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Dr. Clippers - Chapter 1 by S.G. Wolf

Hey, guys. I am planning a series about a peculiar Dr. Clippers and his adventures as told from the POV of the one getting his hair cut. I have 4 chapters in my mind at the moment and will write and publish them based upon the response. Do comment your thoughts and whether you'll like to read more about Dr. Clippers.

Dr. Clippers - Chapter 1

It has been around half an hour since I was abducted by two hulking guys. I was in the parking garage of a mall, on way to get home, freshen up and go out for my date. I was aware that the two guys were eyeing me as I went to the mall to purchase a bottle of cologne for today. I merely thought they must be someone's bodyguard, all dressed up in black suits and standing beside a black car with tinted glasses. And here I am now, being shoved in a seat with a hood on my head and my wrist tied behind me with a zip tie. All my attempts to free myself were futile against these two hulks. They released the zip tie and cuffed my wrist and ankles to soft feeling cuffs on the very comfortable chair. Huh.

My hood is removed and I take a moment to adjust to the bright white light. Too much white. The room has big white tiles, white walls, no adornments. I am in the center in what looks like a modified but luxurious black barbers' chair. There is a reclining chair on the right side attached to a sink at the head. A shelf with various products and appliances. The only door is on the left side with an electronic panel. The metal door looks very sturdy. One of the guys is at the door, guarding the panel and facing straight ahead. The other one is behind me, leaning against the various cupboards. There's a table in front of me, with a medium-sized suitcase. All the furniture and appliances in the room are either black or white. The chairs, cabinets, table, suitcase and even the clothes of the guard are black. And so is the man dressed on the other side of the table. He is wearing a black shirt, which fits his muscular torso very snuggly, and has the top two buttons undone. The jeans are black too, and look like they haven't been worn much. The sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. Not rolled, but properly folded multiple times and are approximately two inches in height. So much perfection, and cleanliness. I thought that they must be using some barbershop to imprison me and then torture me for details or whatever they want. But judging by the man in front of me and how well coordinated he is with the surrounding, this is his workplace. Either he moonlights as a torturer or abductor while cutting hairs, or this must be some sick way to confuse the victim. He looks very excited, and that scares me a little. His blue eyes look like they are gleaming and his pink lips are curled in a lopsided smile. Clean-shaven with medium-length blonde hairs and white skin. He looks like a twenty-something model rather than my abductor. He opens the suitcase on the table and my heart starts beating faster. I am still dressed in my office attire. Grey suit, white shirt, and dark black tie. A little rumpled but still clean on my medium-fit body. I work as a financial analyst at a trading firm. What does he want?

"Well, well, well. I can hear your analytical mind cataloging every detail Mr. Mike." He says. So, he knows who I am and what I do. Before I could ask why I was abducted and what does he want, he rotates the open suitcase so that I can see inside, and I am shocked. I expected torture instruments. But in front of my eyes are multiple scissors, combs, clippers, trimmers, shavers, an epilator and I don't know the rest of the items. They are arranged on the three-layer steps which rose when he opened the case. The metal instruments are so clean and white, they almost shine. The devices are all shiny or matte black. Carefully placed as if they were very important to someone. Is my abductor mad? Is he going to torture information by cutting my hair? Or use the scissors on my body parts?

"Who are you? What do you want?" I ask. My voice sounds a little hoarse.
"Call me Dr. Clippers, and I am going to treat you today." Dr. Clippers says grinning and looking pleased. I am actually scared now. A mad doctor is going to treat me with hair-cutting instruments.
"There's nothing wrong with me. Let me go. Tell me what you want." I say a little panicked.
"There's no need to be scared, Mike. I will be very careful. Everything will be perfect." Dr. Clippers says the last word as if he is purring.
"You see, you look very fit but your hairs are not at all proper. All those black hairs contrasting your pale skin, as black as your eyes, need my treatment. What is this mess you call your hairs? They need surgery." Dr. Clippers says and beams.
"I'll make you well, Mike. You'll feel as if you are reborn." Dr. Clippers says.
What now? He talks like he is a doctor and wants to do what with my hairs? I have a normal hairstyle. Medium short hairs on the back and sides and a little bit longer on the top. If I run my fingers through my hair, I can grab them. If looked at from a distance, they are almost uniform and look like a lengthier business cut.
"You want to cut my hair?" I ask.
"You are correct and welcome. Not everybody has the privilege of being my patient." Dr. Clippers says and giggles.
"You'll let me go, then. After you cut my hair?" I ask.
"Oh, yes. My surgeries require no aftercare. You'll be discharged immediately." Dr. Clippers laughs.
"Surgery! What? You said you wanted to cut my hair!" I scream.
"Yeah, that's what I am going to do. Honestly, Mr. Mike, I thought you were intelligent. Do you want to be drugged while I work or will you be quiet? I prefer my patients to be awake so they can see me perform my magic on the hairs." Dr. Clippers snaps his fingers and the guard from before positions three huge mirrors on stands and places them a little far away on my left, right, and backside. I can see my head now in the side mirrors and my back in the mirror behind Dr. Clippers. I did not notice that mirror behind him before.
"You'll cut my hair and not do anything to my skin or body? No blood and cutting me open?" I ask. I don't know if I should be scared about Dr. Clippers sanity or for my life.
"Yeah, that's what I do! Did I not tell you my name is Dr. Clippers?" Dr. Clippers says and smiles.
"And you'll release me once you cut my hair?" I ask and he nods very visibly, bobbing his head up and down multiple times. As if he is a kid. A very excited kid, who has just been promised a treat. If he just wants to cut my hair and leave me alone, fine. The quicker I am away from this maniac the better. Dr. Clippers. Doctor. Clippers. Huh.
"Okay. You can cut my hairs." I say and Dr. Clippers face lits up and he claps.
"Excellent. I do love it when I do not have to gag and restrain my patient's neck and torso while working. Nor do I enjoy him being unconscious while I work. No, no, no. That is not as gratifying as watching him get pleased by the transformation. You have made a good choice, Mr. Mike. A good choice." Dr. Clippers says and looks at me expectantly as if waiting for my reply.
"Huh. Good. You can start to ... treat my hairs, Dr. Clippers." I say stupidly, playing along with his fantasy. Dr. Clippers beams and straightens my suit, removes my tie, unbuttons my shirt, and wraps my neck in a white strip. Then he capes me and adjusts the chair. The other guard handing him these items as if he is his assistant and has done this many times. The guard at the door is still at attention and looking straight forward. Not at all towards us.
"Such a handsome face wasted by a stupid ordinary hairstyle, Mr. Mike. No, no, that will not do." Dr. Clippers says as he brushes my hair with his hand while spraying them with water. The black spray bottle. The black cape. Back combs. Huh.
He starts cutting my hair on the back and sides. Very short. I don't think I can grab them now. It's okay. Much better than getting an actual surgery by a mad man or getting tortured for information.
"Step 1 completed." Dr. Clippers says as he is finished with my left side and starts working on the back.
"Why don't you like beard, Mr. Mike. You have a very good jaw. A short beard will look nice. I have waited long to get you when you have suitable beard growth." Dr. Clippers says.
Huh. So he was spying on me. I haven't shaved for the last two days and was going to shave before my date this evening.
"Step 2 completed." Dr. Clippers says as he now starts working on the right side. Yes, it is shorter than usual, but okay.
"Steps 3 completed and now for the top." Dr. Clippers says and gets excited. He starts working with a black comb and snips away the extra hairs. He runs his fingers and measures the length before cutting. He seems very focused as he cuts my hairs and keeps them around 2 cm on the top with maybe an extra centimeter at the front center. A very slight pyramid. Satisfied with himself, he places the used scissors and combs on a black cloth on the table. Probably for cleaning before he packs them away in his suitcase.
He grabs a clipper from the case and adjusts the dial, which I cannot see and the device buzzes to life. I start to panic a little. I don't want to be one of those guys who comes to the office with a high and tight haircut or any such variation. My hairs are at their shortest in the last few years. I want to speak, but refrain because I know I am restrained and will not be able to protest. Plus, the idea of arguing with Dr. Clippers seems maddening. Illogical. Best get on with this treatment. It has been a long time since a clipper or trimmer has touched me. I usually shave clean daily and have a normal trim haircut once a month.
Dr. Clippers pushes my head back and starts trimming my beard and I relax a little. His firm grip on my jaw and the vibrating sensation of the device is pleasurable. He moves it multiple times from my neck and jaw upwards. After several swipes, he is done and I see in the mirrors. I have approximately 3-4 mm of beard.
"Hmms. Looks good. The strong jaw makes it more appealing." Dr. Clippers says.
"Now comes the fun part." Dr. Clippers says and smiles. He has not discarded the clipper and is now moving my head to the right side. I resist a little knowing that he is going to buzz me now. He pushes my head with enough strength that I relent. No point in getting on his bad side.
Dr. Clippers hums a tune while he draws a horizontal straight line just a finger below where my part was before he snipped my top to a uniform length. It is more towards the top and a few fingers away from the top of my ears. And he continues along the back and the right side while positioning my head. No. Please, don't be a stupid fade. Not a military haircut, please. Did he just cut the top hairs so it would be easier to have them clipped? Did he trim the beard so it would be easier to shave? Is he toying with me and enjoying himself as he slowly and methodically reduces my hair shorter and shorter till nothing remains? God, no.
Dr. Clippers repositions my head towards the right and starts buzzing the left side. Firm swipes of the clipper from the bottom to the line he has marked earlier. The device vibrating my skin as it moves up and up again. Multiple times in the same place as if to be very careful to not leave any stray hair.
Dr. Clippers is still humming as he moves to work on my back and I catch a glimpse of myself in the side mirror. Dr. Clippers has not changed the length dial and now my hairs on the side match in length to the beard. As if they are a part, together. Followed by a centimeter or two of very short, yet comparatively longer hairs on the side and then a little longer on the top. Not bad. The mad doctor is certainly skilled. Or is he a mad barber?
Dr. Clippers has finished the right side and is now running his hand on my buzzed hairs. Enjoying the sensation against his fingers, based upon his pleased expression. He has turned off and placed the clipper on the black cloth along with the used combs and scissors. The room is now so quiet that I can hear the rasp of the bristles on my beard, sides, and back as Dr. Clippers rubs his hand affectionately. It does look trendy and I itch to rub my hands against my hair. But they are still restrained with the cuffs on the chair.
Dr. Clippers takes a black small circular tub and opens it. There's black cream inside. Of course, it is black, huh. He scoops some on his fingers and rubs it in my hairs on the top front and molds them up. Not too spiky or anything. But respectable. He shapes the hairs and uses a blow dryer, plugging it in the socket on the right side of the black table.
What? Is he done with his treatment? I am relieved that now I get to go. I am relieved that he did not buzz me bald. But a little disappointed that it is over. Huh. Why?
I check myself in the mirrors again. Uniform 3-4 mm beard and sides up to the top middle of the sides. A disconnect between the top sides and the rest of the trimmed hairs. Then 2-3 cm on top, blow-dried fashionably straight. Dr. Clippers grabs another device and proceeds to clean the arches behind the ears and back. Shapes the beard a little.
When he is done, he brushes off the hairs from the cape; removes it and folds it on the table. Next follows the white strip along my neck. He then buttons my white shirt, ties my tie in a knot very expertly, and straightens my suit jacket. This has been a very interesting haircut. Or abduction? I don't know.
Dr. Clippers moves back on the other side of the table and eyes me with narrowed eyes. Then he nods and appears very pleased. I do look good now. Much more modern. Huh.
Dr. Clippers is looking at me expectantly, no doubt waiting for my reply. So far he has done no harm. Better to play along with the mad doctor. But a skillful barber.
"Thank you Dr. Clippers. Your treatment has made me feel very ... good." Dr. Clippers smiles.
"May I be ... uh ... discharged?" I ask, a little confused myself.
"Yes, you will be discharged, shortly. But you must be a good patient and follow the doctor's advice. We'll not use the hood this time, to not damage my work. You'll be blindfolded and delivered in an alley nearby to your car. You'll take proper care and style the hairs daily. You will NOT undo my work. Is that understood?" Dr. Clippers almost barked the last question. His face is very stern and frightening. Likely remembering a disobedient patient. Huh.
"Yes, Dr. Clippers. I promise ... I'll take care of the ... hairs." I say and Dr. Clippers face is transformed and looking happy.
The guard put a thick black cloth around my eyes and ties it on the back. The sensation of the smooth cloth is very enjoyable as it rubs in my trimmed sides and back. And of course, the cloth is black in color. My wrists and ankles are unlocked and I do not even resist as my wrists are tied behind my back and I am being transported out of the room. After around an hour of travel by car, I am being pushed in an alley with my wrist free and I hear the car run away. I slowly remove the blindfold and stuff it in my pocket. I rub my hand against the stiff bristles of my beard. I rub my fingers against my sides and back and enjoy the sensation. I am careful not to disturb the hair on the top. I quickly check my pockets to make sure that nothing was taken and turn towards the road. 2 hours have passed and I had a very interesting abduction-haircut experience. Plenty of time to freshen up for the date. I smile and make my way towards the parking garage while rubbing my hand against my back. Huh.

S.G. Wolf

Note: This is my second story on this site. I have forgotten the email I have used while submitting the last story under the name Douglas.
Previous story: John commits himself. by Douglas

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