Sir Orders a Shearing by Almost

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Content Warning: Mentions of erections and ejaculation.
"Next!" A barber calls.
"Go," sir taps my head.
I quickly jump up and take the seat. The barber is young, clean-shaven, with a dark short back and sides clipped to perfection.
He puts a white sanex strip around me neck, the throws the cape around me, and clips it nice and tight around me neck.
"So, what are we-" he starts as he capes me up, but sir interrupts him.
"He just needs a good, tight shearing today. High and tight crewcut. Skinned sides, finger length top," sir says authoritatively. He doesn’t ask for permission to take over, simply does.
"Oh, sorry," the barber apologizes. "Didn’t realize his dad was with him."
I blush heavily as they laugh.
"Yeah, yeah, something like that," sir says.
He looks the part. Salt and pepper hair kept in pristine condition. The sides are skinned extra high, top barely long enough to push to the side. A man with a cut like that shoves his son in a chair and requests a cut like that.
"So a real close high and tight? Like yours?" The barber asks.
"Yeah! Exactly like that," sir says, happy the man is catching on. "He should be the spitting image of me when you’re done."
"Like father, like son," the barber banters, getting a chuckle from sir.
I blush but stay quiet.
"That’s a pretty big chop, isn’t it?" The barber inquires.
"He needs it. He’s been getting into trouble, grades dropping, hanging with the wrong crowd," sir says, voice soaked in disappointment. It isn’t real, but I feel a pang of shame and my head hangs low, brown hair drooping into my eyes.
"Aww," the barber says with a chuckle. "He’s one of those. I thought boys of his age would have grown out of that."
"It’s my fault," sir says with a sigh, tousling my brown hair as he spoke. "I said he could grow it out in college. A little bit of discipline goes and the rest follows."
"I see. This’ll help with that," the barber promises.
"I hope so," sir says.
Sir doesn’t leave me as the barber fires up the guardless clippers. He wants to observe the cut. Make sure it’s done the way he wants it, and that I sit still and am well behaved.
The barber pushes my chin to my chest and the clippers to my nape and they rise. Months of growth is plowed away in an instant. I can’t see it, but I know that the path left is only pale skin. I can feel the air conditioning blowing ok the freshly exposed skin. The barber seems to go as high as he dares before the clippers eases off. Sir smirks in the mirror. I’m getting skinned. I can’t help but start to get hard as it happens. The buzzing of the clippers, the freshness of the cut… it’s all too good.
The barber continues, going up again and again, stripping my sides and back of hair. He sticks close to the ears, no fear in folding them over.
I finally get a glimpse of the path of destruction.
"That’s it, nice and high. He should look bald from the back," sir says.
"Or with a cap on," the barber adds with a grin.
He finally makes a strip where I can see it. It’s just a strip of white skin and dark stubble, barely visible. Oh god it’s high, everything below my temples, but I don’t get a say.
"Wow! There’s a lot falling!" The barber says with a laugh.
"Yup! Nice to see the hair back on the floor where it belongs," sir remarks.
Finally, the clippers snap off, and the barber sets them down.
Sir gives the stubbly skinned back a feel while the barber is focused on picking up a spray bottle and comb. Sir has a pleased look on his face as the hair rasps.
The barber returns, spritzes my hair with water, and combs it down as he goes.
He puts the comb and spray bottle down and picks up some scissors. He stays true to sir’s request, finger length and no more. He takes a bit of hair with his palm to my head, and snips off what isn’t protected by his finger. I’m shocked at the amount of hair that comes off with each snip. He really doesn’t want me with much hair. A pile of dense, wet points begins to accrue in my lap that I can see clearly now that my bangs have been shortened.
"God, I can’t believe I let it get this long. I’m so sorry for the mess he’s making," sir apologizes.
"Not at all! It’s my pride to get him back to his best behavior for you."
The barber sets down the scissors, my hair chopped down to something more manageable. All it can do is be messy and lay to the side neatly.
"Looking great! Now that’s looking more like the son I know."
My cheeks burn red.
"Oh! Would you mind razor shaving the sides?" Sir asks politely.
"Of course! Best way to have a high and tight."
The barber makes his way for the foam machine.
I falter, and my mouth comes open reflexively to object.
Sir speaks first before a sound can come out.
"No, we talked about this. Let it go. You’re getting it razored. I get it razored, and you’re getting it cut just like mine, so you’re getting it razored too."
I snap my mouth shut, head hung down, cheeks burning with embarrassment.
"Son?"
"Yes, sir, I understand."
"Thank you."
The barber ignores the interaction, spreading warm foam over my back and sides. He deftly shaves away what little hints of hair is there, making it smooth. I sit still, listening to the gentle scritches of the razor on skin. As the white foam is removed, so are the traces of stubble I had.
Finally, the barber wipes the area, then applies aftershave to it, the scent filling my nose as the skin stings.
Sir rests a cool hand on the tender back of my hand and rubs gently.
"Ooh, now that’s a feeling I know well," sir says with a smile.
"And one he’ll know well in time too," the barber chimes in.
"I sure hope so," sir says with a laugh, like there’s any doubt. "Last time he’s ever having hair like that again."
The barber takes up clipper and comb and begins to blend the sides into the top.
Sir and the barber talk about something. I don’t listen. I stare in the mirror, looking a stranger in the eyes. He doesn’t have messy brown hair like I do. He has bald sides and a choppy, short top. His face seems so differently shaped then mine, but it is my face. He breathes when I do, has my eyes. He looks like airforce pilot. But he’s me.
Sir snaps me out of my dream as the clippers snap off. He puts a hand on my head, combing my hair with his fingers. The barber hands him a comb, and he uses that instead.
"There you go! One father-son matching high and tight!"
"Thank you! Gosh, he’s the spitting image once all the mess is gone, huh?"
"Yup, a real chip off the old block."
"Looks great! But I think he needs something more disciplined. Can you take a number 1 and just run it over the top for me real quick?"
I can’t believe what I’m hearing. I want to get up and protest. Yell that I’m not gonna be nearly bald for him. But I don’t. I sit there obediently.
"Oh…" the barber pauses, stunned for a moment. But he won’t disobey sir, so he carefully attaches a guard to his clippers. He pushes what little hair I have left back, and puts his clippers to my hairline, buzzing ferociously. He hesitates, then pushes backward and what is left of my hair rains down in little brown tufts. The strip the clippers make clearly shows my white scalp on the top of my head in between brown bristles.
The barber makes quick work of the top. All that’s left is an island of brown. I stare at the stranger in the mirror. I don’t know if I hate or like him. All I know is that I’m impressed with him, jealous of him for being so obedient.
"Looks like one of those Aggie recruits," the barber mentions, brushing off the stranger’s head.
"Yup, he does look like a fish," sir remarks.
The barber undoes the cape and removes the strip around my neck, then flicks the cape away, freeing me and sending a torrent of brown hair that no longer belongs to me to the floor.
It’s my hair. Or what used to be mine. Now I have the stranger’s hair, or…
I begin to get up and he moves when I do. The stranger is me. I voluntarily sat in this chair and my hair was stripped from me. It was like a dream.
I stand up, and falter, sir catches me.
"You’re okay, little fish," he reassures.
"God what a mess he made," sir says with a sigh.
"It’s quite alright. Worth it to do a shearing like this," the barber responds.
"No. Let him apologize to you," sir says, nudging me.
I hesitate for a second, wondering what to even say.
"Sorry, for making a mess, sir. I’ll make sure it won’t happen again," I apologize, surprised to find some sincerity in my voice.
"No it won’t, because we’ll be back here every two weeks to keep your hair nice and tight. And, I think if you’re really sorry, you should clean up your mess," sir prompts.
I see a broom and pan in the corner of the shop and go for it.
Sir approaches the barber as I begin to sweep up what used to be my hair into a dense brown pile.
"Thank you again for shearing him down. He really needed it, and you did a great job."
"Of course. By the way, what made you change your mind about his cut?"
"I just remembered that when I sent him off to college it was without a comb because he didn’t need one. And now he’s returned, needing one, but without one, showing a lack of discipline. I thought I’d do him a favor and make it so he doesn’t need a comb again. And I think I’ll keep him like this too, which is why we’ll be back in this shop again in two weeks with me. It’ll be a good bonding experience, and hopefully teach some discipline."
He turns to me, still sweeping away. I can’t help but get aroused by the chore. This hair is mine… no, it used to be mine. Now it’s no one’s. It’s just a mess on the floor. I shouldn’t clean up my own hair at the barbershop, but I should always clean up my own mess I guess.
My focus snaps back to reality as sir starts talking again.
"Better start putting it in the calendar, son. "High and tight with dad" every other week. Maybe if you learn some discipline we can talk about leaving you some combable hair, but for now…"
He walks toward me, and sets a hand on my freshly shorn head.
"This is all you get."
"Yes, sir," I respond.
I finish sweeping and sir rubs my head. It makes an odd noise. Like the scratch of soft sandpaper.
The barber takes up the broom and pan, dumping the pan’s contents into a trashcan.
Sir wraps an arm around me and pulls me close.
"That’s where your hair belongs," he whispers.
My dick twitches.
"Yes, sir," I respond quietly.
Sir walks me to the register, arm on my shoulder and hand on my head. I’m in heaven as he rubs the stripped back.
"I’m proud of you, son. It’s good that you’re taking these first steps to developing some discipline."
"Thank you, sir. I’m glad to make you proud, dad."
Sir smiles at me warmly as I look away, trying not to let him see the embarrassment on my face.
"How much do I owe you?" He asks the barber.
"It’s on the house today if you keep coming back, and if you let me rub that cute little head of his."
Sir grinned and accepted both terms.
My cheeks burned red as I leaned forward and the barber felt up his work. My cock twitches as his fingers linger on the scalp. Eventually, his hand recedes and sir steers me out the door.
"Look forward to seeing you again," the barber says.
"Us too!" Sir says, answering for me, as he pushes me out the door.
The sun feels warm on my scalp and short hair. The wind feels odd as it blows not through my hair, but over what little I have, the bristles too short to be rustled into movement.
"You can touch it," sir says as we get in the car.
I hesitantly put a hand on my head and move it back and forth. It feels like soft sandpaper on top, and sounds like it too with a surprisingly loud noise.. The shaven sides are completely quiet and smooth. It’s addicting.
Sir laughs. "I’m glad you like it."
"Did you mean what you said in there, sir? About keeping me like this?" I ask, unable to hide the quiver in my voice.
"Of course," he says plainly. "I want you like this, so you’re like this. And I hoped you liked the barber, I sure did. He’ll be my accomplice in keeping you shorn."
I took a few deep breaths. He meant it. That was the last time I would have hair long like that. Able to blow in the wind. Able to hide my scalp. Able to be combed. Able to really get wet. Never again. My cock twitched in my pants.
"That decision is out of your hands, I told you as much. Don’t think about it, you look good."
He’s right. I should just relax and enjoy it. He won’t change his mind.
"Thank you, sir. I’ll try to enjoy this cut."
"Good boy." He rubs my head roughly. It used to just mess up my hair, but now it’s incapable. Now, it almost makes me blow. I’ll have to work on that.

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