Sexual Slavery in a Vanilla World

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Sexual Slavery in a Vanilla World

 

By Dreadlocks

 

I mulled over the documents that crowded my desk, another day spent sorting Mr. Spaulding’s mess. As a partner in one of the most prestigious law firms in the Midwest, you would think he would be a little more organized. I guess what makes you a winner in the courtroom, doesn’t necessarily translate to good housekeeping.

Having managed to collate at least three-quarters of the papers, and correct any grammatical errors I found while reading the complex legalese, I grabbed my jacket and headed for the exit. I wasn’t always the last legal secretary to leave at night, but it was a common enough occurrence that I was granted a key.

As I stepped into my apartment, there was a stark reminder of my life outside of Powers, Faulkner, Spaulding, and Rowe. I felt a slight twinge of arousal as I gathered together the leather bustier and various other accoutrements that littered the floor inside my bedroom. It had been late, so I had been careless.

The leather would need to be polished, as would any chrome or stainless items. The large glass plug and stainless hook would need to be cleansed with bleach. By eight o’clock, everything was perfect and in its place for my next adventure.

As I settled in to eat a small meal of rice and chicken and kale, all that my master allowed, I reflected on the previous night’s activities.

He had stripped me as soon as I had entered the large loft apartment my Master kept. He didn’t always, but last night he had. There was something so belittling, even humiliating about being completely naked in front of someone impeccably dressed.

He wore a gabardine suit, with a jet white shirt and black tie. You’d think he was heading out to an event, but the only event on his schedule was my submission. On his command, I fell to my knees, crawling behind him to his lavishly decorated playroom. I hate to make comparisons, but it was eerily similar to Christian Grey’s red room.

As I languished on the Saint Andrew’s cross, my back a splattering of thin red welts, he made a comment that frightened me.

“You need to do something with your hair.” He stated, quite flatly, as he unclasped the leather manacles which held me so firmly to the wooden apparatus.

My hair, of which I had always been proud, was well past the middle of my back. I always took the time to split and braid the locks for him before our ‘sessions’. The two braids would hang down, falling over each scapula, and rendering the rest of my back open for his attentions. I had always presumed this was enough, but apparently, I was wrong.

As I dressed, I could see him struggle with something, internally. I knew better than to inquire, but I knew something was bothering him. Back in street clothes, my evocative attire safely hidden beneath, I finally spoke as I neared the door. “Is there something I can do?”

“How are you fixed with your employers?” He asked, generously. He never asked about my professional life, and I was a bit surprised by the question.

“I am a legal secretary for a senior partner in a law firm,” I responded, squarely, not revealing which firm, as that was more information than I was willing to share.

“So, not a position of any great consequence. You have no contact with clients, nor do you accompany your benefactor into court?” The lift at the end indicated a question, but he seemed to already know the answer.

“No, I’m in the office, and that is all.” I sighed, feeling a bit smaller than I had a moment before.

“It will be cut to the collar by our next session. Is that clear?” He demanded, opening the door for me. I must have given him a look that made him question my loyalty or my willingness to carry out his order. “Is there a problem, Brooke?”

I nervously twisted one of the braids, its golden blonde hue almost blending into my fingers. “No sir. No problem at all.” I answered, only because anything else said would only cause problems.

My head cleared and I found I had only eaten half my meal. It was cold, so I threw it in the microwave and went to strip out of my work clothes. The rule was, as soon as the vanilla clothes come off, I am to remain naked until they are put back on in the morning.

I’d gotten used to the nudity, especially since it was in the privacy of my apartment. I think it gave him some form of control outside his direct influence, just as my meal regimen had done. I had lost nearly twenty pounds since he took control of what I ate. For that I was grateful. I wasn’t starving, I just ate healthily.

Having to cut my hair was the first privilege he had exercised that directly influenced my life outside, in the vanilla world. I rolled the card in my hand as I looked at the name. I’d been going to Stratos hair salon for years, and had shown up religiously every two months to have a trim. Barbie, the girl who cut my hair regularly, was out of town for a few weeks, so I would be flying blind as it were. I finally worked up the courage to call.

“Stratos Hair Salon, how can I help?” Nancy answered. They had had the same receptionist for years.

“Nancy, Hi; it’s Brooke Leland.”

“Brooke. How are you?” Nancy offered in her usual bubbly tone. “You were just in ten days ago, everything alright?”

“Everything’s fine. I’ve just decided to make some changes is all.” I explained.

“Ah. I was wondering when this might happen. You know Barbie’s out for a bit, do you mind me putting you with Josey?”

“No, I’m sure Josey will be fine. When can you get me in? I’m hoping before the weekend.” I asked, hesitantly.

“She has an opening tomorrow at three. How will that work?” Nancy asked.

“I usually work until five. Anything later?”

“I have her last cut of the day open at 5:30 pm. How about that?”

“Perfect. Pencil me in, and I’ll be sure to be there a little early if I can.” I assured her.

All during work the next day, all I could think about was having my hair cut off. Every mirror I passed, every time I went to the restroom, I found myself mourning the loss of my beautiful hair; and it hadn’t even happened yet.

Managing to get all my work done on time for a change, I slipped out the door at exactly five and made it to Stratos by five-twenty. My heart was in my throat as I walked through the doors. Usually, my experiences at Stratos were relaxing affairs, but this was going to be far removed from that.

“Hi, I’m Josey.” A young girl called out, as she held out her hand for me to take. “You must be… Brooke.”

“That’s me.” I stood and allowed the girl to lead me into the back. She could not have been more than twenty, and her hair was cut very short, with the tips dyed hot pink. There must have been a lot of product in it because it stuck up like little spikes all over.

“I hope you’re not just here for a trim, because that’s just not me,” Josey informed me.

“Actually no. I’m here for a change.” I responded, nervously.

“Oh, yeah? What are we doing?” She asked, eyeing up my long blonde hair.

“I’d like it cut to the hairline in back, and a bit shorter on the sides,” I instructed.

“Oh, so like a pixie, kind of.” She supposed.

“Something like that, yes.” Now, I knew that the word pixie covered a wide range of cuts, everything from shaved sides and barely enough to comb on top, to a more conservative look. I was hoping for the latter.

“I don’t want anything too drastic, just a plain old ordinary pixie with a bit of hair left to style if you know what I mean.” Hoping that she did.

“Oh, okay. I can do that for you.” She directed me into her chair and caped me, having me hold the length off my neck, to make it easier for her. Then she did the most astounding thing.

With no warning or the obligatory ‘are you sure?’, I heard the unmistakable crunch of scissors as they hacked off my hair to the middle of my neck. I was sure my mouth was hanging open at her aggressive approach, and in a matter of ten seconds, what had taken years to grow, was laying on the salon floor in a blonde puddle.

“Bet it feels good to get rid of all that.” She mused, pushing my treasured locks over to the wall with the side of her foot. The irreverence of the act reminded me all too keenly of something my Master would do. I couldn’t help but be aroused.

Suddenly, I felt very, very submissive to this girl and I worried that I might very well fall victim to any whim she might see fit to inflict upon me. I fought inside my head for control, but years of training had taken their toll, and I was unable to resist the feelings.

I felt the telltale moisture between my hairless labia, made so by another decree. Master was a consummate hater of pubic hair and had insisted upon my having the lot lasered off. It took a while, and many sessions, but to his delight, I would never sprout another hair between my legs.

It made for a slippery sensation any time I was aroused, and there was no mistaking it for anything else.

“You want me to do a blunt cut in the back, or taper it up a bit with the clippers?” She asked. I knew I wanted to opt for the blunt cut, but things being as they were between my legs, I was unable to decide.

“Whatever way you think will look best, M..” I submitted. I realized that I almost said Mistress, but it came out sounding a bit like a yummy sound. Terrified over what was happening, I could see the rest of the shop slowly leaving as closing time approached. Soon, it would be just Josey and me.

I heard the click/buzz of the clippers being turned on, and I felt as though I might run out of her chair if they so much as touched my neck. The thing was, I didn’t. I felt the cold metallic smoothness of the blades as they were placed under my hairline in the back. I shivered slightly as they worked their way up to my occipital bone, angling away sharply and severing a large hank of my hair in the process.

Josey looked up at me in her mirror, and gave me a smile, looking for my approval, I was certain. All I could do was smile back, and worry about how large a puddle I might leave on her chair.

She slowly worked her way across the back, but it was a mystery just how short I was being cut. It was only when she began carving out my ears that I realized just how short this haircut was going to be. She angled the guard-less clippers, so a small circle of white surrounded each ear, tapering up to an inch in length at their longest.

That same flattening sensation began to take hold as I froze in the chair. It was a technique my Master had taught me as a form of self-control. It was especially useful when I was being subjected to something particularly painful.

The haircut wasn’t physically painful, but emotionally, I was feeling stripped, flogged, and humiliated. For the moment, the clippers were set aside, and the chopping began by way of her blunt use of the scissors. Josey would lift each section and then hack away four or five inches at a time, paring my hair down to what couldn’t have any more than two inches in length.

When she was done, I was looking more like a man than a woman. The back and the sides had been tapered severely, my scalp showing through the border of my neck and around my ears plainly. Although the top still sported enough hair to style, it looked a bit out of place atop so stark a scalping.

The real kicker came when she parted the hair from the side, sweeping it across the top, like a deranged combover. I reached up and felt the sharp bristles where my hair began at the back and sides, shivering again with the most abject submission. It was such a feeling that I had only ever felt under my Master’s hand. And now, to be brought there by such a young girl, probably unaware of the effect what she had done inflicted upon me.

“Is that short enough for you?” She asked, flipping the top around so it wasn’t quite so regimented.

I cursed myself within, and my inability to stand up to the girl. I should have said it was too short already, but with my will already laid to waste by her actions, I was powerless before her. “What do you think?” I asked, my voice audibly wavering.

“If it was me, I might go a bit shorter on the top, you know, so it stood up.” She mused, probably wondering if I had the guts to try it. “But that’s me. I think we better stop while we’re ahead.” She giggled. “Maybe we can go shorter next time?”

“Next time?” I asked.

“Oh, yeah. A cut like this needs to be maintained. I’d say maybe two weeks.” Josey suggested. Of course, I was powerless to turn her down, scheduling a date two weeks to the day.

By the time I got home, everything between my legs was a complete soggy mess. I ripped off my clothes and fell on the living room floor, finishing off in minutes, what I hadn’t been able to in the salon.

I laid there, glowing, but at the same time utterly humiliated by how smitten I had been before the girl. Josey had reduced my once glorious mane to a hyper-short pixie. Worried, I found my way to the bath and tried to make some sense of what she had left me on top.

Experimenting, I found I could create a reasonably passable style using a curling iron on my jet straight hair. It was still a bit masculine looking, but far less so than it had been when Josey had finished with it.

Walking into work the next day, I was certainly the talk of the office, and I overheard more than a few people making comments. To my surprise, Mr. Spaulding seemed to enjoy the change, thinking I would spend less time worrying about how I looked. There was no escaping the gawks and snickers during the day, but before long, the humiliation of it fed my submissive side sufficiently to carry me through.

Now there was only my Master, and I worried that I may have gone too far for his taste. He had said to the collar. Well, it was much shorter than that, and he was used to having his orders followed to the letter.

I stood nervously on the elevator, dreading when it opened, and he would see me for the first time.

“I see you have acted on my demand, but perhaps I was misunderstood, slave. To the collar, not shorn well above it.” He seemed disappointed and looked at me with no small amount of disdain as he circled. “Yes, much shorter than I wanted. Whatever possessed you to carry things so far, Brooke?”

“I make no excuses for my appearance, Sir, but my usual stylist was out of town, and this one… took liberties,” I suggested, wondering whether he might believe me.

“Did you tell her how I wanted your hair?” He asked, as he slowly stripped me out of my clothing.

“I did, but she kept on taking it shorter,” I said, meekly.

“You mean you let her take it shorter, don’t you?” He mused, knowing me all too well.

“I’m sorry, Sir. I couldn’t say no to her. It was as though I was lost in a trance. Every time she made a suggestion, I was at a loss for any way to escape what she wanted to do.” I explained, knowing that he would only see this as an act of impertinence.

“So, let me ask you, slave Brooke. Do you serve me, or do you serve her?” He asked, sternly.

“You Sir, only you.” I mewled, hoping for his understanding. He ran his fingers up my nape and around my ears, the stubble rasping as he did so.

“I think you were certainly under her spell, weren’t you?” He mused as he finished rendering me naked. “You’ve lost some of your femininity, I would have to say.”

“I’m sorry, Sir,” I begged.

“I’m not entirely certain that is such a terrible thing, as I see it.” He leaned in, his breath floating over the exposed scalp behind my ear. “It does leave more of you exposed to my… attentions.”

After he had punished me reasonably well for not following his orders, he splayed me open on the leather-coated bench and impaled me. He fucked me harder than he ever had, and I began to feel myself losing control. I begged for permission to come, but he remained silent. Soon, very soon, it became inevitable that I would fall over the precipice, and before he unloaded inside me, I fell, crashing inside myself as waves of pleasure swept through me, over me.

“You had an orgasm, didn’t you, slave?” He asked as I cleaned him with my mouth.

“I couldn’t help myself, Sir. You were…”

He slapped the side of my thigh, the sting almost pleasant in the afterglow of my orgasm. “You can get dressed and meet me in my study.” And with that, he simply walked out.

A few minutes later, I knocked on the heavy walnut door that sat slightly ajar, pushing inside at his bidding.

“Have a seat, Brooke.” He indicated a large club chair that put me decidedly lower than was comfortable. “What was the reaction at your job, when you came in so well shorn, slave?”

“To be honest, Mr. uh… my boss seemed to like the look. He said I might be less distracted. Of course, the rest of the staff…”

“I’m not concerned with the rest of the staff. They do not pay your salary, do they?” He smirked.

“No, Sir, they do not.” I insisted. “They do talk, though.”

“Huh, I bet they do. Well, seeing as your immediate superior is pleased with this change in your appearance, let us up the anty, as they say.” He snickered. I must have seemed puzzled. “I like the idea of this ‘girl’ taking such a firm hand in your de-tressing, Brooke.”

“But, Sir, I…”

“As penance for coming without my permission, you are to return to this girl and allow her to do whatever she likes to your hair. Is that understood?” He directed, an amused look on his face.

I was a bit shocked by his demand, but there would be no arguing with it. “I have an appointment with her next Wednesday evening, Sir.” I submitted.

“And we are to meet, the following Saturday, if I am not mistaken.” He reminded. “Let us see how much hair she allows you to leave with, given no restraints.” Chuckling under his breath, he showed me to the door.

He knew all too well how much I had treasured my hair, and now, as short as it had been cropped, he was sending me back into the lion’s den with no way to fend off the claws.

The next few days at work were fairly uneventful. The hair became less and less of an attraction until I was just another woman with an unattractive butch hairstyle. The thing was, I wasn’t butch, just the opposite, in fact, I had always considered myself unmistakably feminine.

Wednesday crawled by, knowing that I had a date with Josey, and lord knew what I might end up with once she knew she had free reign. I wasn’t about to tell her that, by any means. No, I had every intention of going in with the best intentions. The problem was, I think she knew that I was letting her have her way the last time, and I was certain she would continue to press her idea of the look she considered ‘right’ for me.

Nancy was a bit shocked when she saw me for the first time. She had already gone home by the time Josey had finished with me the last time. “Well, that is a new look for you, Brooke. Are you happy with it?” She asked, offering me a cup of coffee.

“Yes, it’s growing on me, I have to admit.” I ran my fingers over the slightly grown-out stubble that framed the sides and back of my head.

“Jodie should be right with you. She’s just… oh, here she is.”

Josey followed her client to the registers, another recipient of a drastically short cut. I could tell she was as new to the style as I had been, her hands wandering over the tapered back and sides of her petite head.

“Brooke, Hi. Come on back.” Josey led me back and as I took my seat in her chair, I knew without a doubt that my mind was beginning to submit ahead of time. “I was thinking we’d take things a little farther this time. What do you think?” she asked, dooming any hope of a reasonable outcome.

“Whatever you think, Josey; you’re the boss,” I said, and I felt the moisture building between my hairless lips already. I had done exactly what my Master had decreed.

“Well, in that case, we better get started.” Josey smiled, almost an evil look on her face as she inspected my regrowth. “Let’s start by taking all this down, maybe a bit tighter than last time. We’ll do trimmers up the sides, and I’ll decide what to do with the top when we get there.”

As I felt the fancy gold-encrusted clippers sliding up the sides of my head, I could see these weren’t just hair clippers, they were stripping me completely bald. My eyes grew wider as I observed the small stubble peel away to reveal an almost shiny surface, and taken all the way up the sides.

The curls I had managed to tease out at home that morning seemed totally out of place atop my hairless back and sides. Josey shocked me once again as she spread warm lather over the scalp she had just exposed. She gave me a look, but without any objection in my eyes, she began working the deathly sharp straight razor. There was no hiding the fact that I was smooth bald in its wake. What could she possibly do to the top to match what had been done on the back and sides?

“Well, I guess that’s about all I can do there, now for the crown,” Josey said, again regarding me, but seeing nothing but pure submission in my eyes as she approached me with the clippers.

Unlike the last time, the plastic comb was missing, the menacing blades gnashed against one another, unabated by any protection. I felt like asking just how short she was going to cut the top but was stopped by the voice of my Master, instructing me to allow her free reign.

Rather than object, I simply bowed my head as she placed the machine at the top of my forehead. “It’s going to be short.” Was all she said, before plowing the blades through the curls I had wrought from what remained before. I felt a jolt of electricity pass through my clitoris as the blade made such close contact with my skull. I did my best to hide my arousal, but I was positive Josey was only too aware of my having given myself over to her will.

As those same curls tumbled over the cape and onto the floor, I realized that there would be nothing left to style, whatsoever. I looked up in the mirror to see the dull sheen of my scalp hinted below the brush of stubble remaining on my scalp. If it was a half-inch long, I would have been surprised.

Four or five passes later, the deed was done, and all that remained of my long blonde hair was a very military-looking cut. Hell, I’d seen Bootcamp soldiers with more hair than I sported just then. And yet, the moisture between my labia was unmistakable. I was smitten, and at Josey’s hand. Did she know?

“Now, we just blend in the sides, and flatten the top and we’re all done.” Josey mused, pressing the crotch of her jeans against my knee as she worked. She was as aroused by what she had done to me, almost as much as I was.

If it weren’t for the stark reality facing me at work, I would have been hard-pressed to stay in control of myself. When at last she had finished, the girl in the mirror was far from my former feminine ideal. The cut was stark, drastically short, a slim horseshoe of hair remaining at the front of my scalp, a stark bald patch visible at the top of my head. I was ready for the marines, apparently.

“I know how much you enjoyed this, Brooke.” Josey insisted, continuing to grind herself against my leg. “I’d like you to show me just how much you appreciate my efforts.”

With no one else in the shop, she pulled me into a back room and roughly pressed me to my knees. I was wide-eyed as she lowered her jeans and panties, revealing as hairless a mound as I sported myself.

Without being asked, I crawled forward, pressing my mouth against her sex. I had never in my life experienced sex with a woman. The idea had never even crossed my mind; and yet there I was munching on this girl’s clit and labia as though I was a devout lesbian.

“You’ve done this before, haven’t you, little Brooke.” She mused, grabbing my nearly hairless head and pressing it more firmly into her, the musky scent of her young pussy, sending me spinning.

“Never,” I admitted. “I have never been with a woman before,” I said, truthfully. Reapplying myself, I allowed my tongue to caress her inside, taking in her juice as though I was drinking from a fountain.

I put myself together as best I could, after paying Josey her due, and leaving her a generous tip. I had given her a rip-roaring orgasm a few moments before, and she was quite forward with me.

“Next time, little Brooke, I think we’ll have to all the way.” She sighed, running a finger down the center of what I learned was called a landing strip. “I’ve already made the appointment.” She handed me her card, not giving any option. I simply nodded and stepped onto the street, humiliated, and delirious with sexual arousal.

I felt as though I had to call in sick the next day, but what would that have accomplished? So, I bit the bullet, and prepared for the most degrading day of my life.

4 responses to “Sexual Slavery in a Vanilla World

  1. I love the idea of her trying to avoid having to explain how she wound up with her hair the way it is, and also with maybe having to deal with balancing two masters now. Certainly could be a source of discipline from the first.

  2. Hi Claire,

    Wow that was a very exciting story! I love the idea of Brooke being dominated by her Master and her stylist Josey. I think it’s really great that Brooke pleased Josey orally after getting her haircut. I also liked how self-conscious Brooke was after getting her hair cut short. I think that kind of embarrassment is very exciting!

    Thank you very much for writing this wonderful story and as always your contributions are deeply appreciated!

  3. Thank you all for your kind comments. This story was a bit of a departure for me. I rarely delve into the BDSM world as a central theme, but felt this one might be fun. Considering a sequel, but that remains to be seen. Thanks again.
    Claire

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