Im not that spoiled anymore

I’m not that brat anymore.

 

I hope you like it.

 

 

 

After the barber shaved my head and eyebrows, he drove me to the party, revealing my bald spot in front of all my friends, and I served them.

 

I was socially ostracized and had no friends left. Even my mother, who used to spoil me, stopped speaking to me.

 

All my friends had graduated from school and were waiting to go to their respective universities. I saw no other solution but to return to the barber who had abducted me, forcibly shaved my head and eyebrows, and done what he did to me. When I entered his shop, he was sitting reading a newspaper. He looked at me and asked why I had come back. I looked at him and explained what had happened to me. He replied, “What did I do wrong? What do you want from me now?” I told him I had nowhere else to go, so I ended up here. He looked at me and said, “Your hair has grown long. Sit in the barber’s chair.” I sat down, resigned to my fate. He covered me with a cloak and began shaving my head and eyebrows again until all the hair was gone. When he finished, he removed the cloak and said, “Get up and leave. This is all I can do to help you. I won’t ask you for payment for your haircut. Now leave. I never want to see you again.”

 

I got up and went out onto the road, not knowing where to go. As I walked, I saw my best friend. We met, and she looked at me and said, “Is that you? What are you doing here?”

 

I explained my situation and that I had nowhere to go. She said, “It’s okay. Get in my car and come with me. I have something for you.”

 

I got in the car, and she got in too. She started driving until we left the city and reached another city where her university was. We arrived at a residential complex, and she stopped in front of a house and told me to get out. I got out and followed her. We went into a large house and sat in the living room, and she began to talk.

 

Look, I’m not honored to have a friend like you, a bald whore. But look, this big house—me and all my friends who used to be your friends—we rented it to live in, go to our universities, and have parties on weekends. We were looking for a maid to clean up our mess, cook for us, and serve us during the parties the rest of the week. So, here you are, going to be my sex slave. You’ll do all the housework and cooking for all of us, and other chores for me. And don’t think I’m asking if you want to or not; I’ve already decided.

 

And I think all my friends will approve of you. Now get up, my slave. I got up and stood facing her, silent. It didn’t even cross my mind to say anything, not to object or agree. She had decided my future as her slave, and that was that. She stood up and told me, “Go and shower to remove the hair that’s still clinging to you, then come to this room naked and stand in the same spot. Wait for me until I return. I have some things to take care of, and I’ll be back in two hours. We have a graduation party at this house.”

 

I went to take a shower, took off my clothes, and turned on the tap. The water started pouring over me and splashing off my bald scalp, but I was preoccupied with thinking about what had happened to me, the conversation I’d had with the woman I considered my closest friend—the one I’d become enslaved to—and the humiliation I was about to face from her and the rest of the group. I finished showering, dried myself, and went out into the living room naked, doing as I’d been told. I stood in the same spot I’d been standing in before. I didn’t sit down because she hadn’t said to, and I was afraid that if I sat down, I’d go against her instructions and there might be security cameras in the house. After about an hour, my feet started to ache, but then I heard the front door open. My friend came in carrying a lot of things. She looked at me and said, “Are you still standing there? Can’t you see I’m carrying so much? Come and help me carry it; it’s exhausting.” I rushed over to her, took the things from her, and stood there, unsure where to put them. She looked at me and said, “Follow me.” I followed her until she reached the sofa where she’d been sitting. I stood next to her, and she told me to put the things near her. I put them where she’d asked, and she opened her bag. She took out some papers and threw them on the table in front of me, saying, “This is your employment contract. Sign it and give it back to me.” I picked up the papers and started reading the first page until she yelled at me, “Are you going to read all these papers and keep me waiting? Sign them quickly and give them back to me. We don’t have time!” I signed the papers and returned them to her.

 

She stood up and approached me, beginning to caress my nipples. “Your nipples are erect, you whore,” she said. Then she placed her other hand on my clitoris, grabbed a few strands of hair, and pulled them hard. “We have to get rid of all this. You’re now my bald slave, and you shouldn’t have a single hair on your body.” Tears welled up in my eyes, and I said, “As you wish.” She pulled even harder until the hairs she was holding came off. “From now on,” she said, “I am your mistress, and you will call me ‘my mistress.’ Is that clear?” I nodded. But she grabbed some more hairs and pulled them, asking, “Is that clear, you whore?” I quickly replied, “Yes, my mistress.” Then she let go of the hairs.

 

She began, “Today we will remove the rest of the hair from your body. You are not allowed to wear clothes inside the house under any circumstances. You will remain naked. You signed a six-year contract. I have the authority to renew or cancel it at any time and throw you out into the street when I no longer want you. This gives me the right to do so.” The contract is that I will do whatever I want with you, and you must obey all my orders and the orders of my friends who live here or who will come to the parties, whether men or women, but my orders are the basis. Do you understand that?

I nodded and said, “Yes, whatever you want, ma’am. But please, would you allow me to get dressed when there are strangers around? I’m not used to appearing naked in front of strangers.” She looked me in the eye, laughed, and said, “Who was that girl at the last party in the cabin, the one who was naked, masturbating, and putting a beer bottle up her vagina in front of everyone? Don’t try to pretend you’re a good, shy girl. You’re a whore, and I hate all the days I was deceived by you, thinking you were a good girl. But time reveals everything. You’ve shown us that you’re a worthless, shameless girl. That’s what you are. Even your mother called me and asked about you. She wanted to take you home the day after the party, but when I sent her the video I secretly took of you putting the beer bottle up your vagina at the party in front of everyone, she said, ‘I had a daughter, and I lost her. Is this the girl I raised, spoiled, and did everything for? I don’t even want to see her face anymore. I have an only son now, and I have to take care of him.'” When I heard that conversation, my heart broke, and I burst into tears. I asked her, “Why did you do this? What did I ever do to deserve all this?”

 

She looked at me and said, “I’ve always desired you.” I looked back and said, “Why didn’t you say so? I wouldn’t have rejected you. You know I’m bisexual, and you’re one of my best friends. I wouldn’t have refused you.” She replied, “No, I wanted you my way—humiliated, broken, bald. I loved your lie when you told the girls you were reckless and shaved your head and eyebrows, and you exonerated your barber. What you don’t know is that I’m the one who made your barber do all this to you. I paid him, and we agreed on everything he did. Didn’t you ever wonder how he knew about the party and that you’re such a spoiled girl? You’ve always been a spoiled girl with long, healthy, natural-colored hair, and you flaunt your looks and hair length in front of the girls. I found your weakness and exploited it until you became what you are now—my bald slave.” I couldn’t believe what the girl I considered my best friend was saying. She did all this to me! I cried even harder, lamenting my own stupidity and reckless actions that exposed me and left me vulnerable to her, allowing her to do what she did.

 

She looked at me and said, “Stop crying. You don’t have time for tears or emotions. You have work to do. Carry these things and put them in the kitchen. The girls are almost here, and you haven’t prepared anything. Hurry up!” I carried the things and put them in the kitchen and started arranging everything: the drinks, beer, wine, and appetizers. After about five minutes, the doorbell rang, and she opened it. I heard the voices of all my old friends and was afraid of being exposed in front of them. I heard a voice calling me, saying, “Come here.” I went, one hand covering my breasts and the other my private parts, and walked to the living room where the girls were sitting. As soon as I entered, they started whistling and clapping. They all looked at me and stood around me, asking what I was doing there and why I was naked, laughing at my appearance. Then my mistress intervened and said, “Weren’t we looking for a maid for the house? I’ve found her. She has become my personal slave, but you can use her for housework like cleaning and cooking, whatever you want from her. But there’s something I must tell you: my slave is not allowed to wear clothes inside the house, or perhaps outside if I want her to, and they must not be on her body.” Any hair at this time, but I left this remaining hair for your amusement. We will remove it today.

 

The whistling, clapping, and laughter at me increased, and the girls began to lower my hands and start feeling all over my body until the humiliation began to spill from me in the form of wetness from my vagina. Then everyone noticed and said to me, “You whore, are you wetting your pubic hair and preparing it for us to shave?”

 

My lady intervened and told them, “She is a whore, and you can expect anything from her. Lie down on the table; we have work to do.” I did as my lady ordered, and the girls gathered around me. Tools began to come out of a bag next to the table, and they began removing the hair from my body. One of them took small scissors and told me to close my eyes and began to cut my eyelashes. Another took a razor and began to shave my pubic hair, and the others began to pluck the hair from my arms, legs, and all over my body using Veet wax strips. After about an hour of work, they all finished removing every single hair from my body in the most painful and difficult way. My body was red from head to toe. My feet were all the way to my head, and when they finished, my lady ordered me to stand up and told me to go to the kitchen and bring the drinks and appetizers and distribute them to the girls. When I finished, she called me and told me to come and kneel here at her feet. She put her foot in front of my face and said, “Clean my feet with your tongue.” I started licking her feet while they sat watching me, laughing, making jokes about me, and remembering how arrogant I used to be and what I am now. The girls’ session ended, and each girl went to her room, and my lady and I remained. I was still kneeling at her feet when she stood up and told me, “Follow me.” I tried to stand up, but she put her foot on my chest and pushed me and told me to crawl behind her. I followed her, and we entered her room, and she closed the door behind her. She stood in the middle of the room and began to undress. She called me and said, “Come on, start licking my vagina with your tongue.” I started licking until she reached orgasm. After that, she lay down on the bed, and I was still kneeling in my place until she recovered. She stood up and said to me, “Follow me.” She opened the closet door and moved her hanging dresses aside. She opened another door hidden behind the clothes and went in. She said to me, “Hey, come in.”

I crawled after her until she entered the room and closed the door behind me. I saw something I’d never seen before: a secret room within a room. Its walls, floor, and ceiling were soundproofed. The walls were covered with many tools: handcuffs, ropes, belts, and dildos of all sizes, and many other things I didn’t recognize. But what caught my eye and frightened me was the cross standing in the middle of the room. She ordered me to stand next to it and told me to turn around. I turned, and she began tying my hands to the cross. Then she widened the space between my legs and tied them with handcuffs hanging from the floor until I was completely immobilized.

 

She stood facing me and asked, “What are we going to do with you tonight?” She paused, then her eyes flashed with an idea, and she smiled. She went to the shelves and began gathering the items. She returned with things in her hands I didn’t understand what they were for.

 

She started with my nipples, placing a very strong pair of tweezers on each one until I screamed in pain. A chain connected the tweezers, with a small ring in the middle. Then she sat on the floor and placed the same tweezers on my labia, tightening them until I screamed and cried. But she didn’t stop there. She attached iron balls to the chain rings, increasing the tension. She then brought a vibrator and placed it on my clitoris, telling me I wouldn’t move or reach orgasm. She said that with every movement, she would increase the weight of the balls. The vibrator started working, but I couldn’t bear it any longer, so I began to move. With each movement, a ball increased in weight until my labia were stretched downwards and my nipples were very erect and pulled downwards. After a few minutes, I couldn’t control myself and reached orgasm. I came screaming from the intensity of the lust, the pain, and the fear of punishment for coming without her telling me.

 

She glared at me, grabbed the chains, and yanked them free from my body. The pain was indescribable as she did this. “Who do you think you are, you whore, to disobey my orders?” she demanded.

 

“You will be punished for this,” I began to beg. “Please, I didn’t do it on purpose. I’m nobody, but I couldn’t control myself. Please don’t punish me. I won’t do it again.”

 

She looked at me and said, “I know you’re a whore and nothing, and whores can’t resist depravity, but you will be punished, I mean you will.” She threw what she was holding on the ground and went to a cupboard. She brought a thick stick with a thick, long dildo at its end. She started inserting it into my vagina little by little, and I screamed from its size, but she inserted it all the way in and left it inside me. She looked at me and said, “Scream all you want, no one will hear you while you’re here.” She took hold of the stick and started inserting and withdrawing it slowly inside me, then she started speeding up little by little until I couldn’t feel my vulva anymore from the intense pain. She told me, “You will come when I tell you to.” She continued like this for about an hour until her hands got tired and she said to me, “You won’t come today, you whore. You will stay hanging here until tomorrow, and you won’t get orgasm today. Goodnight.” She turned her back and started to leave. After she left, she turned off the lights and went to sleep, but I couldn’t sleep because of the intense lust. I spent about an hour trying to reach my vulva, but it was no use. I fell asleep afterward, hanging and naked. I was so tired.

 

The next morning, she opened the door while I was still asleep. She came in and stood in front of me with a bucket of cold water. Suddenly, she emptied the bucket all over me. I woke up from a deep sleep, terrified and scared. She looked at me and said, “Are you still asleep, you whore? Wake up! You have things to do.” I opened my eyes, my teeth still chattering from the cold and fear. I said in a trembling voice, “Yes, ma’am.” She started untying my handcuffs from the floor. Then she untied one hand, then the other, until I fell to the ground like a rag. I couldn’t move because of the pain in my feet, but she shook me with her foot and said, “Come on, you don’t have time for pampering. You have to get used to this. Follow me.”

 

I knew then that I had no choice. I pulled myself up from the ground and started crawling after her until we entered her room. She opened the door and said, “Go to the kitchen and prepare breakfast for us and make me a cup of coffee. When you’re finished, come back to me.” I got up and walked to the kitchen, prepared the food and her coffee, and returned to her room, saying, “Breakfast is ready, ma’am.”

 

She looked at me and said, “Come here,” gesturing to her feet. I went and sat at her feet, and she began to speak. She said, “I’ve decided not to shave your head or eyebrows as long as you obey my orders. Would you like that?” I looked at her with joyful eyes and said, “Yes, ma’am, please. I’ve always loved my hair. Thank you. I will never disobey you.”

 

About six months passed, and I continued in the same routine. Every day I did housework, and at night we would go into her secret room where she would try out new tools on me. The only change I experienced was that my hair started to grow longer, reaching my jawline, and I even had eyebrows. However, the rest of my body hair, below my head, was plucked out every week. I even began to wish I would never grow any hair on my body because of the intense pain I felt with each hair removal session.

 

What I didn’t know was that my mistress was planning something even worse. One rainy day, she took me to her secret room early, but there was something different about it. She had placed a recording camera opposite the cross. She tied me to the cross and sat me on a chair she had placed next to the camera. She said, “I have a surprise for you. You will become a porn star and a source of masturbation for young men. I will launch your website today, and I will record your first video. Do you know what I will do with your first video?”

I stammered and said, “No, ma’am.” She looked at me and said, “Your first video will be of me shaving your head and eyebrows. You’ll go back to how you were before” (a bald whore).

 

As soon as she finished speaking, I started crying and begging her, saying, “Please don’t film me naked. Please don’t shave my hair. I thought you’d leave it. Please, no!” She didn’t let me finish. She put tape over my mouth, left me, and went outside. About ten minutes later, she returned wearing pants and a revealing black rubber jacket. Her face was covered with a black cat mask, and her long black hair was tied back in a ponytail. In her hand, she carried a bag of shaving tools. She came in and stood next to me and said, “Don’t resist or move while I do my job, or I’ll hurt you.”

 

I pressed the camera’s record button, and a rechargeable razor, without any guard, emerged from my bag. I placed it on the center of my forehead and began gliding it all over my head. Then I ran it over my eyebrows, followed by a container of shaving foam. I started spreading the foam all over my head. I looked at the camera, and she began speaking: “Hello, friends! Now for the decisive moment: removing all the hair!” I took the razor blade and began gliding it all over my head until I was sure I hadn’t missed a single hair. Then I applied a little foam to my eyebrows and removed them. After I finished, I took a small piece of cloth, applied some substance I couldn’t identify, and began scrubbing my scalp until it started to burn from the intensity and roughness of the scrubbing. After I was sure my scalp was shining and reflecting the room’s lights like a glittering bowling ball, I finished the vigorous scrubbing. I stepped back, and she threw the cloth to the ground. Then I looked at the camera and said, “We’ve completed today’s task. I hope you enjoyed my first video with my bald, whore slave. See you in part two!” And I turned off the camera.

 

Let me know in the comments if you liked the story or if you want a second part.