I had vowed never to return to a barber shop, but there I stood only steps away from the torment of my youth not fully understanding what had brought me back to this particular location.
Barber shop memories of my childhood were a roller coaster of emotions. I feared my trip to the barber. Every 3 months, I had to endure what I felt was a punishment for a crime I had not committed. The whole event stripped me of my pride and sense of self worth. I did not feel comfortable at the hands of the barber. I hated the male barber imposing his vision of what a boy should look like. I entered the shop as an almost shaggy hippy accepted by my piers only to exit as a shorn sheep sent to school to endure the taunts of humiliation. Luckily, my teen years were not as brutal as I was removed from the grip of that butcher barber and placed into the hands of a competent hairdresser. My haircuts became tolerable and I appreciated a feminine touch; however, something was missing. The magic touch of those electric barber clippers forcibly maneuvering along the erogenous zones of my neck was a sensation I craved. The snip of the scissors just wasn’t the same.
After all these years, I’m still trying to sort out the emotions of my preadolescent haircuts. As a child, I did not understand the adult fantasy world. As an adult, my fantasies have evolved with some complexity. I do know two things. I have always enjoyed receiving haircuts from a female. Having a lady stand over me and have control of my destiny gives me an erotic charge. Also, the urge to once again enter an old fashion barber shop continues to dominate my inner thoughts. There is something about a barber shop that brings fear yet extreme excitement to me.
As I stood at that top step looking down at the barber shop door, I told myself, “It’s just a haircut!” If that was the case, then why was I so terrified? Why was I trembling from head to toe? I should have run in the opposite direction, but some unexplained force drew me closer to the barber shop door. My curiosity got the best of me, and I needed a closer look to see the barber who ran this particular shop. I could just leave if the barber was male. I had seen many barber shops, but none of them excited me enough to want to enter, at least not like this shop. I stared at the red, white, and blue stripes of the barber pole as it rotated me into a hypnotic state. Staring at the pole long enough brought the spinning stripes to a standstill. I lost all concept of my surrounding reality. I had succumbed to an unexplained force which pulled me closer towards the barber shop.
I took one step, and then another down the stairs to the caverns of the dungeon below. I must have blinked because my next memory was inside the barber shop. I felt like I was in a trance. I tried to regain control from my momentary lapse of reason, but the unknown force would not let go. The same feeling of fear from my youth spread through my body; however, I found the courage to proceed in order to explore these suppressed feelings.
As my eyes focused within my new environment, I noticed the female barber. My fears did mildly subside for a moment. It was nice to know I would be in the hands of a lovely lady with whom I felt an instant connection. She was tending to the only other person in the shop. Without a word, the barberette motioned me, by raising her brow and nodding her head, toward the three waiting chairs. I felt my control of the situation fading, yet I was drawn to her overpowering sense of authority. I obeyed her subliminal orders and took a seat in the chair furthest from the action, perhaps fooling myself to think I could sneak out without being noticed if I changed my mind. The barber shop environment had a new meaning to me, one that I could not identify as a child.
The tiny old fashion shop was cool, musty, and dimly lit. I could barely read the magazine covers spread across the chair beside me. The only bright lighting in the shop came from a florescent bulb above the wooden back bar, and one spotlight forcing its energy directly down on the main event at center stage. Traditional barber shop odors were apparent. My senses were dominated by the sweet yet pungent aroma of cedar wall siding mixed with a lingering stench of cigarette smoke from years gone by. Added to the potion was a mixture of heated clipper oil, shave cream, Old Spice aftershave, and a subtle lavender scent emitted by the barberette as she encircled her current haircut slave. Not a word was spoken. I looked up to watch the action. I made eye contact with the barberette. I sensed I had done something wrong. I quickly bowed my head and stared at the floor. I listened to the final moments of the haircut at hand. The vibrations of the clippers could be felt across the room. I knew my turn was fast approaching.
The room had gone silent. I only heard the crinkle of tissue and felt the breeze of the cape being whisked from the gentleman in the chair. He stood up sporting a new military style, paid the barberette, and left the shop. The centre piece of all the action finally emerged from the confines of the last haircut. It was an old fashion Koken barber chair. Black leather, white porcelain, and shiny chrome were profoundly featured. It had definitely seen its fair share of haircuts over the years. Clumps of unswepped hair clippings surrounded the barber chair as offerings of sacrifice to the high priestess at the altar. I was so focused on the chair that I didn’t even notice the barberette standing beside it. She tapped her long red finger nails against the leather backing. “You’re NEXT,” she called out impatiently. I was the only other person in the shop, so I could not delay the inevitable.
As I took a seat in the chair, the soft warm leather gave me a false sense of comfort. The chair molded itself around my quivering body. I envisioned steel bars, locks, and chains about to be cast upon me in preparation of my session. The barberette turned me towards the mirror. “My name is MissTress,” she told me in a confident tone. “I don’t recall you ever having the pleasure of sitting in my barber chair before?” I told her I was new to her shop. I did not want to say much in fear of revealing my inner most fantasies. She was wearing a tight fitting old fashion white barber jacket that was buttoned up the side. The jacket only went down to her waist where a long black leather skirt fit snuggly around her waist and hips. She was a tall slender lady, probably ten years my senior, with beautiful blue eyes. Her strawberry blonde hair was cropped close, likely from a barber shop haircut visit of her own.
MissTress pulled a tissue from the dispenser, and firmly wrapped it around my neck after allowing her fingernails to purposely glide across my skin. I gasped. MissTress noticed my uneasiness, but only smirked. She snapped out the pearl white barber cape and draped it across my body while standing behind me. She fastened the cape with a clip. She ran her pinkie finger between my neck and the cape. Her touch was soothing yet devilish. She refastened the cape and locked me in tight. I did not need to be chained to the chair. My body was frozen from the bondage of the cape. I stared at my distant image in the mirror. My heart was pounding as I awaited my fate. MissTress stood back and observed her newly acquired specimen. The longer she made me wait, the more anxious I became.
I looked down at the counter of the back bar. There was every sort of tool, toy, and weapon a barberette would need to do damage to a head of hair. MissTress first picked up a comb. She circled me while combing out my tangled mane. She played with my hair along my nape, stroking it in an upwards direction. Was I her new pet or prey? “You are in definite need of a good haircut,” she stated. “Well, you have come to the right place. I know exactly what you need!” She put down her comb and grabbed a large set of black clippers from its hook. I watched as she added oil to the stainless steel blade. She turned the clippers on to allow the oil to spread across the hungry blade. I could only sit and quietly watch as MissTress teased me with her toy of choice. I stared into the eyes of my captor, but only received a non-verbal reprimand. MissTress firmly placed her left hand on my head, tilted it forward so my chin touched my chest, slowly walked behind me to take her dominant position, then placed the humming clippers along the middle of my nape just above the cape. I cringed as the cold steel clippers touched my skin. MissTress must have sensed my bundle of nerves because she pulled the clippers away. “Just relax,” she whispered in my ear in a soothing tone. “I’ll take good care of you. You know you want this; otherwise, you would not be here! Now close your eyes and enjoy the clipper ride.” I obeyed her command.
I took a deep breath as the clippers made contact again. I held my breath for a moment. My pants became very tight, and I thought my zipper was about to burst. MissTress slowly drove the clippers up the back of my neck. It felt like each hair was being removed one by one. The vibrations of the clippers were intoxicating. I had waited many years to once again experience that sensation. MissTress held constant pressure as she moved the clippers higher and higher up the back of my head. Part of me wanted the clippers to keep climbing while the other part of me feared the result and wanted MissTress to pull the clippers away. After the clippers reached half way up the back of my head, MissTress pulled the clippers away and flicked the hair she had mowed onto the shoulder of the cape. I opened my eyes to watch the dark clump of hair slowly cascade down the cape to my lap. I did not have time to reflect on what had just happened before the clippers once again touched my neck and started their slow ascent into another strip of my hair. I managed to breathe for the first time.
I had no idea how short the hair on the back of my head had been clippered, but it was starting not to matter. I just wanted to feel more of those clippers. MissTress continued her precision stripping of my head. I watched my hair continue to pile up on my lap. The back of my head felt very light and naked. I felt more vulnerable than ever. MissTress finally removed her hand from the top of my head. She turned her clippers off for a moment. She released her grip of my head and used her free hand to brush, in an upwards motion, the loose hair left on my head. Her warm hand was directly touching my skin with very little hair, if any, in the way. I was certain I had been clippered to the skin. I desperately needed to relieve myself, but didn’t dare grab for my groin in fear of being caught.
“That’s looking better,” she expressed in a tone of approval. I felt like I was standing naked and being examined before the procedure continued. “Now how far up the sides should we go?” Was she asking me for my opinion, or was she just talking to herself? I made the mistake of mumbling an answer, “not too short.” Right after I spoke I wanted to withdraw my remark, but it was already too late. I thought I should apologize, but MissTress went into action before I could get another word into the conversation. “There is no such thing as TOO short,” she replied as she grabbed a stainless steel set of clippers from its hook. She appeared slightly annoyed with me for indirectly criticizing her work. MissTress turned her new clippers on and quickly went to work on the right side of my head.
Her clippers started behind my ear and buzzed a path around my ear to my temple. She appeared to handle her weapon in a reckless manner. A large clump of hair landed directly on my lap as she flicked it from the side of my head. She was not holding back. I sensed this was her revenge for my unwarranted remark. The pressure of her clippers on my head showed extreme force. Hair was falling all around me. She made one last swoop on my right side, and removed my sideburn all with way up to the top of my temple. I looked up in the mirror to get a quick peak of the damage. I had no hair on the right side of my head all the way to the crown. I stopped breathing and started to panic. MissTress moved to the left side of my head and quickly removed all my hair on that side to balance her clipper work thus far. After what seemed like an eternity, her clippers were finally silenced. She put them down and grabbed her large comb to start combing what hair I had left on top. “Is that short enough on the sides?” I didn’t dare answer. She was mocking me. I had learned my lesson. I could tell she was proud of her handy work. She continued to comb my remaining hair from front to back so it would stand straight up, unaware of the upcoming attack. Her touch eased my anxiety. She rubbed the shaved part of my head with her fingers and flicked away loose hair with her comb. I wanted to purr.
MissTress once again grabbed her big black clippers. She changed the blade on them. For the first time during the haircut, she lifted my chin and looked straight into my eyes. Her pretty blue eyes sparkled, and she smiled with pleasure as she lifted her clippers to my forehead. I’m sure she was trying to calm my nerves before her last act of clipper madness, but my heart was pounding profusely. MissTress flicked the switch. She was in full control of my destiny. The loud vibrations were thumping through the air. The clippers directed their attack to the middle of my forehead. As they touched my skin, their tone changed as MissTress drove them through my hairline. I could not hold back any longer. My member was in need of attention. I grabbed it to hold back the explosion, but the pressure was too intense. MissTress was in her own little world. Her smile widened and she moaned with an orgasmic expression. She licked her lips as she continued clippering the top of my head down to a quarter inch length. The actual haircut did not matter to me anymore. I just wanted this lovely lady to continue driving me wild with her vibrating toy. I was at her mercy. I was her slave. I closed my eyes to enjoy the final vibrations. Her pleasure was my pleasure.
When MissTress had completed her final assault of my mane, I let out a deep sigh. She put down her big clippers and made her final move with her edgers. A new vibration filled the air. I could tell that MissTress took full enjoyment in using her edgers to shave off any remaining stubble, and blend in the shaved sides with the remaining hair on my crown. She added some talc to her duster, and did a thorough sweep of my head, neck, and shoulders. She released the clip for the cape. My captor had broken me. My shackles were being removed. An escape was no longer necessary. I just sat in the chair and stared at myself in the mirror. My image did not seem real. MissTress then took her hands and methodically rubbed the shaved portions of my head. I just closed my eyes and accepted her warmth.
“Excuse me sir, can I help you?” Something did not seem right. My eyes were closed, and I was rubbing the sides of my own head. I quickly realized that I had a full head of hair that had not met the actions of MissTress and her clippers. I opened my eyes from what must have been a daydream. I was on the top step outside the barber shop. A lady who looked like MissTress stood before me and stared into my eyes. Those beautiful blue eyes suggested I listen to her words. “Yes, you really could use a haircut,” stated the lovely lady in her white barber jacket. “Why don’t you follow me into my shop, and I’ll take care of that hair for you!” After all these years, it took a daydream to now understand what a barber shop meant to me. I could have easily declined the invitation to the barber shop, but I smiled at the barberette and followed her into her underground chambers - not necessarily because I wanted to, but because I had to!
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