A Week With Aunt Margaret

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A Week with Aunt Margaret

 

By Shorngirl

 

Everything seemed benign enough, you know. My mother was heading out of town with some friends, and as I was only just eighteen, she didn’t feel I was old enough to be left on my own. I tried complaining that I was an adult now, but my past behavior had cemented the idea, in my aunt’s mind at least, that I was immature for my age.

My Aunt Margaret or Margie as everyone called her, was a bit on the old-fashioned side. My mother was always the adventurous one, but being the younger of two sisters, Margaret had to live in my mother’s wake, as it were.

They, my grandparents, were tougher on her, having seen what a lax attitude could do you a young girl. It fell upon her to be the adult, and even now, as they grew older, Margaret would often take the upper hand when it came to my mother’s behavior.

I think, had it not been for her sister, my mother may very well have ended up in a bad way. As it was, she was in a failed marriage, my father having long since abandoned us. My aunt had slipped into our lives shortly thereafter and had remained as an authority figure over my mother, and very occasionally, over me as well.

So, it was just me and mother most of the time, and that was fine. She left me alone to do what I wanted, and she was free to act as though she was unencumbered by the restraints of having an impressionable young daughter.

My name is Hanna, and this is the story of my week with my Aunt Margie. It’s not an incredible tale of coming of age, or of any particular hardship imposed upon me by my mother’s ‘keeper’, as it were. It was, for lack of a better term, an awakening.

“So, your mother has left me to take care of you.” My aunt grumbled, as I set my suitcase down on the floor of her immaculately clean hallway. “Why she feels the need to run off on these things, is quite beyond me.” She added, quickly whisking my belongings up the stairs to what would be my temporary lodgings. I followed, almost intimated by her brusqueness. “You’ll stay in here.”

She led me to the same bedroom I had stayed in every time I was left there. It was bland and colorless, like the rest of Margie’s house, but it was at least comfortable. “Thanks” I managed, lifting my bag from her hand.

“You’re eighteen, now?” Margie asked, leaning back in the open doorway. “I wonder what sort of clothes your mother packed for your stay. Why don’t you unpack, and we’ll have a look.” She insisted.

“My mother didn’t pack for me,” I added. “She doesn’t get too involved in what I do these days.”

“I’m afraid that’s all too apparent, judging by your hair and the clothes you’re wearing,” Margie smirked, raising an eyebrow as I opened the suitcase on the bed.

I really didn’t think I was too out of line. My hair was neat and clean, and although it was long, it was trimmed and well cared for. As for what I wore, it was standard teenage stuff. Holey jeans, all-stars (no socks), and a well-worn t-shirt that I was too in love with to throw out. I never wore a bra, even though my boobs had grown to the point that I probably should have.

As I laid out my attire, the look on my aunt’s face grew longer, and I knew some sort of comment was coming. I didn’t have to wait long.

“Well, I can see a shopping trip is in order, young lady,” Margie said, sternly. “We’ll go this afternoon.”

I tried not to sulk too obviously, but I really hated shopping. It was just too boring. So, as we made our way to the open-air mall, I couldn’t resist saying something. “You really don’t have to do this, Aunt Margie.”

“I have to argue with you there, Hanna. Your mother seems to have forgotten her responsibilities, so I suppose that task will fall on me, just as it has with her.” She seemed so determined, that I simply gave up on the slight resistance I was going to pose. Instead, I dutifully followed along a few steps behind as she led the way.

The clothing she picked out for me was not at all to my liking. I was never one for dresses but those were the things she insisted upon buying. Instead of the bikini panties I had grown accustomed to wearing, she bought high-rise ‘granny-panties’ as I called them when I would make fun of them in the past.

Then it was time for the bra. Now, I knew this was coming, but it didn’t make the fitting any less awkward. There was just something about the saleslady poking and prodding my boobs, that I found incredibly embarrassing. Finally, she found a size that fit me perfectly, and my aunt bought three; all white Playtex, and all quite matronly in their construction. I had always pictured a sleek underwire for myself, but that decision was moot now.

The clothes shopping was complete, once she had me fitted with a pair of saddle shoes that were off the chart embarrassing to wear. I’d seen cheerleaders wear them, but never had I thought I would ever don a pair. What was worse, was she made me wear them out of the shop, dispensing with my beloved All-stars in a convenient trash can. I was furious but didn’t dare let on.

I was looking forward to heading back to her place, so that I could mope over what I was undoubtedly going to be forced to wear all week. Aunt Margie had other plans.

“Now, for the hair.” She sighed, as we exited the mall parking lot.

“My hair? No, I don’t want…”

“This is not about what you want, young lady. You’re eighteen years old, Hanna. It’s time you grew up a little. That long hair was fine when you were five, but you’re taking your first steps into adulthood. It’s time you looked the part.”

I was getting annoyed. It was one thing for my aunt to buy me a bunch of clothes I would never wear once I was home. It was quite another for her to take liberties with my appearance, long-term. Whatever she was planning, wasn’t going away after I left.

“I’ve taken the liberty of making an appointment with my stylist for you, Hanna.” I looked at my aunt and died with the thought of her “stylist’ touching my hair. Margie’s hair was utilitarian at best, although some might call it butch. The sides were shaved down to a fade and the top stood up straight, the salt and pepper stalks looking like a freshly harvested wheat field. I doubted a single hair on her head was longer than an inch.

As we pulled into the small plaza, I was shocked to see the telltale barber pole spinning ominously under the awning of the strip plaza. “You’re not really taking me to a barbershop, are you?” I asked, fearfully.

“It’s not just a barbershop, Hanna. It’s a unisex place.” She said proudly. “They’ve been doing my hair for years, and I’m a woman. A lot of my friends come here for their haircuts. They do I good job, and it’s not expensive.”

Considering she had just dropped a few hundred dollars on clothes I would only ever wear that week, I was taken aback that she would skimp on her hair. Then again, the way she wore it, I supposed any barber worth his salt could handle the cut.

I was led by the arm into the place, and I think Margie thought I might actually bolt. A small bell tinkled over the door as we entered, and I was immediately hit by the atmosphere of the place.

Where I was used to the odor of hairspray and shampoo, this place smelled entirely different. There was a clinical scent that hung in the air, not unpleasant, but different. Along one wall, a row of what looked like old movie theater seats were about half occupied by men. There were no other women there, other than my aunt and myself.

Margie grabbed a plastic number card from a stand near the door and directed me into one of the seats. It folded down, just like the one in my school auditorium, squeaking noisily as I sat.

“Hi there, Marge.” An elderly gentleman exclaimed, turning from the haircut he was performing on a man equal in years. “This must be the niece you called about.”

“Yes, she is. Hanna, this is Clarence.” I waved silently to the old man, seriously hoping that he wasn’t going to be the one doing my hair. He was in the process of peeling the back and sides of the man’s head down to the skin, and I tried not to imagine him doing the same to me.

Instinctively, I ran my fingers through my waist-length blonde hair, as if trying to protect the silken strands from whatever was planned for them. He saw my reaction and smiled. “Nice to meet you, Hanna. I’ll be right with you.”

The idea chilled me to the bone, and I suddenly had visions of running out of the place and hitchhiking the sixty or so miles back home. Anything to keep this guy from touching my precious hair.

I watched, mesmerized in terror, as he finished up the old man, the floor littered with short white strands. I’d seen longer hair on Marines, but as the man ran his hand over the bristles that covered his head, he smiled at me. The gesture seemed almost threatening, as if he knew what was in store for me.

I walked on wooden legs to the chair, when the old man summoned me. It may as well have been the gallows as far as I was concerned. I looked Clarence in the eye as he threw the red striped cape around me, fastening it at my neck with a strip of tissue. I gulped audibly as he looked at my aunt. “What would you like me to do, Marge?”

I think I just assumed that I would be given the same buzz-job that the last guy got, and I swear I very nearly pissed myself as my aunt started to speak. “She’s getting to be a young woman, Clarence. I’ll leave it up to your judgment.”

I could hardly believe my ears. There I was, at the mercy of this old-time barber, and my aunt just gave him free rein over my luscious blonde mane. If the guy couldn’t see me sweating before, he most certainly could then. A bead ran down the side of my face from beneath my hair, and it didn’t escape his eye.

“You look so hot under all that hair, Hanna. How about we get rid of some?” I saw him reach for a pair of scissors and I thought my heart would beat right out of my chest as he raised them to my hair.

I fully expected him to just start hacking away, but was surprised when he began angling in a longish bob, starting at my earlobes in front and graduating to a lob that ended just off my shoulders. I actually started breathing again.

Once her had roughed in the cut, he began the layers, slowly shaping the bob into the curled-in look he was after. The most nerve-wracking part was the bangs, which were a bit shorter than I would have liked, but far longer than the mid-forehead line I was expecting. He even tried a bit of point cutting, which brought a smile to my face.

“Glad to see you’re liking the cut, Hanna. Now the back is a bit too full for my liking, your hair being so thick, and all. I’m going to do what’s called an undercut. Don’t you worry, you won’t even notice unless you bend over or something,” He chuckled, with my worried expression catching his attention.

He sectioned off a good portion of the back, I would guess to the top of my ears, fastening the bulk to the top of my head. That’s when he reached for the clippers. The sudden pop of the machine coming to like caused me to jump in the chair. I looked over at my aunt, who suddenly seemed interested in what Clarence was about to do.

Without any warning at all, he plunged the clippers into the hairline at my nape, the droning whine deepening as it met the resistance of my full blonde hair. As the cool metal of the bare blades ran up to where he had parted my hair, I swear I felt the telltale twinge of arousal at my center.

This puzzled me until he laid down a second path next to the first, the cool air of the barbershop meeting my scalp for the first time. This time there was no mistaking the sensation. The feeling of the clippers against my skin was eliciting a reaction I had not expected.

I knew that my mouth had opened just a fraction, and I wondered if my aunt Margie could tell what was happening to me. The smirk on her face was all the evidence I needed to answer my question.

As the hair fell away from the back of my head, I swore that if Clarence didn’t stop soon, I was going to humiliate myself right there in his chair.

Mercifully, the buzzing stopped before that happened. He trimmed up the edges with a smaller set of clippers, finally allowing my hair to fall back over my freshly denuded scalp. I loved the sensation of the hair as it brushed against my bare skin, and I wondered just how I was going to tolerate this all the time. I imagined I would get used to it.

Aunt Margie paid Clarence, promising to come back for her own cut later in the week. He just grinned, saying how nice it was to meet me, winking as I smiled embarrassingly. I was certain that he knew exactly what had happened.

“Well, I think you got off rather lightly, my dear niece,” Margie said as we drove out of the parking lot. I imagined her thinking old Clarence might scalp me as he did the man before me, or at least more after her own image. As it was, the sandpaper stubble that hid beneath my stylish bob was begging for me to touch it for the first time.

As badly as I wanted to test the waters, I waited until I was in the privacy of my makeshift bedroom before I allowed my hand to wander up under my hair. Surrounded by the shopping bags full of dresses and frumpy underthings, I slipped my fingers up and over my freshly shorn nape.

Well, it was all I could do not to pleasure myself right then and there. The slightly moist skin was covered by the slightest roughness, only long enough to impede the smooth traverse of my fingers to the roots of my hairline, now several inches shy of where it once was. “Oh, my goodness.” Was all I could manage before I heard my aunt on the stairs, my hand quickly dropping to my side.

“I suppose you think you got away with something back there at the barbershop, Hanna?” My aunt mused. “I saw how excited you were and I’m pretty sure Clarence saw it too, you little tart.”

She pushed me towards the bathroom where she forced me to wash off the makeup I had painstakingly applied that morning. “You won’t be looking like a floozie in my house, Hanna. No makeup.” My face was devoid of its usual disguise, freckles and reddened cheeks replacing the refined look I was used to. “That’s better.”

I hated the fact that she could do all of this to me, but I seemed powerless to stop her. So, as she broke out the nail polish remover, I cringed. Without being asked, I rubbed away the bright red lacquer, my plain drab nails appearing from beneath.

I earnestly thought about rebelling when she handed me a pair of nail clippers. I looked at her, fury in my eyes. “Really?” I asked, incredulously. I shook my head, refusing to take the clippers from her.

Exasperated, she grabbed my right hand and began cutting away at my expertly manicured nails. She left only the smallest border of white, nearly taking them to the quick. As I mourned the loss of another of my charms she continued, unfazed.

“Well. What do you say we go out for something to eat?” She rummaged through the packages until she assembled the outfit she wanted me to wear. I was still in shock over what had just happened. I looked down at my stubby nails and sighed, audibly.

After she left, I shimmied out of my t-shirt and jeans, realizing that she had laid out a pair of the frumpy granny panties for me to wear as well. I cringed, but slipped my bikini briefs down my legs, tossing them in the small pile that had accumulated in the corner of the room.

Naked, I couldn’t stop my fingers from slipping into my already moist folds, the blonde fleece trimmed and shaped by my boyfriend a few days before. As I allowed my fingers to caress my clit, my other hand slipped up to that evocative skin hidden so stealthily beneath my bob. I came almost at once.

The afterglow subsiding, I began to wonder what Steven was going to think about my new look. He had always fawned over my hair, begging me never to cut it. Now, it was not only two feet shorter, but with my nape laid bare, so completely different.

I looked down at the floral sundress and sighed. “Might as well get this over with.” I slipped the jet white panties up my legs, the elastic top resting well over my hips, and the legs creeping down the tops of my thighs. “God, these are just awful,” I mumbled as I slipped on the lace top anklets, shaking my head as I lifted the utilitarian white bra from the spread.

I’d seen my mother don her bras often enough to know how to fasten the bra in front, before spinning it around.  Slipping the straps over my shoulders, the padded cups encasing my breasts completely. I couldn’t help but think of it as some bizarre form of self-bondage. I was used to my nipples slipping over my shirts from the inside as a reminder of my womanhood. Now they were imprisoned by these matronly points of white cotton.

“Ugh.” I sighed, catching my reflection in the mirror. Between the haircut, the naked face and nails, and the less than fashionable underwear, I looked very much like a middle-aged housewife. Ignoring the ridiculous image, I grabbed the dress, slipping it over my head and pulling it into place. The hem fell to just below my knees. I wished that it was a bit longer, just so it hid the frilly socks and saddle shoes.

I was only slightly horrified as we headed out, nothing short of ordinary now. Admiring looks from boys and men alike seemed to have evaporated, I noticed, as we made our way through the crowded dining room of the restaurant. Used to the attention, I sulked. My aunt had singlehandedly downgraded me from a decidedly hot teen heartthrob to a tolerably plain ‘young woman’. It was horrible.

Each time I lifted the fork to my mouth I was reminded of my drastically cut nails, and it irked me that my aunt held such sway over me. But, the fact of the matter was, she did.

I could very easily have refused any of the things she had done to me that day. I was confused about why I hadn’t. My mother would certainly have failed, had she tried the same thing. Aunt Margaret was different. It wasn’t like I respected her, or anything. It was more akin to fear.

As I lay in bed that night, I ran through everything that had occurred that day. From the haircut to the clothes, the scrubbing of my face to the nubby nails I now sported, it all added up. I had been thoroughly tamed, and for whatever reason, I liked it.

As upset as I was over the haircut, it wasn’t terrible, and I loved how my new undercut felt. I hated that my aunt had cut my nails, my fingers seeming short and stubby without them. I was becoming a person I didn’t recognize, and that idea excited me. The clothes, the hair, the nails; yes, it all added up. She was humiliating me, and I found that almost unbearably arousing.

With my bare fingertips buried under my hair, I masturbated to one orgasm after the next, and I didn’t care if my aunt could hear my moans of pleasure.

The following morning, I slipped into the shower, hoping to rinse away the sexual stupor that had descended upon me in the night. As I allowed the warm water to course over my head, I spied a razor that seemed to have been placed in the soap dish. I knew it wasn’t there the day before, as I certainly would have noticed.

Still in the wrapper, I tore at the cellophane with my teeth, extracting the multi-blade instrument from its sheath. I looked down at my neatly shaped triangle of gold and grinned, slipping the blades into the top, pleased by how efficiently it rendered the tender flesh hairless. I giggled as my pubic hair swirled around the drain, my pussy closer and closer to being bare. “It has to go,” I whispered. “Just part of the process.”

I ran my fingers through the smooth folds of pink skin and sighed, loving the sensation. I knew that I could come in a second, but I had been in the shower for some time, and aunt Margie had already called out once.

Obliging my aunt’s request, I put on another of the dresses she had purchased, feeling ridiculous after I saw myself. I wondered why she was doing this. Was she getting a kick out of torturing her sister by exerting her will on me? Well, as much as I was upset over the debasement at first, I had to admit to finding it almost fun.

I was, after all, in an entirely different town and the likelihood that I would run into anyone I knew was practically nil. So, she wanted to make a mockery of me? Fine, I’d just go along with it and enjoy the humiliation. It was what seemed to be happening to me anyway.

We spent the day visiting with her friends, where she boasted over how she had taken her sister’s ill-mannered teenager and transformed her into the plain Jane that sat before them, mute. She didn’t seem to mind that I was right there in the room with them. She seemed to enjoy my blushing. It seemed my earlier assumption was correct. My aunt Margie was enjoying this.

The following day, I was only slightly surprised that we had ended up back at the barbershop. For a moment, I thought that I might be ushered back into Clarence’s chair for a more thorough cut. What we were there for, however, was to keep a promise. I’d forgotten that Margie had promised Clarence she would be back for her own haircut later in the week.

As my aunt climbed into the chair, I couldn’t help but feel like a bit of payback was in store. I looked forward to seeing just how short the barber was going to take her. Of course, Clarence commented on my new clothes, saying how much better I looked in them.

“The usual?’ Clarence asked, after he had caped her.

My aunt ran her hand up the back of her head and sighed. “I think I’d like to go a bit shorter this time round. I’ll leave it up to you.”

Now, my aunt’s hair was already very short, as I explained earlier, so I tried to imagine just how much shorter the barber could cut it. He fired up the same clippers that had rendered my nape so deliciously bare a few days before, and just like mine, he left the guards sitting on the counter.

The bare metal of the clippers slid up her nape and I had to admit to having chills run up my spine as they did. I remembered vividly how that felt, and the chills soon settled into a buzz in my sex.

Clarence and Margie chatted away about this and that as he rendered the back and sides of her head entirely hairless. Sympathetically, I reached up under my bob and felt the slightly courser stubble, it having grown in from being nearly shaved.

Clarence toyed with the guards on the counter now, as the two discussed which one he might use on the top. About then, another barber appeared from the back, looking my way as he lifted the cape from the other chair.

Clarence had been the only barber there the last time, and this guy was a lot younger. I pulled my hand out from under my hair and pondered the question. Without thinking too much about it, I stood and walked over to his chair.

“Oh, she’s just here…” My aunt started, only to be shushed by Clarence, who seemed interested in what I was doing.

Without saying a word, he wrapped the cape around me, and I couldn’t help but feel aroused all over again. The thing was, how could I just ask him to shave my undercut again?

“So, what are we doing today, young lady?” The relatively attractive barber asked. The name on his lapel said “Stan” which I assumed was short for Stanley.

At a loss for just how to ask for what I wanted, I nervously replied. “I just want it shaved again.” Not thinking that he wouldn’t know what I was talking about.

“Are you sure about that?” He asked, lifting a set of heavy-looking clippers from the counter.

Overhearing the conversation, and saving me from my own stupidity, Clarence intervened. “I gave her an undercut the other day, Stan. That’s what she’s talking about.”

“Oh. Jeez. For a minute there I was getting ready to shave her entire head bald.” Those words seemed to elicit a response that I was totally unprepared for. I literally felt my pussy spasm, the moisture immediately wetting the granny panties I was wearing beneath my skirt.

As Stan pinned up my hair, revealing the stubbly undercut, I swore I began to tremble with anticipation. I couldn’t wait to feel them on my scalp. As the machine whined to life, I had to grip the armrests for all I was worth.

As soon as the blades touched my skin I knew I was in trouble. The first pass was agony as I struggled not to come. I looked at my face in the mirror, red and flushed without its usual covering of makeup.

It was trying enough when Clarence did it. Now this guy, who couldn’t have been but a few years older than me, wielded the clippers, and they were running up the back of my head. Then Stan asked a question I wasn’t prepared for.

“You want to keep it like this, or should I go a bit higher with it?” He asked.

I could barely think, let alone speak. Somehow, I managed to utter the word. “Higher.” The inner conflict was raging inside me. Part of me was screaming, ‘Nooo!’ and the other was excited beyond belief.

As the barber sectioned off more hair from the top, he puzzled for a moment before speaking. “I’m going to take it around the sides too, otherwise it’ll look funny. You want me to take it all the way up, then?” He asked.

I was having marginally restrained mini-orgasms as I nodded, not believing what I was agreeing to. Was he really going to shave the back and sides of my head bald?

That’s when he leaned in and whispered in my ear. “Maybe I had it right to begin with, little lady?”

“You did.” The words were out before I even knew what I had said. I immediately regretted speaking, wanting to take the words back, but Stanley already had the humming blades perched at the top of my forehead.

My little orgasmic bubble burst with a muffled gasp, just as the blades ran over the top of my head. Without any guard, the blonde stubble left in their wake was almost non-existent. He worked quickly, and efficiently, reducing the carefully coiffed bob to nothing in a handful of seconds.

My sexually driven enthusiasm evaporated, all I could do was gape at the reflection in the mirror. Gone was the blonde goddess that had caught the eye of every boy in school. My head wasn’t entirely bald, but the minuscule stubble that remained did nothing to hide the gleam of my scalp, laid bare in such shocking fashion.

“Hanna! What on earth?” My aunt bellowed.

I had completely forgotten she was in the room, such was the state I’d been in. Glancing over at her rising from the chair, I saw an equally astonished Clarence shaking his head. “I thought I said an undercut, Stanley?”

“Not according to her.” Stan defended. “She said shave it, so…”

“Oh, for goodness sake, Hanna. You look like a Marine.” Margie chortled, her own flattop long in comparison.

Stan was beginning to remove the cape, but I stopped him. “You said you were going to shave me bald.” Getting over the shock of the look. “I couldn’t very well go home looking like a Marine, right?”

“I did say that, didn’t I?” Stan smirked, removing a hot towel from a small cabinet on the counter. The heat felt good as he wrapped my stubbled head, and I wondered just how this was going to feel. I wasn’t disappointed.

For the next few days, it was all I could do to keep my fingers away from my head. Whatever my aunt had started, I had finished, with a vengeance. There was no more showing me off to her friends, or going out to show me off. After that, she pretty much left me alone. I even started wearing my old clothes again.

Of course, my mother was shocked at what she thought Margie had done to me at first. When I explained that it was my doing, and not hers, everything settled back to the way it was. The only difference being, my aunt no longer tried to exert her influence on me. I beat her at her own game.

Steven, now he was more than a little shocked when he saw my bald head. As boyfriends go, he was a bit too conventional to go along with my decision to keep my head shaved. We broke up not long afterward.

It was just as well, because my new beau is more than thrilled to be dating a girl brave enough to be bald, and I do mean bald, all over. He lives a bit out of town, but that doesn’t seem to be an issue. In fact, I’ll be moving in with him in a couple of weeks. He lives above a barbershop.

4 responses to “A Week With Aunt Margaret

  1. Loved this story! I really liked how the protagonist was able to beat the dominant aunt at her own game and reclaim her own sense of fashion. Would love to see more of that in these types of stories!

  2. Hi Claire,

    Wonderful story! It’s nice that Hannah was excited by her transformation after being initially appalled by the idea of having a dramatic new look.

    I like the ending with Hannah moving in with her boyfriend and living above a barbershop.

  3. Thank you both for the kind comments, they are always welcomed and appreciated. I sort of fell into this story, when another jogged my memory about an idea I had come up with some time ago. It went a bit differently than planned, but then again, that’s half the fun of writing short stories. Thank you both.
    Claire

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