Clipper Envy

Clipper Envy

 

By Shorngirl

 

For whatever reason, I just couldn’t get my husband to understand. I pleaded with him to simply take the boys with him when he went for his weekly haircut. He just didn’t understand.

I have no idea how it all started with me, but somewhere along the line, something must have triggered a little fetish in me, for lack of a better term. I never had a history of going to the barbers with my brothers or my father when I was little, so that couldn’t have been it.

All I knew was that every single time I took Mark and Joey to Arbruster’s Barbershop, I would get this overwhelming urge to hop in the chair and have the barber buzz my waist-length mane to the bone.

It was the worst in the summer. My husband would insist that I get the boys to the barbershop once a week, so they could keep up that just barely-there buzzcut that their father liked them to have.

“One of these days, I’m going to come home looking just like the boys, Kevin.” I reasoned with him one morning.

“You’d have a hard time around town sporting a buzzcut, Samantha.” My husband smirked. “A grown woman with a buzzcut?” He shook his head, laughing under his breath.

He was right, of course. We live in a small town in the Midwest, and peoples’ viewpoints are a bit narrow when it comes to what’s acceptable. The thing is, when I’m sitting in those chairs and those clippers get going, skinning off the little bit of hair my boys had, I couldn’t help but get excited.

When I say excited, I mean sexually aroused. Now, don’t get me wrong, it has nothing to do with my kids, and everything to do with imagining myself sitting in that chair in their place. I can’t tell you the number of times I had to fight the urge to simply walk up and flop down in that chrome and leather throne, and beg the barber to do his absolute worst.

God, I remember one time, some teenager a few chairs down in the five-chair row, getting his head shaved. He’d walked in with blonde curls covering his ears and collar. Tony, the barber that took care of him chuckled a bit when the kid said he wanted it all off.

I figured he’d be getting something similar to the cut Mark and Joey got, and it did start out that way. But when Tony dispensed a handful of lather and spread it over the young man’s head, I simply couldn’t pull my eyes away. Something about seeing that head emerge, all smooth and white just sent me over the edge.

That night I had dreams about Tony convincing me that I’d look great with a bald head. He coaxed me into his chair and took all my hair off in a matter of a few seconds. Everything was exaggerated in the dream, but I woke up so aroused that I had to run to the bathroom to masturbate, something I rarely did. It felt a bit naughty to pleasure myself with my husband sleeping only a few feet away in our bed. There was no way he could understand.

It was Thursday afternoon, and it was haircut day. I’d told the boys to be home by three so that we could get to Arbruster’s and home in time for me to make supper. As soon as I walked into the shop, I felt as though I might faint. It was ungodly hot that day, and I had my hair pulled into a long ponytail that barely got the mass of blonde curls off my back.

Tony seemed to be the only one on that day, and I had both the boys grab a number. It was a routine we all knew and they didn’t seem to mind the haircuts. Joey had already had his skinning and Mark was up in the chair getting caped, when Tony turned and said something to me that nearly pushed me over the edge.

“I bet you wish you could have all that hair off, like the boys, on a day like today.” He joked.

“You have no idea,” I muttered, lifting the weight of the large ponytail off my shoulders for a moment’s relief. “If I thought for a minute I could get away with it, I’d be in that chair in a heartbeat.”

Tony chuckled, as he ran the clippers down the center of Mark’s head, peeling away the little bit of growth he had since his cut the week before. “I’d have no trouble helping you out, but your husband might come after me if I even touched that hair of yours. You should hear how he boasts about it when he comes in for his own haircut.”

“He talks about me, in here?” I asked. The conversation was driving my desire for a haircut even harder than I ever knew before.

“Oh yes. He told me the other day… he said he shouldn’t be surprised if you came home looking like your sons here.”

“I just wonder what he’d do if I did.” I managed, the moisture between my legs almost had me worried. God. What if it soaked through my skirt? I began to think that Tony knew what I was thinking. Did he know I wanted more than anything to have my hair cut with the clippers?

It couldn’t have been anything but obvious. Unlike the other mothers that came in with their boys, I was the only one that didn’t bring something to keep them busy, a book or a magazine, or their phone. Nope, I was probably the only one that watched. Did he know? Did he see me watching? He must have.

After Mark was finished, escaping the chair with his usual sandpaper stubble, Tony jokingly turned the chair my way. “Next.” He winked.

Oh, how I wanted it. Oh, my God, I wanted more than anything to give him that power over me. I don’t know what kept me from doing it, but I managed to resist, laughing it off, and paying him for the two haircuts. “As you said, my husband would kill me.”

Tony leaned in and whispered in my ear, lifting the long tendril of hair that covered it, the one that always escaped the ponytail. “You know. I’m only going to say this once, so listen up. Kevin, on the sly, mind you, he said that he might like you skinned down. He said it might spice things up a bit.”

I gave him a look, my face must have turned a hundred shades of red. This was way beyond the haircut and was delving into the personal. “He…he said that?” I asked, reticently.

Tony only nodded. Taking my money and waving to the boys. “See you next week, kids.” They were already halfway out the door, but I couldn’t help but turn and give him a look. He raised a brow, running his open palm over his own buzzed head, teasing me with its sleek appearance. “I’ll see you soon, Sam.”

I couldn’t respond, not because I had nothing to say, but because I was almost overcome with arousal. The heat hit me as I walked out into the afternoon sun, dreading how hot the car was going to be. I imagined how it would feel to be walking in the sun, its rays beating down my exposed scalp; to feel the breeze on my back as what little wind there was caressed it.

Just as quickly, I imagined the stares, the laughter behind covered mouths as people saw me. Instead of feeling ashamed, which is how I thought I should feel, I felt only more aroused. This was a different feeling, more intense, more uncontrollable. I was puzzled by this. What was this added sensation that fed my haircut fetish like gasoline on a fire?

That night, I was obsessed with it. What the hell was wrong with me? Disturbed and bothered, I jumped on my computer and looked up what I could possibly be feeling. What I discovered almost scared me. The feeling that I was experiencing was humiliation, but being aroused by humiliation was apparently called masochism, and that worried me.

Never in my life had I experienced an emotion or a sexual feeling as strong or as consuming as that, even just the thought of humiliation had evoked those feelings within me. What on earth would the real thing be like? Was I weird? God, was I a fucking pervert?

I didn’t dare say anything about this to my husband, Kevin, even after what he had shared with Tony. To be fair, I was a bit upset that he would talk about something so personal with his barber. Then again, how many women tell their hairstylists things that they wouldn’t say to anyone else? I supposed it was the same thing. A sort of unspoken confidence.

It was Friday, and that meant camp day during the summer. Mark and Joey would ride a school bus out to their day camp a few miles south of the town, and they’d be there all day. It was a welcome respite from my usual motherly duties, and I usually spent the day shopping or getting my nails done, whatever.

I was enjoying the solitude as I sipped my coffee at the kitchen table, listening to the birds chirping out in the garden. Finally awake, I hopped in the shower, getting ready for a peaceful, relaxing day. As I labored over my waist-length hair, I began to wonder why I was putting up with it. It was beautiful, and by far my best feature, but it was a royal pain in the ass as well.

As I worked to dry the long mass of hair, still naked and standing in the long mirror that graced the back of the bathroom door, I began to get aroused again. I was thinking about it again. The clippers, my hair, my lack of hair afterward, the fact that my husband had all but told Tony he thought I’d be sexier without it.

I wanted to go lay on my bed and bring myself off, but something told me not to. Inside, I knew that the very thing that drove me to self-gratification would drive the courage to do something about it. I looked over at the bedside clock, still early morning and with a lot of time on my hands.

Maybe I’d just go down to Judy’s Salon and have her lop off a couple of feet of my hair. Maybe that would quell the fire burning in my loins. Who was I kidding? I knew the only thing that would satisfy the twisted longing for humiliation, would be to submit to the clippers. Not just any clippers, it was going to have to be Tony’s. For whatever reason, I just couldn’t imagine anyone else doing it.

My hair still not quite dry, I shot through the front door and drove myself down to Arbruster’s Barbershop. I didn’t even know whether Tony was working that day, I was just going to take my chances.

As I pulled into the small plaza, my stomach was doing flip-flops. Was I really going through with this? Checking my hair, the mid-summer heat had completely dried the remaining moisture out of it during the short drive downtown. I could feel the moisture welling up between my legs as I forced myself out of the car and toward the small, neighborhood barbershop.

Pausing for a moment, I looked through the painted window of the shop, searching for the one person that could finally fulfill my most pent-up desires. Sadly, Tony was nowhere to be seen. Disappointed, I opened the door, the small bell over the door, tinkling as I entered.

Steve, one of the other barbers, recognized me at once from my frequent visits with the boys. “Good morning.  Could have sworn I saw you in here yesterday with your two boys. Did you forget something?” He asked, undoubtedly noticing I was completely alone.

“Something like that.” I managed. “Is Tony around today?”

“He stopped out for a cup of coffee, but he’ll be back in a few moments. Why don’t you have a seat.” Steve gestured to the chairs, getting back to administering the haircut he had been halfway through. The shop was quiet, and for that, I was grateful. To be honest, part of me wanted there to be an audience when I finally took the plunge, but the more sensible part was glad for the lull.

I’d only been there long enough to eye up a Field and Stream magazine, having absolutely no interest, but lacking in ideas to distract myself from the matter at hand. The bell rang over the door, and half expecting Tony, I looked up hopefully, only to be confronted by Charlie Wilkes.

Elaine Wilkes, among my closest friends, was one of the chattiest women I’d ever met. One hates to use the term gossip when referring to her stories, but there was no mistaking it for what it was. Charlie, of all people, was her husband.

“Good morning, Samantha.” He looked around and noticing that I was without any male company, asked the obvious question. “What brings you into a place like this?”

Avoiding his question, I stalled. “I’m just waiting to speak with Tony about something.”

“What did he do, leave too much hair on that Q-ball haircut your husband gets?” He joked, running a hand over his own more stylishly coiffed hair.

“Leave the woman alone, Charlie. She’s just waiting to talk to Tony.” Steve scolded from across the shop. “Besides, she kind of dresses the place up a bit.”

“None of my business. No offense, Sam.” Charlie apologized.

“None taken,” I muttered, but it was drowned out by the door opening once again. This time it was Tony, both hands full of coffee and a bag of something that smelled suspiciously like pastry.

Tony’s eyes flew open a bit wider when he saw me sitting in the long row of plastic chairs. “Samantha. Everything alright?”

“Everything’s fine, Tony.” I think he could tell I was struggling with what I wanted. After he set down the bag and took a sip from the Styrofoam cup, he turned and caught my nervous stare. I swore I was shaking like a leaf.

Without asking, for which I would be forever grateful, he simply spun his chair in my direction and winked. “Next.”

As Charlie went to stand, I beat him to the punch, walking up to the chair on rather wobbly legs. I heard him mumble something, but it was lost in the rush of emotions I was feeling as I slipped lightly into the old chair.

“I was wondering when you’d be back in, Samantha,” Tony whispered in my ear as he wrapped a strip of crepe paper around my neck, followed by the candy-striped cape, the same one he undoubtedly wrapped around my boys and my husband. It was finally happening. He spun me around to clasp the back and I lifted my long mane away from the neck to make things easier.

Looking down at the opposite wall, I could help but notice the look of shock on Charlie Wilkes’s face as the cape was cinched up tight. So, I was going to have an audience after all. I’d be the talk of the town by the end of the day, or sooner depending on when he conveyed what he had seen to his wife.

Tony began by combing out my hair, which fell nearly to the bottom of his cape. I had to chuckle a bit as he bent over to reach the ends. That done, he stepped back, I think relishing what he was about to do. I wondered if he would enjoy this as much as I would. “Something cooler for the summer?” Tony suggested, out loud, I think for Charlie’s entertainment.

“Cooler for the summer, yes.” I spluttered, everything inside me exploding with nervous excitement.

“Then this…” He held up my hair, gathered in his hand tightly at my nape, “… is going to have to come off.” I waited for him to wrap it with a tie or something, but all I felt was an uneven tugging and the unmistakable sound of scissors slicing through my hair.

I felt the cool edge of the sheers against my neck, way above my collar, and close to the base of my skull. I squirmed slightly in his chair as the moisture sliding between my labia became almost too much, my swollen clitoris throbbing with each crunch of the blades. I squeezed my legs together, hoping to quell the sensations erupting in my sex, but to no avail.

Finally, with one last crunch, I felt the weight fall away from the back of my head, and my long blonde hair was no more. I looked up into the mirror, the blunt uneven bob barely reaching the bottom of my earlobes. Charlie was also in the mirror, and I could swear his look of shock had been replaced by one of sequestered lust. There was certainly no mistaking the bulge in his trousers, either.

“I’m thinking this might not be short enough. It’s been so hot lately, isn’t that right, Sam.” Tony teased.

“It has been hot.” I looked at him in the mirror, still holding the long rain of blonde silk in his tightly clenched fist. He slowly opened his hand allowing my pride and joy to cascade to the floor in a waterfall of gold and yellow. I tried but failed to suppress a low moan. However quiet it had been, Tony was well aware of just how much I had enjoyed my shearing. Nodding, I gave him permission to continue.

He lifted the clippers from their hook beneath the shelf, oiling them carefully and flipping them on. The sudden whir of the blades caused me to jump slightly, but that same reflex had certainly soaked my panties. I began to wonder how much of a wet spot I was going to leave on Tony’s fine leather seat.

“Yes. Let’s just taper the back and sides a bit. What do you say, Samantha?” Tony was playing me, and I was loving every second of it. As soon as I felt the vibration of the blades against my nape, I thought I came. But, as they ran up the back of my scalp, the cool breeze from the overhead fan caressing my newly exposed skin, I knew I had. Each pass up the back was a revelation, and I cursed myself for having waited so long to do this.

As if knowing me better than I knew myself, Tony spun the chair around so that I was forced to look Charlie Wilkes right in the eye. His erection was prominent now, the outline of his penis as clear as if he was nude. I did all that I could to avoid looking at it, but he knew that on more than one occasion my eyes had wandered to his crotch.

By now Tony had worked his way around to the sides, and I could feel his breath against my shaven scalp, the bare clipper blades peeling me down to almost nothing at all. There was no one in the shop that wasn’t watching me now. Steve had stopped cutting the man’s hair and had turned the thing so that his customer could witness the humiliating spectacle.

I had slumped down in the chair, my legs no longer attempting to remain together. In fact, I was shocked when I looked down to see them splayed wide apart in the lewdest display I could manage. I could smell myself, and I knew that if I could, then so could everyone else. The greater the humiliation, the hotter I got, and I was smoking hot.

As if on cue, Tony leaned down and whispered into my starkly exposed ear. “I don’t think it would be right for you to leave here with more hair than your boys, Samantha.” Pulling away, he laughed. “What do you all say, boys, should I skin her down to the bone?”

That’s when I saw Steve walk to the front of the shop and pull the blinds, the dim light remaining all that the ceiling fixtures could muster. I knew something was about to happen that I was powerless to stop, and at that moment I wasn’t all that convinced I wanted to stop it. By now the clippers were running mercilessly over the top of my head, sending any hair I still had floating haphazardly to the floor.

Finally, the clippers fell silent, and Tony stepped to the front of the chair, joining the other three men. “You’re bald now, slut. How about you show us just how grateful you are for turning you out.” Tony reached up under my skirt and grabbed the waistband of my panties, ripping them loudly as they tore away from my body. Next was my shirt and my blouse, leaving me spread before them utterly naked and exposed.

Tony’s fingers found my slot, soaked from my arousal, and sunk his fingers deep inside, eliciting a guttural moan from me as I sunk lower into the chair. My legs suddenly supported, Charlie pressed between them, his large penis rigidly pressing at my entrance. He opened me forcefully with it, driving deep inside.

Gasping at his size, my breasts and mouth were also being groped. My head spun to the side, my lips were parted by Tony’s uncut cock, taking my mouth in long, deliberate thrusts, while his hands grasped my shaven head for purchase. I was being used like a slut, and the humiliation was exquisite. I came and came, moaning, screaming, and gasping as each man took me time and time again.

When all had had their fill of me, and me of them, I was left a complete mess, covered in their seed and reeking of it, and my own juices. They had used me, and there was no returning from the place they had taken me.

I was, surprisingly, remarkably calm as each man dressed and went on their way. Tony had tossed what remained of my clothes at me, pointing to a restroom labeled “Men” at the back of the shop. I hobbled to it, sore but incredibly satisfied.

As I looked back, what remained of my hair was scattered around the chair, stepped on, and justifiably destroyed. Smiling, I disappeared into the small john.

Ten minutes later, the reality of what had happened started to sink in and form into a rock in the pit of my stomach. What would Kevin think? There was no way he could ever know, I reasoned. I would have to beg each of them to stay quiet.

When I finally emerged from the tiny restroom, I had managed to put myself together reasonably well. The fact that I had no hair at all made things a bit easier. I ran a hand over the sandpaper stubble as I walked to where Tony and Steve Stood at the front of the barbershop. All my hair had been disposed of, and the place looked like nothing had happened there.

Embarrassed, I stood before the two men, bald and well-used. “Well, Samantha, that ought to be a bit cooler for you.” Tony chortled, eyeing me knowingly up and down.

“The four of us made a pact, you’ll be glad to know.” Steve offered, and for a moment I felt relieved. Surely, they were going to keep this a secret. “As long as you come back here every Friday morning for the rest of the summer, we all agreed to keep mum on the subject.”

“Hope you like that bald head of yours, ‘cause we’re gonna take turns razoring it clean. Then we’ll… have our way with you,” they both chuckled, “… then you’re square ‘til the next Friday.” Tony grabbed the back of my skull and pressed my lips to his, thrusting his tongue inside, and causing me to swoon all over again.

I took a deep breath and moved toward the door, which was still locked. Tony stepped over and smiled, turning the hasp. “Oh, and Samantha, Kevin doesn’t get any of this… until we’re done with you.” He slipped his hand up under my skirt to my panty-free cunt, checking to see if I was still wet. I didn’t disappoint. “Understand, slut?”

I nodded, nervously, stepping out into a very different world and understanding all too well what my place in it was. At least for the rest of the summer, I knew I was nothing but a bald barbershop whore.