The Apartment (Part Two / Revised)

The Apartment / Revised (Part Two)

By Shorngirl

Solitude…

I was beginning to wonder just what I had done. The large bottle feeder that hung on the side of the cage was nearly empty. However demeaning it was to wrap my lips around the metal tube and suck liquid sustenance from it, it had become nearly automatic. Thirst, suck, thirst, suck. It was really that simple. The food dispenser that hung out of reach outside the cage dispensed some form of pellet into a small, fixed bowl. For a while, I picked the pellets up with my fingers, in an attempt to feel somewhat human. Now I had resorted to simply allowing them to stick my tongue, pulling them into my mouth.

It wasn’t a particularly small cage, although the height was too low for me to stand. I figured it was eight feet in each direction. So, crawling had become my new mode of movement, the concrete floor abrasive against my knees and my hands. My hands. The one part of me that I protected most had become nearly black with soil, and I could feel the callouses forming on my palms and fingertips.

I felt like an animal, because I was being treated like one. Of course, there was the fact that I looked more animal than human with all my hair shaved off. I remembered comparing myself to a Sphynx cat a few days before, and that analogy had stuck.

The one end of the cage I stayed away from was the uniquely styled commode. I had seen pictures of these things, and knew they were popular in the east. Really nothing but a porcelain hole in the floor. Granted, there was a bowl, of sorts, but nothing that one could sit on. No, I had to squat. The blessing was that it actually flushed. Still, it didn’t make it any more pleasant to sleep with.

Ah yes, my sleeping arrangements. A large dog bed that I needed to curl up in to be comfortable, sat at the opposite end of the cage from the commode. Of course, I could move it anywhere I liked, but that seemed most sensible.

As I laid there, I thought back to my luxurious apartment, with its king-sized bed, and opulent en-suite. The wonderful meals I had cooked in the state-of-the-art kitchen, floated like torture in my mind. Opening my eyes, I looked around.

Outside the cage was nothing but an unfinished basement. It was large, the limited light causing the most distant reaches to fade into darkness. The solitude gave me time to reflect on my life. How had I gone from popular and powerful, to hideous and enslaved? Then I thought back to that simple click of a button on my notebook. Was that where this all began, or had been much earlier? Was it the long femininely scented hair laying with such finality around the base of that barber chair? I decided that that image, that scent, that idea, was where I had strayed down the path of no return. All of my former self I had sacrificed, for a woman I hadn’t seen in three days.

Three Days Earlier…

I was only marginally shocked that my new Mistress had insisted on my leaving my old life behind, completely naked, and of course, totally hairless. What I hadn’t been prepared for was the manner in which I was introduced to my new life.

“I’m totally naked, Shelby,” I complained, as we made our way down the long staircase to the street.

“First of all, Bulb-head, you will refer to me as Mistress. My given name is for my equals, and we both know you hardly qualify as that.” She spat, giving my breast a slap.

“Are you really going to make me walk out here naked, Mistress?” I asked more humbly.

“You will learn that there are things far more humiliating than simply being naked in public.” I knew she was right, but it didn’t make that first step into the cold Rochester night any easier. Fortunately, it hadn’t snowed yet, but the pavement felt like ice against my bare feet. “God, just look at the state of you, slave. Anyone would think they’d seen the reincarnation of Gollum.”

I had read the Lord of the Rings when I was younger, and remembered the horrific description of the creature, Gollum. I knew she was probably right. With my pale white skin shaved to nothing, and my ludicrous ears, I knew how ugly I was. Nevertheless, her inference sent a wave of humiliation through my core, landing square in my sex. The jolt of arousal made my journey to her car a little easier, in spite of the honking horns and catcalls.

It seemed as though we had walked for a mile before we reached her car, although I knew it was nowhere near that far. Not surprisingly, I was not to travel in the luxurious seats of the Maserati, but rather in its trunk. As she popped it open with her FOB, I cringed a little inside, although the protection it offered was far better than the street. There was a certain feeling of severance as she slammed the lid of the trunk closed over me.

I saw the small lever, glowing greenish-yellow in the total darkness of the trunk, as the car pulled away. I knew that I could escape if I wanted to. But for the entire ride, with all its numerous stops, I made no attempt to reach for it.

I was pleased that the trunk seemed to be heated, and began to relax a little as my surroundings warmed. No sooner had I come to accept where I was, the car was shut off. I heard the unmistakable sound of a garage door closing just the other side of the metal which encased me. With a loud pop, the trunk opened, the light stinging my eyes as Mistress pulled at my arm.

“Come on, slave. Let’s get you installed into your new home.” She released my arm immediately upon my exit, as though to touch me was disgusting to her. “This way.” Indicating a doorway that seemed separate from the rather ornate entrance to the side of the garage. Through it, I could see paneled walls, and lavish wall decorations. Mistress was not poor, although the car was indication enough of that. “Never mind that.” She insisted. “Your place in down here, slave.”

Through the door, we dropped down through two levels, and finally ended up in a large dark room. It resembled a basement, only because it had a cement floor. There was a musty smell in the air, and I could feel the dampness in the floor under my naked feet.

Out of the darkness, and just about at the center of the large space, a cell-like structure appeared. It resembled a dog kennel, except this cage was considerably more substantial, constructed from bars rather than woven wire.

A real sense of foreboding suddenly flashed through my bones, as the reality of my situation began to sink in. Was I really to be kept in a cage?

Mistress fumbled momentarily in her purse, and finally came up with a key, which she used to unlock the integral bolt that closed the only door. “In you go.” She said, coldly, as if I had been living in such a manner all my life.

With no other options, I stooped down and entered what would be my world. I immediately realized that stooping was out, and fell to my hands and knees. I heard the door slam shut, sending a shudder through my skin, a sound akin to a prison cell being closed. Then I watched and listened as her heels clicked against the concrete, and she disappeared into the darkness. In the distance, I heard a door close and the sound of what could only have been an elevator.

Then I was alone.

Emergence…

Self-pity seemed to be the rule of the day. All I could think about was what I had given up, to be where I was. Was I to be forgotten in this cell? I mean, there was nothing to say she couldn’t just let me starve down here, naked and wasting away.

My hair had begun to grow in, a fine stubble that covered my head, and pubis itched like the dickens. ‘Like the dickens?’ Where the hell had that phrase come from. My mother used to say it had something to do with the devil. My mother. What of her? Was I ever to see her again? Dear God, what would she think of my new look, hell, my new existence? Did I even want to see her, or more to the point, for her to see me? What do they say? ‘A mother’s love is blind.’ I think I was going a bit crazy.

Then there was light. Holy shit, there was light. Way too bright. I realized that several banks of fluorescent lights had sprung to life, illuminating the large room to its limit. It wasn’t as large as I imagined, but it was still huge.

“Wake up slave!” A voice boomed over an intercom. Four large megaphone-like speakers surrounded the cage. It was then that I also noticed the myriad of cameras pointed directly at my cell. Had she been watching me the entire time? Had she snickered at my frequent bouts of masturbation, or held her nose in disgust as I squatted over the commode? Of course she had, I surmised.

I rolled out of the relatively comfortable dog bed, and onto my hands and knees. The faint whir of an elevator, followed by the clicking of heels as she approached.

“Did you think I’d forgotten about you?” She sneered.

“I…

“Silence!” She shouted. “You are no longer to speak in my presence, ever. Is that clear?”

I nodded, wincing with the realization.

“Good. I should hate to have to cut out your tongue.” Mistress warned.

My eyes shot open as they met hers for the first time in three days.

“Just kidding.” She laughed. “I know you’re a voice student as well. Just not around here.” She clarified.

“My goodness, you are filthy, aren’t you? Just look at the state of you. Well, it’s time for a good ol’ scrubbing, isn’t it.” Mistress said. I sealed my mouth closed.

Opening the cell, she locked what looked like shackles around my wrists and ankles, making even crawling difficult.

“Follow, slave.” She ordered, and I did.

At the one end of the room was what looked like a shower, except it was only cinderblock, and rather than a showerhead, a hose hung from a wire in the ceiling. Mistress directed me to crawl into the middle of the small room and reached for the nozzle of the hose.

I prepared myself for ice-cold water, but was pleasantly surprised when it was hot. She handed me a bar of what I think was pumice soap.

“Scrub up, slave.” She mused, as she stood at the ready with the hose.

I lathered myself with the rough soap, feeling more like I was peeling a layer of skin away than removing dirt. She insisted that I even scrub my face and head with the bar. In the end, I was left feeling raw and sore. At least I was clean. Looking at my hands, the callouses that had developed held firm to the soil, and made their presence very evident. How that would affect my playing was the least of my worries at that moment.

“I’m afraid that crawling on your hands will toughen them up. I can’t say what that might do for your piano playing.” She said, as if reading my mind. “It can’t be helped, in any event. You will not be walking upright around here.” She reached down and ran her fingers over my head. “Your bulb is rough.” That was all she said as she led me to the elevator and up into a different world.

Opulence Versus Squalor…

         As the elevator doors opened, I was walking into the most luxurious mansion I had ever seen. Classically decorated and so beautifully designed, the house was breathtaking. I wanted to tell Mistress how beautiful it was, but I think she recognized my amazement.

“It is lovely, isn’t it, slave.” Mistress boasted. “A far cry from the squalor that you live in, and no mistake.” She prodded.

In the background, music was playing, and I recognized the piece as a Vivaldi violin concerto. I hadn’t heard music of any sort for days, and I was suddenly mournful over that fact.

Mistress read me like a book. “You miss the music, don’t you, slave?”

Not being allowed to speak, and nearly doing so, I nodded once. As she led me through the house, I felt like a rat in the lobby of the Waldorf Astoria. Even though there were none, I felt as though eyes were gazing upon me in disgust as I traversed the place in my hands and knees.

“Perhaps, if you’re good mind you, I will allow some music to play in your cage. How would that be?” Mistress offered.

I nodded enthusiastically, as we entered what could only be described as a private spa. There was a jetted tub big enough for six, several tables for massage, and what appeared to be a salon chair. I was sure there was more, but I was thrust into the chair as soon as the wrist and ankle shackles were removed.

Mistress examined my body, noticing the fine stubble that had grown all over. “Well, this all has to go.” She said, tersely. Settling on my head, she leaned in to look closer. “Too bad you’re not blonde, but then again, perhaps it is a good thing.” She rubbed at my stubbled skull. “Bit of a dull bulb right now, but we’ll shine it up nicely, yeah?”

I felt like a little child, being reprimanded for things outside of my control, but then, this had been an exercise in exemplifying my shortcomings. I knew that I was probably leaking cunt juice on her chair, and I was thankful that it appeared to be vinyl.

“Know what this is?” Mistress asked, pulling a small, coiled device from a drawer.

I shook my head, not having a clue, but suspecting so much.

“This my homely pet, is an epilator.” She plugged it in, and allowed the machine to whine to life. There were three loops of coils that emerged from a central hub. Mistress pressed the coils against my scalp and there was instant pain. It felt as though my hair was being ripped out by the roots. Little did I know that this was exactly what was happening. “Isn’t it glorious?”

I fought with everything I had to keep from yelling out, but I supposed that as the endorphins began to flow within me, the pain became more of a dull throb.

“Oh, how rude of me.” Mistress suddenly stopped, the intense plucking of the hair from my scalp ceasing. “I have this telly right here, and there’s nothing on to distract you. I have just the thing.”

And then there I was. I wasn’t even sure how Mistress had secured the video from Eastman, but that point was moot. I watched myself begin the Chopin Polonaise Brilliante, my long flowing hair cascading down my back while the epilator ripped away at my scalp, denuding it perfectly. The irony was excruciating, and Mistress knew exactly what she was doing to me.

She must have been familiar with the piece, because she timed the ending to coincide with her swiping the epilator quickly over my brows, finishing the shine on my hideous bulb of a head.

As the applause rose up from the audience, she leaned down and whispered in my ear. “How do you think they’d like you now, slave?”

If the humiliation of the idea hadn’t pushed my fetishistic arousal to the limit, I may have burst into tears. As it was, all I could do was shake my freshly depilated head.

Mistress reached between my legs, confirming that my cunt was indeed soaking the slippery vinyl of the chair. “No, I don’t suppose your talent would be enough to win them over.” Scooping her fingertips through my sex, she rubbed them seductively over my ridiculously smooth scalp, spreading my shame over its surface. “See how it shines, now.” She gloated, holding my face up so I was forced to look into the mirror. My juice seemed to give my skull an almost iridescent glow, the high-intensity lighting bouncing off its surface.

Adding insult to injury, she held me there by my ears, stretching them out obscenely from the sides of my slippery knob. Involuntarily, I let a moan escape my lips as the abject humiliation was too much to absorb. I winced, waited for the slap, but none came.

“Moaning, groaning, squealing, and grunting?” Mistress chortled. “Those are the only sounds you are allowed to make, my hideous slave.”

Then without even knowing why I began to moan, perhaps only because I was allowed to do it. I was not being touched, but my clitoris throbbed with each illiterate sound I made.

As if to torture me further, Mistress continued to play the concert, as she began the easier task of epilating the rest of my body. Easier that is, until she reached my sex. I was bent over the back of the chair, kneeling. My legs were spread as wide as the seat would allow as Mistress carefully ran the evil machine over my most delicate flesh. Before me, my old self, proud, powerful, and confident, played with accuracy and precision.

Again, Mistress finished just as the concert came to a close, and I merged into the audience, smiling and full of the praise that was being laid upon me. I imagined being there as I was, bald and ugly, and imagined how cruel my peers would be. The video ended with a closeup of my face, framed by my chestnut mane, the hideous creature beneath, hidden so well.

“All done, slave.” Mistress declared, seeing that my eyes were locked on the frozen image on the screen. “Well… ” She sighed, shutting off the television. “ …never judge a book by its cover.” She ran her fingers over my head, and then to my surprise, laid a kiss against its surface. “The bulb is back.”

Be Prepared…

         Three weeks later, and several epilator treatments complete, I was confident that my hair was completely ruined. The stubble that grew each time, was thinner and less abrasive to the touch. Now, faced with the prospect of returning to Eastman, I found myself afraid. I knew Mistress would insist on my returning as is, and that was more than I could deal with.

“Whatever is the matter, slave?” She asked, knowing full well I couldn’t speak. Instead, I groaned. I had begun to rely on using my allowed noises to convey my feelings and emotions. “They’ll have to learn to live with your appearance, just as you have.”

Finally, in complete disregard of the rules, I spoke. “I need a wig, please, Mistress.” Literally begging.

“What kind of outburst was that?” Mistress chided. “Come with me.” She unlocked my cell and escorted me back up the elevator. I knew better than to walk, and it had been so long since I had done, that I wondered how well I would manage.

We were back in the spa, a place I had only ever associated with pain and humiliation. Somehow, Mistress had managed to get ahold of some older videos of my playing, all displaying the lovely, chestnut-haired beauty that was so unlike the new me. Understandably, I had begun to hate seeing myself, and I wondered if that was part of her strategy, if she indeed had a strategy.

“Punishment time.” She sang, musically as I crawled into the chair. Disappearing momentarily, she returned, wheeling a rather complex-looking machine. A control panel lit up with the push of a button, and she took ahold of a long cable with what looked like a large pen at the end. “This, my disobedient bulb, is an Alexandrite Laser.”

I knew exactly what lasers did, and I almost slid out of the chair. Mistress stuck a knee between my legs preventing me from escaping. “Close your eyes, now!”

Her violent tone caused me to obey immediately, and suddenly my eyes had been taped shut. Even with my eyes closed and the tape over them, I could still see the bright flash of the laser as it painfully swept inch by inch over my brows. It wasn’t nearly as painful as the epilator, but the idea of my eyebrows being permanently removed seemed to increase my anxiety tenfold.

The air hung with the acrid scent of burnt hair, and even though my hair had yet to reach the surface of the skin, it had been nearly a week since my last epilator treatment.

“Punishment complete.” She sang again. Pulling the tape roughly away from my eyelids, taking many of my eyelashes with it. Mistress ran her thumb over the hot smooth skin, pleased with the result. “The redness should fade by tomorrow.”

Despite the ominous knowledge that I would never grow brows again, I was excited by the prospect as well. For a moment, and only a moment, I imagined Mistress replacing the epilator with the laser at my weekly depilatory sessions.

Back on my knees and about to be led from the room, I did something I couldn’t believe. I purred like the hairless animal I was and rubbed affectionately against the base of the laser stand.

“What are you… Oh, so you like the laser?” She mused. “Don’t give me any ideas you might regret later.” She dismissed my actions and led me back to my cell.

I wasn’t sure what was in the food pellets that Mistress fed me, but they did seem to be a bit fattening. With no idea how much weight I had gained, I looked down at myself. I don’t think it was a lot, but there was certainly more padding on my hips and breasts.

I did my best to put the horror that lay in store for me the next day, out of my mind, but it was difficult, to say the least. I’m not certain, but I think Mistress may have put something in my water, because I slept soundly as the lights went out.

As my eyes opened, my anxiety came to a resounding crescendo. I suddenly realized that there was no way I could go back to school as I was. Rolling out of my bed, I noticed that the cell was securely locked. I had no idea what time it was but knew that the light came on automatically at seven. Even if I was able to stomach the humiliation of returning, I was now going to be late.

Finally, the whir of the elevator echoed across the expanse of the room, and Mistress appeared out of the gloom. “I suppose you know you’re late for school.” She chided.

I shook my head, desperately trying to get my point across, and not wanting any more punishments. Lord knows what she might have done had I disobeyed again.

Well, never you mind. I was testing you, in any event, Bulbhead!” Mistress prodded. “It’s actually Sunday, and this was just a dry run to see exactly how you would react, and you haven’t disappointed.” She leaned against the side of the cage, her fingers wrapped tightly through its bars. “Do you know I was going to let you drive yourself to school, to grant you a little autonomy? Now, with your hesitance to return, I will be forced to drive you myself.”

So, I was to be driven to school, as I had been when I was a small child. I supposed she would watch until I was through the doors, reassured whatever humiliation awaited me beyond would be meted out.

Mistress unlocked the cage, and threw open the door. “Come! I think it’s time for you to be introduced to your new living arrangements.”

I crawled from the cage and began to follow, but her pace was too quick.

“Oh, and that’s another thing, slave. No more crawling. Your hands are too important to destroy. It was the only miscalculation I have made, and I am sorry for it, slave.”

When I attempted to stand, my knees began to buckle. It was as though I had forgotten how to walk. After a few steps, the old mental processes began to take over, and I was able to put one foot in front of the other.

Once upstairs, Mistress led me through parts of the mansion that I had never seen. Wherever she was leading me, it was clear at the other end of the house. She indicated a very normal-looking wooden framed door, which she opened once I was standing beside her.

Behind the door, was another, only this one was made of bars. It was a room within a room. Inside the bars was a small, utilitarian bed, a normal toilet, and what appeared to be a walk-in shower and sink. Most surprising, and the thing I noticed immediately, was a Steinway & Sons grand piano. Sitting beside the impressive instrument was a rolltop desk, within which, my notebook computer and all my music and school books resided.

Mistress walked into the cell, leading me a step behind. “I hope you can appreciate the effort and expense I have put into creating this space for you, slave, and honor it appropriately. You can forget about any ideas of quitting school. You will attend, and you will excel, regardless of the opinions of others. Is that understood?”

Not able to speak, I nodded with mock enthusiasm. Now there was no way I would be able to deny her. At least I would be living in relative comfort. Nothing else seemed to have changed, however. The eating and drinking arrangements remained the same, with the water bottle and feeder mechanism suspended between the outer and inner walls of my new world.

“You need not worry about disturbing me with your practicing, slave. The walls are completely soundproof. Well, first things first, then. We’re off to the spa, where someone is waiting for you.”

My walking had already improved and although still a bit unsteady, I was at least able to keep up. Entering the spa, I notice a young woman, who was impeccably dressed, and shockingly beautiful. As I stepped before her, naked, and as ugly as I knew I was, I felt more intensely humiliated than I had ever been. A taste of what school was going to be like, no doubt.

“Well, let’s see what I have to work with.” The woman insisted, roughly grabbing one of my hands and opening it. She seemed disgusted by me, and I could hardly blame her. “These are a mess. And you are a pianist? You must be ashamed of yourself, to let something so important fall into ruin like this.”

The woman’s terse scolding brought a smile over Mistress’s face as she left me under the control of this woman. She thrust my hands into a bowl of what looked like soapy water, and it was only after a second or two that I realized how hot the water was. I tried to pull my hands out, but she insisted that I keep them submerged.

“It is not hot enough to burn you, Bulb.” She admonished. “It only hurts because you are weak.”

The humiliation brought on by the use of that name, only caused me to worry. Unlike Mistress, who would only be amused, I shuddered to think what this voluptuous tyrant might do if she discovered my arousal. Keeping my legs together, I did my best to hide it.

After my hands had soaked, and water had finally grown tolerable, she set the bowl aside, turning my hands upwards. The callouses were now white, all traces of dirt dissolved. They seemed in stark contrast to the rest of my flesh, which was pruned but pink.

When I expected her to use a file to work on the thickly crusted skin, she terrified me with a set of menacing clippers. They looked much like wire cutters, only smaller and undoubtedly, sharper.

She didn’t make me bleed, although she trimmed the dead dried skin to within a millimeter of hot reddish-pink flesh. Never had my hands been treated with such disrespect, or disgust.

Two hours later, callouses gone and my fingernails cut to the quick, she wrapped my hands in gauze, instructing me to avoid using them for at least two days. Then, she simply stood and walked away, without any acknowledgment of my presence.

Shortly thereafter, Mistress returned and took me back to my room. “You will just have to explain that the illness has affected your hands as well. I suppose they’ll be pleasantly surprised when they recover, or perhaps they will be too preoccupied with your appearance to even notice.” She slammed the door to the cell, and then to the room. Suddenly, the silence was deafening.

Back to School…

Not having slept in a bed for weeks, made it difficult to sleep. As overly comfortable as the bed was, I was too nervous to allow myself to drift. I knew that at some point I dropped from sheer exhaustion, but however much sleep I got, it was never going to be enough to prepare me for the coming day.

Bright and early, Mistress had awakened me. She tossed some of my old clothes through the open door at me, indicating that I get dressed. With my hands wrapped and my fingers so tender, it was no easy feat.

Gathering what I knew I needed, which wasn’t too much for the first day of the semester, I emerged through the open door. Mistress was nowhere to be found, so I tried to find my way by memory to the kitchen and the garage.

“Well, at last, slave. Come on, then. Can’t be late to the unveiling of your bright, shiny bulb, now, can we?” Her words tortured me, but they soon ran out of my mind as the car pulled up in front of Eastman Hall.

This was it. In a few moments, my utter humiliation would begin. I turned and waved as I walked towards the entrance. Just as I suspected, she was going to watch me step inside.

Horrified, I walked by the first few students, who stared, but seemed not to know me. Lord knows, after last semester’s accolades, how many people might recognize her without her even knowing them.

I arrived at my locker, and struggled with the combination for a few seconds. So much had happened since the end of last term, it was amazing I remembered the numbers at all.

“Hey, that’s Sarah Lindemann’s locker, who are…” Of course, their jaw dropped open as I turned to face them. “Sarah? Jeez, girl, what the hell happened to you?” The young violinist burst. Allison Reed had been a close friend over the previous semester, having met and spoken at our lockers, which were next to one another. “All that success go to your head, or something?” She kidded.

“Alopecia.” I mouthed, the words barely emerging.

“Oh, honey, that’s too bad. Pressure.” Allison shared. “I’ve heard that too much pressure can cause stuff like that to happen.”

“Yeah, everything fell out within a couple of days of my last performance.” I lied. Could she tell? Did she just think I’d lost my mind and shaved my head and brows off?

“Oh, my god, your hands!” Allison exclaimed, finally noticing the bandages that wrapped my precious fingers.

“It affected them too,” I admitted. “But they’re almost healed now. Unfortunately, this…” I pointed up to my glowing dome. “… is permanent.”

To my utter shock and horror, Allison reached up and tweaked one of my protuberant ears. “Well, you won’t have any trouble hearing the notes with these.”

“Allison, come on. This is hard en…”

“Sorry, Sarah. Maybe you could spring for a wig with all the money you’re saving on that apartment of yours.” Allison suggested.

“My skin is too sensitive. If I try to cover it, I break out.” Another lie.

Allison grinned, and I swear she was seeing right through my façade of fabrications. “I’ve never heard of that. Well, I’ve got to run. See you in composition.” And then she was gone. Aside from being my closest friend at the school, she was also the biggest gossip. Before the end of the day, everyone would know about how the great Sarah Lindemann was now bald, ugly, and unable to play to boot.

Unfortunately, my first class was piano technique. My professor, who had been a bear to deal with the previous semester was going to have a field day now.

He had his back to the door as I walked in and set my music on the desk. “I trust that’s my lovely prodigy, come to…” Just as Allison had done, his face dropped in disbelief. “Jesus Christ!”

At least the first thing he noticed was my hands. I held them up, waving them as if in explanation. He seemed completely lost for words, so I spoke first. “I’ve suffered from a skin condition, Mr. Leopold. Alopecia. Perhaps you’ve heard of…”

“Of course, I’ve heard of it, but your hands, Sarah. What happened to your hands?” He took them gently into his own, feeling the thickness of the wraps which encased my fingers.

To my shock and even some delight, he didn’t even mention my appearance. I supposed once my hands had returned to me, he might begin to question the hideous bald girl that stood before him.

“The hair thing, we can work with that, but your hands, Sarah.” I actually thought he was going to cry.

“They are almost healed, Mr. Leopold. The dressings can come off before our next class, and I should be almost right as rain.” Of course, I had no idea what a month of crawling on cold concrete might have done to them, but I would soon find out, I imagined.

Needless to say, no technique was studied that day, and I was free to go to the commons. Of course, I dreaded this more than anything else. It was the gathering place for all the students when they weren’t practicing or in class.

“Well, well. If it isn’t the great Sarah Lindemann.” The male voice came from behind. “How the mighty have fallen.”

Mark Price was the pianist I had beaten to win the piano performance prize the previous semester. He, above all other people, was going to be my biggest issue.

“Who’d have thought that so much ugliness was hiding under that long hair of yours?” He spat.

“Shut up, Mark. You have no idea what I’ve been through.” I shot back.

“Oh, I heard something about Alopecia or something.” He smirked. “The thing is, Sarah, my sister has it, and there’s no way it’s that. It just doesn’t happen that fast. What did you do, freak out and shave yourself hairless?”

Rather than argue to point, I walked away from him, which was probably the worst thing I could have done. I supposed I had just confirmed his suspicions. So, it was going to be the ‘she just freaked out’ explanation, after all, which would supplant my more benign pleadings.

By the end of the day, people had begun to snicker behind my back, and more than one comment was overheard to do with my ears. It was beyond humiliating. How was I going to be able to do this? I escaped into the women’s restroom to try and gather myself after overhearing a particularly cutting remark by one of the professors.

As I sat in the stall, I couldn’t believe that I was finding the condescending treatment of the other students and even the staff the slightest bit arousing. The thing was, that was exactly what was happening.

Before I knew what was happening, I had whipped down my jeans and had my hand between my legs. Of course, I’d completely forgotten about my bandages. I gingerly unwrapped the middle finger on my right hand, the skin still red and raw from the treatment the day before. The instrument peeled and exposed, I slipped it down to my sex, allowing the ravaged finger to slide into my slick, hairless slot. The jeers and stares I had suffered during the day, fed my humiliating reverie as I frantically rubbed my clitoris.

Of course, I never heard the door open as the two female students entered. I stopped as soon as they spoke, but there was no doubt they had probably heard the hairless squishing of my ministrations.

They almost immediately began talking about me. How I had lost my mind after winning the competition and cut off all my hair, only to discover the hideous creature underneath it all. “Have you ever seen anything so disgusting?” The one girl chortled. “I mean, talk about ugly.”

“Yeah. I bet she drops out before too long. Man, I thought she was amazing, you know. Now, look at her.” The other commented.

As they slipped out of the restroom, riding on a wave of giggles, I was unable to stop myself. That was it. I moaned out my orgasm with no regard for anyone that may or may not have heard. There I was, the great Sarah Lindemann, masturbating over her own hideous ruination in the stall of a public restroom. And this was only the first day.

End of Part Two…

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