The transformation

The collar held her neck oh-so-tightly. It dug into her jowl, forcing her to keep her head up and forward, presented for the clippers. It hurt, more so because of the way her jaw was held open by the steel ring so skilfully inserted between her teeth. She felt helpless, more so than at any point in the past few hours. She couldn’t move nor speak, just hang limp and almost lifeless as the clippers came closer.

Her hair. Her beautiful blonde hair. People commented on how soft it was, how full of life and how long. Bar the occasional trim to keep the ends under control it had never been cut, which was how it came to sway at her waist. It was more than a part of her, it defined her.

What should she do? Struggle? Call out? What good would that do? When they’d brought her here and stripped her and inspected her naked body had they shown any sign of compassion? When they’d covered her in slippery lubricant and watched her struggle to pull on the clothes made of thin, stretchy rubber had they shown any sign they might help her? They’d shown no emotion as they’d strung her up like a puppet so why would they now?

A cry found its way out of her throat and through her open mouth as cold, vibrating metal touched her skull. It pressed hard against her, forcing the collar deeper into her jowl. As it moved from front to back she felt her beautiful hair being pulled up out of the skin so sharp blades could cut it.

She was crying. Tears formed in the corner of her eyes, growing until they were large enough to make their way down the side of her nose towards her open mouth. They tasted salty and warm.

The clippers were at work again. They moved across her head in a smooth front-to-back motion that scratched at her scalp. There was less of a gap to the third run across her skull, less still to the fourth. Having got the measure of her the clippers were carrying out their task in smooth, methodical strokes.

What she felt she couldn’t explain. Her hair was such a part of her that to feel it being cut away left her in shock. Her head didn’t feel the same, it felt lighter and out of balance. Like an amputee who sometimes feels an itch in their missing limb, she could almost remember how it felt as it swayed and floated around her.

Now it was gone, probably lying in a blonde pile around her where it would be stepped on and treated with the same disdain as she had been. It was an object to them, a thing with no connection to the human being that it was a part of. But then why would they treat it with any respect when they’d shown her so little?

She realised the clippers had changed direction. No longer back and forth they now crisscrossed her head, no doubt to remove any stragglers that had escaped their grip.

Then it stopped. The buzzing died away to a memory and she was left in near silence, still unable to move to any significant degree.

A few moments passed and she wondered if they’d finally lost patience with her. Perhaps they were expecting a reaction from her, expecting her to fight as they’d consistently humiliated and objectified her. Maybe her calm tears hadn’t been entertaining enough for them.

Something cold and wet touched her head, causing her to start in surprise. A flannel cleaned her, taking away the few strands of hair that hadn’t fallen to the floor.

Again she was left alone. Again something touched her head, cold and wet and slippery. It felt strange, unnatural to have hands work across her skull without having to find their way through her long hair.

The collar fell away from her neck, allowing her to move and give her tired muscles a rest. As her head dropped she felt fingers go into her mouth, grasping the ring and extracting it from between her teeth. She clenched and released her jaws a few times, but thought better of speaking.

Something appeared in front of her and before she could react she was plunged into a claustrophobic darkness. Panic gripped her as she tried to breathe, only something was covering her mouth. She cried out, only her own sounds were muffled by the hood that was being pulled so tightly over her head and the plugs that had found their ways into her ears.

More plugs pressed into her body, this time into her nose. She felt her nostrils being stretched as they fitted into place, allowing cool air into her tensed body. She relaxed a little.

Fingers pushed into her mouth again, forcing it open so that a ring could press in between her teeth once more. This was plastic, more yielding so that she could flex her jaw and it didn’t hold her mouth open as wide as the steel one. The fingers pushed again, the bitter taste of rubber filling her senses as something rested on her tongue. It felt like a half inflated balloon.

Her body was being manipulated. Whatever had held her in mid-air was changing, shifting her position. She was no longer upright, tilting forward until she was almost on her stomach with her hands and legs hanging down.

There was a whirring sound almost audible through the hood and she knew she was being lowered. Someone was guiding her, moving her arms and legs into specific positions. Her stomach settled into some contraption that supported her, while eager hands spread her rubber enclosed breasts either side of a support for her chest and shoulders that seemed to flow through to a support for her chin. Straps or clamps pressed down on her arms and legs, more across her back, holding her in position on all fours and secured to whatever it was they’d placed her on.

The fingers pressed on her again. Not on her head, but on her lower regions, pushing into her anus and pussy, forcing rubber sheaths into her body. She did nothing but remain still and allow them to probe her body.

“She’s ready,” she heard someone say.

“Think many will use it today?” someone else asked.

“Ultimate rubber fuck doll? Three holes? Why the hell not? I might even take a go later.”

This was her fate. Restrained in a position that made her accessible to those who would use her. Denied her senses. Every square centimetre of her skin covered in tight, shiny latex. Transformed from a beautiful woman with flowing blonde hair to a black, shiny fuck doll to be used without a care for who was within.

She was helpless.

She was free.

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About Razz

I'm a creative dominant type with a love of BDSM and fetishism. This blog is an outlet, so don't take anything you see or read too seriously.

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