A Foreign Affair, Chapter One

A Foreign Affair

By Shorngirl

Chapter One, Back In My Place

         I hadn’t been out of the country in years; so long in fact, that I had to renew my passport. A summer vacation was always something to be taken advantage of, I’d maintained.

         I’d been teaching at the local high school for about eleven years, the same one I had graduated from some eighteen years before. After earning my degree from Buffalo State Teachers College, I was pulled back to my small town, mostly due to my mother’s ill health.

         She had passed about five years later, but I was remiss to leave, being established in my position. At that point, I was a tenured member of staff so to leave would have been foolish.

         I had immigrated to the US from Britain when I was thirteen, my parents having divorced and my mother being American. I had been given a choice, due to my age, whether to stay in England with my father or to live with my mother in New York. I’d always been closer to my mother, so the decision was an easy one.

         Life, however, wasn’t easy for me in the small Rochester suburb, especially with my rather thick Cotswold accent. As hard as I tried, I never lost it. I guessed I’d passed the age of lingual plasticity.

         Eventually, I made some friends and became just one of the girls. I’d earned the name Britt, shortened from my advantageously given name of Brittany. Strange how those things just happen, the coincidence not lost on me.

         Now, I was traveling back there, to England, for the first time since leaving all those years ago.  My father had passed away not long after my mother and being an only child, I had only one relative there, a cousin who lived in Cheltenham.

         It was she that I would be staying with, at her insistence. We’d stayed in touch on her terms since I’d left, and she was overjoyed to learn I was coming to visit. Harriet was a few years my elder, being forty years old compared to my own thirty-five. She had always been a bit domineering as I remembered, dictating what activities we would partake of, whenever I had visited. Even through our correspondence over the years, she seemed to maintain a certain hold over me. Despite all that, I felt a strange bond with her.

         I had lived deeper in the hills, in the small village of Painswick. As I remembered, it was somewhat idyllic, with the central church spire and a yard full of yew trees. Each had been carved ornately into shapes that made the place a bit of a tourist trap. To me, it had been home.

         Heathrow was more hectic than I remembered it being, and after having passed through customs I was left to find my way to Cheltenham on my own. Harriet’s motor was a bit less than reliable, apparently, so I chose to lease a car.

         Once I was out of London, I was actually able to take a breath. Learning to keep left was expediently enforced when I inadvertently turned into the oncoming lane of traffic. Don’t even get me started on the roundabouts. Speeding along on the M40, I started to come into my own.

         Cheltenham was nothing like I remembered, with the high street converted into a pedestrian walkway, I was struggling to find my way, even with the onboard navigation. I finally pulled into the small cottage that Harriet had sent me pictures of, just outside of the town.

         “Brittany Wells.” I heard behind me, wrestling with my bag which seemed lodged in the trunk of my Astra.

         “Harriet. How good to see you.” I left the bag and embraced my cousin, who seemed to have aged far better than I.

         “Let me get that for you.” She insisted, tugging once on the thing before having it out and carrying it ahead of us, leading the way. “Welcome back, I suppose is in order.” She mused, turning to look me up and down once she had stowed my bag.

         “Thank you. It’s been a bit of a whirlwind since London.” I admitted, with an exhale.

         “Well, sit down then and I’ll fix you a brew.” She disappeared around the corner into what I assumed was the kitchen. “I’ll set out some cakes. You must be famished after your ordeal.” She chuckled, returning with a plate of what I would have called cookies. I may have clung to the accent, but the vernacular had vanished.

         The tea was strong but tasted wonderful. No one in America could make a decent cup of tea. Harriet sat across from me and smiled. “I can’t believe you’re sitting here in my drawing room.” She mused. “We’re going to have such fun, you and I.”

         “Well, I’m looking forward to it.” I took in the cozy room, decorated with what surely were heirlooms as most everything seemed antique.

         “So, what’s all this, then?” She reached over and tugged at my hair, which hung halfway to my waist. “What are you, thirty-six?”

         “Thirty-five, thank you very much.” I feigned being insulted.

         “Well, you look all of sixteen with that mop. I’m going to have to make an appointment for you to have it seen to.” Harriet imposed, much to my dismay.

         “Harriet, it’s alright. I like my hair this way.” I insisted. I’d always taken great care of my hair, and to have my cousin insist that I cut it was a bit odd.

         “I understand you’re a teacher. Setting an example is always good form, wouldn’t you say?” Harriet proffered, setting her tea down and standing over me. Her hair was rather stark, cut in a spiky pixie that had the slightest shade of violet. If she was taking me to whatever salon she frequented I would be in trouble.

         “Harriet, I’d really rather not.”

         “Nonsense! You’re getting your hair cut, that’s all there is to it, young lady.” A distinct authoritative tone laced her demand, and I suddenly felt like I was right back where I’d been twenty-some years before, under her thumb. She took a breath and sat back down. “Besides which, cousin, how are you ever going to enjoy the sights when you’re dealing with your hair all the time.” Softening her tone, she sipped at her tea.

         Not wanting to offend my cousin and host for the next four weeks, I was forced to succumb to her. “If it means that much to you, cousin.”

         Harriet seemed to change her demeanor, perhaps because the thin edge of the wedge was in. “I’ve set out some clothes for you to wear tomorrow. I hope you’re feeling adventurous.” She grinned.

         “I’ve got a whole suitcase of clothes, Harriet, you didn’t need to do that,” I explained.

         “Of course, you did.” Harriet sighed. “I doubt any of them resemble the outfit I’ll have you in, come morning.”

         “Okay.” Rather than disagree again, I simply nodded.

         “Good. Oh, I do think you are just what I needed, Brittany. You were always so… malleable as a child.” Harriet said, almost gloating.

         I started feeling those same unnerving butterflies in my gut; the same ones that appeared whenever cousin Harriet had her way with me. The crazy part was, I didn’t remember hating it. As a matter of fact, I distinctly remember rubbing myself in my bed after I was safely at home.

         Towards the end, when my parents were at each other’s throats constantly, my visits to cousin Harriet’s place became more frequent. During the short car ride, I remembered feeling almost excited about the subservient role I would have to assume. All of that was rushing back to me in no uncertain terms.

         So, as I slipped into the comfortable bed Harriet had prepared for me, I couldn’t help but feel those same feelings of arousal. She was going to have her way with me, all over again. I was going to submit to her, and this was how my vacation was going to go. Feeling more at ease than I had in years, I drifted off.

         I was awakened with a start as Harriet peeled the comforter away from my body. I wasn’t sure she was prepared to see me naked in her guest bed. I’d always slept in the nude, for as long as I could remember. “Well, well, look at you. Let’s get you in the bath then.” She mused, giving me a pat on the buttocks as I was escorted down the hall.

         To my utter horror and amusement, Harriet insisted upon washing me herself, having drawn the bath beforehand. She painstakingly washed and rinsed my hair, and then had me stand as she soaped up my body, paying special attention to my privates. Of course, that only sent me deeper into whatever submissive space I was finding myself in that morning.

         As my cousin rinsed me with the handheld sprayer, she leaned in close, examining my bush. “Ah, you’ve got grays.”

         “I do not.” I protested.

         “You most certainly do, young lady. There’s only one thing to do now.” She giggled, grasping a razor that she must have planned on using in any event. The grays had only been the excuse to execute her plan.

         “You’re shaving me?” I gasped.

         “Bald as an onion, little lady.” And, before I could object any further, she swiped at my curls, sending a swath of them into the sudsy water lapping at my legs. I stood there, completely subjugated as my own cousin shaved away my pubic hair. I had done this to myself before, and I remembered the circumstances vividly.

It had been Harriet, knowing I was coming of age back then, suggesting that I must have been sprouting those first innocent wisps. “You don’t want to be all hairy down there, now do you?” She had decreed as I left for home one Sunday evening.

I had been so proud of those first sprouts of fur down there, having been deprived of any significant growth on my chest. Still, so strong was my subservience, that even Harriet’s suggestion was enough to send me to the bathroom. A few strokes of my father’s safety razor was all it took to tumble back into prepubescence.

I kept things that way until my move to America and the pressures of fitting in overcame my urge to acquiesce to Harriet. I hadn’t shaved there since.

Now, it was happening all over again; all the more humiliating as it was Harriet herself who was nudging me back into childhood. I was still meagerly endowed, never really fitting into a bra of any sort. “There you are. Not a trace.” She stepped back and smiled. “Did you go home that weekend and shave yourself?”

All the air escaped my lungs with the realization that she remembered as well. I opened my mouth to speak, stammering my response. “Bald as an onion.”

“Well, little Brittany, it seems we’re right back where we left off, and not looking too much different, I dare say.” She tweaked one of my nipples, projecting from a tiny cone of a breast. “No, you’ve not matured a bit, have you?”

Not wanting to lose the weird little high I was on, I managed to answer. “No, Miss Harriet, not a bit.” I shook my head, my damp curls dancing about my shoulders.

“Oh, ho, ho… don’t tempt me, little Britt. I already have a very interesting vacation mapped out for you. But… if that is how you want to play things, then, yes, you may call me Miss Harriet.” My cousin squinted an eye. “Dry off! And, you will put on the clothes I’ve set out, no argument young lady.”

Hearing her descend the stairs I quickly grabbed a towel and dried myself, noting the unfamiliar nakedness between my legs. I ran my fingers over my mons, hairless for the first time in decades, and let out a moan. “What the hell are you doing, Britt?” I mumbled under my breath as I made my way back to the guest room, naked.

The clothes, and I use the term loosely, were a mix of goth and slave leatherette. Would even fit into them? I wasn’t chubby by any means, but I wasn’t exactly svelte either. I thought about calling out to her about the lack of underthings but figured had she wanted me to wear any, they’d be included.

The tight leggings were shiny and bright red, clinging to me like a second skin. Looking in the mirror, they were so slinky that my shaved sex was plainly visible as a camel toe. Fortunately, the plaid ultra-mini almost covered my crotch, almost. The top was a mock lace-up corset in matching red, that emphasized my lack of endowment, pressing anything I did have utterly flat. Then there were the boots.

As I came down the stairs, carefully not catching the stiletto heels on the carpet, Harriet was quick with her approval. “There she is, now.” To my horror, a devastatingly attractive woman of color stood in the galley kitchen next to my cousin. “Brittany, this is my lover, Maddy, but you may call her Miss Madeline, seeing as you want to play that game.”

“Hello, Brittany. I’ve heard so much about you. You’re all Harry has talked about for weeks.” The woman, completely devoid of any hair at all, stood forward extending her hand.

“Miss Madeline.” I cowered, staying in character by kissing her hand rather than shaking it.

“Oh, she is precious.” Maddy mused. “All except for that hair. My goodness.”

I supposed, for a bald woman, my long brown hair must have seemed excessive. Although I tried not to stare, she didn’t seem shaved. I wondered if she suffered from alopecia, as she also lacked any eyebrows that I could see. Her light brown complexion was flawless, making her hairlessness an asset rather than a detriment.

“We’re seeing to that this afternoon, aren’t we little Britt?” Harriet instructed.

“Yes, Miss Harriet.” I mewled, knowing how ridiculous I must look in my outfit. I would have to get used to her being called Harry, but given her appearance, it kind of fit.  Harry and Maddy, I thought. I wasn’t the least bit surprised to learn that Harriet was a lesbian. I’d always considered myself bisexual, although I hadn’t had a partner in years.

Disturbingly, I thought, I’d relegated myself to being somewhat asexual, preferring masturbation to dealing with the hassles of a relationship. It was easier, and for me at least, more fulfilling. Even Harriet had discouraged me from ‘getting involved’ with anyone when she wrote. I’d dabbled in porn, at her suggestion, but short of what I would refer to as an addiction. I considered it a means to an end, rather than an obsession.

“Yes. I’ve made an appointment with Murray for one o’clock. He’ll see to that mop, just as I saw to that thatch of yours this morning.” Harriet chuckled.

“You shaved her, then?” Maddy questioned, raising a non-existent eyebrow and smiling. “Can I see?”

“Show Miss Madeline your quim, little one.” My cousin demanded.

Utterly humiliated, I lifted the abbreviated skirt and skinned down the leatherette until my freshly shaven pussy was on full display. I couldn’t imagine how many shades of red my face was turning at that moment.

“Very smooth, yes, although somewhat unadorned for a submissive, wouldn’t you agree?” Madeline smirked.

“Shush, now. You’ll spoil the surprise.” Harriet grinned, indicating I should cover up.

I suddenly realized what they were talking about, and very nearly spoke out of turn. Having my pussy turned into a pincushion or, God forbid a canvas for some ink-happy tattooist, was certainly not on the agenda. Then again, neither was having my hair lopped off, or wearing an outfit better suited for an S&M club. I was quickly sinking into my cousin’s trap, and there was nothing I could do about it.

***

         One O’clock rolled around way too quickly, but not before ‘Harry and Maddy’ had shown me off to a few of their friends at a local coffee spot on the Promenade. This was after they paraded me through Cavendish House looking for a suitable bow for me to wear in my hair. The gesture seemed a bit defeatist, seeing as it was all coming off, according to Maddy, who had some specific plans for my hairstyle. Perhaps that was the point.

         Murray was waiting for us as we walked through the doors to the salon on the High Street. I was getting numb to the looks and stares and even the occasional comments thrown my way, as we walked through the heart of Cheltenham. Not to say it wasn’t having an effect, as the juice-slicked plastic between my legs was stuck to my hairless sex all the more plainly.

         “So, this is your cousin from America?” Murray questioned.

         “She’s actually British, Murray. Born right here in Cheltenham. She’s just been hiding from me.” Harriet accused.

         “Oh, I’d say she’s still hiding.” Murray lifted my hair and shook his head. “Please tell me we’re doing something fun.”

         “Maddy has something in mind, don’t you dear?” My cousin sighed, handing me over to her lover and whatever she might be imagining. Somehow, having a bald woman dictate my hairstyle was a bit daunting.

         “Yes, indeed, Murray. Warm up those clippers of yours.” She ran a hand over her slick pate and then through my billowing tresses, removing the bow she had only just placed there.

         My heart sank as Murray guided me into his chair and surrounded me with his cape. It was really happening. “Do tell, Maddy.” Murray urged.

         “Let’s start with a number four all over, then I’ll have time to think as I see the shape of her skull,” Madeline said, excitedly. “Ready for your skinning, little Britt?”

         My heart was racing so fast that I thought I might actually pass out. I looked up at the bald beauty towering over me and then at Murray who was poised with his clippers humming. Nodding, I gave in to the humiliation.

         Murray wasted no time, running the clippers right down the middle of my head. My hair cascaded over the cape and onto the tiled floor unceremoniously, as each pass revealed more and more of my head. As I looked into the mirror I was shocked by my now stubbled crown, my jet white scalp appearing plainly beneath the light brown buzz that was unforgivably thin.

         At the same time, I noticed I was the center of attention in the shop, all eyes seemingly there to witness my shearing. The humiliation was as enthralling as it was intense. I felt myself slipping into a state of arousal that would have me in deep trouble if I didn’t throttle it at once. Taking a deep breath, I sat taller in the chair as Murray attacked the back and sides.

         Madeline and my cousin had taken a seat nearby, leaving me on my own to deal with what was happening. I had managed to control the orgasm that had been threatening to erupt right there in Murray’s chair. I hadn’t quelled the little demon that fed my lust for submission, however. Pushing my head into the clippers as they cleared the hair around my ears, I was starting to understand.

         “I think she likes this, Maddy. What to do?” Murray mused as he finished up on my nape, making long sweeping passes until the last of my glorious hair was dead and gone on the floor. “There. Number four all over.” He turned the chair towards my betters.

         Maddy walked over and stood behind me, turning the chair toward the mirror so we were both reflected in its surface. She ran her hands over my bristled crop and smiled, knowingly. “Bleach it white, and shave the top off,” she mused, “… then she’ll look the part.”

         Horrified, I looked back at Madeline, our eyes locking for a moment. Then, surprising even myself, I dipped my gaze, submitting to her fully. I felt any willpower I once had fade in that moment, knowing that I was right back where I was at thirteen; unable and unwilling to resist.

         Murray spread the vile-smelling paste over my remaining hair, and I was forced to watch as any and all color quickly faded under the wickedly powerful bleach. I was wobbly on my heels as Murray guided me to the sink, washing the foam and my identity down the drain.

         The woman staring back at me in the mirror was strangely exotic, the crewcut covering that scarcely covered my skull was almost invisible it was so white. “Are you sure, Maddy?” Murray asked. “She looks hot like this.”

         “We don’t want hot. We’re going for ‘slave drone’.” Harriet joined.

         “Okay.” Murray sighed, knowing what he was about to do screamed in the face of style and bordered on ugly.

         I knew it too. I cringed as the bare metal of the clippers peeled away the top of my head, strip after strip until it looked like a bizarre inverted mohawk. Some insane version of male pattern baldness. Were it not for my feminine features I could be mistaken for a balding old man. Murray spread lather over what he had just tonsured and razored away any remaining stubble that might be seen or felt.

         Both Harriet and Madeline stood, walking to the chair and running their fingers over my baldness; the baldness so enhanced by the blonde horseshoe of hair that surrounded it. Disregarding the onlookers, Harriet ran her hand down my front, feeling the slickness of the leatherette as it slid without resistance over my sopping cunt.

         “That’s better, isn’t it little Britt?” One hand on my exposed skull and the other against my sex. She cooed as she sensed my arousal. “I’ve finally got you right where I want you, cousin.”

To be Continued…

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