Urchin

Urchin

 

By Shorngirl

 

Trigger warning! This story contains brief scenes depicting homelessness and some consequences thereof. If those depictions may bother you, please enjoy elsewhere. Claire

 

         I had always been a strange sort. I never fit in, never really made any friends to speak of. A loner. It wasn’t as though I was unattractive; my brother Mark always said that if I wasn’t his sister… well, take it from there. Perhaps it was the fact that I just failed at any sort of relationship. Miss Alexander always told me my interpersonal skillset was nonexistent.

         My parents sent me for testing, you know, the usual fare, autism, psych issues, and so on. Everything came back as normal. I was simply shy and awkward. I remember one girl in class saying that I was an ‘Aspie’ like her. We never hit it off.

         And so, I went away to college, and managed to do reasonably well at it, having taken away a two-year degree in, well… general studies. I know, what a waste of time and money, and I couldn’t have agreed with you more, to be fair. It got me nowhere.

         Frustrated with living at home and sick of my parents’ nagging to get a job, I moved out. Not that I had anywhere to go, I didn’t. It was foolhardy and short-sighted, but then again, it was the first move I’d made on my own, however ridiculous.

         I spent the first night on the street. I cannot recommend that move at all. I never got more than a few winks, and I spent the entire night frightened that something might happen to me. There was a shelter for women in the next town, so I managed to get there before all the beds had been filled.

         It was a ragtag operation at best, but at least I had a roof over my head and was reasonably safe. Three nights later, I was convinced that the whole thing was a mistake. Despite having been scrupulously clean and showered in the morning, I think I managed to pick up a case of nits. The itching was annoying, and it wasn’t just my head.

         I had almost nothing in the way of money by then, but returning home with a case of lice wasn’t on. That was when I spotted this little barbershop nestled into a dark, narrow lane. It was extreme, but I knew that the best way to get rid of nits was to shave.

         A youngish-looking man was relaxing in the single chair, his feet propped up on the footrest. When I slipped inside, he gave me a studied look. “What’s up, luv?” He asked, gliding to his feet in a single motion.

         I ran my fingers through my shoulder-length hair and winced. “I think I have nits,” I admitted freely, without consideration for his reaction.

He walked closer, seemingly unafraid of catching the things, and looked closely at my centre part. “Yes, you do, dearie.” He raised an eyebrow, considering me for a moment. “We can do one of two things. We can treat your hair and then comb out the nits, but with hair as long as yours, it would be prohibitively expensive.

“What else?” Of course, I knew what else, but I wanted to hear him say it to confirm the inevitable.

“I shave the lot, and be rid of them for good. No hair, no nits.” He announced.

“How much would that be?” I asked, feeling my pockets for the change I still had jingling about.

“How’s ten quid?” He proposed.

I emptied my pocket, noting about four quid in change. “Three pounds seventy?” I returned after counting it.

“What’s going on with you, girlie. No fixed abode, then?” He presumed, correctly.

“I’ve been at the shelter,” I admitted.

“I see, hence the nits.” He mused, almost jokingly.

“What if I offered you a place to stay…” He hesitated, “… in exchange for some… services rendered?”

If he was proposing sex for a roof over my head, it wasn’t anything I’d ever have considered. Maybe it was all a bit more innocent, like a housekeeper or something? I may have been withdrawn, but I wasn’t naïve. He wasn’t overly attractive, but at least he wasn’t a lecher if he was proposing something sexual.

“What if I said yes?” I managed after a moment.

“Whatever it is, it can hardly be worse than your present state, yes?” He offered.

He may have been right, and I tried to imagine just what he might have in mind for me, considering I’d be bald. I wouldn’t be one to impress, as it were. I took a deep breath after considering any viable alternatives and blew it out. “Accept.”

The one-word answer was enough to bring an overjoyed expression to his face. “This won’t hurt, physically, at least.” He said, nervously, as he pulled the blinds and locked the door to the shop.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“If we’re getting rid of the lice, there’s a bit more to it than shaving your head.” He informed me. “What’s your name, if I may be so bold?”

“Beatrice,” I sighed.  “Everyone calls me Tris.” I quipped.

“Ah, like that flick, um…”

“Divergent,” I filled in, disappointed. Everyone seemed to think that I pulled my nickname from that series, but I’d been Tris since well before that was a thing.

“That’s the one.” He mused, oiling up a set of clippers. They were large, a bit menacing, and missing any sort of guard at all. “Now, get yourself out of those filthy clothes, Tris.” He demanded, as if nothing could be more normal.

“You want me to undress?” I asked, a little shocked.

“If you’ve got ‘em in your hair, they’re in your clothes as well.” He asserted, standing with his arms crossed, waiting.

Very reluctantly, I began stripping out my well-worn clothes. The jacket and shirt were first to go, followed by my gym shoes and socks. Hesitating for a second, I gave in and unsnapped my jeans and lowered them to my ankles, kicking them to the wall. I stood there in my knickers and bra in front of this total stranger who was about to shave off my hair.

“They’re not fussy, darlin’, those nits.” He pointed out. “Almost there, now, come on then.”

Flustered, I unclasped my bra, allowing my small breasts to pop into view. Hooking my thumbs into the waistband, I slithered out of my panties, ashamed by how soiled they appeared. Looking down, I suddenly realized that I was standing there, utterly naked.

At arm’s length, the man took my clothes, all of them, and tossed them into the bin at the rear of the shop. Seeing the alarmed expression on my face, he felt the need to explain. “Your togs were done, Tris. No sense trying to save them.”

“But what will I wear?” I asked, with one arm over my baps and the other hand trying to conceal my well-furred muff.

“We’ll worry about that later. Now, up in the chair with you.” He held out a cape, like some twisted matador, and I figured any covering was better than being totally out there. “On second thought, what’s the point, eh?” Nixing the idea of covering me with the cape, he left me sitting there for a moment while he arranged his kit.

I heard the whir of the machine as it sprang to life behind me. A second later, the cold vibrating blades were perched atop my forehead. Taking in a sharp breath, I gasped as the blades forced their way over the top of my head. He’d turned me toward the mirror so there was no mystery as to what was happening to me.

Two feet of dirty blonde hair slithered by my face and into my lap. It tickled my legs as it came to rest there, only to be joined by another shock of silk. I tried to remember why I was doing this, knowing that as much as I had treasured my hair, it was infested and had to go. That’s what I kept saying in my head as I watched the crown of my head come into view, naked, and white as snow.

Hair seemed to be everywhere now. Caught between my back and chair, over my trembling arms, and slung over my naked feet below. The blades were warmer now, with their task, my ears being carved out and then laid bare, the sides of my head losing their covering as well.

I heard the clippers shut off, and the silence in the shop was almost deafening. I could hear myself breathing heavily as I took in the bald girl in the mirror, fending off the tears that were so close to the surface. I’d never imagined myself like this, as the image sank into my consciousness. It was a strange metamorphosis, like I’d been stripped of a part of me that made me whole. I felt a bit disassembled.

“There, now. You’ve got a nicely shaped head, if there’s any consolation in that.” He assured me. “Now, there’s a broom in the corner there. Sweep all that up and toss it in with the rest. I’ll be right back.”

I watched, almost amused, as he disappeared through a doorway at the rear of the shop. Did he really expect me to sweep up my own hair? What was to stop me from dashing through the front door and into the street? I stood from the chair, contemplating that very thing, when I remembered I was naked. “I’ll just pull my stuff out of the bin and toss it on,” I muttered.

For whatever reason, instead of fishing through the trash, I found myself taking the broom by the handle and pushing it into my severed locks. That decision may have been a turning point; the moment I realized that something inside had shifted.

I dusted what remained of my hair from the chair and swept it all into a neat pile at the middle of the room. The dustpan was overflowing at first as I covered my clothes with my shorn tresses, almost filling the bin to the top at the end. By the time he returned, the shop was spic and span, and I’d taken my place back in the chair.

“I’ll say this, little Tris. I’m half surprised to find you still lurking about. I figured you for a runner. Maybe I was wrong.” He sighed, opening a cutthroat razor he must have retrieved. It seemed old, certainly older than me.

I shouldn’t have been surprised, I suppose, that he intended to shave me to the skin. Then he answered my questions.

“They cling right to the root, I’m afraid, Tris. Something tells me you’ll fancy this a bit better than all that stubble all over your nut.”

Seeing as I was the next thing to bald anyway, I didn’t object, not that it was my place to. He seemed to have the whole thing under wraps. Speaking of him, I had no idea what his name was. “What’s your name?” I asked as he spread the thick lather over my stubbled pate.

“Andrew.” He answered shortly. That was all, no elaborating.

The blade of his razor felt strangely erotic as it bit into the stubble that still clung to my scalp. There was a sort of finality about it, like, that’s all there is, there en’t no more to be had. “It tickles.” I managed, as he slid the deadly sharp blade along my nape, wiping the foam and what remained of my hair onto a towel draped over his arm.

“Do you like it?” He asked, and I saw a glint of curiosity in his eye mine met his in the mirror.

“I don’t hate it.” I sighed as I raised a hand from my naked lap to caress the slippery surface of my head. “It’s so smooth, like glass.” I finally admitted.

He ran a thumb’s worth of the discarded lather across my brow, and I was suddenly taken aback.

“What are you doing there?” I fretted as he raised the blade to the edge of my arched brow.

“We can’t very well leave these, now, can we?” He chortled. “Wouldn’t be proper.”

And so, I watched, a bit horrified, as he stripped away the last vestiges of hair on my bulb of a head. Honestly, that’s what it looked like once they were gone: a lightbulb without a spark. The only hair left was my curly minge, and I caught him eyeing that as he wiped my skull with a sweet-smelling oil.

“It’s gotta go, luv.” He decided, lowering the back of the chair until I was very nearly lying down flat. My efforts to hide myself seemed futile now, as my sex was thrust up into the air.

“This is so embarrassing.” I mewled.

“You’ve been set around my shop naked for the past hour, and you’ve suddenly had an attack of modesty?” Andrew frowned down at me, as I looked up his front from my supine disadvantage. I allowed my hands to fall to my sides, leaving my nether curls and whatever poked out from beneath open to his perusal.

He lifted a smaller set of clippers from the counter, looking like a brass skeleton compared to the monsters he’d used on my head. I could feel the almost silent blades slipping over my mound, struggling only slightly as they bit into my golden fleece. The falling curls tickled as they tumbled between my thighs, gathering in a ball against my rear end.

The situation suddenly felt surreal as this man, whom I’d only just met, had at my pubes with abandon, bound to shave them away as smooth as he’d made my head. And he did just that, reverting to lather and blade; the honed edge of the blade made short work of it. He pulled and pressed, having no regard for my humiliation, at one point laying his fingers within the moistened folds of my quim. I only hoped he hadn’t heard my breathless whimper.

Andrew stepped back, seeming to admire his hard graft, letting a smile cross his face. “There’s a shower upstairs. Why don’t you make use of it, while I clean up a bit.”

It felt a bit odd simply climbing the stairs into what was obviously his apartment, but I did as I was told, finding the bathroom near the end of the long hallway. Once I closed the door, I started feeling a tad less vulnerable. Examining myself in the full-length mirror that adorned the back of the door, I was shocked by how alien I appeared. My utterly hairless form gawked back at me like a stranger, the unforgiving light of the bath only accentuating that effect.

It was an old bath, with claw feet and a wrap-around curtain done up in flowers and polka dots. Having had enough of my appearance, I started the water, deciding on a bath rather than a shower. I managed to convince myself that Andrew wouldn’t care.

The hot water felt amazing, as I hadn’t had the luxury of a bath since well before I’d left home. The soap made my hairless scalp even more slippy, and I amused myself by running my palms over it in a rotating fashion. A bottle of shampoo rested on a narrow shelf, and I chuckled over the fact that I’d not be needing that for some time to come.

I hadn’t bothered to pull the curtain around the bath, so when the door opened without so much as a knock, I instinctively covered myself. He didn’t seem bothered by the fact that I was luxuriating in a half-full tub of hot water. “Feel better, Tris?”

“Much, thank you.” I sighed, still cowering a bit.

“Relax. There’s nothing I haven’t caught an eyeful already.” He smirked, as he allowed his trousers to slip down his legs. Was he really thinking of joining me in the tub? Fully naked, he slipped into the water at the opposite end of the large bath. “Can’t let all this hot water go to waste, now, can we?”

Now, as sheltered as I had been up until then, I couldn’t say I’d never seen a man naked before. I’d lost my virginity during my second year, although I would hardly call it a memorable experience. This, on the other hand, had all the earmarks of something I would not soon forget.

As my experience would account for, he was well endowed, and I think he caught me examining his cock as he sank into the water. “Please tell me you’re not a bloody virgin.” He hoped, leaning forward to wet his hair.

“Um… no, but…”

“Don’t worry, luv. I’m not going to shag you without asking first.” He raised an eyebrow, something I could no longer do convincingly, and lay back against the curved end of the tub.

“How could you possibly find me worth the bother?” I asked, incredulous, wondering if he saw the same creature I had in the mirror a few moments before.

“Here’s the thing, Tris. I have a… thing, for bald women.” Andrew admitted, almost bashfully, if that was even possible.

Even though it sounded a bit pervy to me, I couldn’t get over the idea that he found me attractive, like this. “So, this…” I used both forefingers to point to my gleaming knob, “… turns you on?”

“Not to put too fine a point on it, yes,” Andrew admitted. Almost mockingly, he dispensed a dollop of shampoo in his hand and ran it through his hair.

“Oh, that’s rich.” I seethed. “You work yours into a froth, while I sit here without a strand to my name?” I couldn’t keep the smile from creeping onto my face after I’d feigned being cross with him.

“You’re pruning, Tris. Hop out and dry off, while I rinse this lot.” He insisted.

I tried not to imagine him gawking at me as I worked the towel over my naked body. It only took a few seconds to towel the moisture from my hairless body and head, admitting it was something that I might enjoy about the ‘new me’.

After disappearing for a minute, Andrew handed me a robe matching the one he was wearing. For the first time in hours, I felt comfortable. He led me through into a large sitting room where I was treated to a lager and some nibbles.

“I cannot believe I have a hot, bald girl sitting in nothing but a robe in my parlour.” Andrew laughed. He eyed me for a few minutes and shook his head. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright, And… can I call you Andy?” I asked.

“I prefer Andrew, but if you must, go ahead.” He sighed.

“No, Andrew’s fine. It just seems a bit formal, now.” I mused. “Are you going to have me then?” I asked, almost an invitation. It didn’t take a minute before he was inside and thrusting in and out. He gripped my head with his hands, his long fingers wrapping over the glassy surface like a vise.

He didn’t last long, but his length and girth were such that I couldn’t help but match his coming with an orgasm of my own. As he pulled out, I winced at his absence, certain I was agape for a few seconds.

He suddenly had a worried look on his face, and I managed to figure out why. “Don’t get your knickers in a twist.” Pointing to the small, raised implant in my upper arm.

“I didn’t even think.” He admitted.

“Well, it’s a good thing I did, then.” I giggled. “Actually, my parents made me get it before I left for uni.” The robe that I’d been wearing was now in a bunch on the floor, and I reached down to slip it on. He didn’t stop me, perhaps a bit alarmed over his overt sexual enthusiasm. He did the same, and we sat there without speaking for a few minutes.

Finally, unable to deal with the uneasiness, I broke the silence. “So, what’s this arrangement you have in mind, Andrew?”

“Oh, never mind that. It was a stupid notion I had. Now I’m embarrassed to think about it.” He sighed.

I’d tried to prepare myself for whatever he might have planned. I certainly wasn’t dim when it came to things sexual, even if my direct experience had been limited. It would be humiliating to admit how many times I’d jilled off to images on the internet, comparing myself to a female version of a gooner. “Go on, then.” I insisted.

“You really want to know?” He asked, perking up.

“I think you might be surprised. You can’t shock me, you know.” I mused, certain that I knew what was coming.

“I imagined you as… my slave.” He turned away, ashamed that he’d actually said the words.

“As in, sex slave?” I asked, a smile raising the corner of my mouth. I couldn’t very well admit to it, but I’d had countless orgasms imagining myself tied up and tormented. “Not shocked.” I offered. “See.” Then I tried to imagine just what this bloke might get up to if I actually said yes to his proposal.

“Do you mean you’d actually consider it?” Andrew asked, and he was shocked, I think. “You’d probably better sleep on it, Tris.”

“What, exactly, would you expect of me if I said I would?” I asked, suspiciously.

Then he began rambling through all these scenarios and situations that seemed almost too far-fetched to be plausible, but I had to admit I found some of them arousing. More than some, to be fair. “Alright.”

“Alright? What do you mean… alright.” He seemed flabbergasted. “Alright, you understand, or…”

“Alright, I’ll be your sex slave.” I decided to put him out of his misery.

Some Months Later…

The steel collar around my neck had stopped chafing, my skin having grown used to the weight of it being there. I hadn’t objected when he had the fastening permanently joined. By then, it was as much a part of me as my shaven head or the piercings through my nose and nipples.

I can’t really remember the last time I was permitted to wear clothing, and it may have been that first night in the barbershop. I often question whether the decision I made all those weeks ago was wise, but Andrew had always insisted I could leave any time I wanted.

Now, I had grown so used to my situation that I found it hard to comprehend being anything other than who or what I was. It was the only X-rated barbershop in the city. Although the council gave Andrew grief to begin with, the business was so lucrative that they found it difficult to confront. So, they just let it go on.

He kept me sexually frustrated, and that worked to everyone’s advantage, except my own. He fucked me occasionally, but then, so did anyone willing to pay the premium. As a rule, I was either locked in my cage at the corner of the shop or secured with a chain to the base of the chair. The clientele seemed to enjoy the latter, so that is where I was tonight.

‘The Show’ as I liked to call it, started at 7pm. Anyone who was early enough got to witness my daily shaving in the chair. My scalp had grown so accustomed to the blade that I barely noticed the honed edge as it stripped me back to shiny bald. I enjoyed the feeling, and Andrew seemed to enjoy shaving me, even after all this time. Tonight, there had been five or six regulars enjoying the spectacle.

The truth was, I’d never felt as nurtured or cared for in my life, despite outward appearances. Yes, it was humiliating and even degrading most of the time, but I’d come to enjoy those twinges of perverted indulgence.

As I curled around the base of the chair, I could feel the clippings from the men above as their hair fell on my naked skin. It was arousing knowing they were allowed something that I was utterly denied. Each left with a well-coiffed hairstyle, while I remained chained at their feet, the barber’s urchin.

That may have been the most demeaning thing Andrew had done to me since I became his ‘property’. One of Andrew’s clients was a tattoo artist, and he had traded two premium encounters with me for a tattoo. Of course, it was to be engraved into my scalp, large letters an inch tall spelling out what I was.

I begged him not to do it, but he insisted that should I ever leave and grow back my hair, it would disappear along with my commitment to him. So, I let him do it. It was painful as the tattooist marked me, the ink forever branding me across the back of my skull.

For weeks afterward, and well after I’d paid his debt to the man for his artwork, I was prevented from seeing it. Finally, when it was healed enough to shave it again, he showed me. I felt ashamed to be so marked, but it was closer to the truth than fiction, at least as he knew me.

“Urchin?” I sighed aloud, rubbing the slightly raised letters embossed on my scalp.

“That’s what you were when I found you.” Andrew had said, a general murmur of approval rising from the men who had gathered that evening. And so, I was ‘Urchin’, a creature more than a girl now. At least that’s what everyone thought of me, based on their actions and the way they treated me as I serviced them.

The number of cocks I’d had in my mouth was a numberless blur in my mind, as I knelt between their legs on the perch Andrew had constructed for me. They got their hair styled, and their cocks sucked, all for the price of a night out.

That night would be different, but to say why would give the game away, as it were. One of the men seemed to be paying particular attention to me as I took care of a regular under the cape. The haircut done and my mouth tasting of cum, I slithered away, my chain rattling against the chrome as I took my place on the floor at Andrew’s feet. There was something very familiar about the man as he slipped into the chair.

“Short back and sides, and trim up the beard.” The man requested.

“Any extras?” Andrew asked before he tossed the cape around the man’s shoulders.

“I think I’d like what the last one had.” He said. There was a chuckle from the few men who remained in the chairs to the side. Hearing my cue, I moved up the chair, eyeing the man for the first time close up. I hoped the horror that must have crossed my face was invisible to the man, whom I had not recognised until that very moment. The beard had thrown me; I’d never seen him with a beard. Then again, he’d never seen me without my luxuriously long hair.

Before any more could be explored either by him or me, the cape was draped over us both, and I had no choice but to do what was expected of me. Lowering his zip and opening his jeans, I grasped the sizable member at its base and cursed myself for what I was about to do.

Trying not to think, I slipped my lips along the shaft, allowing it to push past my tonsils and tickle the back of my throat. I heard him enjoying the sensation of my efforts, and I knew he couldn’t possibly know that it was his own sister blowing him. “Your little urchin knows what she’s doing.” He mused, pressing against the back of my head through the cape, the satin running easily over its hairless surface.

“She’s not without skills, my little Tris.” Andrew boasted, completely unaware of what he had innocently divulged. He had used my name before, but this time was going to be different, or so I thought.

I stopped momentarily, waiting for Mark to rip away the cape and see me for who I had become. To my shock and horror, he simply pushed down harder, causing me to gag a bit. “I had a sister named Tris.” He explained. “She went missing a while back, but everyone’s pretty much written her off, you know.”

Having no choice, I finished him, knowing that the copious seed that exploded down my throat was of my own blood and kin. I held him in my mouth until the cut was finished as I’d been instructed to do. Sucking the last of the cum from his flaccid cock, before zipping it all up, it was all as if nothing had happened.

He knew, and he did nothing. I wondered just what he thought of his baby sister after what I’d done; after seeing what I’d become. Slipping out from under the

cape, I took my place at Andrew’s feet and watched as Mark paid him.

         He looked straight at me as he donned his jacket. “Take care of yourself, Tris. I’ll be in again, for sure.” He looked at his hair and then back to Andrew. “Looks good. Could be I’ll spring for the premium package next time.”

         I was left a bit lost after that, the rest of the evening sliding into a blur. The last bloke had enjoyed his premium package, taking me from behind as I knelt on the chair.  Andrew always insisted on them using a condom, but I hadn’t even noticed him putting it on.

         After closing up and ushering me upstairs for my bath, Andrew seemed concerned. “What’s going on with you?” He asked. “You were a dead fish for the last one. I expect you to do a bit better.”

         I wasn’t going to tell him, but it had built to the point that I couldn’t keep it in. “The guy with the beard was my brother,” I admitted, almost tearfully.

         Andrew just stood there as I lowered myself into the hot water. “Well, how the fuck was I supposed to know that?” He asked.

         “When you called me Tris, he knew right away. The thing is, he just pushed me down on his cock that much harder.” I complained.

         “I could just ban him from the shop, Tris, if it bothers you.” Andrew offered. I threw my head back and sank into the water up to my neck, only my bald knob poking through the surface. I grinned, remembering what my brother had always said about wanting me that way.

         “No. Don’t bother. As far as I’m concerned, he’s just another bloke.”

         “I can’t believe he recognised you and didn’t say anything.” Andrew chortled.

         “He did. He said he’s coming back to shag me.” I laughed.

         “Do you want to go?” Andrew asked earnestly. He made a habit of asking me, and I think he feared that one day I might actually take him up on it.

         I thought about it. I did, but I always came to the same conclusion. Where the hell else would I go and have as much fun as I was having there? “No, Andrew, you can relax. I’m not going anywhere.” At least for now.