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She torments with what he covets.

When he returned, he took me again by the hair and dragged me, crawling, into the bathroom, and my heart sank at what I saw. He'd gotten out the electric clippers, scissors, shaving cream, razor, and his sharpest knife, and they were laid out on a towel on the toilet seat lid. My head grew dizzy, and I fell forward as he simultaneously threw me to the cold tile floor, smacking my head with a dull clank against the porcelain toilet's foot.

Only a second passed. When I opened my eyes, it was to Master's boot beside me, Master's fist in my hair, yanking me up hard onto my knees once more, to see the scissors poised in his right hand and the most vicious grin he'd ever worn spread wide across his beautiful, evil face. He said nothing as he pulled my long braid taught and sheered it off where it met the back of my head. I sobbed, but he didn't even give me a moment to recover.

"Hold this," he growled, placing the severed braid in my hands, "And keep it neat. I told you I'd beat you with it if it ever came off your head, and that is exactly what I plan to do. Now, sit high, chin up, and hold still."

I held the braid as best I could, but keeping still was harder. I was sobbing and shaking harder than I'd known I could as I heard the clack and the weird buzz of the electric shears coming to life. I wanted to struggle, but he'd left me unbound, to force me to submit to my punishment willingly. He and I both knew my safeword- I could have stopped him, but the power of his hands, the power of his voice- the sensation of being completely and totally owned- overwhelmed me, and he knew it. The harder he was on me, the more completely I belonged to him, and right at that moment, he knew that there was absolutely nothing I wouldn't endure if it pleased him.

My red hair fell around me in clumps, on my shoulders, my breasts, and the floor, and he almost giggled as he ran his hand across the strawberry blonde velvet that remained. I had already closed my eyes, unable to watch the last shred of my pride shorn away so easily, and without a fight. The whole act was symbolic. It was his to take if it pleased him, and forcing me to sit, unshackled, unresisting, while he took it was the final fetter locking my soul to his fist and his boot and his cock.

I heard the schoosh of the shaving cream, felt it cold against my scalp, then the razor, scraping away the stubble, pausing to rinse in the sink... By the time the blade of his knife pressed against my skull, I had stopped shaking and sobbing, my tears flowed silently from still-closed eyes. I half expected to feel the bite of his steel, but then the knife was gone too.

"Turn around. Spread your knees."

I moved slowly, but immediately, my eyes shut tight, and could almost feel him smiling at his handiwork. He took the braid from me and laid it aside.

"Hands on your head."

I smothered a tight sob and did as I was told, bare fingers lacing almost confused across cool, bare scalp.

"THAT," he said, "is smooth. Now thank me for teaching you, slut. Open your eyes, and kiss my cock."

He'd laced his big cock through his fly, not bothering to lower his pants, and I leaned forward, still crying, to press grateful flickering kisses along it's length, whispering and whimpering tiny thanks and praise, then tried to take him in my mouth, but his warm hand pushed me back.

"You haven't earned that. You don't deserve to suck my cock tonight, little cunt. Besides, I haven't finished the lesson." With that, he pushed his foot farther between my spread thighs, and lifted it just slightly so that I could feel the brush of it's leather against my wet slit. "Up," he told me, and pressed it upward until it was resting against the edge of the toilet seat, with me astride it like a hobbyhorse. "Ride my boot, slut. Hump it like a horny little bitch in heat."

Master chuckled as I blushed a deep shade of red right down to my nipples.

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