Bad & Politically Incorrect Hair Story

The X-115A rocket jet attack aircraft prototype screamed over the Nevada desert so low that thin trails of dust lifted momentarily and then vanished into puffs as the plane roared by. Test Pilot Strap Masterson grinned his movie-star grin and thought, “What a great fucking day!” And it certainly was. Masterson had just been promoted to Major and was also the cover-boy in this month’s issue of “Super Air Guy” magazine. He had also won a shitload of money at a Vegas casino the night before and after collecting his winnings had bedded and sufficiently shagged Hollywood sex-pot Cynthia Pond. “What a great fucking day”

Masterson pulled the aircraft up into a Victory Roll while contemplating his penis. “I think you need another workout big guy,” he said. while absentmindedly putting the jet through sophisticated aerobatic manoeuvres. Masterson grinned again and gunned the jet homeward to Kramerston Airbase, home of the 503rd Secret Prototype and Dangerous Airplane Attack Wing… Or the 503rd SPDAAW. The Dangey 503 as it was known. Strap couldn’t wait to get back to the officers’ club for a round of heavy drinking and revelry where he could relate his latest conquests to his other fantastic and equally dangerous flyboy chums. The sonic boom echoed through the desert and disturbed numerous endangered, beautiful, and yet worthless desert wildlife species. Masterson chuckled.

At the officers club Masterson was greeted with cheers and the adulation owed him. “Masterson you Old Dog!” his old wingman Kragg Kongerson yelled while holding up this month’s issue of “Super Air Guy” magazine. Kragg was an old chum and had pulled Strap’s butt out of the fire any number of times. In fact, he had killed almost as many communists as Masterson himself. All in all an A-1 guy.

“Drinks are on me,” Masterson said and flashed a massive wad of currency to a chorus of yells.

“Where’d you get that?” Kongerson asked

“I won at the casino again. And after that I fucked a Hollywood movie star!” Masterson said.

“Fucking great!” said Kongerson

“That’s what I think too. Every day should be this fucking great!”

“Yep,” Kongerson agreed pouring himself a massive 8 ounce glass of whisky and downing it in one gulp.

Strap took off his sunglasses and sauntered over to the bar where the big titted twins Sandy and Mandy worked as barmaids. Both Sandy and Mandy had luscious long hair which reached down to their asses. One blonde and the other brunette.

“Hi Strap,” they sighed in chorus.

“Hi girls. Pour me something manly and refreshing. I just got through flying a new dangerous prototype and I need to wind down. Oh, and by the way. I won tons of money in Vegas and fucked a Hollywood movie star afterwards. Isn’t that fucking great?”

“Wow Strap… you’re the neatest,” Sandy said, batting her bimbacious eyelashes.

Mandy handed Strap a highball glass filled with a highly alcoholic mixture… dangerous, yet refreshing. “Ahh… just what the doctor ordered.” Masterson went back to the table where his pals were recounting old combat experiences using their hands to demonstrate the intricate manoeuvres they used to outwit and eradicate the enemy. They all laughed as Kongerson described shooting down several North Korean Migs while blindfolded on a dare. That Kongerson.. what a card!

Masterson settled down into the leather covered chair and sighed… it was all so perfect. Everything was just fucking great. he drank his highball and lit up an unfiltered cigarette. Yes life was good… but something was missing.

Masterson eyed Sandy and Mandy. He’d like to bag those two. But he wanted more, Masterson was a hair freak. He loved nothing more than the thought of hacking off long hair and snipping pretty curls to the scalp. The thought made his “joystick” quiver. Yep… Mandy and Sandy would need to meet Mr. Clippy. Mr. Clippy was Masterson’s dangerous set of military prototype hair clippers.

“Hey Mandy and Sandy!” Masterson yelled. “Want to come to my house and have sex?”

“Wow! Sure Strap!” they exclaimed and took off their aprons while heading for the door.

Kongerson and the guys gave Masterson the “thumbs-up” and a wink. Kongerson said, “Go get ’em tiger,” and went back to telling how he wiped out a Jap convoy in the Marianas.

Masterson took a pull on his hip flask and straddled his motorcycle. “Hop on girls. One in front, one in back.”

Two sets of milky thighs joined Masterson on his CNX “Beastmaster” 2000cc motorcycle specially constructed for him by a mad scientist who had been fired by a large Milwaukee motorcycle company for making “motorcycles even too dangerous for us”.

The “thrum thrum thrum blap blap blap” sound of the engine pierced the desert air and frequent bursts of flame from the exhaust lit up the darkness with a ghostly strobe effect. Mandy’s thighs jiggled in tempo with the mighty motor and her tight ass rubbed against Masterson in a most pleasing manner. Sandy’s hands reached around him and held on for dear life as he gunned the machine down the desert road. Blap blap blapablalalalalalalala… The machine winded up into a scream, Masterson kicked it into second gear and dust kicked out again as the clutch engaged. It was all he could do to hold on. It was fucking great!

The bike screamed down the flats and road signs whizzed by.

“Kramerson’s home.”

“To the guys that are tough.”

“If you can read this sign.”

“You ain’t fast enough.”

“Burma Shave.”

Strap loved Burma Shave signs and cackled madly as he banged the bike into “overwarp gear”, the gear that the mad scientist had specially installed.

“Oh God!” screamed Mandy.

“Oh shit!” yelled Sandy.

“Fuckin great!” yelled Masterson as the bike hunkered down on the road and bellowed in protest as nitrous oxide was injected into the almost glowing hot cylinders.

The bike travelled at blinding speed until they were near Masteron’s ranch-style bungalow. Strap deployed the parachute that was needed to slow the bike before clamping on the brakes which began to glow and smoke before bringing the bike to a speed acceptable to negotiate the tight corner onto his driveway. At the security gate Strap had built to keep out homosexuals, commies and other undesirables, he entered the secret code which deactivated the shoot-to-kill robots that patrolled his ranch.

Thrum thrum thrum blap blap blap… the bike eased to the front porch of his bungalow ranch house where he was greeted by his dog “American” and his horse “Liberty”. The front porch light came on and Kim Bok Thok, Masterson’s tragically stereotypical Asian houseboy emerged.

“Meestah Stlap! You back wif more wommin? Bahahahaha! You clazy. You taka two an dat clazy motolcyker. You velly dangelous! Bahahahahaha!”

“Uhh, yeah,” Strap said as he dismounted with the two wind-blown and shaky-kneed girls.

Kim Bok Thok slapped his knee and wobbled back into the house. He went into the kitchen and fixed an ice bucket and a tray for drinks. He even went over to Strap’s super-swell hi-fi set and put on some terrific lounge music.

“Meestah Stlap. I make arkohorik dlinks for you. Big dlink make big fun. I put onna music for you. Make good big sound. Just like you like. I now go and go get shut eye. You go have sex now! Bahahahahahaha!”

“Umm, Ok,” Masterson said.

“Wow this sure is a neat place,” said Sandy.

“Who’s the Chinese guy?” asked Mandy.

“That’s Kim Bok Thok, my tragically stereotypical Asian houseboy. Oh, thank you Sandy. I built it myself after the last war. Well Ladies, I’d love to small talk but I have a fetish that needs satisfying. So first things first: off with those clothes.”

The two looked puzzled at each other and shrugged before disrobing. The clothes fell in a mound in front of their nubile young bodies. The beautiful thick, long hair cascaded over their breasts, barely touching the curve of their buttocks.

“Now I know how much you like pilots and I want to help you.”

“You do?”

“Yep. The key to being cool like a pilot is looking like one. And before I’m through you’re going to look like two… well… pilots with big tits… But still.”

“Cooool,” they chorused.

“Now Mandy, I want you to get into the chair.”

Mandy sat meekly in the chair.

“Sandy. Tie her up.”

“Ok,” said Sandy and took the proffered rope and bound Mandy, surprisingly well, to the chair.

Masterson disappeared briefly before reappearing nude wearing a flight helmet and carrying the XP-340 experimental clippers!

“On your hands and knees, Sandy”

Sandy hit he floor and Masterson approached from behind, his massive man-meat stiff like a friggin’ flag-pole. “Ooh hoo baby. I’m gonna enjoy this!” he laughed and slammed “the boy” home. Sandy bit her lip and gasped as Masterson’s love rocket plunged into her moisture. Bam Bam Bam! Strap slammed it home repeatedly and Sandy gasped with ecstatic pleasure. She’d never had one like this before. Masterson reached around and with one hand fingered her fluff while massaging her bra babies with the other.

“This is fucking great!” Masterson yelled. “And it’s about to get better!”

With that Strap pulled the cord and the small gasoline-powered clippers sprang to life with a whine and a frenzy of clicking.

“Ha ha!” Masterson yelled and plunged the clippers into Sandy’s mass of brown hair. Long beautiful tresses fell to the floor. Years of growth. Shiny thick locks fell to her naked back and slid on the floor.

“Oh my God! What are you doing!” Sandy yelled. “My beautiful hair!”

Masterson held her tight and mowed with pleasure. The hair was falling like a curtain and that beautiful mass of shiny hair was being mowed to a crew cut.

“Regulation pilot cut Sandy. Just like I promised.”

“Ugh Ugh Ugh… Oh God… I’m going to look awful,” Sandy gasped between thrusts.

“Oh, stop complaining, it’ll grow back”

For a long while Strap buzzed over and over, making the crewcut perfect. Then Masterson pumped faster and faster, rubbing his hands on her freshly cropped head. “Holy shit, this is going to be a good one,” he said and violently erupted his load into Sandy’s box.

“Shit! Omigod! I’m coming too,” his buzzed beauty yelled and collapsed on the floor.

Both exhausted from pleasure they rolled onto the carpet of Sandy’s hair and Masterson admired his work. A nice crew, but he wasn’t through yet.

Masterson grinned and said, “Twins just aren’t twins if they don’t look alike!”

“That’s right,” Sandy agreed.

Mandy was having none of that. She wanted out! “I don’t want a crewcut! I don’t want to look like that! I love my beautiful blonde hair! Strap Masterson you are a fuckin weirdo!”

Masterson stood shocked. He stood to his full nude height and adjusted his pilot helmet, fingering the clippers nervously. “Who are you calling a weirdo?”

Masterson pulled the cord again on the XP-340 aka “Mr. Clippy”. “Sandy, would you do the honors?” he said while going around to the front of Mandy.

“With pleasure,” Sandy said, taking Mr. Clippy from Masterson.

Masterson moved in front of Mandy and sat on her lap. His flaccid member rose again to the problem at hand. It grew to torpedo thickness and Masterson pushed it into Mandy’s tits for a nice “sausage sandwich”.

“Mmmmmm!” Mandy groaned.

Strap moved up and down kissing Mandy on the lips and probing her bush with his hand.

“Dig it,” he said. “Sandy, do your stuff.”

Masterson manipulated a groaning and grinding Mandy as Sandy moved behind her with the clippers. They whirred madly but soon Masterson could hear them bite into the mass of blonde hair.

“Please don’t,” Mandy whispered. But it was too late. Sandy was coming from the back and pushing the clippers over Mandy’s head. Masses of blond tresses fell on her tits and onto Masterson’s meat missile. Over and over again the clippers pushed roughly by Sandy did their handiwork. The blonde beauty was buzzed and she threw her head back and let out a cry as she and Strap simultaneously reached an explosive climax, Masterson’s wad firing like a mortar shell onto the ceiling.

Wasted with pleasure they glanced out the window to the desert sunrise. What a great fuckin day!

 

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