Enlightened Descent Ch. 07

"Allison." She blurted, as if unable to speak it.

"How about Allie, will that do?" Marga asked. Allison nodded, not quite understanding what was happening. After months of reverent service, she didn't quite know what to do in so informal a setting. "So, did my cousin tell you where we're off to?"

"No, she only told me that it would be far away." Allison's voice was hoarse from disuse, even though she had used it just that morning, in the presence of Asha. She couldn't get the image of Asha out of her head; how sad she was, and how she called her 'love' upon their parting.

"Well, not that far. I bet you've heard of it; London." Marga smiled.

"We're leaving Qatar?" Allison questioned. "But, Mistress Asha." She moaned.

"You must try and forget her, my pet. She is caught up in the old ways, and now must bow to her brother's demands." Marga sighed. "I know her suitor, and he will not put up with her lesbian desires, especially after they are married." Tears fell down Allison's cheeks as she remembered how sweet Asha had been to her.

"I will miss her." Allison looked out the window of the limousine, streaking across the desert. Soon she would be in London.

The buzzer sounded from below, and Penelope rose to let the men in. She was sure that they would carry a chest similar to the one Allison had been carted off in. She did not recognize these two however, quite different from the well-dressed businessmen that visited her before. They were dressed plainly, in jeans and t-shirts, and they did indeed carry a large steamer trunk. The hallway was once again quiet, and she doubted whether any explanation would be needed. She hadn't heard any sound from any of the apartments around her, and wondered whether the building might be empty.

Samantha had been quiet over the last hour, and her breathing remained steady and uninterrupted, something she had been most concerned over. As the men slowly lifted her into the trunk, the struggling resumed, as would be expected. Once she was inside, the men turned to Penelope, approaching her. She assumed that her payment would be in cash, but did not see anything to indicate they carried her money.

"You must follow us to our place of business, Ms. Crosset." The older, and more burly of the two explained. "You will receive your reward at that time." During the time she waited for their arrival, she had wiped away any trace of what had occurred. Penelope even took the clothes that Samantha had been wearing, along with her purse and satchel. There would be no evidence that she had ever arrived home from work. Penelope couldn't help but sniff the panties before she bagged them, the luscious scent of her musk and Chanel invaded her nostrils, giving her a twitch of arousal. She even took time to wipe down the shower, removing any trace that it had been used recently.

Penelope followed the men north, across Manhattan and onto the Pelham Road, and finally crossing onto City Island, a place she had never been before. It seemed as though they had left New York and been transported to a typical suburban neighborhood, with one quaint village street, after another. She wondered why so devious a pair would be bringing her there. They pulled up in front of an unassuming bungalow, their van backing into the drive.

"Wait here!" The one said, as they unloaded the trunk, and carried it through the Bilko doors and into the basement of the house. The hood worked well, there was no sound. Penelope had a sick feeling in her gut, and was thinking how fitting that she have an attack of conscience now. The doors were pulled closed, and she was on her own.

At eleven pm, there was very little noise on the isolated island, save for the distant barking of a dog, incessant and annoying. She imagined having to put up with that, day in and day out.

"Penelope Crosset, come inside please." The man was certainly middle eastern, and sported a tailored suit that could have been Armani. She slipped by him and into the living room of the modest house. It was sparsely furnished, as though it wasn't really lived in. A chair here and there, paper on the windows, and a bare wooden floor lent to some sense of fear within her. She was certainly vulnerable there, and wanted to leave as son as she could. "You have done well. As soon as the men have determined that the product is unharmed, we will settle our affairs, and you can continue with your life." His smile put her on edge, as though he was hiding something. "Please, have a seat." He gestured to one of the three utilitarian wooden chairs that could have ben taken from a school.

Not wanting to seem rude, or anger the man, she did as he requested. She had to remember that these were criminals, and were probably capable of heinous acts. Thinking of her actions that day, she realized that she was every bit the criminal as they were. The steps to the basement creaked under the weight of the men climbing them. "How is our guest?" The man asked, never taking his eyes away from Penelope.

"Unharmed, Fasil, but mightily angry." Fasil smiled.

"It seems that all is well. As soon as the payment is received we can leave her at the agreed upon spot." Penelope struggled with what he was saying, but she knew that it sounded more like a ransom, than an abduction.

"This is about a ransom demand?" Penelope asked, timidly.

"Not initially, but plans change, as you know, Ms. Crosset. It seems that Ms. Tavistock has very wealthy parents. Had they not agreed to our financial terms, then she would most definitely be on her way to our benefactors. As it is, we have a very fine specimen to take her place. Boys." Before she had time to react, Penelope was grabbed from behind, and a cloth held over her face. She smelled the sickeningly sweet scent of chloroform, and her feeble struggles were soon subdued. Not completely knocked out, she felt the men tearing her clothing away, but she could do nothing about it. Soon she was naked, and being held prostrate before Fasil as she regained her senses.

"We had a deal." She said, slurring her speech.

"Yes, we did. And, now we don't. We will be five million dollars richer, funding our operation for years to come, and, we have you." Fasil smiled as he approached the squirming Penelope. "You see, it was you that our people wanted all along, Ms. Crosset." He ran his hand along the inside of her thigh, his fingers coming to rest against her wispy red thatch. "Ms. Tavistock was merely a distraction. Certainly, a profitable one, but we were quite sure that our ransom demands would be met. You see, this is enormously pleasing. Not only do we have the millions from the Tavistocks, but we retain the five hundred thousand that would have paid you, and may now deliver you to your new rightful owners, free of charge." Fasil motioned for the men to remove her.

Penelope struggled as she was hauled down the steps to the basement. The sight before her was disturbing. Three cells lined one wall of the dank cellar, in one, a very conscious and very angry Samantha Tavistock.

It was a relief to be surrounded with people that she could understand. Allison had exchanged her abaya for a floral dress and white satin blouse, and a pair of Ferragamo heels now adorned her feet. Her head remained exposed, and this seemed to amuse her new mistress. In her new feminine attire, her bald head now garnered stares from every corner. It had been a long time since she had felt the sting of humiliation, but it was not entirely unwelcome, and her hairless lips were wet with arousal. She often wondered why Asha had never had the hair removed from her head, as she had the rest of her body. Allison thought that perhaps the shaving of it was a reminder of her state. Now, instead of being proud of her appearance, she felt embarrassment.

Once within the confines of Marga's Kensington home, Allison felt unsure about what her place would be. She would not have to wait long to find out. Marga had left her on a sofa in the expansive living room, which was obviously built for the opulently wealthy. At one end of the room, a fireplace large enough to walk into graced a wall that was entirely full of books, and old ones from the look of them. The woodwork was exquisite, and she could feel the money dripping off the walls. The palace in Qatar was elegant and beautiful, but in a stark and minimalistic way. This was beyond rich.

Finally, after what seemed like an hour, Marga returned. "Allie, follow me." Gone was the pleasant, bubbly woman she had travelled with. Perhaps that was the face she wanted to project to the world, but Allison now saw a stern and quite domineering woman, in stark contrast. She followed her mistress down a steep flight of stairs and into a very rustic cellar. Gone were the brightly lit galleries and rooms, now replaced with laid stone halls, and dimly insufficient lighting.

Marga reached an unassuming doorway on one wall of the passage, and lifted a very old and noisy latch to gain access. The old door creaked on rusty hinges as she was led inside. It was nothing more than a ten by ten cell, the only light coming from the hall, and that wasn't much. The room had two items within, an old worn mattress, and a steel bucket. Allison turned and looked at her mistress, and then down at the floor.

"It's not a harem, but it is your new room Allie. Now, if you would be so good as to return my clothes to me, I will leave you for a while to get used to your new digs." Almost without thinking, Allison removed the clothes, handing them a piece at a time to Marga. When she was finally naked, she knelt, as she had done so many times, bringing her face to the filthy floor of the cell. Marga stepped out into the hall and smiled. "So obedient. Mmmm." Taking a breath in. "Business there, sleep there. Goodnight, slave."

The door slowly closed, and she was in the dark. Allison groped for a moment, using the image of the rooms appearance to find the bed. The mattress was musty and damp, but she pulled herself onto it, curling into a fetal pose. "So, this is to be my new home." She wept, thinking of Asha, and of Mira and the relative comfort she enjoyed in the harem dormitory. The darkness was overwhelming, and she found it difficult to sleep, the silence was so oppressive. She felt as though she had been sealed away from the world completely.

She woke with the urge to pee, and knew she had to find the pail. As she knelt on the mattress, she reached out in the direction of the opposite wall, knowing that that was where she had seen it. Allison could feel the grime on the floor as she moved, her skin now slick with it. She moved forward, moving her arms from side to side, until at last she found it. Hovering over it, she allowed the urine to pound into the metal pail, the sound deafening to her deprived ears. Making her way back to mattress, she slipped on the tile, her front pressed into the filth. As she picked herself up, she was immediately aware of how dirty she now was. Every part of her felt sticky and she wondered, if she was allowed to see, what a squalid creature she would certainly be.

The abject humiliation of her situation caused the familiar arousal she had so often felt at the hands of Penelope. It was a dirty, but overpowering lust, that drove her to enjoy the most debasing situations. She knew everything about her now was filth, and she suddenly longed to be one with it. She slithered off the mattress and onto the floor, sliding and rubbing into it, trying to absorb every bit of filth that coated it. Finding the bucket, she allowed the contents to spill out onto the floor, and then continued her writhing until she was certain that she was the lowest most vile creature that had ever lived.

Somewhere within her, a voice screamed out to stop, but her cunt was in control now, and as her filthy fingers rubbed the greasy grit into herself, she came with such a force, that she succumbed, her limp disgusting form, a pile of waste that littered the floor. She made no attempt to reach the mattress, preferring to remain there. She wanted to be found like this, to have her new mistress realize the depths to which her new slave would stoop. Each time she would open her eyes, she would masturbate, until there was no energy left within her.

It was many hours before she heard footfalls outside her little dungeon, and she prepared herself for what lay ahead. If her accommodations were any indication of how she was to be treated there, then she feared for her sanity. She knew that once she was revealed in her present state, it would likely invoke the strongest reaction imaginable. She imagined Marga, so disgusted by her, that she would simply close the door and walk away. But deeper in her twisted little mind, she imagined so much worse a fate, as to be nearly unthinkable.

Penelope strained against the two men as she was brought forward to face Samantha, the bars of the call the only thing separating them. Samantha hissed. "I understand that you were the one who broke into my apartment and kidnapped me?" Penelope ashamed, looked down at the floor, avoiding eye contact with the stunning blonde. "Were you!" She screamed. Penelope nodded, still unable to look at her. Samantha had been given her clothes, and the very thing Penelope had taken stock of earlier, came into play full force. Naked and completely exposed, Penelope felt powerless before the immaculately dressed woman.

Losing control of her faculties, urine poured down the inside of Penelope's thighs, pooling in a rank puddle at her feet. A groan of humiliation escaped her, as the two men and Samantha laughed. "What a useless, disgusting whore." Samantha prodded. The cell was unlocked, and Samantha was allowed to walk out, soon to be free. Penelope knew that an entirely different future awaited her. Samantha spat in her face as she walked by. "I hope you rot!" The girl was led away, and Penelope was left to ponder what impossible fate awaited her. The spittle that ran down her face, drooled over her lips, and without thinking, she licked it away, tasting the girls anger in her saliva.

"I'm such a fool." Fasil didn't give her much time to ponder her fate however. No sooner had Ms. Tavistock been led out of the basement, than he entered. Pulling a Glock from his pocket, he ordered Penelope to stand against the bars, with her back to him. This is it, she thought. He's just going to do me. Instead, she felt the unmistakable chill of handcuffs being placed on her wrists. Once secure, Fasil entered the cell.

"I understand you enjoy relieving women of their hair. I saw what you did to your last girl, Allison, wasn't it?" Penelope's eyes widened as she saw the battery-operated clippers come out of the man's suit coat pocket. "These, Penelope, are very special. They are designed to cut the hair so close to the head that you are essentially bald afterwards." Teasing, he flicked on the menacing clippers, repeatedly, taunting her. "Now for a taste of your own medicine, Red."

With her hands fastened securely behind her, all Penelope could was kick ineffectually, as the clippers slowly ran over her head. Long hanks of auburn hair fell to the floor around her feet, as the devilish machine stole her best feature from her. After a few swaths, she stopped fighting, knowing that no matter what she did, her fate would be the same. Fasil took his time, and seemed to be making sure that the clippers lived up to their reputation. There would be nothing left. As an afterthought, he quickly ran the things over her eyebrows, removing them as effectively as her hair.

"Oh dear, Penelope. It seems you are much more attractive with your hair. I guess you never know until it comes off, do you." Fasil made sport of tugging on her ears, which she knew now stood out freakishly from the sides of her head. She had avoided short hair all her life as a result of those ears, and now they were completely exposed. Stepping out of the cell, Fasil locked the door, but unlocked the cuffs, allowing Penelope to explore her shame. "You're so ugly." He joked as he climbed the steps. "What are we going to do with you?"

Penelope collapsed onto the plank of wood that stood in for a bed, and slowly ran her hands over her head. the first thing she encountered were her ears, and as her fingers explored, she just knew they were ridiculous. The clippers had indeed shaved her to the bone. It was as if a straight razor had shaved her. She remembered Allison, after her head was shaved, and how humiliated she was. Penelope knew now, what it felt like to be so brutally de-feminized.

Unlike Allison however, she did not experience the intense arousal from her humiliation. She wondered if she ever would. It would be so much easier if she could just let go and allow the shame to wash over her, and be swept up in the debasement of humiliating lust. Somewhere inside her, she knew a submissive existed. Once she had been tied to a cross and stripped, in front of group of college students as part of a performance art piece. She remembered the intense embarrassment as she was slowly exposed. They had used scissors to split her sleeves and jeans up the front. All at once they had pulled from behind, and the clothing just disappeared. Within a fraction of a second she was completely naked, and the eyes that saw her, seemed to bore delicious sensations right into her clitoris. She remembered their stares, as the monotone spiel of protagonist gibberish spewed forth from the mouths of those students that were performing. She was the canvas, the paint, and all eyes were on her.

After it all was over, she remembered running back to her dorm room to masturbate. She wondered how many students were doing the same thing, some placing themselves in her stead, while others imagined being allowed to take advantage of her as she stood, naked, helpless and tied. "Oh, god." She whimpered, as the first slivers of lust began to pierce her sex. Penelope's exposure now was not before a throng of onlookers, but it was just as intense, and just as humiliating. As she moved her hand to her cunt, she involuntarily reached up with the other, feeling the naked smoothness of her scalp. The contrast between her thatch of carrot red pubes, and her head was too much, and she wished that Fasil had finished the job.

The clippers sat on a chair just outside the cell. Had he left them for her? It was easy to retrieve them. Although the clippers themselves were out of her reach, the chair wasn't. Penelope laid on the floor, and pressing her shoulder against the bars, grabbed the leg of the chair and pulled it until it sat flush to the cell.

As she sat, slowly fingering her clit, she stared at the clippers, and then down at the auburn locks that littered the floor of the cell like so much straw in a stall. Not able to wait any longer, she laid down on the silky strands, and spread her legs. The clippers made short work of her bright red wisps, and she was soon as hairless below as she was above. Just as she was about to resume her frigging, a voice boomed out over a speaker that she was unaware even existed. "Very good, slut. You just won me a thousand dollars!" It was Fasil. Soon the cellar was crowded with men. Not just Fasil and his two goons, but several others. They lined the walls of the cell, so that no matter where she looked, eyes were upon her. "Don't let us stop you. Enjoy yourself, little poopy girl."

The words that Fasil used, caused Penelope to lose any inhibitions that might have been holding her back from complete and total debasement. Hoisting her legs above her head, she deliberately exposed herself. While one hand wiggled furiously between her thighs, the other toyed with her head and ears. The men laughed appreciatively over her display of unbridled lust, commenting on those very same ears that she knew were going to be the crux of her shame. She came screaming, to the snickers and guffaws of the men only inches from her hairless flesh.