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OK, so I’m a woman author – an unusual thing on this site it seems! But forgive me that, and allow me to tell my story.

My husband Josh and I have been married for ten years with no children by choice, and I’ve been cutting his thick, brown hair for most of that time. Before we got married I was doing a night course on hairdressing, but we moved to a small village in the commuter belt – Josh works in London in the IT industry – far from the college I’d been going to, and I let it slide and fell back on my secretarial skills for the local solicitor.

Josh meets a lot of women in his job, and I’ve never had cause to be jealous or suspicious. Until recently. Josh has been coming home on the train with the occasional long, silky blonde hair caught on his overcoat, and has acquired the habit of applying more men’s cologne sometime during the day so by the time he arrives home he reeks of Davidoff Cool Water and I wonder what it’s disguising.

Josh is a very handsome man; six feet tall with wicked brown eyes and an athletic build. And it’s not like I’m an old boot either – I’m slim and keep in shape with him, cycling around our local villages at weekends and after work in summer.

Only last night I found his handkerchief in his pocket – with lipstick on it, and not a shade I’ve ever worn. Time, I thought, to teach Josh a lesson.

“Haircut tonight, darling?” I said sweetly over the glass of wine we always shared before dinner. “It’s getting rather long.”

Josh ran his hands through that gorgeous hair. I’d been cutting it in a funky short style, scissored – or sometimes clippered – up the back and sides, scissored through the top, short at the back and longer at the front, so it formed a little quiff. Josh liked his hair relatively short; it had been collar length when I met him, but I’d persuaded him to go shorter and he swore he’d never wear it over his ears or collar again.

“I thought I might let it grow out a bit,” he said, a bit too casually, and that really set the alarm bells ringing. Josh knew I loved his hair short, as it felt so good to run my fingers through its thickness, especially if I’d persuaded him to have clippered sides that felt like velvet against my hands. Aha.so was there another lady involved? One persuading him to grow it?

“Oh, you need a little trim at least,” I said in honeyed tones, topping up his glass with a potent Australian shiraz. “It’ll still need to hold some shape, no matter what you do. Scruffy hair is out, no matter what length.”

Josh took a big gulp of his red wine, and I hoped the 14% alcohol content was doing its stuff. “After dinner?” he suggested finally, touching his hair again.

“What a good idea, there’s nothing on the telly.”

I kept Josh’s glass filled over dinner and he was very mellow by the time I led him to the kitchen chair and caped him up. I’d had some time to think while delicately chewing the risotto I’d taken such care over, and decided that Josh was going to get the haircut of his life.

You see, although I loved Josh’s hair, I’d secretly had a desire for a long time to shave him bald, just to see that velvet get peeled away and leave white skin behind. Perverse thoughts – but I’d always had a thing for cutting hair, and had always longed to shave someone’s head. Especially Josh’s. I knew he’d look good bald, and wondered what it would feel like to stroke his shaven scalp.

And I had a hunch Miss Long Hair would be off the scene in no time if Josh turned up on her doorstep scalped to the skin.

I combed Josh’s thick, springy locks for the last time, biting the insides of my mouth so my smile wasn’t too obvious.

Josh was rather drunk by then, and relaxed in the chair, joking as he always did as if he were in a barber shop. “Just a little off the ends, barber. And do you have something for the weekend?”

“Oh, I DO have something for the weekend,” I said, flicking my clippers into life. “These.”

And with that I held his head firmly with my left hand and drove the clippers into the hair at his forehead with my right.

“Ella!” Josh gasped. “What ARE you doing?”

“It’s coming onto summer, darling. You really need shorter hair, not longer.” I was getting aroused as I watched the clippers take his hair off in a thick swathe down to the skin. He had a white stripe from his forehead to his crown.

“But – but I said I didn’t want much off it!”

“Why is that, Josh?” I murmured, starting a second pass before he could move. No point in struggling, his hair was doomed. Unless he wanted to walk around as if he had an overnight case of male pattern baldness. “Could it be that you want to grow it because someone else wants you to grow it?”

“Ella! No! It’s not like that! You don’t understand!” Josh wriggled and leaned forward and placed my knee firmly in his groin, which stopped him and pinned him mercilessly to the chair.

“Oh, long hairs on your coat, reeking of aftershave, and lipstick on your handkerchief. I understand enough, dearest.” I stroked the top of Josh’s head, now shaven to little nubs, and he quivered.

“What have you done?” he whispered, as he realized my fingers were on his bare skin.

“Something I do plan to finish,” I said, and moved the clippers in front of his left ear. Josh almost trembled, then I was ploughing into it and up the side of his head, and he watched the thick locks tumble onto his lap and my jeans..


I couldn’t believe it. Ella was shaving my head! My wife, who I trust with my life, was holding me in a kitchen chair and shaving me bald!

I didn’t know how short she was cutting my hair until she stroked the top of my head and realized there was no hair left.

Now one of her hands was on my bald pate, holding my head firm, and the other was shearing away the hair at the side of my head.

She got the wrong end of the stick completely. Yes, I’d been seeing someone, but not in the way she thought. My best mate Greg at work had been unfaithful to his wife – but he didn’t tell me that, his wife did. I took her out for drinks a few times to buck her up and she ended up literally crying on my shoulder – hence the hanky and the long hair and my need to cover up her perfume. Greg’s having an affair with someone at work and Cindy wanted me to spy on him. So I’ve done that, reported to her several times, and I don’t like doing it, and told Cindy tonight before I came home that she’d have to sort it out herself, that it was making me uncomfortable, and couldn’t she find a private detective?

And as for me growing my hair? I know Ella loves to cut it, I have a hunch she’s a bit kinky that way from the way she gets aroused after cutting my hair, and I was going to let it grow for a couple of months to give her even more pleasure cutting it short again.

But I never expected her to cut it THIS short! I must look bloody frightful.

Ella got off my knee and moved to the back of my head, pushing my head down towards my chest with a strength I didn’t know she had. Half my head feels cold and something tells me it won’t be long before the rest is cold too!

It’s funny.Ella has never been so assertive with my haircuts, and her sudden change to dominatrix is exciting. I’m getting aroused as I feel the clippers at my neck, moving upwards and into my hair. They move up the back of my head quickly, too quickly. I almost want to savour this moment, feel every hair get shorn by my angry, beautiful wife. The clippers meet the baldness at the top of my head, and I stifle a groan, but not successfully enough. Ella stops momentarily in surprise.


“Don’t stop,” I murmur. “Ella, keep going. I haven’t been unfaithful, not a bit. You’ve completely got it wrong and you can meet the woman in question if you want. But keep going – and don’t be too gentle!” I squirm in readiness for the next pass of the clippers.

I can hear Ella’s ragged breathing. She’s getting turned on, too. Roughly she pushes my head even further forward until my
chin is touching my chest and I’m having trouble breathing, and the clippers advance up my neck.

It’s the strangest feeling, having your head shaved. I enjoy clipper cuts in general, the vibration of the clippers against my head. But this is another dimension, with the humming blades themselves against my skin instead of a plastic guard. And the cold feeling on my scalp when they’ve passed through my hair like a hot knife through butter is indescribable.

My scalp feels tight where it’s been shaved, as if the hairs are retreating in horror back into their follicles.

Ella pushes my head to one side, and then pushes my right ear forward so she can buzz off all the hair on the side of my head with long strokes.

Arrogantly she flicks it forward onto my knees. It’s raining hair – my hair, clumps and lumps of it.

Finally she takes off my sideburn, and everything above it, and my hair is gone.

For good measure she holds my head firm, as I’m trembling and trying to hold an orgasm in, my erection is almost visible through the cape, and runs the clippers all over my head again, sweeping off any stray hairs that have dared to remain.

The clippers switch off, and in the silence there is just our breathing, and Ella’s eyes, huge and aroused, are staring at my denuded head.

I’m a bald man.


I couldn’t believe how turned on I got shaving Josh’s head and watching his hair fall to the floor in shiny, healthy clumps. And it wasn’t just the shaving – pushing him firmly into the chair and taking total control of him was a turn-on too.

Finally I turned the clippers off and stroked his scalp, running my hands all over it, disbelieving at the way it felt under my fingers – warm and bare.

Josh groaned, and I realised he’d actually enjoyed the experience and was certainly enjoying this impromptu scalp massage.

But wasn’t this supposed to be a revenge for whatever he’d done? I vaguely recalled him saying I’d got it all wrong, but I had been in an aroused fugue as I purposely buzzed him bald, and asked him to repeat.

He did, and told me of Cindy’s plight and why he’d been growing his hair. I believed him. I’d met Greg once at a company dinner and his eyes had roved over me as if I wasn’t wearing the expensive dress – or anything at all.

“Oh, Joshy! I’ve shaved your head for nothing!”

“Not nothing,” said Josh, running his own hands over his scalp for about the tenth time in a minute. “It feels wonderful, Ella! What does it look like?”

I regarded him. “Superb, actually, darling. It really suits you. I might not even let you grow it back, you look so good.”

“That would mean shaving it every day.” Josh didn’t look unhappy at the thought.

“Probably with shaving cream and a razor. How does that sound?” I said wickedly.

“Can we try it now? I think it could be a bit smoother. If I’m going to be a chrome dome, we’d better do it properly.”

Of course, I’d been prepared for that, and had a can of shaving cream and a Mach III razor ready. So I lathered Josh’s head, covering it in the white foam, and he smiled for every second that I dragged the razor gently over his scalp.

“How does that feel?”

“Incredible. Sort of raspy, like I can hear it inside my head.”

I shaved the top first, and when I ran an exploratory finger over it sighed with pleasure at the smoothness of his skin. His scalp was white against the tan of his face, but some fake tanning lotion would soon fix that, and make the nubbins of hair under the skin less visible.

Josh put his head on his chest so I could stretch the skin at the back taut and get as close a shave as possible. I tilted his head this way and that as I shaved around his ears and finally removed the last of the foam and the last of his hair, leaving a gleaming hairless scalp.

I toweled any remaining foam from Josh’s head, and began to rub in skin lotion and oil, so his skin took on a glossy sheen. I could see a huge erection in Josh’s trousers as my fingers massaged his head and neck.

“Finished, sir,” I said in my barber voice, and at last showed Josh his new bald reflection in a hand mirror.

He gasped, running his hands over his head as if disbelieving his own image. “I love it! I love being bald! Best of all, I love being shaved.”

And he showed me how much, by leading me to the bedroom, my hands on his warm shaven head. I knew there’d be many more nights like this to come. The end

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