Radha gets shorn 🪒

“You’re gonna be late, buddy,” Aunt Radha called out, her voice a mix of concern and mild exasperation. Ashok’s heart skipped a beat. He had been daydreaming about her again, lost in a sea of dark, lustrous hair that cascaded down her back like a midnight waterfall. He had always found his aunt’s beauty mesmerizing, but lately, it had become an obsession.

Radha had always taken great pride in her hair. She had always washed it with the best products, she always handled it with such delicacy, and she protected it with her life. Radha also was not afraid of flaunting her thick, luscious mane, which very well complemented her curvaceous figure. Her black braid was the subject of attention of eyes wherever she went, her round breasts and swaying hips a close second.

Ashok had moved in with her three weeks ago when his parents had to leave for their work trip. The house was too big, the quiet too profound, and the heat of the summer days too oppressive. Ashok’s eyes would often drift to Radha’s braid as it lay coiled on the bedroom chair. The thickness of it, the way it shone in the dim light, was mesmerizing.

An opportunity presented itself one sweltering evening when Radha returned from her work, her clothes clinging to her sweaty body like a second skin. She was tired and didn’t bother to change before collapsing onto her bed. Ashok, ever the opportunist, took his chance. He tiptoed into her room, his eyes glued to the swaying braid as he approached her sleeping form. He took a deep breath, savoring the faint scent of her shampoo mixed with the musky aroma of her sweat. He reached out, his trembling hand barely brushing the tip of her braid.

Suddenly, Radha stirred in her sleep, her braid sliding off the chair and onto the floor with a soft thump. Ashok froze, his heart pounding in his chest. But she didn’t wake up. He knelt down, his eyes widening as beads of sweat glistened in the soft light, trickling down the thick rope of her hair. The scent grew stronger, and he couldn’t resist. He leaned in, his tongue flicking out to taste the salty sweetness of her sweat. The moment his tongue made contact with the strands, he felt a jolt of pleasure shoot through him, more intense than any he had ever felt before. He licked along the length of her braid.

Ashok knew he had to be careful. He had to make this moment count without alerting her. His hand slid up the braid to her scalp, and he gently lifted the heavy mass, exposing the base of her neck. The skin was warm and damp, and he could feel her pulse beating steadily beneath his fingertips. He took a deep breath, inhaling the intoxicating scent of her hair.

The next day, Radha washed her hair, the scent of jasmine oil and herbal shampoo filling the house. She had always been meticulous with her hair care routine, a testament to her cultural heritage and her pride in her long, thick locks. After the wash, she sat on the couch, her hair hanging loose like a black river, her eyes closed in relaxation as it air-dried. Ashok watched her from a distance, his mind racing with thoughts of the previous night and what was to come.

That night turned out to be even more satisfying for Ashok than the night before.

With trembling hands, he untied the band that held her braid together, feeling the weight of it shift in his palms. The silky strands slipped through his fingers like water. He knew he had to be gentle, to not wake her, but his excitement was palpable. He took a pair of scissors from his pocket, the cold metal a stark contrast against the heat of his skin. The blades were sharp, gleaming in the moonlight that spilled through the open window. He knew what he was about to do was wrong, but he couldn’t help it. His desire was too strong, too all-consuming.

He approached her with the scissors, his heart racing. He took a deep breath and made his first snip. The sound was like a whisper, barely audible, but to him it was a declaration of war against the societal norms that held him back. He watched as the piece of hair fell to the floor, and a strange thrill shot through him. He continued snipping, inch by inch, feeling the tension in the room thicken with each cut. He could see her chest rising and falling with her deep breaths, and he knew she was close to waking up. He had to be quick.

Collecting the small pieces of hair he had trimmed, he examined them in the moonlight. They were like treasure to him, each strand a trophy of his conquest. He wrapped them carefully in a tissue and placed them in his pocket, a secret hoard of his desires. When he was done, he stepped back and checked his handiwork. The braid looked untouched, the snipped parts barely noticeable. It was as if he had trimmed a hedge to maintain its perfect shape.

The next evening, Radha received a phone call from a distant relative. The conversation was in hushed tones, filled with a kind of urgency. It was a family affair, and she couldn’t refuse.

Intrigued, Ashok approached her once the call had ended. “What was that about, Aunt Radha?” he asked, trying to sound casual.

Radha sighed heavily. “It’s a family tradition,” she began, her voice laced with a hint of resentment. “Whenever a female baby is born, the mother, and any other women who wish to participate, shave their heads. It’s believed to ward off evil spirits and bring good luck to the child. While the mothers and other women don’t need to shave their head, the baby is definitely shaved.” She paused, her hand absently playing with the end of her braid.

Ashok could see the conflict playing out on her face. “But do you believe in it?” he probed gently. Radha’s eyes searched his, and for a moment, she seemed to hesitate. “I’m not sure,” she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. “But it’s what we’ve always done.” She took a deep breath, her hand dropping from her braid to her lap.

Ashok felt a twinge of amusement. “What about when you were a baby?” he asked, feigning innocence. “Do you remember you shaving your head?”

Radha’s eyes searched his, and he saw a flicker of doubt. “No,” she said slowly, “I obviously don’t remember. I must have been a baby. But- my parents never mentioned my headshave.”

It was as if a puzzle piece clicked into place in Ashok’s mind. Radha had been shielded from the trauma of her own head-shaving ceremony because she loved her hair so much. Her parents had made the decision to keep the memory from her, hoping she would grow up cherishing the long, thick tresses that were now such a significant part of her identity.

Ashok saw his opening. “Aunt Radha,” he began, his voice soft and earnest, “you’ve never actually shaved your head, have you?”

Radha slowly spoke, “Maybe, but I was never too sure. My parents are no longer alive to ask them, and no one else would have known anyway. Why the sudden interest, Ashok?”

Her question hung in the air like a cloud of unspoken tension. Ashok knew he had to tread carefully. He took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving hers. “Well, Aunt Radha, I’ve heard that if a woman doesn’t complete her head-shaving ceremony, it could bring bad luck. I just don’t want anything bad to happen to you,” he said, his voice laced with genuine concern.

Radha’s eyes searched his, looking for any hint of deceit, but she only saw innocence and care. She had always been the strong one, the one who took care of everyone else, and now here he was, looking out for her. “That’s very kind of you, Ashok,” she murmured, her voice trembling slightly.

Ashok took another step closer, his heart racing. “I remember my mother telling me about her ceremony,” he lied smoothly. “She said she had to do it when she was 34 because she missed it as a baby. She said it was a powerful experience, like shedding her past and starting anew.” He paused, watching her reaction closely. “Maybe it’s something you should consider, Aunt Radha. For your own peace of mind.”

Radha felt a cold shiver run down her spine. Her hand flew to her head, her long braid lying heavily against her back like a snake coiled around her body. She had always been terrified of the thought of losing her hair. It was as much a part of her identity as her name. The idea of someone taking a razor to her head, of watching those dark strands fall to the floor, was more than she could bear. But the concern in Ashok’s eyes was genuine.

Her mind raced with memories of her mother’s gentle touch as she oiled and combed her hair every night. She had been taught that her hair was her crowning glory, a symbol of her purity and femininity. To cut it all off was unthinkable. Yet, there was something in the way Ashok spoke about the ceremony that resonated with her. Her eyes searched his, looking for any hint of a lie, but all she saw was a boy trying to protect his aunt from the shadows of superstition.

“I’ll think about it,” she murmured, her voice barely audible. With that, she rose from the couch, her braid swinging heavily with the movement. She needed time to process this new information, to decide if she was willing to take such a drastic step.

As the night grew late, Radha retreated to her room, her thoughts a tumultuous storm. She sat in front of her mirror, her reflection a silent witness to her internal struggle. Her hand found the end of her braid, her grip tightening almost imperceptibly. She had always been proud of her hair, a symbol of her femininity. The thought of letting it go was terrifying.

Ashok, his heart racing with excitement, waited until a few hours for her to fall asleep before slipping into her room again. He approached her bed, where she lay, her braid splayed out like a black fan on the pillow. He took a moment to appreciate the sheer beauty of it, the way it shone even in the darkness. Then, with trembling hands, he reached out and gently wrapped the braid around his erect penis. The feeling was indescribable, a heady mix of softness and warmth that sent shivers down his spine. He stroked himself with her hair, his eyes never leaving hers, watching for any sign she might wake up.

The friction was exquisite, and he found himself getting closer and closer to the edge. Each stroke brought with it the scent of her sweat, a scent that had become an aphrodisiac to him. He could feel her body heat radiating through the strands, warming him, fueling his desire. His mind was a whirlwind of images, each more vivid than the last. He imagined her sitting before him, her head bowed in submission, as he took the first swipe of the razor across her scalp. The sound of the blade gliding through her hair, the feel of the soft, bare skin beneath, the sight of her long, beautiful locks falling to the floor in a tangled mess at her feet.

The next day, Radha was quieter than usual. Ashok could see the turmoil in her eyes, the way she kept touching her hair, as if to reassure herself it was still there. He knew he had planted a seed of doubt in her mind, and he was eager to see how it would grow. He decided to water it gently, not wanting to push her too far too fast.

That evening, as they sat together in the living room, the hum of the fan their only company in the stifling heat, Radha spoke up. “Ashok,” she began, her voice tentative, “I’ve been thinking about what you said. Do you think… do you think it’s important that I shave my head?”

Ashok felt his heart race. This was it, his chance to push the narrative in the direction he had been dreaming of. “Aunt Radha,” he said, his tone earnest and sincere, “I’m not the one to decide what’s important for you. But I do know that these traditions are part of who we are, and they can be powerful, healing experiences.”

Radha’s gaze drifted to the floor, her thumb absently rubbing the fabric of her sari. “I’ll call your mother tonight,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “I need to know the truth.”

Later that evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, Radha sat in the dimly lit living room, the phone pressed to her ear. She listened intently as Ashok’s mother spoke of the tradition, her voice a soothing balm over the crackling line. “I’m not sure you shaved your head as a child,” she said, “since you do not know either, you may want to do it now, just to be safe.”

Ashok watched from the shadows, his heart racing as his mother unwittingly played into his hands. “But why now?” Radha asked, her voice thick with apprehension. Ashok’s mother knew nothing about Radha’s love for her hair.

“Well, sometimes it’s good to honor our traditions,” she said, her voice carrying the weight of years of belief. “You know how important it is to keep our family’s customs alive. Traditions followed for hundreds of years surely have meaning and significance.”

Radha’s eyes widened as she digested her sister-in-law’s words. The fear of losing her hair was a visceral fear, something she had never truly confronted. Yet here she was, contemplating the unthinkable. She felt a strange mix of emotions, a cocktail of fear, anger, and sadness. Her hand tightened around the phone.

“I had a good amount of hair when I had to shave my head. My parents never bothered to shave my head as a child, so I had to get it done when Ashok was 7. But it’s only hair, it grows back!” chuckled Ashok’s mom.

Radha felt a strange sadness as she listened to her sister-in-law’s voice over the phone. It was as if the universe had conspired to bring this conversation to her. The idea of shaving her head had been haunting her, and now, with her sister-in-law’s casual assurance, it seemed more daunting.

“A few more things. If you decide to go ahead, Radha, keep in mind you must be seated on the floor during the process. Oil your hair with jasmine oil and wash it thoroughly. Dry it and then tie it into a tight braid. You must not wear any clothes. Try to find a local barber, and get him to your house for the process. You can always send your braid to the temple as a bundle later on.”

Radha nodded, her hand shaking slightly as she held the phone. The conversation ended, leaving her in a whirlwind of thoughts. The idea of shaving her head, once so distant and foreign, was now a very real possibility. She glanced over at Ashok, who was pretending to be engrossed in his phone, his eyes darting up at her every few moments. She knew he was eager to see how this would unfold.

The house was eerily quiet as she climbed the stairs to her bedroom. Her heart felt heavy, as though it were dragging the weight of her long braid along with it. Once inside, she shut the door softly and turned to face her reflection in the mirror. The moon cast a silver glow on her hair. Her hand hovered over it, tracing the path that the scissors might take if she decided to go through with the ceremony.

Memories flooded her, of aunts and cousins cooing over her hair as a child, of the compliments that had followed her like a trail of glitter wherever she went. Her hair had been a source of pride, a crown that had made her feel like a queen. It had been a silent testament to her beauty and femininity, a subject of envy among the women in her family.

The thought of their eyes widening in shock, their mouths dropping open in disbelief, the sound of their laughter echoing in her ears as they pointed at her bald head, made her stomach turn. The whispers of “What happened to Radha?” and “How could she let this happen?” would spread like wildfire, leaving her a laughing stock in the community she had grown up in. The fear was so palpable.

There was a gentle knock on the door. Ashok saw the turmoil in her eyes and took a deep breath, his hand reaching out to gently cup her cheek. “Aunt Radha,” he whispered, his voice filled with a fake sadness that was almost believable, “you know I’m here for you, no matter what.” He paused, allowing his words to sink in.

Unsure, Radha looked at him, her eyes showing a soft sadness. “What if I don’t do it, Ashok?” she asked, her voice trembling. “What if something bad happens?”

Ashok felt a twinge of guilt, but he pushed it aside. This was his chance, and he wasn’t going to let it slip away. “Aunt Radha,” he said, his voice thick with the fake sadness that came so easily to him, “you know I only want what’s best for you. If this ceremony is what will bring you peace, then you should do it.” He placed his hand over hers, his thumb tracing the outline of her palm. “But it’s your choice,” he added, his voice a gentle whisper. “Whatever you decide, I’ll support you.”

While he was masterfully faking sympathy for his aunt, the thought of her, naked and vulnerable, her head shaved clean, was more arousing than any pornography he had ever seen. His heart raced, and he had to force himself to stay calm.

“Goodnight, Aunt Radha,” he murmured, giving her hand a gentle squeeze before slipping out of the room, not shutting the door on his way out. From the couch where he would be for the next few hours, he could see Radha’s mirror.

Radha sat on the bed, her back to the door, and took a deep breath. With trembling hands, she picked up the comb, the one her mother had given her when she was just a girl. It was made of sandalwood, the teeth fine and evenly spaced. It had been her companion every night, a silent guardian that had helped her maintain the beauty of her hair. Now, it was to be her final defense against the fear that gripped her.

She began to comb, her eyes locked onto the mirror, watching the reflection of her braid as it unfurled before her. Each stroke was a caress, a silent promise that she would not let go. She combed and combed, her movements becoming more agitated with each pass.

Eventually, her eyes grew heavy with fatigue, and she lay down, the comb still clutched in her hand. Her thoughts swirled around the possibility of shaving her head, pumping fear in her mind. As sleep claimed her, she was still stroking her hair.

The next morning, the air in the house was thick with tension. Ashok had barely slept, his mind racing with anticipation. Radha woke up, the weight of the decision still pressing down on her. Today, there was an addition to her morning hair ritual. She took the bottle of jasmine oil from her dresser and began to massage it into her scalp, her fingers moving in slow, deliberate circles. The oil was warm and fragrant, a balm to her troubled soul.

Her eyes stung with unshed tears as she washed her hair, the water cascading down her back like a waterfall. Each strand felt like a part of her slipping away as she rinsed the shampoo out. She knew that if she went through with the ceremony, her hair would be gone, and she wasn’t sure she was ready to let go. But the fear of the unknown, the whispers of bad luck and family curses, were troubles she couldn’t ignore.

After what seemed like an eternity to Ashok, Radha was done. He listened carefully as he heard the sound of the towel rubbing against her head, drying her long, seductive tresses. As she slowly stepped out of her room, only a towel wrapped around her, barely concealing her ripe breasts, Ashok pretended to be engrossed in his work.

“Ashok,” Radha’s soft voice called out, “could you come here for a moment?”

Ashok turned to look at her. Her hair was completely dry, shining so beautifully in the morning sun. She had tied her hair into a loose braid. Ashok could not believe his eyes. Radha had never looked so tempting before. Her vulnerable expression made his heart race.

“Aunt Radha, what are you going to do?” he asked.

Radha took a deep breath, and looked away. “I’ve made up my mind, Ashok” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “I will do it.” Ashok could tell she was choking with tears, as Radha tried to be as strong as she humanly could. And then came what he yearned so long to hear.

“And I want you to shave my head for me.”

It was finally happening!

He couldn’t hold back his excitement anymore. “Where do you want to do it, Aunt Radha?” Radha took a moment to collect herself before speaking, “In the bathroom. It’s more private, and we can clean up easily.” Ashok nodded, trying to keep his excitement in check. He had to act casual.

“Bring your shaving blade, please” she said, softly. He walked to his room, his heart racing. His hand trembled slightly as he opened the drawer and pulled out the shaving blade he had bought days ago, just in case. It was shiny and sharp. He took a deep breath, feeling a rush of excitement and anticipation.

He entered the bathroom, and saw a completely naked Radha look up at him with tears in his eyes. Radha sat down, and shivered slightly as her butt touched the cold floor. “Ashok, can you braid my hair once more?” she asked, not able to bear the fact that it would be the last time she would be touching her hair. “You need to make a tight braid.”

Ashok’s joy knew no bounds as he nodded. He sat down behind her, the warmth of her naked body radiating towards him. He grabbed her braid and pulled off the rubber band at the bottom. He divided her hair into three equal sections and began to weave them together. He started to braid her hair with a bit of roughness, tugging slightly at her scalp. She gasped in pain, but he didn’t stop. Her breasts swung about as he yanked her head left and right with force. He knew she would never allow him to do this under normal circumstances, so he was going to take full advantage of the situation. His heart raced as he felt the power in his hands, the power to hurt her, and yet she was entrusting him with this task.

With every pull and twist, Radha’s delicate head felt a sharp pain. She had never felt so vulnerable, so exposed. The braid grew tighter and tighter. Ashok’s hands were firm, almost cruel in their grip. Her eyes squeezed shut as he tugged harder, his excitement visible in the tension of his movements. She could feel the hair at her scalp being pulled out, a painful sensation that brought tears to her eyes. But she bore it.

Ashok took all the time in the world but the braid was finally done. Radha felt the tension in her scalp ease as he tied it off with a firm knot. She took a deep breath, the scent of her own hair thick in the air around them. The braid was so tight that it looked like a rope of black silk, winding down her back.

“I’m done, we can get started,” announced Ashok. Radha could only nod her agreement.

She turned towards him and bent her beautiful head down. Her head was right in between his knees, centimetres away from his rock hard penis. This was such a submissive position, as the fate of her treasure lay in his hands. Ashok took a moment to appreciate the view. Radha’s breasts, her round buttocks, her thick black braid – all of it was being offered to him in this vulnerable pose. Ashok felt so powerful.

He sniffed that beautiful head of hair once more. Unwrapping a new blade, he placed it in the razor as it glistened in the light. Ashok ran a finger through the part on Radha’s head. This is where he would start. His hands were strangely calm and showed no signs of a tremble.

Ashok placed the blade right on the part and stroked her head to the left.

Krrrrrrr-ch.

The first stroke exposed a tiny area of her brown scalp. Radha winced at the pain of a dry headshave. Ashok stroked her head with the blade a second time, a lot more decisively. Even more of her scalp was now bald. Radha couldn’t believe it was happening. Her eyes filled with tears, and she began to weep silently.

Ashok’s excitement grew with each swipe of the blade. He could feel the heat from her body, her fear, her pain. He knew he was in charge, and that thrilled him more than he had ever been in his life. He took another swipe, the blade moving faster, more confidently with each swipe. He didn’t care about her tears. All he cared about was the feel of her hair coming off, the sound of the blade cutting through her thick, luscious locks. He felt like a sculptor, carving away at the marble that was her head.

Radha’s tears formed a small puddle near his feet. Ashok did not care. She was in his control, and he could do as he pleased. He began scraping her head forcefully, with an intentional roughness in his touch. He shaved each area of her head multiple times. The sound of the blade raking over her scalp, every swipe severing innumerable strands of her hair, was intoxicating.

Half of her head soon had no hair. He took the time to admire his work and rub the bald patch on Radha’s head. He slowly begun scraping away at the other half of her head, soon working his way to the bottom of her braid. Savoring every moment, he swiped the blade with an intentional brutality.

Before he knew it, that long thick braid was no longer attached to Radha’s head. With the last piece of hair removed from her scalp, Radha’s head was smooth and shone like the moon. The braid lay on the floor, a sad reminder of what once was. Radha’s eyes were squeezed shut, and her body trembled as the last of her hair fell away.

Ashok once again swiped the blade all over Radha’s shiny bald head, rubbing her head with great pleasure. Where once lay the roots of a beautiful, luscious mane of hair, now stood stark nakedness. Radha’s head shone in the dim light of the bathroom, a canvas of smooth, bare skin.

“We’re done” whispered Ashok. Radha finally looked up, her eyes red and her cheeks swollen from all the tears she shed, not only due to the emotional torture, but from the sheer physical pain of how harsh the headshave was.

“Can I look?” she asked, her voice quivering.

Ashok nodded, his excitement barely contained. Radha looked at her reflection and gasped, tears rolling down her cheek. She reached out to touch her head, her hand trembling. The coldness of her bare scalp sent a shock through her body. It was a feeling she had never experienced before.

The sight of herself in the mirror was jarring. The woman she had known all her life was gone, replaced by a stranger. Her once majestic hair, her pride and joy, now lay in a lifeless pile on the floor. She felt a sense of horror, of violation, but also a strange, twisted relief. It was as though a weight had been lifted from her, a weight she hadn’t even known was there.

“Your hair was beautiful,” Ashok murmured, his voice thick with desire. “But your shaved head is even more stunning.”

With trembling hands, she reached down and picked up the discarded braid. It felt so alien in her hands, no longer a part of her. For the first time, it suddenly felt so heavy. The weight of it was a stark reminder of what she had lost. She looked at Ashok, her voice barely above a whisper. “Can you take this to the temple?”

Ashok nodded, his eyes never leaving hers. “Of course, Aunt Radha.” He took the braid from her. It felt so special, holding that shorn braid. Ashok squeezed it and tugged at it, he could do as he pleased for it was no longer on Radha’s head.

Ashok had other plans. He had been dreaming of this moment for weeks, and the reality was even better than he had ever imagined. He couldn’t bear the thought of her hair being given to the gods, not when he had his own sacred ritual in mind.

Radha’s braid never reached the temple. It was safe in Ashok’s possession, as he misused it every night to an extent that would mortify Radha had she known.

But with a bald, humiliated aunt, and immense satisfaction with his actions, who was he to care?

Radha’s braid remained irresistible to Ashok. But from that night on, her shiny bald head was his playground.