An Evening To Remember

An Evening To Remember

By h2o2_4U

I have been doing hair for almost 15 years. During that amount of time, you would think I would have seen it all. But in this business, the surprises never cease to amaze me.

I work in a small salon in the mall, near where I grew up. It was Tuesday evening, which is always typically quiet.  In fact, there were only three customers all day.  The only other employee, on this particular day, was the receptionist, who left me alone in the salon after 7 pm.  The only remaining appointment left in the books, was for a virgin bleach at 7:30.

Normally, I wouldn’t take an appointment for a lengthy procedure this late in the evening, as I normally close the shop at 9 o’clock. However, I so enjoy the whole bleaching process, that I felt compelled to stay. I was actually quite excited, as I’ve always been fascinated by how simple chemistry can remove the color from someone’s hair.

Eventually, 7:30 finally came and my appointment was right on time.  It was strange though, as two women came in the door, seemingly together. One was young, probably nineteen at the most and I would say, possibly younger.  The other was older, maybe in her forties and was very assertive. She was fairly tall, maybe five-foot ten and wore her hair short. It was dyed a very dark, unnatural red and streaked heavily in a brassy blonde shade. Except for the color, it was very masculine. A smaller girl, who appeared to be rather quiet and shy, followed behind her.  Her hair was beautiful, shoulder length and medium brown in color.  It was obviously virginal, free from split ends and immaculately kept. She obviously took great pride in its healthy appearance.

The taller girl spoke first.

“Hi, Libby Stratton? We are here for a bleaching at 7:30?”

“Yes, are you Libby?” I asked, as I scratched a line through the name in the appointment book.

“No I am Claire.” She said, as she stepped aside, revealing the young girl standing behind her, “This is Libby.”

“Hi, Libby. My name is Tom and I guess I’ll be bleaching your hair for you today.”

I held out my hand and Libby smiled shyly and grasped it limply.

Then the older woman spoke again, “I’m her friend.  This is will be her first color service and she is a little nervous. I’m just here to see that she goes through with it.”

I immediately began to wonder why she would need someone to be there, just to make sure she ‘went’ through with it, if it was something she really wanted to do.

“Well Claire, you are more than welcome to sit with us and visit while her hair is processing. You can sit right in the next chair, if you’d like.”

I motioned for them both to follow me back to my station.

As we stopped in front of my chair, I reached for Libby’s limp little arm. “Libby, why don’t you sit down here, so we can get you started?”

Libby quietly sat down without a word.

Normally, most clients would have had a thousand questions regarding their hair by now, but somehow Libby seemed to accept anything that was about to happen to her, without so much as a peep.

I figured I should start the conversation and see how she wanted her hair.

I’ve always wondered what drives a woman to want to become a bleached blonde, what with the maintenance and cost. Obviously, some crave attention from the opposite sex, but this somehow didn’t seem like the case.

“So you are interested in becoming a blonde then?”  I said to Libby.

Before Libby could respond, Claire took over the conversation.

“Yes, a blonde, and….” Claire brought her fingers to the back of Libby’s head, midway between the base of her neck.   “…and we were thinking about taking some length too. I have just the style in mind. Something a bit edgy.”

“Oh, okay.” I said in reply. “Well, there are a few things I need to ask before we begin. First of all, I’ll need to know how light she wants her hair to be?”

“Libby isn’t really interested in having a natural look.” Claire interjected. “I mean, why go to all the bother?”

Libby looked obviously embarrassed by Claire’s comment, as I reached for my ring of various color sample swatches.

I grouped together the darker blonde shades. “These are popular, for the first time client, seeking to ease their way into blonde. They’re not too light, but certainly more than a frosted look.”

“No.” Claire replied. “I think we want something much lighter than that.”

I then showed her the golden to beige, blonde shades. “These are quite a bit lighter, but of course, would require a bit more bleaching to achieve. I have done quite a few blondes with these toners and with Libby’s skin tone, they would certainly bring out the brown in her eyes. Of course, we could thin and lighten her brows a little, to make the look a little more natural.” I suggested.

“I do like the idea of thinning and coloring Libby’s brows.” Claire interjected, “But I was thinking of perhaps, dyeing them darker. As I said before, Libby isn’t really interested in a natural look, now what about this one or that one?” She said, pointing to the two lightest swatches on the ring.

“Well yes,” I replied, but it would be a rather drastic change and would involve a considerable amount of bleaching.”

I held the palest blonde and platinum shades up against Libby’s hair. “You realize that in order to achieve hair this light, I would have to bleach Libby’s hair several times. I will certainly do my best, but I can’t guarantee it won’t be very damaging to Libby’s beautiful hair.”

Claire pointed to the whitest blonde swatch on the ring. “Yes, I think Libby would like that one.” She said smiling. “And don’t worry about the damage, Libby seems to spend a ridiculous amount of time conditioning her hair, anyway.”

She took the swatch from my hand and held it up for Libby to see. As Libby focused on the snowy white sample, her eyes widened.

Libby opened her mouth as if to speak, but Claire shot an evil stare at her through the mirror.

“Of course, dear, I know you’re excited. Soon you will have the most beautiful bleached blonde hair.” Claire had addressed Libby for the first time since entering the salon and seemed to speak down to her, much like she was talking to a child.

Claire spoke to me again, but as she did, she kept a careful eye on Libby.

“Think we could turn her away from the mirror while her hair is bleaching?  It might help keep her calm.” Claire said, winking slyly at me.

I agreed, but as I swung the chair around, I could see Libby’s eyes well up and she began to blink, trying to hold back a tear.

“Is something wrong?” I asked, looking at Claire.

“She’ll be fine.” Claire snapped. “Let’s just get on with it.”

I combed through her very thick, and obviously, virginal hair. I separated each section and clipped it up. Then, I lifted her hair and fastened a thick, glossy vinyl cape around her neck.

After mixing the powder bleach with 40-volume peroxide, I pulled on a pair of rubber gloves and requested Claire’s help in holding the bowl while I applied the bleach. For some strange reason, she seemed to be overly excited at the prospect of helping with the process.

One by one, I pulled small sections of Libby’s brown hair down and covered them heavily with bleach. I imagined Libby’s head feeling heavy from the weight of the thick blue cream. No doubt, her scalp was probably beginning to tingle and burn, as the strong chemicals began to permeate and attack the virgin hair. Her scalp would also suffer slightly, but not to the extent of each beautiful brown hair. The chemical cocktail would efficiently remove all the natural color and render the hair helpless to resist the introduction of a more desirable, man-made color A version that, thanks to Claire’s insistence, would be obvious to all, that it came out of a bottle.

Libby didn’t say a single word during this whole process.

Claire, on the other hand, was quite talkative. She kept pointing out places that she thought I’d missed or didn’t apply enough bleach to. She almost seemed obsessed with the bleaching of Libby’s hair.

I placed a roll of cotton around Libby’s hairline, to hold it up and prevent it from lying against her face. The sweet smell of heavily perfumed ammonia filled the air and burned our noses. I went through two bowls of bleach before I was done. I placed a plastic cap over her head and led her to the hood dryers to accelerate the bleaching process and speed the processing time.

At Claire’s insistence, we sat her nearest the window, where she could look out into the mall. I would have been embarrassed, having the whole mall able to see me with bleach in my hair. But it was almost as if that was the whole point of having her sit there.

After sitting her in the chair and starting the dryer, I realized it was almost 9:00 pm.

“I know this is an odd request…” I said, “but I have been here alone all afternoon without a break.  Do you mind if I step out for some coffee?  I will lock the doors and no one will bother either of you.”

Claire answered for both of them, once again. “That’s not a problem, actually I was thinking about stepping out myself.” She continued, “Libby can stay here. She’ll be good, and watch the shop, if that’s okay with you?”

“Great. It’ll be nice to have some company.” I replied.

We left to get some coffee, locking the door behind us.

After arriving at the little coffee shop in the mall and finding a table, Claire and I talked.

“So, you and Libby must have known each other for quite a while, with the way she trusts you with her hair!” I remarked.

“She works for me in the office.”  Claire replied. “And actually, we’re lovers. As for her trusting me with her hair, well that’s another story” Claire chuckled. “Does that shock you?”

I was obviously intrigued and wanted to know more.

“Well we do have some time to kill.” I offered. “Maybe you would tell me your story? I would love to hear it.”

“Are you sure?” She said, raising her eyebrows, “It’s kind of strange, actually. In fact, you might hear a few things you don’t fully understand.”

I nodded, and let Claire explain. It turned out they were both very interested in master-slave relationships, and Claire was most definitely the dominant one.

She explained that this was the start of Libby’s training as her slave.  Claire wanted to be in control of every aspect of Libby’s life, clothes, makeup, and especially hair. Libby was entirely opposed to getting her hair bleached, but Claire had insisted.

The entire blonding process, and the image it projected, had always fascinated her. Imposing such a change on a slave, clearly established her control and served as a constant reminder of her dominance. Especially, as it now would involve poor Libby having to dedicate several hours a month to having her roots retouched at Claire’s direction. Not to mention, the constant conditioning.

She spoke for the remainder of Libby’s time under the hood.  I heard about their whole relationship and loved every minute of it.  We continued to talk as we walked back to the salon, both grinning from ear to ear.

Libby must have known we talked about her predicament, because she was beet-red when we returned.

I led her out from under the dryer and back to the station. Removing the plastic cap, we checked the progress of the first bleaching.

To Claire’s delight, Libby’s beautiful brown color had been almost totally removed and was now the telltale, brassy blonde color of raw, obviously bleached blonde hair. It was almost the shade of peroxide blonde that women of the 50s used to wear. Before the advent of modern bleaches and toners.

After a small wait I tipped her back into the basin and rinsed the thick blue cream from her chemically abused hair. Her hair was thoroughly rinsed, but not washed. The bleach smell was still strong.  I was so caught up in the moment I decided to play a little dominant myself.

“Well, you’re just about done.” I began. “But unfortunately, we can’t finish bleaching all the color from your hair tonight. By the time I finish applying another round of bleach and you’ve finished processing, it would be close to midnight. So, we’ll just have to leave your hair this brassy raw obviously bleached shade for now.”

Libby’s eyes grew.  She was obviously bothered by the news.

You will have to wait at least three days for your hair to recover or until Claire says you can come back in, and we can finish bleaching and toning it white.”  I said this with an evil grin.

Claire seemed to approve of my little game.

Libby was brought back up and her hair was towel dried.

She was still blind to the resulting chemical abuse imposed on her hair, as I began the cut, intent on taking most of the length.

As I gathered the freshly bleached hair into a ponytail and began to work the scissors through it, Libby began to cry openly as she witnessed for the first time, her new bright blonde tresses raining down against the black cape. It suddenly made it all the more obvious what had been done to her once precious sable brown hair. She began holding her face in her hands, sobbing quietly.

Claire immediately lifted her chin and stared into her eyes.

“Libby! Enough! We discussed this earlier. This obsession with your hair is going to stop. Dyeing your hair blonde and especially the stark platinum shade I’ve picked out for you shows the world what a little slut you probably are. But you’re my little slut and I want my little slut to be a short haired bottle blonde, so deal with it!”

Libby remained quiet, but small tears ran down her cheek.

I proceeded to cut it to the radical A-line, asymmetric bob which Claire had chosen. While clipper cutting her slender nape, I made sure the taper was perfect, graduating from short stubble on her neck up to the longer hair forming a perfect A-line taper.  I finished by making sure the longer side rested nicely against Libby’s chin, I ran a handful of mousse through it to set the style and add some much needed sheen to the bright, otherwise monochromatic, obviously unnatural blonde color.

After the style was finished I removed the vinyl cape.

“Do you think we should turn the chair and let her see her new blonde hair?” I asked Claire.

“Ahhhh…”  Claire thought for a moment. “No, not really. Her hair really is none of her concern anymore.” She replied, curtly.

They both left the shop for me to close up, but not before making an appointment with me for another bleaching and the addition of the snowy white toner that Claire had chosen for the hapless Libby.

I watched Claire playfully fluffing the back of Libby’s bleached and shortened nape as they walked out through the mall. I wondered what was in store for the young sub, once Claire had her alone in the bedroom.

The End

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