Dr. Jackie and Miss Hyde Pt II: Let There be Carnage!

A few years had passed since Jackie’s clipper shave after losing control at a barbershop to her alter ego and hair fetish beast she affectionately refers to as Miss Hyde. Jackie and Miss Hyde had wagered her hair on coin flips and Jackie had not only lost the coin flips but also control of herself as Miss Hyde marched her into the shop and into the barber’s chair where she lost her long red hair and her dignity.

Jackie had been able to keep her hair fetish in check since then with a steady diet of haircut videos, stories, and masterbating. Her firey red hair had reached her nipples now which is the longest she’d ever had it. She treasured every day with her hair because she knew that Miss Hyde could take it again at any time.

She often wondered who else had these inner battles. Most people in her life had the same haircut for as long as she’d known them which rules them out. A few people she knew changed their hairstyle to keep up with the latest hair trends, but she suspected that was more vanity than fetish. No, she was looking for the individual whose hair changed unexpectedly, frequently, and not always to the most flattering of haircuts. However, that person could just be in a relationship with someone with a fetish. No one came to mind fitting those criteria.

It had been almost three years since her last loss of control. And then it happened, again!  After binging all of Hair Apparent’s stories that often end in the dreaded bowl cut,the humiliating haircut she was forced to have growing up, Miss Hyde’s hunger was insatiable.

While out running errands, Miss Hyde exerted control pulling the car in front of a little four chair barbershop to watch the haircuts in progress. The lad closest to the window had a huge mound of hair on the cape and a dwindling amount left on his head.

As she sat there taking in the scene in the shop, she subconsciously worked her hand up her skirt and past her skimpy panties as she recalled her last experience in a barbershop. Miss Hyde slowly began to take over. She convinced Jackie that the view would be better in the shop. They could go in, pretend to wait for a haircut, then at the last minute make an excuse to leave like needing to get cash or needing to take a phone call. There’d be absolutely no risk to her precious long hair.

Jackie considered Miss Hyde’s idea then ceded control to her. The car door opened, she made her way slowly to the shop door still obsessed with the shearing the poor lad was getting and his gleaming white scalp newly exposed. She opened the door causing all eyes to be on her.

“Hello, take a seat.  Just four ahead of you” the barber nearest the door said while continuing his denuding of the head in front of him. She took a seat pressing her thighs tightly together as her juices stewed between her legs.

She sat there subconsciously twirling a lock of hair as she took in the sights, the sounds, and the smells overwhelming her senses. The excitement of entering the shop and watching these haircuts is going to get her off for weeks.

Not wanting to cut it too closely, when there gets to be just one person ahead of her she holds her phone to her ear and heads towards the door as she says, “Hi, this is Beth”. Once outside she gets in the car still pretending to be on the phone then puts it down and drives away, racing home to quench her needs.

OMG, that was so hot! She imagined herself in that first barber’s chair, the recipient of that brutal shearing as she fingered herself furiously.

Eventually, the thrill of this experience waned and Miss Hyde began craving another. She picked another small shop at a time when there would be a long wait and repeated her performance, once again executing it to perfection. Then again, and again each time going off without a hitch. She decided to up her game putting on short, tight little dresses that really put the “girls” on display, her perky round C cups. She also wore high heels, ensured her makeup was sexy, and added thick wavy curls to her hair.

She had used a variety of excuses to leave including the fake phone call, I don’t have time to wait any longer, or I forgot to get cash since most old fashioned barbershops are cash only. She was starting to get more and more daring each time too. On the last occasion she went so far as to wait until she’d made her way to the barber’s chair and took a seat before pretending to get a call. She’d forgotten how big and comfortable they were. And the thrill of being so close to losing her hair put her sex into overdrive. Her self gratification sessions flourished, and Miss Hyde and Jackie had found a nice balance for control over her body and hair.

Emboldened by her prior performances, Miss Hyde marched Jackie into Bob’s Barbershop. It was a single chair shop with a large street facing window, black and white tiled floor, and off white walls covered with sports memorabilia, barber signs, and old posters of men’s short haircuts.

As Jackie entered, a bell chimed alerting the barber to her arrival. He looked up from the boy he was giving a summer buzzcut to taking note of her long hair currently in a French braid and asked, “Hi Miss, can I help you?”

“Yes, I’m here for a haircut”

“Miss, I only do traditional short haircuts here”

Feeling cocky from prior exploits, I reply “good, I’m here for a flattop”. It was the first haircut that popped into my head since my father had forced my brother to have that haircut all through our childhood.

The barber raised an eyebrow and instructed me to take a seat and he’d be with me shortly. The barber finished the buzzcut and then a high and tight, both of which started my juices flowing . As the last customer paid at the register by the door, I stood and started to walk towards the barber chair, then used a line I’d used successfully before, “oh wait, I need to get cash first” assuming again that this small old fashioned barbershop only took cash. I turned to walk out the door having had my fun and needing privacy to deal with the moisture in her mound.

“No worries, I take credit cards”. The barber was between me and the door. I was trapped, both literally and figuratively. Miss Hyde had convinced me to gamble all my hair, and the barber called my bluff. And now I am going to lose my hair again thanks to Miss Hyde. And a flattop! What had possessed me to say that! I’m a doctor, a professional. How can I face my patients and colleagues with a flattop? Hell, how can I even walk out this shop door sporting a flattop?

The barber gently grabbed my elbow and guided me to the chair. Fuck, fuck, fuckity, fuck, fuck! Miss Hyde strikes again!

I sat in the large red and chrome chair, still warm from the last customer. The smell of talc, cut hair, and clipper oil took me back to the barbershop bowl cuts dad had forced me to get in a barbershop as a kid, the mostly likely cause of my hair fetish.

The barber draped a baby blue silk cape around me along with a neck strip, then snapped it tightly.

At this point I am in freak out mode. Never in my wildest dreams did I see my day playing out like this. I didn’t want this haircut or any haircut for that matter. How had I let Miss Hyde convince me to play this dangerous game of chicken with my hair? What would my patients say? Professional women don’t have flattops, hell women don’t generally have them either!

The barber ratcheted the chair higher as I stared straight ahead, shell shocked by my predicament. This barber was about to relieve me of all my long hair that I had loved and cared for, and protected from Miss Hyde for several years. And now it was going to wind up on this floor.

I was snapped out of my stupor by the barber asking me something about a landing strip. I wasn’t certain what he was asking or how it related to my pending flattop, but I knew that when it came to grooming my pubic hair a landing strip meant a patch of hair was left so that must also apply to a flattop as well. And I wanted as much hair left as possible so I replied that I’d like a nice big landing strip.

The shop began to fill with waiting customers ensuring my humiliation would be complete. A mother with her two sons, and two older gentleman took their seats in the waiting area, all keenly focused on the woman caped in the chair with long firey red hair. Panties soaked, nipples hard, and face flushed red, I was a mess.

As the barber approached me on my left, I could clearly see he was excited about this haircut based on the bulge in his pants. He was taking his time though, prolonging my torture. He gently undid my braid and combed my hair thoroughly, then gathered it into a ponytail at my nape. And then it began. Jaws gaped open in the shop as the scissors chewed through my foot long ponytail quickly severing it. What hair remained swung forward just grazing my chin, but I was facing way from the mirror so I could not see carnage.

The barber unceremoniously dropped my ponytail on the floor, then let me know he was next going to remove the bulk first. He slid his fingers up the side of my head in front of my ear, his fingers pressing against my scalp, and snipped off all protruding hair dropping a six inch lock in my lap, then slid his hand up a little further back then snipped again. He repeated this process working his way around the back and then around the right side.

Oh my God! It’s happening again! I reached out and grabbed a lock of hair from my lap, running it through fingers. I shifted my hips back and forth and squeezed my thighs together as the heat in my mound rose. Wearing the short dress made it easy for me to push my other hand up my skirt, past my soaked panties, and into my throbbing clit where I began fingering faster and harder as the hair pile grew.

The only sound in the shop is the clack of the scissors as a mass of red hair rains down accumulating in my lap. Years of regrowth slowly being sheared away, each snip pushing me closer to the precipice of an embarrassing orgasm in front of a shop full of strangers.

Next, the barber moves to the top. Working down the left side he starts at the hairline and works his way back towards the crown snipping the hair down to 1-2 inches long, then repeats the process on the right. A halo of red hair surrounds the barber chair and is piled high on my shoulders and lap. I imagine I look like Queen Cersei from the Game of Thrones when she had all her locks hacked off.

I hear the barber set his scissors down and know what is coming next. What I don’t realize at the time is that the barber has attached his #00000 blade to his big Oster 76 clippers. I hear the clippers roar to life behind me and jump a little.

“Head down, Miss” the barber instructs as I hear the roaring clippers approach my head. He places them at the base of my nape and slowly begins the ascent up to my crown. With my nape being one of my most sensitive erogenous zones, the clippers push me to the edge. Then, on the third pass up my nape it happens again! The sensations are too much to contain. My toes curl, my muscles tense, my eyes flutter, and l let out a half moan half whimper as I orgasm right there in the barber chair on full display for all to witness.

“For the love of God Bob, turn that lewd trollop towards the mirror! I’ve got small boys present”, the mother complains.

The barber obliges and rotates me to face the mirror giving me my first look at what is left of my once beautiful long flowing mane.

Now my humiliation is complete. I feel like Cersei now on the walk shame as peasants threw wrotten vegetables at her. I’m red faced, breathing hard, and embarrassed, and we’re just getting started on the haircut.

A stupid thought helps distract me from my humiliation. He is Bob the Barber! What’s his moto? “Can we cut it? Yes we can!”  The random Bob the Builder reference helps settle me momentarily, but then the clippers resume their attack on my locks, and my sensitive nape. It’s only when he works his way around the right side that I get my first look at how short the clippers are cutting. There is nothing left! It is shorter than my clipper shave if that’s possible. All I see is bare white skin where red locks once resided. I gasp at this revelation, and Bob, seeing my reaction, winks at me in the mirror and smiles.

Soon all the hair from my back and sides is gone. I have been skinned. I think back to my little brother’s flattops growing up. His hair was never this short. Now with just the hacked up hair on top of my head remaining I look like Sideshow Bob.

As I am pondering these things I feel the still running clippers placed on the top of my head and drawn straight back. I look in the mirror and see a strip of pale white skin starting a couple inches back from my hairline and running all the way back to join the pale skin on the back of my head.

“Wha-wha-what are you doing?” I stammer.

“Giving you what you asked for, a nice big landing strip”, the barber replies. “This is what’s known as a horseshoe flattop. See how the hair that is left on the top front and sides forms a horseshoe? It’s the cut that will give you the biggest landing strip like you requested.”

At this point I’m feeling like karma is catching up to me like JuJou in the Mad Willey stories I love so much—me brazenly requesting a flattop when I walked in, picking the one excuse to leave that wouldn’t work in this exact shop, requesting a big landing strip thinking I knew what the barber meant, tricking all those other barbers into thinking my hair was within their grasp, and worst of all, trusting Miss Hyde that my hair would not be at risk! Karma is clearly a bitch and I’m getting my comeuppance!

“Mommy, why is he cutting all her hair off?” I hear one of the boys ask his mother. “Was she naughty?”

“Yes Matthew, she is being naughty right now and should be spanked!” his  mom replies.

I’m sure she meant as a punishment, but the thought of her spanking my ass here in the barbershop while Bob shears me like a sheep ignites round two of my arousal in a big way. Miss Hyde is clearly in control now and clouding my thoughts and judgment.

Meanwhile, Bob’s been quiet for a while. What is he up to? He’d set his clippers down on the counter in front of me then turned back towards me as  he scooped a dollop of pink goo out of a little white jar called Krew Comb. It smells sweet and waxy all at the same time. He rubbed it into what little hair I had left, then used a comb and blow dryer to make all the hair stand up perfectly stick straight. Next he adjusts my head and posture upright and instructs me to hold very still. He inserts his comb perfectly level horizontally into my bangs about an inch above my hairline and buzzes off all the hair sticking out above the comb. He then moves the comb a little further back and repeats the process and continues doing this until he reaches the crown of my head where the comb is resting flat on my new landing strip.

Then came more Krew Comb and blow dryer, and several more rounds of clippers over comb before Bob is satisfied that the hair on top is cut into a uniform flat surface. I dared not move for fear of messing up his masterpiece that was my hair. The last few passes over the top he does freehand, widening the landing strip and cutting any strays that stick up above the flat surface that is quickly becoming my new hairstyle.

I was mesmerized by the process, as were all the eyes of the audience I could see in the mirror. Bob next moved to the side and held his comb nearly vertical as he buzzed the hair that stuck out beyond it. He worked his way down both sides of the horseshoe doing this to create a tidy wall around the flat surface on top. The symmetry was something to behold and I had to appreciate the craftsmanship that went into creating this haircut. That being said, holy fuck I have a stupid horseshoe on my head! Please God let him be done now! I can’t take much more of this. No such luck. Bob was having too much fun.

A machine on the counter dispensed a pile of shaving cream into his hand which he divided between his two hands and stepped behind me. As his hands rubbed the warm shaving cream on my newly exposed bare skin it was like well lubricated intercourse on my head. I came instantly and more violently than before! My back arched as my whole body tensed and shuttered, my eyes squeezed tight as hard as they could. My arms had a death grip on the arms of the barber chair. The pile of red hair in my lap launched forward and came to rest on my toes. The sensation of having so much hair tickling my toes and nearly nothing on my head made me smile as I came down from my euphoria and caught my breath.

“Oh for Christ’s sake Bob! We’re leaving! Come on boys, we’ll come back when you have more PG clients!”, the mother barked, then she stood and hurriedly ushered her boys towards the door while glaring at me in the mirror.

Bob, surprised by my physical response, jumped back holding his shaving cream covered hands out to the sides of my head while I came. As the mother and kids departed he apologized to her, looked at me in the mirror and asked, “May I continue?”

All I could do is nod. Again, his hands began rubbing shaving cream all over my sensitive skin, including down my big ol’ landing strip. I stared at myself in the mirror as he rinsed the excess off his hands. I was quite a sight covered in a big baby blue cape with red locks still clumped on my shoulders and a few perched on my chest, my checks still flushed from my last orgasm, my big green Disney princess eyes now much more noticeable, my ears on full display now and obviously needing more piercings, and the white foam covering my head contrasted against the firey red horseshoe of hair now adorning my head. I was quite a sight indeed. Bob must have agreed because it was at this moment that he turned and snapped a picture of me in all my glory. A keepsake for him to remember this haircut.

“We’re in the home stretch now, then you can be on your way to show the world your new do”, Bob whispered in my ear as he approached my landing strip with his straight razor. He meticulously pulled the blade back in short strokes as it made a raspy sound. Slowly my landing strip was being exposed, completely devoid of any trace of hair. Again, I found myself caught up in the artistry being exhibited on my head, regardless of how unwanted this haircut is. And the sensation of the blade being dragged across my sensitive scalp was giving my goose bumps. It was so sensual. I lost track of where I was. At this point in time it was just me and Bob sharing a moment neither of us would forget any time soon.

All too soon it was over. Bob reverently folded his razor closed and set it on the counter, then gently wiped my head clean with a fresh towel. He finished by applying aftershave to the shaved areas to help prevent ingrown hairs, and gave my horseshoe one last thorough brushing to ensure every hair was once again erect, like him.

He gave me one last look in the mirror and we both simultaneously sighed, both obviously a little saddened that this haircut was coming to an end. He undid the cape and flicked it off me with a practiced ease, then spun me back to face the audience. I quickly pulled my dress back down towards my knees to cover up the brief peep show the men got. My scent was also noticeable now that the cape was removed, at least to me. I suspected Bob sensed it too, and at this point who smelled me was the least of my concerns.

I tied to kick the hair off my toes, but clumps still lodged in my opened toed high heels. Again, don’t care. I rose from the chair on wobbly legs and reached for my head. The shaved parts were so smooth and sensitive. The horseshoe was so soft but the flattop wax coated my finger tips. It was so short I could barely pinch any hair between my fingers. And then I looked down. Holy fuck! Look at it all! My precious hair, now commingled with clumps from several other men’s haircuts, and waiting to be joined by clumps from future cuts that follow.

I pay Bob twice the cost for the haircut who then instructs me to come back every two weeks to keep the haircut looking sharp and gives me a jar of Krew Comb. I ponder that request to return. Will Miss Hyde still be in control in two weeks, or can I start to regrow my hair again?

I walk out the door and pause under the spinning barber pole looking at my reflection in the window—my sexy low cut green dress putting my ample cleavage on display, my now longer looking neck, my high cheekbones and cute nose and ears not hidden by hair anymore, my eyes and long lashes much more prominent now, and my pale white skin contrasting starkly with the short stubbled flat plane of red hair now my crowning glory.  Am I crazy or is this sexy as fuck? Do I hate it or love it? Has the wall between Dr. Jackie and Miss Hyde been blurred, or maybe even knocked down? I guess we’ll know in two weeks if I show up at Bob’s barbershop again.💈