A Fresh Start (Part Two)

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A Fresh Start

Part 2


By Shorngirl



It took me a few minutes before I could turn the key in the ignition. “What the hell just happened?” I gasped in a whisper. I could still smell the arousal on my fingers and rising up from my dampened jeans. How embarrassing, I cowered.

How could I have been so wrong about a person? The barber, whom I thought had been so polite and friendly, turned out to be anything but. I tried to imagine that he had taken advantage of me, but I knew that he was only giving me what I wanted. And his remarks about my being ugly, well, looking in the rearview mirror, he wasn’t lying.

Without my hair, I was nothing, homely, God, even ugly. What a ridiculous discovery at my age. Had my life of being admired by men all been about my long blonde hair? As I looked again at myself, I had to go with, a resounding yes.

I spent the rest of the night fretting over what my new employers would say about my new ‘look’. Of course, the same strange compulsion drove me to masturbate a few more times as I examined the ‘new me’ in the mirror. Jesus, I wouldn’t fuck me, how could I expect any self-respecting man to touch me.

Still, my dreams were filled with visions of Stan, the barber, having at me in any number of humiliating situations. I think at one point he was branding me in a corral or something. That had me sitting straight up in bed, out of breath.

The morning arrived with more feelings of dread, but for whatever reason, my arousal seemed to trump those feelings. Carrying a little of that pent-up sexuality into work might actually push me through whatever lay in store. So, although I wanted to masturbate in the worst way, I resisted.

Pulling into Herd and Tyler Associates, I began to wonder what on earth I had been thinking. This was going to be utterly humiliating. As I walked into the lobby, Marilyn Barr took one look at me, and immediately looked away. I thought for certain that she would be all over me about how inappropriate my hairstyle, or lack thereof, was for my job.

Instead, she simply nodded as I walked by, heading back to my position outside the offices of the namesakes of the firm. How odd. Maybe I wasn’t the first prospective employee who had been overzealous in their eagerness to meet the rather strict dress code.

Looking down, the rest of me fit the bill to the letter. White silk blouse, black pencil skirt, and pantyhose inside of black heels. If it weren’t for my bald head, I would say I was the epitome of professionalism.

As I sat at my desk, I looked down at my plain, shortly trimmed nails. They were a forgotten casualty. In fact, I hadn’t thought about them since I left for the barbers the previous afternoon. I had had long polished nails my whole adult life.

Once again, I was startled by the voice that came from over my left shoulder. “Miss Pierce. You will step into my office, please.”

“Right away, Mr. Herd.” I stood from my desk and followed his direction into one of two club chairs that faced his desk.

“I see you took our restrictions on hairstyles a bit too seriously. There was no need to shave your head, although I do appreciate your enthusiasm if that was indeed what drove your decision.” He raised one eyebrow and I could see that he was examining my head, his eyes just above meeting my own.

Not wanting to admit to what actually drove me to such an act, I nodded. “Yes, Mr. Herd.” I lied. “I wanted to present the most efficient style I could.”

“Well, it certainly will be efficient.” He chuckled.

Over the following hour, he outlined some of my responsibilities, and dictated a few letters that he needed me to send out to multiple recipients. My shorthand was a bit rusty, but it was a skill that quickly came back to me.

He excused me after that, but stopped me as I reached for the door handle. “I really do admire the hairstyle, Miss Pierce. I trust we can count on you to maintain it?”

“If you feel it’s appropriate, Mr. Herd.” I said, a voice screaming from within.

“It’s more than appropriate, Miss Pierce. It demonstrates your dedication to the job, to have made such a sacrifice. I insist on your keeping it.” He waved me out the door with a smile.

After I had taken a seat at my desk, I almost cursed out loud. What in God’s name was I thinking? After I had typed and posted the letters that Mr. Herd had dictated, I was interrupted by Marilyn.

“Miss Pierce? Can you come out to my desk, please?” It didn’t sound like a request.

“Miss Barr?” I approached her desk from the side, but she indicated that I should stand on the other side of it.

“Sucking up, are we?” Marilyn chided. “Were you aware of Mr. Herd’s affinity for short styles?”

“I assumed as much from the rather strict guidelines.” Not wanting to sound trite, but not allowing her to trample over me either.

“You realize, he’s never going to let you grow it back, don’t you?” She warned.

“Mr. Herd did voice his appreciation of the style, yes.” I admitted, freely.

“Well, just so you’re aware of it.” Marilyn eyed me carefully. “I wonder if you have any idea what you’re in for, young lady.”

“However do you mean?” I asked, earnestly.

“You see exactly what I mean, and probably sooner than later. Take your lunch at eleven-thirty. Thirty minutes, Miss Pierce.” Marilyn instructed.

“Yes, Miss Barr.” I walked back to my desk, wondering what she meant by what was in store for me. Several scenarios played out in my head, none of them pretty.

I had yet to see Mr. Tyler, but that was about to change as he came walking down the hall towards me, having just arrived. “You’re the new secretary, I trust?” He asked, hanging his jacket over one of the hangers in the open clothes press beside his door.

“Brooklyn Pierce. Yes.” I stood and waited for him to acknowledge me, but he simply disappeared into his office and closed the door. Nice to meet you too, I grumbled in my head.

A few minutes later, Mr. Tyler reemerged, motioning for me to come into his office. Rather than offer me a seat he had me stand. He was a rather attractive man, more so than Mr. Herd, with sandy blonde hair and a tall lean figure.

“You’re bald.” He stated, not a question. “By choice?”

“Yes, by choice, Mr. Tyler.” I confirmed.

He walked around me, and I could almost feel his eyes burning into my back as he stood behind me. “Take off your clothes.”

“I beg your pardon?” I asked, turning to face him.

“Now I thought I was perfectly clear, Miss Pierce. Remove your clothes.” He leaned back against his desk, waiting for me to comply.

It was right about then that I’d wished I had masturbated that morning. That little edge was working against me, and I slowly began to disrobe. First the blouse, then the skirt until I was standing there in nothing but my bra and panties.

“Continue, Miss Pierce.” He insisted.

My arousal already peeked, I fought against the urge to comply, but lost. I unfastened my bra allowing my 36C breasts to bounce out of the cups and into Mr. Tyler’s full view. Without thinking too much about it, I stripped out of my panties, rolling them down my thighs and kicking them loose from my foot.

“Well, that won’t do at all, Miss Pierce.” He pointed rather embarrassingly at my sex. “Come with me.”

I followed him into a rather luxurious bathroom that was attached to his office. A door on the facing wall indicated that both he and Mr. Herd shared the room.

“You’re not going to…”

“Oh, indeed I am Brooklyn. You’ve done such a lovely job ridding yourself of that mop of blonde hair, how could you overlook something as important as this.” He reached down and tugged at my pubic hair, the sensation causing me to gasp involuntarily. All I could think of was my exhibition at the barber’s the day before, and how this could very well go the same way.

Mr. Tyler led me over to a marble sink, and ran the water, wetting me with warm water, but not being shy about allowing his fingers to split my folds. I grunted with his forward caress, but rather than shy away, I thrust my hips forward to meet his hand.

“What do you have to say about this, Miss Pierce?” He said, flatly.

“I’m sorry.” Not knowing what else to say.

“Sorry for what?” He prompted.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Tyler, for not shaving my pubic hair.” Having said it out loud, the humiliation was too much, and I pressed firmly against his hand.

“Now I’m going to have to do it.” He complained. “Spread your legs.”

And so, I watched in awe as this man divested me of my blonde curls. When he had finished with the front, he had me bend over so he could shave around my sex and ass. Rinsing me afterward, I looked like a six-year-old as his hands repeatedly rubbed my lips back and forth.

To my shock and horror, he brought me to orgasm this way, smiling as he watched my face contort in pleasure. “Oh God, this is so humiliating!” I gasped finally.

“Yes, Brooklyn, it is. But isn’t it a delicious feeling?”

“Oh, please stop. Oh, yes it is. It is!” I admitted ashamedly.

As my shame grew larger than my arousal, I realized that I had done it all over again. A repeat performance. When I came out of the bathroom, Mr. Tyler was on the phone, and he indicated my clothes on the floor in front of his desk. With the same dismissive motion, he excused me. I quickly dressed and left for lunch.

Things carried on the same way for a few more days, Mr. Herd being somewhat professional, and down to business, and Mr. Tyler having his way with me in almost every conceivable way.

Saturday had rolled around, and I felt as though I should probably uphold my promise to Mr. Herd. My hair had grown out into a buzzcut, and not nearly as sleek looking as it had been that first day.

I thought about going to a different barbershop for the upkeep, but something drew me back to Stan and the little place in the strip plaza. Thinking about the show I had put on the last time I was there, I shuddered over the comments he made afterward. I was already wet as I opened the door.

Stan was busy with an older man, and seemed to be the only barber working again. “Well, look what the cat drug in.” He said as I took a seat in one of the molded plastic chairs that lined the one wall.

I didn’t answer. How would I reply to something like that? I watched as he took his time, finishing up with the gentleman. He gave me a knowing smile as he left, as though Stan had shared something with him. Undoubtedly, he had.

“Back for more, ugly girl.” He sneered, turning his chair towards me. For whatever reason, when I should have been running out of the place, I couldn’t wait to sit in his chair. “That little bit a hair ain’t helped much, has it? Y’all ain’t nothin’ to look at.”

“No, I’m not.” I admitted, shocked to be playing along.

“Truth hurts, sometimes, yup… truth hurts.” He mumbled as he fastened the cape around my neck. “Whyn’t ya just take those jeans off. Sure make things easier for ya.” Stan suggested.

I was so worked up at that moment, I didn’t realize that I had handed them to him, until he deposited them in a drawer under the counter. There I was naked from the waist down under a barber’s cape.

Without asking, Stan simply reached for the trimming clippers and started running them roughly over my head. “Yeah, everybody I told about what you did, hell they didn’t believe it. This time I’m gonna have a little proof.” He pointed over his shoulder to a camera that was pointed directly at me.

For a moment, I panicked. He was filming me when I removed my jeans and handed them over, now he was shaving my head. It was all being recorded. I opened my mouth to object, only to be silenced by another cutting comment.

“I don’t know whether y’all are just stupid, or just on a tear to destroy yourself, but I’m perfectly willing to help.” He chuckled, throwing my head forward to skin the back. Involuntarily, my hand went to my smoothly shaved pussy and started working myself into a lather. By the time he shut off the clippers my hand was furiously at work under the cape.

“Man, smell that,” Stan said, wrinkling his nose. “You ain’t got no shame, do ya?” He shook his head. Unlike the last time, Stan wasn’t finished there.

I gasped loudly as he spread shaving foam over my head, knowing that this time, he wasn’t going to leave a lick of hair. “You’re…gonna…shave…me?” I asked in halting jerks, my hips thrusting with my impending orgasm.

“Why the hell not. Y’all so ugly, it ain’t gonna make no difference.” Stan started shaving in long practiced strokes, and it almost felt as though he was stripping the last shred of dignity that remained within me. He had loosened the cape to shave me, but my gyrations had caused it to slip down until it fell away entirely.

“Oh, I’m so bald.” I sighed, knowing that Stan was eyeing my shaved pussy.

“You ain’t gonna have a hair to your name when I’m done with ya.” Stan boasted, wiping his razor on my shirt.

“No hair. I can’t have any hair. Not allowed.” I babbled, almost incoherently.

“There it is.” Stan mused. “I’ve got you now, ugly girl.”

“I’m your ugly girl.” I cried, spasming in my lust and ecstasy.

Wiping my head with a warm cloth, he rubbed it in tandem to my hand as it worked my sex. I knew he was filming this, I knew he would show anyone who asked, and yet there was no dignity at all. He had stolen that from me, and I had loved every last humiliating second.

After I had paid him the twenty dollars, he reached over and switched off the camera, retrieving my jeans from the drawer. I was so drained that I had to sit to pull the jeans up my legs.

“Y’all will be here, next Saturday. Five o’clock.” Stan instructed.

“Yes, Sir. I’ll be here.” I said, almost hypnotized.

“We might have a little audience, but I know that’s alright with y’all. Ain’t it Brooklyn?” Stan grinned, knowing that there was no way I could object now. “Now git, ‘fore someone sees ya in here.”

As I walked out of his shop, I ran my hand over my glass-smooth scalp, knowing that Mr. Herd would have a new standard for me to uphold.

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