Coral’s Salon

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Watching the waves out the window of my little shop is hypnotic- they come, and they recede. Come, and recede…
What the hell?
Oh. Just the front door jingling. Fuck, I need to quit daydreaming.
I hop out of my chair, and greet the customer. She’s pretty- long brown hair, pretty light skin for the area. Must spend a lot of time inside. She tells me she’s been frazzled lately, and doesn’t want to go to her regular stylist for a trim.
I direct her to my chair and go off to the closet to get a cape for her. I hear her ask, somewhat cautiously, “What’s with the straps on this chair?”
As I walk back in, I shrug and tell her, “Those came with the chair. The chair came from an old junk shop.”
She stops to poke at the strap on the left arm. I stand in front of her, holding the cape at my side. I must look a bit intimidating, because she sits down after just a moment.
Throwing the cape over her and pinning it behind her neck, I ask what a normal “Trim” is for her. She doesn’t answer me for a second- she’s staring at something. I follow her eyes to my clippers, and smile slyly.
“Are we looking for something different from a trim today? Maybe something a little more like me?”
I run my hand over the shaved side of my head, but she shakes her head vigorously, saying, “No, I was just thinking about something, sorry…  a couple centimeters off the bottom is good, thanks.”
Ah well.
I grab my spray bottle and scissors. A simple little trim isn’t that exciting, and it only takes a few minutes. She really doesn’t look all that different in the end, but she seems happy.
“Wow, you did a great job!” she tells me.
I tell her she looks great. I’m not lying to her, but.. It wasn’t my work that made her look great. Whoever made her jeans had more of a role in that than I did.
When she pays me, she takes another look around, and asks me, “Hey. I’ve got an idea. Can I make a special appointment for.. After hours?”
I’m taken aback for a moment, and tell her that I don’t really do escort services. Although I am avail-
She interrupts me.
“Oh, nothing like that. Well. Kinda like that, but you don’t have to be involved in anything sexual if you don’t want to be. We’ll keep it 100% professional.”
I stare at her for a moment, before deciding that whatever she is about to propose to me, I am most certainly interested, prostitute or not.
“O-kay. What kind of appointment are you talking about?” I ask her.
“I’m in a BDSM relationship with this girl. She’s got a lot of weird fetishes, and one of them is about humiliation- it’s hard to help her with that one without attracting the attention of perverts.. Or police.”
I’m absolutely thrilled with where this is going.
“Uhuh. And you want me too…?”
“I want you to cut most of her hair off, and make a weird style out the rest of it. Like yo-”
She stops, and tries, and fails, to rephrase.
I raise an eyebrow.
“Like mine?”
“Well, uh, I mean, you just don’t normally see a lot of women walking around with half their head shaved and the other half cut above the chin like that…”
I stand in front of her- she’s about three inches shorter than me, but it feels like a foot as I look down at her, and put a hand on her shoulder. I run my hand up her nape, and up the back of her head. She shivers.
“Maybe if you tried something like it, you wouldn’t think it’s so weird.”
“N-no thank you, I’m good, I like having long hair. Please.”
I smile at her, and pat her shoulder.
“Go ahead and bring your girlfriend by around seven. I’ll get things ready for privacy. And I won’t touch your hair again, unless you ask me to.”
She nods, and leaves, sheepishly.

As I sweep up the loose hairs, I start to understand why she likes BDSM. Power does feel good.

A few hours later, I sit in front of my shop drinking a fruit cocktail. The sun is setting over the water, and the waves are hypnotising me again… until someone taps me on the shoulder. I almost choke on my drink when I turn around to see- I think it was the same woman I encountered that morning, but she looks as if she had morphed from a secretary into the owner of an entire goddamn corporation. She’s wearing a formal suit, thin-rimmed glasses, and she stands over me like a titan. Even when I stand up, I feel like she is taller than me. It doesn’t help that I’m wearing jean shorts and a tank-top in front of the fuckin’ CEO.
I scramble to open my shop up, and invite her in. Only then do I notice she’s towing a smaller girl by the arm. I look at her as she is pulled into the shop- long black hair, pale face, big blue eyes- she could be pretty striking with the right treatment.
I pull the door closed behind me, and flip on the lights.
My new boss shoves her girlfriend into a waiting chair, and turns to me saying, “This little slut. She’s been forgetting that the only one she ever needs to speak to is me.”
I feel like I’m being driven back into the wall, as if she’s yelling at me, so I just nod vigorously.
She continues, saying, “I know she’s never going to stop the bad behavior, so I’m going to put a stop to this in the best way I know how- I want you to cut off all her beauty and grace. I don’t want a single hair on her head to be any longer than an inch!”

Well, there goes my first idea.
Still, I can work with this.
I nod, and ask, “You wanna put her in the chair, or do you want me to take over?”
My boss sits down in a chair next to her girlfriend, and says, “Why don’t you take her off my hands for a little while? I’m sure you’re a professional, who knows what she’s doing.”

I’m the boss, now, at least, until the real boss checks back in. I take her girlfriend by the arm, and yank her out of her chair, probably rougher than I should.
I lean down and whisper in her ear, “So. You’re a bad girl, who needs this done as punishment, huh?”
She nods, and looks up at me. I smile, and she whispers at me, “Thank you. And by the way, please do not hold back. I like being roughed up.”
I tighten my grip on her arm, and throw her in front of me, toward the chair. She moseys toward it, and I shove her forward after taking a step up behind her.
When she doesn’t speed up, I take her by the arm and walk her to the chair. I let her step into it, and before she’s able to settle, whip a cape around her. When fastening it, I make sure to make it just a little bit to tight- “Is that too tight?” I ask.
“No”, she says, “That’s perfect.”
I smile at her, and come to her right side to pull her left arm into a strap. I tighten and secure it so she can’t move, and do the same to the other side. I pull the cape over her body, and walk to my table of tools. My hands hover over the clippers for a second, and she watches me, but I decide on a brush instead.
I prowl around her for a few seconds, brushing out long black tresses. Her hair smells distinctly like vanilla. It’s soft, and it flows through my fingers like water.
It’s really a shame to cut all of it off, almost a crime. But I have orders.
I walk to my table, and put my brush down. Her eyes follow me as I pick up my clippers, and pull the guard off. I grin at her when I put it down on the table, and flick the switch to bring the clippers to life.

I saunter toward her with the blades oscillating, eventually letting them rest against her cheek. I pull them up just a bit without letting them touch her hair, and she shivers under her cape.
I pull her bangs forward, and play with a lock.
Wrapping it around my finger, I put my clippers right near her forehead, and remove it.
I tickle her nose with the cut hairs before dropping them in her lap.
I spin her chair around so she can’t see the mirror, and pump her chair up. She’s short enough that it takes a few seconds to rise.
I never stop the clippers.

When I feel satisfied with where she is, I put my hand on the top of her head, and put her chin forward. I put the clippers against the top of her back, and feel her shiver uncontrollably as I bring them up, and up, and up, into her nape. When the blades meet hair, their tone changes. I push them in harder, and up faster.
When the blades reach her crown, I pull them away, and long swathes of black hair fall off my hand and the clippers onto the floor. Her scalp is creamy white and barely has a stubble remaining. I push my clippers into her nape on the right side of my bare strip, and shave it up to the crown. Hair rains down, and I enjoy the softness on my hand. After two more passes, I switch to the left side, shearing her to the crown.

To be confident in my work, I run my clippers up the back of her head a few more times. A few tiny hairs join the black piles on her cape, and on the floor. I power down my clippers- they’re getting a bit hot- and rub her scalp. She lets out a moan, and I smack the back of her head.
I lean down to her ear, brushing the hair over it aside, and ask, “How does it feel to get shaved?”
I can hear her panting a bit when she asks, “Would you please undo the straps so I can, uh… pleasure myself? This is really exciting.”
I think for a moment, before telling her, “No. I’ll undo your straps when I’m done. Until then, you can enjoy yourself without your hands. Shouldn’t be all that hard.”

I fire my clippers back up, and she jumps. I push them up against her ear, and shave the locks off the left side of her head. I walk in front of her, and lean in far to shave the right side of her head. I didn’t wear a bra for comfort reasons, but I was really understanding the positive weight of that decision as I heard her pant harder. I made extra sure that nothing was left on her right side, pushing her ear around to ensure there was nothing left anywhere around it.

I lean back up, and flick the clippers off. I take a look at her cute face- she’s redder than a tomato, and has hairs all over her face. I chuckle as I get my duster to brush off her face, and grab an attachment for my clippers.
While brushing her off, I say to her, “It’s too bad, but you still look super cute without all that hair. I don’t think just shaving you is going to work. But don’t worry. I know exactly what to do.”

I run my hand over the middle of her head, and tell her, “We’re going to make you look like a punk. You’ll have a half-inch mohawk, and nothing else. How does that sound?”
She nods vigorously as I attach my guard to the clippers- I wasn’t actually giving her a choice, but I’m glad she’s into it.
I put a hand under her chin, and pop the clippers on. I let them travel down the middle of her head slowly, and forcefully. I can feel her heavy breathing on my hand as I make another pass. She can’t seem to stop, as I make another pass, and then start the other side- when I stop the clippers, I don’t bother to take things slow and steady finishing up. I can see she wants out of the restraints. I pop the guard off, and clean up the mohawk so that it is only an inch wide.
I quickly put the clippers down, and undo the latch for her left arm, but hold it down as I undo the other latch, smiling at her. She begs me with her eyes to let her go, but I won’t until the other clasp is released- the moment it is, I let her go, and she yells in pleasure almost immediately. I give her a moment to finish while brushing up my clippers. When she’s still, I unhook her cape, and brush stray hairs off her shoulders. There’s a massive pile of hair around her feet when she steps down.

As it turns out, I was right when I thought she’d look better without the hair. Beautiful as it was, it was hiding her eyes. And the mohawk was still an adorable style.
The CEO came up to me, smiling, but I felt equal in height to her. She gave me triple my normal rate, and thanked me. I assured her that is was no trouble, and asked her to come back as soon as she needed to.
She winked me, and left.
I closed up.

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