Hair Fantasy
**Karthik’s Turn**
The old man had already dressed and left. The money was gone with him. Both phones still held the footage—Princy’s face, the hand on his cock, the slow clearing of every part of her body down to bare skin. Karthik had not stopped recording. He set one phone on the table, lens still open, and kept the other in his hand.
Supin had not moved from the wall. Princy was sitting up now, knees drawn in, arms crossed over her chest. Her hair, still full length and heavy, lay across her back and spilled onto the floor around her. The places the razor had touched were smooth and faintly pink. She would not look at either of them.
Karthik spoke first.
“That was the payment he wanted. This part is mine.”
He walked to the bathroom and came back with a pair of scissors, a comb, and the same straight razor the old man had used, wiped clean. He set them on the floor in front of her.
“You remember the first video,” he said. “You sat on the stool and let me put my hands in it. Supin watched. You took the money. Then you both signed the blank paper because he told you it would only be hair. I run the group. I decide what the members pay extra for. Permanent head shave is the highest. They have been waiting for a mallu girl with hair this long who cannot stop it.”
Princy’s head came up. “No.”
“The paper you signed does not say I cannot. It says the session continues until the man is finished and any further conditions he or I add are covered by the same signatures. I added this one after he left. Supin already knows. I told him last week what the real price would be if he kept asking for older men.”
Supin finally spoke. His voice was hoarse. “You said only the body. You said her hair stays.”
“I said what you needed to hear so you would make her sign. Now both of you stay where you are. If either of you touches the razor or the scissors, the videos go to the group tonight with your names and the shop where she works. If you let me finish, only her face and the shave go up. No names.”
He crouched in front of her. The scissors were large, the kind used for thick hair. He lifted a heavy section from the side of her head—the same place he had touched weeks ago on the stool—and closed the blades. The first cut was loud in the quiet room. A long rope of black hair fell across her bare thigh and onto the floor.
Princy made a small sound and reached up. Karthik caught her wrist and pressed it back down.
“Hands on the floor. Same as before. Eyes open. Face toward the phone.”
He cut again, then again, working around her head in thick hanks. The hair that had reached her knees came away in heavy pieces. Some strands clung to her shoulders and chest; others slid down her back and pooled around her hips. She shook once, hard, but did not stand. Supin took one step forward. Karthik looked at him without stopping the scissors.
“Another step and I send the handjob clip first.”
Supin stopped.
When the length was gone, only a short, uneven cap remained, jagged above her ears and at the nape. Karthik set the scissors aside and picked up the razor. He poured a little water from the bowl the old man had left and worked it over her scalp with his fingers, pushing the remaining hair flat. Then he began to shave.
The blade moved in long, steady strokes from forehead to crown, then from the sides upward. Each pass left smooth skin. He tilted her head with one hand when he needed a better angle, the same way the old man had held her knee. The last of the short hair came away in dark smears on the razor. He wiped it clean, shaved the spots he had missed, and finally drew the blade carefully along the hairline and behind her ears until nothing remained.
When he finished he sat back. Princy’s scalp was completely bare, pale and slightly shiny under the ring light. A few tiny nicks marked the places where the skin had been closest to the bone. The mountain of cut hair lay around her on the floor, still wet at the ends from the oil she had used that morning.
Karthik lifted the phone and turned it so the lens took in her face and the bare head together. She did not look away. Her eyes were open, fixed on the camera, exactly as the earlier conditions had required.
“Done,” he said. “Permanent. It will take years to grow back, if she lets it. The group will see the before and the after tonight. Supin can watch it with them if he pays the fee.”
He stood, picked up both phones, and walked toward the door. The cut hair stayed where it had fallen. Princy did not move to cover her head. Supin remained against the wall, staring at the empty space above her ears where the length had been.
**The Following Weeks**
Karthik returned the next Sunday at the same hour. He did not knock. Supin opened the door because the message had said the videos would be sent to the shop owner and to Princy’s mother if the door stayed closed. Princy was in the bedroom. Her scalp had begun to darken with a fine shadow of new growth—short, even, no longer completely smooth. She had kept a scarf tied tight around her head since the first night. When Karthik walked in she was sitting on the edge of the bed, scarf still on, hands in her lap.
“Take it off,” he said. He set the same razor, a fresh bowl, and one phone on the dressing table. “Every week until I decide otherwise. The group pays more for the maintenance clips. They want to see it stay bare.”
Supin stood in the doorway. “She already—”
“The paper still covers it,” Karthik said. “You both signed. I added the weekly term the same night. Refuse once and the full set goes out—handjob, body shave, the head. All of it.”
Princy untied the scarf. The short growth was visible, soft and dark against the skin. Karthik made her sit on the low stool in front of the mirror so she could see. He wet her scalp, worked the water in with his fingers, and began. The razor moved in the same long strokes as before—front to crown, sides upward, careful passes behind the ears and along the nape. The new hair came away easily. It took less time than the first session. When he finished, the scalp was bare again, pale and cool under his palm when he checked for missed spots.
He filmed her face in the mirror, then turned the phone to show the smooth crown. “Same time next week,” he said. “Do not let it grow longer than this. If I arrive and it is thicker, I take extra footage of Supin watching.”
He left the cut hair in the wastebasket and the razor on the table.
The week after was the same. And the week after that. Princy stopped wearing the scarf inside the house because Karthik had said the group liked the shots of her moving through ordinary rooms with nothing on her head. Each Sunday he made her sit, wet the scalp, and shave until the skin was smooth. Sometimes he filmed only the razor and her eyes. Sometimes he made Supin hold the second phone and keep it steady while Karthik worked. The growth never lasted more than six days. By the fourth visit the routine was silent: door, stool, water, blade, the soft scrape, the phone lifted at the end to record the bare head from every angle. Princy no longer reached up when the scissors or razor appeared. She placed her hands on her knees and kept them there until he said she could move.
On the fifth Sunday Karthik arrived with a second razor—smaller, meant for closer work—and a bottle of oil. He told her the oil would keep the skin from drying between visits. He shaved her as usual, then rubbed a thin layer over the entire scalp while the camera watched. His fingers moved slowly from forehead to nape. When he finished he capped the bottle and left it on the table.
“Use it every night,” he said. “I will check. If the skin is rough next week, we start the session with the hand again before the razor. The group has already asked for that clip more than once.”
Supin did not speak. Princy nodded once, eyes on the floor. The phone was still recording when Karthik walked out. The door closed. The bottle of oil stayed where he had set it, next to the razor, waiting for the following Sunday.Princy accepted her fath and she knows she would bald for her remaining days.
