Over Exposure

Over Exposure

 

By Shorngirl

 

Jezebel

 

         “What the hell gets into you, anyway?” Gary asked, me as I slipped out of my dress and hung it neatly in the closet.

         “You know me when I’ve had a couple of drinks. Besides, I don’t think anyone noticed.” I defended.

         “I noticed, and if I did, then so did every other normal man at the party. What did you do with them?” He asked, curious, but still annoyed.

         “Wastepaper basket.” I mused, wondering just what Hillary would think when she was emptying the thing.

         “Do you realize every single person that opened that bin got an eyeful of your discarded panties?” Gary hissed.

         “How on earth would anyone know they were mine?” I countered. I stood there, naked, as he eyed me up and down. “Get over it, Gary. I just felt a little… frisky, that’s all.”

         “Well, how about you take some of that pent up friskiness, and suck on this for a while.” He dangled his modest pecker out of the split in his pyjama bottoms, undoubtedly seeing the smirk on my face as he did.

         Disappointment was all I could remember the first time he attempted to fuck me, and I wondered just what had made me hook up with Gary in the first place. I’d never been much of a ‘size queen’ as it were, so perhaps at the time it seemed acceptable.

         As I’d grown older and my sex drive accelerated, I had resorted to allowing him to eat me, or when he was away on business, masturbation seemed to suffice. I encouraged him to do the same, both at home and away.

For now, a blow job was easy, as he barely tickled my tonsils. I settled onto my knees and took his four inches into my mouth, slurping audibly as I knew he liked that. It didn’t take very long before I tasted the modest load emptying into my mouth. He grunted as he spurted his last as deep as he could, his hand wrapped tightly behind my head, fisting my hair. Not wanted to spoil the moment for him, I swallowed, before sliding into the bed.

“Why don’t you ever wear anything to bed anymore?” He asked, curiously. “I remember you always loved the flannel nightshirts in the winter.”

“I get hot. Besides, don’t you enjoy your wife being naked in bed with you?” I mused.

“What if there was a fire, or something?” He asked, dimly.

“Oh, please, Gary.” I sighed, turned my back to him and shutting the light.

A few days later, I was surprised to see Hillary at my door, a small bag in her hand. Hillary and I were recent acquaintances, her husband working with Gary for a few years as his apprentice in the firm. She held out the bag and frowned. “I think you left these in my bathroom the other night, Penelope.”

I think my eyes must have popped a bit with the accusation, but not wanting to be rude I stepped aside for her to come in, without taking the bag. “What’s in the bag?” I asked, playing dumb.

“You know what’s in here.” She chortled, tossing the bag on the foyer table near the front door. “I didn’t wash them, but you may want to.” She mused, turning to leave.

“Hillary?” I followed after her.

“You really are a slut, Penelope Jennings. I don’t know how your husband puts up with you.” And with that, she disappeared into her car and drove away.

I ignored her insulting remark, really finding it more amusing than annoying. Grabbing the bag, I opened it up and saw my light pink panties inside, but that wasn’t all. As I pulled them out, I cringed. Scrawled over every inch were the signatures of nearly every guy at the party, along with a few disparaging comments.

Surely Gary must have known about this. Seeing as this was a business get together, he worked with every name inscribed on my panties. “Oh, gawd.” Was all I could manage, aloud. Gary was right, they all knew I was walking around naked under my slinky satin dress.

I could imagine the smirks and sneers as they were passed around the party, some of them undoubtedly holding the slightly damp crotch under their noses. If Gary knew about this, he would be so humiliated. I waited nervously for him to arrive home from work.

I knew he was angry by his expression, and the way he simply ignored me as I laid out our supper. The panties were still balled up in the pocket of my jeans, as we sat down to eat.

“How was work?” I asked, meekly, as he took a long swig of his beer.

“I’d rather not say, to be honest, Penny.” He growled.

“Hillary stopped by today.” I mentioned, after a few minutes of awkward silence.

“Did she? I don’t suppose she dropped off your panties?” He stared through his brows at me, knowingly. Holding out his hand, he expectantly waited until I placed the unfolding wad of shame over his fingers.

I sat there, stunned, unable to eat as he turned them this way and that, grimacing as he read the names and comments left on them by his colleagues. “Gary, I so…”

“Just shut up, Penelope. You’ve completely humiliated me at work. Christ, Paul Whitlock’s name on the inside of the crotch! Do you know who he is? He’s the chief financial officer, the guy who signs my paycheck!” He stood and stormed into the kitchen, depositing the offending garment into the trash.

“Gary, I’m so…”

“No, not this time.” He pointed accusingly. “This time you’ve gone too far. First, it was that ridiculous bikini you ware to the company picnic, then it was the restroom incident in my office, and now this! You need some fucking therapy or something!”

“Therapy? What kind of therapy? The kind where women complain about their dickless husbands!”

“You said it didn’t matter. You said that when you married me, Penelope. Now you’re blaming me?” He screamed.

“Fine. I’ll do whatever you want me to do. I’ll see a shrink or whatever.”

“Well, that’s all taken care of. Thankfully, one of the guys at work, who didn’t sign your panties, by the way, suggested a place you can go to… get yourself right.”

There were a few moments of silence before I finally had to say something. “A place I can… go? What’s that mean, Gary? Some kind of sick religious revival or something where they pray over me, or worse? You know I don’t believe in that shit.”

“No, nothing like that. It’s kind of a ranch, they take in… women like you.”

“Women like me? What is that supposed to mean?” I asked, confused.

“Women that… can’t control themselves.” He sighed.

“And how long am I expected to stay at this… ranch?” I asked, tersely.

He hesitated, and I worried just what he was going to say, and I was right to. “A month or two.” He sighed, but then quickly added, “The truth is, you stay until they feel you’re ready to leave.”

“What if I say I don’t want to go?” I questioned.

“I’m afraid that’s not an option.” The words hadn’t even left his mouth before I felt a hand slip around my waist and a sharp jab pierced my leg.

I tried to fight but the room had started to spin. The last thing I heard was my husband’s voice promising that everything would be alright, as the light dimmed, and everything went black.

The Stroud Ranch

 

         I was startled awake by my head hitting hard against something metal, which rattled with the impact. “Ouch!” I groaned as I struggled to open my eyes. Whatever they’d injected into my body, made me feel awful, worse than any hangover. A roaring in my ears eventually morphed into what I recognized as tires on a dirt track.

         “Hey!” I screamed, as I rolled onto my back and realized that I’d been locked into some sort of cage, and that cage was inside the back of a van.

         “I told you to give her a larger dose. She ain’t no little girl.” Came a voice from the front. I spun my head to see two men in the seats. “You be quiet, now, Penny. We’re almost there.”

         “Let me out of this thing!” I yelled. “I’m not an animal!”

         “I think that’s yet to be determined.” They both laughed as they continued to ignore my pleas.

         After a good while and a lot more complaints from me, they finally stopped. The dust from the road swept in through the opening doors as they pulled the cage out of the van and set it on the ground.

         “She pissed herself.” One of them said.

         “They always do. Let’s hope that’s all.” The other joked.

         “Let me out, damn it!” I yelled.

         “Alright, alright, open it up, and let her stand up.” A female voice called out from behind the men.

         The cage rattled and the distinct sound of hinges squeaking came from behind before I was pulled bodily from the cage and into the dust of the road. Slowly, I pressed my palms into the dirt and pushed myself onto my bare feet. I suppose I should have been grateful the men hadn’t stripped me naked, but then that wasn’t what this was all about.

         “Penelope Jennings?” The woman inquired, as if there was any doubt.

         “That’s me.” I sighed, looking down to see the dark stain that spread from the crotch of my jeans. “God.” I grumbled.

         “You don’t worry about that, now. We’ll get you cleaned up soon enough.” The woman was older, perhaps fifty, with salt and pepper hair that was cropped short to her head. I sympathetically ran my fingers through my own hair, which was tangled and must have looked frightful.

         She led me away from the road and up to a large two-story farmhouse that seemed to be the only building for as far the eye could see. “We’re a little quiet right now, Penny, it’s alright if I call you Penny, right?”

         “Penny’s fine.” I managed as she opened the door into what looked like a laundry room of sorts.

         “Well, I’m Mrs. Stroud. That’s what you’ll call me while you’re here. You’re going to have our undivided attention for now, so maybe that’s a good thing. We’ll find out soon enough.” She directed me to a small room and closed the door behind us, the close quarters making me feel almost uncomfortable. “Penny, you get out of those dirty things, and I’ll wash ‘em and get ‘em put away for when you go home.”

         At least she was already talking about my getting out of there. Nervously, I began stripping out of my clothes, the smell of urine wafting up from my jeans as I stripped them and my panties away from my legs.

         “There. That wasn’t so difficult now, was it?” She smiled. “You’d be surprised just how many of you girls put up a fuss over it.”

         I stood there, naked, in front of this stranger, while she gathered up my clothes and shuttled them down a chute. “There’s a tub in the next room, and I’ve already run a bath for you. Why don’t you settle into that, and I’ll be back shortly.”

She disappeared, leaving the door wide open. For a second, I actually thought about making a run for it. “Run to where?” I scolded myself sotto voce. Wandering into the hall, I found the room with the bath. It was an old clawfoot tub, with the head sculpted higher than the foot, so that’s how I got in.

The water was hotter than I usually would have it, but I was hardly in a position to complain. The bar of soap was new, the word Ivory moulded into one side. I hadn’t used Ivory soap since I was a kid but had to admit that the clean smell was refreshing.

I was just wondering if I should get out, when Mrs. Stroud came walking in, carrying what looked like jeans. Upon closer inspection they were overalls, suspenders and everything.

“I’ll leave these here. You get dried off and climb in. I’ll meet you down the hall when you’re done.”

The overalls were a couple sizes too large, and she hadn’t brought a shirt, so my breasts were all but hanging out the sides. I pulled up the suspenders and that helped, leaving my arms just a hint of boob exposed. Looking down at my bare feet poking out the bottom I figured I looked like a hick. Maybe that’s what they wanted.

Cautiously, I walked down the hall, my wet hair dangling down my back. I hated using the Ivory on it, but it stunk like piss, so it would be dried out until I could get some conditioner or something.

“There you are. I was thinking you might have gotten lost or something.” She pulled out a chair at a large kitchen table. “Have a seat and we’ll take care of that hair.”

I was thinking she was going to brush it out for me, but I couldn’t have been more wrong. I turned to face her when I heard her snap the scissors closed a few times behind me. “Hey, what are you doing?”

“Now, Penny, you were doing so well. Are you gonna give me a hard time over a little haircut?” Mrs. Stroud scolded, disappointed. “All the girls get a cut when they get here, sweetie. Just think how much easier it’ll be, cropped up tight.”

“I don’t want my hair cut.” I complained. I’d been wearing my hair long since I was a teenager, when my mother had cut it all off in a rage. I’d been caught in bed with a boy by my father, and that was her remedy. Going from waist length to pixie in an afternoon had taken a toll on me. I suppose I had a phobia because of that experience.

“Listen, honey. There ain’t nobody to impress out here: no boys to lure and no reason to waste time on pampering.” Mrs. Stroud insisted. “It’s either these…” She held up the scissors, closing them twice. “Or it’s these.” Putting down the scissors, she grabbed a set of clippers from the counter behind her.

Given the choice of two horrible fates for my precious locks, I chose the latter. My mind was racing, and I figured it would be the fastest and the least painful. After all, as she reminded me, there was no one to see.

“You’re sure, Penny? I usually save these for the unruly ones that don’t give me any choice.” She reached back and plugged in the clippers testing them as they whirred to life in her hand.

“Let’s just say it’s quicker and I have a thing about my hair and scissors.” I explained. She simply nodded.

“I don’t have any of the plastic thingies anymore. They got lost over the years. It’s gonna be tight down to it, like a marine.” She mused, a smile emerging.

“Let’s just get it over with.” I sighed.

“Okay then. I’ll try and make it quick and painless.” She assured me, as she brought the humming machine to my forehead. “Here we go.”

I felt the vibration of the blades right into my skull as she brought them over the top of my head, and I couldn’t deny that it almost felt good. True to her word she took several quick passes front to back and I could feel the cool air of the room against my scalp. It was a sensation I’d never felt before, and it was a weird feeling.

I could feel and see the blonde strands slide over my bare shoulders and into my lap and I suddenly felt panicked. What was I doing? This woman was shaving my head, and I was simply letting her do it. I opened my mouth to say something, but she quickly spoke for me.

“No backing out now, Penny. You’d look awfully silly now anyway, even if I did stop.” There was a chuckle in her delivery that let me know she was enjoying what she was doing.

She grabbed what was left of my hair and lifted it up, tipping my head forward so my chin almost touched my chest. The control she was exerting was practiced and I could feel my resolve slipping away.

The clippers began at my neck and slipped into the back, quickly being shorn as the top had. Methodically, she worked to the sides until the hair simply lifted away from my head in one bundle which she still held firmly in her grasp.

“There we go, all shorn and ready.” She said, cheerfully, walking around to face me as she let go of the mop that was once my pride and joy. Falling lifeless to the floor at my feet, it joined the rest: a puddle of blonde silk gathered around my naked feet. “It’s all gone, you can check if you want to.” She said as she unplugged the clippers and slid them into a drawer.

I was daunted by how I might react, but I had to know. I lifted both my hands to my head, startled by the sandpaper stubble what was all that remained of my hair. “God, it’s short.” I gasped.

“Any shorter and I’d need to strop a razor.” She giggled.

“Let’s get you upstairs and I’ll show you where you’ll be sleeping.” Mrs. Stroud led the way up a large set of stairs that split at a landing and continued up to two separate hallways. “This is the girl’s side of the house. I sleep on the other, along with any guests we might be having.”

We went through a single doorway, opening into a dormitory type of room with at least ten twin sized beds lined up in a row. “I’ll be sleeping in here?”

“Pick one, but I’d suggest one of the ends. If it gets busy, it’ll be better for you. There’re linens in the cupboards on one side. Make up the one you want and meet me back downstairs.” Mrs. Stroud stopped in the doorway. “You’re quite plain without all that hair, Penny. That’s good.”

I heard the clack of her heels on the stairs as she went back down and left me alone. “I’m quite plain?” I said to myself. Why would she say that? I looked around the room for a mirror but discovered that there wasn’t one, perhaps deliberately. I tried to imagine what I might look like without any hair but was at a loss. Was I plain, even ugly? I suppose it was possible.

I tried not to think about it as I pulled out the linens and made up the bed on the far end of the room. It would be lonely in there all by myself. I tried not to think about that, either.

At the end of the room there was a single bathroom. There were three toilets with no stalls, and another clawfoot tub. Next to each toilet was a sink. Not a single mirror to be seen. Frustrated, I ran a hand over my head, smirking at the absurdity of my situation. What was I doing here, and how in hell was this going to do anything about my so-called ‘problem’?

As soon as I reached the kitchen, I was put to work. Mrs. Stroud had me peeling potatoes and chopping onions, and it seemed like I was preparing a meal for several people rather than just the two of us. She noticed I was having trouble handling the knife.

“Well, let’s do something about those.” She sighed, staring down at my hundred-dollar manicure. She went back to the same drawer where she hid the haircutting supplies and pulled out a set of nail clippers this time along with a bottle of varnish remover. I’d always been proud of my natural nails. While most of my friends resorted to acrylic, I’d always been able to keep my own.

To my surprise, she set the things down and went back to cooking. “Go on, now. Get busy removing that gawdy color and snip those nails nice and short.” Knowing that it would be far worse if she did it, I set about removing the bright red color, until they were all the faded cream of my natural nailbed. Picking up the clippers I hesitated for a moment.

“Come on now, because if I do it, it’ll be right to the quick.” She scolded over her shoulder.

I quickly snipped away at my nails, taking them shorter than they’d been since grammar school, not to the quick, but almost, the smallest crescent of white showing at the tip. My fingertips protruded well beyond the nails now, and it felt weird to grasp things with the sensitive nubs.

“That’s better, plain hands for a plain face.” She mused.

There was the ‘plain’ thing again. Was this part of my treatment? Maybe she wanted me to feel ugly. Then again, maybe I was ugly. “Why are we making so much food, Mrs. Stroud?”

“Well, it isn’t just the two of us, you know. I’ve got ranch hands to be fed, and then there’s Billy from across the valley. He eats with since his folks passed.”

“You said no one was going to see me like this.” I complained.

“No one of any consequence to you, Penny. There’ll be ten of us at the table, so set it accordingly.” She pointed to a cabinet across from the stove, where I found stacks of dishes and glasses, and drawers of silverware.

“I’m going to be so embarrassed.” I wasn’t shy to say.

“Nonsense! You aren’t anything knew to any of them. They’ve seen the likes of you many a time. They all know why you’re here. Go on, get that table set.” She barked.

I set the table, but all the while I was fretting over being seen as I was, bald and ‘plain’ as she had insisted. I noticed she had gathered up my hair and put into a paper bag by the back door. Golden strands of it overflowed the bag, and I knew that every person that walked through that door was going to know it was my hair.

“Clean up those nail trimmings, Penny. Can’t have the men seeing that.” She was busy with the finishing touches when I heard the back door open. I quickly swept the nails into my palm and slipped the clippers and polish remover back in the drawer.

“Butch, Stanley, wash up now.” She ordered, the two men ducking into the room where I had bathed not two hours before. I opened the trash bin and allowed my fingernails to fall inside, just as they walked in. It was the men from the van.

“Well, didn’t you clean up nice.” The one said as they pulled up a chair.

“None of that, Butch. She’s doing what she came here for.” Mrs. stroud chided.

As each set of men entered, they all took me in, looking me up and down, but all of them settling their gaze on my shorn head. Finally, just as the meal was starting a younger man entered, that had to be almost my age. He was tall and quite good looking, and I felt myself blush as he too took me in.

“Everybody, this here’s Penny. She’s here for the treatment, so I trust I can count on y’all to cooperate.” There was a general, ‘yes’m’ before everyone settled in eat. I was starving but neither Mrs. Stroud nor myself was to sit with the men.

As they finished up and made their way out, Billy seemed curious about something. “You got that hair, Mrs. Stroud?”

“Oh, yeah, I almost forgot. It’s in that bag on the way out.” She answered. As an afterthought she called out the door. “You be sure to cut that up fine before you spread it around, Billy, else those deer will have it all wrapped around their legs.”

It was humiliating to know that he was taking my hair with him. I wondered if he would keep some of it, like a trophy or something. Maybe he had some from every ‘girl’ that stayed there.

“Why is he taking my hair, Mrs. Stroud.” I asked as she set a place for each of us and dished out the lukewarm food that men had eaten hot.

“Oh, he’s got a problem with deer eating his vegetables. The hair is a repellent. Works really well too.” She explained.

The food was good, and I was starving. We ate in silence for the most part, but I had a lot of questions. “Mrs. Stroud?”

“Go on, dear. You must have a mountain of questions.” She assumed.

“Am I… ugly?” I asked.

“No, I wouldn’t say that. Without all that hair, you are plain.” She insisted.

“Plain, what does plain mean, when you say it?” I asked.

“Oh, it just means that men folk aren’t gonna pay you no nevermind.”

“So, being bald as I am, I’m ugly, to men at least.” I sighed.

“If you want to look at it that way, then I’d say you’re ugly then. But, Penny, it doesn’t matter. You’re not here to impress anyone. You’re here for the treatment, and they’ll do their part no matter how you look.”

I didn’t want to delve any farther into what she meant by that. “These overalls, are these the only clothes I’ll get to wear?”

“What else do you need? You wash ‘em and hang ‘em up every night, you sleep bare, and your feet’ll toughen up just like your hands are gonna.” She stood and walked to the door. “You best get busy, all these dishes need washing, and putting away. When you’re done, you go to bed.” And with that she walked away. I heard her feet on the stairs as she left me on my own.

And So… It Begins

 

         I woke up the following morning as the sun shone through the window into my eyes. It hadn’t felt weird to sleep nude, as I had always done, but my head against the pillowcase was another subject entirely. The rasping of the stubble against cotton, and the sensation of the fabric against my nearly bald head, woke me up a few times.

         I’d washed my overalls in the tub and hung them up to dry, and I was pleasantly surprised to find them dry enough to wear. I slipped them on and looked up find that someone had placed a small mirror above one of the three sinks during the night. This had to be deliberate after our conversation the previous night.

         With some trepidation I walked over to it, almost afraid to look. I finally had to. Any stubble I was feeling certainly wasn’t visible to the naked eye, and I looked completely bald. My light blonde locks were surely to blame for that. My ears did poke out some, well quite a lot actually. Long hair had always hidden them, except when I used them to sweep it out of my face, something I was guilty of doing frequently.

         Now my ears were painfully obvious, a bright pink in stark contrast to my pale white scalp. Mrs. Stroud had certainly done this to reinforce the notion that I was indeed ugly. Strangely though, as humiliating as my appearance was to me, I had the strongest urge to masturbate. Fortunately, I’d resisted, as Mrs. Stroud came walking in a few minutes later.

         “Come on now. There are chores to be done before breakfast, and seeing as you’re the only one here, the burden is that much greater for you.” She followed me down the stairs, my bare feet padding on the hardwood in contrast to her heels.

         After feeding the men and eating a meagre helping of the breakfast I had laboured over, I was instructed to head out to the barn. The dirt and gravel felt rough against my feet, as did the straw and corn kernels strewn over the ground. It was too difficult to avoid stepping in the cow manure, so I stopped trying by the time I reached the barn.

         Three of the men we had just fed were working getting the cows into the milking stalls. “There she is.” One of them noticed as I stepped toward them.

         “Mrs. Stroud told me to come out here.” I suddenly felt a bit exposed, alone.

         “Well, get ‘em off, and get over here.” The one said.

         “Easy, Chuck. It’s her first day.” The eldest chided. “There’s a hook right behind you on the wall, girlie. Slip those off and let’s get this over with.”

         Suddenly frightened and appalled at the same time, I started to make my way out of the barn, only to be met by another man, who grabbed me by the arm. “They’re all the same at first. She ain’t no different. Well, she’s a little different.” He chuckled scrubbing his calloused fingers over my skull.

         “Do us a favor, Penny. Just take ‘em off, so we don’t tear ‘em, and all get in trouble.” The oldest suggested again.

         Was this it? Was this the treatment? Did Gary know this was in store for me? Son of a bitch. Well, at that point I really didn’t see any other way than to let these grizzled old ranch hands have their way with me. I let out a deep sigh and began slipped the overalls down and over my feet, trying to keep the manure from soiling them that was stuck to the bottoms of my feet.

         “Right over here, Penny. Now, just bend over this blanket here and put your wrists through those loops there.” My feet were lifted one at a time and the same loops were fed around them, tying me in place over the padded bar.

         Each man took his turn, inserting his penis and spewing inside me, like I was a mare for breeding. Some of them seemed to enjoy themselves while others seemed to treat it like another chore that needed tending to.

         I can’t deny that I had at least a few orgasms, but how was I to avoid it? By the end though, after Butch and Stanley had their turn, I was sore: sore, and probably stretched more than I’d ever been in my life.

         When I stood, I felt their accumulated cum drizzle out of me like so much filth from a pipe. If I wasn’t a slut before, I certainly was then. Not even bothering with the overalls, I struggled back to the house, naked. I didn’t feel the stones biting into my soles or smell the rancid state of my own sex rising from between my legs.

         I almost fell through the rear door, only to be met by Mrs. Stroud, who only stood with her arms crossed between me and the rest of the house. “You best get in there are wash that filth from your body, whore.” Her words only reinforcing the degradation I’d just experienced.

         Just as it had been when I arrived, a bath had been drawn and I settled into it, with an exhausted groan of both comfort and abject humiliation. So… this was the treatment.

Numb

 

         Each morning and each night, I would slave in the kitchen to serve these men food and see to their needs and each day they would ravage me just as they had that first day. I wore the overalls, only because Mrs. Stroud insisted upon it, out of some warped sense of decorum.

         In spite of bathing myself, I would reek of sex and would dread my daily trek to the barn to be ‘treated’ all over again. I’d stopped being aroused by the incessant thrust of each man’s penis as it invaded its familiar nest. I found myself praying for another lost soul to be stranded, if only to spread out the constant barrage of sexual torment I was subjected to.

         Days melded into what must have been weeks, I had lost track of time. I realized that I surely must have missed my period by now. With all the semen injected into my womb each day, there wasn’t a chance that I wasn’t pregnant by one of the men.

         I’d been on birth control back at home, but I hadn’t taken a pill since I was ‘abducted’ from my dining room. I finally brought up my fears with Mrs. Stroud.

         “I think I must be pregnant.”  She had grown distant from me, as perhaps some sort of isolation strategy. But she did throw me this one bone.

         “What else do you suppose you were injected with back when you arrived here, Penny?” She chortled, shaking her head. “You can’t get pregnant.”

         I rubbed the stubble on my head which had grown into a brush cut, seemingly even less attractive than my shaven head, according to the men. “Then I’m sterile?”

         “For now, yes.” She decided. “Now, start with the supper. You’re going to have company starting tomorrow, so it’s your last night slaving alone.”

         “I feel sorry for her.” Admitting my own journey had been so traumatic that I would never wish it on another, even to lighten my burden. Despite having wished for it, I dreaded watching another go through what I had endured.

         “The men are complaining about your appearance, apparently. It seems they grew to enjoy to your head being shorn.” She grumbled, pulling the clippers from the drawer once again.

         Without being asked, I took the same seat I had the first night and allowed her to shave me all over again. The feel of the blades against my scalp evoked the only arousal I had felt in weeks, and I wondered what was happening to me that such a degrading act was the one thing that still brought to the edge.

         The short stubble littered the floor, but rather than have me sweep it up, she handed me a box of disposable razors. “When you bathe, you shave, everything, top to bottom. Is that understood?”

         Taking the box from her hands, I nodded. “Yes, Mrs. Stroud.” There must have been at least a hundred razors rattling around in there. Just how long was this going to go on? Newly shorn, humiliation renewed, I took the box up the stairs, depositing it near my bed.

         At supper, everyone acknowledged my freshly shorn skull, making remarks that it put me back in my place, the debasing comments no longer being deflected by Mrs. Stroud.

         That night as I bathed the daily filth from my body, I took out a razor and tested it against the top of my head. It slipped through the microscopic stubble with ease, and I proceeded to rid myself of any remaining hair. ‘Top to bottom’ she had said, so that is what I gave her. Even my eyebrows succumbed to the blade. If they wanted hairless, I’d give them hairless.

         Being so smooth seemed to excite me, and even though I was sore I managed to bring myself to a crashing orgasm in the tub, before climbing into my bed. I slept like a baby that night, my glass smooth scalp feeling erotically sensuous against the cotton pillowcase.

         The men seemed to notice the difference, when I served them their breakfast, admitting their eagerness to have me back over the rail in the barn. I’d taken to leaving my overalls on a hook in the back hallway, which saved them getting over dirty during my forays back and forth to the barn.

         As Mrs. Stroud had predicted, my feet had grown tough, forming a thick leather callous. My hands too were growing thick and worn, my skin red and my palms rugged with use. Any femininity I once exuded had been eradicated. I no longer felt like a woman. I still had a cunt, and I still had breasts, but the rest had been asexualized.

         The woman that arrived the following day, was younger, more combative than I had been, and she was difficult to work beside. She saw me as something to be feared and swore she would never become like me.

         Elizabeth, or Lizzy as Mrs. Stroud had called her, had only had her hair cut short, and it was even passable as feminine. She mocked me for having shaven myself, calling me a freak and reaffirming what I already knew. That I was ugly.

Shame or Absolution

 

         As the days grew cooler, I knew that I must surely have been in this state of humiliation for months. The men had cooled to me, preferring the younger and more attractive Lizzy. Having begun to heal, I also began to enjoy their ministrations when they chose to have me.

         Of course, they treated me far differently than her. I was handled with absolute condescension, and I was used more roughly. My breasts had begun to suffer from their rough handling, but they usually saved their cocks for Lizzy. Oh, I would be fucked, make no mistake, but it was more of a thrashing than a fuck.

         They no longer insisted on my shaving, but I continued to do it, if only to arouse myself of my own accord. I found being hairless both humiliating and degrading, and that in turn, made me wet.

         So, it was with some shock and horror that I found myself face to face with my husband some weeks later, as the first frost began to coat the ground. Fortunately, it was in the morning, and I was at least marginally fresh. I was also freshly shaven.

         “There is someone here to see you.” Mrs. Stroud announced as I was finishing up the dishes. Lizzy had already been relegated to the barn, so I was alone. “She’s right in here, Mr. Jennings.”

         Of fall the horrifying things that happened to me over the months that I had been interred at this freak show, I dreaded this moment the most. I braced myself for the moment he saw me.

         “Oh my god, what is that? I want to see my wife, right now!” He demanded.

         “But, Mr. Jennings, she is your wife.” Mrs. Stroud insisted.

         I finally broke my silence. “Gary?”

         “Penelope? Jesus Christ, what have they done to you?” I saw him struggling over what to do. I could see that part of him wanted to come to me, but there was hesitation. A few seconds later the hesitation grew to disgust.

         I’d wished at moment that I hadn’t hung my overalls in the back hall a little early. At least then he wouldn’t be privy to the abuse my body had endured, my bruised breasts and slack cunt that gaped even as I stood there.

         “I assure you, Mr. Jennings, Penny shaves this way as a choice. The rest, well, it’s the treatment.” Mrs. Stroud said, slyly.

         “Is this true? You do this to yourself, no one forces you?” Gary asked.

         “At first, it wasn’t a choice, but now, I prefer it.” I explained, truthfully.

         “Why would you want to be… what… a freak?” He scolded.

         “It’s this place, Gary. I’ve been stripped of anything I was… before. The woman that I was, she doesn’t exist anymore.” I sighed, mournfully. I held out my arms, but he recoiled, rejecting what I’d become.

         “I’m sorry, Penelope, but this is a step to far for me.” I watched, half shocked and frantic as he moved back down the hallway and out into the yard.

         “Gary!” I shouted. But he had already pulled down the driveway, his car disappearing into the dust. “Well, fuck you, then.” I managed as I turned to go back inside.

         “You best finish putting those dishes away.” Mrs. Stroud demanded. “After that you can do what you want.”

         “You mean I can leave?” I asked, astonished.

         “Your done with your treatment, so yes, I’ll get your clothes and give you a lift to the nearest town.” She relayed.

         I thought about her offer, and what I might do with my freedom. I had no husband, that wanted me that is, no income and no job. What was I going to do? “Are there any other options?”

         “Well, you can stay here, but I can’t imagine why you would want to.” She sighed. “I can’t force you to endure the treatment rules, but I’m sure the men would continue to enjoy you, as long as you stay as you are.”

         “You mean stay hairless?” I asked.

         “That’s what they like you for. Oh, they get their jollies taking it to your hide, and I’m sure they would be overjoyed if you became a… permanent patient.”

         I finished putting the dishes away and sat down at the table across from Mrs. Stroud. “What’s it gonna be, Ugly Girl?”

         “A permanent patient?” I questioned.

         “You’d be our property. I’d get you all tatted up. There ain’t no way you’d even want to leave after that.” She chuckled.

         I could feel my cunt betraying me, forcing my hand. It was inevitable and I decided that there was no limit to my shame. “I’ve always wanted a tattoo.”