King and Pup: Part 1 by Shaggyboy

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This is a true story, and I attest that all details within are as accurate as my memory allows. While it is also erotic, explicit sexual acts are only implied.


His name was Cole and our time together was short. We had started dating in the early fall of 2018. From the beginning, compatibility issues were apparent in almost every way with the exception of our physical relationship, which was mutually understanding, complex, and exciting. Cole was very attractive. He had lean muscle, pale skin and thick black hair that fell into his crystal blue eyes and over his ears. His beard grew in evenly and neat. He kept it groomed attractively. It was short, the black hair more evident against his white skin. He dressed like a boy who was too lazy to be creative, but that alone gave a sense of style: a ragged t-shirt, black jeans, and a hat that let tempting locks of black hair escape from all sides. His ear piercings completed the look. Thick black bar hoops accompanied by his other features gave the impression of a skater/punk type.
I had told him early on of my interests. I never was one to hide behind a normative sexual presentation. Talking about BDSM is always the simple part. I like ties, chains, whips, moderate pain, giving service to a dom- or being served by a sub. That I liked to give haircuts and liked to have mine cut even more was difficult to say. Or the love of haircut bets and games. That I often fantasized about being tied down, or held down, and my hair forcefully cut off is always taxing to admit. But I told him, and he listened politely. He was nervous even considering trying to cut hair. His slight reluctance was overturned by my admittance of preferring unskilled barbers. That it excited me, excited him. But being from the outside of this world, it was naturally difficult for him to navigate it.
At the time, my hair was getting long too, but not as long as his. It was coming over my eyebrow, but I kept it off my ears and neck by impulse every two weeks, yet I liked to keep several inches of length on the top. I simultaneously craved to have it buzzed down to stubble, which I hate to disappoint, but is not where this story is going. Not entirely. Even as I write this, I run my fingers through about 5 inches of hair wishing someone would command me to sit and take it from me with a pair of powerful clippers. I want is as much as I don’t, a crippling paradox that follows me everywhere.
It was no different than my desire to cut his hair. A paradox. I loved the long, floppy, boyish style, shaping his head and increasing his sex appeal. And I loved the thought of loud clippers buzzing those same locks down, opening his face, giving that brief permanence that is a short buzz cut. I wanted it all, knowing that I couldn’t have both.
So, I started by showing him the ropes: ties, the 11-tailed whip, sensory deprivation, iron cuffs, spanking, teasing, edging, restricting, delicate domination. All the while, I gave respectful but direct hints that I wanted to take his long hair short. This was never my preferred role, but always one that I enjoyed. But Cole was observing more than enjoying, learning, preparing to turn the tables as his inner dom ached to be released.
"I am enjoying myself a lot," he reluctantly admitted, "but I think I would prefer the dom role." I wanted this just as much as he did, and I felt comfortable letting him experiment with my body. We agreed to switch things up. "So, the next time I come to your house, you are cutting my hair. You can show me how the clippers work so I know in the future. After that, you’ll be my sub." While I tried to act neutral, my excitement could not be disguised. His open-mindedness helped put me at ease. It made it clear that he was enjoying it as much as I was.
After a long week had passed, he was at my place. His long dark mop was at its end. I had promised that I wouldn’t buzz him to stubble. I showed him a few pictures and we agreed on a #8 on top. One inch. I taught him the guard numbers and how to blend on a basic level. I sat him down in a simple fold out chair in my room, turning the mirror on the wall so he couldn’t see. Feeding off of his nerves, I cuffed his hands behind his back and his ankles through the leg of the chair. I have a long, heavy cape made of nylon. It is white with black stripes, tied tight around my bound punk boy.
The clipper of choice is a heavy, red Oster 76, with a powerful hum and a base guard of 000. Having him bound in front of me, at my mercy, was empowering. I wanted to take that 000 and give him the shock of his life. But these sadistic moments are fleeting, and I was quickly engaged again with the reality of respect and trust. He did not want a barber’s choice cut, so he wouldn’t get one. There he sat caped and bound. The only thing I wore was a blue jock strap. I fastened the #3 guard to my clipper, deciding first to cut the sides. I approached him with the click of the clippers. His hair was in his eyes as he looked up at me with a slight smirk, reading my expression.
I got close, running my fingers through his hair, grabbing it and pulling his head forward. I passed the clippers up the back of his head all the way up to the crown, large 2-3 in chunks rolling off onto the cape, onto the floor and into his lap. I heard a slight gasp from him but kept going- another pass and another, running the machine around his ear, forward, depositing a large pile of black hair onto the cape for him to see. Then again on the other side until his sides and back were buzzed down to a #3, leaving inches of rich black hair all around. I ran my hand up and down the back of his neck, thrilled with that soft buzz feeling. Not too prickly, but short for a guy like him. His revealed neckline was pale and messy, but I would get to that at the end. For that moment, I couldn’t resist taking the top down.
For a non-fetish punk person who can’t remember ever having short hair, a #8 is a short haircut. I brushed the loose hairs off of his face and made sure he was still doing okay. Then I clicked on the 8 and powered on the clippers. Under the cape I could see his breathing intensify slightly. I never buzz down the middle. Not my style. Starting form the left, I passed the clippers from his forehead to the back, the Oster 76 having more than enough power to mow down the entire line of hair. This time 5 to 6 inches fell to his shoulder and piled in his lap. Then another line across the top, then down the middle. One of his eyes was revealed, looking down at the amassing pile in his lap. I wondered what he was thinking as I kept going, cutting every long hair on the top of his head down to an inch, pressing my groin against his bound arm as I did it.
"Wow," he said, partially in disbelief, partially at my body demonstrating its excitement. Turning off the clippers I ran both of my hands through his hair, the feeling running from my hands to my cock, beyond ecstatic. "Can I see?" he asked nervously.
I turned the mirror to him after explaining I needed to blend the sides still. But he looked good. Great actually. Sexy, and he knew it. I noted obvious approval in his reflection. I set to work blending in the sides with the clipper, tightening the cut with a #2 guard, making it clean and uniform. It did not take long for them to blend nicely with the inch left on top. Taking my trimmer in hand, I carved a strongly defined neck line, taking off the months of fuzz, forming a square shape that gave his neck a very masculine look. Then I took the trimmer around the ears, arching them high to give the cut a very fresh look. A touch of extra snipping with the scissors and he looked like a new person. Even his ear piercings were more defined. After untying him, we expressed our mutual pleasure together while showering the loose hairs off of us. We were both entirely satisfied. I styled his new cut with light product, giving it a bit of pop. I did not think he could possibly be more attractive than he already was, but a short haircut did the trick. The end of his long hair also meant the end of my role as his dom. Handing over the role of Master was difficult, as I knew that Cole would soon be feeding my hair to the clippers.

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