Sarah Comes Back For More

Part 1 (Steve & Sarah Pays A Heavy Price) here. 

Sarah Sanders was no longer the brunette beauty she once was. Instead, the ‘Slut’s Special’ Bowl Cut given by the barber Mike was her new identity. After the fateful day, she had gone through the various stages of grief of losing her hair, her identity.

She had refused to look into the mirror for the first few days, and then lashed out at her husband for putting her in that position. By the third week, when the stubble began to grow, she began to hope. Still, the hair was nowhere near socially acceptable, but eventually, she began to make her peace with it.

And that was when the real trouble started.

Sarah was having wet dreams of the most humiliating moment of her life.

“If you let someone else cut your hair, I will know. And I will find you and make you pay for every inch of the hair lost.”

The words droned inside her head, no matter how much she wanted to forget.

“And if you fight me, I will show you exactly what I do to bad girls.”

Sarah vividly remembered the moment when Mike stripped her of the dress and then her underwear. His rough, masculine touch lingered all over her skin, the way he teased her when he brought the scissors between her legs and snipped off her panties. Her brassiere received the same fate, followed by the cold steel grazing over her stiff nipples.

She would close her eyes, and the memory would flood back. The cold scrape of the clippers against her scalp, the soft locks sliding down her naked breasts, the terrifying certainty that there was no stopping what had already begun. Her stomach would tighten, her pulse would quicken, and her breath would catch in a way she couldn’t explain.

It felt wrong.

Every instinct told her the experience had been traumatic, a profound loss of control and identity. She had been shorn against her wishes, stripped by a stranger and threatened with a dark promise.

Yet buried beneath that fear was something else—an involuntary spark that horrified her precisely because it existed. The helplessness. The absolute surrender. The irreversible moment when she realised there would be no mercy.

The contradiction gnawed at her. She mourned her hair with genuine grief, but the emotional charge of that day lingered in her body in ways she couldn’t reconcile. It wasn’t a desire for the haircut itself, nor did it erase the humiliation she had endured. If anything, the fear had fused with something darker, leaving behind a knot of emotions she couldn’t untangle.

She wondered if there was something broken inside her.

It had been almost a month, and Sarah knew with all certainty that she would never be crossing that street, and yet…yet she found herself parking the car a few blocks away from Mike’s Barbershop.

“I spank the fight right out of them, until they are nice and obedient for my clippers. I will make you beg in ways for my razor, and you will bow your head while I shave you.”

The voice buzzed inside her head again.

The night before, when her husband tried to make love to her, Sarah had cried out another man’s name.

Mike’s.

For Steve, it was bewildering. But for Sarah, it was a revelation. Somehow, the memory of the barber had become tangled with something deep inside her mind—something she neither understood nor wished to acknowledge.

And the very next day, she found herself walking straight toward her own undoing.

XXX

Sarah lingered outside for a few seconds before finally stepping into the shop. The moment she crossed the threshold, a knot tightened in her stomach.

Unlike her last visit, the barbershop was busy. Both chairs were occupied, with two barbers working steadily through their clients. She didn’t recognize the second barber, but the instant Mike looked up and spotted her, a known smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

She quietly slipped onto the waiting bench, acutely aware of the curious glances drifting her way. Whether they were staring because of the overgrown, uneven bowl cut she still wore or simply because she was a woman sitting inside a traditional barbershop, she couldn’t tell. Perhaps it was both.

She had rehearsed this conversation countless times over the past week, turning every possible exchange over in her mind. Yet now that she was here, every carefully chosen word seemed to have abandoned her.

So, she waited.

One customer after another settled into the chair, disappeared beneath the cape, and emerged looking almost unrecognisable. Every haircut was different, yet they all seemed to arrive at the same destination—short, clipped close to the scalp, the sides and back faded high until there was barely any hair left.

“This is so much better,” Mike declared with the certainty of someone whose opinion wasn’t meant to be questioned.

Sarah knew that feeling all too well. The helplessness. The silent regret. The strange inability to object until it was already too late.

Watching the fallen locks collect around the chair reminded her exactly why she had come back. It was the same pull that had haunted her all week, drawing her to this place despite every instinct telling her to stay away.

“Sarah, come here,” Mike called, pulling her from her thoughts. She watched as he turned the barber’s chair toward her with effortless authority before tapping the leather seat, inviting her closer.

Almost hypnotised, she followed his command and stepped into the chair. The moment she settled into it, he spun it toward the mirror. A slow, confident smile curved his lips as he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper.

“I knew I’d have you sitting in my chair sooner or later.”

Sarah’s fingers curled tightly around the armrests. But the moment he draped the white-striped cape around her shoulders and fastened it snugly beneath her chin, panic surged through her. Her instincts took over. She immediately tore the cape loose and sprang from the chair.

Every eye in the shop turned toward her. The men waiting on the bench stared openly, while the barber working in the other chair paused mid-motion. Mike merely raised an eyebrow, watching her with an unsettling calm.

“Look, I’m sorry,” Sarah stammered, struggling to steady her voice. “This was a terrible idea. I should probably leave.”

She had barely turned when a strong hand closed around her arm and pulled her sharply back. Her eyes lifted to meet Mike’s. His expression was cold and unwavering, devoid of anger or warmth. There was something unyielding in his gaze, something that made resistance feel futile.

He drew her closer, his voice a low rasp beside her ear. “Didn’t I warn you what happens to bad girls when they fight me?”

Sarah opened her mouth to argue, but the words vanished when he turned toward the curious onlookers and smiled.

“I think she needs a little convincing.”

With that, he pulled her into the back of the barbershop until they were alone. Sarah’s heart was hammering against her ribs. Provoking Mike was the last of her intentions.

He trapped her against a wall, caging her with his arms. “I knew you’d want the bad girl treatment someday. Just like I knew your hair was mine to claim.”

He quickly turned her around and bent her over a nearby table. Sarah had barely found her balance when she felt the hem of her summer dress being pulled up. She was about to get up when a sharp smack rang against her bottom. “Don’t you dare move,” he ordered in a steely tone. “And spread your legs.”

Sarah did as ordered, and Mike wasted no time in flipping up her dress to expose her back. Her panties were crudely pulled down, bunching down her ankles.

“I knew, deep down, you were a bad girl,” he murmured, leaning over her back. “A bad girl who likes a sharp razor against her scalp and a red ass.” One of his hands smooth over her naked globes, kneading and squeezing as she fought a whimper. He rubbed a finger over her sex, over the wet layer coating on her outer lips, over the throbbing clit that begged for a release, and wantonly pushed against his hands.

Mike withdrew his hand and spanked her ass, watching the flesh bounce. Sarah had no choice but to yelp at the sudden blow, and then heard the unmistakable sound of his belt being released from the loops.

She held her breath in anticipation, half in fear of what was in store for her, and half hoping he’d make good on his dirty promise of a spanking. And he did not disappoint. Mike doubled the belt and raised his arm, aiming right over the tops of her ass cheeks with a resounding ‘whack’.

Sarah shrieked a cry, and then some, with the whacks getting harder and faster. Her ass was blooming pink, turning redder with the strikes.

“You could have sat in the chair like a good girl,” he said, followed by a crack against her sit spot. “And receive a nice, respectable crop.” ‘Whack’ “But, I guess, you don’t like it, my little slut.” ‘Whack’ “You want to be punished like a bad girl.” ‘Whack’

Sarah gasped, shaking her head no, but her body spoke otherwise. A shameful wet trail trickled from between her legs.

The belt lashed against her bottom until it was bright red, and then Mike ran an appreciative hand over the punished skin, making her moan in debased pleasure.

“Are you ready to receive your haircut?” he asked, his fingers probing over the crinkled whorl on her anal opening.

Sarah immediately arched in alert. She had never been touched there, and now, she was at his mercy. She nodded her head quickly, hoping he’d leave that hole alone.

Mike understood and smiled. “Good. Then I’d save this tight little hole for another day.” He let her up on her feet, as she quickly adjusted the hem of her dress and was about to pull up her underwear when he stopped her.

“Nope. That stays where it is. You will walk back to the chair like this,” he said.

Sarah’s mouth fell open in disbelief. She was positive the men outside had heard it all—the moans, the shriek and the belting. And now, she had to wear the shame, too?

“Move!” He nudged her and then added, “Unless you want another round?”

Sarah whimpered, instinctively touching her sore ass cheeks and started to waddle-walk back into the shop again with the underwear pooled between her ankles. And even though she kept her head down, she heard the snickers and chuckles from those men in the waiting bench. Even the other barber was grinning from ear to ear, knowing full well what had happened in that room.

Her cheeks blushed in shame, and it seemed the humiliation fueled her desires even more. If that aching ass was not bad enough, her sex was oddly aroused. The silence in the room stretched thin, thick with the weight of her exposed vulnerability and the undeniable shift in the air. She sat down with a wince, feeling the tender ass cheeks rubbing against the leather seat.

This time, Sarah was not given a cape. Instead, Mike started to drench her hair rather aggressively. Long, masculine fingers plunged into her overgrown crop, scrunching and squeezing the strands as water sprayed over them. There was nothing gentle about the way he handled it.

Every few seconds, he seized her head and shifted it sharply from one side to the other, tilting it forward and then back, and there was something strangely vulnerable about being manhandled that way.

Sarah tried to wipe the water droplets trickling down her neck when the barber grabbed a fistful of her hair on top and stopped her. “Keep your head straight. I’m not asking twice,” he barked.

He grabbed the scissors and sliced a random length, throwing it into her lap. “You have no need for all this hair anymore.”

As the minutes passed, the pile steadily grew, each new section he seized, hacked away, and tossed into her lap adding to the mound. And to add salt to her injury, every onlooker took a special interest in her haircut now. Perhaps it was erotic for those men to watch her getting a shameful, short haircut by a barber with her panties pooled at her feet. It was turning an already humiliating situation into something far more overwhelming. She could feel their attention pressing down on her almost as heavily as the authority controlling her.

The harsh, chopping suddenly stopped as the barber swept his hand over the short, jagged remains of her hair, feeling the uneven lengths beneath his fingers. Then, loud enough for everyone gathered around, he asked, “So, what do you think I should do with you?”

Sarah trembled beneath his hand. When she failed to answer, his fingers tightened in her hair, and he gave her head a sharp, warning tug.

“Whatever you decide,” she mumbled.

Another tug, this time, straining her neck. “Louder, girl. I did not hear you.”

She swallowed, letting the searing shame wash over her. “Whatever you decide for my hair.”

A warm heat pooled between her legs, forcing her thighs to rub together and her toes to curl. She kept her head hanging, eyes set over the severed locks in her lap, and yet her body was betraying her in more ways than one.

And Mike knew it. He grabbed one of her breasts, giving a meaningful squeeze. “I don’t think you are being very respectful to me. How do you address me?”

Sarah was shocked for a moment, before being flooded with an odd sense of eroticism. She realised what he wanted to hear, and quickly complied. “Whatever you decide for my hair, Sir.”

She could hear those snickers and leering laughs as the barber released her before pinching her nipple and making her moan. “That’s better. Remember this the next time.”

He moved on to grab the clippers and ordered, “Chin down. If you even dare to take a peek, you will not leave this chair with a single hair on your head.” And then he bent down to murmur in her ears, “And I mean it. No eyebrows, no lashes and no curls between your legs.”

Sarah quickly obeyed, bowing her head as low as she could. The barber’s heavy hand pressed down on her head as the clippers began their work. They moved over her nape, climbed across the occipital bone, and continued toward the crown before making another pass. Each stroke exposed more of her pale scalp as the hair fell away.

The clippers then moved to the sides. He shaved them higher, reaching well up toward her temples. Sarah wondered if he intended to leave any hair at all. The sharper her sense of humiliation became, the more intensely she felt every eye on her. She was mortified by her own helplessness, yet a forbidden spark of excitement threaded through the embarrassment.

Soon enough, the clippers were exchanged for scissors, as he would comb whatever little hair was on top and snip it. The shorn strands covered her shoulders, her lap and all over the floor. And just when she thought it would be over, the clippers were applied once again.

Mike deliberately ran the clippers over her back and sides, making her acutely aware of her baldheadedness. “Sit up and look straight,” he ordered, making her face the audience.

The men were undoubtedly hard, as evidenced by the dents in their pants. One of them had his hand over the erection, squeezing and palming for relief.

“If you move an inch, I’d make you pay,” Mike warned her before grabbing a different set of clippers.

Sarah let out a soft whimper like a submissive slave. The clipper ran directly over her crown, carving a stark, shaved path through her top. The vibration did something to her, intensifying her rising heat. She knew the disaster being done to her hair, the defilement of her femininity, yet she was powerless to do anything. Just like she was powerless to defend when the other barber joined Mike.

“You got to razor shave that landing strip and make it wider,” he suggested with a grin.

“You think?” Mike asked.

“Hell yeah, man.” He then looked down at her. “What do you think, sugar?”

Sarah was on the verge of crying. “I don’t want to be bald,” she begged, even though she knew she had no control. Even if she were stripped naked like last time and given a bald head, she’d still come all over the chair.

“I like it when she begs,” the barber laughed, and plunged a hand inside her dress. Sarah had almost recoiled before being held in place with a hand on her freshly shaved nape.

Mike noticed her blooming embarrassment at being groped by another man, and her nipples were pulled taut. So, he gleefully resumed carving the most brutal and masculine version of a horseshoe on her head while Sarah moaned helplessly in the chair. She was teetering on the edge of her orgasm when the second barber let go of her breasts and put his hand between her legs.

Sarah jumped in the chair and was admonished by Mike immediately. “Did I ask you to move?” he asked, twisting her ear like an errant boy’s.

“I am sorry, Sir,” she replied meekly.

“I don’t care where his hands are. You will sit still and take it. Take it like a good girl, just like you are letting me take your useless hair,” he said, releasing her ears.

Mike resumed his work, snipping more of the length until a horseshoe shadow was formed on her head while the barber plunged a finger into her slick channel. Sarah was positive that the men could see her pussy as well, and she could do very little to hide it. Perhaps the abject display turned her on even more.

She fought to remain unmoved, and between the hot lather being applied on her head and the rough fingering of her pussy and sore ass, it was a task she knew she would fail. Mike would often manoeuvre her head to the sides of his liking, pulling the skin taut and razoring the area until it was smooth. The slow rasping of the blade was more intense than the last time she had remembered. And it was the same sensation that she dreamt of for the past few weeks, the very temptation that brought her back here, even knowing she’d receive a haircut beyond womanlike.

Unable to contain herself, Sarah came shaking in the chair with her hips bucking as a tremor of forbidden thrill passed down her spine. Two fingers plunged inside her sopping wet pussy, a thumb over her swollen clit drove her to the point her vision blurred at the pleasure.

Sarah slowly returned, knowing every man in that barbershop was an audience of her degradation. Mike was done with the first round of shaving, rubbing and checking every inch of her exposed skin.

“Give her a second shave, Mike. Your little slut loves the razor,” laughed the second barber.

“Perhaps, I will.”

The second shave was slower than the first, forcing Sarah to sit through every deliberate pass. When he finally turned the chair towards the mirror, she was confronted with an image she struggled to accept. Her back and sides were shaved almost to the skin, exposing a stark expanse of scalp, while a hard U-shaped ring of hair remained around her crown. She barely recognized herself.

A small whimper escaped her as she stared at the reflection. Her fingers rose hesitantly to the shaved surface, brushing over the exposed scalp and the stark strip left behind.

“You could have sat down nicely and let me cut your hair. I would have given you a lovely pixie, with short, wispy bangs,” Mike whispered down to her. “But I think you would not have liked that. Isn’t it?”

Sarah responded with a small, pained cry.

“I think you wanted this. You wanted to sit in my chair with a sore ass and let me take your hair. All of your fucking hair.” He grabbed her exposed ears with both hands, turning her head from side to side.

“I could have shaved your head, given you the cue ball look, you know. But it would have been a clean look.”

He rubbed the horseshoe on her head, emphasising. “But this is better, so much better. You’d look at yourself every day, and you’d know that you are only allowed to keep this much hair because I have allowed it. Your hair is mine to decide. Is that understood?”

“Yes,” Sarah croaked. “Yes, Sir.”

“You will move in with me.” Sarah’s eyes widened in surprise. “You will strip off your clothes and sit with your legs spread, and I will shave you bare down there as well—every fucking inch below your neck. And then I will fuck you senseless.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“And every week, I will fix the horseshoe. In this barbershop. With everyone watching. They’d watch me shave your head, and they’d know who fucking owns you.”

“Yes, Sir.”