I never intended to shave my head that day. When I went to the collector’s house, I planned to only let him take my waist-length long blond ponytail. I was going to leave his house with a bob. That was our deal. So I thought.
Did I really go to an Internet stranger’s house alone? No, I don’t have a death wish. I went with my girlfriend. My big butch girlfriend. It was her idea to sell my hair. Fed up with it how much time that I spent on it each morning, she told me, cut it or lose her. When I agreed to cut it, she put it up for sale on a website where people bought human hair. The collector offered us $10,000 if we went to his house, according to my girlfriend, and let him cut it. I should have know that, at that price, he wanted more than just my ponytail. My girlfriend knew. I mean, of course, she knew. She was the one that set the deal up. The first sign of trouble was that she wasn’t suprised when he took us at the replica barbershop in his mansion. She was expecting this shrine to the man’s fetish.
Patting the chair, which had leather straps, he said, “Please sit.”
“Do as he says,” she told me sternly, noticing me hesitating, still weirded out by the straps.
So, I sat down. I even allowed him to use the straps to bind my hands and feet to the chair. Because I knew that’s what she wanted. I could feel myself shaking. The collector started combing my hair. Once he had all the knots out, he bound it in a ponytail. Then he sprinkled it with water. I gasped when he pulled out a straight razor. Looking at my girlfriend, I told her to stop him, pleading for her help.
To my girlfriend, and ignoring me, he said, “Thank you for letting me do this to do. I’ve shaved plenty of heads over the years. Never one with such beautiful blonde hair though. Sure you want her bald?”
“Yes,” she said, looking directly at me.
The collector held my ponytail taunt as he used his straight razor to harvest it. Inch by inch, he stripped it from my scalp. Fearful of being cut, I forced myself to stop shaking. Once my ponytail (and all the rest of my hair) came off, he lathered up my scalp and gave it once over with his straight razor. He toweled off my head amd then slapped some stinging aftershave gel on it, which gave it an odd shine. I looked like an egg that someone drew a face on. It was humiliating.
Finally softening, my girlfriend kissed my forehead. “Look at you,” she said, “My little bald baby.”
Then she helped the collector free me from the chair. Our work wasn’t finished though. She lead me to the next room, which was, much to my horror, a dungeon. The collector poured himself a drink and then sat down to watch a private show where I ended up in rope bondage as my girlfriend fisted me. And, in the dazed submissive state caused by my headshave, I let her.
I haven’t been allowed to grow my hair back yet. When we returned home from the collector’s home, she made me watch as she threw out all my haircare products and tools. According to my girlfriend, I looked better bald. I think that, by better, she means submissive. She makes me kneel before her every morning to have her lather up my scalp and shave it smooth. A few months in our new dynamic, she took me to a tattoo artist that we know and had her tattoo a barcode over my right ear. And pierce both my nipples and my clit. We rarely have regular sex anymore. It’s all just kink play.
Which has been absolutely wonderful. I may never leave her.