The Collaring Ceremony – Master Xan and Lana

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I am truly overwhelmed with all the response you guys gave me for the story ‘Club Citadel’. Keeping in view of those suggestions, I wrote this story of Master Xan and Lana. The story has certain beautiful facets of BDSM. Now, those notions can differ a little from reality (as this is a work of fiction) and hence, I apologize if I hurt anyone’s feelings.

Note: The story is a little lengthier than usual. If you wish to read only the ‘haircut’ part, you can proceed to Part 3 directly.


Master Xan and Lana were blissfully happy in their D/s relationship. She held no regrets in relinquishing her control while Xan always used his dominance judiciously over her. They frequented the renowned Club Citadel every alternative weekend – either to play or spend time with their friends. The week Master David demonstrated the hair fetish and how you bring a sub to climax; Xan had been intrigued to the core.

Xan and Lana were married, and now they were considering to take the relationship to the next level: total power exchange. A master-slave relationship. Love and trust were the two solid principles upon which they decided to take the next step.

The Initiation Party, as they called it, was supposed to be somewhat like the collaring ceremony for the submissive. But not quite literally. Xan had already planned a few surprises for his slave-to-be, knowing how it thrilled her to submit to his will.


Lana stepped into the bathtub and relaxed into it, knowing full well the Initiation Party she had to attend in the evening. It was a big step for her, but she was glad that she was going for it. A while later, the door opened and Xan entered with a serious, edgy look on his face that slightly unbalanced her.

He put out his hand, invitingly. “Step out of the tub.”

She scowled in turn. “Why? I just got in a while ago.”

An eyebrow quirked and Lana quickly stood up, taking his hand.

“Position,” he growled mildly, letting her know of his displeasure.

She hurriedly knelt by the cold, unyielding tiles of the bathroom floor, with her head bowed in apparent submission. He circled her once, stopping in front and ordered, “Inspect.”

The position required her to stand with her feet apart, hands behind her head until instructed otherwise. And so she did.

He ran his fingers over her damp skin—every curve and every dimple. The masculine palm then weighed the breasts admiringly, tweaking the nipples ever so gently to elicit the moan that sounded like soft music to his ears.

Next, the fingers traced vertically down past her belly as he squatted before her. With the forefinger and thumb, he parted her labia and furrowed his brows. Instantaneously, she realized her mistake. Master Xan pinched her clit, slightly tugging on the curls.

“Remind me again, how do I prefer your pussy to look like?”

Well, that was a Dom-like tricky question. “You prefer it bare, Master.”

“And is it now?”

She shook her head guiltily. How the hell did she forget to shave? 

“Have you lost your voice along with your chores, too?”

“No, Master. And I am sorry. I will do it better, Master.”

“Sit on the edge of the tub, Lana,” he said, pointing towards the designated spot, and briefly left the bathroom.

By the time Lana settled herself, he returned with the shaving kit. Once he drained the rest of the water in the bathtub, he perched on edge as well with his legs on either side of the tub.

“You are going to shave me now?” Lana asked startlingly.

In response, he only raised his eyebrows at her. Xan had never done it before, so her reaction was natural.

Flushing, she hastily amended, “Are you going to shave me, Master?”

He took out a generous amount of shower gel into his palm and began to smear them on her abrasive pubic growth. “As a matter of fact, yes. You are going to wear my collar today, Lana. Do you know what it truly means?”

It was slightly inconvenient to formulate words when your Dominant’s vicious fingers were soaping your vagina. He even carefully lathered the inner lips parting her outer labia. Lana moaned a little before answering him dutifully. “I am willingly renouncing my powers to you. You will own me today, completely.”

Xan nodded slowly like he understood. “Theoretically, yes. From that moment onwards you will be an extension of me—the true symbol of submission to my dominance. Hence, I expect you to appear to be the ultimate sensual power. Have you understood?”

“Yes, Master.”

His granite–hard jaw twitched a little as he smirked, and picked up the razor. With the free hand, he pulled the skin taut with the thumb and scraped the razor with the other hand over her pubes. Every movement was careful and calculated like Lana knew. The fuzz was beginning to clear, revealing her soft pink nether region.

Deliberately or not, Xan would rub his thumb in circular motion to spread the lather, and would shave the area twice—just to be sure. By now, Lana was flooded with endorphins. Every time his fingers would hover over the labia or clit, she would wantonly push her hips forward.

“Tsk, tsk.” Master Xan shook his head, admonishingly. “No control whatsoever.”

“I am sorry, Master. It’s been so…long,” Lana whined.

Xan kept her on edge for a little while for what he had planned, during and after the collaring ceremony. He tugged on the hood on her clit. “A little more than 24hours is the definition of ‘so long’?”

“Ow!” The tug converted into a pinch. “It is, to me, Master.” She smiled at him seductively, with tiny hope of getting a release.

Xan withdrew his hands and washed off the remnants of lather with the small shower spray. Satisfied, he patted the recently-denuded area dry, and then ordered, “Run your fingers all over and feel the smoothness.”

Lana gently skimmed over the bared area, down her V region, then around her soft folds, and realized she was gushing wet. On impulse, the self-inspection was beginning to turn into self-pleasure. If it wasn’t Xan’s vicious fingers snatching her hand away, she would have come and displeased her Master.

Not that he was very pleased with her now, anyway.


He rose, and then stood her up by the vice-grip clutching her nape. “You were about to come.” It wasn’t a question, but still, she nodded guiltily. He released her in a flash, and ordered, “Turn around and bend over, touching your toes.”

As she complied, her voluptuous round bottom came in view with the pink rosebud peeking out. Lana’s Master was exacting when needed, but not a sadist. He withdrew his hand and landed a few hard smacks across her sit-spots, inner and outer thighs, and her globes.

Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack!

She squirmed and wriggled, grimacing as the pain felt a tad bit extra against the wet skin. But not a sound of protest escaped her lips other than soft whimpers. When the area was desirously pink and glowing to his liking, he stopped.

He ordered her up, specifically forbidding her to rub the stinging bottom. “Lesson learned?”

“Yes, Master. I am sorry, and thank you for correcting me.”

Even though strict protocols were never required in a simple D/s relationship, Lana was an excellent submissive. Of course, half the credit went to Xan’s unyielding dominant nature, which, surprisingly so, Lana cherished a lot.

“Forgiven. Shower or take a bath if needed. I want you to wash and condition your hair. Once done, you will dry it thoroughly and then plait it. I will leave the dress you are to wear for the ceremony on the bed. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Master.”

He pulled her damp naked body towards himself and planted a long, thorough kiss on her lips—sucking, nibbling and claiming like a possessive lover. By the time, he ended the fleeting intimacy and left the bathroom, Lana still felt the force of his kiss on her swollen lips.

She padded into the shower cubicle to carry out the orders given by her husband. No, Master. Lana’s hair was a dark brown curtain of voluminous and long tresses with a natural wave defining the texture. It reached down, a little past the bra-strap and had one length all along.

Not a single thought crossed her mind when he told her to plait it well. She probably assumed it would be convenient to collar her easily.


Lana stepped into Club Citadel wearing her red body con dress that perfectly hugged her curves. She once called her curves ‘fat’ in front of Xan, and quickly realized her mistake. The bite of the cane, and the welts thereafter, thoroughly spanked every thought of self-deprecation out of her smoothly.

“Hey! Excited?” Renee tapped her shoulders as Lana turned around.

“Nervous and excited,” Lana corrected and wrung her hands.

“C’ mon! It’s a special day. Everyone gets nervous; it’s like getting married all over again, with a kinky vow.” Renee winked, and both of them giggled like adolescent girls.

Renee was one of the closest friends Lana had in BDSM community. She had learned a lot about submission from her, and needless to say, thrived spectacularly. Lana studied her friend’s appearance that had changed drastically in the past couple of months. Renee’s long flowing mane has been reduced to a short buzz cut with a mere soft pelt covering her head, maybe 3/4th inch or less. The sides were a notch shorter, showing skin. Her Dom, Master David experimented a lovely hair fetish on her and subsequently kept her shorn to his liking.

“She must be so brave to wear her hair so short,” Lana mused to herself. A small shiver just ran up her spine at the thought of having such short hair.

“Do you know anything about the surprise Xan is planning?” Lana asked her friend, hoping Master Xan to breathe a word to Master David.

“Beats me.” Renee shrugged.

“Well, it’s making me tense now,” Lana confessed. Surely it was difficult to ignore the rippling effect inside her stomach.

“Oh, you are getting worried for nothing,” Renee dismissed her fears. “Now let’s get you out of this dress quickly. The ceremony is about to begin.”

Lana peeled off the dress, donning the exquisite pristine lacy lingerie set, something a bride would wear underneath her bridal dress. And this collaring ceremony was an exceptional one in itself—more intense, more passionate and devotional.

As she descended down the stairs of Club Citadel, holding a bouquet of white roses and a sheer simple veil—from head to toe—that did nothing to cover her lingerie-clad curves, her sight sought for her Master.

And the moment their eyes clashed, imaginary sparks flew across the room.

There stood Master Xan, with the glorious physique of six feet, three inches of pure manliness. His hair was gelled with perfection, squared broad shoulders and bulging muscles of his biceps couldn’t be hidden beneath the white full sleeve shirt. He looked brutally manly yet sophistically regal.

Lana knelt by her Master’s feet as the ceremony proceeded. Once the initial rituals were completed, the real deal began.

“Lana, are you willing to accept my collar?” Master Xan asked solemnly.

Her heart was soaring high with happiness. “I would be honored, Master.”

Xan nodded at Renee who stepped forward a little behind Lana and lifted her plait a little. He slipped the platinum studded collar around her neck with a shining small lock that has Xan’s full name inscribed on it.

He clicked the lock soundly with a declaration. “I promise to hold you and keep you safe. I vow to love, cherish and discipline you for as long as I shall live. With this collar, I am making you mine in the presence of friends, and by wearing it you will always be safe to be everything that you are.”

Claps erupted and wishes poured on them instantaneously. Once the main ceremony came to an end, Xan nodded knowingly at Master David.


Lana remained knelt as she was bidden, while Master David announced for the special surprise without revealing the contents.

Oblivious to Lana, a large barber chair was brought forth and placed behind her. No sooner than it was positioned, Renee’s eyes widened in recognition. Even though Lana saw her expression and was dying of revelation—but not once did she turn around.

The weight of the new collar was such to her willing submission to her Master.

“I thank you all for your presence today. To make this collaring ceremony a bit more special, I have planned a surprise for my beautiful slave, Lana.” He then offered her his hand in an invitation to rise. Lana arose gracefully, her head bowed. “She’s is indeed a beauty, a priceless treasure to me,” he acknowledged. “And today, when she is wearing my collar with such elegance, I wish to see her in a different look.”

He cupped her shoulders and slowly turned her around, towards the chair.

Lana’s eyes widened at first, and then she kept staring at it unblinkingly. She has always found it easy to submit to Xan—the love of her life and the dominant of her dreams. Her submission was effortless at every step of the way, even though he obliterated her hard limits.

Until now.

But this went beyond the horizon. The reason Xan never discussed this before with her, because it would be the true definition of her submission. On the other hand, Lana herself didn’t know if she was capable of such submission or not. Despite everything, dampness on the inside of her thighs grew warmer and wetter.

“I want you to walk up to that chair and sit on it, Lana.” His tone rang with a certain authority.

“Yes, Master,” she whispered and sauntered towards the chair. Lana sat herself down on the big, leather-clad chair with great trepidation.

A thousand questions ran through her mind. The prime one was: how short her Master wanted her hair to be? Would he scalp her like Renee’s Master?

“My slave’s hands and legs won’t be bound as I love to see her wriggle.” The crowd chuckled a little. “But,” he said and parted her thighs, spreading her legs, “–she will be wide open. Should she choose to close her legs or climax without my approval; my slave would be soundly punished.”

Lana let out in an inaudible gasp, but Xan didn’t miss the gesture. So, he yanked at her braided hair, forcing her gaze up. “Babygirl, if you cum while your hair is being cut, I would love nothing more than to cane your ass in front of all these people while you are bent over that spanking bench.” He pointed to the angular, leather–padded bench, specially designed to keep the submissive ass higher.

“I will try not to, Master.”

Master Xan smiled at her like he would thoroughly enjoy punishing her if she missteps. He kissed her lips lightly, and Lana inhaled his masculine pine and cedar scent.

“Now, I am not an expert with scissors,” Xan addressed the crowd. “Hence, Paul, on my behalf, would carry out this haircut while I shall stand by my beautiful slave.” A man in his early forties walked closer with a tray full of barbering tools. “Paul, you may begin.”

Lana gripped the arms of the chair tighter than ever. By now, her clit was throbbing for release. The barber, Paul, held the braid with one hand and slid the shinning scissors into the hair. The steel blades kept on closing and opening, making a long tunnel of ‘Schnick’ sound. It went on for about a couple of minutes—due to her thick hair texture—and finally, the definitive clack signified the ultimate severance.

Paul took the braid and dutifully handed it over to Master Xan. He smiled a little, ruffling the nape-length hair. “I have always seen my girl in long hair,” he muttered. “Carry on, Paul.”

Paul divided Lana’s uneven, rugged bob into three parts—back and two sides. While he left the back as it is, he pinned-up the sides. The barber dampened her hair—a little too generously—and she felt the water droplets sliding down her spine. The sensation magnified the tingle between her legs as she grounded her hips to relieve herself a little.

Now, Master Xan wouldn’t be a good Master if he would miss out on such small detailed movement of her slave-wife. Chastising, he held both her beaded nipples between his fingers, rolling and massaging erotically. Pleasure waves hit Lana anew. God, how was she supposed to hold back her orgasm like this?

As if reading her thoughts, Xan pulled and pinched her brutally and Lana let out a yelp. Pain and pleasure–she remembered—her master was well-equipped with both.

The barber kept on snipping the hair from her back. The incessant clacking of scissors warranted that he was truly a professional.

“At least he knows exactly what he is doing,” Lana consoled herself vaguely.

The damp snippets of hair rained down her back like confetti. Paul was using the traditional barber method—he would comb-out a little portion, lift up a chunk of her hair with the comb, snip it and repeat it all over again. By now, he reduced her hair to about an inch. Lana tipped her head back discreetly and was surprised to find that no length of hair brushed her nape.

The barber next moved to her right, dislodging the jaw-length hair from the pin and gave it a good brushing before dousing it in water. Even without a mirror, Lana could watch the cutting from her peripheral vision. The comb slid into her hair—almost at eye level—and then the scissors swiftly hacked it off. The chunk fell on her shoulders first and then slid down her breast, down to the ground.

Lana was finally beginning to realize the thrill of haircut Renee experienced months ago. She was growing restless without a release even though the haircut brutally wracked her nerves.

Paul kept on cutting the sides until they were as short as the back, making small bits of hair raining everywhere and heaping over Lana’s shoulders mostly. She felt her ears were being gently folded as the cold blades angled down towards her cheekbone, and then the slow, methodical ‘Schnick’ all over again.

At times, her Master would seductively run his long, masculine fingers up and down her nape, checking the cut he specifically ordered. Her bare pussy contracted vigorously on its own at his touch. A sheen layer of sweat beaded her forehead ahead of the impending climax as if the dreaded sound of ‘Schnick, Schnick’ were encouraging her treacherous body to explode.

The barber proceeded to the other side and continued the deliberate scissoring until it mirrored the shorn other half. Combing out the front, he chopped off her hair unceremoniously, keeping it slightly longer as against the sides and back.

Renee, who watched the haircut with great attention, struggled with figure out the style the barber was giving her friend. Surely, Lana was receiving a severe shearing, but what was the name of the hairstyle anyway? The back and sides were closely cropped—as close as the scissors could do—while the top and front were slightly longer. The barber would grab a fraction between his fingers and neatly cut off whatever was protruding out.

The scissor snipping was completed, finally! Paul went back, fumbling with some equipment on the tray, while Lana was kept hanging on the edge.

“How turned on are you right now, baby girl?” Xan asked Lana mischievously.


“Since you are not going to answer me; I will have to find out myself.” Without giving her a moment, deft fingers slid apart the fabric of her lacy thong, exposing her damp channel.

No sooner her pussy felt the touch of her Master, her spine went rigid, muscles taut—and she came crying out aloud. As if to encourage, Master Xan kept rubbing until the waves of pleasure receded and her mind returned to the land of the living.

“Ugh! Shit,” Lana cursed, but who could blame her anyway?

The crowd chuckled among themselves, mostly the Doms and Dommes. As if, there was a sadist sleeping inside the heart of every Dominant who wanted to watch a submissive squirm.

“Looks like my slave girl is dying to experience my punishment,” Xan humorously told the crowd. “But since her haircut isn’t complete yet, she has been forfeited her lovely brassiere.”

He bent her forward a little, swiftly unhooked the clasp and out came her lacy bra. Lana inwardly cursed her Master for giving her hell. She had no problem being exposed to the public, in fact, it turned her on greatly.

“Such gorgeous breasts,” Xan murmured, cupping and weighing the fleshy glands alternatively. The bits and pieces of severed hair tickled her skin while she moaned without care. He finally ended the fondling with a sharp pinch on her nipples as a reminder to behave.

The barber now dried only the top of the head, with a back-brush technique. He returned with a steel comb and a clipper in his hand. Standing directly in front of her, he slid the comb on top, leaving half an inch from the roots, and ran the clippers. Tufts of hair landed on her thighs, as a definitive ‘flat top’ was created.

Among the crowd, the men clearly got the idea of the haircut while most of the women didn’t. Of course, the flat top was a traditional men’s haircut, and there was nothing ‘girly’ about it, yet it complimented Lana’s features so much.

Master Xan unmistakably didn’t go wrong with his choice.

Paul pushed forward her head a little, said, “Don’t move, please.” The vibrating clippers directly touched the back of her head and kept pushing forward towards the crown. The leftover short hair was mowed again and again—mercilessly.

If Lana thought fighting an orgasm while her hair being cut with scissors were tough, she was about to fight a new battle with the buzzing machine. She had never imagined herself to be scalped. And here she was, having her back and sides scalped to the bone—in public, half-naked and collared—while her Master kept playing with her breasts or pussy.

Paul was a ruthless barber, too. Within a couple of minutes, and a firm clasp on her head, he had bared the sides and back, exposing the white scalp to the world. For the final touches, he tapered the shortest length to the half inch on top with the help of scissors. The blending was so meticulously done that the fade looked flawless without a harsh line.

“I believe you want her shaved smooth, Master Xan?” Paul asked, pausing a little.

“Yes, absolutely.”

“Shaved smooth? As in, not her whole head, right?” Lana mused.

“Alright. Do you mind if I take the hairline a little higher? Up about here?” Paul indicated with his finger that touched almost an inch higher above the ear.

And that was ‘a little higher’? Lana thought.

“Fine by me,” Xan consented gladly.

The foam was thickly spread all around her head. It looked a little funny for a beautiful woman in a barber chair with her head covered in lather, and only a brown pelt of hair sitting on top. Well, Paul rectified the situation quickly. In no time, the razor was dragged down her skin in slow, small strokes, revealing a whiter skin than before.

The scuffing sound against her scalp was terrifying and exhilarating. Arousal had erased everything around her as she submitted her willpower to the brutal haircut.

While the barber clasped a side of her head firmly, shaving and reducing her natural hairline, Xan cupped her sopping wet pussy in his palm. It fitted into his hands so perfectly, as if Almighty has custom-made Lana for him.

Paul moved to the other side, shaved it smooth and nice, and then wiped the foam. He took a little hair gel into his palms, rubbed it vigorously, and then massaged it well into her hair—or whatever half an inch hair was spiked on top.

Satisfied, he nodded at Xan.

“Ah, just like I wanted,” Master Xan approved with a pleasing smile, running a hand all over at the back of her head. The warm, rugged feel of his skin gave Lana a rough idea of how high Paul had shaved her. It was too high, actually.

Xan helped her to stand, kneading her thighs a little, knowing she would be slightly cramped after the wrecking orgasm. And that’s the thing about Lana’s Master—he was thoughtful and gentle when he needed to be.

The crowd cheered for the Quintessential Dominant and the Brave Slave once again.


“I believe there’s only a small matter of discipline left to be attended,” Master Xan said and clasped her neck tightly. “Am I right, my beautiful, shorn slave?”

“Yes, Master.”

He stretched a hand forward. “Go to the spanking bench and assume the position.”

Lana did as she was bid. Kneeling on either of the padded sides of the spanking bench, she draped her body along the angular slope in such a way that her thong-clad ass was raised higher, as if it was an offering to the Greek God, Eros.

“Fetch me a rattan cane from Master David’s collection, please,” he ordered a slave-trainee. Lana felt the presence of her Master before she heard his voice.

When the trainee returned with the tool, Xan announced, “My slave will be receiving ten of the best with the cane.”

Fuck, ten of his best with a rattan cane meant sharp and stinging impacts that would numb her brain. But in a way she was so, so glad. The pain will be just enough stinging to keep another orgasm at bay, knowing how aroused she was post-haircut and shaving.

The waistband of Lana’s thong was pulled taut and abruptly snipped at the sides. The last vestiges of fabric covering her modesty were ripped away, leaving her stark naked and awkwardly exposed.

“Brace yourself, Lana. I don’t mind you screaming at all, but do not dare to evade the strokes. Try it, and you will feel my wrath,” Master Xan warned.

Lana nodded, her heart pounding in her throat.

The first strike lit a fire across her bottom, whilst the second and third made her cry out. By fourth and fifth, she began to absorb the pain gracefully. The kiss of agony slashed her ass-cheek again and again until the count of ten.

A sigh of relief passed Lana’s lips as she heard her Master drop the wicked tool. The punishment was over, but she knew better than to get up until ordered otherwise. Xan’s finger traced the angry red welts—gently, and barely touching—as Lana hissed in pain.

The finger skimmed down the crack of her bottom, caressing her slit and the very swollen clitoris.

“You can come whenever you are ready,” he told her gently through the haze of receding pain.

Lana’s body recognized her Master’s command long before her mind did. With one of his hand rubbing the head—letting her feel how naked her head was—while the other hand skilfully circled with her pussy, Xan played with his slave-wife, gifting her the much-deserved climax she craved.

The erotic potential of exhibitionism, extreme haircut and fingering were so powerful that Lana came gushing into his hands—unraveling with ecstasy. The climax was so fierce that she was thrust into subspace as the world around her ceased to exist.

By the time she stirred and squirmed on his Master’s lap—naked and drunk on pleasure—she had no memory of them coming to the room. She glanced around and her eyes fell on the mirror against the wall.

And that was the first look she had of herself after the haircut. Shaven sides looked remarkably stark and the top just had a little cap of short, brown hair. Also, the fade was immaculate, too.

The flattop haircut was so perfect yet brutal—just like her Master.

“Welcome back, baby girl.” Xan smiled down at her.


Please let me know in the comments if you have liked the story. 


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