It was nearly noon, and I was quickly running out of time. None of the salons in the mall were able to fit me in, so I was frantic. As I made my way back to the entrance near my car, I passed a small barber shop. I was already halfway out the doors when I decided that no cut could possibly be any worse than the hairball. I stood and looked at the spinning pole outside the place, and just about passed out at the thought of going in, but go in I must.
I explained my situation to the barber, who was quite sympathetic. He examined the wig, and attempted to put it on my head, himself. "I'm afraid we will have to take quite a bit off, for this wig to fit." I shrunk down in the chair as I listened to what he said he was about to do. "I'll start with a number four, that's about half and inch, and we'll see." For the second time in two days, someone was attacking my hair with clippers. I had grown to hate this fuzzball so much, that I actually enjoyed watching it come off. He ran them front to back, and it was as though someone was shearing a sheep. The hair stuck together, and would fall off in huge clumps, which exploded when they hit the floor.
I couldn't help but giggle as the barber rid me of the perm from hell. I had never dreamed of having my hair cut so short in all my life. The perm was so persistent however, that it still curled, even at so short a length. As the barber placed the wig on my head, I was happy to see that it finally fit. After a minute however, the edges began to ride up my head, until it finally snapped off, the barber catching it before it hit the floor. He shook his head, looking at the inside of the wig.
"Do you see this?" He held the wig, so I could see the lining of the cap. "This was designed to be worn over a smooth scalp. Did the sales person not tell you this?" I grabbed the care manual that came with it:
This product is designed to be worn over a hairless scalp. It may be necessary to remove any existing hair, to prevent the product from slipping off the head. It is recommended that a head wax, such as Woody's be used, to create the most adhesive surface.
It was now a quarter to one, and I was seriously running out of time. "Fine. Fine! Just shave it, okay. Make it quick." I begged. I was not nearly so amused as he used a much angrier set of clippers, ridding my head of all its hair. About halfway through, I had to close my eyes, to keep from freaking out completely. In the end, a hot towel was placed on my exposed scalp, and I allowed my eyes to open.
The damp white towel reminded me of how I used to wrap my hair after a shower, and I tried to imagine things as they once were. I didn't get them closed fast enough as he whipped off the towel though, and I was treated to a full view of my hairless pink scalp. "Oh, shit!" I moaned, as he applied shaving foam over its surface. Using a straight razor, he deftly shaved me completely bald, one strip at a time. When at last he was finished, I was forced to ask him about the wax. Reaching under the counter, he pulled out a short tub of product which he spread sparingly over my ultra smooth scalp.
His hands felt so foreign as they rubbed the wax into my skin. Finally, he used a dry cloth to polish, yes, polish my head! He again took the wig from the counter, but not before I was able to put my hands on my head. The sensation was unbelievable. It was like marble, glass, there not being any resistance no matter which way I ran my fingers. I had to admit to feeling a little aroused by the feel of it, but my appearance was enough to stifle any real excitement.
I was pleased with how well the wig fit. The surface of the liner clung so tightly to my scalp that I could not budge it, even when I pulled at the hair with a brush. Feeling badly for me, the barber refused to charge me anything. I escaped the mall, a more confident and attractive woman. Arriving at my office shortly before two o'clock, I had just enough time to set up for the presentation to my client. None were any the wiser, except for Mr. Brodin, who suspected what I had done. All went well, and the clients were left confident in our ability to represent them.
"Well done, Miss Knight. Very impressive." He looked closely at my hair as I walked by, and I wondered if he knew that I was bald as an onion underneath. The rest of the office soon stopped wondering what I had done, and when I left for the day, I felt much better than when I arrived. It wasn't until halfway home that I worried what Penny was going to think about what I was forced to do. In fact, I was surprised that I had not heard from her at all. Lately, I always wondered when I was being watched. She had managed to infiltrate my life so effectively that I had begun to assume she was observing me, all the time.
My apartment was warmer than I was able to stand with the wig, and I soon began to feel moisture under the cap. I turned on the air conditioner, bending down to let the cool air blow against my head, but I had to take it off. Setting the wig stand on my dresser, I slowly peeled the hair from my head. It was like removing my skin, or taking off a too-tight pair of shoes you had worn all day. Liberating.
I couldn't help but run my hands over its polished surface, and was soon addicted to the sensation. Shedding my clothing to shower, I suddenly realized that I had no hair at all. It was weird to think about, but even stranger to see. The water felt freaky as the jets messaged my unprotected scalp, and I couldn't help myself. My fingers were sliding around my clit as the water mixed with my juices, making a slippery smooth sound. I was in sensory overload and didn't notice that I was no longer alone in my bathroom.
"I don't remember giving you permission to masturbate." She was there, and only a shower curtain between us. I ran my hands over my head, as if I could magically restore the perm she had wrought the day before. "Dry yourself off, and meet me in your bedroom." I was sure she was about to berate me for buying the wig, but when she saw my bald head, I couldn't imagine what she would do. Shutting off the water, I quickly ran a towel over my skin, because that's all there was. I took a deep breath and opened the bathroom door.
"Holy shit, Allison!" She rushed over to me and ran her hands over the smoothness that was my head. "What the fuck did you do to yourself? I mean, you're bald!" She looked over at the wig that hung so limply from the stand on my dresser. "I was about to give you a demerit for that, but now, I just might have to give you two."
"What!" I shouted, but then quickly regained my composure. "Why?" I begged. "If you only knew what I have been through today." She shook her head, running her fingers through her own hair.
"Well, I suppose you better tell me." And so, I explained the entire day to her, and did indeed garner some sympathy from her in the end. "Awe, and now you're a bald little baby, huh?" She pouted, mockingly, as I stood before her. "Well, no demerits I guess, but this..." She picked up the wig, and I was suddenly terrified she was going to do something to it. "...is only for work, understood?" I nodded, but realized what she was implying. "Now, get dressed, we're going out." My eyes shot open with her command, but there would be no negotiating. She laid out a short skirt, low-cut blouse and some fuck pumps with five-inch stiletto heels. I didn't recognize the clothes.
I went to my top drawer and pulled out some panties, but she shook her head. "Your clothes are on the bed, and only what is on the bed." I looked at the skirt and it was the most abbreviated thing I had ever attempted to wear, and without panties. When I was all put together, I looked like a hooker out of a science fiction movie. "That bald head of yours is going to be a big hit." She laughed.
I was more than a little shocked as she led me through the apartment complex. I don't think I had ever felt more exposed, even when I was naked. When we were safely in her car, she reached into the glove and pulled out what looked like a leash. She confirmed my suspicions when she wrapped my neck with a pink dog collar, the leash dangling from a ring in the front. "Nice." She smiled, shifting the car into drive.
Just sitting in the seat, I felt so exposed, my pussy quite visible as it peaked out below the hem of the 'skirt'. Driving through town, she suddenly stopped without warning. She nodded towards a tavern that seemed fairly innocuous. "Get out." My mind said move, but my legs didn't respond. She finally dragged me out with the leash, and walked me over to the dimly lit place. I tried to pull down my skirt, but there were so many things about me that were embarrassing, that was only one. Why this tavern, it seemed no different than any corner spot? I was wrong however, as I so often was. How could I do this and retain my sanity?
Everyone in this place was female, and I realized quickly that it was a lesbian hangout. There was a quick cheer from the small crowd as I was dragged up to the bar. A young woman came up to Penny, kissing her full on the lips. A pang of jealousy coursed through me as I watched them. "So, is this your slave?" The woman caressed my head, and then noticed how exposed I was below. Her hand quickly found my sweet spot, and I lurched from the contact.
"Not yet, Edie, but she's well on her way." Penny admitted, but that was news to me. Slave?