Simplify Salon III – Practising the Procedures

CONTENT AWARENESS: This series features haircutting and headshaving, but it also includes depictions of temporary and permanent body modifications. If you deem these subjects unsavoury, then please may I suggest you swiftly move on.

This story serves as a sequel to Simplify Salon II – Adopting the Aesthetic and can be enjoyed independently without the need to read the original story.

Prologue

Over a month ago, I had witnessed my first full simplification procedure in the Simplify Hair & Beauty Salon. Then to encourage Marcia, my boss, to keep me employed after my trial period, I later volunteered to undergo a similar grisly procedure. My next day at work was a revelation.

The new white nylon dress that Marcia, my manager, had provided was two sizes larger than the one I had worn before my simplification. Yet, it still stretched taut over my unfamiliar curves, so different from the body I had inhabited just a day earlier. My breasts, once modest, now strained against the fabric, and my rear jutted out defiantly, a cushion of chemically induced plumpness.

Swaying over to the mirror, I surveyed my doll-like reflection, with its shaved head, rounded features, and unnervingly red lips. The oral insert covering my gums was bulky and unflattering, but it forced my mouth into a perpetual smile. My apparent cheery disposition was perfect for welcoming our clients and for promoting the services of the Simplify Hair & Beauty Salon.

One day earlier I had traded my identity, my body, and what little remained of my soul for Marcia’s approval. Now simplified, I was hers.

Training

‘Good morning, Emily. Oh, how delightful, the new dress fits you perfectly, just as I intended.’

Marcia’s voice was, as always, a monotone slicing through the quiet morning, devoid of warmth. Yet, on this day, there was a subtle undercurrent of proprietorial satisfaction. I wanted to believe I had contributed to her pleasure, following the delightful evening we had unexpectedly spent together in her apartment. Her gaze swept over my transformed figure, and, with her lips thin and precise, she almost smiled.

I felt unsettled, even a little sad, but my face could only express unbounded happiness through my enforced cheerful smile. ‘Thank you, Mith Marthia. My thimplifcation ith making me feel much more approachable and efficient.’

My voice came out mangled by the design flaw in the dentures that my boss had provided. However, I was becoming used to slowing down my pronunciation and avoiding sibilant words whenever I could.

Marcia nodded, her cold eyes glinting with genuine pleasure. ‘Indeed. Your enthusiasm is palpable. And that brings me to today’s schedule. We have a last-minute booking to start our day, and she will be arriving shortly. And you, Emily, are ready to begin your training.’

My heart lurched.

‘Susie is our first client of the day. She is a popular international rugby player, and her team is currently doing remarkably well in the championships. I understand that if they advance further, then it will prove extremely lucrative for everyone involved. She has heard of our reputation, specifically our ability to optimise the body to achieve athletic prowess. So, she is looking for that extra edge in performance that we can provide,’ Marcia explained. ‘You will undertake Susie’s simplification if you feel confident, and I will supervise.’

My blood ran cold. I had seen the individual procedures that Marcia had performed so many times that I knew them off by heart. But doing it myself? My palms were suddenly slick with cold sweat.

‘I feel confident, Mith Marthia. Completely confident,’ I chirped, the lisp disguising the slight tremor in my voice. Now that she had asked me, I had to do it. Anything less she would view as failure. And I could not lose this job after everything I had experienced. Not after all that I had given up.

Susie

Susie arrived precisely at nine, heralded by a confident stride that echoed through the salon’s hushed atmosphere and stark surroundings. She was tall, muscular, and strikingly pretty, her athletic frame radiating a vibrant energy. Her hair, a rich auburn, she had braided tightly to her head in intricate French plaits, a practical style, I surmised, for the rough-and-tumble of the rugby field. She wore a white tennis skirt and a tight-fitting shirt that highlighted her powerful shoulders and muscular curves.

‘Marcia!’ Susie boomed, her voice deep and resonant. ‘Heard great things,’ she praised, her voice clipped. ‘Team is in the championship. Quarter-finals, no less! And I need every edge I can get,’ she continued in the same curt tone. ‘The public notices me for how I look, so it is not my playing ability that features in the sports news. And these teeth,’ she sighed, gesturing to her mouth. ‘Repeatedly chipped in a scrum. Expensive work.’ She shrugged, a gesture of almost dismissive impatience. ‘Just want things taken care of. Whatever it takes for me to achieve peak performance.’

Marcia offered her rare, thin smile. ‘Rest assured, Susie, we specialise in simplification, and that leads to optimisation.’ She presented a tablet, and Susie, without a moment’s hesitation, signed the usual waiver. The document was an abyss of legal jargon, granting the salon full autonomy, relieving them of all liability for any unforeseen incidents.

‘Emily will be performing your procedures today, supervised by myself,’ Marcia announced, gesturing to me with a delicate flick of her wrist. ‘She has recently undergone a simplification herself, proving her commitment to our methodologies. You will find her very efficient and agreeable.’

Susie turned to me, her bright and intelligent eyes narrowing slightly as she took in my plumped and shaved form. Her confident expression flickered for a fraction of a second, but then she recovered, her gaze becoming professional and assessing. ‘First class, Emily. Good to know you walk the talk.’

I flashed my wide, fixed smile. ‘Pleathure to meet you, Thuthie! I am here to make you the motht efficient rugby player you can be!’

‘Perfect!’ Susie confirmed, raising an eyebrow at hearing my lisping voice but too polite to comment. ‘Strip off here, shall I?’

= = =

Susie, surprisingly compliant, quickly stripped off her clothes, followed by her plain and unadorned undergarments. Her muscles bunched and flexed under her skin, a testament to years of training. She certainly was not frail.

I guided her to the steel chair, my hands trembling slightly as I helped secure the restraints around her wrists and ankles. I was ready with an explanation for their necessity, but she simply accepted it. She leaned back, her formidable athleticism now rendered impotent by the chair’s embrace and by her own willing submission.

Marcia wheeled over the trolley of equipment, the familiar gleam of stainless steel reflecting the overhead lights. She then handed me the dental spreader. Susie opened her mouth without prompting, revealing a set of brilliantly white teeth. Amongst them, I noticed expensive crowns and veneers that I surmised were a result of damage on the field. I ratcheted her jaws apart as far as they would go, silencing her voice as I did so.

Standing next to her, I could see that she was naturally beautiful. My breath hitched, imagining how different she would soon appear. But I had to do this.

‘The firtht thtep…’ I began but noted Susie’s look of confusion, so I started again. ‘Initially, to achieve optimal performanthe, an elimination of daily care ith a major improvement. Your hair, while undeniably attractive ith such a bother on the field, and ith an annoying dithtraction from your playing ability.’

‘Quite correct.’ Marcia nodded approvingly at my reasoning. ‘So, Emily, permanently remove Susie’s hair, describing each step clearly as you go.’

Susie’s eyes widened when she heard my boss’s instructions, but she stayed still and said nothing… but to be fair, she could not speak or move. I gave her a reassuring smile, but to be fair, with my permanent grin I could do nothing else.

I reached for the large hairclippers, the cold steel in my grip giving me a boost of confidence. Susie watched me, her gaze steady, almost expectant. I met her eyes, a shiver running down my spine.

‘We begin with the clipperth, Thuthie,’ I narrated, my voice strained but carefully practised. ‘To remove the bulk of the hair quickly and efficiently.’

I switched on the hairclippers. The buzzing sound filled the room, a low growl that vibrated through my bones. I hesitated for a split second, then brought them to Susie’s forehead in her reclined position.

The glinting blade devoured her thick, auburn braids, the sound brutal, like tearing silk. Tufts of rich hair, still braided, tumbled to the floor. Eyebrows and lashes followed. Each pass of the clippers felt like a minor act of carnage, a chipping away not just at her hair, but at her very essence. My face stayed clear of displaying the sadness building inside me; my fixed and permanent smile provided a deceitful reassurance.

‘Next, we mutht completely bare your head,’ I continued, my voice gaining a mechanical rhythm, as I lathered Susie’s scalp and face. ‘To ensure a perfectly level thurface, every follicle mutht be eliminated.’ I picked up the razor, the sharpened blade glinting. The white foam, along with the fine stubble left by the clippers, disappeared, revealing the creamy skin of her scalp. I was meticulous, and, despite my inexperience, my hands moved with a practised grace born of constant observation. I saw the slight tension in Susie’s jaw and the tiny clench of her fists, but she made no sound. Her eyes were still open, watching me.

‘And now for permanent improvement to your effithiency, Thuthie, we apply our exclusive anti-regrowth gel, ensuring a maintenanthe-free thcalp.’ I smoothed the viscous liquid over her bare scalp, working it in with gloved fingers. It smelt faintly of chemicals, biting and clinical.

When I finished, Susie’s head gleamed under the overhead lights, perfectly smooth and polished, and utterly hairless. She looked startlingly different, her striking facial features now starkly framed.

‘Excellent, Emily,’ Marcia murmured, her approval a potent, terrifying drug that surged through my veins. ‘A clean and efficient start.’

= = =

‘Thuthie, you mentioned chipping your teeth when playing, and I can thee the evidenthe,’ I confirmed, tapping her teeth with a probe. ‘Although they are healthy, they will remain vulnerable to damage while you continue playing rugby. We aim for a balanthed mouth and long-term durability. We will remove them all ath they are unnethethary.’

Exchanging the probe for a hypodermic passed to me by Marcia, I injected the mild anaesthetic into Susie’s gums. It was unfortunate that Susie could not speak due to the dental spreader, as I was unsure what her rapid blinking meant, followed by a wide-eyed look resembling panic. I made a mental note to ask her later.

Marcia appointed herself the role of assistant and held the suction tube. I selected the appropriate instruments resting on the stainless-steel tray, and, taking a deep breath, I gripped my first tooth. Using the motion I had seen Marcia use countless times, I was delighted to see how easily it popped out of Susie’s mouth. Her screwed-up features reminded me that, despite the mild anaesthetic, the sensation remained extremely painful.

So, I hurried myself along to avoid prolonging her blinding agony. Not all her teeth were as cooperative, but Marcia coached me where necessary, and soon I had successfully achieved a full clearance. My boss leaned in and sprayed Susie’s mouth and gums to begin the healing process, nodding her approval at my first attempt.

‘There we are, Thuthie,’ I declared. ‘Much neater, and thith thilicone implant will protect you much better on the rugby field.’

I replaced the dental spreader with the silicone dentures in her mouth and over her gums, and they moulded themselves well. I explained they would work for eating as efficiently as her original teeth, and, if she wished, she could pop them out when playing, making her much more efficient.

Susie assessed them tentatively with her tongue, looking unsure. Although she was able to speak once again, she elected to say nothing.

‘Now the body,’ I continued, my voice regaining its cheerfulness after all my effort with her teeth. ‘Your figure, although lovely, needs to be much more thtreamlined for efficienthy on the rugby field.’

I brandished the large hypodermic that Marcia handed to me. I squeezed a couple of drops of the liquid from the needle’s tip. ‘This will be painful.’ I paused, then added, with utter, chilling detachment, ‘I can personally vouch for that.’ I shrugged, ‘but worth it to gain a gender-neutral form, optimithed for thtrength and thpeed.’

Susie nodded, her face pale, but her eyes resolute. She was still committed.

My hands, though still trembling with nervousness, moved with a dreadful purpose. I inserted the needle into Susie’s chest multiple times, and her tissue deflated and softened before increasing in muscle. I moved to her hips and buttocks. The soft, rounded curves that had defined her feminine silhouette began to shrink, to flatten, to realign into a more angular, powerful shape. Susie clenched her jaw, sweat beading on her brow, but she remained silent, a testament to her iron will.

When I had finished, Susie’s body was a triumph of brutal engineering. The feminine curves were gone, replaced by a lean and muscular, androgynous physique. Her shoulders seemed broader, her arms more defined, and her legs like pistons of power. She was a machine, sculpted for the rugby field, devoid of any softness.

I stepped back, surveying my handiwork. A wave of exhaustion washed over me, but then, there was Marcia’s approving nod, and I forced myself back into the performance.

‘There we are, Thuthie!’ I chirped, my voice cracking slightly. ‘You will find that male rugby attire will now fit you perfectly.’

= = =

Marcia released Susie from the chair. Susie, slowly and stiffly, brought her hand up to her newly flattened chest, then ran it over her now-angular hips. She then swung her arms and rotated her shoulders, assessing her new form.

Then, to my utter disbelief, a slow smile spread across her face. ‘Bloody brilliant,’ she croaked, her voice thick and strange from the dental work. ‘I can feel the difference already. I will be invincible on the field! The rest of my team needs to hear about your services and get on down here before our next match.’

Marcia finally stepped forward, her hand resting briefly on my shoulder, a rare, almost physical touch of approval. ‘Excellent work, Emily.’ Her gaze held mine, a silent message of triumph. My stomach clenched, but relief, cold and sharp, flooded through me. I had done it. I had performed as required.

‘Your next practice will be next week on our new apprentice,’ Marcia announced, her voice returning to its usual monotone, but with a hint of satisfaction. ‘To demonstrate commitment, she has already agreed to some simplification work on her first day.’

My fixed smile felt like it might shatter when Marcia referred to the staff of the salon as “us”. I had become her perfect marketing aid and now her assistant manager, no longer an apprentice. I was now hers and, by my dreadful actions, an extension of her.

Miranda & Mr James

While still adapting to my transformation just days earlier, I would have relished a day to myself. However, an unexpected directive came from Marcia to attend the salon on Sunday morning.

‘We have a special request for today, Emily,’ Marcia called over after putting down her phone. ‘It comes from a very wealthy local businessman, Mr James. The request relates to his wife, Miranda, who has been, shall we say, indiscreet.’

Mr James, Marcia explained, had heard about Simplify Hair & Beauty Salon from his circle of business acquaintances. He did not want Miranda to undergo a full simplification. Mr James had requested just a headshave, not even permanent, to warn his wife against straying again in the future. Marcia stressed the simplicity of the job and highlighted the generous fee Mr James was paying. The extra promised cash made sacrificing my Sunday less of an ordeal.

= = =

Mr James was undeniably handsome, and, despite it being Sunday, he wore an impeccably tailored business suit, a white shirt, and a colourful tie. He looked younger than his sixty-odd years, his movements crisp and confident. The irony was that he was completely bald himself, and, temporarily, he wanted the same for his wife, a woman half his age.

Miranda followed him in, a vision of despair, wearing an expensive designer dress of black silk, lace, and chiffon, its brevity displaying long, slender legs. Her wavy, thick chestnut-coloured hair, streaked with expensive highlights, cascaded down her back. She walked slightly behind her husband, her shoulders slumped, her expression a mask of morose resignation.

Mr James immediately engaged Marcia in amiable conversation, his voice a smooth, confident baritone. Miranda stood silently, her gaze fixed on the polished floor, conspicuously avoiding eye contact.

Then, Marcia turned to me. ‘And this,’ she announced, her hand waving vaguely in my direction, ‘is Emily. One of our most committed apprentices, providing a perfect example of the salon’s philosophy.’

Mr James’s eyes, a startlingly clear blue, lit up as they landed on me. He broke off his conversation mid-sentence, striding over with an almost predatory interest. ‘What a delightful-looking young lady,’ he purred, extending a hand. His grip was firm, almost proprietary.

‘Thank you, Mithter Jameth,’ I lisped, my fixed smile attempting to stretch wider.

He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound. ‘Quite charming,’ he repeated, still holding my hand. ‘Something for a man to get a hold on,’ he added, his gaze lingering on my artificially enhanced chest, his sigh sounding longing. ‘Though I know I shouldn’t say such a thing in these politically correct times.’

To my astonishment, Marcia laughed, although her dry sound grated in the quiet room. ‘Honest opinions are always welcome at Simplify, Mr James,’ she assured him, a glint in her eye that I recognised as the gleam of increased profits. I nodded my agreement, my head bobbing slightly, my smile still rigid.

‘Quite charming,’ Mr James said again, his eyes raking over my bald head, my plumped cheeks, my pouty lips, and my new, voluminous figure. He seemed to take in the full extent of my transformation, not with pity but with a connoisseur’s approval.

From across the room, delicate Miranda scoffed, a tiny, almost inaudible sound of disdain.

Marcia’s gaze hardened as it landed on Miranda. ‘Mrs James,’ she said, her voice dropping, ‘your husband has requested that your head be shaved.’

= = =

Miranda’s head snapped up, her eyes wide with shock. It was clear that this revelation was unexpected. She looked from Marcia to her husband, a flicker of outrage crossing her face, quickly replaced by resignation. She shrugged – an acceptance that she was in the wrong, and she knew it – but she did not wish to jeopardise her access to her husband’s house, cars, and money.

Marcia held out the salon’s sleek computer tablet. ‘If you’d sign the waiver, please?’

Miranda’s fingers trembled slightly as she took the stylus, her signature a shaky scrawl.

I waddled forward, my new body still proving unfamiliar. ‘If you’ll follow me, Miranda,’ I chirped. I led her to the steel chair, cold and unforgiving, that had become such a central fixture in my life. Marcia joined me, and together, with practised movements, we secured Miranda in place.

I pulled up the trolley with the haircutting equipment, where the various blades and combs glinted, having become a delightfully familiar sight. I selected the large hairclippers, flicking the switch to check they were functioning, the low hum already an exciting promise of what was to come.

Mr James, meanwhile, had wandered over to the trolley, showing curiosity as he surveyed the contents. He picked up the dental spreader, examining its formidable structure. ‘What’s this intriguing contraption, Marcia?’ he asked.

Marcia smiled thinly. ‘We sometimes use it to quieten nervous or awkward clients, Mr James,’ she explained, leaving out that we enjoyed using it as much as possible. ‘It ensures smooth and efficient procedures.’

Mr James let out another chortle, his eyes twinkling. ‘Well, they don’t come noisier or more awkward than Miranda, do they?’ He waved a dismissive hand at his wife, who flinched in the chair. ‘Emily, fit it for her. Teach her a lesson.’

As I eagerly took the dental spreader from him and turned around, Mr James, with an almost imperceptible movement, gave my plumped-up bottom a non-PC slap. My body stiffened, but my fixed smile remained. I ignored it, as I ignored so much these days, rationalising that it was good that people still viewed my transformed body as attractive.

Miranda’s eyes, wide and pleading, locked on to mine as I leaned over, forcing her jaws apart and inserting the device. She could not say a word, only stared, her eyes brimming with tears.

‘Now, Emily,’ Marcia’s voice was crisp, cutting through the heavy silence. ‘The hair. And be thorough.’

= = =

I lifted the hairclippers. The soft, sweet scent of Miranda’s expensive shampoo filled the air as I plunged the blades into her beautiful chestnut hair. The first locks fell, a shock of shimmering silk against the sterile white floor. Further tresses fell, one after another, like autumn leaves, each pass revealing more of her pale scalp.

Once I had consigned the bulk of her hair to the floor, I exchanged the clippers for the foil shaver. Systematically I reduced the covering of bristles to barely a shadow. I then lathered her head, and methodically, with delicate and precise strokes, I swept away all evidence that she had ever had hair. The clean, bare skin gleamed, revealing a smooth, vulnerable dome that reflected the overhead lights.

Mr James nodded his approval, a satisfied smirk on his face as he surveyed his wife’s shorn head. But then his eyes landed on my face, resting on my own smooth, eyebrowless forehead. ‘Emily, I find your lack of eyebrows utterly fascinating,’ he mused, tapping his chin. ‘I wonder…’

‘It would teach her a real lesson, Mr James,’ Marcia piped up, a gleam in her eye. ‘It would show her that you are not to be messed with, and we would make no additional charge.’

My heart gave a faint lurch. Eyebrows and lashes were rarely part of the “temporary” package. But Mr James was paying well, so I was happy to retrieve the hairclippers and hold them poised, awaiting his command.

Mr James chuckled, a sound of pure enjoyment. ‘Perhaps we can hold off on that this time,’ he relented. ‘But I do hope she has learnt her lesson.’ Her desperate eyes seemed to implore that she had. ‘Although it is a shame that her hair will grow back before we know it, and she will be flicking her mane at every man she meets once again. It is a shame you cannot make her permanently bald, Emily,’ he joked, reaching out to rub his own smooth head. ‘Like me!’

A theatrical giggle escaped me. ‘Oh, but I can, Mithter Jameth,’ I said, my hand instinctively reaching up to caress my own perpetually smooth scalp. ‘Fortunately, no hair will ever grow on my head again. All down to thith wonderful invention,’ I explained, holding up a tube of Marcia’s depilatory gel.

‘How delightful,’ Mr James said, his eyes lighting up with undisguised glee. He reached out and, gently this time, rubbed my bald head, showing a tactile appreciation. ‘It would certainly save a fortune on all her frequent visits to her expensive hairstylist.’

I felt an unaccountable frisson of excitement at the prospect of ensuring this stick insect of a scrounger would never have hair again. I unscrewed the cap of the tube.

A muffled buzz came from within the room. I checked to ensure I had turned off the hairclippers. But Mr James shot his sleeve and peered down at his wristwatch. ‘Ah, time marches on. We have a luncheon appointment in the country, so, regrettably, we will need to bid you farewell,’ he lamented. ‘I hope we have no more need of your services, ladies,’ he said, looking pointedly at his wife, ‘but if we do, then we know where to come, and I will certainly be spreading the word amongst my friends.’

I was disappointed for a moment, although Mr James pressing a huge bundle of notes in my hand dramatically eased that feeling. ‘Thank you very much, Mithter Jameth.’

‘No problem, Emily… and make sure you keep up the good work,’ he encouraged, ‘and keep smiling.’

‘I’m alwayth thmiling, Mithter Jameth,’ I explained. ‘I have had all my teeth removed, and I have thith thpecial denchure. And all the fillerth in my cheekth and lipth. It maketh it impothible not to thmile!’ I beamed.

‘Amazing,’ Mr James breathed, his eyes wide with a new, dangerous interest. He peered again at his watch, and he slowly shook his head, his face a mask of regret. ‘Perhaps, another time…’

I felt another surge of disappointment, soothed by his parting lament. Miranda’s teeth were just too white. ‘Any time, Mithter Jameth,’ I said honestly.

He chuckled. ‘If we have need to return, I’m sure you could soon have her looking as beautiful as you,’ he contemplated. ‘Apart from her stick-insect frame…’

‘Actually, Mithter Jameth,’ I said, leaning in conspiratorially, my lisp almost swallowed by my forced enthusiasm. ‘It doeth not need to remain like that. I wath ath thin ath Miranda but after a serieth of injectionth…’ I said, waving my hands up and down my body theatrically. ‘Ath you can thee…’

Epilogue

Mr James’s eyes, already shining with a terrible delight, lit up with undisguised glee. While we had been talking, Marcia had released Miranda from the chair, and she had moved to the door, where her husband joined her. He cast an eye up and down her body, resting on her bald head. Then his eyes did the same with me. ‘Utterly delightful.’

It appeared that the hunt for perfection by Mr James, the wealthy businessman, was far from over.

To be continued