This is a story which includes female hair cutting, head shaving and spanking. If that doesn’t interest you or if you are not eighteen years of age or older I recommend that you pass this one up.
TITLE – THE PAYBACK By: Shearingly
“The master will see you now,” intoned Richard, our butler, as he ushered Miss Ellen, my cousin’s governess into the study.
My desk chair was swivelled facing away from the door so she couldn’t see my face as she walked into the room coming within four paces of the desk before stopping. She cleared her throat to remind me of her presence. I swivelled the chair and savored the shocked expression on her face as she recognized me. Then her face drained of all color when she took in the cruel grin on my face and heard me say, “I’ve been waiting a long time for this moment!”
Things were different now than they had been four years ago when I was fifteen and last visited my Uncle’s house. This same woman, the governess, Miss Ellen, had made my six week stay a living hell. I hadn’t been back since and she hadn’t been here, but now, here she was. My parents were away and at nineteen I was an adult and in their absence the master of the house.
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“I… I don’t understand,” she sputtered. “I was expecting to see your father. He was the one who invited us to come. I was told that you were away at school.”
I let her run on a bit before interrupting her and explaining. “My parents were called away to deal with a sudden business emergency overseas. They won’t be back for a few more weeks. The last time I came home from school I found the correspondence from Aunt Sarah about your coming. I told my parents I would write and tell her about their trip. I guess I just forgot to get word to her that my parents would be gone. You, your co-worker (my cousin’s personal maid, Susan) and my cousin will be my guests until they return or you go back home.”
She drew herself up ramrod straight and announced, “We will begin the return journey tomorrow!”
“No so fast, Miss Ellen,” I responded. “My parents would never forgive me if you didn’t enjoy the hospitality of our house for a few days to rest up from your rigorous journey” (it involved a four day train ride and then a long ten-hour journey by carriage to get to our estate).
“Nevertheless, this won’t work out, we will leave tomorrow.”
“No,” I said in a quiet, forceful voice. “You will stay until I give you permission to leave. You are no longer dealing with a fifteen year old boy, but the man of the house. You won’t find a person within fifty miles who would take you to the train station unless I give my permission. Do you understand your situation now?”
She slumped a little. She was beginning to understand that she was at my mercy and feared the worst.
“Take your clothes off, Ellen” I ordered. Her eyes widened with shock and her hands began to shake.
“Oh, surely? No, you wouldn’t ask me to?”
I just smiled a tight, cruel smile and nodded my head, “You heard me. Certainly you remember all the ‘games’ you had me play when I was visiting my cousins four years ago. Well, now it is your turn to play my ‘games’.” I watched her set her handbag on a chair and begin to unbutton her travelling jacket. As she did I remembered the two months I was under her control. I had gone for a visit to my Aunt and Uncle’s, something I had enjoyed doing every other summer since I could remember. When I arrived that year (I had just turned fifteen), I was introduced to my cousin’s new governess, Miss Ellen. She was young (early twenties) and pretty (thick dark blond hair, delicate features, and a slender figure). I thought it couldn’t be too bad to have such a pretty woman around to enjoy looking at. She was very nice and friendly for the first week of my stay and then my aunt and uncle took their annual trip to the shore. We were left behind because my cousin (thirteen years old) was finishing up her schoolwork.
The night they left we ate supper together in the dining room, my cousin, Miss Ellen, and me. Miss Ellen didn’t eat with the other servants, she sat in my aunt’s place at the table. She was the only adult around and naturally took charge. I didn’t think that would be a problem until we were all done eating and I stood up to leave.
“Where do you think you are going, Master Peter?” she asked in a stern voice. I turned and looked at her in surprise, “I’m done eating, I thought I would take a walk down to the stables.”
She continued in that stern voice, “Things are different now. I am the adult responsible for you and you must obey me. You will help me with your cousin’s lessons tonight!”
“I don’t need to do that,” I replied in a flippant way. “That’s what you were hired to do. I’m on my summer holiday. I’m going to the stables.” I turned and started out of the room. It happened so fast I was caught completely by surprise. She was out of her chair in an instant, had fastened her steely grip on my arm and twisted it behind my back. With a grim face she marched me upstairs to the schoolroom. I didn’t think this was for real and made no effort to resist.
Once inside the room she turned the key and pocketed it then informed me that for my insubordination and rebellion I would be punished. She still had a grip on my arm with which she propelled me to a wooden contraption I’d never seen before. She somehow got me bent over and my arms and legs buckled into restraints. She then unfastened and dropped my pants so my rear end was exposed. She used a wooden paddle, hard, and then a leather belt. Despite my best intentions I was screaming and sobbing like a baby long before she was finished. Finally she asked if I was going to rebel like that again. I sobbed out a “No,” knowing that was what she wanted to hear. She left me strapped down and unlocked the door to let my cousin in. She came in, stealing glances at me but said nothing. I stayed that way, exposed before my cousin the rest of the evening. I had been spanked before, but not for several years, and never with this much intensity.
The next day, I was too sore and upset to want to do very much, but Miss Ellen had a full day planned. Anytime I demonstrated a lack of enthusiasm she asked if I wanted another paddling. That would get me going. By the end of the day I was too worn out to go along with her plans any more. That earned me another whipping – even harder than before, if that was possible.
The next day I was as co-operative as I could be and avoided her wrath. When I was undressed, getting ready for bed, the door to my bedroom opened and in walked Miss Ellen. I didn’t think it was right, she should have more respect for my privacy, but that didn’t stop her. She made me stand up (I was completely naked) and she walked all around me looking intently. In fact, I decided later she didn’t have much first hand knowledge of a naked male. After a bit, without saying anything she left. I went to bed.
The next day she announced that I would be helping her again with my cousin’s lessons. I groaned (inside, so she wouldn’t hear) and followed her to the schoolroom. These lessons had nothing to do with reading, writing, or arithmetic. She made me remove my clothes and used me for an anatomy lesson. The two of them did some things to me I’ll never forget – both Miss Ellen and, at her urging, my cousin also. They called some of them “experiments” and others “games.” This went on for a couple of weeks until we left to join my aunt and uncle at the shore. She continued even then to make my life miserable, finding an excuse to paddle me at least twice a week. She threatened me that if I told my aunt and uncle she would make it even harder on me – I believed her! I was very relieved when it was time for me to leave them and come home. I swore to myself I’d never forget the indignities she had forced on me and vowed to pay her back if I ever had the chance. This was my chance.
She had removed her jacket, the high-necked blouse, and the long slender skirt. She was standing before me in a white cotton shift. Her thick dark blond hair was fastened up, off her neck, in a graceful roll. Come to think of it, I’d never seen her hair undone. I wondered how long it was. She stood there, hesitant to go any farther, so I said, “Undo your hair.” She looked surprised at that, but slowly her hands went up to her head and she began taking out the hairpins holding it up. It took a long time, but when she was done she shook her head and the blond hair just tumbled down, down, down. It lay across her back, down past her waist, all the way to the back of her knees. It was incredibly long, beautiful hair. It gave me an idea of something that would get me my revenge.
The first thing I said was, “Ellen, I need to convince you that our roles have changed. I am now an adult and I am the master of this house until my parents return. I think you will have some difficulty with that because the last time you saw me you were the one in charge. I am going to give you a paddling, right now. Even though you think you don’t deserve one, let’s just say this is something you’ve deserved for the last four years. Plus, it will convince you that I’m the boss. This is just a taste of what you will be getting for the next few days. I then had her bend over (I asked her if she would co-operate or if I needed to tie her down – she said she’d co-operate) and grab her ankles. She did co-operate, nicely and I stretched this out to savor it and to add to her discomfort. I surmised that it had been many years since she had submitted to the indignity of a bare bottomed paddling. I gave it all I had and before long she was sobbing and screaming for mercy. I showed her as much as she had shown me four years earlier – which was none. When I finally began to tire I stopped and made her stand in the corner, holding her shift up so her fiery, red, naked bottom was on display. I sat at my desk pretending to work but mostly just savoring the revenge and watching her fidget and dance from her agonies.
After a good forty-five minutes of that I invited her to sit in a straight-back chair in the middle of the room. She took the chair eyeing me suspiciously. I opened her handbag and rummaged through it finally taking out her hair brush. I handed it to her and ordered her to brush her hair. She sat on the edge of the chair and pulled the mass of hair to one side so it fell to the front over one shoulder and she began to work the brush through it. It was quite an effort to brush such a quantity of hair. I asked her how long she had been growing it out – she said since she was a young girl. She told me it had never been cut, only trimmed once a year. I think she got the idea that I liked her long hair, so she began to flaunt it as she worked with it, trying to use it to get on my good side.
When she wasn’t looking, I slipped a pair of sharp scissors into my pocket and then stood up. I stood behind her and ran my fingers through the lovely, shiny, blond mane. I commented on how soft it was and how nice it felt. She beamed and sighed as I continued to stroke her hair and head. Suddenly I gathered it all together and held it in a low pony tail at the nape of her neck.
“I like your hair so much,” I said, “I’m going to keep it.” With that I whipped out the scissors and began cutting through the thick pony tail as close to her head as I could. She let out a scream and tried to pull away, but I jerked her head back into place and then reminded her of the paddling she’d just gotten. She sat still, but was very tense.
When I got through severing the pony tail I lifted it up – it must have been over forty-eight inches long. I laid it out on my desk and took a thin strip of leather and tied it at the severed end. Then I slowly walked around Ellen studying her new hair style. It fell smoothly all around her head, making her look like she was wearing a helmet. I told her to sit still because I was going to trim it up. I only worked on the sides, cutting from right below her ears on an angle toward her eyebrows. When that looked pretty decent I combed some hair down over her forehead and then chopped it off short (and uneven) giving her some unsightly bangs that looked like a child experimented on herself with scissors. Once she cried out, “Why are you butchering my hair?” I thought I was being quite generous in leaving her that much. She wept through the whole haircut, but didn’t resist. When I finished that I went to a closet and pulled out a maid’s uniform and told her this was what she would be wearing while she was in our home. It was a skimpy thing and two sizes too small – a jumper-like top (and I didn’t plan on giving her a blouse) that left everything important visible and the skirt part was only about six inches long so it didn’t even cover her rear end. Her face turned red when she saw it and she was about to protest, but I picked up the paddle and she changed her mind. I ordered her to put it on in front of me and then I sent her off to get washed up for dinner.
Dinner was an unusual affair. Ellen’s new uniform, not to mention her new hair style, made her very uncomfortably self-conscious. She didn’t have much to say at the table. The other maid and my cousin tried to carry on a conversation, but they kept loosing their train of thought and staring at Ellen during the meal. After dessert, which Ellen barely touched, I announced that it was time for my cousin, Miranda’s, haircut.
She gulped, hard, and looked like she was going to lose the supper she had just eaten. I smiled my cruel smile at her and said, “Remember four years ago and all the ‘fun’ we had when I was visiting your house?” She slowly nodded, while turning pale. “Well now it’s my turn to be the host and plan the games. We’re going to start with a new hair style for you.”
I instructed her to take her hair down (she had twisted it up in an elegant chignon). I watched (the others seemed glued to the scene also) as she unfastened the gorgeous strawberry blond hair. It had a natural wave that caused the hair to twine around showing off the natural highlights in fascinating patterns. It had been years (at least four) since I had seen her hair unfastened and hanging down. She must not have cut it in all that time, because when it was unbound it hung down to her elbows, just inches from her waist. It was trimmed in a neat, straight line across her back and looked soft, shiny and delicious. I put a brush in her hand and ordered her to brush it out. She did, slowly and sadly, wondering what I had in mind.
She said, “Cousin Peter, please don’t cut very much. I love my hair like this and it has taken such a long time to get it to this length.” I didn’t say a word, just watched carefully as she worked with her glorious locks.
I pulled the scissors out of my pocket and stood behind her, running my fingers through the soft tresses when her personal maid, Susan, blurted out, “Please, sir, I beg you. Her hair is much too pretty to cut. Please, sir, cut mine.”
I looked her over carefully. She had not been Miranda’s maid when I visited four years ago. She might have been around the place then, but I didn’t remember her. I had no grudge against her, but she was cute enough and when a cute girl begs me to cut their hair who am I to refuse? I didn’t promise not to cut Miranda’s, just moved around to stand behind Susan’s chair. She nervously patted the chestnut brown, naturally wavy hair that was pulled back into a bun at the base of her head. She took a deep breath to steady herself and said again, “It’s O.K. Go ahead and cut my hair, sir.” I pulled roughly at the bun, but only succeeded in eliciting an “OUCH” from Susan. “Take it down,” I ordered. She began pulling out pins and laying them on the table in front of her. Soon the chestnut waves were free and hanging down to a point about six inches below her shoulders. I lifted a small section of hair that was attached to the top of her head, laid the scissors right next to her scalp and closed the blades on the hair. She couldn’t see what I was doing, but she could feel the scissors against her head and the other two gasped. I laid the pretty lock of hair on the table in front of Susan and then proceeded to cut off section by section building up the pile of hair on the table. It was a ragged job, portions of scalp showed and tufts of longer hair were still attached to her head. She looked like a dog with mange. I went over her head again and again clipping off the longer strands as long as I could get a hold of them and lift them up. When I was done with her she looked awful.
I put the scissors back in my pocket and walked back around by Miranda. I ran my fingers through her lovely hair and asked her what she thought of Susan’s new hair style. She burst out crying, “You didn’t need to do that to her. She never did anything to you. That was spiteful and mean. You’re a hideous and awful man!”
“Those are brave words from a girl who still has her hair, spoken to a man with scissors in his pocket.”
“You promised that if you cut Susan’s you wouldn’t cut mine.”
“I did no such thing. Did anyone hear me make a promise like that? I heard Susan beg me, ‘Please sir, cut mine.’ So I did. I hate to disappoint a cute girl who wants her hair cut.”
I could see Miranda’s face in the mirror on the wall facing us. She looked absolutely stricken. Susan’s face fell as it dawned on her that she had sacrificed her hair for nothing.
Ellen tried to regain some control of the situation by saying, “All right, Master Peter. You have had your revenge on us, now please leave us alone.”
I walked over to her and stroked her hair. “Ellen, do you like your new hair style? Maybe it’s still too long. Perhaps I should cut some more off?” With that I grasped the hair that grew right above her right temple, whipped out the scissors and snipped it off close to her scalp. Now she had a nearly bald patch on the side of her head.
“I’m sorry Master Peter. I shouldn’t have spoken out like that. You are the one in charge here. You may do as you wish.” She tried to soothe and calm me with her words. They were a completely different tune than what I heard out of her mouth four years earlier. I patted her head (like she was a dog) and said, “Thank you, Ellen, for giving me permission to do what I want in my house.”
I went back behind Miranda and once again toyed with her hair. “Maybe I’ll let you keep your hair if you are nice to me, Miranda.”
She immediately brightened, “Oh, yes, thank you, Peter. I’ll do whatever you say. I’ll be very nice to you.”
I grabbed a hunk of her hair and tugged sharply.
“Owww,” she yelled, “what was that for?”
“You can start by calling me ‘Sir’ instead of Peter. I am, after all, the master of the house.”
“Yes sir,” she said, suitably chastened and subdued.
I sent her to bed with the false hope that she might keep her hair. For the next few days I had both her and Ellen jumping through hoops like trained circus dogs (not literally) for me, and anytime their enthusiasm waned I pulled out my scissors and went, “Snip, snip, snip.”
They got so tired of seeing me coming that I think Miranda came to the conclusion she’d rather I just cut her hair and get it over with. The games I proposed got more and more humiliating to her until finally she decided that she’d rather get it over with. At supper the night she decided that she said, “Sir, I think I’d rather you just cut my hair instead of holding this sword over my head and threatening me unless I go along with your fantasies.”
I looked at her and raised my eyebrows in pretend surprise (I had seen in coming). Then I turned to Ellen, “Do you feel the same way, Ellen?”
“What,” she asked in a confused way. “What does that have to do with me?”
“Well you still have some hair left,” I replied. Her hand reached up and stroked her hair, I’m not even sure she knew she was doing it. She looked thoughtful and finally decided that yes, she would rather get it done and over with. She nodded her agreement.
Well, I suppose if you ladies get on your knees and beg me to cut your hair, if I am convinced you are sincere about it, then I would do it for you. What a comical sight to see these haughty, proud women fall onto their knees and beg and plead for me to cut their hair. If I had told them when they first came that they would be begging for a haircut they would have thought I was insane.
Finally I said, “O.K., I’m convinced. I’ll cut your hair for you. Now remember, when you get home you tell your parents that you asked for this haircut and that I was reluctant but you begged and pleaded and finally I gave in.” They promised that that was the story they would tell them.
I started with Ellen’s blond helmet and using the scissors like I had with Susan’s I soon reduced it to a clumpy, stubbly collection of wispy hairs. She rubbed her hands over her head and cried great big sobs. To go from super long hair to stubble in the space of a week was a big shock to her. I let her cry a bit and then took from a nearby cupboard a shaving mug and brush and a straight razor. I took the pitcher of water and poured some on her head, then a little in the shaving mug before working up a lather with the brush. As soon as I had enough I brushed it all over her head. The razor was stropped to a keen edge and I began scraping off the remaining stubble. Soon her head was absolutely bald, shining white as the cue ball in our pool room. I towelled off the remaining shaving cream and announced I was finished. She touched her head and fainted dead away. She revived a few minutes later and was fine, but what a shock to touch her bald head like that.
“Miranda, what shall I do with your hair?” I asked her (as if she’d have any input in my decision).
“How about a nice short bob, about chin length,” she ventured.
I laughed. “Nice try, cousin.” I buried my hands in her abundant hair and whispered in my best cruel voice, “Say goodbye to this lovely head of hair. It will be a LOOOONG time before it looks like this again.” With that I grabbed large sections and hacked them off, close to her scalp – intentionally hurting her as much as I could. Tears were streaming down her face, from the emotional trauma as well as the pain of the haircut. I piled the severed hair up on the table in front of her so she could see her mutilated hair, now detached from her body.
“I hope all those anatomy and biology lessons you had using me, four years ago, were worth it. Every time you look in the mirror for the next four years you will regret all those games and experiments. It will be a difficult lesson, but I doubt you’ll do it again.”
I kept at it until she was scissored as close as possible and then I shaved her head also. I was a little better at it than with Ellen – I only nicked her a couple of times and she hardly bled at all. When I finished with her I looked at the maid, Susan, and said, “Do you want to look like these two?” With eyes widened in terror, she tentatively shook her head, “No.” I rubbed my hand on her funny looking stubble and then said, “I’ll leave it alone, then. But if you want your head shaved, I’ll be glad to do it for you.”
“Thank you, sir,” she murmured in a meek and quiet voice.
I watched Ellen and Miranda leave the room, supporting each other in their arms, rubbing their hands on their heads and each others and crying buckets of tears. I didn’t see much of them after that. They left a few days later (before my parents got home) and we never did hear anything about the trip, except a letter from my aunt mentioning that the girls had gotten some crazy notion in their heads and cut their hair off. My mother mentioned it to me and asked if I knew anything about what she was talking about. I just shrugged my shoulders and said, “That cousin Miranda, always was a strange one.”