Submission – Astrid Bailey
The lights are dim as I sit there waiting… the loneliness and nervousness a tangible thing as I wait.
He will be here soon. Anxiously I pace the room, making sure everything is as He instructed it to be.
A full-length mirror stands in the center of the room. A simple, straight-backed chair immediately in front of it and a small table on the side. On the table I have placed a basin and some towels.
There are candles lit everywhere and the air smells of the sandalwood incense I am burning. The bed looks warm and inviting and I feel myself moistening at the thought of how different I will feel the next time I lay there… with Him beside me… the same woman… but very, very different…
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There is only one more small thing I must do to prepare myself. I step in front of the mirror and begin pulling the pins from my hair. The long auburn curls fall loosely around my shoulders, tumbling down my back almost to my waist. I run my fingers through them for what I know will probably be the last time… because tonight… tonight I will sacrifice them to the hands of my Master. It has been a sacrifice long in coming.
My mind goes back to images from my childhood… the odd tinglings I felt going to the barbershop with my Father… the way I felt when the clippers touched my own little neck… the irritated but bemused look on my Mother’s face when she’d discover yet another one of my beautiful dolls… devoid of their hair.
And why was it that my own hair had been allowed to grow for so many years? The answer, truthfully… vanity. It is not so much that I am a vain woman (for in truth I am not). It was more the fact that as my hair grew, so did the compliments that I received on it. It was always the first thing people noticed about me… long and thick… an untamed mass of soft ringlets. I wonder what people will notice after tonight?
I am shaken from my reverie by the sound of the key in the door. I break out in a cold sweat and my heartbeat stalls and then quickens in my chest as I drop to my knees.
The door opens and He enters languidly… his tall, slender form moving as silently and gracefully as that of a predatory animal.
I know my eyes should be down, but I cannot help myself. I am drawn to Him and it is difficult for me to look away. I love to watch Him move… to hear Him speak… to feel Him touch me…
He is carrying a small, black overnight bag, which He sets down on the table before walking over to stand in front of me. Now my eyes drop. It is almost unbearably sweet to know He is only inches away and that soon I will feel those long slender hands touching a part of me that has never been exposed before.
For reasons I cannot explain, I softly begin to cry. An overload of emotions I suppose. I am embarrassed and horrified, but am unable to stop myself. It is a mixture of fear, longing, anxiety, happiness… and emotions I have no name for.
His hands on my shoulders and His voice whispering softly… “Stand.” I do not have to think… my body responds to Him automatically. As I stand I feel His hands lowering my long, loose dress past my shoulders. It drops to the floor with a soft ‘whoosh’.
My cheeks redden and my body flushes as I stand exposed before Him… so unworthy… so uncertain…
With His hand beneath my chin He lifts my face until I am staring upwards into those ominous blue eyes of His. He bends down and tastes the tears on my face… murmuring soft, encouraging words… His hands cup my breasts and my nipples swell for Him as he flicks the little silver ring on the left one… the one I had placed there for Him.
I feel the wetness between my legs overflow, making the insides of my thighs warm and sticky.
“Are you ready to serve Me now?” His voice sounds far away. Everything feels like a dream as I nod my head, ‘yes’, and reach out and begin undressing Him. As I remove His shirt I take note of His long, light brown hair pulled back loosely in a ponytail. Soon His will be much longer than mine.
I drop to my knees again and unfasten His pants, pulling them down and exposing this beautiful, hard cock I have dreamed of so often. Only inches away… I cannot resist. Without waiting for His permission or approval my head dips forward and engulfs the swollen wet head. Inwardly I rejoice as I hear His quick intake of breath and I feel His hands come to rest in my hair.
As He winds the long strands around His fingers, I savor the taste and feel of Him in my mouth. I barely notice when His hands leave my hair and He reaches inside the black bag.
He seems to grow in my mouth as His hands once more reach into my flowing locks. I look up to find Him staring down at me… His expression unreadable, His eyes piercing. And it is then that I see the scissors He is holding.
While I watch, He gently lifts a curl from my forehead, stretching it to its full, 20-inch length. He places the scissors as close to my scalp as they can get. I feel the cold blades and realize I am groaning… the sounds muffled by the fact that He is buried in my face. I hold my breath as I wait for that first snip… the one which will begin my journey into servitude. But instead of closing the blades, He moves them upwards, 3 or 4 inches away from my scalp. It is then that He makes the first cut… a soft, tugging, a short, precise ‘snip’, and the first curl is free from my head. I watch as it drops to the floor, coiling up and resuming its natural shape as it falls from His hand.
I close my eyes and begin to suck Him in earnest now as I feel Him picking up strand after strand and snipping them away. My head begins to feel lighter as He removes more and more of the heavy tresses, until all that is left is an uneven, long, pixie-type cut. He lays down the scissors and takes my head in both hands and I feel His body tense as He moans and explodes in my mouth. I swallow every drop of His salty nectar as he shudders above me. I let Him slip from my mouth as He motions me to stand.
I glance at myself in the full-length mirror… startled by the reflection staring back at me. My hair has been long my entire adult life. As I stand there taking in this new image of myself, He has seated Himself in the chair… watching me carefully.
He knows what I am feeling.
He has known what I would feel from the beginning.
I turn to face Him and instinctively know what is expected of me next. I place my hands on His shoulder and straddle Him… poised above His lap. His arms pull me close, encircle and crush me to Him as His lips burn hungrily into mine. He is hard again and I grind my shaved, wet lower lips against Him, desperately trying to capture Him in my tight little opening.
He smiles as I cry out in frustration before reaching down and guiding Himself through the slippery folds. Our eyes meet and I am frozen as I feel Him nudge lightly against my body’s entrance.
I sink upon Him slowly… the feeling of Him stretching and filling me almost more than I can handle. (I have never felt so at home as when I was nested firmly against Him… crotch to crotch and impaled).
As He reaches into the bag again He speaks to me. “You realize there is a point where there is no turning back, don’t you?”
The only reply I can make is the word my whole body is screaming: “Please!”
And despite my desperation, my body still jerks as the clippers pop to life in His hand. I watch as the small, battery operated teeth move closer and closer, giving me time to note there is no guard.
I don’t realize I am holding my breath… my whole body as tight as a new bow string… until He whispers sharply, “Breathe!”
My breath releases as He closes the distance and I feel the first touch of the clippers against my forehead. He holds them there for a moment, unmoving, allowing me to get used to the warm vibrations they are sending through me in waves.
Then, slowly but firmly, He places them right in the center of my brow and pushes them back, removing about a one-inch strip of hair, leaving a dark, barely visible stubble all the way back to my crown. His fingers trace the just shorn path and I feel Him tremble with excitement. In less than half a dozen strokes He has denuded the entire top of my head.
I reach up and touch the soft, short bristles. I can’t believe what I am feeling… or not feeling, to be more precise. I am convulsing inside around the imbedded length of Him and I know He is having to use much self control Himself in order to keep Himself in check. He pushes my hand away gently and begins plowing the clippers through the rest of my hair, faster and faster, the shortened strands of hair flying everywhere around us, between us… landing on our fused loins, falling down my back. Over and over the clippers roam, becoming warmer as they chew through the last remaining bits of what was once my most beautiful feature.
His eyes have an intensity in them as He slams up inside me almost painfully.
My hands once again go to my stubble-covered head and then all control is gone as my orgasm rips through me like a tidal wave. He arches and floods me with His seed and I fall limply against Him.
We remain that way for some time before He quietly suggests a shower. I am almost numb as He leads me into the shower.
My senses begin to return as the warm water washes around me… feeling strange on my newly shorn head. I let Him wash and dry me like a baby before leading me back to the bedroom and the chair. The floor is covered in the hair that used to adorn my head. He stands behind me now and watches my reactions. I meet His eyes in the mirror. I smile… timidly.
I am ready now for the final leg of this journey and He does not make me wait. He goes to the bathroom and quickly returns with a basin of warm water and a hot, moist towel that He wraps around my sensitive head. He removes the remaining items from the bag… a can of shaving gel, a Mach3 and a straight razor.
Ever since I can recall, this is the thing that I have been most frightened of and the thing I have most wanted. He knows this too for we have discussed in detail the feelings we both have about the shaving of a woman’s head.
For Him it is exciting and He actually loves the look and feel of a shaved scalp on a woman.
For me, it is many things… exciting, humiliating in some ways, and the most submissive gesture a woman can make.
We both agree that it lends an air of vulnerability… no doubt.
I am brought back to the situation at hand as He removes the towel and drops it on the table. He sprays a large dollop of the shaving gel in His hands and brings them to my head. He gently massages it into my scalp. I watch as the thick, white foam forms a neat cap, covering all my short bristles. It feels both cool and warm at the same time.
He rinses His hands and picks up the straight razor, sharpening it on the leather strap He has brought with Him.
He tilts my head forward until my chin touches my chest. My breathing is erratic as I await that first touch.
He begins at the lowest part of my nape, stroking upwards. It is fortunate that He is experienced with a straight razor because I am shaking from head to toe and cannot seem to stop.
It is the most wonderful and unusual sensation I could ever imagine… the rasping scrape as He goes against the grain and the smooth slicing motion as He comes back down. Further and further up my head He goes, making short, precise strokes. Finally, the back is done and He concentrates on the sides, being extra careful around and over my ears. Soon, all that remains is the top with its neat little covering of foam. He stands in front of me now, hard as a rock, razor in hand, and begins to scrape away the last vestiges of my hair.
I know that I will hear and feel the rough rasping sound forever. The last of the lather is removed and I think He is done, but without moving from in front of me He re-lathers my head and picks up the Mach3. “Just to get you really smooth baby,” He says softly.
This is a much smoother sensation, though occasionally I feel a few errant sandpapery hairs which survived the straight razor fall prey. He runs His fingers over and over my head… making sure I am totally slick and devoid of hair.
At last He is satisfied. He picks up the still warm towel and wipes away the remaining odd bits of lather and steps to the side, allowing me my first full view of my total baldness.
How unnaturally pale… almost pasty, my scalp seems. And do my ears stick out funny? My eyes, welling with tears, look enormous. All I can think is… “Oh God… What have I done?” And then I look up at Him… and I see the most incredible look of desire I have ever seen on any man’s face. He is rubbing something in His hands… a softly fragrant oil which He rubs gently into my tender and exposed skin. The way He touches it, the way His eyes caress me… the way He covers it with gentle kisses while telling me I am beautiful… the way He leads me to the bed and makes love to me in ways I never dreamed of…
And then, the way He was looking at me when I woke up with my shiny white scalp tucked protectively beneath His chin….
Can it truly be called ‘submission’ when one wants something this much?