Lydia’s Dream

My name is Lydia, and I want to be a hairless slave.

You wouldn’t know it from looking at me. I don’t look like a kinky person at all; I have an office job and dress the part, I wear light minimal makeup, and I don’t have any piercings or tattoos except for the little rings in my ears. I’m in my twenties and try to stay in good shape. My hair is blonde and wavy and falls to my waist, but most of the time I wear it pinned in a neat, tidy bun.

But I long to get rid of it all.

I want to put my current life behind me and become a permanent, live-in sex slave. I want an older man to take me and alter my entire appearance so that no one from my old life can recognize me anymore. I want to transform into a fetish creature who exists only for the pleasure of others. I want to submit to a master and have him take away my beauty.

I’ve put a lot of thought into how I want my transformation to go. It starts with my master taking me to his basement, which he’s fitted out to be my new home; unless I’m conducting chores elsewhere in his house or he’s taking me out somewhere, I will stay here for good.

He makes me place all my clothes in a garbage bag; I’ll never see them again. Same goes for my makeup and my haircare products, except for a few tools he’ll use in my transformation.

While I brush out my long hair, standing naked in the middle of the room, he sets up a series of cameras. The whole transformation will be live-streamed online.

I’ve already waxed my body in preparation for this day, and, in all modesty, I look good. I try my best to savour these last few moments with long hair on my head, knowing what lies in store for me.

Then my master pushes me to my knees, and I’m made to suck his cock. He’s not gentle in the slightest,  forcing himself into the back of my throat. He makes my eye makeup run all over my face and my lipstick smear over my cheeks. He grabs big chunks of my hair and pulls them so hard I swear he’s going to tear it from my scalp.

He finishes on my face, using my hair to pull my head into position. Then, he takes some alcohol wipes that sting my skin and scrubs everything from my face; come, makeup, tears, everything. I’m made to stand again, and he takes my hands one at a time and removes the polish from my nails. He takes out my earrings and removes my jewelry, which all goes in the bin with my clothes.

Master makes me stand with my legs spread wide, my hands cupping the back of my head, my mouth open and tongue hanging out. It’s an uncomfortable position to hold, but I know that if I move, I’ll be punished. I try my best to hold as I watch him maneuver a large, heavy wooden chair to the middle of the basement. I know that I will sit in this chair, and will not get up until all my hair has been taken from me. Even though I want this so badly, the sight of this chair makes me flinch; it’s so imposing and ominous!

My master notices that I’ve moved, against my better judgement. Because I did not follow his order to keep still, he makes me bend over the arm of the chair and delivers ten firm slaps to my bare ass. With his free hand, he tightly holds my hair, forcing me to crane my neck uncomfortably.

Sitting down makes me ache, now that I’ve been spanked. But I do it nonetheless; I have no other choice. My master ties my wrists and ankles to the limbs of the chair, as well as binding my waist with a thick leather strap. The strap digs into my stomach, but I barely have time to process the discomforts of my new position before I hear the unmistakeable sound of metal blades clicking together. My master holds a huge pair of scissors with big thick blades in front of my face, snipping the air a few times. I wince as they close around a lock of my beautiful blonde hair, severing it close to the scalp.

The room is filled with the crunch-crunch-crunch of scissors, my master depositing lock after lock of fallen hair in my lap. I cannot see what I look like, my master won’t let me use a mirror until I’m fully transformed, but I can tell my head is patchy and uneven. My master is doing a sloppy job with the scissors on purpose.

By the time he puts the scissors down and teasingly ruffles my scruffy, ragged head, there’s a weighty pile of hair gathered in my lap. He forced my mouth wide open, pushing down my jaw with his thumb, and stuffs it with a fistful of hair, weighing down my tongue. I cough as he clamps a sheet of duct tape over my lips.

I’m already starting to feel ugly and inferior, the way I wanted. But the worst is yet to come. The telltale roar of mechanical clippers whirring to life fills the room, quickly followed by a crunching sound as they’re plunged into what’s left of my hair. The metal blades are cold as they pass straight over the top of my head. There’s no guard, and I feel the cold air on the buzzed strips of my scalp. I squirm as a rain of blonde stubble falls over my shoulders and breasts, the clippers passing over every inch of my head.

My master roughly shoves my head down to shear the hair from the nape of my neck. He tilts my head from side to side, pulling at my ears to remove the hair behind them. Finally, the clippers go silent; the room seems deafeningly quiet without them.

I’m taken by surprise as my master unbinds my wrists; surely we’re not done yet! But he doesn’t fully untie me. He just wants to see the look on my face when he guides my hands to rub over my buzzed, nearly bald head. He removes the cut hair from my lap and my mouth and slaps my face a few times. Even though I want this so badly, the transformation is a shock. The feeling of short buzz covering my scalp where there used to be flowing locks makes me cry. My tears come even more freely as my master reads me some comments from the livestream. People are calling me all sorts of names, telling me I’m a worthless bald bitch and a hideous cueball and a stupid ugly cunt. Hot shame burns my body, my pussy going all wet.

My master reties my hands as I keep crying; this time, he also secures a heavy rope around my neck and binds my head to the back of the chair. I’m forced to keep my head upright as he covers my skull with cold shaving cream, and keep perfectly still as he unsheathes an old-fashioned straight razor and passes it over the top of my head.

For what seems like hours, I sit as still as possible, afraid to be cut. My master passes the razor over my head once, then lathers up my head again and shaves it a second, then a third time. Every last fragment of hair is leaving my body.

Every time I move, even slightly, my master puts down his razor and delivers a firm smack to my body. Sometimes it’s on my cheek, sometimes my stomach, through the tight leather strap, sometimes my thighs. But most of the time, he slaps my breasts.

Once he’s done the third razor shaving and administered more slaps than I can count, my master holds my head close against his chest. With two quick passes of the razor, he removes my eyebrows, and with a tiny, delicate pair of tweezers, he plucks out my eyelashes.

While I’m still reeling from shock, he rubs a series of strong, chemical-smelling liquids over my scalp. He doesn’t tell me what they’re for, but I suspect some of them are to keep my hair from growing. Some of them are probably just to make my head shiny. My master wants my bald head to gleam and shimmer in the light.

Later, my master’s kinky friends will come to visit. One will pierce me, filling my septum, belly button, ears, clit hood, and pussy lips with thick steel rings. One will tattoo my slave number at the nape of my neck and the soles of each foot, as well as my master’s name over my mound and a crest of ownership across my lower belly. Another will fit me with a custom collar that only my master can unlock. Still more will bring a corset, the tightest I can wear, and a selection of full-body latex suits to keep me restricted and constrained. As a reward, they’ll all get to do whatever they like with me. All three of my holes will be stuffed with cocks and strap-ons, and my mouth will get tired from eating the pussies of all my master’s female friends. Everyone will get a chance to come on my shiny bald head, and use my freshly smooth skin to satisfy themselves.

But for now, my master has me all to himself. He unties me from the chair, and lets me take a long look at myself in the mirror, rubbing my bald head and enjoying my shocked reactions at my new, hairless state. He fucks me hard in front of the mirror, petting and stroking my head all the while. I’m his property now, his hairless fuckdoll, and I couldn’t be happier. I was meant to be used like this, and I don’t deserve to be pretty. I deserve to have my beautiful hair stripped away and be used as a sex object.

So, what do you think? Would you like to transform me?

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