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By Shorngirl




         I was a bit shy. That was always my problem; oversexed, but too bashful to ever act anything out. Instead, I played at home. I’m embarrassed to admit it, but I spent a lot of time masturbating.

         The thing is, I’m not ugly, not by any stretch of the imagination. And it’s not as though I haven’t been approached by men, I have. I’ve just been too standoffish to accept their offers.

         Sometimes, I think I’m going to do something outlandish, just to alleviate my oversexed pussy. I’ve stood inside my front door, just knowing that I’m going to dash out in broad daylight, utterly naked. The idea is so stimulating, that I inevitably end up coming before I do anything stupid. That’s just one of the innumerable fantasies I have conjured up. I think there’s an exhibitionist inside me, just dying to get out. I know there is, but my ‘sane’ mind always wins out over the little vixen within.

         Working at an advertising agency, I have a fair amount of responsibility, something I both loath and love. It often has me up in front of a group of people, giving presentations. You know the old adage; you have to picture everyone in their underwear, well, for me it’s just the opposite. I sometimes have to pause, trying to get the idea of being naked behind the podium out of my mind. Lately, it’s gotten so bad, that I’ve taken to masturbating in the ladies after each such event. I knew I had to do something, and soon.

         Desperate, I went to a psychologist, trying to get a handle on my inability to express my sexuality, outwardly. It took everything I had just to get into the office, but when she started asking those personal questions, I completely lost control. It was like a dam burst.

         I started spewing every bizarre and outrageous fantasy I’d ever had, and what I did at home to relieve that sexual tension. When I’d gone on for about a half hour, she finally put her hand up.

         “Carolyn. You have what I would call a suppressed fetish for humiliation.” She smiled after having said it, waiting for my response.

         All that came out was, “I know.” I’d never even thought of it as that but what she said made perfect sense.

         “I’ll tell you what. I know someone who might be able to help you. All you have to do is agree, and they’ll handle the rest. How does that sound?” The therapist raised an eyebrow, waiting for my reply.

         “Um, I don’t know if I can,” I admitted, truthfully.

         “Well, it’s either that, or you’re going to reach a point where you do something that might risk your job, or even your wellbeing, if your inner conscience loses control under the wrong circumstances.”

         “What do I do?” I asked, timidly.

         “You leave that up to me. I have all your information, so just expect someone to call.” She closed her book, and the session was over.

         I always thought that you were supposed to feel better after leaving a therapist’s office. For me, it was the contrary. I’d never been more nervous. The idea of some stranger calling me out of the blue, proposing to open me up, sexually, was just a little beyond my imagination. In fact, it was a lot beyond.

         The next few days at work were frantic, to say the least, and I found myself unable to spend too much time worrying about the impending meeting. I mean, they hadn’t even called yet, so perhaps they wouldn’t at all. It had been nearly a week.

         I began to think that I was off the hook. I fell back into my old routine of getting myself off at home, imagining the most outrageous things happening to me. It was a Friday, and I was just on the verge of coming when my mobile phone rang.

         I looked at the clock, and being only seven, I really didn’t have an excuse for not answering. Not a reason that I could admit to, anyway. “Damn it!” I muttered, exasperated. “Hello?”

         “Oh, you sound out of breath. Have I caught you masturbating?” The male voice assumed.

         I was so flabbergasted, that I didn’t answer for a moment or two. It had to be the one; the guy that the therapist had told me of. “Um… can I help you?”

         “No, but I’m fairly certain that I can help you, Carolyn.” He mused, and I could imagine him smirking at the other end of the line. “Why don’t you carry on, and I’ll help you a bit.”

         The notion of having phone sex with a complete stranger should have been horrifying, but I had been so close to coming that I still felt a slight buzz between my legs. “Uh… okay.” I managed, knowing full well that this was anything but okay, on so many levels. Naked, I reached down between my legs and began to play with myself.

         “You know, Amanda has apprised me of all your twisted little fantasies, Carolyn. I think I’ll indulge myself and explore one that I myself found arousing.”

         It was working a treat. Just the idea of this guy knowing all those things about me was so debasing. As Amanda had foretold, humiliation was my niche. I could hear my own breathing in the phone, so I was quite certain that he could, as well.

         “I think I’ll swing by tomorrow and take you out. Would you like to know where?” He asked, teasingly.

         “Yes…, please,” I begged, my voice sounding a bit ragged.

         “I was thinking about my local barbershop. Trim up that long blonde mop of yours into something a bit more respectable. What do you say to that, Carolyn?” He chortled.

         “Oh, God.” That was all I could say, as he had hit on one of my most secretive fantasies, one that I had only just touched on at the therapist. Could she have read something into my quick dive into that? “Oh, my God,” I murmured as I felt a wave of pleasure course through me.

         “I’m thinking a businessman’s cut, you know, short back and sides.” I knew he could hear me panting, and I started to shake, nearly dropping the phone. “Of course, he always goes a bit shorter than I ask, so a set of white walls to go along with that should be expected, you little slut.”

         That was it. As soon as he said the word slut, I flew off the edge, screaming unabashedly, as one wave after the next coursed through me. By the time I came down from whatever planet I had been visiting, the phone was blank. He had hung up. To be fair, I wondered if I had imagined the entire conversation.

         “No, Carolyn, he was real, and you really did just come harder than you ever have in your life.” I panted. I lay on the hardwood floor, having landed there once I’d fallen from the chair. ‘That was so ridiculous’, my little conscience spouted inside my head as I began to recover. ‘Then again, you are a slut, after all.’

         “That was different.” I mused, used to being chided for a good while by my inner prude. And that was it. I didn’t hear a peep all night, and went to bed completely satisfied.



         Saturday morning came with the realization that my phone was ringing. I looked at the clock and groaned when I saw what time it was. I never slept in, yet there it was, eleven o’clock in the morning. “Jesus.” I hissed, sliding across the sheets to answer.

         “Hello?” I mumbled, sleep still clouding my vision.

         “Good morning, Carolyn.” It was him, again.

         “Oh, hi.” I giggled, and for the life of me, I had no idea where my amusement came from.

         “I trust you slept well.” He assumed, his voice feigning annoyance.

         “I did, thanks to you.” I mused, and I hadn’t lied.

         “Well, it’s a little late, but I think I think I can hold to our arrangement.” He said, tersely.

         “Arrangement?” I asked, not knowing what he was talking about. Then, I quickly remembered the night before, when he brought me off with threats to take me to his barber. “I thought…”

         “You thought I was just saying all that for your benefit, did you? Well, rise and shine, Carolyn. I’ll be there by noon, and may I suggest something revealing?” And with that, he was gone.

         I sat up in bed and felt the moisture between my thighs. This was not what I wanted; or was it? Hell, I’d fantasized about having my head shaved, naked, and in front of all of my colleagues. Perhaps, this was exactly what I wanted. Where the hell was my little hall monitor, to talk me out of it? Had she closed up shop, and moved out?

         I picked out a halter top that I hadn’t worn in years, one that showed off my cleavage, and left my midriff bare. Below that, were a pair of lowrider jeans. You know the ones, so skimpy that a girl would have to shave to pull it off. Shaving down there was something I had done for years, so not a problem. I had to forego wearing panties, however, and that just added to the thrill.

         It was just before noon that somebody finally woke up. ‘What the hell are you thinking? You look like a slut.’

         “I think we already established that,” I said aloud, checking myself when I realized how insane it must seem to be talking to the air.

         Before any more scoldings from my conscience, the doorbell rang. It took every ounce of courage I could muster to answer it, but answer it I did. “Hi.”

         “Carolyn. I see you’ve made good on my suggestion.” He eyed me up and down, appreciating my state of relative undress. “Those jeans are cut so low, I can smell you from here.”

         A statement that would normally have shocked me to the core only served to arouse me even more than I already was. “I’m happy you like them.”

         “Oh, I do, and so will the rest of your audience.” He smirked, holding out his hand, which I took, surprising myself.

         “Audience? What do you mean?” I asked. “You know I don’t even know your name,” I announced.

         “You don’t think the barbershop will be empty on a Saturday, do you?” He grinned. “As far as my name, it’s not important. For now, you can just refer to me as ‘Sir’.”  He led me to his car, and I have to say, I’m not usually impressed by modes of transportation, but his was quite out of the ordinary.

         “What kind of car is this?” I asked, seeing only a large ‘B’ at the center of the steering wheel.

         “This is Bentley, but that’s hardly important now, is it, slut.” He pressed, knowing how it had affected me the night before.

         “No… I guess not,” answering meekly. I sounded like a mouse, but my cunt was on fire.

         We drove for the better part of an hour, while he rattled on about all my perverse fantasies. He assured me that we were going to explore each and every one, together. While this did wonders for my streaming sex, I did have some fairly extreme fantasies. The idea of actually going through with them all was literally terrifying.

         “Here we are.” He finally exclaimed, indicating a small barbershop that sat nestled between a seedy old tavern and a shoe repair place that looked out of business.

         The red and white pole that probably once spun on its axis, sat stationary and dark, as the man… ‘Sir’, led me to the door. He could feel me resisting ever so slightly, so he turned and stopped me in my tracks.

         “This is it, Carolyn.” He chided. “This is your last chance to back out. Once we go through that door, you must do as I say. No refusals.”

         This was it; the Rubicon that I had so desperately resisted crossing all these years. I could go back to masturbating and fantasizing in my safe little house, or face my darkest desires head on. He smiled as I reached for the worn steel handle and pulled open the door.

         For such a small place, I was amazed by just how many men were inside. I suddenly felt very underdressed, and it did not go unnoticed by most of them, as they cast their curious gaze upon my naked belly.

         “Take a number, Carolyn.” Sir indicated a small rack that was suspended from the wall near the door. The plastic card was discolored, undoubtedly having passed through the hands of many a man in need of a haircut. “This way.”

I was guided deeper into the shop, where a single chair was vacant. Surprising me, he sat in it, leaving me standing awkwardly beside him. Seeing my predicament, a man offered me his seat, only to be assured I’d rather stand. So, there I was, in an utterly masculine environment, being made to stand out even more than I already did. “Can I lean against the wall?” I asked.

“I don’t know, can you?” He returned.

Catching his exactness, I rephrased. “May I lean against the wall?”

“May I lean against the wall, what…?” He answered, most definitely annoyed.

“Sir.” I realized. “May I lean against the wall, Sir?”

“No, you stand right there where everyone can see you, Carolyn.” He said it loud enough that I was certain half the place had heard.

So, this was humiliation. I felt it, just as assuredly as if I had been standing there, utterly nude. Looking down at the number, I groaned inwardly as I realized how many were ahead of me. A few times I had to adjust my jeans, afraid they might just slip right off my narrow hips. The ‘V’ of my groin was cut across by the waistband, but there was no mistaking the swath of short stubble that had grown since the last time I’d shaved.

I watched as one man after the next occupied the two seats that the barbers attended. With each one done, I knew my time was coming. Sir had been right. Each of them left with considerably less hair than they had come in with; some being shorn right to the scalp.

I watched wantonly as one teen cringed, the clippers reducing his one flouncy curls to invisible stubble, his head rendered bald. I couldn’t help but imagine that was me, and I felt my cunt weep between my panty-less thighs. Every now and then I caught a whiff of myself, rising lewdly from my nearly exposed crotch.

“Your cunt’s leaking, slut.” Sir mused, eliciting a chuckle from one or two of the men who were close enough to hear.

I looked down, horrified to see a dark patch that had developed right at the top of my inseam. I don’t know how many shades of red I must have turned, but this only made things worse. This fact only deepened my understanding of just how depraved I really was. My cunt was leaking, everyone could see it, and a few that were close could surely smell it.

Finally, seeing that I might be on the verge of passing out, Sir allowed me to take one of the empty chairs, but not one next to his own. No, I was forced to sit next to an older guy who had been ogling me the entire time from a few chairs away.

“You must be excited to have all that hair cut off, aren’t you?” The man asked, looking down between my legs, the wet spot thankfully buried between my thighs. “Why don’t you show the barber just how excited you are?”

I don’t know what came over me, but I leaned back in the chair and allowed my legs to open. I looked over at Sir, who was nodding that I should comply.

“A little wider, girly. No sense trying to hide what we already know.” He mused, putting his hand on my leg and pulling it so I was splayed open like a clam. That got the barber’s attention.

He smiled, seeing my humiliating pose, and gave me a knowing wink before returning to skin down the guy in his chair. Part of me prayed that I’d get the other barber because this one surely knew what I wanted. A few more men filed in, and took the empty seats that remained, so I was assured of an audience when it was my turn.

Nervously, I looked down at the plastic card, the number 52 emblazoned on both sides. I turned it over and over in my fingers, my legs still spread wide as though I hadn’t been given permission to do otherwise. With the calling of the next number, the old guy next to me took the chair, and I was given a break from his attention.

Not a Petal

“Fifty-Two!” The barber called out, and I looked up to meet the man’s eyes. It was him; the one I’d put myself on display for. I looked over at Sir, but he only glared at me, expecting me to comply with the barber’s call. “Come on, girl. That’s you and you know it.” The barber scolded.

I slowly rose from the chair, not bothering with my jeans, which I could feel were ready to fall. I managed to sit just before everything was exposed, my bare ass pressing against the warm leather. The barber definitely got an eyeful.

“Well, Carolyn, what do you suppose I’m supposed to do with this mop?” He toyed with the length, pulling it up before wrapping me in his cape. He cinched it tightly around my neck as though he was putting me in some sort of bondage.

“I…I want it…”

“Give her a nice, short, businessman’s cut, Hank,” Sir announced from his chair. “She’s a professional, so she can’t walk in sporting a cue ball.” He chuckled.

“I’ve seen a fair number of women sporting the bald look these days. You sure you don’t want me to take it all?” He leaned down and pulled back my hair, whispering in my ear. “I certainly know what that cunt of yours wants me to do. Why don’t you give it what it wants?” Leaning back, he waited.

It took every ounce of willpower I possessed to defer to the cut Sir had suggested. “Just… just a businessman’s,” I stammered.

He leaned in again, “You play all you want under there, slut.” But he wasn’t as quiet this time.

I felt as though I had to. The barber seemed to want to prolong things and began hacking into my hair with a pair of scissors. He lopped off handfuls of it and held them up to my face, before letting the detached curls slither down the front of the cape to the floor.

I think I startled myself when I felt my fingers slide effortlessly through my folds, finding my favorite spot and rubbing. I had pushed my jeans down to my knees and closed my eyes for a moment, enjoying the sensation of my hair being so brutally sliced away. Completely unawares, the barber took advantage, rotating the chair so I was facing the men waiting against the opposite wall.

When I opened my eyes, I was shocked to see I was facing them, their eyes glued to the cape which rippled as I masturbated beneath. I wanted so badly to stop, but I just couldn’t. I just knew that most of my hair had been cut away, but the mess on the floor only verified my fears. It must have been very short. Of course, that’s when the clippers fired up.

“I don’t think this one needs a cape. What do you think, gentlemen?” To my horror, there was a consensus that the cape had to go. A few passes were mowed up the back of my head, and the vibration of the clippers against my skull was all it took for me to start masturbating again. This was my fantasy come to life, as distressing as it was certain to be later on.

I felt the cape being unfastened, but that only quickened my pace. The clippers whirred back to life, the barber continuing to skin the back of my head, leaving the cape draped loosely over my form. Ever so slowly, the movement of my arm began to dislodge it, and with a final whoosh, it slipped onto the floor at my feet, exposing me entirely.

Looking down, my jeans were gathered around my ankles, exposing my shaved pussy completely. A quiet cheer rose up as I felt the clippers start in on the sides of my head, giving me the white walls Sir had promised. I was certain that the cheer wasn’t anything to do with the haircut I was receiving. I cringed when I saw a few phones pointed my way, and I knew I was going to be immortalized amongst their friends or anyone else they chose to share me with.

A thought that should have sent up alarms, was that there was always the internet. What if they uploaded the thing? What then? I felt the barber press in, carving away any hair that remained around my ears, and that was when I felt the first orgasm crash over me like a wave of lava.

“Still want the businessman’s cut? I think that juicy little twat of yours wants more.” He said, loud enough for all to hear.

“No, please…” I managed, still reeling. “I…” Screaming as my third orgasm splashed over my body, leaving me soaked and sweating.

“I think she wants me to take it all the way down, boys. What do you think?”

“Just the businessman’s cut, Hank. I think she’s given you all enough entertainment for one day, yes?”

As I regained my senses, the barber was carefully snipping away at what little hair remained on my crown, the scissors opening and closing deftly across his comb. The cape had been draped around me once again, and I realized that Sir was leaning on the counter next to the mirror, which I was facing once again.

“Well, that was fun.” He chuckled, glancing down at my jeans which were still bunched around my ankles. “I think that was a long time coming, little wallflower.”

Nodding, I looked up to meet my reflection, a rather butch-looking woman replacing the soft feminine blonde I had grown so accustomed to seeing. The sides were, as I suspected, shaved right to the skin and I assumed the back was much the same. My scalp gleamed where those white walls exposed it so completely.

I looked older, a lot older, and I worried that I was so unattractive that Sir might lose interest. “I’m ugly.” I decided, looking at him where he stood.

“Far from it, Carolyn. You’ve just assumed the look you’ve been wanting for yourself for a very long time.” He was right, of course.

“You know, you saved me, Sir,” I admitted.

“Really? Saved you from what?” He smiled, his perfect teeth complimenting his handsome face.

“I would have…” I looked up at the barber, who was putting the finishing touches on my cut. “I would have let him shave me… bald.”

“You would have, I’m certain of it. That’s why I spoke up; to save you from yourself, you silly slut.” Sir grinned, eyeing the men who still watched me with undivided attention. “You’re most of the way there, anyway.” He ran his fingers through my crop, mussing it, and getting a rise from the barber.

“It’s not too late, girly. I can still give you what you want; what it wants.” The barber offered.

“Maybe next time.” Sir broke in.

I couldn’t keep my hands away from my head as we drove, the sharp contrast between the top and the sides eliciting a renewed arousal. Considering how exhausted I was, it made me look insatiable. Perhaps I was. I looked over at the man who had forced me out of my shell and had nothing but admiration for him. So, I wasn’t all that upset when I discovered that it was his house to which we returned, and not my own.

“Maybe next time, Sir?” I queried as we climbed the stairs to his stately home.

“Do you think you’ll be satisfied with just a haircut?” He asked, sternly. “I know what you want, and you’ll eventually have to do it.” He warned.

The thing is, I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he was right.

6 responses to “Wallflower

  1. I love your stories. This one is really great. Carolyn reminds me of myself in some ways, at least with my hair fetish. I sometimes masterbate while in the chair at the barbershop, but not as obvious as your girl. Such great writing!

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