Hair Fantasy
**That Night – The Blank Paper**
Princy came home at half past nine. She had already changed out of her shop uniform in the small staff toilet and now wore the same cotton nightie. Her hair was loosely tied in a low knot so it wouldn’t drag on the scooter seat; a few heavy strands had come free and stuck to the side of her neck with sweat. She set her bag down, washed her hands at the kitchen sink, and turned to find Supin waiting at the dining table with a single sheet of white paper and a blue ballpoint pen placed exactly in the middle.
“Sit,” he said.
She sat. He pushed the paper toward her. It was completely blank except for two signature lines at the bottom, one already signed in his own handwriting.
“What is this?”
“Karthik found the man. The older one I told you about. He will come day after tomorrow. This is his condition. We both sign first. He fills the rest later—how long, what he does with the hair, the angles. Nothing sexual. Only hairplay. But the paper stays blank until he writes it.”
Princy looked at the empty page. “I want to read what he writes before I sign.”
“He won’t do it that way. He said if we read it first he won’t come. The money is thirty thousand this time. Cash, before he starts.”She shook her head once. “No. I’m not signing something blank. Last time you said only hands in the hair. Now there’s an outfit he chooses and he wants to shave me. You already agreed to that without asking.”supin’s voice stayed level. “I told him we would talk. I’m talking. If you don’t sign, he doesn’t come and we lose the chance. Karthik already confirmed the date.”
“Then cancel it.”
He was quiet for a moment. Then he leaned forward, both forearms on the table, and spoke more quietly.
“The scooter repair is still pending. Your brother’s fees are due next week. I already told Karthik yes. If we back out now he will tell the man we wasted his time. The man keeps half anyway. We need this.”
Princy stared at the paper. Her hands stayed in her lap. “You promised the nape was optional.”
“I will be in the room the whole time. If he tries to write anything else, I stop it. But you have to sign tonight so Karthik can send the photo of the signatures. Otherwise the man won’t travel.”
She didn’t move. Supin reached across, took her right hand, and placed the pen in it. His fingers closed around hers for a second, guiding the tip of the pen down to the second signature line.“Sign,” he said. “It’s only hair. You already did it once. This is the same, just longer. I’ll be right there.”
She tried to pull her hand back. He didn’t let go immediately. His grip was firm enough that the pen stayed against the paper.
“Supin—”
“Sign it. Then we eat. We’ll talk about the outfit tomorrow.”
The ceiling fan clicked. Outside, a dog barked once and went quiet. Princy looked at her husband’s face, then at the blank space above the lines. She thought of the money counted on the table two weeks ago. She thought of the way he had watched Karthik’s hands in her hair and how still he had gone. She thought of her mother calling again that afternoon.Her hand moved. The pen made a small scratching sound as she wrote her name on the second line. The letters were smaller than usual. She set the pen down. Supin released her wrist, photographed the paper with his phone, and sent the picture to Karthik before she could ask to see the message.
“Done,” he said. “He’ll fill it when he arrives. You won’t have to read it if you don’t want to.”
Princy stood up. Her hair had come completely loose; the heavy mass slid forward over her shoulder and brushed the edge of the table as she turned toward the bedroom. She didn’t look at the paper again. Supin stayed seated, watching the blue ticks appear under the photo he had just sent.
**The Evening of the Shoot – The Paper Is Filled**
The man arrived at six-thirty. He was fifty-eight, broad across the shoulders from years of estate work, grey at the temples, and carried a small black bag and a folded white garment under one arm. He did not smile when Supin opened the door. Karthik was already inside, sitting on the sofa with his phone on his knee. Princy stood near the kitchen doorway in the nightie she had put on after her bath, hair still damp at the ends, combed straight down her back so it reached the floor when she stood still.
The man set the bag on the dining table and took out a single sheet. It was the same blank paper they had signed. Now it was filled, in neat blue handwriting, from the top margin almost to the signature lines.
Supin took it. His eyes moved down the page. The colour left his face.
The conditions were written in short numbered lines:
1. The woman will remove all clothing before the shaving begins. No blouse, no nightie, no undergarments. She will remain fully undressed for the entire session.
2. Her face must be clearly visible in every frame of the video. No angle that hides her face. She will look toward the camera when instructed.
3. Full-body shaving will be performed by the man only. This includes legs, arms, underarms, nape of the neck, and complete removal of all hair from the pubic area and between the buttocks. The razor will be his. She will not touch the razor.
4. Before any shaving starts, she will sit on the floor in front of him. He will wear only a very small, tight underwear. She must keep her eyes on the shape of his penis through the fabric until it is fully hard. She will then give him a handjob with her right hand until he tells her to stop. Only after that will the shaving begin.
5. The husband and Karthik will remain in the room. They will not speak unless the man asks a question. The video will be recorded by Karthik on two phones. One copy stays with the man.
6. If any condition is refused after the signatures are already given, the session ends and the full payment is still kept.
Supin read it twice. His hand shook once. He looked at Karthik.
“This is not what you told me.”
Karthik did not look up from his phone. “He filled it. That’s what the blank paper was for. You both signed.”
Princy stepped forward and took the paper from Supin’s hand. She read the lines about the underwear, the handjob, the private parts, the face on camera. The paper made a small sound when her fingers tightened on it.
“No,” she said. Her voice was thin. “I signed for hair. Only hair. Supin told me only hair.”
The old man spoke for the first time. His Malayalam was slow and clear.
“The paper is signed. Both names are there. If you refuse now, I leave with the money Karthik already transferred to me this afternoon. Thirty thousand. You can call the police if you want. Show them the paper you signed. Tell them what you thought it said.”
Supin turned to Karthik. “You transferred the money already?”
Karthik finally looked at him. “Half this morning. Half after you sent the photo of the signatures. He doesn’t travel for free.”
Princy’s hair had fallen forward over one shoulder. She pushed it back with a shaking hand. “You said he wouldn’t ask for anything else. You said you would stop it.”
Supin opened his mouth, then closed it. He looked at the paper again, at the line about the handjob, at the line about the pubic hair. His ears were red.
The old man opened his bag and took out a straight razor, a small bowl, and a folded white cloth. He set them on the table in a neat row.
“I will change in the bathroom,” he said. “When I come out I will be in the underwear. She will be undressed and sitting on the floor where I can see her face. Karthik will start both cameras. If she is not ready, I take the bag and leave.”
He walked toward the bathroom without waiting for an answer.
Karthik stood up. He spoke quietly, only to Supin.
“It was always going to be this. The first video was a test. I run a closed group. Hairfetish. Malayali women, long hair, husbands who like to watch. The members pay. The man is one of the older ones who pays extra for the shaving and the face. I told him you would sign blank if the money was high enough. You did.”
Supin’s hands were fists at his sides. “You planned this.”
“Yes. She has the kind of hair they want. Knee length, thick, never cut. They pay more when the husband is in the room and can’t stop it. The video goes in the group tonight after he finishes. Your face won’t be in it. Hers will.”
Princy was still holding the paper. She looked at her own signature at the bottom, small and careful. She looked at Supin. Neither of them spoke. From the bathroom they heard the sound of a zipper and the soft thud of clothes being folded.
The old man’s voice came through the door.
“Two minutes. Be ready.”
Karthik lifted both phones. He checked the batteries, then looked at Princy.
“Sit on the floor,” he said. “Hair behind you so it doesn’t cover anything. Face toward the light. He likes to see the eyes when she starts.”
The bathroom door opened. The old man stepped out wearing only a very small, tight black underwear. The shape of him was already visible against the fabric. He looked at Princy, then at the empty space on the floor in front of the sofa, and waited.
**The Session Begins**
The old man stood in the doorway of the bathroom for a moment, letting them look. The black underwear was small and tight; the shape of his cock was already clear against the thin fabric, thick and lifting. He walked to the center of the living room and pointed at the floor in front of the sofa.
“Sit there. Clothes off first. All of them. Hair behind your back so nothing covers you. Face toward the light and the cameras.”
Princy did not move. Her hands were clenched in the sides of her nightie. Supin stood three steps away, the filled contract still in his hand, the paper shaking slightly.
“We didn’t agree to this,” Supin said. His voice was low.
The old man looked at him. “You signed. Both of you. Karthik already has the money. If she does not sit, I leave and the video of the signatures goes to the group anyway. They like the ones where the husband tries to stop it and fails.”
Karthik had both phones raised. One was already recording, the red light steady. He spoke without looking away from the screen.
“Do it, Princy. The longer you wait, the longer he stays hard. He wants your eyes on it before you touch.”
She looked at Supin. He opened his mouth, then closed it. No words came. She turned away from both of them, pulled the nightie over her head, and let it fall. The bra and panties followed. She stood for a second with her arms crossed over her chest, hair sliding forward, then pushed the heavy mass back over her shoulders so it hung straight down her bare back, the ends pooling on the tiles behind her heels. She lowered herself to the floor and sat with her knees together, hands on her thighs, face turned toward the ring light Karthik had switched on.
The old man stepped closer until his feet were on either side of her knees. The bulge in the underwear was directly in front of her face.
“Look at it,” he said. “Keep looking until I say. Do not look at your husband. Do not look at the floor.”
Princy’s eyes stayed on the shape. The fabric was stretched tight. She could see the ridge and the way it moved when he shifted his weight. Her breathing was shallow. The old man reached down, took her right wrist, and placed her hand over the bulge.
“Rub. Slow. Over the cloth first. Eyes up.”
Her fingers moved. The heat of him came through the thin material. She kept her gaze where he had ordered. Karthik moved one phone lower, framing her face and the hand on the underwear together. The second phone stayed higher, catching the full length of her hair against her bare back.
“Now inside,” the old man said. He hooked a thumb in the waistband and pulled the front down just enough for his cock to come free. It was fully hard, thick, the head already wet. He guided her fingers around the shaft. “Stroke. From the base to the tip. Keep your eyes on it. Do not stop until I tell you.”
Her hand moved. The skin was hot and smooth under her palm. She stroked slowly, the way his grip on her wrist forced the rhythm. A small sound left her throat. Supin made a noise behind her—half word, half breath—and Karthik glanced at him once.
“Stay quiet,” Karthik said. “Or I cut your face into the frame too.”
The old man watched her hand and her eyes. His own breathing had roughened. After a minute he spoke again.
“Enough. Hand off. Stay sitting exactly like that. Legs apart now so I can reach everything.”
He stepped back, pulled the underwear up again, and went to the table. He opened the bowl, poured a little water, and picked up the straight razor. When he returned he knelt in front of her. The razor caught the light.
“Arms first,” he said. “Then underarms. Then legs. Then the nape. Last the rest. You will not close your legs. You will not cover your face. If you move, I stop and we start the stroke again until I am ready.”
He took her left arm, stretched it out, and began to shave. The razor moved in short, careful strokes. Dark hair fell onto the white cloth he had spread beside her knee. Karthik adjusted both phones so one stayed on her face and the other followed the razor. The only sounds in the room were the soft scrape of the blade, the occasional drip of water, and Princy’s unsteady breathing as the old man worked his way down her body, exactly as the paper had said.
**The Pubic Shave**
The old man finished the last stroke along the inside of her right thigh and wiped the razor on the white cloth. Fine dark hair clung to the fabric in wet lines. Princy’s legs were already parted; he had kept one hand on her knee each time she tried to draw them together. Her skin from ankle to hip was smooth now, pale where the hair had been, with faint pink lines where the blade had passed close. Her arms and underarms were the same. The nape of her neck was bare; he had lifted the heavy mass of her hair and shaved upward in short passes until nothing remained above the hairline at the back. All of it had been recorded. Karthik had not lowered either phone.
“Last part,” the old man said. He set the razor down, poured fresh water into the bowl, and looked at her face. “Lie back. Shoulders on the floor. Hair spread out behind you so it stays out of the way. Knees up and open. Wide.”
Princy did not move at once. Her hands were flat on the tiles beside her hips. Supin stood against the wall, arms crossed tight, eyes fixed on the floor between his feet. Karthik spoke without shifting the cameras.
“Do it. He already has the strokes on video. If you stop now he still keeps the money and posts what he has.”
She lowered herself slowly until her back met the cool floor. The length of her hair fanned out around her head and shoulders in a dark pool. She drew her knees up, then let them fall open. The old man moved between them on his knees. He did not touch her yet. He only looked, then reached for the razor again.
“Eyes on me,” he said. “Not on the ceiling. Not on your husband. On my face or on the razor. Same rule as before.”
He worked a little water over the skin with his fingers first, spreading it through the thick patch of hair. Then the razor began. He started at the top, just below her navel, drawing the blade downward in short, careful strokes. Each pass cleared a narrow strip. The hair came away easily; it was softer than the hair on her legs. He wiped the blade on the cloth after every two or three strokes and dipped it again. The sound was quieter here—wet skin, the faint scrape, her breath catching when the metal passed close to the softer folds.
He moved lower. The outer lips were shaved clean in slow outward strokes. He used his free hand to hold the skin gently taut so the razor would not catch. Princy’s stomach rose and fell. Her eyes stayed on the blade and on his face as he had ordered. When he reached the inner edges he worked even more slowly, one side then the other, clearing every trace until the skin was bare. A few stray hairs lower down, toward the crease of her thighs and between, were taken with the same short strokes. He did not hurry. Karthik crouched to keep one phone low, framing the razor and her face in the same shot; the second phone stayed higher, catching the spread of her hair on the floor and the line of her body.
When the last visible hair was gone he set the razor aside and poured a little clean water from the bowl over the shaved skin, then wiped it dry with a corner of the cloth. The area was completely smooth, slightly flushed from the blade and the water. He rested his palm there for a moment, flat and warm, feeling the difference, then removed it.
“Finished,” he said. He looked up at her face. “Stay like this until I say you can close your legs. Karthik will take the close shots now.”
Karthik moved both phones nearer. The only sound was the soft tick of the ceiling fan and Princy’s breathing as she lay open on the floor, hair spread around her, while the cameras recorded the bare skin the contract had required.
