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By Shorngirl


It had only been a few weeks since the new edict was passed. How then, was I one of the first women to be singled out for punishment? Surely, others had committed more serious offenses than petty theft, and that crime being more than a year in my past.

Nonetheless, there it was. The letter arrived in the mail that afternoon with the ominous letterhead, Bureau of Criminal Restitution. What an odd name, as if submitting to such treatment would, in any sense of the word, pay restitution to the injured party. That party, in my case, was a major clothing distributor.

I had heard that they had submitted every case of larceny to the Bureau, but I never in a million years thought that I would be amongst that number. It was a pair of shoes, for heaven’s sake, and not even a good pair. The irony of the thing was that I didn’t even have the shoes anymore, the one heel having come loose. I tossed them in the trash, as one might any other thirty-dollar pair of defective footwear.

Opening the very official-looking letter, I read the words in a semi-detached state, still in shock.


Bureau of Criminal Restitution

Washington, DC



Fortrell Industries

Pontiac, Michigan




Jeanette Vale

557 South Borden Ave

Pittsburgh, PA


July 14, 2031


Ms. Vale,

         Having been convicted and acquitted of the crime of theft, on the date: 6/23/2030, we are obligated to inform you that you are selected by lottery to submit to the Bureau of Criminal Restitution.

         We are permitting you a period of adjustment, allowing you to put your affairs in order before your report date of August 1, 2031. Be aware that you will not be returning home for a period of thirty days, during which time you will be publicly processed and perform restitution duties to the plaintiff in any manner they so choose.

         At the end of your restitution, on September 1, 2031, you will be released from your obligation to the plaintiff, and free to return to your life. We, nor the plaintiff will bear responsibility, legally, for any repercussions that result from said action. Any loss of income, employment, or housing is strictly your issue to deal with.


You will be collected on August 1, 2031, and transported to:


Restitution Collection Agency

4576 Lansing Street

Detroit, Michigan


         Any attempt to flee or avoid the collection is considered a felony, and will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law



Michael Lisgue

BCR contact representative


How could this be happening? I was a successful businesswoman with a nationally known advertising agency. This news was not going to go over well at all at the office. A month off; they would never go for it. I’d lose my job, for sure. Then there was the admission of my crime in a public forum. That would be humiliating, considering that I had no reason to commit such an offense.

I had done it for the thrill of getting away with something. I had been a goody-two-shoes all my life, and the one time I do something out of line, I get caught. Now, this?

I’d heard rumors about what they did to you during your restitution sentence, and none of it seemed possible. I switched on my computer, determined to disprove the here say concerning the process.

Navigating to the Bureau website I immediately saw the link to “Confession and Process”. Clicking the link, I was confronted with a short list of dates. I hovered for a second before clicking on the box for that day. Twelve thumbnails appeared, the only identification being the same sort of number I had been assigned, the FE and MA denoting sex.

I quickly clicked on one of the women, hoping that I wouldn’t be shocked. What I saw, chilled me to the core.


The two weeks passed more quickly than I would have liked. I tried desperately to explain to my employer that I would return after the month’s sentence, but the fact that I had committed such a crime, gave them serious reservations about my staying on. They didn’t fire me outright, saying that my position with them would be reviewed upon my return.

The real shock came when I explained to my live-in girlfriend, Sarah, what had happened, and what was about to. At first, she was angry, but as the idea sank in, she seemed amused by it. I had always been the more dominant partner in our sex lives, and she seemed determined to turn the tables when I returned.

The fact that she was willing to take me back at all was a revelation, so I agreed to her terms. As my employer had, she explained that she would have to see where we were, once I was back. By the time I was to leave, Sarah was already exerting her newfound dominance over me, not only in the bedroom but in our daily lives as well. I took it in stride, happy that she hadn’t simply dumped me.

The blaring of a horn on the street in front of our house was all the grace I would be allowed. Sarah gave me a quick peck on the forehead, tousling my shoulder-length blonde hair with a pout. “See you, Jeanie.”

I had always hated the foreshortened name, but Sarah had taken to using it since the dynamics had shifted in our relationship. I preferred Jean or Jeanette but found the demeaning name strangely arousing as it rolled off my lover’s tongue.

The bright red school bus left nothing to doubt, much to the entertainment of our neighbors; Bureau of Criminal Restitution scrawled down the side in foot-high letters. As I climbed the stairs and took a seat, shackles were placed around my ankles, holding me firmly in place as I stared back at Sarah through the unwashed window. This was it.

The four-hour bus ride to Detroit was lengthened considerably as we stopped to ‘collect’ others along the way. Two women and an older man accompanied me by the time we pulled up to the plain-looking block of buildings. Unlocked and escorted through a very secure-looking entrance, we each were identified. Then those documents were taken along with our clothing.

There was no consideration given to being a mixed group, so the women were forced to strip in the same small room with the man. The area was so confined that it was difficult not to touch one another as we disrobed. I think this was deliberate. The door finally closed, leaving all of us naked and standing awkwardly against the walls.

The old man had found it difficult to stop his penis from becoming erect, obviously aroused in the presence of three naked women, decidedly younger than himself. I ignored him, while the two other women tittered amongst themselves over the indignity of the situation. Finally, after what seemed like an hour, a woman opened the door and ordered the man to follow her, leaving me and the other two women alone together.

“What did you do?” The tall brunette asked, looking directly at me.

“I stole a pair of shoes,” I admitted, ashamedly looking at my bare feet and suddenly dreadfully aware that my bush was in desperate need of a trim.

“Really? That seems so petty. I stabbed a guy who was trying to scam me.” She said, almost proudly. I looked at her, wide-eyed. “He didn’t die or anything.”

The other girl seemed reluctant to discuss her transgressions, but I was certain they were far more egregious than my minor theft. So, there I was, amongst what were undoubtedly felons, about to pay the same price.

I was not all that surprised to find that I was the last taken out of the intimidatingly confined space. With the last name Vale, I was used to it.

“568780, come with me.” The stern-looking woman spat, opening the door suddenly. It was the first time I had been referred to only by a number, and it was incredibly humiliating, but not nearly as much as what was to follow.

Naked, I was led down a long hallway, past a number of people, who seemed no more shocked by my appearance than if I had been fully clothed. It was a surreal experience.

“Wait in here.” The woman instructed, opening a door with a green light above the door. I noticed that as I crossed the threshold, the light glowed red. The door was slammed behind me, and I was once again alone.

I was in complete darkness, so intense that I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face. I should have enjoyed that solitude, but it was too short-lived. A door on the opposite side of the small room opened and the unmistakable murmur of an impatient audience filtered in. It was intensely bright as a uniformed man reached in to pull me out onto what looked like a stage.

All I could see were eyes, some bespectacled, hundreds of pairs, leering at my nakedness as I was brought to the center of the platform. The man retreated, leaving me centerstage before the crowd. I was startled as a loud voice bellowed from a PA system.

“568780! What are your crimes?” An ominous voice asked, forcefully. For a second, I stammered, unable to get my mouth or vocal cords to work. “What are your crimes?” Again, he asked, almost shouting.

“I stole a pair of shoes.” I managed, my voice sounding incredibly feeble in comparison to the booming loudspeakers.


Shouting this time, “I stole a pair of shoes!” Almost shocked by my outburst, I immediately blushed, the heat palpable on my cheeks.

“568780, You have been sentenced to thirty days restitution by the bureau, to begin as soon as your processing is complete. Gentlemen.” The PA clicked off, with a chirp of feedback as three uniformed men approached from either side of the stage.

Two held the instruments by which I would endure the most humiliating aspect of my punishment. Being naked was one thing, but this was to be beyond naked. As my arms were drawn behind my back and held there, the evil machines whirred to life.

Well-practiced as they surely must have been, each took a side, stripping the hair from my head as efficiently as could be imagined. The audience cheered as waterfalls of blonde strands dribbled down my naked body, pooling at my feet. They were necessarily rough with my balding head, tossing it this way and that as the bare clipper blades honed my scalp nearly to the bone. It was a shocking experience.

Having watched the process numerous times online, I thought I would be prepared. Nothing, however, could have prepared me for this abject degradation. They left nothing, even my eyebrows falling victim to the buzzing machines.

I suppose I should not have worried about my grooming, as the next thing to go was my bush, much to the delight of the laughing crowd. This I had not witnessed on the website, and I wondered why I had been singled out for this added bit of humiliation.

The humming blades did their business, but what I didn’t expect was how the vibrations brought my sex to life. Suddenly aroused by my situation, I felt the blades keenly as they exposed my pouting pussy. I knew all too well that my lips must have glistened with my juices, but that suspicion was confirmed as I saw a transparent string of my once precious dew dangling from the clippers as he finished.

“You enjoyed that, didn’t you, slut?” The one officer assumed as he wiped the still whirring blades on my exposed breast. As my arms were released my hands immediately flew to my head, finding nothing but the finest stubble, the heat from the lights warming my freshly exposed scalp so that it was hot to the touch.

“Answer the man, 568780!” The PA blared.

My hands slipped from my scalp, one finding its way down to my bald sex, exploring the naked folds for the first time. “Yes,” I murmured.

“Yes, what?” The officer asked, his lips touching my exposed ear.

“I enjoyed it!” I blurted. Shameless, the idea of it consumed me. I could feel an orgasm building deep in my loins as my fingers gingerly toyed with my clit.

“Transportation.” The loudspeakers announced, and in no time at all, I was whisked from the stage. To my shock and shame, I was not given any clothing before I was paraded across the open lot to a waiting car.

It wasn’t until I was locked inside my cubicle, that I was able to consummate my arousal, masturbating several times as I relived the events of the day. I rubbed my head vigorously with my hands, and against the roughly milled mattress, enjoying the sensation of it.

It wasn’t until the next morning that I began my duties as a janitor, being allowed only a grey-ticking boiler suit over my nakedness. Everyone around me had watched the video of my debasement online, and they were quick to take advantage of it. Their jeers and belittling comments only served as fodder for more nighttime masturbation.

By the end of the thirty days, the proud advertising executive was no more. In her place was a sniveling creature, who missed the smoothness of her scalp and pussy almost as much as the naked exposure she had experienced at her processing.

By the time I was released from my obligation, I wondered whether I might even be able to rejoin any normal society. I was utterly addicted to masturbation and needed the daily dose of humiliation to feed those desires. The bare room and well-stained mattress became my sexual refuge each night, and I tried to imagine sleeping with Sarah as I was. What would she think of me?

My hair had grown into a decidedly male-looking buzz cut, and the stubble on my pussy was annoying. I knew the first thing I would do when I got home was take a razor to it. Of course, Sarah had other plans.

“Welcome home, Jeanie, my stinky little slave.” She sneered as I walked through the door to our house. Fortrell Industries was kind enough to gift me my well-worn boiler suit, informing me that its value exceeded the cost of the shoes which I had stolen. The admission was just one more straw in my undoing.

“Slave?” I asked, curiously. I didn’t mind the title but asked as if to ensure that it was indeed to be true.

“That is the agreement I am offering. If you…”

“It’s fine. It’s what I deserve, after all, Sarah.” I sighed.

“Mistress.” Sarah corrected. “I should tell you that your company terminated your contract. I mean… after they saw your processing video…”

“You’ve seen it?” I asked. A swift slap to my cheek reminded me of my status.

“Of course, I’ve seen it.” Sarah chortled. “Everyone has.” Her grin changed to a frown. “It’s Mistress, slave.”

“Sorry, Mistress.” I mewled. “I’m not the same, you know.” I groveled.

“Of course, you’re not the same. You surely must have known that your little cubicle at Fortrell had a video camera. It was a live feed every night.”

A sick feeling spread through me, knowing the disgusting display I must have exhibited as I brought myself off. The things I did, what I had said in the throes of my depraved ecstasy, suddenly came rushing to mind. All of it was public knowledge now. “Oh, my god.” I sighed, in stark realization.

“Yes. Everyone was watching you.” Sarah laughed. “You were truly one sick puppy, slave, and I have every intention of keeping you that way.” With that, Sarah stripped me out of my smelly one-piece and marched me into the basement.

At the base of the stairs, it was obvious that she had been busy. Where there were once bare cement walls, was now a well-equipped dungeon. In the corner, a barred cell remained the only unfinished part of the room. Within its confines, lay the same raw mattress I had slept on at Fortrell Industries; slept, and so much more.

“I think it’s time we give your online audience what they have been clamoring for.” Sarah smiled, donning a full coverage mask and sitting me down on a stool.

Only then, did I see the flashing red light on the video camera pointed straight at my face. Beside me was a computer monitor, proudly displaying my somewhat shocked image along with the number of viewers. The number was growing exponentially and well into the hundreds of thousands. “Oh, my god,” I mumbled, for the second time.

“Yes, my slave. You’re a bit of a celebrity.” Sarah giggled.

I felt the moisture from my unkempt pussy slot pooling on the cold metal of the stool. Hearing the familiar whir of clipper blades, only added to my arousal.

She looked into the camera, pressing her face against my head. “Here she is, everyone, my new slave, Jeanette Vale.”

Shuddering with her use of my name, I realized that it made no difference anymore. I was nothing but her slave, without a career or a life, other than that which she granted me. I smiled for the camera, seeing that close to a million people were leering at me.

“Let’s get her skinned down and looking like the slave she is,” Sarah exclaimed, lifting the humming blades to my forehead. Pressing her lips to my ear, she whispered, “I’ve been looking forward to this.”

As the bare metal blades carved a deep path through my blonde brush cut, I came, the laughter of my Mistress sending waves of pleasure through me, reinforcing what I knew to be true. My restitution was far from over.


This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real persons or places is strictly coincidental.


4 responses to “Restitution

  1. Hi Claire,

    That was a fantastic story! I absolutely love the public aspect of the haircut and the shaving of her pubic hair. I think there is something especially powerful about getting dramatic haircut in public, even more so if the haircut is a punishment haircut.

    Your stories seem to get better and better! As always I really appreciate your work and I will eagerly await your next story!

  2. I love how her entire life was destroyed for something that cost less than something she wound up being given for free (I love it from a fantasy/entertainment angle, I mean, obviously). That’s always kind of fun when someone realizes how little their vanity was actually worth.

  3. Thank you so much for the kind comments. As you may have noticed, I’d taken a bit of a break from writing erotica, (real job and all), but it’s good to be here once again. I look forward to being more active here.

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