The Humbling Summer

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The Humbling Summer

 

By Shorngirl

 

Prologue

 

Ashley was a snob. Plain and simple, the girl was utterly unpleasant and a pain to deal with. So it was with some trepidation that Shirley agreed to take the girl for the summer.

         Ashley had flatly refused to participate in the family outing that year; some character-building camp that her father had heard about. Ashley, being who she was, saw the whole thing as a waste of time.

         Shirley waited at the bus station, a sour look on her face. She knew how unpleasant the next eight weeks were going to be. This time, she swore, things were going to be different.

 

Ashley, the Petulant

 

The bus ride was totally boring, and even though I had my phone, I was beside myself. I figured at my age, my parents would simply let me stay home alone. I was nearly nineteen, after all.

My mother was completely annoying. They seemed so thrilled about going to this camp. They’d probably come back with all new attitudes towards life, or something. Ugh. I honestly felt sorry for my little sister, who had been forced to go.

I really did put up a fuss when my mother told me about Aunt Shirley’s. In spite of my protests, I found myself on a bus, heading for her farm. Shirley lived on a farm, for heaven’s sake. So, I would simply do what I did the last two times I’d been there; lock myself in my room and ignore her.

As the bus pulled up in front of the country store, I sighed, audibly. Looking up and down the rinky-dink little main street, I mourned for the fate of my summer. How could my parents do this to me?

As soon as I got off the bus, Aunt Shirley was there, having parked her pick-up truck across the street. She frowned as the bus driver hauled my three suitcases from the luggage compartment. “Don’t exactly travel light, do you, Ashley?” She remarked, sharply.

“I only brought what I need for the summer,” I exclaimed, waiting for her to pick up at least one of the heavy bags.

“Hey, you brought the stuff, you tote it.” She remarked, heading back to her truck. One by one I wheeled the suitcases across the nearly empty street, lifting them laboriously into the bed of her truck. I couldn’t believe she wouldn’t at least help me.

“Thanks for the help, Aunt Shirley.” I spat, sarcastically as I slammed the passenger door.

“We’ll just see about all that, missy. Now, for that mouth. You keep that foul hole closed or I’ll really give you something to think about.” Shirley slammed the truck into drive and pulled away from the curb. I’d never seen her act this way, at least not this soon. By the end of my last stay, she was close to acting this way, but already?

The drive to her house wasn’t particularly long, but then as soon as we left the small town, we were in farm country. Her house was an attractive place, with a wraparound porch and a cupola perched atop a peaked second-story roof.

I’d always wanted to go up there, but it had been sealed off years before, and Shirley told me it was quite unsafe. Again, I was forced to drag my suitcases into the house myself.

“Don’t you dare drag those damned things up my stairs. You carry them up to your room one at a time if you have to.” Aunt Shirley demanded, again with a tone unfamiliar to me. I knew she wasn’t a fan of my Gen Z attitude, but then again, it was just part of who I was.

I did as she asked, being careful of the hardwood flooring that ran throughout the house. Once I was up with the last one, she followed me into what would be my bedroom for the next two months.

“We’ll start with this one.” She demanded, pointing at the largest of the three bags.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Put it on the bed and open it up.” She growled. A little daunted by her hostility, I did as she asked, opening the suitcase with a pop, having been overpacked with clothes. To my surprise and shock, she started sorting through them. Most went into a pile on the floor, and only a few were folded and placed on the bed next to the bag.

When she was all finished, she watched as I put away the meager stack of items she had folded in the antique dresser. We did the same with the other two bags, until all three sat empty in the corner of the room. The dresser still had most of its drawers empty, but the pile of clothing on the floor was enormous.

She tossed several black garbage bags at me and told me to fill them from the large pile at the center of the room. Now, I knew what she was doing, but I had a real problem with putting all my best clothes into these bags. Did she really think I would simply throw them out?

Not being left with too many options, I did as she asked, filling a total of five thirty-gallon bags with the clothes. Most of them were skirts, shorts, and blouses that I assumed she found too revealing or inappropriate. What she had put away were some of the frumpiest things I owned. Baggy jeans and flannel shirts, flowery t-shirts, and knee-length shorts were all that remained of my wardrobe.

All my underwear and bras had gone into the bags, and I wondered just what she was going to have me wear underneath. To my surprise, she had me strip out of what I was wearing, including my underwear, and put those into the last open bag. This was extremely humiliating, and I had loudly objected at first. When Shirley threatened to take the clothes out back and burn them, I begrudgingly obliged.

She pulled out a pair of the baggiest jeans I owned, along with a hand-me-down t-shirt my mother had given me, and had me haul the bags out to the barn. Barefoot and missing any underwear, I felt weird being outside. I was never one to go commando, as they called it, so it gave me the distinct feeling of being naked.

I dragged the bags into the hay loft and piled them in the corner as she had directed, following her back into the house. I wouldn’t say I was in shock, but I had a distinct impression that this summer wasn’t going to be fun at all.

Once back in my room, she tossed a pile of used underwear on the bed, telling me that if they had been good enough for her to wear, they were good enough for me. They were the ugliest granny panties imaginable, the ones that came nearly to your waist and hung loosely around the top of your thighs.

Along with the underwear, she had provided some socks and two plain Playtex bras, which were also well-used. A single pair of lace-up boots seemed to be the only footwear I would be allowed during my stay. She said they were perfect for working around the farm, which I would be doing a lot of that summer.

What I did find completely missing was my cosmetic bag. I swore I’d had it slung over my shoulder on one of my trips up the stairs. “Have you seen my cosmetic bag, Aunt Shirley?”

“I have, and I’ve taken care of that for you. You won’t be needing anything in there.” Now, there had to be several hundred dollars’ worth of cosmetics and perfume in there, and I was frantic that this last vestige of femininity had been stripped away from me. “Settle down, young lady. You’re going to learn some respect if it’s the last thing I do around here. Now put on some underwear and those boots and meet me down in the kitchen.”

 

The Dressing Down

 

When I was sure she had gone down the stairs, I stripped back out of the jeans and shirt and looked at the pile on my bed. As I pulled the panties on, I noticed that they were actually well used, the liner panel being anything but white. They at least smelled clean, as did the bra which was a little tight for my C-cup breasts.

Dressed and booted, I sulked, looking at myself in the mirror. My long blonde hair seemed out of place falling over my shoulders in this outfit, so I pulled it back into a ponytail, determined to keep it safe from whatever Shirley had planned for me.

“There you are. Sit right here, Ashley, and we’ll do something about those nails of yours.” Now, I prided myself on my nails. They were long, shaped and I guarded them carefully. The bright red polish had been professionally done two days before, and I figured she had a problem with the color. What happened next took my breath away.

Taking my hand in hers, she promptly snipped one of them off close to the quick. “Aunt Shirley!” I screamed. “My nail!”

“Yes, that’s one. Nine to go.” I watched, powerless as her nail nippers sliced away my perfectly manicured points, until all that remained was well back from the bulb of my fingertip. I knew that tears were falling down my cheeks by the time she had cut away the last one. “Now you stop that this instant, child.” She set a small, unopened bottle of polish remover on the table. “They’d only get broken around here anyway. Now you take this and clean off all that nasty color. I like clean, short nails, so we’ll be keeping them that way. Understood?”

As I sat at the useless vanity in my room, I looked down at my hands. The polish looked ridiculous now, with my nails cut so short. Slowly, and painfully, I cleaned off the polish, until my hands looked utterly plain. Dejected, I walked back down the stairs, my hands hidden in the generous pockets of the jeans.

“Let’s see,” Shirley demanded. I pulled my hands from my pockets, splaying my fingers so she could inspect my decidedly masculine-looking hands. “There. Now that’s so much better. Don’t you think so?” Did she honestly expect me to agree? I just stood there, blank.

“I’m heading into town in the morning, and I want you to come with me.” She said, suggestively. “There’s still a bit of daylight left, so I want you to walk around and get yourself familiar with the farm. Starting tomorrow, there’ll be a list of chores for you to do. Once those are done, your time is your own.”

It was the first time she had shown the least bit of charity toward me, and I almost felt grateful. Almost. Heading out the back door, I walked out onto the farm. Aunt Shirley was a dairy farmer and had two hands that worked with the cows. I figured she had a large herd because they very nearly filled the long rows of milking stalls in the barn.

The two hands were working in the barn as I walked through, and seemed busy with their work. The one was not too much older than me, but the other was a bit grizzled and quite a few years older than my aunt. He saw the younger man eyeing me as I walked by and chided him for his interest. “You keep your eyes to yourself, Walden. What would your mother say.” He turned toward me and gave me a look. “You best keep moving, Jeze.” He seethed, accusingly.

I had no idea why he had called me that. I would have to ask my aunt. I continued around the farm until I had walked everything but the fields, which were extensive. Making my way back to the house, I could smell food cooking and I figured my aunt was making supper.

“Have a good look around?” She asked as she worked at the stove. I decided to be pleasant for the time being.

“Yes. Ran into two men in the barn.” I informed.

“Oh, that’s Wally and Charlie. They work here.” She said, sprinkling something into the pot she was boiling.

“Aunt Shirley. Why did he call me Jeze?” I asked, honestly not knowing.

“Did he, now? Well, it’s probably that hair of yours. He thinks you’re a Jezebel; a temptress.” She warned, a knowing look in her eye.

I’d been called a cock-tease in school, but out here, I guess it’s looked on in a different way. “Jezebel?” I questioned.

“You don’t read the bible much, do you?” She frowned. “Well, there’s one in the nightstand by your bed, if you ever get curious.”

“Thanks. That’s okay, though.” Surely, she wasn’t going to shove religion down my throat.

“Up to you. Now, you wash your hands and come to supper.” She indicated a small bathroom off the large hallway that joined all the rooms on the first floor.

The food was delicious, I have to say. It wasn’t the fat-free stuff I forced myself to eat at home. A whole summer of eating like that and I’d blow up like a blimp, I just knew it. Still, with everything else that was going on, it seemed the least of my worries.

The following morning a awakened by a rooster of all things. My window had been opened to let the cool night breeze in, and the damned bird seemed to know where I was because he perched himself right outside my window on the fencepost below.

Regardless of that, I had slept like a log, and actually felt good. At home, I rarely slept for more than a few hours. I quickly dressed to the smell of coffee and breakfast cooking below. Aunt Shirley eyed me up and down when I came in. Granted, the jeans and shirt I wore were a little less frumpy than the day before, but they still were… frumpy, by my standards.

“Well, you look nice this morning. Ready for our trip into town?” She asked, pouring coffee into a mug that sat at what seemed to be my designated place.

“I guess so,” I muttered sleepily, sipping at the black liquid in my cup.

“Good. We have a few errands to run before… well, you’ll see.”

 

Peeling a Princess

 

Shirley picked up some groceries at the country store, where I had arrived the day before, depositing the bags in the bed of the truck. “Aren’t you worried someone might run off with them?” I asked.

“This isn’t the city, Ashley. Folks are honest out here.” She smiled. “Besides, we won’t be all that long.” There really wasn’t all that much to the place, but as we approached what appeared to be a barbershop, I began to worry. The red-striped pole that I had often seen revolving in front of such places was decidedly stationary; obviously broken.

As we stepped inside, I figured that Shirley was just stopping in to say hi to someone. When she took a number off a small rack and took a seat next to several men in a row of chairs, I felt extremely out of place.

“What are we doing here, Aunt Shirley? This is a barbershop.” I said, stating the obvious.

One of the two barbers working at the large swivel chairs turned to us, eyeing me and addressing my aunt. “Hey, Shirl.” He mused, the clippers in his hand meandering up the back of a man’s head, leaving little in their wake. “In for a trim?”

“Actually, it’s time for the summer cut.” My aunt declared, running her fingers up through her salt and pepper mullet. The man smiled without saying too much more, finishing the cut he was working on.

With some amount of haste, the two barbers worked their way through the waiting men in short order, eventually coming to my aunt. “Thirty-eight!” I looked down at her number, realizing that it was her turn.

“I’m gonna wait for Barry, here, Morty. Why don’t you take the next one?” My aunt suggested. The man shrugged as I felt a piece of paper being slipped into my hand. “Thirty-nine?”

“Go on, Ashley. That’s you.” I looked down, mortified to see I was holding the very number.

“Aunt Shirley, please. My hair is…”

“That’s enough, young lady. Morty, this is my niece, Ashley. She’s in for the summer and needs something more practical.” My aunt instructed.

“Shirley, now, you know I don’t do girls’ haircuts,” Morty complained.

“That’s fine, just fine. You can give her a little boy’s cut. That’ll give her a little bit to play with on top, right?”

“I suppose I could.” The barber eased, turning his chair in my direction. “Alright young lady. I promise it won’t hurt at all.”

I felt like running out of the shop, only I was so far out in the middle of nowhere, I’d be lost in no time. My aunt pushed me up and out of the chair and I found myself crossing to the large metal chair on wooden legs. Scared out of my mind, I’d really lost my grip on reality. “What kind of cut?” I asked, meekly.

“This one.” The pointed to a yellowed poster on the wall next to his mirror. It pictured a line drawing of a young boy, his hair trimmed close on the sides and back with a hard part drawing what little remained over the top to hang halfway down his forehead. His ears stuck out prominently; the hair seemingly shaved to the skin around them.

“Wait, um…I…but…” I begged, but with nothing to say, I just stammered as the man stretched a thin length of paper around my neck. It felt scratchy and suffocating, but when the cape followed and was cinched even tighter around my slender neck, I practically fainted.

The chair was spun around so I was facing the large mirror, and I was stricken by my reflection. Trapped and surrounded by a cone of white, I willed my legs to stand and run out of that shop. All I succeeded in doing was wetting myself. Realizing what had happened and being horrified over the humiliation of it, I squeezed my legs together, stemming the flow before too much escaped.

“Go ahead, Morty. She’s not going to give you any trouble.” I heard my aunt say from behind me. I spotted her in the mirror, leaning forward to watch my hair’s demise.

The barber lifted my long hair away from my head with a comb and slipped the humming clippers underneath, pulling them upward until they met resistance. The vibration against my neck sent a shiver down my spine as I saw a torrent of hair slither down the cape and land on the floor around the barber’s feet.

Realizing that there was no point in resisting now, I finally relaxed. I only hoped I hadn’t peed so much that it would be noticeable. Pass after pass, Morty continued, sheering away the bulk of my hair. He eventually worked his way around to the sides until, at last, the clippers fell silent.

The fact that I colored my hair was starting to become painfully obvious, my dark roots starting to show, as the barber continued peeling away the back and sides of my hair. I cringed as he set the humming monster against my sideburns and carved out each of my ears, the white ring left around them, I would later learn was referred to as white walls.

All that remained was the top, but with the sharp contrast of the blonde against my nearly black roots, the man turned to my aunt, who was just taking a seat in the chair next to mine. I saw her raise an eyebrow as he lifted the shock of blonde that remained with his comb.

“Better just get rid of the blonde, Morty. Otherwise, it’ll just look ridiculous.” I watched as the other barber caped her. However she had her hair cut, it wouldn’t be enough to make up for this indignity.

I turned back to the mirror, just in time to see the barber raise the clippers to my forehead, sliding up under my wispy blonde bangs. I fought to open my mouth, to stop him from doing this, but by then the clippers had already run straight down the middle of my head.

My eyes shot wide open, but seeing that it hadn’t been reduced to nothing as the sides had, I was marginally relieved. What was left was never going to be enough to lay down flat, and I figured that it was all of a half-inch long. I was going to get a buzz cut, and I resigned myself to that fact. The strange thing was, I had stopped being upset over it.

As I watched the last of my hair being stripped from the top of my head, I began to feel oddly aroused. I had absolutely no explanation for it, but there was no denying what I was feeling. Morty slowly blended the sides into the top, following the contour of my head until he was satisfied with the cut. I thought he was finished, but he loosened the cape and began to spread a warm lather on my neck and around my ears.

Was he really going to shave me? As he pulled a straight razor from his pocket, I got my answer. The blade felt oddly pleasant against my skin as he folded my ears down to crispen the line of hair that set a good half-inch around them. When he was done, it was more like three-quarters.

It was when he began scraping down my nape that I nearly came in his chair. What on earth was wrong with me? It took every ounce of willpower I possessed to stifle the orgasm that was threatening to boil over inside me. As wonderful as it felt, I was relieved when he folded the blade into its sheath and shook out his cape.

Unable to prevent myself, I ran my fingers over what remained of my hair, that wonderful sensation between my legs intensifying once again. I couldn’t help but smile, which did not go unnoticed by my aunt.

“See, Ashley. I knew you’d appreciate a good haircut. Don’t you look handsome.” Morty started to kick my hair into a pile, the weight of it too much for his well-worn broom. Seeing him struggle, she eyed me again. “Why don’t you let Ashley clean that up for you, Morty.”

The barber simply shrugged his shoulders, and I suddenly felt obliged to do as my aunt had asked. I couldn’t decide which was more humiliating, cleaning up my own crowning glory from the floor of the barbershop, the titters from men behind me as they watched, or the haircut I had just been given. Regardless, the combination of the three had me so hot I could barely stand at the end of it.

Aunt Shirley ended up getting a rather conservative cut, far longer than the one I got, and I think she reveled in the notion that she had longer hair than me. “Those white walls are pretty stark, there, Ashley. Good thing is, you have all summer to grow it out to something a little less shocking to all your friends back home. Boy, what I would give to see the look on your mother’s face if she could see you now.”

I think she realized that she was the only one talking about halfway home, and I hoped that she didn’t realize what was going on between my legs. Having totally forgotten my little accident, I looked down suddenly but was relieved to see only a small dark patch hidden well back from the front. If I’d been wearing my skinny jeans, there would have been no hiding that I had peed my pants.

“I really need a shower, Aunt Shirley. Got to get this hair off me. It itches, you know.” I called out as I got to the top of the stairs.

“That’s fine. You can start the bulk of your chores tomorrow, but I still have a few things for you to do around her this afternoon.” Shirley answered.

 

Unleash the Monster

 

Once in the bathroom, I was quick to shed my clothes, desperate to get a hand down to my aching pussy. I couldn’t help but giggle over my shorn head and thanked the stars that I didn’t have big ears. Even so, with all the hair shaved from around them, they seemed big enough to be a bother. As I looked more closely, I could see that the hair on top was a bit shorter than I had presumed. Pinching my thumb and finger together, I really couldn’t get ahold of it, and my scalp shone through plainly through the black bristles. Maybe it was actually only a quarter of an inch.

All this close examination only served to whip up my juices all over again, and I was soon in the shower, rubbing myself for all I was worth. I couldn’t tell you how many times I came, but I lost count after four.

Climbing out of the stall, I caught my reflection once again in the mirror, my wet hair appearing even shorter than it had when it was dry. It was easy to imagine how I would look totally bald, and I suddenly had the urge to come all over again. “Stop.” I chided myself, gaining the upper hand, finally.

I had to chuckle as I dried myself off, realizing that my pubes were the longest hair on my body. For a second I imagined remedying that situation but knew that my aunt would be wondering where I was. I quickly dressed, exchanging what I was wearing for the baggier outfit from the day before. I don’t know why, I just did.

Checking my phone, I saw that I had a few messages from friends and knew I would have to fess up about what had happened. I would save that for later. I tried to understand why I would ever want anyone to know how I looked now. For some reason the idea of sharing this was exciting.

I grabbed the abbreviated list of chores from my aunt, who was full of comments about my hair once again. I suppose it only fed the monster, and that was okay.

One of the chores was to feed the chickens in the hen house. I don’t think they were part of the business and only provided enough eggs for the house. I grabbed a bucket of the feed and headed out into the pen. As I watched the chickens scurry about, I realized that I was being watched as well.

Standing outside the pen, was Walden, Wally as my aunt called him. “Wow. What happened to your hair?” He asked.

Not wanting him to know it had been forced on me, I answered. “Cut it off. Summer, you know.” I ran a hand over the bristled top.

“Suits you, kinda.” He smiled, scuffing his boot nervously in the dirt.

“Thanks.” I set down the bucket and walked his way. “Where’s the old guy?”

“Oh, he’s gone for the day. I finish up here in the afternoons. Man, that is short.” He exclaimed upon closer inspection. “My dad do that to you?”

“I don’t know. Who’s your dad?” I asked, curious.

“His name’s Barry. He owns the barbershop in town.” I remembered my aunt specifically asking for him.

“Actually, it was Morty,” I admitted, again unable to keep my hand from my head, my fingers playing with the smoothly shaved scalp at the top of my neck.

“You better get yourself a hat. You’re gonna get burned with your neck and ears out like that.” He seemed like he wanted to say something, but was reticent to speak.

“I’ll do that. Thanks.” I noticed he just couldn’t keep his eyes away from my haircut, and I wondered just what was going on in that head of his. “Wally? You like me with this haircut, don’t you?” I asked, boldly.

He must have turned every shade of red before turning away. “Hey. I can’t help it if I like girls with short hair.” He said, his back turned to me.

I reached out and laid a hand on his shoulder, and before I knew what had happened, I was in his arms, and he was kissing the shit out of me. I worried that my aunt might see, but noticed that we were well out of sight of the house.

“Hey, hey!” I managed, around his lips. Quickly, he backed away, his hand releasing its hold on my hairless neck. The look on his face was a mixture of confusion and lust, and I really don’t think he knew why he had just done what he did.

To be honest, as much of a country boy as he was, he wasn’t hard to look at, and in my current state, I supposed I had no right to be fussy. I supposed I should have been grateful that he found me attractive at all.

“Can I…can I feel it.” He asked, still in a bit of a tizzy.

Not seeing any harm in it, I bowed my head, allowing him to run his calloused fingers over the stubbled sides and scruffing the bristles that remained on my crown. Between the kiss and his attention, I was getting aroused again, and I knew I had better wrap it up quickly. “Okay.” I finally said, pulling back slightly.

“Jesus, you are so fucking hot.” It just wasn’t something I was expecting out of his mouth, to be fair. Suddenly, he was no different than the boys back home. The thing was, they’d all be running in the opposite direction once they caught an eyeful of me now.

“I’ve got work to do, and I’m pretty sure you do too.” I sighed. Seeing the disappointment in his eyes, I reminded him. “Hey. I’m here all summer.” With that, a cuter-than-the-devil smile crossed his face, and he nodded, walking toward the barn.

 

A Fetish Realized

 

The next couple of weeks rolled by with very few disagreements between my aunt and myself. She seemed content now, having humiliated me at the barbershop. Maybe she got what she wanted out of that. I began to think of what she had done with my clothes and my hair as some sort of revenge for the brat I had always been.

There was no denying that, as a person, I was spoiled and even petulant at times. I think the discovery of this unusual fetish of mine had taken the place of my misplaced pride. The two seemed incongruous with one another, and the fetish won out. The thing was, I couldn’t decide whether it was the haircut itself or the humiliation of it that was the driver behind my strange obsession and arousal. As time passed, I was beginning to think it was more the latter.

I thought back on the sorting of my clothing, the cutting of my nails, and finally having my hair pared down to next to nothing, and each held a place in my psyche as a driver of this sexual deviance I’d discovered within myself. So I settled on humiliation.

The fact that I’d gained a full fifteen pounds since I arrived, would have been a world-class disaster back at home. But now, the little paunch that I’d developed and the extra weight in my thighs and breasts only served to feed the monster, as it were.

My dreams seemed filled with every sort of humiliation, and I would often wake up soaked, with my hand between my legs. One dream, in particular, stood out above the rest, recurring again and again. I had returned home, my hair freshly buzzed and my belly hanging lewdly over the waistband of the stretch pants I wore.

In the dream, I am being ridiculed by everyone I knew, my boyfriend and girlfriends, and even my family. My only reaction is to strip and masturbate, right there, in front of them all. Inside, I am screaming over the humiliation of it, but I can’t stop, I just can’t. When I finally get close to orgasm, I wake up, every single time. The dream has both tortured me and delighted me. What a strange web I’m in.

Two days before, I had finally made good on my promise to deal with my unruly pubic hair, shaving it bald. I’d never done that before, and the sensation of the bare folds and such easy access to my clitoris was almost overwhelming. I made a pact to have it permanently removed when I got home.

Now, on to Wally. Although things did heat up between us, and we had explored each other out in the fields and in the woods up behind the house, it was never going to go anywhere. It was obvious to us both that it was never going to be anything but sex. But that was just fine with me.

I was certain I wouldn’t be getting any when I got home, my boyfriend having already dropped me. As soon as I sent him a picture of my new haircut, he freaked out. Most of my friends were beside themselves over what I had done. For whatever reason, I made the haircut one of my own doing, and not my aunt’s. It was a lie but felt more humiliating. This was a good thing, at least for the moment, as I explored this new fetish.

Wally was fucking me just about every day. We waited for Charlie to head out as I usually finished my chores at about the same time. Each time, he seemed obsessed over my hair and was overjoyed when I lowered my baggy jeans and revealed my freshly shaved cunt.

The other day, as we were catching our breath afterward, he ran a hand over my bristled top, joking that it was getting a little long. To him, I could tell it was important that I not grow my hair out. To me, it lit a fire in my loins that was only going to be put out one way.

Over breakfast the next morning, I asked my aunt if I could borrow her truck to go into town. I ran a hand over the top of my head and smirked. “I think I need a trim.”

The look on her face was priceless, and I swore she was inwardly gloating when she handed me the keys and a twenty-dollar bill to cover the cost. I was going to go in the afternoon after my chores, but she was so excited over my humbling admission, that she insisted I go right then and there. So, I did.

I remembered the way and soon found myself on the main street of the little town, parking by the barbershop almost immediately. As I looked into the window, I wasn’t sure the place was even open. The excitement I was feeling took a bit of a hit, imagining that they might be closed.

Testing the door, it opened, the little bell chiming as I entered. Unlike the last time, there was no one there. It was a Thursday morning, though, so I shouldn’t have been too surprised. I had already taken a seat before Barry emerged from the back of the shop.

“Need a haircut, son?” He asked, as he lifted the cape from the back of the chair and swiveled it in my direction. The fact that he saw me as a boy was titillating enough, but when he realized who I was, the thrill was even greater.

“I do.” The feminine trill in my voice confirming his error.

“Sorry. Aren’t you Shirley’s niece?” He asked, as I slipped into the large, leather-upholstered chair.

“That’s me.” I smiled.

“I’m guessing you like the change. As I remember, your hair was pretty long… before.” He said, nervously.

“It’s growing on me,” I said, and we both chuckled over the pun.

“So, it was a brush cut?” He asked.

“I think so,” I replied. “…but a little shorter would be fine.” My fetish was firmly in the driver’s seat, as Barry fired up his clippers.

“We’ll go with a crew cut, and if that’s still not short enough, we can keep going.” He grinned. “How’s that.” I just nodded as I felt the bare clipper blades slide up my neck, stripping the back to the skin, and a fair amount higher than Morty had gone. With his fingers spayed on the top of my head, he moved it this way and that, his clippers peeling away everything on the back and sides.

Thinking ahead, I had worn a pad in my underwear, and about then I was glad I did. I could feel my juices flowing. Where before, there was a defined outline around my ears, there was now nothing at all. The back and sides of my head were essentially bald.

He switched out the blade on the clippers and started in on the top, skinning the half inch of hair down to less than a quarter, I was sure. My scalp was plainly visible through my dark stubble, which was what it was, stubble.

“That was a number two on the top. Short enough?” Barry asked.

I slipped my hand out from under the cape and ran my fingers over the top, still feeling the bristles move forward and back as I rubbed. I knew I had better stop, even though my cunt wanted more. “That’s good.”

“Okay.” He hung the clippers back on their hook. “I’m just going to shave up the back and sides a bit.”

Thinking he was going to do something similar to what Morty had done, I nodded. As he applied the hot, aromatic lather I noticed he was spreading it most of the way up. Was he really going to shave me that high? I got my answer as his straight razor bit into the side, well above my ear. He was shaving it right to where the sides blended into the top!

As the blade slid effortlessly down my scalp, I knew I’d be a very lucky girl if I escaped without having an orgasm right there, in Barry’s chair. Feeling the blade shaving just below the crown in the back and sliding sensually down the back of my skull was almost too much.

“This’ll last a little longer for you, shaved off.” He explained as he finished up with the other side. He took a smaller set of clippers and re-blended the top, and it was done. As I handed him the twenty, he held up his hand. “You keep that, darling. It was a pleasure helping you.” He smiled, almost knowingly. Like father like son, I thought. Maybe.

 

Farm Hand’s Delight

 

All the way back to the farm, it was impossible to keep my hands away from my denuded scalp. The sides and back were impossibly smooth, and the top, well… stubble, as I said.

When I walked into the kitchen, my aunt did her best to stifle her amusement, but ended up laughing anyway. “I think I’ve created a monster.” She took the keys, but I kept the twenty. If she had any idea how close to the truth her comment was, she’d be shocked.

I grabbed my hat and made my way out back to start my chores for the day. Every once in a while, I’d catch a glimpse of Wally, working with Charlie as usual, so I kept my distance. I think he knew something was different, but the confirmation would have to wait until I was done working.

I finished up around three, and as I strolled into the woods to our usual spot, he was waiting for me. “Take off the hat.” He ordered. He had taken the upper hand in our play, and that was fine. I enjoyed being ordered around by the randy farm hand. “Shit, wow!” He quickly had his hands on my head, rubbing them over the shaved sides and my stubbled crown. “Was it my dad?” He asked.

“It was.” I smiled, lifting off my top so he could suckle my blossoming breasts.

“He shaved you good.” He pulled at the jeans, which no longer just fell off with a tug. The snap popped and they were around my ankles. “Just how I like you, no drapes and no carpet.”

I giggled as he dug his fingers into my hips, pulling me into his mouth, his lips enveloping my sex, which was wet in anticipation. Looking down he saw the pad and quickly pulled back. “You got your period?” He asked.

“No. I get a little… hot when I get my haircut.” I explained, embarrassed suddenly.

“You know my father probably loved doing that to you. He’s got magazines…”

“I figured as much. He didn’t even charge me.” I mused, congratulating myself on my assumptions.

“It’s kinda how I got started,” Wally admitted, resuming his attention to my cunt. Before too long he was on top of me, my naked back pressed into the moss that covered that part of the forest floor, and his sizeable cock buried deep inside.

I was glad I had kept my birth control pills in my purse, rather than my cosmetic bag, or I’d be knocked up for sure by then. We both came, me long before Wally, and that was one thing I liked about him. He took a while.

“You’ll keep it like that for me.” He stated, not exactly an order, but as close as it could be without being a decree.

“You know, Wally, I did this for me as much as for you.” I pointed out.

“I know. I just like the idea of keeping you this way.” He admitted, fastening the suspender clasps on his farmer johns. I was still naked as he walked away.

“Yes, Sir.” I mused, after he was well out of earshot. I supposed it couldn’t hurt to let him think I was doing this just for him. In reality, the haircut was only a means to an end. By then, I had realized that it was the humiliation I craved.

After having to put up with my aunt’s domineering attitude toward me during supper, I quickly retired to my room. I slipped out of my clothes and into the bath, examining my appearance for the first time since Barry had skinned me so thoroughly that morning.

 

A Month In…Acceptance

 

I shaved my body thoroughly before stepping out of the shower, stopping in front of the mirror to gawk at myself. I was really looking a bit dumpy, that, and the induction haircut I’d received all served to reinforce the fact that I was anything but sexy.

A month before, I was every guy’s wet dream, with long blonde hair flowing down my back and a figure that was sheer perfection. Now, my head was basically shaved, and every part of me was looking just a little bit chubbier. The little roll that curved along the bottom of my tummy, was just a little more pronounced. My breasts hung just a little bit longer, the nipples migrating slowly downward. Even my face was looking fuller, the hollow cheeks now flat and a little double chin only just appearing beneath my prominent jaw.

Was I ugly? I guess in some peoples’ estimation I was, there was no doubt. I slipped two fingers into my slot and masturbated in front of the mirror, absorbing who I was. It was habit forming, this unabashed humiliation, and I uttered the mantra which I had spewed before. “That’s you in the mirror, Ash. Look at yourself. Just look.”

A few days before, I had come across a box labeled: ‘John’s old stuff’, buried at the back of the closet in my room. My aunt had been divorced for many years, but this box seemed to have escaped the burning barrel. Curious, I pulled it out and laid it on the bed, opening it up. There was the basic stuff, cologne, papers, and the like, but at the bottom, a leather satchel caught my eye.

It felt heavy, and I wondered just what might be inside. Unzipping the thing, I was almost overjoyed at my discovery. It was a set of clippers, not unlike the ones Barry used at the barbershop. Pulling them out, I noticed that there were several comb-like attachments at the bottom. Each one had a number on it, and I remembered Barry telling me that my top was a number two.

Although they were old, they seemed in very good condition, and a trip to the bathroom confirmed that they still worked just like new. I had been thinking of making another trip to town, but I wondered if I might be able to do this on my own.

The number two comb clipped onto the front easily, and I knew I at least had to try. I started at the front, pressing the clippers back and leaving a slight trail in the bristles, but only marginally shorter than it was. I would have to go shorter. I went back to the satchel and found a number one comb, nervously fastening it onto the old Wahl clippers.

Retracing the same path, I was pleased to see my scalp peeking out in their wake. I reached up and felt the familiar stubble, but perhaps even a bit shorter than Barry had cut it. Not wasting any time, I quickly ran them over my head, taking it shorter than it had ever been.

My shoulders and breasts were covered in shards of my hair, but my scalp was out, as plain as can be. I ran my hand over it, the sandpaper surface unyielding; my hair reduced to a greyish-black shadow. Looking closely, I could see the shaft of the hair, but it could not have been more than an eighth of an inch long.

With the same blade I used for my pussy, I went over the back and sides, enjoying the stark line where it was shaved. I wouldn’t blend it.

“You must have found John’s clippers, then.” My aunt had said the next morning. “You’re welcome to use them, of course. Just put them back when you’re done.” She must have known by then that something was amiss. She didn’t let on.

Of course, Wally was thrilled with my new shorter-than-short crop. As he fucked me in the field, he would marvel over fucking a bald woman. “I never thought it would ever happen.” He admitted.

 

Summer’s End

 

All things come to an end, isn’t that what they say? The summer, one which I will never forget, was quickly coming to an end. The following day, I’d be heading back to the city, and the humiliation that brought with it wasn’t lost on me. What would people say? The thought was beyond thrilling.

“Well, you certainly have changed since you came here in June.” Shirley mused, still amazed over my metamorphosis. I can’t imagine she ever thought her petulant niece would ever turn out as I had.

“I’ve had a good time. Thank you.” I answered, politely.

“I never thought I would ever say this, but it’s been a pleasure.” She’d given me the day off from my chores, but the thing I had had with Wally having ended, I was left wandering the farm, reminiscing. He’d given me one final mercy fuck but was honest when he told me had gotten what needed from me.

I looked at the empty corner in the barn loft where all my clothes had been, taken from me and rudely bagged. It was empty because the week before I had dragged them out to the rear of the chicken shed and burned them in the barrel. All of them, along with most of the clothes I had been allowed, mostly because they no longer fit. I could still squeeze in two pairs of the baggiest jeans, and a couple of stretched-out sweatshirts. The rest was gone.

After supper, I found my way upstairs for the last time, stripping out of the overalls my aunt had given me for lack of anything to wear. When I arrived, I weighed all of a hundred and four pounds. Sneaking into Shirley’s bathroom I had finally weighed myself that night, shocked as the needle spun around to a hundred and sixty-eight.

Looking in the mirror, the one I had looked in over and over as I changed, the visage was almost funny. I had long since stopped using any attachments on the clippers, and with the lever pressed all the way forward, the old Wahls were more than efficient. I was bald, plain, and simple. As a parting gesture, my aunt had gifted the old clippers to me, saying I seemed to have grown attached. I had.

My body, well, I was fat. Bald and fat, what a combination; and the beast that was my fetish for humiliation had insisted upon it. There was no definition left to me, really. The belly paunch now fell forward in a prominent roll. My breasts, god, they had sagged halfway down my belly, to be frank, the nipples having completed their migration now pointed downward at the tips. There was no hiding it, even with my clothes on, though; my pudgy cheeks and double chin gave away what lay hidden.

But there I was, masturbating in the mirror, just as I had so many times before. “That’s you in the mirror, Ash. Look at yourself. Just look.” I pressed my fingers into my folds, rubbing away, my flabby thighs jiggling on either side. I knew I was hideous, but that was the point, wasn’t it?

The ride home was tedious, but it was made less so by my own frantic imagination. What on earth would people say? Everything I had with me was in the overnight bag next to me, the one I had used for my cosmetics. The farmer johns I deliberately wore at least fit me, but even they were a little bit tight in the hips. I didn’t have to worry about anyone wanting to sit next to me, at least.

I wondered what my mother would think. I wasn’t sure if my aunt had discussed my ‘changes’ with her, but as they rarely spoke, I had my doubts. No, I knew this was going to be a shock for her, shit, for everyone.

My mother was, well, shocked wouldn’t quite get there. She actually walked right by me looking for her daughter. When I tapped her on the shoulder and she turned, I honestly thought her jaw would hit the pavement. She quickly ushered me into her car, worried that there was something wrong with me. After that, she seemed obsessed with trying to reach my father, unsuccessfully, I might add.

I didn’t go into details, obviously, but I did explain a bit of what happened over the summer. The more I told her, the more frantic she was about reaching my father. She seemed to be avoiding going home for some reason, but upon my insistence, she finally pointed the car down our street.

What awaited me as I walked in the front door was beyond humiliating; it was the dream made flesh. Apparently, this summer camp had instilled so much good will in my family that they saw fit to throw a welcome home party for me. All my friends and even my now ex-boyfriend were there to witness my homecoming. My complete, unmitigated humiliation.

It was the dream, and I did what I always did in the dream, only that time I came like a screaming banshee.

 

Epilogue

 

The phone rang, and Shirley was quick to answer. She listened for a few minutes, covering her mouth to keep herself from laughing. Then her eye’s perked up. “Well, you know, of course. Ashley is always welcome here.” She listened some more, still amused by what she was hearing. “That’s just fine, you just get her on the bus, and I’ll pick her up at my end.” She hung up the phone and sat back in her chair, smiling, her hand already buried in her hairless folds. “Ashley, Ashley, Ashley, what a naughty little pig you’ve been.” 

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