”

“I think it was a mix of confusion, pity and amusement. There was a lot of ‘What the hell did you do to your hair?’”

“Poor little Kerry-Anne!”

“And the boots are killing me. My heels are raw, even with plasters on.” I’d been dressed in tight, ripped jeans, a Fred Perry shirt and Doc Marten’s as the final part of my skinhead makeover, and instructed to keep the style of dress until I saw Soraya again.

“You have suffered for me. They always take a bit of breaking in. They’ll be fine in a week or so. Until then just remember how much I love you for everything you endure for me.”

I was glad to be undressed, freed from the clothes and boots I’d come to hate. As we lay in bed, dreamily lying side by side and sharing kisses and caresses, Soraya spoke. “I’ve been thinking of re-establishing contact with the people we met at the party. I bet you’d like to see Amelia and Tara again, wouldn’t you?”

I groaned. “Tara would be so nasty about how thin I am. She’d make me stuff again.”

“Would that be so bad? It seems odd to see how thin you are now, but you have stretch marks from your gaining last time. I’d love you to have a few more. They’re sexy.”

“They’re not at all!” I protested.

She laughed. “If you don’t like them I’ll pay to hide them. Get tattooed over them.”

“Oh god, no, stop being scary.”

“No, Kerry-Anne. I’m going to arrange for us to meet. And Amelia is going to set a diet for you. You’re going to be chubby. At least my weight. If you say no I’ll be hurt, because it means that you think I’m unattractive.”

“I think you’re the prettiest girl I ever met. Everything about you is beautiful. Don’t ever think I dislike anything about you.”

“So you’ll do it?” I stayed silent, ashamed to think of myself gaining again. I’d felt so lethargic last time I was overeating, and it was a struggle to break out of the unhealthy binges I’d got used to. “You might as well say yes now. You know I won’t stop till you do. And if you do agree I might be a bit more flexible with your tattooing, let you have a bit more say. The tattoos aren’t negotiable, because you already agreed to that when I got tattooed for you. Skinny Kerry-Anne gets tattoos she won’t like, but chubby Kerry-Anne gets nice tattoos.”

“Oh, you scare me. Just be nice to me for once.”

“Where’s the fun in that. You’re getting wet because I’m ‘scaring’ you.” Her hand was now positioned to confirm what she said. “If you didn’t like it you’d hardly be so aroused.”

“A girl can have fantasies. I can like dreaming about things without them becoming reality.”

“Yes, but what we’re discussing is real. Not a fantasy. And your arousal is real. Therefore you’re lying and you do want to be fat and tattooed.”

“I don’t know what I want any more. I feel so confused when I’m with you.”

“No you don’t. When we were apart you were confused. You let your hair grow because you didn’t know what you wanted to do. You reverted to dressing boringly. I give you direction. Maybe I should let you eat normally for six days a week and send you to Tara and Amelia for one day. That would work. And send you for a whole day with Sara. Drug you so you’re unconscious and you wake up with a lot of ink. That would be so wonderful.”

I groaned as she began to massage my clitoris. She knew exactly how to make me feel ecstasy, despite the fear her words induced. I can’t deny that her crazy ideas got me excited too. “Or should we take a gentler approach where you just do as I say?”

I nodded, blushing at the thought of submitting.

“Good little sub. You’ll look so pretty. We’ll count down to your tattoos with your hair. You’ve got a number two buzz. In a couple of weeks you’ll get a number one, then after that a shaved chelsea. Once you have that we’ll get you your first tattoo. The new diet starts very soon though. And I will make you consult with Amelia to plan your diet. I bet you’d love to see her, wouldn’t you? See if she kept her little mohawk.”

I couldn’t hide my curiosity. I’d liked Amelia and felt sad that I’d never kept in touch. I knew I’d very probably see her very soon.

It was sooner than I’d anticipated. Within an hour Soraya had contacted Tara through social media and discovered that she’d moved to a town fairly close to us. Amelia was still living with her and we agreed to the pair visiting us two days later.

Tara looked prettier than I’d remembered her: she’d let the top of her hair grow to give some softness, though the back and sides were still almost shaved and neatly contoured. She wore make-up too, though her clothes were quite masculine. She looked like she’d gained even more muscle, her shoulders broad above a narrow waist.

Amelia presented a total contrast: her hair was thick and softly waved, brushing her shoulders. Her make-up was soft and flattering, and she wore a long pastel shaded dress whose looseness didn’t hide her gain: she was much heavier than at our previous encounter.

She was also more obviously tattooed, with large tattoos on her arms now, both upper arms and another on right forearm. They were so big that they’d have wrapped around my arms fully. She had another tattoo partly visible on upper back.

She barely seemed to recognise me, but when she finally did she embraced me. “Oh, look at you! You look so skinny and tough.”

“And you look so pretty. Your hair is beautiful.”

She rubbed my bristly scalp. “You’re a skinhead! I think I like you with some hair.”

“Don’t get used to it,” Soraya said. “It’s a temporary situation. She had so much hair it seemed a shame to go back to bald straight away, so she’s going to have a chelsea for a while. But soon she’s going to show her obedience by shaving again.”

Now Tara was examining me. “She’s so scrawny. I thought she was skinny before but now it’s just ugly. You said you wanted us to help her get big?”

Soraya smiled indulgently. “Not as big as you’d like. But plump and soft. I want her to weigh more than me, but not much more.”

“A pity you’re so timid. It would be so much fun to take her up to Amelia’s size. I could do it in a couple of years too. It would be a long term project. Kerry-Anne, wouldn’t you like to be genuinely big and voluptuous? I’m sure if you said yes your mistress would have a change of heart.”

“No Miss Tara. Just a little chubby is enough for me too.”

“Such a pity. Amelia is so soft and sexy. Soraya, you’d adore the pleasure a bigger Kerry-Anne could grant you. But I suppose I have to let you have your way.” She turned to me. “I hear you liked seeing Amelia when she was a little punk. We’ve had a wager, Soraya and I. You’re going to have a feast and if you manage to finish it all you get to take Amelia for a haircut. If you fail then you have to let me choose your diet for a week.”

“But Miss Tara, if I can’t complete the task today, how would I ever be able to eat what you decide for a full week?”

She laughed cruelly. “Well if you failed with in your diet, say you vomited after a meal, the clock would reset and you’d have another week to show you can be obedient.”

“You agreed to this?” I said to Soraya, hardly able to believe she’d be so reckless.

“I did, and you’re forgetting your manners. It’s Miss Soraya when we have company. I did agree because I have faith in you, and I knew you’d love to see Amelia’s pretty hair getting chopped.”

“But she looks lovely. I don’t want to see her lose her hair.”

“So you’re declining the wager? That’s fine, we can go straight to your week of gaining. You’ll be twenty or thirty pounds heavier. That’s a good start.”

“No! I didn’t say that.”

“Then you have to agree to give Amelia a dramatic makeover,” Soraya insisted. “She’s agreed to it, though she’ll be upset to see her lovely hair being chopped. You could go for another mohawk, or maybe a very butch cut. Isn’t that something that would motivate you to eat a big meal?” Amelia looked at me and smiled, but I could see she wasn’t happy with the idea of either makeover.

“Do it, Kerry-Anne. It’ll be worth it. I want to see you succeed.”

“OK,” I said reluctantly. My memories of my last stuffing session with Amelia weren’t pleasant. I wondered if this time would be gentler, given that I’d lost weight since then. It seemed unlikely.

“We’ll get started then. We’ll begin by ordering pizzas. Three twelve inch ones. You think you can eat those?” Tara asked.

“No,” I said anxiously, especially since it appeared that this wasn’t the entirety of my meal. I struggled to eat a single pizza now.

“But if you fail I’ll train you so that eating that much will never seem hard again,” Tara teased. “Now what toppings would you like?”

“She’s vegetarian,” Soraya said.

“I’ll make her eat meat,” Tara said.

“No. She just eats stuff she likes. I’ll order her toppings.” She started to input the details for an online order.

“But if she fails, I get to decide what she eats for a week and I won’t take her fussy vegetarianism.”

“Did you hear that, baby? You’d better eat everything tonight. I did agree to that. Now get undressed. Your pizzas will be here soon and I want you naked for Amelia.”

As I undressed Amelia stripped too. “For tonight, she’s your girlfriend,” Tara said. “And she’s in charge. She can do with you as she pleases. She’s very seductive.”

“Kerry-Anne is very loyal to her mistress, Miss Tara. She was very guilty about kissing me last time.”

“Well tonight you should try and make her cum. We’ll watch everything. You’d like that, Soraya?” Tara asked her. Soraya looked pleased and agreed.

I felt guilty again as Amelia caressed my naked body, unable to resist blushing, embarrassed all the more because Soraya and Tara were taking a voyeuristic pleasure in the show Amelia and I were providing. “Do you like Amelia’s tattoos, Kerry-Anne?” Soraya asked.

“Yes Miss, they’re very beautiful,” I said. They were predominantly floral, well executed, with thick, clearly defined lines surrounding delicate pastel shading.

“Amelia, they are very pretty. Kerry-Anne will soon be getting tattooed. Who did yours? I’d like to get some recommendations for good tattooists.”

“It was Miss Sara who did them, Miss Soraya. She has a shop now. I can give you all the details.”

“That’s wonderful. I’m sure my little baby would be reassured to know it will be somebody she knows who’s tattooing her. Maybe we can add into the wager tonight that you can pick a tattoo for her if she fails to finish the feast, Amelia.”

She looked to Tara for confirmation that she might agree. It was Tara who spoke: “And if she does succeed then I suppose it means Kerry-Anne chooses a tattoo for Amelia? I’m agreeable, provided it’s not too big, and mistress has a veto on the placement. The winner pays for the tattoo. It can be any size, but a big tattoo will be very costly.”

I felt confused as I imagined the responsibility of choosing a tattoo for Amelia, or else failing and being permanently altered by someone I barely knew. Amelia kissed me softly. “I’d treasure a tattoo that you chose for me. I hope you’d feel the same.” I nodded, but I was hardly sincere.

Soon there was knock at the door and a stack of pizza boxes were brought in, one each for Soraya and Tara, three each for Amelia and me. I felt weak and afraid as Tara tied my wrists together behind my back. “Amelia is in charge now. You do everything she says. You’ll be punished for any disobedience. And the challenge begins now. You have till midnight to eat and drink everything we ask of you. Refusal or vomiting will result in your forfeiting the wager.” I nodded solemnly to show my understanding. As Tara and Soraya began to dine at a leisurely pace Amelia opened my first pizza, while the other boxes were stored in an insulated wrapping to keep them warm. The first pizza was overloaded with cheese, and Amelia blew on it to speed the cooling.

“We don’t want to burn your pretty mouth. Now, once you start you need to swallow it all down as fast as possible. You were much prettier when you were chubbier. I want you to put all that weight back on and more. Understand?”

“Yes, Miss Amelia,” I said. She took the first slice of pizza and blew on it, then held it above my mouth. I opened wide and felt like a baby bird hungrily accepting food from its mother. The pizza was delicious, but so rich. I barely chewed the soft, doughy base, gulping it down.

“It’s not too hot?” she asked. I shook my head, unable to speak because my mouth was full. “Good. And you’re good, aren’t you? You look so tough with your hair cut like this but you’re a little soft thing. Let’s make you big and soft and doughy.”

Already there was another slice waiting for me. I was surprised that she pulled away the crust and discarded it. She saw my look and giggled. “It’s OK, you don’t have to eat these. Once they cool the crusts get hard and all that chewing slows you down. You need to get the bulk into your belly fast.” More pizza slid into my mouth. After finishing the slice I was rewarded with a kiss. I felt a growing affection for Amelia: she was tender, pretty, loving. But that in itself made me uneasy. I’d ruined my relationship with Soraya once through my jealousy and wondered if she would be as unforgiving if I had feelings for someone else. It was all the more complicated because she was staring at me all the time.

I finished the first pizza with surprising ease, but knew I couldn’t feel complacent. I had two more to go, and more food (I knew not what) after that. By the time I’d eaten half of the second I was feeling bloated and had difficulty finishing it. My inclination was to end my eating there; I’d passed the stage of comfort, but failure was terrifying. I imagined that each day I’d be eating meals to surpass what I’d just consumed, and several times a day. At the end of a week to be a stone or two heavier, and then to be tattooed to Amelia’s specification seemed alarming. I gulped down a large glass of coke and focussed on Soraya and Tara’s conversation. They’d started to discuss her hair.

“You let your hair grow, Soraya,” Tara complained. “I liked it better when it was short. You should get it cut again. Did you ask her to grow it, Kerry-Anne?”

“I didn’t, Miss Tara,” I said. I couldn’t help blushing, afraid to embarrass Soraya by having her admit to submitting to me when she was shorn.

Tara was perceptive and sensed that there was something deeper that caused my reaction. I could see Soraya looked sheepish and uncharacteristically phased. She was trying to maintain an image of domination before Tara but soon admitted the truth.

“I do have a submissive side. There was one day when I let Kerry-Anne dominate me. She had my hair cut very short, and made me very butch and mannish. She even had me tattooed.”

I was now being fed again, swallowing each mouthful with difficulty. I could see Soraya rolling up her sleeve to reveal her tattoo, which seemed so out of place on her, now that she’d reverted to her feminine persona. She rarely dressed with her tattoo visible.

Tara was very amused that I’d had Soraya tattooed with a football crest. “Kerry-Anne, was this some private joke?”

“No Miss Tara, Miss Soraya wanted an Arsenal tattoo for years so I just gave her a push.”

“And did she want a mannish haircut too?”

“Yes Miss, she’d fantasised about it.”

“Oh, really? Soraya, I’d love to cut your hair short again. I think a buzz cut would look great on you. And I’d really like to push you at the gym to toughen you. Don’t you think your mistress would look good with short blonde hair and big muscles, Kerry-Anne?”

I was glad of the mouthful of food that prevented me from answering. But there was no move from Soraya to end this conversation. Amelia prompted me. “Answer Miss Tara. Speak honestly.”

“Yes, I’d like that,” I said bashfully.

“You should let me take some control, Soraya. I’d love making you butch. You’re very attractive and that would only make you look better.” She began to stroke Soraya’s hair, but rather than feel jealousy growing I felt only desire. I wanted to see Soraya submit to Tara.

“Kerry-Anne is very jealous,” Soraya said. “She hates me being with other people.”

“Is that so?” Tara asked.

“I have been in the past, Miss Tara. But I wouldn’t object.”

“You wouldn’t? You’d be fine with your mistress submitting to me fully? Even sexually?”

“She’s feeling pressured,” Soraya interrupted. “Let me talk to her in private.”

We went to the bedroom and Soraya looked at me. “You’d really not feel resentment about Tara taking me for a makeover?”

I shook my head. “I’d like to get to watch, but no. Weirdly, I don’t feel jealousy at all.”

“But she wants to fuck me. That’s going too far, yeah?”

“If you want it I’ll be OK. She’d be rough I guess, and you crave that. She could give you things I don’t.”

“She’s scary. I like her, but she scares me. You know it wouldn’t change my feelings for you? You know I love you and I’ll never love Tara. And in return you and Amelia..?”

“I really like her,” I blushed. “Which makes it harder. You don’t feel any emotional attachment to Tara, just physical, but I can’t deny I feel both for Amelia.”

“But it won’t make you like me any less?”

I shook my head. “Not at all. Your trust is very humbling. I do worry we’re getting into complications though, just when things are beginning to feel natural again.”

“I know, but still… Sometimes it feels right to take a risk. Would you really like me to go to the gym and get muscly?”

“I guess… Yes I would. Maybe not for a long time, but I love to see you change, so yes.”

“I’d need to be pushed to do it. It’ll be hard work and I’d need Tara to be around a lot more. Are you OK with that? I suppose it does mean you’d get to spend more time with Amelia.”

I nodded. “Please though, Soraya. I can live with seeing you and Miss Tara together, but it doesn’t mean I could accept a more open relationship.”

“Of course. I’m not taking anything for granted. Just the four of us, no one else gets to be intimate. You look so tense when Amelia touches you. Just relax and enjoy it. I want to see you cum for her. Now go and finish your feast. Make me proud. I want to see you ruin Amelia’s pretty hair.”

I was returned to Amelia’s care and started to gorge on the last pizza as Soraya agreed to submit herself to Tara for a haircut and gym training. “Shall we buzz your hair now?” Tara replied. I couldn’t hide my shock.

“What’s wrong, Kerry-Anne? I thought you would like seeing your mistress shorn.”

My reply was delayed by my full mouth. Soraya spoke for me. “I think she likes to see me getting my haircut at a nice shop by a pretty girl. I expect her ideal is for a showy cut too, not just a simple buzz.”

“Is that right, Kerry-Anne? Just nod.” I did. “I think that would be adorable. A nice even fade, and very regular trims. But if you want this you have to pay for her haircuts, and I get to choose.” I nodded again, though I knew I could hardly afford it, especially if an expensive salon was Tara’s choice. Amelia seemed pleased with me and kissed me before cramming more pizza into my mouth.

I finished the last slice without feeling any sense of relief or achievement; I was too uncomfortable to feel any pleasure, and since I knew my ordeal was not yet over and felt a sense of dread, sure that I would fail. Still, Soraya and Amelia were full of praise, though Tara was disparaging of my meagre success, insisting that she’d have me able to eat a meal of greater volume without the slightest difficulty. Now it was Amelia’s turn to eat, and she demolished her pizzas enthusiastically. I was glad of the pause and was allowed to relax beside Soraya and Tara.

Tara was now becoming more tactile with Soraya, and I noticed she was studying my reactions intently. “Now that you’re going to undergo some radical changes you should push Kerry-Anne further,” she suggested.

“She’s going to be chubby. And before long bald again,” Soraya said happily.

Tara clucked her tongue. “Nothing she hasn’t done before. You should push her further. Make her genuinely fat.”

“No, Tara. It’s not what either of us want. She is getting tattoos though.”

“Yes, yes, but isn’t there something more extreme you’d like?”

“I did like the idea of her having a tooth or two pulled out. Front teeth.”

I was horrified by this idea, more so that Soraya would share something she knew I felt so strongly about with Tara. “I don’t want that! I wouldn’t allow it,” I blurted out.

“Were you being spoken to?” Tara said angrily. “You need to learn some manners. Amelia, get the… device.”

I hoped that Soraya would intervene to spare me Tara’s wrath but she watched with passive amusement. I was made to kneel on the floor with my head tipped back. I saw a funnel being produced, from which a wide tube extended, a mouthpiece at the tip. It was pressed into my mouth, opening my teeth wide enough that it was uncomfortable. A strap was tightened around the back of my head, fixing it in place. I felt terrified.

A button was pressed into my hand. “If you feel you’re going to be sick you press this,” Tara explained, “and we free you. But If you do that then you fail in your task, so don’t do it lightly.”

I watched as Amelia tipped a half litre tub of ice cream into a bowl and began to break it up with a spoon. Some had already melted, but at the core it was still hard and frozen. She added cream to soften the mixture, which would have to be fluid to pour into my funnel.

“Let’s just see it works,” Tara said. She took the large bottle of coke and poured a large amount into the funnel. I felt it fill my mouth and desperately swallowed, but still feeling it flood my mouth no matter how rapidly I gulped it down. I felt like I was drowning, and it was a great relief when the reservoir was finally exhausted. At least it was until I realised how bloated I was. The pressure was intolerable, and it was enormously satisfying when a series of belches occurred.

“You just have to finish the ice cream,” Soraya said. “You eat all this and you’ve passed. Just be a good girl and don’t let us down. Even Amelia wants you to succeed and that will mean losing all her pretty curls.”

“It’s ready, Miss Soraya,” Amelia said, stirring at the viscous contents of the bowl. “Should I begin?”

She was given the nod and began to trickle the mixture into the funnel. It was sufficiently thick that it didn’t rush through the tube like the coke, but after a delay of a few seconds it began to ooze into my mouth.

I’d imagined that all the stirring may have made it tepid, but as soon as it reached my lips I could feel the chill. It was still icy cold, and as it began to pour in it filled my mouth and made my teeth ache. I let it slide down my throat, swallowing constantly. At first it felt more manageable than the very fluid drink but soon it was engulfing me. I could barely control the flow to allow me to catch a breath. Worse still, it was so cold that I was suddenly stricken with a terrible aching in my sinuses. It shocked me so badly that I almost pressed the button.

“Brain freeze?” Tara was amused by my suffering. I groaned but the mouthpiece, and the fullness of my mouth, provided a very effective gag. I’m sure no one heard my complaint. “You just have to suck it up,” Tara said. “Literally. Just suck all the ice cream into that little belly of yours. Then we’ll wash it all down with some drinks and you’re finished. It will hurt though. The brain freeze aspect isn’t pleasant but it might help build your character.”

I continued to gulp it down, now unsure whether it was the ache in my belly or the pain in my skull which was worse. I rolled my eyes toward Soraya in the hope that she’d take some mercy on me but she seemed indifferent to my suffering. The neuralgia didn’t dissipate; on the contrary it seemed to grow more intense. And the richness of the ice cream, and the sheer volume, was now having an effect on my swollen stomach, the aching mixing with nausea, and my body sought a way to relieve itself of this excess.

The sweet fluid seemed to ooze endlessly into my mouth, with no sign of an end. I felt tears in my eyes as failure seemed inevitable, all the more frustrating because I’d endured so much to reach this stage. Amelia was the only one who seemed sympathetic, holding up the funnel with one hand and massaging my belly with the other, always talking softly and reassuringly. “It’s almost all gone,” she said. “Just a little more.”

The flow decreased as the pressure pushing the fluid through the pipe decreased and I swallowed more slowly. Could I dare think I’d succeeded? Now there was almost nothing coming into my mouth, just dribbles. But to wash the last remains from the apparatus Tara sluiced it through with a good measure of ice cold coke in the funnel. I was unprepared for the sudden rush and almost choked, then had to rapidly swallow again.

As the mouthpiece was eased free I belched violently, then had to fight an urge to belch again as I tasted the sour flavour of acid. I knew I could easily be sick and had to struggle to suppress it. Tara recognised my difficulties and proclaimed that I was going to be sick. Her pleasure in the prospect of my failure drove me to a new determination to succeed; I was sure I didn’t want to submit to her for a full week.

I felt Soraya’s lips on my cheek. “Well done baby. I knew you could do it.” I was still unsure that I had succeeded. The nausea was still intense and the pain in my skull hadn’t gone.

“Please, Miss Soraya, I need to lie down for a bit,” I said.

Amelia shook her head. “Rest but sit upright. Lying will make it more likely that you’ll be sick. Come on.”

She took me to the bedroom and propped me up with some pillows and pulled a duvet over me. “Just rest and get warm again. I know how much it hurts when you eat ice cream so rapidly. It’s horrible. Now you just rest here and don’t drink much. Let it digest and you’ll be fine. Have a little sleep. I’ll look after you and stop Tara from doing anything more to test you. You won, Kerry-Anne.”

I was surprised to find myself waking. I felt confused and slow, like I’d slept too long, roused by noise from the adjacent living room. I looked at the clock and estimated I’d slept for two hours. I still felt sick and bloated, but nothing like as bad as I had earlier. I finally allowed myself to believe that I’d succeeded at the challenge. I rejoined my companions who’d grown tipsy now and welcomed my return.

Amelia spoke to me. “Miss Tara wants to penetrate Miss Soraya but she seems to feel you’d be offended. Would you allow it? I want us to watch it together.”

I gave my approval, but felt unreal, as though I was still in a dream. Tara and Soraya were like characters in a porn film now, and I watched them undress and begin to kiss. I felt no jealousy, although I was uncomfortable with seeing Tara being so controlling with Soraya, who seemed always so authoritative to me (even during her day of submission I was essentially acting the part that I knew she wanted, and felt she was still manipulating my actions). Penetration was much more important to Soraya than it was to me (I derived more pleasure from foreplay or clitoral stimulation) and I knew I wasn’t always as sensitive to her needs as I could be. Despite Tara’s roughness, I knew she was giving Soraya something that she welcomed. She was adorned with a strap-on, which a kneeling Soraya fixed in place, then took deep into her mouth. It was fairly large, but nothing like the girth I knew she enjoyed. Except that Tara’s intentions weren’t to use it vaginally. I watched with fascinated horror as Soraya pulled her buttocks apart to allow Tara to enter her, making her scream as the lubricated phallus pushed deep inside her.

My feelings about watching were complicated by Amelia’s attentions to my needs. She embraced me and I felt her soft body wrap around me, her tapered fingers begin to rouse me into a state of passion. “I want you and Miss Soraya to cum at the same time. So I need you in a state of readiness, but you hold yourself back. Am I making you happy?”

“Oh yes,” I moaned.

“And I’ll serve you again when you take me for my haircut. We were discussing it earlier. It scares me, but at the same time I can’t wait. What cut will you give me? Miss Tara would like you to make me very mannish I think, but Miss Soraya seemed to think you’d go for something more gothic.”

“I really don’t know,” I said, overwhelmed by the possibilities. “You have such lovely hair.”

“And that will make taking it from her all the more pleasurable, won’t it?” Tara said, her voice tense with effort.

“It will, Miss Tara,” I admitted. I knew that she was right and it wouldn’t be acceptable to deceive her, however much it hurt Amelia.

“If I think you’re too gentle with the cut I’ll shave her head after a week,” Tara said. “Soraya’s told me what you like so make sure it’s good and extreme. Understand?”

“Yes Miss Tara. Poor Amelia is going to end up losing a lot of hair.” I felt her fingers move more urgently on me, sensing an attempt to distract herself from fear. But then I realised that she was more observant than I and Soraya was on the verge of climax. I imagined the clippers being pushed up the side of Amelia’s head and suddenly Soraya and I were both overtaken with bliss.

Afterwards the entire party seemed to melt into a languor and we together musing about all the possibilities of our new relationships. “Amelia will put together a diet plan for Kerry-Anne,” Tara said. “She’ll ensure a decent rate of gaining, and I’m sure Kerry-Anne will be obedient to her. I can see how much you two like each other’s company.” I promised to obey, though the prospect of becoming chubby once more made me nervous. How would my colleagues react to my rapid changes?

“And her teeth,” Tara continued. “You said you’d like her to loose a tooth or two, Soraya? I do know of someone who does dental work. I’m sure I could put you in touch. I think she was a dentist but she got struck off or something.”

I couldn’t hide my horror but forced myself to remain silent. My protest last time had brought a severe punishment.

“You do? That’s really interesting. I’m sure it wouldn’t be cheap though.”

“Obviously not. But if you want it get saving. Of course you could always just take away her toothbrush and keep her on the high sugar diet. After a year of that her teeth would be ruined anyway. You could have her fitted with dentures.”

“So let her choose. Kerry-Anne,” Soraya asked, “what’s it to be: a trip to the dentist or let those teeth rot?”

“Dentist, Miss Soraya,” I said, tears in my eyes.

The next weeks were odd. I was still living in my own place, though Soraya and I were looking for somewhere to move in together, and I now felt desperately the need to be with her. I was changing again, my new haircut supplemented by a rapid gain as I complied with the diet that Amelia was setting for me a week at a time. Not only did I have to eat huge meals at home, or when I stayed at Soraya’s, but in work too I brought huge meals and lots of snacks, which couldn’t fail to be noticed by my colleagues. My wardrobe was changed too, with lots of loose, baggy clothes, which would for now hide my burgeoning waist, but I knew that at some point I would shift to tight or revealing clothes to show off my figure when I’d become chubby.

My contact with Amelia wasn’t limited to the diet plans she emailed weekly; we’d often chat on the phone or Skype as we became close friends, and then there was a plan for her haircut to be formulated, though I’d been told that she wasn’t to know the cut I’d chosen for her. There was also the matter of a tattoo that she’d get and she’d hinted that she wanted me to choose something very exposed, which excited both of us, all the more so because it seemed certain to encourage Tara to add to her tattoos, which for now, despite their prominence, could all be covered with long sleeved garments. I’d identified a tattooist I liked and was now saving to pay for Amelia’s tattoo, despite not having decided where it should be. I’d gone so far as to book an appointment, because there was a waiting list of a few weeks. Tara and Soraya had agreed that the haircut should take place on the same day.

I was becoming increasingly excited as the day drew near. I’d made no secret of the fact that I liked Amelia, and Tara and Soraya weren’t just tolerant but encouraged it, and they’d equally grown close. Soraya had taken a gym subscription and was now pushing herself hard to exercise regularly. She would meet with Tara when she could, and was always especially tired after these training sessions and aching the following day as Tara demanded she work harder than she could ever force herself to. I was unsure about the changes she was undergoing, but pleased that the exercise was having a positive effect on her mood; she herself had noticed that her depression was lifted by her new-found addiction to the gym.

“How about next week, when you take Amelia for her makeover, Tara does the same for me? I’d like her to choose a haircut for me. Would you permit it?”

I nodded, but I was uncomfortable. I wasn’t sure I wanted Soraya looking butch again, and Tara was sure to push her in that direction.

“And how about we go a little further? For a day Amelia is your girlfriend and Tara is mine? If it’s too much then you can say no. Does she make you jealous?”

“She doesn’t. It’s odd, I used to feel so threatened but when you’re with Tara I’m fine. I know you like her but it’s doesn’t make me feel scared.”

“I do, but she’s just a friend. Well… it’s more than that,” Soraya said, blushing. “She’s very strict and sexy, but I couldn’t love her like I love you.”

“The thing that scares me is how butch you’ll look. It’s exciting but I’m not sure I’ll like it.”

“You will,” she said. “And it’s not forever. I won’t keep the butch look for long, although you know how it excites me. I’m sure I’ll go back and forth between fem and butch forever.”

“But this time you’ll be all muscly,” I said, stroking her hardening biceps. “You really are changing.”

“And so are you. We should get your hair tidied so you look pretty for Amelia. You do want to do this?”

I nodded. “If you do. I mean you like Tara, but there’s no real emotional closeness. I have that with Amelia, she’s a little doll. Are you sure you’re OK with that?”

“I love that you have a friend. Yes, I’m fine. You and Amelia can do anything you please. Eat lots, spend the night together. Did you decide what you’re doing with her hair?”

“Yes, but I’m not telling anyone. You’ll have to wait and see.”

A couple of days before the meeting with Amelia I found myself once more in Cressida’s chair, caped and expectant. “I hoped I’d see you sooner,” she said, rubbing the top of my head. It had been over a month since my last cut. “This is far too long. The colour looks ridiculous. The regrowth is longer than the coloured part. You shouldn’t go more than three weeks without a cut. I uttered an embarrassed apology. “Are you still calling the shots, Soraya? Are we keeping the chelsea?”

“Yes, for now. She has a date with her other girlfriend in a couple of days so I want her to look perfect.”

“Other girlfriend? How decadent,” Cressida said with mock disapproval. Soraya pulled her close and whispered in her ear for a long time as Cressida stared at me with ever growing amusement. “Let’s get you shorn,” she said at last.

I watched her ritualistically preparing her clippers. Finally they were cleaned, oiled and a guard placed over the blades. She held them behind my fringe before flicking the switch.

I watched as the soft pelt of hair was stripped away. The dark tips were immediately cropped, leaving only paler hair, and as Cressida drew the blades back to my crown I gasped. I saw that she was cutting me closer than last time, the short bristles I’d expected to see, had seen after my last time in this chair, were not present. I was being shorn to stubble, and with my light, fine hair it looked nearly bald. My shocked reaction drew laughter from Cressida and Soraya.

“Is it too short?” Cressida asked. “Serves you right for leaving it so long. Number one for you this time, Missy.”

Not only was I being shaved close, I soon saw longer wisps of hair falling down the cape to join the fluffy tufts which were the remains of by soft pelt. Cressida was shearing into the back of the fringe, making it less deep than previously, and the side and nape feathers were similarly treated, reduced to wispy rather than blocky.

I was shorn shockingly quickly, so fast that I could barely process how different I now looked. Cressida silenced the clippers and took up her scissors, cutting my hair dry. She started with the fringe, combing it down and snipping it to the middle of my forehead, a good inch coming off. She widened it too, chipping into the long feathers at my temples. Then she began to reshape the sides, cutting those shorter too, nothing past my chin now.

I felt her trim the back, cropping a few inches from the length. It was reduced to a fringe of hair ending high on my neck. I was allowed to see the finished cut. It was a short chelsea: short buzz, short, feathers, short fringe. The last evidence of my long hair was gone.

Now I was to be bleached, and this time even the stubble was to be lightened. I watched as Cressida diligently brushed the paste over my entire head. “Could you tidy up her eyebrows?” Soraya said. “I don’t want there to a hair there for her tryst. She has to look perfect.”

I sat passively as any trace of new hair was plucked, Cressida taking to her task with glee. “Did you notice she’s gained some weight?” Soraya said, happy to add to my humiliation.

“I did think so but I didn’t like to say. What will your other girlfriend think about you letting yourself go?” Cressida asked me.

“Oh, tell Cressida what Amelia looks like, Kerry-Anne,” Soraya instructed.

“She’s very large. She’s encouraging me to gain too.”

“Oh, that does surprise me. You don’t mind your girlfriend getting fat, Soraya?”

“I like her getting chubby. But I’m in charge of how far she’ll go. I don’t want her really fat like Amelia. Still, I think next time we visit you, Cressida, you’ll see a real change in Kerry-Anne.”

There was a real change for me on this day too. After being bleached a toner was applied, since Soraya agreed that my brassy blonde hair was becoming uninteresting. I saw it for the first time after rinsing and was astonished to see that my hair was a pale silvery shade, almost white. The lightness made my scalp look even less stubbled, only a glitter where the tiny hairs reflected the light disguising my baldness. “It looks gorgeous,” Soraya said wistfully, and despite the severity of the cut I could feel my arousal growing, and her instruction for Cressida to apply make-up only added to my pleasure. She was given total freedom, but was told she should aim for something edgy and striking rather than the tough skingirl look she’d given me previously.

She succeeded: I left the salon with my face pale and blank, lips a pale orange with my eyes thickly underlined with heavy black liner, the upper lid heightened with white, and nothing disguising the absence of my brows. It was hardly a flattering look, emphasising my oddness, but I adored seeing my transformation, all the more because I could see Soraya was entranced by my new look. As we walked through the town she couldn’t resist frequently stroking my stubble, or caressing the silky white fringe that barely covered any of my neck.

“We should do your make-up just like that for your meeting with Amelia. She’ll be so impressed she’ll do anything you ask. You look such an alien. And I love the white blonde. After you shave completely I’ll let it grow out a bit and get it all bleached like this. I was tempted to ask her to buzz it all just now, but the chelsea is so cute I need to be patient.”

And so, two days later, Soraya did my make-up, inspired by Cressida’s work, just as expert but with her own personality in the result. She dropped me at the railway station and kissed me farewell. “I’ll look so different when you get back. I thought it would be nice if the four of us could spend the day and night together tomorrow. Now you be good for Amelia, and don’t do anything too horrible with her. But don’t go too gentle with her hair. Tara wants something dramatic and she’s serious: if it’s too pretty she’ll shave poor Amelia bald.”

“It’ll be dramatic, I think. Probably not to Tara’s tastes, I know she’d like to see her get a real butch cropping, but she’ll have you to get that out of her system. I hope she doesn’t make you look like a boy.”

I hugged her. “I hope she will,” Soraya giggled. “Even though I’ll feel ashamed. And now I’m getting more muscly it’ll look more obvious. I get so excited when I think about it. I’m going to be a real sub today.”

I made the journey filled with doubts. I couldn’t make up my mind about what I wanted for Amelia, nor could I shake my fears about finding Soraya less attractive after Tara had finished with her. Soraya had paid for a hotel for Amelia and I and I walked there to meet Amelia. I booked in and waited anxiously for her arrival. It was only an hour before she’d be in the salon.

She walked in and hugged me without a word. I could see she was as pleased to see me as I was her. She stared at me, taking in my new haircut, looking me up and down to assess the changes to my figure. Finally she spoke: “Some rules for today, at Tara’s insistence. You’re my sub. Even when you’re getting my hair cut you need to treat me as your domme, and ask if I’ll do everything you want, even though I won’t say no. And same for the tattoo. I’ll get a tattoo anywhere, though Tara says you should be prepared to get the same. And if you do anything above neck, you will have to get something of her choice, same placement and same size.”

Above neck, or including neck?”

She laughed. “Did you want me getting a tattoo on my neck? Neck is included, so you’d be getting one too if that’s what you want.”

It had been something I’d considered, but the prospect of now getting something equally large terrified me: a first tattoo on the side of my neck seemed too much.

“Miss Tara did say you were allowed to give me a tattoo on my scalp or face, so I’d reluctantly accept it. Since I’d get to see you getting the same it would be worth it. But I can’t imagine you’d want that.”

“No, nothing on your face! I’m not that crazy,” I laughed. “I’m really freaking out now though. I’m not sure I want you to get a tattoo for me.”

“But if you don’t I was told you have to take my place. And I’ll choose what you get. Now stop being silly and doubting yourself, and do what was planned.”

We walked to the salon, which was close by, in near silence, both of us obviously tense, and unsure what to say. We paused at the door. “Do you know what I’m getting?”

“I’m not sure. There were a few things.”

“Choose now and don’t compromise. Something bold, because otherwise Tara will have me bald tomorrow and I don’t want that. Have you decided?”

I nodded. “I have. I know what I want.”

We entered and after a brief wait Amelia was conducted through to the chair. Her stylist was Helen, the owner of the salon, an award winning hairdresser.

“I wanted a big change, and Kerry-Anne is more aware than me on these things so she’s going to make all the decisions as to what suits me,” Amelia explained.

I outlined the type of cut I wanted and Helen listened attentively, nodding or else suggesting tweaks to suit Amelia’s face or her hair type. “Is that OK,” I asked when some sort of plan had been achieved.

I could see she wasn’t finding it easy to accept the style she’d soon have, but Amelia was brave: “Sure, it sounds… fun,” she said, smiling not entirely convincingly.

Her thick waves were combed through and Helen divided her hair, dry, into sections. The lower part was left loose and she asked if we were both happy with the height of the parting. I nodded my agreement and Amelia followed suit.

I could see her eyes widen as the clippers were brought out. I assumed that the only time she’d previously had her cut with these was the night when she’d been given her mohawk, which must have been traumatic for her. Now she bowed her head as Helen lifted the long hair from her neck with a comb and brought the blades to life. She pressed the head to Amelia’s neck and pushed it up through her hair, which was so thick that the motor slowed noticeably as the blades cut through. The first coils of hair began to tumble over the cape and I saw the tightly buzzed hair on her nape. Her hair was reduced to its natural shade, a light brown, not so dissimilar from my own colour. It was just millimetres long, though not nearly as extreme as my own buzz, though despite the coarser texture of her hair it was so short that her scalp showed through the bristles.

As she lifted her head to allow Helen to buzz away the locks over her ears I made eye contact with Amelia in the mirror and smiled to reassure her. She glanced back to her own reflection and I could see her struggle: her long hair was being stripped away and now she had a boyish buzz extending a full inch over the tops of her ears. The roundness of her face and her double chin seemed much more exposed now without the flattering mane of lovely hair.

Now Helen changed tools, and used a small set of trimmers to shave Amelia’s neck, and to produce a hard, squared contour to the hair on her nape. Her neck at the back formed into two rolls which the new cut would not allow to be hidden. “Did you have something specific in mind for the graphic cut on the buzz?” Helen asked. Since I was unsure she called up some pictures on a tablet to show us and I made a choice.

She used a pair of scissors now and placed the sharp tips right against Amelia’s scalp, then began to quickly open and close the blades as they described a line diagonally across her nape, cutting a bare stripe through the bristles. Then the process was repeated a few millimetres away, making a parallel line, and so it went on until a section of Amelia’s hair took on the appearance of corduroy.

Now that this block was completed Helen cut a fresh line through the side at a different angle and took this as the beginning of a new section of fine stripes. Eventually the entire undercut was fractured into clashing areas of stripes. Of course the process was very labour-intensive and I had the joy of watching Helen work as Amelia suffered in the chair, seeing her hair being cut ever more strangely.

I’m sure Helen was relieved to finish working on the undercut, since it was impossible to imagine how many times her fingers had snapped the scissors shut to achieve the beautifully textured undercut. Amelia was taken to be shampooed and then Helen began to shape the hair on top. It was cut patiently, fine layers being released from the nest pinned on top of her head, then cut to its newly abbreviated line. I adored seeing the long strands being cut short as Amelia’s bowlcut began to take shape. Of course her thick hair would look impossibly heavy if all cut to a hard line (which had been my original plan), so Helen began to cut in layers and textured the ends of each section to reduce the bulk. The bowl was angled to give more length at the back, with the result being a fringe that only reached halfway over Amelia’s forehead. It was certainly dramatic, perhaps too short, but I loved how it showed off her big, pretty eyes.

The appointment lasted far longer than I’d expected, not just because of the work on the undercut: there was lavish attention on the colour too, and I was delighted to see the finished cut and colour, with the undercut bleached to a pale blonde, not much darker than mine, but much warmer toned. The top in contrast was a dark swirling green, with various shades intermingling, with a dark, almost black-green dominating, but illuminated with brighter areas, some hints even of a lime green peeking through. It was impossible to read Amelia’s reaction, since she was obviously putting on an act to be polite to Helen, whose work was immaculate. Only when we finally left the salon could I finally ask her her true thoughts.

“I don’t mind how short the top is, and the colour is really beautiful. But the back and sides are horribly short. I feel like a boy. And my face looks so fat.”

I kissed her. “Shut up! You look so pretty! I love this cut on you. I mean, yes, it’s too short, the undercut and the fringe. But it’s just so exciting. We look crazy together. I want you so bad, Amelia. I just want to head back to the hotel right now. But the salon took so long and it’s nearly time for your tattoo.”

She took my hand. “Are you sure you want me to do this? You can go in my stead. I’d love to see your pretty neck getting inked instead. A skinhead like you should have loads of tattoos.”

I felt like I was going to faint as I imagined giving in to her request. It was all the more insistent as I knew it was only a matter of time before I would begin to gain a collection of tattoos.

“No, I want you tattooed. Will you do that, Amelia?”

“Yes dear, but I’m so hungry and later we have to eat an enormous feast.” It seemed a price worth paying.

Amelia looked shocked as the details of her tattoo were finalised. She seemed to have accepted that she would be marked on her neck and looked confused when it became apparent that her right hand was to be the site of her new ink. I’d researched tattooists and had settled on Katherine as the best: her drawing was precise but idiosyncratic, with abstract nets of angular lines which thickened and attenuated, then broke into dots, then coalesced into a concrete form. The design she’d produced for Amelia was a sunflower, surrounded by her characteristic abstract patterning, with the right half of the flower becoming a geometric grid, then breaking down to merge into the background. It was just perfect, or so I thought. I studied Amelia’s reaction, but realised I found it hard to judge her feelings. Was her unease due to a dislike of the image or a fear of such an exposed placement?

Regardless, she was keen to press on. I watched in fascination as her beautiful plump hand was prepared. There was something exaggeratedly child-like in her hands, the full rounded back and the delicately tapered fingers, with tiny nails at the end. Katherine explained that she liked some degree of spontaneity in her work, only using the drawing as a guide to her work. She sketched some outlines with a fine pen then set to work with the needle.

I held on to Amelia’s free hand and smiled at her as the pain began to erode her calm. “That’s a painful one,” she said, embarrassed by her discomfort.

“I’m here for you. You’ll be fine, and you look so pretty.”

Katherine seemed barely aware of Amelia’s suffering, absorbed entirely with her task, and that was probably for the best. I could provide reassurance and sympathy while Katherine worked toward completing the tattoo as quickly as possible, and it was only this completion that would end Amelia’s pain. It took over two hours to finish the image, but I’m sure it seemed much longer to Amelia. The spidery black lines were supplemented by hints of yellow around an arc of the petals. I was delighted by how beautiful the tattoo looked, but it was so black and clear that I found it hard to believe it was a tattoo, and not an ink drawing that would wash off.

We headed back to the hotel, strangely muted; Amelia seemed exhausted and I started to worry that I’d made her unhappy. Only when we were in the hotel did I dare ask her how she felt about the tattoo.

“It’s very beautiful, but not something I’d have chosen for myself. I need to eat though. I never go this long without food and I know my blood sugar is low. It makes me act weird and irritable so if you want me to be nice you’d better get some food ordered.”

I was sent out to collect a vast amount of takeaway food and returned to the room to supply Amelia with what she needed. Of course there was plenty for me. She wanted to see me gorge in return for everything that she’d endured for me up till now.

“How much have you gained since before we met up that last time?” Amelia asked.

“I’ve put on twenty-six pounds.”

“That’s quite a lot,” she said happily. “I know Miss Soraya doesn’t want you getting very big, but I’d love it. If you two ever fall out again I’d happily take you in. But don’t you dare tell Miss Tara I said that. I’d love to make you as big as me. You couldn’t say no to me, could you?”

“I don’t think I could,” I smiled. “You make me feel so happy. But I don’t know how I’d feel about getting as big as you. It must be hard.”

“It is, but I love it. You don’t like attention, do you? You look embarrassed if anyone mentions your hair. I like you blonde. And this cut looks great, but it’s weird. I wish you hadn’t cut mine so short. I suppose I’ll have to get used to people commenting on my hair too.”

“I love the bowlcut on you. And the way she cut in the lines. I was so excited watching her cut it. It took forever and I wanted it to. I loved seeing you in the chair.”

She rubbed her nape, embarrassed by my compliments. “It makes it worth while, seeing how happy my haircut makes you. Now let’s eat.”

She could devour vast amounts and insisted that I should try to match her. Soon it was apparent that my appetite was not equal, as she continued untroubled while I felt bloated and uncomfortable. “Do your friends comment much on your chubbiness?”

I shook my head. “They haven’t said much, but I know they’ve noticed. I wear baggy clothes all the time now to hide it.”

“You do? That’s awful. You should be proud.”

“No, it’s Soraya’s idea. She wants me to gain some more then start wearing tight and revealing clothes so people will suddenly be aware how big I’ve got. I do get embarrassed at the amount I eat in work though. I eat far more than anyone else. I do get comments from that. And I’m snacking all the time on sweets.”

She smiled. “I’m so cruel, aren’t I? Your teeth are going to rot too. You have to look after them. Actually, didn’t I hear that Miss Soraya wants some dental work?”

“She’s thought about it. I hope she doesn’t. She likes the idea of me losing a tooth or two. At the front. Miss Tara knows someone, doesn’t she?”

“It’s someone Miss Sara knows, so we’ve never met her personally. She’s a dental nurse or technician. Maybe both. Anyway, she does illicit dental work, but it’s not cheap.”

“What sort of stuff does she do?” I knew I shouldn’t ask, since ignorance would undoubtedly be preferable but I couldn’t resist.

“I heard she took out one sub’s teeth. All of them. Her mistress is into toothlessness.”

“Oh god, that’s horrible,” I said, trying to imagine how awful it would be if that happened to me.

“She’s done extractions to allow gags to be fitted. They fit into the gaps at the sides. And braces. She can do those. Some people like how braces look. I think that’s something I’d like to try. Anyway, I hope Miss Soraya reconsiders. I wouldn’t like to see you with a front tooth missing.”

We continued to eat, me slowly, Amelia ravenously. Afterwards we were both sleepy and lay together caressing until we fell into a happy slumber.

The following morning we made the trip back home. I was delighted to be in Amelia’s company, although I wasn’t sure about all the attention she got because of her size, some strangers freely calling insults. I seemed more upset than she was, and more than once she stopped me from answering back. “Responding only encourages them. If you ignore them they don’t get what they want.”

As we approached Soraya’s home I was becoming very nervous, sure that I wouldn’t like how Soraya would now look. We entered the house and called a greeting.

Soraya appeared and I cursed as I saw her. She was dressed in athletic wear, tight leggings, a vest and track suit top. She’d never dressed like this before, at least not at home; at the gym I knew she wore this type of clothing but always changed into something more feminine before leaving. The tight clothes showed the changes in her body, the softness diminishing, muscular definition more marked. But it was her hair that was the most immediate shock. The sides and back had been shaved to a tight skin fade, bare completely over her ears, with the temples contoured into a hard line. Nothing on the sides was longer than a few millimetres.

In contrast the top was stiffly set in big curls and bleached to a caramel shade. It was fixed so that it rose high above her forehead, no hair coming forward over her face, which was scrubbed of any make-up. Her eyebrows were noticeably sparser, trimmed short, though still broad and well shaped. And the other big change: she wore a pair of glasses, large oblong lenses set in an exaggeratedly thick black frame.

I went to kiss her in greeting. “Wow, look at you,” I said, trying to take in the changes.

“It’s different, isn’t it?” I could see that she wasn’t any more comfortable with her new look than I was.

“Are they real glasses? Or plain lenses.”

“I’m slightly short sighted apparently. I have to wear them. All the time. Miss Tara insists.”

Miss Tara was now inspecting her companion. “Kerry-Anne! You did well. What an adorable little haircut. And a beautiful tattoo. Her hands are so pretty and this is a nice addition.”

I thanked her for her generous praise. “Maybe I’ll let you continue to decide how her hair should be. In return, of course, I’d keep controlling Soraya’s hair.”

“It’s permed,” Soraya said with undisguised embarrassment. “And I have something else to show you.” She slid out of her top and I gasped as I saw that her arm had been tattooed. The football crest was now surrounded by geometric patterning, though only in outline. The tattoo covered her arm from shoulder to elbow.

“It’s… big. I didn’t know you were planning more tattoos.”

“Well it only seemed fair, since you were tattooing Amelia that I should get something in return.”

“Poor little Kerry-Ann, she’s the only one without tattoos. She must feel so plain. Left out. We need to get you fixed up soon,” Miss Tara said.

“I agree. Would Miss Sara take her, do you think?”

“I’m sure she would. I’ll have a word. She’s busy with her shop, but she can always find time for people who share her interests. She has a special room for customers like you, Kerry-Anne. Restrained and helpless while she tattoos.”

Miss Tara illustrated her point by gripping my wrists and pinning them to my sides. I felt breathless and terrified. Tattoos seemed too much yet I knew it was inevitable; I’d reached the point of no return and to say no was impossible. And if I was made to submit to Sara I knew I’d not have the option of something subtle and tasteful: I’d only be released when I was tattooed extensively. How many hours would I endure to satisfy her?

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Amelia said sympathetically. “You shouldn’t be afraid. Miss Sara is a very good tattooist and you’ll look beautiful. You should feel privileged if she accepts you.”

I tried to make myself accept what Amelia was telling me but my fears put a cloud over the entire day, a day when I celebrated being back with my love, even if she was now hardly recognisable. I couldn’t deny the pleasures that came with spending more time with Amelia, nor with Tara: for all of her scariness she was very exciting and by the early evening I was exhausted from the pleasures I’d experienced. We saw off our guests the following morning and I returned to my job; it was like waking from a beautiful dream and returning to a dull, mundane world drained of colour.

The big change in my life in the next few weeks was finding a suitable apartment for Soraya and me to live together once more. I hated the process of moving, but I felt so happy to once again share a home with her; it felt right, like we were meant to be together, though I was frustrated that our working patterns diminished the precious time when we were together. Still, our new living arrangements meant that time would be maximised.

I’d continued to eat according to the plan dictated by Amelia (though I was sure Tara had a lot of influence too) and was now pushing back toward my heaviest weight, which had been attained at the time of my break-up with Soraya. I sometimes looked back on that time, and it seemed inevitable that we would split, yet now our relationship was strong. Soraya seemed happier, her mood more stable, and I was sure that her time at the gym was part of her new found stability. She seemed to have found something that appealed to her, and her physical transformation into someone strong and fit progressed. The soft curves that I’d adored were gone completely now, though her sleek, athletic figure was just as attractive.

She had maintained her tight fade, weekly trips to a barberette, with me accompanying her when possible. The curls on top would be trimmed three weekly, with the length retained. She experimented with her look, sometimes smoothing out the curls and sweeping back the top in a pompadour, which looked simultaneously absurd and thrillingly sexy. I was glad that she wore make-up sometimes too, as I adored seeing her masculine hair matched with full face make-up, sometimes colourful and glamorous. She persisted with her glasses, but had acquired a few different frames to allow her some variety to match her experiments with her image. I can’t say I didn’t miss her longer hair, but I found myself encouraging Soraya to persist with her boyish cuts; they were so exciting that I started to believe she’d never allow it to grow again.

My chelsea had started to grow a little dishevelled, and the white buzz had now grown fuzzy and was discoloured by the regrowth. A month had passed since my cut when Soraya suggested it was time for a tidy up. “You’ve got three days off this weekend, haven’t you? I thought a trip to Cressida on Friday evening might be nice. It’ll set you up nicely for the weekend. I need you to look pretty.”

“Are we going out?”

“We’re going to be away. I think it’s time to tell you. On Saturday you’ve got an appointment with Miss Sara. You’re going to finally get your tattoos started.”

I couldn’t even speak as I tried to come to terms with what was happening. Soraya hugged me close to her. “You’ll be fine. You’ll be prettier than ever. You like my tattoo, you love Amelia’s so why shouldn’t you love yourself being tattooed?”

“Will I get a lot?”

“I’ve managed to book you in for six hours. She gave me a very good price, but I had to agree that she would just outline your tattoos, which means a lot more sessions in the future to continue. So yes, you’ll have a lot of tattoos come Saturday night. She has a lot of control, but I want you to have pretty tattoos, colourful ones. She has some freedom with the placement too, but your face and scalp are off limits.”

“And my hands? Please don’t let her tattoo my hands.” I could feel my panic rising.

“But you tattooed Amelia’s hand. I couldn’t say no to your hands being tattooed. Tara insisted on that. Sara and Tara are friends so they talk often. You should prepare yourself for your hands getting some ink; Tara thinks you should be prepared to take what you dished out.”

I was exhausted by Friday evening, my anxiety causing me to feel ill all of the time. For the first time I failed to follow my dietary instructions, my appetite diminished to nothing. I’d slept only fitfully since Soraya’s revelations. As soon as I finished work I climbed into Soraya’s car and we made the journey to Cressida’s shop. Soraya was sympathetic to my worries, but insisted I should be pleased. She did nothing more to reassure me and wouldn’t discuss her plans for either my hair or tattoos.

Cressida greeted us warmly, and commented on my obvious gain. “You’re getting quite chubby now, Kerry-Anne,” she smiled. “Those hips are getting very wide. And you have a cute little belly.” I blushed as she pointed out what I could only see as unattractive features. “Now get in the chair and let’s get your hair fixed. It’s been too long.”

I sat in the chair where I was fitted with a plastic cape that covered my shoulders. I soon smelled the pungent odour of bleach being mixed up. I was secretly pleased that I would remain blonde. The roots were soon covered with the paste, which didn’t take long given how little hair I had constituting my fringe and feathers. The buzz was also brushed over with the bleach.

Once my hair was processed I was allowed a nice rinse, with Cressida’s powerful fingers massaging my scalp. Then I was back in the chair as she combed through my damp locks. I felt my scalp tingling as she blasted it dry.

I saw her heft the clippers and turn them on. “Head down, Kerry-Anne,” she said firmly, coldly. I heard the motor roar and she pressed them up the back, touching them to my skull at my occipital.

I heard a gasp from Soraya, which made me suddenly nervous, but an impatient tut from Cressida was followed by her pushing my head forward. I’d obviously made an involuntary movement, alarmed by Soraya’s reaction.

I lifted my head to allow the clippers to make a passage over the top, but since Cressida stood right before me I still had no view of the mirror. Only as she moved to the side did I see that the top of my head was shaved. I stared, hoping that I’d been mistaken, that it was just the bleach that had lightened the buzz so much that it appeared bare, but I could see now that it was pink scalp and not white stubble that the clippers had produced. “Ugh, it’s bald!” I groaned.

“It will be,” Cressida said, “once I’ve used a razor on you.”

“But why did you bleach it if you were only going to shave it?”

“Because the bleached stubble will make your head look smoother. Anyway, too many questions. Be quiet while I work.”

I did as instructed, watching sadly as she sheared away every trace of the fuzzy hair that had covered the dome of my head. I looked sad and broken as I surveyed the remains of my hair, wisps of blonde around a bald head. And I saw my face anew, pudgy and bloated by my excesses. I no longer had the thin, narrow face I recognised as my own. My cheeks were puffy and my jawline had softened, with a pad of fat growing under my jaw that could easily blossom into a second chin.

My fringe was soon neatened to a hard line across my forehead. It was certainly shorter than last time, with almost an inch being chopped. My fringe looked inadequate, a little strip set against a vast expanse of bare scalp. And, similarly, with the feathers on my cheeks and nape Cressida cut away all of the new growth and more, leaving my hair seeming to emphasise rather than counteract my baldness.

As the little pieces of hair were coated with more paste I became aware that it was too dark to be toner, but was too intimidated by Cressida’s annoyance with my questions to speak up. Soon it was rinsed, and as I looked in the mirror saw that the rim of hair around my bald head was now a deep red, a richly artificial crimson. As if it wasn’t sufficiently contrasted with my milky white scalp Cressida now covered my pate with a soapy lather and shaved me smooth, pressing the safety razor firmly over my skin until it moved without resistance over sleekly smoothed scalp. It gleamed brightly under the bright salon lights.

“You look so cross,” Soraya laughed as we walked away. She pressed her lips to the top of my head and let them dwell a moment on my bare head. Since she wore red lipstick I knew that there was every chance I bore a red stain on my head now.

“It doesn’t look nice,” I complained. “It’s embarrassing.”

“Well it’s only for a few weeks. And since you dislike your hair so much you’ll probably be pleased to hear that your next cut will get rid of it completely. It’s about time you went bald again.”

By the following morning I was beside myself, terrified of the ordeal awaiting me. I was on the point of rebelling, or at least begging Soraya to spare me the trip to Sara. Rather than try to persuade or reassure she became strict with me. “Any more of this silliness and I’ll lift the ban on Sara tattooing your scalp. In fact I’ll insist that she begins with that. Now enough snivelling. You’re not allowed to speak until you’re calm and you can tell me that you’re ready to accept your tattoos. After all, you do like tattoos.”

I was hardly calm, and when I made to protest I was hushed. “Do you want to be gagged for the entire trip? And it’ll be a very obvious gag to wear in public.” I shook my head. “Then just calm yourself.”

I wasn’t reassured in the slightest as my old collar was brought out for the first time since our reunion. Soraya locked it on me then explained: “I posted the key to Sara. If you want this off you make the trip. Otherwise it stays in place forever.”

I wailed at the thought. More than ever I seemed unable to avoid this appointment. It seemed like fate. I was dressed in a tight black dress and stockings, flat shoes. We were to travel by train. The collar and haircut were sure to draw the most unwelcome attention.

We checked into our hotel in the afternoon. “Sara does a lot of work on Saturdays so she couldn’t possibly make time for you during the day. She’ll close up at five and then take you to her special room. Then you’re all hers. I’ll be back at midnight to inspect her work.”

“You’re not going to be there?”

“No. That was one of her conditions for giving me such a good price. She wants you all to herself. And I want you to do anything she chooses. I did say if you resist she can knock you out. Just put you to sleep and do her work on you.”

I started to cry. “Please Soraya. It’s too much.”

She slid her hand up my thigh. “It’s something that excites you very much. You’re being a baby, dwelling on the fears. But you shouldn’t ignore how excited you get when you submit. And as a special treat tomorrow Amelia and Tara are coming to visit us here. You can show off your new look for them. I know they’re very excited about it. Amelia’s due a haircut and if you’re good for Sara you get to choose what she gets.”

I was purring now as Soraya’s touch drew me up to elation, despite my fears. She was right, I was aroused by the imminent submission. I was ordered to undress and knelt for Soraya who lathered my scalp and shaved it.

“You need to look perfect for Miss Sara. It feels so delicious when it’s just shaved so we’ll do it every day now.”

She lavished a lot of attention on my make-up and when I look at my reflection I was amazed to see my face transformed, mask-like in its perfection. I hardly recognised myself.

We took a short walk to a nearby bar where Soraya bought me a brandy. “She’ll meet us soon. Remember your manners. Always Miss Sara. And always obey her. Just try to relax and enjoy it. I wish I could be there to watch. She’s very good.”

We hardly had any time to wait. Sara arrived. I could barely remember how she looked but knew it was her as soon as she entered. Her hair had grown, long and black with a severely short fringe, very gothic make-up. Pretty in an unsettling way. She looked older close up, probably in her forties. She stared at me and smiled. “What a pretty haircut! Miss Soraya told me you got skinny again but I’m glad to see you’re chubby now. Does she look after you?”

“Yes, Miss Sara. I couldn’t ask for a better mistress. I adore her.”

“Well until midnight she’s passed your care over to me. So kiss her goodbye and let’s get started.”

I said my reluctant farewell and walked out with my temporary mistress, surprised to feel a frisson of excitement deep within the fear. “Kerry-Anne, Soraya and I have set firm guidelines for you. I won’t overstep my agreement so don’t question anything I ask you to do. Your role is obedience and acceptance. If you try to persuade me not to do something you’ll get it regardless and earn an additional punishment too. I’m not going to be soft with you like Soraya is.”

“As you wish, Miss Sara,” I said.

We arrived at her shop which was locked. It was in a side street which was almost deserted. I looked about to see who would witness my last public appearance without tattoos. How different would I look when I left here?

We entered the shop and I followed Sara up a staircase through what was obviously off limits to her customers. The first floor was office and storage space. Another locked door prevented access to the attic, but now I was allowed into Sara’s sanctuary. It was a fairly large space, but low ceilinged, and more claustrophobic because the roof sloped at the edges, meaning we had to duck as we reached the top of the stairs.

“Undress,” Sara said. I did as she asked without question. I glanced around the space and saw chairs and a bed with numerous rings attached, which I deduced were to restrain. Hung around the walls were various chains, straps and ropes, which I knew I would soon experience. Sara took my hand and guided me to a chair which was in a semi-reclined position.

“I had a plan to start on your back but Soraya said a long time ago you said you didn’t see the point of getting a tattoo somewhere you couldn’t see. Well soon you’ll have a back tattoo but since that’s how you feel we’ll start with your front.” I nodded, but my mouth was so dry I couldn’t speak.

She buckled leather cuffs around my wrists and clipped them to D-rings on the side of the chair, immobilising my arms. My feet were guided into depressions in the leg rest and straps were tightened around them.

“Put your head back,” she instructed. “You’ll be very still for me.”

“I will Miss Sara,” I said.

“You won’t have a choice,” she laughed. She pushed my head back against the headrest and began to clean my ears. Was she planning to begin by tattooing my ears? I had to fight against the urge to cry.

I was soon proved to be mistaken, but that was hardly a relief. She pushed a needle through the top of my ear, and the intense pain made me aware it wasn’t a fine needle. Once both ears were pierced she fitted rings into the new holes, and tied them to the sides of the headrest. There was tension in the cords too, no matter how I positioned my head. I looked at her longing for some mercy.

“Is it uncomfortable?” she asked. I grunted. “Good. A little pain will focus you. You can’t move now, which is just as it should be.” She flicked at my side feathers. “This haircut is ridiculous. Why don’t you just shave it all? It looked better like that.”

“It’s Miss Soraya’s choice so I’m proud to wear it. But she did say my next cut would be a complete shave.”

“And she wants you to see a dentist, doesn’t she? You know I have a friend who could see to your needs?” She began to probe at my lips, pulling them back to examine my teeth. “You have fairly nice teeth. It would be a shame to see them ruined. But if your mistress wants it we should do it. We can discuss an appointment tomorrow.”

I had tears in my eyes as I thanked her. But now I had other problems to distract me. Sara was scrubbing my chest to prepare me for my tattoo. “You’re a skinhead, aren’t you?”

“Not really, Miss Sara. It’s just the haircut Miss Soraya chose…”

“Don’t contradict me! You are, aren’t you?”

“Yes Miss Sara,” I agreed.

“I suppose you want some suitable tattoos for a skingirl. Are you a right wing skin? Do you want some neo-Nazi symbols? I could do that.”

“Please Miss, no. Miss Soraya wouldn’t like that.”

She looked furious. “What did I tell you about Miss Soraya? Don’t try to stop me doing things by invoking her name.” I tried to apologise but was silenced. “Since you can’t speak nicely I think we should add a gag. Tongue!”

I stuck my tongue out and she removed the stud from the hole that she’d created long before. I felt her insert a new piece of jewellery and nervously tried to feel it as she went to retrieve another item from a cabinet. I could feel the new piercing protruded high above my tongue. As Sara returned she once more ordered me to expose my tongue.

She slipped a cord through the bar in my tongue, then slid the ends through a passage in the object she had obtained. She slid that along the cord until it filled my mouth: it was shaped to fit around my teeth with a plate extending up into my palate. As she pulled the cord tight it pulled my tongue up and forward, painfully so. She tied off the cord so that my tongue was pressed against the gag. She smiled at my discomfort. “Can’t speak now, can you?” Since my ears were so tightly bound I didn’t have the option to nod my head. I could only blink to acknowledge her question.

I could hear her prepare her tools to decorate my body but my head was fixed staring straight up and she was out of my field of vision. I gasped as she set the needle to my skin on the upper part of my sternum. I was being tattooed.

I think I’d worried almost exclusively about how I’d look post-tattooing, yet as the needle dug into my skin, dozens of times per second I realised I’d underestimated the sheer painfulness of the experience. Within ten minutes the burning was so intense that I wanted it to stop and thought I’d go mad if this continued for six hours. Yet it was impossible for me to beg for mercy, and even had I not been gagged I knew that Sara had very little mercy in her. I would suffer.

After what seemed an eternity there was a pause in the cycle of buzzing pain, followed by the pressure of the cloth dabbing at the new wound. Sara stood and cleaned the area, then looked at me and smiled. “You look so comfortable there. Do you want to see your first tattoo?” I blinked.

As she held up a mirror I began to sob uncontrollably. I was horrified to see she’d done as threatened: on my chest was a black swastika, two inches wide, marked in clear black lines. “Stop the tears!” she barked. “If you can’t control yourself I’ll continue to punish you.” She put her fingers in the palm of my hand. “Squeeze my hand to acknowledge your submission. This mark binds you to me forever. Show me you accept your commitment.”

I had no idea what I was committing to but she was so terrifying that I gripped her fingers as though my life depended on it.

It felt like the needle was stripping the skin from me with each stroke. I’d been bound in the chair for hours, though I couldn’t realistically estimate how long, and I knew it was probably not nearly as long as it felt like. The patterns had spread from my swastika, covering my upper chest now, until Sara was now working on my right shoulder, the area where arm met chest. I wanted to scream: the level of pain seemed to go up and down, but this spot seemed especially sensitive. I’d hoped I’d become tolerant of the touch of the needle, but it seemed that I was become more sensitised rather than less. I no longer cared about how I looked, I just wanted the pain to end.

And then suddenly I realised that Sara was tidying away her tools, and when she had she loosened the bonds that held me. I gingerly lifted myself from the chair, so stiff after being held in place for so long. She helped me to stand and led me to a mirror. I looked at myself in wonder: my upper torso was wreathed with images of flowers, large and bold, set against a framing of baroque architectural ornaments. The images were rendered in a style that imitated woodcuts and were beautifully crafted. What surprised me most was that each element was inked in a different colour, so that I had blue, orange-yellow, red and violet flowers. The framing elements were in more muted colours, greyish blues and browns.

I was delighted when Sara took the gag from me; my tongue was cramped and painful and my jaw ached. “Are you pleased with your tattoos?” she asked.

I still spoke with difficulty, not just because my jaws and tongue were aching; the large piercing my tongue held affected my speech too. “They’re wonderful, Miss Sara,” I said. “Thank you so much.”

“Even your swastika pleases you?”

“Honestly, Miss Sara? No, not in the slightest. It makes me ashamed and scared. I think I’ll be sacked for having this. I’m sure it will cause me a lot of trouble.”

“But you should be prepared to transgress. The values of our society are only conventions, and so often they cause so much harm to people. To conform is to die inside.”

“But this! It’s not some symbol of freedom. It’s the sign of a regime that demanded subservience to the state, a state that punished any deviance from its demented norms with death.”

“Well said!” She smiled at my outburst. “I’d never seen you show passion before. But the truth is, despite our socialisation to be nice and polite, we all have desires that are dark. There’s an appeal in the terrible, isn’t there? Reading about the serial killer, about the monsters. Isn’t there a deeply shameful, well hidden desire to be like them?”

“I don’t want to kill anybody, Miss Sara.”

“Not consciously, you’re too well brought up to allow yourself to think like that, but that doesn’t mean you don’t enjoy the vicarious thrill of reading about others who do. I think you’re much more like Elizabeth Bathory than you’d ever admit. Ultimately there is no morality. We make laws to hide this awful truth, not for any other reason.”

“Maybe that’s partly true, but we can make just laws to shape a good society, one that’s good to live in. To minimise suffering.”

She started to laugh. “Do you want to minimise your suffering? Stop trying to be rational. Because all your fine ideals are undermined by your desires, to be punished, humiliated, to suffer and make others suffer. To love and to be evil. Only when you understand that desire is what’s important will you find happiness. Your tattoo is like a garden, and you wander through the beautiful flowers and find something shocking: the corpse of a young girl. And you’re horrified, but you realise that it’s more beautiful than all of the things in the garden that you were supposed to admire for their loveliness.”

I blushed as I sensed some truth in what she said, but what she said made me feel uneasy, fearful that she could unleash something unpleasant in me that would change me forever.

Sara was sipping a drink now. “We’d better get back to your transformation. We’ve still got plenty of time. Do you want something to ease the pain? I could see you were struggling with it.”

“Miss Sara, I didn’t expect any mercy from you. But yes, the pain seemed unendurable at time. I agreed to obey you though, so the decision must be yours, Miss.”

She smiled. “What a good sub you could be. Will you be so stoical when it comes to your dental work?”

“I doubt I will. It terrifies me.”

“Of course. I’m sure Miss Soraya will ensure you’re well anaesthetised for the procedure though. She doesn’t want you to suffer a lot of pain, does she? She just wants to make you conform to her vision of beauty. And for now that’s enough for me too.” She went to a cabinet and took out some tablets. “Take these. They’re very powerful but short acting. By the time Miss Soraya comes back you should be starting to come out of it.”

I washed the pills down with water and immediately began to regret it. I didn’t want to be insensible while she worked on me. For all of my difficulties with the pain I didn’t want her to transform me without understanding what was being done to me, not that she gave me any chance to alter her decisions. I climbed back into the chair and allowed her to bind me again.

The tablets seemed to act quickly and I soon felt unclear in my thoughts, dull and sleepy. Despite my best efforts I soon succumbed to dozing. When I finally did begin to feel more wakeful I sensed a lot of time had passed, but my confusion wouldn’t clear. I could barely establish where I was at first, and as I tried to recall what Sara had done to me I couldn’t make sense of the fragments of memory that seemed all that I could recall. I was lying face down on the bed, my face supported by a ring, staring at an area of floorboards. My mouth was blocked with something and I could feel something pulling at my ears so didn’t dare to try to move.

“Are you back with us?” Miss Sara asked. I moaned through the gag. I lay passively as I felt her unbind me. Once I was freed she helped me to get off the narrow bed, which wasn’t easy, since I was weak and dizzy. I glanced down and felt a shock so severe it induced nausea as I saw my chest covered in vividly chromatic images. I remembered that she’d marked me with a swastika and felt a deep shame. How would I explain it to Soraya? How would I keep it hidden from my colleagues?

Then I saw that my right hand was tattooed. I held it up before my face to examine what had been done: the back was densely covered in abstract patterns, lines, blocks, shading produced by tiny dots. The design extended from the bottom of forearm (approximately three inches above wrist) right to the nails on my fingers. It was far more extensive than the tattoo I’d chosen for Amelia. Even the palm had been given a tattoo, a web like design covering the centre.

I looked up and saw that Sara had moved me to the mirror and I could see my chest tattoo in its entirety. I groaned as I saw that she’d extended it while I was drugged and now had a cluster of flowers on my throat. I felt my anxiety growing as I realised that I could never conceal my tattoos now. My throat and hand would always reveal that I was extensively tattooed.

Nor were my tattoos the only work that had been performed on me: I had three studs in each of my outer labia now, a stud in the centre of my upper lip, mirroring my labret, and a smiley piercing, a horseshoe bar now suspended from the frenulum at the centre of my upper lip and gum. It was all too much to take in.

So much that it was only as the buzzer rang and Sara moved to admit Soraya that I realised my swastika had been covered up. A black rose was now present where the offending symbol had been, but it was drawn in a more angular and abstracted manner than the rest of the tattoos, a jarring contrast of styles. When I studied it more closely I could see that the form of the swastika was still present, although very hard to distinguish.

“You covered it!” I said with undisguised relief.

Sara came back to me. “I did, but it’s still there, indelible in your skin. This rose will always remind you of the things that lie below the surface. You won’t tell anybody about it, will you? It’s our secret.”

“Our secret, Miss Sara,” I agreed.

“But it binds us. No one else will tattoo you, will they? You have to promise me that. You’re Soraya’s, but a part of you is mine too now. I like you too much to let you go.” She held me tight and kissed me forcefully, which despite the pain from my injured lips was most thrilling. I was still sleepy and I knew that to give her my commitment would complicate my life, but I couldn’t resist her. She was dangerous but that only increased my attraction to her. I couldn’t help myself and agreed to everything she asked.

Within a few minutes Soraya entered the room and swore in amazement as she looked at me. “You’ve got tattoos! Lots of tattoos. So pretty and colourful.” She examined me closely. “Piercings too. Wow, you are going to be sore. I carefully lifted my swollen upper lip to let her see the smiley. “Very nice, Sara. Very, very nice. I’m so pleased with what you’ve done. The buttock tattoos are especially nice.”

“What, I have tattoos there?”

Sara looked stern. “You’re forgetting your manners! Address your superiors correctly, Kerry-Anne.”

“I’m sorry Miss Soraya, Miss Sara, I was just surprised. I didn’t know about that tattoo.”

Soraya laughed. “How could you get a big tattoo on your bum and not know? Were you drugged?”

“She was for part of it. She was well-behaved, but this disrespect makes me think I was too soft with her. She should be punished. How about I show you how I restrain her and add another little tattoo, or a piercing? Maybe I should shave her head to punish her.”

Soraya seemed unsure of herself. I knew she wanted to be accepted by the other dominatrices but worried that they thought her too indulgent with me, as well as knowing that her submissions to Tara affected her standing. She wanted to show Sara that she could be tough with me. “I wouldn’t want her hair cut. This is a new style that none of her friends have seen yet, but she will be bald soon enough. Tattoo and piercing are fine though.”

“Both?” Sara said happily. “How about a tiny tattoo but on her face? A sort of beauty spot?”

I could see Soraya was surprised by this, but she nodded. “Sure, let’s do that. Nothing too big or showy though.”

“Of course,” Sara agreed. “Although once you see how nice it looks I’m sure you’ll begin to want more tattoos on her pretty little face. I think she’s made for it. And as for the piercing… I loved giving her her tongue piercing so why don’t we add a second? After all, it may act as a reminder for Kerry-Anne to speak properly.”

I was being led back to the chair by Sara, feeling a sense of terror at the prospect of my face being tattooed. But I couldn’t resist. I was elated by having two beautiful women take such an interest in me. Even had I had the option to stop Sara’s plans right now I would have urged her to continue.

“A little swastika here,” Sara said, placing a finger on the middle of my forehead just above the bridge of my nose, speaking softly so that only I would hear. “You’d take it too, wouldn’t you?” I shook my head, but I wasn’t sure I could resist her. Now she tied my new ear piercings to the headrest, tighter than ever, making me groan as I tried to suppress a wail. I was helpless, Soraya and Sara looking down at my vulnerable, helpless form.

I felt the needle sting on my cheek now, praying that Sara was giving me some neutral design: just a little spot that could be mistaken for a mole, though even that was sure to arouse curiosity amongst those who knew me. I knew that there was little prospect that my hopes would prevail: Sara wanted to push me, and to punish me.

The tattooing was over quickly and a mirror was held up as Soraya complimented Sara on the beautiful addition to my face. I saw that on the right cheek, just at the edge of my eye socket, was a black heart, very precisely drawn, with a little gleaming highlight to make it appear shiny. It was a centimetre high and a little wider, bigger than any beauty spot should have been and too showy for my liking. I was sure Soraya had her doubts too, but she was eager not to show them and only expressed praise for Sara.

Now I was ordered to extend my tongue. The memories of my first piercing at Sara’s hands came back to me, the pain and the shame and the difficulties of the healing process. Now it would all be repeated. As the needle pressed up into my tongue I felt myself grow cold and begin to sweat. Everything began to recede and I could no longer hold on to my consciousness.

I awoke the next morning in the hotel alongside Soraya. I had no memory of returning; I felt extraordinarily tired and sickly. The effects of fainting hadn’t left me. My tongue was heavy, swollen, painful, a constant reminder of what had been done to me. As I sat up I woke Soraya who smiled up at me and pulled me close to her. “Look at you! I still can’t believe you have so many tattoos. All in one day. Tara and Amelia are here so we’ll spend the day with them and Sara. It’ll be so nice, won’t it?”

I agreed, although my inclination was to sleep until my malaise had passed. Fortunately, Soraya was in an indulgent mood; I was provided with painkillers and allowed to return to sleep. Upon my second waking, late in the morning, I saw with surprise that the room was full, Tara, Amelia, Sara and Soraya all looking at me expectantly.

“Stand up, baby,” Soraya instructed. “Let our friends see how you look now.” I displayed myself self-consciously, and nervously regarded myself in the mirror. I was deeply uncomfortable with my appearance, and considered how I’d explain my rapid changes to my colleagues when I returned to work the next day. My inclination was to remove myself entirely from my mundane world, where my rapid metamorphoses would never be understood, where every change would be greeted with bemused quizzing. Who ever got so many tattoos in one sitting, especially where before she’d had not a single mark? I had no idea how I’d cope with the inevitable questions, yet I knew that I had responsibilities to earn money, since our new apartment’s rent was far too much for Soraya alone to fund. My double life troubled me.

But for now I had to put such worries about the future out of my head. Amelia embraced me and told me I was beautiful. “You’re filling out nicely. And I adore your tattoos! Miss Sara gets better all the time. You’re her masterpiece. I hope you intend to let her continue her work.”

“I do, Amelia. I agree with you, Miss Sara is very talented. A wonderful artist.” My tongue was swollen so that my speech was affected. “But I still haven’t really seen some of her work on me,” I said with embarrassment. “I can’t see my buttocks. Would you allow me to see how it looks, Miss Soraya?”

There were some expressions of amusement that I was still ignorant of such a large tattoo, then a discussion of where to obtain a second mirror to allow me a view. Since no such object was to hand Soraya took a picture on her phone and handed it to me.

My buttocks were inked with horizontal black lines of varying thickness, the widest perhaps a centimetre. The thickness of successive stripes modulated, so that there was a gradual widening and diminution of the lines, though the lines were in places interrupted by flowers pushing through. It was very striking, though very densely patterned.

“My plan was to extend the design to cover her entire back,” Sara explained. “Some of the flowers on her back would be large, four or five inches. And I’ll colour the flowers very richly. Would you like that, Kerry-Anne?”

I remembered my pledge and nodded. “Tell Miss Soraya that you want it.”

“Miss Sara’s right,” I said. “I’d like her to tattoo me more. Would you indulge me, please, Miss Soraya?”

Soraya looked delighted that I appeared to have accepted my tattoos (I knew she’d had concerns that I’d struggle to adapt to my new appearance), and gave her blessing. “But it will be a while before that happens. We have to save to get you more ink. We have to pay Miss Sara for her time.”

We went out to get lunch (I’d slept for so long that breakfast had been missed). I was dressed in a vest top to expose my chest piece, and stepped out feeling afraid of the attention my appearance would bring. I soon felt more confident: certainly we drew a lot of attention, but there were five of us, and Tara and Sara especially seemed to revel in the disapproval that was evident from some of the townspeople. As part of a group I felt bold and invulnerable, and could share in the delight of being seen.

We ate a generous lunch, though my new piercings interfered with my ability to eat. Soft food was easier, and it was decided, though I’m not sure how, that I should eat three desserts. I felt slightly ridiculous and childish when, as my companions were being served a starter, a bowl of ice cream was placed before me. By the end of the meal I felt recovered, however, even if I was full to discomfort, and the richness of the desserts had caused a sickliness of their own.

“We’re going to a barber shop now,” Soraya informed me. “We’re all going to get haircuts. Well, Sara hasn’t agreed, but it would be nice if she joined in too.”

Tara laughed and agreed: “Yes, Sara, you would look so pretty with a short, masculine cut. Your features would suit it so much.”

“Oh do stop,” Sara said coldly. “You’ve been telling me forever how I should go short, but you think that everybody should. I like my long hair, and it’s taken me so long to get to this length that I’m hardly going to get it cropped just to satisfy you.”

Tara tutted and complained but she’d admitted defeat. “Was Kerry-Anne a good girl for you yesterday, Sara? I said if she was I’d let her choose Amelia’s haircut. She did pick a nice bowlcut last time, but you can hardly appreciate it now. Her hair grows so fast and the colour faded.”

“Oh, she was. I have no complaints. Even when she forgot herself when she was excited it meant I could indulge myself with a little punishment. That’s when she fainted. Still, I’m not sure she should be allowed to dominate anybody. It’s very confusing. Clear roles should be maintained.”

Tara laughed. “For you and me, Sara. But for now Soraya is my sub and Amelia and Kerry-Anne submit to each other. It’s very sweet. Amelia, do you think Kerry-Anne should keep her silly chelsea or shave it all off?”

Amelia stared at me, smiling. “I think her haircut is very silly, but she should still keep it for a bit. Let’s just shave the top and keep her feathers.”

We arrived at the shop, where a very butch young Polish woman would see to our needs. The shop wasn’t much like the barbershops I’d seen, much more aligned to a bohemian clientele, which seemed in keeping with the nature of the town. It was decided that I should go first, and I snuggled into the chair with Amelia at my side. “Just a nice shave for Kerry-Anne, please, Dora,” she said. “Oh but actually…” She looked troubled and glanced at Soraya as if seeking permission for something. Soraya waved indulgently. “Could you take away the fringe on her nape. Shave it all smooth except her fringe and side feathers.”

I bowed my head and felt the clippers rush up my nape. I saw some pieces of hair spill onto my shoulders and knew that my path towards total baldness was inevitable. Eradicating my tail took only seconds and soon Dora was spreading my scalp with hot lather.

Dora obviously took pride in her skills as a barber and made a great show of using a straight razor to return my scalp to pristine smoothness. I felt the blade slide over my head in short confident strokes. It was especially strange to feel my nape being shaved, though I looked forward to feeling Soraya’s lips on the most sensitive part of my scalp.

My scalp was tingling as the shave was completed and I couldn’t suppress a little exclamation of bliss as Dora rubbed a rough towel over my head. I was alarmed to see her now pick up her scissors. I wanted to protest that my fringe had only just been cut, and that it was already too short, but that was hardly my place. I glanced toward Amelia, hoping that she would stay Dora’s rashness, but she looked on beatifically. Dora combed down my fringe and proceeded to chop away another slice, almost a centimetre falling away. I despaired at how little was left, hardly more than a tuft covering the top of my forehead. And she didn’t see my feathers as being sufficiently neat either: they were cropped of a similar amount. Soon the cutting was finished and she smoothed a pleasant smelling dressing over my hair and blasted it with a dryer to produce a smooth finish.

As I rose from the chair my companions rose to enjoy the sensations of my shaved scalp; the feeling of four women caressing me simultaneously was overwhelming, and it was an effort not to give in to moaning with delight. “Very butch,” Tara said with undisguised admiration. “I’m very pleased with Amelia. I do hope you feel in the mood for some retribution. After all, she’s in a barber shop and it’d be nice if we all left with butch styles. If you do happen to choose something I’d like for her I might make a little gift towards some more work on your pretty little body. But it’s your decision. Anyway, you have some time to consider what’s best. I’ll go next.”

Tara looked delighted to be caped by Dora and instructed her briefly before the barberette took up her clippers and placed a small guard on the blades. Without ceremony she placed them at Tara’s forehead and slid them back. The length that gave some softness on top was immediately shorn, a single stroke from forehead to crown causing a trench of short, dark hair to divide the longer, softer hair. And a few more strokes of the clippers resulted in a full buzz for Tara.

Of course, such a utilitarian cut would never satisfy Dora’s need to show her skills, and she now worked to produce a nicely crafted fade on the back and sides. And to complete the style she once more produced her beloved razor, shaving the temples to smoothly perfect concave curves, and razoring a hard line across Tara’s forehead. The effect was bold, but a little harsh. Tara was left looking far less feminine, rather too butch for my tastes, but nonetheless I couldn’t deny that the change was exciting. She looked unnervingly dominant as she rose from the chair and rubbed at her scalp. “Just perfect, Dora,” she sighed. “I can see now that the extra length wasn’t me. I’ll keep it this length now.” She looked over at us, and we expressed our admiration for her beautiful new cut. Tara accepted graciously and summoned Soraya to the chair.

“Kerry-Anne, would you like a similar cut to mine for Soraya? She was telling me you once made her get a very butch cut, so for your sake I think she might enjoy a short buzz.”

“It wasn’t nearly as short as yours, Miss Tara,” I said. “It was a flattop, actually.”

“Ah, that’s your preference, is it? Dora, a nice flattop for the sub please.”

It hurt me to hear Soraya described as a sub, all the more so because I knew it would influence Dora in the choice of haircut. I could see unease in Soraya’s features as Dora struck the clippers into action. I watched in fascinated horror as they made a pass up the back of her head and revealed that the blades were naked. The hair was stripped to the skin and Dora was working at alarming speed, shaving the entire back in, at most, a couple of minutes.

I tried to judge Soraya’s reactions as the sides were shorn, but I didn’t have a good view of her face, and nothing I could see gave me any indication of her emotions. I knew that she would be shocked at the extremeness of the cut but she seemed unable to resist Tara. If Tara had instructed Dora to shave her completely I doubt she would have argued.

Dora was now using a comb to shape the top, lifting sections of hair and slipping the clippers over the tines to shear away the bulk. It soon became apparent that the flattop she had in mind was nothing like the one that I’d imposed on Soraya so long ago. The top was being cut with precision now, sculpted with care, the thick hair being sliced away to form a hard plane. The coloured hair had all been shorn and only black hair remained. Not only was it shorter than the previous flattop, it was narrower too, tapered in at the sides, rather than rising vertically. The front was being mown down to barely an inch and the crown a lot shorter. Where her head rose through the middle the hair was cut so short that scalp showed. It made the version I’d chosen appear soft and feminine. This cut was military, utterly without concessions to femininity.

“It’s gorgeous, isn’t it?” Tara whispered. “She looks quite the sub. I’ve changed her so much toward what I like. I do hope you choose something similar for Amelia.”

“Why don’t you just have her cut as you like, Miss Tara. She worships you and she’d never resist your orders.”

“Oh, you don’t know her like I do. She’s vain about her hair and she would resent my choosing a butch cut for her. But she likes you so much she’d accept it, at least until we all parted, and any resentment she does feel won’t be toward me.” She smiled at me. “You should do this, Kerry-Anne. You know I have a lot of influence on Soraya. I might soften her appearance if you please me. And she tells me she wants dental work for you. I could moderate her ideas toward something more cosmetically pleasing if you work with me. Besides, if we all go butch it might even persuade Sara to go short. I bet you’d love to see that.”

I glanced over at Sara, who was engrossed in conversation with Amelia. “I’m sure she’s too much in love with her hair for that, Miss Tara.”

She laughed. “I think you’re right. But still. Short and boyish for Amelia, or you’ll not be in my good books. Do we have a deal?” I nodded. “Of course, this is our secret. You can never hint that the cut you choose was anything but your idea.”

“Of course, Miss Tara.” I glanced toward Amelia and tried to imagine a cut that might satisfy Tara without hurting her. It seemed impossible.

I’d been distracted from watching what was happening to Soraya, but now as I returned my attention to her makeover I saw that the top was now finished and Dora was shaving the back and sides clean with her beloved razor. Her new hairstyle made me see her anew, and I could see how her face had changed with her new regime of exercise: her features were leaner, more angular, the bone structure more apparent without the softness I’d previously known. She was certainly more androgynous than ever with this severe haircut, and I suspected she was as ambivalent as I about how it made her look.

I saw her expression sour as Dora placed the razor at her forehead and began to shave a strip of hair from her hairline. It was only a few millimetres of scalp being shaved, but it had the effect of producing a hard, unnatural hairline, not unlike Tara’s new cut. Somehow, this subtle change made her look far more masculine. Now it only remained for her scalp to be wiped clean of lather and for Dora to dry her hair, making every hair stand vertical.

As an abashed Soraya rejoined us Tara went in her bag and placed a new pair of glasses on her nose. They were, like the previous pair Tara had chosen, formed of a heavy black frame, but these had round lenses, very owlish in appearance. As Soraya went to the mirror to look at her gift Sara spoke.

“Tara, what have you done to the poor girl? That’s an awfully ugly haircut you gave her and now these glasses? She looks like a very plain boy. Such a submissive look, and for somebody who’s supposed to be a mistress? Unnecessarily cruel.”

I could see Soraya’s fragile confidence drain away and was sure she’d start to cry. “Respectfully, Miss Sara, I disagree. I think she looks beautiful. And sexy. I’m very proud of you, Miss Soraya.” I stroked her silky scalp and kissed her. She smiled and her eyes glistened. I knew that part of her desire to have a short cut was the humiliation and knew that Sara’s taunts were likely only to have increased her desire. I longed to be alone with her.

But now Dora called us back to order. “Next one!” she said curtly.

“And that would be you, darling,” Tara said to Amelia. “Kerry-Anne, you’re in charge. Be nice to her. Nothing too extreme, I hope. But you’re in charge.” Her smile was cold and calculating.

The seat was barely wide enough to contain Amelia and her hips were compressed, presumably uncomfortably, by the arms of the chair. Dora flicked out a cape and covered her up, then looked at me for guidance.

“Well, despite what you said, Tara, I think a nice boy cut would look good on Amelia.”

She looked sick and started to protest, but Tara silenced her. “Amelia, this was supposed to be a treat for Kerry-Anne. Don’t sour the atmosphere.”

“I’m sorry, Miss Tara,” she said contritely. “Of course, Kerry-Anne. Your choice.”

Dora looked for clarification and I suggested that the back and sides should be a short taper. “About a number two. More length on top, an inch or an inch and a half, blended with the sides, with a little fringe at the front.”

Dora nodded. “Number two fade, then?” I nodded my agreement.

The bowlcut was severely grown out, her thick hair evidently fast growing, and Dora prepared for the cut by combing the top forward and setting it in a clip at the front to allow better access to the back and sides.

I could see Amelia’s fear increase as the clippers once more were flicked into life. Without delay Dora began to shear away the bulk of regrowth on the back. She made a swift pass up from nape to crown, the blades shearing away the coloured hair and leaving an even pelt of light brown hair. As she stripped away more of the hair at the back I could see only an even buzz, and nothing of the taper I’d requested. I was more than a little intimidated by Dora, and found it impossible to question her. She seemed intent on cutting and didn’t look for any guidance, apparently clear in her intentions.

It took little time for Amelia’s back and sides to be clippered uniformly to the same short, bristly length. I saw her staring in the mirror, obviously troubled by the new length, or its lack. There was a brief pause as Dora switched off the clippers, only to remove the guard and re-engage the motor. She used the edge of the blades to begin to draw a shaved line across Amelia’s temple, well above her ear. “Is it high enough?” she said to me. I nodded.

The line described an arc around her scalp, two centimetres above her ears, dipping down an a couple of centimetres at the back. I watched as the bare blades were now deployed to shave away all the fuzz beneath the line. I felt my face redden as I realised that Dora had misunderstood my intentions and was giving a far shorter fade. My shame at seeing Amelia being given such a brutal cut was only intensified by my arousal at seeing her shearing.

Dora now attacked the hard line between the bare scalp and the thick, short buzz. She moved the clippers in little carefully controlled strokes, seemingly effortless in her cutting, yet I knew it took skill to produce such an even taper so effortlessly. Most of the length was soon gone even from the buzz and I winced as I saw how little hair was left on Amelia’s back and sides. It was far shorter than my intention, yet I knew I’d be unlikely to admit this to Tara, who looked entranced by her lover’s new butch cut.

A lick of lather was spread over the lower part of Amelia’s scalp and she was now treated to the delights of being shaved with Dora’s straight razor. Not one of us had escaped some shaving. Amelia, however, looked the least pleased.

Dora released the thick shock of hair that remained on top, combing it as she misted it with water. Soon it had been cropped to a length more in keeping with the agonisingly short side: the top was cut to choppy, textured spikes, nothing much more than an inch, but softened by a long fringe. It was the only concession to femininity, and I was glad it remained as Dora dried her hair, the slightly messy top giving some softness in contrast to the tightly shaved back and sides. But it seemed Dora was not finished. She combed down the long fringe over Amelia’s eyes and proceeded to snip it to a hard line high on her forehead. It removed the softness, in fact making the cut more unflattering. The brevity made Amelia’s face look wider, emphasising her round cheeks.

“All done,” Dora said. “Is it what you wanted?” I nodded, afraid to say that I’d intended something much less severe, but to admit this would be scant consolation for Amelia and would undermine my standing with Tara.

As Amelia rose Tara went to her. “My poor little baby! She’s taken you so short. Far more butch than I thought she would. It’s too short, but I do like it. You’re still my prettiest.” She looked us over and appeared delighted. “All nice and butch now, ladies. You have no idea how happy I am. Except Sara. Are you going to be the odd one out and keep your hair long? You really should try a nice barbered cut. Dora has an appointment for all of us, so you can do it.”

Sara laughed. “Why on earth would I want a cut like… that?” She pointed at Soraya, still seemingly believing that she had the worst look of any of us. I was sure that we would leave the shop now but was surprised to see Sara sit for Dora. She pulled her close and whispered into her ear, giving detailed instructions. I doubted Dora would try to exert her will against Sara’s. She was the most intimidating woman I’d met.

I’m sure Tara felt a sense of disappointment as Dora started to nibble away a tiny amount of length from the back of Sara’s mane, carefully neatening the line, only chipping through the ends to reduce the weight a little. But as Dora combed through the top she lifted a section and gripped it between the fingers of her left hand just a couple of inches above Sara’s head.

I’m sure we were all staring in disbelief, but I was so intrigued to see what was happening that I was unaware of anything else happening in the shop. Dora placed the open blades of her scissors against her fingers and began to snip, causing a long hank of hair to fall. Then another section was combed up, only to be sliced free. Soon the top of Sara’s hair was cropped to short layers, only around two inches spared the scissors.

As Dora turned her attentions to the sides she began to snip even closer, and I began to see that a mullet was taking shape. Even though she still had more hair than any of us, Sara was losing the most. She looked at herself in the mirror, her expression fixed. I looked deep into her eyes and sensed that this cut was something she found troubling, undermining her assurance. She was, I’m sure, eager to impress her audience, keen to enter into the spirit of the occasion, yet was now unsure as to whether her plan had been foolish and would result in the ruination of her beautiful hair. Perhaps it was only in my imagination that such fears existed. Sara’s face was mask-like and impassive as her hair tumbled, and now formed a dark halo around the chair.

Dora’s scissors seemed to have cut as close as they could now and she now adopted her clippers, cutting over the comb to refine the sides to a very close pelt, which would have seemed unthinkable to me only minutes earlier. But now she carefully trimmed at the temples, again and again buzzing across the comb, each movement removing a tiny amount of hair. A nice even taper was the result of Dora’s work, with the lower part cut to a few millimetres, no longer than a number two buzz.

It seemed that wasn’t short enough to suit Sara’s plans. Now the bare blades were pressed to her cheek and slid upward to shave away the dark stubble, leaving pale skin only faintly discoloured by the dark follicles. Dora eliminated the sideburns entirely, then folded her ears forward to allow a strip of hair over each ear, a half inch wide, to be removed. There was an uncanny silence as the clippers were turned off and I watched in fascination as the shaved area was now treated to the edge of Dora’s razor, making the skin gleam smoothly. There was no attempt to blend the close cut hair into the shave, and a clear, hard edge was the result.

The top was now sprayed and brought to a fixed verticality by Dora. The finished cut was slightly ludicrous, something that reminded me of eighties goth styles, although the shortness of the top and sides hinted at boyishness. For all its absurdity, I was very taken with Sara’s new look, and impressed with her boldness, even if the style didn’t entirely suit her. She’d certainly looked prettier with her previous cut, but then I adored extreme haircuts, and this was so bizarre that I couldn’t fail to find it exciting. Dora had set the top very neatly, almost too much so, and this over-styling was again something I found unnervingly attractive.

I seemed to be in a dream as we left the shop. Our collective appearance could hardly have failed to make an impression of the local populace, but the attention seemed delicious, even the obvious disapproval of many, and my companions were sufficiently noisy to be impossible to ignore. I got into the mood and enjoyed the moment, though I knew that once I was alone I would feel terrified to be seen in public. Every glance of my tattooed hand reminded me that I would never be seen the same way again.

We returned to the hotel where I discovered that our friends were staying in an adjacent room with a connecting door. Tara spoke: “I’m going to go for a run with Soraya. We don’t want to neglect our fitness. Since Amelia was such a good girl for Kerry-Anne I think it’s only fair the two of them should have a feast. Amelia, you can choose her diet. She owes you for giving you such a short haircut. Sara, what would you like to do? Coming for a run with us?”

Sara looked at her with disdain. “I wouldn’t demean myself by exercising in public. I suppose I’ll get something to eat with these two fatties. Do I have your permission to pleasure myself with them?”

“Oh, it goes without saying. Amelia will do anything for you.”

“And Kerry-Anne the same,” Soraya said nonchalantly. I blushed at being given permission to submit to Sara. “Just don’t go adding any more piercings. She has to go back to work tomorrow and she’ll have enough difficulty without adding any more to her suffering.”

Sara laughed. “I had other plans. No more piercings suits me.”

And call was made to order takeaway and now we relaxed on the bed together, Sara insisting that Amelia and I should be naked. She ran a hand over my head and stared into my eyes. “You always have such awful haircuts, Kerry-Anne. This is just ludicrous. Don’t you think it would be better just to shave it all?”

“You’re probably right, Miss Sara, but it’s not up to me. Miss Soraya will have me shaved soon, though. Would you like to see me when I’m bald?”

“I would. Should we ask Soraya to send you back to me for more tattoos when you shave your head?”

“Yes Miss, we should,” I agreed, although the desire scared me. I imagined being helpless again in Sara’s studio as she covered my bare scalp with dark tattoos.

“You didn’t tell me what you think of my hair, Kerry-Anne.”

“It’s very sexy, Miss Sara,” I said. “I was impressed with your bravery to get such a bold mullet. It’s not a look everyone will like, but it appeals to me.”

She gave a chuckle. “Is that your diplomatic way of saying it’s a bad cut?”

“It is a bad cut, Miss Sara, yes. So is mine. And I’m afraid Amelia’s is too. But I love seeing pretty girls with bad haircuts. So I adore how both of you look.”

“And Amelia’s cut is your doing. You’re so cruel, Kerry-Anne!” She turned to Amelia: “We should punish her. How would you choose to punish her?”

Amelia looked at me intensely. “I would always choose to make her eat more than she ever did in one sitting.”

“I willingly accept, Amelia,” I said, “but I have a new piercing in my tongue, so eating is difficult at the moment. Please consider that.”

“Of course I will,” she said. “Just nice soft food for you. But since you did cut my hair too short then it seems only fair that you shouldn’t be too comfortable.”

She went through the connecting door and reappeared carrying a bag. She set it next to me and drew out the tubed funnel she’d used before to feed me. I groaned. “Not that, please, Amelia.”

Sara put a finger to my lips. “Did Amelia complain about having her hair all shaved off? No, she was a good girl for you and now you need to show her the same respect. Open your mouth.” I didn’t dare disobey and within moments I was effectively gagged, the long tube dangling from my mouth. Sara applied leather cuffs to my wrists and clipped them together behind my back. I felt trapped and scared.

“She needs to keep her head back to allow gravity to do its work,” Sara observed. She now fitted me with a thick collar, similar to the one I wore for Soraya, but this one was fitted with three steel prongs at the front which forced me to lift my head. “Kneel!” Sara ordered. “You can wait like this until your food arrives.”

And so I was kneeling naked, bound, collared and gagged with a tubed funnel as the delivery boy brought up our food. I was glad to stare up at the ceiling and avoid his no doubt embarrassed curiosity. “We got your favourite,” Amelia said happily. “Ice cream for you, Kerry-Anne. We’ll eat our grown up food while yours warms up and softens enough to fit through the tube.”

I watched in silence as my friends ate their Indian food, longing to be released. Of course, Sara ate modestly, whilst Amelia consumed more than I ever could. A half hour at least had passed before they even acknowledged me. Amelia poured the contents of a half litre tub into a bowl. It was soft and runny now, but the centre was still solid and frozen. She mashed it up to a homogeneous mix, adding milk to reduce the viscosity. Now Sara lifted the funnel high above my head and Amelia began to pour.

It took some time for the ice cream to reach my mouth and when it did the flow seemed slow enough for me to cope with. The coldness was pleasing too, easing the swelling of my tongue where the new piercing passed through the wound, but soon my mouth was filling faster than I could swallow. The coldness was making my teeth ache and I knew it was only a matter of time before the dreaded brain freeze hit me. As I looked up at Amelia’s unflattering cut I knew I deserved this. I’d been weak and given her the cut Tara wanted, rather than something more attractive, as I would have liked. I deserved a punishment.

As the ache filled my head my acceptance began to waver. I had to keep swallowing, but each gulp intensified the agony. It seemed that it would continue forever, the surge of sweet liquid filling me relentlessly. Amelia’s explanation of what I was feeling only induced laughter from Sara.

My joy that the flow eventually diminished to nothing was short-lived; Sara gleefully commented that I’d only had a quarter of the ice cream I had to eat. More of the liquid began to pour, which in limited amounts would be delicious, but now only induced suffering in me. Amelia’s bounty seemed like torture.

I was finally freed and allowed to lie on the bed, waiting for the neuralgia to pass. My stomach bulged, and though I felt full, I realised that there was nothing of the awful discomfort I would have felt back when I was so thin. I’d become much greedier, far better equipped to eat too much. I looked at my legs, my thighs and calves now heavy, my hips broad. I’d changed so much since coming back to Soraya. As Amelia lay beside me and kissed me I hugged her. For all the difficulties I loved my life.

3 responses to “Flowering: part 2

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