Buzzcutfan
A year had passed since Sara’s last traumatic haircut at “Los Chorros Barbershop”. Over this time, she had painstakingly nurtured her hair back to its former glory. It now fell in a cascade of soft, lustrous waves down to her shoulders. She had spent countless hours at a trendy salon, adding subtle highlights and getting it stylishly shaped. Her confidence started to trickle back as the woman she saw in the mirror gradually morphed back into the Sara she knew herself to be.
One sunny afternoon, Sara and Ava found themselves on a tequila tasting tour in Tijuana, Mexico. The atmosphere was lively, the air filled with the sweet scent of ripening agave, and their conversation flowed as smoothly as the tequila. However, Ava’s mood soured when she caught Sara innocently chatting with another woman on the tour. The tension between them escalated, and Ava, in a fit of silent anger, dragged Sara away from the group.
As they navigated the vibrant city streets, Ava’s eyes landed on a nondescript building tucked between the colorful town shops. A weathered signboard reading “Barbería Estrella” hung above its entrance. Ava pulled Sara aside abruptly, a cruel glint in her eyes. With a venomous hiss, she commanded Sara to follow her into the barbershop.
Upon entering, Sara was hit by a wave of anxiety. The strong, familiar smell of hair products and disinfectants brought back haunting memories of her past experiences. The barbershop was cramped and dimly lit. Inside, they found Doña Ana, an elderly woman who was the only barber in the shop. She was in the middle of her lunch when Sara and Ava entered, and she looked up from her meal with a mixture of annoyance and curiosity.
Ava walked over to a faded poster on the wall and pointed at a picture of a young boy sporting a severe flat top haircut, with the sides shaved to the skin. “Dale el número siete,” she told Doña Ana, commanding her to give Sara the number seven haircut.
Sara’s protests fell on deaf ears as Doña Ana firmly took control, her grip strong on Sara’s head. Doña Ana turned on the clippers, and their buzzing filled the small barbershop. She ran the clippers through Sara’s hair, shearing off the long waves in large clumps that fell to the floor, creating a pile of discarded hair around the chair. The sight of her beautiful locks being severed was gut-wrenching.
After reducing Sara’s hair to a rough stubble that felt like sandpaper under her fingertips, Doña Ana turned her attention to the top of Sara’s head. Using a comb and the clippers, she sculpted a short, flat top, leaving Sara with a severe, military-style Flattop .
When the brutal haircut was over, Sara’s reflection in the dusty mirror was unrecognizable. Her beautiful waves were gone, replaced by the severe, military-style flat top. She barely recognized herself, her scalp a stark white against her tanned skin, and the short stubble a cruel reminder of Ava’s control.
Exiting the barbershop, Ava noticed a small store that sold simple jewelry. She briskly took away Sara’s feminine loop earrings and replaced them with a single stud for one ear. “There you go, nice and butch,” she said, a cold smirk playing on her lips.
When they rejoined the tequila tour, the woman who Sara had been chatting with earlier was shocked to see her new look. “What happened?” she asked in disbelief, reaching out to touch the rough stubble on Sara’s head. Ava, relishing the moment, interjected with a cold smile, “Don’t you like her new butch look?”
The sight of Sara with her harsh haircut and red, swollen eyes from crying, dressed in her summer dress amongst the other women in their breezy outfits and long hair, was jarring. The woman’s touch on her buzzed hair sent a shiver down Sara’s spine, reminding her of the loss of her femininity. Another woman, less sympathetic, voiced her shock outright, “Why would you chop off all your beautiful hair? You look like a boy.”
Ava, on the other hand, reveled in the shock and horror on the faces of the other women. She seemed satisfied, her anger subsiding as she took in Sara’s new look. The rest of the day was a blur for Sara. Ava’s satisfaction did nothing to soothe the raw pain of her own loss. She kept touching her shorn locks, each brush of her fingers over her stubble a harsh reminder of Ava’s control.
That night, they checked into a small boutique hotel in Tijuana, the atmosphere a stark contrast to the lively streets they had just left. Their room was modest yet cozy, the decor a mix of vibrant Mexican colors and traditional patterns. The faint smell of citrus lingered in the air, a refreshing contrast to the harsh chemicals from the barbershop.
However, the room’s charm did little to lift Sara’s spirits. She was still reeling from the drastic haircut, her fingers instinctively reaching up to touch the stubble that now covered her scalp. She felt bare, exposed – a complete contrast to the confident woman she was just a few hours ago.
Ava, on the other hand, seemed unfazed. She was busy examining a pair of earrings she had bought from a local shop, her attention completely diverted. Her lack of empathy did not go unnoticed by Sara, and it only added to her growing resentment.
As night fell, they got into bed, the tension between them palpable. Ava was the first to break the silence. “You know, Sara,” she began, her voice devoid of any warmth, “I hope you’ve learned your lesson.”
Sara turned to look at Ava, her eyes welling up with unshed tears. “What lesson would that be?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Ava paused, setting down the earrings to look at Sara. “That you’re not as pretty as you think you are,” she said, her voice sharp and cold. “Not anymore, at least. No one’s going to find you attractive with your new butch look.”
Ava was horny from the day and was turned on by Sara’s new haircut , despite Sara’s sobbing she hugged Sara and they fucked while Ava rubbed Sara’s stubble.
