Deepest Sensuality

The following narrative depicts a forced haircut and violent head shaving. It plays on the conflict between balding a beautiful woman as a humiliating act and finding balding her sensuous. If this is not your cup of tea, please don’t read the story. The author appreciates feedback.

The Deepest Sensuality – Ted Morgan

“The profoundest of all sensualities/is the sensuality of truth/and the next deepest sensual experience is the sense of justice.” — D. H. Lawrence, “Selected Poems”

Rachel’s hair graces an exquisite face and an acutely tantalizing body. Rachel walks and exercises frequently, eats a healthy but hearty diet, and lives a culturally rich life. Even in winter, that seashore unceasingly hints at shapely and comely women, close to bare-naked but chaste in microscopic bikini or seemingly non-existent thongs.

Rachel dashes along this beach with hair gracefully outlining breezes. The distinction between her running and my own running is that she sprints with hair flowing behind like an apparition of mythological Daphne, while no one would ever confuse me with Apollo. Her scrupulously trained body – and she does train it – is composed of full-flavored contours. It voices far-reaching confidence in her femininity and authority over the feeble wills of strong men.

Rachel’s hair flowing through a sirocco stirring, entraps the abstruse coloration, distinctively at dawn twilight, of that unimaginably exquisite seashore. Running or talking, she tosses her head with trailing hair pitching in brilliance, like the intangible brightness of a Celtic goddess.

You know Rachel. In the fifth grade, you wanted her before you fully knew you wanted another human being. Her evolution into puberty traced the contours of your most vivid imagination. She was the loveliest of the three prettiest girls in your senior high school class. Dreams of her forecast all the lovers who blessed your most tender and cherished moments. Some lovely women seem self-conceited, calculated, and hurtful. Rachel seems generous, radiant, and playful.

Recently, Rachel confided to Howard her dismal, wicked erotic fantasy, but not exactly. Howard teased it out. Rachel, it seems, needs some brute to cut off her hair – to take control and, against her will, cut off her marvelous hair in the most humiliating way he can devise.

Against the commentary of many who visit sites about bald women, Rachel does not believe bald women are attractive – at least not, if she is the bald woman. Her former husband and she played the typical bondage and domination games. Once he tied her sitting up in bed and without permission cut off several inches of her hair. It was the shortest her hair had been in a decade. Everyone noticed. She never felt as erotic or as out of control before then.

Rachel felt overwhelmed and embarrassed by her haircut. Even her husband deeply regretted the results of the haircut. However, Rachel cannot forget it. She still plays with the fantasy of being forced to give up her hair – this time all of it. How close will she come?

How can I help Rachel? Could you or I love a woman enough to sacrifice our gentle nature, good sense, and kind hearts to humiliate a beautiful woman by taking away her beauty? Could you or I transpose an alluring seductive woman into a hideous glabrous freak?

Would you invite her into submissive games? She loves them. Would you bind her and slowly cut away her femininity? If you gag her, could she protest as you want her to protest? How could she beg to keep her beauty without stumbling into screams?

How would she know she is completely out of control but not in danger of permanent danger?

I would add some touches of my own – touches outside her fantasy. A cat box, some dental instruments, and some enema equipment might help. A nice dildo screwed into a chair might help.

A pair of thinning shears and a large collection of guides might make the misery last well into the night and morning.

First, you must make love tenderly and often but with intimations each time of her fantasies cast as your own. They are your own. You play out bondage games and minor humiliation. Whatever your fancy gives you time to enter into her imaginary world.

Maybe, lovely Rachel submits to a golden shampoo. Maybe exquisite Rachel submits to enemas. You even cut a tad of hair and stop as she fears you might take total control.

Then, after a fine evening out to the opera maybe, a hike through a beloved place in Wyoming, or perhaps a swim across a lake to a small island in the middle of the night, you tie Rachel’s hands over her head and whip her bare breasts and perfect bottom.

You must have a large mirror in front of Rachel. She must see every degradation, every humiliation as it happens to her.

You hit Rachel just hard enough to leave faint marks and a bit of a sting. Then you slowly lower her into the seat of the chair with a hard dildo screwed into just he right place as she shakes her head. “No, no, no. no.”

If Rachel submits to this point, you take actual control. You play her favorite music – Liz Phair, Bernadette Peters, even Mahler. One feminist musical theorist stated that taking a woman to a performance of Mahler’s music was equivalent to rape.

You place a wire harness over her bosom. With turns of rope, you turn each tit into a gun shell shape. Each breast extends like a cartoon of a breast. You apply suction from two snake bit kits.

Then, as she settles into the passion of the moment, you place the dental tool before her face and warn that she can say no but not scream. You casually remind pretty Rachel that hair grows back – most of the time – but teeth rarely do after a certain age. You touch a lovely white front tooth with the pliers. You tap it.

Then, you introduce Rachel to the dreaded clippers and shears. With thinning shears, you slowly begin cutting from just above her eyes and with great pauses back to her crown.

At first, only volume disappears. You talk about each clip, each snip gets a full description. You place fragments of hair in the kitty litter box. If she drank too much wine, you take her from time to time to the box to pee – to pee on her ravishing hair.

When Rachel resembles Ben Franklin, you begin to use the clippers on the sides and back but you use them with large attachments. Your have several. You clip her to an inch and a half, to an inch, to a half inch, to a quarter inch, and to an eighth of an inch. All the time she sits and watches you.

Maybe, you worked on only one side of her head and saved the other for the fast clip from long to none. You have many options and she has none.

As you prepare her – she no longer needs her name – for shaving, you put “Making Love Alone” on repeat play. You tell this once alluring woman that is the best she’ll be able to do for a while.

This is the moment when you might give this once alluring woman an enema or two. Let her hold one while you shave. So much dignity is to be lost in all this abuse.

You shave slowly. You shave roughly. You wear gloves – this is high risk sexual behavior – you tell her that anyway.

You put on all the lights and let her leer at her own ugly gray head. Finally, you rub her head with leaves – the leaves of poison ivy or poison oak. You want to keep her from wearing wigs or other coverings.

You release her and hold her close and forever. She has gotten her worst wish come true.

Do not touch the top or her head – it’s poisoned territory, you know. Well, how would you do it?

 

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