Mommy and Stacey

Mommy and Stacey

TITLE: MOMMY AND STACY By – Shearingly

I had just finished giving my four-year-old daughter, Stacy, a bath and washing her hair. I sat on the couch leaning back against the soft armrest cushion and put my feet up. Stacy climbed up on my lap and cuddled up to me. She had her legs straddled on either side of me and was laying on me with the top of her head under my chin. Her arms were wrapped around me in a hug. I ran my fingers through her still slightly damp, below-shoulder-length hair, lifting it up to bury my face in its soft sweetness.

After her bath I had dressed us both in bulky, soft, fuzzy sweaters and matching short denim skirts. We sat entwined in a loving hug. I told her I liked the smell of shampoo on her pretty brown hair, Stacy said my sweater smelled nice. We murmured to each other, little inconsequential things, assuring each other of our love. I gently rubbed her tiny back and she tickled my face and neck, sliding her small fingers under my hair to tickle the short hairs on the nape of my neck.

Stacy turned her head toward the room, then I felt her sit up (my eyes were closed, savoring the tranquillity of an evening at home). “Mommy, who’s that man?” Stacy asked.

“What man, Stacy” I said drowsily.

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“That man sitting over there.” I opened my eyes and turned my head toward the room thinking that Stacy was playing pretend again, like she often did with her imaginary friends. But sitting in one of my chairs on the other side of the room was a man I’d never seen before. He was dressed in khaki pants and a navy blue blazer, and was smiling at us holding a sign that said, “Stay put. Don’t scare the girl.” I don’t know if he knew for a fact or just guessed, but Stacy couldn’t read yet and didn’t know what the sign said.

I stayed where I was but wrapped my arms tighter around Stacy and said to her, “I don’t know who he is.” Stacy looked at him, she’s never been shy, and asked, “Who are you, mister?”

He answered, “My name is Mr. Smith.”

“What are you doing here?” little Stacy pursued.

“I came to see your mommy.”

“It’s a Mister Smith and he came to see you” Stacy told me like I hadn’t heard a word.

I started to swing my feet to the floor, thinking I needed to get control of this situation. My doors had all been locked and I had not invited this man into my home. He was a trespasser and I needed to get rid of him.

He said in a pleasant voice, “You’re O.K., stay where you are, don’t get up on my account.” Just like he was my guest and was declining the offer of coffee. He pulled out another sign from behind the first one. This one said, “Co-operate and nothing will happen to the girl.”

I felt myself go stiff with fear. My stomach began to knot up and I could feel the familiar sensation of dread. If I had been alone I might have tried to run or scream or fight with him, but I didn’t want anything to happen to my daughter. We rented a little house on the edge of town with no neighbors in hearing distance and before I could get away he would easily catch me.

I sighed and leaned back against the couch. “Stacy,” the stranger’s voice boomed out like it came through a dense fog, “would you go get me a glass of water?” She nodded happily and squirmed off my lap, dashing away before I could wrap my arms around her again. Once she was out of the room he said softly, “I am here because your husband has gotten involved with my business partners. He owes some money and I have been sent to let him know the situation is unacceptable.”

“I’ll pass along any message you give me,” I croaked out weakly through dry lips.

He smiled at my naivete and said, “No, there is no message. When I’m through he’ll understand.”

“What are you going to do? Just don’t hurt Stacy, please, I beg you.” I wasn’t too surprised to hear that my husband was in trouble. It had happened before and he was always full of remorse and promises, but I guess this time he’d gone too far. He didn’t answer me, allowing my imagination to conjure up the worst.

We heard Stacy’s footsteps returning from the kitchen. “Just remember to go along with everything I tell you to do or it will scare Stacy. I’m sure you don’t want her to be hurt, do you?”

“Oh, no, please don’t hurt Stacy. I’ll do anything you tell me to do.”

Stacy came back and walked right up to the stranger handing him the glass of water. He smiled politely and thanked her. He had a great big thick, long mustache which fascinated Stacy. She stood and stared at it for a long time. He sipped the water carefully while she watched. She climbed up on his lap for a closer look. She reached up and touched his mustache. I cringed, thinking she was going to anger him.

He smiled at her and didn’t look in the least bit angry. He ran his fingers through her soft hair, lifting it up and twirling the strands around his fingers. Finally he said. “Stacy, didn’t your mommy just gave you a bath? She nodded happily. “Now she’s going to get ready to take one of her own. What’s the first thing you do before your bath?”

“I take all my clothes off,” she said helpfully.

He looked at me, lifted his eyebrow and said, “Go ahead.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but he had Stacy on his lap and just pointed to her, so I just stood up and slowly lifted the sweater up and over my head. I had changed after work, removing my uncomfortable bra and putting on the sweater that felt so soft against my bare skin. As the sweater came off I was on full display from the waist up.

Stacy turned her head and looked at me. She giggled and pointed, “Look you can see mommy’s boobies.” I could feel my face getting red. “I used to suck on them,” she said proudly.

“Do you ever suck on them anymore?” I heard the man ask her. She shook her head, no. “Would you like to pretend you’re a baby. I bet if you asked her right now, she’d let you.” She smiled at the thought and came over to me. “Mommy, can I be a baby and suck on your boobies?”

I groaned inside but sat down on the couch and opened my arms to her. “Just this one time, honey,” I told her. She tried to lay in my arms like a baby, resting her head in the crook of my arm and suck on my nipples. Of course nothing came out and it was awkward since she was too big to hold in that position. She soon gave up and got off my lap.

He beckoned for me to come over to him. When I stood in front of him he slipped his hands up underneath my short denim skirt and taking hold of the red bikini panties he slid them off my hips and down to my ankles. I kicked off the loafers I had on and stepped out of the panties. It sure was a weird feeling to stand in front of this stranger nude from the waist up and have him take my panties off like that.

He lifted up the front of my skirt and said, “Stacy, look, your mom has a beard.” Stacy giggled at that. I didn’t let her see me naked very often, but she had before and knew what I looked like.

“Mommy has a beard, mommy has a beard,” she began to chant.

The man smiled at her and said, “I think your mommy ought to shave, don’t you?”

She clapped her hands and laughed, “Mommy shave like Daddy.” She had watched her daddy shave and was fascinated with it like all little children are. I groaned anticipating where this was going. Mr. Smith asked Stacy to go in the bathroom and get a stack of towels and a wet washcloth. She came back with a half a dozen towels and a sopping wet washcloth dripping on the floor.

Mr. Smith moved the coffee table out of the way and spread out a towel on the floor. He told me to lay down on the towel, lift my skirt out of the way and spread my legs wide for my shave. Stacy laughed happily every time he said the word “shave.” I got down on the floor and spread my legs apart. He picked up the wet washcloth and plopped it right on my crotch. It was COLD! The two of them went to the kitchen to get a basin of water while I lay there with that cold washcloth on me.

When he came back he filled his hand with shaving cream, removed the washcloth and proceeded to rub the cream all around between my legs. He scraped and scraped with a safety razor to get the hair off. Every swipe filled the razor with long curly hair that had to be rinsed out. Finally he got it down to stubble. He put on more shaving cream, put in a new blade and went over it all again. He had me get up on my knees with my head down and my butt up in the air so he could shave all around my rear end also. Between the cold water and the shaving cream I felt an arctic cold down there.

When he was done and had towelled me dry, he pulled out some lotion and told Stacy to rub it all over where he had shaved. I’ve always been very responsive to a touch down there. My husband could come to bed in the middle of the night when I was fast asleep and if he began to caress me in the right place I would instantly get turned on. Stacy rubbed it all over where he had shaved me and inevitably touched my spot. I couldn’t help it – when she touched it I gasped. Mr. Smith looked up from what he was doing and instantly knew what had happened.

Stacy kept on rubbing around but Mr. Smith moved her fingers back to the spot and said, “Your mommy needs more lotion right here.” He put a big glob of lotion in her tiny hand and told her to gently rub it on that spot until it was all gone. I couldn’t believe it, here was my four-year-old daughter getting me turned on. My hips started moving around, I just couldn’t help it despite the awful circumstances, here I was responding to my daughter’s touch. Stacy giggled and told me to hold still, but I couldn’t. I started moaning and breathing hard – Stacy looked at Mr. Smith who said, “It’s all right, Stacy, your mommy really likes this. It feels really good to her.” Pretty soon I was transported to another world for a few minutes and then shuddering and shaking I climaxed. The shudders kept up for over a minute while Stacy kept on rubbing. Finally Mr. Smith said, “That’s good, Stacy. You can stop now. Your mommy loves to have that done to her. Anytime you want to make your mommy happy you can rub her right there, she’ll really love it.” I groaned to myself thinking what it would take to get that out of her mind.

He helped me to my feet and guided me (on wobbly, tingly legs) to a dining room chair. I tucked the hair at the side of my face behind my ears. He told Stacy to take the wet towels to the bathroom. He handed me a hair brush and told me to brush my hair. I ran it through my dark blond hair, feeling the strands fall into alignment. I kept it trimmed to just shoulder length and had gotten a slight perm so as I used the blow dryer and a round bristled brush I could put a little wave in the ends. I had been growing out my bangs for a year and they were now long enough to bring back along the sides like wings. I wondered what he had in mind next, but I suspected it would be something I wouldn’t want.

“Whatcha doin’ now?” Stacy asked when she came back.

“You’ll see.” he replied to her. I kept on brushing, since he hadn’t told me to stop, until I heard a chuckle. I turned to see what he found so amusing. I glanced at him and then followed the direction of his eyes. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Stacy was laying on the carpet with her sweater off (like me), her panties were off also (like me) and her denim skirt was flipped up on her tummy. The worst thing was she had filled her hand with lotion and was rubbing it on her privates in the same place that had given me such pleasure.

“Stacy, don’t do that,” I said sharply.

She looked at me in a puzzled way. I never hollered at her like that. “But mommy, it made you feel good so I wanted to try it.”

In a softer voice I explained, “You will have to wait until you grow up and become an adult for it to feel good on you.” She didn’t argue or question me (for once), just hopped up and let her skirt drop down to cover herself again. She didn’t put her panties or sweater on again, but I didn’t push it.

I didn’t have to wait too much longer to find out what Mr. Smith had in mind for me. He lifted the hairbrush out of my hand and stroked it through my hair like I had been doing. After a bit he put the brush down on the table in front of me and then I felt him lift up a section of my hair right at my forehead. He held the section between his fingers and then I heard the unmistakable “snick” of scissors closing on hair. I flinched and said, “Careful, I’ve been growing my bangs out for a year.”

“A couple of inches,” he said.

I relaxed a little. If he only cut off two inches that would grow back in a few months. It would be all right. He held up another section and once again the metal teeth closed on my hair. This time he let the severed strands slide down my face and plop into my lap. I glanced down and there was a clump of hair five inches long! “What!” I exclaimed.

“A couple of inches,” he repeated. “I am leaving a couple of inches.” I started to struggle to get out of the chair, knowing even as I did that it was too late – he’d already cut too much. He leaned down and whispered in my ear, “You don’t want anything to happen to Stacy, do you?”

I stopped and sat still in the chair, but I couldn’t relax. My hair was probably my best feature and I had always taken good care of it. I had it trimmed regularly, used the best shampoo and conditioner that I could get and never left the house without it being styled in an attractive way. I couldn’t believe that some stranger was mutilating it and I was powerless to stop it.

The “snick, snick, snick” persisted with a regular rhythm. I could tell he had worked his way all across the top of my head and was now working on my right side. My lap and the floor around my hair was covered with silky strands of dark blond hair. Stacy picked up two handfuls and set them on the table to play with them. At one point she stopped, looked at me with a serious expression and said, “Mommy, your hair looks funny,” then she went back to playing.

He quickly finished the right side then he pushed my head forward and began removing the long hair on the back of my head. I cried as I felt the lightening of my head and pictured the awful mess he was leaving. It seemed the lower he got, toward the nape of my neck, the shorter he cut it. I reached back to touch it and verified that it was a lot less than two inches around my ears and neckline. He moved my head around as he needed to finish the back and start on the left side. When he was all done he took a comb and making a part on the left side he combed it like a boy’s hairstyle. After combing it for a minute or so, he picked up the scissors and made a few adjustments.

He finished that, put down the scissors and handed me a small mirror. I didn’t want to look but was compelled to hold the mirror up and open my eyes. I let out a screech. It wasn’t me in that mirror, it was a boy looking at me. He had done a pretty smooth job, but gone was my lovely thick blond mane. It was an indescribably awful feeling!

While I was studying my new reflection Mr. Smith pulled something out of his satchel. I didn’t think about what he was doing until I heard a “snap” and the air was filled with the sound of an electric hum. I twisted my head to see what was going on and I saw a big black set of electric clippers in his hand. I let out another shriek and yelped, “What are you going to do with those?”

He put his hand on my shoulder to hold me in place (I’d half stood up) and said, “Relax. I need to clean up around your neckline and ears.” I didn’t trust him, but sensing that I had no choice I eased back into my seat. Once again he leaned over and whispered in my exposed ear, “You’re scaring Stacy.” I glanced at her and she did look nervous. I tried to smile at her and said, “It’s OK honey.”

He pushed my head forward and I felt the cold teeth of the clippers against my neck. There was a slight vibrating sensation as I felt the teeth move upward. They only went up an inch or so and then stopped. He repositioned them and did it again. I began to relax, thinking that was all he would do. As soon as he felt me relax, he put the buzzing blades in the center of my neck and with a quick motion he pushed them all the way up to the crown of my head, over the top and made a bee-line for my forehead. I was frozen in shock as the realization struck – he intends to shave my head. I wanted to scream at him, but a look at Stacy’s wide eyed face held me back.

Now that the first swath had been taken, he slowed down and took his time. He went over it again, more slowly. With no guard on the teeth I could see in the little hand mirror a path of white baldness appearing in the middle of my head. My shoulders slumped in defeat. This was the worst thing I could imagine happening to me. It was bad enough that I was made to look like a little boy, but now I was going to look like a bald old man!

He kept it up, oblivious to my feelings. Mowing path after path up the back of my head and across the top. Little pieces of dark blond hair were flying all around me. When he had finished going one direction he went the other, from side to side, ear to ear. When that was all done and I was still sitting, numb in my chair, I felt him smooth shaving cream all over my scalp. He worked quickly and soon I was absolutely cue-ball smooth all over my head.

I hated him for doing this to me. I was now completely hairless – he had even shaved off my eyebrows! I hated my husband for involving me in his troubles. I numbly obeyed when he told me to go take a shower and wash off the little hairs all over me. When I came out of the bathroom, rubbing lotion on my bald head, the stranger was gone but I didn’t see Stacy. My heart came up to my throat.

“Stacy, Stacy” I called out frantically.

“In my bedroom, mommy?” she called back.

I took a deep breath and went in to find her. I barely stifled back a scream when I saw her. She was playing on her bed – she had a Barbie doll in one hand and scissors in the other. She had cut the beautiful blond hair of the doll close to the skull. That wasn’t what made me almost scream. Stacy was sitting there calmly – sporting a brand new crew cut. I went to her and wrapped my arms around her. Trying to stay calm I asked, “What happened to your hair, honey?”

“I wanted to look like you,” she said. “I asked Mr. Smith to give me a haircut like yours but he said you would want to shave my head yourself, so he just used those clippers and buzzed my hair short. That felt funny, vibrating all over my head – it tickled.” I cried for her lost hair, hugged her and ran my hand over her soft fuzz. “So will you shave my head, mommy?”

“I don’t think so, honey. I don’t think you’d like it if I did.”

“Why not, mommy?” She reached up and rubbed my head, totally smooth and soft from the lotion. “He said he’d come back in a few weeks and make sure you shaved my head. He also said he’d come back once a month if Daddy didn’t do something. Do you know what he meant?”

I sadly nodded my head that I understood and took her into the bathroom where I got out my shaving cream and the razor I used on my legs.

THE END

 

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