Dr. Jackie and Miss Hyde

Like most of us reading this story, Jackie has a secret. An alter ego that she tries to hide from the world, her hair fetish. In her case it is a beast she calls Miss Hyde. There is a never ending battle between her and Miss Hyde for control of her body, and specifically her hair.

She keeps the beast at bay by feeding it a steady diet of haircut videos from YouTube and stories from this site. She recently finished reading every story on the site and is now going back through favorites like the poor, bumbling Ju Jou; Austin’s Razor; the dark, intense stories of Shorngirl; and her guilty pleasure stories of Flattopstephanie that combine women at barbershops, Oster clippers, flattops, and a little naughty arousal.

This fetish material and regular self gratification help keep the beast at bay, but not always. It is at these times that Jackie’s hair is at risk. It happens without warning. The most recent incident occurred while she had a couple of hours to kill between meetings and found herself driving past a barbershop her father had taken her and her brother to as a kids. Before she knew what was happening, Miss Hyde had taken control and pulled the car into a parking space in front of the shop to feed her fetish with the sights of haircuts in progress within.

The memories came flooding back. After mom left, dad did the best he could. His idea of haircare was regular short haircuts at the cheapest barbershop he could find so he’d bring  my brother and I here monthly, my brother to tidy up his flattop and me to have the line of my bowlcut raised, the back and sides shaved, and then the top would have the shit thinned out of it so it was just a thin, flat oval on my head.

The humiliation of this haircut in a barbershop and at school l am certain led to my obsession with hair and the rise of the beast. Speaking of the beast, I could feel my control of my body slowly waining as the beast watched the twelve barbers at work in this shop.

I looked in the rearview mirror fearing for my firey red hair that I’d managed to regrow past my shoulders since the last time Miss Hyde took control. I had to do something to save my hair. I have patients and it is humiliating facing life after Miss Hyde gains control and leads me into haircuts I don’t want.

I need to leave. I grab the keys and am about to start the car when Miss Hyde has a proposal. She wants to go in there, to sit in one of those barber chairs again, and feel this clippers again. Miss Hyde gathers all the coins from the ashtray and makes me a deal.

Best of five rounds, we flip all 15 coins—heads means a haircut and tails means we hightail it out there with our hair intact. But, if after 5 rounds, heads wins we march into the shop, take a number, and when we get in the chair tell the barber to cut it the same as his last customer.

At this point my arousal is in high gear and I can’t help but rub myself over my jeans at the thought of gambling with my hair. I am powerless to refuse the deal. Win or lose, the thought of this deal will give me self gratification fodder for days, if not weeks  

I take the first coin and flip it into the passengers seat. After flipping a few coins I realize I am so excited that my coin flips are going all over the place so I switch to flipping them into the passengers side footwell. At the end of round one I separate out the heads and count seven. Round one goes to hightailing it out of there. My hair may live to see another day intact.

At the end of round two, it is overwhelmingly heads. I don’t even need to count. Ok, we’re tied 1-1. Round three comes out heads again.

Oh shit, this could really happen. I pause to look back into the barbershop to see what haircuts are in progress—everything from a short back and sides to a headshave for a guy who obviously has male pattern baldness. Oh fuck! Can a just lean over like this and masterbate now? Would anyone know? I’m rubbing myself furiously now, and then I look back down at the coins—calling me to finish. Like Jumanji, I can’t quit, the only way to leave the game is to finish.

I reach for the coins and resume flipping. HTTHHHTHHHH. Fuck! At this point, Miss Hyde has taken control, I am powerless to resist. I slowly open the car door and grab my purse. Time has slowed as I begin my steady march towards the spinning barber pole and the front door.

A departing customer holds the door for me as I step back into the shop that is responsible for making me the way I am, for creating Miss Hyde. The shop is the same as I remember it. Same black and chrome chairs, same black and white checkered floor, same wood paneling, same smell of cut hair and clipper oil, even the same old haircut posters.

As if on autopilot, I take a number then take a seat in the waiting area. There are eight ahead of me but with 12 barbers I’m sure it won’t be long. I turn my attention to the haircuts in progress wondering what fate has in store for me. It has been a busy day I can tell by the quantity of hair and neck strips littering the floor, and soon mine will join that mess. Oh God, I’m so aroused! I shift uncontrollably in my chair trying to settle my nerves and my loins.

One by one the eight numbers ahead of me are called. I deduce that that means I will be sitting in one of the remaining four chairs. I study each one closely to see what haircut I may end up with—two are getting short back and sides, one is a mid skin fade with the top finger short, and a flattop. I’m trying to gauge which will finish first when I hear my number called.

What? Who said that? I look around trying to figure out who is speaking. There, behind me by the door, and next to the front window is a barber holding his cape waiting for his next customer. One of the eight ahead of me had sat there and I hadn’t paid any attention to his haircut assuming it would be one of the other four.

I rise and make my way to the waiting barber who turns his chair to face me. I take my place in his chair and am quickly readied with a neck strip and cape. As the barber ratchets the chair higher he asks “what are we doing today?”

At this point I could bolt for the door or request a trim, but Miss Hyde is fully in control. “I’d like it cut like your last customer, please”. Oh my God, I actually said the words! What is wrong with me? I have no idea what the last customer got! I need to stop this madness! How can I show my face at work after this!

All the humiliation of those bowlcuts came flooding back. The teasing at school. The dred walking out of the barbershop freshly shorn having to face the world. And all of this was soaking my panties as I resumed rubbing myself under the cape.

“Are you sure mam? That is pretty short. “

Am I sure? He is giving me an out here. Throwing me a life preserver, all I have to do is take it. But no, to quote the Borg from Star Trek, resistance is futile.

“Yes please” I meekly reply.

“Alrighty then” he turns me away from the mirror to face the shop and busies himself behind me. I look around the shop feeling the stares of the other barbers and customers.

Then I hear it. That sound I haven’t heard since I was a kid, the racing whine of the big black clippers. Without warning the barber approaches me from the side, places the roaring clippers at my hairline, and rapidly draws them back toward my crown. Three more rapid passes follow quickly shearing the hair off the top of my head in no time flat.

I have no idea if there is a guard on the clippers, but I can tell by the looks on everyone’s face and the hair slipping off my shoulders into my lap that it is short!

The barber continues his rapid assault of my head laying to waste all the hair on the left side as he moves my head and ear around to make way for whirring machine.

Miss Hyde is in heaven. There is no tomorrow, no consequences, only here, only now. My fetish is in total control. And she is about to roar approaching the edge of an orgasm.

And then it happened. The barber pushed her head forward and ran the clippers up her nape. That was all it took. Her body tensed, toes curled, her eyes closed tightly, she bit her lower up, she squeezed her pussy through her jeans, and a moan escaped her lips as she came.

Humiliation was no stranger to her, but coming in the barber chair was hitting an all-time low. She now sat there caped in a barbershop with her face as red as the hair quickly piling high in her lap as all eyes were on her.

The barber let out a chuckle but did not miss a beat as he continued his fevered pace. The right side was done all too soon as the final locks of hair found its way from my head to my shoulder and finally into my lap. The barber did one more quick pass over every inch of my scalp then the clippers fell silent.

He unsnapped the cape and spread shaving cream along my hairline and nape, then quickly shaved them with his razor.  It was all over so quickly. Now was the moment of truth.

The barber turned the chair back towards the mirror. “Ok mam, one clipper shave”.

My jaw dropped. It was all gone. Just the faintest of red stubble remained. He carefully pulled the cape forward off me dumping all my hair in front of me at my feet as I sat mesmerized by my reflection.

What had I done? What had Miss Hyde convinced me to do. She’d had her fun but now I started to regain control. Now came the consequences. Now came the humiliation. Now came the fodder to masterbate from the second I get home until I can’t take it anymore.

I rose from the chair as I passed a hand over my shorn scalp. It wasn’t smooth like the old shaved bowlcuts but darn near. I paid the barber and left a healthy tip, the least I can do after Miss Hyde’s embarrassing behavior.

I returned to my car and started it. I paused taking in the sight of the spinning barber pole, the coins on the floor of the car, and my clipper shaved head in the mirror noting that Miss Hyde had won control this time, and hoping I could keep her in check long enough for me to grow this out, again.

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