This is for adults only. If you're under 18, do not
read any further.
Please do not post this without permission of the
author.
(c)2001 by Sara H
----
Follicle
by Sara H
Categories: FF,FD,MC
----
Part One
Beverly Whalen walked up to the clinic door hesitated for
a moment before entering. Dr. Harrah had been quite adamant
about this place and its discretion when she gave her the
referral, but the last thing she wanted was to be sitting
in a waiting room full of year-old fishing and sports
magazines, and the bald that would go with them.
Heaving with a resigned sigh, she pulled the glass door
open and stepped in.
The Fangor Clinic.
Beverly had the obvious thought about vampires, and smiled
about as much as the little joke was original. *The Blood
Bank opens at two AM...*
The interior was light coral and blue, with white walls.
At least it wasn't dark and dingy. It also had one
remarkable and pleasantly surprising feature. It was empty.
She walked up to the counter and waited for the
receptionist to notice her.
"May I help you?" asked the girl, whose name was
Amy, according to her nametag. The nametag was coral and
blue, too.
*Coral and blue in a rainbow tattoo,* mused Beverly, as
always, thinking of the next song.
"Yes, I was referred by Dr. Harrah's office," she
answered, smiling. She tried bravely to hide her
embarrassment, but her hands trembled as she signed in.
"Beverly Whalen," she prompted.
"Oh, okay, I see it here. 10 o'clock," said the looking down the list in the calendar book. "Do you have an
insurance card? I'll need to make a copy," said Amy, when
Beverly looked up. She was pleasantly surprised not to get
the usual gawking and stuttering request for an autograph.
"Sure... let me find it..." said Beverly as she began to
rifle through her purse.
"And I have some forms for you to fill out, this being
your first time and all," added Amy, placing a clipboard on
the counter.
"Right. Always the way, isn't it," said Beverly in her
most I'm-going-to-be-friendly-if-it-kills-me voice.
"Unfortunately, yes it is. Just bring it back when you're
done, and someone will call you when the Dr. Fangor is
ready for you," said the cheery girl.
Despite her cynical nature, Beverly found the genuine
friendliness of the disarming and just the thing to
make her feel a bit more at ease. She found a chair near
the window and began filling out her personal information
and medical history.
When she brought it back to the desk, Amy was busy on the
phone. She looked at the sweet with envy. Dark brown
curly hair, cut close but attractively... wide set, big
hazel eyes that were incredibly striking against the
hair... features and a slightly triangular face...
As she returned to her chair, Beverly felt a moment of
regret and bitterness sweep through her. She had been
beautiful herself, a year ago, although she hadn't ever
thought of it that way, until... until she started losing
her hair.
Her stylist had noticed it first, and asked what kind of
shampoo she was using, and recommended a cleansing rinse.
She'd hardly given it a second thought, but by the time
six months had rolled around she was getting worried. Her
scalp was clearly visible through her hair no matter what
she did. Going to Betsy Harrah, her doctor, she had tried
all the latest treatments and techniques. She changed her
diet, exercised, and in all respects improved herself...
except that she kept losing more and more hair.
And now, after a year, it was so wispy that she generally
wore a scarf or hat, and let the wisps imply the hair
underneath. It wasn't such a bad look for her, but the
tabloids already had her heroically battling cancer.
She'd never thought she was vain, but this was just... so
*basic.*
It was killing her soul. It was also threatening to kill
her career.
Dr. Harrah had finally had to admit defeat. She was
getting nowhere, and Beverly was becoming dangerously
despondent. The final result had been a long conversation,
and this visit to a new specialist.
"Dr. Fangor has some methods that are unorthodox, but they
work when many other things fail. In your case, with no
condition or reason to have lost so much hair, I think it's
certainly worth a consultation," Dr. Harrah had said.
Beverly was at the breaking point, and ready to grasp at
any glimmer of hope. It wasn't that she...
"Beverly Whalen."
The sound of her name jerked her out of her thoughts and
she nodded, stood, and followed the nurse back to the
examination rooms.
----
Weight, blood pressure, temperature. Standard operating
procedure. However, the familiarity of the ritual helped
make Beverly more comfortable with her surroundings -- she
might as well have been coming in about a cold. Once the
rites had been performed, the nurse left, and Beverly found
herself doing what she always did: she studied the
industrial artwork on the walls and sifted through the out-
of-date magazines that had once been in the waiting room.
She had just settled into a chair beside the lavatory and
started an article about the fall of dot-coms, when there
was a knock on the door and Dr. Fangor entered.
Beverly put down her magazine and smiled. Doctor Fangor,
far from being a vampire, was an attractive woman in her
mid-forties. Her smile beckoned Beverly's in return, and
she said, as if she needed to confirm it beyond the name
embroidered on her lab coat, "Hello, Ms. Whalen. I'm Dr.
Fangor. My friends call me Carmen, and I think we should be
friends, so Carmen it is."
"Beverly," she answered, not sure of how to proceed.
Regardless, she liked this doctor. Carmen exuded a kind of
kindly, gentle warmth, and Beverly felt herself relax.
"I've been reading over the file sent from Dr. Harrah's
office. This must be pretty tough on you."
"Well, it's certainly not my favorite lifetime
achievement," joked Beverly. She winced as the grit in her
voice strangled her attempt at being light. She could
almost see the words writhing on the floor, pulled down by
the weight of her depression.
Catching the not-so-subtle nuance, Carmen said softly,
"It's really okay, Beverly. It's not so rare for women to
lose hair as you might think. But culturally, it's like a
death sentence, at least in the way we're brought up. 'A
woman's hair is her glory.' It's built into every concept
we know. It makes sense for you to be distraught. The
question is really what you're willing to do about it."
Opening the chart, Carmen looked over several pages. "It
looks like you've been through all the standard tests. You
seem to be a good candidate for our procedure. Of course,
we'd have to run several further tests to be sure, but
there actually may be a solution for you." She looked at
Beverly expectantly, in the standard "it's time for you to
say something" way.
"At this point I'm almost willing to try anything. If you
told me you were going to graft my pubic hair to my scalp,
I'd probably go along." Beverly's eyes bugged out in
embarrassment at the words that popped out of her mouth.
Carmen just smiled, taking it in stride and soothing the
situation. "Well, I don't think it will come to that, but
let me explain the procedure.
"Your follicles have, for all intents and purposes, died.
Maybe they could have been saved, but probably not. It's
unlikely that any treatment would have helped prevent your
hair loss, not only based on the tests, but because you
were given these treatments, and not one of them resulted
in halting the ongoing loss of your hair.
"We do a specific kind of hair transplant. We don't use
plugs... we use a bio-engineered follicle and hair that is
self-sufficient. It isn't like it's a part of you, exactly,
but exists in a symbiotic relationship, in the original
placement of your original hair. You provide nutrients, at
the low levels that killed your own hair follicles, but
this follicle is extremely... efficient, for lack of a
better word.
"The advantages are steady, predictable growth, increased
hair strength, and... you never go gray. You can choose
color, density and body, among other things. All in all,
it's better than the hair you were born with. I don't mean
to sound arrogant," concluded Carmen.
"And the drawbacks?" asked Beverly.
"In less than one-hundredth of one percent of patients,
there is a risk of rejection or allergic reaction. That's
why we run the compatibility tests. We don't want to go
there, so we don't. Also, the mapping of your scalp for
proper follicle placement is a tedious procedure in which
you are awake, but cannot move. We actually have to
immobilize your head. Honestly, it's not pleasant. But to
me, it's worth twelve hours of discomfort for a lifetime of
perfect, glorious hair."
"It sounds pretty amazing, doctor," said Beverly. "Do you
have any pictures I can look at?"
"I can do better. Inspect my scalp. I had the procedure
done a year ago. So did my receptionist, Amy."
"Really! Amazing... I noticed her hair when I came in,"
admitted Beverly. Then whispering slightly, "I notice
everyone's hair these days... but I thought you..."
"Perform the procedure? I do set it up, with two
assistants. But the actual implantation is done using a
laser-guided inser... well, a very complex machine. All I
do is prepare you and monitor the process to make sure it
goes correctly."
Beverly nodded in understanding.
"Well, I can't make your decision for you. I can give you
some information, and you can take it with you. Just call
me and we can schedule you within a few days. The entire
process takes a little over a month, between testing,
mapping, insertion, recovery and observation. Just let me
know."
Although she didn't make an appointment, Beverly's mind
was made up before she left the office.
----
Beverly had the of all Migraines. When Dr. Fangor --
*Carmen* -- had said twelve hours of discomfort, it was
quite the understatement. Twelve hours of hell had been
more like it.
A steel ring had been clamped to her head, and the ring
inserted into a clamp that held her head completely
immobile. They had sedated her, but she'd been awake for
most of it... the pain would not allow her to sleep.
And now, with the clamps removed, she had four huge circles and a pressure headache that made her previous
migraines feel like minor nuisance in comparison. She was
sick, miserable and wanted to die. Literally. Before her
head exploded.
After another hour, and within a space of ten minutes, the
headache lifted and nearly disappeared.
As if on cue, her agent, Randii, walked in. "Hey, kiddo.
You looked like some creature from Planet X when they
brought you in. That ring was totally *weird*. How you
feelin'?"
"Like twice-baked shit potato pie," said Beverly, her
voice hoarse and dry from the ordeal.
"The doctor wants you to stay overnight here. They have
the facilities for it. I happen to agree... but I stopped
by to tell you that if you need anything, anything at all,
just call. I'll only charge half-price."
"Thanks, Randii. Don't worry. I don't *want* to move. Not
for another few lifetimes, anyway. See you tomorrow?"
"Sure thing, kiddo." She gently squeezed her client's hand
and smiled, and then left the room.
*Agents. Blech,* thought Beverly. She laughed a little,
sure in the knowledge that when Randii had mentioned the
price, she wasn't kidding. *What a favor.*
She stopped laughing abruptly as a twinge shot through her
head. She didn't want the giggles to bring back the wall of
pain she'd just escaped.
She wondered what kind of song this would make. Mmph.
Song. *Oh, yeah... Coral and blue in a rainbow tattoo...
Staining my heart with love...*
----
Carmen looked at the 3-D map of Beverly's scalp, plotting
the primary insertion points with a light pen. Hundreds of
tiny dots showed on the monitor, tracking her
progress. She'd been working for hours.
Setting the light pen aside for a moment, she sighed,
happily. *Tedious, but fruitful,* she said to herself.
*I'll have to call Dr. Harrah and thank her for this one.*
She shifted in her chair, opening her legs a bit more for
the kneeling, latex clad woman before her. "Mmmmm, Amy...
you're getting to be *quite* the nasty improviser..."
She felt Amy's fervent response as the pace of her
tireless tonguing increased, slathering her with more
and more wetness and pleasure. So suggestible. So obedient.
*So owned.* She ran her hands through her slave assistant's
short, curly hair, sending waves of mind-melting pleasure
into the slut's brain, opening her even more to the words
of Mistress. *All sex is brain sex...*
"Ohhhh *my*... you are *so* lovely, my little Amy. I
*love* the way that you take on any reality I give you. I
think it's time for your next assignment...
"You live to eat my dripping cunt. To taste it. To
pleasure... mmmm, *yes*... my snatch. Mistress's is
your fucking *life*. What you were *born* to. You aren't
human. You're a new species... *cunnilingus eternum*.
"There is no past. No future. Only Mistress's delicious
cunt and its juices, and your purpose is to make it...
*cum*.
"Oh, and my pretty tongue-puppy? Finger my ass... the way
you *know* I love it..."
Carmen began moaning as the torrential pleasure began to
spread outward from her and asshole and into her
pelvis and belly... the heat making her jerk her neck
involuntarily and the arches of her feet twitch. *So
fucking good...fucking good... yes... licking... fucking...*
She reached over and pressed a key on the keyboard,
beginning the simulation on the monitor.
A wave passed through her scalp and into the back of her
neck as she watched the spots grow inward to the
cerebral cortex of the 3-D image of Beverly Whalen,
intersecting and spreading... captivating...
*controlling*...
Her orgasm began to wash over her, not from her clit but
from the surface of her scalp, through her vision, down her
neck and spine and out through every muscle and bone of her
body, the pleasure-blood soaking every molecule in
overpowering lust, taking the flames higher and higher,
until her entire body was joining in her screams of
passion...
And then it broke over her, a rainbow of violent passion,
showering over and through her, her head slamming against
the chair as her slave went on, relentlessly driving her
climax into the next moment, and the next, and the next...
The unearthly wail of her impassioned throat lit up the
air around her and took her even deeper into desire,
sending another thunderbolt of bliss coursing hotly through
her oil-soaked naked body. Her nipples sent out streamers
of molten fuckheat, like lava from a volcano's core, over
her sensitive, ripened breasts. As she lost sight of
reality, the room washed away in a burning ocean of flaming
tongues and licks...
And in the moment that she came down from her summit,
preparing to ascend again, she focused on the image of Amy,
and then someone else: her next slave, her next lover, her
next thrall... *Beverly... Beverly... Beverly... so
sweet... trusting... so ready to be remade...*
----
Beverly woke up to the sun shining through her window and
felt the smooth, oiled skin of her scalp. Running her hand
over it, she noticed the sensuous feel that had come after
the removal of her last remaining natural hair. Looking in
the mirror, she thought that if she were a bit bolder, this
might be a look for her... but it wasn't something she
could just take on.
The circles left by the clamps were already fading.
She looked less like some creature from a bad science
fiction and more like herself, although the lack of
hair gave her eyes a prominence they had not had before.
*At least I'm not some lump-a-bump,* she thought. She had
to find happy thoughts where she could.
Dr. Fangor knocked and came in. "And how's my most patient this morning?" she asked, smiling broadly.
"Ready to go on, I hope," replied Beverly. "The sooner the
better."
"Good. I have some excellent news. Not only have we mapped
your pores for re-insertion of the new follicles, but you
are anything *but* allergic to the chemicals and the
follicles themselves. It's almost like you were made for
them, and them for you."
"Ooooo, sounds kinda creepy, Carmen," smiled Beverly.
"Not at all. It's just rare to find this strong a match.
If you want, we can perform the procedure as soon as say...
tomorrow."
"Great!" said Beverly, her eyes going wide with
excitement. "What do we have to do?"
"Well, I have to tell you what to expect, and everything
that can go wrong. There will be some initial discomfort,
for about thirty days or so, as the follocles bond to their
new home. They could be rejected, but the chance of that
happening is very slim. So slim, in fact, that you
shouldn't have to worry in the slightest. The worst thing
will be the itch, during which time you may have to be
restrained during sleep..."
Carmen went on and on, describing what was to come. As it
went, Beverly found that she was more and more
enthusiastic, even more than with her first hopes upon
talking to Carmen. She didn't hear one thing that sounded
like she should reconsider.
She also couldn't see under Carmen's lab coat, beneath her
dress, to the dark stain slowly spreading outward from the
doctor's crotch as she talked to and stared at the young,
famous, and soon to be owned, singer.
Carmen was on the verge of orgasm without even trying.
*This is going to be simply divine,* she thought, as she
watch Beverly's excitement grow... excitement that would
soon be about much more than her brand new hair.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Part Two
*i.*
"You're sure about your choice, then?" asked Dr. Fangor,
preparing the syringe that would begin the procedure to
give Beverly her new hair. "Last chance."
"Absolutely. I like being blonde, but the added wave will
be nice. I mean, as long as I have the chance to have what
I always wanted, why not take it? Never mind that I sound
like a blue-hair at the beauty salon," answered Beverly,
rolling her eyes.
"Yes," answered Carmen, "but it's not really the same
thing. This is about... well, your life, really. Besides,
it will only be about an inch and a half long to begin
with, so it will seem much curlier than what you are
imagining, at least at first. You'll have to do the work of
making it look the way you want."
"You mean I'll be kinky, Carmen?" Beverly shot back,
laughing nervously. Carmen laughed with her as she swabbed
Beverly's naked butt cheek with alcohol. "Well, that's
certainly one way to put it.
"Just relax, now. I'm going to give you a shot of demerol
and morphine. It's not enough to put you under, but you'll
be pretty much out of it by the time you get to surgery. We
don't want to put you completely out until we're ready to
start."
Beverly winced slightly as the shot was delivered. "Amy
will be here for you in about forty-five minutes,"
continued Carmen, as she placed the empty syringe in the
"used sharps" container. "By that time, you'll likely be
having a very good time. You won't have a worry in the
world."
"Okay, Frau Fangor!" quipped Beverly.
"Now, now. I *know* you're not feeling it yet. I'll see
you in a little bit. By the way, your agent came by to keep
you company. Shall I send her in on my way out?"
"Please."
Randii peeked around the corner and then came in. "You
look pretty alive this morning, Bev," she said. "Better
than I feel. I'm not used to six a.m."
"Neither am I, Randii... just nervous. Even with the fancy
machinery, it's supposed to take several hours."
They talked for awhile... the usual banter about what was
happening at the studio, album design ideas and scheduling,
and then sat in silence for a bit as the tension finally
took its toll.
Randii was the one who finally broke it. "You want a
prayer or anything?"
"No, of course not. If you want, you can light a..."
Beverly felt a wave of... *something*... pass through her.
"candle..."
Her head felt rubbery and loose and the clock on the wall
*moved* a little. And then the moment was gone. But it left
a trace of itself, making Beverly feel a little more
distant and silly.
"Umm. First bit of the doping up is happening," said
Beverly.
"You okay?"
"Fine." Beverly answered, a little giddy. She giggled.
"Fiiiiine. So fine. Like vintage wine. I want some more,
Randii, where do I sign? On the dotted line?"
"Hmm. Maybe I'll need to get some of that, girl."
"Oh, I'm not that kind," laughed Beverly, as a newer,
stronger wave of bouncy, blissful euphoria swept through
her. She shook her head to clear it a bit.
"Wow, Randii. Make a note. Never let Bev near narcotics. I
think I like this *toooo* much," she sighed, giving up the
fight as the room began to take on an even more rubbery,
dream-like quality.
She looked again at the wavy numbers on the wall clock.
Only twenty-five minutes had passed. She didn't care. This
was too fucking *nice* to care.
Randii was saying something, but Beverly was having a hard
time concentrating. The voice was echoing and watery, and
so she smiled and said "yes," and "uh huh," when it seemed
like she should, and sighed more as she moved further and
further away from reality.
She barely even noticed as they put her on the gurney.
She looked at Amy, and made out the girl's words as they
entered her ears, flowing slowly into her brain. "Ready for
your new 'glory'?" said the smiling, cute, incredible...
floating ... alluring... woman.
"Ready, Freddie, easy peasy," she slurred. She was still
laughing at herself as Randii watched her leave the room.
Pulling her cell phone from her purse, the agent dialed a
number and hit the "send" button. She waited, leaning
against the wall, straightening only as the phone was
answered. "Dr. Harrah? Randii Jenkins... yes, she's going
in now.
"No, she's doing fine. Very happy, in fact.
"Of course. Oh, and Betsy, dear... *Carmen Lesbos Domina*."
Hesitating until she heard the proper response, she
continued, "Mistress says to tell you She's *very* pleased."
Randii held the phone away from her ear and winced as
cries of orgasmic ecstasy loudly sprang from the small
speaker.
"Good girl. Now go. Obey. Serve. Mistress is life."
Randii closed the phone, smiled, and shivered as she ran
her hand back through her long, hair. She didn't need
to cum. Working the plan for Mistress was more than
pleasure, and simple orgasm could no longer measure up. *At
least, until Mistress says differently,* she reflected.
----
Beverly watched as the ceiling went by. She couldn't tell
if it was the ceiling or a strange wall with lights in
it... or if she was leaning or flat. She just let it happen.
She felt everything spin, and heard doors bump open as her
head fell sideways. She was so happy. She looked at the
funny woman in the black rubber top that was staring at
her. Yes. Rubbery. *That's Nancy,* she thought.. She
watched as the woman circled her black shiny nipple through
the... the... whatever it was, and smiled. Nancy was so
happy, too.
She had the funniest thought that nurses shouldn't be
wearing black and looking so horny. She felt hands placing
things on her chest, and heard the beeping of the heart-
thingy, and looked up into lights. There was a woman in a
mask. Carmen. The hair said so. *Said so. Said so.*
"Welcome to my parlor, Beverly," said the black-masked
Vampire-Lady. "You'll be feeling very sleepy in just a
second."
Beverly felt her head falling backward and managed to
slur, "Oh, I see what you..."
"*Beverly.*"
"Beverly."
It slowly dawned on her that that voice meant *her*. She
felt through her disorientation with her eyes closed and
smelled the sanitary chemicals of... *what?*
She opened her eyes and the world spun. She started to sit
up. She had to go to the bathroom.
There was something keeping her from moving. She watched
the curiously slow realization of where she was break open.
*Recovery.* The dull ache over her head enlightened her
further and she smelled a light perfume drift through the
odors of alcohol and industrial sanitizer. *Someone is
holding me down...* she thought, as if it were a brilliant
deduction.
"You need to lie still, Beverly," came the voice, speaking
to her again.
*No,* thought Beverly, *what I need, is to pee.* But there
was no moving, and she didn't have the strength or balance
to assert herself. She relented and lay back, swallowing
dryness.
"Beverly." The voice was more demanding now.
"Try not to move, sweetie. We're going to take you to your
room now. Star treatment, and all that. You did fine. Your
hair looks perfect. Do you need anything? Beverly. Do you
need us to get you anything?"
Beverly tried to say, "A bathroom," but only managed a
muffled sound that was more like a moan.
"Okay, hon. You'll probably fall asleep again, and when
you wake up you'll be back in your own room. Just take it
easy. Easy..."
The voice faded away as Beverly closed her eyes again.
The room was darkly lit when she opened them a moment later.
"Hello, sleepyhead," said Randii. "Five hours I've been
waiting. You'd think I actually care what happens to you."
Beverly smiled, and Randii brought her a cup of water.
Taking a drink, she finally felt something of humanity
returning. *Water. Fuck anything else. Give me water and I
promise I'll be good,* she said inwardly. "Thanks, Randii."
She gave her agent a weak smile.
"The procedure lasted over six hours, and they're telling
me I can't stay so that you can recoup. I'd hang around in
defiance anyway, except they seem to be taking very good
care of you. Better than I could."
"It's fine, Randii. I won't be much company tonight, I
don't think." Beverly took another, longer drink of water.
"I thought I'd mention that Drew asked after you. Sends
his thoughts for a speedy recovery. He says he still misses
you."
"Oh, God. Look, it just didn't work. I wish you could see
my side of things." *Great, talk to me while I'm down, why
dontcha??* she silently added.
"I do see your side, Bev. He's seeing someone, anyway. He
asked me not to tell you, the creep. I promised I
wouldn't... I'm sorry. This is a bad time. Forgive me?"
"Don't be silly -- nothing to forgive. He's a free agent
and so am I, and so is she, I'd guess. He has my blessing,
silly as it is... as if he needed it," said Beverly,
smiling. Inside, though, it still stung. In fact, it stung
to a surprising depth.
She realized suddenly that she had liked Drew's unrequited
love for her. *Well, chalk it up to another painful
neurosis,* she mused, wincing.
Impulsively, Randii leaned over and kissed Beverly on the
forehead. It was a friendly gesture, but it sent a
confusing shiver of arousal through Beverly. "I'll tell the
creep. Get well, Beverly. I've got the studio booked and we
need you back there," joked Randii. "You know..."
"Yeah, I know. If I need anything, you'll only charge half
price."
"No... you've moved up to free status. See you around,
kiddo."
She watched as Randii left the room and the door closed.
*Now what the fuck is that all about?* she thought,
feeling the tingles of pleasure still bouncing around
inside her, mixing strangely with the thought of really,
truly losing Drew, almost making her like the idea. Before
she could think more about it, a wave of dizzy sleepiness
washed over her. *Must be the frigging anesthetic,* she
thought briefly, before falling into a deep, undisturbed
sleep.
----
"Wake up, sleepyhead!" Carmen was smiling at the side of
the bed. "No rest for the wicked! It's time to begin your
follicle activation. Have some breakfast, and then Amy will
wheel you down to the examination room, okay?
"And I guess it's about time you saw the damage." Carmen
reached into her lab coat and pulled out a small hand
mirror. "Would you like me to stay or go while you take a
look?"
"If it's okay, I think I'd like to be alone, Carmen."
"You bet. Just call for me if you need me. I'll be close
by for a few more minutes."
Beverly sat, her eyes closed in anticipation and fear,
gathering her nerve so that she could sate her curiosity.
Steeling herself as best she could, she opened her eyes and
picked up the hand mirror that Carmen had left.
A sob escaped her as she looked at the unfamiliar face in
front of her. It had only been a year, but her mental
picture of herself had gradually changed and there was no
getting around the shock of seeing herself look her age
again.
Curly and short, her new hair covered her head in an
unruly mess. She had forgotten how delightful it was, and
she felt like a child, wanting to play with it, bunch it,
stroke it, brush it... it captivated her.
The feelings rushed into her faster than she could process
them, and she cried, both for joy, and in the release of
the depression that was so much a part of her that she
hadn't even known it was there.
It was one of the more joyous moments in her recent life.
It was time for breakfast.
----
*ii.*
"Welcome," said Carmen. "This is what we call our
'Frankenstein's Lab'. It's where was do the *real* magic of
getting your new hair to grow. Whenever you're ready, climb
up into the chair. Take all the time you need."
Beverly looked at the chair as she stepped forward. It was
like a dentist's chair, with a quilted leather seat and arm
rests, but the headrest had two arching, roundish half-inch
glassy tubes, like "antennae" that reached up and forward
from behind. Once she sat down, it all made a bit more
sense. The "antennae" hinged forward so that they arched
over her head and ended just below her eyes. One sat about
three inches away from her head, the other a little farther
out.
"As I explained before, the hair we've implanted is mostly
dormant. The follicles haven't really begun to do their
work, so at this point, you could say we've given you
little more than an expensive wig," explained Carmen, as
she positioned Beverly's head and set several armatures to
hold it immobile.
"What we're doing now is bringing them 'to life', if you
want to think of it that way. We use electromagnetic fields
and a slight irradiation to accelerate that process. You
may find that your thoughts are hard to collect, or you may
become disoriented, even profoundly so. It's generally not
been uncomfortable for anyone, just mildly amusing, or
confusing, and it will pass fairly soon after we finish the
procedure.
"But after, as the follicles begin to bond as living
tissue, you'll experience anything from tingling to a
fairly intense itch over the next few weeks. It will peak
in just a day, maybe two, but it's probably the most
unfortunate part of the process. By the second or third
day, it will be easily manageable. We, of course, will do
anything we can to make that process more comfortable.
"I know I've told you all this before, but reminding does
seem to help. Are you ready, Beverly?"
Beverly took a deep breath and blew it out. "As I'll ever
be," she answered. She gripped the armrests involuntarily
as a nervous shiver of trepidation passed through her.
"Just relax. Whatever you think or feel, it won't at
all," assured Carmen, as she walked behind a windowed,
protective wall and turned the lights down.
Beverly tensed a bit more as she felt and heard the hum of
the large machines. The little antennae began to slowly
move back and forth over her head, crossing in the middle
and arcing sideways down nearly to her shoulders.
They began to glow brightly underneath with a kind of
blueish tinged light, and the effect reminded her of
windshield wipers moving back and forth through her field
of vision, smearing blue across it. "How *odd*," she
commented.
"That's the EM effect," said Carmen, knowing exactly what
the singer was experiencing.
"You mean it's not just bright lights in the dark?"
"No, and it will become more pronounced. Just do your best
to hold still."
As if the words had caused it, Beverly saw that the blue
"after image" was taking longer and longer to dissipate, as
if it were painting translucent watercolor over her vision.
The door and other equipment in the room were beginning to
look like they had been fingerpainted onto a powder-blue
sheet of paper. She realized she was losing her depth
perception.
"You're sure this isn't permanent aren't you, Carmen?"
Someone was mumbling nonsense. She realized with a vague
shock that it was her own voice.
"I'm really afraid I'll have to ask you not to talk,
Beverly. Your speech centers are being affected, and logic,
too. You might as well relax and enjoy the ride. Don't
worry, the effect will fade when we're done, after a time,"
Carmen reassured.
*After time-a-time-a-time-time-time. Great. Relaxo
boraxo.* Beverly watched as her thoughts flew out of her
brain and into the pit of her stomach. She felt very full,
suddenly. She would have worried about the weirdness of it,
except her cognizance was fast becoming more like a distant
dream she was watching. She realized with fading awareness
the she was totally out of it, and going farther.
Carmen was speaking to her, but she couldn't understand
the bluedoctor's bluevoice. She was only... *Blue. Blue my
love is blue bayou true blue blue is the color of my true
love's hair kablooie ballouuuuu ballouuuuu my
bluetiful balloooooon...*
Beverly arched in unexpected pleasure and induced orgasm,
her eyes wide and insanely dilated, as the stimulated hair
asserted itself, tendrils reaching through the nearly
microscopic holes that had been carefully laser drilled
through her skull during the surgery. They weren't
necessary... but combined with the EM radiation, they took
what was nearly a year-long process down to a matter of a
few short hours.
Carmen, as always, was quite taken by the slack-jawed,
blank face and eyes contrasted against the contorting body
of her subject.
She smiled and spoke calm affirmations to the convulsing
woman, her covered in a sheen of aroused dew as the
monitor before her showed spots of red, slowly swelling and
intersecting through the beautiful singers' brain. The
changes would seal in, and the mind would adjust within a
few days, and Beverly would feel normal again.
It just so happened that what normal *was* would be
changed. Very much so. Permanently.
*Seeing it happening is always so much better,* thought
Carmen, as she dipped her finger to her wetness and brought
the glistening finger up to touch the tip of her pointed
tongue.
She shook her head and let the pleasure wash through
her... again.
A green light came on beside the monitor. Carmen smiled
and leaned over to a microphone, and began to speak the
mantra she had long since memorized. Her voice gently
flowed from speakers in the structure of the
activation chair.
"*My name is Beverly Nicole Whalen. I am twenty-six years
old. I work as a singer and songwriter. I am the sole
property of Doctor Carmen Agnes Fangor. I am whoever and
whatever pleases Her. It is completely natural. It is
completely normal. It has always been. Any inconsistencies
are simply my inability to remember the true past. It is so
simple. I think of Her and know Her and address Her only as
Mistress. Her name is holier than I am worthy to speak,
without Her permission. Her Life is my life. Her Will is my
will. Her Desire is my desire. Her Voice is my guide. Her
Pleasure is my highest purpose... Her softest Whisper, my
obsession...*"
Beverly only arched her back further and moaned loudly.
----
*iii.*
"*Hi, this is Randii Jenkins' voice, speaking to you from
Messageland, where all good things come to those who leave
their name and number at the sound of the A flat.*"
Beverly waited for the beep.
"Randii, where the crap are you? How come you're not
returning my calls? I'm still at the Clinic, but will be
leaving in a week or so, as soon as... it's okay. I need to
talk to you, okay? Thanks. Now *call*, dammit!"
Beverly resisted scratching her head. The itch had pretty
much died down, but until today they'd had to keep her
restrained from time to time, and constantly sedated. The
restraints were for "automatic scratching" in her sleep,
and the sedation was to keep the itching from driving her
crazy.
But that wasn't the part that worried her.
It was what happened when she would sneak a scratch during
the day when no one was looking. At first she thought she
must be imagining it, but there was no doubt about it now.
The movement of her hair felt like someone was licking her
pussy with a vibrating tongue. That was distracting enough,
but...
It was also the most intense, pure pleasure she'd ever
known.
Unbelievably strong. It was like the difference between a
used bicycle and a Rolls Royce. She could feel her clit
pulsing inside every molecule of her body... and she was
finding that she was getting addicted to it.
She would have mentioned it, except she was afraid if she
did, it would get fixed. And that, she decided very
quickly, would be a shame. She could just wait a little
longer until it got to be a nuisance. Then she would tell
them about it.
Tell Mistress about cumming in bed every night just by
rubbing her head on her pillow. *Mistress.* The name had
come up as a funny joke when they restrained her hands, but
now, she was finding she liked it. It just seemed to fit
the brilliant woman so well. In fact, she never even
thought of her as Carmen anymore. She shook her head and
felt a ripple of mind-burning lust move through her.
*Mistress.*
That was another weird thing. She kept thinking about
Mistress, about Amy, about Randii and even Betsy, her
personal physician. It seemed like thinking about them made
the hair thing even *stronger.* And the new, foreign
passions only excited her more.
She would have to tell someone soon.
But not quite yet. Tomorrow maybe. Or maybe next week.
She smiled, thinking about it, rubbing her hair on her
pillow again. *Maybe not at all...*
----
Amy smiled happily as she pushed Beverly down the hallway
to the door that led to the courtyard. A wheelchair wasn't
necessary, but it was a nice touch, and a wonderful gift
for her charge who had done so well and would be leaving
soon.
The door opened and the wind blew through Beverly's
growing hair. Amy smiled softly as she heard the heated
moan escape the woman's lips, unable to stop the seductive
sensation. She had worked very hard to pretend she didn't
see what was happening to Beverly over the last two weeks,
and she was glad that time was coming to an end.
"Are you okay, Beverly?" she asked, concern coating her
voice.
"Ummm yeah... ungh... yeah..." stammered Beverly,
obviously aroused beyond her ability to hide it.
Amy reached forward and ran the fingers of one hand back
through Beverly's hair. She nearly came herself as the
woman's back arched and her passion screamed out in a
wordless spasm of impassioned pleasure.
"Mmm, Beverly, it's even more amazing when someone else
touches it... just like sex... only better... isn't it."
"God yessssss..." moaned Beverly, her mind shocked blindly
into soul-consuming passion by the blast of heat and
pleasure that tore through her body in a hurricane of
voracious lust.
"This is how you always dreamed it would be. *Isn't it.*"
Beverly stiffened as the conflict rose in her. She was
aroused beyond anything she'd ever felt... it was craving
like a junkie for heroin... or more... but she knew she'd
never wanted... a woman... she'd always wanted the... other
sex... other... *what is it called? I've always wanted...
oh yes... a WOMAN... not a... uh... oh, fuck...*
She felt the connections in her mind snapping loose, one
after the other, as the dominoes fell and laid her mind
open, a gorge to be shaped by the waters of... *Mistress...
yessss... that's it... Mistress...*
Amy watched Beverly fight. She was honored by such a noble
effort, even though it was in vain. The young, mindfucked
nurse couldn't help writhing in her clothes herself,
knowing the inevitable outcome. This was Mistress's
particular delicious torture, this riding of the conflict,
like a rogue lover, making even the grinding confusion an
instrument of even greater surrender and pleasure.
Finally, Amy stepped in front of Beverly, knelt and held
the drooling woman's face in her hands, and looked into the
wild, desperate eyes that were, now, so much like her own.
"Shhhh Beverly. Obey. Shhhh. Look at me. Look at my eyes.
Amy will help. Amy will make it better for you. *Obey*."
Beverly slowly stopped struggling, and stared into the
soft eyes of the nymphet kneeling before her. Her
wide, dilated eyes were still like that of a wild animal, a
look of fear and heated arousal mixing in front of a
delicious backdrop of ultimate surrender.
"*Pluribus Lesbos Eternum*, Beverly."
"*Amor Lesbos*," came her whispered response, her face
transfigured into elegant, glowing passion, her lips wet
with aroused moisture.
Amy watched as Beverly shuddered, and then became still.
Sure that the artist would be quiet now, she walked to the
intercom beside the door.
She looked upon Beverly lovingly, licking her lips in hot,
irristible desire before touching the call button.
"Mistress?"
"Yes, sweetcunt?"
"The new slut has awakened."
"Very good. Bring her to Me. I have some new and wonderful
things to tell her. And you both have wonderful tales to
tell Me with your... *obedient*... tongues."
Amy worked to keep her knees from buckling and her voice
from crying out as Mistress's pleasure swept through her,
more powerful than even the follicles could provide. It
lasted only seconds, but an eternity in Amy's mind.
"Yes, Mistress. sweetcunt obeys."
"And think of a true-name for our new beauty, on your way
here."
"Thank You for the honor Mistress! I already have..."
"And it is...?"
"yonigirl."
"Very good, precious one. yonigirl will do nicely."
Walking back to the now catatonic Beverly, Amy said
casually, "I know what's happening to you, Beverly. I wish
more than anything I could go through it all over again...
feeling the realizations unfold, destiny come alive, all of
the Will of Mistress suddenly springing into my mind and
wiping away the old, useless, *evil* thoughts and beliefs.
Purge, my love, purge and be reborn, as we all have been...
all will be... within the Perfect Mind of Mistress."
Inside the shell of her body, her flesh container, Beverly
was driving herself more into insane, orgasmic, obsessed
devotion with every accepted command, and screaming in
bottomless anguish with every struggle to retain her past
beliefs... a hundred years of instant torture turning her
mind into putty, clay to be molded by Mistress, Mistress
and Her Touch upon Beverly's hair... bringing her back to
the pleasure again... to accept... knowing, perfectly, that
there was no other road to travel.
This was her life. This was her Way.
She, Beverly Nicole Whalen, belonged to... and *would*
belong to... *Mistress.*
*Forever.*
----
*This ends part two out of three of "Follicle." Please
send comments to sara_h2020@yahoo.com. Please include the
name of the about which you are commenting. Thanks!
- sara*
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