Believe, I knew that my hair was my one attractive feature. I’m short and plump with plain features, but I had great hair. Men loved running their fingers through my soft brown waves. They would wrap their fingers around individual strands like they were claiming them. Because of that, I always took good care of my hair. It was the source of my confidence, and she took it.
It all started when Debra, my previous stylist, moved to Dallas. At that point, I had been seeing her for ten years. Not wanting to change salons, but not trusting any of the other stylists, having seen their subpar work, I made appointment with Anna, the woman that took Debra’s place. She had such great reviews.
She turned out to be a petite Asian woman in her late twenties with a severe flattop. I couldn’t stop staring at her boyish haircut. Especially her severe white walls. My fingers itched wanting to touch her bare skin.
Noticing my staring as she washed my hair, she whispered in my ear, “I know that you’re curious, bitch. Just relax. I will make sure that you’re taken care of.”
After Anna finished washing my hair, she marched me over to her chair. My legs felt weak as she sat me down and caped me. Despite being afraid, I let her. She blowdried and combed my hair to perfection. It looked like a model’s. Then she picked up a pair of clippers. I watched in horror as she plunged them into my hair without a guard. She made me watch in the mirror as she stripped my hair from me, revealing my big potato head. It was such a thrill to see my hair fall that I didn’t object. I just watched her take me past the point of no return. By the time that she finished with the clippers, I was shaking with my arousal from my humiliation.
Looking amused, she whispered, “You’re not fucking done yet, you ugly bald thing. Stay still.”
I managed to stay still as she spread a comically thick layer of hot lather across my scalp and used a straight razor to shave me smooth. Then she insisted on using an oil on my scalp to make it shiny.
All the people in the salon were watching at this point. Some of them were laughing. As they should be, I thought, my face red, I looked like a freak. A fat little freak with a shiny bald head
“Make her clean up her own mess,” said the owner.
Laughing, Anna said, “Done.” She handed me a broom.
Once I finished sweeping up my own hair, with barely functioning legs due to my arousal, I paid Anna and left the salon. Much to my surprise, Anna left with me. Not questioning it, we walked back to my apartment. She went straight to my bathroom and collected every haircare product, except one bottle of shampoo. I had to watch her throw all of them out. My hair ornaments went into her purse. She would be keeping those for herself to give to her prettier slaves who she allowed to have hair. I wouldn’t be given that privilege.
“You will be bald until I say otherwise,” she said, removing her panties.
I crawled towards her. “Yes, mistress.”