How did I get started with my little “home makeover” business? Well, once upon a time, I was just an ordinary hairdresser. While I wore my hair brutally short, my clients had more conventional tastes. One day, one of my clients asked why I always had such short hair. At that point, I sported a severe flattop bleached platinum.
Smiling, I told her, “Oh, I had a strict father growing up! Any time that I messed up it was out with the clippers and off with my hair. Sometimes, when he was really mad, he’d shave me with a razor. I was pretty much bald through my teens. When I left his house, I tried growing out my hair, only to find that it caused me headaches. I had my boyfriend shave it one day in frustration. Never had long hair since.”
“I wish that I could punish my daughters like that! Give them something to be afraid of.” she sighed, “The older one is a little too friendly with the neighborhood boys, and the younger one is just a brat. A little old-fashioned discipline might be good for them!”
“Why not just shave ’em?”
“Oh, people these days call that child abuse.”
“What if you shaved your head as well? Then people wouldn’t look at you funny. Hell, they might even think that it was the girls’ idea to support you.”
She had big tall Dolly Parton hair that I fucking hated. Since she became my client, I fantasized about shaving it off. As I expected, she immediately said no. Then we started talking about something else.
Later that night, however, she called me. “Please come over. We will pay you handsomely.”
When I arrived, I found her in the living room with her two blonde daughters, one 10 and the other 17, and a bald man who she introduced as her husband. Both girls were clearly told what would happen to them. Their faces were bright red and slick with tears. There was already a chair waiting for them in the center of the room.
“They have been stealing from us,” said the mom sternly, “It will be worth shaving my own head to see them properly punished for once.”
The bald husband didn’t looked dismayed at the idea of her shaving her head. In fact, he looked downright excited. He winked at me and then rubbed his own head. I laughed. Clearly, once I left, he would be showing his wife a little appreciation. I decided to save her for last.
The ten year-old volunteered herself as my first victim. She had a little blonde bob with blunt bangs. As I ran the clippers over it, she shut her eyes. When I finished buzzing off her hair, I asked her mom if it was sufficient punishment. She shook her head. So, I lathered up the little girl’s head and shaved her smooth. Honestly, she looked adorable bald. Like a little elf. And I think that, once the shock wore off, she was fine with what happened. She bounced off the chair and hugged her parents.
“I’m sorry,” she said, touching her little bald head.
Her teenaged sister, however, was difficult. I had to drag her to my chair by the long braid. It’s my first trophy, and it was hard won. I had to hold her down as I chopped it free. Honestly, that girl had fight. She struggled throughout her shearing. It wasn’t until I swiped off her eyebrows that she stopped her fussing. She managed to stay still during her time with the razor. As extra punishment, I rubbed her scalp with lotion afterwards to give her chromedome an extra shine. She hung her in shame and humiliation when I showed her new reflection.
“Not a teenaged beauty anymore. I might keep you bald until you get those grades up,” said her mother, caressing her daughter’s bald head, “Get up. It’s my turn.”
The teenager joined her little sister on the couch and gave her a big hug. Then they watched along with their eager father as the mother took her seat. She submissively let me section off her hair in preparation for the scissors. I wanted my trophy. She breathed in deeply as my clippers started to collect. Once I had the last one, I gave her her turn with the razor. She didn’t look great bald. She had big ears and a big head hidden by all that hair. Still, her husband looked thrilled by the final product. He even asked me to give her scalp a shine.
When I left, well-paid and possesing some nice trophies, I expected never to see my client or her daughters again. Much to my surprise, all three showed up the next week for a touch-up.
“And I even told a friend about you!” she said, climbing into my chair.