The Offer

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I was sitting in the park when the man in the suit approached me. He complimented my waist length blonde hair, which lots of people do. That day, I had it tied in a high ponytail that cascaded down my back. I looked so beautiful. He offered me $1,000 in cash to cut off my ponytail, at the base, and give it to him.

Laughing nervously at the pervert boldly approaching me in the park, I said, “Give me the cash first,” figuring that it would scare him off.

Much to my surprise, he handed me a envelope full of cash and a pair of large shears. After I counted the money and checked its validity, I put it in my purse. Then I chopped off my ponytail. Even though I loved my hair, mainly because of the attention that it got me, I really needed the money. Besides, despite clearly being a freak, there was something compelling about the man. Maybe it was the confident anticipation that I would chose to humiliate myself in his eyes? Like he saw how desperate for money that I was? Well, I thought, handing him the ponytail, he was right.

The stranger took a big sniff of my ponytail. And, much to my surprise, threw it in the trash. Then he offered me an additional $5,000 to come with him to a nearby barbershop and shave the remaining mess off down to the skin.

“If you shave off your eyebrows too,” he said, running his fingers over my well-shaped brows, “then I will double my offer.”

I really, really needed the money. That being said, I took the time to think. The man let me. Again, he looked confident in my willingness to humiliate myself. After I took a look at my email full of bills, all past due, I said yes. Well, I thought, ruffling my choppy hair, hair grows back, right? There was a barbershop across the street from the park that we went to. The man instructed the barbershop to shave my head and my eyebrows.

The barber looked skeptical. “Are you sure that this is what you want, miss?”

I lowered my head, trying to hide my embarrassment over needing to do something this extreme and humiliating for money. “Please shave me bald,” I said, “it’s what I want.”

With my consent given, the barber sat me down in his chair. The man sat down nearby, so he can watch. The barber caped me tightly. As I watched in the mirror, he gave me a grade zero buzzcut. The clippers were so loud as they took my hair. My choppy bob was soon on the floor. Then he ran his clippers over each eyebrow. Yeah, I wasn’t so beautiful anymore. My face looked unfinished. And, yes, I was bright red from trying not to cry. The man reminded me that I needed to be shaved to the skin. The barber again sought my consent, which, again, I gave. So, he lathered me up with a crown of hot lather and put two daubs above where my eyebrows were and shaved me smooth. Then he gave my chromedome a polish with oil, so it really shone brightly.

I have never been so humiliated as I had been when I walked out of that barbershop with my new shiny bald head that the man couldn’t stop touching. It was such an exciting feeling.

Looking pleased with himself, he handed me an envelope that contained, as promised, $10,000.

“You were such a beautiful woman,” he said, slipping a hand down my pants and finding my dripping cunt, “and now you’re just an ugly bald thing.”

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