Warning: This is a Femdom / male submissive story and features certain intense scenes. If these don’t appeal, I suggest you read no further.
I always find it amusing to discover the turn-ons and fetishes of the submissives who enter my life. I’ve been involved with several subs over the years, and every one of them has had specific turn-ons – and usually several. And knowing each and every fetish they have is always useful to me. Each sub may initially think I am simply indulging or pleasuring them though they soon realise I use each and every one of their button pushers to move them steadily towards my ends and aims. It may be that I’m simply after some amusement, a laugh, at their expense of course. Most often though it is about using a fetish (or fetishes) to simultaneously drive their submission deeper while reinforcing my position over them as their Superior, Mistress and Queen. I give them what they so crave…but on my terms completely.
Let me illustrate matters with my current sub, Larry. Larry has been my personal, live-in, submissive now for five years. He does all the housework, all the yard work, the cooking, he’s my chauffeur, shopper and repairman, my maid, secretary and butler all rolled in to one. He is not permitted any physical intimacy with me whatsoever – that I leave to other subs, of either gender, all of whom are better equipped or endowed than Larry. No, Larry is not allowed any sexual relief or expression whatsoever, bar an occasional prostate massage or ruined orgasm. But that doesn’t mean he isn’t turned on…in one form or another….hehehehehehehe….
Naturally when I was first considering whether to take him on, I made him describe to me, in the most intimate detail, every single turn on he had. He loved ‘submission to Females’ (yep, natch); he likes women’s underwear immensely; he loved being a ‘schoolboy’ at times and subjected to intense ‘scholastic’ discipline; he has a penchant for women’s patent leather shoes and boots, another for women wearing ribbed turtlenecks, yet another for women wearing leather pants and skirts, particularly in cherry red and brown leather. And haircuts, but with a twist. He actually hates having his haircut though at the same time can’t help but find himself very turned-on by them. All down to childhood experiences – his Mother took him to the barber every few weeks for regulation short haircuts. Mmmm, I knew I had plenty to work with.
And so Larry now finds himself with no male underwear, and often wearing plenty of women’s clothing over his femme underwear. Punishments often find him dressed in a school uniform, writing essays or lines for hours on end – always after a firm dose of the cane or tawse or similar. With more to follow for all his mistakes, and any failure to follow my exacting rules. And then there’s turtlenecks, patent leather shoes and leather skirts or pants. Well, they all feature in my wardrobe, have for years in fact. I’ve added a few more such items in recent years, just for Larry’s sake – ha! Oh, the look he gives me when I enter the room dressed in a high black ribbed turtleneck, deep brown leather pants and very shiny, black 5” shoes – why I can feel him melting from across a room.
And then there’s his hair. Or what is left of it. Poor Larry. He does look quite ridiculous in his servant’s uniform, maid’s outfit or school uniform with his hair closely cropped hair, or head shaved. There’s never a wig for Larry – I don’t ever want him hiding behind one.
Yes, this haircutting fetish is quite something. I had no idea it was such fun and so enjoyable until Larry came along. Sure, I’d come across punishment haircuts that Mistress friends of mine have sometimes used on their subs, particularly those with female subs. And gay Masters in the scene who keep their boys heads shaved. But actually using a hair fetish against a sub…well, it was all new to me. And now I can’t get enough of it.
I’ve even gone so far as to purchase a vintage barber’s chair, all shiny chrome and two-toned leather, with full pump-up action and steel plated footrest. It even came with a booster seat, which I sometimes make Larry sit in when he’s about to be ‘schoolboyed’. Good thing he’s lithe and only 5’ 4” tall. The chair sits in one corner of my dungeon, in front of a large mirror.
Larry can expect a ride in that chair at any time of the day or night, any night of the week, any time of the month. I’ve even been known to wake him in the middle of the night for a headshaving. Sometimes the trips to the chair happen over consecutive days, sometimes two or three times a week, sometimes once a fortnight or once a month. I don’t want him presuming anything; I want to keep him on his toes when it comes to this hair thing.
It’s simple. When I say, ‘Hair!’ Larry must instantly stop whatever he’s doing and stand to attention and immediately say to me, ‘Ma’am, I am so grateful to you for indulging my hair fetish. Please may I have permission to prepare everything for the haircut I am about to receive from you, My Queen?’ I grant permission and off he scurries. He has exactly five minutes, not a second more, to prepare the space. When I walk into the dungeon, I expect to find everything laid out for me, neatly, and in the exact order I want it in, left to right, on the table next to the chair, and on the bench in front of the chair. (I had him write the list out a thousand times over one intense week of being ‘schoolboyed’, not long after he arrived here. It followed a ritualised head-shaving and severe caning).
I don’t always know what I’ll do to him and his hair in the chair – sometimes I’ll have an idea, other times I’ll be spontaneous. Regardless, every haircut is preceded by me taking to Larry’s behind with a barber’s leather razor strop. And I do not muck around with it – every stroke is designed to remind Larry of who is in charge. I will slowly, deliberately, swivel the chair around to face away from the mirror and then simply point to the chair. Larry will move in front of the chair and then place his hands and head forward on to it, resting on the plush deep red leather of the seat. Depending on what he is wearing, I will then pull his pants down or his dress up, then move behind him and say something along the lines of, ‘Haircuts cause you pain, Larry, don’t they?’ to which he must answer, ‘Yes, Ma’am but I deserve the pain.’ To which I then agree. He will then receive between six and twenty-four strokes of the razor strop, depending on how disobedient he’s been or how sadistic I’m feeling. (I’m English – corporal punishments are always in multiples of three or six).
Larry is then told to ‘get yourself in the chair, pronto!’ where he must sit bolt upright with his hands made into little fists resting on his thighs, his legs together and his feet arched, with just his toes allowed to touch the footplate. He knows that under no circumstances is he permitted to move an inch in that chair, except to follow my instructions. And they must be followed absolutely, perfectly, without deviation. Or else. I rarely feel the need to tie him to the chair or restrain him in any way – I much prefer him having to deal with the mental bondage and torments that come with being unrestrained but not permitted to move.
I’ll spin the chair back around to face the mirror and then sweep a cape over him – I prefer to use professional ones, thick, weighty, in heavy duty plastic. All the better to have a little more weighing on Larry’s mind. I prefer hues of pink though also have a clear transparent one for when I have particular torments in mind for him.
I said earlier Larry rarely gets any sexual relief. I admit, the sadist in me derives great pleasure in making his sexual torments even more intense and dispiriting for him. And his special ‘haircut’ thing is ideal for this. I suspect he now fears time in the barber’s chair as much for the potential of a ‘sexual’ element as for any other reason. And that sexual element?
Well, try this. Larry is in permanent chastity – his cock cage only ever comes off at my whim. And that’s not often, unless I fancy some CBT or other ‘pleasure’. This cage is small – deliberately so; it’s just 1.5” long in size.
The first time I decided to use the barber’s chair to torment Larry, I asked him right after his razor stropping whether he wanted to play with himself under the cape? By this stage Larry knew enough to be a little hesitant in his response, meekly squeaking out, ‘If it pleases you, Ma’am’. I told him it wasn’t about me for once and that he must answer honestly. Did he want to play with himself? He hadn’t had an orgasm of any sort for 4 weeks by this stage so I wasn’t at all surprised when he said he would like to.
I took the key from around my neck chain and unlocked his tiny, round, steel prison, placing it on the bench below mirror. ‘Into the chair and start playing with your teeny cockette with your right hand. No other movement is permitted, though.’ (It is teeny – barely 4” when erect). Well, he began tugging and rubbing and then I picked up the transparent cape I’d just purchased and wrapped it tightly around him. The buttons on the back were done up a button or two tighter than was clearly necessary but Larry didn’t dare say a word about it being uncomfortable.
His cockette didn’t show any sign of rising. I figured he was probably embarrassed or nervous about wanking away like this so I told him to put his hand out and I sprayed a little shaving cream on to it. ‘Use this. If you’re not hard within a minute, you’ll be enduring no relief and full chastity for six whole months.’ That did the job – his little ‘boy’ was quickly at attention. I then picked up the clippers – Wahl, professional standard. ‘I am going to have you wank and wank and wank throughout this ordeal. Firstly, I am going to clipper you for at least fifteen minutes, continuously, wave after wave after wave over your scalp, and up and down and up and down your neck and nape. Most importantly, I’m going to clipper right over and through your ego. And then I’m shaving any remaining fluff away. At least twice for a smooth effect. Maybe another once or twice if I deem it necessary to get the right finish.’
I could see his cock rise and stiffen under the cape. He was obviously excited, whether through fear or desire or some weirdly cross-wired entwining of the two emotions. Whatever, I didn’t care, except to make his situation very demanding and testing.
‘But there’s a catch.’ I sensed him take a little extra breath. ‘Under no circumstances is your little cockette permitted to make a mess.’ I leaned in and whispered in his ear. ‘No spurting, jerking, puking, cumming, ejaculating, orgasming. Not allowed.’ I sensed him droop slightly in the chair, almost imperceptibly. I let that one go. (Aren’t I kind?).
‘Is that clear, Larrykins?’
He took a deep breath, sighed and answered quietly, ‘Yes, Ma’am’.
‘I don’t hear any gratitude for allowing you to wank yourself stupid for a good half an hour or more, Larrykins.’
‘Sorry Ma’am, thank you Ma’am, I am so grateful to be allowed to touch myself while you do all this work to indulge my fetish and make my head shiny and clean, Ma’am!’
‘That’s better.’ I walked over to the bench and picked up the clippers, removing the guard. Why start long when it’s barely half an inch long anyway?
I moved behind him. ‘Head down. Eyes to cockette and focus. Now wank harder and faster.’ I flipped over the little black switch on the clippers, whirring them into life. ‘Fifteen minutes, Larrykins. Best behaviour.’
As I guessed it was impossible for him to hold on for long – he spurted within a minute, wailing as he did so. I turned the clippers off.
‘Oh dear…Larrykins, Larrykins…tsk, tsk, tsk.’
He lifted his head up, looking mortified. He peeped a sad little ‘I’m sorry, Ma’am.’
‘Look at all that horrid, gooey mess on that nice new shiny cape I just bought for you!’
He swallowed before apologising again.
‘I can’t trust you with your selfish cockette, can I Larrykins?’
‘No Ma’am, I tried, I really did I…’
‘Try. Try! Larrykins, trying is easy. Anyone can try to do something. That doesn’t take any effort. What do I expect?’
‘Striving, Ma’am, striving.’
‘That’s right. And you clearly didn’t strive in this instance. Six months chastity, plus a week in full nursery discipline from tonight after you’ve been suitably punished with several of my most painful of implements.’
‘Did I tell you to raise your head?’
If a crestfallen look could get worse, Larry just managed it.
‘I am so, so, sorry Ma’am for my inattention, I really am’.
‘I’m sure you are Larry but rules are rules. We can’t have laziness and sloppiness developing now, can we?’ Oh how I love a mind-fuck, especially when it comes to making a sub own their submission.
‘No. So I think that razor strop needs to be reminding you of better behaviour when you’re in the chair. Up you get.’
I gave him twenty-four strokes. Then it was back to the chair for the full clippering and shaving. But not before I went off to the kitchen, returning with some chilli paste. He knew what was to come and pleaded with me not to rub it on. I could hardly weaken now. I applied it to his shrunken little cockette and ordered him back into the chair. ‘And no fidgeting.’ And yes, he failed that test too. And yes, more punishment and torments followed that day in the chair.
I have another torment I’ve used several times on him now, one he clearly doesn’t like either. I call it the ‘Bowl Treatment’. It combines his thing for panties with his thing for haircutting, just not in a way he ever expected – and would hardly have wanted. It’s a simple but very effective means of reminding him of his status. As I like to tell him, ‘Panty-wastes with haircutting fetishes must be reminded of how ridiculous they are, Larrykins.’ And then I’ll simply announce, ‘Bowl!’ to which he has to open the cupboard to the side of the chair and pull out a shiny silver metal bowl which he places on the bench opposite the chair. After I wrap him in his cape I hand him the bowl and then drop a pair of his girlie panties into it, ordering him to lower his head very low over the bowl. I then disappear upstairs where I retrieve a jar, go to the bathroom and then proceed to fill the jar with my fresh golden nectar. I move back down to the dungeon where I slowly and steadily pour the nectar over Larry’s head, where it runs down into the bowl in his cupped hands. I don a pair of latex gloves and then pick up the clippers and buzz away his hair, sweeping as much as I can into the bowl. After several close sweeps over his scalp I tell Larry to lift his head. I then dip my gloved hand into the bowl and scrunch up the saturated panties, making sure I gather up plenty of the fine little hairs as well. ‘Open up, Larrykins.’ In go the panties. I then shave him bald. The panties stay in place for the remainder of the day or evening.
Ah yes, a haircutting fetish. It offers so many possibilities for we Dominants, doesn’t it?