I wake up panicked, “where am I?” my mind screams as my eyes dart side to side, taking in my surroundings, the bright white burning my eyes, unable to focus. 

Buckles securing me to a chair holding me upright, I’m covered neck down in latex. The inky black sprawling across my body, hugging tightly to my skin. My beautiful long black hair draped down my shoulders, brushing against my cheeks softly. 

I stare at the ominous red blinking of the camera staring back at me, the large lense; capturing every movement and emotion written on my face reflecting back to me. Trying to explore my predicament, I find my hands encased in black rubber balls, rendering my hands useless and my feet forced into impossibly high heels; even if i did manage to escape the binds, I wouldn’t get far.

I wait for what seems like forever until I hear the click of the door. He walks in wearing a black dress shirt with the sleeves rolled and black dress pants, the sound of his dress shoes clicking on the floor beneath him fills the room as he stalks closer to his prey. He walks behind me; out of view and the only thing I hear is the snapping of latex and he puts on his gloves. 

He says nothing to me, barely acknowledging my presence, like I’m nothing more than an item in need of restoration. meticulously setting his tools aside, out of my eyesight and unable to see, I only hear the clink of various items against the metal tray. He grabs a brush and begins stroking my long hair softly, combing knots from tip to root, relaxing my nervous body, the gentle sensations lulling me into comfort. 

He gathers my luscious locks into one hand and pulls taught, the buzzing of clippers coming to life. Immediately panic consumes me but it’s too late; I’m helpless against him. The buzzing shears make quick work of my hair, locks falling past my face as I begin to sob, drool and tears coating my face, loose strands sticking; my mane is gone and I am left with a buzz cut. 

Thinking it’s over, I begin to calm, coming to terms with the long growth journey ahead when he pulls out his shaving cream; the smell of wood and smoke fill my nose as he coats the brush. He lathers it on the little hair I have left, being sure to cover every inch. I’m sobbing harder than before as I feel the straight razor blade glide across my scalp, leaving a cool air in its wake. He wipes my bare skull and stretches a hood over my face unceremoniously. The tight latex stretching and pulling my while he lines up the nose and mouth holes, leaving me completely blinded. The rubber pressing against my exposed head amplifies every soft touch; the feeling unlike any other. 

I feel him behind me, without warning, I hear the faint click of a lock and he grabs my chin, his whispers graze against my ear, the roughness in his voice sending shivers down my body “Awe, it’s okay baby, we can save it to make you a wig”.