HairApparent
Content Awareness: This series features haircutting and headshaving, but it also includes descriptions of sexual and bondage activities. If you deem these subjects unsavoury, then please may I suggest you swiftly move on.
This story serves as a sequel to Preserving The Havers Protocol, Part 1 – Hair & Hierarchy, and it can be enjoyed independently without the need to read the original story.
Michelle had escaped from the stress of the city and commenced less-pressured employment in an old-fashioned business located in an out-of-the-way town. After a brief period of acclimatisation, she had accepted an invitation to go out for the evening with her boss, Bruno Havers. It did not turn out as she had expected: stripped of her clothes and secured to a barber’s chair, with her long hair buzzed by an enthusiastic goth dominatrix called Clara, she is enjoying the whole experience far more than she would have ever expected…
Shaved
When Clara had finally silenced the hairclippers, every strand of my long hair was either straddling my sensitive thighs or gathered in large piles on the floor. The air currents in the room were kissing my bare skin in ways that made me shiver with pleasure.
Clara had tenderly brushed away loose tendrils from my scalp, eliciting a rasping sound like sandpaper. That sound made me realise that my head was not as smooth as hers. Her gentle motion was causing me to breathlessly squirm against my restraints in the barber’s chair, the buzzed sensation feeling extraordinary. My reaction had amused Clara, and it encouraged her wandering fingers exploring my body further. Lingering on my breasts, she had expertly stimulated my nipples, heightening my pleasure even further so that nothing else mattered.
My boss, Bruno Havers brought a sudden end to the delicious floating sensation I was enjoying. ‘Clara, finish her off,’ he called across.
‘Certainly, Mr Havers,’ she replied, her abrupt tone suggesting she was disappointed not to be pleasuring me further.
I was unsure what he was ordering Clara to do to me. But the answer came quickly when she suddenly slapped a creamy substance on my buzzed head that, it later transpired, was shaving foam. Using a stiff brush, she spread the lather evenly over my whole head before firmly massaging it with her fingers. The sensation was heavenly as it stimulated my raw nerve endings, but the action introduced a dark portent of what was to come.
Responding to my unvoiced fear and smile, with a theatrical flourish, Clara brandished a gleaming straight razor that glinted menacingly under the spotlights. It looked cold, sharp, and unforgiving. I shivered at the prospect of having such a lethal weapon close to my sensitive scalp.
Conscientiously and systematically scraping away at the stubble, the sandpapery sound of my bristly head gave way to the swish of the razor gliding over my smooth skin. Clara’s mission to reinvent me was taking a further, even more definitive, turn.
‘Please,’ I moaned as Clara continued to shave my scalp. However, my mind was so confused I was unsure if I were begging for her to stop or praying that her attention would never end. In addition to her expert touch, the expertly manipulated vibrator inside me offered a constant, teasing hum that ebbed and flowed but never quite peaked. My body desired a release as I bucked against my restraints. ‘Clara, please, I want to… I need to…’
‘Patience, my love,’ Clara purred, her breath hot against my newly bared scalp as she diligently inspected the entire surface of my skull. Satisfied, she stepped back, admiring her work. ‘Your scalp is as smooth as a cue ball and shiny as glass.’
I could not see it or touch it, but my stimulated imagination ramped up my desire for release even higher.
Assessed
Bruno stood up awkwardly, encumbered by the heavy weight of arousal between his thighs. Silently he approached, and I looked up at him imploringly, even if I was unsure what I wanted from him.
‘Bruno…’ I whispered, and he frowned slightly. ‘Er, Mr Havers?’ I attempted, causing him to smile, although he failed to react to my entreaty in any other way.
His long fingers began gently skimming over my bald head as if he were playing a delicate and expensive musical instrument. The sensation was as exquisite as it was agonising in my heightened state of arousal. With every nerve ending screaming, I whimpered, biting my lip, needing an urgent release… but not wanting the delicious experience to ever end.
‘Michelle, you are now perfect,’ Bruno judged, as he returned to the sofa and sipped his wine. ‘But Clara must finish you off.’
‘Certainly, Mr Havers,’ she purred, licking her lips.
I was confused by him repeating his order to Clara as I was certain that she had shaved every single bristle from my head.
So, while I was contemplating what else remained for Clara to do to me, she knelt on the floor between my legs.
Stimulated
Clara eased the vibrator from inside me, although my body did not want to give it up easily. I cried out at the loss, feeling empty inside, with my body still clamouring for more. After everything they had put me through, I was so disappointed that I wanted to weep.
However, the feeling of loss was short-lived. I returned to my blissful state when I sensed Clara’s warm breath on my legs, then felt her directing her tongue towards the sensitive spot between my thighs. As she expertly darted back and forth with the tip, I cried out ecstatically as her tongue worked me relentlessly.
Staring down, I marvelled at Clara’s shiny, smooth scalp enthusiastically bobbing between my thighs. I wanted to still believe that the sight of a gleaming bald head on a woman was an obscenity. I still wanted to hold on to the belief that it was an affront to all that I had once considered erotic and sensuous.
But I no longer held that view. I genuinely believed her glass-like skull looked perfect. So much so, I would have loved my hands to be free so I could reach out and enjoy her smoothness while helping her “finish me off”. It only seemed fair.
In my ecstasy, I stole a glance at Bruno. His eyes latched on to my erotic coupling with Clara. He was perspiring as he earnestly stroked himself with rapidly growing frequency. His contorted face was half-way between a grin and a grimace.
I realised it was my own helpless predicament, skilfully aided and abetted by Clara, which was fuelling Bruno’s imminent climax. Surprising myself, I felt no shame that I was a spectacle for driving his lust, as it was also contributing to my own peaking pleasure, building like an uncontrollable storm deep within me.
When I came, it was with a scream that tore my throat, my body convulsing against the restraints, my bald head thrown back, every inch of my bare scalp blazing with sensation. Clara came up for air, a lascivious grin on her damp lips, but she soon resumed her bobbing between my thighs, bringing me further joyful release until mindless exhaustion got the better of me.
She stood in front of me, her moist lips grinning like a Cheshire cat. Like a feline, she languorously draped herself around me, caressing my breasts, gliding her fingers over my scalp, and then kissing me passionately on my lips. I tasted myself on her probing tongue and, as she gently pulled away, I let out a long moan of disappointment. ‘Please, don’t go… Clara… no…’
‘Do not concern yourself, my love,’ she croaked, ‘as there is still much for us to do.’
In feline hunting mode, Clara slowly approached a grinning Bruno on the sofa. I watched through tired eyes as she knelt before him, servicing the straining but patient man, as his fingers danced over her smooth bald scalp. Thrusting into her mouth, his eyes never left my own denuded head while, the whole time, he looked triumphant.
Suddenly, Bruno hoisted Clara onto the sofa, and while she faced me, grinning like a cat who had had the cream, he took her there, boldly and efficiently, while I looked on, still bound and tired but dripping with desperate need.
I was distantly aware of Clara’s cries of pleasure, but I must have drifted off, mentally and physically exhausted.
Reviewed
When I awoke, the overhead spot lamps had dimmed, the whole room bathed in a soft and golden light. Clara and Bruno huddled up close together on the sofa wearing silk robes, wine glasses in hand, observing me. Bruno’s fingers absently stroked Clara’s bald scalp.
A more relaxed ambience pervaded the atmosphere. With time to reflect, I knew I should have been furious with them both. Bruno had restrained me against my will, and Clara had shaved my head without consent, leaving me completely bald. With the benefit of hindsight, I knew I should have screamed for the police and demanded release from the restraints. And I should have been seeking justice and revenge.
Instead, my overriding emotion was jealousy!
Jealous of their intimacy, after being alone for so long.
Jealous of Clara’s relaxed acceptance of being bald and looking magnificent.
And now that I had rested, I wanted more of what they had together.
But no, it was not that I wanted more, but I needed more!
It was as if they had rewired my mind, and what I had once considered grotesque was now something magnificent, sensuous, and praiseworthy.
I did not have a clue why they enjoyed what they were doing, why they had done what they did, or why they had chosen to involve me. And, at that moment, I simply did not care. While a sense of caution vaguely niggled somewhere in the back of my brain, the only words that were actively bouncing around my mind were “Bring it on, baby”.
Changed
‘Welcome back, Michelle. How do you feel?’ Bruno enquired.
‘Changed,’ I responded honestly, without giving my answer too much thought. ‘Well, I don’t, er, just mean physically, but, er…’
Bruno paused his exploration of Clara’s bare scalp, and they exchanged knowing glances that meant nothing to me.
‘What?’ I demanded, interrupting their appreciation and understanding of each other.
Clara spoke. ‘Yes, we changed you, my love, but we only awoke the desire that you had previously suppressed deep within you.’
I was unsure of the veracity of her assertion, despite Bruno nodding his agreement. Although my body was clamouring for more stimulation, I felt compelled to address practicalities.
‘Perhaps… but Mr Havers…’ I began, addressing him formally, which seemed ridiculous when my boss was lounging naked in front of me with a bare-headed goth dominatrix draped over him. But I needed to inject a little common sense into proceedings. ‘I cannot go to work with a bald head! What will everyone say?’
‘No need to worry about that, Michelle,’ Bruno chided. ‘Clara will provide you with a natural-looking wig, resembling the colour of your own hair, before you leave here this evening.’
I turned to face her eagerly. ‘It will be a little shorter than the hair piled on the floor surrounding you,’ Clara smirked, ‘but you can just tell your colleagues in the office that you, er,’ she chuckled, ‘fancied a bit of a change.’
Unless I planned to go into hibernation for a couple of years to let my hair grow, the wig was the best I could hope for under the circumstances. ‘Oh, right… er, thanks,’ I mumbled.
Suddenly I felt unaccountably deflated. Their offer to send me on my way looking presentable appeared to signal the end of the evening. I was frustrated as my body was still yearning for more. Essentially, I would take anything they could offer, but just more of it!
‘I’m not in any hurry to go,’ I said as nonchalantly as I could, which amused them as I was still securely fastened to the barber’s chair. I gave a coy smile. ‘No hurry at all…’
Prolonged
Clara cupped Bruno’s chin and kissed him passionately. ‘Should we, Mr Havers?’ Clara questioned enigmatically as she pulled away.
‘Yes, I think we should, Clara,’ he replied, before matching her ardour.
As Clara stood and walked slowly towards me, I had no idea what had passed between them or what I could expect. Although my excitement was starting to build, I also felt a degree of trepidation at the unknown.
Clara lifted my chin too, kissing me on the lips, before allowing her fingers to dance over my bald scalp.
‘So, my love, if you wish to wear a wig, then your head must be completely smooth,’ Clara explained, ‘otherwise it will itch like crazy.’
‘Really? I said uncertainly, although my doubts disappeared with the delicious thought of Clara massaging my head with lather once more and shaving it even closer. Although I had not touched it myself, I had the impression that my scalp could not be much smoother. Pushing that thought to the back of mind, I began squirming in the chair again despite my tiredness. I grinned broadly to encourage Clara to do what was necessary. ‘I’m ready.’
‘Clara will finish you off… again,’ Bruno chuckled, a twinkle in his eye as he topped up his wine glass.
‘I certainly will, Mr Havers,’ she purred, licking her lips. Turned towards me, she whispered. ‘Very well, sweetie, but don’t say you weren’t warned.’
As she moved behind me to prepare, I gained the impression, from those enigmatic and mysterious words, that I had missed something but quickly dismissed any lingering concerns as I looked forward to what was to come.
Primed
After a brief interval that served to heighten my anticipation, I suddenly felt a touch of warmth against one area of my scalp. A jolt of excitement ran through me as I imagined Clara coating my head with lather. I surmised that she was applying it differently, an adjustment that would allow her to shave me even closer. I waited patiently for her to take the razor to my head.
‘We now just need to wait for ten minutes for that to work its magic, my love,’ Clara said, pecking me lightly on the cheek.
‘Thank you,’ I acknowledged, grateful for the update so I could keep my growing anticipation in check.
When she had got close, I gloried in her musky aroma but also noticed something I had not appreciated previously. Above her heavily made-up eyes, she had plucked or shaved her eyebrows, and her browbone was completely smooth. Expertly drawn thin black lines gave her a slightly surprised or curious expression that seemed well-suited for observing me. I imagined their absence gave her the ability to evoke whatever expression she wished to convey.
It was not something I had ever seen before. I could not imagine how strange and demeaning it would feel – even over and above having a bald head – to have a forehead incapable of showing natural expression. To my eyes, it was a step too far.
Clara had settled back on the sofa as Bruno poured her a glass of wine. Sipping their drinks, they closely observed me and my foam-encrusted head as if I were an interesting experiment. They exchanged whispered words and giggled lightly, but mostly they looked.
After the prescribed ten minutes, Clara sauntered over and gave me another peck on the cheek. ‘You have accepted the situation so well, my love, so I am hoping you will be fine with this next step.’
I had taken everything else they had thrown at me, so I saw no reason what followed would be any different. I tried to formulate a suitable answer that did not make me sound too precious, but, in truth, all I wanted was for her to start shaving. However, she was dragging out the moment, with the razor remaining folded on the table beside the chair. I found that confusing.
‘AaargGHH!’ I screamed, experiencing a jolt of pure pain that I had never felt before.
Streamlined
Starting on my scalp, a raw burning sensation tore through my whole body in an instant, bouncing up and down my spine, before reverberating around my head without relief. I was desperate to know what had happened, but my addled mind was unable to put the words together to ask the question.
Eventually – although time had lost all meaning – the pain began to subside, and I felt capable of coherent thought once more. My relief was palpable, my breathing fast and shallow.
‘Deep breath, sweetie,’ Clara called out amiably from behind me.
‘What for?’ I asked breathlessly. ‘AaargGHH!’ I screamed out again as the severe pain burnt through to my very core once again.
I drew in deep breaths to counter my body’s reaction to the pain. ‘S… Stop…’ I finally managed.
Through teary eyes I saw Bruno observing me with academic detachment, sipping his wine. ‘What’s that, sweet one?’ Clara purred. ‘Oh, I see. No, I cannot stop. We still have a way to go. Just relax… you may even grow to enjoy it,’ she giggled. ‘I am.’
‘AaargGHH!’ Each time it happened, it was as painful as the last. Not knowing when it would hit, whatever it was, made the waiting even worse. But strangely, the anticipation was exhilarating. Certainly not pleasant, but the raw sensation was stimulating, and I could not help but smile as arousal blended with the pain.
‘See, dear one, I said you might grow to enjoy it,’ she chuckled, no doubt seeing the grin plastered on my face.
‘But what – AaargGHH!’
‘Oh, sorry, didn’t I explain what I was doing?’ Clara confessed. ‘Oh, silly me. As I mentioned earlier, you need to be completely smooth if a wig is to be comfortable,’ she reminded me, her voice gentle now, almost motherly. ‘The shave is never enough, so I have applied hot wax strips to your scalp, then allowed them to cool. The hot and sticky wax has adhered to the microscopic stubble before capturing it when it has cooled. And then I rip it off, root and all,’ she added gleefully, ‘and it all comes away neatly. Once I have finished, you will be smooth for weeks.’
‘It hurts…’ I whined.
‘Yes, it does, doesn’t it,’ she said matter-of-factly, adding a slight chuckle. ‘Deep breath. sweetie.’
‘What for – AaargGHH!’
Each rip was as painful as the one before it. White-hot, blinding, and excruciating.
Each time I did not know how long it would be before she ripped off the next.
Each time I did not know the number of strips remaining.
Although I had placed myself in this predicament, keen to stay involved in their games, I could have never imagined the rolling waves of pain that she was forcing me to endure.
However, my loathing of Clara shaving my head against my will had transformed to uncontrolled lust. And now the excruciating pain she produced, with undisguised sadistic fervour, served to raise my tolerances to yet another level. While not enjoying the experience in the traditional sense, each rip aroused me with a masochistic delight. I had no idea what was happening to my mind, but my body was still craving more.
‘How many – AaargGHH!’
‘Believe me, my love, you don’t want to know how many more,’ she chuckled. ‘Just go with it.’
I was sobbing, laughing, and almost incoherent. Each rip sent a shockwave of ecstatic agony through to my very core. Bruno watched with rapt attention, his hand moving deliberately between his legs again.
When Clara finished, she rubbed oil into my scalp, then enthusiastically polished it with both hands until the skin felt taut and smooth over my skull. The delicious sensation was so intense I climaxed again, tears streaming down my face, before dozing off once more.
Relaxed
When I awoke, Clara and Bruno were again cuddling on the sofa, observing me.
‘What are we to do with you, Michelle?’ Bruno said, chuckling.
‘She’s insatiable,’ Clara giggled.
It was true. I was insatiable, but they had made me so.
‘She is, Clara. One of our best subjects,’ Bruno mused, ‘but I think she has had enough for one evening.’
‘No!’ I stupidly interjected, given I was mentally and physically exhausted, and I had much to reflect upon.
‘Really?’ Bruno smirked, sipping his wine. ‘Well, we have a plethora of toys, games, and, er, experiences that we could subject you to on another occasion. But I am intrigued to know what you might consider appropriate to complete your time with us this evening.’
I was about to say that everything was new to me, and I did not really know what was possible. But that sounded really lame. In truth, my newly discovered appetite was satisfied for one evening. However, even though we had run out of time, I was desperate to say something to demonstrate my willingness to return in the future.
‘Well?’ Clara said, raising an eyebrow or, as I now knew, raising a thin black line on her forehead.
And there I had my answer! Well, it would do for now. When I had noted Clara’s shaved eyebrows earlier, I was astonished. It was not something I had ever seen before. I could not imagine how strange and demeaning it would feel – even over and above having a bald head – to have a forehead incapable of showing natural expression. I knew it was certainly something I could never contemplate, but I saw no harm in ingratiating myself with them by discussing how Clara felt about it.
‘When you were close earlier, Clara, I found your shaved eyebrows fascinating,’ I stated confidently, curious as to whether she plucked or shaved. ‘I just wondered –’
Clara’s eyes widened and the drawn lines on her forehead arced, then she suddenly jumped to her feet and approached me. I lost my train of thought as she reached for the hairclippers, turned them on, and ran the blade across both my eyebrows in one swift motion. It was brutal and so unexpected I could not even think about the consequences.
‘Just stay still, sweetie. I need to finish you off,’ Clara requested as she quickly smeared a blob of shaving foam on my forehead where my eyebrows had once resided. With equal speed, she retrieved the razor and efficiently removed any errant bristles.
‘Well done, Michelle. You look much improved,’ Bruno called out from the sofa, clearly aroused by my bizarre appearance. ‘A lovely conclusion to the evening’s proceedings, and Clara will show you how to draw effective replacements to prevent alarming those people who are not as broad-minded as we are.’
Was I as broad-minded as my boss was suggesting? The speed with which Clara had dispatched my eyebrows without even asking made me wonder. Earlier, I had thought I needed more. Now I was having my doubts.
Disguised
As Clara began to undo my restraints, my curiosity got the better of me concerning her eyebrows. ‘Do you pluck or shave your eyebrows, Clara?’ I enquired.
‘Neither, Michelle,’ Bruno called out before draining his wine glass. ‘No need. Her head and her eyebrows have been lasered, so hair on her head is not something we need to worry about. Once you lose your edge of enjoyment from shaving and waxing, then we will see about lasering you,’ he added cheerily as if it were as inconsequential as adding an item to a shopping list.
My lust had already subsided, but that chilling statement dampened it completely. Lasered meant permanent. Was that a step too far?
‘Now, sweetie, let’s get you kitted out for the office,’ Clara said, sliding back the door of a wall cabinet. She matched a snippet of my cut hair to an array of wigs in a variety of shades, eerily lined up on head-shaped blocks. There was modest variation of styles, but all were short and mostly with a tight wave or curl. ‘For now, I assume you would prefer something in your own colour?’
‘Yes,’ I answered dumbly, and in my former length I wanted to add, but that did not seem to be an option.
I allowed Clara to fit the wig she had selected, but, without a mirror nearby, I had no idea how I looked. She also touched up my makeup and expertly gave me natural-looking eyebrows.
‘You look lovely, Michelle,’ Bruno said. ‘Clara will also kit you out for your return to the office as your city fashions are no longer appropriate.’
Clara took a selection of garments from another cabinet and enthusiastically helped me dress. It was easier just to let her get on with it. Looking pleased, she propelled me to a mirror on the far side of the room. I looked… then blinked… then stared disbelievingly. ‘Hello, Granny Bartlett,’ I said as I took in my reflection.
Staring back at me should have been the bright young woman who had arrived at the premises earlier, wearing an elegant dress and with long flowing hair. Instead, I saw a dowdy older lady in a dated tweed skirt that fell below my knees, paired with a drab green blazer worn over a beige blouse buttoned to my throat. Topping off the whole dreary ensemble was the short wavy wig that was so crisp it would make my granny proud.
The woman approaching thirty who had entered the room with her boss a couple of hours earlier was gone. Forever. I had instantly doubled in age with my “makeunder”. I now possessed the grim mode of dress that resembled that of my colleagues in the office, and that fell short of even Granny Bartlett’s superior sense of style.
‘Ah, delightful!’ Bruno proclaimed, clapping his hands together with glee, having taken the opportunity to don his suit, collar, and tie once more. ‘Matronly and respectable, meeting the firm’s aesthetic and satisfying The Havers Protocol. Your colleagues will be delighted to inform you where you can shop in town to replace the rest of your inappropriate wardrobe.’
‘But what will I tell them?’ I whined, waving a palm over my ridiculous transformation, and then holding both arms out in despair.
‘You can tell them you needed a change,’ Bruno said. ‘A fresh start. They will understand,’ he chuckled. ‘They always do.’
That final innocuous sentence sent my mind in a whirl. I now dressed the same as my co-workers and possessed a similar hairstyle. Was he implying that they had all, at one time or another, found themselves brought to this place and moulded into a caricature of dated respectability known as The Havers Protocol?
Bruno guided me to the door, positioning his hand lightly on my back. ‘Now, Michelle, say cheerio to Clara, and thank her for all she has done.’
In my aroused state earlier, I would have done so willingly, even eagerly. But now I was confused. I turned slowly to face her, collecting my thoughts, wanting to avoid saying anything that I might later regret.
‘Yes, Clara, I, er… um… appreciate it… for all that you did… so, er… goodbye,’ I mumbled.
‘My pleasure,’ she purred, with a rapturous expression that said she meant it. ‘Cheerio for now, sweetie, although I am confident that we will be seeing each other again soon.’
With my mind in a chaotic mess, I was far less certain of us seeing each other soon than she was. Yes, my body begged for their stimulation, craved the pain, and loved the attention that came from the consuming passion of their desire. Conforming to The Havers Protocol may have been a transformative process, both mentally and physically, but I was unsure whether I needed to delve further into the hidden and murky depths.
Epilogue
In the car, driving back to my apartment, Bruno had frequently patted the back of my hand comfortingly, smoothing down my tweed skirt when my knees threatened exposure. He had stolen glances at my revised form whenever he could, and he beamed his unmistakable approval.
On reaching my apartment, he had opened the passenger door of the car, and he had pecked me on each cheek. ‘I look forward to seeing you fully conforming to the protocol when we next meet in the office, Michelle,’ he had said smarmily. I accepted his desire was not about renewing our acquaintance. His words were an instruction to continue emulating my new mode of dress, confirmed by him casting his eyes favourably up and down my dreary outfit.
‘Yes, Mr Havers,’ I had said dutifully. He had hovered, holding my gaze with a serious and questioning look, making me wonder if he was expecting me to ask him inside for a coffee… or, as I considered at the start of the evening, something more. ‘And thank you for, er… an interesting evening.’ He beamed, adding a curt nod, suggesting my appreciation was precisely what he had hoped to hear and nothing more.
Spinning around, he sat behind the wheel of his sleek car, and he was gone.
= = =
When I had entered my apartment, I had been astonished when Granny Bartlett greeted me. It took a moment for my addled mind to realise I was looking at my own reflection in my full-length mirror by the door. I was looking at myself. My new self.
= = =
The women at the office had shown only mild wonder when I had next appeared amongst them. With my short tight skirts in bright colours gone, I was wearing unfashionable dreary clothes that closely resembled their own outfits. And my luxurious, long locks were gone, replaced by crisp, short curls. Any lingering surprise had quickly turned to admiration, adopting complacent expressions that said they now fully accepted me as one of their own.
= = =
Sent out on an errand by my supervisor the following morning, I had passed Bruno in the corridor. His previous unfathomable expression when assessing my hair had completely disappeared, replaced by an openly beaming smile. ‘Good morning, Michelle,’ he said breezily.
‘Good morning, Mr Havers,’ I said, watching him enter his office and close the door.
And that was it!
= = =
After completing my errand, I had made my way back along the corridor. Bruno’s office door opened, and I prepared for another stiff encounter. However, I was relieved to see it was a woman I had never seen before, but with an outfit and hair that resembled my own. Indeed, she dressed like all the women in my office and, indeed, the whole firm.
She nodded politely, and I nodded back, as we passed each other.
‘Mr Havers and I have decided on Friday,’ she murmured enigmatically from behind me. I assumed someone else must have just appeared from one of the endless offices lining the corridor.
Glancing behind me, there was no one else visible, so I assumed she was calling out through an open doorway. I kept walking.
She spoke again. ‘I told you we would be seeing each other again soon, sweetie.’
I froze, a cold dread filling my body and mind. Turning slowly, I stared at the owner of the voice, just standing there, gazing at me. The smirk she wore was vaguely familiar, but her overall appearance was not.
‘Sorry?’ I questioned, confused.
‘Friday evening, my love,’ she said patiently. ‘We will remove your wig and then apply the wax to ensure you remain completely smooth. By Friday we assume you will be begging for all we can provide.’
In my mind, I allowed the woman’s hair to fall away, and I stripped off her dowdy clothes. I gasped when the realisation suddenly struck me like a hammer blow, as I recalled the gleaming, bald, corseted dominatrix from the day before!
Another thought crowded my overloaded mind. I wondered if every woman who joined the firm conformed to The Havers Protocol. However, I pushed that thought away, given the wolf in beige clothing was confronting me.
‘So, sweetie, Friday at the same time,’ Clara chirped. ‘Mr Havers will collect you, so be ready and appropriately dressed. Bye for now!’
‘Bye, Clara,’ I said absently to her departing form.
I was already counting the hours until Friday, but whether in anticipation of pleasure or expectation of horror, I was unsure…
The End
A Note from the Author
Further to sharing my stories here, on the Hair Story Network, they are also collected on my personal archive, along with additional exclusive material, at The Hair Apparent Stories.
Traditionally, I have always relied on my own imagination and that of my readers to visualise my stories. On my own site I have added a single AI-generated image to serve as a “book cover” for each story, providing a pictorial introduction to the characters and scenes portrayed in the text that follows.
