How I Became a Haircut Slut

How I Became a Haircut Slut

 

By Shorngirl

 

         The first day of summer for most kids is the beginning of what would seem an endless stream of adventures and leisure, the long school year over and the toil of the classroom behind them. It was no different for my son, Matthew. He was as excited about enjoying the summer as anyone. What he didn’t like, however, was the summer haircut his father insisted he get on that first Saturday of summer recess.

         For me, a housewife in my late twenties, summer only represented long hot days, with even more on my plate than usual. In general, keeping Matthew and Liesel entertained was a full-time job for me, that only got busier without school to break it up. Liesel was the oldest of the two and was able to do more on her own, being 12, but Matthew was seven, and he was a handful on the best of days.

         Much to my dismay, it fell upon me to take Matthew for his haircut. My husband worked the weekends, an attending at a local hospital, so I was it. After dropping Liesel off at her closest friend’s place, Matthew and I made our way downtown, to the local barbershop. When I say downtown, I’m speaking figuratively. A little over three thousand people were living here, and Main Street was your typical scene of small-town America.

         Weldon’s Barbershop was what you might expect it to be. Nothing special on the outside, or in. A row of three swivel chairs were full when we walked in, and most of the waiting area was full too. I could see that most of those waiting were there for the same reason we were; that first summer cut.

         My husband didn’t usually specify how he wanted Matt’s hair cut, leaving that decision up to me. I pulled a number off the rack and tried my best to keep Matthew from running about the place too much. I usually accomplished this by relinquishing my phone, which seemed to keep him happy for a while.

         When Matt’s number came up, I slipped my phone out of his hand and escorted him up to the barber who had called. He gave me a little guff, but when I promised him ice cream afterward, he climbed right up. I gave instructions for a nice summer cut, that didn’t simply involve running the clippers over his head.

         I grabbed a magazine and slipped back into my chair, keeping an eye on things over the top of it. As the barber sliced away at my son’s hair, I couldn’t help but envy him for the ease and coolness of the cut he was getting. The top was just long enough to lay down with a side part, and the barber was beginning to trim up the back and sides with clippers. Silly as it was, I always imagined how that might feel.

         Now I wore my hair long, always had. My blonde hair fell to about the middle of my back, and even when it was tied up or in a ponytail, it was still uncomfortable during the warmest months of the year. I flipped my hair out from behind me and let it drape over my shoulder, giving my back a break.

         The barber seemed to be calling me up to talk about Matthew’s hair, so I dropped the magazine and crossed the shop to his chair. “Everything okay?”

         “Oh, sure. I was just wondering if you wanted me to clean him with the razor. He’s getting older and there’s a little peach fuzz on his neck.” The barber pointed out. I nodded, not seeing any reason not to.

         As I stood there, I slipped a scrunchie out of my purse and fastened my hair into a more manageable bundle. He couldn’t help but notice. “I don’t know how you ladies manage this heat with all that hair.”

         “Believe me, sometimes, I don’t know either.” I giggled, moving back to take my seat, before someone took it. I watched as he lathered Matt’s neck and a bit around his ears with foam, always impressed with the skill he managed with the straight razor. Before too long he was letting him out of the chair, and my brief respite was over. As I was paying him at the register, he said something that took me completely off guard.

         “You know, I’ve never done it, but I suppose I could cut your hair for you if you’re so inclined. Make things a little more bearable for you in this heat.” I’m sure he meant well, but the notion of having my hair cut in a barbershop was just a little too farfetched for me to get my head around.

         “Oh, that’s alright. Besides, you seem awfully busy.” I declared.

         “Come back during the week, if you like. I’m here all day on Tuesdays and Thursdays.” He added.

         I left him a tip, impressed with the job he had done with my son’s hair, and nodded. “I’ll think about it.” Not sure what to say, and not wanting to turn him down outright. He was older, maybe in his late fifties, but still looked handsome in a way.

         Well, a week went by, and for whatever reason, I just couldn’t get the barber’s offer out of my head. Every time I would complain about how hot it was, or when I’d lift my hair off my back, the strands damp with perspiration, I thought about what he had said.

         Matthew’s hair was still neat and trim, so I couldn’t possibly use him as an excuse to visit the barbershop. No, if I was going to do this, I’d have to do it on my own. Thursday afternoons, Matt would go to a day camp through the local boys and girls club, and I knew if I didn’t do it then, I just wasn’t to be.

         Well, Thursday finally came and I found myself parking out front of Weldon’s, knowing that Matthew was in good hands for at least four hours. Liesel seemed a lot more independent that summer, and I was grateful for that. She’d taken off that morning and I probably wouldn’t see her till supper.

         The shop seemed like a totally different place as I walked in. Without the crowds, I was able to take in a bit more of the flavor of the place. The scent hanging in the air was pleasant and masculine, and it reminded me I was sort of a stranger in a foreign land. The floors were black and white tile, done in a mosaic, and at the moment, I was the only one there.

         “Hello?” I called out.

         I heard a shuffle of feet from a long hallway that exited the back of the shop, and almost at once, a man appeared. It was the one who had but my son’s hair and made me the unusual offer. I was grateful, honestly, because if it was anyone else, I was going to have a hard time explaining why I was there.

         “Ah, I’m pleased you took me up on my offer. It’s been deathly slow around here today.” He mused. “The heat finally got to you?”

         “You could say that, yes.” I felt a nervous energy I couldn’t explain, but some of that was abject fear over what I was about to do. “You have cut women’s hair before, right?” I asked.

         “No. As I said, I’ve never done this before. But, hey, hair is hair, right?” He seemed almost as nervous as I was.

         “I’m not looking for anything short, you know. Just a bit off the length, if that’s okay.” I insisted, pulling the hair tie out of my ponytail and letting it fall free down my back. I made a gesture with my hand just below my shoulder.

         “That’s fine. I’m sure I can manage that.” He grinned, turning his chair, and inviting me to sit.

         Hesitantly, I moved toward him, and before I knew it, I was sitting in the large leather and chrome throne. It was so different from any salon chair I’d ever sat in; roomier and more comfortable.

         “Can you hold your hair up for me for a second?” He asked.

         Obliging his request, I felt him wrap a strip of crepe paper around my neck, tucking it into itself, before draping his red and white checkered cape around my shoulders and fastening it with a chrome clip. It felt a bit tight, but for some reason, I failed to object.

         “Did you want to donate the hair?” He asked, before doing anything else. It was something I hadn’t even thought of but was thrilled by the idea.

         “Will there be enough?” I asked, wondering just how much he would have to cut for that.

         “If I take off ten inches, that will be enough, and leave your hair just over your shoulders.” His idea seemed to align with what I wanted anyway, so I agreed.

         He searched around in a few drawers before coming up with a large blue rubber band, something I never put in my precious hair. It looked a lot like the ones used in the produce department to bundle celery. “Won’t that damage the hair?” I asked.

         “I have to tie it up for you to send it in.” He explained, already gathering my long locks together with his hand.

         “I suppose, seeing as your cutting it off anyway.” Laughing nervously, I watched as he slid the band up the length of my hair to a point that was considerably higher than we agreed on. “That’s a bit more…”

         He held up a finger, slowly sliding the band down until it disappeared below the shoulders. I held up a hand from under the cape, gesturing an apology, and allowed him to continue. Of course, when he picked up a set of clippers from a hook under the counter, I opened my mouth to object once again. “Trust me.” He said, and for whatever reason, I decided to.

         He handed me a hand mirror and turned me away from the large one that dominated the wall above the three chairs. “You can watch in this.”

For some reason, I felt more comfortable being able to see what he was doing. “Thank you.”

He fiddled around with the rubber band for a second before switching on the clippers. As soon as that sound filled the shop, I was mesmerized. I’d watched those machines have at the boys and men of our town a few times, but now the buzzing was for me. I tingle ran through me and if I didn’t know any better, I would almost say I had become aroused. I knew this was silly, so ignored it, concentrating on the clippers that were approaching my hair.

The barber held the clippers about an inch above the band, the blades whirring as he slowly pressed them into the side of the ponytail. It was strange watching the hair escape the confines of the tie, falling to the side, while the clippers continued to cut. I could feel the pulling, each time the blades bit into the hair, almost giggling as it tickled me just slightly.

Bit by bit the long length of gathered hair was severed until only a few strands remained attached. Quickly, he ran the blades through the last little bit, and it was done. The barber handed me the detached ponytail and the experience was unlike anything I’d ever experienced. That beautiful bundle of blonde silk was, only moments before, part of me. Now it wasn’t.

“There. Now, I just need to even this up and we’re all set.” The barber sighed, exchanging his clippers for a pair of scissors. He snipped away at the hair that remained, evening it up and making it straight and sharp. My hair was a lot shorter, and even though I was a bit shell-shocked by the sudden change, I was also strangely intrigued.

When he finished, and the cape was removed, the feel of the ends brushing my shoulders was so different. I hadn’t had hair this short since college. Turning my head back and forth, I watched in the large mirror as my foreshortened locks flopped back and forth. “I like it.” I smiled, running my hand over it and feeling the blunt end. There’d be no more bringing it forward over my shoulder, not anymore.

“That should be a lot cooler for you, and to be honest, it looks good on you.” The barber declared, making his way to the front, and the register.

“How much do I owe you?” I asked, still hanging on to the severed ponytail.

“On the house.” He said, holding out his hand. “Bradley.” He said, introducing himself.

“Melanie.” I took his hand, shaking it politely. “Are you sure?”

“You can pay me next time.” He insisted, and I wondered if there would be a next time. It felt odd walking along the sidewalk to my car, carrying my own hair, and I garnered a few odd looks for it. So be it.

The next day I mailed in the hair, glad that it would be used for a good cause. My husband was more than pleased with the change, complimenting me and wondering why it had taken me so long. Everyone said that I looked better without that long cumbersome mane falling down my back.

A few weeks passed, and Matthew’s hair was looking a little shaggy. It was time for another haircut. I decided that there was no reason that I had to take him on a Saturday. It was so crowded then. Instead, we took a drive down to Weldon’s barbershop on a Thursday morning, before Matt headed off to day camp.

I was pleased to find Bradley at the shop once again, and even though there were a few people in the place, it was nothing compared to Saturdays. He seemed to be the only one cutting hair, so I went to grab a number from the rack. Strangely, I took two. One for Matt and one for myself. Was I really going to do this? It had only been a couple of weeks since my last cut. Everyone said I looked better with shorter hair. I wondered what they’d say if it was even a bit shorter.

I watched as Bradley cut my son’s hair, taking it a bit shorter than he had the first time. The top stood up, like bristles on a brush, and the sides were clipped close to the skin. I hadn’t asked him to cut it that way, he just did. Matt looked like a little marine as he hopped down from the chair, and I stepped up to hand him the next number.

“Ready for something a little shorter then?” He asked, shaking Matt’s hair from the cape, before turning his chair toward me. I handed Matthew my phone and instructed him to go have a seat. He seemed suitably entertained as I climbed into the chair. “Do you trust me?” Bradley asked.

“I think so, yes,” I replied, shyly. After the cape was on, I wasn’t at all surprised when Bradley reached for the clippers once again. I felt like I was falling down the rabbit hole. If I only knew how accurate that analogy would turn out to be.

“I’ve been watching some YouTube videos, so I have an idea.” He mused, tossing my shoulder-length locks around as he toyed with what he was going to do. A few gentlemen had entered the shop and I seemed to be the center of attention, as they set down their magazines to watch. I was an oddity, I supposed; a pretty young woman in a barbershop.

Then the sound of the clippers filled the room around me, and I drifted into that trance, knowing they were for me. I was startled a bit when I felt the cold metal vibrate against the skin at the top of my neck and six inches of hair slithered down the cape to the tile floor. So, it was going to be a lot shorter, was all I managed to think. I made no effort to object. Bradley had asked if I trusted him, and at this point, I had no choice.

The clippers dug in again, and more hair rained down. I could feel his breath on my neck, where my hair was most certainly missing. I watched, fascinated, as he worked with his comb and the bare clippers, combing down and slicing off, combing down and slicing off. The bottom of my ear came into view, the little lobe adorned with the pearl earring I had placed there that morning.

As Bradley reached my face, the hair seemed to fall slightly longer near the front, the tips grazing my chin. It was definitely short. He’d given me an A-line bob if memory served. Never in a million years, had I thought I would ever wear something so short. It was short, yes, but still quite feminine.

Still working with the clippers, I felt them slip up my neck in the back, realizing that my hair was now so short back there that my hairline had to be dealt with. The tickle of short little hairs tumbling over my longish neck, also had me quite aware of my mounting arousal. He was shaving me, and right to the skin apparently.

Again, I said nothing, knowing that he wouldn’t let me leave with anything less than perfect. I felt a bit embarrassed as I was spun around, an audience of three men and my son all looking on as the cape slipped away and I stepped from the chair.

In the mirror, there was a very different sort of woman looking back at me. Gone was the somewhat frumpy mid-west housewife look, exchanged for something decidedly metropolitan. I turned my head, the bob barely moving as I examined the shaved area in the back. It wasn’t small and as my fingers crept up to feel the sandpaper stubble, I realized that it continued up under the tapered fall of hair in the back. Another shiver of arousal lasered through me, and I nearly stumbled. Bradley caught me.

“Too short?” He asked, an inquisitive look on his face.

“N…No. I think I like it.” I managed, as I caught a knowing glint in one of the men’s eyes as my attention passed over him. He’d watched the whole thing, the stripping of my hair from me; my transformation. Did he know how inexplicably aroused I was? Perhaps.

Bradley escorted me to the front, where I dug a couple of twenties out of my wallet and handed them over. This time he took the money, depositing it into the register without any intention of returning my change. He seemed indifferent toward me now, and I didn’t know why, but it seemed to enhance my untenable condition.

“Next Thursday, then?” He frowned, and for whatever reason I cast my eyes down at his feet, but certainly noticed the bulge in his trousers.

“I… uh….okay?” I spluttered, still in a tizzy over how I was feeling and what seemed to be happening.

I rubbed Matt’s head, the stubble of his crewcut seeming to spark something inside me. Shrugging it off, I headed home, remembering to drop off my son for the bus to Day Camp at the last minute.

I enjoyed the A-line, but noticed that not everyone was on board with it as they had been when I’d simply trimmed my hair to the shoulders. There were more raised eyebrows and some titters from the ladies in town, although no one said that it looked bad or anything.

I did love the little undercut in the back and found myself aroused when I toyed with it, rubbing my fingertips over the exposed skin. I decided that whatever game was being played by Bradley, I would go along, at least for now.

The thing was, by the time I had dropped Matthew off at the bus, I was excited to see my barber. I pulled up in front and was pleased to see that the shop was quiet, as it had been that first Thursday. I wasn’t sure, but I got the distinct impression that Bradley wasn’t surprised to see me.

Instead of the usual friendly invitation, he simply turned the chair toward me and raised his eyebrows. “Get in.” It wasn’t a request.

“Uh, okay.” I stammered, quickly climbing into the chair.

“So, the A-line isn’t short enough for you, huh?” He frowned, looking at me through our reflection in the mirror. He wrapped the cape around me and clipped it tightly around my neck. I was already aroused.

“I think a pageboy might suit you, but a little bit shorter. I’ve been seeing this thing called a micro-bob. That’s what you’re getting, Melanie.”

“Okay,” I said, a definite tremble in my voice.

“What?” He frowned.

“Okay, Bradley,” I mumbled.

He seemed disappointed but set in on the cut. I was a little shocked as I saw him use the clippers to cut a line around my head that fell just above my cheekbones. This was really short. My ears were almost fully exposed, and the undercut in back was high and dry and needing attention.

“That’s really short,” I said, questioning where he was going with this.

“Shush!” He scolded, catching me off guard, but at the same time, my sex erupted in my panties, causing me to worry about him seeing, or smelling me. He flipped the blade around and began clearing the hair from the back and sides of my head. “You’ll take your haircut, and like it. Is that understood?”

“Yes.” I squeaked. I watched, mesmerized, as everything below and about an inch under the ‘micro-bob’ was shaved to nothing. That done, he quickly combed down a section of hair in the front and cut in the most outrageous bangs, so short that they barely made it onto my forehead, and needed some liquid coaxing to even lie flat. I groaned audibly as I realized how humiliating this would be out in the real world.

“Yes, Melanie, this will be a bit hard to explain, won’t it?” Bradley, did his best to curl under the bob, exposing even more of the shaved undercut. A second moan escaped my lips, but this was most decidedly different than the first. “And yet, she still enjoyed it, ladies and gentlemen.” He spouted as though there was someone there to listen.

He loosened the cape, and thinking her was done, I started to get up. A firm hand pressed me back into the chair. “Not so fast, young lady. We’re not done.” The warm lather that was being spread over the lower part of my head and neck only made me hotter, and did my best to keep things in check. When the razor hit my skin and began scraping away any trace of stubble, I lost control. He stood back and smiled, watching as I orgasmed in front of him, all without a hand touching me down there. “That was impressive.”

“Sorry,” I mumbled.

“Sorry? Whatever for? You’re a bit of a slut, and it’s fun to watch.” Bradley didn’t hold back, and in a way, I knew I deserved the aspersion. So, with my silly little bob, and a shaved head beneath, I slipped out of his chair, literally. I’d definitely leaked. He snickered as he looked down, the wet spot all too obvious at the crotch of my jeans.

He took my twenty dollars again, slipping it into his pocket this time. I went to leave, when he caught me with his eyes. “Wednesday, next week.”

“Um… what time?” I couldn’t believe this was going any further.

“You’ll be here at 10 AM, sharp. Okay?” His tone was clipped and expectant.

“Yes, I…, yes Sir,” I muttered quietly, and for the life of me I had no idea where that had come from. To make matters worse, he simply walked away, leaving me standing there at the front, wet and smelling of sex.

I was halfway home before everything that had happened slowly began to sink into a pit at the bottom of my gut. “Jesus,” I whispered under my breath. Had I gone too far?

When I got home, it was all I could do to get my clothes off fast enough. I had to take care of this before I went mad. Not bothering with the bed, I laid down on the bedroom floor, naked, and masturbated furiously, one hand rubbing the sizeable bald patch at the back and sides. I came so hard that I very nearly passed out afterward. What was happening?

I made a point of shaving my pubic hair at that point, figuring it was all heading that way anyway. Besides, having been bald down there before, I enjoyed the slippery feeling as my lips pressed against one another.

My husband was more than a little surprised by my drastic cut, but didn’t seem to pay much attention after the initial shock. I had become the mother of his children over the past few years and our sex lives had dwindled accordingly. Feeling quite satisfied after my self-abuse earlier in the day, I hardly gave it a thought.

Reviews had been muted, to say the least, in reaction to my new look. Instead of being admired for having the courage to take the plunge and cut my hair so short, I was being examined for having a screw loose, I swear. Everyone wanted to know what came over me to have it cut so short. I had no explanation, at least not one I was willing to share.

I’d dropped the kids at their grandparents the night before, preparing for my ‘appointment’ the next morning. They were more than happy to take them for a week, and with my husband attending a seminar in Chicago until the following Monday, I was free. I could be doing anything I wanted to do. So, why was I doing this?

Butterflies flitted mercilessly in my stomach as I looked at the clock. I had to go, but I was still at a loss as to why I was so drawn to this. I’d called the guy ‘sir’, for crying out loud. Now, I was going down there to let him… god, was he going to cut my hair again, and how short this time? All my mutterings seemed to flow from my mouth as I drove, but drive I did, right down to the barbershop.

I parked in the empty lot across the street, not wanting to be seen. It was well hidden from the street, and no one would see it there. Climbing out, I walked the few hundred feet across the street to the shop.

I was almost relieved when I saw the closed sign in the window and was about to run back to my car. That’s when I saw Bradley staring out the window at me. Apparently, this was to be a private affair. I was ushered inside, a hand at the small of my back.

The usually brightly lit shop was dark, the blinds at the front having been dropped once again. Anyone walking by would be completely oblivious to anything going on inside. For a second, I felt as though I should run. Then he spoke.

“You obeyed.” He said, tersely, as though he was almost disappointed.

“You said 10 O’clock, right?” I asked, meekly.

“What happened to Sir?” He asked. “I like that, you calling me Sir.”

“Yes…Sir.” I mewled, my eyes once again drifting to the floor. I felt that nagging arousal moistening my sex, and I was powerless to fight it.

“You like it when I cut off your hair, don’t you, Melanie?” He asked, a strange lilt of humor in his voice. “It’s alright, I already know you do. It makes you hot, doesn’t it?”

“Yes…Sir.” I responded, my shame more than obvious, wincing as the words left my mouth.

“Well, it certainly gets me that way, but I’m pretty sure you already know that.” He chortled. “Kneel on the floor, Melanie.”

I fought it, god, I did. But, as my legs bent and I felt the cold smooth surface of the tiles on my knees, I realized that I had obeyed, once again. He walked around in front of me, and stood, his erection tenting the front of his pants.

“Take it out, Melanie. Take it out and suck it like a good slut.” He pressed, moving a step closer. I’d never been unfaithful to my husband, never, but I knew I was about to be. I reached up and pulled down the zipper on his trousers, fishing out his large penis, which instantly grew harder with my attention. My husband was half his size, and my hand barely made once around the thick turgid shaft. I felt a hand on the back of my head, his fingers grabbing my shaved undercut as he pulled my face closer.

He smelled manly, not clean but not dirty either. A working man’s penis, I thought, and I was about to suck it. My streaming pussy in the driver’s seat, I opened my mouth and tried to take his throbbing cock into my mouth. I only managed the head, but he was insistent, forcing it inside; my jaw stressed to the max as my lips stretched halfway down his shaft. He held me there for a moment until I struggled for breath.

“You’ll learn to please me that way, slut. I’ve just got to stretch out that pretty little mouth of yours.” His words only served to excite me further. This man was probably twice my age, and yet there I was, on my knees and servicing his cock. “Strip out of your clothes, Melanie. I want you naked in my chair, this time.” He lifted me onto my feet as though I weighed nothing at all. He sat in his chair and waited for me to remove my clothes. “Go on, get them off.”

“Yes, Sir.” I sighed, my fingers working at the buttons on my blouse, feeling the wet spots my drooling had caused on the white material. One piece at a time, my clothes fell to the floor, until I stood utterly nude before him.

“Very Good…, yes, you’ll do nicely. I wish that you had let me steal that bush from you, but it’s good you shaved it yourself.” He mused, allowing me to simply stand there, on display for him. His cock was still out, and he stroked it as he took in my humiliation. “Time to switch places, slut.” He climbed out of the chair and guided me into it, the leather warm against my bare bottom. I could feel my pussy sliding slickly over it as I slipped back into the oversized seat. “I can smell you, Melanie. You’re wet for this, just like last time, aren’t you?”

“Wet, yes, Sir.” I was so embarrassed but so turned on, and the two warred with one another, viciously. I worried just what I was in store for. Would he cut it shorter, and if so, how short? My questions were soon answered.

“I think we’re done with the girly cuts, don’t you?” He asked, tersely. “Your husband’s a physician, isn’t he? Maybe a nice, short, businessman’s cut. What do you say?” He snapped his scissors menacingly. “Yes, shaved back and sides with a little left to comb over on the top. I think that would suit a slut like you. That is what you are, isn’t it? Say it, Melanie. Tell me what you are.”

I really struggled with this. I never, ever, thought of myself that way. I’d always been a good girl, but there I was naked in this man’s chair, ready to receive him, to suck him, to let him have his way with me, to cut off my hair. “I’m a slut.” I answered, in a whisper.

“Louder, slut. Tell me you’re a haircut slut. Yes, that’s it, a haircut slut. Tell me.” He scolded. I felt his scissors dive into my hair, slicing indiscriminately, a hank of blonde hair falling away and leaving a gaping hole in my already minuscule bob.

“I’m a haircut slut!” I yelled, hoping that no one was walking by outside. I could hear that it had started to rain, the distant thunder adding to the surreal scene.

“Yes, you are.” He growled, pulling me down in the chair until my legs dangled lewdly off the edge. Plunging his cock into my dripping cunt, he stretched me wide, instantly taking my breath away. He tossed the scissors on the counter and thrust into me hard, burying himself inside me. I swear I felt my organs shift as his cock displaced them, my cunt almost painfully wrapped around his girth. “You’re tight, but not for long.” He grunted.

Just as suddenly as he started, he pulled out, and his absence was nearly as painful as his presence inside me. With his cock glistening in my own juices, he grabbed a set of clippers from the counter and hoisted me upright in the chair. “Let’s get this over with.”

In a shockingly quick fashion, he started stripping away the hair on the back and sides of my head, tossing it this way and that like a rag doll. Without a cape, and sweating from my exertions, the falling hair clung to me as though I’d been tarred and feathered. I could feel the cool air against my shorn scalp as he worked and my reflection in the mirror was almost comical.

An unruly shock of blonde still clung to my crown in sharp contrast to the shaven sides, and I do mean shaved. In the dim light of the unlit barbershop, I saw nothing to indicate that anything remained. Bradley grunted, as if impatient, combing through what was left and running his clippers over the teeth. He looked as though he just wanted to get it over with; to get back to ruining my sopping cunt.

A rough shape slowly began to emerge from under the mop of blonde, something that seemed to trace the shape of my skull. Sweat dampened the locks, darkening them as he shaved a laser-sharp part down the left side of my crown and combed over what remained. With a quick once around, he blended the back and sides with the top, the clippers rounding the sharp edge deftly, even in his haste.

He left me to absorb what I had become in the mirror, as he gloated from a few feet away. I looked like a little boy, ready for his first day at school, any hint of femininity stripped rudely away. It was shorter than he said it would be, but I was not disappointed.

He pulled me out of the chair and onto the floor, my clothes scattered in front of me, as he entered me from behind. Again, my cunt was stretched to capacity as he pounded me without mercy. I realized that I was pressing back to meet his thrusts, enjoying him as he filled me to bursting. “I’m going to enjoy ruining this tight little hole, slut!” His words sent me flying over the edge and I swear he got even bigger as he exploded inside me, his seed flooding me to overflowing.

Pulling free of my gaping slot, he spun me around so my face was inches away from his cock, dripping with our combined passion. “Suck it clean, slut.” And I did, opening wide and allowing it in, while he grabbed my shorn bulb with both hands and worked it like a toy.

After he came a second time, this time down my throat, he tossed me onto the floor, where I handed in a pile of my hair at the foot of his chair. “Look at you, slut. Look what you are now.” He laughed, picking me up to hold me in front of the mirror. “Why, I bet you’d let me shave that thing bald as an onion if I said I’d fuck you some more, wouldn’t you, slut?”

I shook with the realization that I’d do just that. I ran my hand over my head, the hair on top only just long enough to lie down. A fraction of an inch shorter and it would be bristles. I should have been satisfied, I should have walked away, knowing he had ruined me. There would be no explaining this, not to my husband, not to anyone. I may as well be bald. “Yes, Sir.” I mewled.

“Yes, Sir, what?” He demanded.

“Yes, you can shave me bald, Sir.” I couldn’t fathom how far I had fallen. I hadn’t even added the stipulation that he would fuck me for it.

“Fine.” He chortled, putting away his cock, and leaving me naked in the mirror. “Saturday, at 11 O’clock.”

I turned and gawked at his demand. “But, the place will be…”

“Busy and full of people, slut. You’re going to show up, take a number, and wait your turn. Then, I’m going to ask you how you want it cut. Then guess what? You’re going to get everyone’s attention by yelling… Shave me bald, Bradley!”

I shrunk on the spot with the realization that I was going to do just that. In defiance of everything I once was, I would surely do it. Despite the scorn of my husband, my family, and friends, I would do it. I was a haircut slut now and would do as my barber told me to do.