You open your post office box and find a pink envelope with your name on it, no sender. You just know that someone has sent you a gift card for your birthday. In the rectangular pink message you could read: this card entitles Mr. Dave Four Thousand a “free special package of barberette services" at Miss.Colette’s Barber Salon. Please, call for an appointment 999999999.
You googled her name and discovered that the barbershop is near your workplace and it shows a very girly decor, with pink chair, and some flower print capes on the wall. The barberette pics show a chubby, curvaceous and wonderfully busty barberette. It makes you motivated to go visit the barberette with that 38 D bras. You would love to feel that huge presence right in your face, while being treated accordingly in her chair.
You have no idea that the friend who bought the coupon as your birthday gift has already told the lady many things about your kinks. And she is a professional dominatrix on weekends, working at a club in the outskirts of the city. She has a collection of leather outfits that enhance her body, and barber chair bondage is her specialty. Female dominance upon a guy who feels as a boy is her great pleasure. The barberette loves to use leg stretchers in her after-hours special customers, as well as capes, which are more like straitjackets for squirming men, and some capes whose print you may find in stores that sell baby stuff. That’s where she found a bed sheet with a cartoon character print. This has become her favorite cape for grown-up boys in her padded chair.
The pictures in the website didn’t show that there were special attachments to the chair, allowing to fasten a customer’s chest, arms and legs the way she preferred. The chair could recline in many ways. Above the hydraulic system she has added some stirrups, because a barberette and dominatrix never knows when they will be necessary.
You called her, feeling nervous, she was very controlled and stern in her tone of voice, not explaining much about the special treatment you won. She just told you that you were supposed to be her last appointment of the day because that’s how she does with special customers, she needs extra time with them. What you haven’t noticed either, by observing the website, is the omniscient presence of web cameras installed everywhere, focusing different angles of the one chair barbershop.
Her motto, repeated ad nauseum to new special customers is, “If you don't behave well, dear, I will broadcast everything on porn tube and send a copy to your working place and family... If you, my boy, insist on not behaving well, even after being put into probation by me, your cock and balls will be shorn to become as nice as a baby's butt, OK?".
But you, a naïve man, didn’t know that. The day of your appointment has arrived and you couldn’t even concentrate on your tasks, just thinking about the woman, her place, options for your new haircut and all the treatment you not even imagine how it would be.
You don’t get rid of butterflies in the stomach and tense muscles when you follow to the barbershop. The long-overdue haircut is not flattering to your businessman style, but you had to wait for the day of your appointment to get rid of this. You touch the hair on your nape, kind of saying goodbye to those locks. In a certain way you love long hair, as it matches your Harley-Davidson and the leather jacket, white T-shirt, a pair of worn jeans and fine but old leather boots you wear on weekends in the countryside rides with your friends, a girl or alone.
As you arrive and open the door, you find an empty salon, everything immaculately clean, organized, and girlie, almost to the point of being horrendously feminine for a barbershop. As you step in, the sound of your presence calls the attention of Miss Colette, who was in the back room for final arrangements. “Please, dear, feel fine and sit in one of the chairs in the reception area, in a minute I’ll be there with you."
Yes, that place was not meant to be a barbershop, the name seems to be a mistake. Ladies’ salon, that what’s it definitively is. Magazines as Cosmopolitan, Glamour and Ladies’ Home Journal are not the favorites of men, exception made to lingerie advertisements they may occasionally look for.
In a minute she appears. Her presence brings to your nostrils her sweet smell of roses, a lovely smile, those boobs and a woman of about 45 years old wearing a white long tunic as a sign of her profession and… a pair of leather trousers! Red alert for you.
“Sorry for having you wait, dear, end of the day clients deserve my place at its best, don’t you think so?", she asks as she approaches you and touches the hair in your forehead as a greeting.
“Well, it’s time now for us and those pretty suit and social shirt of yours don’t need to the recipients of the remains of your haircut." She hands you a pink robe in a sealed plastic bag and says “Please, go change yourself there", indicating a door in your left. The hanger will keep your clothes impeccably in order as I mess up with you here. “Take your time, and I will be closing my shop, shutting the curtains, getting ready for you".
As you undress, you get in contact with your fears, feeling awkward as if you were going to the doctor, having to be naked in front of someone who is not intimate to you. At least you can keep your socks and shoes and Calvin Klein briefs, you think. You’ll be ridiculous anyway, with the pink robe covering your body. Then you listen, “Oh dear, I forgot to tell. Open the first drawer on your left and you’ll find a pair of disposable slippers. Leave your shoes and get one of those for you". Well, the briefs may stay, you say to yourself.
Feeling shy, you return to the main room and, to your dismay, you find the barberette dressed in leather: an amazing corset (oh, those boobs seem so inviting…), pants and stiletto. Absurdly arousing, especially considering that in everyday contexts this kind of woman wouldn’t drive you mad as this one seems to be doing to you. No pockets to hide your hands into, you feel strange and you say: “I am ready, Miss.", a sentence that sounded kind of obscene for reasons you still couldn’t clearly discern.
She taps the large pink padded chair and says “it’s all yours, come here, dear." You follow her command. Colette says, in return, “Good boy!", appreciating your ridiculous compliance. The amazing thing is that you like being praised for the sassy woman. In just a second she picks a silky cape with a purple flower pattern in it and wraps it really tight around your neck. You feel her hands checking how tight the cape is, adjusting it in way you kind of feel as a prisoner minutes before execution.
“Listen, Dave… You don’t mind if I call you by your first name, right?" Who would refuse such an offer?, you think, nodding at the woman.
“So, David, let’s have a deal, if you trust me let me decide what haircut suits you best, can it be? I know a little about you, as your secret friend told me about your business and lifestyle. I had never got a client’s complaint, so…" and she laughs, rubbing your shoulders and getting your unreserved consent.
All right, dear. “First I want you to relax for a while" (she swivels the back of the chair and it reclines to 180 degrees). “Oooops, my briefs may appear…, you think shamefully. Silently, with a quick motion, she covers your exposed parts with a fluffy baby blanket, covering you from chest to knees with a ducklings on a lake print. “And this mask will prevent you from paying attention to the outside, just focus on your feelings, dear". Soon you feel her hands on yours, massaging your palm, fingers and wrists with something arm and oily.
Distracted by the massage, and wearing a mask to cover your eyes, prevented you from noticing that she has adjusted the stirrups, hidden under the chair padlocks, to receive your legs… As fast as a lynx hunts its prey, you feel your legs being moved to the stirrups, and your ankles are fastened tightly with Velcro straps.
“Hey, what is this, Miss Coll.."
You fall into sleep as the chloroformed handkerchief invades your nostrils and blurs your consciousness for a short time. As you regain some force and open your unmasked eyes it is possible to see that she is smiling at you and saying: “Hi, baby, I didn’t want to hurt you and I needed to fight your reluctance effectively. Everything is ok, now. Don’t you see?"
You find yourself immobilized, chest, legs, arms, ankles, and head. Harnesses, straps, you don’t know how to call those restraints but you know they really keep you quiet. You are covered by a surgical blue sheet, and there is a whole in the middle, opening the field for your hip and a crotch, including whatever exists in between. She manipulates your hairy balls and cock with her long nails and firm touch. It almost hurts, but you know it is pure excitement.
“Hummm, we may need a good PVC cape for my open field, I don’t want my naughty boy fluids spread everywhere." A black cape covers you, being fastened so tight around you, just leaving space for your most intimate parts. They are exposed to Colette Barberette and she says that you need to be treated as a boy, be smooth as one, totally deprived of your pubic hair. She adds that some clients may feel ashamed of this and that’s why she prefers to keep silence of her further step. She grabs a pair of clippers, and you hear a click and the buzzing sound, but it’s impossible to see her powerful Osters, ready to come into action. She touches your left crotch, the clippers vibrate, the blades do what they should and voila, no more hair… She gets a small portion of it and blows them on your face. “Say bye-bye to your manly curls, dear!" and a slightly evil grin appears on her red lovely lips.
“I want to see how smooth my boy gets with these 000 blades…" She splashes some alcohol in the shorn patch (“ouch!) and you feel her voraciously licking your crotch. “Hum, so smooth…". A hard on is definitively unavoidable.
Colette says: “do you know I like to play a little game with my boys as I shave them?" You just nod, feeling in heavens. “If the boy ejaculates on me as I am working on him he will be punished. The handle of my barber duster is long and thick. Can you imagine how your rosebud would feel with such a plug? Isn’t it lovely?" , showing you her tickling tool, now converted into a torture instrument for your ass.
“No, ppplease, no", you stutter. And your eyes are watering, you are shaky, feeling in pure terror and excitement. “Noooo, in most cases I don’t need to. Boys usually comply… And for those who don’t, my tube of KY helps them accept my tool more gently, you see? You listen to the snapping sound of latex gloves and in a second cold gel is applied to your ass, in circling slow movements… You squirm, get tense and moan as she teases you …
“Oh, my boy likes some backdoor special massage, uh?", you feel terribly uncomfortable with this, but your body shows the excitement and precum appears. You think about History Channel, bills to be paid, the death of your third grandma, anything goes to avoid the dreaded wrong place ejaculation. You succeed; the duster is not a threat anymore, that’s what you think as she finishes buzzing all down there. Tiny hair covers the capes, as well as droplets of KY, and Mrs. Colette thinks it’s time for a change of capes.
The barberette removes the used capes and, after moving the chair to its original position, she chooses a crystal clear clean transparent nylon cape to be tightly adjusted around your neck. Without your briefs, totally shorn in terms of mound, cock and balls, you feel ridiculous with socks and a mini-robe. The cape seems to suffocate you, but the emotions you feel are unbearably fantastic. Nothing makes sense, but you secretly thank who lead you into this mad adventure.
Rubbing her boobs on you, she gets closer and says, in a whispering voice: “How short does my boy wanna go?"
“Not too short, pppplease, Miss."
“The boy doesn’t like to look like he’s going to the army?"
(face of fear and distress) “No, in my childhood this was the cut my Dad forced me to use, a really short crewcut. Since I left my parent’s home I got rid of this. I want a businessman’s haircut, please, with a part side on left". This is the last milligram of courage you had and now, whatever she says, you’ll surrender to her opinion.
“All right, dear. I do what you want, but my way… Your voice was that of a boy when you tried to demand your favorite cut. And boys must be treated as boys, not as men, right? Instead of a neck strip and the usual striped cape, I keep a bib available for kids, which they accept to use because they are used to them, and I also use a cartoon character cape with them. You deserve them both, with all this blah, blah, blah and whining!"
You decide to keep quiet, to prove her that you are a good boy at her chair. She gets a cape for kids, much shorter than the crystal clear PVC long cape you are already dressing, and she fastens it tight around your neck, and also a pink bib to substitute the paper neck strip. There you are, being in front of cameras, suffering the supreme humiliation of a radical haircut with a dominatrix, you are looking like a huge baby. And feeling great.
She runs her hands and long nails in your scalp and hair and says: “No, no, and no. This bulk of hair must go. Businessman fucking haircut!!!! You’ll get what I think you need. You listen to the clippers getting close to you and you can’t move… zzzzZZZZZ and there it goes, mowing hair in your front. A huge volume of hair falls on the cape and around the chair. You feel as a child, being shorn in a very cruel way, independently of your will and power.
She holds your head near her boobs and say: “OK, kid, you may rest your head here, near Miss Colette’s cleavage… yes, stay quiet, just feeling the sweet buzzing sound.". “Her perfume is French, there’s no doubt about it. Her power? From hell. The woman is the only sister of a demon barber, she must be". How can you be mesmerized by her bad haircut on you? You cry as a baby and the bib gets wet.
She stops the buzzing, you look like a clown now. In a second, a new bib is adjusted to your neck, ready to collect more snipped hair and teardrops. The clown now became almost an old bald man being treated as a boy…
As she finishes, you realize she left some peachy hair on your scalp; “it’s not so bad", you try to conform yourself in the erotic silence of her salon. Then she asks: “do you know the name of the person who sent you the card?"
“I have no idea, Miss."
“Me! That’s my marketing, dear. I prospect guys in the neighborhood and invite them for the ride of their lives in my pink chair. Now, listen to me", she says, patting your peachy hair on the top of your head, “you are supposed to return here in 10 days and have my full service at your expense, or otherwise I will send the tapes to everyone, deal?"
“Yes, Miss, I will. Thanks for being nice to me!", says the almost naked and cruelly shorn boy.
“You are not the first boy with a hard on at the end of my services! I love helping boys become men as they get inducted in my pink chair…"
The end
I thank you for reading this story and would be very pleased to know your opinions and suggestions. English is not my native language, excuse me for mistakes. The author has just authorized Haircutting Stories to publish this story in its pages.
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