Dark Paradise – I

Story Categories:

Story Tags:

Views: 7,934 | Likes: +118

Dark Paradise – I

It was supposed to be an easy task. Get into the club, secretly record a video and then send it to the client. All that for an impressive sum of money that I was struggling to make as a freelance photographer. So I could not let this opportunity slip. 

The twist was, it was a kink club. Apparently, my client was filing for divorce and she wanted all the cards on the deck. 

I chose a pant-suit party wear, keeping in mind that Dark Paradise was one of the elite clubs of the city and that I wanted to dress every bit of posh. I did a short work of my red wavy hair and pulled into a messy bun and strutted into the club with the VIP pass I was given.

It took me a moment to absorb the extremity of the visual—of naked men and women—of chains and collars and then some. Of course, there were fully clothed people too, so I was not completely out-of-place.  

I tried to blend in a little, pausing to watch a few scenes of bondage and spanking before zeroing in on the target. 

Now, kink clubs like Dark Paradise has strict rule against photography. It was private and exclusive. You would completely banned or heavily fined if found violating the terms and conditions I had to sign at the arrival. 

But I could not care less. I had no intentions of coming back and all I cared was to get the job done and get paid in full. 

I walked a little closer to the scene, where the man had a woman strapped to a bench and fucked her from behind and slyly recorded a 15-second footage. And that was all I needed. 

I would have been out of the door and escaped but the bouncers blocked my way. Shit. 

I knew I had been caught already but the next thing I know that I was being taken into some room that looked like an office. As against the club, the interior was different. Luxurious and sensual. 

A man sat across the room, behind a polished wooden desk and nodded at the guards. They bowed and left, closing the door. My eyes flew back to the man who sat on the high-back chair like some indolent lord and watched me intently. Probably in late 30s but ruggedly handsome. He slowly abandoned his seat and round the table to stand in front of me. 

“You are new here,” he murmured, assessing me from head to toe. “You are not a Domme. Not dressed like a submissive either.”  

“Listen, Mister. I am getting late. Your bouncers kind of dragged me in here for no reason—”

He cut me off coolly. “May I see your phone, please?”

“Are you kidding me?” I tried to hide the nervousness through a scoff. “No way, I will—”

“You signed an agreement when you entered here, right? Did you care to go through the document? This isn’t a standard nightclub, girl.”  

I crossed my arms in front, tipping up my chin in challenge. “I did. Now, what’s your point?”

“You broke the rules. Any kind of photography or videography is strictly prohibited inside the club for members’ privacy. Now, may I have that phone now?” It was absurd how calm yet intimidating he could be. 

“You have some nerve! I am leaving.” I turned to storm off the room, half expecting he would stop me but he didn’t move an inch. It wasn’t until I realised that the damn door was digitally locked. “Unlock the damn door or else I will call the police.” 

“Go ahead, unless you want to face a lawsuit.” 


He smoothly read out some clauses I had clearly overlooked in a hurry and it was too late to realize that I had willingly stepped into the lion’s den. I was too broke to pay for next month’s rent, let alone face a lawsuit. 

“Next time, read the pages where you sign. We can also settle this nicely, you know. What’s it going to be, girl?” 

“Who the hell are you?” I could not believe my voice sounded so small. 

“My name is Declan Treventa. I own Dark Paradise,” he announced like a king proclaiming his territory. 

“This is all a misunderstanding, Mr. Treventa,” I tried. “I have nothing on my phone that—”

“You probably missed the camera to your right. Maybe it was the dim light or that you were busy recording the scene.” He spoke confidently. “Either way, you will pay, Julia Evans.” 

Fuck, the money, I thought. I was far too deep into a mess. 

“Fine, I will delete the photos,” I gave up and deleted the recording. “Done. Will you open the door?”

He deliberated for a moment and then moved a few paces closer. “You have violated the privacy of the members of this club. I need to ensure if you are not wearing any other device. Remove your clothes.”

“I am sorry, what?”

“You can either strip on your own or I will have you stripped. But I will not be so considerate with your clothes.” 

I could not think past his illicit threat and for a moment, my treacherous mind wondered if he’d make good of his words. But I didn’t want to find it out yet. So I divested myself out of the pantsuit ensemble and stood before him in a lacy bra and panty.  

“Fine. Is this enough?” I gritted.  


I swallowed my pride and unclasped the bra and let it fall. The panty came down next as I stood naked before him. He came closer, close for me to smell his oceanic and musky cologne and circled my stance. 

“You are a natural redhead,” he commented when he stood before and lightly brushed the trimmed public hair with the tip of his finger. I resisted the urge to moan. “Take down your hair.”  

It was a rather odd command but I obeyed nonetheless. He simply reached out to touch my wavy ginger hair, running his fingers down in a slow motion as if he was savouring the feel. 

His hand then disappeared at the back of my neck, slowly climbing over the nape and I was almost hypnotised by the touch. It was alluring. My eyes fluttered close at the sensation, as if I were lost into the trance before he fisted a bunch and pulled back with a jerk. 


“Here’s your two choices, Julia,” he said, seizing my attention. “You can take a punishment, here and now, and all this goes away, or we can resort to the legal action.”

“What kind of a punishment?”

His lips curled a little. “Since you are not used to pain, I will choose something chastening. It will have the same effect nonetheless.” 

I thought for a moment. Since it was a kink club, I would probably be spanked and let off. “And then you will let me leave?”

“Like a free bird.” 

“Fine. I will take the punishment.”  


I did not know if it was being naked or blinded, every sense heightened as I was being led somewhere. The sounds indicated that I was being led back to the club area as the humming grew. 

“Sit,” I heard him say and was gently pushed into a leather seating. The chair was large as I felt the metal hand-rest and foot-rest. Before I could roll any other thoughts about it, I felt my arms were fastened with straps. 

I fought against them instinctively. A sharp tug at my hair stilled me as warm breath fans by earlobe. “Sit still and take your punishment like a good girl.” 

I could retort with a thousand words but for reasons unknown to me, his voice instinctively made me obey. Maybe it was the thrill of my vulnerability or the thrill of unknown, but either way, I let him strap me to the chair. 

He took off the blindfold in a flash and I found myself throned in the middle of a small crowd of kinksters and in what they call a ‘scene area’. And I was in a barber chair – with chrome hand-rest, footrest and the likes. 

Before I could gauge my predicament, a women rolled in a cart full of haircutting equipments. 

Fuck. No. No. No.

“And this is Theo,” Declan introduced a man to the crowd. Tall, blonde, tattooed. “Theo is an experienced barber and as it happens, this little lamb is long overdue a haircut.” 

Once again, I could have screamed and get myself out of this humiliating experience, but I did not as if I were in a trance. 

I watched Declan murmur something to the barber and then stepped back a little. His eyes angled on me, smirking. The barber approached me and clamped a firm hand on top of my head before finger combing my soft, ginger tresses. It reached almost the middle of my back and I wondered how much he was going to cut it.

Next, he gathered the entire length into his hands as my head was pulled back with a jerk. He held it taut and grabbed something from the cart. I could barely crane my neck but convinced myself of the obvious—the scissors. 

Except I was wrong.

The whirring sound came so fast and changed the tone when it came in contact with my hair, I could barely breathe. I had no idea of the length being severed but the low gasp around the room piqued my apprehension. 

 In seconds, the tension in my scalp loosened and I watched the barber in stunned silence handover the bunch to Declan. It was about 15 inches long. He held it up like a trophy as the crowd applauded and then dropped it on my lap. 

“Brave little lamb,” he whispered for my ears and then traced the hair tips grazing my cheekbones. I bit my lips and soaked in the powerless feeling. Naked and shorn and degraded. 

When he moved away, then barber took over once again. This time he doused the hair in water and neatly combed it down. Trickles of water snaked down my spine and over my breasts, making me awareness of my nakedness. The sensation was as humiliating as erotic. 

I was almost convinced that the barber was going to trim the remaining length and shape it up, but the incessant snipping told me otherwise. I could not see what he was doing at the back but the lift-and-chop motion was quite evident. And when those big clumps of severed hair rolled down my back and shoulders, I  was certain that the ordeal was far from over. Yet, I did not make a peep.

Soon, snippets of the hair clung to every inch of my naked skin. I did not know what was worse—being naked and strapped to a chair or being shorn like a lamb, as he called me. 

Instead of being offended, I felt the throbbing between my legs. 

My eyes sought Declan, who watched me with intent blue eyes. I could see how easily he read me, flashing a sly smirk. But my head was pushed down to my chest unceremoniously, attacking the hair on back and towards the crown. The barber would often pause and shake up the wet tresses, making me aware of the shortened length. He, then, yanked my head a little roughly and made me face the crowd. 

His comb and scissors plunged into the hair on top, hacking it off my eye level. He would hold a section between his long fingers and chop them as close as possible with no mercy at all. 

It felt like an eternity when he stopped pushing my head at every direction and snipping off the hair until my hair was short. There were no mirrors to confirm, but the lifeless curls on the floor spoke volumes. 

A sliver of arousal pooled between my legs. I rocked my hips a little through the restraints, craving some sort of friction against my clit. 

Declan strolled over and leaned down to whisper in my ears. “You will not come until I say so.” His palm briefly kneaded my breasts, one after another, before he straightened and nodded a silent instruction to the barber. 

Once again, the roar of the clippers resounded but I had a little time to react. The strong hand forcefully shoved down my head like a meek creature and I felt the steel blades touch my nape. It climbed pretty high at the back, sending clumps of fallen hairs slide down my neck and over my breasts and then onto my lap. 

Pass after pass went by as I was held down before my head was pushed to the left. The clippers attacked the right side, climbing up the temple and then around my ears. I could feel my scalp was barren and my ears exposed. 

For some reason, he wasn’t gentle in his act. Not that I was expecting any softness in the severity of my situation, the dominance turned me on. 

When he was done reducing the left side, every hope of saving little of my hair ebbed away. He finished it off with another round of scissor over comb with whatever little left of my hair. I felt the soft bristles of the duster across my nape, over the shoulders and then lightly stroking my breasts and nipples.

He had no qualms lifting each breast, tweaking the nipples before removing the clumps of hair. My eyes flew up to Declan, who enjoyed every second of the voyeurism. One of his hand adjusted the bulge in his pants while he watched me.

I made a keening noise, torn between the burning arousal and embarrassment, as the barber nonchalantly played with my breasts under the pretence of dusting me off. 

Once he was done, I thought it was over. The humiliation, the haircut, the punishment…but hell, I was so wrong. 

Something warm was massaged onto the nape and higher, then encompassing the sides and over my sideburn. 

“Do not move,” he ordered, flashing the straight razor in warning. 

I felt each and every stroke and scrape of the blade against my scalp, rasping and scratching. My hands and toes curled with the sensation. I dreaded of what was becoming of my hair, but my focus was centred around the inferno between my legs. 

When the barber titled my head to the side to shave, my gaze fell on Declan. I begged with my eyes for the permission to come but he simply shook his head with a diabolical look. 

“Isn’t she looking like a well-shorn little lamb?” He asked the small crowd as I heard praises and hoots. 

“Is this what you wanted?”

“This is so much better, Theo. Thanks, man.”

“The shearing is all my pleasure,” the barber said. “By the way, if you want to keep your little pet like this, she is going to need a cleanup in two weeks.” 

“I will keep it in mind.” 

When he left, Declan led me out of the chair and I wobbled a little. He caught my entire weight as if I weighed nothing and led me back to the office. He grabbed the back of my neck, and without warning, I was pushed onto the floor while he lounged back in his high-back chair. 

“Look at you, girl,” he murmured, his fingers lazily exploring my shorn head. “You came in here with that long, wavy ginger hair, with your haughty set of pantsuit and one hell of a feistiness. And look at you now.” 

He turned me to the side where a wall length mirror reflected the severity of my haircut and I could not help but whimper at the sight. At the same time, the intensity of throbbing between my legs pulsed like a hammer.  

“You are naked, kneeling and humbled,” he continued, pumping into my humiliation, and—oh, God—every word brought me a little closer to reeling orgasm.“Do you know what this haircut is called?”

I shook my head in his hold.

“It’s called a little boys’ haircut.” He smiled. “Of course, I told Theo to go a little shorter for you and razor shave the back and sides into smoothness. This is your punishment haircut, after all. No more boss-lady look for you with your red hair and fancy clothes. Isn’t it, girl?”


He tucked a finger under my chin and lifted a brow. “No, what?”  

“No, Sir,” I croaked, falling deep into the sick submission.  

“Now, tell me something. Would you want anyone to record you while I have you naked, strapped and taking your precious red locks?”

“No, Sir.”

I felt the tip of his luxe leather shoes nudging my thighs apart. Shamelessly, I accommodated. He drove a finger into my sopping channel, thrusting in and out. 

“Would you want to be recorded when my fingers are buried deep in your pussy?”

“I get your point. I am sorry,” I groaned, chasing the orgasm. And then with an afterthought added, “Sir.” 

“Please…don’t stop,” I begged, rocking my hips. 

“What a little hair wench you turned out to be,” he laughed. “Come now.” 

 He did not stop until I came writhing, all over his fingers, and drained. My body almost went limp on the floor but for his strong hold around my neck. He ended my degradation by thrusting the creaming fingers into my mouth and ordered me to suck them clean.  

And I did.

By the time, I had gathered my wits and strength and slipped into my pant-suit, I no longer looked like the haughty persona. I looked…meek and submissive.

“You know who you are now, little wench. I will look forward to another evening if you are brave enough to accept who you are.”

Those were his last words before I rushed out of the club and instantly felt the cool breeze against my scalp. I hailed a cab and got into it, all the while the hair snippets prickling my skin under the fabric. 

Fuck, it seemed like a…dream.

A dream I wanted to relive again. 


Leave a Reply