Chapter 17
A heavy chair waited in front of the mirror, straps already in place.
They forced her into it, buckled her wrists and ankles, and tethered her chest against the wood so she couldn’t twist away.
Her reflection stared back, her hair a tangled mess she had to look through just to see herself, tits naked, her face tear-streaked.
“Time for the rest of the filth to go,” Silas said, his voice harsh with glee. “This much hair will be too much upkeep. Pets don’t need it.”
The clippers buzzed alive, loud in the tiled room, echoing against the walls until the sound rattled her bones.
Her eyes went wide in the mirror. She fought her restraints with everything she had while she shook her head frantically, mouthing please don’t, please don’t until tears blurred her reflection.
The shock hit her thigh like a lightning bolt, and her whole system lit up. Her entire body jerked, her muscles seized, and she’d have sworn the voltage somehow went straight to her clit and nipples.
Her vision blurred and she fought the restraints harder than ever, but the wide straps locked her to the chair. The pain radiated outward like fire licking along exposed nerves. Her ragged breath came in short, broken gasps.
Even in the aftermath, heat and fire rolled through her nerves, a white-hot path straight to obedience, and all that remained was the unbearable knowledge that they owned her now in a way nothing else had ever touched.
Her reflection was now wild-eyed, mouth gaping in a silent scream, tears spilling down her cheeks, but the only sound was the clippers.
“First lesson,” Kenny said evenly, not unkind but utterly final. “Sit still and obey. Struggling against us or your restraints will not be tolerated.”
“Told you she’d fight,” Boone rumbled, his voice low and blunt. “They always do until you teach them.”
Silas put his head beside hers, looked at her in the mirror, his grin reflected alongside her tear-streaked face.
“That’s better. A jolt for every twitch.
We’ll train her to hold still like a good little fuckdoll while I strip every last shred of her humanity away until all that’s left is a creature. ”
She’d been at the edge of panic, and his words pulled her back from the brink.
Strip every last shred of her humanity until all that’s left is a creature.
That was her entire fantasy boiled down to a single sentence.
The horror in the mirror was real, but her hair would come back with the next change.
The woman in the mirror wasn’t her, but she wasn’t supposed to be.
That was the point. She let herself sink into the transformation they were forcing on her with every jolt, every strip of stolen autonomy.
Into what they were making her — a voiceless creature who obeyed instantly. Not Willow with hair, a thing without.
The clippers buzzed again, and she froze, trembling beneath the surface but motionless where it counted. The memory of the last shock throbbed along her nerves, and the terror they might use it again mixed with the raw arousal pulsing in her traitorous clit.
The first pass left a harsh line of scalp through the middle of her hair. Strands tumbled down over her shoulders, into her lap, onto the tile. She saw it all in the mirror, every jagged pass, every strip of herself falling away.
Her silent sobs shook her body, but the straps held her immobile. The buzzing clippers roared, vibrating across her scalp and into her brain, the mirror forcing her to watch every humiliating second.
“Look at you,” Silas sneered, meeting her gaze in the glass. “Hideous. Bald little animal. Not even a woman anymore.”
Her chest heaved, tears streaming unchecked.
She couldn’t see it in the mirror, but her thighs had drawn tight, clamped together like she could protect herself, like the transformation wasn’t already rooted deep in her core.
The ache low in her belly coiled tighter, pulsing with every cruel word, every stroke of humiliation.
When the last strip fell and her scalp was bare, Silas brushed a rough palm over the stubble. “Better, but whether it’s worth keeping or not remains to be seen.”
The mirror showed her the truth: a bald, broken creature with tears streaking down her cheeks, lips parted in soundless sobs.
But still, her body betrayed her, bare cunt pulsing with need, clenching with shameful arousal.
She remembered then, the agreement she’d readily agreed to — no shifting until after Christmas morning.
She’d liked the idea of having a day and a half to feel what they did to her body before a change erased all the aches and pains, but this meant she’d be bald when she woke on Christmas. A visual reminder of her ordeal.
The thought twisted like a knife even as her body throbbed with raw, helpless need, and her reflection taunted her. No longer a woman. Just a bald, trembling pet, forced to watch herself be reduced. Owned.
They unstrapped her, clipped the leash back on, and tugged her down from the chair. Her mitts thudded on the floor again, further battering her psyche and her knees. Her scalp prickled with unfamiliar sensations, and her raw cunt still radiated heat from the brush.
“Kitchen,” Kenny said, tugging her forward. She crawled obediently, head low, the leash tugging when she lagged.
Once she was back on the tile, Silas’s voice cut sharp. “I need a toilet. No time like the present to teach her what that means.”
He sat on the long bench, unzipped, and pulled his dick out.
Kenny walked her to him until she was between his legs, staring at him with wide, unblinking eyes, caught between the echo of the last punishment and the certainty of what came next — the horror of knowing her place, and the cost of failing to obey.
“When you hear I need a toilet, you crawl over, kneel, and prepare to drink. No excuses. You are the toilet.”
Her chest heaved, silent sobs already breaking through.
Boone stepped behind her, his massive hands locking around her skull, holding her head in place while pressing her down so she couldn’t move away.
“Mouth open,” Silas ordered. “I have a remote to the collar, too.”
She obeyed, and Silas stuck his soft head in and released his stream.
She gagged instinctively, but Boone held her head in place while Silas tapped her forehead firmly and said, “Toilet.”
The word seared into her brain.
Shame should’ve drowned her, but instead her cunt clenched hard around nothing, hungry and exposed, her body betraying her with heat that didn’t care how filthy this was.
Hot, bitter piss hit her tongue and filled her mouth. She froze, her brain blank, body stunned, too dazed to process what to do with it. Her mouth filled, and she just sat on her knees, trembling, eyes wide, throat locked.
Silas cut off the flow and growled, “Too slow. Next time you stall, Kenny shocks the fuck out of you.”
Her eyes went wide and she stared at him, trying to figure out how to swallow, too fogged to obey — and then the collar fired.
Electricity ripped into her thigh, searing and merciless, yanking her out of the fog like a claw in her spine.
Her body convulsed against the leash and mitts, Boone’s hands around her head, a silent scream stretched tight across her face as piss spilled from her lips.
Tears streamed unchecked, her vision blurring.
“Again,” Silas said, and the piss flowed.
This time she forced herself to swallow, throat working in frantic gulps, each one a struggle — hot piss burning all the way down while her body tried to reject it. She swallowed again, and again, chasing obedience, terrified of the shock, of failing.
Not a person. Not a pet. A toilet.
“She’s learning,” Kenny said evenly, pressing the remote against her skin as a warning. “Pain is an excellent teaching tool.”
Silas barked a laugh. “Fuck yeah. Be handy to have a toilet slave. No more pausing a game to piss. Just tell her the word and she comes crawling.”
“Better than wasting time walking to the bathroom,” Boone said flatly, still holding her down.
“She’ll save us hours a year,” Silas added, mock-thoughtful. “Every household should have one. Efficient. Disposable.” Then, a little quieter, aimed at her. “You were always meant for this, weren’t you, little pisshole?”
Her tears streamed hot down her cheeks, the salty taste mixing with the acrid burn in her mouth.
She wanted to sob, to scream, but she was too busy swallowing, and nothing would’ve made a sound anyway.
Her body still betrayed her, cunt clenching with every swallow, shame and arousal knotted together in her belly.
When Silas finally finished, he said, “Swallow it all. Show us.”
She obeyed, throat working to choke it all down, then her mouth opened wide to show it was empty, like a dog waiting for praise. When Boone released her head, she looked down to stare at Silas’s booted feet, humiliation burning hotter than the piss in her stomach.
“Now she knows,” Kenny said. “Let’s see if it took.”
He sat on the bench a few feet from Silas and said, “I need a toilet.”
Dread settled in her body, heavier than before. She expected it of Silas because cruelty was his language, his nature. But Kenny was structure. Training. Fairness wrapped in iron. Having him say the words hollowed her out in a way Silas never could.
The whole point of the evening was to reduce her to an object, a utility, but she’d never imagined how much deeper it would cut coming from Kenny.
She moved in front of him automatically, knees burning against tile, mitts thumping on the floor. She stopped between his legs, opened her mouth, and stared up at him with tears blurring her vision.
“Perfect conditioning,” Kenny said. “The toilet knows what she is.”
Boone’s giant hand clamped around her bare scalp, grinding her face toward Kenny’s crotch. Kenny unzipped, matter-of-fact, and let the stream flow into her waiting mouth.