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It had been three months now that David had been chatting to Jenny online. He had selected her name in the chat room he usually visited purely by chance, but they had just sort of clicked. As they had got to know each other more, they started to chat every day and had even talked on the phone several times. The more they talked the more that David had felt maybe it was time to start telling her about his hair fetish. Although she had never mentioned anything that indicated she might enjoy it or even be slightly interested, he felt that there was something there. Maybe this was the one, the person that he had been looking for.


Ever since he could remember David had hated having his hair cut. As a young child he had been dragged, sometimes literally, down to the local barber shop by his mother. He could still feel the cold leather of the long, hard waiting bench and smell the distinctive aroma of the shop – a mixture of stale tobacco smoke and cheap hair oil. There were usually three or even four barbers at work. All men. All old. All wearing the same dark blue nylon jacket. Every time he found himself sitting nervously on that bench he hoped that maybe this time would be different. Maybe he would be allowed to leave looking like a normal young boy, rather than someone who had been brutally sheared like a sheep and left looking like an escaped convict. Each time it was the same routine. The long, slow walk to the enormous chrome and black leather barber’s chair. The climb up to the plank placed across the arms of the chair to lift him up. His legs left dangling in the air. The rough, white tissue fixed tightly around his neck. The crackle of static in the striped nylon sheet that covered him, reaching almost to the ground, as it was pulled tightly around him. Feeling the tiny hairs from the previous customer left on the cape irritating his neck. Trapped. The click and buzz of the clippers moving closer and closer. No where to run. But no matter how much he hoped, it was always the same; fifteen minutes of humiliation in the chair followed by two or three weeks of humiliation outside, until his hair had grown to a respectable length again.


Over the next month, David dropped carefully chosen hints into their chats to try and give an opening into his hair dreams. He needed to be careful as he didn’t want Jenny to think he just another chat room weirdo. To his surprise however, Jenny seemed genuinely interested when he talked about having got his hair cut. Asking how he had got it cut, where he went and who had cut it. She even asked if he had thought of having it cut really short. David explained that he was too scared to go for something really short. Instead of laughing at him, Jenny asked why. He just said that he was worried about how it might look. Jenny suggested that maybe one day either she would have to take him for haircut, or maybe even do the cutting herself. David had laughed, not sure how serious she was being.


About the age of ten, things changed. David was being taken for his usual short clippering by his mother. But, they arrived to find that the barber shop had closed down. Thinking that this time maybe he had escaped, David was surprised when they carried on down the street to the salon where his mother had her hair done each month. Inside the salon his mother spoke to the owner, who agreed to cut his hair as a special favor, as his mother was both a regular client and friend. Despite his reservations about the salon, with its feminine colors and smells, he thought that maybe this was an end to his monthly humiliation. The small chair felt comfortable. A pale green floral cape that felt soft to the touch was wrapped around him – tight, but not too tight.

Thirty minutes later and David realized just how wrong he had been. While he had been spared the electric clippers, the stylist had been an expert with comb and scissors. Using what he learnt many years later as the “scissor-over-comb” technique she had stripped his hair down to the shortest it had ever been. The comb had been pressed flat, very firmly against his scalp as the scissors had snipped every single piece of hair protruding above the teeth of the comb. When the cutting had finally stopped, David had looked in horror at how his scalp could be seen clearly through what little she had left of his hair. Instead of escape he had instead found a whole new hair nightmare.


As another moth passed, he found that he was spending more and more of his time talking to Jenny online, or through e-mails, or on their mobile phones. It was now also rare that they had a conversation without hair being brought up in some context. Jenny encouraged him not to be embarrassed about his fetish, and persuaded him to tell her everything. He told her in great detail about the haircuts of his childhood, and that part of him wanted to be helpless in the chair once more as he was brutally clippered by a dominant woman. He tried to explain to her how the thought of being buzzed both horrified him and excited him. He told her of his fantasies of being tied into a chair and gagged, of maybe even being shaved clean with clippers and then a razor, as the tears rolled down his cheeks. Sometimes he worried if he had told her too much, or if his fantasies were too extreme. But Jenny always came back for more, told him to give her more details, to leave nothing out. David willingly talked about all his hair dreams and all his hair nightmares. After all, they were just harmless fantasies – weren’t they?


At the age of 18 David left school behind him and went away to university to major in psychology. This also meant that for the first time in his life that he was also free from his childhood haircut controlled by his mother. On the day before he went away however his mother insisted that he go for one more haircut at her salon, although she agreed to let him go by himself for the first time. At the salon Margaret, who he had got to know over the years, mentioned that he would be going away to university. As she wrapped the floral cape around him for the last time, she remarked with a wink that this had better be a haircut to remember her by. David sat puzzled wondering what she meant.

After half an hour of the usual close snipping, Margaret brushed all the loose hairs off him and showed him the end result – as usual his scalp was left clearly visible after the attention of her scissors. David went to stand up but felt a firm hand on his shoulders pushing him back down into the chair. In the reflection in the mirror he saw Margaret holding an open razor. What was going on he wondered. With the words “this will make it last longer”, she went to work on the back of his head with the razor. After several firm passes with the razor she again produced the mirror to show him the results of her work. David slowly lifted his eyes, dreading what he might see. It was as he feared – a brutally clean shaven neck, nape and halfway up the back of his head. Margaret laughed as he lifted a hand from under the cape and tentatively stroked the freshly shaved skin.

Present: A dream come true?:

It was Jenny who first raised the possibility of a face-to-face meeting. David had been unsure at first but, after some persuasion from her, he had agreed to meeting just for coffee and a chat in her home town. Although they had both swapped pictures on their mobiles, David was still nervous when his train pulled into the station where he was to meet Jenny. He knew that she was quite a bit taller than he was and that her build was also larger than his. But, they had got on so well and seemed to share his interest in hair. As he walked out of the station he looked across the car park trying to spot her car. Suddenly he was grabbed from behind by two powerful arms as they wrapped around him and a voice whispered in his ear;


David turned around to see Jenny standing behind him with a huge grin on her face. In the flesh she must have been at least six
inches taller than he was and was clearly much stronger than he was. After a brief chat they drove into the city center in her car and walked to a nearby coffee house. Over several cups of coffee they chatted, and got on even better than they had on the phone. After a couple of hours David mentioned that he needed to think about getting a train home and so they needed to head back to the station.

“Well, you don’t have to rush off”, Jenny murmured, looking at him strangely.

“What do you mean?”, David asked.

“Don’t be angry, but I’ve booked us a room in hotel in case we got on well”, she explained, “Plus I could give you that haircut we talked about”.

David was taken aback at what she had said and wasn’t sure what to do. They did get on well and the idea of a haircut did appeal to him. But, and it was a big but, was it too close to crossing that dividing line between fantasy and reality? Before he had a chance to consider her proposition any further, Jenny had grabbed his hand and was leading them towards a hotel on the corner of the street. Within ten minutes they had been booked in and he found himself alone in a hotel room with Jenny.

“Why don’t you have a shower and freshen up”, Jenny suggested.

David agreed and went in to the shower. When he came out with just a towel wrapped around him and entered the room he stopped – Jenny had been busy. Spread out on the floor was a plastic sheet, in the middle of which stood a chair. Standing next to the chair was Jenny, wearing a dark blue nylon overall that came to about mid-thigh. In her hand was a pink floral hairdressing cape. She looked at him and smiled.

“You’re next Sir”, she instructed.

David hesitated, unsure of what to do next and very aware that he was naked under the towel wrapped around his waist.

“You know it’s what you want, you want this, I want this”, she continued, “Keep the towel on if you must”.

Slowly David walked to the chair and sat very gingerly in it. Jenny shook out the cape and draped it over him, covering his body, and then tied it very tightly at the back of his neck.

“Can you just give me your hand?”, she asked.

David put his hand out and then suddenly felt her grab his wrist firmly and, before he could move, snapped a metal handcuff around it and the arm of the chair. David started to protest, but Jenny just grabbed the other wrist and repeated the process. Ignoring his resistance, Jenny knelt down and proceeded to handcuff each of his ankles to the front legs of the chair. She was so much stronger than he was he couldn’t have stopped her even if he had wanted to.

“Comfortable?”, Jenny asked, grinning. “Now, are you going to be a good boy, or do I need to gag you as well?”.

He started to speak, but his words were lost as a wide piece of sticking plaster was fixed across his mouth, reducing his speech to a muffled mumble. Jenny picked up a small bag from the bed and started to lay its contents out on the table she had pulled next to him: a pair of electric clippers, a hand brush, a canister of shaving foam, and a pack of disposable razors. She disappeared into the bathroom and returned carrying a couple of towels, a face flannel and a large tumbler of water. Satisfied that she had everything she needed, Jenny took David’s face in her hands and stared unblinkingly deep into his eyes.

“Sit still and listen. This is your situation. The handcuffs are not some child’s toy but they are the genuine article. You can struggle, but you will just hurt yourself. You can try screaming or shouting through the gag if you want, but I’ll just put some music on. You’ve told me at great length what you want, but you are too scared to do. We’ll, I’m here to help you David. First I’m going to use these clippers with no guard on and I’m going to cut all your hair off down to stubble. Then, I’m going to lather you head and shave it with a razor. Then I’ll shave you again just to make sure your head is clean and smooth all over. Now, you have a choice; you can be sensible and sit there and enjoy it. Or you can be silly and try and struggle. But, believe me, this is going to happen. You can’t stop it”.

David didn’t move. He thought of trying to struggle, but a slight movement told him that this would be futile. He looked down at the clippers and the razors on the table beside him. Jenny walked around behind him and picked up the clippers. She switched the clippers on and whispered into his ear: “Be brave”. David felt the clippers applied to his forehead and then felt them start to push back across the top of his head, the noise changing as the sharp teeth met resistance as they encountered his hair. Jenny pushed the clippers firmly against his scalp as she ran them right to the back of his head, over the top, and then down the back of his head. She turned off the clippers.

“You can’t go back now, even if you wanted to”, she told him, “You have a two inch strip of bald skin across the whole of your head”.

Switching the clippers on once more, Jenny continued to strip the hair from David’s the top of head, going over and over each section to make sure that not a hair was missed. David sat still in the chair, watching as more and more pieces of hair, his hair, fell down on to the cape. He kept telling himself it was just a trim. She was just trying to scare him. But one glance at the amount of hair falling told him that this was no dream. On and on Jenny worked with the clippers, moving his head around to strip every last piece of his hair. He could now feel the warm blades of the clippers against his skin as they chewed through his hair. His head was pushed sharply forwards so that his chin almost touched his chest. Jenny started to run her clippers slowly up the back of his head, savoring the clipping of his hair. After what seemed like an hour, Jenny clicked the clippers off and placed them on the table. She then picked up the hand brush and started to vigorously sweep it over his head, flicking what tiny pieces of hair remained onto the cape. She untied the cape and David thought for one moment that maybe he would escape with just a haircut. But, she just shook the cape to remove any stray bits of hair, before covering him once more and retying it around his neck.

Shaking the can of shaving foam, she then started to spread the white contents over David’s now stubble covered head. David felt the cold foam being applied to his recently buzzed scalp. But what could he do? Jenny wiped her hands on one of the towels:

“Here we go, one shaved head coming up”, she laughed, “Better keep still, I’d hate to cut you!”.

David froze in the chair as he felt the first stroke of the razor’s cruel blade on his skin. It would be weeks before he would need a haircut. What would he say at work? How could he explain this away? Jenny rinsed the razor in the glass of water, and then continued to run the razor over his head, occasionally stopping to feel the skin with her finger, making sure that it was shaved completely clean. After what seemed like an eternity Jenny stopped. But only to reapply the lather and change to a new, sharp razor. She took her time, shaving against the direction of hair growth to make sure that it was as close as possible. David had no real idea of how long this took, but he guessed that she must have spent at least another thirty minutes re-shaving his head. Finally Jenny dropped the razor on the trolley and started to wipe his head clean with the towel. She then used the second towel to buff his head to a bright shine.

“There you go, all done”, she informed him, “As smooth as a baby’s butt”.

Jenny cleaned his scalp with the face flannel, and removed the sticking plaster over his mouth. She bent and removed all the handcuffs so that David was finally free. He stood slowly and began to get dressed, his shoulders slumped. Ready to leave David walked towards the door of the hotel room.

“Don’t you even want to see the result?”, Jenny asked.

David stopped briefly in front of the door, but said nothing.

“You wanted this”, she asserted.

David closed the door behind him and walked away. As he walked down the corridor he tentatively touched his scalp, somehow almost hoping that he would still feel hair. All his fingers touched was bare, shiny, clean skin. It was startlingly smooth, almost like glass.

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