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It had been Marjorie’s idea. Little Tess, her granddaughter, had developed alopecia.  First a small spot on the back of her head, it had spread until Tess’ mother had dreaded brushing her daughter’s hair for the clumps that came out.  By three little Tess had been completely hairless. Alopecia Totalis, as Marjorie insisted on telling them all. But apparently there was a cure.  Or a possible one.  No-one seemed entirely sure if it’d work or not.  Except for Tess’ parents’ insurance company, who were convinced it wouldn’t and refused to fund it, and Marjorie, who was convinced it would.

Personally Jan thought little Tess looked adorable.  She was three now and starting nursery.  Her little pink head didn’t seem to have slowed her down at all. She’d made friends, and found a happy place in the life of the nursery.  The only people who seemed concerned were the adults around her, and Jan found herself wishing they could accept the little girl for what she was.

Marjorie, however, was still convinced there was a cure. An expensive one, and that meant fundraising.  It was her who suggested the headshave.

“If nothing else,” she’d said, “It’ll be nice for little Tess to see other women the same as her. I can’t wait.”

Jan had taken the idea back home to her husband.  Brian had been on his computer, she remembered, on one of his games.  He was killing something with something else, she was never entirely sure what went on in those things.  He’d actually put the thing on pause when she told him.

“I’m not sure about that,” he’d said, “I’m not sure the office is quite ready for a bald me.”

“Not you, you fool, me.”

His eyes had widened.  “You? Well.  Ok, can always get you a hat I suppose.  And it grows back.”

Was that it?  She’d glanced at herself in the mirror.  She was only forty-three.  She’d had the children young, and the youngest had left for college just this year.  Her hair had never been her crowning glory but it was long enough, still thick, just past her shoulder blades.  She’d tried to imagine herself bald.  Her eyes were a good feature she knew, so they’d stand out more, which was no bad thing.  Her cheekbones weren’t too bad.  She’d thought she wouldn’t look too bad at all.  It was just a pity her husband hadn’t been a little more concerned.

“So you’re ok me doing it?”  She’d half hoped he’d object. Roar, rage, even spank her.  Anything other than look like he was just sitting there in front of his computer game waiting for her to go away.

“Whatever you want sweetpea.” he’d said, “it’s a good cause.  It’ll grow back.  Give me a sponsorship form, I’ll take it round the office.”

“Righty ho,” she’d said, feeling deflated.

Now she sat, in a barber’s chair that Marjorie had managed to get from a hairdressing school.  In the end there were about thirty people all waiting to be balded. Mostly women, one or two men. Marjorie had smashed her fundraising target and managed to get local press involved, so with the families and supporters of the “victims” the atmosphere was lively.  As she sat watching her friends go up, one by one, Jan was aware of the tightening of her stomach and the dryness of her mouth.  And a feeling she hadn’t expected.  She was getting turned on.  The thought of being sat in that chair and being stripped of her hair was turning her on.  Her breasts ached, she felt her nipples harden, and a wetness sprang between her legs.  If she’d been alone she would reached down between her thighs and given herself what was becoming a much needed relief. As it was she found herself flexing her thighs, pushing her increasingly sensitive pussy down into the seat.

She was going as near last as possible, to give Brian the chance to turn up from work, to show support.  The afternoon went faster than expected, she felt like she was surrounded by women rubbing their shorn scalps, families admiring them.  When her name was called.

The adrenaline hit her.  There was a good natured cheer from the crowd, and she discovered to her surprise that she was already standing.  She could smell her own sex, was sure the room could too.  She walked to the barber’s chair in a daze.

The young girl who wrapped the cloth around her neck gave her a conspiratorial smile.  Did she know? Could she tell?

“Guard or no guard?”  The girl was standing behind her.  Jan had no idea what she meant.  She stammered something, then the girl spoke, her voice slightly husky.

“No guard.”

The clippers burst into life.  Jan almost jumped at how loud they were next to her ear.  She felt the blades rest against her cheek then slide, with a calm deliberate slowness, up into her hair.  It was coming off; she knew it was coming off, and the careful way her barberette pressed the metal of the clippers to her head told her she was taking as much off as possible.

Gentle fingers pressed her head down, so she was looking at her lap.  The hair was already piled there.  She must already be on her way to being bald.  She didn’t want it to end.  She wanted those gentle fingers on her scalp, the hard buzz of the machine dominating her, for as long as possible.

“Close your eyes,” her barbarette whispered. Jan felt her head tilted back, and the clippers move slowly, agonisingly slowly, back over the top of her head.  The flash of a press camera lit up the inside of her eyelids and she realised that she’d see herself, possibly this very evening, being shorn in the local press.  It was a conscious effort to calm her breathing and stop tensing her thighs.  Her heart was still pounding when the clippers stopped.

She was going to ask what was wrong, but the cape was being whipped off her, and a soft brush was brushing bristles from skin that hadn’t seen daylight since she was a baby.  The crowd was cheering.  And Brian had got there. And had found his way to the front.  And was now standing, looking at her, wide eyed.

She risked reaching up. She was scalped, utterly.  Whatever her barbarette had used it had taken pretty damned near everything off.  Her head felt no more like it had hair than Brian’s face did after a day at work.  She ran her hands over it, it felt like a fine sandpaper, no more.

Someone handed her a mirror.  She’d been right; her eyes were huge.  And tell the truth she liked it; her head looked to be a good shape, her ears looked very pretty although they looked a bit bare now.  She looked, she thought, damned good shaved bald.

Brian came up to her.  “Wow,” he said, “just plain… can I touch it?”

“Of course.” Jan felt a pleasure; this was the most attention she’d had from him in a long while.  His fingers drifted over her scalp, she resisted the urge to purr. He seemed…. embarassed.  She had to know.  Under the pretence of cuddling into him she reached down and cupped his cock in her hand. He was as hard as a rock.

“Why Brian,” she teased, “here?”

He gasped and pulled her hand away.  “I wish I could,” he said, “it’s just you just look so…”

They had to turn their attention back to the room. It was Marjorie’s turn to be shaved.  Marjorie whose determination had brought them all here.  Who had raised the money for her granddaughter’s maybe cure.  Jan got to see what “with guard” meant; Marjorie’s thick grey mane was being clippered down to a skull cap.  It brought out her strong jawline, made her look like a badass, but anyone who knew Marjorie knew that anyway.  Ok it wasn’t a shave, but it looked damned good on her, and Jan found herself wondering if she’d keep it.

Brian’s hands kept roaming over Jan’s head, and she risked stroking his cock under cover of the crowd.

“I can’t get over how different you look,” he murmured.

“You like?”

“It’s taken years off you.”   Jan took that as a yes.

With Marjorie done the event was over.  There’d be a bit of a party but Marjorie would be giving interviews and looking after dignitaries.  Jan ran over and hugged her. “We’re getting out of your way,” she said, “thank you that was an amazing experience.”

Marjorie kissed her cheek. “You went all the way!”  She ran her hands over Jan’s bare scalp.  “I have to say it looks bloody good on you.”

“So does yours, we should have done it years ago.”

On the way out Brian took her hand, something he hadn’t done in a long time.  She felt giddy, liberated for some reason.  As they made their way to the carpark she dragged him into an darkened office.

“Is everything alright? Are you-”

She closed the door, pushed him against the desk and knelt at his feet.  Now. It had to be now. If this was going to be a new her she had to surrender to it now.  She unbuckled his belt and unfastened his pants.

“Jan,” he sounded alarmed, “people are just-”

“Shhh.” She pulled his pants down around his ankles.  From outside the sound of people making their way home could be heard.  Time and worry had taken the edge off Brian’s hard-on but he took him in her mouth and sucked.  It had been a while, but she fancied she’d been good at this.  Brian seemed to think so. His cock hardened and his hands caressed her shaved head.  He thrust gently into her mouth.

“Jesus Jan….”

She tongued the edge of his cock, licked the shaft, flicked her tongue over the tip before taking him full in and sucking him hard.  He gasped.  She ran her hand over her own shaved scalp.  She felt free to do whatever she wanted.  Anything. It was like she’d stripped away all the controls and inhibitions she’d been handed as a good girl with her hair.  She was a skinhead slut.  His skinhead slut.

She stood up and kissed him hard, the taste of his cock still on her mouth. He didn’t seem to mind.

“Fuck me,” she whispered, her voice ragged and low, “use me.”

“Here?” Brian was breathing heavily.  This was clearly having an effect on him too.

“No.  Drive me home lover boy.  Drive your skinhead slut home and use her like the fuckslut she is.”

“Fucking hell…”

For a while she wondered if he’d be safe to drive; he marched her out of the building at a speed barely short of running and his hands shook as he opened the car.  But survival triumphed and he kept his hands off her all the way home.

At home however he grabbed her as soon as they were in the door. She purred her pleasure as he grabbed her and kissed her hard.  He was pulling her clothes off, clumsy with haste, and she had to intervene to get them off.  She was naked, his hands explored her, finding their way over and over again to her shaved head.  Finally he picked her up bodily and carried her upstairs.

He threw her on the bed and pulled off his own clothes.  He knelt beside her on the bed, gazing at her naked body as if he was seeing her for the first time.

“Anything?” He said.

“Anything.  Anything you want.  You want to fuck my ass? It’s yours. You want to cum in my mouth? I want to drink your cum.”  She was giving him too many choices.  Despite her lust she almost laughed.  He was struggling with all the choice.  She decided to live one of her own fantasies first.  She rolled onto her stomach and got onto all fours. She offered him her ass and pussy.

“Fuck me baby, please fuck me.”

He didn’t need telling twice.  He climbed behind her, grabbed her hips and slammed his cock into her pussy.  She roared as, finally, she got the fucking she’d needed all afternoon.  Going on all fours had been a good call; her bare scalp rubbed against the cool cotton pillows, new sensations raining down on her as a hard cock fucked her hard.  It really couldn’t get any better, and the orgasm that had been building all afternoon, forced its way out of her.  She screamed and shook, and, as her pussy clenched, Brian roared and came into her.  It felt like she was being filled with cum, and the feeling intensified her own orgasm.

Afterwards they lay in a tangle of limbs.  She stroked his belly, his fingers drifted over her scalp.

“Fuck,” he said.  “Fuck.”

She snuggled against him contentedly. “Wasn’t it?”

“Sorry by the way.”

She turned and propped herself so she could see him.  “Sorry? What the fuck would you be sorry for?”

“Coming so quickly.  I wanted that to last for hours.”

She laughed, then kissed him. “Fool, we’re married.  We can do that whenever we like. How soon do you reckon you’ll be ready to go again?”

It was his turn to laugh. “I’m forty four.  Mind you with you in that state… maybe twenty minutes?”

“hmmm…” she kissed him and climbed carefully off the bed.  She ached in a way she hadn’t ached in a long time and she was loving it.  “Just time for a shower then.”

Her body was coated in two different sweats, her husband’s cum and her own sex. She knew she must utterly stink of fucking. She had an urge to stay wearing that, for that to be all she wore, for the rest of the day.  But a shower right now would be very pleasant.  And she had plans.

She’d had time to look in the bedroom mirrors.  She looked good bald, and she wanted to explore this sluttish new side of herself, but it wasn’t quite right yet.  Her pubes had looked wrong on her otherwise bald body.  In the bathroom she borrowed Brian’s beard trimmer to carve away all but stubble then carefully shaved her pussy bald.  Her mouth was dry again by the time she finished, and her hand explored her smooth folds.  Maybe before she’d have rubbed herself to another orgasm, but with Brian and that delicious cock of his waiting outside…

She climbed into the shower.  This would be so easy now, without hair.  At least until it grew back.  She found herself wondering.  There was unfinished business here.  There was a skinhead slut inside her that she hadn’t known existed.  And there was an animal in her husband that she wanted to meet again.

It was a surprise but no surprise for her to discover that she’d lathered her scalp.  But not with shampoo; almost subconsciously she’d reached for Brian’s shaving foam.  A thin layer of shaving foam now covered her entire head.  This was it, she knew; this was a turning point in her life.  Back to the nice sensible good girl she’d always been, or forward into a new world as a bald slut.  The water cascaded over her body as she let the possibilities wash over.

And reached for the razor.

One thought on “Skinhead Slut

  1. Dave Parent says:

    Amazingly hot story. I fantasize about making love to a bald woman. This is the best written story I’ve read in a long time. Is it fiction?

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