Chapter 4
When the doorbell rang Miss Ross remembered in a flash the appointment she had made the previous day. Over the phone the gruff rather harsh voice had sounded a little uncomfortable-
"Uh, I'd like to make an appointment," he said in a nervous monotone.
"Sir, we don't usually make appointments for men here," she said. "Perhaps I can recommend a good men's hair stylist to you."
"Well it's not really for me anyway," he said. "It's for my son. Besides I heard from a friend that you do a very nice job in that kind of thing he's looking for. It's very important to me that it be done right."
"Of course, I understand," she said. "What exactly did you have in mind?" she asked, knowing pretty well already what he had in mind.
"Well, his hair is getting pretty long," the voice said, "and it's about time he had it cut. I thought since he looks like a girl with it anyway I might as well take him to a ladies' hair cutting place."
"What kind of style does he want it done in?" Miss Ross asked.
"He wants to have it cut a lot," the man said. "Something right down close to the head would be good."
"I think we can arrange something to suit everyone concerned. There won't be any problem," she said convincingly-
Now when the doorbell rang, all this came rushing back to her. She remembered how she smiled to herself as she hung up the receiver and thought, they all think they are the first one who's ever done it.
The first time a father had brought his teenaged son into the shop to have his hair "cut" she was a little taken aback. That is not to say that she was displeased. She thoroughly enjoyed the procedure once she began.
Lately, as more and more sons grew their hair longer and longer and as the reputation of the "Lookswell" Beauty School spread, there were more and more such calls.
The last one had been about a month ago from a lisping rather cultured gentleman who was probably a professional man.
His son was a carbon copy of himself. Both were tall and stooped. Both wore thick glasses. The young man had long streaming hair whereas his father was precisely and rather severely groomed.
The young man had been genuinely shocked when he realized what was going on. This realization did not happen until the leather bonds had strapped him to the chair and he was helpless.
He had thought his father was thoughtfully arranging a hair styling appointment. As the shears began to chop off huge pieces of hair his consternation turned to terror. He bucked and squirmed in the chair. But to no avail. The horror on his face when he realized his father was going all the way was a sight to behold.
In anticipation of this Miss Ross licked her delicious lips.
When she opened the door she saw standing there a large man in a T-shirt with a crooked nose. He had shortcropped gray hair and a thick muscular physique. The first thing she noticed about his physique was his arms. Those were short and very muscular.
Standing next to him was a young man in a soft sweater and bell bottom blue jeans. His long brown hair fell gently to his shoulders.
The old man with beetling black brows said, "We have an appointment to see Miss Ross."
"Well, I'm Miss Ross," she responded. "Won't you come right in? I can take care of you right now."
They walked back through the shop to a back private room.
"Just go right in and sit down young man," she said to the youth.
She guessed he was about sixteen years old. He looked apprehensively around at the walls, the hair dryers and his father. His father did not stop scowling and avoided looking at his son.
"What kind of hair style did you have in mind son?" the father asked.
"I don't really know," he said. "I don't want it too much shorter. You know I only came here because you said you couldn't stand it the way it was."
Turning to Miss Ross the father said, "What kind of style do you recommend?"
"I think I have just the thing," she said. "But just relax, my boy; it may take some time."
So saying, she turned and opened a closet behind the boy's back. The father's eyes widened perceptibly when he saw her take the electrical cords out of the closet.
As if reading each other's minds, the father moved behind the son's chair. Quickly he grabbed both his son's arms and pinned them to the chair.
Expertly Miss Ross bound his wrists tightly to the arms of the chair. With the large man holding his son she moved downward and bound the boy's legs together and tied them to the bottom of the chair.
He sat there shocked and immobilized. He was completely bound before he could recover enough to even speak.
Finally he sputtered, "What are you doing?"
"You'll see in a minute," the father muttered. "You and your faggy friends always hanging around. Ever since your mother died you look like a fucking hippie faggot. If she were alive she'd be ashamed of you and me too.
When Miss Ross clicked on the electric razor he grew more frantic in his pleading.
"Please, Dad, don't," he begged. "Please don't."
Tears began to appear in his eyes and rolled down his pink cheeks. But his father just scowled and turned to Miss Ross.
"Go ahead Miss," he said.
The son squirmed his head away from Miss Ross. But she grabbed his long hair by the roots and gave it a tremendously painful yank.
"Listen sonny," she said. "You better sit there like a good little boy or you're going to get hurt. You wouldn't want to get hurt now would you?"
A look of resignation appeared on the young man's face. He looked on the verge of tears.
Suddenly he turned and spat in Miss Ross's face. She instantly retorted with a savage slap full in the front of his face.
"Okay, wise guy," she said, panting with anger. "You want to play rough, we'll play rough."
Turning to the father she said, "Get a bucket full of hot water from the sink over there and dump it on his head. Maybe that will cool him off."
The father did as he was told. When the boy's head was soaked Miss Ross whipped out a straight razor from the pocket in the back of the chair.
"You better not try that shit again kid," she said, "unless you want to lose an eye."
The boy looked like a drowned rat, sitting submissively in the chair. His father stood in front of him with arms akimbo. He shied away when Miss Ross made her first chop with the razor. But she grabbed more tightly on to the roots of his hair and subdued him easily.
In a few minutes his head was a mass of bloody chopped hair. Strands lay on the floor and on his sweater. There was hair all over the floor. Miss Ross was covered with the stuff.
There were patches of hah still stuck to his head.
"Go get some more water and we'll take it all off," Miss Ross said to the older man.
He hesitated a moment.
She turned like a little spitfire and said, "Do as I tell you! More hot water!"
The father complied silently and filled the basin to overflowing with scalding hot water from the sink. He carried it carefully over to the two by the chair.
"Now throw it on him," she said.
The father doused his son's head with the burning water and he screamed. The cuts and nicks showed clearly now. He began to cry.
"Let's make this a clean job," Miss Ross said. She stropped the razor a few times on the leather strap hanging from the side of the chair. Then she deliberately began slicing the rest of the hair from the young man's head.
He seemed groggy from the shock and did not move much. However, when she nicked him badly once he jumped. She reviled him as a coward and carved a delicate line of pain from the flat top of his skull all the way down to his collar line.
The father who had been standing very impassively throughout the whole shearing began to shift about uneasily. He touched his mouth and nose. He scratched his head.
"You don't have to carve him up like that, do you?" he said.
Miss Ross turned once again and glared at him.
"What's the matter, big boy," she said, "you got no guts for this kind of thing? It was your idea, you know."
"I just thought," the big man said timidly, "that you didn't have to cut him up like that."
"Well you keep your thoughts to yourself unless you want more of the same."
For an instant the man just stood there. He was so unused to a woman talking to him that way. All the little pussies he had ever known would never talk like that.
"You piece of trampy shit," he said. "You can't talk to me like that." He started toward her across the hair-strewn floor.
When he was halfway towards her she turned and snapped, "Get some more hot water, quick."
As if a robot, he obeyed. No one had ever made him obey anything like that. He did what he pleased with whomever he pleased. But now this little cunt was ordering him around.
He brought the water over to Miss Ross. She sneered at him and took it from him. She dumped it over the boy's head. That head was completely bald.
For an instant after the water splashed it was white and shiny. Then slowly dots and slashes of red appeared like mushrooms growing in the forest after a heavy rain. Slowly the dots grew to blotches and the slashes to streams and rivers.
Startled out of his trance by the sight of the bloody head of his son the father laid a hand on Miss Ross's graceful arm.
"What did you do?" he cried.
"I told you, you better shut up," she spat at him. With those words she slashed his cheek with the razor from cheekbone to chin.
He reacted instantly by grabbing her. She fought back with a swift chop to the balls. He doubled over and fell to the floor.
She leaped on him and began belting him again and again in the testicles. He was covered with his son's bloody hair and moaning in shame and agony.
This piece of shitty-ass broad is beating the shit out of me, he thought. The shame was greater than the physical pain. He curled and tried to protect himself. He found his mouth full of hair.
"You like hair so much," Miss Ross shouted. "Why don't you try some of this?" With that she pressed the icy sharp edge of the razor against his throat and shoved some hair into his mouth.
He resisted violently. But her powerful thighs were astride him and the razor was pressed deep into his Adam's apple.
"One move buddy and you'll spray all over this nice clean floor," Miss Ross said. "Be a good boy and open up."
He gagged once more and then relented. He felt the mixture of long and short hairs cram into his mouth. Her long and agile fingers pushed them further and further down his throat. The more he gagged the more she pushed.
Suddenly his pecker began to rise. It bulged out in his heavy blue work pants. He pressed his hips up against the straddled form of Miss Ross. Her response was a quick and powerful knee in the scrotum.
The pain shot in knots up through his guts and spun in his head. He had never felt that pain so intensely before. Still his pecker refused to he down. It began to rise once more.
Miss Ross gave him a shot in his muscular abdomen which knocked the wind out of him. Then she quickly stood up and gave his spread-eagled form a swift kick in the crotch.
He doubled and bent forward, then arched back clutching his abused cock and balls. He groaned and saliva came dribbling from both sides of his mouth.
Miss Ross went quickly to the sink and filled the basin with hot scalding water. She turned and dumped it over his head. In a flash she was on him.
With one knee in his neck and the other straddling his head, she pinned him down very effectively. She roughly rubbed his wet burr-like head and began cursing him vilely.
"You big bull shit head," she howled. "You want some razor action? You think maybe you'd like that? You slimy cunt-lapping moron, there's only one way to find out."
She slowly began peeling the hair back off his head. He winced as the razor dug deep in his scalp. His muscles bulged in an effort to throw her off, but he was powerless in the face of her superhuman strength. Like a rutting elephant crashing through a cane-break, she was irresistible.
He could barely breathe for her forearm in his throat, and the hair down his windpipe. He felt himself gagging. All at once things became dizzy and blurred.
His tough old head became slowly visible where she scraped down to the scalp. With half-parted wetted lips Miss Ross worked away. He could almost feel the pants from her animal mouth.
She looked with concentrated wild-eyed gaze at her work. Down close to the bone she dug. She took skin as well as hair.
"You'll be clean, old man," she sneered; "so clean your friends will think you took a bath in acid."
All the while his son was sitting in the chair whimpering. The ordeal of being brutally shaved followed by the attack on his father seemed to crack his fragile constitution.
"No, no, no, no," he cried over and over again. His tears were almost dry now. They had all been cried out and there was nothing left but madness. It all seemed too much of a dream now to cry or protest.
There was barely any sound now in the room except the son's quiet whimpering and the scraping of the razor on the older man's wet head.
"Your friends won't even recognize you," Miss Ross mocked.
His head was now almost bald and she held it in her hand like some grotesque bowling ball. Slowly and carefully she finished the job.
When the last piece of turf was removed she spat a large glob of saliva in her hand and rubbed his bald head with it.
She rose and went to the sink for the basin. On the floor the old man groaned and rolled his head from side to side. She turned from her task of filling the basin and stepped smartly over to the prostrate figure. She drew back her large leg and gave him a brutal shot in the side of the head.
Then she went back to the sink and filled the basin with scalding water. She went back to the man and poured the scalding liquid on his head. He screamed a low-keyed howl. She silenced that with the sole of her shoe in his face.
"You learned, didn't you?" she said. "They all do. I'm not done with you though. This isn't half of what you deserve or half of what you're going to get. You'll beg me for mercy before I'm done.
So saying, Miss Ross bent down with the razor and slashed his T-shirt completely open down the front. Then kneeling between his legs she viciously slashed the crotch of his pants from belt to asshole.
"Don't move, big boy, or you might lose your big peter. It looks big enough from here. Let's see how big it really is."
She reached into the slashed open pants and grabbed his balls and cock. Yanking them savagely from their accustomed home, she weighed them in her sensitive fingers.
"Not bad, not bad at all," she said.
She pressed the razor hard against his left testicle and said to the semi-conscious man, "If you want to have this longer than two seconds you better open your belt."
The cold feel of the steel razor on his ball sent a shiver through his loins. His feeling was a mingling of cold sickness and trembling excitement. He felt his member stiffen. She pressed very hard against his ball.
"You think I'm kidding, don't you?" she said. "Well I'm not, hot stuff. Take a feel of this."
She grabbed the ball in one hand and pressed the razor blade down the middle as if it were an orange to be cut in half.
His whole gut recoiled as if to draw his exposed sac back into him. Yet there was a passionate feeling of expectancy at her hands in so vital a spot. He melted inside to be under her power.
Methodically he took off his belt and handed it to her. She took it and threw it aside. Then she unbuttoned the work pants and dug her nails into the hairy flesh below his belly button.
"Can you take it tough guy?" she said. "I don't think you can!"
He groaned with the pain of her grip. She dug in with her nails and pulled the hair on his stomach with the fingers of her other hand.
'Take off that T-shirt and those pants," she commanded. "Stand up!"
He trance-like obeyed her commands. Her voice thrilled him like no other woman he had ever been with. He wanted her to punish him and do things to him.
"Faster," she bellowed. "Take it off faster, if you don't want to be beaten. I know how to handle a man like you. You think you're tough. But you're not so tough. I've met your kind before. I've tamed your kind before, too.
He quickly took off the rest of his clothes and lay them beside him. Expectantly he sat on the floor waiting for her command. What is she going to do with me, he thought to himself.
"Lie down flat and don't move a muscle," she said. "If I see even one twitch you'll get the pain you deserve. Close your eyes."
He closed his eyes and Susan took off her skimpy uniform and the boots, bra and panties she was wearing besides.
Coming over to the form with tightly closed eyes on the floor, she said, "Can you smell me?"
"No, I can't," he said.
She squatted lower down with her feet on either side of his head.
"Can you smell me now, hot rocks?" she asked.
He made no reply. He merely strained his nose upward without taking his head off the floor.
She squatted lower and lower until her dripping cunt was only a foot away from his mouth.
"Open your mouth," she ordered. He obeyed.
Squatting slightly lower and spreading the odorous lips of her love hole, she sent a steaming stream of urine into his open mouth.
He gagged and began lapping it up with his tongue. His long tongue roved all over his lips and cheeks, trying not to lose a precious drop.
Miss Ross turned quickly and picked up the fallen razor. With an animal bark she fell upon her victim and began dry-shaving the hah from his body.
She started with his massive hairy chest. From years of heavy labor it was muscled and firm. Down into the cleavage between the pectoral muscles she went. The black curls fell victim to her scraping. Hard she pressed.
He writhed in the agony of the peeling and raw skin. But yet in his agony he longed for more. He was careful not to shy away from the lovely torment. In fact he pressed his powerful body toward it.
Miss Ross noticed this pleasure with displeasure. She watched his twisting and the agonized expression of lust she knew so well.
Had not she dealt with others like this, she thought. Being perfectly still for a moment, she watched her guest, eyes still closed, mutely begging for more.
Saying nothing, she pulled her luscious heavy boobs off his chest and raised herself to a kneeling position. In one broad and powerful sweep with the razor she cut an eighth inch deep gash from his pubic hair to his chest.
He screamed in pain and pressed the palms of his hands flat on the floor.
"That's what you'll get if you don't behave," she said.
Down from his chest she progressed with skill and pain. His nipples were scoured and scored. She shaved his armpits raw.
He sobbed and howled but inside his blood was boiling. Like a carrot being peeled, he felt himself at the mercy of her knife.
His barrel-like stomach presented no challenge for her flashing blade. The black sexy fur was removed with deep painful scrapes.
Next she tackled his legs. His calves were little stimulation for both of them compared with his thighs.
Those pillars of flesh were girdled round with thick mats of hair. She pressed his knees down and lay across his hips. The razor scraping across the flat of his thighs sent him into ecstasy.
Then she spread-eagled him and began on the inside of his massive legs. He was burning and wanted only to be taken and used.
"Please, please, now," he begged.
"I know what you want," she cackled.
She dug her knife deep into the forest of curls at the base of his prick. He felt like a new born baby.
"Take me," he moaned.
"I'll take you like you've never been taken before," she said.
She spat into the tangle of blackness and scraped and pulled chunks of hair away. With the water left in the basin she scalded his crotch. Then she sliced away the last tufts until his balls were as bald as an egg and he felt as if he were dying with the agony.