Hawke Academy Rules

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Author’s note: All characters in the story are above 18. It is a slightly lengthy one, involving teacher-student dynamics with air of light BDSM. If you wish, you can also skip to the haircut below.

 

Hawke Academy Rules

About eight months ago, I got a little tipsy on my eighteenth birthday party and drove my shiny new sedan into a shop. It was closed, and there was no casualty whatsoever, but I was still booked. Since my father was a judge, he managed to pull a few strings and got me a deal.

And that deal led me here – the godforsaken Hawke Reformation Academy. It was a college for delinquent students in some remote town. And apparently, I have to spend three years here, or they’d send me back to prison.

“Come to the principal’s office, Miss Well. Now!” Mrs. Gibson snapped and made me follow her down to the infamous office of Shane Hawke.

According to the gossip doing the rounds, Shane Hawke was not a man to be trifled with. He was in his late thirties with an Ivy League degree under his belt and the fifth generation Hawke to run this place like a tight ship.

“Mrs. Gibson, what brings you here today?” His deep voice rang out without bothering to look up from his computer screen, and when he did lift his gaze, it was on me.

“Sir, Miss Wells here was caught cheating in her exams. I retrieved these paper chits from her.”

Instead of a frown, he elusively smirked and inspected the crumpled papers. “Mrs. Gibson, students are supposed to be frisked before the exams. Were they not?” he demanded, and it was my turn to smirk.

“Umm…yes, sir, they were. But she—” The old hag threw a disgruntled side look “—she hid them in her hair.”

“Ah, I see,” he smiled lazily and comfortably back into his chair, seemingly impressed. “It’s a creative idea.”

“Sir, we must tea—”

He raised his hand and cut her off. “Thank you for bringing this to my notice, Mrs. Gibson. I will take it up from here. Please resume back to your classes.” The displeased teacher looked between us for a second before marching out. She was probably a little vexed for not being part of my scolding and warning session.

“So, Miss Wells…” He slowly rose, buttoning his suit jacket and rounded the table. “Let’s see what got you in trouble.”

I didn’t understand until he turned me around by the shoulder and began to pull down the messy bun I had put up earlier. The length of my chocolate brown hair was no joke. It almost touched my bum, and thanks to the great genes, it was also every bit thick and shiny.

I tried to turn my head, but he quickly yanked it back to hold me steady. “Don’t move,” he scolded, and all that playfulness was gone in a second.

It was a little edgy the way I felt him gather the bunch in his hand, controlling the movement of my head while the fingers of his free hand danced over my sensitive nape. I shouldn’t feel so…hot and bothered.

“Hmm.” He abruptly withdrew his touch and turned me around to face him. “Miss Wells, I hope you are aware that every infraction in this prestigious academy is dealt with as a consequence. Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

Consequence, my ass! I shrugged a little. “I am sorry?”

He raised a contemptuous brow and then smirked. “I see. You are one of those impertinent ones,” he commented with a highborn accent.

“C’mon, I deserve one warning at least.”

“In case, you haven’t noticed, this is not an average college.” Yeah, no shit. “And you should be grateful that you are here, instead of a prison cell.”

“This isn’t Disneyland, either,” I muttered under my breath, unfortunately, a little audibly. Oops!

“What did you just say?” he thundered.

I quickly dropped my gaze, pretending repentance. “Nothing. I mean, I am sorry, sir.”

“Come with me, Miss Wells, before you incur an irredeemable list of offences.”

I followed behind him, almost running to keep up with his long and purposeful strides as he paced down the hallway and climbed the stairs. The academy was widespread, consisting of grounds for physical training, numerous classrooms, eating halls, residential area, and a couple of gardens. However, students were not allowed to roam around freely.

But where the hell was he taking me?

Mr. Hawke finally stopped before a door, and we entered. It was a basic room, like some sort of a reception area with a desk and a couch. A man who was sitting behind the counter promptly stood up and greeted the principal. He was almost the same age as him, dressed in semi-casual attire.

“Lucas,” Mr. Hawke addressed him. “This is Miss Catherine Wells who was smart enough to hide paper chits inside her bun but stupid enough to get caught by the teacher.” I pursed my lips indignantly and glared as he continued. “So, I will require your service to carry out her punishment.”

My…what?

“Right, of course, sir,” that Lucas guy grinned like someone just gave him a trophy. “Please come inside,” he gestured towards a door that led to another room.

I wanted to flip the middle finger and stomp out, but when Mr. Hawke snagged my elbow and dragged me into the room, I had no choice but to follow. But the second I took in the surroundings, I froze.

There was a large mirror on one of the walls, two high chrome chairs with pedestals, a counter displaying a variety of haircutting equipment. It’s a freaking barbershop!

“No way!” I tried to bolt except the principal was still holding on to my elbow, and I bumped into his hard chest. “Let me go, let me go!” I yelled, shrieked, and thrashed in panic, but it was all in vain.

“Stop it! Behave, Miss Wells,” he admonished and held me even tighter in his grip.

“Behave, my ass! Let me go, you jerk!” I was hysterical by now. And in order to free myself, I tried to kick him between the legs, but he was quick enough to dodge.

“Now, Catherine, you shouldn’t have done that,” he told me calmly with an undercurrent of threat in his voice.

“You can’t do this! I will—”

The rest of my words were cut off when Lucas twisted my arms at the back and restrained. He grabbed a bunch of my hair and yanked it back. “Do I need to gag you now, girl?”

Genuine fear crept into my veins like thick opium, and I gulped. “Please…no. Please, don’t do this,” I begged almost tearfully, sandwiched between two pissed-off men. The principal silently nodded at Lucas, and he quickly let go of my hair.

“Catherine, do not make this anymore difficult for you,” Mr. Hawke warned. “Earlier, you had one infraction and now you have two – cheating and swearing. Be grateful that I let go of the hysterical fit. Now, Lucas is going to wash your mouth with soap and you are going to cooperate. Or else, I am not above doling out three punishments or more.”

Fear prompted my obedience, and I slowly nodded. It was Lucas who took hold of my nape and pulled me towards a sink. With the other hand, he grabbed an ivory soap, lathered under the faucet, and turned to me. “Open your mouth wide,” he ordered coldly.

I gradually parted my quivering lips, but he shoved the entire bar inside and swiped all over my tongue until I gagged. The bitter, acrid taste exploded, almost making me want to puke. Satisfied, he placed the bar between my teeth. “Bite it down.”

And all this while, Mr. Hawke stood there, crossed armed and watched. Rinsing away his hands, Lucas addressed the man. “Sir, what do you want me to do with her hair? Anything in particular?”

“I was thinking of something short. Perhaps you could help?”

Lucas looked at me—rather at my hair and mused. “Sir, may I suggest something different?”

“Yes, please.”

“Short haircuts are more stylish than a punishment nowadays. And given her fiery attitude…” he stroked my now-tangled length “…how about a headshave?”

I immediately screeched, causing the bar of soap slip out of my mouth and earning a collective glare from the ruthless duo.

“Actually, that’s a good idea, Lucas. Go ahead,” he allowed.

My heart was at my throat, and the drooling lather and saliva became the least of my problems. Maybe people were right about this place—it was worse than prison.

Mr. Hawke came closer and narrowed his eyes. “I am going to free your hands so you can wash your mouth. Don’t make me regret it.” By now, I understood the aura of power he wore around him and did my best to comply.

Once freed, I rinsed my mouth as vigorously as possible, trying to scrub away the taste of soap. Turning down the faucet, I accepted the towel Lucas handed and wiped.

“Look at that,” he stared down at my uniform—white polo shirt and A-line skirt, stained and dampened with lathered drool. “Please take it off.”

Before I could even argue, he began to pull out the tail of my shirt and got it off. Next came the skirt, and within a minute, I was standing in my lingerie. Lucas took me to the chair and ordered to sit, and as if I was in a haze, I complied.

The haircut begins –

What else could I do? My mouth was soaped, my clothes were taken away, and my head was about to be shaved. This must be a terrible nightmare.

Once I was capped, Mr. Hawke echoed another warning. “Lucas, make sure Miss Wells doesn’t take her eyes off the mirror. If she does, you are going to shave her head every day for a month.”

Lucas chuckled and patted my head. “Well, you heard the man.” Then he moved on to grab a hairbrush and set out to untangle the length. It took him quite some time, smoothing out the knots and braiding two long tails emerging from the sides. The image gave me a chill—a grown-up woman in a barber chair with two plaits and red eyes.

Lucas plucked a clipper in his hand, a larger version of my bikini trimmer, poised to the left. He grabbed the braid with one hand, turned on the machine, and attacked at the base. One moment, there was a tug, and the next moment, one and a half foot length of my shiny hair was in his hands.

I was too shocked to cry or scream, but instantly, shut my eyes in disbelief. Lucas tugged the other braid on the right side and quickly chastised, “Eyes, now!” I willed myself to look ahead and watched the brutal slicing of the second braid as it joined the previous one on the counter.

“You were right, Lucas,” Mr. Hawke came closer to inspect and finger-combed through my uneven hacked length. “Shorter haircut wouldn’t have served as a punishment. Miss Wells is too pretty for that.” Never had a compliment in my life made me feel so weird.

“I will take care of this, sir.” Lucas stood behind me now and plunged a comb into my hair. He lifted a chunk, drove the roaring clipper over it, and chopped. Masses of hair sailed down the white cape as he went all around my head—lifting and chopping like a careless butcher—until every hair on my head was about an inch. And just so he could punish me, he grabbed a thick lock at my forehead, hacked, and sprinkled before my eyes. I didn’t dare to look down, not because I wasn’t allowed, but the mound of hair was too painful to look at.

“Sit straight now,” Lucas ordered when I had almost slouched down. He gripped my jaw, brought the buzzing clipper (a different one again) to my forehead, and drove it towards my crown. Before the first swathe of hair fell, he went for another swipe, and another, until the top was nothing but five o’clock shadow. He maneuvered my head from side to side and ran the clippers where he deemed necessary.

Next, the same masculine hand pushed down my head firmly, and the chattering clipper was against my nape. It was unnerving being in a position of submission, but at the same time, so right and perfect. The two emotions tangled, making me quiver in anxiety.

“There, almost done.” My head was pulled up. Lucas rubbed his palm over my denuded scalp, his warmth tingling in places as he checked every square centimetre for perfection. Satisfied, he brushed away the severed hairs, grabbed a can and squirted a big dollop of shaving foam into his hands. Soon, the white lather was massaged all over my head in a slow circular motion. As bizarre as it was, I actually relaxed into his touch.

Lucas tucked a towel into the cape and picked up a straight razor. “I need you to stay still for me…like a good girl,” he murmured, all the while stropping the razor against the leather.

I nodded a little as he smiled and took a firm hold of my head. The sharp blade rasped against my scalp, wiping away any trace of hair until stark white skin appeared. Ears were folded this way and that my sideburns were scraped clean, and my head was pushed down several times to shave the back. For the final touch, he dispensed a few drops of liquid in his hands and slowly rubbed over my shaven scalp. God knows what it was, but it felt cooler and soothing against razor burn. At last, I was uncapped and released.

I climbed down shakily as Lucas steadied me by the shoulders. He plucked a large fluffy brush and swept away whatever little snippets of hair sticking around my face, neck, torso, and back. His actions were gentle, almost caring like he was tending some child. He even helped me get dressed and buttoned the front of my stained polo-shirt.

“Good girl,” he crooned the term once or twice, and strangely so, it had a calming effect on me. What the hell was wrong with me?

I noticed the soft carpet of hair on the floor—my hair—and instinctively raised the hand to feel the raw scalp and gasped. It was so smooth that I wondered if my hair would ever grow again.

“Listen,” Lucas whispered. “When your hair grows out in a few months, come and see me. I will fix it for you.”

Another headshave? I gaped but mutely nodded. Mr. Hawke approached and inspected my head, seemingly impressed by Lucas’s thorough work. He then led me out of there, in the same manner, he brought me in about an hour ago.

I came back to my empty dorm, and everything still felt like a daze…like I was floating. It didn’t feel like a nightmare anymore, not exactly a dream either. It was merely something I have been forced to encounter and ended up being gratified.

And that only made me contemplate one question: would I ever go back to Lucas again?


Thank you for reading my story. Hope you have liked it.

5 responses to “Hawke Academy Rules

  1. A week later, annoyed by the growing stubble, Miss Wells comes back to Lucas. She actually goes topless, which is a breach of the rules, so immediately after the haircut, Lucas pierces her nipples, so that she always wears *something* on her breasts…

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