Compelled by Ditke
This new guy of mine is really spooking me. No, not in a “I want to run!” way, but in a “How does he know that about me?” way.
Today he came over to my house in “a mood.” Cranky. Pushy. Yes, bitchy. I didn’t know what I could do to get him out of it. Usually if I lower my eyes, drop my pants, bend myself over the couch arm and submit (quite gracefully, I might add) to some swings from his leather belt, he snaps out of it and that’s that.
But today was different.
Even after receiving double the amount of belt swings as usual…
Even after thanking him humbly and sincerely for his time and effort…
Even after allowing – no, PLEADING to be worthy of wearing a greased-up butt plug in hopes that it might please him in some small way…
He was still antsy and irritated.
He wanted more.
He ordered me dressed with a LOOK and off we went in his car.
My asshole rippled around the plug at every bump in the road.
We pulled up in front of an old-fashioned barbershop. Big plate glass windows. Large mirrors. Shiny whiteness everywhere. Big angry clippers with thick black cords hanging menacingly. Antique-looking leather barber chairs. Antique-looking barber waiting for a customer.
His look told me to not say anything. But I knew that.
My guy greeted him and nodded at me to get in the chair closest to the window. I did.
The barber roughly snapped a cape around me, freed my hair from it and tucked in a scratchy tissue at my neck. He tightened it just a little too much.
My ass was really starting to smart now from my whipping.
I knew that my long hair was now history. Although I hoped that I would not be shaved bald. But I was (not so?) secretly pleased with the idea that THIS might please him.
The barber and my guy talked briefly as if they knew each other.
“We’d like a nice short haircut for the summer. Shaved sides and back and leave a bit of length on top.” (I knew he wanted to leave enough so he could sink his big hands into it and pull.)
My guy sat directly in front of me watching, staring, demanding.
The barber roughly grabbed my hair into one thick ponytail and with several deft hacks of his shears removed it right at the skin at my nape. I felt a breeze on my neck and my hair fell forward into my face. I felt a strange and wonderful mixture of feelings – elated and humiliated at the same time. The air felt so fresh on my newly exposed neck, but I was ashamed at being subjected to this butchering by this insensitive barber and demanding, selfish him. My cheeks reddened as shame filled me and I felt my eyes blur with tears. I FELT his look on my face. “You will submit to this and you will feel privileged to have any sort of hint of a hope of giving me pleasure,” it said. I felt defeated and worthless. I felt OWNED.
A strong hand grabbed the back of my hot head almost brutally, pushed my chin to my chest and I felt cold metal against my helpless scalp, schnip, schnip, schnip, schnipping, up , up and up. More fresh feelings and more shame. My head was pushed sideways and the shears continued mercilessly. Hair – my hair – rained forlornly down onto the cape.
My head was jerked back upright and I was horrified to view my pathetic head in the mirror. Patches of white scalp showed between raggedy tufted clumps of what was left of my hair. My guy saw me looking at myself and I noticed the evil glint in his eye.
Was that pleasure?
“Click, buzzzz…” announced what I must endure next.
I felt hot cold metal tiny teeth tingling against the back of my neck as the barber insulted my scalp yet again. He drove the clippers up over and over rudely shoving my head into submissive positions; forward, left, right, forward, left, right. Inexplicably, my entire nervous system charged into high gear, new sensations rocketing through my limbs and centering in my sex. I knew I was ready for anything. Was he? I instantly felt guilty for my intense enjoyment (this was, after all, for HIS pleasure) and I peeked surreptitiously at him.
He was staring at me. Hard, cold, but there was that glint… The thought… “I am pleased that you are pleased by your shame…”
A new whinier buzzing, a tighter tingle on my neck as the barber stripped my neck stubble to the skin. My skull jangled and my molars rattled as he pressed the small clippers repeatedly on the scraped tender skin above my reddened ears. I felt naked. My scalp exposed, my feelings exposed… these intense feeling were all new to me.
A few more impatient snips with the scissors on my crown marked the end of my ordeal. The barber snatched the cape off me, sending the neck tissue fluttering and snapped it in the air irritably and suddenly laid it back over me. What more was I going to be required to endure?
Muted noises behind me, then warm lather smeared on my neck and around my ears.
“Don’t move!” I was ordered.
The barber held my head in a vise grip as he scraped his straight razor, obliterating what little hair was left marking my hairline. Forward, left, right. Forward, left, right again.
When he released my head, I summoned all my courage to face the reflection in the mirror. I now saw an unknown yet familiar woman. A woman more than the sum total of all that had come before. A woman with an attractive combed and slicked mannish-boyish look on top tapering neatly and severely to raw skin above the ears. A woman who had succumbed. With pleasure. To pleasure.
My burning ass cheeks now dulled to a tolerable warmth and my asshole felt full and stretched.
The conflicting mix of feelings confused and delighted me. To feel so humiliated and free. What was this?
“This is only the beginning,” said the look in his eyes.