The man entered my train car as I slept. With him, he brought a small black bag. He climbed on top of me and started gathering my soft blonde hair into his hands. At that point, my hair was all the way down to my waist. It was years of growth that he held in his hands. My pride and joy. I woke up when he pulled a pair of massive haircutting shears from his bag.
“Don’t you dare scream, bitch,” he growled as he started to hack at my hair.
Tears dripping down my face, I obeyed. I stayed silent as he continued to hack away at my beautiful hair. I could feel the scissors close to my scalp. This was no saving any of my hair. Though there was someone arousing about barging into my room and taking my hair. Without even thinking about it, I started grinding my hips against him.
“I knew that you’d like this,” he said, putting away his scissors, “That’s why I chose you.”
He then pulled out a pair of clippers, which caused my tears to intensify, because they didn’t have a guard. I wasn’t going to be left with any hair. Not even an inch. Still, I didn’t try to fight him as he climbed on top on me. Very roughly, he started running them over my scalp, stripping away what messy little remained. When he felt finished, he gave my stubbly head a rub, which made me purr a little.
With a wicked grin, he said, “You can pleasure yourself after I have left, you bald-headed whore.”
With dry eyes, but a wet pussy, I let him lather up my scalp and eyebrows and shave me smooth. Then he used baby oil to shine up my new chromedome. As promised, he simply packed up his belongings and left. I couldn’t help myself. Still covered in my hair, I pulled out my vibe and brought myself to a howling climax.
The next evening, I was eating in the dining room when the man who shaved my head joined me. Without saying a word, he removed the hat that I was using to cover my new baldness.
Running his hand over my scalp, he said, “You didn’t shave this morning. Unacceptable.”
Unable to speak, due to my extreme humiliation, because everyone was staring at the bald freak that he made me, I nodded.
We went back to my car. When he ordered me to undress, I did so immediately. Then he shaved me head to toe. Just my eyelashes were left on my body.
“Well, baldie,” he said, bending me over the bed, “do you know what happens to bad girls?”
The answer? Quite the spanking. It made sitting quite uncomfortable the next day. Though nothing was more uncomfortable than walking off the train with “SLUT” written across my forehead. It was uncomfortable wait for my ride. When my husband, the man who humiliated me throughout the journey, pulled around with our car, I jumped in.
He kissed my cheek. “Was it all that you imagined?”
With a wicked smile, I put a hand down my pants as I rubbed my bald head, and I worked myself into a climax on the journey home.