Simplify Salon IV – Promoting the Assistant

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 the concluding sequel to Simplify Salon III – Practising the Procedures and can be enjoyed independently without the need to read the original story.

Prologue

Monday morning had finally arrived, and I could assert my new role as assistant manager at Simplify Hair & Beauty Salon, Marcia’s establishment. I had served my time as her apprentice, initially performing mundane tasks while learning as I watched her at work. Then I had moved on to gaining experience of conducting the various procedures. And, fortunately, she had been impressed by my speedy progress.

My simplified body showed my commitment to the salon and provided a living demonstration of the services offered. However, it came with a variety of personal challenges. My new uniform, two sizes larger than my old white nylon dress, strained over my newly bloated hips and bosom. In readiness for the arrival of our new member of staff, I moved to the mirror to check my appearance. I accepted that my delicate gait had become a slow, deliberate wobble, the extra weight making me fundamentally awkward in my own skin. In the tall mirror, my plump reflection grinned back at me in its unchanging manner. I gave my permanently bald skull a brisk polish so that it gleamed under the fluorescent lights.

‘Our new apprentice is due to arrive shortly,’ Marcia reminded me, ‘and, once she has signed the contract, I would like you to complete the first stage of her simplification before showing her the tasks we expect of her.’

‘It will be my pleathure, Mith Marthia,’ I said with genuine feeling. ‘And I look forward to commencing my role as the assistant salon manager.’

She raised an eyebrow, something I was no longer able to do since she had permanently removed mine. ‘Assistant to the salon manager,’ she emphasised, leaving me under no illusion regarding my still lowly position in the organisation.

Chantelle

Chantelle, our fresh recruit, breezed in through the salon door, her natural smile challenging the broadness of my augmented one. Extremely attractive, her glow provided a vibrant counterpoint to the salon’s hushed sterility. She had a lovely figure, fine features, and thick blonde waves that cascaded down to her thighs. She had pinned half of it up in a playful ponytail, the rest falling loose, framing her delicate face.

‘Welcome to Thimplify, Chantelle!’ I chirped. ‘I am Emily, the assistant manager. Mith Marthia will be with you thortly.’

She smiled, a fleeting, nervous thing, and I could not help but note how inefficient her hair was. So much unnecessary weight, so much potential for tangles, so much to maintain. And she kept checking her watch, a small, silver thing on her slender wrist, as if she were already planning when to take her first coffee break of the day. It demonstrated a lack of commitment to the present moment and the salon’s tight regime.

Marcia, elegant and sharp as ever, emerged from her office. ‘Chantelle, my dear! Come in, let us get those contracts sorted.’ She winked at me over Chantelle’s head, a clear, silent message passing between us. My chest tightened with a mix of anticipation and a familiar, unsettling thrill. I knew what that wink meant. I should prepare the salon for simplifying Chantelle, a measure that would hopefully encourage her to show more dedication to the salon.

= = =

The wait felt impossibly long. I cleaned the instruments with meticulous care, polishing the steel, imagining their delightful purpose when I put them to effective use. When Chantelle finally left Marcia’s office, she looked even more nervous and distracted. Irritatingly, her eyes continued darting from her watch to the wall clock and then back again. She needed to focus, and I intended to help her do just that.

‘Just Chantelle’s hair this morning, please, Emily,’ Marcia whispered, passing me on her way to answer a chiming phone. ‘Time is at a premium, as I have squeezed in an additional booking who is due to arrive shortly.’

A pang of disappointment, sharp and fleeting, pierced my burgeoning excitement. As things stood, Chantelle was far too pretty and inefficient for working at Simplify. But then I realised that distributing the procedures over multiple sessions would extend my pleasure and help my education. Selfishly, it would give me even more time to work on Chantelle’s delicate facial features and her lithe body.

‘Alright, Chantelle,’ I began, sounding reassuring, as I motioned for her to sit in the salon chair. ‘Today we are going to begin helping you commit to the Thimplify aesthetic as part of your initial training.’

I guided Chantelle to the salon’s unusual, but effective, steel and leather styling chair. She was reluctant to sit, and her gaze continued to wander towards the wall clock every minute or so. ‘I… I, er, really need to—’

Need to what, I wondered? Say a prayer for your lovely blonde locks? I giggled at my cruel thoughts, although my lisp gave the sound an unsettling hiss.

‘Chantelle, the waiver has been signed,’ Marcia interjected, her voice firm, no longer as charming as when she welcomed her. ‘If you wish to work at Simplify, this is a mandatory step. It demonstrates to customers your commitment to the aesthetic.’

Her shoulders slumped. With a sigh that sounded almost desperate, she reluctantly sat, sinking into the functional leather seat. Although we spared her the dental spreader, we were keen to demonstrate the full capabilities of the chair by securing her firmly to it. Once we had tightened the straps, Chantelle was unable to move.

= = =

‘Firtht, your lovely blonde hair will go,’ I chirped, picking up the industrial hairclippers. The weight felt good in my hand. ‘The removal of your hair ith a visual indication to our clientele of your dedication to our thalon aethtetic.’

I placed the humming blade against the hairline at her forehead, and I raised a huge hank of her incredibly soft and thick hair. ‘Yearth of growth,’ I lamented sorrowfully, but only because it was the appropriate tone to adopt. ‘However, not to worry, it will all be gone in a jiffy with the help of my wonderful clipperth.’

Chantelle winced as I drove the blade over the top of her head. But she could not escape their efficient purpose. As always, I found myself enjoying the methodical destruction. Each falling strand felt like a tiny victory, a small act of control over Chantelle’s striking beauty.

When her golden tresses were gone, an uneven stubble covered her scalp. I enthusiastically lathered up her crown and used a freshly sharpened razor to skilfully remove all remaining traces of her hair.

Chantelle’s head was still, but I could see the tension in her jaw. However, her eyes remained unexpectedly focused on the clock, rather than her dramatically transformed reflection.

‘Much better,’ I declared joyfully, running my fingers over Chantelle’s bare scalp and marvelling at how smooth I had made it. ‘And now to make it permanent for improved efficienthy.’

I snapped on my gloves and enthusiastically unscrewed the cap from a tube of the powerful depilatory chemical. Despite not using the dental spreader to silence her tongue, Chantelle had been remarkably quiet throughout her ordeal so far. However, a persistent whimper was bubbling in her throat on hearing of this irreversible step.

‘Not to worry, Chantelle,’ I chirped reassuringly. ‘Very thoon your hair will all be gone for good.’

‘No… please… no…’ she whined, striking a disappointingly unprofessional note that we would need to address.

‘Yeth!’ I stated, chuckling before adding, with a gentle chuckle, ‘and it will thting quite a bit –’

Suddenly the salon door banged open with a mighty crash, shattering the sterile calm and cutting short my explanation.

A hulking figure stood silhouetted against the morning light, shrouded in a long black cloak with a hood pulled so far forward that the shadowed face under the cowl was barely visible.

‘What are you doing here, Carmel?’ Marcia asked, her voice losing its usual composure, a hint of unease creeping in.

Carmel

Whoever Carmel was, she did not answer. The bulky woman marched with a silent determination straight to the equipment shelf as if already familiar with the premises. My eyes followed, recoiling as she grabbed the large hypodermic we used for body modification. She quickly filled it with a dark, viscous liquid from a rack of vials that I had not yet had cause to use. In a surprisingly swift movement for someone so large, she rushed across the salon. Seizing Marcia from behind, she clamped one arm around her neck, the other pressing the needle, its tip glinting dangerously, against Marcia’s neck.

‘What’th going on?’ I cried, rooted to the spot, my carefully constructed composure crumbling. My lisp felt more ridiculous than usual in the face of this sudden and violent intrusion.

Marcia, surprisingly, managed to maintain a modicum of calm, her voice strained but steady. ‘Carmel is a former apprentice, Emily. And she is holding a grudge, as well as a sharp-looking hypodermic, against me.’

‘Yeth, but why?’ I implored, unable to move as I observed the terrible scene unfolding before me. ‘Careful, Carmel, that needle ith very dangerouth.’

‘I will explain later,’ my boss said calmly, ‘but, for now, Emily and Chantelle, help me out here!’ she demanded, her eyes flashing at us.

But Chantelle, her face still lacking in colour following her own recent ordeal, shook her head. She had a cold, hard glint in her eyes that I had not seen earlier. ‘No. We won’t be helping, Marcia.’ She stepped forward, standing beside the cloaked woman, her face still hidden. ‘Carmel is my sister. And you, you monster, performed procedures on her when she worked for you that went horribly wrong. Now, she wants revenge. And we want compensation.’

The hood turned slightly so that Carmel was facing her sister, doubtless taking in her bald head for the first time. ‘Sorry, Sis,’ she apologised, a note of concern sounding in her peculiarly strangled voice. ‘I would have been here before… er, before they shaved you… but the traffic was terrible after a collision out on the ring road.’

In a moment of clarity, I realised that Carmel’s lateness was the reason for her sister’s constant clock-watching.

‘Don’t worry, you arrived before they made it permanent, Sis,’ Chantelle said, waving away the excuse from her sibling.

Carmel returned her menacing gaze to Marcia, then shoved her towards the salon chair with surprising ease. I knew the effect that the salon’s potions could have on muscular strength. So, I imagined Marcia had used them on Carmel’s botched procedures to give her greater bulk and fitness. I did not even want to imagine what may have occurred to her face, given that she was ensuring it remained hidden.

The two women forced Marcia into the very simplification chair that had held her clients on so many occasions. Although my boss struggled, Chantelle tightened the restraints to render her completely immobile. My boss did her best to talk her way out of the situation, a stream of persuasive words tumbling from her lips. But they abruptly stopped when Carmel, with a vicious twist, forced the dental spreader into Marcia’s mouth. Immediately silencing her complaints, Carmel then ratcheted the device open, stretching her lips into a grotesque, forced grimace.

Carmel then approached me, the large hypodermic back in her hand. She held it against my cheek, the cold metal pressing painfully against my unnaturally plump flesh. She laughed harshly, a humourless sound, as her gaze flitted between Marcia and me. ‘So, she has had a good go at you too, I see, but she would need to do a great deal more before she creates something as grotesque as me. ‘I expect she has convinced you are perfect, hasn’t she?’

My blood ran cold as I tried to imagine the nightmare vision that might be beneath the cape. But I still felt the need to defend my boss. ‘I am perfect! Perfectly thimplified,’ I stammered, my voice trembling, my lisp more pronounced than ever. ‘I am exactly as I should be.’ But Carmel ignored me.

Chantelle stepped forward, her voice chillingly calm. ‘Emily. You will be performing a full simplification on your boss.’ Her eyes, cold and unwavering, met mine. ‘I do not have the experience, and my sister’s hands are too damaged to perform the intricate procedures. If you do not, Carmel will be turning her needle on you, causing you untold permanent damage.’

I knew, instantly, that I had no choice. The terror that had been simmering beneath my skin erupted, turning my limbs to lead. My reflection in the mirror, the perpetually grinning doll, seemed to mock me. I looked at Marcia, her eyes wide with fear and pleading, trapped by the spreader. My chest ached.

Marcia

‘I… I am tho thorry, Mith Marthia,’ I whispered, my voice barely audible. Despite her silent entreaties, her desperate gaze fixed on me, I picked up the industrial hairclippers. My hands shook as I approached my boss.

= = =

As Chantelle was unravelling Marcia’s tight bun, I recalled the only other time I had seen her dark silken hair free of its constraint. After my simplification, she had invited me to her apartment above the salon. After a delicious meal, carefully prepared for me to enjoy with my new lisping dentures, and a copious quantity of wine, we retired to her bedroom. She instructed me to undo her tight bun, and I found it amazing that the ends of her hair reached the back of her knees.

The rest of the night passed in a delightful blur of pure enjoyment as she revelled in my transformed appearance. I realised the aesthetic that Marcia practised in the salon not only related to simplifying the clients, but it also encompassed a powerful sexual component as well. I was already experiencing that association, finding myself aroused as I performed the procedures. Marcia made me appreciate there was nothing wrong with that, even if other less enlightened people might say different.

I had hoped that Marcia would invite me to spend further nights with her but that had been the only occasion. I realised, given what was about to take place, that further opportunities were unlikely to arise in the future.

= = =

Chantelle had partially reclined the chair so that Marcia was looking up at the ceiling, where she could see her reflection in the mirror. Her dark silky hair hung down like a sleek waterfall, the ends pooling on the floor.

I flinched when I heard a loud bang.

‘Look what I found, Sis!’ Carmel called out. She was slumped on the floor, blocking my way to the outside door. In one hand she waved an open bottle of champagne that she had taken from a cupboard, a modest cellar that Marcia maintained for her more favoured clients. In her other hand, she still held the awful hypodermic, making me realise that resistance would be futile and escape impossible.

Carmel took a couple of large gulps from the bottle before handing it to her sister. ‘A celebration of revenge,’ they toasted each other, with Carmel adding, ‘and that reminds me. Can you pass me that computer tablet?’

The sisters presented a horrible vision of inebriated excess as they drained the first bottle and opened a second one. But I had to stay focused on the task in hand if Marcia and I were to extricate ourselves from the awful situation with our dignity intact. However, in the back of my mind, I wondered what Carmel wanted with the salon’s tablet.

= = =

I mouthed “thorry” to Marcia as I turned on the hairclippers and placed the blade at the hairline above her forehead. She just stared back, wide-eyed and grimacing, tracking my every move.

I drove the hairclippers through her silken tresses from forehead to nape, creating a path of pristine white over her crown. Once started, I continued with an almost manic fervour. I was keen to finish the awful procedure, despite knowing that worse was to follow.

Remaining hopeful, I momentarily paused, glancing imploringly towards the slumped drunken figures by the door. ‘Do it!’ was the menacing command that met my hesitation.

Carmel had been tapping away on the salon’s computer tablet, and finally she tossed it to the floor. ‘By way of compensation, Sis, I have transferred cash from the salon’s bank account. Unfortunately,’ she chuckled evilly, ‘I appear to have “accidentally” deleted all the client records and the schedule of appointments. Oh dear…’

I lamented that these actions were likely to force the salon to close, and I would no longer have a job. However, they left me with no choice but to continue my terrible duty. So, I lathered up Marcia’s head and scraped away the remaining bristles, revealing a smooth and gleaming white canvas. Her eyebrows and lashes followed. I retrieved the open tube of depilatory gel that had been destined for Chantelle’s head, and I smeared it over Marcia’s skull. As I waited for it to complete its task, I wheeled the dental trolley into position and checked the instruments were in place for performing the next stage.

The two sisters clambered to their feet, swaying slightly under the influence of the alcohol. As I wiped away the gel and, out of habit, began polishing Marcia’s scalp to a high gloss, Chantelle leant in, grabbing the cloth, and took over.

‘Look at that, Sis, I can see my lovely face in her gleaming skull,’ Chantelle quipped. ‘And while I may be bald, at least my hair will soon regrow.’

‘Yes, you look far nicer than she will look shortly,’ Carmel chuckled evilly from under her hood, as she picked up a long, thin dental probe and began tapping away at Marcia’s teeth. ‘Oh, is that a small cavity?’

Despite the sisters having secured Marcia firmly in the chair, she bucked viciously as Carmel cruelly continued her inspection of her unhealthy tooth. ‘Well, that needs to be the first to go,’ Chantelle declared, experimentally flexing the jaws of a set of pliers taken from the tray.

‘Thtop!’ I cried. ‘You do not have the nethethary experienthe to complete it efficiently and with the leatht pain.’

‘We’re in no hurry,’ Carmel growled ominously, ‘and, after what she did to me, I am not at all worried about inflicting pain. Sis, there is a knack to extracting them. Try different approaches, and by the time you reach the last one, you will have gained valuable experienthe,’ she lisped sarcastically.

Chantelle leaned in, an eager look on her face as she grasped her first tooth. She paused. At that very moment, the distant, but clear, sound of a police siren was audible.

‘Nothing to do with us, Sis,’ Carmel insisted. ‘Go on, just pull –’

‘Thtop!’ I cried again. ‘The panic alarm. If the button ith not rethet every hour, an alarm thounds in the polithe thtation. I inthtalled it for Marthia since you thtopped working here. Yeth, the polithe are coming here to arretht you!’ I clapped my hands, my beaming smile injecting an extra sense of urgency into my lisping words.

The two intoxicated sisters looked towards each other, undoubtedly wondering if what I said could be true. With a crash they dropped the dental instruments and dashed through the salon without a word or a backward glance.

Epilogue

‘I’m tho, tho thorry, Mith Marthia,’ I sobbed, my voice thick with genuine emotion, as I rushed to release her from the bonds, my fingers clumsy with panic.

Marcia slowly, painfully, got out of the chair, removing the dental spreader and flexing her jaw. Her head was a shiny, hairless orb, but it could have been so much worse.

A look of cold, fierce determination hardened in her eyes as she turned to face me. ‘Thank you, Emily. That was quick thinking and excellent improvisation when you heard the siren… and, for our personal security in the future, we really should install a panic alarm to counter any problems arising from any further disgruntled people. Before that, I accept that you had no choice in what they forced you to do.’

A sense of relief washed over me. Relief that I would still have a job, and relief that I could continue enjoying practising my emerging skills. I had never seen what Marcia had done to Carmel, the hooded cloak concealing her body completely. Was it a procedure that went wrong or simply a horrid experiment? I hoped I would never find out.

‘Well, my loyal athistant manager,’ she quipped, adding comically in a good impression of my voice, ‘we better get thingth thorted out.’

Gosh, not assistant to the manager! ‘Yeth, Mith Marthia, we need to tidy up before our next client.’

I looked into Marcia’s eyes, seeing not defeat but a terrifying desire for restitution. ‘Tidying up the salon is not our priority, Emily. We need to track down that pair of reprehensible sisters and get our money back. Then I will slowly and enjoyably introduce them to a wide variety of procedures, instruments, and potions that they could never ever imagine, even in their worst nightmares.’

I watched Marcia remove a padlock from a cupboard at the back of the salon. She then selected an array of intimidating items of dubious purpose that she placed carefully in a small suitcase.

My blood ran cold… but then my ever-present smile widened, and I felt a frisson of excitement as I looked forward to undertaking my responsibilities as assistant manager at the Simplify Hair & Beauty Salon.

The End