The Shaved Slave: Susan's Story

(Author's note: At the request of a fan, this is a companion to The Shaved Slave. It tells Susan's side of the events leading up to that series. Enjoy).

My name is Susan, and I'm submissive.

Oh, God. That's terrible. It sounds like a fucking twelve-step program, and I don't want to start with an impression that I think that there's something wrong with me. Actually, I'm happy to be how I am, but it took me a very long time to get that way.

There are two things that you need to know about me right off. The first is that I'm shy, I mean like really shy, and the second is that I'm not skinny. I'm not fat either, I guess, but I'm packing some curves and not just on top. I'm not telling you this because I'm one of those girls who runs for the latest diet fad every time that the scale breaks three digits. I hit that mark a long time ago. I'm telling you this because I'm sure that the two things you need to know are related to one another. I work out, and I eat mostly right, but I could never get past my appearance long enough to come out my shell.

And that's a problem, because there are actually three things that you need to know about me. The third is that I am constantly and insatiably horny. Twenty-four hours a day I've got nothing but sex on my mind. If I've got a free moment of time and idle hands, then you can bet that one of those hands will be down my pants. I even carry extra underwear, and more often than not, I come home with them soaking wet in a baggie. It's that last part more than anything that always had me thinking of myself as a freak. Women just aren't supposed to be like that. But this isn't a story about how I feel bad for myself. It's a story about how I got over it.

--

Some people complain that they live in towns that have more cows than people. Mine doesn't have that problem, but I'm pretty sure that it does have more bars than people. I stayed away from those places for the most part - a few short experiments were enough to dispel the myth that alcohol overcomes apprehension - until I happened to be dating a guy who apparently lived at one. That might seem like an odd match for me, but pickings are slim around here even for the girls who have men falling over them, which I don't. And besides, nobody was really a good match for me then; at least not yet.

The problem is sex, just in case you hadn't already guessed. Most guys probably think that a partner who never stops asking for it would be a dream come true, but then they can't actually handle her when she shows up. On top of that, I don't want to ask for it. I want to be told when to give it. It's not that I need to be fucked a dozen times a day, although it would be nice, but I do need to be kept on the edge and told what to do. It's just not the same when I have to initiate, and Mark couldn't get that. But he wasn't completely useless, as it turned out, because he did introduce me to the bar.

I really didn't think that I was going to like it, but other than being stuck there with Mark, I actually did. It was a nice place by my town's standards, and the people were friendly enough. Actually, the people were very friendly. There weren't orgies breaking out on the table or anything like that, but sex hung in the air like the afterglow of fireworks, and I got the impression that untangling the web of who had slept with whom among the crowd of regulars would be an exercise that might take a calculator and a room covered in whiteboards. So even after Mark kicked me to the side to make way for the town whore - and that's saying something in this town - I stayed and became a regular myself. I don't think that I was ever part of the most inner circle. I certainly wasn't invited to the any of the threesomes and more that I was pretty sure were happening, and I wouldn't have gone if I had been. I didn't go to the bar for that, and although I eventually made some friends there, I didn't go for them either. I went for Brad.

I don't know how or why, but somehow I had a feeling that he would be the one to take control of me and finally let me be what I knew I was. He wasn't as shy or as quiet as I was, but he wasn't the annoying extrovert that most of our friends were either. And he was hot; the well-built and rugged hot-without-trying-to-be-hot sort of hot that constantly had me heading to bathroom to wipe the wetness from my pussy and let my fingers linger for a while before I came back out. He even had a beard that he kept nicely trimmed; not like the trendy caveman beards on hipsters who wear ski caps in the summer while they're bitching about global warming. Brad was every bit a man, he was lovely, and he had absolutely no interest in me whatsoever.

But I'm a patient girl, and I waited. Of course, patience has its limits even in a girl like me, and I wasn't exactly chaste in the meantime. All of those trysts ended in disaster, not that there were really that many, but it was the last that stung the most. His name was - fuck it; his name isn't important - but I was with him long enough to be stupid and tell him about my desires. I should have known that any guy who actually needed to be told wasn't going to be the one to carry them out with.

"I thought you were normal, not some fucking freak!" was the last thing that he said on the way out of my bedroom. I can say good riddance now, but at the time, it screwed me up pretty good.

So I set out to be normal. I even tried to quit masturbating, which lasted about a week. When I couldn't take it anymore, I came back in style. In spite of my horny nature, it takes a lot of effort to get me off, even using my secret weapon. (It's one of those plug-in wand massagers that no woman on Earth actually uses for sore muscles). But that night I came twice in as many minutes with the help of my favorite Web site; one that specializes in maids getting spanked and fucked by their bosses. The video that did it for me was a little unusual for the site, because the maid had a completely shaved head.

She was trying to clean some high-end stainless steel and granite kitchen, but a housewife apparently unsatisfied with the job was slapping the maid's round ass with a nice selection of kitchen tools and then shoving the handles in both of the maid's eager holes. The kitchen thing is a cliché, I know, but it's one of my favorite clichés. Even so, it was the bald maid that really got me off. I had always thought of that as a look for incredibly strong women, and something about a woman like that giving in to her submissive sexual desires had me playing until I felt like I was sitting on a sponge instead of an office chair.

And that was when it hit me. Why the fuck was I beating myself up for not being someone else's idea of 'normal?' Here I was trying to look boring so that I could get a man, but I didn't want a boring man. Worse than that, the type of man that I did want was never going to be interested in a boring girl to begin with. I was amazed that it took so many times getting dumped to figure out how incredibly stupid that whole plan was. Maybe it was the video, or maybe it was just the moment; I don't know. But it was clearly time for a change.

--

If bars are the most prevalent businesses around here, then all-night drug stores run a close second. There's probably a relationship there, an once I made up mind what I was going to do, I didn't even bother to clean up before I headed out to the nearest one. Just to make a point to myself, I didn't bother putting my panties back on either. I did, however, put on my shortest skirt; and as I stood in the hair products aisle considering the selection, I could feel a trickle of moisture running slowly down my thigh. I was sure that anyone who got close enough would be able to smell it, and that just got me even hotter.

There were a lot of choices for some reason, which I hadn't expected, but I figured that the job I was going to do didn't need any of the fancy accessories. I grabbed the simplest one and then stopped at the liquor aisle for a nice bottle of wine to go with it. I'm pretty sure that merlot is the proper choice for rushed decisions with lasting consequences, but the clerk didn't really look like a wine expert, so I didn't ask.

I couldn't help rubbing myself again while driving home, and although I rarely go without underwear for obvious reasons, the convenience of it had me rethinking that policy. When I finally got to my building, I nearly ran to my apartment. I had to force myself to slow down long enough to pour the wine and enjoy the experience, and more than anything, I wished that I had a man who would make me prolong the tortuous anticipation.

Once in the bathroom, I stripped out of my shirt and bra. It had nothing to do with not wanting to get hair on them, by the way. There are a lot of things about my body that I wasn't happy with back then, but even I always knew that I have some seriously fantastic tits. They're perky and firm, way more so than my D cup should allow, and the mirror in my bathroom was intentionally hung at the perfect height for me to admire them whenever I was in front of the sink. On this occasion, a few tugs and pinches to harden my nipples seemed like the right thing to do as well.

I pulled my new hair clippers out of the drug store bag and rummaged for a pair of scissors to cut them out of the stupid plastic packaging. But after reading the directions - don't laugh; I work in tech support and have taken way too many calls from people who obviously didn't even open the manual - I realized that I still had no idea how to go about this. My hair is thick and well past my shoulders, and so just going at it with the clippers didn't seem like a great idea. I picked up the scissors instead, and before I had a chance to stop myself, I grabbed a thick bunch of hair in my fist and chopped it off.

Part of me had been worried that I wouldn't be able to do it or that the experience would be too traumatic. But after the first plunge, it was actually a lot of fun. Before long, I was staring at myself with a jagged and spiky crew cut. In a weird way, it looked sort of cool. But I didn't waste any thoughts on stopping there, and I was almost giddy as I turned on the clippers and took the first long strip of hair from the top of my head. It turned out to be harder than I thought it would be to get every hair, but I ended up with a passable job.

When I finished and put the clippers down, I was actually surprised to see the reflection staring back at me. It wasn't because the woman in it was shocking or strange; it was because she was beautiful. Somehow the curve of my head actually enhanced my face perfectly, and before I realized I was doing it, I stepped back to see how my new look suited the rest of my body. For the first time that I can ever remember, I was pleased with what I saw. This was beyond any doubt the look for me, and I had a sudden idea that I would have never considered before.

--

I live in a building that must have been built in the 1980s, because it still has all of the touches from that decade including full-length mirrors on the folding closet doors. With the relationship that I used to have with my body, I had put over-the-door hooks on every panel and kept the mirrors covered with as many clothes as would fit. But it took only a second to toss them all out of the way. I spent a while staring at my full body and running my hands over my curves before pulling my office chair over and facing it toward the mirror.

I had never done anything like this before, and I was almost breathless as I lowered myself into the chair and slowly lifted my legs to rest my feet high and wide apart on the mirrors. I started slowly, rubbing my tits with one hand while the other explored the sensation of the stubble on my head, but it wasn't long before my hands found their way below my waste and slowly spread my lips apart. I've seen a lot of pussy in porn, of course, but I had never really examined how mine compared. As it turned out, mine compared quite nicely. I spent a long time admiring my plump outer lips, sensitive and swollen clit, and pouting pink hole just begging for my fingers.

I thought about getting my massager again, but I couldn't pull myself away from the view. The large vibrating head of the toy would have blocked my pussy anyway, and I wanted to see every delicate fold of skin and drop of sweet juice while I played. Even as aroused as I was, I knew that it was going to take a long time to cum with just my fingers, but I made it last longer still by picturing Brad standing over me and stroking a wonderfully thick cock. He was letting me build up to near climax and then ordering me stop, and I obeyed each time. It must have been half an hour before my fantasy Brad finally let me cum, and when he did, I was thrashing so hard that I thought I might kick the closet doors in. In a last bit of brave naughtiness, I locked eyes with my reflection right at the height of my orgasm.

As the waves of pleasure slowly subsided, the weight of what I had just done started to sink in. Not surprisingly, my first thought was what Brad would think. But I wasn't really worried. I was myself now, and somewhere out there was someone who would be as infatuated with my new look as I was and would realize what it meant. Even then, even knowing how tangled my emotions were, I knew that it would be him. It was always going to be him.