Humiliated for Charity

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Lara volunteers at a wholesome fair, Marcel has other ideas.
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"I've volunteered us for the charity fair. Would you like to be in the dunking booth or the barber booth?"

Lara thought of being hooted at and dunked in the cold water. Marcel would probably have her wear flimsy clothes that would show her breasts through the wet material, probably even show the awful tattoo he'd made her get on her breast when she was drunk.

"Hairdressing," she said.

"Good, I thought you would choose this. We must take it seriously; whoever raises the most money for the afternoon gets the prize and much recognition."

"Ooh, maybe we'll win. When does it start?" Lara was happy to be going to a wholesome celebration, helping the community.

"After we finish brunch. I've helped with set-up. I'll be the hawker and in charge of money; you only must be the salonist and then sit to be beautiful. Here, wear this."

"But I don't know how to do hair." She took the red lace bra and thong, the flowered short skirt and silky white low-cut blouse. She grimaced at how on-display she'd be if she'd chosen getting dunked, how inappropriate these clothes seemed even for hairdressing at a county fair. "I'm going to wear something else," she decided.

"You cannot; your clothes are in laundry and we don't have time to get others."

Lara wondered if Marcel had purposely spilled juice all over the clothes she'd been wearing ten minutes before. It had seemed excessively clumsy of him, and he had seemed overly eager to give her a robe and start her clothes in the washer.

Marcel continued explaining, "At first, you will buzz-cut all the sailors on shore leave. You will have no other duties. You will massage their heads, be gentle, lean far into their faces, across their bodies. You will bend over to pick up the razor, bend to check the cord, bend to find a brush. You will brush the hair from their heads, their ears, their laps. Anything to give them a few excitements. Remember, it is all for charity," he added, seeing the look of consternation on her face.

Lara thought of ways she could protest, but nothing she could think of seemed like it would work without driving Marcel to an even more public, more flaunting scenario. "Well, for charity..."

"That's my good girl. Bring your brush and comb. I bring the rest."

For two hours at the back corner of the fair, Marcel hawked and shmoozed while Lara buzzed, bending away from customers to pick things up and wiggling her ass, pushing her tits into men's faces.

She brushed their necks with her fingers, blew their ears when she was done buzz-cutting, rubbed her hands over their freshly shorn heads. Her own flirtiness and tit-rubbing, along with the blatant lust that men showed her, were making her hot, making her horny. She couldn't wait for Marcel to take her home and impale her.

She'd buzzed every sailor in town, it seemed, and a few dyke women as well (who seemed to press their faces into her tits as much as the men).

Marcel said, "Hour three. Sit and rest. We've done well. Now the next part." He brought her some lemonade and looked down the fairway. When she finished drinking he told her, "Many sailors are returning. Remember, this is for charity, and you promised to do your part."

The first five sailors, their freshly buzzed heads a bit redder in the heat, jostled forth.

"Pay up, Boys, and you can have the honor of the restraints."

Lara watched, wondering what Marcel had just said, feeling good to get off her feet.

Marcel took their cash and gave two sailors a cloth fastener. "Be quick," he said, as others joined them. Instantly, they held Lara's wrists, and cuffed them to the chair arms, fondling her once they did so.

"What are you doing? I didn't agree to this!" She was suddenly afraid they would all grope her, or gangbang her mouth, or all jerk off on her, or some such depravity that Marcel would encourage. The fact that she could move her legs but was powerless to leave made it even more humiliating; she could only stand bent over with the heavy chair on her back.

More sailors were swarming down the fairway. She couldn't imagine them all taking turns with her mouth. It couldn't happen so publicly, could it?

"You did agree, my dear," said Marcel gently. "Do not worry, I will make positive no one hurts you."

To one of the first sailors, he said, "You may softly pull her shirt open and see what's there. But it doesn't seem as interesting as what your friend has found." He gestured to one who was kneeling in front of Lara's knees, staring between her legs.

"Open your knees, my Lara," Marcel instructed. But Lara was busy fidgetting to keep the other sailor from exposing her breasts, barely covered with the red lace of her bra.

"Sheesh, look at that," the man said. The men stared at her breasts, grunting at the hard nipples poking through the flimsy lace. "Those nipples are so hard they're cutting her bra!" one said, and they laughed.

"Some tattoo," said another, as they all stared and nodded at the SLUT emblazoned across the top of her breast. By this time, others had crowded around and muttered their appreciation. "Slut," they murmured, passing the word along like a bottle of beer from which they each sipped.

"Okay," Marcel broke in, still gathering money. "This is Barber Booth. No touching except as barber." He put a sign up behind Lara but she couldn't read it. "Now, as you see, this woman is a slut."

Lara gasped, hearing this. She'd thought Marcel would protect her, but now feared what would happen. As far as she could see in the crowd around her were sailors and rough-looking men.

Marcel continued, "However, this is legitimate event, so we must continue with legitimate Barber Booth. I may make this slut of mine... happier...with a show for you. And you may do anything you like into those bushes behind her. Just be certain to pay for the privilege of snipping a souvenir. Two inches for the bargain, full price let's you cut a full piece to her head."

"What, Marcel? What do you mean?" Lara was panicking again.

"Remember you agreed to help the charity; that is all this is for. It is harmless." He knelt in front of her. "Do not worry, Lara. You are so sexy and these men only want a moment to touch that delicious hair of yours, to have a souvenir for their long voyages. I will fix it later."

He handed the nearest sailor the shears and stayed kneeling in front of Lara, edging her legs open with his arms, caressing her thighs. She felt a man run his hand through her thick hair and heard him sniff, then a snip at the back of her head.

Marcel kept her legs pushed apart and groped her thighs. He pushed her skirt up to show her red thong, and massaged around it as the men watched intently.

Another then another man dropped money in the box beside them, gawked at her cleavage and nipples, groped them, pressed his crotch against her back or neck or head, snipped her hair. She heard men's raspy breathing and grunting behind her. Sometimes she felt sticky skin on her head, smelled the salty tang of jizz.

Sometimes it was quick, sometimes they fondled her head. Sometimes there was a short snip at her neck, and for awhile Lara thought it wouldn't be so bad, getting her hair trimmed was all, no bid deal, and Marcel could even it out later.

But then she felt more and more men pulling great chunks at her scalp and the press of scissors cutting there. Snip. She knew it wouldn't be fixable.

All the while, her breasts hung half out of her bra and her SLUT branding showed; occasionally, a man would venture a quick touch of the tatoo; most pinched, flicked, and kneaded her nipples sticking through her lace bra. Then moan and snip, or snip groan.

Meanwhile, Marcel was kneeling in front of her, rubbing her thighs as he kept her legs spread with his body.

"Your nipples are hard, Lara; are you enjoying this?" She shook her head, felt a stab of scissors in her scalp, and kept still. "Lara, when will you stop pretending?"

Marcel moved his hands between her legs, rubbed her clit with his thumb. The murmuring of the men grew more excited. She couldn't look at them, only at Marcel, to lessen the hot shame she felt.

Marcel looked her in the eyes, soothing her, as he slid her thong aside from her swollen pussy lips and slid his finger in her wet slit. He moved his finger up and down, then pressed her clit, then back and forth through her lips, until her juices ran.

Once again, she felt the force of her womanly hunger and wanted to be in private with Marcel thrusting inside her. She felt ashamed to be feeling this way among this undulating crowd of men. She could see some of them licking their lips, pulling at their crotches, as others still fondled her, pressed their hard cocks against her body, pulled her hair roughly and then snipped it away.

"I brought a weinerschnitzel," a man said jovially to Marcel, who reached for it and said, "A weiner!" taking it out of its bun and holding it up. It was thick and greasy with a line of mustard on it. Some men cheered.

Marcel pulled Lara to the edge of the seat and spread her legs as wide as they'd go, bringing the sausage down between them.

She stared in horror at what she knew he was going to do. At the same time, her wet pussy ached for his cock, and she was sickened that she would be complicit in this.

"Your holes are mine to do what I want," Marcel said to her.

He stuck his finger in her pussy and finger-fucked her for a few moments, as the men quietly urged him on.

Then he moved aside his finger to push open her pussy wider, and pushed the greasy sausage against it.

He worked the end of the sausage into her wet hole, took his finger away, and began fucking her with the sausage.

The men cheered again, the murmuring increased, she heard more men groaning.

Marcel fucked her pussy with the sausage, leaning back to give the men a view.

He told the sailors to keep playing with Lara's breasts, and one man squeezed them from behind while another leaned over and tweaked Lara's hard nipples.

Her heat and shame mixed, the slick foreign object sliding in and out of her excited pussy like a fat cock.

Marcel knew her nipples were nearly as sensitive as her clit, and he watched her as the men flicked and rubbed and then sucked her nipples non-stop, while Marcel continued fucking her pussy with the sausage.

Lara suddenly orgasmed, moaning and bucking in the chair. Marcel continued sliding in the sausage as the men cheered, then shoved it into her dripping pussy as far as it would go, and left it there.

The man behind her leaned in close and, with a final slap of her breasts, said in a low voice, "You're worse than a third-world whore."

Another chimed in, "Except uglier."

His friend next to him said, "She is a third-world whore. Look at her, fucked by a greasy weiner in front of thirty guys and dripping cum all over the chair..."

"Yeah, I'd love to shove my greasy weiner in that slut hole of hers."

"Tell you what; I bet you'd like my fat weiner in your slut mouth, wouldn't you?"

"You'd have to close your eyes so you wouldn't see how ugly she is."

"And she still has the fucking weiner shoved in her pussy. What a whore."

"I can't even look at her. I'm just gonna shoot off behind her."

Marcel stood from his position between her legs and got a large mirror, handing it to a man standing in front of Lara, who held it for her to view herself.

Now she could see the pathetic state she was in: popping SLUT breasts spilling out of the whorish red lace bra, through which her hard nipples pushed, begging to be pinched, which the men continuously obliged.

Her skirt was hiked to her waist, red thong pushed aside, practically enveloped by her swollen juicy pussy lips. Her pussy still grasped the sausage shoved inside, its greasy grey head sticking from her wet hole, clearly visible between her legs.

Her hands were still cuffed to the chair. Men lined up behind her with their cocks out, in various stages of jacking off.

The men at the front of the crowd, nearest to the rest of the fair, seemed to be both a barrier and a lookout. Every few minutes, they traded positions with someone else.

Worst of all, to exaggerate her shameful slut-state, was her hair.

Her luxurious hair, her thick sexy lustrous hair which she'd taken so much pride in (and which she'd been using to hide her SLUT tattoo), was a mishmash of stubbly patches and half-cut lanks, long waves next to inch-long jagged spots.

She looked like a POW; she felt humiliated. She hung her head, feeling the unfamiliarity of her bare neck, as hands still fondled her head and cut away what was left of her hair.

The bulging cocks still pressed against her, bolder now, pushing against her neck and face, trying to push into her mouth.

Marcel pulled the sausage, leaking from her pussy, all the way out and handed it to the sailor holding the mirror. He set the mirror down, took the sausage, and promptly took a bite of it, grinning at his friends. They laughed and jostled him as they left in a group.

Finally the crowd thinned out. Marcel put away the sign behind Lara (she never did read what it said) and told the last bunch of men to finish up.

"There's not much left," said one man, feeling her head, so she felt sickened again. Marcel got something from his box and handed it to the man. A buzzing startled her and the man asked, "What setting?"

"Bare shave," said Marcel.

Lara felt the vibrating press of the electric razor against her scalp, and began weeping. He was shaving her head? What a humiliating end to her ordeal!

But the man stopped as Marcel held up his hand and said, "Ah Lara, you don't like this?"

She shook her head no.

"We will leave it then," he said, and the men laughed.

"Thank you," Lara mumbled.

Marcel took the razor and put it in the box, then undid Lara's wrist cuffs. "Button your blouse and pull down your skirt. We don't want people thinking you are a whore." He slapped her breasts.

She stood and did as he said, knowing she looked whorish. Indeed, had acted like one. That he had made her act like one. She just wanted to go home. Her home. She couldn't get the feel of the sausage grease out of her pussy. She wanted a hot bath.

"How do you like?" Marcel asked as he held up the mirror in front of her.

She saw that her hair was cut in uneven chunks, and her head had two strips already shaved bald to the scalp, one on top and one over her ear.

"You like, yes?"

The men laughed again.

"Marcel! You can't leave it like that!"

"You said stop. So, we stop."

"Marcel, please!"

"Please what, my dear?"

"Please finish," Lara muttered, weeping.

"Finish putting away my things?" Marcel said, and the men continued chuckling, enjoying the game as much as he did.

"Finish with my hair."

"What shall we do with your hair?"

"Finish shaving it," she said miserably, knowing there was no other way.

"You want him to shave your head bald?"

"Yes," she mumbled.

"Are you sure you want him to shave your entire head so it's completely bald?" One of the men chimed in, tormenting.

"Just shave it all!" she said, her face red with shame and anger that they made her ask it.

"Well, if it is what you want... She says she wants that you shave her head." Marcel handed the man the razor.

The man shaved her head over and over, running the razor and his hands over her head and neck, as he pressed his bulging crotch into her.

When he finished, one of the others said, "Give me that; you missed a spot."

The first man gave him the razor, turned into the bushes, and started jacking off, concealed by the other three men.

The one with the razor said, laughing, "Just two little spots left. Hold her head." Quickly, he swiped the razor across each of Lara's eyebrows.

"No!" she said, struggling to stand, but it was too late. They let her stand and she pushed them away as they laughed, copping one last feel of her breasts. She felt her eyebrows, but these too were now the barest of stubble.

The men walked away, some holding a lank of her earlier hair in their grimy hands, tossing back many comments:

"What a freak."

"Thanks, slut!"

"I'll remember you!"

"Thanks for the memento!"

"I'll rub my balls with this!"

"We may have set the record," Marcel said, adding his wad of bills to the money box and peering inside.

"I want to go home."

"We must wait for the judges; we cannot steal this money we earned, can we? Ah what a good job you did," he said, lifting her chin and kissing her. "Ah, but too bad you are so much ugly. Your head is lumpy and fat. And your eyes look like a clown. In fact, you look cross-eye now."

Ashamed and tearful, Lara kept her head down as he continued his monologue, putting his arm around her shoulders, "But do not worry that you are ugly cow. Or that your slutty nipples and your slutty tattoo show through your sticky blouse.

I will not leave you. No one else wants you, but I will make you sexy for me. I will protect for you and say you are not a cow, not a clown, and that you are not ugly. I will say you are my beautiful pet.

I will even walk with you in public so people do not harass you. I will do that for you... Here are the commissioners."

"Barber Booth," said one approaching. "I heard talk of the popularity of this one. I guess the sailors wanted their haircuts by a pretty woman instead of the usual rough duty barber, eh? And your hair, too?" he added, looking at Lara somewhat confused.

"She showed solidarity," said Marcel. "It earned extra donations and cheers from the sailors."

"I see," said the man, eyeing Lara's bald head skeptically and then letting his eyes wander to her tits.

The other two fair commissioners, a woman and a man, busied themselves counting and recounting the collected money, writing it on their tally sheet.

They named the total as they added the collection to their lockbox. "Nearly twice as much as any other attraction, even the bouncy house, the dunking booth, and the magician. Well done," she said to Marcel and Lara in turn. "Whatever your secret, it worked."

Lara stared at her, her greasy pussy twitching with the thought of the sausage stuffed in there, the men's sweaty hands and bulges and grunts. Her pale stubbled head.

"Announcement in ten minutes at the grandstand! Winners recognized and come on stage to claim their prize: a spa weekend, wine and cheese basket, and dinner for two at the Schnitzel House!" They thanked Marcel and Lara again and walked off.

Marcel told Lara, "Help me pack this up for them and get my box. We wouldn't want to miss those prizes, and a chance to go onstage, no? We will be shown in front of the whole crowd! Let's go!"

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AnonymousAnonymousabout 8 years ago
lol... I actually liked that.

Sometimes I fantasize about things I'd never ever wish would happen to me in real life. Degradation amongst other things. The point is, it's fiction. People get off on being raped and eating poo and fucking their brother, it doesn't mean they'd actually want to do it in real life. If utter humiliation is not your thing then don't read these stories. I agree it might not be exactly non-con because somewhere in her mind, she wants it, she doesn't seem to object. But I don't see any better category, so... Anyway, I enjoyed, don't fret about these silly people with their little comments.

I'd log in to post this comment but I'm too much of a chicken, I don't want people messaging me with flames over my alleged "support" of women getting their hair shaved off and telling me to "diediediediedie..." (the fuck?).

AnonymousAnonymousover 8 years ago
Seriously?

Humiliation is one thing, and when done right is sexy. This is just disgusting abuse, and poorly written.

AnonymousAnonymousover 8 years ago
Lara

Lara needs revenge. Also, this is really fetish as Lara let him do what he wanted.

AnonymousAnonymousover 8 years ago
Not sexy at all

Ok, everyone who's even looking in this section agrees that submission and control can be sexy. But cutting the hair? What on earth is supposed to be sexy about that? Seriously, the sexy thing about non-consent is that whoever is in charge finds the other person to be such a turn-on they can't help themselves. In this lies a deep appreciation of their beauty. The feeling of power but not the urge to humiliate someone just because.

Disgusting. Also: should be in exhibitionism.

AnonymousAnonymousover 8 years ago
Whore

Lois : was put up on display when I was young,had a bag over my head strip and parade down the street

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