Punishment to Pleasure

Punishment to Pleasure

Punishment Turned Pleasure- JHawkGuy

This is the first collaboratory effort of the fictional-haircutting-story variety by my girlfriend and I. Please send all feedback to me. This story includes a “forced” scene. If this offends anyone, your skin is too thin.

My name is Kate and I am sporting a fresh crewcut . The story behind how I received it is rather interesting…

Before today, my hair was midback in length. It is dark brown, nearly black in color and flashes… errr… flashed natural auburn highlights in the sunshine. It always gave me goose bumps when I would flip it over my face and then back over my neck and shoulders, feeling its soft, silkiness cascade downward. But today, I had a sensation which trivialized that one.

I had briefly toyed with the idea of getting all of my hair cut off a while ago, but I never had the nerve, nor desire, to do anything. It wasn’t me so much that wanted it cut off… but my boyfriend, Brian. If it were left up to me, I’d wear my hair long forever. Yes, I loved my long hair very much, but the thought of it being taken away from me always intrigued me because that concept turned him on. You see, my boyfriend teased me about getting a crewcut some time ago. He even went so far as to say that if I ever cheated on him, I would get a crewcut if I wanted to remain with him. I giggled it off, never really paying him any mind. But I couldn’t stop thinking about it in a practical way. It would be so convenient to crop my hair that short…such a time saver. And I knew my boyfriend would find me quite attractive with a crewcut…probably even more so. However, my hair was so long, to the point of covering my breasts completely, and so very healthy. I just couldn’t do it. He loved that hair too, he pampered it often and made sure I always cared for it. Plus, many people complimented me on my hair daily. It was clearly one of my best features, perhaps my best. No, I could never have it cut short. It was my pride and joy…and I thought his too….

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Until about a week ago, that is. I did something that I never thought I would do. I cheated on my boyfriend. I didn’t actually sleep with another guy, but I did get physically involved with him for a very short time. Brian was away at the time and my strong sex-drive simply got the better of me. Obviously that is no excuse for what I did, but that is what happened. I felt so guilty about that ordeal I had to tell Brian. It hurt me to do it, but keeping it from him would have been worse.

Well for this entire week he did not speak to me except when necessary, but he did so very dryly and in a monotone manner, understandable nonetheless. We were on the verge of breaking up. Then he came over to my apartment today. I thought we were finally going to work things out, to talk it over and come to a resolution, either positively or negatively. But he immediately asked if we could go for a walk to find somewhere to talk. I agreed and left with him. We walked for a while and he hadn’t said one word. I was beginning to feel a bit uncomfortable. I finally couldn’t take his silence anymore so I pleaded with him to talk, to say anything. All he did was look at me and say coldly, “I’ll say my piece in a minute.” He kept walking and I followed of course.

Eventually he stopped in front of a barbershop that turned out to be a few blocks from my apartment. I didn’t know what was going on. He walked in, holding the door open for me to follow so I did. There wasn’t anyone waiting, just one man getting a haircut. Brian sat down on a couch and I sat down next to him, totally impatient at that moment. I begged openly for him to talk to me, but he wouldn’t say a word…he just picked up a magazine and started reading. I sat back into the soft couch, pouting, angry, confused and thinking of breaking off the relationship right then and there. I was so wrapped up in trying to get him to talk to me though, it didn’t even cross my mind to ask him what we were doing in a barbershop.

When the customer before us was brushed off with the little whisk brush, had paid and left, the barber turned our way and said, “Next.” Brian grabbed my left arm and lifted me from the couch. I asked him with a quizzical look what the heck he was doing but the cold glare in his eyes was fixed on the red upholstered barber chair in front of me. I wasn’t walking forward, but he was dragging me to that chair. I was petrified, the sudden realization of what was happening hit me with the force of a thunderbolt. I kicked and screamed but he managed to get me in the chair. I tried at once to get up but he held me down. I calmed down, trying the soft-spoken approach and mustered a meek, “What are you doing, honey?” That attempt at reason failed miserably as my arms were strapped to the chair and legs held in place with a belt-type device. I quickly resorted to trying to get up from the chair again, but this time my attempts were totally futile. Despair sat in. I began to sob. I thought of the barber and a brief wave of hope grew in me, thinking he could stop all of this. But as I turned my head to the door, I saw he was there, locking it and turning the sign so that “Closed” faced the street. I was crushed. They were in it together. All hope of saving my beautiful hair was lost.

A wave of tears burst from my eyes; I began to hiccup from the degree of my crying. I soon stopped, awaiting words from Brian who stood directly in front of the chair which imprisoned me. I managed to say through a voice choked with sorrow, “I’m sooo sorry, honey. But please don’t do this to me. Please don’t cut my hair.” I saw him reach out a hand and push my hair back away from my tear-streaked face. He smoothed my hair, caressing my cheek as he did so. However, this attempt at soothing me quickly returned to harsh realization when he said, “This is your punishment for what you did. You knew what would happen if you ever did this, yet you did not let that deter you. You have made your bed, now lie in it.”

All I could do was cry once more. A fresh waterfall of tears streamed down my face. Brian turned to the barber and said, “OK, you can begin.” I sensed the barber smiling at this command. He lifted up my hair in bulk with one hand and placed some tissue paper around my neck with the other. He grabbed a cutting cape from the counter behind the chair and snapped it open in front of me with a flourish, like a matador pops a red cape in a bull-fight, and placed it around me. The cape nearly covered my entire body, from my neck to my ankles and was closed shut with a SNAP at my neck. It was too tight but I knew the last thing I should do was to complain about that. The barber then grabbed the clippers and flicked them on and off, teasing me. My body tried in vain to get free from the chair once more. My muscles ached from the strain. It was my final attempt to save my hair from decorating the floor. Again, I failed.

I sat back, seeing the grimness of my situation. I gazed into the mirror in front of me, or rather tried to gaze through my water filled eyes. I pleaded with Brian again to stop this, with each word the barber came closer and closer to my hair with the clippers. I noticed the barber now for the first time, as I looked into the mirror facing me. He was in his 50s most likely, balding and had a large tattoo on his left forearm resembling an anchor. I felt his left hand, thick-fingered and heavy, place itself atop my head and push it down so my chin touched my chest. My nose flared up and tears began to plop audibly onto the cape, sliding down into my lap. With his free hand the barber shoved the incredibly loud clippers under the bulk of my hair at my nape and plowed them upward, yielding a fruitful harvest of my long, silky, dark hair which collected partially in my lap and also on the floor.

As I watched my hair slither down into my lap and some even land on my feet, I was overcome with an incredible sensation throughout my entire body. Goose bumps popped up all over. It was so awesome that my body shook slightly and I was forced to exhale a small sigh….no…it was more like a moan. He pushed the clippers all the way through my long thick hair leaving a path of velvety soft hair in their wake. My sobbing ceased and my moans grew in intensity. My eyes were closed for quite a while as I was enjoying each intense pass of the clippers…the vibrations sending shockwaves of pleasure throughout my body. I opened them just as he was making the final pass with the clippers. I could only see a cape covered with my hair…. hair which had not so long ago adorned my head and the floor, now littered with my hair, which had been relatively clean prior to me sitting in that horrid chair. His hand released its grip and I raised my head. A dark carpet of hair was now on my head. It was, I would guess, less than an inch long, something like a half inch or so. I was still recovering from the sensation of the clippers and trying to realize that really was me I was staring at in the mirror when the barber brushed the loose hairs off me, undid the cape and let a mountain of my hair spill out onto the floor. The pile was immense, a sight to behold.

My eyes were fixed on that when I felt a hand gently touch my chin and turn it so I faced directly in front of me. My eyes met Brian’s. His were no longer cold and unfeeling, but warm and full of love. He undid the straps and helped me from the chair. He wiped away my tears and kissed me deeply. It was wonderful. He had been satisfied with the punishment and I had discovered a new form of foreplay… and a new toy—-clippers.

So here I am now. It is late evening now and he is asleep. We made love all day following this morning’s haircut. I cannot stop rubbing my head. I am the epitome of happiness.

 

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