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Doctor Zip-Tie by Lavro
I couldn’t believe I was there again, sitting naked in a chair in front of Doctor, being quizzed. I had to call him Doctor, of course, like it was his name. He was an Associate Professor of Philology, PhD, and all. Most importantly, he insisted that I called him that when I had willingly signed myself over as his property. Sure, he was a little bit older than me, still in his early thirties, but his dominion over me was intoxicating.
He was never cruel, but nurturing. He always considered that I was in the middle of graduate school, and that I often needed time, space, or endearment. He had been through it after all and knew the intensity of such dedicated study. That was why he invented this game, "Zip-Tie" he called it. The rules were simple: I had the opportunity to escape punishment should I answer most of his questions correctly, questions directly related to my studies in world literature. He always asked ten questions. Any incorrect answers meant that he would bind me with a zip-tie. If I was unable to get up after the ten questions, I had to accept my fate.
"What have you been up to this week?" Doctor asked me just an couple hours before.
"Well," I hesitated, but would never lie to him. I belonged to him. "I studied some, but" I swallowed hard, "you remember I told you about that new video game I bought?"
"Hm," he pondered for a second. "So, you did some studying then, yes?"
"Great. We’ll play Zip-Tie then, so you can show me."
And there I sat, for the fourth time in the last year. The other three times, I was well prepared. This time, I was not. I didn’t mind being punished. It was in my nature to enjoy it, really. I was as thorough of a submissive as you could be. I loved sucking his dirty toes, licking his armpits, feeling the lash of any of his floggers against my skin, being tied, caged, used. But for Zip-Tie, Doctor wasn’t looking to make me enjoy myself. Zip-Tie was for his favorite fetish, his favorite thing to do to me. Doctor wanted to make me cut my hair, or worse, buzz my hair short, like his.
Doctor demanded that I keep his own buzzcut fresh every two weeks. It was a simple procedure that he loved; Always a 0.5, even all over his head, his face shaved smooth. I had become very good at it, and whenever he got a fresh buzzcut, he would assume a tantalizing dominance. He had his hair like that ever since I met him a couple years ago. He looked masculine, and attractive, tanned skin, tall with lean muscles, and confident. He was meticulous and picky with who he invested time into. I felt lucky that he took me as his. Once he had, he wasted no time in establishing his standards. I was twenty-three years old when we had our first session, lying there bound and gagged and squirming when he took clippers to my long hair for the very first time, unconcerned, right in the bed, letting it pile around my head and leaving it there. It hat mortified me, but not enough not to go back to him.
I just didn’t get it. It wasn’t my fetish. It didn’t turn me on besides the precise moment of forced submission. I wanted all of the other things, just not my hair buzzed. But Doctor loved it, and I could not deny him in the beginning. Later, we compromised. He decided it was fine that I could grow it back, provided I stayed on track with my studies. I knew that would be good enough motivation for me. I really liked how it grew back in. My hair was mostly straight, the color of dark sand. Over the last year, it had grown back to close to how it was when I met Doctor, swooping along my brow, and jutting off of my neck and ears.
I had already answered five of his questions correctly, launching a frequent nervous glare at the scattered zip-ties and his menacing clippers on the small table next to me. I knew all about Homer, Dante, Sun Tzu, William Shakespeare, and Lord Tennyson. Piece of cake. He stumped me though on the sixth question, binding my right wrist to the desk chair I was in with a snug zip-tie. I wiggled my arm against the tightness of it, realizing that all it would take is one more to secure me to the chair, and I would lose the game. Four more questions to go.
"If I were to ask you to name the author and book which contains the characters Villefort and Danglars, what would you tell me?"
"Dumas, The Count of Monte Cristo." I didn’t hesitate. "That was an easy one," I cockily projected without thinking.
"Oh, was it?" Doctor said, rubbing the top of his close-cropped head and staring into my eyes with intensity. "Hm, ok then. Question eight: Rumi. Where was he from?"
Rumi. I knew Rumi, and I had read him in translation. Was he Arabian? No. The Maghreb? Certainly not. Come on think. Rumi. Damn it. I watched Doctor pick up another zip-tie and take a step closer to me.
"No, wait, I got it. Persia. He was Persian." I sighed in relief.
"That’s right boy," he ran his hands through my hair with a slight hint of dominant aggression. "Good job. Two more questions left. I’m going to do my best to make sure you don’t keep your hair this time. Are you ready?"
"Yes, Doctor," I felt resolved, defiant. I had won this game three times already. I knew it drove him crazy, but this was my hair, and I had no intentions of losing it.
"Ninth question." He said, pacing pensively in front of me. Then suddenly his big, handsome smile smeared itself across his face, as if he had a question that he was certain I would be unprepared to answer, but I wasn’t concerned. "I’m going to recite a quote, you ready? ‘We live in an age that reads too much to be wise, and that thinks too much to be beautiful.’"
"Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray. Easy," I blurted out feeling relieved.
"That’s not my question. Who said it? I figured you’d know the book," he chuckled at me.
Who did say that? I struggled to recall all of the characters names. There was Dorian Gray of course… maybe he said it? Who else? Lord… Basil? It had been quite a few years since I had even thought about that book, and I was struggling to remember all of their names, blending in my head with a thousand other characters. Lord Basil, that had to be my answer, because I couldn’t recall anyone else.
"Lord Basil," I claimed with confidence.
"That’s your answer?" Doctor looked at me with a patronizing arch in his dark eyebrows, as if he were giving me a chance to take it back. I got him, and he was trying to make me doubt myself.
"Lord Basil. That’s my answer. Next question." He didn’t notice me grinning at him because he was slightly turned, reaching for the zip-tie.
"Wrong. Lord Henry. Nice try." A lump formed in my throat as I removed my only free hand from the arm of the chair.
"Are you resisting me? I’m sure you are not going to make me ask for your arm. You know better than that."
He was right. Without a word, I obediently placed my wrist on the arm of the chair, where Doctor promptly zip-tied it. I tried to pull up to test the strength of the hold. I had been here before. I wasn’t going anywhere until he cut them off. Then I realized: I lost the game. No. damn it, no. As per our deal, he could cut my hair however he wanted, and I had to accept it. He always honored his word and never forced me into anything else. He could be as lenient or as severe as he wanted. I had to try to talk him out of it.
"Please, Doctor, give me one more chance. We only did nine out of ten questions! There should be one more."
"You didn’t make it that far. You lost and should take your punishment without complaining," he began to sort through the clipper guards spread out on the table. I watched him push the longer guards aside without consideration.
"Can I offer something, Doctor?" I knew I could get out of this. I knew it.
"I’m listening but make it quick." He grabbed a #4 guard and snapped it on the clippers.
"Give me one more chance. If I get it right, release me. If I get it wrong… I don’t know." I didn’t have anything to offer him.
"Hm, ok," He thought for a brief second. "if you get it wrong, your hair is permanently mine. I was nice to you and realized you struggled with this, boy. But if you give you another chance, you will always yield your hair to me, whenever I want. No games. No questions."
"I don’t know if I can do that," I admitted, considering the consequences of losing.
"I wasn’t asking. You opened your mouth, now deal with it. Are you ready for your last question?" We locked glances as he set the clippers down on the table. I had one more chance to get out of this, although I realized gambling with this level of control excited me. "Another quote: ‘And, when you want something, all of the universe conspires helping you to achieve it.’ Tell me what book that is from."
It sounds so familiar! Think! I knew this. I knew I knew this, but it wasn’t coming to me. There is no way I can’t think of this! I could feel heat under my skin, a nervous sweat appearing on my naked body.
"Well, boy, it is true you. I want something. I want it more than you. Can you feel the universe making it happen? You should know this one, but your mind is resisting you." He picked up the clippers again, the tight plastic of the zip-ties digging into my wrists. "You should know this. Too bad." He stepped behind me. My body urged me to stand up, but I couldn’t.
"Wait! I know it, just give me a second!" I pleaded, my mind too flustered to produce the information.
"You’re such a brat too. Wanna know something, brat? I was going to give you a break, and just cut your sides and tidy you up some. You’ve been a good boy, and you’re smart. But you’re too arrogant. Reaching too high. Cocky." He lowered the clippers into my line of vision. I watched as he popped off the #4 guard and dropped it into my uncovered lap. "I’ve been too good to you. I am going to have so much fun with this. It is time for you to be good, and be thankful that you are here, with me, understood?"
"Yes, Doctor." I lost. It’s over.
The clippers were still dangling in front of my eyes when his thumb flipped the power switch and brought them humming to life. One full year I avoided this, and now I ruined it. He pushed my chin to my chest. I felt his fingers tugging at the inches of hair that grew down my neck, until he gathered it all in one fist. With the other hand, he brought the clippers up. Like a chisel, he began to chip away the hair grasped in his fist, pressing harder in a stab-like motion, all the way around the bottom of his balled hand until it detached from my head. Like he did with the clippers before, he put his balled fist in front of my face, which continued to look to my lap. His fist was full of my hair.
"You earned this," he said as he dropped it into my lap. It was much longer than I anticipated.
He was firm in pushing my chin deeper into my chest before he continued. All hope that I might be spared fled when I felt the clippers touch the base of my neck and enter into the hairline at the back. He was meticulous and slow, driving it upward inch by inch, higher and higher, until it found the cowlick at the back of my head. But he didn’t stop there. My pulse quickened as he continued the single, long stroke to the top of my head, another inch, then another, long hair beginning to pile in my lap. He never broke his pace, even as the clippers ate through the hair on top, just off center, driving forward to my front hairline and fringe, cutting right through it all and dumping it into my lap with the rest. I couldn’t see it. There was no mirror. But I felt it, and the gentle touch of air on a singular exposed strip of scalp and stubble. I watched as that part of my fringe, which dangled forward with my head, became detached and fluttered onto my body, slightly widening my field of vision.
"The Alchemist," I muttered, defeat in my voice. The clippers reset to the base of my neck and began their upward climb again. I hated this. "Paulo Coelho." The clippers reached the top of my head for a second time, running into the top again. "I love that book." He pushed the clippers all the way to the front again. Almost everything he cut he was piling into my lap. Shaming me. I didn’t dare move my head.
"If that quote is true," Doctor began, "then the universe knew I wanted you buzzed down again. Your very nature helped make sure of it." He didn’t go back to the neck, but carefully began to buzz away my entire fringe. I could see it all fall away, until not a single hair obscured my vision anymore. "There, maybe you can see better know," he said, cleanly running the clippers over and over front to back and moving to the sides.
"My favorite part of that book," he continued, always dumping the shorn hair into the same spot, "is the concept of a personal destiny." He quickly finished buzzing down the right side of my head. "I think you’ve made some decisions that affected your personal destiny today, boy." He continued to take the rest of the hair off the back of my head. "Belonging to me. That is your personal destiny."
I enjoyed the way he was talking to me. Degrading me. Reminding me that I belonged to him. He was right too. It made this process somewhat enjoyable. He pressed the clippers to the left-most part of my neck, running the up and around my ears.
"This too," he passed the clippers over the left side a few more times, taking the rest of my hair off. "You made this easy for me. From now on, you’ll get your hair buzzed as often as me. I’m tired of letting you get away with anything else." He quickly ran the clippers all over my head, taking off any missed spots or lingering pieces. "This is your look now, and you won’t change my mind. You’ve earned it." He turned off the clippers and set them down hard.
My entire head of hair was in my lap, covering it completely. Stepping in front of me, I felt his finger on my chin, raising my head up at last. His eyes did not meet mine but fell on my exposed head. I could tell he was excited, and that he loved it. It made me feel good. His hand reached under the pile of hair on my lap. He knew he had my approval, even if my brain screamed against the way my body betrayed me. I was his.
"How do you feel?" he asked.
"I fell -" I always tell him the truth, "I feel like I am supposed to. Like I’m yours."
He grabbed a pair of scissors and cut the zip-ties. "Touch it," he ordered.
I brought my hands to my head and felt nothing by extremely close stubble. My smile was involuntary. He took my hand and stood me up from the chair. My whole head of hair slid down my legs and onto the floor.
"Sweep it up and throw it away. As you do it, know that as long as you are mine, this is the last time you will ever see your own hair."
I felt entirely in his power as I followed his orders. I swept up my severed mop and watched it fall one last time in the trash can. I let it go, along with any resistance I had to Doctor’s desires. This is what I deserved and what I earned. I would keep my word. I looked back to him when the trash can lip plopped shut, basking in his admiration and approval. We would never need to play Zip-Tie again.